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bucky-bucket-barnes · 3 years

Note

Hiya! I saw that your requests are open so I thought I'd send one over! Could you possibly write a Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader set during tfatws where the reader (who also an Avenger/SHEILD agent) is helping Bucky and Sam on the mission but gets attacked by John Walker [around when Episode 5 occurs,] and he seriously injures her [and then Bucky loses it on him]? Just like, A LOT OF ANGST PLEASE! Thanks so much for taking my request into consideration! Take care :)

Control

Summary: John Walker makes the dire mistake of messing with Bucky’s girl. This misstep causes a major fight to break out between the two, ending in nothing but blood and rage.

Pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!reader

Warnings: tfatws spoilers, brief mention of vomit in the beginning, depictions of violence, swearing, hurt!reader, hurt comfort, major angst

Word Count: 3.4k

masterlist | 2k writing challenge | library

It wasn’t often that you felt like the world was spiraling. The last time you could recall the world descending into such a sight was when you had had too much to drink at a friend’s birthday party, Bucky’s hands wrapped around your hair as you emptied the contents of your stomach over a toilet bowl the next day.

As clear as the day, you remembered looking over at him, head throbbing, seeing a slight grin cemented on his face. Fatigue still rimmed his eyes in faint shades of purple, having endured a late night and now an eventful morning.

“What the hell is so funny, Barnes?” you grumbled, half teasing, too hungover to bite your tongue.

“I just like your company, that’s all,” he answered quietly.

“Dork,” you snorted, a small laugh leaving your lips. You were curled over on the bathroom floor, mascara running, outfit messied from the night before and he was staring at you like you’d peppered the stars in the sky yourself. With his hands still affectionately holding your hair back, you felt safe upon the linoleum floors.

Another time the world spun this fast was when you ran a dangerously high fever, Bucky cradled up by your bedside waiting on your needs for the whole week. Not a complaint or huff escaped his lips as he slowly nursed your shivering body back to health. Under his tough exterior, he had an internal need to care for something, someone. It’s the kind of habit one earns from being the eldest child or perhaps one that was picked up from aiding his sickly friend back in Brooklyn to health during his younger years.

Even as you slept through the day, he remained as a quiet presence, staying in the room to read a book when you didn’t occupy his immediate attention. Although you weren’t much for conversation due to your condition, he enjoyed your company. He studied the tired yawn that’d escape your lips as you awoke with a grimace and the soft goodnight you’d mumble before drifting off. Although the early autumn sun beamed into the room, inviting him out for a lovely day, he knew next to you was where he wanted to be.

Each one of those times, Bucky was always there. One flesh, one bionic hand swooping you up into a comforting embrace. He was a man of few words, so instead his actions took their place. A light kiss on the forehead whispered a gentle I love you, a reassuring squeeze while your hands were intertwined assured I’m here to stay.

The world was spinning once again and, this time, Bucky wasn’t there.

The scene unfolded too rapidly. Your trio was too late to stop Walker in his pursuit, the edge of the iconic vibranium shield plummeting down into a man’s throat. The sight was awful, but the worst part were the sounds. The separation of flesh, the cracking of bone. If you even dared to strain your ears enough, you could make out the slap of blood against the asphalt road.

Walker was swift to leave the scene after that, everyone too busy marinating in their shock to respond in an instant. It was something out of a movie, a scene you’d never conjure in your most twisted dreams.

You shook yourself off, Sam, Bucky, and you splitting up in order to find Walker more efficiently.

“Call when you find him, okay?” Sam breathed out, talking at a fast pace to make up for time lost you spent standing in horror.

“You’re coming with me,” Bucky instructed, taking your hand in his.

“No, I’m not,” you responded, pulling your arm back, “We’ll cover more ground splitting up.”

“This isn’t up for debate,” he barked back, eyes wide with conviction.

Your head reeled back in surprise. He had never yelled at you before, barely raising his voice in the most heated arguments you two got into. His face, usually a chiseled statue of stoicism, couldn’t disguise the fear running through him in that moment.

“Please,” he beckoned, voice softening ever so slightly. Perhaps, if he said it with enough conviction, you’d stay with him.

His pupils were nervous, pleading. This wasn’t a familiar look Bucky wore, reserving most of his suffering for more private moments; late into the night, the steady sound of your breathing and the moonlight to keep him company.

“I’ll be alright,” you reassured, squeezing his hand, “but we have to go. Now.”

With that, your trio split up in search of Walker, pursuing all possible paths you could have taken.

The cold rain pattered down onto your face as you searched around the area. Upon following a trail of muddied footprints, you were led to what appeared to be a row of emptied warehouse buildings. Boots sinking into the mud, you took a careful step forward, half anticipating Walker to be just around any corner you turned.

Just as the world became quiet, a bellow of agony sounded to your right, your head immediately snapping in the direction of such a pained cry. You’d heard wails parallel to that one, a certain torment only emerging from an untimely death. Lemar.

You afforded John Walker the largest sum of patience and understanding you could, but try as you might, you could never bring yourself to enjoy his company all too much. Even still, your heart ached not for Walker, but for a man who had just lost his best friend.

Hand gently moving to your ear piece, you spoke quietly into the chip. “I found him, I’ll send you guys my location now.”

“Just stay low until we get there,” Bucky responded. The small sense of relief he felt hearing from you quickly was eclipsed by the fear he felt in that moment; you were alone with Walker.

“I’m just going to try to stall him. He’s stopped to catch his breath, I think, but he’ll move again. I’ll try to keep him here.”

“Be careful,” Sam warned, already knowing there was no talking you out of your plan.

Before Bucky could protest, you muted your ear piece and slowly went to approach the building, heart beat catching in your throat.

They’ll be here any moment, we didn’t separate that far. I just need to give them some time, that’s all.

As you crept further into the empty building, you spotted Walker, kneeling on the hard concrete. Sunlight streamed through the broken windows, the bright patches illuminating the metallic accents of his Captain America suit.

“He killed Lemar.” He didn’t stand up, he didn’t even turn his head towards your direction. He wasn’t offering an apology for his actions, he was only giving you what he found to be justification.

You halted, sure you had crept in quiet as a mouse. Stealth was out of the question now.

You took a slow step forward. “I’m sorry about-”

“No,” he groaned, voice in a low tone. “You don’t get to be sorry. You didn’t know him.”

“You’re hurting,” you whispered like a mother hoping to soothe her aching child with a few words.

Another step forward.

“You don’t know what I am!” He now shot up from his position close to the ground. Your attempt at comfort was met with a hostile reaction, a vexed pair of eyes shooting daggers where you stood. He stood a mere five feet in front of you.

You stopped, only slightly nodding. No matter what you said, he’d only grow more agitated with each advance towards him. All there was left to do was to stall. You nervously swallowed, waiting for his next movement in this odd sequence you two were entangled in.

He took slow steps towards you, like an animal stalking its prey. Each movement was sedated, deliberate with intentions of startling you. So, there you remained, feet nailed to the ground, not giving into his intimidation tactics. Despite your collected façade, you could feel your pulse pounding throughout your whole body.

They’ll be here any minute. He’ll be here any minute.

“You think you’re better than me? You think you’re so fucking tough, huh? Yet here you are, paralyzed without your little boyfriend and his babysitter.” He was becoming alarmingly close to your face. In spite of your better judgment, you momentarily feared if he bared his teeth enough, he might muster the gall to bite your head off.

Your eyes remained carefully trained on him. Words were pointless, they would only provoke him further, but the silence was so strange to simmer in.

“You’re not taking my shield from me.” He snarled one last remark before pouncing for your throat.

His movements were like clockwork as he reached for your neck in fit of rage. Thick fingers now closed around your airways, using his strength to lift your feet off the ground. Your nails went to claw at his hands, but he wasn’t budging, eyes glazed over with some nasty spell of grief.

In a last ditch effort to not get choked out by Walker, your dangling feet reeled back to kick him as hard as you could. Landing a swift kick on his groin, he dropped you abruptly with a groan. Reaching for your gun on instinct, you aimed it right at Walker’s stomach as he regained himself.

“Don’t think I won’t shoot.” Your breath was still ragged from your shortened air supply, eyes watery from the tears pooling in them. Your finger rested comfortably on the trigger, ready to fire in a moment's notice.

All he did was laugh. He cackled at your threat like you were a mere child he was dismissing for empty claims.

“Ooh, looks like princess does have a spine,” he teased, regaining his stance. Your aim never faltered, eyes narrowing in challenge.

Like a wild bull, he charged for you without another thought causing you to send bullets flying towards his direction. They ricocheted off his shield, each hit sending an eerie song throughout the empty warehouse.

As he made his approach, only a few inches away from you once again, you decided to aim for his foot, sending bullets down onto his shoes in hopes of slowly in pursuit. This did not only fail to stop him, but only seemed to fuel his irritation even more as he attacked.

The steady footing that was giving you some form of reassurance was lost as he jumped atop of you, forcing you down onto the ground. Before you could fire at his chest, he took your gun and sent it flying across the warehouse, your last defense now a distant echo lost among the old machinery.

Bloodied knuckles punches rained down like an angry thunderstorm upon your face, blurring your vision and disorienting your hearing. Realistically speaking, he wasn’t angry with you on a personal level, but you were the only avenue to take out his grief on. So, there you laid, hands flailing in a fruitless attempt to stop him.

Pools of warm metallic liquid formed in your mouth, clogging your throat and causing a nasty cough to emerge from your lungs. This seemed to satiate his lust for blood, but it only further fueled his need to cause more suffering.

From the corner of his eyes, his lazily discarded shield glinted with rain water and drying blood. You noticed his shift in eye contact. You couldn’t move. There was no use in screaming. You were left to the mercy of his better judgment at that moment.

He’ll be here.

Just a few more moments.

He’ll be here.

“Walker, whatever you’re thinking of,” you gargled, pressing your cheek to the concrete in an attempt to avoid choking on the blood in your mouth, “You can’t come back from that.”

He deliberated for a few seconds, maybe even a few hours. The ringing in your ears made it harder and harder to distinguish the time as it grew and grew with each new bruise. If your vision hadn’t become so clouded, you could have sworn a flash of guilt went over his face for a quick second.

He peered down at your bloodied face, the nasty cuts and bruises that were bound to leave an ugly mark for weeks to come. Wet, labored breaths left your mouth, lips coated in a bright red, the velvet hue dripping down the sides of your face.

Only for a second did he appear to be contemplating mercy. But you knew better. His hand groped for the shield, eyes dilated with adrenaline, but anger seeming to fade from his movements. All that was left to swim in his eyes was the sting of survivor’s guilt before he raised the shield above his head once more.

Bang.

Maybe it was an act of sympathy.

Bang.

Perhaps he was so far gone, he thought finishing the job would be easier.

Bang.

He’d be here soon.

Bang

He had to be here soon.

Bucky hadn’t prayed since before the war. You see enough things, you watch enough people suffer, and the existence of a God seems excessively cruel, unlikely.

Panic clouded his thoughts as he bolted towards your location. Along the whole trip, Sam assured him that you had a good head on your shoulders, that you'd be okay.

There he stood at the open entrance of the warehouse, one body sprawled on the ground, another huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth. Sam stood next to Bucky, glancing over at his friend as they approached closer and closer to the two bodies.

“John, what happened?” Sam decided to take the mantle of speaker up, this time.

The world froze for Bucky as he approached you, blistered feet carrying him swiftly towards your body. Blood leaked from the mouth he had just kissed this morning, it was spilling from the nose he just pecked last night, and it was oozing from the temples he just held this afternoon.

A gash. It left a dent in your forehead, never ceasing in its seemingly endless supply of blood. He knew Walker and Sam were talking, maybe even getting somewhere, but it didn’t matter. Their conversation was mere white noise in the background of his horror.

“Y/N?” His voice quivered as he spoke out.

You remained in silence, eyes still closed, one almost swollen shut from a nasty bruise gifted from Walker just minutes before.

Shaking, his flesh hand went to take one of yours, fingers lightly pressing to your pulse, praying the familiar beat of your heart would ring throughout his body once more.

A faint pulse tapped against his fingers, a wave of relief washing over him. He was scared to hold you, a porcelain figurine one more touch away from shattering into millions of pieces. His hand went to cup the side of your face free of any major injuries as he burned.

He needed to feel you, to make sure you wouldn’t fade into ash the moment he’d look away. Ripping off a piece of his sleeve, he placed a makeshift bandage around your forehead, hoping to slow down the bleeding.

“My sweet girl, what did he do to you?” he whispered through a pained expression, trying best as he could to wipe the blood rimming your mouth.

The world turned red. Help was on its way. Bucky did all he could for you in that moment, physically. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand before standing up, face a bloodcurdling level of calm in that moment.

“Did you do this?” His eyes were still trained on the girl in front of him, still registering what happened.

“She-”

“Answer the fucking question.” Bucky snapped his head in the direction of Walker. Even Sam took a step back from the sudden shift in his friend. He was upset as well to see you in pain, but he was trying his best to remain composed; he didn’t want to risk matters becoming worse.

“We don’t want a fight,” Sam interjected.

“I do,” Bucky snapped, walking up to Walker, challenging him to make the first move.

He stood there in silence for a moment. You didn’t intimidate him much, smaller in stature and presumably less experienced than him. Bucky, though? He’d never say it aloud, but he terrified him. His lack of speech, the way he knew how to stare in the soul of anyone he encountered, it was downright unsettling.

Part of Walker briefly regretted not killing you and taking off. It wouldn’t have mattered, anyways. Nothing felt like it mattered anymore. He’d be gone, and you wouldn’t be left to tell what happened.

Bucky swung for Walker’s jaw, the anger of a wild animal taking over his instincts. He didn’t think of the consequences to come for enacting such a fight, but he couldn’t care. The only thing that hung upon his already heavy shoulders was vengeance in its purest form.

The two sparred for only a few moments before Sam joined in, some anger sizzling within his chest cavity. They ganged up on the blonde, ripping the shield from him and slowly stripping him of his armor.

The tables had turned. Walker was now pinned on the ground, at the mercy of a very pissed Bucky, Sam watching in the background. He recognized Bucky needed to finish this alone for his own sake.

“She provoked me!” Walker rationed through gritted teeth, trying to conceal the pain he was in.

“Liar,” Bucky growled back.

With that, he let loose on the man beneath him. Walker put up a valiant fight, but he remained no match for Bucky’s vengeance. One moment he was throwing a punch, the next Bucky was catching it, twisting his arm until a rippling of cracking noises was hard.

Though his arm was now shattered and he yelped in pain, this did not quench the wrath pulsing through Bucky. One punch came down. Then another. Then a dozen more to follow, each hit marking his face with a new hue of blue and purple.

“Bucky, I think that’s enough,” Sam called out.

Bucky couldn’t tell what he was saying. Honestly, he could barely hear over his own thoughts.

I was supposed to be there.

Bam.

She needed me.

Bam.

She needed me, and I wasn’t there.

Bam.

This is my fault.

Bam.

But this is your price to pay.

A pair of arms wrapped around from behind the super soldier, pulling him off of Walker. He had been unconscious since the second hit, body going limp, broken arm laying mangled by his side.

Bucky's chest rose and fell with a sporadic rhythm, his anger boiling over into guilt. He looked up at Sam, shield by his side, covered in the blood of two different people now.

“I wasn’t done,” he breathed, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“I know. The medics will be here in a few seconds, though.”

As the sirens sounded in the distance, he inched towards your body, still unconscious. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine that you were just sleeping, that you’d wake up any moment and assure him he’s fussing over nothing.

Following you like a second shadow, he stayed by you in the ambulance. He waited like an abandoned dog in the waiting room, hoping for any update on your condition. Restless nights were spent in a nearby hotel.

Bucky yearned for your touch once more. His body never found comfort in the many pillows he hoarded, he never found true warmth despite the dozens of blankets he had piled on. It was like his other half was missing, leaving him to roam this world without ever really living in it.

When they allowed visitors, he remained perched by your bedside. Often he sat there, never letting you leave from his sight until his eyes succumbed to fatigue. Sometimes he just sat there silently, staring out the window and admiring the other couples that strolled by.

I’m sorry we can’t have that, he’d whispered, the only response he ever received being your heart monitor providing a steady beep.

When your eyes finally peeled open, it was at the crack of dawn about a week later. The new sunlight was bathing Bucky in a soft hue of rose and sherbet orange. He laid asleep, head resting at the edge of your bed, the rest of his body slumped forward in the uncomfy hospital chair he was provided.

Though in a deep slumber, his hands remained in a confident grip around your own, the rough curve of palms being the first thing you felt.

“Bucky?” you crooned softly, testing if he was awake.

Half asleep, his eyes peered open and a saddened smile formed on his face when he saw you grinning down at him.

“Hey, love. Good to see you awake.”

“I knew you’d find me.”

Guilt. It’s all he knew how to respond with. “I’m sorry. I should have-”

“Shh. You’re here now. That’s all I need.”

“And I’m always going to be here,” he promised, gently taking your hand to kiss it once more.

#bucky imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucket responds #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes x poc!reader #bucky barnes x hurt!reader #bucky barnes hurt comfort #bucky barnes x avenger!reader

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seiyasabi · 3 years

Text

Murder of Crows

(Here’s a Yan Crowley x Virg Fem Reader story :P The gender wasn’t specified, so I went based off of the game lol, and the MC is kinda viewed as female, so I’m sorry if this wasn’t what u wanted and if it sucked lol.

Tw: !Noncon!, abuse of power!, !breeding kink!, nesting!, bird bastard behaviour!, !ovipositor?!, homie pumps eggs into u!, mentions of concussion which makes it had for you to get away!!!, kind of body horror bc he’s built like a bitch!!!!, etc..

Please proceed with caution!)

Laughing in discomfort, you try to move away from the masked man, “I’m not sure what you’re doing, but I don’t think it’s appropriate, Headmaster,” Dire had lead you to a dark room under the pretense of finding a way to your home, only for you to stumble upon a massive heap of comfortable blankets and shiny trinkets.

“There’s no need to be nervous, Little One. I won’t hurt you,” His tall form tries to approach you, but you back away from him. Your back is in the direction of the room’s locked door, leaving an opening for you to make a break for it, “I only wish to take our courtship a step further.”

“There is no courtship, Headmaster. I’m sorry if I unknowingly lead you on, but I honestly want nothing to do with you. If it weren’t for me needing your help to leave, I’d never have approached you. You make me very uncomfortable.”

He giggles at your words, seemingly unfazed, “Us crows do come on a bit strong, don’t we?” You don’t answer, continuing to back up towards the door, “But don’t worry, mating is fun for both parties! See, I even made a nest for you,” He motions towards the pile on the floor, “Your ovulation makes this the perfect time to breed, ensuring we’ll have many wonderful chicks.”

“I’m sorry, but I need to go home. I’m sure one of the boys here has a sister that’s perfect for you. I really cannot stay any longer,” If he needs an incubator, there’s bound to be a good substitute. But, the bird-man just laughs in your face.

“I can’t breed just any woman, silly!” I’m a flash, he’s standing before you, caging you against the metal door behind you. The fancy engravings on the door dig into the flesh of your shoulders, causing both fear and pain to plague your senses, “Crows mate for life, Little One, and I want you with me forever!”

