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ambssssssssss · 3 years

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part 2

Lena spent the drive to L-Corp trying to remember everything she could about what was going on with her company when she had first moved to National City. She remembered missing the Venture launch, and the explosion at the re-branding ceremony, but only because those events were so closely tied with the beginnings of her friendship with Kara. It was telling, Lena thought, that most of her memories of her first year in National City were intrinsically linked with her relationship with Kara, both as herself and as Supergirl. Still, it should be easy enough to familiar herself with L-Corps current projects and financial standings. Afterall, Lena had already dealt with this one before.

That reminded her that she should review her personal finances at the first opportunity. The sooner she could get Watchtower up and running, and by extension a lab that she could use to work on the projects that would help keep Kara alive, the better. She would take extra precautions to make sure that the property was not tied to L-Corp in any way, just in case. Even with the benefit of hindsight, Lex was still a genius and Lena would be a fool to underestimate him.

Jess was waiting for Lena just outside the elevator with a coffee in one hand and the first batch of paperwork for Lena to review in the other. Lena felt a surprising jolt of relief at the sight of her old assistant. Jess had always worked just as hard as Lena did, if not harder, and Lena had missed her greatly when she’d left. Having Jess back as her assistant again provided more comfort that Lena was expecting.

“Good morning, Ms. Luthor.” Jess greeted as Lena stepped out of the elevator.

“Good morning, Jess,” Lena accepted the coffee her assistant held out and gestured to the paperwork in Jess’ other hand. “What are we starting with?”

“Incident report,” Jess handed over the papers. “One of the technicians was working late last night in Lab C and they dropped a beaker. No one was injured and nothing was contaminated.”

“Good.” Lena began to make her way past Jess towards her office. “Call the technician responsible and have them meet me in the Lab in ten minutes.”

“Yes, Ms. Luthor, but what about the Venture launch? You need to leave in half an hour to make it to the launch site on time.”

“I suppose watching the launch on the news will have to do.” Lena offered Jess a kind smile. “Duty calls. Please draft an apology to the Venture Corporation.”

“Yes, Ms. Luthor.”

Knowing that Jess would do as Lena requested, the CEO made her way into her office. As the door swung closed behind her, Lena was accosted by her memories.

There isn’t a part of Lena’s office that doesn’t have a memory of Kara attached to it. Not the couch, where they had shared countless lunches and even a few dinners when Kara joined Lena for her nights working late in the office for no other reason than she wanted to keep Lena company. Many heartfelt conversations had happened on that couch and there had been more than one occasion where Lena was only a breath away from confessing her feelings to Kara only for someone to come in and interrupt them. The desk held similar memories but most of those were more oriented to the work that Lena and Kara would do together. Sometimes it was Kara interviewing Lena for an article, sometimes it was Lena using Kara as a sounding board as she worked through some issue with her latest projects, and sometimes it was both of them doing their own work as they shared Lena’s desk space.

Standing just inside her office door, Lena let the memories wash over her. For a moment Lena considered reaching for her phone to call Kara and invited her to lunch. Then Lena remembered that she and Kara hadn’t even met yet in this time. It felt exceedingly weird to think that that person Lena loved most in any world was now no more than a stranger to her.

Shaking her head to pull herself out of her memories, Lena continued on her journey to her desk. She put her purse, and thus the notebook contained therein, in the secured drawer of her desk before settling in to review the incident report. If all went as it had gone before, the next time Lena stepped into her office, it would be in the company of her favorite Kryptonian. With the reassurance that she was only hours away from seeing Kara again, alive and well, Lena left her office to begin her day in earnest.

Dealing with the incident report and reassuring the technician that they would not be losing their position at L-Corp took up the majority of Lena’s morning. She missed the beginning of the coverage on the Venture launch but tuned in time to see the explosion. Just as she had done that morning, Lena couldn’t help but stare in awe as Kara, Supergirl, swooped in to save the day with the help of Superman. Lena knew intellectually that her mission to travel to the past was a success, she had ample proof of that all around her, but she wouldn’t truly believe that Kara was alright until she saw her in person.

Which, if Lena remembered correctly, would happen in the next half hour.

Lena lingered in Lab C for long enough to ensure that the incident report was filed properly and then to help ensure that the technicians involved were back on track with the work they had been doing before she made her way back to her office. Thankfully alone in the elevator, Lena used the time travelling between floors to prepare herself for seeing Kara for the first time. She knows that she won’t be able to completely temper her reaction but as long as she can keep herself from acting like a blind woman seeing the sun for the first time, she figured she would be able to muddle through.

The elevator door opened with a soft ping and Lena stepped out. Her gaze immediately landed on the cardigan clad form of the woman she loved. Kara stood next to the strong, sure form of Clark Kent. A contrast to Clark’s easy confidence, Kara nervously played with the metal rings that bound her notebook together. Lena’s heart clenched painfully in her chest at the sight of Kara and it took every ounce of her will to keep herself from throwing her arms around Kara never letting go.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Kent?” With her expression schooled into a carefully neutral yet welcoming smile, Lena stepped the two guests in her office. She caught a whiff of Kara’s perfume as she passed and the familiar scent almost had Lena falling to her knees. Resolutely, she walked on with the two Kryptonians following behind her.

“Ms. Luthor,” Clark greeted her kindly, though Lena could tell his smile was a bit forced. “We just had a few questions for you about this morning.”

“The explosion on the Venture, you mean,” Lena poured herself a glass of water from the tumbler on her sidebar. She kept herself from looking at Kara by keeping her back turned to her until she was once again sitting behind her desk. Although she was speaking to Clark, Kara had commanded most of Lena’s attention. “You wouldn’t be asking me about this if my last name was Smith.”

“But it’s not. It’s Luthor.” Clark’s eyes are somewhat cold as his gaze stays fixed firmly on Lena. Lena spares another glance in Kara’s direction and finds her fiddling with her glasses. Lena conceals a fond smile at the familiar sight.

“Some steel under that Kansas wheat,” Lena says wryly. “Why don’t you ask me what you really came here to ask?”

“Why weren’t you on the Venture this morning?” The question was one that Lena would have expected even if she wasn’t having the same conversation for the second time. She sat back against her chair and crossed her legs.

“There was an accident in one of my labs. You can check the report yourself.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Kara spoke up for the first time. Lena couldn’t help the way her heartbeat increased at the sound and she wondered if Kara noticed. There was a barely noticeable tilt to Kara’s head and her brow was just barely pinched together, not quite enough for Lena to see the infamous crinkle but enough for her to know that Kara was concentrating on something. Lena fought off another smile at the familiar sight and the burst of warmth that flooded her being. Once again, right from the start, Kara was already jumping to her defense.

“And you are?” Lena fought to keep her tone even but curious.

“Kara Danvers,” Kara introduced herself. “I’m with CatCo.”

“I didn’t think CatCo was known for their hard hitting journalism.” A flush covered Kara’s cheeks as she mumbled an excuse. Lena indulged herself in her the sight for a moment before speaking again before she could do something idiotic, like kiss Kara right then and there. “I came to National City for a fresh start, for me and my company.”

“You’ll forgive me if I have trouble believing that.” There was that hint of steel in Clark’s voice again. Lena bristled slightly at the tone but refused to let the tension seep into her shoulders. She knew when she started this that she would have to win everyone’s trust again, not just Kara’s, but god she wished the process could be a little faster.

“I’m just a woman trying to make a name for herself outside of her family.” Lena spoke imploringly.”Can’t you understand that?”

“Yeah,” Kara’s agreement was followed by a soft smile. It wasn’t Lena’s smile yet, not the one full of unspoken promises, but it was perhaps the beginning of that.

“Alright then,” Clark said after a moment in which Lena realized she had simply been staring at Kara. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Luthor.”

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Kent.” Without conscious effort, Lena’s gaze softened as she looked at Kara. “Ms. Danvers.”

Both Krytponians heard the clear dismissal in Lena’s tone and began to make their way out of her office. Clark walked back to the elevator without pause but Kara hesitated in the doorway. Lena realized that Kara was still there and looked up from the paperwork she had turned her attention to. Their gazes met across the empty space of Lena’s office and, just for a second, Lena felt as though she was looking at her Kara. The Kara who knew all parts of Lena, good and bad, and loved her even so. Kara’s final words to Lena floated through her mind.

I’m always yours, Lena, even when I’m not.

“Is there something else I can do for you Ms. Danvers?”

“No, sorry,” Kara blinked twice and looked down to hide the blush coloring her cheeks. “Just...have a good day Ms. Luthor.”

“You as well, Ms. Danvers.” The smile Lena gave Kara as she bid goodbye was perhaps softer and much more loving that was appropriate for a woman she just met but Lena couldn’t bring herself to worry about that. Kara returned Lena’s smile and then made her way to where her cousin was waiting.

Once Kara was gone, Lena let herself slump back in her chair with a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob escaping her throat. Lena couldn’t decide if she was more relieved at seeing Kara alive again or if she was more scared that she would fail in the end and all of this would have been for nothing.

But no, even if Lena did fail, which she was more than sure that she wouldn’t, no time spent with Kara would ever be for nothing. Even if they were only ever friends, Lena would be content as long as Kara was alive to be her friend. She could earn Kara’s friendship back, at least, but could she actually save Kara? Only time would tell and that was the scariest part.

In the meantime, there was much to do, both to help Kara and to bring L-Corp back up to the levels that Lena knew her company to be capable of achieving. And, Lena thought gladly, her next appointment would aid her with both of those tasks.

#supercorp #supercorp fanfic #make your heart beat better #myhbb #myhbb 3 #part 3 of ?#also posted on ao3 #ambs writes #ambs fics

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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Indruck 22 for the meet uglies?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship

“...such a waste of money. I mean, why spend all that to get something tacky on your skin?”

Indrid rolls his eyes at Barclay from across the counter of the Amnesty Lodge coffee shop, the cooks arms and hands sporting a plethora of tattoos rivaled only by Indrid’s collection.

“I dunno, l like the one I got.” The other man--who seems to be on the worst first date of his life--shrugs.

“You honestly think you and Juno couldn’t have spent that money on something else in college?”

“I mean maybe but, uh, we were earnin our own cash, figured we got to decide what to spend it on.”

“Hmmmm” the first guy sips his coffee, “sounds like a typical excuse for someone who doesn’t want to admit a mistake.”

“C’mon, that ain’t fair-”

“Ugh, stop saying ain’t! I can’t take someone who talks like that to meet my family.” Before the target of his disdain can respond, he snaps his fingers, “hey, buddy, can I get a refill or what?”

“The station for black coffee refills is right there, sir.” Barclay indicates the very obvious corner of dispensers, his voice the kind of calm that Indrid knows means he’s memorizing this guys face to warn other staff about.

They earn a brief reprieve while The Asshole leaves the table. When he returns, he’s shaking his head.

“God, have you looked at the photos they’ve got up? Who the fuck wants to look at bones?”

Indrid quickly glances at his friend to be sure he’s permitted to start a fight. Barclay nods.

“Quite a lot of people.” Indrid spins on his stool. “I’ve sold a number of them just from the display here. So perhaps you could keep your rude, unclultured, close-minded, obnoxious mouth shut.”

The man balks, looks to his companion for help. He offers none, mouth trying to form words and only coming out with halves of ones (except for the “fucks” which are plentiful).

“Oh my fucking god, you agree with him! That’s it, I’m out.” The Asshole pushes back from the table and storms out. The remaining man leaps up, panicked.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay man, shitty first dates happen to all of us.” Barclay offers from beside the bakery case.

“I mean yeah, they do, but that wasn’t one of ‘em. That was my boyfriend of three fuckin years.” He dashes out of the shop, sparing a final glare at Indrid as he does.

Indrid trades a sheepish look with his friend, “Oops.”

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

“I’m glad you finally get to meet Duck!” Aubrey grins over her shoulder as she and Indrid wind down the hall at the office Kepler magazine.

Founded by childhood friends, Kepler worked a combination of print and video content that saw its subscribers and revenue climb while other publications struggled to stay afloat. Aubrey was head of the video team, though she contributed content to the magazine in the form of interviews about environmental activists of color and sustainable gift guides.

Kepler has three sections: travel, science, and environmental writing. Indrid now has the honor of being one of their primary photographers. He started two weeks ago and is thoroughly enjoying his work and the company of the other staff. The only person he’s yet to meet is Duck Newton, one of the founders and main reporters, as he was off on an assignment.

Aubrey knocks, gets a friendly “come in” and ushers Indrid into the office.

Looking at him from behind the desk is The Asshole’s Boyfriend, whose face goes from open and friendly to confused, then to perturbed.

“You okay?”

“I, uh, fuck, n-ye.” Duck sighs, “remember how I told you Alex and I split after a shitty date in a coffee shop?” He points at Indrid, “this was the fella who, uh, expedited the process.”

“Ohhhh.” Aubrey frowns, then shrugs with a smile, “whelp, he’s our new photographer. We’ll see you around.” She hurries them outside once more, shutting the doors. As they head back the way they came, she whispers, “his ex was a huge fucking dick, so if word gets out everyone is gonna think you’re a fucking hero.”

“He didn’t seem to see it that way.”

“It was only a few weeks ago, so it’s still pretty fresh. He’ll heal from it okay, Duck’s a tough cookie. And I’m sure you guys’ll get along eventually.”

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

“Juno, please, you gotta come with me.”

“I would bud, except it’s April and I’s fifth wedding anniversary that weekend. And no, we already have plans, so we can’t just take over this assignment as part of the celebration.”

“Fuck” Duck leans back in his chair.

“...You really asked everyone?”

“Ye-no, fuck-”

“Duck.”

“I ain’t asked Indrid yet.”

“There it is.” Juno smirks, “you gotta ask; besides, we were gonna have him do illustrations for the feature, but photos would be even better. And we both know it ain’t his fault y’all broke up.”

Duck nods, promises to ask Indrid after lunch. He finds the photographer flipping through his files from his shoot for next issues cover. His silver hair is pulled back, red glasses sitting on the desk beside him so he can gauge color correctly.

Duck kind of wants to pull the silver locks just to see what happens. It’s not his fault Indrid looks like his Sophomore roommate who he had a raging crush on, only with more tattoos and a much more captivating face. Pity he helped fuck up Duck’s last chance at a stable relationship.

“Hey, Indrid, you got a minute?”

The photographer cocks his head.

“I, uh, so we got a feature on this whole chunk of places touting themselves as ‘sustainable romantic getaways. I booked a bunch of places, but a lot of ‘em will turn me away if I turn up solo. And the person I was supposed to go with ain’t an option any more. Neither is anyone else. You get my drift?”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “you realize this is a terrible idea, yes?”

“Hey, we been workin together just fine. Ain’t we? Wait, fuck, I ain’t been treatin you bad even when I’m tryin to be professional, am I?”

“No, you’ve been perfectly polite. But there’s a world of difference between being cordial in an office and going on what’s functionally a vacation together.”

Duck crosses his arms, “I ain’t about to lose eight hundred bucks in deposits.”

Indrid blinks, then chuckles, “Fair. What day do we leave?”

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The temperature rises and the air dries as they speed south on Five. Indrid fiddles with games on his phone as cover for the list of “will this be a disaster or not” he’s mentally constructing. So far the signs are positive; Duck isn’t very chatty, but neither is Indrid. They have similar tastes in music, which makes much more sense when Duck explains he was a burn-out in high school. He also isn’t agitated by Indrid stimming, which makes it easier for the photographer to relax and enjoy the drive.

But they haven’t spoken about the elephant in the car, and Indrid resolves not to be the first to do so. No point in poking the sore spot if he doesn’t have to.

They stop at a Sinclair for gas. Duck reaches into his glovebox for something as Indrid climbs out, comes away with a photo instead. It’s one of those ones from a photobooth, faded but unmistakably him and his ex. His face falls for a second and Indrid scurries into the Dairy Queen attached to the convenience store.

As he waits in line, he turns one fact over in his mind like a picture he’s trying to make sense of; it would be easier to let their awkward first meeting go if he did not genuinely like the other man. He’s charming, in a quiet way, and very friendly. He’s built like the guys Indrid always got useless crushes on in college, usually third tier frat boys or--if he was lucky--a bear a few years older than him who liked his men on the odd side.

He doesn’t like seeing Duck sad. The sadness isn’t something he can fix. The stalemate between these two facts annoy the living hell out of him.

He’s next in line, glances up to confirm what he wants, and gets an idea. Last week, he overheard Duck talking with Aubrey about roadtrip snacks of their youth.

“One chocolate dipped cone, on me.” He holds the treat out to the other man.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. These are my favorite from when I was a kid.” Duck’s smile returns.

“I remembered. Or, ah, that is, I remembered you saying that.”

The smile changes, ��you didn’t need to.”

“I wanted to. Shall we?”

“Yep. Uh, you gonna be able to drive and eat that at the same time?”

“Do not doubt my ability to consume ice cream under difficult circumstances, Duck Newton.”

They make it to their first stop unscathed. It’s what Duck refers to as, “eco-bespoke,” a fancy spa and hotel built in a former school, the kind that was made in an era of beautiful instead of grim educational architecture.

“Goats!” Indrid claps his hands, delighted, at the two animals stabled near the main building. One of it’s supposed sustainable elements is the small farm that helps feed the on-site restaurant. Duck smirks and Indrid suddenly feels the gulf in their upbringings, “Ah, I suppose they’re not exciting to someone who grew up in a rural town.”

“Nah, but they’re damn cute.” Duck checks the tag on their room keys, “okay, we’re in the green building, room 2B.”

Indrid snaps some photos as they cross the grounds, more to remind himself of things he wants to come back to later than anything else. He’s busy studying a strange mark on the wall by their door when Duck says, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why--oh” he stares at the single bed, “in retrospect, we should have seen this coming.”

“Yeah.” Duck drops his bag near the closet, slides the door to look for spare linens. Indrid summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so bolsters it with nonchalance.

“It’s a king, we could easily share.”

“You’d, uh, you’d be okay with that?”

“It is only narrow definitions of masculinity that mean something like sharing a bed is inherently sexual.”

He’s not entirely sure that made sense, but Duck nods, “You want the right side or left?”

“Right, please.”

“Great. And, uh, Indrid? Thanks for rollin with all this. I, uh, I know it’s fuckin weird but this is a huge feature for the magazine and we woulda been fucked if we had to pull it.”

Indrid gingerly sits on his side of the bed, “You’re welcome. And I don;t know about you, but” he smiles, catches Duck watching him intently in the mirror, “I’m enjoying myself so far.”

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

“Why has an activity that renders one incapable of using their thighs been deemed ‘romantic?” Indrid mumbles, face-down on the bed to offer his burning legs relief.

“Fuck if I know.” Duck groans as he sits next to him, “Kinda fun, but if I was doin this to get you in bed, I’d be fucked.”

“I am in bed” Indrid teases.

“And if I tried to put the moves of you you’d toss me outta it. Assumin I could even move myself that close.” Duck nudges him, then clears his throat, “uh, I mean, not like we’d be doin that-”

“Nono, point taken.” Indrid rolls over. The horseback ride was one of the “couples exclusives;” a trot out to a beautiful oasis for a gourmet picnic. Indrid got some excellent shots, including one of Duck with honeycomb dripping down his chin, which he will not be offering up to editors but may keep for himself. For it’s beautiful composition, of course.

Mercifully, their next stop is the pool. Indrid settles himself in the hot tub while Duck types some notes on his phone. Then his friend doffs his bathrobe and Indrid may as well be in a dream. In the steaming, echoing paradise of multi-colored tile and ecstatic shouts, Duck stands like one of the angelic fountains at its heart has come to life.

“You okay there, ‘Drid?”

“Yes.” He hopes his lack of glasses means Duck will mistake his blatant staring for trying to get his vision in focus.

“Then scoot your cu--uh, your butt over so I can sit down.”

Indrid gladly moves aside, finds he’s so comfortable with Duck pressed against him that he begins nodding off in the warm lull of the water. When the other man nudges him, saying it’s time to go, he finds a strong arm draped over his shoulder and Duck’s smile the most relaxed it’s been all trip.

Their last task at this location is to locate the speakeasy somewhere on the premises and order the “lovers delight” (only available to couples). To do so, they follow clues purple light bulbs, doors that lead to tiny, art-filled rooms, secret staircases, and a false supply closet to a dark wooded, dimly lit, incredibly pleasant bar looking out over the property. The drink turns out to be a massive goblet (more a bowl that someone stuck on a stem) of ginger syrup, prickly pear juice, and silver tequila.

It also turns out to be incredibly strong. So much so that when they get back to the room, Indrid loses his balance getting his shoes off, which makes Duck laugh, which results in both of them flopping onto the bed.

“S’fun. You’re, you’re real good at the clues. Should, should go to an escape room when we get home.”

“Wasn’t, hic, that hard. They, they want, hic, want you to find it.”

“Take the compliment, goofus” Duck pushes his shoulder.

“You’re, hic, the goofus.”

“Nuh uh.” Duck sticks his tongue out. Indrid does the same, then licks his cheek just to hear him laugh.

Duck rolls onto his back, giggles dying down to a contemplative sigh, “He woulda hated this.”

“Your ex?” Indrid crawls to stay close to him.

“Yeah. Everythin I like, or, or thought was fun, he thought it was a waste of time or just plain worthless. He, he wasn’t like that at the start. Dunno what changed. Probably me. Probably got borin. Got worse.”

Indrid is not so drunk that he believes he can fix this. But he’s just drunk enough to stroke Duck’s cheek and murmur, “No. Nono, hic, you’re th’best.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep after that, but he must have, because his phone is beeping at them to get up and face the day. They do so with to-go coffees in one hand and their bags in the other, neither speaking of the night before until Indrid has turned the car into deeper desert.

“Sorry for gettin on a thing about Alex last night.”

“It was a three year relationship; goodness knows you’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

“Even relief?”

Indrid glances at him, “Of course.”

His friend leans back in his seat, sipping from his travel mug, “That’s half the reason I been in such a funk. I feel like I oughta be sad, then I feel guilty for the fact I’m relieved instead. But if I really was that unhappy in it, why did I hang around so long? Maybe that was the best I deserved, y’know?”

“I know the feeling, yes, but I can’t say I agree with your statement. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are and adores it, not someone who loved what you once were and became bitter when you grew.”

Duck looks at the console between them, at Indrid’s chipped black nails and the hand he hopes isn’t shaking. He squeezes it a moment longer than necessary, “Thanks, ‘Drid. It’s nice to hear that from someone who’s still gettin to know me. Juno and them, they’re my friends, I know they’re in my corner but, uh, sometimes I worry that anyone new is gonna find me dull or somethin like that.”

“I’m sure some people would, just as some take one look at me and decide I’m a weirdo who they don’t want to deal with. But I can say with certainty that I don’t find you that way.”

Duck grins all the way to their destination. It’s a quirky trailer park full of amenities and built mostly from salvaged materials, doing it’s best to run off the grid. It also gives each trailer a theme, and Indrid flaps his hands when he sees they’ve been booked in the “The Cramps” themed one.

“Hell yeah.” Duck mirrors his excitement as they open the door. Their haven from the desert sun is full of kitschy horror artifacts and a much smaller bed than the previous spot. There’s no debate this time; Indrid settles on the right, Duck on the left, and they settle in for a nap before venturing out to work.

They take in the bar, the arcade, the mini-golf course, and the “couples supply room” (“damn, didn’t know they made eggnog scented massage oil” “ooh, I like how that smells”), but Duck turns out to be most excited to rent a stargazing kit and guide Indrid out into the dark desert. They’re on their backs, shoulder to shoulder and munching chocolate covered fruit, when he discovers the source of his glee.

“There!” Duck points to a crackling streak of silver.

“A meteor” Indrid wiggles happily as a second one speeds through his view.

“It’s the Perseids, and this is a damn good place to watch ‘em. Look, there’s another one.” He’s breathless each time and Indrid’s heart threatens to beat hard enough to crack the earth at the sound.

“Did you ever wish on stars when you were little?”

“Yep. Never asked for much worth notin, though I’m pretty sure I wished once to just wake up and be a boy. Or, uh, guess for everyone to see me as one. What about you?”

“I wished...I wished for someone to do things like this with, some who’d kiss me and tell me that they didn’t need to wish because what they wanted was right here.. I love the world, I want to see so much of it, that’s half the reason I chose my profession.. But when I was young I thought I’d be with someone when I did. I thought it was easy to find that kind of love. To be worthy of it.”

“Hey now” Duck rolls onto his side. He’s backlit by the moon, meteors zipping behind him as if they, just like Indrid, are pulled to him, “what happened to all the stuff you said in the car about deservin someone who adores you?”

“It’s easy to apply such things to you, harder to believe them about myself.”

“How come?”

“Because you are everything a sensible person could want in a man and I am not.”

“That’s where you’re wrong” He sets a hand next to Indrid’s shoulder, “Can think of at least one sensible fella who wants to get to know you a whole hell of a lot.”

“He’ll get to know me plenty, we’re co-workers.”

“There are different kinds of gettin to know someone.” Duck dips down, brushes their noses together, “for instance, the last few days I’ve gotten to know you’re a damn good travel companion and that Ned was smart to hire you. But I’ve also gotten to know there’s some things about you I really wanna know.”

“Such as?” Indrid’s fingers find Duck’s sides.

“Such as whether you wanna go on a date with me when we get back. No assignment, just the two of us gettin some time together.”

“I want nothing more.” He leans up to kiss him, feels him shudder happily when their lips meet. Indrid wonders how long it’s been since someone kissed Duck like they meant it, and resolves to make up any deficits with an enthusiasm that would put horny eighteen year olds to shame.

Indrid nips Ducks ear, “you know, were it not for the threat of mosquitos and scorpions, I’d suggest we make good use of the non-food items in that basket.”

Ducks grin lights Indrid up like a comet, “Then howsabout we go test just how conducive our trailer is to romance?”

Indrid kisses him adoringly, “Lead on, sweetheart; I’ll follow you anywhere.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #meet ugy

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cherry3point14 · 4 years

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One Helluva Car

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Minor car fetish, one paragraph of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smut, a little jealous!Dean, this is crack babes’, I can’t stress this enough: car fetish Word Count: 3,500. Summary: Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world and then one day she sees Baby... A/N: @alexwinchester23 hit me up a THOUSAND years ago with the prompt: dean x reader where she is more “in love” with deans car and it makes him a little jelly lol. And I was like, ha ha ha sure I’ll write it. It’s been half written ever since. So, I finished it. Someone please be proud of me for finishing. (Not like that you animals.) This also fills Driving In The Impala for @spndeanbingo

It’s Monday lunchtime when you see it. Her? It looks like a her. The best cars are ‘hers’ and even from a distance, she has curves that only a good woman could possess.

You’ve had a morning of shitty, old trucks that have been run hard for too long, and new cars that you plug into the computer to diagnose, which takes all the fun out of life. It’s easy to see a mile off that she isn’t shitty or bogged down with modern tech. She’s a well looked after classic. A thing of beauty. A freaking masterpiece. She’s polished enough that the sun bounces off of her black surface like she’s made of glass.

If only your arms weren’t laden with brown paper bags of food you’d take a detour to get a closer look. You could ghost your hand over her hood and take a look at the interior. You bet it’s the softest fucking leather your ass would ever hope to feel.

You’d generally drool over her without actually drooling because God knows spit is not good for the paintwork. Unfortunately, you do have bags filled with hot, meaty subs intended to feed your workforce. And you’re wise enough to know that making a garage of hungry mechanics wait for their lunch is not a good move. It’ll only result in some sort of unnecessary disaster this afternoon that you, their boss, will have to fix or pay for. Or both.

The only thing you can do is take one last look at her, memorize that beautiful shape while you heft the bags closer to your chest and carry on walking. It’s not like you’ve never seen a good old fashion American muscle car before, you have your own ‘70 Mustang at home.

It’s just… this is a Chevvy Impala, arguably the first car to flex its muscles. You don’t see one of those every day.

Your hobby is like a much cooler version of birdwatching. You have an appreciation for cars, classics in particular. The craftsmanship, the design, and the sounds they make as they tear through the world like moving time capsules. Nothing generated by a low emission engine compares.

That’s how you spot her for the second time, on Wednesday.

Well, you hear her first.

You’re closing up for the night. Everyone goes home early on Wednesdays, the shop closes at three, except for you. There’s always paperwork that needs to be done and you hate the idea of taking it home if you can help it. Taking a car home you’re always happy to do, but paperwork? You refuse to dirty your private space like that.

It’s just before six when you’re locking the doors and thunder screams in the distance. At least you think it’s thunder, you wonder where the clouds are until it moves too fast to be a weather condition.

The closer it gets the more the sound transforms into pure, uncut horsepower. It’s the deep rumble of an engine that demands to be heard. It tears your attention to it whether you like it or not. An announcement of the coming vehicle before it arrives.

Then she glides around the corner of Maple and Third before peeling down the street past you. It’s her again, she’s still in town. You know it’s the same car, she isn’t a vehicle made for stealth and your little ol’ town isn’t exactly heaving with beauties like her.

You know she’s not a local, it must be a flying visit, you’re lucky enough to have seen her again before she left. Not just seen her though, heard her. Heard her engine and the screech of her tires on the tarmac. Experiencing her in action is breathtaking enough that you gawp at her like an idiot as she zooms away.

It’s not a fetish or anything. You don’t exactly cuddle an exhaust pipe in bed. You appreciate cars more than your job requires you to, simple. It’s a respect that was drilled into you from a young age. Your dad owns a franchise of shops across the state and never had the boy he always wanted. He didn’t mope about it, he taught you to fix an engine instead. To appreciate every individual piece like an unsolved puzzle. And because your dad is a big ol’ softie he taught you that classic cars can’t be beaten, he favors Camaros in particular. He gave you a garage to work in until you’d labored enough to earn it for keeps and manage it as your own. Your dad raised you to bleed motor oil and sweat gasoline.

Cars are your life. Ok, maybe you’re a bit of a gearhead is all. You can’t help it if that Impala is a fine wine you want to uncork.

You watch the street lights make a hazy path for her to follow, another corner and she’s gone.

At home, you curl up on your sofa and scroll through your usual sites to see how much your own Impala would cost. In good condition, you’d have to sell one of the two cars you already have but there’s this smashed up ‘68 in New Jersey that might be worth the drive for the price. It would basically be a new car by the time you rebuild it but that doesn’t matter. All you needed were the bones of the thing and you never shy away from a project that involves weeks of hunting down original parts, that’s half the fun. For tonight at least it gets bookmarked. The decision left for another day, if it still seems like a good idea in the morning then you’ll make the call.

Hell, maybe tomorrow you’ll see something else and forget all about her. Maybe.

Good looking guys come through town from time to time but Dean is a rare treat. He’s the picture next to ‘handsome’ in the dictionary. He’s got these full lips that you’ve stared at, without an ounce of shame, while he sucks on a beer bottle. A jawline covered in scruff that you’ve already imagined between your thighs. And then there are those hands of his. It could be your line of work but you always loved a man with hands like his. Broad hands and thick fingers. Mechanic hands you’d call them, you half wish they were covered in oil and grease.

He was tapping away on the bar for a while, drumming aimlessly while you drank, but now he’s toppled in your direction. He’s standing between his barstool and yours, while you're still seated, which makes you the perfect height for him to slip an arm around you. His thumb has settled in on tracing the edge of your jeans while he talks to you, tickling your back where your tank had ridden up.

Honestly? He doesn’t even need to be a good lay to be worth the trip to bed.

“I know you said you’re in town with your brother…”

He winces at the start of your sentence, “with the things I’m thinking about doing to you honey, you can’t go mentioning Sammy at the same time.”

Underneath the stained overalls, you’re still a woman and you’re not sure if there’s anyone alive who could resist Dean’s charms. When you laugh at his ridiculous propositioning, you don’t even try to fight when it tails off into a giggle.

“I was going to ask if you had your own room? Or are we going back to my place?”

You’d almost think he’d been playing it cool up until this point. Everything had been measured and smooth. But you ask him that and he finally cracks, urgency slips through that charm offensive. He tilts his head forward as his face hardens into something intense, eyes hooded under the light of the bar. His hand slides up underneath your top enough that his whole palm skates against your skin. “How about a compromise? My car, your place?”

You lean in until you’re almost touching his lips, your tongue peeks out to wet them and flicks against his, taunting. “Deal."

He doesn’t need to know that you walked here and needed a ride home anyway. That's irrelevant.

Stumbling out of the bar is messy. Not because of the alcohol, neither of you have drunk that much, it’s his hands on your waist. They’re possessive and so there.

Maybe he’s not so bad in bed. Maybe he’s actually, pretty good in…

Oh fuck. It’s her.

You’re stopped in your tracks by the sight of your very own white whale. Well, black and shiny Impala but the metaphor stands.

