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whumpcloud · 1 year

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Delicate - Bad Pet

this applies to all pieces but i'll say it for this one in particular since it's heavy + plot important - if you can't read this for whatever reason but still want to know what happens, shoot me an ask/dm and i'll summarise it

content: attempted noncon (nothing actually happens but the intent is there), major character death, murder by stabbing, (institutionalised) pet whump, creepy/intimate whumper, dehumanisation, self-blame/degradation, self-inflicted drugging, referenced intoxication (alcohol and drugs)

Darling knows he's a bad Pet. He's the worst Pet in the world. He's a broken, stupid, worthless Pet but he's scared.

He's hidden the knife in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. Master never uses it - he keeps all his medications in the top drawer, so only Darling goes in there anyway. It's an old knife that was buried in the back of the cutlery drawer, so Master hasn't noticed that it's missing.

Darling shouldn't need to do this. He doesn't need to do this! He's supposed to be good, that's the only thing that's expected of him, being good and perfect and obedient. But he can't be obedient about this. He knows he can't.

But Master is so, so insistent. This is his only option to stay safe. He won't hurt Master. It's just a threat, it's just a message because Darling can't bring himself to voice how much he hates it.

Master is being sweet about it. He's finally sat Darling on the bed, said that today's going to be the day, while he's awake and sound of mind instead of every other time he tried this, when he was drunk or high on new medication or half-asleep. Darling isn't sure if he'd prefer just being held down and used, but he knows he really doesn't like this.

"Shh, Darling," Master murmurs, gently pressing Darling back into the mattress. "It's all okay, love. I just want you to relax."

"M-Master, please," Darling begs, trying to twist away. "You didn't train me for this…"

"I know, I know," Master says, and Darling wishes that he wasn't trying to be reassuring, that he'd just be violent in the way that Darling knows he can be and take what Darling knows he wants. "I'm going to, I'll take you back and I'll get you all trained, but I want to do this properly now, love, I want this to be special the first time 'round. Just us, just us at home."

"No!" Darling cries, before he can think about it.

"You don't use that word, love, not like that," Master says, and somehow his voice becomes more terrifying, even though it's softer. "Don't make me remind you."

"I-I'm sorry, Master, I- I just want this to stop-- to end, to end!" That's two words now that Darling has used that he isn't allowed to. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry--"

"Shh, shh." Master gently presses a kiss to Darling's forehead, and it's somehow the worst thing he's ever done. "You're not used to this, it's okay. I won't punish you for it this time. I want this to be nice, okay?"

It isn't nice, it will never be nice. There's a horrible feeling curling in Darling's gut.

"Please, Master," Darling says, disguising the panic in his voice. Fine! He'll change strategies. "C-Can you drug me? Please?"

"There's no need for that, love," Master says. "I want you awake. You'll enjoy this, I know you will. All you have to do is relax."

"P-Please," Darling whines. "I- I'm scared. I'm scared I won't be good, a-and I want to be good, Master, I want you to be happy…"

Master sighs, but brushes Darling's hair out of his face and nods. "Alright. Just wait here."

Darling bolts upright and gasps as soon as Master leaves the room. He's seen Intimates, when he was in training, the way they're made to be so desperate they'd do anything and all he can think is I don't want to want this.

The knife is so solid in his hands, unlike the world around him, and he grasps it desperately as Master opens the door.

Master stares at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Don't touch me," Darling whimpers.

Master takes a deep breath, and laughs softly. "Darling… come on."

"I- I mean it!" Darling thrusts the knife forward, as if to emphasise the threat. "Don't touch me!"

"Darling," Master says, so softly that Darling's hands shake. "Put the knife down, love."

Darling shakes his head, and he swallows back tears. It feels like there's ice coating his skin.

Master's face twists for a moment, but then it lands on a gentle half-smile. "Sweet thing…"

Master steps forward, and Darling steps back, hitting the bed with the back of his knees and falling so that he ends up sitting on the mattress.

"What did you think was going to happen, huh?" Master asks, and he's getting closer but Darling has no method of backing away. "Come on. Put the knife down, love, and we can talk about this."

"I don't want to talk!" Darling shouts, but his elbows curl inwards. "I don't want this, please!"

"And you think that matters… why, exactly?" Master has that cruel edge to his smile now, even though his voice hasn't sharpened a bit. "You're just a Pet, love. You're my Pet. I think you're forgetting that."

"I'm not, I'm not forgetting, please." Darling's resolve almost crumbles, but he keeps his hands on the knife. "You didn't train me for this, M-Master, please, I don't want this because you never made me want this!"

"I said I would train you, love," Master says, and he's close enough now to wrap his hand around Darling's wrist. "But that doesn't matter, does it? You want what I want, regardless of what it is, because you're a good boy. Aren't you?"

Darling's lip trembles. He wants to be good, he wants to be good so badly. Why is he threatening his Master like this? He softens a little as Master's other hand reaches into his hair.

"Drop the knife," Master says gently, and leans in close, breath on Darling's cheek. "Drop the knife, and then you can take the little pill and relax, okay? Doesn't that sound nice, love?"

Nice.

It isn't conscious - or at least, Darling doesn't think about it before he does it. He doesn't say anything, and neither does Master. Master lets out a choked gasp, and stumbles backwards.

Darling doesn't think he's ever seen Master truly scared.

Darling is still holding the knife, had held it so tightly that it stayed with him when Master moved back, and now all Master can do his clutch his bleeding stomach with wide eyes. Shouldn't Darling feel something?

He feels horror, but only at the fact that stabbing Master felt like nothing at all.

Minutes. It takes only minutes for Master to drop to the floor and let a last agonised breath leave him. Darling just stares. He knew where he was stabbing, whether he meant to or not. Part of his training. Master's blood-soaked hand slips from his stomach to the floor.

Darling isn't so covered in blood, at least. A little splashed on his hands when it happened, but that isn't suspicious at all. He shouldn't be thinking about how suspicious it is. He should be calling someone. He slides off the bed, kneels on the floor, and shakes Master a little bit. Nothing. He gently closes Master's eyes.

He shoves a horrible feeling down. Feelings are no use to him. What's going to happen if people find out what he did? Darling doesn't know what happens to Pets like him, but he can't imagine that it's anything good.

What if they put him down? Fear numbs the ends of his fingers. He doesn't want to die. But a Masterless Pet isn't any use to anyone.

Bad Pets lie. And he's already a bad Pet, and Master isn't around to punish him for it, so he might as well lie. Darling chokes at the thought, his only reaction. No-one would ever know the truth if he didn't tell it. Who would actually believe that a Pet had killed their Master? He could tell them anything he wanted and they'd believe him, because he's the only witness they have.

Darling sinks the knife back into the wound. Nothing at all. Broken and worthless and stupid and violent, like he used to be. He pulls antiseptic wipes from the nightstand's drawer and wipes down the handle of the knife. Emotionless and practical, like he was trained to be, so he can hold onto some idea that the training made him a good Pet, because maybe he can be a good Pet for whoever buys him next, because maybe they'll even look at his information and training and not ask more of him.

Darling pulls the pill from Master's pocket. His tongue curls around it before he swallows. He doesn't remember anything, he was drugged, he's just a Pet. He fishes for Master's phone, and calls emergency services, slurs his words so that they'll think he was drugged earlier, and drops the phone a little distance away.

Blood pools underneath him. He curls up on the floor, buries his face in his Master's hair, and begs for forgiveness.

taglist: @whumpsday @roblingoblin285 @whumpycries @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @clairelsonao3 @dislexiher @whumpingwithclara-alt

#polly's prose #delicate #peter (darling)#westley santana #whump #whump writing #pet whump #YEAH THIS ONE IS A LOT. SO UH. HAVE FUN. OR DON'T.#i am skirting the line of my own comfort very slightly tbh afsfd. but it being about this is important to me.

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selfproclaimedunicorn · 3 months

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No Fragile Thing

Wrote a thing from Aldreda's backstory because I guess part of my hiatus involves her grabbing me by the throat & saying "We are about me now. Figure it out." So there's no Aldricent, but hey! Peak into part of why she is the way she is! Aldreda Tag | AO3 Series

The great hall of Lonely Light was vast, it had to be since anyone who came would be staying for months to make the trip worth it. Its stone walls were painted with scenes of the sea; krakens rising up from the waves and bare-breasted seal women with their mouths open in silent songs. Long wooden columns, carved with swirling knots and longships and the dour face of the Drowned God, were spaced evenly throughout the round chamber, holding up the ceiling of intricately laid wooden beams. A large open fireplace took up most of the center of the room, with long tables surrounding it all the way to the dais where The Farwynd sat at the high seat, presiding over his court with all the authority of the High King of the Iron Islands. With how isolated the main branch of House Farwynd was, he might as well have been.

