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aftgsucks · 1 month

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NMFTG ch 23

Operation Easthaven (it's not actually that complicated)

THe team scrambles to get Andrew out of easthaven under the cut: ao3

Coach took Neil at his word and ushered the Foxes down the hallway and out of the building. Neil ignored everyone’s continued questions in favor of continuing to bleed out of his face and freak the fuck out.

What the hell could he even do? What could Renee do? Burn the place down? A bomb threat maybe, something to get everyone evacuated, but it wasn’t like Neil knew which doctor Riko had paid off. And there was no telling what protocols the place had for that sort of situation. Or what would happen to Andrew if the law decided he was breaking the terms of his parole. Everything could just get worse if Neil ran off half-cocked.

Neil was in possession of a varied criminal career that covered a lot of areas, rehab centers and consequently breaking a guy out of a rehab center to protect him from evil rapist doctors were not covered in any of those aforementioned areas.

If only he could still ask Mary for advice. As if she’d say any anything other than Abram what the fuck do you think you’re doing, you’re name is now Mitch Blanc and you’re moving to Siberia. Forget about the goalie. You suicidal wretch.

Coach unlocked the bus and Neil pulled Renee away to the side to explain everything to just her. Except no one got on the bus and everyone just kept talking.

“Neil, please let me look at your nose.”

“What did Riko say about my brother?”

“Those fucking Ravens.”

“What did Kevin mean by if?”

“Jesus Christ Neil could you explain just one thing for once.”

“I swear to god Kevin I don’t care if Andrew stabs me.”

“Let’s just beat the shit out of Riko, who even cares why.”

“Nathaniel--” Kevin was so quiet, no one but Neil even heard him. But Neil heard it like a gunshot.

“DON’T CALL ME THAT,” Neil slapped a hand against the side of the bus. Everyone shut up. Neil wrestled with his lungs. “I’m Neil,” he managed to get out. Neil turned to Kevin. Kevin was pale and terrified and Neil could not find an ounce of care for his feelings. Not on this. “I’m Neil,” he repeated.

Kevin nodded. His right hand was wrapped around his left, both pulled close to his chest as if waiting for a rebreak. Already flinching from what he thought the son of the Butcher would do to him. And Neil found an ounce.

Neil dragged in a full breath. “Kevin, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” Kevin said, his voice still too quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“What the hell did he even call you?” Seth asked.

“Who cares about that,” Nicky yelled. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck whatever weird slur Kevin called Neil to make him snap! One of you two is telling me right now what Kevin meant by ‘if Andrew comes back,’ or I am hitting the both of you with Coach’s bus.”

“No, you will not be doing that,” Coach said. “All of you get on the bus right now and Neil will explain on the way back to Palmetto. And I swear to God if you all keep squawking at each other you will all be running back.”

Everyone got on the bus.

Abby made Neil sit next to her so she could look at his nose. Everyone else dead silent as she set it and tapped it and then offered Neil pain meds that he immediately refused. Once she was done Wymack started the bus and pulled onto the road.

“Okay, what happened?” Dan asked in her authoritative, do not disobey me captain’s voice.

Even if he had to say this in front of everyone, Neil still stood up and looked directly at Renee. “Riko bought one of the doctors at Easthaven, we need to get Andrew out before he ends up dead.”

Everyone lost their collective minds. A discordant chorus of “elaborate,” and “Coach turn this bus around right now.” And Neil struggled to ignore it. Especially as Aaron actively grabbed him by the suit collar, hissing and shaking like a feral cat.

“I’ll call Betsy,” Renee said, already pulling out her phone.

“Didn’t she sign over care or something,” Neil asked, leaning around Aaron to talk to her. Nicky had very loudly complained about that, that not even Dobson could get a message to Andrew.

“She’s still the best place to start,” Renee got up and went to the back of the bus.

“Aaron, you need to calm down,” Neil pulled Aaron’s hands off of him.

“Are you seriously telling me to calm down right now?”

“What part of shaking me do think will help Andrew?”

“Well, clearly Kevin thought hitting you would fix something,” Allison so very helpfully said.

“Riko said if Neil went to Evermore Andrew would be safe,” Kevin said, his voice flat with a bottle of vodka in his lap.

“That’s bullshit and we all fucking know it. All Riko wants is to fucking kill one of us, drugging Seth, sending that moron after Renee, Drake ending up across the country to surprise Andrew. This is just another goddamned hairbrained scheme to put one of us in the ground. If Andrew hadn’t gone to rehab he would have just tried to blackmail me into spending my break getting poorly tortured to death in his goth fucking torture room. If we leave Andrew in Easthaven he will die. If I go to Evermore I will die and Riko can still do whatever the fuck he wants to Andrew. And you know as jazzed as I am at the prospect of not having to deal with any of this shit anymore. I refuse to have Riko fucking Moriyama be the one to actually kill me. So no, I am not going to Evermore Kevin, Riko is a lying manipulative piece of shit and nothing short of actually getting Andrew out of that place is going to make him safe.”

“Neil, you need to breathe,” Abby said right behind him.

And yeah, actually the world was kinda fading out at the edges. Neil sat down. Katelyn was suddenly right next to him, knelt on the floor of the bus, asking him those inane questions about what he could see and hear. Inane because they worked and he hated that.

When Neil tuned back into the conversation Aaron was talking. “How the fuck do we get him out of there? You idiots barely got him in.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to figure out who Riko paid and report them,” Katelyn suggested, one hand still on Neil’s shoulder. “Or break their legs maybe? I don’t know, whatever it takes to stop them from hurting him. Getting the one without the court order out of the court ordered building sounds easier than getting Andrew out.”

“Holy shit,” Allison awed. “And I was confused about what you were doing with a Minyard. Break some doctor’s legs, what are you a fucking New York City gangster? You gonna tell Riko to sleep with the fishes?”

“Stop flirting,” Seth complained.

“How do we even figure that out? Poll the employees, hi have you ever taken money from famed exy star Riko Moriyama,” Matt asked.

“There has to be something about the doctor that made Riko offer, it’s not like he could have polled the employees to figure out which one would take the money.” Dan said.

“Easthaven’s supposed to be a good facility, Betsy said it was good. A good place wouldn’t just hire someone with that kind of history.” Nicky said. “Right? She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t have put. She wouldn’t put Andrew in a place--”

“Nicky, if I have to keep breathing so do you,” Neil said. He just wanted to hit something and have everything be fixed. He wanted a nap or to jump out of the moving bus. He wanted a gun. He was about to suggest the arson, evacuate, grab Andrew plan. Deal with the legal consequences whenever they happened. They didn’t have time to stalk all the employees, not thoroughly enough for whatever thread of depravity had managed to escape the center's background check but not Riko’s.

“I got an anonymous threat,” Wymack started, loud and final. “From some rival team while we were at the banquet that said a doctor was going to hurt Andrew. With everything that’s happened in the last two years it’s enough to at least get him on the phone. If not get Andrew moved someplace else. Walker,” he called out louder, “give me the phone when you’re done. Betsy and I will get Andrew out of Easthaven and you will all curb your violent criminal thoughts.”

“Can it be that simple?” Neil asked. “Will anyone take you seriously?”

“I’ll make them,” Wymack promised.

And that was good enough.

If nothing else, Neil was willing to let Coach try first. There was always arson if he failed.

Renee handed Wymack the phone and Wymack talked to Dobson. Dobson would drive out to Easthaven and Wymack would call ahead to whoever was in charge on his own phone.

No one pretended to not eavesdrop as Wymack called up the rehab center and started talking about dangerous fans. About how the team had gotten Swatted last year. All of the dead animals and vandalism that came along with the attention of “Raven’s fans,” he spun a good yarn. Wymack did. It helped that all of that was mostly true, with the exception of a lot of it being perpetrated by the Raven’s themselves.

The whole time he kept the bus at a steady calm pace. Ending with the explanation that Dr. Betsy Dobson needed to speak with the head of Easthaven and Andrew himself to ensure his safety in the face of these threats.

Quietly, while Coach was still talking, Kevin moved to sit near Neil. He still had that bottle of vodka, unopened, white knuckled in his grip.

“He wasn’t lying,” Kevin said in low French.

“No,” Neil admitted in the same language. “He wasn’t.”

“You’re gonna die,” Kevin said, knowing, solemn, without question.

“Yeah, I am.”

“You-- Fuck, Neil you’ve been saying that all year.” Kevin turned to Neil, “have you really been trying to get Andrew to kill you?” He asked.

“Eh, I could’ve been trying harder.”

“You’re gonna die,” he repeated, twisting his hands around the bottle.

“Kevin, enough. I know, there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Trust me, if I could…” Neil trailed off, would he? Really? If he could stop this, magically end everyone who wanted him dead. Erase Nathanial Wesninski from existence, make Neil Josten real and separate and alive. If Neil could do any of that, would he? Or would he just make the end not hurt. It was going to hurt. It was going to hurt so bad, he knew that, he had the proof of concept carved into his skin before he could properly remember it.

Neil looked at Kevin, “will you still teach me?” He asked.

“Every night.”

Neil debated the next question for half a moment before deciding maybe he needed an answer for this one thing. “What did he mean by owning me?”

“You don’t know?”

“Assume I’m an idiot.”

“Shit,” Kevin was wide-eyed. “Uh, when your mother took you, that was your audition. You were supposed to be a Raven. The money you took was the family's money. Your father sold you and then you ran.”

Well, all things considered his father literally selling him to a homicidal sports cult wasn’t exactly out of character for him. “I didn’t know, she never explained why we left. I never asked.”

“Why did you think you were there? Why did you think they made us watch your father kill someone?”

“Little league practice,” Neil shrugged. “He made me watch him kill people all the time, it was only strange that you and the other were there.” They were both avoiding names, speaking in French only disguised the conversation so much.

“If you failed the next day we would have watched him kill you.” Kevin said.

“He would have killed me for Exy?” Sure, Neil’s father would have stabbed him because it was a little too sunny outside. But disposing of his only son wholesale just for being bad at sports seemed wasteful even for him.

“You weren’t supposed to exist,” Kevin said. “None of the branches are supposed to have heirs, it would dilute the family’s power.”

No. No, absolutely not.

“He works for them?”

“How stupid are you?” Kevin asked.

“I was ten when I left, it’s not like anyone sat me down and explained the intricacies of it!” God fucking damn it, everything came back to the Moriyamas.

“What the hell are you two even arguing about?” Aaron asked. “Kevin, we’ve all wanted to hit Neil but this is just not his fault.”

Neil lost it. He laughed so hard his eyes teared up. Maybe Riko Moriyama would kill him, all he had to do was put in a phone call to his estranged family about where Neil was and that would do it. “C’mon Aaron, give it your best shot. I know you’re still miffed about Halloween.” He said in English, already anticipating the easy no Aaron would give but wanting someone to put him out of his misery nonetheless.

“You should run,” Kevin said in French.

“I’m sick of it, Kevin, I’m sick of all of it. I’m here, it’s fine.” Neil told him in French.

By the time they made it back to the dorms, the sun just peaking out over the skyline. Andrew had been moved to a new facility, strong armed by the combined powers of Wymack, Dobson, and a well documented history of Exy related harassment. The new place let Dobson see him and she reported that Andrew was tired, recovering from his meds, but otherwise unharmed.

Neil watched Nicky and Aaron be shocked at the degree of relief on the other Foxes. Andrew was safe, they’d gotten him out in time. He’d be back in the new year threatening to stab people and being dramatic.

But before then, the Monsters were going to New York and Neil needed to pack.

#no more fucks to give #aftg #all for the game #fanfiction #nmftg

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agentnico · 2 years

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Stranger Things - Season 4 (2022) Review

Look, I have nothing against Kate Bush, I’m sure she is a lovely woman with a fine set of skills, but ‘Running Up That Hill’ is milked so much in this season of Stranger Things that the song has become repetitively annoying. Max is in trouble - time to run up that hill. A monster appears - run up that hill. A character glares onwards with emotive expression - yet again, let’s run up that damn hill again! Let’s just leave the hill alone now, okay? We’ve ran to it a lot already, exercise is good for health and all that, but enough is enough!

Plot: It’s been 8 months since The Battle of Harcourt, which brought terror and destruction to the little town of Hawkins. With the Mind Flayer supposedly dead, our group of friends are separated for the first time, being split into three parties in different areas, and each of them needing to face new challenges. In this most vulnerable time, a new and horrifying supernatural threat surfaces, presenting a gruesome mystery that may or may not lead to some answers of the Upside Down.

I only recently gotten into Stranger Things, thanks to my dear fiancée recently wanting to rewatch the series in preparation for Season 4 and I just happened to be in the room with her so ended up observing the events from the comfort of my sofa whilst scrolling Facebook. And yeah, this old chap still uses Facebook, lay off me you Insta/TikTok generation! And gotta say, I am now invested. Maybe it was my favourite hobbit Samwise Gamgee appearing in the second season that got me in, or Dustin and Suzie belting out the Never Ending Story song in the cutest of fashions, regardless, something this show was doing right so I was in. And now the fourth season of the show has concluded on Netflix after having been released in two volumes, and evidently its the most expensive season yet. With longer episodes (volume 2 eps especially felt like feature length movies) and more major visual effects and set pieces, the Duffer brothers went all in on this one. And the result?

All in all, season 4 is really good. The events are split into three storylines, one in California where Eleven is struggling having lost her powers, second in Russia where our good chap Hopper is alive and... I was going to say ‘well’ however he’s stuck in a Soviet prison in Kamchatka so not the most pleasant of getaways, but regardless the second storyline is Joyce and Murray trying to save Hopper, and the third and arguably most interesting narrative line is back in Hawkins, where mysterious murders of teenagers are happening, and it turns out they are carried out by a new evil entity from the Upside Down dubbed with the name Vecna, who’s got his own malicious plans for taking over Hawkins and then after. So yes, there’s a lot of narrative in this season, so the longer episodes for the most part are justified. Should this season have been split into two volumes? Probably not. I get that Netflix wanted to build momentum and fan excitement, but the split between the two volumes is so random that it doesn’t really make sense. Regardless, releasing times don’t interfere with the show’s quality itself. For the most part it’s all good fun. Riveting plot-lines; plenty of 80s nostalgia with a lot of references to the likes of Nightmare on Elm Street and Dungeons & Dragons; a banging soundtrack featuring the aforementioned Kate Bush running up the forsaken endless hill as well as the likes of Journey, Kiss and even Metallica, and an abundance of characters doing their thang.

The characters are both a win and a detriment to this season, in that each character is great, unique, and the actor playing them is doing an excellent job, but the con being that due to the sheer number of characters and with the three separate plot-lines, a lot of the characters end up being left out or not getting much to do. Especially the likes of Will and Jonathan (the Byers brothers) had second to nothing to do. Mike too who in previous seasons was more of a central character is diminished in this season to a teen who just talks about his love for Eleven, the twirp. That being said, many other cast members have their time to shine, with stand-outs including Gaten Matarazzo’s Dustin, Sadie Sink’s Max, David Harbour’s Hopper, Natalia Dyer’s Nancy, Brett Gelman’s Murray, Joseph Quinn’s Eddie and Jamie Campbell Bower as Vecna. I would also mention Millie Bobby Brown as Eleven, but I don’t like the actress so I’m going to be biased and keep on disliking her. She may be a talented performer, but in real life she seems so full of herself that I’m just going to keep hating on this random individual I have never met but have made a pre-judged opinion on.

In terms of the finale, I was a tad disappointed with the lack of consequence, as the season foreshadows a lot of deaths, yet the finale doesn’t really deliver on that, and with the show already finding it difficult balancing all these characters, I feel like they should start killing some of them off to benefit the emotional heft of the narrative, but hey ho, the fifth and final season seems like it might just deliver on that. And heck, the set up for the fifth season is superb and does make me really excited for what is to come. So in conclusion, if you’re a Stranger Things fan, you’re naturally going to enjoy season 4, I mean that’s just a given. So why even read my opinion? You guys have all already seen this entire season already, judging from the fact Netflix crashed last night when Vol. 2 was released. Anyway, I’m going to bow out. Going to lie down after all that running I had to do courtesy of Kate Bush.

Overall score: 7/10

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handy-dandy-monster-candy · 3 years

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Nymrius

Rating: NSFW Length: 1546 Pairing: Male Drider x Male Reader (both cis)

Pure filth. *Blows kiss* For the spider lovers out there.

xxx

Hanging upside down from a thread of silk wasn’t the first thing I thought would happen on a weekend evening, but I would be lying if I said it was my first time. This instance was significantly less sexy, however, and I was sure the kind of eating that was planned wasn’t the pleasurable sort. “Getting desperate?” I asked, trying to ignore the pressure of the blood rushing to my head in favour of looking up at my captor.

“Shut up,” said the young drider who was dragging me up into his web, thin arms struggling with my weight. Driders always were on the delicate side, and I was anything but; I’d make a few meals for him yet, I reckoned.

“I might have the right to remain silent, but I lack the capacity,” I said, struggling to get a better view of my soon-to-be-murderer. “Afraid for my life and all. You understand.”

“I said, ‘be quiet’!” the drider snapped, though his voice trembled.

“‘Shut up’, actually,” I quipped, letting out an embarrassing squeak when I was heaved the rest of the way up in one unceremonious yank.

“Are all humans this odious?” the drider muttered, chest heaving almost as much as mine was.

“Only the ones who don’t want to die.”

“Well, neither do I,” the drider quavered, stubbornly beginning to wind me up in his silk. “I’m sorry, but I have to feed.”

“Couldn’t hunt something smaller?”

Acid yellow eyes narrowed in my direction, gleaming in the twilight. “If you must know, no. They were too quick for me.”

“You look much too old to be a helpless spiderling. What’s the matter? New management saw you as a threat?”

The drider bristled, hissing at me. “I should bite you just to silence you.”

“But you won’t,” I reasoned, “because you don’t have the venom for it. You’re not a hunter. You’re a weaver.”

“And just what gave you that idea?”

“You’re wasting your silk on me and crying. You’re no hunter.”

Thin hands scrambled up to wipe beneath the drider’s wide, shimmering eyes, his breaths hiccuping sharply in shock. He scowled at me thunderously, and if he’d had the venom, I’m sure he would have bitten me just as he’d threatened.

“Now what?” I asked, looking up into his face from my odd, twisted angle. “You’ve either got to kill me or wait for me to die. Do you have the stomach for either?”

“I don’t have a choice now, do I?” he waspishly replied, crossing his arms over his lithe chest. “Seeing as ‘management’ saw me as a threat for their precious offspring, I now have to fend for myself.”

“And you’ve up and managed to hunt yourself a hunter,” I laughed, helplessly amused. “Let me free and I’ll hunt you all the food you can fit in that pretty belly.” The drider flushed red at my words, which was both exactly what I was expecting and a pleasant surprise. “Oh, so it wasn’t your weaving that was a threat, but your appetite.”

“Bite your tongue!” hissed the drider, jabbing me painfully with one of his hard, slender legs. “What would you know of my ‘appetite’?”

I coughed the air back into my lungs, grinning widely; perhaps the blood rushing to my head was making me more reckless, or maybe it was my own appetite rearing up for one last hoorah before I was put out to pasture for good. Either way, I found myself saying, “Put your sweet cock in my mouth and find out.”

The drider squeaked. Mortified, no doubt, and by the looks of his shimmying against his webbing, aroused. Of course out of all the driders that could have caught me, I’d been caught by a prim and proper little beast.

“Come on,” I wheedled, going breathless at the prospect of what I was suggesting. “Give a man his dying wish to make a pretty thing like you come in his mouth.”

“Oh, gods,” whispered the drider, hiding his face in his hands as his thorax quivered. “It’s a trick. You’ll bite me.”

“Only if you want me to, sweetheart,” I purred, and delighted in the way he shivered from head to spinneret. “What have you got to lose? I’m dead anyway. I might as well rub myself off against this silk of yours before I go.”

