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corpsekiller · 2 years

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𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧) — 𝐭.𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲

𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦. thomas shelby x fem!reader (maid!reader)

𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲. angst, seemingly unrequited love, pining, mentions of blood and weapons

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲. you should have been more careful when you started working as a maid for thomas shelby, but how could you know that you'll fall for someone you can never have?

𝖫𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖳𝖧. 1.355 words

MASTERLIST PART 2

“Mr. Shelby, can I assist you with anything?” You quip cheerfully, setting down the silver tray loaded with tea and pastries on his desk. He didn’t ask for a glass of whiskey, but you brought one anyway and carefully push it into his direction — it’s been a stressful day and he seems rather grateful when he takes the drink with trembling hands and takes a tentative sip before he shakes his head, offering you a half-hearted smile instead.

It doesn’t quite reach his eyes and seems forced, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless. Such an act of courtesy may be simple, perhaps even meaningless to him, but after working under his name for nearly half a year, you’ve learned to treasure the rare occurrence of a faint smile, especially directed at you. A man like him certainly doesn’t need to approach people below his position with any kind of respect, yet he still shows efforts to treat you well, even if it’s just a twitch of his lips that hints at his gratitude.

You suppose his compassion comes from old memories of his childhood — you’ve heard the older maids tell stories about his earlier life, about his father and his deceased mother, about a young man who went to war and worked himself to the bone after he returned, all for the company. Everything he owns comes from dirt and blood beneath his fingernails and the callouses on each knuckle prove that he truly earned it.

Because he knows what it means to have nothing and that makes him kind.

You’ve always admired him for this, that tender spot in his heart that remained despite the blood he has spilled, despite the men he has slaughtered without hesitation, and the sins he committed for the sake of his family. No, he’s certainly not a good man, but he isn’t bad either. Many might disagree, but you couldn’t care less. Most of them don’t get close enough to see him, really see him as he is, and not what he pretends to be.

Not even you did, but there were moments when you caught a glimpse of what lies behind the facade of arrogance and violence he carries, those silent minutes when you brought him tea in the middle of the night, caught him staring blankly into space, too deep in thought to notice your presence until you dared to knock on the door or spent a peaceful moment together at dawn when he smoked by the window to watch the sun rise and allowed you to stay in his study after you served him breakfast.

It isn’t enough.

Your longing for him can’t be satiated and you doubt it ever will because you’ll never get close enough — Thomas Shelby is impossible to love and impossible to reach, yet you still yearn to be close to him and so, you choose to be content with watching him from afar, even if it hurts. You wonder if his dead wife felt the same. Sometimes, when you pass her portrait hanging above the staircase, you feel her deprecating stare burning in the back of your neck and you can’t help but whisper a guilty apology, hoping that she’ll forgive you and your desire for her husband.

“I’m in no place to ask this kind of question, but are you certain about attending dinner with your family this evening? You seem tense.” Your eyes trail over his features, the dark shadows beneath his lashes and the sharp curve of his cheekbones until they find his lips. They’re pale, bitten bloody in concentration and you’d love nothing more than to sweep your thumb over the abused skin and remind him that he doesn’t have to do this on his own, that he could find comfort in you and-

“It’s fine, Y/N. Don’t worry your pretty little head about me,” Thomas sighs warily and gently presses his fingers against his temple to ease the pounding headache that has been plaguing him since this morning. His patience runs especially thin today, you can see it in the restless fiddling of his fingers as if he’s toeing the line between his usually calm resolve and the anger he keeps locked in his chest, growing over weeks of tiring work and sleepless nights like a deadly tumor that slowly eats away at his sanity. It’s only a matter of time until he breaks and still, he doesn’t stop.

You asked Frances once, shortly after you moved into the country house to take on your new job as a maid, why he’s working himself to death like a madman, even though he has enough money to pay others to get their hands dirty for him. She had looked at you with a glint of fear in his eyes and pressed a wrinkly finger to her thin lips, quickly glanced over her shoulder as if she’d expected Mr. Shelby himself to stand behind her before yanking you closer.

'Don’t ask any questions about his work,' she had whispered. 'And stay away from him, dear child. The devil is a charming man and he’ll ruin you if you aren’t careful.'

She meant well, but she didn’t know that he already had you wrapped around his finger. Even before he first touched your hand and asked for your name, repeating it back to you and forming each syllable with his tongue, you belonged to him — all he had to do was look at you.

Perhaps that’s why you began to do more work than your job requires. Such a dutiful maid, staying up all night to be of service to him, although he never asks for more than a single glass of whiskey. In fact, he made it clear to his employees that their schedules only include keeping the house clean and presentable to unexpected visitors as well as preparing meals for him and his family, yet you still dare to step out of line to take care of him and his personal needs.

A pathetic attempt to catch his attention, though you know it’s in vain.

“Of course, Mr. Shelby,” you nod timidly, struggling to remember what he said before you got lost in your own thoughts. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thank you. You can go and freshen up for this evening, love. I need you to be with me later,” he mutters and takes a plate of biscuits out of your hands, brushing over your knuckles in the process. Your heart pounds in your chest and your cheeks flush in embarrassment, betraying your true emotions in a matter of seconds and when he looks up, you recognize some sort of amusement in the endless blue of his eyes.

“Oh.”

Just like that, he knocks the wind out of your lungs. You think he has that effect on everyone he meets, pulls the words out of their mouths with his cold gaze and sharp tongue, but this time is different — his voice isn’t as keen as the razorblade sown into the rim of his flat cap, no, it’s gentle and warm, almost pleading if you listen close and your foolish heart slams against your ribs as a spark of hope ignites.

“Oh,” you repeat, a little breathless. Your mind reels for a response, something, anything, but every thought seems to slip out of your grasp and the words that tumble out of your mouth are barely distinguishable. “Thank you, Mr. Shelby. I promise... I promise I’ll be there.”

Your cheeks burn when you turn around on your heels and rush out of his study. Blood roars in your ears and your hands tremble, fiddling with the hem of your skirt, bunching the fabric and smoothing it back out until your knees give out and you find yourself hunched over on the bottom of the stairs. I need you to be with me plays in your head like a broken record and no matter how many times you try to tell yourself that it’s a lost cause, that there is no deeper meaning, you can’t stop yourself from hoping for more.

#thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby fic #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby x y/n #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinders x y/n

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somewhereinchaos · 2 years

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thinking about sonic movie 3..

i think the most important thing is to make sure shadow won’t become the same character as knuckles ( misguided loner who at first works for eggman but in the end he realizes his mistakes and becomes a part of the wachowski family ) bc that would be boring + it would overshadow knuckles’ character and his dynamic with sonic. knuckles is noble warrior who has a strong sense of duty and who had to survive on his own without a family since he was a child. so while he’s perfectly capable of doing things by himself he clearly values friends and has a hidden heart of gold ( seeing how he was disgusted by how eggman treated stone ) knuckles thinks everyone deserves respect and yes, he’s sometimes gullible and easily tricked because most of his life he was all alone so he doesn’t quite know how to read others. but he’s a good person who only did bad things because he was manipulated and i think the ending of sonic movie 2 was perfect because, and i can’t stress this enough, knuckles deserves to have his own family again.

now shadow… while we know he was manipulated into trying to destroy the earth, not many would even think about attempting something so extreme. did shadow really think a 12-year old girl would want everyone on the planet to die? well, if you think about how his entire world collapsed the moment GUN infiltrated the ARK and how deeply traumatized and full of grief he was, i think the only thing that made sense to him when he finally woke up was his broken memories and the new purpose gerald gave him. he’s obsessed with getting revenge and just cannot accept the fact that he can’t do anything about what happened 50 years ago so it’s easy for him to blame the entire human race. shadow’s gone through a lot of shit and he’s seen the worst side of humanity so it makes sense for him to attempt to do something so cruel ( and while he was a victim he’s also not completely innocent )

i really hope movie 3 understands that shadow expresses himself very differently. he’s calculated and subtle about many things, but his grief makes him cruel and violent. he doesn’t value honor or bonds with other people the same way as knuckles does. i know they have to be kid-friendly and there’s a possibility some things need to be changed ( or at the very least not show maria’s & gerald’s deaths ) but i hope they won’t tone him down too much.. or like.. misunderstand his character and just make him ‘edgy’ and silly.

seiko do you want shadow to be the main villain? absolutely. because that’s who he was in sa2 ( i wouldn’t mind if biolizard wasn’t included in the plot of the movie. ) i want him to be the one who manages to trick eggman and i’m not against the idea of eggman having to team up with sonic to take shadow down.

also i don’t see him as someone who would want to become a part of sonic’s family. i don’t think he would suddenly start trusting humans again or become very close friends sonic, tails or knuckles. i think shadow would want to ‘explore’ the planet and just.. have a moment to think about what he wants to do and become a silent protector of earth.

#✕ ┊ [ ooc ]#sonic movie 2 spoilers #( if this post doesnt make sense im sorry FHGF )#( im rambling okay )#( and i dont know if amy or rouge are going to appear but if yes then that's also going to change some things GHDGF )

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lunarmessenger · 4 years

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May I request headcanons for the RFA + V & Saeran as yanderes? Also, I feel like your work is really underrated, and I wanted you to know that I love you and your writing so much! I hope you have a wonderful day/night :)

YANDERE RFA, V + SAERAN

warnings: mentions of violence and death.

of course you can sweetie! thank u for feeding my yandere obsession mMF YES. Oh my gosh thank you???? I’m so glad that you enjoy my writing!!! T_T that means so so much to me, and I hope you’re enjoying a beautiful day/night as well! this ended up being a little long sorry HAHAHA - luna xx

Zen

• You were both at a local tavern together with the rest of the RFA to celebrate another successful performance of his

• People who were fans of his came up every now and then asking for pictures and autographs and of course you didn’t mind

• Both of you actually enjoyed when his fans would come up because it showed his constant growth and that he was getting closer to his dream every day

• But with his popularity rising, so was yours

• You didn’t have fans necessarily, just admirers that thought you were rather pretty

• One of those admirers happened to be at the tavern and they approached you, a slight tint of red on their cheeks

• “Hello! I really don’t mean to interrupt but, I just wanted to say that I think you’re amazing with all of the help that you do with those amazing parties.”

• You were touched, and while you thanked them while giving them a brief hug you hadn’t noticed that Zen’s mood darkened instantly.

• They had long walked away from you both, and after about an hour Zen gave you a kiss to your forehead while smiling that same sweet smile

• “I’m going to go get some air for a moment, princess.”

• “Are you okay, Zen?”

• “Oh of course, I just wanted to go have a smoke.”

• You disapproved but allowed it anyway, giving him a peck on the lips as he walked away

• You had no idea that he’d singled out that admirer of yours, luring them outside into the alleyway

• He was on them, arm pressed against their neck in the shadows as he pinned them to the wall, eyes dark with jealousy as he growled at them

• “Who gave you the right to talk to MC, hm? Looks like you need to learn a few things...”

• When he came back inside you noticed that his knuckles were slightly bruised, but he still had that same smile that you’d always felt safe with

• “You’re okay...right Zen?”

• “Of course, princess. Nothing to worry about.”

Yoosung

• The epitome of a yandere

• You had decided to drop by at his college to bring him some home made lunch since he’d been a little stressed

• He was sitting with his study group outside on the grass, all of them furiously writing down their notes with their books open

• “Yoosung~ I brought you some stew! You’ve been working so hard.”

• His face instantly lights up as you stroll up, holding out his lunch as you kneel down next to him

• “MC! This is so sweet! Thank you so much!” You were met with endless quick kisses to your face, earning groans and playful complaints from his group

• You kissed the top of his head then walked away, and as soon as you were out of sight his friends just lay it on him

• “Honestly though Yoosung, I’m super jealous. MC is very caring, I wish I had someone like them.”

• yandere mode activated

• He asked that specific friend to help him with a certain subject for just another hour while everyone else packed up

• While they were walking to their classroom together to put away their books Yoosung suddenly grabbed them by the neck and dragged them into an empty classroom

• “You think that you can talk about MC that way? Understand that they’re mine, and don’t you ever forget it.”

• He choked them until their eyes rolled into the back of their head, only letting go when they’d stopped struggling so much

• They were left there, passed out on the ground while Yoosung walked away and went home

• There you were waiting for him, dinner already set out on the table as you grinned at his entrance

• “Honey you’re back!” He smiled, dropping his book bag as he opened his arms for you

• “My precious MC.”

Jaehee

• She was always rather protective of you

• Working at C&R showed her both the good and bad sides of people, especially those involved with business

• So when you’d both gotten to finally have that coffee shop together she’d noticed that the owner of the entire strip was getting a little...too comfortable with you

• They had even mentioned to Jaehee now and then how fun it would be for all of you to “hang out” and that was enough to get them on her blacklist

• You were oblivious of course and that was okay because she was going to take care of it

• “MC, would you mind going shopping for some supplies for the shop? I forgot to grab a couple of things, I’ll meet with the landlord myself to discuss any changes of rent, so don’t worry.”

• Of course you didn’t mind, but you were a little discouraged because it would take you at least an hour to get everything that was on the list she’d handed you

• And, that’s what she was planning on obviously

• She drove to the leasing office after making an appointment with the owner a couple of weeks prior, long hair shaping her face and chest as she purposely tugged down her shirt a little more

• Within minutes the owner was interested, though was still making comments about you and how “sweet and innocent” you were, almost as if describing a toy

• That was enough to make Jaehee grab them by the shoulder and toss them to the ground, hand pressing hard into their chest as they gasped for air, eyes empty as she stared them down

• “MC is not a toy, and you shall treat them with proper respect. They are my partner, and are not open to being with anybody else. Is that understood?”

• The owner was terrified, and just to make sure she didn’t come to them again offered to have you both not pay the rent for the rest of the lease until it was renewed

• “Jaehee! I don’t know how, but we suddenly have enough money to take that trip you wanted to go on! I guess profits have been really great this year!”

• She only smiled, coming up to you from behind and wrapping her arms around you into a warm, yet tight hug

• “It’s all because of you, MC. Without you I would still be lost. Never forget that I love you, and I would do anything to make you happy.”

Jumin

• Also another yandere type man

• He’d invited you along on a business trip in Dubai, and of course you were excited to go just because you were going to be with him

• After a meeting he’d offered to take you to the beach and you were beyond excited, leaving him in the sand as you ran for the ocean

• He watched fondly as you stripped off your bathing suit cover and waded in the water

• He had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life, and he was thoroughly proud of himself for deciding to take you along with him during a trip

• That is until you were walking back up to the cabana he was under, his brows furrowing as he noticed that you were crossing your arms over your body

• “MC? Is everything alright?”

• You slowly shook your head, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around your body as you sat down on his lap and leaned against his chest

• “I just felt a bit uncomfortable...when you’re done with that glass of wine, can we go back to our hotel?”

• It was then that he looked up in the direction you were walking from, a couple of men staring at you as they chuckled and laughed at themselves while making inappropriate gestures

• He immediately grabbed your shoulders, gently pushing you away so you could meet his eyes

• “Did they touch you, MC? At all?”

• You shook your head, but he knew that they came pretty close to it from how violently you were shaking just from thinking about it

• While you were resting in his lap he brought up his cell phone, texting the head of his body guards a couple of orders before placing his sunglasses up on his head to look those men in the eye

• Within minutes those two men had been discreetly grabbed and walked off the beach, their eyes full of fear while Jumin smirked as they walked away

• Later that night after you’d fallen asleep in the hotel room he slipped out of the room, adjusting the tie as he took the elevator down to the basement with his escorts

• He was led to a private room, those two men from the beach sitting on chairs in a dimly lit room, faces contorted in fear as Jumin emerged from the shadows

• He gave a heavy sigh, shaking his head as he rolled up the sleeves of his suit, leaning in close as he clicked his tongue

• “You gentlemen have no idea who you’ve messed with. You’ll never see the light of day again.”

• By the time he was back up in the bedroom it was day light, his clothes a bit rough but not enough for you to notice due to the groggy feeling you had from sleep

• “Jumin? Where did you go, honey?”

• “Just an emergency meeting, kitten. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

• You hadn’t even noticed the slight hint of blood on the back of his neck...

707

• He’d noticed that you were feeling a bit off for the last couple of weeks, and he’d finally decided to address it with you

• That’s when you told him that you were dealing with your ex partner, who’d recently began to message you non-stop

• The breakup had been extremely messy, and now they were asking for you back

• His eyes clouded over as he asked you to see your phone, and of course you obliged

• He was happy to see that you’d mentioned endlessly that you were with somebody else, going so far as to send a picture of you and Saeyoung so that they would get the hint

• “Can you just block them, Saeyoung? I don’t want to deal with it anymore.”

• He beamed at you, bringing you in for a soft kiss as he hugged you close

• “Of course. Anything for you, MC.”

• And he blocked them of course at your request; but he also decided to take a step further

• He’d found the location of your ex, slipping out in the middle of the night while you were fast asleep

• Bringing Vanderwood with him stating that it was a mission from the agency, he had reached your ex within a few hours, breaking in quietly

• “Why are we really here, Luciel?”

• “Shut up Vanderwood. We’re here to get rid of filth.”

• Your ex slowly woke up to see Saeyoung standing over them, eyes wild as he leaned in close and let out an unhinged giggle

• “You should have left MC alone when you had the chance.”

• Within moments Saeyoung had grabbed them and dragged them out of bed

• He grabbed their head and twisted quickly, a horrifying snap resounding through the quiet bedroom

• “Luciel are you...Luciel?”

• Vanderwood looked shocked at how quickly he hadn’t hesitated, Saeyoung standing over their lifeless body as he looked at his long time partner in crime

• “You do not speak a word of this to MC. Do you understand?”

• Vanderwood agreed without question, and with that the two men drove home in silence

• When you’d awoken Saeyoung was in bed with you, shirt off as he slowly ran his fingers up and down your arms

• “Good morning, Saeyoung. I haven’t heard from my ex for the past few hours; thank you for blocking him.”

• He kissed you softly, running his hands through your hair

• “They won’t bother you anymore, MC. Don’t worry.”

• He smiled.

• The two of you had gone to a gallery where he was showcasing his work, the area extremely crowded since he never hosted such events for himself

• His arm was around you all night, except for a brief moment when you’d separated to go use the restroom

• On your way back you were bombarded by reporters, asking all sorts of personal questions while you tried to decline

• V kept his life private for a reason, and while it was very much public information that you two were together, both of you agreed that the public didn’t need to know every single detail about you

• That’s why when he’d noticed the commotion he was immediately engulfed with rage, shoving through the crowd as you tried to protect your eyes from the endless flashes from the cameras

• “Please everybody, back off! Give them some room!”

• He almost snarled, brows furrowed as he took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around you to hide your face

• One particular reporter happened to trip over someone’s feet, shoving you even further into V as you yelped from the contact

• All it took was for V to look at them, and instantly they stumbled backwards, promising that they never purposely tried to hurt you

• Later that day when you’d decided to visit Jaehee to talk about what happened, he took it upon himself to contact that reporter offering an exclusive interview

• The address that the reporter found themselves in was enough to make them regret taking up the offer, waiting outside of an abandoned building

• Before they knew it they were knocked unconscious, V holding an old rusted pipe as he tossed it aside and grabbed the reporter

• He dragged them inside, tossing them into a deep hole that was filled with old rusted metal pieces

• Some were jagged enough that they’d gone right through the reporters limbs and chest, puddles of blood pooling around the now lifeless body as V wiped his nose

• “That will teach you to touch my darling MC.”

• He picked you up from Jaehee’s after taking a shower at home, smiling at you from inside the car as you slid into the passenger seat.

• “Feeling better darling?”

• You nodded, leaning your head against his shoulder as you sighed with a small smile

• “I love you V. Thank you for understanding that I had to get away for a bit.”

• He returned your smile with a slight chuckle

• “I love you too, darling. Glad I could make you feel better.”

Saeran

• He had taken you on a date at the local botanical gardens, the two of you holding hands while he explained every type of flower’s meaning

• It was the perfect day, the sun shining on the two of you as you lazily strolled around

• He thought that absolutely nothing could ruin it

• That is, until one of the employees accidentally bumped into you while holding a few roses, one of the stems brushing against your arms

• “Ouch!”

• You’d cried out, a couple of thorns from the stems sticking out of your skin as you hissed and reached to pluck them out

• “Darling! Oh darling, are you alright?”

• Saeran was immediately fussing over you, and while you were distracted tending to your small scratches the employee immediately looked down in shame and panic

• “I am so so sorry! It was an accident!”

• When you weren’t looking Saeran glared daggers at the employee, taking notice of their name as he told them to leave you two alone

• “Are you sure you’re okay, MC?”

• You looked up with a small smile, shrugging your shoulders as you grabbed his hand

• “I’m fine, Saeran. Oh, did that employee leave already? I wanted to tell them that I was okay...”

• After so much reassurance you both continued on with your day at the garden

• Saeran mused that he had to use the restroom so you promised to wait at one of the benches under the shaded trees in the garden

• While you thought that he was on his way towards the employee’s only sections, having snatched a hat from one of the employees when they weren’t looking and making his way towards the break area

• There he’d found the employee that had bumped into you, standing at their locker; alone.

• He was behind them in minutes, shoving them into the lockers and pressing hard as he let out a deep menacing giggle

• “Found you.”

• He was back to you within twenty minutes; asking that you two finish the day with some ice cream before going home

• Of course you didn’t object, and while you were riding in the car you had heard a slight bump in the back

• “What was that Saeran?”

• “I’m not sure, MC. Let me check and see if something might have fell in the trunk.”

• He pulled over, leaving the stereo on as he got out of the car and opened the trunk

• When he was sure that you weren’t looking he leaned in close, the employee looking up at him with tears in their eyes and duct tape over their mouth

• They were bound by utility wires, squirming in fear as Saeran grabbed the tire iron and grinned down at them

• “Didn’t I say to keep quiet? We’re almost home.”

• With one hard swing the employee was unconscious, Saeran tossing the iron back into the trunk and slamming it closed

• “What was it, Saeran?”

• “Oh, nothing my princess, the spare tire just came loose. Let’s go home, darling.”

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writesowhatnext · 4 years

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the feeling that we’re meeting // sirius black

Summary: Sirius Black has never liked the reader and this he made known. Maybe it’s because she’s a Slytherin. Maybe it was the bat-bogey hex. Strange, though, how things change with a war in full throttle.

Request: hello :) can i have an angst to fluff w sirius pls? (slowburn) post-hogwarts a few years where y/n was one of the main targets along w snape for james’ and sirius’ ridiculing and bullying, and they were just dreadful to her (she was in slytherin) :( but then a few years after hogwarts she joins the order and sirius acts just rlly immature and mean to her but then slowly starts falling for her as he starts noticing little aspects of her personality :) and at the end can there be like a fluffy cuddling scene where she asks him why he was so nasty to her and he talks ab how guilty and sorry he is :) ty babe!

A/N: I liked this request tbh bc it’s so important to remember that sirius is a brill character bc he’s so realistic with his equal good and bad traits – I was a bit liberal with canon context but I can’t say I don’t enjoy a world with James and Lily alive :) Also I listened to ‘For the First Time’ by The Script when I was writing and I agree

Reader: female, Slytherin

Warnings: female!reader, drinking, death eater parents, innuendo I suppose, also long af, injury, parental abuse, battle, deaths

Every time you tiptoed down the stairs of number twelve Grimmauld Place, you had to remind yourself that the war was far more important than whatever colour you’d like to dye Sirius Black’s hair. You considered pink, but thought better of it when you realised, he’d probably enjoy it.

It had been months, but you remembered the first time you set foot into the Black family home like it was yesterday. Following Dumbledore through the strange threshold, your nerves climbing as you heard the strangely familiar voices of the boys that had tormented you till you cried from the other room, you found yourself pulling at your sleeves, desperate to be anywhere else. The silence that fell as you stepped out from behind the Head of the Order was suffocating, and you could feel all eyes were on you. Biting the bullet, you glanced up from the crusty carpet, facing people you’d never wanted to see again. You recognised them all despite the years passed, standing together equally unenthused to see you. Remus was taller, impossibly, than you remembered him and Lily’s face was all angles now. Sirius’s hair was longer and styled differently, more like a muggle’s, but James still had the same half-broken glasses, and Peter the same child-like roundness to his cheeks.

“This, as I’m sure you know,” Dumbledore began, crossing his arms over his front. “Is Y/N-“

“Dumbledore, Sir,” James interjected, his tone as incredulous as his expression.

“You can’t be serious!”

You exhaled sharply from your nose at Sirius’ words, dipping your head when it seemed no one else saw the irony.

“Y/N is an excellent witch and she’ll be an excellent addition to the Order.”

“Sir,” Sirius huffed, shooting you a glare before stepping forward towards Dumbledore. “Her parents are death eaters; you can’t possibly trust her.”

“Remind me, Sirius,” you said, your voice echoing in the room for the first time. “What was tattooed on your brother’s arm.”

Although you were entirely correct, you felt a pang of guilt at the hurt that flashed in his eyes before the ever-familiar Black scowl creased his brow. Dumbledore’s presence beside you suddenly felt less and less comforting.

“She was always excellent in Charms,” Remus said gently. You faced him sharply, surprised to see his eyes so apologetic.

“And Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Lily’s tone was light and you were oddly pleased to see a smile on her face. You hoped that meant you would have at least one friend here.

“I wonder bloody why,” Sirius muttered, storming past you into the kitchen, shoulder hitting yours. You clenched your jaw, biting your lip to avoid saying something you’d reject.

“I hope you will treat Miss Y/N with the respect all allies deserve in this time. She’s risking her life to spy for us. You are all aware of what she’s put on the line for this,” Dumbledore said, an air of finality to his tone before he left you there, in the lion’s den, alone.

“Well,” Lily said, standing up from the armchair she’d been nestled into. She offered you a calloused and freckled hand with a smile. “Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix.”

It didn’t take long for the older members of the Order to trust you; they didn’t care about petty squabbles and rivalries, only the information you could provide. The story, however, wasn’t the same with your old Gryffindor pals. Lily, you accepted with equal parts hesitance and glee, was a fast friend. She had got into the habit of asking you how you were daily and offering you tea in the mornings. Sometimes, after a long mission, you found yourself talking into the night with her.

