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mika-no-sekai-blog · 14 days ago

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Tear of salt

Azriel x Mermaid OC

Word count: +6300

Summary: He sneaks into enemy territory to spy/assassinate someone and while sneaking through that person's manor he finds a large tank holding a sad mermaid.

Warnings: Azriel doing his job - killing; mentions of blood, wounds, torturing, starvation

Based on this prompt by @ghostedgrim @azrielappreciationweek Day 7: Free Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

Azriel crossed his room, attaching last daggers he had prepared, to his gear. He got a mission, a very easy one. There was nothing that could go wrong and he even didn't feel sorry for what he was about to do. Sneaking into manor of some bastard who was kidnapping lesser faeries and human children all around Prythian and selling them as slaves on continent, was way too easy for him. Azriel could have sent some of his spies to handle this, but after witnessing what was left of one of the victims, he wanted to do it personally. He wanted to see that bastard suffering as much as those children suffered before he would allow him to die.

The shadows swirled around his arms and wings, gathering at his ear. "It's time," they whispered in their silent soothing voices.

Azriel closed his honeyed hazel eyes, releasing a deep sigh through nose while shadows swallowed him. When he again opened them, he stood on a hill at the edge of the forest.

It was night, a valley bellow was plunged in impenetrable darkness as heavy dark clouds swimming across the firmament, hid all the stars and moon. Air was filled with a smell of rain and static energy of coming storm. Azriel didn't mind it though. He was used to the darkness and saw his destination almost as clearly as during the day.

At the bottom of the shallow valley stood a manor surrounded by garden and high fence. Only certain people knew about its existence or how to get there. It took him just a few hours to find the right people and follow them to this place and next several days he spent spying around, counting coming and leaving wagons. That bastard was so arrogant that he kept only a small unit of guards to secure such big estate. Killing him couldn't be more easier. Even from afar Azriel could say that whoever cast the wards around the estate, did a very poor job. He cracked through them the second he came without any problem and not a single soul noticed it.

Azriel waited for an hour after the last of the lights turned off in the manor. The wind was getting stronger, playing with his dark hair as he stretched out his wings. The guards were so negligent that they rather hid from the coming storm than guarded the place. This really couldn't be easier.

Azriel quietly slid on the wind down to the garden close to the servants entrance, but then he changed his mind and with smirk he landed on a driveway. There was no need to hide in the shadows, the darkness of the night covered his tall figure dressed in black perfectly fine. Rhys would certainly call him a show-off for this later. His noiseless steps led him up the staircase straight to the main entrance, hand casually resting on a hilt of his favourite dagger on his hip.

The shadows swam out from beneath the massive doors, climbing up his body to whisper into his ear. Azriel huffed when they told him that nobody was keeping an eye in the main hall nor anywhere nearby. How convenient. His blue siphons gleamed in the darkness as he reached for handle. It wasn't even locked. How could such amateurs manage to kidnap so many people and even had an audacity to think that nobody would notice and come for them?

Tugging his wings closer, Azriel stepped in and closed the doors behind. The main hall was literary made of white marble that covered not only floor but also walls and ceiling. Great portals on the both sides of the doors led deeper into the house. However, Azriel's attention was trained on the two staircases winding around an enormous tank. The bedroom he was looking for, was certainly up on the second floor. Though that didn't bother him so much at the moment.

A soft greenish light was coming out of the tank full of dirty water, the only source of light here. As far as he could say, Azriel didn't see any fish swimming in it. He couldn't explain it, but something was drawing him to that tank. With hammering heart he stalked closer, trying to get a better look of what was within the glass walls covered with slime. It took him awhile to recognize the shape of a great rock in its middle. At first he thought that the tank was empty except of the rock and kelps swaying in the dirt. He was about to return back to the purpose of his visit when he noticed a faint gleam of something metallic. Not metallic, he realized. A fish scale. Now when he knew where to look, he could see it. A long fish tail attached to a human-looking torso. He hadn't seen any of this creatures with his own eyes, yet he immediately recognized it.

A mermaid.

The only known mermaids lived in the ocean near the shores of Summer court, occasionally ranging water lines of Spring. They lived in well guarded communities, but once every few centuries there was a curious mermaid who came out from the water looking for an adventure on land. Their rare offspring with fae or human, however, were excluded from their community and had to stay on land. They usually had just little if anything of their mermaid ancestors anyway and they could be easily mistaken for high fae.

The mermaid was lying on her side, limp. Her eyes were closed, dark shadows loomed under sharp bones of her cheeks. Her skin had a sickly greyish tone, by the state of her starved body, she could be already dead.

Azriel clenched teeth and pressed his palm to the thick glass, its surface cold like ice. No wonder this room was so cold compared to the stuffy night air of late summer outside. His stomach hollowed, the pain wrapped around his heart like hand around tiny bird and squeezed. He felt sorrow for the poor creature who ended up imprisoned in this tank, starved to the death. That wasn't fate he would wish even for his worst enemy.

As leather of gear on his hand touched the tank, it caused the small thud echoed through the water. Mermaid's long eyelashes flickered and she so slowly opened eyes. Her gaze was empty, dulled with suffer and tiredness, sliding down the glass to the place he stood at.

When their gazes collided, Azriel gasped and took a half-step back. The jade like eyes struk him straight to the heart, sending waves of the sweetest pain to his veins. His heart expanded to create space for a golden thread that bounded him to the female in front of him.

Her lips parted, soft moan slipped from between them. She felt it, too.

However, the thread was weak, disappearing as the life gradually drained from her. It took some time until it fully formed and he got a straight link to her. Enormous hunger and pain flooded his system and he needed a moment to separate her feelings from his own. He couldn't do anything right now to help her, except of sending his strength and assurance to her.

Her hand, bones and tendons wrapped in skin, slightly moved toward him.

Azriel's jaw tightened as his gaze flickered to the second floor for a brief moment.

"I'll return for you, I swear. Just give me a second to finish that bastard. I'll make him suffer on your behalf." He only whispered the words, but water carried them to her and she weakly nodded.

Not wasting another second, Azriel ran up the steps, taking three at time. The game was over. There was no need to hide in the shadows, sneaking around. The rage was tearing through him, seeping from his pores like a toxic cloud. He was the Death and the Death was him. Nothing could stop him now. Every person who took part of enslaving and torturing of his mate deserved nothing better that slow death. Those who saw her and decided to do nothing weren't any better.

As if they felt it, several residents of the manor appeared in the hallway, blocking his way. Azriel didn't even as much as blink when his scarred fingers closed around hilts of daggers. He moved smoothly as a dancer, cutting a path through bodies. Once he got them, he didn't glance their way anymore. There was no need. He was trained killer, with every blow he delivered fatal injury. Some died immediately, some shrieked on the floor, blood flowing from the cuts like unstoppable river, others were drowning in it.

Azriel swiftly followed the lead of his shadows showing him the shortest way to the bed chambers of the head of this group. He didn't count the number of bodies he left behind. Spattered with dark crimson liquid, he smashed the door open - the real demon looking for his next victim.

The bastard was hidden behind his bed, trembling like a little girl with small knife in hand. Azriel wrinkled his nose as an odour of urine hit him. He snorted. That bastard pissed himself. If Azriel had time, he'd love to play with him to make him pay for all ruined lives, but his mate was weakening with every second he spent here. He needed to hurry up. He moved toward the hiding male who shrieking threw the knife at his head and tried to run away. A big mistake! No one could outran the Death.

Azriel caught the flying knife mid air and tossed it aside. The tendril of shadows wrapped around males neck, yanking him back. Careful not to break his neck, they lifted him into the air. The male was making choking noises, kicking feet around in attempt to find something, anything to stand on. Shadows squeezed his neck more firmly until his eyes rolled back in his head.

Azriel waited. The shadows loosened their hold before the male could die. It was their master's turn to strike the final blow. Azriel promised that he would make him suffer and so he did. He made a tiny cut to the artery on male's arms and watched as his life dripped out of him, drop after drop. When male in agony shuddered for the last time, shadows tossed him into the puddle of his own blood and swam to their master.

Spymaster turned on heel and ran back down to the entrance hall. He searched whole tank on his way down the stairs, but there was no hole, no opening. It was built only for one purpose and that enraged him even more.

Azriel put both palms on the thick glass, gathered all the power from his siphons and released it at once. The glass turned into fine dust, the mass of dirty and stinky water spilled on Azriel and all around the room. He shook himself dry like a dog, wiping the disgusting slime from his face and climbed inside. He waded in knee-deep dirty water to the rock in its middle, slippery algae binding his legs and making the progress harder. The mermaid just lay there helplessly, her chest heaved with difficulty, gasping for air.

Without hesitation, Azriel opened the upper part of leathers and stripped the T-shirt beneath it. He jumped up on the rock and started carefully wiping off the dirt from her face and especially from her nose, mouth and gills on her neck.

As soon as he was done, she took a deep breath, savouring fresh air. She tried to lift her head, but she was too weak.

"It's over now," he spoke lowly to her, his voice soft. "I know that you felt it, too. I won't let anything bad ever happen to you again."

He brushed her long wet hair from her face. Even with a thick layer of dirt on, she was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen. As the wild creature of depths of the ocean she was, she undoubtedly wanted to return home, but Azriel already knew he wouldn't be able to let her go. He would gladly follow her even to the bottom of the ocean. She was his mate after all, the missing half of his soul. They were made for each other. That had to mean something.

"Let's get you out of here."

He so carefully scooped her in his arms, but her tail was so long that it dragged behind. Shadows wrapped around the scales and lifted it up, helping to their master. Her head with still closed eyes fell on his naked chest. His body shivered in answer and he groaned. Only thanks to the years of discipline and restrains he didn't crush her in his arms. Right now she needed healer, food, care and love. He had to wait until she would be healthy and then they would talk about the bond.

Azriel released a deep breath and called in the shadows that obediently swallowed them. When Azriel opened eyes again, he was standing in the middle of Madja's office at healers center, the dirty water was dripping from their bodies on perfectly clean floor. Old healer was leaning over the table, her hands swiftly taking one pouch after another, mixing medicine with precision of many years of practice.

The shadows immediately flew to greet her. The healer didn't even as much as sigh in surprise when they touched her hands, helping with the pouches.

"Good evening, Azriel," she spoke in a tired voice. "I hope that you know what time it is and that the injury you have, is really serious."

She slowly turned to him, her moves sluggish after a long, hard day. She gasped when she noticed mermaid in his arms.

"I know it's late and believe me, if it wasn't a matter of life and death, I wouldn't bother you. But.. she needs immediate help and you are the only one I can entrust her to."

"At last you found the one," she smiled at him knowingly, her hands already picking up everything she would need. "Put her on the bed."

Azriel did as she asked and carefully set the mermaid down on simple bed for patients. When he made sure she is comfortable, he moved to the tail that hung from bed and gently scooped it into his arms, holding it off of the cold floor. Looking closely at it, he noticed quite big areas with only reddish skin without scales and his heart clenched. Even now he felt unbearable pain and hunger seeping from her end of the bond and he wished he could kill that bastard again.

Madja got to work, swiftly looking the pacient over. Azriel watched her while his shadows assisted to her. When Madja was done, she sighed and wiped her hands clean.

"She is heavily malnourished. That's the cause of the other issues like loosing the scales and tiredness. Looking at you two, I assume that the numerous inflammations are caused by too long stay in stagnant dirty water. The very first thing she needs, is a bath. I think it's something you can deal with. Just treat her carefully. Right now she is very sensitive, more sensitive to touch than your wings."

Azriel nodded. "Got it."

Madja put together all the medicines and ointments while explaining him how and when to apply them and what to expect in the following days. At last she told him to call for her, if her state worsened.

Azriel listened carefully, thanked to the old healer and winnowed with the mermaid to his apartment in the center of the city that he kept secret from his family. It was his place to retreat to when things started to be too much and he needed silence, peace and time to recharge.

The apartment was enough big to accommodate him and his wings, equipped only with a necessary basics like bed, closet with some spare clothes, bathroom, sofa near the hearth, small kitchen area where he could prepare a simple meal, and few shelves with books. It wasn't much, but it suited his needs. The whole building was located next to the park, with Sidra flowing behind it. That was the main reason why he decided for this apartment. None of the windows was directed to the street so it was a very quiet place, exactly what he was looking for.

His steps immediately led to the bathroom with bathtub enough big for giant Illyrian warrior. Some of his shadows return as soon as they heard about the bath to prepare it. Bathtub was full of warm water, the steam was rising from its surface.

Azriel hesitated for a moment unsure whether mermaids were fine with warm baths. He sat down on the edge of the tub, placing his mate on his lap. He gently took her hand and let it slowly inch after inch slip into the water. Mermaid groaned softly, but she didn't seem to be in pain. He lifted small hand up, inspecting it closely. The colour of her skin seemed to be normal, there were no blisters or redness, so he assumed it should be fine and carefully dipped her whole body. After that he took off his dirty leathers and shadows took care of them. It was so dirty that it was better to throw it away than to try to clean it. Shadowsinger dipped to the water, sighing with relief as warm liquid worked its wonders on his tired body. He made sure to wash himself properly before touching female opposite him. Then he moved to her, gently washing off the dirt from her body and hair.

The water turned muddy after the first wash, so he refilled the tub again and again until it stayed clear. Then it was finally a time for the most hardest and delicate work - to wash her tail. Shadows brought him a new soft toothbrush from cabinet under the sink and he started to gently brush one scale after the other. It took him hours to get from the top to the bottom, but he didn't mind it at slightest. For his mate he would do it even thousand times and gladly. When he looked at her clean tail from afar, it had a light sea green colour with metallic accent. However, looking closely at the scales, each one had a pearly iridescent colour. It was fascinating.

Mermaid was whole time unconscious, but the bond between them was growing stronger and steadier which was a good sign. Azriel checked on her every now and then to make sure he wasn't hurting her.

She was calm, her expression relaxed as he pulled her out of the tub, wrapped her in towel and carried her to the bed. Her hair was so tangled that he decided to just wrap it in another towel and deal with it later. Gently wiping her body he moved to her tail. As soon as the towel touched it, it started to melt beneath his hands like ice. Azriel's eyes widened in shock, panic gripping his heart. That wasn't suppose to happen, was it?

He quickly ran back to the bathroom to run another bath. When he returned, he stiffened on threshold. Instead of mermaid, a Fae-like female was lying on the bed, her long pale legs riddled with red wounds.

Azriel dropped to his knees, wiping tears away as he drew hands down his face. He stayed like that, watching her chest rise with every steady breath until he calmed down. She was fine. He cursed under his breath. Madja certainly knew this would happen, she should have warned him.

Sitting on the edge of mattress, he took out the ointments the healer gave him. Mermaid, now female, was completely naked in this form and it took everything in him to ignore the fact. He quickly finished this tormenting activity, bandaged the wounds and dressed her in one of his spare T-shirts. Once she was safely tucked under the blanket, all tempting parts covered, he released the breath he held entire time.

He needed a minute to cool down, so he dressed and went to clean the mess they made in the apartment. When he was done, he took comb, climbed on the bed and began untangling her long hair. Free from dirt and slime it was the deep shade of auburn, slightly wavy and soft to touch. By the time he braided her hair, gave her medicine from the healer and exhausted fell asleep next to her, it was already a lunch time.

The next few days he hadn't left his apartment. As Madja warned him, mermaid got a fever caused by infection in numerous wounds. Even the most shallow ones took twice the time to heal than it normally would. Azriel patiently replaced the bandages several times a day, applying the ointments on wounded skin of legs. He was worried, yet he couldn't but appreciate this opportunity. It gave him enough time to think everything over.

She was still unconscious, so she wasn't able to eat solid food, which left Azriel with only one option - soups.

When he tried to feed her the very first meal, he hit an obstacle. He tried every possible method of getting liquid into unconscious person he knew of, failing terribly. The soup simply spilled from her mouth or she started choking on it.

He was sitting helplessly on the edge of mattress, watching her. According to all the stories and little information his kind had, it was well known that mermaids were beautiful. Their physical appearance was hard to resist to and where their beauty failed, their voice managed to break even the strongest individual. Singing of mermaids was legendary. Depending on what the mermaid wanted, the effect of their song could differ. Azriel hadn't heard her voice yet he was already lost. Whether she wanted or not, she had him wrapped around her finger. Sleeping peacefully her features were soft, she looked quite young and like a good person. He assumed that she liked to smile a lot because corners of her mouth were permanently turned upward. He really hoped to see her smile someday.

However, her sunken cheeks were causing him a pain. When he was changing her bandages after waking up, he noticed a lot of details that early in the morning he missed out in agitation. Every time he touched her and felt no muscles, only bones and thin tissue under the skin, it hurt him like a stab straight into the heart. Desperately wanting to get the food to her belly, he was just sitting there, gazing at her, his eyes clouded with sorrow. There had to be some way how to do this.

