#maybe it wouldn’t have gone anywhere. maybe it would’ve sucked and died immediately but i’d never know unless i tried!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nate-santos · 4 years

Text

O, Death || Nate & Morgan

@mor-beck-more-problems

Nate gets his tarot read! Nothing bad happens!

Nate had never had any sort of psychic reading done before, and while most might think the whole practice was fake or silly, he wasn’t so sure. At this point, Nate had seen enough to know that pretty much anything was possible, even the ability for someone to read his future with a few pieces of cardboard. He was overwhelmed with nerves all evening as he ran around his house making sure it didn’t look like it was entirely in disrepair. Sure, he’d just gone through some flooding and he’d never really made the interior feel like home aside from towers of take out boxes, but Morgan didn’t need to know that he lived such a sad life. Not that she wouldn’t be able to tell just by reading his future...god, was all this stuff really real? He paced the familiar path next to his front door as he waited for Morgan to arrive, jumping into action probably quicker than he really should when her knock finally came. “Hi! Hey! Welcome! Sorry- I’m uh...a little nervous...Would you like to come in?”

Morgan felt bad for how easily Nate fell off her radar. He’d admitted he was a zombie to her, over the internet, and he was always on the town social media checking in on things or saying nice things about other people. And somehow he was willing to pay her twenty bucks to hang out and give him a tarot reading despite knowing divination wasn’t her magic department. If she hadn’t needed the money so bad, she would’ve taken back the idea of compensation to get some good energy going in her favor. “Hey!” She said brightly. “Love to!” She stepped inside and--wow. Maybe the reason Nate was so nice for the same reason she tried to be: his existence away from the rest of the world was so...sad. “This is...great! Did you build the whole place yourself? It’s enormous.” She asked, tiptoeing around the takeout. It was nice, or it could be nice, if he knew how to give it a little love. She wandered to the back of the main room and looked out the windows. Trees on all sides and the brightest view of the night sky and the waxing moon. Nate would have made a good warlock, she decided.

Nate ran a hand through his hair, nervously looking for something to occupy his antsy fingers as Morgan looked around his sparse living space. He had been so proud of the design, and looking over the space now, he felt an overwhelming surge of guilt at how he was treating his “dream” home. This was supposed to be he and Mari’s forever house and he had only decorated it with take out boxes and safety proofing equipment. It was so pathetic when he looked at it through the lens of someone else. “Y-yeah! I designed it myself...I wanted to have a nice view and stuff...it was uh...planned for a while. Didn’t think I’d build it in this town but- well…” He trailed off, his eyes falling to his feet. “So uh...where are we supposed to do this? Do you need candles or something? ‘Cause I don’t think I have any...fire hazard and all that.”

“Well you definitely got the view down with these windows. And this deck!” Morgan exclaimed. She swiveled back over to him. “I brought the atmospheric candles, don’t worry. And your homeopath-tastic cleanser of choice. You seem like you might be a cedar and juniper kind of guy, but I also have lavender if you want to have a softer mood. And we can do it anywhere!” Immediately after she said this, however, she had a distinct feeling that no amount of magic, real or otherwise, would make this living room the kind of space where you would feel cozy hashing out your feelings. “But, since you’re asking, I would love to spend some time on your porch! It’s so nice out, it’d be a shame not to, right?”

Nate smiled lightly at Morgan’s positivity. The whole experience made him nervous, but then again, most things made him nervous. But she had an optimism to her that made Nate remember what it was like to feel happy, even if his nerves were overtaking him. “Oh uh...I’m not sure? I don’t really know what any of those smells...do? But I think uh...softer might be...ideal?” Nate kicked at the toes of his shoes, unsure what to do with himself. “Outside? Uh- yeah, sure!” Nate glanced out the window, noting the bright sky, the nearly full moon reflecting on the river. It did look peaceful, almost like it wasn’t the back yard of a man who would become a monster once he died. Nate grabbed a few blankets and led the way out to the porch, plugging in the few strands of twinkle lights he’d installed and rarely ever used. “Is this ok? Or should I turn them off? I’m- I’m sorry, I’m a little nervous…”

Morgan beamed at Nate, nervous about everything, even a little aromatherapy. But, yep, in spite of his lumberjack figure, Nate was as soft as a flower petal inside. If she’d met him in person before, she probably wouldn’t have bothered with the cedar in the first place. “Lavender is perfect,” she said.

Somehow she ended up leading the way to the porch and setting out space for them. Blanket, candles, lavender. “Are you kidding? The lights are perfect! You need to have people over more often, you could throw some amazing parties!” But, that was probably not going to happen anytime soon, if they were being realistic. Morgan took her seat on one end and gestured for Nate to take the spot opposite. When he was ready, she passed him the deck, “So, what do you want to know about your life right now, Nate?”

Nate chuckled. As if he even knew enough people to have a party at his place. Even though he’d originally designed it for entertaining, without Mari around, it just felt...empty. All the time. And that was fine. Sometimes Nate thought maybe he liked the sadness it brought. It was like a penance for not being there to save her. As if being bitten by a zombie wasn’t bad enough. “I uh- yeah...maybe when it gets warmer out,” he hedged. The view overlooking the river would be the perfect backdrop for a backyard BBQ, complete with neighborhood kids running around and his friends laughing over a beer. Nate shooks the thought out of his head. He settled in, focusing back to the present. “I-” he paused, wringing his hands in his lap. “Will I die soon?”

