#I was so weak the first two days after recovering that my brother had to lift and carry me about | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pastanest · 2 years ago

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Jon Snow x she/her!reader

A/N: after an eternity away, I have returned with a gift. this took my entire heart and soul, and a month of my life, to write, so I truly hope you enjoy it!! ♡

warning: events up to Battle Of The Bastards referenced. also, it’s 8.5k words long 😳

part two can be found here

Yours - Part One

It was Maester Lewin that found you that day, stumbling on weak little legs that could barely hold your weight, through a thunderous storm towards the gates of Winterfell. He ran to you, nothing more than a helpless child that crumbled into his arms, your tattered clothes soaked through by the rain, wet fists balled at your face as you coughed and hacked into them. In truth, you do not remember much from that day, but you have heard every account from each member of the family that took you in.

While Lady Catelyn Stark always said she heard your coughs before she saw you, her motherly instincts bringing her to feet as she ran to meet Maester Lewin the moment he carried you through the doors of the castle, Lord Eddard Stark always first recounted the expressions on his children’s faces. Neither Bran nor Rickon were born by that time, and Arya was just a baby, but Sansa was just old enough to recall how sickly and thin you looked - a charming memory, you’d roll your eyes and tell her when she chose to bring up such details. Robb and Theon both held slightly different recollections, with Robb worrying that you carried some kind of sickness that his mother would catch by being close to you and Theon simply recalling that you were a girl around his age and that being his main thought at the time, but both always mentioned one particular detail: the eyes of the third boy in the room, locked onto you from the moment you entered the room until you were carried out of it.

They say that Jon Snow’s gaze was fixed on every door of every room he entered for the rest of that day, as though waiting for someone to walk through and deliver some news of you. Even teases from his brothers could not distract him.

Once, on a rare occasion when you were alone with Robb because Theon was not shadowing him, he told you something in confidence, not wanting his dear brother to be teased for something nobody else knew that he had done. Supposedly, for the three nights that you spent unconscious or so delirious that you could not tell the difference between your sleeping and waking moments, Jon Snow would tiptoe past your bedroom door and check in on you. If the door was closed, he would not disturb you by opening it, simply stand there and listen through the door until he heard your labored breathing and felt assured of your safety for the night. If he heard you cough, he would run to report it to Maester Lewin immediately. On the occasions that the door was open when he passed it, though, he would stop to peer around the frame, seeing your face so exhausted even when sleeping, and felt something strange blooming in his chest, so strong he would find himself pressing his palm to his chest through his shirt to check that his heart was still there. Robb caught him doing this, but never told him, and you didn’t tell Jon that you knew of his check-ins until many years later.

Lady Catelyn Stark was in your room the majority of the time if Maester Lewin was not there, ensuring you were safe and breathing well. Having not long birthed her second daughter, she felt a strong maternal instinct over you and your worrisome state, unable to stop herself from picturing her own daughters in your place and wondering where your mother was, why she was not the one that was worrying over you, and if she couldn’t be, Lady Catelyn would do so in her place without question. One motherless child in the castle was enough, and she had no reason to hold the resentment to you that she held to the little boy that was so enchanted by you, even then.

Once you had recovered enough to sit up and hold a conversation, Lord and Lady Stark pressed you with gentle questions on who you were, where you had come from, who your parents were, and why you had arrived at Winterfell. Unfortunately, you were too young to remember many details, only knowing your own name and your parents by ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’, only knowing the place you had come from as “south of here” and only knowing you were in Winterfell because they had just told you that. Your parents had simply told you to “head north” when the fire had started in your village, that was the most detail you could recount of your arrival. The Stark parents understood enough from your vague explanation to suggest that you did not have a home of your own to return to, and upon sending riders south, found the rubble and ash left behind from a village not two day’s walk from Winterfell - such a travel for one so young had been what ailed you. They debated amongst themselves what to do with you, whether to send you to a township with an orphanage and wondering if that would be the place for you. Over the days of you regaining your strength, the Stark children became your fast friends, slowly trickling into your room one at a time to introduce themselves and immediately trying to impress you, as children do.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell found it endlessly amusing, discovering Theon and Robb in your room practicing sword fights with broomsticks, making you laugh and applaud their display, which you thought then to be magnificent. Sansa, though younger than you, enjoyed sitting beside you on your bed and talking about her favorite stories of princesses and princes of old, which you listened to like it was your duty, having never heard the tales that highborn children were raised on and finding them fascinating. In turn, you told her of your favorite fairytales, most of which involved giants. Naturally, Sansa told you giants did not really exist, but when you asked her how she could know that, she sat back, stumped, and you grinned at her, continuing to tell her all of your favorite stories of giants, direwolves and white bears.

What truly set your permanent residence in stone was one fateful night, when Eddard Stark had been kept late in the hall, discussing important plans with the Lords of other northern houses. He had no intention of stopping when nearing the doorway to what had become your bedroom, until he heard a quiet laugh that he did not often hear. Lord Stark’s footsteps stopped just before the open door, never wanting to eavesdrop on his children, but needing to be sure.

“All of you are Lords here, then? You, your brother and Theon?” Your question was an innocent one, and at the delay in your conversation partner’s response, Ned’s heart sank.

“My brother is, and Theon could be, I s’pose, but not me. I’m just a bastard.” Little Jon Snow answered you, sounding defeated.

“Oh…why?”

“Lady Stark is not my mother.” Jon explained, and you gasped.

“She’s not mine either, does that make me a bastard, too? We can be bastards together!” You sounded so excited at the prospect that Ned had to muffle his own laughter behind his hand.

The same laugh that had stopped him in his tracks reached his ears again, your complete lack of judgment towards Jon’s status putting him at ease.

“No, because Lord Stark is not your father, but he is mine.” The young boy clarified.

“Oh…well, can we be friends still? Even if I’ve not got a title like you have?” You asked, voice so hopeful, making Jon chuckle again, with rosy cheeks that you couldn’t see under the dim candlelight by your bed.

“Aye, if you don’t mind being friends with a bastard.”

And you answered without hesitation. “I’d love to be, you seem like a wonderful friend!”

Nodding to himself, Lord Eddard Stark turned and walked the long way around to his chambers, so as to not disturb the conversation between you and his son. The moment he stepped through the door to his chambers, Lady Catelyn smiled warmly at him, and his lips were already parting to speak the conclusion he had come to the second he’d heard the laugh you brought to his boy.

“I think she should stay with us.”

With your fate decided, you were officially taken under the wing of the Stark family. While you lived amongst them and played with the Stark children like a highborn friend of theirs would, you did not ever want to overstep, knowing they were leagues above you in status and not wanting anyone to assume your status incorrectly by association. So, upon being granted permission to stay with them, you asked in a small voice if you could be their maid; that was the only position that you knew by name because Sansa had mentioned it to you. Thinking it both hilarious and very endearing that you, a child, were offering yourself as a maid to the family, Lord and Lady Stark agreed to this, and asked their existing maids to train you when you wanted, but not to be at all strict on you. Still, you took your role as seriously as you could at that age, learning to fold clothes and prepare beds for the Stark children. Going into Jon’s room was always your favorite, because even if he was not sitting in there as he often was, there were pieces of him everywhere. Pages of parchment with scribbles of writing and doodles on them, battered wooden swords and shields that poked out from beneath his bed. You liked crawling up to the window and peering down at the castle courtyard from there, knowing that is where you were most likely to see him.

“Lord Jon! Guess where I am!” You’d call in a singsong voice, waving down at him.

He’d laugh, waving back at you. “I don’t need to guess, I can see you there! When will you be free from your duties?”

And you’d grin cheekily. “Soon, but if you made your bed yourself, I’d be done a lot quicker!”

It was a running joke between the two of you, because Jon Snow had made his bed every morning since learning of your position as maid, never wanting to appear as untidy to you or giving you further work to do on his account, but you’d insist he never, ever made his bed and it was such a chore for you to always do it for him.

The first couple of years that you spent at Winterfell were peaceful ones, spent adjusting to your new life and the family dynamic that you had slotted into, at your new best friend’s side. After that second year, Jon Snow came down with a terrible case of the pox, and you were terrified, seeing him the same way he had seen you when you had first arrived, weak and most often unconscious, in his bed. Strangely, Lady Catelyn did not leave his side that first night, which you thought to be odd considering the hatred you had come to understand she harbored towards him - very unfairly, you thought, and frequently told Jon the same. Of course, you knew that she did not leave the room because when you had asked Maester Lewin of Jon’s condition and he had said “If he makes it through the night, he’ll live”, you dragged your mattress from your bed and down the hallway, to the floor beside Jon’s and refused to move, insisting you would never forgive a soul that attempted to remove you from his side. Naturally, you did not sleep that night, your ears finely tuned to every ragged breath, cough and whimper that passed Jon’s lips, and it seemed Catelyn’s were that night, too.

Only when the sun rose did you leave Jon’s side to run to Maester Lewin, fist pounding on the door of his chambers to wake him and have him check on your dearest friend. You had apologized for disturbing the castle’s Maester afterwards, but were too panicked to consider his sleep schedule at the time. Once he had evaluated Jon’s health, he confirmed to you and the rest of the family that he would, in fact, make it through, which seemingly allowed Lady Catelyn to leave the room. You, however, only left briefly to borrow a book from the castle library before returning to Jon’s room to sit at the foot of his bed, with the large book of fairytales in your lap. As soon as you were told you were allowed to stay with the Starks, Lady Catelyn began teaching you how to read and write, two skills that you thought yourself very lucky to have mastered by the time Jon Snow was fighting his war with pox. For the rest of the day, you did not move from the foot of his bed, and you read story after story aloud, hoping that somewhere in the land he was traversing within his tangled, sleeping mind, he could hear you tell tales of long Winters passed and the creatures that roamed the lands throughout them.

It was only sometime later that Jon admitted to you he had awoken an hour before he decided to open his eyes, because he was so enjoying you reading to him.

When his eyes did flutter open, though, you all but flung yourself at him with a cry of his name, more relieved than you had ever felt in your entire life thus far. Through chuckles and coughs, Jon thanked you a thousand times and assured you he was fine a thousand more. For the next ten minutes, you would not let go of him as you rambled about how worried you’d been, how much you’d missed him, how you swore to never take him for granted ever again. And you kept that promise, the two of you becoming inseparable from then on.

It became common knowledge within the walls of Winterfell that wherever you were, Jon Snow would not be far, and vice versa. While Theon Greyjoy was Robb’s shadow, you were Jon’s companion, his other half, his partner in crime. You were the more mischievous of the two of you, and when Arya was old enough, she followed in your footsteps to become your secret accomplice. Due to the circumstance of your arrival, Lady Catelyn had a softness in her heart for you, for seeing you happy, and even she could not deny that you were at your happiest when you were with Jon Snow. Lord Eddard thought what was blossoming between the two of you to be the loveliest thing, and was proud of the involvement he had in your residence at Winterfell to continue such a bond. He, himself, was very fond of you and the happiness you brought the son that had been disadvantaged since his birth. Though he did not like to plan too far ahead, he hoped that someday, Jon may request his father’s advice on asking for your hand.

And as the two of you grew up together, Ned Stark only became more confident in his hopes for his son’s happiness. In the eyes of others, you would only ever dare intertwine your pinky fingers and cast longing smiles at each other, but that was enough for Lord Stark to know what was becoming of the two of you. In the privacy of your own space, or the godswood, you were free to hold hands, hold each other completely, and even share the occasional chaste kiss if the moment called for it.

The first of those kisses had been on your fourteenth nameday, when Jon had led you to the godswood and presented you with a bouquet of flowers that he had picked himself, tied together with a black cord necklace that had a silver sword charm hanging from it, that he had asked the blacksmith to assist him in making for you. It was a little crooked as a result of Jon’s shaking hands when welding it, but you only thought that made it more personable, proof of the fact he had been the one to make it for you, which only made it mean all the more to you. Untying the bouquet, you held it in your hands and turned your back to Jon, allowing him to bring the necklace around your front and clasp it at the back of your neck. The smile on your face when you spun on your heel was like nothing he’d ever seen, the tears in your eyes reflecting the light of the sun as it streamed through the leaves of the weirwood tree. Seeing the necklace he had made and gifted to you actually hanging from your neck for the first time was an experience like no other, and it continued to take his breath away every time he saw you wearing it thereafter, the pride with which you wore it never failing to give him butterflies. And every time you caught him staring at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the sword charm, he was brought back to the godswood, under the weirwood tree, when you had wrapped your arms around his neck, holding the bouquet of flowers behind his head and gifting him with the first kiss he had ever received from anyone.

But no matter how proudly you smiled whenever you were at his side, no matter how many times you bit the heads off of any that dared call him a bastard in your presence, no matter the countless nights spent reassuring him that you had never thought of him as lesser for his namesake, Jon Snow could never believe himself to be good enough for you.

Lord Eddard Stark had hoped that when his son approached him not long after his sixteenth nameday, the time had come for him to bestow the fatherly advice of how to ask for a lady’s hand. It was only when Jon asked about the Night’s Watch that Lord Stark understood he had been sorely mistaken, and as Jon had never explicitly disclosed his feelings for you to his father, he did not think it was his place to ask his son if he was certain he wanted to leave you behind in taking such an oath. And when Jon shared his future plan with you, you did not feel it was your place to selfishly question why he would consider leaving you, when you knew such a position would bring him the feeling of honoring his father, something he had sought after all his life. And so, no opposition to Jon Snow’s future was presented, and your days together were numbered.

You had not taken Jon for granted since the day he had awoken from pox, but after he confessed his intention to join the Night’s Watch, you were more determined than ever to show him each and everyday just how much he meant to you. There was no ulterior motive to your actions, you wanted him to feel loved and appreciated in a way that only you could, for as long as you could. Some part of you did hope that perhaps your love for him would be enough to change his mind, but that did not motivate your actions, it was not an achievable goal in your mind, you were not foolish enough to believe you could accomplish the impossible. So, you began writing him letters and leaving them in places only he would find them. Posting them under the door to his bedroom, hiding them under his pillow, in the pockets of his jackets; and you would never tell him when you had written another, simply waited for him to find it, write his reply, and hide it for you, too. A constant and secret subtext to your every conversation that neither of you ever outwardly addressed, but in those letters, you laid your souls bare. Confined in written words, you were safe to dream of a future that could never be, to decide where you would live together, the colors you’d choose for the interior of your cottage, the horse rides you’d go on, the meals you’d cook together, the children you may have. All of it was safely locked away, for your eyes only, almost like the two of you could live that life through the rolls of parchment and then carry on your real lives satisfied by such fallacies.

The sentiments in your letters would often reduce Jon Snow to tears when he read them in the solitude of his own chambers, wishing more than anything that he could give you such a life, cursing the Gods for forcing that kind of love to be so far out of his reach. He appreciated every word, rereading them countless times until he would fall asleep with the pages still clutched in his hands, dreaming of the life he could never have.

Beyond that, everyday was met with beaming smiles between the two of you, both putting off the inevitable and pretending that the countdown of an unknown number of days was not looming over your heads with every sunrise and sunset you saw together. You would ride horses and hunt together, walk through the godswood hand in hand, spend hours on end in each other’s bedrooms, sitting beside each other on either of your beds to talk about anything and everything, to flirt until both of your faces were too hot to make eye contact anymore. And when Jon returned from the ritualistic event of beheading a deserter of the Night’s Watch with a white direwolf pup in his arms, you could not have squealed louder if you tried. The way that you cooed over that little creature, cradled it in your arms and spoke to him as though he could understand every word, made Jon’s heart sing further songs for a future he’d wish for over anything else, with as many animals as you would like if you would melt over them like you did Ghost.

After that, though, your lives seemed to pick up to a pace that neither of you liked. The death of King Robert’s hand led him to Winterfell, requesting Lord Eddard Stark replace his departed hand and join him in King’s Landing, and that in itself was a horrific enough turn of events. As the Stark’s maid by role, you would be best suited to serve Sansa and Arya, accompanying that half of the Stark family to King’s Landing and leaving Lady Catelyn and all of the boys, including Jon Snow, behind. But, of course, that was not the worst of it. Benjen Stark, as First Ranger of the Night’s Watch, was sent to Winterfell to appeal to the King for more men and resources, and the moment you saw Jon talking to him, you knew that your worst fear had come true at long last.

Everything passed in a blur after that, to this day you cannot recall how much time passed between the dread hitting you at seeing Jon talking to Benjen, and the hollow pit that formed in you seeing Jon preparing his horse for his departure to the Wall. For the first time since meeting him, your steps towards him were nervous, hesitant, and you hated yourself for it. If this was the last time you were to see him for Gods knew how long, you should have run to him, taken every second you could in an act of pure greed. But the closer you were, the more real it became, the more it hurt to face the fact that he was leaving, for good.

Hearing your heavy footsteps, Jon turned to face you, his face falling as he read the devastation in your eyes, clear as water.