“Wait, wait,” you said, hand sloppily gripping the stem of an old wine glass you’d found in the cupboards. “You and Potter are married?”

She giggled at your response, leaning her elbow on the armchair next to her as she careened forward, the carpet crunching at the shift.

“Yes,” she nodded, smiling brightly. “I was just as surprised as you, at first, but he-“ a hiccup escaped her lips, earning a round of laughter from you both. “He’s a sweet guy. A tosser, by all means, but loyal and brave and kind.”

You’d never considered James Potter any of those things at Hogwarts, but now, in the real world, you found yourself slowly warming up to him.

“He’s changed, you know,” she said earnestly, suddenly a lot soberer than you felt. “They all have.”

You pursed your lips, taking another sip of the dark wine in your glass.

“Sirius hasn’t.”

She sighed, rubbing her eye with the knuckle of her thumb.

“He’s always hated me.”

Speaking of the devil, a familiar shadow appeared in the doorway before you could carry on your conversation. Sirius stared at you for a moment, his dark eyes locked on your face. He swallowed, mouth curling downwards slightly as he looked at your messy hair and casual position, sat in a place he’d hated for years. Something stirred in his chest and his expression shifted ever so slightly, but before you could question it, he disappeared up the stairs. You huffed, shaking your head as you turned back to Lily.

“See?”

It wasn’t another twenty minutes before James walked in, an amused grin playing on his lips at his wife’s tipsy state.

“C’mon, love. Let’s get you to bed,” he said, gently taking Lily’s arm to lift her up.

“Wow,” she said, whispering very loudly to you. “James Potter with a good idea; there’s a first.”

“Oi!” he laughed, poking her in the ribs and catching the wine glass before she could throw it onto the floor. It would’ve been a shame, you thought sarcastically, if someone ruined such a lovely carpet. He turned to you then, still smiling.

“Cheers, Y/N.”

He shot you a wink before escorting Lily upstairs, her drunk rambling fading the further away they got. You chuckled under your breath, pleased that maybe you weren’t such an outcast as you took another sip. Your mood soured dramatically, though, as you remembered the time, not exactly excited to be returning to your parents.

The next week, you had a few days between missions. Although you probably should’ve been resting at home like everyone else was, Remus included, you ended up on all fours in the Black family living room, pulling up carpet. Remus sat in the armchair at the other end of the room, a newspaper in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. Occasionally, he’d throw a teasing remark at you or ask for help with a tricky crossword clue, but mostly the silence that settled between you was comfortable. You were halfway across the room, surprised you hadn’t thrown up yet at the awful stains on the underside of the carpet, specifically avoiding the one that looked like blood.

“What are you doing?” a voice asked you from the doorway. You looked up, blowing a loose strand of hair from your face as you met Sirius’ eyes. You frowned, sitting back on your feet, carpet still in your hands.

“The laundry,” you replied dryly, a smile tugging at your lips to hear Remus snort into his mug.

“My mother loved this carpet,” he said, a strange look on his face. If you hadn’t known him better, you would’ve mistaken it for approval.

“And a charming family keepsake it is.”

He stared at you for a moment, his gaze steady and unreadable. You doubted whether destroying the carpet without asking him was such a good idea.

“Thank you.”

Without giving you a second to process, he turned left, the front door slamming not a second later. With wide eyes and your jaw on the floor, you looked to Remus, who seemed just as surprised as you.

“Did that just happen?”

He nodded slowly, his brows drawing together. You hummed, matching his frown before you started pulling roughly at the carpet and he returned to his paper.

“Six letter word for a muggle screenplay?”

You didn’t think that much more about Sirius’ gratitude in the next few days, too busy with keeping your lies straight and the war to waste time on why you hated each other. You did notice, despite yourself, that he seemed gradually less and less opposed to your presence. His conversations seemed to dry up less when you entered a room, his glare settled on you less often in Order meetings. As things got more and more difficult at home, the pressure from your parents to get the dark mark growing, it was the small things that helped.

“Y/N,” Peter said one morning, crossing his arms on the breakfast table. You’d warmed to Peter; he was always a little lost, a little wayward. It made you smile most of the time and you couldn’t help the motherly instinct you felt toward him, despite your similarity in age.

“Do you have a spare towel?”

“Why? What did you do with yours?”

A blush covered his cheeks and immediately you found that you really did not want to hear his answer.

“Yeah, I’ll fetch it,” you said, moving to exit the kitchen with a great deal of haste. You’d stayed at the headquarters a few times after hard or early morning missions and Sirius, despite your history, had been kind enough to give you towels to use. You’d been sure, though, that Kreacher, the house-elf, was behind that.

You hadn’t anticipated seeing Sirius in the corridor, muttering to himself as he stood next to the velvet curtain on the wall. His arms were full of what could only be described as junk, the nail of an old bed-frame catching on the fabric. He didn’t notice you behind him as he struggled and with a decidedly irritated yank, he pulled the wooden post free. However, much to his chagrin, and everyone in the house’s eardrums, the curtains fell loose and an extortionately loud screeching filled the air.

“This house is full of blood traitors! Mudbloods!” it hissed, echoing through all the rooms. Seeing Sirius’ arms full, you bent down next to him and gripped the metal rod of the curtain, eager to put it back into place. He jumped a little when he saw you, stumbling out the way slightly, his eyebrows threading together as the high-pitched shouting continued. You took one look at the ugly, yellowing woman in the portrait and shoved the curtain in front of her face, hoping you’d never see it again. It took some jiggling, but soon the portrait was covered and you could only hear rustling behind the fabric, muzzled yells rattling the frame.

“A charming woman, your Mother was. I’m surprised you don’t leave the curtains open all the time,” you said, a distasteful expression tainting your features. Sirius looked at you for a moment, his jaw clenching slightly.

“It’s okay,” you said, smiling a little. “You can laugh.”

He didn’t, but the slight upward curve of his lip didn’t escape you.

“Did you ever have the pleasure to meet her in the flesh?” he asked. Your brows raised at the first real question he’d asked you since you joined the Order.

“No, sadly not,” you crossed your arms and leant on the door. “My parents spoke highly of her, though, which is never the best sign.”

He only nodded, standing awkwardly for a moment before turning to leave. You blinked, before remembering where you’d been going.

“Sirius,” you began, the light tone not suiting his name in your mouth. “Do you have spare towels? Peter-“

Sirius smirked, a strangely handsome expression on him.

“Peter dropped chocolate frogs all over his again,” he huffed, shaking his head. “Just ask Kreacher.”

You barely paid attention to him leaving as you wandered upstairs, in search of the grumpy house-elf. You were pleased to know that Peter’s towel hadn’t been ruined by something more suspect than chocolate, but you couldn’t deny that you were even more pleased that you’d finally had an interaction with Sirius that didn’t involve a row.

Your next interaction, though, was less than ideal. You stumbled toward twelve Grimmauld place with a throbbing headache and shaky legs. Your parents had not been kind when they discovered your treachery, your place in the Order; you were lucky to escape with your life. That’s all you could tell yourself as you dragged yourself up the steps, knocking loudly on the door. It was just your luck for Sirius, of all people, to open it. His expression was at first worried before he realised it was you and a frown settled on his features. As you looked down, trying to concentrate on the swaying floor, you didn’t notice the concern that returned upon seeing your injuries.

“What the blood-“ he began, grunting slightly as you collapsed into him, no longer able to keep your body upright.

You woke the next day in a clean bed with a dull headache. The house-elf shuffling around your room had garnered your attention, and you blinked at him as he placed towels, sheets and clothes in a pile next to the bed.

“Kreacher?” you asked, your voice sore in your throat. “Why am I here?”

“You’re a blood trait-“

You shot him a dry look.

“I mean, how did I get here? Why are you putting clothes out?”

The house-elf sighed, a grizzly sound.

“Master Sirius ordered me to,” he said gruffly. “Said you shall be living here.”

“Oh.”

You frowned, barely registering Kreacher as he made to leave.

“Thank you,” you called after him, earning a grumble in response.

You and Sirius never spoke about the fact that you were now living in the Order Headquarters, in his house, but you never forgot the kindness he showed you. It was a strange feeling, to be grateful to Sirius Black, especially after everything he’d done to you as a student. The topic of your parents didn’t even come up until the night before a particularly difficult mission planning to infiltrate a meeting of death eaters.

“Lily,” you said, sitting on the counter in the kitchen with the others dotted around, even Sirius. “I don’t know if I should come on this mission.”

“What?” Remus asked, placing the chocolate he’d been aiming from his mouth down on the tablecloth.

“I was useful to the Order when I knew things and now,” your voice broke slightly at the memory of the last time you’d seen your parents. “Now I have no information and I might have to… I might have to fight the people that raised me tonight and they don’t have any qualms about killing me or any of you where we stand.”

“Exactly!” James said, moving his arm from the back of Lily’s chair to rest his elbows on the table. “They don’t care about killing us. They killed Gideon and Fabien. You saw what they did to Frank and Alice.”

Your chest tightened. Frank and Alice had always been kind to you; now they were at St. Mungo’s.

“Information or not,” Sirius said, surprising everyone. “You’re a good fighter; we need that.”

The silence that followed his words made you feel like you were missing something as you stared at him, seeing his eyes soft for the first time.

“Sirius is right,” Lily said, nodding. “We have to do all we can; you know that more than most of us.”

The mission had been horrendous.

It had been a bloodbath of proportions you’d never seen before. You’d lost Benjy and Caradoc and Dorcas; people you looked up to. You’d expected losses in a war, you weren’t stupid, but you’d never anticipated the weight behind a spell thrown by your own parents. Despite your own casualties, you’d taken out six death eaters and despite yourself, you were glad your parents weren’t among them. The journey back to the house was a quiet one: Lily busied herself with James’ broken arm and Remus wiped the blood from Sirius’ forehead, dabbing delicately at the cut above his eyebrow. You all disbanded when you got inside, tired and aching, disappearing into your rooms with heavy hearts.

You couldn’t sleep, though, too haunted by the flashes that appeared behind your eyes. It must’ve been past midnight when you tiptoed downstairs, more desperate than ever to not agitate the portrait. You didn’t notice Sirius in the kitchen until you’d shut the door behind you, jumping out of your skin to see him sat there with a glass and a bottle of firewhiskey.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, lifting his glass and taking a swig. You’d come down for tea, but the idea of numbing your senses appealed. He must’ve noticed the way your eyes lingered on his glass and without a word, he reached behind him to grab another, pouring you a liberal shot. You sat down almost tentatively, fingers gliding around the edges of the glass.

He watched with an amused smile as you downed the whole thing, wincing at the burn before you rested it back on the table. He filled it again immediately.

“Rough night.”

“Indeed,” you said, rubbing your eyes and sighing. “I never thought we’d be here.”

He raised an eyebrow, stretching the bandage on his forehead as his lips pressed against the rim of the glass.

“Me and you,” you laughed a little. “Drinking together.”

“Not something I’d have bet on,” he muttered, laughing too. Your smiles both faded as you looked at each other, though, across the plastic gingham table cloth.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

The question tumbled from your lips before you could stop it.

“I don’t hate you.”

You shot him a very dry glance. He shook his head and sighed, putting his glass down a little too loudly before running a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but you.

“You’re a pureblood Slytherin,” he said, running his hands over his face. “And I hated it. I hated anyone that reminded me of this place. And you- you were everything my parents wanted me to be: smart, loyal… dark, I thought.”

You nodded, sipping your drink quietly.

“You were an easy target, too, for a pillock like me. Didn’t have that many friends-“

“That was because they were all stuck-up death eaters.”

“I know that now. It didn’t matter then, though. I was a kid, though, and I thought it was just kids’ stuff-“

“You know, that time you exploded my cauldron in the final Potions exam, I cried for a whole week.”

He had the good sense to look guilty for a second before amusement lifted his cheeks.

“You did bat-bogey hex me for that.”

Your cheeks heated up at the memory, your fingers fiddling with the glass more.

“Which is entirely illegal.”

You smiled, pressed your lips together as you shook your head. It all seemed so long ago; so childish, now. You leant your elbows on the table, resting your chin on your interlocked fingers.

“It was a good shot, though,” you mused, enjoying the way his lips spread into a dazzling grin.

“A bloody good shot,” he laughed. He leant back slowly, tilting his head to the side and biting his top lip. The mood dropped again as he stared at you.

“What?”

“I’m really sorry.”

You wanted to take the piss, but something about his tone or the look in his eyes trapped your words in your throat. You just watched as he stood up, moving towards the sink.

“I made your life hell because I hated my own,” he said, pressing his hands to the counter, leaning forward. “It wasn’t fair. I’m not surprised you hated me, I deserved it.”

You stood up slowly, softly stepping toward him.

“I did hate you,” you said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I hated you for so long it was all I could think about. Even here, I hated seeing your face.”

He turned to you, expression hard and tears sparkling in his eyes.

“I’m not sure if I do anymore.”

He turned around slowly to lean back on the counter as your hand slid down his arm. He caught it gently in his, surprising you.

“I want you to forgive me,” he whispered, staring at you so intensely a lump formed in your throat. You felt like you’d never even met this Sirius before.

“I-“

“I want to earn your forgiveness.”

You were at a loss for words as you looked at him, frozen in place. His hand was warm in your own and you couldn’t, for a moment, think about anything else. You bit your lip and nodded, stepping towards him gently.

“I’d like that.”

You leant into him, your side pressing against his, enjoying his warmth and the new feeling in your chest. You’d been in the war so long you forgot what real life felt like. You felt his hand hover around you nervously before it settled against your back, his hand resting on the counter next to you. And there, with the moonlight pouring in behind you, is where you stood till the sunrise peeked over the horizon; your hands clasped together with Sirius’ arm at your back, silent as you both felt a hope you’d not felt in a good few years.

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poptod · 3 years

Text

The Breeding Kings, pt. 21

Description: The Hanging Gardens of Babel

Notes: there is an innate human need to be remembered for both accomplishments and person; for those thousands of years from now to look back and know that people have always been human. WC: 6.9k

He'd trained before, but this was different.

For one, he didn't usually have an audience, and second, he didn't usually have to respect his teacher, either. Tall buildings and their shadows that once surrounded them were now turned to dead gardens outside the manor of his employment, acting as a 'private' circle of study surrounded by the half-wall around the property.

He panted as he lifted himself to his feet, taking up his staff once more. The trainer was the head guard, Urtak, a man who Ahk was pretty sure did not like him, and who did nothing to try and negate that belief. Sometimes Ahk would complain about this to you and you'd try to comfort him, but now you just laughed whenever the guard knocked him to his back.

"Come now, Aganu," Urtak said, pacing and slamming the end of his staff against the hard ground, crackling into the dry earth. "Can't expect to protect Ukani's home and guests with this technique."

"I do not speak Akkadian," Ahk repeated for the fourth time that day, grunting as he jumped up again.

"He is saying you are a pussy!!" You yelled in Egyptian from the servant's quarters' roof.

"Thank you, Yogi," Ahk called sarcastically, a bitter smile on his face.

Ahk cast one annoyed glance in your direction before Urtak's staff was hooking behind his knee again, forcing him to the ground, again. His hands were scratched, red, and dry, irritated further by the rough ground and spiky plants below him. He took a deep breath––or as deep a breath as he could in the dust cloud––and took up his spear once more, facing Urtak with a malice lacing his parted lips. Years spent training would aid him now, but he drew a blank on how to approach his opponent.

Urtak's staff came whizzing down from above, aiming directly for his skull. Instinctively, Ahk whipped his own spear up, dislocating the staff's projectory. The guard tried a couple more times, coming down upon his midsection or legs in hopes of knocking Ahkmen back down to the ground. This time he blocked––though, it did take him a few more moves before he realized he could now parry in return.

Before attempting to strike at his side in any way, or to knock his balance off kilter, he stabbed the blunt end of his staff into Urtak's stomach, punching the breath out of him.

A distant 'WHOOO!' came from behind him and he laughed, glancing to you in time to see your grin and a lute swinging about in your hand. It gave ample distraction that led to Urtak taking revenge in an unconventional manner when it came to staff fights; he punched him in the face.

Ahkmen groaned loudly as he stumbled back, still on his feet but with his hands covering his nose and mouth. Something warm was dripping from his nose, and as he pulled his hands away he found blood, coating his skin in thick drops.

"Aaaaaand," your lute began to play a joyous little tune as you sang, "he get fuck in the face!"

"Those aren't even words!" Ahk yelled back through his laughter.

"Pay attention," Urtak said stiffly, bringing his staff to backslap Ahk's head.

Of course training had to come just when his bruises and aches were healing from falling over a tarp fence taller than his whole body. Now everything was back tenfold, aching from old pain and biting from new. The only good part was that now you were both being paid, meaning you could afford a couple luxuries, such as a lavender healing ointment you found on your way home from the brewery that day.

Ahkmen spent a good deal more of his freetime sleeping than you did, napping beneath the warm, mud roof, but safe from the burning rays of the sun. Birds tweeted about outside, their songs muffled through the thick walls. Flies managed to get inside. To his fortune, no one else was in the servant's quarters, and he could splay out on the biggest bed. He continued to doze in the warmth, resting his creaking joints until footsteps sounded through the dry underbrush, crunching beneath small feet.

"Aganu?" Came your soft voice, your knuckles knocking against the cool, clay doorway.

He let out a muffled moan, regretfully moving himself to sit up straight.

"How've you been, my dear?" He asked, sniffing to clear his still-bloody nose.

"Better than you," you said as you knelt beside him.

You carried several different things in your hands, including a damp cloth, a bandage, a small bottle of honey, and the ointment you bought without him.

"What's that?" He asked.

"For the scraping," you said, taking his hand and resting it in your lap palm up.

The cork popped out of the jar, tossed onto the bed as you poured some of the ointment onto your hands. Ahk watched in interest as you took his hand, washing his skin with the cool mixture, and partially burning the more sensitive cuts. He hissed as you passed over the largest.

"Do you think that this is good for you?" You asked as you looked up.

"What, the ointment or –"

"The fighting," you chuckled.

"Ah. Well, it has been good to rehearse some of my moves," he said with a shrug.

You nodded, continuing to massage the red marks.

"Then I can protect you better," he said.

"My little boy," you grinned, pinching his cheek with your lotion-clad fingers. He scrunched up his face, wiping the treatment away.

"I'm not a little boy," he said flatly.

"But you are my – or, mine," you said.

"A little." He nodded vaguely.

Your affections had been switching unpredictably the last few days, since around when he snuck into the King's garden, so he never knew how to react to certain things you said. Sometimes you would snap at him for things he hadn't ever considered, but other times, like this, you tied him to you, caring for wounded muscles and mind.

Once you were done with both his hands, you moved on to his scuffed knees, and gently rubbed the ointment in there. Again he flinched back, but you held him tight in place.

"What are you going to be doing for the party?" He asked after a few minutes of silence, spent convincing himself it'd be odd to reach forward and tangle his fingers in your unkempt hair.

"I am with the beer, and the food," you said, glancing up sparingly. "I am one of the people who does not talk the whole time."

"Oh, don't worry," he sighed, sitting back. "So am I."

It'd be the first event Ahk ever attended where he wasn't expected to look like a God, or to perform some heavenly speech that assured the listening people of his nation.

Later that same day it would be announced to the staff at large that a member of the royal family would be attending as an honored guest of the estate owner's––whose name was Ukani––three, triplet daughters. It was the first time Ahk had seen the identical girls, though you had clearly met them before judging by your glazed over expression. It was also announced that because of this, all the servants and guards would have to be wearing proper attire––something that fit a nobleman's party better than plain skirts and dirtied dresses.

Every servant in line let out a long groan, though most were subdued in the face of the stewardess. She glared down each of you thoroughly.

"I'm sure you'll be glad to learn these will be supplied for you. You won't need to get anything on your own," she said, and everyone seemed to fare much better with that.

She drilled into the eleven of you standing in that line––including yourselves and the other four new recruits–-that respect of the family and their friends was vital, and that employment would not last should that respect be breached. Ahkmen wondered as he watched her steely eyes if guards and servants were treated like this in his own home by the overseers; his personal servant, Naguib, hadn't said anything about it. Then again, Ahk never asked.

You were soon dismissed, and you and Ahk immediately went to each other.

"I do not like this," you said, crossing your arms. Clearly the dress code bothered you, even if it was financially stable.

"Don't worry," he chuckled, "I'm sure you'll look fine."

"I am not a doll."

"Really? You're small enough to be one –"

Before he could laugh at his own joke you punched him in the gut, laughing when he clutched his stomach. Of course, it didn't hurt all that much, but it did take him greatly by surprise.

Steaming buns filled with mashed dates smelled more heavenly than he ever could've imagined. The shop was only across the plaza from the brewery, as well––it gave him an ample opportunity to dash over, purchase a couple, and run back before you finished preparing the same batch throughout the ten you were starting today. Experiments never ended with you––continuous tests and studies had to be conducted.

He jogged down the steps, ducking beneath the tarp doorway with a cloth sack in hand; within it, the buns. The scent of broiling beer wafted thick in the small stirring room, the many fires of different bubbling pots warmed the area as well, and the heat remained trapped beneath the tarp ceiling. Sunlight poured in through gaps between the ceiling and the wall, illuminating wisps of smoke rising from a small plate of incense burning opposite the entrance. A few of the brewers discussed things quietly among themselves as he passed. Familiarity became this room; humid, almost unpleasantly warm, and smelling of nothing more than sweet, honeyed beer. And you.

"How's it coming?" Ahk asked, stopping in front of your stand, the warm desert in his hand clutched to his chest.

"Good, I am with the, uh..." you paused as you pumped the stir stick up and down through the thick malt, "the saffron."

"Smells nice," he said, earning a smile from you.

"Thanks many," you said.

He chuckled, shifting his weight as he looked bashfully down.

"Oh, I got you something," Ahk said after seeing the pouch again. He released the drawstring, pulling out one of the buns.

"Oooh," you said as you took it. "What is it?"

"Some sort of date dessert, I don't think I've ever tried one of these before."

Within the date paste were chewy nuts which, after a moment, tasted distinctly like pistachios. You hummed pleasurably with your first bite, your cheeks puffing out with how massive of a bite you'd taken.

Conversation continued throughout the couple rows of stirring pots, must of the words muffled beneath the churning of beer. Ahkmen finished his bun quicker than you did, and spun slowly round to scan the room before his attention fell back to you, watching as you finished.

"Good?" He asked with a chuckle.

"Very," you assured him.

More murmurs and whispers had him turning around again, trying to look for who was speaking in such noticeable whispers.

"What do you talk about all day with these people?" Ahk asked as he spun back round to you, his hands on his hips.

"I do not talk much," you admitted. "I do not talk good in Akkadian, but I do hear what they say."

"So... what do they talk about?"

"Oh, they have parents, and children, and lovers... and they have the beer, also. They, uh.. they do talk about you," you added hesitantly.

"Me?" He asked incredulously.

He turned around and, sure enough, two women's eyes darted from the back of his head down to their work.

"Wait, why?" He asked, suddenly horrified by the products of his imagination. So much so that he didn't notice his hands gripping the lip of your pot, soon to be burned by the heat. Once he noticed, he ripped his hands away, scanning the red marks on his palms

"Aganu, do not do that," you said in a tired sigh, clunking the spoon down in the bowl.

You stepped down from your stool, taking him by his wrist and leading him over to a corner of the brewery stocked with shelves. The class and clay bottle clinked together brightly as you shuffled through them, expertly finding a small, black bottle with an equally adorable cork. A pop came from it as you pulled it out, placing your finger over the mouth and shaking it upside down.

"What is that?" He asked quietly as he looked over your shoulder.

"It is an oil, for burns," you said, concentrating greatly as you organized the cork, the bottle, and your oil-covered finger onto one hand.

"Oh. Does it happen a lot?"

"Yes," you said with an irate groan that had Ahk chuckling. "Harmu come in here and make love words with the women, and – and take them off the beer, and that makes the batch fail. That is a lot of barley, gone."

"Ah," he breathed out.

While you talked you took his hand, displaying the burnt palm and coating it with the oil on your finger. Since there was only a little bottle of it, you used very little with each dip into the oil, and thus had to flip the bottle much more frequently over your finger.

"It is still okay to eat, but it is not good at all," you said, shaking your head.

"You've tried it then?"

"I have smelled it," you said.

He belted out a laugh.

"Am I one of the... what did you call them? Harmu?"

"Yes, uh... fuck, what is it in Egyptian?" You closed your eyes, your face screwed up in a frown. "I can only remember the Akkadian and the Harappan."

"But am I one of them?

You looked up, almost surprised by his question.

"Oh, no, you do not make love with women here," you said.

Ahkmen sighed very, very deeply, just barely staunching the circus of laughter in his chest.

"Please don't say that again."

The whole of the incident was forgotten by the time you were walking home, bathed in the shadow of the tall city walls. Most of the stores you passed were now closed, making way for warm nights and a hot meal, the latter of which you looked forward to. It took a little getting used to, but eventually the porridge-type beer served at the estate rubbed off on you.

Until then, you wandered through the streets of Babylon, absorbing the colors bursting around you, before sinking into the quiet of night once more.

By the time the stone walls of the estate came into view, life around you had dimmed into such quiet moments resigned to the windows of nearby houses. Crickets chirped in the absence of thundering footsteps.

Neither of you spoke much––sometimes commentating on stray cats or dogs, or the bugs that jumped in and out of view, but little more than that. Part of it was Ahkmen's doing, as he was usually the first to say something, and as of right now he was far too absorbed in his own thoughts to make any such conversation. But, like usual, he was still engrossed in you, dreaming of something that came to his sleepy mind a few hours ago.

"Husband!" You suddenly exclaimed, your eyes widening as recognition washed over you.

"What??"

"That is the word I did not know, harmu, it is husband," you said with a grin.

"Ohh," he said. "You scared me."

"Sorry," you said, and leant into him, holding his arm to your chest.

Ah, right. That's what a heart palpitation felt like, beating wildly in his chest at the feeling of your heat. Even in the warm evening he revelled in the touch. So maybe it was alright, he reasoned––maybe you really had forgiven him, and done readily so, leaving Ahk himself to build this discomfort in your presence that fed off his uncertainty.

