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thekinkyleopard · 8 months

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The Midnight Snack

An Alistar x Kanai non-canon Snz Fic

A Threequel to:

“The Gathering” & “The Happy Ending”

⚠️Content Warning⚠️

Snz Fet, Fluff, Persuasion, Contagion, Smut

Author’s Notes: Idk how I let you guys so easily talk me into new fics when my requests are closed and I have so many other things I need to write but…UNCLE FUCKING CHRIST I LOVE YOU INSATIABLE GREMLINS OF SNZ. Here we are with a third part??? Already? So quickly? Who am I??? A brand new bitch. Anyway. A third to a fic I only thought I’d write one and be done with? Wild. THIS IS A THREEQUEL TO “The Gathering” & “The Happy Ending” in order to understand context, go to my blog and read those first! Id link them, but I’m lazy. 🤷🏼‍♀️ Here we go! Nai’s turn 🥳 @aller-geez Owns Draeko and Kanai, and did the art!

Description: Al wakes up in the middle of the night, still sicker than ever. He finds a way to snag his best friend’s attention…and talk him into a little late night, snack.

It was just past midnight, Draeko was fast asleep, conked, splayed out on his back. Mouth wide open, but still just as cute as he always was. He was actually taking up too much room, however, and he wound up pushing the demon he was bed-sharing with, off it. Alistar fell to the floor with a loud thud, groaning lowly as the fond fog of sleep escaped him. Suddenly extremely aware, and reminded by how sick he was still. His body was wet, slick with sweat and his sinuses were full. Weak and shaky. He couldn’t breathe out his nose, and his eyes felt heavier than usual when he was awakened. Exhaustion never felt so exhausting.

Alistar slowly came to a stand, swaying back and forth in his boxer briefs, the dizziness taking him in a chokehold. “Water….” He muttered dryly looking around the room only to find empty water bottles and nothing worth quenching his thirst. He would have to go to the kitchen. The redhead stumbled slowly through the apartment, and into the dining room where he was met with an ever wide awake Kanai. Glued to his screen. “You’re still up?” He asked with a slow blink of his squinting black eyes, trying to adjust to the brightened beams of the overhead lighting.

The Navy haired demon looked up, and made eye contact with his pathetic looking best friend. “I am…I’m surprised you aren’t sleeping off your ailments,” cocking his head to a slight angle as he looked over the red head with curiosity.

“Yeah…the pet quite literally scooted me out the bed…came to get some water…” he yawned over once that followed with a sharp, abrasive cough. The hound winced at the scene.

“Do that, your throat sounds very dry, Donnie,” the hellion spoke certainly before his gaze went back into his research. Alistar went to open his mouth, but closed it again with a loud snarf.

“Hm,” he responded, if one could say that. Alistar then made his way into the kitchen, and pulled the fridge open in one motion. It took him a second to register through the different items before he spotted a fresh bottle of water. The one thing that was inconvenient was having to hydrate the vessel. Drinking water wasn’t customary in hell.

In fact, it had been such a problem, Al ended up in critical condition several times from dehydration. Kanai had to set alarms to remind the demon to drink water. By now, it was starting to become more routine to actually hydrate but, it felt like such a stupid task to perform. The redhead snagged the bottle of liquid and shut the fridge door. He quickly snapped the lid off and pressed the bottle to his chapped pierced lips. Chugging half the bottle as much as he was capable without being able to breathe in the process. He pulled the bottle from his mouth and gasped loudly as he swallowed. “Fuck…” he heaved for a few moments, catching his breath.

Lazily, he screwed the cap back on and carried it out with him back to the dining room. Kanai did not look up this time though he could feel the presence of the other now, his duo colored, blacked eyes scanned the illuminated words before him. Al leaned against the doorway, watching the hound carefully. His head thudded painfully, his skull feeling far too big for the flesh on his head. He squinted, trying to will the pounding away. “Nai?”

“Yes, Donnie?” The hound responded, still not looking up from his current project at hand.

“Will you rub my head?” Bringing the butt end of his palm to his left hand temple, he ground into it, hoping to relieve the pressure. It just wasn’t the same when it was from one’s own inflicting. Now the navy haired male looked up and cocked a brow, eyes scanning over the sore features of his friend’s face. He shrugged his shoulders and slid back in his chair, patting the space between his legs. Without missing a beat, Alistar quickly made hast and made his way over to make himself comfortable between the hound’s open legs. He was wearing a long black band tee with loose grey sweatpants, a lazy fit that he either never changed from the night before, or specifically put on to lounge and research in. Either way, Al found it endearing.

The red head settling in, his shoulders squeezed by each one of Nai��s slender knees. The pressure was comforting. In a few short seconds, and after a few clicks, a video began to play. While it did, the hellion brought both his grey hands to the mess of Al’s loose red hair. Normally in a ponytail, but down and free for the night. His fingers tangled within the damp threads to reach the sides of Alistar’s head, he pressed his prints down, rubbing small individual circles with his digits. The demon groaned with pleasure allowing his neck to loosen and fall back into the sensation.

As the video played, discussing the deeper theoretics to physical and psychological bonding between humans, the hound watched closely as his fingers dug into his friend’s skull. Moving in short calculated circles on each side of the anti-Christ’s temples. “S’good Donnie?” Asking distractedly while his eyes watched the screen closely.

“Mhmmm….” The redhead melted into a puddle but the more he began to relax, the stronger that familiar, delightful tickle presented itself inside his frontal sinuses. “hE..hH…” he struggled and stuttered.

“Just let it out, Al,” The hound told him lazily, his hands still roughly mulling and pushing into the demon’s skull.

“HehH’eEZSCHhh’iiEW…..” Alistar sneezed into the palm of his open hands, a cloud of mistral spit coating the surface of his blackened skin. “Ooff…”

“That was a big one,” Kanai ruffled his palm through the demon’s red hair now. He looked down, and Al looked up, their eyes met and the anti-Christ smirked, lifting his brows suggestively.

“Want to try it?” The redhead braved the question, not sure he could canoodle his way through Kanai’s current train of all night deep dives…but he was going to fucking try.

“What?” The hound asked curiously tilting his head as he continued to gaze down lifelessly at his best friend.

“Sneezing and fucking,” Alistar responded back with an air of causality that continued to draw the other in. Playing on the hound’s innate need for exploration.

“Why?” Furrowing his brows with slight confusion now. What was the purpose?

“It feels REALLY good,” The demon continued through his powers of persuasion, his lips pulling up into a half smirk before licking them once.

“But I’m not sneezing,” Kanai now frowned, realizing the flaw to this plan already.

“Not YET…” Al held up a finger, drawing attention back onto the metaphorical drawing board.

“It would take a while…” the grey skinned man responded flatly but only because he was teetering the edge of thought, contemplating his desire to experience more feelings.

“Well listen, we could both benefit from this research,” Alistar continued, he was going to go down without a fight and he could already seen the hound weighing thinner the longer they kept on the topic.

“Okay, so it’s research?” Kanai raised a thin brow in his response, voice still flat with a slight hitch of interest.

“Yes,” The redhead grinned, a hint of mischief gleamed behind his black holes. Now he had Kanai right where he wanted him.

“Okay,” Now he was listening attentively, his fingers unconsciously continued to rub and dig at the other’s tense skull. It seemed to starve off the burning sensations that cause the anti-Christ to explode.

“I want to know what it feels like to be the one getting fucked while sneezing…you know, what’s that like? The FEELING..” Alistar emphasizes on the right words to keep his friend’s attention, and consideration.

“Okay…?” In a certain light, Alistar could see Kanai slipping away, but still holding on for dear life as he was always desperate to understand the redhead.

“Yes, and in order for you to also experience that feeling, you’d need to get sick,” Al continued his explanation, knowing somewhere through, he would get him fully back again.

“Right,” Kanai responded with a confident nod. Like a train on time, he was at the station, Alistar felt excitement bubbling up from within his lower stomach.

“Two BIRDS, Kanai, one stone,” too excited, the redhead threw him a curve ball, hoping his time on earth and influence may have caught up by now.

“What birds? Why a stone?” The Navy haired hellion was lost again. Alistar slapped his hand to his forehead, regretting it instantly as his brain rang around inside his skull like a giant gong.

“No…Uncle Fucking Christ…It’s a human metaphor…two problems solved with one solution…I’m sick now..you fuck me, get sick by tomorrow…follow?” He spelled it out a little more easily for him now. Kanai squinted but then nodded his head quickly in understanding, signaling to Alistar he was back in the game. Just still a little confused about the end plan.

“Following, not entirely sure where it’s leading,” he replied back honestly. Yet, it was still progress Al needed to continue.

“You get sick, I fuck YOU, boom, now you know the feeling, RESEARCH, Complete,” he pointed at Kanai, then himself, then back at Kanai and made an explosion motion with his opening fist.

“Hmm..” He sat on it for a second, he calculated the experience. Though carnal sexual experiments weren’t on his top ventures of research, he certainly wasn’t against them. Humans were incredibly sexual beings. Often he wanted to understand the nuances behind different kinks and concepts. Sexual experiences were half of what being human was about, for those that weren’t asexual that is! Fascinating the world is…he almost trailed out of the room on the topic. He did however, circle back and found himself leaning into his curiosity.

“Eh? Eh??” Alistar chimed in, knowing the distant look in Nai’s gaze meant he was wandering in a mind maze.

“Okay, yes,” Quickly he made his decision, nodding his head to match his verbal consent, and Alistar was in. Oh man, dessert had never been so sweet. The demon was a glutton for sex, compared to the other. He wanted it all the time, every way. There was no wrong way to have sex EXCEPT, without consent. You’d think as a demon it would be the opposite. Nope.

He had felt the indescribable sensations of being tightly wrapped around Drae’s hole while he blew his nose off the surface of his face. Now he would get the opposite feeling, he wanted to be stuffed to the brim, the ultimate feeling of fullness. It had to be phenomenal.

“Amazing…” truthfully, it was. Alistar was beyond excited as his throat burned and prickled with anticipation. Draeko couldn’t top him, even if he mustered the courage, Alistar couldn’t take him seriously enough. Kanai was perfect. They’d already done so a million times, so he knew it would be good. No one else in the group would give him the time of day…quick fix? Kanai. Good fix. Reliable. Loyal. He bit his lower lip, sucking on it once while Kanai searched the red head’s gaze.

“Don’t just stare at me, dude, fuck me,” rolling his eyes impatiently, he may be bottoming but he was still very much going to be doing all the bossing around. The navy haired hellion smirked lifelessly, but with that sparkle Al recognized only from hell.

“Of course, Donnie…” he replied, wrapping his hand around the underside of Alistar’s jaw gripping it to lift him from his spot on the ground. The demon gasped, his throat tightened and it triggered something buried. No longer was it held dormant by the stress relief of a massage. Like a kinked hose now, he lifted Al into his lap and as he was straddled, Kanai forced Al’s face down into a hard, aggressive kiss. Their tongues slid together quickly, rushed, and furious. The two fought ferociously for dominance, neither wishing to give up the feat but Al ground himself needlessly into the hound’s lap bucking lap. Almost throwing Kanai completely off his win.

The hound parted their lips and took a fistful of Alistar’s bright crimson locks, pulling his face back to look at the brightened light on the ceiling above him. “Go on now, Donnie, the floor is yours…” he let out a breathless chuckle. A joke he personally felt like he nailed, but his opportunity to bask in it fell short before the redhead’s body trembled and twitched. His chest collapsed and rose with such quickness, Nai looked between it and the hellion’s jarring maw.

“HEHH’DZSCHh’iEEW!” He blew out fast, and without much time or means to be polite, he sneezed into his friend’s unsuspecting face. Kanai blinked a few times feeling the new arrival of wetness hit him so suddenly in a fine mist, a few dense drops included.

“Wow…yours are very loud compared to Luciftias…” the hound noted outwardly, Alistar blushed as his thighs tightened around Kanai’s haunches.

“Bad thing? SnNdfF….” The redhead asked curiously, looking downward at his friend from the still ‘pulled hair’ position, blackened scleras half lidded.

“No…curious to how it’ll feel when you tighten up around me though,” the navy haired hellion spoke earnestly while trailing his free hand up the back of Al’s spinal chord. He shivered, gritting his teeth and rolling his shadow orbs behind his skull. He ground his hips with hungry force downward into the other’s lap, already feeling Kanai’s length growing hard in his sweats. It felt so prominent from the thin material of his own boxers, but not enough to satisfy. Just a tease.

“Oh, man, it’s gonna…Hh…feel so goHOuhd Hhah’AETSHH!” This time he aimed himself to the side, trying to have some shred of decency as this one sent his body rocking aimlessly against the other. His nose dripped and his mouth was so numb that he couldn’t even feel it. Kanai reached up and thoughtfully, wiped the ick from his face then onto the side of his pants.

“I concur,” his hand now slid up to grip the back of Al’s neck, his grasp was tight, sharp nails dug painfully into the flesh there. From two points of his head he was being forced in the position to stare at the light, that burning, triggering light. What was it about the brightness that just sent one into oblivion?

“Fuck, Nai…” he growled hoarsely, snuffling loudly afterwards. Alistar, in solid calculated motions, rolled his hips in tight circles wanting so badly to feel the slightly shorter man’s thick length, pulsating through him while his sinuses had their way with him. Kanai, on the other hand, as pheromones and hormones started to over take him, let go of the demon, momentarily. Only to pick him up by his thighs, shoving his laptop out the way using Al’s body, he forced him onto the table.

“Oooh some fire in your fucking loins…that’s it Nai, you want this….you want my cold…yo-HiH’AESSH’UE! Heh’TZsch!” Blasting inconveniently over Kanai’s face once more but this time the hellion simply licked the wet substance from his mouth. Unfazed by the assault.

“I want it…” the hound rumbled from deep within his chest as his hands began to claw the other’s boxers from off his body, tossing them across the room. Alistar sneered, sniffling twice, loudly to needlessly try and clear himself enough to breathe through his nose, watching Kanai through glossy, watering black holes. No such luck when he only found his snuffs increased the endless prickle that danced up and down his face and throat.

“Hh..hah..” Kanai crashed their mouths back together in an aggressive motion, swapping those fresh bacterium and swallowing the hellion’s incoming sneeze. So the hound thought. Yet through the roughened kiss, it persisted. His nose trickled between the mess of saliva that swapped between the two. Hands violently gripped at each other’s arms…legs…Kanai stood between the redhead’s thighs. He gripped them, almost for support, or almost, as if he intended to rip them clean off his friend’s body. Alistar groaned animalisticaly as he pulled on Nai’s lower lip. “Hheh’EZSCH!” Again, the onslaught of facial blows never ceased, it was certain within a few hours Kanai would be crawling out of his room with a fever that was inhuman. Al sat back to look upon the mess he made, chuckling with snarky satisfaction. Nai smirked, and brought up a thumb to wipe at the wet on his lip.

“So messy, you are, Alistar,” breaking the silence between the sound of staggered breaths.

“Just making sure I’m thorough, friend,” he winked his leaking blackened eye with a flirtatious smirk. The hound scoffed, and then he looked down at the red head’s exposed, hardened length, and swiftly, spit in his hand. Taking hold of the desperate cock, and slowly twisting his palm around it.

“Very kind..we don’t want to miss a bird…did I get that right?” Kanai’s voice was smooth, like room temperature butter onto crispy toasted bread. Almost like he became more composed as Alistar began to unravel.

“A-ah…yo-..hnn..sure did…” the red headed demon gritted through his clenched teeth now, hips involuntarily bucking against Kanai’s skilled working hand.

“Very good,” the hound whispered with a seductive husk, only causing the anti-Christ to slip further into pleasure as he released his control to him. He loosened under the sheer pleasant motions, his clogged up sinuses only turned harder against him. So they thought…If sneezes were sentient.

“Hah~…Hnn…Hh’HTSSCZH!” He flung a few inches forward by the sheer force of it, biting his lower lip hard he snuffed and snorted. “SNDF!” It felt so unbelievably good, a mini release as the hound tugged on his aching cock.

“Don’t waste them all before I’m even inside, Donnie…you’ll be very displeased,” licking his own lips now, Kanai was watching closely to the pleasant twists and turns of his partner’s pleasured expressions.

“Oh shit…don’t fuckin’ say tha—-HAH..TZSCHH!” Involuntarily another shot out, the more his pleasure increased it seemed the more persistent it became as Nai’s hand twisted, and squeezed around him. The Navy haired demon now slightly concerned his friend would run out of viral steam if he didn’t speed this up. To Al’s dismay, Kanai removed his hand long enough to pull his sweats down for just a few moments, as he untucked his own throbbing erection from behind the material.

“We shouldn’t waste anymore time, should we ?” Kanai taking his friend’s current state as a signal to move forward in the task at hand. Alistar’s experience. The red head was greeted with a sudden sense of clarity as his cock twitched in open air, he reached forward and gripped Kanai tightly by his left hip, bringing him closer. While looking down, he squinted a watering eye and then hocked a fat lump of spit across the tip of the other’s length.

Alistar reached down between them and took the moistened length in his open grip, sliding the saliva to coat it around every corner of the flesh, while Kanai’s head bobbed, struggling to stay upright in this motion. Eventually, the hound snapped his head back up, his gaze falling over Al’s as their eyes locked. He gripped the redhead’s flame cladden wrist and tossed it off his dick, before gripping Al’s thighs tightly. He spread them apart and pulled him closer to the edge of the table to expose his waiting hole.

“That’s right you’re going to fuck that tight ass, aren’t you, Nai?” It was hard to ignore his hormonal desires within, but they were burning like the many fires bursting inside of him. His nose continued to tickle, and he was closer to another. Almost he could taste it, metallic. He moaned low in his aching throat.

“I am…I need to now,” The hell hound grunted, jaw clenching as he pressed himself at Al’s entrance, prodding impatiently. Losing his sense of collectiveness he was nothing more than an animal subject to his natural desires.

“Yeah, Nai? You need to? Prove to me how bad you need it, my friend” Alistar reached up behind Kanai and gripped a handful of Navy blue locks, pulling their sweating foreheads together in a rough motion.

“With pleasure…Donnie..” Nai huffed breathlessly before he pushed himself fully inside, sheathed within the tightened entrance, and stayed soaking there as the redhead let out a hoarse grunt. “Come on Al, give it a go….” Slowly, at the pace of a sloth crossing the street he began to pull his length out and Al, between this pleasurable feeling and allowing the build within him rise, opened his jaw involuntarily.

“Eh’Hih’TSZZCH! HIH’T-CHS’UH!” In perfectly timed rhythm, Kanai pushed himself back in, and slammed full hilt.

“How’s it…A-Al?” He managed through a clenched jaw, his muscles flexing at the strain of such a tight fit.