The drider swore, eyeing me venomously and shifting closer with something between wariness and anticipation. “I’ll make your death painful if you hurt me,” he warned, and I nodded as he climbed over me, revealing a silvery-pink prick almost as long as my arm. My mouth watered as he pressed the slender, tapered tip to my lips, slipping my tongue out to taste him and groaning as his slickness coated the inside of my mouth with a gentle bittersweetness. He swore again above me as I took him into my mouth, sucking gently and pushing him against the insides of my cheeks as best I could.

“So good,” I whispered when I came up for air, wriggling my own erection up against my bindings as much as possible. “Look at you, so hard for me. Having me all tied up get to you, pretty boy? Like having the power?”

“Oh, gods, shut up,” the drider groaned, though judging by the way his prick twitched and throbbed, I’d hit the nail right on the head. I slipped my tongue into the little opening at the head of his cock and swirled it about, trying to hide my surprise at the way he cried out and ground down against the roof of my mouth. The next time, I applied a touch of teeth, nibbling at the opening and being rewarded by a healthy spurt of pre over my hungry tongue. We both moaned when I slurped him back into my mouth and lifted my head to have him grind against the back of my throat, his long, slender fingers spearing into my hair as he slid further and deeper into me.

Watching him was a madman’s wet dream. He bit at his fingers to quiet himself and gyrated his hips, rocking himself into my throat and teasing his body with his small, dexterous hands. Figures that I’d find a new passion on my last night on earth, but I was determined to see this whole thing through to the end, whatever end that may be. I redoubled my efforts and relished in his twitches and moans, losing myself to the breathless rhythm of riding him with my throat until he pulled away, leaving a string of pre and saliva joining my lips with his cock.

“What’re you doing?” I slurred, but he didn’t answer, instead moving around me and shifting me around until I was on my front, knees glued to my chest with silk and ass in the air. I twitched when I felt him cut away the silk and fabric of my trousers covering my aforementioned ass, then squeaked in my own right when I felt his cock grinding against my taint and balls. “Easy,” I gasped, cheek stuck to the silk beneath me. “Easy, baby, you haven’t even—“

“Hush,” the drider hissed, pushing insistently against my entrance and making a high noise of triumph when he made his way in, slick and persistent.

“Fuck,” I wheezed, tightening around him reflexively and finding that the intrusion barely bothered me more than my own fingers.

“Oh, I intend to,” the drider purred, pushing into me with tight, shallow thrusts that slicked up my insides and eased more of his dick inside me as he went. It was tapered at the end but broadened considerably as the length trailed on, and it wasn’t long before I was sobbing for mercy beneath my unruly lover. I was going to be gaping if I survived this, and I must have said so, because he laughed above me, grinding his thorax against my back and making me moan pitifully. “I’ve changed my mind about killing you,” he whispered as he fucked me, speaking between my wanton groans and the lewd noises coming from our slippery union.

“You might kill me yet,” I managed to choke out, though my traitorous body was already starting to push back against his cock, greedy for the fullness he offered. “Oh, fuck, at least tell me your name.”

“Nymrius,” he answered, soft and sibilant, and dug his nails into my skin when I echoed it a moment later when he thrust deep into my ass.

“Nymrius,” I said over and again, a prayer and a plea all at once. “Nymrius! Fuck me. Please fuck me. Not going anywhere. I’m yours. Trapped. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nymrius snarled, pistoning his hips into me hard enough to make me see stars, over and over again until I came hard enough that I wasn’t sure he hadn’t bitten me to make my insides liquid in the first place. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into that,” he muttered somewhere above me after several moments spent catching our breaths, and I laughed.

“I’ll hunt you a damn bear if that’s what you want. Just don’t stop fucking me tonight.”

The drider sucked his teeth. “Are all humans this obnoxious?”

“Only the ones who want to live.”

#exophilia #exophilia fic #mlm exophilia #gay exophilia #monster x male reader #monster boyfriend #monster romance #drider boyfriend #drider #Nymrius #My work

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sometimes-love-is-enough · 4 years

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re: your last ask about the time travel shenanigans—holy fuck yes please more of this. like, not only is it funny as hell, which i appreciate, but it's also a. more c!thomas and b. points to just how interestingly both the plot and characters of this series have grown over the years and i am ALL for it

"Janus!" is the first thing Thomas exclaims when he sees the Side Formerly Known Exclusively As Deceit rise up where Logan would usually stand. Which just might be a mistake, if Janus’s expression is anything to go by.

Okay, in Thomas's defence -

This is a really, really weird day, even by his standards. Because, like, Logan's currently standing in front of the stairs, and that's not where Logan's supposed to be, and his shirt and tie are all wrong. And had had been grinning. Openly. He had been openly grinning when Thomas had first woken up and looked in his wardrobe and realized that his favorite t-shirt apparently doesn't exist anymore and all his clothes are a half-size smaller than he's used to but also they still fit and - okay, no, back to Logan. He'd gone downstairs and tripped over a chair that wasn't supposed to be there and called out Logic. And he'd been about to ask him what's going on and why everything feels so off and also why Logan's standing in Virgil's usual spot instead of over to the right of the stairs. But then he'd noticed all the aforementioned Very Weird Clothing Things. And he'd stopped and said, "Uh, Logan?" and Logan's grin had dropped and he'd stared at Thomas for a full ten seconds then whispered, "what the fuck," with great emotion.

And then Patton had shown up with a ridiculous amount of pun-riddled cheerfulness that Thomas had been able to clock as sixty-percent fake within about half a second. And his clothes had been all wrong, too, and after a lot of confused, borderline-incomprehensible yelling at each other, Roman had showed up and added to the chaos.

"I am scared and confused and on the verge of completely losing it!" Thomas had declared at some point, which had been the cue for an ominous music sting somewhere to Thomas's right that made everybody jolt in terrified unison.

"Did somebody say scared and confused and on the verge of completely losing it?"

"Virgil, thank god!" Thomas had practically yelled, and just about thrown himself across the room to get to him - before pausing midway and allowing his brain to process... wrong hoodie. Wrong amount of eyeshadow. "Wait. No, hang on, is this - "

"FUCKING WHO," Virgil shrieked, leaping backwards half a flight of stairs, which had led to another round of confused yelling, with Thomas trying to assure them all that he's fine he hasn't had some sort of strange head injury or whatever, he's just really happy to see Virgil and no of course that's not weird, what do you mean who's Virgil, that's Virgil right over there, Roman please put down that sword things are already out of hand -

And at some point Thomas had got it into his head that the most reasonable course of events was to summon the one person who always seems to know everything that everybody else doesn't, which brings everything up to speed, more or less. Roman had gone, "Thomas, what are you doing," and Thomas, feeling slightly manic at this point, had said, "I'm trying to summon a demon, obviously," because the best way to get hold of a certain someone probably is blatant lying, and boom, instant Janus.

"Jeee-sus Christ on a cookie-shaped canoe, what is he doing here?!"

"Janus!"

So, Janus pops up, he looks literally the same as he always has (except maybe with shorter hair? Wait, they all have shorter hair, including Thomas, wait a second -) with his half-snake-face and his hat and gloves that cosy-looking capelet of his. And although his expression reflects faint bewilderment and that very particular 'wait, what' emotion that results in being pulled abruptly away from something you were busy with, he looks so normal that Thomas thinks for a moment he might be the only sane person left.

But then Janus makes a series of start-and-stop noises of incomprehension, and gestures wildly towards Virgil, who's crouched midway up on the stairs behind Logan, looking like a cornered wild animal, and snaps, "Why for the love of everything that's holy would you tell him my name?"

"You think this is me?" Virgil retorts, hands going up to grab desperately at the bars lining the side of the staircase. "I don't understand anything that's going on! He somehow knows my name! He's - he's being nice to me!"

It suddenly occurs to Thomas that this might just possibly be a time travel sort of thing. It would explain the clothes shift. And the altered layout of his house. And the fact that when he'd checked his phone this morning it had told him it was 2016, and also it hadn't been his phone, it had been the one he'd broken a few years ago in a tragic piano-moving-related accident.

...Okay, yeah, this is absolutely a time travel thing.

"Is somebody going to explain why Thomas ruined all of our heartfelt name reveal moments in one fell swoop?" Roman demands. "I thought we agreed we were going to do them gradually and draw them out as long as possible for dramatic effect!"

"I agreed to none of that," Virgil snaps from his position halfway up the stairs.

"Yes," says Logan, "yes, I think we all would like to know what's going on. Thomas? What's going on?"

"Uh - " Thomas, who has just come to a rather startling realization about time travel and also about how shitty his Sides' taste in costumes were pre-wardrobe change, doesn't really have a prepared answer for this. "I have... I am - I just - "

Thomas struggles for words. Really struggles. And everyone's just standing there, watching him with expressions that range from terror to confusion to suspicion, and they all look so weirdly young in a way that's hard to pin down. It's the clothes. It's probably the clothes, or maybe it's the way they hold themselves. Roman, carelessly confident, without a doubt in the world. Patton, still wearing a fixed dad-grin, politely baffled and looking back and forth. Logan, who hasn't been systematically beaten down and pushed back over the course of many, many years. Virgil, who's basically just a ball of grey-and-black anger and acerbic anger at this point. Janus, who's... Janus. Who's looking at him in a way that Janus has never looked at him before.

And Remus is probably lurking somewhere in the back of his mind, too, doing whatever Remus does, and - would Remus be any different now, four years prior? Thomas hadn't had any significant problems with intrusive thoughts, not back then... or, well, back now. Maybe he's calmer, maybe Thomas could actually talk with him. Try to work something out, try to understand.

But wait, he's still got to give the Sides right here and right now an answer.

Hm.

...Thomas has been through a lot in the past four years. Not, like, fantasy protagonist a lot, but more like a extended psychological journey of self-discovery and mental health crises. Now, he wouldn't trade any of this for the world, because he's learned a hell of a lot about himself in the process - but also? The Sides have put him through a lot of horrifying realization-type things.

Which is why he absolutely one hundred percent deserves to do what he's about to do next.

"I," says Thomas, with an extraordinary amount of confidence and self-assuredness, "am psychic."

And the dead silence holds. Now even Patton is staring at him in disbelief. Janus has graduated into outright horror, his face twisted up into a oh god no I am somehow responsible for letting him delude himself this far expression.

"Thomas!" Roman gasps, almost instantly lighting up with genuine enthusiasm. "Oh, Thomas, I'm so proud, we've been working on this for years. Tell me, does this extend to telekinesis, or just somehow knowing all our names and nothing else?"

"What?" Janus says. "What - no. No, you can't seriously be going along with this - what? That... what? That doesn't even make any sense?" He turns wildly from left to right, and - okay, it's very enjoyable to see him out of his depth, to be perfectly honest. Thomas likes Janus a lot, knows he has his best interests at heart, but the whole courtroom thing had been a major dick move. This is satisfying. "Are any of you getting this? Does anyone here understand what's going on?"

"I'm psychic," Thomas repeats doggedly. "I acquired magical psychic powers and now I know all of your names and tragic backstories. Surprise! I unlocked my full potential and the ninety-percent of my brain power that I wasn't using."

"That's - that's a widely-perpetuated and wildly incorrect myth," Logan says weakly.

"Nope. Turns out it's true, and I was only using ten percent of it, and now that I've gone full big-brain, I know that Patton's repressing all his bad feelings because he doesn't want to bother anyone with them, Virgil acts all scary and menacing because he thinks it's the only way that I'll ever listen to him, and Janus is secretly a huge dork with a heart of gold - uh, yellow, I guess."

"How dare you," Janus breathes, looking horrified.

"Wha - " Patton suddenly looks very pale indeed.

"Also, Roman, you're my hero; Logan, please never stop smiling like that ever again, it's literally my favorite thing in the world and if you ever stop being enthusiastic about teaching me things I will cry - and Virgil, I love you."

Virgil lets out a choked little noise like he's just been punched directly in the stomach.

"I love all of you," Thomas adds, an afterthought. "I never say that enough. Janus, that goes for you as well. You're right, I need to take care of myself more."

"I'm - " Janus is still looking around at everyone in complete disbelief, but now his gaze fixes onto Thomas, his eyes wide. "I'm what?"

Thomas is now on a roll. An extremely cathartic sort of roll. "And Remus -"

Everybody immediately panics. Virgil and Logan's hands both immediately leap up to clasp over their mouths, which seems to be a reflexive reaction on Janus's behalf. Patton lets out a deranged-sounding high pitched giggle that edges into genuine hysteria.

"Brother? What brother? I don't know what a brother is!" Roman says loudly. "I've never had a brother in my life! Thomas, your glorious psychic powers are malfunctioning. Have you tried turning them off and turning them on again?"

" - I'm not going to lie and say I love him, but -" Thomas stops abruptly, and staggers backwards to catch himself on the couch as a thought strikes him out of literally nowhere. "Son of a bitch -"

"Does being psychic make you swear a lot?" Patton asks weakly. "Because, uh. Not sure I like this side of you, kiddo - "

"Logan," says Thomas. "Logan, what's the date today? This is so, so important, what's the date."

"It's... October," Logan says, very slowly. "October twentieth. 2016?"

"Holy shit," Thomas whispers, and then says it louder, "holy shit. Okay, listen. I was going to sort out all of our collective psychological issues in one impressive emotional speedrun, but I've realized we have something much more important to do." He pauses, and takes in a very deep, shuddering breath. "Guys. We can save Vine. Excuse me. I've just realized I’ve got to make a lot of calls."

#storytime #timeswap au #asks #please note that everything in my storytime tag is (by definition) rushed and unedited content and this is no exception #that being said. enjoy.#character!thomas #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #sad to announce that remus is once again not here :(#Anonymous

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james-joyces-right-eyeball · 3 years

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Absolute Favorite Books I’d Recommend to Anyone

This is a list of my top-tier favorite books that I would recommend/talk about endlessly to pretty much anyone (in no particular order). I know people probably don’t care but I just like talking about books I love so here we are.

Beloved - Toni Morrison

~ Based off the real story of Margaret Garner, a slave woman who escaped slavery and when captured killed her child in order to prevent them from ever being enslaved again, Beloved tells the story of a mother named Sethe, born in slavery who eventually escaped and is haunted by the figurative demons of her trauma and the literal (arguably) ghost of her dead daughter, who she herself killed. It is an excellent exploration of the horrors of slavery and of the haunting legacy of the institution for those who were subjected to it.

Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

~ If you’ve been on Tumblr for a while, you probably know what Lolita is. The story of the predatory Humbert Humbert who lusts after, rapes, and kidnaps the “nymphet” Dolores Haze. An excellent construction of how predators, unreliable narrators in their own right, hide behind fabrications, almost-believable excuses, and pretty words to make their actions seem maybe not so bad. In the words of the book itself, “You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.”

Ulysses - James Joyce

~ Notoriously one of the most difficult books in the English language, Ulysses lifts its structure from Homer’s Odyssey to tell the story of a common man, Leopold Bloom, as he goes about his day. Yes, this book takes place over the course of only one day. We follow Bloom as well as Joyce’s literary counterpart Stephen Daedalus through their thoughts and actions, gathering details of their lives previous throughout. It’s a book that, in my own words, “is life”. It is sad, funny, strange, vulgar, disgusting, beautiful, revelatory, sensual, and nonsensical all at once. Joyce aimed to create a reflection of life through his stream-of-consciousness style which some people might find confusing, but I personally find absolutely beautiful and honest and realistic. The prose is also gorgeous, but that could be applied to everything Joyce wrote.

Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte

~ The classic gothic book that tells the tale of Heathcliff and his ultimately destructive love of Catherine Earnshaw, whose eventual marriage to someone else and the general mistreatment of him by her family drives Heathcliff insane and he spends the rest of his life trying to take revenge by abusing and torturing the next Earnshaw and Linton (the family into which Catherine marries) generations. If I’m being honest, I like this book mostly because of how wild and dark it is, but the writing is also genius and beautiful. I think the book also carries an interesting view of the destructive nature of revenge, overzealous love, and othering.

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith

~ A coming-of-age story at the turn of the century that tells the story of Francie Nolan, a young bookish girl growing up in a lower class family in New York City. It tells about her father’s struggles with alcoholism as well as her mother’s struggles to deal with that and at the same time raise Francie and her brother. Francie is confronted with a strange, uncertain world as a young girl, but tries to face it with bravery throughout childhood

Little Women - Louisa May Alcott

~ Another coming-of-age story, this time about four young sisters: Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy March. You are probably familiar with this book already; it’s had more movie adaptations then I can possibly remember off the top of my head. It’s the story of four sisters as they try to navigate growing up, love, and loss during the mid to late 1800s.

The Color Purple - Alice Walker

~ A novel that tells the story of Celie, a young black woman who is raped and then married young to a man who will go on to use and abuse her, through her letters to God. Throughout the novel she meets Shug Avery, a woman with whom she eventually falls in love and begins a relationship with. Through this and her eventual freedom from her abusive husband, she is able to gain at last her own sense of self and take back control over her life, a life no longer ruled by the abusive men around her.

The Bluest Eye - Toni Morrison

~ The tragic story of young black girl Pecola Breedlove, who wants nothing more than to have blonde hair and blue eyes just like the women she sees in the movies. Both a deconstruction of the whiteness of beauty standards as well as how these standards can utterly destroy vulnerable young girls, it is also an exploration of the people who allow these sorts of things to happen, including Pecola’s mother and father. The Bluest Eye, I think, showcases one of the aspects of Toni Morrison that I like the most, that I aspire to the most: her ability to enter the minds of all people, even people who you might despise at first. Her characters, especially Cholly in The Bluest Eye, are ones you might not entirely sympathize with, but they will always be ones you understand.

The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath

~ Based off of the author’s own experiences as a young college student, The Bell Jar tells the story of Esther Greenwood, whose depression over her place as a woman in a patriarchal society as well as her inability to choose a life path for herself leads to a suicide attempt and a subsequent stay in a mental hospital. A very nuanced portrayal of mental illness, especially anxiety and depression, The Bell Jar is an extremely moving and relatable story for me and clearly is as well for others. It is a classic for a reason.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings - Maya Angelou

~ A memoir of Angelou’s childhood, this book tells the story of her experiences living as a black girl in the south with her grandmother and brother as well as her later years living with her mother. It also tells of how she was raped by her mother’s boyfriend when she was around eight or nine, and how she struggled to live with that and find her voice, both literally and figuratively. A wonderful book about overcoming struggles and the power of words and literature in such times.

Invisible Man - Ralph Ellison

~ Ellison’s novel tells the story of a young black man, never getting a name in the text, and his feelings of invisibility and his struggles to find a place in society to belong. His struggles only lead him further into despair, until he decides to “become invisible” as people seem not to see him as a person anyway. Invisible Man is an exploration of American mid-century racism and the isolation it causes to those subjected to it. Not only that, but it is surprisingly relevant to our times now, especially on the subject of police violence. (Personal anecdote: When I first read this book, when I got to the aforementioned police violence part it was right in the middle of the BLM resurgence last summer and I cried for a good twenty minutes while reading that chapter over how nothing had changed and it still hurts me to think about it. Embarrassingly, my dad walked in on me while I was crying, and I had to quickly explain it away.)

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man - James Joyce

~ The title basically says it all lol. This book tells of the coming-of-age of Stephen Daedalus (the same one from the later-written Ulysses). His sensitive childhood, his awkward and lustful adolescence, his feelings of Irish nationality and Catholic guilt, and his struggles to fully realize himself, both as an artist and a human being. It is a very hopeful story, and one that I love mostly because I relate so much to Stephen Daedalus as an artist and as a person.

One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez

~ A magical-realist intergenerational family drama, Marquez’s book traces the various lives and loves of the Buendia family over the course of (you guessed it!) one hundred years. A beautifully written, at times extremely emotionally moving and chilling masterpiece, Marquez in a way retells the history of Colombia, of its colonization and exploitation.

Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy

~ A classic Russian novel of society and love, Tolstoy tells the story of Anna Karenina, married, wealthy woman with a child she adores. However, she falls in love with another man, Count Vronsky, and comes to a tragic end for her love. The parallel story of the novel is that of Konstantin Levin, a wealthy landowner who also struggles to find fulfillment in his life and understand his place in society.

The Sound and the Fury - William Faulkner

~ A novel that features an entire family of unreliable narrators, The Sound and the Fury details the fall of a once-prominent southern Compson family and always-present place of the past. There are four different narratives: Benjy Compson, a mentally disabled man who is unsure of his surroundings and of time and only knows that he misses his older sister Caddy; Quintin Compson, the eldest son and a Harvard man both obsessed with his sister retaining her “purity” and the fact that she failed to do so and had a baby out of wedlock, going as far to claim it is his baby in an attempt to preserve something of the family reputation; Jason Compson, who is the caretaker of Caddy’s daughter and believes her to be going down her mother’s “sinful” path; and Dilsey, the black maid of the Compson’s who unlike the people she cares for is not weighed down by their history. The narratives take place in different time periods and is in a stream-of-consciousness style. It’s a deeply dark and disturbing novel about the haunting nature of the past, a common theme in Faulkner’s work (see Absalom, Absalom! for more of this).

Song of Solomon - Toni Morrison

~ It is the story of Milkman Dead, a young black man growing up in the south and his relationship with his very complicated family. To say anymore would be to spoil the novel, but I will say that it is an excellent book about family, self-fulfillment in a world that tries to deny you that, and, like The Bluest Eye, exhibits Morrison’s excellent character work.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof - Tennessee Williams

~ A play which takes place on the patriarch of a family’s birthday in the oppressive heat of the midsummer south, Williams’ play explores lies, secrets, and how repression only results in anger, frustration, and sadness. It’s a tragic but brilliant play that I think was very ahead of its time. If you’ve read it (or do read it) then you know what I mean.

Giovanni’s Room - James Baldwin

~ This book tells the story of a young man and his love of another man named Giovanni while he is in Paris. It is a book about love, queer guilt, and has what I would call an ambiguous ending. There is uncertainty at the end, but there does seem to be some kind of acceptance. It is a bit of a coming-out story, but more than that it is a story of personal acceptance and at the same time a sad, tragic love story.

HERmione - H.D.

~ An underrated modernist masterpiece, HERmione is a somewhat fictionalized account of the author, Hilda Doolittle’s, experience as a young aspiring poet dating another poet (in real life Ezra Pound in this book named George Lowndes) who is a threat to her both physically and emotionally. It explores her own mental state, as she considers herself a failure and falls in love with a woman for the first time (Fayne Rabb in the book, Frances Gregg in real life).

To the Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf

~ People think about going to a lighthouse. They do not. A couple years and a war passes then they do. That may seem like a boring plot, and you may be right. However, To the Lighthouse is not much about plot. It is more about the inner lives of its characters, a family and their friends, on two different occasions of their lives: one before WWI and one after WWI. Woolf explores in this novel the trauma that results from such a massive loss of life and security. Not only that, she also explores the nature of art (especially in female artists) in the character of Lily Briscoe and her struggles to complete a painting. It’s a short novel, but it contains so much about life, love, and loss within these few pages.

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers

~ A southern gothic novel about isolation and loneliness in a small town. Every character has something to separate them from wider society, and often find solace and companionship in a deaf man, John Singer, who himself experiences a loneliness that they cannot understand. There are various forms of social isolation explored in this novel: by race, disability, age, gender, etc. A wonderful, heart-wrenching book about loneliness and the depths it can potentially drag people to.

The Waste Land - T.S. Eliot

~ A modernist masterpiece of a poem, Eliot describes feeling emptiness and isolation. The brilliance of it can only be shown by an excerpt:

“Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence.”

“The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; Departed, have left no addresses. By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . . Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. “

(My personal favorite line from this poem is, “I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”)

The Trial - Franz Kafka

~ The protagonist of the novel, Josef K., wakes up one morning to find that he has been placed under arrest for reasons that are kept from him. Kafka creates throughout the novel a scathing satire of bureaucracy, as K. tries to find out more about his case, more about his trial, but only becomes more confused as he digs deeper. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the world he lives in, and the more tries to explain it the further the more that proves to be the case. An excellently constructed novel and a great one to read if you would like to be depressed about the state of the world because, though Kafka’s work is a satire, like a lot of his other work, it manages to strike a strangely real note.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead - Tom Stoppard

~ An absurdist play that is a retelling of Shakespeare’s Hamlet from the perspective of minor characters, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who in the broad overview of the original play, do not matter. Throughout the play, they question their existence and the purpose of it and through that Stoppard dissects not only the absurdity of life, but how fiction and theater reflect that absurdity inadvertently.

As I Lay Dying - William Faulkner

~ The novel details the journey the Bundren family makes after the death of the family matriarch, Addie, to bury her. Each chapter offers a different narrative from the family members and those who surround them, revealing some ulterior motives to them “going to town” to bury Addie. The patriarch Anse desires a pair of false teeth, and the daughter Dewey Dell is pregnant and needs an abortion, as there is no way for her or her family to support it. It’s about the powerlessness of people in the impoverished south. The Bundrens are constantly subject to forces beyond their control, struggles which would be easily solved if they had the money to spare for it. There is more to the book, but that is my favorite reading of it, that of class. Faulkner’s ability to create distinct voices for every one of his characters shines through here.

And, last but not least:

The Collected Poems - Sylvia Plath

~ All the poems Plath wrote during her tragically short lifetime. The best way to demonstrate or summarize the book’s brilliance is just to show you. This is her poem “Edge”, which appears in the book:

“The woman is perfected. Her dead Body wears the smile of accomplishment, The illusion of a Greek necessity Flows in the scrolls of her toga, Her bare Feet seem to be saying: We have come so far, it is over. Each dead child coiled, a white serpent, One at each little Pitcher of milk, now empty. She has folded Them back into her body as petals Of a rose close when the garden Stiffens and odors bleed From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower. The moon has nothing to be sad about, Staring from her hood of bone. She is used to this sort of thing. Her blacks crackle and drag.”

HOPE YOU ENJOYED! HAPPY READING TO ALL!

#dark academia #books and literature #toni morrison #james joyce #tennessee williams #virginia woolf #william faulkner #sylvia plath #plays #poetry #can you tell i like southern and modernist lit lol?

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theangrycomet · 3 years

Photo

Art Piece for a scene in Chapter 3 of my crossover, A Mortal Nuisance, where Gatlocke and Rook first meet.

I hate drawing vehicles.

Written Scene Below the Cut

The Proto-Truck sparked and scraped against the cliffside as the brakes screeched in protest, narrowly avoiding the edge of the canyon itself as its driver tried to force an impossible U-turn.

"BEN!" Rook tried to open the door while his hands were already reaching for the Proto-Tool, ever-present on his shoulder, and setting it to a grappling line.

While Ben certainly had numerous alien forms with the capability of flight, the chance of his Omnitrix giving him the alien he desired were slim. Even if it did, that would be of little help. Though the cliff was steep, they were not high enough to give him much time to pick and choose correctly.

"Oh, was that the little fellow's name?"

Rook stopped at the chipper, he believed the accent was British, to his right, where there should have been a perfectly empty, unoccupied chair. Head turning slowly, he glanced at the man sitting comfortably in the passenger's seat.

"Oh don't bother going after him now, he was dead as soon as I threw him." The man was tactlessly chipper, perhaps even proud of his statement. Rubbing his goatee thoughtfully, he chuckled before continuing. "Though I will admit I way overshot him. That, Ben was it? He was light. Should have eaten more."

He nodded, as though in agreement with himself.

"Yes my mother would be apalled if she saw light he was, why she-"

Staring at him incredulously as he babbled, Rook struggled to process the scene before him as the cloaked stranger perused his interior. He was as delighted as a Young One with a freshly fallen bi'nthak. Or, a human child on Christmas as Ben would say.

Reorganizing the list of actions in his mind, Rook realized the human who had somehow slipped in the truck was right, in the fact that Ben at this point had either saved himself or... found another way down the cliff. Instead, he assessed the foreign figure in Ben's seat, still frozen as he formed a plan in the back of his mind.

"This interior work though, marvelous. What kind of leather is this- oh wait no let me guess." Outlandish brown hair held straight up by a red headband, he adorned a black cloak, designed more for providing shade than warmth. Both arms were missing and replaced with prosthetics far beyond Earth technology available to the public. His hands whirred and clicked as they drummed his thighs.

"This is a woodwork though, masterfully done. Do you see how seamlessly is fits together? Is this mahogany? I love mahogany" They moved to the dashboard, running over the aforementioned wood. "I mean really, you don't just get craftsmanship like this anymore. What with America's love for the whole factory line thing."

Rook blinked at him, red eyes narrowing as his nose crinkled.

#Ben 10 #Rook Blonko #Generator Rex #Gatlocke #Proto-Truck #Proto-Tool #Feel free to color #just @ me if you do #TheAngryComet ART #theangrycomet writes

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velvetmel0n · 4 years

Text

Wicked

gif credit to @trelkez

Summary: Laurent takes care of your problem for you.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 5.5k 🙃

Warnings: A Murder(tm), copious amounts of blood, hot tip maybe wash your hands after you kill someone and before you have sex, brief blood consumption, details of aforementioned murder discussed as dirty talk, the murder victim was the stereotypical evil suitor everything is fine guys, vaginal fingering, Laurent’s muttonchops, penetrative sex, unexpectedly Soft ending

A/N: Listen if I’m going to hell I’m taking all of you with me

@damerondjarin @okay-hotshot @yougottakeeponkeepinon @highlycommendable @tintinwrites @poeticandors @darksideofclarke @dearspacepirates @lcandothisallday @brooklynsblurbs @huliabitch @leahsafae @writefightandflightclub @hystericalmedicine @daft-not-punk @ah-callie @duamuteffe @spider-starry @mserynlarsen @acomplicatedprofession @bookshelvesandteacups @myguysbsmokin @winters-buck @jangofctts @queenofheavenandhell @woakiees @midnightdragonzero I didn’t know who to tag since this isn’t Poe I’m so sorry ya’ll

Laurent keeps his hands stuffed in his pockets as he walks, feeling the blood start to dry on his skin, sticking his fingers together and he still doesn’t feel bad for what he’s done. He doesn’t feel remorse as he moves through the streets, keeping his head down as he is consumed with thoughts of you instead. You’re free of Matthew now, which means that you should be able to convince your family that he’s the suitor they want for you instead and you’ll be his. He’ll be able to be seen in the daylight with you and you alone, not speaking with your cousin as you tag along for fresh air, sneaking glances and touches until neither of you can take it anymore.

He shouldn’t be going to see you. He should be going home and changing his clothes; he knows there’s blood on the dark fabric of his waistcoat, his hands are covered in it as are the edges of his sleeves. But he can’t stop thinking about you, your face swimming in his head instead of the face of the man he’d just killed. He can feel the outline of the knife in his waistband biting into his thigh and he doesn’t care— if anything it just makes him more desperate for you until he’s half-crazed with it. He looks up to your window in time to see the curtain drop back down and he quickens his pace, thrumming with energy by the time he reaches your door, stopping himself at the last minute from leaning against it, remembering the blood on him.

You almost trip over your skirts in your haste to pull your door open, heart in your throat and you only catch a glimpse of his dark eyes before he’s pushing inside. “It’s done, it’s done,” He mutters in a voice that’s frayed at the edges, his hands coming up to grip your face while he crushes his mouth to yours.

His hands are shaking from some emotion you can’t name but they’re warm against your cheeks and that’s all you care about. You had wound yourself so tight in the hours you spent waiting for him, lighting candles all over your room for the comfort of another living thing while you wondered if the last time you saw him truly would be the last time. He hadn’t wavered from the plan once since he spoke it into existence, had practically begged you for it— you could still remember the feeling of his lips on your neck, the way he whispered “Let me do this for you,” into your ear whenever you brought up your reservations.

Strangely enough your reservations were never for Matthew; concern for his well being never so much as left your mouth and you never brought up the murder itself as an objection— it had always been Laurent. Laurent’s safety, how was he going to get away without being seen. What if he is seen, what then? You didn’t think you could take it and that is what caused you grief for weeks, losing sleep as you tossed and turned, stared up at the ceiling. You had made a place in your mind for the act of killing, and the only reason it disturbed you was the fact that it did not.

There’s a sticky slide across your cheek when his palm moves to cradle the back of your skull, press your mouth harder into his and it snaps you back to the present, to the way his tongue slides against your own— and the thick, coppery smell that clings to him.

Your eyes open wide and you push him off of you in a panic, almost bite your own tongue as he stumbles and looks at you with an expression of hurt and confusion but that’s not what you see. Instead you see your hands sweeping over his clothes, a choked noise leaving your throat at the sight of so much red on his waistcoat in the candlelight and the wet of it. You grip the fabric and try to pull as your vision blurs with tears, fearing the worst. You realize that what you felt on your cheeks was more blood and your stomach turns, conjuring images of him stumbling away from the scene, hands clutched over a wound and he’s come to see you rather than a doctor.

It’s then that Laurent realizes what you’re doing, the reason you pushed him away, and he feels his heart stutter in his chest. He takes your wrists in a gentle grip, pulling them to his chest to get you to stop yanking on his clothes, shushing you. You try to pull from his grip and he readjusts, catching both of your hands in one of his so he can use the other to hold your chin and forces you to look at him. “It’s not my blood,” His voice is soft, belying the nature of his words and it makes you pause.

“It’s not?” Your voice wavers towards the end, your brain struggling to process the weight of what he’s telling you. Matthew is dead and Laurent is covered in his blood but he’s okay. He’s warm and solid and his eyes are still desperate but there’s a softness creeping into them now the longer he looks at you, wallowing in the fact that you’re worried about him.

“It’s his, only his,” He breathes, finally seeing the way the blood had smeared across your beautiful skin. You’re looking at him so sweetly with the blood of another man on your face and it hits him like a punch to the gut.

He slowly rubs his thumb over your cheek, drags his fingers down your neck and you let him. You let him because you can hear the way his breath shudders and see his eyes go heavy. Candlelight is reflected in his eyes and it feels like ritual as he paints your flesh with it, becoming transfixed. He killed for you and you both are...you’re both luxuriating in it.

He leans his head down, following the streaks of blood with his tongue and a whimper rises in your throat. Your head spins and you find yourself clutching at his clothes with stained hands, unable to help your moan when he sucks harshly on the point where your neck and shoulder meet. Laurent has always been intense but this— this is almost making you delirious.

He backs you into the nearest wall, hissing for you to be quiet before he flattens his tongue against your cheek. You shake your head, gasping into his hair and if he hadn’t closed his eyes he would have seen yours flutter. “They’re gone,”

His head shoots up and with difficulty you meet his eyes, breath catching somewhere in his chest at the crazed look on his face and you almost pull him in for a kiss. “Madame had a friend in the country, they went back for the funeral,” They left you in charge of the shop in their absence, saying this would be your opportunity to truly prove yourself. With everything happening you hadn’t gotten the chance to tell him.

It takes a moment for it to sink in and then he’s grinning, leaning his forehead against yours and cupping your face in his palms. His thumb rubs over smiling lips and somewhere in the back of your mind you register the blood on them but still you can’t find it within yourself to care.

He crushes his mouth to yours and you moan brokenly at the taste, at the sheer fact you’re able to make a sound at all. You can finally lose your heads entirely, until nothing exists but each other and the pleasure. You feel like you’re burning from the inside out as you fumble with his waistcoat, shoving it from his shoulders the same moment his teeth are dragging over your bottom lip.

He suddenly pushes away from you, tearing at his tie and jerking his chin at you. “Take off your clothes, now,” He’d never seen you fully naked, could only imagine what you looked like from the pieces you could give him in stolen moments, the glimpses never lasting long enough.

He stares hard as you begin to do what he says, his hands pausing on the buttons of his shirt as you work yours, a frantic edge to how you move and he thinks his mouth may be watering.

You peel the layers of fabric off one by one, your actions slowing as you look at his face. You drag the process out, so sensitive already that the scrape of satin and cotton against your skin has you shivering like a rabbit caught in a trap. He looks so dark like this, orange light flickering across his skin and throwing shadows that only served to highlight the contours of his face and what little of his body you could see with his shirt half unbuttoned. You can see red on his skin from where the blood had seeped through his clothes and the sight of it stirs something deep inside of you.

He looks harsher than he ever has illuminated like this and you think he’s beautiful. He drags his eyes over each new part of you that you reveal, his brows drawn close and his lips parted as if you’re revelation. His hands slowly resume their work of removing his clothes and you can’t seem to take your eyes off him as he does so, even as you back towards the bed. The backs of your knees hit the end of the bed and you crawl backwards onto it, pressing yourself almost to the headboard as he rids himself of his pants and underwear.

The sight of him steals your breath, the way the shadows play over more skin than he’s ever shown you at once and you don’t know where to look first; his chest, his thighs, his cock? It bobs as he finally walks towards you and you suddenly want your mouth on it more than anything. You want him on your tongue and down your throat but then he’s placing one knee and then the other onto the bed and he’s crawling over you.

He leisurely moves up your body, stopping to lay kisses on the inside of your knee, ghosting over your thighs and your stomach. Blood stains your white sheets and you think he’s doing it on purpose, purposefully dragging his abdomen across them as he moves up, up, up.

He doesn’t cover you like you want him to, like you need him to; instead he rests on his forearm beside you, close enough that your arm presses against his chest and you feel his breath stirring the hair at your temple. You try to turn towards him but a large hand on your hip keeps you from moving and you can feel the whine building already.

He squeezes your hip to tell you to stay before dragging his fingertips across your skin and your breathing deepens, trying to brace yourself because you know where he’s heading and if he was anyone else you think you might be embarrassed by how wet you are. He grips one of your thighs to pull your legs wider but stops when he feels the slick on his fingertips and grins widely from his place above you. He licks his lips before he starts moving again, drawing your knee up until you’re split open, leg resting against his hip. “There,” He breathes, sounding as reverent as he had looked moments earlier and you feel yourself grow even warmer as he traces teasing, nonsense designs on your skin.

You try to hold yourself still for him but you’ve started to shake again, quivering against him and it makes him beam down at you. You hold your breath as his hand finally starts to move towards where you want him most and he moans with you at the first touch, delving his fingers between your slippery folds. You fist one hand in the sheets beneath you while the other curls up to clutch at his shoulder, trying to use the leg braced against him for leverage to arch your hips up.

“You like what I did, don’t you?” He says into your ear, shuffling closer to you and just rubbing your slick around with no real goal in mind other than to just feel. Your breath stutters and you squirm, the ache between your thighs growing sharper. He noses your cheek and you know he wants an answer but he just keeps petting you, taking just enough care to avoid your clit except for when the heel of his palm catches it and every time it makes you jump, fire curling in your belly.

“You like that I killed for you,” It’s not a question anymore but you find yourself nodding— because how can you deny it when his hand was between your legs, able to feel exactly how you’re soaking for him even knowing what he did. You like knowing exactly how far he’s willing to go for you and you feel a little drunk with the sensation of his hands on you like this. Hands that are capable of such a heinous, terrible act but touching you with such softness and bringing you more pleasure than you had ever known before him.

“Yes, Laurent, yes,” The last word hisses from behind gritted teeth because he’s sliding a thick finger into you and pumping once, twice, before there’s a second and you try to shut your thighs against the onslaught, a sob rising in your throat. He pulls his fingers from you just long enough to push your knee back down to the bed, a muttered ‘keep them open’ said into your hair before he rests his cheek on the top of your head to watch his hand move, loving the way your hips are jerking and rolling into it. Loving the way your skin is smeared red from his touch.