A cold sweat coats your body, as you shiver in fear, “I can’t be with you forever! I need to go home!” You try to shove him off of you, but it’s to no avail. All the large man has to do is push you harder against the thick door, causing you to arch away from the metal in pain. You’re certain that the flower design is now imprinted on your skin, “Get off of me! Find someone else-“

He grabs your face in one hand, practically halting all jaw movement with his harsh hold, the other still pushing you by the chest into the door. In a sing-song voice he cuts you off, “There is no one else, no one can compare to my Darling Mate,” One of your hands grip at his wrist, trying to pull him off of your face. He loosens his hold just enough for you to speak.

“What do you gain? I have no magic ability, I’m not in perfect health, and I most definitely do not see myself being helpful to you in any way,” Once again, the bird-man giggles like a love-sick school girl.

“There’s no need to be self conscious, I think you’re perfect,” He clearly didn’t understand what you mean, “Now, get in the nest, and I can show you just how much I adore you.”

“I’m not getting in the nest, Headmaster! You told me you found me a way home! Let me go home!” His grip on your jaw tightens once more, but you’re able to punch at his unguarded upper half. You’re able to land a few good hits, causing the man to grunt in pain, before you’re suddenly thrown in the middle of the nest at full force. Your head hits the side of a gemstone covered box, blood immediately gushing from your wound. The entire experience jostles your brain harshly, making it hard to think or even see clearly. A whimper escapes your gasping lips, as you try to sit up. You find yourself unable to, which causes a blade of dread and fear to imbed itself in your tummy.

“Now, now, let’s not get hasty. I didn’t lie to you- I found a way for you to get home! The moment you have a family, is the moment you have a home-“ The pumping of your blood throughout your body drowns out the rest of what he says, as panic sets in. You pathetically slap at the blankets below you, trying to move away from his approaching form, “Oh no, you’re bleeding!”

His gloved hands wipe at the wound on your head, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. Nervous chirps escape his throat, as he sits you up, drawing a pained groan from your lips. He notices how glassy your eyes appear, showing that there’s something very wrong. But, Crowley can’t bring himself to tear himself away from your perfectly fertile pussy.

This entire ordeal would be a lot easier if you can’t refuse, right?

“Don’t worry, Little One, I’ll be as gentle as possible. Afterwards, I’ll be sure to have Trein take a look at you,” Grabbing a random throw pillow from the large nest, he rests your head on it, before moving himself between your legs.

“Nu-no-“ You weakly refuse, “Sto-stop I-it,” It hurts to think, head pounding horrifically. You have a feeling that you’re severely concussed, so you try as hard as you can to stay awake. You’re certain that if you sleep, you’ll die.

“Shh, let your Mate take care of you,” Dire pushes up your uniform’s skirt, exposing your modest panties. Mouth immediately salivating, he shoved his masked face into your clothed core. His mask rests over the area of your womb, as he takes long sniffs of your covered pussy, “Oh my, you smell absolutely divine! I knew that you were the one for me,” He licks over the cotton covering you, as you can only lay in shock.

His hands clumsily unbutton your dress shirt, exposing your bra clad chest. His face refuses to leave your cunny, as he unhooks your bra, before he forces the sleeves of your coverups off of you. Your entire torso is bare for his prodding hands, which immediately find your nipples, pinching them between forefinger and thumb. Weak whines of discomfort and mild pleasure are heard throughout the room, along with Dire’s heavy breathing.

He grabs your panties between his teeth, dragging them down your perfect legs, before he spits them into the nest surrounding you. His mouth immediately attaches itself to your ripe cunny, sucking on your pretty clit. He sucks and licks over your nub messily, wanting so badly to taste your yummy juices.

In no time, his wants are met. Against your will, your pussy drips onto his tongue, causing the both of you to moan. Tears brim your tired eyes, as you begin to plead with him to stop, “Do-don’t du-do it, I-I’m a vi-virgin,” Your words slur together, but the meaning is clear. It’s like the bird-man’s body takes a screenshot, as he suddenly comes to a stand still.

He removes his face from your throbbing core, trying to make eye contact with your fluttering orbs, “A virgin?” A creepy grin stretches across his lips, eyes flashing a bright gold, “You saved yourself for me? That’s wonderful,” He hooks a finger into your wet cunt, forcing you open, and causing you to whimper in discomfort, “You’re perfect, a perfect mate for me. Your womb will only know my seed, as the universe always intended.”

It seems your pleas have fallen on deaf ears.

His thumb rubs against your swollen clit, forcing his finger in and out of your inexperienced hole. His fingertip rubs against your g-spot triggering a loud whine to escape from deep within your chest. Your fingers twitch with the want of pushing him away, but your body refuses to move.

He quickly forces a second finger inside, trying to stretch you as open as possible. His thick cock is too much for your tiny pussy to handle, but his need to pump you full with his eggs outweighs the worry he feels, especially when he hears you moan so sweetly.

You wish so badly to close your eyes and fade away, but you know that it would be signing your death sentence. You don’t want to die while you’re being violated, you wouldn’t be able to rest peacefully.

So, when you feel his wide, slick cockhead bump against your virgin hole, you can’t help but go rigid, “Don’t worry, Little Mate, it’ll hurt for a moment, but I promise I’ll make you feel good,” With that, he forces his way in. There’s a harsh resistance at first, your tiny pussy’s opening protected by your thick hymen. But, it’s not enough to keep him out.

With one swift buck of the hips, Dire is fully sheathed in your previously unused cunny. A strangled scream escapes your lips, as the pain comes crashing down on you. Your mouth is twisted open in a pained expression, tears drip down your face, as Crowley tries to comfort you with lustful kisses on the lips.

“Don't cry, I love you and your perfect pussy so much! I’ll fuck you nice and full,” His thumb rubs against your clit it fast movement, as he rests his heavy cock inside of your fluttering walls.

His tip is directly at your cervix, practically digging into your womb. When he finally pulls his hips back, it feels like he’s ripping your pussy out of your body.

You cry loudly at the feeling, but he continued to kiss and fuck you silly. Crowley gushes precum inside of you, trying to mix your juices together to make it easier for you. Luckily for you, it works.

His constant rubbing against your clit and g-spot is enough to loosen you a bit, along with making you drip like a leaky faucet.

You practically gush around his huge length, as he picks up the pace. He pushes your knees up by your shoulders, constantly battering your poor cervix. He grunts and groans at the feeling of your gummy walls, somehow falling even deeper in love with you, “You’re so perfect for me, accepting my cock so well. I just know that you need my chicks inside of you.”

You want to say no or even shake your head, but you can’t. All you can do is lay there and hope to survive.

Without warning, his tip rams harshly against your womb opening, pushing his fat tip through the thick ring of muscle. Another scream escapes your throat, as he forces his tongue into your mouth, silencing you.

You can feel small lumps traveling up his length, effectively massaging your g-spot whilst he pinches your clit. You squeal, cumming around him, walls sporadically massaging his cock.

The feeling of his eggs plopping in your womb is a weird one, making you feel bloated and full. He gathers your knees with one hand, before resting the other on the area above your womb. He can feel his young inside of your perfect body, which makes him moan into your mouth.

More tears drip down your face, as more and more eggs fill you to the brim. It feels like a century before he stops laying them inside of you, basking in the feeling of your tight cervix around him.

Removing his mouth from yours, he smiles down at your crying face, “You look so pretty like this- bred full, your entire body accepting me,” he bucks into you, groaning at the feeling, as your face screws up in discomfort. He’s still rubbing and pinching at your clit, as he cums inside of you. His thick, fertile sperm coats your gummy walls and the eggs inside of you, effectively sealing your fate.

He moans prettily, you note, as you finally start to drift off. Your mind feels like goo, you’re most definitely pregnant with your rapist’s baby, and your entire body feels like it was set on fire. Maybe death would be preferable, after all.

Noticing your declining state, Crowley starts to panic. Did you really get that hurt from falling?

Standing to his feet with you still balanced on his cock, he grabs a random blanket from your nest, and runs to find an unsuspecting Trein.

He won’t let you die.

Crows mate for life, and the two of you still have a long one ahead of you.

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere crowley #dire crowley #yandere dire crowley #twst x reader #twst x you #twisted wonderland x reader #tw: noncon

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tiny-maus-boots · 2 years

Text

Darkest of Nights pt 4

A/N: words. here they are.

Chloe

“Are you alright?”

Aubrey gives her a mild look and nods. Chloe knows she’s asked that question at least three times since they had left the Devil Dog bar. Aubrey looked the picture of health, her youth returned with skin pink and warm from the fresh blood she had consumed. Chloe hadn’t seen her look better in centuries but she was worried. Her friend had carried grief for so long that one night of binging on blood couldn’t even begin to heal a wound that deep.

“If you’re asking if I’m feeling better, then yes, I am. If you’re asking if I’ve forgotten the circumstance that brought me out of my lair tonight, I have not. And I am not alright with it. But I am prepared to listen, to fight, if necessary. If…”

“If things are as dire as I stated?” Aubrey nodded and ducked easily under a low hanging branch with no particular rush. They weren’t far from where they had left Beca but if they didn’t hurry they would be scorched before they made it through the door. Chloe slowed to a stop and reached out to take Aubrey’s hand, forcing the other woman to stop and look at her. “I will tell you things you don’t wish to hear, things you may not even believe, but the one truth you must never doubt is that Harun truly loved you. He was a good man and he will always be remembered as such.”

Aubrey raised a brow, her mouth open to question the statement when something pricked the edges of their awareness. Chloe let her gaze drift around the small clearing, searching for something out of place, something that would have triggered an alert. She knew the Council was on to Beca but she hadn’t thought they were on to her just yet.

“Diavols?”

“From the bar? Doubtful there were any left alive, and humans aren’t that sneaky. Advance party maybe?”

“If it truly is the Council, Beca Mitchell is not safe.”

Chloe nodded and tipped her head up to scan the trees above them. She still couldn’t see anything but her senses were telling her something was wrong. They turned as one and sped toward the summit of the hill. She didn’t even stop to consider what she was doing when she pushed in the stone door with a mighty heave. It swung open wide enough to reveal the darkened interior for a moment before a hoard of bodies in various stages of decay shambled out with reaching, grasping hands.

There were so many bodies and limbs that they were overwhelmed by them and dragged down to the ground. Every time she pushed back against one, another crowded into its space. Chloe struggled to rise from her pinned position until the soft crunch of boots on earth made its way around the mound of corpses to stop near her head.

“Beca?”

“You kidnapped me, tied me up and gagged me, then you bit me, dropped me on my ass, and then you left me with no food and water in a tomb with an assload of bodies stashed in it all the way in the middle of bumfuck. And while zombies can’t really hurt you, they definitely can hold you down for a while. Definitely long enough for me to be on my merry fucking way while you catch a tan. So please, please, enlighten me as to why I need you and why I should trust either one of you?”

Oh fuck.

“I understand your anger, Beca, but I assure you it was completely necessary.”

“Not good enough. I’m out.”

“No! Wait wait wait…there are things you don’t understand. Things that have been happening for centuries, you’re part of a…”

“Zzzzzzz. That’s the sound of no fucks being given. Oh look here comes the sun.”

“Aubrey! Help!” From somewhere to her left, slightly muffled from the weight of bodies, she swore she heard an amused chuckle. “It’s not funny, Aubrey!”

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“Aubrey!”

“Okay okay… Yes, I agree with you Beca Mitchell. You have been unforgivably wronged and that does not lend itself to trust. I too long for answers but I fear neither of us will get any if you kill Chloe now. You agreed to wait for us, here we are. And we brought you pig snacks.”

“…you what!?”

“She means hamburgers. They aren’t made of actual pork, Bree. And she intends to kill US, Aubrey.”

“Then why in the nine depths are they called that? Ridiculous…never understand humans…are you laughing at me??”

Chloe craned her neck to look up at Beca nearly bent double laughing. It was probably a funnier situation if you weren’t the one covered in dead bodies and pinned to the ground with a sliver of sunlight creeping toward your face.

“Jesus Christ…that’s fucking funny, dude. Let them up before they cook.”

The second she had enough room to move Chloe pushed her way free and bolted for the inside of the Aubrey’s lair. The blonde was right behind her and they peered out at Beca cautiously, waiting for her to make the next move.

“Whatever is coming…I don’t need your help. You might be different but you’re still vampires. I don’t trust vampires because they hunt and kill indiscriminately. You wipe out whole clans of Travelers based on a rumor that one might have a gift with death. Not just us, werewolf packs, witches, the fae, anyone that might pose a threat. I don’t need you. And I don’t want you.”

Chloe sighs softly and leans back further into shadow. This was not what she had hoped would happen. In her grand plan she had at least gotten to explain but Beca didn’t seem inclined to listen. And there was something else. Something she hadn’t noticed before when there was distance between them, but now it was growing possible to ignore the longer they stared at each other. A near physical need to be close to the necromancer, to stay with her, to protect her always. Chloe made a small sound when Beca turned to leave and nearly followed her out into the bright morning light. Only Aubrey’s gentle hand on her shoulder could draw her back to herself.

“You may not trust us, and indeed you’ve no reason to, but you do need us Beca. The vampire council is nearly limitless in wealth and resource. Now that they know you’re alive they will stop at nothing to hunt you down and end you.”

“Why am I so special, Chloe? Why are they after me??”

Aubrey’s soft voice rose as she stepped closer to the entrance of the tomb, nearly to the direct light of day. The part of Chloe that came alive at night shuddered at the nearness of a true death she couldn’t fight.

“Because Beca Mitchell, you are the key to ending the vampiric reign of destruction. Your power, your blood, is what they have feared and what they will always fear. If we do not stop them you and anyone like you will always live in fear. If you live at all.”

“And if I say no to this stupid crusade?”

“Then we are all lost but you will be free to make your own way. For as long as you can manage before they find you.”

Chloe dipped her head in a nod of agreement but didn’t dare speak and break the spell Aubrey had cast over Beca. The necromancer hesitated and then kicked the ground in frustration. She understood the position Beca was in and wasn’t sure she would do what she was asking of the necromancer in her place. It would take a courage and strength that was a rarity.

“You guys suck, you know that?”

“Indeed.”

“Fine I guess I have nothing better to do all day than learn about vampire history. Which I’m guessing goes something like lies, corruption, blood, sex, more lies, backstabbing, biting, and racial cleansing.”

Aubrey gave a tiny grunt of agreement. “There used to be more sex in that equation in my day but yes. That sums our grand history up quite nicely.”

Beca perked up at that, her brows raising nearly to her hairline. “I could stand to hear some more about that.”

The necromancer sighed and shook her head, her decision made even as she was cursing herself for it. She waded through the patiently waiting dead, fingertips grazing over a wrist here, a shoulder there, a cheek or wispy haired pate in a soft caress that severed her connection to them. They fell where they stood, the earth rolling and turning to accept them into its depths and giving them peace once again.

“Please tell me you two banged it out while you were gone, I don’t really want to have to suffer through your soulful eye fucking AND The Vampire Diaries at the same time.”

Well if they were going to war at least it would be an interesting adventure.

#pp au #pitch perfect #beca mitchell #aubrey posen #chloe beale #triple treble endgame #vampires #i had to fix it because apparently i had a stroke and fucked up the last line

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phykios · 4 years

Text

honesty and promise me, part 4 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

July twelfth dawns like any other day, Annabeth wrapped up in Percy’s sheets. She’s spent significantly more nights in his bed than she’s spent in her own apartment over the last two months, but who could blame her? This bed is literally to die for. Therapeutic mattress for the fucking win.

Percy, to her greatest confusion and chagrin, is a morning person. Well, actually, what he is is someone who runs on very little sleep for three weeks at a time, before crashing headfirst into his bed for thirteen hours. It is a decidedly unhealthy way to live, but it means that Annabeth is used to waking up alone. The nights where she gets to wake up with Percy are the nicer ones, sure, but his presence is suffused in every corner of the room, his smell wafting from every piece of sweaty clothing tossed haphazardly about the floor, so much so that she never feels like she is truly waking up alone.

Gross? A little. But the smell is oddly sexy, too, especially after he’s just come home from a run, all wet and glistening and flushed, panting hard--

Ahem.

The point is, when Annabeth rolls out of bed in one of Percy’s shirts (the one that says “Do You Even Lift, Bro?” with an image of a male dancer raising his partner, courtesy of one Jason Grace) and stumbles into the kitchen for one of Percy’s patented brunch specials, it’s a pretty normal morning. What catches her off guard is the spread: eggs and bacon, obviously, with fruit and granola and yogurt, but also an enormous tray of delicious, flaky croissants, perfectly crescent shaped, with little bowls of every condiment imaginable, multiple flavors of jams and preserves and Nutellas.

“Bounjour, mademoiselle!” Percy says cheerfully from the oven, perfectly accented, bending over to take out a tray. “Ça va bien?”

“Um… bonjour…” She pokes a croissant experimentally, and is equally delighted and dismayed to find that it is just as flaky as advertised.

“Take a seat, these ones just need to cool for a bit and then we can get started.”

Spring in his step, he opens the refrigerator, taking out the most beautiful cake Annabeth has ever seen in her entire life. Perfectly round, paper white, with little blue borders piped around the edge, but it’s got Annabeth feeling like she’s just been doused in cold water. “How the hell did you know it was my birthday?”

Immediately, she knows it was the exact wrong thing to say. His eyes go wide as the saucers on the table, mouth open in shock. “It’s your birthday?”

Goddammit. “Um.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Because birthdays were inherently a dumb concept? Because her father had to be reminded of her birthday more often than not? Because her mother had stopped sending her birthday cards after she turned thirteen, calling them a waste of money and resources? “I don’t know,” she shrugs, dipping her finger into the strawberry jam. “I guess I just didn’t think it was a big deal. Ooh, does this have rosemary in it?”

“Annabeeeeth,” he whines, plopping the cake onto the kitchen island. “I can’t believe you! I love birthdays.”

“Well,” she flounders, attempting to duck his sudden attention, “what were you originally celebrating? I don’t usually think of cake as a brunch option.”

He raises an eyebrow, not at all impressed with her attempts to change the topic, but he answers dutifully, “Originally, we were celebrating me being one month cig-free--”

“Percy!” Annabeth gasps, clapping her hands delightedly, and a little exaggeratedly. “That’s great!”

“But,” he continues, “now we’re definitely celebrating your birthday instead.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Nuh uh,” he chides, grabbing his phone and beginning to type something, “I am asking Nico to pick you up a birthday card as we speak.”

Oh. “Nico’s coming?”

“Well, this is his apartment. Part of the deal is that I make him breakfast. I think he’s bringing his boyfriend.”

“Is… anyone else coming?”

“Just a couple of people, my friends Frank, Grover, Rachel… I invited Hazel and Thalia, too, but I think Hazel told me she was busy, and you know Thalia. If it’s not at a crappy dive bar then the odds of her showing up are virtually none.” Percy pauses in his text, fixing her with an odd look. “You really don’t want anyone to know, do you?”

How easily he reads her is a little disconcerting, and also a thought that she just can’t handle right now. “I just don’t like people making a big deal out of it. You know, it’s just another day. I’d much rather celebrate you quitting.”

He holds her gaze for a beat, before smiling, finishing typing out whatever he was doing on his phone. “Yes, I am officially quitting. Cigarettes are terrible for you, and I do not have the money to keep up the habit. So, I swear,” he holds up a hand, “No cigarettes, no weed, no vaping. Not that I ever vaped before.”

“Oh, never?” Annabeth teases.

