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darknight3904 · 5 months ago

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɴᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴀ ʏᴇᴀʀ ʜᴀꜱ ᴘᴀꜱꜱᴇᴅ ꜱɪɴᴄᴇ ʟᴀᴅʏ ʀʜᴀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴛ. ᴀꜱ ʜᴇʀ 11ᴛʜ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴀᴄʜᴇꜱ ꜱʜᴇ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴀꜱ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴊᴀᴄᴀᴇʀʏꜱ, ʟᴜᴄᴇʀʏꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇꜱꜱ ʀʜᴀᴇɴʀʏᴀ. ᴛʜᴇɴ, ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜᴇʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ-ᴅᴀʏ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴀ ᴍʏꜱᴛᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀɴ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ɪɴ ᴋɪɴɢꜱ ʟᴀɴᴅɪɴɢ.

This story will follow canon events of HOTD and Fire and Blood. However, I am changing some of the years when things took place so I can build my story's plot better.

126 AC

Rhaella peers down at the baby whose big brown eyes captivate her. She decides that Joffery Velaryon is Westeros' cutest baby when he smiles at her.

"Does he cry a lot?" She asks

"Sometimes. Mostly when he is hungry." Rhaenrya says

"Aren't babies always hungry though?" She asks

"I suppose they are..." Rhaenrya replies "I guess that means he cries a lot then."

Rhaella smirks at her cousin's admission. Even if he did cry a lot he was still cute.

"Rhaella what are you doing in here? You rarely visit without Jace and Luke." Rhaenrya asks

"I am hiding from the Septa. She insists that I learn about history with Heleana." Rhaella sighs "If she had half a brain she'd know Maester Edric has taught me it all already."

Rhaenrya lets out a snort of laughter at her half-a-brain comment.

"Our histories are important." She says "I will agree with you though, Septas can be a bore."

"I'd much rather be in the training yard with Jace and Luke." Rhaella admits "I don't understand why I must learn to sew while they get to fight with a sword."

"That is the way of the world," Rhaenrya says

"The way of the world can go fuck its-"

Rhaella stops her speech when her cousin's eyebrows shoot up.

"I mean to say it is idiotic that I cannot train with them."

Soft silence settles as baby Joffery coos in his crib, laughing when Rhaella sticks her tongue out at him.

"Do you truly wish to be outside with them?" Rhaenrya asks

"Of course. I want to be like Visenya in the books that line the shelves in my room." Rhaella says looking up at her cousin, "Since I do not have a dragon I wish to have another way to fight."

Rhaella watches Rhaenrya's face and doesn't miss the way the corner of her mouth twitches into a slight smile.

"Come with me." She says

As if it's magic, a wet nurse is there to watch over Westeros' cutest baby and Rhaella is following Rhaenrya through the maze of halls and stairways that lead the the training yard.

"Ser Harwin!" Rhaenrya calls

They waltz past Ser Criston Cole who is working with Aegon, Aemond, Jace, and Luke. Aemond's eyes widen when he sees her out of the castle and standing in the muddy yard.

A monstrous-looking man answers Rhaenrya's call. His mess of curly dark hair has been tied back neatly and he bows as they approach.

"Princess. My Lady." He greets

"This is Ser Harwin Strong, Rhaella. He is Lord Commander of the City Watch." Rhaenrya says "Lady Rhaella wishes to train, the way the Princes do."

Rhaella isn't entirely sure about this Ser Harwin. She expects him to turn her away, mutter something about her being a girl, and for Rhaenrya to tell her to go back to her sewing.

"I'll teach her." He says

Rhaella nearly falls over at his acceptance.

"You will?" She gasps

"It is a request from Princess Rhaenrya herself. I'd be foolish not to accept." He smiles at Rhaella and then Rhaenrya. "Tomorrow we will begin. I expect you to be dressed in something worthy of a great sword fighter."

Rhaella looks down at the silk dress she had been dressed in just hours ago.

"Of course." She smiles

"For today, I want you to go back to the Septa. Sit and do your lessons and tomorrow you can spend as much time as you want with Ser Harwin." Rhaenrya says

Training is harder than she had expected, and a lot dirtier too. The practice swords are so heavy they make her arms ache. It had been three months since Rhaenrya had introduced them and Rhaella was sure she was disappointing Ser Harwin.

"Straighten your arms, plant your feet. Having a strong stance keeps you from being knocked over." Harwin's voice commands as she swings at a straw-filled man, "Jacaerys, you too. You look like a gust of wind might blow you over."

Ser Harwin was tough, Rhaella could tell that he was an experienced fighter. She wanted to do her best under his tutelage but she found herself failing. Perhaps it was because the sword was too heavy, or maybe she didn't like the feel of mud between her fingers. What she did know though was that the sharp eyes of Criston Cole were not helping things. It felt like he was watching her every step whenever she arrived to train. She swore he was also watching Jace and Luke who often were beside her in training.

"Perhaps they cannot carry your orders out simply because they are too weak, Strong," Cole says

"Ignore them, boys, Rhaella. One day you will all be stronger than him." Harwin says

Every bone in her body was aching by the time she got back to her chamber. After working with the swords Harwin had taught them hand-to-hand combat, something he claimed was just as important as working with a sword. The only plus of today was that she had been able to overpower Jace and land a good hit on his side. He'd probably get her back for that one in a few days.

The sound of her door opening had her groaning. She loved Heleana but she did not wish to talk about bugs at this moment

"Heleana might I bathe and then come to visit you I am dirty from training still." She said not bothering to look at the door from her seat at her desk.

"Not only are you dirty but you smell awful."

"Aemond!" She exclaimed and shot up.

She had found herself becoming a bit more self-conscious around the prince in the past few months. She'd often make sure to her hair til it was perfectly silky or spray a bit of sweet-smelling perfume before going to see him. Maester Edric said it was a part of getting older and becoming a woman. Rhaella believed it was because she didn't want him to make fun of her. How could she become a great warrior if she was made fun of by her closest friend?

"We have not spent much time together recently. I thought you might be upset with me." Aemond said walking over to her.

"I am not upset with you." She affirms "After training I am often too tired to move. Not to mention Heleana and I have been spending time together as well."

"Heleana and her bugs can wait, you were my friend first," Aemond declares, sitting down on the end of the bed.

Rhaella lets out a small laugh of amusement at Aemond's possessive tone.

"Your name day is soon right?" He asks

"In a fortnight. I will be 11." She smiles

"You're getting old." Aemond teases

"You'll have your own name day eventually as well. 10 years is a very serious age." She says, trying to sound like an adult

"You're 10 now and you laughed when Luke drank his water too quickly and water spurted out his nose just a week ago." Aemond reminds

"Anyone would've laughed at that!" She defends

Her eyes widen when she sees how her Uncle Viserys has planned to celebrate her name day.

"I do not think a feast is necessary, Uncle." She said

"Of course it is, it is your first name day with family. Tell me have you ever had a grand celebration for your name day?" He asks

Rhaella's mind combs through the name days she can remember. Most of them were spent with cousin Gerold teaching her to hunt or Edric gifting her new perfumes.

"I have not..." She trails off

"Then a true celebration is in order. I have invited many lords and ladies of the kingdom. Even your cousin Gerold has sent word he will be here." Viserys says

"Are you excited for tonight?" Maester Edric asks

Rhaella catches his gaze through the mirror as a handmaid braids her hair.