You stop and Dean bumps into you, not expecting it so soon. For a brief moment, you’re frozen in awe, reverence. Even in the dark, she’s perfect. Street lights bouncing off of her smooth exterior. The night is chilly and there’s a hint of condensation creeping around the edges of the windshield which only serves to make her sparkle.

“Wow, she’s-”

“Mine?” Dean finishes, a wry grin on his face and keys dangling from those fingers you’d been drooling over moments ago. Fuck him and his fingers now.

“Shit, Dean. I’ve been seeing this car all week. She’s beautiful.” You walk towards her, carefully, in case you spook her. She’s an old soul, probably jumpy. Your hand reaches out but doesn’t touch her yet because you’re being respectful.

You’d have thought Dean might have appreciated your care. Instead, he laughs and it catches you off guard. You whip your head back around to glare at him and he encourages you, “she won't bite.”

When you finally make contact she’s cool and glossy under your touch, but even so, you don’t run your hand over her like you want to. You can feel the waxed surface that you don’t want to ruin. You know how much effort goes into a good wax job like this. Instead, you trade your whole hand for your fingertips and trace her edges as if trying to remember her shape for when you rebuild your own.

“Ahem.” In the distance, Dean clears his throat. Sucks for him. You’ve got a new love interest.

“Sweetheart?” He asks again, stepping up closer to you as if you didn’t hear him. He sounds needy like he wants you, but it’s edged with this vulnerable envy. You already noticed his bright green eyes in the bar, now you're wondering if there’s a different green-eyed monster at play.

He needs to understand, you saw the car first. She’s held your heart all week, Dean piqued the interest of your lady parts about half an hour ago. You might say age before beauty but this Impala has Dean beat on both fronts, older and more beautiful.

“Where’d you get these rims, if I didn’t know better I’d almost say they’re original,” you spare him a glance over your shoulder. “But I do know better.”

He looks like he’s struggling with not having your full attention, you’d almost say he’s pouting. Then he sticks out his bottom lip and he's definitely pouting. He shuffles from foot to foot and steels his jaw. It makes it even more difficult for him then when you ask questions that he wants to answer. You can see the cogs turning where he’s trying to work out if he should encourage your interest or not. As much as he wants sex, in the end, the gearhead wins out.

“Fixed her up a lot over the years, found those in a junkyard if you believe it.” He steps up next to you now with a proud smile.

“I can believe it. I’ve seen the stuff people throw away. They’re perfect. Can I?” You slide out your phone and wave it at him.

He nods, although a little dumbstruck.

You bend down and snap a picture, explaining. “I was looking at a sixty-eight to rebuild, maybe. Actually, yours gave me the idea, saw her and couldn’t get her out of my head. I have a friend who might be able to help me out with these.”

“You wanna build one?” He sounds interested but not enough to get him off track. The track being you.

“Yeah. I told you I’m a mechanic. Building these things is in my blood.”

The air is cool and you start to feel it, not having intended being outside this long. He sees you shiver and steps behind you running his hands up and down your arms. “Sixty-eight ain’t a sixty-seven though, is it?” He asks, voice dripping with cocky arrogance about his car.

Oh, fuck. He’s figured out the way to your heart. He’s got you all turned around and leaning against her. Back pressed against her metal and glass enough that you’ll be feeling her for weeks.

“No, it’s not…”

“Wanna ride my Baby?” Dean presses his lips to the corner of your mouth with the question, leaving enough space for you to let out an almost inaudible gasp.

You’d be inclined to say men name their cars the dumbest shit sometimes but ‘Baby’ fits somehow. It’s perfect. She’s Baby.

“Yeah,” you nod. Right now, it's all you’ve ever wanted.

He walks you to the passenger’s side door and opens it’s for you. It’s not even romantic, it’s a fucking turn on.

Maybe you do have a car fetish. You should probably figure that out, like, another day.

In the time it takes Dean to strut to the other side you have sunk into the leather and just as you imagined, it’s soft. Worn and loved, like everything else about this beauty. This is what’s makes her special and that’s why you would have to love your own extra hard. To make up the years of neglect.

“Ready to go?”

He’s looking at you, smirking in your peripheral, and you’re looking at his fingers on the keys. You know what’s going to happen when he turns them. You’re still not prepared.

“Let’s do it.” A grin slides onto your face.

She rumbles to life beneath you. The vibrations from her engine shudder through the seat straight to your core. From there you swear the horsepower zips to every nerve ending in your body like electricity powering a city. And the sound could strike you down. She somehow purrs and roars at the same time. Each rev is a scream but her engine sings between each turn.

“Two eighty-three?” You ask, bottom lip caught behind your teeth.

“Get out of here with that two eighty-three crap. She’s a three twenty-seven.” He snaps, but not really, pressing his foot on the gas again just to see you quiver. Another rotation of the engine, her power, rolls through you.

He pulls out onto the road, leaving the dive behind, and drifts a little as he does, the back of her floating into the road. You slide over the seat an inch and he’s half focused on you, half focused on driving, so you're not even sure if he planned it. You scoot closer to him and he weighs his arm, the one not currently steering, around your shoulders. You’re becoming increasingly aware that the car smells like him, or he smells like her. Leather, sweet and spicy, musky. It’s a complicated mix where you’re not sure whether it's more her or him. You want to wrap yourself up in it all the same but Baby can’t wrap you up, Dean can.

“Dean I… Next left… I really, really love this car.”

He licks his lips as he looks down at you, his pupils wide, probably has a clear view of your chest, “yeah? How much, sweetheart?”

“A lot.” You pant in his ear, teeth grazing his lobe. “Second right, then it’s the third house on the left.”

A growl comes out of him. Determined. And you’re not so sure you care about fucking Dean anymore but each time you work him up a little higher, he revs that gorgeous engine and you get to feel that thunder. It’s the best circle jerk you could imagine, everyone is truly happy.

He pulls up in front of your house in record time because Baby is gunning 285 horsepower, so she’s not exactly going to be beat.

The problem, that you hadn’t really planned on, is arriving at your destination. As soon as he cuts the engine you puncture. Missing the everything about her straight away and wishing you’d kept driving for hours. Still, you have the scent of leather everywhere, burdening your senses with the smell of a bygone era. You hike a leg over Dean and sit in his lap. A knee either side of his thighs, denting her seats and Baby’s steering wheel holding the curve of your ass. Your hands skip Deans’ shoulders in favor of the seat behind him, the cushioned bench under the pads of your fingers, as you attach your mouth to his. Sandwiched between Baby and Dean, and you never want to leave the spot.

Your tongue curls into his mouth at the same time that he presses his fingers into your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises. You’ve never worried about a tight grip on you before but he starts pulling you towards him and away from where you’re wedged on Baby. The more you lean your body into Dean, the less you feel his car.

“Baby.” You murmur into him. Dean must mistake it to be a pet name you’re borrowing, calling him, because he pulls you again. Actually you’re telling him where you want to be, to stay.

Here. With Baby.

“This is a nice neighborhood.” He hums in this tone that’s deep but it doesn’t go through you like the sound of a turbo V-8. “We should take this inside.”

He’s right. Carl from the damn neighborhood watch is probably already doing just that, watching. The pervert.

“Right, sure.” You agree despite the way your stomach drops at the thought of leaving her.

You’re all untangling limbs getting out and he kisses you once more against Baby before you allow him to drag you away. It already feels different, normal, boring.

Dean’s fine, he’s good, he’s handy. Like you’d thought he would be.

You wrap your mouth around his dick because you’ve always liked looking up through your lashes and seeing the way a guy goes breathless on your tongue. He works you open on his thick fucking fingers until the pressure in your stomach snaps with his thumb circling your clit. He pushes into you and the stretch, the burn, is perfect. Dean is better in bed than you’d expected him to be.

And yet, it’s empty. Dulled. It doesn’t scratch the itch like good sex used to. The whole experience dampened compared to what you’d felt sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy Impala.

You slip on some oversized shirt from your floordrobe to walk him out when he leaves. Neither of you under any impression that he’s staying the night. He’s got this satisfied grin on his face that he hasn’t been able to wipe off since the first time he came. He stops at your doorstep, “thanks, sweetheart. This was fun.”

“Sure was,” you agree, not giving him the full story. Standing at your doorway you’re looking at Baby instead of Dean, again. “Let me know if you’re still in town tomorrow, I’d love to go for another ride.”

He nods and backs away a few steps until he’s in your line of sight along with his car, “will do, baby.”

He must think you mean sex. You wouldn't be opposed to it but you mean a drive. A real drive with wide roads, and opening the taps. You can break that to him tomorrow if he does give you that call. If he doesn't then there's only one thing you need to say before he leaves. One thing you can't let her leave without saying.

“One helluva car you got there, Dean.”

Second A/N: Look, this didn’t start out as a full on car fetish but I was writing it and SOMETIMES I HAVE NO CONTROL. Sometimes these characters they say, “fuck you!” and do what they want. I was going to write a nice little jealousy thing. Dean wants some attention. That’s all. You only have yourselves to blame readers!

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer @iamabeautifulperson18 @erins-culinary-service

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marinaaniseed · 4 years

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Dark ‘n’ Stormy, Pt. 11

Summary: It’s the day after the stuffing chapter. New Asgard decides which system of government it wants. Not much smut, an awful lot of politics.

Length: 6.9k. A more sensible person than me might try to edit this down, but honestly, I feel like you’d all be horribly disappointed if I didn’t write all the words.

Warnings: Eh the usual. Kinky food stuff, smut, drinking, swearing, mental health wonkiness, Asgardian politics, body shaming, intrusive media, social media shittiness, uncomfortable family relationships, mentions of starting a family, mentions of dead characters, smutty pictures, some ridiculously long speeches that might give you feels. I think that’s it.

Notes: This chapter, quite literally, took months to write. Apologies, therefore, if it’s a bit disjointed or I contradict myself. This bad boy is now over 50k in total (!) It took a while, because I couldn’t quite decide how I wanted it to go. Also, writing a story a day for the entire year is quite time consuming and a really fucking terrible idea. Typos and errors are all my own but please alert me to anything spectacularly bad so I can fix. I’ve not given this any distance, so I am hella word-blind.

Also, one of you gets a mention :P

Need a reminder of what’s happened? Pt. 10 & the masterlist.

If you like what I do, please let me know.

It wasn’t the cockerels crowing that woke you, but the dogs excitedly greeting someone.

“Whuh time issit?” you mumbled into Thor’s hair, your hand resting on his still full tummy as you spooned the sleepy Thunder God.

“Too early.”

He wasn’t wrong. Groggily you pulled yourself away, rummaging around for something to throw on so you could investigate who your visitor was.

Opening the bedroom door, you spied the Valkyrie crouched down by the settee, rubbing Geri’s tummy.

“Why?” you asked, not really awake enough to form a proper question.

“Why what?” Valkyrie responded, continuing to fuss the dog at her feet.

“Why are you here? Now? At this godforsaken time?”

“Has Thor forsaken this time in particular?”

Your glare said it all.

“I jest, sorry. Have you been online? Checked your phone? Seen or heard the news?”

“For fuck’s sake, Brunnhilde,” you said, startling the dogs and finally rousing Thor, “I’ve literally just gotten up. Because of you. When would I have done any of that? And why does it matter?”

“I’ll make the coffee, you go get Thor.”

You’d barely turned and taken a step, when you collided with the solid mass that was your lover.

“What’s wrong? Why is the Valkyrie here?” he asked, holding you to his stomach.

“Not a fucking clue.”

You weren’t exactly a morning person. Even less so after a few cocktails, and when your awakening had been rude. Not the good kind of rude, either. Thor knew, from prior experience, that waking you unexpectedly was like deciding to disturb a wasp’s nest. Nothing good would come of it and it wasn’t something you’d likely repeat in a hurry. You were a surly, venomous grump, sure to sting whatever had disturbed you.

Either Brunnhilde was more foolhardy than he thought, or something was seriously wrong.

Brunnhilde returned to find you slouched on the settee, buried in Thor’s hoodie with the hood pulled up and over, almost to the point of covering your eyes, in a vain attempt at ignoring the world. The steaming mug of caffeine placed on the table next to you was met with a snort of derision, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that Thor sat next to you, before pulling you onto his lap. Maybe whatever had brought the Valkyrie would concern only him, and you could doze off against his chest.

“Did you enjoy your pizza last night?” Brunnhilde asked, breaking the frosty silence.

“Yes,” Thor smiled at the memory. “How did you know we had pizza?”

“That’s what brought me here. I’m sorry it’s so early.”

Why would pizza have brought her here, Thor wondered. Did she need a recipe? Did she have some left over? Was she planning to open a pizza place in New Asgard?

“Someone… someone, erm, they snapped some pictures of you. The two of you. In the restaurant. They must’ve recognised you.”

“So?” Thor queried softly, hoping that you had begun to return to sleep in his arms.

“Well, they sold them to some media people. You’re, erm, trending on Twitter. I wanted to tell you before you saw for yourselves, some of the reporting is… unflattering.”

Yeah. Thor could already picture it. Being fat and in the public eye was just a magnet for the worst kind of people.

“If they’ve worked out who Y/N is, it’s not been published yet, but it’s only a matter of time,” Brunnhilde continued.

“Ah, balls,” you said, finally joining the conversation.

“Indeed. A few months back, I asked some friends to do some digging on you. Don’t be alarmed, I just wanted to be prepared for the time when it eventually emerged that you and Thor were together. I didn’t find anything to be worried about in what they found on you, but I understand that there may be things that you’d prefer to stay private. The silence of those involved can be arranged, if you wish.”

There were certainly things in your past that you weren’t exactly proud of. You probably should’ve realised that you couldn’t stay under the radar forever.

“No, it’s ok. Don’t waste your resources, or those of your friends. I’ve been alive long enough to know that if the tabloid press thinks there’s a story, they’ll dig it up somehow. Or just make one up. I’ve done what I’ve done, and that’s the end of that. Anyone commenting on my life probably has stuff they’d rather keep secret,” you answered with a sigh.

“Very well. Do you want to read the dossier?”

“No, no. I’m sure it’s very thorough and accurate. Thor, do you want to read it?”

“Anything you wish to tell me about your past, you can tell me about yourself,” he answered, running his fingers through your hair. “Whatever you have done, it’s of no consequence. You’re here now, that’s all that matters. Some youthful follies could not reverse my love for you.”

You nuzzled your face into his chest hair to hide the tears you could feel beginning to sting your eyes.

“Is that all, Brunnhilde? May we return to bed?” Thor said.

“Yes, of course. Apologies once again for disturbing you. I just wanted you to hear it from a friend before you heard it elsewhere.”

You were fast asleep again by the time Thor gently laid you back on the bed. You must’ve been warm in his hoodie, the early rays of sunshine beginning to seep into the bedroom, but he didn’t want to disturb you. His mind was all over the place, so he decided to check the news on your tablet while you were tucked into his side.

Thor’s Hammered!

King of Ass-gard

Pizza Gut - Avenger destroys pizza buffet

Thor quickly put the tablet back down. It stung to read the words they wrote about him, but even worse was what they wrote about you. They didn’t know you, why did they get to judge you, speculate about who you were and why you were with him? You were just another name on the long list of loved ones he wasn’t able to protect.

Gingerly removing himself from your side, relieved when he didn’t wake you, Thor decided to sit back on the settee, letting Loki slither over him. The snake wasn’t as helpful as his brother, but he found it calming anyway.

15 minutes later, the sound of a message being received made him jump. Unlocking his old phone, he saw it was a message from Brunnhilde.

I know you said you didn’t want to know about Y/N’s past, but I think you might find this interesting…

There were several links at the bottom of the message. Thor didn’t want to pry, he really didn’t, but he couldn’t help but be curious as to what was that important that Brunnhilde had felt the need to send him a link.

Moving as quietly as he could, he returned to the bedroom to grab the tablet, before settling back down to see what had been sent.

Typing the address was a torturous process, his fingers weren’t quite dexterous enough to easily manipulate Midgardian devices, although he was becoming more careful with them. Still, he nearly dropped the tablet when he saw where the link took him to.

It was a gallery of pictures. Pictures of you, to be exact. You weren’t naked but it was obvious that these weren’t the kind of pictures you shared with friends or family. He’d heard about these kinds of sites, adult sites they were called. The model had a different name, but it was definitely you. No doubt about it.

Pictures of you in corsets that pushed up your breasts and cinched in your waist. Pictures of you with chokers around your throat. Some pictures where you wore clothing made of a strange material that seemed to fit you like a second skin. Some more where you wore beautiful lingerie in vibrant colours, brilliant blues and vivid violets.

The pictures on the next link were a little different. Leather gloves, ball gags, handcuffs. Fishnet stockings and knee-high leather boots. Why had he never seen any of these outfits? Carefully gripping the tablet with one hand, he moved the other inside the waistband of his pants, rubbing at the head of his excited cock.

For a split second, he considered what Brunnhilde had thought of these pictures. Had she shown them to Sif? What if they’d both enjoyed them?

His cock grew harder at the thought.

And he knew he should feel a little ashamed. You hadn’t mentioned these pictures, so it probably wasn’t something you were proud of, but he couldn’t help but look, hope that others had looked, and seen just how sexy you were.

He didn’t really understand the third link. That seemed to be a niche site. You were barely visible, clad in rain gear, and wrapped in heavy duty tape to secure you to a post.

But, Brunnhilde really had saved the best until last.

Bound, gagged, blindfolded. Eyes wide in another as you looked at the woman stroking your hair as you sat tied to the chair. If he had to be king, he’d insist on having a throne, just so he could recreate that image with you. Only, in his version, you’d be wearing a lot less clothes, his face between your thighs, eating you out until the only thing keeping you upright were the ropes that held you in your place.

It was funny. He’d not really enjoyed being in chains, in a cage, when he’d encountered Surtur. But the thought of you being bound, held captive while he pleasured you in all the different ways he knew how. Now, that was something he liked the idea of.

Freeing his cock, he began to stroke in earnest, the images he’d just seen and images of what he’d like to do to you fuelling his desire. The harder he thought of them, the harder he got, and the harder he pumped his fist.

His orgasm was explosive, and Loki hissed at him angrily. Geri and Freki perked up their ears to see what the fuss was about. He knew he should move and clean himself but he was comfy, he was relaxed, he could rest here for a moment or two.

***

Evidently it was more than a moment or two when he awoke to the sound of pans clanging around in the kitchen. There’s no way you couldn’t have seen him, and there’s no way he could pretend it was anything else. He’d fallen asleep with his cock out, the evidence crusted onto his tummy.

Tucking himself back into his pants, he approached the kitchen with caution.

“Good morning, my love,” he tried.

“Good afternoon,” you corrected. “Dare I ask?” you said, looking at his gut pointedly.

Nothing good would come of lying, so he tried his best to explain the truth.

“Ah, well, what happened was, you see, Brunnhilde sent me an electronic letter with some links on my phone. So I looked at them on the tablet,” he explained.

“Brunnhilde sent you porn?”

“Yes. I mean no. I mean maybe? The links were to pictures of you.”

“Ah,” you said, understanding. “Brunnhilde’s friends found those.”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed them. I enjoyed doing them.”

Thor doesn’t ask for an explanation, doesn’t press you, doesn’t tell you about his fantasies. You’ll tell him when you want to, if you want to. He’ll tell you when you’re not trying to cook avocado eggs Benedict.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he mumbles before walking off to the bathroom. He’s glad that you’re not angry or upset, but he’s still embarrassed that you caught him in that position.

The shower is cold, but not cold enough to cool him down from his thoughts. Thoughts of those photos, thoughts of last night, and thoughts of what he’d like to do with you in the future. He could probably roll around on Jötunheimr and still feel too hot.

He’s quiet during brunch, but you don’t press him. You just hold his hand, silently telling him that everything will be alright.

You’d briefly checked your phone before Thor had woken up. There were so many notifications, you were afraid it might crash, and you’d put it back down again. Today was an historic day for New Asgard, you didn’t want to overshadow it by worrying about what Twitter trolls had to say about you. It keeps buzzing on the table next to you, and you continue ignoring it.

“Are you going to check that?” Thor asked. “It might be something important.”

“I don’t really want to, I’m afraid of what I might see,” you said.

“I understand, but the longer you leave it, the worse it will be. Maybe just check if there is anything from your family. You don’t want it playing on your mind throughout the day.”

Thor’s right, and so with a resigned sigh, you picked up your phone and looked at your notifications, dismissing anything that wasn’t important.

A message from Sam on Skype that read I knew you had a thing for older men, didn’t realise you liked them THAT old ;-) now I know where you are, let me know when I can visit. Ignore the haters, they’re just jealous.

There was also an entire chain of emails from your mum, without a subject. She’d never quite gotten the hang of email.

Is this you/??>????? And then a link to a news website.

It is, isn’t it.

WHy didn’t you tell us. Where you were????

Your father is looking at flights.

He’s found some cheap ones with Ryanair, we’re coming over in a fortnight. Flying to Oslo. Charlie is coming too.

He can’t find anywhere to stay in New Asgard, are there no hotels????

Answer me.

“Ah, fuck,” you said, staring at down at your phone.

“What’s the matter?” Thor asked, worried that you’d seen something critical of you.

“My family knows where I am now, they’re coming to visit,” you mumbled. “In two weeks.”

“That’s wonderful news, I can’t wait to meet them,” Thor said, kissing your hand.

“Yeah,” you said doubtfully. You loved your family, but they could be tricky at times. They were hurt, of course, by your vagueness on the subject of your whereabouts. You already knew they were going to make some unintentionally hurtful comments, either about Thor, or about Alex, or both. They were also likely to do the same about you.

“Two weeks,” Thor mused, still enthusiastic about the prospect of meeting your family. “I think that gives me sufficient time to build a place for them to stay.”

It was lovely that he was excited by the prospect, but you groaned internally. Something told you that Thor was not going to have time for much if the vote went the way you thought it would.

“I’ll tell them we can accommodate them somewhere,” you said, firing off a quick email. “Now, let’s forget about this and focus on the task at hand. Brunnhilde wanted us there no later than two, that only gives us an hour.”

***

At 2:10 you arrived at the mead hall, Thor in his full regalia, you in the dress he’d gifted you for the May Day feast. Geri and Freki loping along behind you. You went to add the one remaining cake to the long table of food, while Brunnhilde intercepted Thor.

“Is everything alright, after this morning?” she asked him.

“Yes, I think so. Y/N is strong, although her family have elected to visit. That seems to have shaken her,” Thor sighed.

“It must be hard to face someone you thought was dead, even if you love them, once you’ve been through the grieving process,” Brunnhilde noted.

“It is.” Thor knows it’s hard, he went through it enough times with Loki, but he’d do anything to have his brother back. Or his mother, father.

There are flowers everywhere. Bouquets on tables, bunting hanging from the rafters, and people everywhere with flower crowns on their heads. Thor’s pleased with how well they’ve turned out. He makes a note to thank everyone involved, as well as to the plants for blooming so abundantly for him. There was something very satisfying about growing things and tending to them, becoming one with nature.

He’s not surprised when you return with a flower crown, plus one each around the dog’s necks. He doesn’t think they’ll last long, which is why he’d made sure to cultivate flowers that wouldn’t make the dogs sick when they inevitably tried to eat them. Thor particularly likes how you look with your flower crown. He’s seen you wear one before, of course, but they really do suit you. He hopes that if he has to be king, then perhaps one day you’ll wear a different kind of crown.

“Hello, Brunnhilde. Apologies for our lateness. I didn’t grab a crown for you but if Thor doesn’t want this one, I’m sure you can have it,” you offered, holding out the wreath.

“That’s quite alright, I’m not really one for crowns,” Valkyrie answered with a small shake of her head. “I’ll leave you two to mingle, just don’t be late for the vote announcement.”

“We won’t,” Thor assured her, knowing full well that they won’t start without him. “I fear this may not be the only crown I accept today,” he continues, taking the flowers from you and placing them on his head.

“I’m sorry,” you said, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ll support you, no matter the outcome.”

Thor knows this, and he’s glad of it. He’s still not comfortable with being in charge, quite content with his life, building things, tending to the plants, and playing with his animals. But at least he doesn’t have to do it alone. After Loki died, he was so very alone. Korg and Miek were great, but there was something missing in his life, a much closer form of companionship that he’d finally found again.

“Let us mingle, I’m sure there are many children who will be glad to pet the dogs,” Thor said, looping his arm with yours at the elbow.

*** By the time it gets to the hour of the announcement, Geri and Freki have had their bellies rubbed by seemingly every child in New Asgard, much to their delight.

A little boy had brought you a small posy of flowers, and was extra pleased when Thor held him in his strong arms and let the child place the flowers in Thor’s beard. It’s very haphazard, and a little one-sided but Thor’s pleased with the end result, when you show him in your pocket mirror.

It makes him ache desperately to have a child - well, children - of his own. He thinks about what kind of uncle Loki would’ve been.

Hopefully he wouldn’t have stabbed them.

It’s too hot in the mead hall. Thor’s been trying to drink slowly, aware that he’s drinking out of nerves more than anything.

Dutch courage, you’d called it. Allegedly, Dutch soldiers had drunk jenever before going into battle. Thor considered that a little risky. Drinking was best done after battle, being clumsy while handling a weapon didn’t strike him as the best strategy. Then again, it seemed to work fine for Brunnhilde. It didn’t really happen to him, but supposed many people got nervous before a fight.

Thor knew you had a Dutch friend, a teacher. He wondered if they might bring jenever with them if they ever came to visit?

Bruce came over, crowds of Asgardians parting easily for his bulky frame.

“Hey buddy,” he said, hugging Thor. “Are you ready?”

“About as ready as I’ll ever be,” Thor answered. A few years ago, he’d thought he was ready. Had almost been crowned king.

He never thanked Loki for royally screwing that up. It was only now, with hindsight, that he could appreciate the favour his brother had inadvertently done him.

“It’s time,” Bruce told Thor, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Thor looks back at you, but you shake your head. This is an Asgardian matter. Your place is at the back with Geri and Freki, not onstage with Asgard’s elite.

“Do you know?” Thor asked Bruce, desperately.

“No Thor. Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you,” Bruce noted. “Whatever happens, you have people that care about you. It won’t be like it was before.”

Thor joins Valkyrie, Sif and several others onstage. Bruce waves his hands, dampening down the crowd that buzzes like a hornet’s nest. Despite all the assurances, this is still a volatile situation and Bruce says a silent prayer that everything works out for the best.

“Thank you all,” Bruce addressed the crowd. “Thank you for trusting in the process and for allowing us, as outside observers, to count all of your votes. No system will be perfect, but we hope that you will all respect the outcome, whatever it may be. It took three rounds of voting for an option to gain over 50% of the vote. I’ll now hand over to Captain America, who has the results.”

Bruce steps down, stands to the right hand side of the stage as Sam steps forward. Anticipation builds around the room, like static during a storm. Sif holds hands with both Thor and Valkyrie, holding in a breath as she waits to see which of the people she cares about most will draw the short straw of heading Asgard.

She fervently hopes that the people will have chosen another option, but she doubts it. Most Asgardians fell on one side of the divide or the other - traditionalists who wanted to continue the existing royal family, and those who felt that Brunnhilde was the best leader amongst those left.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Sam said, grateful that someone the Asgardians were familiar with had addressed them first. “The result is very close, but let me assure you, it is accurate. We counted every single ballot ten times, just to ensure there was no discrepancy. With 50.8% of the vote, the people of Asgard have chosen the option of an octarchy.”

The room erupted with people cheering, complaining, or otherwise chatting with people about what it all meant. Sam waited for the commotion to die down before continuing.”

“Furthermore, the proposed solution, as outlined within the election materials is that Thor, son of Odin.” Sam paused, Thor’s full title sounding odd coming out of his mouth, but that was what the piece of paper he was holding said. “Thor, son of Odin, shall rule as king, and head of state.”

Thor paled visibly and your heart went out to him, glad that Sif was holding his hand.

“Succession will be a matter of blood, as it has always been, unless Thor shall have no issue. In that event, the people of Asgard will once again convene to decide how they wish to be governed. Brunnhilde, of the Valkyrior, shall serve as his second in command. She will rule in his absence or if he is incapacitated, if Thor does not have an heir of legal age.”

Sam shook his head. He shouldn’t have let Bucky write the speech, he should’ve known his metal-armed partner would try to stitch him up with flowery Asgardian language. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Bucky smirking, standing next to Bruce. Sam makes a mental note to put on his suit later, pick Bucky up, and drop him in the North Sea.

“The other six members of the council will be chosen as follows. Thor, son of Odin, and Brunnhilde, of the Valkyrior, shall each choose one. Two more shall be elected by the people of Asgard. The final two shall be selected at random in a lottery of all citizens who have come of age. These positions shall be reviewed every ten years, unless circumstances, or the will of the people dictate otherwise.”

The place descends into chaos, even the dogs start barking at all the noise, and it only stops when the valkyrie gets to the front of the stage and lets out an ear-piercing screech. Everyone stops what they’re doing and looks at her, wincing.

“Settle down everyone, settle down,” she shouted. “I respect this result, just as I said I would, and I pledge to serve both Asgard and its king to the best of my ability, as long as I am able to do so. I would like to thank you for your trust and patience during the time in which I served as Asgard’s caretaker. I know that not all of you were happy with the situation, but I hope I served you well. There is one among us, who I would like to nominate for inclusion on the council. However, I am aware that some of you may feel it is a conflict of interests. As many of you are aware, the Lady Sif and I are in love. She is my nomination if you will accept her.”

Raucous applause erupts. Sif is well liked, and most people are pleased to have her helping to steer Asgard’s course, even if she’s a little too eager to head into battle at times.

“Very well, I thank you all for your trust,” the valkyrie continued. “While I have the floor, there is one more thing I wish to do. I was going to do it later, but I think now is best, to declare my love in front of all those I serve.”

This time it’s Sif’s turn to go pale, as the Valkyrie sinks to her knees, turning back to Sif.

“Lady Sif,” Brunnhilde began. “I have lived long and travelled far, and there is no beauty that can compare to yours. Your love shines brighter than any star, and I am a better person for you sharing it with me. I have no title or riches to give you. This is but a small trinket, for I have already given you the greatest gift I have to give, which is my heart. I would be honoured if you would accept this ring as a token of my love, as is the custom on much of Midgard, and agree to be my wife.”

Sif is openly sobbing, and Thor’s not sure he’s ever seen her cry before. Scores more around the room wipe away tears as Sif slowly moves forward, allowing the Valkyrie to slip the ring onto her finger. Once it’s in place, Sif takes Brunnhilde’s hands and pulls her up, embracing her tightly and kissing her fiercely to a chorus of cheers.

It’s a wonderful sight, and you’re glad that there’s something for Asgard to celebrate, even if the vote didn’t go everyone’s way. Your throat goes dry as Thor nervously makes his way to the front of the stage to speak.

“Hello everyone. Apologies if I seem nervous, it has been many years since I last addressed so many,” he said, fiddling with the hem of his cloak. It’s far too hot to be wearing it, but he’d insisted that this was an important occasion and that he should dress accordingly.

“My congratulations to the Lady Sif and the Lady Brunnhilde. Theirs is an excellent union, and I wish them an eternity of happiness together.”

Thor waits until the cheering dies down before continuing.

“I, too, respect and honour the results of this vote. No man can outrun his destiny, and it seems mine will always be to rule Asgard as its king, even though I feel ill-equipped to do so. Fate apparently wills it so. I have not led Asgard well these last few years, and I apologise for that from the bottom of my heart. I have been remiss in my duties. I know that some of you do not trust that I have changed, but I give you my solemn word that I have. That I will act for the good of Asgard, and the other eight realms, as long as there is life in my breast.”

The entire room draws a collective gasp as Thor sinks to one knee. Panic sets in. This can’t be happening. Surely he’s not about to propose as well?

“I kneel before you, as your humble servant,” Thor continued, and you sighed in relief. “Too long, the people of Asgard have knelt before the throne. No more. I kneel before you all, and ask for your forgiveness. I am not the man I was, but I hope with time, that I will become someone better, someone worthy of the position that I find myself in.

“Asgard is not a place, it is a people. My father told me that, and I see now how true it is. I thank each and every one of you for trusting and believing in Asgard, in each other, when I did not trust or believe in myself. Together, you have created something strong and beautiful. I thank you for sharing it with me. You have rebuilt, you have shown incredible strength and fortitude.

“I am sorry for abandoning you. It is the most dishonourable and cowardly thing I have ever done. I asked the Valkyrie to rule in my stead, because I felt she was the best person for the job. I am truly sorry for abandoning Asgard in her hour of need. Thank you, all of you. Thank you for preserving our traditions and stories. Thank you for building a new home for us all. Thank you to everyone who has helped today. Baking delicacies, creating flower crowns, playing music. All that you do, on this day and every day, to ensure that we survive, that our culture survives, is appreciated by me.