“Not ever.” He leans in, grinning that devastating grin that is seriously detrimental to her health. “You could not pay me enough.”

“Good.” She goes to meet him, pressing her mouth to his, sweetly and chastely, but swiftly turning deeper, almost against their higher brain functions, like they only exist to be here in this moment, lips against lips, tongue and tongue. She’s always hated the taste of cigarettes, she prefers edibles to blunts, and anyone who vapes is automatically dropped from her list of potential partners… but she’s never minded the taste of ash on Percy’s tongue. It was just another part of him, another facet of the whole sexy package.

Now, though, she has the full taste of him, unfettered and unfiltered, his morning coffee and his morning breath. It is disgusting, but again, oddly thrilling. This is Percy, stripped down and divested of all the trappings of blue lipstick and tight pants. She wonders what he thinks when he sees her like this, messy haired, face and ears empty of metal, last night’s mascara smudged all around her eyes. Given the way that he deliberately threads her hair through his fingers, winding the frizzy curls around him, pulling her close enough that the pristine cake is in danger from some serious smushing, she thinks he likes it just as much.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on which perspective, either Percy’s, Annabeth’s, Nico’s, or the cake’s, their little impromptu makeout session has cold water dumped on it before they can end up doing it on the kitchen island. The sound of someone unlocking the front door is almost comically loud, and they break apart, equally red and flushing.

“Gross,” says Nico di Angelo. “No heterosexuality allowed in my kitchen.”

“Take that back, you biphobic ass,” Percy says. “I have never been heterosexual in my life.”

“I’m not biphobic, I just don’t want to see you getting it on on my marble countertops.”

“Speak for yourself,” chimes in Will, setting down a grocery bag right on the spot which would have been ground zero. “Hi, Annabeth.”

“Hey, Will.”

“Nice of you to join us today,” he says, as though he doesn’t see her here all the time.

She offers her assistance in cooking or setting up, knowing full well that she will be firmly rebuffed--domestics are not her strong suit, by any stretch of the imagination--and is sent away with an iced coffee that Will has so thoughtfully bought for her instead of the birthday card she was dreading.

Soon after, the party is in full swing.

Well, she uses the term party loosely. It is fairly intimate, even with Nico’s enormous apartment making everything smaller. They have assembled an odd amalgamation of people: “You already know Nico,” Percy says, indicating the goth prince next to, “and Will,” his boyfriend, the perpetually cheery med student, next to, “and this is Frank,” a large, physically imposing man with a shy smile, next to, “Rachel,” a red-headed girl who looked like she just walked out of a paint shower, all making space for, “and my buddy Grover,” the guy in crutches who had immediately dropped into the single, out-of-decor, but extremely comfortable-looking loveseat Nico had placed nearest to the bathroom. All told, they look like the brochure for a community college who really, really wants to publicize how diverse their student body is, but with a kind of natural chemistry and camaraderie that those kids on that brochure could only dream of. “Everyone, this is Annabeth.”

They greet her, each giving a limp wave.

Then Percy leaves to attend to his brunch spread, but not before giving her a quick peck on the cheek. She can feel all eyes on them, hot and burning.

Silence.

“So,” Annabeth says, as awkward as a freshman in an orientation mixer. “What’s up?”

“Your hair is amazing,” says Rachel.

Hers is crusted with paint, a deep red that turns pink against the orange in the light, a close cousin to Annabeth’s, which is in dire need of a touchup, curls thrown in disarray by Percy’s grasping fingers. “Thanks, I--”

“So how do you two know each other?”

Annabeth blinks. “Friend of Thalia’s,” she says. “You?”

“Used to do ballet together,” Rachel says, brusque, efficient. “Frank, too.”

Frank waves again.

A beat passes.

Annabeth looks to Grover, who watches, bemused. “You, too, I take it?”

Another second. Then he laughs, weird, but hearty, a joyful bleat. “Oh, sure,” he says. “I’m a regular Baryshnikov.”

She can almost feel the room relaxing, heaving a sigh after holding its breath.

“Are you with NYCB, too?” she turns to Frank, shoving her hands in her pockets, fingers curling around the fabric there.

Shaking his head, he swallows his orange juice. “I mostly do modern and hip hop, now, music videos and stuff.”

Objectively, she knows that you don’t have to be skinny as a rake or bodybuilding champion to dance, but Frank is neither of these, a huge, sweet-faced guy with a healthy layer of fat around his face and torso--a strict counterpart to Percy, who could give the Belvedere Apollo a run for its money. “Have I seen you in anything?” Not that she really watches music videos, but she figures it’s the polite thing to ask.

“Um, maybe,” he shrugs, embarrassed. “I’ve been lucky enough to work with some really big people.” Though he offers no further details.

“Working on anything cool?” She asks, doing her best not to cajole.

He nods. “Percy and I have a thing coming out probably in the next month or so, with--ah, well. Can’t say.”

“Tease,” Rachel grumbles, tossing back her mimosa. “I’ve been trying to get the secret out of him for months.”

Frank smiles, secretive and a little smug. “Sorry. You’ll find out along with everyone else.”

“Do you work together a lot?” Annabeth asks. She had thought that Percy was strictly ballet--though, she supposes dancers do crossover work more often these days, if only for the money.

“Not as much as we used to, sadly,” he replies. “We actually lived together in Paris for a few years while he was contracted with the opera before I decided to come back home. Vancouver,” he adds at her unspoken question.

“Bit of a hike, from Vancouver to New York,” says Grover.

Frank shrugs. “I was in town anyway, and I haven’t seen Percy in about a year.”

Annabeth frowns, doing some mental math. If Frank hadn’t seen him in two years, then that meant… that Percy had been alone in Paris all that time. The man thrives off of friendship and social interaction; no wonder he was jonesing to come back to America.

“Remind me again how long you two were together?” Rachel asks, red hair bouncing as she cocks her head. A jolt goes down Annabeth’s spine, appraising Frank in an entirely new light.

“On and off for about two years,” says Frank, thoughtful. “But I just lived with him to save money. The rent in Paris sucks.”

“And you were the best roommate I ever had,” Percy says, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Clean, good cook, better kisser--”

Frank shoves him away.

“You’ve only ever had one other roommate, other than Nico or your mom,” Grover points out. “That one guy when you first moved overseas--Frodo? Fedora?”

“Fyodor,” Percy corrects. “He was terrible. I didn’t know any Russian, he didn’t know any English, and our French wasn’t good enough to actually hash it out, so he just gave me a permanent cold shoulder.”

“Kind of a low bar, don’t you think?”

“And there was my roommate in Boston.”

Sharply, she turns her head. “You lived in Boston?”

“Yeah, for like a year. I told you I was with Boston Ballet for a little bit, didn’t I?”

Pretty sure he didn’t. She almost opens her mouth to retort, to ask when and compare notes, to mention that she lived in Boston, too, before remembering who she is with, swallowing her words.

“Fyodor hated you,” Frank hums, reentering the circle. He’d wandered away and returned with a croissant, dipped in chocolate.

“Trust, me, the feeling was mutual.”

“It must have been,” Frank says, “because I saw your new apartment after he kicked you out--that place made a shoebox look luxurious.”

Something in Percy’s face almost falls when Frank says that. Annabeth is sure there is a story there.

But Rachel laughs. “Annabeth, you have no idea. It was a Chambre de bonne ,” she says, exaggerating the accent, “which might sound super fancy and French and cool, but trust me, it wasn’t at all. It was this size.” She slaps the kitchen island, a little too hard, her third mimosa making her loose-limbed and loud. “When I visited for Thanksgiving that year I had to pay for the heating bill, because Percy basically refused.”

“It was cozy,” Percy mutters, suddenly very preoccupied with the half a croissant on his plate.

“It was not.” Rachel says. “It was sad and cold and small.”

Nico looks interested, but not nearly as boisterous as Rachel or Frank, “Was that the place…”

“Ye,” Percy cuts him off, “Yes it was.” He smiles, Stepford-strained. “But, then Frank came to town, and so did his grandmother’s money.” He slaps Frank on the back. “And I got a bathtub.”

“I still can’t believe that a ballet dancer lived anywhere for two years without a place to soak,” Frank says, shuddering.

“I can’t believe you waited until Frank got to Paris to get yourself a sugar daddy,” Grover quips. Percy throws a grape at him. Grover, to her immense surprise, manages to catch it in his mouth.

Annabeth can’t really be impressed. This is the second time someone has brought up Percy and Frank having a history. Something hot and angry curls in her stomach. But Percy is laughing.

Rachel laughs too. “Oh, he didn’t wait,” she says. “He had a bevy of sugar mommies for trips to Ibiza and Moscow and Beijing.”

“It was Tokyo,” Percy says, “and they weren’t my Sugar Mamas.” He turns to Annabeth, sheepish, but not actually shameful. “They weren’t. Honestly.”

“Uh huh.”

“They were mostly Kym’s friends, and sometimes we’d go out when they were in town, and if we had fun, they’d invite me wherever they were going next. And if I didn’t have to work, I’d go with.”

“I have heard rumors,” Will says, popping his head in, Nico attached to his hip, “of Percy Jackson, boy toy of the rich and famous of Europe. Is it true?”

“Yes,” Grover and Rachel say at once.

“Do you want to hear about that, Will?” Percy asks, “Or would you rather hear about the summer Nico came to stay with me and Frank before he started college, and slept with every single dancer in Europe except Frank?”

Nico waves him off. “Only because you were already sleeping with him, cause he was your sugar daddy. Not like I needed the money.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Frank says.

“And now that we’ve aired all of my dirty laundry,” says Percy, “I need to borrow Annabeth for a second.” Gently, but with force, he tugs her arm, his other hand around her waist, directing her where to go like she’s one of his dance partners. Usually, she minds--a lot. She’s not about to let anyone, let alone a man, tell her where to go--but, you know, it’s Percy. Alone time with him is never a bad thing.

He pulls her into the hallway, shoving his hand into his pocket. “What’s up?” she asks.

“So.” Mouth open, he pauses for a moment, just… looking at her. His eyes are soft, warm like the first day of spring.

“What?”

“Uh, nothing,” he shakes himself a little, pulling his hand out. “Sorry, I just--I know you said you didn’t want anyone making a big deal out of your birthday…”

Oh, no. She braces herself for the worst.

Uncurling his fingers, he reveals his present for her.

“It’s… a pin?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Remember when I took my sister to the Met a few weeks ago? They were having that thing on Egyptian jewelry? Well, of course we had to stop in the gift shop, and I saw this and just--you know, thought of you.”

It is a pin--one of those lapel pins that more often than not are added to a collection usually displayed on a backpack. This pin is a silhouette she recognizes instantly: the Parthenon, its columns and angles rendered in sterling silver, little grooves dug into the metal in an approximation of the fluting.

“Wow,” she breathes. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing.” His ears are pink. “Happy birthday.”

And then he hugs her.

After a moment, she hugs him back.

It’s amazing how she can have had sex with someone so many times, but feel so awkward giving them a hug.

“I didn’t, um, tell anyone else,” he says, pulling back. His hands linger on her shoulders, thumb tapping at the base of her neck. “But, I kept meaning to give this to you, so, you know, now was as good a time as any, yeah?”

“I love it,” she says, honestly. Which surprises her. “Thank you.”

She slips it into her own pocket, not even minding the sharp corners.

When they return, Nico has already cut into the cake. “You were taking too long,” he snips.

It really is delicious. Much, much later, Percy sends her home with a sweet, soft kiss, and one of the last remaining slices, rather than staying for dinner.

Percy is the kind of boy who goes to his mother’s for dinner every week. She had been invited, but also threatened with the promise of another cake, and his ten year old sister, who would “love to make you a present.”

It sounded nice, but Annabeth knew when she wasn’t really wanted, and so she demurred, citing a need for some solo downtime.

She hasn’t heard from Thalia in, like, four days, which meant she had probably gotten a short-term gig. (“You’re lucky, she’s had Jason paying for her phone the whole time you’ve known her. Before that, she was almost impossible to get ahold of.”) Piper would take her out to dinner tomorrow, “just because.” But they would both know it wasn’t true.

So, to refresh and relax after a long, harrowing day of socializing, Annabeth goes home.

Or at least to her apartment.

It doesn’t have a doorman, or the views, or the room, like Nico’s place. Nor does it have any of the people, the energy, the joy. Her furniture doesn’t fill it up. The most appetizing thing in her kitchen are the granola bars Percy had made the week before, or maybe the brownies he made four days ago. She sets her to-go bag of cake and croissants down next to them, a smorgasboard of Percy’s culinary prowess.

Despite the long hours, her clothes still smell a little like last night’s bar, and her skin has a faint patina of dried sex sweat, and smudged makeup.

She doesn’t want to start leaving things at Percy’s place--don’t want him to get the wrong idea--but she also occasionally needs to be able to touch up her eyeliner. She’s either going to have to find a bag that isn’t embarrassing to carry, or surreptitiously shove some eyeliner and lipstick next to the condoms in Percy’s nightstand next time they have a sleepover. Or raid Nico’s bathroom.

Regardless, she needs a wash something bad.

As she scrubs down, she does her best to focus on the lemon scent of her body wash, and not Percy’s perfect form, dripping with water. She tries to visualize her last trip to Sephora, not blowing him under the hot water.

It doesn’t really work, so she gets herself clean and gets herself off and considers just spending the rest of the day naked, in case the mood strikes her again. But it's only 5PM, and she doesn’t have Percy to cook her some dinner tonight, so she sucks it up and puts on some pants.

When she had visited Boston for work a couple of months back, Alex had insisted on taking her shopping, complaining that her sister and her friend Mallory didn’t understand Versace quite like Annabeth did, and that Blitz sucked all the fun out of fashion, anyway. Then, she had bullied Annabeth into buying a set of sweats, claiming it was because of the Grecian patterns, but probably because she thought Annabeth in that much purple would be funny.

But eventually, she had wheedled, cajoled, and threatened Annabeth into buying a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. After deciding to forgo a bra, because that is just one more area she has always fallen short in, she shoves on a School of Architecture underneath them. The crimson clashes terribly with the lavender and seafoam, but she kind of likes it. Piper would call it “artfully nauseating,” or something.

Besides, no one is going to see her but her delivery guy. And if someone did see her, someone like Thalia or Percy, well, the clashing colors would be the least of her worries.

She is folded into her couch, wedged into the corner, very much not looking up Paris Ballet clips from the past few years, trying to spot Percy in the background, when there is a knock on her door.

Not for the first time, she curses her lack of doorman--and then frowns. Who even knows where she lives?

Piper and Leo? Magnus and Alex?

Has she already ordered food and just forgotten?

Is memory loss a side effect of a SK-II mask no one had warned her about?

Tentatively, she creeps towards the door, opening it slowly. If this were a horror movie, the door would creak open, revealing the villain cast in the shadows of the hallway, holding his weapon of choice.

She sighs.

The man is only a few inches taller than her, and dressed impeccably in a t-shirt and jeans that probably cost half a year of her rent-- a big critique coming from her, since she wears a month of her own rent as sweats. His blond hair is impeccably combed, his tennis shoes impeccably white, and his smile the most charming thing you can find this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Happy birthday, girly,” he says, giving her an awkward, one-armed hug, trying to avoid getting any of her facemask on his shirt.

“What are you doing here?”

“It's your birthday,” he reminds her, holding up the bag. “I told you I’d stop by last week.”

Had he? Maybe, and she’d just been too drunk or hung over to really process it. But maybe he’d also meant to, and then failed to follow through. Luke has a bit of a nasty habit of treating his intentions as the same as his actions. His intentions are good, usually, but it means that he often ignored the actual actions. Like how his intention was to support his mother in the best nursing home in the northeast, but his action was to work with Saturn, a very shady hedge fund, to facilitate it. Or how his intention was to have someone at a stuffy party to talk to, but his action was dressing up Annabeth as his arm candy because none of Piper’s models would call him back anymore. He hasn’t asked her to do that since, like, February though, thankfully.

“Sorry,” Annabeth says. “I just… you know I don’t like my birthday.”

He also has a bit of a habit of ignoring her distaste in a really blatant way.

He’s a little like Percy that way, actually.

She’d only ever told Luke about her birthday back in those embarrassing freshman days, when she’d thought he looked as good on paper as any Harvard MBA student possibly could, with a devastating smile to match. She’d been so convinced that he would be the right boyfriend that might finally get her mother’s approval, and she figured that her future husband should know her birthday.

“Come in,” she says, reaching for the bag, but he shakes his head and brushes past her, dumping his black back on the coffee table. Graciously, he doesn’t look at her as he starts to empty out its contents, giving her an opportunity to dart back to her bathroom and peel off her facemask. Luke would forgive designer sweats, but they aren't at the “just chilling in a facemask” level of a relationship.

When she returns, there is a small assembly line arranged on her coffee table: a stack of paper plates, a carton of Haagen Daas, forks and spoons, and a Milk Bar cake, all wrapped in its box.

“Is Milk Bar still the ‘it’ thing?” she asks. “With locations all over the country, I figured it would be passé by now.”

“I know it’s your favorite,” Luke says. “I don’t always have to choose the most popular thing.”

Milk Bar had been her favorite, that is true, right up until she’d started fucking Percy Jackson, and eating his food.

“Thanks,” she says, cutting herself a slice, and scooping herself some ice cream.

“That’s all you’re going to get?” he asks, cutting himself a sliver.

“I have had so much cake today,” she says. Milk Bar really isn’t as good as Percy's, but it reminds her of birthdays in high school, waiting for her mother to visit, sneaking out when she inevitably didn’t, convincing the local bad boy to buy her some alcohol. She eats it, eagerly.

Luke’s jaw drops. “You had a birthday cake? By choice? On your birthday?”

She shakes her head, swallowing. “No, I was at a party with some friends. They didn’t even know it was my birthday,” Until she had stupidly revealed it. Whatever. She just has to make sure he’s been excised from her life by this time next year. And maybe freeze some of his baked goods beforehand.

Luke doesn’t let her go through with her evening plans, which consisted basically of watching Legally Blonde for the gazillionth time while she slurped down some pierogies, but he capitulates to Roman Holiday , helping her put away the leftover cake and ice cream. “Thanks,” she says, when the movie was done. “I’m glad you came over. “

No one ever comes over. Thalia is her best friend, but Thalia would have questions about how she could afford the place, Piper never understood why she’d moved out here at all, and Percy… Percy was irrelevant. There is no reason for him to come here.

“I always like to see my best girl.” He smiles at her, charming and rogueish.

“If all those models you keep trying to date know that your best girl is an architect who lives in Brooklyn who you actually feed, that’s probably why they don’t want to date you back.”

Luke laughs, leaning over and knocking his shoulder against her own. “None of those girls could hold a candle to you.”

“God, you must be a terrible boyfriend.”

“Probably,” he agrees, sitting up and stretching, before reaching back to the bag he brought the cake in. “After all, you are the one I bring all the nice presents. But I think I’m a pretty good friend.”

He takes out a box, burnt orange, a black ribbon wrapped around it, because Luke is nothing if not predictable.

Annabeth sighs internally, quietly reminding herself that money is how Luke shows his love. And that she is wearing Versace sweats.

“Herm é s,” she says, pulling off the ribbon. “This box looks too small for a Birkin.”

“Do you want a Birkin?” he asks. “I can get you a Birkin.”