“Oh, (Y/N).” Not caring for the public opinion then, he pulled you into his arms, wrapping his cloak around you to hide the two of you away in a little pocket of the world where you were safe to just exist together, one last time.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make your leave any more difficult. But I will miss you more than any words I write to you will be able to express.” You confessed, pouring your heart out to him because it was the last chance you had.

Jon’s arms tightened around you. “I know, and I will miss you just as much, if not more.”

Pulling away from him just enough to see his face, you took a deep breath. “I love you, Jon Snow.”

For a moment, shock flickered in his eyes, before he settled into a soft, warm smile, because he knew, you both did. “I love you too, (Y/N), and it’ll pass. We’ll live. Promise me, you’ll go out there and live.”

You nodded frantically, because if all you could give him in your last moments together was your word, you were going to give it to him. “I promise.”

A teasing smirk reached his face then, attempting to lift your spirits. “I don't doubt you’ll have men falling at your feet the second you reach King’s Landing.”

Rolling your eyes, you playfully slapped his chest through his clothes. “Don’t take the piss, you know none of them will ever compare to you, you just wanted to hear me say it for the hundredth time!”

Jon chuckled at that, always enjoying when you spoke the common tongue in the midst of the more formal vocabulary you’d been given since arriving at Winterfell, and shrugging at your insinuation. “Perhaps I did, but you know there are no women at the Wall, so you will forever be the only one for me, forgive me for wanting to hear you say I’ll be yours in the same way one more time.”

Smiling with him then, you took another deep breath and stepped away from him, holding his hands. “Well, if you get cold feet when you’re about to take your oath and decide you would like to reconsider the whole ‘taking no wife’ aspect, you’ll know where to find me.”

At that, Jon squeezed your hands and released a hearty laugh. “Aye, and if any man mistreats you, send me a raven and I’ll get him ordered to the Wall somehow to sort him out.”

Before Jon could mount his horse, he faltered, eyes darting from yours to your lips before deciding that if it was his last chance to do so, he was not going to deny himself the bliss that was you. Taking your face in his hands, he kissed you more passionately than he ever had before, your knees nearly buckling beneath you and your head spinning as he did, gripping his wrists to hold him there.

By the time you parted from each other and Jon mounted his horse, you were both panting with dazed smiles on your faces.

“I’ll always be yours, you know, no matter what.” He swore to you.

“And I will always be yours. Dream of me, Jon Snow.” You asked of him, and he grinned at you.

“Each and every night, I swear it, by the old Gods and the new.”

And then, he was gone. Riding through the gates of Winterfell for the last time, not daring to look back at you because if he did, he knew he would see you collapse to your knees as you sobbed. He could feel the weight of that in his heart without needing to see it, and that was temptation enough to nearly turn back. If he looked at you then, he would never be able to leave.

Thinking back, that should have been what told Jon Snow that he never should have left. And it would not be long before he wished he never had.

His journey to the wall passed in a painful blur, feeling every inch of new distance that separated him from you, further than he had ever gone without you since the day you arrived at the gates and made Winterfell his home. Jon felt a chain tugging at his heart as it resisted moving any further from you with every step he and his horse took, every word he spoke with his traveling companions of his new life that would not include you. He was ready, he was so certain of it, but soon enough he realized that everything he would do for the rest of his life would have you at the heart of it. Every foe he fought, every task he took on, his first thought would be that in some distant way, he could have just saved you from something, and that was the only victory he truly felt.

Upon entering the snow covered courtyard of Castle Black to begin his new life, an older man in a black fur cloak greeted him and the group of men that had arrived with him.

“Which of you is Jon Snow?”

He very nearly missed the question, too in awe of the sheer size of the Wall and wondering what the world would look like from the very top - being able to picture your amazed expression upon seeing it, as clear as day - but immediately concluding that everything he could see in the direction he came from would serve as nothing more than a reminder of you, not to him. To him, you were the world and more.

“I am Jon Snow.” He answered, clearing his throat and stepping forward.

Reaching into his cloak, the older man handed him an envelope. “Never have I seen a raven arrive before the boy that the letter in its beak was addressed to.”

Jon’s cheeks flushed pink, turning the letter over in his hands and knowing from the way his name was written on the front that it had come from you. Quietly thanking the man he did not know to be the Lord Commander at the time, he tucked the envelope in his own cloak to conceal it, and did not have the time to read it until he had retired to his quarters for the night and had to squint to read the words with candlelight.

“My dear Jon,

I watched until I couldn’t see you anymore, and then came straight here. I hope to not write too much, so that maybe this letter is sent in good time and arrives at the Wall before you do. We are leaving for King’s Landing soon; I will be grateful to no longer be in a room that exists solely as a reminder of you, like everything else here, but I fear that even in a place I have never been, I will find pieces of you.

Please, let me know that you arrived at the Wall safely, and tell me of your first day. Are the men treating you kindly?

I hope to see you in my dreams, I’ll be searching for you there.

Until we meet again.

Yours,

(Y/N).”

Quite suddenly, Jon found that he no longer cared for his own exhaustion at all. He rose from his bed and marched out of his chambers, heart set on a mission. If you had gone to the effort of writing to him quickly enough for it to reach him on his arrival, he would be damned if he did not reciprocate such a gesture.

And so, when you arrived at King’s Landing, Lord Varys approached you with an envelope decorated with handwriting that you recognised immediately. The smile that overtook your face that had been missing ever since Jon’s departure, returned in grandeur, informing Arya, Sansa and Lord Eddard Stark that both you and they all knew exactly who had sent a raven to you. Even Lord Varys, ever the perceiver, smiled at your excitement.

Without delay, you tore the envelope open, eyes scanning over your beloved’s words with fervor. By the end of the first sentence, your vision was blurred by your own tears, but you were determined to blink them away in order to read and memorize Jon’s every written word.

“My Lady (Y/N),

Your letter arrived as intended, before I had even reached the wall. Thank you for sending such a precious thing, I have folded it and will keep it in a pocket over my heart for the rest of my days, I swear it. To carry a piece of you with me is the greatest comfort in this new place.

The Wall is bigger than any can say, I hope someday you are able to visit and see it for yourself, but I understand if a short lived reunion would be too painful.

I hope that King’s Landing brings you countless new sights, instead of constant reminders of our past, though I can speak to the fact that everything here reminds me of you, despite you having never set foot further north than home.

My time here has been a good challenge so far. I have begun training with the other men; in truth, I think you could take on any one of them.

I have not yet spent my first night here - I am writing to you with the same urgency with which you wrote me, but I am certain that I will see you in my dreams this night and every night thereafter, as promised.

I am not certain I will be able to reply to your letters often, but please, do not stop sending them. I will treasure each and every one. Please, tell me of King’s Landing, of the things you do there, of the adventures you have with Arya, and send my love to her and my father, as well.

Now, I’ll race to sleep to see you again.

Yours,

Jon x”

By the end of his letter, your bottom lip was trembling and the tears you had been blinking away were cascading down your cheeks. Chuckling quietly, Lord Stark wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Come now, (Y/N), I doubt this was the reaction he wanted!”

Sniffling, you nod at him. “You’re right.” Looking to Varys with determination in your eyes, you composed yourself as much as you could. “Please, can you take me to the ravens so I can write back?”

Sharing a glance with the Warden of the North, Lord Varys nodded. “Of course, my dear, follow me.”

Walking away from the family that had taken care of you for many years, you ascended the tallest tower of King’s Landing to find a raven sitting in a window, with a desk holding quills, jars of ink and rolls of parchment in the center of the room. Little did you know then, that would be the room you spent more time in than anywhere else during your stay at King’s Landing.

You would send letter after letter, starting at sending one a week, then one a month, then one every other, not wanting to bombard Jon Snow with correspondence when he was yet to respond to the very first letter you had sent from that tower. In between helping out in the kitchens to continue your role as the Stark’s maid, spending time practicing sword fighting with Arya and gossipping with Sansa, you would sit in that tower and wait. Most nights, that is where you slept, the last sight of each day being the stars that you stared up at from the window and hoped with everything in you, Jon could see them, too.

Though it pained your heart to wait day after day and receive no word from him, your fondness for Jon Snow did not dare waver. Some part of you knew that he was still alive, that he was alright, because you firmly believed that if he wasn’t, you would feel it, even from so far away.

Lord Eddard Stark’s heart ached for you when every eve, you would arrive at the door to the hand’s chambers with the same question, the same glimmering hope in your eyes and voice as you asked it, and he would have to let you down as gently as he could, each and everyday.

“I’m afraid there’s been no word from him as yet, (Y/N), but I’m sure he is just too busy with his duties.”

You would nod, because of course, that had to be the truth. It was not possible for you to even consider the notion that Jon did not want to hear from you, he had pleaded with you to keep sending letters, so you would, until he told you not to.

“The farmer’s boy that came to the kitchens today has some affection for you.” Sansa had said to you when you had joined her in her chambers after supper, smiling in the hopes that it would encourage you to do the same.

Instead, you barely even met her eyes, your tone showing little to no interest in the eyes she had seemingly spotted a boy giving you when she had visited you in the kitchens, that you neglected to notice.

“Does he?” Your tone made your disinterest clear, your focus on your duties as you made your friend’s bed, the act second nature by that time.

Sansa rolled her eyes and took your hands, bringing you over to sit down beside her on her bed. “Of course! How could you not see it?”

At that, you shrugged sheepishly, knowing the answer as well as she did. “There’s only one I’ll ever wish to see such things from, m’Lady.”

A common girl at heart, you had never been one to address the Starks informally.

“Why is it that you cannot let him go?” Sansa asked you then, her voice pained for you, seeing you pine for her brother in such a way.

“He is gone, I know that to be true, m’Lady, but…it seems my heart doesn’t know the same.” You offered her a small smile, the most you could muster at the time, and Sansa sighed.

After that, she sought other means of cheering up. The two of you tried on every dress she had in her ornate wardrobe and danced around the room to music that was not playing, pretending you were fanciful Lords and Ladies at some grand ball.

Once Sansa had fallen asleep, you had tiptoed back to the tower, pinning every hope you had on the thought that while you had allowed yourself to have some fun, there may then be a raven waiting for you. But upon reaching the top of the tower, you saw the window was empty, not a feather in sight.

And unfortunately, after that day, the events of King’s Landing meant that you only had more and more letters to send Jon.

To see the man that all but raised you, beheaded in front of a crowd that hurled abuse at him for confessing a crime he did not commit, was not something that you even had time to process. There was not a moment to grieve when you had to ensure Sansa’s safety, because you were the only one left to do so. Arya was gone, you didn’t know where, but you hoped that she had escaped safely and was living an adventure of her own.

And later, the news of Robb and Lady Catelyn’s brutal murders while in the slippery hands of Walder Frey. Again, you were unable to think of yourself, and could only be with Sansa while she suffered and mourned the loss of her entire family, as she knew it.

You only allowed yourself fleeting instances to grieve, to feel the anxiety of it all, and those moments were all safely concealed in your letters to Jon that continued to go unanswered. They began to serve you more as a journal than correspondence awaiting a reply, and you found solace in the fact that your words and worries and pains were going to Jon, because they were safe with him. The knowledge of him holding all of your secrets and still, in some way, being there for you in receiving them, was the only comfort you had.

When Lord Petyr Baelish, someone you believed to be a worm of a man from the second you were introduced, came for Sansa, you were the only person she trusted enough to stay at her side. In fact, she completely refused to be parted from you, and Baelish agreed to rescue you, too, because he thought of you as nothing more than a maid and a means to earn points with Sansa.

As much as you advised where you could, Baelish was never far enough away for you to be completely honest with Sansa about him or his antics, he made certain of that. While you could not protect her with regards to getting her away from him, you thought you could at least protect her in whatever schemes he manipulated her into.

Regrettably, that led you back to the place you had called home, except it was in ruin when compared to your last memory of it. Having first been overtaken by Theon Greyjoy, which was the greatest personal betrayal you had ever felt, it had since been infested with the Boltons. The act of marrying Sansa to Ramsay Bolton - who you desperately wished you could refer to as Snow in your own head to mentally scorn him, if such a namesake didn’t have a place in your heart that forbade you - was outright barbaric, in your opinion. You could tell the man he was from the sight of Theon, or Reek, as he was newly named. But again, you were not given a moment alone with Sansa to dissuade her.

Still, you did everything you could and stayed at her side at every waking moment. That was, until her wedding night. While on the way to her chambers to meet her before the event, one of Ramsay’s henchmen that you had thought was just walking past you, grabbed you and slammed your head into a wall, knocking you unconscious.

At her wedding, Sansa had scanned every face in the crowd, searching for you desperately. It did not take her long to conclude that you were not there, and that thought alone told her that everything was wrong.

You awoke in darkness, unable to determine how long you had been unconscious for, but found one of your wrists chained to the back wooden leg of a bed, that was seemingly bolted to the stone ground that you were sprawled out on. The throbbing in your head quickly reminded you of what had happened and you fought to break free from your chains, to get to Sansa, save her, give your life for hers if the situation called for it, but it was fruitless.

Only when you sat back against the wall, breathing heavily and crying tears of frustration, did the door open. There stood Ramsay Bolton, with a grim smile that you could only see in the light of the candle that he held to his face.

“Welcome home, maid.”

Having been stuck in a similar mindset to you, barred from processing his own emotions in the place of his duties, Jon Snow had, too, reached a point of no return, in more ways than one. He had read many of your letters to begin with, but as the months passed, he was given more and more responsibilities, more tasks that took more time, and journeys beyond the wall. As a result, Jon simply did not have a moment to sit down and devote to you, outside of his dreams. While he had tried to read your letters as and when they arrived, before he knew it, there was a pile of envelopes forming, all of which addressed to him, and he could not bring himself to read anymore. The more he heard of his family’s passing, he knew that you would be sharing your grief with him, and that was a weight he was not ready to bare, having not yet confronted his own.

As well as that, the responsibilities Jon had been given and the things he had accomplished during his time at the wall had led to the majority of men, including the Maester, to vote in favor of him becoming the Lord Commander - a position he had never imagined were possible for someone like him. And his first thought on being granted such an honor was to tell you, it truly was, but without having read or replied to any of your letters since the very first, he thought it would be a disservice to the time you had given to him. One day, he would tell himself each and every night, one day he would sit down and read each and every one, and he would send you the longest letter you’ve ever seen, that would take 10 ravens to deliver to you.

But despite the continued chaos of his life at the Wall, Jon had noticed that no letters had arrived for him in some time. The last one you had sent had been from Winterfell, he knew that based on the sigil the envelope was sealed with, but he also knew that his home was under the control of the Boltons, who were not to be trusted based on the vultures they had been in claiming his home.

Still, there was only time for him to worry about such things in between everything else. The wildlings he needed to save, the white walkers he needed to save them from, the fate of the rest of the world as he knew it, and how Samwell Tarley would fare as a father to his adoptive son, were amongst the most prominent of Jon’s thoughts.

It was only upon saving the wildlings and doing what he thought was right - what he knew you would agree was the right thing to do - he was murdered in an act of mutiny from the men of the Night’s Watch, and a boy. Death was what allowed Jon Snow to regain some perspective. Once awoken from what should have been an infinite sleep, the red witch had approached him and asked what he had seen once life had faded from him.

“Nothing.” Jon had said, and he was not deceiving her.

It was true, he did not see a thing once the world faded around him. Everything disappeared into a great abyss, endless darkness, and he felt he was in an awful dream. That was, until he heard your voice, calling his name. Just a whisper at first, but it grew in volume, in urgency, until you were crying for him and with a gasp, his spirit returned to his wounded body.

And the moment he had opened his eyes, he knew what he had to do. First, he had to punish those who had betrayed him and retire from his watch, having served his duty ‘til death, as his oath intended. As soon as he was free of such responsibility, he disappeared to his chambers and took the box of envelopes, all addressed to him, and sitting on his bed, he read through each and every one.

Jon Snow had never felt worse, or cried more, in his life. Reading of your sorrows and hardships, the pain you had felt in his absence and in your grief, how desperately you pleaded to receive word from him, of his safety. Even through his tears, though, you managed to make him laugh. Sometimes just a quiet chuckle, but the tales you told and memories you recalled were enough to bring hearty laughs from him as he wiped his eyes. By the time he reached your final letter, his face ached and his heart was heavier than it had ever been.

“Jon,

I do not know how long I will have to write this, so I will keep this brief. Sansa is not safe here. I will do all I can to assist her in her escape, but it will not be easy.

If I can get her out of here, I will send her to the Wall, to you. She will tell you everything.

I miss you with every waking and sleeping moment, knowing you will not be there when I open my eyes again. I hope to see you again, but in truth, returning here has resulted in seeing you in places that you have been, but no longer are. Please do not worry, I am not losing my mind, but my eyes are playing cruel tricks on my heart in such a familiar place, where I have seen you everywhere, more times than I can count.

Please take care of Sansa, and yourself.