Aldreda swallowed as she peered out from the archway, half hiding herself at the landing of the stairs that led down from the bridge between the smaller, residential tower of the castle where her rooms lay and the main tower that held the court and, at the very top, the flaming beacon that served the longships that ventured so far out into the Sunset Sea. She so rarely asked The Farwynd for anything, and it was only the bone deep need of it now that saw her doing as much. When she stepped out from the archway and onto the worn, wooden floor of the great hall, it felt like her footfalls landed harder than was possible. The walk to the high seat had never felt so long. Without Orwen there to make her be “just his younger sister” so many men’s eyes on her felt wrong. Everything felt wrong without her favorite brother. Siren’s tits, it felt wrong without any of the older ones! The absence of eight men and one who nearly had been made the great hall feel haunted.

The Farwynd was all graying hair and great, braided beard that hung down to the center of his chest. He was silent as he looked down at her from the dais, a raised eyebrow the only indication he expected anything. In the plain, cushionless, seat beside their sire, Trystifer shifted uncomfortably. His feet did not quite touch the floor and the place where Euron, and then Barrian, and then Corwen had filled so comfortably swallowed the boy of ten.

“I want to raid.”

The men in the hall were who started it, laughing like Aldreda had told some great jest just to entertain them. Trystifer joined them, eager to be seen as a man grown now that he was The Farwynd’s heir. Aldreda’s cheeks grew hot, and she balled her hands into fists at her sides. She wanted to bite and claw at whichever of the men at arms had started the laughter. Drawing blood would make them take her seriously. For his part in all of it, her sire did nothing but look at her with an appraising eye.

When he finally spoke there was an air of passive judgment to her sire’s deep, almost scratchy brogue. “Is that why you parade yourself around in such a state?”

She wanted to reach up and run her fingers through the ends of her newly cropped hair. Her head felt so light now, and her back was unexpectedly cold. When Lady Melusine came into her room last night, she had burst into hysterics when she caught her daughter cutting her hair to her shoulders. After Aldreda had explained herself, she had calmed and helped her to make sure the cut was at least even; that did not mean she liked it, though. Still, it would appear Lady Melusine hadn’t said a word of it to The Farwynd. Or, if she did, he had simply forgotten.

“I wanted it this way.” She squared her shoulders even as she struggled to meet his eyes, even as the lifeless bodies of all her dead brothers balked at her from her memories and imaginings. It was like they rose up from the sea to stare at her, judging for her half-lie with the seal eyes they had all inherited from the man who sat before her.

“Will a husband, I wonder.” It was a statement more than a question, and it bit into Aldreda’s chest with the intent to take a hunk of meat.

“I don’t care what a man thinks of me,” at least not one who intended to bed her, “I want to raid.”

“A girl of three and ten will not replace twenty good men.” The Farwynd leaned forward in his chair, right arm sliding forward till his hand hung past the carved seal’s head it had been resting on previously. So she was a woman when he wanted to send her away, and a girl when she wanted to raid, then? Either way, she was not as wanted as a son.

“Did Orwen fill your head with enough glory stories that you thought you could?”

Her favorite brother's jovial laughter mixed with The Farwynd’s dismissive judgment, with the claps of thunder from the storm that took him, with the barks of the harbor seal she decided was him when she went down to their rookery after word of the longship's sinking came. It made Orwen sound otherworldly and cruel, like his ghost was agreeing with the voice of their sire in her mind when he told Aldreda that she could not replace the three sons he just lost.

Her fists curled even tighter, short nails digging into her palms. Would they pierce her skin if they were longer? Would that be better? Would her own blood prove her worth, or would it be another reason to call her useless and dismiss her like some fragile little girl and not the only living child by The Farwynd and his rock wife? Born and bred of iron and salt and stone to carve through the waves and to reave, to fill the gaps left by eight dead men and two who would have been.

“I can fight, and I can sail. Orwen made sure of it!”

The Farwynd snorted dismissively, and leaned back in the high seat. Aldreda curled her lip, and her thin brows furrowed over black eyes that were stormy as the churning Sunset Sea had been those three nights. She jerked her head back, pointing at her younger salt brother with her chin. “I’m better than him.”

Trystifer slid himself out of the heir’s seat with such force it looked like he jumped onto his feet, and his hands were fists just like hers. He stamped his foot as he glowered down at her from his spot on the dais overlooking the hall. “No you aren’t!”

The Farwynd slammed his fist on the arm of the high seat, making Trystifer and all the men in the hall straighten with attention. “Conduct yourself with some dignity, boy! You are my heir, fucking act like it.”

“Yes, Lord Alfric.” Trystifer was stiff and his cheeks were pink. Even though he faced forward, his eyes were on his feet. The boy's deference only earned him a dismissive snort and an eye roll, however.

“Lord Alfric. You spend too much time with Mayra.”

Of course he spent time with his mother. He was a boy, and he had only been made to work on a longship three years ago.

“Who's ship are you serving on, boy?”

“Sylas Goodbrother.”

“That is who you should be spending time with. It'll put some hair on your chest and have you addressing me in the old way. The proper way.”

“And what about me?” She spoke louder now, to draw his criticism away from Trystifer. That was her little brother, regardless of how Lady Melusine talked about the salt wives.

“You’re still on that?”

“You lost good men, and I can replace them. They need to be, and I’ll fight anyone in this hall to prove I am good enough!” She could be better than them, if she wanted to be. Not just the men at arms who drowned with Corren and Orwen and Randar, but her older brothers too. All of them.

“Even if you bested some ship boy or barely blooded whelp, no one would take you.”

“I would.”

Aldreda followed her sire’s gaze to where her cousin stood. Westley had taken a step away from the long table where the men under his command paused in their sitting back down after The Farwynd’s commanding of attention. At eight and ten, he had not won much glory, but as the oldest son of The Farwynd’s rock brother he received enough favor to captain his own longship. He was also their cousin closest to Orwen, and a man he had told Aldreda to be more wary of than she wanted to be. It was a stupid warning. Her brother would not be friends with someone who prompted caution.

“Forgive me, Lord Reaver, if I spoke out of turn,” Westley took another step forward and dipped shallowly at the waist, “but it would be wrong of me to not look out for Orwen’s sister.”

“You want her?”

Westley’s eyes strayed from The Farwynd, to her. It was only for a moment, but it was long enough for Aldreda to see his charming, roguish smile was for her. “I do. I have seen how Orwen taught her, she's not beyond use. With a little work, I think Aldreda could make a fine raider.”

“Work you are willing to put in, of course.”

“Of course.”

The Farwynd looked over them both, his gaze hard and unreadable. Aldreda dug her nails further into the meat of her palms; it stung something fierce, but it was better than fidgeting or breaking eye contact with her sire. Either of those would sway him further from seeing her as worthy of the acknowledgment he gave his ten dead sons, perfect and saintly in the Drowned God’s halls where they were only memories and imaginings who could not disappoint him.

After what felt like an eternity, he relaxed back into the high seat and waved them both off. “Do what you wish. You have three years with her, and if she does not prove as fine a raider as you claim she could be I am sending her off to The Boatly. His rock wife died a year ago, he could do with a replacement, and he will not care if the new one could give him sons since he already has them.”

Aldreda inhaled sharply, and her eyes widened with indignation. Aldreda was not her mother. And even so, Lady Melusine said that it was not her fault that her husband sought the comfort of his salt wives after Ronas died, it was not her fault their second child was a daughter that saw him retreating from her without return. Westley took her by the bicep before she could even think about what it was she wanted to do. She would not do it, whatever it was; to injure The Farwynd was to injure Lonely Light itself.

“You will not be disappointed, Uncle Alfric.”

He said nothing, and just waved them off again. Aldreda heard Westley sigh through his nose, and she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. The longer black hair at the top of his head fell into his eyes; they looked tired, and they were lighter than hers, grayer and warmer than the near pitch black of all of The Farwynd’s children. Did Westley want softer words and an acknowledgement of effort as well? Was that what was keeping him at Lonely Light instead of returning to Sealskin Point now that he was a man grown with some two years of adulthood under his belt? He looked back up, his attention solely on her now. “Come on, Aldreda. We’ve a lot to do in three years.” Westley squeezed her arm, and it was almost like Orwen. He let go of her, and then gave another shallow bow to The Farwynd before turning on his heel and strutting across the great hall towards doors to the main yard. Aldreda followed his lead, bowing before turning and running off after her cousin.

#my writing #oc: aldreda farwynd #hotd oc #(alfric & westley farwynd I am in your walls)#asoiaf oc #fyeahhotdocs #fyeahgotocs

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eddis-not-eeddis · 8 months

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Last Line Tag

I was tagged a few days ago (oh look, it was a few weeks ago, oops) by @scarvenartist, and I actually did some writing today, ending on a fun note, so I figured I would share.

"He's dead." "Dead." Vita paused. "Hmmmm. Okay. Not ideal, but I can work with dead." "Not undead, Vita, dead. Really, really dead. As in, not-even-Lukne-can-fix-it kind of dead." It was as if Zoya had handed Vita an unexpected gift. Her eyes lit up and the mask of stoic determination she'd been wearing all morning was replaced with genuine happiness. "Even better!"

Not technically one line, but "Even better!" is kind of lame on it's own. I tag @lady-merian, @scarvenartist (because I wanna see what Kiro is up to) and @captaingondor

#and that really is the end of the scene #tomorrow (hopefully) I will write the next scene which involves storming a castle and planting the corpse in the antagonist's bedroom #i'm going for an 'inigo fezzik and westley storm the castle to rescue the princess' type vibe

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judeiscariot · 4 months

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new pjo is actually rlly rlly good so far!!!