Perhaps he should live more in the moment––that is what he thought, and he debated it greatly during your small dinner atop the servant's quarters roof.

The two of you chewed in silence for a little while, enjoying the warmth of the porridge as quiet murmurs below you broke the creaking of crickets. Someone down in the quarters was plucking at a lute, but made no particular melody, and Ahk imagined them leant back on their bed, their head pressed against the wall and their eyes closed as they played. It'd been a while since he'd heard you play, and he'd never heard you actually sing before for purposes other than making fun of him.

While he listened he stared ahead at the city's silhouette, from the dips marking streets to the towers reaching the Milky Way. He squinted to see the steps of a pyramid––not entirely unlike the step pyramid of Djoser––and frowned when he couldn't identify its' use. Temples were built in the form of ziggurats in Babylon, not pyramids.

It hit him after a few more seconds of staring, and before he could think it through he blurted something out that he couldn't quite hear.

"I think we should go see one of the gardens here," he said, recogniing the vines and flora that draped from the steps of the tower. "They've been taunting me lately with their grandeur."

You chuckled, leaning back and saying, "okay... but I have garden work, here, tomorrow."

"Of course. Can I ask you something?"

"Yes, always," you said with a nod.

"You said the women talk about me. What do they say?" He asked.

"Oh," a smile spread across your face as you looked away, "oh, not any words too bad. It is... you do not speak Akkadian, that is not right for them, you know? And you do have clothes a little... um, not Karanduniash. You speak only to me and all you say to them is I do not know Akkadian in Akkadian. That is also a little..."

"Strange?" He offered.

"A little," you nodded, shrugging in hopes of lessening the blow.

"I've never been strange before," he said quietly.

"What?" You looked up from the floor to meet his eye.

"Well, my father was rich so a lot of people treated me with great respect. If I wanted to I could have had hordes of friends and followers, so it was definitely my own choice to stay to myself," he said, gesturing vaguely with his hands as he spoke and you nodded along with him.

"I had thought people did not like you," you admitted.

"What, why??" He said, suddenly horrified. His reaction had you belting out a laugh.

"You had one, mean friend, and Panya did not like you, too," you said with another apologetic shrug.

"Well when you put it like that," he said, and the both of you devolved into giggles.

When you calmed down there was less space between you, your dishes set to the side as you inched closer.

"Did Panya ever talk about me?" He asked, inquisitive eyes scanning you thoroughly.

"A little," you nodded. "She says... you did mean things when you were.. young. Piye did, too."

"Piye said I was a bad person?"

"No, only that you had things when you were young," you assured him. "But good things, also. You are... kind, in heart."

Your attention glazed over, and Ahk watched with uncertainty as you reached forward, setting your hand over his trembling heart. He could feel your hand moving with how hard his heart beat, trying desperately to calm himself as skin met flushed skin.

Fingers trailed down his bare chest until you withdrew your hand entirely, finally looking back up at him with gleaming eyes.

"I think you are good, still if you say the words wrong, you are good at heart," you said in a sudden need to assure him of his own humanity.

It acted as an apology in your eyes, but to him he saw nothing but love, and his heartbeat increased tenfold. What summer nights brought about amidst the bugs and acquaintances murmuring below.

Coins jingled in his pocket as he made his way through the streets, weaving through thick crowds to reach the center marketplace. He bid good-bye to you several minutes earlier, leaving you to work on the estate's garden, while Ahkmen enjoyed his freetime away from the masters. His clothes, perfectly suited to blend in with the locals, also hid away his various bags of grain and coins that he would use as payment, and the dagger strapped to his hip.

There was no particular aim he had in mind as he walked, eyes darting from the indecipherable shop signs to the various people spending their morning out on the streets. He would, at times, come across small trios or couplets of musicians who filled up the space between loud conversations, bringing to the chaos a sort of art. High flutes played in tune with deep lyres, the instruments made of a cheaper wood more easily afforded by the lower classes. But the bustle of traders and merchants could still be heard clearly throughout the noise, calling out prices and wares, and advertising the many products sold within the streets of Babylon.

Babylon had, like Egypt, somehow retained much of its' prosperity despite the trying times. Rapiqum and the cities of Canaan––Jericho and Jerusalem––suffered much worse; a lack of water befalling the people who resided in the starved cities. But the river Euphrates never strayed from Babylon, and had continued to run through the city in plentiful waves.

The water of the Euphrates was said to be tears. Tears from the primorial Goddess, whose name Ahk couldn't recall. He frowned as he looked over the edge of the terrace, leaning on a white stone railing that separated him from a ten foot drop into the swirling waters below, lined with the blue tile of the city's gates. From the even decorations on either side, Ahk correctly assumed that it marked the water level of a typical year; the water currently ran an arm's length below the mark. He let out a long sigh, his fingers digging into the railing.

At the sight of this Ahk couldn't help but imagine the Nile falling to such depths. Each year brought forth a differing inundation, making it hard to truly worry about the water level. But years of this would dry the farmlands, polluting the cities with dry, infertile dirt, and ridding of the already scant shade along the Nile's shores. Birds would leave in droves, and antelope would follow the scent of water to more fruitful lands.

He didn't notice how tight his grip on the rail grew until the plaster cracked, the pop drawing his attention back to his intense glare and gritted jaw. A couple of the people stopping at the riverside gave him odd looks, some of them scooting away from him, at which point he released all the tension in his body and stepped quickly away, heading back into the western city.

He once again found himself in one of the city's many center circles, allowing shopfronts to spread out in multitudes to present their wares. Nearly all the shops were open at this time, since it was around noon, and Ahk could hardly hear his own thoughts with the rampant conversation and shouts surrounding him. A headache sprouted in his knotted brow from the confused––or irritated––expression on him.

"Lost, are you?"

"Who the f–"

Ahk whipped around to see who had spoken, mostly because it was in Egyptian, only to find a dissapointingly familiar face.

"Oh. You," Ahk said stiffly, crossing his arms as he stopped dead in the center of the moving crowd, the Kassite Prince standing across from him with a smile.

"I thought you looked a little lonely out here," he said, taking several, leisurely steps forward. "All by yourself."

"Listen, you and I do not know each other," Ahk said, taking his movement as a challenge and stepping forward till he truly faced the shorter prince. "Stop talking to me in public."

"You should feel honored I ever speak to you at all," he retorted.

Ahkmen internally groaned. Did others feel this way when they spoke to him during his childhood? The Kassite Prince did seem to be a little younger than Ahk, though not by much.

"Don't you have Kings in Egypt?" the Prince continued.

"Pharaohs. And I'm fully aware they do, I just never liked them," Ahk lied sourly, his lips pursed tight together.

"That gold on your arm says otherwise," he said, gesturing with his chin to the gold band wrapped round his bicep.

"Who even are you?"

"The Prince, you –"

"I know that," Ahk interrupted him. "I meant your name."

The Kassite Prince hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the question.

"You know what? I don't care," Ahk said after another second of silence, throwing his hands up in the in defeat, and turning round and walking away.

"Hey!" The prince called out in a whine, but the crowd already welled up in the space between them. "My name's Rimush!"

"And my name's Fuck You," Ahk muttered beneath his breath.

Incense from Elam. Considering your interest in other cultures, and the magic ongoings of said cultures, Ahk took the guess that you would enjoy a hint of the travel yet to come. You still had beer batches you had to finish, and Ahk was enjoying his time returning to combat training, eagerly memorizing each move and doing it thoroughly as he imagined besting any creature that dared to hurt you. There was no need to hurry yourselves to Elam, but there still lingered a curiosity in you and Ahkmen. Priest teachers in Egypt never spoke much about Elam considering the distances between the two countries. Imports reached further than power, however, so Ahk actually had used Elamite incense before, and recalled it as being pleasant. You'd like it, he thought.

Incense progressed into talismans and tools, till his poor money-managing skills led him to carrying three bags worth of things, some for you, and some for himself. Most for you, though. He burned a bright red as he walked back to the estate, already knowing how you'd laugh, rocking back in your seat as he revealed your effect on him even without your presence. But it would be worth it to see the hidden delight in your twinkling eyes.

"Aganu, do you know how many necklaces you have give me?" You asked, about ten minutes after you asked what the thing in your hand was, and he answered 'necklace'.

"No, I wasn't really counting," he said, lifting himself out of his own bag to look over your shoulder.

You sat on his bed, you at the head and him on the side, his legs still planted on the ground. Two of the bags were now empty, their contents scattered in piles around the sheets, all of which belonged to you. Ahk kept his own belongings in a separate bag on the floor.

"This is ten and six necklaces," you said as you held up the mass of necklaces, looking more like tiny, black and brown worms rather than jewelry, the sight of which had giggles bubbling up in both of you.

"Sorry?" He said through his chuckling.

"No, no, I love," you said, setting to untangling them.

It took nearly ten minutes but eventually the two of you untangled all of them, only for you to put every last one of them around your neck, tangling them back around on your chest. You flashed a dizzying grin once you wore all his gifts.

"It's still early," he stuttered out, his face slowly warming with blood as he found himself unable to look away from you, or the sunlight streaming through the door that illuminated your soft skin. "Do you think today'll work for the garden?"

"Oh, yes," you said, straightening your back. "Yes, that is good!"

He chuckled, averting his eyes to his fidgeting fingers.

Tamarisk trees flanked the entrance of the tower, still scraping the sky with the tallest terrace overflowing with leaves of green. The throes of a dying sun painted the white pillars red and orange, burning like flames that would surely overtake the city, but still cooled by the high-up winds that brushed against the hanging trees and flowers.

A wide arch greeted you, acting as a massive entrance leading into a tall room overflowing with grasses, reeds, and bushes. Most of them you recognized instantly––herbs of special sorts, both from Mesopotamia and from far away. You picked those you recognized, stuffing the leaves and roots into one of your many pockets. Ahkmen chuckled at your behavior, but still stopped at your side to allow your collecting, which continued to the stairs carved in a polished, white stone, massive lamassu statutes towering above you. They popped right out of the stone, empty eyes staring straight down into Ahk.

"Wow," he said, earning a hum from you.

"It is like Egypt," you said.

He turned to you with a frown.

"How so?"

"Big, stone cat, with a man head," you said, pointing up at the human fae.

"Oh," he turned back to the statue, "I suppose you're right."

A couple came down the stairs, pressed tightly together when they noticed you. The two of you also drew closer, and began to head up the stairs, watching for the new flora that bloomed out of seemingly nothing.

Lines of arches whose pillars were carved in intricate patterns led to the wind of open air rustling through the trees, willows and their long tendrils dancing and entangling themselves with the flowers of nearby vines. Water clung to the air around you, kept humid and warm in the strange, and surely intentional, dome of a ceiling. Yet more stairs sat behind you, meaning the next floor must've been built higher than the ceiling of the second floor.

Fruits––though most of them small––grew on the low bushes and on high trees, their blooming colors matching the many petals of white, red, gold, and deep purple. You soon discovered the reason for the small fruits was that the other people roaming throughout the terraces picked the larger, more ripened ones, eating them as they wandered about. You soon did the same, picking a small plum and offering part of it to Ahk. He took a couple bites before handing it back to you.

At the brush of your fingers, his heart did not speed––not like before, and he melted into the familiarity, into the warmth he memorized in your touch. Without much thought he took your hand, entwining your fingers sticky with fruit sugar together. When you didn't try to pull away, he pushed down the excitement that was quick to fill his chest, but allowed himself a small smile.

A woman picked fruit from a tree in front of your path, but when he accidentally caught her eye, she hurried off with her basket in hand. Ahk looked up to where she'd been tending, and found large, red pomegranates hanging abundantly from the flimsy tree.

Moving up to his toes, he picked one of the fruits and handed it to you.

"Ever had a pomegranate before?" He asked when you just held it, staring at it in your hands.

"That is this?" You said as you raised it.

"Indeed so. My brother and I used to split it."

"You had a brother??" You asked incredulously.

"Did I never tell you?"

"No," you said. Obviously.

"Alright, well, before he started really hating me, we'd sometimes sneak out into the market and split food, since we couldn't find enough money to pay for an overzealous amount," Ahk explained.

At the very end of his sentence you took a massive bite into the raw peel, instantly frowning when you bit into something fleshy and bitter. Ahkmen, who took a second to notice this, quickly took the fruit from you with a gasp. A large bitemark was already in the fruit.

"That – that's not how you eat pomegranates," he stammered, digging his thumbs into the new-revealed fruit, and splitting it open to reveal the seeds within.

"It is bad," you said, your expression still contorted uncomfortably.

"Spit it out!"

You spit your bite into the nearby bushes, earning cold stares from the couple of people who saw. Their gazes had you shrinking in on yourself.

"Don't worry about it," Ahk said quietly, setting a hand on your back. "I would definitely have done the same thing."

The two of you split the pomegranate, and Ahkmen showed you that it was the fruit-covered seeds that were the truly consumable part. You ended up enjoying them quite a bit, and the one pomegranate lasted you throughout the whole of the marble and limestone garden terrace, following you up the stairs till nothing remained but the shell. Ahk tossed the remains away, and the two of you continued onwards.

Eventually the air began to cool with the ascending floors, and Ahk's Egyptian clothes––which he'd worn that day because he had no work––ceased to fit the temperature, landing Ahk with a soured look and goosebumps coming up constantly on his arms that were crossed tight over his chest.

"Awwwh, you are cold?" You asked in a saccharine voice, after Ahk spent ten minutes wondering if you noticed his shivering.

Your attention did feel better, but not enough.

"A little," he said.

"You do want my coat?" You offered, already setting to undoing the buttons set high on the stiff, red and gold fabric neck.

"No, no, don't trouble yourself," Ahk said quickly, unwrapping his arms from himself to shake his hands no.

"That is okay," you said after a moment. "I do not think it would go in your big arms."

"You think my arms are big?" He squeaked out, looking down at his bicep, which had grown slightly more toned after several training sessions.

"Well, you..." you poked his left bicep, "are big."

"How kind of you, Yogasundari," he said with a massive grin, looking down at you like you lit up the sky.

"Shut up," you said as you pushed him away, earning a loud laugh from him.

"What a show you put on," came a voice from behind you. "I'm almost embarrassed to be seen talking to you."

Ahk groaned––externally this time––and turned slowly around, his dull eyes meeting the Prince Rimush's plotting expression.

"Then stop talking to us," Ahk said, setting his left arm around your shoulder and directing the both of you back forward.

"You've got me there," Rimush said and, to Ahk's great dismay, ran to catch up with you and Ahk, standing at Ahkmen's right. "I just can't dismiss how wonderful of a whore you would make."

Ahk shot you an odd look, but you just shrugged.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked with a glare.

"Well, you've got the body for it, and you clearly don't care about showing a little skin," he said, a smirk creeping across his face.

"You know, I don't complain that you're a little brat and that I wish I could subjugate you. Maybe you could do the same," Ahkmen said.

Rimush just laughed, throwing his head of curly, black hair back.

"Who is this man?" You whispered to Ahk while the other was distracted.

"Some idiot I've seen a couple times. He's just a dick."

"I am a Prince, thank you," Rimush interrupted with a cocked brow.

"Okay, Prince Dick," Ahk said, rolling his eyes.

Rimush's mouth fell open as he stared at Ahk, stopping dead in his step. You and Ahk spared him no mercy, and continued forward, leaving the Kassite Prince behind, but only for a moment. He soon ran back up to join you, drawing a heavier-yet groan from Ahkmen.

"Oh come on, don't be like that," he said, hitting Ahk's chest.

"Would you please leave? I'm trying to spend an evening alone with my – my..." Ahk trailed off, his eyes darting to you and back to Rimush.

"Tunae," you suggested, and despite not knowing what the hell you were talking about, he agreed.

"Alright, very well," Rimush said with a long sigh, his shoulders sagging. "But I'd still like to invite you to an event within a few weeks, if you're not too busy... staring at each other."

"Clever," Ahk said flatly.

"It's at Ukani's estate. One of our high priests, a good friend of my father's," the Prince continued.

It took a moment, but the words oh fuck rolled over Ahk's already irritated mind.

"We'll already be there," Ahk said. "We work for the man."

"Oh, wonderful. I hope you're doing some of the dancing, then," Rimush said, and his eyes raked over Ahk again. "I've heard the dancers are dressed in only the finest and thinnest of silks."

"I guess you'll find out," Ahk replied in the same, flat tone.

The two of you, now pressed tightly together, didn't move or speak till Rimush's unkempt locks disappeared down the stairway. At that point Ahk let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, and returned his attention chiefly to you.

"He is a prince?" You asked as you picked up your stroll once more.

"Yes, somehow."

"We must be good to him," you said.

"Uh... why?" Ahk asked, wanting to do the exact opposite.

"You said, in Egypt, to go with what the power says, the Kings and that," you said, and his eyes drifted shut.

"I did say that, didn't I," he mumbled.

Now that those conventions weren't upholding his status and were there instead to crush him, well––things seemed a little different on the earth than it did in the clouds, and his thought process worked just the same.

Both of you fell quiet after that, wandering in silence throughout the climbing terraces. Trees of figs, dates, melons, plums, and pears lined the walkway, beside softly running streams pouring their lifeforce into the plants. After several minutes, and a couple floors later, Ahk finally gathered up enough gall to take your hand again. Instantly your fingers tangled into his, and he noted with great pride the smile tugging at the corners of your blushing lips.

The very top of the tower overlooked the whole of the city, from the ziggurats to the outer walls, and to the town-like structures stretching onwards from Karanduniash. The Euphrates continued on endlessly, splitting the land before you in two as wind blew with the force to disrobe you.

People who walked down below were no larger than the ochre dot on your forehead, and moved about as slow as an ant crawling to get to its' hive. Ahk was the only one that could truly watch them, as you were uneasy whenever you leant over the garden's edge, and saw the ground below at a height tall enough to kill you. Instead you crossed you arms, whining whenever Ahk got too close and appeared to be close to falling off.

"Do not be dumb," you said with a frown, your folded arms helping keep your clothes tight to your body.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," he said, leaning just enough over the sheer cliff to see the terraces built beneath you, and those who stood on the edge just as he did.

"I would like to worry about that, thank you," you said matter-of-factly.

Ahkmen chuckled but relented, returning to your side in the center of the highest floor. Despite the plant's water coming from far below you, the creek still ran through the last terrace, feeding the scant trees and brush that could survive the overbearing winds. The bells of rushing water accompanied him as he took your hands, holding them gentle in his own.

"You know I adore you, don't you?" He said, scanning your expectant eyes.

"What does a door do with this?"

"No, not -" he giggled with warming cheeks, "not a door. Adore. It means to care for something deeply, to admire it in a way."

"Ohhh, yes, I did hear this, I only forgot. Sorry," you said with your own sheepish chuckle.

"No need to apologize. I just want you to remember that."

"What adore is saying?"

"No, that I adore you," he said, and despite his screw-ups rushing blood to his face, he knelt before you to more easily meet your eye.

Looking up to you was a special sort of reverence. His bare knee dug into the fertile earth, his other kept up near his chest as he craned his neck to hold your gaze. You appeared, for a moment, to be entirely quiet, wide eyes staring wordlessly down at him. Even the breath in your chest ceased to move.

In the past, you had bowed before many people––passing Kings and High Priests, masters, and your own family in celebrations for the new year. The view from above was quite different from the one below, and you were allowed movement.

You gently pulled one of your hands out of his hold. His empty hand fell like muslin to his lap, a feeling replicated in warm, tingling sensations when your thumb stroked over his jawline. Eyes fluttered shut once more as he leant into your touch, melting when the whole of your palm rested on his flushed cheek.

"Look at me," you said softly, and Ahk raised his head, opening his eyes. "Know my face."

"I've already memorized it," he replied in a murmur.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x female reader #ahkmenrah x male reader

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teawithkpop · 5 years

Text

[M] - PhysCom - Pt 6

pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - bc 1 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Rating: Mature [18+]

Length: 6.0k words

Genre: PhysCom AU - smut with dashes of angst, and a shitload of romance and complicated feelings,, uhuhu (porn with plot??)

Warnings: swearing, sex with ulterior motives, dirty talk, dom!yoongi, oral sex (male and female receiving), throat fucking, spanking, clothed sex, unprotected sex, ripping clothes, degradation, throat holding (not to the degree of choking), licking, cum play, it’s nasty it’s just nASTY

I hope you don’t all hate me after this ahahahahahaha love you guys <3

☕💕 If you enjoy this work, please consider supporting me and my writing on KoFi ^^ ☕💕

-------

We must build a brighter future for PhysComs. They are people, just like you and me, and they are severely undervalued in our society. We employ them, we rely on them, and yet, they are ignored at best, and abused at worst, with punishment and persecution waiting should they dare to speak out about the horrific injustices through which they suffer. We cannot live in this double standard. I refuse to accept it, and I urge you to open your hearts and imagine what it would feel like to be needed but shamed. To be relied upon, but to never receive recognition for your efforts. They are people, just like us. They live among us, yet they are treated like ghosts. As of now, Physical Companions are employed by most entertainment companies, but are given no benefits and no job security. They have only the protection of their own agencies and any underground communication they might have between each other. These people should be respected. They should not be forced to live in the shadows. It’s time that we acknowledge and thank these tireless workers, and provide them with some support in return for all of the support that they provide this industry.

You read over the words again and again until they become a continuous stream of overlapping thoughts, filling you with utter confusion.

What the fuck does this mean?

You look away from your ComGear and pull up the document on Namjoon’s computer again. “Jungkook!” You call out to him, your heart hammering, and the door opens enough for him to poke his head through, his eyes widened expectantly.

“Yeah?”

You hastily gesture for him to come in, your eyes glued to the screen. “Come read this. Out loud.”

He seems confused, but comes up beside you and looks over the document, murmuring as he reads. “We must build a brighter future for PhysComs…"

As he confirms by reading back to you what you’ve seen with your own eyes, your confusion heightens to a fever pitch, and you almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Is this… an essay? About PhysComs?

“Wow,” Jungkook says softly, his eyes scanning the words in fascination. But when he turns to look at you, you can see that it isn’t fascination at all. His eyes contain something that stirs worry in your gut. “I, uh… I didn’t realize things were so bad for you.”

Pity.

No. No, this is bad. This can’t be happening.

Your brief feeling of ease at finally getting some answers vanishes in an instant as your mind becomes a whirlwind, spiraling down, down, down… You can see, clear as day, what will happen if Namjoon shows this essay to the other boys.

You’ll become someone they pity.

Pity is bad, pity isn’t hot, pity isn’t sexy, pity isn’t fuckable, pity means they’ll feel bad when you do your job, pity means they’ll use other sluts to lessen your burden, pity means they give you more fucking vacation time, pity means they’ll never look at you the same way again, pity means-

You don’t realize you’re short of breath until you’re gasping, hyperventilating, your knuckles white against the dark armrests of the chair.

Jungkook is beside you. He’s saying something but all you can hear is a high pitched whine and the thunder of your own pulse as it crashes in your ears, reminding you with every thump of your beating heart that you’re a failure.

You’ve failed.

You stand up, probably a little too fast, as your vision grows dark in the corners. Jungkook immediately goes to help you when you stumble, but you fend him off.

"I'm fine." You put a hand to your head, trying to force it to stop throbbing. "I don't need your help."

He seems hesitant to reply.

“Where is Namjoon? I-I need to-” Your voice trails off as stars swim in your vision. “Fuck…”

The room becomes blurry, and you feel weightless as you sink to the floor, the distant echo of Jungkook’s frantic voice fading into nothingness.

-------

“Some clients may become… misguided.” Madame paces in front of the class, checking everyone’s form and breathing as they lay on their backs at their stations, legs propped and parted as fucking machines train you all for stamina.

This is a relaxing class, despite the nature of it. After a while, you barely even notice the dildo sliding in and out of you, the whir of the machines becomes background noise. It’s a good chance to focus and meditate.

“They may come to hold… pity for you.” Madame bites on the word as she lowers her ever present riding crop, gently coaxing one girl’s legs further apart.

“They’ll think, aww, the poor little sluts are forced to be used. They’re being objectified. They don’t get a say.” You can barely see Madame’s arm from your position as she drags the riding crop along the girl’s thigh, and the girl shivers in pleasure.

“Pity is useless, girls. This is your job. You don’t pity the mailman for having to be out in the weather. Safety is key, and rules are in place for a reason. That’s why people never hire just one Physical Companion.”

The class snickers at this. The idea is preposterous. PhysComs are always hired in sets, proportional to the amount of clients they’ll be serving.

“You are never forced to serve your client. You are independent contractors. Anything you do for them, you do willingly. This is why we train. To broaden our capabilities, and make ourselves-” Here, she adjusts the setting on one girl’s machine. The dildo moves faster, causing the girl to let out a breathy moan. “-as flexible as possible for our perspective clients.”

You inhale steadily as Madame examines you, her eye keen enough to pick up every detail of your posture, every twitch of your muscles. She clicks a setting on your machine and you feel the dildo expand slightly in girth, stretching you out further.

You smile and sigh at the stretch, proud to beat your previous record for time needed to move up a size. Madame’s expression gives away no approval, but you can tell from the twitch in her lip that she finds you to be a promising pupil.

She moves on, examining the next girl in line. “Our job is to assure them. To remind our clients why we are here. When we are with our clients, we are purely sexual beings.”

The girl beside you has her hands clapped to her mouth, trying desperately to conceal her noises. You can see her legs quivering and feel a twist of pride at being one of the few people eligible for an orgasm suppressant. Until you get your Opticon implanted, it’s an excellent advantage for stamina training.

Madame returns to her post at the front of the class, her sharp gaze sweeping over each of you as she continues her lecture. “If you are pitied by your client, then you have failed to make them see you as useful. Useless toys are thrown away.”

-------

Regaining consciousness is like being pulled up from the depths.

You vaguely register the softness of a bed beneath you. You blearily open your eyes, and see someone sitting at your side, their face swimming in your vision.

“Jagiya,” Taehyung pets your cheek, his large hands warm against your clammy skin, his voice is gentle. “Are you with me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, suppressing a groan as you shove yourself onto your elbows.

“Woah, woah,” He stops you, guiding you to lay back down. “Easy there. How are you feeling?”