“I hope to be able to thank you all individually, but please understand, it may take me some time. I kneel before you, as your king, humbled by the faith you still place in me. I shall work to rule as a king of the people, not above them. The throne should not be an untouchable pedestal on which I am put.

“Although I do not have a crown, I kneel before you, ready to serve Asgard, completely and unreservedly.”

“About your crown,” a voice called from the stunned crowd, as all eyes turned to look at Lorelei. She walked slowly through them, people parting for her, before she stopped in front of the stage, directly in front of Thor.

“When Hela attacked, many of us realised that Asgard was in peril. As we fled the city, some of us gathered up important artefacts. I apologise for keeping this from you, your majesty, but there never seemed to be an opportune moment…” she trailed off, reaching into a leather satchel, slung low against her hip.

Several people fainted, as with trembling hands, she pulled a crown from it.

“My-my father’s crown,” Thor mumbled, stunned.

“Yes, your majesty,” Lorelei explained. “I apologise again for keeping it secret, but you had already lost so much, I did not wish to remind you of your father. I have kept it safe, all these years. I believed that one day, you would be restored to the throne. I believed that day would be today.”

With trembling fingers, she reaches out the crown as Thor lowered his head. Tears were running down his face, into his beard, for everyone to see as he sat back up, slowly rising to his feet.

A collective sense of shock reverberated around the room, and you anxiously stroked your two dogs, who sat flanked you on either side.

“Thank you, good Lady Lorelei. This truly is an extraordinary gift. I thought I would never see this again, let alone wear it. I do wonder, now, what else was saved from Asgard, but that is a matter for another time,” Thor advised. “I have but one more matter to discuss, before it is time to feast. There is much to celebrate this day, and I hope it is one that will long be remembered.”

Thor paused, taking a moment to look around the hall. His friends, his people looking up at him. It filled him with a tiny spark of confidence that everything would work out fine this time, unlike when he had told Loki it would, all those years ago, after Asgard was destroyed.

“Like the Lady Brunnhilde, I too have someone I wish to nominate to the council. Like her, this person is one who is very dear to me,” he noted, looking across the heads of everyone to look you in the eye.

Thousands of heads turned to face you as you froze, wishing the ground would swallow you up.

“I wish to nominate the Lady Y/N. She has done so much for Asgard, though her time with us has been short so far,” Thor admitted. “As an outsider, I believe she has much knowledge and wisdom to offer us about Midgard, its people, and their customs. Her counsel is invaluable to me, and I would like to offer her a place at this table, if there are no objections.”

Deathly silence descends, everyone waiting for someone to say something.

“A wise appointment, your majesty,” Leifr spoke up, and a chorus of cheers echoed around the room.

“It is settled then,” Thor exclaimed happily. “The other four positions shall be determined in due time, but now I say it is time to eat, drink, and dance our fill. There is much to celebrate as we enter into a proud new chapter in Asgard’s history.”

Everything was a blur for several hours as you try to process exactly what’s happened. Thor being king again was something you expected, and he seems to be taking it well. His speech was genuinely moving and you could see many Asgardians visibly softening to him as he spoke.

But appointing you to be one of Asgard’s eight rulers?

No. No no no. This could not be happening. You didn’t belong here, didn’t want that kind of responsibility.

Judging by the way people keep congratulating you, it definitely is happening. You barely have an appetite, pushing your food around, eating small amounts whenever Thor prompts you to try this dish or that.

It had been a productive few hours for the other three newly instated rulers. Between them, they’d managed to hash out a plan for getting the other council members appointed. They’d even found time to draft a press release with Pepper, covering the events of the day. The world media would be taken aback. New Asgard had never released any information before. Along with the details of the election, Pepper had made sure to note that the new rulers would be willing to engage with journalists going forward to ensure transparency about what the kingdom was doing, but that they would not interact with any outlet that did not respect Asgardian privacy or engaged in hurtful gossip about them.

Apparently, the prince of another country, and his wife, had done something similar a few years prior.

You sit completely zoned out, a zombie. Utterly alone while surrounded by people. Geri and Freki lie protectively at your feet, aware that something is wrong.

Even Thor can sense that something is amiss. You’re paying no attention to him eating increasingly absurd portions. He even mentioned that he was getting full and you just nodded politely, a slightly vacant smile plastered to your face. You didn’t even try to touch his stomach, where it sat pressed up against the table.

Eventually, Sam manages to make his way over, whispering in Thor’s ear. You’re dimly aware that they’re talking about you, by the way Thor keeps glancing nervously in your direction.

“Let us go for a walk,” he said, standing up and tugging at your elbow. “Young Sam said that you look like you could do with some fresh air.”

Moving on autopilot you follow him, Geri and Freki loping along behind you. He leads you down to the beach, the sun setting in the distance as Thor gently maneuvers you into sitting down on a driftwood log.

“Are you quite alright?” Thor asked, running his fingers up your bare arms as he crouched awkwardly in front of you. “You seem distant, distracted.”

“This is all just very overwhelming,” you said, looking at your hands where they rested in your lap.

“I agree, much has happened today. We can return home, if you wish?”

“Why did you appoint me to the council?” you whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t know if I’ll still be here in ten years. What if we split up? I don’t belong here, I’m not Asgardian. I don’t want this responsibility, I’m not qualified, I don’t want to do this.”

Thor’s heart sank and he let out a sad sigh, finally sitting on the soft sand, his hefty stomach making it hard to keep his balance while he crouched. He’d done it again. He’d thought only of what he wanted and hadn’t consulted you. He’d upset you, ruining your evening.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, tipping your chin up to make you look at him. “That was thoughtless and selfish of me, I should have consulted you before announcing my plan. Today has been trying for you, and you were already anxious and upset. I’m truly sorry for burdening you further.”

“I know you didn’t mean to Thor, but I’m so scared and sad.”

“Oh my love, no. I really am such an oaf,” Thor said sadly, pulling you into the small amount of lap he had left. If he kept on like this, he was going to really struggle to hold you like this soon.

He wants to kiss your lips, to kiss away all the hurt and worry he sees in your eyes, to kiss it better like his mother used to kiss his and Loki's scrapes and grazes. But he lets you bury your face in his shoulder. All he can do is cuddle you while you cry, chest heaving against his, while he rubs little circles onto your back, mumbling apologies all the while.

“I’m so sorry. I never meant to upset you, to make you scared or anxious. I can see that I was mistaken, even though I only meant it as a good thing, as a compliment to your character and your intelligence. I truly know of no other in the whole of Asgard more capable than you, not even Brunnhilde,” Thor explained. “You are wise for one so young, and far more learned than any of us when it comes to this land we find ourselves in. Please, allow me to apologise unreservedly for the hurt I’ve caused. Allow me to make it right, allow me to pick another to serve in your place.”

You're so silent, shaking in his arms. It hurts Thor in a way he’s not felt since his father banished him. What if he's finally gone too far? What if this is the thing that pushes you away from him?

It scares him more than the thought of Thanos returning once more.

“A trial,” you said softly, as you raise your head.

“Pardon?” Thor asked.

“Until the end of the year, I will serve for a trial period. But if at the end of that time, I still don’t want to do it, then you must replace me, without any reservations.”

“Of course, of course. Are you absolutely sure?”

“No,” you admit. “But I am willing to try. I trust you. I trust you not to force me into anything I can’t handle. I’m humbled that you and your people have accepted me, and are prepared to give me this chance. I know it’s a great honour. So I will try to repay that trust that you have, I will try to serve Asgard, even if it doesn’t come easily to me.”

“No one who seeks power or has it come easily to them should ever be allowed to wield it,” Thor noted, rubbing his nose against yours. “Thank you, my love for agreeing to try this. I will honour your request should you change your mind at any point. I admit, I was scared that I had lost you, that my foolishness had driven you away.”

“You’ll have to do more than that to get rid of me,” you laughed wetly, wiping your face on the back of your hand.

“That’s good news, although I hope never to test that theory,” Thor told you, relieved. “Do you wish to return to the hall? I’m sure you could persuade me to have some more wine and sweet treats. As you can see, I am not quite at capacity,” Thor teased, moving your hands under his tunic to touch his taut tummy.

“I think I would like to head home. I’m emotionally exhausted and I just want to faceplant into your tummy and go to sleep.”

“Also an excellent plan,” Thor admitted, standing up with your still in his arms.

“I’m not too tired to walk,” you tried to insist, looking down at your bemused dogs as they trailed alongside the gentle giant carrying you.

“I know that, I just wanted to hold onto you some more.”

Thor’s going to be extra affectionate for the next little while, still reeling from the feeling of almost losing you. Now he finally has something to lose again, he’s resolutely determined not to let it happen.

@innerpaperexpertcloud @morganhoran1671

#Dark 'n' Stormy #endgame thor #thor #Thor Odinson #THOR SON OF ODIN #thor smut #thicc thor #fat thor #squishy Thor #Soft Thor #chubby thor #chonkythor #reader insert #Female reader #x reader #avengers x reader #reader x thor #female reader x thor #The Avengers

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cursewoodrecap · 3 years

Text

Session 16: No Not Like That

Aw, been a while since I wrote one of these! Anyway: we run into some dickheads and try to solve things the not-murder way for once.

On the road outside Bad Herzfeld, the trolls slowly begin to peel off and go their separate ways. Dr. Kjeller and his new bodyguard Kjell are the last to leave the main road, stopping to say goodbye to the small contingent of humanoids.

“Welp, dis trolls’ moot has certainly been an experience,” Dr. Kjeller sagely intones. “I would not say a success. The two of us are going to tour around and tell all the trolls we can find to stay away. I believe a trolls’ moot is not uncalled for, but we must look for a different place. Ideally one not full of weird fungus people. And, please, if there is anything I can do to help you….well, I guess you’d have to find me first.” He tips his travelin’ hat and departs. Gral tips his mask in return. He’s getting the hang of these Valdian customs!

It seems like the Orcish outriders have already left to report back to Duke Shieldeater, so it’s just us, the Fairgolds, and the beleaguered innkeeper and his daughter. What do we do with the civilians? I mean, we’re headed to Mornheim, and even if we’re gonna fix the water it seems kinda rude to drop someone off in Zombie Town. Flynn offers to introduce Aaron to his innkeeper uncle back in Holzog, to see if he can get a job there.

Flynn and Fiona are gonna stick with us to Mornheim. “Look, you had all the fun up there in Bad Herzfeld; I’m not gonna let the four of you get all the glory. You’re gonna do a big ritual and save the whole town? I gotta see this.”

We spend a couple uneventful days hiking back to Three Oaks Junction, where we’ll split up with Aaron and Rebecca. The DM tries to waylay us with a destroyed bridge over a fast-moving river, but we have a Ring of Jumping and a magical alligator. We’re fine. We roll some bad perception checks on watch and our rations get stolen by Curse Raccoons.

ANYWAY. As we get back onto the major roads, Gral is the first to notice something odd: there’s no carts coming from the direction of Three Oaks. Sure, it’s late evening, but last time we were here there was still a heavy buzz of activity through the busy trade stop. We approach extra-cautiously, making sure the civilians are in the protected center of the group.

The town comes into view, and it’s immediately obvious something has changed. A hasty palisade wall has been constructed around the town, and a banner has been hung over the gate, white with a red insignia of a bloody chain.

Shoshana groans. “AAUUUUGH, are you fuckin’ kidding me?!”

“Um, did the town always look like that?” Rebecca asks hesitantly.

Valeria shakes her head. “Not last week, it didn’t!”

Gral pulls the duo aside and gives them the Cliffs Notes: “We’re about to run into the Penitents. Talk about Rack as much as you can and hide behind Valeria. I hate dealing with these folks, but it looks like they put this place on lockdown, and we gotta make sure y’all are safe.”

Outside the gate, there’s a uniformed Penitent Knight keeping watch over a group of citizens who are digging graves. The gate itself seems to be manned by standard town militiamen, being supervised by another Penitent. Valeria casts a quick eye over the scene with Detect Magic, but finds nothing amiss. As she approaches (we’re wisely letting the paladin lead), a guardsman shouts “Halt!”

She stops at a polite distance. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service,” she announces formally. “What’s going on here?”

“By order of the town council, all who seek admittance to the town must submit to examination for heretical artifacts or influences,” the guardsman recites, scriptedly. The Penitent behind him nods in approval.

She meets his eye with an intimidating draconic stare. “We have artifacts we need to bring to the Cursebreaker Knights. Perhaps we can check them at the door and pick them up later?”

“Uhhh,” the guy says, his script clearly not having prepared him for that. “…maybe you should talk to the Inquisitor. He’s gonna want to speak to you about these ‘artifacts.’”

He has us wait a minute, and we take a quick mental inventory. We’ve got an evil skeleton tapestry, spooky lutestrings, the Eyegis, and one (1) entire Shoshana.

A group of six Penitents arrive and escort us stiffly into the town. The place is crowded as all get out; it looks like a lot of travelers have been stuck here way longer than they anticipated. There’s only two properly empty spaces: one’s some sort of enormous construction site, and the other is the area where the circus tent was; it seems nobody’s been brave enough to move into the spot or even clean up the ashy, crumbling remains.

There’s a rather unusual cart sitting among the crowded caravan parking, immediately familiar from the two reptilian beasts of burden hitched next to it. There’s a bit of a staredown happening; two Penitents are remaining remarkably steadfast in the face of two enormous, glowering tattooed figures. We can’t pop over to say hi; our escort is hustling us along and we’re not sure that knowing us would do Lucinius any favors.

Valeria’s about vibrating out of her skin, indignant at all these unfairly-detained innocents, and looks about a second away from drawing her sword and opening up a can o’ Righteousness. But no time for that; we’re being ushered inside the sheriff’s office.

The small-town hoosegow is cramped; there’s been makeshift cages built all along one wall, seemingly as some kind of holding cells, all of them full. Shoshana appraises the prisoners out of the corner of her eye. They all seem to have slight Curse mutations, but so vaguely that it could just be garden-variety weirdness. Sure, that guy could be a werewolf, but he might just be a real hairy dude. That lady looks sallow and corpselike, but not more so than any garden-variety resident of Mornheim.

Shoshana, her clawed hands shoved deep in her pockets, is strung tense as a lutestring. Valeria’s still managing to feign chilly politeness, but both of them are half a breath away from fight or flight.

Gral’s not looking at the prisoners. He’s too busy looking at the guard. There’s two burly Penitents at the door, which is unsurprising, but Gral could swear he’s seen the one on the left before.

He’s pretty sure we killed that guy back at the roadhouse.

The guard doesn’t seem to recognize us at all, but he’s pretty badly scarred, exactly in the way someone might be if they took a hit from a drow soldier’s greatsword.

We’re pulled out of our wary observations by a familiar, unwelcome voice. “Ah. Kyr Argent, wasn’t it?”

“It is,” Valeria allows frostily, as the Inquisitor glides into the room.

“It is good to see you again – in a manner of speaking,” he says, chuckling at his own joke as he gestures to his blindfolded eyes. “Yes, from the descriptions of the heroes who defeated the heretical circus, I suspected I might have the pleasure of working with you once again. What brings you to Three Oaks Junction?”

“Oh, we’re just passing through. Y’know, like travelers do,” she answers, her polite smile showing just a little too much fang.

“Yes, of course. As you can see, this town has become very useful in our war against the Curse.”

“Is it, now.”

“After the incident with the circus, the town council was afraid. Many of them had attended the performance, after all. They were worried that there might be some…aftereffects. Fortunately, my people were nearby, and they summoned me immediately to examine the town for signs of the Curse’s corruption. As we were here, it became clear what an asset this town is – just as the heretics used it to corrupt many at once, we can use it to root out those heretics who hide among us.

“On our first day here, we found one who bore the mark of the curse. I examined him myself. Foul lycanthropy. He was, of course, executed. Now, none pass through this place without our inspection, and we have found many others. You may have seen some of them outside, awaiting a more thorough examination. My work has kept me too busy to give each case the attention it truly deserves.

“The town council has been very accommodating. I have written to my fellows, and we are working on converting and expanding their humble chapel into a true bastion of Rack’s justice, where the divine light of the gods may lay bare the evil that hides among us, that walks the roads of this land spreading its poison.”

Gral mutters, aside, “Don’t think anyone’s walkin’ these roads now…”

The Inquisitor claps his hands briskly. “Now. I understand you are in possession of some artifacts, objects that you are transporting on behalf of the Cursebreaker Knights. I fear for our brothers amongst the Cursebreakers; their mission is noble but they meddle with powers they do not understand. There are things in this wood it is better not to trifle with. Bring the items to me, and I will inspect them. Those I deem acceptable may remain in your protection, but anything too dangerous must be destroyed. Should the Cursebreakers fall to corruption, we would lose some of our greatest assets in this war. Help me protect the Cursebreakers, Kyr Argent. Show me what you are transporting for them.”

Valeria nearly decks him then and there, but a quiet brush of shoulders reminds her of the trembling sorceress behind her. Not here, not now, not when we’re surrounded. If they get an excuse to get aggressive, Shoshana’s sunk.

We busy ourselves with pulling out Weird Yet Harmless artifacts. What kind of random space trinkets did we find, again? Clem shows them the Eldritch Cookbook, and we take a gamble by letting them look at the Pale King’s tapestry, which is a bit large and hard to hide.

“Very well. I will examine these,” the Inquisitor says smoothly, his tone giving no insight into whether he knows we have far more blasphemous things to hide. “Gunter! Find them lodging within the town. Once I have examined these items for corruption, I must confirm that none of you have been corrupted by their presence.”

Valeria smiles tightly. “I’m certain they are corrupted, but not corrupting.”

“With all due respect, Kyr, I have made a study of corruption. Now, because of your…esteemed position,” he says, gesturing toward her rose-emblazoned armor, “you are no doubt on a mission of some considerable importance. I will endeavor to expedite your case as much as I can.”

“Oh, there’s no need to give us special treatment. All the travelers here need to get through,” she responds pointedly.

The Inquisitor’s serene, condescending expression does not change. “You may go,” he dismisses. “I am very busy. As I’m sure you know, the work of good in times of evil is ceaseless.”

Valeria bows to the exact millimeter that politeness requires, and no further. He’s blind, and doesn’t notice.

As we’re ushered back out, Shoshana tries to catch the eye of one of the caged prisoners. They mostly just look scared, not evil, and there’s no sign they recognize she’s also corrupted.

Clem, meanwhile, takes the opportunity to scrutinize the weirdly familiar guy at the door. He looks perfectly healthy, except for all the scars. She elbows Valeria, who confirms with her Divine Sense that this is just a normal dude, not an undead. He’s either one hundred percent living, or whatever nonsense that brought him back from murder is specifically cloaked in a way that would fool a paladin’s senses.

Our escort shows us to a place to set up camp. There are several inns in town, but all of them are fairly occupied at moment. We’re pretty sure that a Knight of the Rose, hero who slew the dread circus, could pre-empt a less fancy guest, but we’re all chill with camping as long as we get to hit up a food truck or something.

We meet back up with our friends. The Fairgolds, who are pretty familiar with Three Oaks, are pretty shaken by the drastic changes. Aaron and Rebecca, meanwhile, are shocked. “Is this what the rest of the woods is like?!” Aaron asks. “I knew things were bad out here, but I assumed once we got out of Bad Herzfeld…”

“Different places have different issues,” Gral explains kindly. “Some are the kind you’re already familiar with. And apparently some places are afflicted with Penitent Knights.”

“Even before that, there was an undead curse which afflicted this place-“

“-Which we DEALT WITH just fine-“ Valeria interjects grumpily.

“-and Holzog’s safe now, but it had its own weird issues we had to deal with too. The Curse is everywhere; you can’t really get around it without clear-cutting the forest,” Shoshana admits.

We get the lay of the land. Commerce has slowed, but not stopped. The Penitents are searching everyone going through here. If they find nothing, they let you go. Most of the crowd is just people waiting for their turn to get checked. We see a few times, though - if something about you pings them as weird, they take you away.

Basically, we are in line at the TSA.

Guess we’ll take a walk.

We skirt warily around a Penitent street preacher who’s shouting something about justice, and casting out evil, and how Rack appreciates your sacrifice in these trying times.

“Sacrifice is a WILLING thing,” grumbles Valeria.

We walk around and do some casual recon. Much of the town is still a perpetual campsite/bazaar, but near the more permanent municipal buildings, several work crews are busy with construction, which the locals tell us is supposed to be some kind of temple. Quite a few rough tents with Penitent insignias are pitched by that area. The town militia is out in force, and it’s much bigger than when we passed through last week. Maybe half of the people running around on patrol are actually trained fighters; most of the new recruits barely even look like weekend warriors. Every patrol, without exception, is being supervised by at least one Penitent.

People are scared, mostly. Nobody around seems happy with the Penitents, but a lot of the people around have reluctantly agreed that Something Had To Be Done about threats like the circus, and there weren’t any other available options. No one’s enthusiastic they’re there, but neither are they vocally critical. Then again, we worry, maybe anyone who’s been speaking out or causing trouble has, uh, disappeared.

We make our way back to our own wagon. If we’re gonna go Get In Trouble, like adventurers do, it’s probably time to part ways with our civilian friends. We pool 40 gold for Aaron and Rebecca (Clem contributing nothing because giving money is WAY too personal; Shoshana giving extra because she’s projecting really hard onto them) and Aaron’s eyes go wide. Oh, right, most people don’t make adventurer amounts of cash? It’ll be enough to get them safely set up in Holzog, with money to spare. They leave to set up their own travel plans, stuttering awkward thanks.

Flynn, meanwhile, grins. “Don’t think you’re getting rid of us that easily. You guys are terrible liars, I know you’re plotting something.”

We admit we don’t actually have a plan, but Valeria is adamant that This Nonsense Cannot Stand.

Let’s go recruit some allies, maybe? Gral wanders within Message range of Lucinius’ wagon, which is very clearly cordoned off and under guard. Bjorn and Ingborg are still there, but there’s no sign of the dragonborn.

“Heyy it’s us, what’s going on? Over.”

“Hello. We cannot leave. The Professor was taken. They wished to search the cart. He explained what he has and what he has found, that he is carrying important research. He would not allow them to confiscate his research, and he went to speak to the one in charge. That was three days ago; we have not seen him since. It is our duty to protect the man, but we have not seen a way to fulfil that duty without getting ourselves killed.”

We promise to keep them posted, and ask them to sit tight so when we make our move, it’ll be coordinated.

Next, Gral and Shoshana go down to the local pub to see if we can find anyone that’s particularly malcontented with the Penitents. We assume religious zealots are not much for hanging around bars. They don’t seem to be much into worldly pleasures, coughzombiecough.

Nobody’s talking too much shit until they get a couple of drinks in them but we do find some people griping, mostly merchants passing through. Pierre the Demish furrier, who we met back at the Holzog roadhouse, has turned up again; apparently the Penitents seized a good deal of his stock. And he’s been reduced to drinking BEER. He has OPINIONS about that. (It does not stop him drinking lots of it; he has to drown his sorrows at being denied worthy alcohol.)

Gral tries to butter him up a bit by letting him ramble about Demish wine. “When you drink a bottle of Demish wine, you taste centuries of tradition in that vineyard! You taste the earth itself, the hands of the farmers. It is sweet and it stings and it is good. What is this? Barley? Hops? HOPS? Hop is a verb, hop is not an object. Hop is for bunnies. The bunnies may eat the hops, and then I will cook the bunnies,” he mumbles into his unsatisfactory beer.

Gral fumbles for sommelier expertise. “I come from a smaller river village; wine tastes different farm to farm. It’s not just about the plants, but the social experience.”

“It is the same for us, yes? A region’s wine is its SPIRIT. You go to the border of the goblin swamps, and the wine there tastes like fire and blood, like the steel of the chevaliers that defend it.” Go to Petit le Fere, it tastes like long summer nights. Go to Marsène, the wine tastes like – have you ever been in love, Monsieur Orc?”

“Uh, n-no?”

It tastes like the first time you and your lover locked eyes and laughed together. That was my favorite wine. This? This tastes like mud with pretensions of alcohol.”

“It’s not the steel of the chevaliers, but it’s the taste of hardworking people. And if the penitents have their way, there won’t be a town here anymore.”

Gral butters the guy up enough to find out a few basic details: there’s about two dozen proper knights, but they’ve got local militia and volunteers to swell their numbers. A lot of people are very keen to get on good terms with the new bosses, whether it’s because they’re afraid of the Penitents or afraid of the things out in the woods that the Penitents have promised to fight.

“I was here to get a blood-red deer pelt with wolf’s teeth,” the trader complains. “I know a chevalier who would pay dearly to have it worked into his armor. And now it has been taken away! For my ‘protection,’ apparently. I had to surrender the rest of my stock to avoid being thrown in those cages.”

Everybody in the tavern seems to be on good behavior – sure, there’s folks displeased with the Penitents, but nobody’s gonna do anything about it; if you look like you might be up to something, you’re gonna get dragged off. And Pierre’s been keeping a low profile ever since he saw that blue dragonborn get dragged down into the basement of the sheriff’s office.

Shoshana, meanwhile, slides over to a tough-looking lady at the end of the bar in militia-style leather armor. “Hey, you look like you’d know the system here. We just got in to town; how long before they search our cart and let us go?”

“A couple days; we got a huge backlog,” the woman, who’s introduced herself as Vanessa, tells her. “Depends on how much they suspect you. Some people, they like to leave ‘em here for a while, to watch ‘em for anything suspicious.”

“You say that like you’re not involved? You’re dressed like you’re with the militia.”

“Technically I am. Second-in-command, or I was, before all this. Not sure who is now. Hell, I was the one making noise at Sheriff Wilbur about getting more muscle after that circus thing. If you folks hadn’t shown up, I dunno what would have happened.”

“So you all get bossed around by the Penitents now?”

“Look, half the kids in the militia right now barely know which end of a spear is up. The Penitents agreed to supplement what we had.”

“…yyyyyeah, it kinda feels like they’re calling the shots, though?”

She sighs. “Yeah. Look, I had the idea that we needed to beef up, bring in experienced vets. I was hoping to get mercs or something, and then they showed up and filled the role. They made some kinda deal with the town council, y’know, they’d provide extra security in exchange for being given jurisdiction over anybody found to be corrupt. Sounded fine to us at the time. See, we didn’t make the connection that if they were with the militia, they’d be the ones making the call who all’s corrupt or not.”

“How many people have been deemed, uh, ‘corrupt’?” Shoshana asks.

“More than I’d like, but not enough to get everyone all up in arms. Everybody’s pretty sure that most people will be fine. Hell, most people probably will be. When someone goes to trial, they take ‘em to the sheriff’s office. That Inquisitor guy looks at ya, says a few magic words, and most of ‘em he lets go. A few get taken to the cages for a further exam. I dunno what that means – don’t know anybody who’s been let go after that. A couple of times he just made a motion and bam, those knights beat the poor bastard to death on the spot and burned all their belongings.”

Vanessa doesn’t look too thrilled about that, so Shoshana decides it’s time to confide a little. “Even with the entire town vouching for me that I helped with the Circus, I’m worried I’m a target.”

“Well, I don’t mean to say anything, but I saw y’all leaving the sheriff’s office. You’re gonna get called in; you’re exactly the type. Even before all those stories about burning down circus tent with your magic powers.” She stares into her beer. “They’ve gotta be crazy. There’s plenty of crazy in the forest for them to deal with, why the hell are they in my town?!”

The problem is, the Town Council, which is what passes for a governing body in Three Oaks, have signed off on the whole deal. “The council’s just three people – the sheriff, Burgermeister Menner, and Remick – he’s the guy who keeps the shrine up and running. They all agreed to have the Penitents come in, but we haven’t seen much of any of them except the Sheriff since.”

Shoshana files that info away for later. “You said the sheriff’s still out and about?”

“He’s – look. Wilbur’s never been the most enthusiastic about bein’ sheriff. We served together, way back, in the house guard of the von Kempt family. Even back then he got the job because he’d been a sergeant. The guy was always happiest taking orders, rather than giving them. And hell, most of the sheriff job was just keeping things running today same as yesterday. But he got pretty spooked by the circus thing. That kinda shit’s scarier than your ordinary pack of wolves or bandits. I tried to get him to do something, but he seems comfortable with penitents calling the shots. He trusts they’re the experts and know what’s best here.”

The Burgermeister’s been pretty busy with this whole thing, apparently, and Remick hasn’t really left his little shrine. The Penitents don’t use that one – they’re more into big prayer ceremonies and dramatically flogging themselves in the street, and they’re starting construction on their own grand temple. Something about “showing faith by constructing a worthy house of worship,” and all that.

Vanessa’s grumbling about the heavy restrictions on the gates into town and the perimeter patrols, so Shoshana strategizes. “Have you had problems with people hopping the fence?”

“I mean, normally, no? Town regulations say go through the gates, but we’ve always had teenagers hopping the wall, or people with business outside who don’t feel like walking all the way to gate – never a real problem, until this whole nonsense. I’m not on patrol anymore, but as far as I can tell people are too scared to try in case they get caught. Probably a good way to get declared a potential heretic.”

Apparently the wall isn’t super well maintained; there’s plenty of places a few charming scamps could get in or out if they’re willing to scramble a little. It’s a trade stop, not a fortress.

We don’t get too much more info around town, and decide to investigate the town council in the morning. We take watch overnight, but nothing happens.

In the morning, we split up to cover more ground; Clem and Gral head to the Burgermeister’s, while Valeria and Shoshana try to hit up the local chief cleric.

Clem and Gral arrive at the biggest house in town. There’s a Penitent standing guard outside the door. They skulk around nonchalantly to the back to properly recon. There’s no Penitents watching the back, so Gral slinks up to a window to peer inside. It’s pretty normal; there’s a woman baking bread. Clem points out that we’ll definitely look like the bad guys if we break into an occupied home, so…the polite approach it is.

“The Burgermeister is not feeling well and cannot see visitors,” the knight at the gate intones.

“We’re here on urgent business,” Gral improvises. “We are the adventurers who defeated the circus; we wish to talk to him about the restoration efforts.” He rolls a properly bardic persuasion check, but it’s still like talking to a brick wall.

However, the door opens behind the stoic guard. “Who is it?” An elegant middle-aged woman peers out at us. “Wait, don’t I recognize you?”

“Yes, we assisted in deposing the circus!” Gral replies warmly. “Gral Omokk’du; I serve Duke Shieldeater.”

“Clementine Haxan,” Clem offers laconically.

“Ah, yes. Please do come in. You left town so quickly, my husband and I weren’t able to properly thank you!”

“We had urgent business elsewhere,” Gral admits, the picture of good manners. “I suppose that’s how life is.”

They make pleasantries with the woman, Meredith, who falls easily into the role of gracious host.

“We had concerns to bring up with the Burgermeister, but what’s this I hear about him being unwell?”

“Yes, he’s been bedridden the last week. A bit of the flu; he’s getting to that age. Mostly it’s just the fatigue, really.”

Clem tuts. “I’m a bit of a medic myself. The flu can be very serious when someone is in advanced years. I could potentially give a clearer diagnosis, maybe alleviate some of his pain?”

Meredith visibly brightens. “I was thinking about sending for a doctor anyway; please come on up, I’ll see if he’s ready to take visitors.”

The Burgermeister has CORONAVIRUS and we’re in QUARANTINE.

She leads them upstairs. “Dear? Aldrich? Remember those people who helped with the circus? One’s a doctor!” She listens for a moment. “You’re tired? You’ve been tired for a week. No, that’s not normal. It’s normal to get a doctor!” She turns back to the two visitors. “He’s being silly, come on up.”

“I don’t need a doctor, just rest!” we hear a harrumphing voice complain.

He is lying in bed in his pajamas. Ah, this is the burger kingdom! No, it’s my burger meistdom

“Hello sir, I’m Clementine Haxan. This is my nurse, Gral Omokk’du.”

“An orcish nurse?” the Burgermeister

“I’m not as experienced as Miss Haxan, but I served as a medic during the Ascension War,” Gral seamlessly bullshits.

“Look I’ve just picked up a bit of a bug and I need rest;” he grumps. “It’ll go away after a bit and I’ll resume my duties.”

“That may very well be true, but gods forbid it’s serious,” Clem says in her best Bedside Manner Voice. “It’ll be good to have it looked it.”

“Ugh, poke and prod me, do what you have to,” he reluctantly concedes.

Clem makes a medicine check with Dr. Wendell’s assistance. The man’s not entirely healthy - his cholesterol is a bit high maybe - but he’s hardly an invalid. He genuinely seems to have some kind of cold or flu, but it’s very mild at this point. There’s no way he should still be bedbound. Maybe it’s just Clem’s standards as an army doctor, but if a soldier came up to her with these symptoms asking to be let off duty the prescription would be “stop wasting my time and go dig latrines.”

Gral insights the guy. He’s not lying; he honestly believes he needs rest. But the way he keeps repeating the word “rest” feels a bit weird. The vibe isn’t “this person feels sick and fatigued,” it’s “this person has an insistent conviction that He Needs Rest.”