Yours, always.

(Y/N) x”

All of a sudden, Jon Snow wished he had not so quickly resigned his position as Lord Commander. Had he not, he would order every man to Winterfell to rescue his sister and you, who you had not spared a single thought to in your own escape plan for Sansa.

That was the moment he heard it, commotion at the gates of Castle Black. Regardless of no longer being the Lord Commander, he felt a responsibility to see to the arrival of whomever it may be. And like a miracle sent by the letters he had taken far too long to read, his sister was stood in the courtyard, with a knightly woman and her squire. The sight lifted Jon’s heavy heart beyond comprehension as he tentatively approached his sister, who had been a girl the last time he’d seen her and was now a woman, but when her face fell and she launched herself into his arms, he could not resist the sense of dread for what was to come; finding out the reason behind your absence from their party.

Not wanting to address the dark cloud that loomed over him until Sansa was settled, he sat with her in his chambers with a warm fire crackling at her feet and a bowl of hot stew in her hands. The two of them reminisced on the lives they missed terribly that were lost to time, and Jon knew either of them could only go so long before-

“Where will you go?” Sansa asked him with worried eyes.

“Where will we go.” Jon corrected her. “If I don’t watch over you, Father’s ghost’ll come back and murder me.”

And with a gentle smile, Sansa finally spoke your name. “And if you don’t rescue (Y/N), both Mother and Father’s ghosts will haunt you until the end of your days.”

He smiled back at her, a wave of relief washing over him like nothing he had ever known, because he knew you were alive. By no means were you safe or happy, but as long as you were alive, Jon Snow could fix the rest. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he would. Even if doing so killed him a second time.

———————

taglist: @otteropera @neymarjrrwife @oliviabelova

#jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow image #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #x reader #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons

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starbluud · 9 months ago

Text

— 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙏𝙊 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙎 𝙒𝙀 𝙂𝙊 (𝙏𝙊 𝙁𝙊𝙇𝙇𝙊𝙒 𝙇𝙄𝙆𝙀 𝘼 𝘿𝙊𝙂)

—.🌿. PAIRING. hwang hyunjin x f!reader

—.🌿. TW. cursing. violence. blood and injury. gore. mental health issues. severe ptsd. flashback. heavy trauma. murder. panic attack. mentions of vomit. arguing. chan being a dick (sorry). just heaviness.

—.🌿. GENRE. tlou!au. angst. slight fluff.

—.🌿. NOTES. i had an idea to write this fic before to go along with two other of the same au i had, but it was written about a person who turned out to be a complete fuckface. i’ll come back in the future to re-write those with an actual likable person. however, this little mini series thing idk what to call it holds a very special place in my heart so i wanted to continue it, but with different people. i’ve never written for stray kids or any type of k-pop before so please bear with me if anything seems weird. another note about this piece, minho and chan are roughly 10 years older than the rest of the members. i apologize for that, but it works with the way the plot was written. anyway, i hope you enjoy! :)) btw, not proofread lmao.

— THE SUN WAS brighter today. it shone down, warm rays casting a brilliant golden hue to the fluttering field of grass. a gentle breeze passed by. its presence made stray hairs dance slightly, the strands tickling the bridge of y/n's nose. she inhaled, lungs expanding fully before letting the breath go.

she enjoyed the peace. the sound of distant birds. the smell of blooming wildflowers along the forestline. the feeling of the wind against her scarred skin. it was a moment of tranquility she was still getting used to. after spending so long on the hunt, fighting for survival and tracking one down, it felt unfamiliar. foreign almost, like she never spent a moment before basking in the blanket of silence.

her eyes finally opened.

felix always suggested a moment of calamity would help with the anxiety she carried. to stop and soak in her surroundings. it was to show she wasn't in constant danger. there was no need to step on eggshells every minute of every day, especially now since their group decided to settle down.

after chan getting shot, hyunjin taking arrows to the shoulder and lung, and y/n left beaten and bloody, they all needed a moment to relax. at least to relax as best as they could given the trauma they continue to carry.

the others resided in jackson, deciding to stay back home to help chan recover. y/n and hyunjin broke off, finding a farmhouse not too far from the community.

it was a two-story building, abandoned and forgotten since the beginning of the end of the world. the white outside paint was worn and the porch was well-loved, sporting scratch marks in the wood from used rocking chairs. the inside was open and roomy, giving them enough space to decorate it like their own. lots of windows brought in sunlight and the smell of the outside traveled through screen doors. a fence sectioned off the outgrown yard from the woods and a small barn sat outback. it housed a handful of sheep they rounded up when they first moved in and a small garden planted next to it.

it felt like home for the first time in a long fucking time. ever since minho died, walking the world without him felt empty. like she'd never find a place where she belonged again.

the thought of her brother made her swallow. she took a breath and stood, making her way toward the house and stepping through the screen door. the sound of it slamming shut caught hyunjin's attention from the kitchen.

he peeked around the wall to catch a glimpse of his girlfriend setting her flannel over the back of one of the wooden dining room chairs.

"hey," he said with a small smile, tossing the wet cloth he was using back in the bucket of warm water. the dishes could wait a moment. he walked over to her, using a hand to lean on the table.

"hey," her voice was weak. it sounded almost strained when she spoke, like she's been quiet for so long that she forgot how to talk properly. hyunjin wouldn't be surprised if she had. he noticed how having a moment to rest after chaos really brought everything out of her. the sleepless nights, the panic attacks, the anxiety, the way she interacted with everything now: it all poured out now she didn't use survival as an act to push it down.

he reached out, fingers pushing back a few baby hairs from her forehead. "you were out there a while." he said quietly. i'm worried about you.

y/n shrugged. "it's nice out." she said. don't be. i'm fine.

he forced back the words he wanted to say. i don't believe you. instead he nodded with a grin, glancing out a nearby open window. the breeze that came through blew the curtains apart lightly. "that it is." he looked back at her. "i'm thinking a salad with the stuff from the garden would be nice for dinner. cucumbers, broccoli, carrots: nice and fresh for a day like today. what do you think?"

she nodded. "sure." she spoke before slipping by him. he frowned, but bit down on his lip to hide it. he followed after her, watching as she grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the drinking pitcher.

"okay. i'll go put the sheep in the barn for the night and head to the garden." he explained, heading to the shoe rack next to the back door to put on a pair of his boots.

y/n sat down her glass. "i got the sheep. just go to the garden." she offered. hyunjin blinked at her.

"are you sure?" he asked, standing up. concern swam in his gut. she's been off today, more than normal and it's starting to worry him. he didn't want to leave her alone any more than he could today.

"yeah. it's fine." she reassured. "it'll take like ten minutes."

"okay." he said after a moment. "okay, yeah. holler then... if you need me." he covered his nervousness with a smile. he reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a small squeeze. she returned it.

"i will." she said before dropping his palm. "i'll be back."

hyunjin watched as she headed out the back door, dark eyes fixated on her shrinking figure. he pulled his hand up and rubbed his right shoulder, a familiar twinge of pain spreading across the muscle. he could feel the textured skin under his shirt, bringing back the memory of seeing y/n pinned down with fists flying to both sides of her face.

he shook his head, willing the thought away before it came. he sighed before heading towards the garden.

“come on, jesse, please.” y/n begged the last sheep. jesse, although small, had a knack for making things harder than they should. a mischievous ewe of the herd, black as night with snowy spots around her face, she enjoyed making her handlers work for what they want.

thankfully this last plea led her to give in, following the others inside the barn. y/n trailed behind to make sure the sheep didn’t try to run off before leading them into the pin.

they walked in and began munching on their dinner for the night as y/n locked the enclosure. “you,” she pointed towards jesse. “you are a bitch, you know that?”

the sheep bellowed as if agreeing to the statement. the snide remark earned her an eye roll. “jackass.” y/n muttered under her breath.

she turned, ready to head back to the house when a noise caught her attention.

she looked back, the end of the barn swimming in darkness from the setting sun. despite knowing she’s in a safe place, the thought of not being alone pressed down on her chest. “hello?” she called.

no person came out. in the place instead was a lamb, little tail flicking as it tried to hide between old farm tools.

“barney? how’d you get out?” she asked herself, striding over to catch the animal.

he caught wind of her actions and ran behind a bucket and shovel, making the two smash against each other and fall.

bam!

a scene flashed behind her eyes. minho laying still on the floor, looking just how he did when she woke: bloodied, bruised, and dead. his face was swollen and crimson leaked from his vicious wounds.

the sight caused her heart to clench and her breathing to catch.

“please…” she begged, trying to focus on the sheep in front of her. he sped by, too fast for y/n to catch and headed towards the barn doors.

she followed behind, breathing rugged and hands shaking. “p-please, barney.”

the wind outside picked up slightly. what was once a gentle breeze turned violent, catching the door before slamming.

she couldn’t see. she couldn’t feel. she couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her gasping breaths. hyperventilating overtook her, unable to properly calm herself.

yet as soon as the light left, it came back through a flicker of a flashlight.

she was back here again, swaddled in a thick jacket and gloves. snow melted in her hair that sent shivers down her spine. she stood at the top of a familiar set of stairs with a white door at the bottom.

minho’s screams were on the other side, calling out to her in pain and agony. the realization that her brother was in there sent her flying. she sped down the stairs, nearly tripping and calling his name.

“minho! minho!” she screamed, trying the doorknob. it was locked.

his voice grew louder and the sound of metal hitting skin came through the wood. “no, no!” y/n shouted, trying to slam her shoulder into the door.

smacking, screaming, kicking, punching, slamming. nothing worked. it never worked.

the sound of her name being cried from his lips made her head spin in desperation. over and over and over again until she felt herself being pulled.

being yanked back to reality was never easy. where she was always felt so real. so fucking real every time she’s back at that door, but the feeling of hands on her face and shoulder and the voice of hyunjin grounded her.

“y/n! y/n!” he shook her. “breathe, love. in and out.” he pleaded, feeling his heart twist at the sight of her frantic eyes. “he’s not here, none of them are.”

y/n took a breath, feeling her lungs skip from the straining she put herself under. it was shaky in nature as she followed along with the exercises hyunjin demonstrated.

she gulped and leaned her head back against the wall. she was sat on the dirt ground, straws of hay poking her skin through the material of her jeans.

in through her nose and out through her mouth.

“i’m sorry,” she rasps, blinking back the tears that burned her eyes. “i’m sorry.”

he shook his head and settling down next to her. “no need.” he spoke softly, brushing back her hair like he did before. he was gentle with his touch, fingertips like feathers across her sweaty skin. “there’s no need to be sorry, love.”

she nodded and screwed her hues shut for a moment. his hand fell to her knee.

“you haven’t had an episode like that in a while.” he muttered, thumb grazing over her pants leg.

“yeah,” she croaked, sniffling.

“is it the same one?” he questioned, eyes tracing over y/n’s features. swollen and red hues, the irritated skin around her nose, and the puffiness of her lips from her constant biting. she looked so worn down. that hurt more than any wound could.

“it always is.” she replied.

they sat in silence for a moment longer.

“come on. let’s get you cleaned up and fed. we can go to bed early tonight.” he helped y/n to her feet, placing a small kiss to her temple.

she didn’t respond, but let hyunjin lead her back to the house after making sure the sheep, now including barney, were good until morning.

her footsteps were sluggish and heavy. to hyunjin, it felt almost like carrying a drunk person, having to help haul their body weight back home. he didn’t mind it though. he was too preoccupied with his running thoughts.

his mind trailed back to that day. gunshots rang throughout the old theater they were held up in. he hurried from his place upstairs, wincing slightly with every step from his sprained ankle, but managed to follow the sound.

the image of chan laying still when he walked through the doors sent a shiver down his spine. his friend, his older brother practically, on the ground in a pool of his own blood, gunshot running through the back of his head and knee.

he gagged. seeing someone he was so close too lay limply and lifeless, it made him sick. his hands shook as he covered his mouth, trying to fight back the bile rising in his throat. yet, he didn’t have time to dwell on either his friend nor the vomit threatening to spill once the sound of another gunshot echoed through the auditorium.

the first thought that came to mind was y/n. she wasn’t anywhere near and deep down he knew she was in the midst of the havoc.

he didn’t waste time taking the stairs, but instead hauled himself up on the stage to run through the curtains. then he saw them.

abby anderson. she was the very person that set y/n off. the very cause of minho’s death. he remembered her. she looked exactly the way y/n described. built, muscular frame, long blonde hair tied in a braid, and a look that could kill.

god, the damage she caused. he’ll never forget the way his heart sank seeing y/n’s unconsciousness figure laying next to minho’s corpse. fear struck his bones, blending with the chill of the snow stuck to his skin. dried blood coated her nose and mouth, seeping between her lips and dying her teeth red and left eye starting to swell with purpling skin.

she was still alive. the shallow breathing of her chest told him so and he’d never felt so thankful yet so selfish.

the hope in his heart burned, happy to note his girlfriend was still here, but so disgusted with himself praying she wasn’t the one dead. that’s something he’d never grow to forgive himself and every time the memory of his friend’s body flashes by, the more guilt he continues to grow.

and this moment now was an entire recreation of that day.

abby was on top of y/n. her frame much bigger and stronger than the girl she had pinned. brutal fists were coming from all angles, paining y/n’s skin crimson.

he could see it everywhere. it seeped from her nose and mouth and leaked into her eyes. she coughed and gagged, trying her best to fight back with a broken arm.

the sight of it alone, the ptsd of the day he found her knocked out, it all came flooding back. so he charged. he sprinted and slammed against abby, pushing her off of y/n’s gasping form.

she wiggled in his grasp trying to take the upper hand. he stole it, swinging back with knuckles to meet her face. punch, punch, punch, punch. over and over with a rage he never knew burned in him.

he would kill her. he wanted to kill her and he was going to.

until a sharp pain struck his left shoulder. a deep ache he’s never felt before. he paused, both abby and himself staring at his wound in astonishment.

an arrow was driven through him, a broad head tip peering through his top, sporting blood and meat. red slowly started to spread across his white shirt, expanding like the very fungus trying to kill them.

then another hit and this time was much more painful. it the right side of his upper back, piercing right between his ribs and driven into his lung. the instant taste of metal flooded his tastebuds before a violent cough racked his system, blood spilling from his lips.

he doesn’t remember much after that. other than getting pushed off with knuckles to the face, everything went black. he didn’t wake up until weeks later with y/n by his side and her arm in a split.

he shook his head, willing such a painful memory away and fell back to the present.

he spared a glance over to y/n whose face was pointed down and hands shaking like a leaf in the wind.

yeah, an early night sounds good.

the sunset of the next day was just as bright, painting the chipped white paint of the house a warm orange.

y/n frowned at the sight of a familiar horse tied to their porch. she headed forward, the rabbits for tonight’s dinner bonded with rope was tight in her hand.

she was reluctant to step inside. a well known voice spoke with a gentle ease to hyunjin. she frowned.

a small step through the screen door caught the duo’s attention. hyunjin sent her a smile from the dining table, chan sitting right across from him.

he sent her a grin, too. it was hard to read, a mess of emotions passing through making it difficult to discern. his right eye was white, baring a scar circling the socket of his skull. the right corner of his mouth couldn’t move to far.

“hey, i was wondering where you were.” chan chuckled, willing himself to stand. y/n could see how shaky his stance was, causing hyunjin to leap over and help him regain balance.

“none of that. i’m capable of doing things myself now.” chan shooed hyunjin away, placing a hand on the male’s shoulder in a silent thanks.

he limped around the table, his left knee still weak after all this time but managed to make it to where y/n stood and pulled her into a hug. he squeezed her lovingly, happy to see his adoptive niece after so long. y/n wasn’t as expressive with her touch, opting to just rest her hands around his waist loosely until he backed away. she hoped he didn’t notice that.

he did, but chose not to speak of it.

he looked around, peering at the decor the couple managed to find to decorate their living room. “rather nice place you two have set up here. feels very… homey.” he chortled with a nod.

“well, it is home now.” she responded back, seeing hyunjin step over to take the food for the night from her palm, giving her hand a small squeeze while doing so.

y/n cleared her throat. “so, how’s everyone? good, i hope?”

chan nodded, turning to her. “yeah. felix is studying to help with the medical team. han, changbin, and seungmin are on patrols more often than not, and i.n. is, well, just i.n.” a light laugh left his mouth. “nah, he’s helping the town’s children with their learning.”

“that’s great. i’m happy for ‘em.” y/n gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“i’ll let them know you said that.” then, he sucked in a breath. “but, um…” he trailed off, trying to find his words. “but i’ve came by to talk about something.”

y/n cocked her head slightly. “what is it?” she questioned.

