#(to cripple me in any kind of predicament) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avenging-criminal-bones · 3 years

Text

Claustrophobic

Spencer x Reader

Requested?: YES

Word Count: 2264

Warnings: Mentions of unsub, guns, violence, hurt/comfort, panic attack

A/N: SORRY! I kind of got carried away with the prompt from anon

* * * * *

If there was one thing that no one on the team knew about you, it was your extreme claustrophobia. Small spaces, dark corners, the whole nine-yards would set your off in a heartbeat. Especially if you had to share the space with someone else.

No one knows. Not even Spencer.

Who you’ve been dating.

For almost a year.

It stemmed from your childhood. Your parents had both died in a house fire when you were young, seven, to be exact. So when they were no longer there to take care of you, your uncle took you in and raised you as if you were already a trouble maker.

There was a closet in your uncle’s house about four feet high and three feet by three feet as the interior. Relatively small. Whenever you needed to be punished of have anything done, you were locked in the closet. Some nights, he would be so wasted or hyped up on weed that he’d forget about you in there, leaving you overnight to fend for your food and bathroom situation.

For eleven years that was the only form of correction that he’d give you, until you left. You got out of there as soon as you were eighteen.

Which is why the current case put you in a sort of predicament. You aren’t in any sort of danger, at least not immediately, but the unsub had capture you and Spencer. He locked the both of you in a dark metal box. It must have been an old shipping container, since you’d chased the perpetrator into an abandoned warehouse.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was rough. The two of you had been drugged, just now waking up from the chloroform-induced sleep. In passing, you wondered if this was going to react badly with Spencer’s previous, forced-drug abuse. “Are you in here?”

“Y-Yeah. Spence... where-”

“I don’t know.”

You feel him shift beside you, not being able to see him due to the pitch blackness of the storage container. A moment later you feel a presence directly beside you and jump slightly. “Wh-”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Just my hand. I’m trying to gauge how wide this box is.” His voice sounds much too composed for the current situation. “Judging by the fact that I’m six foot one and my wingspan is about that same length, combined with the unfortunate reality that about three feet of my arms cannot stretch out, I’m going to guess that we are in a three by three foot container. The metallic sounds of my nails hitting the wall,” he drums his fingers a bit to show you, “means that this is a thicker metal, which translates to: no phone service.” He pauses for a second and hears the sound of your whimpering from directly in front of him. “Y/N?”

Your anxieties have been building up since you had come to your senses just a few moments before Spencer. You didn’t want to think about the fact that you were stuck in a small, dark, damp container, much like the closet from your childhood. You didn’t want to think about how you and Spencer had a shared, limited amount of air. You didn’t want to face that reality, but Spencer wouldn’t stop talking.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Spencer grabbed your hand, but you jerked away quickly, hyperventilating as your thoughts raced in your head.

“I-No. I c-can’t. Spence- I can’t b-breathe. Please. Oh my- I can’t. I can’t.” Your words stutter out and they’re progressively getting more desperate.

Spencer’s eyes furrow and he shakes his head, not that you could see the confusion written in his body language though in the darkness.

“Y/N. We’re not running out of oxygen yet,” your breathing still came out in sharp pants, not relaxing by his words. “Judging by the burning alcoholic smell in my nose, and the fact that we woke up about seven minutes ago, lack of oxygen in this container, which has an area of 27 inches times three,” he works through the math in his head for a moment, “won’t be a concern for another 113 minutes.”

“No, no, no...” You whimper to yourself, murmuring no in hopes that your denial can magically open the container. “NO! I c-can’t- It’s not- Spence- it’s small... there’s no- I can’t...”

You interrupt yourself with quiet sobs, willing Spencer to understand what your problem is so you don’t have to try and explain it in your state.

“Y/N? Are you- is this claustrophobia?” His voice is soft, trailing off at the end. He knows that panic attacks are a consistent sign of things like phobias and mental health disorders, but you’d never given him a reason to associate it to you.

You nod your head, forgetting that he can’t see you until he repeats your name to try and prompt an answer.

“Y-yes. I know. It’s dumb- I just... I can’t. Spence- It’s not. I just need- I can’t breathe.”

Spencer lowers his voice to a gentle lull, being careful not to startle you as he talks. “Y/N, I’m going to approach you. I’m going to rest my hand on your face, and I’m going to grab your right hand with my left, okay?”

Again, you nod first before answering him vocally, “Yeah, yes.”

Spencer’s shoulders droop slightly, hearing the hitching in your voice mixed with the relief that you’ll let him help you. You feel a shift in the container as he switched from sitting to kneeling in front of you. He does exactly what he said he would and slowly, you sense him getting closer to you. After a moment of that, your chest heaves, your brain not allowing you to get a full breath in before it thinks you’re being attacked. His hand rests on your face then and he gently puts pressure on the back of your neck, alternating pressures with each of his fingers individually.

“Can you feel me?” He asks gently, cooing into your ear in an attempt to calm you down.

Not having words, you just shake your head. You don’t. You know that it’s there, but right now everything is just too much. There’s too much in your head, too many distractions running through your brain.

Spencer reaches forward with his other hand and grabs your right hand like he said that he was going to. He places your hand over his heart, leaving his hand there when he did.

“Y/N, you’re okay. We’re okay. I promise.”

It broke his heart to see you shattering like this. Something that Spencer had admired so, so much in you before you started dating was your fearlessness. Now it seemed like that was being torn away from you.

Spencer rested his forehead against yours and sighed to himself as he kept his ministrations going on the back of your neck.

Your breath hitched as you started to calm down. The hand on his chest clutched his once-nice shirt in your hand. It was wrinkled from the vice-like grip, but Spencer wouldn’t have cared. He just wants you to be okay.

“S-Spencer, I can’t... I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe, I can’t-” Your desperate words devolved into short pants, strangled whines as you doubled over yourself, trying to find something to anchor yourself to.

“Y/N! Hey, hey, hey. Y/N it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe, I promise.” Spencer didn’t know what to do. His heart was breaking for you; he hated the way you were shaking so badly, and sobbing so openly.

You sat there a few minutes with Spencer trying to calm you down. Eventually, your breathing calmed to quiet pants and hitches, and you subconsciously leaned into his hand that was cradling your face.

You were stilled curled up, still in no position to open your eyes and look around.

“... ‘m sorry, Spence...” You were exhausted now. There was no way you’d be able to stay awake much longer.

“Y/N? Why are you apologizing? It’s okay to have fears. It’s okay to have crippling panic attacks. Did you know, at my niece’s birthday party last year she had a clown come?” He pauses for a second, not really expecting you to answer yet. He continues, “ Anyways, I’m deathly afraid of clowns. And this guy popped up behind me to surprise all of the children. Long story short, I had to leave early because I punched the guy in the face.”

For the first time since you two had been captured, you huffed out a short laugh. Breathlessly, you asked, “You punched a birthday clown? Oh my God, Spence.”

Spencer’s shoulders finally dropped, the tension releasing as he saw that you were slowly getting better. “Yeah, it was a catastrophe in itself.”

Reaching over, you grabbed Spencer’s hand off of his chest and held it close to your face. You snuggled up to him, ignoring the fact that he is your co-worker and this is wrong.

“Spencer?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

You sigh slightly before asking your question. “Is the team going to come for us?”

“Oh, sweetheart... Of course. Yes. They will come for us.”

Spencer squeezed your hand in an attempt at reassurance. He could tell that your eyelids were drooping and that you were fighting to stay awake after your panic attack.

“Get some rest, Y/N. I’ll wake you up when you need to be alert, okay?” His voice is soft as he speaks to you.

Your eyes were finally closing, you hadn’t even responded to his request before you were drifting.

The sound of gun shots hitting the side of the container wakes you up quickly, jerking you out of your sleeping state.

“Spencer?!” You exclaim, sitting up fast as you tried to adjust to the darkness to look at your teammate.

“I’m here, I’m right here.” His hand finds yours again and he subtly tugs your closer to him, trying to keep you out of harms way of a stray bullet.

More gunshots follow, the sound of them hitting the space around you too loud, causing you to throw your hands over your ears.

You only pull them away when you feel a hard flinch from beside you. From Spencer.

“Spencer..? Spence?” You flip around fast, seeing his pained face.

You can see him.

You shouldn’t be able to see him. You were in an enclosed space... A box... No windows.

Except for the inch-wide hole right in front of Spencer.

The whole from the bullet.

That was lodged in his arm.

Spencer’s arm.

“No... No, no, no. NO!” Without thinking, you press against the wound in his shoulder. Too close to his clavicle. Too close to him. It’s second nature to you, but even so, you whisper sorries to him ever minute for causing him pain.

Distantly, you notice that the gunfire had died down. The only sounds now were your dry sobs and Spencer’s labored breathing. His pained groans. Because he was shot.

“Spencer, please. Please, please stay with me. Stay with me damn it. Spence!” You can’t even tell what you were saying anymore, you just knew that you were stringing pleas from your lips to your boyfriend.

His blood was all over your hands, spilling onto the ground. He was shaking as he reached up to grab your arm.

“Y/N... It’s okay. I’m- It’s fine.” You chose to ignore how he didn’t say that he was fine. “It’s okay. Do you h-hear that? It’s Hotch and JJ. I’m okay.”

Suddenly, you feel even worse about the anxieties from a few hours ago. Compared to this, it seemed even less important and relevant than it had then.

“I don’t... I don’t-” You break off, covering your mouth to keep in a louder sob. Thinking, you realize that if he wants to think that the help is here, then you need to let him. In the chance that he doesn’t-

NO. You will not think about that.

“Yeah, Spence. I hear them. They’re rounding the corner now.”

Your tears fall openly now, with Spencer holding your hand and the dim light from the middle of the day shining through that small hole. That tiny hole that might have decided your boyfriend’s fate.

Sure enough though, your boss runs into view of the hole and you almost let out a sob of relief. Keeping the pressure on Spencer’s shoulder, you feel him tense beneath you. “Stay awake, Reid. You stay awake. Hear me?”

He nods his head weakly just as Hotch opens the lid. Immediately, you stand up and he helps you up before sending medics in to help Spencer. As soon as you’re out of the confinements, you collapse to the ground, the reality of the situation finally hitting you.

You knew you’d have to tell the team about your claustrophobia when it was reported in the debrief, but for now, you didn’t have any worries other than Spencer.

You knew he was going to be okay as soon as you sat in the back of the ambulance with him and he started spewing off facts about the likelihood of a gunshot wound to the left arm below any arteries was to do any serious damage. According to him, the number was low, so you knew that if he slept it off and got the bullet removed in time, he would be just fine.

Silently, you mouth ‘I love you’ to Reid, him already knowing it was coming. He said it back before falling into a deep, adrenaline-crash sleep, you tucking your head right next to him and doing the same thing, hoping for a better tomorrow.

#angst #whump #hurt/comfort #spencer reid #spence #spencer x reader #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #fluff #claustrophobia #guns #gunshot #unsub #hotch #aaron hotchner #jj #jennifer jareau

122 notes · View notes

imma-fucking-nerd · 4 years

Text

In Real Life

(Connor x Reader)

A/N: this is inspired by the demi lovato song of the same title that I randomly remembered from when i was a kid that i totally didn't discover from a hetalia fic 👁️👄👁️

——————————————

Gavin Reed. He was an..... interesting character. Most people thought he was a trouble making asshole, and they weren't exactly wrong. He liked to pick fights, mostly with androids, and he held this arrogant air around him. But that didn't mean he wasn't capable of kindness, how to have a fun time, and believe it or not he was actually kind of funny. You supposed that was why you started to like him.

At first you only agreed to go on a date with him so he'd leave you alone. But one date turned into two. Then three. Then, before you knew it you found yourself living with him, and carrying the title of his 'girlfriend'. Honestly, you didn't really hate that idea.

He was kind enough, and funny enough, he was just enough to cure your crippling case of loneliness. So you let yourself fall for him. After all, there weren't really any other options for you at the moment. At least, not that you were aware of. But unbeknownst to you, a certain android had a budding crush on you.

You had been dating Gavin for a couple of months and things were....okay. Not bad, but not ideal either. You just chalked it up to your hopeless romantic nature expecting too much of him, and unrealistic. So, you settled with the mediocre relationship. It wasn't like he was abusive in any way. He had just been growing more and more distant, to say the least.

You wouldn't really ever go on fun dates out anymore. Unless you counted the weekends you would follow him to a bar. Where he would get shitfaced which then you would have to drag him to your shared apartment before he started a fight with someone. But those nights were hardly romantic. The only remotely romantic element being him managing to convince you to sleep with him.

Most days, he would stay home to hang out for no more than a couple of hours. But then he'd be off doing god knows what for the rest of the night. He'd rarely even be there when you woke up either. He would always just say it was because he had work he needed to do.

You brushed never questioned him about all the excuses, telling yourself that he was a detective. He must have been needed quite a lot. Or maybe he even just wanted his own time. That was fine. He was allowed to want his alone time. So you put up with it, even though it was causing little cracks in your heart every time. You ignored the voice in the back of your head that told you that you deserved more than this. A certain someone would have to agree.

Tonight was one of those nights. You were laying in your bed, and Gavin was getting dressed and ready to leave. You held back the urge to sigh as you watched him, a hint of sadness in your (e/c) eyes. Sitting up slightly, you cleared your throat. You already knew the answer to what you were about to ask, but it was worth a shot.

"So, when are you gunna be home?" you asked, a hopeful tinge to your voice.

"Dunno, probably not til late. I got work, but I'll let you know," he said as he shrugged on his jacket.

"Okay..." you replied quietly.

"I gotta go, cya later," he said, stopping at your bedroom door, sparing you a quick glance over his shoulder.

"Okay, bye," you waved, offering him a small smile.

With that, he was gone once again. When you heard the front door shut you let out a long sigh. You layed back down and stared up at the ceiling, letting your mind wonder. After a few moments the buzzing of your phone caught your attention. You rolled over onto your side and grabbed it, turning it on and punching in your passcode. You opened the messages app and a smile appeared on your face when you read the text.

NEW MESSAGE

Connor: Hello, (Y/n). How are you doing this evening? :)

You couldn't help but chuckle at the little smiley face. You taught him how to make the basic emote faces and you thought it was adorable every time he used one. Almost immediately, you typed up your reply.

(Y/n): Hey Con! I'm ok, you?

Connor was your best friend. Ever since he first waltzed into the prescinct you found him intriguing. The thing thing that brought you two together at first was because you defended him from Gavin, and anyone else who bullied the poor android. You really didn't understand why they were all so mean to him.

You thought the detective android was amazing in every single way. Not only was his detective work unmatched, but he was also such a sweetheart, and honestly so unintentionally hilarious, not to mention he was very attractive. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't imagined what it would be like to date him. He would honestly be the perfect boyfriend. But you doubted he'd think of you in a romantic way.

Connor had only become a deviant not too long ago. So trying to flirt with him would feel wrong anyways. But being friends with him was something you could do. You always knew he was so much more than a machine on a mission. When he came to you to tell you he had become deviant you immediately pulled him into a hug, much like Hank did. Little did you know that your hug would awaken feelings in him for you he never knew were possible, yet felt as if they'd always been there.

NEW MESSAGE

Connor: I'm doing good. May I ask why you're just okay? Is something wrong?

His concern made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. A feeling that you were supposed to feel from your boyfriend. Your previous smile dropped as you stared at the question on the screen. You trusted Connor with your life but you didn't know if you should tell him what was bothering you. With a soft sigh, you typed up your response.

(Y/n): No no I'm fine. It's just one of those days y'know?

(Y/n): But I really appreciate your concern :)

You felt bad for lying to him, but it wasn't like there was anything he could do about your little predicament. You were grateful you didn't have to have this conversation face to face, otherwise he would have most definitely caught you in your lie. Yet even through text, Connor wasn't very convinced but he didn't want to press even further.

NEW MESSAGE

Connor: Oh, ok. Let me know if you need anything (Y/n) and I'll be there. :)

Once again, his message brought a smile to your face, along with that funky feeling in your stomach. Oh how you wished Gavin could make you feel this special.

(Y/n): Thank you Connor :3

NEW MESSAGE

Connor: What is that?

You chuckled softly at the android's endearing cluelessness when it came to texting. God he was adorable.

(Y/n): It's a face! Like a dog or a cat face

NEW MESSAGE

Connor: Oh.

Connor: :3

You couldn't help but giggle at the incoming text.

(Y/n): Cute! :D

NEW MESSAGE

Connor: Anyways, I shouldn't keep you up any further. It's late, you should sleep.

You glanced up to the corner of your phone and saw the time read 1:43 am. He definitely wasn't wrong, and as if on cue your body let out a long yawn.

(Y/n): Yeah you're probably right. Goodnight Connor.

NEW MESSAGE

Connor: Goodnight (Y/n) :3

You chuckled and shook your head as you turned your phone off, placing it over your heart. An absent-minded dreamy sigh fell past your lips and you placed your phone over on your nightstand. You got comfortable in under the covers and fluttered your eyes shut before you slowly drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up at the sound of your alarm, you weren't surprised to find the space beside you empty. No kisses, no breakfast made for you, not even the presence of your boyfriend. You were used to that by now though. It's almost as if you were still single. With a little huff, you got up and started getting ready for work.

You weren't a detective like Gavin, but you did work at the station with him, and with Connor. Almost as soon as you thought about your favorite android, you saw your phone light up in your peripherals. You didn't even need to read who it was from before a smile stretched across your face.

NEW MESSAGE

Connor: Good morning (Y/n). I hope you slept well. I look forward to seeing you.

(Y/n): Thanks Connor, I slept alright. I'm leaving now so I'll see you soon.

NEW MESSAGE

Connor: See you soon (Y/n) :)

With that, you shut your phone off and tucked it away into your purse before leaving the apartment. You locked the door behind you and ledt to go down to your car. The smile Connor's morning texts brought you stayed on your face the whole ride to work. You had a feeling today was going to be a great day.

