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ahsbitch · 4 years

Text

A Walk In The Woods

Word Count: 5762

Summary: You find a wild Michael Langdon in the woods, and after deciding that he definitely needs some help, you invite him back home with you.

Warnings: Smut, 69ing, so obviously oral happens, Male and Female Receiving, A Bit Of Praise Kink, unprotected sex, Vaginal Intercourse, Sad Boi Michael, some cockwarming at the end (obviously I’m v into cockwarming, don’t @ me) Shitty Writing, lots of cursing, that’s all I can think of

A/N: I’m sure this is awful but idk I put effort into it so I’m posting it. Also I should totally wait to post til tomorrow bc it’s like midnight but?? I really wanted to post it today so I’m just going for it. Hope y’all enjoy, comments are Always appreciated, much love! ♥️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking barefoot in the woods was probably your most ridiculous hobby, but it was probably your favorite as well.

There was always something to discover in the woods.

You tried to take a forest walk at least once a week, on Sundays. You would be gone for hours, wandering, feeling the ups and downs of the universe all around you.

There was always something to discover in the woods, and it was always something different.

Often you would stop in sunny patches and meditated. Sometimes you could feel the musings of something greater than you, running through you.

Occasionally, you would find a wounded animal, typically just small things like squirrels or sparrows, although sometimes bigger creatures, a deer, an owl, a fox, things along those lines. You felt a responsibility to them, to help them, to clean them up and help them heal and get them better enough to go off on their journeys in life.

On this particular walk, you found a type of wounded animal you’d never dealt with before.

Michael Langdon.

You found him wandering the woods, bleary eyed, coated in scratches and sunburns.

“Are you alright, sir?” You moved slowly closer to him, not worried for yourself but afraid to startle him.

The man was beautiful, you could tell he was beneath the dirt that covered him.

You had startled him, it seemed, as he looked up at you with wild, piercing eyes, raising a hand and sending you flying back against a tree, pinning you there by the throat.

Well, fuck.

Your hands clawed at your neck in spite of yourself, trying to pull at something that wasn’t there. You wouldn’t have tried at all, if you were capable of rational thought, would have let it happen as you had great faith that the mystery man was going to let you go, but of course when one loses the ability to breathe, one’s body tends to panic in spite of what the mind may wish for.

After a few seconds, you dropped to the ground, gasping for air.

Breathe in...Breathe out...Breathe in...Breathe out...Breath in..

“I’m sorry,” You stood up, keeping your gaze on the ground but taking a step towards him.

Although you still didn’t look him in the face, you could tell just from his voice that the man was confused, wandering closer to you, “Why are you sorry?”

Shrugging, you lifted your head from the ground, although you still kept it below eye level, “I frightened you. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“I,” He frowned, and you focused your eyes on his mouth, “I attacked you.”

“Because I frightened you. I was trying not to, but I did, and I’m very sorry for it.”

“Is that why you won’t look me in the eye?” He sounded curious, and his mouth curved into a funny little smile, “Because you’re sorry?”

“Because direct eye contact can be intimidating,” You explained, “I don’t want to upset you again.”

Biting his lower lip, the man extended his hand, “It’s okay. I’m... my name is Michael. I’m sorry for...what I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You took his hand, feeling a zip of electricity shoot through you, and finally looked into his eyes, “It’s okay. I’ve been hurt worse. Wasn’t a big deal. I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Michael.”

Brows scrunched together over his crystalline blue eyes, Michael cleared his throat, “It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N. I’m sorry for bothering you, I- I should let you go.”

You weren’t quite sure whether he meant that literally or figuratively, as he was still clutching at your hand like a lifeline.

“Hang on,” Drawing him closer, you reached a careful hand up to his face, hesitating at the way he flinched, then stilled, his eyes flickering to the side anxiously, but allowing you to cup his cheek and examine him, “How long have you been out here?”

Michael looked unsure of himself, leaning into your hand ever so slightly and seemingly not even conscious of it, “A few days, I think. I was doing a, well, I was doing something, but it didn’t work, and then I tried to make my way back to the city, but I kinda got lost.”

“You must be starving,” You pulled away from him, straightening up, “I can take you back to the city, and you can come to my place for a little bit.”

You were already walking, and after a moment you heard Michael hurry to follow you, “What do you mean?”

“You said you were lost. I don’t think you just mean physically. Besides, you must be hungry, and no offense, but you’re kind of a mess right now,” You glanced back at him, giving a small smile when you saw his shocked expression, “You need help. I’m happy to give it.”

“Why?” Michael moved to your side, walking in step with you, “Why would you help me? What if I’m a murderer?”

“Even if you are, I don’t think you’ll murder me. If you do, I’d ask that you do it quickly, that’s just a little personal preference of mine, although of course if you’re some truly evil serial killer then I doubt you’d care much about my preferences,” Shrugging, you grasped his hand in yours and pulled him behind you, feeling another volt of electricity crackle through your veins as you led him back to the city.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have a nice place,” Michael told you hesitantly as you made your way up the front steps of your apartment building.

You almost laughed at that, but when you glanced back at him he looked so genuine in the compliment that you paused, pulling him inside, “You... you know this whole place isn’t mine, right? It’s an apartment building. My place is pretty not nice, actually. I mean, I like it, but it’s small and not very fancy, y’know?”

“Oh,” He looked a little embarrassed, and you could tell that he had thought the whole building belonged to you. He looked like someone who was used to money and big houses, or at least he looked like he would look like that if he didn’t currently look like he’d been attacked by some sort of weather monster and was now on the verge of passing out.

“Sit,” You said simply, gesturing to the couch, and you hurried to get a glass of water, handing it to him, “Drink.”

Bustling your way back to the kitchen, you looked back to see him staring at the cup, and you repeated, “Michael. Drink the water. Come on,” You turned to the plants on your windowsill, grabbing your kitchen shears, “Do you mind?”

“Do I mind drinking water?” Michael asked, confusion evident.

“Not you,” You turned to him with a smile, nodding, “You don’t have a choice there. Drink the water. I was talking to Tennyson.”

“Who’s Tennyson?”

He had finished the cup of water, and you took it and refilled it before gesturing to the aloe vera plant that you had just trimmed a stalk off of, returning the cup to him, “The plant. The full name is Aloe, Lord Tennyson.”

“You name your plants?” Clearing his throat, Michael took a sip of the new cup of water, “You... talk to your plants?”

Shrugging, you split the long leaf in half, scooping some of the gel inside onto your fingers, “Yes, and yes. Now this may hurt a bit, just a warning.”

You pressed against his forehead as gently as you could, where a large pinkish red sunburn rested, and Michael let out a hiss and suddenly you were flying across the room, hitting the wall. He didn’t hold you in place or choke you this time, at least, and in a moment he had leapt from the couch and hurried over to you, “I’m so sorry. It hurt and I wasn’t expecting it, I-”

“It’s okay,” You let Michael pull you to your feet, holding onto his hand ever more tightly as you looked at his ashen face and downtrodden expression, “I should’ve given you better warning. Listen, I’ll doctor you up later. Let’s get you in a bath, first, okay? You can bathe and I’ll make some food and then, after, we can take care of your sunburns and scrapes.”

“I keep hurting you,” Michael pulled his hand away, looking at it as though your touch had burned him, “And you keep being nice to me.”

“If you were doing it on purpose, I’d be less nice. But you’re not, I can tell. Now, follow,” You led the way to your small bathroom, starting to fill the tub with water.

Michael sat on the edge of the tub, watching you adjust the temperature and light the candles that lay at the corners and pour in some bubble bath. He stared as you moved, humming to yourself, and when you stood and started to step away, “I have some old clothes that I think will fit you. They’re not particularly fancy, like what you’re wearing now, but they’re clean. I’ll drop them off once I get some dinner started, okay?”

Nodding, Michael began to undo the buttons of his shirt, and you hurried out of the room.

He was still lost, even though he wasn’t in the woods anymore. And you were determined to help him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N?” Michael called, cracking the bathroom door open, “I’m dressed and everything.”

“Great! Hop up on the counter for me, okay? Just hang tight,” You grabbed the bowl of aloe gel that you had scraped from the plant and a box of band aids and hurried back to the bathroom.

He was perched next to your sink, and you tapped at his knees. Michael frowned but opened his legs so you could stand in between them, “Why am I on your counter, exactly?”

“Because it’s time for me to play doctor. I’m going to touch your face, okay?” You cupped his cheek in your hand and tugged him down, beginning to dab gel onto his sunburns and clean the long scratches that streaked across his features, “Are you comfortable? Do the sweatpants fit okay and everything?”

“They’re fine,” Michael mumbled, flinching when you pressed a band aid to one of the deeper cuts on his forehead, his hand curling into a fist. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting his other hand rest gently on your shoulder, “I appreciate you letting me borrow them. And letting me use your bathtub, and well, and everything else.”

You nodded, taking in a deep breath and finally moving your attention to notice that he was staring at you, smiling at him, “You used my shampoo.”

“Oh, yeah,” He turned pink, “Yeah, is that okay? It smelled like strawberries and it was right there so I just...”

“Of course! Not a problem at all. You smell nice,” You were looking straight at him now, and he continued to stare, and just when you’d tilted your head to the side, trying to discern what exactly Michael was thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours.

The hand that had rested on your shoulder came up to stroke your face, and then as quickly as it had started, it was done, and he had pulled away from you, turning his head sheepishly to the side.

Clearing your throat nervously, you stepped back, “Do you like tomato soup?”

“Yes,” Michael hopped off the counter, following you to the kitchen, although he stayed about four steps behind you.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, looking at each other over bowls of soup and large dinner rolls.

Your lips still buzzed from the memory of him against you, but you tried to ignore that. Michael scarfed food down for a while, and you simply kept refilling his bowl until he finally started to slow down, and then you asked carefully, “So, Michael. What’s gotten you lost like this. Tell me where you came from. Tell me about your parents.”

“There isn’t much to tell about them,” Michael turned red, and he steadfastly refused to make eye contact with you, “My father abandoned me, and my mother tried to kill me. There’s only one person who’s ever really cared, who hasn’t abandoned me, and she’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” You said earnestly, letting your hand reach out just far enough to brush against his, “Humanity is unkind, often especially so to those who need kindness the most.”

Michael had a curious way of frowning, his confusion always quite evident. His eyes would widen and his brows would move, displaying everything he was feeling. It was cute, honestly.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” He said finally bluntly, having been staring at you in silence, “I shouldn’t have done that. You’re just...I mean... I was gonna try to just not mention it, but you’re so nice and I feel bad.”

“You should’ve asked first,” Drawing your hand away, you tried to make eye contact with him, but now he was avoiding your gaze, “For a lot of reasons. But I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not? I know I should’ve asked, I’m just... I’m not used to having to ask for things. I know that’s not a good excuse, but I don’t really know what to say. I’m just sorry,” Michael was frowning even deeper than before.

Shrugging, you reached back across the table, this time allowing your fingers to stroke along his jaw, “The fact that you’re sorry is enough. Just... don’t go around kissing strangers with no warning, okay?”

“Okay,” He smiled, leaning into your hand, a strange rumbling noise emanating from deep in his chest, almost like a purr.

Suddenly, you felt a bolt of desire shoot through you, seemingly out of nowhere, and you shifted a little in your seat, “Are you done eating?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thank you for the food. I can find somewhere to go, I’m sure,” Pulling away from you, Michael started to stand, and you rushed to stand too.

“What do you mean? Why would you go anywhere?” You grabbed his arm, trying to hold him in place even as he brushed you away.

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

A burden?

“If you were going to be a burden, I wouldn’t have brought you here at all. Spend the night,” Squeezing at his wrist gently, you moved to stand in front of him.

Michael looked utterly taken aback by this, “Really? Are you sure?”

You tugged him along behind you, to your bedroom, bringing him to sit on your bed and collapsing down next to him.

“I’m sure,” Turning towards him, you tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear and leaned forward, looking deeply into his eyes, “You’re the opposite of a burden, and I can prove it.”

Michael’s breathing hitched, and he moved closer to you, closing his eyes and letting out a slow breath, “I really wanna kiss you again.”

“You can,” You said simply, wanting to kiss him very badly, but having decided that he needed to be the one to initiate it.

“But you said-”

“I said you should ask first,” You placed a hand on his cheek, feeling something crackling in the air, his skin soft against your own.

“Y/N,” Michael leaned into you, and another rumble rolled from his chest, “May I please kiss you?”

“You can do a lot more than that. I want to show you that you’re not a burden. You deserve to feel good,” And then his mouth was on yours, and something deeper than electricity was running through you.

He kissed you like a teenager, not pulling you closer to him but pushing his upper body forward, and you let out a giggle in spite of yourself.

Pulling back suddenly, Michael frowned, running a hand through his hair, “Sorry. Did I... did I do something wrong?”

“No, don’t be sorry!” You rolled your shoulders back, wishing that you two were still touching, a wave of regret hitting you when you saw the wounded look in his eyes, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, Michael, I just... I feel a lot of things right now, y’know? But they’re all good things! I’m just, well, shit, I’m rambling. I’m going to stop talking now and, uh, and take off my shirt. Take your shirt off? Please?”

Michael’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak but closed it immediately when he saw you slip off your shirt, fumbling with the fabric of his own, letting out a shout as it got stuck over his head.

“Fuck!” The fabric had bunched around his face, his voice slightly muffled, “Dammit, fucking, Y/N, help me!”

Choking back a laugh, you climbed into his lap and assisted him in wrestling off the shirt, letting another giggle slip out at his look of relief once it was free, which instantly transformed into one of shock as he looked at you, and you could feel yourself starting to blush in spite of your best attempts not to, “Okay, you good?”

He let out a slow breath, eyes trained on securely on your breasts, covered in a lacy white bra, “I’m much more than good. I’m fantastic. Can I... I mean... can I kiss you again? Can I maybe touch you?”

“I want you to feel good, Michael. Yes,” You gave him a quick kiss on the tip of the nose, smiling at the way he scrunched it up in response.

Then Michael was kissing you again, and fuck it felt good, his skin ever so slightly prickling against you, and then he raised a tentative hand to your chest, swiping across your left nipple briefly.

You let out a moan that you hadn’t expected, and he froze for a moment, beginning to slowly swirl his thumb around the covered bud. Suddenly his lips were gone from yours and wrapped around your right nipple, flicking his tongue against it experimentally, and he pulled back with a grin as you let out another breathy moan.

You sounded like a fucking porn star, what the fuck?

“Wow, you’re sensitive,” Michael teased, bringing his other hand up to replace his mouth, “Can I take your bra off?”

“I’ll get it. And I’m not this sensitive, not normally,” You panted, grinding down against him without thinking about it, reaching behind your back to unclasp, and letting out a high pitched whine when his hands were finally on your bare skin, “I mean, not like this. This is... this is you, I think.”

You could already feel him hard underneath you, but at your words his erection became even more prominent, pressed firmly against your inner thigh.

The rumbling noise came from deep in Michael’s chest once again, and you decided that it was in fact a purr, or something damn close to one. He was beaming now, and there was something almost childlike about him when he looked so joyful, and there was an obvious note of pride in his voice, “Really? Me? Do you think I could make you cum doing this?”

He pinched lightly and you gasped, head rolling back, “Probably, but not right now, okay? I wanna-fuck-I wanna-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, couldn’t think of what was supposed to come next, and carefully you gripped Michael’s wrists, pulling his hands away from you and sliding off of his lap.

With a pout, Michael watched you move between his legs, an eyebrow raised, “Was it really that intense?”

“It was,” You glanced up at him from where you now lay, pressing a soft kiss to his cock through his sweatpants, your mind still strangely fogged, “It was... weird. Good weird, but weird. Are you secretly magical or something?”

He barked a short laugh just a little too quickly for it to sound natural, but you figured that was maybe because you were mouthing along the outline of his dick, his hips bucking up every so slightly, and he was perhaps a bit too distracted to act like your terrible joke was funny.

Just as you were sliding the sweatpants down his hips, Michael threaded his hands in your hair, tugging gently so that you’d look up at him, a blissful smile on his face as he watched you, “You’re so pretty, do you know that? You’re beautiful.”

His dick had sprung out of his pants then, bouncing up to his stomach, and you weren’t able to respond at first because fucking hell, it was the most perfect dick you’d ever seen. Thick, veiny, a nice shade of pink although the tip had turned an angry red, and fuck it was big, probably too big, but you weren’t planning to complain about that. Finally, you snapped yourself out of your daze, looking back up at him with a laugh, “You’re just saying that because I’m about to suck your cock.”

“No!” Michael looked shocked by the very thought, his hips bucking again, ever so slightly, at the feeling of your breath on his skin, “No, I’m serious. You’re so gorgeous, I-fuck-” You licked a line up the length of his cock, and he grabbed desperately at your shoulders, making you pause, “Dammit, I really want you to sit on my face.”

Your thighs clenched, and you looked up at him, shaking your head to clear your thoughts, “I, I mean, no. I told you, I want to make you feel good. Not-”

“But it will!” Michael tugged at you, bringing you up until he could press a fervent kiss to your lips, “I want to. So bad. Please, Y/N, please do it. Please let me. Please.”

Fucking hell, was he trying to kill you?

“But I... I wanted you to feel good. Don’t you want me to...” You trailed off, trying to think as Michael kissed your neck.

“I do, believe, me, I really do, but I also want this.”

“I’ve never done that before,” You admitted, feeling your face get hot with embarrassment, “Honestly, I’m afraid I’d end up accidentally smothering whoever I was with.”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Michael assured, kicking his sweatpants the rest of the way off, and you find yourself peeling your own leggings off even though you still weren’t sure of what you were doing, and he hooked his fingers into your panties, a smirk on his face, “And even if it did, I can guarantee you that there would be no better way to die.”

“Okay,” You let out a deep breath, letting out a contented hiss as he brushed his long fingers over your clit, “But I still want to give you a blowjob, okay?”

“You can. Just face that way,” Michael grinned, ripping your panties off with one sharp tug.

You were about to scold him, but then his fingers were pressing into your folds, and you gave a quiet gasp, “Michael, fuck.”

He laid down, hands tapping away at his stomach as he waited for you. Hesitantly, you crawled up the bed, turning so that you could look down the length of his body, and knelt over his face.

You bent down, lifting his cock up and running your fingers along the underside of it, kissing the tip, and you felt him let out a shaky breath beneath you.

“Fucking hell, you taste amazing,” Michael whispered, wrapping his hands around your thighs and pulling you down against him completely.

He made the purring noise once more, sucking fervently at your clit, and you let out a shriek at the feeling of it rumbling through you. Pulling your legs even further apart, he buried his tongue into your folds, and finally, you opened your mouth as wide as you could and sunk down over his cock until his tip brushed the back of your throat.

When he moved back to your clit, giving it careful kitten licks, you buried your finger nails into his thighs. At this, he groaned, thrusting up into your mouth, and you gagged.

This was... what? The third time today he’d accidentally choked you? You hadn’t been angry during any of the other times, but this was the time that probably bothered you the least.

“Sorry, babe, I’m sorry,” He rasped, and although you could hardly hear him, between the feeling of his words vibrating against you and the intense presence of Michael Langdon that filled the air around you, you knew exactly what he was saying.

Babe.

It was such a gentle word from him, the way it rolled off his tongue so naturally making butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

Well, that, and the fact that the feeling of Michael against you was extraordinary, and you were feeling the tight, delightful bubble that signaled your impending orgasm beginning to form.

You sucked harder.

It took only a few minutes of this, of you licking and sucking, running your teeth over the pulsing vein that streaked along the side, before you felt him flex his thigh muscles beneath your hands, his salty cum splashing into your mouth.

It was sweet alongside the salty, a strange mixture of the two, not unlike a chocolate covered pretzel, and you swallowed every drop you could before licking frantically along to make sure you didn’t miss anything.

“Fuck,” He growled, something authoritative, almost dangerous, flooding through the air.

Michael lifted you off of him as though you weighed nothing more than a ragdoll and tossed you down onto the mattress on your back, his lips suctioning around your clit once again, two fingers buried deep inside of you.

You held onto his shoulders as his fingers scissored inside you, squeezing your legs tight around his head unintentionally. You felt him chuckle into your folds at that, and he removed his fingers from you momentarily to pull your legs over his shoulders.