“F-Fucking Amazi-ng…Nai…Don’t stop, I swea-Hh’hih… I’ll kill yo- H’TDZSCH! you…” like a broken dam, the flood gate came undone, he pushed his hips outward to meet with each powerful thrust, leg clasped around one of the hound’s rocking hips to forcefully increase the pace. “HARDER,” he hissed, to which the other hellion responded accordingly, with a breathless sneer.

“Yes, Sir,” he replied smoothly, if not with a slightly muted groan, his length felt incredible, tightened and squeezed so much more abruptly when the demon was fitting. “You’re so …much..tighter…Al…” he grunted as he continued to throw himself inside from each pull outward. His shaking grey hands gripped with an impeccably strong force against Al’s thighs, his skin there reddening with each passing second. It only added to the challenge as Nai’s grip made it harder for Alistar to meet each thrust, almost edging his impeding release.

“I can-… Huh’AESSH’ue! H’hH’EezSCH! can’t wait to feel you tomorrow…” continuing the thought regardless of the messy particles of spit and sick that spilled between then, hitting every square space of flesh within it’s wake.

“I’m…going to cum, Al,” the hound warned, his grip only getting tighter, his groin twisting as his hips began to thrust with less calculated movements. Alistar brought a hand behind Kanai, pushing him deeper, as if it were possible. Just brushing against his prostrate, Alistar took hold of his leaking, impatient cock and began to stroke to each thrusting motion.

“Just hold on…I’m almost..Al-m…Hh’Hah..” he now peered back up at the ceiling light, needing just a little help getting there…but ol’ reliable never fails as he felt that same, erotic, masterful feeling. Like when your foot falls asleep, that same static electricity that trickled through the nerves, but instead it’s in your face. The redhead stuttered, his body clenched as the onslaught of Kanai’s thrusting length struck his magic chord, and his hand tugged despairingly at his own overstimulated cock. “HH’HEHTZSCH!” A three in one opportunity, Alistar sneezed, and came hard in short strands all over his tired digits.

Kanai now, as well, grunting with force, hips slapping to full hilt before he spilled over inside the insistent demon. They both huffed, and puffed, Alistar sniffled, snorted and snuffed. “Snddddfff,”

“Well…” Kanai almost gasped, pulling his spent cock from the inside of his best friend’s now leaking hole. He leaned against the table, both palms gripping the edge as he caught himself up to sane levels of thought.

“Well….” The crimson haired demon replied with his own breathless expression.

“How was it?” Standing up straight, the hound now tucked his soaked, softening shaft back under the hem of his sweatpants, Al taking this opportunity to hop off the table and take hold of the water bottle he originally brought in.

“Phenomenal, Kanai, you gotta try that,” pausing between catching his breath to account his feelings on the experience.

“We shall see later this day, won’t we?” Responding in his usual dry, monotonous fashion, seemingly having regulated himself enough to speak more coherently.

“We shall…snnddfff..” regardless of the high he was currently riding, Alistar was still unrelieved of having this illness. Though he did feel a thousand times lighter the same way he did with Drae earlier. Ah yes, this was the life. Variety.

“I am not looking forward to that part though…” Kanai referred to the dripping of Al’s nose and wild sniffling to get any real sense of air.

“You get used to it…” the red head shrugged his shoulders simply, he began to work at the lid of his water bottle again, unscrewing it off completely with a twist of his index and thumb.

“Sure…I’m going to go shower now,” Nai much more exhausted now than he had been originally, turned from the chair and began to walk towards the hallway of rooms.

“Hmm..enjoy, I’m gonna chug the rest of this water and, try to sleep…” he yawned but it only all too quickly followed with a loud painful hacking cough. He hit his chest with a closed fist to clear his throat enough that he could take a sip of his water and sooth the onslaught.

“Good luck resting, Donnie,” Kanai yawned waving behind, stretching his shoulders before he turned in the direction of the hall.

“See you tomorrow to complete our research,” Al responded back, running his hand through sweaty locks of red hair.

“See you tomorrow,” And then the hell hound disappeared, retiring to clean himself up in preparation for the day’s later activities.

The End

Author’s Notes: I’ll have you know before I was even halfway done with this piece, Geezie came up with an idea for a FOURTH installment to this series….so yeah. It’s coming if you couldn’t tell behind Al and Nai’s conversation 🫣🫨 First accidental Snz Series when I had my first snz series planned already….but I guess I’ll just have to do both. 🤷🏼‍♀️

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steves-strapcollection · 7 months

Note

12. Roger/Charlie

Okay, so you requested Charger however we agreed that anything you sent that were repeats to something Read sent would become Jeddie prompts so!!!!

This is Jeddie!! And it's Explicit!!! I think I'm going to continue this particular "fic" with another prompt because I really want to limit myself to completing these prompts in one sitting. So!!!

Tagging the Squad: @stobinesque @inairbinad @starryeyedjanai @spoookysix @xenon-demon @hellion-child @scarcrossdlvrs @patchworkgargoyle

Eddie threw his head back with a gasp, his eyes wide as Jeff’s deft fingers worked him open, hooking upward against his prostate with every slide. It was perfection, laying beneath his best friend as he was taken apart slowly but surely, thick fingers inside him and plush lips against his throat.

It was one of those things that they never considered when they were younger, to blow off steam like this together, but now that they were older and going through dry spells at the same time, it seemed like a simple enough thing. They were best friends, they trusted each other, and they were smart enough to call it quits before any sticky feelings bubbled up.

At least, Eddie hoped, Jeff was smart enough to call it quits. Because Eddie had been carrying a torch for the man for most of their friendship and the regular sex was not helping that at all. But it was regular sex with Jeff, and he’d be stupid to turn it down.

“C’mon, man, I’m ready,” Eddie whimpered, his cock twitching as it dribbled out another thick drop of precum.

“Yeah, me too,” Jeff chuckled before pulling his fingers out and grabbing the lube to slick his cock.

With a shaky laugh of his own, Eddie went to roll over, to get his knees under himself and face into the pillows, but Jeff’s slick hand on his hip stopped him.

“I want to— I wanna see your face this time,” Jeff said softly, and Eddie felt his heart thump erratically against his ribcage.

“That’s so gay, Jeff,” Eddie teased lightly, grinning broadly even as he felt his heart climbing his throat in panic. How was he supposed to pretend he wasn’t in love with Jeff while looking into his eyes as his perfect cock ruined him just a little bit more?

“I just had my fingers in your ass and missionary is gay?” Jeff asked with a little smirk that was absolutely devastating.

“Don’t make the rules, Jeffy,” Eddie singsonged as he wrapped his legs around Jeff’s waist, grinning up at him even as his heart raced painfully in his chest.

At that, Jeff just chuckled and focused on lining his cock up with Eddie’s hole, pushing against the loose ring of muscles until the head popped inside. Eddie gasped at the intrusion, willing himself to stay relaxed as Jeff slowly sunk into his core. Finally, when Jeff bottomed out, he dropped onto his elbows above Eddie and met his gaze, holding it as Eddie adjusted to the weight of Jeff’s cock splitting him open.

“You okay, Ed?” Jeff asked sweetly, brushing a couple sweaty curls off of Eddie’s brow.

And Eddie wasn’t okay. He was perfect, he felt so good and so cared for. He was full and held and loved but he wasn’t okay. Eddie was in love with Jeff, and it was going to end everything here and now, and he would lose his best friend.

He couldn’t say any of that, though, so he took a deep breath and tried to reassure Jeff.

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified,” Eddie blurted, and his eyes widened in panic.

He hadn’t meant to say that right now, or ever really. But with Jeff’s dark eyes staring into his own, his plush lips so close and his hot breath puffing across his cheeks, and his cock settled deep inside his core, Eddie couldn’t stop the confession. Bracing himself for Jeff to pull out, he started to unwind his legs from around Jeff’s waist, only to have a thick moan jolted out of him when Jeff rock against his ass.

“That’s a relief,” Jeff sighed, pulling back and thrusting back in deep and hard.

“W-what?” Eddie gasped, moaning as he lifted a hand to wrap around the back of Jeff’s head, rocking down to meet Jeff’s thrusts.

“Jesus, Ed, can we talk about this when my balls don’t feel like they’re about to explode?” Jeff asked, kissing Eddie’s cheek. “I’m in love with you, like, so fucking in love with you.”

Eddie turned his face to capture Jeff’s lips in a frantic kiss, holding the back of his head tightly as they devoured each other’s mouths and Jeff’s thrusts grew more powerful, more demanding.

“Yeah, we can talk later,” Eddie gasped against Jeff’s groaning mouth. “We can talk so much.”

“Yeah,” Jeff grunted, grinning as he pressed close for another deep, searching kiss.

#jeddie #make me write #jeff x eddie #eddie x jeff #jeff/eddie #eddie/jeff

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legobiwan · 10 months

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What do you think would happen if Dooku somehow foresaw (time travel shenanigans) Obi wan becoming his foe in the upcoming war? Then he would take it spin himself to train young Obi wan before Qui gon would? (Would Qui gon be with Xanthos ?)

Basically what would happen if he met Obi wan as a youngling?

Crèche master: ah! Master Dooku, so glad of you to join us! May I introduce you to our Star pupil, Obi wan kenobi.

Obi wan looked at the old master with wide sky blue innocent eyes as he then bowed his head in respect towards the elder

Obi wan:'softly' "it-its truly an honor to meet you,master Dooku"

Dooku thinking 'such manners, what a polite little one' ' even so young yet brimming with untapped potential'

Dooku: chuckles 'pats Obi wan's head' "believe me little one, the honor is all mine"

So I think this could go a number of ways depending on the vision Dooku gets. Does he only foresee Obi-wan as his foe? Or does he also get a glimpse of the war and its origins? Because at the point where Obi-wan would have still been in the crèche, Dooku was having misgivings about the Jedi, was considering quitting and going back to Serenno, but he hadn't quite started to work for Sidious on the sly, was only on the precipice of his initial fall. (I like to think Dooku fell multiple times, each deeper than the last).

I'm imagining Dooku receiving this vision, of battling this adult foe whose name is Obi-wan Kenobi, and Dooku, who is has been absent the Temple more than not, has no idea who this person is. He cannot quite wrap his head around the Jedi participating in a galactic war and how that would even come about as it did in his vision, although he can only hope it's some kind of insurgency against the more corrupt factions of the Republic (spoiler alert, Master Dooku! It's not. Whomp whomp.) He also can't help but be impressed by this man in his mind's eye, although, being ever the teacher, is already designing a list of critiques and exercises to address certain holes and flaws in his fighting technique. But, the more pressing issues of reality and the day take precedence, and Dooku shoves the vision to the back of the mind.

Until, one day, let's say a year or two later, he's actually in the Temple for once in his life. His misgivings regarding the Jedi have only deepened, and he's wandering the halls, lost in thought when something resembling a small, hairy bowling ball smacks into his legs. It's Obi-wan, of course, maybe an eightish-year-old version of Obi-wan (who, by all accounts both in Legends and Canon, was a bit of a hellion as a child). And Dooku's first reaction is annoyance until the crèchemaster comes running after him, chiding "Obi-wan" for misbehaving and Obi-wan arguing back on some technicality that it wasn't, by the crèchemaster's own words, truly not allowed because of some loophole in what the adult man said. (We all know Obi-wan is very, very good at dismantling arguments and poking (and creating) holes in rules and regulations. It's basically how he gets away with half of what he does during the war).

And this catches Dooku's attention. Not only the name, which dredges up that vision from the sludgy well of memory, but the precision with which this eight-year-old carves perfectly-shaped incisions into the crèchemaster's own words. (Because that, my friend, is Makashi. Measure, precise, deadly. No wasted movement).

This is the moment that turns Dooku's head. The boy has the fiery impudence of Rael, the cool reserve of Qui-gon, and something else that isn't either of his previous apprentices, manifesting in the way little Obi-wan adjusts his tunics just so, apologizing (at the behest of the crèchemaster) in such a proper manner, his elocution, his bow, all perfect...

Well, let's put it this way. We hear a lot about the will of the Force as it relates to the Jedi and their fate. Dooku is not a man who is predisposed to let fate dictate his destiny. And he will be damned if he's letting this child, who will become the eventual man of his vision, fall victim to typical Jedi indoctrination. No, Dooku is taking his fate - and Obi-wan's - into his own hands.

#hello there #ask legobiwan #count dooku #obi wan kenobi #my brain is so sludgy this morning it's like trying to think through overgrown thickets #come on coffee do your magic #anyway i DO post star wars still on occasion!

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astromechs · 5 months

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rebelcaptain, modern au!

so glad i finally get to ramble about some of the Lore i've thought up here but haven't gotten much of a chance to write on yet:

brief character rundowns for this universe! cassian is a war vet who now works as a chef in a high pressure environment and is slowly imploding about it, also he's dealing with chronic pain from a war injury and severe ptsd. jyn came into a career in mma fighting as solace from a turbulent childhood, but recently had a career-ending injury and is struggling both in dealing with that and trying to figure out what the fuck she wants to do with her life from here.

they meet because they're lowkey set up by... melshi, who in this au 1) was in cassian's unit when they were both in the military and they've been friends ever since (also they fucked once upon a time) and 2) got into the mma world after leaving the military and somewhere along the way became jyn's personal trainer. anyway, they're both separately driving him crazy with their respective shit, so he's like... shoves. go hit it off.

and spoilers, oh they do. they hit it off. they hit it off a little TOO well. it isn't cassian and jyn without them being instantly insane about each other, after all; they move in together after, like, a month. bodhi's like i think it's sweet; melshi's like i created this, this is my fault, hello darkness my old friend, but also he's happy for them, he is. anyway, they've got their adjustments and their struggles especially because they're both people who are used to being by themselves but they're making it work

also very shortly after they move in together it is very important to note that jyn adopts this absolute feral gremlin of a cat that she thinks is a perfect angel baby who can do no wrong because he adores the fuck out of her but he's an absolute fucking hellion. his name is oscar. cassian's like what the fuck, has a conniption every time this cat jumps on HIS kitchen counters that are HIS workstation that he keeps clean and ordered in a very precise way!! yeah, cassian, he keeps fucking jumping on your counters because you keep giving him little scraps of food and encouraging this behavior and giving him little scritches behind his ears because you love that little feral gremlin too! (anyway, jyn is the cat's person initially, but then through all of this, cassian also becomes his person. and that's it for the cat. the cat will accept literally no other person. and that's how this cat becomes their feral gremlin baby child.)

which of COURSE becomes a problem when they leave to go spend the holidays with cassian's family and who's the lucky person who gets stuck catsitting oscar? melshi! who calls jyn on facetime while they're in the middle of dinner and she excuses herself to the kitchen to go take the call, and it's melshi with his face covered in scratches screaming at jyn about her hellion cat and jyn screaming back because hOW FUCKING DARE YOU INSULT HIM hE'S PERFECT IN EVERY WAY YOU'RE JUST NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH. and that ENTIRE facetime screaming match is definitely heard at least two rooms over, and when she hangs up, that's when that occurs to jyn. and... yeah, she's made a pretty fucking terrible first impression, hasn't she? she comes back to the dinner and basically just silently stabs her food violently with her fork the rest of the time. but later that night, she overhears a conversation, without meaning to, between cassian and maarva, the latter of whom is like, "i like her." which is... ok, that's really fucking unexpected, but you know what? she'll take it.

send me a potential au and i'll tell you five facts that happen in the story!

#asks #anonymous #rebelcaptain #i don't even know ghfdjks i have so much for this stupid universe #this is all so stupid. it's so stupid.#unhinged rebelcaptain aus

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barovianbitches · 9 months

Text

Star-Crossed Enemies

Wynona Marybeth Colt was her mama’s daughter. Never did she stand down to a challenge, and she always came away with her side of victory to tell. She was a looker, tall with a golden complexion that damn near sparkled in the sun. You could blame that on her mama too. She got more than just the tiefling’s tone and temper. No, along with that, she got her father’s whip-smart mind, being able to craft something out of nothing given enough beer and time. That’s how she had to be since she was all out on her lonesome as a young teenager. In those days, there was no one for company save her ornery Friesian horse, Trigger, and one of the few remaining creations of her father’s, a warforged with the chosen name of Bertram.

It hasn’t been like that for a long time now, though. Since then, she had amassed something of a name for herself, gaining a small following of various hoodlums and delinquents in similar situations. They were just wayward souls with nothing but themselves to live for.

For a while, they went through various monikers, actually gaining enough members to warrant a proper name for a proper gang. First, they called themselves the Bloodblades, which Wynona quickly shot down. “That’s a cult name, do ya really want to be going around thinking we’re all a couple of nutty religious fanatics?” She scoffed. Then, it was the Gulch Snakes. She thought that was unfitting, given there was no real gulch for hundreds of miles. They settled on Hera’s Hellions, named for her mother and her life and legacy long before she had retired and Wynona was born.

For years Hera’s Hellions wandered the open lands of the Sword Coast and surrounding regions, never staying in one place for too long. Wynona was hunting, after all. What, you might ask? Small game. A slippery little varmint. A pain in her backside for a good while. One that would look nice mounted on the wall over an open fireplace and had it a long time coming.

That varmint was one Sterling Winchester.

He had evaded her grasp for some time, always managing to worm his way out before she could bury a bullet in his skull and make him pay for what he did to her, what he had done to her family. But she knew he couldn’t stay away for too long, simple creatures like him were easily lured by material things like gold and a shiny new toy.

What Wynona hadn’t expected, though, was to be led straight into a trap herself. It didn’t take long for her and her gang to realize the creeping fog that swallowed them whole was no run-of-the-mill mist, but something far more sinister. It had spat them back out into unfamiliar territory, a gray land of monsters and sad sacks droning around like the undead when the people themselves were still full of life.

The transition had done something dark to the horses, though. The mist had contorted their bones, elongating their once-flat teeth into sharp points. Some of the horses lost the use of their front legs, muscle strengthening, and allowing them to run on two legs. Some stayed on all fours. But one common thread between them was their carnivorous tendencies. While yes, they were still Trigger, Lucky, Buckeye, and so have you, they were a bit… Different now. Not that it meant much at first, the gang adjusted perfectly well to their best friends becoming borderline monstrous, it was part of the job description.

No, the problem was when they lost a member to a mysterious black rot that had consumed her in the middle of the night. That was the first time that Wynona had been truly shaken in years.

The day was grey, like any other. A cold, unforgiving wind bit at Wynona’s cheeks. She had grown tired of the cold, longing for the sun on her face and the summer breeze in her golden locks. But those times were gone now, lost to the fog that surrounded this godsforsaken place. Lords know they tried to leave, losing another member to the labyrinthian mist and one more to the evil rot that had magically infected them.