The hours of the day rolled by seamlessly, and for the most part, your little feeling was right. You didn't have that many reports to fill out and Connor wasn't out on any cases with Hank so you got to talk with him a lot. The only thing that kind of disappointed you was the lack of attention you got from your boyfriend. You tried not to let that get you down, but Connor could sense that you weren't 100%.

It was currently 7:45pm and you were finally ready to head home. After gathering your belongings, you looked around for Gavin. You were a little confused when you couldn't find him, but just assumed he went home before you. Wouldn't be the first time. As your eyes scanned the prescinct, they met a pair of warm chocolate brown ones. Your lips almost immediately curled up into a smile when you recognized who they belonged to.

"Hello, (Y/n). Are you done for the day?" he asked, returning your smile with a lopsided smile of his own.

He had yet to master the whole smiling thing without looking awkward. But it cute nonetheless.

"Yep, you?" you responded, popping the 'p'.

"Yes, Hank is waiting for me in the car," he nodded.

"Then you probably shouldn't keep him waiting before he leaves without you," you chuckled.

"Right," he agreed almost sheepishly.

"C'mon, we can walk out together," you offered with a smile.

Connor's own smile widened and he nodded enthusiastically, "I would like that."

You lead the way to the exit and Connor followed. As you got to the door, Connor quickly stepped ahead of you and opened the door for you. A soft chuckle escaped you and you felt a slight warmth rise up into your cheeks. Something that didn't go unnoticed by the android detective.

"Why thank you kind sir," you said with a grin.

"Of course, my lady/lord," he replied with a cheeky little smile as he exited after you.

As he walked you over to your car, the sudden sound of a car's horn made you jump. You turned your head to Hank's beat up old car.

"Connor, hurry the fuck up or I'm leaving your ass here!" you heard the older man yell from his car.

"Coming Lieutenant!" Connor called after him.

He then turned to you with a soft smile, "Goodnight (Y/n), I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight Connor," you replied with a wave as he jogged over to Hank's car.

You and Connor locked eyes once more before you both got into your seperate vehicles. You swore you felt your heart skip a beat, and as soon as you were in your car you let out a girlish giggle. Today was definitely a great day.

You pulled up in front of the apartment building and parked along the curb. Gavin only had one parking spot and that was reserved for his truck, so you had to park infront of the building. Not that you really minded. Stepping out of the car, you locked it before entering the building. As you rode the elevator up to your floor you wondered if Gavin would be home. Maybe if you were lucky you could watch a movie together and cuddle to wrap up this perfect day.

When you arrived at your door you slid in your key to unlock to door only to find it was already unlocked. Huh that was weird. You just shrugged it off, assuming Gavin just left it unlocked for you. However when you entered the apartment and begun to take your jacket off you paused when your eyes landed on a pair of heels that weren't your own.

You felt your heart drop into your stomach when you heard hushed giggles and moans coming from deeper in the apartment. You dropped your bag by the door and closed it quietly before slowly creeping down the hall. The closer you got to the origin of the noises the louder they got and they were coming from the bedroom. The sound of your heart racing pounded in your ears as you recognized one of the voices to be Gavin's, your supposed boyfriend. The other voice was another woman's, and it didn't take much to put two and two together.

Your feet stopped on your venture forward and you stood frozen like a deer in headlights. The forming of tears stung your eyes and you felt your throat tightening. You could almost hear your heart breaking over the faint voices echoed in your mind. After a few moments of you just standing there, processing what was happening, you turned on your heel and grabbed your bag before slamming the door shut. There was no doubt they would heard that, and you hoped they did.

Hot tears brimmed your eyes and you tried so hard to keep them from spilling as you rushed into the elevator. You didn't want or need to face him or the woman he had cheated on you with. There was nothing he could say that would make it okay. That would stop you from leaving him like you knew you should have a long time ago.

It was only when you got into your car when you finally let the tears that threatened to spill fall down your face. Never before have you felt so stupid in your entire life. So much of you time and love poured into someone who never gave a shit about you. You hit the side of the steering wheel multiple times with a frustrated and hurt groan. After the anger had subsided you leaned your forehead against the wheel and just cried.

It had been a solid five minutes before you were able to steady your breathing and calm down a little. Your eyes glanced back to the apartment, with a shaky sigh you put the key into the ignition and started your car. You didn't have a set destination in mind but you just needed to go anywhere else but here.

You seemed to drive on autopilot because without even realizing it you ended up driving to the address of Lieutenant Anderson. Since you had made the mistake of moving in with Gavin, you really didn't have anywhere else to go. You hoped he wouldn't mind if you crashed there for a couple of days with a little persuasion from Connor. The moment you thought about the android you felt yourself feel just a little bit better. You knew that if anyone would be able to lift your spirits, it was him.

Within less than a half hour you arrived at the residence of Hank, Sumo, and as of recently, Connor. You parked by the curb and turned off your car. Taking a few deep breaths, you looked at yourself in the mirror and realized how much of a mess you looked. Your eyes were red, puffy, and glossy with fresh tears. But at this point you were beyond caring about how you looked.

With a soft huff you pulled yourself out of your car and headed up to the door. You wasted no more time before knocking on the door a couple of times. Looking over your shoulder you noticed Hank's car wasn't in the driveway. Must have been out at a bar or something. Your attention was brought back to the door when you heard it unlocking and being pulled open. Connor's eyes widened at the sight of you and his LED shifted into a yellow as he immediately scanned you for any bodily harm.

"(Y/n)? What's wrong? Are you alright?" he asked, worry evident in his voice and soft eyes.

"H-He cheated on me," was all you said, your barely audible voice cracking as you fought off a second round of tears.

The androids features softened and he opened the door wider for you to step inside. You offered him a weak grateful smile as you walked into the humble abode. He closed the door behind you before offering to take your coat, like the gentleman he was. After he took you to trudged over to the couch and sunk down onto it. You hadn't even been there five minutes and you already felt more at home than you did spending months at his place.

A smile tugged at your lips when the saint bernard, Sumo, came up and layed at your feet. You leaned down and pet through his thick fur.

"Hey buddy," you mumbled to the canine.

Your attention was brought back up to Connor when he took a seat next to you.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked kind of awkwardly.

You shook your head, "No, not really."

Connor nodded in understanding. He wasn't quite sure what else to say. Comforting people wasn't exactly his strong suit. He was about to open his mouth to speak but shut it once you leaned your head against his shoulder, your eyes trained on the dog that layed by your feet. Connor tensed at the contact and you were just about to move away and apologize when he slowly wrapped an arm around your waist.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/n)," Connor almost whispered, breaking the silence that had fallen upon you.

"Yeah, me too," you said sadly, sighing shakily.

You felt the tears coming back and your breath becoming more uneven but you made no attempt to stop it. Connor must have noticed too because he shifted slightly and used his other hand to pull you into his chest. This time it was you who had tensed at the sudden hug, and soon you completely melted into his touch. You buried your face into his chest and clutched onto his jacket like your life depended on it, meanwhile Connor soothingly pet your hair.

"He didn't deserve you anyways," he mumbled, mostly to himself.

A long period of time passed where none of you said a word. Connor just held you in his arms as you sobbed into his chest. He thought he hated Gavin before you two started dating, now the next time he saw him he was going to have some words for him. Connor wished he had said something to you before you got hurt, but it was too late for that now so he was content to be here for you now. He hated to admit it, but he actually really like the position you two were in, minus the you crying thing of course.

A couple more minutes passed until Connor realized that you had seemed to calm down. He looked down at you and just as he was about to call your name he noticed that you had fallen asleep. You must have been so exhausted that you cried yourself to sleep. Slowly, Connor picked you up bridal style before laying you down onto the couch. He had to snap himself out of staring at your sleeping form in order to get you a spare blanket. When he came back he gently laid the blanket over you then hesitantly leaned down closer to you.

"Sleep well, (Y/n)," he whispered before leaning in further to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

In the morning, you were awoken by the potent smell of bacon in the air. You stirred a bit before your eyes fluttered open, taking in your surroundings. It took a moment to realize where you were, and what exactly happened the night before. When you looked up to see Hank making his way over to the couch you sat up to give him room. You assumed Connor had filled him in after you fell asleep because he didn't ask why you were here, only mumbling a 'mornin'.

You offered him a small smile in response and rubbed your eyes. Looking over, you saw Connor in the kitchen and got up to join him. When he noticed you at his side he offered you a bright smile.

"Good morning, (Y/n). How did you sleep?" he asked, his eyes going back to the bacon he was cooking up.

"As well as you'd expect sleeping on a couch. Whatcha doing?" you nodded down to the food he was making.

"Making you breakfast, of course," he said as if it were obvious.

"Really?" your eyes widened and you could feel your cheeks heating up.

"I hope you don't mind," he added once he saw your reaction, suddenly doubting his actions.

"No, no! I don't mind at all, it's just..... Something I'm not used to," you said, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Well, as long as you stay with us I'll make you whatever you want whenever you want," he grinned, proud of himself.

Your lips curled up into a wide smile and you went up on your tippy toes, pressing a quick peck to his cheek, "Thanks Con."

"Uh- N-No problem (Y/n)," he stuttered, a light blue starting to tint his cheeks.

Maybe all your romantic daydreams weren't so unrealistic after all. You just had to know where to look. Maybe you should be thanking Gavin. Yeah, a nice thank you with your fist would do just fine.

————————————————

A/N: oops i meant for this to be like 2500 words and it turned out to be nearly 4000- Anywayss hope y'all enjoyed!

#dbh #dbh x reader #dbh fanfic #dbh connor #connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #connor rk800 #detroit rk800 #detroit become human #detroit #dbh rk800

217 notes · View notes

fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 4 years

Text

Male Companions react to their baby/babies’s first words being “dad”

(I um...may or may not have even more maxson smut in the works so I’ll try my best to get through some cute fluff stuff first 😌 also I may have gotten carried away with a few of them 😭)

Danse:

The former Paladin didn’t ever imagine he’d ever be so lucky. Here he was, his best friend turned wife snuggled into his side as the both of you lovingly watched the newest addition to your family, his sweet little baby, as they rolled around on the carpeted floor. Just as he thought the night couldn’t have been better, that sweet little amber eyed child crawled up his lap, braced themselves with their tiny fingers clutching onto the chain of his dog tags before..

“Daddy!” They happily squealed, effectively making Danse gasp before smiling and scooping his child in his hands as he leaned back- holding them against his chest. He felt complete.

Deacon:

After everything Deacon had been through, he thought this whole predicament would forever be out of his reach. Boy was he happy he was wrong. Thankfully, you weren’t out on a mission- unless you consider going to the power noodle stand for dinner a mission. Regardless that meant that he was at home watching his little bundle of joy while you were out.

He couldn’t help himself but give in, he was supposed to be putting his baby to sleep but they just wouldn’t go down. So, he decided to play around with them, waving their prized teddy bear above them whilst talking to them with the infamous “baby voice.”

However within moments he dropped the bear, hearing his baby coo..

“Dada.” All with a cute bubbly grin.

“Yeah..that’s right.” Deacon would quickly respond, pushing his shades up to rest on his head. “I’m daddy.” He practically would coo back, scooping them up, only to laugh as they reached up and stole his glasses.

Gage:

Okay, Gage wasn’t one to cry no matter what the circumstance. Especially if it was over something emotional...that is, until the birth of his precious little baby. Boy, had they ran him through the runner, the mere idea of what danger they’d be in from literal birth because of their parents was good enough to make Gage feel as though he aged at least an additional five years.

No matter what though, it was all worth it when he was able to sit down and enjoy moments like the ones playing out before him.

The raider had momentarily went back inside the grille to grab something to drink, quietly emerging from the steel doors to be met with the sight of your moonlight silhouettes on the balcony. You holding his baby up with one hand, the other pointing off to some far off formation of stars that you pointlessly explained to your child. Once he finally approached, he felt his once frozen heart swell in his chest as he laid eyes upon his baby, their little hands wrapped around their favorite plushie...until they registered that the man coming up behind their mommy was...

“Da da!” They happily muttered, making their father’s one good eye widen to the size of a saucer. With a shaky breath, the oh so fearsome raider would reach into your arms to run his thumb across his baby’s plump little cheek.

The second you looked over your shoulder at him you couldn’t believe your eyes. There he was, a single tear rolling down his cheek and a pleased grin shaping his lips.

Hancock:

At first he didn’t fully understand. He had been playing some old record you found ages ago, dancing around with his sweet little baby in his arms when they spoke up in that tiny voice of their’s. However when he turned the music down and they enthusiastically beamed at him, leaning to where they could stare into his darkened eyes and say...

“Daddy..” with the cutest little coo..

Oh lord he couldn’t contain himself, going full speed to go find wherever you went off to and trying to get them to repeat it. Hell, if you didn’t stop him, he’d carry your child all around goodneighbor, telling everyone he could what their first words were.

Macready:

Internally, Mac did a little victory dance. He didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t help but find his mind drifting off to the memory of Duncan’s first words. He had tried for so long to coax his son into saying “dada.” Or just something similar...but much to his surprise, his first child’s first words were literally....”doggy.” In honor of the stray dog that would routinely pester their little farm.

So, when your baby looked up at him with those lovely eyes reminiscent of your own, their cute chubby little hands on either side of his face and plainly babbled..

“Dada..”

He couldn’t contain his joy.

Maxson:

He couldn’t believe it.

With one of his two babies put down for their nap and the other in his arms, he shone a bright proud smile.He flinched the slightest bit when the twin that was still awake tugged at his beard, however before he could put them beside their sibling-

“Da..da.” His precious little dark haired baby cooed, drooling with quite possibly the sweetest smile the young father had ever seen plastered on their little chubby face.

The elder’s bright eyes somewhat widened as he gazed at the baby, that proud smile impossibly growing wider. Their first words..Oh he was so proud. Right then and there he felt like he was going to explode from joy, a very strange and foreign feeling for him to experience.

Once he finally put his baby to sleep and was able to go back to your sleeping form he unfortunately was whipped with the crippling reality..one day he was going to have to raise that sweet little child to be a soldier.

Nick:

There wasn’t much he loved more than spending time with his new family, especially times like this where his miracle of a baby was propped up on his lap- the upper part of their body resting against the dark hickory style wood of his desk as the detective aimlessly tried to sort out files.

Just when he was about to hand his little one back to you, suddenly they whined, grabbing onto the tan ragged lapels of his trenchcoat.

“Daddy!” They shrieked, pulling with what little strength they could muster to try to climb back in their father’s embrace. At first he was shocked, his golden eyes flickering before he flashed a toothy smile, happily pulling his little one back to him before leaning back in his swivel chair so they could finally be happy and rest against their father’s chest.

Old Longfellow:

Look, making long story short, he cried. Like, full on tears of joy. He wasn’t an emotional one and if he was ever asked just why he had such a strong response, he’d completely blame it upon his newfound sobriety but..when his “miracle” of a baby stood up in his lap- looking him dead on with their kind, innocent eyes, just to smile and plainly say

“Daggy..”

Oh god he couldn’t help it. Even if they were off by a little bit, he knew what they were saying and the words were good enough to send him into a fit of happy tears.

Preston:

It was early, far too early for you to be awake, but that didn’t stop your precious little one. Luckily Preston was always a morning person, finding a way to expertly sneak around the creaky floorboards of your home to reach his baby somehow before they managed to let out a peep.

Call it a father’s intuition.

This had become such a running thing that it was just routine by now, every morning starting with him grabbing his own little “mini me”, placing them on his hip and singing along to a song or two as he gathered breakfast.

However unlike most mornings, this time the little child greeted their father with a big toothless grin- making cute “grabby hands” for him as they squealed

“Papa!”

He felt like he was struck with lightening, his own smile taking over his face as he practically leaped to pick them up. Twirling them around when he scooped their little body up.

He couldn’t wait to tell you.

Sturges:

It had been a long day of repairs for him, like always. No matte what though, he was the happiest he had been in his entire life. Holed up in your little humble home in sanctuary with you lounging out next to him, life couldn’t be any sweeter.

That is until your newly able to walk child walked towards the two of you, a glimmering piece of metal that upon further inspection would be travels to be a small socket wrench in their hand. With a cute, proud grin on their face- they’d unsteadily toddle towards their father, placing the object on his lap.

“Papa!” Their sweet little voice chirped, causing a look of pure shock to overwhelm the previously resting man.

Grinning ear to ear, the synth man would practically rip his utility gloves off so he could grab his little one by their tiny waist, hoisting them up and above his head. He’d proceed to make little “vertibird” like noises as he gently swayed them, causing them to turn into a messy of squirmy giggles. If anyone asked him what his heaven would’ve been, it would be this. This one particular moment.

X6-88:

Falling in love with you in the first place was already a scary experience for him. Finding out that somehow he managed to get you pregnant months later, that was reality shattering. He loved it though. More so, he loved his little child- their birth making him feel so human like, but in the best of ways. However he was once again put into that state of wondrous, exciting fear when his little curly headed toddler grabbed his coat- affectively grabbing his attention so he would be met eye to eye with their similar icy gaze.

“Daddy..?” Their sweet little voice called to him, looking up in such a way that made his heart physically twinge. However, before he even knew what he was doing, he knelt down, adjusted them onto his hip before kissing their nose.

He...he could get used to this.

#fallout #fallout 4 #paladin danse #fo4 companions #fallout companions #danse #elder maxson #porter gage #arthur maxson #deacon #hancock #macready #nick valentine #sturges

131 notes · View notes

dont-tempt-me-frodo · 4 years

Note

Could I maybe suggest a prompt? It’s fine if not! Just I’ve seen a lot of fics (like 3 honestly) where Geralt and Jaskier are cursed to stay close to each other lest one or both are in unimaginable pain. That but they go visit Yennefer and find out the only way is to spend like an hour apart from on another, just major angst, like they’re both claimed to opposite sides of the room suffering and watching the other in pain :o Thanks!

oh my goodness I LOVE this.

So this got quite long but I hope it does the prompt justice! I've also posted it on ao3 so you can read it there too!

"Let me check," Jaskier chirped and before Geralt could stop him, the Bard stuck his head up from the over-turned table they were crouched behind.

The Witcher grabbed a fistful of his doublet and yanked him back down.

