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multi-fandom-imagines8 · 1 month ago

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A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 11

Summary: the day everyone dreaded has finally arrived. Facing impossible odds against Hybern, defeat seems inevitable- but nothing could have prepared Y/n for what's about to unfold.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, injury, blood & gore, character death, trauma, and self-blame.

WC: 6.5 K.

You can read previous chapters here Fictober Challenge

As the sun began to rise, the light hit Y/n’s face, and the soft breeze made strands of her hair fall on her face, causing her to stir. She blinked groggily, bringing a hand up to shield her eyes from the sunlight as she took in her surroundings. She was still outside that village, where she and Azriel watched the stars. Something hard rested beneath her head: a muscled chest. Her heart stuttered in panic Shit!

She looked up, only to meet a set of hazel eyes already locked on her. Azriel’s gaze was steady, his lips curving into a small smile. Y/n quickly rubbed her eyes and sat up, pulling away from his chest, her fingers brushing through her tangled hair.

“Good morning” Azriel greeted softly, his voice warm.

She groaned, rolling her shoulders to work out the stiffness. “Did you get any sleep at all?”.

“I couldn’t” he replied, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. He shifted slightly, flexing his stiff wings.

“Sorry. Did I seriously fall asleep here?” she asked, squinting at him, her expression a mix of embarrassment and disbelief.

“Yes. You slept like a baby” he teased, his eyes soft as they flickered over her sleepy face.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” she frowned, still brushing her hair out of her face.

“You looked so peaceful,” he admitted, his gaze unwavering. “And I know you usually have trouble sleeping at night. I didn;t want to wake you, afraid you wouldn’t fall back asleep.”

“And you stayed sitting like that all night?” She glanced at him, her tone now concerned as she rubbed her temples, half-asleep and not fully processing his words.

“It’s not as bad as you might think” he said, his hand subtly massaging his own shoulder to hide the discomfort.

“Do you enjoy pain that much?” she muttered, narrowing her eyes at him.

Azriel chuckled softly, the sound like a gentle hum. “Only when it comes to you” he half-joked.

Y/n huffed, tilting her head back and closing her eyes briefly. “Funny. How long do we have before we need to leave?”.

“Not long. Everyone should be waking up now” he said, his eyes lingering on her.

She groaned again, burying her face in her hands. “I just want to sleep some more” she muttered, her voice muffled by her palms.

“You can lay your head back, I’ll wake you when everyone is ready” Azriel offered.

“I need to lie down on my soft pillows, no offense to your chest.” SHe flashed him a teasing smile, though her eyes were still heavy with sleep. “Besides, aren’t you tired? If anyone should rest for a few minutes, it’s you. I’ll even offer my lap for your head- it’s at least soft.”

Azriel’s brows lifted, surprised at her playful tone. He was seeing a new side of her- a side she kept hidden for so long. A side she probably wasn’t aware she was showing in her sleepy state.

“I’d like nothing more than to take you up on that offer,” he said, his smile slowly fading. “But I’m afraid if I fall asleep now, I won’t wake up in time for battle.”

“All the more reason you should” she yawned, her words slurred, as she rested her head on her knees.

A soft chuckle escaped him again. His eyes softened, warmth flickering in them as he watched her relaxed state. “You look cute when you wake up in the morning” he said, almost as if he couldn;t stop the words from slipping out.

Y/n peeked at him through half-lidded eyes, her expression deadpan. “The first and last person who called me cute ended up in the infirmary, on the brink of death” she murmured, her lips twitching with a teasing smile. “So, be careful with your next words.”

Azriel chuckled again, but this time there was a flash of something else in his eyes- something deeper, more vulnerable. “Sometimes, I don’t know if you’re joking or telling the truth” he admitted, watching her with a thoughtful look.

“Fuck around and find out” she replued with a sleepy grin.

Something about her in that moment- unguarded, without the usual walls she built around herself- made him pause. The way her guard was down, how her words flowed without caution or restraint, sent a chill through him.

If they had more time, he would've loved nothing more than to sit here, watch her like this for a little longer- ask her the questions he never dared to ask before. He wanted to wrap his shadows around her, to protect her from everything the world would throw their way.

But war was calling. And he didn’t know if he would ever get the chance to see her like this again. Hell, he didn’t know if he’d get to see her at all after today. One thing he knew for certain: if she were in danger, which she likely would be, he’d gladly lay down his life for her. He just hoped if that moment came, she’d forgive him for it.

Cassian was the first to emerge, his usual swagger replaced by a quiet resolve, as he approached his brother and Y/n. There was no snarky comment this time, just a firm nod before he turned his attention to the task ahead. Soon after, Rhys and the others gathered, their expression grim but determined.

As they took to the sky, Cassian immediately started executing the war strategy, his sharp eyes scanning the battlefield while he changed captains and formations with swift precision.

The sisters quickly changed into Illyrian leathers, though Elain, finding the tight-fitting attire scandalous, was offered more modest clothing by Viviane. Y/n, on the other hand, embraced the Illyrian leathers, slipping into the black leather pants before throwing on a custom-made black leather coat that resembled a dress. Her lips twitched with satisfaction as she adjusted the coat’s collar- if she was going to fight, she was going to fight in style.

Cassian approached, handing out weapons. He gave Nesta and Y/n each a knife, but Y/n shook her head, refusing. Instead, she asked for a sword, her voice steady.

The group collectively still. Cassian blinked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, a scoff escaping his lips. “And what are you going to do with a sword? You can’t even fight. I even offered to train you.” His voice had a teasing edge, though a thread of genuine concern was woven into his words.

Y/n squared her shoulders, chin lifting defiantly, eyes narrowing. “You don’t know that. Besides, don’t you need everyone willing to fight on the battlefield?”

Cassian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, warriors who have been trained and know how to fight.”

“Look, we don’t have time to argue.” Her tone turned sharp, her eyes flashing. “I have made up my mind. Feyre and Nesta don’t need me. They can nullify the Cauldron with your High Lord’s second-in-command. I’m not going to sit back and watch people die while I do nothing. I’m going on that battlefield.”

“Y/n, you can’t,” Feyre interjected, her voice soft but laced with worry, her eyes flickering nervously between Rhys and her sister.

“Why?” Y/n jaw clenched as she turned to Feyre. “Because I might die? So can everyone else on the battlefield. So can you.”

Rhys stepped forward, his expression unreadable, though his tone was unyielding. “I forbid it.”

“You’re not my High Lord. I don’t have to listen to you” Y/n shot back, her voice cold.

“If you won’t listen to me, then do it for your sisters. They’ll be worried about you” Rhys replied, his voice quieter now, though his violet eyes bore into hers.

Y/n’s lips curled into a defiant smirk. “Everyone would be worried about you too, so…”

Before the tension could escalate further, Azriel stepped forward. His voice was calm, almost a whisper, but it cut through the heated exchange like a blade. “Y/n, can I talk to you alone for a moment?” Without waiting for a response, he gently took her wrist, his touch warm but firm, and led her toward one of the nearby war tents.

Once inside, she tugged her hand from his grasp, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

Azriel sighed, his scarred hands flexing at his sides before he crossed his arms over his chest, as if steeling himself. “You being out there would play to our disadvantage. It’s not about whether you can fight or not,” he began, his voice low and controlled, “but if you’re out there, I’ll be distracted- worried about you, My focus won’t be on the fight, and I need to be focused”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard by the admission. “What? Why? And since when do you care?”

Azriel’s expression flickered, his eyes darting away for a split second as if realizing he had said too much. He cleared his throat, trying to recover. “We’d all be worried, focused on you. Me, Cassian, Rhys…You’re my High Lady’s sister. We failed her- you- once, I- we’re not about to make the same mistake twice. It’s better if you go with them. You’re needed more there. When they destroy the Cauldron, someone needs to watch their back.”

His hands moved to his waist, and he unhooked a small blade. He held it out to her, his scarred fingers brushing hers as he placed it in her hand. “Here take this. This is Truth-Teller. It has never failed me once. If someone comes near, use it. It will strike true. It will serve you well.”

Y/n stared down at the blade in her hand, the weight of his words sinking in. Then, she pulled her hand back, her expression hardening once more. “So, after a long discussion with your brothers, you’re allowed to fight while you’re still limping, but I shouldn’t?”

“You make it sound so easy,” he replied, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “I barely managed to convince them. And I won’t be doing any flying today.”

“Good” she muttered, though relief was obvious in her voice. Her eyes flicked over his wings, concern softening her features for a brief moment. She had overheard the argument yesterday, the three Illyrians debating over whether Azriel should fly or not. She was glad they had talked some sense into him.

“I’ll go with them. You don’t have to worry about me- about us,” she added, her voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “I’ll protect my sisters with my life.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, but he said nothing, simply nodding as they exited the tent. Outside, Rhys was giving a rousing speech, his words both inspirational and grounding as he spoke about each of his family members. His tone became lighter when he turned to Feyre’s three sisters, his violet eyes sparkling with warmth.

“We haven’t known each other for long, but I believe you were brought here, into our family, for a reason, too.” His gaze landed on Y/n, and he smirked slightly. “And you, amongst other things, I believe you were brought here to be a pain in my ass, but also to challenge and balance me. Your presence here is appreciated."

Y/n rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Alright, wrap it up. This is becoming too sappy for me.”

Her words brought a ripple of soft laughter from the group, but even as the moment lightened, there was tension underneath it all- a tension that hummed in the air like the calm before the storm.

—

Looking over at the army they faced, Y/n felt her chest tighten as dread curled deep within her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and for a brief, terrifying moment, it was heard to breathe. They were vastly outnumbered- overwhelmed. A shiver ran down her spine as the sinking feeling settled in her gut. Something was going to go wrong today. She could feel it. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, afraid that this might be the day she lost someone she loved.

The five High Lords stood in their designated places, ready for battle, but there was no sign of Tamlin or Beron. The enemy held the high ground, which left them at a disadvantage, and Y/n’s stomach churned uneasily.

Rhys turned to Cassian, his expression sharp. “How long do you think we have?”

Cassian’s jaw clenched, his brows furrowing in deep concern as he surveyed the battlefield. “Worst case scenario? A few hours… before we’re all probably dead.”

Y/n’s breath hitched at Cassian’s grim words, and she fought to keep her fear at bay. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she tried to hold onto some semblance of calm. There was still no word on the Cauldron’s whereabouts, but even when they found it, they would have to go on foot, through the heart of the battlefield, because of the strong wards the King had reinforced.

Cassian led the Illyrian legions into the sky, their powerful wings beating against the wind as Thesan’s Peregryns legion joined them. Y/n watched them rise, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and fear, her heart pounding faster at the sight of them flying headlong into the fray. Magic erupted on both sides as the shields placed around the armies crumbled under the assault.

With the glamour gone, Y/n’s breath caught as she saw the Bone Carver and Bryaxis at the front lines. Feyre had made a deal with them to fight on their side. The eerie sight of the two immortals, combined with the primal energy they emitted, sent a shiver down Y/n’s spine.

Then, the Weaver appeared- her dark, menacing figure cutting through the battlefield like a shadow of death. This time, it had been Rhys who struck the deal. The air was thick with the sounds of the battle- screams, metal clashing, and the roars of the Weaver, the Bone Carver and Bryaxis shredding soldiers to pieces with terrifying efficiency.

Y/n’s voice was soft, laced with curiosity and fear. “So, that’s what was under the library?” she asked, her eyes flickering to Feyre.

Feyre nodded, her face pale but composed, recalling what Cassian had told her. “Yes. You were drawn to it. If Cassian hadn’t stopped you that day, you would’ve gone down to face it.”

Y/n shook her head slowly, her brow furrowed as she tried to process it. “I didn’t know what it was. I just felt… a tug. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Feyre’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What did it say to you?”

Y/n's lips twitched into a faint, bitter smile. “Nothing important. Just some cryptic shit.”

In a single, fluid motion, Rhys raised his hand, and with a flick of his fingers, hundreds of soldiers were simply…gone. Misted into nothingness. The raw power that radiated from him sent a ripple of awe through Y/n. She leaned closer to Feyre, her voice hushed. “Now I know why they call your mate the most powerful High Lord.”

Rhys, catching her words, smirked at her over his shoulder, his violet eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement despite the grim situation.

Azriel moved next, his face impassive, eyes dark and focused, as his seven siphons flared to life. The raw power he unleashed was almost tangible, the air around him shimmering with the force of his magic. Y/n couldn’t help but glance at him, her heart twisting in her chest. His magic, combined with the sight of him fighting with such unrelenting strength, sent a rush of emotions through her.

The flying legions surged forward, arrows raining down on the enemy. The army below responded in kind, only their arrowheads were made from Faebane. Y/n’s gaze followed the trajectory of each arrow, her breath catching in her throat as she watched Illyrian soldiers fall. The battlefield was a chaotic mess of death and destruction, and it felt like the wat would end before they even got close to the Cauldron.

Then, a horn blared- piercing sound that cut through the chaos. Y/n’s head snapped toward the north as three armies emerged from the horizon. Relief washed over her, though it was tinged with disbelief. Beron and Tamlin had come to their aid, along with a mortal army led by Graysen and Jurian. Eris landed in front of Rhys, his usual haughty demeanor replaced by determination.

He told him the armies awaited orders, but it seemed Beron’s army had already moved, destroying the enemy's wagons full of Faebane and burning everything in their way. Rhys told Feyre to make their move now.

Feyre and her sisters prepared to move out. Before leaving, Y/n stole a glance back at Azriel, her heart heavy with unspoken words. Her lips parted, but whatever she wanted to say lodged in her throat. She closed her mouth again, deciding against it.

The females, cloaked by a glamour and Azriel’s shadows, followed the trail of death left behind by the Weaver, who appeared to have an uncanny ability to smell the Cauldron. As they approached enemy territory, Y/n and Nesta both sucked in a breath at the same time, their bodies tensing, every nerve on edge. They could feel it- the dark, pulsing presence of the Cauldron. It was close.

Seconds later, Rhys and Azriel were there, appearing beside them in a blur of power. Without a word, the two of them cast shields around the army, their magic glowing brightly as it encased their forces. But just as Y/n began to feel the faintest glimmer of hope, Nesta screamed- Cassian’s name tearing from her lips with raw panic.

Cassina rushed toward them, but before he could reach them, the Cauldron’s blast struck the earth. The ground shook violently, a deafening roar filling the air as the impact rippled across the battlefield. Y/n’s knees buckled, and she barely managed to stay upright as she watched in horror. The Illyrian legion dropped dead, their bodies crumpling to the ground in an instant. Even Rhys and Azriel’s shields shattered like glass, leaving them all exposed.

For a heartbeat, everything was still, the silence deafening in the wake of such devastation. But Y/n knew- she knew it wasn’t over. The King was preparing to use the Cauldron again, and this time… they might not survive it. The Carver was gone- wiped away by the blast.

Cassian landed next to Nesta, his chest heaving, thinking she was injured. His breath caught when he realized the truth- she had saved him. His eyes widened for a moment, before guilt and gratitude flickered across his face. But there was no time for words, no time for anything except the gnawing truth: they were losing. Fast.

They needed to get to the Cauldron- urgently, desperately- but Nesta was in no condition to move, her face place, her breath shallow. Elain wasn’t faring much better, vomiting uncontrollably into the grass nearby, her body shaking with the force of it. Y/n’s heart clenched painfully at the sight of them both, feeling utterly helpless. Her fingers twitched, clenching into fists, as if sheer willpower alone could summon her powers. But nothing came.

Feyre’s voice trembled as she asked, “Can we destroy the Cauldron with just me?” Her eyes were wide, flickering with fear and determination.

Y/n stepped forward, squaring her shoulders, trying to muster some strength. “If you need me, I’ll go with you” she said, her voice steady even as her insides churned with doubt. But Amren shook her head. “We can handle it.”

Y/n rose to her feet, surveying the battlefield- her heart sinking at the sight. Death was everywhere, littering the field like a dark, suffocating blanket. Bodies, blood, and broken weapons surrounded them on all sides, and a cold numbness began to creep into her bones. She tried, once again, to call upon her powers, but they remained silent, out of reach. Her lips parted in frustration, her breath ragged, but there was nothing.

Then, another horn sounded. Y/n’s head snapped toward the sound, and her blood ran cold. Hybern’s army was closing in, surrounding them from every direction. There was no escape.

How were they supposed to face all of them when they can’t even handle one army? Y/n thought to herself.

Rhys turned to Azriel, his face grim but composed. “Azriel, you lead the remaining Illyrians on the northern flank.”

Azriel nodded sharply, already preparing to take flight, when Y/n’s voice halted him. “Good luck” she murmured, her eyes fixed on him. Her chest tightened with an inexplicable dread, not knowing if this would be the last time she saw him.

Azriel’s wings unfurled, his face hard with focus, but before he could take to the skies, Y/n called out again, softer this time. “And Azriel?... Be careful. Try not to die.”

She said his name for the first time, and Azriel’s breath hitched, a flicker of surprise lightening his hazel eyes. He stood still for a fraction of a second, as if her words had struck him somewhere deep, but he quickly masked it. He had waited so long to hear his name from her lips, yet this was the worst possible moment to dwell on it. War was raging around them, and the stakes were too high.

He gave her a short nod, then leapt into the sky without looking back. Y/n watched him ascend, her heart aching at the sight of his strained wings- how much effort it took for him to fight despite his injuries, how much he was willing to sacrifice for his family, for his people, for everyone. Her fingers brushed against her lips unconsciously, as if trying to hold onto the moment, the fleeting connection between them before the chaos swallowed them whole.

Rhys’ voice cut through the tense air, commanding Cassian to take the southern flank. As the two Illyrians were about to fly, the sound of a dozen horns echoed across the sky- a triumphant, hopeful sound that lifted the oppressive weight pressing down on Y/n’s chest. Her eyes widened in disbelief as thousands of winged soldiers appeared, their formation tight and disciplined. An armada of ships approached from the eastern horizon, their sails full as they sliced through the waters.

Drakon’s legion had arrived, the Seraphim. And on those ships- thousands of soldiers, Miryam’s people, allies from the old war. Relief surged through Y/n, momentarily easing the dread that had gripped her, The winged male leading them descended next to Rhys, the two exchanging quick, sharp words as they caught up on the situation.

The male informed them of an armada they’d met halfway through their journey- soldiers who he thought were friends of Rhys. And then, he spoke of the last queen, Vassa, who had been betrayed by the other mortal queens. He told the sisters that she was found by a man who called himself the Prince of Merchants. Their father- he was here. Although her relationship with him had deteriorated over the past few years, Y/n still cared about him. She had never forgotten the kindness he had shown her, how he treated and loved her like one of his own daughters. Her eyes flickered to the ships nearing the shore, and there- etched on the side of each one- were the names of his daughters. Her father’s personal ships.

The sight of his fleet brought a lump to her throat, and for a brief moment, the cold exterior she had built over the years cracked. Her lips trembled slightly, but she quickly masked it, steeling herself for what was to come.

As Nesta approached Rhys, she requested to be used as bait, her voice sharp and unwavering. Y/n immediately insisted on going with her, knowing full well that the King harbored a particular hatred for the two of them. Between the power Nesta had stolen from the Cauldron and Y/n’s past deeds- slaughtering his men the last time they were on the battlefield- his fury would be unmatched.

The thought of what he could do to them, though…the chill that ran down Y/n’s spine was enough to make her doubt for a heartbeat. Would he kill them on the spot? Or worse- would he control them? Use their power against those they loved? The second option scared Y/n more than death itself. The idea of being used as a weapon against the people she had sworn to protect sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through her veins.

It was a reckless plan, but it was the only one that offered a chance to destroy the Cauldron. Cassian, ever loyal and protective, volunteered to accompany the sisters, standing by their side without hesitation. He and Rhys debated fiercely for a moment, the tension between them heavy, knowing full well that this could be a death sentence.

The three of them faced a high probability of death, but none of them backed down. Y/n’s gaze hardened, determination burning in her chest, as she glanced at Cassian and Nesta. If this was their fate, they would meet it head-on. Together.

—

Nesta had finally drawn the King’s attention, rallying the power within her. Y/n stood beside her, desperately trying to summon her own powers, her breath shaky and her hands trembling as she reached deep inside herself- nothing. A flicker of panic raced through her, but she shoved it down, focusing on her sister’s power surging next to her.

But before Nesta could strike, the King appeared- materializing out of the shadows with a twisted smile on his face. Beside him, one of his beats loomed, its massive form dark and menacing, claws gleaming in the pale light. The world seemed to narrow in on itself, the sound of the battlefield fading into a suffocating silence as Y/n’s eyes locked onto the sight before her.

The King held a sword to their father’s throat, the blade pressed tightly against his skin. To his right, the beast had its claws wrapped around Y/n’s biological father, gripping him by the throat. One wrong move, and both their throats would be ripped open.

“No” Y/n gasped, a low sob escaping her lips, her voice raw and breaking. Her legs felt like jelly beneath her, and she struggled to stay upright as her worst fear began to unfold right in front of her eyes.

The King’s voice was cruel, his smirk cold and calculating. “You two- do you know how much you’ve cost me? I thought of ways to make you pay. Who knew the answer would fall so neatly into my hands?” He sneered, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight.

“Please” the sisters begged in unison, their voice shaky, but Y/n’s cracked with desperation. “Don’t hurt them” she added, her voice breaking, her heart hammering in her chest. How had her father ended up here? He was supposed to be far away from this- safe. She had sent him a letter, hoping to keep him distant from the battle. But now, here he was, dressed in battle attire, and only one thing standing between him and death was the cruel whim of the King.