“Michael!” You mewled, your hips straining to jolt upward, and then he was moving faster, faster, adding a third finger that brushed a spot deeper inside you than anything else had ever reached. Your entire body clenched, and then suddenly you felt the waves of your climax wash over you.

When your head was fully back, Michael had straightened up, examining his fingers, which were coated in your juices.

“Fucking hell, Michael, I didn’t need to finish just then. You could’ve waited until you were fucking me for real,” You sat up on your forearms, laughing as you looked down at him.

“Sorry,” Frowning, Michael pulled away, “Was that too much?”

Why was he so goddamn sweet?

Moving to your knees, you pulled his face up to yours and kissed him, the taste of yourself that lingered on his tongue mixing with the salty remains of Michael on your own tongue, and you let out a low groan, pulling back to give him a smile, “No. It was wonderful.”

“Okay. Can we... I mean,” He turned red, looking away from you, “Would you possibly consider riding me? Or do you want to stop now?”

You rolled to the side, gesturing for Michael to move up the bed, and after a moment he did, sitting up against the headboard. Climbing into his lap in one swift movement, you let out a quiet moan at the feeling of him against your folds, his tip pressed against your interest. He swiped his hand between the two of you, gathering the fluids that had spilled from you and rubbing it onto his cock, lubing himself up with the remnants of your last orgasm.

“Do you mind going slow?” You asked meekly, burying your face against his chest as you rocked against him, “I’m sorry, just, you’re really big.”

“Of course,” He cooed, running his hands through your hair, and finally you began sliding down the length of his cock. Burying your teeth into his neck, you tried to concentrate on how good this would feel once you got used to the stretch, the burn, and he whispered in your ear, “You’re doing so good. You-shit-you take my cock wonderfully, do you know that? It’s okay, I know it hurts, but you’re doing great.”

When you had reached the end, and you were filled to the hilt, you gave a careful roll of your hips, testing the waters. You were feeling better now, running your tongue over the spot on his neck you had bitten, before beginning to suck another hickey into his soft skin. At this, Michael bucked into you, his cock hitting all the way up against your cervix, and you let out a shriek.

You almost laughed at yourself. You had thought his fingers were impressive, but they were nothing compared to the sheer, masterful feeling of Michael inside you, his hands splayed against the small of your back, holding you in place as you leaned into him, taking one of your nipples into his mouth once again.

“You feel so good, Michael,” You cried out, and Michael made that damn rumbling noise again, “Fuck, do you know that you purr? I love it.”

Although he continued to hold you, he seemed to be trying to hold back from fucking you too harshly, instead occasionally letting himself thrust into you, his eyes rolling back in his head at the way you moaned each time. He paused, looking up at you with a frown, “I don’t purr.”

You giggled, although it quickly turned into a whimper as he began sucking hickeys into your breasts, and you squeezed his shoulders tightly to concentrate, “You do. You make lots of pretty noises. It makes sense, too. You’ve got such a pretty mouth, such a pretty face, such a pretty cock. You’re so pretty, it’s infected everything you do. And-fucking hell, that feels good-you move so well. Fill me up so well.”

Michel lolled his head back against the headboard, the purring noise coming out again as you began to grind down harder. You kissed him quickly, watching as his eyes opened suddenly, drinking you in.

“You’re perfect, Y/N, do you know that? You bounce so well on my cock, and your tits are so fucking perfect,” He paused, clearing his throat, “Was that the right thing to say? I don’t want to be disrespectful. I respect you, too, and all that. You’re just, fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last.”

“It’s okay,” You reassured him, looking at his face to see that it was glistening, and it took you a moment to realize that there were tears running down his face. Kissing each one away, licking up the salty trail they had left, you resolved not to mention it or ask why, exactly, he was crying, “I’m not gonna last much longer either. I want you to cum for me, okay? Please, Michael.”

“Should I... should I pull out?” He panted, helping you roll your hips.

“You don’t have to,” Gasping, desperately, you buried your nails into his shoulders, trying to contain the climax that was beginning to boil through you, “Just, fuck, please finish soon, Michael. I’m going to-”

Nodding, Michael’s thrusting increased. Although he was still cautious, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, you could tell that he was close to his end, as well.

And he was, and he did, his cum flooding you once more just as you felt yourself boil over, heading hanging back. You couldn’t keep it up anymore, couldn’t concentrate on controlling your body and finishing, and you felt your breath catch in your throat, stars dancing through the air just in front of you.

Michael held your hips tightly as you came down from your high, and then you had buried your face against his chest once more, arms wrapped around his neck.

Christ, that took a lot out of you.

You leaned back to see that his eyes had drifted shut, and you leaned forward to press soft kisses against the lids.

When Michael blinked them back open, his mouth had curved into a sleepy smile, another purr rumbling up from his throat, “That was... wonderful.”

“I agree,” You smiled too, tilting your head to the side as he peppered gentle kisses along your throat, “Now, you’re tired. Do you want me to leave, so that you can get some sleep?”

Michael tensed, clutching at your hips desperately, “Please don’t leave. I mean, I do want to sleep. But please, stay.”

“Okay,” Mumbling softly, you leaned closer to his ear, “And by the way, I know a place you might wanna check out tomorrow.”

Looking curious at this, Michael brought his nose to your jaw, brushing along it softly, “Where?”

“Church of Satan. It’s a few blocks away.”

“What?” This snapped him to attention, and he stared at you as though you’d grown a second head, “You’re... are you a Satanist?”

“No. Not a fan of organized religions. I believe in nature, and kindness. In caring for the ones around you who need it. But,” You folded his ear forward, kissing the three small scars behind it as delicately as you could, “I think that it would be beneficial for you to go.”

“How did you know?” He shifted back so that he could sit more upright against the headboard, and you felt your sore walls pulse around his cock, still buried deep inside you, as you moved.

You shrugged, “Lucky guess. Now, that’s all. No more talk. You need some sleep.”

Michael looked like he was about to argue with you, but then you pressed your head into his chest once more, and he rested his chin contentedly on top of your shoulder.

You were almost asleep when he finally spoke up, hands rubbing gently along your spine, his voice hoarse, “Y/N? I just... I wanted to say thank you. I don’t normally say that, but you’re, well, I haven’t been treated with this much kindness, this much care, in a long time. Don’t say anything, I don’t want you to say anything, I just needed to tell you. Thank you.”

And within moments his breathing had shifted, and he snored quietly, softly, and the snores sounded an awful lot like purrs, and the two of you were as close to each other as was physically possible, his dick softened inside you and his arms wrapped around you, and then you were asleep too, the two of you floating to a dream land that you couldn’t quite name.

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anxiousnerdwritings · 3 years

Note

not a continuation (for once lmao) but this is just a funny story I was thinking about for venom bc I feel like I dont incorporate him enough. also I'm in my bed and I'm too tired to get up and get my computer to type in so this is gonna have many mistakes as usual lol - knull anon

~~~~

waiting all day for your "dad" to come home wasnt fun, especially considering the fact that he only had random books on crime rates and how its impacted different cities. however, eventually it became the only thing you were able to read.

not being able to watch tv, not being able to talk to anyone else started to get on your nerves. you were usually just fine without any human contact, so you dont know what the difference is, but maybe it's just that you actually had something to do.

and although they were boring, the non fiction books were more entertaining then the doorstopper on Eddie's door, so what was the harm in reading them?

each day, when venom and eddie left for their "work", you would pick out a new book to read. the ones that were shorter you usually got through in a day, but there were some where it took you a couple of days. however, since you really didn't have much to do, eventually when the days went around, there were no more books you had yet to read.

all of them, had been read through in, what, a month? how long had you been there? you didnt know. you just decided to reread the first one you picked out.

however, you eventually finished that one as well.

so you picked out the second book you had chosen. and you got through that one too.

you were starting to go crazy from the boredom. venom and eddie kept on promising that they would back sooner, and that you wouldnt have to be re-reading the books they had for a while.

but that didnt happen. sure, they had days off. but somehow that was even worse, since they coddled you and treated you like you were 5. which you werent.

one day, they picked up a new book. this one was also non fiction, and it was about how most criminals work, from gangs to serial killers, it had everything.

but eddie had to read it first. he had to read it for his job. the job that he cared oh so much about.

you weren't getting jealous, no. this guy had taken you right off the streets, had taken you from your home, while not perfect, was still your home. you havent seen your parents, you havent seen your friends, and it was starting to become insane for you to handle.

so one day, eddie had told you that something was up in the city. he didnt specify what, he just said that he might be a little later then usual. you're late every day, you wanted to say but you bit your tongue so he wouldnt stay with you.

you needed him to be gone, especially for your plan. you had managed to sneak a peak at eddies computer, only to see that only 2 months had passed since you've last seen anyone who you recognized.

there still might be people looking for you. there still might be people who are trying to find you.

you might as well make their search easier by walking down the street.

jumping from a broken window and onto a fire escape was part of the plan, you had told yourself. climbing down the fire escape and running in a random direction hoping for anyone to recognize you was part of the plan. almost running into a strange ginger haired man who seemed to be confused by your presence was part of the- no, no it wasn't.

you fell right on your ass, and tried to hide a short hiss when you braced yourself with your palms. you brought up one hand and saw that it was scraped.

you looked up to the man in question, who was just staring at you. he didnt seem angry, he didnt seem to recognize you, but it was just this face of confusion.

you were the first to break the silence, saying "I'm sorry, I wasnt looking where I was-"

"do you happen to know eddie brock?"

you stared up at him, wide eyed, as his face started to form into a more understanding face. like he was putting pieces into a puzzle.

"you know, that symbiote of his always leaves their damn scent everywhere, doesnt he?"

you said nothing as he offered his hand with a weird smile on his face.

"oh dont worry, I know what he did. he took you, didnt he? took you right of the street. I was wondering who that was, and I'm so glad I get to meet you."

hesitantly you took his hand and he pulled you up- up over his shoulder.

hanging down, and feeling the blood rush to your head, you saw his feet- no, his body start to morph into something else. something red, with black lines over it. it seemed to incase his entire body.

"I know you dont know me very well, but I'm sure I'm gonna be a good father!"

and as he jumped off the ground and started to swing wherever he was taking you, you started to wonder what wouldve happened if you had just decided to reread the books on eddies shelf.

~~~~

oOF- ok so like I like this and then I don't if that makes any sense it's like, I wish it was better but I also like how it is ya know. anyway I saw that ur not feeling well and I thought this would cheer you up 💖💖💖 while I'm still too shy to start posting stuff (especially since I'm not known for writing this stuff lol) I still like writing this stuff and you were a great inspiration for me, so I just wanted to say thank you for writing your writings and just writing what you wanna write. I really like how you write hcs and drabbles and it doesnt matter what the length of the piece is for me, if it's from you, its gonna be good. cheers love, hope to get the courage to reveal myself in the future 💖 - knull anon

You’re an absolute sweetheart and I love to read what you send in💗💗!! It really means the world whenever someone says I’ve inspired them so thank you so much for that💗💞💕💚💗💕💞!!

The whole time I was reading the part where Reader is reading all Eddie’s books all I could think about was Rapunzal’s day to day montage from Tangled. You did a really good job on these.

#anxious answers

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lobanri · 3 years

Text

i wrote a -shitty, tbh, but it wouldn’t stop haunting my shower time- richie tozier’s stand up post-canon thing, on a everyone lives au. i lost the thread a bit near the end, so i’m putting it up here and maybe i’ll post it on ao3 at some point. enjoy.

So I’m guessing- and I’m probably right, which is decidedly not how my guesses tend to go- that a lot of you came here to see if I could offer a better explanation than the tabloids about what happened last show, because (voice changes to a higher pitched, mocking voice): ‘Richie, what the genuine fuck was that’, (voice switches back.) right?

Well gee! Am I ever here to answer. And also maybe to give a stand-up performance whose entire script I threw out in favour of, like, maybe four jokes I scraped together with what’s left of my brain.

But! Explanation first.

Okay. (short pause.) So. Imagine you’re me, the fantastic -that’s a joke in itself, right there- Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier. You’re about to go out and perform in front of, okay, maybe not that many people, but still a good number, and you’re like, only a bit nervous. And then.

You get a phone call.

It’s an unknown number. It says so, right there on the screen of your phone that’s all smudged and disgusting and maybe a little bit cracked ‘cause you keep dropping it doing dumb shit.

(again, his voice changes to a higher pitched, mocking voice)

“Oh Richie, was it someone you knew?” (voice switches back.) Of course not, dumbass, that’s why I said unknown. Duh.

But on with the tale.

Now, am I the type of person that answers unknown numbers? Normally, no. If your phone got stolen and you’ve ever called me from a burrowed phone about it, now you know why nobody picked up. But remember, I was about to go out into the level of hell that is an audience- not that I don't love it, I do, but being stared, and occasionally laughed at for around an hour is not what most people find a relaxing afternoon experience.

So I picked up. Thought it’d maybe be a wrong number that would leave the other person feeling very awkward and me only slightly less so. Maybe I’d get an idea for a joke, who knows.

Suffice to say, given the whole clusterfuck that was my last show, it wasn’t a wrong number.

I pick up. I go, “Hello, who is this?”, because that’s what you say when you answer a call.

The other dude goes “Hi Richie, it’s Mike.”

In my head, I go ‘oh’. So first, apparently this is not a wrong number! Second, Mike? I don’t know any Mikes, who’s Mike?

Third, I go “Oh, shit.”

Now, have you ever noticed that a lot of comedians talk about their childhoods a lot? I’ve realized that they do this for one of three reasons; either their parents are funny, they had very fun childhoods, or they had a lot of therapy. I don’t talk about my childhood because none of those applied to me, and also because I repressed like a full 90% of it from trauma. I now have a therapist, which means I can tell you people some of it. Also because most of it came back from repression-land right there and then, because turns out I do in fact know a Mike!

Mike my childhood friend! From my childhood gang!

...The same childhood I happily repressed for twenty seven years, in fact.

Mostly from trauma.

Now you might realize that it’s literally two minutes until I have to go out in front of all you lovely judging strangers who have expectations of me already!

I certainly did. So did my agent- lovely man, genuinely hates me so much- who nevertheless had to send me out like some poor lost lamb sent to be sacrificed at the altar. So I come out- not in that way, but keep tuned to that-

Oh wow that was loud. We’ll get to that, don’t you worry. Now that’s going to be fun. If you haven’t seen Twitter, have fun figuring this out.

But let’s try to keep this mess chronological -big word for me, I know, I stole it off some other guy.

I come out, and then I can’t remember my joke, and I can’t remember my name, and I don’t remember where I am, but turns out I can remember the time my friends and I found a corpse!

So anyway, I puke on stage.

Glamorous way to end a show, I know, but in my defense I was pretty busy.

I’d like to make a segue here- who here grew up in a small town?

Yeah? Okay, this entire bit is for y’all. The rest of you big city folk can just check your phones or whatever.

So I grew up in a small town in Maine, called Derry. Pretty quaint, didn’t have much, there was one arcade, one pharmacy owned by a pedophile, one old abandoned -extremely haunted- crack house, and like a couple tiny stores. My friends and I used to hang out at the quarry and at that same old house, which was cool at the time and gross in hindsight.

I’ll tell you what it’s most known for; it’s the child murder capitol of the entire United States.

Oh, that’s some silence there. Are you perhaps uncomfortable? Maybe wondering if you heard that right? I’ll repeat it louder then.

IT WAS THE CHILD. MURDER. CAPITOL.

OF THE ENTIRE UNITED STATES.

AND I GREW UP THERE. A CHILD.

Is it clearer now why I repressed that entire experience?

So. Derry. Terrible, terrible, racist, homophobic, sexist Derry. Would I have loved to never go back? Yeah, of course. Who would?

This idiot. And his entire gang of childhood friends. Because Mike called us and went ‘Hey, could you guys come back? It’s important.’ And we went, because Mikey literally never asks for shit, so clearly this was going to be terrible. If Mike was on fire, I’m pretty sure he’d take care of it and then never mention it again.

I’ve mentioned the others a couple of times before- of course, Mike, who’s a librarian in Derry- or was, but that’s later. But, there are seven of us in our little Loser’s Club! That is the actual name, by the way. Seven Losers.

Even if Stan made us think that was wrong, because while my reaction to remembering Derry was to puke, his was to fake his death. Yes. If you can believe it, he literally fucking faked his death to get out of that reunion.

I’ll move on a bit so I don’t spend the rest of the show dissing Stan the Man and his extreme as fuck reactions- would you believe that this man is an accountant? Like, what the fuck? Now whenever I see an accountant I wonder if they’re the type of person that would fake their death to get out of things and it’s fucking with my head every time I have to go to the bank.

Okay. Seven- six not counting me, we’ve talked about Mike, and I’ve already said why Stan wasn’t there- we’re left with the weirdest group you’ve seen; Ben Hanscom, or Handsome really, that man got so hot, who’s a famous architect, Beverly Marsh, Bevs, very famous fashion designer -hell yeah she is actually my friend, I know, it’s weird- William Denbrough, Big Bill himself, horror author with terrible endings, leader of out weird gang, and last but the very opposite of least Eddie Kapsbrak, risk analyzer, the most germaphobic person I’ve met, who also wore fanny packs while we were kids. The last part tells you very little about him but I feel like I have to mention it from time to time, because he’s hot and all now but in my head he always had a fanny pack and it freaks me out a bit to see him without one. I also made ‘your mom’ jokes at him all the time, mostly for attention but also because sometimes he’d snap back and just verbally gut me like a fish, and I? Loved that shit.

For those of you that look like you just came to a realization, yes. You’d be right. But we’re just gonna ignore it for now, because some of the others didn’t get it yet, and I’m not gonna hold your hand until you do, I feel like I’ve dropped enough hints already.

Where was I? Oh, yeah.

They’re all hot and I hate it. How come they get to grow up and get muscles and I get to grow up to look like a beanstalk with some fucking bug-eyes and a shitty party city wig? I used to call Eddie “Eddie Spaghetti”, but then turns out that the actual noddle here was me all along.

Well. I’ll get the reunion out of the way and move to the important part; what did Mike call us there for? The answer may not surprise you, given that we were in fact in Derry, but guess what? If you thought ‘child murder’ you win nothing at all, but you’d be right. There was in fact a serial killer! Who was, uh, also… a cannibal.

Terrible, right?

But you’d think ‘this sounds weird’, right? Some unknown dude is killing and eating people, yes, but what does that have to do with lil ol’ me?

Now’d be the time to point out that Bill’s little brother Georgie disappeared twenty seven years previous and turned out to have been literally murdered and possibly eaten along with like, some other six or seven people. And at the time, Big Bill made us all go along to go look for him. In the sewers. While we were also kids. Y’know, like those other kids that got killed.

Big Bill was charismatic, but that doesn’t mean he was the wisest guy, okay. And we were also dumb and young, so that was pretty much all it took.

Thing is that we, uh, …did actually end up finding a serial killer in the sewers. So.

Who was it? Henry Bowers. Our middle school bully. To those true crime fans that recognize the name, yeah, that Bowers.

It didn’t turn out to be that much of a surprise that our bully was the dude killing people, actually, because he was the most fucked-up kid I ever met. He broke Eds’s arm and tried to carve his name on Ben, which is genuinely fucking nuts, right? Like, what? The everliving fuck? I think he liked to kick puppies.

Now, this time around, you’d think it was some fucked up copycat or something? Nope. Dude escaped to try again, this time dressed as a clown.

You think I’m joking here? He literally dressed as a clown to kill people. I could not begin to tell you why.

He can’t tell you, either, because he’s currently, uh, sort of dead. As in, someone buried an axe in his spine and he died.

In my defense-

(louder)

he was trying to kill Mike and you’ve already heard that I’d go back into Derry for him, so.

If you’d wondered why I came back really late, yeah, that was part of it.

The other part is that before dying he managed to stab Eddie Spaghetti in the face and make us go into that one old ass, extremely haunted crack house- don’t ask, I don’t know either- in which an entire beam fell on him. I’m genuinely baffled at how this didn’t happen earlier, because this was literally our childhood hangout spot. But karma or fate or whatever caught up with us, so it did.

By the way, he’s okay now. We all thought he was gonna die first, of course, because how the hell else do you react when a dude’s been impaled right in front of you? He didn’t. But when we all thought he was gonna die in front of me, holding his hand -him included- he looked at me in the eye and, with all the strength his failing body could muster up, he said:

“I fucked your mom.”