"I am nervous. I do not know most of the people who will be at this party." She sighs

"You don't need to worry, they are here for you. You should focus on having a good time, this is your first proper name day celebration." He says, "I wish I would have been able to give you a celebration like this when you were younger."

"I don't. Every name day I have spent with you, Gerold, and the staff of Runestone has been perfect." Rhaella admits

The party is as lavish as Viserys had described. Numerous plates of food are piled high with dishes she couldn't even name. Music played as they ate and Rhaella hoped she wouldn't get anything on her dress.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Viserys asks

"I am, Uncle, thank you." She smiles truthfully

"I used to have feasts like this for Rhaenrya every year on her name day. She asked me to stop after she was married." Viserys reminisced

"I am sure they were wonderful." She says

Supper goes by smoothly as the many guests talk and feast. It is after the food has been devoured that Rhaella can feel herself beginning to sweat. She is sure they expect her to dance or make some big speech, anything that will have all eyes on her.

A sharp tap interrupts her train of thought.

"Do you want one of these? There weren't any on your side of the table." Aemond asks, his hand is out stretched with a delicate-looking pastry in it.

Her glance drops to the table where a large plate full of them rests just within arms reach of her.

Laenor nudges Rhaenrya who sits by his side. His wife had been scolding Luke for eating too quickly and making himself sick.

"I believe Prince Aemond is blushing." He whispers

Rhaenrya follows his gaze to the young children who are staring into each other's eyes.

"He is handing her a pastry," Rhaenrya observes, " He looks....rather foolish."

"His face is red, look at his cheeks and ears." Laenor laughs

Suddenly the young prince's eyes fall on Laenor and he immediately switches his attention to the intricate hairstyle Rhaenrya has donned for the evening.

"Yes, very uh well done, the braids." He mumbles

"Don't tell me you're afraid of a child." Rhaenrya laughs

"Little boys don't like it when people know their crushes. Aemond won't want me knowing his." Laenor says, thinking back to how embarrassed he was when Laena first found out about his crush on his father's cupbearer.

A moment passes and before he knows it, Rhaenrya grabs his arm.

"Looks like you were right." She says

Laenor's eyes follow his wife's and he is surprised when he sees Aemond leading Rhaella, the same nervous little girl who nearly combusted when she tripped in front of him once to the center of the room for a dance.

"Maybe he'll step on her feet." Aegon's disinterested voice carries across the table.

A lively beat starts up and all eyes are on the two children who clumsily try to recall all the dance skills they've learned in their lessons over the years.

"They shouldn't be the only ones down there. Rhaella looks like she's going to faint and Aemond...well he clearly isn't doing well either." Laenor says

He's about to ask his wife to dance for the first time in years when the doors to the hall open wide.

"Gods help us." He hears Alicent murmur.

Rhaella can feel the sweat trickle down her back as Aemond tries to lead her in a dance. She hasn't had many dance lessons but she swore she did better in those than she was now.

The sound of opening doors makes her and Aemond pause. A man and woman, with two young girls behind them, enter the room. Each of them had valyrian features but the man stood out the most.

"Daemon." Her Uncle calls from behind her "I did not think you were coming."

Daemon? As in...

"And miss the first feast thrown in my daughter's honor, on her name day?" His foreign voice fills her ears for the first time ever.

Daemon Targaryen. Her father has shown his face to her for the first time ever.

"Let's go back to the table," Aemond whispers as he grabs her hand to lead her back towards their family.

"Daughter." Daemon calls "You have grown up."

Rhaella feels like someone has stuffed cotton into her mind. She does not know what to do, or how to reply to this man.

Aemond leads her back to the table and she stiffly sits back down.

"Someone bring chairs. Lady Laena must sit down." Ser Lanor's voice makes its way into her mind.

At some point, the pregnant wife of Daemon's sits down, most likely near her brother. Her daughter, those half-sisters Rhaella had heard about many times were in her peripheral vision, as was her father.

"Wonderful party, brother. Truly a worthy display for my eldest." Daemon praises

The room is silent and Rhaella watches as Daemon takes a long sip of wine from the cup a servant brings.

"So, daughter. I'm glad to see you take after me in looks. You look a bit like my mother, Alyssa." He says with a playful smile "Either way I am glad you don't look like that bronzed bitch. If that had happened I'd remained in Pentos."

Brozed bitch? Did he mean your mother? He was speaking ill of your deceased mother?

"Daemon. Enough. This is a night of celebration. You are not here to torment anyone." Viserys speaks up

Daemon shakes his head a bit and laughs before his attention is drawn to Laena.

The music begins again and Rhaella feels like her heart has lept into her throat. So many times she had imagined what it would be like to meet her father. She was told that he was a fierce warrior with a blood-red dragon named Caraxes. Instead of the gallant dragon rider she had expected, she was met with a crude man who clearly shared no love for her mother.

Her eyes were bleary with tears when Edric approached the high table to retrieve her.

"Your Grace, might I take Lady Rhaella back to her chamber. I think tonight's events have been a bit too much for her." He asks

"Yes, I think that is for the best." Visery's words bounce around in her mind as Edric helps her stand.

She locks eyes with Aemond one more time before leaving. His eyes seemed like they were full of pity as he disappeared from her view.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I've spent years filling your head with tales of his heroics. I failed to teach you what a crass man he truly is." Edric softly said

"It is not your fault. It is not anyone's but his own." Rhaella whispered back.

Ewww, cancel Daemon!!

Jk. I love Daemon. He's just going to be a bitch for now. (In true Daemon fashion I guess.)

Anyway sorry if some people seemed a little ooc. I like to Imagine Rhaenrya, Laenor, and Viserys as pretty jolly people, especially towards kids.

Next Part

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radskull-69 · 11 months ago

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Could u make a short one-shot about Bob Velseb x Y/n plz!! Also I love your work!

plot: Bob is your boss who has always sweet on you and does things he wouldn’t normally do for his employees, like defend them against a wild Karen or give them breaks for longer then an hour….blow up your messages every night.

You resisted the urge to even hav your eye twitch in agitation (hell, to not leap over this counter!) as the older woman across from you behind the counter was going off at you, they hadn’t even ordered yet.

something about us murdering animals when we should’ve been selling vegan meat.

honestly, you didn’t get it. If you don’t want meat in your food don’t come to a diner with MEAT!

“I am sick of you monsters butchering up poor defenceless animals! I wanna see your manager!” Her manicured hand slammed down onto the counter, her screeching voice ringing out around the shop and making other customers either give you annoyed glared or sympathetic looks.

yet no one came in to help, you’d give them the finger if you could. But your too much of a pussy to do that, and you value this job.

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” The woman jabs a finger at you, making you lean back as she got more and more hostile. “Do you not care for animals? You disgusting-!”

“What’s all dis’ ruckus about? Heard someone wanted me.” A deep southern voice sounded out behind you, tilting your head up you were met with bob looming over you and casting a large shadow over the now (finally) quiet woman.

Oh great, one of the other employees must of went and got him for you. Awesome.. this is just gonna make matters worse.

“I-I.. yes! I wanted to tell you that your employee here won’t sell me any vegan burgers.” The woman finally fixes her scared look and with a stumble goes back to glaring, though no longer yelling.