“Nate! Your whole future isn’t written in stone! And there’s nothing in you that could have the answer for that besides your own fear. Ask something that acknowledges that you have some agency over yourself. Fate--” Morgan hesitated. Fate, as far as she could tell from Deirdre, was a real and terrifying bitch. Fate wanted you for life, sometimes. But Fate couldn’t possibly have her hands in everything. There was too much universe and too much magic for her to steal Nate’s potential on the mortal plane or her fucked up family curse. Right? “Fate doesn’t have every card in the deck. You have some power, right now, to choose how your life takes shape. Doesn’t it matter how? Isn’t there anything you want to make sure happens before the end?”

Nate stared at his hands, falling silent for a long while. He wasn’t sure that he did have agency over when he was going to die. He liked to think he did, and he sure did try hard to make sure it wasn’t any time soon, but at the end of the day, he would still become a monster when it happened. For all his research and all his attempts, there was still nothing he could do to change that. He racked his brain trying to think of an easier question, perhaps something that might even ease his mind, if only for a moment. “Ok...ok…” Nate crossed his legs and sucked in a long breath. “Will I...find peace? Before the end?”

“There you go,” Morgan said. “How will you? What do you need, right now, in order to find peace at the end? She took the cards up and gave them a shuffle, thinking of Nate all the while, and laid them out in an arc facing him. The fireflies buzzed gently in the air, looping their peaceful infinities. They buzzed near Morgan’s neck and dipped across Nate’s vision. She hoped, for his sake, the pull of life to him was a good sign. Okay, thinking about what you need, right now, to find your peace, draw a card.”

Truly, Nate wasn’t sure what it was that would bring him peace. Seeing Mari one last time? A guarantee than once he died, he wouldn’t wake up and murder the first person he saw, consuming their brains? Knowledge that there was a real cure to what he was? He closed his eyes for a moment, centering himself as much as possible. He resisted the urge to swat at the fireflies, knowing they weren’t poisonous, before reaching out to pull his first card. Flipping it over, his stomach knotted, unsure what it meant. “Is that...good?”

The card was Death. Poor Nate, Morgan thought with a sigh. It was good, insofar as anything was good, but it sure would’ve been helpful if the cards had been less...aggressive. “So, you may not believe it, but yes. This isn’t about literal dying, it’s about letting go. Letting something that’s tired, broken, and no longer helping you...die. And out of that passing, finding space for something new to take shape.” She gave Nate the most encouraging smile she could muster. “Sometimes death is something that is, something that fits into the balance of everything. This Death, it only comes for you when it’s really time. When the bones your dragging are ready to be laid to rest. Especially when those bones are old stories you’re used to telling yourself that just don’t do what they’re supposed to anymore. Am I making any sense?”

Nate wasn’t familiar with tarot cards or their meanings, but a card that literally reads DEATH couldn’t be good. He could feel the familiar wave of panic cresting over him and his hands gripped his chair. “Y-you sure? It’s- literally...it’s death!” Nate rocked slowly, trying to calm himself. Death and rebirth. Death of things he’s been carrying around. Death of his fear of dying? Did that even make sense? Nate wrapped his arms around himself and looked up at Morgan. “Is- there another...would the next card maybe...be better?”

“Nate, please don’t freak out,” Morgan urged gently. “Death can be--” She hesitated, wondering for a moment if there wasn’t something in the cardstock after all that knew she was here and taking a two-way jab. “--Even real death doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It can just be. Or be a gift. I don’t know how exactly, I just heard it from someone who’d seen a lot of it and that’s not what this is about anyway, I want to emphasize that--but it’s possible. And if even real death can be a gift, then letting go of this something in you can be a gift too. It just wants you to let go. As gently as you can. And it’ll be caught, and so will the rest of you. You won’t fall when you let go. This Death will catch you and the whole world will open up.” She smiled sadly at him, and decided not to question who she was more sorry for in that moment. “But, you should definitely draw another card!” She said, straightening herself up with cheer. “Three card pulls are nice and easy.”

Nate drew.

“Ooh! Look how strong he is, right? This is what you’re really aiming for, what’s waiting for you after you’re caught! The Hierophant is a master teacher. He’s got all the rules, the knowledge, usually in some kind of organized structure? And, as counter-intuitive as it might seem, you could actually move closer to finding that kind of firm, organized knowledge if you let go. Or maybe there’s someone you know like this already, and they want to help you! It doesn’t have to be a man, I should probably mention that. All these energies are around and in us. It’s what they’re offering you that’s important. Is that--does that--make you feel any better?”

Nate struggled to calm his breathing, squeezing his eyes shut before managing to suck in a few deeper breaths, forcing serenity into his body. He was afraid to open them, to see the next card that could destroy his future. But what was he gonna do? Chicken out? Pretend like any of this wasn’t real? Maybe...maybe he would get caught. Maybe Morgan was right. Maybe death wasn’t the death he thought. Nate slowly opened his eyes and stared down at the cards, flipping the next. Morgan’s reaction was all he needed to feel the smallest bit better. “Y-yeah,” he started, feeling one of the zillions of stress knots in his stomach start to loosen. But as was always the way with Nate’s luck, a shadowy figure sent him straight into another panic. “But...uh, M-Morgan? Were you uh...expecting anyone else?” His eyes were locked on the figure behind Morgan, making its slow approach towards the house. “C-cause my...neighbors are...out of town….”

Morgan was preparing to explain the next card, the Hanged Man, making a full set of major arcana cards, no suits, just big, demanding energy, when she noticed Nate go still with alarm. “Someone else?” She asked, confused. She looked over her shoulder and--

No.