#credits to westley for the disney+ login <3 #but yeah the kid they cast as percy did a really good job #i’m still a little bitter they casted him white but it’s ok bc i think this kid is really gonna grow into the role #and i’m just glad they cast a kid who can actually pass as 12 years old #in my heart he will always be afro latino #plus they cast a black girl as annabeth!!!!!! and they made grover and chiron poc too which is wayyy more than i expected #although i wish they had given annabeth blonde braids that wouldve been so cute #but overall they seem to be sticking pretty closely to the source material which i think is definitely the best choice #especially given how shit the movies were #but i like the writing so far n i’m really excited to see where they take it!!!#jude.txt

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spookyblazecoffee · 1 year

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*Fighting a monster who has a stun ray*

*Heckyl got stunned* Heckyl: What are our liabilities? Riley: There is but one entrance to the monster’s lair, and it is guarded by... sixty monsters. Heckyl: And our assets? Riley: Your brains, Koda’s strength, my steel. Heckyl: That’s it? Impossible. If I had a month to plan, maybe I could come up with something. But this? *shakes head* Koda: You just shook your head! That doesn’t make you happy? Heckyl, after making a show of turning his head: My brains, his steel, and your strength against sixty monsters, and you think a little head jiggle is supposed to make me happy, hmm?

#Heckyl PRDC #Power Rangers Dino Charge Heckyl #Riley Griffin #Koda PRDC #PRDC #Power Rangers Dino Charge #PRDC incorrect quotes #Power Rangers Dino Charge incorrect quotes #Heckyl could also be switched out for Riley or Kendall and Riley switched out for Ivan or Zenowing #but Heckyl would be the only one out of himself. Riley. and Kendall to talk to Koda that way #I love The Princess Bride incase you haven't noticed #Could someone write a Princess Bride AU with either Kendall x Heckyl or Chase x Riley?#If it was a Chiley AU Ivan would have to be Inigo and Chase would have to not be a himbo #I would really like to read it but I couldn't write it.#The Princess Bride>>>#I just remembered: RILEY COULD BE WESTLEY!! 'CAUSE HE ACTUALLY LIVED ON A FARM!!#I'm a Dumbass.#Source: The Princess Bride

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quiet--chaos · 5 months

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@sheshootsxruns sent "Could you, put me down? - to westly

It was an instinctive reaction wasn't it? Flying was as second nature as breathing-as throwing himself in the way of danger for somebody else. Wes could claim it was his mother's Kree genetics but it was the influence of both his parents' nature in the end.

Wes had not even spared a thought before he stepped between Anya and a gunshot, turning his back to take the full force of the projectile (that might be a bruise tomorrow) as he scooped Anya up easily and flew behind cover a few feet away.

Just as he was about to suggest reforming a plan for them to get inside the building, the smaller avenger reminded him that he was still holding her. "Oh.yeah. sorry." He put Anya back down on her feet and cleared his throat, averting his eyes towards the building and squashing down the inward residual awkwardness.

"So....obviously that entranced is guarded."

#[second is the best; westley danvers-stark]#[ ic ]#if that doesn't work you tell me #id yall I needed to write but Im rusty with the boy

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lord-westley · 11 months

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Shattered Hearts

Pairings: Kili x Reader, Ori x Reader, Dwalin x Reader, Nori x Reader, Fili x Reader

Warnings: Angst, suffering, heartbreak, depression, blood(dwalin), (drinking, death,(Nori)) unedited and crappy lmao

A/N: I can barely bring myself to write these days. But I stumbled upon old screenshots from my Tolkien discord server. Been crying none stop from missing these memories so uh... here you go @erosofthepen @midearthwritings @messiambrandybuck @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse and ofc Hart who has since left tumblr... love you guys

It was sharp and painful; like a dagger straight through his Heart. Days felt dragged on, as if the sun was mocking him- forcing him to remember how you once shined as bright as the sun.

Despite the suns heat on his skin, Kili's shattered heart felt as ice cold as ever. Like a stormy, winter night seeping through the cracks, threatening to cave in his sanity.

Every day was the same; wake up with your side empty, eating breakfast by himself, training by himself.

Kili felt old and slow. His head has been so foggy these last two years without you. Mother is scared, Uncle is worried and Fili... hasnt been seen in weeks.

He can't go back. He refuses to enter Erebor again... how could he? There's nothing left of his heart, so what's the point?

Fili lost everything that day. There was nothing he could have done except watch. Watch you writhe in pain, crying and begging for it to stop.

All he could do was hold you tight, his own tears painting his cheeks as you slowly and painfully passed.

How did it end up like this? Everything was perfect. Erebor was taken back, his family was back together, and the love of his life was by his side. The constant laughter in the halls were gone, nothing left but silence and whispers about the dwarf prince.

No, he can't go back... he'll continue down this gravel path, planting his shattered heart within the forests you loved so much.

Blood. Everyday he comes home from the wilds, covered in new injuries and blood. Each time, carrying a new baby animal.

He hopes that, if he saved them- perhaps he could save you. Perhaps the Valar would stop the punishment if he fixed his past wrongs.

A punishment. That's how he views it. They took you away from him because of his rough past. You're alive. You have to be alive. And he'll do whatever it takes to bring you back home.

His heart is shattered, but by mahal, he'll do what it takes to bring you back even if it means laying down his life.

He's gone...

When the love of his life was ripped away from him, he took to drinking. Hoping that perhaps, If he disappeared, he'd see you again.

It didn't take long...

A week, a week of drinking everyday, multiple ales in one sitting. A week is all it took for his body to give up.

He was unrecognizable...

His hair unkempt and tangled, beads holding on for dear life has his hair thinned from health issues. Clothes stained with ale and spit, clinging to his skin as he sweated.

There was no hope...

No hope for him, no hope for you. There was nothing left for him. He was alone. Alone with his shattered heart till his last breath.

The day you disappeared, was the day you took his entire being with you.

He didn't cry. He didn't yell and throw things. He... did nothing but stare.

There was nothing left of him. A mere shell of a once sweet dwarf.

Ori couldn't bring himself to eat, sleep or anything to keep him alive. He never moved from his armchair except for a twitch. A twitch as though he was listening to an angelic voice.

But there were no voices...

Just him... alone with a shattered heart, and voices in his head.

#Westley Writes #tolkien #lord of the rings #the hobbit #lotr #lotr x reader #lord of the rings x reader #the hobbit x reader #kili #kili x reader #fili #fili x reader #dwalin #dwalin x reader #ori #ori x reader #nori #nori x reader

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rosyronkey · 2 years

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me when i write 17 pages of fanfiction in a blind rage haha, i'm just so in love with my 1960s rural louisiana native will graham headcanon and i don't even mention hannibal at all lmaoo

writing begins under read more, cws for mentioned abuse and period typical homophobia

Will said he would make the groceries himself.

He announced it to himself, the second Sunday morning cartoons were over, when the bulky TV balanced carefully on the kitchen counter went to the news. His declaration was punctuated by a chorus of bird calls outside the stained glass window. He had done the window himself, as a school project in sixth grade, back when he could take art classes and not get called a pussy.

He dropped his bowl in the slowly overflowing sink, knowing his dad would be on his ass later that night about not cleaning them when he was done. His glass and spoon joined the mess, and he went to get his shoes from the well-worn rug by the door. The mat said "Helleaux" in faded blue block text, but the middle had been walked on so many times it read more like "Hel-ux".

He paused by the door, waiting to grab his keys from the ring in favor of surveying the kitchen. The TV was still blaring on the chipped counter, and he had forgotten to push his chair in, so the scuff marks on the wood floors were evident. His dead dog's bowl was still pushed into the corner, gathering dust. He carried it from house to house, no matter how many times they moved. As much as he wanted to throw it away, trade it in at the junkyard for a couple extra cents, some stupid strand of sentimentality kept it there.

Will went to untwist the antennae of the TV, and sat on the counter to pull on his Converse. They were the only brand new clothes he'd gotten in years. Dad had bought them for him at the beginning of summer after Will left enough ripped out ads on the coffee table. He had knocked him upside the head the first time, but got the hint when Will defiantly slammed one down with bleeding knuckles. They were left on his bed without a note, and when he picked them up, the red cotton bled out into the air and stained his fingers. He left the laces untied and hoped he looked tuff enough to make up for possibly tripping over them later.

The stairs were the same chipped concrete and struggling weeds as they always were, green leaves reaching towards the sky. They always struggled for freedom, only to be pulled up from the roots by some old man's hand. Will knew how they felt, in a way.

He paused, and stopped to breathe in the air. Weed, crawfish, and human excrement. Someone was cooking, somewhere. Someone was always cooking.

The old lady across the street with a baby constantly on her hip yelled a greeting at him in French. It wasn't real French, he knew that much. It was bastardized Creole-French, the kind you can only learn from the old geezers who lived in rotting houses on the end of the block. The ones with empty beer bottles hanging from trees in desperate attempts to keep the ghosts away. He said something or other back, the words tumbling over each other in a way he would have been embarrassed to hear in English. She seemed to find his words satisfying, and turned away to soothe the child sitting behind her on the steps.