The King’s eyes flicked between them, enjoying their agony. “And what will you give me in return?”

“Whatever you want” Y/n replied, her voice shaky but resolute. “Just let them go.”

“Will you give back what you took from me?” the King asked, his tone mocking.

“Yes” Nesta answered without hesitation, her chin lifted defiantly, her voice hard as steel.

The King’s grin widened, his hand tightening on the sword. “Even if I have to carve it out of you?”

Nesta’s face remained cold, but Y/n could see the flicker of fear in her sister’s eyes. “Do whatever you want to me” Y/n whispered, her voice desperate, pleading. “Just let them go, please.”

Their father snarled, his voice filled with defiance despite the blade at his throat. “Don’t you dare lay your filthy hands on my daughters-”

A sickening snap echoed through the air. The King’s hand moved in one swift, merciless motion, snapping their father’s neck like it was nothing. Y/n’s world tilted, the sound reverberating in her mind. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she crumbled to the ground, her knees hitting the dirt. Her breath came in shallow gasps, and tears blurred her vision as she stared at her father’s lifeless body, his eyes open, but vacant- gone.

A choked osb ripped from her throat as she reached out, but he was too far away. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, and she knelt there, frozen, as the weight of what had just happened pressed on her chest, suffocating her.

“Wait until you see what I have planned for your real father” the King continued, his voice dripping with malice. “You’ve caused me so much trouble, and I am going to make you suffer for it.” He gestured to the beast holding her biological father. “Keep him alive until the end.”

Nesta stood still, her face a blank mask, but Y/n could see it- the devastation in her sister’s eyes. The spark of her power died out, leaving her hollow. Cassian, in a desperate attempt to protect her, launched himself at the King, his body moving like a whirlwind of rage.

But Y/n remained frozen, her body refusing to move, no matter how much she begged it to. Her limbs felt like lead, her eyes fixed on her father’s body- his lifeless form burned into her mind. She had always feared this moment, the helplessness of standing by as someone she loved was taken from her.

Her biological father’s voice broke through the fog of her mind, weak and strained. “I’m sorry, Y/n.”

Y/n turned slightly to face him, her voice barely a whisper, breaking as she spoke. “Why are you here? Why didn’t you stay away?”

“I came for you. I had to. There’s something important I have to tell you and I need you to listen carefully” he croaked, his voice trembling. “If I don’t make it, there’s a letter…in my pocket. Take it.”

“No- don’t say that. You’ll make it. I’m sorry- I’m so sorry- I-” Her words tumbled out, frantic, broken, when suddenly Cassina’s scream tore through the air.

Y/n whipped her head around, and her heart stopped. Cassian was on the ground, his wings shattered, bones protruding from his thigh, his siphons flickering weakly. The world tilted again, nausea rising in her throat as the scene unfolded before her.

“Stop!” Nesta screamed, her voice raw with anguish as she rushed toward Cassian, her power exploding around her. But the King was faster. He stepped on Cassian;s wings, grinding his boot into them with cruel force. Bones cracked under the pressure, and Cassian’s scream was nothing short of agony.

Nesta’s power surged, but the King winnowed away, leaving her helpless. She crawled to Cassian, her hands trembling as she reached for his sword, even as he begged her to run. Tears streaked her face, but she ignored them, her focus entirely on protecting him.

She faced the King again, her grip on sword tight, but in a single motion, he disarmed her. His hand struck her across the face with such force that Nesta crumpled to the ground, her body trembling with the effort of trying to get up. She managed to strike him with her power, one blow after the other, but it wasn’t enough. Cassian was too heavy to lift, and the King was closing in.

Y/n watched, frozen, her body paralyzed with rage and fear. But as the King approached Nesta, who was covering Cassian’s body with her own, Y/n’s fury boiled over. Her vision tunneled as she grabbed the sword from the ground, her heart pounding with a singular, blinding rage. She strode toward him, her eyes blazing with hatred.

Before she could reach him, the King’s magic lashed out, flinging her across the ground. Her body slammed into the ground, pain radiating from every bone. She struggled to rise, but the King was already there, picking up the sword and driving it deep into her gut.

The pain was immediate, white-hot and all-consuming. Blood splattered from her mouth, and heer vision blurred as she crumpled forward, her hands clutching her stomach in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. Her body trembled violently as life slowly drained from her.

Nesta watched, helpless as her own power drained out.

Slowly, with trembling hands, Y/n reached for Truth-Teller, pulling it from her waist. Her breath was ragged, her hands shaking as the King leaned down, driving the sword deeper into her body. She managed to strike him with the dagger, the blade sinking into his thigh.

The King groaned in pain, staggering back for a moment. Blood oozed from the wound, darkening his already blackened armor. He yanked the blade free with a growl, tossing it aside as if it were an annoyance rather than a mortal threat. His eyes, filled with cruel amusement, locked on hers.

“You are troublesome” he hissed, his voice like poison. A dark smirk curled his lips. “Bring him here” he ordered his beast, pointing to her biological father. The creature complied, dragging the man closer with brutal efficiency.

“Now” the King sneered, “you’re going to watch as I order your father’s execution, right before your eyes.” He laughed, a horrible sound that echoed in her ears, sending chills down her spine.

Y/n’s heart raced, her mind filled with a flood of memories. Images from her past rushed in, the death of someone she loved, the helplessness she felt as she watched life slip away from them. She had buried those memories deep, hiding them from the light, but now they all came crashing back- unstoppable. No. This couldn’t be happening again. She had powers now. She could do something. If they would just…

“I love you” her father said softly, his voice breaking. Then- a horrible, wet sound tore through the air. Warm liquid splattered onto her face- his blood.

“NO!” Y/n screamed, the sound ripping through her throat, raw and agonized. Her vision blurred as a single tear rolled down her cheek. The grief, the rage, the fear all melded into one. Her body trembled uncontrollably as something deep within her snapped.

A surge of power exploded from her, wild and untamed. The sky, once clear, darkened in an instant. Thunder rumbled ominously, and the air crackled with electricity. Lightning split the sky, striking the beast that held her father, killing it in a blinding flash of light

Another bolt hit the King, knocking him back and causing the ground to tremble. The storm was hers, born from the depth of her anguish.

The battlefield erupted in chaos as the thunderstorm raged. Bolts of lightning struck indiscriminately, the sheer force of it tearing apart the ground. Soldiers screamed, both friend and foe, as the storm ripped through them. And yet, even with all this power, it was too late.

Y/n’s breath came in short, ragged bursts as she realized it. Too late. Tears mixed with the blood on her face, and her chest heaved, her body trembling from the overwhelming torrent of emotions that coursed through her. She had all this power, and still, she had been helpless. She couldn;t save her father- either of them.

The Cauldron, not far away, cracked under the weight of her power, but she didn;t care. She couldn’t feel triumph, couldn’t feel anything but the hollow ache of loss. She let it all go- all the emotions she had bottled up for so long: the rage, the pain, the fear, the hatred. She let it flood out of her, her magic draining from her until she was barely conscious, her vision fading in and out.

As the storm died down, the King, now recovered, approached her. His twisted grin returned, though his steps were slower, his body weakened from the damage. He crouched down, lifting her chin with one finger. “Beautiful” he said, his voice low and vile. His eyes glittered with twisted admiration. “I might yet have a use for you.”

Before he could say more, a strangled, choking sound erupted from him. His body jerked violently, and his grip on Y/n faltered. Elain stood behind him, her face pale but her eyes burning with fierce determination. She had taken up Azriel’s blade and shoved it into the back of the King’s neck with unflinching precision.

“Don’t touch my sister” Elain said, her voice trembling with anger, but steady in its resolve.

The King collapsed to his knees, his hand flailing as he tried to reach the knife embedded in his neck. His eyes widened in shock, blood gurgling from his mouth. Y/n, struggling to get to her feet, pushed herself up with whatever strength she had left. Pain shot through her body with every movement, but she didn’t stop.

She staggered toward the King, blood dripping from her wounds, her body screaming in agony. Herhand shook violently as she gripped the handle of the blade, twisting it slowly, deliberately further into his throat. She leaned close, her face pale and emotionless, watching as he struggled under her touch.

“I promised I’d be the one to kill you” she whispered, her voice cold, devoid of emotion. “And I keep my promises.”

With one final, brutal motion, she severed his head from his body. His lifeless form crumpled to the ground, and Y/n let the blade fall from her hand. She stood there for a moment, staring down at the body, but feeling…nothing. The world seemed muted, as if it had faded into the background. There was no satisfaction in his death, no sense of triumph. Only the hollow emptiness of loss.

She never would have imagined that she’d lose not one, but two fathers on the same day. That she’d witness their horrible, violent deaths with her own eyes, helpless to save either of them. A numbness crept through her, settling deep into her bones. She had failed them, failed to protect the people she loved the most. Self-hatred gnawed at her, vicious and unforgiving.

With the last of her strength, Y/n crawled to her biological father’s body. His blood soaked the grass, watering the earth beneath him. She rested her head on his arm, her cheek brushing against his cooling skin. Her body shook with exhaustion, her eyelids heavy. Her face had gone pale, her lips a soft shade of blue, and her body felt cold- so cold.

As her vision began to fade, Y/n closed her eyes, her mind sinking into the darkness. She was a failure and all she wanted was to escape the pain, to join them- her fathers- in whatever peace awaited beyond this world. She exhaled one last breath, her body stilling as the coldness consumed her.

Tags: : @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco @aehllita @nebarious @t0uch-starved-h0e @bravo-delta-eccho @sylvermoon @going-through-shit @latinxbipride @i-am-infinite @azrielrot @fuckingsimp4azriel @theravenphoenix26 @hanatsuki-hime @fantanbietsson @rcarbo1 @weasleymagic @secretsicanthideanymore @spymaster03

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ruified · 11 months ago

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I realyyyy love angst :D

There's a oneshot or a scenario that i've been thinking about that's been rotting all over my head where what if reader / s/o is in their deathbed and about to die soon to a uncurable illness and (character) (i guess chuuya or sigma? idm) who thinks of reader as someone special to them is watching over them until their very last breath

WHAT WILL THWY DO AND HOW WILL THEY REACT BEFORE AND AFTER DEATH!?!?

Haha my silly little idea is getting the best of me i just wanted to share this idea because i want my feelings to get hurt

❝ until your last 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 ˎˊ˗

warnings: death . characters: dazai osamu, atsushi nakajima, sigma, fyodor dostoevsky, chuuya nakahara . synopsis: their s/o is on their deathbed, they all have their own ways of coping with it . a/n: sorry this took me so long to get to, i was thinking very hard! i hope this is to your liking and you don’t mind little ideas like this instead of a scenario ^^;

DAZAI —

— Dazai doesn’t know what to exactly make of the whole situation, you are so incredibly important to him and now he’s going to lose you? It’s sending him into a downward spiral.

— He refuses to touch you anymore, he just can’t do it

— He wants to make the most out of what little time you have left together but he also has an urge to cut ties with you and make it easier on both of you

— He eventually decides that he can hold your hand at least while you lay in that hospital bed

— After you pass, he tries his best to take care of himself because he knows that’s what you’d want, but that doesn’t mean it’s not hard

— He visits your grave frequently at first, then it dies down to your birthday, anniversaries, and holidays

ATSUSHI —

— He has been keeping a close eye on you since he first noticed you were sick, and he’s been taking great care of you ever since! However, that doesn’t stop the inevitable

— When he heard the news, tears welled in his eyes and he had to excuse himself, he didn’t want to cry in front of you

— He kept you company as much as he could

— On days where he had a lot of work, he’d ask someone else like Kyouka to go check on you

— He would prepare little lunch boxes for you every day and bring them to you

— He brings a lunch box to your grave for you

SIGMA —

— He paced around a lot in the hospital room, especially after he heard the news

— He tried so hard to think of a solution but nothing realistic came to mind

— He had you come stay in a room at the casino so he could at least still be close to you even when he had work

— Your room was kept away from any other visitors and was close to his office, making it easy for him to check on you

— He asked his staff members to change your glass of water frequently and give you a new warm blanket when you needed it

— He kept himself busy with work to try and keep away the dread of your passing

FYODOR —

— After hearing the news, he decided it would be best to care for you at home instead of being kept in such a dreary hospital

— He would read books to you to keep you entertained

— He’d bring his laptop into your room sometimes so that he could at least keep you company even while he worked

— He’d cook soup for you frequently, sometimes even feeding it to you

— He asks you if you have any wishes before you go, he doesn’t want you leaving with any regrets, and he does whatever he can to make it all come true

— He attends to any possible unfinished business you may have before your passing so that you can go without worry

CHUUYA —

— He really doesn’t believe it at first

— He contacts Mori and asks him to look over the medical records and tell him the truth; Mori tells him that it is in fact all real

— He’ll often sit next to you and squeeze your hand, refusing to let go

— He’ll fall asleep with you in your hospital room, draped over you in your bed

— He sits next to you and cuts your apple slices into bunnies, or sometimes other, more intricate shapes

— He asks you often if there’s anything you need him to do for you, also wanting to fulfill any last wishes you may have

— He makes sure you have a proper funeral, he’s tired of those he cares about not getting one.

#ෆ┊¡ penned by val #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #bsd atsushi #atsushi nakajima #atsushi x reader #bsd sigma #sigma x reader #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara

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emeritusemeritus · 6 days ago

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hi lovely, can i make a request? reader and fred are together. readers father recently passed away and it's readers first christmas without her dad, she goes missing and fred is frantically looking for her and he finds her at the top of the astronomy tower just before midnight and it ends with them saying merry christmas to each other? mainly fluff and protective

Hi dear Anon! I hope I did okay with this request and that you enjoy! If this is specific to your real life situation then I’m sending you my biggest condolences and a warm wintery hug, or if it’s just a request then you can still keep the hug! 🖤

Warnings: mentions of death (readers father), grief, sadness, Fred being an incredible boyfriend, protective Fred. Not beta read nor spellchecked.

Word count: 1.9k

Merry Christmas Baby

You'd done so well all day, even if you had stretched yourself beyond your means; masking up to your eyes until you couldn't pretend to be fine anymore.

You'd made it through the morning, through waking up alone in your dormitory, your other dorm mates all spending Christmas at home with their families whilst you remained at school, practically homeless and without a whole family to return to. You'd bathed, gotten dressed and had spent an hour in quiet contemplation in your room before making your way down to the common room.

Beyond Harry and the Weasleys who were staying at school over Christmas, there were very few other students that remained, meaning that you practically had the Gryffindor common room and the entire school to yourselves. The elves had prepared an even more lavish feast than usual and you'd happily eaten the meal until you were full to bursting. You sat beside Fred, his hand entwined with yours in a silent form of support as you joined in with the jokes and the laughter as a form of escape from your grief.

You knew staying at school was the best option, though some could argue it was only running away from your problems, the first Christmas without your dad was easier to face indirectly from the comfort and familiarity of your school and your friends.

After dinner you'd all waddled back to the common room with belts and trousers loosed and collapsed in various chairs around the room. The fire was lit and it was calm, with most of the other attendees having a mid-afternoon snooze after their dinner but you couldn't seem to nod off. You stared into the fire for a while, watching the flames rise and fall, the flickering shadows projected around the room that danced with the flames. Fred was lightly snoring against your shoulder as you lay draped over him at his insistence, his long legs acting as the perfect stool for your own. Your shoes had been long since pulled off as you lazed about, thankful for the warmth of the fire. There were so many things you were thankful for this year, trying to remain positive despite the dark thoughts threatening to intrude upon your day, always in the back of your mind like a dark cloud hanging overhead. You were thankful for Fred and George, for your friends, for the school that you loved so much, for your magical abilities and for the family that gave them to you. You were thankful for the years spent with your dad and thankful that you had somewhere to go this Christmas knowing that home was no longer an option.

It was early evening when various people began to wake from their Christmas siestas, with George waking first and Fred following in almost alarming synchronisation. The rest of the night was spent playing chess and exploding snap, occupying yourselves in whatever way you wanted. You felt yourself slipping into yourself more and more throughout the evening, with less input to conversations, your laughter decreasing until you were barely chuckling even at the funniest of quips. At first you were perplexed by your sudden low mood, thinking that perhaps your social battery had run low but it wasn't the case at all, you wanted your friends around you. It was inevitable really that your sour mood would finally take over, the undeniable thoughts of grief, of sadness, wouldn't be able to be held back forever. You suddenly felt claustrophobic in the cozy common room, surrounded by too many people and too much happiness that you were inevitably going to bring down the mood by staying.

You looked at Fred, seeing that he was currently occupied in a rather intense battle of exploding snap with Ron, briefly checking around the room for anyone else paying attention to you before you grabbed your shoes and slipped away. You walked out of the portrait hole and out to the corridor, placing your shoes on and walking aimlessly around the castle. The portraits wished you merry Christmas as you walked past and you offered them festive greetings in return, just wishing that you could slip away unnoticed without having to interact with anyone either in person or in portrait.

You curse yourself for not bringing a jacket with you as you walk out of the doors into the courtyard, seeing a thin sheet of ice and snow on the ground that once seemed to make it look more beautiful, more magical. You hugged your arms tighter to yourself, fighting back an involuntary shiver as you made your way around the courtyard without any specific destination in mind. You felt better at escaping the common room, taking some time away to allow those thoughts and feelings to surface in private. The last thing you wanted to do was cause a scene, or bring down anyone's good mood and good time, which they so rightfully deserved. You let the slew of tears finally come as if right on cue, your father's face occupying your mind completely as you think of past Christmases, of past memories with him that you'd never get to experience again.

Back in the common room, Fred celebrates his landslide win over Ron who sits back in his chair with a face like thunder, arms crossed like a petulant child at losing to his older brother. George cheers and celebrates with his twin as he scoops up the two sickles that he'd won from Harry in their bet. Fred turns to find you, confused at the lack of cheers he hears from your mouth, his constant cheerleader, but finds your seat no longer occupied. He frowns, looking around the room in hopes of spotting you but doesn't see the figure he is so familiar with.

"Gin, have you seen y/n?" He asks his sister as she walks down the steps from the dorms and bathrooms. She shakes her head with a slightly confused look, eyes whipping around the room just as Fred's had moments before.

"Can you."

"On it," she replies with a nod, cutting him off already anticipating his question as she turns on her heel to go back up the stairs. When she returns a few minutes later, she gives Fred a definitive shake of her head and momentarily considers that this is the first time that she's ever seen him look so concerned over anything. His eyes are full of worry and anxiety, body rigid but fidgety as he paces the length of the room, mind working overdrive to where she might have gone. He shouldn't have been so stupid leaving her alone whilst he played his game, knowing that the day was undoubtedly going to catch up to her.

"I've got to find her," he says to no one in particular as everyone watches him exit through the portrait hole and disappear. He runs down the corridors, not listening to the portraits that shout at him to slow down, to not run in the hall, the only thought in his mind being you. He searches all your usual places, even making his way to Hagrid's hut only to find that you hadn't been there all day. With each place he looked and didn't find you, he grew more frantic until he was almost sprinting to the next place, quickly running out of options. He stopped in the courtyard to catch his breath, watching the steam pour out of his mouth from the frozen air around him. The bell rang out to signal that it was midnight and he felt completely defeated and upset at the fact that your Christmas Day had ended exactly as he didn't want, with you feeling alone.

Only when he'd resorted to returning to the common room in the hopes of your return, did a faint but present light flicker from the top of the astronomy tower, making him realise that he hadn't checked there. He bolted quickly, his feet leading the way with his head lagging behind slightly, spiralling thoughts filling his mind with each step closer. He climbs the spiral staircase with deep heaving puffs falling from his lips, the physicality of his chase now catching up to him. He pauses briefly, seeing the figure of you through the slats of the wooden floor and exhales a sigh of relief, head dropping on his shoulders momentarily. He doesn't want to scare you, to catch you off guard especially in your emotional state and so he ensures his ascend up the stairs is as loud as possible, old worn trainers banging on the stairs with every tread.

He watches as you turn towards him as he steps off the staircase and onto the platform with you, a soft, calming smile on his face. He remains silent as he creeps forward, moving to sit beside you on the floor without any words spoken. He notes how cold and unrelenting the floor beneath his arse feels and a frown appears between his brows, thinking of how long you must have been sat here. His hand takes yours and he frowns deeper at how cold you feel to the touch, both of his hands wrapping around yours to try and give you any warmth he can of his own.

He doesn't know what to say that hasn't already been said, something that would fix the hurt and help to comfort, but nothing comes to his mind. He's always been an actions kind of man, with George taking care of the more sensitive words, and right now he's wishing he had his twin's gentleness.

When he feels your head shift to rest on his shoulder, he knows that he's doing something right. He rests his chin on the top of your head and you sit there for a few moments with nothing spoken between the both of you, the only noise being the gentle whistling of the wind as it whips past the astronomy tower.

"Freddie," he hears to say quietly and adjusts his head so that he look down towards you. You look like you'd been crying, your eyes rimmed with a pink hue that matched the shade of pink on the top of your nose. The pink around your eyes only seems to make your eyes more vibrant, the colour astounding Fred as he looks upon your face. "Thank you. For today, for everything really. I know you didn't go home just to stay here with me."