Brooding over it, he didn't hear his shadows when they spoke to him at first. The darkness swirled around him, gathering near his ear, whispering. When he didn't answer, they tried to get his attention by cool gentle touches. It didn't work either, so they moved to master's mate, creating wall between them.

"What is it?" Azriel frowned, pushing them away.

"We are trying to talk to you. Why don't you listen to us?"

"She needs food," he stirred the cooling soup with spoon. "I'm trying to come up with some way to feed her."

"We might know about something you haven't tried yet."

"I tried everything," he shook head. "Maybe I need to ask Madja. I should write her a message. Will you deliver it?"

"Nope," they collectively dismissed. "First, try our method."

"Are you sure that it will work?" he raised a brow at them.

"For 100%! But if not, we will deliver the message."

"Fine, so what do I need to do?"

The shadows explained him their idea in detail. Azriel's eyes grew wider with every their word and he blushed fiercely.

"I can't do that!" He covered his mouth with hand, stuttering. "It's.. it's disrespectful to her.. I need her permission to do something so.. naughty."

"In this state, she will hardly give you permission. It's your only chance, boy. She doesn't have to know about it. Think about it!"

He hated to admit it, but they were once again right.

"It's going to be just feeding.. Only feeding.. nothing else," he grunted giving up and shoved spoonful of soup into his mouth.

His cheeks burnt with bright red colour as he leaned over sleeping mermaid. He gently opened her mouth and sealed his lips over hers. The jolt of energy surged through his body at that simple touch and he groaned, closing his eyes. He needed a moment, unable to move. He wanted to taste her, but thankfully his mouth were full of soup.

Come to your senses! It's feeding.. It isn't a real kiss, he scolded himself, taking a deep, steadying breath.

"That's it, boy! And now slooooowly," shadows were encouraging him, floating so close they were almost touching them. A growl rumbled in his chest and they recoiled.

"Fine!" If they had eyes, they would roll them now. "Just don't drown her." They flew back behind his shoulders and observed the situation from there.

Azriel sighed through nose. He let a few drops of soup slip from between his lips into her mouth and waited. Nothing happened at first and he was about to call it off when her throat worked under his tender touch and she swallowed. Female moaned and her brows knitted together as her lips moved slightly, looking for more. Happy, Azriel caressed her hair and let another small amount flow into her mouth.

Gradually, he fed her half of the soup in the bowl. It was quite a slow process, but how could he mind? Being so close to his mate, the bond between them awoke, pulsing in unison with their heartbeats. It came in handy in this situation. As her belly filled, the bond shone with satisfaction and Azriel knew it was time to stop. She had to start carefully to keep the food in. He put the bowl aside and pulled warm blanket higher, tucking her in. Mermaid frowned, her lips looking for more food.

"Soon. I'll give you more very soon," he murmured, caressing her cheek lovingly. "You are safe here. I'll give you as much food as you need. I'll give you anything you want, just.. give me a chance."

He hoped his prayer would somehow reach her and she wouldn't refuse the bond as soon as she opened eyes.

Azriel decided to feed her with small amount of soup every two hours and see how her body would react to that. And in between he gave her tea from herbs Madja gave him. It took him only a half day to turn this into a routine. His body got used to the repeating motions. Cleaning of wounds and applying ointments, changing bandages, little bit of tea with medicine, few mouthfuls of soup.

All of that required a lot of time and the short breaks between the individual actions, he spent gazing at his mate, committing details of her face to his memory or cooking some food for himself and soup for his patient.

At beginning, he always tried to feed her with spoon, but when it failed, he gladly pressed his lips to hers. It was like a remedy and while he was balancing between keeping it professional, detached, and giving in to his needs, he hardly noticed anything else. Two days later he didn't even bother with trying spoon anymore. The fever was finally gone and she seemed to be getting better, her starved body was healing, too. Yet she didn't awoke even once. As his mouth sealed over hers, he closed eyes, fighting his usual battle and imagining what could be.

Azriel didn't notice the startled move of hand nor felt the body under him tensed. He let small amount of soup slip into mermaids mouth and she swallowed. Suddenly pair of hands pushed him away. It surprised him and he started choking on the soup, coughing violently.

"W-what are you doing?" Her voice was still weak and full of fear, but she was definitely awake.

Azriel finally stopped coughing and took a deep breath, wiping away tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do anything bad," he put his hands up. "While you were unconscious, you couldn't eat and this was the only way how to get food into you.. I swear I tried everything else before.. you know.." The blush climbed up his neck, burning his cheeks. He watched her with plea.

"I-.. You are that male, the one who saved me.."

"Yes, it's me," Azriel nodded eagerly, biting on his bottom lip and waiting whether she would mention the bond.

"I have to thank you for saving my life. I was sure that I will die there and I really would die, if it wasn't for you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Her voice was the sweetest melody Azriel ever heard. He was trying to stay focussed, but with every word that left her lips it was harder and harder.

The bond in his chest stirred and flexed with expectation. He knew that she felt it, it snapped for both of them at the same time after all, yet he wanted to wait until she mentioned it. While he was waiting, they introduced to each other, sharing some basic information. She even told him about how they captured her and confined her in that gigant tank.

Several days later, Mer was enough strong to stand up on her own. She didn't need Azriel to help her anymore. Her wounds healed without leaving any marks and she was able to eat solid food. Not even once she mentioned the bond and Azriel had a bad feeling about it.

With each passing day she was getting restless. She often watched Sidra flowing under the window of sitting room, her gaze vacant.

"Where does the river flow?" she asked him for the third time that day.

"It flows into the sea beyond the city," he answered her patiently, his voice sad. "Why?"

"I want to go home," she murmured under her breath, but he heard it. It was the first time she mentioned it and his heart clenched in pain.

Azriel swallowed hard, preparing to hear something that would break him into pieces. "Do you want to return home, Mer?"

"Yes," she replied simply and finally looked at him. "When will you let me go?"

That hurt more than he expected. Balling hands into fists, he turned his back to her.

"I can't.."

He was hardly keeping it together. Shadows swirled around his shoulders as if trying to comfort him. His wings rustled as he abruptly marched to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of bed, putting head into his hands. Mother had a very strange sense of humour, punishing him by giving him a mate who didn't want him. The only person who was supposed to love him and stay by his side, wanted to leave him.

He felt unwanted his entire life, first by his own father, then in the camp by his own people and later even by the first love of his life. He was scared to love because people who really mattered to him, didn't want him in their lives. Five centuries later, it was still hard for him to comprehend that Cassian and Rhysand liked him, that they called him their brother and he dreaded the day they would stop.

Mer quietly followed him, watching him with puzzled expression.

"Did you save me only to imprison me again?" Her voice was calm, there was no trace of hatred or accusation in it.

He took a shaky breath and shook his head. He hadn't seriously cried since he was thrown into dungeons as a small boy. He didn't cry even when his hands were burnt and it hurt badly, but now he felt like doing so.

"I can't possibly let my mate leave me just like that.."

She sighed and walked over to him, crouching in front of him and pulled his hands away from his face. He looked at her in surprise. It was the first time she touched him. Ever since she woke up, she was refusing his toich. Now she was searching his face, her expression unreadable, her small but strong hands holding his.

"You know that we belong to different worlds. I can't stay on land for too long and you can't survive under the water. That's just how things are. We can't change it."

She was so calm that it was killing him. Was he really so unworthy? Was he really not good enough even for his mate, the one he was made for? Azriel was never pushy with people he cared for. He was always putting others, their wishes and needs before himself. He could count on fingers of one hands the times when he revolted and stood his ground. In this case, he didn't want to give up easily. He wanted to give it a try and fight with everything he had to change her mind, to prove her that this could work.

He closed fingers around her hands, holding them firmly and looked straight into her eyes with determination. Small sparkles whirled in them as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I always believed that the real love can overcome anything. That once I find my mate, she could love me despite of looking like this," he nodded to his scarred hands. "That she will see me, the real me under all the darkness and blood staining my hands and yet choose to stay by my side.." He searched her eyes, looking for a hint of agreement, a hint of longing, anything. "There's nothing I wouldn't be willing to do for you. Nothing. I would even try to learn to live under the water, if you asked me for that. Please, don't shove me away.. Don't refuse the bond.. Give me at least one chance to prove myself as worthy of you.. I believe that this relationship can work and I will do anything for that.. Please.. Just one chance.."

She listened closely. When he stayed quiet, waiting for her respond, she narrowed eyes on him, thinking about it. It felt like forever until she gave him an answer, his heart treating to explode with emotions that were wrestling with him.

"Fine," she sighed and nodded, squeezing his hands back. "Let's try it. But what if it won't work? What then?"

"I'm sure it will work, but if not, we will talk about it then. I won't give up though."

She smiled at him gently. "I think that you are good male. So don't take it personally, but I really need to go home. I mean to the water. The time I can spend on land is still quite limited because I am young. The longer mermaids live, the longer they can stay without water."

Azriel's brows raised. "Oh.. I didn't know that. I'm so sorry. Your kind lives in depths of ocean, secluded and we have a little to nothing information about mermaids. You are more like a legend from fairytale. I don't like to admit it, but my knowledge is limited. However, I will learn it all, I swear. Just give me time and guidance, please."

He helped her to sit on the bed and headed to the bathroom to prepare bath. When they visited Madja last day, the healer said that she should be okay from now on, but she needed to take it slowly and especially to avoid dirty water because infection could still return. She also had to keep taking the medication healer gave them.

When bath was ready he returned to bedroom and scooped her in his arms.

"I can walk," she protested weakly.

"And I know it, but as I told you before, I want to prove myself. Carrying my mate when she is sick and needs to take it easy, is my responsibility that I'll gladly do," he smiled at her. "I want to be a good mate. And not just now, it's forever."

She didn't protest at slightest when he offered to help her strip from his T-shirt that looked like dress on her and carefully lowered her into the bath. As soon as her skin touched the surface of water, the tail reappeared and she sighed in relief, diving in. Azriel watched her to swim in small circle, glad his bathtub was enough big, but he was already thinking about getting a bigger one. She emerged and watching him, she swam closer.

"Azriel?" she called at him and his attention immediately was fully on her. "Uhm, you know I'm not water spirit, right?"

He blinked, confused. "Sure. I couldn't possibly mistake you for one."

"I see," she pouted her lips, playing with water. "So you remember when I told you about my home. In ocean."

"Of course, I remember everything you told me," he laughed and then tensed as the realisation hit him.

"Salt water," he breathed out, blushing fiercely. How could it not occur to him sooner? "You need salt water."

Her head tilted to the side as she observed his embarrassed form. Azriel dashed from the bathroom and returned within seconds with small container of kitchen salt.

"Would this do?" he hesitated.

Mer burst in genuine laugher and the thread connecting them sang. Soon Azriel joined her, sitting down next to the bathtub. She swam to the edge and he took her hand, placing kiss on its back. When they calmed down, he locked his gaze with hers, serious.

"I'll learn it, I swear. I meant it when I said that I want this to work and I'll do everything I can for that. Please, trust me. Can you forgive me for the mistakes I'll do at start? I promise that I will get better."

Mer bit on her bottom lip and leaned closer. Her lips gently brushed over the corner of his lips in lovingly kiss. Flushed, she smiled.

"I want this to work too. Let's try it! Together."

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soapyghostie · 5 months ago

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Cipher from fogposting here, I have been thinking about the reader living in the slasher / dbd killer house idea!

And what I would be interested in is how chores would be distributed 😂 who does what? Do they let Bubba cook?

(not sure if this counts as request, but feel free to ignore it if you don't want to write anything about this!)

Horror House

Since there is a big group of them that live together, the slashers have a humongous house so it’s right that everyone has to pitch in (at Norman’s demand).

Jason handles the house’s exterior maintenance, ensuring the walls and gates are secure, and also takes care of the yard work. He’s actually really good at gardening if you mean by growing a never-ending supply of deadly traps and pitfalls.

Michael is in charge of plumbing, but his fixes often lead to eerie, dripping sounds, and he also handles the house’s lighting, but only installs dim, flickering bulbs that cast ominous shadows (he purposely does that to scare the shit out of Danny, Billy, and Stu). His cooking skills are limited to boiling water, but he insists on making everyone eat his infamous Michael’s Mac ‘n Cheese of Doom.

Freddy manages the house’s electrical system, but loves to play tricks with the lighting to try and scare the others (it doesn’t work). He also helps with running the house’s music and entertainment with his razor-sharp glove-uitar (Freddy named it that). It’s just him running his glove blades over the strings of an actual guitar and it doesn’t sound that great.

Bubba cooks meals for everyone alongside Hannibal and it’s some of the most fine homemade cooking you will ever taste. He also helps Norman with the house’s cleaning. He is actually very good at doing laundry. He makes sure each piece of clothing is neatly folded and put in the right person’s pile.

Nubbins assists Bubba in the kitchen, but mostly makes ruckus and gets in the way. He does actual gardening, but is not very good at it. The plants usually die within 3-4 days and maybe a week if he’s lucky.

ChopTop does a lot of carpentry and woodworking, but his creations end up looking sinister and unuseful. He ends up antagonizing Bubba With his creations by chasing him and waving them around in his face. He also helps Drayton with finances, but only embezzles funds to make more of those twisted projects of his.

Drayton oversees the house’s finances and handles the house’s decorating using human skulls and bones (Norman and Hannibal had to take them down because it was making some of the other residents sick to their stomachs and relieved Drayton from decorating duty). He tries to help out with gardening, but it always ends with him chasing Nubbins around with a broom, leaving the garden unattended for hours (maybe that’s why the plants die so fast).

Thomas takes care of the house’s leatherwork and upholstery, but uses human skin, and also handles the house’s security, but only installs traps and alarms that have led to endangering some of the residents. He’s actually a pretty good cook, but prefers to let Bubba and Hannibal do the cooking so he can keep his eye out for danger.

Bo manages any machine or car maintenance. Since the slashers have to use reusable stuff, Bo is there to make sure that everything is intact and working. He tends to be out in the huge garage-like barn in the back of the house for hours, with Amanda, always fixing something.

Vincent oversees the house’s art and decor with the help of Brahms. He’ll spend hours down in the basement (his art studio) creating pieces to hang up around the house. He also handles the music being played around the house with his radio. He finds Freddy’s attempt at making music annoying. He’ll help out with the laundry sometimes too. He treats laundry like he treats his artwork.

Lester doesn’t stick around the house; he’s out of the house early to attend his roadkill pile. However, whenever he is home, Lester will assist Norman with taxidermy and chores. He’s only tried helping cook dinner once and almost burnt the whole house down. Let’s just say he was never let back into the kitchen again.

Norman takes care of a lot of the house’s cleaning and keeps the house pretty tidy for an extremely worn down house. In his free time, he does a lot of taxidermy to put up for display around the house to give it more personality. He can cook, but no one likes house cleaning so that takes up a lot of his time.

Hannibal is the main chief of the house. He prepares exquisite, gourmet meals. He’ll prepare separate meals for anyone who is no in favor for his special ingredient, *cough* human *cough*. He also runs therapy sessions for anyone who needs it. He’s a great listener and gives great advice. He also helps with gardening every once and awhile if he’s not busy with other things. Nubbins is trying to find Hannibal’s secret to growing a successful garden because his plants last for years.

Amanda spends her time designing and building traps for pests and rodents that are crawling around in the house. She’ll help Bo out with his projects if he gets stuck on something because she gets tired of hearing him groan and complain. Listen, the girl needs her concentration okay?

Billy Loomis refuses to do almost anything that requires him to be responsible: Norman was lucky enough to even get him to clean his room. However, he does like to pull pranks on the other slashers and make mischief. He may or may not have gotten his throat slit open by Michael once for it though…

Stu works with the technology and gadgets of the house. However, he only uses them to play pranks on the other residents of the house and nothing really useful. Hannibal and Norman had to provoke his technology privileges quite a few times because the others were complaining.

Chucky only exists to insult and annoy the hell out of everyone. What is he gonna do? He’s literally a doll. Actually, he does help with organizing stuff. If he sees something misplaced or moved, he’ll put it back into its original spot. He also helps his wife Tiffany out with her fashion work.

Tiffany handles a lot of the house’s fashion and style. She designs and creates outfits for everyone so no one has to go clothes shopping. She is also another one who is a really good cook and helps out sometimes. Her specialty is baked goods and always makes the best desserts for after dinner.

Brahms helps with decorating. He’s very picky with how the house is decorated and wants the house to be decorated with only the finest things. Most of the stuff he hangs up is Vincent’s art pieces that range from canvas art to sculptures.

