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kate-river · 3 years

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Proud to present you “Toussaint’s Finest” - my witcher fic written for the Eskel Big Bang, featuring incredible art from the wonderful @justhereforeskel Enjoy! ;)

Relationship: Eskel/Geralt

Rating: M

Word Count: 9K

Summary:

Eskel is still roaming the Continent. But in recent years the Path has become harder and harder. Eskel has made it a habit to come by Corvo Bianco around vintage and this year's events might change a few things in his life forever.

Read the first chapter below and or the completed fic on AO3.

Check out @justhereforeskel‘s artwork!

Eskel knelt down beside the riverbank. The gravel scrunched under his boots and for a second, his cat-like eyes flashed in the sun. He sighed when he reached into the water and watched as the stream carried away a tiny trail of blood.

The wind rustled in the nearby trees and the witcher, still rubbing his hands clean, turned his gaze southeast. In the distance shimmered the familiar vineyards of the Sansretour valley and the sight of their natural beauty stirred something in his heart.

Behind him though, the monstrous cadaver of a bear lay on the blood-soaked ground. The beast had a ferocious wound on its shoulder and the once so powerful creature seemed shrunken now that its body was lifeless. The most apparent feature of the corpse however, was its missing head. The very same that dangled from Scorpion’s saddle.

When Eskel got up, he was disgusted and sick at the sight. As a witcher he was supposed to kill beasts. But a bear? It had just been another curiosity that had suffered from coming too close to a village.

Eskel sighed as he mounted Scorpion. He strongly felt the need to leave this place; to move on. To get away from a task that he had only been compelled to accept in order not to arrive at Corvo Bianco empty handed.

As Scorpion fell into a powerful gallop, Eskel relaxed into the movement and his thoughts wandered off. A sensation of freedom pulsated through his veins and for a moment his doubts vanished.

A few hours earlier…

“Hey Master witcher, over here!”

A young man dressed in a worn-out leather jerkin waved in Eskel’s direction. His eyes were blown wide and his straightforwardness suggested an urgent matter. Eskel reigned in Scorpion, left the dusty path and took a halt next to the man.

“Master witcher, an evil spirit is roaming the woods.! Two days ago, one of our men was killed – I beg your help! We’re poor country folk, but we will pay!”

You better do, Eskel thought to himself. Although empty, his purse weighed heavy on his conscience. Arriving at Corvo Bianco without money would embarrassing – tolerable still - but heading for a winter at Kaer Morhen penniless would even be dangerous.

Eskel immediately recognized the hostile reactions when they entered a small woodworker’s settlement. Children were hushed and hastily dragged into their homes by their parents. Doors were hurriedly shut and if Eskel would have wanted to see, he would have noticed the people starring and pointing at him behind drawn curtains.

But he had no other choice. For weeks there weren’t any good contracts and a mysterious monster in the woods sounded like something profitable for once.

The young man led Eskel to the biggest hut of the settlement and a sturdy, yet bald man standing underneath the nearby oak tree suddenly stopped his wood carvings. Eskel noticed that the man’s left hand was missing a finger and his expression was anything but welcoming. He gave the younger man a sharp look and then turned to Eskel.

“Master witcher, how can I be of service?”, with a feigned smile he added, “I’m afraid but… we can’t offer children.”

Eskel, already used to this kind of reaction, sighed and looked him straight in the eye, making a dirty brown iris meet his shiny amber one.

“I was told there was a contract.”, he stated slowly, distinctly.

“I fear there must have been a mistake.”

Suddenly the door behind the man opened and a dangerously beautiful mage entered the place. She was dressed in luxurious fabrics and her long black hair nearly reached her waist. The two men bowed before her. But Eskel, weary of the hostile welcome, denied the courtesy.

“What do we have here?” she mockingly asked. “A mutant –created by the most senseless representatives of my guild. You’re a rarity these days, witcher.”

“With all due respect, your guild indeed comprises some senseless individuals, sorceress.”

“Witcher, you have a wicked tongue too. What a pleasure!”

She smiled slyly and gestured him to follow into the hut. He did, but with sharpened senses. Surprisingly the mage, as rude as she had appeared, was straight forward about the monster – beast to be more accurate - and sincerely promised Eskel a reasonable reward.

But when Eskel returned to the woodworker’s settlement with his trophy his doubts returned as well. The village seemed abandoned. Nobody tried to hide and nobody pointed at him. Alarmed he scanned the few huts and carefully pushed Scorpion to move on. Something was wrong and he wasn’t eager to find out what or why.

At a twitch of his medallion Eskel tensed up. The vibration grew stronger while he neared the main hut, but as he was close enough, the sickness he had already felt once today returned. From the old oak tree hang the lifeless body of a young man dressed in a worn-out leather jerkin.

Anger welled up in the witcher’s chest. He tied Scorpion to the old tree and suppressed the need to let out a furious roar. Eskel soundlessly drew his sword – the steal one, as it befitted the monsters he was going to fight. But before he could come any closer, the door of the hut opened. The mage shielded by the poorly armed woodworkers emerged.

She gestured the men to let her through, but the moment she left their shielding ring Eskel’s blade touched her throat.

“One step closer and you’ll be next. What happened to him?”, he barked.

The mage laughed hysterically and answered “Sawyer? He brought a mutant to our village, the poor lad. In these parts people get killed for less.”

At this exact moment, she tried to conjure up a portal, but Eskel was faster. He stunned her hand and instead of a portal a wobbly structure appeared behind him. She screamed angrily and used the few seconds to pull a simple dagger from her boots. In the meantime, her ever so brave protectors advanced, coming for Eskel with raised axes and pitchforks. The witcher growled and parried the blows easily, but the distraction was enough. The mage leapt at him, missing his throat by the fraction of an inch. Eskel roared and suddenly he couldn’t contain his anger. He was a monster? A mutant? Well, then they should have their mutant!

Taking his left hand from the grip of his sword Eskel felt the tingle of magic flow through his hand. His powerful Igni struck the line of woodworkers and chaos broke loose. They screamed trying to shield their burned faces, dropping their weapons in order to stifle the fire on their cloths. The fire caught hold of the hut too and the less wounded men tried to keep it under control.

Meanwhile the mage had prepared to conjure up another portal. But Eskel wouldn’t let her go through with it. With a swift movement he left behind the inexperienced fighters and blocked the mage’s way.

“Go to hell, witcher!”, she gasped out as Eskel launched into an attack. But before his sword could come close to her again the bald man with the missing finger threw himself between them raising a rusty pitchfork. But the witcher’s sword pierced his lung and his last words drowned in a pained gurgling.

Hysterically laughing the mage cried out “A monster slayer! Look around you witcher –are these men monsters to you?”

“Why did you hang the boy?” he panted. He knew he wouldn’t have long until the shock of killing innocent people would settle in. He had to finish this quickly.

The mage’s insane laughter didn’t help. She managed to open the portal and just before she slipped away a precise blow separated her torso from her lower body.

In his rage Eskel turned around and roared. He grabbed the pitchfork of the dying man and went over to the old oak tree. He rammed the pitchfork into the earth just below the hanged man’s corpse.

Scorpion whinnied and Eskel, still half in fight mode, took down the bear’s head from his horse’s saddle.

Wordlessly he impaled it on the pitchfork – leaving an unmistakable sign.

#eskel #geralt of rivia #eskel x geralt #justhereforeskel #ebb

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eat0crow · 5 years

Note

Jasonette first meeting please?

I’ve written a couple Jasonette first meetings already but I was scrolling through a prompt list and -You just snuck into my apartment and wait is that blood-stuck out to me. Hope you enjoy!

This fic was beta-read by the lovely @the17thtearoom

Is That Blood

Kwami knows that Marinette is a scatter-brained mess no matter what time of day it is. She would like to deny it, but really, no one would believe her. She blames Tikki, even if she was a disaster before the little fortune god came into her life. Nino has the proof, and has justly been sworn to silence.

There is never a need to relive the fourth grade. Never.

There’s a general swirl of chaos that follows Marinette wherever she goes: Paris, London, New York, now Gotham. It’s one of the reasons, maybe even the reason that despite desperately needing someone around to help out with the rent—Gotham charged way too much for a studio apartment, how the hell is it more expensive than Manhattan—she’s never looked for a roommate. Not after spending a month bunking with Alya, and driving the girl insane.

Alya hadn’t been the one to ask her to leave, she’d claimed Marinette was fine. Marinette had seen the way her eye twitched after the fourth time, in a week's span, she had come home tracking some dark, vaguely sticky substance behind her.

For the sake of their friendship, Marinette had moved out a little over a week later.

With this in mind, Marinette thinks she’s being overwhelmingly okay with the situation when her first question, upon stepping foot back into her apartment, happens to be, “Is that blood?”

Not, “how did you get in here”, or “who are you?” Is that blood? When did her life get this weird? Oh yeah, when she—a newly turned fourteen-year-old girl—was entrusted with guardianship over some of the most powerful deities in creation. That’s when.

It’s only after watching the man for an uncomfortable amount of time that Marinette notices the sickly crackling of unnatural magic clinging to the air around him. There’s a pool of dark magic sitting in her living room. It’s coating him, clinging to his very being and dripping, toxic, onto the pale beige carpeting.

God the carpeting, blood stains are a bitch to get out. At least he had the sense to push back the coffee table, and not sit on the couch that Marinette’s fairly sure, has been in this apartment since before she was born.

The stranger pauses his stitching mid-action, needle freezing halfway through the gash on his leg. Marinette is concerned.

“No, it’s cranberry juice,” he says sarcastically, even as he presses a towel, her pink bunny towel no less, against his leg. It’s clearly an attempt to hide the murder scene she just walked in on, but honestly, the towel is turning a disgusting shade of rusty brown.

Marinette takes one fortifying look around her living room, paying particular attention to the sticky wet spot her home invader is sitting in. He had better not have touched her one true love. If the coffee maker is broken she will break him.

“You should finish stitching that up before you bleed to death all over my carpet.”

“I’m not going to bleed out in the middle of your living room.”

Marinette grabs her emergency first aid kit, the one she keeps tucked safely in the umbrella stand. It’s a beast, and maybe Marinette had been a little obsessive when it came to putting it together, but she had spent a good portion of her life fighting. She liked to be prepared, even if being prepared meant carrying around a walking pharmacy.

Delicately, Marinette did her best to avoid mashing the blood further into the carpet. “I have a tourniquet in here just in case, but it doesn’t look like we need it. You did remember to disinfect the cut before you started stitching, right?”

She’s close enough now, knelt next to the man, to really make out his features. The pressure she forces down on the wound makes him wince, and Marinette blinks. Green eyes, there’s an aura to them that reminds Marinette distinctly of Tikki’s magic, a faint light just barely visible—Lazarus light. Well, that explained the corruption clinging to the air.

“I didn’t think you would be too thrilled with me poking around your bathroom,” he hisses out, sharp and very clearly in pain.

Marinette would usually let a lie like that go, but her patience is getting dangerously thin. “You could have spent another minute grabbing the peroxide from the medicine cabinet. It’s not like I can’t see your bloody footprints marking your trail. You grabbed my favorite towel, but not the one thing that prevents a staph infection. Who taught you first aid? Honestly! ”

A dark brow raises upward, clear interest taking over the strangers face. “You’re remarkably calm for someone who just found a random stranger dripping blood all over their apartment.”

“I’m more than a little pissed over that. You owe me a carpet cleaning.” Marinette grabs the travel-sized bottle of peroxide out of her kit, along with her sterilized needle, lighter, actual stitching thread—why the fuck is he using dental floss? Why?—and a roll of gauze. She’ll probably need more later, but for now, this is good. “You’re giving yourself way too much credit. This isn’t even close to the strangest thing I’ve seen this week. Now, this is going to sting like a bitch, but you broke into my apartment so, you deserve it.”

He lets out a long string of curses, biting down hard on his hand as Marinette pours the disinfectant over the wound. It’s a good three inches long and at least a centimeter deep. He needs a hospital but, seeing as his first choice was breaking and entering, Marinette’s probably as close to a professional as he’ll see.

“Fucking shit,” he grounds out around clenched teeth. Marinette has to take out the stitches he’s already done. They’re uneven and sloppy, probably because he’d been using the needle from her sewing kit. She slips her surgical scissors, the fresh pair she just held under her lighter, against the floss. His face loses all color as she carefully works the four rows he made out. “I know you’re pissed, but I don’t deserve this.”

Marinette casts him her most deadpan expression as she lights the curved stitching needle on fire. “Who's the dumbass who didn’t disinfect his—what? Stab wound? It looks like a stab wound, do you have any idea where that knife could have been? You’re lucky I’m nice enough not to let you get a blood infection.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Nice enough. You’re a regular ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one who broke in.” Marinette takes satisfaction in stabbing her needle into the skin and watching as his smirk turns into a grimace. “How did you get in here anyway? The front door was still locked.”

“I kicked in the back door,” he admits, with just the faintest hint of shame. “It was hanging on by a bolt and a decades worth of rust.”

“You’re lucky you’re already bleeding.”

“I was in a hurry, okay,” he says defensively. “My friend lives in the same apartment number one complex over. I apparently was off a bit with my directions. I promise, I don't usually break into random people’s homes.”

“Guess I’m just special then.” Marinette has to hide her smile by occupying herself with cleaning up. She’s angry at him, damn it!

“I’ll fix the door for you if you want? And I’ll pay for one of those rug doctors Walmart rents.” He carefully stretches out his leg. He’s a bit unsteady on his feet. A mix between pain and blood loss no doubt. Wordlessly she offers up a bottle of Tylenol.

She regrets handing it to him a nanosecond later when he takes a double dose and then, throws back a third for good measure.

“Oh, you’re going to be paying my cleaning bill all right, but the door can wait,” Marinette says, getting up, and heading over to her kitchen. There is no problem in the world food doesn’t make better. “You look like you could really use some breakfast, and I’ve had nowhere near my daily dose of caffeine. We can figure everything out after we’ve eaten.”

The man follows her over, leaning heavily against the wall to support his weight. It’s a sorry sight. He makes an aborted move to help her before deciding that nope, he really can’t stand for all that long. “Did I tell you how weird you are yet? I feel like I should have.”

“Would you rather I call the cops and kick you out?” Marinette asks, pushing the coffee maker to the very edge of the counter. He can reach it if he tries. Marinette fully plans to make him. With a bit more force than necessary, she slams down her jar of coffee mix. “Clearly you’re lucid enough to make some coffee while I fry up some eggs.”

There’s a spark of amusement in the stranger's eyes. His smirk is back, and he watches Marinette with something like glee. “Sure thing, firefly.”

“It’s Marinette,” she corrects, not bothering to turn away from the stove. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’d say it’s nice to meet you but...you did break into my house.”

“That’s fair,” the stranger agrees. Reaching for her phone instead of the stack of coffee filters. The bastard, doesn’t he realize how thin her sanity is stretching? “Jason Todd. You mind if I use your phone for a minute. Roy can stop by Home Depot, and get you a new door. So we won’t be reinstalling something that was already on its last legs.”

Marinette feels a headache coming on. “I’ll make enough for three then. Just have him pick up some kind of cleaner so the stain doesn’t set in.”

#maribat #jasonette #crow writes #prompt fills #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng

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pax-2735 · 4 years

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GoT Fanfic: And if you howl (2/9)

Summary:

“She sits down – on her hind quarters – and takes a steady look at her surroundings, trying to make sense of it. She can see her massive paws crunching the snow in front of her, covered in coarse white fur, and feel the rustling wind caressing one long ear. Ghost.”

Written for the prompt: Post series - Sansa misses Jon. When she discovers she can warg into Ghost, she uses this ability to see him beyond the Wall.

Notes:

As always, I own nothing but the mistakes.

This was originally written for the Jonsa Festival over on Tumblr. The prompts were anonymous so I have no idea who came up with this… but if it was you please let me know, I’d love to gift this fic to you.

Also if you wanna read the first part you can find it here

Part 2: The first time - Surprise

By the time she returns to her chambers the following night, Sansa is seething with anger.

It’s already well into the night, the full moon illuminating her chambers to the point where she doesn’t need to concern herself with candles, its soft glow bathing the room in silver light and lingering shadows. Very fitting with her current mood.

She makes her way resolutely towards the window, her hands gripping the sill tightly as she rests her forehead against the co urned to a sour topic – this constant, dire need to have an heir.

She doesn’t begrudge them for it – she cannot – for she understands well enough their concerns. They are her own as well. Still, she hates the idea of it, and right now, in her current state, she simply hates them.

She opens her eyes and lets her gaze wander across the open fields surrounding the keep. The moonlight creates the illusion of a silver sea, patches of ice glinting as tiny diamonds leading the way towards the snow covered forests. Miles away, where she cannot see it, stands the wall and beyond it…

Her mind is assaulted with images of endless hours on horseback, trekking across the snowy grounds as she and Jon tried to gather an army to take back their home from those who had dared to steal it. Huddling in tents, entreating their bannermen, the constant bickering between them, eyes ablaze and tongues sharp, the threats and the horrors they had faced, those are all memories of their time together she recalls now with the fondness of someone who has survived them.

She knows it’s insane but part of her misses it. Mostly, she misses him.

She runs a hand idly through her hair as something else lingers there. There’s a tugging at the back recesses of her mind, something wild and free that calls out to her, and she feels unsettled as her mind slowly tries to make sense of what it is. She hasn’t felt this strange pull in a long time, ever since Lady was taken from her by the cruel actions of a boy pretending to be a prince.

She hadn’t known much about warging back then, only what she had learned from the stories Old Nan would tell them, fanciful tales about strange men who could take possession of an animal’s mind and make them do their bidding. And those were hardly the stories she loved with all her heart. The girl Sansa had been far preferred tales about gallant princes and the maidens they fell in love with over stories about tasteless gifts of old magic that wasn’t real.

It wasn’t until Bran had returned to Winterfell so different from the little brother she had once known, that Sansa had begun to recognize those few precious moments when she had felt so incredibly close to Lady – had felt as though she was Lady, like they were one and the same – for what they truly were. Sometimes she wanders at it, at what could have been if Lady had stayed by her side like she was meant to be, if their bond had been allowed to develop as it was meant to.

She’s still dwelling over the strangeness of the pull, still very much present in the back of her mind, as she pushes away from the window and cautiously makes her way to her bed before flopping unceremoniously down on top of her furs and letting her eyes flutter close. She doesn’t know where this is coming from, or even if it isn’t simply a product of her exhausted mind, but right now she wants it.

She keeps her eyes closed and her breaths even as she tries to chase down the feeling. It’s a fruitless pursuit though, the pull growing weaker and weaker the longer she tries to bring it to the front of her mind. When moments pass by and nothing happens, Sansa sighs in annoyance. Disappointment washes over her at what she feels is a lost opportunity, although at what she cannot say, and she shakes her head to try to clear her thoughts before she puts a stop to this. Perhaps a good night’s sleep is what she needs to forget about these foolish ideas.

When she opens her eyes again, intent on readying herself for bed, she has to blink furiously to try and make sense of what she sees. She has no idea where she is but this… this is certainly a far cry from the bedchamber where she was but for a moment ago. The open space around her is completely unfamiliar and she’s certain she has never been here before, even though there is very little in sight to serve as a proper landmark.

She sits down – on her hind quarters – and takes a steady look at her surroundings, trying to make sense of it. She can see her massive paws crunching the snow in front of her, covered in coarse white fur, and feel the rustling wind caressing one long ear.

Ghost.

She feels a sense of awe and profound happiness as she realizes she’s warged into the massive direwolf. They had bonded during the last couple of years, and certainly even more so when Jon had gone to Dragonstone, but this is entirely different. It’s a testament to how deep their connection truly goes and she feels her heart flutter at the knowledge.

Casting her now very sharp eyes around, she can see plummets of smoke rising in the heavily over casted sky from what looks to be a village of sorts, far in the distance, and further beyond, the faint glinting of water shinning under the bright full moon.