No, this was bullshit. She was not seeing him right now. This was some evil, cursed, supernatural bullshit. Morgan felt sick. She sank onto her hands, her chest tightening. His face had been all wrong, sagging to one side, swollen on the other from the impact of hitting that tree, like on that last day. Morgan fixed her eyes on the deck, waiting to see his staggering footsteps. She waited. Nothing. Morgan risked a look up and-- nothing still. “Fuck this,” she hissed, and scrambled to her feet towards the door.

Nate scrambled backwards, feeling the sense of unease rolling off of Morgan in waves. Whoever this was was not welcome here. “W-where are you going? What’s happening??” He rushed after her pulling them both into the house and locking the door out of reflex. “Do you know that person?” His brows furrowed, not understanding why she might have invited someone else to their reading, but honestly hoping she did. It was better than the alternative which of course was that some shambling stranger was wandering around his yard in the pitch black darkness. As if he wasn’t already horrified of his future.

Morgan pressed her back to the door. “Person?” Morgan hissed through her teeth, voice shrill. “What kind of person disappears as soon as you stop looking at them!” Was this some kind of hex? More White Crest bullshit? Morgan’s brain was firing too fast for her to think, and she didn’t even know half the critters that lived in the cursed place. But whatever was making her see her Dad, mangled and estranged from his real self as he’d been on the day she lost him, after the time she’d had with the treasure chest coins, was on her list. “That is a thing,” she growled. “Some stupid curse, some ghost out of a stick or I don’t even know! But I am not putting up with this!” She went to her bag and started rummaging. Nothing stood out, nothing seemed right, she was running too fast from this to think. “What do you know about the weird things here?”

Nate shrank back at Morgan’s change in demeanor. She’d been so calming before the appearance of the man, though Nate couldn’t fault her. He was straight up terrified now. “I don’t know!! But it- it looked like a person!!” Nate eyed the door, knowing his locks were more than secure, but if that...thing wasn’t a person after all, would all the locks in the world even work? “I know...there’s a lot of it? Everything’s weird?” He wasn’t sure what Morgan had in her bag that could help them right now, but he prayed she knew more than he did about this sort of thing.

Peeking through the door’s window, Nate’s stomach dropped to his knees. No longer did he see the figure of a man, but a lumbering woman, limping along with one arm barely hanging onto her shoulder. In the pale moonlight, there was no mistaking her. Mari. Nate crashed to his knees, his head slamming hard against the door as sobs raked through him. “N-no no no no….she’s- she can’t be-” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nate wanted to try to help Morgan, but it was all he could do to breathe. His love had come back after all. It only took nine years, but she’d finally found him. He wondered if she were able to eat normally she might have some sort of chance at a real life, like Remmy had. Crawling over to the front window, he saw Mari’s intestines trailing behind her, muscle and raw sinew draped across her shoulders like some sick shawl from beyond the grave. “M-Morgan-” Nate croaked, pointing out the window.

Morgan screwed her eyes shut and tried to remember breathing. In. Hold. Out. She was doing it too quicky, and under her lids she saw the palm tree lunging towards them, the way his body bounced against the steering wheel on impact, how still he was. She opened them. What had Nate said? She? “‘She’ who? What are you talking about?” Morgan turned and staggered back. The figure was pulverised, bloody and draped in gore. “Do you--do you know her?” Distracted, Morgan found her iron and salt. If this thing wasn’t a ghost, it was at least ghost adjacent. That had to mean something. “Nate, get back from the window. She’s not--whoever you think she is. If this turns out to be another bullshit curse thing...” she added through her teeth. There was nothing to say after.

Nate shuffled himself backwards away from the window, clenching his eyes shut. Whoever - whatever Morgan had seen had to have been awful if it had snapped her into such a frenzy. If it was anything like Nate’s ghost from the past, he wondered how she could still make complete sentences. Then again, Morgan seemed a good deal stronger than Nate in a lot of ways. He backed himself up against his weathered couch and wrapped his arms around his knees, waiting for the next instruction. “W-what kind of curse?” He stammered through sobs. “She’s- it’s not really- please tell me it’s not really-” another round of sobs choked him off.

Morgan had to bend over to keep from looking at the broken girl in the window. Her stomach was trying to spiral its way up to her throat and having the iron and the salt didn’t really solve the problem of ‘now you have to get outside and touch it with those things.’ And Morgan knew just like she knew that she’d had it too nice, too balanced, too cozy, that if she went out to take a swing at that thing, it would turn back into her dad. Or maybe her mom. Or maybe her college roommate, freshly lacerated with glass from her fall. And she wasn’t ready for that. She couldn’t stomach this punch from the universe. Even if it meant another one would find her later, she’d handle it over this. “No,” she snapped, breath hollow in her throat, “No it’s not really her! I don’t know what it really is but it’s mean and it’s awful and if I made this happen with my stupid danger zone, I’m sorry!” She straightened up and looked around the house. Suddenly it seemed like there were too many windows, too many places for it to find her, and her Subaru was too far away for comfort. “Where’s your toolbox? You’re gonna need salt and iron and to stop looking at whatever that asshole is! Just stop, stop looking at it, it’s just being cruel!” Her voice was growing shrill as she spoke, the more she fought herself for control, the more it seemed to run away from her. She went for the kitchen and started pulling open drawers and cabinets, pulling out anything that looked close enough to what she needed that it would transmute easily and shoving it onto her pop socket, til there was a steady pile of each. The knives she left alone. Maybe Nate would be able to use it in a pinch. “I’m sorry,” she said again, arming herself with one of the extras. It made her feel safer, having a spare.