So does it come as a surprise to anyone that we’re dating now?

#reddie #my snippets #my fics #richie tozier #richie tozier's stand up #i'm proud of this one #it was written almost entirely yesterday evening while i waited for the clothes to dry #think i'll post it on ao3 actually #i've read way too many of these not to want to contribute a bit

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smallpumpkinboi · 3 years

Text

I've been working on my new wip a bit and wanted to post the unedited version to see if its worth committing to rn or if I should wait a bit

Huge trigger warning (They'll be all in the tags) but it's also missing a few parts so bare with me

Tonks looked down at the picture, the pale man had blood dripping from his nose, leaking from his mouth, eyes blood strained.

"Harry, it happened again" she shoved the file into his hands. He flipped through it, looking at the torched body, deep cuts ripped black robes, blood pooled underneath him, Harry was far too comfortable with the scene. Throwing the file onto the pile of similar murders he rubbed his head.

"Again?" Harry glanced at the pile, a high stack of grotesque pictures nearly toppling over, unsettling papers sticking out.

"Yah'' she sighed, this was the 16th poisoning ever since Voldemort's defeat. All people found the same way cases seemingly unrelated, it seems like his death brought the worst out in people. Attacks where becoming more frequent, suicide rates shot up and serial killers running lose. There wasn't enough people in the whole ministry to help build their world back together

"Got any leads on the stabbings" she picked up another file, thinner then the others but deaths just as violent.

"Yes actually!" Harry smiled "er well it's kind of a lead anyway but we discovered that it's not a spell that's doing the killing and whatever is being used is tainted with dark magic, like dark dark magic." He finished up, most dark objects were being confiscated but if they could trace the magic they could find the object and the owner!

"That's brilliant, keep it up and maybe we can put away one of these nut cases" Tonks said, relieved to finally have some good news. The war might've ended 6 months ago but it hadn't stopped the death eaters from fighting, people were still going missing, being kidnapped, killed. Last month they put away Fenrir for trafficking magical creatures, selling werewolves and seers to god knows who for god knows what. Harry picked up his file, tired eyes scanning the sheets looking for answers he gave a big yawn before turning to the next page

"You can go home you know" Tonks politely took the file from his hands, she occasionally caught Harry sleeping in her office and was getting concerned.

"No, there's too much work to be done" Harry picked up the previous file, turning the pages but not looking at the pictures.

"Hermione's not there, it gets kinda lonely you know? She's busy reading journals from last week's raid but lots of them are burnt up. She wants the piece together what she can, I mean she thinks it's some kind of dark magic they are talking about. Hey maybe it's the same magic that's in my victims!" Harry shot up, throwing the file back into Tonks desk and taking his,

"I'm going to go see her" he got up. "Coming with? It might say something about your victims too" Harry opened the door, waiting for Tonks to leave.

"Sure, whatever I can take" she looked at her watch "shit i'm going to be late! Sorry Harry but I'm going to have to take you up on that offer later, I have another meeting" she smiled rolling her eyes, being head of the Auras was hard on her but before Moody died he put in a request for her to be trained as his successor.

"Ill catch you later then!" Harry waved, running off, Tonks watched him disappear into the crowd. Harry had been a big help in putting away the death eaters, Hermione as well, but they were just children and would soon burn out. Tonks shook her head, a smile still on her face and both kids would do anything to help. Looking back at her watch she swore, swinging her office door shut and making way to her next meeting.

Rushing along the corridors she looked at the wanted pictures on the wall, most faces of death eaters others who used the war for exploitation. One face always stood out, the young rosy cheeks stood out against the hardened faces, the innocent life vivid in his eyes. She tried to keep Ron off the wanted wall for as long as she could, keeping him with the missing persons, alongside her friends and family but after a while and debate he was slapped into the wanted side, poster saying "traitor, found dead or alive."

"Oh excuse me! Uhhh- of- oh hi Tonks'' someone ran headfirst into Tonks, making them both fall.

"Hey Hermione'' Tonks picked the bushy haired girl off of her. Hermione scrambled, grabbing the fallen papers and tucking them back into her arms ``you know Harrys looking for you" she handed Hermione some papers, ink slightly smudged.

"Oh really? Good I need to talk to him, in some of the books I found the mentions of horcruxes and I think somebody was doing experiments with them, it kept mentioning the " devils fire" and " the others" I don't really know what it means but Harry has destroyed more then me so he's the experts." She said in one breath, eyes wide and full of curiosity. Her hair bounced down her back, papers slowly slipping out of her arms. "I'll catch you later okay?" She smiled, starting to walk off. "I gotta go talk with Harry" her voice waved as she noticed the picture of Ron. His disappearance hit her hard, she could barely go to the burrow neverminded talk the other Weasleys but she was slowly healing, she was even going over for dinner on Sunday. Remembering her previous task she ran off, being late for her meeting.

"Did you find my baby?" Miss Chang ran up to her, hope in her eyes. Tonks barely has walked into the door before the sad lady interrogates her.

"Miss if you'd sit down?" She gestured to the couch. She hated this part of her job but no one else was willing to do it.

"But did you find her?" She clung to Tonks robes as she guided her to her seat. "You found her right? My babys okay?" Tears welled in her eyes,

"We are following up on some leads today, I promise I'll let you know what happens okay?" Tonks tried to reassure the crying woman, she has had far too many "meetings' ' with grieving families and just once wanted to give somebody good news. Cho went missing in february, snatched away from her bed no one knew who took her or where she went but because they never found a body they are going off the motion that she's still alive, even if the chances are slim.

"Sorry I'm late" Tonks sat down at the head of the table, two auras where waiting for her full aura gear, ready to go out.

"Where are we heading off too?" He asked

"I got note of an abandoned death eater hideout, it was mostly used in the first war and was used for transporting hostages in the second. Cho was moved and I believe there might be evidence there, if not for her for somebody." Tonks said in a breath, anxious for her mission.

The door creaked open, noisily scratching against the concrete floor. It echoed throughout the room, a dim light lit up a cell, blood soaking the floor beside it. A table sat beside the cell, blood dripped off of it, an axe and blood soaked chains draped over each other

"Hey boys!" Tonks froze where she stood, the voice came from the cell, sounding familiar.

"Aura Tonks show yourself" she announced, standing up straighter. Hearing the rattling of chains she stepped forward, coming closer to the cell but keeping her distance. The man shook the door, proving it was locked and rested his hands on the bars, pale skin was covered in blood, it dripped off his long fingertips, falling into the huge pool underneath, dirt matted the parts of his arms that weren't covered in blood, building up under long fingernails. Tentatively making her way over she noticed the man moved, hearing the chains clanking around,

"Are you coming?" He mocked her, the chains moved again, clanking against one another. Angry she marched forward, and held tightly in her hand wanting to tell off this man for mocking her, but the sight she saw surprised her.

There he was, thick red hair, bright blue eyes, well over 6ft and silvery scars wrapping around his arm was Ron Weasley.

"Took you long enough" he spoke to the ceiling, he was lying on his back, legs raised up against the fall and arms folded under his head. Thick chains clasped around his wrist, connecting to the ground, he laid in a pool of blood, it coated the back of his head, drenching his dirty hair. He looked as if he hadn't taken a bath in weeks, hair covered in dirt making it black, his clothes hung from him, sticking to his body and smelling of sweat, his legs where exposed, all he had on was a pair of shorts, clearly the rest of the jean had been torn off, his bright freckles were invisible under the brown and red, large purple bruises covered his skin, cuts and scrapes alongside them.

He's been considered missing, no one really knows the true date he disappeared but he hadn't been seen since he left Harry and Hermione

#ron weasley #tw: murder #tw: suidice #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: strong language #harry potter fic #yes this one is also Ron centric its all I know how to write

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doginshoe · 4 years

Text

My Kind of Trouble

For rare pairs week on @ftguildevents

I’ve never written my soft girls before and I really wanted to give it a go so I thought there was no better time. I didn’t follow a prompt and this just kinda came to me as I was listening to music so here you go!

I’m very nervous to post this, but I hope I did okay

Lisanna was eager as she walked to class, her best sun dress swishing along with the sway of her hips and paired with her favourite sandals as she entered her arts building for her first class of the semester. She had taken the time to blow dry her short white hair, the small curls at the base of her neck bouncing with the pep in her step as she held her sketchbook close to her chest.

It was an understatement to say that she was excited. She was starting university! Her first year in the course she had set her heart set on since when she was in middle school. The smile couldn’t have been wiped from her lips under any circumstances, her expression absolutely beaming.

This was it, Lisanna sang in her mind.

She had made sure everything was perfect, from her outfit to preparing her books the night before and making sure she went to sleep on time. She was determined to give the best impression to all her teachers. Mira, her sister, had always said that they were the most important and Lisanna wasn’t going to start this semester off badly. First impressions weren’t something that you could change after all and she wouldn’t mess it up - walking into her class with an air of confidence.

It had to be perfect. That was the mantra she had repeated in her head. Though, things had a way of going wrong for the white haired girl. Try as she might to avoid trouble, it seemed that trouble would always find her. No matter what.

Today was no exception.

When she sat down in her seat, her back pin straight and head held high as she waited for the session to begin, there was no way that her bright blue eyes would’ve missed the blonde that stepped into class.

She was tall, definitely taller than Lisanna. Especially in the thick black boots that she wore with a platform heel. She sported a white cropped t-shirt that exposed her stomach, dark washed mum jeans that were cinched at the waist with a tight belt that had been left hanging out of the belt loops that had the girl taking a sharp inhale. Her hair was chopped nearly at her collarbone, framing her face but overgrown bangs hung in her brown eyes that she blew up out of her face with a huff whilst she scanned the drawing class.

It took a moment for her to really process the girl in front her, lips parting slightly as they locked eyes. Then, a nauseating drop in her gut that had her feeling like she was going to drop out of her seat, which was impossible, but her hands still wrapped around the edge of the desk to keep herself grounded. Lisanna pulled her gaze down to her work quickly, the pink bloom on her cheeks already in full force before she managed to pull herself away from the blonde.

Fuck.

This couldn’t be happening she said to herself. Not to her and especially not today, but the sound of scraping metal against the floor next to her was all it took for her to confirm that it was happening.

Lisanna’s trouble wasn’t like others. There was no real danger apart from maybe potential cardiac arrest, but so far she had made it unscathed physically from all encounters. It wasn’t like some would suspect of a serial killer, being haunted by a ghost or getting thrown into rather unfavourable situations. Though, for Lisanna, she always counted it as the most unfortunate thing to befall her. Her trouble came in one form and one form only; pretty girls - and she could not think of someone prettier than the tall blonde that was now walking forward.

She wanted to slam her head against the desk, hearing the clang of pencils beside her as the blonde settled her sketchbook on the table. It was just her luck and she physically shrunk into herself, feeling suddenly exposed in the sundress she had chosen as she slowly inched away in her seat.

This was fine. Lisanna tried to take in subtle deep breaths as she heard more people come into the room. If she could just ignore the blonde sitting next to her then she could get through this. It was no big deal. Though, her trembling hands said otherwise as she crawled them against the desk to retrieve a pencil, desperately trying to hide the shake.

Every movement felt like it was echoing, like nails on a chalkboard, and she flicked nervous glances beside her to make sure she wasn’t disturbing the blonde that was sitting next to her. Yet, that was a mistake as her heart beat threatened to burst through her ribs as the girl beside her fiddled with a mechanical pencil between her long slender fingers.

She was leaned back, legs pulled apart in a lazy position while she slouched. Her skin was light and creamy, and was that a tattoo? The line work was delicate on her exposed arm, fine beautiful art etched onto the skin and Lisanna had to quickly pull her eyes away.

Double fuck.

She breathed out, masking it as sigh as she tried to desperately act normal. Or, as normal as she could as she tried to battle the nerves that were building in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she could text Mira and scream afterwards. Yes. That was a good idea. Lisanna just had to make it through the lesson that was conveniently 3 hours long.

The urge to groan threatened to slip and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep it down. Yet, her teeth slipped down to pinch her tongue and she yelped, the zip on her pencil case being thrown open as the pens rolled over her desk onto the floor. She threw herself down to grab it, but kicked her knee against the desk instead. Lisanna hissed in pain, yet quickly tried to conceal it with a cough. She had no doubt that everyone was probably looking at her. The feeling of eyes burning into the back of her head making her feel like melting in her spot.

“Are you alright?”

The soft voice brought her attention up immediately, locking eyes with the girl beside her. She was holding onto the pencil that had fallen on the floor. Her brown eyes were full of concern but her lips were quirked up into a slight smirk as she stared at Lisanna waiting for her response.

“Uh.” Her throat felt clogged, but she demanded her brain to speak. “Y-yeh. I’m. um… I’m alright. Just a little clumsy this morning I guess?”

“I see that.”

The teasing lilt to the blonde's voice set her blush flaming on her cheeks again and she gulped as she twisted her fingers togethers. “Uh, Yea-”

She stretched over to Lisanna, the pencil being handed to the white haired girl as she cut off her rambling. “Cute dress. I’m Lucy by the way.”

“Lisanna!” She tried to keep her voice down as she took in a breath before she gave an uneasy smile. “I’m Lisanna. You look… I like your boots!”

“Thank you.” Lucy’s lips twitched further up into a knowing smile. “Here.”

She pushed the pencil to her again and Lisanna fumbled slightly before she took it in her hand, careful not to drop it as she pulled back into her seat.

“Sorry,” She laughed, “I’m kind of a mess today.”

Lucy waved her hand, a grin forming on her lips. “It’s the beginning of the semester. Everyone is. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I’m not so sure about that, but thanks anyways.” Lisanna laid her hands flat against the desk, unable to fight the smile that was beginning to return to her face. She felt giddy.

The blonde opened her mouth to say something, but the teacher moved forward, casually moving from the desk as he clapped his hands together. “Alright, I think everyone should be here by now.”

He began talking, but Lisanna could barely hear him as Lucy moved back shrugging her shoulders before she winked, falling into her own seat as she settled her gaze to the front. The white haired girl suppressed a sputter, jerking in her seat and hitting the table with her knee once more. Her pencil clattered on the ground again, the sound of a soft giggle from the blonde reaching her ears and filling her with an unprecedented sense of doom.

She had to call Mira. Immediately. This was going to be a long semester.

#ftguildevents #luli #lisanna strauss #Lucy heartfilia #Lisanna x lucy #rarepairweek #rarepairs #ftrarepairs #fairy tail #fairytail #my writing #one shot #fluff #doginshoe

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weirdponytail · 4 years

Text

Modern Inheritance: Peony (Pt 3 of Torin’s Story)

(A/N: Some injury description this time, so fair warning. Also, I’m going to start putting the flower meaning in the tags. Cheers mates! Oh, and for an explanation of how Arya manages what she does in her condition, we’re just going to say adrenaline and someone waking you up from your first nap in a good long while. :3 )

Part 1 // Part 2 // PART 3 // TBC

Two weeks passed.

Torin paced down the length of the High Risk Ward for the eighty seventh time, mind floating aimlessly as he drifted from thought to thought. Only four days into his solitary post on the ward and the youth had settled into his routine. Down the empty side of the block first. Up the other side. Stop at the elf’s cell to see if she had moved. Keep walking. Rinse, repeat.

The solitude and silence had bothered him at first. Gil’ead wasn’t the most comforting of places. It was all smooth concrete flooring, grey painted cinderblock and metal plated oak doors. There was no semblance of warmth anywhere, just grey, grey and more grey.

But as the hours melted together, Torin found a certain peace in it all. It was a break from the rabble of the mess hall and the barracks, the blissful quiet he longed for every night in the group home for years. Somehow he had found that elusive quiet in the very place he hated, walking the halls of a prison for people who had no founded rhyme or reason to be there besides the word of a Shade, a tyrant King, and the blood they had no choice in having.

The thought made his steps stutter, breaking the monotony of his boots thudding the bare concrete floor. On a base where the commander could read minds, such thoughts were dangerous indeed.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about that at the moment. The General was to be gone for three days.

In the days before the General’s departure, the veteran guards split up their shifts and passed off most of their hours to the younger greenhorns in favor of spending their days in the mess hall and common rooms playing cards. The fewer rookies a ward had, the more that fell to them, and the more hours they would spend on shift apiece. Some of them loved it, raking in a modest extra pay bonus and gaining more experience on their assigned blocks. Others hated the extra load and would fake sick or push the more enthusiastic men to take on their share as well.

Torin...was not so fond of the situation. He was the only rookie on the High Risk Ward, and thus had no wiggle room to negotiate. Granted, there were only about a dozen and a half men assigned as permanent in the High Risk rotation, and only one prisoner to boot, but it was still three days of twelve hour shifts. The Captain was the only thing stopping the rest of the section from forcing Torin to work the night shift as well. Lucky bastards only had to walk the halls for two hours each and had the rest of the three days off.

So there he was, just two hours into his first shift of the three. Making endless loops of a quiet hall to guard a single prisoner. All alone. And already becoming bored out of his mind.

The youth slowed as he approached the elf’s door, a thought occurring to him that refocused his wayward mind.

The General had spent the night interrogating her again, dumping the woman in her cell a mere hour before he departed and Torin began his rounds. As always, she was unconscious, unresponsive to the world around her. Which opened

Torin stopped at the door, fiddling with the keys on his belt.

His anxiety and his curiosity were waging war in his mind. He had only ever seen the woman at a distance or through the barred window into her darkened cell. Sure, Himel had said she was an elf, and some of the other guards said she was too, but it wouldn’t be the first time they had lied about a prisoner to haze him. Hell, the first couple weeks he was on duty they had convinced him that there was a serial killer that frequently escaped in one of the cells that was boarded up. It took a month before the Captain told him it was simply boarded because there was a crack in the wall that no one wanted to fix. Just saying the woman was an elf had to be confirmed with his own eyes before he would believe it.

Torin’s hands twitched. Curiosity won.

The cell door glided inward, light from the corridor spilling across the concrete floor. Torin took one last look around to double check that the hall was clear before he cautiously stepped into the darkened room.

The first thing he noticed was that the woman was sprawled not far from the back wall, one arm folded awkwardly under her body. It looked as if the General had literally thrown her into the cell.

Torin waited, feeling tingles of unease fizzle in his ribs as he watched the prisoner. He was sure she would be unconscious, but now that he was inside with her, his exit blocked until he could fumble his keys out and get them in the lock, a voice in his mind told him to tread carefully. A chained, injured wolf was still a wolf, and all the more likely to lash out in any way possible.

He took another step inside and clicked the light at his shoulder on at the lowest intensity. She didn’t stir, still out cold from the treatment she received earlier.

More sure of his safety now, Torin crept to the woman’s side. His father, before everything happened, had told him stories about elves and Riders. To actually see one in real life was an experience he never even dreamed of. Growing up it seemed that everyone else viewed the Fair Folk as monsters and terrorists that should be exterminated, but to Torin and his sister….

No. Even with the General gone from the base, Torin didn’t dare follow that train of thought.

Torin knelt and, as gently as he could, reached out with two fingers to move aside the wild shock of hair that had loosened from the woman’s braid.

And he froze, heart juddering into the next beat. He didn’t know how– or when –she had moved, but there was no mistaking it as pain radiated up his arm.

A tawny hand was clamped, vicelike, on his wrist. From between fallen strands of dark hair, caught alight by the beam of his torch and blazing with molten malice, a dark emerald eye glowered out at him.

Once, as a young child, Torin had blundered upon a mountain lion. He had emerged from the thick woods not two meters from the creature, and in the split second that he had to realize just what he was witnessing, both lion and boy had locked eyes.

Now, years later, the same mix of surprise and terrified awe he felt in that moment reared its head again.

For a long moment, Torin just stared at the woman. The determination and venom in her glance rooted him in place. Buried deep inside his mind, something told him that staying still was the best course of action. Let her size him up, determine if he was worth the trouble of breaking his arm or not. He did his best to look as nonthreatening as possible beyond the involuntary shaking of his limbs, saucer wide eyes and the frantic pace of his pulse she no doubt could feel at his wrist.

The woman’s grip tightened.

Panic surged into Torin’s throat. While the woman’s strength had been bruising before, now it felt as though the ward’s heavy doors were closing on his arm and slowly crushing his bones. As the force increased, he realized in a state of blind fear that he couldn’t stay silent any longer.