“Hmm, well. If ya haven’t notice yet.” Bob leaned forward to rest his arm heavily on the counter, even though you were in-front of him. So now while he bended over to do just that you had to bend over slightly as well as to not get crushed from him, face beer red as you kept your eyes trained to the red counter

“This is a diner, not a front yawn where ya munch of grass.” Despite his usual large grin it was obviously strained and his eyes were wide and full of warning, you shivered. Glad to not be on the other end of the stick of that.

“Well- excuse you-!” Before the woman could even finish her sentence with a look of high offence she suddenly shut up, and it almost looked like the blood drained from her face as if a vampire sucked it out.

You wondered what kind of look Bob must’ve given her to scare her so because with a stutter she was out the door before you could blink.

You stood there in confusion and once again tilted your head up curiously to look at bob’s face but were only met with a much softer look and worry on his features, one of his large hands coming up to your shoulder and turning you to face him better.

”you doin’ alright darlin’? Sorry ya had ta’ deal with that witch longer then ya had ta’, saw her comin’ awfully close to ya though..” his brows furrow, creating a worry line between them as I looks you over. You only let out a nod and a ‘uh huh’ as he did so, painfully aware of the stares some of the customers where giving you at the moment still.

“I’m fine, just a bit spooked is all. But I’ve been working in customer service for years so it’s nothing I can’t handle” you wave off his concerns and gently grabbed the hand that was tugging on the collar of your uniform to check for any unhidden injuries, you didn’t need your boss of all people to accidentally look down your shirt.

“Hmm.. if ya say so, but I think you deserve a break. A thirty min- no, a full hour break. With me, in my office.” Bob nodded to himself and the worry was washed off his face and instead replaced with a look of satisfaction with his arrangement he made up for you.

“Oh no- it’s fine, really! I don’t want to bother-“ you were scooting away from bob with a polite smile but his arm wrapped around your torso and before you could say anything more he was already leading you through the staff door and to his office as he chuckled in earnest

“Nonsense! I made ya some lunch for yer’ break actually an’ I wanna have yer’ opinion on em’. Remember? I sent ya a text about it last night while I was makin’ em. There yer’ face food right?” He tilted his head down to you for affirmation as he shut his door behind him, his arm finally leaving your torso with a slight linger you didn’t notice

you sighed and nodded, he kept you a bit past your bedtime with his texts, like he did almost every night. You didn’t speak up on the matter of your sleep schedule being interrupted and instead sat at one of the two leather chairs infront of his desk facing towards it

“Mhm, thanks again Bob.” You shot him a genuine smile, grateful for the free food. And a added plus of bob being a damn good cook.

“Of course!” He strolled up to you from behind as you sat in the seat, hands setting themselves on your shoulders heavily as he leaned down to your level to chuckle lowly in your ear. The grip on your shoulders tightening just a fraction as you tensed.

“Anythin’ for my favourite lil employee~”

#spooky month #bob velseb #spooky month bob #X reader #bob velseb x reader #one shot #no hate to vegans #request #rad writes

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zer0brainc3lls · 3 months ago

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I bet on losing dogs pt4

masterlist

story summary: what if newtmas was canon in the death cure and there was a plot change?

word count: 8.3k

TW LIST: detailed gore, detailed mentions of blood loss, typical canon violence. let me know if i missed any!!

Newt's bones and eyes are still so so heavy but he has woken up, the muscles in his eyes twitch to open but his brain screams at him before he moves. DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES his survival instincts holler at him, he can't trust anyone anymore except his own heavy body. Where are you? Newt feels that the room is cold, his arms and legs are strapped down by what feels to be.. Warm leather. The leather is warm, he's been there a long time. He hears bombs raging on in the distance, it's muffled. Are you hurt? Newt can still feel his right palm stick against the bandages Minho had applied along with deep discomfort, his hand feels exposed despite being covered. His face still sears with agony from the scratches and his wrists whine in overuse. His bad leg screams at him, the muscles feel tight and raw under his flesh but despite that he has no new injuries except he feels a prick in his lower arm.

He feels blood being drained from his arm, his senses heightened already to pick up the sound of quiet breathing, along with heavy footsteps not too far away pacing rhymically. Keep your breathing steady he continued to breath at the pace he was earlier, his chest rising and falling in time with the steps. Who's in the room? The person who is drawing his blood is steady, clearly trained because the pain in his arm is very miniscule. Ava Paige is dead and the halls of the tower were empty, wait. Teresa had called for him to come back so she must have been waiting, Teresa is drawing his blood. The heavy footsteps boom louder with every step, presumably Janson. “What's taking so long?!” the ratman snaps. “He's dehydrated, the blood is barely coming out.” Teresa replies, her voice wobbling slightly. As if her words summoned it, his throat scratches at every breath he takes in as his head pounds desperate for water.

After a minute or two, Teresa finishes extracting his blood and removes the needle from his arm. Newt knows where he is, who he's with and what state he's in. He's not going to learn anything else with his eyes closed. open your eyes Newt listens and slowly opens his not so heavy eyelids and says, his voice scratching “why don't you just kill me?” his eyes drawn to the gray haired man. Janson turns and speaks in a low voice “no we don't want to do that Newt” he walks ever so slowly, almost taunting him. “We're going to take special care of you. We’ll keep you alive, just. And in return, you give life to the rest of us..” The crank turns on his heels at a snail pace, reaching out for something and making all of two steps back to newt. Holding a cylinder tube with a cap he ever so slowly removes and places to the side, the tip of the needle mocking him. The small see-through part of the mostly black cylinder glows a light blue. Desperation and rage bubble in his blood at the sight, the syringe Newt desperately needs, the serum he would give his own life for just out of reach.

The serum. Thomas’s serum.

“The ones we chose to save anyway.” The putrid crank carefully pulls up his sleeve, extending his arm out as he does so making sure Newt sees his arm. His arm is covered in black veins, almost like a web that's been woven together without care or direction spreading anywhere and everywhere. His arm is coated in a thin layer of dirt unlike the rest of his body, as if the flare itself is dirty. Newt's eyes are drawn away from the spider's web before him, up to the needle tip that Janson is waving right in front of his eyes. He smirks maniacally, his eyes wide and dangerous. He creeps the needle tip towards his arm.