He blushes under the praise, your grateful words affecting him more than he shows. Truthfully, he had chosen to stay at school during Christmas for you, not wanting you to be alone wherever you were, knowing that there was no such thing as home for you right now. George had naturally decided to stay with Fred and Ron hadn't wanted to leave Harry in the first place, leaving Ginny who didn't want to be left at home without her siblings.

There's nothing to be said. Fred for once remains silent, his actions doing the talking for him. His right hand slips from yours and he pulls it around you to wrap you in his heat, pulling you close to his body. He senses a calmness in you now, head no longer filled with only sad thoughts. You look like you're coming out of your negative headspace, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips as you snuggle down into his jumper.

"Merry Christmas Fred."

It's the only thing that needed to be said in the moment, a fine summary of your gratitude, your thankfulness and of your love for him.

"Merry Christmas baby."

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she-wolf09231982 · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 8- Adapt and Overcome

Summary: After the German bomb run on Bastogne, the locals and American soldiers there that were left, helped piece back together what they could of the town. Medical personnel that had survived still tended to the wounded however they could with whatever supplies they had left. Easy Company remains in the Ardennes Forest preparing for an inevitable assault on German forces in the town of Foy. However, morale is low due to cold weather, constant shelling, zero relief, and numerous casualties to include a few of your closest friends as Easy pushes forward into Haguenau.

A/N: Mature audience, Joe LiebgottxFem!Medic, post D-Day, She/Her Pronouns, Y/F/N, Y/L/N, Cursing/Swearing, Derogatory Slurs, Mentions of death, Confrontation, Military Terminology, Medical Terminology, 1940’s slang, Inappropriate Nicknames, Band of Brothers References, Mentions of Weaponry, Yiddish/German/Italian to English Translation, Descriptive Wounds/Injuries, Blood/Gore, PTSD, Smoking, Banter, Pining, Consensual Physical Contact/PDA, FOREVER FLUFF

German is identified with (g)

Yiddish is identified with (y)

Italian is identified with (i)

Made the best discovery writing this piece: "Liebling" means "darling" in German!! That absolutely made my day and now is my new favorite pet name/term of endearment from Liebgott.

Beginning 1x7 The Breaking Point then transitions into 1x8 The Last Patrol

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real soldiers the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~

January 5th, 1945

German artillery fired onto Easy Company from the town as Easy soldiers scattered to the nearest foxholes to take cover.

“INCOMING! TAKE COVER!” Lipton shouts to the men as he runs to the nearest foxhole.

Blasts coming from all directions causing trees to fall and dirt to fly made it difficult for the men to navigate safe passages to their holes. You had been separated from Joe before the attack started. You lay flat behind a pile of fallen trees for cover while you shield your face from the debris. You were too afraid to move, fearing you’d just get hit.

After what seemed like hours, the ambush came to a halt, and you suddenly heard a familiar call from the distance.

“MEDIC!”

You sprang from the ground and started running towards the cry for help then you ran into LT Buck Compton.

“Buck! Are you ok!?” you ask as you look him over frantically.

He had a distant look in his eyes.

“Sir? SIR??” you take him by the shoulders and shake him.

Buck finally looked at you, “...yeah.” he whispered.

“Did you see anyone else that was hurt? I heard someone call for a medic.”

His eyes began to gloss over. You tilted your head while you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Buck? Who needs help? Please, tell me!” you urge him.

He pointed to a path through the trees and uttered names that almost had you fainting at his feet.

“Bill...and Joe.”

You wasted no time dashing through the tree line where he had pointed to. The path lined by the woods seemed never ending. All you heard was the drumming of your heartbeat in your ears while your feet became heavier and heavier impeding your ability to get to Joe as fast as possible. Images of his lifeless body flashed before your eyes, causing tears to stream down, stinging your cheeks from the cold air.

You finally reach the clearing, stopping to assess the carnage of blood in front of you. You see Doc Roe already kneeling over a soldier lying on his back whose face you couldn’t see from where you had been standing. To the left you see Guarnere leaning against a pine, his right leg hanging on only by tendons and ligaments.

Two men rushed in with a litter.

“Bill, you go first.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.” Bill replied.

“Over here. Take this man.” Gene ordered pointing at Guarnere.

Guarnere was hoisted onto the stretcher, and carried off, not before a snappy exit comment,

“Hey, Joe, I told ya I'd beat ya back to the States.”

Tunnel vision sets in as the world starts to cave in on you. You fall to your knees as you attempt to pace your breathing so you won’t pass out.

Malarkey appeared from the path behind you.

“Y/F/N! Hey, you ok??” he asked concerned as he hooked you under the arm to help you up.

His voice was distant and muffled.

“I-I-” you stuttered, but words completely fail you when you see the right leg of the soldier that Doc was helping...more so the right leg that was completely missing. You gasp slapping your hand over your mouth in a desperate attempt to stop the scream of terror from escaping. You look at Malarkey with dread painted all over your face.

“It’s...Joe!?” you managed to say between panting as you start to hyperventilate.

Don looked over and understood what you were reacting to.

“Y/F/N, that’s Toye. Joe Toye.” he clarified slowly and deliberately so you could understand.

You stare back at him, progressively absorbing what he just said.

“Toye…” you echoed back.

Don nodded. You look back at Doc and Joe Toye, finally coming back down from your shock.

As Malarkey pulled you up, Doc turned around noticing you were there.

“Hey, Y/F/N, come over here and hold this so I can wrap it up.”

You swiftly go to help Eugene, seeing Toye’s pale face as you get closer.

“Hang in there, Toye.” you say in your best reassuring tone.

~~~~~~~

That night, Corporal Penkala and Sgt. Skip Muck's foxhole took a direct hit, killing them instantly, a moment witnessed by George Luz. A dud shell also landed next to Luz and Lipton's foxhole, fortunately sparing their lives.

The eventful day the Germans provided had you and Eugene running around like crazy, following the cries of ‘medic’ in every direction. Both of you were running on steam, and you had yet to see Joe Liebgott at all since this attack began.

When the bombardment finally calmed down, it was too dark to venture out to find him. You decided the safest bet was to stay put. You would’ve heard by now if Joe had been transferred to the aid station. Or at least you hoped.

The following day, the move on the town of Foy commenced, thankfully with LT Speirs in command. As Easy company rushed the field towards the town, a sniper effectively picks off the men as they approach. The sniper is eventually taken down by a mortar and the men quickly enter Foy. With the village filled with attacking Germans, Speirs makes a suicidal run through the German front line to make contact with I Company. However, the most fascinating thing about what Speirs did wasn't that he successfully connected with I Company, but that he ran back the same way he'd gone unscathed.

~~~~~~~

After taking the town of Rachamps a few weeks later, Easy takes a much-needed rest in the solace of a local convent. The Sisters have taken the liberty of bringing in their choir to sing for soldiers. Of the 145 men that entered Bastogne, only 63 remained. After you have tended to the wounds of the soldiers that were hurt during the assault, you wander amongst the men to find your Joe.

You find Lipton and Speirs conversating in one of the aisles.

“Hey, Y/L/N, good to see ya. You doin’ ok?” Lipton asks.

You nod, “Yes sir. You?”

“I’m just fine.” he responded softly.

You look at LT Speirs, “Sir?”

“I’m fine, Corporal.” he stated.

“You haven't seen Liebgott by chance, have you?” You ask, trying not to sound too distressed.

Lipton looked over the crowd of scattered soldiers.

“Yeah, he’s right over there. By the altar.”

You look where he had pointed and see Joe sitting on the floor against the stone wall by himself where dozens of lit candles stood on iron stands around him. You B line to him, picking up the pace to get to him as fast as you could. As you get within ear shot you call out to him.

“Joe!” you manage to gasp.

Joe quickly looked up upon hearing your voice. His face lit up when he saw you, hastily standing up to meet you halfway. When you reached him, he enveloped you, lifting you up from the ground as he pressed you against his body.

You bury your face into the crook of his neck as happy tears began to cascade from your bloodshot eyes. Joe’s chest heaving from joy was electrifying, leaving you a melting mess in his arms while he lowered to your feet.

“I thought they got you.” you whispered through your sobs.

Joe scoffed, “Those Krauts ain’t gettin’ me.”

He pulled away to look at your face. He used his gloved thumb to wipe your tears.

“I’m right here, Gams.”

You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a desperate kiss. His arms snake around your waist, angling his head to intensify the lock he had on your lips. You unconsciously slack your jaw, allowing his tongue to slowly run along your lower lip. Although you both were lost in this magical moment, you suddenly became aware that you were ‘necking’ in a church and thought it best to behave before you both lost complete control.

You gently pull back as Joe’s disappointment clearly appeared across his face.

“We shouldn’t have done that here.” you admit.

Joe smiled at your properness.

“If God didn’t want it to happen in His house, He wouldn’t have let it.” Joe justified.

You raise an eyebrow and smirk at him.

“It’s inappropriate.” you countered.

“So, you’re saying if it had been right outside the church, it would’ve been fine?” he countered.

You giggle, “Perhaps.”

Joe laughed, “Well how about we find a place to rest, and we can just cuddle up?” he compromised.

“Yes.” you agree as he pulled you by the hand to where he was sitting.

The church had provided blankets to the men, which Joe had spread out on the floor picnic style. He sat against the wall, then offered his hand for you to hold as you lowered yourself down next to him. He folded his coat, placing it on his lap for you to lay your head on. You nuzzle into him, resting the side of your face onto the coat while he combed his finger softly through your mess of hair.

Before you drift off to sleep, over the choir singing in the background, you hear a low gravelly whisper:

“Ikh hab dir lib (y)(I love you).”

~~~~~~~

February 9th, 1945

The plan had been to relieve Easy Company and head to Mourmelon. The following morning, orders changed after Hitler launched a counteroffensive in Alsace, and you were all to help hold the line in the town of Haguenau.

As Easy began loading up on trucks for Haguenau, PVT David Webster is dropped off by a depot Jeep,

"Thanks for the lift." Webster tells the driver.

As he greeted his battered comrades, he received no welcoming glance from any of them. The air of disdain grew thick as he passed each truck. He had been sent to an aid station long before Bastogne, and their collective resentment stemmed from his long stay in the hospital and his making no effort to return quickly and rejoin the company.

You're seated next to Joe in the bed of a deuce truck, huddled into him trying to keep warm as Webster walked up.

"Hey guys, some lieutenant told me to report to 2nd." he stated gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder behind him.

He looked at one of the soldiers across from you and Liebgott.

"You're name's Jackson, right?

"That's right." Jackson replied dryly.

"Who's leading the platoon?" Webster queried.

"Sgt Malarkey is." Jackson responded.

"What? No officers?" Webster questioned.

"I guess you didn't hear." Liebgott began, "They're making Malarkey lieutenant. He's on the fast track now."

"Really? That's great." Webster noted.

"Yeah, ain't it?" Joe replied sarcastically.

"Hey, Jackson, help me up, will ya?" Webster said trhowing his gear bag up onto the bed of the truck as he hoisted himself up.

Webster sat on the bench next to Jackson, then noticed you half passed out on Joe's shoulder. He observed the medic brassard on your left arm.

"New medic?" he asked, motioning with his head towards you.

Joe looked down at you, shifting your face onto his chest as he wrapped his left arm around you to hold you steady when the truck picked up speed.

"No. She's been here since the beginning." he stated, shooting a cold glance at Webster.

"So, you came from the hospital?" Jackson asked Webster.

"Yeah."

"Must've liked that hospital, cuz, uh, we left Holland four months ago." Joe sneered.

Webster felt the bitterness, “Well I wasn’t there the whole time. There was rehabilitation, then the replacement depot-“

“-Well I’m sure you tried to bust out and help us in Bastogne.” Joe interjected.

“Well, I don’t know how I would’ve done that.” Webster defended.

“That’s funny, because Popeye found a way. So did Alley, right? Back in Holland,” Joe illustrated to Babe who was sitting on your left, “And Guarnere--”

“Yeah, where is Guarnere? He still your platoon sergeant?” Webster asked obliviously.

“No. He got hit.” Jackson answered bitterly.

The trucks arrived at Haguenau then came to a hard stop. The men started to unload from the rear. Joe gently nudged you.

“Zeit zu gehen, Liebling (g)(Time to go, darling).” Joe whispered to you.

“She speaks German, too?” Webster probed.

You strain your eyes to look at him.

“Who’s this?” you ask Joe.

“Webster.” Joe answered plainly.

“Hm, don’t you look all bright eyed and bushy tailed.” You say through a yawn.

Joe scoffed, “Yeah, had a four month furrlow, now he’s ready for war.” Joe joked.

Joe jumped from the bed of the truck, then offered his hand to you to help you down which you accepted.

“Spread out. Hold along this line ‘til I figure out where we’re going.” Malarkey called out.

“Sarge? Sarge-“ Webster approached Malarkey.

An incoming shell soared over and hit a nearby building before Malarkey could respond. An unexpecting frightened Webster dove to the ground while LT Speirs spectated in the background like a child watching a fireworks display.

“What’s the matter there, Webster? A little nervous in the service?” Malarkey teased.

~~~~~~~

Later in one of the abandoned houses of the town, Captain Speirs and LT Lipton were setting the place up as Command Post. Lipton had been fighting off pneumonia since you left Rachamps and was looking rather rough. You and Eugene had been hounding him since to take it easy, but he has chosen to keep pushing through for the men.

“Sir, pneumonia has killed people with rest. You keep pushin’ yourself like this you’re gonna die.” You lecture him, “Luz, go grab the man a blanket, will ya?”

You call out to George as you guide him back down onto the couch.

“I’ll be alright, Y/L/N.” Lipton assurred.

“Sgt Lipton? Feeling all right?” Webster’s voice carried through the room.

You look up, slightly annoyed, “Look at him. He’s got pneumonia, does he look all right?” you hiss.

“Sorry to hear that.” Webster replied.

“What are you sorry about?” Luz said as he threw a wool blanket over Lipton, “He’s alive, he’s got a couch, a goddamn blanket. He’s snug as a bug.”

“Well, if the man would stay off his feet and keep warm...maybe eat something, he may actually recover.” You state firmly.

Lipton sighed, “I promise I will try harder to take it easy, Y/F/N.”

You hum is disbelief as you try to start a fire in the fireplace to heat some soup for him.

"You fuckin' Italians think you can solve everything with food." Luz said outloud.

You glare over your shoulder at him.

"Non vengo pagata abbastanza per essere tua madre (i)(I don't get paid enough to be your mother)." you mumble under your breath.

Luz's face twisted with confusion, "Huh?"

"Nothin'." you reply curtly.

“Have a seat Webster, I’ll help you get situated.” Lipton said pointing to the chair nearest to him.

Webster observed you by the fireplace.

“So, you Liebgott’s girl?” Webster inquired.

You start the fire and hang a tin cup with water and broth above it before you respond.

“What if I am?”

He stared back in shock.

“Just wonderin’.”

“You got a lot to say, don’tchya? A little advice, David Webster, quit asking these guys so many questions about who went where. Don’t make them relive all their losses so soon. Got it?” you say with spitfire behind your voice.

Webster’s jaw fell open while his eyes widened.

“Um, yeah. Got it.” He uttered.

You give him one last look over and leave the room.

Upon your return, a replacement officer arrived while Captain Speirs moved about the room shuffling through some papers he had snatched from Lipton’s hands.

“Listen, for chrissake, will ya go back in the back and sack out? There’s beds back there with fresh sheets.” Speirs ordered Lipton before he could say anything.

“THANK YOU, SIR.” You project across the room to the Captain, “I guess it takes a direct order from the CO to get you to do what me and Doc been askin' you to do for days.” You assert with exasperation.

Lipton shot you a frustrated expression, “I will, sir, I was just tryin’ to make myself useful, sir.”

~~~~~~~

Another abandoned building was designated as barracks for the companies occupying the town. Floors that were able to bare weight, had bunks lining the walls in each room. You had a single bed to yourself that was conveniently arranged where the headboard of your bed met Liebgott’s bottom bunk. You lay on Joe’s bed briefly to rest your eyes.

The new officer, LT Jones, entered the room to let Malarkey know that at 0100, a mission was to commence across the river to obtain POW’s for interrogation. After Jones took Malarkey aside to go over a few details, Liebgott took Webster to the bunks to get the information out of him.

“Hey, Web. Come here, I wanna talk to you for a second.”

“Why??” Webster asked alarmed.

“You want some coffee?”

“No.” Webster replied quickly, paranoid by Joe’s sudden act of kindness.

Joe looked at Jackson, “Fifteen.”

“Fifteen what?” Jackson asked.

“Looeys since D-Day,” Joe replied, “This kid out of high school yet?”

Joe asked looking at LT Jones talking to Malarkey by the window.

“West Point.” Webster replied.

“Isn’t that where Ike went?” Jackson asked.

“He actually graduated with his son.” Webster clarified.

“Shit. So, uh, what do you know about this patrol thing?” Joe interrogated Webster.

You sat up from Joe’s bunk.

“Patrol?” you asked, somewhat panicked.

“Uh, nothing.” Webster lied.

“Oh, come on, I know you know something.” Ramirez pushed.

“I don’t!” Webster insisted.

Joe spit at the floor, “Bullshit. You were there, right? At the CP. This is a prisoner snatch, right? Come on, Webster. Spill it.” Joe pressured.

You shifted onto the side of the mattress to hear better.

“Capt Speirs is to pick fifteen men. LT Jones wants to be one of them.”

“I say let the kid go. He could use the experience.” Joe said with a cynical smile.

“Probably could find fourteen replacements to help him out.” Ramirez added.

“Who’s going?” You chime in, asking Webster, “I assume they need a translator and a medic.”

“I don’t know who.” he replied.

You roll your eyes at him.

“Why are you holding out on me? I know you know-” Joe accused Webster, “Who?”

Webster hesitated, “Well, if I tell you, you can’t let anyone know I let you know.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Web. Who is it?” Joe urged.

Webster paused, “Heffron-“

“Oh, shit.” Babe huffed.

“-McClung, and Ramirez.” He ended.

“He want any other guys from any other platoon?” Joe asked.

“No. I don’t know. Not that I know of. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

~~~~~~~

“2nd Platoon, on me!” Malarkey called right outside the shower tents that were set up for the soldiers to finally have a proper hot shower.

The men form up around him.

“All right, I’m leading this patrol. CO wants Grant, Liebgott, Wynn, Jackson, Shifty from 3rd platoon, and Webster.” He relayed.

“They don’t want anyone from first?” Cobb asked.

“No.”

“Is there anyone they don’t want from 2nd Platoon? Jesus Christ-” Joe expressed sarcastically rolling his eyes, “It’s always 2nd Platoon. I swear to God, if we were down to three guys, they’d still want us for it.”

Joe trudged off towards the showers.

You run after Malarkey, “Malark, they didn’t say anything about bringing a medic?”

“Those were the only names they gave me, Y/L/N.” he replied wryly.

“Maybe you can suggest I come with-“

“Y/F/N, those are the names. I’m sure there’s a reason they’re not sending you or Doc.” he barked.

You coward back slightly, trying not to push the subject any further.

He softened his demeanor realizing he was overreacting some, “I know you wanna be there, but we can’t afford to lose more people, let alone medics. Especially good ones. Get it?” he explained as warmly as he could muster.

“Ya, sarge, I understand.” You reply with a weak smile.

He gave you an encouraging nod and walked to the shower tent. You realized you were about to be surround by dozens of naked men and should probably head back to the bunks before you see too much.

~~~~~~~

Back at CP, Luz was unpacking what looked to be dozens of chocolate bars and candies sent from the Post Exchange from Stateside. His Easy Company brothers progressively encircling him like vultures trying to convince him to share as he counted them to record for inventory.

“Goddamn it, Johnny, you’re breaking my heart, I’m telling ya!” Luz started.

“Come on, George, just give me, I don’t know, 10, 15 bars.” Martin begged.

Luz slammed down a small pack of gum on the surface of the table, “Here, Juicy Fruit! Happy?”

Another soldier walked in behind Cobb and Martin, “Just got report of movement. 1st Sergeant Lipton wants you to lay a few bazooka rounds into a house across the river.”

“You’d think we’d get just one Hershey bar-“ Martin complained disregarding the soldier’s report.

“Come on, Luz, you’re 1st platoon at heart.” Cobb pushed.

“Jesus, Cobb, there’s not enough-“ Luz explained.

Liebgott entered the room with you right behind him. Webster and LT Jones entered not too long after you.

“Whoa, Hershey bars!!” Joe exclaimed.

“Where!?” you ask trying to look over Joe’s shoulder on your tiptoes.

Luz rolled his eyes, “Jesus Christ!”

“Wait your turn Liebgott, Y/L/N.” Cobb commanded.

“Yeah, yeah, who they for?” Liebgott dismissed.

“Not you! Not even for Y/F/N!” Luz established sternly.

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “I am offended, George! Have I not taken care of you when you needed it?”

“Yeah, and so has Doc but I don’t see him in here asking for handouts.” He replied.

“Oh, come on, George, one bar for me and Y/F/N, we’ll share one.” Joe pushed.

“No! There’s not enough to go around!” Luz claimed.

“Hey, big mouth, give the kid a Hershey bar.” A familiar voice projected across the room.

Everyone looked up and saw Frank Perconte back from the aid station after receiving a bullet by the Germans in his left buttocks.

The guys laughed collectively.

“You gotta be shittin’ me!” Luz said with a wide smile.

“Look who it is!” Joe added.

“What’s up guys? I like what you did with the place, George.” Perconte jested.

“Yeah, yeah, I did good. How you feelin’?”

“As long as you keep your hands off my ass, I’ll be fine.”

Luz chuckled, “Here have a Hershey.”

He tossed a candy bar across the room to Frank.

“He gets a fuckin’ Hershey bar?” Joe protested.

“Well, he got shot in the ass!” Luz retorted.

Martin walked over to Perconte, “Did I tell you to stick your big ass out in the wind?”

“No! But I expect a little sympathy from you, right?” Frank repsonded.

“Yeah, should I rub it for ya?” Martin teased trying to spank his left butt cheek.

Perconte quickly shuffled to the side, “Get the fuck outta here!”

“Can you believe this guy? I try to get him out of the fuckin’ war, he comes straight back!” Martin stated.

“Yeah, well, that’s not what I heard. I heard the Krauts are finished.” Frank said.

“Yeah, well, just to make sure, we gotta row across the fucking river tonight, grab a few, and ask them in person.” Joe explained.

Frank’s disappointment surfaced across his face.

“Ya kidding me?”

Joe shook his head, “Wish I was. Welcome back, Frank.”