"Yeah, I have assessed the situation and it's eh, not good," Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck.

"What part of a rampaging Mage did you think would be good?" Geralt growled, brow set in a deep scowl.

Jaskier shrugged, the slight quiver in his jaw muscles betraying his fear at their current predicament.

This wasn't how his day was supposed to go. When they had arrived in the small town, the townsfolk had asked him to deal with a Mage who, quote, "is a little bit intense and kind of creepy." Geralt had rolled his eyes and almost ignored the request but Jaskier had insisted they check it out, even if it came to nothing.

Geralt knew that the Bard was hoping to spend the night in the town rather than sleeping rough under the stars again for the fifth night in a row. Investigating the Mage would waste the time until nightfall and then they would have to stay in the tavern. Geralt had decided to indulge Jaskier. He had to admit, a straw mattress and scratchy sheets did sound like a nice change from roots sticking into your back and the cold that crept in with the dark.

They had found the Mage's tower easily enough. It stood on the outskirts of the town. Five storeys high, slate roof, thin windows, moss covered brickwork. Nestled amongst tall growing brambles and gorse.

Geralt had intended to have a nice, calm conversation with the Mage, sort out whatever miss understanding had happened between them and the townsfolk then head back to the tavern for ale and a warm dinner.

That's how it was supposed to go.

Unfortunately for Geralt, the Mage seemed a little unhinged and was babbling on about the properties of a certain mushroom he had found by the river. The Witcher recognised it immediately as a Dracus Soria or, in the common tongue, Dragons Breath.

The mushroom was small, perfectly round and a violent red colour. The gills underneath the cap were orange and the stalk a mustardy yellow. If ingested it burned down the gullet and practically melted the person from the inside out. There was the odd rumour that if treated correctly, the mushroom could cure all manner of aliments, but everyone who had tried had died horribly.

Geralt tried explaining this to the Mage but his warnings fell on deaf ears. When the Mage had wanted to feed his latest batch of findings to Jaskier, Geralt had put himself between him and the Bard with a menacing expression on his face that even a Mage would think twice before challenging him.

Unfortunately for Geralt, the Mage had blasted him aside with a powerful spell and then when Jaskier ran from him, decided to eat the mushroom himself.

Now the Mage was dancing about his workshop in agonising pain, firing off spells and incantations in all directions, as he was driven mad by the mushroom’s effects.

Geralt risked a peek around the side of the table they were using as a shield but quickly drew back again as a white jet of sparks narrowly missed his face.

He had two options. The first, wait the Mage out and let the mushroom kill him but at risk of his and Jaskier's probable deaths. The second, go and kill the Mage himself.

He grunted, gritting his teeth together, amber glare on the Bard as he tried to form the best strategy.

"This isn't my fault," Jaskier huffed indignantly, guessing what the Witcher was thinking, "How was I supposed to know that this guy was batshit crazy."

Geralt ignored him, trying to tune his hearing onto the Mage to work out where he was. The sound of Jaskier's slightly sharp breathing, the pattering of his heart. The screaming of the Mage as he was burned from the inside. The crackle of magic whizzing through the air. The smashing of glass as vials and beakers were thrown about the room. The heavy shuffling of footsteps, directly on the other side of the table.

"Jaskier, when I say, push the table as hard as you can," he blinked at the Bard.

Jaskier nodded, placing his palms against the solid wood, a focus coming over him that was usually reserved for his composing.

Geralt got in position, listening as the Mage hoped from foot to foot.

"Now!" he growled and slammed his hands into the table as hard as he could.

The table shunted forward with enough force to crash into the Mage and send him sprawling to the floor. Geralt sprang up from his crouching position, blade in hand, ready to strike the convulsing Mage before he did any more damage.

"Geralt!" Jaskier's warning came too late and a hot stream of magic hit Geralt square in the chest and threw him back against the wall.

He brushed off the frantic hands that were trying to roll him over and pushed himself gingerly to all fours.

Jaskier's blue eyes were wide with shock, his hands trembling slightly as they hovered over Geralt, ready to catch him if he collapsed.

Geralt sucked in a long breath. No broken bones as far as he could tell, and there were no obvious effects from the spell that hit him, so he decided that he was probably okay.

As he hauled himself to his feet, the room suddenly went quiet. The Mage spluttered one last breath before his twitching limbs finally stilled.

"Well that was a laugh," Jaskier said shakily, "Do you think the people will still pay us, even though he kind of offed himself?"

"Hm," was the only response he got from the Witcher.

Geralt sheathed his sword again and cracked his knuckles. He glanced at the Bard with a warmth that had Jaskier smiling.

"Come on Bard," he stepped towards the door, "I need a drink."

As he went to pass through the doorway a sharp pain spiked through him, coming from deep in his core. It burned through his nerves and tensed up his limbs. At the same time, he heard Jaskier gasp. The Bard dropped to his knees, clutching his gut, face contorted in pain.

Geralt stumbled back, light pulsing behind his eyes, and as he grabbed the table for support, the pain ebbed. He snapped his attention to the Bard who seemed to be okay again, breathing hard, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"What-what was that?" Jaskier panted.

Geralt glanced at the dead Mage then sucked in a breath. He moved towards the door again and the same pain punched though him. Jaskier cried out, bent double so that his forehead was pressed against the flagstone.

The Witcher quickly stepped back again, and again the pain faded. He looked to the Bard who was shaking, then back at the Mage. Panic set in as he realised what was going on.

He made for the door again, wanting to be sure but halted abruptly as Jaskier wailed, "Geralt no, please."

"Fuck," Geralt growled.

***

Travel was difficult. Very difficult.

They couldn't be apart more than a metre without being crippled by excruciating pain. Whatever curse the Mage had hit Geralt with was strong and he knew that they would need a Mage's help to undo it.

The night before when they had made camp and fallen into their usual routines, they kept forgetting that they were restricted by distance and had struggled to remain calm with each other as they tried to avoid hurting each other. They had set up their bedrolls and fallen asleep in each other's arms but when Jaskier had rolled away in his sleep they were both woken by a jolt of agony that forced the breath from their lungs. Geralt had bundled Jaskier to him, wrapping him in his strong arms again to keep him close. After pressing a gentle kiss to Jaskier's temple and tucking the Bard tight to his chest, they had both finally drifted off again.

Geralt was a Witcher. He had a much higher pain threshold than most and even though each stab of pain was unbearable, he was definitely holding up better than Jaskier. He couldn't even imagine what this was like for the Bard. It must be like being ripped apart again and again and again. And Geralt didn't know what was worse. Watching Jaskier suffer or being helpless to stop it.

Jaskier was pale, the stench of fear tainting his usual flowery scent. Each time they accidentally moved too far away from each other, the pain brought the Bard to his knees, and he seemed to get weaker with each bout.

Their usual dynamic of Geralt astride his mare with Jaskier keeping pace beside was absolutely out of the question.

Jaskier was very quiet as he sat behind Geralt on Roach. His uncharacteristic silence unnerved Geralt. Worry fluttered in his gut.

"We are going to see Yennefer," the Witcher rumbled, "if anyone knows how to lift this curse, it's her."

"How long?" Jaskier's voice sounded raw.

"Hm?"

"How long until we reach her?" Jaskier shuffled slightly.

"About four days, as the crow flies," Geralt chewed his lower lip.

Jaskier didn't respond. He just let his head rest on Geralt's back, swaying with the motions of the horse underneath him.

"We're going to be okay," Geralt said after a stretch of quiet, "you hear me?"

Jaskier nodded weakly, keeping his face pressed against Geralt.

The days passed excruciatingly slowly.

They tried to be very careful with how much distance was between them, sticking as close together as they possibly could. After a day went by without any pain, Jaskier perked up a bit, even humming softly as Roach took them through winding farmland and dense forests.

But then they were attacked by bandits.

Geralt heard them a second before they attacked and barely had time to rip his sword from its sheath as they descended. There were only four of them. Easy game for a Witcher, except-

Except he couldn't leave Jaskier's side and that put them both in very real danger.

Still astride Roach, Geralt swung at them as best he could but it was awkward, sluggish, and he was pulled from Roach and slammed heavily to the ground.

Jaskier's scream ripped through the air as pain clamped Geralt to the spot. The Bard fell from the horse and was writhing about on the ground, screaming in agony.

This was the furthest apart they had been since being cursed and it felt like someone was pushing hot pokers into every part of Geralt's body. His vision flashed white, his ears rang. He couldn't breath.

The bandits froze in shock, not quite sure what was happening but quickly realising that the Witcher and the Bard weren't able to defend themselves. They approached with confidence; blades held up ready to take an easy prize.

By some miracle, Geralt was able to lift his hand and cast Aard at the bandits. The telekinetic wave sent them flying. One bounced off a tree, the sound of his spine cracking drowned out by Jaskier. Another tumbled headfirst into a patch of thorns, yelping and clawing to get free. The third and fourth were lucky and were just thrown a ways down the road. They grabbed the one stuck with thorns and beat a hasty retreat.

Geralt crawled towards Jaskier. The pain slowly fading to a dull ache the closer he got until it finally stopped altogether. His skin prickling uncomfortably, he reached out to the Bard.

Jaskier's breath sobbed in his chest, tears streamed down his cheeks, and he was shuddering violently. Curled up on his side with his hands digging into the earth.

"Jaskier," Geralt rasped, placing a gentle hand on the Bard's shoulder.

Jaskier tensed under his touch but eventually slumped into the ground as Geralt stroked his arm soothingly.

The echoes of pain still rippling through his body, Geralt managed to get Jaskier to sit up and he pulled the Bard into his lap. He buried his nose in Jaskier's hair, arms cocooning him in warmth, and listened as Jaskier's breathing slowly evened out and the rabbit-quick thundering of his heart started to return to normal.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "Jask, I'm so sorry."

"What are you sorry for? It's not your fault," Jaskier sounded tired. No, more like exhausted.

Geralt felt the same weariness in his bones and he didn't know if had the strength to stand yet, so he stayed sat on the ground, cradling Jaskier, hating how there was nothing he could do to make this better.

On the evening of the fourth day they came to a bustling city. The streets were still full of vendors trying to sell their wares and the noise of a chattering crowd reached them before they even got to the city gates set into defensive walls.

The guards let them through with a nod and Geralt guided Roach carefully through the mob of people going about their daily lives.

The smell of baking bread and brewing ale, churned up mud, and horse, incense and salted fish hit them in a heavy wave as they navigated the busy streets. They passed through the wooden houses of the suburbs and then the cobbled stone of the city centre.

Geralt hopped off Roach and helped Jaskier down. He brought her to a sheltered lean-to where several other horses were tethered and paid the horse master to look after her until they came back for her.

"Why is Yennefer here?" Jaskier asked, looking around him at the surroundings, "this isn't the kind of place she is usually attracted to."

Geralt laced his fingers with Jaskier's and brushed his lips against his knuckles.

"She had an opportunity to get information from a councilman or something. She's using his townhouse for her work," he grunted.

Hands still twined together, Geralt spoke quickly to a merchant then pulled Jaskier with him as he searched out the townhouse.

They were buffeted on all sides as they manoeuvred through the packed streets, clinging desperately to each other to avoid being separated.

Geralt halted by a grand looking house with a pillared entrance and slatted shutters over the windows. A plume of leafy plants grew in ceramic pots either side of the front door, a spray of green against the grey marble. Geralt knocked.

The oak door creaked as it swung open and Geralt led Jaskier inside. The door shut deftly behind them and the overpowering smell of sage and lavender chased away the scents of the street.

They were standing in a small entrance hall with a staircase ahead of them and a door on the left and right.

Geralt wrinkled his nose as a new scent hit him. Lilac and gooseberries.

"Well, well, well," a female drawl sounded from the top of the stairs, "and I was beginning to think that this evening would be boring."

"Yennefer," Geralt dipped his head to her.

The Mage descended the staircase with such elegance it looked as if she were floating. She was dressed in a black and white dress and her raven black hair tumbled about her shoulders in soft waves. Her violet eyes sparkled in the light from the torches bracketed to the walls.

"I would say that it's good to see you but you usually only come to me when you are in trouble," she smirked, gliding past and inviting them to follow her through the door on the left, "So, what's happened this time?"

The drawing room she brought them into was vast and airy, embellished with sculptures and art dotted along the panelled walls.

"A curse," Geralt let his amber eyes flit about the room before resting on the Mage as she poured herself a glass of dark amber liquid from a decanter.

"Must be serious," she quirked an eyebrow at him, "the Bard hasn't said a word since coming through the door."

If Jaskier wasn't dead on his feet, he would have flushed. Instead, he looked at his boots miserably.

"It's bad Yen," Geralt's voice was tight. He knew what she was going to ask before the words fell from her mouth.

"Let me see," she tilted her head slightly.

Jaskier's head shot up, blue eyes wide.

"Geralt no, please," his voice broke on the last word and Geralt felt his heart shatter.

"To know what I'm working with, I have to see it," Yennefer swirled the contents of her glass absently.

"Just quick Jask, we'll do it quick," Geralt tried as Jaskier shook his head frantically.

Geralt caught the look in the Mage's eyes and gritted his teeth. Guilt flashed through him.

"I'm sorry," he took a few long strides from Jaskier then buckled with pain. the noise that escaped Jaskier was heart-wrenching but before he could crumple to the ground, Geralt was back by his side and pulling him into a hug.

Yennefer was quiet for a long time and the Witcher felt his unease grow with each silent second.

"Is... is there a way to-" he started after he couldn't bare it any longer.

"To break it? Yes. But you're not going to like it," she sighed and put her glass down on a side table.

Jaskier balked at her words, clinging to Geralt desperately, trying to draw comfort from him.

"To break this curse, you have to force yourselves to stay separated in the same room as each other for an hour," Yennefer bit her lower lip.

"What?" Jaskier sounded so broken and scared. Geralt's gut twisted painfully.

"It is the only way. One hour of excruciating pain and then free, of the rest of your lives never being able to leave each other's sides," she blinked slowly.

"There must be something else. Some other way," Geralt growled.

"You could always kill yourself," Yennefer curled her lip.

"Fuck," Geralt grunted.

The Witcher looked at the Bard. Jaskier's eyes were swimming with unshed tears and Geralt's heart panged in his chest. He brushed the pad of his thumb down Jaskier's cheek and the Bard leaned into his touch.

He hated this. He hated this with everything that he had. But he knew what they had to do. He couldn't spend the rest of his life tethered to Jaskier. Not like this. The idea of spending the rest of his life with the Bard was something the thought about a lot and it filled him with warmth and excitement but, what bound them together right now was dangerous and, if he was being selfish, impractical. He wouldn't be able to hunt monsters and Jaskier wouldn't be able to perform for the masses. They would just keep getting in each other's way and besides, separation in a relationship is healthy. But the thought of spending an hour in that amount of pain made him sick to the stomach. Not just that. Having to see Jaskier spending an hour in that amount of pain would probably break him. But he knew what they had to do.

"Jaskier," he said softly.

"I know Geralt. I know," the Bard choked.

Geralt pressed his lips to Jaskier's and Jaskier melted into his mouth. Geralt rested his forehead against the Bards, keeping him close, breathing the same hot air.

"I love you," he mumbled.

"I love you too," Jaskier's voice was barely a whisper.

Geralt set his face in a determined expression then looked at the Mage.

"So how do we do this?" he growled.

Yennefer looked about her, "in here is fine. You just have to go as far away from each other as possible then stay there. It's uh, up to you if you distance slowly or just... go for it."

Jaskier paled, fear crossing his young face.

Geralt swallowed thickly.

"Maybe slowly is better?" he glanced at Jaskier, "get used to the pain then push it further, get used to it then further?"

That made sense but Jaskier was still hesitant to agree to anything.

"The hour doesn't start until you are fully separated. So going slower increases the amount of time you're in pain," Yennefer swelled with sympathy.

Seeing the Bard and the Witcher so scared and vulnerable brought a very strange feeling to her chest and she tried to push it away.

"Quick then," Geralt rubbed his face with his hands, "fuck! I don't know."

Jaskier placed a trembling hand on his arm.

"Quick. Get it over with," he sounded sure.

Geralt nodded. His usually slow heart was thumping frantically in his chest.

They spent the next few minutes discussing how they were going to do it. It was agreed that Jaskier wouldn't make it to his side of the room by himself and Geralt was faster anyway. They decided that they were both going to stand at the far wall, then Geralt was going to sprint to the opposite wall. He was fairly sure he could keep it together long enough to reach it.

They stood side by side, breathing heavily, holding hands, building their courage.

Yennefer had assured them she would be on hand if anything went wrong and she perched herself on the side table, taking long drinks of the amber liquid in the glass.

"Okay, after three," Geralt glanced at Jaskier who nodded. He reluctantly let go of Jaskier's hand, a torrent of emotions swirling inside him.

Jaskier pressed himself hard against the wall.

"One," said Geralt, voice tight, settling in a stance to start running, "Two..."

On three he launched himself away from the wall. Jaskier's scream harmonised with his own and pain lanced through him, growing in intensity as he forced his legs to carry him. He threw himself at his destination, crumpling awkwardly on the landing and gritted his teeth together as wave after wave tore through him.

It was unlike anything he had every felt before. The edges of his vision kept going dark. The dryness of his mouth quickly choking him as he growled. His muscles spasmed and ached. Sharp pain kept spiking through his organs. He willed himself to pass out, but the black wouldn't come.

He forced himself to look at Jaskier.

The Bard was in a heap on the floor, his whole body contorting and convulsing, the scream pulled from him only stopping when he had to take a breath.

Yennefer wasn't looking at either of them. She was very close to covering her ears with her hands to block out the noise. But she didn't. They needed to see her strong. If she wilted, what hope did either of them have?

As the minutes crawled past, Geralt kept waiting for his body to go numb, to get used to the pain and filter it out like background noise. But it just kept coming, finding new ways to hurt him in places he didn't know even existed.

Jaskier had stopped screaming but only because he physically couldn't anymore.

The half-hour mark was signalled by Yennefer and Jaskier let out a long, distressed noise that broke Geralt's heart.

"I can't," he sobbed, "I can't do this. Please. Please don't make me do this. Please."