Nate peered up at Morgan with tears in his eyes. He didn’t take it personally, but her biting tone cut through him like a knife with his nerves as raw as they were. Shrinking into himself he muttered a response. “T-tools are- the shed-” Sobs continued to crash through him, along with every image of Mari’s mangled corpse from the woods so many years ago compiled with these new fresh horrors. His hands slapped to his head, fingers curling his locks into knots. Morgan flitted around him in a frenzy, ripping open drawers and pulling out random knick knacks. It was clear out of the two of them who would be useful when the apocalypse came and who would immediately turn into a blubbering mess, incapable of doing any real help. Whatever magical strength had come over him when he saved Taylor and her boat was beyond his reach now. Sucking in as much air as he could between sobs, Nate tried to pull himself together, just in time to see Morgan preparing to flee. Oh no….no no no no no. She couldn’t leave him here with- her. “W-where are you going?!”

Morgan had her jaw set and her resolve doubled down. She could take a lot from her curse. She had, in fact, already taken a lot. More than a lot of people she knew. But this was too soon, too much, and the curse magic could call her up another time to yell about it. Throw something different. Mulligan on the misery. She marched to the door, thinking about how much she needed to see, what she really needed to focus on to get out of here alive. “I just can’t do this right now Nate!” she said. “But whatever that thing is, it’s not your friend, so don’t look at it!” And before her conscience or her fear could reach up to pull her back, she was out the door, gunning for the safety of her Subaru. It fluttered comfortingly to life and in the dim, she leveled her gaze to only the barest, closest strip of the road. Behind her she heard something like buzzing, but for all she knew it was the thrum of her own brain trying to shut away what she’d seen.

#chatzy #o death #tw gore #wickedswriting

9 notes · View notes

roseseabiscuit-blog · 5 years

Text

Create and Destroy

So hey. This is my first fanfiction on here. It's a Frerard because I'm actually fucking trash. It probably won't be great because I'm writing it on my tablet which has the shittiest keyboard ever so any mistakes I make and fail to correct immediately, I apologise, grammar police. ---- This is set in the Killjoy era, before the boys ever became the Killjoys. To be honest, I don't think they'll ever become the Killjoys, so this is more like an alternate timeline when they were younger but still refused to stay quiet. Set in Battery City and with the looks of the Killjoy boys. So sit down, buckle your metaphorical seatbelts and get ready for a depressing story with red hair, riots and rulebreakers. By the way, this was partly inspired by the story 'Deathwish 5000' that's on here so I highly recommend that.

----

The street lights were casting a green glow on the whole city, faded shadows of passing figures outlined with a neon haze that made everything seem futuristic. Frank's legs hurt, more than usual that is. They ached from a long day at work and he wouldn't be able to get any more medication until he'd worked at least another week at that shitty labour job. Just hauling bricks for eighteen hours for a meagre salary of a couple hundred Carbons at the end of the month. If he didn't have to pay rent or live, Frank would've given up the hard labour jobs to work as a freelance engineer, but unfortunately life happened.

The air was cold. Colder than it should have been for that time of year. He could see the tall black smoke clouds towering over the buildings that came from the factories and he felt his chest tighten, threatening to start making him cough. No matter how long you lived in Battery City, your lungs never adjusted to the air pollution. Everywhere else had it better. Even the Zones below them had better air.

Groaning with the effort, Frank pushed open the door of his wooden shack to call home. His roommate and best friend, Ray, was lounged on the sofa eating that God awful Power Pup tinned food. Tasteless mushy meat substitute that refused to taste of anything apart from water apparently. He scrunched up his nose in disgust, having to blow his hair out of his face to see Ray properly. It needed cutting. Maybe he could trade Ryan something for some scissors? What did they even have left to trade?

"Stop pulling faces. You'll get wrinkles and then none of the pretty boys will want you, just the old ugly ones from the really rough side of Battery," Ray mumbled through a mouthful of synthetic mush. He simply flipped him off and pulled his face into an uglier expression that soon morphed into one of pain. His legs burned with excruciating pain and he fell back into the mattress that did nothing to ease him. " Shitty day, huh? " He could hardly nod. "Ask them to give you those upgrades for your legs. They're obviously giving you grief again and they'd lose a valuable worker if you couldn't get up at all. It'll happen one day, Frank."

"No it won't, Ray, and you know it. I'm disposable to society. Early twenties, no living family, only one real friend with not enough money to sue them. For all anyone cares, including myself, they could arrest me for one of the many fights I've been in and blow my brains out."

"I care," Ray muttered after a few minutes of quiet.

Frank chuckled painfully. "I know you do." He glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing the letters indicate that it was a Friday. "Hey, aren't you going to town with that Mikey kid today?"

"Nah. His brother's moving in around here and he's going to meet him at the Elevators. Apparently the guy wouldn't survive a day around here without him. Needs teaching the ways of Battery, hey?" Frank almost felt bad for this kid who he didn't know. Why was he coming to a city like theirs if he couldn't defend himself? Everyone he knew carried some sort of weapon - Frank himself had a knife and his reputation to get into fights too big for him (and winning) and Ray had a stolen ray gun because 'come on Frank, it's perfect!'. As much as he hated to admit it, it was pretty perfect and he sort of wished he had a weapon named after him that he could carry around.