You feel like shit, honestly. Your head is still pounding and there’s a ringing in your ears, though the dizziness has faded significantly.

“I’m fine,” you croak, surprised at how weak your voice sounds. You wish you had the strength to shove him off, but your hands are braced uselessly on his arms.

A quick glance at your surroundings tells you that you’re back in your bedroom. How did you get here? The memories of what you discovered begin to come back to you, and with them, your sense of urgency returns. You try to push him off again. “N-need to see Namjoon...”

Taehyung shakes his head with an air of duty. “Namjoon isn’t home yet, but he said to keep you company and make sure you don’t overexert yourself.” He rearranges your arms and tucks the blanket up around your shoulders, then reaches for something on the night table and gently coaxes a straw to your lips. “Here, have some water.”

You reluctantly take a sip. You hadn't realized your throat was so dry.

He seems satisfied, and gives a nod before setting the drink down.

"What happened?” You ask with a looming sense of dread.

“You fainted,” he replies somberly.

You squint at him. “Yeah, I meant after that.”

His face brightens in understanding. “Oh! Well, Jungkook said he tried to call Namjoon as soon as you collapsed, but he didn't answer right away so he had to leave a voicemail. Then he brought you back here to your room instead. Carried you the whole way.”

There’s amusement in his eyes, though you can’t imagine what he finds funny about the situation. “It was perfect timing, so I said I’d look after you until you woke up.” He smiles warmly. “And now you’re awake.”

“What do you mean perfect timing?”

His smile falters for a moment. “Because... I just got home from shopping. See?” He says brightly, gesturing to some shopping bags sitting by your door with big name brands on them.

You also notice that your door handle is broken clean off.

“What… happened to my door?” You gape at the sight.

“Oh, I guess it must have been locked when Jungkook brought you home.” Taehyung chuckles. “I don’t think an elephant could have stopped him. You had him really worried.”

Something inside you feels warm at the notion that Jungkook would care so much.

And that warmth is immediately doused by frigid guilt.

Fuck, what are you thinking?

You’ve let them get too close, you’ve let them see your struggles, you’ve let them see you as a human being, as someone to worry about, instead of a mindless toy. Namjoon has written an entire persuasive essay about the supposed plight through which he believes you’re suffering.

You’ve become too relaxed around them. Fuck, you’re sitting here letting Taehyung fuss over you, when you should be offering him your body, sucking him dry, and letting him fuck your brains out.

That document puts things back into perspective. Letting this… tentative emotional connection that you've started with them go any further could be career ruining. Not just for you, but for the rest of their PhysComs. The dozens of Secondaries they employ could be at risk for losing their jobs too, if your clients suddenly feel guilty for using your services.

And then what? The members’ sexual drives will get out of hand. They won’t be regulated, they might stick their dick into a lucky fan and end up with a pregnancy scandal to cover up, or they’ll become tired, sluggish, and distracted due to unregulated sexual maintenance, which could affect their performance.

You are a necessary piece of their daily routine, their health, their jobs.

Vacation be damned, you are not about to let Namjoon’s blind optimism put himself, the other boys, or your own career at risk. It's for his own good.

You should have deleted the damn document when you had the chance. But it would have been too late anyway. Once they see you in that light, once they start pitying you, then that flicker of doubt will linger in their minds no matter how much you try to extinguish it.

You need to remind them of your place.

Jungkook and Namjoon are lost causes, they’ve both been exposed to the document’s propaganda. But there's still that mysterious vote they’ll be having by the end of the week, presumably about your future. That means you still have a chance. If you can convince a majority of them to view you once more as a purely sexual being…

You try to clear your head, mustering your strength to serve, but before you can ask Taehyung how he wants to use your body, he speaks.

“You do so much for us, jagiya.” Taehyung keeps his hands braced on your arms, his thumb rubbing gently against your skin. “You’re always there for us. Always giving.”

Your whole body tenses. You don’t like where this is going. He’s starting to sound an awful lot like Namjoon.

Taehyung seems to sense your discomfort, because he leans closer and bestows a fleeting kiss to your forehead. “Now it’s time for you to receive.” His eyes are warm as he stares down at you, and he holds a glimmer of something secretive in his smile, like he just told a private joke.

Your confusion grows. “Taehyung… what are you talking about?”

“He’ll be here any minute,” he says by way of an answer, and gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Just relax, jagiya. You deserve this.”

“What do you-?”

But before you can question what he means and why he’s acting so strangely, your door swings open, and Min Yoongi enters.

“Here to take over,” he says, his mouth and nose still covered by the same black mask from earlier.

Taehyung looks surprised, almost shocked. “Where’s Jimin? He was supposed to-”

“Asked me to come instead.” Yoongi lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Said something about not feeling right.”

You look between the two of them. Taehyung’s mouth flaps like a fish and Yoongi sighs, coming over to take his place. “Come on, you’ve been up here for hours.”

Hours? What time is it? You reach for your ComGear and find that it’s not in your utility belt.

“No, but Jimin is supposed to-”

Oh, there it is. Plugged in, resting on your night table. Maybe Jungkook saw that the battery was low. That boy is way too considerate.

“Why don’t you go check on him, then?” Yoongi doesn’t give Taehyung any room for argument, staring him down. “I think he went to the practice room.”

Why is it on the settings screen? Shouldn’t it still be in your emails from earlier…? Weird.

Taehyung reluctantly stands up and takes a few steps towards the door, shifting his weight with uncertainty. He looks to you, then back at Yoongi. “But she was about to ask me something.”

You put aside your ComGear, pushing away any prior thoughts to focus on your mission. “It’s okay, we’ll talk later,” you assure him with a nod, your mind whirring into action.

You have to remind five men of your place as their personal sex slave, if all goes well. The order in which you remind them of this is inconsequential. Plus it might be more effective to go for Taehyung later. He may be less eager to fuck you after nursing you back to health.

But Yoongi… you haven’t seen him since earlier in the day. Yoongi doesn't have feelings for you. Yoongi’s only ever known you as a slut, which makes him an easy target.

Taehyung doesn’t look happy about leaving, but he nods, retrieves his shopping bags from the floor, and gives both of you a final glance before shutting the door.

You wait just long enough to know Taehyung is out of earshot. Yoongi walks over to your vanity, takes off the jacket he’d been wearing and drapes it over the back of the chair, leaving himself in a plain black t-shirt and black sweatpants.

While he isn’t looking, you carefully sit up and shed your oversized hoodie, leaving you topless. Time to get back to business.

You take a deep breath and slip into your persona. It feels good to wear it again, you feel less dizzy, more focused. Ready to fuck.

“Did you miss me, Master Min?”

Yoongi freezes, his back to you. You suppress a laugh. You know you’ve caught him off-guard.

“I’m sorry?” He tugs down his face mask and turns around, only to see you in nothing but a pair of leggings, perched prettily on the edge of your bed. His eyes widen only marginally, but it’s a big reaction, coming from him. "What are you doing?"

You tilt your head to the side and cover your breasts with your hands, groping and squeezing them together. “What do you think I’m doing, Master?” You bite your lower lip, keeping eye contact with him while you feel yourself, rolling a nipple between your fingers. “You always tell me to show off my pretty body.”

Yoongi looks off to the side, averting his eyes to your actions, but the tent forming in his pants tells you he didn’t look away soon enough. “Stop fucking around. You're suspended.” He says, echoing your words from earlier in the day.

You hum in agreement, a pout forming on your lips. “Mm, but I don’t want to be.” You let out a desperate, breathy sigh. “I want to be filled with your cock, Master. I need it.”

You watch his adam’s apple bob. His weight shifts. His lips press together. Every movement you analyze for signs of weakness. It’s like playing chess.

“I know you want me, Master,” you purr, sprawling back onto the bed. You bring one hand down to your core, massaging your mound through the stretchy material. “I’m yours for the taking. No one has to know.”

"Is that what you really want?" He asks with a distinct note of skepticism.

You bristle, but try to hide your irritation. Here they go again with their fucking consent.

“Yes, of course, Master.” You mold your face into submissive desire. “It's my dream to be a good little slut for you. Being stuffed with your thick cock, pounded into the mattress, and pumped full of your seed,” you whine, grinding against your hand for effect. It feels good, better than usual, and you come to find that you mean what you said.

Sex actually sounds good right now, if you’re being honest. A good fucking might be just what you need to forget your worries, so it’s really a win-win.

You sense Yoongi’s hesitance, and you try to think of a way to convince him that you’re serious. The only off-the-clock sex you’ve had so far was with Hoseok, and that had been… far too intimate. But maybe some of the same principles could apply here. Hoseok had wanted you to want it. He’d asked you to use his name.

“Yoongi,” you breathe his name, dropping your character for just a moment. His eyes snap to yours. “I want you.”

He stares at you for a second. Two. Then he’s hovering over you, hands planted on either side of your shoulders.

“You want me?” His breath is warm and heavy, and you can see the way his pupils dilate when he looks at you.

Your heart skips a beat at his unexpected intensity. You nod, your lips slightly parted as he holds his body only inches away from you.

He seems at war with himself, his jaw working as his eyes roam down to your chest, then travel slowly back up, settling on your widened eyes, your pink bitten lips.

"Fuck it," he mutters, and surges down to crush his lips to yours.

It's unexpected. He's never shown any interest in kissing you, he's always preferred shoving his fingers in your mouth.

But you're grateful for that, because if he'd ever tried to kiss you before, you don't think you would've been able to keep your composure.

Yoongi is like fire. His lips are searing with passion, his tongue flickers and licks into your mouth. It's a stark contrast to his icy fingers as they brush against your ribs.

He's full of contradictions. His kiss is greedy but controlled. He grinds his thigh between your legs, causing you to moan, but his hands are feather light as they caress your breasts. He's fire and ice.

You feel yourself getting hotter by the minute, and all too soon, he breaks away from the kiss, leaving you gasping as he trails his mouth down your neck, biting a bruise there.

"Ah! Yoongi…" Your fingers twine through his hair of their own accord, and you're appalled at how easily you've given in to your desires. But it's all for the cause. You're saving careers.

He groans, his voice low and tempting as he kisses and licks your skin. "You really want me, princess?"

Your chest heaves as you catch your breath. "Yes. Fuck, yes, please…"

"You want me to fuck that greedy cunt of yours? Fill you to the brim?"

His words light a fire in you, and you writhe beneath him. "I want it so much, Master. Please fuck me…"

He grabs your jaw. "You're my slut."

He says it more like a question than a statement. You nod as much as he'll allow.

He drags his thumb across your cheek and dips it into your mouth. "You're mine. I can use you however I want…"

You didn't think he'd be so easy to convince. Well, mission accomplished, you suppose. One down, four to go.

You suck greedily on his thumb in answer, widening your eyes to draw him in. He hums, pressing down on your tongue and making you gag around the digit.

"Good girl." His eyes are half lidded as he looks at you. Then something changes, a sharp glint appearing in his gaze as he removes his thumb and squeezes your jaw, forcing your mouth open.

He licks past your lips in a kiss of complete dominance. Despite his control, he's gentle, savoring your taste, praising you for it between breaths.

While your mouth is occupied, his other hand snakes down to cup your heat, palming you through your frustratingly thin leggings. His dexterous fingers find your clit faster than you would expect, and he circles the pads of his fingers there intently, nothing but the thin material separating him from your skin.

You buck into his hand, though you hope he doesn't keep you there for too long. You know the ache between your thighs will only get worse with no release.

"So fucking wet…" he mutters, pulling back from exploring your mouth to lick a possessive stripe up your cheek. "Tell me how much you want me, slut. Beg for it."

"Please!" You whine, falling into the familiar routine. "Please, Master, all I want is your cock inside me! I need it, I want it so badly…"

Yoongi exhales through his nose, and soon he's up and off of you. "All fours."

This is what you're used to. The familiarity of being told what to do, knowing what's going to happen next, it makes you relax. You get in the position he asks, wiggling your ass towards him.

But Yoongi needs no encouragement. He spanks you hard, rubbing his hands all over the smooth material covering your ass. "Fuck, so juicy…"

He's silent for a moment, and his hands still. You're about to say something to provoke him when there's the distinct noise of ripping fabric behind you. Your hips jerk towards him as he tears the seam of the leggings right down your core, exposing you.

"Yoongi!"

But he's already digging in, dragging his tongue along your folds and sucking at your dripping cunt. His hands grip your ass, spreading you apart for him, and you quiver, his tongue igniting sparks as it plunges within you.

You try not to let it get to you, but the lack of constant sex must have made you extra sensetive. Every thrust and flicker of his tongue has you breathless, squirming, needing more. It was never like this before, you have to pull yourself together. Keep control.

But Yoongi seems to like your enthusiasm. He hums, and the vibrations buzz at your clit, sending tingles straight up your spine. You let out a shriek of surprise as he sucks on the overly sensitive bud and you feel yourself throb.

Fuck, he's too good at this. How did he get so good at this? Your arms give out, and you fall onto the bed, your face buried in the duvet as Yoongi fucks you expertly with his tongue.

"S-stop…" you plead weakly, trying to avoid the inevitable disappointment that will soon follow if he keeps this up.

"What? I didn't hear you use your safeword, slut." He growls, landing a warning spank on your rear ashe rises onto the bed behind you. A shuffle of fabric as he pulls down his sweatpants. "You like this, don't you? You like being exposed. Being treated like a pornstar? Dirty girl."

You do. Fuck, you do. Especially when Min Yoongi happens to be the actor starring with you.

You feel him tap the head of his cock against your ass, slide the thick length along your center. "Look at how fucking wet you are already. So desperate... pathetic."

You feel a flash of heat at his assessment. Yoongi's always enjoyed a little degradation, but his choice of words hits a little too close to home in this particular scenario for you to fully embrace it.

You cover your embarrassment with a thicker cloud of pretend. "Of course I'm dripping, Master. I'm your fuck doll. I live to service your cock..."

"Damn right, you do." He shoves into you without warning, and you gasp for real. Fuck, you've been denied dick for less than twenty-four hours, and you're already off your game? Come on, shake it off. Get in the rhythm of it.

But Yoongi sets such a relentless pace, it's impossible for you to keep up. It's as if he's got something to prove. He fucks into you so hard it hurts. You moan and try to relax, try to cling to the familiarity, but you feel a weird pressure building in your chest. It makes it hard to breathe, hard to focus.

He takes your moans and gasps as a sign to go harder, and he leans over you, pressing his chest to your back. His hand slips around your neck, holding you in place while he growls against you, his nose digging into your cheek. "Gonna fuck the living shit outta you… yeah? That's what you want? Gonna make you see stars and beg for my cock, over and over until I say so."

You moan in gratitude. You're grateful he's so easy to convince. You're his slut, and he knows it. This is where you belong. You feel happy. Safe. You smile, closing your eyes as Min Yoongi fucks into you like a freight train, and you finally get a moment’s peace from the past day’s turmoil.

He suddenly grunts, lifting himself off of you. "This cock belongs in your filthy mouth." He pulls out of you and takes you firmly by the shoulder. You hastily follow his implications to sit up.

He grabs his cock at the base and guides it to your face, nudging your cheek and spreading the coated wetness across your skin. You get a glimpse of his length - rock hard, nearly purple, and leaking - before he stuffs it down your throat. You relax, humming and taking all of him and gagging obediently upon request, just like always.

"Such a good whore, yeah… just like that," he moans, bracing his hand behind your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair. "This is how it should be, yeah?"

You hum around him in confirmation, glad that you're both on the same page.

"You're our slut. Nothing will ever fucking change that… " he starts rutting into your mouth, and you obediently let him fuck your throat.

He huffs, his voice dropping lower, “No use pretending you can be anything else.”

The change in his tone of voice is so stark, it gives you pause. You almost lose your concentration. He sounds almost... sad? Why would he be sad? Are you doing something wrong?

You redouble your efforts to please him.

"Look at you. So filthy." He praises you softly as you gurgle around him, drool starting to leak from your mouth. His roughness starts to return at the sight of you, and you beam with pride as he resumes his filthy dialogue. "This is what you want, isn't it? To choke on our dicks all day, huh? This what you signed up for?"

He pulls out to let you gasp in a breath, then shoves right back down. He does this a few more times, letting the blowjob get sloppy. You nod desperately between thrusts, assuring him of your devotion. You graze your hands over his clothed thighs, caressing him while he fucks your throat.

“Nothing else matters.” Yoongi huffs, and as his face swims back in forth in your vision, he looks resolute.

You surge forward to hold his length down your throat, swallowing around him, your nose touching his abdomen.

He groans, pulling your hair taut and holding you in place. "Yeah, that's it…. You were built for this, weren't you?"

He finally lets you come back for air, but no sooner do you take a messy gasp than he pushes you backwards onto the bed and crawls on top of you.

"Say it." He grabs you by the jaw again, and his voice is low and soft, his eyes like hot coals. "Tell me what you want."

You sputter and gasp, still reclaiming your breath, but obediently say what he wants to hear. "I want you, Yoongi. I want your cock..."

He let go of your face and hoists your legs up, bending you in half. "You're gonna get it, too," he mutters, grabbing your calves, keeping them up and out of the way as he shoves his thick cock into you again.

You moan compliantly, gasping and staring up at him. This is all going according to plan, you just have to hang on and not let your throbbing pussy distract you from the goal.

"You want to be a whore, huh?" He asks, maintaining a gravitational sort of eye contact as he slowly slides in and out of you, torturing you. "Cum for me. Cum around my cock."

You shiver and within a few moments, clench around him convincingly, letting your eyes roll back as you moan in delight.

"Cumming on command, within seconds... look at that." He braces your legs with one arm and starts rubbing your clit with his other hand as he picks up the pace. You feel a jolt as his thumb circles the little bundle of nerves, and you actually flinch.

"So sensitive." He growls, reading your mind. "What a needy cunt."

You can't form any words, the way he's kneading your clit has your head thrown back, your breath coming in gasps. It’s never felt like this.

Yoongi picks up on your arousal, and quickly gains speed, fucking you relentlessly, with little grunts of his own as he keeps you spread wide open for him, watching as your pussy takes his cock over and over again.

After endless minutes of stimulation, your core is swollen and aching, but still somehow desperate for more.

Yoongi's hips buck and stutter, and without warning, he leaves you painfully empty, clenching around nothing. His cock in his fist, he pumps himself to completion, letting his seed cover your puffy, aching pussy.

"Yeah, yeah, that's it…" he grunts, using his cock head to smear his release along your folds.

You start to relax, trying to overcome the disappointment your body feels at getting frustratingly uselessly stimulated.

But before you know it, Yoongi is lining himself up with your entrance again. "You thought we were done?" He chuckles darkly, using his cock to collect cum around your entrance, then he sheathes himself to the hilt with a low groan.

It feels so fucking good, you can't think straight. You cry out, your body desperate and screaming for more but knowing it's not enough, and it'll never be enough.

"Yeah, you want it deep inside you, don't you, you little cum slut?" He mutters, shoving his fingers into your mouth, and you're grateful that he's muffling your embarrassing noises.

"Gonna fuck you like the worthless little whore you are," he barks, ruthlessly slamming into you, and you moan with every thrust.

You would have said something if you still had an ounce of coherent thought in your brain, but the sensations are quickly taking over. Your whole body is wound up, desperate for something. His fingers reach down to rub hastily at your swollen clit and your vision blurs, your pulse pounds in your ears - are you going to faint again?

No.

You peak.

A scream catches in your throat, broken and gutterel as pleasure takes over your entire body, coursing through you in waves, lifting your body off the bed, convulsing, throbbing through you, inside and out.

It feels so good it hurts. You want to stay in this moment, extend it for as long as possible, but you know there's something wrong. Your mind is so addled, you're scared, terrified, before you even remember why.

You shouldn’t be capable of climax. Something’s wrong.

Yoongi keeps fucking you, grunting as you clench around his cock, but you're clawing at him, begging him to stop, tears leaking down your cheeks. Something’s wrong.

He realizes you aren't moaning anymore, but wailing. Sobbing. Something's wrong. He pulls out of you, shouting to be heard above your panic. He looks scared. Guilty.

Just then your door bursts open, and Jimin enters the room with a shout, quickly followed by Taehyung.

“I’m sorry! It’s my fault-” Jimin’s eyes fall to your compromising position, Yoongi’s dick still out, your leaking core exposed, and claps a hand over his mouth. He looks like he might cry. “Oh no...”

Taehyung’s mouth falls open, and he appears too alarmed to speak, apart from a very small, “Fuck.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? What’s your fault?” Yoongi’s shouts at Jimin and Taehyung are drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears as your shoulders shake from dry sobs. Your eyes flash between the two younger members, their guilty expressions, and you remember your private conversation with Jimin just yesterday.

"There is a way to turn it off, in case of emergency side effects. But I can't just turn it off for fun. You have to understand that.” You rest your hand on his shoulder again, hoping he now comprehends the reason for your earlier outburst. “It's a part of my job."

"I understand. Sorry,” he says, giving you a small nod. He twists his mouth to the side, chewing over the revelations. "That must really suck. Not being able to cum."

He’s the only one you’ve ever told.

“I’m sorry! It’s my fault-”

Your ComGear. The settings.

You're too shocked, too betrayed, too sore to get up on your own. You feel some of Yoongi’s release drip down your leg, and a robotic voice fills your mind, drilled into you from the hours of safety lectures you’d had to sit through during training.

… If at any point the user experiences orgasmic sensations before, during, or after sexual activities, then this may be a sign of malfunction in the Opticon Miracle Implant, rendering the user susceptible to sexually transmitted disease and/or pregnancy. Side effects of a malfunctioning Opticon Miracle Implant could become severe, or in some cases life-threatening, if left untreated. Please consult your local physician and refrain from any sexual activity until the Opticon Miracle Implant may be examined by a specialist.

They’re all shouting now, and you feel your throat constrict in horror at the implications of what just happened. The words get caught in your chest, bubbling up with your mounting fear, and finally fall from your lips in a raw cry for help.

"Someone call an ambulance!"

#bts #bts smut #bts x reader smut #bts ot7 smut #bts smut fic #bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts ot7 #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #bts fic rec #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader #thank you all for enjoying physcom! <3

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muertawrites · 4 years

Text

Two Halves - Chapter Five (Zuko x Reader)

Part Four

Word Count: 3,300

Author’s Note: I was up until 4am finishing this on Thursday night, and honestly, the way my single brain cell was barely functioning at that point, I’m surprised this even got done, let alone that it got done relatively well. We’re also getting super close to 1,000 followers, so if you like this series or any of my other works, PLEASE subscribe! I’ve got some fun stuff planned once we get there that I’m really excited to start planning!

~ Muerta

Despite their rocky beginning, your first few weeks as Lady of the Fire Nation go surprisingly well. After your conflict with Advisor Lin, everyone begins to treat you with newfound respect - even Zuko. Your first breakfast together was the last time he advised any of your aids to be moderate or keep their distance from you, instead encouraging them to speak to you as directly as they would him, openly reproving them when they treat you as if you aren't capable of grasping everything they face you with; of course, you very much feel like you aren't, remaining stoic during morning briefings in the dining room while inwardly panicking, hearing everything but only able to decipher about half of it. You’re lucky you’re still shadowing the Firelord, learning your place and duties; once you’re sent out on your own, you have a feeling you’ll drown before you even get the chance to tread water.

Protective as he is, Sokka arranges to stay in the palace until you’re completely settled, stating that it’s his duty as the chief ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe; you know that the real reason is because he’s worried to death about you, trying his hardest to keep up the tough, unflappable big brother act for nobody's sake but his own. Toph also decides to extend her trip, quite concerned herself but mostly using the political tension as an excuse to catch up with you, Zuko, and Iroh - you don't mind, since having her around is an endless comfort to you, and you often invite her to sleep in your room so you can pretend that you’re just two friends enjoying normal young adult lives.

Each day spent in Firelady prep school is a new lesson in what exactly the role means, and you’re quickly finding that it’s much more than observing any of the first ladies of the Water Tribe could have ever prepared you for. They were considered accessories to their chiefs, appearing beside their husbands mostly for aesthetics and only truly serving the purpose of giving birth to sons to take his place; as the Firelord’s wife, you’re seen as an extension of him, and he an extension of you. Your people view you as the monarch and matriarch of a massive, powerful clan, and expect you to live and act in sync with one another for the betterment of your children, both literal and metaphorical. Nation comes before everything, any action that could suggest intentions otherwise criticized with the utmost scrutiny; disgrace is all too easy, while honor seems near impossible.

You have tea with Zuko every night before bed; the more you learn about the culture of his upbringing, the more you empathize with his younger self.

“I understand now why you were so angry,” you admit to him one night. “They make you feel as if just being human were a mistake. I'm already frustrated - I can't imagine what seventeen years of it was like.”

Zuko hums, his face taking on a wistful, somber expression.

“That's what my father did to me,” he explains. “Everything was wrong, even if it was what felt natural.”

He takes your hand in his, his thumb grazing over your knuckles as he gazes off in thought.

“We can change that, though,” he tells you. “Things already feel better with you here.”

For a country that just ended a century long war in which they were the main aggressor, you would think that your advisors would put more energy into matters of diplomatic affairs than your image.

“I'm just uncertain what a choice like this could make the nation feel,” Advisor Yong says. “We’re already walking a very delicate line.”

You stand in one of the palace’s many meeting parlors with Zuko, Advisors Yong and Sung, Sokka, Iroh, and the royal seamstress, pouring over multiple yards of fabric she's brought for the robes that will immortalize you in your wedding portrait. For the past forty-five minutes, you've been debating whether you should be pictured wearing Fire Nation or Water Tribe clothes - the proceedings have been dismal at best.

“The representation of our tribe is important to our people,” Sokka replies to Advisor Yong. “We’ve been small for decades, and mostly because of the Fire Nation - she should wear a traditional dress.”

“But certain people in our nation are still very put off by the idea of a foreign queen,” Advisor Yong argues. “A man was already killed over the matter; embracing it so fully could spark anger and endanger her and the Firelord even more.”