The streets were empty, not surprisingly for a Sunday morning. If his dad were home, Will knew they'd be in church already, sitting in packed pews and drowning in the incense-clogged air. He'd have to dig out his good collared shirt from the pile in his room, and hope to God he didn't mess up the words when they had to stand up and sing.

Church was supposed to come with a community feeling, that all these people were coming together to pray to one god. They read the bible verses together, and sang together, but it only left Will feeling alienated, no matter which town they were staying in. He hated church.

A breeze picked up, pulling Will out of his head and back onto the cracked black street. He wished in hindsight that he'd grabbed a bag, even if it was his shitty messenger bag, to put the groceries in. The fridge was severely lacking in anything remotely edible, and he quickly listed off in his head what he needed, and what he wanted. The list of what he wanted spiraled into a philosophical mess, so he abandoned it and started down the street.

At one house, he stopped dead. He wasn't more than halfway there to the store at that point, but he remembered this house. He'd been invited to a birthday party here, the kind you had in middle school where your mom invited the whole class, and you were too young to care about who came. Will doubted it was much more than a pity play, considering all anyone knew about him was that he was the boy with no mother, and the absent, fisherman father. Will didn't even know their son well, Casper May, who Will was pretty sure had called him a sonofawhore at one point, well after the birthday party in middle school.

But they had a trampoline in their backyard. Will had never wanted to jump on a piece of shitty metal more than in that moment. It was more about the knowledge he'd have, knowing that he'd trespassed and used their toy without them knowing. Cars were absent from their driveway, and with a quick glance up and down the street, no one was around to see him. No one would notice, but then again, no one ever did.

They had a low fence. Most houses where he lived did, with practically non-existent crime and all that small town bullshit. It only took a short trek to the service road, and a hop onto their garbage cans, and he was over the fence. The wood reached out for him as he jumped, and he could feel the rips on his pants widen. There was nothing he could do about it now, not in a stranger's backyard and with a waiting trampoline not five feet away.

The first jump was like a hit of a drug in his system. Euphoric and short-lived, living him reeling and wanting more. He ignored the creaking springs to jump higher. The point when your feet were in the air, and everything was weightless and suspended in time and space was his favorite. He could feel his shirt lift, and watched the leaves and seeds scattered about flip into the air with every impact. Even the sharp pains going up his leg when he landed couldn't deter the pure fun he was having. He hadn't felt like this since he was a little kid. No responsibilities, just an open blue sky that he could almost touch.

Will flopped backwards, onto his back, and had the breath knocked out of him. He was expecting to fall straight down with only a small bounce, but his momentum flipped him backwards, and his neck twisted at an odd angle. A scream threatened his throat. He stumbled back to his feet, hands flying to check his neck, but he was fine. He was just overreacting. He was fine, but he didn't feel like jumping anymore.

He was sixteen years old, and he was jumping on a trampoline. God, he was so immature. He sat for a moment in the side, his feet hanging over and shoes contrasting the well-kept grass. His own lawn was brown and the only plants still alive were weeds, persistent things.

He laid back again, slower this time, all the while scrutinizing himself for it. He needed to leave, they could be back any minute and they didn't need some teenager lying on their trampoline. What he needed to do was scale the fence, and fuck off.

But he stayed there, and stretched his arms toward the sky. Without jumping, it no longer gave the illusion of touching the clouds, more like his hands were hovering just inches away. His fingernails were scuffed and bitten short, his right middle finger nail torn away completely to show the pink skin. His hands were unnaturally knobby, too, probably an effect of malnutrition. Will traced his bones through the skin, and wished, not for the first time, that he could peel his skin away and pull them out. Not to harm himself, no, though the side effect was welcome. To see the muscles attached to his joints, and see how they flexed and moved. He wondered if they were really pinkish red, like he saw in diagrams at school, or if his were darker. Abnormal.

He tried to ignore the car noises from the driveway, he really did. He vaguely wondered how the Mays would react if they found him like this, spread wide on hot metal. He didn't want to be found, but there was some dark part of him that begged to be seen.

He could definitely hear their voices now, cheery but strained from church. If they came around the back and saw him, he was screwed. So why wasn't he getting up?

With a push off the springs, he landed in the grass. Unhurt, but adding new stains to his clothes. He brushed himself off with more force than necessary, then made the mistake of looking at the back of their house. Someone was standing behind the screen door, watching him. Not just anyone, but fucking Casper May, with his hands in his pockets and an open-collared shirt. Will could see his collarbones, and the slight flush on his cheeks. His face was void of any emotions that Will could see at least, and curiously, he wasn't turning to get his parents, or open the screen and yell at Will himself. He wasn't sure if he should thank him, but he couldn't seem to break his gaze.

He dropped it finally when he was situated over the fence, but if he could see Casper's eyes through the fence, Will knew he'd still be looking.

He'd wasted enough time as is, he needed to get to the store before everyone else got out of church. He turned and ran down the service road, nearly tripping every few feet on rocks and uncollected garbage bags. He ran like someone was chasing him, away from the May's house and deeper into town.

His pace slowed once he reached a fork in the road. More people were milling around now, and he wondered just how long he'd wasted on the trampoline. Surely not enough for every service to have let out already, but many more than he wanted. He decidedly didn't catch anyone's eyes, and prayed they wouldn't give him a second glance. With his eyes trained downwards, tracking his feet as he walked, Will could almost pretend that he was alone.

Will didn't like people. He saw too much at times, but not enough at others. Certain people were open books to him, just in the way they'd stand and hold themselves and what clothes they wore and how loudly they talked. But in turn, he seemed to mimic them, molding his nonexistent personality to something they would find suitable. His father called it a gift, but only when Will earned him some complimentary stares at a crawfish boil. Otherwise, it was a hindrance.

For example, at that moment, he looked up and met a girl's eye across the street. She was pretty, and well-dressed, and stood with her family outside a church where the pastor (probably her father) was shaking hands. But when she looked at him, he could see right through her. The backhanded compliments she received nearly every day, and the pressure to be just like her mother, just like every other good housewife. Will watched her eyes stray to the bottoms of ladies skirts, and then quickly look away. She would never be her father's perfect daughter.

Will realized he had stopped there, in the middle of the street, with his hands in his pockets to watch this girl. She didn't know him, and if Will saw her again he would purposely avert his gaze, but in this moment they were interchangeable. Every struggle she had cut through his skin like a knife through butter, and he felt her pain building on his bones. With a heavy heart, he pulled himself out of her head. He didn't want anymore pain, whether it be his own or someone else's.

He was almost at the junction of the corner store now, and he spirited in front of a car to cross. They yelled something at him, probably cursing him out for being a dumbass, but the words were lost to the wind. Will was momentarily grateful for it, but then the moment ended, and he was just a fool standing on the curb.

The door was a step up from the outside, but inside was cool and quiet, with just a generator to interrupt his thoughts. Will breathed it all in, the artificial flavors, the burnt meat sitting under heat lamps, all of it. He wanted the smells to burrow into his bones and make a home so he could always have them with him. He walked to the freezer aisle.

He realized he wasn't normal for this. Even if his ideas of 'right' and 'wrong' were hopelessly skewed anyway (small town cops were ruthless, as he would learn), just the idea of relishing something as pointless as the smell of a store was weird. If he could admit that much to himself, breathing in the stale, cold air of the freezer aisle and reeling in its taste wasn't that hard. It was all he could do to not breathe air onto the glass, and trace meaningless designs until someone else came to get microwave pizza. The fluorescent lights glaring down on him were just that, glaring, like they could read his thoughts and wanted to blind him of his reality.

He could only sit with his thoughts next to tubs of ice cream for so long, and he got what he needed. What he wanted and what his dad wanted for him were so vastly contradictory they could exist on different planes of existence, but there was some merit to his father's words. While gorging himself on crappy white bread and mozzarella cheese was, in his eyes, living the dream, his stomach would soon protest.

He reached for the easy-heat chicken and broccoli meal, but caught the eye of Casper May from across the aisle. He was getting nothing but gum and cigarettes, tucked neatly under his bare arm, and so Will paused with his hand still inside the freezer. He'd changed his shirt to a white tank top, how in such a short time Will didn't know. Didn't want to know. His heart was beating faster than he wanted to admit, a reminder of the pulsating blood and muscle an inch under his skin. He was too scared to notice these things, the way the shitty fluorescents caught Casper's blond hair and made it shine like gold. He could come over to Will, yell at him in front of the frozen broccoli about trespassing on his land, but he didn't. He pursed his lips and had the audacity to look interested, as if he didn't catch Will in his backyard less than an hour ago. It was the knotted eyebrows, and the slight tilt in his hips that Will was sure he wasn't even aware of doing. But staring at Casper, and Casper's hips, and honest to God, were his arms always that thick? wasn't helping his heart, or his head. Please walk away. Leave me alone, Will tried to say with his eyes.