Wynona had started to lose hope when she awoke to a small speck of the black mold nibbling away at her skin, more so when she had to amputate it from the elbow down. No matter, she built a new one in the span of a few days. It was better, stronger than her previous flesh in all of its golden-brassy glory. She had to stay strong, though, for her parents. Wynona had to get out of Barovia eventually so she could finally pay their bail after all these years. A bad, bad few years.

Sterling, on the other hand, was having a real, real bad few days (heaven forbid). As he trudged down the muddy Barovian road, spurs jingling with every step, he muttered Anaurochi curses, swears and complaints. "Damn little rat bitch stole my goddamn project gun, now I got nothin' to do. That thing cost me a fortune from that bastard merchant- He probably was a liar, that gun probably nothing but scrap- Leena's nowhere to be found... And there ain' even no sun in this place. Damned clouds makin' me feel sick." He muttered as he sauntered along, thumbs curled around his belt buckle. Walking with the exaggerated swagger of Anauroch's best gunslinger.

As the whining continued, he found himself in a shitty little town just off the main path. Nothing more than a few decrepit buildings, some ramshackle houses, and a tavern. All of this complaining had made his throat dry, his provisions running out days ago not helping whatsoever. He was hungry. He was tired. And by god, he needed a drink stat. The owlish eyes of observing children were glued to his form, eyeing his shiny spurs and belt buckle like conniving crows, ready to snatch at whatever shiny thing they could get their grubby paws on.

Sterling gave the children a threatening look. "Don' even think about it." He snarled, as he made his way towards the tavern. Slowly glancing around the village, whistling to himself, impressed at how shitty this Barovia joint really was. Walking up to the tavern, he swaggered through the doors, almost like he was back home in a Baldur's Gate pub. He stopped in the doorway, taking in the scenery.

Despite how dismal the outside was, the interior was fairly kempt. It was warm and alight with chatter and song, fairly full for the late afternoon. He guessed that they didn't have much else to do than just drink the day away and pray something didn’t come prowling in the night. A large group sat in the corner, playing some kind of card game, and it seemed to be the source of most of the talking in the tavern. From their dress, it was clear that they weren’t from around these parts. Many dressed in fairly similar attire to Sterling, anywhere from leather trenchcoats to longer dusters trimmed with fringe, rugged boots, and well-worn hats. “Another round, if ya please, sir!” Called a young man with a cigar perched in his mouth to the barkeep, an old half-orc man with a scraggly grey beard and large tusks. He grunted in response, going to pour them out more drinks. An orange cat perched on his shoulder, watching Sterling with bright, green eyes.

"Well, I'll be damned," Sterling said, walking his eyes across the group. He reached into a small pocket inside his duster, pulling a cigar of his own out, and placing it between his teeth. He then locked eyes with the cat, pausing as he brought a small lighter up to the cigar. Having now entered into a staring contest with the feline, it seemed rude to light the cigar at the current moment. There he stood, just out of the way of the door, cigar hanging limply from his lips, staring down this green-eyed cat.

The cat stared back, unblinking and perfectly still on the orc man’s shoulder, before he let out a low grunt and glared up at Sterling with a scowl on his face. “Can I ‘elp you wif something, mate?” He growled, his tone low but not necessarily threatening, it was perhaps just the way he spoke. Either way, though, he had a good reason to be scowling, as Sterling looked as though he was going to start a fight with Mr. Marmalade.

Sterling waved a hand in greeting, not breaking eye contact with the cat. "Howdy. I'd like a hearty meal, an' a stiff drink. Bed if you've got it... I'll pay you after I lose the starin' contest with that friendly ol' cat here..." He mutters, squinting, before blinking and snapping a finger in frustration. "Never could out-stare a cat. Anyway, what do I owe ya, pal?" Sterling asked, approaching the bar, still with that spur-jingling swagger.

The man eyed him up and down before throwing a glance at the group in the back, nodding a bit. “Ten silver. You wif them?” He poured out a dark-colored ale, it bordering black in color. He quickly turned towards a doorway leading into the backroom. “Madge, put on some stock, won’t you??” To which Sterling could hear the snap of a foreign phrase. “Aye, I’m sorry, my love, I’ll do it meself.” The orc turned back to Sterling, looking at him expectantly for an answer to his previous question. Mr. Marmalade continued to stare, entirely unblinking.

"Eh, nope. We jus' seem to shop at the same place." Sterling chuckles, setting the silver down on the bar. He turns to glance around at the other cowboy-looking sorts, before turning back to the bar, and nudging a thumb at the cat. "Cat keen on gettin' pet?" He asked, before turning to look back at Mr. Marmalade, a faint smile turning on the ends of his lips, somewhat obscured by the thick mustache under his nose.

“Sure is.” The orc huffed a bit, the kitty hopping down off of his shoulder and onto the bar. He approached Sterling, but brushed past, hopping down onto the floor on the other side of the bar. He nimbly makes his way between the patrons, headed over to the group in the back. Sterling’s eyes follow the cat as Mr. Marmalade stops, sitting patiently beside the table and meowing up to someone.

“Awe, c’mere, kitty.” A voice familiar to Sterling rings out, smooth and low. He can see a bionic hand reach out, glimmering in gold. Wynona bends down from where she had been obscured in the booth by other patrons, smiling at the cat as she gently scratches under his chin. “That’s a good boy. I know what you want.” She cooed, pulling a small fish from her plate and holding it out to the cat, which he happily took and begins to eat right there. She seems to feel eyes on the cat, looking up and meeting Sterling’s gaze. There is a moment of silence, the cogs in her head turning as she matches face to crime. Silvery eyes meet green, in the tense moment between old foes.

Sterling just stares on in a mixture of shock and exhaustion, the rusted gears in his brain struggling to turn. There was no actual real, genuine way that this bitch had followed him to Barovia. All the cowboy could do was stare flatly at the woman.

There is a brief moment of something igniting in Wynona’s eyes. Something that had been put out for a very long time. Was this really where it was going to happen? Where she would finally put a bullet between his eyes? She could. What, there was maybe twenty feet between them. She could have her pepperbox drawn in two seconds flat, she kept one bullet loaded in the chamber on the off chance this would happen-

But no. That’s not what she did. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opened, there was a distinct absence of the blaze set before.

“Whoo. Well, I’ll be damned. Sterling Winchester, that you?” She sneered a bit at the name, her lip curling as she let out a bark of a laugh, slowly rising from her seat. The gang surrounding her looked up, confused at the tone of their leader’s voice. “You promised you’d write.” She was different, than Sterling remembered. Most notably, the new hand she was sporting on her right. Her blonde hair had gotten longer, much longer. The curls reached down past her waist, tied back in her classic low ponytail so she could fit her wide-brimmed hat over her head. A few braids ran down from her temples, keeping some of the flyaways at bay. She looked tired, that much Sterling could tell.

She also looked far more grown than she had when they had initially met. They were mere children at the time, a girl who had just lost her father and a boy looking just to get by. Mistakes were made, noses were broken, shins fractured. It had been just over ten years since the first time they faced off, and just about eight since they last seen each other. She looked good, given the time that had passed. Quite frankly, when she stopped turning up to knock his teeth out, Sterling had thought she finally gave up the chase. Retired somewhere far away from him and the chaos that followed his path like a hungry dog. He still saw her wanted poster from time to time, old and worn out. But Barovia was just about the last place he expected to find her.

"Well, Wynona... I've been busy." Sterling leaned back against the bar, resting his thumbs on his ornate belt buckle. "I will say, I didn' think you missed me that much, not enough to follow me here, at least." He chuckled dryly. As he leaned against the bar, his duster fell backwards, revealing the two pearl-handled six-guns on his hip. Even as he joked, there was a terseness to his tone. This woman was not his friend, and that much was clear. He scanned his eyes across the gang she rolled with, an eyebrow cocking slightly. "Looks like you got yourself some upgrades. Shame you had to turn to artifice to match my shootin' skills. A pale imitation, I'm sure, but good effort."

She snarled at this. “Followed you? HAH! I was gonna say the same for you, old man. I do believe you are the one who followed me. I’ve been in this territory for a good while now. Didn’t think it would be your scene, frankly. I know what a priss you are about mud on your boots.” Wynona scoffed, her brows knotted together. “I like the mustache, glad to see your balls finally dropped and you can grow some hair.” The gang was made up of quite a few folks, numbers running up to eight, including Bertram's friendly yet emotionless face. As Sterling's eye’s scanned over, he saw a Dragonborn, a pink tiefling, what looked to be a night elf, a disgruntled dwarf, and a few unnotable humans and half-elves. They all watched Sterling quietly over their drinks, looks of scorn already crossing their faces.

“Who’s this joker, Wynona?” The night elf murmured, looking up at her with quizzical, glowing blue eyes.

“A ghost of the past, who can’t seem to let go.” She growled back, spitting at the floor. “Finish up, lads. We,” she pointedly looked at Sterling. “- are leaving.” She placed a sack of jingling coin on the table, nodding to the half-orc man. “Sorry about the hollering, Orlot. I just can’t eat in the same room as what the cat dragged in.” She turned, stooping down to the kitty to give him a last pat before she gathered her coat and hat, the rest of the gang gathering up their things as well.

The half-orc snorted a bit, his version of a laugh. “See ya later, ‘Nona.”

Sterling let out a hollering laugh. "That's jus' like you, fling some insults, grab yer' toys and run for it before someone hurts yer' fragile little feelin's." His eyes crossed the group, locking on Bertra. "Oh, hey, Bertie. Didn' see you." He offers a tip of his hat, before turning back to Wynona. "You know, Wynona, I'm kind of likin' it here. Not surprised you're calling it home, you've always been one for dreary, depressin' places."

He lights his cigar.

"I'm glad you enjoy the mustache." Sterling squinted at Wynona. " I can see yer' tryin' to grow one of yer' own. Keep it up, maybe tha' peach fuzz will become somethin' someday. Speakin' of dreary, depressin' places, how's your ma holdin' up? You write her much? Or did you come here to run away from all yer' problems again?"

Her initial plan wasn’t to engage. Take the high road, for once in her damn life. Leave this sorry sack in his chair where he sat and not give him the satisfaction over this one little thing. Do the mature thing.

Only thing is, Wynona Marybeth Colt wasn’t gonna stand for this man to say shit about her damned mother, he being the one who put her in that cell for playing with things that weren’t his.

The tiefling girl looked up to Wynona, standing to soothe her. “Now ‘Nona, we don’t know this guy. Let’s just leave ‘em be and let him wallow alone.” There was a good bit of bite to her words, throwing a disgusted look over her shoulder at Sterling.

“Not me. I think we should cut his nose off and put it on a necklace.” Scoffed the dwarf, standing from his seat and getting a hold of his bandolier.

Wynona had been silent, her jaw working in circles as she stared down at the small sapphire ring she wore on her left hand. The ring from her mother. She held up her hand to the gang. “Now now, I appreciate the concern.” There was a dull, mechanical clicking noise. “But there’s no need to get so worked up.” Although her demeanor was calm, nothing but venom dripped from her words. She straightened to her full height, a good 5’11, not including the slight heels on her boots that put her over six feet. The clicking noise persisted, the dull sound of steam being released from something. She turned, slowly approaching the bar, but not Sterling. She placed another bag of coin on the counter. “Something for your troubles.”

“Fine by me.” Orlot huffed, nodding to her to give her the go-ahead.

At lightning speed, she pivoted, the metal of her balled fist meeting Sterling’s jaw before you could spell “cat.” It *hurt*. Sterling had been socked enough times before by various people he had pissed off. Debt collectors, petty thieves, women. But by god getting hit square in the mouth by what was basically a supercharged metal pipe was not on the list. It sent him clattering out of his chair. Wynona stood over him, rolling her shoulder a bit. Steam released from the hand, releasing the pent-up force so as not to damage the owner. “It ain’t just for shooting, dumbass.” She snarled.

Orlot continued to polish the glass he had in hand, pausing to peer over the bar. “Can’t kill him inside. Too much of a mess.” The gang looked at her wide-eyed, not even them expecting her to boil over like that.

Sterling was hurled from the seat, crashing into another chair. Rolling across the floor, he shot to his feet, blood dripping from his mouth and fire in his eyes. He brought a hand to his mouth, checking to make sure he had all his teeth. Picking his hat up off the floor, he cursed to himself. "Just like old times, now your punches actually hurt. Congratulations, lassie. You aren't a total bitch anymore!"

The Dragonborn at the table stood, the rest of them standing to help before she raised her hand. “I won’t be needing yer help, hellions. You all can just sit back.” Wynona straightened up, winding back to hit him again. “This’ll be over right quick.”

Sterling came prepared for this one, though. Poor Wynona, always one to repeat the same move. Sterling waited for her to approach, and then ducked low, sending a fistful of ornate and somewhat sharp rings flying right at her gut. "Try to telegraph it less next time, Wyn, you might get a second one in!" He snarled as he threw his punch.

Poor Sterling. Always the one who had a mouthful of words in the middle of a fight. She bent over the punch, letting out a rough ‘oof.’ For a moment, it looked as though she was tapped already. She gritted her teeth as her head snapped up, their eyes meeting as she put a dirty boot to his center-of-gravity, dead center of his clean white shirt, delivering a swift thrust kick that sent him reeling out the door of the tavern. She stomped out after him, her gold spurs clicking in her wake.

“Good luck, ‘Nona.” Orlot grunted, looking back up to the group. “You might want to follow ‘em out. Ready to kick a body in the trash out back, you know where it is.” They nodded quickly, shuffling out of the bar after their leader.

Sterling went flying into the street. Rolling through the dirt, he again rose quickly. "I gotta say, Wyn, I'm proud o' you for not cheatin' with yer' gang, you might be developin' some character yet, no thanks to yer' upbringin'." He took a step back, throwing his duster back to bring his guns to bear. "So, we still brawlin', or do you want to try an' fail to shoot me now?" He asked, standing in a quickdraw posture. "I'm game to go all day, but you're clearly gettin' tired."

“Ah, sorry.” She chuckled wryly, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear as she followed him out, keeping her distance and circling like a predator. “I forgot fisticuffs ain’t your strong suit, and you prefer shootin’ when they got their back turned.” Wynona’s lip curled a bit, hand hovering over one of the gold, wide-barrelled pistols she sported at either hip. Of her own design, of course. She was an incredibly skilled gunsmith, taking after her daddy. Never quite as precise as his work before he was locked up, given her circumstances, but the uniqueness of her breed of pepperbox was undeniable.

“I don’t mind firing a couple off, for old time’s sake. But yer wasting your time in this shithole. It’s gonna eat you alive.” Her words rubbed Sterling the wrong way. Clearly, she had been here a lot longer than he had. Might know just about as much of the land as the tight-lipped locals did. The lure of information was there, and tantalizingly within reach.

"Tell me.. How long have you been in this place?" Sterling asked, maintaining his posture, but not going for the guns just yet. "Make it sound like you ain' just wandered in..."

“Long enough,” Wynona replied. “Enough to know that this ain’t your average rodeo. I know what you’re thinking, for whatever the hell brought you here. Get in, guns blazing, get out. That ain’t. How. It. Works. Yer trapped now, Winchester. Trapped in the mists that surround this hellscape.” She continued to circle, ready to pounce. “I got here by mistake, just about eight years ago. A long time to survive here, and I got the scars for it. Lost my people for it. Paid the damned price for something I didn’t even ask for.” Something flickered across her expression as she vaguely recalled her experiences, something pained. The group watching from the sidelines cast long looks away from the pair, seeming to recall whatever she was talking about as well.

Sterling heaved a frustrated sigh. "I'm gonna regret tellin' you this..." He shot her a glare. "I'm lookin' for Leena. She went to go talk to them Vistani Fortune Tellers when they hit Baldur's Gate, an' she never came home."

"I'd 'apply propose a truce, fer' the moment, if you've got info about this place. In exchange, I've got this real fancy firearm I'd be more than happy to trade." Sterling said this with a completely straight face. Yeah, that was the firearm he was hunting. Yeah, it had been stolen... No, he wasn't going to say that. He had to simply hope he was still as convincing a liar and manipulator as he'd been accused of being, time and time again.

Wynona wrinkled her nose at this, her eyes narrowing as she looked him up and down. He was a weasel. She knew that. A weasel with a Napolean complex.

She also knew of the pretty lady she had met briefly during her hunt for Sterling’s head. They had both run into Baldur’s Gate at about the same time, and she was looking for information. The elf was a bit of help, but something came up that quickly stole Wynona’s attention. The plan was to get a hold of Sterling and throttle him for what he had done, being the feisty, freshly 18-year-old she was, and come back and put the moves on the redhead. But that quickly fell to shit when she got tied up all the way over in Najara for a spell, only to return to a wedding invitation. Wynona found that it made wonderful kindling.

“Yer lucky that I feel for Leena. She was always too good for you.” She huffed, heading back towards the bar, pausing at the door. “Fine. I accept your truce. But believe me, the next time I see you, you’re gonna have to do a lot more than sweet talk me to get me to back off.” Her hellions filed in, her following behind them, her gesturing for Sterling to join.

“Did you find the garbage pile?” Orlot hummed, looking surprised as Sterling walked in with all his limbs intact.

“Didn’t need it.” The pretty little tiefling said, glaring back at Sterling. “Unfortunately.”

"I'm jus' that nice of a guy." Sterling said as he entered the building, going back to claim the food and drink he'd ordered before starting his fight. "You are right about one thing, Wynona." He said, turning to look at his rival. "Leena was always too good to me. Tha's why I'm tryin' to return the favor, bring her home." He found a seat, a respectful distance from the people that clearly wanted to kill him, offering a nod and smile to Bertram. "I don' know much all of anything about this place. Had to sell some rifles to this mountain of a Vistani feller to even get in. All I know is that Leena wanted to visit those fortune tellers for a laugh, somethin' to do on a summer day... Said she'd be home in two hours. Never returned."

Wynona sat in the booth, kicking her boots up on the table and reclining back, lighting up a small rolled bundle of herbs that filled the room with a smokey, cinnamony-clove scent. Her signature. “That’s where the fuck up happened. You can’t trust *all* Vistani. Sure, most of ‘em are the life of the party, living without a care in the world and giving this shithole some much-needed brightness.” Her eyes narrowed. “But then there are some sly fuckers, just like you, in fact. Any population is gonna have its thieves and charlatans. Sounds like she was unfortunate enough to meet ‘em.” Wynona let out a long plume of sweet-smelling smoke, offering it to the pink tiefling, who curled into her side like a protective lap dog.

"I've had the displeasure of running into them, in fact. Some nasty fuckers. They travel around like any other Vistani, trading and selling, 'cept when they snatch pretty little things like Leena to haul off to an auction for the highest bidder." Another plume of smoke. "Wouldn't be surprised if she caught the attention of the Lord. Word is he's a collector. And I reckon she looks a lot like one of the wives he already got."