In the time you've spent with Advisor Yong, she's grown to be your favorite of anyone within the royal council. Her small stature and plump, motherly features make her seem gentle and subdued, but her kindness only runs so deep; when faced with confrontation, she's like an angry bull - fierce, but in a way that's so swift and graceful, you barely notice her goring into you until she's shredded you to pieces. She's been one of your most supportive council members as well, guiding you in matters of proper Fire Nation etiquette and culture and sticking her neck out farther than could possibly be expected to keep you safe. You can see Sokka getting irritable, but you know she speaks with a voice that only has your best interests in mind.

“Perhaps we should consider the external perception,” Advisor Sung suggests. His soft spoken manner is a welcome reprieve from the increasing bitterness in Yong and Sokka’s tones. “Yes, it's quite important that the Southern Tribe is recognized, and doing so will present a compassionate image of our nation. On the other hand, however, having our lord and lady in different traditional dress could suggest division; picturing them as the same would imply a more unified pair.”

“Maybe we should put Zuko in a Water Tribe outfit,” you suggest flatly. “Make it look like we’re pushing you guys around for a change.”

Zuko snickers beside you, raising a hand to his mouth to (ineffectively) stifle the sound under the guise of a cough. The rest of the room is deathly silent, its occupants either oblivious to your sarcasm or deeply unamused by it.

“I believe what our lady is trying to convey,” Iroh chimes in, “is that we have hardly taken her own thoughts into consideration. After all, it is her marriage and her people she must represent.”

“Okay, so what do you think?” Sokka prods, turning to you. “Do you want to wear Fire Nation clothes or Water Tribe ones?”

You sigh, dropping your eyes to the mixture of red and blue fabric sprawled out before you.

“Honestly? I don't know,” you confess. “There are too many issues with either choice. I think we need more time to gauge how people react to me just being here before we decide.”

“My lady, I understand,” Advisor Yong says, “but as cautious as we have to be, we can't be too hesitant; you can’t possibly hope to bear children in a few months’ time if we can't come to a decision on something like this in a timely manner.”

You and Zuko both jolt, instinctively backing away from one another.

“Children will come much later,” Zuko sputters, his cheeks turning the same shade as his robes. “Right now we have to focus on getting the people of our nations to agree with each other.”

“And children are an important part of doing so,” Advisor Yong explains. “They’ll serve to physically embody the union of the two nations; the sooner you become pregnant, my lady, the quicker we may resolve the issue.”

“I’m not going to bring a baby into this world just to be a political pawn,” you snap, a bit more harshly than you intend to. “That wouldn’t be fair and I couldn’t do that to my kid.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Zuko glance at you with an expression you can’t quite place. You want to reach for him but restrain yourself, feeling strange about showing him any sort of intimacy with an audience.

“We need to decide what will be done about this portrait before we decide what will be done about heirs,” Iroh agrees. “We should give our lady more time to think on the matter. Could we spare another day?”

Advisors Yong and Sung look to one another, Advisor Sung nodding his compliance. Advisor Yong also concedes, her tone almost apologetic when she speaks.

“Another day will be just fine,” she says. “We’ll leave the final decision to you and your husband, my lady. Have Rina bring your instructions to the seamstress when you’re ready.”

Your stomach flutters manically when you hear the words “your husband”. Advisor Yong has never referred to him as such, only ever calling him “the Firelord”; somehow, coming from her, the title feels much more significant than just the result of an arranged marriage.

You flop down in the grass beside Zuko, burying your face in the sleeves of your robe. He chuckles, tossing another apple peel to the turtle ducks in the courtyard pond.

“At least they’re being nice,” he consoles you. “Advisor Yong called me a coward in front of the whole council when I told her I wasn’t sure about getting married. She was right, but it’s hard getting your ass handed to you by someone who looks like a sweet little grandmother.”

You sigh, rolling over onto your back and tilting your head to look up at him. He gives you a faint, assuring smile, which you can’t help but return.

“I totally understand why you snapped when we were kids,” you tell him. “I’ve been here less than a month and I already want to go apeshit. Did you know that one of our advisors told me to take my betrothal necklace off the other day? The slimy little bastard waited until you left the room to do it, too! He told me it made me look less like a ‘naturalized Fire Nation woman’, and I told him that anyone who expected me to look like one was either stupid or delusional. And what, we need to have kids right way for the sake of political leverage? That’s horrible! What kind of monster brings a child into the world just to use them their whole life??”

You draw back when you notice Zuko’s fallen expression. You’ve sat up by this point, and your near-screaming has scared the turtle ducks to the other side of the pond. You feel your heart drop into your gut, wishing you could take the words back.

“Oh, Zuko,” you breathe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

Zuko shakes his head, closing his eyes and taking a deep, measured breath. You watch his chest rise and fall, his shoulders loosening as he exhales. When he opens his eyes again, he meets yours, the knot between his brows unraveling.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I know. My father was a monster. And my mother… she just did what she was told. I never realized how much she sacrificed for me until she was gone.”

You inch closer to him, warily reaching for his hand. He takes it, lacing his fingers with yours and gently tugging you to sit beside him, reclining against the trunk of an ancient maple tree. He leans into you, clutching your hand tightly.

“Sometimes I wish the worst thing he did to me was use me,” he laments. “Then maybe I wouldn’t have done such awful things to the people who loved me.”

“Zuko,” you whisper, tightly squeezing his hand, “you’re not your father. Just the fact that you asked me to marry you proves that. You didn’t choose your family based on who would make you powerful. You chose me because you love my siblings, and they love you, and that’s exactly why I agreed to be with you. I never met your father, but I know for a fact that he never knew love like you do; he wouldn’t allow himself to because he thought it was weakness. But you’re so much stronger than he is, and could ever be, because Katara and Sokka, Aang and Toph, and Iroh - all of us are here with you. You allow yourself to show weakness in loving us, which is the bravest thing you could ever do. You are nothing like Ozai.”

To your surprise, Zuko smirks at you; the corners of his eyes glimmer with the buds of tears, however, and the rest of his features don’t rise to match the expression on his lips.

“No wonder Uncle likes you so much,” he says. “You sound just like him.”

You scoff, punching him in the shoulder. He laughs, playfully tossing you over his lap and pinching the soft sides of your stomach, an area he discovered was sensitive by accident one day whilst he was walking you through the palace; you giggle hysterically, trying in vain to fend off the attack. He retreats after a little while, sighing as he cradles you in his arms - your head presses to his chest while his chin rests atop your head, hugging you tightly in a way he hasn’t done before. You wrap yourself around him, arms latching about his waist to hold him just as closely.

“I won’t let them pressure us,” he assures you. “We’re family, and we have to take care of each other. That’s all I ever want to do for you.”

You nestle into him, curling your body closer to his while your arms squeeze at his sides. He kisses the crest of your head, a rare display of affection he’s only done a handful of times - it makes you realize that even when you were teenagers, and Sokka started to make serious suggestions about keeping his promise of marrying you after Hakoda left you in his care, he never once made you feel as safe as Zuko does.

“I hope I wasn't interrupting anything with my invitation,” Iroh greets you when you arrive at his chambers.

Before your nightly pot of tea with Zuko, a messenger came to your quarters telling you that Iroh wished to see you; when you asked why, the messenger told you that the general wanted to teach you to play Pai Sho. You looked to Zuko quizzically, wondering what was so important about knowing how to play a board game that you needed to be summoned so late in the evening, and he sent you off, assuring you that, knowing Iroh, it was worth taking up the offer.

“Just Zuko’s tea,” you tell him, “which, if it weren't for his company, I think I'd bail on every night.”

Iroh chuckles, leading you inside and lowering you onto a cushion on one end of a large Pai Sho table; he takes the other seat, smiling good-naturedly at you.

“Unfortunately, my nephew has never quite taken to the art of tea brewing,” he says, “no matter how many times I've tried to teach him; I take comfort in the fact that he's much better with a sword than I am, instead.”

You grin, watching as the old man spreads a set of tiles across the game board.

“Do you know of the significance of Pai Sho within the royal families of the Fire Nation?” he asks; you shake your head in response.

“It is traditionally learned as a way of teaching our young leaders to rule with strategy,” he explains. “It is meant to teach a balance between inner passions and outward logic, as well as how to observe one’s peers; those who practice Pai Sho diligently know how to pinpoint an opponent’s weaknesses while understanding and controlling their own, keeping others from using their shortcomings against them.

“Each tile has a meaning,” he continues, “and represents a different positive or negative attribute. They may only move in certain ways, but can change their effect on the game based on how the player chooses to use them within each environment. For example…”

Iroh goes on to explain each tile and its movements to you, walking you through each element of the game and practicing different tiles with you until you can actually place them in a somewhat skilled way. When you're comfortable, he plays a simple game with you, aiding you in which possibilities cause which consequences and pointing out ways you can better defend your side of the board. You play five games with him in total, never winning but trying as if you stood a chance against such a skilled player as him.

When you lose the last game, Iroh removes the last tile you played and replaces it with the white lotus - you quirk your brow, wondering why that would be the better move.

“I thought the white lotus was a weak tile,” you question him. “Why put it up against something as strong as the flame tile?”

“There are no weak tiles in Pai Sho,” Iroh instructs you, “only ones that are often overlooked. Sometimes we must look at things from a different perspective, you see; manipulate the odds by doing something unorthodox and unexpected. If your opponent cannot anticipate your actions, they cannot overcome you.”

Iroh removes the white lotus from the board, taking your hand within his and placing it in your open palm. He folds your fingers over it, closing your hand between both of his.

“Keep this with you,” he says. “It may help you someday.”

“But won't your board be incomplete?” you ask.

Iroh chuckles, giving you a mischievous wink that makes you feel almost as if the man is in some way omniscient.

“I have plenty of others,” he assures you. “It will do much more good in your hands.”

The next day, you accompany Rina to the seamstress’s workshop, wanting to give her the instructions for your portrait dress yourself. When you tell her this, Rina is clearly confused - she gently attempts to explain to you that it isn’t necessary, that she’s supposed to handle these sorts of things for you, but once you reveal what you have in mind, she shifts completely.

“The council is going to hate that,” she says. “I think it’s a great idea. I can take you to the seamstress, come with me.”

When you relay your plans to the seamstress, she’s also shocked - her eyes widen, and she physically backs away from you as if even considering following your orders will get her executed for treason.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “It isn’t what the Firelady would typically do…”

“And I’m not a typical Firelady,” you reply, your tone bright and straightforward. “I’ve been asked to do what will create compromise, and this is the best compromise I can think of; I’m simply doing what I’m meant to.”

The seamstress agrees, but only after you give her your vow that she won’t take any of the blame should the idea backfire (you're in charge, after all, so what can anyone do? She’s just following orders.)

In white fabric, she makes a set of robes for Zuko and a dress for you, each including elements crafted in Fire Nation and Water Tribe tradition. She then takes each set to its own vat of hot water, adding blue dye to one and red dye to the other - she places the pieces in, looking nervously up at you as you approach the twin cauldrons.

“I just want to make one last adjustment,” you tell her.

Before she can respond, you take a bucket of blue dye and a bucket of red and tip each one into the opposite vat. The garments swirl as if caught in the midst of a tempestuous storm, the dye bleeding into the pristine fabric until it stains a shade of vivid, furious purple.

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thegoldenavenger · 4 years

Note

Stony librarian au(I love adorable librarian tony)

So! This turned into semi-horror instead of the domestic library shenanigans you probably wanted! Sorry! Warnings: horror/surreal themes. Unbeta’d.

The library is mostly dark, just the lamp as Tony sorts through things at the check in desk. It’s after hours and while Tony loves his job, he can admit that he enjoys these dark, quiet moments quite a bit.

This library used to be one of the old townside houses his father used to own, but Tony gutted it, renovated it, filled it with books and movies and loanable equipment, and opened it to the public and though he’s wise enough to let Pepper run the thing it is still his. It’d been the one cathartic thing he’d allowed himself, after his father’s death.

So during the day he’s running around making calls and writing emails and chasing down people who don’t want to listen to reason as he tries to wrestle his father’s company into something resembling an ethically sound forefront of innovation and during the night he runs his hand over the spines of well loved, well treated books.

When he was small his father would chase him out of the study library nook, as if Tony were too stupid to know how to treat things with respect or like Tony was better suited somewhere else then in his father’s line of sight. When Tony did manage to sneak his way in, he was always terrified of lifting the heavy books off their shelves as if he’d disturb some great relic.

Walls of classic literature were for show, Tony had learned growing up. You spent money or rare editions and then stored them so the embossed spine could be seen but you didn’t touch them. It was so, so different when he went to his friend’s house and Tony was treated to homely shelves of pulp fiction, and sci-fi, and kid books all stacked together. Rhodey’s mother dog-eared a harlequin as she stood from her arm chair to greet Tony.

Rhodey had given Tony his copy of the Lord of the Rings, and after that The Twin Tower and it’s Rhodey’s precise hand that has underlined and highlighted the passage that makes Tony always, always remember that even darkness must pass. That when the sun shines, it will shine clearer.

So yes, Tony builds a library out of the bones of his past and yes it means something. It means something to walk the aisles after dark and smile at the full book carts. It fills Tony with a sense that he’s done this thing right, at least.

After hours doesn’t mean the library is empty, there’s a cleaning staff Tony keeps well-paid and happy, so he’s not terrible surprised when he hears footsteps echoing in the foyer of the library. It’s a bit late, maybe, but nothing unusual. The library still feels like safety, and it continues to do so for all the time it takes for Tony to turn a corner to see a shadow bent over the books at the front desk.

It’s not any of his employees, he makes a note to memorize them and their names, not any of his friends, or anyone else he recognizes.

The person at the desk is rifling through the books, flipping to the spines and then placing them back on the pile. They are broad shouldered and tall, and Tony’s hands flit to his pockets like he might summon a weapon to confront this... Tony doesn’t know. Robber?

“I’m not finding it!” The man says and Tony jumps.

“Can’t see anything here either--maybe it’s in the drop box?” Another voice joins in, and Tony blinks a couple times as another person pops up from behind the counter. This one is illuminated by Tony’s small desk lamp instead of silhouetted. He’s thin, sharp jawed, with a flop of dark blonde hair and blue, blue eyes that widen as they meet Tony’s.

“Who are you?” The man asks, standing straight up.

The other man whips around, just as startled.

Tony raises his hands, placating, then scoffs at himself because he’s the one who is supposed to be here.

“I can ask the same thing! What are you doing in my library? We’re closed, lights off, no visitors.” He flicks his hands as he talks, claps them as a statement and watches as the two intruders jump.

“We’re looking for a book.” Says the dark haired man. “This is a library.”

The blond puts his face in his hands.

“We haven’t had anyone return anything like that.” Tony says, affronted. “We don’t even have anything like that in our system.” He looks, affronted, at Steve who had found a moment to introduce himself and his friend.

“Someone could have slipped it into your library without you knowing, it’s slippery like that.”

“It’s a book,” Tony says, “Books aren’t sentient creatures with willpower.

Bucky, Steve’s tall, dark, and intimidating friend, scoffs.

“Well, maybe someone turned it in as a trick then, but it definitely should be somewhere on this property.” Steve says, giving Bucky a look.

“I’ve already checked through all the returns today, unless someone dropped it through the drop-box the last couple of hours.”

Steve looks at Tony, with his wide, wide eyes, and Tony huffs.

“Look, let’s go check I’ve got the keys for it, and if it’s not there you can get me some coffee and tell me more about why you’re looking for a haunted book like some Youtube Ghost Hunters.” Tony says and heads for the door. Steve and Bucky follow.

“We’re Seekers, not Ghost Hunters.”

“Bucky!”

“Well, he should get it right, not--” There’s a muffled thump and Steve hissing “Shut up!”

Tony lets a smile spread over his face, comfortable in the fact that they can’t see him. Maybe they’re misguided idiots looking for views for their blog or whatever the kids are into these days, Tony doesn’t know, but it was a fun anomaly while it lasted.

The drop boxes are located outside the building, conveniently located so people can drive up and drop their books if they don’t want to stop in. Tony puts his key into the closest one and unlocks it, pulling the flap open.

Tony pulls three books out, all children’s books. He raises an eyebrow at Steve and Bucky as he hands them the books to look over. Locking that box he turns to the next and opens it to find it empty.

“Right, so where is this haunted book?” He asks, gesturing dramatically at the empty darkness inside the drop box. Bucky actually sticks his head into the thing before accepting Tony’s verdict.

Tony shuts the drop box, locks it and then puts his hands on his hips. “Alright, you owe me some coffee and an explanation.”

The explanation is better than the coffee but only because the coffee is tepid and stale. Tony isn’t sure he believes Steve and Bucky’s account of a book that, what, eats people? Disappears them? But it’s an amusing tale and seeing Steve’s face get all worked up when Tony teases him is definitely reason enough to be here.

In fact, Steve is much more entertaining than the tale he’s trying to weave. The shiny dullness to his hair, the freckles Tony can see now that they’re being illuminated by ugly florescent lighting, his big blue eyes and the thick eyebrows scowling at him.

“Are you even paying attention?” Steve hisses.

“What, yes, yes. Hundred years of murder history. Secret shadowy nightmares. Very believable.” Tony nods just to watch Steve’s cheeks heat up with red.

Steve’s hands are lithe and his knuckles strong as he sets his coffee mug down on the table with a clack! He pushes himself up, bending over the table to get in Tony’s face and yell. He’s pretty short, Tony notices. If Tony wasn’t resting his chin in his hands Steve might still be looking up at him instead of down.

Bucky sets his fork down long enough to yank Steve back into his seat and say, “He’s goading you.” Before he goes back to shoveling greasy diner eggs into his mouth.

Steve crosses his arms and huffs, sitting back into the booth.

“If you weren’t gonna listen, why’d ya wanna come out for coffee?” Steve mutters, and it takes Tony’s brain a whole second to reboot because that was an accent oh yes it was.

Blinking to clear his head, Tony replies with the same steadiness he’s been showing in the face of Steve’s tall tales. “I’m a librarian, I’m pretty much obligated to check you out.”

“If you weren’t so--” Steve starts but Tony doesn’t hear him because Bucky just snorts coffee all over his empty plate.

It takes that interruption for Steve to actually process Tony’s (lame) line and his cheeks erupt from pissed off pink to really embarrassed red.

Bucky coughs into his napkin, the coughs resolving into loud, husky laughter, enough for waitress to come by all concerned and glass of water in hand. Bucky waves her off and looks at Tony with the most amused expression on his face, a total deviation from the stone wall Tony has seen most of the night.

“Good luck with this one, pal,” he says, patting Steve heavily on the shoulder.

Tony ends up paying for the coffee and Bucky’s eggs, because Tony doesn’t think internet sleuths actually have much income, and because the story was worth the bill.

“Make sure you return those books, or you’ll miss our due date,” he calls after Steve and Bucky’s receding backs. He can hear Bucky start laughing again, under the noise of exasperation Steve makes.

Tony actually hopes they do come back, and not just because he wants the kids books he left with Steve returned.

This was a fun night, he thinks as he returns to his home. It was definitely going to be The story at lunch time gossip with Pepper and Rhodey. Tony locks the door behind him, flipping on the lights and slipping out of his shoes. He shrugs off his coat and hangs it, then loosens the tied around his neck.

He thinks they might have words about him not calling the cops on a couple of B&Eers, which reminds him, he should have asked how they got in the library in the first place. The doors were still locked when they’d left to see the drop boxes and he hadn’t heard any windows breaking.

Tony resolves to ask when--if he sees them again.

He continues with his nightly routine, showering, brushing his teeth, dressing for bed, cleaning his nails. He grabs his briefcase and drags it to the couch, where he turns on the flat screen for some background noise. He pours the rest of the green smoothie he’d made that morning into a glass and takes it with him to the couch where he opens his briefcase.

He always spends a couple of hours catching up on emails before bed, and he reaches into the case to grab his laptop but his hand rests on something else.

He pulls his hand out, and he’s holding a heavy, perfect bound book.

That had definitely not been there this morning, he thinks before he puts it on the coffee table.

The books stays in his briefcase. Tony does not read it, he’s not stupid.

Okay, Rhodey isn’t stupid, and Tony’s smart enough to call him the moment he stopped internally freaking out about the book.

“Don’t read it man, don’t be that guy.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course not.”

“You’re reading it right now aren’t you?”

“Of course not, I’m not stupid.”

“Really?”

“Really. But, like, I might in the next fifteen minutes. It’s just right there! You know I have poor impulse control, honey bear!”

“Control yourself man!”

Tony controls himself long enough that Rhodey can slap the book out of his hands when he bursts into Tony’s apartment like the cool-aid man. Rhodey’s mom didn’t raise a fool, so the books gets wrapped in Rhodey’s sweater, wrapped in a bag, put into another bag, then locked back in Tony’s briefcase. He’d have thrown it into a fire too, if Tony hadn’t insisted they save it for Steve and Bucky. Mostly Steve.

“Who are they?” Rhodey asks, and though Tony wanted to save this story for Gossip time he relents and fills Rhodey in on the hours of Tony’s life he missed.

“You are. The worst.” Rhodey says. “This shit never used to happen to me before I met you.”

“Yeah, but you love me anyways.”

Rhodey makes a frustrated noise but doesn’t deny it.

Tony and Rhodey wait at the library all day for Steve and Bucky to show up. Tony keeps making Rhodey guess which vaguely suspicious duos are the Monster Hunters in question, just to laugh behind his hand when Rhodey inevitably guesses wrong.

The briefcase is heavy in Tony’s hand, and he thinks if he stops talking he’ll want to rip the book out and read it.

“Oh wait, no I know exactly who you were talking about,” Rhodey says, his flat voice resigned. Tony looks up and sees Steve and Bucky beelining towards the library’s entry way.

Tony stand from the bench and waves invitingly towards the two men.

“Hey! No late fees for you!” Tony calls out as they get closer. Bucky doesn’t laugh this time, but Steve’s face still gets red so Tony chalks it up to a win.

“Tony, what’s that?” Steve asks, pointing at Tony’s hand.

Tony and Rhodey both look down to see Tony’s hand gripping the bag Rhodey had stuffed the book into.

“Jesus, Tony!”

“What, I didn’t? I don’t remember opening the case! It was locked! You’d have noticed me unlocking it!”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Steve interrupts.

“I’m the best librarian, I found your book!” Tony says brightly, lifting up the bag. He’s already trying to unwrap it, but Bucky’s hand shoots out, closing over his with a surprising amount of strength.

“Not here.” He says, gruffly.

“Holy shit,” Rhodey says under his breath.

“I know, right?” Tony says, grinning widely at his friend.

Steve ends up dropping the children’s books back into the drop box and they all hop into an old car and drive to a motel a few minutes away. Tony complains about the vehicle the whole time, from the rust patches in the paint job, to the air pressure in the tires that he can feel is just too low, to the sound the car makes as Steve shifts gears.

“Get a hold of your guy,” Bucky orders, eyes on Tony’s drifting hand through the sun visor’s mirror.

“He ain’t my guy,” Rhodey insists fervently, as he grabs Tony’s hands and yanks them away from the book. “I don’t got a guy, why does everyone think you’re my guy, Tony?”

“Maybe ‘cause you’re always holding my hand?” Tony turns his grip so he’s clutching Rhodey’s fingers instead of shaking.

He hates being out of control. It’s why he stopped drinking.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all your fault.” Rhodey says, but he keeps Tony’s hands steady for him, like he always does.

The motel is cheap, and Tony thinks he might actually break out in hives just walking into the rented room, but he keeps quiet because he’s finally allowed to bring out the book.

He blinks and Steve has snatched it out of his hands.

“This is definitely it,” Steve says and Bucky nods as they both look over the black cover. There are no words embossed on it, front or back or spine. It’s just black leather, and cream pages.

“So what is it?” Rhodey asks.

So Steve and Bucky tell Rhodey what they told Tony last night, and this time Tony actually listens.

“The last time someone had this one, they disappeared.” Bucky says.

Rhodey’s hands fist, and Tony gives in and sits on the bed, even if the comforter is tacky.

“Finding these things are so hard,” Steve complains, “If we can locate one, usually it’s already in the hands of someone who is dumb enough to try and keep it.” He looks approvingly at Tony.

“Trust me,” Tony says, raising his hands, “I’m done with the disappearing acts.”

“These things have a way of getting their hooks in you,” Bucky says, his arm reaching up to rub at the empty sleeve at his side. “You shouldn’t be alone for a bit.”

“Thanks for coming to us,” Steve says, and he reaches out to touch Tony’s wrist.

Tony thinks that might be a better reward than not disappearing.

“Here’s my number.” Bucky says, handing Rhodey a sticky note. “Call if anything weird happens.

Rhodey nods, all cool like, but Tony knows if he were to put a hand to Rhodey’s cheek it’d be heated.

Tony, despite thinking Steve is kind of cute, is ready to put the incident behind him, but he doesn’t complain when Rhodey decides to stick around. To observe him.

Tony is glad of it, when strange shit keeps happening around him.

He’s swipes toothpaste onto his toothbrush and runs the head of it under the faucet then starts to brush his teeth.

And then Rhodey asks him what’s taking him so long and he blinks and his mouth his foamy, and his gums hurt, and so does his hand where he was gripping the brush. Did he lose time? He’s probably tired.

But then, he gets up from watching TV with Rhodey and goes to the kitchen. He asks if Rhodey wants anything, grabs a second beer even before Rhodey asks for one and head back to the living room, but Rhodey already has a beer and the channel has changed. “I got thirsty waiting for you to finish.” Rhodey says offhand, as if Tony had gone anywhere but straight to and from the kitchen.

It’s at his day job that it gets really weird, though. Tony finishes an email then stands to head to the employee break room. He doesn’t need to, but he likes getting coffee there. It’s a nice way to say hi, to stay connected to those who work under him.

The halls are empty as he makes his way to the break room. He can’t even hear people working behind the office doors. There’s no one in the meeting rooms he walks by, no one by the water coolers. He pushes the door to the break room but there’s no one there, either. He tries to focus on getting his coffee, but his hands are already shaking so he skips it and goes for water instead.

On the way back he peaks his head opens a door leading into marketing but there’s no one there. All the desks are empty. He takes a turn into accounting, but it’s just florescent lights. He pushes open another door, then another, and it’s all just empty desks and harsh lights. It’s several twists before he even realises that this isn’t how he had the offices decorated. He always stressed the importance of natural lighting and comfortable spaces but the decor has turned into colorless carpet, narrow plastered walls and yellow flickering lights. Endless doors opening to vacant cubicles and abandoned office equipment.