“here.” he sat back down on a wooden dining chair. he patted the table, motioning to the seat next to him. “come sit.”

she followed, seeing hyunjin come back from the kitchen out of the corner of her eye.

she watched as chan pulled out a folded paper and opened it, revealing a map of the east coast. “i’ve been putting out feelers for a while and a guy heard my story.” he smoothed out the sheet on the table. “he told me about a woman he traded with a while back when he was going through california. said she was built like an ox, traveling with a kid with scars across his face.”

y/n swallowed thickly, nails digging and scraping into the wood of her seat. she felt her chest grow heavy.

“he said they were living along the coast on a sailboat. here,” he pointed towards a marked spot on the map before peering up, meeting y/n’s eyes. she felt her stomach twist with his next words.

“that’s gotta be her.”

a silence fell over them for a moment, y/n unable to form the right words.

it’s as if hyunjin could feel that unease radiate from her and took a step, leaning forward and resting his hands on y/n’s shoulders. she could feel the slight trace of his thumb run comfortingly across the skin of her collarbone.

“we’re done with that, so…” he chimed in.

chan peered at y/n, brows furrowed. y/n let out a shaky breath. “i’m sorry,” she looked down.

she could see the way his face twisted, an expression of almost betrayal falling over his features. “well,” he cleared his throat. “i can’t go.”

y/n gave him a small nod. “i know.” her voice was growing weaker.

a pause followed after that. y/n could feel her skin crawl with the way chan’s eyes scanned her. then, a scoff.

“all right.” he sneered, grabbing the bag he traveled with and stood. “reckon it’s easy to forget about her while you’re sitting so comfy and cozy all the way out here–“

“hey,” hyunjin cut in, taking a step forward.

chan ignored him, still fixed on y/n and her saddened hues. “i’ll make her pay. that’s what you said.” he sneered while putting on his backpack.

“chan,” hyunjin tried again, stepping in his line of sight. y/n looked away.

chan rolled his eyes and snarled. “what a fucking joke.” he hissed and limped through the front door.

hyunjin turned to her, standing form towering over her. he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. “stay here a minute, yeah?” he muttered. she nodded, feeling one more peck be placed to the crown of her head.

she heard him head out, footsteps heavy with anger.

“the fuck was that?” she could hear hyunjin’s voice flow through the open window.

“nothin’.” she heard chan respond back.

a groan of irritation came next. “god dammit, chan. you know what the fuck we’ve been through—“

“save it.” chan snapped. “she made me a promise.”

“i don’t fucking care!” hyunjin barked back, making y/n bite her lip until metal seeped to her tongue.

“and that’s your fucking problem, hyunjin. i know you don’t give two shits.”

“you listen here,” her boyfriend’s voice was sharp. “don’t you ever, i mean ever, come into my fucking house with that bullshit ever again. do you hear me?”

y/n was no longer paying attention to their conversation, too preoccupied with the thoughts running in her brain.

abby was so close. so fucking close. and y/n, she could end it once and for all. for her. for hyunjin. for chan. for all her friends. for minho.

she shook her head, forcing them away. it’s done. she’s done.

she grabbed the map and headed upstairs.

sleep didn’t come easy that night. hyunjin laid beside her, dark hair falling over his pillow with small snores leaving his lips.

y/n was sat up, feet dangling over the edge of the bed. goosebumps riddled her skin. the night air flown in through the open windows, making her shiver in her sleep shirt and a pair of hyunjin’s boxers.

she sniffled and sighed, swallowing back the lump in her throat before standing. she walked over towards the window and closed it quietly.

she peered over her shoulder at the man she loved asleep so soundly and made her stomach flip with both adoration and heartbreak. he’s been with her through it all. from minho’s murder, to the hunt for abby, to violence she’s committed, even to his scratch with death. and he’s still here, choosing to be by her side through anything and everything.

she dug her nails into the skin of her crossed arms. chan’s voice echoed through her mind.

i’ll make her pay. that’s what you said.

she let out a broken breath and buried her face in her hands, rubbing harshly at the skin of her forehead. she dragged them down her face.

another shiver racked her body. there’s more windows open downstairs.

with one last glance at the sleeping hyunjin, she took gentle steps into the hall and down to the lower floor. she walked around. the entire house was dark except for the moonlight shining through the curtains, bright enough for y/n to see to move around.

a howl of wind came from nearby. y/n strolled over, hands and feet chilly as she entered hyunjin’s little art room. the walls were pinned with his works. charcoal drawings of herself, paintings of their friends, sketches of jackson’s outline. he was talented.

y/n closed the window and took a few steps back, her hip knocking into a stool. a thud hit the floor, causing y/n to jump at the sound. her guitar case laid there and stared up at her.

she swallowed and bent down, opening it to reveal minho’s old guitar. it was loved, the wood scratched from old picks and old snapped string ends tied to the tuning pegs that he was too lazy to remove.

she grabbed it, thumb running across the neck. she sat on the stool and placed it in her lap, fingers falling back home to where they always were. a few soft strums followed. it was a familiar tune, one she grew so used to playing.

if i ever were to lose you, i’d surely loose myself.

she paused. minho’s voice sang in her head. future days by pearl jam. it was one of his favorites when he was young, he said. his mother used to play it for him when he was a boy and unable to sleep.

“and i wanted to teach you, you know,” he shrugged, sitting on the sofa in y/n’s little makeshift house she claimed as her own. “just in case you need it.”

she chuckled, twirling side to side in her swivel chair. “and why would i need that?” she asked. “i don’t even know how to play.”

he rolled his eyes in a playful manner. “that’s why i said i’ll teach you. it’s almost like you don’t listen.” he reached out, fingers tangling in her hair and giving it a good ruffle.

she pushed him away. “thanks for that. now i look like i’ve been attacked by a bear or something.” she sassed, trying to smooth out her locks.

“it’s not too bad. though, i don’t think hyunjin would mind no matter how your hair looked.” he teased, causing her cheeks to burn.

“shut the hell up.” she brought her hands to her face, trying to conceal her redness.

“yeah, yeah.” he laughed. “but i’ll teach you. if you can’t sleep, just play it. it’ll help. besides, it’s a good song.”

she nodded. “it is. maybe once i learn, i’ll play better than you.”

he scoffed. “doubt it.”

the memory played on repeat. she missed him and his dumb teasing. the only family she ever had was him, practically becoming her brother figure over the course of their journey across the country.

and his death: unjustified and left behind. it left a bitter taste in her mouth, especially since she’s given up on it. on him.

she couldn’t do that to him, not after all he’s done for her. she wouldn’t.

she needed to find abby.

hyunjin was cold when he woke up. the left side of the bed was bare, leaving him alone in the dimly lit room. the sun hasn’t risen yet and the bright moon left a ghastly white glow on the walls.

y/n was missing and that worried him. he knew her insomnia was growing worse by the day. she’d stay up for hours on end, tossing and turning with no dreams to be found. he wondered where she was now.

he got up, bare feet hitting the hardwood floor that sent a shiver down his spine. he headed out and down the stairs, hearing the sounds of shuffling come from the kitchen.

he rounded the corner and felt his heart sink. y/n’s back faced him. she was crouched, frame swallowed in minho’s old jacket he wore all the time, and she was stuffing things into a bag. she was leaving.

“hey,” his voice came out soft. it’s still startled her, making her flinch and peer over her shoulder. she stood.

“hey.” she replied, clammy hands rubbing against the material of her jeans.

“you okay?” he asked. it was dumb. of course she wasn’t.

she nodded nonetheless, lying straight to his face. “fine.” she croaked, stepping over to hide the backpack from his sight. it was useless to do so. he already knew what her plan was.

“come. let’s go back to bed. let’s talk in the morning.” he motioned towards the stairs and turned, hoping to not give her time to argue. he wasn’t quick enough.

“i need to finish this.” her words were broken, much like the way his heart was.

he clenched his jaw and screwed his eyes shut. he turned, taking long strides over to her. he shook his head.

“you don’t owe chan anything. you know that, right?” his hand reached out, brushing back her hair. she pulled away, looking up at him with exhausted hues.

“i don’t sleep. i…” her voice broke slightly. “i don’t eat. i’m not like you.”

hyunjin’s brows furrowed, face twisting in a blur of offense. he took a step back. “like me?” he scoffed. “what? you– you think this is easy for me?”

y/n’s frown stretched deeper.

he scowled. “minho was my best friend, y/n. for years, he was there for me. with– with advice, or solutions for my problems, even to just fuck around with. he watched me grow up and you think it’s easy for me to act like his death didn’t effect me?”

y/n shook her head. “that’s not–“

hyunjin cut her off. “i do this for you, y/n. everything i do is for you.” sadness washed over his anger. “i love you. please, just stay.” he grasped her face gently with his palms, thumbs running along the high points of her cheek bones.

“i can’t.” she whispered.

“so, am i just supposed to sit and wait for you? for me to drive myself insane thinking your dead or ripped apart?” he exasperated. y/n shook her head in his hands.

“i don’t plan on dying.” her voice was stable for the first time in a while.

“well, neither did minho.” the words slipped out faster than he could catch. his blood froze in his veins at the look of pain making home on y/n’s features.

she didn’t respond, but instead ripped away from his touch to grab her bag, taking steps towards the back door. he panicked, jumping forward to cup her face once again. “no, don’t. please.”

her breathing was ragged. what he said was unfair on every level and he knew that. but, anything to keep from separating, he’s willing to do. “please. i-i can’t…” he cracked. “i can’t lose you, too.” his eyes burned with tears, gaze locked with hers.

“i have to kill her, hyunjin. she’s still alive and minho’s not. i can’t live with myself as long as she’s still breathing.” she whispered.

he leaned forward, forehead pressed together, and let out a shaky breath. “let me come with you.”

“no.” her response was instant. “no, you can’t come.” she shook her head, attempting to pull away from him. his gentle hands stayed.

“why?” he begged. “tell me, why can’t i come?” he scanned her face. her emotions bled openly. her fear and agony of watching someone she cared for to be hurt again was on full display.

“you’ll get hurt. i-i can’t have you dying on me. last time was cutting it way too close.” she explained. “and that was because of me. you came because of me and that earned you a collapsed lung and a run in with death. everything that’s happened to you was because of me.”

she sniffled and hyunjin shook his head, wiping a rouge tear from her cheek. “no, god no.” he swallowed. “you think this was your fault? are you fucking serious?”

she nodded. “of course it is. if i hadn’t–“

“if i hadn’t, you would’ve been dead.” he cut in. “if i hadn’t been there, abby would’ve beaten you to death and i would be sitting in jackson wondering where you were. if i hadn’t, you would’ve been taken and killed by the wlfs. if i hadn’t, i would’ve lost you for good.”

another tear slipped down her cheek. he wiped it away, not acknowledging his own. “none of this is your fault. none. it has never been your fault. what abby did, you had nothing to do with and i know that in your mind, you believe you’re the root cause of everything, but believe me when i say you’re not.” he pushed her hair back, much like he did when she had her panic attack in the barn.

“and i know this is what you feel is needed. i know this feels like the only thing you can do avenge minho’s death and i know your mind is made up. i wont stop you, but god forbid i let you do this shit on your own. you’re much too precious to me to do that.” he breathed.

“i’d go to the ends of anything and everything for you. i’d follow you into any place you want. fuck, i’d walk blissfully into hell if that’s where you’re headed.” he licked his lips, salt on his tongue. “please, love, please let me go with you.”

y/n swallowed and sniffled, feeling the weight of his words crush her. she could see it in his eyes. please let me come with you. i’m begging, my love, please.

a sigh and then she nodded. “okay.” she croaked. “okay. you can come.”

a sense of relief filled hyunjin’s chest. he leaned down and captured y/n’s lips with his. desperation fled from him to her, spilling between them in a flurry of emotions. the very need to be by her side at all times consumed him, to survive and die right next to her. and he would without as much as a second thought.

he breathed her in, hoping to consume and bury all her worries and fears, and sprout them into flowers of hope and courage. she was his everything.

and if it’s to the ends they go, he’ll follow her like a dog.

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aylish91 · 1 year ago

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Do you have any pirate sans x siren reader story ideas that you don't want/ Don't mind being converted into a story?

OOOOOOOOO! Pirate Sans x Siren Reader! You are in luck, my friend. I have had a few ideas I will most likely never fully get around to. If you would like to use any of them, be my guest~ If you do, please make sure to send me a link so I can read!!!

~~~ (1)

Sans is betrayed by someone on his ship resulting in the death of his brother and most of the crew. He manages to escape but is gravely injured. Running from his enemies, he stumbles upon a cave. Inside is a pool with a certain imprisoned siren. It is both lucky but unfortunate in his eyes.

Sirens/mermaids were stuff of myths and legends said to have the ability to grant those that catch them any wish they so desired. The stronger the siren, the more wishes they could grant. However, if you failed to catch or angered them, they would take your soul or lure you with their song to your death.

Fortunately, neither of them is strong enough to hurt the other, so a deal is made. You are strong enough to grant Sans the “Eye of the Judge” and “Karmic Retribution” in exchange for freedom. However, it is quickly deduced that that alone wasn’t enough. (Everyone was still dead, Sans was still dusting, and you were now weak enough that you wouldn’t be able to save yourself even free.) In conclusion, to save both parties, you propose one last final deal.

If Sans allows you to lure/drown him and take his soul, you would be able to turn back time exactly one year. He would maintain his new abilities to then protect his family and crew from whatever threat had almost dusted him. In return, he would come back and release you from your prison and keep you safe while you recovered.

Agreements are made with binding magic, soul consumed, and time reversed. (maybe with a side effect of now both souls being slightly bonded to each other) Sans finds you again as soon as he can and wa-la! Adventure time! Revenge against those who harmed Sans’ crew along with those who imprisoned you? Maybe! Simply avoiding danger and keeping everyone safe? absolutely! It could also be how you two slowly come to love each other or form a kind of familial bond.

~~~ (2)

You guide ships of your choosing through Death Pass. You keep other nasties away and show them how to navigate many days inside the perilous rocks and crags. All this for a price of course~ Anyone unwilling to pay can either turn back or inevitably get eaten by you or others. (After sinking of course… ha ha…)

There may be a certain pirate that catches your attention. One that brings you nice things and tells you the most entertaining stories. One that makes you want to go on adventures too…