“WAIT! Wait, please I-I’m not here to hurt you!” The youth stumbled on his words, trying desperately to explain himself as he realized what she likely assumed of his intent. “I’m not trying to hurt you, I just want– I wanted to see if– I-I’m not even into women, I just– I’m just on patrol and I wanted to know if you were really–”

He was almost crying now, shaking like mad. When he tried to speak again, tried to tell her that he only wanted to see if she was an elf, if the stories were true, something else tumbled out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry. I don’t even want to be here.”

The deathgrip on his wrist did not loosen. But it did stop the grim increase in pressure.

Torin’s chest shuddered and heaved as the woman pushed herself up onto her elbow, never once taking her smoldering eyes off him. She seemed to be reading him, right down to his core.

Then she shoved him. Hard.

The young man let out a grunt of pain as he landed and slid on his rear two meters back from the elf. And she was an elf. He was certain now, what with the disturbing strength and the pointed tips of her ears that the act of pushing him had revealed. Torin cradled the wrist she had grabbed, trying to make sure nothing was broken before snapping his head up to ensure he wasn’t about to be kicked in the face.

The elf was still glaring at him, but otherwise hadn’t moved.

Torin swallowed. The pain in his forearm and hand was fading from sharp needles of interrupted blood flow to the throbbing ache of deep bruises. Ignoring all common sense and training he had received on the ward about disengaging with aggressive prisoners, he gave the woman a shaky nod of gratitude and a tiny hopeful smile as he gestured with his injured limb. “Th-thanks. It’s not broken.”

The elf let out a soft ‘tch’ of what could have been annoyed anger at her failure to crush his bones or a snarky reminder that if she had wanted it broken then it would be. There was a tightness to her jawline as she gave him one last once over...before stiffly turning onto her opposite side and laying down with her back to him in obvious dismissal.

Torin suppressed a sigh of relief. He made to stand, shifting his weight. The sound of his boot scraping the floor made the woman twitch, drawing his attention again.

That’s when he noticed the black that seeped through the dark grey of the elf’s prison uniform. Her sides gave minute shivers that were only perceptible when she breathed in, as if struggling to hide them. He could just barely see marks on the back of her neck before they disappeared beneath her shirt, dark and splotched with the ragged texture of cracked clay.

Torin’s wary grin faded. He reached for his shoulder light and ticked the intensity up a notch. As he ran its beam down the woman’s back and then over the cell floor, walls and tiny wall mounted bunk, a mass of abject horror crept up his throat.

Everything was splashed with blood.

There were rust colored stains and smeared palm prints streaked across the cinderblocks where the elf had tried to steady herself. Shoulder-shaped swathes edged with passive lines that ended with hardened droplets where she had rested in the corner, leaned against a wall. Long stilled droplets that trailed down the sides of the hard metal bunk and hovered above dusky pools of near black.

The evidence of brutality made Torin’s stomach knot. This was…

He turned back from his survey of the room at the sound of a soft scuff and hiss in the elf’s direction just in time to see her jerk her knees up towards her chest, curling up on reflex. The youth shined his light down towards the pinpointed source of the noise– a wobbling prison issue shoe, haphazardly discarded on its side –and suddenly jerked back, face twisted in sympathetic pain.

In the beam of his torch Torin could see the soles of the woman’s feet had been stripped of anything resembling healthy skin and now revealed spongy white and angry red flesh. Sour bile threatened to overwhelm the back of his throat at the rough char marks scattered among the burns, spotted blisters and shiny exposed dermis encircling the worst of the damage.

Torin felt his body moving back of its own accord, numb to the world as his mind raced in a stream of shock. If this was the extent of the wounds he could see, what did the rest of her injuries look like? The entire back of her issued shirt was blotched and thick with blood, hinting just enough for the boy’s mind to imagine it in sickening detail. Gods above, how was she still moving? How was she still conscious, never mind not endlessly screaming in agony.

He simply couldn’t comprehend it. How could anyone do that to another creature? Inhumane didn’t come remotely close to the word he was looking for, nor did egregious, monstrous or abhorrent. Even sadistic felt a stretch too short. The General was a Shade, that was true, but never had Torin imagined the brutality the man could inflict.

With that thought came a surge of indignation at the elf’s treatment. Not just by the General, but by the other guards. The human guards.

Torin shoved himself to his feet, the usual tingle of trepidation in his hands turned to hot needles of anger as he dug his nails into his palms. How could they stand by like that? How could they just shrug their shoulders each time they brought the elf back to her cell and ignore the state she was in? How could some of them brag about joining in on beating this woman senseless day after day, after the General had already hurt her this badly? Even enemies did not deserve to be treated this way, same race or not! He would confront them, tell them that they were wrong and that what they were letting happen and doing was horrific and they should be disgusted and feel shame to call themselves living creatures to stand by and watch and–

And....

Torin shook, feeling his breathing quickened with rage and the scrunched discomfort of his shoulders hunched up around his ears. The piling of his emotions had hit all wall, a leagues high wall of the reality of the situation that nothing could surpass. It all drained away, the righteous fury and horrified clarity replaced by a welling of hopelessness and emotional exhaustion.

What could he, Torin Aldsson, rookie guard pressed into service to repay the Broddring Empire’s costs of raising him, not yet twenty years old and prone to anxious breakdowns, do? Leave the elf’s cell door open? Start a riot and attempt a heroic rescue with no exit plan or place to go? Get branded a traitor to the Crown, tortured to death and have what was left of his body hung at the base gates as a reminder to any other foolish, idealist boys who came here?

His shoulders slumped, hands falling numb and open at his sides. He couldn’t do anything. He would have to do exactly as the others did. Stand by, silent and unfeeling, and watch as another being was mercilessly tortured for not just the path she had chosen but for what she was as well.

Torin switched his shoulder light down to low again with trembling fingers. That was it then. There was...there was nothing he could do.

He turned back to the door slowly. Every fiber of his being was screaming for him to apologize to the elf for the treatment she was receiving, to do his best to dress her wounds as he learned in his secondary school nursing track and comfort her. To treat her with dignity, respect, compassion, treat her like any other sentient being as his mother and father had taught him to.

The youth swallowed hard. Each step to the door felt like a betrayal to his true self, to the ideals and tenants his family had instilled in him and the only things that he had left of his kin.

And then Torin’s eyes snagged on the tray tucked against the wall by the door.

“...I’m coming up behind you. I’m not going to do anything, I promise.” The elf tensed at Torin’s words, muscles coiling up their remaining strength to lash out. The youth kept well to the side and leaned far over, trusting his sense of balance to keep upright as he tentatively set the tray down. “Figured you wouldn’t be able to get to it over there. Here.”

He slid the tray into place beside the elf with a fingertip and yanked his arm back when she raised her head. She looked down at the tray then back up to Torin’s face, expressionless save for the fire that the boy had seen in her eyes before.

The look he had was nervous, the same unsure posture and uneasy twitching at his hands as when he had entered her cell.

There was something different this time, though. Torin couldn’t see it, but the elf could. Not that she would let on. Silent but satisfied he meant no harm, she lowered her head back down to the floor and resumed staring at the wall, refusing to acknowledge the youth’s presence any further.

The pressure in Torin’s chest eased. That she hadn’t tried to break his finger was all he needed to confirm that he was doing the right thing. He slipped out of the cell and locked the door behind him, a tiny thrill of warmth running through his mind.

Years ago, as a young child, Torin had blundered upon a young mountain lion.

It lay in a clearing deep in the woods, sides thin with starvation and the tawny fur of its leg matted with blood that oozed around the teeth of the hunter’s trap. Its eyes blazed with the icy fire of a defiant spirit contrary to its physical state. The large cat growled low as the boy had approached, but even though claws sliced parallel gouges across his shoulder Torin did not stop. He stayed, and after hours of work at the rusted mechanism and buffeting countless blows with only a discarded plank of wood for protection, the trap opened with a screeching clang.

Arm bloodied, body bruised, and knowing there would be hell to pay that spring for releasing a hunter’s catch, Torin had still smiled wide as could be as the mountain lion sprang to its feet. The creature’s burning eyes as it gave him one last glance before limping away into the gathering darkness were burned into his memory.

Torin was not someone that could stand by and do nothing. Not then, and not now. If he could not spring the elf from her prison, then he would help her in other ways.

The small rebellions had begun.

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crazytxgradstudent · 4 years

Text

If I Was Your Vampire

Author note: Okay, I decided to throw this up on Tumblr as well, at least this first chapter. There will be...inappropriate stuff happening...and I don’t know how Tumblr feels about that? Can anyone enlighten me? Until then, I'll try and post here for those who might wanna read.

This is the story of Dracula and Sarah, and it takes place over many years, so it’ll definitely be slow. And, I do love some angst, so bear with me, please ;-)

**Also, there’s a tiny bit of attempted noncon stuff in the beginning. As always, mind the tags...**

The first time I met him…

I was 15, alone in the woods with a boy who said he loved me, and I was two seconds away from participating in a sexual encounter that I was not ready for. Scared, and wanting to leave, I had pushed my boyfriend, Daniel away. My refusal meant nothing to him, though, and he moved after me, relentlessly.

“Don’t be such a tease, Sarah!” Danny, as all our friends called him, growled at me. He loomed over me again, pushing my legs back apart, and settled between.

“I said no!” I screamed in his face and kicked at him, pummeling him with my fists first, and then with the heels of my boots as I scrambled away from him. I turned over and crawled, my knees skinning, and palms scraping against the pine needles and rocks, when I was grabbed again. I screamed as I was dragged backwards, and then he was on me again. He pinned my wrists with one hand, and with the other, loosened his fly. Tears rolled freely down my cheeks, and my words were now just whispers, pleas, begging him to stop and let me go. His hands left his zipper and went to mine, and then—

“I think the girl said no, son.”

A deep voice commanded our attention, and Danny pulled back, releasing me so that he could turn around. It all happened so fast, in a matter of seconds, it seemed, as the oddly-accented voice attached to a figure slowly appeared behind Danny. Dazed, I blinked a few times to see more clearly my savior, but it was over before it happened.

The stranger winked down at me from over Danny’s shoulder, and in another breath, Danny was gone. Literally ripped from above me and disappeared to where I knew not. Whimpering, I scrambled backwards again, wanting to escape them both. From somewhere off in the darkness, I heard Danny scream, and then I heard what sounded like a gurgle, and what I would swear sounded like growls and teeth gnashing, and then it was silent. Eerily silent. Not even the insects dared make a noise, and the trees no longer swayed. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as I backed myself up against a tree, my entire body shaking and teeth chattering with renewed fear.

Moments passed, and then, from out of the darkness, the stranger reappeared, seeming to materialize out of thin air. Danny wasn’t with him. My breath caught, and my stomach roiled with a new unease at seeing some dark liquid on his face, around his lips and on his chin. I squinted to see better. Was that blood? I wanted to call for Danny, but I couldn’t get the words out. Then the stranger was there, only a few feet away. He was casually wiping at his face with some tissue or rag, which he placed back in his pocket as he made his way to me. He smiled, but just barely, his face now clean.

“Please don’t hurt me.” My voice sounded foreign, weak. As if it belonged to someone else.

He held out a hand to me. “Sarah, is it? What on earth are you doing out here with such a terrible excuse for a bedfellow?”

“How…how did you know my name?” I looked at his hand, and then back at his face. His smiled widened, and one brow arched, and I knew not to trust him.

“I deduced it from our friend, Danny. He was…quite vocal at the end.” He tilted his head, looking at me as if he were trying to make some kind of decision.

“I didn’t hear you talking.” My shaking intensified.

“I don’t need words to communicate, little one.” The stranger crouched down in front of me, his dark eyes searching my face, and he sobered. His eyes raked over me, dark and calculating. HIs head lifted, and his eyes held mine. “Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head that he hadn’t, and the man’s lips quirked up in another lazy smile.

“Very good.” He reached out, and plucked a leaf from my hair, startling me when his cold fingers brushed my ear. His eyes widened. “I won’t hurt you, I give you my word.”

“How do I know that? And what did you do to Danny?” I looked past him, to where my boyfriend had last been. The man's smile faded, but just a bit, as if I’d bothered him.

“Oh, my dear, you mustn’t worry your head over boys. Danny boy won’t be bothering you, or anyone else, for that matter. Ever again.” He stood, holding his hand out again and waggling his fingers at me. “Now come. You wouldn’t want to catch your death out here.”

I disregarded his hand and stood of my own accord, wiping the behind of my jeans off with my hand, my eyes never leaving the stranger. He was dressed very…fancy-like, was the only way I could describe it. A dark suit, with a vest underneath layered over a dark shirt, and dark, shiny shoes. What was he doing out here in the woods, dressed this way? It was almost midnight! I tried to ignore every image of every episode of every serial killer show I’d ever watched, reminding myself that that was just TV and this was real life, and everything was fine, right? It was fine! I reached back for my phone, and found it was gone. Shit.

My panic started rising again. I looked around, frantically. The lights from the cabins were so far away, who would hear me out here? Oh god...

I looked back at the stranger, and saw he was still standing there, with that look on his face, only now he was tapping a finger against his lips. I swallowed, and tugged my hoodie around my shoulders, righting it self-consciously. He looked like my dad trying to decide which fishing pole to buy from the pawn shop, only I was the fishing pole. My heart thumped in my chest. Was he a trafficker? Was I about to be kidnapped? Oh god!!

The man’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and he tilted his head as if he were listening to something. I don’t know what, because I couldn’t hear anything. My heart pounded against my ribs like a drum.

“Are you a cop?” I continued, though I somehow instinctively knew he was no cop. His silence was unnerving me, though.

“No.” He let out a breath, and placed his hands in his pockets as he stared back at me, looking very casual and very out of place. And now, very relaxed, as if whatever decision he was contemplating, he’d finally decided upon.

“Someone’s dad?” I looked around again. “The others are up at the cabin, I’m sure. They’ll come looking for my any minute.” I lied. I looked back at him. “Who are you looking for?”

His eyes intensified as he stepped closer, seeming to glow with some new light. He was now close enough that I could see the individual hairs on his chin, and the slight shadow of a beard on his jaw. The chest hair that rested at the base of his neck, revealed by the two loosed buttons of his shirt. I was scared out of my mind. He felt dangerous. Dark and brooding and…very, very dangerous. I swallowed. He reached out, and tucked a stray strand of my hair back behind my ear, and I saw from my peripheral, that his nails were long and pointed. When I looked back at him, he was doing that half-smile thing again. The hairs on the back of my neck stood, and my skin erupted with goosebumps at his words.

“I was looking for you, sweet Sarah.”

#dracula #dracula fic #bbc dracula #dracula X OFC #count dracula #dracula 2020 #dracula netflix #my fics #Claes Bang #dracula's thirst squad #Bang's thirst squad

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resplendentroses324 · 4 years

Text

Finally cooled off a reasonable amount to gather my thoughts.

THAT EPISODE WAS ABOUT TO BE SO PHENOMENAL. EVERYTHING ABOUT IT WAS GOING PHENOMENALLY.

THEN THEY CHOSE TO HAVE TWO SEASONED, PROFESSIONAL HUNTSMAN WHO /KNOW/ SALEM’S GOAL IS FIRST AND FOREMOST TO DIVIDE, FIGHT EACH OTHER INSTEAD OF TAKING CARE OF THE FUCKING SERIAL KILLER FIRST.

The 2v1 on Robyn and Qrow vs Clover? Sure, and they were actually pretty close to resolving that and everyone calming down. Even the 1v1v1 of Qrow Tyrian and Clover? SURE I GUESS Clover just HAS to make arresting Qrow a priority as well as RECAPTURING THE KILLER. But the fucking 2v1 of Tyrian and Qrow vs Clover was SO STUPID. You needed THREE HUNTSMAN to originally capture him! You’re down Robyn, WHY THE FUCK WOULD THEY HAVE BOTH QROW AND CLOVER ACTIVELY CHOOSE TO TAKE OUT THE ONLY OTHER PERSON WHO COULD FIGHT TYRIAN WITH HIM AND PROBABLY WIN.

(The rest of this post has been edited from what it once was to be a little more analytical of the characters in-show choices, but let the record show that I still HATE how the show did this and the writing was still bad for Qrow this episode. I’m reeling. Fucking TYRIAN. Seriously. )

Qrow I can KINDA understand because it’s a “do i fight both people who are trying to come at me at once or do I accept the offer to get at least one of them out of the way so I can handle the other” situation, and Clover definitely brought that on himself by refusing to stop going after Qrow.

If Qrow had given himself up to Clover he’d have been arrested and it would have left Clover to fight Tyrian by himself, but if Clover had given himself up to Qrow they could have taken Tyrian together and finished their shit later. THAT’S on Clover. Clover didn’t even give Qrow the option. Granted I’m sure Qrow could have said “you can arrest me after we deal with HIM” and then just...say sike afterwards.

Qrow’s biggest fault here is just not fucking paying attention. Qrow shouldn’t have trusted Tyrian even minimally to take out Clover without killing him. I mean did he really expect the serial killer to....not kill him?

BUT AT THE SAME TIME THO, CRWBY DIDNT HAVE TO FUCKING WRITE IT LIKE THAT EITHER. IT’S /SUPER/ BULLSHIT THAT THE ONLY OPTION THEY GAVE QROW WAS TO TEAM UP WITH TYRIAN THE FUCKING SERIAL KILLER THAT TRIED TO KILL HIM AND RUBY

Somewhat props to Qrow and Clover for trying to diffuse the situation innitially in favor of DEALING WITH THE KILLER FIRST and going to Atlas to sort things out with James. But uh, I haven’t liked Robyn since the beginning and honestly it’s her fucking fault for this by refusing to back off of Clover even though he and Qrow were ON TRACK AND WILLING to cooperate with each other to get to Atlas safely and deal with Tyrian. But she just wouldn’t give it up. I like characters, especially women, that fight for the people as much as the next guy but Robyn’s tactics (while it’s valid and necessary to resort to stealing and violence when up against oppression) has ALWAYS been to pick fights. Even when talking things out, she just has this attitude with people that she wants to pick a fight with them and it’s been super annoying. Since Clover initially wouldn’t tell her abt Amity she’s consistently been refusing to listen or hear other people out and try to cooperate even after Blake and Yang confided in her. But still when it all went to shit Clover should have given up on apprehending Qrow to, idk, FUCKING FIGHT THE KILLER.

Y’ALL WANTED TO TALK ABOUT WANTING TO BE FRIENDS SO BAD JUST FUCKING BE FUCKING FRIENDS FOR THE TWO MINUTES YOU’D NEED TO DEAL WITH TYRIAN AND THEN FIGHT EACH OTHER.

But calming down. I’m not really gonna call this one a Bury Your Gays, and while I’m as tired of it as the rest of you as a gay person, and fucking pissed that this is what they chose to do with Clover and a new relationship with some of the most potential, we all have to remember that from a hard standpoint this volume was already written and done with before we got our hands on the ship, and if they really were intending on the friends thing at first, they couldn’t just rework the volume’s whole ending to appease some tidbits that people saw between two characters. But I’m still angry, they still could have done it different. But I’m numb to it and not gonna cry over spilled milk and accuse the show writers of all kinds of bullshit because it’s not worth it. What’s done is done. I hope they do better.

But Clover was also scraping the barrel on our part for the rep, WE’re the ones that hyped him up and he was set up as a trusted loyal ally of Ironwood from the beginning and we’re all acting surprised that he made his choices.

We were all HOPING Clover wouldn’t follow Ironwood, but it’s not like we were seriously lead to believe he would, and Clover’s choice to blindly follow got him killed in an unfortunate circumstance. He walked and talked like he was completely loyal to Ironwood and if he wasn’t going to (surprise) be completely loyal to Ironwood, they would have built that hesitance and questioning up more. Fuck, MARROW was more hesitant to fight than Clover was.