You can feel the heavy weight of his cock pressing into your thigh and you arch for it, keening wordlessly as his fingers drive into you over and over again. He knows what he’s doing, giving you just enough to keep you on the edge until you’re sobbing for him. He presses the heel of his hand into your clit sporadically, the sudden, sharp pleasure making you jolt and cry each time. You pry your eyes open and roll them upwards, desperately seeking a glimpse of his face but all that’s given to you is the tendons of his neck standing out in relief in your periphery and the sound of his harsh breathing in your ear.

“Planned it for months, “ He says at the same moment he curls his fingers deep within you and your spine curves off the bed, a moan clogging your throat. Your head is spinning, lost in the sensations of his fingers dragging through your soaked cunt and the blood drying on your skin, his voice the only thing keeping you grounded. His body shifts and he bends down, teeth scraping over your ear, nipping the edge of your jaw. Your nails dig harder into his shoulder, your mouth dropping open. His arm is pressing against your breast with how it’s stretched across you, only brushing against your sensitive nipple when you move just right and the hint of sensation is only serving to drive you closer to the edge, the light touch and its promise of more.

“I had to listen to him talking about you,” It was only by chance that Matthew and Laurent had met, the man that had become your suitor upon your very arrival in Paris, no doubt orchestrated by your aunt, having decided to visit during one of the sessions Laurent required to paint your portrait, also orchestrated by the older woman.. The two had become friends, chatting amicably as Laurent took pains to capture your likeness in paint and canvas, though not without reason— the painter needed an excuse to keep coming to your aunt’s house, to keep seeing you, once the portrait had been completed.

“Every time I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him what you felt like wrapped around my cock, what you taste like. I wanted him to suffer knowing what he’d never have,” His words are starting to fall apart at the edges as he scissors his fingers deep inside of you, stretching you open and it’s all you can do not to cry, the tears of frustration that have been steadily accumulating in your eyes beginning to spill over as he sets the base of his hand against your clit, keeping the pressure constant.

You want to reach down and grasp his cock, to give him a fraction of the pleasure he’s giving you, but you can’t seem to unclench your hands from their place on the bed and his shoulder, clutching him as close as he can. He noses along your cheek and curls over you to lick into your mouth, groaning against your lips. You whine as his tongue slides against your own, grinding your hips into his hand and you can feel him rutting against your thigh.

It’s too much, it’s all too much for you— his fingers, his mouth, the knowledge that you’re free from Matthew and all of his unwanted advances, the freedom to be as loud and take as long as you wanted to be without fear of being walked in on at any moment. But most of all it is the blood on your skin, the physical evidence of what he would do for you, the lengths he is willing to go that affects you the most. It’s a heady thing, to know someone would kill for you. That someone already has.

He can feel your walls contracting, pulsing around his fingers and he still has enough sense to rip his mouth from your own. He’d never heard you before, not really. Your cries were always swallowed back or muffled with his hand or by the skin of his neck or his shoulder. He’s almost on top of you at this point and he presses his forehead into the pillow, close enough that his sideburns tickle your cheek and he can hear every little gasp and noise falling from your lips.

You strain against his hand, nails scraping over his skin as something pulls high and tight and a vulgar wail tears itself from your throat as you come apart underneath him. His fingers keep thrusting, forcing you through your orgasm and making sure to drag the pleasure out for as long as he can, until you’re quivering and gasping for air. At some point he begins murmuring to you again, telling you how happy he was when you agreed to let him take care of Matthew for you, the plans he made for him. He’s knuckle deep inside you and grinding his palm into your buzzing clit while telling you all the ways he thought about killing a man, and you’re in love with it.

You’re in love with all the sensations he’s forcing on you, wracking your body until you have to push him away, your hand shaking like a leaf when you press on his wrist. He relents, shushing your whimpers and pressing soft kisses all over your face. He squeezes your hip and rubs your side, leaving a trail of your slick in his wake as he tells you how good you feel and how much he loves the sounds you make.

You’re hiccuping as you reach for him, pulling his mouth back to yours to share a soft kiss. He melts into it with a low groan and slides his body between your spread, trembling thighs and you’re finally able to wind your limbs around him. His cock slips over your oversensitized folds and you jerk, trying to breathe through the aftershocks that are still firing in your blood.

“Laurent—”

“Sh, sh, sh, I know,” He breathes against your lips, pulling back to look at you through hooded eyes, looking lost for you. You lift your hand to cup his cheek, his sideburns soft against your skin and your heart flickers in your chest when he turns his head to kiss your palm. He doesn’t look away as he shifts down, lowering his head to your chest. You suck in a breath as he mouths across your breasts, threading your fingers through his curls while your head falls back. You hold him close and feel his tongue slide across your delicate flesh, jumping a moment later when he sucks your nipple into his furnace-hot mouth.

You moan breathlessly as his tongue swirls around it, his teeth just catching the pebbled flesh and it sends heat sparking outwards. Your grip tightens on his hair and he groans again before he moves across your chest, giving your other nipple the same attention. There had never been time for this before, this exploration, and now that Laurent has the chance he doesn’t want to let it go. He wants to kiss and lick and suck until he can’t get the taste of you out of his mouth, wants to fill his hands with you until he forgets what it’s like to go without.

You don't know how long he suckles at your breasts, groping whichever one his mouth is neglecting, his fingers pulling and teasing to make up for the lack, but soon you’re once again writhing under his touch. You tug at his hair in earnest now to draw him back to your lips, knees squeezing his hips and he’s helpless to deny such a request.

“Laurent, please. I ache,” You plead into his mouth, hoping he’ll have mercy. You feel him smirk but he makes no move to give you what you want, your misery only heightened by the fact that you can feel his cock throbbing against your belly.

“Listen to you, begging for a killer,” He muses darkly, seeming to delight in reminding you what he’s done. He’s drunk with it, how he can come to you with bloodied hands and tell you all the ways he’d dreamt of disposing of your suitor and still you want him. Still you kiss him. Still you suck on his tongue and let him inside of your body.

“Covered in the blood of another man and you still want me inside of you,” His voice lowers, turning conspiratorial as he reaches down to align himself, grinning at the way your breath catches when you feel the blunt pressure of him. Your eyelids flutter and you fight to keep yourself still, fearing that the more you try to persuade him the more he’ll draw out his teasing.

He flexes his hips and you clutch at his shoulders as he presses in inch by inch, both of you helpless not to groan at the feeling of it all. You don’t think you breathe as his cock drills into you until the backs of your thighs bump against his hips and then he just— he just stops. You feel impaled, split open on his cock and you’re whining before you recognize your own voice, high and needy.

He grinds into you, his pubic bone catching on your clit when he hunches over you. His lips brush your ear as he begins talking, the details of his grisly act of devotion spewing from his mouth like he’s unable to leave them unsaid any longer. “I followed him like some common criminal,” He grits out, finally moving like you need him to, his thrusts slow and deep in some desperate attempt to stave off the inevitable frenzy for as long as possible.

You try to gather him as close as possible, almost too loathe to even allow him the space he needs to drive back into your body. You feel everything. The bed linens bunching underneath you and sticking to the sheen of sweat that covers your skin, the way his warm body fits against yours and how you fill your hands with it, desperation wracking your body even now while you clutch at his back, his shoulders. The way your fingers are sifting through his curls and shuddering at the groans it elicits. You try to tell him that he’s more than just some ‘common criminal’ but the only words leaving your mouth are gasps of his name and praises, telling him how good he’s making you feel and how you love him anyways. Perhaps even for it.

“Made him look at me before, made him say your name so he knew,” He emphasizes the point he’s making with a brutal dig of his hips, his cock hitting against some bright, searing spot inside of you that leaves you writhing and breathless as much as his words, the knowledge tearing you apart as much as his cock. He catches your mouth in a harsh kiss then and all you can do is moan, taking all that he’s giving you and asking for more, more, more.

“I would— I would do the same for you,” The confession rips itself from your throat with a choked gasp when his mouth abandons your own in favor of your neck, teeth and tongue indenting the delicate flesh he finds there. Laurent groans above you and you can feel the way he trembles at your words all the way down to your bones. You burn even hotter and you feel like you’re drowning in the best way possible.

As if some floodgate has been opened, whatever reserves he still has go up in smoke with your revelation and his words start to slur together as his hips gain speed, each of you racing towards the bliss that’s shimmering just out of reach. He tells you how Matthew looked in the moment, the realization and fear in his eyes as everything clicked together for him. He tells you about the knife and how it felt in his hand when he stabbed him in the stomach to make it look like a botched mugging, how he slit the man’s throat for good measure just to be sure.

At some point he reaches down, slipping a hand between your toiling bodies and you choke, the fresh tears that have gathered in your eyes spilling over when he touches you, his fingers rubbing cruel, sharp circles into your clit and your body begins to melt down. Your spine tries to bow but his weight on top of you prevents it and you have nowhere to go, unable to scramble further up the bed in an almost instinctual reaction to lessen the sensations, to dampen the intensity of everything. All you can do is hold on to him with shaking hands as your cunt begins to spasm, your vision fuzzing and spotting from the force of your pleasure.

Laurent isn’t far behind you, snapping his hips and his hand slipping from between your legs to catch himself before he crushes you entirely, the feeling of you squeezing around his cock and drenching him almost too much for him to handle. He’s stopped talking and instead wordless moans and gasps are pouring from his mouth, the grunts and harsh exhalations music to your ears.

You hold him as he spills inside of you, his body going rigid over you. A strangled groan fills your ears and you shake through the aftermath together, each of you unwilling to give up your grip on each other. One of your hands is still tangled in the curls at the back of his head, cradling it to your neck while your other sweeps over his shoulders, his back.

He’s kissing your neck, tongue curling lazily around your collarbones and you’re basking in how heavy he is, the fact that you’re able to feel him and hold him close as you both come down from your highs instead of frantically fixing clothes and hair. Instead of hustling him out of the side door before you’re discovered by your aunt or before he’s late getting back to work, before anyone discovers where he’s taking his lunches these days.

You don’t know how long you lay there on the soiled sheets but your breaths begin to smooth out and gradually you each stop shaking. You hiss when he begins pulling away, your legs stiff from being locked around his waist so tightly. He shifts his weight to his knees to free up his hands and in an instant he’s rubbing them down your thighs, but you can’t stop the whine of protest that rises in your throat when his cock slips from you with all the movement. You aren’t prepared for how bereft you without him, you never are— it might even be worse now that you have the time to actually enjoy the afterglow and you can’t help but reach for him.

He grins, the picture of affection as he catches your hands and pulls you up to sit in front of him, your thighs resting over his own. “You are a mess,” He hums softly, taking in the sight of you and he can feel his heart skip a beat at the look in your eyes.

“So are you,” You can’t help but smile, taking his face in your hands and pulling him in for a gentle kiss. His sideburns tickle the palms of your hands and you giggle at the sensation, feeling sore and happy as you look at him. “I think a bath is in order,” You suggest, eyes falling to the blood that remains stuck to his skin and now your own as well, streaks of it across you having mixed with your sweat and clinging to the fine hairs that cover your body.

Laurent grins, swooping in for a kiss that leaves you breathless all over again before he’s crawling away from you and off the bed. “I would be a fool to say no,” He offers you his hand and he makes no attempts to hide the way he looks at you as you join him, his eyes roving over your body as if he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

You feel like you’re in a dream as you sink into the bath with him after he draws it for you, the water almost as warm as he is as you cuddle closer. You rest between his legs, your back pressed against his chest and you smile when he nuzzles your cheek, pressing a kiss to your temple. The atmosphere around you softens and stills, the energy from earlier in the night finally seeping out of it. What’s left behind makes you feel almost drowsy and you simply soak with him, lulled by the feel of his heartbeat at your back and his arms at your sides.

Without a word you grasp his hand, still awash in a dark red, and you can feel his eyes on you as you carefully begin to scrub away the evidence. You dip his hand in the warm water and your fingers knead, almost massaging his larger hand in both of yours. The water begins to discolor as you clean him and the fingers of his free hand trail over your shoulder, just barely brushing your skin. “Have I thanked you yet?” Your voice is soft as you dip his hand in the water again, working the blood from between his fingers and the lines of his palm.

Laurent is silent behind you but he doesn’t stop touching you. You don’t press it but you wonder what’s going on in his head, what he must be thinking now that the heat of the moment and the haze it brings with it has cleared from both your minds. Instead you focus on his hand, and once it’s clean you bring his palm to your lips before you sit it back in the water, laying it on your chest. You don’t want him to think that you don’t want him after all, that you’ve come to your better senses or dug up some moral high ground after the passion of it all has faded.

You take his other hand and he lets you have it without any protest. You repeat your actions, taking your time with it and trying to tell him wordlessly how you feel. The hand on your chest slides up your throat to cup your jaw, angling your head towards him. He just looks at you for a moment, eyes searching yours before he presses his mouth to your own. The kiss is slow and almost decadent, no rhyme or reason to the way he licks into your mouth other than to just feel, to indulge in one another.

You slowly lower his hand back into the water in favor reaching back to cup his face and sighing into his mouth. It feels like ages before you pull away, only separating the small fractions it requires to breathe and you almost miss the way he whispers it to you, almost reverent as if he is speaking a prayer. “I’d do it again,”

And you tell him the only thing that makes sense, the only thing you can say after tonight. “I love you.”

#laurent x reader #laurent x you #laurent in secret #in secret smut #in secret fic #oscar isaac fic #IT'S FINALLY HERE #it's finally here and I'm just gonna slither back into my cave now

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teenwolffanclub-me · 4 years

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Season 1, Episode 7: Night School (Part Two)

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (eventually)

Notes: Okay, this one is a lot too. I may have gotten a bit carried away, but so much happens in this episode! And it’s my favorite!

P.S. Jackson manages to be more suspect than the alpha, Allison needs a chill pill ASAP, and Derek is wanted for murder

———————

“Why did you come? What are you doing here?”

Scott rushed the words out the second he laid eyes on Allison. She looked between the three of us, her gaze pausing over my underdressed state, before staring at him in bewilderment.

“Because you asked me to...” She held up her phone as proof, pointing to a text that was very much from him telling her to come here.

Scott’s eyes widened in shock and he snatched the phone out of her hands. She reeled back, surprised.

“I didn’t send this.” His voice was hard as he scrolled through their messages.

“What? What’s going on? Who sent it then?” Her eyes continued flickering between us, searching for answers.

The phone stated ringing in Scott’s hands and she took it back quickly. She glanced at the caller I.D, huffed out a breath of relief, and put it up to her ear.

“Where are you?” She immediately demanded.

Just then, Lydia and Jackson came striding through the lobby doors. They both seemed annoyed to be here, but at least Jackson didn’t look like he was actively dying anymore.

“Finally.” Lydia sighed, raising her eyebrows at us expectantly. “Can we go now?”

Before any of us could respond, there was a loud thud in the ceiling above us. The tiles started creaking as slow footsteps stomped around. We all froze. My heart instantly began racing again at the thought of the alpha so close.

“Run!” Scott yelled at the same moment it came crashing to the floor beside us.

He grabbed Allison’s hand and they took off, the rest of us not far behind. The alpha growled and barked as it chased us down the hall, which was honestly surprising. I never imagined werewolves barking.

I struggled to steady my breathing as we made our way down the hall and into the cafeteria. Scott slammed the doors before locking the deadbolts into the floor. Instantly, everyone started freaking out.

“Help me get these in front of the doors!” Scott was trying to use a table to baracade us inside.

“What was that? Scott? What was that?” Allison shrieked, tugging her hands through her hair.

“Was it in the ceiling?” Lydia added, throwing her arms up in confusion.

“Wait. Not in here.” I heard Stiles mutter, and I wasn’t sure if he was even talking to us or just himself.

“The chairs! Stack the chairs!” Scott was rushing around frantically, not even bothering to check if anyone was actually listening to him.

“Guys, can we just wait a second? You guys, listen to me!” Stiles raised his voice, annoyed that he was being ignored.

Jackson, Lydia, and Allison sprang forward and started grabbing anything they could to add weight to the table. I just wrapped my arms around myself and watched, worried about the level of noise they were all making.

“Guys? Stiles talking. Can we hang on one second please? Hello!” I jumped in surprise at his unexpected shout, and turned my attention his way.

Everyone else whipped around to face him expectantly, ditching their effort at the doors.

“Okay. Nice work. Really beautiful job, everyone. Now...what should we do about the twenty foot wall of windows?” He gestured toward the aforementioned windows with a jerk of his arms.

I cringed, knowing he had a point. The alpha was in the school with us now, but that didn’t mean it would stay that way. It had already proven its intelligence by trapping us with the dumpsters. I wasn’t about to make the mistake of underestimating it again.

“Can somebody please explain to me what’s going on here? Because I am totally freaking out and I would like to know why.” Allison’s voice shook as she tried desperately to fight back tears. She tugged at Scott’s arm and called his name when he avoided her pleading eyes.

Alright. Come on. This is when you tell her.

He pulled himself free and stalked over to a nearby table before letting his elbows rest on it and pinching the bridge of his nose. Allison threw her hands up in exasperation and her gaze moved to me in question. I gave her a one shouldered shrug, not knowing what else to do.

How the hell would we get out of this without telling them everything? A few moments of tense silence passed and I huffed in frustration. If he wasn’t going to do it, I would. I was beyond done with the secrets and the lies. I opened my mouth, about to spill the beans, when Stiles interrupted me.

“Somebody killed the janitor.” He sent me a pointed look and took a few steps toward where Allison, Lydia, and Jackson stood in a line.

I clenched my jaw and tightened the sides of his jacket around my torso. They were going to find out eventually. It would be much better if it came directly from the source.

“What?” Lydia looked terrified by that news, her emerald eyes widening in horror.

“Yeah. He’s dead.” He confirmed with a surprising lack of emotion, glancing around the room to gauge everyone’s reaction. I blame his weird fascination with his dad’s line of work. He’d seen way too much even before the supernatural was involved.

I’d somehow almost forgotten that had happened, and the reminder brought the seriousness of our situation crashing back down onto me. Someone was dead because of the alpha. And now we were stuck, bound to be next any minute.

“What’s he talking about?” Allison forced out a pained laugh and looked to Scott. “Is this a joke?”

“Wha—who killed him?” Jackson spoke up for the first time, not sounding completely convinced.

“No, no, no, no.” Lydia’s eyes welled with tears as she started breathing erratically. “This was supposed to be over. The—the mountain lion...”

“Don’t you get it?” Jackson interrupted harshly. “There was no mountain lion.”

“Who was it? What does he want? What’s happening?” Allison demanded, her voice hard.

I chewed on my bottom lip nervously, feeling like we were quickly losing control of this situation. Keeping them in the dark was making things so much worse right now.

“Scott!” She snapped when he didn’t respond, and he finally spun around to face us.

“I-I don’t know. I just—if we go out there, he’s gonna kill us.” His voice wavered on the lie and he barely raised his eyes from the floor.

“Kill us?” Lydia asked pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest with a pop of her hip.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Leave it to her to think she’d be exempt from a psychotic murderer.

“Who? Who is it?” Allison was nearing a complete panic attack at this point.

I was ready to end this whole thing and face the stupid consequences later, when he finally spoke up. He shook his head and pinched his eyes shut tightly with a sigh.

“It’s Derek.” He muttered, avoiding both mine and Stiles’ stunned expressions. “Derek Hale.”

What the hell was he doing? Derek is dead. And, not to meantion, pretty much the only person we know for sure isn’t the alpha. He must’ve lost his damn mind.

“Derek killed the janitor...?” Jackson narrowed his eyes at Scott skeptically.

Yeah, you’re onto something buddy. Maybe for the first time ever.

“Yes. He killed them. All of them.” He rushed the words out, still refusing to look at anyone.