“Rest” isn’t a Prisoner buzzword, but Gral’s seen bards cast Suggestion before, and that seems to line up a little too well. Unfortunately, he can’t just Dispel Magic the darn thing; it’s too artful and subtle for that.

Gral decides to fish for a bit more info. “Before we leave you to your rest, how long have you had this flu?”

“About a week? The Inquisitor comes by every morning to update me on the town’s situation. Though I must rest and cannot attend to my duties, a town’s Burgermeister still must keep up with the times!”

“When did you first come into contact with him alone?”

“Oh, I insisted on a meeting when he first came into town a week ago.”

Interesting. The Burgermeister falls ill just in time so that the only information he gets about the town comes from the Inquisitor himself.

Wife doesn’t go out much, armed guard outside

Did he update you on the cage and the executions?

Have been capturing some neer do wells that seek to do harm to town, held for further questioning, some eliminated to protect town like common bandits or beasts.

Saw people in cages! How would you describe them, Clem.

Clem: didn’t strike me as especially dangerous folk

“Well, neither did that ringleader! He only seemed as eccentric as any other traveling performer!”

“Sure,” Gral argues, “but that’s when he had time to prepare his lies and his magic. These scared people in cages wouldn’t be able to hide if they tried. Honestly, the worst I saw was an excessive amount of body hair.”

“Fine, fine, I will inspect these prisoners personally as soon as I feel better, which should be any day now!”

“With all due respect, you fell ill right after this Inquisitor started talking to you. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Miss Haxan says you’re fine-“

“No I’m not! I need rest!” the Burgermeister interjects heatedly.

“We saved the town, and we’ve had trouble with Penitents before. I believe he has a spell on you. Please, let me try to remove it.”

“I’ve no time for your insane ravings, orc. The Inquisitor is a man of faith! Now leave me to my rest. Dr. Haxan, I appreciate your diagnosis, but I tire easily these days. Have my wife show you out.”

Gral knows the effect of Suggestion is only about 8 hours, but it’s subtle mental manipulation; it lasts. If the Inquisitor is coming by every morning, that’s the perfect opportunity to refresh the charm.

The two of them head out, Clem politely prescribing a short calisthenic routine for the man and, oh, he’s on the mend but just in caaaase he’s contagious the Inquisitor probably shouldn’t visit for a few days?

His wife agrees that sounds reasonable, but it probably won’t stop the guy. They say their gracious goodbyes.

Meanwhile, Shoshana and Valeria are headin’ to church. It’s a tiny thing; there are naves for the three gods we expect, but it doesn’t have the traditional empty throne of Oberok and we’d be surprised if it had a proper hidden shrine for the trickster god Guile. There’s a few people around, and luckily no Penitents posted outside.

Valeria, of course, stops at the Rack shrine for a short prayer, still getting used to how odd it is to see him depicted as human instead of dragonborn. We notice a few little notes – the Lethe shrine’s sponsored by the local blacksmith. You too can have a sword or hammer just like these, in our showroom down the lane!

A few folks are doing their daily prayers and making offerings. They’re all locals and travelers; there’s not a single Penitent in sight, which is pretty odd. There’s no services right now, so we head over to the old man who’s cleaning up candle drippings under one of the offerings. Valeria introduces herself, at your service as per usual.

“Ah, Kyr Argent! I remember you, from that blond man’s story about the circus! Keeper Remick, at your service. How may I aid you?”

Valeria asks him how, as a keeper of the faith, he feels about the Penitents.

“Well, in these times, faith is very important. And they certainly have plenty of that. And that’s a good thing, isn’t it? As a paladin, I’m sure you agree.”

“Faith is one thing, but I can’t say I’m pleased with what they’ve misguidedly done here,” Valeria sniffs.

“As I see it, they’re keeping the town safe. The Inquisitor explained it to me. It’s the will of the gods! Desperate times call for desperate measures, and, well, times are pretty desperate when you can’t even trust a circus! With your mind, that is. With your wallet, Guile walks with them, doesn’t he? Anyhow. These Penitent fellows, they seem extreme, but is there any other option?”

“There must be,” Valeria declares. “They’re detaining people at a crossroads, that’s the work of oppression.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far – see, the Inquisitor explained it to me. He is an experienced scholar of the faith, with a keen – not eye, I guess. A keen sense for the corruption that lurks in the hearts of men. I am, to be honest, just a glorified janitor!”

“I’m certain you’re more than that,” Valeria objects.

“Oh, there’s no need for that. It’s a role I’ve found fulfilling, keeping this place and these people.”

“Well, it seems like they’re brushing past this place in search of something new.”

“Yes, heh. I believe the intent is to make this town a bastion of faith. I’m sure that my little spot here will still remain in use, but more glorification to the gods is good, right?”

We botch an insight check and don’t get a real good sense of him. There isn’t the sense that he’s lying about anything – our impression is he believes it’s not his place to stand in the Penitents’ way; they must know better than him. He’s an old man who’s done a noble job, but he doesn’t think he’s cut out for determining who is or isn’t a danger to the town.

We try another tack: “I understand you’re on the town council?”

“I am. Don’t know why, really. We used to have a proper cleric, decades ago. When he died, I was closest thing to a replacement we had! As the keeper of town’s faith, I hold one of the three seats. Burgermeister Menner does most of running the town, but for the big things he calls in myself and the sheriff and we all take a vote.”

“Then you must have been a big part of bringing the Penitents in?”

“Well, Sheriff Wilbur’s the one who brought their offer to us. I did vote in favor, yes. The Inquisitor showed up personally with his people and described the whole arrangement he had in mind. The Penitents would reinforce and train our militia, and those guilty of corruption would be remanded into their custody for justice. It all seemed very reasonable; sheriff Wilbur does his best but clearly he and his deputies aren’t enough on their own, not against this sort of curse. Burgermeister Menner fell ill shortly afterwards, and I’ve been very busy here doing what I can to keep up folks’ faith.”

Shoshana butts in. “Have you actually been out to see the Penitents work?”

“Yes, once. It disturbed me, but I understand it couldn’t be avoided. The Inquisitor suggested it might be best to avoid seeing such things that upset me so.”

“But if it upsets you – wouldn’t you be the one with authority to change things?!” Valeria demands, failing a persuasion check.

“Oh, voting on anything like that has to wait until the Burgermeister feels better.”

“Can’t council members do anything on their own?”

“Like I said, we’d have to convene to vote…”

“Sure, for the big things,” Shoshana argues, “But the sheriff and Burgermeister have their own duties, don’t you have your own authority as well?”

“I - I suppose I could call clerics from other towns to take a look?”

Valeria puts a gauntleted hand on his shoulder and sparkles at him with all her charismatic piety. “You’re not just the keeper of the shrine, you’re the keeper of this town’s faith. I know you can make a difference.”

The dice land in her favor. “Yes!” the old man declares. “I will-I will do something. What is it I should do? I’m new to this. I’ve held this seat for 20 years but, well, doing something is new. Mostly council meetings are that the Burgermeister says I’d like to increase the tolls, I say the gods probably won’t argue, the sheriff says it won’t cause a riot, and then he does it. I am not suited for a crisis.”

“Well, what kinds of things do you normally do?”

“Er, sometimes I have to sit in on a trial and make sure the prisoner has an advocate?”

OH YOU’RE A PRISONER ADVOCATE, HUH. WELL BOY DO WE HAVE SOME PRISONERS FOR YOU.

“Why, don’t the Penitents do that as clerics of Rack?”

We politely do not laugh in his face. No, no they do not.

“Oh, then I must go at once!”

We’re gonna reconvene with the rest of the party, and then will see the gods’ justice done! After lunch!

The four of us, plus the Fairgolds, meet up. Flynn reports that there have been no changes; the Penitents let all carts through but seized some items, mostly books. We swap info about the Burgermeister and Keeper Remick. The town leadership is hardly good in a crisis, but the Penitents have definitely been separating and keeping them down on purpose.

The first step is to bring in Keeper Remick as our prisoner advocate for those folks being held in the basement. The old man puffs himself up with as much importance as he can, aided by all of us backing him up looking tough. “AHEM,” he announces to the nonplussed Penitent guard, “as a member the of town council and keeper of town’s faith, let me speak with your prisoners!”

Silence.

“Can I speak to your manager? I mean leader!”

The Penitent shakes his head.

“Now listen here young man, what seat do you hold on the town council?!”

The Penitent finally speaks. “I have been instructed to-“

“To work WITH the town council,” Remick retorts, showing a surprising amount of backbone. “No matter how much experience you all may have, it is my solemn duty to speak with the town’s prisoners! Allow ,e to do my duty or I will be forced to write a sternly worded letter! APOLOGIZING FOR FORCING OUR WAY PAST YOU!”

The Inquisitor glides up behind his guard, listening to Remick’s speech. “Very well,” he intones in his eerily calm voice, “You may…enter.”

We are brought down to basement. It’s a set of maybe 6 cells, more suited to being a drunk tank than any long-term holding cell. In one cell we spot the distinctive scales of a blue dragonborn, and as our footsteps clank on the stone, an equally distinctive voice begins to shout indignantly.

“You brutes, I demand you return my research materials to me! I was in the middle of some important work when- oh, you aren’t the warden. My goodness! Kyr Argent! I must say, it’s rather good to see a familiar face.” Oh, hi, Lucinius.

The cells are overcrowded – there must be 20 prisoners across 6 cells. Lucinius and everyone else crammed in with him look pretty beaten up. They all look completely normal; the ones with visible mutations have been imprisoned where people can see. These are the prisoners they wouldn’t be able to get away with holding publicly.

Lucinius has clearly got a rant building up. “I explained to them many times that I am a professor from Golden Academy, and they refused to listen! They said my studies are ‘heretical’ and my magics ‘invoke the name of the tyrant god’ – yes, obviously, they were written during the Aquilian empire, they said ‘Oberok’ every other word! It’s not a dirty word! Anyhow. Are you here to let us out?”

“We’re here to be advocates!”

“Oh, we’ve had advocates!” Lucinius huffs. “The Inquisitor is the prosecution, while one of those fanatic knights serves as our ‘advocate.’ It’s quite far from ideal; their position as advocate is that we ought to confess, if we understand the gravity of our crimes. And then they hit us a bit.”

“I’m unfamiliar with the customs of this land,” Gral allows, “but that doesn’t exactly sound like proper advocacy.”

“Well, I certainly don’t know how things are done in this country! I’ve never been accused of a cr- well, I have been accused of many crimes,” Lucinius admits. “I find it’s best never to assume about local customs. That got me into a LOT of trouble with the goblins. Did you know they have a ‘trial by fire?’ I misunderstood it, they just light a big fire to keep the courtroom warm while the trial goes all night. I went to great lengths to cast Protection from Energy! And of course it turns out casting spells as a prisoner is double illegal…”

“Double illegal?”

“Yes, it means they bring in twice as many judges.”

As he rants, the sight of innocent prisoners in miserable conditions seems to be a pretty strong argument. Remick’s fully on board with booting the Penitents out as soon as he can convene the town council.

Gral’s going to make a show of it. Loudly, he declares, “This is a violation of these citizens’ basic rights! We’ll need a full meeting of the town council before any Penitent activities continue!”

The Inquisitor hmms. “That’s…certainly something the Burgermeister could order. But nobody may leave if they have not been inspected. If we cannot continue our inspections, the town would shut down entirely.”

“The lockdown would only start once the Burgermeister declares it, which hasn’t happened yet,” Valeria interjects testily.

We’re politely and pointedly escorted out.

Lucinius shouts after us, “Don’t be long! Tell my bodyguards these people are not allowed into the cart without a warrant signed by someone of noble rank, or at least with a judicial position! Also, contact the embassy! They can’t do this to me, I have tenure-!”

The session closes as we discuss how the hell we’re going to get a Proper Council Meeting with the sheriff out “receiving instruction” from the Penitents and the Burgermeister convinced he’s indisposed. And we’ve got to get at least two of the three to vote the intruders out. That’s not gonna happen without them feeling like they have some way to protect the town from the Curse.

We fondly reminisce that our previous campaign’s party would definitely have started murdering people by now.

#the cursewood #three oaks junction #valeria argent #gral omokk'duu #clem haxan #shoshana bat chaya #flynn fairgold #fiona fairgold #dr kjeller #penitent knights

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onychaos · 4 years

Text

Observing Tumblr bugs

So I did some more work digging and observing around on tumblr wondering why posts are missing in on dashboard search tags, since you know? You have the power to search for terms in a post or tags on the dashboard. I also noticed that some posts don’t show up at all..

UPDATE 2/13/2020: Gonna update this post. As a warning, retweets of the post don’t have updated info

So, for WordPress when post don’t show up, you would change the date the post was made (The current time and date) and it would be added back to WordPress search where everyone can see it.

With WordPress, It’s a very easy fix to deal with. Not really a problem when you think about it.

Now with Tumblr, Dear lord. I can kinda see why Tumblr is seen as a hellsite.. Mainly for the issue, the site breaking search engine. It’s a mess..

So, for tumblr, it’s very different. Things I noticed.

A notice: Should go without saying but if your blog and posts are adult themed and not meant for anyone but adults, your posts will never show up. You can show a like of things but porn is a no go here.

1. There are some tags on Tumblr that will show your post for 10 mins+ before removing the post from the tags recent tab. If your post is popular (I.E. 3 notes or more) It will still show up there.

The tags I know where this happens is the tags “Twitter”, “WordPress” Let me know if you know of any other tags that act like this.

1.2 There are times when your post has 5 main tags but they won’t or don’t show up in search or tags. Retagging works in some cases but most of the time, it does not work.

2. Sometimes when you have 5 tags you want your post to be found in dashboard search, they just don’t show up. Sometimes if they showup, they show up on a new post (i.e. Re-upload) with the same tags will fix the problem.

2.1 Please remember this, as it may be another reason. If you have links in your post that are blacklisted, remove them. I can not say if having blacklisted links after the URL ban dropped may affect your post in the future or not.

Tags make it easier for readers to find posts about a specific topic on your blog. For instance, you could tag your landscape photographs with #landscape or posts about your butler with #butler. Tagging your posts is as easy as you’d expect. When you create a post, enter the tags in the field at the bottom of the post form.

Tips:

You don't need to put a tag in quotes or start with a hash symbol (#).

Hit enter to separate each tag.

Only the first 20 tags on a post will show up in searches. After that, you’re just tagging for show.

Tags on Tumblr can have spaces in them. They are the most legible tags on the internet. Hooray! - Tagging your posts

3 It also seems the URL ban + being able to search posts for terms in the post or tags has had a weird effect on posts. Reblogs don’t count, as they only show up on your blog and not searchable

I was looking in a part of tumblr called “tags not working” and I’m not the only one with this issue. Some post seems to suggest the election day and/or tumblr tag system is broken (No shock about it being broken)

Search for multiple tags or terms

To search for multiple tags or terms, all you have to do is use the right syntax. For example:

picnic lunch - returns posts with the terms “picnic” and “lunch” anywhere (e.g., #picnic basket, or #lunch break, or a post using the word picnic).

#picnic lunch - returns posts with the #picnic lunch tag.

#picnic #lunch - returns posts with both #picnic AND #lunch tags.

There is a 4th option that a user or bot may have reported your post for spam or mass Automation by a user/bot. (If you post too much) If you use tags that someone thinks is not fitting for a post of yours or if you used any import tools to upload posts from one site to Tumblr. You may fall under this rule..

What I can assume is that Tumblr system for keeping spam like post out of search + the URL ban + being able to search posts by terms / any tags has hit a great number of posts made by users..

If that is the case, you have to re-upload the post to see in search or find it by terms.

I will talk about this later..

And there is a 5th option which I can’t prove to be true or false.. I have heard the porn bots that like or retweet your posts is another reason to why your posts may not show up in search / tags but can not prove this but something to keep in mind..

If you have a secondary blog account on your main that posts or reblogs adult things, be careful, I can’t say how much this may or may not affect you since there no way to test this but keep that in mind

I don’t know if adult blogs that like / reblog your posts will affect you or not.

There is one last option.. And this is a very extreme case.. but..

If your posts aren't appearing on Tumblr-wide tag pages, it might be because your blog is pretty new and we need to make sure you’re not a robot or a spammer.

Make sure you’ve verified your account via the email we sent when you joined Tumblr. Once you’ve used your account for a while (and done normal, human things with it like follow other blogs and like or reblog posts), your posts will start appearing on tag pages.

If you are a robot or a spammer, you should visit our article about account deletion.

On the help center page for Troubleshooting tags. The post I quoted worries me. There could be a chance your account is marked as a robot or a spammer. If, at that point happens.

You have 2 options. 1. Contact Tumblr support and tell them your problems and pray to god that they do something to help out, and hope they don’t send a automatic response which can amount to “we will try to do something but won’t“

2. Backup your blog, make a new account and re-post everything there by hand, and let your followers know of the new account. Your current account may be marked as a spammer account or a robot.

So… How do you get your post to show back up on Tumblr Dashboard search with the power to search for terms and any tag on your post, and tags that are after the 5th tag on posts?

ANSWER: Re-upload the post or posts that is not showing up in tags or is no longer searchable on Tumblr Dashboard. It’s the only current fix to the problem for why posts are no longer showing up in tags / searched by terms

Update:

treygocray said: onychaos HEY! I got it to work. Delete all your tags on the photo and re-tag it. Mine worked so I thought I’d share! :D

This does work but if the post didn’t have a banned link. This is worth a shot but be warned that your post may fall under the 5 tag or less rule.

end update

For users who only reblog or like, this will not affect you. But those who don’t reblog and make posts, this affects us greatly. When our posts can’t be seen by other users besides followers.. I don’t man, not feeling it since most followers may / are no longer active.

Since the dashboard search engine is awful and tumblr @staff don’t seem to want to fix this issue or know how to fix the issue. This is the only way from what I tested.

If you have this issue but don’t want to re-upload posts to fix it. You have to go by the 5 tags can be searched, and you can’t term and your posts may or may not show up in tags. I could be wrong but I know there are people who don’t want to use a wrong around for this bug if you got more then 50 posts.

You can test to see if your posts are searchable by making an empty tag that has never been used, ever. Then go to mass post editor and add the empty tag as the 6th tag to 30 or 20 posts at a time and search the said tag. If your posts that you tagged with the empty tag show up in that tag under the “most recent” search and not tagged.

A empty tag (Your username) seems to be able to hold 40 or 20 of your posts at a time. That’s why it is best to do 20 or 10 to test them. You may need to wait a bit as there is delay for posts to show up. Or you can add the empty tag to 3 of your post as the 6th tag or anything after the 5th tag works.

However, if the tag being used is brand new or barely used it can affect some post from what I tested.

Brand new tags (Never used aka no posts in the tag) Can hold 40 of your posts.. Sometimes it can hold more?

non-empty tags (Tags that get used once in a while) Can hold 3 posts and there is a post delay

Very active tags can hold 3 post but if you post a lot, your older posts in a tag will be hidden after a fourth post is made but will show back up after a week or so. Sometimes Tumblr may break and the post might not show back up if hidden and you probably have to reupload it or re-tag?

If you see the post in most recent or popular search, your posts can be found by terms / any tag but this is me just observing and testing about 20 posts

Now should say this. New tags that never been used can hold 40 of your posts sometimes more? But this is if you are trying to search by term and not tags

This means users can search for your posts by tags and tags after the 5th tag as well or terms in your posts on tumblr dashboard. (That is good, very good)

Because I tried to bring my posts from WordPress to Tumblr via a defunct import tool named wp2tumblr and as a result of my post falling under these rules of spam here what I took note of.

Posts that don't show up or can not be seen working well in tags or at all and not coming up in the search terms. Out of 147 posts. only 113* of my posts do not show up right in tags or search nor can they be searched by terms or tags (Some tags do not show these post after 2 weeks. You have to wait a week to see them but nothing happens..)

So only 34+ posts can be searched by tag / terms / seen in tags or searched by terms

113 posts have bugged / shadow flagged for spam / search from the effects of using wp2tumblr to import my wordpress posts to tumblr..

Only way to fix this is by re-uploading the post to allow it to be found in tumblr tags and search terms.

Again, if you don’t see your post show up in search or tags, you will need to re-upload the posts in question.

And for me, I hate having to re-upload posts to have them be seen again but I will have to do it if I want my posts to be seen. Even if that means re-uploading my rants, vents, talking about users, and other things. So you will be seeing me upload some posts that may be 2017 or 2018 related.

Your followers may or may not be annoyed with you as a heads up if you re-upload posts to fix this issue.

And even if you do this, there is no 100 % plan yet or there is a chance someone may see you re-upload a post as spam.. Or the post may not show up later

But I thought I share what I have been observing how things been working on tumblr. If anyone has a better way of dealing with this, let me know.

Because when you make a new post, it is seen in tags / search. And it is searchable be terms or tags after the 5th tag

Again, if your post is not showing up in tags, re-upload the post in question and it will be back in search to be seen by everyone

However, another issue came to me. If you reupload the post it can be found in search and by terms.. now however If you edit/delete the tags when having more then 5 tags on the post and go down to 5 or less.

Your post may fall under the 5 tags or less rule and may also lose the right to search for that post by terms but something to look out for.

Update: It seems some of my new posts are not searchable by terms anymore.

I contacted Tumblr Support but got a fast reply but it was a copy and paste. I don’t know what Tumblr Staff is doing but it’s anything but helpful.

Here a list of my posts that got hit or don’t show up.. I added clear to the post name meaning it works / shows up. I need to look at all of them. I have since deleted some old posts so this list is outdated and this is not all of the posts yet..

Some post below don’t have the right name but keep that in mind

Nothing important below. :3

my plans for 2017 - clear 12:20 AM 12/11/2019

a new discord server archive it - 11:16 PM 12/10/2019

Twitch channel updates - archive it 11:16 PM 12/10/2019

Sonikchan update archive it - 8:08 PM 12/10/2019

Updates for Sonikmage twitch archive it - 8:08 PM 12/10/2019

Sonik muffins - clear 7:34 PM 12/10/2019

Future Update archive - 4:13 AM 12/11/2019

Shutting down Sonikmage twitter archive - 12:21 AM 12/11/2019

My little guide to streaming archive - 4:13 AM 12/11/2019

New twitch streams archive - 4:14 AM 12/11/2019

Twitch rant

mini twitch rant

one trick pony archive - 4:14 AM 12/11/2019

Sonic adventure SX 2018 clear - 12:02 AM 12/11/2019

how I been feeling

game progress

sonic speed R 2018

update log 6

The Tumblr purge

game dev update 2

game overhaul

kyle and lucy

Tumblr purge 2

Done with Pangya

Tumblr purge AM

Last speedrun to do

Twitch and youtube let's play

srb2 teleport

Sonic beta clear - 3:35 PM 12/11/2019

twitter rant

facebook update

srb2 update

Speedruns I plan to do clear - 10:03 AM 12/15/2019

Second Discord channel update

how to use twitter

Thoughts on SXSW

Thoughts on Sonic Speed 2017

What's next for me?

Thoughts on Pangya celebrity

Thoughts on Pangya celebrity big ann clear - 8:58 PM 12/17/2019

Thoughts on speedrunners

Why do you stream?

New personal discord channel update 3

Sonic adventure 2 livestream

New thoughts on Pangya c

A side project

Mini server update +

sonik rp story clear - 10:05 AM 12/15/2019

another twitch rant

birthday livestream

my thoughts on spinball

The future for sonic 1 hell

Zelda shine hunting

Sonic Forces custom character

Revio shutting down

new personal discord server clear - 9:32 AM 12/15/2019

SRB2 forfeit rules clear - 9:30 AM 12/15/2019

my forum

moving out update

duel link replays

Mario Maker 2 experience

My Tumblr experience

Gave Pangya debug one last shot

Frozen Snowman Land - clear 9:30 AM 12/15/2019

Images of my fan game

venting about video games

changes and moving forward

sadx question

Playing duel links on twitch

Hyper's quest 2

video of srb2 kart

srb2kart rainbow road

mini update about my posts clear - 9:31 AM 12/15/2019

levels i forgot

srb2kart darkvile garden

tumblr theme bugs clear - 9:32 AM 12/15/2019

SRB2Kart final fall

Beaten nep

Zelda BOTW master mode stream

My review sonic spinball

streams this weekend

Why I dislike twitch fight streams

Thanks for watching

A long vent / rant

A message to a friend

Cyberscore review

What I done in 2 months

Youtube planned let's plays

My goals for 2018

Final post on speedrunning

Clicker heroes 2 thoughts

final Pangya c post

Chaos realm race nights

My CyberScore Ideas

New Start

Sonic Gather Battle

Pantufa the cat dx review

SRB2 review

Dungeon Souls revisit

Sonic R review

update log

my new server updates

Sonic World R8 review

Pangya C tea time

Sonic and Shantae 2017 demo

Sonic ages 2017

Update on Sonic hell

Sonic Forces review clear - 3:51 AM 12/12/2019

Battle for the internet act 3

game mode ideas

New changes for this year arc - 2:57 AM 12/12/2019

Sonic Mania delay archive second account -

rant: twitter archive

2 rants for the price of one

Twitch bits

Sonic Mania stream today archive - 4:44 PM 12/11/2019

SRB2 testing clear - 9:29 AM 12/15/2019

Sonic Grand Adventure clear - 10:03 AM 12/15/2019

#tumblr #staff #tumblr tags #tags not working #tags not showing up #tumblr bugs #really tumblr #tumblr search #tumblr support #my posts #onychaos

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saiilorstars · 4 years

Text

The Girl in the Forest

Chapter 23: By Love and Death

// Story Masterlist //

Fandom: The Originals

Pairings: Klaus Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Pronunciation of OC’s name: Ma-leh-nee

Requested tag: @queenmj10

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Chapter Summary: Maleny finishes the arrangements for Hayley's wedding. Meanwhile, Freya Mikaelson endeavors to change Finn's mind whilst also revealing that she knows something about Maleny's and Klaus' past that nobody knows.

Because Maleny has been switched bodies once again, her temporary face claim is Adriana Louvier.

A disappointed Freya walked into a morgue where her brother's, Finn, corpse rested. She went towards the body and unzipped the body bag, sure enough finding Finn. After Elijah set the safe house on fire, Finn received several harsh burned injuries on the side of his body. She noticed he wore a necklace of hers, the blue pendant talisman, and smiled a little. There was still still a chance for him to survive...and fix the wrongs he had done.

~ 0 ~

Cami hopped out of the car she'd compelled for herself and rushed over to a payphone, all the meanwhile holding a crying Hope in her arms. She was only a mile away when she heard the safe house bursting into flames. As much as she wanted to go back and help Elijah, she knew Hope was their main priority. So, once on the road she compelled the first driver that stopped by and took the car.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," she fumbled to get some spare change from her pocket as she stood in front of payphone. She had to leave her phone back at the safe house as well and now she only hoped she had enough change for one stupid call to the Quarter.

Hope was crying harder, sensing something way off with her environment. On a chance, Cami dropped the quarters she'd managed to pull out of her pocket.

"Dammit!" she growled but then flinched as Hope's cries grew stronger, "Oh, I'm sorry! I'm sorry. You're being so brave, the least I can do is watch my…" she trailed off when she heard metal noises not too far. She clutched Hope to her chest and slowly looked around, "Whoever's out there, if you try anything, I will gouge out your eyes!" she called out into the dark, "You are not getting this baby!"

A minute later Elijah appeared, in torn clothes and practically covered in ash, "Your threats are getting better…"

"Oh thank God!" Cami ran to him in relief and hugged him with one arm, "What the hell happened back there? I saw the flames and I wanted to go back but I had Hope and I...I'm sorry I left."

"You did exactly what you were supposed to do," Elijah smiled at her, pulling away from their hug to hurry her towards the car, "But now we have to go."

"I don't care as long as we're together!" Cami blurted before thinking and soon found herself flustered, "I meant as in, we're like-"

Amused, Elijah just opened the door of the car for her, "I understand," Cami graciously climbed in and tried to focus on the bigger problem instead of her bluntness for words.

~ 0 ~

In the ballroom of the compound, decorators and caterers were busy preparing everything for the wedding that night. As Hayley and Jackson entered the room, they were awed by what would become their party. When Klaus had offered the place as the site for the wedding they were under the belief it would just be a simple get together...never in their lives did they think this would be happening.

"Ohhhh, I so do not belong in your world," Jackson commented as he moved up to a table and looked at the elaborate center piece.

Hayley scoffed, "My world? Give me some credit. I'm not exactly the girl who sat around fantasizing about her wedding day. And, if I had…" she motioned to the caterer passing by with a rather large wedding cake, "... it probably would have looked a little less than that."

Maleny entered from the other side of the ballroom, sheepishly smiling at the two, "Sorry, sorry, was this too much?" she'd been tasked to prepare for the wedding and since this was practically the only thing she was doing for some time she wanted it to be spectacular.

"You did this?" Hayley comically asked and pointed to the tables.

"Yeah," Maleny made a face, awaiting for some type of scold, "Klaus told me I could do it but I really know he's just trying to come up with ways to distract me from having another meltdown."

Hayley walked up to the brunette woman and hugged her tight, "I'm sorry I haven't been here for you."

Maleny smiled and hugged back, "Hey, you were busy with your wedding rituals. You can't exactly leave that for a girl who has a knack to get swapped bodies."

Hayley pulled away and sadly smiled, "This wedding will help you too, I promise. It's just for the moment, you know..."

Maleny sighed and moved to the table Jackson was at, "No offense, but your wedding won't help me. I just want to be placed back in body. It's like...it's like my entire world has been turned upside down again. The last time, it was my fault - I chose to go into a curse. But this time...I hate Finn Mikaelson. I detest him."

"Hey, it will all get fixed," Hayley tried to start but Maleny shook her head and raised a hand to stop her.

"Please, I'm tired of hearing the same things," she pulled on a happy smile for the bride and groom, but neither wolf bought it, "Today is not about me, not about curses. I'd like for today to be about this wedding which I will bust my ass off to make it perfect. I promise."

"Hayley," called Klaus, a minute later entering with a sneaky smile, something that put Hayley on edge for a min, "If I might intrude, there's someone who wishes to say hello."

At the motion to be followed, Hayley shared a look with Jackson before slowly going out to the courtyard. Maleny went after them, tugging Klaus' arm as she curiously asked, "What did you do?" she whispered, forgetting it did no good around supernatural hearing.

Klaus didn't say anything as Elijah and Cami walked into the courtyard from the entrance, Cami holding Hope.

As much as Hayley wanted to be incredibly happy to have Hope back her fear won over, "You brought them here?" she turned to Klaus, "Finn could be anywhere!"

"I've taken precautions," Klaus assured them, his devious smile alerting them he'd taken care of the immediate problem - the wolves, "There'll be no uninvited guests at your wedding, and after, your wolves will be the first line of defense to this home. No more running, Queen."

Hayley then wasted no time and ran to get Hope from Cami. As soon as she no longer held Hope, Cami went over to Maleny, whom she hadn't seen nor talked to in various days, and promptly hugged her.

"It's good to have you back," Maleny relished in her family moment.

"I am so sorry for not being here for you," Cami pulled away frantically and looked to Klaus, "What's the progress? Are you-"

Much like she'd done with Hayley, Maleny raised her hand for Cami to stop, "It's a wedding day and I don't want to keep talking about this. Please?"

Cami was momentarily surprised by the calmness in Maleny's tone, but she supposed after days of processing what happened to her Maleny was finally just going on to stage two: trying to live as normally as possible.

"Okay," Cami turned to the others, "So what do we do now?"

"We prepare for the wedding, that's what," Maleny announced with a clap of her hands, ushering everyone to get a move on, "Hayley, there's something Rebekah and I have to show you but since Rebekah is out helping Kol, it's up to me."

Hayley looked up from Hope with a curious face, "Well, what is it?"

"Right this way, Miss Marshall," Maleny left for the stairs, leaving Hayley to follow.

Cami watched after them while the others also began to dissipate. She waited Maleny to be long gone before she went after Klaus in the ballroom, "How's she doing?"

"Mal did just say the day was for Hayley's wedding," Klaus remarked with his usual sarcasm.

"Brother," Elijah called in his sharp tone that expressed irritation. He walked into the ballroom and stopped beside Cami, putting a hand on her shoulder, "She's been gone for days, tell her what she needs to know."

Klaus rolled his eyes at their dramaticness but nonetheless answered, "She's...better. She's not entirely there yet but I believe there's been progress."

"Based on having her coordinate a wedding?" Cami made a face, clearly unimpressed with the idea.

"Well, she has managed not to thrash anymore furniture pieces," Klaus smiled at them, amused at the faces both made.

"She thrashed furniture?" Cami blinked and looked at Elijah, "This is why I need to know things, you see!"

"Cami, she's fine," Klaus tried to say but Cami wasn't having it.