…

“DONT YOU FUCKING DARE JANSON” the rage in his gut spreading to his throat, his arms, his legs, his bones and muscles. he wildly pulls against his restraints as if will stop the cruel crank, Janson taunts him by dragging out the process for as long as possible. Inching closer and closer and every centimetre he gets he somehow gets even slower, all the while Newt is screaming profanities at the top of his lungs. His throat burns as he screams. Somehow, Janson knows Thomas is infected and he's determined to remind Newt of this fact. How dare he taunt him?! Years and years of suffering, watching gladers die gruesome deaths and hearing their god awful screams knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do to save them. He can't let Thomas die, not now! He's the reason they got out of that maze, he saved his best friends' lives and gave him freedom, hope. For ONCE in his life he felt something other than complete hopelessness the day Thomas killed that griever. Newt finally had something to run for, to push for. Thomas made him believe in a future. He fought almost every battle he could, escaping the maze, fleeing from wicked, making it to the right arm, finding minho. He has one final job to do and that is to save thomas. the one thing he has left to fight for is JUST out of his reach, if he could just MOVE HIS GODDAMN HANDS-

SMASH

Janson falls to the floor in a spray of glass, his head thumping against the hospital floor. Teresa stood behind him breathing heavily, she quickly snatches the syringe off the floor before removing Newts restraints. Relief floods through Newt's body and he fights to shake from the nonstop adrenaline that he believes may never stop coursing through him after this night. Teresa mumbles something that doesn't reach Newt's ears while she struggles with a buckle, Newt desperately trying to assist her wriggles his way up and away from the leather. Teresa removes the restraint before the crank whose head is dripping with blood grabs Teresa by the hair and throws her across the room with an inhumane amount of strength, Teresa slides across a table of medical equipment before falling onto the cold ground. “TERESA” Newt screeches before using his bandaged hand to try undo the rest of his body, he fights a whine at the back of his throat at the pain that boils under his palm as he does. He struggles to ignore the fact that his once white bandages are becoming crimson and sticky.

Newt blocks out the screaming and fighting not even a metre away, only focusing on the buckles. Eventually he frees himself and he hears a loud THUNK and a lack of high pitched screams, Teresa's limp body crumples to the floor, her eyes shut tightly. A machete shines under the fluorescent hospital light, his machete. Jansons' eyes notice quicker and he's already snatched it, his teeth bared wildly. Newts runs and pounces at Janson, both bodies flying out the door of the hospital room and into an equally bright hallway. Newt and Janson tumble around on the ground, punches thrown and kicks landing into stomachs and faces. Janson barely uses the blade, only slicing Newt hesitantly across his shoulder blade and arm, clearly having no clue how to wield the blade. Fucking pathetic. If the machete were in Newt's hand however? Janson would've been dead already. If it weren't for Jansons flare enhanced strength Newt would have overpowered his pen pusher body by now, machete or not.

Janson manages to deliver a heavy blow to the side of Newt's head, the world spins and darkens for a moment. He stumbles to the ground, trying to reel his consciousness back to him. The crank straddles him with the machete to his neck, pressing down slightly blood drips from Newt's neck. The cut is nowhere near deep, in fact Newt barely feels the small cut. “He was never supposed to be in the maze!” Janson spat, Newt has a firm grip on Jansons wrist keeping the machete from getting any deeper than a paper cut. “But he just had to go after you and all your little friends didn't he? So brave so.. Caring” the end of his sentence reeks of sarcastic sweetness, Newts grip gets impossibly tighter as he attempts to push Janson away to no avail. “The one thing Ava did right was making you The Glue, so desperate. Putting his life above your own? Their lives above your own?” Newt tries to kick up with his feet and push Jansons body off with his core, he squirms around desperately trying to get out from underneath the vile crank.

BANG

Janson drops the machete, his arm goes limp for a moment. Newt seizes the opportunity and pushes Janson off him and snatches the machete off the floor and scrambles up to his feet, blood pumping in his ears. He looks up to find Teresa holding a small pistol, eyes wide looking down at Janson. More specifically his shoulder which is now seeping with blood. Her body is stiff and unwavering, her hair tangled around the back from Jansons cruel fingers. Her breaths are quick and shallow, her bottom lip quivering.

“We need to go-!” Newt's authoritarian tone is cut short by bombs that make the floor shake and cause both him and Teresa to fall to the ground, Janson who was on his hands and knees attempting to stand falls flat on his stomach. Smoke and ash fill his lungs and burn his eyes, the light above flickering on and off, wires spark with electricity bouncing off the ceiling and walls. The pistol that Teresa held moments ago flies from her hands as she falls, landing right next to Jansons body ready for the taking when he eventually stands his ground.

Newt somehow gains his footing despite being in a much weaker state than Teresa, grabbing the back of her white coat insisting they need to move. Without hesitation she too scrambles to her feet as they run down the hallway, his body mimicking a rusty doll in need of oil as he moves, every step becoming more and more agonising. Bullets spray down the hallway just before they duck into the next, his bum leg getting weaker by the second. “In here!!” Teresa shrieks, pulling Newt through two glass double doors that move apart on their own. They stumble into a large what seems to be a testing room..? The right wall lined with thick glass and well past the gone crank inside, banging on the glass in ripped up dirty hospital gowns. The back wall and centre of the room filled with small tables with medical equipment and the largest object in the room being a large cylinder machine Newt couldn't even fathom the name of. Newts bum leg drips.. Drips?

Newt looks down to find a gunshot wound embedded into his right thigh.

His breath hitches at the sight, he collapses to the floor almost hitting his head against a metal cabinet before Teresa grabs him and lowers him to the ground. Teresa brows furrowed in concentration immediately, she scrambles through cabinets and seconds later she finds what she's looking for. A long white cloth and small scalpel. SCALPEL?? Newt's eyes widen in shock and he considers scrambling away from her even though she's a trained doctor. “I'm not cutting you, I need something for the tourniquet.” right. Newt remembers Jorge showing him how to tie one of those a few times, you need something to put in it to act as a “torsion device” Newt's body settles significantly and she allows Teresa to cut off his pant leg and wrap the cloth around his now scarlet soaked leg. Her fingers and arms work quickly, she's mumbling steps to herself throughout the quick and painful process. Newt hisses in pain as she tightens the cloth, “sorry, if it hurts-” “that means it's working, i know-” - he hisses and scrunches his eyes closed - “Jorge told me.”

Teresa finishes the tourniquet and takes the now cut off pant leg and starts to instruct Newt to press down on the wound, as if he hasn't done that already tonight before the sound of the glass doors opening once more interrupts her. Heavy footsteps walk ever so slowly into the room, Janson calls out for teresa. Teresa quickly leaves Newt's side and scrambles behind the desk, Janson goes on a long winding speech about the girl and her betrayals. Newts mind drifts away from the sounds of teresa shifting around the room and jansons taunting, he barely notices when his own body shifts to get away from the cranks watchful eye. Newt is only thinking about two things, how dry Thomas's blood is on Newt's hands. it coats his palms and fingers, the way it trapped itself underneath his dirty nails. How much time does Thomas have left? Does he have any time left at all? Or has his heart come to a steady stop along with Newt's ability to think about anything other than survival?

The second thing being how Jansons undeserving body receives blood from his icy heart every second that passes, every heavy footstep being assisted by his flare infested brain that is undeserving of the ash tainted air. How is Janson allowed to walk while so many boys lay dead in the deadheads? How is Janson allowed to breathe while Albys lungs receive no such sensation and never will again? How is Janson allowed to point a gun towards someone else while Winston willingly turned on to himself? So many deaths and screams haunt his mind, will his mind ever quiet again? Or will he forever be forced to hear their screams whenever he breathes?