“I’d take offense to that, if it weren’t wholly accurate.” Sterling replied with a ‘yeah, that’s fair’ sort of nod. “As fer’ this Lord, he chose the wrong man’s wife to put eyes on. Lords know I’m gonna get her back, and make every sumbitch responsible pay.”

A pause ensued as Sterling took a drink. “So… You can’t leave this place. How d’ you figure?”

“Simple. We tried to. That mist out there… It chokes the life out of you. We lost one another in the trees somehow, trying to get back. It’s something dangerous that controls those woods. Turns ya around on your head, makes ya hear voices of people long dead. Eventually, we all almost went mad before we just turned back. It spat us back out exactly where we entered. ‘Cept we were missin’ Cori. Alls that was left of him was his horse, poor Mistystep. Never found no body, nothin.’” She murmured the last part, her eyes downcast.

The dwarf raised his glass. “To Cori. Let him be giving the devil a mighty tough fight.” The rest of the gang raised their glasses, murmuring something along to the toast.

Sterling raised his in kind, grimacing. “Listen, fer what it’s worth… Always liked him. He had a real good laugh.”

A moment of passing silence filled the room, before Sterling spoke again. “Great. Well, nothin’ I can’t handle. Clearly, you’re managing.” He inhales, as if he’s about to rattle off an insult, but sighs. “Ah, hell. Now you’ve got me feelin’ bad, Wynona. I’m gonna level with you. I ain’t got that gun. The Vistani that brought me, one of ‘em stole it.” He raised his hands defensively as he continued. “Least let me buy yer’ gang a few rounds, fer the info and trouble, and when I’ve got that gun back, if we run into each other again, it’s yours.”

He stared Wynona down, gauging her response.

She paused, looking him dead in the eye before giving a wry smile. “Fine by me.” She chuckled a bit, putting out the cigarette on the bottom of her boot. “I knew you didn’t have that gun, Winchester. Could tell by the way your mustache twitches that you were lyin.’ No matter, though, I’ll take it when you’ve got it back.” She returned to her reclined position, tipping her hat over her eyes. “My best of luck to finding Leena. I hope for her sake that you bring her back. Let me know how exactly you plan on getting out of here when you got her in yer arms again. Tell her that Wynona misses her.” She smirked a bit, the cigarette hanging from her lips.

Sterling paused for a moment, scribbling something on a napkin. “Eat shit, Wynona.” Sterling snapped with a smug grin, almost as if rehearsed. He got up, setting a small sack of coin on the bar, subtly sneaking the note under it. “I look forward to winning our next shootout.” He said, tapping his cap. “If only you could be as cheerful as good ol’ Bertie. Maybe you’d be tolerable.” Slinging unimpressive insults with each step, he made his way for the door.

“Only reason I’d tell you how to get out of here is so I could tell everyone I outshot you in three countries. I’ll give Leena your love, though. She asks about you from time to time, usually with disgust in her voice. Be seein’ y’all.” The cowboy called out as he made his way out the door, spurs jingling into the night.

Inside the small satchel offered to Orlot was enough money to cover Sterling’s bill, and a handful of pebbles. The note read, ‘Put their rounds on Wynona’s tab. Rich girl can afford it. Got a real nice place, sorry for trouble. -SW’

“I’ve had your cooking, I’d say that counts, Winchester. Watch out for syphilis.” She called out to him, rolling her eyes.

“Who the hell was that?” The little pink tiefling piped up, watching the cowboy saunter out.

“Like I told you before, Lottie. He’s a ghost.” Wynona snorted. “An annoying one, at that.” She stands up, gently pushing Lottie off of her. “I’ll be right back.” She stood, walking to one of the windows of the tavern, opening up the shutter, and watching the cowboy walk away.

As Sterling takes to the road, he starts to whistle a tune to himself. He picked up the pace as he got out of sight of the tavern. He might be fast, but Wynona’s bullets are probably faster.

That’s one problem the cowboy had. Never anticipating the least expected. She raised her hand, closing one eye and leaning her cheek against her bicep as a small gold sight clicked into place on her wrist, the mechanical workings of her handiwork whirring quietly as bionic veins glowed blue with a shimmery liquid, steam releasing before the system took in air through small intake valves. Her sights set, she took a deep breath.

Poor Sterling. He never did remember to zig-zag.

#Wynona #Wynona Marybeth Colt #Sterling #Sterling John Moses Winchester #lore #npc

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anotherhellchild · 4 years

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📂? 🥰😃💞!

:DD

Okay! Katsuki and Eri friendship / sibling relationship? Here we gooooooo!!

Everyone was super excited when it was announced that Eri would be coming to live on campus, class 1a was so hyped for the girl and it was all just very thrilling. Of course, it took a while for Eri to adjust and get acquainted with everyone and everything. It was all just a bit overwhelming and scary at first but now, Aizawa can easily say that the little girl has found her place in UA. She fits perfectly in their weird, chaotic family.

Not that Aizawa was expecting any less.

What nobody was expected though, was the way Eri became attached to a certain angry and explosive blond.

Katsuki and Eri haven't known each other all that long. But they’ve somehow managed to get to the point where they’re basically siblings. People who don’t know them personally would actually probably not even think twice about it if you told them that that were the case. They’d take one look at the dynamic between the two plus their shared red eyes and light coloured hair and they’d be sold.

Anyway, whenever Eri and Katsuki meet, it’s somehow both mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time. Eri likes to follow Katsuki around and -by some miracle- Katsuki doesn’t seem to mind. It’s almost even as if… as if Katsuki likes it. They may not realize it, but the two definitely look up to each other. Eri watches Katsuki like he’s a shining star and Katsuki watches Eri with such a fond/ proud gaze. It’s mesmerizing.

And it’s terrifying because together, the two become an absolute menace. They bring each other's hellion sides out and you’d think that isn’t possible because Eri’s so sweet and Katsuki’s already a hellion, but no. Together, Katsuki and Eri could destroy the entire campus and laugh about it and there’s absolutely nothing anybody could do to stop them.

It’s horrifying.

The first time the two properly hung out, Eri came back to Aizawa with beautifully braided hair, a knife, slingshot, at least three holes in her clothes and a lot of dirt, just dirt. The pair’d been gone for five hours without telling anybody where they were and Aizawa swears to god he was prepared to straight up commit murder before they appeared, unharmed and totally safe.

Ever since then, Katsuki and Eri need a responsible third person around if they want to hang out or go somewhere (Todoroki and Hawks are NOT allowed to be the third person btw).

In any case, Katsuki, Todoroki and Shinso happen to be the only ones in the dorms today. Katsuki and Todoroki are on house arrest because of Reasons (injuries/ overworking themselves. idk) and Shinso’s there because he’s already learned whatever Aizawa’s teaching the rest of the class in his extra lessons and Aizawa needed someone to babysit the other two. It’s around twelve o’clock when Eri enters the dorms, Mirio drops her off because he has Stuff he needs to do and the four of them end up alone.

Somewhere on campus, Aizawa feels this random shiver going down his spine.

Things start off pretty calm, the demon spawn kids make snacks, play games and have some intense rounds of hide and seek. Maybe a chair is almost broken and maybe they’re all just praying nobody ever sits on the damn thing again, but it’s fine. “Dun fucking worry bout it eyebags! We used super glue so we’re all good.” Nothing’s on fire and nobody’s hurt so they’re cool.

They do decide it’ll be best to stop playing hide and seek after the small uhh… mishap with the chair though. After about five minutes of contemplating what to do next, Katsuki comes with the fabulous idea to create a mattress slide.

“What’s a mattress slide?” Eri asks whilst Todoroki gives Katsuki a confused look.

“Oh fuck. You guys seriously don’t know?” The blond's eyes are wide, though he’s honestly not that surprised. “Oh shit, okay. This is going to be fucking epic!” Katsuki’s face gains a manic grin.

Shinso’s already regretting all his life choices.

The four of them set out on a mission. All twelve spare dormitories get broken into and every single mattress is gathered and placed somewhere on the boy’s side stairs. Katsuki dictates everyone around and Eri is the head of Placement because she can’t do any of the heavy lifting. Shinso, Todoroki and Katsuki’s mattresses get ripped off their beds too and in the end, their mattress slide starts at the top (fourth) floor and ends all the way down at ground level.

It’s pretty fucking impressive if you ask Katsuki. He used to do this all the time whenever his parents left for a while. Back then, he just had two mattresses to work with though. One (his parent’s) served as a buffer at the bottom of the stairs and the other (his) was to slide down. It was definitely not safe.

This is way better.

When all four kids stand proud and tall at the top of the stairs, it’s unanimous that Eri should be the first to go down.

“Go ahead Eri. We worked hard for this, you get the honour of going down first.” Shinso says.

The glint in the little girl's eyes immediately intensifies, smile wide and body buzzing with anticipation. Large red eyes look at the slightly unstable sight of crookedly layed mattresses and without announcement, little legs leap. Eri’s a giggling mess as she rolls down the magnificently created mess and the three teen boys do not hesitate to jump after her.

It’s safe to say that the following hour or so is a complete chaotic catastrophe. And maybe that’s because there isn’t a lot of architectural intelligence between the four of them, maybe it’s because of the multiple times a head banged against a wall, or perhaps the decision to play tag on the stairs wasn’t the best, but either way, they have a lot of fun.

Maybe, when Aizawa bursts in just as all four are sprawled out over and on top of eachother at the bottom of the stairs, laughing like kids should be laughing (in a way Aizawa’s never seen before), maybe that’s why the teacher decides to let this catastrophe slide (haha get it, slide) just this once.

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chaoticpuff17 · 4 years

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A Dangerous Game

part 10

masterlist

Hello darlings! This one goes out to @the-darkest-starr ! She was my first like and my first follow. Love this girl so much, and hope it brightens her day! This one’s for you babe!

The weeks of isolation had made her ready to climb the walls. Jin came to visit when he could, but he was still a doctor and that kept him very busy. They no longer had the excuse of her stitches to prompt a visit. This left Namjoon as her only constant companion, and she didn’t know what was worse, the isolation or the fact that she was beginning to look forward to Namjoon’s visits.

They had established a sort of routine. In the mornings Namjoon would come and have a light breakfast and tea with her bringing her new reading material, and then she’d be left alone to her own devises for the day. She’d read whatever book he had brought her and play solitaire. If she had to play another game of solitaire she was afraid she was going to lose her mind. It had gotten to the point where she was even beginning to debate throwing another vase at Namjoon, consequences be damned. And then he would return in the later evening and share late supper with her. This was her life now, every day the same, and it was driving her insane. That was the point though wasn’t it?

The isolation was a punishment, but it was also a very effective tool for breaking down the will of your opponent, and Namjoon was nothing if not a smart man. He knew exactly what he was doing. She had to give him credit for that, the sneaky bastard. That was the game though wasn’t it? It was a new game and an old game all at once. And Namjoon had one the first round. She couldn’t allow him the final victory though.

It was a waiting game now. Who could hold out longer? Namjoon unfortunately had the upper hand. He had all the resources after all. He held all the power. And she wasn’t stupid. She knew that he would only put up with her insolence so long before he took to more drastic measures. It all depended on how patient of a man Namjoon was. If she was lucky, and recent history had proven that she wasn’t, she could outlast him. He’d grow tired of her, of this game, and he’d let her go. Or maybe she’d just annoy him into killing her. It wasn’t a great plan especially considering she would much rather make it out of all of this alive, but isolation can make people do and think crazy things. And maybe Namjoon sensed that. Maybe that was why he came to her room that afternoon.

“Jagiya,” He began watching her with a smirk playing on his lips.

“What do you want?” She groaned from her position sprawled across one of the sofas with her arm thrown across her eyes, a position she’d taken out of boredom upon finishing the latest book Namjoon had brought her. “Don’t you have other things to do than to pester me?”

“It’s the weekend, jagi, and you’ve been left to your own devices all morning. I thought we might go for a stroll in the garden, but if you don’t want to…” He trailed off watching with veiled amusement as she perked up.

“The garden?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Outside? Outside this room?” Her eyes were blown wide as she gazed at him hoping beyond hope that this wasn’t some cruel trick on his part. She wouldn’t put such a trick past him, but he nodded a small smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re not shitting me are you?”

“You’ve been so good, and you’ve taken your punishment so well. I could do without the attitude, but we can work on that.” He definitely had plans to rid her of the attitude.

He could practically see the cogs turning in her head as the realization hit her, when the hope settled in. “I can leave this room. I won’t be locked in anymore?”

Namjoon couldn’t have been more pleased by her reaction. There was something so fragile and vulnerable about her in this moment, having those doe eyes focused on him filled with so much hope. And he was the one who gave her that hope. “That depends on how you behave today.” He mused. “If you behave well, I see no reason why you can’t have free reign of the house and the gardens. But if you don’t behave I have no problem keeping you here in these rooms.”

The effect of those words was almost instantaneous. Her eyes grew even more impossibly wide and her face paled at the implication. It was clear to him that her punishment had been effective. Even if she didn’t realize it, there was a shift, the smallest of change. He was wearing her down, settling her into her new role.

“Do you understand, jagi?”

She nodded quickly scrambling up and scampering to the closet in search of shoes. As much as she hated depending on him for anything, especially her freedom, she wasn’t about to give up the chance to go outside. She would be the sweetest girl in the world if it meant she was going to be released from her god forsaken house arrest.

She emerged shoes in hand and a bright smile on her face too big to conceal. The excitement of being released from her room outweighed her will to remain grumpy in the face of her captor, and in this minute she couldn’t bring herself to care even taking his hand without a fuss when he extended it to lead her out of the room.

She was practically vibrating with excitement by the time they had reached the door that would lead them outside to the garden. Freedom was just a few steps away, or at least a semblance of it was, but before she could step outside, Namjoon pulled her back, and she couldn’t help but look at him in confusion.

“This is a privilege, Y/N.” He repeated, dark eyes serious as he stared her down. “If you pull any sort of stunt today, I will lock you away for so long you will forget how the sunlight feels on your skin. There are worse prisons than your rooms, jagiya.”

The threat kept her frozen in place as she stared up at him. How could he speak such harsh words so sweetly?

“Jagi?” He prompted squeezing her hand tightly. She nodded slowly unsure of how to respond to him after that. The man was giving her whiplash. “I need words, jagi.”

“Yes, Namjoon.” She sighed impatient to get outside and put his disturbing smiling threats out of her head, at least for the moment.

“Good!” He smiled brightly dimples popping out in full force. “Let’s enjoy the garden then.”

To say that the gardens were beautiful would have been an understatement. They were gorgeous, enchanting even as they sprawled out from the house. Clearly someone had put a lot of time and effort into them. It looked like something out of a fairy land to her, but then again, she was used to cramped city apartments with rag tag parks filled with litter. This was another level entirely, and she was instantly in love.

Namjoon didn’t even protest when her hand slipped from his as she wandered further into the garden. While she was enamored with the garden, he was enamored with her. He’d never seen her this soft. Her eyes had a sparkle to them that he had yet to see as she trailed her fingers across the petals of some of the flowers almost reverently. Everything about her in this moment seemed gentle.

Her eyes wandered further into the garden as she took everything in. It was sculpted into a very traditional fashion with bridges and gazebos and what appeared to be a large koi pond further from the house all connected by a series of winding paths.

“Can we go there?” She asked her voice filled with breathless wonder as she looked out towards the koi pond.

“Of course, jagi.” He replied just as softly placing a gentle hand on her back to lead her down to the pond.

He was almost afraid that if he spoke any louder or made any sudden movements that the moment would shatter and she would return to the acid spitting hellion he had come to know. He would have to savor this more gentle version of her while he could. He knew it wouldn’t last long. She would be a fierce little hellion again before long, but he enjoyed seeing this softer side of her as well.

He had chosen because she was intriguing, because she was strong, but this was something he wanted to see from her more often. As much as he enjoyed sparring with her, her constant venom was beginning to become tiresome. Yes, she’d followed his rules, but she had done it with a bitter reluctance that didn’t sit well with him. He was a man who was used to complete obedience without question. He was lenient for now though as she was still adjusting, but his patience could only hold out for so long. But for today he would enjoy the softer side of her while it lasted.

They reached the bridge that stretched across the koi pond, and settled there. Y/N leaned over the rail to gaze down at the fish that milled about in the pond a soft smile playing on her lips. She was entranced by the fish, wishing she had brought something out to feed her with. Next time she told herself. If she played her cards right, she’d be able to go out into the gardens as much as she’d like. All the while they stood there in peaceful silence, Namjoon stood guard just to the side his attention solely focused on her.

Looking at her now, Namjoon found her to be the most lovely woman in the world. Illuminated in the afternoon light with the late summer breeze stirring her hair, Namjoon considered himself very much in love with her, and he had to congratulate himself on his catch. Summoning her to that late night meeting all those weeks ago had been on a whim, purely out of curiosity to see who he was dealing with, and now he was grateful that he had. She was a dangerous woman to have around. She was capable of tearing down the empire he had built from the ground up if he wasn’t careful. But that made their game all the more exciting. It made her all the more exciting, and once tamed she would make an exquisite queen for his empire. All that was left to do was to break her to his will.

part 11

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #namjoon #namjoon x reader #yandere namjoon #mafia namjoon #rm #rm x reader #mafia #dark romance #mafia au #soft yandere #fanfic

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huntergatherercreator · 4 years

Text

The Takedown | Part Nine

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland x Detective Reader

Summary: NYC has a new drug lord determined to wipe out any and all competition in order to grow his empire. You're going undercover to stop him.

Warnings: Mentions of weapons, injuries and kidnapping

Notes: It’s taken me so long to get this part finished, I only hope it was worth the wait! Let me know what you think, any feedback is appreciated!

Part 9 - 1,686 Words

Wagner Cove was a fairly public area in Central Park. A small rustic log pavilion sitting on one of the many lakes, it’s a little slice of wilderness without ever having to leave the comforts of the city. It should have filled me with confidence that he’d arranged to meet there but it didn’t. All the city’s key players would know by now that there had been an attempt on his life that failed. Some would see it as a challenge, a chance to come out on top if they succeeded.

Knowing this I’d justified the risk of bringing along Arnold’s gun to the meeting. Feeling the weight of it strapped to my side was more reassuring than I ever thought it could be. I’d avoided being armed on the streets for my rounds. It was all too easy to be ambushed and have it used against me; it was safer to risk the chance of having a knife pulled and being able to fight my way out of the situation. However, last night cemented how deep I’d fallen down the rabbit hole. I wasn’t dealing with desperate users on the streets now. I was up against calculated murderers. Holland had been ready to have Arnold shot without a second thought. I needed to have a safety net. Even if the safety net was deadly, it put my mind at ease knowing I’d be on a level playing ground against them.