She doesn’t know how safe this place will be – or if it will be safe at all – but she’s curious to see it. And if Ghost is here then Jon can’t be too far either. Carefully standing up, she tries to get accustomed to this new body of hers before she starts making her way towards the village.

Her ears pick up their voices long before she can see them, as she perches on top of the hill surrounding the dwelling. It’s a mix of harsh sounding languages – some of which she vaguely recognizes, others completely foreign – and she shakes her head resolutely to try and clear her head somewhat. Ghost’s senses are much sharper than her own, it’s going to take some getting used to this.

She makes her way cautiously into the space, her senses taking careful notice of everything around her. If Ghost is this close to the settlement then there’s a good chance Jon is here as well and these people should be well acquainted with the direwolf but she chooses to remain careful. It has served her well this far.

There are easily more than a dozen people coming and going, big burly men with strange hair and swords and battle axes barely concealed beneath piles of furs; women who could easily be mistaken for men, with breeches and leggings and weapons who remind her strikingly of Arya; a group of children scampering about between the adults as they chase after one another with happy laughter. Sansa rears back at the sight, not wanting to scare them, but they pay her no mind as they scatter around her like a flock of birds only to continue their merry chase. She watches as they turn a corner and scamper out of sight and is reminded of similar pursuits across the halls of Winterfell, when she and her brothers were young and alive.

She soon realizes that she’s not a strange sight. Most of the people she comes across pay her little mind or even greet her friendly, some coming as far as giving her a swift rub to the head as they move along their way.

Her thoughts take a turn once she’s satisfied with the careless way her presence is noticed and she starts to truly take in her surroundings. Her heightened senses threaten to overwhelm her once more as everything seems to be so much brighter, so much louder, so much more.

She can hear the sounds of dozens of different voices, with their pitches and their accents, all the different languages ringing out across the muddy streets. She recognizes the sound of a whetstone being put to use over a rusty blade, the crackling of logs used in cooking fires and, further in the distance, the ever constant murmur of waves crashing against a pebbled shore.

The smells assault her senses as well, not in the way one would notice the scent of dozens of unwashed bodies crammed together in a narrow space or the clean scent of earth after a heavy rainfall – those she was used to, in any case – but more in the particularities of each of it, in a way she has never been able to notice before.

She can discern the strong scent of venison as its being cooked, as well as rabbit and hare and something else she doesn’t quite recognize. There’s that awful smell from that drink Tormund likes so much as well as the more familiar scent of ale. She can smell apples rotting away at the bottom of a barrel somewhere to her right and the salt that wafts away with the breeze coming in from the water.

It’s undeniably overwhelming and for a moment Sansa stands still, trying to gather her bearings.

She’s startled when she feels someone give her a playful slap to her bottom and she turns around sharply. The man is tall and impressively built, with a mane of impossibly tangled brown hair and a thick beard that covers his face almost completely. If she was herself there’d be no telling him off for daring to touch her so, and she opens her mouth on instinct. Ghost doesn’t make a sound, as usual, but there’s a slight bearing of teeth that wipes the grin off his face and sends him scurrying away before she can bring herself to remember who she is now.

Something else catches her attention then. The scent is earthy and mostly faded, just a slight hint of pine and wood and smoke, but it’s distinctive enough to hold her attention and she cocks her head in that direction, trying to pinpoint its source. The remnants of a booming laugh follow soon after and she immediately starts in that direction.

Woman or wolf, she knows that laugh.

She moves swiftly between the throngs of people as she tries to follow the sound to its source, her white paws now covered in brown muddy socks as she darts between crates and sacks stacked against the timber dwellings.

The salty scented breeze grows heavier as she comes closer to the water. The cabins are slightly sparser here, windowless shacks more likely used for storage than living, stained permanently with the heavy scent of rotted fish.

The source of the laugh is clearly visible now, his towering figure walking steadily towards her. Tormund cocks a brow when he sees her – sees Ghost – before nodding his head towards the water’s edge with a scowl. “Reckon he needs you boy.”

Sansa tries to swallow the lump that forms in her throat but, in Ghost’s body, it comes off as a sort of gurgling rasp that has Tormund laughing. She’s not really paying attention to him though, only to the source of that earthy pine scent that she has long come to associate with home.

Jon is standing by the edge of the water, his gaze lost over the vast dark emptiness, and Sansa’s heart picks up in her chest as she takes him in after so many moons since she last saw him. His hair is slightly shorter, his unbound curls swaying in the breeze, making him look so much younger, almost like the boy she remembers parting ways with on the Kingsroad, a lifetime ago, but there’s a heavy set to his shoulders and jaw that betrays that notion. Whatever it was the two men had been discussing, it has obviously left Jon in a sour mood.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Tormund’s voice sounds again in the cold evening air. “You best go to him, he needs a bit of loving.” He gives her an affectionate scratch behind the ear and then he’s leaving and Jon… Jon turns around to see what Tormund is yapping about, his brows scrunching in confusion as he sees her.

“Ghost? I thought you were out hunting.”

He doesn’t get any more words out as Sansa bounces into him, leaping up to land her massive paws on his shoulders. He stumbles back under her weight, his hand coming across her torso to hold her, and she can feel his laughter rumbling in his chest as she does her best to hug him to her, her snout bumping affectionately against his neck, her tongue licking across his face until he holds her head between his hands to stop her.

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, “I missed you too boy.”

Gods, you have no idea how much I missed you.

He’s smiling at her, his eyes crinkling around the corners as his hands sweep lovingly across her fur. He leans forward, his nose bumping into hers, and she licks him again, his eyes closing as his smile widens at the caress.

She feels him nuzzle into her again before his hands move to her paws to drop her down. “Alright now, off of me, you big oaf.” Despite his words, she can clearly hear the affection in his tone. “You nearly knocked me on my ass.”

“Someone ought to.” Tormund’s voice floats to them, but Jon merely shakes his head before he bends closer to whisper in her ear. “He’s right, but he doesn’t need to know that.”

“Damn right I am.”

Jon straightens back up and narrows his eyes into the darkness, trying to make up his form. It’s strange, Sansa thinks, when she can clearly see Tormund’s ginger hair shinning like a beacon between the fishing nets hanging against one of the shacks.

“I thought you were leaving.” Jon is still narrowing his eyes trying to see into the dark so Sansa nudges his leg gently in the right direction. She’s rewarded as his hand comes atop her head, rubbing her fur.

“I am. So should you little crow. All those stupid questions will still be here in the morning.” Jon scowls but Tormund is completely oblivious as he’s already leaving his carefully chosen spot to head back to the village.

“Prick,” she hears Jon mutter and her body shakes weirdly as she tries to laugh. He gives her head another rub, coupled with a sheepish smile for good measure, before he starts to make his way back into the settlement.

Sansa keeps close to him as they cross the narrow pathways, Jon’s head nodding to a few of the people they come across, as they quietly make their way through the camp towards a small cabin right at its edge.

It’s a crude looking thing, made out of uneven pieces of wood and rock and yet, there’s something about it that is unmistakably Jon. It’s nestled on top of a small elevation, its location providing an unobstructed view of the snowy plains around the dwelling, all the way to the edge of the forest. It’s also placed as far away from the others as it can possibly be and still be considered part of the settlement.

Part of it but as far removed from the center as possible.

It’s a visual testament of what Jon’s life had been like throughout his years in Winterfell and beyond and – not for the first time – Sansa feels her chest ache at the part she played in making it so.

Jon uses his shoulder to push the door open and disappears inside and Sansa is quick to follow as her interest pikes. She had always been curious as a girl, despite her Septa’s attempts at snuffing it out of her for not being ‘ladylike behavior’. But now, in her new wolf form, Sansa has no such qualms as she pads inside with interest.

She busies herself taking stock of the place – the cabin is a tiny as it looked from the outside, despite being surprisingly well kept and clean. Well, not surprisingly, she supposes, as Jon certainly didn’t have any maids during his time with the Night’s Watch but still.

She sniffs around the place as Jon moves to stoke the dying embers still left inside the circular hearth that takes up the center of the room. It’s easy enough to discover what passes as a pantry with its measly provisions – a dried piece of meat so completely unappetizable she doubts the most skilled of cooks could ever render it eatable again; a small sack of grain she is willing to bet Jon has no idea what to do with (not that she has either, but that’s beside the point); a bunch of dried apples (and here she truly wonders where do they get all these apples from, when it’s still the middle of winter).

She continues her inspection onto a pile of clothes thrown haphazardly in a corner but quickly rears back as the smell hits her nostrils – there’s pine and wood and everything that’s so distinctively Jon but the stench of sweat and too many days makes her shake her head furiously as she scratches at her snout with her paw. She hears Jon’s laughter from behind.

“You should know better than to go around sniffing my dirty clothes.”

Yes, I know that now, she muses as she turns back towards him. He has his back to her as he carefully retrieves Longclaw from his belt and props it against the wall before he turns to look at her with a mocking smile.

“I know how bad they smell, I was the one wearing them for a fortnight.”

Sansa scrunches her nose at that and watches as her snout wrinkles before she sneezes. Jon shakes his head at her. “You weren’t complaining when you were out ranging with me.”

Oh. That makes sense. She risks another wary look at the offending pile of clothes. Still…

Jon lets out a quiet chuckle. “Aye, I suppose it wasn’t as bad when we were outdoors.” He grins. “Tomorrow alright? I promise I’ll wash them. Wouldn’t want to offend your delicate nose.”

He turns back towards the furs that make up his bed, seemingly done with the conversation, and begins to struggle to rid himself of his heavy furs. The thing looks tattered and well worn, the strappy pieces of leather that keep everything together looking soft and pliant, and Sansa realizes suddenly that Jon is still wearing the cloak she made for him all those moons ago, when they first set out to regain their home.

She’s so distracted by those memories she fails to realize Jon is still moving, pulling fur and then cloth away. It’s only when she sees him pull his tunic over his head, the broad expanse of his back glistening in the fire light, that Sansa realizes what he’s doing and she jerks back to her senses.

And then she freezes.

His skin is smooth, with only a handful of visible scars under the soft light, pulling taut across his muscles as he continues to move. His shoulders seem far more relaxed now and she lets her eyes wander down his powerful arms and across his lower back before she realizes what she’s doing.

She shakes her whole body, trying to get rid of this new, unbound energy. Jon turns back to her, his gaze questioning, and Sansa sits downs abruptly, tensing her muscles in a desperate attempt to stop the nervous quivering of her wolf body. It works, somewhat, although she has no idea how to stop her tail from waggling against the dirt floor, a small cloud of dust coloring the air behind her.

Jon givers her another soft smile as he begins to put his clothes away. She knows her mouth is parted, she can feel her tongue lolling to the side, but she can’t really help it when right now she feels as though she can’t properly breathe.

It’s a good thing Jon doesn’t seem to find anything amiss as she continues to take her fill of him – the scars of the wounds that killed him are clearly visible now that he has turned towards her but beyond that, well… he’s all glistening skin and hard muscle and a light scattering of dark hair that disappears beneath his breeches.

She’s not a maid, far from it, and this is hardly the first time she has seen a half-naked man, so Sansa blames it on the wolf as she licks her snout clean before she forcefully snaps her mouth shut.

Jon is mercifully oblivious to it as he continues getting ready to sleep but Sansa is certainly not as his hands make their way to the laces on his breeches.

Oh. Oh. OH.

He makes quick work of them as he turns back towards his sleeping furs, and then he’s pushing the breeches down his hips and Sansa panics, springing to her feet in a hurry. Jon turns his head to look at her, a confused look in his eyes, but once his body begins to turn as well, she snaps her eyes closed tightly.

The sound of his voice calling her name – Ghost’s name – begins to vanish, the sound coming from further and further away and it only takes her a few moments to realize something is vastly different. She can no longer discern voices speaking from nearby cabins nor smell the meat cooking in their hearths.

Instead, everything feels quiet and calm and bland.

Sansa opens her eyes slowly as she realizes she’s back in her own bed, back in Winterfell, back in her own skin. She feels exhausted, a weary ache deep in her bones as her mind struggles to get reacquainted to this body. She closes her eyes again and lets herself be pulled to sleep, the heavy darkness enveloping her as visions of fire and cabins and smooth skin still dance behind her eyelids.

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jon snow x sansa stark #works-by-pax #game of thrones fanfiction #jon snow #sansa stark #ghost #warging

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 5 years

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Winner’s Curse Ch. 8

CJ stalked the cold, gloomy alleyways that lined the street to the docks with a brazen whistle and jaunty step. A proverbial sore thumb compared to the adults and small Vks who scurried about with shuffling steps using the shadows as cover from the watchful eyes of the Coven.

“As if they would care about the doings of cowards and sidekicks.” CJ thought to herself. She had only been back in the Isle for a few days, possibly weeks, time was never a sure thing for CJ, and she had pieced together a little of what had happened when she was gone.

Some big name villains had gotten their magic back and were ruling the Isle with an iron fist, no one was allowed to do anything without their permission, children and sidekicks were punching bags for others, some sort of new hierarchy, etc.

CJ didn’t particularly care. She wasn’t going to stay here for long anyway. She was meant to live on the high seas and after seeing all the booty that she could plunder from places like Camelot Heights and Charmington, she had a growing desire to return to Auradon. A land filled with gold and magic and all sorts of princess to scare and seduce unlike this island of delusional madpeople.

And she was going to plunder and steal on the Seven Seas on the Jolly Roger. Her birthright.

Just as the golden compass that she took from its’ hidden, crocodile-ridden vault on Neverland that used to belong to the once glorious Captain James Hook, that Jolly Roger was another piece of her great legacy. It would aid her in her acts of treachery and it would be a sign to all her future enemies that her scourge was coming. iT would strike fear into their hearts even before they saw a glimpse of her.

She wanted to be the most vile, bloodiest pirate that ever lived. More dangerous than her father, more wanted than Calico Jack, people would say Blackbeard was the male CJ Hook. She was dangerous in her own right despite what these idiots on the Isle thought. She was always third. Behind Harriet even though Harriet hardly did anything but keep up the Jolly Roger and occasionally entered a bar brawl, and behind Harry who was practically Uma’s whipping boy.

Voluntarily Uma’s whipping boy and first mate. It was disgusting.

When she was young she had envied and idolized her brother for his fierceness and the hook he used to slash people’s throats for daring to not follow his orders. But ever since he fell for Uma and pledged his life to serve her, she lost her respect for him. Why be a first mate when you could be a leader and take the best share of booty for yourself.

It was a universal rule not to fall for anyone on the Isle. It made you dependent and weak. Yet Harry was clearly hook over his head devoted to Uma and that seemed to make him stronger. Harry fought like an untamed animal with Uma by his side whenever someone treaded on their turf or insulted their gang. People feared him more now than ever, not daring to speak a bad word about Uma or him. They said he was insane. They said he killed for fun, a true sadist.

She hijacked her way to Auradon, she stole a whole roomful of treasure, she’s been living the good life on the seas without a tie to anyone, a leader unto herself. And she was still second-place to Harry, a pirate who was no leader, just a first mate.

It was just like that when they were kids. Her father treated Harriet more or less with respect or left her alone since she took care of things when he was off drinking until he could see and defeat his hallucinations of Peter Pan. He more or less ignored Harry seeing too much of himself in the boy, seeing his failure in the future. Her, she was his favorite, she knew that. Sure, he didn’t like it when she talked to him, he wasn’t a fan of kids talking or kids in general, but he would treat her mildly better like teaching her the proper way to stab someone. But it was clear that he had no hopes for her to grow into her pirate legacy or any of her capabilities.

Apparently, he thought her siblings had more raw skill and she had too much of his obsessiveness.

Fine, he was right she was obsessed. Obsessed with treasure, with being a pirate, with being great. She was going to get her own treasure. Steal it from her own father. Like a true treacherous pirate.

He would hate her.

Good, she hated him.

Hook was a greedy man. Wouldn’t be such a fearsome pirate otherwise. He refused to give up any of his possessions to his children. They hadn’t “earned” it. Or as he usually yelled at them, “You’re supposed to be fucking pirates! Get your own treasure!” That declaration led to the bitterest resentment in her piled near the times he forgot her existence in favor of talking to her siblings, doubting her, agreeing with the rest of the Isle. Placing her fourth behind the rest of the family.

She would prove them all wrong, and make them pay.

Her angry thoughts echoed with her pounding footsteps as she kicked the hollow wooden wall behind Madame Medusa’s casino that had formerly been the diamond plunder’s basement, now Lady Caine’s lair.

CJ would have liked to make a dramatic entrance, much like the one she did at the Auradonians silly Neon Lights Ball but she sadly didn’t not see any vines or ropes to swing from so she settled for bounding down the stairs and brandishing a sword.

Brandishing her sword in a dark, empty room apparently, the only light coming from a small window.

The basement was much larger than she thought basements were supposed to be until she realized she was in a small entrance room and she had to go through another door. The door led through a stone hallways, it’s only light coming from the cracks of the wooden ceiling which CJ figured must be the floor of the casino. Some stones had been chipped and the place reeked with mildew and dust but it was also decorated to intimidate.

There were blood splatters and spare limb joints wedged in corners of the walls, rusty swords bent with decay that had been stuck to the wall and unable to be removed. Posters buxom female pirates and males with broad chests holding knives in their mouths were crudely tacked up alongside “Wanted” signs of Lady Caine’s gang.

CJ recognized some of the pirates from the stories Harriet used to tell. The heartless Blackbeard, the infamous Davy Jones, and CJ’s favorites, Anne Bonny and Mary Read, Grace O’Malley, Ching Shih..

“Hmmm I like her too.” A female voice purred, sidling up to her side. It took most of CJ’s composure not to jump at the sudden presence of whom she instinctively knew to be Lady Caine and forced herself to smooth her face into a wicked grin as she faced the self-proclaimed “Queen of Thieves.”

The older pirate was a bit shorter than her, reaching to her nose but that didn’t lessen her intimidating presence. In fact it just made CJ even more on guard knowing that it was likely Lady Caine would find a sneaky advantage like hitting her in the crotch or some other unprecedented move using the dagger at her belt.

The rest of her body was less intimidating since toll of the Isle showed. She was skinnier than CJ so it made her corset look like it was hanging limply from her body rather than pushing up ‘the goods.’ Her hair was limp too, and straggly from lack of clean water and constant sea mist.There was an uneven spread of muscles on her arms tempered with some new and healed-over scars, one that even went through her skull and roses tattoo on her right shoulder. Her left leg was clearly injured since she favored to lean on her right and CJ could see the spread of blood seeping through her tent-canvas pants. The one piece of jewelry, a skull necklace was cracked and rusting over making it look more like a demented clown.

What really brought the scare factor was Lady Caine’s face. Her mouth was set into an unnerving casual smirk. The kind that implied she was the type of person to arrange for someone ‘to swim with the fishes’ simply because she needed something to do to fill her time. Yet her smile didn’t reach to her eyes. No, her eyes were too guarded, menacing, immediately telling CJ that if she tried to double cross her, than Lady Caine would return the favor. Ten-fold.

“Yes, she has quite the treasure chest.” CJ commented.

“Heh, I meant I wouldn’t mind taking over her nine hundred squadron fleet to raise a little hell,” Lady Caine raised an eyebrow, her brown and shoddily red-dyed bangs brushed against CJ’s cheek as the older women got into her personal space. “But I can share your admiration for her figure too. Would she be any competition for that voodoo sorceress you’ve been with?”

CJ forced herself to breath normally through her mouth despite her sudden wildly thumping heart. Unexpected and unwelcome memories filled her mind, pushing the faded poster of Ching Shih away.

Freddie’s dark lips, stained with purple berries that brought out the highlights of her kelp green eyes. Those same lips who created enticing and persuasive arguments with her ‘velvety’ voice coaxing new sounds out of her as they glided across her body.

Her nimble hands easily able to pickpocket and grope with none the wiser than she, but CJ always knew because she knew that girl. Her tricks of trade, her facial tics, what sent her over the edge in the most pleasurable sense of the world.