Casper didn't hear him, couldn't hear him. He walked back outside, momentarily letting in sounds from the outside, and Will took a TV dinner from the back of the freezer. He would forget about this tomorrow. Hopefully.

When Will stepped outside with his already tearing plastic bag of groceries, Casper was gone. Bastard. If all he wanted to do was give Will a heart attack, he'd achieved that much. But now, with the frost of his purchases dripping onto pavement before turning to steam instantly, Will realized he didn't want to go home. Not yet. This day had started as an adventure, and he'd be damned if it didn't finish as one.

So he tapped his fingers together, and sat on the curb next to his groceries, and thought about where to go. Not the library, definitely. His classmates had caught him there once, and hit him upside the head with the book he'd been reading, and he'd had a bruise the size and shape of Texas on his cheek for weeks. He wasn't eager for a repeat performance. He could walk down to the creek, except it was blisteringly hot and probably crowded out there. Besides, it took nearly an hour to get there and back, and Will only had half of the day left. The only places a guy could go for fun was the pool hall (always full of drunks) and the fishing dock (the longer Will could avoid his father, the better.)

Yet again, Will cursed out small towns and their deprivation of anything to do under his breath. It had been better when his father was getting higher quality jobs, and he worked in port city after port city. Will could walk around those cities for days and still find new things to do, whereas out in Bum Fuck Nowhere, he could walk from one side of the town to the opposite in under an hour.

So, there wasn't anything to do. Will sighed then blew a curl out of his face. The sun was beating down on him with no regrets. If he didn't put his groceries in the fridge, they'd get warm. Or something. Will didn't actually understand why cold things needed to stay cold. He'd rather they suffered in the heat like everything else.

Will groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. Once he started personifying inanimate objects, it was over for him. God, it was so hot. Sometimes Will really hated summer in Louisiana. He looked up, propping his head in his hands and waiting for his eyes to focus.

There was someone across the street, waving at him. He got to his feet, confused but intrigued as they gestured him over. When he got his groceries and set them down next to him, the man asked him something in French. People were so much more polite if they spoke French, he learned. Either that or they were the biggest assholes he'd ever met.

The man was asking him to fix the back door of his store. Before Will could respond, he went on to explain himself, saying he thought Will looked to type to know how to do such a thing. Will wasn't going to correct him if it meant he got to do something other than sitting on the curb like a lump of shit, waiting for inspiration to strike. He asked the man to show him the broken door.

There wasn't any charm in his tone. It came with the territory of fending for yourself as a kid, dodging drunken fists and finding escape in 50 cent paper backs from the corner store. If anyone realized his words were always lack-luster, they never said anything, but then again, he didn't talk to anyone if he didn't have to. He couldn't remember the last time someone had told him they were proud of him.

The man (who Will still hadn't gotten the name of, but was too lazy to ask for it) led him around back, where the back door was practically falling off the hinges. The alley behind the shop was cluttered and dusty, and Will asked in rapid-fire French if the store had been broken into, but the shop-keeper waved him away, saying it was just worn out with much use. Then he said he'd bring him some tools, if he just sat tight for a few moments. It was always funny to hear American expressions in French, like hearing a senior citizen curse. Unexpected.

When Will received the tools from the man, he got to work. His groceries long forgotten, he shrugged off his shirt after only a few minutes, sweat soaking his skin to an uncomfortable extent. The open air was welcome, even if the exposed skin only served to make him uncomfortable. His chest was too skinny for his taste, ribs exposed and stomach sunken. It wasn't like he was doing this for vanity, though.

He unscrewed the door completely, and checked the hinges. They were rusted, but usable. The screws on the door itself were another story and would have to be completely replaced. He yelled his findings inside to the shop-keeper, not waiting for an answer before starting to clean the hinges.

Even this minimal amount of work helped to soothe his mind, and he lost himself in the easy, rhythmic work. He knew it wouldn't take long, or require strength, but he loved it all the same. He loved fixing things, to be specific. His bed frame when it broke, the kitchen sink when his dad threw a bottle at him and missed. It made him feel fulfilled in a way not a lot of other things did. That probably said a lot about him, that only by doing things for other people could make him feel useful.

Will paused with his hands on the hinges, because, God help him, he thought he saw Casper May again. He had left the house to get away from his dad, only for another unhappy reminder of his psat to keep popping up. The boy in question was leaning against the wall a few houses down, intently reading a poster on the wall. His hands and eyes gave him away though, he was fidgeting and every few seconds he would glance at Will.

What Will wanted to do was go inside the shop, tell the man he couldn't fix it today, then run like hell to his house to escape, but he wasn't going to do that. He physically couldn't, and even the thought of it made his heart twitch. If he wasn't offering his mind, body, and soul up for other people's use, what was the point?

The other option was albeit darker, but it delighted him more. A brief fantasy overtook him, in which he gripped Casper May's head tightly, fingers interwoven in that frustrating blonde hair, and slammed his face into the brick, and watched as the blood smeared against his skin. Missing teeth and a broken jaw wasn't the worst he'd have to deal with. With a sharp kick to his knees, Casper May would be on the ground, and Will could really go to work then.

Will pressed a grounding hand to the brick, not even stiffening when it started to cut through the skin of his palms. He needed the pain now, or he didn't know what he would do in the future. He took a deep breath and felt closer to crying than he had in weeks. Fuck.

He still had to fix this stupid door and go home. Little things like a kind-of stalker were inconsequential. The shop-keeper popped his head outside the door, asked about the status of the hinges and all, and when Will was done talking, he looked back over to see Casper was gone. Good. He didn't need any more distractions. Today was supposed to be his day, damnit.

The door was finished, or at least as finished as Will could do without extra parts, and the man (whose name Will learned only in their last exchange) sent him off with an extra dollar in his pocket and a bottle of Coke. It was refreshingly cold, and Will pressed it to his forehead briefly. It made him think of the one time his dad had taken him upstate, to northern Sportsman's Paradise during the winer. Will didn't remember if it was for work or pleasure, but he did remember the snow. It had snowed on their last day there, and he'd run around for hours in his shitty hand-me-down boots. He'd nearly gotten hypothermia, but it was worth it. Will loved every second of it.

While he was walking back down the main street, he swore his eyes were playing tricks on him. Attention was nice, of course, but every block he could see Casper turning the corner just behind him. Tailing him.

In later years, Will would learn how to drop a tail, how to confront a persecutor. But right now he was sixteen, tired, and unfortunately, enamored with his stalker. It was the hair, Will swore. And the toned, swimmers arms. Needless to say, Will didn't care as much as he should have about another boy following him home.

Will turned onto his street, waved to the lady who was back outside on her porch, then very certainly didn't look over his shoulder when he walked inside. If Casper could follow him all the way from the store, he could stand to wait outside for five minutes while Will put the groceries away.

Will didn't know where his anger was coming from, and knew it was wrong to direct it towards another person who hadn't done anything wrong, but honestly Will was beyond caring at this point. He slid the plastic bag off the food, grimacing at the way it stuck to the sides with water, and threw it vaguely near the trash. With the food away, Will didn't have a real reason to delay, but he still wanted to draw out their confrontation for as long as possible.

The sun was starting to ghost over the tops of trees in the distance, painting the sky with overtones of yellow in the west. Will stopped in his room and gave it a hopeless once over. He couldn't remember the last time he cleaned it, but it wasn't like he had many things anyway. The fixed bed frame supporting a thin mattress and messy gray sheets (they were white when his dad had gotten them.) He had a bookshelf on one wall, and a tiny desk on another. Altogether, it left him with almost two feet of walking space, which was mostly taken up by discarded clothes. Will never asked when his dad was doing laundry, and in turn, it never got done. It was only when the smell got to be too much that his dad would fold, and take his clothes to be washed. Will was always astonished at his own power plays.

There were a few lures on his desk, and he fiddled with those for a few moments. He had made most of them himself, now that he no longer needed his father's help in tying knots and securing feathers. He only made them nowadays for something to do, rather than as an excuse to fish with his dad. Those days were over, and he was glad. He had bigger problems now, namely the one named Casper May who was still on his front lawn, as far as Will knew.

He walked back down the hallway, the one that went through every room in the house. They lived in a shotgun, so there was no imitation of privacy to be found. Usually Will could get away with locking himself in the bathroom at the end of the house, but that wasn't working anymore. He'd have to find somewhere else to hide.

Casper was still on his front lawn. He was sitting, cross-legged and weirdly childish, looking around like he was in trouble. Will worked his jaw. What would the harm be, anyway? At worst, this whole thing could have been a charade to chew Will out somewhere in private, but Will really doubted it. Hope was undeniably stirring in his chest, ignoring his feverish pleas against it.

He opened the screen door with a bang, and Casper's eyes met his. They were brown, Will hadn't noticed. Or rather, he had, but he'd ignored them.

They could have exchanged words, meaningful ones. Sentences laced with metaphor and apologies that more than made up for their grievances. Instead, Casper asked if Will wanted to go drink with him on the roof of the abandoned police station.

It wasn't quite the declaration Will was looking for, but he expected he'd never find his someone. His soulmate, wherever you wanted to call it. Drinking on the roof sounded like a great idea, to be honest.