"Just hang on Jaskier," Yennefer was crouched over him, brushing his sweat soaked hair out of his eyes.

"Please," he wailed, "make it stop. Please. G-Geralt."

Geralt had to look away from him. He knew that if he caught those blue eyes he would break and abandon his wall to crawl to Jaskier's side. They were so close now. So close.

The Witcher sucked in sharp, shallow breaths as he clenched his jaw so hard, he was pretty sure he heard a tooth crack.

And then finally, finally after what seemed like an eternity, the pain was gone.

Geralt howled with relief. His body felt strangely light. Slowly testing each limb, he pushed himself up off the floor and leaned against the wall.

Then he saw Jaskier and he wanted to scream even though he knew he couldn't.

The Bard was on his side, eyes glazed over, tears streaming down his face, his whole body shuddering with each shallow breath. Yennefer was by his head, muttering soothing words and light incantations to bring him back round.

Not trusting his legs to support him, Geralt used a chair to pull himself up then cautiously made his way over to Jaskier and Yennefer. He collapsed by her side and reached for his Bard.

"Jaskier," Geralt shook him gently.

"I'm not sure he can hear you," the Mage's voice sounded tight.

"What do you mean?" fear and panic tainted his tone.

"He's retreated so far back into himself I'm struggling to...to find him," she frowned.

Geralt took Jaskier's hands and realised that the Bard's fingertips were bloody from where he had clawed at the floor. Geralt choked back a sob.

"I'm here Jaskier. Come back to me, please," the Witcher rasped, "it’s over. It's all over."

Jaskier blinked. Then his breathing stuttered. Then he groaned.

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice was thick with emotion.

"Remind me to never get mixed up with Mages again," Jaskier's voice was reedy and barely audible. His gaze landed on Yennefer, "ah shit. Spoke too soon."

Geralt laughed. It was raspy and almost painful in his raw throat, but it resonated with giddy relief.

Over the next few days they mostly just slept, tangled in each other's arms, in one of the lush bedrooms of the townhouse. Yennefer checked in on them every now and then but tried not to disturb them too much. They were both exhausted and needed time to recover which she had full faith that they would. She was a little worried about their mental states but that was something she could evaluate once they were stronger.

On the morning of the fifth day Geralt was woken by the harsh sunlight spilling through the drapes hanging over the windows. He had been having a rather bad dream about a curse and unimaginable pain but then he remembered that it wasn't a dream, it had actually happened, and he was struck with exhaustion anew just thinking about it. It was strange. He usually didn't need to sleep. Quite often, meditation was enough to revive him but all he had done for however long it had been, was sleep.

He became aware of the warmth in the bed next to him and he let himself smile as he looked at Jaskier sleeping peacefully. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The glow of the morning sun on his skin. He was utterly beautiful. It was hard to believe that not so long ago he had been drowning in terror and pain.

Geralt swallowed hard. The memories would haunt him forever and Gods only knew what lasting effects the trauma would have on Jaskier.

He tried to force the thought away as he traced the side of Jaskier's face with a gentle finger. He ghosted over the Bard's soft lips and graced the curve of his jaw.

Jaskier stirred slightly but didn't wake and Geralt hummed softly.

Let him sleep, he thought to himself, and when he wakes, he won't have time to think about what happened because he'll be too busy being loved by me. Gods Geralt, when did you become such a sap?

He smiled when Jaskier mumbled in his sleep.

Oh. When I fell in love. That's when.

And Geralt let himself sink back into pleasant black.

#the witcher fic #the witcher #netflix the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #geraskier #my writing #joey batey #henry cavill #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer

144 notes · View notes

molluskwritesfic · 4 years

Text

The Waif ~ Prologue

As an alien science experiment, she remembers nothing. Knows no one. With nowhere else to turn, Claudia must rely on the Doctor and his companions for help. She's mutating. The Doctor knows more than he's telling. But why does the Time Lord seem to hate her so much? Rated M.

Chapter Warnings: Death

Masterlist - Fanfiction.net - Ao3

This Chapter - Next Chapter

Prologue

If anyone living near the water in Cardiff happened to glance out their window around three in the morning, they might fearfully close the blinds, thinking they had seen a ghost sitting in the empty street. It was the right weather for it. Cooler than usual. Moisture hung heavily in the air from an earlier rain, making power lines drip and windows fog over. The stars were bright, but there was no moon. Perfect conditions for lost and wandering souls.

So if someone were to see the barefooted young woman with pale skin and long dark hair in a loose white dress, sitting on the curb with her knees pulled to her chest, they might have speculated that she was an apparition. To the wandering mind that was characteristic of humanity, she may as well have been the forgotten remnant of a car crash, or maybe she’d simply gotten lost. Maybe she had been kidnapped by a psychopath and her body was dumped into the water not three hundred yards away. Maybe she’d been on her way to meet a lover with whom she’d planned to elope. Maybe she murdered her own children, and then taken her own life in her grief.

But no one looked out, and no one saw her.

Smooth concrete pressed harshly against her rear and rough asphalt grit angrily against the bottom of her feet. She picked loose grit from between her toes, which were wet and starting to go numb.

She was on the side of a road, and that was about all she knew. In a lonely corner of a sleeping city, where the only sign of life was the intermittent blinking of the caution light suspended on a drooping wire over the center of the road.

She couldn’t really find it within her to worry over her predicament. In order to be worried about where you are, you have to know where you’re going; and in order to know where you’re going, you have to know where you’ve been.

She knew none of these, so she was just sitting.

When the creaking sound started, she didn’t know what it was, or even enough to be able to begin piecing together what it could be. But when the homeless man shuffled around the corner with his rusted cart, she knew that it never could have been anything else.

The homeless man was old. So old, in fact, that she wasn’t sure if the creaking was coming from his cart or from his bones. He had a long white beard down to where his belly button probably was, hidden away underneath the crust of several layers of tatty clothes.

The homeless man came to a stop beside her, took a blanket from around his shoulders and, beard swaying like a poorly charmed snake, laid it on the ground.

“Here, take a seat on this,” he said. “It’s more comfortable than the ground.”

She told him that it was kind of him, and moved to sit on the blanket. He sat beside her, removing his raggedy hat to expose a thin halo of hair.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he spoke after a few moments of quiet.

“No,” was all she had to say. She didn't know enough to say whether she had or not.

“I’m called Mr. Stray,” the homeless man greeted.

“Hello.”

“What’s your name?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but her mind wouldn’t tell it what to say. “I don’t know.”

“No name, huh?” Mr. Stray smiled warmly, as if at a sad memory.“I’ve tried that before. You’ve got to have a name. You can’t get anywhere without a name.”

That seemed like a strange notion to her at the time, but if the homeless man said it, then it must be true, and so she figured that she could use one.

“Where do people get names?” She asked.

“Usually you get them from your parents.”

She should’ve known that. Parents. Her quiet mind mulled over the concept like a computer just beginning to boot up, mulling through mental files with increasing accuracy and confusion as she found that her mind was inexplicably devoid of the information she was seeking.

“What if you don’t have parents?” She asked quietly after a moment, voice wavering slightly.

Mr. Stray nodded, thinking he understood her plight. “Then you can make one up. No one would know the difference. I made mine up. When you’re old and got nobody and nothing to hold you to it, you can have people call you what you want. Everyone calls me Mr. Stray, though the people that knew me twenty years ago would’ve called me something else.”

“Why?”

“That, missy, is a long story.”

She wasn’t sure if she knew any names, and suggested that he should give her one.

The idea must’ve been funny to Mr. Stray, because it made him laugh. But after a moment he seemed to take it seriously, as his brow furrowed and he seemed to be thinking hard.

After a minute or two of deep thought, he said one word. “Claudia.”

“That’s pretty,” she decided. “I like it.”

“It comes from the Latin word ‘Claudius’. It means ‘lame’ or ‘crippled’.”

She frowned. “That doesn’t sound very nice.”

“Life isn’t very nice,” he said wisely, stars reflecting in his pale blue eyes. “It’s better to know it and carry it with you than to pretend. That’s why I called myself Mr. Stray, cause that’s what I am. A stray mister.”

“I don’t want to pretend. I’ll be Claudia.” Claudia decided, rubbing her toes to warm them.

The old man chuckled warmly. “Tomorrow, I’ll help you out, and show you how to get around as a stray person, but I’m tired now. I’m going to get some sleep.”

She told him that was fine, and that she would be here in the morning.

The homeless man stretched out long on his ratty old blanket. He stared up at the sky for a bit, scratched his chin, then his nose, and twiddled his thumbs.

“So damn restless,” he complained to his young companion, who had been sitting quietly, staring out along the street. “Must be the cold.”

“Must be.”

After a while, the Stray Man finally managed to drift off into a peaceful slumber.

He didn’t wake up again.

#doctor who #10th Doctor x reader #10th doctor x oc #Tenth Doctor #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x oc #doctorwho #fanfic #fanfiction #ten

16 notes · View notes

the-ghoulish-write · 4 years

Text

~ The Trinity ~

Word Count: 570 words

Summary: Being one of the chosen three was never something that was going to come easy. The only issue is, the one who had it the easiest in the regular world was not going to have it as easy when he’d find out what he held. Primo was the incarnation of Lucifer, Secondo the incarnation of the Antichrist... then that just left Terzo as the Unholy Beast. That power could not be easily contained

- - - WRITING BELOW CUT - - -

- - - - - - -

The eldest brother gazed towards his younger, the Second not meeting his eyes. Emeritus I, now retired from his papacy, sat mostly in silence as he watched his ill-tempered first brother take his spot at the head of it all. The time would eventually come where their youngest brother would take that spot… and that position meant the key to the power they had once been blessed with.

The Eye of Lucifer, the pale eye of those touched by the hand of their loving Uncreator, was only a gift for them to grow stronger. Each brother carried within them somewhat of a “natural gift” that was derived from the Eye. However, this natural gift was something they always had… its purpose was to enable them a greater success in their papacy.

The Second spoke, breaking the silence that carried between the brothers, “Primo… the titles they gave us through our papacy… everything we preached about… Terzo could end up in quite the predicament.”

His older brother shook his head, letting out a sigh, “Why do you fear for our youngest brother? Out of all of us, you and I both know I had it the worst. I gained the arcane ability of Lucifer himself from my Eye… and I seemed to be a fitting replacement… until I wasn’t.”

“You paved the way for all of us. Your strong arcana can still hold its own against all of us if you are uninjured. My Eye only gave me the power to step through a fraction of the Infernal Realm, allowing me to hear the pleas and cries of the Damned. After Haeresis Dea…” The Second felt the cold, infernal whispers rush over him at the mention of their once great ghoulish queen, forcing him to close his eyes as he attempted to find concentration, “Well, the voices have never stopped, thus my awful migraines. I know that that has crippled me in a way that I cannot carry out the war torn prophecy of Lucifer’s son… which is why I know it’s almost the end of my time.”

“Yet, you fear for his reaction to his third of the Unholy Trinity? For someone so well loved by the Unholy to receive Hell’s Beast…” A sad smile reached the First’s face as he dipped his head. He continued his words as he cast his constantly kind eyes to his more stoic brother, “You know what I am, and you know what you are… so why worry for Terzo in finding out what he is?” The Second turned his head to the left to address his elder, his snowy eye catching the faint flickers of light in the room they sat within before seemingly going dull once his eye found his brother’s.

His voice had a strange dark tone to them, tinged with the care that the Second always wielded when it came to those around the Monastery, “I do not fear for our youngest brother; I fear for the power that he can wield. Imbued with Hell’s Beast, and blessed by Lucifer while in the womb… His raven-like wings and his Eye’s gift of withering life upon touch…” The Second didn’t waver as his voice lost the caring tone, receiving the icy, melancholic voice that seemed familiar to him, “He gives so much life to those he performs for… yet he does not know how much death he can wrought upon them…”

- - - - - - -

Dom here!!

Sorry for not posting here in a month or so, Spectrals! I have been struggling hard time with school the past little bit and just haven’t had any amount of a creative drive in that time. Hopefully, this helps some!! My creative bursts, especially for Ghost, are few and far between after the initial push, so apologies in advance if I’m silent for a long time on this blog. I’ll be trying my best to get things out.

- Dom, the Ghoulish Write

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost the band #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iii #fanfiction #headcanon #fanfic #dom's ghoulish writes

6 notes · View notes

lunar-lair · 4 years

Text

Alright, it's the next day, and, as promised, I have a backstory to tell of.

Now...as for the biggest reveals, the ones that really break things open...

Reigen knew a psychic.

A psychic who idolized Mogami. One who followed in his footsteps. Maybe Mogami even contacted him at some point; who knows.

And he knew another psychic;

Serizawa Katsuya himself.

Now, for things to work for me, I had to adjust Serizawa's age back a couple years to be the same as Reigen, but Reigen's literally dead in this AU, so I figured it was fine. And adding more to the story itself, this psychic friend of his was known as Daichi. He started going rotten when they were all in 6th grade, just 12 years old, and he was kinda like Teruki, at first, but a little worse.

He started up a gang, dragging Reigen and a lot of his friensds into it. Serizawa had been a part of their friend group for a while, but he started getting a little...concerned, to say the least, when their friend started using his powers for bad things.

He started fearing his own, if only a little.

And, unsurprisingly, this is part of what leads him to lock himself away.

Through it all, Reigen tried his best to keep Serizawa from fearing his powers; tried to convince him it was ok, told him he didn't have to use his powers the way their friend was.

Serizawa never forgot him.

(Ghosts don't often remember a whole ton of their lives; mostly bits and pieces.

...though, they can be reminded.)

But even after Serizawa relented to his fear, even after Reigen was left with the gang and Daichi and the looming threat of what might happen next, he trudged on. He learned how to fight, got into plenty that he didn't want to be in. He slowly learned what psychics could do, that they're all egotistical, that it was just awful and unfair to use them to use their powers against others.

And yet, he knew Serizawa was a good person. Knew he would never.

He weighed the scales, and found them in the middle.

He realized psychics are just like normal people.

He carried it on til he found Mob.

And...well, I think I'll let my original notes talk from here; I got it down well enough the first time, if you ask me. These are just the raw thoughts from my doc:

'As the years wore on, Reigen grew to hate his friend. He grew depressed, he started losing his faith in the world, he realized hard truths, and he slowly fell apart.

But he stayed in the gang because there were people there who needed help.

He stuck around his friend because he felt like he could stop him, one day, just maybe.

He stuck around because he was able to get people out, teach them morals and help them from the inside.

No matter what, his strict moral code stayed intact.

No matter what, his kindness stayed.

No matter who he fought, he fought fairly and honestly and only if they attacked first. He only beat them down enough to win.

He refused to be overly aggressive, or unjust.

But it was hard, with everything around him.

Everything became hard. Being around people was hard and scary, and he had so many bruises to hide and even more things to hide from his mother and sister. He was quickly becoming more and more depressed, and it was harder to face things every day. He stopped fighting; there was no point in it anyways. It didn't cross his mind to be angry when his friend beat him for it. The cigarettes the highschoolers had looked tempting, but at least he stayed away from them. Anxiety crippled his every movement, unsure of what to do about his predicament. He was lonely, without any real friends or close family.

He was lonely, and sad, and scared, and tired.

Life was so, so hard.

That psychic friend of his was rapidly becoming a worse person, started cursing people left and right and beat people within an inch of their life.

He believed he was superior.

He believed they deserved it for not having powers.

He believed that everyone was awful, anyways. (His parents were never the best, and he followed Mogami's teachings so, so well.)

Then, one day, he finally managed to kill someone.

He showed no remorse.

Reigen finally lashed out at him. He finally said 'fuck it' and called him out on his bullshit before leaving.

He finally became a loner; a true one.

But everything in his life was so broken by what he'd been through; he didn't know where to turn, and the thought of never having to deal with it again was tempting.

His only anchor was his sister and mother.

His mom had divorced his dad (a mentally abusive asshole who he never liked anyways) a couple years back and she was still a mess. Reigen's behavior wasn't making things better, either.

One day, she said under her breath that things would be so much easier if she didn't have to deal with him, the same way her parents used to.

(Not to mention all the complaining she does about how awful he is, and how bad it makes him feel that he doesn't know how to change it; especially not the laziness and the lack of interest in anything.)

Then...then, his sister. Wouldn't she be sad if he were gone?

She blamed their dad leaving on him; he was always nice to her, so she didn't get it. She was 17, and she was moody, and she was easily annoyed.

One day, she was angry at him for coming home late again, and said to him, "I swear, things wouldn't be such a mess if you'd just...left or something!" She had said it in a huff.

(Not to mention all the complaining she does, about how annoying he is or how he's in the way, even if he tries to make sure he isn't.

She just didn't like him, and Reigen couldn't figure why.)

But words are sticks and stones, and Reigen was already beaten down.

That...that.

That was enough.

Only a few days later, Reigen was staring down the pavement at the bottom of Salt Middle School, perched on the edge of the roof, shoes discarded with a simple letter.

He smiled.

Finally. He wouldn't have to deal with all of this anymore.

He tipped over the edge,

And at 15 years old, Reigen Arataka was no longer for this world.

(2 weeks before that, a new child had been born.

An esper, who's name was Kageyama Shigeo.)'

And that pretty much does it for Reigen's backstory in this AU. It's a little depressing, but it works to build his morals and the lessons he teaches Mob but still making him a kid, fastfowarding his development with a couple of tragic helpers along the way.

Also fun fact, I *think* if you count the years right, the year Reigen and Mob meet is the same year Serizawa and Touichirou meet, in this AU; there's the 3 years before Reigen commits suicide and then the 12 for Mob to grow up, which ends up being 15; perfect for the two parallels to find each other in the same year.

Also I decided to make Reigen and Serizawa meet when they were younger because like...well, there are plenty of reasons; it's an interesting idea to think that Serizawa has history with him, it gives Reigen the good side of psychics, and in general, it adds to the World Domination arc a little, I guess. Plus it makes up for the bonding we won't get.