"She's not fine, Klaus!" the blonde snapped, "She's stuck in some body because your brother put her there! How the hell can she be fine-"

And now it was Klaus who lost it. He wasn't going to stand there and let some woman basically tell him he wasn't doing his job. "Do you think I not know that!?" he replied in a shout, startling her enough to have Elijah shift into a protective stance beside her, "I'm not an idiot, Camille, of course I know everything isn't fine with her! But the fact remains I don't know what to do at this moment! Forgive me for trying to bring in a little happiness into her life in the meantime I get a clue as to how to help her."

While Cami remained silent, unsure of how to respond, Elijah moved forwards, "We understand how difficult the matter is but-"

"You don't know!" Klaus snapped, growing more angry as the two tried to 'imagine' what it was like for him and Maleny at the moment. The more he thought about it the more furious he became, "Do not stand there and say you 'understand' because absolutely no one could understand! Do you know what it's like to stand in front of Maleny and tell her that I will figure it out while she is sobbing on the floor? Do you?" Elijah and Cami shared a silent look, defeated. Klaus' eyes landed on Cami for a minute, "I don't need a reminder that this is my family's fault," he coldly told her, "It's always been like that…but I will not allow you to assume that I have no care for Maleny's condition. Next time, I will forget who you are, Camille, and act."

~ 0 ~

"What are we doing, Mal?" Hayley relentlessly questioned as the brunette opened up her closet's doors. She had placed Hope on Maleny's bed while she remained at its side.

"Rebekah and I managed to find you a little something," Maleny chuckled as she pulled out a white bag from the floor of her closet. "Well, I say, me and her, but really I have no head for many things right now."

Hayley raised an eyebrow, "And just what is that little something? And remember, there's a baby present," she pointed a finger to Hope.

Maleny rolled her eyes and walked back to the two, pulling out a long, white laced wedding dress from the bag, "Ta-da! We absolutely refuse to let you get married in skinny jeans and combat boots," Hayley was awed by the beauty of the dress as she took it into her hands. Maleny took a seat on the bed and put Hope on her lap, both watching the brunette hybrid went over to the mirror to see the dress.

"Thank you," Hayley whispered minutes later, "It's beautiful."

"Well, it's actually one of Rebekah's. She's technically the only woman alive who's commissioned wedding dresses in five different centuries."

"And you?" Hayley looked back, startling Maleny with the question.

"Me?" Maleny blushed and pretended to play with Hope, "Wh-why would you ask me that?"

"Oh, I don't know…" Hayley sauntered back with the dress pressed against her body as she pretended to dance out in a waltz, "...could be because you've been living a love-story cycle for centuries?"

Maleny scoffed and fiddled with Hope's hand as she spoke to the baby, "I sure hope your mummy tells you better fairy tale stories than the ones she's read."

Hayley rolled her eyes and laid her dress on the bed, "C'mon, you're telling me a woman who knows how to throw a wedding like this one has never actually made it to the aisle?"

"I've never even been proposed to, Hayley," Maleny looked back at the brunette with a dim smile, "There was never time for such a thing. Either I was sacrificed first or Klaus had to run away because of Mikael. Either way, I ended up dead anyways. No weddings whatsoever."

"But what about now?" Hayley took a seat on the bed close to Maleny, wearing a mischievous smile, "I mean, you're kinda here to stay and I hear Klaus is like-" she took on a stereotypical teenage girl's voice, "-pretty into you," she dramatically rolled her eyes.

Maleny laughed for the first time a genuine laughter, "Hayley! What was that!?"

"What? I'm only saying," Hayley reached over to tickle Hope, "You can be Hope's new stepmom."

Maleny laughed lighter and blushed, shaking her head, "Honestly, Hayley, does Klaus look like the marrying type to you?"

"Up until you showed up I didn't consider him more than my one-night stand," Hayley shrugged then made a face, "It would be kinda weird seeing him at the end of the aisle…"

"It's even weirder imagining him actually getting down on the one knee," Maleny shook her head again, "I doubt that's gonna happen. Once upon a time, when were humans, things were far more simple but now...I honestly doubt that would happen. Besides, if you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly myself right now," she gestured to her current body, "and until that's resolved I have no mind for anything else."

Hayley nodded, able to agree on that term. She looked back at her dress and ran a hand down through it, "Thank you for the dress - and for my wedding."

"You're welcome," Maleny smiled at her, "We're family after all. I mean, you may be marrying Jackson Kenner of the boozy backwater Kenners, but you're still my family. Though if Rebekah was here she'd tell you you were a Mikaelson."

Hayley's eyebrows raised up as she laughed, "And then I would say it's a nice compliment if only it didn't link me to so many homicidal lunatics."

"Why do you think I'm still Maleny Rowan?" Maleny pretended to raise an arm in question.

"Good call," Hayley took Hope from Maleny and set her on her lap, "Take a good look baby girl," she poke to the baby and pointed at Maleny, "Cos I guarantee you by the next year you'll have your brand new step-mommy," she waved Hope's small hand who giggled in response.

"Hayley!" Maleny cried, mortified yet still laughing.

"Maleny Mikaelson - has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" Hayley continued to speak to Hope whilst ignoring Maleny's pleads to stop.

~ 0 ~

In her room, Cami sat on a rest chair sifting through her leather journal. On a whim thought, she reached for a pen on the table beside her and began to jot down some notes. She'd ignored her psychology work for as long as possible and now she thought it was probably the only thing that could make everything feel less...weird than it all was. Maybe it was time to get back on that. The knock on her open door made her sigh and look up from her journal, unsurprised to find Elijah waiting there.

"I know I have to apologize," she said her first thought as she assumed she knew what Elijah wanted from her at the moment, "but to be fair, Klaus owes me for many more things than he can count."

"Why don't we simply let the ordeal go?" Elijah suggested and came forwards, his eyes happily trailing the journal he gifted her. He liked seeing it was being put to use.

Cami followed his gaze and closed the journal, sheepishly smiling, "What did you need, Elijah?"

"I was wondering if you had already picked out something for the wedding tonight."

Cami raised an eyebrow and put her journal on her table before leaning back on her chair, "To be frank, I've got nothing. I've never actually been to a wedding, so I thought it might just be best for me not to attend. Besides, someone has to take care of Hope."

"Yes, and Amarrah has already volunteered herself for the task," Elijah informed as he reached down for Cami's hand, startling her as she was pulled to her feet, "and believe me when I say you will have absolutely no trouble acquiring your dress for tonight."

It took a minute to process what was happening but once Cami was led out of her room she was almost there, "Where are we going?"

"I figured you may have dressing problems so I went ahead and found a solution," Elijah looked at her with a broad smile, "An easy solution."

"And that would be…?"

Elijah came up to a closed room and promptly opened the doors to an old closet-like room. It was filled with ornamented boxes of all sizes, chests as well. Cami slowly stepped inside while Elijah went straight to large chests set on tables at the end of the room.

"Now these are Rebekah's gowns - some of them aren't even touched," Elijah explained as he opened one chest to reveal dozens of gowns inside, "Sometimes she was simply obsessed with having the 'best of the best' she forgot the most important thing: to wear them."

Cami was in awe at all the trinkets and chests around them. She had never seen so many things from the past - not even a museum could compete with this!

"Still, that's only better for you," Elijah had continued talking without noticing Cami's reactions, "There's plenty of gowns from which you can pick."

Cami met his look once he turned around, "Your family are packrats…" was the first thing that came to mind.

Elijah silently smiled, "I would think the same…"

"I mean it," Cami gaped as she walked by an old-fashioned phone, "Who the hell keeps a phone around?"

Elijah shrugged, really having no answer for that one. He gestured for her to look at the chests instead, "Feel free to try on as many as you'd like."

"Wow…" Cami reached in and touched a lavender gown, "...these are beautiful. I feel bad just touching them - you want me to wear one?"

"Yes. Don't worry, I hear Maleny has already come in to choose her own." Elijah nodded, slowly reaching for her hand on her side, "And, you know, it would be lovely if you would...accompany me to the wedding as a…"

"Date…?" Cami was already getting flustered with the idea, but it didn't strike her bad.

"I don't mind if you call it anything else, as long as you say 'yes' and be there with me," Elijah held their hands together between them.

The smile that broke across Cami's lips was something she couldn't contain, "O-okay...yeah," she nodded.

"Excellent," Elijah let her hand go and backtracked from her, "I'll leave you to get ready, then."

"See you then," Cami wiggled her fingers and chuckled as he returned the gesture. Once he was gone, she turned to the chests once more, utterly confused as to where to start with the gowns.

~ 0 ~

Later that night, while everyone was getting ready, Maleny was pulling out another shopping bag from her closet when someone knocked on her door. She looked back and smiled upon seeing Alton - the wolf man wearing a suit and neatly groomed.

"Wow," Maleny turned over, smiling, "you clean up well, you know. Yamilet's one lucky gal."

Alton bashfully smiled and came forwards, "You look amazing too," he gestured to her current gown.

It was a gold and beige tulle maxi dress with subtle sequins and beads forming vintage floral designs over it. The rest of the beds were scattered down on the skirt. It had a high neckline with ruffled, short sleeves. Her hair had been curled and left down. Around her neck was her golden necklace hanging freely.

Maleny looked down with a temporal smile, "Well, you're a little biased. This is your girlfriend's body so of course you'll think it looks good."

"I know this wasn't Yamilet's idea because she hates gold," Alton informed and made Maleny nervous for a minute, her hand placing itself over her chest, "But you look good, trust me,' Alton added with a comic laugh.

Maleny relaxed and smiled once more, "Thank you. It's difficult trying to find something for a body you don't own."

"So, has there been word from that estranged Mikaelson witch?"

Maleny pursed her lips together and shook her head, "No, and frankly I don't expect anything out of that woman. Nothing coming out of her mouth can be trusted."

"But she said she would help and she did look pretty honest to me."

"She can say what she wants but I just don't trust her if she's working with Finn. She's a complete stranger."

Alton couldn't disagree there and gave a shrug, "Well, maybe Amarrah can figure it out."

Maleny gave a slight nod and sighed, "I don't mean to be rude but can we please just avoid any of this body swap thing today? I don't...I don't want to talk about it."

Alton nodded, "Yes, um, so how about that groom, then? I bet he's having cold feet. You think he'd mind me helping out?"

"Not a bit. Jackson's a pretty good guy," Maleny gestured Alton to go ahead and seek Jackson, "He's across the courtyard."

Alton gave his thanks and headed out. After a minute or so, Maleny grabbed her shopping bag and headed out herself. She came into Hayley's room where Amarrah was now looking after Hope in the meantime Hayley got herself ready.

"Where's Hayley?" Maleny asked once she entered.

Amarrah looked up from Hope, both sitting at Hayley's bed, "She went out to see how Jackson was doing."

Maleny made a face, "Isn't that against the rules?"

"Not when it's a Unification ritual," Amarrah shrugged and fiddled with Hope until her eyes saw the bag on the bed, "What's with the bag?"

Maleny smiled widely, "A little present for the most adorable baby in the house," she took a seat beside Hope who was busy playing with a small teddy bear.

"She's the only baby in the house," Amarrah reminded with a sharp look.

"And the most adorable," Maleny insisted and tickled Hope.

Amarrah rolled her eyes and got up from the bed, "Can you look after her for a moment? I promised Rebekah I'd keep calling in to give tips for her and Kol."

"Of course," Maleny happily took Hope into her arms while Amarrah rushed off. Hope giggled as Maleny playfully used the teddy bear to tickle her stomach, "I think we should get you ready, don't you think? If only you were walking then you could be the beautiful flower girl. Hold on, are there flower girls in Unification marriages?"

Hope was staring at her with big blue eyes, only toothlessly smiling in return. Maleny chuckled and reached over for the shopping bag, "Either way, you'll be the cutest guest out there."

It was about ten minutes later that someone entered the room, "Mal? Maleny? Where the hell have you gotten into?"

"Hey, watch your tongue around your daughter," Maleny scolded Klaus as he came inside. She picked up the newly dressed Hope and giggled, "Okay, so I know Hayley said 'no pink' buuuut…" she turned around and allowed Klaus to see Hope in a pretty pink dress complete with a pink and white bow and white shoes, "...she has to make an exception for this right? Doesn't she look adorable?"

Hope gurgled as her small hands flapped over her head in an attempt to grab the bow. Klaus reached over to take his daughter into his arms, and sure enough, he agreed, "What has Mal done to you, Hope?"

"Hey," Maleny pretended to pout, "She said it was alright. She agreed she would look good in pink. Though I told her she'd look good in any color."

"Gets that from me, you know," Klaus flashed her a smirk.

Maleny rolled her eyes and fixed a part of Hope's hair, "She also agreed her father was a conceited man," she rose her gaze to meet Klaus' with her own smirk, "At which point I also agreed."

Klaus' smirk died at that moment. He followed Hope's leans to the bed and picked up her toy bear, "Good to see you're better, Mal," he remarked a minute later.

"Better, better, no," Maleny clarified first, "but I don't...I don't want to talk about it. I just want one regular day. One regular wedding - well, one regular Unification wedding. I don't want anything sad to come up."

"That sounds fair, and it's going to be like that, I promise," Klaus turned back to her with a reassuring smile.

"Thank you," Maleny thanked quietly. However her expression did say there was some doubt that could actually happen.

"I'm assuming you'll be down with the rest of the wolves in the ceremony?"

Maleny gave a small nod, "Yeah, sorry. You can sit next to me if you'd like?"

"Mm, best not. The wolves aren't quite fond of me," Klaus shook his head, "I'll stay a little farther away. But my eyes will always be on you my dear."

Maleny smiled. "Well, Alton is going to be with me and before you get any funny ideas in that dusty head of yours-"

"Dusty?" Klaus frowned, having to interject.

"Over a thousand years old - it's time to face it," Maleny laughed, "But like I was saying, Alton is going to be next to me and I want to clarify that he is not going to be a date for me. I'd rather not find him dead, or...with his head ripped off?" she tilted her head and had a knowing look on her face, "Much like the ones a little someone did earlier in the day? Care to explain?"

"Well first of all, that someone was not so little, and second of all what is there to explain?" Klaus shrugged and pretended to fiddle with Hope, "It was a wedding present."

"Your ideas of presents are way different than anyone else I've met," Maleny sighed and moved closer to him and Hope, "But, I guess, thank you - I heard one of those wolves was one of the three that attacked Alton and I. The girl?"

"I don't see why Alton couldn't have done what was needed to do be done at the moment," Klaus informed, still irritated with the issue.

Maleny chuckled, "Not everyone strikes to kill. But he did a good job protecting me."

Klaus scoffed, "Right."

Maleny began smiling as she saw traces of jealousy in his face, "For the love of God, why on earth would you be jealous? You're both doing the same thing and I thank you for that."

"Yes, but I'm the one who will be protecting you better," Klaus almost warned with the tone he used, "I will do what it takes."

"Believe me, I know that. And, if I wasn't in someone else's body right now you'd receive a very gracious kiss."

"That wasn't a bother in the previous dozen times," Klaus innocently reminded her.

"That's because I didn't know I wasn't in my body," Maleny reminded as well, "And I will respect this body for as long as I'm inhabiting it. She has a boyfriend, Klaus," she spoke softer once he rolled his eyes in mild irritation, "and he loves her very much."

"Fine," he grumbled, "but if he tries anything with you know that you will find his body missing the head."

Maleny laughed and took Hope from him, "I'll be sure to pass on the message. But I'm sure he's on the same page as we are. But you know who is immune to the rule?"

"Who?"

"Hope," she kissed Hope's head. Hope responded with a giggle and a random happy bite of her teddy bears ear.

"She's very lucky then," Klaus remarked quietly, wearing a warm smile.

Maleny looked at him and leaned forwards to kiss his cheek, "You can get one of those as much as you want, though," she rubbed her finger over his cheek to remove the smudge of lipstick she left behind.

While it didn't necessarily fill Klaus' desires he took it with a smile, "It's temporal, okay? I'll fix it, and I'll-"

Maleny placed a finger over his lips, "I don't want to talk about it, remember? It's a wedding day and a fun wedding I shall have. Okay?"

Klaus took down her hand into his and nodded, "Yes, of course," he kissed her hand afterwards, "and I've failed to mention you look beautiful tonight."

Maleny felt butterflies under his gaze, "I'm glad you like it. It belonged to Rebekah-"

"Yes, I remember her babbling on about how much she wanted this dress. And do you know what happened after she bought it?"

"Mmm?"

"She never wore it!"

Maleny laughed again, shaking her head. "That sounds like Rebekah, alright."

"But," Klaus brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed its back, "I think it was just waiting for the right woman to wear it."

Blushing, Maleny shook her head. "I hardly think it was waiting for a cursed woman to wear it. Do you know how difficult it was to cover up the fact I carry a mark near my clavicle? They just don't make those sorts of dresses anymore," she feigned a sigh. "But anyways, I think it's time we get you ready too. Black suit?"

"You can pick. I'm all yours, darling," he whispered in her ear, causing chills up her spine.

"I hate you," she mumbled and yanked him out of the room, ignoring his laughter.

~ 0 ~

"Clean up nice," Gia remarked as she stepped up beside Cami, both overlooking the ballroom that was slowly being filled up by the wedding guests.

Cami, who wore a long, sleeveless, baby blue gown with a high neckline and laced bodice, glanced at Gia with a bashful smile, "Thanks…"

"Gotta say though," Gia put a hand on Cami's arm, her eyes trailing the clearly expensive gown, "I didn't think psychology students had enough to afford it…

Cami cleared her throat and pushed her short, curled hair back, "I know, I know, it's way out of my league."

Gia lightly laughed, "I think it looks good on you, though. Love the color."

"Well I think you look great too," Cami looked over her friend's short, dark purple dress.

"I did my best," Gia pretended to pose and made Cami laugh. Gia ran a hand through her long, dark hair and dramatically sighed, "But you know, being a violinist doesn't make a lot of money. Still, I try."

Cami looked at Gia for a good minute before saying, "You're so dramatic," and both women shared a laugh.

"Camille," Elijah's voice made the two women sober up from their laughter. Once he saw the blonde vampire, he was awed.

Gia looked between the two with amusement, wondering which one would break the silence. Hoping to speed it up, she cleared her throat and excused herself, "I'll see you after the ceremony, Cami," she gave Cami a side hug and a polite smile to Elijah before leaving.

"You look wonderful," Elijah praised Cami's gown, the crooked smile on his face making Cami's breath hitch in her throat.

"Thanks," Cami looked down at her dress for a minute, "Rebekah has amazing taste in clothing. But I still stand by the packrat statement - that applies to all of you."

Amused, Elijah chuckled, "Maybe you can help us clear some things out, then."

"So, where are you going to sit at?" Cami sheepishly asked and looked out to the guests.

"I was thinking of a much better view," Elijah raised a finger to the balcony of the courtyard, "Care to accompany?"

Cami nodded and allowed him her hand, "Let's."

~ 0 ~

"This is too weird," Maleny whispered to Alton as they took their seats for the wedding. "Everybody is looking at me - aren't they supposed to be staring at the incoming bride?"

Alton chuckled, but didn't try to at least make it seem like she was wrong. It was difficult to hide the fact that many of the guests were casting her, and sometimes Alton, odd looks, as well as those awed. Maleny knew she was probably the talk of the wolf century - she had taken over the body of one of their own because of Finn Mikaelson. She, a witch, stealing mortal lifetime from a woman?

"Mal?" they heard a distinctive voice behind them. Maleny turned around to find Davina, looking quite pretty in her short dress, and who was staring right at her. "Mal…?"

Maleny knew Davina hadn't yet seen her newest body and was unsure if she was addressing the right witch-in-a-werewolf body. Though still mildly crossed with Davina for their past differences, Maleny spoke to the teen calmly.

"It's me," Maleny confirmed, and just as Davina's eyes teared up she quickly added, "And please can we skip the sad part about this? I told everyone I wanted this to be a good day."

"Okay," Davina agreed and swallowed down her tears. But that didn't stop her from abruptly hugging Maleny, "I promise I'll help Amarrah in anyway that I can. I'm sorry for everything and I'm-"

Maleny smiled warmly and hugged the teen back, "It's okay. I told you, now that you have something with Kol you'll understand my situation better. But for now, please," she pulled away, "let's just enjoy the wedding, yeah?"

Davina nodded and looked down, shyly asking, "Can I...sit next to you guys?"

"Of course," Maleny gestured for her to follow after Alton and her, "And by the way, that's Alton," Davina sheepishly shook hands with Alton, "He's the boyfriend of the actual woman of this body."

"Complicated," Alton shrugged. Davina agreed and chuckled, meanwhile Maleny took her seat between the two.

The ceremony soon began, the orchestra played and the bride and groom walked down the aisle. They separated at the two staircases to go up to the balcony. Jackson's grandmother, Mary, waited at the end of the balcony to conduct the ceremony.

"Please, be seated," Mary instructed the guests once Hayley and Jackson had reached the altar, "We gather together as a community seeking peace, inspired by this couple standing before you. There was a time when werewolves saw themselves not as cursed, but blessed with connection to our most pure selves. And tonight, we honor that blessing with the long-awaited unification of the two Crescent bloodlines," Mary bonded their wrists together with baby's breath flowers, "In doing so, we choose to embrace Hayley's vampire nature. With this union, Hayley will share her unique gifts with her pack," she long lit match into the pair's hands so they could light their ceremonial candle, "And now, your vows."

Jackson tool a deep breath as he went first, "I pledge to honor you and defend you and yours above all others."

"To share in blessings and burdens. To be your advocate, your champion," continued Hayley.

"To be your comfort, your sanctuary, and for as long as we both shall live."

"To be your family."

The pair smiled at each other as they lighted their candle together.

Mary looked at the pair proudly, "You two have endured all the traditional werewolf rituals and trials. There is only one remaining. Jackson, you may kiss your bride."

While Jackson was afraid to do so Hayley lightly laughed until he took a deep breath and went for it. As they pulled away from their kiss, both their eyes glowed golden signifying the Unification Ceremony worked. With a smile, they looked out to the guests and saw the same thing happening.

Davina was smiling as the guests happily cheered for their victory. She was a little startled (even releasing a little 'oh!' in the process) when she saw Maleny's eyes glowing bright golden just like them.

Maleny looked in awe as she raised a hand to her face. "This feels weird…" She could actually feel all the new strength and power cursing through her blood and veins.

Up above, across the courtyard, stood Klaus on his own, watching the guests chattering happily. His eyes were trained on Maleny though, relieved to see her stronger than ever. She would not be such an easy target for Finn or anyone else anymore. Best of all, she would feel safe and secure.

~ 0 ~

As the party went on out in the courtyard and partially on the street, things seemed like they couldn't get better. The wolves were more than happy to show off their new abilities to their friends. The vampire guests were the only slightly nervous from the new advantages gained. Still, for the time being, things were mellow. How long that would last no one knew.

Part of the courtyard had been converted to a dance floor for the guests, and at the center were the bride and groom. At the side stood Cami, Elijah and Klaus, all drinking and simply watching the festivities.

"Oh my God I have to teach her how to dance," Cami was making faces as she watched her friend Gia across the room, happily dancing with Marcel.

"The therapist teaching dance moves?" Klaus raised an eyebrow, "There's something I'd pay to see."

Cami snapped her head to the hybrid, mocking a glare, "You never paid me for any sessions you compelled me to give you. Getting money out of you would be a miracle."

"It's possible," Elijah then spoke up, keeping a straight face, "If you're blonde...and Maleny."

Cami snickered while Klaus openly glared at his brother, "Amusing," he muttered.

And as if she had heard her name, Maleny rushed up to the trio looking happier than ever, "You all need to quit standing there like hawks and come out to dance! It's so much fun!"

Cami looked as if she were trying to decide on something, "Are you drunk? Cos you said 'hawks'..."

"She's not drunk," Klaus answered before Maleny could.

Maleny giggled and threw her arms around his neck abruptly, startling him with the action, "I'm not!" she agreed, "I'm just so happy! Happy! Happy! Happy!"

"We hadn't noticed," Klaus sarcastically replied, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"I feel so strong now!" Maleny explained to him, her hands moving to his face, "Like I can take on the world or something. Is this how you feel all the time?"

"More or less," Klaus chuckled at her and handed his drink to Elijah before Maleny could spill it with her jumpy movements.

"It is amazing!"

"Maleny you realize this body is only a temporal situation for you, right?" Elijah cautiously asked her for fear in the midst of all the novelty she'd forgotten her situation. He, and unknowingly to him, and Cami silently agreed this could very well be Maleny entering a sort of re-denial stage of her situation.

Maleny looked at him with her wide smile, "I know that. I'm just actually having fun."

"Well, may I intrude on this fun by asking you to accompany me for Hope?" Klaus took her hands off his face and let go of one, "I think it's time she joined the party."

Maleny nodded, "Of course!" the two promptly walked off to retrieve the baby upstairs.

Cami watched after her cousin with mild concern, something Elijah didn't miss, "You need not worry," he told her as he set his and Klaus' glasses on a nearby table behind them, "It seems Maleny is pushing through."

"You can't fault me for being scared of a relapse," the blonde quietly said and looked at him.

"It won't happen," Elijah assured her and held a hand out for her, "Would you like to dance, Camille?"

Cami's surprised quickly made itself known on her face, "Are you sure?"

"Are you doubting my dancing skills?"

"No, it's just...these are fast songs, Elijah. You don't exactly look like the kind of guy to dance willy nilly."

"There are many things you don't know about me, Camille," Elijah flashed her a wide smile, still holding his hand out.

"Alright, then show me," Cami felt confident and took his hand.

Elijah accepted the near challenge with a nod, "I will," he said back and led her towards the dance floor.

~ 0 ~

As Klaus and Maleny made their way towards Hayley's room where Amarrah had Hope, Maleny continued babbling on about the party.

"And you should see Alton and his crazy dancing!" she laughed, "He tried to teach me but it was so weird I couldn't!"

"Fantastic," Klaus said in total, his face blank of any excitement.

"And you should also see what he drinks! He mixes up all these concoctions and drinks them like nothing!" Maleny continued on like nothing, "He's such a fun guy! I can see why Yamilet likes him."

"Perhaps you're liking him a little too much," Klaus declared in his quiet, yet sharp, tone.

Maleny looked at him with a knowing smirk, "I do like him," she agreed, "but as a friend as I have already stated."

"That's not what it appears downstairs…"

Maleny rolled her eyes and moved in front of him, forcing him to stop, "You are more than welcomed to take me out on a dance when we get back downstairs," she draped her arms over his shoulders.

"I don't intend on making a fool of myself out there," he warned her seriously.

She giggled, "I didn't think you would you jealous moron. If I wasn't in this body I'd calm all that jealousy with a kiss - much like you used to do in the past, remember?"

"Of course," he nodded, "You were always so jealous of everyone. I had to practically snog you all day."

"Poor you," she mocked him with a pout then laughed as she backed them towards Hayley's room.

"Yes, poor me," he kept with the game, "I had to cancel important plans sometimes."

"Mm, sometimes you cancelled those just so you could be with me, remember?" she smirked, "Don't pin this all on my 'jealousy'. You wanted to be with me."

"This conversation has moved to a completely different topic," he declared after a moment or so.

Maleny laughed and stopped them near the room, "Because I'm telling you all your truths, of course."

"Nonsense," Klaus dismissed her and strode into the room for Hope. Maleny rolled her eyes and hurried in after him, containing in her smirk of knowledge.

~ 0 ~

After several dances, Maleny and Klaus returned to the party, Klaus holding Hope in his arms. He motioned the band to stop playing before he spoke out to the guests.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please? Hayley, if you would join me, I would like to propose a toast."

Though surprised, Maleny nodded for Hayley to come over. As the brunette hybrid did, Maleny walked away to give the trio their space for their speech. She took a seat with Alton and Davina instead.

"I want to welcome you all. As you know, last spring, Hayley and I had a daughter. Due to tragic circumstance, she was lost. Now, she has returned home. Her name is Hope," Klaus explained just as Hayley took the baby into her arms, "She will live here among you, her pack. Her family. We implore you... protect our daughter," he grabbed a glass from a nearby tray, "Teach her. Love her, as one of your own. Jackson, I invite you and your bride to live here, uniting your proud and noble people in peace. Welcome to the family, mate. To Jackson and Hayley!"

As various guests clapped for the bride and groom, others were left a little confused.

"Funny, I never knew Klaus was the home offering type," Cami remarked to Elijah beside her, both two of the nonclapping guests.

"He's not," Elijah clarified. The two shared a quizzical look between them, agreeing there was probably something more to Klaus' sudden kindness.

~ 0 ~

The party had slowly began to lose its guests as the time passed by. Even then, there were some guests that wouldn't give up on their fun. However, Rebekah, still in her new witch body, appeared at the compound looking for her brothers.

"Elijah," she had found him and Cami first, but for the first couple of minutes was unrecognized by them, "It's me - Rebekah."

"Wow," was the first thing that came out of Cami's mouth.

Rebekah gave a small smile, but the matter was worse and it soon faded, "We need to go. Kol...he's not getting better. Where's Klaus?"

Elijah and Cami walked Rebekah to Hope's nursery where Klaus was looking after her for the moment. Feeling their presence, he turned to them questioning what they wanted.

"It's Kol. I couldn't help him," Rebekah guiltily explained, "He's not gonna last the night. We need to go."

Klaus looked back at Hope in her crib, the baby refusing to sleep just then. Cami walked up and smiled, "I can look after her," she volunteered and picked the baby up, "You guys go. She'll be fine."

Elijah looked guilty as well, for this is not how he had imagined their first, basic date to end at, "Cami, I'm-"

"Go," Cami insisted, nodding for them to hurry up. She didn't look at all displeased with the day, "Mal's downstairs if you wanted her," she told Klaus but he shook his head.

"I promised her she would have her normal wedding day and I intend on seeing that through," he said assuredly. He'd seen her chatting with Alton just before coming upstairs and she still seemed to be having the time of her life. He didn't want to ruin it just like it always had been.

"Okay," Cami agreed, "I'll make up something if she happens to ask, then," when she saw hesitancy from the two brothers, "Go! Kol's waiting for you guys!"

With nothing left to do, the three siblings went off to the cemetery where Kol was nearing his end.

~ 0 ~

Finn was healed completely thanks to his sister Freya who spent a good portion of the day using spells to fade away all the burn marks Elijah caused him. He was sitting on the autopsy table catching his bearings, missing the disapproving face Freya had directly on him.

"What did you do?" he was awed.

"It took a while, but I healed you," Freya replied, her tone restrained, "Brought you back from death, using this," she pointed to the blue pendant talisman around his neck.

Finn quickly looked at the pendant, "Your pendant. You said it would protect me."

"It's a talisman used to focus my power. I knew it would be dangerous to face Elijah. But I specifically said to avoid confrontation, Finn," Freya tilted her head, finally letting out her disapproval. "In fact, I thought it was you that said there would be no fighting." Finn sighed. "Finn, I told you we needed to find Elijah because he knew where our niece was. You were supposed to talk to him and persuade him to willingly come to us so that I could explain something very important to the entire family."

"You haven't met our siblings, Freya. They are wild and-"

"It does not matter what type of people they are," Freya spoke over him, looking frustrated as she began to pace. "You don't understand, Finn, no one does. Esther was nothing compared to Dahlia. Dahlia is worse than the devil and you all need to understand the real reason she is coming."

"I assure you I understand perfectly well," Finn cut in, but did not ignore the loud sigh Freya gave in return. "I do, Freya!"

"No, you don't," Freya faced him with a glower.

"And why wouldn't I?"

"Because Esther herself didn't understand." Freya knew she was getting ahead of herself and took a deep breath in before she spoke again. "Listen, you failed to get Elijah back on good terms, and that just makes it harder for me now. I'll have to move on to the next step: getting Maleny Rowan back into her own body."

Finn's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

Freya straightened up, looking determined than ever. "You heard me, Finn. I need the spell you used to make transfer of souls."

Finn studied her features for any trace of a joke, but was utterly confused to find none, "Freya, why…?"

Freya walked towards him, not pleased with the reluctance she was being met with, "To reverse it. What you did to her was cruel and-"

"And justified," Finn declared, still very much on his stance, "She sided with our siblings and it just so happens punishing her is a lot easier than our siblings."

Freya had a sharp look on her face as she crossed her arms, "Well then, we're going to have a problem because I promised him I would reverse the spell."

Finn straightened up and maintained himself against Freya. "And who's 'him' exactly? Don't think I haven't noticed your evasive attitude whenever I ask you. Tell me sister, what do you know that apparently the rest of the family doesn't?"

Freya stepped closer to him and very clearly told him, "That is a story for our brother Niklaus to hear first."