That was until CJ had been totally blindsided when Freddie decided to become independent. She knew Freddie had a stubborn streak, which Freddie would retort that she wasn’t stubborn, she was practical, not carrying the obsessive Hook madness. But for Freddie to abruptly tear away from her to have her own dreams was something CJ never thought would happen. Freddie had always seemed to content in helping her with her own schemes, she said she found keeping CJ under control to be entertaining which would be followed by a night of dark magic and ecstasy.

“Of course not.” CJ barked out a hearty laugh and tried to move the conversation to safer, less complicated, emotional areas as well as keep her mind off the stunning spawn of Facilier.

“The girl is my sidekick. My pet. My Auradon pet since she insists on becoming a famous singing star for those goody goodies. She’s not at all like Ching Shih. What I would give for a nine hundred boat squadron which brings me to the important thing. How am I getting the Jolly Roger?”

“We’re getting the Jolly Roger.” Lady Caine corrected leading her toward a bigger room which CJ could tell had used to be used for storage due to the familiar musty smell of aged alcohol. The large boxes had been shifted and carved to form makeshift chairs, weapons were hung or stabbed haphazardly around the place and in the center was a wooden throne which Lady Caine lazily slouched upon, looking at CJ up and down with amusement.

CJ pulled out her sword again, glaring at Caine threw slitted eyes. “Not the deal. The Jolly Rogers mine.”

“Relax. I don’t want that ship, I have my own. I just have my own plans for your father once we steal it in front of bloodshot eyes.” Lady Caine smirked malevolently, “He still drinks, doesn’t he?”

CJ faltered a little when she realized that wasn’t a rhetorical question, “Uh maybe. I don’t associate with him. I’ve been Auradon.”

“I’ve heard about that. Now that is something people should talk about more. You got into Auradon on your own. No pitying help from Prince Furrball. No ‘turning good,’ turning their backs on us so we could rot in hell while their mushy goodhearted brains sleep on pillows. You lived up to your wickedness, CJ.” Lady Caine cocked her head, looking oddly at CJ. Her eyes glinted with a strange happiness and her mouth curved in a genuine smile like when Captain Hook envisioned himself killing that dratted green boy. So proud of his imaginary accomplishment.

Proud. That was what Lady Caine looked like. Not proud of herself but proud for CJ.

CJ’s staggering realization that someone was actually proud of her was tempered by the words sinking in, “No one talks about me and my accomplishments? I have stolen loot from Merlin!”

“Exactly. They still speak of your brother and his violence, but not your greatness. It’s ridiculous. Descended from two great pirates..well I’m a great pirate, your dad-” Lady Caine waved her hand as if she couldn’t quite describe the numerous fatal flaws of Captain Hook in words.

“Yeah…” CJ wasn’t sure how to continue, another odd feeling, she had always remained sure and in control most of her life, “How did-How are you my mother? Dad despises you. He has dreamed of you and Pan being crushed under his stern.”

“And I despise him as well. It’s complicated. I wasn’t in the right mind when I did it. I was drunk, we were fighting, his Hook slipped and instead of scratching me it kind of went the hot and sexy route..huh? That actually wasn’t very complicated now that I say it out loud.” Lady Caine shrugged, wiping a hand over eye and smudging her heavy eyeliner. It sort of reminded her of Harry.

Truthfully as she looked longer at Lady Caine she found it difficult to see the resemblance between her and her supposed mother. Lady Caine’s brown hair matched more with Harriet and the eye-liner, totally a trademark of her brother. Maybe..just maybe if Lady Caine ate more and filled out, CJ would be able to see if they have the same slender figure, and if she wiped away the magenta lipstick, maybe they had the same lips....

“And you’re not Harriet’s or Harry’s-” “No.” Lady Caine vehemently denied, “I would remember if I slept with that son of a bitch more than once, especially if I was pregnant afterwards. Just once is enough for me. What else do you think the C in your name means?”

CJ hadn’t meant to look so shocked but she lost her control, her eyes bugged out and her jaw dropped, “The C is for Caine?!”

Lady Caine burst out laughing, getting off her chair and back to CJ’s side, “No again. Your dad named you and he would never choose something that referenced me. You should have seen the look on your face though. Ha!”

Once CJ’s heart resumed its normal rhythm, she managed a weak laugh, “Okay great. But seriously, the Jolly Roger. What’s the plan? I want that boat.”

Lady Caine looked like she was about to laugh again, but she refrained seeing the seriousness in CJ’s eyes. “There’s no official plan...yet. But you will be in charge of it since you know Hook’s turf better than I do.” A part of CJ’s gut pinged at Caine’s words. It felt wrong somehow. Too easy that the “Queen of Thieves,” known for her hard will and controlling way would just hand over the plan to CJ, even if she was her child. Yet CJ swelled with ambitious excitement. She was finally getting the respect her reputation deserved. She could totally plan and execute a way to take the Jolly Roger.

“What do you want with all this?” CJ questioned, giving in a little to her gut feeling and eyeing Lady Caine warily.

“Like I said, I have my own score to settle with Hook. And a small favor. I want to use the Jolly Roger to storm Corona.” “You see, CJ, long before you were born. Before Auradon or the Isle or any of this existed. I lived in Corona. My father was a petty thief that King Fredric jailed because he couldn’t stand any sort of criminal. Murderers in cells with domestic abusers and first time offenders. It was Corona’s own version of the Isle. The first one. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Beast took the idea from him.

My father died in that prison since he couldn’t compete with the big guns. I grew up on the streets which was for the best I suppose ‘cause look at me now.

But that self-righteous King Fredric has the balls to send me with common criminals and louses all over again. Off with his head along all the rest of those do-good bastards.”

“Off with their heads?” CJ laughed, giving the moment some levity, “You sound like the Queen of Hearts.”

Lady Caine glared at her, visions of anger and blood quite evident on her face, “Tie them to the rack, firing squad, crucifixion. Whatever you want. The point is those Auradonians will suffer, and they will not live.”

———————————————————————————————————

Jordan inhaled deeply before knocking on Ben’s office door.

This was it, today was the day, no turning back.

After getting those cliches out of her head, Jordan paused to make sure that the rumbling of her stomach was just hunger from being too nervous to eat dinner and not impending throw up out of nervousness.

Yet before Jordan could knock on the door, Ben flung it wide open. She was starting to wonder if Ben was some door opening psychic for the past five times she visited this week to go over Operation: Defeat the Coven (official more badass title still in progress), he always opened the door before she knocked. Either she was a very loud presence or Ben was always waiting for someone to bother him.

She had a feeling it was the latter since he was King of Auradon and all, which seemed sad. She knew she would go crazy if she had people constantly knocking on her lamp all the time asking to fix some crisis or other.

Well, people used to do that to her lamp, but after sending those people off in a sandstorm, almost everyone learned to leave her alone. Just how she liked it.

"Hi, Jordan! Are you ready to beat some baddies?" Ben enthused, sounding unusually chirpy and breathless.

"Baddies? Really? No wonder you got caught so quickly on the Isle." Jordan shook her head with amusement.

"Yep, that's me." Ben said, pushing her back so he could close the door behind him, smiling way too brightly and nervously swishing his bangs out of his face as if that would make him look more casual.

Yeah, he was hiding a girl, or he was watching porn. She had seen Aziz act with this sort of bad nonchalantless plenty of times whenever she popped by his room unannounced. And since Ben was way too innocent to even know of the dark side of the internet and he did possess a girlfriend, she could bet he and Mal were having some alone time.

Ben leaned firmly against the door in a move that would prevent anyone from being able to open the door without getting through him, "Do you need any last minute supplies?"

As he said this, Jordan finally spotted the tell-tale bite mark on his neck that confirmed her suspicions.

Jordan was tempted to make a comment about how it looked like a certain purple dragon had marked him as part of her hoard, but refrained. Auradonians were still on edge about Vks even though they had been around for a year, and even more were up in arms about Ben promoting Mal to be his future queen.

If anyone had gotten wind that Mal was in Ben's room, alone, giving him love bites and who knows what else when he was supposed to be doing kingly duties, the scrutiny would be worse than ever on Ben. She might as well let them have their private moment.

Even though that private moment just showed how relaxed Ben was about Operation Defeat the Coven while she still wanted to throw up.

And that's exactly why she needed to talk to Ben. It was clear he had too much faith in her and her abilities and so he needed to be given a reality check of how they could all die and the world that they know it would be taken over by every villain on the Isle imaginable.

"Ben, I promise I'm not backing out. I mean, it is really too late for me to back out anyway so I can't. But I don't feel prepared for this at all. I'm a genie. I'm a sidekick. I don't really make tough decisions, I just entertain people with my magic powers, not fight them. The Coven have a millennium of experience over me and in dark magic which a completely different sort of power, and-"

"I understand how you feel." Ben put a comforting hand on her shoulder while her mouth dropped rather unattractively.

"You do?"

"Hey, I turned king when I was 16. I read a lot about politics and policy making, but it is completely different when I was thrown into ruling. It was like everything I studied and read meant nothing at all when it came to dealing with people and trying to listen to all their problems and think of plausible solutions on a deadline. I can't say I know what I'm doing most of the time."

Well that was very reassuring knowledge.

"But one major thing I have learned when it comes to leadership is that we all develop our own style. You can't prepare for it, you can't learn it. It just comes to you as you learn and grow. You just have to take your time."

"But I CAN'T take my time!" Jordan retorted, "This mission has a short deadline with snap decisions. I can't grow from this."

"It's adventure. People always grow and develop during an adventure like all our parents in their stories." Ben answered back with irritating calmness.

Jordan felt her eye twitch. She should have known that knocking some reality into the eternal optimist wouldn't work.

At least the eternal optimist had eyes so he could see her clear annoyance and distress because Ben said something else, "Besides Jordan, you may be the leader of the mission, but you have your friends to help you. That's why I have a Council. I don't know everything, but I surround myself with people who do and who will help guide me to making the right choices. You're not alone in this."

Jordan exhaled, surprised by how that little nugget of advice actually eased some of her nerves. She did feel pretty confident about her team. Aziz and Jay were excellent with parkour and other athletics so they could be counted on in the case of an attack, and Calix had the magical skills to go up against the sorcerers with her. Plus she had adventured with Aziz and Calix enough times to insticively know when to act in sync. It was too bad Jay was left in the cold in that respect, but he knew his way around the Isle so he had an advantage over all of them.

Additionally, Ben, Carlos Jane and Evie volunteered to alternate in keeping contact with them via magically-enhanced ear chip so they could research useful information in the library if needed.

She trusted them to know what they were doing, and she supposed with so much back-up if she did make a mistake then they could resolve it quickly before any real damage ensued.

"Thanks, Ben. I think I'm ready to go." Jordan said, brushing his hand off her shoulder.

"Right. I'll meet you there. I should go get Mal." Ben said, fixing his collar and rushed into his room.

Jordan sing-songed to the door before leaving, "Ben, I'm pretty sure Mal's room is on the other side of the castle."

She walked quickly to the front of Auradon Prep by the Beast statue where Evie, Aziz, Jay and Calix were already waiting and the moon was high above them all.

Since Ben had arranged the excuse to FG that she, Jay and Aziz were taking a field trip to Agrabah for a week to research illusions in connection with desert mirages so the two boys were dressed in loose pants and shirts that concealed the thick leather body armor underneath as well as the shafrah and scimitar strapped to their legs.

She had copied that look in a flowing black sundress with a two straps filled to the teeth with daggers criss-crossing her chest.

Truthfully, she never used a dagger before, but like with leadership, she hoped she would catch on. How hard could it be to stab someone?

Calix, on the other hand, was looking far too casual with a one shouldered toga that showed off most of his chest and no way to hide weapons anywhere on his body. Apparently he ignored her lecture that you can’t flirt someone to death in mortal combat.

"Good luck." Evie hugged Jay once she saw Jordan arrive. "Avoid Harry and the Gastons. And any of your exes."

"I don't have exes. We didn't date on the Isle, remember." Jay said, mock punching Evie on the shoulder, "I just have enemies that I slept with and never talked to again."

Ben and Mal joined the group before anyone could comment on that topic, not that Jordan knew exactly what to make of that piece of information, and they started their official goodbyes.

"We're only an ear chip away." Evie said handing each of them a small metallic chip that Carlos had made to place in their ear drum, "All you have to do is press and it turns on and off, and since Mal spelled it. It is guaranteed to work even when you close the barrier."

"Alright. Now where are we going first? Maleficent's castle? Ursula's fish and chips?” Jay clapped his hands together, clenching his fists for the undoubtedly upcoming fights.

"The jungle." Aziz, Calix and Jordan said in unison.

What?" Jay, and Mal looked utterly confused by the answer.

"Do you not check the group messages?" Jordan snorted derisively, "Anyway, we are going to the jungle first to fix some of the holes in the barrier. Since Evie said the jungle is unoccupied by humans, we won't be noticed and attacked by the Vks immediately. Calix and I will fix the holes so the Coven won't be able to have an escape route. Then we'll work our way inland to the Coven's laier and do battle."

"Oh, okay. But you’re wrong though on the jungle being unoccupied. Some people live in the jungle. Mainly hunters who wanted some fresh meat rather than the leftovers you give us." Jay corrected.

All the Aks tensed at that and Ben looked shamefaced to the floor.

Jay hadn't said the comment in a bitter or accusatory way, but matter of factly. Which made it sound worse. It was simply a fact of the Isle that if one got tired of rotten and disgusted food from the overprivilged that you had to face the dangerous wild jungle and kill for raw meat.

"You’ll fight those VKs off we meet them." Jordan instructed after an awkward silence. Then nodded to the others. "We're going now."

Aziz took the cue and rubbed her lamp that was snugly strapped to his hip. She hated the fact that she had to bring it to the Isle, but she had no choice. While she could do magic to in transporting herself places, when it came to performing magic on others it required a wish.

"I wish to transport to the jungle of the Isle."

Shimmery pink smoke enveloped them, wind rushing past their ears and moving their bodies even though it felt like their feet were still firmly on the ground. Once the smoke cleared, all they could see was shades of green and brown.

The green came from the leafy canopy and thickets of thorns that blocked the view of the sea while the brown was the dead grass that crumpled underfoot, the dead trees that fallen over to their left in a small pile and the holes of dirt.

Jay crouched by one of the holes, studying the edges. Standing up he informed them a hyena probably created it.

"Are hyenas nocturnal?" Calix eyed the hole nervously, looking around as if to find some sort of protective cave even though there was nothing but trees.

"Yes, but I wouldn't worry. Usually the leapords take care of them." Jay said ignoring Calix’s more distressed look and motioned for them to follow him into the trees. "Since we are near the coast, the cliffs should be close by here."

And so their journey began.

#cj hook #lady caine #jordan #jay #aziz #calix #prince ben #mal #evie #jane #winner’s curse #chapter eight #my fanfic #my fanfiction #disney descendants #freddie facilier #cjxfreddie #implied

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tessatechaitea · 5 years

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Justice League Dark #15

Don't worry. This review won't concentrate on Detective Chimp's butthole. Probably.

It always surprises me when somebody criticizes my comic book review site as being biased. I mean, yeah! I never claimed it wasn't going to be biased. But the people who accuse me of bias always do so when I critique something they love. Nobody ever stands up for the things they hate when I shit all over them in an obviously biased and subjective way! At times like that, they simply respond, "Yeah! Ann Nocenti's mother's vagina was a portal from some hell dimension where random statements with no thematic connectivity are regarded as high art! Now Tweet directly at her and call her a nasty name!" What I'm trying to say is that I understand how people think. I once listened to that one Simon and Garfunkel song that says, "A man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest. Mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmmm mmmmmmmmm." How come the music producer didn't tell Si and Gar to not enjoy their delicious packed lunches in the middle of recording?

I'm sure I'm not the first to notice this but it made me laugh out loud for quite a while when I cropped the cover of Bridge Over Troubled Water.

I should publish all of my reviews in a manner that shows a side-by-side comparison of the review I set out to write and the review that winds up getting written. Because everything after the first sentence of the first paragraph was the train already derailed. Instead of bitching and moaning about the bias of people complaining about my bias, my brain immediately had to admit to its own bias! Stupid brain. You're supposed to hide my vulnerabilities and weaknesses to help me survive in this travesty of an attempt at polite society! How I didn't get the shit beaten out of me every other day in junior high I'll never know. No, wait. I do know how that happened. The few times people attempted to tease me, they were frustrated by either my lack of notice that they were making fun of me or my super aggressive flip-the-fuck out whirl of arms and fists and tears and screams. There were victims out there who both reacted appropriately and weren't deadly tornadoes of incomprehensible rage built up by an inability to understand how all of this human interaction was supposed to work! Sure, point out that I'm picking my nose in front of everybody but I didn't realize you were saying it to humiliate me! My nose needed picking and what was I supposed to do? Pretend, just like everybody else, that nobody picks their nose?! Okay, sure, maybe I could have realized I could have picked it in the bathroom or used a tissue or cared at all about how it looked to do it right there in front of everybody. I had the capacity to understand that because I certainly didn't jerk off in public! Usually. See that? Did you witness my brain's betrayal just when I was calling out my brain's betrayal?! Don't tell people about my habit of picking my nose in public, you stupid squishy Judas! Just do what I tell you to do, asshole! No offense, asshole. You do everything just right. You're my second favorite body part. Goddammit, brain. If you ask me to Google "chimpanzee butthole" one more time, I will stab you through my eye! I am not doing it! Who am I kidding? I'm only human. I'll definitely be Googling "chimpanzee butthole" at some point today. So Justice League Dark! Some paladin character I don't remember from the previous issue notices that there's an eclipse happening and he was just reviewing "astrological charts" which didn't reveal an eclipse was due. Bobo decides to argue with him.

I don't think Occam's Razor states, "If I can think of anything at all that's a way more mundane explanation than the one you have, my explanation must be the correct one." It's a little more complicated than "That sounds crazy therefore Occam's Razor states you're crazy or incompetent."

I'm not an expert on Occam's Razor so Occam's Razor states my explanation of it is probably incompetent or crazy. Oh, the paladin was Doctor Fate sans helmet. I wish I hadn't been circumcised so I could call my unerect penis Kent Nelson and my erect penis Doctor Fate. Anybody who follows me on Twitter is going to think they've already read this review because I just keep tweeting out all of my jokes from it. Oh fuck you! There have definitely been at least three actual jokes so far! Man-Bat looks at the eclipse and begins thinking up a new formula. Occam's Razor says he's incompetent and crazy but I bet he just came up with a new Eclipso transformation formula just by looking at the dark moon. Is that how science works? You come up with a crazy idea first and then it's just a matter of mixing a few stupid chemicals to make that idea reality? Because if so, Eureka! I just came up with a serum that will allow me to suck my own dick! Diana gives Zatanna and Doctor Fate a tour of her underground archive of magical objects.

I often give James Tynion IV a hard time but he can't be all Snyder-toadie theater nerd if he included the Ace of Winchesters in Diana's treasure hoard.

Diana's most dangerous item is Eclipso's black diamond. I'm currently rereading the 90s Eclipso comic book which was touted in the letters pages as being the first open-ended comic book focusing on a villain. I guess Deathstork didn't count even though he was an unrepentant pedophile. The series ran for 18 issues but I think I gave up on it around issue #6. Swamp Things heads off to find Circe via The Green but instead he finds Jason Woodrue, the new Flower Elemental, making a deal with the Parliament of Flowers to make the world pretty. Swamp Thing tries to stop him but Woodrue infects him with The Rot. So now he can't do anything but decompose while Detective Chimp and Doctor Fate Lite (Khalid!) try to find Abby Arcane to help him. But before they can even begin that quest, Man-bat walks in with the new serum he easily invented because the hard part of science is the imagination to come up with the invention. His new invention is a Man-bat-bat-bat-bat-bat-bat-bat-bat-bat-bat-bat serum and it works terrifically!

Or terribly? I think it's a success. But maybe not.