Oh.. the world is escaping him now, everything is focusing and unfocusing as if he was taking glasses on and off again. What is that sound? White noise buzzes almost inside his head, his brain shaking for blood. “Don't you have enough blood on your hands already?!” Janson calls out, oh his talking to him. Who else would he be talking to? Newt realises that his hands are shaking violently, how long have they been doing that for? “Your little friend Thomas might not have been able to shoot her.. But I can!” Newt senses are impossibly heightened so much so he can hear the gun rattle in Jansons palms,

Newt looks towards Janson, black veins pulsing up his neck.. His neck. Newt looks down at his machete which is covered in now half dried blood, his own blood. The machete shimmers under the flickering lights calling to him, the handle almost slips itself into Newt's hand as he wobbles to stand. “JANSON!!” he screams, tumbling towards the crank. Janson turns to point the gun towards the blonde but is much too slow because by the time his pupils almost disappear in shock at Newt's raised arm it's too late for him. Newts arm and shoulder muscles tighten as he slashes his machete across Jansons throat, the blade swipes effortlessly into his flesh, unlike Janson Newts slash is not hesitant or unpracticed. The gun that once shook in the cranks palms drops to the floor as he claws at his throat, blood dripping from his mouth as he falls to the floor choking on crimson.

Once Janson drops to the floor all the strength newt gathered deep within his bones all slips away from him, Teresa grabs his arm and helps him hobble out of the room with her. Any and all tension snaps, Newt in this moment feels no hatred towards her because in this moment they both want the same things, to survive this nightmare along with thomas. Wires all around them blow and light up with electricity, the halls reek of ash and gunpowder as they stumble towards a stairwell. Teresa’s voice orders him to move in certain directions and he does what he's told with no argument, they enter a stairwell, the stairs leading down boom in fire. Teresa leads them up the stairs, Newt desperately trying to take some of his weight off her shoulders.

They climb and climb until Teresa uses her free hand to open a door taking them onto the roof, everything around them burns violently, the sheer brightness burns into newts eyes. Teresa turns back around to go back into the stair well before that too, explodes in bright fire. Newt can almost see the hopelessness radiating off of her, her mind finally coming to a stop and realising it over, their done. Dead. They had failed.

Newt's body finally gives out, crashing to the ground along with Teresa who tries to break his fall. Teresa's chest rises and falls as she gasps for air desperately, the sky starts to slowly swirl together. Teresa reaches into her pocket and hands Newt the syringe he came back for. “I knew you would come back.” she said, her tone impossibly soft as if the world was not on fire. “I knew you would help me.” Newt responds in the same manner, in this moment, in this fire, Newt cannot hate the girl that holds her. He will never forgive her but he cannot hate her. “I- i dont want to die Teresa.” The words escape his chapped lips and his fogged brain before he has the chance to bite his tongue, he struggles to speak with the ash in his lungs. He knew the likelihood of his return ending in his death, but now that he is faced with it burning all around him he's never felt such despair in his life. Even in death he couldn't keep his promise. “Me neither.” her voice tremors now, another understanding. Her tone is ridden with guilt, not the same guilt Newt carries in his chest but guilt all the same.

White noise blares in his ears, the noise gets closer and closer.. Teresa turns to look in front of them, Newt turns also to see that the noise is the berg. The berg!! “C’MON!!” Teresa commands, lifting Newt to his feet, practically dragging him to the edge of the building. Newt holds the syringe impossibly tight in his hands, his eyes fighting to stay open as he searches for Thomas in the berg. His bones heavy and tired attempt to put up one final fight, his body searches for one final push of adrenaline to get him and Teresa onto the berg. The berg is so close yet so far, Newt's hand grazes Vince's before falling once more. “YOU HAVE TO GET CLOSER” Teresa shouts, gally shouts something along those lines to the pilot who Newt can only assume to be Jorge. The berg swings back and forth, building around them crumbling down. Teresa holds onto Newt and pushes him to the berg with one big push, Newt feels hands grip his upper arms pulling him onto the ship.

Newt looks around the ship, his eyes landing on Thomas only a few steps away. Steps his legs cannot take him. Everyone around him is shouting out to Teresa, part of Newt wants to help her but he has a promise to keep. So he crawls, his bad leg weighs him down as his arms fight to pull his body along. His tourniquet slowly becomes looser as he crawls across the floor, leaving a trail of blood as he moves. He's not far now, PUSH GODDAMNIT his brain screams. Newt considers injecting it into Thomas’s palm just to get the serum in him faster but decides against it, refusing to risk the one and only vial they have. His arms shake as he pulls himself one final time before injecting the serum into Thomas's upper arm with a firm click. He did it. It's over. He kept his promise. Minho and Thomas are alive.

His vision swirls once the blue liquid finally empties out of the syringe in what has got to be the longest 5 seconds of his life, his body goes limp as he lets his arm fall. His brain slowly flips into unconsciousness as the berg rumbles with an upward descent, he faintly heard feet rushing towards him and barely feels minho flip him onto his back. “STAY WI-” the rest of Minho’s words are unheard as white noise becomes the only sound in the world, faces and arms crowd his vision and body, fingers and hands touching all his injuries that were well worth it in Newt's mind. Newt turns his head to see Thomas’s face that is now soft and calm in a peaceful sleep as his chest rises and falls, the black veins slowly becoming less visible. He’d truly done it. He saved Thomas.

That's Newt's final thought before his vision finally escapes him.

It's been almost 2 days since Newt woke up in the safe haven, and for the past 2 days he has had doctors speak to him, getting his vitals taken, being forced to eat and drink, being banned from walking without a cane as if he's an old man, has had his bandages changed and he's not seen a single person he knows. Doctors have asked him his pain level, how he's feeling, how he’s coping, and he has barely said a word to them. Newt could speak, if he wanted to. Doctors speak about him as if he's not there, they say he's in shock. The past 2 days have not felt like days, everything blurs together in one big jumble of memories. Everything seems so distant, even the present moment he's in now, which is another one of these doctors attempting conversation.

“You have been in the safe haven for 2 days, did you know that?” the doctor says. Yes I did, I have heard this countless times. Newt shrugs and refuses to look at said doctor, he just wants to see someone, anyone he knows. “Is Tommy ok?” he asks for about the billionth time, one of his few repeated phrases. “When can I see him? Or anyone?” the doctor sighs, as if Newt is forcing him to be there before he says “speaking of that.. One of my colleagues informed your friends about your condition so they should-”

The doctor is interrupted by Minho, Brenda, Frypan and Gally all crashing into the room at once. “NEWT!!” Minho practically screams, running over and pulling him into the world's tightest hug. The doctor stands and leaves the room smiling happily to himself. Newt's body floods with happiness for the first time in 48 hours as he hugs him back weakly, his face buried into his neck. He feels Brenda hugging him from behind, her chin resting on his shoulder. “Hurry up! I wanna get in there!” Frypan ushers Minho away after a minute or two before clapping both his hands on both of Newt's shoulders “how you doing?” he asks warmly “much better now!” Newt exclaims, his lips curve into a wide smile. He feels giddy, giddy like a kid on Christmas finally getting the toy they begged for. “Hey dude.” gally says, his arms crossed with a slight smile. “Hey man!” he says, refusing the impossible urge to squeal in pure excitement, for once in 2 long days he finally feels present in a moment, the past 48 hours a mere sad blur that no longer exists in his mind.