Tony has never been one to call out when in trouble, so it’s just his thudding heart and rasping breaths to accompany his footfalls as he runs through the building trying to find his way out of the labyrinthine office and damn, that thought really makes him want to laugh out loud, even though he knows it’d be strangled.

He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, types in the number he’d already memorised by the time Rhodey had slipped it into his pocket, and hopes that somehow it connects.

There’s a dial tone, and then-- “Rhodey?”

“Hah, yes! I mean, no, I’m not Rhodey, but I’ll set you up on, like, a coffee date with him if you can get me out of here!”

“Tony?”

“Yes, ding ding ding! It only took you two guesses! Amazing--” His breath hitches in the middle and he stops running in order to stop himself from making any more weird, vulnerable noises.

“Tony, is that you, what’s going on?” And that’s Steve’s voice, oh good!

“Yeah, I’m--does this thing have face time or? No, listen I lost in an office building. My office building? But it’s not, I did not authorise this floorplan! I’m a madman but I’m not malevolent I would never pair--” He makes a strangled noise, “Emotionally void and tasteless paintings with god! damn! fluorescent! lighting!”

The yellow lights flicker obstinately at him. “Yeah fuck you, too!” He yells.

“Tony, calm down, take a breath what did you say? A void?”

“A labyrinth. No one’s here. Haven’t even seen a Minotaur.” He laughs again and he knows it’s shading hysterical.

“Oh, shit,” The phone pulls away from Steve’s mouth and his voice goes fuzzy as he talks to presumably Bucky, and Tony heart flies to his throat.

“Hey, hey, what do you mean ‘oh shit’ come on. Steve? Steve?!”

“I’m here, keep walking.” Steve demands. Tony listens. He walks. He listens as Steve talks to him about what he’s doing, he walks past empty water coolers and dead plants. When the connection hisses Steve tells him to turn and Tony does.

“Bucky is pissed you called his car a heartbreaker, that’s his baby.” Steve says and Tony forces a laugh. “I only said it because it’s true. The paint job was breaking my heart!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony hears Bucky in the background.

“I’ll show you a real ride once--” He breaks off as he opens another door to another empty room. Steve makes a choking noise that has Tony smiling despite everything. “I’ve got cars,” He says instead. “Like a hobby.”

“Sounds like a rich man’s hobby.” Steve offers.

“Sure,” Tony agrees. “But I’ll take it if it means I don’t have to worry about your friend’s death trap breaking down.”

“I like bikes better,” Steve admits.

“You ride?” Tony asks.

“Here and there,”

Tony gives silent thanks for the image of Steve in motorcycle leathers.

“I like bikes, too. You know Fujikawa?”

“Know ‘em? Those are the best damn bikes--”

“Well, I’ve got a couple--”

“Of course you do!”

Tony laughs, delighted. “I can do better than that, too.”

“What, you’ve got a flying car hiding somewhere?”

“Not yet,” Tony says, “But I can introduce you to Rumiko.”

“Ru--Rumiko? That’s-- She’s, but!” She’s the lead designer at Fujikawa Industries is what she is, and Tony is so, so glad to have met her in this moment.

“Yeah, she’s great. We’ll have lunch, it’ll be a ball.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Steve says, “I won’t have coffee with you again if you’re just making this up.”

“You were planning on having coffee with me again?” The thought warms Tony’s chest straight through his heart. He can feel the grin on his face.

“Well. I gotta check you ... out, or---”

Tony laughs, startled, then laughs harder because he can hear Bucky hacking up a lung in the background.

“Shut up! Never mind, offer rescinded.”

“Too late!” Tony crows, “You can’t take that back! You said it! I’m holding it right here, by my index card. I’m signing it out, it’s set in stone, buddy, you’ve got yourself a date.”

“You have a date?” Pepper asks.

Tony whips his head around so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. The phone drops and Pepper rises from her seat at Tony’s desk. “Tony?”

“Holy shit, I’m out!”

Steve’s voice comes out tinny through the phone.

“Tony, are you okay?” Pepper’s smile has taken on a shade of concern.

“You’re real, right?” Tony asks, before bending down to pick up his phone. “Steve, I found Pepper, I think I’m out!”

“Okay, I’m going to call for an ambulance,” Pepper says, frowning.

“No, I’m fine! I’m great!”

Steve’s voice sounds generally approving, though Tony isn’t really listening to him right now.

“You’re delirious, I think.”

“No, I have a date!” He exclaims, and Pepper just shakes her head.

Steve and Bucky investigate ever corner of the spaces Tony inhabits, and they find a folded page in his night stand that Tony doesn’t remember. The paper is think, and the only thing printed on it is an old looking wood cut of a silhouette. Looking at it sends chills up Tony’s spine, but after Steve and Bucky take possession of it the weirdness stops, so that’s fine. Tony is good to put the incident behind him and focuses instead on figuring out how to get Steve to follow him on a plane trip to Japan.

“What is it, Tony?” Steve’s voice is groggy, but Tony doesn’t feel bad for waking him.

“Thought I saw a shadow outside my window.”

“You did not.” Steve says, matter of factly.

“You don’t know that.” Tony says, smile quirking around his mouth.

“You’re the worst.”

“That’s true.” Tony grins, because he can hear Steve shifting around, getting up.

“Fine, I’ll be there soon.”

“Actually, it’s gonna take you about eight hours.”

“What?”

“Yeah, you see, I’m kind of in Japan.”

“I’m not going to Japan, Tony!”

“Aren’t you, though?” Tony says, and yes! He’d timed it right because he can hear the knocking at Steve’s door.

“Tony, what did you do?” Steve whines.

Tony grins and takes a sip of the tea Rumiko had brought out for him. On the table between them is a crumpled napkin with a spider imprinted on it, something slipped into Rumiko’s things without her noticing.

“We’re going to Japan,” Bucky says, his voice muffled through the connection.

“Tony, what did you do!” Steve’s whining takes a panicked edge to it.

“It’s fine, Steve.” He says, then addresses Rumiko, pointing at his phone. “I told you, Rumiko, I know Weird Stuff experts. Everything’s gonna be fine!”

“Seekers!” He hears Bucky yell.

“RUMIKO?” Steve yells.

Rumiko puts her head in her hands, but she’s laughing. “You’re lucky I like you,” she says.

Tony smiles, winningly and turns back to the phone, “You can buy me coffee when you get here.”

#kamaeteWRITES #tony stark #steve rogers #stony #(implied... im sorry)#the horror themes are tma inspired #sorry it just happened!!#Anonymous

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deoovat · 4 years

Note

any headcanons for your ot4 you wanna share? (also literally all your headcanons so far are amazing)

I’m happy you like themm omg ⁽つω⊂* ⁾ ♡

I do I do! It gets a little complicated here in Feelings Land for them but bare with me!

I feel like I gave to much of this away because I actually did want to turn my ot4 into a fic one day but meh, might as well get the ideas out my head. I can always AU it in the future.

-> Knuckles and Shadow would be dating first ofc, since they’re OTP but eventually down the line as years past Knuckles would probably recognize his affection for Sonic is becoming more romantic than platonic as they get older.

-> I can see Shadow not liking this at first because even though he and Sonic have become good friends over the years, he’s always held some kind of envy over Sonic with how at ease he is with his boyfriend when he had to learn to be the loving boyfriend he is now.

-> But Sonic is very thoughtful about how his friends feel and is Knuckles and Shadows' biggest supporter. So after a few (more like a lot) of heartfelt conversations with Knuckles and the blue idiot, discussing boundaries, comfort levels, and some trial dating, Shadow warms up to the idea.

-> He’s not attracted to Sonic in any way, shape, or form like he is attracted to Knuckles at first, but Sonic has a way on growing on people.

-> Watching Knuckles and Sonic interact is like watching two completely different storms that absolutely should not converge under any circumstance, meld into each other so effortlessly.

-> Have to be honest, Shadow is a little jealous at first. It took a lot of time for him and Knuckles to be like that. But of course, Sonic has experience under his belt. He’s known Knuckles far longer so it doesn't surprise him that they go just as good together romantically if not more so.

-> It takes a while but eventually Sonic and Shadow do become more fond of each other than just platonically. There’s a lot of boundaries between their relationship but the three of them work through it.

-> Sonic has a much easier time with this than his dark counterpart.

-> It takes a little bit under a year for the three of them to settle into something comfortable and lose the awkwardness around each other. After that, it’s ‘drive Knuckles nuts day’ almost every day the three of them happen to all be spending time together.

-> Sonic learns just how much of a little shit Shadow can be, with both surprises and elates him. He’s still much more on the reserved side of things but none the less, he has his moments where he humors the blue hedgehog in driving their echidna up a wall.

-> Same with Knuckles to be quite frank, only much worst. Shadow knew his boyfriend could be an imp from time to time, but he didn’t realize just how much of one he could me. Especially with Sonic around.

-> It’s safe to say the two of them drive him even more insane.

-> Rouge enters the picture a little later and it’s Sonic’s idea more than the other two.

-> Rouge is honestly the game changer of this dynamic. It challenges all of them the most.

-> Knuckles reaction goes something like “Are you kidding me?!” Nothing against Rouge herself, her and Knuckle are on good terms but Sonic brings it up just a year and a half after he found himself plopped between the two. “Just how many people are we adding here? Isn’t there a limit?!” ->To which Sonic just grins and responds “...I mean, we never really discussed a limit so-” -> Sonic likes Rouge in all honesty! He thinks she’s really pretty, funny and one of the only people he’ll admit being more charming than himself. He’s much more laid back about handling his feelings for other people than the other three so he is of course the most easy-going when it comes to the idea of adding her to their relationship.

-> Shadow is shocked but not in the same way he was when Sonic started to wiggle his way into their hearts. He’s more on the lines of curious about how his friend would react to such a thing. Shadow doesn’t object to it and is more open to the possibility since Sonic was probably his hardest hurdle to get through. Shadow respects Rouge and cares about her very much, so if he can warm up to Sonic of all people, being his boyfriend, then Rouge should be a walk in the park.

-> For Knuckles... it’s complicated. He liked her at one point when he was younger but not in a romantic sense. He admired her and found her stupidly attractive, in a way he never really viewed another girl before. (much to his embarrassment) but he wasn’t romantically or sexually interested in her back then. Plus, he doesn’t think Rouge is even the slightest bit interested in him. (Oh how wrong he is)

-> Rouge quite literally chokes on whatever she’s drinking when Sonic tells her about this.

-> Her feelings for Knuckles and Shadow are well known to the blue hero because again, he’s very good at reading people, but she didn’t know he knew that.

-> Surprisingly enough, Rouge and Sonic meld together way too easily when she joins the trio. Both Shadow and Knuckles are surprised by this.

-> At the time Rouge doesn’t have any romantic feelings for Sonic at first(Boy does that change, lemme tell you, they are joined at the hip later on) so it’s easier for her to just relax and be little shits together with him. With Shadow and Knuckles, however... yeah, it’s a lot of trial and error.

-> A lot, of trial and error. (She re-enters the relationship at least 2 to 3 times)

-> Rouge honestly doesn’t know how to juggle her feelings for both of them and the idea of polyamory was never an option that crossed her mind so she struggles the most.

-> Rouge doesn’t think it’s bad or anything and she’s all for having three boyfriends rather than just one... but it’s the fact that she has to deal with the feelings that really mess her up.

-> She’s not used to facing her feelings head-on and the L-word honestly terrifies her. And the three of them use the word quite often. It’s intimidating to say the least.

-> She really struggles showing romantic affection but not because she’s incapable but because she honestly fears rejection. She’s more of the jealous type (her and Shadow have that in common) and doesn’t understand how the three of them work in a relationship like Sonic did, so she struggles to integrate herself into the bunch the most.

-> To which Sonic treats with the patience of a saint.

-> Shadow finds it more amusing than anything.

-> But Knuckles well... he struggles. He doesn’t know what to do with someone like Rouge at first. She’s very different compared to the others and he doesn’t know how they’d work in a romantic sense at all.

-> Which in itself is an obstacle because Rouge fell for him first, so his rejection would hurt the worst.

-> For some time, they’re both walking on egg shells with each other.

-> Her lack of letting herself feel and be vulnerable and not being as blunt with her feelings as the rest of them are puts a strain between them. Knuckles is used to the two people he loves being upfront with him about their feelings. Rouge isn’t like that at all.

-> Knuckles is close to just giving up when the two of them get into a big argument and he questions if Rouge even like any of them or if she’s just doing this for fun. Rouge is already feeling more vulnerable than she’s ever felt in her life so she blurts out exactly how she feels about them. With tears and all, and it shocks out of all of them. It’s the first time any of them had seen her like that. Though this ends up being exactly what they needed to bridge that gap and luckily, in this argument, Knuckles was paying closer attention than in the previous ones. (Don’t worry they all hug and cuddle it out with a little bit more ugly crying coming from our lovable bat)

-> Honestly, Rouge entering their relationship challenges and changes Knuckles in many ways. Knuckles is affectionate towards the other two, but he recognizes that he needs to show Rouge that affection even more so, for her to feel safe opening up to him like that since her biggest flaw is that she fears rejection. Knuckles can’t read Rouge (It took him a while just to be able to read his boyfriends and that’s because they’re more upfront with him about their feelings) so in order for him to even begin to understand her, she needs to be able to talk to him.

-> And Knuckles does really care about her and wants to try harder before they decide to call it quits, now that they can actually get somewhere.

Jfc this was longer than I anticipated.

I’m gonna end it there, there's more to this but I might write this out fully one day if anything! Hope you liked them!

#my ot4 #idk what ship to tag this as xD #but yes #I LOVE ROUGE #MAN #MY GIRL DESERVES ALL THE BOYFRIENDS #even if she doesnt know how to handle them #asks

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plus-size-reader · 5 years

Text

The Captain

Killian Jones x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1602 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Reader is the daughter of an infamous pirate captain. When he passes, Killian decides to take her in and give her a place to belong.

———————————————————————————————————

Your father was regarded as one of the most well respected swashbucklers in any kingdom anywhere and stories of his bravery and adventures were told in every corner of the world.

The man was bigger than life itself and was a true wonder to behold and everyone he came in contact with would agree. Your father was somehow more impressive in person than in tales and you would attest to them all your days.

He had always been well loved and anywhere you went, you could find friends because of his many deeds and accomplishments.

In fact, he had made many friends throughout the years but none better than a young lad, Killian Jones.

Killian was a soldier turned pirate whom your father had taken in after the death of his brother. You, as the captain's daughter, had only seen him a few times but you'd heard countless stories about him throughout your life.

He was supposed to be very charming and handsome though you never thought much about the lore of sea dogs. Men tended to have inflated visions of themselves and you couldn't trust their crew not to lie about their appearance.

Whenever you thought about Killian though, it wasn't about his appearance.

You often wondered what kind of man he was that your father revered him so fondly. While your dad was a man of many talents and pleasures, he had never been warm and fuzzy...

But something about Killian always brought that smile to his face, and shone a glint in his eyes. There was something special about him for sure, though you doubted you'd ever be fortunate to find out what it was for yourself.

Until your father passed.

The news of his death spanned oceans and everyone who was anyone knew about it.

Everyone.

That included his favorite disciple, Killian who made it his own personal mission to take you under his wing after the man's death.

You were all alone in the world after your father's passing and there would be no better place for you than the open ocean, on a ship as you'd always been.

It was only right that he make sure you had a warm bed to sleep in and a hot meal on your table every night.

He owed that to your father, whether you liked it or not.

The only trouble was, it had been years since Killian had even seen you and he wasn't sure if you would want to become a part of his crew. Just because he felt a personal sense of duty toward you, didn't mean you would agree to his terms.

All Killian could do was sail to you, and hope you'd accept his proposal.

"Absolutely not" you sighed, looking at him like he was crazy. What Killian was suggesting was not only unorthodox, but it was unheard of.

There were a lot of unspoken rules within the pirate community and now that your father was dead, now that your captain was dead, you couldn't just go get another as if nothing happened.

There hadn't even been any discussion over what would happen to your father's ship or her crew. Now out of the blue, Killian was here to save the day. Why? Because dad was dead and there was no one to take care of little ole' Y/N.

Yeah right.

You didn't need him to make sure you were taken care of, you could provide for yourself just fine.

"Come on Y/N, think about it. You would have a high rank on my ship, your own quarters, and anything your heart desires" he assured, practically pleading with you to accept his offer.

You didn't know what kind of honor code he was working off of, but it was getting old and you had things you could be doing.

"Killian, no. I'm not joining your crew, why do you care what happens to me anyway?" you wondered, giving him that look of yours. He'd only seen it once before but he'd know it anywhere.

It was almost as if you were daring him to oppose you and damn, you were your father's daughter. He could see it more and more as you spoke and it was really starting to tug at his heart strings.

"Lord woman, Archibald would roll in his grave if he knew I left you here unprovided for and alone" he explained, using your father's name in only a way an old friend could have.

Sometimes you forgot what a huge difference your dad's influence made in Killian's life and it was difficult to get upset with him over that. He was just trying to do right by your father and you couldn't argue with that.

Besides, your father probably would be upset if you didn't take the striking man up on his offer.

So, due to the pressure of your dead father's approval, you agreed to join Killian on his ship as part of his crew. There were some ground rules that would need to be put in place and some important things to be discussed but at least Killian could rest easy knowing that you wouldn't go hungry.

It didn't hurt that you'd changed quite a lot since he'd last seen you. You'd always been adventurous and fun to be around but never had you come across quite so strong and beautiful before.

You'd really grown into your age and there was something absolutely stunning about you, not that Killian would ever admit it to your face. He could hardly get you to agree strictly based on your family ties alone, led alone if you knew he fancied you.

That would really elicit a reaction from you. It was clear that you weren't his biggest fan and he wasn't even sure why. There was something going on, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

And if there was one thing Killian was sure of, it was that you two could never bond with one another as long as there was something bothering you about him. He just wanted to know what he did to upset you.

So, Killian being Killian decided to just flat out ask you what was on your mind. It was much simpler than trying to guess over and over and getting it wrong.

“Is there a reason you’re fighting me so strongly? We both know that someone on that ship will keep her going but that isn’t you, so what harm would it do to let me help you?” he wondered, knowing that you were hiding something.

The question elicited a huff from you.

It was just like him to pretend that he didn’t know, though it was possible that he just didn’t realize. In either case, if he wanted to know so bad, then you’d tell him.

“A shadow...I’ve lived in your shadow all my life. The great Killian Jones, the finest pirate captain my father had ever seen in all his days” You started, your voice taking on this theatrical quality as you continued.

“I wanted to be a captain, I wanted to live up to that legend, but I never even came close-to you” there was so much defeat as the words left your lips but he didn’t understand.

Your father had done a lot for Killian over the years, and meant a lot to him but nothing could compare to the bond you two must have bad. You were his only child, his darling daughter...Killian couldn’t compare to that.

“You wanted to be a captain?” he whispered, under his breath to the point where you could barely make out the words, though you understood what he meant.

It was an outlandish dream, even for the daughter of such an infamous pirate. Women on pirate ships were seen as bad omens and no crew would ever follow a female captain...no matter who her father was.

Still, it had always been your dream. More than anything, you wanted to captain as great ship on the sea, doing as your father had always done.

You nodded, knowing that he must think that you’re an idiot. Any man who had ever found out about your desires had always made it abundantly clear that you didn’t have what it would take to do it.

Women weren’t capable of such a thing, they would say. It isn’t there place but you didn’t want to hear it. If Killian was just going to tell you the same thing, you didn’t have time for this conversation.

Instead though, he smiled.

“Well that’s simple enough, I’ll teach you. On my ship, the men will treat you as they treat me, and we can captain the Jolly Roger together” he offered, making it seem too good to be true.

There was no way Killian could guarantee his men’s acceptance of you, even if he didn’t have a problem with it. That being said, it seemed perfect. You would finally get a chance to captain a crew without the fear of a mutiny.

It was everything you’d ever wanted and Killian could tell that made you happy, bringing a smile to his own face once again.

“So, do we have a deal, Captain?” He hummed, reaching out to take your hand, which you gave him slowly. Without missing a beat, he leaned down to place a kiss on the back of your knuckles, sealing the deal with a kiss.

This man would be the death of you, or would it be the other way around? Either way, your father had gotten his way, even in death.

#killian jones #killian jones x ps reader #killian jones x plus size reader #captain hook #captain hook x plus size reader #captain hook x ps reader #ouat #ouat x plus size reader #ouat x ps reader #once upon a time #once upon a time x ps reader #once upon a time x plus size reader

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ton-e · 4 years

Text

Lol ok so I didn't wanna do aesthetics so I wanna brainstorm possible scenes instead

Ok so the premise is, basically, Viktor, an aspiring kid looking to enter this straining affair of the boxing world. He's young and impressionable and he's got something to say. Something that old underground New York pubs and junior gyms don't provide enough eco for.

Barnes, a big shot star in the 80s, is pretty much known as the best of the best there, holding the impressive score of 34-1. (Tho I don't know if it can count as a victory since he wasn't even there for the fight, anyway) but after a near fatal shooting which happened right before his big championship match with Rollins, a bullet piercing his right shoulder which leads to the amputation of his limb, he dissapears into the shadows. The world moves on.

I like the idea of Barnes being trained by Mary who was in his exact same spot years ago but had to give up her career to have Anthony which she doesn't regret! Between her heart problems and the growing annoyance of public attention, a baby is practically a blessing and if it puts Jarvis and Howie to rest then it's a bonus. (I also kind of like the idea of her having only losing once and it was against Maria lol)

And maybe Viktor goes to her first but, while she does seem fond, like she's looking at an old memory twice, she refuses. "Kid, I'm gonna tell you exactly what I told my old pain in the ass when he stood in your spot: I can't."

"Why?"

"Because us Carbonells train to kill, not fight. Alright, what you think boxing is, - this cookie-cutter bullshit version you kids have today? The civilized conversation, the heavy editing, the contracts promising defenses, - that doesn't mean shit. Apollo Creed had a contract.

Muhammed Ali had a contract. So did Jimmy Doyle, Frankie Cambell, and Brad Connels. A sheet of paper can't protect you from the ring, and I'm not having another kid on my conscience. Besides, these guys? They have purpose. Whether it's money, or sport, or just to chase the high - they have it. You just want the glory."

"Yeah? So what?" So what if he wants to be seen? So what if he's doing all of this hoping to impress? So what if he has to prove he's worth someone's time. "If I die I die. Big deal."

For some reason, he wants to both cry and retaliate at the look of pity that crosses her face. "Go home, kid. You're gonna break your momma's heart." Are his last words to him before she closes the door.

In a Viktor fashion, he does the exact opposite.

He likes the street fighting, - the vibrations under his fists, the crack of his bones, the violent taste of crimson metal blossoming in his mouth, it's liberating. He doesn't think about anything. It's just him and his adversary, not an enemy, just someone seeing him as Viktor sees them. That rush could ruin a man.

It doesn't hurt he's making pocket money on the side, either. Certainly better than watching some snotty kids or mowing laws, in his book.

No, what kind of hurts is seeing the sharp scrutiny in Aleksei's sharp eye and the soft disappointment uncovering Ryurik's Dad Stare when they come pick him up from the station.

He and his mother are alike a lot in that aspect, - really he's pretty sure the five, Sasha and him have had an agreement to collectively throw themselves off a cliff if they disappointed Ryurik in some way. A broken arm, bruised ribs, and black eye? Pale in comparison to what Ryurik's power really holds.

I refuse to believe Aleksei doesn't freely parent other people's kids sksk Aleksei only stops scolding him when a police officer says ''He's going to spend the first part of his life in the streets, and the other in the grave. I put my life on it." Well a certain fashion teacher is gonna design the outfit for your funeral BITCH-

"You're so damn lucky Talusha was busy digging her medicure through someone's intestines right now. Do you even know how bad you look right now? Of the mountain of trouble you're into? Are you? Viktor Iosef Novak, you look at me when I'm talking to you, -"

"Relax, relax, take it down to a two, " Viktor pushes back a laugh watching Ryurik placate his husband bc it's just cute, and ignores the shush river of Russian pet names bc they're not for him to hear. It makes him feel vulnerable tho, that Ryurik feels the need to somehow hold Aleksei back. He can take the heat just fine.

He can take it and give it just as good, because every battle he's been into before has been on his own name. But this is harder because it was never a fight, to begin with.

Fighting is easy. Stopping is harder.

It doesn't stop feeling bad when Sasha bandages his wounds and his back doesn't cool town from the target five pair of eyes fixate on. Yasha's burn the hardest thought. "The fuck you looking at?" He playfully glares, the good part of his shoulder bumping against the other boy's, who tries to small but it lifts with a strain.

"An idiot."

"Are you looking for a mirror?"

"Fuck you, Vitya."

"Hard pass."

"Okay, Viktor you're not getting away that easy, " Ronin says, arms still bound tightly around Antoska's slender shoulders and Sasha's frail middle. Despite his easy going tone, Viktor uncovers the touch of concern underneath. "Why can't you just ask your mom to teach you? Or Papa? I mean, you want to be on a knuckle sandwich diet be my guest, but it's not really good for digestion from what I hear."

"It's not the same. Your father knows another kind of style."

'He doesn't want to learn from mom and uncle Ryurik because she's a girl,' Sasha signes irritably, eyes making an impressive tumble. 'My brother, the 14 year old, making sexist comment. What a never heard of fact.'

"I didn't say that!" He exclaims, flushed. Hissing when Natalia kicks him in the tender bruise he sports on his hip. "I just said, that I want to learn boxing! And that's not the same thing as what Ma does, or you guys do. Boxing is special. But if I can't learn from Barnes specifically, then there's no point!"

The red head huffs in indignation. "Okay, so, boo hoo, some washed-up Rocky Balboa doesn't want to train you. You have options, V. People give up over worse."

He doesn't feel like being home anymore, so he flees, the call outs to his name going ignored. in the street or just outside, he doesn't know. He just knows red follows him, that concrete shakes under the stomp of his heel and that the wetness on his cheeks freezes on his face. No one gets it, no one gets HIM. It hurts, that a part of him, the part that tells him he's worthless and insignificant and forgetful , really does think Barnes has better things to do than train him.