Everybody seems to think Man-bat is under some kind of spell but they seem to have forgotten that he's insane. Unless we can't trust Batman's judgment on who is insane and who isn't. I mean, according to Batman, every villain that runs a gang is crazy and every thug in a gang is a criminal. Man-bat was kind of a lone criminal so maybe he's only crazy in the way all scientists are crazy? Is that a thing? I mean, Beakman was pretty fucking loony but Bill Nye seemed sane. Those are the only scientists I know. Diana, Doctor Fate, and Zatanna begin a ritual using Eclipso's black diamond to teleport Diana to the moon where she can find the center of Hecate's power. I don't know if the creative team remembered how the 90s comic had Eclipso existing between panels to narrate or if their rendition of the ritual was just a happy accident because showing him trapped in the Black Diamond just translates into Eclipso stuck between borders.

Either way, kudos. Love this page. And I don't often mention when I love art and layout so you know I'm being completely earnest here!

Wonder Woman makes it to the moon but it's haunted by something terrible. I don't know what that something is. I guess I'll find out next issue if I remember to purchase Justice League Dark #16. Justice League Dark #15 Rating: B. I like a lot of stuff going on this comic book because I like the characters so much. The creative team is doing a decent job although I'm not blown away. I'm not sure I get blown away by many comic books anymore. It's especially hard to think, "Justice League Dark really makes an insightful impact in the comic book landscape" when I'm also reading Chris Ware's Rusty Brown in which that kind of thing is happening every few pages. Maybe I shouldn't even compare the two! Just because they're using the same medium to tell their story it doesn't mean they should be given equal weight. One is mainstream entertainment and one is high art! I think. Maybe the mainstream comic is just telling a tense and action packed story and the high art comic just makes me feel like shit. So it's obvious why I think it must be high art! Anyway, go read Rusty Brown! It's terrific! And if you want to read this, it's worth it at 1994 comic book prices. So see if you can haggle this shit down to a buck seventy-five or so.

#Justice League Dark #DC Comics #DC #James Tynion IV #Alvaro Martinez #Raul Fernandez

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hoosierbi · 5 years

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i got tagged by @kingcompxny (thank uuuu ♥)

rules: answer these questions and tag people you want to get to know better!

nicknames: dont have any for my english name much to my chagrin but for my hebrew name theres aravul, vuli, vuv, etc

zodiac: sagittarius rights!

height: 1.71cm. i REFUSE to look up how much that is in feet yall are insane

time: 20:22

favorite band/artist: odesza, the beatles

song stuck in my head: אפרים ואסתר שמיר- ערב של יום בהיר

last movie i saw: on GOD i cannot remember

last thing i googled: sagittarius (had to make sure i spelled it right)

other blogs: my main which im SHY about (dm me if u want it ig), @daelta- aesthetic/personal/just stuff i vibe with, @pinkyber- scifi stuff, p inactive these days, another blog for abuse victims (that u can also dm me for)

do i get asks: sometimes and i cry every time

why this username: we bi and hoosier stans in this house

following: 176, most inactive

average amount of sleep: nine hours? im sleempy

lucky number: 6, that beautiful bitch

what im wearing: glow in the dark skeleton onesie hehe huhu

dream job: historian, archivist, archeologist

dream trip: oregon, the netherlands, mongolia

favorite food: soup

instruments: used to play the recorder in third grade

eye color: green

hair color: dark brown, lights up red in the sun

aesthetic: pink stuff, big flowy gowns, pocket knives, bloody knuckles, water in the sun, old science diagrams, celestial bodies, lush green foliage, wings, cuts and bruises

languages: i speak hebrew and english as mother tongues and arabic as a second language (tho im much better at understanding and reading it than talking, im quite rusty at that)

most iconic song: legally i cant answer this bc its giving me an existential crisis

random fact: ive never had a cavity

i wont tag anyone bc i dont want to be an inconvenience but pls go ahead and answer this if u want to!

#wn #my computer was being repaired so thats why im late #thank uuuuuu kingcompxny je suis touched and grateful

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icy-warden · 5 years

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Remnant

AO3 - prompt Zombies for Zevraholics Anonymous October Challenge 2019

There's no real shelter from the pouring rain, and he hides as much as he can under curved vent shaft.

The injury at his arm throbs constantly with piercing pain, one he can't ignore. Every beat of his heart seems to reverberate in the wound.

He glances at the weapon in his hand, held loosely with numb fingers.

Few more hours and he'll see.

Few more hours, before he'll feel the urge to seek out someone, someone living and not infected to bite and-

He exhales shakily, leaning his head forward, staring at the floor in between his knees. Few more hours and he'll stop hearing her screaming.

/////

It could be the thoughtlessness of both of them, or the creatures were really as clever as they noticed them to be. Not as mindless as everybody thought. Vergil and Saskia observed a pattern to some of the behaviours, and it was as disturbing as it was fascinating.

And in the end they were ambushed in a seemingly clean area. One moment they were exploring it, the next they're swarmed with them, fighting their way out.

They kept close to each other, fencing the flesh-thirsty monsters in well practiced fashion, when suddenly a body barrelled into Vergil from the side. The momentum made him collide with nearby trash containers, sending him sprawling on the ground. He lost the grip on the short sword, wheezing for air when it slammed into him, making Vergil struggling greatly with keeping the teeth snapping wildly at his neck away from his skin. By some miracle he was able to put an arm between himself and the throat of his opponent, wrestling for the knife at his hip and plunging it into the base of the skull, the angle wrong, but the sound of cracked bone was like music to his ears and it stopped moving, after it let out a pitful gurgle. There're noises of a fight near him and he saw Saskia being overwhelmed. Vergil crawled from under the limp rotting body, stumbling to a stand, snatching the blade from the ground and going after head of the closest one, the cut a nearly clean one. Repeated it with the next, slashing at its throat, not feeling the bony sharp fingers clawing at his clothes, but-

They got her. He saw it happen, blunt teeth clamping at her shoulder, making her cry out in pain, but she jerked as far as she could in iron hold and fired. The jaws still held at her even when the body went down, taking Saskia with them to the ground. There's next one upon her and Vergil tried to take grab at her-

She managed to swing the barrel of her weapon at its temple, then shot its brains off, the matter spraying at them both, getting into Vergil's hair, face, clothes and he's struggling to bearthe, frantically trying to jerk his arm out from slacked teeth, warm blood running down-

A second, as Vergil looked with horror at Saskia, dread mirrored in their frantic gazes. They didn't lose time and land a hit at her again, clawing at her and she held his eyes for a second longer, mouth open in pained snarl, hands faltering with weapons, and there's a swarm of them from nowhere. She's fighting back again, screaming at him to "Run, you fool!" And he did, shaking off the hands grabbing at him, slashing at what he could reached, only glancing back at her once, at short auburn hair like a beacon in a swarm of tattered clothes and mass of decomposing bodies, and he neared a corner, when a blood chilling scream pierced the air-

She's being eaten alive

-and then the ring of a single shot going off.

Vergil ran.

/////

He barricades himself at the roof, not remembering how he got there and why the heavy doors were open. If there's something out there, he's done for, nowhere to run at this point but jump and pray for quick end.

A hysteric thought bubbles in his mind of ending it now. He doesn't have the time. He'll turn into them in less than a day and he doesn't, doesn't want to die like that-

Vergil's breath's laboured, he collapses near the door, arm hurting like hell, choking on a shaky sob. Tears are welling in his eyes and he doesn't try to stop them from spilling down his dirty face.

He's shivering, feeling sick, both cold and hot, but he has to tend to the wound and on some miracle he didn't lose his pack through the mad dash. The bitten arm refuses to move properly, and he grits his teeth with short broken gasps. The jacket and shirt are off. Every shift hurts, blood sluggishly oozing from the injury, sticky, and Vergil steels himself to look. An uneven ring of teeth deep in his flesh already started to darken the area and- oh gods, dark veins are spreading the bruising, purpling his skin.

He chokes, swallowing the bile in his thraot until he can't and swings to the side, spilling the contents of his stomach with violent coughs.

Vergil waits for a moment until the spasms end, breathing heavily. He isn't looking at the arm, until he manages to wait out the shaking of his body, until he can find some clarity of his mind, full of pain and panic. He's feeling the wound pulsing along with frantic heartbeat and he's amazed it's still in his chest and how he didn't have heart attack. Tending to the wound goes slowly and Vergil does as best as he can, hissing and blinking away the tears, some of them spilling messily – some of its guts are still on him, he thinks with trepidation, as he licks his dry lips catching the taste of vile dried liquid.

And then he waits. Pulls out his weapon. It's just a matter of time. He doesn't even have strength anymore to move elsewhere.

/////

Vergil loses the sense of time. Seconds or hours later, he's still breathing and thinking, still feeling twinges of pain that're all his world now. He's in and out, sometimes feels the wind on his clammy skin, closes his eyes wishing to just sleep, but the injury's aching so much. He swears he hears her calling for him and then he wakes up with a shrill of a scream, clawing at his chest. He curls on himself as far as he's able to, numb fingers still clutching the weapon.

Few more hours, few more and he'll end it.

He can't move his bitten arm, the skin of his hand has purple veins blackening it. He bites his lip unitl he tastes blood, swallowing it, holding in an inhuman noise of despair. Before-

He wakes up with a gasp, in a puddle of something smelly, greedily hauling the air through the open mouth. Vergil can't tell if he's cold or not, chilled to the bone by the damp clothes clinging to his form. He lies there, staring at the yellowish puddle and concrete until he finds the strength to move. The light hurts his eyes, and he holds himself above the mess with an elbow, banging his back on the wall behind as he sits up.

His mind seems to be unusually clear, and he feels weak, but like he went too long without food or water, or pushed himself too hard. Then he scrabbles for his pack for water and drinks, drinks until the bottle is empty and, as he glances at his bitten arm his eyes nearly bulge out of its sockets. The purple veins are nearly transparent, darkened skin gone and the pain, he doesn't feel the insane pain anymore, only the dull bruising of an injury. He tries to move the fingers and they do, if not with slight difficulty, like he twisted them and now the feelings back to them. And when he unwinds the makeshift bandages, the wound looks like it starts healing, still raw and angry. But. Healing.

/////

The area Vergil's travelling at is suspiciously deserted. He was sure there's a community here, but it seems abandoned. And his hope skyrockets again when he sees a movement, wishing it a living person only to see few of the infected, walking slowly towards him. He freezes in the middle of wide alley, eyes darting around the walls looking for something to pull himself up on. Vergil doesn't want to test the theory he had lately, not as close, not with more than one of them, but he has little choice. Running will only make this worse, so he tries to keep still, shifting slightly, hand crawling to his short sword. He ran out of ammunition week ago. Cold sweat runs down his back, and he's watching the disgusting creatures shuffling awkwardly forward, looking almost lost, letting out growls and grunts.

The smell of them almost makes Vergil gag when they near him, and one of them pauses few steps before him, taking a sniff and Vergil's so close to lose it, knuckles of his fingers white on the blade handle, when the creature huffs, and steps around him. Others ignore him as well, straggling along, so slowly he could take them out, with their backs to him. But he waits until they are out of sight, feeling the muscles of his shoulders almost snapping under the stress of keeping still and he literally jumps at the sudden noise. The grind of rusty ladder hitting the ground from the fire escape, and he looks up then down the alley they disappeared, fearing the sound lures them back.

"Get on it!" The man on the fire landing urges him to, and Vergil doesn't think much before he scrapes at the handle and goes up.

Moment later he's standing in poorly lit flat, though he can see few more people standing in a distance, looking at ease but he's sure they just wait for him to try anything funny. The blond man before him looks at Vergil with bright brown eyes, like he's seeing something wondrous.

"Show me your wound," he blurts and Vergil just stares at him, not sure he heard him right, "What?"

The man runs hand through his short hair. "Your wound, you have one, yes?" He's looking at him with hopeful expression. He's so easy to read, in contrary to others who look at him like he's an interesting bug, nothing more. Through when Vergil glances at the other blond man, he meets an easy grin.

"You ask a man to take off his clothes, and you don't even know his name," he drawls with amusement, his smirk growing, "or gave yours. Poor manners, my friend. I've taught you better than that."

The blond sputters a bit, grumbling, before he shakes his head, stepping closer to Vergil with an outstretched hand. "You've been bitten, yes?" Vergil stares at the hand, ignoring it, then at the man. The man huffs and drops it at his side. "I'm Alistair, and they are-"

"Zevran, nice to meet you, stranger," the other blond almost purrs holding Vergil's gaze.

"-my friends," Alistair stresses the word glaring at Zevran, "Who will make their introductions later. But," the man starts to undo his belt and Vergil startles, shifting his stance, "Ah, no, I, don't mean to-," he sounds a bit flustered as he struggles with the clothes at his hips, exposing the patch of skin. And Vergil glances at it, the smooth tanned skin deformed with scar of teeth, faint darker veins surrounding it. He's staring and almost touches the skin when someone clears their throat. "You have the same thing, yes?" He looks up and is meeting the hopeful brown stare, and he nods. In a moment he has his arm exposed, and the silence around them seems to vibrate.

"You're the same," Alistair whispers as he looks at neatly healed marks.

"How-," he swallows, "how long?"

"Over a month," Vergil rasps quietly.

"Half a year," Alistair lets go of his clothes, covering the mark on his hip. "They ignore you, just as we saw earlier." Vergil nods, holding the man's gaze. Alistair's shoulders sag, he looks relieved. He barks a laugh and it makes Vergil startle, and there's a warm chuckle from Zevran.

"There's so much I want to ask... I- Would you mind if we talked about it?" He pauses reading Vergil's silence as hesitation. "You can stay with us for as long as you want." Alistair waits for his reaction a bit longer, almost holding his breath. He nods, and the smile he's given is so bright he's almost blinded by it. "Let's go with proper introductions, yes? I'm Alistair."

This time he shakes the outstretched hand, his clasp sure. "Vergil."

#Vergil Surana #Saskia Tabris #Alistair #Zevran #dragon age fanfiction #WardenTxt

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vincent-frankenstein · 6 years

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Bloodbond - Chapter Ten

Part ten of my entry for @ts-storytime !!

Chapter Summary: In the terrible demon realm, Roman finds help where he least expected it — in two demons named Talyn and Sleep, the last of the rebels.

Pairings: prinxiety

Warnings: panic attack, a few mentions of death but nothing too bad

Read on A03

{ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 }

art by @pattykrabbies {here} and @vdkstar {here}!!!

(cover by @vdkstar <3)

It was like the Bloodbond but worse, yanking and tugging at him from all different angles as the world tilted into a mess of blurred colors and deafening noises. Virgil’s grip on his hand became vice-like as the chaos threatened to tear them apart, Roman’s scream lost to the cacophony.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, the feeling vanished and Roman stumbled to his hands and knees, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. The ground beneath him was rough, and the air around him hung heavy with humidity, carrying the thick smell of smoke. He heard Joan cursing and breathed a sigh of relief, his grip on Virgil’s hand loosening.

“You alright there, princey?” Virgil’s hair was tousled, his cloak a tangled mess, but he was otherwise unaffected, watching the two humans with a smirk. Roman glared as he tried (and failed) to get to his feet, the world swaying around him.

“You could’ve — c-could’ve warned us that it was that horrible!” Roman snapped, voice shaking. Virgil shrugged, reaching up to fix his hair.

“Sorry. Must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Y’know, for someone who promised to help us, you’re not being very helpful,” Joan complained as they stood, their face pale.

“I got you here, didn’t I?” Virgil said, gesturing to the world around them, and Roman bit back a gasp as his vision cleared. He’d heard stories of the demon realm, of its nightmarish landscape, but this… this was terrifying.

The sky above them was a deep, rusty, bloody red. There was no sun in sight; instead, the ground itself seemed to radiate heat, as though they were standing atop the sun. The air was hazy, smoky, carrying a scent of death and masking a landscape of dead fields and run-down towns surrounding a massive castle seemingly made of darkness.

They’d landed on a small hill, overlooking the grid of darkness beneath. Roman’s gaze caught on the castle, on the sharp spires and dark windows and the feeling of pure malevolence that seemed to radiate from it, and every inch of him seized up with fear, his eyes going wide. The smoke in the air was too thick, too much, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, clamping his hand tightly over his mouth as terror flooded his system.

“Snap out of it, princey.” Virgil set a hand on his shoulder, holding tightly, and he reached over to bracingly grab Joan’s arm too. “Breathe. This hellhole’s magic is enough to make you go insane with fear, you need to stop focusing on it and breathe.”

Virgil kept talking, and his voice slowly but surely dragged Roman from the pit of terror he’d fallen into. He fought to regain control of his breathing, tearing his gaze away from the castle and putting all his focus onto Virgil’s voice.

“You good?” Virgil asked once Roman’s breathing had evened out.

“Just peachy,” Roman said as Joan nodded, forcing himself to ignore the smoky fear hanging in the air. Virgil ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh.

“We’ve gotta move quickly. Follow me.” He started down the hill, and Roman and Joan exchanged a look before jogging after him, towards the tiny group of broken-down houses at the bottom. There was no one else in sight, not a single living soul, and silence reigned over the world as Virgil approached the smallest house, a wooden shack so run-down that Roman was surprised it was even still standing.

The inside was empty and dark, red light filtering in through the cracks in the walls and illuminating the dusty, dirt-covered floor. Virgil crouched down and swept away the dirt, revealing the twisted rune for hidden burned into the wood.

“What does this have to do with rescuing the king?” Joan asked, breaking the silence and making them both jump. Virgil glared, the sharp angles of his face enhanced by the dark red glow from outside.

“Do you think the three of us can face Queen Aliah on our own?”

“Yes,” Roman began.

“No,” Virgil cut him off swiftly, turning back to the rune. “We’ll need help, and this is how to get it.” He placed his hand atop it, fingers splayed across the wood, and it began to softly glow, the floor melting away to reveal a ladder leading into the darkness below.

Joan stopped Roman as Virgil started down the hole, their expression dark and distrustful. “Are you sure about this?” they asked, their voice hushed. Roman glanced at the hole, face softening.

“No,” he said truthfully, “but we have to save the Royal Mage and my father. This… could be our only chance at help. Besides, I trust V — Anxiety.”

Joan hesitated. “...then lead the way, your highness,” they said finally.

The ladder brought them deep underground, into darkness so thick that Roman couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. His and Joan’s fire combined could barely do more than illuminate a few feet in front of them. They met up with Virgil at the bottom, and he led them down a narrow side-tunnel.

The tunnel came to an end quickly, leading into an open room lit by weakly flickering torches. A few old, mismatched tables and chairs were scattered around the room, most housing piles of food or bandages. Virgil stepped into the room and smiled.

“Here we a — ah!” he yelped as a blur of brown and white rushed into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Roman rushed forward, quickly summoning his sword to fend off whatever had dared to attack them.

“Leave him al…” He trailed off mid-sentence when he realized that Virgil was laughing, his smile happier than Roman had ever seen before as he reached down to wrap his arms around the blur.

“Anx! Girl, we missed you!” The blur pulled away from Virgil, grinning with razor-sharp teeth. His face was tan, his hair a mess of soft brown and his eyes glowing orange-brown in the firelight. His wings were warm brown, matching the brown freckles littered across his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes as he fixed his lopsided cloak. “... I missed you too, Sleep.”

“Sleep?” Joan stepped further into the room, regarding the rough stone walls and the small piles of food with one eyebrow raised. The other demon — Sleep — finally took notice of them and froze, eyes narrowing.

“Anxiety, tell me you did not bring humans into our lair,” he said, tone laced with disbelief.

“Okay. I didn’t bring humans into our lair.” Anxiety rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to explain, shooting a glance at Roman, but a small voice cut him off.

“Did someone say Anx? Is he back?” A smaller demon lingered in the entrance of another tunnel, their eyes widening as they caught sight of the group. Sleep held out his arm, shaking his head.

“Stay back, Talyn, he brought humans,” Sleep snarled, wings curling defensively. “Why would you bring them here?” Are you insane?”