“I probably don’t need a Birkin,” she admits. Though maybe it would be nice to have one in her closet, if her mom ever calls her up for lunch again. She could show up with a Birkin and an eyebrow ring. Sweet revenge.

Luke waves a hand. “It doesn't matter if you need one, just if you want one.”

Inside the box is a scarf, the silk soft and smooth between her fingers, a pleasing gradient of oranges and reds and pinks and corals. When she unfolds it, laying it out before her, she finds a sharp, geometric design, columns stacked together like skyscrapers. Luke obviously had her in mind when he picked it out.

“Thanks,” she says. It’s pretty--perfect for an ambitious young architect with two degrees from Harvard who had moved to New York City with an offer from one of the best architecture firms in the world. And Annabeth has no idea where she could possibly want or need to wear it.

“Hey,” Luke says, suddenly soft, “don’t cry.”

Shocked, she reaches her hand up to her face. It’s wet.

Luke is probably the only person she will let herself cry in front of. She’d spent three years doing that in college. He’d seen her through heartbreak and hangovers, guiding her through it all like an aloof big brother.

“I’m okay,” she hiccups, wiping her nose.

He hands her a napkin.

Annabeth blows her nose, wet and gross. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m alright.”

“You sure?” He sounds sincere, but she catches him glancing down at his wrist.

“Do you have a date?”

“I…” At least he has the decency to look sheepish. “Just some guys at work. You can come, if you want.”

It could be fun. Hanging out with Luke can be fun. Get a little lit, take a business bro home, screw his brains out, send him on his way. But there’s an unspoken dress code to these things, and Annabeth just doesn’t wear Louboutins anymore. And the idea of fucking a business bro just… doesn’t hold any appeal right now.

“No thanks,” she nods, using the clean edge of the napkin to wipe her eyes. “I am going to watch The Search For Elle Woods , and you're going to strike out with some models, and everyone is going to be happy.”

“You really are so mean to me.” Luke complains, as she walks him to the door, before giving her another hug. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I am.” She is different and new, but Luke is still her friend. She had survived. It would be okay.

“Well, call me if you need something.” He kisses her cheek, sweetly, without any heat. Perfectly platonic. “I love you very much. Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” she says, “I’ll see you around.”

“Always.” And he is gone.

She folds the scarf, going to put it in the dresser in her room, shoving it among a handful of accessories, gathering dust. She realizes, with a start, that she’s left a week’s worth of clothes all over her room on the way to the shower, and, with a sigh of adulthood, and the knowledge that if she doesn’t follow the ADHD gods and pick them up now, they’ll be there for weeks, languishing on her floor and stinking up the place, she goes to at least move them into her hamper. She rifles through ripped jeans and band t-shirts and black socks as she goes, checking each for anything like discarded change or a bus pass she doesn’t want to wash.

She shakes out the pants she’d worn out the night before, and therefore the entire day until she’d gotten home. There is a rather unfortunate stain on the knee that she can’t quite parse--ketchup? Chocolate?

Then she reaches into the pockets, touching metal, and she suddenly remembers her other birthday present for the day.

Pulling out the pin, she feels strange, hot in the face, funny in the belly, tossing the jeans haphazardly in with the dirty laundry. It's small and shiny, cheap metal for mass market production, and yet, she walks it over to the dresser, laying it down on the silk scarf like it's the diamond broach her aunt gave her for her sixteenth birthday.

She really is beyond Hermès scarves now. But that pin? Well, you never really can get more Annabeth--the middle school know-it-all, teenage debutante, college perfectionist, New York yuppy, or barfly and punk princess--than one of the greatest architectural achievements in human history.

She is still a little shocked by how much she loves it. How much it means to her that Percy saw that it was perfect for her.

And like so many times when she is confronted with an emotion she doesn’t like, she slams the door closed, and goes and watches a favorite movie from high school.

She does order dinner, eventually, setting out her meal in between texting Piper about brunch tomorrow. It's a whole thing, pretending that they’re not going out for her birthday, but eventually they agree on a time and a place, and she can eat her sausage and watch everyone practice the Bend and Snap in peace.

So she is very annoyed when her phone buzzes again.

Maybe the reservation fell through. Or maybe she doesn’t want Annabeth to show up in ripped fishnets, even though that only happened once.

Her stomach sinks when she checks her phone. It isn’t Piper.

Hello Dear, Happy Birthday. We miss you. Please call anytime. Love Dad, Mary, and the boys.

Below the text is a link, leading to a gift certificate for $200 to Sephora, which has Mary’s name written all over it. Aunt Natalie would have suggested Bergdorf Goodman.

Her hand clenches, momentarily overcome with the urge to hurl her phone against the wall. But there is no one around, so there wouldn’t be any point to it.

She stabs at a pierogi with a chopstick, and watches the girls dance on screen, humming along.

She passes out on the couch after midnight.

Her mother never called.

#my fic #darkmagyk #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #ballet au #slightly douchey big brother luke castellan ftw!!!!!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

tapestry 👑 IX

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The reader is attended to.

Note: Got this done before work yesterday. It was a rough day though and I have some family stuff today so I’m not sure when I can work on more but I’ve been doing okay so far.

I’d like to thank everyone for reading and their support. I am truly astound and humbled by the response to this because it was very much unexpected. Thank you.

(also open to new moodboards for the fic or even playlists for inspo if anyone’s interested.)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋 You guys rock!

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

You barely recalled the ride back to the castle. Lord Barnes reined in your former steed as he led you along the path. His horse was much calmer and followed along diligently ahead of the party. He swiftly dismounted and helped you down from the saddle as the stable hands rushed to take the mounts from him. He barely acknowledged him as you wobbled on your feet.

Another rush of snorting and hooves followed as the king jumped from his saddle onto the ground. He neared as Barnes took your good arm and led you to the door of the stable. The lords and ladies drew up just outside, the queen kept away from the rest. Steven strode at your other side as you were guided towards the castle.

“My lady,” He was hesitant to touch you as your arm hung from the socket. “The physician should await you.”

“Your highness, I shall see her to him,” Barnes assured. “But you should address your court before you retire. Conclude the hunt formally and then you may attend to the lady when she has been seen to.” He lowered his voice as he stopped and turned you so that he stood closer to the king. “You’ve brought enough scandal for the day. In your carelessness, you may just spoil your own plans.”

The king frowned and looked between Barnes and you.

“You cannot abandon your queen so blatantly. Not after your previous slight. Especially as she mopes so openly.”

“Queen,” Steven spat. “A title far too grand for the wench.”

“Enough,” Barnes warned. You’d never heard anyone speak to the king thus. “Not like this. Mind your court, your lords, your ladies, and when the time rises, they shall stand behind you, but should you abandon Eleanor as such, they shall do the same to you.” You leaned against his arm and moaned in pain. “Patience and she will see to her own fate. Now please, the lady is about to faint.”

“Ever prudent, Buck,” The king addressed his friend by his pet name. “Away with her. See her well and send to me when she is fit for visitation.”

“I shall,” Barnes bowed his head. “Your highness.”

“My friend,” Steven clapped Barnes’ shoulder. “Thank you.”

The king bowed to you and for a moment, he stopped to admire you. In your agonized haze, you wondered if it was all in your head. A symptom of your injury. He smiled and turned to march back down the trail to his royal party as they gathered before the stable.

“What did you mean?” You asked as Barnes turned you back towards the castle. “See to her own fate?”

“You needn’t worry yourself, my lady,” He assured you. “You know how perilous this court can be. None of us are beyond its grasp...not even our queen.”

“Wait?” You tried to pull him to a halt but he easily brushed you onward. “Do you conspire against the queen?”

“I do not,” He said firmly. “Though there is conspiracy at play.”

“Lord Barnes, you evade me--”

“I daresay, at this moment, you have greater worries than courtly woes.” He remanded. “Now do try to lift your feet. I have no great desire to carry you through the corridors.”

You did your best to walk upon your own feet. Your ankle was tender but not unbearably so. Barnes slowed when he found himself dragging you though the stairs were terribly steep and winding. The corridors were cold and grim as he led you along. Your boots slipped along the stone as you winced at every jostle of your arm.

You recognized the doors before you. As he opened them and angled you through, footsteps echoed around the next corner. He looked up and nodded to the nearing shadows before he slipped through into your receiving chambers. As Barnes sat you upon one of the carved chairs around the painted table, he turned back to greet Callum and the squat physician.

“Is this the injured lady?” The man asked as he held a chest bound by leather straps.

“She is,” Barnes backed away from you and crossed his arms. “It’s her shoulder. Look how her arm hangs.”

“Ah yes, it is very concerning,” He eyed your left arm as you leaned heavily in the chair. “I should need to see beneath her cloak. Perhaps, remove her sleeves and perhaps the bodice. Might you help move her to her private chamber so that I may examine her properly and decently?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Barnes and Callum came up beside the chair and pulled you back to your feet. You were weak as they guided you to the door of your chamber. Only Barnes passed the threshold to help you to the edge of the bed. He retreated as the physician came up beside him and nodded for him to proceed. He sent you one last look before he retreated and closed the door staunchly behind him.

“My lady, I need to remove your cloak. May I?” The physician was nervous in his demeanour.

You nodded and his hand proved more sure than his tone. He swiftly unbuckled your cape and let it fall from your shoulders. He gently touched your shoulder and you winced with a grunt. He squeezed for only a moment and the pain grew unbearable. He hummed and rescinded his touch. He pulled his trunk close and undid the straps.

“It will be a momentary pain, my lady,” He warned as he stirred around. “But it will relent most quickly once we are through.”

👑

Marge arrived shortly after to attend to you as the physician slung your arm in cotton. The fabric held it at an angle against your stomach and kept you from pulling on the tender joint. Your servant helped adjust your gown and fixed the loose laces. Your skirts were trimmed still in mud and your face was scratched along your cheeks and chin. She tidied your hair and replaced the hood over your head.

After the physicians departure, you remained in your chamber as you tried to collect yourself. As you reflected on the incident, you realized how much worse it could have turned out. You were thankful for only a torn shoulder and a sore ankle. And, you hoped, the injury would allow you a respite from the courtly drama.

“My lady, shall I send the lord away now?” Marge asked.

“Lord Barnes?” You asked as you stood straight from staring at the mirror.

“He awaits without still,” She assured you.

“I can inform him myself, Marge,” You said as you turned. “If you would get the door for me.”

She nodded and opened the door diligently. She waited for you to pass through before she followed. Lord Barnes stood at the fireplace, his dark head tilted up as he gazed at the portrait of the king. He did not turn as he heard your entrance.

“Oh, I love him but he is the most vain man I’ve ever known,” He chuckled. “A kingly sort of avarice.”

“Lord Barnes, you must’ve seen the physician go,” You began. “And it is not proper that I receive you without a proper chaperone.”

“The maid is here,” He turned at last. “Marge, was it?” He asked and the servant nodded with a grin. “She seems the proper type.”

“Even so, my lord, I am tired and in much pain, I should prefer my solitary.”

“There is no such thing at court,” He insisted. “So...the shoulder,” He looked to your arm, “It is fixed?”

“It is fragile yet but healed, so the physician said,” You replied.

“You did put up quite the fight, my lady,” He mused, “I should think I would have let myself be tossed at the first buck but you did persist.”

“It was fear only and stupidity,” You assured him. “Do you mind if I sit, my lord?”

“Please,” He strode across the floor as he admired the tapestries hung over the stone. “You should gather your strength for you will--”

He did not finish his thought as a knock sounded at the door. Before Marge could reach it, the handle clicked and it swung inward. The king entered without invitation and stopped short as you lowered yourself into a cushioned chair. You made to rise and he waved you down with his hand.

“My lady, please, do not trouble yourself,” He crossed to you and knelt beside your chair. “I’ve only come to see that you are well. I spoke with my physician, he says you should recover quickly.”

“I should hope,” You sat back weakly. “The pain has relented.”

“You’ve suffered worse in a joust, your highness,” Barnes intoned from behind. The king looked to him in surprise.

“Bucky, I didn’t know you remained.”

“I said I would see to her,” He said plainly. “She is strong but she will need time for her healing.”

“No, no, it is most convenient. In my impatience, I did leave Hugh behind and he was to be our chaperone.”

Barnes nodded and turned back to the tapestry. “Then I shall linger over here,” He said. “And continue to envy how my own chambers pale in comparison.”

The king turned his attention back to you and took your uninjured hand. Marge softly closed the door and resumed her vigil along the wall. Steve frowned at your slinged arm.

“I was most concerned, I could think of nothing else. But an hour has passed between us and I feel it has been an eternity,” He declared and kissed the back of your hand. Barnes’ boot scuffed the floor as he shifted his weight. “I thought of the most dire results, of how fickle this life is to all of us.”

“Your highness, I am mostly unscathed and shall return to health in due time.” You assured him.

“Oh, but I did think of what should’ve happened were it worse. The thought of losing you, of a life without you, and it did frighten me wholly. And I was as startled to realize how deeply I feel for you, my lady. Of how entirely you’ve taken me.” He squeezed your hand as he looked up at you with sparkling eyes. “Can you not see how I love you?”

“Love?” You gasped before you could stop yourself. “Your highness, that is a potent word. Dangerous, even.”

“Oh but it is true,” He said. “I’ve never felt as I do now and I would not deny it. Cannot deny it.”

“The queen--”

“The queen!” He decried as he let go and tossed his hands up. “Oh, how you do go on!”

He stood as Barnes peeked over his shoulder. The lord quickly averted his attention back to the woven cloth.

“Did I not think upon her too in my despair. Of her neglect, of her distaste for me, and her false title.” He paced the floor as he spoke. “I think of it often. Of how I’ve betrayed my own people, lied to them, and now because of it I am deprived of what I yearn for most.”

“What is it you insinuate?” You wondered. You clung to your skirt tightly as a weight settled in your chest. “You cannot mean such accusations.”

“Oh, but they are more than that. The queen knows it and she means to hide the truth.” He bemoaned. “At my expense and yours.”

“Your highness--”

“I cannot say as yet, but I am not mad, my lady,” He insisted. “I see the queen’s hand in all that has befallen you. All the misery which has ensnared me. I know she plots and yet...we must wait.”

“Plot?” You looked to Barnes as his shoulders stiffened. He couldn’t hide his discomfort. “My king, do you not plot, too? In your pursuit of me? In your public declarations which do reflect so disgracefully upon us both?”

“I do not plot, I only seek the truth,” He strode towards you once more. He stood before you with his hand on his chest. “Oh, my lady, but I shall reveal to you a secret I’ve harboured, the only I dare confess. The intentions I have concealed but to protect your propriety and my own.”

“What secret do you speak of, your majesty?” You breathed.

“Why, I do mean to marry you, my lady,” He smiled. “And I did not dare to speak of my intentions before I could bring them to fruition. For I could fail against the queen’s machinations and I did not mean to scare you.”

“Marry? Marry?” You repeated in disbelief. “Oh, but your highness, it cannot be. Your union--”

“My union is illegitimate and I shall prove it to be.” He interrupted. “I reflected upon your words, upon my own errors, and I should like to be redeemed. To atone for my sins. I would not have you be just another lady.” He got to his knees again and clasped his hands together. “I would have you as my wife and nothing less.”

Barnes slowly turned around. You blinked at the king then glanced to the other lord. Your own confusion was plain upon his face. “Any betrothal initiated during another union would be declared illegitimate in kind.” You protested.

“I do not propose to you, my lady, no, not yet,” He assured you. “I only mean to have my intentions known.”

“Your highness, we should not speak of these things.” You pleaded. “I still serve the queen. I am bound to her as you are and we cannot--”

He grabbed the arm of the chair and raised himself. He leaned over you so suddenly you could not react. He pressed his lips to yours so harshly that you could not turn away. He kissed you until you thought you would suffocate. He pulled away sharply, shoved himself to his feet and turned his back to you.

“Forgive me, my lady,” He said softly and reached to touch his lips. “I...have waited so long and the thought of waiting longer does make me impulsive.”

Barnes watched his king a moment before he lowered his eyes to the floor. It was hard to read his thoughts as his eyes harboured a flurry of unspoken words. You trembled as the king trod across the carpet and shook his head at himself.

“I have told you, my lady, that I shall give you whatever you wish.” He spun back to you again. “And you wish me to wait, so I shall wait but I will not wait for anything but your hand. For you entirely.”

You pressed yourself against the chair. You tried to smile through your horror. You felt the eyes of the servant and the silent lord. You shakily touched your chest as you looked up at the king.

“I vow to you that we will be together.” He promised. “We must only bide ourselves a little longer.”

"We should not speak of it. Even here. Even alone." You played with the edge of the sling. "We should ready for the feast."

"Why lady, I've had the feast delayed until the morrow. I should allow you some time to acquiesce and see that you've enough strength for it." He explained. "You are the Maiden of the Forest and it will be upon you to wear the title with grace."

"You needn't have," You said. "You’ve doted on me far too much. Do you think the court does not notice? That they will not ponder on the king's visit to my chambers?"

"Damn the people," He snarled. "They will not keep me from you. And when they see the queen for the fraudulent shrew she is, they will have the sense to accept you."

"And Lady Rose?"

"I've told you I will see that she is dealt with," He huffed. "There is nothing that can stand between us, my lady, you must see that?" His face fell. "Or do you not feel as I do?"

You blanched. You'd evaded the question before, so not to rile the king or overtly disobey your father. But you knew that neither Marge nor Lord Barnes could save you.

"Oh, but your highness, how suddenly it has all happened that I haven't even a moment to know what I feel." You countered. "And how can I let myself feel but humbly towards a man already entwined?"

The king's golden lashes lowered and a pained grimace strained his features. He nodded and slowly raised his head.

"And so I shall do away with that which keeps apart so that you may feel as you wish. So that there is nothing to keep your heart at bay." He bent his head to you. "And so we shall let you rest for the night and see you well upon the morrow."

"Your highness," You tried to rise and he gestured you to stay.

"My lady, you mustn't. Do not exert yourself thus." He advised and turned sharply on his heel. "Lord Barnes." He signaled his companion. "We've much to do."

#tapestry #Steve Rogers #medieval au #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #series #mcu #marvel #captain america #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes

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ilikefandom · 4 years

Text

Healing the Stars

An: Hello my lovely readers!!!!!!! I am so sorry for not posting! I have finished my Caesar fic, if you peoples would like a version with a more developed relationship let me know!

Type: Fluff

Pairing: Light Caesar Flickerman x reader

Summery: The Star Squad has to find a safe place to hide, their lucky to find two secret allies on the way.

Warnings: Light description of injuries

When they entered the Capital, they were told to expect the unexpected. Unexpected didn’t cover half of it. With all of the booby traps in the streets and the citizens in their homes, the adrenaline pumping through the Star Squad was what was keeping them alive and alert. One unexpected thing that shook the group deeper than a bullet was the sight of a bald man running around a pool on a running track.

The man was tall and fair, his face masked with youth, even though he seemed to be older than the twenty something he presented to the world. He was dressed in the fancy workout clothes associated with Capital health ads, which were probably manufactured in District 8. He looked down at his watch, tapped it twice, then he sat down on a little bench that sat just beside the track. He picked up a clear flask from the floor and drank from it. Inside was a neon yellow concoction that flowed down his throat like a river, and as he drank, the wrinkles that were on his face faded away.

He looked familiar, so familiar, but Katniss couldn’t tell exactly who it was. It was then that it dawned on her, “Is that Caesar Flickerman?” She asked, a bead of sweat forming on her forehead.