Billy Lenz looks after the ‘household’ cat (it’s actually his cat) Claude. He feeds,waters, grooms, and plays with the cat. He makes sure that no one has to think twice about taking care of Claude. He likes to keep Claude with him at all times because Michael tried to kill and eat him a few times.

Pyramid Head is the guard dog of the house. He makes sure the younger slashers aren’t getting too out of hand and staying out of trouble. The slashers are really trying not to draw too much attention to themselves.

Carrie helps out with chores and does most of the laundry. She uses her powers to make the clothes spontaneously combust and move things around to dust the spaces underneath objects.

Jennifer takes care of the house’s beauty and makeup. She critiques the other slashers on their work ethic and tightness around the house (It’s much appreciated by Norman). She’ll make sure that everything is put in its proper place and looks presentable. She does Bubba and Carrie’s makeup a lot and is your go to girl for when prom rolls around.

Danny surprisingly is a very efficient cleaner and will get random bursts of energy that has him deep cleaning the entire house. He will disinfect the entire house in an hour and a half, insisting that Norman takes a break for the day since that’s literally all he does everyday 24/7 3/65. He also cares for the firearms and weaponry.

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darkfluffydragon · 6 months ago

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Cookie Run AU Ideas #8: Timeless Kingdom

what if Pure Vanilla Cookie, instead of being amnesiac outside with Black Raisin, was instead trapped in the Vanilla Castle time loop? But because of the Light of Truth, he's aware of it? he's been stuck there for...hundreds of years, watching his people die over and over again nothing ever changes no matter what he does and then finally, Gingerbrave shows up. I mean, PV may be nice but there are only so many times he can hear the same monologue before he gets reaaaally sick of it gonna join GC on the hate train and he physically isn't able to do anything "out of script". Every time he tries, he sort of 'loses control of his body', since it's a memory time loop you can't just change a memory and since he's a part of it, it'll force him to go along with it. To play his role. Gingerbrave and his friends probably wouldn't even realise he's not a memory at first, that the Pure Vanilla is the real one.

And an extra I wrote for the AU >:3

Pure Vanilla Cookie awoke with a start, his eyes snapping open to the familiar sight of his bed’s golden canopy. His head throbbed, and his mind felt muddled, a fog of pain and confusion clouding his thoughts. He struggled to sit up, the effort sending sharp jolts of agony through his body. As he gathered his bearings, fragments of memories began to resurface—the battle against Dark Enchantress Cookie, the ruins of his castle, and the faces of his friends, Golden Cheese Cookie, Dark Cacao Cookie, Hollyberry Cookie, and White Lily Cookie.

They had arrived to aid him, late, their expressions grim and determined. By then, he had already spent hours running through the chaos, trying desperately to heal his people. But no matter how hard he tried, the cake monsters kept coming, relentless and unyielding. He remembered the wounds they all bore. The exhaustion that clung to their bones as they fought to protect their home, their kingdom. With his magic reserves depleted, there had been a point where he had started reaching into the depths of his being, drawing upon his very essence—his life powder and soul to fuel his spells.

He remembered the final confrontation against her, he had used Dark Moon Magic, a power he had sworn never to touch. ~~The magic most natural to him.~~ The last time he had seen it wielded, it had led to the academy's destruction. But there had been no other choice. He had cast the banishment spell, lifting himself into the air as Dark Enchantress Cookie tore their Souljams, their very souls, from them. The explosion had ripped through the kingdom, the pain blinding and all-consuming. And then, nothing.

Now, here he was, awake once more. Why? How? As these questions swirled in his mind, he felt a strange sensation, as if invisible strings were tugging at his limbs. Panic surged through him as he realised he was moving against his will, his body tracing the exact path of his memories. He tried to speak, to cry out, but no sound escaped his lips.

“No! Run! Dark Enchantress is coming! Evacuate the cookies!” he screamed, his voice hoarse with desperation. But the words seemed to dissipate into the air, unheard and unheeded. The cookies outside moved about their routines, oblivious to the impending doom. Children played in the streets, vendors hawking their wares, and guards patrolled, all blissfully unaware of the threat looming over them.

The nightmare would unfold before him with horrifying clarity. His friends—the heroes—were nowhere to be seen. Instead, dark silhouettes had taken their place, shadowy figures that seemed to mock his efforts. Was it because of the Souljams? Could this memory not replicate them because of the artefacts which housed their power?

The endless battle raged around him, the air thick with the stench of smoke and the cries of the wounded. Cake monsters swarmed the castle, their grotesque forms looming over the terrified cookies. Pure Vanilla’s attempts to heal his people felt like trying to stop a flood with a sieve. Every spell he cast seemed to evaporate into nothingness, swallowed by the overwhelming darkness.

The invisible strings tightened around him. It constricted his movements, squeezing his mind. His autonomy slipped further away with each passing moment. The fog in his mind grew denser, suffocating his thoughts.

He felt every wound, every drop of jam that spilled, every life that was lost. He could see the faces of his people contorted in terror and agony, and hear their screams echoing in his mind. His friends fought, their forms blurred by exhaustion and jam. Yet no matter how hard they fought, the cake monsters kept coming, an endless tide of destruction.

The sky would fill with magic circles, blue eyes of the runes staring down at the target as he used magic that he swore to never use, for the second time. He would see her malevolent grin, and feel the agony of the explosion that followed.

And then, he was back in his bed, the cycle beginning anew. The loops continued, over and over, each one more harrowing than the last. As time stretched into eternity, Pure Vanilla Cookie felt his thoughts growing quieter. Centuries seemed to pass, each loop eroding a bit more of his will. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, and soon, he feared, he would no longer be able to think. In the moments of silence, his mind would turn to White Lily Cookie, the one he had loved so deeply. She had become Dark Enchantress Cookie, the architect of his suffering and the destroyer of his kingdom. Yet, despite everything, he still loved her.

The pain of that love was like rose thorns digging into his heart, a constant, aching reminder of what once was. He had loved her so dearly, had kept her transformation a secret from their friends, hoping against hope that she could be redeemed. But now, as he watched his beloved kingdom and its innocent people crumble time and time again, the anguish was almost too much to bear.

To love White Lily Cookie was to love a rose. To love her was to let the rose crawl up him, letting its hurtful thorns dig into his fragile dough. His jam would paint the delicate petals red, and once gone, wounds and scars would be left to taunt him of his foolish desire.

She had been gifted a bouquet of hearts, yet the only one his moon had taken was his own. She dangled the prize in front of him like a carrot on a stick, and he ran the race despite being the only competitor. She blindfolded him of the fact, and let Pure Vanilla run himself ragged until he could give no more. Then, she left. Left with everything that was Pure Vanilla, left him empty and hurting. Trapped. Left in all her gentle and loving glory, as her beautiful soul was tainted and twisted into the monster that had taken her place.

He did not care for the traitorous thoughts wondering if he was feeling the wrong feelings and thinking the wrong thoughts. He could not care, for he loved her nonetheless. Loved her poisonous, uncompleted promises. Loved her for the nights of waiting by the academy garden, gazing up at the sky, at clouds that would never part to allow him a glimpse of her smile. Loved her for the incomplete dances she swore she would return for, leaving him alone and abandoned in an empty ballroom. He loved her unconditionally. And for this, White Lily Cookie had become his greatest torment.

Each encounter felt like a knife twisting deeper into his heart. The sight of Dark Enchantress Cookie, her once gentle eyes now filled with malice, was a reminder of everything he had lost. She had been his moon, his guiding light, and he had loved her with a purity that he had thought unbreakable. But the darkness that had taken her was relentless, and it had shattered her, and him, beyond repair.

The White Lily Cookie he loved was gone, replaced by the Dark Enchantress Cookie who revelled in his suffering. She was the creator of his endless torment, the reason his kingdom lay in ruins, and his people were lost

What a fool he was.

Pure Vanilla Cookie, awoke in a bed not his own. His limbs were not strung by strings that cut into his dough, and his thoughts were…loud. Clarity such as this was so incredibly rare.

He took in the room, noting how the other cookies, the ones who had…saved him, were still asleep. Quietly, he slipped out of the room, his steps soft and deliberate, as if any sound might shatter this fragile moment of peace. The hallway was dimly lit, shadows playing along the walls. He moved with purpose, though his heart was heavy with the familiar ache of his memories.

Reaching the garden, he paused for a moment at the entrance, breathing in the cool night air. The scent of flowers and earth was a reminder of simpler times. He walked towards the patch of lily flowers, their white petals glowing softly under the moonlight.

Sitting down among the lilies, he stared up at the moon, its pale light casting a gentle glow over the garden. The tranquillity of the night wrapped around him, and for a brief moment, he felt the weight of his sorrow lift.

His thoughts turned, as they always did, to White Lily Cookie. The moon reminded him of her—bright, beautiful, yet distant and untouchable. He remembered their nights in the academy garden, the way she would laugh and talk about the future with such hope. Those memories were bittersweet now, coloured by the centuries of pain.

The garden was silent except for the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Pure Vanilla Cookie closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. He could almost hear her voice, see her smile. But then the image would shift, and he would see her as she was now—cold, dark, and filled with a malice that seemed impossible for someone who had once been so kind. He hated that he loved White Lily, a love that had once been pure and untainted. But he loathed Dark Enchantress to the point it hurt.

As the night wore on, Pure Vanilla sat alone. Though he could pretend that he was not, that there was another by his side. Perhaps…even four, all five of them together, underneath the starlit sky with the scent of campfire smoke in the air. He did not know how long this clarity would last, how long before he would be pulled back into the muddy thoughts and fog. But for now, he rested in the peace of the garden, and the bittersweet memories of the one he loved.

Under the moonlight, surrounded by the lilies, he allowed himself to simply be. To remember, to grieve, and to love, even if it was only for a brief, stolen moment.

#fyp #cookie run kingdom #cookie run #crk #cr kingdom #pure vanilla cookie #vanillaverse #timeless kingdom #white lily cookie #he's like a NPC most of the time #spent too long being strung around like a robot #peepaw can't handle too much information at once #like a really really old computer trying to run Minecraft shaders #sad boi #the blue in his hair? Forgotten academy part 2 >:3 #the light of truth basically fused into his soul trying to keep him stable in the timeloops

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steveharrington · 2 years ago

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can you elaborate more on steve being abandoned by the narrative?

yes <3 so i think there are two very unfortunate circumstances surrounding steve's character that have led to the current state of his plotline: 1. after not killing him in s1 like they originally planned, the duffers have never really had a plan for steve and 2. they are extremely influenced by audiences. when they were conceptualizing steve to fit in among the ensemble cast, the duffers were picturing him as a douchey boyfriend who unceremoniously dies. lonnie was originally going to come back to the byers house to save jonathan and nancy. there was no need to picture where he'd be 4 seasons down the road, so they just didn't account for that. then joe keery charmed them so hard that they literally couldn't bear to kill him, so steve ends season one still somehow alive.

but we've already established the nancy/jonathan plotline, because jonathan was once the duffers' self-insert who must defeat the evil jock and win over the girl. they couldn't just backpedal on that right away, so they needed to give nancy and jonathan a plotline alone, away from steve. but steve only ever functioned as an extension of nancy until this point, so what do we do with steve now? in an accidental stroke of genius that the duffers have admitted was a last second decision, they pair him with the children and make him into a babysitter. it almost instantly boosts steve into being tied with hopper and el for most popular character from the show, potentially even beats them both out. in 2017 when s2 aired, you could not escape mom steve jokes. it was everywhere, steve was everywhere, joe was everywhere, it was arguably the second coming of #justice for barb, which, in netflix business-y terms, was the exact viral meme type situation that the show wanted and needed to sell merch and remain relevant and say "see we still got it!!!"

you know who has the 2nd most lines in the entirety of season three? directly behind hopper? ahead of winona ryder? steve. think for a second about how absolutely insane that is. the character who was written specifically to die in season one. joe keery's name wasn't even in the season one credits, because he wasn't considered a series regular. and now he has the 2nd most spoken lines in the big blockbuster season because he rocketed up in popularity so intensely. season three marketing features the mall so heavily, creates a literal physical shrine to 80s nostalgia, and when the very first promo is released an entire year before the season airs, who's the star of that teaser trailer? and who, pray tell, is featured in the main brand sponsorship ad that plays in movie theaters worldwide? thats right its america's little darling steve harrington.

but here is the issue. the duffers look at what made steve popular and they see: funny exasperated babysitter, heartthrob action hero. they're like oh okay so we should keep putting him directly in the center of the action, bang him up every season to give him his classic bloodied aesthetic, but. he still needs to be funny. we can almost kill him, but we can't actually kill him because he's profitable. we can let him get horrifically injured because it's badass, but we still gotta let him crack jokes. it creates this very weird tone to steve's role in the story starting in season 3 because he's both the action hero and the comedic relief and protected by plot armor, so we get scenes where he's being literally tortured until he's begging for his life and gasping for breath but the tone is still.......fun? comedic? light and goofy? i think the duffers also forgot he's supposed to be a teenager.

now this is partially me making educated guesses but i feel pretty confident about this: once again, like gollum, joe keery uses his big shiny eyes and manages to evade death again in season four by being so likable and charming and marketable that netflix execs or shawn levy or maybe even the duffers themselves were like oh fuck we just can't do it. they were obviously tossing around the idea of taking mom steve all the way by letting him die sacrificially for dustin, so in season four they make eddie, transfer steve's relationship with dustin directly onto him, ctrl f steve's name in the death scene and just type in eddie instead, and once again steve is alive but he's directionless.

so what does he have now, in season four? i think the duffers have a whiteboard somewhere with steve's name and around it are little circles that say "funny" "cool" "DO NOT KILL" and steve is now stuck in this endless cycle of getting beaten up, popping back up somehow unharmed like a looney tune, saying something cute and oblivious, rinse and repeat. because that's what worked, that's what made him popular all the way back in season two. that's what the duffers are obviously keeping in mind when they're writing steve: popularity. not realism, not depth, not growth, just literally how to continue making him popular. meanwhile, other characters get to be part of the actual story. other characters get to serve a purpose other than selling merch. when el is bitten by a monster, she gets to actually feel pain and need help because that's realistically what any human would need. when hopper is tortured, he gets to suffer and ponder his existence and reflect on the relationships in his life. steve never gets any of that, because the writers just don't see steve as the 19 year old boy on his 4th straight year of traumatic events that he actually is.

they literally just see him as a money maker, there for cool viral moments and witty lines and maybe the occasional emotion experienced but only if it's about his romantic prospects. and the narrative that other characters get to have and be apart of just kinda runs parallel to steve. he's there, technically, but he's not really in the story. and it's like actually crazy because you'd think after all the funko pops he sold, he'd have earned an actual storyline!!!

#sorry this is So long im just tb the history of steve......#know your stevestory #anon #answered

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unholyhelbig · 7 months ago

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I for one would not mind more werewolf kate

Title: Once Bitten, Twice the Idiot [6/?]

Summary: After reader is attacked by a strange animal in the woods, her world is flipped upside down. Now she must navigate a new life filled with strangers and myths.

Trigger warnings: Hunting, the actual werewolf transformation, restraints (hands, legs, neck), bloody & Gore, pet names, let me know if I've forgotten anything pls.

[A/n: I was really fucking sad when I wrote this, and for that, I apoloigize. This isn't a gentle chapter, so please read with caution. And as always, I did not proof read].

Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts

A rot of leaves coated the forest floor, filling your lungs with an unsettling pungent scent. The world had blurred edges, somehow caving in on itself with each passing second. The trees whizzed past you, an ache that once covered your entire being had ebbed away the faster you ran.

There was such an intoxicating scent that led you blindly. It was floral and sweet and screamed above all the deteriorating vegetation. You’d run so far, so fast and without hesitation. What was that? You needed to sink your teeth into it, to taste it. You would simply die if you didn’t.

It was a girl. Yes. A girl.

She was running too, but not nearly with enough speed as you. She stumbled over fallen logs and branches dug into her skin. They created gashes of dripping red that made you salivate. She was cornered against a fence, fingers curling around the chain link.

You regarded her, taking a moment to register the hot pain in your chest. How far had you followed her? It was ways from home, you knew that much, but none of that seemed to matter. No- because she was right in front of you, and she was captivating.

In your excitement, you took a careful step forward and a small noise escaped her throat. Her eyes were frantic as she took in your hulking and animalistic stature. She was afraid, and part of you was too. Something had led you to her, to this sadistic chase that had cornered you both.

Her blood tasted sweet just like her scent. Your teeth crushed bone, tore through tendons with such a simple ease.

She was yours.