“Because we need your help, idiot. The Royal Asshole stole their king, and we need to get him back. Okay?” Virgil met Sleep’s angry glare with a stubborn one of his own. “I’d never intentionally bring any of them here without a good reason, Sleep, you know that.”

“Besides, you can trust us! I promise.” Roman had managed to charm all the hatred right out of one demon, who’s to say he couldn’t manage another? He smiled, waving kindly at the smaller demon, who watched him warily.

“Human promises don’t mean anything to me,” Sleep said with a roll of his eyes. “You could’ve at least warned us you were bringing company, girl. I coulda fixed the place up a bit.”

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, because you would’ve chosen cleaning for humans over sleeping. Makes sense.”

“So… what is this place?” Joan asked, their gaze caught on the smaller demon. Roman relaxed his grip on his sword, allowing it to disappear in a shower of sparks.

There was a map lying across one of the tables, stabbed through with pins and covered in scribbled lines leading towards the castle in the center. A battle plan, maybe? He peered at it closer.

“Rebellion central,” Virgil said with a tense shrug. “It’s where we hide from the queen and where these idiots try to plan to take her down.”

“As if you’re not one of ‘these idiots,’” Talyn spoke up, cautiously making their way further into the room. Their short, curly hair seemed to shimmer beneath the lights, changing from deep blue to soft pink and back against.

“I only stayed because you guys have food.” Virgil reached over to ruffle Talyn’s hair, making them groan in annoyance. But his fond smile slipped from his face quickly, and he crossed his arms. “We need to get inside the castle,” he said, suddenly all business.

“The queen took my father,” Roman said, “and the Royal Mage of Gaepried. We need to get them back.”

“We need your help.” Joan still looked uncomfortable, surrounded by those they’d been trained to hate, but they spoke earnestly, imploringly.

“So what you’re saying is, you all have a death wish.” Sleep looked at them as though they’d each grown extra head, eyes flashing with disbelief behind the darkness of his glasses. “Do you have any idea how dangerous her castle is? How powerful she is? Girl, tell me you’re joking.”

“You’ll all die,” Talyn added, face grim. “If she had your friends, they’re probably already dead. There’s no point going after them.”

“We have to try.” Roman’s heart pounded in his chest. They couldn’t be dead. He wouldn’t allow it.

“You are serious, oh my god,” Sleep cried.

“Don’t worry, Sleep, you won’t have to interrupt your precious naptime for us. We just need your maps of the castle. We’ve gotta get inside,” Virgil said. A moment later, his face softened. “I don’t want either of you risking your lives for us.”

“Bold of you to assume we’d let you go alone.” Talyn made their way to a bookshelf in the back of the room, searching the dusty shelves. They stood on the tips of their toes and pulled a rolled-up map from the top shelf, and threw it at Virgil. “What’s the plan, Anx?”

“Bold of you to assume we have a plan,” Virgil muttered, dropping to sit cross-legged as he spread the map across the floor. Roman studied the twisting hallways and tunnels scattered across the castle’s map as he sat beside Virgil, his eyebrows furrowing.

Joan sat opposite Roman, right beside Talyn, and after a moment’s hesitated, they offered them their hand. “I’m Joan.”

The demon regarded him for a moment, their eyebrow quirking up. “Talyn,” they said, offering a hesitant smile.

Sleep leaned over the map, jabbing his finger onto a room in the depths of the castle. “The dungeons,” he said. “If your missing humans are anywhere, they’re going to be there.”

Roman listened intently as Sleep explained the layout of the castle, ignoring the fear lingering in the corners of his mind as he did his best to memorize the twisting halls of Queen Aliah’s castle. His father, the Royal Mage… they were in there, somewhere, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to save them.

Slowly but surely, they came up with a plan. They’d leave the next morning, just before daybreak, take out any guards they came across, and sneak into the dungeons. They’d sneak King Odin and the Royal Mage out before Queen Aliah had even woken up.

There were too many ways that it could go wrong to count, as Virgil had kindly pointed out, and Roman found that he couldn’t shake the tendrils of fear seeping deeply into his mind as he tried to fall asleep that night. Princes don’t get scared, he told himself as he stared through the darkness, that hazy feeling of terror filling his lungs once more. Princes don’t get scared.

“You okay?”

He yelped at the sudden noise, slapping a hand over his mouth as his cry echoed through the lair. He heard a familiar snicker and growled, placing a hand over his chest to calm his panicked heart. Virgil’s silhouette watched him through the darkness, his wings wrapped tightly around himself.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered.

“I’m not sure that I believe you,” Roman grumbled, letting out a shaky breath.

“I mean, you getting scared for no reason is pretty funny,” Virgil said, voice shaking with hushed laughter. Roman rolled his eyes, pulling himself into a sitting position and wrapping his arms around his knees. Silence fell over the room.

“Seriously, though.” Virgil shifted, his voice hushed and uncertain. “Are you… okay? I-I mean this… this place is bad enough for a demon, and you’re going through a-a lot, and I just —”

“Why, Virgil, it almost sounds as though you care about me!” Roman found himself smiling despite the fear shrouding his mind. Virgil growled.

“I don’t, I promise. You’re still an asshole.” Roman could practically feel his glare through the darkness. “Excuse me for trying to be nice.”

“No! No, I appreciate it, really!” Roman spluttered.

“Y-Yeah?” Virgil coughed. “Well… good. Cause this is a one-time thing.” A moment passed in silence. “Well? Are you okay?”

Princes don’t get scared, his mind yelled as it clogged the truth in his throat and tried to force him to say yes. He hesitated, hugging his knees to his chest. “...No,” he said finally, so softly that he wasn’t even sure Virgil heard him.

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Am I really that bad at hiding it?” Roman asked with a weak, humorless chuckle. Virgil snorted.

“You’re a terrible actor,” he replied, laughing as Roman feigned offense. “Look, I’m not good at comforting or any sappy shit like that and this is a really dangerous thing that we’re doing and there’s… a lot of ways this could go wrong —”

“Is this your idea of being helpful?” Roman quipped.

“ — but,” Virgil continued, ignoring Roman’s interruption, “we’ve done a lot of really dangerous things before, right? I-I mean — I’m gonna sound like a huge hypocrite for saying this, but… don’t kill yourself worrying just yet. You’re like… the biggest idiot in all the realms and yet you still always manage to come out on top, so…”

He trailed off, his awkward attempt at comfort hanging in the air between them. Roman hesitated, feeling heat rush to his cheeks as he struggled to find the right words to respond. Anxiety was gruff and unsure, but he was being genuinely nice, and it sent a flutter through Roman’s heart.

“I… thank you,” Roman said softly, finding that the fear clouding his mind was fading. “You’re right, of course, I-I am Prince Roman! I never lose!”

“Well now that’s just a blatant lie,” Virgil said with a playful snort.

“Hey, what happened to comforting me?” Virgil’s quiet, giggling laughter was infectious, and Roman found himself laughing too, his hand clamped over his mouth to keep from waking the others. And when the laughter faded, a comfortable, friendly quiet took its place. “And… the same goes for you, alright? I promised I’d get you out of this alive, and I don’t intend to break that promise. So there’s no need for you to worry.”

“Yeah, sure.” Virgil yawned widely, sliding down to lie beside Roman. Roman stretched out across the floor, shifting to watch the demon, and their eyes met through the darkness. They lingered in each other’s gazes, silent, curious. “Goodnight, princey,” Virgil said silently, his eyes fluttering shut.

Roman hesitated. He knew it wasn’t fear making his heart thud in his chest, making blood rush to his face — but the alternative was far too confusing to dwell on. He regarded the demon through the darkness for a moment longer before his eyes slipped shut.

“Goodnight, Virgil.”

#ts-storytime 2018 submission #roman sanders #virgil sanders #remy sanders #sleep sanders #ts talyn #talyn #ts joan #joan #the final Calm chapter before the shitstorm :3

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grimelords · 7 years

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I realised I finished writing up my January playlist and then forgot to post it, so I’m doing it here and now at the tail end of February. It’s 3 hours of good music, complete from A$AP Ferg to ZZ Top. Please enjoy.

Dream House - Deafheaven: I started the year off with extreme mental anguish at the realisation that Sunbather is five years old this year and that I am thusly one million years old and have wasted my youth. That aside, Dream House is still an incredible song. It does what the best songs do and speaks directly to the teenaged part of your brain that thinks nobody will ever understand you like this song does right now. It is an overwhelming experience, the whole album is, and very good for having an embarrassing amount of emotions while you're driving alone and it's very loud.

Hold My Liquor - Kanye West: When this song came out I remember someone said the best musical moment of 2013 was when you couldn't tell the difference between Chief Keef and Justin Vernon on this song and I'm inclined to agree.

Melody 4 - Tera Melos: I've talked about this album at length in these playlists and probably featured almost every song at this point but I'll just say, what I like so much about this song is how it moves so effortlessly between a very melodic almost pop-punk type chorus before disintegrating into stop start mathematics and back again before you even notice.

B Boy (feat Big Sean & A$AP Ferg) - Meek Mill: I don't know how the fuck he did it, but somehow Meek Mill got a bunch of rappers who are normally nothing amazing (Meek included) to operate at the absolute top of their game for whole verse each. Highlights especially are 'I got commas on commas on commas, and I ain't talkin about a run on sentence!' 'put my P up on her head like that bitch is reppin Philly, and I wheelie in the pussy like my n**** meek milly' and the immediate about turn of A$Ap Ferg saying 'You thinkin' Khloe don't know me, I'm in the car dashin' haters/I'm in the Kardashian, get it? I'm lyin', can't I pretend?/They say fake it 'til you make it, well let the fakin' begin!'

Shabba REMIX - A$AP Ferg, Shabba Ranks, Busta Rhymes, Migos: This song's a good example of how many different flows you can get to work over one beat, and how much it improves the song. Ferg is so fast and so varied, then Migos even it out with straight triplets for most of their verse before Busta kills it by just doing absolutely everything. Great job everyone.

Attak (feat. Danny Brown) - Rustie: I normally can't stand Danny Brown but he kills this song. I still have a lot of feelings about Rustie, who showed so much promise for being the weirdo that dance music needed before presumably watching HudMo make a million producing for Kanye and friends and deciding to remove every interesting element from his music to make it palatable for rappers. That is, at least, my theory. This song is great, but every other song on this album is an example of this approach not working and instead producing boring, half assed songs where nobody's at their full potential.

Ultra Thizz - Rustie: Compare it to this, the busiest song in the world. The way the melody of the bassline that sounds like it's about to swallow you whole contends with the synth melody AND the pitched up vocal melody for your attention, they all come it at once and trade barbs before being superseded by a fuzzy, inscrutable guitar solo which fades out and leaves us back at the start. What I love about this song is the absolute maximalism and hypercolour sounds, combined with the only simple melody being the big chord stabs that centre the piece combine into a total sensory experience. Not to mention the rhythms, where absolutely every part of it seems to be slightly stranger than you expect, constantly dropping one beat before or after you expect - your first clue is the snare build at the start suddenly splitting into triplets.

If I Were A Carpenter - Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash: My girlfriend showed me this song and it unlocked a third of the triangle in my brain where this song, Wichita Lineman by Glen Campbell and The Engine Driver by The Decemberists make a sort of trinity of songs about having a job and thinking about Wife. They're all very very good too.

12 Bricks - OG Maco: Outside of the famous video, which is very good, this song is also incredible. Another in the pantheon of songs with extremely minimal instrumentation where the vocal performance is so good it doesn't need anything. The slight delay makes all the screaming and wooing toward the end just pile on top of each other in waves building the texture up until it finally levels out.

Requiem Para Um Amor - Toquinho: I really cannot get enough of the organ in this song. I don't think I've ever heard a classical guitar/electric organ duet before and now I'm hungry for more.

You Can Be A Robot, Too - Shintaro Sakamoto: This song appeared on my Discover Weekly playlist and I'm not really sure why but it's very good. I can't tell if it's actually a children's song or just playful like one but I appreciate it either way. When it started playing from the playlist the album cover was a cartoon of a kid surrounded by robots, but when I tried to add it to a playlist the art changed to a green picture of a skeleton playing a lap steel guitar with an explosion in the background, which felt very cursed to me.

Raver - Burial: This song has always stood out to me on Untrue because of how straightforward the beat is. Under anyone else's control this would be a normal song but instead it's this incredibly detailed, messy piece of work that feels like looking at a house song through a dirty window. I also have no proof at all to back this up but in my mind the xylophone line is sampled from Donkey Kong 64 or possibly Banjo Kazooie.

Cavalettas - The Mars Volta: I remember reading a bad review of this album when it came out that was mad because it pulled 'the most egregious studio trick in recent memory' by having the whole mix except for one guitar get sucked down into a wormhole multiple times, including the bass getting physically detuned until you can hear the strings slack before resuming as normal a second later. In my opinion it's incredibly funny and it sounds good so more bands should do it. Also the other day I saw the drummer Thomas Pridgen comment on Omar Rodriguez's instagram 'check ur dms bro'. Imagine being in a band with someone for a decade and not having their number, insane.

Flash Back - Rustie: Honestly I cannot get enough of this bassline. This song is another good example of what I was talking about with Rustie dumbing his melodies down after this album, the main line in this winds around and around itself in this loping confused rhythm and against the bass that's also syncopated it just ends up sounding like hypercolour, which is a feat for a song that's basically just those two melodies against each other for the bulk of it with some plastic choir stabs throughout.

Heaven - DJ Sammy: What an absolute perennial banger. Can you believe this AND Boys Of Summer were on the same album? Incredible stuff DJ Sammy. I've been meaning to make a playlist of all the 90s/2000s lame rave songs that are secretly very emotional and have definitely inspired absolute emotional turmoil in ravers the world over like this Better Off Alone and Heaven Is A Place On Earth, but for now just enjoy the Bryan Adams classic as reimagined by DJ Sammy.

Stalking To A Stranger (Planets Collide Remix) - The Avalanches: I owe this song a lot because it not only for me into Hunters And Collectors, who it turns out have far better and angrier songs than Holy Grail, but it also turned me onto Vertigo/Relight My Fire by Dan Hartman which is sampled at the start. When this song came out it was the first new Avalanches song in a decade or so and nobody knew what to make of it because suddenly Avalanches songs just have screaming men in them, which was very good.

Miracle - Kimbra: I think that very soon everyone is going to figure out that Kimbra has been the pop genius the world needs and she's been here all along.

Wayfaring Stranger (Burial Remix) - Jamie Woon: Jamie Woon got a raw deal in my opinion. He had a song remixed by Burial, and then Burial co-produced Night Air for him and he was the king of dark and mysterious British dubstep wave, but then James Blake and everyone else came along and sort of overshadowed him totally. Now that whole movement is sort of clouded because of how quickly 'dubstep' came to mean 'skrillex', and for some reason the only place this song is on Spotify is a compilation called The World's Heaviest Dubstep, Grime & Bass.

Chanbara - At The Drive-In: A lot of writing about At The Drive-In focuses on how they never really captured the ferocity of their live shows on record until Relationship Of Command but the absolutely big screams on this working against the salsa bongo rhythms is an amazing thing. I also kind of prefer the weedy half-clean guitar sounds on this and their first album especially to Relationship of Command's crunchier sound, it feels like it gives a lot more space to the weird noodling melodies that come and go.

All Medicated Geniuses - Pretty Girls Make Graves: The intro of this song absolutely blew my 15 year old math rock mind with how simply it transitions from the snare on the beat to the snare off the beat. It is endlessly fascinating to me because I am a dummy. Every part of this song is amazing to me, from the big swing band bassline behind the guitar that's sort of just screaming through the verses and absolutely on its own journey through the chorus to the drums for the reasons I already mentioned but also the way they keep everything straight and absolutely refuse to indulge the guitar's worst math impulses.

Dangerous - The xx: I really love the horns in this song, and the big air raid sirens toward the end. It is still shocking to me that The xx transitioning to making upbeat bangers worked out for them but I'm so glad that they did.

Running - Bully: I was listening to a podcast about water management policy and infrastructure called Water You Talking About because I am young and cool and for some reason they were using the chorus of this song where she goes 'I'LL ADMIT IT! I GET ANXIOUS TOO!' as their theme song in an episode which is I suppose appropriate but also really made me laugh.

Simultaneous Contrasts - Warehouse: The singer in this band has my new favourite voice, it's amazing. She sounds like she's eaten a belt sander or something. I love the way the guitar line follows her vocals up in the chorus and also just how extremely busy the whole band is around her. They remind me of some kind of alternate universe Life Without Buildings where she's pissed off instead of just beguiling.

Light Up The Night - The Protomen: There's no reason this band should be good. They wrote a rock opera based on the story of Megaman inspired by Queen and Bruce Springsteen and it actually turned out incredible somehow. Unfortunately since this album came out almost a decade ago all they've done is a couple of live albums and covers albums, so I may never get the resolution I crave on the story of Thomas Light and Joe and whoever.

Tonto - Battles: Here's what's so good about this song: it spends 2 and a half minutes winding up to a huge centrepiece that's over way too soon and then the next 4 minutes slowly slowly slowly winding down to absolute zero. It's like the opposite of how to write a good song but it's absolutely enthralling.

Wall Street - Battles: Around a minute into this, there's two snare hits where it sounds like it's part of a roll that got digitally muted that I am obsessed with. Every part of this song is incredible, but the drums throughout alternate between sounding like he's desperately trying to keep up and sounding like pure power and total command. I especially love the big brassy snare sound that comes up from underneath occasionally to pull the brakes. The performance of this song that Battles did for La Blogoteque is one of my favourite videos on youtube.

Every Single Line Means Something - Marnie Stern: For about a week this month I developed a quiet mania about John Stanier from Battles filling in on drums in the Late Night With Seth Myers Band (for some reason), and then I found out that Marnie Stern is apparently in that band as well and it really threw me for a loop. I don't really know why this was such an incredible thing or why I focused on it so much, maybe something I need to figure out, but it reminded me of this great song so that's a positive. This is some of my favourite work Zach Hill has ever done because he's being forced to play pretty much a normal backbeat for a lot of this song and it feels like he's been cursed by a witch. The amount of power he's putting out for such a straightforward idea is incredible. Of course because it's Zach Hill he's also doing the absolute most in every other part of the song. I haven't even mentioned how much I love Marnie on her own song! Anyway, listen to this whole album.

Hacker - Death Grips: I never got into the hype around Death Grips when they were the thing, and haven't really investigated their discography past this album, but this song is an absolute masterpiece and probably everything you ever need to know about them. Lyrically between this and 'I've Seen Footage' there's a pretty neat summation of their worldview, paranoid because your existence is inextricably linked to the internet and everything that entails, 'having conversations with your car alarm'. 'make your water break at the apple store,'

Pass The Word (Love's The Word) - The Mad Lads: I was looking up where the sample's from in Hilltop Hoods' Chase That Feeling and it turns out it's this song. Try to listen to this whole intro. He's trying to give a sermon but his dumbshit friends simply will not shut the fuck up for fully three whole minutes. Other than the intro the song is very, very good.

Monkey Time '69 - The Mad Lads: I also found this other song by the Mad Lads called 'Monkey Time '69', which to me is the definition of comedy.

She's Got Guns - The Go! Team: New Go Team album! Unfortunately nothing on it sort of lived up to the promise of the first two singles Mayday and Semicircle song, but this song is still a hit. The way this is mixed is so good, the brass behind the massive bass and spacious drums and the vocals sort of backgrounded within it all, very appealing.

Coast To Coast - Tune-Yards:It feels weird that a Tune-Yards song can be this smooth. A sort of apocalyptic, politics is ruined, new york is sinking, funky smooth jam.

Cattle And The Creeping Things - The Hold Steady: I've never listened to much of The Hold Steady outside of this album because I don't feel like I really need to, it's got everything I'd ever need. Sorry to always to talk about drums but the amount of reverb on them in this song makes them sound absolutely huge and I really love it, especially in the last verse they just become massive. Also I went through a long period of being obsessed with the lyrics of this song, it's a good distillation of this whole album's christian cult/drugs in middle america story and it is completely my shit.