Then he realises, someone is missing. “Minho,” - Newt turns to face him and takes a deep breath - “is Tommy ok?” Minho’s smile turns into a cheeky grin before saying “about that..” he steps towards the door, pulling it open and reaches his arm to the side, tugging on something. “TADA!!” Minho pulls Thomas in the room by his shirt, Thomas’s eyes widen in shock at Newts state, Newts eyes widen as his eyes drift to Thomas's stomach. No knife, no blood. He's really ok. Newt feels Brenda's arms slip away from him and he hears her ushering everyone except Thomas out of the room. Newt and Thomas both pause for a moment, Their eyes locking in pure disbelief before Thomas practically sprints over and pulls Newt into the softest hug possible. Newt's body relaxes significantly, his forehead resting on Thomas's shoulder while one of his hands cups Thomas's face. “It worked, it actually worked” he whispers, his eyes filled with tears that threaten to spill. “That was the longest two days of my life” Thomas whispers back with a twinge of humour, Newt laughs, his gut fluttering at the sound of Thomas's voice and his reciprocated laughter.

Thomas pulls back slightly, his eyes almost droopy as he smiles looking into Newt's eyes. His gaze drifts to Newt's cheeks and his eyes widen significantly, his smile dropping. Thomas goes to speak, his brows furrowed before Newt promptly interrupts him. “I won't hear none of that, ya hear me? It's only a couple stitches tommy.” “Only?!” Newt scooches over allowing Thomas to sit down, after taking his shoes off. He sits with his legs crossed on the surprisingly large hospital cot. “That's nothing! i’ve got a high pain tolerance, barely felt a thing. Don't you worry your pretty head about it.” Newt teases, tapping Thomas's temple Thomas keeps his hands in his lap, fidgeting with his fingers.

“Well go on then.” Newt folds after a few seconds, allowing Thomas to cradle his face and examine his wounds. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows down what Newt can only assume to be the apologies swirling in his brain. “What did I just say?” Newt scolds.

“Is there anymore? I heard you got.. Shot.” Thomas ignores Newt's playful scolding, his doe eyes full of worry. Newt doesn't know how to answer, he doesn't want to lie to Thomas but he knows that if he tells the truth.. oh yeah and I also got a few stitches on my arm, shoulder and hand too! My gunshot wound nearly killed me by the way! Thomas would never forgive himself. He's always so goddamn forgiving but the moment something happens that's not even his fault that he's remotely tied to he makes it his mission to flip the situation and pin the blame on himself, he won't understand that the wounds were well worth it, he won't understand that Newt would have rather died than not at least try to save him-

“Newt? You ok?” Thomas says softly, cupping the side of his face with one hand now, being gentle as to not touch his stitches because of course he does. “You sort of zoned out there” Thomas, who is the loudest, bravest and the biggest “act now think later” person in the whole entire world is somehow changes into the most caring and tender person ever whenever he's around Newt and it always makes Newt crumble into tiny little pieces, he couldn't lie to him right now even if he tried. “Yeah.. i did uhm- get shot.. Don't freak-”

“WHAT??”

“I knew you would do that!!”

“do what?!”

“act like the biggest shuckfaced idiot that's ever stepped foot on the bloody planet that's what!!”

“You got shot because of me!”

“I didn't get shot because of you, I got shot FOR you!!”

“...”

“Love. When you..” - Newt takes a deep breath before continuing - “passed out, i don't know if you heard but i.. ran back to the tower-”

“YOU WHAT??”

“Don't interrupt!”

“...”

“You were dying Tommy. I had to go back! You don't know what you looked like.. What I saw. Long story short me and Janson got in a fight and I got a couple cuts” - Newt pulls his collar down to expose his bandages, afterwards pulling up his sleeve to show the bandaged cut on his upper arm. Thomas’s eyes got wider and glasser the more he spoke - “and yes I got shot. But it was worth it tommy! You lived.. That's all I wanted.” - Newt takes Thomas's hand in his, rubbing the back of his knuckles. - “Ok?” Newt's throat tightens at his last word, making his word wobble despite his tone being steady recounting the tale.

Thomas pauses for a moment, he opens his mouth as if he wants to protest but quickly closes it. He presses his lips into a thin line while squeezing Newt’s hand. “Thank you, for saving me.” He mumbles, barely audible. If Newt wasn't so close and the room wasn't so quiet he wouldn't have been able to hear the low whisper. Newt doesn't think saying your welcome is exactly appropriate so instead, he squeezes Thomas's hand for a moment before smiling warmly his way. Plump lips smile back at Newt, Thomas’s head tilting to the side ever so slightly as he smiles in a way that makes Newt's face glow with warmth. Newt doesn't realise he's staring at Thomas's lips until Thomas reciprocates the action, they both pause for a moment before Thomas leans in and gently kisses him.

He tastes like toothpaste and saltwater. Newt keeps his hand in Thomas’s, Thomas’s hands have always been so soft, so warm. Newt places his other hand on Thomas's shoulder, Newt's gut swirls when Thomas's hums against his lips, the vibration sending shivers down his spine. Newt's hand makes its way from his shoulder to the back of Thomas's head, pushing Thomas closer in an attempt to deepen the kiss before the brunette pulls away. “What was that for?!” Newt asked, displeased, with no real anger behind his words. “First of all, we're in a hospital room.” - Thomas kisses the corner of Newt's mouth before continuing in a whisper - “Second of all, you're recovering. So maybe not now, mkay?” “you Thomas are a bloody tease”

“uh oh ‘Thomas’ should i be worried?” Thomas replied sarcastically, only a few inches from Newt's face. “Yeah, maybe you should be” Newt spoke in the same manner, attempting to kiss Thomas again before Thomas lightly pushed him back before exclaiming

“what did i just say!”

“finee.” Newt pouted in pretend annoyance before they both broke out into a fit of laughter, Newt’s cheeks slowly began to ache from all the smiling.

Its officially been a week since Newt arrived in the safe haven and today is finally the day he is getting discharged from the makeshift hospital they have set up, over the past 5 days Thomas, Minho, Brenda, Frypan and Gally all came by to visit often, Thomas and Minho the most by far. Thomas visited at least once a day, sometimes multiple if he wasn't busy. Constantly asking how he was doing, telling Newt about about the safe haven and how Frypans “still got it”, Thomas tells Newt about the fields and spots he wants to take him, about the hut he's been assigned and how nice it is to sleep in a bed instead of sleeping bags, Newt listens intently as he talks about his slow lazy days since Thomas is still recovering from his knife wound. But those days are finally over because Thomas is on his way to help Newt hobble out of the hospital doors insisting he wants to help, despite the fact Newt has a cane. Newt is beyond ecstatic to get out of the dingy hospital room and move in with Thomas, they both agreed on that since they haven't slept apart for almost 6 months anyway so why change now?

Newt sat impatiently on top of his hospital bed, cane in his lap as he fiddled with the corner of the blanket waiting for Thomas to get there. His heart beat thumping in his ears like a clock, ticking by as the seconds pass. He can't help but wonder if walking is going to be harder now, he's barely stood up for more then a minute or two so how is he going to do walking longer distances? … the sand is a whole different ball game. Newt would rather walk in the sand than stay in the hospital another night though.

As if on cue the door swings open and Thomas stands there grinning from ear to ear boyishly. Thomas walks over and extends his hand out, bowing as if Newt is a king or something. Newt rolls his eyes while Thomas laughs, but accepts Thomas's hand gratefully despite the sarcasm. Newt slowly stands to his feet unable to suppress the hiss that escapes his lips, his eyes scrunching as pain shoots through his whole leg. His fingers that are now interlocked with Thomas's squeeze significantly tighter, leaning slightly against Thomas's arm to keep him upright.