My jaw clenched tightly. Why couldn’t we just tell them the truth? Would it really be that bad? They were already majorly freaked out. Might as well hit them with the supernatural shit too.

“But the mountain lion...” Lydia tried to reason.

“No. It’s been Derek the whole time. Starting with his own sister—”

“And the bus driver?” Allison was visibily calmer now that she had an answer, but her voice still shook with fear.

“And the guy at the video store. He’s in here with us, and—and if we don’t get out now...”

He finally raised his gaze to look around the room. His eyes were shining with several intense emotions including fear, anxiety, and guilt. He should feel bad. He just threw a dead man under the bus, and lied to his girlfriend in the process. It wasn’t going to end well on either account.

He let out a heavy sigh and carefully considered his next words before speaking. “He’s gonna kill us too.”

A moment of silence passed before Jackson scoffed in annoyance. “Call the cops.”

I had to agree that it seemed like the most logical choice at this point. I’m not sure what they’d be able to do, but they at least had more resources than any of us.

“No.” Stiles said immediately, shaking his head for good measure.

“What do you mean, no?” Jackson furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief.

“I mean no. What, do you wanna hear it in Spanish? No.” Stiles threw his hands down to his sides in frustration. “Look, Derek killed three people. We don’t know what he’s armed with.”

For some reason, his willingness to go along with Scott’s lie really bothered me. He was by far the most loyal person I’d ever met, so it wasn’t surprising, but it still didn’t sit well with me. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish the truth with them, and that made me nervous.

“Your dad is armed with an entire sheriff’s department. Call him!” Jackson raised his voice, his anger spiking at Stiles’ apparent hesitation to do anything helpful.

He had a point. I knew the last thing Stiles wanted to do was involve his dad in any of this stuff, but there came a time when we needed adults to step in. I’d say this was one of those moments.

“I’m calling.” Lydia pulled out her phone and began pacing away from their bickering.

“No! Lydia. Would you just hold on a second?” Stiles moved toward her, one arm outstretched, until Jackson stepped between them and shoved him away harshly.

“Hey!” Scott rushed to Stiles side, who just narrowed his eyes angrily.

Oh, God. The last thing we needed right now was a fight. They shouldn’t even be arguing about this, either. I didn’t care what it was, we just needed to do something—anything—to try and get out of here safely.

“Yes, we’re at Beacon Hills High School. We’re trapped and we need you to—but...” Lydia lowered her phone from her ear slowly in disbelief. “She hung up on me.”

“The police hung up on you?” Confusion seeped through my voice as I stepped toward her. Why would they do that?

Her eyes snapped up to mine, her bottom lip quivering. “She said they got a tip saying that there would be prank calls about the high school. She said if I called again, she’d trace the call and have me arrested.”

“Okay, so call again!” Allison cried from behind her, growing frantic again.

“No, they won’t trace a cell.” Stiles mumbled. “They’ll send a car to your house before anyone comes here.”

Once again, I was surprised at his level of knowledge about police procedures. Just how much had his dad let him in on?

“What the—what is this? Why does Derek want to kill us? Why is he killing anyone?” A stray tear escaped Allison’s eyes as they jumped around the room, hoping anyone could answer her questions.

They were all valid, and I felt terrible that she was so freaked out. Although, I had a feeling that knowing a werewolf was actually the one chasing us wouldn’t help to put her mind at ease. I wanted nothing more than to tell her the truth. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” Scott asked upon noticing that all the attention was on him.

“Is he the one that sent her the text?” Lydia rushed the words out quickly, her eyes wide with fear.

“I don’t know.” Scott muttered through clenched teeth.

I wasn’t sure why they thought he’d have all the answers. I mean, he did have some kind of connection to the alpha, but they didn’t know that. To them, he should be as clueless as the rest of us.

“Was he the one that called the police?” Allison threw her hands up in exasperation as she desperately tried to piece any of this together.

“I don’t know!” Scott snapped, the sudden anger in his face immediately disappearing as he saw the way Allison recoiled from him.

Okay, this conversation was going nowhere, and fast. I grabbed ahold of Scott’s elbow and dragged him across the room as Lydia wrapped a comforting arm around Allison. Tensions were incredibly high right now, and everyone needed to chill the fuck out and stop fighting if we wanted to survive this.

“Okay, first of all.” I whispered with a raise of my eyebrows as Stiles quickly joined us. “Throwing Derek under the bus? Nice one.”

“I-I didn’t know what to say. I had to say something!” He tugged a hand through his hair as he tried to calm his breathing. “And if he’s dead, it doesn’t matter, right? Except if he’s not. Oh, God. I totally just bit her head off.”

He tried to sneak a glance at Allison over my shoulder but stopped when Stiles clasped a hand on his bicep. “And she’ll totally get over it. Bigger issues at hand right now. Like how do we get out of here alive?”

“But we are alive.” I cut in, voicing something that had been bothering me this whole time. “It could’ve killed us already. It’s like it’s...cornering us or something.”

“So, what? It wants to eat us all at the same time?” I glowered at Stiles for suggesting that ridiculous theory and he shrugged.

“No!” Scott whispered harshly. “Derek said it wants revenge.”

“Against who?” I couldn’t help but wonder which one of us could’ve somehow wronged the thing this badly.

“Okay, assheads!” I jumped as Jackson suddenly yelled and strode toward us with a scowl. “New plan. Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and decent aim. We good with that?”

God, what was his problem with Sheriff Stilinski? He’d made so many comments about him recently. At this point, it was getting weird. Everyone looked to be in agreement, though, which wasn’t good for Stiles.

“He’s right.” Scott said, surprising both of us. “Tell him the truth if you have to. Just...call him.”

“I’m not watching my dad get eaten alive.” He insisted harshly with a twitch of his eyes.

“At this point, the alternative is that we get eaten alive.” I hissed, annoyed with all of this back and forth. We just needed to do something.

“Alright, give me the phone—” Jackson lunged forward, ready to call the sheriff himself.

I let out a yelp as Stiles reared back before landing a punch square on his jaw. Allison immediately rushed to his side as he fell to the floor, clutching his face. Scott put a hand on Stiles’ chest to hold him back, but he looked pretty satisfied with the damage he’d done.

I didn’t miss the way Jackson smirked to himself, seemingly getting exactly what he wanted. I realized at that moment that he’d been trying to provoke Stiles to this breaking point the whole night, and he’d finally succeeded. But why?

I’d never seen Stiles so much as kill a bug, let alone punch someone in the face. His dad was a really sore subject, apparently. He huffed out an irritated breath and begrudgingly yanked his phone from his pocket. Our gazes locked as the call went to his dad’s voicemail, his honey eyes shining with fear as he left a hasty message.

We all jumped as the cafeteria doors started rattling violently. Allison and Lydia ran over to where we stood, hiding behind Scott and Jackson. My eyes grew wide as I watched the large bolts bending in the floor from the force the alpha was using to try and get in.

“The kitchen.” Stiles pocketed his phone and strode over to my side. “The door in the kitchen leads to the stairwell.”

“Which only goes up.” I reminded him, my attention still locked on the doors. They wouldn't be able to hold back for much longer.

“Up is better than here.”

With that, we all took off running again. We stumbled up the stairs and into a random unlocked classroom, falling silent as we waited to see if the alpha had followed. Allison stood with her back against the wall just beside the door, Lydia and Jackson huddled close in front of her. Me and the guys stood on the other side of the doorway.

I tried to steady my breathing as I watched the hallway closely through the small window in the door. Scott leaned toward it, trying to listen for footsteps, until Stiles fisted his jacket and jerked him back. A shadow moved across the glass, everyone visibly relaxing once it was gone.

“Jackson.” Scott whispered. “How many can you fit in your car?”

“Five, if someone squeezes on someone’s lap.” He breathed, bracing his hands against the table behind him.

“Five?” Allison snapped incredulously. “I barely fit in the back.”

“It doesn't matter.” I shook my head solemnly. “There’s no way we’re getting out without drawing attention.”

Now that we were on the second floor, our chances of escape had dwindled to almost none. There were no exits up here. We couldn't jump from any windows without getting seriously hurt. There really weren't many options.

“What about this?” Scott suddenly jogged toward a door in the corner of the room, and we all followed. “This leads to the roof. We can go down the fire escape to the parking lot in, like, seconds.”

“That’s a deadbolt.” Stiles snarked and pointed to the spot that held the door firmly locked.

I rolled my eyes at his attitude. Scott was only trying to help. Now was not the time for his signature sarcasm.

“The janitor has a key.” Scott looked hopeful at the realization.

“You mean his body has it.” I corrected, my stomach twisting painfully at the memory that someone had died right in front of us tonight.

So much had happened since then. I hadn't even begun to process it.

“I can get it. I can find him by scent, from the blood.” He leaned toward us as his voice dropped on the last sentence.

“Well, gee. That sounds like an incredibly terrible idea. What else ya got?” Stiles quipped.

I had to agree. While using the fire escape was probably our only hope at this point, going out there with the alpha was not a smart move. According to Derek, Scott is the one it wants. What’s to say it wouldn't just kill or take him on sight?

“I’m getting the key.” He insisted, his face tightening with determination.

He pushed past us, heading straight for the door, until Allison stepped in his way. “Are you serious?” Her eyes welled with fresh tears and she looked up at him desperately.

“It’s the best plan.” He tried to reassure her, but she just shook her head in disbelief.

I mean, it was a dumb plan. But Scott could handle himself. He’s a werewolf. Someone had to do something already. I was about to go out there myself if we didn’t get a move on.

“You can’t go out there unarmed.” She tried to reason with him, but his mind was already made up.

He looked around before pulling out a flimsy pointer finger on a stick. I tried my best to hold in a snort at the thought of him defending himself with that. Everyone just stared at him, and he shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing.”

“There’s gotta be something else.” Stiles said hopefully.

It was obvious that he didn’t want Scott going out there, either. I wouldn't say I was thrilled about it, but I knew that someone was going to have to make a sacrifice to get us out. He was the most obvious choice, plus he was willing. Who were we to stop him?

“There is.” Lydia glanced toward a cabinet filled with chemicals in various sized beakers behind me. I hadn't even realized we were in one of the chemistry labs. “In there is everything you need to make a self-igniting Molotov cocktail.”

“Well, we don't have a key for that either.” I pointed out, turning around to inspect it. It didn’t exactly solve our problem.

Jackson rolled his eyes with a huff and reluctantly stepped toward the glass case. With a scowl, he used his elbow to easily smash it to pieces.

Well, there’s one way to do it.

————————

It had been nearly ten minutes, and there were no signs of Scott or the alpha. The five of us had barely spoken, simultaneously processing this insane situation and being too afraid to make any noise. The air between us was thick with tension.

Allison had gone into full freak out mode when Scott left. She’d tearfully begged him not to leave, but he obviously didn’t listen. I understood her fear for his safety, but she had to know that it was our only hope. I had every bit of confidence in him. He would be able to get us out of this.

Suddenly, an earthshattering growl echoed through the school. The floors beneath our feet shook with the sheer volume of it. Lydia winced and covered her ears as if the sound pained her. I glanced at Stiles, silently asking whether Scott could make that kind of sound. I’d heard him howl earlier, and it had been impressive, but it was nowhere near whatever the hell that was.

I staggered back a step as Jackson unexpectedly fell onto his knees in front of me with a groan. He scratched at the back of his neck and began breathing heavily. Lydia and I grabbed each of his arms and hauled him back onto his feet as he continued wincing and moaning. He shoved us away, and I stumbled over my own feet.

“Don’t. I’m fine.” He turned to face us, still rubbing at the spot where I knew Derek’s claws had dug into his skin not long ago. “Seriously, I’m okay.”

“That didn’t even look remotely okay.” I huffed, concerned.

I mean, what the hell was that?

“Hey, what’s on the back of your neck?” Stiles peered over Jackson’s shoulder and stretched an arm out toward him.

He swatted it away and avoided all of our eyes. There was no way that was normal. Why would he react that way to the alpha’s growl? It didn’t make any sense.

“Well? It’s been there for days and you won’t tell me what happened.” Lydia crossed her arms skeptically. Clearly, it had been bothering her.

“As if you actually care.” He barked harshly, and she looked away, tears glistening in her eyes.

I was just about to lay into him for how not cool talking to her like that was, when police sirens sounded from outside. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and ran toward the windows, before looking down to confirm that help was actually here.

For the first time tonight, I felt myself relax. We were going to be okay.

————————

I pulled the sides of Stiles’ jacket tighter around myself, shivering against the frigid night air. My eyes were locked on him and Scott as they talked to the Sheriff. He was called away, and they continued whispering nervously. I would’ve preferred to be right there, listening, but Stiles said he’d drive me home. So here I stood, leaning against his Jeep. Waiting. Freezing to death.

I let my eyes follow them as they walked over toward an ambulance that Scott’s boss was sitting inside of. I had to admit, his mysterious disappearance—and subsequent revival—was insanely suspicious. I wasn't entirely convinced that he was the alpha, but he wasn't exactly in the clear, either.

After briefly talking to him, Scott and Stiles went their separate ways. Scott joined Allison, who had already told Lydia and I that she was going to break up with him. She was doubting pretty much everything about him after tonight, and I couldn't really blame her. He was keeping a huge part of himself secret, and it was pretty obvious at this point. I didn’t envy him having to figure a way out of that one.

“You could've gotten in.” I jumped at the sound of Stiles’ voice next to me, but forced myself to relax as he popped open the passenger door for me.

I climbed inside, buckling my seatbelt just as he slid into the seat beside me. My house was only a few minutes away, and I already felt my anxiety rising at the thought of sleeping there by myself after everything that had just happened. Mom was working the night shift again.

My fingers began trembling in my lap as the weight of tonight’s events came crashing down onto my shoulders.

I felt Stiles’ eyes on me, but kept my head down. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. It wasn't technically a lie. I was still breathing, and that counted for something. “I’m just not really looking forward to being home alone tonight.”

I felt heat crawl up my neck as I continued to avoid his curious gaze. I don't know what had compelled me to admit that. There was no reason for me to share that with him. I’d be fine.

I finally looked at him as the car jerked to the left so quickly I nearly fell out of my seat.

“What are you doing?” I balanced myself on the dashboard as we made a full 180 degree turn.

“You’re staying over.” He’d said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I gaped at him, shocked that he would even suggest it. The last time we did that... “Stiles—”

“It’s okay.” He interrupted hastily, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “My dad won’t care.”

“Stiles...” I let myself trail off that time, not sure what I wanted to say.

I didn’t want to be alone, and the last time we slept in the same bed, I’d had the best night of sleep since moving. It wasn't a bad idea per se, but...I don't even know. It was Stiles. And he made me nervous.

“Look. It’s really for my benefit. I mean, that was terrifying.” He let out a sigh, trying to make that sound believable.

“Nice try.” I scoffed, shifting back in my seat now that we were driving straight again. “You’re so not afraid of anything.”

He glanced at me briefly. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s true?” I finally looked at him again, studying the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. I took a moment to admire the view I had of his profile. The yellow lighting of the street lamps outside beautifully highlighted the freckles that dotted his skin, and pulled out the natural orangey tint of his eyes.

“You’ve had all this supernatural stuff thrown on you, and you’ve just accepted it like it’s no big deal. You’re always jumping at the chance to help, even though you’re human, and you’re usually the one who figures things out first. None of that strikes me as someone who’s easily scared.”

He looked at me with a small smile, his eyes trailing over my face appreciatively, and I felt my own lips tugging upward in return.

About ten minutes later, I was following him into his bedroom. It was much cleaner than I expected. It was small, nothing more than a bed with a plaid comforter—of course—a couple of bedside tables with a small lamp, and a desk. He shut the door behind us, and we stood there for a moment awkwardly.

I wasn't sure if I should sit on his bed or the plush chair in front of the desk. He was still by the entrance, one hand on the doorknob while the other rubbed at the back of his head. I made my choice and walked over to the bed.

I plopped down, tucking one of my legs beneath myself while the other dangled off the edge of his mattress. I let my toes brush against the cool hardwood floors as I watched him consider his options.

After some hesitation, he moved to join me on the bed. He sat about a foot away, and I was simultaneously disappointed and grateful for that little bit of distance between us. He played with his fingers in his lap and avoided my eyes.

“We could’ve died tonight.” I breathed, mostly wanting to break the silence but also just beginning to process everything.

He looked up at me tenderly and reached a tentative hand forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “But we didn’t.”

“Don’t you find that weird?” My skin erupted with heat as he let the tips of his fingers linger on my neck. “I mean, the alpha had so many opportunities to kill us and it just...didn’t. It was almost like it was playing with us or something.”

I could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes as he studied me for a moment. He parted his lips, and it looked like he was going to say something before thinking better of it. “We should get some sleep.”

“Or...we could do something else.” I rushed the words out before I could let any doubt creep in. His gaze quickly flickered to my mouth as I chewed on my bottom lip nervously.

“Something else?” His voice was barely above a whisper as his eyes moved back to mine.

“It’s just...” I swallowed, trying to gain the courage to say what had been swirling around in the back of my mind all night. “Our first kiss was at school. While being chased by a psychotic werewolf...”

“Yeah.” He breathed, chuckling quietly. “That’s not really how I imagined it.”

I blinked a few times, only just then noticing that we’d been moving closer together this whole time. “We could try again?”

There were only a few inches separating us now. Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered as he leaned forward and connected our lips gently. He tilted his head, slanting his mouth against mine, and I couldn’t help but arch into him as my eyes slid shut. The kiss was timid, just a bunch of barely there caresses as we slowly got more comfortable with each other.

We both pulled away fractionally, our noses still barely touching. I let out a shuddering breath as my anxiety slowly melted away. This was really happening.

“Was that better?” He murmured against me, his warm breath fanning my skin.

“Much.” My hands found the sides of his face and I pulled him back to me, locking our lips together again.

My mouth parted against his as one of his arms snuck around my back to bring me into his chest. His hands trembled against me and I felt my lips tug upward into a small smile, reassured that he was nervous too. I let my fingers trail toward the back of his head and tugged him impossibly closer.

A soft gasp escaped me as one of his hands squeezed at my hip before dragging me on top of him. With my legs on either side of his, I suddenly realized how quickly this was moving and pulled away. My eyes fluttered open just in time to see Stiles pout with a hum of disapproval. He leaned forward to capture my lips again, but froze at the sound of his door being thrown open.

“Oh, dear God. Son, really?”

I scrambled off of him as my eyes landed on his father. He was still wearing his uniform, so he must’ve just gotten back. I smoothed down my clothes and crossed my legs, trying to make myself look more presentable.

“Um. It’s not—uh...what it looks like?” I cringed at that sorry attempt at defusing the situation, and cleared my throat.

“Mr. Stilinski.” I greeted, hoping the twitch of my lips looked more like a smile than a pained grimace.

His eyes narrowed at me before moving to Stiles, who was stiff as a board beside me. “Call me Sheriff. And get to bed.”

With that, he was gone just as suddenly as he’d appeared. I let out a sigh, deflating with exhaustion. I had been through way too much for one day. We shared a quick glance before Stiles turned off the lights.

We crawled beneath his comforter and followed his dad—I mean, the Sheriff’s—advice. Once again, I quickly fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Episode 7, Part One Episode 8

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ninja-go-to-therapy · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2: In the Hands of the Enemy

Collars

Day 2! I know @grungekitty-77 has been waiting a hell of a long time for this one. Enjoy the Devastation! haha see what I did there

Summary: As if the rest of this experience hasn’t been bad enough, Kai wakes up with a collar around his neck. He is absolutely not standing for this.

Trigger Warnings: kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, pet whump, starvation, dehumanization, creepy/intimate whumper, mention of death, mention of violence, and just like... general uncomfy vibes associated with the aforementioned warnings. If that sounds like it would bother you, please don’t read!

2825 words

Kai woke up with a deep ache in his body. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t felt before — Wu liked to make them train quite intensely, after all — but it still sucked.