As we approached the Cherry Hill fountain I adjusted my cap, keeping my face down as we passed a gaggle of tourists. Hiding Arnold’s face was harder to manage. I’d washed off the blood from his nose but the beginning hues of what would become dark bruising had started to form under his eyes drawing several lingering glances. I tugged him closer, gaining a tighter grip on his arm, and a dark glower. I’d swapped out his ninety dollar hoodie for one of my own with a central pocket and zip tied his hands together within it. My arm entwined with his, the pretence of being a couple out for a leisurely stroll was an easy one to maintain. I hadn’t told him where we were going, but he knew who to expect at the end of our journey. Up until now, and throughout the cab ride, he’d played complacent and calm. Now we were out in the open in a park easy to get lost in there was a risk he’d try to run.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Arnold. Take a look around.” I inclined my head towards the fountain to point out the figure I’d spotted. Dressed in a casual sweater and jeans he lounged on the fountain lip with a tattered paperback in his hand. A book he’d been reading the same page of for the past five minutes.

Arnolds step faltered for a second as recognition hit and I had to pull him along to keep him walking.

“I count three for now.” His head swivelled trying to pinpoint the others; a runner cooling down by a bench who hadn’t broken a sweat, and a bum bag wearing tourist whose camera lay unused around their neck.

“I’m flattered he thinks I’m this much of a threat” he muttered dryly.

“You’re not. Your new boss, on the other hand, is.” I aimed us for the start of the trail that would lead to the water’s edge. “But you’d know that if you’d done proper research on him, wouldn’t you?”

His silence spoke volumes. I bit back the words I wanted to shout at him but couldn’t contain a frustrated sigh. He was a business man; someone who should hold the acumen to background check potential partners and deals, and also have a gut instinct for knowing when a deal would go south. Arnold clearly held neither of these qualities. He was all front, his inadequacies hidden by the net worth of his company.

It made me wonder if all Holland’s men were like this, chosen purely because they were high players in the normal world as opposed to having any real talents to contribute. Maybe their lack of intuition is exactly why Holland hires them, so they’re pliable and toe the line. It would explain why he had such a visceral reaction to finding out I had started upselling his product.

Reaching the final stretch of path the trees grew closer together blocking out most of the sunlight and view of the surrounding park. About five feet away from the entrance to the pavilion stood two guards. I recognised one from the other night, the one who had stepped in to diffuse the bomb that was our stand –off. He nodded briefly. The other I assumed was Morgan, stepping into fill Lenny’s shoes. The fact Holland hadn’t hired a new body guard right away told me he had respected his former one. That or he hadn’t had the chance to find someone new yet.

I looked past them to where Holland stood in the shade of the building. Facing out to the water his stance was wide, arms folded as he waited on us. In the warmth of the day he’d taken off his suit jacket exposing his holster. I instinctively did another sweep of the area making sure we were alone.

Removing my hold on Arnold, I relinquished him to the closest guard before continuing down the trail alone. I stopped short of entering the pavilion.

“You’re late.” He threw a glance over his shoulder at me before returning to stare out across the lake.

“Moving a hostage in the middle of the day isn’t exactly straight forward.”

“You could have killed him and come alone,” he suggested, as casual as noting the weather.

“It crossed my mind,” I lied. “However, if you suddenly decided that video evidence wasn’t proof enough then it would have left me at a disadvantage. Now you have him you can do what you want with him, and the information.”

Taking out Arnold’s phone I forced myself to take the last three steps needed to get me at his side. This close the scent of his aftershave wound around me, crisp and fresh but with an undercurrent of something muskier, darker. It was a heady mix. It suited him. I held the device out for him to take and watched him slip it into his front pocket without examining it.

“You’re not going to watch the rest of it?” My stomach tightened in apprehension. Something was off.

“Later. For now I’m more concerned with what you think you know about me.” When I didn’t answer right away he turned to face me. I got a hard eyed appraisal, one I’m sure would normally have his men squirming. I took it without flinching reminding myself that I held the cards no matter how outnumbered I was or how high my hackles had risen.

“I don’t deal in making assumptions. How I know,” I paused to eye the guards and assess whether they could overhear us before continuing, “that you’re not American, is because you slipped up.”

“I was born and raised in Queens.” He hadn’t moved at all when he said it. He had no telling quirk like Arnold’s to let me know that he was lying but the line had sounded well-rehearsed. My alarm bells were silently ringing to let me know I was treading thin ice but the insistent internal itch to dig down to the truth won out.

I took a measured step into his personal space and analysed his face as I quoted him. “You should listen to your own advice.” His lips tightened almost imperceptibly. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a triumphant smile.

His arms slowly unfolded as he closed the gap between us to tower over me. “You’re going to forget everything you think you know.” His voice had deepened into a warning tone.

Before I had the chance to answer back he rounded on Arnold.

“It was Rivera who recruited you wasn’t it?” he barked. Unable to maintain eye contact Arnold focused on the water and nodded reluctantly.

In one swift movement he’d drawn his gun and aimed for Arnold. Without thinking my hand shot out to grab his wrist and he flinched, finger pulling back from the trigger slightly. I could feel his pulse beat steadily under my fingers as mine raced ahead. I couldn’t let him do it. Getting rid of Arnold would keep me safe but the thought of causing another death, even indirectly, gnawed away at me. Allowing him to be killed went against my morals. At least, it went against the ones I’d been able to hold onto.

“You can still use him,” I urged.

“I won’t have traitors working for me,” he growled.

“Not even if it gets you revenge?” He regarded me carefully with narrowed eyes. “Take out Rivera in response to his kill order and it’ll show you’re ten times more dangerous than he ever was. It’ll buy you safety, for a time.”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m associated now. My life’s on the life from being seen in that alley with you. For saving you.”

His gaze went back to Arnold, fingers tightening on the gun. I squeezed his wrist to get his attention.

“He has a contact number. He can lure Rivera’s men to meet with him.” I was on the verge of pleading and given the glint in his eyes he knew it.

“Then we take his men and interrogate them?” he scoffed mockingly. “You think I haven’t already done that? I’ve had my men pulling Hellions off the street all night.”

“You’ve… what…?” I stuttered. My stomach plummeted. He’d been ahead of me the whole time. That’s why he didn’t need to watch the rest of the video. I’d underestimated him and now all I was to him was a loose end who knew too much.

“Like I said, don’t try to tell me how to deal with threats. This is my city. My business. I’ll do what I like.”

The gun fired.

----

Taglist: @spideylovin @lukesbabylon @panicattheeverywherekid @keep-bears-wild @unbelievableholland @tomholland-mcu @whattheheckparker @stargazerholland @gorillaglue23 @marvelpeters

Part Ten!

#Mob!Tom #mob!tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland

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ansgar-martinsson · 4 years

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The Weight of Comfort

The room was, in short, a freaking disaster area. Well, in Ansgar’s estimation it was. Or would have been, if he’d cared.

But at that moment, he didn’t mind the chaos so much. At that moment, he paid no heed to the way he’d neglected his home office over the past two weeks. He cared not that his laptop rest open on the floor, or that there were myriad blue and black architectural drawings unrolled, askew across, and draped off the edge of his drafting table. He didn’t fret over the blankets on the chairs or the documents, scattered pencils, scratched-in legal pads, post-it notes, and empty coffee mugs that lay scattered over the expanse of his desk.

All that mattered was the steadily breathing bundle - warm, round, heavy and solid - her soft baby skin against the bare skin of his chest.

Ansgar blinked against the amber dawn light that streamed in through the picture window. He stirred, moaning quietly as he woke. He woke but he didn’t move, entirely unwilling as he was to relinquish the weight and comfort of the baby, the little girl, his daughter. And so he stayed there, one arm thrown over his head, his leg bent haphazardly off the edge of his Poul Kjærholm sofa, the woven pink blanket barely covering his midriff, but securely snug and tucked up beneath his hand and around the little bundle.

And his gaze centered strictly upon her. A blithe, placid smile flowed across his lips and remained there, breath after contented breath.

As irritated as he’d been during the first few nights after he and Joline brought Magnes home, eventually the strange sleep patterns, the late hours, the near constant cycle of feeding, changing, playing and sleeping had become routine. In fact, over the past two weeks, Ansgar had come to almost enjoy the pre-dawn hours he’d spent with his little Maggie. The soft cries from the co-sleeper attached to Joline’s side of the bed, Joline waking to feed her, and then Ansgar taking her into his office for a lie down on the sofa - quiet time for mama - had become a welcome part of his life.

And it was a part of his life that, for the first thirty-five of it, he thought he’d never have. The fact of his inability to father children - well, his alleged inability - had shaped choices he’d made, attitudes he gave, personas he’d adopted. He’d led his life as if the only person he would ever care about, be responsible for was himself. Just him. Nobody else. Ever. And he’d been okay with that. He’d even built his business, birthed his multi-national multi-billion kronor enterprise on the very concept that it alone would be his child, his offspring....

His legacy.

But now, things were different. Vastly different. And like the unaccustomed disorder in his office, he didn’t mind the paradigm shift so much. In fact, in that moment, Ansgar Martinsson felt as if he had not truly been, as he’d thought, on a lifelong climb to the summit of success in business. In reality, the trail had been leading him to this. To more - so much more. To a truth. To fatherhood.

And maybe, just maybe, Magnus was right all along. Maybe, just maybe, one day, he’d admit that to his brother. Maybe. And maybe one day he’d tell Magnus this: that he now knew exactly what had been missing from his life. That he’d been inexplicably, secretly, and insanely jealous of Magnus all these years, ever since Viktoria was born.

He now knew why. And he was no longer jealous.

He brushed pooled tears from the corners of his eyes, sniffed, and sighed beneath his broad grin. Humming tunelessly, he wrapped his hands around the tiny body of his baby daughter and sat slowly, carefully up, cradling the newborn against his chest. He kept his movements slow, cautious, deliberate, easing himself to the edge of the sofa. “Ah, here we go, Magpie,” he murmured as he rose to his feet. “Let’s go see mamma.”

At the very mention of “mamma” Maggie squirmed in protest against his shoulder, pulled an irritated face, and whined quietly. She curled her little body downward, buffing her cheek against Ansgar’s breast, her little mouth opening and closing -- a baby bird desperate for its mother’s nourishment.

“Ah no. Not there, Maggie darling,” Ansgar chuckled. He adjusted his grip so that she lay in the crook of his elbow. “You can suckle on that all you want, I suppose, but I’d advise quite strongly against it. It’d only be disappointing for you and painful for pappa. Then we’d both get angry and we’d both cry, and we don’t want that, now do we? Hm? No we most certainly do not.”

In response, Maggie twisted up her face, clutched at a tuft of Ansgar’s chest hair, growled, and let out a low, rumbling - and very wet - fart.

“Oh, Christ, Maggie! Perfect timing, that.” Ansgar sniffed and groaned. “Yes. Make pappa change you before you go to mamma. I get it. No interruptions on the num nums, ja?” He laughed as he turned the corner, swiftly shifting his destination from the bedroom to the nursery. “Yes. I see how it is. I do. Two weeks old and you’ve already sussed how to work the system, haven’t you?” He cradled her in his hands as he rest her down on the changing table. “My little mogul. Yes, that’s what you are. Conniving, cunning little thing you are ....”

“Just like her pappa.”

Ansgar peered over his shoulder as he worked, and gave Joline a broad smile. “Morning,” he chirped. “I’m just um... ugh!” He moaned and coughed as he opened her diaper and the fetor reached his nostrils. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Maggie, that’s... that’s... oh Christ! That’s disgusting!”

Joline laughed, stepped comically outside the door and covered her nose.

“Sure,” he choked. “Save the nastiest one yet for me.” He bent over Maggie’s face, narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “And here I thought you liked me best. Serves me right, ja?”

Maggie cooed happily and kicked her legs, her eyes wide and her fists balled up against the sides of her head. She stared brightly at Ansgar as he made quick work - or as quick as he could with a squirming child - of cleaning up the malodorous effluent and once again clothing her in a clean diaper.

“There,” Ansgar cleared his throat. “Finished, you nasty little beastie, you.” He picked her up and turned to Joline. “Here,” he said. “She keeps trying to breastfeed off me, and I keep telling her it’s no use.”

“Girls never listen to their pappa,” Joline joked. “Not at first, at least.”

“Great,” he replied. “Is that what I have to look forward to, then?”

Joline sat in the rocking chair, opened the flap of her shirt and put Maggie to her breast. “Not if we do things right,” she said lightly, airily, as she toyed with a wayward lock of the baby’s hair. “Not if we don’t spoil her.”

Ansgar knelt down in front of her, his hand rest on Joline’s knee, his other hand caressing the crown of Maggie’s head. “Oh, I intend to spoil her,” he said. “But I won’t allow her to become a little hellion. She’ll get the things she needs, but the things she wants, she’ll have to work for.”

Joline hummed in agreement.

“I mean, I’ll buy her a car when she’s old enough, and it’ll be one that’s nice and one that’s safe, but it’ll be perhaps a Toyota or a VW. If she wants something more luxurious or with more prestige, she’ll have to get a job and work for it.” He chuckled. “I may be a wealthy man but I’m still Viktor Martinsson’s son, damn it. If there’s one thing Viktor taught us, it’s the value of hard work.”

“Same with my dad,” she smiled. “And I know we’ve talked about this before, but I’m glad to hear that.”

“Why? Were you ever worried about that?” Ansgar lowered himself to sit on the floor, his head rest against Joline’s knee.

“Sort of,” she shrugged and curled the fingers of her free hand into his bed-mussed hair. “I just know how you enjoy the finer things, and how you like to... well....” She bobbled her head and rolled her eyes, her lips in a tight smile.

“Throw my money around?”

“Your weight. You throw your weight around.” Joline corrected. “You know what you want and you know you have the power to get it. Not that you ever act spoilt or anything because you don’t. Maybe a bit brutal and demanding from time to time but righteously so, but.... oh, here, take her for a sec. I need to switch sides.”

After a few minutes of shifting, covering, uncovering, and situating Maggie back in her arms, and in response to Ansgar’s “But what?” Joline continued. “But we just have to be cognizant of the fact that Maggie will learn by example, that’s all. She’ll watch you especially.”

Ansgar stood and nodded. “I get it. It’s a Herculean responsibility, raising her right,” he replied. “I want her to learn how to assert and defend herself, how to not be a doormat. However,” he lifted a finger, stopping the words on the tip of Joline’s tongue. “However, she shouldn’t be vain or boorish or selfish about things. That’s a bit of a fine line, I know. But, between the two of us, I’m sure we can make that happen. We can make anything happen, you and I.”

Joline smiled and shifted her gaze to Maggie’s fluttering, sleepy eyes. “We made her happen.”

“That we did, darling. That we did.”

#jolinelindberg #magnesmartinsson #magnes

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spaceshipsandstarwyrms · 5 years

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Preview: Survivalist Class

A W’uther man faces off against a roiling creature of murky black smoke, a plasma pistol in each hand. He flips the safety off, raises both guns, and fires.

Emerging from the bowels of a massive warship on a pulse cycle, a Wireborn casts a bolt of flame at the encroaching soldiers. They pilot their bike flawlessly and draw a sword from their back.

A Luonn Tua, camouflaged to blend in with an asteroid, gives a quiet command to the tiny psuedowyrm on her shoulder. The wyrm flits off into the asteroids caverns to scout ahead.

Survivalists are individuals who have studied particular areas of the galaxy and trained strenuously to survive, and even thrive, in them. Resourceful and robust, survivalists can endure even the most dangerous situations. Like rangers, they use both weapons and magic to impact the world around them.

Observe Surroundings

No matter where they were trained or what environments they focused on, every survivalist has learned the importance of observing their locale. In learning everything they can from their current environment, a survivalist becomes better equipped to outlast any dangers that may find them. Adapting to new environments comes just as easily to the survivalist as they independently navigate the hazards and conflicts that exist everywhere in the galaxy.

Hardy and Versatile

Every survivalist has a variety of tools at their disposal, from weaponry to spells to their own resilience. Depending on what areas of the galaxy a survivalist studies, they might be a masterful hacker, a persistent bounty hunter, an ingenious mechanic, or any number of other professions.

Despite the wide range of talents a survivalist may embody, there is a commonality to them: their hardiness. Survivalists are strong in health and body, enduring all manner of things that might kill the average citizen. Their unflagging vitality is so great that they possess the ability to cast divine spells by drawing on their vigor. A survivalist’s spells are typically those that enable them to better attack, be stealthy, and survive in inhospitable environments.

Creating a Survivalist

When you create a survivalist, consider where they got their skills. Were they self-taught, or did they go through a training program via one of the galactic governments? Did they have private tutelage from a mentor, or was their knowledge garnered over years of surviving alone? Think about the area of the galaxy they are most acquainted with. Did they learn about that area outside of it, or through years lived there? Whatever the background of your survivalist, their knowledge of survival is tantamount to their skills.

Quick Build

You can make a survivalist quickly by following these suggestions. First, make Dexterity or Strength your highest ability score, followed by Constitution. Second, choose the Bounty Hunter background. Last, take a carbon fiber vacsuit, a pistol, and a heavy pistol.

Archetypes: Survivalist Disciplines & Regional Specialties

At 2nd level you choose a region in which to specialize. This choice grants you additional proficiencies, affects the time required for your Lay of the Land class feature, and informs on one or more features granted by your Survivalist Discipline (which is selected at 3rd level).

You make this choice between Core, Frontier, and Outer Reaches. This coming week, we'll discuss some of the distinctions between these choices.

At 3rd level, you choose a survivalist discipline to further define your expertise and skill set. There are three disciplines to choose from, detailed at the end of the survivalist section: Hotshot, Hellion, and Keeper. Your discipline grants you features at 3rd, 7th, 11th, and 15th levels. Most 5th edition ranger archetypes work as survivalist disciplines with little to no adjustments, but you should discuss that choice with your GM before you begin play.

The full Survivalist can be found in the upcoming Galactic Primer on Natural Environments, one of the rewards of the Spaceships & Starwyrms Kickstarter launching on April 25.

#5e #dnd #tabletop games #homebrew #kickstarter

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jackiesarch · 5 years

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happier

There isn’t a time that he remembers actually wanting kids. Jacob loves his brothers with a fervency he’d always thought unmatched, but he’d had his fill of child rearing during those awkward teenage years where he’d played the fused role of brother and dad.

He goes to war, kills a hundred other young men just like him, loses the closest friend he’s ever had. He comes back from war, but he’s still carrying the fight inside him, his brain a traitor to his body. He has hazy memories of hospital beds and overcrowded shelters. He doesn’t think once about children.

He gets to Hope County, settles into a routine that makes him strong, powerful, whole. The Project becomes life. His brothers become his life. He’s forty-four years old and doesn’t have time to think about a family of his own — not when he’s too busy chasing that hellion across the mountains.