“Are you sure you're ready to-?” “Tommy, I would rather get shot again then stay here for one more bloody night.” Thomas’s eyes flick upwards immediately to make eye contact with Newt, his eyes widening in shock. “I'm joking! but please for the love of god get me out of here.” His eyes soften once more when Newt responds, they both slowly but surely begin to walk towards the doors of the makeshift hospital. Every step Newt limps and occasionally having to fight back a wince, he can't help but be reminded of when he first broke his leg and Minho and Alby had to help him walk around similarly to how Thomas is now. Eventually they make it to the rickety door made out of wood and sticks, Thomas uses his free hand to open the door and Newt gasps at the sight.

Newt has yet to see the safe haven until now, he heard waves occasionally but he didn't expect the water to be so bright, the way the sun bounces off the crystal blue water almost makes it look like a large gem. In the distance there is a large cliff covered in grass and flowers, in fact the whole safe haven besides the beach is covered in bright, healthy green grass. The sun doesn't burn Newt's shoulders or arms either, it's warm and calming. There's a large unlit bonfire in the distance along with a large stone which appears to have carvings on it, surrounding the bonfire there is small wooden structures with beams and steps for people to sit at and hammocks are set up underneath roofs, a large communal kitchen which Frypan is stationed at as well. There's people of all ages sitting, walking, running, laughing, talking or just sitting in silence enjoying the peace. Newt lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding when Thomas squeezes his hand to bring him back to the present.

“It's so.. Calm?” His words come out as a question instead of a statement, Newt didn't mean to sound curious but the truth is he is curious. How do they keep order? How do they keep things running around here? “The others were shocked too, speaking of them you want to get dinner?” Newt's stomach growled at the suggestion, his eyebrows raised. Thomas doesn't move and simply waits for Newt's response. “Well c'mon then! I'm not getting there on my own!” he says playfully before attempting to speed up his walking despite Thomas's protests, Eventually Newt's leg refuses to get with the program and they are forced to a leisurely pace towards the unlit bonfire hand in hand. The gentle breeze lifting any heaviness left in his chest, the sound of grass under his shoes keeping him in the present instead of the past full of sand and hatred.

The sky above is mixed with oranges, pinks and gentle clouds as the sun slowly begins to set, the air slowly getting colder as the afternoon turns to night. As time passes by people with unknown voices and faces to match dwindle away to hammocks or huts if owned, and all the remains are the few gladers that remain paired with clinking of utensils and fits of laughter. Even Gally joining in on the smiles and giggles, sweet tasting alcohol Newt can't be bothered to ask the name of eventually being passed around. Maybe one day in the future, nearby or distant they will speak of the scorch and wicked but not tonight. Tonight is for stars and laughter that bubbles in his chest and makes Newt’s face hurt, tonight is for joy.

Newt is sitting with his crappy leg elevated by a small log. Thomas insisted on running around for five minutes trying to find it, lifting Newt's leg and placing it on top of the log saying “it helps with swelling!” Newt found the sight of slightly tipsy Thomas running around in the grass to find the log very endearing, repressing a fit of giggles when Thomas threw his hands in the air and whooped in excitement at the find. Newt's other leg is pressed against his chest, his arms hugging around it. Frypan grins to himself as he collects everyone except Gallys cleared plates, Gally still working on his meal scoffing down his food. “Fry you gotta step up your game man!” He exclaims between mouthfuls. “Oh really? So you wouldn’t mind if I-“ - Frypan goes to take Gally half eaten plate of food before Gally swats away his hand with a scowl. - “that’s what I thought!” He beams with a sarcastic grin “Fuck off man!” gally attempts to sound harsh, the slight grin on his face making it clear he’s not mad. Frypan walks away, plates and cups stacked skilfully, he laughs the whole way back to the kitchen before he’s too far away to hear.

Minutes later Gally licks his plate clean before walking off to the kitchen, “I forgot what actual food tastes like, that shit we had in the scorch was driving me nuts!” Minho’s voice slicing through the silence, the bright fire warming Newt’s sore body. “If that ain't the buggin’ truth.” Newt replied with much less enthusiasm, his voice dipping into soft silence. a comfortable wave of exhaustion crashing down onto him. Soon Gally and Frypan made their way back and everyone drifted back into comfortable conversation and laughter, the warmth of the fire and eventually Thomas's arm wrapped around him made Newt's eyes feel heavy and body like jelly, sinking into feeling his eyes threatening to pull him away from the magical night. The voices of the people he cared about most dearly all mixed together into one beautiful unintelligible chorus as consciousness escaped him, except tonight he knew that no matter what, when he woke, he would be safe. No more cranks or running from wicked, only Thomas's arms and friends' laughter made him wish not to sleep.

Newt drifted from half consciousness to being asleep and back again over the course of 30 minutes, an hour? He couldn't tell anymore. Newt feels Thomas's breath on his ear, his lips less than a inch away as he whispers “hey hun, we gotta get up c'mon.” Newt groans in response, not wanting to wake up yet, he pulls his eyes open to find the sky has turned to darkness covered in bright stars. The fire dwindled, barely illuminating any light. In the distance Newt can see Minho’s slightly wider build compared to when they found him at wicked walking off, his legs more steady and sure. Newt's body felt heavy, his brain fogged with exhaustion. “I don't think i could stand even if I wanted to Tommy” his lips tugging upwards into a tired smile, trying to avoid the inevitable.

“Then I'll carry you!”

“What?!”

“Cmon! Up you get!” Thomas is crouched now, one arm hooked under Newt's legs, the other hooked around his upper body attempting to lift him. Newt shrieked and tried to wriggle out of Thomas's grip to no avail, “I was joking!! Put. me. DOWN-!” Thomas quickly stands and spins around in circles quickly, Newt's cries of fear paired with Thomas's laughter. Eventually Newts screams twist into laughter and shrieks of joy, the world whirling in repeating blurred twists. “Ok ok i'm awake now!” Newt insists between happy cries, Thomas slowly stops spinning and puts Newt down. Newt attempts to walk back to where he was sitting moments earlier to retrieve his now discarded cane, forgetting momentarily about his.. Predicament. The world still wobbly combined with his already crappy leg with assistance, his walking mirroring a drunk he almost tumbles over until Thomas hooks his arm with Newts. They attempt to walk together, giggling as they still stumble despite the assistance of eachothers arms.

Newt attempts to crouch down to grab his cane, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth in pain. Thomas waves him off and picks it up for him, placing it in Newt's free hand. “What would you ever do without me?” he teases, his eyes crease as he grins. “Oh bugger off!” Newt exclaims, whacking Thomas in the shins with the stick. Thomas pretends to wince in agony despite the fact the tap was nothing but light before exclaiming back “how you have wounded me Newton! How dare you strike me-! OW-” this time his cries of pain are real, Newt whacks him in the leg again except harder this time. “Just because I have an old man cane doesn't mean I bloody hit like one!” Now it's Newts turn to tease, Thomas rolls his eyes as dramatically as humanly possible before interlocking his fingers with Newts, allowing their hands to fall by their sides as they walk to their hut.