Losing All Sense - Grizzly Bear: There's something about Painted Ruins that's impenetrable to me. I keep listening to it and only absorbing about one song at a time, totally loving that song and then ignoring the rest of the album. Now it's Losing All Sense.

Blue Cheese - Courtney Barnett and Kurt Vile: This song is like Kurt Vile in his purest form, just sort of strumming and talking about whatever the fuck. The best part of this song is when they go 'woo hoo!!!' then he whistles a little bit and then says 'here come the lone ranger!' in an elvis voice and plays a solo that sounds like he's tuning his guitar. Also right at the end you can hear someone's phone message tone going off.

Catch Me If You Can Theme - John Williams: John Williams didn't have to go as hard as he did with the Catch Me If You Can theme. I have this in my head all the time. I love the rapid shifts in this recording, because I guess it's functioning as the overture so he's just cycling through every different variation he's got in his aresenal.

I've Seen Footage - Death Grips: It's good that Death Grips' most popular song is about how the internet melts your brain There's a good quote from Zach Hill about where the title came from: 'The line “I’ve Seen Footage” was from a conversation I had with this street-person dude in Sacramento named Snake Eyes. A friend of ours recorded him on the porch in a conversation– he didn’t know he was being recorded. He was all fucked up on drugs and shit, just rattling off all this crazy information. He was talking about structures on the moon. I mean, I talk about those things, too. So we were talking about moon structures, and Snake Eyes says, “I’ve seen footage! I’ve seen footage of it!” And I was like, “That’s good!”

The Bucket - Kings Of Leon:It seems impossible that Kings Of Leon were a really good band at one point but here's the proof.

Standing Next To Me - The Last Shadow Puppets: I'm a truther for Muse ripping off Knights Of Cydonia from The Age Of The Understatement by The Last Shadow Puppets but that's a post for another time. This is a perfect song in my opinion. The absolute pace of it, the minimal drums that are just sort of accenting the strumming, the huge sweeping strings elevating the whole thing, the fact that it's over in just over two minutes. Incredible.

Jesus Just Left Chicago (live) - ZZ Top: Nobody believes me when I tell them but ZZ Top are very good. I have a fantasy about this song that ZZ Top were ringleaders of a sort of revival blues cult and this song is gospel to them. Jesus did really leave Chicago and he's heading towards California and we will be here waiting for him. You may not see him, but he sees you and he loves you. This and the La Grange recording are absolutely furious for live recordings, I love how much crowd noise there is in it throughout, they are truly fucking loving it.

La Grange (live) - ZZ Top: Especially here, my god they love it. La Grange is a good song because it's just a good riff and one verse of nonsense lyrics that are just an excuse to go the fuck off for the remainder. The huge drum fill and the 'have mercy everybody!!' is massive, the solos are ferocious, and somehow this song that feels like it could jam out for 15 minutes is reined in and tightly structured and has somewhat abrupt end.

Barracuda - Heart: Hey remember Guitar Hero? Cause I had ptsd flashbacks when this song came on during I, Tonya.

Bloodmeat - Protest The Hero: I don't know how exactly Protest The Hero pivoted from a concept album about a goddess(?) being executed(?) and bringing about a new genderless utopian age(?) to their second album opening with this very bicep emoji classic metal song about the mongol hordes slaughtering all who oppose them, but good for them I suppose.

Born On A Day The Sun Didn't Rise - Black Moth Super Rainbow: The drums in this song have no place being that huge. Black Moth Super Rainbow are good and I can't believe I hadn't listened to them in years until I woke up with this song in my head one morning, like an omen.

Been Drinkin' Water Out Of A Hollow Log - Mississippi Fred McDowell: Literalyl every Mississippi Fred McDowell song sounds exactly the same which is good because if it works why change it. In my understanding this song seems to be about a man dying of hunger and thirst on purpose to meet god, which is very good to me.

Listen here.

#playlists

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sserpente · 7 years

Text

In a heartbeat (Chapter 4)

Find all chapters on my masterlist!

Thor fell from the sky like a poor little bird that had lost its wings. He rose from the dirty ground only a few feet away from Loki and you—his eyes darkened visibly, his fingertips crackling with what looked like surging blue electricity.

“Brother…” Loki started insecurely.

“This was your doing!” He roared. He was going to lunge at him, you could practically feel the tension between them when Thor took a threatening step forward. You didn’t exactly know what Loki had done to anger the God of Thunder this much but if they killed each other now, things—wherever they stood—would get even worse.

“Will you two stop fighting for just a minute?!” You shrieked, panting. “Where are we?!” With a start, your voice grew more anxious. “This doesn’t look like… like Earth.”

“It is not,” Loki confirmed. He was surprisingly calm for someone who just had just flown through an unknown part of space to land on foreign territory. It probably wasn’t the first time he ended up in an unpleasant situation like this.

“No, it’s not, we’re stranded and it’s your fault, you foul—“

“Thor, shut up! What happened?” Naturally, you had absolutely no reason to defend the God of Mischief, it was what you tried to convince yourself of when he frowned in surprise. The thought of Thor breaking his jaw, however, was oddly unbearable.

“What happened? He killed our father, that’s what happened! Hela on the loose, Asgard in danger and it is all your fault!” He yelled enraged, attracting the attention of a few cloaked and masked figures camping on a hill. You discovered them just then. Whoever they were, they did not seem friendly—and now, they were heading towards you curiously, their weapons, which looked like strangely shaped swords and guns, raised, ready for attack.

“Thor, I’m sure there’s an explanation for all of this but we should… run.” You said as peacefully as possible. Whether you failed, you could not tell but right there, Loki noticed the hostile inhabitants of this funny place too and clearly, he did not trust them either.

“I do not run, I will fight whoever dares to—“

Thor paused, remembering with a start when he stretched out his right hand to call for his hammer, that it was gone, destroyed by the Goddess of Death.

“Thor, we must go!” Loki urged him on energetically. At this point, you didn’t even care they called him the Trickster. You followed him like a blind and helpless puppy, almost reaching for his hand when you stumbled over a rusty piece of machinery.

Thor only reluctantly joined you when you disappeared behind one of the many massive hills of trash and debris, looking for a place to hide. Loki found it soon after. What resembled a cave and towered up into the sky like a vast mountain made of grey and brown rock, you took shelter inside what used to be some kind of spaceship. A few of the leather seats were still intact, other than that, however, everything had been utterly destroyed and torn apart. At least the furniture was clean—a little dusty maybe—but other than that, bearable. It would do until you found a way to leave this eerie place again.

“This is ridiculous, I am going to find us a way back now.” Thor growled impatiently, not even bothering to sit down and rest for a while. You, on the other hand, were in desperate need of a break. Travelling by what you assumed must have been the infamous Bifrost from Norse Mythology, had taken its toll on you, especially after falling right out of it to mercilessly be hurled through the universe.

The fact you had involuntarily accompanied them in the first place didn’t seem to affect the brothers at all. Now that you had shut your mouth and crawled into a corner, they even ceased to acknowledge your presence.

“Thor, listen to reason. If you go on a rampage now and demand a free ride back to Asgard, these people, whoever they are, will most likely execute you. This is not on Midgard.” Loki mooted, still careful about how to behave around the Thunderer. One wrong word, so you figured, and he would explode.

“You both stay here.” Loki ordered thoughtfully. “I am going to explore the place. Surely, someone here is responsible. I will get us out of here. Leave it to me.” He winked at you confidently when you looked up with a worried frown. Your heart skipped a beat upon the gesture, causing you to lean back against the metal wall of the cave-like shelter. His god-damn eyes…

“Loki, don’t you dare leaving n—“ The God of Mischief disappeared in a shimmer of green light before Thor even had a chance to fling a piece of debris at him. It flew right through him, making him scream out in hot anger that vibrated through the whole cave and made you shiver.

Thor’s rage was understandable but what choice did you have other than to pray that Loki was indeed going to find you help? You had read about his silver tongue. If Loki was as skilled with words as you believed he was… could you trust him enough to get you all back to Earth alive? Your breathing quickened.

Heaven, what had you gotten yourself into? Scratching the back of your hand so fiercely you drew blood, you thought about your spoiled job interview and the tense cab ride with Susan and Karen yesterday afternoon. Susan who was now dead. All of that… had it all really happened only less than twenty-four hours ago?! This was madness, it was insane! Moaning, you buried your face in your hands, your fingers shaking.

“(Y/N)!”

Then, everything went black.

“Why not? This place is not so bad after all.” His voice was so smooth, so alluring and… almost… yes… it was seductive. Blinking tiredly, you opened your eyes only to realise you must have fallen asleep. How on Earth was this possible? With all the excitement, the fear and the panic pumping through your very veins, how had your body been able to claim a few hours of peace? “Don’t worry, brother. I have this all worked out.”

“Loki, we need to get back to Asgard now, we need to stop Hela before it’s too late.”

“And then do what? Our sister…” Loki paused. “…destroyed your hammer like a piece of glass. She is stronger than both of us. How would you think for even one second that we could still save Asgard or its people? You’re not seriously thinking of going back, are you?”

“What are you saying, that we do nothing and stay here on Sakaar?!” Thor stood, the noise of leather rubbing against clothing items gave him away. You stretched, suppressing a yawn. You didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping but then again, whatever the two of them were discussing, if it involved getting back home, it was your business too.

Sakaar. Was this what this place was called?

“If we both want a chance to survive, then yes, that is what I’m saying.”

“Y-you want to stay? What about me?” You tossed in nervously, wrapping your arms around yourself to fight the cold. It had crept up your limbs when you woke up, tickling your skin and creating goose bumps all over it.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” Thor said. “You passed out, I had to catch you before you collapsed to the ground.”

“I did what?” So you hadn’t slept after all. You had had another panic attack and simply fainted. Shit. How long had you been out? According to the eerie darkness outside when you shot a glance over to the entrance to the cave… for several hours.

“You wouldn’t wake up, so I lay you down and checked for your pulse every hour.”

“Thanks.” You muttered, massaging your temples. “So… Loki… c-could you… I mean, find out where exactly we are?”

“Indeed I could. The planet we are on is called Sakaar, it is some kind of collecting void for things that get lost in the vastness of space. I met the man who owns this place. He is… a lunatic but he will come in handy. It will take me a while to gain his trust.”

“So you can get us back?” Your eyes lit up, hope spreading in your chest. It almost loosened the right knot Susan’s death and the constant fear inside you had entangled there.

“Not exactly. Tomorrow, I have an appointment with the Grandmaster’s finest tailor.”

Scoffing, you narrowed your eyes. “Really? Getting new clothes, is that really a priority right now?!”

“We will need to blend in if my plan is supposed to work out, little minx. You would be well advised to do the same.”

Little minx.

“What plan? What plan of yours, Loki?” Thor roared.

Little minx. Why would he call you that? It was hard to tell if he was mocking you or simply using a tender nickname. You… doubted it would be the latter.

“In time, brother, the Grandmaster will, perhaps, befall an accident and then you and me…” He raised his thumbs, his lips pressed together to a thin line.

“Who is this Grandmaster?”

“He… kind of runs this place,”

“Loki, no. I will not play your games any longer.”

“Of course not, why would you? I guess I will just have to do it alone, you know. Like I’ve always done.”

A painful expression washed over your face, making you frown. Why was it so easy to feel compassion for this man when he said things like that? You didn’t even know him.

“Loki, I want to leave too.” You said gently, forcing your voice to sound strong.

Thor simply ignored you. “I can’t believe it, we have been here for a few hours and you already have thoughts about ruling this place yourself, do you even hear yourself, brother? You cannot be selfless just for once?”

“What did I do on Svartalfheim to protect your petty mortal girlfriend?!” Loki yelled. You flinched when he suddenly raised his voice, biting your lower lip.

What had happened on Svartalfheim? The Edda spoke of dark elves when it came to this realm, and you had heard of the incident in Greenwich. You didn’t know Loki had been there too.

“Then do what you did for Jane for our own people!” Thor demanded, clenching his fists.

“To what end?!” They were both screaming now, eliciting a scared whimper from you. If they continued like this, the scavengers—at least that’s what they looked like—would find you before the moon rose to its peak. If this planet had a moon in the first place, that was.

“M-m-maybe w-w-we should try to sleep a little, there isn’t much we can do right now, especially when it’s dark outside and you two fighting won’t get us anywhere either.” You managed to choke out, hoping your voice wasn’t shaking too much when you spoke.

All of your bones were aching and complaining anyway, the weakening state of unconsciousness not having helped you to recover at all.

“She is right. I would appreciate lying down for a while too.” Loki stated, pursing his lips in a superior manner.

“Fine. Go rest, (Y/N). I do the watch, it’s way too quiet out here.”

“Yes, about that…” Loki began when you lay down on two of the battered leather seats, using your jacket as a blanket. “Mind those scavengers. They capture strays and sell them to the Grandmaster as gladiators or slaves.”

Your eyes widened. Slaves. You needed to get off this planet.

About an hour passed until you woke up again from your light slumber, panting heavily as you did. Your face was wet, your eyes were burning. Had you been crying in your sleep?

A sob escaped your lips, the ache in your chest clouding your mind. It took you a moment to orientate yourself but when you did, only a stone’s throw away, you found Loki, lying comfortably on a couple of old leather seats which he had converted to a provisory bed.

“Then I guess I will have to do it alone, you know. Like I always do.”

The déjà-vu of yesterday night flooded your brain.

“I can come with you tomorrow,” you suddenly heard yourself whispering, using the sleeves of your jacket to dry the last of your tears. Loki took a deep breath.

“You will get yourself killed, little minx.”

There it was again. Little minx. So he was awake too. Perhaps he had even heard you crying.

“It’s short of a miracle I’m alive now, if I were to die, it would have happened already.” You countered defiantly. “I’m done with being treated like a poor and defenceless child and I am certainly not going to root here in this broken plane until you decide it might be time to go home.”

If you were to fight Loki… no, you wouldn’t stand a chance, not in a million years and not even with your self-defence skills. The God of Mischief turned around to face you. His blue eyes met yours, freezing you in place.

“Look, I am not very keen on having landed here as well. I don’t know how to get away from here yet but for now, I believe it might be a good idea to simply stay. I have seen how the… upper class people live in this place and it does not repel me.” He hissed.

You swallowed thickly. “So Thor is right? All you ever care about is saving your own skin? To think that I was actually worried for you when you went to Norway through that spooky portal...”

Loki frowned. He seemed almost confused but as were you. Now that you had admitted it, it felt even more off. This wasn’t right, definitely not. Loki seemed to share your opinion.

“He’s your brother!” You continued quickly. “Maybe I’m not that important but your home—Asgard—it is. Hela killed one of my best friends and she was an innocent. What will she do to your home planet then?”

Talking to him calmed you down, it felt like yesterday night. He had an inexplicable talent for distracting you from the dull ache in your heart, even if he triggered your anger.

“Asgard is all but lost already. The sooner Thor realises that, the sooner he will listen to reason.” He simply said.

You paused, considering his words.

“What did he mean by… you killed your father?”

The God of Mischief sighed. He was very well aware by now that you were merely curious, attempting to understand him. It had been a while since anyone had tried to do that and it was a nice change for once, even if usually, he praised the fact he could not be riddled.

“I did not kill him. I banished him to Earth after erasing his memories with a spell but he managed to break free from it.”

“Why a-and… and how? They said you were locked away in Asgard, expiating in a prison cell for what you did in New York.”

A smirk crept up on his lips, quickening your breathing. His damn eyes were sparkling mischievously in the dim light, promising tricks and charming words. It was irksome how you reacted this intensely to him after learning he was indeed a very selfish god, admitting himself he would rather stay on Sakaar than help his own people.

“That I did.” He went on. “Until Thor freed me because he was in desperate need for my help.” He explained triumphantly. “After that, he remained on Earth, believing I had died in Svartalfheim and I was free to claim the throne.”

“You mean…”

“Yes, little minx, I am, as of now, the rightful king of Asgard.”

Swallowing again, you looked up at him.

“If you are, then tell me what kind of king leaves his own people behind? Aren’t you supposed to protect the nine realms?” You said it because it was the right thing to say. What Loki did was wrong, in a way but somehow…

“What am I supposed to do?” He spat through gritted teeth. “You have seen with your own eyes what Hela is capable of. By now, and until we find a way back, Asgard will be in ruins already.”

You replied nothing to that. You hated to admit it but Loki had a point. What would you do in his shoes? Surely, you wouldn’t dare to take on Hela alone, you would try and hide yourself, to survive by any means necessary. Yes, you concluded. You… you agreed with him.

“Alright,”

“What?”

“I said alright. But you can’t stop Thor from trying to defeat Hela.”

“I know.”

“Will you help me get back home?” It wasn’t a question, not really. You were sleepy already and glad for Loki’s presence this close to you. It lured you into believing you were safe, at least for this very moment. Shortly before your eyes fell shut and you drifted off, you imagined him saying Yes. I promise.

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writingwithadinosaur · 7 years

Text

“Cat Fight” - Oneshot

My Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1,744

Key: Y/N = Your Name, Y/L/N = Your Last Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Language, not much else that I can see. If I missed anything, please let me know.

Summary: You are part cat thanks to Hydra, but it did help you get close to Bucky. You both survive the events of Civil War, and the team is working on reconnecting. But not everything is picture purr-fect.

Author’s Note: So I am not insanely happy with the ending, but I do enjoy this story. It was a random thought that I instantly texted @the-witching-hours12-3 about and then got the motivation to write it.

Also, shoutout to Mara ( @the-witching-hours12-3 ) for always beta-reading my random ramblings and helping me make them better!

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

- DreaSaurusREX

You were originally from Chicago, but you’d moved after escaping from Hydra. They had targeted you, and thought you would be a good candidate for their “little experiment”. They wanted to genetically modify your genetic makeup to see if they could create a superhuman with the abilities of a feline but remaining human in appearance. Their tests were excruciating and never seemed to end, but they succeeded.

You’d developed retractable claws, impressive jumping and climbing skills, and very obvious patterns in your eyes and hair. Your eyes were now an unnaturally yellow color with a slitted pupil, like a cat’s. Your hair had turned black and now grew with gray stripes and streaks that looked surprisingly natural, closely resembling an American shorthair.

Hydra trained you to be one of their top assassins, and used your enhancements to make you one of the best in the world. They put a collar on you, an actual collar, and had thought that they could keep you confined to their facility.

That is, until you broke out. As soon as you did, you took whatever you could find from what had once been your home, and then fled; heading somewhere you thought no one would think to search.

That was about a year ago, you moved to Bucharest to start a new life. So did your boyfriend, James.

Throughout your time with Hydra, you had heard plenty about the Winter Soldier. You also had an idea of who he really was, who he had been before Hydra. So when you ran into a beautiful man with a mechanical arm, you knew it was him.

The two of you were in a small local cafe, he was in line to order a drink while you were working on a sketch. You stood up and decided to get in line behind him in order to talk to him after he paid. You went to go and tap his shoulder once he was walking away from the cash register, but he had been on alert and ended up grabbing your wrist with his metal hand, causing some pain. Once he turned around and saw that you weren’t a threat, however, he instantly let go and started to apologize.

“Îmi pare rău, dor! (I’m so sorry, miss!)” He said in Romanian. “Esti bine? (Are you alright?)”

“Sunt bine! Vorbești engleza? (I'm okay! Do you speak English?)” You had only been in the country a couple of months; your Romanian was still very rusty.

“Oh yeah. Sorry, thought you were a local.” You finally looked up at him, letting him see your slitted eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay, ma’am?”

“Can we talk? I think you’ll find that we have a lot more in common than expected.” He nodded and lead the two of you to a table where you talked until the cafe closed.

The two of you had bonded over your abnormalities and became close very quickly. Soon you were living together and helping one another through your many problems. His problems were mostly to do with his memory and social skills, yours were more to do with your physical mutations.