~~~~~~~

At 1700 back at CP later that day, a briefing was to be held by Capt Winters about the upcoming patrol for that night. The soldiers listed on the roster to go sat around a long dining room oak table with LT Jones standing awkwardly off to the side.

With Capt Speirs’ and Lipton’s permission, you also attended the briefing, standing across the room where you had a clear view of Joe sitting at the head of the table. You could see the guys secretly whispering their opinions to eachother about LT Jones leading the mission instead of Malarkey.

“No way. Not on his first day.” Grant stated.

Joe rubbed his bottom lip thoughtfully, “Well, do you see any other officer here?”

Webster, standing behind Joe’s chair, crossed his arms, then looked at Lt Jones sympatheticlly, knowing the frustrations of being doubted for being “the new guy.” Another handful of Easy soldiers entered the room.

“Who’s in charge of this bullshit?” one of them asked. He looked over his shoulder at LT Jones. “No he ain’t.” he determined outwardly.

“Well, if he ain’t, it’s you, Chuck. Or Shifty, or Mo.” Babe asserted.

“Well, that would be better.” Joe appended.

You feel your stomach twist into knots at his words. And as if he felt your anxiousness, he shifted his attention to you, meeting your gaze across the room. He gave you his signature infectious Liebgott grin, and you couldn't help but smile back.

“Ten-hut!” Jones called out to bring the room to attention as Captain Winters walked into the room.

“At ease.” Winters instructed the men.

Winters explained that they were to cross the river in four rubber boats with LT Jones, the ranking officer will go along as an observer. Sergeant Martin was to lead the patrol in Malarkey’s place. He assured the guys that the battalion will be covering their withdrawal with the POW’s, and were to utilize the whistles provided to signal to them to blast the outpost after they’ve safely returned to the boats.

“Remember, it’s about prisoners,” Winters reiterated firmly, “-Don’t pop the first thing that moves.”

Winters flashed a brief glance at Liebgott before continuing.

“Clear?”

The men mutually responded, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Picked your assault team?” he asked Martin.

“McClung, Liebgott, Sisk, Cobb, Garcia, and Webster, as translator. The rest of you guys, a base of fire with Sergeant Grant. You speak German, right, Webster?” Martin bellowed at Webster across the table.

“Yeah, a little bit.” Webster replied meekly.

Not before wishing his men good luck, Winters made his exit.

“A little German?” Joe began, “-his German’s as good as mine. And Y/F/N’s.”

Joe motioned with his head towards you. You look at the floor somewhat flattered, but also frustrated that two soldiers who speak German would be going on this mission when they really only needed one. This thought had you pushing down angry tears.

Coincidently, Webster had the same thoughts.

As you file outside with the guys out of CP, you immediately head back to the barracks so Joe wouldn't see you upset before he left. Webster approached Capt Winters, Capt Speirs, Martin, and LT Jones.

“Sir?”

“Yes?” Winters acknowledged.

“Liebgott and I, we both speak German. You said fifteen men, there’s sixteen of us, including two translators.” Webster elluded.

“Well, fine,” Speirs began, “Hey, Liebgott. You wanna sit this one out?”