That being said, what I am most upset and kind of mad about was how cruel it was for them to rescind all of Qrow’s growth and budding happiness, even if it was just in finding a good friend, one that had good luck and he didn’t really have to worry about him getting hurt by his misfortune. Someone who actually forced Qrow to see the good things he’s done and should be rewarded for when pretty much everyone has been putting him down up until now. While real life struggles like addiction ARE an on and off fight, In fiction it can get repetetive and somethings NEED to be put behind characters and resolved. If Qrow goes back to drinking Season 8’s gonna look a lot like season 6 but worse for our birb and with stakes rising and bigger fish to fry I don’t think anyone will have the patience to help him this time

100% pleased with every other part of the episode, ESPECIALLY Winter and Penny, the complexity of those two’s interactions was very intriguing and hopefully if not them, SOMEONE will fucking kill Cinder next week because she hasn’t been interesting as a villain since Volume 4. 100% pleased with RWBY vs the Ace Ops. Wasn’t expecting Elm to go off so hard. I like that RWBY has confidence in themselves and have proven they really aren’t just students or children anymore and that they can and will hold their own and they’ll win too. They’ve improved so well as fighters and I think the establishment of them as the strongest is key for why they’re the heroes of the story. If they weren’t going to end up as the best why would focus on them and not a more powerful group to oppose Cinder. AND proving that their bonds are what gave them that victory. The Ace Ops were demolished the second there was even a fraction of dissonance in them because they refused to be friends and cooperate and trust each other beyond their jobs, so their teamwork crumbled because Marrow and even slightly Vine were hesitant while Harriet and Elm were off the walls. Other than that, im maybe .5% pleased with THAT whole...Thing, ONLY because they were actually on their way to calming down and backing off before Tyrian crashed the plane.

It was 99% phenomenal and 1% bad choices but the gravity of that choice made the episode like, 20% less enjoyable than it should have been over all.

Here’s hoping that good luck kicks in and Clover still has a chance.

#rwby volume seven #rwby spoilers #ace ops #clover ebi #qrow branwen

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dresupi · 5 years

Text

‘Stairway to Heaven’ - Bucky/Darcy

Ship: Bucky Barnes/Darcy Lewis For: @dearest-winter Song: “Stairway to Heaven” - Led Zeppelin - 1971 Rating: T Length: 1070 Tags: Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parents, Car Trouble, Post Break-Up, Angst, Fluff, Language

Summary:

Darcy’s car breaks down and she doesn’t know who to call. So she calls Bucky.

Even though they’re broken up, he still hauls ass out there so she’s not alone.

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

She turned the key in the ignition, swearing each time it refused to even do so much as turn over. What had happened? And out here in the middle of fucking nowhere? She wasn’t far from Albany, like maybe forty-five minutes. But she might as well have been in BFN. And she wasn’t going to walk anywhere at this time of night.

She’d just wanted to go home. Sleep in her bed.

Her heart leaped up into her throat as she reached for the automatic locks, locking the doors at least. Her breath was already showing up in puffs in front of her face. It was cold as sin outside, with snow lightly falling to boot.

Gathering up her courage, she reached for her phone. She had to call someone. But who?

Her thumb hovered over her contacts, coming to rest over Bucky’s number more than once as she swiped through the list.

They’d broken up, but he’d always said to call him if she needed anything. Did this count as ‘anything’, or was ‘anything’ just something he said to be nice?

A car sped past her without so much as slowing down, and it gave her the burst of courage (or fear) to press the screen.

She brought the phone up to her ear, listening to it ring once… twice… three times… maybe he wasn’t available?

In someone else’s arms. Someone who wasn’t as broken as she was. Someone who knew how to be in a relationship with a man like him.

He picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?” His voice sounded muffled. Tired.

It was like three in the morning.

“Hey… Buck. It’s me.”

“Darcy?” he said, voice a little clearer. “What time… what’s the matter, doll?”

Her heart clenched at the familiar term of endearment. “Buck, I’m sorry to be calling so late...I just… my car broke down. It’s cold as fuck and I didn’t know who else to call… I’m so sorry… I…”

“Where are you?” He asked. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Highway 32 Southbound… coming from Stillwater…” she said with a ragged sigh.

“What were you doing up there?” he asked, rummaging around for something. A rustle of fabric told her he was pulling on a shirt over his head. Phone and all. “Wait, you don’t have to answer that. Sorry for asking.”

She bit her lip for a moment before answering anyway. “Visiting my Nana in the home.”

“Why are you driving back so late?”

“I couldn’t stay in the hotel, it was too hard,” she replied, her voice no more than a whisper. “Thought I could do it, but I couldn’t. Just wanted to get home. It wasn’t the same without Mom and Dad here.”

Not to mention that the whole reason she was taking 32 and not the interstate was because it was around this area that they’d had the fatal car accident that had claimed their lives last year. Hell, she’d just gotten the property sold off. Why in hell she’d thought driving up here alone was the way to go was unthinkable.

“Darce… I’d have gone with you. You shouldn’t be doing any of that alone, doll.”

“Stop calling me that,” she sputtered, sobbing into the phone as Bucky likely finished getting ready.

“Sorry, a force of habit.”

“Yeah, but I broke up with you. I don’t get the cutesy pet names any more!” she reminded him. “I don’t get your sweetness and your love. I don’t.”

“Hey. Darce. You get anything I want to give you. And I’ll always give you those things. Whether romantically or not.”

“Why though?” she asked. “Why are you being so nice? Why are you coming up here and not telling me to call an Uber?”

He sighed. “Because. You need a friendly face. And since there’s not one available at three am, mine’s gonna have to do.”

Darcy wanted to argue more, but for some reason, she didn’t. He stayed on the phone with her until she saw his headlights in her rearview mirror.

“That’s you?” she asked, just to be sure. She didn’t want her head hacked off by the highway hacker or whatever this unknown and probably made up serial killer called themselves.

“I’ll blink the lights,” he said, doing so as the headlights blinked on and off behind her. “It’s me.”

“Okay,” she said, still not ending the call until he was rapping on her window.

She unlocked it and opened it, stumbling out and into his arms. “Oh thank you for coming,” she whispered, pressing her face into his jacket and inhaling.

He was warm. Smelled familiar. Smelled safe.

But she didn’t want him thinking this was her way of getting him back. She knew he couldn’t resist a damsel in distress, but for whatever reason, she needed him knowing she was actually in need of help.

“Here, I’ll show you… it won’t start…” She sat back down hard on the seat and turned the key again. It clicked, but nothing else.”

“Probably your starter… but that doesn’t explain why it died mid-drive…” Bucky muttered, mostly to himself.

“I had to pull over…” she confessed. “I was crying and I couldn’t see the road. I turned off the car and it wouldn’t turn back on again.”

He tilted his head in sympathy. “Oh, Darcy…”

She shouldn’t want to revel and roll around in those words, but she did. She took a deep breath and shook her head. “Don’t.”

He swallowed thickly and nodded. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“What about my car?” she asked, reaching for her purse and overnight bag from the back. She pocketed the keys and locked the doors. “Should I call a tow-truck?”

He slipped an arm around her shoulder and steered her towards his waiting car. “I’ll do it in the morning, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

“Buck?” she said slowly.

“Yeah?” he asked, still walking her over to the car, so she stopped, her feet scraping in the tiny gravel on the shoulder of the road.

She wanted to say so many things. Like, “Please give me another shot. I know I’m a mess, but I’ll try harder this time. I shouldn’t have left, I need you.” But something told her now wasn’t the time.

“Thanks for coming,” she whispered meekly.

“Doll, anytime you need me, I’m already halfway there,” he said, reaching for the car door.

#Wintershock #Darcy Lewis #Bucky Barnes #Darcy/Bucky #Bucky/Darcy #70s song prompts #dearest winter

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zenonaa · 5 years

Photo

Read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18444209

Comments: Commissioned by @matrioshka a while back. Thank you for your patience!

***

Aloysius Pennyworth came from a family of butlers. His father had been a butler, and his father’s father had been a butler, and so on, back through generations upon generations. Though Aloysius had admittedly been somewhat unruly in his early years, mixing with the wrong crowds and at one point getting acquitted of a double murder, he didn’t regret returning to his roots and dedicating the rest of his life to assisting others as a butler.

In any case, being a butler could be just as eventful as being a gang member, especially when one was the head butler of a fourteen year old billionaire.

The door to Byakuya Togami’s bedroom opened, leading into a space that could fit a bungalow inside of it. Such a large room was necessary, after all, as Byakuya required a place that could accommodate all of his possessions, like his piano, violin, pool table, king-sized bed, computers and books upon books upon books, just as a few examples. Everything was neatly arranged on a dark wood laminate flooring bordered by off-white walls. Byakuya’s mother had instructed that the room be furnished with warm hues and wooden accents, but the potted plant in one corner had been Aloysius’s idea. A nice splash of green.

On the other side of the room, Byakuya sat at his desk, and on hearing the door, he turned around on his swivel chair with his hands steepled. Aloysius approached, revealing his withered face to the other, and strode forward with his pale blue eyes fixed on Byakuya.

He stopped a short distance away.

“You wanted me?” asked Aloysius, holding his hands down in front of himself.

Byakuya gave a nod and turned his chair back around so he faced his computer again.

“I need you to sign up for an eBay account so I can buy something from it,” Byakuya told him.

Here lay a pause.

“e...Bay?” repeated Aloysius slowly, drawing his face into a frown that added more wrinkles. “I think I’ve heard of that. It’s a dating website, is it not?”

“What? No. It’s not.” Byakuya’s brow creased, and talking matter-of-factly, he explained, “It’s a website that deals with auctions and consumer to consumer sales. I wish to purchase something on the website that someone is selling.”

Aloysius raised his eyebrows a little.

“What is stopping you?” he asked.

Byakuya pursed his lips.

“Age,” he replied.

At his young age, barely in his teens, Byakuya had amassed a vast amount of money, not just from his family but from his own ventures too. It couldn’t, however, buy some things, such as years that he could add to his age right now so he could legally sign up to an American multinational corporation.

Aloysius studied Byakuya’s earnest face.

“This sounds important,” said Aloysius seriously. “What is it that you wish to buy?”

Byakuya didn’t hesitate for even a second.

“Genocider Syo’s scissors,” said Byakuya.

Ah, yes. That unidentified serial killer murdering all those men. Their scissors. Aloysius stooped down and pulled out his reading glasses from his shirt pocket. He put them on and squinted at the screen.

“You may need to assist me in signing up,” said Aloysius, resting a hand on the back of Byakuya’s chair.

“Fine. Let’s do it now, before someone else buys it,” Byakuya demanded, and Aloysius watched him open up the necessary tabs on his internet browser.

Now, Aloysius wasn’t the most tech-savvy person but he could work a computer, and he had an email address, though he let Byakuya fill in a form using Aloysius’s personal details. Besides, Byakuya could type faster anyway, and Byakuya only paused when he came to a box asking for a password for the account.

“You choose something,” said Aloysius. “I don’t think I will be using the site for myself, so it’s not important that I remember it.”

Byakuya flexed his fingers. A multitude of passwords were available, yet that abundance of choice made it harder to choose just one. He scraped his teeth against his lips in thought and after some deliberation, he typed in a certain star from a constellation, with various symbols and numbers thrown in that would only mean something to him... and Aloysius.

With a final click on the mouse, the page on the screen changed, now showing a lot less text, and Byakuya straightened up.

“You will have a confirmation email in your inbox,” Byakuya informed him. “You need to click a link in it. Then I can start using the account to shop.”

“I shall open it swiftly,” said Aloysius. He stepped back and asked, “Would you like a snack?”

“Coffee and kołacz,” said Byakuya, still facing his computer.

“As you wish.”

Aloysius bowed then left the room. Byakuya opened the tab with the auction page again and stared at the photograph of the scissors. There had been a few bids placed on it, but he planned to forego that tedious process and purchase them at a certain high price. After he bought them, all he had to do was wait for them to arrive.

And that he did.

They took four weeks to be delivered to this mansion. Not ‘his’. ‘This’. The Togami Conglomerate owned several around the world, of course, and the mansion he currently lived at was the one closest to his private school. While he waited for it, Byakuya went about his usual things. Attending classes, participating in extra lessons at home, reading through cold cases, playing on the stock market, attending meetings with other billionaires and listening to aspiring businessmen pitch him possible investments... the usual sort of thing.

Hearing someone rap on his door, Byakuya uttered a curt, “enter,” and the door to his room opened. Aloysius came in with a box. It was paper brown with a sticker slapped onto it.

“I assume that this is your order,” said Aloysius, walking over. “For the past week, I have had emails from the eBay website telling me to leave feedback. It has been quite persistent.”

Aloysius handed the package to Byakuya, who picked away at it until he got it open. He extracted the contents slowly. Swathed in thin layers of foam paper were the scissors, presumably, though he could only feel the general shape of them for now, and he pried the wrapping apart to get to what was inside.

His eyes widened a bit. They looked like scissors. Custom-made scissors, to be precise, with large, curved finger rests. At some point, they must have been cleaned, because there weren’t any blood stains on them. None that he could see, at least.

While Byakuya examined the scissors, Aloysius spoke again.

“I know I said that I doubted I would be using the website for myself, but I was looking at it today and there is a seller who stocks doilies enmasse that have taken my fancy,” confessed Aloysius.

Byakuya didn’t reply, still inspecting the scissors. Aloysius tilted his head to one side.

“Young master?” he said curiously.

“Capital P, Polaris, exclamation mark, hash, lower case B.T. comma, the number thirteen,” said Byakuya in monotone without lifting his gaze. He heard Aloyisus’s footfalls gradually recede until the door shut as Aloysius made his exit.

As for Byakuya, he leaned back in his chair and turned the scissors over in his hands.

Somewhere, in the world, was the original owner. A serial killer who eluded authorities, time and time again. Even the prestigious Kirigiri family of detectives failed to identify who Genocider was. Byakuya thought, if he had access to all the information that the police had about that killer, he would have been able to solve the mystery. Yet, despite being heir to the Togami family, he had been denied access, and when he made a request to his father, his father sent a message demanding that ‘the heir’ not waste time on such matters.

He stroked the scissors with his thumb gently, having only seen them before now in the photo on the seller’s page and in grainy images that he managed to obtain of the crime scene from the dark web.

G.S. was engraved into the upper blade of the scissors.

“Genocider Syo,” he said to himself quietly, and he promised himself that he would be the one to unmask the killer.

It would start with these scissors.

***

The scissors remained in his possession for the next several years. Most of the time, they stayed in a sliding drawer storage box with a matte laminate surface, black and sleek, which Aloysius bought him for one of his birthdays. When he pulled the scissors out, he would study them for a while, trying to imagine their owner. Some internet sleuths theorised that the killer was a ‘he’ and either a high school student or a college student, and they would post photographs of people they thought Syo could possibly be, some dead, some not.

All of them turned out to be wrong.

Byakuya found that out personally.

“Those ain’t mine!”

He flinched. The girl standing opposite him, a head shorter, pierced him with her bright eyes. She grinned as she waved the scissors bought all those years ago that turned out to be fake. Fraudulent. Counterfeit. Never having once belonged to Genocider Syo, or even a lesser known serial killer.

And this girl would know... after all, she was Genocider Syo.

Keeping to his word, and though it took him years, Byakuya learned the identity of the murderer dubbed Genocider Syo. However, the discovery had not turned out like he anticipated. He hadn’t expected to be locked up in a school with fourteen other students, and he hadn’t expected a visitor, a stuttering girl with owl-eye glasses, a shifty gaze and a hunched posture, to come into his room and tell him that she had an alter who was the person who had captured Byakuya’s attention for many, many, many hours.

Her coming to his room? Understandable. That girl followed him around everywhere. But to tell him that she shared a body with a serial killer? Even he felt like she wrenched a rug from beneath him.

The aforementioned alter stood in front of him and flicked her long tongue that always seemed to hang out of her mouth. She tossed the fake scissors that he presented to her over her shoulder. They landed on her bed.

Syo had shown off her actual scissors earlier, during the last trial orchestrated by their captor, an anthropomorphic bear, and she did so again now, taking a set from the leather pouch affixed to her thigh. Her eyes gleamed as she brandished the scissors, her scissors, a thumb and a finger tucked through the metal rings.

“I told you, but in case you don’t want to look up the exact quote, to summarise, all my scissors are handmade,” said Syo. She tipped her head to one side, leaving a beat of silence, and furrowed her brow. “Except the first set. I stole those from a store the same night I murdered that bit character in Shikoku, only for Gloomy to hide them. So I had to make my own from then on, right?”

Byakuya let her continue uninterrupted.

“I didn’t want to keep stealing them,” Syo explained, and she folded her arms over her chest, suddenly sombre. “I’d be like Bobby Leach, doing all that crazy shit and then slipping on an orange peel and dying. If I’m gonna hit the big house, it’ll be for murder, not for stealing, so I made my own, yeah? Like Akina Nakamori has her huskiness, I have my cute trademark too!”

A wide grin lit up her face and obnoxious laughter burst out of her. Byakuya’s eardrums twinged and he shot a glare at her. The first person she mentioned was a British stunt artist from the early twentieth century and the latter person, Byakuya didn’t know, but he assumed she was a celebrity. An idol or an actress. That kind of person.

He slowly pushed up his glasses, not breaking eye contact. After so long, he had Genocider Syo in front of him, and this opportunity to talk to her wouldn’t last. In this mutual killings scenario, there would only be one winner, and so she would perish along with the rest of their supposed classmates. Either she would be killed, or she would kill.

With this in mind, he had come to her room. She wouldn’t be able to get away with murdering him if he was killed here, where she would be the first suspect.

Well, she could still kill him, but he liked a little danger sometimes.

Byakuya just wished she would stop getting sidetracked.

“They’re fake, but those scissors you got are initialled... That’s real corny!” Syo threw her head back and laughed again, clutching her sides. When she flushed that out of her system, she fixed her eyes on him, smirking. “I didn’t come up with the name. Saw it in the papers first and it struck a chord. Until then, I didn’t have a name and had to use Gloomy’s.”

“The police were under the assumption that you were male,” Byakuya told her, watching as Syo swayed restlessly.

He wished she would keep still too. Everything about her gave him a headache.

“That’s because the police are morons, but can you blame them?” she said. “My parents and even the doctor who held me up like I was a cartoon lion when I was shit out of someone’s vagina thought I was a boy.”

She stopped rocking from side to side and eyed him.

“But Gloomy’s a girl, wouldn’t you say?” she added.

“Undeniably,” said Byakuya without having to think.

Syo studied him some more.

“Seems like you’re a real big fan of me,” she said. She raised her scissors, opened them, then shut them again. Her grin broadened, full of teeth. “I can imagine you bent over your desk, pictures of my work all around you, one of your hands on the edge of your desk and your other hand underneath it, blanking your blank!”

Byakuya felt a jolt. His chest clenched. This woman had no filter at all. He glowered and spoke through his teeth. “Whatever you’re insinuating is incorrect.”

“Never said it happened! Just that I can imagine it,” she chirped as she wiggled her chin at him. She smacked her hands onto her cheeks. “Gloomy’s not the only one with a boundless imagination! How about instead of this stuffy interview, we get to the chase! You want to know about my crimes? How about we reenact it? You would look so cute on my wall! I don’t normally do this, but I could even give you a BJ! It’s the stuff of fanfictions!”

His face grew hotter. “We will not do that at all,” he said, his voice cracking as he raised it despite his efforts to not show any heightened emotion around her.

Only she could get under his skin like that. Not even the mastermind managed it like Syo did. And oh how he hated it. The difference between Touko and Syo was stark. While Touko mumbled and fidgetted and had a passion for novels, romance and classics in particular, Syo squawked and danced about and seemed like the sort of person who spurned novels and drooled over trashy yaoi.

“Saving yourself for marriage?” she said, simpering, and she flumped back onto the bed. “Or did no one ever teach you how to get dirty? I guess because your dad’s seed got planted up your lady in a lab, he never learned. Bet he was a virgin.”

Byakuya hesitated. It was true that his mother had been artificially inseminated with his father’s sperm in a private Togami-owned clinic. This was something that he didn’t go around telling anyone, even her, as if that would have deterred her from her advances.

But she also used past tense, like he stopped being a virgin, or he died.

He pinched his lips together. Whatever. Most could have come to the same conclusion as her.

“You’re so hot even when you’re pulling faces!” she crowed in delight, and she drummed her heels against her bed. “Argh, do me do me do me, Byakuya-sama!”

Syo hugged herself, shuddering. He refused to dignify any of that. She settled down a bit. Her eyes flitted to him.

“You got any other questions for me, Byakuya-sama?” she asked.

“Why did you start killing people?” he said, peering over at her and not approaching the bed. “Your victims are all men. You said they were attractive, but is that really it?”