And there's not really a significant reason for Reigen dying 2 weeks after Mob was born; I just thought it was an interesting idea. Kind of like...a trade of life? But also they celebrate Mob's birthday and then celebrate Reigen's "death day", in a sense, just a couple weeks later. Just thought that could be a lil funny thing.

#i think thats everything #also YES this means big implications for the 'its ok to run away' scene the mogami arc and the world dominatiom arc #ill add anything else later if/when i think of it!#mp100 #dead reigen au #tw suicide #suicide tw #serizawa katsuya #ehh.......#yea none of the others are rlly mentioned enougj #mob psycho 100

11 notes · View notes

astertataricvs · 5 years

Text

Akaza x Reader || Nostalgia

"Hey, miss, want to come with us?"

"P-Please let m-me go."

Akaza was peacefully walking through the alleyway of the Kabukicho district until he heard voices coming ahead of him. As he ambles towards the unknown voices, he saw two men cornering a girl who was coughing constantly.

"Huh? But it's a shame if you won't go with us. It will be fun, I assure you," he whispered in your ear maniacally while your eyes shut closed.

You don't like being cornered on the wall especially by some random guys who are desperate to keep their hands under the women's skirts. Although you wanted to punch their faces and pummel them into the ground but in your state ー you cannot.

Since you were born, you have a very vulnerable body and you're easy to get sick. Although you're really a sarcastic woman who likes to burn them with your words, you can't do it since you don't want them to pick on you any further due to you having a frail body. Now, these bastards were trying to get in your pants, well it's your fault in the first place for walking around during the evening, specifically that you live within the area of Kabukicho. What do you expect of the district who has lots of repugnant men lurking around until the sun rises?

Ahh, you really could be an idiot sometimes.

"P-Please, I n-need to go."

'You disgusting fuckers! Let go of me or I'll smash your butts on the ground and kick your balls so you won't ever impregnate anyone! These motherfuckers!' If only you can say it out loud, why do you have to be born with such a weak body? Although you don't want this and didn't wish for it, it still fated to you ever since you were inside your mother's womb.

Speaking of mothers, you grew up being an orphan and was adopted by an old woman who's living all by herself. She doesn't have any relatives to count on due to her one and only daughter died because of her illness. Thus her husband deserted her for some prostitute in the district.

You really pity her for enduring that kind of depressing moments. She had a hard time sustaining those painful circumstances that occurred in her life. That's why she's beyond pleased when she raised you and be her own daughter despite that you're not related by blood. You're really grateful to her for taking you in the garbage when you're still a baby, though you know you're trash yourself.

"Don't be so fussy, miss, we're being good guys here inviting you over to a very fun place," he snorted that makes you scrunch your face in disgust.

Surprisingly, the tall guy grasped your wrist causing you to stumble forward because of his dynamic attempt of dragging you with them. Striving to struggle from his hold was all in vain, your body was too frail to even break free from his clutch. Although you wanted to kick him in the balls, you couldn't since forcing yourself to do things that are beyond of your body's strength can cripple your health. Also, your coughing fits were preventing you to struggle with much of your strength.

Meanwhile, at Akaza, he was annoyed that humans were blocking his way. Should he kill them at once? However, he was disrupted from his adverse thoughts when he saw you coughing strenuously while struggling to break free from the grip of perverted men. Perceiving you from trying to release yourself, a wave of nostalgia lingers through his wellbeing.

A sudden of shockwaves struck his mind and paused for a moment. It feels déjà vu for him but, he has no clue about what it was. Is it his memories when he once was a human? Oh, how he doesn't want to remember it anymore whether it's a pleasant one. He already had a new life so he shouldn't dig any more to his past. He felt his head throb and felt livid at the same time, seeing those men forcing a frail woman to come with them seriously pisses him off. However, he shouldn't concern himself with a human right? He's a demon and he doesn't like humans who are weak, he despises the weak, specifically that you're the perfect illustration of what he resent the most.

On the contrary, his guts told him to save you from those men despite that he really doesn't want to aid you because of pity. He solely doesn't like humans blocking his path and their repulsive action aggravates him. To be precise, he wanted to annihilate and devour them this instant even you, if only you weren't a woman. He has this kind of perception that he dislikes killing or eating any woman he would come across. Even though Douma encourages him to eat women because they have more nutrients inside their body, he still refuses to eat and kill them.

Sighing, he ambles closer to the men and you. "Oi," Akaza meddled and before the men can look at him, the demon already kicked their bodies onto the wall with an unhuman strength causing their spines to crack and make them unconscious.

You, who watched the scene only gawked in astonishment and your jaw fell to the ground. Seeing the crack of the wall just because of a kick really amazes you yet terrified. You swiftly gaze at the man in front of you with wide eyes. As your eyes landed on his figure, you noticed the trail of lines imprinted on his body and he's fair as fuck! He's paler than you! Also what stands the most about him are his pink hair and blue eyes ー wait! You can see his fine abs! What a sight to behold!

"What the hell are you looking at?" His voice snapped you out from your fantasies and quickly looked at him in the eye.

"A-Ah! N-Nothing!" Then afterwards, you cough again.

Oh, how you despise yourself when you're coughing so much that it bothers everyone surrounding you, to their point of view, they don't want to get closer to you considering you might have a contagious illness running in your blood that can ruin their health. It's not your fault for having such a weak body!

"You do realize that you're in the red light district, right? You shouldn't wander around during the night if you don't want anything nasty to happen to you," he deadpanned before turning his heels to leave you behind.

"W-Wait!" You called out which you successfully caught his attention. Akaza peered over his shoulder and raised his eyebrow.

"Thank you," you sincerely said then beamed him a tender smile. Momentarily, you felt light-headed and your breath ragged all of a sudden. Then subsequently, darkness consumes you and didn't know what happened after.

•••

You were awakened by the cold gust of wind gush through your body. Groggily fluttering your eyes open, instead of seeing your dull cream coloured room, you saw shimmering stars above the cold night. Seconds of staring at the exquisite scenery, you realized that you fainted earlier when the enigmatic man saved you from those bastards.

"You're finally awake." You hastily whipped your head at the man who saved you earlier.

"A-Ah, where am I?" You asked with fear. Even though he's your saviour, you're still cautious of him. What if he's one of those bad guys whose lurking around the busy streets?

Also what made you alarmed is that he's body was printed in lines like a typical thug you always encountered in the streets. But despite him looking like a thug, he really has handsome features that every woman wants for a man.

"We're on the roof," he answered you to which your mouth fell open.

"E-Eh?!" You quickly sat up from your lying position and you found out that you're really on a roof. You can spot the people walking underneath you, not noticing your presence which only above them.

"W-Why are we here?" You queried and the man gives you a side glance before answering you.

"Do you prefer sleeping on that alleyway where hundreds of perverts passing by or here where no one can touch you? Choose."

"But you can book a room in a hotel, there are lots of here actually," you countered and Akaza glared daggers at what you asserted.

"Do you really think I would do that? What are you? A spoiled princess who can get all the things that she wants?" He snorted causing you to sweatdropped at his harsh reply.

Deliberating your answer earlier, you apprehended that your statement was actually rude and really self-indulgent. Since when did you start being selfish? You're not that kind of person.

"Thank you for saving me earlier, I owe you a lot," you said your gratitude to him as you bowed in front of him.

Akaza merely stared at you then scoffed. "If only you're not a woman, I can kill you this instant," he threatened which give chills through your spine. You can sense the intimidating aura he gives and how his fiery eyes pierced right into your soul.

His appearance really does intimidating, although you just met him today; you can feel the confidence he gives off and you're cognizant that he's indeed strong after you beheld how he handled those men with just a kick of his. In spite of knowing how dangerous this man was; you can feel that he's not that bad just like how his appearance seems to be. Your instincts said so and you can't help but trust this man in front of you even you don't know his entire personality.

Unbeknownst to you, the men who tried to harass you beforehand was killed and eaten by him just like how he usually does to every single person that he comes across to.

"I'm sorry if I caused you trouble, I was just going back home but they abruptly blocked my way," you spoke, not looking at Akaza beside you.

The upper demon glanced at you before darting his eyes at the people walking by. "I'm not interested in hearing how you almost harassed by those assholes, it's your own imbecility that leads you from that predicament."

You weakly smiled. "Is it stupid to buy some medicine for your health in order for you to live longer?"

Akaza's body stiffened upon hearing your statement. Gradually, he turned his head to gaze at you who has this kind smile crept on your face and coughing for a moment.

"I have a frail body and I can get easily sick. I don't know how did I even live for this long despite that my body can't keep up any longer," you explained in a gentle tone. "I was thinking of scenarios of how my mother took care of me when I was still inside his womb. I don't even have any idea who she was and I was adopted by an old woman who was passing by on that day then found me in the trash. She's the one who raised me up to this day despite that I can no longer live that long."

Akaza only listened at your storytelling and didn't bother to look at you. He can hear you sniff and how your voice wavered in every sentence you say. He doesn't even know himself to why he's still staying with the likes of you who he despises the most. He should be elsewhere right now, trying to find some human to hunt and eat. But his conjectured plan was interrupted when he stumbles upon a weakling like you.

He was keenly listening to you that really made him baffle. Why is he staying with you? He can't point out to why but he has this sense of nostalgia crawling through his body. Akaza was agitated, it frustrates him why he's suddenly feeling this kind of emotion. He also felt it earlier when he saw you being harassed by those bastards. Although he digs dipper into his memories, he still can't. The enigmatic sensations he was feeling has still settled.

Akaza resembles you to someone he knows but he can't decipher who it was. His mind was in full chaos just because he met a weakling runt.

"I-I'm sorry if I suddenly confide about my past with you, it's just that... I feel I can trust you even though we just met," you bashfully said as you tilt your head to the side for him not to see your flustered face.

Akaza stared at you for half a minute before responding. "Why do you even trust someone like me? You don't know who I am and mostly, you don't know what I'm capable of," he grimly remarked as he spins your body to face him and leaned his face closer to you, intently looking into your eyes.

You gasped at his sudden move and breath hitched due to the close proximity of you having.

Now that you can see him up close, you discovered that his eyes were a shade of yellow and there's a writing that says upper moon three. You were bewildered to why he has writings in his eyes but... amidst, you were mesmerized to his eyes. Studying his facial features, you deemed how gorgeous this man was even there are blue marks surrounding his body. His eyelashes have the same colour as his hair. His appearance really is peculiar for someone living in Japan but, you can't help but be stunned at how beautiful this man in front of you as if your eyes were blessed or something.

Staying in that position, you subconsciously, glided your hands on his pale cheeks. This causes Akaza to snap out from his trance and menacingly glared at you. However, you weren't even terrified of how the way he sinisterly looked at you. The only reason why you still had the tenacity to hold him like this is because of his enthralling eyes that you can't avoid your gaze at it.

"You're really beautiful," you absentmindedly said.

Akaza's lips separated to what you had told him. He didn't expect that someone will say such pleasant words to him despite that he's a demon. He killed thousands of people and eat them, hence, he doesn't deserve that complimenting word you just spout. He wants to pull his body, however, half of him wants to feel the warmth you're giving him on his cheeks. For some unidentified reason, he felt comfort in between your hands. he felt this kind of sensation before, but when?

"Oi," he called to which you blink your eyes several times and return to your senses.

When you realized that you're holding his cheeks, your face steamed in embarrassment and frantically removed your hands on his visage.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't intend to--"

"What's your name?" He abruptly asked.

"Eh?" You blink, still not processing his words.

"I said what is your name?" His voice becomes stern.

"(Name)! (Name) (Last name)! But you can call me, (Name)," you piped and Akaza nodded in acknowledgement.

Then to your surprise, the pink-haired man carried you bridal style and jumped on the roof to descend on the ground. The people passing by was surprised at the sudden appearance of you and him and afterwards, Akaza releases you.

"You should go home, I don't want to save your sorry ass again," he spat which causes you to chuckle.

"Gladly, but wait, what's your name before we depart."

"Akaza," he simply said and you hummed.

"Okay, Akaza-san, thank you for saving my butt there. I hope we can meet again." You bestow him your tender smile then the said man elicits a scoff before turning his back at you.

"Whatever." Was all he said before disappearing into thin air.

You gasped in shock when he suddenly vanished in front of you. You wandered your eyes in order to see the man but he was nowhere in sight.

Meanwhile, at Akaza, he was on the roof of one of the buildings in Kabukicho while watching you searching for him. Clicking his tongue, he decided to go back where Muzan and the other upper demons at. Before he departs, he glances at your figure who's now walking through the streets to return to your home.

"Okay, Akaza-san, thank you for saving my butt there. I hope we can meet again."

The upper demon replayed your statement earlier. Absentmindedly, the side of his lips curved upwards.

"Surely we'll meet again, (Name), until I find the answers of these nostalgic feelings I'm feeling," he said to himself thus started to return back to their hideout.

#kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba imagines #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba fanfiction #akaza x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny akaza #kny akaza x reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny x reader

808 notes · View notes

underatedcharactersunite · 5 years

Text

Beloved

Summary; Ivar has been taken by the Saxons. You don't take kindly to the love of your life is captured, so you go on a long voyage to Wessex to rescue Ivar. Prompts; “Never threaten me” & “Gods must have sent you as a gift to me” & “Can you sleep without me in a bed” & “You dreamed of me?” Pairing; Ivar the Boneless X Female Reader For; @dreamwritesimagines WordCount; 3,094 Warnings; Mentions of violence and battle, brief nudity although not described in detail. Mentions of sex, people speaking negatively about women, Angst and Fluff

A shield maiden never feared but was feared. You had gone into battle several times now, and you were never scared to die. That did not mean you could not fear for the life of your beloved.

Your only fear had come true. The Saxons had captured Ivar. You felt conflicted when he had requested that you remain in Kattegat. To protect the people, he explained to you. Being aware that Ivar trusted you with his people made your heart swell with pride. Nevertheless, when word began to spread about Ivar's capture, people panicked. They trusted you. That didn't mean they never wanted their fearless leader to return.

You didn't have to think for a single moment what to do. You were going to sail to England. Then you were going to wreak havoc among their lands. You were going to cut down anyone who stood in your path. Stood in your way from getting your beloved back.

As men and women began to prepare for travel, the people knew. You and Ivar had been together long enough for people to be aware of how dangerous you could be. The people often spoke of your heart. How you'd be the one to do anything for anyone if they needed aid they would come to you. If they needed a shoulder to lean on or an ear to listen, you would make time for anyone.

On the other hand, the people understood clearly not to annoy you. To not become your enemy, you had a temper to rival that of your lovers. They've seen you slit a man's throat for speaking ill will about Ivar before. They've seen you threaten and harm anyone who comes in your way.

Separately either one of you was dangerous enough. On a bad day, the two of you were on an impenetrable force of nature. Stories have been told throughout the lands that people often have prayed to God's that you'd be in a good mood whenever they're dealing with an angry Ivar.

You stand while the boat swifts along the sea like woven silk. Every row brought you closer to your beloved. The men worked tirelessly for their mightly ruler. Odin would surely bless them for such loyalty. You looked out at the vast sees almost impatiently. Unbeknownst to you, you were being watched by Hvitserk.

Hvitserk examined your posture. Despite your sail being in its early stages, you were still ready and looking for a fight. Hvitserk had seen Ivar with several women before. None were like you. You were not afraid to stand up against Ivar when you needed too. You were not afraid to stand your ground and fight. One of the things that Hvitserk admired and loved about you, the way you loved Ivar for who he was. You've been there every time he's broken another bone. You sit there and comfort him when he's in agony. When he's angry and almost intolerable to deal with. You've been nothing but kind and patient to him. Hvitserk is positive that the love between you is true love. Like his Mother told him, the truest emotion he can feel.

Hvitserk approached you cautiously. Being aware of your current state of mind, he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder to alert you of his presence. He can only imagine what you're currently thinking. You're undoubtedly thinking about cutting down every Saxon that comes in your path.

"We're going to get him back! We'll kill any Saxon that gets in our path." You turned to glance at him, your gaze softened towards him.

"Do you think he knows we're coming for him?" You questioned, looking at the vast ocean spread out in front of you.

"I do! He knows your coming. I've never expressed this before to you. You're good for Ivar. He's learning to control his temper, make better choices”

Gaining at least one of Ragnar's son's respect and acceptance filled your heart with pride. When you were young, you often watched the way Ragnar Lothbrook commanded a room. Ragnar never had to speak much his presence alone could speak volumes. You often wondered if you would have gotten Ragnar's approval.

"I will kill them all! Anyone who stands in my Hvitserk. I will burn their buildings to the ground if I have too. I'll cut anyone with my sword who stares to stand in my way." Hvitserk placed a tender hand on your shoulder. He believed you. Every word you spoke passionately. The Saxons had no idea who they had caused problems with.

The voyage lasted for many weeks and days. Ivar's current predicament never left your mind for a single second. The images of him being tortured smothered your mind like a dark cloud. You were aware that they would want him to plead and beg for death. You imagined groups of Saxon's taking turns to torture Ivar. You had become aware that the Saxons loved to underestimate Ivar. All they observed was a cripple, but Ivar was so much more than that.

When you finally rescue him, he will tear down the city and make everyone pay for the crimes against him. Everyone will know that they underestimated him. They will learn to fear him and respect him. Then and only then will the two of you return home and enjoy the comforts only home can provide. They will be the ones who will be sorry. Sorry that they ever thought foolishly to mess with Ivar the Boneless and you.

The second that the ships landed on Saxon soil, everyone was on their battle stations. You had been gifted with enough time to contemplate the best plan. You had thought and thought about it until you were certain. A small group were going to remain to set up camp. Two large groups were going to tackle the Saxon army. Whilst they were completing their tasks, you were going to take down every Saxon in your path.

Storming the castle was quick and effective. You wondered if the Saxons were as smart as people made them out to be. The Saxons had never seen you raiding their lands. Perhaps they thought you needed time to regroup. They should have never underestimated you and the people that looked for Ivar's guidance daily.

Perhaps that's why you were relishing in their screams as they were cut down. Today the Saxons would know if they were going to pick a war with you, they would have to bring everything they had. You fought beside the most trusted of men and women the entire battle seemed unreal as your mind highlighted the castle and the castle alone.