Joe’s obvious elation displayed on his face, “Yes, sir,” he looked at Web, “Thanks, buddy!”

~~~~~~~

I’m dedicating this chapter to my lovelies @wordsaresimple-imnot @mrs-greenside @skiesofrosie @yourspeirs for sharing and fueling my everlasting enthusiasm of BoB

❤️🪖♠️🦅

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spreadwardiard · 1 year ago

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I wrote a little thing. A little megaorion fluff thing. I can't get this ship out of my head omg.

Title: Home is Where You Are

Summary: After a long time away in Iacon, Orion returns to Kaon and snuggles up in berth with his conjunx.

Rating: Teen and Up

It was well into the recharge cycle when Orion finally stepped off transport in the city of Kaon, and even later when he finally arrived at the run-down building that served as his second home; the Gladiatorial Apartments. He ignored the warnings flashing on his HUD as he trudged down the hall towards the elevator, alerting him to what he already knew; that he was exhausted and in desperate need of recharge.

As always, the elevator groaned in a worrisome reminder of the lack of maintenance that was afforded to this place. It would fail, one cycle, if they didn’t tend to it, Orion thought as it inched its way towards the upper floors. Orion hoped that by that time he will have successfully convinced Megatronus that it would be beneficial to allow Orion to purchase something… safer and more suitable to their needs. As much as he loved his conjunx, the tiny apartment provided to Megatronus, even as the Champion, was too small to comfortably house the both of them full time.

He felt that familiar tug at his spark tighten as the elevator ground to a halt. Orion wasted no time, stepping out of that steel death trap as soon as its doors allowed him the space to do so. He let that tug at his spark pull him forward down the hall. He knew even before he punched the lock code into the door that Megatronus was recharging, and that brought a smile to his face as he stepped into the dimly lit apartment. Orion made him promise not to wait up for him.

Home… The apartment consisted of only three rooms; the living area, the berth room and the washrack. The main living space was half a fuel preparation station, and the rest was only large enough to fit his conjunx’s desk and two chairs. Orion couldn’t stop himself from quietly tidying up the space. He yawned softly as he straightened up the pile of datapads piled on the corner of the desk, saving them from inevitable collapse due to their haphazard stacking.

A quick glance around the room ripped a heavy sigh straight from his intake. The place was a mess, though that was not the fault of Megatronus. The unit his benefactors used to house him was simply too small for the larger warframe to comfortably maneuver himself to tidy up small nooks and crannies- another reason Orion wanted to purchase something else for the two of them.

He made his way into the fuel preparation station, picking up any trash that was easily accessible. After tossing it into the waste receptacle, he made his way to the automatic energon purifier on the counter. It was not turned on. Still ignoring the warnings in his HUD to seek immediate recharge, he switched on the machine, and carefully added the raw energon into the unit. Now, they would have fuel prepared for them when they came out of recharge.

An exhausted yawn ripped free from his intake as he turned and glanced at the closed door to the berthroom. His conjunx lay beyond that door, along with the silent promise of comfort and rest. It was so slagging difficult to recharge now, when he was alone in Iacon.

Orion paused only for a klik once the door to the berthroom slid open, to admire his Champion's form upon the berth. His spark blazed in a momentary inferno upon the sight. He wasn't entirely sure when or how he had fallen so deeply in love with this mech. It was not an intentional decision on his part, but Megatronus had nonetheless burrowed into his spark and had become everything to him.

Even shrouded in darkness his frame was magnificent. Without his low light filters switched on, Orion could see the elegant angles of Megatronus’ armored pauldrons and the almost delicate curve where his waist slopped into his hips silhouetted against the dim light trickling in through the window. The beauty of his frame was enough to suck the air directly from his vents.

Orion still could not entirely understand why Megatronus had chosen him as his conjunx. He could have any mech he wanted, and yet Megatronus had given his spark to a simple archivist. Orion was no fighter. He was not especially strong. He did not have a station that gave him great political power or a voice amongst the people. Despite how deeply he loved Megatronus, he still often felt undeserving of the love Megatronus returned to him.

He felt another yawn begin to build up in his frame, and his HUD flashed that obnoxious warning once more. Finally, he stepped towards the berth, taking care to move slowly and quietly to not disturb the gladiator before him. Megatronus must have been just as exhausted as Orion was, for him to be recharging so soundly.

He sat slowly on the edge of the berth, careful to slowly distribute his weight so as to not disturb his lover's recharge. Orion could already feel the comforting warmth of Megatronus’ frame radiating towards him as he scooted himself close until he was finally able to press himself gently against his lover’s back.

“I missed you so much.” Orion whispered as he peppered gentle kisses along the Champion's spinal strut, before slipping his arm around his lover's waist. He knew that once the morning came, he would likely find himself pinned below this very same frame while they reunited carnally, but for now he was simply content to snuggle his face into the larger mech's back and hold him as close as possible while finally allowing himself to succumb to the demands of exhaustion.

#spreadwardiardfics #megaorion #megaop #megop #megorion #tfp fanfic #fluff #tfp orion pax #tfp megatronus #tfp megaop #tfp megop fanfics #tfp megop

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dearestcynthiaw · 11 months ago

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Goodbye Stranger - House MD x Reader

Chapter one: World Weary

A young, mild woman, of noble decent, comes face to face with an infamous doctor, not just from the other side of the world but seemingly a whole other time. Will he believe her ridiculous, and quite frankly, impossible story? In House's mind, everybody lies, but is that so for this new, mysterious woman.

_________________________________________

This is my first fanfic in a long time, I'm quite new to Tumblr, so hello!

I'm absolutely infatuated with this series at the moment, so I thought I'd do a bit of writing and play with a concept that makes me ponder. This is very very loosely based on a original character that lives rent free in my mind. I've done a chunk of paintings of her so I'll post a few as headers on some of the chapters. The character in this will go nameless, and is intended to be a self-insert for those reading, therefore I've tagged it as a 'x reader'.

I'm not a doctor and I don't work in medicine so lots of this is research and a little help from a friend who is a nurse, so the knowledge in it will be hit or miss.

Anyway, enjoy!

----

It had been a long, hot, blissful summer in the year of 1928. Newly September, the days were starting to get shorter and the trees were turning crisp and orange.

It had been quite a bad week, though bad was quite the understatement. Her uncle was on his deathbed. He’d suffered through a long bout of influenza that was seemingly impossible to recover from. She visited as often as she could, hoping that each visit wouldn't be the last. Her heart was heavy from knowing his death would eventually become inevitable. He had always been a man of great prowess and genuine kindness, which was a rarity in her family, and losing him would shatter her.

Moreover, her fiancé was hurried to hospital after a nasty accident at a rugby match. He hadn't been concentrating when running the length of the pitch, he tripped and was ambushed by the collective. His ankle looked horribly out of shape, one could only imagine how many degrees it had rotated. It looked almost entirely backwards.

Her Fiancé's hospitalisation and her uncle's sickness had caused the worst sleeping patterns. She'd barely had a few hours each night for the past week. As she laid in bed most nights, especially in the early hours of the morning, thoughts and worries flurried through her head. She lay there hoping to God everything would set itself straight.

The exhaustion had impacted every aspect of her day so far, and she had marched up to the central hospital, from her soon to be in-laws townhouse, she felt overwhelmingly drowsy and unsteady. Of course there was no transport to be seen for miles to cut down the walking distance and give her a couple seconds of peace. All servants were out of the house, and it had become increasingly difficult to hail a taxi.

She trudged through the bustling streets, avoiding streams of people surging towards her. She had arrived at roughly 13:11 pip-emma, give or take, hoping that her beloved was already awake and breakfasted, to spare the grumpiness.

Awkwardly she stood, though all else were seated, patiently waiting for the nurse to lead the way to her sweet fiance's room.

She had been called with the added 'Lady' positioned at the very beginning of her name. It had caused a slight shudder to run down her spine as the room of plenty turned to look in her direction, eyebrows quirking in curiosity.

She appeared quite out of place in the very centre of London in a hospital bustling with people who were much different to herself.

Although she never minded her title, she much preferred the simple 'miss'. 'Lady' carried too much sophistication and responsibility, the sort associated with cutting ribbons and giving out writing awards at local schools. It felt far beyond her, she’d always felt sort of, under prepared.

Standing there in her professionally ironed clothing and perfectly soft waved hair, being ogled at, made her feel uncomfortably separate from everyone else.

‘Just this way, You’ll find he’s in quite a pleasant mood today, we’ve been able to better control his pain since you’ve last seen him.’ The nurse turned to face the Lady, with a sweet smile as they walked the extensive, dismal hallways.

The door was ajar, and from the threshold she could see a well lit room, far different to the rest of the hospital. There were bouquets of flowers scattered about, along with ‘Get Well Soon’ cards that were crammed upon the limited surfaces. There were excessive amounts of sweetmeats and sugary treats upon the bed and sideboard. This man had only been admitted the day before and he already received a hefty amount of goods. It wouldn't be long before he had to pack it all up and head home.

She had been loudly interrupted from her thoughts with a cheerful ‘What-ho sweetheart!’. The nurse was quite right, he was much more sprightly today.

‘I say, take a seat, this chair or that, you might even be allowed to perch on my bed a while!’ Snorting, he motioned towards a patch on his bed that wasn’t decorated with an array of sweets.

‘You look quite at home here. Should I be assured that they’re looking after you well?’ Her eyes were glued to his bubbly expression. It was quite surprising for a man who had been writhing about in pain on a muddy pitch the day prior.

‘Quite, quite, very well indeed. Though, I can’t ever seem to get any service here. They’re always ignoring me. I don’t ask that much of them.’

It was almost certain that he did, it could only presume that he wanted to be pandered to and pampered as though he was on the coast of France in some lavish hotel.

She could only look at him with a sense of pity, she only saw a man who was in a great deal of pain and was pushing through with a gleaming smile.

She found she was at quite a loss for words, sympathising with him wouldn't do as he'd only push himself to show he wasn't entirely helpless. This always put him in a worse state. ‘Do you know when you might be coming home?’ was all she could think of after the momentary silence.

‘Oh yes, yes, it was supposed to be today, but I’ve asked to be held on until tomorrow. Charlie from the club said he’d drive me home.’

‘You don’t want me to take you home? I can do it later today when Dobson gets back, he has the key to the shed where my car is-’ Again she applied a bright smile, hoping she could be of help. ‘You’ll only have to wait till 3. It’s really not that long darling.’

‘Gosh no, I don’t like it when you drive, makes me feel like a helpless sod.’

Lightly exhaling and nodding she looked down at her hands in her lap.

And again he spoke; ‘You’ll have to bring me a glass of water dearest, I can’t get the attention of anyone at this bloody hospital. And I'm bloody parched!' He seemed to let out a sort of huff; boyishly crossing his arms.

As she stood and started to walk, he shouted after her ‘Oh! And grab a doctor for me too, there’s something I need him to see.’

With a sweet smile and a light nod she turned on her heel, heading back for that ominous, dark hallway.

A short way down she found a small cupboard, one with a tap and a couple glasses and other bits and pieces to accommodate patients and guests.

Just before fetching a glass, she lent over and placed her head on the counter, with her arms cradling her head. She let out a long exhale to release some of the stress of the day. The exhaustion was starting to catch up, she could so easily have a quick nap with her head on the cold surface.

Finally gathering the energy to move, she lifted a glass and ran the tap, making sure she didn’t fill the vessel with lukewarm water.

Someone must have closed the door whilst she took her momentary rest, as when she turned she was confronted by the clinical white passageway that was firmly shut.

With a heavy push she dislodged the door from its threshold and found herself to be completely disoriented. Nothing looked the same. She thought that maybe she had taken a long route to this small cupboard and had simply forgotten the way she came.

She was completely surrounded by shelves upon shelves of supplies. There was only one other door and it was straight ahead. She turned again, wandering back inside the smaller room with the sink, studying her surroundings to see if there was another entrance that she might have overseen. Yet there was nothing.

She finally settled on advancing towards the opposite door, walking between the sets of shelves that carried an array of different peculiar items that resembled medical arsenal, none of which she had ever seen used before, but yet again, she didn’t spend much time hanging around hospitals to see what new advances were made in the field.

Just as she reached for the door handle, it began to pull downwards as a force was applied to the opposite side.

Jumping back in surprise and slight panic, feeling as though she had wandered into the wrong part of the building, she had no time to think out a possible explanation before the door was fully open.

The man that was stood there gave her a wide eyed look, appearing equally as perplexed as herself.

She quickly took in his figure, he was no doubt tall, taller then most of the men that she knew, and was scruffily dressed, she wondered if he might have taken a wrong turn too.

Taking in a quick breath she squeaked; ‘Are you lost too?’

‘No.’ He had a distinctive accent as he bluntly said the singular word.

‘I’m in your way, sorry, I’ll just-’ She peered to his side noting the direction she was heading.

‘How did you get in here?’ His eyebrow quirked.

‘Through that door.’ She pointed behind herself, his eyes quickly following her movement. There was nothing there. No door in sight, as though it had never been there to begin with.

She looked back at him in surprise ‘I could have sworn-’

With that he let out a bark of laughter. She felt ever so small and grew red in the face.

‘I must be tired, but I swear that's where I came from.’

‘No door there sweetheart, never was.’

Her mouth formed an ‘o’ shape, yet no sound came out. ‘I better get back to my fiancé.’

‘You haven’t answered my question.’ He attempted to stop her proceeding.

‘Well, I don’t really have much of an answer, because I certainly don’t remember entering through the door you’re standing in.’

‘This door was locked, did someone let you in? What you looking for, is it drugs? Could’ve just asked.’ Now she spotted his walking stick, he was leaning onto it, slightly blocking the way so he could continue interrogating her.

‘How dare you, I wouldn’t do anything like that.’

‘They all say that.’

‘Can I just get through? I need to take this to my fiancé.’ She raised the glass in her hand.

‘What ward?’

‘Somerset Ward.’ Her answers were getting shorter as she became frazzled by the constant questions.

‘Haven’t heard of that one before.’

‘It’s fine, I’ll find my own way.’

‘You still haven’t answered my question.’

‘Look, I really haven’t got a clue. Can I go now please?’ She gave a hapless sigh as she was getting to the end of her tether.

He stepped aside, yet seemed to follow her as she stepped into an unfamiliar hall. It was bright white, almost blinding. It looked like an entry to the hospital, one that she’d never seen before. There were people scattered everywhere, wearing clothing very different from her own. She turned back to look at her interrogator with a look of shock and slight horror. ‘What is this?’

‘A hospital.’ He started to limp away, towards what looked like a reception desk. ‘You coming?’ She could see him leaning over the desk having a bit of a natter with a person sat there. She slowly got closer observing every detail in front of her. The gadgets and do-dads that adorned each desk and clinical colours that decorated the whole room. She'd never seen anything like this before. She must've ended up on the other side of the building, maybe a more experimentative wing compared to the others.

She stepped closer to what looked like a reception desk, momentarily placing down her glass of water.

‘Name?’ Came a sudden voice that carried a very similar accent to the male that she had encountered in that odd cupboard. She couldn’t quite see, until a lady poked her head out behind a silver sort of implement about the width of a brief case or small luggage holder.

There, she gave her full name in the presence of this strange man, middle name and all. A pattering sound began, like one you would hear from a typewriter, but without the obnoxious ‘ping’.

‘Dr House!’ This woman bellowed, only now realising that he’d started to wander away.

‘Can’t find a name on the system.’

‘You’re trying to find my records? I’m not a patient here, I’m only visiting. Besides you won’t find it by typing, it’ll be in paper form, I thought that was the same for everyone?'

‘Sorry dear, Dr House told me you’d found your way off the psychiatric ward, your name isn't even on the database.’ This woman behind the desk looked directly into her eyes, showing vague sympathy.

‘You think I’m mad?!’ She cried at the ’doctor’.

He continued to move away, towards what looked like a metal cladded elevator ‘Would explain the confusion.’ He shouted over the room of, what she could presume were patients waiting to be seen.

She quickly jammed her arm into the door of the metal contraption before it fully closed.

‘I am tired, but I’m certainly not out of my mind. I think you're having a joke with this whole thing. Who set you up to this? It’s really not funny. Can you just tell me what part of the hospital I've ended up in and I’ll be on my way.’

Again an amused smirk graced his face ‘You’re in the clinic.’

‘Well I’d gathered that from the sign above my head, but none of this is recognisable. I’ve been to the clinic before but it didn’t look anything like this.’

‘You sure you got the right hospital?’ He seemed so disinterested in giving any useful information.

‘Well yes, I’m in London-’

‘Well there we go, you’d better find your way back onto the crazy people ward, you’ve forgotten what country you're in. Next it’ll be what year from the look of you.’ He glanced down at her dress, to him it looked outdated.

‘Can you stop that? Tell me seriously now.’ She appeared panicked, worse than she had been previously. She had hit the verge of begging.

With a sigh he gave up on the teasing ‘Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. You happy now?’

‘Princeton, New Jersey?’ Her hands were starting to shake, struggling to keep the elevator door open. She’d only ever seen this place in atlases that she used to flick through in her childhood home’s extensive library.

‘Where else?’

‘No no no no no, this isn't possible.’ She stepped inside quickly before the door slammed shut. Putting her face in her hands and taking shuddering breaths.‘You’re definitely not lying right? This isn’t a joke anymore. It's all very funny, but are you sure this isn’t just an American part of the hospital and you’re just pulling my leg?’

The doctor seemed to ignore her and continue to look straight ahead, both hands on his cane.

The door to, what she had now concluded was indeed an elevator, slid open and he stepped out. She hurried after him and as she began to walk beside him he halted, staring directly at the side of her head, fierce enough to burn holes into her skull.

‘You can leave me alone now. I’m not going to help you get a plane ticket or whatever you are pestering me for. Go back to the 1920s or whatever F.Scott Fitzgerald book you think you came out of. If this is some tasteful prostitution then give me a ring later. Goodbye.’ And with that he veered off into a room that was made up of mostly glass panels.

The door flew shut and finally revealed this man's full name and title ‘GREGORY HOUSE M.D. DEPARTMENT OF DIAGNOSTIC MEDICINE’

Though he seemed to be warning her, she still pushed forth, entering the office space ‘Aren’t doctors supposed to help people?’ She had never been so forthright, if she were back at home she would’ve taken that as a forewarning and scampered off like a scared mouse.

Dr House was now sitting hunched over at the desk, eyes glued to another one of those abnormal briefcase things that casted a blue tinged light over his face.

‘Are you not listening to me or are you just plain deaf? I said goodbye.’

‘I’m not taking that as the end of the conversation, Dr House.’ Her confidence was building, though it was most likely the adrenaline surging through her veins. She took steps closer to him, peering down at the jumbled items upon his desk. Odds and ends and many stacks of paper were littered about like a white blanket covering the entirety of the desk.

Her eye caught on one document reading today's date in the margain with a completely unrecognisable year. ‘2006’.

Her eyes bulged and her head seemed to be endlessly screaming. There was a fuzzy static sound that ringed in her ears and her breathing became short. Throughout the whizzing of her mind, she remained completely silent and still.

‘Patient confidentiality, don’t you know.’ He said flipping over the paper she had been gawking at.

‘Two-thousand and six.’ was what she muttered beneath her breath.

‘So you really are that deranged. The whole get up is all part of the act. Are you living out a fantasy or something?’

‘It’s 2006? It’s 1928, your document is wrong. I mean this could be a very elaborate joke or is this a film set?’

‘You’ll have to pay me overtime if you keep asking me all these questions. $300 and you’ll get the full package, what d’you say Marty.’

'Are you still insinuating that I am a whore?’ She now began to grit her teeth. ‘And that is not my name-' She was cut off whilst she was reprimanding him.

'I’m the whore here, I’m the one offering my body, Marty. Now, what would that make me? Doc Brown? nah, maybe a generational relative from the future. Really spooky stuff. What have you come to tell me? About my impending death or bad life choices? Because you're a bit late.' Resting his head on his hands he looked up inquisitively.

'I really don't understand-?' She spoke whilst shaking her head.

''Course you don't ' He pulled his lips thin, eyes widening and shrugging his shoulders. ’You think you're a time traveller and I’m here to tell you to head back down those stairs to where you belong, in the psychiatric ward.’

Her face twisted in disgust as he spoke such cruel, unadulterated words. She could feel the tears in the back of her eyes. No one was going to believe her, she barely even believed it herself.

‘What? Am I supposed to play along? Oops!’ His actions were so animated as he lifted a hand to his mouth.

He picked up what could've been a phone and brought it to his ear chatting with someone on the other end and began typing vigorously.

‘Looks like they'll have to book you in. No records here. Oh, tell you what, let's Google you, see what we can find.’

‘Google?’ She rubbed her forehead with worry.

‘What fun, you're still playing along.’ His words carried an underlying bite. ‘Here we go, nice, so you're daddy's an Earl and you live in a big mansion and have lots of money. I'm not surprised that you picked this woman to claim as your identity. It's full of all those fun parts. You've gone the extra mile too, editing a photo of yourself amongst your fictional family, how sweet.’ He turned the screen around and there was a photo of her and her brothers.

Gasping in shock she spluttered ‘How did you get that?! That’s a private photograph!’

‘How did you do it then, Marty? Did you change the whole of this Wiki page to suit you?’ He tutted.

Standing silent in the emptiness of this office was like torture. She bit her tongue to stop the tears and prevent the endless wrath of words she was holding back. ‘How could you be so cruel, Dr House?’ She shook her head. ‘I thought you were going to help me.’ Her words were wavering as she spoke softly.

He raised his shoulders once again lifting his hands up to display mock confusion ‘What is there to help?’.

And with those last few words she turned, flying out of the room.

----

‘World Weary’ - Noël Coward 1928

----

~ It was an early morning yesterday, I was up before the dawn ~

#House #Housemd #Housexreader #Gregoryhouse #Gregoryhousexreader #timetravel #1920s #x reader #reader insert #house x reader #house md #house md x reader #gregory house x reader

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peterrefur · 8 months ago

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The days we knew ⅏ Wilbur Soot x GN!Reader

Summary: Wilbur returns from Limbo. Reader reminisces about L'Manberg. Wilbur visits Reader's restaurant, and they recognize each other. Notes: Hey Mate!!! I’m Peter and I say right away that English is not my first language. I’m curious to hear your opinion about this work in the comments! Enjoy!

I am trying to get back to writing after a long break. This story is not the pinnacle of my abilities, but it is the beginning of my return to writing.

𝒲hispers and rumors spread like wildfire about his return from hell. A hell that he referred to as Limbo .

𝒜ccording to tales, this was where every soul must journey after departing from the mortal world, each Limbo tailored to the individual's experiences and memories. Some say his Limbo took the form of an endless underground metro system, with never-ending tunnels and trains that always arrived at the same station no matter how many times he boarded them.

𝐻is screams were said to be so deafeningly loud and relentless that they would echo through the night and linger for weeks, until he inevitably started screaming anew upon waking. Each scream was like a violent eruption from his chest, tearing at his vocal cords until blood filled his throat and spilled from his lips. His cries were like a tortured symphony, haunting and unyielding, they painted a picture of his anguish as a tortured symphony, echoing through the corridors of his mind long after reality had fallen silent. His knuckles, once sturdy bastions of strength, now lay bare, stripped down to the bone by the unyielding assault against the harsh concrete wall. The bones beneath threatened to breach the surface, a grim testament to his unwavering resolve. Deep furrows marred his palms, etched by the relentless barrage, a stark reminder of his unending battle. Deep grooves crisscrossed his palms from the repeated beatings, leaving behind a permanent reminder of his struggles. His nails, once neat and trimmed, were now jagged and torn off in places from desperate attempts to claw his way out. They bent backwards, painfully pulling away from the fleshy tips of his fingers.

𝐹or years, he had drifted in and out of sleep, unsure if he was truly awake or trapped in the never-ending purgatory of Limbo. He had grown accustomed to the unchanging landscape of darkness and despair, where hunger and pain were constant companions. But eventually, he came to the realization that this was an eternal torment - a hell without end. No matter how much he struggled or what he did, death would not release him from this cursed existence. His only escape was to endure and hope for some sort of redemption beyond this bleak realm.

𝒩o respite, no escape - just an unending abyss of torment.

𝒜t least that's what they say in town when Reader goes to get groceries from their quaint little restaurant. They fondly remember the days when their establishment was nestled within the borders of L'Manberg, a place where soldiers sought refuge after grueling battles and found comfort in the hearty soups and flavorful dishes they cooked up. Aromas of savory herbs and spices wafted through the air as customers eagerly awaited their meals, their spirits lifted by the warm atmosphere and delicious food.

The memories flood back to them as they recall the prestigious guests who frequented their restaurant. The elegant President of L'Manburg himself had made special visits for diplomatic meetings, seeking the comfort and privacy of their establishment. And they always made sure to serve him their nationally famous dish - Noodles with meat. The aroma alone was enough to make mouths water - a rich, savory broth simmered for hours, perfectly cooked hand-prepared noodles that they could tell were ready just by the color and texture, tender pieces of pork carefully placed on top. But it wasn't just about the taste - the presentation was just as important. Carrots, chives, and other fresh garnishes adorned the bowl, along with a sprinkling of sesame seeds and a dollop of fiery chili paste for those who dared.

𝒯his dish had become synonymous with significant events in the history of this young country, and the Reader couldn't help but feel proud knowing their humble restaurant played a part in shaping its culture and identity.

A very pleasant past that Reader misses. They remember those times with a smile.

𝐻owever, amidst the comfortable thoughts in their mind, there are also haunting memories of Pogtopia. They can still feel the weight of poverty and fear that shrouded their daily life like a thick fog. The memories of living in the canyon for what seemed like endless months flood back to them. Yet, as they try to recall the time frame, it all becomes a blur, the days and years blending together into one hazy period of turmoil. Such is the impact that time had on their memories of that place.

𝒯he unrelenting grip of poverty, the constant gnawing fear of death, the monotonous routine of preparing potatoes day after day. They had so many potatoes that they ate them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, struggling to find new ways to cook them - boiled, roasted over a fire, mashed into a purée.

𝐵ut in the end, they always seemed to give up and serve them simply boiled. The bland aroma of boiling water filled their small ravine 'kitchen', as they resigned themselves to yet another meal of plain potatoes.