Sweat had soaked through your sheets and clung to your bare legs, even as you shot up and pulled in a helping of air. Your skin buzzed as if it were set ablaze with fever. The waning moon cast a sickly pale light against the room. Your heart pounded ruthlessly against your chest.

That dream had left you antsy, and horrified. You never remembered your dreams but this one was vivid, almost like it was a memory. The coppery taste made your mouth dry. You were restless, wide awake despite the red numbers on the clock indicating that it was just past 3:00am.

You couldn’t hear anything through the walls that had been doubled down in strength despite your enhanced senses. The house was as good as silent, though you figured it statistically impossible for everyone to be asleep.

The hallway was dark compared to your room, filled with moonlight. You padded a few steps before you stopped in front of Kate’s door. It pained you to be here, begging for some type of comfort. The dream had left you rattled. Afraid.

It was getting closer to the full moon and your thoughts had been plagued with the pain that you’d read about so diligently. Scanning the inked words on a yellowing page was nothing compared to the experience of it all.

Swallowing your pride, you knocked twice, knowing that she could hear you. It took Kate a few moments to untangle herself from her blankets. You could pick up on her stumbling her way across her room until she swung the door open.

The girl tried to be suave, giving you a tired smile as she leaned against her doorframe. Her hair was sleep-worn and springing in various directions. She wore a pair of boxers with little purple arrows against the fabric and a tank top that was riding up enough to expose the smooth expanse of her stomach.

“Hi,” You swallowed the dryness in your throat, pulling your eyes from her muscular frame. Her cheeks were blooming with a fond pinkness. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You didn’t want to admit that you were freezing, that the sweat you’d produced during the odd dream had dried taught against your skin. A shiver worked its way through you, and you crossed your arms over your midsection, trying to preserve what warmth you had left.

Kate lilted her head and stepped to the side without a second thought. She beaconed you into her room. The curtains were drawn, blocking out the light of the moon. Her comforter was drawn back, pillows scattered against her bed. She must have been engulfed in a deep and comfortable sleep, one that you had broken.

It helped, not being able to see the looming structure of the moon. It made you squirm, but the scent that engulfed you, the pure warmth of Kate’s mere presence, calmed your nerves. When she shut the door softly you knew that you were safe with her.

The wolf, that’s what Wanda had called it, knew what it wanted. She said that there was a blind trust that would flow through you with the girl that you’d crawled to and that feeling was only multiplying as the full moon got closer and closer.

“Don’t… say a word.” You turned to her, crossing your arms over your chest.

Despite your warning, she smiled wolfishly at you, lifting both of her hands with an innocent shrug. She looked adorably miffed by exhaustion, and that thought annoyed you more than anything. God, you really should hate her. But she looked so warm, so accepting and every inch of your body was howling for her skin against yours.

Kate settled back into bed and peeled back the duvet with an expectant look on her face. Why were you fighting her so hard? Clearly, you were tired. You’d knocked on her door and you hadn’t done that without reason. If you wanted conversation, you would have found Peter and interrupted his late night gaming.

Or maybe even Natasha who couldn’t sleep, just like you. But you did value your life, just a little bit. So Kate it was, a magnet that drew you in. The more exhausted you got, the harder it was to pull away. And really- she had been trying. Right?

Almost as if on instinct, you took her up on her offer and slid into the encompassing warmth of the duvet. There was the scent of lavender, of freshly washed sheets and the metallic breath that she drew in, almost as if she was just as shocked as you were at the action.

Kate cautiously lowered the blanket and the two of you stared at the little glowing stars on her ceiling. You hadn’t seen them since the fifth grade. America didn’t’ have the deep green celestial patterns, but instead a garden of pulsing orange and purple, and yellow flowers.

You could feel the heat of Kate’s shoulder close to yours. You were so cold, even under the blankets and she seemed like the only source of comfort from the dream that lingered so heavily on your mind.

“Do you think…”

The words died in your throat. She turned her head to face you, and after a few moments of building up the courage you turned your cheek against the pillow too, staring into a cloudy grey stare that was marred with sleep, pockmarked with questions.

“Will I ever be able to see them again?” your voice was pinched with emotion. It was fear, the both of you recognized it. Her eyes glossed over, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth to stop it from trembling. You felt emotion well up in your own chest. “I know things will never be normal again, but do you think there’s a chance?”

Kate swallowed the thickness in her throat, voice barely a whisper. “I do.”

You nodded and dislodged the tears that were fighting for dominance. Kate didn’t’ hesitate to reach up and wipe them away with her gentle touch. Her thumb was calloused, but soft. A whimper escaped you as you leaned into her touch. Kate shivered at the contact herself.

“I get why I’m here and I’m grateful for it. The last thing I want to do…” you trained off, listening to the shuttered sound of her breathing. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, ever.”

“You won’t, y/n.”

The immediacy of her statement brought you comfort. It wasn’t necessarily a reflex, but a belief that she felt deep in her core. You clenched your eyes shut and scooted closer until you felt the full effect of Kate’s presence.

The movements were gentle as you slotted yourself against her, hand laying on her stomach and moving over the softness of her shirt. She held her breath for a moment, instinctively wrapping her arm around you. You pressed your nose against the naïve of her neck, slick with tears of her own.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She quivered with guilt.

You were starting to understand, against your better judgement, why this had happened. Kate found you for a reason, and that tension, that discomfort, that was your wolf fighting for a way to get to her. And you had.

The tears that wet her shirt, the ones that coated your cheeks, they were those of relief. You curled into Kate, taking in her scent, the two of you gripping onto each other like a vice, eventually drifting towards a fitful sleep, shadowed by stars.

There was no such thing as privacy in a house with eleven people. Not when so many of them had a strict regimen of exercise, and healthy eating. There was a stark difference from life at the dorm where people rarely arose before twelve in the afternoon unless they had class, and even that was a gamble.

Instead, you stirred to the sound of a blender and the hushed voices of an indiscernible conversation. That was followed by a very discernible sound of a cell phone camera. Even without advanced hearing, you clocked it in moments.

A small groan escaped you. It was much too early to wake up. You had never been more comfortable in your life, your nose pressed flush against the crook of Kate’s neck. She shifted in her sleep, pulling you closer with an adorably tiny breath.

“Go away,” she grumbled, the words vibrating against your palm.

You tightened your grip on the fabric of her shirt. God, it was so bright. They’d pulled the curtains back and the sun was in full force. Despite the comfort, there was no way you’d drift back into sleep. That fact alone was solidified when you bolted up at the clearing of someone’s throat.

An odd hurriedness shot through your spine, forehead knocking against Kate’s chin and leaving a throbbing spot in its wake. The girl that was under you let out another small noise at the back of her throat, rubbing her jaw while depriving the world of her stormy stare.

Natasha Romanoff leaned against the doorframe of Kate’s bedroom. Wanda had been very clear about the rank in the house, and it was of no shock to you that Natasha was pretty high up there. It was why her simple sound of alert had made your entire body tingle. You knew- your wolf knew- that she was in charge, and that she was there for you.

“I checked your room first,” She stated matter-of-factly. “Obviously, you weren’t there.”

Your cheeks reddened at the predicament you’d found yourself in, and the fact that you were sure you’d heard the click of a cell phone camera. It was almost like your parents walking in on a sleepover that got a little too cozy.

Kate sat up groggily, testing her jaw a few times, “Good morning, Nat. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“You can go back to sleep. I’m here for y/n. We’re going on a run.”

The wary look you got from the girl in bed next to you wasn’t exactly easing your nerves. She must have gone through this before, and she would truly object if she thought it was something you couldn’t handle. Instead, her hand found yours under the safety of the duvet and gave your fingers an encouraging squeeze.

You knew better than to object to Natasha, so you followed her orders and changed into the closest thing to workout clothes that you’d packed; a pair of royal blue gym shorts and a t-shirt that was from your last trip to the west coast. Sun, fun, and Sand.

She waited by the edge of the front yard, lifting a perfectly sculpted brow at the shirt, but didn’t say anything in acknowledgment. “We’ll do six miles up, and six miles back.”

“Up?” You squeaked out, finally earning a genuine grin from her. She started to jog ahead of you, and it took you a few moments to register that you were meant to follow her. “Back?”

The two of you kept a steady pace under the heavy hand of the sun. You felt sweat slick the back of your neck, legs screaming out in protest. You weren’t much of a runner, and had admittedly eaten one too many boxes of instant mac and cheese. But your body seemed to mold to the pace with no problem. Your muscles strained for just a moment before relaxing into he burn.

“I’m sure you’ve heard from everyone in the house how they handle a full moon.”

“No, actually,” You panted out, “everyone seems to be keeping their distance.”

“We haven’t had anyone new join our pack for years. Certainly, never this violently. Can you blame them?”

No, you really couldn’t’. They had all been so welcoming and understanding. Even Kate to a certain degree. None of that eased the fear and you figured it wouldn’t’ until you actually lived it, until every single bone in your body rebroke and reshaped until you were this insatiable creature that would seek nothing but blood and carnage. It was inside of you now, you felt it just below the surface, and that terrified you.

Your chest was beginning to burn viciously, but Natasha was showing no intention of slowing down. There was an odd need within you to please her, to make sure that you kept up with her pace despite how hard it was getting as the slight incline became a little less slight.

The woods had thickened around you both and you let out a relieved breath when she trotted to a stop on the dirt trail. The collar of your shirt was damp, and you pulled your arms behind your head to fill your lungs with more sticky air. Natasha smiled fondly at you.

“Kate tapped out about three miles back.”

“This some sort of test?” You asked, working your hand through your hair.

��A test, a tactic. Whatever you want to call it. Some of us believe that if you wear yourself out before a transition, it’ll be less excruciating on the day.”

“I read about that the other day, though, they didn’t use the word excruciating.”

“That’s what it is. Don’t let anyone sugar coat it for you, kid. It’s going to hurt and you’re going to feel every second of it.”

You plopped down on a fallen log, pressing your fingertips to your temples. You clenched your eyes shut and felt your heartbeat pulse through your entire body. Never in a million years would you figure you’d be here. Natasha’s scent strengthened when she gave your shoulder a squeeze, prompting your eyes to open.

She was rimmed in the early morning sun, ringlets of russet hair fell over her shoulders. “Come on, I didn’t make you run all the way out here for the hell of it. I want to show you something.”

Before you could object, she started down the path again, this time in a brisk walk. You let out a groan and hauled yourself off the log. When you got to where she had been, you saw nothing but a thick wall of greenery and wood. Natasha was nowhere in sight.

You closed your eyes and tried to pick up the scent of her, the detergent and the lavender and the sandalwood. Upon your second inhale, you picked up in a general direction and frowned. This was all too surreal, you were physically sniffing out a near-stranger that had led you deep into the woods.

Still, you felt a blind trust as you went off the path and continued to track her down. She was about thirty feet into the woods, standing over a pile of leaves, arms crossed over her chest. You felt yourself warm at the proud half-smile she gave you.

When you reached her, Natasha knelt and pushed back the mix of muck and leaves. It revealed two metal doors that reminded you of a summer you spent with your aunt in Alabama. It was unbelievably hot and muggy, and they had a storm shelter that was carved from the earth, the walls damp and stocked with different canned food, though you had never seen a can opener. You didn’t think to bring it up as the two of you huddled close and listened to the howling wind and rain.

“This was a long-game murder plot all along, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not into the long-game.”

Her words weren’t exactly encouraging. The hinges of the doors screamed loudly from disuse and a musty scent washed cruelly over the both of you. Your nose scrunched and Natasha grimaced but didn’t say a word. An automatic light buzzed on, allowing you to see the opened space below.

It was exactly like the storm cellar, and it’s cool interior was a brief solace from the heat of the day. There was a divide a few steps into the space, a steel wall with a door in the center, sloppily welded but with enough strength to stop a beast the size of a mid-sized Sudan.

This door creaked too, and Natasha let it linger open for a moment, staring softly at you, and then back at the room. There was safety in her stance. You knew that she had the full ability to slam it shut and lock you in, but had a deep realization that she wouldn’t.

Another light was on the ceiling, casting a circle of deep yellow. There was a deep smell of dust and dirt, but there was something hard and metallic under that. Your eyes darted to the chains that were attached to the wall, large iron things that were screwed into extra support.

More than that, were the stretching claw marks that pockmarked the walls. They went deep, past the dirt and into the cement. The pads of your fingers ran over the one closest to you. Each mark stretched further than your touch. Chills shot up to your elbow, a breath lodging itself into your throat.

Your other hand clenched your stomach, digging into your ribs. Something significant had happened here. Several significant things. Tears started to form against your eyes and the worst part was, you had no idea why.

“Those are Steves,” she said quietly, joining you within the confines of the cell, lifting her chin to another set of marks. “And Tonys.”

There were dozens of markings, all different shapes and sizes. Some were digging into the clay walls, and the floors. There were distinct scent markings on each one and you found yourself able to identify ones that belonged to Yelena, and Peter, and even Bruce. They’d all changed here at least once.

Natasha crossed the room and shifted the door until it was only slightly ajar. You straightened up, heart pulling against your throat. The door was minced with deep slashes. You shoved your hands into your pockets to keep them from trembling. They almost ached.

“You feel something, don’t you?”

Words didn’t form, couldn’t. You couldn’t pinpoint the emotion that tore through you. It was akin to longing, but it was more than that. It was like the creature that was so restless within you wanted nothing more than to claw its way out and find the person who had made those marks. They were desperate and sad, and horrifying.

You closed the distance between them and pressed your touch against the deep gashes and fought back a pained cry. You dug your teeth into the back of your free hand to quell it, but a pathetic sound still escaped you.

“Kate knew that something was wrong a few months before she escaped. She was experienced, knew as much as one could know about their wolf. But there was an unrest”

“She doesn’t like places like this.”

Your words were small. You remembered what she had told you, about how she had turned the first time alone and, in a room very similar to this one. You got the stark impression that she would never want to do something like that again. So, it begs the question of why these marks were so fresh. So fearful.

“No, she doesn’t. They scare her, make her panic before the moon has any effect. But she was conscious enough to know that if she wasn’t here, then she would end up hurting someone. It just proved not to be strong enough of a failsafe.”

Kate had felt an unrest weeks, maybe months, before she had escaped and sunk her teeth into your flesh. A wash of guilt pulled at you. You’d been giving her such a hard time, pestering her and fighting her every step of the way. She’d been in immense pain.

When the pads of your fingers touched the scratches, you felt only a fraction of the longing she must have. Grimacing, you turned away, crossing your arms over your stomach to shield you from the reality of your harshness.

You needed Kate.

“Is this where I’ll be tonight?” You asked, so softly Natasha almost didn’t’ hear it.

She nodded in response, the silence mulling between you both. A small breath escaped you, pained and held within your lungs for an abnormal amount of time. You crossed the room, picked up one of the leaden chains and weighed it against your own strength.

“I can be here with you, if you’d like.” Natasha said, filling the quiet “Or if you’d rather Steve… Wanda.”

You turned to face her, grip tightening on the chain. “Kate?”

“Kate.”

Her eyes were no longer shrouded in their silver, sullen beauty. As the sun began its descent, there was a strange tangerine glow that overtook them. It started at the center of her pupil, small whisps of neon color, and then started to ebb into the confines of her iris.

You focused on them. If you thought too much about the days leading up to this transformation, then you would work yourself into a panic. You were taking things one at a time today, and that included jogging back to the compound and shyly admitting to Kate that she was the only one you wished to have in your vicinity tonight.

Though, you hadn’t thought much about the logistics. The two of you trapped in a single cell. Yelena had walked all the way out here, keeping a silent eye on the tension that lingered against both of your frames. It wore your stance down, mind racing with the ‘what if’s’.

“Once I close this door, neither of you will be released until daybreak.” Her thick accent carried a sharp edge to it that made this finite. “There is an emergency radio, Kate knows where it is.”

They’d thought of everything, really. Yelena had handed over a sheathe of needles and a small vile that you knew had to be tranquilizer. It smelled acidic and nitrate in nature. Even your rational, human side, cringed away from it.

With a final nod that conveyed good luck, and a strong, ‘I’m rooting for you,’ Yelena exited the cell and slammed the metal door behind her. From there, she retreated, and another lock was put into place after she’d slithered a coil of chain around the outside doors. Your heart picked-up it’s pace, never one for confined spaces.

Kate seemed to hear the uptake and closed the distance between the both of you. One hand found your waist and you allowed her to give it a reassuring squeeze. The other cupped your cheek, guiding your stare. “Hey, listen to me. I know this is scary, but I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

You believed her partially because you had no other choice. Her eyes were mostly orange now, glowing enough to cast a strange shadow against her face. You wondered dumbly if yours would do the same. Something was boiling inside of you, making your entire body sweat. It felt like you were in a sauna, breathing in the hot steam after water was poured listlessly over black coals.