Finnick grimaced as he lifted his gaze to look at the man on the bench, blood dripping from his legs, which were mangled by the mutts. “Yeah, I think it is.”

Peeta, who had suddenly found himself to be eloquent, stepped up to the glass and knocked thrice, hard.

‘Caesar’ jumped and looked at the rebels with shock in his eyes before getting up and disappearing into the depths of the mansion that he must have called his home.

Gale raised his crossbow and prepared to smash the glass, a sensor let out a small beep and the window slid to the side, revealing a hidden door.

“It feels like a trap,” Gale noted as he loded a bolt in his crossbow. It did indeed feel like a trap, but there was nowhere else they could go and Finnick was in dire need of medical attention.

Finnick was the first to hobble through the door, he barely made it the ten or so steps to the bench before sinking onto it, letting out a whimper as more blood spilled from the bite wounds. There was a red smear on the floor from where he had stood.

‘Caesar’ reappeared as soon as Finnick had found his seat. There was a young woman who came running in after him. She held a large red bag and a smaller bag filled with bandages.

He gestured silently at the rebels’ various injuries and she nodded. She looked unnaturally natural, like the man who had called her in, that was, apart from the tattoos littering her body. She opened her bag and produced a bottle identical to the one that sat next to the bench. She handed it to Finnick with one word, “Drink.”

She began to examine his legs, looking back up at him, “Drink the tonic. It will help to regenerate your cells faster. I should know I invented it.” She pulled another bottle out of her bag and began to dab the bites with the disinfectant in the bottle.

The woman looked up again at the Star Squad, back to the man, then again at the Star Squad. “Go put on some hair, dear, you’re frightening the children. Finnick O’Hair, you drink up now!”

Finnick looked at the woman, seeming to recognise her, at least vaguely. Then he lifted the drink to his mouth and began to sip at the liquid.

‘Caesar’ left and appeared moments later wearing a very familiar blue wig. The same wig that Caesar had worn for the 74th hunger games.

“You are Caesar Flickerman!” Katniss gasped as the tattooed woman began to bandage Finnick’s now disinfected legs. Caesar nodded and picked up the partially empty bottle of disinfectant and screwed the lid back on then setting it in the bag.

“Then who are you?” Gale asked, directing his gaze at the woman as she pinned the bandages together at the top of Finnick’s legs.

She stood up, smiled at him and tilted her head to the side, her natural (y/h/c) hair bounced on her head. “How rude of me! I remember most of you, but I forgot how you would never remember me. I’m Dr. (Y/n) (Y/l/n).”

Credessa’s eyes widened. “I remember you. Two years ago, you were on the hunger games program. You surgically attached Peeta’s leg and you had an interview about it.”

“You would be correct.” (Y/n) blushed as she played with a chain that hung around her neck. “I’m the official Hunger Games doctor. And, as you can see, I’ve lost a lot of patients.”

It was then that Katniss noticed the tattoo she thought was an interlocking chain of black links was a series of names. Each of the links had twenty three names and only one had more. She spotted Marlee’s name on (Y/n)’s left shoulder, where those who perished in the 50th hunger games sat. She saw the newest link, with Wiress’ name inked into her right wrist. Above the new tattoo was Rue’s name spelled in cursive with a flower background around it. It was the name of every single fallen tribute, every tribute from the 29th games forward.

“Is that?” Finnick whispered, running his fingers up her arm finding the link that represented his first games.

“Every tribute,” Dr. (Y/l/n) smiled sadly, “every single one.”

Peeta took a deep breath then entered the house to sit next to Finnick on the bench. He too touched her arm and began to look at the names as well. He looked back over his shoulder, gave a small smile and gestured for the rest of the Squad to enter.

Although hesitant, the whole Star Squad finally crossed the threshold. They let out breaths of relief when alarms didn’t go off and nothing seemed to trigger an alert. However, as soon as they all were gathered around the bench, the door snapped shut and the windows darkened.

“So nobody can see you.” (Y/n) smiled. “And so that you can see us.”

Katniss looked down into the water of the pool. Lights at the bottom were moving together, revealing a mocking jay emblem.

“You’re rebels?” She asked, wonder blooming in her eyes.

“Why do you think that we both started working for the games? You think that we wanted to?” Caesar asked as he looked at the younger group, as he pulled (Y/n) to his side. She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder.

“During the 27th hunger games Caesar and I threw a party. It was a meeting of young Capital citizens who were going to refuse to watch the games. We were holed up in a basement when the Peacekeepers came.” (Y/n) shuddered and Caesar gave her a squeeze, holding her tight.

“All of us were sent to prison.” Caesar continued for her. “We spent a year down there, then we were offered a choice, work for the Games or our families would die. We were stuck in these positions because we organized the party. We worked together the year district ten won the games.”

“We weren’t that old.” (Y/n) whispered. “He was only 26, I was 21.”

“I wanted to be like my father who was a talk show host on Capital TV. (Y/n) wanted to be a doctor. In the end I suppose we got our wishes.” Caesar said bitterly.

“When we found out what Pultrich was up to I went to him and asked if we could be in on it. Coin denied up entry on the grounds that we were too close to Snow.” (Y/n) turned to Caesar and smiled. He looked down to her eyes and kissed her forehead.

“Here,” Dr. (Y/l/n) said, handing Katniss a device with blinking lights on a map. “It’s a map of all the pods. The ones marked in red contain bad things. The green ones are for the Capital citizens, they are full of food and weapons. The blue ones are pods that have already been activated.”

Caesar slid an arm under Finnick’s and hoisted him to his feet. “He can’t come with you, he’s too slow and will only weaken your team. My wife will take care of him.”

(Y/n) took Finnick’s other arm across her shoulders and the two began a walk to the other side of the hall, where a door stood.

Caesar turned to Katniss who was looking at him and Dr. (Y/l/n), no, Dr. Flickerman in shock. He smiled, “You go, girl on fire, burn his rotten regime to ashes.”

#caesar flickerman #caesar flickerman x reader #hunger games #light pairing #please request

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rintheyordle · 4 years

Text

Writing/RP Prompts!

Here’s one to start! Linked to me by a friend, so I copy pasta’d from reddit! (THANK YOU JACKALOPPY!):

Pick a number between 1 and 100, and I’ll write either a snippet or response to it as my OC! (BONUS: Ask it as your own OC and I’ll make a little dialog :D)

This is a pretty big list of 100 prompts, so PLEASE CHECK UNDER THE READ-MORE TO SEE IT ALL! Or you can just ask a random question and I’ll go find it. Oooooo RNG!!!

01: If your character wasn’t an adventurer, what livelihood would they lead?

02: Who in the party would your character trust the most with their life?

03: What are your character’s core moral beliefs?

04: What relationship does your character have with their parents and siblings?

05: Does your character have any biases for or against certain races?

06: What is your character’s opinion on nobility? On authority?

07: Describe your character’s current appearance: clothes, armor, scars they’ve picked up along the journey, etc.

08: What location encountered in the campaign has your character felt the most “at home” in, or just generally liked the most?

09: What deity, if any, does your character worship? What’s their opinion on other people’s worship?

10: If your character had time to pick up any artisan’s tools, game set, instrument, etc., what would it be?

11: Describe your character’s current relationship with the player character sitting to your right.

12: What is your character’s current goal, summed up in one sentence?

13: Does your character ever want to “settle down” with a spouse, children, house, etc.?

14: Has your character ever been in love?

15: What battle in the campaign has been most memorable to your character?

16: If your character wasn’t whatever class they are, what would they be instead?

17: What is your character’s favorite season?

18: What would your character’s Zodiac sign be, following stereotypical astrology?

19: Where in the world does your character most want to visit?

20: What is the biggest mistake your character has ever made?

21: Does your character have any noticeable scars? If so, what are their stories?

22: What animal best represents your character?

23: If your character could go back in time and change one thing about their life, what would it be?

24: Which other player character does your character find themselves having the most in common with?

25: Does your character regret any particular choice the party has made?

26: What would your character say their best trait would be?

27: What is your character’s greatest fear? Deep, irrational?

28: What is currently motivating your character to stay with the party?

29: What are your character’s hobbies and interests outside of their class?

30: What would most people think when they first see your character?

31: What stereotypical group role does your character play in the party? (The Mom, the Mess, the Comic Relief, etc. Optionally: What role would your character play in the “Five Man Band” structure?)

32: What is your character the most insecure about?

33: What person does your character admire most?

34: What does your character admire and dislike the most about the player character sitting to your left?

35: Why is your character’s lowest stat their lowest (the in-character reason, not “because there’s no reason for a wizard to have 16 strength, duh”)?

36: What would be your character’s theme song/favorite band/favorite genre of music?

37: What stereotypical role would your character play in a high school AU/if they attended a normal high school? (Nerd, jock, bully, goth, etc.)

38: What treasure/item/artifact that your character has collected during the adventure is the most important to them?

39: Is there any particular weapon, item, etc. that your character longs to find?

40: Where does your character feel the most at home?

41: Does your character care about how they’re perceived by others? How do they change themselves to fit in with other people?

42: What does your character think is the true meaning of life?

43: What is your character’s scent? (Bonus points for a description that sounds like it could be from a bad [or awesome] fanfic.)

44: Does your character think more with their heart or their brain?

45: What is your character’s most recent or frequent nightmare?

46: What opinion does your character have on [CERTAIN ESTABLISHED GROUPS/AUTHORITIES IN THE GAME WORLD]? (Dragonmarked Houses, royal crown, etc.)

47: How did your character spend their childhood? Where did they grow up/who were their childhood friends?

48: What aspect of your character’s future are they most curious about? (If they could know one thing about the future, what would it be?)

49: What colors are associated with your character?

50: Who in the party would your character prioritize rescuing, in dire circumstances?

51: Is your character the most swayed by ethos, pathos, or logos?

52: If your character was granted a single use of Wish, what would they use it for?

53: What is your character’s favorite spell? If they don’t use spells: what is their favorite personal weapon/combat maneuver/skill/etc.?

54: How does your character feel about keeping secrets from the rest of the party?

55: What type of creature in the world is your character the most intrigued by?

56: When they were a child, what did your character want to be, or think they were going to be, when they grew up?

57: The player character to your left admits that they’re passionately in love with your character. How would your character respond?

58: If somebody (an NPC, someone from their backstory, etc.) your character trusts/loves asked your character to do something against the party’s best interest, who would they side with?

59: Does your character value their own best interest more than the party’s?

60: What decision would the party have to make in order for your character to consider splitting off from the group?

61: How does your character imagine the way they will die?

62: What is your character’s greatest achievement?

63: Is your character willing to risk the well-being of others in order to achieve their goal?

64: What is your character’s opinion on killing others?

65: What is your character’s favorite food? Beverage?

66: How generous is your character? Especially to those they don’t know?

67: What is your character the most envious about, regarding anyone in the party?

68: The player character to your left and the player character to your right are both telling your character two different versions of the truth. Who does your character believe?

69: What is your character’s sexuality/relationship with sex?

70: What is your character’s biggest pet peeve?

71: Describe how your character feels about the party’s current situation/objective/etc.

72: Who in the party would your character trust the most to keep an important secret?

73: If your character knew that they were going to die in a month, how would they spend the rest of their life?

74: What makes your character feel safe?

75: If your character had the chance to rename the party/give the party a name, no questions asked, what would it be?

76: What memory does your character want to forget the most?

77: If your character had to multiclass into a class they currently aren’t the next time they level up, what would it be and what reason would they have for doing so?

78: What television/book/video game/etc. character would your character be best friends with? (Or: what media character is your character the most influenced by/similar to?

79: What unusual talents does your character possess?

80: How does your character feel about receiving/giving orders? Are they more of a leader, or a follower?

81: What does your character’s name represent to them? (Or: why as a player did you choose your character’s name?)

82: Is your character more of an introvert, or an extrovert?

83: How far is your character willing to go to pursue the “greater good”? Do they believe in a greater good at all?

84: What does your character want to be remembered by?

85: What would be your character’s major in college?

86: Does your character consider themselves a hero, villain, or something else?

87: What major arcana tarot card best represents your character?

88: Where does your character see themselves in 20 years?

89: What is your character’s relationship with magic? Are they scared of it, wish to know more about it, indifferent to it?

90: Who is your character’s biggest rival?

91: What is your character’s guiltiest pleasure?

92: What does your character hope for the afterlife?

93: Who in the party does your character trust the least?

94: What is your character’s biggest flaw?

95: How did your character learn the languages that they speak?

96: What is your character’s favorite school of magic/type of weaponry?

97: What is most important to your character: health, wealth, or happiness?

98: What advice would your character give to a younger version of themselves?

99: Are there any social or political issues your character feels strongly about?

100: What, currently, is your character the most curious about?

#prompts #rp prompts #for my yuke #so I can explore how I want to make her more #come onnnn #just ask #send me anything #this is for my FFCC characters for now #but I'll use it later #okay to cross games/time/space whatever #since I know most of ya'll know me for league stuff

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morningflames · 4 years

Text

a word of warning

well here’s a post i never thought i’d be making

it’s come to my attention that a Certain Someone is planning on making a comeback to WrA soon and it fills me with nothing short of dread. i spent the day yesterday warning people he terrorized and manipulated that this was happening. you know it’s bad when there’s a literal network of people who share an abuser that have remained in contact for years in the event this happened again.

i am not going to lie and say that making this post does not terrify me but i cannot in good conscience sit back and let him worm his way into the rp scene again and do what he did to me and at least half a dozen others all over again.

to summarize: tarcanus aka tarcanus frostborne is a manipulative, emotionally abusive and predatory individual that should be avoided at all costs.

i am the player behind lyrinel, a former officer of his and someone who was on the receiving end of nearly a years worth of abuse and manipulation. my experiences pale in comparison to those of others who dealt with him and came forward to me after i left his guild, and i cannot speak for anyone who does not feel comfortable coming forward. if you do want to let your voice be heard, feel free to reblog and add your own anecdotes.

my story below the cut.

tw: manipulation, emotional abuse, gaslighting, coercion, grooming

i first joined coram populo in early 2014 after my best friend and fellow survivor (i will refer to her by her character’s name of thradia from here on out) joined the raid team in december of the previous year. we were both just looking for a social place to park our characters and maybe start role playing again, as we hadn’t had a guild or dedicated rp group in a while. things were fine and friendly for the first couple of months, though it’s worth noting that a large part of the office corps had just left or was in the process of leaving when thradia and i joined. we were both 18 at the time.

i made the mistake of reaching out to tarc in the spring, when i noticed him posting to his tumblr about how busy he was. i offered to be an IC assistant of sorts to his character and he was more than happy to toss me into an absolute whirlwind. we still didn’t know much about each other, but in the span of a couple weeks we went from casual contact in guild chat to immensely long (sometimes between 10 and 12 hours) skype calls, constant DMing, and an almost uninterrupted stream of conversation. i was struggling to finish high school at this time (spoiler: i failed to graduate) and found myself suddenly caught in an all-consuming relationship with this man and his guild. from the moment i woke up to the moment i finally hung up and crawled into bed, my time was taken up by tarc and the guild and the game.

i was promoted to officer less than five months after joining the guild. this was overwhelming for a number of reasons, chief among them being the fact that i had never been an officer in a guild like this before and i was very quickly escalated to tarc’s “inner circle.” this was a circle that he evidently didn’t even include his most senior officers in, as he didn’t seem to communicate with them to the extent or abundance that he did with me - and later, when she was ALSO promoted to officer, thradia.

within a few weeks i found myself at the center of dozens of micro-confrontations and venting from tarc about other members of the guild, raid team, and even fellow officers. every time, i would tell him he needed to take it to his co-gm and talk it through with her. she, like him, was a grown woman with a lot more experience and better people skills than me, a teenager barely out of high school, but tarc insisted on beating me over the head with his frustrations and then proceeding to guilt me and tell me i was a terrible friend when i didn’t agree with him or expressed i was uncomfortable being in the center of a vent session that i felt was unwarranted.

tarc was never wrong. he did not apologize. the words “i’m sorry” did not exist in his vocabulary, and if they did, they were almost always followed up with the word “but.” constantly he would be sending multiple messages to me or thradia while we were running events and raids for the guild, ranting about a few particular members that he disliked at the time regardless of how we felt about said members. thradia and i would both be reduced to tears and/or anxiety attacks by his outbursts that all but demanded we take his side even if we didn’t. his feelings and circumstances were paramount. everyone else’s were just inconveniences.

tarc was always the victim. no matter what was going on, no matter who had instigated whatever vein of conversation we were on that had gone awry, he had a way of making you feel like utter shit until you grovelled for his forgiveness, which he rarely gave. instead he would move on without giving any closure or allowing you to discuss your feelings at length. if you tried, you were the insensitive one who he couldn’t go to with his “unfiltered emotions,” which was the entire purpose of his inner circle to hear him say it. i was not allowed to just be his friend or just be an officer, i had to be both and neither at the same time, and it still was not the right course of action. nothing ever was.

tarc was openly manipulative and antagonistic, always citing it as an “inside joke” when called on it. i opened up to him once about my father’s alcoholism and how i was uncomfortable with alcohol culture and being around drunk people. regardless, he would constantly call while drunk (or maybe he was pretending to be to get a rise out of me, i honestly do not know what was genuine and what was put on with him) and make me stay on the call with him for hours. when he was (allegedly) diagnosed with an inability to process certain alcohols that could be life threatening, he continued to drink (or claimed he was drinking) dangerous amounts, which lead to me begging him to stop as i feared for his life. one of the worst anxiety attacks i have ever had was over him endangering his health and me believing i was going to see a friend die. he knew how much this upset me and he did not stop. he held me as a captive audience to his self destruction (or the playacting of it) and let me cry and beg and plead with him to take care of himself.

tarc loves to promote a clean, “family friendly” persona online. he will go on and on about the positive atmosphere his guild provides and how progress and accepting he and his “safe spaces” are. as soon as you are inducted to his inner circle, however, you learn otherwise. he will gladly engage in sexually charged conversation with you, even if you are ten years younger than him as thradia and i were. we were both legal adults, yes, but just barely. i can’t count the inappropriate remarks and jokes made about us, our friends, and even minors all in the spirit of joking “what if” conversation. he has a history of making young LGBT+ people uncomfortable, making their sexualities and identities about him and how he can relate to them.

tarc was the most two-faced and divisive guild leader i’ve ever seen. he would rant to me mercilessly about wanting to kick one of the junior officers and raid team members in private while never saying a word to their face or bringing it up with the co-gm. he would start schisms between people, telling each what they wanted to hear and encouraging both parties not to confront each other about it, allowing the resentment and distrust to grow as he fanned the flames on both sides. he wanted people to stay in the guild and continue to basically work for him while also putting him above anyone else in their friend circles. he told straight up lies to thradia and i, claiming one of us had said things about the other that we never did, driving a wedge and distrust between us.

tarc treats his guild(s) like a business. he is entirely capitalist-minded even in an MMORPG that people play for fun, churning out “content” and keeping up appearances like a machine. he treats his officers and guild members like employees, not people. any time irl would demand attention away from the game, forcing someone to miss or cancel an event, he would subtly guilt them about it until they apologized, even if it was a dire situation or a family emergency.