“Eh? Why does an artist paint? Why does a singer perform?” she retorted, like talking about the weather or something equally mundane. “Why does a sister dedicate herself to her twin sister even if she’ll get stabbed in the back or skewered by spears in the end? It’s a feeling. Passion.”

Byakuya tried to speak, to request her to elaborate, but Syo sat up and talked over him.

“Hey, hey. You’re an interviewer. A sexy interviewer, but an interviewer all the same, not a freaking psychiatrist,” she said firmly. “It’s who I am, okay? Some people are born with red hair, and some are like me, killers.”

Syo motioned toward herself. He stared at her.

“There is no one like you,” he told her plainly.

She didn’t react at first. Then she snorted and flailed happily.

“Aw, you’re making me blush! You’re overthinking it, Darling.” Syo steadied herself, and while she still grinned, there was an edge to it. “Listen, if I wanted to tell my life story, I’d go to that sister of yours, Shinaboo-boo the bear.”

He inhaled through his nose but otherwise betrayed nothing. To name his half-sister like that... a half-sister that he didn’t make public knowledge... how could she...?

“Though, she’d probably change some facts, right?” remarked Syo thoughtfully, tapping herself on the chin. “It’s not beneath her. Whatever it takes to uphold the family name. Skip over all the killing, and maybe not mention you being Polaris. Some people would get real mad, trust me.”

Byakuya widened his eyes and let slip a small gasp.

“How do you know that?” he asked. He never told anyone about that. He never would. Especially not someone he had only read about, otherwise a near stranger. A serial killer.

She laughed.

“Tell me!” he demanded, louder.

Syo laughed more, shaking, then tipped her head forward with that same, same grin.

“You think I’m in a glass case on display,” she said. It could have been a question, but he doubted she meant it to be one. “Maybe I am. And you can see in, but I can see out, y’know?”

“What?” he said heatedly, raising his fists. “I don’t have time for your inane metaphors. How do you know this about me?”

“You don’t remember?” she asked, and he really did not. She resumed her laughter and realising he wouldn’t get anything more out of her, he left her room, feeling like he knew less than he did before.

***

How she knew about what she said to him became clear within the next few weeks. Painfully clear. The whole Togami Conglomerate... had been wiped out. Murdered. Byakuya didn’t feel emotional loss from that. Never had. For people with families, he supposed, they might feel saddened, and while the conglomerate had his surname and people he shared DNA with, like his father, he didn’t consider any of them family. Just business associates. People would call him heartless for only being concerned that a group he considered strong, the strongest, had been annihilated, and not because his father begged for his life on live television before being shot by an imposter dressed as his biological son.

Byakuya’s fiancée put it best when the conversation once came up during lunch and Aoi Asahina asked him about his lack of emotion. He wasn’t the one who was heartless - everyone around him while he grew up had been.

At that point, Byakuya and his now soon-to-be wife hadn’t been dating. Back then, Byakuya wouldn’t have believed that he would plan to marry someone not chosen for him by someone else, like his mother had been chosen to marry his father because of Byakuya’s accomplishments. Had someone told him years ago that he would have chosen his own wife because he cared for her in a way that he, at the time, mocked and scoffed and considered to be a weakness beneath him, he would have blanked out their existence for the rest of his life as they clearly had nothing of worth to say.

How things changed.

He adjusted his tie, staring at his full length mirror, and heard the door open.

“There you are! I knew if I followed the scent of sex, I’d find you!” came a voice behind him.

His reflection grimaced.

And how some things didn’t change. He held in a sigh and looked over his shoulder. Just as expected, there was Syo, dressed in a satin purple nightdress. She sat down heavily on their bed, one leg crossed over the other, vibrating with energy.

Byakuya regarded her coolly.

“Is the stove on?” he asked.

“Dunno!” she said with a shrug. “Didn’t check. I think Gloomy was adding pepper to breakfast and got a whiff of it, or something. So here I am! Da, da, da!”

She threw out her arms, beaming.

It had probably been switched off then. Syo focused on him.

“What’s with the suit? It’s even sexier than usual,” she said playfully as she stretched out her legs.

He frowned and turned around completely to face her.

“Did you think to check the calendar? It’s the day of the wedding,” he said.

The amused glow on Syo’s face dimmed. Surely, she must have known. In the past, Syo and Touko hadn’t shared memories, but with support and therapy, they had learned to do something called co-fronting, or they could be aware of what was going on while the other fronted at the least.

“That thing,” she stated in monotone, and Byakuya had a suspicion that she had known the whole time. She forced herself to perk up, but it was like she had two lights in her and only one was turned on. “Why don’t we bail on that stuffy show and have some fun? Just you and me... and maybe Hiro-kun. God, you need to get hotter friends.”

His expression didn’t soften.

“I’m not skipping the wedding,” said Byakuya. “You know that.”

Syo groaned and flung her head back.

“Bor-ring!” she said loudly. “Weddings are boring!”

“I’m aware of your feelings, but you’re not getting married,” he said. “I’m marrying Touko.”

She kept her head angled back and pouted.

“You’re going to want me to switch out, aren’t you?” she asked, and he didn’t answer. Her head snapped forward and she beckoned to him with her hand, her lips twisted tightly. It could have been a smile, but Byakuya doubted it. “Well, if you give me a good fuck, I might consider it!”

He narrowed his eyes. “Syo.”

Her face sobered. She clicked her tongue and hunched her shoulders, turning her head away.

“I can see you’re not gonna be swayed,” she grumbled, and she slouched even more. “Ugh, you’re lucky that Gloomy loves you so much, because I’d have killed you by now otherwise.”

Byakuya inclined his head to one side. Syo’s eyes were averted away from him.

“You have claimed that you and her share feelings,” he noted. “But... I wonder, if that’s really it?”

She tensed, still not looking. “Eh?”

He cupped his chin.

“I’m wondering if you have come to care about Touko,” he said. Syo twitched and shot him a cold look.

“Care? Listen, I’ve never hated Gloomy, even though she barely tolerates me. Most of the time, she hated my guts...” She slapped a hand against her cheek, pretending to swoon, but she spoke harshly. “Oh, Genocider has killed my crush, oh woe, woe... Can I really be blamed though? I’m a ruthless stone cold killer! It’s like telling a baby not to cry!”

“You’ll probably find that a lot of people blame you,” he deadpanned.

Her brow quirked.

“You’re arguing back?” she said. His face didn’t quiver.

“I’m just saying,” he told her, and she lowered her gaze.

The room fell silent. Syo twiddled her thumbs, kicking her legs gently over the side of the bed. Seeing her like this, contemplative and reserved, reminded him more of Touko than of Syo, though Touko’s confidence had improved a lot since they first met. She hadn’t styled her hair this morning and it was unruly around her, not yet tamed into one or two braids, but her signature glasses sat on her nose.

Usually, Syo wasn’t hard to read, blurting any and all thoughts as they entered her head, but right now, Byakuya could only guess what thoughts passed through her mind as she stared intently into space.

“Tell me,” said Byakuya, watching her closely, “did you hate yourself?”

Syo blinked. Wavered. Looked at him. “What?”

“If you share emotions, such as your love for me, then when she hated you, did that mean you hated yourself?” asked Byakuya.

She looked away again. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?”

“It just doesn’t!” Syo snarled, stomping a foot. Byakuya’s features gave a calm tremble like someone blew gently on his face. “I love being me! Why wouldn’t I?”

Her eyes blazed with an inner fire.

“Anyway, I thought I was the cute ditz!” Syo hissed, thrusting out her chin. “You’re getting sidetracked. I said I was going to let you get married. That’s what’s convenient, right? I’m sticking around for plot points, and then - ”

She trailed off. Some of her fervour ebbed away, and she balled her hands into fists.

Byakuya frowned.

“You know, you don’t have to be ashamed of caring for someone,” said Byakuya quietly.

Syo went slack, then cringed. Obviously, she heard what he said, but she abstained from answering him. That didn’t stop him from talking though.

“I was of a similar mind to you,” he told her. “I thought caring for someone was a weakness to be exploited...”

Byakuya walked over to her. He tucked his fingers under her chin and pushed up. Syo’s brow puckered as their eyes met.

“... but thanks to your alter, I know it doesn’t have to be that way,” he finished. “And I can’t say that you don’t get some strength from your feelings either. I heard that it gave you strength to back down from your chase of Monaka Towa, not just your love for me but your friendship with Naegi’s sister too.”

The tension in her face didn’t subside. Byakuya lowered his hand and stepped back. She touched her chin, feeling where he had held her. A faint blush dusted her cheeks.

“Tch,” clucked Syo, and she dropped her hand from her face. Very pointedly, she trained her eyes on her lap. “You’ve lost your edge, Darling.”

“Judging by your sudden meekness, I think I’ve still got it,” he said, feeling a smirk rise to his face.

“I should kill you,” she said in a light tone, still not making eye contact.

His eyes widened a bit.

“Do it,” he said, just as hushed.

With lightning reflexes, she whipped out a pair of scissors from the holster she still wore on her thigh. Before he could apprehend what was happening, she had him pinned to a wall and she held the blades of her scissors to his neck.

Byakuya breathed slowly, staring, and she stared back. With a tiny bit more pressure, she could nick him. Get him to bleed a little. Squirm.

Time crawled by. The scissors declined and eventually fell to her side without making a single mark on him. Syo aimed her gaze at his chest. Not at his eyes.

“Do you want to see the dress?” he asked casually, like she hadn’t tried to kill him. Because she hadn’t. They both knew that.

Syo gave a stiff nod and shrugged. He stepped past her and crossed over to the wardrobe, feeling her eyes burn into the back of his neck as opened it and revealed the dress. The white textured bodice had a sweetheart neckline with ruffled off-shoulder sleeves and a lace cape decorated with silhouettes of butterflies, and the same fabric as the cape was used for the outer layers of the skirts, reaching far enough to end at the feet.

“Western, eh...?” said Syo, craning her neck a little. “Just like in movies. I knew it. Gloomy’s so predictable.”

“Do you want to try it on?” he asked.

She recoiled. Hard. Jerked her head back.

“W-What?” she barked, and she couldn’t even pretend to laugh. Her shoulders shook like she was laughing though. “Aren’t you worried I’ll get blood on it? Though, it could do with a bit of colour, don’t you think?”

Syo ended her question with a grin. He didn’t reply, waiting for her to answer his offer properly, and she noticed. Her smile slid off.

“I told you, marriage ain’t my thing!” she huffed. “It’s Gloomy’s!”

Byakuya didn’t respond still. She rolled her eyes and exhaled loudly.

“Alright, I’ll humour you,” she groused. “Geez.”

Neither laughed though. He helped her into the dress and once it was on her, he stepped back and let her examine herself in the mirror. Syo didn’t speak, barely moving save for pushing back a bit of hair, adjusting her glasses, wringing her hands. Little restless fidgets like that. They shared the same body, but for the first time, Syo’s mannerisms were like that of Touko. For the first time, Syo looked like Touko.

“It’s girly...” Syo muttered.

“That’s your gender, isn’t it?” he said, unable to take his eyes off her.

“Hell if I know.”

Syo scrutinised her reflection for a while longer, strangely quiet, until finally she turned to Byakuya and hiked up her skirts. He knew what she was searching for, and indeed, she found the leather pouch of scissors like he expected, but then she fiddled and removed the pouch completely.

Then, stranger still, she held it out to him, as if she wanted him to -

“ - take them,” she said.

Byakuya peered at the pouch, at a loss for words.

“Listen,” said Syo, strengthening her grip. The pouch creaked in her hand. “A long time ago, I made a promise to Naegi. I said that I wouldn’t kill again if I could be with you. You’ve always been different, Darling. Gloomy has had her fair share of crushes on boys and girls, but you... her feelings go deep.”

Therefore, Syo’s ran deep.

“Like the chocolate coating at the bottom of a glass that held ice cream milkshake,” she added, whatever that meant, but Byakuya thought he understood.

She jiggled the pouch, as if reminding him to take them from her, but he didn’t budge.

“I mean, who can blame her?” said Syo, trying not to smile but failing. A thin one oozed out. “You’re fit. Hot. You’re really smart, but other times, you’re really dumb but it’s always in a cute way. You’re fun to tease, especially when you scowl, and...”

He grabbed her shoulder suddenly. Syo tensed, and before she had chance to process what was happening, he leaned in.

Her breathing suspended as he pecked her lips. Their glasses clacked together.

“If you just shared feelings with Touko, you wouldn’t have been able to say that,” he said as he straightened, feeling his face burn.

Unlike when she said lewd things, however, it wasn’t so bad this time. Syo had her own unique charm that excited him like no other, unpredictable and captivating even now. His heart skipped as he gazed at her.

“Also... thank you for taking care of Touko, all this time,” he said, hollowing his cheeks as he tried not to smile. He failed, much like she had.

She blinked, then laughed that grating laugh of hers and rubbed her knuckles against her eyes.

“Wow, you worried about stinking or something?” she said. “You’ve put on enough deodorant for both of us. It’s making my eyes sting.”

A snort escaped her.

“Yep, I definitely hate weddings. Too mushy. I think I’ll let Gloomy take over,” she said, almost babbling. “You shouldn’t see the bride in her dress before the wedding, you know. I better go take it off.”

Before he could reply, Syo hurried into the bathroom and shut the door behind herself. Byakuya stayed where he was.

There was a sneeze from inside.

“W-What’s going on?” asked Touko, rustling. “Why am I crying?”

Apparently, Syo had chosen to front by herself.

“You’re getting changed. Our friends should be here soon to do your makeup and hair,” he said calmly, used to having to fill in blanks for them.

“Oh, okay,” she said, faltering a bit, still confused. “Thank you, Darling.”

He smiled, adjusted his glasses and left the bedroom. Once through the door, he gave his eyes a quick wipe and headed for the stairs.

They had a wedding to prepare for, after all.

#syogami #togafuka #danganronpa #byakuya togami #genocider syo #syotogafuka #sfw #fanfiction #touko fukawa #aloysius pennyworth #one shot #i actually had most of this written some time ago #but i took a break to focus on tofu week

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lenaisanerd · 5 years

Text

so that post about delivery people

@lynne-monstr made a post. a post about delivery people. i wrote a fanfic (it’s rlly more of an excuse for outsider pov) 2000 years later. enjoy! (thx to @disaster-lesbiab and @raisehades for editing <3)

Trevor cursed as one wheel of a trolley, loaded with heavy crates, rolled over his foot. Wearing steel toed shoes may have kept his toes from being crushed like grapes, but it hurt anyway.

“Ow, fuck! Watch where you’re going, idiot!”

The idiot, Georgie, mumbled an apology, then went back to leaning against their truck and looking at his phone. I swear, this job would be easier if I locked him in the truck and just did the deliveries on my own, Trevor thought but didn’t say. Who knew what his bosses would make of a Black kid showing that much ‘’unfounded aggression’’ towards his white colleague? Even if said colleague was, in fact, about as competent as a piece of wonderbread.

Trevor rolled his eyes. “Come on man, let’s go. We haven’t got all day.”

He pushed the trolley across the street towards the apartment building while Georgie slouched along behind him, but at least ran out to hold open the door. The lobby was elegant, decorated in dark tones and wood, with marble floors. There was an old-fashioned little booth for a doorman on the right hand wall, but it was empty. They got on the elevator, which was one of the only things in the lobby that looked like it was built this side of the turn of the millenium. As the doors began to close a hand shot out to hold them open. Trevor flinched. He was fairly certain the lobby had been empty just a second before.

“Sorry”, said the hand’s owner as the doors slid open again and he stepped inside. He looked… nice. Definitely not intimidating. But something about him was off. It was hard to pinpoint, but every time he looked at the guy a cold shudder ran down Trevor’s spine. His skin looked cold, lifeless almost. When he noticed the other men staring, he half-smiled at them. He had very sharp teeth.

“Going up?” he asked, motioning to the buttons.

Trevor swallowed. “I mean, this is the ground floor, so yeah.”

“Oh, right,” the guy replied sheepishly. He pushed the button for the penthouse and shifted his stance, fiddling with his headphone cord.

It was like riding the elevator with a shark. Trevor felt watched, observed. He imagined the man’ eyes digging into his back. The gaze of an apex predator. His heart hammered in his chest, he felt cold sweat on his neck. This is it, he thought, this guy is a serial killer. I’m gonna die in this fucking elevator, and the last person I see will be Georgie. One glance at Georgie told him that he wasn’t holding up much better. He probably would have started running already if that hadn’t just resulted in a spectacular crash into the wall of the elevator.

The ding of the elevator reaching its destination made him flinch again. Serial Killer Man (the world’s most terrifying superhero?) stepped out first, heading down the hallway, and ringing the doorbell for Penthouse I.

All of a sudden the strange terror Trevor had felt in his presence dissipated. He felt like he could breathe again. He took a moment to blink and shake his head, then he helped Georgie maneuver the trolley down the hallway and they came to a stop behind and next to Serial Killer Man (It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s a really creepy guy you think is going to murder you!).

The door opened and a scowling, but admittedly very handsome, face poked out. The expression softened when the guy spotted serial killer man, then immediately turned to worry when he saw Trevor, Georgie, and the copious amounts of hard alcohol.

“Simon, hey’’, scowly man said. “Thanks for coming.’’

“Of course’’, serial killer man replied softly. “Is it– how, uh. How’s he holding up?’’

Scowly sighed heavily. “Pretty well, I guess, considering–” he glanced at Trevor and Georgie,”...uh. Stuff.’’ He made a vague, all-encompassing gesture.

“Can I…?” Serial Killer Man asked.

“What? Oh, sure.” Scowly face opened the door a bit wider to let him slip past into the penthouse. Trevor used his chance to get out his pen and clipboard and stick them both into Scowly’s face. Which wasn’t that easy, because the guy was very much on the tall side.

“Sign here please.”

Scowly glanced behind himself, into the loft, then back at the bottles on the trolley. His expression darkened. Very quietly, to himself, he said, “I didn’t know he was drinking this much.” Trevor felt a pang in the pit of his stomach. One of the downsides of delivering to people’s homes was that you sometimes got way too involved in the personal tragedies of your customers. And he always wanted to help, to do something, but what was a delivery guy gonna do? He was just there to get a signature and then fuck off.

Scowly man sighed again. “Guess you can’t really take this stuff back, right?” Trevor shrugged in a way that hopefully conveyed both how sorry he was about that, but that it would also cause him rather a lot of trouble he’d like to avoid.

Scowly man signed reluctantly. Trevor and Georgie started to unload the boxes from the trolley, but Scowly bent down and picked one up like it weighed no more than a carton of milk. Normally, Trevor couldn’t carry one of those by himself, and he wasn’t unfit. The guy seemed like he worked out, but this was just excessive. He didn’t even break a sweat. In about ten seconds the boxes had disappeared behind the door. Scowly was just about to close it when Trevor held out a small flyer.

“I don’t wanna be rude, but uh. If your roommate”– more scowling–”brother”–scowls for days–”boyfriend”–ah, that’s the ticket– “if your boyfriend wants to, you know. Get help.”

The man eyed the AA flyer sceptically. “I don’t think this is a problem mundane meetings can solve.” Huh? “Thanks, anyway.” He tucked the flyer in his pocket. “Have a good day.”

The door clicked closed. Trevor shook his head. What a fucking weirdo this Bane guy must be. Lucky in the boyfriend department though.

The building at High Street Station had a really fancy elevator. That was the first thing Nina noticed, anyway. Makes sense if you think about it, she thought. You gotta have some cash to get groceries delivered every week. She shifted the cardboard box in her hands to rest on one hip and dug her phone out of her coat pocket. Penthouse 1. So a lot of cash. It was early afternoon, and she guessed she would meet the help instead of the residents. Which was fine by her, the staff was usually much nicer to a Hispanic college student in her first week on the job, who still dropped her signing stylus 90 percent of the time. But the few rich people she did meet varied wildly on a scale from boring and snooty to eccentric and weird. She was curious where Mx Penthouse 1 fell.

Ding. Nina stepped out of the elevator, her steps muffled by thick carpeting, and knocked on the door. The hallway was quiet, but after her ears adjusted she could make out faint sounds coming through the door. A clanging, like metal on metal, dull thuds, a roaring like strong wind. Someone shouting. Heavy boots approaching the door. Nina involuntarily took a step back. The door opened just a crack and a guy, early 20s, blonde hair disheveled, poked his head out. He was breathing hard, and– was that blood on his forehead? A scrape, definitely fresh.