𝐼t was a reminder of their meager existence, a symbol of their struggle to survive.

𝒟espite not having a large customer base, they relish every opportunity to cook for someone and bring joy to their day. The thought of someone not having to worry about food at home and being able to come to them for a satisfying meal fills there with a sense of purpose. For a small fee, they serve up bowls of steaming noodles or simple dishes that they customize to each person's liking. The aroma of herbs and spices wafts through the air, enticing passersby to stop and sample their cooking. Their humble kitchen is filled with warmth and welcoming energy, creating a haven for anyone in need of a comforting meal.

As they enter the kitchen, their arms laden with fresh produce, they quickly tie a crisp white apron around their hips. They waste no time in placing the vegetables on the counter and rinsing them under a steady stream of cool water. With practiced efficiency, they pull out a large mixing bowl and various containers to store the ingredients. The cutting board is carefully wiped down, its surface gleaming beneath the bright kitchen lights. They run a hand over its smooth surface before grabbing their sharp knife and getting to work.

𝒲ith a practiced hand, they reach for their favorite knife, its blade catching the sunlight and gleaming as they slice through the ripe tomato with precise movements. The crisp skin gives way easily and the sweet scent of the fruit fills the air as they carefully carve an even chunk and place it into the container. Moving on to the cucumbers, they expertly cut them into perfect strips, each one identical to the next, before adding them to the growing collection of vegetables in the container. Each ingredient is selected with care, from the vibrant red peppers to the deep green kale leaves and bright orange carrots. Finally, they add to earthy mushrooms their spongy texture completing the colorful array of ingredients that will soon become their customers' daily dishes. As they work, a sense of pride and satisfaction fills their heart, knowing that these fresh and carefully prepared vegetables will bring joy and nourishment to those who eat them.

𝒲ith the grace and ease of someone who has spent years perfecting their craft, they carefully wash their sharp knife before deftly cutting into the succulent meat. Every slice is deliberate and precise as they expertly remove any unwanted bones and gristle. The stray cat that frequents their restaurant in the evening is the only customer who doesn't have to pay, so they always set out a small plate for it in appreciation. It's become a familiar routine, just like the comforting scent of freshly cooked meat that lingers in the air of their cozy establishment.

𝒜s the ten o'clock hour strikes, Reader interrupts their preparations and goes to the front door and pulls down the wooden covers that protect their glass window, with a sign that Tommy, one of the former members of L'Manberg, painted a few years ago. Reader opens the door wide and lets fresh air into the small room, which seats less than ten people.

𝒜s the clock strikes ten, Reader pauses their preparations and strides to the front door with determination. They slide down the wooden covers that protect their glass window, adorned with a hand-painted sign by Tommy, one of the former members of L'Manberg. The aged paint peeling off reveals glimpses of vibrant colors from years past. With a firm grip, Reader pulls open the door, allowing a gust of cool air to sweep inside the small room. A cozy space, barely enough to seat ten people comfortably. The scent of fresh air intermingles with the comforting aroma of food and freshly brewed tea.

𝒯heir days pass, every so often consumed by thoughts and doubts of the rumors swirling about the resurrection of L'Manburg's President. Memories flood her mind- of the ravine where he had stood, surrounded by his people, pleading for them to stop calling him President. They remember the look of despair and desperation on his face, a stark contrast to the once hopeful and confident leader he used to be. The transformation he underwent is etched in their mind, from a man filled with eager ambition and hope to one broken and desolate by the loss of his country. It's a haunting image that lingers in their thoughts, a poignant reminder of what once was and what could have been. As they reflect on these memories, they can't help but feel a sense of sadness and disillusionment for the fallen leader and his shattered dreams.

—

𝒜s the time for cleaning up arrived, Reader moved with swift and precise efficiency. Their movements were like a choreographed dance, each step executed with perfect control and purpose. Without a moment of hesitation or uncertainty, they sorted through the items on the table, placing them carefully on the cat's plate or in the rubbish bin. It was as if they had been programmed for this task, carrying it out flawlessly like a well-oiled machine. The clink of dishes and rustling of paper filled the air as Reader worked, their focused expression never faltering. They were masters at their craft, turning chaos into order with each calculated movement. With a sense of accomplishment, Reader stepped back from the neatly organized items in front of them. Their duties were complete, each task executed with precision and attention to detail. A satisfying feeling of completion washed over there, leaving a smile on their face as they surveyed their flawless work. It was as if each item had found its rightful place, creating a symphony of order and efficiency.

𝒲ith a poised and graceful step, the owners of the charming restaurant emerged from their kitchen, their faces glowing with a warm smile. In one hand, they carried a delicate plate, its contents arranged in an artful display that could rival any high-end eatery. The scent of spices and herbs wafted through the crisp autumn air, drawing in any nearby feline companions. Each carefully selected ingredient had been placed with precision, creating a feast not only for the senses but also for the palate of any fortunate cat.

As they walked towards their favorite spot outside the restaurant, a small cat curled up under their legs and wrapped its tail around their thighs in grateful contentment. It was clear that this furry companion held a special place in their heart for providing it with nourishment every evening.

𝒯he frigid and forbidding darkness of the night hung heavy, engulfing everything in its path. The cold air prickled at their skin, heightening their senses as they gazed upon the lone figure standing in front of their restaurant. His silhouette loomed large against the dimly lit street, casting a daunting shadow that seemed to swallow up everything around it. The glowing moon above served as a watchful guardian, its silvery light bathing his features in an eerie glow. His intense gaze locked theirs, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still as they stood alone in this deserted city.

𝐻is voice cut through the silence, sharp and forceful. "Are you open?" he demanded, his words like shards of ice in the stillness of the night.

The man's appearance is strikingly unkempt, emitting an aura of poverty and potential homelessness. His hair, a mass of shoulder-length brown curls, appears tangled and greasy, with strands protruding in all directions. Among the chaos, a solitary white strand stands out conspicuously, almost luminous against the disorder. It's as if he's aged a decade overnight. His eyes, bloodshot and encircled by a rim of red, convey a sense of sleeplessness that spans days. The profound, dark circles beneath his eyes surpass any exhaustion I've witnessed, even among the most fatigued hybrids or humans.

𝐻e dons a tattered yellow jumper, its fabric worn thin and punctuated by tears. Draping loosely over his shoulders, a patched coat, once a lively brown, now bears the weight of dirt and grime, concealing any semblance of its former vibrancy. Wrapped around his arm, a bandage, tainted with a red hue, poses a mystery—blood or perhaps wine? Despite the neglect evident in his attire, one detail stands out: his trousers, meticulously pressed, hint at a pride in appearance amidst adversity. Yet, they're juxtaposed with scuffed and grimy shoes, evidence of a journey endured with little regard for appearance.

"Unfortunately, it has just closed," Reader says with a warm smile, their gesture directed towards the now darkened restaurant front. "But fear not, for I will be open again at 10 tomorrow morning." As they speak, they absent-mindedly pet the purring cat perched on the counter, savoring its meal of freshly prepared food. "The only customer being served now is this cat. You don't look like a cat, I'm sorry," they add, their hands gently stroking the animal as it enjoys its feast.

At this, the man chuckles and responds, "I may not look like a cat, but I wouldn't mind meowing or snuggling up to your leg if it means getting some of that delicious food," he laughs. "I wish I could help you," Reader says with a chuckle, "But I'm afraid my only clients after hours are of the feline persuasion."

𝒯he man's hearty laughter echoed through the street, blending in with the soft purring of the cat. The tension from earlier seemed to dissipate, replaced by an ease that felt strange but also comforting. "Fair enough," he said, smiling at the Reader. "I think I'll have to find another place then." "Just down the road there's an all-night dinner," they offered. They pointed towards the end of the street where a neon sign flickered intermittently. "They should still have something warm for you." "Thanks," he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine gratitude. He turned to leave before hesitating and turning back towards Reader "Do you remember cooking noodles with meat in L'Manberg?"

𝑅eader paused, a flicker of surprise passing across their face. Their eyes, which had been warm and inviting, cooled as they studied the man before there. "Why would you ask me that?" they said, their voices betraying a touch of guarded curiosity.

The man gave a rueful smile. "It's a memory I've carried for years," he admitted with an odd sort of vulnerability, his gaze never leaving their face. "A chef who cooked the most delicious noodles with meat in L'Manberg." Their faces softened as they listened to him, their initial wariness fading into curiosity. "That was a long time ago," they finally said, more to themselves than to him. He nodded slowly. "Yes, it was," he conceded. "But for some reason, those noodles have always stuck with me. I suppose...I've been looking for them ever since."

𝒜 silence descended upon them then, as they each absorbed what had been said - and perhaps what hadn't been said too. The cat finished its meal and hopped off the counter, brushing against Reader's leg before slipping out into the night. "Have we met?" Reader said finally. Their voices were soft but resolute. "Yeah..." he says and puts his hands in his pockets "I'm the one who let you open the restaurant and was the first to eat those noodles." says the man, at which Reader takes two steps backwards and only now in the man does they recognize the former President of L'Manburg.

"Mr President..." whispers Reader.

The man's expression softened at their recognition, a hint of nostalgia flickering in his eyes. "Please, just call me Wilbur," he said, his voice carrying a note of sincerity. Reader's mind raced with memories of their time together in L'Manburg, the moments of camaraderie and hardship they had shared. They couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion at the sight of him standing before them, a stark reminder of the past they had tried so hard to leave behind. "I never thought I'd see you again," they admitted, their voices barely above a whisper. "Not after everything that happened."

𝒲ilbur's face took on a serious expression; his eyes seemed to be searching the ground for answers. "I understand," he spoke in a hushed tone. "Being brought back to life is just as shocking for me as it is for others.”

Reader paused, gazing at their small restaurant with its quaint decor. "If you'd like, Mr. President - Wilbur, I believe I can whip up some delicious noodles with savory meat for you. However, it may take a bit of time." A small, genuine smile graced Wilbur's lips at Reader's kind offer, the corners of his mouth turning up as if pulled by invisible strings. "I would be delighted," his bright brown eyes shone with gratitude, reflecting the warmth in his voice as he replied, a hint of nostalgia woven into his words.

𝒲ith a graceful sweep, Reader disappeared into the kitchen to prepare their meal. Wilbur followed, sinking into a plush chair at one of the empty tables. His mind wandered back to the days when L'Manburg was a bustling nation, overflowing with life and possibility. Memories rushed in like a powerful river, each one bringing a flutter of nostalgia and longing as he waited patiently for the mouth-watering aroma of food to permeate the air once more. He could almost taste the rich flavors and feel the warmth radiating from the kitchen as Reader worked their magic.

𝒯he kitchen was alive with a symphony of sounds, as Reader moved with dancer-like grace and purpose. The clinking of pots and pans echoed through the air, each utensil playing its own instrumental part in the culinary orchestra. The scent of simmering broth, infused with aromatic spices, filled Wilbur's senses, wrapping him in a warm and comforting embrace that made his stomach growl with anticipation. It was like being enveloped in a cloud of savory goodness, beckoning him closer to the source of its alluring aroma. After spending years in the desolate realm of Limbo without any sustenance, the mere scent of these noodles sent a wave of hunger crashing over him. He could practically taste the savory broth and chewy strands as if they were right in front of him. The aroma was so enticing, he felt like he could devour liters of it without hesitation.

𝒜s Reader emerged from the warm, bustling kitchen with a steaming bowl of noodles in hand, Wilbur's eyes met theirs with a mixture of admiration and longing. The aroma of savory broth and freshly cooked noodles wafted through the air, enticing his senses. As he took the first bite, the flavors exploded on his palate, each mouthful a symphony of tastes that transported him back to simpler times. With every swallow, he could taste the heart and soul that Reader had poured into the dish. "You have truly outdone yourself," Wilbur exclaimed between bites, his eyes never leaving Reader's face as if trying to convey his gratitude and appreciation through their locked gaze.

𝒯he words hung heavy in the air, thick with disbelief and awe. "I was at your funeral," Reader's voice trembled as they took a seat in the chair next to Wilbur. "And now I'm serving you noodles." The steam from the hot meal rose and mingled with their breath, a surreal scene unfolding before them. "You really have been revived," Reader marveled at the miracle of Wilbur's return from death. "Believe me, you're not the only one having trouble adjusting to this." Wilbur says between mouthfuls of steaming noodles. He pauses to take a deep breath, then continues with a tinge of gratitude in his voice, "But thanks to my hero I am back alive. Dream." He lifts his bowl up in a gesture of gratitude towards Dream, who is now behind bars in prison. Reader can sense the tension and unease between Wilbur and Dream.

𝐼t's clear that something has changed between them, something that Reader doesn't quite understand or enjoy witnessing.

𝒯he word fell from Reader's lips with a bitter tone, carrying with it the weight of past struggles and disappointments. The mere mention of "Dream" conjured up a flood of negative memories - the root cause of L'Manberg's seemingly endless problems. "Dream? Eh, Wasn't he perhaps enemy number one in L'Manberg?” Reader asks.

𝒲ilbur's gaze darkened at the mention of Dream's name, a storm brewing in his eyes. "Yes, he was," Wilbur admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and betrayal. "But he was also the one who brought me back from the Limbo." The conflicting emotions within Wilbur were evident in his tense posture and furrowed brow. Reader could sense the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface, the unresolved issues and complicated history between Wilbur and Dream hanging heavily in the air. "I know it's hard to understand," Wilbur continued, his voice softer now, laced with a hint of sadness. "But things are never as black and white as they seem, especially in a place like L'Manberg." He took another bite of noodles, the warmth of the broth offering a momentary distraction from the weight of their conversation.

𝑅eader watched Wilbur closely, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together in their minds. Despite the tension between them, Reader couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Wilbur. The weight of expectations and responsibilities had taken its toll on him, leaving behind scars that ran deep.

𝑅eader smiles and refills the broth in Wilbur's noodles.

"It's good to have you back."

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #mcyt wilbur #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #wilbur mcyt #wilbur soot fic #wilbur soot #wilbur x you #wilbur post #wilbur soot x y/n #Reader #revivebur x Reader #revivebur x you #mcyt x Reader #revivebur fic #revivebur

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fyodior · 2 years ago

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Wait oh my god, omega reader in heat with alpha verlaine AND alpha Rimbaud 👁️

hhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

ok so we've already discussed this some, and what i think their different strengths as heat partners would be -- verlaine would be much better at alleviating your sexual needs whereas rimbaud is likely better with the emotional/physical support. basically verlaine will fuck you raw and rimbaud will make sure you drink water

so i definitely think they tag team it like that. when you wake up agitated and so horny you can't breathe, rimbaud will rub your back and do breathing exercises with you as verlaine gets himself hard fjdjfjfd and as he fucks you, rimbaud will prepare some light food and drinks to make sure you stay hydrated and fed, which he has to really encourage you to take a few bites of afterwards. your insanely overwhelming omega hormones and scent drive verlaine fucking crazy and he ends up fucking you half to death so you're rightfully exhausted jjfjdsjfdj but rimbaud is still going to gently force you to eat and drink, and will help you either take a shower or bath afterwards. he's pretty adamant about keeping you clean too. he'll help you rearrange your nest when it falls in disarray and scent/provide you with every single sweater he owns to comfort you when pieces of your nest inevitably need to be washed. he is the most gentle, patient, and loving caretaker

verlaine on the other hand. his talent is fucking. it's not that he's a bad person and doesn't want to provide you with emotional support, that's just something he has almost no experience with and doesn't even know where to start. that being said, he'll very gladly still try, and his hugs and cuddles and sweet words are very very comforting. but good god no one does it like him. when you've fallen back into the subspace-like, primal horniness and your pawing at verlaine and whining, he'll be very gentle and kissy as he lays you on your back and spreads your legs open. shhh honey, its ok, he'll whisper into your ear as you whine and cry out, your body overwhelmed by its own biology. i'll take good care of you, give you what you need, make you feel all better. which is exactly what he does ehhehehehe you're screeching and clawing at his back as he stuffs you so full of his cock you can feel your guts rearranging. he marks and scents you just like a good alpha should, and you breathe a little easier when you inhale his scent on you. even though he's not in rut, he has to be careful and hold himself back, because your pheromones and slick that's leaving him and the sheets absolutely soaked are triggering his own alpha instincts, but he knows when you're in such a fragile state he could hurt you badly if he gives in. he will indulge and force your thighs wide open so he can spend damn near an hour drinking up every ounce of slick you have to offer - it's so fucking sweet and absolutely intoxicating, and having his tongue shoved inside of you is a good alternative when he's waiting to get hard again. and exactly like a good alpha should -- he knots you. a switch flips in you as soon as the base of his cock swells and he releases all of his cum right into your womb, one that allows you to calm down even just the slightest amount. it feels so right to be full of his cum and for it to be plugged up inside you, for the two of you to be physically inseparable, even for just a short bit of time. verlaine's knot gets big, and your painfully sensitive, swollen cunt stings and aches as he stretches you out even further than his own girth, but you've never felt like something has belonged to you more.

all of this isn't to say that rimbaud won't support you sexually ever, he just doesn't have that high of a sex drive. he can and will fuck you slow and sweet with his fuller cock, draping himself over your back and spreading your cheeks wide so he can rub his cock over every single inch of your pussy, and fill every single crevice with his cum. he gets chilly though, so typically he'll want to fuck buried deep inside the nest under the covers. i can see him teasing you sometimes, though, wanting to have a little fun. im imagining verlaine is gone for some reason, either just in the shower or off very briefly to see chuuya or something, and rimbaud is your only alpha for the next hour or so. hormones dont care when and where the best time would be to fuck, though. you've woken rimbaud up and pounced on him, mewling please pleaseplease, arthur please i need you to fuck me, but he's still half asleep and not really in the mood. so, with a small smirk, he'll position you onto his lap and kiss you, whispering honey sweet words onto your lips. "you can take care of yourself just this once, can't you? for me?" you cock your head a bit, confused as your brain is cloudy, but get the point after he yanks your soaked panties off and grabs hold of your hips to help you rock against his thigh. you gasp as your swollen clit rubs against his toned thigh, finally understanding what he means. he doesn't have to convince you more, you can be a big girl and do it yourself this time. he offers you a sleepy smile as you throw your arms around his neck and start frantically humping his thigh, dirty moans and whines directed right into his ear as your body shakes. your heightened senses makes the stimulation feel blinding, and your body seems to have a separate mind of its own as grind down on his thigh, lips spreading so you can get direct contact with your clit. you're wet, so wet, and rimbaud almost thinks you've wet yourself as you come not long after, but it's just the ungodly amount of slick and squirt released from inside you as you succumb to your orgasm, shaking and crying. you collapse into rimbaud's arms, and that's how verlaine finds the two of you when he finally returns. you passed out, drooling on his chest as he hugs you close and pets your hair.

moving on from sex (booooo boo tomato tomato tomato) i just wanted to briefly talk about how sweet i think verlaine and rimbaud would be about you blabbering about having pups. clearly, heats have one purpose and one purpose only, to breed -- and that's what you want. they'll very patiently listen as you whine about how badly you want to get pregnant, how badly you need them to get you pregnant, and just pet your hair and laugh. it'll come with time, my love. just wait, they'll coo. they'll tell you how beautiful you'd look pregnant with their pups, and jokingly argue about who's pup you'd carry first. they decide to settle it with a game of rock, paper, scissors, and verlaine wins. here's to hoping you have cute little blonde pups <3

and that is just a mild glimpse into what i think alpha verlaine and rimbaud would be like when reader is in heat <3

#this is just. word vomit i had so much to say #but i had a lot of fun with it dfjsjfssdj #voices in my head #lover: kal🐉#verlaine x reader #rimbaud x reader #cw omegaverse

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vibraniumavenger · 2 years ago

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Autumn Leaves

This was posted previously on my old account, I'm simply reposting it here. It's been a while since I've used Tumblr, and also since I've written anything. I've had major writers block, so I'm just trying to get back into it. I hope you enjoy!

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

CW: Death of reader, Cancer

Y/N shot Natasha a reassuring smile, her long hair bouncing against her back as she turned quickly, returning to the fight that played out before them. The red head couldn't help but smile to herself, her mind wandering away from the task at hand as she thought about how lucky she was to score a girlfriend like Y/N. The support she had shown and continued to show, her laugh, her smile… a few of the many things Natasha loved about her. The day they met, Natasha knew if it wasn't her, it wouldn't be anybody. She was the love of her life, and she wouldn't change anything.

Natasha was abruptly drawn from her thoughts as a loud gunshot and a pained scream erupted among them, stopping Natasha dead in her tracks. Her eyes scanned the many figures still fighting, hoping to catch a glimpse of her love, but instead saw nothing. It was when her eyes shot down, her chest began to sink, her heart thumping rapidly against her now tightening chest. There she lay, her body growing weaker by the second, the blood flow increasing as her heart rate decreased.

Natasha’s legs grew weak and she stumbled over to Y/N, muttering to herself, trying her best to convince herself she’d be fine. She placed her hands over her girlfriends, applying pressure to the wound as if it would make a difference. The blood seemed to engulf their hands, but they didn't seem to notice. Their tear filled eyes were locked, staring into each others as the inevitable commenced. Y/N spluttered, her blood escaping her dry throat and covering her chin. “I-I love you…” Y/N started, but Natasha shushed her, encouraging her not to speak. “I love you too. Save your voice, sweetie. W-We’re gonna get you to a hospital, okay? You just gotta hold on a little while longer.”

Y/N weakly shook her head, her vision blurring as the darkness grew stronger. “I’m sorry, Tasha,” her eyes fluttered shut, her body grew limp and the distraught sobs of a grief-stricken assassin filled the ears of all that surrounded them as she cradled the body of her love.

Natasha shot up from her unpleasant slumber, beads of sweat lay on the surface of her skin. She ran her hand through her sweat drenched, tousled hair, pushing it from her face to catch sight of the person she valued most. Her breathing eventually evened out and she couldn't help but smile at Y/N’s sleeping form, so peaceful, so content. She stared at her a little longer, thankful to have her still. That’s when the reality hit, she may not have lost her just yet, but she would eventually and she knew the time was approaching quickly.

Ever since the diagnosis, she had to reluctantly adapt to the fact they wouldn't grow old together. Y/N would spend the rest of her life with Natasha, but Natasha couldn't do the same. She would have to live her life without the one thing that makes her day brighter. She would lose the one thing that grounds her, she would lose her home.

Natasha gently brushed the hair from Y/N’s face, placing a small kiss on her forehead before pulling her closer as she drifted off.

Y/N and Natasha were sat at the kitchen table, Y/N eating what she could of her freshly prepared breakfast as Nat watched her attentively, taking in her every feature as if it were the last time. Natasha watched as her girlfriend stood, making her way past her and up the stairs. Nat just sat staring at her plate, dreading the news that was to come with todays check up. They were both beyond scared, not only for themselves, but for others close to them.

The ride to the hospital was uncomfortably silent, both women unable to find words as their anxieties spiked drastically, their whole world about to be rocked once again. Natasha reached for Y/N’s hand, giving it a firm, but reassuring squeeze as they pulled into the hospital car park. The short walk to the doctors office was enough to increase their nerves further, both women becoming restless, unable to contain their nervous fidgets until the doctor appeared, inviting them into his office. They sat as quickly as they could, feeling as if their legs would fail them at any second.

The doctor read over the results multiple times, unsure of how to approach the situation. Natasha could read his face all too well, but she was holding on to the smallest piece of hope she had left. Clearing his throat, he broke the silence, “Miss Y/L/N, I’ve been over your test results and I'm afraid it isn't good news. The cancer has grown rapidly since your last visit, causing it to spread and attack your other organs. I’m ever so sorry.” Y/N couldn't seem to focus, the room began spinning, the lump in her throat tightened and the doctors words became blurred as it started to sink in.

“H-How many months?” Natasha asked, her voice small and broken. All the doctor could do was shake his head, “Weeks. We recommend chemotherapy to make it easier during her final stages but theres nothing more we can do.”

Nat just stared at him, waiting for him to tell her it was a joke, to tell her it was all going to be okay. Her worst fear was coming true and there was nothing she could do about it. Thanking the doctor, they left without a sound.

Eventually, they reached their home, allowing themselves to show their true emotions. The shock was slowly fading, replacing itself with sadness. Tear stained, puffy eyes were now visible and their bodies shook with their sobs. All they could do was hold each other, clinging on to what time they had together.

Over the next week, they had started to arrange the official things. Starting with the burial options, they had to decide what would happen to her body once she had passed. There were a few disagreements on the cremation or burial decision, but after listening to Y/N’s wish, they came to a decision.

Laying in bed, Natasha pulled Y/N close to her before putting her hand over her heart. The steady rhythm comforted Nat instantly. “Y/N, can I ask you something?” Y/N knew what she was going to ask, she was awaiting the question. “Are you scared?”

Y/N took a deep breath, thinking over her answer momentarily. “Of dying? No. It’s a part of life, its inevitable. I’ll tell you what I am scared of.” Natasha studied Y/N’s face, inquisitive as to what she could be scared of. “I’m scared of what will happen to you once I’m gone. I’m scared that you’ll blame yourself, that’ll you’ll beat yourself up about it so much that you can’t heal. I’m scared you won’t move on and find happiness. I’m scared you’ll be lonely, a-and I don’t want you to be lonely Nat. You’re allowed to grieve, you’re allowed to take as much time as you need but please promise me something? Promise me you won’t dwell on this, remember the good times we had together, not my death. Just promise me you’ll be okay.”

Nat didn’t respond, she wiped away her tears as quickly as she could and pulled Y/N closer. “I promise that I’ll try.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