when tarc wanted to start a wow roleplaying podcast, he approached me about cohosting. he wanted a female voice, and since i was out of school and had no job lined up due to not graduating i was the perfect candidate. i came on to narrate and research the lore segment of the looking for roleplay podcast, which was little more than me paraphrasing a wowwiki article, but i was held to a “professional” standard. i had to have my research done by a certain day, my recording done in advance, etc.

the podcast was a spot of contention for several reasons, one being the mysterious emails tarc would allegedly receive about it. the podcast had a shared email account that all three of us could access and look at, but tarc claimed that people sent emails directly to him since “everything’s under his email.” he would use these strawman emails as indirect criticism of turwinkle and i, reading them aloud or typing up what they supposedly said but NEVER producing a real screenshot or address to verify them. i’m convinced he only did this as a way to make turwinkle and i feel badly and work harder “for the listeners” to appease things tarc didn’t like about our segments. he also insinuated he got inappropriate emails about me specifically at this account but, again, i was never allowed to see them with my own eyes, just hear about them secondhand, which is why i believe they did not exist.

around this time, tarc began recording conversations without mine or thradias consent. he would start recording random sections of calls and taunt us, playing back out-of-context lines and joking that he would make “podcast commercials” out of them. they were often embarrassing, personal, or just wildly out of context lines that we didn’t want played to the public, and i heard only a fraction of what he possibly recorded of me. i have no idea what kind of material he has of me and thradia that was recorded without us knowing or consenting. it felt like blackmail. it still does.

i internalized all of this. i thought this was normal. i thought he was an excellent guild leader and a role model for leadership. i had begun to treat world of fucking warcraft like a goddamn job and i thought that was fine. my life revolved around coddling and entertaining him, socializing and promoting and recruiting for the guild, raiding, running pvp entirely on my own, keeping up IC connections and attending events, recording for the podcast, all of it. i ate, breathed, and slept wow and coram. it was insane. i had been talked into having no boundaries for myself and my time, and any time i tried to correct that and build a boundary i was attacked for it until i backed down. i have never felt worse about myself than i did while i was in this guild. i trusted no one. i was worn thin.

i finally had enough early 2015. at this point this man was trying to get me to come live with him hundreds of miles from my family so that i could attend a technical school in his area. i am still 18. he was 28. i had been trying to step down from my position as an officer, citing if i was going to be LIVING WITH HIM that it was going to give me an unfair bias in my standing in the guild. this set him all the way off. he was planning a trip to atlantic city for me, himself, and thradia, who i had a ticket to visit for my birthday. he was getting frantic because he had been pursuing thradia for months, and i was no longer cooperating.

when i threw this wrench in everything, our relationship devolved in the span of a few hours. within the day i left the guild on all of my characters and pulled myself out of all of his projects. within the month i had frantically faction changed several characters and eventually unsubscribed from the game for two years because i lived in fear of him. he had always alluded to “knowing people” who could hack and track IP addresses and kept tabs on everyone who visited his blogs and websites. i didn’t know what i thought he was going to do - all i knew was his thinly veiled brags and threats were at the forefront of my mind. i have played this game since 2006, but for the first time in my life i couldn’t enjoy it out of fear and exhaustion caused by him. he had ruined my favorite game in less than a year and made me paranoid about my entire online presence, to the point where this blog was abandoned for months before i turned it into what it is today.

and the thing is, tarc’s not a creepy or abrasive guy when you first meet him. he’s funny and charismatic and outgoing. he loves to tell you about his world travels and show you pictures of him petting baby tigers at rescues in southeast asia and go on about these crazy winnings he would have in vegas. he’s larger than life - at least online. he came to visit me twice in the year that we knew each other. the first time was also the first time i had ever met thradia in person, and we had been friends for six years at that point. he has met my family, and that of several other members (both my age and older). no one ever questions why he’s there. no one ever thought it was odd that for a week he hung out with three teenage girls exclusively.

this horrifies me to this day.

thradia and i are still best friends. we compared notes and were sickened at how we were played against each other. slowly, i returned to the game. i reached out to people who had left or been on their way out when i first joined the guild, curious to see if there was a common thread. there was. everyone i spoke with had similar stories: being made to feel like shit, nothing they ever did for the guild was enough, they weren’t allowed to miss events or raids no matter what the reason, they were questioned and joked about inappropriately and made to feel uncomfortable and preyed upon, etc. i was not the only one. thradia was not the only one. at least half a dozen other former members and/or officers had these stories, and tarc just kept getting away with it.

he cannot keep getting away with it.

i am being open with this for the first time in six years because i don’t want to see it happen again. because i don’t want to know that, had i said something sooner, more people could have been protected. i was 18 when this was going on. i had no real world experience. i had no standard for how i should be treated, much less by someone almost ten years my senior and who claimed to be my friend. but he knew better. he should have had boundaries and space and lines he refused to cross. he did not. he crippled my trust in people for a very long time. i have only become comfortable playing wow on horde side again in the past year or so. i finally stopped looking over my shoulder, /who’ing him and his guild, avoiding rp hubs. but now i feel like i can’t do that anymore. the safety i have worked so hard to achieve for myself is now threatened.

i understand my experiences are mild in comparison to what some offenders on this server have done. but at the end of the day, this year was the worst year of my life. to this day, the skype ringtone literally triggers me because i associated it with him and his endless calls that i never knew what to expect from or how to get out of. i can’t look at certain parts of the game without feeling fear. for months i held my breath going online or logging into wow because i was waiting for him to pop up and start accusing me of things or trying to guilt me into coming back.

tarc ran coram populo, a guild that, as far as i know, still staggers along with a few members who can’t be bothered to leave. whether or not he’s planning to return there, i don’t know. he organizes and runs (from what i can tell) the azerothian trade federation (whatever the fuck that is). i don’t know what his plans are. i don’t know what his online presence looks or will look like when he comes crawling back. but i beseech you, do not give him the time of day. do not give him a platform, no matter how nice and “woke” he makes himself out to be. he lures you in with humanist ideals and then sucks the absolute life out of you- and that’s if he doesn’t want to pressure you into a relationship on top of it.

to tarc: if somehow you’re reading this, stay away from me. keep my name out of your mouth. i do not want an apology and a string of half-assed, gaslighting excuses. i have records of past conversations. i have screenshots. i know what you fucking did to me and to my friends. i do not want you back. i do not want you here. i do not want to share space with you. i want you to go away and never come back.

you alone made it so hard to trust myself and other people. thradia and i both have had to seek therapy due to you. and now, you have the audacity to come riding back into the scene on a white horse, being self righteous about abuse and predatory behavior online, and have the utter gall to condemn behaviors you yourself emulated without apology or second thought. i know you think you’re a good guy. that’s what makes you so fucking dangerous. you genuinely don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, and if you do, you’ve buried it and squirreled it away and have covered it up to the point where you can turn any accusation back on the claimant.

do not attempt to contact me. do not try to threaten or appease me. go back where you were. i am finally at home again, and you will not take that from me. go. away.

#wrymrest accord #wra rp #wra community #okay to reblog #i am going to basically go dark on here now and not check on this #i have gotten ohysically ill from dredging this shit up #i will not be engaging past this point so whether you believe me or not i do not care #i know my truth and i know what happened to me even though i was gaslit to hell and back

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halo-jpeg · 3 years

Text

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 6

Eddie was bored. Like, really bored. Both his health studies and his history class had been slow, more introductions than actual work, which was total bullshit. With no homework, no studying, Eddie was lost. He didn't have many hobbies thanks to the cage his mother had forced him into (pencil lead will poison you Eddie-bear no drawing and also skateboards are death traps and you'll stab your eye out with a knitting needle oh dear oh no) so he really had nothing to do. He was sat on the sofa with his eyes trained on the TV though he hardly registered the news channel playing, foretelling the Tuesday weather. Bill was on the other end of the couch, the soft sounds of his pastels gliding across thick paper just barely heard over the Anchorwoman voice of Cindy Williams. If he were back in Derry, Eddie would most likely be down in the barrens, sitting with three jackets and a scarf (even though it wasn't that cold just yet) on the banks of the Kenduskeag with Stan and Bill at his sides. Maybe they would be playing go-fish or maybe they'd have brought down Eddie's Parcheesi board or maybe they'd just be talking and talking and talking about God-knows-what. With the third of their party, Stan, at work for the evening neither Bill nor Eddie felt adventurous enough to bother going out and wandering the streets of Portland in search of something to do. The rain had yet to return, the sun from the day prior still holding strong, but despite the warmth that was promised Eddie would rather just stay inside and wallow. A sudden, too-loud beeping sound erupted form Eddie's left pocket, making both him and Bill simultaneously leap right out of their skin. Eddie actually let out a shout, his heart soaring into the air and then plummeting all at once. It was just his phone. His phone was just ringing. He didn't need to freak out. Jesus.

"Sorry-" He apologized quickly to Bill, shooting him an irritated glance and pulling his phone from his pocket. Leaping to his feet (he didn't want to disturb Bill any longer, since he had already pulled him from his drawing trance) he hurried away towards his room, slipping past his door and answering his call, finally silencing that infuriating Nokia ringtone. It had always gotten on his nerves. "Hello, this is Eddie Kaspbrak?"

"Why didn't you call me?" Eddie went rigid, stiff as a board, the voice in his ear the last one he currently wanted to be hearing- why didn't he check the number before picking up? Shit, he thinks to himself, and then immediately worries that he might have spoken that aloud- it was his mother, contacting him for the first time since he was swept away by his two best friends. "I was worried for you, Eddie-bear. Why didn't you call me?" Sonia's tone is weird, off-sounding, and Eddie can detect a multitude of different emotions both fake and real even through the crackly distorting of his speaker.

"Mommy, I- I'm sorry, I totally forgot," It's difficult to find any words right now. How had Eddie forgotten to call his mother? She and Derry, home, had been on his mind so frequently that it was genuinely astonishing that he hadn't thought to call her. Of course, he didn't want to call her, he was terrified of what she'd say to him on the subject of his schooling, his 'running away', but- how had the thought never once crossed his mind? "With school starting and trying to get used to everything here I've been really busy and-"

"Are you being worked too hard over there? What time are you waking up? Going to sleep? It's probably cold over there today, you'd better be wearing your jacket," His mother's voice washed him with a feeling of illness. Instead of listening to her words, her senseless pestering, he tried to pick apart what feelings shone through he words. Those jumbled tones, all different, were confusing. Eddie managed to pick out the sickly-sweet tone that Sonia often adopted when she was covering up her rage or her hurt or discomfort- it was the tone that promised a silent terror, a silent wrath. If he had to compare that voice to anything else in the world it would be like the moment before a tiger pounces and tears you limb from limb. Despite her efforts to hide it, her anger shone through nonetheless, sending a shiver down Eddie's spine. Sonia Kaspbrak was furious. "-Home again and then everything will be alright, won't it Eddie? It'll be just fine again and I can-" The phone erupted into ringing once more. Eddie winced, ripping the device away from his ear as the little Nokia chime blew out his right eardrum.

"Mommy, mom- I'm getting another call, please just give me a moment-"

"Don't put me on hold, Eddie! Don't you dare put me on-" Eddie put her on hold. He let out a huff as her voice finally went silent and another one took it's place. To say the least, this one was no more pleasant.

"Hey, Eduardo! Nice of you to answer!" Richie was loud, too loud, but Eddie put up with it because at least he wasn't Sonia.

"What do you want, Richie?" His words came out clipped, snappy- significantly more rude than he had meant, which is a surprise, because he did mean to be a little rude. He grimaced at his own voice and could basically see Richie's confusion on the other end.

"Woah there, Eds, what's gotten your panties in a twist? Doesn't matter- I have a proposal to make."

"I- Richie, sorry, now isn't the best time I have another call on the line-"

"Today is our weekly 'Taco Tuesday', but Mike and Ben both got called into work last minute. It's just me, Bev, and wayyyy more tacos than any person can safely eat." Eddie hadn't noticed he had begun to pace. He didn't want to hang up on Richie, but the burning anxiety bubbling like boiling lava in his stomach was direly unpleasant and spreading by the second. His mother would be pissed. "I know Stan the Man's got work today, but why don't you and Bill swing by for dinner and a movie? It can be our first date, what do you say?" Though his tone was teasing, Eddie's face went red. He began to pace quicker- he wouldn't be surprised if he burned holes right into the carpet.

"Yeah- sure- whatever- I have to go, Richie," The quickest way out of this conversation was to agree, and so Eddie did just that, without really thinking it through. He could stomach a night at Richie's, especially if Bill and Bev were there. Beverly was nice, and Eddie wouldn't mind getting to know her better.

"Aha, that's a yes Bevvie! I told you they'd wanna come! Alright, you know the address, be here whenever, we don't have any pla-" Eddie jammed his thumb down onto the 'hang-up' button and then his mom was on the other end again.

"Sorry, I'm back," Eddie's heart was thumping unnaturally fast. His asthma inhaler was on his vanity, only two steps away, but he couldn't use it or else who knows what his mother would do and say. He wouldn't be surprised if she came speeding all the way to Portland. "What were you saying?"

"Who was that, Eddie-bear? You were gone for so long I thought you might have hung up on me or something!" A retort on the tip of his tongue, Eddie swallowed his annoyance- after all, he was only gone for about thirty seconds- and put on his own false voice.

"It was just a telemarketer, mommy, it's alright. Sorry for making you wait, but I do have to go now. I need to eat dinner." That was a general truth. Sonia didn't need to know what he was having for dinner, just that he was having it. She would lose her mind over tacos- too fatty, the shells can hurt your teeth, cut your gums, you have delicate gums Eddie- and so it was best not to tell her at all.

"Oh Eddie, I miss you so much! Please, please call me and maybe we can organize a visit? Maybe I can come over and say hello? You can show me your school?" 'Show me your school' was code for 'Let me point out every dangerous little thing so that you have a panic attack and have to come home'. "I love you, Eddie-bear, I love you so so so so so-"

"I love you too mom, I have to go. I'll call. Bye." The call was ended. It was almost as if a weight was lifted off of Eddie's shoulders. He staggered over to his desk, picking up his inhaler and staring down at it. It looked foreign in his hands, dangerous, maybe- but heavenly at the same time. Eddie would have taken a puff if it weren't for Bill's footsteps approaching his doorway. He dropped the device quickly, spinning to the door just as Bill pushed it open, peeking his head inside and offering Eddie a small, tentative smile.

"That was your muh-mother?" He asked, pushing the door the rest of the way open and letting the golden hallway light shine through, banishing the growing sundown shadows, "Is everything oh-okay? Are you okay?" Eddie smiled- the expression was fake, but boy was Eddie good at pulling off fakes.

"Yeah, I'm- I'm great. It was my mom, and Richie, too- He wants us to come over for tacos or something. I don't really know, I was hardly listening. Beverly's there, I think, but Ben and Mike are at work." Bill's own smile grew into something more genuine, less frightened. He nodded his head.

"That sounds gr-great, actually. I'm stu-starving." Eddie let the anxiety from the call with his mother wash away.

-----

"Heya, Big Bill! And Eds, too, just swell- come in, come in!" Pulling his door wide open, Richie swept out an arm, "Welcome to my humble abode! Take a look around, make yourselves comfortable- it's a pretty nice place when it isn't crawling with teens." Bill and Eddie stepped through the threshold, into Richie's apartment. Richie noted with a burst of pride the way his guests both ogled, their gazes raking across the space they'd stepped out into.

To their immediate right sat a modern/retro kitchen, an odd mixture of sleek black marble and sickeningly bright reds, oranges and yellows. There was a massive green fridge covered nearly top to bottom in different papers, school tests and flyers and sketches of clothing and poems and- God, who knows?- all locked in place by random magnets picked out of gift shops and shopping centers and delivered as gifts. The kitchen was bordered off by a peninsula, three red bar stools, one of which was an entirely different shape and brand, seated at it's side. There was a fruit bowl on the counter though it held no fruit- instead it was filled with different CD cases from all the big rock bands and even some smaller ones that hardly anybody ever heard of. Other than the fruit bowl there were also takeout boxes, lots of them, containing the tacos and other miscellaneous snacks Richie had ordered for dinner.

Past the kitchen sat the living room, and it was just as chaotic. The couch was nice, a simple grey with a detached ottoman of the same colour. On top of that couch was a multitude of different pillows and cushions- one was blue, another green, just normal squares, but then there were also the stranger pillows like one shaped to be an electric guitar and another taking the form of an octopus with long, dangling legs- as well as too many knitted blankets to count thrown over the backrest. A rug sat across the floor, swirling, psychedelic, red, brown, orange. The regular lights were off and instead the golden glow of the setting sun cast the room alight. All over the walls were different posters for movies and bands- there were even some records hung about. If Richie had to use one word to describe his home, that word would be 'radical'.

"Hey, guys," Bev waved from her spot on a bean bag chair sandwiched between the couch and the huge, yawning, nearly floor-to-ceiling window on the far end of the room, "You're finally here, Jesus I'm starved! Richie made me wait for you two before eating," She climbed to her feet, her mass of scarlet hair tied behind her head with a pale pink scrunchie. Richie just rolled his eyes, crossing to those red bar stools and letting himself fall down into one with a dramatic huff directed at Beverly.

"Suh-sorry we took so long," Bill said with a grin, apologetic and sincere just like his smiles always were, "We got a l-little caught up." Richie didn't fail to notice the way that Eddie wrapped his arms around himself, looking like he might shrink into the earth. Why?- Richie couldn't be sure- but the boy didn't look comfortable in the slightest and something about that put his stomach in a knot. Without even realizing it, Richie found himself taking on a silent mission- make Eddie laugh, genuinely, at least one time tonight.

"No problemo, my good friends! Take a seat, take a seat- Bev can stand," Richie grinned, a toothy smile screaming mischief and teasing- Beverly didn't waste a single moment before ramming her fist against his shoulder, effectively threatening him out of his chair and leaving it free for her to take instead. "Oi!" Richie hunched his shoulders, screwing up his face to the best of his abilities. Snatching up a plastic butter knife, he pointed it at his friend, taking on a New Yorker's accent, becoming a character that was still in the works- Wyatt, the Homicidal Bag-Boy, "You put those doi'ty paws nea' me again an' I'll cut 'em 'ight off an' bake 'em in this weeks bread!"

"I haven't heard that character before," Eddie said, mostly to himself, but he shot a glance in Richie's direction and almost looked something near impressed.

"Hu-how do you do it? How do you swi-switch between these Voices so e-easily?" Bill asked, following Beverly, who was the one to start the feast, in ripping open the top of a takeout box to reveal the food inside of the first- five tacos were stood side-by-side-by-side, overflowing with different toppings. Richie bought from a local food truck down the street, and they made the very best authentic tacos in all of Portland.

"A pact with the devil and a few sacrifices," Richie shrugged, pushing in past Bev and Bill to reach the food for himself, "And lots and lots of practice." In all honesty, his Voices came to him as if it were breathing or walking. They were a part of him for a multitude of reasons, but most of those reasons were more private than he'd like to admit. Briefly, he pointed out what different items were, which tacos had what toppings and which ones were his personal favorites (Not even he knew if he was telling them his preferences to get them to stay away or because he thought they'd like them too). Only after he had filled his plate with more tacos than he could eat did he step back to let the others pass, though he did notice that Eddie was sitting patiently and waiting for the others to serve themselves up first like the gentleman he had shown himself to be. "Here, Spaghetti-man. Try this one," Out of the kindness of his own heart, Richie sacrificed one of his chicken avocado tacos despite the scowl Eddie gave him thanks to the nickname, and despite the fact that they were the best of the best, "They're perfect," making an 'ok' sign with his fingers, Richie kissed at the air like a chef complimenting his craft. Then, he stepped around Eddie and hopped up to sit in the counter to his right.