“What!” he demanded.

Nina was dumbstruck, torn between giving him the finger and calling the cops. That forehead wound looked nasty, and she suspected he didn’t bump his head getting out of the shower. Instead she stuck out the box.

“Uhh, delivery for M. Bane.”

Another series of clangs and roars from behind him. A girl’s voice called out “Hurry the fuck up, Jace!” Blondie turned to look back, then accepted the box.

He was about to close the door in her face when she managed to dig out her stylus and phone.

“Sign here”, Nina said.

Blondie rolled his eyes but quickly signed. The door banged shut. Nina stood still for a few seconds more, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Then she hurried back to the elevator. She had thirty-four deliveries left and traffic wasn’t gonna get any better.

Victoria’s phone buzzed again. She stared down at it, frowning. Another delivery after this one. To the other side of town and back. Well, fuck. She rubbed her hands together, trying to get some feeling back into them after biking through the freezing rain. It was in weather like this Victoria wondered whether this job paid enough, and the conclusion she inevitably came to was that it didn’t, but that she also couldn’t seem to get a better one. So delivery-app bike courier it was. At least she got a workout while doing it.

The display overhead informed her that she had reached the top floor and so she stepped off the elevator.

Right away Victoria knew which of the apartments she was delivering to: Through a door to her left she could hear music and voices, the muffled echo of celebration, friendship, togetherness. Despite her mood she felt herself smiling. Nothing taught the essential similarities between people like living in a city, where lack of space and number of inhabitants meant that, if one stood still, one could observe many lives continuing on in parallel. Victoria unslung her backpack and rang the doorbell. Footsteps neared.

The guy who opened the door was, there was no other word for it, gorgeous. Golden skin glowed in the low light of the hallway, dark, eyeliner-framed deep brown eyes, black hair in soft spikes. When he turned his head a glint of silver reflected off a delicate cuff on his right ear. And he was really buff. Like the face wasn’t enough. The face that was smiling a very nice smile at her.

“You must be the food?”

“Hopefully not. I’d taste horrible.” The joke had slipped out and she groaned inwardly, but the guy laughed, genuinely and with just a tiny roll of his eyes.

“I should have seen that one coming.”

Victoria grinned and shrugged to say “you really should have” and bent down to unzip her backpack. From inside the apartment she could hear music, now louder, and the sounds of a video game being played and discussed loudly by multiple people. She caught a bit of a sentence ending with “...and in real life jumping between buildings isn’t this hard” and a clonking noise like pots banging together. Something smelled like it was burning. Even gorgeous guy glanced over his shoulder. He seemed concerned, but not quite enough to investigate. Victoria returned to unpacking the bags of food.

When she looked back up, a girl had appeared next to the guy. She was short, red-headed, and also really attractive. If the rest of this guy’s guests looked like this, Victoria supposed she’d have to invite herself to this party.

“How’s it looking in there, biscuit?” Gorgeous asked the redhead.

“They’re this close to fratricide, I’d say.” The girl held up two crossed fingers. “But they’re being very passive aggressive about it.”

Gorgeous nodded thoughtfully and picked something out of her hair. It looked a lot like a small shrimp. He frowned and muttered something like thought they were making lasagna.

“Well, I don’t know what it’s supposed to be, but I’m guessing ‘edible’ is not on the list.” Redhead turned to Victoria and smiled. “You’re our salvation, honestly,” and to Gorgeous, “Thank god you ordered food.”

Another girl’s voice called from somewhere to the left: “Magnus? Why do I smell takeout!?” It was followed by a deeper voice with a similar tone of outrage: “Hey, we’re almost done. It’s not that bad this time,” which was followed by a very insulted “Alec!” The burning smell seemed to be getting stronger and Redhead frowned.

“I’d better get back there, smells like they’ve succeeded in setting your kitchen on fire.”

Gorgeous stopped her from turning back with a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got this.” He snapped his fingers (it was louder than it should have been) and the smell dissipated suddenly.

Victoria tried to crane her neck in a subtle way. She was now very curious about these guests. She kept herself in check (barely) and handed the bags of food to Red, who accepted them gratefully and carried them back towards what must be the living room. In the low light, Victoria could make out the silhouettes of more people, gathering around Red and calling dibs on the food.

Victoria put her backpack on and, with one last wistful look towards the warm apartment filled with food and company, mentally steeled herself for the bike ride through the cold night. “I’d better get going. Have a good night and enjoy the food. I hope your friends aren’t too disappointed by your ‘betrayal’.”

Gorgeous (Magnus?) rolled his eyes fondly. “They’ll get over it. Until then, all of us will be grateful to you for not letting us starve to death. Oh, I almost forgot,” he dug some money out of his back pocket, “for your trouble. Good night.” With that he shut the door.

On the elevator back down, Victoria unfolded the crisp 50-dollar note. Now if only her next stop was equally generous, this job might become somewhat bearable.

#shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfic #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters fanfiction #post 3x10 #post erchomai #outsider pov #shtv #fanfuckery

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selfignitingimagines · 6 years

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Underneath the Shattered Sky

Request- Could you please do part 2 of Pieces on the Ground pleaseee?? I loved it!! / Will you be doing a second part to “pieces on the ground” I loved the first part so much. I love your imagines your such a great writer

A/N- Thank you for all the love given to Pieces on the Ground!! It was a little idea I had months ago and after many many roadblocks I’m finally getting to build on it. I realize it has been three months since I posted the original, so to those who stuck with me and rooted for a part 2, this is for you.

You woke up to the cold, sticky feeling of tears on your face. Your mouth was dry, but when you tried to open it, you realized there was a piece of tape pressed over it. Shock rippled through you, and suddenly, you were wide awake. You squirmed in the darkness, but soon found that your hands were bound in front of you.

Confusion and panic washed over you, and you kicked out in fear. Your shoes hit the edge of something hard, and you frantically glanced around in the dark, trying to figure where you were, and what the hell was happening.

The last thing you remembered was leaving Lydia in the car, going into that bathroom, and then the painful shock that knocked you unconscious. You tried to remember the face of the man who had grabbed you, but it was nothing more than a blur in your mind. Someone had taken you, tied you up, and thrown you into whatever you were trapped in now.

Your heart began to pound as you realized that if Lydia wasn’t in there with you, she was back there at the rest stop, all alone. She might even still be asleep, and if that was the case, there was no Scott, Malia, or even Stiles around to save you.

You felt a pang in your chest as you thought of him. Would Lydia call him first? Would he know something was wrong?

You could hear his voice in your head, whispering instructions, telling you to look around and find a way out. Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply, and tried to do what he would do.

You couldn’t see anything, but you could definitely feel something, and now that you were calm, you realized you were moving. The road was rough and bumpy, and the surface you were lying on was gritty. You realized you must be in a car, and, judging by the wide space around you, the bed of a truck.

It must have been one with a cover over it, because you couldn’t feel any air on your face, or see the stars that had decorated the sky hours before. You felt like you were suffocating, and you squirmed as you desperately tried to break the tape around your wrists.

You had seen some terrible things while living in Beacon Hills, and you had been bruised, broken, and had your life threatened because of Scott and Stiles. You knew it came with the territory, but nothing like this had ever happened to you. You always had the others with you, no matter what kind of danger you were in. Now you were on your own.

A desperate sob broke past the tape on your mouth, muffled and broken. More tears dripped down your face, coating your already stained cheeks. Kira told you once that crying didn’t speak for your strength, but you were feeling pretty weak right about now.

You closed your eyes in frustration, and suddenly realized the truck was slowing. You froze, and soon it was coming to a stop. You were silent as the door of the cab creaked open, so silent you could hear your quickening breath.

Footsteps came around the side of the vehicle, and your heart seemed ready to leap out of your chest. Your whole body went stiff, and you were terrified to make any more noise out of fear he’d realize you knew he was coming.

When the cover over the bed of the truck scraped open, you swore you felt it rack through your whole body, although that could have just been your terrified shiver. You meant to close your eyes, but you were frozen in fear, and you met the man’s own just as he leaned toward you.

They were illuminated by a dim light, either from a flashlight or a cellphone, which only made him look more eerie.

He smiled down at you, and you had the strange thought that it was meant to be comforting. However, the minute his calloused fingers wrapped around your taped up wrists, you lost it. You squirmed backward, and let out a muffled cry as you shied away.

He didn’t seem to be bothered by the scream, and his grip became tighter as he yanked you toward him. That only caused you to freak out more, and your kidnapper became more and more frustrated. He grabbed you by the shirt and jerked you up, only to slam you back down.

Your head met the bottom of the bed with a painful thump, and your vision was decorated with dark spots for a few seconds. You felt yourself being yanked up, and dragged across the gritty metal, legs still kicking feebly.

Arms looped around you from behind, squeezing too tightly against your ribs and pulling you across soft ground. Through your blurry vision, you could see a soft light in the distance, glowing dimly against the darkness as it illuminated a wooden porch.

Your boots suddenly scraped against something soft and crunchy, and you realized it was fallen leaves. Trees surrounded you on all sides, but he was pulling you toward a tiny wooden house, and the thought that there might be people close by filled you with desperation. You scratched at your captor’s arms, but your vision was growing blurrier by the second. You weren’t going to do much damage, and you knew that all too well.

The stars were shining above you, cold, and bright, and beautiful. Stiles had taught you their names one summer night a few years before, and you clung to his voice in your head as they passed above you.

The only thing that kept you fighting was the hope that you might get to see them again, with Stiles’ arms wrapped around you as you snuggled into him on his roof.

He would freak when he realized you were gone, and you knew he and the others would try to find you. You just weren’t sure if they could.

One of your kidnapper’s arms tightened around you, while the other reached for something shrouded in the darkness. Your ribs ached in protest, but you were powerless to do much more than whimper as the creak of a door sounded behind you. The sky suddenly disappeared from your view as you were pulled under a low-hanging porch. The smell of must filled the air, and everything around you was now pitch black. Not even the light from the stars was visible anymore.

The heels of your sneakers scraped the wooden floor underneath you, and you heard a loud bang behind you as your kidnapper kicked the door closed. His arms disappeared from your waist, and suddenly you were falling.

You spilled to the ground on your side, coughing as dust was kicked up around you. You were still

dazed, and painfully confused as to what was going on.

After a distant clicking sound, the space around you was suddenly lit up into a dim shadow. A lone light bulb glowed above your head, swaying gently from a wooden ceiling. Not wanting to draw too much attention to yourself, you simply turned your head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the man.

You saw his boots first, dark and black, and then his jeans. He seemed to be examining the room he had brought you into, but then he looked down at you. You scrambled up as best you could and scooted away from him, trying not to flinch under his gaze, which was boring into you.

Reaching into his pocket at the same time he headed toward you, he pulled out a pocket knife.

You jerked back, trying to scramble farther away, but that wasn’t easy with your wrists bound. The man looked down at the knife in his hand, and suddenly started to laugh. “Oh. Huh. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

What? you thought. This man had come after you at the rest stop, shoved you in the trunk of car, and driven you to god knows where. He hadn’t meant to scare you? He was lucky you weren’t pissing yourself.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” he said, his voice gruff.

You shook your head, unable to answer with the tape over your mouth, and instead examined his face. He had short, cropped brown hair, but his beard was scruffy and unkempt, like he hadn’t shaved in weeks. He face was wrinkled slightly, but he couldn’t have been more than fifty.

“I wish I didn’t have to take you,” he admitted, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “But I need my daughter back. And when I saw you and your friend, I knew I would never be that lucky again.”

You were so incredibly confused, and your desire to figure out what was going on outweighed your fear for the moment.

“Here,” he offered, holding out his hand. “Let me cut that tape off of you.”

Maybe that was why you took him up on his offer, and held out your hands. He withdrew the knife again and slowly sliced the tape from your hands. He carefully unwound it, but let you do the piece over your mouth.

You flinched as you peeled the tape away, and handed it to him with the rest. He smiled down at you, but this did nothing to comfort you. You only relaxed when he tucked the knife back into his pocket.

“You must be confused.”

“You could say that,” you whispered.

He laughed softly. “I’ve seen you on the news.”

“What?” Your voice was barely audible.

“You found all of those bodies. You and your friend. You’re banshees, isn’t that right?”

You blinked in shock. This was something supernatural.

“How do you know about that?”

He sighed, and glanced around the tiny room. “Name’s Dave. My daughter was murdered last year. Her name was Emily. You might remember her from those serial murders.”

You felt a shock of recognition run through you. You did remember her, but only because Stiles had told you about her going missing in the woods the night Cora and Boyd escaped from the Alphas.

Her and her girlfriend Caitlin had been caught up in the whole werewolf mess, but Ms. Blake had also taken Emily as a sacrifice. She had turned up dead the next morning, tied to a tree with her throat slit wide open.

You hadn’t thought about her since, and you had been more concerned with surviving the ravenous alphas trying to kill you than you were with a seemingly random girl.

“I didn’t see her much when she was alive,” he admitted to you. “Her mother and I had a very unpleasant divorce. I never got the chance to change that before she died.”

“I don’t understand,” you told him, rubbing your sore wrists.

“After she died, I knew there was something wrong with this town. I always suspected, but after that, I was sure. I asked around, I did my research, and I found out about the werewolves...about the monsters. And I thought that maybe, if all these crazy things existed, maybe other things did too. Maybe there was a way I could bring Emily back.”

You felt a lump rising in your throat. You didn’t like where this was going.

“I might have been a little obsessed, but I lost my daughter. My whole world had fallen apart, and I didn’t have anything else. And it only took me a year to find something. I went through hundreds of websites and books. You won’t believe how many fake rituals are out there. I finally found something in an antique shop. It was a book in Latin. After that, I needed someone who could translate it, and once I had the spell, all I needed was a banshee.”

Your blood ran cold. “Me.”

Dave nodded. “I saw you on the news when you and your friend found all those bodies in the tunnels. And right after they found Emily’s body, I remember seeing the two of you at the Sheriff’s station. You were talking about finding someone dead by the pool.”

You shook your head softly, trying to protest. He couldn’t possibly have figured out that you and Lydia were banshees just from that.

“I kept seeing you there,” he continued, before you could open your mouth. “And the redhead was always with that new deputy. They never had time to tell me more about Emily...but they always seemed to have time to talk to the two of you.”

“I’m sorry about Emily,” you said softly. “But whatever you want-”

“I realized there had to be something special about you.” He went on as if he hadn’t heard you. “I started looking into the other murders. I got a police scanner, and listened for anything that might be a dead body. And when I showed up at the crime scenes, you or Lydia Martin were at half of them.”

“You were watching us,” you realized. “You followed us.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But not tonight. I was coming back from a rare herb shop in Sacramento, and when I stopped at that rest stop, I couldn’t believe my eyes. After the mountain ash, you were the last ingredient I needed. And suddenly, there you were.”

“I’m not an ingredient.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, and he sighed.

“I was going to take your friend. But she locked the doors on the car. I figured it would be easier just to grab you, and besides, you’ll be the same in the end.”

“What do you mean?” you demanded.

“As long as you’re a banshee, as long as Emily absorbs the power, it doesn’t matter.”

“Absorbs the...what? How can she absorb my power? She’s dead.”

He flinched at the word, and his expression darkened. “Not for long. Not after you take her place.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry I have to do this. But it’s the only way I can bring her back. It’ll be quick, painless. All you have to do is scream, and I’ll do the rest.”

“Y-you’re gonna kill me?” you sputtered.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “But this is my one chance to do right by Emily. If I kill you when you scream, it’s going to bring her back.”

“No,” you whispered hoarsely. “You can’t do this. You can’t just...mess with nature. There has to be a balance.”

Derek had told you and Stiles that once, as you lay paralyzed on the floor of the Sheriff’s station. Funny how it didn’t seem to be doing you much good now. The universe didn’t seem to be stepping in to save you anytime soon.

“My daughter was ritually sacrificed.” There was an edge to his voice, one cultivated by pain and anger.

“So you’re going to do the same to me?” you cried.

His lips twisted up bitterly. “You did say there had to be balance.”

“Please,” you begged. “Please don’t do this.”

“Don’t worry. We still have four days until the full moon. I can show you your bed. It’s where Emily used to sleep when she came up here with me...not that she ever liked it much.”

He reached out his hands to pull you up, but you scrambled farther away. You felt your back hit the edge of something firm and soft, possibly a couch.

“No, please. My friends, they’re going to find me. They’ll stop you.”

“I’m sure they’ll try.”

Dave looked down at you with pity in his eyes, and you felt your hope fading. Scott and the others

had saved so many lives, but they had failed before. You had failed before.

Four days wasn’t much room for error, even with extra abilities. For all your bravery and strength, you hadn’t been able to save Allison, and you wondered if you would end up the same.

He reached down and grabbed your wrists, yanking you up on your feet again. He began to drag you forward, down a small hallway.

“Stop!” you cried. “Let me go!”

He didn’t say anything more as he jerked you forward, grabbing a handful of your hair to keep you compliant. You struggled and screamed, but he was much stronger than you, and you were unable to stop him as you got farther and farther down the hall.

He finally stopped at a door, yanked it open, and forced you down a set of stairs. A thick, acrid smell wafted up past you, and you resisted the urge to vomit.

“Careful,” he grunted.

You let him guide you down, for fear of tumbling down into the darkness if you struggled. When your feet him the cement floor, he let you go, leaving you standing in the darkness.

“Please,” you begged as he started walking up the creaky steps. You fumbled to grab his hand in a desperate plea. “I know Emily was your daughter. I’m someone’s daughter too.”

He shook you off, suddenly cold and emotionless. “The door is going to be locked. If you need something, knock loud and then wait at the bottom of the steps.”

“Someone’s going to find me,” you said weakly. “They’ll stop you.”

Dave shook his head softly and headed back up the stairs. “Like I said, they can try.”

He headed back up the stairs, and you remained there, frozen in shock as he paused on the stairs. Was he really leaving you down there?

“Wait,” you pleaded. “Please, please don’t do this!”

But he didn’t look back at you. He simply hunched his shoulders and disappeared through the open doorway, leaving you in the darkness of the basement. Shortly after he shut the door, you heard the defeating sound of a lock being clicked into place.

You backed away from the stairs, letting your back hit the cement wall. You slowly slid down it, placing your head in your hands and wondering how the hell this could happen.

By now Lydia definitely knew you were gone. She had probably called Scott and Stiles. Your boyfriend was probably out of his mind with worry, scouring the ground for clues and snapping orders at the others. He was probably calling his father, who would be working the late shift at the station tonight.

Police cars would race down the highway, sirens blaring, but they would be too late. They were steps behind by now, but if anyone could catch up, you knew it would be Stiles.

You sucked in a deep breath as you thought of him, and immediately the horrific stench you had smelled before hit you right in the face. You pushed yourself up and fumbled along the wall, searching for a light switch. When you finally found one, another dim bulb lit up the room.

Now that you could see your surroundings, you could see that you were definitely in a basement, but it was pretty tiny. There were boxes lining the walls, and a small twin bed that looked handmade and wooden. You saw a long bundle across the cot, and you immediately felt your stomach sinking.

You had seen too many bodies for this to not trigger the alarm bells currently going off inside your head. You slowly crept closer, pressing a hand firmly over your mouth and nose.

When you finally found the courage to stand close enough to the bed, you felt nausea blooming in your stomach. There was definitely a dead body lying there, and there was no doubt that was the source of the smell. The form was small and had bones exposed, but it wasn’t old enough for all of the skin to be completely gone. It still looked somewhat like a person. It still looked a bit like how Emily would have looked, and in four days, you were going to be just like her.

That was probably the thing that made you scream like you did. You had seen body after body, death after death, but knowing that this would be you in four days if someone didn’t stop it sent you panicking. You stumbled back, wrapping your arms around yourself and sinking to the cold ground.

You rocked back and forth, letting scream after scream tear itself from your throat. It wasn’t your finest moment, and you knew Stiles wouldn’t have been freaking out like you were. But he had always been the logical one. He had been the problem solver. You were the empathetic one, the emotional one. And if he didn’t find you soon, you would be the dead one.

You weren’t aware of how loud your screams were as they vibrated up through the floor and into the air outside. Animals skittered away from the tiny cabin in fear, while the only person who was able to hear you simply smiled. There was no one else to listen this far up in the mountains, and while anyone else might have cowered from the bizarre screams, Dave rejoiced at the sound. After all, your scream was what he needed. In four days, it would be the thing that would bring Emily back.