Breaking the castle wall and getting over was the most difficult you were aware that the walls would have many weapons that you did not have at home. Many of the vicious warriors that died would now be with many of their loved ones and fallen comrades in Vahalla.

Perseverance was on your side as no-body gave up. Soon the large castle doors were broken down, and you were stepping into the Saxon castle. You weren't greeted by many armed men or guards except a rather pathetic scrawny appearing King.

"I thought Saxon Kings were supposed to be intelligent. Leaving yourself defenceless whilst your armed guards were out there protecting your lands. Pathetic. My beloved often speaks of stories that his late Father Ragnar Lothbrook told him of a King Ecbert. A smart man, a wise man who would sit down and have conversations about serious subjects. I thought I'd be facing a King of his magnitude."

"Do you think that I've given in? A woman coming into my castle believing she can take my prisoner. Now that I have both of you I'll make you both suffer." Your patience was wearing thin, especially now that you stepped closer to your beloved Ivar. This pathetic excuse for a King believed he dared to challenge you. One of the several things that you had in common with Ivar, you didn't appreciate being threatened all too much.

"Never threaten me! Never insult women in my presence do you understand!? Our people see the worth of women who are trained to fight in combat! You, on the other hand, see us as weak creatures, but you are wrong! We are as good as men. Take him back to camp! I'll deal with this Saxon when we've rescued Ivar. Here's something to think about King, whatever you've told your men to do to Ivar is going to be nothing then what happens to you!"

It didn't take a second for the man to beg and plead for his life. You shrugged whilst he screamed as the men took him away. You'd deal with him later, or a few days or maybe a few months from now. Now it was your turn to apply mental and physical torment.

Locating the dungeon where you knew Ivar was being kept was simple enough. The large iron gates gave it away. An entryway with a speck of glass gave you a glimpse of your current state. You were covered in the blood of your enemies, blood on your sword, blood on your shield. From head to toe.

The others began to release the prisoners who were locked inside the Dungeon walls. You didn't care who they were you just hoped they would cause the people grief and disparity when they stepped out onto their lands again. The very last door at the end of the hall was your last choice.

You halted at the door, hoping that behind this wooden door, the man who you had travelled all of this way to collect was right there. Looking through the metal bars on the door, you saw the face you had been dying to see.

"Break it down!" The men were quick to break down the locks. The second the door flung open you burst through, on your knees kneeling in-front of Ivar. If it wasn't for his signature electric blue eyes, you would have hardly recognised him. His body was beaten up, bloodied and bruised. His frail hand reached out in-front to take yours in his own.

"It's okay Ivar I'm here." His frail hand reached up to touch your face, the callouses on his face did nothing to deter the warmth that swarmed your body. A touch that only Ivar could provide you with. Leaning into his touch, you pressed a gentle kiss onto his palm. The entire time your eyes never once left each other

“Gods must have sent you as a gift to me” Your eyes glossed over. For many weeks you'd imagined hearing Ivar's voice. You'd also feared that perhaps you'd been too late and he was already dead. However, the Gods had blessed you more time with the man you loved so dearly. A single tear escaped down your cheek and more threatened to revolt against you, however, Ivar was already wiping them away.

"We have to go!" You nodded, giving the men the go-ahead to continue with what you had already planned. You weren't stupid you knew that the Saxons would have destroyed Ivar's braces the second they beat him. Without those you couldn't fathom which pain was worse; The breaking of bones or people attempting to break someone's spirit.

Ivar observed you intently through clouded eyes. The way you fought, it was almost as if you were dancing. Each movement was fluid like your body knew what to do every time. Ivar had meant what he said to you earlier. You were brought to him by God's. You were the perfect balance of strong-willed and delicate. You had been there every time he broke a bone or decided to go to war with someone. You stood beside him no matter what, you weren't afraid to give him your honest opinion about whatever he was facing. Even when most tried to give him space, you were there to voice a reason for him when he needed it.

Before Ivar had been taken, he'd been contemplating something. He wanted to make your relationship official. He wanted you to be his wife, and in return be your husband. The wife that one day he would settle down with and have many heirs. Most men desired to have only boys, however, Ivar wanted to have a daughter one day. A Daughter who would be as bold and brilliant as her Mother. But for now, the two of you would conquer lands together so the two of you could solidify a future for your children and one day grandchildren.

When enough conquering was done, he planned to whisk you away to the woods, somewhere private and excluded where no one would bother either of you. The two of you would lay in warm furs until you're first of many heirs was safely in your womb.

Ivar watched on as you yelled for everyone to retreat. As everyone treated back to camp, Ivar just watched on in amazement. The camp was pretty basic, a couple of tents, a large warm fire to keep everyone shielded away from the cold. The largest tent located far enough away there would be no interruption if they desired it.

The man laid Ivar gently onto the warm furs that you had purposely put there. It was your turn to take over as you gently began to remove the torn clothing away from his body to identify each injury on his body. Each bruise and cut furthered your need for vengeance. Your body trembled so much you stood up once more to kill every last Saxon that walked upon this land.

"Stop, you've done enough fighting for today. We will work out another way to get revenge on the Saxons. Send them a message they will never forget. Beside's do you want me laying on our furs dirty all night?" You called out for a bath, knowing someone would be close enough to hear your request. You pulled off the initial parts of your clothing whilst you waited.

Moments later, several Thralls brought in a large tub filled with warm water. Thralls had no shame when it came to Ivar so when they began to stare at Ivar's chest intently your jealously reached boiling point. "Did I instruct you to look at him? Get out!" You blocked Ivar from their view as they suddenly scattered out.

Slowly you began to undress Ivar, removing all of the dirt and the dried blood away from him. A familiarity hit you, as you helped him up and off of the furs directly towards the bath that's steam rose from the water. Slowly, you aided Ivar into the bath everything would have been easier if he had his crutches at least. Taking hold of the sponge, you dipped it into the water before getting rid of the excess water.

"Don't...I need you." Ivar's whisper of a voice broke your determination to remove every last grain of Saxon soil off of him.

Stripping off the remainder of your clothes, you stepped into the tub leaning close to Ivar. The skin and skin contact gave you the final piece of evidence that you desired to prove that nothing and no one could hurt you both now.

"You know when I was captured, all I did was dream of you?"

"You dreamed of me?" You turned your head to glance at Ivar suddenly curious as what he was dreaming about while the two of you were apart. Ivar was unfazed by your reaction as he proceeded to run his hands up and down your arms.

"I dreamed of what I should have told you before I went away. I should have told you that I have seen our future together. It includes further raiding of lands we've yet to discover. One day we shall have many children together, hopefully, a mixture of Sons and Daughters to continue our legacy together. There is something that I'd like to ask you. How would you feel about becoming my wife?" Looking up at him in shock, quickly turning and straddling his lap as carefully as you can. You didn't want Ivar to experience any more pain especially in his legs, but it didn't seem to matter to him as he pulled you closer forcing you to settle on his lap. Ivar leans up placing a chaste kiss on your neck, pawing at your sides.

"Are you serious?"

"Why would I not be? Especially after today. You crossed an ocean and rough seas to come to my aid when I needed help. From this day until my last I am going to give you everything you could desire and more. You will never want for anything, I promise you. So what do you say, do you wish to make me the happiest man alive and be my wife?" You nod in happiness as you wrap your hands around his neck loosely resting your heads together.

The two of them laid relaxing in the bath, nothing could bother them, there were no Saxon's trying to kill them nor was anyone attempting to bother them. Ivar was kissing any body part that he could reach he didn't care he wanted to smother your body in his scent and his kisses.

"Why did you not want me to leave earlier?" You question him. He never minded when you went away to fight longer as long as he knew where he was.

"I did not want you to leave." Ivar turned your head slowly as if you were made of glass, before kissing you chastely letting his actions do the talking rather than his words.

“Can you sleep without me in a bed?” You jest as Ivar's eyebrow perks up as he slowly and purposely begins to kiss your neck. Ivar shakes his head as a response.

"Why should I have too, when you are to be my wife?" You snuggled into Ivar's chest listening to the steady rhythm of his heart until the water surrounding you ran cold.

#nottodaywritingchallenge #vikings imagine #vikings imagines #ivar imagines #ivar imagine #vikings one shot #vikings oneshot #Ivar One shot #ivar oneshot #writing challenge #Ivar the boneless imagines #Ivar the boneless imagine #Ivar the boneless oneshot #Ivar the boneless one shot

267 notes · View notes

saltyslack-toast · 4 years

Text

#Knock The Book 2: The Devil All the Time

WELL, I MADE IT TO THE 2nd BOOK REVIEW OF MINE, MEANS THAT I’M A PASSIONATE AND PERSISTENT BITCH, PERIODT. No actually I’m just bored and got really nothing to do, so here I am making judgmental, invalid and uncritical book review just to ease my guilt for doing nothing at home (just so my mom see me working through my laptop).

Okay The Devil All the Time is actually my first English book. The story of how I got this book as a matter of fact is quite irritating and funny at the same time. My uni friend, she saw this book in a modest book bazaar near her hometown. She was reading the title and the word ‘devil’ just remind her of me, she bought it and just gave it straight to me…... I’m sad but like thankful???

It’s a secondhand and hardcover book but I don’t really mind, considering the fact that the quality is still very nice though, except the worn spots stained all over the cover that make the book looks very old. My friend bought this only for RP 25.000, yes dude you’re not misread this shit, it was THAT CHEAP (whoever sell and own this book before me, I really appreciate it). Although if you want to buy the new one, you can get this book for USD 26.95 which converted in rupiah would be RP 407.500, yeah its cost pretty fancy for broke students like us and I don’t know if the book’s supposed to be available in your local bookstore but I think you can find it in worldwide shipping online store like amazon or any other shop perhaps. The book’s cover illustrate a dying white mutt hanging on the ‘log’ and bunch of cross everywhere, the cover is actually make sense when you read the book. It published in 2011 by doubleday in United States of America. The Author is Donald Ray Pollock, and you can find the sum information about his background written on the cover, but based form the book’s cover you can also check his website in donaldraypollock.com but when I checked, I’m not sure if it’s really his website since it just like pest control website (LMAOO I HAD NO IDEA FR). Anyway,

Let’s go breaking down the book!

“… Too much religion could be as bad as too little, maybe even worse, but moderation was just not in her husband’s nature”

The whole story in this book, basically give you portraits regarding the life of lunatics in the time after WWII. Nope, there is no sums up about the events happened in that moment so chill y’all non-historical enthusiast bitches. This book gonna give you a bizarre experience reading it, the first 10 pages of this book was already psychedelic, I assure that shit. Have you watched Games of Thrones series on HBO? It’s chilling right how Ned Stark, the protagonist of the main series died in the first season???? EXACTLY that was the vibes u got after reading the first chapter and get crazier every time u read forward. By the way, this book embodied 7 chapters and 55 sub-chapters, the chapter in odd and even numbers has 2 different main focuses on each characteristic exist, here I sum it up for you:

On the odd numbers chapters (1, 3, and so on), the central story of these chapters is circling among the family of Willard Russel, his Mom Emma and Uncle Earskell and also those 2 insane peeps Roy Laferty and Theodore. Willard Russel used to be a navy army and a bit skeptical dealing with religion issues just like his uncle, but his mom has always been a devoted worshiper. Willard married to the beautiful and kind-hearted women named Charlotte and they was given a son named Arvin Eugene Russel, everything was normal until Charlotte got sick and Willard gone crazy praying to god for his wife’s recovery and poor little Arvin has to suffer the predicament by his own self. Their stories always give me religious-fanaticism-gloomy vibes (is that even make sense??). Don’t even get me started with the life stories of the two brutes-ass man, Roy Laferty and Theodore they were used to be ‘preacher’ in Emma and young Willard’s Church. Nothing I could say further because it’s gonna be a major spoiler for you, but their stories really giving you insights of how frustration and fanaticism allow people to do something beyond their common sense.

“You remember what I told you the other day?” He asked Arvin

“About the boys on the bus?,”

“Well, that’s what I meant, you just got to pick the right time”

On the even numbers chapters (2, 4, and so on), the main tales is pertaining on the journey of Handerson couple, Carl and Sandy. They were like the Bonnie and Clyde but sad and exploitative version in this book. Carl is a ‘photographer’ and sandy working as a waitress in a café called Wooden Spoon (Which the place where Charlotte used to work as a waitress and the place she met Willard for the first time as well). During summertime they got this ‘ritual’ ((but not in a religious way)) where they drive to different states and give a ride to the hitchhikers found on the way, then Carl forcefully offer them to fuck Sandy for free (HIS OWN WIFE) while he took pictures of them fucking and after that Carl kill them and take all the money those hitchhikers got in their pocket (dude I can’t even judge anything). But to be honest, I’m not a fan of these two characters because they were all so ANNOYING to death. And then there is Bodecker Lee who’s a police and also Sandy’s brother, ok that’s it, I’m not gonna give you any spoilers.

“… He went down the street and sat on a bench in a park the rest of the day thinking about killing himself instead. Something broke in him that day. For the first time he could see that his whole life added up to absolutely nothing…”

You might be confused since there are quite a lot of keen characters in this book but there’s a point where all these bitches are relating to each other, so chill y’all impatient gripe-ass. Overall, the flow of the story is undoubtedly interesting for you to keep going throughout the whole story, because every phase gonna make you wondering about next things happened to them. But, the transitions among every chapters is quite uncomfortable for me, because sometimes when the story has reached its climax there is no resolutions coming to solve the problem immediately, and you’re faced to read the new chapter with a whole different setting and characters so it’s kind of ruining the vibes and emotions the book has made me, but again this just my personal preference so please don’t judge (while everything I did right now is judging inaccurately).

“He realized that he would never preach again, but that was all right. He’d never been much good at it anyway. Most people just wanted to hear the cripple play”

However, what I like the most from this book is the deepening of every character exists is so fascinating, even for just the side or supporting character (for god sake I’m sorry idk what to called a character that isn’t the main one), for example a bus driver in Meade, Ohio which Willard talked to when he was on the way home after the war ended, the narration wrapped and portraits the driver’s life perfectly without make us bored, and there’s still a bunch of interesting narration about the life of the side characters in this book that also as odds and intriguing as the main character’s background (jesus, everything happened and everyone in this book is just so strange and peculiar I swear to god). The story finished in a most tragic-beautiful but still gloomy way, even though it’s quite predictable but still a very good closing for me personally. To be noted, on the way to the end of the story, there will be emerge another asshole priest character named Preston Teagardin, ready to shake you up until you finish the book. But still, let’s said this particular ‘last minute character’ has proving that the author is paying so much attention of how the story ended isn’t leaving any 'rush-made' impression (this shit might confused you I’m sorry my English hasn’t got any better *sorry hand sign* *sorry hand sign* *sorry hand sign*). # hashtag attention to the detail bro.

Holy crap, that’s the first time I’m almost able to cut all the bullshit I intend to bring it up here.

This book is one of my top 5 books that you have to read once in a life time (although I haven’t discover the other four, omg im sorry y’all). Little information for you that the first time I read this book (yeah I read it for quite few times) is when the campaign of presidential election era, which in Indonesia the religious are pretty sentimental issues, some of the people in my country suddenly became those annoying fanatical preachers, man I can’t stand it. And this book is just precisely relating to that condition and I get to know at least a glance of what the heck odds things happened in their minds, since you know fanaticism and stupidity doesn’t hit only on particular group of religions, race, gender or anything, we can all be stupid and brainless (especially me because I basically have no brain). There probably quite many scenes that is pretty disturbing to read (I don’t know if people could be triggered by it???? But I guess so) so yeah a bit warning. Overall, I genuinely recommend this book for you guys because every element in this book is almost perfect, the storylines, bold characters, and the RARE AND STRANGE AND SENSITIVE topic promote by the author in this novel is totally a BOOM. Don’t worry reading this book not going to give you those agnostic and atheist vibes HAHA chill I still consider myself a devoted Muslim tho (hashtag masyaallah ukthi).

By the way before I wrapped it up, I hear that this book will be made into a netflix film. WELL, of course I’m excited because the casts are so amazing, and I love Netflix adaptation and I enjoy watch movies as much as I read books (again, unnecessary information of mine *sorry hand sign*). I found that the release date is postponed from the origin plan in 15th May (which is three days ago from I posted this on my page) due to I don’t know perhaps corona because that bitch has ruined everyone in the world’s schedule, but for real I can’t find the exact information regarding to the updated release date, so while you wait the film to launch, why don’t you just go read the book first? I assure you this one not gonna give you any disappointment.

I think that would be it for this 2nd rubbish book review of mine. Although, I think I made a little progressive from the first one (OR MAYBE NOT???? I’M SORRY Y’ALL) but of course there’s still much deficiency I served. Still, I hope my writing get better in the process of making this whole novel of reviewing book inaccurately. To be honest, I wrote this shit not for getting any engagements or audience but for my own satisfied HAHA. So yeah I’m literally comfortable writing for nothing. But bitch guess what I’m just gonna keep going, until I could professionally writing and make it for a living? Well, amen for that.

Xiao, See you in Advance!

#book #book quotes #bookaholic #booknerd #book review #the devil all the time #donald ray pollock #religion #review #novel #thriller #psychological #tom holland #robert pattinson #bill skasgård #sebastian stan

8 notes · View notes

kattegat-kittycat · 5 years

Text

Fates Entwined II: We’ll be as one

Second Chapter to Fates Entwined. Part I

After your former clan was brutally murdered, you agree to an arranged marriage with Ivar to keep your social status. You may not always see eye to eye and sometimes even find yourself on different sides of one war or the other, but somehow you can never escape each other no matter how much you try to forget, deny and run. Somehow you always end up in each other’s faces. Sometimes quite literally.

A/N: This was a chapter that had to be written to get the story going, so the writing dragged on slowly. Also, loads to do on the work front and stuff. Well, now this is done, I can get to the actual story :) Have fun!

Here we are in this fatal design But we'll be as one Under the sun and we're facing out for hope

Entwine - Fatal Design

Sigurd sighed. “Why is she getting married to Ivar? Why not one of us? We are older than him, we should get married first.”