"Jesus, Richie, you're lucky I love you or else I would have eaten these ages ago," Bev said, and then took a too-big bite out of her food. As if it were karma for stealing Richie's stool, she accidentally inhaled a flake of cheese or maybe lettuce, hacking out a cough and dropping her taco down onto her plate to thump her fist against her chest- immediately, concern was scrawled across Eddie's face, and he was about to leap to his feet to help her when she held out a finger and cracked a goofy smile. "All-" she choked out, and then buried her face into her sleeve, "All good-" Eddie was already putting his plate down and moving to get out of his chair. His mouth began to run a mile a minute, speaking so quickly that even Richie, ADHD in human form, could hardly piece the words together.

"Are you sure? I know the Heimlich maneuver- CPR too- and I have 9-1-1 on speed dial. You could damage your throat or your lungs and you don't always recover from stuff like that, even if it's just-"

"Woooooah there, Eds! She's just fine, trust me- she always does this. Bev's a bit of a blockhead in that aspect," Speaking through a mouthful of food, Richie placed his hand on Eddie's shoulder to keep him in his seat, "She seems to like choking on food almost as much as-"

"Bee' bee' Ri'ie!" Her face red, still choking, Bev found it necessary to end that train of thought then and there. She lunged across the counter, one hand connecting with Richie's side, and pushed him right from his seat. He hardly had time to catch himself, letting out a startled shout and almost dropping his plate. Bill's face split with an ear-to-ear grin and even though he had never heard that phrase, Beep Beep Richie, in his entire life, he knew that it was a part of him now just as much as any of this- He was laughing away, his eyes bright like small suns or maybe reminiscent of the glow of something alien, like a life force in the form of light or the glint of shiny teeth though that wasn't what Richie was paying attention to. Instead, through his thick glasses, he was staring at Eddie and passing him rapid glances out of the corner of his eye, trying to confirm his suspicions and to ease his surprise. Eddie Kaspbrak seemed to be smiling, just a little tiny quirk of his lips- on any other face this smile would have meant nothing but the fact that it was Eddie who was showing any sign of joy was a monumental moment.

"Beep beep yourself, asshole!" Richie rolled his eyes, his grin still strong as ever. Leaning on the counter across from the three, they all began to eat again though Richie was practically buzzing with a mixture of emotion. He was determined to get something bigger out of Eddie, a full on laugh, a double-over and clutch your sides kind of laugh, the kind of laugh that only came from something so insanely stupid that you couldn't not break down because of it. He knew all too well that you couldn't force comedy, and just had to hope that the perfect opportunity arose. "So," Richie leaned his head on his hand, fluttering his lashes innocently (which meant he had something mischievous planned), "What all do you know about choking? Were you really able to save Bev if she was dying just then? How?" Eddie scoffed, his eyes flicking up from his plate for just a moment to meet those of the Tozier boy.

"What do you mean 'how'? You have to have learned basic First Aid. Everyone should know this shit." Crunching down onto his taco, Richie shook his head. The look that crossed Eddie's face then was hilarious. The horror mixed with disappointment morphed his boyish features perfectly- if he had a camera, Richie wouldn't have hesitated to take a photo. He knew what CPR was and the Heimlich too, he wasn't that dumb but for the sake of the teasing he would play dumb as a brick since that was what he was best at. "So, what you're saying is, if I hadn't been here and Beverly had really been choking she would have just- died. Just like that. Because you don't know how to do CPR."

"I'm sad to say so," Richie shrugged one shoulder, "She'd be done-zo. Six feet under. Kickin' the can."

"First of all, it's the bucket, not the can," Eddie said with a roll of his eyes, though that upward quirk of his lips had returned and Richie felt a swell of triumph, "And second, that's really, really hard to believe."

"Well, it's the truth, so..." Another one-shouldered shrug. "Are there like, different types of CPR?"

"Oh my God, you're a fuckin'-" Eddie bit his tongue. Shaking his head, one hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose, and then he dropped it and turned a surprisingly patient gaze onto Richie. "It starts with chest compressions," Something in Eddie changed, then, so suddenly it was almost invisible. His shoulders pulled back, his chin tilted up, and his eyes adopted a light that Richie had yet to see in them. It was confidence, self-assurance, a sign that Eddie knew exactly what he was talking about. "Chest compressions help the flow of blood to the heart and the brain. You do 30 chest compressions and then you have the check the persons airway, make sure there's no blockage-"

"What kind of blockage?" A snicker from Richie,

"Shut up," Eddie continued without pausing, and there was now the concern that he needed to breathe, "Then after that you can do mouth-to-mouth-" And, that was the breaking point for Richie. He smiled wide, leaned in a little closer, and, in that sly, mischievous tone, said,

"So what do I have to do to get CPR from ya Eds?" This promptly earned him a shove and another harsh punch to the shoulder.

***

After dinner passed, the group had shifted over to the couch for a movie. The thing with Taco Tuesday's was that each new week someone else picked the movie, and this week just so happened to be Richie's choice. That was why they were currently huddled around the TV watching 'The Birds'- Richie has to have seen it a billion times by now.

"Watch watch watch watch watch- oh! Bird attack!" Punching his fist into the air, Richie hollers his words, his elbow nearly jamming Eddie in the ribs as he flops back down into the sofa, "Shit, this scene used to scare me have to fuckin' death when I was a kid!" Watching, unamused, as birds flew in through a homes fireplace, Eddie let out a sound that might have meant to be a chuckle but sounded more like a scoff.

"I seriously can't believe this movie scared you," Eddie was still wearing that small, serene smile. All through the movie so far Richie has been making his silly little comments, pointing out the parts that always made his younger self shudder with fear, "It's just- so boring! So slow! And it's not realistic in the slightest-"

"Oh come on Eds, you're the one who's supposed to be terrified of these feathery little dudes. Shouldn't you be shitting your pants right now? Clinging to my side, sobbing, oh Richie, oh Richie please hold me close, I can't look any more!" As Richie's tone shifted into a falsetto, a poor, poor mimic of Eddie, he slumped, clinging to the shorter boy much like he was describing, "Turn it off, I'm shaking in my boots! Turn it off, pleeeeeeease-"

"Shut up, Richie!" As Richie's arms locked around Eddie's waist, he heard that sound that he was starting to think he'd never hear. As Eddie began to squirm, pushing and shoving at Richie's arms, his smile grew wider, something goofy and uncharacteristic, all teeth and dimples- along with that smile came the lightest, happiest, warmest sound that ever seemed to have existed. Eddie laughed, a real chuckalicious laugh, high-pitch and joyous. Richie's teasing words didn't cease, and he even began to wiggle his fingers, jabbing them into Eddie's sides and driving the boy to curl into himself, almost whacking Richie in the side of the head with his knee. As the laughing continued, Richie's chest tightened up pleasantly, warmly, his heart fluttering and his stomach doing some seriously impressive somersaults.

"Yowza yowza YOW-za! Richie Tozier gets off a good one!" Now, both Bev and Bill were laughing too, the movie long forgotten. In a brave moment Richie leaps to his feet, but his arms don't leave Eddie's form and then he's carrying him right with him. Eddie lets out a cry as the couch falls away but Richie holds him nice and tight, beginning to prance, spinning, jiving across the room, "Richard Wentworth Tozier is on a roll, on a ROLL baby! Yowza yowza-" He and Eddie are interrupted then by a dinging sound, the familiar ring of his cellphone. Richie's cheeks were warm, and he was certain that they were red, too. "Here ya go, Eds," he set Eddie back down, ignoring the 'It's Eddie, dickwad' and instead plucking his phone from where it sat on the coffee table. He felt high, no, better than high. He had only smoke weed a few times but in this moment he felt better than he ever has before- and then as he looked at his screen exhilaration in his chest died in an instant. His smile fell away, just for the briefest moment, before he forced it right back in it's place to cover up the pang of pain he felt at the new absence of his contentedness. The text he had received had been small, just a simple word, and yet it had killed the wonderful squeamishness in his stomach. It had killed the feeling that he had never felt before. It had killed that infinite warmth.

Hey.

Riche dropped his phone again without bothering to ask, and collapsed onto the couch once more, eyes trained on the film. It was all fine, he was vibing, living, enjoying his evening and no one would ruin that for him. Eddie, seeming to have noticed the split-second shift in Richie's expression, leaned in close and, brows furrowed with concern, asked,

"Everything okay?" Richie knew just how to deal with situations like this- he was a trained expert at skirting questions. With an easy-breezy smile and a set of thumbs up, he clicked his tongue and responded with,

"Cool as a cucumber, my friend," His own voice sounded funny to him with how grossly happy it was. It didn't match the pit in his stomach at all. This tone he took on in the direst situations was one of his few Secret Voices- he called it 'Richie 'I'm-All-Right' Tozier' and it was basically him, but without any life problems and crippling anxiety. He was so good at it now, so good at faking that good that you could hardly tell I'm-All-Right from the real him. Eddie shrugged and returned to the movie. For a few moments, everything was okay again, until he got another text. This one was... different from the last. It was from the same person, but had an entirely different feel.

hope you understand that we're not over. We won't ever be over.

Oh, shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Richie put his phone away, letting it drop down into his lap, as inconspicuously as possible though his heart was beating at 10000000 miles an hour. Christ, he felt like he needed a puff from Eddie's inhaler! The hidden threat in those words, the passive aggressiveness of them, it terrified him more than even a Voice could hide. The way his shoulders tensed must have been all too obvious. Not only was Eddie looking at him again, worried, but Bev was passing him discreet glances as well.

"Are you sure everything's okay, Rich? You look tense," Eddie still kept his voice low, so low, the perfect level to be heard by Richie and Richie alone.

"I- Yeah, I'm fine. Don't, uh..." Joke joke joke he needed a joke or he might let his smile turn all wobbly and weird and then Eddie would worry even more, "Don't worry your pretty little head." Panic panic panic- Richie is panicking. He thinks his hands might be shaking and maybe his eyes are glossing over just a little. The movie is bright right now, reflecting off of his watery gaze and as he watches Eddie's mouth begin to move again, preparing to pour out more concern, Richie spoke first because he can't bear to see Eddie worried and he double can't bear being the reason for that worriedness. "Excuse me for a moment, dears," Richie stood, smiling wanly, "I require a piss." And, with that, he hurried away for the bathroom. He hardly made it into the room in time, slamming the door shut and punching on the lights, before the fear really gripped him. He stumbled up to the sink, his hands gripping so hard onto the basin that his knuckles went white. Looking at his reflection in the mirror was strange. His face was white, his eyes were, indeed, glossy, so so obvious behind his glasses, and he looked positively miserable. He didn't want to look at his phone again, yet at the same time he was almost desperate to reread those messages, to reassure himself that maybe they were in his head, just memories, all a ploy, all just him remembering bad times and creating more bad times from those memories.

But Richie wasn't foolish. He knew that those messages were real. Should he even be surprised? Taking off his glasses and setting them aside, Richie turned on the faucet and cupped his hands underneath the rushing stream of lukewarm water. He sucked a breath through slitted teeth, and let his eyes fall shut, just for a moment. Texts could be bad, yeah. Texts could be threatening. In the end, though, texts couldn't hurt him. If Richie was careful, alert, he never needed to see that douchebag again. If he was careful than this asshole couldn't get close to him. Leaning forwards, Richie brought the water up to his face, splashing it upwards and letting the refreshment roll over him in a steady wave. Ex-boyfriends were assholes, yeah, Richie's especially- but he had fought so hard to get out of that relationship. Surely no God could be cruel enough to throw him back into it. Running a towel over his face and replacing his glasses, Richie caught his own eyes in the mirror once more. In an instant, the damaged, sunken, shell of his face morphed up into that Richie Tozier grin. It was movie time, baby. Cool as a cucumber.

#reddie #reddie fanfiction #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #bill denbrough #stan uris #stanley uris #mike hanlong #the losers club #it #it movie #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #it 2017 #it 2019

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demonfox38 · 4 years

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Completed - Faxanadu

So, at the end of my last post game evaluation, I brought up "Faxanadu" as a better alternative to "Zelda II: The Adventure of Link." I honestly don't know if that's a controversial opinion or not. On the surface, I can see that raising the gall of a lot of dyed-in-the-wool Nintendo fans. Like, how dare I lift the third-party product over something created by Nintendo itself. And, to be honest, I can feel that contradiction. "Faxanadu" looks worse, sounds worse, and plays just a bit stiffer than "Zelda II." Why would I like this game more if it is an inferior product?

Well, in this case, it all comes down to attitude.

"Faxanadu" is a weird little offshoot from a prestigious pedigree. Directly, it's a spin-off/side story to "Dragon Slayer II: Xanadu" of the "Dragon Slayer" series. I'm guessing that if you are as familiar with Japanese computer RPGs from the 1980s—that is to say, knowledgeable by the name alone—you might recognize its sister games "Sorcerian" for its lovely soundtrack and "Tokyo Xanadu" from a list of titles available on Steam. But, hey. TL;DR—"Dragon Slayer II: Xanadu" sold 400,000 game copies in 1985, so Nintendo was all too happy to get a slice of that pie. In the translation from computer to Famicom ("Faxanadu"? Get it?), the adaptation lost its RPG battles and became a more stream-lined action platformer with some vestigial RPG elements.

Sounds strange? It kind of is. Just think "Zelda II" without death pits.

Adding to the uniqueness of this game is its peculiar plot. In "Faxanadu", your PC is charged with stopping a horde of extra-terrestrial forces and dwarves hopped up on meteor dust from killing all of the elves living alongside them on the World Tree. It's like the Yggdrasil myth meets "Night of the Comet." Very, very 1980s in its mix of mythology and weird space shit.

The game itself is as you might expect from an action platformer. Move around locations, purchase equipment, fight, keep moving until you find the final boss. The weirdness of it flakes off a little bit at a time. Like, those experience points you accumulate? They don't go into stat improvements. You talk to a guru (a priest dude) to bank them in and earn a title. This will aid you when/if you die, as the game will drop your corpse off at the last guru you visited with a preset amount of money based on how awesome your title is. Dying can be a great way to warp around, as well as to get your ass back to full health for free. Hell, you don't even lose accumulated items if you die. (Although, if you use a key, that’s gone for good. You may have to purchase a few extra if you die in the wrong spot.) Death isn't always the best strategy, but it can help in the right circumstances.

Frankly, the game is very chill about your failure. Pretty much everything else, too.

The mellow atmosphere of "Faxanadu" is something to be appreciated. Even if most people have given up on their home being saved, they're more than alright sitting around, smoking and drinking and chatting you up. (God bless, there are so many smokers in this game.) People are constantly telling you to not try too hard to save their asses, as well as encouraging meditation and keeping calm in the face of defeat. Not to be crass, but it makes you wonder if people have something other than tobacco in their cigarettes.

Let's be honest. If they were toking, it would explain a few laughable bugs.

Oh, man. You've got to hear about these errors. Like, I know register mathematics and assembly coding is a bitch, but this game makes some choice mistakes. Like, that title system I mentioned earlier? You're supposed to be given more time to use special items like hourglasses and winged boots when your title increases in rank. In execution, the opposite happens. The more monsters you kill, the less time you're given on the clock to use cool shit. It doesn't ever lock you out of an area, but it is something to keep in mind. Additionally, there's this pendant that you're supposed to get in the second area that should increase your attack power. However, the game already thinks you have that equipped at the start, so when you get it, that attack boost gets turned off. That's right. Take the pretty necklace and you do less damage. I mean, hey. You don't want to get it accidentally broken, do you?

This game isn't particularly bright in the aesthetics department, either. Most of the color palette is brown, green, cream, and salmon. Character portraits have this weird animation when they talk to you where their blinking and speaking is desynced in a disturbing fashion. Hell, of the allegedly dwarven enemies, I can only point to one or two enemies that I believe are dwarves. The music is a little better than average for the NES, but nothing I'd put in a playlist (minus the opening theme, which is an awesome fantasy rip.) I mean, it's sure better than the "Dragon Slayer II: Xanadu" footage I saw on YouTube, but it's not exactly a feast for the eyes and ears. Even platforming and movement of your PC is a bit stiff. Also, this uses password systems to save instead of batteries. Which, hey, fine by me. But, it's definitely cheaper than using a battery, and I know a lot of people find passwords to be difficult or annoying to use.

So, if this is an inferior looking and feeling product in comparison with "Zelda II", why do I like this one more?

Well, the chillness factor, for one. The difficulty in this game is much more manageable as well. You can carry several healing potions on you, and there are classes of enemies you can farm for food to get your health up in dire straits. Hell, there's even an elixir that will auto-pop on you if you take too much damage. Additionally, screwing up platforming doesn't automatically kill you. It might make you have to take a few rooms to get back to where you were trying to go, but it's not a kiss of death.

Yeah, this one's easier, for sure. But, I don't feel like it's purposefully wasting my time, either. The cash for most equipment upgrades can be ground out within ten or fifteen minutes, if you're willing to put in the time. You can skip certain locations, if you really don't want to deal with their hassle. Granted, skipping too much could cost you the best equipment, and you certainly need that to fight the final boss. But, the trials you face to get that aren't the worst. Hell, getting the Dragon Slayer itself becomes retroactively sad and metal once you figure out just what you were fighting to get it.

There are important things to do, sure. Nobody's on your ass if you screw up. The NPCs want you to succeed, and they want you to do so with a clear head (and an empty purse, in some cases.) It's the kind of game where you take an afternoon or two to knock out. Nothing overwrought, nothing dramatic. Just you and a handful of Keebler Elves fighting back cosmic horrors that have taken over the neighbors.

It would be interesting to know the scale of this world. The dwarves don't seem to be that much shorter than the elves, so I have to wonder if everybody's just four feet tall or something.

I'm almost certain that I picked this up off eBay decades ago after reading either a genre list or recommendation list on GameFAQs. Even now, the price on it is cheap. (Of course, ROMs are free, but it's a $10.00 cart.) This was a better game than what I would normally get out of my other source of NES games—that is to say, the K-Mart bargain bin (which may have been leftover stock the company bought from FuncoLand? Not sure.) Long story short, this game is relatively short, cheap, and fulfilling. If you need something retro and easy going, this game might do the trick. It might not blow your socks off, but it won't blow your head off, either.

#post game evaluation #faxanadu

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tinycoffeebiggun · 4 years

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Bucky Barnes & Tony Stark

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙸𝙸 : 𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏

ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ : ғᴀᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ : ᴍᴇʀᴄʏғᴜʟ ғᴀᴛᴇ

Tony asking about the repercussions of cryostasis and if T’Chaka has people close to fixing the neurological damage, the king giving him wisdom filled words about how one cannot rush certain things, Tony took it on the chin that they had no footing at this point and time. A tug of disheartening hope upon his heartstrings of this being their last option, never did it come through as he mastered the art of keeping face years ago to be respectful to the king of Wakanda generosity. “Tony,” Bucky beckons for his lover’s attention, understanding Tony’s fears that are held in those doe-like eyes of his but Bucky just needed him here, to bid each other farewell before he takes his frozen nap. Tony excuses himself from the king, returning over to Bucky whom now stands in front of the machine, there is tightening in his own chest, clenching of his heart with every step, painful half-phased smile on his full lips as his eyes meet with those breath taking steel blues it brought a warm flutter amongst the coldness. “Sorry, I won’t talk shop while you’re still...” Tony couldn’t finish, still coming to terms with facing the world without Bucky by his side, squeezing his hand when he get’s frazzled minded and he refuses to even think about sleeping in the bed alone.