The bombs fall. The Collapse, the end that his brother promised, is at their doorstep. He rushes into John’s bunker with that same hellion in tow, his hands shaking, his breath coming in anxious gasps. He feels differently about her now. He knows what her nightmares are about, knows how much guilt she’s storing inside herself. He cares about her.

The world has ended, and ‘children’ is no longer a word in his vocabulary. It can’t be.

And then it happens.

Rook tells him she’s pregnant, and he loses his goddamn mind. He doesn’t talk to her for weeks, sleeps on a cot in his office instead of their bed, becomes so irritable that even his brothers start to avoid him.

Jacob won’t ever admit it to anyone, but he is terrified. He’s terrified of a lot of things. Becoming weak. Turning into his father. Rook and his kid realizing that he has nothing to offer them but the empty halls of this metal prison.

He’s ashamed to admit that his first thought is to pretend that none of this is happening. Rook doesn’t need him. He’ll just make it worse. It’s best if he just stays away.

It’s John, of all people, who ends up knocking some sense into him.

“Get your shit together or I’m going to do it for you,” John says one morning, wandering into Jacob’s office unannounced.

He hasn’t slept in two days, and he can’t muster up the energy to be annoyed by John not knocking. He’s reading a report, and he doesn’t look up from the page.

“Hello to you too, little brother.”

“I mean it,” John continues. He always speaks like the lawyer he is; methodically, exactly, intently. “I’m sick of your moping.”

Jacob finally looks up. He knows John can see the dark shadows under his eyes.

“I don’t mope.”

“You do, and you’re doing it right now,” John says, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “It’s exhausting.”

Silence settles around them as they stare at each other. John has a look in his eyes that Jacob doesn’t recognize — he’s angry, sure, but there’s something else there that he can’t quite place. Jacob exhales heavily once a few minutes pass in which neither of them say a word.

“Do you need something, John?”

“You’re going to be a father,” John says bluntly.

“I don’t want to—“

“—talk about it,” John finishes for him, smiling wryly. “Yes, I figured that out fairly early on, Jacob.”

Jacob doesn’t say anything. He may have spent years separated from his brothers, but he knows John just as well as anyone else. If he says something now, that’s all the ammunition John will need.

John doesn’t need any more ammunition than he already has.

“What do you plan to do?”

The vow of silence doesn’t last long. Jacob stands from his seat abruptly, pushing the chair back into the wall with the movement.

“I don’t plan to do anything.”

John raises his eyebrows, nods almost imperceptibly.

“Mm,” he hums. “So it’s true, then.”

What’s true, he wants to ask, even though he has a decent idea of what John means. The bunker may be big, but word travels fast through those halls. By now, Jacob thinks, everyone must know about the Deputy’s condition, and if they know about that, well.

“Have you told our darling Deputy that she’s on her own, then?”

Jacob clenches his fists, turns his back on his brother and focuses on regulating his breathing.

“John,” he says quietly. A warning.

“No? Have you spoken to her at all?”

Ignore him ignore him ignore him.

“Oh, Jacob,” John carries on, his voice sickeningly sweet. “That’s hardly fair, given the circumstances. You at least owe her an explanation, no? A reason why?”

The corners of Jacob’s vision burn red.

“What is that reason, by the way? If you don’t mind my asking.”

He turns on his heel and stares John down, one finger pointed straight at his chest. He is furious.

“I will not turn into our father,” Jacob seethes, chest heaving. “I’m not taking that chance.”

John ponders that statement, blue eyes burning wildly.

“No,” he says eventually, taunting and soft. Jacob feels like he’s on trial. “No, you’re not, are you? You’d rather just ignore it altogether.”

Jacob punches the wall, just the once, listening to the way the metal shakes under his fist. Pain radiates into his wrist.

“John—“

“You have the opportunity to be better. Or would you rather just forget this and move on? Because I have to say, Jacob, it’s going to be an awfully long seven years if that’s the path you plan to take.”

He’s never seen John so passionate about anything in his life - not sin, not atonement, not confession. How long has he been sitting on this?

That look in John’s eyes that he couldn’t quite place? Jacob thinks it might be bitterness.

There’s a silence as John looks down and straightens his vest, knuckles white and skin taut, rows of pebbles stuck under his flesh. Jacob’s familiar with most of John’s mannerisms, always fidgeting, always flitting around, but this one is new. He grips the edge of the vest like he’s doing his very best not to take a swing at Jacob.

When he looks back up, his face is unnervingly blank.

“You’re a coward.”

Rage bubbles up under Jacob’s skin, white hot, and he wants to hit him, wants to wipe the blank look off his face and replace it with the same smarmy look he’s used to seeing on John.

Instead, he clenches his fists, chipped nails digging uneven crescents into his palms.

“Get out,” Jacob says, dangerously quiet.

“You’re going to abandon your chil—“

“Get out. Now.”

John is uncharacteristically silent. They stare at each other for a moment before John clears his throat and shoves his hands into his pockets.

Jacob watches as he turns on his heel and leaves the office. His stomach is in ragged knots, a sickening mix of angry and terrified.

When the door closes, he relaxes his grip and sits heavily in the chair at his desk. He has the mother of all headaches, and he feels like someone is holding him underwater. He knows exactly what he needs to do, but he doesn’t want to do it.

The palms of his hands are sticky. Jacob looks down and finds that he’s managed to draw blood.

It’s a few hours before Jacob feels calm enough to leave his office. He’s still angry, scared, still vehemently does not want to deal with this right now, but he thinks he needs to see her. He wants to see her, even if she doesn’t want to see him.

The walk to their room is mechanical, perfunctory. The braver inhabitants of the bunker stare at him as he stalks by them, fists clenched at his sides, opening wounds that have just barely started to heal. He spends the whole walk thinking about what he’s going to say to her.

I can’t do this. I don’t want this. I’m afraid.

There is no easy option, no matter what way Jacob spins it. He can do exactly what John expects – get out while he still can, pretend this isn’t happening, split when the doors open in seven years – or he can forge his own path and do what needs to be done.

He is blindsided by the memory of Miller, a good man with a wife and a little boy back home. Jacob wishes he could go back, could trade places and be the one that died in the desert that day.

Jacob finds himself standing outside the door, jaw clenched so hard that the pain radiates up behind his eyes.

He does not want this memory back.

He knocks. Rook doesn’t show up on the other side of the door, doesn’t swing it open to berate him. Jacob turns the knob and steps inside.

It’s dark. That’s the first thing he notices as he scans the room. His eyes take their time adjusting, but when they do he sees that Rook isn’t there. She’s not in bed, not over in their makeshift living space.

It’s the sniffling in the bathroom that tips him off. Jacob wanders toward it, shoulders tense, and stands in the doorway.

Rook is sitting on the dry shower floor, completely clothed, the water turned off. Her back is pressed up against the tile. Jacob takes a step into the bathroom.

“What are you doing in here?” he asks. The words come out far more harshly than he means them to, and he flinches. Why can’t he ever do this right?

“Fuck off, Jacob.”

Pain shoots up the side of his face as he grinds his teeth. She is so difficult sometimes.

“I want to talk to you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’re used to getting what you want but this time I’m not interested.”

“Rook,” he says, trying and failing miserably to moderate his tone, “can you just—“

“Can I just what, Jacob?” Rook snaps. She looks up from her toes for the first time, and even in the dark Jacob can see she’s been crying. “Can I just sit here while you ignore me for weeks and weeks? Can I just pretend that none of this is happening like you want me to?”

He doesn’t know what to say to her, so he takes a step forward. She flinches, and he hates himself for doing this to her. Slowly, cautiously, he slides down next to her in the shower, his back resting against the wall. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually, words slipping through his gritted teeth. “I’m not—I’m not good at this.”

Rook laughs bitterly. They’re close enough that their arms are touching. Jacob wants to grab her hand.

“Understatement of the year.”

“Rook.”

The air is tense, bitter in Jacob’s mouth when he breathes in. Rook stays silent next to him, the rise and fall of her chest and the heat of her arm next to his the only clue that she’s still there.

He’s got nothing. All that talk on the walk over, all those potential conversations that floated through his mind — they’re gone. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do, and it shows.

“Right,” Rook mutters, her voice thick and low. She’s crying again, trying to hide it as she places her hands on top of her thighs. “Well, if that’s everything, I’d like to go curl up in bed by myself now.”

Jacob stays put as Rook stands. There’s a shakiness to her legs, a wobble in her step like her legs are asleep.

“Always nice talking to you, Jacob.”

It feels like his head is going to explode. He tries to think of what John said to him, of the rage he felt only a few hours ago as he stood in his office. You’re a coward, John had said, spitting the words like poison in his mouth.

He is a coward.

Jacob spends a while in the shower, pressed against the tiled wall. He thinks about Rook. He thinks about his brothers, back when they were all kids, when Jacob was a child looking after children of his own.

He thinks about his baby, about how he has no idea how to do this the right way. He has always wanted what he can’t have.

Eventually, he gets his feet and wanders back into the main room, flicking the light on as he goes.

Rook isn’t curled up in her bed like she said she would be. She’s standing in the middle of the room, staring at an imaginary spot on the ground, her shoulders shaking. Her figure tenses as she hears him enter.

“You should leave,” she says. Her voice is hoarse.

“I love you,” he blurts out. The words are thick in his mouth, sound clumsy as he says them. “I love you.”

Rook’s breath hitches.

“Stop,” she hisses, a sob catching in her throat. “Jacob, stop it.”

He moves closer to her, grabbing her shoulder to spin her around so she’s facing him. His hands slip up to her face.

“I’m sorry.”

There’s a silence in the room. She doesn’t look at him.

And then she hits him, fist connecting with his ribs hard, and Jacob grunts and stumbles back, startled. Rook does it again, and again, and he lets her because he deserves it, stands there and takes it until she drops her arms, breathing heavily.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be someone’s dad,” he says weakly, sounding small and so unlike himself. He digs his nails into his palm again to feel the familiar sting.

Rook stares at him with red-rimmed eyes and laughs. There’s a lilt of hysteria to it.

“What, and you think I know what I’m doing?” she asks incredulously. “Jesus, Jacob. Do you think you’re the only one that’s scared?”

Jacob doesn’t remember the last time someone rendered him speechless like this. He’s always had a response to everything, has always known what to say, more or less, to salvage control of a situation. Right now, his mind is blank.

“Please don’t make me do this alone.”

Her voice shatters him. He wants to yell, to scream that she won’t be doing this alone, that there are so many people stuck in this bunker with her that are willing to step up and do what he can’t. Nick Rye can change her child’s diapers. Boshaw can teach them how to walk. Armstrong can help them stumble over their first words. She doesn’t need him.

Rook doesn’t look like the woman who’s spent the last several months terrorizing him and his brothers. Right now, standing in the dim light of their bedroom, she looks like a wounded animal, curled in on herself, hands shaking, shadows dark under her eyes.

You have the opportunity to be better.

The memories he has of his own father are nightmarish, things that haunt him in the dead of night when his unconscious mind starts to play tricks on him. Jacob remembers violence, hatred, anger. He remembers bloody noses and open wounds and screaming his throat raw the first time he saw bruises on his baby brother.

He remembers tracing John’s wounds in the dead of night and feeling like a failure for not being able to stop their father.

John was right. Jacob has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from letting out a manic laugh. He was right.

He moves forward, quick and quiet, and Rook startles when he grabs her tightly by the shoulders. She’s been crying so hard that her eyes aren’t just red-rimmed, but bloodshot, the pale blue of her irises a sharp contrast to all that red.

“I’m not cut out for this,” he reminds her as gently as he can. It’s her last warning, the last reminder of exactly what she is asking, how unwise it is. His hands slide up to her neck and angle her head up toward him.

“I’m not asking you to be good at it,” Rook says. Her voice is steadier than the rest of her. “I’m asking you to try.”

Jacob looks down to her belly. It’s his mind playing tricks on him, he knows, but he can almost convince himself that there’s a slight swell there.

He is terrified, but John was right. This is his chance. He’s going to change his kid’s diapers. He’s going to watch them wobble on shaky feet as they learn to walk. He’s going to be there for their first words.

He is better than his father. He’s going to try.

“Okay.”

Charlotte is born, and it’s still terrifying, but in a different way.

He’s terrified he won’t be able to protect her. He’s terrified of the things she’s going to hear about him.

He’s terrified that she won’t love him.

But she does. Somehow, she does.

Neither of them is really sure how to broach the topic of their situation. How does one tell a four year-old that her parents have done horrible, nightmarish things? That her father and mother are meant to be enemies? That the man who tucks her into bed at night is the reason some of the braver inhabitants of the bunker stare at her with contempt when Jacob’s not around to put a stop to it?

They both grapple with the question of ‘what do we do?’, so they shelter her as best they can instead, smother any of her doubts with tight hugs and bedtime stories. Charlotte will never grow up thinking she is not loved.

“Charlie. Bedtime.”

“Five more minutes.”

Some days, Jacob is painfully reminded that this is Rook’s kid, too: always bargaining, always looking for ways to bend the rules.

More often than not, she wins.

“That’s what you said five minutes ago,”

Jacob muses. He crouches down next to her, ignoring the way his knees grind in protest. “And five minutes before that, and five minutes before that. You’re runnin’ out of minutes.”

Charlotte shakes her head, sending wild red hair flying in every direction. She peers over at Jacob with defiance burning in her blue eyes.

“Nuh uh. Those didn’t count.”

Jacob huffs out a laugh. He reaches over and brushes stray hairs from her face, tucks them behind her ear, kisses the crown of her head.

"Pretty sure they did, kiddo.”

Charlotte squirms out of his grasp. Over her shoulder, he can see the picture she’s been drawing - three little stick figures, two redheads and a blonde. The only family portrait they have.

When they get out of here, when the world is no longer in shambles, they’ll have to fix that.

“I’m not tired.”

“Still bedtime. You’re an hour late.”

“Please, Daddy? Just five more minutes.”

Jacob sighs. His kid is four, and she’s already on her way to becoming a master negotiator. Something’s gotta be wrong with that picture.

"Tell you what,” Jacob says, shifting his weight — his knees are too old for this crouching shit, “if you go to bed now, I’ll give you an extra ten minutes tomorrow. Deal?”

Charlotte stares at him with her brow furrowed, looking so deep in thought he can’t help but crack a smile. Without warning, a mischievous grin materializes on her face. Jacob is pretty sure he’s being treated to an early version of what Charlotte will be like as a teenager: an absolute goddamn nightmare.

“Okay. But you have to read to me.”

“Only one story.”

“Okay.”

Charlotte clambers to her feet, leaving her crayons and her drawings behind, and reaches up her arms to Jacob wordlessly. He picks her up, cradling her against his side, and tries to ignore the way his chest aches when she wraps her tiny arms around him and buries her face in the side of his neck.

The play room is just down the hall from Charlotte’s room. It’s a convenient set-up, a built in babysitter, and more often than not Jacob has to look no further to figure out where she’s gotten to.

“Are we going to see Uncle Joe and Uncle John tomorrow?” Charlotte asks. Her words are muffled by Jacob’s neck.

He’s made it a habit to try to spend time with his brothers once a week. It doesn’t always happen, but he always brings Charlotte. She’s enthralled by them both - Joseph, who sings to her when Jacob asks him to put her down for a nap, and John, who carries her around on his shoulders and looks at her like she put the stars in the sky.

Rook tags along sometimes. Jacob knows she doesn’t like to, but he appreciates it nonetheless. They both have learned to make compromises now.

“Sure. Think you can convince your mom to come?” he asks as they pass his and Rook’s room.

He feels the nod against his neck. Charlotte is a better manipulator than he’s ever been, even with the help of conditioning.

Once they cross the threshold of her room, Jacob sets Charlotte on the ground and crouches down again.

“Go brush your teeth. I’ll get your PJs ready.”

Charlotte darts over to the tiny bathroom in the corner of the room, and Jacob hears her fumble with toothpaste and toothbrush as the water runs. She’s only just started doing it herself. So far, only one mishap - a swallowed glob of toothpaste that had left her screaming and crying and convinced she was dying. Jacob has tried to keep an eye on her since, and has tried to keep himself from laughing every time he thinks about it.

When she’s back, she gives him a big, exaggerated smile to show him how clean her mouth is.

He helps her into her favourite pajamas - a pink pair with a cartoon unicorn plastered across the front. They’re an old pair, and they still fit, but Jacob has to tug a little more than usual to get the shirt to cover her belly button. She’s growing, he realizes belatedly. He wants it to stop.

“Go pick a book,” he says, once she’s comfy, and watches her take off toward the little bookshelf in her room. “Not Go, Do—“

“Go, Dog. Go!”

They’re lucky to be stuck here in John’s bunker. Jacob’s Gate was never meant for children, never had toys or books or teddy bears. John’s bunker, however, is as excessive as he is: Charlotte has a stuffed bear named Vincent, a dollhouse bigger than she is, and, more importantly, an endless supply of children’s books.

She picks Go, Dog. Go! every single time.

Jacob hates Go, Dog. Go!.

Charlotte comes back with the stupid book gripped tightly between her little fingers, the striped cover battered from years of reading, and holds it out to him proudly.

“Picked one.”

“Don’t you wanna read somethin’ new, Charlie?”

She shakes her head and clutches the book to her chest. “No. This one is my favourite.”

Jacob sighs and reaches out for it, nudging her towards her bed. The routine is the same every night - it’s a tiny, tiny bed, but Charlotte makes him lay there with her, tucked tightly into his side as he reads. It’s not comfortable, but he’s never said no, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

Tonight, he stretches his legs easily over the width of the bed, and Charlotte clambers in beside him, burrowing into his middle like a rabbit might burrow into its den. Her hair tumbles across the scarred skin of his arm, soft and wavy. It needs to be cut, but she won’t let them. Rook is a good mother, twice the parent he’ll ever be, and even she can’t convince the kid that haircuts don’t hurt.

“You ready?” he asks, looking down at her.

Charlotte nods into his side, one arm wrapped tight around him, the other clutching her teddy bear. Jacob opens the book.

“Dog. Big dog. Little dog. Big dogs and little dogs.”

“You got Vincent?”

Charlotte holds the teddy bear up for Jacob to see before tucking him back under her arm.

“You comfy?”

There’s a silence as Charlotte ponders this very important question. She wiggles around a little under the covers, then frowns at him.

“I need to be tucked in more.”

“If I tuck you in any more the blankets are gonna eat you,” Jacob says, but he reaches over her anyway and fixes the covers. “Good?”

“Good.”

He brushes stray hair from her face and leans down to kiss her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. Charlotte giggles and squirms.

“I love you, Daddy.”

Jacob runs the pad of his thumb across her cheek and kisses her again, one last time on the forehead.

“I love you, too.”