With much effort, Frank sat up, leaned down and began detaching the metal that he had on his legs. It always burnt when they were removed; the ancient wiring in them had the tendency to overheat and the cold air stung like a bitch. He always ended up staring at his legs for a while afterwards, sometimes needing Ray to break him out of it. His legs were skinny and frail from years of malnourishment, not much different from the rest of his body, but they were always redder than they should be and felt charred under his fingertips. It made him feel like a freak, like someone who should be locked up in one of those mental places that they had near the hospitals. An outcast.

For his whole life, Frank never felt like he had fit in properly. In the first stage of school - it was simply called First (no fancy names) and ran from ages four to seven - he was picked on for being smaller than the other boys. In Second, he was picked on for having a poor family and bad legs. Third was for hating running because he physically couldn't and Fourth, the final compulsory year, was for liking the other boys. But towards the end, he built a robot for one of the underground fighters and it got around that he was fighting in back alleys with dickheads who refused to back away. A few of them cornered him on his way home and safe to say they came in the school the next day covered in bruises and with a few cuts and broken bones. No one crossed him again after that day.

And yet he still didn't fit in. His family couldn't afford to pay for him to get an Implant, a newly developed technology that fitted into your brain to let you stay connected at all time, so the few friends he had started drifting away from him. Then they all got girlfriends and married, and he was left alone again. Installing security systems for a few Carbons in the day, building fight bots at night and sleeping on the streets. It sucked, but at least he could send the money to his family. But then his father died, then his mother, and then he was truly alone. So he bought a house and invited guys back to sleep, and one of them just happened to be Ray. Once Ray realised that Frank was just lonely, they became friends and the rest is history. Literally.

He breathed out as the pain finally began to subside and shuffled backwards so his head was resting on the lumpy pillow. He wished that he had enough money to buy a half decent house or so that he could start building those bots again. Over the few years that the pair had lived in the house, Frank had never built a bot. They simply didn't have the materials or the money to buy some that were good enough to hold up in a real robot fight. Those could get bad; he'd gone to one once with Ray (Mikey was supposed to have fought but never did) and the robot fighting had pulled a knife on the other one and ended up slicing the operator.

"Hey Frank?" He hummed to show he was listening. "If we had enough money, would you move away from Battery? "

He thought about this for a long while. There was so many good memories from living here - the girl he'd met when he was younger, Sarah, who used to be his best friend: his first kiss with a boy in a alleyway after he'd beaten the same boy to a pulp in a fight: the time he'd climbed up onto the roof of one of the tallest buildings in the city with Ray and felt so alive. But that had left his legs in a terrible state for days on end and resulted in him getting the metal support legs from BLind. And there were bad memories on most streets that he used to roam.

He came to his conclusion pretty easily, actually. "No. I think... I think I'd stay here, maybe move to a better house, you know, as a huge fuck you to BL, but I'd stay here. It's my whole life here. I've never lived anywhere else. Plus, I'm pretty sure the guy I'm going to marry is out there somewhere. In this city right now."

Ray laughed and fell quiet again as Frank began to think. What if he was right? The guy who he would marry could be so close to him. They could have passed on the street this morning, or an hour ago. What would he want him to look like? Less wild looking than he was; short natural hair, hard working, strong. Not frail and weak and only good with his hands, but really talented and strong. A good job, hopefully, but it wouldn't really matter of they were happy. Maybe some tattoos, but hopefully no glowing ones like Frank had. That shit hurt like hell.

Whatever. He could be out there, in that smoke enclosed city, amongst the crowds. He could be alone, or in love, or hurting. He could be fighting or sleeping or working and Frank would never know.

#frerard #ryden #fanfic #frerard fanfiction #killjoys #petekey #party x ghoul

9 notes · View notes

rreader · 7 years

Note

Could maybe write something with Jaime Lannister and the reader. The reader is Ned Starks bastard daughter (known to be a great beauty) and Jaime meets her for the first time when he comes to Winterfell and they speak alone outside during the feast. They get a little touchy and what not. The rest is up to you. Thank you :)

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x ReaderFandom: GoT ; ASoIaFWarnings: oral sex ; tiny (super tiny) bit of angst

A/N: hello, love! soo, I wasn’t sure whether you wanted me to write angst or smut, so I decided to write a little bit of both :) hope you like it

*****

“Lotof uptight lords they are, if you ask me,” Jon mumbled, standing nextto you, both of you far away from the Stark family, despite of the fact that bothof you were the children of Ned as well.

Yousmiled a little and got up on your tiptoes, trying to see a little more of the King and Queen.

“Idon’t know.. Maybe they’re nice,” you turned your head to look athim and had to laugh at the way he was eyeing you. “All right.Forget I said anything.”

Inthe meantime, Jaime took one good look at all the Stark children andthen an even longer look at Sansa, who smiled a bit shyly at him.

“Say,Lord Stark. Where is your other daughter? (Y/N), isn’t it? I heardshe was a feast for the eyes.”

Robertlooked around as well and nodded.

“He’sright! Where is (Y/N)? Haven’t seen her since she was a babe!”

Nedglanced at Catelyn, who tried her best to keep smiling, despite her being angry, that they even mentioned you. Always so, so angry..And she wasn’t the only one. Sansa’s smile faltered a as well. She must have thought that Ser Jaime might have been fancying her, even if he was much older than her.

“She’shere,” was all that Ned said, trying not to make his wife any more furious than she already was.

Jaimewas a bit disappointed, but that look quickly vanished when herealized the look that Cersei was throwing him.

Theywere too far away for you to hear that conversation, but you stayedwhere you were, until they all disappeared inside the halls of thecastle for the great feast.

Jonhad gone off to his dummy he could attack, or so he had said. You just wanderedaround, pretty much aimlessly.