“I’ll talk you through everything, until neither of us can talk. Then we won’t have to.”

“Okay, alright. That sounds good.”

She nodded at you and began to unzip her sweatshirt until the teeth of the zipper released their hold. She was wearing a black sports bra and matching bike shorts, stretchy material that hadn’t set her back too much financially. They would be torn to shreds by the end of the night, regardless.

Kate’s stomach was toned. It was tanned and showed all the stamina of a beast. You tried not to let your eyes linger for too long, tried to ignore the small trail of hair that dipped below her waistband. Despite herself, Kate smiled at you cockily, but moved her hands to your own jacket.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed the dry metal taste in your mouth. “I don’t think my fingers will cooperate right now.”

She let out a small noise in response and pulled your jacket from your shoulders, leaving you in much of the same. She’d promised earlier that the two of you would go out and get clothes that you were more comfortable in, but this suited you just fine. Her pupils dilated, rushing them in more sherbet color. A stuttered breath escaping her and fanning against your bare collarbone.

“What? Oh my god, is it starting?”

You didn’t feel any different, still extremely hot to the touch and a little riled up after getting a look at Kate’s mostly-bare form. Color petaled her cheeks. She was actually blushing. Even in the dim lighting of the cell, that much was clear.

“No, no. You’re just…” She shook her head, trying to clear it “really beautiful, is all.”

“Oh,”

More blush, her eyes slipping down to the floor. “Yeah. I should probably get you secured, though. It’ll be more comfortable to sit.”

You understood exactly what she meant. Your heart was thrumming through your entire body at the compliment, though you both welcomed the distraction of a task. This task was securing locks around your wrists, and your ankles. Large iron things that could stop a lion. They were bolted into cement, digging into the foundation.

You kept your back against the damp wall, allowing Kate to fiddle with the mass of restraints. She fastened the first cuff on your wrist and looked at you expectantly. “Is this too tight? We want it to be a little loose. You’ll fill out when the transformation is done.”

“It’s alright,”

Kate diligently fastened the other three; one more around your opposite wrist, and two around your ankles. The only thing left was a chain that was intended to click smugly around your throat. She stared at it warily, eyes meeting yours.

“This one isn’t comfortable, and after tonight, you won’t need it.” She stated, using her hand to brush a stray hair from your eyes. Something was coiling in your stomach now, an unrest. A parasite that seemed to want to bubble out of your chest. “Your body will be in fight or flight mode. All of your senses will be heightened more than they are now and you’ll want to get out of these.”

“And if I do?”

“If you do, you’ll have to go through me.”

She fastened the chain around your neck, listening for the heady click. Just like the others, she adjusted and pulled on it until she was satisfied with your capture. A slight noise pushed past your lips. It felt like you had a stomachache, a cramping that would send you straight to a heating pad on any other day.

“I know, baby.” She soothed, the pet name slipping past her. She frowned, then lightened her stare. “I know it hurts. I’m right here. I’m with you.”

Her words soothed you. She backed up and sat cross-legged in front of you. There was an admiration of her control. Sweat prickled against her upper lip and at her hairline. It was an indication that you weren’t alone in this. Though, Kate Bishop had more practice, pain was eternal.

“You said I’d have to go through you,” your words were trembling. It took a few moments to force them into existence, but Kate was patient. Your legs and arms were starting to ache, just a dull thrum that reminded you of destroying your muscles to wick them back together again. “What… did you mean?”

Kate smiled and you swore her teeth were pointed at the end. Your vison was starting to blur, and you blinked away tears that dripped from your chin. “We’re not going to fight, or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. I think our wolves- well, I think they’ll get along just fine.”

“Kate Bishop, are you insinuating something?”

“Me? No. Never.”

She let out a grunt, her hand going to her ribcage. There was a dull pop that jolted through her body and you clenched your eyes shut for a moment. Not wanting to see her in pain. Not wanting to see what was next for you.

You didn’t have to wait long. The pressure started to build in your forearm first, a tight pain that shot from your fingers all the way to your elbow. Almost as if your bone was straining against itself, and it was. The crack and splinter of it threw you off your balance with a dizzying amount of discomfort.

A scream tore through your throat, toes digging into the soft, damp floor. Kate let out another grunt of discomfort, dropping her elbow to the ground. Her chest was heaving, pulling air in greedily before releasing as if she never wanted it in the first place. Her efforts were punctuated by a deep and primal growl that took you back to the night in the forest.

All of your limbs were tightening now, two pops from your ribs and an extra one in your ankle. You were doubled over in a blind torment. Your cheek was pressed to the ground, the scent of dirt filling your senses. There was blood here too, so thick and potent that it was if it gurgled against your own tongue.

“I’m sorry,” you thought you heard her through your own strangled cries of pain. Her voice deep and words miffed by the growing teeth pressing against her gums. “I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck!” You cried out, the last bit of human semblance you could form. Your own words were minced with agonizing cries and a rumble from the center of your chest that sounded anything but human. It was feral. It was hungry.

Your vison pulsed around the edges, darkness creeping in. You shakily lifted your hand, watched as your flesh became shrouded with gore. It was shredded, dark gray fur sprouting over your knuckles as your skin fell away entirely. Once human nails had been replaced by claws, dripping with your own blood and muscle tissue.

They shined as if you had been baptized once more. Teeth- your own teeth, filled your mouth as they were pushed out to welcome new ones. You’d spit them to the ground, relished in the sweet taste of the blood that filled your mouth, only for you to spit again.

There was a howl, one distant that made your entire body stiffen under its command. You weren’t wailing anymore, and neither was Kate. The two of you had silenced, breathed hard and tried to find your bearings. Your collarbone widened, seemed to stretch like the rest of you. The restraints were tightening as you grew. As you changed.

Another howl cut through the air, this time you had the urge to answer with one of your own. At least, that was the last humane thought you had, before everything went black.

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x y/n #Kate Bishop x you #kate bishop x female reader #wanda Maximoff #Natasha Romanoff #Wandanat #Steve Rodgers #Tony Stark #thor odinson #bruce banner #peter parker #yelena belova #Werewolf au

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newobsessionweekly · 2 years ago

Text

Dine, wine and rewind

Main masterlist | 9-1-1 masterlist

Evan “Buck” Buckley x fem!reader

Fandom: 911

Summary: Buck had a tough shift because he puts his heart and soul into every call, so you decided to surprise him, hopefully it’ll make him feel better.

A bit of angst, fluff

Warnings: Mentions of fire, injuries.

Requested: No

Words: 1.2k

Requests are open for Buck/Eddie!

Gif not mine, credits to the owner!

As Buck wearily unlocked the door to his apartment after a grueling shift, he was met with a warm, inviting glow. Stepping inside, he found his apartment transformed into a cozy haven. The lights were dimmed, and the flickering candles scattered around cast a romantic ambiance. The delicious aroma of home-cooked food wafted through the air.

Buck blinked in surprise, taking in the scene before him. Then he spotted you, standing by the table, wearing a soft smile and dressed in your comfiest clothes.

"Y/n, what's all this?" your boyfriend asked, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he looked at you in awe.

You received an unexpected call from your best friend. Eddie was concerned about Buck, as he jumped recklessly into the flames — again — to save a man trapped under his own fireplace as it was put down piece by piece by the fire that covered the entire house. The man was crushed, his organs damaged and his head was bleeding relentlessly. There was no escape for him, no doctor could’ve saved him. But Buck believed in him, staying by his side, moving every damn brick until his heart stopped beating.

Buck was devastated, falling on his knees, crying at the dead bed of a man he’d never seen before that. His dedication, his determination were something that made Buck who he is, but he always puts his heart and soul into the job, at the end hurting himself.

You couldn’t blame him, he tried to save the man. But there was nothing that could be saved from the beginning. Buck cares so much about the people around him and so little about himself. And that’s one of the many things that led you fall over the heels in love with him.

"I wanted to surprise you," you said softly, motioning towards the table. "I know you've had a tough day, so I thought I'd make you dinner. "

Buck's heart swelled with gratitude as he took in the effort you had put into creating such a thoughtful surprise. He pulled out a chair and sat down, eager to indulge in the meal you had prepared.

Buck felt horrible, he cried and cried, blaming himself for the man’s death. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move. So he crashed all day on Eddie’s couch, afraid to meet your eyes. Afraid you’d be disappointed in him.

As you poured him a glass of wine, Buck couldn't help but notice how much care you had put into every detail. The food was delicious, and he savored each bite, feeling the tension from the day melting away with every mouthful.

With the ambiance of the candlelit dinner and the comfort of your presence, Buck found himself opening up to you in a way he hadn't before. “I’ve failed that man the other day. I promised him he would go back to his family.” he shook his head, disappointed with his actions. “He’s got a kid, you know. About May’s age. He-he had.” you feel bad for the kid, they’re gonna have a tough period. But it is what it is. This is life.

“Buck, you did all you could to save that man. You offered him comfort when he was in pain. You stood by his side. He didn’t die alone.” you reached for his hand, gently squeezing it while placing a soft kiss on top of it. “No doctor could’ve saved him. Yes, he didn’t deserve to die like that. But you shouldn’t let it mess up with your brain. It’s not your first loss and it’s not gonna be your last,” he nodded. “I’m no therapist, I don’t know what to say to make you feel better. But I’m here for you.”

Buck was crying now, exhausted, in pain. But somehow you made him feel seen and heard. You embraced him tight, allowing him to release all the emotions. You silently held Buck in your arms, caressing his hair, waiting for him to get better.

As the evening unfolded, the mood shifted from exhaustion to warmth, and Buck found himself laughing and smiling genuinely. The weight of the day had lifted, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment that he hadn't felt in a long time.

After dinner, you cleared the table, and Buck helped you with the dishes, enjoying the simple domesticity of the moment. When everything was cleaned up, you both sat down on the couch, still basking in the glow of the candles. Glass of wine glued to your hands, you embraced the warmth of the moment. Just you and Buck.

"I can't thank you enough for tonight," Buck said softly, his eyes locked with yours. "It meant the world to me."

"I'm glad I could make you feel better," you replied, reaching out to touch his hand.

Buck's heart skipped a beat at your touch, and the only thought that popped in his mind was him in that man’s place. How you’ve felt is he didn’t come back home to you. A big, heavy rock that couldn’t be digested. He didn’t want to see you in that scenario, crying in pain, losing you forever.

“What you thinking about?” you asked softly as your hand ran over his features, caressing his nose, his cheeks, his lips.

“I thought maybe if I was in his place, you know. Trapped under there, circled by flames. Hopeless. I would want some reckless idiot jump in for me, giving all to save my ass. I went alone down there today, without even thinking about if maybe something goes wrong and i’m stuck in that fire with no way out. How you would’ve feel. It’s horrible.” concern painted on his face, eyes bloody red from crying, Buck hugged you tight like he was afraid the moment he lets you go, you’d disappear.

“You don’t have to think about that. Yes, you’re an idiot for not following Bobby’s command. But you always come back home safety. That’s what Buck always does.”

“I’ll try from now on to listen to Bobby more. I don’t want you to be a widow before even proposing.” Buck promised you.

He leaned in, his hand cupping your cheek, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

The kiss was soft, tender, and filled with unspoken emotions. Buck poured all his gratitude and affection into it, expressing how much you meant to him. And to his delight, you responded in kind, reciprocating the sentiment.

“So you consider proposing, huh?” you teased him.

“One step at the time, babe, I just told you I’d consider following Bobby’s commands, not that I’m ready for such a big commitment!” Buck laughed as he leaned on you, his face buried in your chest. He’d found himself a safe space now.

The evening ended with you curled up together on the couch, the candles slowly flickering out, and Buck couldn't help but feel grateful for the unexpected turn of events. You had brought out a softer side of him, and he realized that he had found something special in you.

As you both drifted off to sleep, Buck felt a sense of warmth and happiness enveloping him, knowing that he had someone who cared for him deeply.

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leclsrc · 2 years ago

Note

we need need neeed a charles variant of the media naranja fic :( just a multiple lives au even just a drabble or a headcanon auds audrey big a please only u do this shit justice

bec this has been rotting and i needed to practice writing :)

divine sense – cl16

Charles is always led back to you. title from this

“Your mole is nice,” he says, cutting himself off and thinking a bit more on his words. “It sits just there, on the corner of your eye.”

“Really? God.” You poke at it, rub over it even if it sits relatively flat and unassuming and a bit tiny. “I’ve always hated it. People mistake it for leftover eyeliner or mascara all the time, and it’s—whatever.”

“It’s pretty.” His gaze could light you on fire and water it down all at once. “It’s one of the first things I noticed about you. Granted, I thought it was a, uh, how you say? Mascara, yes, that flicked off your eye a bit, but now it’s just there. I like it.”

A slow smile creeps its way onto your lips and you bite it back, to no avail. “Thank you.”

“It’s the reason why you look so familiar to me.” My mole? You ask, your head turning to the side a bit. He nods. “I don’t know why, either. I mean, clearly we didn’t know each other then. But something about you—you’ve always felt familiar, I think.”

“I have?”

The trees are greener in the spring, but they’re thin still, not yet too thick with leaves that will fade into orange and die and fall. It’s perfect, Charles thinks, because then the sun filters perfectly through the green of them and shines through the blinds and onto your face, smiling tenderly and warm and waiting. Your eyelashes cast a shadow across the rest of your face and he could stare forever.

“You have.”

—

“Did you get mascara on your eye?”

“What? Oh. Fuck, no. This—it’s a mole.” You turn quickly to the mirror. “I know, it looks a bit like it, yeah.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s all good. So, Charles, right?” You reread the application sheet and stretch a hand forward to shake his. “My new roommate… taking up Architecture.”

“Yep.” He smiles proudly, the emblem of your university front and centre on his sweatshirt. “I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but have I met you before? You just look a little familiar. Mole and all.”

“Oh.” Instinctively, you reach up to touch the area on which it sits. “I don’t think so, sorry. Um, but in my Lit class, we did have a discussion about how… like… moles are places where you were kissed in your past life.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” You smile up at him. The fall breeze filters through the open living room window, blowing tendrils of hair over your face that you’re quick to brush away. “Granted, I don’t know who would want to kiss an area like this.”

“You don’t?”

And maybe you’re a bit loopy from the drive, or hungry from waking up early, or maybe not at all. Maybe Charles the college roommate is messing with you, or maybe pulling a prank, or maybe not at all. The sunset today is beginning to tint the room and his pretty face a muted orange and you could stare forever.

“I don’t.”

—

Your first time in Italy is marked by a series of ugly firsts: first catcall, mistranslation, scam, blistered heel. But you make it, despite it all, to your foster family’s farm estate, all old vine-caked buildings and stables and lemon trees. You spot somebody poking their head out of the upstairs window but the mop of hair disappears just as quickly.

The door is answered by Pascale—the one you’d been corresponding with prior to today. With her is her husband, Hervé, and two sons, one of whom is somewhere in the house getting your room tidy, she says apologetically. You’re quick to quell her apology, sated by the ice water and bowl of fruit (Hervé says something about picking them all out himself; Arthur, the younger one, pulls you aside with a boyish smile and says it was actually him.)

“Lorenzo is off at university for summer classes,” Pascale explains when she’s putting the second spoonful of pasta on your plate. “So I am stuck with Arthur here, and Charles. He’s about your age, yes? Twenty-two in October.”

Charles descends into the kitchen talking in rapid Italian to his mom, that only tapers off when he sees you at the table. You smile, dopey, raising a careful hand to wave.

He stares.

“Vieni a sederti,” Pascale says, pointing to the empty seat beside you. Shyly, he takes a seat and fills up his glass with water—then yours.

“Oh,” you say. “Thank you.” Your gaze travels to him, and find he’s already looking—at the corner of your eye.

“It’s a mole,” you clarify with a quiet, pretty laugh. “Are you excited to take me around? Pascale says you’re my tour guide.”

“Sure, sure.” He laughs. “Where do you want to go?”

Hervé has played some Italian music on his vinyl, so it’s what scratchily plays through the dining area, accompanied by the scent of garlic and lemon and olive from the trees outside, blowing a gentle breeze through the archway of the house.

You turn away from his green eyes to answer one of Arthur’s questions, peppering chili flakes over your aglio olio to twirl and deposit into your mouth. One red flake stays on your lip and he imagines swiping it off with his thumb. Your eyes meet his again, gaze amused and gentle and Charles could stare forever.

“Anywhere, really.”

—

“Oh, honey,” you whine playfully, letting your husband crowd you against the counter of your kitchen, peppering kisses all over your face. “Missed me that much?”