There’s a stupidly cliché question that runs through his head every now and then. Leaning over his daughter, he can’t help but think it again.

What did he do to deserve this?

Jacob stands back up and heads for the bedroom door. He looks over his shoulder and finds Charlotte staring at him.

“You better go to sleep before Mom finds out you’re still awake. Then we’re both gonna be in trouble.”

The giggle he gets as he flicks off the light and shuts her bedroom door behind him is one of the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it.

The door to his and Rook’s bedroom is only a few feet away, but Jacob takes them slowly, savouring the quiet of the bunker at nighttime. There’s always someone around, always one of his soldiers patrolling the halls or giving orders. It’s not an ideal existence, but something about it is calming.

Rook is already in bed by the time he gets there, curled on her side under the blankets. Jacob’s slept next to her long enough to know her sleep habits off by heart - she’s not asleep, not yet. She’s left the light on, so he flicks it off as he steps further into the room.

“I’m gonna burn Go, Dog. Go!,” Jacob announces.

Rook rolls over - wide awake, just like he thought - and gives him a look that’s almost devoid of venom.

“You can’t cremate your daughter’s favourite book just because you don’t like it.”

Jacob hums thoughtfully as he shrugs off his shirt and sweats. The dog tags around his neck clack noisily, settling against his chest.

“Then I’m hidin’ it,” he muses. He stands at the edge of the bed and stares down at Rook. “Somewhere far, far away.”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Rook advises kindly, flashing him a smile before rolling back over onto her side. “Besides, you might actually learn something from that book.”

“That so?”

“Mm,” she hums. Jacob can’t see her face, but he knows she’s got that wicked grin of hers on her face. He knows exactly where Charlotte gets it. “You could always use a refresher on colours at your age.”

“Hilarious,” Jacob snorts. He leans down and nudges her over none-too-gently. “Scoot.”

He slips under the covers behind her, threading his arms around her middle and pulling her tight against his chest. Rook is warm; he presses an open-mouthed kiss against the side of her neck and relishes in the heat of her skin against his.

They’re not a perfect pair, but this—this, they do perfectly. Jacob’s always had the foolish thought in the back of his mind that they were meant for each other, fitting together like puzzle pieces. He brings one hand up to run through her hair, and Rook sighs contentedly, pressing back against him. His other hand slips under her shirt, palm flat against her navel and fingers tracing the raised skin of scars and stretch marks. He can count on both hands the number of time he’s actually said it out loud to her, but he does love her.

“You know,” he murmurs after a while, his mouth close to Rook’s ear, “I wouldn’t mind having another one.”

Rook pushes back against him a little, tilting her head back to get a look at him. Her lids are heavy with sleep, but she still manages to look curious.

“Another what?”

Admitting it makes him feel soft, but he does it anyway, tangling his legs between hers and nosing his way further into the crook of her neck.

“Another Charlotte.”

They’ve never talked about having more kids. Charlotte is a handful, they live in an underground bunker - there are so many reasons not to, so many reasons he shouldn’t even ask. Rook tenses a little in his arms, but it only lasts for a few seconds before she relaxes against him again.

“Maybe not a good idea if you’re gonna burn all their books, huh?”

He laughs, his breath fanning across Rook’s neck, tendrils of her hair fluttering in its wake.

Joseph has always claimed to hear the Voice. Jacob wonders if it ever happened to mention that his life would end up like this.

Rook’s hand comes up to rest atop the one he’s got planted on her belly, her skin warm and soft. She tilts her head back again to look him in the eyes.

“Maybe,” she says gently. “We’ll talk about it in the morning?”

He presses another kiss to the side of her neck and nods.

“Yeah. Go to sleep,” he pauses, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth before he recites from memory: “Now it is night. Night is not a time for play.”

“Oh my god,” Rook scowls. She turns her face away from him and wrangles the blankets tighter around her as Jacob laughs quietly. “Goodnight, Jacob.”

The smile stays plastered on his face, even as Rook’s breathing starts to even out. He should follow her lead and go to sleep, he knows, but he can’t stop the thoughts rattling around inside his head.

Somehow, somewhere along the line, he’s become weak. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when. Was it when he met Rook, or when he first fell into bed with her? Was it the minute Charlotte was born and wrapped her tiny fingers right around his heart?

Jacob doesn’t know when it was or how it happened. All he knows is that he is not the same man he was that night in the church, the night Rook walked in and kicked the hornet’s nest.

He’s been thinking a lot lately about the speeches he used to give before the world burned. We will cull the herd, he’d said, staring down through the darkness at the woman who would end up being the mother of his child. We will do what needs to be done.

It still rings true, he thinks - most of it, at least. With everything that’s happened, everything that’s going to happen once those heavy, lead-lined doors open in three years, weakness is only good for one thing – getting you killed. Now, though, he’s having trouble with the dichotomy: weak versus strong.

It’s taken him a long time, but he’s started to realize that the world is rarely ever so black and white.

He may be weak, but he’s happier now than he remembers ever being before. Rook, Charlotte, his brothers - they may make him weak, but they’ve also made him strong. He’s learning that he can be both. He’s forging a new dichotomy for himself.

Rook moves in her sleep, and Jacob tightens his arms around her, lips pressed to the back of her neck.

#jacob seed x female deputy #far cry 5 fic #my writing #dad! jacob gives me life #soft jacob #this was supposed to be 1k of kidfic and instead it's this whoops

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theburning-soul · 5 years

Text

.:Prompt 6: First Steps:.

(featuring a now fractured Sui no Sato family)

Ranmaru could still remember Hokusai when the younger was still an infant. There was quite a breadth of years between them. Nearly fifteen. Little did his younger brother know how difficult it had been for their parents to conceive after their first son was born. No healer could quite pinpoint why, prayers did nothing to soothe the pain from children lost before they could come into this world. Only duty kept the family resolute. Only their healer knew of their mother’s struggles. Sui no Tomoe was a woman of poise and grace, as expected from one of the senior priestesses that served at Shisui Temple.

One would never know how she struggled to bring another child into this world.

So when Hokusai was born, there was joy. Yes, they had hoped for a daughter to take a priestess’s place, but a child was welcome with so much gratitude. Even more so when the bright red of the wailing infant’s hair was cleaned shortly after birth. A sign of good fortune. Ranmaru’s hair was darker, more an auburn than red. But his baby brother’s was as red as the Ruby Princess’s, one might say!

But as composed as the captain-in- training was, even as a teenager, he couldn’t help a wince at the cries he could hear through the door as he waited outside the birthing room. His father had been allowed in to see his wife and newest born. Ranmaru would wait.

Did he cry that loudly when he was born? Kami forfend, they would all be deaf! The young samurai was glad he was bunked with his peers in the training barracks on the outskirts of the palace. He adjusted his flawless robes and armor, as always pristine, as he waited. He carried his blade at his hip, as all trainees were required. It felt out of place to be here in his uniform even as accustomed to it as he’d become over the last year.

But that all melted away when he was finally allowed in to see the rest of his family. His mother, somehow still beautiful after such an ordeal, his father, beaming with that quiet pride at his newly arrived child, and that little form of his baby brother. Quite active for a newborn, one of the nurses remarked in amusement as she folded clean linens to the side.

Indeed he was, the wrinkled form squirming about in Tomoe’s arms and simply /wailing!/ How were his parents not grimacing at the violent vibrations in the air, tumultuous things rattling about his horns. It was pride and love that kept them distracted from, well, what babies simply did.

Hokusai was to be his name. Flecks of scales that would soon grow and spread, nubs of horns and a tail that would lengthen…did all babies truly look like this?

…were they all this loud?

---

Ranmaru was given time to visit often. Perhaps his instructor gave him a bit of special privilege. He was the top of the class, as expected from the son of the current Taisho. Well-mannered, near-flawless with a sword, intelligent, talented in the arts, and a natural leader despite his quiet nature. When he spoke, his peers listened. And that would only deepen in time. He’d already made close friends with another in his class. A large, rather oafish boy that preferred heavier weapons. Most avoided him because of his temper. Ranmaru had taken time to train with the boy, named Montoku, and learned why he acted in such violent outbursts.

It had earned trust, Montoku already pledging to work hard and be at his side as a captain one day. They often were sent together to track down a wayward kohai of theirs. A son of a merchant family, some wondered how Michiharu had ever been accepted into the guard. A payoff, likely. Indeed the younger boy had zero interest in ‘playing soldier’ as he’d stated and often snuck over the barracks walls to disappear for long bells. Then there was Ajisai, Ranmaru’s betrothed. A stern, talented woman from a venerated lineage, she was in Michiharu’s class and often dragged him back by the tail to lessons…which he’d promptly sleep through.

Yes, Sui no Ranmaru was now only sixteen turns old and already had a trusted council growing about him.

But that disappeared when he returned home. As expected from an ancient family, respect and tradition ran deep in this household. But there were moments where some of that departed. Meals spent on the floor away from the table because Hokusai was crawling off somewhere new again.

As soon as the infant could, he was on the move, impressing caregivers that performed routine checks on the family. And goodness, when he could move, he got into /everything/. It was a reason the house now had everything up on shelves instead of grabbing level. Tomoe already had had one set of ceremonial robes painted on and Sadakatsu’s favorite smoking pipe was still missing.

Yes, Ranmaru was glad he lived away from what had to be chaos. But he had to smile when he saw the joy on his parents’ faces when the little hellion was up and walking without support. Well, this would open a whole new lid of trouble about the home. But this was family.

And the future Taisho wouldn’t change any of it for the world.

—

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

#short story #ffxivwrite2019

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saitamasshoe · 5 years

Text

Ambrosia Ch. 1

It wasn't unusual to experience rain in her realm, though it wasn't a particularly good sign. She eyed Charon, his eyeless sockets pointed forward mindlessly, staring down the dark river in silence. Hades sighed, using the book she'd been reading as a makeshift umbrella. Of course if she liked she could stop the rain, but she preferred to let nature take its course. The underworld rarely saw anything other than icy winds, why not let it change for once?

The Styx wasn't fairing as smoothly as it usually did, and though her trip to the surface was to be brief she doubted it was going to be pleasant and the unusually harsh waters seemed to reinforce that belief. The old boat groaned as it was knocked side to side, though the silent ferryman paid no mind, rowing in somber silence as the shore came into sight. If she squinted, she could just barely see Penthos and Hypnos, stationed eagerly at the dock. The souls being ushered in were restless, jittery and fearful. Something must have gone horribly wrong on the surface today, which would explain the rain. Hades hadn't seen this many souls since the Trojan war- for which her lovely cousin had yet to apologize for.

Hades straightened out her himation, the dark, wooly fabric feeling almost suffocating now that rain had seeped into the shoulders of the fabric. She sighed, gathering her things as she stepped onto the rickety dock, the worn wood creaking ominously under her weight.

"My lady." Penthos and Hypnos bowed, unbothered as Hades handed off her personal effects and stretched, bottom sore from the uncomfortable boat ride. She eyed the two nymphs curiously, "The souls are restless today." She commented, noticing how Penthos seemed to wither under her gaze.

"There was a flood, my lady." Hypnos yawned, eyes sunken in discomfort. "Many were lost."

"Ah." Hades nodded, "Sister is having quite a time, I suppose. Have you readied my chariot?"

Penthos nodded vigorously, mussing her tunic as she clasped her small hands together, "Yes, my lady! Who would you like to take you to the surface?"

Hades halted her, "I will go by myself today."

"But my lady, you shouldn't have to-"

"I don't mind." Hades smiled, waving the fretting nymph toward the crowding souls as she pushed through the masses, wayward souls clearing a path for her as she climbed into her flaming chariot, pale face illuminated by the blue fires of the underworld as the chariot sped forward, the chill of her realm at her back as she went.

Wind whipped through her long hair and blonde waves whipped against her cheeks. She wondered when the last time she'd been to the surface was, how many centuries ago? How much time had passed? What would it look like?

The morning sun was hot on her pale skin, it felt strange to her, foreign. The air was thick with the scent of lush forests. She couldn't see any human settlements, not yet at least. Though this far out in the wild she doubted she would. When was the last time she'd seen a living human?

She scowled, mussing again with her himation before opting to remove it entirely. The surface was much hotter than her realm, and it was a pain to continue to adjust the heavy garment. She dropped it into the chariot, sighing as the warm air washed over her bare shoulders.

"Fantastic." She hummed, she wasn't far now. She stopped her chariot, opting to walk the rest of the way. She wouldn't want to stumble upon a human collany and cause a scene. She'd seen enough of that with her siblings. The last thing she wanted was to add to her work load.

He didn't catch a lot of eyes. The wood nymphs got curious from time to time, but with his mom being the way she was, they knew to keep their distance. As for humans- well, they didn't often get close enough to take a look.

So when he found an exceptionally new set of eyes watching him from the forest, he was obviously curious. What he hadn't expected, of all things, was the startled set of green eyes that had met his without hesitation- so definitely not one of the forest nymphs.

She was lithe and pale, with long, wavy blonde hair, wrapped in a deep purple tunic that fell to her ankles, and above all else-incredibly out of place. Her curious staring soon turned sharp as she stepped from the shadows of the treeline, coming to stand before him, towering him in his crouched form.

"You're far out from your homeland, nymph." She stated with darkened eyes, tilting her head in curiosity as she knelt down to get a better look at him, entranced by his dark hair, pushed back from his face. His tunic falling carelessly over his shoulders as she examined his face. He hardly looked like any nymph she'd seen in these parts, perhaps she'd been mistaken.

"And you are?" The dark-haired man questioned, brow quirked as he grabbed his woven basket and stood, brushing off his pale tunic and staring down at the blonde.

Hades brows drew tight as she eyed the man. Certainly a nymph would know who she was. So perhaps this was a human? Her shoulders squared a bit as she stepped back, gathering her thoughts. She wasn't certain what had caught her attention in the first place. Perhaps it had simply been a time since a man had warmed her bed. The idea made her grimace. She was hardly a blushing babe caught by the first set of high cheekbones she saw. Straightening out her tunic she turned away from the man, ignoring his words of protest as she brushed past.

Well, of all the reactions he had expected, that certainly wasn't one of them. He watched her trudge through the thick foliage, unable to stop the small smirk that quirked his lips as he caught up to her, keeping in step as he examined the agitated look she shot him- something about it thrilled him.

"Let's try this again," He smiled, "my name is Kore, and yours?" He questioned, noticing the small twitch from the corner of her mouth. He wondered what a smile would look like on her tight features. It would certainly be a sight.

She glanced over at him, something strange swirling through her eyes as she viewed him. "What kind of creature are you, Kore?" She challenged, eyes dragging over him in a way that sent chills down his spine, excitement danced at his fingertips in the way she said his name. He hadn't heard a woman say his name in that tone before, he'd certainly like to hear it again.

"What kind would you like me to be?" He quipped, brows wagging mischievously at her exasperated sigh, though he was proud to admit he didn't miss the amused sparkle in those haunting green eyes.

"Well, you don't seem to be a nymph." She said, seemingly in her thoughts as she tapped her chin, "I doubt you're a human. Nor do you seem to be one of Zeus's little hellions. So why don't you tell me, Kore?"

The way she said his name left heat rolling around his abdomen, "I am Kore, god of spring."

Her brows shot up and she sighed, dragging a hand down her face in lament before she halted and jabbed a finger toward him, "Demeter's son, right?"

He paused, unshaken by her downtrodden expression, "Is that a problem?"

"You have no idea." She muttered, waving dismissively at him, "You better get going, that mother of yours isn't going to be happy when she sees you talking with me."

"She's not too happy to see me talking with anyone." He smirked, "Though you don't seem scared of her like the nymphs, so are you going to tell me who you are?"

"Scared of Demeter? No. Scared of hearing her endless screeching when she sees me cohorting with her precious son? Yes." She scoffed, shielding her eyes from the sun as they entered into the grain fields of his homeland.

"So we're cohorting now?" He smiled, Hades was loathe to admit it but she was becoming quite accustomed to his cheek and his little smirks. So rarely did anyone challenge her, with words or otherwise.

"We were, now that's over, as it should be." She smiled, eyes bright with amusement as she took in his upturned brows.

"So, it's safe to assume you're another god, to be so brazenly wandering into my mother's turf, so all that's left is which one… Athena, maybe?"

"Nope."

"Artemis?"

"Not even close."

"Aphrodite?"

"Now you're just being insulting."

"Then who?" He laughed, "There aren't too many female gods."

"Don't you know what they look like?" Hades laughed, caught by the whirlwind that was Kore and his playful antics. She found him every bit as mischievous as a nymph, with nearly as much unrivaled cheek and confidence as any human man.

"I don't get out much." Kore responded, something unsaid and heavy in his tone as his footsteps slowed. "We're nearly there."

"That we are." Hades nodded, tone heavier as she adjusted her tunic for the last time, "This is where we say goodbye." She added with more weight than she had intended.

"You won't even give me your name?" He questioned, voice much smaller than he intended it to be, it seemed he'd been more starved for socialization that he thought he was.

"Is it that important to you?" She questioned, grimacing slightly.

"It's basic niceties, I told you mine so you tell me yours, yeah?"

Hades looked to the field of grain, then back to the man beside her. What would he think of her when he learned the truth? Would he be afraid, sickened?

"Kore, would you like to attend a party with me this evening?" She questioned, lips suddenly dry as she eyed the dark-haired man, noticing the way his brows shot up as he swayed on his heels.

"My mother would certainly dislike it… so I'm in." He smiled, that confident drawl back in his voice, something Hades found very alluring.

"I have to go speak to your mother, it'll be brief. You stay here and I'll come back to take you, alright?" Hades smiled, something new and most certainly dangerous in the man's eyes as he plopped down onto the lush grass.

"I'll be anxiously awaiting your return. Does it count as a date if I don't yet know your name?" He quipped, tone airy and light as he watched her disappear into the grain, echoes of her bemused laughter the only reminder that she had once been there.

#fanfic #riverdale #bughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #betty x jughead #my fic #hades and persephone #au

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svbcritic · 5 years

Text

ok wow don’t mind this being late of an intro bc i was out w my friend and have poor time management skills jdfks . i’m stuck at work rn so hopefully this intro has smth of substance in it for my boy hobgoblin boy charlie .. but yes !! hello all i’m cherrie and under the read more will be some info on my boy so sorry in advance if there’s any ramblings .. i just have a tendency to never shut up dsjfnk . but feel free 2 tap the lil heart if u wanna plot and i’ll pop over into ur im’s !!

brindle bay welcomes charles “charlie” kim the twenty-one year old podcaster. i kind of think he looks a lot like wong yukhei. they have been living in east bay suburbs for 5 years and i heard they are known to be amiable but also impetuous. when i think of them i think of unapologetic laughter, headphones hung around the neck, and a collection of pastel denim jackets.