Ubbe sighed. “So, tell me Sigurd, would you really want to be married off to the daughter of an old friend of mother’s? I for my part would rather stay a free man until I find a woman I want to marry.”

“Yes, yes, but why did no one even ask or consider us?” Sigurd answered.

Hvitserk shrugged. “Do you of all people even need an explanation for mother’s behaviour when it comes to little Ivar? Especially now that someone found out that he is not a real man?”

Sigurd shook his head. “Of course not. But that is just it. If they don’t get a child, everyone will question what is wrong with Ivar. It will shove it into their faces rather than hide it.”

Now Ubbe shrugged. “Unless mother tells one of us to fuck her so it looks like Ivar can produce offspring.”

“I wouldn’t mind”, Hvitserk chuckled, “She’s pretty.”

Sigurd looked exasperated. “She is not a good fit for Ivar, she is way too peaceful and rational.”

“Which is exactly why she is to marry your brother.” Aslaug interrupted as she entered the room. “If you must know, I had a vision. It was cruel and brutal and bloody. Ivar had lost control. And then she was sent here by the Gods. A woman strong enough to reign him in, but soft and forgiving enough to encourage his potential and support him. Her mother was one of the greatest shield maidens I know and she raised her as one, too. She can protect Ivar, when the war comes to Kattegat.”

The eyes of all three sons were on her. “Mother, no one can reign in Ivar. Let alone control him. You should know that.” Hvitserk said quietly.

“Then may the Gods be with you, my sons. Stay together and support each other, don’t let anybody come between you.Help your brother find his place in the world, because that is what he is ultimately looking for. Otherwise…the world will burn and we will have to surrender ourselves to the mercy of the Gods.”

***

We had both gone through the cleansing rituals in the bath houses in the morning, after which we had gotten ready for the actual ceremony. They had to make a few adjustments due to Ivar’s condition, but all in all they tried to honour the traditions. As I had no heirlooms or family present, Margarete had woven a beautiful crown of hay, flowers and colourful bands for me, which was to be placed on my braided hair. She had also been one of the women to accompany me to the bath house to sweat and cleanse and thus bid farewell to my maidenhood. A few other women from the town had been with us, but somehow there had been a tension in the air. Everybody seemed to be afraid for me, but nobody dared say anything. It made me nervous, but I knew it was too late to bow out now.

It was only an hour to our wedding, when I sat in the flower crown and a flowing dress in Aslaug’s room and waited for Margarete to finish braiding my hair, when she suddenly looked around. Aslaug and a few other slave girls had left the room a few minutes ago and we were alone for the first time.

“You…you can still run, if you want to.” Margarete suddenly whispered close to my ear.

I turned to look at her, interrupting her work. Her face seemed worried and sincere.

“And why are you suggesting this?” I asked, harsher than I intended to sound, because I could see her flinch. Many of the girls thought that I was a former slave and had been captured somewhere else. I wasn’t sure what Margarete thought of me, but I had learned early on that slaves and servants were more than willing to spill their masters’ secrets when you treated them with kindness. And they knew a lot of the things the families would never want to get public. So I was more than willing to be her friend and listen to what she had to say.

Margarete didn’t meet my eyes, though, and she was about to apologise for speaking out of turn, when I smiled softly at her. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I am just so nervous. You probably have your reasons and you know these people, this family better than I do, so I beg you, tell me why you think it might be better to leave a place where I am being offered a safe harbour?”

She looked relieved first, then slightly troubled.

“Ivar…he is…he is scary. He can be…cruel. His brothers asked me to sleep with him and I was in no position to refuse them. And afterwards he repeatedly threatened my life. He said he’d kill me and if it weren’t for Ubbe and Hvitserk, I am pretty sure, he would have gone through with it.”

“But why? Did you give him any reason?”

“I know too much. That is the other thing; you should know that Ivar cannot… he is unable to perform his male duties. And I am sure, he felt ashamed and frustrated and that is why he wanted to murder me.”

I looked at her, deep in thought. Was she telling the truth or did she have an ulterior motive? Did she maybe want to have Ivar for herself? Then again, the way she shivered when she said his name and her scared look seemed honest.

“I am very close to Ubbe and Hvitserk, and they too say that Ivar has trouble controlling his anger. Please be warned, he can be cruel. As a child, they say, he killed another boy during a ball game, because they would not throw him the ball. He is beautiful, yes, he looks like an angel with his blue eyes and dark hair, and his brilliant smile, but he is the devil. He…”

We heard footsteps and instantly we resumed our roles, she silently braiding my hair and I sitting there patiently. Before, we had shared a quick look and knew that neither of us would be talking about our conversation, and when Aslaug entered the room, we looked like nothing ever happened.

Now, I understood the looks of the women better. Nobody knew Ivar, truly knew him. All they saw was an unpredictable boy, spoiled by his overprotective mother.

***

I arrived at the ceremony escorted by Hvitserk, who took the stead of my brother in the ceremony. Right before we arrived at the altar, Hvitserk turned to me and smiled. It was a friendly smile, but there was pity behind his eyes.

“Are you ready to get married?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Is any woman ever ready to marry?” I said with a fake smile.

He grinned. “I have heard of women waiting all their lives for that day.”

“I have never been one of them. But I am happy. And I hope, Ivar will be happy as well.”

“I am not sure Ivar would know what happiness feels like if it poked him with a stick. But maybe you can change that. He deserves some happiness in his life. But if he ever mistreats you, you come and tell me, alright?”

I nodded. My smile felt more real now. “Thank you, Hvitserk.”

He was about to say something, but was broken off, as we heard the sound of a horn over the bay and saw the longboat arrive that carried Ivar. For the occasion, Floki had built him something like a wooden throne that was carried by four men. There was a small sense of unease on his face, but he seemed to enjoy the attention. By his side were his other two brothers and Floki, in the absence of his father. What a sorry couple we were. The cripple without his father present and the girl from nowhere who had neither family nor hope without this alliance. I could see why I was being married off to the cripple. But there was something to be said about alliances between people who share the same or similar predicament. Sometimes the whole is more than the sum of its parts. And maybe Ivar and I could help each other to achieve a greater future for the two of us.

When Ivar and his small band of relatives had arrived beside me and Hvitserk, his throne was set down and the four men who had carried it, hurried away. Ivar looked up to me and smiled incomprehensively. But before we could exchange any words, the gothi, our priest, already started the ritual.

“Ivar and Y/N, we are here to lead you into marriage, to forge a bond between you, too strong to be broken by fate, suffering or mere men interfering. We will ask the Gods to bless your marriage and protect it from anyone and anything.”

He took a few branches of fir and dipped them into the bowl on the altar, which contained the blood of a goat, only to sprinkle us with the blood. I could feel Ivar’s gaze on me, looking for my reaction. I looked back at him and smiled. His face was spotted with little dots of blood and suddenly, I was in a coountry far away from home. People around me were fighting, there was a battle raging within the walls of an unfamiliar city. It was built from materials I didn’t know or we didn’t have at our disposal. Everything looked strange and different. In the center of it all, I could see Ivar. Older, his hair longer, but braided. He wore armour and chainmail, he was sitting on the ground in front of a strange looking cart, screaming at the onlookers that they could never kill him. His face was covered in blood and it was a ghastly sight. The scenery changed and I could see Ivar throwing an axe at Sigurd. It hit home and Sigurd dropped to the ground dead. Another change of scenery, I was back in Kattegat, and I could see Ivar standing – standing! – amidst the ruins of the city, facing Ubbe and cutting his throat. Yet another jump and I saw Ivar staring at a blood-eagled man, his brothers around him. Another change and Ivar, older and with a beard, was cowering over the dead body of Hvitserk, the city burning around him. The jumps came faster now, I saw him lead an army against Björn. Could see him cry at the grave of his mother. Look at a stillborn baby. Strangle a woman. Then there he was, fighting Lagertha. And suddenly I was back in the present. I had only missed a few seconds of the ceremony, even though it had felt like half a lifetime to me, as the gothi sacrificed the rest of the goat’s blood to Thor, by pouring it onto heated stones in a hearth close to the altar.

I frantically looked for Aslaug and when I locked eyes with her, she knew. I could see it in her face, she knew that I had seen and what I had seen. She quickly glanced away. She had known all along, because this was the fate of her blood. And now, it would be the fate of my blood as well. There was no doubt that the Gods had already seen, accepted and challenged us as a married couple. I took a deep, shaky breath. Ivar looked up to me and in his sing-sang voice asked me:

“What is the matter, is anything wrong?”

I shook my head, fighting back tears. “Nothing, I am just getting emotional.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Women…” he muttered.

I was relieved he had bought this little white lie that was drenched in scarlet blood, but I really had to talk to Aslaug.

We continued with the tying of the knot and the exchange of the swords we had brought, but I could hardly concentrate. I needed answers. I had never been a seer and I did not wish for any further disturbing visions. What had I gotten myself into?

#vikings #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar ragnarsson x reader #vikings fanfiction #stories from kattegat #fates entwined #ivar imagine

62 notes · View notes

manage-mischief · 4 years

Text

The Negative

PART ONE

Read on AO3 here.

Summary: Two-shot inspired by the song from “Waitress.” In which Tonks knows something’s wrong—she just doesn’t want to admit it to herself. Good thing Molly and Fleur are there to offer some support.

Author’s Note: This fic is inspired by the song from “Waitress,” the musical. If you haven’t heard it, definitely give it a listen. Some of the dialogue is included here. This work is focused on Tonks as a character, because she was really underdeveloped in the last book. Since we clearly saw Remus freak out when he found out about Teddy, this is me assuming that Tonks did, too. I tried to get the timeline right as best as possible. It’s a bit confusing in the Deathly Hallows, tbh. Anyways, here’s the story. Equal parts fluff and angst. I’m new to fanfic writing, so any kind feedback is appreciated! P.S. I refuse to write Fleur’s dialogue in that horrid French-style that JK used. I omitted her “h’s,” but that’s it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Waitress. What I do own is…nothing. I own nothing.

“Come now, poppet. It’s better to know,” Molly cooed as she rubbed Tonks’ back in slow, soothing circles.

“It is probably nothing,” Fleur nodded encouragingly.

Tonks withdrew her head from between her knees to glare at the Frenchwoman. It sure as hell wasn’t nothing.

The last few months of her life had been absolutely perfect. After a long and arduous battle, Tonks had finally dragged Remus down the aisle. Well…it was a lot more romantic than she made it sound. The couple had wed in a small, intimate ceremony earlier that summer. They both knew there was no stopping the impending darkness of war that was fast approaching, but nonetheless, had decided to spend whatever time they had left together: a massive “up yours” to Voldie and his goons.

True, life since their union had been a bit hectic. When they weren’t working undercover for the Order, they spent all of their time together in their bedroom—the only room in their small London flat that got any proper use. Undoubtedly, that’s how Tonks had ended up in her current predicament. After being late, followed by several days of morning sickness, she was fairly certain she was pregnant.

“Here, we have the test, we’ll soon find out. It will all be fine.” The kindly ginger handed her a cookie and a cup of tea.

Merlin bless Molly Weasley. After concluding that her illness may be more than a common stomach bug, Tonks had visited The Burrow straight away. She wasn’t exactly sure why. She could have gone to her parents’ place, both of whom would have been thrilled about their daughter’s growing family. Somehow, though, the prospect of going to her mum and dad with such news had terrified her. It made the situation more real. And Tonks was not ready to accept that any of this was really happening.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want kids. In all honesty, she had never really thought about it. She still felt like a kid herself. Plus, with the current violence sweeping their world, now was certainly not the time to be thinking about new life. She had never even discussed the prospect of a family with Remus. But, she was sure that even if he did want children—something she slightly doubted, given his anxieties about his condition—he would agree that now was nowhere near the proper time to start a family. Oh Merlin. She hadn’t yet considered how Remus would react. Her nausea returned. She groaned and brought her head back between her knees.

“Oh my, is she going to be alright?” Fleur questioned Molly as if Tonks wasn’t there. “She looks like she is going to faint! Poor thing!”

“Maybe I’d feel better if I broke your nose,” Tonks growled.

“It must be the ‘ormones,” Fleur remarked, throwing a look of pity in Tonks’s direction. That did it. Tonks rose from her chair, fully intending to draw her wand and wipe that look off of the blonde’s pretty little face. Molly was quicker. She firmly placed herself in between the two younger witches.

“Alright now, let’s all calm down and let Tonks take her test.”

“Calm down? Calm down?!” Tonks was shaking. “How can I calm down! This is a bloody disaster! I’m… I’m not ready for any of this. Remus isn’t ready!” Her voice broke. She collapsed back into her chair. Merlin’s pants, she had never been so emotional before in her life! Perhaps Fleur had been right about the hormones.

Molly kneeled in front of the anxious witch and stroked her hair. “We don’t even know if there’s anything to panic about yet. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“So, you think there’s a chance I’m not pregnant?”

Molly pursed her lips. “Well there’s always a chance,” she replied, unconvincingly. “But you’ll feel better once you know for sure. Isn’t that right, Fleur? Don’t you think Tonks should take the test and find out?”

“Oh yes. It will be much better to know for sure. I ‘ope you drank enough of your tea. Apparently, this Muggle test requires you to pee on it! Quite odd!” Fleur cheerfully opened the little box containing the pregnancy test they had hastily picked up at the pharmacy in town. Tonks was hoping to avoid a trip to St. Mungo’s until she deemed it absolutely necessary. There were too many prying eyes at the hospital for her liking. Merlin forbid some loose-lipped colleague of hers spotted her in the Magical Maternity Ward…

She sat up properly. “Alright. What do I do with that thing?”

Molly walked across the small kitchen to Fleur’s side. “Read us the instructions, Fleur. What does the box say?”

“’N’insérez pas le bâton dans vôtre…’”

“English, Fleur!”

“’Do not insert the test stick into your vagina.’”

Molly rolled her eyes, exasperated. “Wow! Thank you, Fleur!”

“I am sorry. That is obvious…I am getting nervous!”

“You’re getting nervous?” Tonks wasn’t sure she had made the right decision by coming to Molly’s after all.

At least all of the antics allowed for a momentary distraction. She joined the Weasley women on the other side of the kitchen. “Fine. Gimme the damn stick!” She yanked it from Fleur’s hands and headed for the loo, slamming the door behind her.

Sitting down on the toilet, she stared at the small object in her hands. What would this mean for her marriage? Was a kid really something she was ready to handle? She was snapped out of the beginnings of what would have been the day’s fifty-seventh panic attack by the sound of scuffling outside the bathroom door.

“I cannot ‘ear peeing. ‘As she done it yet?”

“Shhhh, give her some privacy! She’s clearly terrified, poor thing. Why, I remember when I found out about Bill…”

Oh, for the love of…

“I can hear you, you know!” Tonks shouted. The whispering stopped. Footsteps quickly retreated from the door. After a few more moments of existential crisis, she finally took the test.

Tonks emerged from the loo and found her companions sitting inconspicuously at the table. Molly was staring blankly at a copy of Witch Weekly, while Fleur was holding the latest issue of The Daily Prophet, whistling. Both were failing miserably in their attempts to act casual. Fleur peeked her head out above the paper. “Oh, are you finished? I ‘ave been reading the news this whole time. I did not notice. Did you know Rita Skeeter is writing a book about Dumbledore?”

Tonks rolled her eyes. “Fascinating. So, how do I find out the results?” She shook the stick, which she had wrapped in toilet paper, as it was now covered in her pee. She wrinkled her nose. Did Muggles really live like this?

Fleur dug the paper instructions out of the empty cardboard box. “You will ‘ave to wait three minutes, and then lines will appear. One line means it is negative and two means it is positive.”

“Well, let’s focus on the negative, shall we?” Tonks sarcastically quipped, flopping down beside Molly at the table. She picked up The Daily Prophet that Fleur had been pretending to read and immediately regretted it. The headlines stood out in thick, black ink as she flipped through the pages.

Five Wizards Killed in Mystery Attack

The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore: Rita Skeeter Reports

Dolores Umbridge Continues Crusade Against Half-Breeds, Muggle-Borns

She hastily crumpled up the newspaper and tossed it into the hearth. Molly and Fleur stared at her, surprised.

“Piece of rubbish, anyways,” Tonks whispered. In reality, she had been frightened. Too many horrible things were happening in the world, and the thought of bringing a child into being at such a time felt extremely irresponsible. “How long has it been?”

“Thirty-six seconds.”

“Dammit.”

“Thirty-eight seconds…”

“Okay!”

“Thirty-nine…”

“Let’s change the subject, shall we?” Molly came to the rescue, yet again. “Fleur how is construction on the cottage going?”

“Oh, it is quite wonderful! Bill ‘as been marvelous. ‘E ‘as built it so our room overlooks the sea. It is very beautiful. I cannot wait to move in for real. And I am sure you will be glad when we are out of your ‘air, Molly.”

“Oh, no, I will miss you both dearly,” Molly assured her daughter-in-law, though the hint of excitement in her words betrayed her. Though the two women had got on much better since Bill’s attack, their very different personalities often clashed. It was probably best for the both of them to get some distance.

Tonks’s leg was bouncing up and down at the table as she fruitlessly attempted to take her mind off of the time that seemed to be moving cursedly slow. “How long has it been, now?”

“One minute and twenty-three seconds.”

Tonks groaned impatiently. “How’d I ever get myself into this mess?”

“Well, did you not use protection? I thought you and Remus were very careful about that sort of thing,” Fleur innocently questioned. She immediately winced, and Tonks was quite sure that Molly had kicked the girl underneath the table.

The Auror felt her face flush. “Well, he got me drunk,” she replied, defensively. “I do stupid things when I drink…”

“Stupid things, like sleep with your ‘usband?” Fleur giggled. The girl was ballsy, Tonks had to give her credit. If she hadn’t been filled with crippling anxiety, she would have appreciated Fleur’s positivity and wit.

Molly suppressed a laugh. “Focus, Fleur. We’re trying to take Tonks’s mind off of her… predicament.” Molly chose her words carefully. “Remember. We’re focusing on the negative!” She smiled optimistically at the metamorphmagus.