“You know I did.” He parts from you, and even if he's taller his gaze seems to convey looking up at you, adoration and love crowding his green eyes. A hand caresses your jaw, cheek; his thumb rubs over the corner of your eye. The blank skin there, unmarked, unblemished.

He kisses it. His favorite spot. “I woke up this morning thinking about you,” he says fondly.

“About how I left you in charge of changing Mila while I slept in?” You tease lowly, forehead pressed to his.

“About how in love I am with you,” he says honestly. Your heart pulses. It was never a whirlwind of love for either of you. It was slow, warm, familiar. Hey, you.

Despite that, he means it, you know he does, he’s never failed to show just how much. When he wakes up early to change Mila, or when he takes charge of the stove when you’re sleepy. When he lets you walk him around the winding avenues of Manhattan to get cookies or a good coffee or a better beer. When he watches you sing karaoke tipsily, Billy Joel or The Smiths. The way he memorizes every part of you, the way he knows you. Any and all of the love Charles ever had and ever felt always answered to you.

Lips meet the corner of your eye again. “You know that? I love you. You changed me. You know that, right?”

You could stay forever, in the dusk of the city, questions suspended in the air to be lovingly answered in the lifetimes to follow. They will come, though. You can stay for now—you’ve done your waiting for a love like this.

You smile. “Right.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc drabble

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blindbatalex · 3 months ago

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I hung out with @k-ky all day and she literally activated the sleeper carraville agent that lives inside my brain at all times. I really and truly do not have time to start on a whole new WIP right now, so please enjoy this little 1k teaser in the meanwhile.

By the time Jamie parked the car and trudged to the house, the front door was already open with Gary looming behind. Between the dusk falling quietly outside and the hallway light he had not bothered to turn on, the way he would not meet Jamie’s eyes, he resembled a ghost. Jamie ignored the raw spot the thought touched in his chest—the still too fresh panic a call from the hospital saying that your friend collapsed tends to inspire.

“Traffic was mad.” He chuckled as he walked in. It sounded strained and echoed ominously in Gary’s minimalist, unpleasant house. “I should have honestly taken the train.”

Honestly, if Gary had died and come back as a ghost, he would be a poltergeist. An annoying, self-righteous, argumentative poltergeist that drives property values down by his sheer potential to drive any people unfortunate enough to buy the house up the wall. Neither did he bother to so much as crane his neck to look at Jamie as he led them into the bowels of the house.

“Thought you’d changed your mind.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, it was a close thing,” he huffed, and regretted it instantly when Gary’s step faltered. It was a fucking joke. After everything they have been through, did he, could he think–

And while he meant no disrespect to the witches, Jamie struggled to understand why they had to drag him into the curse they rightfully wanted to cast upon Gary. Bloody hell. “But if you died, who would I rib after every time United bottle yet another game?”

With that they reached the living room. Gary sat down on the sofa and for the first time since Jamie came in, deigned to meet his eyes. It wasn’t just the light, he definitely looked haggard. His ugly face pale and with deep bruises under his eyes. He wasn’t happy either, judging by the thin line of his mouth.

If anything I am shocked that it took you this long to get yourself cursed, the way you carry on, was what Jamie wanted to say but someone needed to be the adult in the room so he held his tongue, choosing to plop himself down on the sofa next to Gary instead. He wrapped a firm arm around Gary’s shoulder and popped his feet on the coffee table.

“Get your feet down,” was all the thanks Gary could be bothered to give, alongside a vicious poke at his ankle with his big toe.

“No, you get your feet up.”

“I don’t know how you live in Bootle, but we for one have standards here–”

“No, you idiot, we ought to maximise the surface area, innit?”

“You mean–?”

“Press our legs together, yeah.”

Whatever little colour there was in Gary’s face drained at Jamie’s words. It was daft—it was so mind-bogglingly daft that Jamie had no words for it—but then again, they were ex-footballers for God’s sake. They had spent 30-odd years watching their teammates strut around naked in the showers, getting pulled into hugs and shoving and, in Gary’s case, cuddling up with Beckham to watch telly. Sure the two of them did not hug, and Jamie did not cuddle with blokes, but given they were where they were, neither was there any reason for—this. To act like petulant children. Or prisoners on death row.

Jamie glared at him, withdrawing his arm.

“I’m sorry, do you want to die?”

Not really, but I want to cuddle with you even less, the dark look that crossed Gary’s face seemed to say.

The git. He just had to be so stubborn about everything, make life as difficult as possible for whoever was trying to give him a hand.

Jamie closed his eyes, breathing through his nose to try and get a lid on the anger he felt burning in every cell of his body. Honestly, who in their right mind would pick an argument for example with a coven of witches on the definition of what constituted witchcraft in the first place?

But when he explained the curse, and what seemed to keep Gary alive, his mum had smiled and said– he is lucky to have a friend like you then, isn’t he? And Beckham, who for some reason felt he had the right to give Jamie a call, let alone to order him around, had said– cut him some slack will you, it’s a bit awkward for him. And yeah, if Jamie put himself in Gary’s shoes, he could see why having to–

“Look,” he said through gritted teeth, his eyes still shut. “I don’t like this either but you are my friend and I happen to care about you. You scared the hell out of me, Gary. And if this is what we have to do to manage until we find a way to break the curse, I’d–” His voice betrayed him, crushed under the weight of a singular truth. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and looked at Gary. “I’d do anything, alright? And I think you’d do the same for me, if our places were swapped. So.”

Gary nodded, very faintly. Is it so awful, Jamie wondered, having to cuddle with me that you made me say all of that out loud? Even at the hospital, when he was quite out of it, he had tried to protest, to push him away. Said, I can’t.

“Take off your shoes.”

Cut him some slack. Yeah.

Jamie did as he was told. Besides, for one of the few times in his life, he wasn’t sure he had any more words in him left. Gary was already taking off his own.

When he was done he put his feet up on the coffee table and Jamie followed suit, shifting closer towards him to bring their bodies flush against one another. With one hand he turned the telly on while the other arm he wrapped around Gary’s shoulder again. Gary for his part even made a tiny effort to lean into the touch this time, whether from guilt or self-preservation, Jamie could not tell.

All these years they’d known each other—and Jamie could count the number of times they hugged on one hand. In Valencia, after that defeat, once. Once when Jamie had been hammered out of his mind in London—though that was more Gary taking on his weight as he half-carried Jamie back to the hotel than anything else. He’d been warm beside him then, too, like he was now, strong, a little soft, just—good.

The two of them fit. There was no use thinking about that. They certainly did not fit in this way. He could smell Gary’s aftershave, feel his shoulders rise and fall with each breath. It felt awful--a force threatening to rip apart the walls of his cells.

No wonder, he thought, no fucking wonder.

Next time, he would make sure to get laid before coming over, so his body would not mistake affection, at once mechanical and friendly, for genuine desire.

For Gary N.eville?

Come on.

#carraville #my fic #i just had to get this out of my system - i have a 10k chapter of another fic I need to work on tomorrow 😭#but carraville truly is forever #one is never free of it for good #i want to come back to this and write the full thing so bad

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biandiecast · 4 months ago

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Unique Benefits Of China Die Casting For LED Light Housing

When it comes to producing LED light housing, the choice of manufacturing process can greatly impact the quality, cost, and performance of the final product. China die casting has emerged as a popular solution for this application, offering several unique advantages that make it a preferred choice for many manufacturers.

#china die casting manufacturer #led light housing

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whitedarkmoonflower · 1 year ago

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The Witch 3

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: Part 3 of the lovely Anon request about Sihtric x healer!reader. I have to post it before I nuke again everything I have written.

Warnings: fluff and a bit of angst, being trapped in a burning house, side charackters canon death

Word Count: 3,8 K

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf

If you want to be added to the tag list - write to me.

The flames rapidly engulfed the area, hungrily consuming the dry wooden walls and thatched roofs. Carried by the wind, embers danced from building to building, igniting new blazes in a furious tempest of fire and smoke.

"Quick, to the horses!" Uhtred barked, seizing the princess's hand and pulling her along as he led the way. The surrounding chaos provided a fleeting cover. But as they reached the stables, the first Danes appeared in hot pursuit.

Time was of the essence. Sihtric knelt, offering his hands as a step. The moment Princess Aethelfled's foot grazed his palms, he propelled her onto the horse. Seizing the reins, her eyes widened, a wild glint of near-madness sparkling within.

"Clapa!" Uhtred called out. The towering Dane glanced back at his lord, then, with a ferocious roar, charged at the encroaching warriors. Clapa's axe, seemingly a mere toy in his massive hands, sliced through the air. He deftly felled the first assailant, then swung back, bringing the axe down on another. Both attackers collapsed in an instant, yet the onslaught of enemies was relentless.

"Clapa!" Uhtred's voice rang out once more. But it was too late. The first strike hit Clapa from behind, followed swiftly by others. The giant warrior crumbled to his knees, yet continued to swing his axe with ferocious might, a grim smile on his lips. It was a noble end, befitting a warrior.

"See you in Valhalla, my friend," Uhtred murmured, before bellowing, "Forward!" He urged his horse into a swift gallop. A moment later it would have been too late for them, as more and more Danes swarmed the area, bows at the ready.

Sihtric, following closely behind his lord, cast anxious glances over his shoulder. Arrows whistled past, embedding in the earth. Behind them, Beamfleot was ablaze, its fiery glow painting the skyline in a tapestry of red and orange hues.

"Lord, I must return," Sihtric's voice reached Uhtred as the young Dane pulled his horse alongside. "I have to go back," he repeated, determination clear in his voice, his dark eyes reflecting the inferno behind them.

"Go then, and find your witch," Uhtred gruffly replied, goading his horse into a faster pace. "And don't die!" he shouted after Sihtric, whose silhouette swiftly turned, adeptly guiding his horse back into the heart of the chaos.

Driven more by instinct than reason, Sihtric nudged his horse into a frantic gallop, making his way back to Beamfleot. He had no clue what to say upon arriving at your doorstep. He was an enemy. You had stated that pretty clearly the last time he saw you. That night, he had left silently, eschewing farewells and not even waiting for dawn's light. Yet here he was, pushing his horse to its limits, his heart pounding in sync with the animal's strides as they approached Beamfleot.

His rational mind urged him to turn back, to let go of the faint hope that clung to him. It screamed of the folly in his actions; it was pure madness. He was not wanted. But deep down, a small voice whispered, "What if this is it? The last chance?"

There were so many unanswered questions. He still couldn’t understand why you had saved his life, and more than that, why you hadn't exposed him as a spy. And then there was that kiss. Had it meant something to you, had it been a genuine moment, or merely a fleeting whim? A cruel jest at the expense of the feelings he was certain you knew he harboured. He had allowed himself to be swept up in his affection for you. He had bared his soul and shown a vulnerability he had never dared reveal to anyone else. Was it all merely a twisted game to glean information about his lord?

The questions burned in his mind like a relentless fire, unquenchable and consuming, each thought igniting another in a ceaseless blaze of uncertainty and longing. He wasn’t even sure he wanted the answers.

"I just need to say goodbye – properly this time. Not like that last night, sneaking away without a word," he kept repeating in his head.

"Yeah, right," his reason scoffed at his own sentimentality. "Like she’s just going to welcome you with open arms." But the pull was too strong, the need to see you one last time too alluring to resist. And as the familiar outlines of Beamfleot loomed ahead, Sihtric steeled himself for whatever awaited him at the end – be it rejection, a moment of understanding, or simply the chance of a final, bittersweet goodbye.

A thick plume of dark smoke, rising high into the sky and tinged with the acrid smell of burning wood welcomed Sihtric as he approached. The town's gates were wide open, abandoned by guards and unattended on the ramparts. The Danes were apparently chasing their golden cow, leaving the locals to fend for themselves in a frantic effort to save their homes and livelihoods. The clamour of people shuttling buckets of water from the docks, forming a human chain, merged with the frantic cries of women ushering their children, clutching whatever belongings they could salvage amidst the chaos. Amidst this turmoil, Sihtric passed unnoticed.

Dismounting, he led his horse by the reins, making his way towards the small healer's house. The fire was concentrated around the great hall and nearby buildings, but it had not engulfed the entire town. The other structures, spaced further apart, had slowed the fire's spread. A surreal calm enveloped him as he walked, the chaos receding behind him. Raising his eyes, he noticed another flicker of red in the distance, a stark contrast to the relative tranquillity of his current surroundings.

As Sihtric approached, it became increasingly evident that the lone house ablaze at the town's edge was his destination. Quickening his pace, he released his horse, confident it would respond to his call if necessary.

The sight of the isolated burning house, set apart from the rest, struck him as peculiar. It stood like a solitary torch against the darkening evening sky, eerily abandoned. There was no one in sight, no frantic efforts to douse the flames. The fire had engulfed the roof, its flames dancing and flickering menacingly, casting an ominous orange-red glow into the night.

Drawing nearer, Sihtric heard the wooden structure groan and creak under the assault of the fire, which now gnawed at its supports and framework. Embers and sparks soared into the air, creating a fiery spectacle. Then, a chilling detail caught his eye: a log wedged against the door, effectively trapping anyone inside. His gaze swept over the house, noting all the shutters were firmly closed and secured from the outside.

"What the heck!" Sihtric whispered in shock, his heart pounding as a sudden realisation struck him. He rushed forward, seizing the log with both hands in an attempt to unblock the door. It stubbornly refused to budge. The smoke swirled around him like a corrosive cloud, stinging his eyes, invading his nostrils, and triggering fits of coughing. Resorting to his axe, Sihtric began hacking at the log, wood chips flying through the air, until it finally split in two, granting access to the door.

As he wrenched the door open, a blistering wave of heat and smoke billowed out, forcing him to retreat and shield his eyes with his forearm. Hastily tearing the lower part of his tunic, he fashioned a makeshift mask, covering his nose and mouth, and plunged into the inferno inside the house.

Inside, the flames surged with ferocious intensity, the air dense with suffocating smoke. Each step was a battle against the relentless heat, scorching his skin. His eyes watered from the intensity of the heat and smoke, blurring his vision, while every breath felt like inhaling fire. With each step his surroundings become increasingly surreal, everything around him painted in shades of orange and red, wrapped in a thick coat of smoke.

Sihtric dropped to his knees, coughing uncontrollably, yet he persevered forward. He had no choice; he needed to find you and the barred doors and shutters suggested that you were likely inside. With every muscle in his body tensed, Sihtric crawled towards the next room, the heat growing more oppressive by the second and the sound of crackling wood a constant reminder that there was no time left.

Through his blurred vision, Sihtric spotted something on the floor near the window at the far end of the room. Clenching his teeth, he flattened himself completely against the floor, inching forward on his stomach.

Sihtric instantly recognized you. Gritting his teeth, he slid his arms under your shoulders and knees, lifting you with a strained groan. The lack of air made his heart pound furiously, each step feeling unbearably heavy, as if his boots were weighed down with lead. The air around his head seemed to boil; blinded by smoke and heat, he held his breath and stumbled towards where he recalled the door was.

Sihtric collapsed to his knees on the grass, gently laying you down beside him. He coughed violently, gasping for air. He couldn't remember exactly how he'd managed to find the exit. All that remained vivid in his mind was the sensation of your fragile form pressed against his chest, driving him forward with each step, fueled by the urgent beat of his heart.

"No, no, no," Sihtric murmured anxiously as he sprang to his feet, dashing towards his horse grazing nearby. He swiftly grabbed the leather flask filled with fresh water from the saddle and hurried back to your side, kneeling beside you. Carefully, he splashed a handful of water onto your face, trying to revive you.

"Come on, breathe!" he urged, his voice tinged with desperation. He pressed his ear to your chest, his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, making it difficult to distinguish whether it was his or yours. Gently, he lifted you, cradling your head in his lap. With trembling hands, he tried to wipe the soot off your cheeks, but in his frantic state, he only managed to smear it further, leaving trails of his dirty fingers across your face.

“Please, just open your eyes,” Sihtric begged, keeping you close, and gently stroking your hair. “Breathe, you damned witch!” he hissed, shaking you slightly, despair slowly overtaking him.

"I hate it," a faint, barely audible whisper came to Sihtric's ears.

"What?" he asked, puzzled, looking down at you.

"I hate being called a witch," you replied, your voice low and raspy, yet with a definitive firmness that brought a smile to Sihtric's face. He held you closer, nuzzling your dishevelled hair, carrying the acrid scents of ash, smoke, and soot.

Just then, the walls and roof of the small house collapsed with a thunderous roar, sending a cascade of sparks and burning debris skyward. You flinched, gripping Sihtric's arm tightly as you watched your house transform into nothing but a skeleton of wooden beams and supports.