~ 0 ~

With the party long over, and now changed for sleep, Maleny resided in her bedroom with Hope. She'd offered herself to care of the baby, thinking a baby on a wedding night wasn't the most romantic thing so she assured Hayley she would take good care of Hope for the night. She had changed Hope for a good sleep and even brought along her favorite stuffed bear but the baby was in no mood to sleep.

Maleny had Hope in the middle of her bed with her pink blanket but the baby seemed far more interested in playing with her bear. Maleny sighed and leaned back on her headboard, "You are one tough baby," she remarked.

Hope gurgled in response, flashing a toothless grin afterwards. It was like she was basking in none of her relatives were looking over her. It was free rules and apparently aunt Maleny was not authoritative enough to lay down the law.

Shifting on her side to face the baby, she spoke in a hush tone, "What does it take to get you asleep, hm? What did aunt Bekah used to do?" Hope clutched her teddy bear and giggled, as if refusing to tell, "At this rate I'll fall asleep before you do…" she finished with droopy eyes, proving her words to be true.

"I can take her," Klaus' voice made Maleny raise her head to see the hybrid at the doorway.

"Where've you been?" Maleny tried not to sound like the demanding girlfriend that wanted to show at the moment, "I asked Cami and she refused to tell me the truth. Actually, she kept denying she was lying."

"Kol...died," Klaus replied to her question in a quiet voice, "Rebekah came in earlier to tell us there was nothing left to do…"

"Oh my God," Maleny's demands left her mind instantaneously. She quickly got up from the bed and met him halfway the room, "What happened? Why didn't...why didn't you tell me? I could've gone and…"

Klaus shook his head, still standing with his decision, "You were having your normal, fun wedding day and I...I couldn't take that from you."

Maleny playfully rolled her eyes at him, "Listen, that all gets cancelled when you need me. Kol and I may have had some disagreements since he came back but...he didn't deserve to die like this. I would've gone with you if you asked me to."

"I do know that," Klaus gave a weak smile and glanced at his daughter on the bed, still busily playing with her bear, "but I promised you your day."

Maleny hugged him tight, wishing she could have been there for him but she knew she should've known better. He did always keep his word, though sometimes it was in a twisted way, "Well, it's past midnight so my day is done," she pulled away, "What do you want to do?"

Klaus thought about that for a good while, and though his first thought was full of revenge against Finn he decided for a much calmer act instead. He looked at Maleny who'd been anxiously waiting for him to answer, "I'd like to hold my daughter right now."

Maleny slowly smiled, nodding her head as she turned for the bed, "If you can put her to sleep too that would be great. I promised Hayley I'd look after her but at the rate we're going Hope is going to put me to sleep first."

"I don't have much experience either," Klaus reminded as he went for Hope. Barely keeping in her yawn, Maleny followed to her place and sat down, watching him pick up Hope into his arms. He sat down on the other side of the bed and momentarily fiddled with Hope's hands.

"I know this is a stupid question but are you okay?" Maleny decided to go ahead and ask in the end, "How...how do you feel?"

"I feel like I want to rip Finn's head off," Klaus replied a mere second later.

"Understandable," Maleny agreed with a small nod, "I kind of want to too. But you know you can't face him without a proper plan, right? I don't want your impulsiveness to cloud your thinking."

"We'll get a plan," Klaus assured her, more like promised, "And it will work - that much I can promise to Kol."

Maleny reached to touch his arm, softly smiling at him, "And I can help now," she reminded him, "If I can get one use out of this body, it will be to help you. No more being babysat."

While Klaus didn't like to think about her actually getting fully involved in his family's plans - for the sake of her safety - he knew there would be no stopping her now that she had the strength and speed to do so. She learned her stubbornness from him, and that had no matter of ending.

#ocappreciation #klaus mikaelson #the originals #the originals fics #klaus mikaelson fics #klaus mikaelson imagines #the originals imagines #oc: Maleny Rowan #camlijah #fic: the girl in the forest

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jeonggukingdom · 5 years

Text

mots démoniaques, 4 | hiraeth

❖ Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

❖ Genre: [mythological!AU, demon!AU] | Angst, Smut, Romance

❖ Summary: You can sense from miles away the sin that dances on his tongue, the words that he so loves to shape into sinister thoughts and morph into sickening outcomes aimed at tainting and wrecking all things mundane and innocent. Kim Taehyung - a voice of honey and features of a cherub - is nothing but a monster. He has lived millenniums, yet, he has never found such a fascinating creature as you are and polluting your very being has slowly become his entire life motive.

❖ Word Count: 1.602 words

❖ Prompt Word: hiraeth

❖ AN: The Amanojaku is a small demon that finds its roots in the Japanese folklore. Everything besides his name and his power - aka the ability to instigate people into wickedness with his words - is entirely the fruit of my own imagination and doesn’t have anything to do with the original myth.

❖ WARNINGS: mentions of blood, mental breakdown.

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The Welsh call it hiraeth—this crippling emotion of longing and loss over something that used to be and does not exist any longer.

You call it madness.

Because what you miss was never true, not a single bit of it and yet, here you are, sitting at your vanity with void eyes staring right back at you.

It is impossible to conceal the dark circles under your eyes, to mask the redness that days of tears have caused, to hide the chipped lips and bit down nails.

All the pain you felt inside your heart for the past few years has decided to come up and show itself to the entire world.

Your bottom lip trembles and you close your eyes, willing the tears back with all your might, even at the cost of chocking on every single one of them.

You have to get up, you have to keep on moving and prove him he can’t break you, no matter how hard he comes at you, hits you with his sickening lies and dirty little games.

I am stronger than you, you think to yourself and, truthfully, you do try.

Every single day you get up, you shower, you eat a little and get yourself inside your clothes ready to leave and yet, in the past few days, leaving the safety of your own four walls has turned into a task harder than it ever was.

And still, so stupidly, your heart keeps missing him.

You miss his sweet smile, his shining eyes, his sweet scent, the feeling of his curly blond hair between your fingertips, the sensation of his thin lips on your supple flesh, his characteristic laugh and the way he’d snuggle into you at any given moment, ready to cuddle with you until you both fell asleep.

You miss his voice, especially first thing in the morning or right before going to bed.

Hell, you miss everything about him.

But he, he was never real.

The man you loved, the life you built together, all the lovely words he spoke, those things, they were all lies.

And yet, oh so stubbornly, your heart belongs to him still, proving itself to be a proper masochist, seeking the hurt to make sure it keeps beating hard against your ribcage.

A shaky breath escapes your mouth as you tilt your head towards the left, your trembling hand reaching out to seek a pair of earrings to adorn your ears with, desperately trying to mask the hurt with your usual appearance and attire.

In the past few days you tried really hard to put back on the perfect mask you built for yourself in the last few years but every single time there was something, even the smallest thing, turning all your efforts into ashes.

At first, there was that god-awful video of you making a spectacle of yourself at the club; then it was a Facebook notification about a photo you shared on the site five years ago sporting you and Taehyung still madly in love, all shiny eyes and deep smiles.

Today, that fatal drop filling the dyke to the breaking point comes in the form a white golden ring.

Stuffed underneath all of your jewellery, the ring has been hidden there for years now, tucked away from your eyes because what is it that they say, out of sight out of mind?

Yet somehow this morning, your fingers brush against its cold surface, close around it and bring it in front of your face in all of its taunting glory.

Taehyung’s black eyes seem to reflect in the onyx nestled in the centre of the ring and just like that, you are thrown in a distant past where you had been truly happy, where things were easy and there was only love fueling your life.

The tears come rushing down your face before you can stop them and gulp them all down. They come flooding down like pouring rain and just like in a storm, soon come the thunders in the form of your desperate sobs.

Your body shakes and aches with the violence of your despair spilling out of you in all of its grandness.

Today is another failure and amidst all that sadness and hurt and hunger, guilt and self-hatred and self-pity emerge, cutting your breath in half.

Your hands tremble and so do your legs as you stand up from your seat and take an unsteady step backwards.

You hate everything today: him, yourself, your life, the entire world.

A scream erupts from your dry and chapped lips and you lounge forward in an outburst, incapable of controlling this red madness any longer.

All the pretty perfume bottles, all the little pieces of jewellery, the make-up brushes and the lipsticks, they all come tumbling down as you shove them to the ground.

You want to break everything, turn it as ugly and damaged as you feel and that is why you do not stop, not even for a second, until the whole room has turned into utter chaos.

At last, you stare back at that stupid mirror. Your eyes are swollen, turned an angry red, your lips are trembling and your cheeks are deeply lined by dried tears and you hate that this is you, that that person staring back at you is yourself, morphed and mutilated by something supposedly so simple and beautiful as love.

You grab the little chair and with all your might, you throw it onto the glass, laughing as it breaks into a million pieces, giving you back a distorted image of yourself.

That, is what you are. Shattered.

A whimper escapes your lips as you drag yourself around the now-silent apartment, the pain of stepping on the shards of glass barely registering in your mind just like the blood, following your every step up to the bed.

You crawl back inside the dirty sheets and close your eyes wishing for sleep to embrace you once more and bring you away from all of this. Maybe if you sleep long enough everything will fix itself?

Your eyes open but the room is completely held in darkness. There is not a single sound inside the apartment aside from your breath and yet, you can sense it. There is someone there with you.

“Tae?” Your voice is hoarse, sounding as broken as you feel and filled with a hope you should not be feeling.

Yet, when he comes out of the darkness, your heart leaps inside your chest, your lungs open and allow more air to fill them as if he were the very lymph cursing through your body.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?”

His voice is soft as he reaches you to sit on the edge of the bed, close enough for you to be able to inhale his sweet scent. He looks troubled, worried even.

“I miss you,” you pathetically voice out with a whimper and you watch his eyebrows turn up in mild surprise before his eyes fill with sorrow and regret.

“I’m right here baby,” he says and his fingers delicately brush your head, they play with your hair as he used to do whenever you were upset or tired or sick.

It still feels nice, hell, it feels normal, just like it used to be.

And that is why you realize this must be a dream. This is not the real Taehyung, this is the man you fell in love with but he doesn’t really exist.

A small smile tugs on your lips nevertheless because if this is really a dream then it means anything is possible.

In here, he can be real, he can still be in love with you and he can be here for you, for as long as you need him to be.

“Can you hug me, please?”

You look up to him, hope filling you whole as you stare into his eyes.

They are chocolate brown tonight, warm and filled with affection, just like you remembered them to be.

Without uttering a single word, Taehyung slips under the covers to lie down next to you and then, he guides your body towards his so that he can embrace you tightly to his chest, rest his chin above your head and whisper sweet nothings inside your ears.

His perfume fills your senses as you tilt your head a little upward so that you can nestle it right in the crook of his neck.

The warmth of his body feels so real it almost breaks your heart all over again.

“It’s ok, baby,” he says, kissing your head as he hugs you even tighter to his chest, “I’m here now, everything is going to be alright.”

“Tae?” You whisper, closing your eyes and hugging him back in fear he may disappear soon if you don’t keep him there with you with the sheer strength of your hands.

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

A few seconds tick by in utter silence and for a moment, you fear his response. You hold your breath as your heart misses a beat and you expectantly look up, scared he might turn into smoke soon.

“I won’t.” He says, his voice trembling as he does so, “I promise.”

A smile tugs on your lips and you let your eyes close once more, basking in the sensation of having him like this after such a long time.

This is just a dream, you remind yourself and maybe it is sad that this is the happiest you have been in months but, it is all you have left.

❖ Tag List: @lavavu - @djasheyash99 - @la-vie-en-tae || want to be added? Click: here

#ficswithluv #kwordsmiths #thekimlinenet #btsguild #btswriterscollective #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts x reader

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littledoveheart · 4 years

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Mr Parker

(Part 1.)

Tony Stark was incompetent and completely reliant on his assistant, whom he had never really taken the time out of his stagnant day to meet and acquaint with. In his genius philosophical mind, he wondered why on Earth he should offer his extravagant, engaging friendship to someone who worked for him and was therefore owned by him? Why should he even bother to learn their names?

So, it definitely wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t know the name of his assistant and all he did know was that he was the best at what he did, which was constantly dealing with things that the billionaire had forgotten to organise or just didn’t want to organise in general. The only thing he knew about his assistant was that his second name was Parker.

Music filled the room and blasted into Tony’s ears as he calloused hands tinkered with a car engine that he had been pouring over for the last hour while the heavy, gruff sound of AC/DC pooled in his ears like an ocean. A few beeps from the access code to his lab sent a ripple to the pool of his music, snapping him away from his haze of invention.

“Mr Stark, your meant to be half way across the world by now. Your flight was an hour and a half ago. You’re meant to be on that flight right now, yet your down here tampering with a car, when are you-”

“Don’t turn down my music again, i like it loud.” Tony chimed in a distinctive harsh tone in his voice while he settled the engine on the table that was compiled with his tools.

“Well, you shouldn’t be here anyway Mr Stark.”

“Yeah, but seeing as it is my plan,” Tony pointed out while sitting on the huge, new wheels on the car so he was looking up at his assistant and he went into shock at how beautiful this boy was, “I-i thought it would happen when i wanted it too.”

“Ok, i won’t push it more, and Jackson called he has another buyer so do you want it yes or no?”

“Well, is it overpriced?”

“Incredibly so.”

“I need it.”

The silence that followed was awkward and it made even Tony Stark edgy. Mr Parker just stood there, and he was definitely quite feminine the playboy in Stark noted and his brown chocolate eyes lingered on the partly open blouse and straight skirt.

“Buy it, store it.” he coughs nervously, standing up and brushing his way past the assistant whose smell filled his nostrils; his scent was sweet and definitely alluring.

“Ok, the MIT co-”

“Is in June. Please don’t harangue me about this now-”

“Well they’re haranguing me about it so i’m gonna say yes.”

“Yeah well it’s not even clo-”

“I need you to sign this for me before you get on the plane.”

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m not i just have somewhere to be too you know.”

“You never have plans.”

“I’m allowed to have plans on my birthday.”

Well shit. Tony may have forgotten that too. His eyes go wide and he head gives a small wilt down as if in abashment of not remembering. His assistant caught on and gave a small, seemingly forlorn nod.

“It’s your birthday?” The billionaire whispers even if he already had the answered lodged in his brain, infecting him with shame and sorrow of forgetting.

“Yes.”

“I knew that…already?” He breathes as if to save himself from the train wreck of his derailing thoughts of what he could quickly buy or have ordered for the brunette assistant.

“Yeah isn’t that strange, it’s the same day as last year.”

“Yeah well get yourself something nice from me.” Tony stresses as if desperate to make it seem like he was a good enough man to have remembered.

“I already did,” The boy nods softly and looks at his clipboard, “need anything else Mr Stark?”

“What’s your name?” The question sounded appalling considering the fact that the assistant had been working at Stark Industries and for Tony himself for 5 years now to make ends meat.

“Peter Parker.”

Peter. God, Tony was staring at him in complete awe. God he looked divine with a jawline as sharp as glass, honey doe eyes that shimmered with a light, rosy red lips, feather-like hair that hung softly over his pale forehead. Peter was definitely a sight for sore eyes, and Tony couldn’t help but drink him in hungrily.

“Well Peter, happy birthday from me.”

“Thank you Mr Stark.” Peter’s eyes flicked up to Tony’s and creating a grapple with the other. Tony gives a smile that can only be defined by the one thing the billionaire had been sprinting from his entire life to keep his playboy status updated. Love.

Peter Parker set the phone down with a tremor as he breathed out unsteadily. He gnawed on his lip while his head drooped low, his eyes cast down to his lap while he trembled.

“And now for breaking news, billionaire, genius, philanthropist and playboy Tony Stark has been kidnapped in Afghanistan and is being held-”

Peter promptly switched off the television, he could no longer bare to hear the reports of his beloved boss’ kidnapping. Peter’s throat was clogged with sobs that desperately wanted to break free, but his soul grew a backbone as he looked over at Dum-E, who was whirring and bleeping in a state of hysteria about his creator and daddy.

“It’s ok Dum-E…he’ll be ok…” Peter swallows as if he were trying to swallow a watermelon, his eyes were pools of unshed tears that were taunting him and threatening to spill. He needed to be strong for Jarvis, for Dum-E, for Happy. For Tony.

Peter was in dismay. Constant questions. Constant queries. He was so sick of all of the questions that were posed to him about Tony’s disappearance and how life at Stark industries would continue on without their leader, their figure head was gone and they wanted answers. Peter, no matter how smart or intelligent, impertinent or brisk, didn’t have anything that he could sweetly whisper to them in comfort for he himself needed comfort.

He couldn’t sleep, his insomnia killing him and working him down and reducing him to a walking zombie that was impetuous for sleep and closure for his boss. Tony was all he had. He was devoted to Tony and gave him his all if anything needed doing he was there, whether it be bills or a months worth of shopping then he would be there.

Peter’s high heels clicked down the hallway while clutching his clipboard to his chest softly, he was antsy and was unsure why. It was a mundane day just like all the others after Tony’s unfortunate kidnapping and held at ransom state, so why was he feeling so on edge about going to work that day?

“Peter! Peter, they’ve found him! He’s on his way home!”

Peter must have been hallucinating, he had to be. It was almost too good to be true and his clipboard bounced off the floor, his cream-complexioned hand clenching his white cotton blouse as he nodded.

“Get the car ready Happy, we’re going to get him.”

Tony Stark breathlessly stood near the huge metallic doors of the aircraft that was transporting him home, and he let out a soft sigh as Rhodes placed a hand on his tender shoulder. He had a permanent memorandum of his time spent as a captive. A relic. A burden. The arc reactor. It gleamed through any shirt that he wore with a harsh intensity and it make Tony sick to his stomach to even look at it. The doors dropped heavily open and the light creeped in and illuminated the entire inside of the plane in which the two stood and it was definitely a welcome site for Tony’s eye sore. But, so was Peter.

Peter��s hair was being whipped to the side of his porcelain face as he stood stationary and for once in his 5 years of service to Tony, who was currently limping out of the plane and over to the brunette assistant, who walked forward too like a magnetic attraction to each other with a force of love, he was not gripping a clipboard. They both stopped about a feet away from each other and gazed.

“Mr Stark, good to have you back…”

“Good to be back…”

The chemistry between the two was apparent. They were attracted and there was nothing either of them could do to prevent it anymore. They didn’t have a desire to halt the rapidly burning flame of attraction either.

“Ow, be gentle!”

Peter’s heels beat against the unforgiving marble floors and he stops by the glass door of the natural habitat of one Tony Stark. His nimble fingers graze the access code numbers that are burned into his brain and a simple workout for his fingers and he was not at all taken aback when the door swung open. However, he was left in wonderment as he heard small yelps and pained groans. Peter just hoped he hadn’t caught his boss doing that again.

“Be gentle, it’s my first time de-sui-” A clipboard clatters noisily to the floor, laying there as Peter’s mouth soon joined it on the ground with a gasp and squinting eyes.

Red. Gold. Armour. Iron Man.

Tony looks over his metal clad shoulder and gives him a tiny upward quirk of his lips. He knows how bad this looks. Numerous bullet holes all around his makeshift heart that he quite literally wears on his chest and he was the Iron Man.

“Are those bullet holes?”

“Yeah, and let’s face it this is not the worst thing you’ve caught me doing.”

Peter gives a tiny head jerk in the form of a timid nod. Tony de-suits and clambers heavily down from the stand and over to Peter, his heart drumming and beating out of his scarred and destructed chest as he stares at those bewitching honey eyes that stare back.

The walls shake and tremble as Tony’s music shook them to their very core while he tinkered with an iron man suit and trying to fix the waist of his armour in which he resides. He snapped out of his train of thought by heels tapping behind him and over to his tool engulfed workshops.

“Hey, you busy? I got an errand for you Pete.” Tony grumbles as he set the spanner down and he looked over at the brunette boy who was staring back at him with a hint of inquisitive flashes in his honey eyes.

“Take this to my office, look for the recent shippings of my weapons. You’ll probably find it in the smallest file, if not that means they’ve ghosted it which means you need to look for the lowest numerical value.” Tony walks over to his small tracker and presses a few buttons on it and he peered at the screen.

“And if i do get you this information, what will you do with it?”

“Same drill, they’ve been dealing under the table and i’m gonna stop them, Peter, find my weapons and destroy them.”

Peter gives a tiny, exasperated breathy laugh and he nods softly while a coy smile plays on his lips.

“Tony, you know i would help you with anything. But, i cannot help you if you’re going to start all of this again.”

“There is nothing except this. There is the next mission, and nothing else.”

That cut Peter deep, his heart dying to clutch onto the other half as a crack of heartbreak threatened to rip it apart. Tony was all he had, he didn’t have his parents, didn’t have his uncle and aunt, didn’t have any friends to talk to. There was Tony, and nothing else.

“Is that so? Well then i quit.”

The only thing that snapped Tony’s haze of disbelief was the clatter of Peter’s work badge and heels began to fade away and to the door, and Tony couldn’t let the man he loved leave his life forever.

“You’ve stood by my side all these years while i reap the benefits of destruction and now that i want to protect the people that i put in harm’s way, you’re gonna walk out?”

Peter twirled and looked at him right in the eye as he quivered, catching his wobbling bottom lip between his teeth to not show foreboding.

“You’re gonna kill yourself Tony, and i’m not gonna be apart of it.” ‘I care for you too much, love you too much’ Peter wanted to add, but restrained himself.

“I shouldn’t be alive. Unless it was for a reason,” Tony slumped in his chair as if he was losing his backbone and he was; He was losing Peter who was the one thing that he couldn’t live without, “I’m not crazy Peter…I just finally know what i have to do…And i know in my heart that it’s right.”

Peter seems to stall. His white as a sheet hand slowly stepped back from the door handle while he nodded softly. The straight skirt that he was wearing was restricting his movements as he sauntered over to Tony who was pouring over a piece of his tech while he tried not to look at the love of his life.

“You’re all i have too you know…” Peter whispers softly, anxious about Tony’s reaction but his fears were eased, put to bed and tucked in tightly with a kiss on the head when Tony smiled and gave him a small nod.

“I know…”

“Ok, just read from the card. Tony, i spent my night on that speech.” Peter demands as he straightens Tony’s crumpled tie that was loosely hanging from his neck, disregarded by the billionaire.

“Ok, ok, i got it cutie.”

The flirting between the two had now started, and it usually left Peter red, flushed and throbbing in his pants whereas it left Tony smug and pleased.

“Now get up there, Tony.”

Tony walked up to the podium and stared down at everyone that was underneath him, like vultures picking the scraps of any juice of meaty words that Tony would say.

“The truth is…I am Iron Man.”

#i am back #tony stark x peter parker #tony x peter #tony stark #peter parker #ironspider #starker #first fic in a while #iron man 1 #part 1 #au #ton #it's awful #don't @ me #i know it's not the best

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marshmallowgoop · 4 years

Text

I write stuff, at times. I swear.

(Check it out! These are my research books and plot outline for this novel that I’ve been working on for nearly half a decade!)

So, it’s National Novel Writing Month, and I’ll probably be a little absent from this site for the rest of November ‘cause I’m trying to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days and am also the boss lady (ML) for the event in my area and have boss lady things that I should be doing.

Buuut since my novel is my Kill la Kill fairytale AU (which I even have a tag for!), posting about the project isn’t totally procrastinating, right?

Anyway, I’ve written drafts of this story for two NaNos already (2016 and 2017), and the first draft is basically getting totally flushed down the toilet, but the second draft is closer to what I wanna go for, so I’ve been revisiting it to see what I wanna do with my NaNo 2019 attempt.

And did you know? Maybe kinda relevant to all the anon hate lately, one OC I wrote for the story is a villain that exemplifies a lot of what I hate about myself. Her situation is of course different than mine—I ain’t beautiful, lol—but her jealousy, vindictiveness, egotism, etc. are all things that I despise about me.

Like, I guess maybe you could consider her my evil self-insert. Pfft.

I dunno how much of her backstory will really be in the final draft, and it’s definitely way, waaaaaaaaay too much right now ‘cause it was written for NaNo and all, lol, but tl;dr, tl;dr, I guess one big message of my entire story is that being bitter and envious isn’t fair to anyone, destroys others and yourself, and I gotta knock that crap off or be just as awful as this awful, awful woman (who arguably literally caused some of the biggest problems in the book).

If anyone’s interested in reading, I’ve included her segment under the cut! (As well as a little segment about Senketsu ‘cause that’s just where it was placed ‘cause this novel is a disaster in terms of organization, lol.) It’s super messy and unedited ‘cause it was written for NaNo, and I only lightly cleaned up some grammar and placeholder names for this upload, but eyyy, I swear I do write creatively, sometimes!!

And maybe me being so honest about the stuff I hate about myself will do something for others, I dunno. I can only hope ^^;

From Chapter 5, “About King Prasenajit’s Daughter Ugly Adamantina”

As it would happen, the curse that befell the beautiful empress’s princess was quite the complicated affair. If the man in the cave could have been there and could have known, he might have begun the story by speaking in great length of a woman from a kingdom far beyond the Kingdom of the Reed Plains.

The woman, you see, was a magnificent, wondrous healer. She knew her medicines and herbs better than anyone had ever seen, and she knew how to combine them better than anyone had ever seen, too. And so it was said, as it may be imagined, that she was a prodigy of her craft, and she was a genius, and she could only be a miracle doctor sent from the gods.

But it was not purely the healer’s knowledge that made her well known throughout her kingdom and others. The healer, much as the empress of the Kingdom of the Reed Plains, was also extraordinarily beautiful. People would come from far and wide to set their eyes upon her, just as people would the empress, and those who were lucky enough to be her patient would say, in great sincerity, that the healer’s beauty alone was enough to cure them of all sickness and pain.

So you must imagine that when the empress sent for all the best doctors and healers in her land and lands far beyond that this miracle doctor was called for. The healer received the invitation one quiet afternoon, and she tried her very hardest to hide her displeasure as she listened to the empress’s messenger speak.

All those with the healer were left open-mouthed by the messenger’s letter. They oohed and ahed, and then they very quickly turned their attention to the woman to whom the letter had been addressed to.

The woman smiled her politest smile, bowing before the messenger as though the messenger herself was the empress

“It is a great honor that you have come all this way,” the healer said, and she hoped very heartily that her irritation did not seem apparent in her voice. “I am much humbled to be called upon by the empress of the Kingdom of the Reed Plains herself, and I pray for the empress’s health and happiness, and for the health and happiness of her child.”

The healer rose from her bow now. “However, I cannot leave my patients, and so I must decline.” She bowed again, her dark hair falling over her shoulders and concealing the cruel smile on her lips.

Silence fell over the room. To decline a royal order was unheard of, and the poor messenger seemed at a loss for what to say to the woman’s refusal.

Everyone’s eyes had fallen upon the woman. She was no longer smiling. There was a great sense of dread building inside her, as though she had swallowed an entire snake whole.

It was a royal order, the healer realized, even if it was not a royal order from her own country.

And so, with another great bow, and knowing that there was nothing she could do, the woman said, “Please forgive my manners. I will be on my way.”

The healer did indeed travel to the empress’s kingdom. It was a long journey, quite uncomfortable if the healer could say so herself, and all the while, her human heart grew colder and colder.

To help the empress of the Kingdom of the Reed Plains! the healer thought to herself. It was the very last thing she could have ever wanted because, you see, she was quite worn of hearing of the empress’s beauty.

“They say, good healer,” she had been told, time and time again, “that she is even more beautiful than you yourself!”

The healer had to listen and listen to such sentiments and always smile so politely back at them, as though she truly liked to be compared in such a manner! It was a disgusting thing, the healer thought to herself all throughout her journey to the Kingdom of the Reed Plains. Not only did she have to go so many ri away from her homeland, but she had to use her skills to help this woman who could not possibly appreciate her own beauty!

How could she ever appreciate her beauty as I appreciate my beauty? the healer asked herself. Only small people came to tell the healer of her wondrous looks, you see, and the healer always adored every single one of her admirers, but the empress was adored by big people, and very big people came to even catch a glimpse of her, and she could not be like the healer herself, the healer knew, because she had to be very haughty and condescending and must surely not be thankful for the great gift of beauty she had received!

But I am thankful, the healer told herself, and she continued to tell herself this as she went on her way. She thought to herself that someone as high and mighty as the empress did not deserve her talents, and a woman like that also could not understand what it would be like to be born ugly, because a woman like that could never, ever appreciate what a great gift beauty truly is in the cruel, inhospitable world that they both lived in.

It is here, then, that the healer began to entertain a great, terrible idea.

She thought to herself, It would be most wonderful, if the empress’s child is born hideous!

And so the healer laughed to herself, and she thought herself quite amazing to consider such a thing, but she never did consider the thought anything more than a thought.

That is, you see, until the healer first arrived at the empress’s palace.

The story of the bitter-hearted healer is a story that the man in the cave could not tell you.

The man in the cave could also not tell you about love between humans and demons to Satsuki or anybody else. That is also a story the man does not know.

Perhaps, too, he does not want to know.

But the little red demon knows this story. It is the story that fills his blood and built his bones, and it is the story he will dedicate his life to believing.

Indeed, to the little red demon, the story that the man in the cave tells Satsuki one day—of demons and humans as mortal enemies where peace is impossible, and only one can be the victor—feels as wrong to the child as a waterfall that he has never seen flowing backwards, up a cliff.

But it is this story, you see, that the little demon heard time and time again from his mama’s setsuwa and stories.

“Why is it,” the red demon asked his mother one day, long before he catches his sister prepared to drink their mama’s blood and long before he comes across the young Ryuko collapsed in the snow, “that in all of Mama’s tales, the demons want to hurt the humans?”

He had thought at first that it was simply the case of a few villainous demons. There are surely many stories where humans play the role of the evil force that must be vanquished. But the demon soon saw that humans were allowed to be heroes and kind princesses and great shining beauties. All demons ever could be were empty-headed and ugly and horrible, ravenous beasts.

The demon saw, too, the way his mama’s face would turn red in the same manner in which his face would turn green as she told him, “Do not let these stories about the bad demons make you feel as though you are destined to be bad and nothing more. There are many good demons, too.”

But Mama could not seem to tell the little red demon a single story she had heard about a good demon.

Mother had been at the loom when the red demon asked why it is the demons must always be the villain. She was weaving, chan, chan, chan, karin, and this she continued to do as she answered the little demon’s question, her amber eyes fixed on her work.

“Those stories are very ordinary human stories, my love,” she said. “If I were to tell you demon stories—and I could not, I must say, because I am not very much good with words like your dear mama—then you would see that the demons see the humans as the humans see the demons.”

The red demon was left very confused indeed. “But why would the humans and the demons want to see each other as evil?” he asked. “Isn’t it ordinary for humans and demons to be together?”

Mother still did not look the little red demon’s way. She seemed distant, as though a thousand ri away. “No, my love,” she said. “Your Mama and I are... not very ordinary at all.” A smile was on her lips as she told him so, but she seemed almost sad at the statement, as though the admittance of being unordinary brought a sort of pain, the kind that the demon would come to feel when he looks upon the fallen girl in the snow.

“Demons and humans are not meant to mix,” Mother said. “That is what everyone will tell you, both humans and demons, and even the little birds that come to visit this home will tell you, too.”

The little red demon still did not understand. The situation became ever more puzzling to the child, as incomprehensible as the world saw the red demon’s very existence.

“But you are very happy together,” he said. He frowned, the usual chan, chan, chan, karin of his mother’s loom no longer the soothing sound of his childhood but an anxious rhythm that the demon could not free from his mind.

“No, we are very happy together,” he insisted.

Mother laughed. “Yes, my little smart one,” she said. She patted the demon’s head, careful to avoid the horns that were just growing from his scalp. “But most people, my love, human and demon alike, do not believe it is possible.” She smiled again, though it still looked strange and distant, and she took her hands from the loom where she had been weaving, finally turning her eyes upon her son.

The little demon saw that she had been crying.

“Most people,” she said, “believe it is a curse for a demon to let a human into their heart, and for a human to let a demon into theirs.”

Mother turned her wet eyes away from the little red demon. “But I would do it,” she told him, unwaveringly, as though speaking a grand declaration no matter the quiet whisper of her voice.

And the red demon felt it was more to herself than to him that his mother then said, “If she would let me, I would grant her every wish and keep a piece of her within me, always.”

A story the man in the cave does know, as it would happen, is the story of how demons hold within them the power to grant any human’s wish.

This, you see, is a story that more humans once understood, back when the Kingdom of the Reed Plains had not been cursed to be covered in an endless, inhospitable snow that would not disappear and could not disappear.

It was a story that the bitter-hearted healer who had gone to see the empress had known, and she considered this story her first evening she spent in the beautiful empress’s palace as she peered outside to the lands that were not her kingdom and not anything much like her home country.

If I would give my heart to demons to have a wish granted, she thought to herself, I would not have my wish be to make the empress’s child born hideous.

But it would be such a nice thing, she considered some more, if I could truly make such a reality with my own two hands.