Casper brushed off his pants, and Will's gaze lingered there for a moment too long, bringing a flush to both their cheeks. Will wanted to apologize, what for he wasn't certain, but then Casper extended his hand and every thought disappeared from his head. Will might as well spray-paint a slur on his wall with everything holding hands would broadcast, but he wanted to. It was like the trampoline, or helping Steven with his door. It was spur of the moment, and even if he forgot about it the next day, it meant something to him in the moment. Casper meant something to him at that moment, so he locked their fingers together.

Casper's palms were sweaty, and his nails were longer than Will's. He was fascinated by it, just by touching his hand briefly sent flames licking up his arm, warming his face.

He should have been looking around. He should have been checking to see if they were safe. Will's dad's car pulled in front of the house at twice the speed it had to, and it sent tendrils of fear right to his heart. He couldn't look at Casper in that moment, knowing he'd only find confusion and fear on his face. Their hands were still locked together, even as they stood a foot apart.

Will couldn't meet his father's eyes either, not when he stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him, or when he yelled at Will to look at me in my eyes, you pussy. He saw his father's boots, water beading around the toes and staining the sidewalk. But he couldn't raise his eyes farther than that. Casper, the stupid, stubborn boy, didn't drop Will's hand or step away. He should have run. Will should have told him to run.

The slap across his cheek was painful, borderline excruciating. Will had other bruises there, faded yellow with time but so, so sensitive. He rocked back on his feet and would have fallen if not for Casper, who pulled him upright and stood in front of him. Blocking his view of his father.

His dad's voice only rose, to a painfully loud tone in which he denounced Will, calling him a deviant and a fairy and a thousand other words that Will had heard before, but never directed at him. Every person on their street could hear him if only they opened their doors, and let the hate roll in like mist. Will was sure they would. The words stung worse than the slap did.

Casper tugged on his arm. Will was unwilling to look in his eyes. Will's father didn't seem to care who he was being queer with, only that his only son was the end of his precious bloodline. Will wanted to punch him. Instead, he focused on a leaf near his feet. It was tinged red on the edges. Fall was coming.

Will let Casper pull him away, onto the street until they were running. The words followed him, and his dad didn't yell at him to come back. Will half-hoped he never did.

They stopped outside a building, sneakers dragging on the street, and Will got his eyes high enough to see the shabby sign out front. Hopedale Police Station. A laugh erupted from him then, high and off-key, and unbelievably sad. He knew he was digging his fingers into Casper's hand too hard, and that he must be in some kind of pain. He didn't say anything, he just led him to the back of the building where a rusty ladder waited for them.

They dropped hands to climb, Casper first, and Will immediately missed the feeling. He followed him up, and let his feet hang off the side, facing not forwards or backwards, but out towards the waterfront. Casper took his hand again when Will joined him.

He could feel the scratchy surface through his jeans. All his pants had holes in them, not the stylish, fashionable ripped pants that people with more money than they knew what to do with had. These were the kind of holes that accumulated over the years, the kind that a thousand pool parties and fence-hoppings often lead to.

Casper said, at least you got his groceries.

Will laughed normally, and pressed his forehead against Casper's shoulder. It was warm, and slick with sweat from their run.

Which is great, Will said, except I doubt he'll ever let me in the house again. Unless he drinks and completely forgets about today.

Does he do that a lot?

Enough, yeah. More than I'd like.

I'm sorry.

It's not your fault. It's not mine, and I don't think it's his either. We're all a little fucked, this is just… how he deals with it, I guess. Will breathed out. This was more than he told anyone on a good day.

I should've been less obvious, I can't help but feel like this is my fault.

Will shook his head, still half-pressed against Casper's side. He would have figured it out. You were direct and it was… well, you were direct.

Casper laughed, shaking Will slightly from his side. God, his laugh was like music. If Will could bottle it and listen to it on repeat every second of every damn day, he would.

Why the change of heart? I thought you hated me. Even if Casper left now, even if he pulled away, Will wanted to know.

Everyone else hates you, I just got roped into it. I never have, really. Casper sounded genuine. If his words didn't match his actions, Will didn't know what he'd do.

They were silent. Will felt comfortable in knowing that neither of them felt the need to fill the air with meaningless garbage. Even if there was so much Will wanted to know, wanted to say, he could wait.

He was content to enjoy the sunset, even if he knew he'd be going home alone.

fin

#westley writes #hannibal #will graham #nbc hannibal #fanfic #hannibal fanfiction #will graham fanfiction

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trainchomp · 1 year

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Princess Bride steddie au

#eddie as westley #steve as buttercup #im thinking tommy as Humperdinck #or maybe billy but not enough death for him #maybe billy as the six fingered man #robin as inigo #chrissy as fezzik #and then that scene where fezzik sobers inigo up but they fall in love at the end #JARGYLE AS MIRACLE MAX AND HIS WIFE #i might just write this #mayhaps just an outline to get started #i have to figure out who vizzini is #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things

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enfant-du-fleurs · 1 year

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As You Wish: Part 1 (Jake Kiszka x Female Reader)// Inspired by "The Princess Bride"

NOTE: Hi! Well... I'm low-key obssesed with "The Princess Bride" book and movie, so I couldn't wait to write this fanfiction, also Jake dressed up as Westley for this Halloween and I literally fainted when I saw those pictures. I hope you enjoy it, you don't need to read or watch "The Princess Bride" to understand this fanfiction c:

WORDS: 2083

TYPE: fluff

PAIRING: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

WARNINGS: mentions of kidnappings, strong language and uncomfortable situations.

SUMMARY: Inspired by "The Princess Bride", Y/N was a very beautiful girl who lives in a farm, she suddenly discovers that she may have feelings for her shy servant Jacob. This is only inspired by the first chapter of the book, so there's A LOT of more adventures for the future c:

🌼PLAYLIST:🌼

The Boxer - Simon & Garfunkel

Message In A Bottle - Taylor Swift

Flower Power - Greta Van Fleet

Build Me Up Buttercup - The Foundations

Annie's Song - John Denver

Today Was A Fairytale - Taylor Swift

As any other country in the Middle Ages, there was a king and a queen , and as any other other kingdom in the Middle Ages, they were misogynistic and the king needed a son, but his beautiful and wise queen never had a son, every single baby that they had… was a girl, and for some strange reason, the babies never survived more than one week alive, maybe it was because in that time everybody was dirty and they smelled like ass, or maybe… there was something darker behind the king. Even though it wasn’t a secret that the king was a misogynistic asshole, as I said… it was the Middle Ages so nobody really cared about it (maybe we could ask ourselves if we really live in the 21th century).

The king was trying to have son, but everything failed, so he took advantage of his power. He visited every single house of every single farmer with newborn babies in the whole country, and after a very extended search, he finally found a family with four children, a very cute little girl, two kids very similar to each other (in other words: twins) and the newborn SON of the family. The asshole king wanted to buy the newborn son, just like if the baby was a thing and not a human being, but as any other normal family would do, they said “No, absolutely no”. Apparently the king accepted the answer of the baby’s parents, but he could never accept a “no” for answer, so he paid a “professional kidnapper” to kidnap the baby. So a couple of nights after, the king forced the queen to announce that she was pregnant, so he could justified a baby coming out of nowhere in a couple of months. Nights after the big and fake announcement, the kidnapper finally stole the baby from his mother’s arms.

Fifteen years after, the boy grew up and now he was a teenager and obviously a prince named Samuel. He was more like his foster mother, relaxed and kind in comparison to the king, but after all, he grew up with a lot of privileges that maybe in his life as a farmer he could never had.

His real family never stopped looking for him, they never suspected something about the prince Samuel, even though his features were similar to rest of his siblings, the king really planned everything to justify his wife pregnancy, everything was on point.

Samuel’s sister at the age twenty years, she was already settled down with another farmer, meanwhile the twins Jacob and Joshua, at they age of nineteen they used to work as musicians on the street but due to the lack of money and food that they needed to survive, Josh went to Spain to learn the art of performing and smithy, meanwhile Jacob had to work as a servant for another family of farmers.

This family of farmers had a very gorgeous daughter, her name was Y/N. It was normal to see her riding her horse or playing around the fields and her dress was always covered of leaves. To be honest she was very quirky, she walked kinda funny, but I guess she knew it.

Y/N enjoyed teasing Jacob all the time, well… almost all the time, but the reality was that Y/N was deeply madly in love with him. Jacob was pretty handsome, his hair was starting to be longer, his body was athletic but not muscular, I guess that is normal for someone who works carrying stuffs, cleaning and going everywhere.

Our dear Jacob was also in love with Y/N, but they never said something to each other, he was very shy and introverted, so he only showed his love saying "As you wish" while he nodded at her.

One day, the king was looking for a wife for Prince Samuel, so he sent the Counts to look every single and virgin girl in the country. The Counts arrived to Y/N's farm and they immediately talked to their parents.

"As you may noticed, we are here because the King is getting older and the Prince Samuel is closer to the perfect age for being the king, so... according to the population records, you have a daughter, can we see her?" asked the Count.