It could be how you become fond of him and his crew through work. You could eventually help him through without payment to save him from those giving chase. You could ask for payment to be him taking you with him on his journeys…

~~~ (3)

Sans rescues you from the black market. Naturally, honor binds you to him now even though he let you go and left. You spend your time following him, getting closer, and sneaking on board.

(You are quite terrible at using legs at first, but you manage somehow. Even if people look at you weird. Customs are also different...)

You may be good at sneaking around and watching/helping. It could also be you only think you are sneaky. haha

#laylakaia #my writing #ideas #asks #undertale #undertale fanfiction #sans #siren reader #sans x reader #piratetale #feel free to use!#please share so I can read!#happy writing!!!

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laughhardrunfastbekindsblog · 9 months ago

Text

All through season 3, I was looking for reasons to let go of Tech, but hope just wouldn't die and until the finale I still thought there was a chance Tech would turn out to be alive and well. Even with this hope I found it... odd... that the show skipped over the inevitable conversation between Omega and Crosshair with Crosshair learning what happened to Tech. So I wrote this just a few days after the season 3 premiere and posted it to AO3 since I didn't have tumblr at the time. I'm posting it here now, mostly because the past few days this blog has turned into one of my ways of fully processing Tech's death.

NOTE: the first two sections are scenes directly from the show. I included them to clarify the timeline of events and add some detail as to what I imagine was informing Crosshair's thoughts and remarks during the second scene in particular.

Revelation

“Crosshair!”

No. It couldn’t be.

“Crosshair?”

He must still be dreaming, stuck in the nightmare…

“Crosshair?”

The voice sounded just like Omega, but that would mean Omega was here. And if Omega were here, that would mean his brothers…

“You must be Omega.” He knew that voice, and Emerie Karr’s statement removed all doubt.

“What did you do to Crosshair?” he heard Omega reply.

“He’s recovering. I tried to warn him what would happen if he did not cooperate with the doctor….”

He kept his eyes closed, feigning continued unconsciousness, wishing he had never awoken.

**********

“Crosshair. I tried to come earlier, but there were too many guards watching me.”

Crosshair sighed. He had noticed Omega’s attempts to catch his attention when they passed each other in the halls, and had deliberately ignored her. He couldn’t very well do so now. “You shouldn’t be down here at all.”

“Well, how else are we gonna plan an escape?”

Where did the kid get her unfailing optimism? But hope was useless here – worse than useless. Best to disabuse her of any fanciful notions before she was crushed any further by the weight of disappointment. “There is no ‘we,’” he replied curtly as he sat up to face her, “and there is no escape. I’ve already tried.”

He wouldn’t tell her the details of what had happened: that the primary objective of his “escape attempt” had been to warn his brothers about the danger they and Omega were in. Omega hadn’t yet told him whether the message had been received, and Crosshair had no inclination to broach the subject. Believing he had failed in getting the message to his brothers was easier to stomach than knowing the message had been delivered yet still yielded this outcome.

Thankfully, Omega didn’t probe for details – she was still too focused on the prospect of freedom. “Every stronghold has a weak point,” she was saying now, before adding thoughtfully, “Maybe I can convince Emerie to help. She’s one of us.”

No. This had to be nipped in the bud. If Crosshair managed to teach the kid anything, it had to be this, the one crucial lesson that was even more important than learning that hope was pointless. “Not every clone is your ally,” he warned her firmly. “You trust too easily.”

Omega looked taken aback for only a second before resisting the lesson. “Maybe you don’t trust enough,” she retorted.

Crosshair wished he could think of precisely what to say to convince her of her errors in judgment, but his hand started shaking… Blast, he thought as he gripped his hands together, hoping Omega hadn’t noticed.

“Crosshair?” she said gently; and he knew she had noticed. Yet more proof that hope was useless.

He wouldn’t let her see any more. He didn’t need any more reminders of his shortcomings, his failures, his mistakes, his losses. If he couldn’t teach the kid just how futile it was to hope and trust, maybe he could at least convince her to stop doing things that would put her in more danger. “Just… go, before you make things worse for both of us.”

Omega hesitated only briefly before turning to leave, and Crosshair thought that maybe he had succeeded – but then she spoke once more. “There has to be a way out of here,” she said, determination adding a layer of steel to her tone. “I’ll find it.”

**********

“You’re awake,” she said cheerfully as she sat cross-legged on the floor.

Crosshair didn’t reply, only fixed her with a sullen stare that did nothing to dampen her spirits.

“No one said anything after I came here last time, so I think I might be able to keep visiting you,” Omega went on. “Of course, we’ll have to be discreet when discussing some topics…”

He couldn’t ignore her when he was stuck in a cell, and she was going to keep visiting… “Why are you here?” he cut in sharply.

Omega paused mid-sentence, the slight crease that appeared on her forehead attesting to her confusion even as she gamely shifted topics. “I… well, I don’t have an escape plan yet, but I thought I could…”

“No,” he brusquely interrupted her again, waving his arm to gesture toward the hallway in an attempt to make his meaning clear. “Why are you here, on Tantiss?”

“The Empire captured me,” she answered in a low voice. “I think they want me to make Nala Se cooperate with them.”

Crosshair growled in frustration at the kid again missing the meaning of his query – he had to know, but that wouldn’t make the knowledge any easier to bear. He tried one more time, “What happened?”

Omega went perfectly still, and Crosshair’s heart sank. This is precisely why he had avoided asking about his brothers’ fates; but not knowing meant he could only imagine the worst possibilities. He didn’t let a shred of emotion show on his face, however, as his sister finally moved to reposition herself so she was no longer directly facing him, instead sitting in profile, gazing down the hallway as she wrapped her arms around her knees.

“We… Tech was going through some intel for Echo when he found out you were captured, and then he found the message you sent to warn us. We were trying to track Hemlock’s ship so we could find you. We knew Hemlock would be meeting with Tarkin on Eriadu, so we infiltrated the base to place a tracker on his ship. But…” she faltered, then everything spilled out in a flood of words. “Everything went wrong. We tried to escape, but there was an explosion at the base that left us trapped in a rail car with Imperial troops and ships attacking us. Tech was on the rail line to fix the car and he tried to make it back, but the car was breaking in half and falling off the track, and then the added weight…” Her voice broke, and she took a shuddering breath before soldiering on, “Tech fell, he severed the connection to the broken half of the car and he wouldn’t let us save him…”

The words were like shrapnel ripping through his heart. Hemlock seemed to think the interrogation droids were one of the most effective means of inflicting pain; the experiments were mentally and physically relentless, excruciating, exhausting; but this… This was true torture.

Omega had paused in an effort to regain her composure, wrapping her arms ever more tightly around her knees in an effort to stop shaking. Determinedly looking at the floor, she continued her story, her voice cutting through the void of Crosshair’s bereavement and bringing him back to the current situation with a painful jolt. The way she was rushing and stammering through her story, Crosshair could tell this was the first time she was really thinking about it, the first time she was allowing herself to relive the tragedy, reopening the painful wounds of this memory just so she could satiate his need to know.

He didn’t want to know any more – the worst thing he’d imagined had happened to one of his brothers. But he couldn’t manage to speak, couldn’t beg Omega to stop talking…

“Tech’s repairs worked, the car started moving, but we crashed and… I don’t remember much after that… I woke up and Hunter and Wrecker and I had all been bandaged up by AZI. Then Hemlock found us. Hunter told me to run, but I couldn’t leave them.” Omega’s chin was shaking so hard Crosshair wasn’t sure how she was managing to still speak so clearly. “Hemlock captured Wrecker and Hunter, and I tried to stop him, but one of his guards stunned me and I woke up on Hemlock’s ship.” She paused again; Crosshair, outwardly still and silent as stone, inwardly reeling from pain and shock, only peripherally noticed her bring her hand to her cheek to wipe away tears. “I had sent AZI to get Echo, though, so maybe Hunter and Wrecker managed to escape.”

The flash of relief upon hearing that Hunter and Wrecker and Echo might still be alive disappeared almost before Crosshair felt it, suppressed under the massive weight of sudden loss.

Tech.

Crosshair had always pretended to be even more annoyed than the others when Tech spouted off three datapads’ worth of information on the most mundane topics, but secretly he had been fascinated by how smart his brother was, how Tech not only knew the information but could seamlessly apply it to improve almost any situation. Hunter was the one with heightened senses, but Tech sometimes seemed even more skilled than Hunter in knowing exactly what Crosshair needed without Crosshair needing to say a word – and, being the most reticent member of the group, Crosshair couldn’t say he ever minded.

That was the thing about Tech: when it came to any given topic – including his brothers – Tech didn’t just know, he understood.

Crosshair didn’t have Tech’s skill in this area, but he knew and understood his brother well enough to fill in the details himself. Omega had said Tech had been the one to discover Crosshair’s imprisonment and the message, which meant Tech would have been the one to bring the fact to the squad’s attention, comb through intel that led to the discovery of Hemlock’s existence, and join the push for a rescue mission to be mounted despite the warning the message conveyed.

Omega and Crosshair now sat in silence for what may have been hours, may have been seconds – he would never be able to tell – before Omega spoke again. Despite the tears still silently falling down her face, her voice took on its signature hopeful note. “Maybe we can…”

‘Maybe’ was dangerous territory, and Crosshair – sick to his stomach, burning with regret and shame, broken and empty with no recourse available to him – could not let Omega continue. Tech was dead, and Crosshair could not allow himself to entertain the idea that maybe his remaining brothers were actually okay. ‘Maybe’ meant hope. Hope meant more pain.

“No,” he said, so sharply that Omega finally turned to look at him. The sight of her tear-streaked yet resolute face only deepened his agony. “No more plans. Can’t you see? It’s over.”

“But if Hunter and Wrecker escaped, that would mean…”

“NO,” he said again, glaring at the kid.

He wasn’t going to say anything else; but suddenly a sentence from Omega’s story struck home - we were trying to track Hemlock’s ship so we could find you – and his thoughts, his deepest regret, took form in words and slipped through his mouth before he could stop himself. “I told you to run. I told you all to hide. Why didn’t you hide?”

Omega’s eyes softened, and her sympathy made him drop his gaze to the floor. “Because we’re a squad,” she replied softly, “we’re family, and we don’t leave anyone behind.”

“Look where that got you,” Crosshair retorted bitterly. Look where that got Tech, he thought.

Footsteps sounding in a distant hallway seemed to remind Omega that she did not have unlimited time to spend on visits, and she hurriedly wiped her face again as she got to her feet. She didn’t immediately depart, however; and Crosshair, feeling her gaze on him, refused to look up.

“You’re worth the risk, Crosshair,” she said simply. “Tech thought so too.”

He remained as he was, staring at the floor, numb and broken and alone, long after she had gone.

**********

“Crosshair? Are you awake?”

He gave a prolonged sigh in an effort to cover the fact that a tiny part of him was actually glad she had come to visit – it had been several weeks since the last one, and he had started to wonder if she had been outright forbidden from seeing him. “What does it matter? You’re going to talk anyway.”

She hesitated briefly. “If you need to rest, I can come back later…”

He groaned a little as he sat up – this round of experiments was leaving him increasingly sore, but he would never admit this to anyone, least of all Omega: she would spend the entire visit fretting about him. “It’s fine. I’m already awake.”

She regarded him for several long seconds before kneeling in front of his cell. “Sorry it took so long for me to come back. Nala Se kept giving me additional assignments. I think that phase of experimentation is over now. They don’t tell me much about what the experiments are, though.” She was quiet for a moment, before continuing, “I like taking care of the hounds a lot more than helping in the lab. Batcher is finally warming up to me – she doesn’t try to bite me anymore when I feed her. Oh, K9X1 finally told me a little more about the hounds…”

Crosshair listened as Omega continued talking about all the details she had learned about the species – their origins, development, life cycle, characteristics, and more – and wondered why he felt such a bittersweet ache in his chest…

Omega’s chatter reminded him of Tech.

Identifying the cause made the ache grow more potent, and Crosshair almost snapped at Omega to leave so he could busy himself with forgetting the tragedy. Over the past few weeks, he had thought he had come to terms with the loss of his brother – the shame, regret, and emptiness no longer felt like they would completely consume him – but in moments like these the pain would return in full force, and it was almost too much to bear.

And yet – right now, the ache wasn’t just bitterness and sorrow. There was a hint of solace, a touch of comfort, the warmth of nostalgia and happy memories, that took the edge off the pain. And, somehow, this comfort came from Omega.

Despite what Omega had said, he knew he didn’t deserve the risk his squad had taken for him. Tech shouldn’t have died for him, Omega shouldn’t have been captured because of him, the others shouldn’t be facing dangers unknown because of him. Knowing this, he wouldn’t let anyone else take such a risk for him again.

But Omega was feeling the loss of Tech just as much as he was. She had lost her brother, just as he had.

Crosshair wouldn’t encourage her insane ideas of the both of them managing to escape together; but if these visits made her current captivity easier to bear, he wouldn’t send her away.

Resting his forehead on his hands, he sat and listened to his sister.

#tbb #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #star wars #tbb spoilers #tbb season 3 #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #tbb fanfiction #tbb canon compliant fanfiction #grief #dealing with grief #gone but never forgotten #rip tech

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writing-whump · 9 months ago

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Hey! I'm new around Tumblr and since the first day I found your blog.. I'm literally obsessed with your fictions!! Love the fictions, characters... I think you're one of the bests 💕💕Especially, I love Hector and Isiah, bromanceee!💖

Umm, when you have time and done with the fics on your list, would you consider a new one about Hector who's reeeally sick with high fever (and some other symptoms which is totally up to your imagination) and Isiah taking care of him?? I'd really love to read that!

♡Thank you with sharing these characters and world with us!

Hello nonny and welcome! That's so sweet of you to say, thank you so much🥰💕 This really fit as continuation for sick feverish Hector after his appendicitis operation, so here you go 😊

Appendicitis Aftermath

Arnie was biting his nails. Isaiah was seriously considering if he shouldn't point it out, because it was climbing up his fried nerves.

Arnie sat in the backseat, without a seat belt so he could hover in the middle between Isaiah behind the wheel and Hector.

One would say Isaiah would be used to being called to a crisis with his brothers in the middle of the night by now. However, it didn't get easier with practice.

Arnie was nearly in tears, mumbling about Hector, an operation, and an unruly shadow, which sent Isaiah into a panic. Turned rather anticlimactic when he arrived at the hospital.

Hector had appendicitis. The operation was routine, small, nothing serious. They caught it on time. Except the shadow was a problem. Isaiah was all ready to roll it down for his brother, when the medics came with the idea they could just drug him up with heavy stuff.

Hector was a wolf, meaning he couldn't heal an inflammation, infection, or sickness, but if they took the appendix out, his shadow would be able to heal the wound afterward. He didn't have to stay in the hospital; they even allowed them to take him home.

They needed only to wait for his shadow to recover.

Until then, Hector was stitched up and with bandages over the wound, hurting like any mortal would.

Another quiet crack as Arnie bit into the nail on his forefinger, fidgeting on Isaiah's right.

Hector was pale, holding himself rigidly in the seat. His eyes were closed, but he took those carefully measured breaths that told Isaiah he wasn't asleep.

The car jostled over a bump and Hector hissed quietly, jerking his head.

"Sorry about that. Almost home, buddy," Isaiah said, planting his hand on Hector's leg for a second to reassure him. Hector said nothing, curling onto himself.

"You'll be fine—humans undergo these operations every day and recover well." Arnie leaned in closer, a ball of nervous energy. Surprisingly so, since he slept even less than Isaiah, calling the ambulance at 3 in the morning.

Isaiah understood Arnie was trying to play the situation down, appealing to Hector's pride so he wouldn't let the pain get to him so much, but he didn't think it was currently helping.

Hector was simply in pain—one that wasn't leaving, wasn't getting better, and wouldn't be healed by his shadow for the next 12 hours at the least. This was not a good forecast for a wolf not used to endure pain, but there was no way to play it down.

Isaiah didn't have it in him to admonish Arnie though. His two younger brothers knew each other better than he knew them, he didn't dare. He understood Arnie was stressed out about it - he was even acutely aware of the fact.

One of the reasons why he found sharing his pain, sickness or weakness absolutely unacceptable with his brothers. He would not put Arnie through such an experience if he could help it. He never did, actually.

But he had failed in front of Hector one or two times about that, so he understood that too. Besides, it would probably be healthier to admit it, if they knew how to handle it right.

"Shit," Hector grunted, pressing his forehead against the window, hands gingerly around his stomach, just above the wound. "Stupid fucking medics, taking my shadow away."

"They couldn't work around it," Arnie said defensively, feeling involved in the decision since Hector was unconscious at the time. "It would be like the scene from Spiderman 2. The tentacles of Doc Oc killing everyone. Besides, the meds will wear off quicker than if it got rolled down."

"So glad you got it all planned out," Hector snapped, face white and strained. "Helps a shitton-"