A sleek car, long, vintage, a touch too expensive for the streets he's haunting right now, stops beside him. He continues. It follows him, engines unusually quiet.

"Mr. Novak?" A deep voice, subdued, but persuasive nonethelesss coerces him into stopping. The windows roll down, revealing a man with a smile too friendly to be true and eyes too kind to be nondeceiving. "My name is Alexander Pierce. And I happen to have an irresistible offer."

"It's in the process of extension, " Pierce expresses later, as he leads Viktor through the underground fighting bar. Its practically a huge stadium in a molehill and his mind struggles to compute how Pierce pulled it off. "I'm looking for capable young talents to craft into tomorrow's brightest stars. I'm assuming you've heard of Rumlow before?"

"Crossbones? 23-2? Yeah, I heard. He's currently heavyweight champ, right?" Barnes should have been, he wants to say, but reading the room better he thinks against it. "I don't... Actually think I've seen him around much. Maybe since '98, but that's his most recent match. What's ... Up with that?"

"He's kept that belt around him for closer than two decades. Id say its time for some adjuments in the records, don't you agree?" He doesn't like it when Pierce smiles. Bad things happen when he smiles, of that Viktor is certain. "That being said. I think you could be our following breakthrough. What do you say? I'd love to see a performance. "

"I'd be surprised if you guys had a Juniors league." He snorts, expecting a smart retort, but all he gets is a sinister grin. All of a sudden he's in the ring, without even noticing he was moved, and before him stands a beast of a man, two heads taller and promise of pain in his eyes. "... What juice do you give this kid?"

"You're charismatic. You'll need that in this world. He's your adversary for tonight. I'd suggest an old fashioned glove bump for the sake of sport, but, seeing as you're barehanded id advise against it. "

"You can't do that, " nervousness bubbles in his throat. "That's against the rules. I can't fight like that."

"Oh! Don't worry. You don't have to fight. You just have to die."

The last time Rumlow sees Barnes is on a stretcher, arm bathed in blood and with the press around an ambulance.

He doesn't know what they were. Fuck buddies to almost friends to friends with benefits? He doesn't know what he had, but he knows he lost it. All he has is a sheet of paper with scratched blue ink, digits that no longer call, and some gold on leather.

"You should treat that belt with more respect. " Rollins scolds him. Rumlow uses it as feet rest next, and doesn't flinch at the sharp slap he receives. Instead, he smiles mockingly, lower lip sticking out in a tempting pout.

"Hit a bit harder next time and maybe it'll be half close to how Barnes used to do it. Just because it felt good with him doesn't mean you'll receive the same response." The pout slips into a smile that drinks into the frustration sizzling around the air. "Besides, I don't listen to cowards, Jackie. Thought we established that."

"Oh, please. Are you ever going to let that go? I ain't gonna repeat it a thousand times till you get It through that hard head of yours, but I didn't shoot your boy toy."

'' I didn't say you shot him. Pussy like yourself, I'm thinking you hired someone. Why did you do it? Hm? Were you that scared to fight him that you wanted to kill him? Hell, I don't blame you. Man sprints like Ali and serves like Creed. "

It's Jack's turn to return that grin, that fucking blood-curling grin. " Used to, for sure. Remember when he fucked up your pretty face in '84. Now? He's a street rat barely getting by, sniffing after junk and scraps just to stay alive. Must be hard to think about, I guess, that he used to give it so good and now he can't even hold you, can't he? Not with his cripple self. "

The beer can in Rumlow's hand spills over. Neither comment. "I ain't afraid of no half-man, Brocky, " Honey-sweet words make him sick. He wants to kick Jack out, but they both know he won't stay away, and that Rumlow won't keep him away. He's too dependent on him at this point. "And not stupid enough to think he's coming back."

"... You're right. You're not afraid to fight him. You've got a lot of words worth to point the finger at, but chicken shit? Ain't one of them. You know what I think?" Rumlow sits back, smirk wide and nasty, contradicting the sadness on his tongue, the venom, the tired. " I think you were afraid to be him. That he just? Didn't give a shit. Just like I did. That he could fuck me whenever and wherever he damn well pleased without giving a shit about who had something to say about it.

You were afraid I'd say something about you, even if we both damn well know that never happened, that he found out. I think you were terrified he was gonna tell the world Jack Rollins was a faggot just like his daddy."

He can't snapshot the moment his body makes contact to the floor. He doesn't count the punches either, letting them numb over his face, no longer present for the beating. At around one point, his neck snaps to the TV screen, in sync with Jack ceasing his onslaught, and his eyeballs follow his stunned gaze.

Rumlow can recall the time Barnes lost his right hand.

And he'll brain engrave the image of him kncoking some goon out with his left.

#yeah its rushed but jsjsjs #i was impatient T-T hope this is half decent :>#earth 518 #boxing au #viktor soklov #mary #aleksei vasilliev #aleksei orlov #ryurik orlov #yasha orlov #natalia orlov #ronin orlov #sasha nikolaeva #talia novak #barnes #rumlow #barneslow #tw homophobia #tw slurs

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nitewrighter · 5 years

Text

Of Blades and Broomsticks Pt. XV

I have no excuse. Have some Widowmaker in a Lestat cosplay.

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 11, 12, 13, 14

Read it on AO3 here.

----

“Seek me if you have the sight.”

“Meet me at the city gates if you’re in.”

“What’s out there?”

The inscription on the cell, the words of the self-proclaimed hunter, and Pharah’s own hunger for answers rang in her head all night, round and round, swapping off with each heartbeat in her ear. Thankfully the continuous exhaustion from trying to cobble Adlersbrunn together kept her from tossing and turning, but she remembered the witch hunter Gabriel in her dreams.

You wish to help me you will be walking a gray and dangerous path. Dogs guard flocks of sheep from wolves, but all dogs were wolves once.

If there is evil in our midst, to treat it with indifference is to enable its existence.

Pharah woke in the dark pre-dawn hours with a sour hunger in her bones. She looked around her bare room, then looked to her window. The moon was shining brightly that night, but the smoke staining the glass rendered it brownish yellow. Pharah wondered if the scent of smoke--not the smoke of a blacksmith forge, but the searing, sometimes sulfurous smoke of magic---would ever leave Adlersbrunn.

Still so much work to do... It would be very easy, she thought, To let him leave. To keep working on rebuilding the town here. To hope vagabonds like him are enough to keep whatever’s lurking out in the shadows at bay.

She furrowed her brow and looked to the adder stone she kept on her bedside table. No. She wouldn’t leave it like this. And she certainly wasn’t going to leave this situation in the hands of an excommunicated rogue. She rose to her feet, cleaned herself in her washbasin, put on her cleanest, strongest armor, and scrawled out a missive for her fellow guards, establishing the new chain of command in her absence. She sealed the missive with wax and set it on her table in the chamber of the captain of the guards. She wrote another, shorter, more sentimental letter for Torbjörn as well, and left that one on the desk of the castle’s man-at-arms. She packed a few days of supplies for herself and her horse, then mounted a bay rouncey and rode for the city gates.

True to his word, Jehoshaphat Maccrea of Helsing was waiting by the city gates in the mists of the following dawn. She didn’t like the smirk he gave her.

“I like you,” he said as they rode out of Adlersbrunn, leaving the stone of the city walls behind them and heading out into the surrounding farmland.

“And how did you decide that?” said Pharah.

“I like to think everyone’s got that hunger, that curiosity--it’d be too easy to lie down and let death take you otherwise, but few really follow it through to the end,” said Jesse.

“Would you still like me if I had chosen to stay behind?”

“Well I’d respect you, gotta respect anyone who protects their own, but it wouldn’t really matter if I liked you, would it? I’d be long gone.”

Pharah frowned a little, “I suppose so,” she said, looking off.

“I think it makes things more pleasant to like one’s traveling companion, don’t you?”

“I don’t have to like you,” said Pharah.

“It’d make things nicer if you did,” said Jesse with an easy smile.

“I wouldn’t be riding with an excommunicated scoundrel unless it meant making sure what happened to my city never happens again,” said Pharah.

“Scoundrel?” Jesse repeated.

“Yes, scoundrel. It sort of comes with the whole ‘excommunicated’ thing,” said Pharah.

“That is exactly the kind of black and white thinking that’s gonna get you killed out there,” said Jesse.

“I thought you said you’d probably die if you didn’t have me backing you up?” said Pharah.

“I probably would,” Jesse conceded.

“That’s morbid,” said Pharah as they rode past a pumpkin patch. She wondered if it was the one they found the blood in.

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to be as honest as I can with you?” said Jesse.

Pharah furrowed her brow and readjusted herself in her saddle.

“This is why I don’t have to like you,” said Pharah, looking straight forward as they rode.

“That’s why I like you,” said Jesse with a smirk. She didn’t like that smirk.

-----

Mercy woke the morning after the banquet in a haze of half-sleep. The moans coming from the courtyard of the monastery from the cultists’ revelries lasted into the gray light of dawn. She did her best to try and push what was going on to the back of her consciousness, to treat it like the night birds of the woods or the wind blowing through the trees, but she knew the forests of Adlersbrunn were far behind her now.

She rose up to a seated position in bed and looked out her window. A part of her was regretting leaving such a remote sanctuary as this, especially with so much still to learn from its library, but at the same time, the previous night had confirmed her feelings that she didn’t really have a place here. The monastery had the feel of a swirling vortex, like the dark portals Zenyatta could summon--and the flame of creation within her thrashed against that void like a wild bird caged. She washed and dressed herself, then proceeded to the library of the monastery for one last look through for anything that might help her better understand the Flame of Creation--a long shot, in a temple to the void, but a shot worth making all the same.

Her perusing though the shelves of the library was half-distracted by her own plans for the journey. She knew she and Genji had agreed to go west, and the Monastery sat on some grim black sea cliffs that.. treacherous as they were, would at least provide a decent amount of visual reference of the area for them to make significant headway in their journey--easier than wandering through the woods, at least. She decided would swing by the refectory for some supplies for their journey when she next met up with Genji. She wondered if he would want human food of if he would prefer to take the form of a sparrowhawk and just swoop up whatever unfortunate creature he could for convenience’s sake. He was certainly strong enough to help carry some supplies--no, no, he was her protector, not her porter. She would carry her pack for herself.

She was distractedly looking at the illustration in some text of what was supposedly erotic Enochian poetry but just looked like a mass of wings and eyes and circles when Junkenstein suddenly stumbled, swaying as he brought himself to his full height.

Oh that’s right, she thought, with a brief beat of ‘Oh gods, what’s going to happen,’ He was at the banquet too.

“Hoo!” Junkenstein stretched his arms above his head, “What a night!”

Mercy bit the inside of her lip and smiled a little as he walked over. A bit relieved that this was another instance in which she could trust Junkenstein to be Junkenstein.

“You enjoyed the banquet?” said Mercy, glancing up.

“Well that was... anthropologically fascinating. Not a religious man myself but... I understand the appeal.”

Mercy just grinned. “How did they take to your creation?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Oh they like him. I got so much data on his...” Junkenstein cleared his throat, “Social capabilities.”

“Really?” said Mercy.

“Well they aren’t picky about tentacles, so I imagine there’s not a whole lot they are picky about,” said Junkenstein, “And if he has the approval of old Squidface, they’re all over him.”

“Well that’s good,” said Mercy, “I do worry about him... I suppose I worry about all of us having a place in this world...”

“I had to shovel some of them off of him this morning,” said Junkenstein, “Tragically he rolled over on one but, y’know with all the stabbing they do, they don’t get all that upset about that sort of stuff.”

“You still want to leave with us?” said Mercy.

“I told you, you wouldn’t last a second without us,” said Junkenstein, smiling, “Just... don’t mind me if I’m walking funny for the next few days. Well.. funnier than usual.” Junkenstein paused, “You and the demon took off soon as the meal was over, didn’t you?”

“Well after all the excitement back in Adlersbrunn, I didn’t really have the energy for all that revelry,” said Mercy.

“Right, and you certainly weren’t sneaking off for some moments of privacy with the demon you keep insisting to me that you can’t trust.”

“He was just making sure I made it back safely to my chambers,” said Mercy, folding her arms.

“Suuuuuure,” said Junkenstein with a wink.

“He was!” said Mercy.

“Nothing happened, I mean--I was covering my face and he kissed my knuckles but that was it. We went to bed---or I went to bed and he... I don’t know. He just flies off at night sometimes. Maybe he turned into a wolf and ate some rabbits or something.”

“You’re joking,” said Junkenstein.

“Look, my cat broke a tea leaf pot, we worked out a deal, he held up his end of the deal, and I spat some blood into his mouth so he wouldn’t die, that doesn’t mean we’re soulmates--”

“Conveniently leaving out the dramatic rescue (with help from yours truly, of course), riding him in dragon form out of the city---”

“Sprouting wings...” Mercy admitted.

“Sprouting wings!” Junkenstein pointed an accusing finger at her, “Not to mention all the dancing by the light of the cultist fires---”

“What is your point, Jamison?”

“You’re in deep, Gramercy. I know you. You make a point of not getting in deep with anyone, and as your friend I think I have a responsibility to let you know when you are a lot more emotionally involved with someone than you’re telling yourself you are---especially when, as you said, we may have broken something, we may be kicking off something big that none of us has any control over. And I think we should all be on the same page if we’re going to be traveling together---”

He was cut off by the sound of the door opening, not with the usual grunting of whoever was pushing it open. Both Mercy and Junkenstein looked up to see Zenyatta at the doorway of the library. He hadn’t even pushed on the door, but it had opened for him. Perhaps the stone of this monastery obeyed him just as loyally as any of the cultists.

“Witch,” Zenyatta spoke to Mercy, the tentacles of his face slowly shifting with thought, “A word?”

Mercy looked at Junkenstein.

“Don’t let me hold you up,” said Junkenstein with a shrug, “I’ll keep making the preparations.”

Mercy nodded and walked out of the library.

-----

“So you and Genji are departing?” said Zenyatta as they walked on the cliffs outside the monastery, the white waves and green brackish water crashing on the black rocks below.

“With your permission, of course,” said Mercy, “Genji is my protector, but he was your student before that. I would hate to undermine that. And it is nice to have a place to stay where I’m not too worried of being burned at the stake. But seeing as I am not a cultist myself I don’t want to impose too much on your hospitality.”

“You have my permission--” said Zenyatta, “There are few places you or Genji could travel in this plane that I wouldn’t know where you were.”

A long pause passed between them.

“Was there something in particular you wished to discuss?” asked Mercy.

“Earlier this morning I asked Genji a few questions about the nature of your relationship---what his plans for the future were. He stated that, as payment for his protection, you would give him your first-born.”

“...That was our deal, yes,” said Mercy, pausing to pick some samphire from a cleft in one of the black rocks.

“And are you aware that I have known the Goddess Satya for longer than mankind has walked the earth? And you can assume, thusly, that I was there when we both gathered our first worshippers?”

“I... I can assume that, yes,” said Mercy.

“And as such I am aware of both the abilities and the physical limitations of those who bear Satya’s flame of creation,” said Zenyatta. His voice deepened and suddenly seemed to surge around her like water , “No seed of man can flourish in a field of fire.”

Another long pause passed before Mercy drew herself to her full height.

“Have you told Genji?” she asked calmly.

“That you cannot give him a first-born? No. No, I haven’t,” said Zenyatta, looking out to the ocean, “I am his teacher, but I find some of the hardest lessons are the ones he must learn on his own. I suggest you break the news to him. Do it on your own terms while you still can.”

“I will,” said Mercy.

“Will you?” Zenyatta’s tentacles tensed.

“The only reason I lied in the first place was because--well, I suppose since he was a demon, I assumed he wouldn’t keep his word, so there was no more harm in me not keeping mine. But he saved my life, he protected me, true to his word. So I will tell him,” she bit the inside of her lip, “When the time’s right.”

“Do you fear his wrath?” said Zenyatta.

“I don’t know,” said Mercy, “He’s always going on about how dangerous he is, and his swift and mighty sword but...” Mercy huffed, “I think I fear hurting him, more--but---that’s silly, isn’t it? I mean, isn’t it more horrible of him to want a newborn baby? He’s probably going to--to-eat it or something, isn’t he?”

“He wouldn’t eat it,” said Zenyatta.

“You know why he wants one?” said Mercy.

“I do,” said Zenyatta.

“You must tell me what for!” said Mercy.

“That is for him to tell you,” said Zenyatta, “Just as this is for you to tell him.”

“For an all-knowing god, that isn’t very helpful,” said Mercy, folding her arms.

“As is the case with most gods, ‘All-knowing’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘helpful,’” said Zenyatta.

Mercy heard a screech and turned her head to see a handsome silvery skua diving amongst the waves. It wheeled in the white foam, then seemed to catch sight of them and swoop toward them with a cry. The skua swept in overhead, turned in a somersault, and then shape-shifted into a scarred man in black and purple cultist robes, landing lightly on his feet.

“I was wondering where you two were!” said Genji, stretching his arms above his head. “I’ve missed the brisk sea air of your monastery, Master, it saddens me to leave it. But the world calls me--does it not call you, Witch?”

“There is a lot to learn out there,” said Mercy.

“If you have a journey, you have a journey,” said Zenyatta, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You will always have a place here.”

“Thank you, Master,” said Genji, before smiling and looking at Mercy, “And what of you, Witch? Are you ready to leave as well?”

Mercy tucked her hair back and found she was gripping the samphire she had plucked with white knuckles, “I--yes--yes I am,” she said, looking up at Genji.

----

“Remind me again, the point of this,” said Gabriel as he and Moira stood in an ornate septagonal chamber. The chamber had six mirrors, one on each wall, with the exception of the wall containing the door they had just walked through to enter.

“You now walk a line between two worlds, Gabriel,” said Moira, walking to the mirror closest to them, “If we are to free you from the witch’s magic, we will need the help of others who walk that same line.”

Gabriel would have frowned if his pumpkin head was capable of any other expression.

“We’re bringing more demons into this?” said Gabriel, “More damned?”

“If the flame of creation is ignited and spreading in the mortal world, then war is coming. A war between the seen and unseen. We will need allies,” said Moira.

“I was already fighting that war,” said Gabriel.

“You were a child digging a line in a sand to catch the waves washing in amongst his ankles. The tide is coming in now,” said Moira, putting a hand to the glass, “I doubt your god is on your side now, so you will have to make do with me.”

The glass seemed to shift and melt under her touch, their reflections dissolving into darkness and mist. Moira held out her other hand to him and he took it, and they both took a few brisk steps through. There was a sound like the last bits of water in a tub rushing down the drain, and then a brief dipping sensation, like reaching the bottom of the stairs, expecting floor, and finding there was another stair, and then they found themselves on a stone threshold in a high-ceilinged stone room. There was a guard slumped against the wall, dressed in a fine uniform of black velvet and partially leaning on his halberd like a drunkard on a lamppost. He shook himself up to attention as Gabriel’s boots thudded clumsily on the stone floor and he flinched hard at the sight of Moira.

“Oh merde--” he drew a horn from the interior of his cloak and blew it in a stumbling fanfare. Four other guards suddenly charged into the room, halberds at the ready and looked genuinely stunned at the appearance of Moira and Gabriel. He had a corpse-like scent hanging about him that Gabriel thought should bother him more than it did. He noticed his sense of smell was a lot stronger now than it had been when he was alive. He didn’t like it. He couldn’t shut out senses to sleep--he wasn’t even sure if he could sleep anymore.

“Announce my arrival to your comtesse and have her gather her court,” said Moira.

“Th-The comtesse is indisposed---” the guard stammered.

“Do you know why she had this mirror in her chateau?” said Moira, stepping forward.

“Y-yes, Madame, but--”

“But? But what?”

There was a brief tense silence in the room.

“But... the last time you were here was, according to the records, 114 years ago,” said another guard.

“And?” said Moira, “Was there an expiration date set on the terms of her recognition of my sovereignty?”

“N-no, Madame--”

“Then have her gather her court,” said Moira.

“You heard our honored guest,” said another voice, smoky and smirking. There was a purple flash and guards parted to reveal a woman in an armored doublet and a black hood. She seemed to be fussing with the last buckles of her doublet, and a few stray strands of dark hair hung out from under her hood, as if she had just been roused from bed. Human. Gabriel could smell it on her, warm, and distinct from the rest of the guards. He could smell a faint stench of death on her too, but it clung to her skin like a lover. He could smell magic on her, too, but not like the Witch, more like the metallic smell that issued off of his own adder stone after he had it for years.

“Who are you?” said Moira.

“I serve the comtesse. Come with me,” said the woman, walking out of the room. Moira and Gabriel followed after,

“You would think the comtesse would keep her estate in better condition,” murmured Moira, “Guards in disarray... food lying around...”

All of the guards escorting them toward the throne room suddenly stopped. The woman glanced over her shoulder at Moira and Gabriel.

“What?” said Moira.

One of the guards leaned close to the hooded woman, “What would you have us do, Spymaster?”

The spymaster shrugged, “She is visiting royalty. Let her have her words. They reflect more on her than on me. Just continue escorting our guests to the throne room.”

“Spymaster?” Moira repeated, incredulously, “Since when would the comtesse keep a human spymaster?!”

“We’re very progressive here,” said the spymaster, a smile in her voice.

There was a brief second where Moira’s eyes flashed yellow, cruel and dead like ghost lights, and a few white streaks suddenly threaded through her hair, but she seemed to regain her composure and her eyes and hair returned to normal.

“Hard to keep the glamour up when you’re mad, huh?” said the spymaster, as they continued down the halls.

“I know saplings older than you, little insect,” Moira scowled.

“Invite them to court, then,” said the Spymaster, pushing open two massive doors into a throne room.

The comtesse sat on a throne in the center of the room, a guard at either side of her. Her skin was deathly white, her lips were red and wet, her eyes were yellow as an owl’s, and her black hair was tied back in a loose and low ponytail in a red velvet ribbon. She wore a loose white shirt, the frilled collar of it plunging to her sternum, and high-waisted black trousers. She leaned her head against the knuckles of her hand, looking like all patience was already exhausted by the time court was called.

“Queen Máire. It has been some time,” said the comtesse, not making any movement to rise from her seat as the spymaster took her place at her side.

“Comtesse Amélie,” Moira bowed.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” asked Amélie.

“Would that I could have called in happier times, comtesse,” Moira started.

“Only had 114 years,” the spymaster whispered into the comtesse’s ear and the comtesse snickered.

Moira briefly bristled but continued, ignoring the slight. “I’m sure by now you have already heard of the events at Adlersbrunn,” she said.

“Yes,” said the Comtesse, “My spymaster is very good at keeping me abreast of the news of the world.”

“Then you know that that news shall spread. It spreads faster in shadows but soon, more mortal ears will hear of it, and more weapons will be drawn against us,” Moira gestured at Gabriel, “I have with me the first casualty of the war to come--bound by magic in servitude to a human, denied the dignity of death.”

“So the pumpkin’s not a fashion choice?” said the spymaster, leaning against the throne.

“This is a perversion of what magic is supposed to be!” said Moira, gesturing at Gabriel, “This is pain and suffering, wrought by human hands!”

Thanks, thought Gabriel, who would have rolled his eyes if his pumpkin head allowed it.

“And it was wrought by the flame of creation,” said Moira, “Something never meant for a human to wield!”

The comtesse sat up in her seat slightly, apparently more interested now. “The flame of creation hasn’t been snuffed out?”

“It nearly was, but apparently it has been passed down, from human witch to human witch,” said Moira, “I can see through the eyes of crow and hare and hound, but you, comtesse, have far more eyes on wings. If the flame of creation is spreading through the world, then that means this world will re-make itself. It means that war is coming. And I would ask for your allegiance in the war that is to come. Lend me your eyes. Join your strength with mine, and we may survive it.”

The comtesse kept a steady, yellow-eyed look at Moira and Gabriel, and then sat up in her seat slightly. She put a hand on the shoulder of her spymaster and they shared a few whispers. The spymaster shook her head and the comtesse seemed thoughtful for a few seconds, then whispered something more to the spymaster. The spymaster gave a shrugging concession and the comtesse seemed satisfied before turning her attention back to Moira and Gabriel.

“I do not deny that a war is coming, my Queen,” said the comtesse, sitting up in her seat in a bit more stately fashion, “However, my kind can endure through war, and it has endured by not drawing attention to itself. We will clean up the bodies, we will keep ourselves fed, perhaps even grow our ranks in the bloodshed that is to come, but only a few of my kind can even walk in daylight-and we have come to far more...” she glanced at her spymaster, “Symbiotic relations with the humans in our land rather than isolating ourselves. War may be coming, but I will not seek it. Not until it is fully necessary.”

“But our allegiance--” Moira started.

“Was one of non-aggression,” said the Comtesse, “I remember the terms well. But my duty is to my people, first and foremost. Surely your majesty understands that?”

“Of course,” said Moira through gritted teeth.

“Is there any other way I may be of service to you, your majesty?” asked the comtesse.

“No,” Moira’s voice was sharp and brittle.

“You are welcome to stay in the château for as long as--”

“I have my own estate,” said Moira, drawing herself up to her full height, “I thank you for your time.”

“I understand. Guards, see to it that her majesty finds her way back to the mirrorgate,” said the comtesse, “It’s been an honor, Queen Máire.”

“Lady Amélie,” Moira said with a bow before turning on her heel and walking out with Gabriel and the guards.

Gabriel didn’t say anything as they were guided back to the room with the mirror in it. And he found it prudent not to mention the streaks of white that where threading through Moira’s hair with fury as they walked. They stepped back through the mirror with little ceremony and after another stomach-turning trip through darkness, found themselves back in the septagonal room of Moira’s own underground queendom.

“Well...” said Gabriel folding his arms, “That was a wash.”

“It wasn’t,” said Moira, looking back in the mirror and inhaling to bring her hair back to its previous red shade.

“Please tell me we aren’t going to try the other five mirrors,” said Gabriel.

“No, not yet. I believe it should be very easy to convince the Comtesse to see our view of things,” said the Moira.

“She sounded pretty sure of herself back there,” said Gabriel.

“There’s more than one way to make your point,” said Moira, alighting a violet sphere of black magic in one hand.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” said Gabriel.