Another healer interrupted her thoughts with a great curse of her own. This healer was unabashed in her complaints and did not keep them locked deeply away as the bitter-hearted healer did.

This healer said, “I am number 37, can you believe it?” She expressed a great many more curses, crossing her arms and pouting in a manner that the bitter-hearted healer could not help but find quite admirable.

“I am number 43, myself,” she said. She smiled politely, as she was so very used to doing in her practice. “I am sure I will not be able to return to my home kingdom for quite a long while yet.”

At this, the other healer offered a sympathetic look. “Oh,” she said, and she shook her head, as though ashamed of herself. “I live very near this palace, and here I have been cursing!”

“You have every right to be upset,” said the bitter-hearted healer. She tried very hard to restrain herself from clenching up her fists at the thought of the beautiful empress and how that woman had successfully called her to this wretched palace.

The other healer smiled at that. “I most certainly do have all the reason in the world to be upset!” she said. “Calling upon so many healers and doctors! You must forgive our empress.” She lowered her voice, until she was near whispering. “She is just very afraid of losing a fourth child, you see.”

This the bitter-hearted healer understood perfectly, and had the empress been another, uglier woman, perhaps the healer would have been meant it, when she said, “I wish the best for her and her child.”

“With all these healers and doctors, there won’t be any need for wishing,” answered the other healer, and then she was quite quiet for a moment before she added, “To tell the truth, I wasn’t happy with my number because I wished to return to my family as soon as possible, but also....” She paused, as though bashful. “It’s maybe a bit silly, but I’m afraid I won’t even be able to meet the beautiful empress with my late number! I was hoping to make my family very jealous for getting to be in the same room as her!”

The bitter-hearted healer’s smile slipped, just slightly. She then made her smile all the brighter as she answered, “I have heard that she is quite a sight.”

“So the talk of her beauty goes beyond even our little Kingdom of the Reed Plains!” cried the other healer. “I so wish to see for myself.”

The healer then looked very carefully at the bitter-hearted woman.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying, Miss, but I almost find it hard to imagine a woman prettier than you.”

The bitter-hearted healer’s smile became very wicked. “You flatter me!” she said. “I am sure I cannot hold even a candle to the empress’s beauty.”

“I suppose we will see about that,” said the other healer.

But the bitter-hearted healer very much did not want to see about it. She had only been in the empress’s palace a few mere hours, but already it seemed an eternity, and so there came the time when the bitter-hearted healer—surely not thinking clearly, mind you—left her room that night and walked very resolutely to the palace gates. The other doctors and healers looked at her quite oddly as she did this, and the guards of the palace questioned her quite thoroughly.

“It is unwise,” said one of the palace guards, “to walk the streets at night, when the demons are about.”

The healer considered it might almost be a blessing, if she could be eaten by demons and never have to come before the horrible empress she did not want to see!

But the healer smiled very politely, as she was so very used to doing from her practice. “My number is very far off, you see,” she said, and she showed the guard the parchment with 43 written cleanly upon it. “I have relatives not far from this palace, and I would very much like to spend the night with them, if you understand.”

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “I understand...” he said, “But you were to come here, on royal orders—“

“And I will return,” said the bitter-hearted healer. Though she had interrupted the man, the tone of her voice had become sweeter than sugared honey. Her impertinence almost seemed kind.

“Yes, I hear what you are saying,” said the guard, and once more he shifted uncomfortably, “but you must understand....”

He could not finish his words. The bitter-hearted healer ran fingers through her slick black hair. She batted her eyelashes, only a small amount. “I know it is dangerous,” she said, “but I am a healer, and I am very good at what I do—as I am sure you know because I am standing here before you right this moment!—and if any demon were to try to hurt me, I could heal myself in just an instant!”

The bitter-hearted healer bowed down very low before the guard. “Please, good man, I am begging you to let me go.”

It was with a great hesitance that the guard did exactly so.

But the truth is that the bitter-hearted healer had no family in that kingdom. She knew no one at all in the Kingdom of the Reed Plains, and she entertained the thought that she could run away to a new settlement somewhere, perhaps by the mountains, and then she could avoid ever seeing the empress and ever living with the shame from refusing a royal order from a kingdom allied with her own.

The person she was at that moment could be considered lost. She could start a new life, and she could become a healer even more renowned than she had been in her backwater hometown. The healer’s head buzzed with ideas, bun, bun. Of course she could start up a new business someplace far away! She was so beautiful that she would quickly become the talk of the town no matter where it is she went!

This thought brought the bitter-hearted healer to stop in her tracks. No, she thought, she could not become the talk of the town in a town where the only beauty anyone could speak of was an empress who did not appreciate her beauty nor deserve it!

The healer clutched the lantern she had taken with her on her journey away from the palace quite tightly. Why did all her thoughts keep returning to such a terrible woman? Even when she had been thinking of the new life she would build for herself, the healer could not help but think of the empress.

She frowned to herself, all by herself in a great kingdom with a wondrous empress, in the forest just beyond the palace, no less, and she thought to herself that she must be such a pitiful sight that even demons would take pity upon her and spare her life should they ever find her.

The bitter-hearted healer, however, did not realize that she was so stuffed full of bitterness and cold that she smelled quite terrible to the demons who were indeed wandering about the Kingdom of the Reed Plains that night.

“That atrocious stench is ruining all the wonderful ones,” the woman heard a demon complain (though she was not aware that it was a demon speaking because the healer did not truly expect to come across demons in her great escape from the palace).

Zushin, zushin, the healer heard, thud, thud, stomp, stomp.“It must be another cold heart,” said another demon (that the healer again was not aware was truly a demon at all).

But it is quite disconcerting to hear voices that you cannot see the source of in the midst of the night, and so it was then that the healer, whose heart was beating very quickly at that moment, raised her lantern and shone it all around her.

“Who is there?” she asked. The light danced all about the darkness, and when it settled upon a face, the bitter-hearted healer was rather surprised that this face was a considerably good-looking face.

She was even more surprised when she saw another face besides the first face that was equally attractive, and indeed perhaps even more so.

“Ah,” said the owner of the first face, who looked to the bitter-hearted healer to be a young woman with eyes that sparkled like bright red rubies.“So it is you who are making this horrible, ghastly stench all throughout these lands.”

Of course, it is even more disconcerting to hear a beautiful stranger in the woods describe you as smelling atrocious, and so perhaps it is not unusual that the bitter-hearted healer felt her bitterness grow and grow within her, puffing out and expanding much like her medicinal breads did in the ovens back in her home.

She said, “Well, now, how terribly rude! I will have you know that I have traveled quite a long way!Even the bath that I have been offered in this kingdom has not treated me well, it seems!”

The owner of the second beautiful face, who seemed to the bitter-hearted healer to be an older woman with great red lips that were a deeper color than even the setting sun, shook her head at the healer, her long, dark hair brushing against her shoulders and elaborate flowered kimono.

“You misunderstand, Miss,” said this second beauty.“No amount of sweet soaps or fragrances or wondrous baths could save you from this disgusting stench that falls off you much as snow falls from the sky.”

The second beauty lifted her chin up very high.“This reek feels even more endless than snow, too,” she said.

This, too, made the bitter-hearted healer even more bitter hearted than she had been before.

The two beauties coughed before the healer could even begin to speak.

“You are making it worse!” said the first woman. “It is no good to upset a human who already smells so terrible.”

These words were the first that the bitter-hearted woman could perhaps smile at. She said, “Come now, are you traveling storytellers looking for refuge by the palace? It is quite funny of you to try to include even your audience as part of your story, but I must confess that I do not have a single coin upon my person at this moment.”

The bitter-hearted healer laughed, and the sound was surely as horrible a sound as her heart was a horrible heart and her stench was a horrible stench. “I must say, though,” said the bitter-hearted healer, “that it is not quite an appealing act to begin by insulting your audience and then continue by calling them 'human' as though you are not humans yourselves!”

These words made the two demons laugh quite heartily indeed, gera, gera, ha, ha. They laughed much more heartily than the woman, and they laughed much more genuinely, and when they had finished this laughter and wiped the tears from their eyes, the younger beauty smiled in a way that the bitter-hearted healer did not find so attractive.

Indeed, she found the grin quite terrifying.

Because, you see, the bitter-hearted healer saw that this beauty had teeth that were perhaps not quite so beautiful. There were long fangs, sharp, and it seemed very much to the healer that she was looking straight at the smiling jaws of a great monster.

“As though we are not humans ourselves!” repeated the once-beauty. The strange creature laughed once more, looking less and less beautiful to the bitter-hearted healer with every second. Its form seemed to distort and mutate before the bitter-hearted healer, and the sight was to the woman very hideous and unsightly, but somehow, you see, she could not look away.

And so it was that the bitter-hearted healer watched with wide eyes as rosy skin changed to a slick blue, shiny, dark hair became as long and wild and white as snowflakes in a great storm, and the once-beauty seemed to grow several feet, towering over the bitter-hearted healer with eyes that the healer then realized to be the shining eyes of a demon.

She also realized that they were the shining eyes of a very hungry demon.

The bitter-hearted healer, in her immense fear, toppled to the ground with a great gasp, haa, haa, wheeze, pant. Her lantern shattered, and the flames jumped out, lighting the leaves scattered upon the forest floor on fire and threatening to burn the trees as well.

Here the demons’ laughter was quite diminished.

“Look what you have made the foolish human do with your silly sideshow display,” said the older beauty. She had shifted her form as well, now bearing the appearance of a massive, red-haired blue demon clad in tiger skins, with three great horns upon her head.

She stomped out the fires with her feet, zushin, zushin, thud, thud, and the younger demon only helped with what the bitter-hearted healer would have considered reluctance, if she had the mind to think clearly. Soon enough only a small bit of flames remained, and this the younger demon held in her hands as though it was a small, fluttering little heart.

“It must be strange to you to see that flames do not burn us,” said the demon, perhaps not knowing—or perhaps knowing very, very well—that the bitter-hearted healer could think nothing on how a demon would not be burned by flames.

“As it would happen, silly, stinky human,” she explained, “demons are not affected by the cold or the heat like you flimsy creatures.”

The bitter-hearted healer could not quite take another moment of this torture. Her heart was nearly threatening to jump out of her chest, beating so very quickly, baku, baku, thump, thump, because, you see, though the healer had often come face to face with death in her practice, she had never given very much thought to the idea that she could truly, actually be the one facing death one day!

She pressed her head against the singed, cold ground with her hands in front of her and said, “Oh, please, demons, please, please spare me! Once you understand my sad tale, you cannot possibly wish to eat me!”

Of course, the bitter-hearted healer did not understand the tale of the demons themselves (and this she would never understand, much as the man in the cave would never understand the love between demons and humans, but, ah, that is a story for quite another time). The bitter-hearted healer did not understand that the demons she had encountered that fateful night were demons from a smaller settlement, and she did not know that this settlement had grown very tired of hunting humans and so had pledged, with great sincerity and passion, to refrain from ever tasting the sweet flavors of human flesh and blood ever again.

It is easy to say that the bitter-hearted healer could not have understood this tale, and it would be correct to say so, because no human in all the Kingdom of the Reed Plains at the time could say that they knew of the demons within their own lands who had sworn off eating them forever. But the bitter-hearted healer would also not have understood this tale should she have ever been told it, because, you see, to the bitter-hearted healer, a demon was a demon, and demons ate people, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

However, the bitter-hearted healer did think very much that she could avoid being the human the demons chose to eat, if she were only clever enough.

And so the woman pushed her face even farther into the dirt (which she didn’t quite think possible), and she said, “You would understand my tale, too!” The woman’s voice absolutely dripped with desperation, and there was enough that the demons could scoop it up with their hands and drink and be filled. “You are very beautiful demons,” the woman cried, “and my sad tale could only be understood by those who understand the gift of great beauty, and I know very well that you understand this gift!”

Now, the demons had no desire to eat the woman or even drink her blood on account of their pledge, and truth be told, they would have no desire to eat the woman or even drink her blood had they not been bound by such a pledge. There was such a terrible, ghastly stench coming off the woman and her cold, frozen heart, and the demons were quite sure that, should they even attempt to eat her, she would taste as terrible and ghastly as she smelled.

The bitter-hearted woman could also not have known that the younger demon entertained the thought of wiping her tongue off on the bark of trees after tasting someone as disgusting as the woman who sat crouched before her, and indeed, she would not have even considered such a thing. To the bitter-hearted woman, all that mattered was her beauty, and as her thinking went, beautiful creatures must also taste quite delicious, and so she must have seemed quite the delectable treat to the two demons before her.

As the bitter-hearted woman saw her situation, she would have to try her very, very hardest to not be eaten.

The demons played along with the woman. “A tale, you say?” asked the older demon woman. “Perhaps you are the one who should be the traveling storyteller?”

In all her fear, the bitter-hearted woman thought herself at least wise enough to agree with a demon when asked such a question. “Perhaps, perhaps!” she agreed, though deep inside she could not imagine being in such a lowly, silly, worthless profession as a traveling storyteller.

The demons tried very hard to refrain from gagging at how the woman’s stench became much more terrible with her lie. They continued to play the woman’s game.

“We shall see how skilled you are,” the younger demon woman said. She still held the flames in her hands, coaxing the fire as though it were a small animal.

“Yes, yes, you shall see!” cried the bitter-hearted healer, and she then told her story in the best manner she could muster. She spoke of how the beautiful empress did not deserve her beauty and did not appreciate it, and she spoke of how all the empress deserved was a hideous child, and she said that she had half-considered running away from this horrible place and starting a brand-new life because she quite abhors ungratefulness, you see, and the beautiful empress is surely the definition of ungrateful!

The bitter-hearted healer could not have known how the demons reacted to her story. She could not have understood how the two looked at each other with great plans and ideas blooming in their minds, and she could not understand the language that they spoke to one another in quiet tones, because to the bitter-hearted healer, you see, the language of the demons sounded much the same as the go-o, go-o of the wind.

And so after the bitter-hearted healer had spoken all she had to say, she stared a great, long while at the two incredible creatures before her, knowing all too well in her frozen heart that there was nothing else she could do.

But it was such a long, painful time that the demons spoke to one another, and as you might imagine from a woman who believed very sincerely that she was at death’s door, the bitter-hearted woman became quite consumed by fear. Though there was a great bitterness inside her that would not go away, there came too to be a great terror.

How horrible and unfair is everything! the woman could not help but think, tainting her scent ever more as her heart grew ever colder. Here she had not only come to the ungrateful empress’s kingdom to do her a great deed, but on her first night in the supposedly beautiful empress’s lands, she is held hostage by demons and sentenced to death! Her great kindness to come to the empress’s aid had only resulted in her very downfall!

And so the bitter-hearted woman fumed quite thoroughly to herself, and her bitterness grew and grew, and the demons spoke more and more quickly because, you see, they were not so certain how much longer they could stand being so close to such a cold-hearted, cruel woman.

It was only once the bitter-hearted healer became very convinced that she was going to be eaten on the spot that the older demon woman said, with a hesitance that the woman did not recognize as hesitance, “You have told quite an amazing story indeed.”

The bitter-hearted woman thought immediately upon hearing these words that the demon was genuine in saying them, and she would have been correct, to an extent, because the demon woman did find her tale amazing, in a sense.

The younger demon woman said, “We like your story very much, and we would like to help you! It is true; a cruel fate has come upon you, and it is not fair that you have been sent away to this kingdom! To think that you have been sent all this way to help such an empress as the human empress that reigns in the Kingdom of the Reed Plains! It is disgusting! Despicable!”

At these words, the bitter-hearted healer could have broken out into tears, and it is only the older demon’s next words that keep her from doing just that.

“If you would come with us, just a ways, we can make it so your dreams can come true,” she said.

The bitter-hearted healer felt the great relief that had only just filled her dissipate away, tainted. Her fear came back, and this fear was a terror so great that it felt to the bitter-hearted healer to be almost as tangible as the rain that began to fall upon her at that moment, zabun, zabun, plop, plop. With dread and anxiety building deep within her, the bitter-hearted woman considered many possibilities for what the demons planned to do now.

They were discussing which of my body parts they are going to eat, she thought to herself. They are going to take me back with them to their home, and they are going to enjoy me while they drink away all the water in the river that they must live by, because of course demons must live by a river! I am going to die here, and these demons must consider me quite foolish, to think that their compliments and kind words are enough to tempt me straight into the jaws of death!

The bitter-hearted woman grew more and more bitter, but she smiled very kindly at the demons, the way she had become so accustomed to from her practice, and she knew that even in the rain, she looked very beautiful when she smiled.

“I will go with you,” she said, and she got to her feet, and the demons smiled back at her, though even the bitter-hearted woman could sense that these smiles were not fully kind.

And so the bitter-hearted healer went with the demons because there was surely nothing else she could do, and she thought to herself that when they stopped and tried to devour her whole, she could perhaps kick their teeth, or perhaps they were thinking of saving her for another day, in which case she could steal their shoes and surely run a thousand ri in just a moment.

On and on the bitter-hearted healer’s thought went in this way, and she was so very preoccupied with her illusions that she did not notice at first that the demons had stopped. The bitter-hearted woman had only the little flickering light of the demon’s fire (that had somehow not been extinguished in the rain) to use to see in the darkness, but it seemed to her that they had stopped before what the healer recognized to be an herb garden much like the one she had back in her own backwater hometown.

“It is exactly what you believe it to be,” said the younger demon. The older demon then proceeded to pick from the garden something that the healer could not recognize, even with her great skill and beauty at her craft.

The bitter-hearted woman wondered briefly if whatever it is that the demon had picked would be used to make her tastier, or perhaps it was poison, and the demons truly had been moved by her tale and wished for her to have a peaceful demise rather than be swallowed whole.

It took everything the bitter-hearted woman had to not shudder terribly at this thought.

But the older demon explained, very matter-of-fact, what it was in her hands. “We do not grow the same herbs as you humans do,” she said. “Demons are much stronger than humans, with hearts that are much lighter, and we are far more advanced in our medicines.”

The bitter-rated healer did not believe this in the slightest, but she smiled her very politest smile. “I would very much like to learn more about your herbs,” she said, though she wished to say, I want absolutely nothing to do with your cursed medicines because they would be sure to poison me and all my patients!

“Unfortunately for you, I cannot share the demons’ secrets with a human,” said the older demon. “But I can provide you with this herb, to present to the empress.”

This the bitter-hearted healer found very surprising indeed.

“An herb to present to the empress?” she repeated, a strange sensation of excitement filling her no matter the fact that she was surely just seconds away from being tricked into her own demise by demons.

“Yes,” said the younger demon. “If you present this herb to the empress, her child will be born very, very healthy, because we demons have healing magic, you know, and we have the power to cure nearly any ailment known in the world just using our own power. You must imagine that our medicines are capable of much, much more.”

The bitter-hearted healer felt her excitement wane. Her polite smile fell to nastiness, and this she did not even make the slightest attempt to hide. “Why in the world would I want to give the empress exactly what she wants?” she asked. It seemed so very horrible, and she considered herself such a very sad creature, to be in a position where even the demons sided with a disgraceful, ungrateful empress over her! Was she not beautiful enough to be given whatever it is she wanted? She, who so respected and was so very grateful for the gift of beauty that she had received from the gods?

And though the bitter-hearted woman did not take any note of it, the older demon would think that perhaps she was too harsh with her next words, but she could not help it, you see, because it is a demon’s curse to be extraordinarily honest, even if humans could not comprehend nor understand this honesty.

She said, “We would hope that even the most wicked of humans would not wish for a child to be born so sickly that they perish shortly after birth,” but then she shook her head and said to the bitter-hearted empress, who smelled even more terrible at this point and seemed very much to be fuming, “But we would like to make your dream come true, healer from a faraway kingdom.”

The bitter-hearted healer crossed her arms and surveyed the demons quite thoroughly now. “Are you saying?” she started, and she could not quite finish, even if that was quite unbecoming of a beautiful lady.

“Yes,” said the younger demon. Her face was lit up by the flame that still danced in her palm. “If you give this herb to the empress, her child will be born uglier than any human and far uglier than any demon.”

A great, horrible smile came upon the bitter-hearted healer’s face at this revelation. She very gladly took the herb from the older demon, and she even more gladly presented this herb to the beautiful empress when she returned to the palace to a very relieved guard and when it came to be her turn to come before the terrible empress who had brought such pain and misfortune upon her life.

“Take this,” the bitter-hearted healer said very confidently to the empress, smiling her very politest smile that she had grown much accustomed to smiling from her practice. “Place it in your tea, and be sure that the tea is very warm, and your child will be born very healthy and very lovely.”

The bitter-hearted healer, you see, was not like the honest demons. She very much relished her lie, and her very politest smile would have seemed distinctly not polite, had anyone looked closely enough.

But no one looked closely enough, because the bitter-hearted healer was simply a small healer from a faraway kingdom, and though she was a great beauty, no one could be bothered to look her way, not when in the same room as the most beautiful empress in all the world.

However, perhaps the woman’s heart was not as cold as the demons had seen it, because even this bitter-hearted healer felt within her a sting of remorse as she stood before the empress. In the woman’s mind, you see, the empress was surely not as beautiful as she was made out to be, but this silly empress held herself up as though she was the most beautiful creature on all of the Earth! The bitter-hearted healer almost felt sorry for the poor creature, left thinking that she is so amazingly lovely when she is so clearly not.

And yet, as it may be expected from a tale such as this one, the bitter-hearted healer’s small bit of remorse was not enough for her to treat the empress properly, as she would one of her own patients back in her hometown that the woman found herself missing in increasing amounts, and so she kept her smiling as the empress thanked her for her work.

The bitter-hearted healer, of course, did not know that it was not the demons who had made it so the medicine would cause the princess of the Kingdom of the Reed Plains to be born horrifically ugly. She could not know, and she could not understand, because she did not realize her own bitter-heartedness and would never understand it, not for as long as she lived (and this, you see, was not a very much time longer).

“Humans with hearts as cold as this woman,” the old demon had said to the younger demon, back when they had first heard the healer’s sobbed tale, in a language that the bitter-hearted healer did not understand and could not understand, “are capable of tainting even the strongest medicine with evil, but it is they who suffer the most from their bitterness. A human heart is not meant to be cold. Humans are not designed for the cold as we demons are, and a frozen heart can only beat for so long before it wears itself away with its darkness.”

And so, perhaps it was not odd that the bitter-hearted healer did not live to see the day that her tainted medicine had done its work, and the empress’s daughter was indeed born as hideous as a snake. The healer was a miracle doctor from the heavens and a healer who could heal all, it seemed, except herself. The bitter-hearted woman’s coldness made her incurably ill upon returning to her kingdom, and the people sighed for a moment at her passing.

“She was quite a beauty,” the people said, because it was quite sad to lose someone who looked so lovely, just as it is quite sad to lose a lovely flower to an unseasonal bout of cold weather. “It is a shame to lose her and no longer see such a lovely face.”

But as all beauty eventually fades one day, so did the memory of the healer, who, you must understand, was not truly especially skilled at her craft, and indeed, had relied heavily on the skills of her not-so-pretty assistants whose stories the world did remember far beyond their time.

And so the bitter-hearted healer’s tale was forgotten, and when the time comes that a man in a cave tells this story of the beautiful empress’s ugly daughter to the Crown Princess Satsuki, not a soul remains who remembers the bitter-hearted healer at all.

#shut up goop #goop makes a (kinda) personal post #ramblings #maybe #writing #klk fic #klk fairytale au #blood #body horror #kill la kill #ish #this au is pretty original though tbh #confetti emoji i'm on my moon sickness right now but i'm gonna write a book yeahhhhhhhhhh

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unpack-my-heart · 5 years

Text

The Ghost of You

A new Reddie AU featuring property developer Richie and ghost Eddie. I know I have other unfinished stories but I’ve been working on this today as a distraction from various things and thought I’d post it.

Read it on AO3 HERE

or I’ve also posted it under the cut:

Preview:

The first time Richie sees him, he falls out of a window.

It’s about ten at night, and Richie is painting the grilles on his open bedroom window with the night breeze caressing his face. He’s got the radio on, but every so often the music is suddenly replaced by harsh static that screams into the room for five or six seconds, before the music starts up again like nothing had happened. Richie doesn’t pay attention to it, assuming it’s to do with the terrible reception, until the radio howls like a banshee. When he turns around, he’s met with the sight of a man dressed in an old-fashioned looking khaki uniform who is squatting next to the radio on the floor, and staring at it intently.

Richie promptly jumps, before stumbling backwards, and falling out of the window.

@constantreaderfool @xandertheundead

Richie’s first love is stand-up comedy. He spends most of his adolescent years with his eyes glued to the flickering TV screen, watching late night comedies protected by a blanket of darkness, ready to charge straight up the stairs should he hear the familiar pounding of his father’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

Richie always assumed he’d become a stand-up comedian, or something similar. His mother was forever smiling at him with this dopy, indulgent grin.

‘You should be on the stage, child’, she always told him.

He believes her.

Standing on stage, in front of a sea of squawking, laughing faces. The I did that in your stomach, the I made these people happy.

It doesn’t work out, though. Richie gets horrendous stage-fright, and runs straight off the stage clutching his stomach the first time he attends an open-mic at his local late night coffee shop. It doesn’t make sense. His mom says he’s funny, Bev says he’s funny, the waitress at the diner that does those paprika fries he loves says he's funny (but maybe she’s just being kind and trying to get him to leave a decent tip. He always does.)

He isn’t too cut up about it though. Shit happens. So he leaves stand-up comedy to the professionals, and proceeds to have a minor existential crisis about the direction his life is going in.

His father starts getting a bit impatient, not because he’s frustrated that Richie didn’t go to college, or because Richie is leeching off them or anything remotely similar, but because it cuts him up inside to see his nearly-20-year old son so morose and directionless. So he takes him to work with him.

Wentworth Tozier works as an architect in a small firm in Maine. It’s mainly small domestic projects, the occasional corporate one. Nothing too major. Small houses, buildings to put a new Subway in. Richie is entranced. He loves going with his dad to the sites, he can practically see the cogs in his father’s brain spin and whir as he envisages how he’ll turn this small patch of wasteland into someone’s private sanctuary. Richie decides immediately that he wants a part of this.

Richie apprentices with his father. His dad agrees easily, ecstatic that his son is so enamoured with the field that claimed his own heart when he was pre-college and panicking about where his own life would lead. Richie doesn’t want to go to college, so he can’t become an accredited architect, but that doesn’t matter. Richie isn’t interested in modelling power sockets and skirting boards on the computer. Richie dreams of moulding timber, brick and concrete with his own bare hands, sculpting and crafting and carving out a small piece of perfection.

Property development, is what his father tells him it’s called. He’d be a renovator, and Richie decides that that word sits very nicely indeed on the end of his tongue.

He starts off small. An tired-looking apartment with creaking bones and a dusty sigh. Richie tears out the connecting wall between the lounge and the kitchen, allowing the small space to inhale a much-needed breath of fresh air. He extends the bathroom into the needlessly large master (and only) bedroom, and removes the garish pink ceramic bath, replacing it with a walk in shower. A lick of paint here, a sprinkling of tile here, a dash of wallpaper and some new faux-marble countertops. His father claps him on the back when he sees the finished product. ‘you’ve done good, kid’. Richie knew this was what he was made for.

He’s 28 when he starts feeling the first pinches of boredom at the soles of his feet, 30 when his stomach aches slightly when he wakes up in the morning before work, and 34 when he decides that it isn’t enough for him anymore.

His father, now retired and living off a very comfortable pension, offers to lend him some money while he figures out what he wants to do next. Richie grumbles for a few weeks, feeling uncomfortable about taking his dads money. He uhms and ahhs about it, waxing poetic to Bev in the bar after work about how property development wasn’t sparking the pilot light in his soul quite like it used to. Bev nodded sympathetically, and made comforting hums at all the right intervals. Richie left the bar five times drunker and fifty times more appreciative for her friendship.

He’s 36 when he decides to move to Scotland.

He’s been considering it for a while. Find a derelict church, or a run-down old manor house, buy it for an eye-wateringly cheap price, live in it, renovate it, and flip it. A two year project, max. Something to get his teeth into and stave off the anxious dreams that have him shooting up in bed at night, face sticky with sweat and heart beating with ‘this can’t be it, please say this isn’t it’.

His relationship with Jasmine had broken down. She couldn’t understand why Richie was so restless, why he’d toss and turn at night instead of hunkering down into the cosy nest of safe, steady, predictable. He didn’t blame her. He knew it was frustrating. Hell, he was frustrated. They ended it pretty amicably. A few tears on both sides, a half-hearted promise to remain friends. Richie knew they wouldn’t. He didn’t really mind.

He’d been half-cut and half-asleep when he’d stumbled on it. A beautiful 19th century building on the Isle of Skye in Scotland. It had originally been an orphanage, before changing hands and purpose multiple times over the years. School, a brief stint as a police station, before it was abandoned in 1947, just after the war. The building is on the lip of a lake, and sits nestled comfortably into a small hillock. The brickwork is run down, patches of orange lichen growing excitedly across the otherwise grey surface. There are two working chimneys emerging from the slate roof that connected to two working fire-places. There’s a small porch connected to the front door, and a back door in the kitchen that leads out into an unfenced back garden. It’s ugly, and sits tired and unassuming against the harsh bracken moors of Scotland, not a neighbour in sight. Richie is immediately besotted with it.

He phones Bev, not caring that it’s nearly 3am and he’s definitely still drunk and is probably definitely somewhat delusional. She picks up on the fifth ring.

“what the fuck, Rich, it’s arse o’clock in the morning. Are you dying? If you’re not dying you’re gonna wish you were”

“I found it”

“Huh? Found what? If you found your lost sock and decided to ring me to tell me, I swear to god, Trashmouth, I’m gonna gut you, you –“

“No, Jesus Red, no. I found it. I found the one”

“the one? You mean that dude you were grinding on yesterday? I mean, he was kinda weird looking, wasn’t he? Looked a bit like a trout. But if you think he’s the one I guess –“

“Can it, Marsh. One, I wasn’t talking about him but oh my god he totally looks like a trout and two, I mean, the house”

“Shit. The house?”

“Yup”

“The house, the house? You mean – THE house?”

“Yes!”

“Holy shit. Where is it?”

“…”

“Rich…”

“Scotland”

“Holy shit”

“I know”

Getting a visa is about as much of a nightmare as Richie expects. It takes forever, and every day he checks the real estate website, sweaty palms and palpitating heart, expecting the little house on the moor to have disappeared from the internet. It never does.

After about four months, and tearful goodbyes to Beverly at the airport, Richie’s on a plane to Scotland. His parents were initially hugely sceptical, lecturing him on the dangers of buying a property without viewing it, and lamenting about how much they’ll miss him when he’s thousands of miles away. They don’t try to stop him though.

Richie spends most of plane ride jittering in his seat. He ends up sat next to a Scottish woman, who balances her tiny daughter on her knee. Richie smiles at the tiny redheaded girl and she smiles back at him, all gums and no teeth. He falls asleep half an hour before they land.

He hires a car at Edinburgh airport. The drive takes him around six hours, a combination of busy main roads and winding country tracks that split the Scottish landscape like veins. He sails over the Skye bridge, and he’s only an hour or two away from paradise.

When he’s about twenty minutes away, he starts getting panicky. He’d spoken to the letting agent at length over Skype, and they’d emailed him a list of all the things that would need fixing, or replacing. It was a very long list. When Richie had received the list he’d not been able to see it as anything other than a challenge, something to get his teeth into. Something to occupy his restless brain. Now though, the list sat like lead in his pocket.

The house sits at the end of an unkempt muddy track, standing alone amongst the foliage. Richie pulls himself out of the car, stretching his aching arms behind his head.

He stares at the house.

The house looks back at him.

He rings his dad.

“y’ello?”

“Hey, Dad”

“Rich! Did you make it okay, laddy?”

“Och, aye!”

“Your Scottish accent is as awful as mine”

“I know”

“How is she?”

“She’s beautiful”

“Need a lot of TLC?”

“More than I think I’m capable of giving her”

“Hey, now. Where’s that trade-mark Richie confidence? Or, should I say, trade-mark Richie arrogance?”

“You’re supposed to be giving me a pep-talk, old man”

“I know, I know. You’ve got it, kid. You know you do. I’ll come out and visit you in a few months, maybe stay for a few weeks. Scotland is supposed to be real nice in the summer. Save some of the really tricky parts until then, okay? I don’t want you to hurt yourself”

“Your concern is touching”

“Richie, I’m serious”

“I know”

“Your mother misses you already”

“I bet she does, now she’s only got you for company”

“I miss you”

“I know”

“I’m here for you. Even half way across the world. You’re my boy”

“love you, dad”

“Knock ‘em dead, son”

Beep beep beep beep

The house stands in front of him, silently waiting. The wild, windy moors stretch far away.