"Alright," Isaiah interjected. "That's enough. Arnie is just trying to help," Isaiah said, giving the youngest a pointed look to just shut up. "Hex, anything we can do for you right now?"

"What would you want to do?!" Hector protested, growl in his voice. "Just want to go freaking home. What are you so slow for?"

Isaiah decided not to mention he was driving slowly because of Hector, to avoid the jostling as much as possible.

"Fucking grandma drives faster," Hector continued under his breath, but his eyes were open and more alert now as he watched the streets glide by the window.

Isaiah was relieved to finally reach Hector's apartment, though he took a deep breath to brace himself for the next part.

Hector put his hands on his knees experimentally, breaths coming in faster. He was scared of the walk.

"Arnie, go in first and open up for us, would you?" Isaiah suggested, for all their sakes. He didn't think struggling in front of Arnie made it any easier, nor was Arnie taking it very well.

Arnie dangled the keys in his hands and hurried out of the car. It swung left and right at the impact of the door slamming shut. Hector moaned quietly, hanging his head over his legs.

Isaiah opened and closed his doors gently, circling around slowly to let Hector prepare for it.

He opened the door and put a hand on Hector's nape. Sweat was clinging to his skin, and he felt warm and feverish.

"It won't be so bad. I'll help you," Isaiah said gently, rubbing his finger up and down on Hector's nape.

Hector straightened up, twitched at the movement, slowly swinging one leg out of the car. "Just-" he gulped, "just give me a minute?"

"Whenever you are ready. Take your time."

Hector closed his eyes for three more long breaths, then opened up with more fight in his eyes. "Okay."

Isaiah hugged him from the side so he could brace Hector's weight against him and pulled him up slowly. He aimed not to have Hector tense any of his stomach muscles to get upright.

Hector wrapped his arm around Isaiah’s neck, taking a fistful of his coat in his hand. He took a shaky breath but didn't protest being pulled up.

Isaiah took two steps to the side to close the door behind them and lock the car up. He wrapped his arm properly around Hector's middle, gripping it at his healthy side, half of his brother's weight on him. "Five minutes and you can lay down," he promised.

They made their way to the elevator, where Hector closed his eyes, slumping even more against Isaiah. "...how many more hours?"

"If we start counting from the moment the IV was removed and take 12 hours as the goal - around 10 hours and 40 minutes to go."

Hector pressed his lips together, murmuring something. "Keep the count for me?" he asked in a low voice, as if he were trying to find a nicer way to say it.

Isaiah readjusted his grip on him as the elevator arrived. "Of course."

Arnie left the door open for them. Isaiah didn't bother with the shoes and coats, dragging Hector to his room.

"Slowly now," he said as he helped him lower himself onto the bed. Getting down was as much of a challenge as getting up.

Hector let out a little groan as he sat down, white as a sheet from the short walk. He hunched over himself but didn't lie down immediately, letting Isaiah undo his shoes.

"It's best if you just sleep through it," Isaiah said, gently helping Hector lay down against the pillows. He pushed the covers on top. It was a corner bed, so the wall was right next to them to lean on, and there was a TV hanging from the opposite wall.

Hector squirmed under the covers, face one big grimace. "Don't think I can sleep."

"Then let's find some low-energy distractions," Isaiah said. He got rid of his shoes and coat and climbed into the bed beside Hector. "Old movie or new? Something you like and could focus on what be good."

Hector's eyebrows knitted together in puzzlement at Isaiah, but he didn't comment on him inviting himself over.

Hector shifted around with his shoulders, comically lost in the covers. "Zaya? Could I- could you just get me something for this?" He pressed the words through his teeth.

"You are still on the meds from the hospital, there really isn't anything stronger here."

"Yeah, well that sucks," Hector said with a shudder. His hands pushed at the covers, digging into them with his fingers.

"We could try some ice on the wound. And maybe you could drink something?" Isaiah didn't like the sweat on Hector's forehead or the heat radiating from him even just sitting this close.

The doors creaked when Arnie stuck his head in. Isaiah quietly asked him what items to bring and added a thermometer for good measure.

"Is there no trick to this?" Hector said in a strangled voice, looking longingly at Isaiah's human-shaped shadow neatly tucked at the end of the bed without any light to explain the angle.

"Try calling for it as much as possible," Isaiah suggested. "I'm not experienced with drugs and medication, but the more you call it, the faster it tries to get back."

Hector curled up on his side, arms wrapped around his chest like he was cold. His forehead creased in concentration before he gasped for a breath, twisting in the pillows. "Doesn't work. I can't even...it's like reaching for something under the sofa. I know it's there, but I can't touch it." There was a hint of a whine in that sentence.

"Shhhhhhh. Then just let it be for a bit." The worst they could do was to get Hector upset. Isaiah put his hand on Hector's shoulder, almost by the neck, holding him steady as he took deep, ragged breaths.

Arnie tiptoed inside, bringing the ice wrapped in a kitchen towel, a glass of water and a thermometer. His fingertips were all chewed and bloody.

Isaiah sighed and whispered: "Go disinfect that and take a nap. I've got him." With Hector's shadow absent, he couldn't hear them.

Arnie looked at Isaiah with a glassy, scared look as if he weren't sure he really wanted to do this alone. Finally, he nodded. "Call me if you need something."

Hector shuffled under the covers so Isaiah could put the wrapped-up ice on top of the bandages. Hector winced at the contact before leaning back again. "Is he pissed off or something?"

"He is fine. Tired and worried," Isaiah said, sitting down properly against the wall. He turned on the TV, clicking between the channels until he found some kind of Tom Cruise action movie. "Are you sure you don't have a preference?"

"I don't have a list of favorites on the ready," Hector complained. "How the hell do you have time for that?"

Isaiah shrugged. "Movie night on Wednesdays, usually some kind of cinema or movie with Seline during the week and free weekend afternoons."

"What, Seline gives you breaks on the weekends?"

"Kinda. She is always out visiting her parents."

Hector gave him a look. "What? Why?"

"There are apparently parents worth visiting."

Hector frowned, silent for a long minute. Isaiah winced internally. Parents weren't a good topic by a stretch. Not since the whole reveal drama.

Hector rolled his head to look at the TV absently, though now he looked more dazed than focused. Isaiah hoped that was a sign he really would nod off to sleep. There were still 10 hours left.

"It's too freaking warm in here," Hector complained out of a sudden, scrambling up on shaky hands.

"What do you think you are doing?" Isaiah pushed him back, getting out of bed nimbly to open the window. "I'll do it. Just stay put."

Hector lifted himself up on the pillows a little, face scrunching up. "I don't feel well."

Isaiah got back onto the bed. "I know. It will just be a bit longer."

"No, like for real. I don't-" he hiccuped, pressing a hand to his lips. "I feel sick." He looked at Isaiah with wide eyes. "I don't want to throw up. It's hurting like a bitch as it is, Zaya, please-"

"Okay, okay, I got you." Isaiah had no idea what he was doing, but the pleading had his ribcage squeezing like he couldn't get in any air. He helped Hector to sit a bit more upright, leaning him against his side, his own arms wrapped around Hector's chest to hold him up. "Take deep breaths. There is fresh air coming from the window and you got nothing to throw up anyway. Just breathe."

"Make it stop," Hector sobbed, pressing his hands against Isaiah's on his chest. "It hurts."

"I know, buddy, I know. Shhhh. I'm right here." Isaiah held him as tight as he dared. Hector's head, now pressed against his neck, radiated heat like a furnace. No wonder he was so whiny.

"You wouldn't have a problem with something like this," Hector whimpered, a shiver running through him. "You would be fine. Even Arnie would be fine, it's just me-"

"Oh, shut it," Isaiah said sternly. "You are plenty resilient. You train day and night, you think I can't see it? It's like you are made of steel. That's not something you get from a shadow or because you are a wolf. And training is basically pain and learning to accept and like pain, and you got that."

"Then tell me how to do it," Hector demanded, swallowing heavily.

"I told you. Sleep, being comfy, movies, distraction-"

"Yeah, sure, cause that's how you do it. With your training and experience-"

"And you think that's an advantage?" Isaiah blurted out. "After all this time? I got pretty nasty things out of that torture crap too, just so you know. I did it so you wouldn't have to and now you are jealous of it? Jesus fucking Christ."

Maybe that was not the right thing to say at such a time, cause Hector was crying now, big fat tears streaming down his face. "Sorry, I'm sorry..." he hiccuped and then gagged.

Isaiah leaned forward along with him, holding his shoulders from behind as Hector heaved emptily over the sheets and the bed, shuddering with the pain, hands at his side.

"Shhhhhh. It's okay. Take deep breaths now. You are alright," Isaiah repeated over and over.

There was truly nothing for Hector to bring up, so Isaiah leaned back again, pulling Hector after him against his chest again. Thumbing the tears on his cheeks away with his hands, Isaiah's insides shook as if he were the one heaving.

"I'm sorry," Hector whimpered after a while with a sniffle. "I'm really sorry."

Isaiah stared at the ceiling tiredly. "I forgive you." He wrapped his hands snuggly around his brother. "Just don't say shit like that again."

They stayed in heavy silence for a while, Isaiah counting Hector's harsh breaths until they came more rhythmically.

"Tell me something that helps you," Hector said quietly. "Something that matters to you. Something real."

"That will help distract you? Really?" Isaiah said dryly. His chest was hurting at the conversation, at seeing Hector this weak and pained, at the issue being brought up at all.

Hector coiled up into a ball against him, which was the weirdest position since he wasn't a small man in the slightest.

"It helps to imagine it like a circle," Isaiah said into the silence. "A circle around where it hurts, like the pain gets trapped there. Like it can't get further and I can chase it out by cutting it off oxygen, attention, blood stream."

Hector made a little noise at the back of his throat, the side of his face pressing into Isaiah's chest. Over his heart.

"It helps not to be alone. I had to be for a long time, but now I don't and...and it helps, I think."

Hector closed his eyes, nodding against him.

"And the last thing...I don't know if it will work for you..."

Hector tensed against him with a little groan of pain.

"I really do like the movies," Isaiah said.

Hector waited in shocked silence at the words before giving a hoarse little chuckle, snuggling closer. "You are such an ass."

"If you don't pick, I will," Isaiah said, a tentative smile playing on his lips.

#sickfic #hurt/comfort #emeto #nausea #angst #bromance #werewolf wip #my writing #Hector

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likablemuffin · 1 month ago

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We'll always be together!... Right?

(From: One left (A rottmnt separated au)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It has been three days.

They were supposed to fight again in two.

Was big mama giving them some more time to recover?

No, she wouldn't do that....

What if she ran into some...

Issues.

It was cold. That was the one thing Raph always hated about his cell. It was how freaking cold it was.

He wraps his tail around himself, but flinches when he moves it. It's all bandaged up, sure, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

Donnie was sitting next to him sleeping. He was leaning on him.

You would think Raph would be happy to not have to fight for a day extra.

He wasn't.

Whenever big mama gave them extra time to heal, it meant that either they were going to fight an even more powerful champion than before...or she was having some sort of issues.

Raph was really hoping it was the latter. He didn't know if he or especially Donnie could take any more right now. But knowing big mama and how she hardly ever runs into problems, he was assuming she was just letting them heal up better before throwing them back into the arena.

Speaking of big mama, she just walked up to their cell. She looks....actually annoyed. She doesn't get annoyed very often, so that's something that Raph should look into....

"I'm terribly sorry that I didn't show up yesterday, my turtley-boos... I had some....issues....to take care of. But! They are all taken care of now, and you can now go back into the scremdiferous arena today!" She giggles such a cute and sweet giggle you would almost believe she isn't evil. Raph just grunts. "Great...."

Big mama glares at him. "Was that complaining I heard?"

Raph would've LOVED to yell at her and tell her that yes, he was complaining because of her stupid rules. But he didn't want to be punished any more than he already was. So he just sighed. "No big mama...."

Big mama smirks. It was one of those smirks that you want to slap it off of the persons face before they can say: Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles is the worst tmnt version! (It's not by the way >:( ) But obviously Raph couldn't. For several reasons, actually.

Number one: He was in a cell and big mama was on the outside of it.

Number two: He didn't want to get any more beat up then he already was.

Number three: He was probably too weak to slap her in the first place.

So he just looked at her. He wasn't glaring, but he wasn't smiling either.

After a few minutes of staring, big mama started to walk away. But of course she was talking as she left, so Raph had to hear her annoying voice one last time before he was thrown in the arena that could honestly be his demise.

"I'll come back to retrieve you scrumrious turtley-boos later! Don't worry. The person I'm going to make you fight isn't NEARLY as bad the TBM. You'll be fine." She continues walking away and Raph thinks that she's finally done, and he can just rest but of course that's not the case because it's big mama what do you expect.

"Oh, and one last thing.... I'm planning for a fun little event where...." She starts giggling, which sends a shiver through Raph. "You and your brother fight against each other."

Before Raph can say anything or even comprehend what she just said, she skips away, quite pleased with herself.

Raph looks down at Donnie, who was smiling in his sleep.

Raph was going to have to fight him?

No...

No he couldn't!

He wouldn't!

That...

That cant happen....

Raph is way stronger AND healthier than Donnie!

He wouldn't stand a chance against him....

He...wouldn't....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prev - Next

#....#I got better at writing I promi-#*Jumps off cliff*#I'M SORRY I JUST NEED TO SAY THAT EVERYTIME-#rottmnt #save rottmnt #rottmnt raph #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt big mama #muffin's writing #orange writing

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mimicrygrievous · 1 month ago

Text

Fanfic Attempt Snippet 2. Advice? Help?

Astilbes were third. Feathery crescents brushed into existence as partial rainbows of pastels resting right above the aforementioned eyebags, taking on the role of closed, heavily mascaraed sockets. Nightmare had been almost disappointed to realize that the fuzzy flowers didn’t feel as they appeared, though he certainly wasn’t complaining about the silky thread used throughout all of the mask. (Especially not after Error had reportedly verbally slammed Nightmare into the metaphorical dirt for being a ‘pįc̨k̸͝͏-̷͢͠i͏̢͞c̴̨̛̕k̡͘-̷͡icky ass P̵̷̽̕R̷̨̢̆ͣ̕҉͏͜I̟̔̈́͘͘҉M̶̝ͥ̚̕͟Á̛͎͟͞͠҉̸̛͞͠͏̨̢D̛̫̍ͯ͜͏̨́́̀͏̷O̴̡̩̊͑͞͏̡̧Ņ̴̨́̀͟Ņ̵̛̘ͦ̀͟͜͢͜͠͞͝Ạ̵ͤ who’d B̶̵͜͝Eͪ̀͝T̶̴̶͗͘̕͞͡͞͝Tͮͨ͡҉̶҉̸̛̀͞E͂͜͡͡͏̵́́͡͡Ȑͭ be grateful I’m bothe̡͜͜͝r͡-̸̧̧͡e̸r̡-҉er̶͝ing with this S̷̡̡̛̬̅͘͞Ļ̵̸͡͏͟IͮP͈̤͘P̡̨̋͢͡E̸̛̛̱ͤ̀͝͠͞R̨̘̖̔́͢͝͠Y̬̦͒͟͞ ̷͉̺̕B̯͚͟҉̨̡͟U̧̦҉̛L̸̸̡̧̢̡̖̭͘L̷̛̤̼͟͠Ś̸̨̨̩H̶̨͔́͡I̴̴̘͏̷͟͟͞T̤̺̀—’)

{“We have grace, refinement, and hardiness to start with what’s already been listed.”

“At least you’re consistent.”

“It’s difficult to find complete deviations when one is scrolling through lists of ‘top twelve plants for so-and-so category’ whilst wishing for the best. Forty-eight of the leading specimens didn’t make the final cut, just an FYI.”

“How thoughtful—” Laughter choked back and substituted.

“The main draw behind the addition of Astilbes is this phrase that’s soundlessly associated with them.

“Be careful not to share their trade secrets with me, then. Wouldn’t want to disrespect their vow of noiselessness.”

“The quote goes—”

“Dream. Don’t.”

“—as so: ‘I will still be waiting for you.’”

“A cold-blooded snitch, through and through.”

“Unless you’d prefer to spend our whole day doing this, call me a sweetheart and let me finish. To summarize—”

“Despicable hearteater, betrayer of all trust.”

“Patience, dedication, promise, understanding, and the power of love.”

“I must lack understanding and dedication because I promise my love isn’t powerful or patient enough to grasp the concept of being related to you.”

“We should go back to mutually ignoring each other. You were much more tolerable when we both refused to acknowledge that the opposite was even alive.” A notebook aggressively shut accompanied by a surly glare.

“I agree. If I desired to be brothers with a greeting card, I would’ve bought one at Dog Dollar Greens.” Nonchalant insolence.

“Let’s duel, Night. Immediately.” Standing in indignance.

“What about the remaining two—”

“Now!”}

Fourth. Impatiens. Multicolored floral leaves invading the basins left in the wake of the astilbes, overthrowing any notions of ordinary darkness in favor of advanced prismatic eye shadow. Sporadically spotted and shredded powdery petals sporting an air of fragility, draping along pale lashes in a misty mimicry of a threadbare cloak. Touch-me-nots feebly coiling and committing themselves to the safeguarding of the feather flowers, heedless of their own apparent weakness.

{Rather possessively placed, are they not?” Inquiry.

“I thought you couldn’t breathe anymore.” Attitude.

“I recovered. Go on, now. Disregard my chatty nature. Onwards with your exposition.”

“No. It’s my bedtime. Night, Night.”

“Dream.”

“Mare.”

“ . . . Please?” Manipulatively adorable eyelights speckled with fuchsia stardust.

“I hate you.” A frustrated frown of surrender.

“Isn’t that typically my line?”

“With your usual emotional control? Hate would be too passionate a feeling for you to dare convey, apathetic brother mine.” A clearing cough of preparation.

“How could I forget?” A halfhearted return.

“Did you know that I tried, at first, to find flowers—well, actually the original attempts targeted moths, but nocturnal pollinators evidently have nothing in the way of symbolism—with high amounts of toxicity? I thought it would’ve been quite fitting, if not for the heinous storylines attached to their poisons. Ultimately, jewelweeds are the only flora weaved into this blackout mask that evoke any illnesses out of mammals, and they simply cause vomiting at worst.”

“Terribly dissatisfying. I’m immeasurably distraught. My own bone and marrow is far too soft to cast me as the supreme harbinger of mammalian death as I do deserve. Dishonor and dish dirty upon thee.”

“And that display is exactly why Ink and Blue beg you to join their D&D nights.”

“Pass.”