It wasn’t long before Y/N’s health plummeted. She was deteriorating rapidly and all the team could do was watch. Her frame grew more fragile. Her once vibrant skin was now pale, her luscious locks grew weak and fell from her scalp in clumps, her eyes were sunken in, her body now half the size it used to be. She would spend most of her days in bed, her body unconscious as she slept her days away.

The chemotherapy was terminated, making the process unbearable.

It hurt Natasha to see Y/N like this, all she wanted to do was take her pain away. All she could do was stand by and watch helplessly as she lost her fight.

The weeks went by, and as much as it pained Natasha to admit, the end was nearing. Natasha hadn’t left Y/N’s side in what seemed like forever. Everybody urged her to take a quick shower, or grab a quit bite to eat, but she adamantly refused. She was too scared to leave, fearing she would lose her person.

Tony sat beside Natasha, turning her to face him. “Nat, go get sorted. We’ll let you know if anything changes. You’re not doing yourself any good just sitting here, Y/N would want you looking after yourself. Just nip out quickly, she’ll be right here when you get back.”

Natasha looked from Tony, to Y/N. Through Y/N’s shallow breathing, she managed to croak out a few words, although they were almost whispers, “Tasha, I-I’ll be okay.”

Natasha was hesitant, but she kissed Y/N’s forehead and told her she would be back shortly, before walking out of the room and heading to the shower.

Y/N lay there, her breathing getting more shallow by the second. “T-Tony?”

“I’m right here, sweetheart. Everything okay?” His face was now etched with concern. She weakly shook her head. “I-I think it’s time…”

“No! Y/N, not without Tasha. Not yet, please,” he tried to bargain, hoping and praying for you to hold on a little bit longer.

“I-I need you to tell T-Tasha something… I-I need you to tell her that I love her, a-and that she was the best t-thing that’s ever happened to me. I-I need you to look after her, t-to make sure that she’s okay. There’s a letter, in my draw, there’s a letter. G-Give it to her once I’m gone. Promise me?”

The tears traced Tony’s cheeks as he held her hand, the lump in his throat tightening. “I promise.”

Y/N smiled weakly, her eyes feeling heavy as she finally gave in. She took one last breath, before her body relaxed and she let go. Tony’s sobs filled the room, his eyes squeezed shut as he continued to hold her hand.

Steve left to find Natasha, fearing the news he was to bring.

As soon as Natasha caught sight of Steve, realisation dawned on her. She felt the air leave her lungs, her whole world stopping. She ran as fast as her weak, shaky legs could take her, ignoring the feeling of her legs collapsing beneath her. She reached the room quickly, although time seemed to slow down for her.

One look at Y/N’s lifeless body had her kneeling over the bed. “No, no, no, please. You cant do this to me, please. I love you, Y/N, I need you. I need you, please…” her pleas were desperate. She begged, pleaded and cried until she couldn’t anymore. She climbed up onto the bed and pulled her body to her, cradling Y/N in her arms one last time.

When Y/N’s body was taken, Natasha felt numb, empty even. She struggled to process the thought of never seeing her again. Never hearing her laugh, never seeing her smile, never kissing her or even snuggling with her again. She couldn’t do anything, except mourn her.

A week later, it was her funeral. Natasha was getting ready, the concealer barely covering the dark circles that lay beneath her eyes. She finished the look with the red lipstick Y/N adored on her. Her legs felt like bricks as she attempted to walk out of her room. The rest of the team stood waiting, giving her sad, but reassuring smiles.

They made their way to the cemetery, following the horse drawn carriage that transported Y/N’s coffin. It was a short, but agonising journey for the team, especially Natasha.

Upon arrival, Natasha looked across the graves, giving a small smile at the rain that fell heavily. She remembered their first date, it rained and they ran to find cover. They had their first kiss in the rain. She remembered the way Y/N would dance in the rain, a smile gracing her face as she dragged Natasha to join her. It was Y/N’s favourite weather. She was always happiest in the rain.

The team helped Natasha carry the coffin, the weight barely putting pressure on their shoulders as they lifted her through. Eventually, they reached their desired destination and lowered her down, not wanting to let go.

Once everybody was seated, the funeral director stood at the podium and began the service. His words echoed throughout, each person tearing up as he continued on. Soon enough, it was Tasha’s turn to speak. She stood before everybody, wiping her eyes and clearing her throat before starting.

“I would like to start off by thanking you all for being here today. It means a lot to me, and I’m sure it does to Y/N too.

When I first met Y/N, I instantly fell in love with her. She had this energy that seemed to radiate from her, I was intrigued. She had this huge smile, and an adorable laugh and I knew then, I was in trouble. She changed me. She showed me what it was like to be a good person, and to love somebody as much as one possibly could. She helped me see the good in life. She made me a better person, and for that I’m eternally grateful.

She was always such a bubbly person, instantly brightening peoples day, no matter how tough it was. She never let anything get her down. When we discovered she was sick, our worlds were flipped upside down, but she didn’t let it get the better of her. No matter how rough she was feeling, or even towards the end, she never let it get her down. She always made light of the situation.

I’ve been with her for many years, and each day had been a blessing. We had so much we wanted to do. We had planned to get married, have children, and eventually grow old together. She spent the rest of her life with me, but I don’t get to spend the rest of mine with her. My heart breaks each day, when I wake up and she’s no longer there. I love her beyond words can even begin to explain, she is and always will be my person. I will remember her and keep her memory alive, until we can reunite once again.

As much as it pains me to see her go, I know she is out of pain. So, Y/N, I love you, my beautiful Angel.”

There wasn’t a dry eye present, each person allowing the tears to stain their cheeks. They stood over the coffin, watching as it lowered, like an autumn leaf, drifting to the ground. Y/N’s favourite song playing in the background.

The team threw a rose into the grave, along with Y/N’s parents and eventually, Nat. Then, came the soil. After their final goodbyes, everybody made their way to the wake. All, except Nat and Tony. Natasha was standing beside her grave, her eyes falling on all the other headstones, the rain drenching her clothes even more. Y/N was so young compared to the others surrounding her. Tony stood behind her, his hand stretched out to rest on her shoulder, causing her to jump.

She turned to him, before pulling him into a tight hug. “You did her proud.”

“I sure hope so.”

Tony reached into his suit pocket, pulling out an envelope and handing it to Nat. “She asked me to give this to you. She made me promise.” Natasha looked at him, confusion evident on her face. “I’ll leave you alone to read it, I’ll be in the car waiting,” and with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Natasha alone.

Her shaky hands opened it up, pulling the letter out and reading it slowly.

My Love,

If you’re reading this, I’ve lost the battle. And for that, I’m sorry. I wanted to write you this letter, just in case I never got to say goodbye. I hope you know, I never wanted to hurt you and I apologise profusely that you’re going through this. I know, you’re probably rolling your eyes at this, thinking to yourself that it’s not my fault.

From the moment I met you, I knew you were the one for me. You say I helped you in many ways, but you helped me too. You gave me something to fight for, you were a reason not to give up. My reason to not give up.

You’ve stood by me, no matter what. You dealt with the ups and downs of this illness and for that, you are perfect. You’re perfect in so many ways, believe me.

I want you to take care of yourself. Eat properly, sleep properly and stay hydrated. Leave the house, go for a walk, just don’t neglect yourself. Do these things for me. Don’t dwell on my death, just remember the good times we shared, think of the memories we made, the life we have built. Don’t let yourself get all dark and twisty. Let somebody in, the team will always be there for you, you know that.

Tasha, I love you. I always have and always will love you. I’m sorry things have ended this way, it wasn’t fair. But, know that I’m out of pain and awaiting your arrival. You can only arrive once it’s your time. No sooner.

Things will get better for you. Eventually, time will heal all wounds left from my passing. I know it’ll be hard, but I want you to move on. I don’t want you to be alone. Please, don’t be alone. Find a nice girl, settle down, have the life we were supposed to have. The life with the wedding, the kids, the grandkids and the old age. I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy.

You’ve made me the happiest girl in the world in the years we’ve spent together. The way you make me feel, the way you look at me. I’m completely and utterly in love with you.

I’ll be sure to visit you every now and then, just to let you know that I’m still by your side, watching over and protecting you. I’ll always protect you, just like you did me.

Once again, I love you, Tasha.

Love,

Y/N

P.s. I almost forgot, there’s a ring in the envelope. The same ring I was going to use to propose to you. I want you to have it, after all, it was always going to be yours. I hope it fits!

The tears blurred her vision as she finished the note. She wiped her eyes quickly, sniffling as she pulled the ring from the envelope. She smiled as she looked at it, before sliding it onto her left ring finger. It fit perfectly.

Taking one last look at the place her girlfriend lay, she whispered, “I love you.” And with that, she silently walked back to the car, thanking Tony for the letter as they started their journey to the wake.

As Natasha looked down at her ring, she couldn’t help but give a sad smile. She really did have the best.

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xray-vex · 2 years ago

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"-- to bleed willingly and joyfully": Edward Teach and the double-edged sword of love

The Kiss scene in S1 ep 9 of Our Flag Means Death is one of the most beautiful, tender, and authentic performances of love and romance in film/TV, in part due to how masterful Taika's facial expressions are.

Have you ever been in love so deeply, profoundly, overwhelmingly, that it made you weep?

I've been thinking thoughts about Ed's face here during this scene. How his expression subtly shifts from loving adoration to a slightly more somber look, as if a cloud of melancholy passes over.

(I've slowed down the above video and close-cropped it a bit to make this easier to see.)

At first Ed's smiling, absolutely besotted, head over heels -- and then, it looks like he's blinking back tears, his throat bobs as if he's swallowing them down. It's just a brief, subtle, blink-and-you'll miss it moment.

What does it mean to love someone so much that they change your entire world? That you'd die for them, live for them? To feel so transformed by that love, so shaken to your core that you can feel it in your bones?

It comes with the knowledge that the very love that brings you joy and ecstasy will also deeply, profoundly hurt you someday -- and then making the conscious choice to love anyway, to pursue that love, to follow wherever it leads, despite knowing that it will break you.

This scene is an intensely intimate moment. Ed's face to face with Stede, so close they're sharing breath, gazing into each other's eyes, seeing each other's soul reflected back at them. In this moment, we witness Ed's realization that he's willing to endure unbearable pain to have the chance to love Stede and share a romantic life with him.

Prior to this moment, Ed was already aware of his feelings and how important Stede has become to him. He was already prepared to sacrifice himself for Stede by physically standing in the way of the firing squad. He signed away a decades-long successful pirating career and everything about his previous life. He gave up his entire identity just for the chance to build a new life with Stede.

HOWEVER -- The Kiss was the consummation of the first part of the journey that began when Ed first laid eyes on Stede. It's this moment, this moment -- when everything clicks, when Ed's become fully aware of the full gravity of his love. A new journey begins here, one far more perilous, with much higher stakes.

It's one thing to be willing to die for someone. It's another to acknowledge that you love someone so much that you are joyfully willing to suffer for them. You know it's going to hurt you someday, but your love is so immense that you're willing to pay the price, even if the pain is a fate worse than death. And loss and grief and heartbreak are inevitable; there is no other outcome to love. As the poet Richard Siken said: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.”

Ed's melancholy expression is of anticipatory grief. He's madly in love with Stede, but also realizes he's done for. There's no going back now, no way out without pain and suffering. But the ecstasy of that love is exquisite; it's transcendence, a love so great that it makes him willing to endure the agony entangled with it.

I've been thinking of the kiss scene and Ed's bittersweet expression for a long time now in relation to excerpts from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran. Not all of this work resonates with me (it focuses heavily on mentions of 'God' and 'traditional' male/female dynamics), but its passages about love are absolutely beautiful, and are some of my favorite writings on the subject ever.

The following excerpts perfectly capture what I mean about Ed's love for Stede in this moment following the kiss:

When love beckons to you, follow him, Though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe in him, Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden. For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself. But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To know the pain of too much tenderness. To be wounded by your own understanding of love; And to bleed willingly and joyfully. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving; To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstacy; To return home at eventide with gratitude; And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

-- Another passage in The Prophet about joy and sorrow being intertwined is also relevant here, re: Ed and his intense emotional personality:

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives? When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

This is the double-edged sword of being an intensely feeling person. Yes, you have the tendency to experience sublime ecstasy, but at the cost of enduring terrible agonies as well.

#ofmd #our flag means death #edward teach #edward teach kissed on a beach #stede bonnet #kahlil gibran #gentlebeard #blackbonnet

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writing-reaper · 2 years ago

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Bound Through The Force

The Bad Batch x f!OC Mara

Description: Finally put in a corner, Mara has no choice but to tell them everything. Ready for them to despise her, their response turns out surprising.

Note: Mara explains her past, so it’s a shit ton of dialogue. Feel free to just skim through, I’ll have something else at the end.

Warnings: trauma dumping, mentioned death, mentions of abuse, cult, breeding, mistrust and then forgiveness and fluff

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four |

Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven (here)

“What do you think it means to live?” Mara asks, looking toward the Jedi sitting cross legged across from her. She hums, keeping her eyes closed.

“I think it means to enjoy the things around you, to find the light in things.” Shaak Ti answers. “Why do you ask?”

“I heard once that if you’ve taken a life, that you could never live one.” Mara answers. “I’m simply curious, if I’ll ever be able to live. Do I even deserve to?”

“I do not believe you’ll accept any answer I may have for you. Though I ask you consider this.” The Jedi begins, finally opening her eyes to look at Mara. “That girl that follows you around—”

“Omega.”

“Yes, Omega. You care for her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then care for her. Enjoy the every moment she’s in your life. When it rains, look out the window and smile. When it doesn’t, still smile. For living means appreciating every moment of time and every person you meet.”

Mara sighs and looks out the window. For the first time since she’s been there, she smiles. And when it finally falls from her face, she opens the door to her room and smiles once more.

“Omega.”

Mara raises her brow at the man holding the ice pack to her head. Her hand grazes over his as she grasps the ice pack, slightly adjusting to move away from his reach.

“Everything…” she hums, laying on her side to face him better. “Everything is… a lot.”

“I know.” He answers. “But nothing about you is making any sense. We need answers.”

“Fine.” She sighs, a tear leaving her eye as she visually slouches. Her heart felt like it was being crushed by the weight of it. “There’s no use in hiding things any longer. The truth will inevitably reveal itself. Perhaps it is best to hear it from me.”

“That’s all we want.” He states, trying to remain unfazed by the tears in her eyes.

“My mother was born of a cult. I only recently learned of her existence, as I had always been told she abandoned me. However, like many children of the Hye Society, I had been abducted to become one of their weapons, a mindless toy, made to destroy their enemies.” Mara begins, eyes glued to her feet as painful memories ache in her head. “Priya had been an older child of this abduction. If it wasn’t for her, I think I truly would be the mindless doll they expected me to be.”

“The friend you named your Tooka after?” Mara nods.

“Priya told me about her parents and how she was raised before they died. Maybe it was the idea of some day having a normal life is what kept me the slightest bit sane. She showed me compassion and warmth before I could completely despise it.” Mara wipes her eye at the falling of a tear. “When the final trial began, we learned that our relationship wasn’t as secret as we hoped because we were put against each other. We had made a prior agreement that if it would happen, we’d come to a draw then strike the same, leave the first drop of blood to chance. I didn’t realize just how prepared Priya was to die.”

“Did you kill Priya?” Her heart throbbed when he said her name, so much so she wanted to scream.

“I might as well have. She was dead either way. The elder killed her when I hesitated. For that, I was punished. Everyday I’d train, and every night for a month after I’d be whipped till I bled. If you need proof you can still see the scars.” Mara shifts up right, turning from him and raising her shirt.

“Kriff!” A startled shout left him at the sight. She releases her top and lays back down, finding it harder to meet his gaze. Perhaps because of that pitying look on his face.

“I’d train, then they’d tell me who. Who was in their way, who I had to kill. And I’d do it. I didn’t think there was a way out. Every opportunity I had, it felt like I was being tugged back to them on a chain. I thought if I did what I was told that the pain would go away, that the guilt would whither with their praise, but no matter what I did, I was doing something wrong. Then they told me to burn down a town. I don’t remember where, I just remember the warmth.”

Hunter remained silent as he watched her with uncertain eyes, her head tilting to the side as she stares toward the window.

“It didn’t come from the flames, but this little boy. He ran to me, hugged my leg and he begged. He begged me not to hurt his family. And then I realized that my suffering would never end, so why should others suffer? The town will burn, but I could save the people who lived there.

“I didn’t save many with half the town already turned to rubble, but I managed to save some from the destruction I had already caused. When I returned, I earned my name: Mara the Wyvern. A dragon for the fire, but a wyvern to convince their mindless followers I served them by choice because all I had were my wings and my two feet. Wings to fly away if I needed, if I ever had wings they were clipped before I knew what they were used for.”

“Did you manage to save anyone else?” Hunter questions, thinking of the relief in her voice when she said she realized that she didn’t have to kill anyone.

“At any opportunity.” She states firmly, red tracks running down her face as he realized just how much she’d been crying despite her steady voice. “There was a short period of time where I didn’t kill anyone. Three months. And then the breeding program began and the only person I wanted to kill was myself.”

“A breeding program? You don’t mean…?”

“I don’t remember much from that time period. Only one of my partners sticks out in my memory because he was beaten half to death when he asked me if I was ok. The only other thing I remember was being ill. Between what was expected of me and constant panic attacks, I had to be chained to a medical bed, once I was put on life support because I tried to scratch myself open.

“When they finally gave up on me, they looked for other options. Luckily, they found them and I was no longer required to participate, no matter how many of my traits they wanted their future slaves to carry.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been suffering long before you were even created.” Mara shifts to face him, happy he didn’t flinch when she placed her hand on his cheek, as Omega had done to comfort her before. “I am grateful to have met you when I am actively trying to be my best self. I may be broken, inside and out, but at least I get to choose what to do from here on. And I’d be forever more grateful if you let me continue to figure things out with you all than without.”

“I know you’re a good person, Mara.” He states firmly, sending a shiver through Mara’s heart. “Do you feel comfortable continuing?”

“I must admit, there’s not much else. I saved more and more people, mostly children, but eventually I was caught. When I was caught, I was ready to accept my fate. I finally got to take pleasure in my acts of rebellion, spit in the face of the ones who wronged me and then simply waited for that blade to chop off my head in a single fatal swoop.” Mara begins once more. “And then… I didn’t want to die anymore. My tormentor revealed a truth I didn’t realize would gift me so much courage. They told the crowd I would be given my mother’s name of exile. Mara Deoradhán. I was told my mother had abandoned me, not that she had been exiled. Suddenly, I had a reason to live. I didn’t know how I stopped the blade till I met Shaak Ti. But as soon as I had escaped the execution stand, I found a supply ship and wound up here on Ord Mantell in this very Parlor.”

“What happened when you came to Cid’s?”

“I told her who I was, and that I’d do anything she needed me to so I could break the shell that had been created.” Mara answers. “She complained that I was too skinny and that I wasn’t very social. When I opened up to her, I told her about my self loathing and gave me some half assed excuse of why I should love myself and I’ve been clinging onto it ever since. And then, just as my body was going out of survival mode, Shaak Ti arrived.

“She recognized me and still talked to me like I was a person, not a dangerous killer. It was scary, like she looked straight through me. I still don’t understand why she scared me so much. Even so, I followed her blindly when she told me she could give me answers about myself, answers to questions I never bothered to ask. She took me to Kamino and helped me get to a healthy weight and taught me how to relax. She called it finding peace, but I despise myself too much to achieve that. And then I met Omega.”

“I’d say I know where things go from here, but you haven’t exactly explained that either.” Hunter comments, earning a small smile from Mara.

“I appreciate you turning the comm on, because I would not have been able to do this with all of you in here.” Mara answers, watching his face shift to one of surprise. “Omega wasn’t allowed to be around me. A rule I tried to follow because I didn’t want to be sent back to Ord Mantel as I got super sick in the healing process. However, she was incredibly persistent.”

“She is extraordinarily persistent.” He agrees with a chuckle.

“Hey—!” A quick shush follows and Mara smiles at the comm device.

“Eventually, I let her start following me around and talking to me. While, Shaak Ti was certainly helpful, her company was rarely… enjoyable.” Mara hesitates at the last weird, grimacing at how awkward it felt.

“I understand.” He reassures.

“I have a difficult time socializing, but she spoke enough for the both of us. Of course, I eventually found it in myself to respond and we bonded quickly afterwards. But after that… I left. I didn’t know where exactly I would end up, but I eventually wound up with Elliot. I had went to an underground market I’d traveled to many times to find a ride to the outer rim. He was crude, but he was easy. Act oblivious, don’t show you’re offended, and he gave chase. He was only supposed to take me to where he was delivering his next shipment. Unfortunately, his experience didn’t match his intelligence and I had to get us out of a dangerous situation.

“Apparently the misunderstood bad girl gone good only made him more interested in me. He’d insist upon random stops, faked problems with his ship and his efforts became more and more desperate the closer we got to my location. Then he faked a crash and we were ‘stuck’ on a moon for a few days. I let my guard down under the impression no one was ever going to come. So I told him about the only good thing in my life, the only person I had who was waiting for me. I don’t know why, but I told him more about myself until he assumed I was at my lowest and made his move. My assumption is after he got what he wanted the ship was going to miraculously start working again and he’d finally decide to move on with his life. Instead, I rejected him and the next morning he came up with the idea a necessary part of the ship had broken off in the crash. When I went out to get it, he flew away. Got lucky that a supply ship made a pit stop and eventually made my way back here.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here and not stuck on that moon.”

“Thanks for hearing me out.” She replies, brushing her hair back and to the side. “I don’t want our relationship to change after what you’ve learned about me and I really don’t want your pitiful stares. I don’t expect you to be any different toward me, nicer or otherwise. I just want to be in Omega’s life, as long as I can, because I have nobody else to live for.”

“Don’t say that!” Omega’s voice comes through the comm once more and Mara winces.

“I forgot she was also listening.” Mara whispers, not wanting the comm to pick it up.

“She is right.” Mara shakes her head and brushes out her hair with her fingers. “You have your life to take back.”

“Every experience that is supposed to be enjoyable has been taken away from me. There’s nothing left for me to take.”

“You’ll find something, we’ll help you.”

“Thanks.”

“Hunter? Can you give Mara a hug for me?” Omega asks through the comm. Mara felt her heart skip a beat and her face turn red at the child’s suggestion.

“Omega, you can come up here—” she was cut off at Hunter’s sudden embrace.

Suddenly, she felt weak. Weaker than before as she leaned into his welcoming embrace, returning his hold. The hot tears filled her eyes once more and she turns off the comm right before a sob leaves her lips.

Mara let go to move away, but his embrace just seemed to tighten, keeping her in place as another sob left her lips and her head rests on his shoulder. When he did let go, she apologized for almost breaking down on him. If he wasn’t already so flustered he probably would’ve pulled her back in.

“You should get some rest.” Hunter says, his own cheeks flushed as he rubs the back of his head.

“C-can… can you stay with me…? Just a little longer?”

“Sure.”

Hunter left when Mara finally fell asleep. He found his brothers how he’d left them, still sitting at the large booth with Omega. Tech was examining the bottles from the bag Mara had requested, and Omega was listening to him as he rambled on about the different liquids, their origins and their uses.

“How’s she doing?” Echo asks, sounding concerned.

“She’s asleep.” Hunter answers, not quite sure of her actual emotional state as she fell quiet and held the purple Tooka. When he had met her gaze, she’d smile and her face would flush, and he could only assume the poison would result in a fever. “Omega, you knew that Mara was an assassin?”

“Nala Se told me before I met her because she didn’t want me around her.” Omega answers. “She said that she was dangerous, but after watching her for a while in the training room with the cadets I couldn’t see her as dangerous.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well… she never really worked with the cadets, she’d always just watch Shaak Ti train them. Then there was this one cadet, who wasn’t doing well. He fell and just didn’t get up. Some of the others seemed to laugh at him, but she laid down beside him.” Omega explains, thinking back to the day she saw Mara’s true colors with a small smile. “I don’t know what she said to him, according to Nala Se it was the first time she’d spoken since she’d arrived, but he was encouraged again and she helped him throughout the rest of the training.”

“Do you know why?” Echo asks, sounding rather swayed by the story.

“I never asked, she didn’t talk to me for a month.” She answers with a shrug. “And when she finally did, it was because I asked about one of her scars.”

“She’s still weird.” Crosshair scoffs, earning a laugh from Wrecker.

“I like her!” Wrecker declares before elbowing him. “You can’t deny she’s been fun to hang out with!”

“I’m sure you can forgive her behavior. From the sound of things she’s never been allowed to conduct herself in a proper manner.” Tech comments. “Furthermore, individuals who have been victims of abuse so early in their youth tend to have childlike tendencies and underdeveloped brains. And while Mara certainly acts an adult, she still portrays a childish behavior, especially around those she trusts, such as Omega and Cid.”

“Shouldn’t you add Crosshair to that list?” Omega inquires, earning a look from all five of them.

“What do you mean?” Tech questions, adjusting his goggles.

“She did that drinking game with him, Mara usually refuses alcohol from people. Even the medical volunteers on Kamino could never get her to join them.” Omega explains.

“Does that really make a difference? She just told Hunter something she clearly didn’t want to.” Crosshair scoffs.

“I guess it could’ve also been because of Tech. She seems to hang around the two of you more until Hunter talks to her.” Omega reevaluates aloud.

“I’ve noticed that as well.” Echo comments. “Whenever Tech’s fixing something, she’s always nearby watching and when you start making some sort of comment she’ll smile and participate in the conversation.”