Richie doesn’t do anything to the house for a few days. He drives nearly two hours to the nearest town, and stocks up on all the tools and equipment he thinks he’ll need, before quickly realising that he’ll need to take a trip to one of the larger cities to buy the more expensive materials. He imagines the postal services out in the middle of nowhere leave much to be desired.

The house is much louder than he expected it to be. The moors are noisy, rustling leaves and bleating sheep and wind that whips through your skin and freezes your bones. The house is nearly as loud. Everything creaks, and moans and sighs, loud protests against whatever Richie happens to be doing, whether walking up the stairs or throwing logs into the burner.

He starts working on it four days after he moves in.

The first time Richie sees him, he falls out of a window.

Richie promptly jumps, before stumbling backwards, and falling out of the window.

When Richie comes to, he’s lying on the ground directly below the window he fell out of.

There’s a pillow under his head.

The second time Richie sees him, he pours boiling water all over his foot.

It’s been a few weeks since Richie fell out of the window. He’s forgotten about the man in the khaki uniform that he thought he saw looking at his radio, having convinced himself that it must have been a figment of his overtired imagination.

The house is still, for all intents and purposes, unliveable. There is no hot water, there is no gas, and Richie has to go to the toilet in trenches he digs in the middle of the woodland a few minutes’ walk from the back door. He has never been happier.

He’s knocked a few walls through, the downstairs is now an open plan space, and he’s ordered a new bathroom suite that is supposed to arrive today, along with a plumber that he found online. His name is Mike Hanlon, and he’s lived in the Isle of Skye his whole life.

When Mike arrives, he’s joined with a collie who Mike affectionately calls Mr Chips. Richie scratches the dog behind the ears, and receives a few licks to the inside of his wrist for his trouble.

Mike helps Richie haul the constituent parts of the bathroom suite up the rickety stair case, and Richie is overjoyed to discover that Mike doesn’t complain once. Richie leaves Mike in the bathroom, tinkering with the pipes connected to the old, broken ceramic toilet, and begins to make them both cups of tea using a camping stove connected to a gas cannister he’d bought when he’d been in town.

He’s pouring water from the small camping kettle into Mike’s mug (breakfast tea, no milk, no sugar, thanks, Rich!) when Richie catches sight of the man in the khaki uniform, turning the ring on the gas cannister with a hesitant finger.

Richie startles, the force of which sends his arm flailing through the air, and sends the contents of the kettle sailing through the air in a graceful arc before landing on his foot.

Richie curses, grabbing the bottle of cold water sat on the worktop, and quickly proceeds to pour the contents over his poor, red raw foot.

When he looks up again, the man has gone.

One of the other bottles of water has upended itself on a cloth, however. Richie doesn’t think anything of it when he grabs the soaking wet cloth and wraps it around his foot.

The third time Richie sees him, he learns his name.

A month later, Mike has finished the bathroom. The plaster on the walls is still white and unpainted, and the floor hasn’t been properly tiled yet, but the bath, sink and toilet has been replaced, and Richie was half way through wiring the extractor fan. Mike had kindly agreed to stay on and help Richie replace the kitchen sink, and install the washing machine and tumble dryer. Richie was elated. He’d grown close with Mike quickly, and he loved listening to Mike’s stories about Scottish folklore. Richie listened to Mike talk for hours about kelpies and the loch ness monster and never found himself drifting off.

Soon enough, they broached the topic of ghosts.

“Do you believe in ghosties then, Mikey?” Richie asks, the man in the khaki uniform a vivid picture in his mind.

“Well, they say that energy cannot be created nor destroyed, right? That’s an important element of the physics of life, so, I can’t accept that when we die we just … disappear, and all that energy just leaks into the air? Where would it go?”

“I dunno, back into the ground?”

“Nah, I don’t reckon so. I reckon it’s gotta go somewhere else. I reckon our consciousness, like, the thing that makes us truly us, escapes our physical bodies when they run out of energy and become something else. Maybe we become light. Maybe we become oxygen, I don’t know.”

“So you don’t believe in ghosts in the sense that you don’t believe we can walk around as physical manifestations of how our physical bodies looked, then?”

“I just dunno, Rich. We probably will never know. Here – hand me that spanner, this bolt is being a feckin’ nightmare”

Richie thought about what Mike had said for a long time.

The third time Richie sees him, he learns his name.

When Mike had left for the evening, Richie waded into the shallow lake, water lapping around the tops of his rubber boots. He threw small pebbles into the water. Plip Plip Plip. The moor was uncharacteristically silent. He stared down into the water.

The reflection of the man dressed in the khaki uniform stared back at him.

Richie turned around.

The man in the khaki uniform was stood next to him, wringing his hands, his brow furrowed.

Richie swallowed.

“Who the hell are you?”

“My name is Eddie”

“Why d’ya keep letting yourself into my house, Eddie?”

Richie fought against his quivering voice to keep his tone stern and challenging.

“I – I don’t. It’s hard to explain. What year is it?”

“Uh… what?"

“What year is it?”

“Are you on drugs or something, dude? Lost on your way back from a costume party?”

“Please, just tell me, what year is it?"

“2019”

“Ah”

“What’d’ya mean, ‘ah’?”

“I mean, I haven’t seen anyone in this house since 1947”

“… Dude you cannot be over 70 fucking years old. Stop bullshitting me, just tell me the truth and I promise I won’t get Mike to impale you on one of those rubber poles he keeps in his van”

“I’m not over 70. I'm 38 – I was 38.”

“Well, how do you know no one’s been in this house since 1947? And what do you mean, you 'were' 38?”

“Because I’ve been here on my own since 1947”

“You’re still not making any sense, my man”

Eddie rubbed his hand over his face, and sighed.

“You won’t believe me, so there isn’t much point”

“Try me”

“I worked here. This place was used as an evacuation safe house for children from across Scotland, but mainly Edinburgh and Glasgow. They were moved here to escape the bombing. I worked here as a doctor, I cared for the children. I – I died here.”

“What do you mean, you died here?”

“I was stabbed”

“hang on – bombing? To escape bombing?”

Richie could barely breathe.

“Yes, bombing.”

“… And you said you haven’t seen anyone here since 1947”

“That is correct”

“So, what you’re telling me is that –"

“Yes”

“You’re …”

“I am”

Richie doesn’t reply. He turns around, and walks back into the house.

When he shuts the door, the lake glitters like a pool of liquid mercury. Eddie has gone.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier x eddie kaspbrak #the ghost of you #ao3 #thefutureisbright

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edward-richtofen-queen · 5 years

Text

A Little Piece of Jealousy

A commission for the lovely @quentinneedssleep! Thank you so much for the support and please enjoy!

✼⋅•⋅•⋅⊱•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•∙∘❆༓❆∘∙•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⊰⋅•⋅•⋅✼

"The way love finds one over another is quite something to relish, isn't that right, Frank?"

Leaning against a tree, Quentin stared into the bland sky as fake stars twinkled in the distance. His fellow survivors were either snug in their sleeping bags or currently in a trial, which left Quentin to his lonesome to stay awake for his days. Sleep was never a comfortable escape, thoughts and fear of Freddy Krueger playing over and over again—no, he must stay awake. Standing from his spot by the many trees, Quentin walked straight into the thick fog and wood to try and clear his mind and stay awake to only come across a killer leaning against a tree.

Of course, this was normal—The Entity let the killers and survivors mingle at a certain point separating one site from another. It was nicknamed The Veil by the survivors—the darkness and fog a little thicker around this area. "Quentin! Restless as always," Frank's voice came lowly and muffled by his mask, lifting a hand to the blood smeared object and shifting it to leave his mouth and tattoos exposed. "Why are you always out here?" Quentin asks, fingers fumbling mindlessly with his jacket as Frank chuckled. "I could ask you the same thing, Quent," Frank spoke as he stared over at the restless man.

Quentin sighed and pouted, Frank's smile widening as the other male crossed his arms. Quentin stared aimlessly over into the thick fog, having nothing else to occupy his mind but the bits of conversation with the killer. Slumping to the ground, Quentin leaned against the hard bark of a tree. "You know, you're kinda cute all tired and not screaming," Frank gave a cocky smile as Quentin cocked an eyebrow. "I'm always tired and the only time I do scream is if you throw me on a hook," He mutters, not registering the flirts the killer constantly thew at him.

It had been like this for months now—slight flirty touches and snarky comments in trial, along with meeting each other "on accident" after the trials. Frank, as the head of The Legion spoke nothing of his blooming infatuation with the insomniac and his constant flirty acts and gazes. Quentin was blissfully oblivious to his advances, too tired or just too anxious to notice them. Frank wasn't the type to bluntly state the fact that he liked him, so he stuck to his subtle flirts and constant fake hatred. He liked it this way—until a new killer joined the fog....

Ghostface

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

"I love everything you do, when you call me fucking dumb for the stupid shit I do—I wanna ride my bike with you, fully undressed; no training wheels left for you—I'll pull then off for you~"

"Aren't you cute?" The distorted voice spoke as Quentin wiggled in the man's grip, attempting to get loose. "That's not funny, asshole," Quentin hissed through clenched teeth, extremely upset and annoyed with the new killer. "Aw, come on sugar," He coos sadistically, throwing the brown-hair boy on the hook in the basement as he hollered in pain.

The masked killer laughed as he exited the basement, Dwight pressing the door to his locker open as he gave a slight smile. "I think he likes you," The anxious leader snorted, shifting to fix his glasses as he pulled his friend off the hook. Quentin grunted softly as he rolled his eyes. "Too bad—not my type. Now can we get out of here so you can heal me?" He grumbles, holding the bleeding gaping hole under one of his shoulder blade. Dwight nodded slightly, pulling him from the Killer Shack and wrapping his wounds in bandages.

The distant howl of the exit gates gave Quentin a rush of adrenaline and hope, sprinting off to an exit gate to open it. Tensing at the telltale signs of a heartbeat, his figure squeezed through the slow opening exit gate doors as Ghostface swung and hit the door instead of flesh. Not looking back, he could hear Ghostface laugh from behind him. "You'll play my game, Quentin—I can promise that!"

Returning to the welcome comfort of the campfire, Quentin grunted and crawled into his sleeping bag. Grabbing a ranger medkit, his hands dug for a pill bottle of Hypnocil and downed the white and blue tablets. Closing his eyes, his exhaustion finally caught up with him as he passed out not long after.

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

"Just lay with me, Waste this night away with me—You're mine, I just gotta say!"

Frank growled under his breath, his knife stabbing the thick wood of an aged tree. The new killer had been going on and on about some of the survivors, but mostly Quentin. "He was squealing and so feral, it was adorable," He laughed, shifting his mask up to show off his lips. He had then realized that he was extremely jealous, his mind stuck on the one of many people he was supposed to sacrifice. Fingering a stray curl in his rouge hair, he tugged the jagged blade from the tree trunk and shifted to lean against it. Just as Frank relaxed, the cool wisps of black began to wrap around his legs. "Dammit," He muttered softly, his body engulfed in black as he was placed into a trial.

Still mildly upset, he reached into his pocket and threw a Mori into the fire—maybe killing someone would calm him down. Dropped off into The Shape's realm, he stretched for a second as he twirled his knife. The overwhelming sense of bloodlust filled his lungs as he set off to find his next sacrifices.

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

"Bittersweet kisses of iron as the knife plunges into flesh. It always tastes so much sweeter than the last."

When Quentin awoke, he felt quite like a new man—no nightmares, no Freddy. Yawning, Quentin stretched and crawled from his sleeping tent. "He's alive! We thought you died in there," Meg teased, her fingers playing with her braided hair as Quentin laughed. "You'd see the Entity spit me back out, Meg, you know this," He smiled half heartedly as he rubbed his eyes.

Moving into the fog, he smiled a little when he was that masked face—he wouldn't admit it, but Frank made good company. "Frank," Quentin spoke softly as the masked man perked up, the mask shifting to reveal his lips once again. "Missed ya," He spoke, Quentin shrugging slightly. "Finally slept after god knows how long of being tortured. I think I may be able to survive the trials."

Time passed quite quickly when one was occupied or enjoying themselves, they say—it seemed true in this case. Not long, Frank noticed the fog crawling up Quentin's leg as he shivered. "Guess it's time to leave. I'll see you later, asshole," He joked, smiling weakly. Frank howled in laughter, responding, "You too, fellow asshole." As Quentin disappeared with a little wave, Frank sighed contently. His face was the softest shade of pink as his chest warmed—damn, he was in love.

"Finished talking to your boyfriend, Frank?" Julie's playful voice called as the leader flinched. "Jules! When did you get here?" Frank asked, ignoring the question with another question. "Don't give me that, tell me about your new survivor crush, idiot," Julie cooed sweetly, sitting next to her leader and friend. Frank sighed, shrugging as he gave up—no point of hiding it from Julie.

"Yes I like him—that new masked fucker kept flirting with him and it pissed me off. He would not shut up about him and I got really damn jealous. So I uh, burned a couple Mori's to kill him once," He confessed, wiping the blood from his blade to his smiling mask. Julie removed her mask and gave a cheeky smile, Frank removing his own to pout. "I knew all along that you were Bisexual, Frank. I'm not mad, it's actually kinda cute and sick at the same time," She smiled sweetly. "I actually thought Quentin liked him when he didn't show up, but I was proven wrong," He sighs with content, a smile of his own on his face.

Julie gave him a pat him on the shoulder, placing a soft friendly kiss to his forehead. "Go get him, tiger. I better not wake up to find him in the realm screaming, alright?" She teased as he blushed, looking away shyly. "Give him this," She speaks, handing him a bracelet quite like their own. "He'll love it for sure, plus it shows he's family if you do decide to date him." Frank silently thanked her as you was taken to a trial, leaving Frank to cradle the gift.

"It's so dark tonight, but you'll survive—certainly. It's alright, come inside and talk to me..."

#dead by daylight fanfic #dead by daylight #dbd legion #frank dbd #the legion #frank morrison (legion)#frank x quentin #quentin x frank #gay boys #commission #gay boys equals love #fic #fanfic

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gaygent37 · 5 years

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MeetMyOmega - JayDick

This was a story I was writing, but I don’t think I’ll finish because it’s all over the place, and I’m too lazy to fix it up, so I’m just throwing it on here.

3.7k words, Dick is a camboy, omegaverse, coffee shop AU, mediocre fluff

Warning: it may be exhausting and uncomfortable to read because the characterization is all over the fucking place :)

Jason always found himself sitting in front of his computer on Thursday and Sunday nights. He always had a box of tissues next to him. He always sat as comfortably as he could in his old computer chair. And his heart always sped up when the stream went live.

His name was Ricky.

And Jason was pretty much in love with him.

Ricky was a camboy on MeetMyOmega – a dating site that doubled as a porn site, if one paid the membership for it.

And Jason was not at all interested in any of the other camboys or girls on MeetMyOmega. Just Ricky.

Jason first saw Ricky in a 30 second clip in a compilation video on another porn site. Jason searched far and wide, asking all over for who the pretty omega was. Almost no one knew. Until Jason stumbled upon him again in another video, and someone finally provided Jason with an answer, leading him to that site.

And since that day, Jason has dutifully paid the monthly membership fee just to watch Ricky’s livestreams every Thursday and Sunday.

Ricky’s livestreams followed a pattern. When the stream started, Ricky would be sitting on his bed, usually dressed in an overly large t-shirt that covered just about everything.

He always waited five minutes for people who were joining in a little later. During that time, Ricky chatted with his audience while slowly prepping himself.

It was during those first five minutes that Jason had the hardest time holding back.

Ricky’s face was just so pretty, even over the pixilated stream. Jason loved the way Ricky would lean down towards the camera. Jason felt that he could reach out and caress Ricky’s head, pull him through the screen, and get those sinful lips around his cock.

“How am I doing today? I’m doing pretty well, thanks for asking! Woke up late, and barely made it to class on time, but it was overall pretty nice,” Ricky said.

Jason reached out with the hand not stroking himself and clumsily typed out a question.

“Aw, thank you, Hood! I just got back from the gym, so I’m not entirely sure how adorable gym hair looks, but thanks,” Ricky said, blushing slightly. “I major in criminal law, to answer your question. It’s fun.”

Ricky moaned softly as he inserted another finger into his ass, stretching himself further. He continued to read off the comments. “What am I doing today? That’s a surprise, now. Stay and watch the show.” Ricky sent a cheeky wink to the camera. “Oh, thank you so much for your donation! I- I haven’t even started yet, though.”

Ricky blushed harder at whatever compliment followed. It made Jason a little jealous.

Jason had never met Ricky in his life, and Ricky did not think of Jason as more than a viewer. But Jason wanted Ricky for himself. He dreamed about Ricky on a regular basis. When Jason jerked off in the mornings or late at night, it would be Ricky’s debauched face in his mind as he came.

Jason knew it probably was not a healthy obsession, but nothing about his situation was exactly healthy. He was a twenty-two-year-old, unmated alpha male (a virgin, nonetheless), and had been through ten ruts alone, and it was extremely frustrating. His body needed an omega, but his mind and his heart would not settle for just any omega.

Jason wanted Ricky to be his omega.

With his left hand, Jason quickly typed in an amount – twenty dollars, and sent it across the internet to wherever Ricky was.

You can sit there and talk all day, and I would still come and listen.

Jason hoped it was not too creepy, the message. He waited nervously for Ricky to see it.

“Ah! Hood, thank you so much for that generous donation! And, you’re so sweet. I couldn’t possibly sit there and just talk your ear off. You’ll get tired of me really quick.” Ricky laughed breathlessly, moaning quietly as well. He lifted his other hand to his lips and blew a kiss at the camera. Jason’s heart pounded loudly in his chest, and he knew he had a lovesick sweet smile on his face.

Ricky blew him a kiss. Specifically for him.

Jason came hard, his eyes seeing stars. When he opened them again, reaching for the tissues to clean up his mess, Ricky had taken off his shirt, showing off pretty blue panties. He had also turned around so that his ass faced the camera instead.

“So, I got a new toy this week,” Ricky was saying. “I’ve been kind of apprehensive about trying it out because… well, you guys’ll see.” Ricky reached off-screen and pulled something out of a box. He held it in front of the camera.

It was a thick dildo – dark red and orange, veiny, and thick. And on the end of it, there was a thick knot.

Ricky licked his lips, the only part of his face that was still in the frame.

“I’ve never taken something so thick before,” he said softly. “And it’ll be my first time taking anything with a semblance of a knot.”

Jason felt himself twitch at that thought. Ricky was a virgin. He had never been knotted by another alpha before. Could this omega get any more perfect?

“Hm? Why I haven’t taken a knot yet? I guess I’m just waiting for the right alpha to come sweep me off my feet,” Ricky laughed. He started lubing up the dildo. “God, the knot is as big as my fist. Maybe I’m biting off way more than I can chew,” he said with a nervous laugh.

Jason typed out a quick comment and donated another five dollars.

You’ll do amazing, whether you can take it or not. It’ll be good enough for me.

Ricky glanced at the screen where all his comments were showing up. “Aw, thank you. But… I want to do this. I want to be prepared for when I finally do this for real.”

Jason’s stomach twisted in jealousy at the thoughts of Ricky sitting on some random alpha’s knot. He jerked himself faster, imagining holding Ricky’s soft hips with his hands and pulling him down hard onto his own angry knot.

Ricky touched the tip of the dildo to his fluttering hole, gasping softly. Slowly, he started pushing it in, giving a play by play of what he was feeling.

“Oh… it’s so- it’s so thick,” he murmured, his voice almost muffled by the pillow in his face. “Fuck, it’s splitting me apart, but it feels so good!” His hips started gyrating in small circles. “Oh god,” he squealed when it touched his prostate. His small cock jumped at the sudden pleasure, and Ricky’s back arched.

Jason could feel himself growing close.

“Ah- Ah, it’s- it’s in me,” Ricky said, having taken the entire dildo aside from the knot. “It feels so good. I just- I just wish it were real.” He started pulling it out, then pushing it back in.

Jason watched with wide eyes as Ricky’s hole just sucked the thick dildo in and out of him. The muscle seemed to be stretched to its limit, so tight around the veiny cock. But Jason knew that male omegas had incredible elasticity with their holes. It took a lot to make them lose that.

Ricky’s breaths started growing shorter and shorter, his gasps getting more and more high-pitched as he sped up. His cock leaked copiously into his panties, and his precum was starting to drool through the fabric.

The sight was obscene, but Jason was determined to hold out until Ricky slammed that knot into himself.

He did not need to wait long.

Ricky was obviously getting close as well. His eyes were screwed shut, and he was moaning with no abandon. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh fuck! It feel so good! I- I want the knot, please- please give me your knot!” he begged to some invisible alpha.

Jason screwed his eyes shut and moved his hand faster, imagining that Ricky was talking to him. “You want it?” he asked under his breath. “You just wait, Ricky, I’m going to-“

“I’m coming!” Ricky gasped out, pushing the knot all the way into him as he did so. Jason came with a loud cry at the same time, his eyes flying open and watching as Ricky fell onto the bed, his ass clenching hard around the thick knot, trying to suck it into him more.

Jason grimaced as he reached for the tissues, wiping his cum off of the screen of his computer. He threw away the pile of tissues, and when he came back, Ricky had pulled the dildo out of his ass.

His hole was still clenching, and it was a lovely, rosy pink. Ricky slowly moved around, turning back to face the camera.

He removed his soaked panties, taking them to his mouth and sucking the cum out of the fabric.

“Thank you all for watching,” he said, giving the camera a little wave. “Thank you all for you generous donations that allow me to buy more toys for me to try for you guys. See you on Sunday! Mwah!” Ricky blew his audience a good-bye kiss, and then cut the stream.

“Hello! Welcome to Matcha Made in Heaven, what can I get for you today?” Jason asked cheerfully, looking up from the cups he had just finished restocking.

He froze, the smile on his face becoming unmoving. Jason could not move. He felt like he had been physically pinned in place by some unseen force.

“Umm…” the customer, who was Jason kidding, it was not any customer, it was Ricky, glanced at the menu and gave Jason a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I don’t drink coffee usually. I just… liked the name of the shop so I came in. What do you recommend?”

“M-Me?” Jason managed to stammer. “I- well, um-”

“Sorry, do I have something on my face?” Ricky asked, touching his cheek.

“N-No!” Jason said, feeling a flush rise up his face. He could feel his internal temperature rising with it. It was about to get really hot, really soon. “You’re- You’re beautiful! I mean, perfect! I mean- there’s- there’s nothing on your face.”

Suddenly, Jason was shoved to the side.

“Sorry,” Stephanie said. “Disregard my coworker. He’s got a stammering problem. What can I getcha?”

Ricky’s amused expression would haunt Jason forever. “Well, your friend was about to tell me his recommendation, I think?”

“Oh, Jason? Nah, he doesn’t drink coffee,” Stephanie snorted. “Don’t ask him. He’s a snooty tea person.”

“Oh? Do you have teas here?” Ricky asked, his eyes still on Jason, who just stared intently at the pile of cups he had just restocked. “What do you suggest for teas then, Jason?”

Jason’s soul nearly left his body when he heard his name leave Ricky’s lips.

“Uh- Um, try the- uh, raspberry rose hibiscus,” Jason managed to squeak out. God, he was making a fool of himself right now, but he could not pull it together. “It’s- It’s… the special…” he said, voice growing softer as he went.

“Alright, I’ll take the raspberry rose hibiscus then. Medium,” Ricky said with a laugh.

“Alright, $3.50, anything else?” Stephanie asked.

“Mm… how much would your friend’s phone number cost?” Ricky asked.

Jason was feeling faint now. He was swaying on his feet.

“You want this idiot’s number?” Stephanie snorted.

“I don’t know,” Ricky said. “He gave me a drink recommendation, so if he gave me his number, he’ll just have to give me something else to make it three. Three’s my lucky number.”

Jason took that wrong, wrong, so very wrong. He now had a raging hard erection under his apron and could not move away from the counter.

“Want to go start making that tea, Jay?” Stephanie asked.

Jason refused to move.

She huffed. “Fine, I’ll make it. You stay here and entertain the customer.”

She shoved it back in front of Ricky.

With robotic movements, Jason punched in Ricky’s order. “Th-That’s $3.50,” he mumbled.

Ricky handed him the money in cash, and Jason’s hand brushed his. Jason’s knees felt weak. Jason ripped Ricky’s receipt from the machine and slid it over.

“No number?” Ricky asked.

Jason’s head snapped up to look at Ricky. “You’re- You’re serious?” he asked.

Ricky nodded.

“I- Um, o-okay?” Jason said, grabbing a pen and scribbling his phone number on the back of Ricky’s receipt.

“Thanks. Jason, right?” Ricky asked, nodding at Jason’s nametag.

“Yeah,” Jason said.

Ricky held his hand out. “My name’s Dick. Richard, actually, but… Dick.”

Jason could barely breathe. He somehow lifted his hand and shook Dick’s hand. God, it was so soft. Jason wanted to kiss every single finger. How fucking creepy was that?

“Nice- Nice to meet you, Dick,” Jason said.

Just then, Stephanie pushed Dick’s tea across the counter. “Here ya go, mister! Enjoy!”

She waved as Dick left the store. Then, she rounded on Jason.

“What the fuck was that?!” she screeched. “You flat out lost it, didn’t you? Jason, what’s wrong with you?!”

“I… He’s…”

“Pretty, I know, but damn it, Jay! I’ve never seen you like this, and prettier people have walked in here before!”

Jason gave Stephanie a sad smile. “He’s different.”

Jason had nearly convinced himself that it had all been a dream. He told himself that he hallucinated all of it, and he pretty much believed it.

Until he got the text.

Hey, it’s Dick. You probably don’t remember me, but I came to your coffee shop a couple days ago, and weedled your number out of you? You probably don’t go on dates with strangers, but… would you go on a blind date with my friend? You’re exactly his type.

It was clear to say that Jason was pretty heartbroken.

But Jason, like the masochistic idiot he was, he agreed to the blind date. Dick’s friend was named Roy, and he was apparently a “sweet, fun beta”. Jason was dreading the date.

That Thursday, Jason watched Ricky’s stream for the first time completely clothed.

He was straining in his pants, but he refused to touch himself. In a way, Jason was punishing himself for acting so stupidly in front of Dick earlier that week. Jason knew it had been too good to be true.

Saturday, Jason found himself in front of a stranger’s house. Apparently, it was where Roy lived, and Jason had offered to go pick him up.

Jason walked up to the porch, and he rang the doorbell, waiting nervously.

A few moments later, the door was pulled open by none other than Dick.

“Oh, Jason!” Dick said, his eyes widening. “Oh…” he glanced behind him. “You didn’t get my text?”

“About…?”

Dick grimaced. “Roy’s sick. He can’t make it, sorry.”

“Oh,” Jason said, internally extremely relieved, but at the same time, crushed. What was Dick doing at Roy’s house, wearing nothing more than a bathrobe, and drying his hair like he had just stepped out of the shower? He quirked a fake smile. “It’s okay. See ya.” Jason gave Dick a half-hearted wave and started to go.

“Wait, Jason!” Dick called.

Jason paused, his heart skipping a beat when Dick called his name. He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Dick smiled. “Are you willing to wait ten minutes while I get dressed? Roy’s been bitching at me all day, wanting me out of the house.”

“Um…”

“Please? I promise I won’t make you pay for my dinner. My treat, even.”

Jason winced a little. “You don’t have to do that, R- Dick. Seriously.”

Dick’s face fell. “Oh. I guess I did just invite myself, huh.”

Dick’s sad face was way worse than Dick’s smile. It was heart wrenching to see him so sad. Jason swallowed hard, not knowing how he was going to make it through the evening. “I’ll wait for you in my car?”

Dick gave him a shy smile. “Really?” He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and Jason wanted to bite it. “Just- Just wait for me, Jason!”

Jason made his way to his car and sat down, leaning his head against the steering wheel. “What are you doing?” he groaned to himself.

Jason knew perfectly well how this was going to end. Dick was going to find out that he was some creep who was obsessed with him, be horrified and disgusted, reject Jason, and Jason would just be left heartbroken.

Just then, Dick came running out of his house, slamming the door shut behind him. He hopped into the passenger’s side, grinning brightly.

“So, did you have any place in mind?” Dick asked.

“Well, there’s this Italian place not too far from here?” Jason said. “Do you like Italian?”

“I love Italian,” Dick said.

Jason clenched and unclenched his sweaty hands on the steering wheel, took a deep breath, and started the car.

“Hey guys, how’s your week been? Oh, I’m fine, thank you… Do I seem kind of sad? Ah, I’m sorry,” Dick gave the camera a small smile. “Just had a lot of stuff happen recently, I guess.”

Jason was once again sitting in front of his laptop, watching the stream. It was so strange to see Dick’s face on the screen, seeing everyone call him ‘Ricky’, and knowing that in a few minutes, he would be stripping down and showing his body to the world.

And now that Jason had met Dick, he felt that he was invading Dick’s privacy like that.

“What happened? Well…” He paused for a second. “I met someone. He’s- He’s really nice, don’t get me wrong, but… I don’t actually think he likes me like that, so I’m a little bummed out, I guess.”

Dick scanned the comments. “No, I met him last week. At a coffee shop, as cliché as that might sound. He was acting so cute, and could barely get a word out at me, and he reminded me of my little brother, actually. So I asked for his number, and when I got home, I realized that it was probably a huge mistake. And… I was right. I wasn’t sure if he liked me that way, so I pretended to set him up with a friend of mine. Then, I told him my friend was sick, and I would accompany him instead. Nevertheless, the date was a disaster. He wouldn’t even look at me.”

Jason pulled his knees to his chest, sighing when he heard Dick’s side of the story.

He could see why Dick thought that. On the drive to the restaurant, Jason had been so wound up with the fact that Dick was sitting in his car next to him that he did not say a single word to Dick. Throughout dinner, it was near silent as well.

Jason did not trust himself to say anything. He did not need Dick to find out that he watched “Ricky’s” streams. And it had been true that Jason refused to look at Dick as well. He did not need to get hard in the middle of a crowded restaurant.

Dick also made no move to say anything, just giving Jason occasional glances. The only time they really exchanged words was at the end, when Jason insisted that he pay for their dinner.

Then, Jason drove Dick back to his house. Dick had given Jason a small smile, one that Jason had thought was forced and insincere, and said he had fun. Jason just nodded, his heart having jumped up to his throat. Then, he left.

Jason honestly had not known that Dick felt that way. And now that he did know, Jason just felt worse.

Dick’s soft laugh brought Jason back to reality. “He doesn’t deserve me? Thanks. You guys are all so kind. I don’t personally know any of you, but I’m happy you support me.”

Jason shook his head, and he slammed his laptop shut. He grabbed his phone and left his room. Out in the hallway, he waited, leaning against the wall, phone pressed to his ear.

Several long seconds went by before the call was answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dick,” Jason breathed, trying to calm himself down. “I- uh, I wanted to apologize for last night. I acted like a complete asshole, and I did not mean to do that at all.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Dick said. “I understand.”

“Look,” Jason said. “I- I think you’re a great guy, and I kind of fucked things up at first, mostly because I didn’t believe that there would be a chance in the world you would like me… but will you give me another chance?”

“R-Really?” Dick asked. Jason could almost hear his smile. It made Jason smile as well.

“If you’d like. I want to properly take you out on a date. That is… if your, uh, friend doesn’t mind?”

“Oh, no, he’s fine with it,” Dick said quickly. “And I… I would like that. A lot.”

“Great!” Jason said. “When would be a good time for you?”

“Wednesday night?”

“Sounds good,” Jason said. He paused before saying good-bye. “Hey, I just wanted to say sorry again. I’ve been I mess the couple times you’ve seen me, and… just- sorry about that.”

“N-No… it’s fine. So, um, see you Wednesday?”

“Yeah. Good night, Dick.”

“Night, Jason.”

They did not make it to Wednesday.

Tuesday morning, the door to Matcha Made in Heaven opened, and Dick breezed in, wearing a dark blue coat and a scarf.

His eyes lit up when he saw Jason. “Hi!”

Jason reminded himself to control himself. “Hey. What can I get you?”

“Any new recommendations? I really liked the tea last time.”

“Well, if you’re a fan of mint, I’m personally really fond of the peppermint tea.”

“Peppermint?” Dick asked. “Sure, I’ll- I’ll take that. And, can I get a couple of chocolate chip cookies to go with it?”

“Sure thing.”

“And… maybe in one of those… cups?” Dick used both hands to make a large circle.

Jason could not help but be amused. “You want tea in one of those large coffee mugs?”

“Oh, are those for coffee? I didn’t-”

“Not a problem,” Jason cut him off. He made the tea and pushed it over the counter to Dick, who blushed and took it. Jason placed two cookies on a plate and pushed it over the counter as well.

“Thanks,” Dick said, smiling at Jason.

#jaydick #omegaverse #camboy dick #coffee shop au #welcome to the reject pile

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