“For shame. Ooh! I think you’ll approve of this next little quirk, though! Snapweeds grow seed pods that, when ripe, explode! Well—They erupt exclusively when touched, hence the nickname touch-me-nots. Initially I assumed—”

“Are you not aware of what ‘they say’ about assuming?”

“—it was a defensive mechanism, which honestly would’ve better benefited my bristly brother narrative here, but I digress.”

“When don’t you?”

“The real reason is seed dispersal. Setting into motion the evolutionary advantage of explosive dehiscence in order to produce enhanced odds of reproduction whilst simultaneously avoiding competition with the mother plant.” A smarmy smirk that anyone less familiar with Dream would call uncharacteristic.

“Blast it. Why didn’t we develop such instantaneous methods of departure upon being birthed?” A disdainful huff.

“Mistakes were made.” Arrogance raising his chin.

Twin titters at another’s expense before reverting back to business as usual. “I’ve noticed that I’m hearing a lot of sesquipedalian terms elaborating on the intricacies of plant pregnancies, yet not a peep concerning the embodiment their fables allegedly attribute to my personality.”

“Oh, pardon me! Did I accidentally pass over my allotted allowance of big words for this month? It is unacceptable that I’ve uttered paragraphs of plant jargon conceived by a mind with greater diversity in information than your highness in incompetence? Are you—”

“You’ve thoroughly demonstrated your point, Athena. The faster your cranky cranium relays aloud what you’ve so painstakingly written on my behalf, the faster I allot you bedtime allowance.”

“I’m going to strangle you in your sleep.”

“How fortunate I am to lack lungs.”

“Lovely. They represent the enduring and nurturing affection of a mother. A perfectly apt comparison of utmost regret, indeed. Just like our mother. What a dreadfully maternal brother I have.”

“Someone must keep your fire contained, and trees have scientifically proven themselves on a multitude of occasions to be ill-suited for the task.”

“Their primary namesake, impatiens, is a L—”

“—atin term that blandly translates into impatient. Yes, I’m aware.”

“By the—Whatever. I don’t care.” Airy irritation. “I was getting mixed messages on whether or not impatient actually meant impatient, or if symbolism was having an opposite day, because on one distal we’ve got a section saying anything worthwhile requires tireless intervals of tenacity, and an alternative article claiming that the speed and eagerness exhibited by the seed pods are obviously a sign of plain impatience.”

“Perhaps whoever published the page wished to ensure everybody could sufficiently comprehend the base source before introducing a concept as complicated as prefixes.” Slithery sass.

“Thank You. Nightmare.” Hitched hissing.

“You’re most welcome.”

“Maybe it’s the duality aspect of the flower coming into play. Emotional balance, ya’know? Corroboration and contradictions proffered in equal measures.”

“Maybe you’re trying to reiterate how you find me to be Janus-faced as a misguided means of manipulation—”

“I Am Not In The MOOD!!!”

“—and subconscious compensation—”}

Last. Alternantheras. Leaves. Shrubbery in lieu of inflorescence; a laurel in lieu of a wreath. Washed out edges in hues of heather, the dyes deepening into indigo towards the center. Verifiable blades crafted in the image of opal-touched galaxies. One final adornment—a circlet of capability—to hint at intensity lurking beneath sparkly shallows.

{“Nickname: Purple Knight. Beautiful. Striking. ‘Tough-As-Nails.’ Glamour With Character. Joyweed. Needs So. Much. Light. To Survive. Herbal Histories. Royalty. Luxury. Wealth. Dignity. Pride. Success. Admiration. Tradition. Purple. Something About Coats And Cloaks. A Dozen Different Aliases. I REFUSE TO WASTE ANOTHER SECOND ENTERTAINING YOUR LATE BLOOMING TENDENCIES!!! YOU CAN TAKE MY NOTEPAD!!! HAVE IT!!! READ IT YOURSELF!!! FIGURE IT OUT!!! I’M DONE!!! PLEASANT NIGHT, NIGHT!!!” A journal thrown at his counterpart’s skull and the fading sounds of stomping calcanei.

“Muahaha—Dream—Wait—Muahaha—I’m sorry—I love you—Muahaha—” Uncontrollable cackling sprinkled with adoring particles of aubergine.}

Nightmare jolts back into reality—visor wrapped snug around his crown, metacarpals smoothing over the sleeping mask held in his hands—as Dream slams the trunk, urging Nightmare to swiftly shove their combined bedstuffs into a pile pressed against the rearseats’ left door. When Dream walks up to the now half-blanketed window, he momentarily ducks away from sight. When he reappears in Nightmare’s line of vision, withdraws a step, and begins to glow with the telltale honey hue of his magic, Nightmare opens the latch.

Everything falls out of the car, but nothing hits the ground. It all lands in the ethereal radiance emanating from within the entrance of Dream’s life-sized duffle bag. The lemony luster disappears along with the rest of their nest accumulated creature comforts, and that’s Dream’s cue to zip shut the tote.

“I guessed you wanted to forgo your mantle today? Since you didn’t have me ready any of our normal sun precautions ahead of driving?” Dream prods for approval whilst tossing his brother his staff, then effortlessly slings his gaudy, ink-covered inventory sack securely across his shoulder. (Nightmare can barely lift the duffle himself if the need arises; Dream’s always been the athletically superior twin. Even before he took up training with the professional powerhouse that is Blur.)

“You guess correctly. I crave the demolition of the sun, not the suffocation of myself.” Nightmare affirms whilst Dream extends to him a helping hand as to exit their vehicle, then mutters an accusation. “I notice that you didn’t grab your staff.”

“Do you wish to carry the bag?” Dream questions with false sugar—salt—as they match each other’s stride. The mosaic pathways memorized, thus snubbed.

“No.” Nightmare acquiesces. He readies his wand as they reach the portal of their mother’s cottage. (A literal portal, in a sense, but it’s usually just a simple door.)

The slumbering scepter has a shaft in shades of ametrine—gold and iris—but Nightmare cannot be bothered to remember whether or not that exact gemstone was actually included in the creation of this artifact. Similarly, the chiseled crescent moon and apple-shaped orb affixed to the respective apex and base of the rod seem to share a resemblance with fluorite. Predominantly white, bleeding into borders colored of onyx, turquoise, amethyst, and citrine.

Ultimately, no matter the pigments, the spirituality their mother embedded into the crystals contains no authentic benevolence directed towards Nightmare. It was always ‘positivity,’ perfection, and oneirology with that woman; never anything personal. So unlike Dream, who manages to trace absolutely everything back to his twin in some manner. Of course Nightmare’s memory would favor his brother’s more sincere fascination for symbolism over Nim’s shrewd shortsightedness. It’d be delusional of Nightmare to even deliberate on an alternative sentiment.

Shifting his stance, Nightmare taps into his mana with an appropriate amount of belligerence, forcefully tugging at his plasma until he holds the majority of his bodily ‘fluids’ in his palms. His bones are left bereft and vulnerable, but if he stumbles, Dream is sure to support him.

With a strenuous shove, Nightmare pumps his lifeblood into and throughout the lunar rod, flinching a tad as his magic meets the ambient daylight. Not an abnormal reaction, but Dream is still quick to raise some miscellaneous veil in an attempt to shield his twin’s sore and unprotected MP as it’s used to activate and fuel the nameless wand. It doesn’t really make any difference, but Dream doesn’t need to know that. Nightmare appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

The strokes of disjointed flax solidify into bands of gold as clouds of lavender flood into Nightmare’s baton, strips of gilt spilling into the atmosphere that mold themselves into rectangles revolving around the pole’s centerpiece.

Honestly, it’s an absurd surplus of figurative hair-whipping flair for an endeavor that is fundamentally nothing but a waste of energy.

Geometric frames spin until the entirety of Nightmare’s lended vitality is wrung from existence. In the emptiness left behind, topaz returns to its rightful place alongside heather.

“Open Siamese.” Nightmare quips boredly as the board of wood—no doubt exotic in some capacity—opens. Shocker.

Dream snorts mildly as he snatches Night’s staff in order to store it out of sight. (Read: Bag.)

writing is hard ya’ll. ugh. i’m trying here. got two little arts and crafts things i’m going to reblog to this a bit later for reference for the little eye mask and staff thing. i’m no artist but just having a rough little view to work off of really helped me with my attempt at fancy word visuals

#nightmare sans #dream sans #fanfic #dreamtale #do i need to specify this is not meant to be a ship? i sure hope it doesn't come across that way.#nothing against dreammare don’t get me wrong #just not what i’m trying to convey #and as a new author i’m fretting about if i’m giving off the correct “vibes” or whatever #and the twin dynamic concept for this is supposed to be them GETTING ALONG in a maybe co-dependent way but ultimately platonic way #and i just hope i’m okay at writing them clingy but not romantic clingy #just #ya’know #vibes or whatever #anyway nightmare’s passive in this hopefully that’s obvious but i forgot to clarify on the first snippet thing

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madiposting · 19 days ago

Text

ok i’m now just on the very end of the worst sickness i have ever had in my life. here’s what learned in the midst of it:

a guide to surviving food poisoning

tw: emetophobia, mentions of sickness, general TMIs

first, some context: i started feeling like garbo around 9pm. i was burping like crazy and it did provide some relief but not much. at 2am, i started vomiting. it wasn’t just like getting sick, it was like explosive. both ends every time. by 10am, i had thrown up TEN times. couldn’t keep even water down. i stopped counting the frequency of the diarrhea around 35-40 times. it’s now 7pm the next day. i now still have some stomach tightness / cramping and some moderate dehydration symptoms. my eyes are sunken, i can’t really pee, and i’ve consumed more than 40oz of water.

symptoms:

- vomiting

- diarrhea

- severe stomach cramping

- mild fever

- dizziness

- full body aches

- confusion (at one point thought the “orange” part of the powerade label said “DR A NGE” and that it was the doctor that invented it lol)

for throwing up:

- let it happen. i have somewhat recovered emetophobia and i absolutely hate getting sick, but the hot flashes and dizziness and nausea is so bad that you’ve just got to get that shit out if you can.

- in your bathroom garbage, place a full sized kitchen garbage bag. inside the garbage bag, place a grocery bag to act as a second liner. then, you can just tie off the grocery bag and place another on top of it. this will help avoid leaks (and attempting to wash out a horrendously smelling garbage when you already feel like shit)

- swish with water and spit. then sip on water. it will help with the throat ache. don’t brush the acid into your teeth, wait a while. a tongue scraper is good for the burning too.

- take two q-tips and wet both sides (barely) of one of them. gently put them in your ears if you have burning there (from the vomiting, just like how it can get in your nose). then, gently place in the dry ones to clean out any excess water. this helps with the pain.

- trust your body. you somehow will just intuitively know when you’re going to get sick. i found it helpful to practice gratitude in the moments of sickness that my body tells me before it just happens all over the floor or something. additionally, you’ll know when you’re able to eat too. i suggest applesauce (eaten very slowly) or a drinkable broth. crackers are good, but can kind of hurt the tummy / throat and you’ve probably already got a dry mouth.

for diarrhea:

- although it’s uncomfortable and my butthole was screaming, the diarrhea gave me the most relief. the cramping in my stomach eased every time. sometimes when i was laying on the floor or in the bath and felt weak, i didn’t want to get up to poop. get up. it helps tremendously.

- because if my butthole being on fire, i kept a separate water bottle next to the toiled to wet some toilet paper and gently hold it on my [redacted] to ease the burning.

for aches:

- TAKE SEVERAL BATHS. this saved me. warm showers are good, but the water hitting your body can be painful when you’re achy. i would run a warm bath and relax in it. once it got cold, i would set a timer for one hour and sleep on the floor of the bathroom with a heated blanket and a pillow. after an hour, i’d hop in the bathroom again and repeat.

- pro tip: parts of my body were unable to be submerged fully in the water (knees/thighs, tummy, chest) so i brought with me a small hand towel to drape over me. it kept me super warm AND covered me for when my sweet brother brought me medicine or ice chips.

- in the bath and on the floor i kept with me ice chips, powerade, water and a pitcher for refills, and applesauce.

- i took two extra strength tylenol every few hours (following the label).

for hydration:

- i found it was very hard to not gulp water when you’re SO thirsty. i tried sipping but it hurt my stomach anyways. i found that sucking on or crunching on ice chips is a Godsend. literally the best part.

- i had some orange powerade, water, and ice chips. i attempted both canada dry ginger ale and emergen-c immune support drink, but the ginger ale hurt to throw back up and the emergen-c made me sick almost immediately

- pay attention to your symptoms. if you’ve found you can’t keep water down even after hours of sickness, consider seeing an urgent care doctor or taking a trip to the ER. the IV will rehydrate you and you’ll perk back to life almost instantly.

for the general shittiness:

- find something you can trust in. for me, i found praying and practicing gratitude in the midst of it helped a lot. i felt so very sick and i think practicing mindfulness kept me from excess dizziness or confusion. i was grateful for the experience as it will help me empathize better with people around me that are sick. i also now know some great tips for the inevitable next time i get a bug like this one. it can also help to repeat song lyrics that you find hopeful / comforting, especially if you’re panicking. breathing deeply is great, particularly during the vomiting itself.

- reach out to some people. vent about how shitty it is.

- for me, it lasted about 12 hours (but the vomiting only lasted 8). it can help to rest / sleep frequently to help pass this time.

- as soon as you wake up, you’ll probably have to vomit or shit. don’t hesitate (even if you’re groggy). just stand up and get it over with. you’ll feel better after and you can lay back down right away.

- clean with bleach after! hopefully the things this garbage experience taught me were able to help some of you 💗

#food poisoning #stomach flu #emetophobia #sickness #vomiting #flu #aches #body aches #tummy ache #flu season #chills #diarrhea

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chayacat · 2 years ago

Note

can i request a stan and mitch x reader 🫶

Of course ! there you go ! it's a little short, but this is the first time i made a characterxreader so i don't know how long it has to make ^^" Hope you like it still !

Support Hug Attack!

Fandom: Road 96

StanxReader/MitchxReader

Fluff,Cuteness,support a sick OC, hug, comfort.

***

You never imagined that one day your prayers would be heard. You worked at Super Supper but you only wanted one thing, to be allowed to leave this hell. The boss was horrible to you, constantly putting you down, or complaining. But one day they arrived. Well, they weren't heroes, they were robbers. There were two. and their outfits were... Special. It looked like they were coming out of an S&M role play. They had taken the contents of the cash register, as well as the customers' money before taking you hostage because according to them: "we can not make a good robbery, without hostages". This is Stan & Mitch’s rule. So they took you outside and 50 meters further, they hid with you to be able to count their loot.

84 dollars, for you it was nothing but for them, it was huge. They were going to leave, explaining you that they needed a "fake" hostage and they were even ready to compensate you for the "emotional duress", but what was their surprise, when you grabbed Stan's arm, begging them to take you with them. And after explaining why, they agreed. Over time, you ended up becoming friends, and then... much more than friends. It was impossible for you, and totally out of the question, to choose between the two. So, you decided to love both of them. And they gave it back to you. Even if sometimes, Stan is not very sharing, even with his brother.

But you didn't care, because they each brought something to your life, Stan the protection and Mitch, the gentleness. That day, they were out for one of their robberies, you had remained at the hideout, too weak to move. You hadn't been feeling well for a few days. And that, the Sanchez brothers had noticed. Unfortunately, taking you to a doctor was quite complicated, there were very few in this country. And the prices were excessive. But Sonya had a medical book at home, and Mitch was able to quickly find out what you had. It was a simple flu. You were lying down when you heard the sound of their motorcycle stopping. And by the sound of their voices, they had another good heist.

“We’re home!” Said Stan descending the makeshift ladder they had built.

“Hey...” you start before coughing dryly. “How did it go?”

“$120. Best robbery ever. You should see the expression on that poor sucker’s face.” Responds Mitch.

“I would have liked to see that indeed.”

“How do you feel?” replied Stan sitting next to you.

“Not much better...that damn flu doesn’t want to go easily....”

“Don’t worry, with some rest, and some medication that we recovered thanks to Sonya, you will recover very quickly. Don't you want to at least eat a little something?” asks Mitch.

“Urgh...Sorry Mitch but, just talking about food makes me more sick than before.” you responds with a disgusted smile.

Mitch shook his head, making you realize that it was nothing, before going back up to park the motorcycle properly. Stan had turned on the TV, making sure that the sound was not too loud to prevent you from a headache. Or at least, prevent it from getting worse. Then he came back to you and, without warning, lay down beside you, taking you in his arms.

“What are you doing?” you said, coughing again.

“That’s my special technique to help you feel better, an hug attack!” he responds, hugging you more.

“You know that you can be sick too if you stay so close to me?”

“i don’t care, I can’t let you go through this alone. If I have to be sick too, then so be it. As long as you feel better after...”

“Awww, you’re so sweet....thank you Stan.” you replied, kissing his cheek hidden under his hood.

“Hey! Give me at least one place!” said suddenly Mitch, descending again the ladder.

And without letting you or his brother answer, Mitch stood on the other side of the bed surrounding you with his arms as well. You couldn't help but laugh as you coughed lightly, these two are real kids. But feeling them both against you, felt good, and warms your heart.

“If all three of us are sick, we are screwed.” you said laughing a little.

“Don’t worry about it. We’re much stronger than you think.” said Mitch, kissing your head.

“ I’m so lucky to have you two.”

“No, WE are lucky to have you.” replied Stan.

“Yeah it feels nice to be loved by someone...except Sonya of course.” said Mitch.

“Heh, I love you guys.” you said kissing their cheek before falling asleep.

“We love you too. Good night sweets.”

The two brothers also ended up falling asleep with Tv’s sounds, hugging you to them as best they could. Being in between brought you comfort. Because you knew that no matter what you get, no matter what happens to you, they will always be there.