Y/N's parents called her and when she was there the Count was seeing Y/N carefully, he noticed that indeed, Y/N was a very beautiful girl, her soft hair, her bright eyes, everything in her was perfect, except for the fact that she didn't like to take showers.

"Good Morning, young lady. I'm very sorry if we are bothering you or if we interrupt your day, but we are here because we have wonderful news for you." said the Count with calm.

"Oh! Really? News for me?" Y/N asked bowing her head to the side.

"Yes! Well, the King is looking for a new Queen."

"So... do you want me to look for a new Queen?" she said.

"No, my darling, is not like that. We want you to be the new Queen" said the Countness.

"So... that means that you want me to marry the King? Isn't he very old for me? I mean... he's like 67 years old man" said Y/N impressed by the weird proposal.

"No, no, no" the Count laught "You would be marrying the Prince Samuel. I know that you are older than him, just a little bit older than him, but that's not a problem, we can lie to the villagers just like the king does and everybody is going to be happy."

Y/N didn't like a single word that the Count was saying.

"You'll be rich, you can have an entire room only for you..."

"I already have it" Y/N interrupted the Countness.

"How I was saying" she sighed "you can have exclusive education and a very handsome prince."

"I don't need a handsome prince, I already met the prettiest and most talented man that I want to spent my life with. I know how to read, I'm not stupid, maybe I'm not rich but at least I'm happy. Why are you looking for a normal girl if there are a lot of beautiful princesses out there?" Y/N said.

Jacob was sweeping the leaves, although he was working, he was also paying attention to the conversation with the Counts, so when he heard that Y/N said something about <<she already met the prettiest and most talented man>> he stopped sweeping for a couple of seconds. His little heart ached, but then... he reminded that she doesn't have pontential fiancés, she hadn't even met any other men but him <<Who could be that man she mentioned if he only knows me?>> he asked to himself.

"Well..." the Count began to laugh nervously "We are just following the King's order. Since you're very young to understand the situation, we are going to talk about this with your parents."

"If our girl said no, it's no" her dad said.

"For God's sake! Are you sure to reject an offer like this?" the Countness asked to Y/N showing indignation.

"I don't even know how the Prince Sam looks like" Y/N said.

Jacob began to move closer to listen a little more of the conversation, but he kept sweeping. The Countness looked at the young servant a she pointed at him "The Prince looks a little bit like your servant." Jacob stopped, his face turned pale and he was just looking nervously at Y/N.

"Like Jacob?" the beautiful girl asked surprised.

"Like me?" asked the confused young servant.

"Yes, yes, both have very similar features, I would think that they could be brothers if I wasn't the Countness" she giggled "Both are very... very handsome, their noses are very... particular and their delicate and their kissable lips" she began to move closer to Jacob until she gently slid her finger on Jacob's cheek, he took two steps backwards and he ran to his little house next to the horses. He was obviously uncomfortable for the actions of this woman and because she said that Prince Samuel and him shared some features <<What if the prince is my brother?>> he thought.

After the akward moment, the Counts tried to convince Y/N and her parents, but everything ended with Y/N saying "I don't care if the prince looks like the most handsome man I ever met" sadly Jacob didn't hear that.

______________________________________________________________

The moon was shining in the sky, the wind was brushing every leave of the trees. The horses were sleeping and next to them, there was Jacob's little house where he slept. He was playing a very sweet melody on his lute, Y/N heard him and she thought it was a good idea to finally tell him that she is deeply madly in love with him.

Y/N stayed a couple of minutes standing in front of Jacob's little house, she was very nervous. She knocked the door and Jacob stopped playing. When he opened the door Y/N without hesitation started to talk.

"I know that you find me annoying and I interrumpted you, but a couple of days ago I realised that I'm deeply madly in love with you and the only way to show my love for you was pissing you off, the thing here is that I realised that it's a very awkward behaviour, so I just wanted to visit you because I had the violent urge to tell you that I love you" she said without taking a single break to breath.

Jacob was completely astonished, he was petrified as a rock, he didn't move or say a single word.

"C'mon... say something" she begged.

"Something?" he furrowed his brows.

"You know exactly what I'm talkin about, Jacob"

He just slammed the door keeping his astonished face, of course that Y/N found that very disrespectful "Don't fool yourself, I don't like you that much either" she said trying to hide the fact that Jacob had broken her heart in million pieces "Everything was just because that old ass woman called you handsome, right? She's too old for you, Jacob!" she yelled.

Jacob opened the door again "No, it wasn't" he said quietly.

"Then? Why don't you just say something about what I told you?" Y/N desperately asked.

"Y/N... I love you too, since the very first minute I saw you, I had an enormous crush on you. But I'm just a servant, what can I do for you more than obeying your orders? Every single time, trust me" he gently took her hands "Every single time I said -as you wish- it was just me saying that I love you. You're the only reason that I compose melodies when I'm supposed to be sleeping, every single melody I play is for you." he gently kissed Y/N hands "I was waiting for this moment, my dear Y/N."

Our beautiful Y/N was melting, she was so happy to hear Jacob's words, she couldn't believe that her love for him was mutual. Once inside the house, Jacob played almost all his songs that he composed. It was so touching that the musician and the muse were together enjoying the music and finally... expresing their love for each other with shy kisses, tender glances and fleeting caresses full of innocence.

Finally they fell asleep, but the sound of the birds singing in the morning woke them up.

"Oh my God!" Y/N exclaimed getting up after resting on Jacob's chest "The sun is rising! Jacob! Wake up!"

He yawned and the first thing he did was looking at Y/N "Oh...good morning" he smirked "But eveyone is still sleeping, come here."

"I have to go, my parents don't know that I'm here" she said straightening her dress "But anyways, I'm so happy that we spent the night together with your wonderful music. Since the first time I heard you, I was completely mesmerized with your talent" she kissed softly his forehead.

"And I'm very happy too because you stayed here with me and because I know that our feelings are mutual, also... you heard me, I was always thinking and imagining how it would be the day you heard all the songs that you inspired me."

After spending a couple more minutes together, before Y/N left Jacob's little house, she said with a huge smile on her face"What if we compose more music... together this night?"

"As you wish, Y/N. I'll wait you here, my love."

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whumpcloud · 1 year

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tiny lil darling snippet idk what to call it but have it <3

content: pet whump, very direct threat of noncon (doesn't happen), dubcon kissing, it as a pronoun, drinking

"D-Darling…"

Darling knows its purpose is to comfort. But it still feels so uncomfortable to see Master panicking. Master is so calm and collected most of the time that it somehow manages to throw Darling off, even though it was made for this.

"It's okay, Master," Darling soothes, climbing into Master's lap. Master clutches it tightly, and it does nothing but press into Master's chest and gently nuzzle his neck. "I'm here. Tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Master gasps. "N-Nothing's wrong, I'm… just…"

"Then it's okay not to speak," Darling whispers, lifting a hand to run it through Master's hair. "You're home, I'm with you. Everything's okay, Master."

Master shudders, and leans back into Darling's touch. It's comforting, just like it's supposed to be.

"Darling…" Master mumbles. "I love you…"

"I love you too, Master," Darling replies. Master never tells it he loves it unless he's drunk. "Shh. Just relax. Then we can go to bed. Does that sound nice?"

"Mhm…" Master's head lolls back, and he's already falling asleep. "D… Darling…"

Darling sighs. Just a little. It isn't annoyed, it could never be annoyed at Master, it just…

It has no excuse, but Master didn't seem to hear the sigh anyway.

"Time for bed," Darling murmurs, pries Master's fingers from it, and gets up. Master follows only to have something to hold.

The moment Darling slows down Master grabs it again, pulling it tight. The pungent smell of whiskey is nearly overwhelming.

"You're so sweet," Master murmurs, pressing a messy kiss to the top of Darling's head. "Want to hold you forever. So soft."

"You can hold me in bed, Master," Darling says, careful of how it's speaking, so that it doesn't offend Master in this volatile state. "With the comfy mattress and the soft blankets. Doesn't that sound better than standing in the hallway?"

"Don't want to move," Master mumbles.

"But it'll be nice and warm," Darling whispers, cautiously stepping forward and dragging Master with it. "And I'll be there the whole night."

"S'metimes I wish I'd trained you as an Intimate." Master just seems to let Darling move him forward. "Y're so pretty. You'd look so pretty with my f'ngers in y'r mouth."

Darling swallows. Same as always. "Think about it tomorrow, Master."

Darling manages to get Master into the bedroom and laid down on the bed. Master doesn't bother trying to make it easy for Darling to get his work clothes off - he just pulls Darling into the bed and pulls it up close.

"Mine, y'r my pretty li'l Darling," Master whispers, slurring most of his words. Master leans in and kisses Darling on the lips, a not completely unfamiliar sensation, but an odd one nonetheless. "W's that nice? I w'nt you…"

Master's hands are clumsy when he's drunk, but tonight they're at least still gentle when they try to fumble with the cord on Darling's pyjamas. Darling tied them so tightly for exactly this reason. Master never said it couldn't stop him from doing this. It wasn't made for this.

"Master," Darling says softly, deterring him by threading its fingers through Master's, practiced, careful. "I'm tired. Aren't you tired?"