It wasn't just a house being reduced to ashes; it was the destruction of your dream for a haven, a sanctuary you had called home. Your vision of peace, your hope for acceptance, was crumbling before your eyes, all turning into dust, leaving you bare, bereft and alone.

Tears began forming in your eyes, and there was no strength left within you to hold them back as you leaned into the solid embrace of the very same young man you had thought you'd pushed away forever. You had rejected him, driven him off, intimidated by your own deepening emotions, yet here he was, cradling you in his strong arms, his fingers gently combing through your hair, while you sobbed your face hidden in his broad chest.

"The door... Sihtric, it was blocked," you hiccuped between sobs, dampening his leather armor with your tears as the painful memories resurfaced. "Why would they do that? I've never harmed them," your cries grew louder, shoulders shaking, fingers clutching at Sihtric’s armor, seeking solace in his presence.

"I thought... I thought I was going to die," you managed to say through your sobs.

"Shh, it's all over now. You're safe with me," Sihtric soothed, humming softly as he rocked you in his arms. His fingers tenderly stroked your hair, trailing down your back with a featherlight touch. It was an unfamiliar sensation, so full of genuine care and protectiveness. For the first time in a long while, you felt a sense of safety enveloping you, easing the tension in your muscles, allowing you to fully relax into his strong yet gentle hold.

As your sobs subsided and your body stopped shivering, Sihtric gazed down at you and a smile crept onto his lips. You were covered in dirt and grime, your hair tinged grey with ash and smoke, your nose reddened from crying and rubbing against his armour. You seemed so small and fragile against his chest, your hands gripping his armour, tears carving paths through the soot on your face. Yet to him, you were incredibly beautiful, perhaps more so than ever before.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Sihtric found you seated outside the healer's tent, perched on a wooden block, your hands stained with blood resting in your lap. Exhaustion was etched on your face, your eyes red and swollen from weariness. Another evening was approaching, and though the battle had ceased, for you and the other healers in Alfred’s camp, a different fight had just begun – a struggle for the lives of the wounded.

You had arrived at the camp with Sihtric, who had ridden hard to get both of you there. He immediately brought you to the healer's tent before vanishing towards the sounds of clashing weapons and battle cries. Despite the suspicious and wary glances from others, you had lent your skills wherever you could.

You clearly didn't belong there, it was more than obvious. Yet, the question remained: where did you belong? You had attempted to belong to both worlds - the Saxon and the Danish one, but the price was high – your home burned down, and both your lords dead. Not that you grieved them deeply; you had long understood that such was likely their fated end. There are no shepherds in Valhalla, you remembered them saying when you had once suggested that a peaceful coexistence with Saxons was better than endless conquest.

"We're leaving at dawn tomorrow," Sihtric said, his voice carrying an unusual weight that drew your attention as you lifted your gaze to meet Sihtric’s eyes as he extended his hand, covered in blood just as yours. A hand that saves lives and a hand that takes lives - both looking the same, slipped through your mind. You were in his world now, and as much as you didn’t want to show it, you were frightened.

"A scared, little witch," you mused inwardly, a wry tone to your thoughts. With a moment's hesitation, you averted your gaze and gently took Sihtric's warm hand, relying on his strength to help you rise.

"What will happen to me?" you asked, striving for a calm and composed tone, yet finding it hard to meet Sihtric’s eyes directly.

"You're free to go. I've spoken with Uhtred; you're not a prisoner," Sihtric said, his hand still holding yours, his thumb lightly tracing your skin. He paused, clearing his throat as if he had more to say, but the words seemed to elude him.

"To go where?" you asked with a wry smile, finally meeting his gaze.

It was so strange. He was and he wasn’t the same Sihtric you remembered – the shy, bashful young warrior who had struggled for breath at your slightest touch while tending to his wounds. You hadn't noticed before how much taller he was than you. Your hand seemed so small engulfed in his, and despite your efforts to mask your anxiety, it quivered ever so slightly.

"Anywhere you wish," Sihtric replied, his voice fading to a whisper, his lower lip caught nervously between his teeth.

He was filled with unspoken words, yearning to say, 'Come with me, let me take care of you.' He cursed himself silently, frustrated that the words hovering on the brink of his tongue remained unspoken. The sadness in your eyes was almost too much for him. You had lost everything, and yet, what he could offer seemed so insignificant in comparison. Why would you choose a life with him? Yet he knew, without a shred of doubt, that if it meant saving you, he would brave the flames of a burning house over and over again.

After a moment of awkward silence, you withdrew your hand under the guise of adjusting your clothing. Your fingers trembled as they pretended to smooth out non-existent creases, followed by a quiet chuckle.

"So, this is it then. Our paths part for good," you mumbled, your voice catching slightly. "Your debt is settled, and I'm free to go," you said, attempting to mask your emotions with a bright, forced smile. As you reached out to cup Sihtric's cheek, he started to raise his hand, as if to grasp yours, but you quickly pulled back. With no clear destination in mind, the urge to flee, to escape the mounting embarrassment of your unreciprocated feelings for this young warrior, was overwhelming. "What did you expect? That he'd offer you his hand and heart?" your inner voice taunted. "He saved my life," you countered weakly. "Only to be free from you and his debt," your mind reacted bitterly.

Turning away, you sighed deeply, surveying your surroundings. You weren't defeated. There had to be a place in this cursed world where you belonged, and you were determined to find it. Though your initial steps away from Sihtric were shaky, you soon straightened your shoulders, lifted your chin, and quickened your pace with each stride. It was only the tears slowly trailing down your cheeks that could betray your aching heart, but luckily he couldn’t see them.

As you walked away, the evening sun cast a shimmering glow on your loose, fluttering hair. Sihtric watched, swallowing hard, as your figure gradually diminished, embraced by the evening's shadows. His heart seemed to leap into his throat, beating erratically. Everything felt so wrong.

Everything had happened too fast for Sihtric to fully comprehend. He had imagined various scenarios of meeting you again, but none had involved rescuing you from a burning house or bringing you to Alfred's camp. He had thought, perhaps, that fate or the whimsical Norns, weaving the threads of life, had given him another chance with you. The way you had clung to him, crying out your despair and anger, had kindled a hope in him that his feelings weren't futile. Yet, he had let you walk away, falling silent once more. How did it come to this?

Restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Sihtric felt an unexplainable warmth spread through him, flushing his cheeks and suddenly, he was running as if chased by the hounds of Niflheim, his heart pounding in rhythm with his steps. His longer strides quickly closed the distance between you. He reached out, grasping your elbow to turn you towards him, his breath heavy on your skin as he pressed his forehead against yours.

"I don't want you to leave," Sihtric whispered, his hold on your arms growing firmer as he drew you closer. "Please, come with me. I know I can't offer you what you once had, but if you just gave me a chance. It’s all I’m asking for – a chance to show you I'm worth your attention."

Sihtric's words poured out in a fervent stream, catching you off guard and robbing your ability to respond. All you could do was to stare in bewilderment in his beautiful mismatched eyes, soft sobs trembling through your shoulders as his heartfelt confession and the sincerity in his words overwhelmed you.

"I don’t want to leave, Sihtric," you finally whispered back, cradling his face in your hands, tears shimmering in your eyes. "By the gods, Sihtric, you don’t need to prove anything. I feared I had wounded your pride too deeply for you to still want me."

"You don’t want to leave?" Sihtric exhaled sharply, letting out his breath he was apparently holding back.

"I never wanted to go, and I didn’t want you to leave either. I’m sorry, Sihtric. I was just too afraid to admit that I’ve fallen for you."

"Fallen for me? Does this mean you’ll come with me?" The astonishment in Sihtric’s voice was unmistakable, prompting a smile from you.

"If you'll have me," you replied with a playful chuckle. In an instant, you let out a squeal as Sihtric scooped you up, hoisting you over his shoulder.

"You bet I will, witch," Sihtric declared, striding towards the distant tents. No matter how much you wriggled or protested, he didn’t set you down until you reached his tent. Once there, he gently placed you on the ground, immediately enveloping you in his embrace, making sure you couldn’t take a single step away.

"Say it again," Sihtric's voice was husky and low.

"Say what?" you playfully responded, your arms encircling his neck.

"Say that you love me," Sihtric nearly growled, his voice resonating deep in his throat. "Stop teasing me, witch!" he implored, pulling you tightly against his chest.

"Please, stop teasing," he repeated, his voice softening to a gentle murmur. "Because I love you, and I want you to be mine – today, tomorrow, and all the days that follow."

Rising on your toes, you leaned close to his ear, your breath warm against his neck. "Is that what you want? Your very own witch to play with? Because if so, I'm all in. I love you, my hapless spy."

A soft moan escaped you as Sihtric's lips met yours passionately, his hands eagerly working at the laces of your garment, seeking to liberate you from it. You surrendered to his touch, liberated from the mental barriers you had imposed on yourself, aflame with love and desire for this young, spirited warrior who had ignited a fire in you like never before.

Your clothes and Sihtric’s armour and tunic fell to the floor in a flurry of urgency, hands frenziedly removing the last barriers between your eager bodies. As the final piece of your undergarment was removed, Sihtric gasped softly, his eyes taking in the sight of your bare form. Dressed only in his breeches, he lifted you with ease, and in one smooth motion, you wrapped your legs around his waist, securing them behind his back. His lips remained locked with yours as he carried you to the pile of furs that served as his bed, laying you down and enveloping you with his presence.

"I want you," Sihtric whispered into your ear, "I want to give you pleasure like no one else has. I want you to guide me, to teach me, to show me all that you desire. You are mine, witch. Mine forever."

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom fics #tlk fics #arnas fedaravicius #arnas fedaravičius #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric fics #the last kingdom #tlk

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ha-18t · 6 months ago

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Oguro Kafka - Thanatophobia

Novel

Chapter 1

💬 Translation under the cut!

...

That day, I woke up in the same hospital room.

The seven year old me sighed. The bright white room was in the children’s ward of Daikoku Hospital. For as long as I could remember, I had been in and out of the hospital, but recently I had not been able to go back home at all. That house on the wharf was only faintly visible in my memory.

“I wonder if my father will visit today… or maybe my mother…”

I might have been physically sick, but that didn’t mean I was unhappy.

My family would always take time off of work to visit me. My father, who was the tourism director, and my mother, who was a scientist, would always visit my room.

The times when my mother would visit were always interesting - she was extremely well-informed and would always have a story to tell me.

My father was… Well, he would just tell me it was lonely without me in the house. But he would always do his best to express his feelings to me. That was how I received his love.

“But… I’m going to die someday, right?”

Looking out the window and into the clear sky above, I whispered that to myself.

I couldn’t go outside, I couldn’t go to school. I had no friends. I wasn’t the only one in the children’s ward, but it felt like everybody kept me at arm’s length. Well, it could have been because I didn’t act my age, or maybe because my family was a household name in HAMA.

“You’re a bit special.” My mother would tell me,

“But being special is a blessing, Kafka. If everybody was the same as you, what would make you stand out?”

But was that my mother’s belief? Or my own?

Either way, if my life ends early, what sort of blessing would my special-ness have given me? If I were to die right now, what would I even have been born for?

Neither of my parents showed up that day, so I asked for permission to go up to the rooftop garden.

Although the garden was simple, it had a bench for me to read and think on. That day, there was a small bird laying dead on the concrete. It must have hit something and fell. The little bird’s eyes were closed and it was completely limp.

‘Poor thing’, I thought for a moment. I thought it would be a good idea to bury it. But, I wasn’t sure if somebody as frail as I was should have been handling a dead, wild bird. I asked my nurse, who gave me a mask and gloves, and I buried it in the courtyard of the hospital.

Despite its sudden death, I didn’t think we were that different from each other. Just like the bird, I could have had a sudden heart attack, fell over, and died on the rooftop garden. And I would have just wanted the person who found me to be kind to me.

The nurse left, and I just stood there in front of the little bird’s grave. Suddenly, a shadow cast over me. I looked up and saw my mother, clad in her white uniform. She must have left work early.

“You buried a little bird?”

My mother definitely heard it from the nurse.

“Yes, it was dead.”

I was sure the bird was dead, but even through the gloves I could feel its body, heavier and warmer than I was expecting. It made me wonder if it was still alive.

“One day, will I also be like that bird?”

“….”

My mother suddenly fell silent, then asked me…

“What do you think it means to be ‘dead’?”

“Isn’t it when your heart stops beating?”

“Or, maybe when your thoughts stop?”

My mother took my hand and pulled me towards a bench in the courtyard so we could talk.

“Some people even believe that a person only truly dies when all memories of them are gone.”

With that said, my mother continued with the subject.

“The current Japanese medical definition for death is cardiac arrest, cessation of respiration, loss of the light reflex, and dilation of the pupils. Legally, you can define death as the cessation of respiration and a general inability to resuscitate.”

“Is animal death the same?”

“If we are only talking about physical death, then death can simply be defined as the irreversible departure from life.”

My mother led me to the bench and then sat down beside me.

The wind blew gently through the courtyard, and I could faintly smell chemicals from my mother’s work uniform. The scent was sterile, tranquil, and cold. I didn’t dislike it.

“So, yes. All life on Earth is dependent on carbon polymers. When you look at it that way, the process of dying isn’t that different between humans and other things on Earth. Either way, the body stops, decomposes, becomes microbial fertilizer, and leaves behind everything that isn’t usable.”

My mother talked about death so bluntly.

She stroked my head and asked me, “What do you think about death, Kafka?”

I thought for a moment, and decided to tell her what had been going through my mind.

“No matter what, all living things die… So I shouldn’t be afraid… but really, I’m not sure. Sometimes I feel as if I’m going to die, but I’m still alive.”

My mother kept stroking my head, and lapsed back into silence.

At some point, her hand stopped.

“I am… a thanatophobe. Death has always been… a huge fear of mine. When I was giving birth to you, I was terrified.”

The usually intense voice of my mother suddenly seemed so small. I looked up to meet her face, and she was staring far into space as if lost in thought.

But in a split second, my mother’s face turned to a smile.

She pulled me close to her chest and hugged me wistfully, squeezing my arms.

“Of course, I’m so happy that I gave birth to you.” She added.

“…But, I wish it had been a healthier birth. There are some things you only learn when you’re close to death. I know that from experience.”

It’s very rare for my mother to make such a negative statement. Rarely, and really only rarely, would my mother say something so gloomy. Only when she would talk about my body, or my death.

My mother and I look so much alike. My father would always say that. He’s so proud that I inherited my mother’s beautiful face and smarts. He wishes I wasn’t so sick though. He doesn’t say it, but I know he thinks it.

“Kafka, unlike me, there’s a major surgery you can have when you’re an adult. It’s possible to make a full recovery. If you live until 20, you will likely have a healthy future.”

“Unlike you…?”

“I…”

After saying that, my mother couldn’t get a clear word out. I didn’t know what to do. My mother had a job, but just like me, she was always bedridden and in and out of the hospital a lot.

“Kafka, let’s make a bet. If you live until 20, I’ll give you a surprise.”

“Huh?”

I wanted to ask her if she would be alive then, but I couldn’t get the words out.

These little bets that my mother and I would make were so much fun - like our own secret game.

It was always how she would try to lighten the mood.

Every single day felt the same. I would wake up in the same hospital room, and I would sleep in the same hospital room. In the midst of instability, I counted on these bets with my mother to get me at least a little excited about the future.

That’s why… I didn’t want to bet against my mother.

“I think it would be more fun to bet on what’s for dinner tonight.”

“Is that so?”

We bet that the hospital would have Jell-O. On the way to the cafeteria, my mother unexpectedly put her head to mine and whispered to me.

“Until your surgery at 20 years old… no, even after that… we can’t be afraid of death, Kafka. Death is simply a cessation of the physical being. The mind is much more complex than that.”

“Isn’t being so close to death and so terrified of it exhausting?”

“Having justifiable fears can add purpose to your life.”

My mother looked directly into my eyes and murmured, as if she was revealing the secret to life.

“If you live your life to the fullest, you’ll eventually be privy to the secrets of the world.”

“The secrets of the world…?”

When I repeated her, my mother let out a painful, wistful laugh.

“Whether knowing them is a blessing or a curse… That’s up to you to decide.”

My mother was trying to tell me something, but I didn’t understand.

The secrets of the world, huh. Are they that important? More important than unsolved mathematical formulas, undiscovered ideas, and the story of everything beyond our universe?

My mother, who has lived her whole life afraid of death… does she already know all the secrets of this world?

“Think it over, maybe while you’re fishing.”

My mother let go of my body and stood up quickly. I was caught up on her bringing up fishing so suddenly, but my mother just laughed and stroked my arm.

“There’s a fishing spot by the hospital, just through the courtyard. If you want to learn, your father can teach you.”

“Ehhh… I’m happy just playing on the computer.” I grumble.