Youweren’t allowed inside, but didn’t have anything to do outside,either.

Ultimately,you sat down with some peasant girls and gossiped about the handsome JaimeLannister. Basically, it was a lot of giggling and whispering. Butonce the topic switched from the handsome Jaime Lannister to thehandsome Jon Snow, you decided it was time to leave. You reallydidn’t want to hear what they’d do to your brother, if only he wanted them like they wanted him.

Youwalked over to the stables, when an unfamiliar voice suddenlyspoke.

“Well,well, well. I’ve been searching the entire castle for you and findyou out here?”

Youturned around and quickly curtsied when Jaime stood in front of you.

“My, they really understated your beauty,” he grinned at you.

Yousmiled and blushed a little.

“It’san honor to meet you, Ser Jaime.”

“Believeme, I am the honored one, here,” he softly grabbed your hand andplaced a kiss on the back of it, his eyes never leaving yours, “You are more beautiful than the tales I’ve heard.”

“Tales?” surprise was written all over your face, “I really don’t think they were talking about me, my Lord.”

“You’dbe surprised, then.”

Heslowly straightened his back and looked around.

“Isthere anywhere you and I could sit down and talk? I’d love to get toknow you.”

“Won’tthey miss you inside, my Lord?”

“Idon’t care,” he stated simply. It seemed like he wasn’t here by choice, but because his sister was the queen and he had to come.

So you nodded and decided to take him to the godswood. It was a beautiful and quietplace. Away from the festivities and not everyone was allowed to be in here.

“It’sbeautiful here,” he said, admiring the tree.

Your mouth curled into a smile and you sat down on one of the stones, while he did the same on the stone opposite of you.

“So..what can I tell you about myself, my Lord?”

“Please..call me Jaime.”

Oh, the way he looked at you, with those damned blue eyes that made you want to get lost in them.

“As you wish..what can I tell you about myself, Jaime?”

“Iwonder.. all these men inside the halls right now, admiring yoursister Sansa.. while they should all be looking at you,” he was genuinely curious. Sansa would make a fine woman one day, true, but you? You were something out of a fairytale. Your beautiful (Y/E/C) eyes, your stunning (Y/H/C) hair, that framed your face so perfectly and those features..

“Sansais a Stark. I am merely a Stark bastard. Most men don’t like that. Or so I’veheard,” you looked down to your hands, a little ashamed.

Beinga bastard had made things hard for you, ever since you were a littlegirl. Sure, being the daughter of Ned Stark had its perks and yousure had it better than some other girls, but that ‘bastard’ labelwasn’t something you were glad of having.

“Isuppose it’s good then, that I am not most men.”

Youlooked at him from under your eyelashes and a moment later, his handfound its’ way onto your thigh, but you quickly stopped him, beforehe could find his way to where you wanted it to be so desperately.

“Not here..,” you got up from the stone, your hands smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress, “But if youfollow me..-,” a wicked smile formed on your face.

He stood up as well, being only inches away from you.

“Lead on,” he whispered, his grin matching your own and you did what he asked, leading him towards the stables and up to where the hay was stocked.

Itwas probably around midnight now, most of the people of Winterfellhad gone to bed, the others were still inside because of the feast,so no one would disturb you up here.

“Thisis the best I can do,” you let your eyes wander for a moment,before you turned around to face him.

“Oh,I don’t mind,” his voice was low and you could basically hear thelust in it.

It only took two short steps for him to wrap his arms around your body and kiss you so passionately, that you immedaitely let out a moan.

His tongue devoured your mouth, his hands roamed over your body, while your own hands were placed flat on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat through the leather he was wearing and it seemed like he was as excited as you were.

Asecond later, he had pinned you against the wooden floor covered inhay – so at least it would be comfortable – and was kissing your neck, his hand already under your dress and between your spread legs.

“So eager,” he whispered against your throat, biting into the flesh, then sucking on it a moment later.

You bit on your index finger, so you wouldn’t scream when you felt two of his fingers enter you and push in and out of you mercilessly, while his thumb rubbed over that bundle of nerves that made you see stars. You arched your back and tried to find something to hold onto with your other hand, but he simply grabbed it, just like your other hand, that you previously used to cover up your moans.

“Now, now. Don’t you hold back,” it seemed like he was only going faster now, staring deeply into your eyes and doing that until you finally orgasmed and screamed so loud, that you were sure every living soul in Winterfell had heard you.

He laughed devilishly, taking a good long look at you.

Only seeing you like that.. legs so wide apart, not completely undressed, yet looking ravaged, your breast heaving heavily, still trying to calm down from your orgasm.. it made him really hard and you hadn’t even touched him yet.

He opened up his breeches and put his hand around his dick, giving it a few pumps, while his eyes never left your body.

You started grinning when he started pleasuring himself and as soon as your body allowed you to, got up on your knees and pushed him down, so he was the one lying on the floor.

“Let me return the favor, Jaime,” his name rolled from your lips like he was a god and he couldn’t help but moan.

He leaned his back against a stack of hay, while your tongue swiped deliciously along his dick, then you immediately took him into your mouth and sighed, the vibrations of it making Jaime hiss.

He closed his eyes, his hand grabbing your hair, while his other arm rested on the hay. He was panting hard already. You doubted that it would take long for him to come.

After a while, you replaced your mouth with your hand and kissed your way up his chest until you were right in front of his mouth.

“How are you feeling, Jaime?” you whispered seductively against his lips.