“Well, the test could be negative. What if…maybe, ah, what is the expression…maybe Remus’s wand does not cast any spells…if you know what I mean. That would be lucky!”

The other two women choked. Tea spurted out of Tonks’s nose. Molly huffed. “Oh yes, miraculously lucky, to get away with an unprotected f—“

“Funny how one night can ruin your entire life,” Tonks lamented. How she was going to survive this last minute, she didn’t know. Fighting Death Eaters was less nerve-wracking.

“Just, calm down, goddammit!” Molly snapped, clearly getting anxious herself. There was only so much complaining the mother of seven could take. “Let’s all just pull ourselves together! Now,” she chided.

The three women sat in silence, shocked by Molly’s outburst. Tonks had the unshakable feeling of having been scolded by her mother. She gazed at her hands shamefully, picking at her fingernails until Fleur spoke once more. “The test should be finished.”

Tonks’s heart flip-flopped in her chest. “I can’t look. One of you do it.”

Fleur eagerly reached for the test, but Molly held her back. Her face was stern. “You can, and you will, Tonks. It will all be alright.” Her eyes softened.

“It was only one night,” Fleur added. That did nothing to assuage Tonks’s fears. She could hear the seconds ticking by on the clock. Her stomach was in knots. But, she knew that they were right. She had to find out the truth. Whatever the result.

“One line. One line,” she chanted to herself. Fleur nodded encouragingly. Molly remained still, her face unreadable.

Tonks picked up the test, carefully unwrapping it, as if it were a Hippogriff that would attack if she approached it too quickly. “This is it.”

She turned the stick over in her hands, only vaguely disgusted by the fact that she had peed on it not five minutes earlier.

“Shit.”

#nymphadora tonks #remadora #remus lupin x nymphadora tonks #molly weasley #fleur delacour #remus x tonks #teddy lupin's origin story #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #teddy lupin #fluff #kind of a song fic #waitress #female friendship #yay badass women!#humor #hp fanfic #hp #my writing

2 notes · View notes

the-blomster · 5 years

Text

Jello Biafra VS the Forces of Corruption 31

Update: Sorry I’ve been gone for so long. Life has hit me like a brick wall. You know. School and stuff. Anyway, I’ve begun to fall into something of a rhythm again and I think I’ll be able to fit writing this thing into my schedule again, so stay tuned!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and all relation to real individuals is done purely for parody purposes. I am not associated with any of the people named in this work of fiction and this is not intended to reflect negatively upon anyone.

Chapter 31: The Punk Rock Tournament Showdown Part 8: Fuck it’s been so long that I can’t remember what I was planning on writing Part 1 or Jello gets amnesia Part 1

We find Jello in a tumult; lost in an endless dream. The contents of his dreams; unspeakable, unimaginable even, not because I just didn’t feel like writing what his dreams were, but because they were unspeakable, just believe me. And when Jello awoke from this unimaginable, unspeakable dream, he found himself lying prostrate on the battlefield.

The announcer spoke, “Jello fucking lost, what a bitch. Anyway, 6025 wins!”

It would appear that Jello had been thoroughly whooped. And not just whooped, but whooped. You know the kind whooped you pronounce hwooped. And the audience was absolutely eating it up. They kept shouting mean mean words like, “Jello’s a bitch!”, and “Jello fucking lost!” How uncouth of them.

Jello was terrified. He sweated profusely. He curled up in a ball and hoped that the pain from hearing those mean mean words as well as the pain from being thoroughly whooped would go away. Was this another part of his dream, nay a part of his nightmare? Or was this a cruel joke? Or could it be… reality?

Yep, it was reality. Jello confirmed this fact by pinching himself really hard. Upon realizing that this was, in fact, not a dream, Jello took a few moments to look upon this new reality and hopefully not cry. Standing across Jello on the battlefield was what appeared to be a mexican bandito. He looked sort of like the picture below, only even cooler, and wearing a cape. Could that be… 6025? Who was 6025 anyway? And why was he so cool? Suddenly, the extremely cool man who was supposedly 6025 swept his cape up in front of his and disappeared without a trace. 6025 was gone. This left Jello in quite the predicament. Jello was left with no memories of the day’s events. He didn’t even know what he had for breakfast, but judging by the lingering flavor in his mouth, it was something… vile.

Jello, however, did know one thing. He had to find Klaus. Jello stumbled through the halls in a state of delirium. To his legs, the hallways seemed to stretch an infinite distance, and yet to his eyes the back walls seemed within arms reach. Jello brushed his forehead and widened his eyes in a futile effort to regain control, but to no avail. He stumbled and crashed into walls. Sometimes Jello even fell to the ground. And still Jello murmured on, and eventually his efforts paid off, and he found himself barely standing at his friend’s doorstep.

Jello rung the doorbell, only to hear a friendly voice that was hopeless nonetheless. “Go away Jello. I told you I wasn’t going to help you anymore!” And suddenly it seemed that Jello had found himself alone in this cruel, cruel world yet again.

However, just as it would have appeared that all hope was lost for Jello, 6025 , or at least a vision of 6025, appeared before him, looking as cool as ever.

“Wh… who are you?” Muttered Jello under crippled breath.

“My name,” replied 6025, “I will tell you my name… But only because I know that I can trust you, and trust you I must, for you Jello, are the only hope this planet has.”

“Why, why me?”

“All will be revealed in the near future. But first, I have some questions of my own. Remember, think clearly, and answer honestly. Now allow me to ask, who are you?”

“I am Jello.”

“While it is true that society perceives you as Jello, is that really who you are? Are you a mere perception? Where does your identity lie, within society, or within yourself?”

“Within… myself?”

“Yes, that is correct Jello, now allow me to ask you again, who are you?”

“I don’t know…”

“And why is that Jello? Why do you not know who you are?”

“Because I have amnesia?”

“Wrong! It is because you have not found yourself Jello. You have hardly even begun to look for yourself. Your perception of the self only comes outwardly, from society, but now you have lost. I have defeated you. The people no longer look upon you as a bastion of strength. The people have forgotten about you. Your ties to your only true friend have been severed. And because you define yourself outwardly rather than inwardly, you too have lost yourself. You are lost. Lost within the labyrinth of your own mind. Now think Jello. Not for others, but for yourself. But to find yourself, you first must lose yourself, so go, lose yourself in the depths of your own mind, and emerge a stronger individual.”

“But what…” Jello began to lose consciousness. “What is your name?”

“Ah yes, I believe I promised that to you. My name.” 6025 hesitated. “My name is Carlos. Carlos Cadona.”

And with the speaking of those words, and a whisk of his cape, Carlos was gone, along with Jello’s consciousness.

And now, as Jello finds himself in a struggle with his own self identity, what awaits him in the depths of his own mind? Will Jello successfully escape the labyrinth of his thoughts? And most of all, will Jello be able to overcome his most powerful enemy yet… himself? Find out in the next chapter of Jello Biafra VS The Forces of Corruption!

#Jello Biafra #Dead Kennedys #punk #music #writing #creative writing #fanfiction

7 notes · View notes

schraubd · 5 years

Text

The Good Place: Final Thoughts

*MAJOR SPOILERS*

At the conclusion of season three, I registered my prediction of how The Good Place would end:

The abolition of the afterlife in its entirety (no more good or bad places); a re-emphasis on doing as best you can when it matters (i.e., during one's actual life); the core quartet is sent back to Earth to live out the rest of their natural lives as friends.

I would say that, like most religions, I got about 5% right. The afterlife, as we knew it, is abolished. And the series does end with all of the human characters passing on. But in between, The Good Place takes a much more audacious swing: a genuine attempt to reform the afterlife. And -- and I think this is perhaps even more profound -- an essential acknowledgment that this attempt fell short. A perfect paradise was not created, and in fact the final conclusion of The Good Place seems to be that such a paradise is impossible even in concept. After all, cut away the underbrush and the heroes' solution to the problem afflicting The Good Place was to offer the choice of suicide. And while the penultimate episode suggests that perhaps just having the option will suffice to stave off the ennui of eternal bliss, the finale refuses to accept that out. Every human character, eventually, kills themselves. Their happy ending is that they are content to die. The best possible paradise is one where people can and do eventually choose to erase themselves from existence. Skip over the beatific forest setting and the stipulation of emotional contentment, and that's a rather melancholic, if not outright grim, conclusion. It's easy to draw a parallel between the last episode and the need for fans to accept the voluntarily-chosen end of a great show like The Good Place (it's even easier to draw it to the need to accept our own mortality). But another recurrent theme in The Good Place is the failure of systems. Over and over again, the systems the characters find themselves in are revealed to be either malfunctioning or outright designed to immiserate them. From the very beginning, Eleanor and Chidi confront the brutal harshness of the points system, which results in nearly all people being horrifically tortured for eternity (incidentally, that Chidi isn't immediately repelled by -- and suspicious of -- this set-up is a rare miscue in terms of characterization, if not plotting). They resolve to try and improve Eleanor, only to find out that they're actually in a perpetual torture chamber which will literally reset every time they come close to escaping it. At this point, the series becomes a repeated effort to find ever-higher levers in the celestial bureaucracy that can be appealed to. They find a judge, who is at best indifferent to their predicament and not particularly interested in helping them. Upon returning to earth, they discover first that they can't ever improve enough to enter The Good Place (because -- knowing the stakes -- their motivations are corrupt) and then that nobody can successfully enter The Good Place because existence has become too interwoven and morally interdependent for anyone to satisfy the standard of admission. They meet the actual Good Place committee, who are worse than useless and content to let everyone suffer forever because taking any concrete action risks violating some procedural norm. And when they finally enter The Good Place, they discover it's as dysfunctional as everywhere else -- gradually sucking the life out of its residents who, given eternity, eventually tire of everything. All the systems fail. All of them are doomed to fail. They can't not. Hence, the suicide gate (and sidenote: If The Good Place ever has a spin-off series -- and lord knows it shouldn't -- it should definitely involve exploring the first murder in the Good Place when someone gets involuntarily shoved through that archway). By the time it reaches its conclusion, The Good Place is one of the few depictions of the afterlife to take the concept of eternity seriously. Some other venues glance in this direction. Agent Smith in The Matrix tells Neo that humans reject a simulation of paradise -- the implication is because we're diseased, but perhaps also indicating that perfect, eternal happiness ... isn't. Maya Rudolph's other afterlife vehicle, Forever, certainly touches on this theme. The Order of the Stick has an afterlife where people can eat all the food and have all the sex and otherwise satisfy all the "messed-up urges you people have leftover after having your soul stuck in a glorified sausage all your life". But this is only the "first tier" of heaven: once you're bored, you can "climb the mountain" to search for a higher level of spiritual satisfaction. And while what this entails is left vague, it is not death -- those who ascend can, if they wish, descend back down to the lowlier pleasures (OOTS also introduces the very neat concept of "Postmortum Time Disassociation Disorder"). But the story which provides perhaps the most powerful foil to The Good Place's view of eternity and immortality is (and of the approximately 143,000 Good Place retrospectives being written right now, I bet I'm the only one to make this comparison) Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality. The ultimate adversary in HPMOR is not Snape, or Malfoy, or Voldemort. It is death, and Harry is committed to the "absolute rejection of death as the natural order." The message on the Potters' gravestone is, after all, "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death" (and it's a sign of my cloistered Jewish upbringing that I thought this was a Rowling original -- it is in fact a quote from I Corinthians). Harry Potter wants people to live forever. And the story anticipates the objection, placed in the mouth of Dumbledore, "What would you do with eternity, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Meet all the interesting people in the world, read all the good books and then write something even better, celebrate my first grandchild's tenth birthday party on the Moon, celebrate my first great-great-great grandchild's hundredth birthday party around the Rings of Saturn, learn the deepest and final rules of Nature, understand the nature of consciousness, find out why anything exists in the first place, visit other stars, discover aliens, create aliens, rendezvous with everyone for a party on the other side of the Milky Way once we've explored the whole thing, meet up with everyone else who was born on Old Earth to watch the Sun finally go out, and I used to worry about finding a way to escape this universe before it ran out of negentropy but I'm a lot more hopeful now that I've discovered the so-called laws of physics are just optional guidelines."

The last few episodes of The Good Place are, in a sense, a calling of this bluff. Even if you play out the string all the way to extinguishment of the sun or the heat death of the universe -- well, forever is a long time. It can wait. Harry argues that the only reason we accept death is because we're used to it, and if you took someone who lived in a world where there was no death and asked them if they'd prefer to live in a universe where eventually people ceased to exist, they'd look at you like you're crazy. The Good Place provocatively argues the precise opposite -- that if death didn't exist, people would have to invent it. Or they would go crazy, with infinite time on their hands. And so we are, perhaps, back to where we started. The paradise the heroes create is certainly better than that which they replaced. But it still is deeply, tragically flawed -- and The Good Place seems to believe that these flaws are fundamentally inescapable. The suicide option is the clearest manifestation of how cracked paradise must be, but there is another issue that the show alludes to: paradise depends on other people, and on their choices. Way back in the first season, "Real Eleanor" raises this precise point: if her soulmate doesn't love her, "this will never truly be my Good Place." Sure it's actually a contrivance to torture Chidi, but it's easy to imagine it as real. What if your paradise is to live blissfully with a certain special someone and ... that person doesn't love you back? Both Simone and Tahani seem okay with Chidi and Jason respectively choosing someone other than them (Eleanor and Janet). But that's in harmony with the audience's happy ending. It's not hard to imagine a different world where they were less sanguine about it. Or take a far more direct problem: If paradise comes with a suicide option, what happens if your loved one takes it? Harry's excited declaration of all the things he'd do with infinite time is not fundamentally, the reason why he desires immortality. When push comes to shove, he's motivated by a far more basic yearning: to make it so "people won't have to say goodbye any more." Eleanor's utter panic at the thought of losing Chidi forever was, for me at least, the most visceral emotional gut-punch of the entire series -- even more than the finale of season three (at least there, we could be reasonably assured their separation was temporary). She eventually comes to terms with it. But sit on it a little more: imagine a "paradise" where your soulmate has left you forever. People fantasize about heaven to be reunited with their loved ones, yet we end up looping right back into eternal separation. What kind of paradise is this, where people still have to say goodbye? So we have two problems that seem to threaten even the conceptual coherency of a paradise:

First, if paradise is forever, eventually everything will become tired. That suicide is presented as a good solution to this problem shows just how serious it is (and, for what it's worth, I'm not sure the suicide "option" would necessarily bring relief. It could easily generate crippling anxiety -- a sense of trappedness between the irrevocable permanence of death and the unbearable ennui of existence).

Second, if paradise depends on the choices other people make, how can we be sure they'll make choices compatible with your happy ending?

The Good Place presents the first problem as unavoidable and skates past the second entirely. But could they be overcome? Maybe. In the penultimate episode of The Good Place, one solution proposed to the problem of eternal ennui is to reset people's memories, so the things that bored them become fresh again. This is swiftly rejected as a repetition of how the quartet was tortured in The Bad Place. Too swiftly, in my view. Neighborhoods were also used to torture -- should those be jettisoned too? The problem with eternity is that eventually, everything gets repetitive. Go-Kart Racing against monkeys may be a blast the first time, but it loses its luster after a million reiterations. The wistfulness comes from wishing one could go back to that initial burst of discovery and experience -- before one had the memory of doing it all over again. This was my immediate solution to the ennui problem -- not that some demon should periodically reset you, but that you should be able to choose when, where, and how to reset yourself. It's not just about going back in time. It's reoccupying any memory state you've ever possessed. Go back to before you ever raced against monkeys -- then zoom forward to when you've already experienced all the monkey-races you could handle. It's like a load/save system for your mind. Hell, you can even adjust the "difficulty" level. It's true that, for many, a "paradise" where one simply automatically gets whatever one wants will feel unsatisfying. But one needn't set the parameters of paradise to guarantee success. It can be as hard or easy as one wants; people can be as pliant or obstinate as one likes (not for nothing is one of the afterlife attractions in OOTS -- a fantasy roleplaying-based setting -- "The Dungeon of Monsters That Are Just Strong Enough to Really Challenge You"). Or dream bigger. If one has infinite ability to reverse and remake memory as one wishes, then one could at any point adapt any set of memories one ever could have had. Don't just live a different life, remember a different life. Then jump forward and remember all the different lives you lived -- each of which (when you lived them) you had erased the memories of all the others. Every single possible timeline is lived -- and can be relived in all its glory, as many times as one wants. For me, at least, this dissolves the problem of others' choices as well. If anyone can make not just any possible choice, but live through any possible timeline, what does it mean to ask which one is "real"? If your paradise involves loving and being loved by a particular someone, will in your paradise, the person you need to love you, loves you, and stays with you as long as you need. In their paradise, they might love someone else. You enjoy a timeline where people choose exactly the choices that would make you most happy; they live in a timeline which is the same for them. Of course, the sorts of philosophical questions that would raise (among others: What does it mean for the "same" person to simultaneously exist across multiple timelines? Who, exactly, is "choosing" which version they occupy? And if the one that does choose doesn't choose a timeline that involves them loving you back, is the version that does love you really "them"?) are even more esoteric and less accessible to a network audience than the moral philosophy questions The Good Place did try to introduce. So I don't blame them for skipping by it.

* * *

The last enemy to be defeated may not, after all, be death. It may be time. Time ruins all things. Eventually you run out of it. And even if you never ran out of it -- you had infinite time -- it would defeat you in a different way: via boredom, repetition, and ennui. We can, perhaps, imagine a world where we vanquish death. But can we imagine one where (forgot about possibility, and just think conceptually) we defeat time? I can. Barely, but I can. Of course, it's in many ways a moot point, since I'm profoundly skeptical that humanity ever will master time in this way -- or even if it's practically possible (that it won't happen in my lifetime is actually less material, given that if it ever did happen we'd probably be at Omega Point anyway). But at least it holds out the possibility of an actual happy ending -- where the last enemy is truly vanquished, and nobody has to say goodbye. via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/2GK19Yo

#stories #television

6 notes · View notes