“I said I would help break the magic binding you, Gabriel,” said Moira, “I didn’t say you would like it.”

#gency #roadrat #spiderbyte #witch mercy au

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thismightbewynn · 5 years

Text

Wahoo, saw some of @deniigi‘s lightening prompts and the little impulse gremlin in my head yanked my chain and here we are, let’s go wahoo!!! I did go a little hamwild with it though so big oopsies there but also I regret nothing and so I will not apologize! Very long though, so I’mma slam dunk some of this under a read more.

“Foggy,” he nudged lightly. “Foggy. Foggy, Foggy.”

The accused raised his brow.

��What?”

“Take it back, Foggy.”

And back down the brow goes. Up went the corners of his lip.

“Naahhh.”

This guy. Ugh.

“You’re disgracing me, Foggy,” he said, without even a little bit of pouting. Not even draping himself over a door frame or anything. Certainly no theatrics. “Slandering my name.”

“Denial is just the beginning, Mattias Murdock,” Foggy said into his cup, as if covering his smile would work on a blind man’s perception.

“My name is not Mattias.” A pause. “And I’m not old. Take it back.”

“Okay, Matteo. I believe you.”

That wasn’t taking it back. That was active disbelief and dismissal. These were things he could not have; not on his dignity, and certainly not on what little was left of his life.

He had little life left to live, not because he was old, but because he was going to die young, burning out fast and dancing forever. Probably in the river somewhere, actually, but his poor life choices weren’t the issue here. The issue here was Foggy’s refusal to withdraw his poor opinions, despite the stellar counterpoints Matt had beautifully presented just now.

It’s whatever, though. It’s fine. If his word wasn’t enough for this argument, then he’ll just find someone else to support him. It can’t be any harder than finding a witness for court.

Spidey was doing a wonderful job. Great work, really. He didn’t know what was going on, since he came with zero context and bags of ulterior motive, but it sounded like general crime fighting with a hint of reptile. It also sounded like he was just wrapping up.

He did something that was probably a salute. He couldn’t keep track, nowadays. Spidey was constantly trying out different salutes from a list he’d compiled from all four corners of the world wide web. He was on a quest to find the ones best suited to make him look cool and respectable, he explained when Daredevil asked what all the hand waving was about. He tried out a different one every week because he was weighing the public’s reactions to them.

The public was confused but charmed by it. Matt, being part of the public by day, was not immune to this effect. Apparently nobody was.

“I love you, officer.”

He pumped his chest twice and did the salute of the week again.

“I… sure, you too.”

The officer awkwardly imitated him. Spidey’s heart beamed with joy.

“Well, I gotta go now. Take care, ¡adios!” He saluted again before he left. The officer’s responding heartbeat indicated surprise. Spidey had likely literally disappeared again.

“Why are you here?” he whispered, without really whispering at all. He was awful at it, despite attempts to teach him otherwise. He’d get the hang of it sooner or later, regardless.

“Just conducting a private survey,” he said, turning around, cane rhythmically tapping against the sidewalk.

“If this is about your costume, you look like if Shadow was designed to imitate Knuckles instead of Sonic.”

Matt had no idea what any of those words meant in that order. He made no plans to understand or pretend to understand. There were more important things at hand.

“Spider-Man,” he started. “What was your first impression of me?”

“Honestly? Cool but scary. I thought you were gonna accuse me of murder and I’d be, like, yessir that sounds about right.”

“And now?”

“Uh, can I say something first?”

“Go ahead.”

He paused in thought, carefully chewing on the offered silence that was to fuel his thought process. That was good. Thoughtfulness and honesty was important for testimonies. They were also important in general, but right now, he was looking for a testimony, so whatever.

Spidey’s heart beat steadily.

“I know it’s easier said than done, but you shouldn’t care too much about what other people think. I mean, obviously it’s important, but I think being able to back yourself up is just as important. Like, it’s great if other people believe in you, but you gotta do it too. Self esteem, you know?”

Aww.

Useless for what he came for, but.

Aww.

“That’s great,” he said. “But not what I’m looking for.”

Spidey sighed something tired.

“Well?” Matt pushed.

“Honestly, you’re a grumpy old man.”

That was worse than useless. That was actively detrimental to his case.

“Wish you weren’t grumpy, though, but maybe old people are just like that.”

Said the kid who put way too much research into salutes. And also, he’s not old. Goodbye.

“The fuck are you asking me for?”

The younger the individual, the more valuable their opinion to how old he wasn’t. If he asked someone older than him, of course they wouldn’t call him old out of bias. If he asked someone of the same age, he would sacrifice what little was left of his dignity between them. It had to be one of the wee ones.

“I’m conducting a private survey.”

Wade squinted. Matt pretended not to notice.

“I’m not asking you. I’m asking Eleanor.”

“You know everyone’s old to her, right?”

What--

How did he--

Whatever, it’s not important. His opinion doesn’t matter right now, he’s not a wee one.

“Knock yourself out, dude.”

Eleanor Camacho had too much brutal honesty in her. It was borderline rude. His heart was bruised and she didn’t even give a shit. She had an elaborate, extravagant torture system thinly disguised as a training regimen for her small brigand of action figures. Little did they know, they were not saviors, but puppets meant to wreak havoc for their small, merciless god. Anything or anyone who interrupted her was the scum of the earth, and was treated as such.

Of course her opinion was skewed. She was upset. People generally don’t say the nicest of truths when they’re upset.

This wasn’t working. He needed to find someone in a good mood.

MILES: hey, did i say something wrong??

MILES: whatever it is i’m sorry

MILES: nevermind, foggy just told me you’re having an aging crisis

MILES: good to know you’re okay though!!

MATT: I am not having an aging crisis and Foggy is a liar. And yes I am perfectly okay thank you for noticing.

MILES: don’t worry dude, you’ll get over it!

MATT: Miles I just said I’m okay.

MILES: i freak out every birthday because growing means more responsibilities, but that’s a crisis that just runs out after i have some cake

MILES: and like, you’re done growing, so that’s it! these are all the responsibilities you have and you already know how to handle them. so i guess my advice is to get some cake

MILES: or something that is not cake, i don’t know what your tastebuds like. maybe you like to eat raw fish i don’t know

MATT: Miles, I appreciate what you are saying, but that is not the problem and you are not helping.

MILES: what’s the problem then?

MILES: is it because foggy said you’re old? because i’m sorry but he’s right

MILES: actually i’m not apologizing for telling the truth. you’re old, man

MATT: I’m going to block you.

MILES: you always say that but you never do it and honestly i don’t think you know how

MILES: you know why that is? it’s because you’re old and that means you’re technologyphobic

MILES: don’t worry, peter is old too but he’s not technologyphobic because he’s a nerd. you can ask him how to block me, i won’t mind! i just hope you can figure out how to unblock me on your own lol

MILES: i won’t judge if you have to ask peter how to unblock me too, you old people gotta stick together

MILES: no response? gone to ask peter how to use the youth gadgets your old man brain cannot comprehend i see

MATT: Miles is becoming too bold for his own good.

PETER: did he call you old? That’s okay he calls me old too, it’s like the opposite of making fun of how young he is.

PETER: also i heard about your aging crisis from him and honestly? Good luck dude

That was a private survey. It was supposed to be private. He remembered saying it was a private survey.

PETER: may says that you can defeat feeling old by acknowledging that time passes and figuring out why being old feels like a personal attack to your emotional security

This was the worst. This was exactly why that survey was private. He made a silent pact to himself not to ask Miles anything ever again.

MATT: I see where Miles gets his bad influence from.

PETER: don’t blame me when miles gets all his advice from may

PETER: he says mine is faulty and full of holes which i guess is fair but like ouch you know?

MATT: No, I don’t.

MATT: Also, while I have you here, what was your first impression of me?

PETER: i’m not participating in this bye feel better soon

MATT: Peter answer the question

MATT: Peter hey

MATT: PETER

He was mourning the ongoing death of his youth and vitality.

“Are… Are you okay?”

SAM. SAMUEL. DEAREST SAMUEL BLINDSPOT CHUNG. FINALLY, A YOUTH HE CAN TRUST.

He immediately abandoned his mourning activities.

“Sam,” he said, with much urgency, leaning his weight against his palms on the desk. Sam’s spine straightened to attention.

“Yeah?”

“What was your first impression of me?”

“Uh. I don’t know, mostly just scared shitless? But also really, really excited.” A pause. “And then mostly respect after that.”

Good, good. No mention of old age.

“And now?” he continued eagerly.

“Uhhhhhhhhhhh.” Sam creeped backwards. “Uhhhhhhh. You know what? I’m just gonna. Go. Think about my answer. And then come back later when I have it.”

NO. SAM. COME BACK. UGH.

Matt sunk in his chair again, stuffing his face into his desk to hide his misery from the world.

Foggy came in. Sam did a little dance with his head bouncing around behind Foggy’s back, trying to discreetly figure out what was going on. He was failing at both.

The root of the problem leaned on the doorframe. The man who watered that root was covering his smile with a mug, like it actually hid anything.

“You okay, buddy?”

“Fuck,” Matt bemoaned to the wood. “I’m old.”

"That's what this is about?" Sam muttered to himself in the background.

“If it makes you feel any better, so am I.”

It didn’t, but it would if Foggy knew how to block people.

Thanks for reading <333

Also, clarification: old age is mattphobic on account of the fact that having crunchy bones makes it hard to break other people’s not-crunchy bones. Dementia? Ain’t ever heard of her, that a new baddie or something?

Also also, I think Matty here has communication skills but like, he’s not good at using them when he’s being fueled by spite and selfish deeds or whatever lmao.

Anyways, have a good one !! (This is also on the ao3 btw, if you wanna go check that out for whatever reason)

lol (lots of love)!!!!

#wynn posts #wynn writes #fic stuffs #daredevil #matt murdock #i'mma start screaming #writing htis fic made me realize i know very little about the youngin's matt hangs around with #if he hangs out with any youngin's at all. does he?? does he really???#maybe matt has a natural anti-child repellent exuding from his pores

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mobius-prime · 4 years

Text

166. Sonic the Hedgehog #98

Sonic Adventure 2

Writer: Karl Bollers Pencils: Patrick "Spaz" Spaziante Colors: Patrick Spaziante and Nelson Ribeiro

Welcome to Sonic Adventure 2, everyone! Now, you would be excused for thinking that the comic would want to handle such a highly anticipated and ultimately successful game in the same manner as it did the first one, but you would be wrong! I'm going to spoil it for you right now - we only get part of the story in the comics. This one issue used to cover the entirety of the game, and as we'll see this presents some serious problems. But let's dive in, I'll save my rants for after we go over everything.

So our story doesn't actually begin where the previous issue left off. Instead, it begins three months ago, right on the tail end of the previous Sonic Adventure, in fact. The comics never really did address exactly what happened to Eggman in between being chased out of Station Square by Silver Sonic, and returning to Robotropolis. Well, as it turns out, he ended up being chased, somehow, all the way to one Prison Island, where Silver Sonic cornered him and blasted the ground out from under him, causing him to fall down a dark hole. Satisfied that it had killed him, Silver Sonic returned to Station Square to resume its defensive protocol there, but in actuality he had fallen into a secret lab with something very interesting hidden inside…

Now fast forward to a mere week ago. In the dead of night within Station Square, a mysterious figure broke into a top-security vault to steal the city's last remaining Chaos Emerald. Silver Sonic tried to prevent the theft, but…

News of the theft soon reached the desk of the city's president, who mistook the figure as the hero who had defended Station Square from Chaos mere months ago, because apparently in every Sonic canon, no one can ever tell Sonic and Shadow apart, not even Sonic's best goddamn friends. Seriously, at least in the anime it's explained as being a deliberate set-up by GUN to cover their own asses regarding the Project Shadow disaster years ago. I know I've joked before about Sonic being an extremely average-looking Mobian hedgehog which is why he's so easily mistaken for other people, but seriously, Shadow and Sonic's profiles and quill style don't even look alike, let alone their fur color.

That is a very bizarre-looking Rouge. For whatever reason, they decided to draw her a lot in this era with like… claw hands, and I don't even understand where they got that from. In the game itself one of her upgrades is called "Pick Nails" and I guess you could extrapolate that to mean razor-sharp nails under her gloves that don't show up on her low-poly 3D model or something, but all her 2D art depicts her with normal-looking rounded fingertips, so I don't even know. Anyway, the comic goes on about how the president put together an elite task force to track Sonic down and arrest him for his supposed crimes, and now they've finally found him just outside Knothole. Man, if some randos from Station Square could find where Knothole was, how the hell has Eggman not figured it out yet? They pull out actual, deadly rifles and start firing wildly at him, and he dances around cheekily, stealing their guns and taunting them. This ends when they shoot an electrified net onto him, and soon he's handcuffed in the back of their helicopter, being taken to the hidden city. Of course, we know how this goes from here - he breaks free inside the 'copter and bursts out its side, peeling off a strip of metal to use as his makeshift skateboard, because even though this isn't the 90s anymore, it's still the 90s.

We're then treated to a short montage of Spaz's interpretation of City Escape - landing on the streets, surfing down sloped roads, soaping on walkway rails and leaping over any obstacles in his way. Honestly, the action is a bit hard to follow - Spaz is certainly a talented artist in many respects, but I think his decision here to move on from his somewhat simpler designs from before hurts rather than helps, as the action and lines become so chaotic that you have to really concentrate to follow what's going on. There's just a bit too much happening, so that your eyes are drawn all over the place without really focusing on a specific focal point of each image. But anyway, we all know how City Escape ends - with the iconic GUN truck chase!

And that's… it! No, seriously, that's all we get for the actual story of SA2. The final text box invites us to play the game itself to see how it all ends, but there's a number of problems with that, the foremost being that the game takes place in an entirely different canon. We've got completely different circumstances that led up to these events. We've got characters missing - Tails still hasn't been returned to Knothole yet, Knuckles is off somewhere else struggling with his newfound powers, and humans aren't even the dominant species on the planet like they are in the game. This would leave any comic fan with a bitter taste in their mouth, as there's no actual resolution provided and no explanation for how the story will play out with so many of the original players out of commission. Many issues from now, Ian Flynn actually addressed this exact problem and gave a condensed version of events to explain exactly what we're missing, so at least we have that to look forward to in the future. There is one more story after this, and I have additional problems with that one, but let's cover the rest of the issue before I give my final opinions.

As the Shadow Awakes!

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Ron Lim Colors: Frank Gagliardo

So this story actually jumps us back fifty years to see Shadow's beginnings. Professor Gerald, Eggman's grandfather on his mother's side, has been working for a long time on his latest project, which he hopes will see the end of disease and untimely death and even be able to cure his granddaughter Maria's unspecified terminal illness. This project is, of course, Shadow the Hedgehog, who, as an excited and astonished Gerald watches, begins to move inside his pod. The inexplicably-brunette Maria suddenly calls him at his lab, telling him that she can see a military spaceship flying toward the ARK, their space station, and Gerald, in a panic, orders her to come to him. He knows that the military is here to take possession of his project, and believing them to be too simple-minded to understand his intentions for the project, wants to evacuate immediately. He's immediately proven right, as the military men who board the station scoff at the idea that an "old scientist and his crippled granddaughter" could pose any trouble to them as they intend to take the professor's project by force. Gerald sends Maria and Shadow, the latter now out of his pod, to evacuate in an escape pod, but of course, we know how this ends…

I think this is the only Sonic media I can think of that actually directly shows Maria dying. In both the game and the anime, the shot happens offscreen, and Shadow is ejected before Maria actually takes her last breath. I do have a problem with how the scene is portrayed here, however, as a big conflict that Shadow goes through during SA2 is his vast misinterpretation of her last request to him, whereas here she seems to just die immediately without saying another word. The military takes Gerald into custody, and shortly thereafter recovers Shadow from the escape pod, taking them both to Prison Island where they force Gerald to continue his work under their supervision. Gerald, however, is devastated at Maria's death, and thus plans out his revenge in secret under the guise of continuing his work as demanded.

The military eventually caught on to his nefarious plans, and had Gerald executed and Shadow sealed away in suspended animation on Prison Island, where it remained undisturbed and forgotten for the next fifty years. Of course, this is what Eggman found on the island, and now he's poised to use his grandfather's own work to conquer the world. My biggest problem with this story, ultimately, is that it essentially acts as one huge spoiler for the game. Everyone now, almost twenty years on, probably knows the general gist of the story, but this comic was published when it was still very new, and this entire story basically spoils the biggest twist in the game right off the bat. Furthermore, in this story, Shadow literally wakes up, goes straight to the pod, watches Maria - who he knows nothing about - die, and then gets sealed away in his stasis pod for fifty years. There's literally no time for him to even develop a personality, let alone a relationship with Maria, which is the single most important thing in his backstory. I believe this was later retconned, but this is still a huge thing to overlook in an adaption of this game.

But anyway, yeah, that's it. That's all we get for the time being. A few brief glimpses of Shadow, and one whole cameo from Rouge. It will be a while yet before Shadow gets to make his reappearance, since like in the game, at the end of their adventure he falls from space and is subsequently believed to be dead. Honestly, the entire thing kind of gives off the impression that they felt like they had to make some kind of comic tie-in to the game, but didn't feel like interrupting what they already had going with the whole "Sonic goes to high school" thing, which is clearly far more interesting of a story. So they basically went "yeah, something like this happened, but now let's just get back to the real story." It's honestly very weird, so weird that, again, they needed a later fix-it issue to explain everything, but for now, we'll just have to move on.

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sth 98 #writer: karl bollers #writer: ken penders #pencils: pat spaziante #pencils: ron lim #colors: pat spaziante #colors: nelson ribeiro #colors: frank gagliardo

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another-sonic-blog · 5 years

Text

The Dark Prince: Chapter Nine: A Confession

Its been a while since Sonic had seen Shadow.

He couldn't even say goodbye and he hated to admit it but...that hurts him.

It's not like they were official friends or anything but at least Sonic liked to think that he was.

Maybe it was all in Sonic's head and that friendship that he thought he had it was only...well one-sided.

Oh, he felt so betrayed, and not because Shadow liked Amy but because he didn't tell him. Meaning that Shadow didn't trust him, at least not like Sonic trusted Shadow.

And that pained him the most at the moment. He thought that will all of these years knowing him, Shadow had grown a soft spot for him as he did for him.

But it wasn't like that. Shadow didn't care about Sonic, and that was the truth about it.

Sonic had to admit that he even was jealous of how Shadow quickly made close friends like Omega and Rouge, who seemed to be the only friends Shadow has.

But not him, not Sonic.

Because seemly, saving him, been there for him, and showing clear signs of friendship, is not good enough for the dark hedgehog.

Once again, Sonic thought of himself as annoying and gave him his space. He was tired of never been able to call Shadow a friend because simply, the stripped hedgehog didn't seem him as one.

So, if they aren't friends that means that Sonic could keep the girl right? It didn't matter if Shadow liked Amy right? They weren't friends, nothing.

To hell with Shadow,

Sonic wanted Amy for him and him only.

"UHGGG!", Sonic slammed his head against the table top in front of him as his yellow friend approached him.

"Hey be careful...that's a very expensive table."

"Your concern is touching Tails," Sonic said sarcastically.

"Well, at least I am been honest with what I think." Tails walked behind the blue hedgehog, ready to work on his next project. Now that G.U.N. didn't exist anymore, there was more time for the two tail fox to work on the things he wanted to do.

"I am not thinking about anything at all."

"Well, that could only mean two things. One, you are a liar or two, you don't have a brain...I would like to think is the second option." Tails was quick to put on his welding mask as he was about to mold some metal.

"...It's about Shadow and Amy... I am not Shadow's friend, nor I am anything to him so...it's ok for me to continue to pursue Amy...right?" Sonic knew that he couldn't lie to Tails. His best friend could tell right from the beginning something was off about him.

"Look, Sonic...I worked with Shadow for some time on G.U.N...we weren't on the same department but everyone would call Shadow the 'Dark Prince...the reason was that Shadow may look gloomy and depressing but deep down, he helped everyone around him like a Prince."

"Ok? And you are telling me this because...?", Sonic wasn't one to play around analogies.

Tails then pulled up his welding mask up, facing up the blue blur.

"What I am trying to say is that Shadow is not one of words but actions...He might not say it but he appreciates you deeply."

"Then why doesn't he talk to me like he talks to Rouge and Omega? He respects them clearly, and doesn't insult them every chance he gets!"

"If he treated every single friend he has the same way then...it would be kinda weird don't you think? You treat me differently than you treat Knuckles, but that doesn't mean you wouldn't do anything for him that you wouldn't do for me, right? If he was in danger, you would go to help him in a heartbeat."

Sonic looked down to the table, unable to face Tails. He was right, Sonic treated Knuckles differently. Maybe even 'tease' him too much, but he appreciated the red echidna deeply.

Tails sighed ready to give out his last remark before going back to work.

"A friend is not the one you talk to every day...nor the one who tolerates everything you do... even after you left for a few years, I knew that whenever I needed you, you will be there for me...it's the same for Shadow...he expects for you to feel the same way."

So now, Sonic knew what he needed to do.

Break things off with Amy...if there was anything at all on the first place. He liked to think there was.

Don't misunderstand him, he loves Amy and would do anything for her.

But Shadow needed her more than he does.

It's what friends do right?

It's what he would do.

It's what he is going to do.

Sonic took a moment to go to his secret layer on the outsides of Hasvely to wrap things up there before he leaves to his new mission.

He took a moment to appreciate his old place. To be honest, the place was kinda depressing, he took a moment to look at all the newspapers surrounding the place.

Every one of them with pictures of the tragedy that occurred a few years ago.

Everyone who died during the battle with Eggman, members of the Resistance, innocent civilians, everyone who died because Sonic wasn't able to-

No stop...this wasn't the right time, not now not ever.

Sonic needed to learn to let go of the past.

Live and learn right?

Now that he thinks about it, he would probably still be here, drowning on his own misery if it wasn't for Amy and Shadow.

He picked up some old books he had. All of them with different colors, the red book had gold letters that said: "World Mysteries" written on it.

He went through the pages quickly and a paper came out within the book and fell directly to the floor, softly.

Sonic picked it up from the floor and began to read that letter with horrible handwriting...

His last stop was here, on the pink house he knew very well. It was a dark night but the moon and stars made it lovely. Amy's house seemed so cozy and warm that Sonic was just so ready to barge in.

But he didn't, at least not now.

He ran the doorbell and waited a few seconds, and then, there she was.

Messy hair, pajamas, she just looked perfect. The light from the inside made her pink hair glow and her green eyes shone with the reflection from the moon.

"Oh, Sonic? Do you want to come inside ?" Amy offered and he was really close to accepting the tempting offer.

But he denied.

"Actually, I am supposed to be leaving tonight... I'll be back in a month or so...I am just here to tell you something." Sonic confessed and he looked up to see Amy's disappointed face. He understood perfectly how she must feel... First Shadow and then him.

He only has one opportunity to make this count. He grabbed Amy by her hands and watched her blush. It was the first time they have talked about this and about what had happened when they kissed.

"I was always shy to tell you about my feelings. I wanted to tell you that all of those times I pushed you away, all of those time I told you that I didn't have feelings for you...They were a lie. It's weird for me to say but...ever since we first met when we were kids...I never had any other girl in my mind but you..."

Sonic closed the space between them. Slowly, he was closing his eyes...

"Amy.... it has always been you."

He wanted to kiss her but first, he needed to tell Amy the message that was on the letter he found earlier...

"I am not perfect, and I may have hurt you..." and so, Sonic began to recite the message.

When he finished, Amy was so deeply touched that she had tears in her eyes. A new outlook was presented and Amy's perspective had changed for the better.

For a moment, she could have sworn that it was Shadow the one saying those words.

For a moment, it wasn't Sonic the one in front of her porch confessing his love, but the Dark Prince himself.

But it wasn't that way. It was Sonic...it was just him.

And she had to admit...that his speech had deeply touched her heart.

Time passed slowly and Amy had nothing to do but say yes.

If Sonic wasn't so shy all of those past years could have been a blessing with Amy.

Only if hadn't been a coward with confronting his feelings, he wouldn't be on this mess.

If only he hadn't been so shy...

but tonight, he wasn't...

Today he was everything but a coward because what he was going to do was not for him...

but for a friend.

His night ended well, Amy had said yes and that was all he needed to be happy.

From afar, on top of a hill, he watched Amy's house light up, smoke coming out of the chimney as snow began to make its way down the area.

Sonic gave it one last look, reminding himself that he will see her again when spring comes. He finally took off to run, smiling as he had kept the promise to his dear friend.

Finally, running towards the moon, he recalls the letter Shadow wrote to him:

I hope you can read my horrible handwriting faker...I don't have much time so I'll make this as simple as possible.

Please deliver this message to Amy:

I am not perfect, and I may have hurt you. I know you love someone else but it doesn't matter if you do because even if it pains me to see you with him...I'll still love you. So, don't worry. I'll always be with you when you are happy and when you are sad... I just want you to know that... I love you.

Sonic, I am trusting you to use my words so you can confess your love to Amy.

and make her happy.

I want you to be with her, to protect her and love her and for her to love you back.

You are the only one I can entrust Amy's safety and happiness to. I just know I can count on you.

I hope you can do this last thing for me, friend Faker.

-Shadow.

. The Dark Prince: End

Next Chapter: https://another-sonic-blog.tumblr.com/post/185970218755/the-dark-prince-epilogue-not-the-dark-prince

https://another-sonic-blog.tumblr.com/post/185970218755/the-dark-prince-epilogue-not-the-dark-prince

Previous Chapter: https://another-sonic-blog.tumblr.com/post/185970029780/the-dark-prince-chapter-eight-thank-you

The Dark Prince: Chapter Eight: Thank You

A/N: So this is official ending for the Dark Prince. However of course, there's the Epilogue, which ShadAmy fans will love. I am working on it, but I promise it will be touching.

A Sonic based chapter, finally the situation between Amy and Sonic has settled for the better. Next Chapter, the last chapter.

I hope you are ready.

#Shadamy #shadamy fanfiction #shadow and amy #shadowxamy #Amy Rose #sonic fanfic #sonic fanfiction

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