He wasn’t in any state to answer. His head fell back, his legs felt limp and all he could do was moan, especially when the speed of your hand fastened.

You chuckled lowly and decided to give him the happy ending he deserved. Your mouth took over once more and this time, you took him in as deeply as you could.

If he hadn’t been feeling like a puddle, he would’ve thrusted into your mouth like there was no tomorrow, but instead, he simply let you throat him as much as you could and only a few moments later, came with your name falling from his lips.

After he had spilled himself inside you, you swallowed it all and wiped your mouth clean with the back of your hand, both of you grinning at each other, exhaustion written all over your face.

But the lust in your eyes hadn’t died down just yet and neither had it in his.

So you simply straddled him and placed your hands on his chest.

And here you would’ve thought that the days with the King and Queen here in Winterfell would be horribly dull.

#Anonymous #jaime lannister x reader #jaime x reader #jaime lannister imagine #jaime imagine #got imagine #game of thrones imagine #asoiaf #got #game of thrones #jaime lannister #jaime #reader #requests

228 notes · View notes

koganphrancis · 6 years

Photo

Actual footage of Ian trying to wake up his dick.

Season H8 Episode 3: Where Everything’s Made Up And The Points Don’t Matter

The good(ish) news about this week’s episode is that compared to last week’s, nothing hurt all that much and no groups of innocent people were shamed.

The bad news is-it still sucked. It was written by the evil Krista Vernoff and had very little to do with what had gone on the week before. Ian and Terror, in particular, seemed to have no connection with what happened in the last episode (except we saw a shot of Ian’s shitty tattoo at the end).

Since the demon show is continuing at least one more season, I wish they’d force writers to read the scripts they didn’t write, instead of (I’m assuming) just getting summaries or following general ideas on the white board.

Anyway, almost all the troubles the gang was facing last week disappeared as if by magic-or really crappy script writing.

Svetlana and Vee made up in less than 30 seconds. While I’m glad for Svetlana, what was the point of even having her “impounded” for such a short time? And the authorities are just going to drop the whole sex trade excuse Vee used to have her taken into custody? And I guess maybe this will set up tension when they’re all working together at the bar again-but maybe not? It was dumb.

Kev had a bunch of DNA testing done-um, how are they going to pay for that?-and found out he’s Bart from Kentucky and his family tree only has one branch. Can’t wait to see where this inbred storyline is going (please read that in a very sarcastic tone). Last week’s bears are about to be replaced by next week’s hicks, maybe. Smell that comedy gold!

Youens plowed his car into a house and even that-or the threat of prison-wasn’t enough of a wake up call to try to return to sobriety. (Why is he off the wagon after getting Lip on it? I’m pretty sure Krista didn’t bother to write a reason, or maybe I was so bored I missed it.) The main thing I took away from this part of the story was when Youens says if he had killed the woman in the house with his car, he would’ve gotten 20 years for vehicular homicide. Really? And Mickey got 15 for NOT killing a woman who was shooting at him when the cops showed up? And with no physical evidence or witness testimony that he had tried to kill Sammi? Wow, ain’t that a bitch?

Neil dumped Debbie (something Snore and Terror can’t seem to do with their Gallaghers) and told her she’s a horrible person. When Debbie repeats that to her family, none of them even question it or try to tell her she’s not.

Liam was barely in it.

Frank is all into this mellow “I’m a saint” thing now and it’s just zzzz.

Fiona gets a tenant for the empty apartment, but the evil gf of Nessa is waiting on the staircase in her daisy dukes when he comes out from seeing the place and lies to him about bedbugs so Fi will rent the place to her friends, but for less money. Cuz all these coincidences could totally happen-from her friends needing a place to Mel being on the spot when the one qualified renter comes to see the place. Later Fi goes all South Side on Mel and it was so damn boring. Rumbling over an apartment rental? Yawn.

No Snore in this episode, but Lip does mention how he can’t even take care of Lucas anymore, so I’m betting we don’t see the kid ever again again. It’s no big loss to the show, but it’s so stupid that Snore has no problems/struggles raising a kid on her own.

Carl loses the hot tub (has to sell it for quick cash-or the meth dealer took it-I wasn’t paying close enough attention-he’s there when it’s taken away and he takes Carl’s towel from around his neck and that was actually kinda funny), and somehow (magic?) knows how to drive and operate a backhoe. That someone left the keys in at the cemetery. Krista, how many coincidences am I supposed to swallow? Not to mention the rip off of Ian stealing the helicopter? Get some fresh ideas! You also have had them dig up a dead relative before.

Now for Ian who every week is truly this show’s blank slate. Last week he was acting like maybe he was manic-this week? No sign of that. Things start with a family-except for Fiona-council of war about the drug dealer that’s after them, and we get a new piece of Ian canon-he was a crack (or some other drug that Monica was using-Frank doesn’t specify) baby. Ian tells Frank if he doesn’t help them figure out a way to get out of the shit they’re in with the drug dealer, Ian will take a tire iron to “old Frank”. Frank says, “You’ve been a drama queen since the day you were born, Ian. Wouldn’t stop screaming until you were fully detoxed.” Ian does one of his stunned big blink looks, and the story moves, well not ON, but people keep talking.

Oh, and just a side note, but Ian’s been shown drinking coffee at least twice in the Gallagher kitchen this season, and the cock mug is nowhere to be seen :(

Next scene is Ian walking into Terror’s office area, all cocky. “Brought you that chocolate flavored soy shit you like, then there’s coffee.” (I’m not sure exactly what he says after “like” and Charter/Spectrum cable doesn’t communicate with my TV so the close captioning doesn’t work-don’t get me started on how I have to use different remotes to do different things.) Terror says, “With a side of snark just how I like it,” in the most annoying, whiny voice possible. WHAT is Ian supposed to see in him? And, was that comment all that snarky? And, should Ian be having what’s at least his second dose of caffeine on his meds?