So as to not raise too many eyebrows, you had invested in colored contacts to put over your cat-like eyes, giving them a dark brown color instead. Your hair wasn’t too crazy; nowadays, people would bleach and dye their hair all sorts of colors, so your black and grey hair wasn’t too loud. And you’d learned to control your claws like Bucky had learned to control his temper.

Over the course of your relationship with Bucky you’d helped him (and, subsequently, the rest of the team) deal with the Sokovia Accords and the aftermath of the civil war between the Avengers. But now that it was all behind you, everyone was slowly coming back together. There were still arguments and varying opinions, but nothing that couldn’t be worked out or taken care of over time.

It was one of those nights where everyone had to be on their best behavior. Tony was throwing a formal party in order to show a sense of unity among the Avengers again. You had decided on simpler makeup and hair to go along with your 1940s inspired dress (for your enjoyment, and Bucky’s.) You were a bit self-conscious wearing this dress because of a gnarly scar that extended down your entire right arm courtesy of T’Challa during the fight in Germany all those years ago. You were civil with the ruler of Wakanda now, but you couldn’t help but still hold a bit of a grudge.

Bucky tried to help make sure you didn’t focus on that. The two of you were standing around a small bar table with Steve, sipping some drinks and chatting. Bucky knew that it would help you if you were involved in conversation with not only him, but Steve too.

“I can’t believe how professional this thing is. Tony really learned the difference between a college party and polished event,” Bucky commented while doing a pan around the room.

“Right? This is a very pleasant surprise,” you replied, looking around the room as well. But your glance was quick, not wanting to draw attention to your eyes, and Steve noticed.

“Hey, (Y/N/N)? You’re not wearing your contacts?”

“Yeah. I tried to put them in and got frustrated and gave up cause I was running late.” You took another sip of your drink before freezing at a voice behind you.

“Ah. It seems this is where you three had run away to tonight. I was beginning to think that the scaredy cat of the trio had run away.” There was no mistaking that accent. T’Challa. Your grip on your cup tightened just a little bit, you could almost hear the glass crackling under the increased pressure. Bucky’s hand made its way to the small of your back, slowly petting you to help keep you calm. You took a breath before responding.

“We have been wandering around all night. Met with people, helped with getting a better public image. Where have you been slinking off to, T’Challa?”

“Our paths must have not crossed; I apologize.” You were pleasantly surprised by his apology. You had expected some other snide comment about your mutation or not lack of ‘proper’ training or something equally annoying. “Just know that there is no shame in being scared. Just make sure you do not show weakness again. Or you may end up with more scars than that. ”

He nodded to your arm and began to turn away. You let out a growl that loud enough for Bucky and Steve to hear from the table. Your claws began to extend as he continued to talk, effectively negating his apology. Bucky saw your claws and made eye contact with Steve, but before either of them could get to you and get a grip on your arm to hold you back, you stalked up behind T’Challa and grabbed his shoulder. You applied enough pressure to make sure he felt your claws but not enough to do any damage, making him stop as you stepped around in front of him.

“Let’s make this clear, Kitkat. If we are supposed to be working together and getting the team back in working order, this shit needs to stop.” He opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off with a small hiss. “Oh no, you are going to wait until I am done talking. We don’t have the greatest relationship because you were a dick to me and to Bucky, but I am trying to move past it and at least be civil with you. If you can stop being a royal pain in the ass, then try talking to me again. If not, work your shit out somewhere else.”

You were about to walk away and leave him with that, but then thought of a much more badass ending.

“As much as you’d like to think that you’re the only cat in this cat and mouse game, you are very mistaken. If you keep playing, you’ll find out that you’re not the one with nine lives, your highness.”

You made sure to say his title in an angry growl. You met his usual calm and collected eyes with your angry yellow slits. Before T’Challa could say anything, Steve stepped in.

“Alright you two, enough. This is not the time or place. (Y/N/N), go back to the table. T’Challa, Tony is waving us over. We will deal with this later.”

You backed down, retracting your claws and letting Bucky grip your wrist and pull you back towards the table. Steve was using his authoritative voice that he knew you’d listen to. Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist and handed you your drink.

“While I’m glad you stood up to him, I could tell how worried Steve was. Maybe don’t bring out your claws next time, doll? I’m pretty sure that’s where Stevie lost it.”

“I’ll try. But I could not let him fuckin’ talk like that.” Bucky just smiled and kissed the side of your head.

“I know, sweetheart. He’ll come around at some point. I mean, hell, he’s finally okay with me. It just took time.” You just nodded and took another few sips of your drink. “I’m just glad Steve stepped in before it turned into an actual cat fight.” You looked at him and rolled your eyes. He just smiled and leaned in for a kiss, you turned and pulled away enough to talk.

“I’d rather not have to fight him, again.” You unintentionally pause and look down at the visible scar on your arm. You only looked for a moment before shaking your head as if you could just as easily shake away the mental image. “But if he tries me again, you know damn well that I won’t hesitate.”

You picked up your drink and took an annoyed sip. Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you a bit closer to him. He kissed your cheek before looking at you with one of those smiles that make your heart skip.

“I know that. That’s why I’ll be there to hold you back.” He took a sip of his drink before morphing his smile into a (somewhat) joking one. “Or help make him your personal scratching post.”

You couldn’t help but match his smile and lean in to kiss him.

Tags - @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @goodnightwife @the-witching-hours12-3 @theeactress @sebby-staan @feelmyroarrrr @tomorraw @marvelous-imagining @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @buckyappreciationsociety

#avengers fic #avengers fandom #avengers fanfiction #avengers imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #steve rodgers x reader #WritingWithADino #writingwithadinosaur #Cat Fight #DreaREX #dreasaurusrex

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fanfic-from-a-67-impala · 7 years

Text

A Supernatural x Reader Story Chapter Thirty-Four: I’m No Angel, Part Two

Word count: 3700

ASxRS Masterlist

"So, your place or mine?"

The cute redhead, who took you home more than a few times over the past month, asks you as you pour her a refill from behind the bar.

"Oh, you wouldn't like my place," you say, hoping to brush off the question.

"That's okay," she shrugs. "I mean, mine ain't exactly Brandy Hall either."

You laugh at the reference through the sweat forming on your brow. You hoped to have moved somewhere nicer by the time you brought her home.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you," you mutter, loud enough for her to hear.

Less than an hour later, you walk down the street, arm linked with Charlie's. Even in the sweltering summer air, you gravitate as close to her as possible, and she seems to do the same.

When she walks right past the neon motel sign, you have to take her by the shoulder and lead her down the walkway toward the dingy building.

She crinkles her brows at you in confusion. As you continue up the stairs to the single room you rent, her expression changes to one of surprise.

You jiggle the key in the lock before pushing the door open, now more than ever conscious of its the peeling paint and rusty hinges.

A lamp illuminates the small room, casting dim yellow light on the pile of clothes on the desk you didn't have time to fold, the outdated, yellowing floral printed comforter on the double bed, and the empty food containers and water bottles from the bar in the brimming wastebasket.

She steps further in and scans the room, wrapping her arms around her chest as if afraid to touch anything. "Why didn't you tell me you were living here?"

You train your eyes on your feet, not bothering to close the door when you know she will run through it any second. You can't blame her. She thought she brought home someone decent, someone good enough to have a home.

"I would have told you to come live with me sooner," she says.

You snap your head up, sure you must have misheard her.

Her eyes widen, already regretting her words. "Uh, I mean..." She scrambles for a way to undo the mistake. But the panic disappears from her eyes, and she nods. "Come live with me."

You shake your head. "You barely know me. It wouldn't feel right."

"I know enough," she says, a smile creeping across her face. "And I happen to be an excellent judge of character."

"Charlie, I– I couldn't."

She reaches for your hand, and you let her. "Well, I'm not asking," she declares. "But I am getting you out of here."

• • • • • • • • • • • •

By the time you've wound lengths of rope around Danny's wrists and ankles, binding him to a dining chair, Olivia's sobs have settled, and she allows Charlie to press a cloth to the cut on her shoulder, though her eyes never leave her son.

"He's okay," Charlie assures her. "It was only silver nitrate. He'll be conscious again in a bit."

Olivia starts to rise from her seat on the couch. "No, no – he's allergic to–"

"It's not an allergy," you say, leading her back to sit down again. "It's a weakness. Of werewolves."

She stares at you, so intently you think something lingers behind you, before she draws back from the two of you, standing up. You don't try to lead her back this time. "You're insane," she mutters. "You're both crazy."

"You can drop the act," you say. "We know what your son is, and what your husband was."

"My husband? What– no, this is impossible!" Fresh tears stream down her face as she reaches with shaky hands for the handheld phone on the table beside her. "Get out of my house. I'm calling the cops."

Before she can press the first button, Charlie snatches the phone from her. "We can't let you do that."

She doesn't fight back, but inches toward her son's limp figure in the chair, close enough to cup his cheek.

When she turns to you and Charlie again, tears still flowing, her shallow breaths have slowed and her eyes have lost their wildness. She slides into the seat next to Danny's, taking one of his hands in both of hers at an awkward angle.

Charlie kneels down next to her and speaks in a soft voice. "You didn't know what he was, did you?"

"I always knew he was different," she begins, her voice steady now. "I didn't think much of it until..." Her eyes unfocus, as if recounting a horrible memory. "Until I found rips in his blanket, almost like," she glances down at the hand she holds, at its human fingernails after the injection, still bound to the arm of the chair, "like claw marks."

You hold out to her a box of tissues from the end table, and she pulls one to wipe her face. When she continues, her voice grows darker. "And then, one night, his eyes – I swear I saw them glow yellow." She tears her eyes from her son to look at Charlie, then you.

"Olivia, Danny's father was a werewolf," you say. "And so is your son."

"Did your husband really not tell you about any of this?" Charlie asks, her tone more surprised than doubtful, though you begin to believe Olivia's innocence as well.

She shakes her head. "One day, right after we'd gotten married, I was doing the laundry and I found a blood stain on one of his shirts. I never asked about it, and he never told me. I knew Chris had secrets, and he knew I did, too. But I thought it was in the past, that we could start a new life together."

When Charlie glances back at you, you think you see tears in her eyes, but she turns too quickly for you to be sure. "We're going to help you, Olivia," she says.

Reading from the recipe closely, you prepare and measure out ingredients and hand them to Charlie, who brews them into an elixir over a metal bowl of burning wolfsbane.

Danny begins to stir as she pours it into a cup. You pull Olivia away from him in case he attacks, your fingers brushing the grip of your gun, but his eyes remain the same deep brown as his mother's and only his human teeth remain visible. "M-mommy?"

Olivia breaks out of your grasp and runs to his side. "It's okay, baby. Mommy's here." She murmurs comforts into his ear and throws her arms around him, keeping as much contact with him around the chair.

Charlie hands the cup to Olivia, who raises it to Danny's lips.

"I need you to drink this for me, sweetie, okay? And then you can have some grape juice, your favorite. Remember when you got sick last year and had to drink that awful medicine? Remember the best way to drink it?"

"Gulp it down?" he tries.

Olivia nods. "Gulp it down. That's right, baby."

"Can we take the ropes off for this part?" Charlie whispers to you.

You almost say yes, you want to, but the full moon outside the window catches you eye. You shake your head at her, apologetically.

She nods, sad but understanding, and helps you wrap up the remaining ingredients and collect the supplies.

When Olivia seems to have run out of comforting words, she sits in silence in a chair next to her son, stroking his hair.

Charlie approaches her with careful steps and a hushed voice. "Why don't you let me take a look at that scratch?" she says, gesturing to Olivia's shoulder, her skin and the sleeve of her shirt surrounding it now covered in blood.

Her eyes dart between Charlie's outstretched hand and the sleeping figure in her arms.

"I'll look after him," you say.

She seems to take little comfort in your words, but leaves silently with Charlie anyway.

Danny cracks his eyes open and shifts in the too-big chair before falling asleep again. In spite of yourself, you study him, not the wolf who has already racked up a body count, but the boy you might be able to save tonight. You let yourself hope.

Your phone rests heavily in your pocket. Maybe if Charlie can see beyond an unknown evil to the pure goodness in someone, so can you. You hit the call button.

"Hey, stranger," Sam answers.

Only when tears prick your eyes do you realize how much you needed this. "Hey, yourself."

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asks, concern in his tone.

"Nothing," you assure him. "It's just really good to hear your voice."

"You, too, (Y/N). We miss you around here," he says.

"Yeah, I miss you guys, too," you say, with an apology in your voice. "How's it going? Did you find Cas?"

"We think he's in Detroit, so we're on the road now," he says. "What about you? You and Charlie still in Sioux Falls?"

"No, we caught a case in Wisconsin. Won't be too much longer, though. I should be home by tomorrow," you promise.

"Good," he says without a second thought. "Without you, it's just Dean and me. I love the guy, but if I have to spend another day alone with him, I might burn his cassette tape collection."

In the background, a heavy rock song grows louder. "Shut up. You love it," Dean yells to his brother over the music.

"Come on, Sam. Allman's a classic," you tease.

"Oh, not you, too," he pleads, though you can hear the laugh in his voice.

"Be careful, both of you," you say. "See you soon."

"Yeah, we'll see you."

You slide your phone into your pocket again, feeling some of the weight lifted.

A soft growl from behind sends a jolt of panic through you. You whip around in time to see Danny, the irises of his eyes glowing yellow, his fingernails extending to claws, his pointed teeth protruding from his human set.

With a snap, the ropes break at his wrists, then at his ankles. You reach for your gun, but before you can bring it to your front, he leaps, sending the weapon sliding across the floorboards to the other side of the room.

As you land, your hand catches on the table lamp, pulling it to the ground with a crash beside you.

Danny pins you down with an arm against your throat, cutting off your airway. You reach out an arm and grasp the base of the lamp and swing it at his head.

He stumbles backward, stunned, and you crawl across the room to where your gun lies. Before you can reach it, he pulls you back by the collar of your shirt and slams you onto the ground, pinning you down again.

Your hand flies out to the side, reaching for something – anything – you can use to fight. When you find only the glossy hardwood floors, you hold your arm out to Danny's neck, keeping his fangs away from you.

He raises an arm, claws extended, over your chest.

A gun goes off.

He falls forward, and you ease him onto the floor.

"Danny!" Olivia shouts, crossing the room and gathering her son's body in her arms. "N-no, baby, please, p-please..."

Behind her, Charlie watches the scene, eyes wide in horror.

You rise to your feet and step beside her. With slow movements, you take the gun from her hands, still outstretched in front of her, and place it on the table.

Danny's teeth have become human again. His eyes remain open, returned to their deep brown. His body shakes with his mother's sobs as she clings to him, whispering pleas in vain.

Charlie stands, frozen in place, eyes still fixated on them.

"Hey." You brush your fingers along the side of her face, urging her to look at you instead. When she does, you take her hand, still slightly outstretched, and grip it tightly. "Thank you," you whisper.

Song insert: Journey – All The Way (YouTube) (Spotify)

By the time you finish your shower, Charlie lies in bed, her eyes on the ceiling. She doesn't acknowledge your presence in the room, and you click off the lamp and climb into the bed, hesitant. You lie still, on your back, until you feel her curl up against your side.

You turn toward her, wrapping an arm around her back and pulling her closer. She angles herself toward you so your cheek rests against the top of her head.

"You okay?"

She shakes her head into your shoulder. "Not really," she whispers. Some of your hair, still damp from the shower, has fallen against your chest, and she begins to run her fingers through it. "Tell me something, anything."

Your mind stumbles upon a memory you find yourself coming back to when you need something to get through the day. Your go-to.

"Remember when you asked me to move in with you?" you begin. "Actually, you told me I was moving out of that motel and into your apartment."

A small laugh shakes her body and you feel her relax against you.

"To this day, I can't imagine what compelled you to take a chance on me," you recollect. "I mean, I was a mess. I –"

You pause and consider again the effect your next words could have on her, how far you should go. You clear your throat and continue.

"I'd just gotten out of Hell."

Her fingers freeze in your hair, but she cranes her neck to peer at you through the darkness, prompting you to continue.

"It was a couple weeks before I met you. A demon pulled me out," you explain, choosing your words with care. "And my soul – it took something... demonic with it. Dark magic."

You turn your gaze toward her to find her looking back at you with none of the shock or horror you expected, only curiosity. And patience. You take a deep breath.

"And Sam and Dean aren't fine," you admit. "They're in trouble. I mean, they're in some deep crap. And all of this is kind of scaring the hell out of me."

You feel her eyes on you, observant and concerned, and pull away to get a better look at her.

"You know I'm not crazy about you in this life," you say, "but I know I'm not doing you any favors by keeping this stuff from you. Secrets cost lives," images of the latest case pass through your mind, "and I want us to be a team."

She nods in understanding, wide eyes still on yours as she swims in the wave of new information.

"All that stuff," she says after a while, "about Hell? It means you still going there when you die, doesn't it?"

You remember the trip you took with Sam, months ago, how Hell seemed to draw you nearer, how much effort it took to leave, as if you belonged there. "I guess I haven't let myself think about it too much," you say, and cup her cheek with your hand. "But I'm not planning on leaving anytime soon."

She places her hand over yours, running her thumb over the back of yours. "Good. That'll give us time to save your soul."

You raise an eyebrow at her.

"We are a team," she says. "You and me – we're going to fix this if I have to dive into Hell and pull you out myself."

You chuckle at the thought, wrapping your arms around her again as you both drift off to sleep.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

You watch the sun descend toward the horizon as you drive from Michigan, where you dropped Charlie off at her apartment, to the bunker.

Dean sits in the war room, twirling a glass of whiskey in his hand, when you walk through the bunker door. "Hey," he greets.

"Hi." The stairway clanks as you trudge down the steps. After the long day of driving, remaining upright takes all your energy.

Your chest tightens at the thought of the strange angel roaming the bunker in Sam's body alone, like you have to peer around every corner, have to keep a constant eye on your blind spots.

Dean gives you a second glance after his eyes skate over you. "What's with you?"

"What?"

"You seem," he gestures up and down your height, "I don't know – jumpy."

You uncross your arms, willing yourself to calm down, and take a seat next to him. "Ah, just... one of those hunts."

Without another word, he hands you the glass. You knock back the liquid and nod in thanks, sliding it back to him.

"How'd it go today? You guys find Castiel?" you ask.

His eyes dart down, hands occupying themselves with pouring another shot from the bottle on the table. "Uh, yeah, we did."

When he doesn't say anything further, you speak again. "But?"

He tilts his head back and drains the glass. "But there are angels after him. Reapers, too," he adds. "Zeke says it's too dangerous to keep him in the bunker."

"Sorry, Zeke said?" Your voice takes on an accusatory tone now.

"Yeah. Also said he would leave if Cas stayed," he recounts.

You narrow your eyes at him, shock eating any words you try to form.

"It was between ending Sam's life or letting Cas find someplace else to stay for a couple weeks," he defends.

"Damn it, Dean," you huff, rising from your chair to take a few steps back. "You spent all this time looking for the guy, and now... where is he?"

"He left a minute ago." He massages his temple with the hand not pouring another shot.

You bite back the rest of your lecture, looking over your shoulder again for prying ears. "This Ezekiel thing is getting out of hand," you say in a lower voice.

His gaze drifts to you again, as if something rests on the tip of his tongue.

Before he can say anything, you swing your bag over your shoulder again and climb the stairs. "I'll be back."

You find Cas about a mile from the bunker. You pull over to where he walks on the side of the road, a sheen of sweat already making his face glisten in the dull orange light of the sunset.

"Let me give you a ride," you say when he looks at you in confusion.

"I couldn't ask that of you," he says.

"You're not asking, Castiel," you say, pulling the handle of the door so it swings open. "And neither am I. Get in."

He studies the passenger seat with a doubtful eye before climbing inside and closing the door.

"So, uh, Arthur Dent," you begin, pulling onto the road again, "where to?"

He peers out the window as if he will find the answer there. When he doesn't, he turns his eyes to his lap, defeated. "I don't know."