“Didn’t think you’d be paying that much attention to her, Echo.” Crosshair quips with a smirk.

“Sh-she just doesn’t make any sense to me.” Echo stammered, his face flushing in embarrassment. Maybe he had been paying a little too much attention to her, especially when trying to trust her.

“Maybe Mara likes them more because they treat her like a normal person.” Omega suggests, quickly earning a look from Hunter and Echo. “Then again, that doesn’t explain why she doesn’t spend much time around Wrecker.”

“It’s probably because I grabbed her that one time.” Wrecker admits with a frown, scratching the back of his head. “She looked pretty freaked out.”

“I’m sure she’s already over that.” Cid scoffs, approaching the group. “How long were you going to wait to tell me Mara left?”

“The bars empty, besides those two. Didn’t think it’d be a big deal.” Hunter answers. “Mara got poisoned so she’s resting upstairs.”

“Uh huh, not a big deal, I’m running a business here. Someone’s always got to keep an eye out. Mara’s a grown adult, she can handle herself.” Cid scoffs, annoyed knowing they probably didn’t even realize when a new customer had come in.

“Sorry!” Omega apologizes for the group, seeing as it would’ve only taken them a second to grab Cid.

“Anyway, I got another mission for you boys, but we’ll discuss the details tomorrow. I want Mara to join you.”

“But she’s been poisoned—”

“That’s like saying Tiny here scraped her knee. Why do you care? Considering what Mara told me about that client, he wouldn’t want to kill her.”

“Why’s that?” Hunter questions.

“Because whoever hired him wanted to make sure she was alive. Mara may have “told him everything” but every assassin knows not to disclose their sanctuary.” Cid explains. “That means one of these customers gave out her location.”

Taglist

@mybigfatspoonielife @gjrain20-starwars @goddess-of-congeniality @redpool @chxpsi @stardust9905

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb wrecker #tbb x oc #x oc #oc #tbb crosshair #tbb tech #tbb omega #tbb echo #star wars tbb

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gothicmama · 9 months ago

Text

Lucian's Birth (Working Title)

So, I'm really nervous posting this for a few reasons. One, it's the first thing I'm posting for "Nightshade Manor", a world I've been creating for a few years now. And two, it's the first time I'm posting something that's dark and horror, which is not what I usually post. I hope it's good though, for those who enjoy this genre. Also I'm begging y'all to read the CW ***CONTENT WARNINGS FOR: DEATH IN CHILDBIRTH, AN AT HOME C-SECTION, AND SUICIDE***

AO3 link: Lucian's Birth (Working Title) - GothicMama - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

Storms weren't uncommon in Oak Valley. Being situated in a valley, hence the name, didn’t protect it from storms. It actually caused the storms that did happen to be worse, due to the terrain. Bad storms, with winds that tore down trees and yanked doors off hinges. With rain that flooded streets and brought down roofs. The people of the village were more than used to such storms, the whole community prepared together during storm season for the inevitable damage and injuries. But this one was different. Not only because it wasn't storm season, it was far from it actually. But because this storm had more than just pelting rain and howling winds. No, this storm brought with it thunder that shook the very ground like an earthquake and lightning that struck trees with each strike. The only thing saving the forest from fire was the rain, which was strong enough to put out any spark when it had barely taken a breath of air.

Everyone knew this storm wasn't normal, but no one knew who or what was causing it. The few in the village who knew about the manor, hidden deep in the forest further up the mountain, assumed it had something to do it. Since it was home to many supernatural and magical beings, it was the only logical explanation for such a storm. Though it was common knowledge among these few that those living at the manor took great efforts to make sure their troubles never reached beyond their borders. But no one really knew for sure why it was happening. They weren't too worried, however. They had survived storms before and even if this one was different, they were confident they could survive it, too.

But the occupants of one house had other concerns. Julia, nine months pregnant with her and her husband Iwan's first child, had gone into labor right before the storm started. It had come on fast, faster than either she or Iwan expected and faster than either of them thought possible. She sobbed as another contraction ripped through her. Laying on her side, completely naked, she clutched her rounded belly with both hands. scratching and scouring her skin with her nails. Standing helplessly beside the bed, Iwan's hands fluttered around her without touching. He didn't know where to touch her. Every time he did, no matter how light and gentle his touch was, she screamed as if he'd stabbed her. "Julia, moja miłość, please, how can I help you?"

Julia managed to catch her breath through the pain that threatened to steal it again. "The midwife, where's the midwife?" She shouted her response to be heard over the thunder. It was constant, slamming through the sky above them repeatedly without pause. It was as if the ground beneath them was rolling. The whole house shook, many things had already fallen and crashed to the floor, picture frames and glass decorations. Iwan had even heard a window shatter in another room of the house.

"I called her, my love, I swear, she's on her way. It's just taking too long with this storm." He knew better but he lied to her anyway. He'd called the midwife as soon as she’d had the first contraction, but then the storm had hit, and the phones had lost all signal. He wouldn't be surprised if the midwife never showed up, he wouldn't blame her for wanting to stay home in such weather. Julia had had a healthy pregnancy, nothing to worry about, they were all expecting the delivery to go smoothly. They'd been stupid, but none of them could have predicted this.

He tried laying his hand on her forehead again, just barely touching her in another effort to offer support and comfort. He jerked away instantly when she screamed and thrashed away from him, just as she had in his previous attempts. He'd never witnessed a birth, but he'd researched and watched videos to learn, and he knew this wasn't normal. He watched her writhe on top of the blanket for a moment before whatever pain he'd inflicted faded. When she fell onto her side again, panting too fast and too hard, he hurried to apologize. "I'm sorry, moja miłość, I'm so sorry."

She forced her eyes open and looked at him through her tears. "Something's wrong, Iwan, something's wrong," she cried out. In the midst of the pain overwhelming her were the same thoughts he was having. This labor wasn’t normal, wasn’t like anything she’d read about or heard from others. It was too fast, too painful, and it was all too much at once. She barely had time to inhale as each contraction tore through her body, making any movement, even breathing, almost impossible. What little breath she was able to get, she lost immediately because she couldn’t help but scream from the pain. Tears blurred her vision, effectively blinding her, and between the thunder and her screams she could barely hear her husband’s voice. Every touch burned her skin, even the bed sheets rubbing against her stung, intensifying the pain from the contractions.

She rolled onto her back and his gaze dropped to her belly. He cringed and instinctively took a step back. Her belly had looked normal for the entirety of her pregnancy. Nothing had ever been out of the ordinary. He'd watched it grow, touched it, kissed it, felt the kicks from within. But now, her belly was misshapen and wrong, and occasionally something from inside would push against the skin, stretching it outwards for seconds or minutes before retreating inside. The skin that used to be a healthy tan was now purple and red, it had quickly changed color as the labor progressed. It looked as if it was just one giant bruise under her skin. And on top of the skin were the scratches and cuts Julia had inflicted on herself.

The only thing keeping Iwan in place was his love for his wife, but that could only hold his fear back for so long. Especially when he could do nothing for her, he couldn't help her medically, he couldn't even touch her. He was still staring at her deformed belly when she suddenly sucked in a deep, gulping breath. She held it for several seconds, mouth wide open before she screamed again, arching up off the bed so hard he heard her back crack. She flailed her arms out wildly, clawing at the air, and he was horrified to see the thing inside her copying the movement by pushing out against either side of her belly. He called it a thing because he was convinced now that it wasn't his child. He had no idea what it was, but it wasn't a baby. He didn't know if Julia had realized it or not, but he hoped for her sake she hadn't.

His hopes were useless, though he didn’t know it. Julia had realized quickly that the thing inside of her wasn’t right, that it was wrong. She could feel it moving inside of her and while before the feeling had been comforting, a sign that her baby was healthy and safe inside of her, now the movements were all wrong. She could feel it pushing against her with greater strength, as if it were trying to get out. Sometimes it felt like she was being punched and kicked with more force than an infant should have been capable of. Through her tears she caught glimpses of her belly. She could feel the misshapen skin under her hands. Any thoughts of finally meeting her child, all the hopes she’d had during the long months of her pregnancy, were gone now. In their place was nothing but the pain and the fear. And the desperate need to have whatever it was, whatever thing inside her, out, in any way possible. But with each contraction, she lost more strength.

This contraction lasted for several minutes, Iwan didn't keep count, but he knew they'd been getting longer and coming faster ever since labor started. When it finally ended, Julia was barely conscious, exhausted from the torturous labor and suffering from her inability to breath properly. He stood in place, just watching her struggle to breathe, still too hard and too fast to be effective. For a long moment, neither of them moved, neither of them made a sound. Part of him hoped it was over, but he knew logically that it wouldn’t be over until the baby was born. He just desperately hoped it would be soon, he could see Julia didn’t have much left in her.

Despite him anxiously waiting for the next contraction, he still jumped when it hit. As she screamed and came up off the bed again, sounding feral and animalistic, he realized something was different. He stepped back to the side of the bed, and the smell of blood hit his nose. Worry exploded in him, and he rushed around to the end to Julia’s feet. He looked between her thighs, but she was moving too much for him to see anything clearly. Not knowing what else to do, he climbed on the bed and grabbed her knees.

Still in the throes of the contraction, her screaming escalated at his touch. She clumsily reached for him, as her body collapsed back onto the bed, but she was too uncoordinated to grab him. He roughly yanked her legs apart and then jerked back. Blood was gushing from her body. It was all over her legs and soon coated his hands and forearms. Some of it had spurted out across the bed when he forced her thighs open, simultaneously opening her up. When Iwan looked back at her, even his untrained eyes could see she was being stretched open. He could see the top of what he assumed to be the head of the thing. He raised his head, his harsh grip on her knees holding her legs still when they desperately wanted to thrash and kick. "Julia, you have to push. The baby is coming now."

Julia somehow heard him and instantly shook her head. She paused her screaming to cry out, "I can't!" But then she was screaming again.

More blood rushed out and as he watched, eyes wide with fear and shock, he saw her stretch further before her skin split. The thing was coming, being forced out of her body despite her inability to push. He realized, whether she wanted to or not, the labor was progressing, and the thing was being born. He switched tactics with that realization and instead tried to comfort her so her body could do what it needed to do. "Okay, moja miłość, okay, you don't have to push. Just try to breathe, you have to breathe." She nodded and with the last of her strength, she took two too deep breaths, puffing her chest up with them before blowing them out in a couple of screams. "That's good, Julia, that's good, love." He kept his eyes trained on her, but his gaze jumped up to her when she suddenly let out a gasp. It caught his attention because it was soft, startling in comparison to the screams. "Julia?"

She didn't respond. Iwan instantly forgot everything else. Releasing her knees, he scrambled up the bed to her head. She was staring up at the ceiling, mouth open and eyes staring lifelessly. He gasped and stopped breathing, going as quiet as her for just a moment. With shaking, bloody hands, he gently cradled her face. He turned her head towards him. "Julia?" he whimpered. He stroked her cheeks, smearing blood over her skin. She stayed deathly still and silent. A sob bubbled up in his chest, up his throat, and out of his mouth. "Julia, no. Please. Please, no."

Tears burned his eyes and when he pressed his forehead to hers, they fell from his face to hers. He shook and sobbed, fingers still stroking her skin that was already growing cold. The blood and tears mixed on her cheeks, creating a pink stain. When he raised his head, he tried to wipe it all away, tried to clean her up, but his blood covered fingers only turned pink as well. This brought a fresh flood of tears before his sadness vanished and was replaced. He yanked his hands away, horrified that he had marred her skin so. He sat up and turned away from her, his stomach rolling with sudden nausea. He had no other thoughts, his mind filled with her face, dead and bloody. But then, movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

He whipped his head around, impossible hope blooming. Until he saw what it was. Then, his horror returned. It was her belly. The thing inside her was pushing against her again. He watched it for a minute and as the seconds passed, he realized it seemed to be growing frantic. The pushes came faster, harder, to the point that he could see individual fingers and toes beneath the skin. Some part of him knew that with Julia dead, the baby would soon die as well. But it wasn't a baby. It wasn't even human.

That thought lit the anger in him, and with his grief it was like throwing gasoline on a bonfire. Whatever it was, it had killed his wife. His wife, who had loved it and carried it and wanted it. And now, she was dead. The anger consumed him, and he had no conscious thought of his next actions. He got up from the bed and walked, calmly and without hurry, to the kitchen. He stepped on broken glass from the picture frames that had once been on the wall. Ignoring the pain in his feet, he tracked bloody footprints through the house. He snatched the paring knife from the knife block. He tested its edge against his thumb and felt the sting from the cut, though his blood mixed with Julia's blood so fast he couldn't tell the difference. He smiled, satisfied with his choice, and with the same mindless calmness, returned to the bedroom.

He climbed back onto the bed and gently spread Julia out. He straightened her legs, closing her thighs so he couldn't see the terrible sight between them. He laid her arms down at her sides, pausing to hold her still hands in his shaking ones. Then, he straddled her thighs, heedless of the blood staining his clothes further. He positioned the knife at the swell of her belly, right over her belly button. The thing inside her was still pushing and he was tempted to stab through the belly to try to reach it. But he didn't want to ruin Julia's body. She'd already sacrificed it for eight months, endured the physical changes and loved the stretch marks. She didn't deserve to be mutilated further.

He'd never seen a c-section on a person before, but he'd grown up on a farm and had helped with many animal ones. He knew the gist of it. And it wasn't like he could do any damage now. She was already dead. He just wanted to get that thing out of her, so he could make sure it was dead as well. His mind went blissfully blank as he pressed the knife in. It sliced through her cool skin easily, thanks to his habit of keeping all cooking knives sharpened. He made one long cut down her belly, and then repeated the cut. He cut through each layer with calm precision, as if he was just cutting deer meat for the freezer. Beneath him, the thing had grown still inside her belly. He didn't know if that was because it had finally suffocated, or because it knew what was happening. He didn't care. He wanted it out.

After ten minutes of quiet, only broken by the grotesque sounds of blood gushing, organs being moved, and flesh separating, he reached the thing. He cut through another layer, he didn’t know the name of what he had just cut, but suddenly he could see an arm, tiny and still. He stopped and stared down at it. Somehow, despite what he'd just spent ten minutes doing, the thought of seeing the thing inside hadn't occurred to him. He dropped the knife to the bed and tentatively touched the arm. Nothing happened for a moment and his first thought was relief, that it really was dead.

He gently pulled on it, quickly realizing the thing had been partially in the birth canal. He had to pull the arm out and slowly pull the whole body back up into her belly. As he did so, he could see more of it. It's tiny hand, that was so much smaller than his palm. He lifted its shoulder up and out and then the head followed. The body was covered in Julia's blood, as was Iwan, but underneath that he could see the hair was blonde. Just like Julia's. The sight sent shock through him, and it broke through the haze he was under. With a new sense of urgency, he pulled the body the rest of the way out.

He held it up in front of him, holding it carefully. It fit neatly in both hands, arms and legs dangling lifelessly. That's what he'd wanted, he knew that. But the sight didn't bring him any satisfaction. Instead, all he felt was the crushing sorrow. It wasn't a thing. It was a baby. No horns, no hooves, no scales. Just a human baby. His baby. His anger vanished in that moment, and he let out a pitiful wail. That wail grew and filled the silence as he cradled the baby against his chest. He pressed it against his skin, his head tossed back. He finished his wail and immediately launched into another one. He closed his eyes, but it did nothing to stop the horrible images in his mind. Images of what he'd done.

Sudden movement against his chest broke through the whirlwind of feelings overwhelming him. He froze, worried he imagined it. But then he felt it again. The head in his hand, the face pressed against his skin, was moving. An uncertain smile stretched across his face, and he lowered the baby to look at it again. He watched, holding his breath, and then his smile grew into a grin when the baby turned its head slightly. He let out an incredulous laugh and lifted the baby again, this time up to his face. He held it up so that they were face to face. Studying the tiny, bloody face, he whispered, "You look just like your mother." A second later, those small eyes opened. And his surprised joy disappeared, replaced by horrifying fear.

"No," he whispered. Those eyes, those snake eyes, watched him hazily, blinking slowly as if just waking from a good nap. Iwan shook his head and moved the baby away from him. "No. No. No!" He screamed and raised it up, preparing to throw it.

But something stopped him. He had no idea what. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe a part of him did love the child. Maybe because despite its evil eyes, it was still a baby. Maybe it was because no matter what it really was, it was still a part of his beloved Julia. He didn't know and he didn't think about it. His mind had been through too much in a short time. His mind had been pushed past its limits and he just desperately wanted it all to stop. He slowly lowered the baby. It didn't make a sound, just continued watching him with those evil eyes. Iwan gently set it down on the bed beside Julia. He stroked its cheek with his finger and the baby slowly raised its hand towards him.

Ignoring the hand reaching for him, Iwan picked up the knife. Then, he laid down on the other side of Julia, away from the baby. He knew they'd be found eventually. He had no idea if the baby would still be alive by then. But he knew he wouldn't be. He'd be with his Julia, his miłość, and they’d be at peace together. He took her hand in his hand, his flesh warming hers slightly. He turned his head to look at her. And, staring at her without blinking, he thrust the knife into his neck. Pain erupted from the wound, but it was nothing compared to the pain of what he'd just witnessed and done. With the knife thrust in to the hilt, he jerked it across to the other side of his neck. Effectively, but crudely, cutting his throat. He yanked it out to ensure the blood could flow and there was no chance of saving him. And then he dropped the knife to the bed.

With his eyes locked on Julia, he slowly bled out. His hand slowly grew just as cold as hers and his blood soon mixed with hers on the bedding beneath them. His last coherent thought was that the storm had finally stopped. Then every other thought slipped away, and he slipped into blissful death.

The midwife found them about an hour after the storm ended. She’d gotten the call from Iwan when the storm first started but had quickly been trapped in her home by the storm. Julia’s pregnancy had been problem free and there was little worry that the birth would be the same. Besides that, first time mothers often had long labors, so she was sure she’d be able to get to them once the storm died down. Even though the storm was stronger and stranger than any storm they usually had, she was confident that it wouldn’t last more than a few hours, several at the most. She thought she had plenty of time to get to Julia before the labor progressed far enough for anything to happen. And if she didn’t make it in time, Julia was passed the safe point of 37 weeks, so the baby was likely to not need any extra medical attention. So, in her mind, either the storm would end, and she’d get there before the baby was born, or the baby would be born during the storm, but Iwan and Julia would be able to handle it because the chances of something going wrong were low.

These thoughts are also why she took a little extra time after the storm before she went to check on them. The phones were still down, so she couldn’t call them, but no one came rushing to her door for help, so her assumption was only strengthened. It wasn’t until after she’d settled her own family and checked over her home that she finally grabbed her medical bag and headed over to their house. It looked okay from the outside, there was no damage to the house. The lights were all off, though she didn’t know if that was due to lack of power or not. From the outside, nothing appeared worrying. Nothing appeared worrying, until she opened the door.

She'd found the door unlocked, which wasn’t unusual if they were waiting for her to arrive. But the house was quiet. She’d expected to hear voices, maybe moaning, or screaming from Julia, or if she’d missed the birth entirely, a crying baby. But she heard nothing. She almost turned to go back home, thinking it had been a false alarm and they were catching up on sleep after the storm. She didn’t want to disturb them if that were the case. But something told her to go check. So, she continued inside.

She made her way through the house, stepping around the broken glass from fallen picture frames and decorations and made her way to the bedroom. With each step, her need to check on them grew smaller and her worry grew larger. If it hadn’t been for the lack of damage to the house, she would’ve thought they’d been injured by the storm. But that wasn’t possible since the house was fine. She briefly thought that maybe there’d been an earthquake, that would account for all the fallen pictures and things in the house. But if it hadn’t been enough to knock over furniture so she doubted it would have been strong enough to cause harm. As her mind raced through possibilities and she got closer to the bedroom, her instincts started screaming at her. Something was wrong. Then that feeling intensified when the smell of blood hit her.

Her worry instantly turned into outright fear. Ignoring her instincts, she hurried through the rest of the house. She burst into the bedroom and stopped in place, staring with wide eyes at the bed. It took her a moment for her mind to comprehend what she was looking at. And then her scream rent the air. She dropped her bag and stumbled back through the house, stepping on all the glass she took care to avoid on her way in. She fell through the front door and to the ground, still screaming, and soon she was surrounded by concerned neighbors. She tried to answer their questions, but her frantic, frenzied words were too hard to understand. A few people rushed into the house, making the logical assumption that something had happened to Julia and Iwan. But they, too, rushed back out just like she had. One person immediately vomited where they stood, while the other two were crying.

One of the three was able to get the words out. "Julia and Iwan are dead, they were murdered." His words fueled the crowd's frenzy and suddenly everyone was shouting. More people wanted to rush in, but the more reasonable ones were able to hold them back. Voices and shouts overlapped each other as the crowd quickly grew in size with more concerned neighbors and villagers joining the fray. But in the chaos, no one noticed the figure watching them all silently before it snuck around to the back of the house.

Marvin Werner, local bartender and owner of said bar, had an idea of what had happened and he knew what needed to be done. Breaking in through the back door was easy and the noise from the crowd easily drowned out the noise of the window breaking. Not only did that let him open the door, but it would also give evidence to the theory that it was just a random murder. It would help things calm down if there was a somewhat simple explanation. And that in turn would make things easier for him.

He silently made his way through the house, avoiding touching everything. He wanted no trace of himself left behind. His focus was solely on the dead family in the master bedroom. He found them easily, even though he'd never been inside their house, by simply following the smell of blood. The door was still open from where the midwife had entered so he was able to just enter the room. Calm in the face of the carnage, he cautiously approached the bed. The adults were clearly dead, but they weren’t why he was there. He knew them as members of the village, but not personally. Julia and Iwan. They were good people and a happy couple. They'd wanted a child for years. He'd heard all about it in the bar after they announced her pregnancy. Everyone had been looking forward to this baby. He let out a regretful sigh. Things could have gone so differently if they'd been able to get the right help. But the odds were stacked against them from the conception.

He turned his attention from them to the baby, laying silent at her side. The baby, a boy, lay as if dead, just like them. But Marvin knew better. He moved around to the side of the bed, eyes locked on the still, tiny body. He leaned over it to get a closer look. Underneath all the blood was a normal-looking infant, with smooth skin and fine, blond hair. The umbilical cord was still attached, but he wasn't surprised by that. Marvin highly doubted the baby had been delivered with the intent of it surviving. He had just raised his gaze to the baby's face again when its eyes suddenly opened.

Marvin didn't react to the baby's snake eyes. It didn’t shock him. It wasn’t even on the list of the strangest things he’d ever seen. He gave it a sad smile, then whispered, "You caused quite a storm, little one. Figuratively and literally." The baby just continued staring up at him. Marvin raised his hand and carefully stroked the boy's cheek, fingers gently scraping off some of the dried blood. "I don't think this is a good place for you. But I know a place where you'll be safe and loved. Do you want to go there?"

There was still no visible or audible response, but Marvin got the answer loud and clear. He nodded approvingly. "Good lad. Let's get going then, before the lot outside get their heads on straight and figure out what they should be doing." He could already hear the noise from the crowd dying down as a few prominent, commanding voices took over. They were running out of time.

Marvin leaned over and plucked the bloody knife up from where Iwan had dropped it. With it covered in blood, it was already so messy that his handling it didn’t make a difference. He cut the cord with one quick, efficient action, then set the knife back in place. He didn’t know how much the midwife and others had seen when they’d entered the room but leaving it as they’d seen it was important. The disappearance of the baby would raise enough questions on its own, there was no need for any added suspicions. He carefully picked the baby up and cradled it against his chest in one arm. With him secured in his arm, he quickly searched the room. He found what he was looking for, a soft towel probably placed there for the birth. Still holding the baby against his body, he awkwardly wrapped him in it. It wasn't a good swaddle, but it would do. Just as he resettled the boy in his arms, he heard people entering the house.

"Time's up, little one. I need you to keep being quiet a little longer, alright? Good lad." He couldn't go back through the house now. He could hear people creeping down the hallway towards the bedroom already. So, he quietly opened up a window and slipped outside, surprisingly agile for a man who looked as old as he did. He tucked the baby closer against him, hiding the tiny face in his soft green shirt, and slipped away from the house.

With the village focused either on the dead couple or the aftermath of the storm, it was too easy for him to sneak through alleys and between buildings as he headed for the forest. As he did so, he could hear word spreading of what happened to Julia and Iwan. He sighed internally, his mind already making plans for all the damage control he’d have to do when he returned. But that was an issue for the future. His focus right then was getting the child out of the village to somewhere safe.

Once they made it to the outer edge of the village, right on the unspoken line where the village and the forest met, he checked the baby. He still hadn't moved or made a sound, not once as he was carried. He just continued to stare up at Marvin, only breaking the eerie sight to give him a slow blink. Lowering his head slightly, he whispered, "Alright, little one. We're going to move fast now. Hold on." The boy finally moved then, gripping the edge of the towel with his tiny hand. Marvin nodded and smiled down at him, then raised his head. He repositioned the boy, again making sure he was secure in his arms, before he suddenly leapt into the trees and disappeared into the forest.

#nightshade manor #horror #cw blood #cw: gore #content warning #tw death #supernatural horror #idk how to tag this #Im sorry

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