If I’m going to count how many times they needed Mickey in this episode, the meeting about how to deal with the drug dealer was one, Ian and his coffee intake is two, what fucking Terror says next is three...

“Thought you had to work today.” NO! Terror does not know or care about Ian’s schedule! That was a Mickey thing and a Mickey thing only! Ian LIES to everyone else about when he’s at work! And so far in canon, Terror is way too into himself to know where or when Ian ever works. Grrrr.

Ian says, “Soon, yeah. So... that drug dealer that chased me? Can’t seem to shake it off, don’t know what’s wrong with me.” And he says it all small and scared-after walking into the place boasting about his cafe purchases-I don’t like how they keep having Ian’s moods change on a dime-especially since again, I just think it’s bad writing and not trying to tell the audience he’s slipping or anything’s wrong.

Anyway, Mickey thought #4-Ian seems to be acting like if there’s something wrong, Terror will get into being his hero and fixing things for him, LIKE MICKEY USED TO DO ALL THE FUCKING TIME. So, not only so much for “this isn’t me anymore” (which is so hard to take with all this running from killer meth dealers shit), but also WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU CAN’T FIX ME BECAUSE I’M NOT BROKEN? (more of that in a minute)

Terror just smirks at his computer after Ian’s lines and Ian says, “You laughing at me?” Terror answers, “Only cuz it’s still hard for me to tell when you’re joking-are you serious?” And, WTF? When has Ian EVER joked with Terror? “I’m into cock. I’m a top. I don’t want that up my ass. I don’t want to hang out with Monica. I told you I didn’t want to hang out with Monica. I was with Mickey.” Have they had any other conversations? Has Ian ever said anything he didn’t mean to this asshat?

Ian doesn’t answer, just sort of shrugs to answer the are you serious. Terror says, “Wow, well nothing’s wrong with you. I think it’s probably hard for a normal person to shake off a drug dealer chasing them.” Ian says, “Gallaghers are not generally normal humans.” T: Grief can change people. I: What? T: Ah, grief. I mean, your mother died. It changes you. Maybe you should talk to the counselor. (Krista! We went over this ground LAST week and, while that should’ve been Terror’s advice then, it wasn’t, and why isn’t this story going anywhere, ever?) I: (creeplily turns the conversation into a come on) I’d rather talk to you. (Sits up, leans in towards Terror) In fact, I’d rather do something with you that doesn’t involve talking. T: (closing down immediately and going cold) Ah, well, sorry, I’m busy trying to help out at risk youth.

So, yeah, that should’ve been his reaction LAST week-wtf? It’s truly like last week never happened. I wanted Terror to reply to that “I don’t feel like talking” call back in Mickey’s bedroom with, “Bitch, I just got you laid last week! I’m never gonna sleep with you again, so there’s the door.” But, no. And Ian going from “I’m sad, please help it” to seductive or whatever the hell they think it is, is just...OOC and not attractive and as always, their total lack of chemistry makes everything worse. But now that Terror has said no for the millionth time, it’s really coming off as rapey whenever Ian tries.

Then, before he even starts his shift at work, Sue tells him his “uncle” was there looking for him and describes the meth guy, so Ian goes tearing out of the EMT station with Sue yelling after him that he has a shift. If he STILL has his job after this 18th strike or whatever he’s up to...well, I won’t be surprised at all because Shameless has given up on reality more than ever and Gallaghers never get into any real trouble.

There’s the scene at the hot tub with the guy dunking Carl and Ian trying to protect him with the bat, and then there’s another meeting to try to figure out what to do because they only have $9000 left from all the meth Carl sold, so finally they cave and go talk to Fiona and there’s a painful scene where she makes them admit she was right-which in this case she actually was, but in other cases she’s fucked up just as badly as they have-plus I’m NEVER forgiving her for saying Mickey would set a match to Ian’s life-what about what he’s managing all on his own since he’s been back? What about the fact that Mickey did everything he could to always keep Ian safe and happy once he was back from the army? Grrrrr.

Anyway, the family digs up Monica and Krista waves her fairy wand again and has the meth dealer listen to Frank’s reasoning that half the meth belonged to Monica so them coming up with almost half the money is good enough-and that if the meth guy ever goes near his family again he’ll put him in the ground with Monica. Yeah, meth dealers are known for compromising and listening to ownership rights theories. And who wouldn’t be threatened by old broken-down Frank? Eye roll.

Anyway, Ian returns to the cemetery alone to try to put Monica’s headstone back together, but the pieces fall apart and he sits hard on his bum. The camera’s behind him-and his shitty tattoo-so who knows if he’s crying or finally giving in to the fact that she’s dead and gone or what, but I won’t be surprised if he’s now completely over her death and ready to become a brand new man-yet again-next week. Which is the episode where Ian supposedly crosses a boundary with a teen from the youth center. Will his months of no sex except last week’s blowjob lead to him having sex with a teen? Probably not, but cripes, what else could it be?

#Season H8 Episode 3 #Recap #One Terror scene was still one too many #Like Ian couldn't have found a great guy by now #Not that he deserves it after throwing away the greatest guy he'll ever know #But why do we have to keep suffering through angry squirrel face Terror week in and week out?#WHY?

6 notes · View notes