But there was something else. Something different.

Though his neck was practically numb from the position he’d slept in, it almost felt like there was something around it.

Kai opened his eyes, blinking away the sleepy blur. He glanced around the room warily.

Cole was fast asleep on the dog bed, and that enraged Kai most of all. The fact that Cole had been here so long that he’d accepted it as normal. The fact that no matter what Kai said, no matter what he did, Cole refused to listen. It made him want to scream.

But then he remembered that in order to have ended up like this, Cole must have gone through absolute hell. Kai had barely been here a few days, and already he wanted their captor dead.

How long had it taken Cole to break? What had been done to him that he could be shattered like this?

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

He pulled at the handcuffs, frustrated. His hands were cuffed behind him now, making it near impossible to do anything. In this instance, making it near impossible to figure out what the fuck was on his neck.

With a huff, he tilted his head to the side to try and get a feel of what was nearly choking him, awkwardly rubbing his bare shoulder against it.

It felt... weird. Almost like...

He glanced back at Cole. At the collar around his neck.

Oh, hell no.

He grunted, trying to bend his arms behind his back in a way that would let him get it off of him. He didn’t care if he broke a goddamn bone, he wasn’t taking this.

“Fucking…” he muttered, dropping his arms back down. It wasn’t working.

But he wasn’t going to give up. He wasn’t going to let this sicko treat him like this. He was going to save Cole, make him remember, and get them both out.

He wondered briefly if Cole really had forgotten, or if he was just too scared to say that he remembered.

A large part of him wished it was the latter. It would certainly make things easier. It would just be a matter of convincing Cole that Kai would keep him safe, and then running far, far away.

But with their luck, Cole really had forgotten. He really was convinced that he was worth less than a poorly-treated dog

No, poorly-treated was being too nice.

This was far from that. It wasn’t even on the same level.

And this had been going on for a year. No wonder Cole had broken.

But Kai was confident they could get out. Which started with getting this collar off of his neck.

The door swung open quietly. Kai didn’t even bother to act like he wasn’t trying to pry this stupid thing off, regardless of whether or not he choked himself while doing so.

His captor tsked, walking over briskly and kneeling down beside him.

“Silly little stray,” he said, his voice quiet enough not to wake Cole, low and controlling. “You’ll hurt yourself doing that.”

Kai laughed incredulously. “Like that’s not your whole gimmick,” he said, still unable to even reach the collar to begin getting it off. He knew he must have looked ridiculous, but he was pretty sure being half-naked and dirty and locked in a basement already did that for him, so.

“You think I enjoy hurting you?”

Kai didn’t even bother with a reply for that one. Regardless of whether or not this guy “enjoyed” hurting him didn’t matter. Because, shockingly, both Kai and Cole were being hurt anyway. Intent didn’t matter.

The man sighed. “You’ll get used to your collar,” he said, a dark promise that Kai would rather die than fulfull. “It is just a training collar, after all. You’ll grow out of it.”

A training collar? Oh, he hated that. He was not going to stand for this. He turned the words over in his mind. First Spinjitzu Master, a training collar. What the hell was this son of a bitch on?

“And don’t worry, you’ll be rescued soon enough. You just have to be good until then.”

Rescued? Did this guy expect for his friends to save him? Who in their right mind would do something like this if they knew they’d get caught?

“What the hell are you talking about?” Kai spat, glaring at the guy fiercely.

“Oh my, that was very rude, you know. And we wouldn’t want to wake my perfect, precious little pet, now would we?”

“His name,” Kai glared fiercely, “Is Cole.”

“He hasn’t been that in a very long time, little stray,” he said, looking legitimately repulsed at the idea of Cole being called by his own name. “But we’re talking about you. How you’ll get rescued sooner if you’re good. Some people do love their rescue mutts.”

His captor hummed softly, smiling at him almost innocently. Almost. “I suppose they are more exciting to those that want that kind of thing. Me, I just want a quiet life with my happy little pet.”

And Kai was ready to maul the guy then and there, but then he kept going, and it just kept getting so much worse.

“You’re not what I’d pick, but I’m just training you, so my opinion really doesn’t matter.”

Wait. Hold on. This guy didn’t mean rescue like the actual sense of the word. He wasn’t planning on Kai or Cole getting saved at all. This was more pet talk!

Oh, that made his blood boil. How dare this man speak to him like this? How dare he think himself to be so superior above them that he was just fine pretending they were pets?

Oh no. ‘Just training him’? He was going to be passed along to someone else! And then what would he do? He wouldn’t be able to save Cole! He didn’t even know where they were! And if whoever he was handed off to was half as crazy as this guy, then who knew if Kai would even be able to get out?

Shit, fuck, this was so bad!

Okay. Okay he had to think. This psycho had said that he’d get “rescued” sooner if he was good. Which meant the only way to buy himself time was to act out.

That, he was more than happy to do.

“You’re absolutely out of your mind if you think I’ll let this happen,” Kai growled, struggling against the stupid handcuffs and the stupid chain. “You’re fucking crazy!”

And yeah, he didn’t look pleased.

His captor sighed, shaking his head like he was really, truly upset about this.

“You’re a slow learner, you know,” he said, in a tone that one would speak to a toddler in. He slapped Kai hard, sending his head turning quickly to the side and practically imitating the feeling of whiplash.

Kai glared at him.

“You’d best be grateful that I don’t have the time to give you a proper punishment right now,” he said, a furious whisper as Cole groaned quietly in his sleep.

“You’d best be grateful I’m chained up so I can’t kick your ass,” Kai spat back.

His captor looked unimpressed. “I was going to let you have dinner tonight, but if this is how you’re going to treat your teacher, then I suppose you’ll have to go without food until you can be good.”

The man stood up, straightening his shirt. “I would make up your mind quickly, if I were you.”

With that, he left the room, the sound of the lock clicking ringing in Kai’s ears.

He sighed, getting as comfortable as the restraints allowed him to. He was going to be stuck here for awhile.

———

The next time Kai woke up, Cole was awake too, and was staring at him. Did he finally recognize him? Was he remembering?

“I like your collar,” he said, quiet.

Kai wasn’t sure whether to be delighted that Cole was actually talking to him, or horrified at what he was saying.

“Don’t—” Kai violently cut himself off. Cole didn’t need to be yelled at. He was probably traumatized beyond belief, and Kai needed to be patient with him, even if what he was saying made him angry.

If their captor was consistent, then poor Cole probably got yelled at enough.

“Please don’t say that,” he said, forcing himself to sound calm for Cole’s sake.

“Why not?” Cole asked.

Kai couldn’t believe he actually had to explain this to Cole. How could somebody fall so far? How could he think that something as demeaning and disgusting as a collar was perfectly fine and normal?

“It’s not — I don’t—” Kai sighed in frustration. “It’s not right!”

“Why isn’t it?” Cole asked, innocent. “Is it too tight? Master does that sometimes. He says that even the air we breathe is a gift, and we should be thankful for it. If you’re good, he’ll probably loosen it!”

Kai nearly burst into tears at that. He wanted to shake Cole by the shoulders and scream that that’s not how things should be! But the only thing he could do was sit there and furiously blink away the angry tears gathering behind his eyes.

That fucking bastard, Kai was going to rip his guts out if he tried to lay a hand on Cole again. He wasn’t going to let it happen. He’d gladly get… punished, himself, if it meant Cole wouldn’t be.

“It’s not,” Kai finally said. No matter what he said, Cole wasn’t going to understand. He needed to figure out a way to make him, but he couldn’t do that right now. He needed to gain Cole’s trust.

It would take time.

“Oh, okay,” Cole said. “Oh, and try not to talk when Master is around. He doesn’t like that. I’m only talking because he said it was okay to talk to you.”

Of course. Of course Cole wouldn’t talk of his own free will. He’d waited for fucking permission to talk when that bastard wasn’t even around!

Kai turned away from him, trying to ignore the viscous growling in his stomach. How long had he been here? How long had it been since he’d last eaten?

Kai could handle going without food. Growing up, he’d always prioritized Nya’s need to eat over his own, he was used to going without meals. He was used to a few days without food, actually.

But he was practically at his limit, by this point. It had been, what? Two days? Three? He’d lost count. He didn’t know how long he slept for. He didn’t know how often their captor came to torment them.

He only knew the horrible pain in his stomach that hadn’t gone away once it had appeared. He only knew that Cole needed to be saved. He only knew that poor Lloyd was probably coping horribly. He was probably having an absolute breakdown.

He wished he could be there to comfort him.

———

Hours passed.

The pain only grew increasingly worse.

Cole occasionally spared glances at him, looking worried.

“Doesn’t he ever feed you?” Kai snapped, his irritation melting at the way Cole flinched.

Cole just nodded silently.

Fuck. He’d scared him back into silence. Kai sighed, shifting jerkily and groaning at the way his stomach grumbled. “I can go a little longer,” he muttered, rubbing his stomach in the hopes that it would help calm the pain. “I’m doing great.”

“No you’re not,” Cole said. “You’re acting mean. Pets shouldn’t be mean. Not even to other pets.”

Kai forced himself to ignore that last part in favor of addressing the more general statement: he was being mean. Cole didn’t deserve that.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m just hungry. Can’t you convince him to bring food or something?”

“If Master brings food, I can’t just share,” Cole said, shaking his head like Kai had suggested an atrocity. “Master only wants you to eat if you’re good. You haven’t been good.”

Yeah, no, he was going to do just fine without food. It was all good. He wasn’t going to give up his dignity — again! — just to satiate a little hunger. He was totally fine.

The only sound for the next few minutes was Cole shifting on the dog bed, and the increasingly violent growling of Kai’s stomach.

Until footsteps sounded.

Kai looked up, that stupid door opening to show their captor’s stupid face.

“Last chance for the day, little stray. If you apologize and beg like a good boy, you get to eat. Surely you must be starving. It’s been so long since you’ve eaten. You can’t go that much longer without dying, can you?” He tapped his watch. “Tick, tock.”

Cole’s eyes widened at the “dying” part, and he looked up at their captor frantically, then glanced over to Kai.

Kai just glared at the guy. He was strong. He wouldn’t break again.

Cole mouthed one word. “Please.”

And Kai… couldn’t help but acknowledge the fact that Cole had risked everything for him that first day. He’d spoken out, without permission — which, according to him, was an ultimate sin — just to beg him to stay alive.

Cole had risked so much for Kai.

He couldn’t let himself die. Then, Cole would never get out of here, he would never remember the truth. Kai had to do it.

So, swallowing his pride, his dignity, and every single part of him screaming at him not to do it, he lowered his head.

“I’m sorry for misbehaving,” he muttered, though he couldn’t fully extinguish the fire from his voice. “Please let me eat.”

He glanced up, but his captor didn’t seem satisfied.

Fucking… fine.

“Please let me eat, Sir,” Kai grumbled, drawing back the sarcastic tone he wanted to use as much as he could. It still shone through.

“There’s a good boy!” Their captor said, delighted. “I’ll be right back with some food for you two.”

As he left, Kai slumped back against the wall. He was exhausted. It took a surprising amount of energy to put up with this.

“Thank you,” Cole said.

Kai smiled weakly at him. He was going to get him to remember. He would. And their captor would never see it coming.

Kai let his eyes slip shut as he waited for their captor to come back. After he ate, he could go back to sleep. That sounded nice.

The door opened up again.

“There you go, my darling,” their captor said, probably to Cole.

On the one hand, having his eyes closed made him feel very, very vulnerable. Especially after that whole drowning thing. That had brought back a lot of painful memories. That had just been painful in general, actually.

Okay, there wasn’t another hand. His eyes snapped open. Best not to open that can of worms. He didn’t want to break down in front of this man. He didn’t want to break down in front of Cole, either, but it was better than both of them. Besides, maybe Cole would actually be a little bit sympathetic.

“Eat up, little stray,” his captor hummed, smiling innocently.

Kai stared at the dog bowl. The dog bowl. For fuck’s sake, what had he been expecting? Being treated like a person? No, that would be too easy! That would be too simple, too sane.

He was going to yell, or say something, or flat-out refuse, but… then he wouldn’t get to eat. And then he would be hurt, and then he’d be made to beg all over again if he wanted to so much as survive, and then it would be so much worse.

His captor looked at him expectantly. “Perhaps you’re not hungry after all?” he asked. A warning. He had to make up his mind.

He glared at the man. He couldn’t believe he was fucking doing this.

Cole, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem with it. He was munching away happily on the food — which, thank the first master it was actual human food, not dog food or some shit (he wouldn’t put it past him) — but still. It was demeaning and uncomfortable.

But he was really, really hungry.

He didn’t look at his captor as he took a bite.

It actually kind of tasted… good.

He could barely restrain himself from shoveling it all down his throat in one go, truth be told. Though, that could have been the starvation talking.

By the time he was done, and their captor was gone, Kai was left alone again (or, as alone as he could be with Cole there).

The realization hit him quite painfully.

He had just been fed out of a dog bowl. And he hadn’t even complained.

47 notes · View notes

jinmukangwrites · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 7

Support | Carrying

Ao3

Warnings: Gunshot wounds, blood, canon typical violence

-o-o-o-o-

Here was the thing about fighting crime in Gotham. Well, or just fighting crime in general. Sometimes things just went wrong and there was nothing you could do about it. You could be the most powerful superhuman in the world, or the most skilled martial artist, or have a reputation to the moon and had the documentation to prove that reputation wasn't complete bull.

No matter who you were, sometimes you got hurt from a dumb thing. A thing you could have avoided. A thing that you most certainly will beat yourself up over in the coming weeks.

Sometimes a stray bullet just happened to ricochet juuuuust right off the concrete walls and into the back of your hip while you were fighting crime in the streets.

When Jason felt the intense pain of the aforementioned stray bullet entering his flesh, it took every ounce of will power he had to not cry out or fall down.

"Hood!"

He heard Nightwing call his name. The idiot practically begged for tonight's brotherly bonding session and Jason wanted nothing more than to look up and glare at him. Saying: "let's patrol together, Jason! It will be fun , Jason!"

He didn't for a number of reasons. Mostly because he couldn't say his real name out loud; though he supposed he could say 'Hood'?. Anyway, it was also kinda because he had his helmet on and it was sorta hard to glare through it unless he had the helmet literally sculpted into a glare. Partly because the pain was muting even though the bullet couldn't have gone that deep. It should have lost power while bouncing off the stone bricks, and the material of his jacket and under armor should have stopped it a little . All the way if it hit right. But it didn't hit right. Somehow, it came at him in that very specific angle that Kevlar didn't like.

He had a bullet in his hip. He could feel warm blood pouring out of a hole in his body, trickling down the back of his legs and ever so slowly becoming painfully stabbing.

So while Jason wanted to joke, look up at his dumb older brother and tease that this is why they don't do things together, it was all he could do maneuver his arms so he didn't faceplant when his hip eventually gave out.

And oh yeah. The pain was definitely settling in now. It forced his eyes to widen and tear up, his hands to clench, his arms to twitch as his body desperately tried to figure out what to do without his consent. He wanted to grab at the wound, which was good right? Stop the blood flow? But it was at an awkward position behind him, and he was sure there were still thugs in the alleyway; he kinda really didn't want to be seen clutching his ass in front of them all.

So he sorta just... laid there pathetically, hating how a simple patrol turned out like this; with Jason laying in a growing puddle of his own blood.

This was Dick's fault. Jason was sure. When he got the medical treatment he needed, he was definitely going to hold this above Goldie's head for the rest of time and eternity.

Although, quicker than what he expected, Dick was by his side with eyes comically wide behind his mask, hands hovering over Jason like he wasn't sure what to touch or where to apply pressure. Jason had just the presence of mind to remember that he was hit by a ricochet bullet, shot in the back by a projectile that should have, by all means, missed. Dick wouldn't have seen him get shot, just the aftermath. The poor idiot was babbling like a soaking wet domesticated house cat, probably thinking he was shot somewhere much more important than his rear end. Like his heart or something.

"Hip-" Jason gasped, and then groaned when hands immediately landed at the area just to the side of the small of his back. It hurt like a bitch, that was for sure, but it really couldn't have gotten that deep. It probably just entered him at an angle instead of straight on. More torn flesh that way. And Jason knew from experience that the pain of a wound didn’t necessarily correlate with how deep the said wound ran. It could be how long it was. How gaping. How beaten and bruised.

It seemed silly to drop from a wound such as this. He could hear Dick muttering about how it didn't look horrible and that Jason probably didn't need a hospital and most likely didn't get hit in the bone, but it still hurt. A lot.

He sucked in a deep, lungful of air, then forced his head to turn towards where they had been previously fighting a group of thugs who thought they could mug some beanpole old man. Confusion washed over him slowly. The thugs… they were so determined to fight Nightwing and Red Hood when they showed up. One of them was even bragging about having fought one of the bats before. Which Jason doubted. They probably ran away from whatever illegal activity they were doing before the bats actually arrived, but put that little white lie on their criminal resume to get hired for big gigs more easily. If they'd fought a bat before, they wouldn't be so excited to fight them again.

Regardless, the guy was excited and trigger happy, even after the man they were trying to mug managed to escape. You could probably guess who managed to get a one-in-a-million shot on Jason without having to be told.

That all added up to why Jason was confused at this moment, laying on the ground, hands on his back that pressed down with way more force than Jason thought necessary. The alley was empty. Not a thug in sight. No unconscious bodies with hands restrained and a note taped to their foreheads for the cops. Nada. Goose Egg.

"Wh- where-?" Jason tried, but talking made everything hurt .

Thankfully though, Dick knew what he was trying to ask. "They ran off after they realized they shot you. Got cold feet."

Jason opened his mouth, but ground it shut as Dick increased the pressure with one hand and removed the other to probably get some bandages going. Jason just breathed for a moment. Catch his breath. Bring the focus of his attention away from the hole in his back to return to the matter at hand.

When Dick pressed a thick sheet of cotton over the wound, Jason knew the next few minutes would be agonizing; as Jason would soon be sat up to allow bandages to be freely wrapped around his hips and stomach. He opened his mouth before Dick could begin the process and forced the words out.

"You let them run?"

"Of course," Dick grumbled, and Jason wasn't sure if he said it as a “ yes Jason, because I love you I let the enemies go so I could take care of you !” or a “ of course you'd ask this, geeze, so annoying…” kind of way.

Jason was offended either way.

When Dick forced him up so he's sitting and leaning heavily against the older hero, he was positive he saw stars. Bright, flashing starts shining through the constant murk that was Gotham's sky. Or maybe he was just in intense pain.

Oh well.

Dick wrapped the wound—working with way more clockwork and practice than what any normal person without a medical degree should be able to do—then, at the count of three he lifted Jason by grabbing the arm of Jason's good side and wrapping it around his shoulders. Jason could barely contain a yelp as he was lifted to his feet. His hip screamed at him, trying to get him to fall back down and just lay there. Probably just die there. He had to force every ounce of his willpower into moving his good leg, dragging his bad one behind him, as Dick struggled to carry his weight out of the alleyway.

Not so happy to be small and quick now, huh Grayson? Rethinking those offers Jason had made months ago to teach you how to go make more muscle and maybe even get a little taller? Pathetic. Can't even drag Jason's injured ass out of an alleyway without breaking a sweat on your forehead.

"M'not that heavy," Jason grumbled anyways though when Dick began to release small, panting puffs of air.

"You're heavier than B," Dick wheezed, "so shut the fuck up."

Jason lifted an eyebrow under his helmet. He was sure Dick could sense his amusement, if the twitch of his lips were anything to go by. "How do you know how heavy B is?"

"Oh you know," Dick said in a mock-sigh, his voice almost singsong, "I'm always saving everyone's asses. Drag each of you to a med bay at least once a month. Did you know Orphan is heavier than Red but not as heavy as Spoiler?"

"Do you want Orphan and Eggplant to kill you?"