STATS

full chinese name: jin ximen / americanized name: charles kim / nicknames: charlie / ethnicity: chinese & thai / sexuality: bisexual / occupation: true crime podcaster / spoken languages: mandarin, thai, english, korean & spanish / hogwarts house: slytherin

BIOGRAPHY

okie dokie so charlie ( born ximen ) is the youngest of the four kids between his parents born and riased in shanghai and their wedding was some big event bc both families were heavily affluent and prominent in their home countries

charlie’s dad hailed from shanghai, china where his family had a long lineage of old money and a 5 star international hotel chain that’s comparable to the four seasons .. meanwhile charlie’s mom is from thailand where her family has ties to the oil industry which is how they built their wealth .. their marriage was more political than anything and wanting to combine their wealth in industries the other was lacking in

as the youngest kid and the only boy with three older sisters, charlie never lacked a caregiver bc he was an adorable little boy who charmed whoever he met and though he was a little shit, his sisters loved him and helped raise him alongside a clan of nannies that his parents hired when they were busy off on different continents running their respective businesses

charlie definitely was more of a mommy’s boy in the sense that his mom made more of an effort to spend time with him bc as her only son, she held him on a pedestal and since she was a well known fashion designer, she often brought charlie to her studio and let him run wild in some of the garments and clothing that was in storage and whatnot

from this charlie had a lil mini modeling career ( lmao not really ) where he would do mock photoshoots with some of the models in his mom’s bridal collections and eventually bc he was adorable and everyone loved him, they dressed him in some mini tuxes and he appeared in some campaigns for his mom’s bridal collection

generally though charlie was an exuberant kid who often had more energy than he knew what to do with and that often had him getting in trouble at the expensive prep school his parents had him enrolled in . which he frequently was scolded by his dad for his hellion behavior jdsklafjd

so it was a constant push and pull between charlie and his dad in trying to calm down his son .. which wyd he;s just a happy go lucky boy hsalkjf but anyway charlie was eventually enrolled in a soccer club so he could wear himself out by running all the time and tbh it kinda worked .. but also charlie actually enjoyed soccer so it worked out

his dad really thought he did something by keeping his teenage son out of trouble and letting him build teamwork skills ig ... mainly bc he wanted his only son to take over the jin empire of their hotel chain even though charlie was like :/ .. and his mom was a bit :/ bc she knew charlie wasn’t the type who would want the weight of this empire on his shoulders even though his oldest sister was more experienced

but fun times for dad bc lit it’s w his soccer friends that charlie realizes that whatever heterosexuality is .. that ain’t him sdjldkjs but yeah he finds out that he’s into guys just as much as he’s into girls and he has a crush on one of his best friends on the soccer team w him

charlie was able to disguise his crush as a solid bro friendship around his dad meanwhile him and his friend were leaning on the scale of more than friends and 10/10 were making out whenever they were alone so yeah ... things were swaggy for the first three months until charlie’s dad came home early from his trip from new york and walked into charlie’s room to see him fooling around with his friend

so yeah ... things didn’t go great after that and the jin household was so painfully tense where his dad refused to go on any international trips and kept a strong grip on charlie and pulled him out of his school’s soccer team .. it was a tough time and definitely miserable for charlie despite his mom’s best efforts to help soothe him

nearly a month following The Incident ( as he dad refers to it as ) he announced that 16 year old charlie was going to live with his aunt over in america and it was an absolute shit show at the house when his dad broke the news but the next day charlie found himself on a direct flight from shanghai to brindle bay where his aunt lives with her american husband and son

the move was a big adjustment for charlie and it was here that he started going by charlie bc the kids at his new school couldn’t pronounce ximen . originally he was a bit standoffish and reclusive bc his english was still shaky and he had an accent so this combination of things made him a target of some shitty xenophobic bullies and it put him down for a bit

it was a dark period that charlie doesn’t like to think back on and relied on the friendship he established with his cousin and it was through him that charlie began to blossom in brindle bay and make his own connections and realized that his dad is a dumbass bc he essentially sent him away for being into men but lmao !! sike dad !! bc now he gets to kiss boys if he wants without the rope around his neck from his dad

it’s been five years since charlie has been shipped to brindle bay and he keeps in contact with his sisters and mother and has visited shanghai a few times for some holidays and lets his dad think him being in america has helped him become more sensible and learn responsibility

when he graduated high school his mom offered to have him come home but charlie decided he wanted to stay more away from his dad for the time beginning and enrolled in college and got his degree in communication studies

it’s when he’s in school that he starts up his own podcast where he just discusses true crime and paranormal stories and such just bc it’s always been an interest of his .. he started it with his close friend that was his first Official friend in brindle bay and they’re two years into and it’s growing a strong listening base on spotify and apple music .. for comparison sake it’s a mix of buzzfeed unsolved and my favorite murder

but yeah overall charlie is an easy going guy who is usually seen with a smile on his face and just v fun loving , charismatic and loves talking to ppl ?? comes off v flirty but that’s just who he is bc he has that kinda vibe .. sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s flirting bc it comes like breathing . he means well and is a soft boy who misses his family but is scared to go back home to china officially

WANTED CONNECTIONS

someone who helped show charlie around when he first came to brindle bay and maybe they built a friendship from it

someone who maybe helped him improve on his english when he first came to town and charlie is forever grateful to them and feels indebted to them for being there for him when he was self conscious and needed help

his first relationship .. p self explanatory but charlie and your muse dated for a bit and it was nice and sweet but things ended amicably between the two and they still remain friends

maybe one or two fwb’s that charlie respects their friendship and somehow their arrangement happened and things are going good and having someone on call when he’s feeling needy is a+ .. whether or not smth angsty can stem from this can be debated

his first friend that he made when coming to town and charlie’s podcast buddy !!

maybe someone who has a crush on charlie but he’s stupid and oblivious and his flirting that comes as easy as breathing doesn’t help the situation

a good influence

a bad influence who is helping charlie embrace more of his hellion ways hfskd

or even someone who knows of his family’s wealth back in china and is trying to finagle their way into charlie’s good graces and hopefully try to get a cut of it

#bb;intro #this is just me rambling off so uHH sorry for that #if u read all this i luv u

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pengiesama · 5 years

Text

Too Many Cooks (Fic, Gen)

Title: Too Many Cooks Series: Tales of Zestiria Pairing: Gen Characters: Rose, Alisha, Malfore

Summary: Rose and company help Alisha protect a vital shipping lane from attack by a rampaging drake. "Luckily" for them, Rolance has sent their own Shepherd to help.

(Or, "The One Where Everyone Involved Learns a Lesson in Patience and Self-Control, and Also How Not to Stab People.")

Link: AO3

This was my entry for day one of the TOZ 4th Anniversary project, at @tozanniversary! Day two's prompt was “I’m the son of a provincial lard!”.

Check out the other fic and art entries here:

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Rolance and Hyland were now working together on a variety of initiatives. Rebuilding destroyed towns, reseeding blighted fields, purging the land of the hellions that still roamed and of the lingering pockets of resistance to the kingdoms’ treaty. Alisha, of course, worked tirelessly; alongside Sergei, when he was available, but always Rose. Rose was still styling on the Shepherd Incognito thing – she was just used to working in the shadows when it came to things outside the Sparrowfeathers business, and it was easier besides.

There were those who remembered the Shepherd Sorey, and tales of his deeds were spreading; tales made larger than life and more wild by his sudden disappearance, at the very same time hope returned to the land. Surely he will return when humanity becomes pure enough. He sleeps under the mountain, waiting for this day. Leave offerings at the mantle for his seraphic helpers to bring to him each night. Rose was kind of worried about how Sorey would react to having a religion built up around him when he finally woke up.

Rose knew that taking up the Shepherd gig wouldn’t be easy. Sure, Sorey was stuck handling the really hard stuff. (She sent up a little prayer every night to wish him well – she never prayed in the past, never thought anyone would listen, but now she knew that Sorey would and was and always will.) But she was stuck handling the really annoying stuff.

The political stuff.

The political stuff that you couldn’t solve by stabbing with a knife.

The political stuff that you could solve by stabbing with a knife but now you’ve got a very delicate truce situation to navigate and so you can’t.

“…and I tell you this in utter sincerity, and above all, humility: the moment I appeared on the scene, the hellion took a single look at me and turned tail! I spoke naught a word, but the foul creature surely understood the overwhelming holy power at my command.” Malfore nodded gravely, and adjusted that stupid fucking beret on his stupid fucking skull. “It is a heavy burden. I do not intend to upset your delicate feminine composure with my travel accounts – please do let me know if you feel that you are about to faint from terror. But I tell you these tales for a reason. Understand, ladies, that you are safe under my protection as we travel.”

“Cool story, bro,” Rose said. Alisha was stiff as a rail, walking several paces ahead of them, clearly too infuriated to trust herself to speak. “I bet that was totally a hellion and not just like, a fat raccoon you saw knocking over the garbage cans behind the Shrinechurch one time.”

“Yes, it was truly a saga for the ages,” Malfore said, clearly not having registered a word she said. “I am indeed writing a memoir about my experiences, so please, do be patient while the creative process works. Ah, but that brings to mind another encounter…”

The mission they were on today was, indeed, dangerous. They were out to investigate a string of destructive landslides that threatened to dam up a major shipping highway between Rolance and Hyland – which would bring trade, not to mention transport of relief supplies and doctors, to a screeching halt. Preliminary scouting around the area led to the grim conclusion that they were probably dealing with a drake. An impossible task for the Hyland princess and her troop of ordinary soldiers (and her totally ordinary merchant pal who was only tagging along to make sure their supply train kept running smoothly) to be expected to deal with herself. And so, Rolance had graciously allowed Hyland to borrow their Shepherd (who was Totally Legit, and definitely not a fake asshole who didn’t know a hellion from a hole in the ground) to help with the process of retaking the river.

Rose was used to humoring pompous windbags – it was part of the customer service gig. Even Edna and Lailah had learned to live with the situation for the time being. But Alisha…well. She’d been condescended to and insulted and disregarded by people all her life, and had taken it with a kind of martyr attitude; as if it was simply a test to make her a better knight. But Malfore seemed to really be stretching her patience to the breaking point. She’d hardly said a word the past few days – as if Malfore had even let them get a word in, with all his yapping, but even when they were in their tent alone together, she was as silent as a stone, and as prickly as a pufferfish every time Rose approached.

“May I explain Alisha’s struggle?” Lailah asked politely.

Rose jumped a mile at the sudden sound of Lailah’s voice in her head. Malfore laughed magnanimously, and gently patted Rose on her head like a scared puppy. He removed his hand before Rose could break his fucking fingers.

“Fear not, for as I am standing here in front of you today, you can be assured that this story has a happy end. Now, as I was saying, I was wooing the beautiful water seraph who had rescued me from my sinking vessel, when the pirates attacked…”

“I’m going to bury him in dirt and bugs tonight while he sleeps and you can’t stop me,” Edna said.

“Now, now,” Lailah said mildly, not even pretending to dissuade her. “Regarding Alisha’s stress, it is clear that she is upset by Malfore’s falsehoods above all.”

“That makes approximately all of us,” Rose whispered back under her breath. Gesticulating wildly as he mimed the pirate battle, Malfore didn’t notice one bit. “But she’s spent her whole life working with politicians. I’ve seen her with them before, and she’s never gotten like this even when they’re lying through their teeth.”

“It is the nature of Malfore’s falsehoods, specifically. She is clearly quite upset at the thought of him taking credit for your and Sorey’s hard work and sacrifice.”

“And she can’t even call him out on it, or bury him in bugs and dirt,” Edna added. “This Rolance treaty is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I don’t remember ever fighting off a hellion raccoon,” Rose said dubiously. “Or wooing a water seraph. Unless bringing that stack of books for Mikleo to read on his downtime counts.”

Mikleo was usually too preoccupied with tending to Sorey’s light in the ruins to come along on these missions, but this time it was probably for the best – he’d probably be stomping along ahead, fuming at Malfore’s bullshit right alongside Alisha.

Which, in turn, would have resulted in them both getting caught up in the sudden landslide that knocked Alisha off her feet and sent her tumbling down the mountain. Her form rapidly became a white and pink speck as it was swept away under a tide of mud and stone, down into the river below. Rose heard the telltale shriek of a drake, and jerked her eyes away from Alisha just in time to see the creature charging at them from the woods.

“Hepsin Yulind!”

Edna’s stone fists grasped the drake by its curled, goat-like horns. Rose dug the ornate heels of her boots into the ground; only barely managing to halt the drake’s charge with the armatus’ strength before it knocked her down the mountain and into the drink with Alisha. The drake, undaunted, thrashed its head in an attempt to break Rose’s grip.

“Think fast!” Edna snapped at her. “You can’t expect me to keep this up forever!”

Even if Edna’s grip remained true, their footing was becoming less and less existent, with every stomp and thrash of the drake’s cloven hooves. If they didn’t get on solid ground fast, both she and the drake would wind up careening down the mountainside – she had no idea where Alisha was down there, and would have no way to keep her from getting crushed by ten tons of malevolent scales. That would ruin her day even faster than Malfore rambling about pirates and racoons. She had no idea where that idiot had run off to – he certainly wasn’t helping, not that Rose would have wanted to have to deal with whatever his idea of “help” would be. Alas, Rose was the only Shepherd on call today. What a tragedy.

In situations like these, Rose liked to go by the mantra: What Would Sorey Do?

“Yeehaw!” Rose yeehawed yeehawingly, and flipped herself onto the drake’s back.

She held on for dear life as the drake shrieked and bucked. With the horns in her grip, she was able to steer them – inexpertly, and clumsily, but it was enough to get the drake to tangle itself in the trees and crash headlong into the mountain face. It was stunned, stunned long enough for Rose to summon Lailah’s power and get to work.

“Here,” Rose said hurriedly, lowering the unconscious earth seraph to the ground in front of Lailah. “Keep an eye on them, I’ve gotta—”

“Thank your radiant Lady Edna for her compassion?” Edna asked. She had Alisha held aloft in a bower of vines and flowers – Rose hadn’t noticed her slip away while she and Lailah purified the drake. Alisha was soaked from the river, and covered in scratches and bruises, but was conscious, and struggling against the vines that held her tight. “You’re welcome. Here’s your special delivery.”

“I—I’m so sorry,” Alisha managed to get out. Rose helped her down from the vines, and slung Alisha’s arm around her shoulders to steady her. “If I hadn’t been acting so childishly, I…I wouldn’t have put everyone in danger…”

“And we would have had no heads up that the drake was two seconds away from charging us flat.” Rose thumped her on the back, and Alisha grunted at the feeling. “Believe me, that could’ve gone way worse…speaking of worse, did you see if our friend came tumbling after you? We were down one Shepherd in that little scuffle.”

Alisha’s eyes narrowed, and her expression darkened at hearing of Malfore’s…lack of participation. “…no, I did not see whether he was knocked down alongside me. I suppose we must form a search party.”

“Don’t bother,” Edna said. She pointed into the trees with her umbrella. A telltale fallen beret pinpointed the location. “He’s cowering under a bush over there. Better go get him before the poison ivy does.”

Rose sighed. “Sometimes I really wish this Shepherd gig really was just fighting hellions. C’mon, I’ll help you walk…”

To his credit, Malfore only screamed a little when Rose drew back the leaves covering his hiding spot. He stared at Rose in wide-eyed terror, his complexion pale, his whole body shaking.

“Nice to see you’re well, Lord Shepherd,” Rose said. She dropped his beret back onto his head.

“You…how…” Malfore grasped for words. “You…wrestled the landslide itself, as if – as if it were some charging beast—”

Rose distantly recalled Lailah explaining that humans without resonance couldn’t quite perceive drakes – dragons were a different story, but before things got that bad, drakes could only be seen as natural disasters. Whirlwinds, typhoons. Landslides. Her escapades probably did look pretty damn weird to an outside observer.

It would be nice to tell him the truth. It would be nice to grab him by the ear, and forcibly share enough resonance with him to show him the real deal – show him what a fake he really was. But…Rose looked at Alisha, at the unhappy line of her mouth, at her bruised and battered body. She understood what was going through Alisha’s mind, even without Lailah’s voice to tell her. Alisha worked herself to the bone to improve relations with Rolance. She’d made so much progress, and they were helping so many people. As they helped people, the world’s malevolence lightened; as the world’s malevolence lightened, they helped Sorey. And to keep this going, all they had to do was humor an idiot.

Rose closed her eyes, and gently eased Alisha to stand on her own. She crossed her arms over her chest, and pressed one hand to her heart.

“I’ll tell you my secret – but only you,” Rose said, her expression grave. “I’m an alien from beyond the stars, fleeing from my planet that was destroyed when I was but a babe in my cradle. I was adopted as a baby by a simple farmer couple. This world’s yellow sun gives me ten times the strength of a normal human, and also I can shoot laser beams out of my eyes.”

Alisha blinked slowly, then pressed her fingers delicately to her skull, as if checking for a concussion. Lailah hummed thoughtfully and continued to heal the worst of Alisha’s injuries; saving the rest for when they had privacy.

Malfore squinted as he processed this information. “But…how did you learn to tame the landslide?”

“I grew up on a farm. It was a rock farm. A farm for rocks,” Rose explained, as Edna fed ideas in her ear. “Landslides were a basic occupational hazard. You know how it is.”

Malfore shakily rose to his feet, and dusted himself off. “I was born to one of Rolance’s most ancient and noble houses, so I’m afraid the finer points of farming may be lost on me…but thank you for assisting, visitor from beyond the stars. Had I been alone, I would have been able to best the hellion in perhaps a similar – but more elegant, of course – fashion, but I was too preoccupied with ensuring the safety of you and the Princess Alisha, and, alas, it very nearly spelled the doom of all three of us. My compassion has always been my greatest strength, and my greatest weakness.”

“Yeah, okay,” Rose said. “That’s totally probably what happened. How about we get turned around and get back on the road? I’m sure your bosses in Pendrago will love to hear about you getting this taken care of.”

“Oh, silly thing,” Malfore laughed. “The Shepherd serves no master but the people. But yes, yes, the Shrinechurch will want to hear my report. Do not worry – I will keep your secret safe, and will not speak of your involvement in the incident.”

“Thanks,” Rose said drily. “You’re a real pal.”

“The seraph we saved will follow along with us to the nearest town,” Lailah explained to Rose. “We can perform the necessary steps to install them as Lord of the Land there. They should be able to extend their domain to prevent any further malevolent influence on the sensitive areas of the shipping lanes.”

That, at least, made Alisha smile. Rose sighed and shook her head as they began walking. At least something good came out of this trip.

Though at least now she knew that she could pretty confidently tackle a goat.

#tales of zestiria #tales of zestiria the x #a tenderly crafted fanfiction #tozanniversary

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