You bless the day you met them. Forever. And you wish that nothing will separate you from them, except death.

But as late as possible.

***

#mitch sanchez #stan and mitch #stan sanchez #road 96 #road 96 game #stan and mitch road96

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giftfromblythe · 2 years ago

Text

In Memory of the Girl I Was

Once upon a time, I almost died,

for I was drowned in shadow;

in every silence was a tragic solace

that could not grant me peace,

and in every sound

the ghosts of things best forgotten

burned my aching soul.

So I sought eternal rest

to forget a past that should never have been;

but sleep is a double-edged sword

and dreams are more than deadly.

On that day

I shattered,

a thousand thousand pieces

strewn across my dorm room floor;

in the aftermath,

I fit the shards into some semblance of sanity

and was left with glass dust

where my innocence once could be found.

Kill the girl,

and the being I am arises

—does a phoenix feel its flesh

consumed by ravening fire

with every rebirth,

or is it just I?

I live by choice and by fear,

and so I poison myself nightly

in the hopes of staving off death just a little longer,

and I pray each time a pill passes my lips

that my mind will heal before my body fails.

When I was twenty, I almost killed myself. I had barely left my bed in weeks, so nauseous from antidepressant side effects that I couldn’t keep anything solid down, and weak and shaky from only consuming protein shakes. I slept during the day, skipping classes so I wouldn’t face the terrors of the dark unrested—and they were genuinely terrors, because they were PTSD flashbacks and hypervigiliance triggered by the similarity of the night to the darkness caused by the tornado-producing superstorm I’d survived two and a half years prior. I had reached a point of such despair and misery, I felt as if I were backed into a corner with death being the only way out. I very nearly followed through with that thought—I reached for my anti-anxiety meds, intending to overdose.

But in the next moment, I turned my entire life around.

I thought of my parents, who would be so horrified if I truly did die; I thought of my younger brother, who would be left with the grief, shock, and horror of knowing what I had done. I even thought of how much I feared death—Hamlet’s line of “but in that sleep of death, what dreams may come must give us pause,” ran through my head.

So I reached for my phone instead, calling my mom.

I spent four days in a psychiatric ward, changing medications under the nurses’ supervision and improving so rapidly we knew the first antidepressant had been worsening my symptoms. I spent a year at home, taking medical leave from college and taking two classes during the second half of the year to ease back into the workload. I spent five years rediscovering who I am under the illness that has defined my life since I was a very small child.

It took nine years to recover, nine years of ups and downs, of relapse and recovery. But I did it, and you can too.

I wrote this poem during the second year of that recovery, not long after learning that the new antidepressant was working well to keep my serotonin up but was putting strain on my liver. It was meant as a reflection on everything I had gone through to reach that point—the agony and fear that led me to suicidal ideation, the moment I could have chosen to die but did not, the transformation that followed that choice, and the consequences of doing what I must to keep myself alive. It wasn’t easy, but the wish I expressed at the end of the poem did come true: my mind did heal, and careful management of my health kept me on the path to recovery. I’m currently off the medication, because I reached a point where it was no longer necessary and my doctors agreed I could wean myself off of it. I may need to go back on it again at some point, but that’s no big deal. I know I can recover again if I need to.

As always, thank you for reading. I hope my story can give you a little hope that things will get better, and that you seek out the help you need when you need it. Take care, listen well, and share your stories.

—Blythe

#mental illness #suicidal ideation #recovery #poetry #ptsd #psychiatric medication #psychiatric ward

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lovrclan-gen · 1 year ago

Text

Cindertail was snuggling with her mate, Emeraldmoor , who was unable to move much given to her recent injury at the encounter with the Fawnclan patrol. They were both watching the kits as they sparred.

"They almost reached 6 moons, they'll have to be made apprentices soon won't they." said Emeraldmoor in a hurried voice, every time she talked her throat hurt from the injury she had gotten. Cindertail focused her gaze on the kits. She knew well that there weren't enough cats in the clan for them to be properly apprenticed, but she had had apprentices in the past, her most recent one was Frogtail, who had recently been named a warrior. The more Cindertail thought of her former apprentice the more she went into a spiral of stress and sadness. She might not be shocked from the whole situation anymore, but all those people she had grown up with, they were gone and into the merciless paws of Starclan. Her other mate, Faithstar had lost all of her lives trying to protect the clan. But she was already in her 5th life.

Cindertail's long and sleek tail slowly wrapped around Emeraldmoor, almost like she was clinging onto the last thing she had, and keeping it close to her.

"Hey, are you ok? This isn't too much for you, is it? I could mentor scrubkit to help me out in the medicine den, I'm still pretty new to it." Emeraldmoor snapped her out of her thoughts and into the real world back again. It might as well be better than being around her thoughts.

"That would be great, having more than one medicine cat around is always helpful" Cindertail let out a comforting chuckle, but soon straightened her face.

"You'll do the Ceremony, right?"

"Yeah, if there would be no leader or deputy I would replace them. Even though I just recently became a medicine cat, I already had a bit of experience with herbs and Starclan!" Emeraldmoor answered.

As they continued chatting, the rest of the day went by. A week went by and it was time for the kits' ceremony.

As Emeraldmoor calls the cats for a clan meeting, the kits bounced their way to the snowy clearing.

First, Larchkit came forward and touched noses with Cindertail, she could hear him silently swearing to do his best to impress starclan and be a great future warrior.

Second, Rainkit comes forward, he seems very confident and touches noses with Cindertail.

“I’ll make Starclan so proud! I-I’ll catch a big fat rabbit on my first patrol.. or… or I’ll Kill a fox-!”

“I doubt you could KILL a fox, maybe you would chase it off instead?” Cindertail chuckled and followed Rainpaw back to where they were sitting, chatting along.

Lasty, Scrubkit nervously steps forward, thinking that Cindertail will mentor him as well, instead, Emeraldmoor quickly went up to him and they touched noses, announcing herself as his mentor. He wasn’t very happy about it, after all, he wanted to be a “Brave warrior” like his brothers.

“I want to be a Fearless warrior! Not a stupid, weak, medicine cat!” he complained.

“Scrubpaw, It’s enough that your mom has not one, but 2 apprentices and it’s a miracle that we are all live right now! ….With such freezing weather!”

Her heart couldn’t take it to tell them about how their real parents and clan had disappeared. All the poor apprentices knew was that Cindertail and her were their parents and they all lived alone at the mountains.

“One apprentice is too much for a cat! Let alone two! The pressure would be too much for your mom! And we need another medicine cat anyways, who knows if I don’t recover and die from my injury!” she had said too much, Scrubpaw looked horrified.

“I understand…” he muttered and sprinted at the apprentice den. Eventually the other apprentices followed too. Then Cindertail approached her

“Weren’t you too harsh on him?”

“He needs to learn that I didn’t choose to make him medicine cat just because I didn’t want him to be happy… It’s a matter of survival.. I just want the best for them..”

“I know…”

Results

Larchpaw is now an apprenctice!

Rainpaw is now an apprentice!

Scrubpaw is now a medicine cat apprentice!

#lovr clan #clan gen challenge #clan gen art #clan generator #custom clan #clangen #clan gen game #Emeraldmoor/lovrclan #Cindertail/lovrclan #Scrubspeck/lovrclan #Larchtail/lovrclan #Rainclash/lovrclan #lovrclan #lovrclan write

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topazshadowwolf · 2 years ago

Note

fuzzynight hurt/comfort

I spent most of the day working on this because YES! Hurt/comfort?! I LOVE hurt/comfort! But you didn't hint as to who you wanted to be hurt, so... I DID BOTH! Two one-shots here. First, is Nightmare getting hurt and Lyra comforting him, and the second is the other way around... aaaaand hints of a major event that will occur in FuzzyNight Dadmare fics.

Nightmare Hurt/Lyra Comfort

“Night?”

Nightmare looked up from where he sat in the infirmary. Standing in the doorway was Lyra. There was so much concern in her garnet-colored eyes. He was about to reply, but it was then that Killer and Horror extracted one of Error’s bones from his shoulder, causing the Guardian of Negativity to flinch. It couldn’t do any lasting damage, and now that it was out of the way, the area was rapidly healing.

“… I heard what happened. Here, boys, why don’t you help Dust with Cross. I brought some wild berry pie that you all are to eat. Especially Cross, it will help heal him up,” Lyra instructed.

“thanks, lyra,” Horror replied.

“take good care of him, alright?” Killer said with a wink. He then grabbed Horror, and the two disappeared.

Lyra moved closer, and Nightmare remembered he had yet to say anything. “Thank you for your help. But his attacks don’t carry positivity to them. I will be fine.”

“That blaster burned away your arm and a tentacle,” Lyra replied.

“The key word is ‘will,’ I will recover,” Nightmare explained. Looking up at her from the chair he was in.

“Of course you will, because I will be helping you,” Lyra stated, her tone of voice hinting she won’t be told otherwise.

“I see,” he surrendered as her paws were placed on his shoulders. The comforting healing magic entered his body, cooling the burns Error’s blasters caused. He relaxed at that feeling and closed his socket.

“You look tired, Moonbeam,” Lyra said softly.

“Mmhmm, feel it too,” he admitted as his face warmed at her nickname. Her one of many nicknames.

“Then you need sleep, dear King,” she replied while placing a paw on his left cheekbone.

“I need to see to my boys,” Nightmare insisted, even as his face increased in warmth. He had learned his face takes a teal hue when his face feels like this. How embarrassing….

“You know I will tend to them, Nightstar,” Lyra did not let up. And that last name he was particularly weak against. It was the first she ever used and the moniker she spoke with such love and respect.

Nightmare was still confused about how these emotions he could detect her feeling for him did not disgust him. And why did he lean so much into her touch? “You win, Lyra,” he surrendered. “Using affection to get your way is unfair.”

“I will worry about the fairness of this when you are no longer missing limbs,” She replied as she picked him up, a feeling he was still unused to. His tendrils curled around her for added support as he leaned into her hold.

“I can walk. I still have both legs,” Nightmare said, looking up at her.

“I will be fine. I need to see to my boys. I can walk,” Lyra sighed and looked at him while holding Nightmare close. “Nightstar, you do so much. You have fought your way, alone, through the multiverse. You tend to your followers dutifully, more fatherly than intended. You secured yourself a place to live in. Build alliances among AUs that look to you and your men. Then it was you, alone, who called for peace between your brother and yourself. But you are not alone anymore. Your efforts have made you allies, your followers are your sons, and I am here to tend to you. So, please, Nightmare, allow yourself to be comforted. I know it means being vulnerable in front of someone, but that is not a bad thing. Not anymore. Now that you have us… you are safe.”

His tendrils decided for him, tightening his grip on her. “Alright, my love. I surrender,” he sighed, and she carried him over to one of the beds.

She then nuzzled his nasal bone, and he was surprised by the sudden act of affection. After covering him up with blankets, she sat down beside him and started to hum a tune.

“Lyra?”

“Shush, I am singing you to sleep,” she said with a smile and a laugh. Once again, she placed her hand on the side of his face and petted his cheekbone with her thumb. As he turned into her touch, she started up her tune again.

… and soon he was asleep.

Lyra Hurt/Nightmare Comfort

His plan was working perfectly. Dust grinned to himself as he hid the bag of washed laundry behind some loose stones to retrieve later. He then placed the ones washed in an OuterTale laundry mat with their sparkly soap in the machine he emptied.

Horror and Cross will get it, but Killer, the victim of this prank, will jump to the most absurd conclusion. That a wormhole connected this washer to one in an OuterTale AU that sometimes abducts his clothes. Leaving sci-fi articles about wormholes where Killer could see them was some subconscious preparation for this prank.

Grinning away, Dust turned to leave when a portal appeared, and a figure stumbled through and collapsed. Here… in the laundry room. That figure was bleeding out.

Toriel…

What have I…

Toriel didn’t have black fur! Half of her body is black. Lyra, this is Lyra. “NIGHTMARE!” Dust yelled.

Did he know he could yell that loud?

“dust was that,” Cross looked into the room, carrying his own basket. He must have been on the way in to do his own laundry. “the heck?! what happened?”

Cross dropped his basket and ran over to kneel by her. “lyra! hey, you with us?” Cross frowned, “she’s breathing but… dust! hey! focus!”

Wasn’t he focused? Oh, wait, he wasn’t talking… he hadn’t moved either.

A shadow entered the room next, and Nightmare formed from it. “Cross, attend to Dust.”

“yes, boss!” Cross said before jumping up and hurrying to Dust’s side.

“Lyra… what happened to you…,” Nightmare said quietly, and that was the last Dust heard before Cross shortcut them both away.

---

She was warm… almost too warm, really. With a groan, Lyra started to sit up, but her chest and abdomen hurt so much that she was forced to lie back down. Her head throbbed as the room spun for a moment from her efforts.

“You are awake,” A familiar voice said from beside her. Turning her head, she could see Nightmare sitting beside her. He closed the book in his hands and set it aside. “How are you feeling?” He asked, his eye light looking her over.

“What… what happened?” Lyra asked as she closed her eyes. “And I am too warm... can you take a blanket off?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. You showed up randomly in the laundry room, severely wounded,” Nightmare stated as he pulled off a blanket. In his attempt to take care of her, he must have forgotten she has her own permanent fur blanket. His left hand then moved to her head, and his phalanges moved over the fur of her forehead.

“Oh…, I am sorry. That must have,” she started but squeaked as Nightmare lightly tugged her ear.

“You are sorry? Sorry that you were bleeding out? Likely dying? You are apologizing to me for needing help?” He pressed, and she sighed.

“I meant to go somewhere else,” She explained.

“With better healers?” Nightmare asked. “We both know that, while I have improved my healing arts, they are still lacking.”

“Yeah…,” Lyra lied. That apparently earned her ear another soft tug.

“Do not forget I am an empath, and you are terrible at hiding your emotions when you lie,” Nightmare sighed. “So, you fled a fight, that I would still like to know about, and you intended to go where if not here?”

“... To my home,” Lyra said quietly. A feeling of sadness and resignation to her fate built up too strongly to hide.

“To your… why? You were far too injured to heal yourself?” His socket then narrowed, and his other hand moved to her own, gripping it tightly. He must have felt it. The despair she was feeling. “This is your home now. I don’t know where you lived before, but if you intended to go home, but your magic brought you here, this is your home!” He wasn’t yelling even if his voice was raised. He sounded desperate…

“I would not have died,” She reached her other hand over to touch his face to calm him. “Not to a wound like that.”

His socket narrowed, “Is that how you earned your other scars? By just curling up and waiting for your body to heal them?”

“It is a fate I earned,” she sighed.

Nightmare moved his hands away and sat back in his chair. His hands went to his head in a dramatic display of his frustration. “Why am I surrounded by people determined to punish themselves for things without consulting others?!”

He sighed and leaned forward, holding his head while resting his elbows on the bed. “I do not care what you think you earned. I think we have established that we love each other. Now that I have felt your love for me, I will not be so easily parted from it. I am greedy, Lyra. That is what I am, Lyra, a greedy lover who wants your affection anytime you can supply it while floundering to figure out how to show my love for you.”

“Night,” She started, and he kissed her. She could feel the cool of his corrupted magic on her lips mingled with the sorrow he was feeling. He had never kissed her on the lips before. A flustered peck on the cheek, sure, but… this…

Oh, the love… she could feel it now. His hands moved to both sides of her face as he wasn’t done. He intended to share his love for her, smothering any disagreement with his affection. And it was working as she hummed contently, negative thoughts discarded to be replaced with love.

Self-preservation through her need to breathe was thrown out the window of him taking her breath away. Not content to finish the kiss there, he stood for a better angle. Leaning over her, phalanges playing with her fur, ruffling it in the most enjoyable way. His magic danced with hers over her lips as he continued that kiss, pouring out his love for her. But eventually, she needed air; her body demanded it, so she had to pull away.

She gasped for air and then looked at him, about to speak when he shook his head. “I was not done speaking, my love. For as your greedy lover, I wish to know who you feel has the right to hurt you and why they have that right. I have the right to know that, not only as your love but as your friend and ally. You are one of mine. I value my things greatly. And I value those in my care even more.”

“Is that so?” She said, after having the time to catch her breath.

“It is,” he mused.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes. “I love you,” she sighed, “so I surrender. When I have regained my strength, I will explain.”

That seemed to please him, as his tendrils calmly wagged behind him as if they were happy tails. When was it that she found that so endearing? Or started to even understand the various movements they made. Reaching out, she touched one and encouraged it to curl around her hand and arm.

“I suppose you want me to stay nearby,” he chuckled as he looked at her.

“I would like another one of those kisses. So, yes, I do want you to stay nearby,” she smiled and then looked at him.

Oh my! How cute-. Nightmare’s face was covered with that beautiful, flustered, teal blush. Gently she tugged on the tendril she had ensnared. “Come here, Moonbeam,” she purred, and he obeyed.

#Soriel #Writing stuff for Feb #Month of love~#FuzzyNight #Nightmare!Sans #Balance!Toriel #Lyra!Toriel #UTMV #Kissing #THERE IS KISSING #hurt/comfort #Not sure I am ready for these to be on AO3 #But if you want them there I will pop them up

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