“Let’s make a bet, then.” My mother says.

“Fishing is surprisingly heavy on the brain. You have to think about the tides, the wind, the temperature, the season, the bait. I bet you can’t catch more fish than your father. You wouldn’t think about that kind of stuff.”

When my mother wanted me to act upon something, she would always say ‘Alright, then I guess Kafka has thrown in the towel and I won the bet!’

“Alright! I’ll learn from my father, and I’ll make you proud!”

My mother just laughed out loud at my defiance.

The sunlight reflected off of her in the courtyard, making her hair and eyes sparkle.

Back then, she looked like the surface of the ocean on a sunny day, reflecting the light onto the pier.

...

#18trip #oguro kafka

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mythicalmagical-monkeyman · 2 months ago

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Waoh, hey look guys. Mateo angst :3

Anyways under the cut like always lol

Summary: Mateo tries to find his mom in the dream world It does not go as planned

Additional Tags:

Mateo misses his mom guys 😔, Garcia family feels, Light Angst. No Beta. Setting: made up dream realm. Inspired by a PJO edit

Mr. Oz had always said to avoid the dream realm that the Night Bureau had nicknamed “The Adult World”. Not that there inherently seemed to be anything too bad about it, it was just that as Mr. Oz described the world, it was where “creativity went to die!”

While that was probably a bit of an overstatement Mateo could see why Mr. Oz would say that about the realm. It was the blandest thing Mateo had ever seen.

The entire world was cast in monochrome colors with the only spice of color being when occasionally a bright red would sweep across the area like there was an unseen police car driving around with its top light on. Additionally there only seemed to be three types of buildings in the realm, suburban houses, low lying glass boxes that upon glancing inside seemed to be tiny one floor office buildings, and bars. That was where the variation ended; however, as every building between the three types seemed to be practically identical, every house was exactly the same, every small office building, and every bar. It made Mateo’s inner artist scream for some type, any type of color or originality.

Yet as much as Mateo wanted to leave he had come to the realm with a mission in mind, and curiosity was what made him a dream chaser right?

He ignored the small Cooper in the back of his mind that was yelling at him that, no it wasn’t curiosity that made him a dream chaser but in fact his creativity that did.

Let him have this.

Locator in hand, Mateo walked in the direction the little compass arrow was pointing him in which he hoped wouldn’t lead him into something he definitely didn’t want to see. He’d gotten lucky so far so hopefully that luck would continue.

Eventually Mateo found himself approaching a park, he didn’t think this realm would even have a park, but that’s where he found himself, the arrow of the Locator pointing under a large arch that marked the entrance.

Mateo glanced around taking in the dead grass and squinted up at the sign on the arch that proclaimed the park as, “DOF kPKFVb slhcL”. There’s no way that could’ve been right, what weird dream magic had backfired and caused the sign to come out as gibberish?

Mateo didn’t want to dwell on it though, he pushed aside the uncomfortable feeling rising in his chest and continued on into the park.

He’d just find her and get out of there as fast as he could.

The Locator led him on but oddly as he continued on the Locator arrow started to spaz out, vibrating, and spinning wildly like what it was trying to lead Mateo to was all around him or that she didn’t want to be found.

Mateo shook his head and smacked the Locator against his other hand but its arrow just continued to spin aimlessly.

Mateo sighed angrily, “Right, of course it wouldn’t be this easy, thanks for nothing,” he gave the Locator another wack before slipping it into his pocket. Guess he was just going to have to do this manually.

He began to wander around the park keeping his eyes open for anyone but the park seemed creepily empty to the point where after walking around for what he assumed was an hour and still not seeing anyone he was just about ready to give up.

That was until he heard a sigh. Mateo stopped short and glanced around and spotted through the trees a man sitting alone on a bench.

Curious, Mateo ducked under the tree branches between him and the man and approached.

Even before he had fully reached the other man Mateo realized who it was.

“Dad?” Mateo asked softly, rounding around the side of the bench and taking in his father.

His dad sat half bent over, his hands clasped and head bowed towards the ground. Instead of wearing his usual work uniform or even pajamas his dad sat there in a light blue t-shirt, jeans, and sandals, a green flannel jacket sitting in his lap.

Mateo recognized that jacket. It was his mom’s.

Mateo’s breath caught in his throat as his face scrunched up as a sudden wave of sadness washed over him.

“Mom?”

He didn’t even realize anything had slipped through his lips until his dad looked up.

“‘Teo?” His dad wondered, his face caught somewhere between concern and confusion.

Mateo didn’t meet his dad’s eyes, instead he felt all of his attention being locked on the jacket.

“Mateo? Que you doing here?” His dad tried again, his initial shock of seeing his son having passed.

It took a few seconds but Mateo managed to force himself to look his dad in the eyes.

“Dad, why do you have mom’s jacket?”

His dad glanced down to look at the jacket in his lap and seemed to jump a little at seeing that he had it. He then sadly ran a thumb over a piece of it.

“Ay, Maria,” he muttered.

Quietly, Mateo sat down next to his dad and watched him while his dad’s attention was transfixed by the jacket.

Mateo wasn’t sure when he finally found the words and spoke up, “Dad? Can I ask you a question?”

His dad slowly looked back up and Mateo couldn’t help but note the lost look in his eyes, “I-I don’t know why I have this,”

Once again his dad ran a thumb over the jacket and Mateo felt himself pausing before he asked, “Do you ever dream of mom?”

“Ah,” his dad breathed and as he trailed off, the lost look in his eyes persisted, like he was remembering something from a long time ago. Or at least trying to.

He then gripped the jacket in a fist and held out an arm, beconning Mateo in for a side hug.

Mateo obliged and leaned into his dad, tensing awkwardly a little. His dad rested his chin on top of Mateo’s head and gave him a squeeze.

“I miss her kiddo,” his dad muttered, “I truly do but … but it was her choice to leave, and I can’t change that. Not this time,”

Mateo inhaled shakily at that and the tension in his shoulders disappeared as he curled into his dad with a small sob.

Why’d life have to be so unfair?

#Mmmmm #the little things :3 #Also ftr the sign on the arch translates to “why did you leave” if you use a Caesar Cypher #Hehehe #lego dreamzzz #dreamzzz #lego dreamzzz mateo #mateo dreamzzz #dreamzzz mateo #mateo garcia #lego dreamzzz fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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thegeneralreturns · 3 months ago

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Thoughts on THE CROW (2024)

You know that TikTok of that emo kid, sitting in the front seat of his car, screaming "MY HEARRRRRRRT! IIIIII LOOOOOOVED HERRRRRR!"? Well, this new version of The Crow is that for two hours.

This is not a criticism. In fact, shock of shocks, I found myself kinda... sorta... loving this movie.

The path that the 1994 version of The Crow found toward its cult reverence is one steeped in tragedy. The untimely passing of its lead Brandon Lee during filming gave a tinge of romance and lost potential to what was, in essence, a big, dumb action movie. A big, dumb action movie that boasted a solid lead performance and the pinnacle of nineties set design and cinematography, but a big, dumb action movie nonetheless. No matter how good he was when the cameras were on him, Lee wasn't cast because he was a master thespian. He was cast because he was Bruce Lee's kid, and that might move a few tickets. The Crow was Bob and Harvey Weinstein's play to get Miramax in a position to compete with Warner Bros. and Batman, and one of the most infamous on-set accidents in film history led to a periphery demographic of Goth kids that are still cosplaying, buying the soundtrack, and lighting candles thirty years later.

The 2024 version of The Crow appears to be an effort to legitimately make the film that that periphery demographic seems to have been seeing in a mirage for the past thirty years, and on that score, I think it succeeds. It's open-wound sincere love story between two druggie kids, the tragedy that separates them, and the passion that brings one of them back in a rain of bullets and blood. I saw someone on Twitter call it "Twilight for scumbags," and that person deserves a Pulitzer Prize. It's pitched at that level, only instead of long, interminable stretches of the two leads staring at one another, it's broken up by bad guys getting shot in the face. There is a place for this.

FKA Twigs plays Shelly, and it's as though she sprang fully-formed out of Tim Burton's head with her compact, twee, English-accented Gothness. But I find Bill Skarsgard's Eric to be genuinely endearing. Whereas Brandon Lee's rendition of the character was an Alpha Chad who came out of the grave knowing combat tactics, the Skarsgard take is troubled, though well-meaning, and seemingly doesn't have a plan in his quest for revenge beyond "They can die and I can't." And the sight of this gaunt tree-branch taking shotgun blasts at point blank range sells the enormity of the odds against him.

The love story and character aspects of this movie are so persuasive that when the action does eventually get here, it can't help but suffer in comparison. Rupert Sanders is no Alex Proyas, and while he nails the impact of violence, the actual geography seems to give him trouble. Is it just me, or does the opera house in the climax appear to have too few floors than the sequence requires?

So which one is better? I don't know, and frankly I don't care. In a rational world, we could show appreciation that James O'Barr's source material was strong enough to facilitate two wildly different cinematic approaches. But we don't live in a rational world, and remaking a mid-nineties comic book movie is tantamount to blasphemy.

But what I do know is that we're gonna get older. New folks are gonna move in. And when you ask them which version is better, the answer won't be as one-sided as you think. Because if there's one thing that literally every version of The Crow has thought me, it is this:

Nothing this earnest stays dead for long.

#the crow 2024 #The crow

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whump-card · 1 year ago

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This Death That I Chose: Chapter 3

1512 words

CW: IV, fever, conditioning, panic attack, pet whump

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

~~~

Lark jerked out of the nightmare with a whimpering gasp. He was lying in bed in a weirdly familiar-yet-unfamiliar room; a real bedroom in a real house, he realized, almost like -

NOT ALLOWED.

His eyes darted around, and the room seemed to slowly spin out and snap back into place every time his gaze moved. A square of golden evening light spread across one wall. An IV snaked out of his unbroken right arm and up to a bag hanging on a stand next to his bed.

The resistance, he remembered, They took me.

They’ll all die if I stay.

Lark was immediately seized with the all-encompassing drive to get home to the Capital, now. Who knew how long it had already been. He couldn’t give the Commander any cause to hurt these people. If Lark stayed, the Commander would do whatever it took to get him back. His prize pet.

He slowly sat up, his sweat-damp back turning cold when it was exposed to the air. He flexed the fingers of his broken arm where they peeked out of the cast, and pinched and ripped out the IV. The pain was fuzzy and dull, and a bead of blood ran down his arm. He watched it languidly for a moment before moving again, dragging his feet out from under the blanket and setting them on the floor. He took a deep, steadying breath and stood.

The room spun even faster, but he blinked hard and managed to stay upright. He turned and shuffled forward, socks sliding easily over the floor and his good hand ghosting over the surface of the bed. The longer he was upright, the more things stabilized; by the time he reached the end of the bed he could take real steps, and while the corners of his vision still carouseled around him the center of his gaze held steady. He focused on the door, and wobbled over to it. He apprehensively turned the knob and let out a near sob of relief when it easily turned and the door opened.

He stepped out into a hallway, made his way along it and slowly descended a straight staircase to the ground floor, clinging to the banister. His socked feet padded noiselessly, but his heartbeat and heavy breathing sounded like thunder inside his head. At the bottom of the stairs there was a room on either side of him, but he ignored them in favor of the room ahead; a small chamber crowded with chairs along one wall, and an exterior door on the far side. He rushed – as much as he could rush – to the door, and once again found it mercifully unlocked.

Outside, he stumbled down a few wooden stairs onto an aged paved path that led to a cracked driveway, which in turn arced down to a weed-speckled street. Everything that wasn’t paved was overgrown with tall grass, and thick trees surrounded the house he’d just exited. Cicadas screamed, accentuating the evening summer heat. Breathing hard, Lark looked around and identified the direction of the setting sun by where the golden light filtered through the tree trunks. West. He turned his head. South. The Capital was south, that much he knew. He circled around the house and started into the woods, twigs and rocks pricking his feet through his thin socks, grabbing onto trunks and branches as he passed for support. His cast swung in its sling, bumping against his chest.

We used to play in woods like these -

NOT ALLOWED.

As he walked, his breathing grew more and more labored and his vision, previously somewhat stable, started to tilt and swirl again. His stomach abruptly churned and he slammed his shoulder into a tree to catch his balance.

Can’t stop. Can’t stay here. Pets belong at home.

He pushed off of the tree and stumbled forward. Suddenly he was taking steps that were unobstructed, and the ground was smooth and hard beneath his feet; it took a few moments to make sense of what he was seeing in the whirling darkness, but Lark realized he was on a path. He gulped; there was too much saliva in his mouth. Was this good, or bad, or…

“Lark?”

A deep voice. A man’s voice. Lark’s heart sank, and he slowly turned.

It was one of the men who’d captured him – the one who had interrogated him. He was maybe fifty, average height, stocky, Asian, and had close-cropped dark hair and a shadow of a beard. He held a lit cigarette in one hand, and there was a pistol at his hip. Something about him sent a spike of dread down Lark’s spine – far beyond the fear of what staying with the rebels would mean. Something about this man, specifically.

“…Hey,” the man said softly, which wasn’t quite what Lark had expected. Lark said nothing, just watched him, refusing to look at the cigarette or the gun.

“Are you trying to get back to the Capital?” asked the man. Again, his voice was gentle. Unthreatening. Lark wasn’t buying it.

“I have to -” Lark’s voice came out as a croak at first, and he swallowed hard. “I have to, you don’t understand.”

The man sighed.

“Y’know, technically, I’m not supposed to be anywhere near you. I got told off,” he dropped the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, “I’m really sorry, by the way. For scaring you.”

Lark’s frown furrowed with pain and confusion – nothing the man was saying made sense.

“You don’t scare me,” he lied.

“Sure, bud.” The man sounded tired. “Either way, I can’t let you leave.”

Lark sure knew what that meant.

“Killing me won’t solve your problem,” he said.

“Woah!” the man threw up his hands, “Who said anything about killing you? No, I can't let you leave because you’re sick, stupid! It’s your arm that’s killing you!”

Lark didn’t like that the man was raising his voice. He took a wobbling step back and found a tree to lean on.

“They’ll fix… My arm, when I get home,” he said strenuously.

“Dude, you can barely stand.”

I’m not going to make it, Lark realized. The man was right; he could barely walk, it was already dark enough that he couldn’t tell which way was south anymore, he didn’t have shoes, he’d never outrun the man…

Lark let his eyes fall closed, resting his head against the tree.

Today is a disaster.

“…What did you just say?”

Had he said that aloud?

“Today is a disaster,” Lark huffed, with more intention this time. He lifted his head and glared at the man, only to find him staring incredulously. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Lark.

“Marina Dolidze!”

Lark’s blood turned to ice.

No. No.

NOT ALLOWED.

“Is Marina your mom?” the man asked excitedly, “She says that all the time, and I know she lost a son…”

The man’s words were drowned out by Lark’s own heartbeat thumping in his ears. His vision spiraled.

NOT ALLOWED NOT ALLOWED NOT ALLOWED.

Lark could feel the hands on him, the metal prods digging into his skin, the electricity racing through his body.

“She works in the cookhouse, I could bring her to see you -”

“NO!” Lark found the man standing right in front of him and he pushed out with his good arm and shoved him away as hard as he could. “NOT ALLOWED!” He shrank back, curling his arm up and tucking his head to protect his face. The man would hit him, now, for doing that, but he couldn’t break the Commander’s law, not now, not ever.

He was going to be hit. Or the man would put cigarettes out on him, or break something, or knock him down and fuck him here in the woods, they were all alone, he had a gun, nobody would stop him, why did this man feel like the Commander? Lark’s breathing was too loud, he was going to get in trouble, he wasn’t crying, but everything was getting so dark, so dark, so dark-

~~~

Tao watched in shock as the boy worked himself into a cowering frenzy before suddenly going slack. Tao jumped forward and caught him as he slid down the tree. Grunting, he scooped Lark up into his arms. The boy was deathly pale and completely limp. Tao made sure his broken arm was resting securely, then started the laborious and slow walk back to Faye’s.

It wasn’t like he’d expected Lark to react with open, uncomplicated joy at the news that his mother was not only alive, but less than a block away, but the way Lark had reacted was completely out of left field. “Not allowed,” he had shouted. Tao could only imagine what that meant, and the options were pretty dark. Had Lark once asked about his family, only to be punished for it?

Regardless of what Lark’s reaction indicated, Tao needed to be sure before he rushed into anything. He couldn’t screw up and hurt Lark, again.

He needed to talk to Marina.

~~~

First, Previous, Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy, @pigeonwhumps

#whump #whump fic #whump writing #pet whump #this death that i chose #cw IV #cw fever #cw conditioning #cw panic attack

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