You drive until you run out of gas. Then, you stop at a station, fill up the tank, and keep driving. You drive until you slide the pump of a fuel nozzle into the gas tank and notice light grey sunlight filtering through the sky.

Cas stirs awake by the time you pull into the parking lot of the nearest motel.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

"All right, I'm back," you say as you walk through the door of the room, laden with grocery bags. "There's enough Aquafina and PB&J in here to last a while."

Castiel looks up at you with troubled eyes from where he sits on the edge of the bed. "That's very kind of you," he notes. "But why are you doing this? You owe me nothing."

As you search for an answer, you watch dust particles dance through the air in a ray of sunlight streaming through the curtained windows. The Greatest American Hero plays softly on the small television at the end of the room.

You take a seat next to him on the mattress. "Look, you and I got off to a rocky start."

He lowers his eyes, no doubt remembering the state he was in when you met him in that mental ward, when the only cares he had were bees and flowers and everything but the world-threatening issues before him.

"But you've saved Sam and Dean countless times," you continue, meeting his eyes again. "You took care of them when I couldn't. And you still do. From where I stand, I owe you everything."

"I'm afraid I won't be of much help any longer," he admits, still unsettled.

You shake your head. "Whatever happened back there, it's between them. It's not anything you did. You're doing everything you can – they know that."

"You really think so?"

"I've got eyes, Cas," you laugh. "They spent days looking for you, making sure you were okay. You're family."

Fondness passes over his gaze, followed by something else you can't read.

"You should know, (Y/N), they looked for you, too," he says.

"Hmm?"

"When Dean returned to Sam," he clarifies, "they spent years grasping at every chance they could to rescue you from perdition."

His words strike you across the chest. You'd seen they tried from time you spent in the second Segment, but you haven't let yourself imagine the lengths they would have gone to. Until now.

"They always spoke very highly of you," Cas continues. "When they asked me to raise you, I didn't have the backing of Heaven. Now that I've met you, I regret not finding a way."

You clear your throat. "That's okay, Cas. All worked out in the end, didn't it?"

He nods.

"Listen," you say, standing, "if you need anything, I left my number on the table over there. And you've got the room for a week. You going to be okay?"

"Yes, I believe so. Thank you, (Y/N), for everything."

You offer a smile. "No problem."

He turns to the television, where William Katt soars through the sky in a red suit.

"Good show," you comment. "Good song."

A/N: Wow, that flashback at the beginning got a little Twist-y and Shout-y. Whoops!

#Supernatural #Supernatural x reader #Spn x reader #Spn #Charlie Bradbury #Charlie Bradbury x reader #Charlie x reader #series #crimson and clover #wlw reader #writing is hard #A Supernatural x Reader Story

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deactivated4179291 · 7 years

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The Cure - Part 9 (H.S AU) - “Puzzle”

Maverie’s POV

As the first cold one took its shot to the head I didn’t have moments notice to turn and catch a glimpse of the person who marched forward to my aid. All there was to inform me of their approach was the sound of their shoes as they jogged closer presumably with their gun in hand. With the first of the group dead, the remainder began to move faster at the sound of the bullet echoing through the cool night breeze of the small town center.

With a flashlight in one hand trained to my targets, I raised my dominant hand and took out another four while the mystery being behind me took out what was left until we were the last two standing. I began to turn slowly on my heel to express my gratitude toward the person, “Thank y-“ but I stopped dead in my tracks when I was met with an agonizingly familiar face. Chestnut brown hair that reached all the way down to broad shoulders, and inhospitable green eyes that cut me to the bone for sport. I couldn’t roll my eyes and turn around back towards the truck fast enough.

"Are you fucking insane?!!! You could have-”

“Could have what, Harry?! Gotten bitten?!! We all know that doesn’t fucking matter!” I scream.

“Not just bitten, they could have snuck up behind you and torn you limb from, killing you in the process! And then what?!!! No more bloody cure!”

"I'm more than capable of killing a couple of walkers, Harry!"

"Oh yeah?! So fucking capable that you got fucking bitten three weeks ago?!”

“Screw you,” I croak defeatedly, turning away on my heels and proceeding towards the car. I was tired. SO fucking tired of this shit. Of this back and forth – it was like a game that he loved to play. Let’s see how far I can push the fragile one until she breaks. I was not fragile, but Harry loved to see me that way. Anything to make himself feel more powerful.

“Wha’ the bloody hell are you even doing out here at this hour? You should be back at the damn house taking care of-”

“Oh because you care so much about Addilyn right now?” I scoff.

“You don’t know the half of who I care about!” I stop in my tracks and whip my head around to glare at him with a menacing glare. He staggered slightly at the sight of my rage, seeming confounded.

“Yeah I do - you don’t care about anyone. Anyone or anything but yourself, at least, clearly.”

“If I don’t bloody care about anything then why am I out here right now? You wanna know what I damn well care about? I care about getting you the hell out of my hands to that your little scientist friends can fix this shit storm. In order for that to bloody happen I kind of need you alive.”

It’s sad that that’s the closest thing to something decent he’s ever said to me… I sigh and roll my eyes at his feeble attempt to make me “How did you even find me?”

“It’s not that bloody hard when you leave your tracks in the mud. And you call yourself a hunter.” He scoffs shaking his head. He smirks at my reaction when I look down to my boots slowly, then back at him, silently admitting to his point. Rolling my eyes once more, I swing back around again and keep walking.

“Now answer my damn question, wha’ the hell are you doing out here?”

I point my flashlight to the truck ahead of my view, “Well, believe it or not, Harry, I know quite a decent bit about fixing up cars.” I hear him snicker from behind me.

“The’ old thing? You can’t be bloody serious, love.” He laughs dryly.

“Serious as a heart attack, Harold,” I announce. I come to a stop just before the hood of the vehicle and feel Harry’s silent presence to my side. I had to hand it to him, as much as I despised the way he treated me, spoke to me, looked at me, he was really beautiful.

I caught myself getting lost for a moment in the muscles that tensed in his arms as he crossed them over his chest. When I look up, he’s caught me gawking at him, yet he doesn’t send me an arrogant smile or cocky smirk, he simply raises a perplexed eyebrow, daring to wonder why my eyes have boldly gaped at him in the shadows of night, where the only source of my sight of him is the backhand glare of my flashlight on the windshield of the car. I cleared my throat awkwardly, though all the gesture really does is give away my intentions completely, before holding out my flashlight towards him.

“Can you hold this?” I ask in a quiet, muttered tone. He bitterly snatches the small light source from out of my hand, his rings clinking against the small metal device. The noise practically taunts me for ever believing it could have been his act of kindness several nights ago. Surely someone else amongst our group wore a couple of rings.

With Harry holding the flashlight to where the light beam revealed nearly the entirety of the rusty hood of the truck, I popped it open and propped it using the small metal piece designed for that purpose. While there were a few pieces missing, a majority of the machinery was still in tact. For instance, the engine looked perfectly fine, but the spark plug seemed to be missing. Apart from that, the car seemed perfectly functional if we hot-wired it assuming that the keys weren’t in our midst.

“Spark plugs missing, once we find one that fits we should be able to fire this thing up if it has anything in the tank,” I say, closing the hood as quietly as I can, before taking the flashlight back from Harry. I turn and begin to walk toward the heart of the city – leaving a confused Harry behind me before I hear him behind to shuffle in my direction.

“Now where the hell are you going?” He asks with a slightly agitated groan.

“I’m gonna find the damn spark plug. You’re more than welcome to just go home, you know? I’ll be back once the car is fixed.”

Much to my dismay, Harry ended up trailing behind me throughout the duration of my journey into the streets that were lined with destructed old city buildings and skyscrapers. I had found it written in Jenine’s notes that if I were to get tired of walking, there were several auto repair shops in which spare parts could be scavenged. One of which just so happened to be outside the city. My eyes scanned the addresses of the building with caution, knowing from my earlier experience that the dead could truly be at any turn. One step and I was a dead woman – if not for Harry behind me at least.

While I hated the feeling that I needed him, in all of his intended cruelty, the harsh reality was that I was out of ammunition and knowing him he had surely come better prepared than I. His presence still managed to bring me some form of comfort, all the while his deciphering eyes settled underneath my skin, as he read me like a book that was several levels too easy for him to be reading in his opinion. Just as my feet are about to carry me past an alleyway, Harry’s familiar grasp encircles my arm, and he yanks me into the darkness of the narrow pass between the two brick buildings. He quickly, yet gently presses me against the wall, and cups his palm over my mouth, pressing his opposite pointer finger to his lips, telling me I need to remain silent. He presses his body closer until our chests are practically flush against one another, turning his head to the side as he listens carefully for whatever set him off whilst I do the same, clicking off my flashlight in response. The muffled sound of gruff voices talking, and the sound of several pairs of feet tapping against the damn pavement set my heart rate into a frenzy as we stand idly now completely encompassed in darkness, as the desperate hope that we will go unnoticed by those unknown...

“Are you sure they went this way?” one of the rugged voices asks the small group of men. Their flashlights scatter the nearby road, and I know my eyes have grown wide in the sense of panic that jolts me. Though he cannot be seen in this pitch black of the alley, I feel Harry lean closer, and a hand presses my face against his strong chest gently.

“Shhh,” he whispers softly against my hair. The warmth of his breath sends shivers down my spine and trails goose bumps on my skin.

If it weren’t for the evidence that his gesture was merely an attempt to keep me quiet and in the process, keep us from getting caught, my heart could have jumped at his actions. But my heart knew better. My heart knew the reality behind his choices. The tenseness of his muscles reveals his exertion all too bluntly for me to be fooled, or dare I say it wooed by his sudden mood change. Yet, his actions still seem to fulfill their intent, as my breath slows and my eyes closely study the group of men whilst they walk past us without even the slightest glance down the alleyway. I don’t allow myself to forget, though, that these were the types of cities in which people turned on other people in order to seek their nourishment. The thought that these men could be of that disgusting kind that ate their own sent a wave of nausea through me and I had to stop myself from gagging in the heat of the anxiety that jumbled up inside me.

“Yes, they went this way, I’m sure of it,” another groans, just as they pass the open space in our sight completely.

“And you’re sure it’s that girl…the one the Embassy wants?” the first one asks.

‘Oh my god’…I think…’They’re after me.’ Why the hell are they after me? I begin to tremble slightly in fear, and I feel a panic attack rising inside me. A feeling that was once long tamed by the peace of mind brought to me by my family. Harry seems to notice because he mumbles a discreet, whispered ‘shit,’ and before I can contemplate what to do, his free arm is wrapped tightly around me pulling my body against his whilst his other hand remains pressed to silence me.

“If I move my hand, I need you to be completely silent, okay?” he whispers. I nod rapidly against his chest, as he pulls his hand from my face, wrapping both arms tightly around me – clutching me to him in order to stop my oncoming attack. “Shh,” he whispers so quietly I almost miss it, “there gone now, you’re okay.”

I closed my eyes tightly until my sight is almost white from the tension. This is by far the most awkward of interactions between Harry and me, feeling him hesitantly lift a hand to my hair, stroking it lightly to silence me. I allow his voice mixed with his warmth to soothe me back to serenity, relaxing my eyelids, keeping them shut. I feel him shift, leaning back to look at something – he snags the flashlight from my shaky hand and clicks it alight, scanning the alleyway until he lifts me completely off my feet with one strong arm braced around my waist. In instinct, I wrap my legs around his torso as he swings open a large metal door, and places me to my feet inside the small old restaurant building.

He does a quick sweep of the remainder of the building, leaving me frozen in the kitchen, with my arms wrapped around my chest, in the embarrassment that I’ve made myself look weak in front of Harry. He surely wasn’t going to let me live this night down…ever. I slowly enter the main dining area of the restaurant, just as Harry finishes his small search.

“We’ll stay here until you’ve calmed the fuck down,” he spits, pulling up one of the toppled-over chairs, and dropping into it kicking his feet up onto the table in front of him. If it weren’t for the moonlight seeping through the slivers of glass in the windows, I would have had no idea of the sorrowful look on his face. He was truly quite the mysterious emotional puzzle, yet I couldn’t help but want to decipher him.

#harry styles au fanfic #harry styles the cure #harry styles apocalypse #harry styles au #harry styles #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au fanfiction #harry styles fandom #harry styles story #harry edward styles #dark harry styles

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shuturquibble · 7 years

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Cherished

Fandom: Love Live! Sunshine!! Pairing: ChikaRikoYou (Chika/Riko/You, duh) Words: 1330 Summary: In which Chika, Riko, and You go cherry blossom watching. Links: FF is here! AO3 is here!

“Riko-chan, hurry up! The cherry blossoms are going to be all gone by the time you catch up!”

“Ah, leave her alone, Chika-chan. You know she’s not used to physical activity.”

“But she’s an idol, You-chan! Idols are supposed to be used to physical activity!”

“Well, I can certainly name one who isn’t….”

“Hey! I can hear you two!”

Chika and You looked over their shoulders and laughed when they saw a red-faced Riko sluggishly trailing behind them. Quickly, they shared a look with one another, a twinkle of mischief sparkling in their eyes before they scrambled up the last stretch of the hill. Once they reached the top, they collapsed onto the grass, their howling laughter and panting drowning out the sound of Riko’s groans and curses.

It took a minute for Chika and You to regain their breath, and when they did, they sat up just in time to see a very tired, very red, and very irritated Riko shuffling her way to them. Chika could feel her grin falter—she felt bad for laughing at Riko’s expense. Just a bit.

“Y-you—two—are—the—w-worst!”

“Sorry, Riko-chan,” Chika said with a laugh. “You were too slow.”

“So you decided to speed up?!” Riko exclaimed, her golden eyes shining with annoyance.

“It’s how you get faster,” You pointed out.

Riko whipped her head in You’s direction. “Don’t take her side!”

Chika laughed and shook her head. “Sorry, Riko-chan. We meant nothing by it, honest; just a little fun, is all.” She patted the area on her left. “Come here and sit! The view’s amazing!”

Riko reluctantly made her way next to Chika, sitting down with a small ‘oomph!’ Chika grinned and slowly fell backward. Above her, she could see the branches of the cherry blossom tree just a few feet behind them, splaying its brown fingers to show off the tiny flowers decorating the tips. The slightest of breezes blew past, shaking the branches. Petals, several hundred if Chika had to take a wild guess, were shaken loose and began to follow the wind. It reminded Chika of a school of fish, swimming to a destination unknown to strangers.

“It’s nice out,” Riko finally said as another breeze blew past. In her peripherals, Chika could see Riko’s red hair flowing in the wind. Her hair grew, Chika noticed.

“It really is.” You took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling as she did so. Chika took a glance and realized that You’s silver hair was now just past her shoulders. Chika couldn’t remember the last time You had her hair this long—it must have been years ago.

Another breeze blew over them, blanketing them in silence. Chika’s thoughts began to wander, and she wondered if she should cut her own hair soon—the last time she had a haircut was over six months ago.

Chika chuckled nostalgically. It only seemed like yesterday when she—

“What’s so funny?”

Chika looked up and saw Riko staring at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Mm, nothing,” Chika said. “Just taking in the sights.”

“Knowing Chika-chan, that’s probably only half the truth,” You said with a laugh.

Chika replied with a laugh of her own—it still amazed her how easily her childhood friend could read her.

“What’s wrong?” Riko asked. Her voice was leaking with concern, and it pulled at Chika’s heartstrings—it still amazed her how easily Riko could charm her in more ways than one.

“Well, aside from taking in the sights,” Chika began, “I was just thinking how fast time flies. This is our first spring together, you know?”

Riko furrowed her eyebrows even more. “What’re you talking about? We’ve seen many springs together before.”

Chika shook her head. “But this is the first time we watched them together.”

Understanding dawned over Riko’s face. Soon, her cheeks began to fill with color as a gentle smile pulled on her lips, her golden eyes holding all the tenderness in the universe. “You’re right about that,” she muttered.

“It feels like just yesterday when Chika-chan came up to us and declared her undying love,” You said. Chika reached over to give You a playful slap on the arm when she heard the slightest pitch of amusement in You’s voice.

“It was hard to do, you know!”

You laughed as she grinned that shining grin of hers. “I know, I know. But I can never get over the fact that you dropped the cake you made us right after you confessed.”

Chika felt her cheeks burn as she heard Riko hold back a snort.

“Riko-chan, not you too!” Chika whined.

“S-sorry, Chika-chan,” Riko forced out.

Chika made a hurt noise, but a light-hearted smile was playing on her lips. She would never admit it to the other two, but it was stupid of her to drop the cake. It wasn’t her fault, however—it was the chair’s fault for putting its leg in front of Chika’s foot.

“Speaking of time, can you imagine we’ll be graduating in just a few more weeks?” You sighed nostalgically. “It’s insane.”

“It really is,” Riko agreed softly.

“It means it’s almost been a year since Aqours was formed,” Chika pointed out.

“You’re right.” You laughed. “And we’re still going strong!”

“I’m honestly surprised we managed to last this long.” Riko chuckled. “I’m honestly very impressed.”

“It hurts me that you doubted us in the first place, Riko-chan!” Chika dramatically placed a hand over her heart.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. With someone like you at the helm, there’s no doubt that Aqours will make a lasting impact for many years to come.”

Chika felt pride swell in her chest and color fill her cheeks. “I couldn’t have done it without you two, though.”

You sighed and shook her head. “Oh come on, Chika-chan! Just take all the credit!”

Chika shook her head as she sat up. “No, I’m being serious. I honestly don’t know what I would have done if you two weren’t supporting me all the way. Sure, the rest of Aqours has my back but”—Chika wrapped her arm around each of their shoulders and pulled them closer to her—”you two always had my heart. And without your love and support, I know that my motivation would have died out much sooner. So I really mean it when I say thank you to the both of you. I love you two so, so much.”

A silence hovered above them like the cherry blossoms. In the silence, Chika could hear the thudding of her heart resonating in her skull; she could feel You’s head rest on her shoulder, silver hair tickling her cheek; she could feel Riko relax and scoot closer to close the distance. Chika took a breath, taking in the beautiful aroma of the cherry blossoms mixing with the scent of the distant oceans and mikan.

If love ever had a scent, Chika found herself thinking, it would be the one she was smelling right now.

“You know, it always surprises me how you can say those kinds of things so easily,” Riko commented quietly.

“Same,” You agreed with a chuckle. “I know it’s been six months since we’ve started going out, but I still get flustered when I say ‘I love you.’”

Chika grinned. “Why should I keep my love for the both of you hidden? If I had the chance, I would yell it on the top of my lungs!”

Riko fidgeted. “If you do, I don’t think my heart would be able to handle it….”

“Riko-chan, you’re surprisingly lame, sometimes.”

“H-hey!”

Chika fell into laughter first, followed by You, with Riko finally giving in at last. A breeze blew past them, shaking a hundred or so more petals off the tree above them. As Chika absently watched them dance in the wind, she dearly hoped that she would spend more springs with Riko and You at her side.

That would be the most beautiful thing in the world.

life's hard, man. seems like i forgot to publish/update anything for another month. whoops. but, you know, it's better late than never!

i really wanted to write something with these three. how all three of them work and support one another is very cute and heart-warming. never fails to make me smile, honestly. i wish i could have conveyed that love more in this story - this one feels a bit...subpar. i haven't been writing as much as i should be (in case you couldn't tell from my lack of updates lmao), so i feel a bit rusty. but i hope that this smol drabble of mine entertained you in some way. cherry blossom watching with loved ones is an amazing experience (minus the allergies).

i hope this month i'll be able to update at least one more time. but i highly doubt it - exams are coming up.

life really is hard. sad face.

but i hope you have a good day.

#chikarikoyou #rikochikayou #chikayouriko #takami chika #watanabe you #sakurauchi riko #cherry blossom #love live fanfiction #Love Live! Sunshine #love live!#fluff #drabble #these three are precious #protect them okay #they deserve it #and i honestly really hope that you guys enjoyed this #it's been a while

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