“Did you call her parents again?” Stiles demanded.

“They’re still in Milan. No one can get ahold of them.”

“Dust for fingerprints at the rest stop?”

“Of course, Stiles. But there are hundreds of prints-”

“And on the papers we found?”

“No match in the system.”

“What about the car Lydia saw? Any chance you got the tire tread? She told you where he was parked right?”

“Stiles.”

“We saw security cameras. Did you pull the footage from those?”

“They weren’t turned on. But Stiles-”

“ What about her phone? Did you find anything on her phone?”

“Stiles!”

He flinched at the Sheriff’s voice, and swallowed thickly, sinking back into his dad’s office chair. His head was spinning with thoughts, with leads, anything that might help them find you. He knew his dad and the rest of the department were doing everything they could, but if he stopped to think about what might happen if that wasn’t enough, he would break down.

“Dad, you have to find her.”

His voice was weak and helpless. The papers Lydia had found had talked about a sacrifice, and when she checked her Latin dictionary, she completed the translation. It had only confirmed their fears, that someone needed a banshee for a sacrifice. That couldn’t have been a coincidence.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff said, placing his hand on his son’s shoulder. “You have to trust me. We’re looking into everything we have. Every lead. Y/n is one of ours, and we’re not letting her slip away.”

“What if they kill her?” Stiles asked, closing his eyes. “I already lost mom. I can’t lose another person that I...I can’t lose Y/n.”

“Lydia said something about a timeline.”

“Four days,” Stiles said bitterly. “That’s not much of a timeline.”

“It’s something. And I’ll take that, kid. You’re not going to lose her. We’ll find her, we’ll bring her home safe, and she’ll back at the dinner table next week, telling you to chew with your mouth closed.”

“I’m getting better at that,” he said softly.

“Yeah, and I’m sure she’ll be very proud of your manners, Stiles. But she’s going to be here to see them.”

Stiles took a deep breath. “Okay. What does Lydia have?”

“She went to the vet clinic with Scott to ask Deaton some questions.”

“What? Without me?”

“They didn’t want to interrupt you,” the Sheriff told him pointedly, glancing down at the mess of papers and files covering his desk.

Stiles sighed and leaned forward, letting his head rest onto the messy desk. He had been sleuthing in the Sheriff’s station all night, and it was now approaching nine in the morning. Sleep was threatening to take him, but he wasn’t willing to let it, not when they hadn’t found a single substantial lead.

“Stiles, maybe you should get some rest.”

“I can’t sleep,” he groaned. “I have to find something.”

“You wouldn’t wanna leave the detective work to the actual detectives would you?”

“Dad, this is Y/n we’re talking about. You can’t tell me that there’s nothing I can do to help her.”

“You can help her by getting some rest-”

The Sheriff paused as Stiles’ phone went off, and he scrambled to find it in the mess of papers. Several pages slid off the table and drifted to the floor, but Stiles didn’t care as he snatched it up. “Lydia? What did you find?”

“Nothing yet. Deaton says it’s possible, but he’s never seen the ritual before, and he doesn’t know a way to stop it. But he did tell us that there are tons of online forums for this kind of thing.”

“Raising the dead? Seriously?”

“Yeah. Most of them aren’t serious, but there are a few that go really deep into the mythology. There’s a good chance we can find the book the spell came from there, and then figure out who had a copy of it.”

“Lydia, that could take forever,” Stiles told her.

“I know, but that’s all we have right now, Stiles.”

He frowned. “That’s not enough.”

Across town in the parking lot of the clinic, Lydia felt her fingers tense up around the phone in her hand. She was practically bristling at how cynical Stiles was being. Didn’t he realize that she was frustrated too? Didn’t he get that she had been right there, just a few hundred yards away from you when you were taken?

The forums might not have been a strong lead, but Lydia was willing to follow anything that might lead her to you.

“Stiles,” she snapped. “Didn’t you hear me when I said it’s all we have? There’s nothing else. And if we don’t do something, Y/n is going to die.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he demanded. “At least I didn’t let her get kidnapped!”

“Let her get kidnapped?” she spat.

Scott bit the inside of his cheek next to her, cringing at the sharpness of Stiles’ voice as it came through the speaker. His hands gripped the wheel of his mom’s sedan, even though the car was still in park.

“Lydia-” he began.

“Stiles, if you’re stupid enough to think that, then there’s nothing you can do to help Y/n,” she snarled.

She pulled the phone away from her ear and ended the call, crossing her arms and leaning back into the seat. She turned to Scott, who was biting his lip and looking at her cautiously. “Come on. We need to get to a computer.”

“So what do you need to bring someone back to life?” Kira wondered aloud.

She was sprawled out on the couch of the Sheriff’s office as Malia sat above her head, practicing a braid on her dark hair. Stiles was still stationed at his dad’s desk, going through photo after photo of evidence.

It had been hours since Lydia’s phone call, and the sun was now setting in Beacon Hills. The fading sunlight shone through the windows of the office, casting a warm glow over the girls on the couch.

Kira had just returned from a trip to Korea with her father, and Malia had been temporarily released from her grounding on account of the fact that you had gone missing. Thankfully, Mr. Tate accepted “My friends need me.” as an appropriate reason for probation.

“Well for one, a banshee,” Malia answered.

“And apparently a full moon,” Kira added.

Stiles glanced up from his papers. “Yeah. We already know that.”

“But why a full moon?” Malia asked. “Why not a half moon? Or a crescent moon?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles told them. “Whatever the timing is, it’s probably significant to them.”

“Or significant to the sacrifice.” Kira pursed her lips. “It’s not actually possible to bring someone back to life is it?”

“Peter did it,” Malia told her, glancing over at Stiles. “On himself. Right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles told her, sitting up a little straighter. “He used Lydia to do it...but he was a werewolf.”

Kira frowned. “How did he use Lydia?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” Stiles admitted. “She said that the they were connected ever since he attacked her at our sophomore winter formal. He somehow got into her head and made her do all this crazy stuff. She basically dragged his body up from where he was buried, kidnapped Derek, dragged him through the woods, and used his alpha power to bring Peter back.”

“Wait, didn’t you guys burn Peter alive?” Malia asked. “How does he not look like a pizza bagel that fell to the bottom of the oven?”

Stiles shrugged. “How did Lydia kidnap an alpha werewolf twice her size? Lots of it doesn’t make sense. We just know it happened.”

“Wait,” Kira said suddenly, sitting straight up and causing her half-finished braid to unravel. “You said she uncovered his body?”

Stiles nodded. “Derek said his grave was empty, and he was right there in person. No dead body, no burns. Just the same crazy asshole that tried to kill us all.”

“So Lydia needed his body to bring him back,” Kira stated. “Wouldn’t whoever took Y/n need the body of the person they’re bringing back?”

Stiles thought about that for a second. “If that’s significant then yeah, they would.”

“So we’re looking for someone just hanging out with a dead body in their trunk?” Malia asked.

“Probably not,” Stiles told her.

He scratched the back of his neck, thinking for a moment, and then suddenly sat up straighter. Kira and Malia both blinked, looking at his wide open eyes, manic and glinting.

“Oh my god, I’m such an idiot,” he stated. “I can’t believe I didn’t even think of this. It’s the body guys.”

“Wait, I helped?” Kira asked in disbelief.

“God, yes,” Stiles breathed.

Malia narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

The last bit of daylight glinted through the windows, settling down onto Stiles’ giddy face. “If this person took Y/n, it was because they knew she was a banshee. And if they knew that, they’re probably local.”

“So?”

“So that means there’s an empty grave in Beacon Hills. Whoever took the body out couldn’t have done that without making a mess, so it probably would have been reported.”

“Someone who goes through that much trouble must have been close with them,” Kira pointed out. “Family, a boyfriend or girlfriend...that’s a pretty small list.”

“Exactly.”

Stiles felt his heart hammering with this new sense of hope. Out of everything they had found so far, this was the clue that felt like it would lead him to you. You were so close, right there under his fingers.

Malia was glad that Stiles was finding his hope again, but she also knew this was only a theory. She shared a worried glance with Kira, but Stiles was too engrossed to notice. Malia glanced back at him, and raised her dark eyebrows.

“So if we find that grave-”

“We’ll find Y/n.”

Stiles nodded as he said this, suddenly sure this meant something. He was sure they would find you, just like he said. They just had to be smart enough to find you in time.

#pieces on the ground #selfignitingimagines #stiles stilinski imagines #stiles stilinski

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gothicmagpie · 6 years

Text

Vampire Hunter D: The Northern Castle, part 2

Author’s notes: This piece of fan fiction is written for @vampires-and-dhampirs‘s VHDweek celebration. One section will be posted each day, and the final work will be posted to AO3, if you prefer not to read it serially. Readers should be aware that this work contains violence and cursing, equivalent to a PG-13 film. This segment includes graphic description of wounds, and a minor surgical procedure as part of an autopsy. This work is primarily based on the version of the VHD ‘verse as seen in Kikuchi’s novels. Part 1 may be found here: X

"Admit it, you just like the weird cases, and that girl caught your eye. Not that anyone could blame you! Ha! Though I suspect it was her resourcefulness, not her figure, that got you into this." A hoarse voice came from the Hunter's left hand.

"I'm not necessarily taking this case."

"Oh no, you are just examining corpses, weeks out of our way, for fun, since we both know we won't be making a reasonable profit on this job."

"Who said anything about 'we'?" The subtle teasing tone in D's voice might have raised eyebrows if anyone was around to hear it.

"Knock that off! I do plenty for you, slavedriver. Imagine where you'd be without me! Dried jerky in a godforsaken Frontier desert, probably."

There was a notable silence in response as the Hunter draw close to the large building Lidia had indicated, and stopped, squinting into the summer sun. It was a typical Frontier structure, pre-fab metal and high-tensile plastic, utterly practical and just as ugly. As they had been told, a large sign directed visitors to either side, one arrow bearing the red, sideways X that was a traditional indication of medical assistance for which the origin had been forgotten, and the other simply marked "funerals." The elegant young man headed towards the second door, a black wisp across the simple but nicely maintained lawn around the building.

He was ushered into a small, spotlessly clean waiting room by a junior nurse who seemed unable to speak in his presence and backed out of the room slowly, waiting until the last second to look away from his pale face. Alone, the Hunter stood like a statue, back to the wall, holding the wide-brimmed Traveller's hat he had removed on entering the funeral home. It seemed he would have held that position all day, but a door opened after a few minutes and Lidia poked her head around the gap. She looked older and more somber in her uniform, with her hair knotted tightly back and covered with a vacuum-sealed cap. "Hello, D. You can come back here. I've let everyone know you are here." She held the door for him, and shook her head to try and refocus herself as she ushered him through a veritable maze of rooms and hallways.

"This place is well-equipped." The Hunter's voice held subtle admiration. "I wouldn't have expected to see this type of technology here." A hand raised to the blue pendant he wore, doing something to ensure it wouldn't disrupt the delicate tech around them, although anyone watching would have seen nothing more than a man fiddling with a piece of jewelry.

"We are very lucky," Lidia pointed him into a narrow stairwell, moving briskly as she spoke. "Most of this was reclaimed from an old Noble facility; we got it for a reasonable price, since folks are superstitious about their equipment and it didn't exactly come with instruction manuals. I wouldn't be surprised if we are only using half the capabilities of this technology. There are few no one has been able to figure out, even when we had a retired technician from the Capital come through a decade or so ago. Perhaps they are only useful for treating Nobles." She shrugged, and knocked on a door.

They entered their destination, a small exam room mostly filled with a large metal and glass device that looked like a cross between a diving machine and a coffin. Lidia moved towards it authoritatively, stood on tip-toe to see the top display at one end, and tapped out a code, pressing buttons with the many-fingered ease of long practice. With a loud hiss, the top retracted, folding into itself and drawing away until a corpse lay on a fancy exam table before them.

Lidia had turned to D as soon as the operation began, which was the only reason she saw the swift flash of recognition and dismay that flickered across his reserved features as the maimed body came into view. "Sorry, I got him cleaned up as best I could with the time I had. Summer means a lot of accidents, particularly among the farmers."

D didn't react to her words, simply stepping forward and raising a hand to press one ragged flap of flesh back over a now-shattered cheekbone. He stood frozen there, and Lidia would have sworn she heard a soft, raspy voice say, "shit." D flicked a hank of long, greying, once-blond hair off the face. He had been handsome, even with age etching lines around his eyes and forehead as gravity pulled jowls down to blunt the jawline and heightened the always-bold cheekbones.

"Mirko Illic." D's voice was low, and Lidia couldn't tell what the emotion she could in the background of it was. Disappointment? He looked up, and met Lidia's confused expression. "I worked with him, for a time. Our approaches were too different, it didn't last. I always knew he was going to end like this. He didn't know when to step back." The bitterness in the last phrases might have been the strongest emotion Lidia had heard from him yet. "Do you have a full record of his injuries? And the other victims? Details on the locations found, too, if you have it." He stooped over the corpse and ran his left hand over the stapled rent in the chest.

He had apparently finished his examination when Lidia returned with a handful of printouts. He scanned them with uncanny speed, then held one out to Lidia. "What was this? A magnetic reading?"

"I suspect it was a computer glitch. We only saw it for a second, not even enough to get a frequency or magnitude. He has quite a lot of augmentation, if it was a true reading it could have been a last flicker of energy stored somewhere in the cyborg implants. I didn't find any batteries, but," she shrugged, "the implants aren't legal anyway. I didn't dig too much. No point in finding anything someone might feel compelled to report."

"Cybernetic enhancements, eh? Does that explain it?" He seemed to be talking to himself, but Lidia saw his left hand twitch oddly. "Do you have a scalpel?"

"Yes, just a minute." Lidia rummaged in one of the cabinets. "Is unsterilized okay?"

D nodded, took the blade and grasped the body's left leg, twisting it until the inner calf faced up. After carefully running his left hand over the muscle, he plunged the blade in and neatly sliced away a section of flesh, pulling it away from the bone. A second stroke severed a metal cable running from the knee before Lidia could caution him that the blade wasn't intended for such hard material. He slid the scalpel in again, flicking it along the bone until it struck something he was seeking. The otherwise silent room echoed with the soft scrape of metal on bone as he pried free a tiny data chip. He held it up, examining the find. "Do you think you have something that can read this?"

"Surely. I can't believe we missed that! I'll go arrange use of the data processing room. There's a sink under the third cabinet, rinse it off if you can." Lidia hurried out, excited by the unexpected find. If nothing else, this would justify her requests for this Hunter.

D rinsed it and put it into a coat pocket before returning to the corpse. "I'm sorry," he said softly, touching the dead man's shoulder before running his fingers over the controls and closing the preservative coffin.

Lidia returned and led him through even more of the medical center's maze. They entered a small room, where they were met by a wiry old man, whose thick glasses and grey beard didn't diminish his sharp gaze and quick smile. "Mr. Tsu is our best cryptographer. He considers this a retirement job after doing government work decoding old Noble files for decades. If anyone can figure out how to get data off that stick, he can." The man in question continued to beam under Lidia's praise, and held out an eager hand for the small piece of technology.

D handed it over. "If we can figure out how to read the files, I'm not concerned about decoding. I have a fair guess what will be needed."

"You do?" The old man tilted his head, examining the beautiful figure with a curiosity he hadn't shown before. "Ahh... I think I know who you are, sir. And if the tales are true, I imagine you probably can access the data, eventually, but I might still be quicker."

The glimmer of a smile traced the Hunter's features. "I'm sure you could hack it more quickly, but I knew the man we took it from, and I believe I know what the password is likely to be. If I am correct, then no guesswork will be needed."

Mr. Tsu nodded. "I see, then we shall try to figure out what device we need." He lifted the chip to his eyes and was peering at it as he opened a door and led them into a truly massive data center.

Ancient Noble computers, carefully restored, whirred along every inch of wallspace, filling them with bulky monitors, busy screens, and housing of bronze, silver, and copper-plated technology from a dying civilization. A flock of jumpsuited techs moved among them, pressing buttons, adjusting paper feeds, tapping touchscreens, and making repairs. Even D looked impressed, staring around at the unknown wonder. His surprise evidently delighted Mr. Tsu, who took his eyes off the data chip to urge D to wander around and have a look.

D had not gone more than a few paces when a triumphant shout came from the old man, who was holding the chip aloft. "So very simple! You hardly needed me at all. This is a standard configuration, the only difference was this disguising shield over the port. Pry it off, and you are in business. I have a computer for this style over here, it is very common." He ushered Lidia and D to a large silver terminal, with a huge viewscreen and a small keyboard beside a data port.

He fit the chip to the port, and the screen flickered briefly before a calm female voice said, "Welcome, thank you for using Jezmine's computer system. As a reminder, this is a public terminal and transmissions may be monitored. Please sign in." Mr. Tsu typed something, the screen darkened, then the voice added, "Accessing data files. Please enter your password."

D stepped forward, and his fingers flickered over the keys so quickly that Mr. Tsu and Lidia couldn't guess what the code was, despite looking at his hand as he typed. Any human-made computer might have stalled, unable to process keystrokes that swift, but this was constructed for the Nobility, and kept up without trouble. The screen flickered, and a video began playing.

For a moment, it only showed a bare, minimally-furnished room, but then the camera shifted and Mirko stared into it. He sat down heavily, sighing a bit and pulling the leather armor vest he wore down into a more comfortable position. "Hello, D. At least I hope that is who is seeing this, although given the fact if anyone is seeing this, I'm dead, I don't suspect it makes much of a difference. Anyway, I heard you were in the area and had made sure to mention a few critical things to a young Miss Graczyk who has been aiding me from the hospital. Hopefully that got you here."

"What?!" Lidia clapped a hand over her mouth and bowed her head in an apology for speaking over the recording.

"I've never done something like this before, but I don't think I'm going to make it through this case." He stared silently at the camera for a couple seconds, face somber and contemplative, as if weighing what to say. "I suppose I just wanted to try and pass the information I got together so far to the next Hunter to try having a go at Vasmer. I've spent several days researching his castle and planning this attempt, but I suspect I've missed something. This case... Vasmer feels different, even to my human senses. I wish I had you and your close friend here; he might have an insight. I've got copies of everything stashed. I'm sure you noticed the cabin near the old water wheel, it's exactly your sort of place." The man smiled. "If you cross the creek that splits off about two miles downstream, you'll see a marker flag I left. Walk from there straight to the woods. There is a lightening-struck tree with a hollow spot about 12 feet up. The info is there. Keep an eye out for wild pixies, they seem to be going through the summer breeding season and are feeling pretty fierce. I know you can find it."

He ran a hand over his tightly braided hair and sighed again, shifting forward to stare earnestly into the camera, grey eyes flashing. "That wasn't the only thing I wanted to share. Damn, I hope you're actually the one watching this." He grinned, "it would be pretty awkward if some doctor doing an autopsy is the one who found this. Anyway, I wanted to say sorry. I've always regretted how we parted. I'm an old man now, even all the augments I've had done are wearing out. I can feel it in my bones, and I know you never thought I'd be in this position. How many times did you tell me to be more careful, that there was no point in being a beautiful corpse? Well, what I leave behind at this point won't be. I'm grey, and wrinkled, and half my bones are metal, and..." his gaze dropped. "And I'm scared, D. I've read the reports, I can't take Vasmer and it won't be a clean death. I considered running but, ah! Don't make that face! I'm not going to do it. I'm not that much a coward, but I think Vasmer already knows I'm here."

"I'm going to die without a chance to apologize, or to try and make things right. My pride has gone with my age. I'm not the cocky Grade A Hunter I was back then. I can understand your reasons now, when I mocked those fears as a youth. It just took several decades! You were correct, all the things you said when you left-" D's hand flashed out and stopped the video. He disconnected the chip and pocketed it, his face a harsh, frightening mask that made Lidia and Mr. Tsu step back. Lidia was suddenly very aware of his Noble background.

"Will you show me out?" His voice was ice, as rigid as his expression. Lidia didn't dare speak, just nodded and hurried them out of the building. She didn't even dare ask him about the info they had just gotten once they were outside. She just watched him stride to the road in a whirl of black coat slicing through the golden summer light, still clutching his hat in one fist.

Part 3 can be read here: X

#vhdweek #vampire hunter d #vhdweek2018 #fan fiction #my writing

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