Dick let out a bubbling laugh, which made Jason wonder if Tim, Cass, then Steph was really the order of that scale. Jason wouldn’t linger on it for long though, because they've finally made it to where they've parked their bikes. Jason immediately began to plan on how he was going to ride to his nearest house without passing out in Gotham late-night traffic. The dead-hours of night always brought out the best and worst in Gotham drivers. He'd have to manage. He did it before.

However, all of his plans suddenly flew out the window as Dick disregarded his own blue and black bike and proceeded to try and force Jason into the passenger seat of his own bike.

"I can-"

"I'll cuff you if I have to Hood," Dick snapped, though there was mirth and amusement in his tone. "I'm driving you."

"You're not ," Jason grunted though clenched teeth as he inevitably lost the battle with Dick and was forced into the passenger space. "You're gonna take me to the manor if I let you drive."

"Yeah?"

" No ."

Dick sighed then stepped away from the bike, planting hands on his hips as he gave that disappointed older brother pout he'd been working on and improving for the past decade. It worked on most everyone except Jason and maybe Cass. Jason was immune to the Older Brother Pout™. Still didn't stop Dick from giving it.

"Little Wing, you have a bullet in your back."

"Woah, thanks for telling me, I didn't know!"

Now Dick looked a little annoyed. Good. "Jay-"

"No," Jason snapped, desperately wanting to stand up and cuss him out like he deserved. "We'll go to my safehouse."

"What one?" Dick argued and angrily Jason threw his hands in the air on instinct.

The action sent bolts into his back, making his brain short circuit as his body tried to figure out if it wanted to bend forward or back. In the end, it didn't matter, because like the absolute bastard he was, Dick used his pain as a distraction to jump onto the sitting space in front of him. He turned on the engine and Jason felt himself go boneless, the pain of the wound on his back ate up his energy more violently than a crocodile. His metal helmet slammed against Dick's back, and when he felt the bike jolt with motion, he angrily, carefully, and reluctantly wrapped his arms around Dick's waist.

"'ny of them," Jason mumbled, blinking blurry shapes from the corners of his eyes. "Ju's don' take me t'the manor…"

"Alright," Dick chimed, revving the engine. He sounded too happy about something, but Jason was too focused on holding on and ignoring the pounding hole in his back to question it too much.

Dick drove with more caution than what he normally did. Jason had ridden with Dick on bikes and in cars before, and the guy is borderline psychotic while driving. Jason supposed it was because his adrenaline junky tendencies mixed with the famous Blüdhaven road rage to create a man to be feared on any sane roads. Or as same as Gotham got. Jason swore Dick was always on the horn, always looking for that split second window to speed up and get to where he wanted as fast as possible. He wasn't a dangerous driver, just one that wasn't one to trifle with when in the zone of driving. Yet now, while the speed was fast and the spaces between cars was utilized to get the cycle through quicker, there were hardly any other risks involved. No running lights, no cutting it close between cars, no sharp and split second turns. Everything was calculated and smooth, and Jason made a mental note to mention it to him later.

So you do know how to drive?

With the hum of the engine and the warm body in front of him, it became rather difficult to keep his eyes open. A weary cloud had slowly begun to settle around him, probably not because of any blood-loss but because of falling levels of adrenalin and perhaps mild shock. He squeezed his arms tight around Dick's chest—he silently promised that if Dick mentioned this as a hug he would lose it—and let his eyes fall shut. He would just rest them… for a little while. He had a long night ahead of him. One of digging out a bullet and stitching the wound shut. He should guilt trip Dick into going out to buy ice cream or takeout chinese later.

And thankfully, focusing on the sounds around him by having his eyes closed helped him ignore the pain. Well, not all of it. It was there. Just… muted.

He could relax to this.

It was a pity all the peace and relaxation left the moment the bike suddenly dipped in altitude, the sounds of the city becoming the seemingly endless echoes of the bike itself. Jason snapped open his eyes, recognizing the dark tunnel around him. A growl escaped his throat.

"Dick," he hissed. Or well, grumbled. His voice was slurred and definitely sounded as tired as he felt.

"Yup?" Dick replied like he was innocent. Jason will kill him.

"Safe. House."

"Yup." He popped the "p" on that one. Alright. Jason will definitely kill him.

"This isn't my safe house," he growled, putting as much force as he could into each syllable. " No manor."

"Kay," Dick hummed, "but I don't know where any of your safehouses are. So I thought, Jason doesn't want the manor, so where's the next best place?"

"The manor includes the cave, Dickhead!"

"Y'know, everytime you insult me with my own name it just gets more and more sad."

Jason wanted to scream. "I'll show you what's sa-"

The tunnel opened up, revealing one of the last places Jason was in the mood to be at. The Batcave was just as large, impressive, and condescending as ever. Dick came to a stop near where the rest of the vehicles in the cave were parked, killed the engine, then stuffed the keys into his gauntlets so Jason couldn't snatch them and drive away in a pain filled haze and probably crash in the straight and narrow tunnel used to get here. Dick looked up from the bike, smiled, and waved.

Jason wanted to shoot something. With rubber bullets, don't worry, but he still wanted to shoot something.

Of course Batman and Robin couldn't be out in the city right now. Of course they were right here, a good distance away near the batcomputer, both standing up to curiously regard their guests.

"Don't tell the truth of how it happened," Jason said quickly.

Dick scoffed and dropped his hand, using the other to tear off the edge of his mask. "I don't even really understand what happened-"

Jason glared. "Just make me sound cool, alright? I have a reputation. Can't have them know I was taken out by street level thugs."

"Don't worry, Jay," Dick assured, jumping off the bike and grabbing Jason's arm again, grunting under the weight to eventually help Jason to his feet. "I'll make sure your ego isn't bruised."

"Ya better."

"Richard," came the voice of the most tater tot boy to ever tater tot. "… Jason." There was only one kid that could say someone's name like it was a poison that tasted good. Jason looked up from where he'd been focusing on his feet to see the kid had ran up to get ahead of the big man.

He grinned wickedly, because he loved watching the kid be a little unnerved by him. Not in a rude way. Just in a " hell yeah, little man, I'm your second eldest brother and you gotta respect me " kinda way.

"Hey, short stack," Jason waved half-heartedly as Dick began to guide him over to the medbay. Alfred, who was standing by the computer, looked Jason up and down, sighed, then walked over to the medbay as well. "How's the cow? Ready for the grill yet?"

"Batcow is fine," Damian replied civilly. Jason wondered why that was. Normally the kid was ready to throw down at the slightest tiny itty bitty inkling of a suggestion of cooking any of his pets. Jason wasn't even subtle about it this time. And Damian also had issues with comments of his perfectly normal for a thirteen year-old shortness. Jason honestly expected reddening, bloating cheeks and narrowed eyes. Instead, Damian looked him up and down, his green eyes calculative and his posture looking oddly like he was trying to convince himself to say something more.

Luckily, or unluckily in many cases, Bruce came up before this odd little exchange could be explored more.

"What happened?" He demanded in that worried-but-constipated-about-it way of his that he was always so good at.

Jason saw Dick open his mouth and he prepared himself for the coming lecture. Always be ready for an attack, Jason. Be prepared for anything. Even if the enemy is low level street muggers who barely even know how to hold a gun, Jason. Ugh.

"I shot Jason."

Aaaand Jason now remembered that Dick was literally the worst liar in the whole entire goddamn world. Alright. Jason could work with this.

"Yup. Dick shot me," Jason agreed, probably enjoying Bruce's frown way too much. Bruce walked around towards their backs and Jason fought a tense as a hand barely even brushed across the bandage around his lower abdomen.

"Richard wouldn't shoot anyone, even someone as annoying as you," Damian argued, looking genuinely outraged and confused.

"I'm sorry, Dami," Dick continued, sighing in mock apology as he continued to drag Jason closer to the medbay. "I finally snapped."

"No you didn't!"

"I did, and I'll do it again!"

Jason tuned out the coming shouting match between a literal child and Damian. That would keep them occupied. He side-eyed over to where Bruce was walking besides them, looking torn between walking ahead to the bay or helping Dick carry Jason. It was times like these that Jason found himself more grateful than ever for his helmet, it allowed him to watch as Bruce has a whole mini crisis, trying to decide what to do with his hands, without Bruce actually seeing him paying attention to that stuff.

"B," Jason tried, and somehow his voice carried over regardless of Damian's shouting about how Dick wasn't secretly a murderous psychopath who had been repressing his violent urges up until this point. Dick really was going to stick with that story huh?

Bruce's eyes flickered up towards Jason, looking immediately guarded. Jason knew it was a front. So he reached up with his free hand and took off his helmet. He proceeded to look Bruce directly in the eyes.

He tried a smile, even though he really didn't want to be here in the cave right now. He'd rather be at home, watching replays of Harry Potter and stuffing his face with chocolate fudge brownie ice cream. But, he supposed, if he was going to be forced to be here via one stubborn prick of a brother, pun intended, then he was going to do his best to be as civil as Damian was a moment ago.

He had a reputation to keep up, after all. Jason didn't get gunned down by street muggers, and he didn't lower himself below the only kid in the cave.

"Why don'cha help out, yeah?" Jason asked, "Dick is tiny and slow and my back hurts."

Dick squawked. "I take offence to that! I might just shoot you again, Hood!"

"Stop it Richard! You don't shoot people!"

"I can't help it, little D! The urge to shoot people is stronk ."

Damian groaned at the horrible attempt at gen z slang while Bruce slowly and almost... timidly grabbed Jason's other arm and immediately sped up the process of getting him towards the ever awaiting Alfred and the cot behind him.

Jason tried to not focus too hard on that. Of how far they have fallen from when Jason was still young. Robin. Full of magic.

He tried not to think about how far they have come from when Jason was stuffing heads in duffle bags.

He just allowed Bruce to take him to the cot and gently set him down, shooing Dick and Damian away as Alfred approached with the tools he needed.

Dick was correct in saying that the bullet didn't go in far, and Jason was right that it went in weirdly and that was why it was so painful. After an excruciating makeshift surgery and a stitching session, Jason reluctantly allowed himself to be lowered into the cot. He was all tuckered out. He was so tired from the entire night that he couldn't keep his eyes open, even though Bruce was in the same room and Jason still didn't feel comfortable being vulnerable around him.

He might have imagined it, but when he was a sliver away from falling fully into a deep sleep, he might have felt something warm and calloused grab his hand and stroke the joint of Jason's thumb. The hands holding his own were easy to recognize. Bruce had unique hands. He might have felt weirded out by that, that Bruce was holding his hands as he fell asleep, or maybe annoyed. But like he said, he was too exhausted to really… care.

Too tired to know if it was real.

"I'm glad you're safe, Jay-lad," Bruce whispered. Or maybe he didn't.

Jason was too far gone by then.

33 notes · View notes

my-fanfic-library · 4 years

Text

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [8]

Masterlist

~^*^~

The next time you saw Dracula was the next night when he casually strolled into your home as if he owned the place. Instead of taking his usual seat on the La Z Boy, he decided to pluck up your legs and settle down beside you, happily plopping then onto his lap.

“Hi, Drac,” you mumbled, clearly more engrossed in the TV than in his entrance to your home.

“Evening, [First].” One thing he had learnt over making your acquaintance was to not interrupt soap hour. That was a simple rule but too easily broken. He looked over at you, smiling softly at your concentrated face.

You did not reply to him, and easily ignored the buzz of his phone. He, however, pulled the device from his pocket. You could hear faint tapping. For a good fifteen minutes, every 30 seconds or so, he’d receive a message. At first, it was a mild inconvenience but as his chuckles grew louder, you finally found yourself flicking your ankle up, knocking the phone out of his grasp. His hand caught your ankle and he yanked you further down the sofa and more on to his lap.

“Drac!” You shrieked.

“Care to explain why you just kicked my phone out of my hand?”

You twisted in his grasp, but his large paws were holding you down with such force that you really struggled to turn to face him.

“Because you were being annoying.” You explained, irked.

“Are you jealous?” He smirked.

“No I’m not jealous! Stacy is sleeping with Max even though she’s with Martin! It’s important that I keep watching!” You exclaimed, anger finally getting the best of you.

For a moment, there was silence. Your eyes locked with the vampires and you felt lost for a moment. His fingers edged up your legs, moving towards your thighs. He didn’t get very far up as the phone on the floor buzzed out and made you jump. You practically leapt off of his lap and cornered yourself on the opposite side of the sofa.

“Who the fuck is that?” You growled.

“Language, [First]. A lady never curses.” Dracula tutted.

“I’m not a lady. And you’re upsetting me. Turn it on silent.”

“I have no interest in paying it any mind anymore. It will stop now.”

“Good.” You mumbled.

“And speaking of you being a lady, I have a proposal.”

You finally realised that you would not find out how Stacy and Max’s affair was going to work out, and finally paused the TV. You turned to look at the vampire. He was smiling at you. Not his usual cocky, boyish grin, but instead just a simple smile. You tilted your head in question, waiting for him to go on.

“I was doing some reading - which all creatures wishing to be somewhat accomplished should do for fun - and came across some information about Whitby town. Although I don’t truly understand the culture of it all, there is apparently some Goth Weekend occurring on Friday through to Sunday...” he trailed off.

“Goth Weekend? What about it?” You inquired.

“Well, I’m sure you know as an inhabitant that there is usually a biannual ball to go along with this festival. Would you do me the honour of going?”

“Going to a ball...? With a vampire... ? What kind of cheesy fanfic is this?”

“What’s a fanfic?” Dracula looked at you with a similarly puzzled expression.

“If you don’t know, keep it that way. Why do you even want to go to a ball anyway? That’s like... a dog going to a butchers and not being able to eat anything.”

“I’d like to take you, of course. Besides, it’s been a long time since I civilised with people like that. It seems such formal occasions in the 21st century are a rare gem amongst mud of normal social occasions,” his mind wandered to the girl down in London. How she enjoyed to drink her alcohol by the bucketful and how people danced freely and with whomever they could grasp, “will you do me the honour, [First]?”

~^*^~

When you awoke the next morning, it was by your door being feverishly knocked. Somehow your groggy morning voice managed to reach all the way down to their ears, as you heard the door open and gently snap shut. You buried yourself further into your duvet and within 90 seconds, it had been torn off of you.

“Morning, [First], you missed two appointments.” Zoe was looking down at you frowning, behind her, standing in the doorway of your bedroom was Jack, “I believe you have quite the explanation to offer me.”

The next few minutes were a hazy rush, as you got dressed, brushed your hair and teeth and made tea for your visitors. When your rush cooled, you found yourself sitting sheepishly across from the two, unable to look Zoe in the eye at all.

“We’re waiting, [First].” Her voice was as stoic as her face and you could tell she was definitely extremely unhappy with you.

“I can explain... kind of...”

“[First], this needs to stop. Once Dracula has had his fill, he’s going to kill you.” Jack spoke gently, clearly trying to stay on your good side. After being your close friend for many years, he knew that you were never a friendly person long after waking up. He suspected it hadn’t changed in the years you’d gone without acknowledging each other’s existences.

“He... he hasn’t yet, though...” you trailed off, “I’m beginning to doubt that he ever will.”

“Of course he will. He did it to Sister Agatha, he did it to Jonathan Harker. You are no exception.”

“Zoe-“

“My god, he really has you cast under a spell doesn’t he? Are you in love with him?”

You had to scoff at the question which was sent with a sharp and jabbing accusatory tone. In love with Count Dracula?! The absolute absurdity of the words love and Dracula being uttered in the same sentence was enough to send you into a tear-inducing laughing fit. Of course you didn’t love him! This was your job. You had to gain the trust of criminals, of evil and corrupt people to learnt how they did what they did. The only difference with Dracula was that this had to be done on a much personal level.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I don’t.”

“Then why do you allow him into your home? Why do you take long walks with him? Why has he bought you an evening gown?”

“That’s because I- he what?”

“You didn’t notice the large gown hanging up in your living room?”

“No...”

You pushed yourself up, almost tripping over your feet as you rushed into the living room. Sure enough, hanging up on the curtain rail was a stunning gown. It was all black in colour and there was such an abundance of material that it blocked out most of the light. You couldn’t hold back your gasp, reaching forwards to inspect it a little more.

In the kitchen, a plan was brewing between Zoe and Jack. A plan to, in Zoe’s words, kill two birds with one stone. The pair had become worried that Dracula had already begun to feed on you, and would need to find a way to figure out if this was the case. They also jointly decided that you needed to get away from the influence of the aforementioned vampire for your own personal safety.

When you returned to the kitchen, Zoe abruptly announced her leave and you saw her to the door. Thinking nothing of her sudden odd behaviour, you plodded back into the kitchen and sunk down into your chair. You facepalmed the table.

“Am I am idiot, Jack?” You groaned.

“No, I don’t think so,” he told you, “but I do think you’re mixing professionalism with privacy and Count Dracula shouldn’t be crossing that line.”

“I know but...”

He didn’t need you to keep talking to end the sentence. He already knew it. ‘It’s my job’. And while that was true; your job required you to be close to such evil beings in order to figure out how they operated, there was no need for the closeness between you and Dracula. You knew that. Of course you did. He shouldn’t be allowed entrance to your house, he shouldn’t have so much of your trust that you’d gladly walk with him down an unlit and derelict path, and he certainly shouldn’t be taking you to balls.

“I guess having the attention,” you lifted your head to look at him, “was nice. I haven’t had so much attention since... well... Daniel...” the utterance of his name made your stomach stir.

“I know, [First]. It sucks. But so does Count Dracula. And once he’s finished toying with you, you’re going to end up dead, or worse, undead.”

“I promise you, once I figure him out, I’ll do whatever it takes to get away from him.” Jack smiled at your words. He was glad that you were beginning to see some sense, “man, I really had everything and here I am being accused of loving a vampire.”

“[First], there was always more to life than-“

“Than what, Jack? I had a First in my degree, the perfect boyfriend, the best friends anyone could ask for. Why the fuck did Lucy want to take that away from me?”

“I don’t know, [First].”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t talk about her like that given your feelings and all...”

“What?”

“You like her, right?” You asked, as if he were some kind of idiot who didn’t realise his own emotions.

“Well.. I mean... I didn’t think it was obvious...”

“Jack, anyone who’s ever seen you anywhere near her knows you’re in love with her. I do have to judge given her... hobbies.”

“[First]-“

“What? I’m just saying - I don’t know why you’ve got this little crush on someone who’d happily sleep with her best friend’s boyfriend.”

It went silent after that and Jack couldn’t help the glare that burnt through his features. He was mad. Mostly because you were right, but also because his crush on Lucy was so obvious yet you’d still talk down about her. She’d hurt you, yes, but it had been a long time ago.

Of course, time wasn’t all that healed wounds.

“If you’re so keen for attention...” he spoke up, voice suddenly a little shaky and quiet, “why don’t we go out to eat tonight?”

“Like a date?” You smirked, unable to hide your enjoyment of Jack Seward awkwardly asking you out.

“I mean... yeah.. a date..”

“I’d be honoured. You come back here at 7 and I’ll give you a night to remember.” You winked playfully.

~^*^~

After practically throwing Jack out, your day moved by slowly. You received one message from Dracula inquiring about your day, and you decided to ignore him, in favour of taking a long bath and preparing yourself for you most likely awkward date with Jack.

You weren’t sure what had overcome you when you agreed to it, but if it was too awkward, you supposed you could just call it two friends going out to eat.

And precisely on time, at 7pm the door knocked.

Your date somehow went very well. Being with Jack turned out to not be so awkward after a drink or two, and having so long to catch up on, there was more than enough to discuss. And when the clock hit 11:30pm, you decided it was time to head back to your home. Considering both of your tipsy states, you decided to catch a taxi and you offered for Jack to stay over the night (on the sofa, of course). Initially, like before, he refused, but you begged him after explaining you’d sleep easier knowing he was safe. That little guilt trip seemed to work, considering that you were both perched on the sofa, lips interlocking as your hands ran through his hair.