"I'll j'st fuck you while y'r sleeping," Master mumbles, but makes no move to untangle his hands from his Pet's.

"You're tired," Darling murmurs, and leans in close, kissing the underside of Master's jaw. "Wouldn't it be nice to just go to sleep and let me do all the work?"

"Nnh…" Master's eyelids flutter at the suggestion. "Y'r so good. Y'r so good f'r me…"

Darling doesn't reply, just kisses him again, soft and chaste and it's keeping things that way. Darling has only just kissed down to Master's collarbone when he starts to lightly snore.

Darling lets out another tiny, secret sigh, and curls up against Master's chest. He'll be too hungover to remember any of this in the morning anyway. He won't know what Darling did or didn't do.

taglist: @whumpsday @roblingoblin285 @whumpycries @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @clairelsonao3 @dislexiher

#polly's prose #delicate #peter (darling)#westley santana #peter is so. interesting. he's very quickly becoming one of my favourite characters to write #he is so smart. he literally doesn't know what's going on ever things just happen to him and he's like ''okay 👍''#anyway if this is Too Much for anyone dw about it <3 not super plot important. i was just thinkin thoughts at 3am about the boy.

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selfproclaimedunicorn · 2 months

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Secrets In The Dark

Sooooo, I wrote another drabble set in Aldreda’s backstory. It's not not a sequel to the last one, but there's probably a couple months between them. Also it's from her shitty cousin's POV, so content warning for being in the brain of the guy actively deciding he wants to groom a 13-year-old. Fully understand that not being something everyone will want to read, I just needed to expunge my soul of the idea I had. Anyway, felt slimy after completing this & again while editing so I'm gonna plan nice things now

Aldreda Tag | AO3 Series | Other Flashback Drabble

Stars blinked above in the great expanse of black as water gently sloshed against the sides of the longship, making it rock and softly creak as it sat still in the waters of The Sunset Sea. Westley groaned as he sat up. His arm was numb from having laid his head on it for so long, and The Sharp’s eighth son had rolled over enough to be on the edge of the blankets he’d wrapped around himself to keep out the cold and the wet and offer some cushion between himself and the hard planks of the ship. If it weren’t for the cold glint of a blade in the dark, and the shadow of Beorn Merlyn’s form huddled near the port side of the hull, he would have pushed the ship boy further away from him. He didn’t want to risk shoving him into one of the other men and waking up more people before he could talk to him.

Westley stretched, working limberness back into his shoulders and arms before pushing himself up and stepping over the sleeping man at arms that lay between him and the huddled form near the hull. Beorn's posture stiffened, and he watched Westley with hard, dark blue eyes. He didn’t move, the knife in his hand pausing in its work against whatever silly little trinket he’d been whittling to pass the time. A good bit of shavings crunched under Westley’s boot when he stepped in front of Beorn; he’d been at this a while it would seem. He crouched down before his man, arms rested on his knees and a manic grin on his face.

“Hope you’re not planning a mutiny with that.” He tried to keep his tone light as he inclined his head towards the knife, hoping his words would be taken as a jest. Beorn had been a good friend to him, loyal and true and willing to listen to his orders in spite of being a few years older than him. Westley had been just as true to Orwen, and he’d loved his older cousin like a brother…but that did not mean his loyalties to his cunt uncle’s now-dead son outweighed those to his own father, The True Farwynd. Such caveats to loyalty existed in everyone, even the fourth son of The Merlyn sent off to serve ‘one of those crazy Farwynds out in their lighthouse.’

“Not planning anything…unless you do something.” Beorn’s gaze faltered, unable to hold Westley’s unblinking eye contact, and he mumbled the second part.

“Do something?” his grin relaxed, and true humor played at the edges of his voice this time, “Where’s that coming from?”

Beorn’s eyes darted towards the sleeping figure curled up between him and the hull, and he followed the other man's gaze. Aldreda. Westley looked back from his cousin, fair and vulnerable, to his man. He said nothing, his smile fading to blank neutrality.

Beorn shifted under his near-black gaze, anxiety dripping from him like water off the oars. His hushed whispers came out as a desperate plea, “I know we've never cared, but she is too much risk, Westley!”

He didn't say anything, continuing to just stare at Beorn. The other man swallowed, and he rubbed his thumb over one of the rough edges of the half-formed carving in his hand. “I know The Farwynd said to do what you wish, but that was more for her than you. It had to have been, and you know that.”

“Beorn.” Westley’s low voice was cold and stern, a warning to shut his stupid blabbering mouth. He did not heed it.

“Westley, you cannot touch her. If you take her maidenhead, The Farwynd will have you stripped naked and thrown into the walrus rookery slathered in clam juice at best, and during their rut at worst. Naga's Bones, Orwen even–”

Before Beorn could continue, he grabbed his jaw, holding so tightly that he winced. Westley’s brother-in-arms didn’t need to be brought into this. A dead man had no business in his affairs, especially if his words were still being honored. The honoring was not how he meant it in life, but it was still happening.

“And your plan for if I touch Aldreda is what, exactly? To cut off the fingers I put in her and present them to The Farwynd? To take off my cock and throw it in the ocean? To betray House Farwynd and kill your captain?”

Beorn did not respond, probably because he could not. Still, Westley searched his face as he held fast to his blocky jaw, fingers pressing hard into the bone. It was uncomfortable for him as well, but there was a malicious sort of pleasure in the discomfort on his man’s face while he tried to impart his thoughts without words.

“You only care because Aldreda is special…which is why you have nothing to worry about.” An easy smile spread across Westley’s face as Beorn’s thick brows furrowed with confusion. He let go of him, and patted his cheek as the other man tried to work some amount of comfort back into his jaw.

“Aldreda is special,” he reiterated, careful to continue keeping his voice low, “which is why no one will have her. There will be a proper time, of course, but that is for me. When she is six and ten I will make sure that in these three years she has learned that she’s mine. Your only job, Beorn, is to ensure that Aldreda hears and knows nothing of anyone else. I have needs, you understand, and they are none of her business. Her only business is taking what I give her, when I give it to her; training, raiding experience, love as Orwen’s sister, and one day as my woman. Promise me you’ll do this.”

There was still that same confused sort of concern on his face when he started to respond, “Westley–”

He frowned, quietly furious, and moved his hand from Beorn’s cheek, to his neck. Westley hauled him up onto his feet by the scruff, and the knife and hunk of wood clattered to the floor of the longship as they were dropped in the process of being dragged to the hull. He bent Beorn over the edge, the other man’s face barely above the black brine.

Westley loomed over him as he spoke again, his words coming out through gritted teeth. “If you do not swear to make sure all she knows is that I waited for her–”

“Westley?!”

The rustling of waking bodies and Aldreda’s worried cry saw Westley leaning forward, dunking Beorn’s head into the sea, and grabbing his upper arm to get a better hold on him. With a grunt of put on effort, he pulled him back up and away from the hull. Beorn coughed and sputtered over the water that had gotten in his mouth and up his nose as all that salt soaking his hair and the collar of his tunic dripped down and softly pattered onto the floor of the longship.

“There you go,” he put on a show of straightening his tunic and caring for his waterlogged man, “you have to be more careful!” Beorn's eyes met Westley’s for a moment, angry and disbelieving, before ultimately a look of resignation crossed his face.

“I will…I promise.” When he spoke, the words were horse and brought about another coughing fit.

“What happened? Beorn, are you alright?”

“He tripped.” The lie fell easily from Westley’s lips as Beorn coughed into his fist, and Aldreda and Vickon and other men looked on with concern.

“I am fine,” Beorn rasped, “I got pulled out before anything too bad.”

“Vickon, get something for him to dry off.”

“Aye, Westley!” The Sharp’s son scrambled to gather something at least mostly dry for Beorn as the men all mocked or checked on him, stretching and then easing back into the spots where they’d been sleeping. After a moment, Beorn went to Vickon’s side to dry off, leaving only Aldreda and Westley by he hull

“Beorn is usually so sure-footed.”

“Everyone has their moments, and it is a good thing I was up to see his. Best to not be down a man, we will need everyone once we hit the coast. House Reyne’s land is rich with plunder.”

“So that is where we’re going?” There was a sparkle of excitement in her black eyes, and a wild grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. Naga’s Bones, Westley wanted her now; wanted to see how that grinning mouth would feel around his cock. It wasn't the right time though, he wanted her to want it as much as he did.

“It is,” Westley returned her grin and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, “I thought you deserved something big for your first raid.” Her cheek felt warm when his fingers brushed it, and something soft entered her smile.

“Get back to sleep, Aldreda. We'll talk about the plans tomorrow.”

“Right…good night, Westley.”

A smug sort of satisfaction filled Westley’s chest as Aldreda did as he bid her. It wasn't much, not yet, but the willingness was there; his work could be done in three years.

#my writing #fic: a fair and handsome seal lord #ocs #oc: aldreda farwynd #westley farwynd i am in your walls #i mean i love when a villain is truly A Villain & is evil & knowngly do shitty things #but also this man needs to be jailed #the way this man is so self aware & so fucking delusional at the same time #asoiaf oc

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