Spluttering out the wobbliest of breathes, granted Bucky’s heart had been in a constant state of pain since they stepped into palace laboratories as this was bidding that of farewell to his newly wed husband, the ring not even allowed to hang around his neck for reasons beyond Bucky’s knowledge. A delicate cosy touch from a strong hand upon Tony’s jaw, following the structure of with his middle finger thus allowing his finger and thumb caressing over rosing soft cheek flesh. “You’re such a worrywart, nothin’ to worry about.” Bucky says gently, overthinking clouding over those chocolate orbs of Tony’s, causing a fleeting sigh from him. There was too much blood on his hands, that he couldn’t abort mission, having to see this through to the end even if it meant leaving Tony. He kept telling himself it wouldn’t be a long time.��“Easy for you to say, seeing as your the one taking the nap.” Tony offered a pitiful smile, letting his head be cradled by the loving hand of his husband, yet his smile craved loving at the low raspy chuckle from Bucky. And there it was the snarky wit of his husband, Bucky shakes his head not caring his hair is hanging in his face as his steely eyes staring graciously over Tony, taking a moment to relish in his features, pale aureate skin that may have been a little kissed by the sun ― jesting jealous pang in his heart at the sun being able to kiss his skin while he quote on quote naps, those dark eyes that are framed with full long eyelashes, that a flutter of that makes him have to swallow on nothing. His thumbprint tracing under that full bottom lip, flicking his gaze to linger lovingly over them, re-embedding in his mind. “A nap that has been long over due,” Bucky words simple, slicing the dire need in himself, he has to do this to be able to have a somewhat normal life with Tony.

“We’re all ready for you James,” one of the overly polite masking over the slight annoyance from how long it is taking, earning a narrowing glare through clear lens from Tony. Bucky’s hand lightly re-directing his gaze towards himself, maybe a little to firmly from the wince flicking on Tony’s features, reflex kicked in to caress, unspoken sorry from three words without the other set of his trigger words, telling him it was now or never. “Yes, ‘m ready to comp― uh, just give m’ a second.” Bucky’s mind slipping and dipping, weaving into reality and control without control, tenderly his forehead pressed against Tony’s forehead. And the sudden grip on his right wrist from a soft calloused hand, the grip tightening more out of fear from Bucky halting from leaving or that’s how Tony saw things, selfishness dawning in the in compass of his mind. The cooling of the ring on a his wrist, Bucky found haunting and yet welcoming by it, a simple gold band with a ruby in the centre of it with cushion cut of the rough stone, simple in design and it was the one that stood out to him in the store that screamed Tony.

Hair out of place that is left, not a pressing matter and glasses stay in place for once as if the inanimate object knew this was a pivotal moment. There was hesitation that built up to kiss Bucky’s firm but supple lips cause it meant goodbye or goodnight on his end and selfishly he wasn’t ready he need more time, more of Bucky, just more. It was unknown to Tony when his fist clenching tightly on the thin fabric covering muscles. “Maybe there’s room in that for the both of us, it looks bigger then that single bed we had to shar―” words ceased to be spoken from lips domineering over his own, leading him into a passionate filled kiss, heat gracing his cheeks. It was clear what this kiss stands for a goodbye, dripping with every emotion from love to that of longing that has yet to be felt by both parties. Tony’s fingers that belong to his right hand, start to massage just past Bucky’s hairline int he thicket of raven strands of luscious, health hair. When a sneeze in the far corner cracked the moment of lips on lips, seeping reality back into the foreground of their minds, flushing of two sets of cheeks as they part ways. Dark hues and steel hues stare in the daze of the kiss even if ruined, Tony’s tongue gliding over underbelly of his reddening top lip, an airy chuckle that barely audible to Tony’s ears as it was only for him. “Always wanting more,” Bucky breathed purposefully over the wet supple lips, another flush of heat freckled over fleshy cheeks. “Yeah-yeah, should be clear to you that I am greedy when it comes to you, actually you should be honoured.” Tony tried to bake his words to shield himself with slight humour, fingers leaving Bucky’s scalp which invoked slang in the corners of his lips.

The solemn ten steps that took to lead them to the open door of the sleeping beauty casket or snow white it slipped Tony’s mind which one had the glass casket. Yes, grim thought but he felt that way, he was losing his heart here and somehow holding himself together, a front for Bucky and to protect himself from his own emotions. He has to be the strong one for Bucky. The help from sturdy flexing forearm from his glassy-doe-eyed husband into the pod, the raven-haired man turned as he stepped against the base of the cooling platform, making him tower not only over Tony which he did anyway but over the rest of the lab coats in the lab that was far from the movie made him to believe, they look like. Craning his neck down just as Tony’s hand reluctantly left his hand, the swollen bottom lip of his pout. “Can I get a smile, doll?” Bucky asked, desperate crave for a smile to send him off to be the last thing to send him off thus Tony buried the pain in his chest, mustered the ounces of happy memories to coax the peaceful smile widen on his lips. “Happy, now?” Tony asked before he quickly leant on the pod frame, quick step to press a haunting peck on the corner of Bucky’s lips, not the middle nor deep, short and quick but the meaning behind hidden kiss as it curve Bucky’s lip deep into the flesh of his cheek, a dimple form from a hidden kiss. Back strides graceful catching every stair as he descended, dark gaze not once leaving Bucky’s irises. As if just them in the room like the illusion of the kiss prior seeped back in. “I love you,” Ripped through the air and impacted against Tony’s ribs shooting him through the heart, the stifle of uneven breathes from the bleeding of his heart from pumping around words. The slow wheezing of the machinery of the door closing slowly, slow enough that Tony could slip between the door and Bucky but he stays rooted to the ground of a swaying tree after it has been rattle to its core by a hurricane, it should’ve fallen in the storm but it didn’t and now must stand alone.

“I love you too, so-so much,” Tony managed to get in before the door sealed close, glass finally broke as a shard of glass glided down his cheek freely, follow by another and then another when a friendly hand clasped over clavicle and comforting words from one of the wisest men he’s ever know, went unheard from trying to remember how exactly to breath again even when it is the body natural response to do so but logic out the window. Once regained the loss of breathes, teeth grind over each other to clench his jaw, inhaling deeply through his nose before exhaling out through now relaxed, ajar teeth. “Thank you for everything, you and your people have done for us and still doing, I express my gratitude in words this point and time.” Tony thanked from the brought of his heart even if his tongue lagged from the swelling of aloneness consuming his heart. T’Chaka gave an unspoken nod in reply, giving comforting squeezing on fabric. “We’ll be in contact with you, Mr. Stark. I shall give you sometime, see about that plane to take you back to the states.” The calming voice washed over him, allowing it to soak in now. “Thank you, again.” Tony had few words being able to roll from his tongue, appreciative of the king’s big heart. Once the weight was gone from his shoulder, coaxed a couple more strings of tears from his eyes and the king left with his guard following on his heels.

Stood at the base of the ascending stairs to few to call a staircase but not less then to call a few steps, it was to keep out of the way of the daily routines that happen in the laboratory. Not daring to close the distance between himself and the glass, may end with him ripping the door open. So, he just stared up at his peaceful looking husband, reaching down to twist the wedding band on his finger, trying to comfort himself. The way the light engulf over Bucky’s body making him look more like an angel, peaceful and content, where pain and suffering cannot get to him and that brought piece of mind to Tony. Chocolate orbs taking the slight crease lines near his eyes from smiling, smile lines that heavily came from moments spent between the two of them thus those smile lines bring a smile that will be forever with him, sniffing quietly to himself as he wasn’t completely alone couple of scientists worked around him and pod that incased his beautiful man that has encapsulated his heart with love and all the good stuff. Brought his clasped hands close to his chest, thumb still twisting the gold band around the base of his finger until his thumb rests on top of the ruby. Knowing in his heart in hearts this had to be done even if it left him hallow it would be for a short time surely. Besides Bucky wanted this and Tony wasn’t going to tell him otherwise, feelings pushed aside.

Time ticked away, never did he believe he drown in the shallows of his heart and yet he stood without the comfort of Bucky’s love, don’t give Tony that mumbo-jumbo about how he’s in spirit because well his damn spirit is anchored into the muscular vessel of Bucky’s body. How the yearning begun for those strong arms to be encircled tightly around him to give him a sanctuary of arms and warmth. Thus brought the thought of sleeping alone, something he hadn’t done in a couple of years now and he never thought he would have to again, no snuggles and no one dragging him back to bed from tinkering to long in his lab. There was plenty of things that will hit Tony later on, his head was hazed with pain and cloaked in heartache from a love he can’t touch nor see. As Bucky needed his slumber to give them time to find away to fix his brain from the rubble shambles left in the wake of HYDRA.

So, he’ll let Bucky rest as Bucky deserves some sort of peace.

It was time to leave, T’Chaka stood tall with his hands behind his back and friendly smile that reached his eyes as if to say he’s safe here and Tony deep down knows he’s in the safest place. Puffing out his bottom lip further, tears staining his cheeks, missing the frames of his glasses that have darkened to shield his eyes, hunched forward shoulders and one last longing look at the man in the pod. “Sweet dreams, my sweet prince. We’ll be reunited soon,” turning his body ready to leave, sledging his soles across the floor, dipping his chin to stare at the ground. “I love you and miss you already.” One last goodbye to his beating heart encased in glass, solemn walk of a broken hearted man.

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙸

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hitbythunder · 4 years

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The Roll of Thunder -4

A Thor x Reader and later some Loki x Reader story

Summary: After Frigga’s and Loki’s deaths, Thor struggles with his grief and blames himself for the loss. Barely able to manage his emotions, the god helps the other heros on Earth so that he can stay away from Asgard - a place which only reminds him of his pain. When the team acquires a golden sphere from a mission, however, Thor is forced to deal with his past. She has black hair, pale skin and a pair of emerald eyes which haunt the god in his dreams. Could she be Loki?

Warnings: non-con in later chapters

~º*º*º~

Thor looked down upon the unconscious woman at his feet and was about to act when suddenly a fist collided with his jaw, painfully stealing his balance. “Can't you leave her alone for just one evening!!” Rarely did the Captain's fury come forth but he had certain moral principles and rules, overstepping them wasn't acceptable. The Kitten lay motionless on the floor and from her position, one could easily assume that Thor had hit her.

“Jesus, Thor, I knew you could be rude but hurting a defenseless woman?” he added but the god was still too dizzy from the punch to reply. Thor rubbed his throbbing jaw while Steve quickly knelt down and picked the woman up. “I had no hand in this!” Thor finally stumbled when Steve stood up again, glaring at him before he turned and marched towards the elevator. Silence had flooded the entire room, oppressing every other sound and all the horrified guests had watched this bizarre scene, their gazes following the enraged Captain and the little woman swaying in his massive arms.

Down in the lab, Bruce run some standard health-tests while Steve paced restlessly across the room. The Kitten lay unconscious on the large metal table, some wires attached to her arms and forehead and Natasha gently lifted her right arm to examine the golden scales. There were more on her shoulder-blade and when the red-head half-turned the Kitten on the table she gasped at what she saw. Her whole back was covered in golden scales, sparkling in the dim-lit lab. When she put the Kitten back on the table, some strands of black hair slipped over her ear, revealing it's pointy end.

“Guys...?” Bruce and Steve walked over, alarmed by her call and their eyes widened too at the obvious changes to the woman's body. “It seems like she's still growing...” Steve rubbed the back of his neck in confusion while Bruce leaned down to have a better look at the scales.

“Marvelous... She's definitely special in every aspect. We need to run some more tests.” The scientist said while readjusting his glasses. The prospect of more wires and needles around the Kitten didn't please Natasha in any way, had she herself some gruesome memories of similar situations. Additionally, she didn't trust Tony's skills and intentions, especially when he had the chance to tamper with a strange creature as her – luckily he wouldn't miss his own party. But on the other hand, they needed to gather information about their guest and since the Kitten refused to talk, tests were the only option available.

“Ok, but we need to do something about Thor.” All three looked at each other seriously but none had a concrete solution at hand. “We can't let him near her again.” *** About an hour later, when Bruce was done with his tests and he and Natasha decided to join the party again, Steve volunteered to carry the Kitten back to Natasha's room. Light as a feather she lay in his arms, curled up as if his presence meant safety to her and when he put her on the soft couch she reluctantly slipped from his grasp. Admittedly, Steve had grown fond of the little female over the past week. She was so pure, so innocent and without fault yet she had to experience horror and fear every time she met the Thunderer. Steve couldn't understand the god's grudge against her and honestly, he was still angry at Thor for treating her so rudely. And deep inside him, as it was his nature, Steve felt the need to protect the Kitten, to never let anyone harm her again. Thus he sat down on the couch beside her sleeping form and pulled her into a gentle embrace without waking her. “I will protect you.” he whispered into her pointy ear before he closed his eyes and drifted off into a deep slumber.

The faint sound of someone else's breath woke the Kitten in the middle of the night ands her eyes shot open immediately. She barely remembered what had happened at the party and at first she panicked when she felt those big arms slung around her body. However, when she realized it was not Thor but Steve who pressed himself against her back she relaxed and closed her eyes, snuggling up against his broad chest and inhaling his scent before she fell asleep again.

*** “Good morning, Captain Teddybear!” Was the first thing Steve heard when he entered the kitchen area, his limbs still stiff from sleeping on the narrow couch. Being too tired for Tony's mocking he just rolled his eyes and walked towards the coffee machine. But the faint pink on the Captains' cheeks didn't elude Natashas' eyes when he passed. “It was late and I was drunk...” Steve replied while filling his cup with the dark liquor, hoping to be rid of his hangover soon. “That's how most of my stories begin!” As if the alcohol from last night had been flushed out of his organism completely, Tony sat casually at the dining-table and grinned from one ear to another. “You seem to have found yourself a nice cuddly toy?” “Quit it, Stark.” Not ready to deal with the cunning scientist this early, Steve shallowed down the coffee, then grabbed two plates full of biscuits and fruit and headed towards Natasha's room. “I like it, you know.” Clint said when the Captain was beyond ear-shot, gaining himself a puzzled look from Tony. “The 'man out of time' together with the 'woman out of a ball', huh? Isn't he a little bit too old for her?” “Well, we don't know how old she is precisely.” Bruce commented, slicing a ripe pear. “Sir, the results of the tests are available.” As soon as Jarvis said those words, Tony was on his feet and hurried towards the elevator. “What are we waiting for?!”

Five minutes later, the whole team, except for Steve was gathered in the lab, waiting impatiently for the results to be revealed. Even Thor had joined them, being too curious to stay at his room. “Report Jarvis!” “Yes, Sir. All vital signs are within a normal range for humans, noting exceptional and her body functions are equivalent to those of a human.” “And what about the scales?” Tony asked, not less tensed as the others were. “They are similar to reptile scales, however coated in vanadium and gold just like the sphere she emerged from. From the scans of the sphere it can be assumed that it is approximately over a thousand years old and although 'the Kitten' was born only days ago, the cells of her body have an age of about 25 years.” Everyone was silent, each wondering about what the AI had just said and Bruce walked over to the laptop to survey the results closer. “Fascinating... at such a speed...” “The fever attack was most likely connected to the subsequent growth spurt. And her cells are still very productive, suggesting that she will develop further.” Jarvis added while Tony joined Bruce behind the laptop. Thereupon, the Avengers started a heated discussion about the Kitten again, whether to perform further tests or what else could be done in order to discover the whole truth behind her. At least they knew for certain that she wasn't human and that there would be more surprising changes to her soon. But how to proceed, they didn't know. Exhausted and annoyed from the quarreling, Tony was about to banish everyone from his lab when Jarvis interrupted him. “One more thing, Sir. … The Kitten, her whole body emits very similar frequencies as does the scepter or Mjolnir.” A cold shudder ran down the Thunderer's spine as there was only one word spinning in his mind: Magic. And the one at hand was definitely of a strong kind if it truly resembled his hammer and Loki's scepter.

But does this imply that she is from Asgard? Could it be? Thor thought to himself as he crossed the lab and walked over to the opened golden sphere, examining the engravings thoroughly. If only I had paid more attention during our history lessons... Loki would have been able to read them for sure...Now there is only one who can help us.

Slowly Thor piled the petal like remains of the sphere and picked them up before the others noted. “What are you doing, Thor?” Clint said and suddenly everyone looked at the god suspiciously as one could never know what he was up to these days.

“If there is magic within her, she might be more dangerous than we could imagine and we are in dire need of the truth. These engravings might provide the key that we lack to uncover her secrets and there is but one who can grasp their meaning.” Thor's voice was low and commanding, leaving no option to argue with his decision to leave so his friends didn't stop him when he strode towards the balcony door. Seconds later, with his hammer risen to the sky, calling for the golden gatekeeper, the Thunderer was engulfed by white light. Then he was gone. *** Just ignore their gossip, Steve thought when he entered Natasha's room where found the Kitten already awake, sitting on the couch and smiling at him. "Here's your breakfast! Eat up, little Kitten!" he said as he handed her the plate, her smile widening at the gesture and Steve found himself lost in her sparkling eyes for a moment. Before he even realized he blushed slightly and quickly averted his gaze, focusing hard onto the biscuits on his plate while he sat down beside her. What a fruitless attempt to calm his nerves! Moved by his kindness, the black-haired woman leaned over and planted a feathery kiss onto the Captain's cheek which turned a strong shade of crimson in return when he realized what this soft touch had been. Being too perplex to usher any words, Steve stayed silent while they ate but occasionally he dared to look at her for a split second, his heart skipping a beat at her sight. She was truly beautiful, every move so smooth and graceful, her complexion stainless like porcelain while her shiny hair was black as night. And then there were her eyes, those deep pools of various shades of green which sparkled differently depending on the light. Admittedly, they were similar to the Tricksters' but there was one essential difference which Steve realized for the first time now.

There is no evil in her eyes... No sin has spoiled her yet.

The Captain was raised in a devout family, his faith in God being imperturbable and thus he also believed in the devil, or evil per se. And from all the childhood stories and pictures he remembered, pointed ears and a snake (or its scales) were a sign of Lucifer himself. An inner conflict spread in his mind and qualms poisoned his thoughts but when the Kitten looked at him, smiling ever so sweetly, his mental storm cleared completely. *** With long strides the God of Thunder strode through the vast hallways of the golden palace, a place of legends and myths, a place of glory and deepest sorrow, his home. The guards bowed as they opened the large door for Thor to pass, like they had done so many times before and as he walked further into the room he remembered one particular day of his past. It should have been the day of his triumph but it was the start of his family's downfall. Proudly and arrogantly he had crossed the room full of cheering citizens, his ego bloated by their flattering and when he reached the far end he was welcomed by friendly faces. Today he hurried across the marble floor, his expression stern and full of concern, and the once vivid throne room was deathly silent, the memories of happier times paining the god. However, on both days the end was the same: he knelt to one man in front of him. “Father.”

#thorxreader #loki x reader #the roll of thunder #romance and drama #fanfic

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