How this had happened, you didn’t quite know. His hands were tender on you, like you were glass that could shatter if he gripped you too tightly. His lips were soft against yours and fit almost perfectly and he didn’t mind the way you liked to take the control a little bit.

It was now or never.

His lips left yours and they instead attached to your jawline, leaving little kisses and he hoped to leave no marks on your skin. He worked down, moving over your neck, trying to feel for any scar or sign that the vampire had been sneakily taking sips of your blood.

He found nothing. And just as he was about to reconnect his lips with yours, a large hand gripped the back of his neck with so much force he lost his breath.

“Good evening, Mr. Seward. I’m afraid you’re going to have to take your hands off of what’s mine.” The voice was low and you hadn’t quite heard his voice like this before. It sent your heart into a frenzy and Jack’s face lost its colour immediately.

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @voidxngel @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom

#dracula #bbc dracula #netflix dracula #dracula x reader #bbc dracula x reader #netflix dracula x reader #claes bang #dolly wells

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ikemensweetheart · 4 years

Text

Fireflies Chapter One

A Luka x Reader Story

----------

You grew up next door to the Clemance brothers.

You would consider Jonah your best friend and there was something more between you and Luka.

Some time after Luka leaves Red Territory, you find yourself trapped in an arranged marriage.

Desperate to escape, you follow his example.

There, fate brings you back together.

But how will this love story play out?

*Author's notes: This took long than I expected to write.

The air was warm and full of music. Lanterns lit up the night as couples danced and laughed together in an open field as crickets joined in the chorus.

A young man sighed, his dark hair gleaming in the light as he watched the dancers from a safe distance away. "Why am I even here?" He asked the violet eyed man sitting next to him at the picnic table.

"Because it's our duty to protect these people, Luka." his companion replied. "We can't do that if we don't form bonds with them and what better way to do that than a party."

Luka blew his bangs out of his face.

Sirius gave him an amused smile. Luka really wasn't one for parties and it showed.

"Hey," he said after a moment. "Let's go get something to drink."

Luka looked up at him skeptically before speaking. "I guess."

Together, the two Black Army officers stood up and walked over to the refreshment table at the edge of the field.

"Hey, Luka! Sirius!" Fenrir waved to them from a cluster of people near the table. "Finally decided to join the party, I see."

"You look like you're having fun." Sirius commented.

"You betcha." Fenrir replied grinning.

Just then, Seth came out from among the dancers. "Phew, I'm parched." He declared, walking over to the refreshment table. "Oh, Luka. Are you here to dance?"

"No." Luka said. "I'm just here for a drink." He added, reaching for a cup and then pouring himself some lemonade.

"What?!" Seth exclaimed. "And miss out on spending time with all these lovely ladies?"

"He's right, you gotta live a little, Luka." Fenrir added.

Luka shook his head. "No thanks." He the took a drink from his cup

Seth and Fenrir give each other a conspiracitory look.

They nod and both move to stand behind Luka. "Look, see that group of girls right there? Why don't you go over and ask one of them to dance?" Seth whispered into Luka's ear.

"What? No!" Luka yells as the two of them start pushing him towards the aforementioned group of girls several. feet away from the refreshment table, chatting with one another as they waited for someone to ask them to dance.

Right into a you as you were stepping away from the table.

You yelp as the two of you collide and you go tumbling to the ground.

"Oh no. Are-are you alright?" Luka asks, kneeling down to offer you a hand up.

"Yeah, I'm okay…" Luka freezes as your familiar eyes look up to meet his own golden amber ones.

Your face looks exactly as he remembers, long hair tumbling softly around your shoulders.

You stare at him with the same disbelief he's feeling.

"Luka?" You murmur.

"MC?" He whispers back.

It was you. MC Saint-James. Your family was one of the wealthiest families that didn't hold a rank in the Red Army. Your family's estate had been right next to his. The two of you were the same age, so you had often played together as children.

He hadn't seen you in years, not since he had left for boarding school. You were much more filled out than when he had told you goodbye. You weren't a lanky teenager anymore and you were even prettier than he remembered...

He stared at you, his brain going a thousand miles a minute.

What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? He never dreamed in a million years he would see you again.

The mere sight of you brought old feelings back up to the surface.

"Friend of yours, Luka?" Fenrir asks, stepping up beside him. Interrupting Luka's thoughts.

"Well, um-" Luka's cheeks started to turn red. How was he going to explain this?

"How come you never told us you knew such a pretty lady?!" Seth demands, indignantly.

Luka's face grew even redder. Meanwhile, you giggled "Well, thank you. I'm MC."

"Seth Hyde, at your service and this is Fenrir."

"Hey." Fenrir says, giving you a dashing smile.

"Alright, that's enough." Sirius cut in before the two of them could get any further. He then turned to you. "Sorry about them. They tend to get a little over zealous. You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm fine. Thank you." You reply, taking the hand he was now offering. "Good." Sirius gives you a small smile as he helps you up. Luka quickly gets to his feet as well.

Sirius then turns to face Seth and Fenrir, his face becoming serious. "You two with me."

"What? But Sirius!"

"Things are getting good!"

"No buts. Come on." Sirius takes the other two by the arms, leaving you and Luka alone at the table.

The two of you stand there awkwardly. Luka nervously shuffles his feet before asking. "What are you doing here? In Black Territory, I mean."

"I live here now."

Luka blinked owlishly. "Oh." His gaze returned to his feet.

There is another pause. The music fades away as another song ends.

"Congratulations." You say suddenly. Luka looks up at you confused. "Hm?"

"I heard you were promoted to Jack of Spades. That's not an easy feat, or so I've been told."

"Ah... Thanks."

You lapse once more into awkward silence.

Luka was about to try to excuse himself when the band started up a lively new song.

Your eyes light up and you look at him. "Do you want to dance?" You ask. Luka's eyes go wide. "Uuh..."

You break out grinning as you take his hand and lead the way out onto the dance floor. "Come on, Luka!"

'Come on, Luka.' You used to always say that before leading him into some kind of adventure.

You fall into the rhythm of the reel with ease, though it takes Luka a moment to follow the tune was a lot faster tban he was used to, but soon the two of you are spinning, twirling and weaving around the other dancers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It felt good. It felt good to see your smile again.

When the song ends the two of you collapse on the edge of the field laughing and giggling.

"That was fun." You declare.

"I thought…" Luka said as he struggled to catch his breath. "You hated dancing."

"I hated those stuffy, dull, never-ending parties and the waltzes that went with them." You reply, laying down in the grass. "But not these. These parties are so full of life. It's wonderful"

Luka gave a small chuckle. She hasn't changed. He thought to himself.

Once the two of you caught your breath, you sat back up to see the dancer floor was starting to empty. "I guess it's time to start heading home." You murmured, sounding disappointed.

"Do… Do you want me to walk with you?" Luka asked quietly.

You look over at him, your eyes widening a fraction before you smile at him. "Sure."

"Alright, then." Luka gets to his feet and offers you his hand. You take it and he pulls you up to your feet.

"Which way are we going?" He asks.

"This way." You take the lead, walking away from the lantern light and into the night.

The moon guided your way as the two of you walked down a dirt road. It was quiet other than the sound of the crickets singing among the grass.

Luka had so many questions that he wanted to ask you, but where to start?

"How long have you been in Black Territory?" He finally asks. "About six months now."

That long? "How's your mother?"

Your smile immediately vanished. "She's passed away." Your words barely more than a whisper.

Luka stops dead in his tracks. "Oh…" he breaths. "I'm so sorry." He wished he had something better to say. Your mother had been so kind to him over the years, it hurt to think that she was gone.

You stop too, turning to look at him. "It's okay, I'm just glad she didn't have to witness the fallout between Father and me."

"What do you mean?" He asked as the two of you resumed walking. "Do you remember Andre Montgomery?" You ask in return.

"The scumbag?" The mention of the name had Luka's stomach twisting in disgust.

"Father was pushing for me to marry him."

Luka found himself skidding to a halt once more. He stared at you in disbelief, mouth agape.

Once again, You stop and turn. There was a sadness to your face, your head drooping slightly. "Pretty much my reaction too. Father wasn't taking no for an answer though. There was no talking any reason into him." You lift your head up and give him a reluctant smile. "At least some good came out of it. I can see you again."

Luka doesn't say anything when you start walking again.

The two of you go a little ways before he asks: "Have you been settling in alright?" His move into Black Territory had been buffered by boarding school. You coming from the lifestyle you used to live straight away couldn't have been easy for you.

"It's been a challenge, but my new neighbors have been a godsend." He couldn't help but smile. He was glad that you managed to find yourself some good people to help you.

"Have you found a job?" He knew several businesses that would hire you if you didn't.

"Yeah. It's at an adorable little booklender in Central, right across from the park. It's called Callahan's Books."

Luka knew exactly where she was talking about. It was on Seth's patrol route. No wonder he hadn't crossed paths with you until now.

Suddenly, you gasp, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Luka, look."

"What?" He asks when you grab his hand and drag him to the side of the road. "Fireflies."

Sure enough, the meadow along the side of the road was filled with hundreds for fireflies dancing in the night air.

"Remember when we used to sneak out to go watch them?" You ask. "I remember you used to be adamant that they were baby stars." He says.

You stick your lip out in a pout, a light blush dusting your cheeks. "I was six, okay? Give me a break."

You both look at each other then burst out giggling. "There was always a scolding waiting for us when we got home, but it was worth it."

"Yeah." Luka smiles and nods. "It's getting late." He then says. "Yeah." You reply. "My home isn't much farther ahead."

You sigh, leaving the fireflies to their dance as you made the last stretch of the walk home.

All too soon, you reach a group of cottages clustered together with their neat little fenced in gardens.

You walk up to a cottage that looks slightly shabbier than the rest. "Well," you say. "This is it, home sweet home."

Luka studies it quietly. The siding needed a fresh coat of paint. The fence was in desperate need of mending and weeds were rampant in the garden. Other than that, it looks sturdy. "I mean, it still needs a lot of work, but it's not as bad as when I first moved in." You explain at the fence gate. "I'd invite you in for tea, but it's already so late." You add. Luka smiles at you. "Yeah." He murmurs. "Rain check then?"

He nods and you smile back at him. "Alright. I'll hold you to it. Goodnight, Luka."

"Goodnight, MC." Luka responds as you step into the garden.

He waits until you've entered the cottage before turning away and making his way back to his own home.

To be continued....

-------

Chapter 2

I hope you all enjoyed! If you like it, please reblog!

Stay safe everyone💕

#ikerev luka #luka x reader #ikemen luka #ikemen revolution #ikerev #ikemen series #ikemen writing #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fenrir #ikemen sirius #ikemen seth

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psychosistr · 3 years

Text

The Stars of the Stage- Chapter 1

Summary: Jonathan Joestar is an accomplished playwright currently working on his next big production: Phantom Blood. During the auditions for the lead actors, though, a certain blond Englishman catches his eye.

Notes: So, this story was inspired by this piece of art by @corgi-shorts that I saw back when I did one of the Jonawagon weeks where Jonathan was a playwright and Speedwagon was an actor. I felt a HUGE need to write this as it was such a cute idea x3

In the midst of the already bustling heart of New York, a large theater within the appropriately named Theater District is packed with several hopeful actors currently reading over and practicing lines from sample scripts. Some are seasoned veterans of the theater while others are hopeful new-comers. Despite their level of skill and experience, each one seems eager to land a part in the production.

Through the chattering crowds and lines of people waiting to enter the main theater for their audition, an extraordinarily tall and muscular man with dark hair carefully weaves his way through the crowd, throwing out a “pardon me” or “oh, excuse me” every now and then to be polite as bumping into people in such a crowd is unavoidable given his size.

He reaches the theater doors and turns to the crowd, cupping his hands around his mouth to be heard properly. “If I may have your attention, please!” The chatter of the crowd slowly dies down as the actors turn to look at him curiously. Once he knows he has their attention, he smiles and gives a quick bow of his head. “Thank you all so much for coming out. My name is Jonathan Joestar- I am the writer and co-director of this production. In a moment we will begin the auditions, so please give it your best. I will be looking forward to seeing what all of you can do!” He finishes with an encouraging smile. He opens the doors long enough to walk in and close them behind himself, nodding to the two men standing behind the door to take the actors’ resumes and headshots. “Dire, Straights, afternoon. Ready to start?”

“Just waiting on William at this point.” Dire says with a nod of greeting. “I think he’s taking care of the lighting or something.”

“More like finishing off his pre-audition glass of wine.” Straights comments indifferently while glancing away. “Though I can’t say I blame him. This is always such a hassle..”

“Necessary evil of the industry, my friend.” A voice greets the group and the trio of men turn to see a man in a white suit and checkerboard top-hat. He offers them a smile and a tip of his hat in greeting. “Ready to summon the horde, gentlemen?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be, William.” Jonathan says with a grin as he walks with the older man down towards the table waiting in front of the stage with two seats for the pair.

________________________________________________________________

The theater is packed, the auditioning actors having taken up the seats in the order in which they’d come into the room. Quite a few of the seats are already empty, as some of the actors had to leave after their auditions while others have opted to stay and scope out the competition.

The process has been long and grueling, but it is necessary for casting the right people for the parts. Jonathan was glad, though, that he was working with William as the director- the older man often listened to his input regarding casting more than other directors did. As he often said, “Who knows a character better than the man who wrote them?”

Jonathan looks down at the piles of resumes and headshots in front of them. He has kept them organized into a few basic groups: People who had not gone yet were on the far left, closest to himself. The “wouldn’t call them back in a hundred years” pile, as William secretly called it, was beside the first one in the middle. The maybe/later consideration pile was next to that one and closer to William. The last pile on the far right was the smallest of all, reserved for the ones the two had agreed would definitely get the part they’d auditioned for.

Jonathan takes the next resume off of the pile on the far left and calls out the number pinned to it. “Number 157!” He looks at the headshots that accompany the resume, noting that every picture seemed to be taken from the right side of the actor’s face.

As the man in question approaches the stage, he can see why: There was a scar across the left side of his face. Not to say that that was a problem in anyway- the man was still quite handsome (from a purely aesthetical perspective, Jonathan tried to remind his wandering thoughts) and besides, that’s what cosmetics were for. Still, he knew how tough some directors could be and how they tended to avoid actors with visible marks as they couldn’t always visualize a way around it.

“ ‘ello.” The man says with a quick bow of his head once he is in place on the stage and looking down at Jonathan and William. “The name’s Robert Speedwagon, an’ I’ll be readin’ for the part o’ Sir Haste Dray.”

Jonathan is a bit surprised by the man’s accent. He’s clearly British like Jonathan himself, though with a cockney dialect rather than Jonathan’s own aristocratic manner of speaking.

While Jonathan is more surprised by the accent, he can hear others making quiet, hushed, snide remarks about it.

“He does know that’s one of the main characters, right?”

“Talking like that, he’d be a better pick for one of the extras..”

“This outta be good for a laugh.”

Jonathan ignored the comments, curious to see how the actor would do with his own eyes. “Very well then, Mr.Speedwagon. Which section will you be using for your audition?”

The blonde haired man lifted his own copy of the script that had already been opened and turned to the part he wanted to use. “Page 57, line 8. Can I get a read-in?”

“Of course.” Jonathan turned the copy of the script in front of himself to the aforementioned page and cleared his throat before reading the line. “This battle shall be a dangerous one, my friend. I fear we may not escape with our lives. If you wish to turn back, now is the time. I would bear you no ill-will for such a decision.”

Speedwagon closed his eyes for a moment. “I know..yet this decision is beyond me alone.” The earlier chatter and snide laughter was dead in an instant. “It is a decision that must be made by every man, woman, and child of this plane of existence. Unless I were to have every single being upon this world in attendance to answer, then the decision is not truly mine to make.” The man opened his eyes again, looking out in front of him as if speaking to the target of the monologue and only taking brief glances down to see his lines. “Since they cannot be here to tell me not to do so, then I shall take it upon myself to fight on their behalf. After all, if we were to stand by and not do a thing, then who would be left to protect the innocent, unknowing lives of this realm?” Without the earlier accent, his voice held a calm seriousness that perfectly captured the tension of the scene. “I am afraid this daunting task is for us alone to face, lest the evil that hides itself within the darkness of both the world and the hearts of mankind be free to unleash its reign of death upon us all.” The serious expression on his face softened ever so slightly, almost turning into a sad smile that tugged on Jonathan’s heart strings. “Still, even without the threat to all we hold dear in this world, do you truly think that I, of all people, would turn from you at the eve your greatest struggle? Whom do you take me for, old friend? A coward? A fool?” He gave a short laugh, more of a broken chuckle born of melancholy and sadness rather than joy. “Well…perhaps I am both these things. I do admit to fearing the fate that lies before us, yet it is not myself I fear for- rather, it is you. I fear what would become of you if I allowed you to so gallantly face these forces on your own. As for the fool..” His expression softened again, the smile on his face beautiful and sad and full of love and adoration conveyed in a simple quirk of his lips and the gaze in his eyes. “I suppose I have been a fool since we met that one cold, dark winters’ night. With but a touch of your hand, you shattered the reality which I built so flawlessly for myself. I thought myself strong, yet in your presence I am weak. I thought myself a king, yet to you I would gladly play the role of vassal. I thought myself wise, yet the very sight of you fills me with confusion that renders me as foolish as a drunkard lying on the streets. Still, I do not wish for these beliefs to be returned to me. For, in their place, I have gained far more than I ever dared to dream before: Inner-peace. Conviction. Loyalty. And love.” He closed his eyes again, the tragically beautiful smile still on his face. “So, yes, I may be a coward and a fool..but..I am the cowardly fool who will follow you to the ends of the earth and down into the depths of hell itself without fear..for, without you, there would be no point in fighting for this world at all. Above all else, you shall survive. I shall see to it, even if it costs me my very soul- the devil may have it, so long as your radiance remains to shine the light of hope upon this undeserving world.”

Everyone in the room was stunned by the performance, not saying a word as the man opened his eyes once more and gave an elegant bow.

Jonathan, who had been staring at him with stars in his eyes, was the first to react. He quickly stood from his seat, placed his hands upon the table in front of himself, and excitedly declared. “The part is yours!”

William yanked his sleeve hard and pulled him back down into his seat, whispering harshly to him. “You do not say that aloud in front of everyone else here, Jojo. I thought I taught you better than that.”

Jonathan’s face flushed at the realization of his blunder, his voice hushed to the same level as his mentor’s. “Oh..my apologies, William..it’s just..that was perfect! The delivery, the execution, the emotion- I felt as if I was looking at Sir Dray in the flesh!”

“I agree, but there is still a certain etiquette one must follow in these matters.” He chastised the taller man before turning his attention back to the man on the stage. “My apologies for my associate, he became a touch too excited. That being said, that was an exceptional performance. We have a few more auditions to go through and discussions to be had before final casting, but we will certainly be in touch.”

Speedwagon offered them a polite smile. “I’s quite alright, sir. I’m glad ‘e liked it. Be seein’ y’, then.” He tipped his hat politely before walking off stage and back out through the doors leaving the theater.

Jonathan watched the man leave, his heart still thrumming from the effect the blonde actor’s performance had on him. He’d never been so taken by a mere reading before.

Without even looking back to the table, he grabbed Speedwagon’s resume and moved it to the “definite” pile, ignoring the look he was sure to be receiving from William for reaching over him so rudely to do so.

Next Chapter->

End Notes: Speedwagon: *shows up, introduces himself, reveals his accent*

Everyone else: *laughs and mocks him*

Speedwagon: *delivers a flawless read that lands him the part instantly*

Everyone else: *jaws on the floor*

Jonathan: *instantly in love*

#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #jonathan joestar #robert edward o speedwagon #jonawagon #Modern!AU #stars of the stage

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