Newt woke up to the sounds of quick and loud breathing that was not his own, unlike Newt who was laying on his side facing the brunette Thomas was laying on his back with his hands clenched tightly into fists breathing rapidly. Thomas always has had nightmares, he doesn't toss and turn or scream he just wakes up in a cold sweat unable to fall back asleep. As weeks pass his nightmares have become more and more frequent and intense, Newt rolls onto his stomach towards Thomas careful not to suddenly touch him so as to not scare him out of sleep, he slowly raises his hands to Thomas’s face cupping it softly, his touch feather light.

His thumbs graze across his cheekbones in an attempt to coax him back to sleep, he reassures quietly that he's okay even though Thomas can't hear him. Sometimes, this works and Thomas falls back into a deep sleep but clearly tonight is not his night because Thomas's eyes flick open, his pupils jumping from side to side. His breathing and the rising and falling of his chest slowly return to normal before his dark eyes land on Newt's hazel ones, his lips part as he begins to speak before Newt's voice cuts him off promptly.

“Dont.”

“Why not?”

“There's nothing to be sorry for!”

“I woke you up-!”

“I. Don't. Care. You. Dumb. Shank. how many times do I have to say it!” Newt whisper scolds him, holding his face tighter to somehow emphasise his point. They lay in this position for a moment, looking into eachothers eyes seeing who will crack first. Thomas knows Newt will win this argument because he always does, despite this he still continues to stare for a moment before pressing his lips into a tight line.

“I'll get you one day.” Thomas teases with a cheeky grin, Newt hums sarcastically back before Thomas rolls his eyes. Thomas wraps his arms around Newt's waist and pulls him closer, Newt obliged happily, shuffling closer so his face was in the crook of Thomas's neck, his fingers intertwined in brunette hair. The world is yet to wake, a lack of birds chirping and people speaking signifying its nowhere near close to breakfast. The sky is yet to rise as the sky is a pale blue, almost grey. A soft light blankets them through the window next to their cot which is pushed against the right wall, Newt scratches Thomas's scalp, willing him to drift back into dreams. Soft waves crashing nearby accompany the sound of their out of time breathes, Newt smiles to himself at the thought of the water against his legs and the sand between his toes. He's never swam at the beach before, he's cleared to do so if the water is calm since he doesn't have too much trouble walking on his own for short periods of time.

“I reckon there will be a beach or lake, wouldn't that be nice? I'll teach you to swim Tommy, I'll teach ya’ to swim. That's a promise love-”

The memory bounces in his brain, he still remembers the stickiness of blood in between his fingers and the smell of gunpowder that night. His once heavy bones and sleepy eyes come back to life at the realisation that he hasn't followed through on the promise he made. He pauses and listens to Thomas's breathing, his breathing is steady but not deep. Newt kisses the underside of Thomas’s jaw before questioning quietly

“Tommy, you ‘sleep yet?” Newt can almost feel the smile radiating off the brunette once Newt kisses him.

“Not yet, why?” Newt props himself up onto his elbows, moving away slightly. Thomas frowns at the loss of body heat and looks up at Newt with a raised brow.

“I told you I was gonna teach ya to swim. C’mon, Up you get!” Newt announces, his voice picking up from a whisper to its normal volume.

“Huh??” Thomas questions, making no effort to fight when Newt grabs him by the hands to pull him to his feet. Newt begins to rummage around in their large chest drawer, pulls out two pairs of trunks and throws one to Thomas.

“You might not remember..” Newt started, turning around to face the shorter boy. When the promise was made Thomas was.. Not in a good state but there's a high chance he doesn't even remember, but Newt is a man of his word goddamnit! This boy will learn how to swim! It's not like he's going to fall back asleep anyway. Plus, they live on an island knowing how to swim would most probably be useful! Plus Newt gets to see Thomas in board shorts so that's a plus.

“Right before you passed out.. I said I was going to teach you to swim.” he finished, his voice going sombre for a moment at the memory. Thomas looks away for a moment, searching for the memory before his eyes snap back to Newt once he remembers. Newt bites his tongue at the memory, he pauses for a moment before beginning to say “we don't have to-”

“No! No. it's a nice idea babe.” Thomas interrupts, and smiles genuinely. Newt can't help but smile back, any embarrassment or guilt pouring out of him at the sight.

Twenty minutes later Newt and Thomas were hand in hand walking across the sand of the beach, their free arms draped with one towel each. Despite the fact Newt could have walked the distance between their hut and the beach just fine on his own, Thomas insisted on holding his hand “just in case” just as he does every other time he gets the chance. “Are you sure you’ll be ok?” Thomas asks for about the third time in the 5 minutes it took to make it to the sandy part of the island.

“Yes! Now hurry up before I push ya in!” Newt drops his towel to the ground and drags Thomas into the water, Thomas steps in hesitantly. Newt takes both of Thomas’s hands and walks backwards into the water, eventually they make it to a small part where it's deep enough so Newt can stand but Thomas, since he's a bit shorter, can practise swimming on his own. Newt gently explains the basics, how to keep yourself up right, how to swim around and take breaths as you do and holds up Thomas during his first few attempts and cheers when Thomas starts to get it.

Newt feels relief flood his entire body, he did it. They did it. They survived. And now? They get to live. In this moment, the water up to his chest and sand in his hair he realises how grateful he is to be able to live. Not just survive. Hes felt grateful after surviving grievers, cranks, wicked, bombs, fire, gunshots and wounds but this? This is another type of gratitude. He's not just grateful for his heart that pumps blood through his veins and the bones in his body remaining unbroken, hes grateful to wake up to sunrises and watch sunsets, hes grateful to watch gally start to smile a bit more and scowl a little less, hes grateful to watch Minho's scars fade and notice how his collar bones no longer stick out. He's grateful for being able to hum to himself as he washes his mostly clean hair, he's grateful for books and flowers and good food, this feeling is strange and new but oh so welcomed.

There are hard days, very very hard days filled with tears and shouting everything being a reminder of everything horrible but that's just it. It's all just a reminder. And those hard days are so worth it to experience all the good ones. All the good days filled with warmth and laughing and slow kisses because now he, no. Everyone has all the time in the world. Newt watches as Thomas becomes entranced with something, Newt feels the warmth of the sunrise on his back and he realises Thomas is looking at him. Newt stares back at him, he too becomes entranced with the other.

Newts eyes trail across Thomas’s body and face, the way the sun bounces off his skin and how as the weeks have passed Thomas's has gained more and more freckles, how water has pulled strands of rich chocolate hair in front of his eyes, the way Thomas’s eyes swirl with a pure devotion Newt only understands because he feels the same unwavering, permanent devotion in his chest too. Newt holds his hand up to cup Thomas’s now wet face, he leans into the touch and Newt feels like he could dissolve into the ocean at the sight. Both boys close the distance at the same time, Thomas’s lips coated in saltwater and freedom.

They have all the time in the world.

Authors note: ITS DONE. IT IS FINALLY DONE. I BET ON LOSING DOGS IS OFFICALLY DONE. I'm actually so proud of this fic and i just want to say thank you to everyone who stuck around since the very first chapter and have supported me throughout this. this story is literally my baby. this is the longest fic i have written and have actually FINISHED and its an honor to be able to share it with all of you. i could not have done it without all of your support and encouragement. :)

also THREE FICS IN LESS THEN 2 DAYS??? damn yall are spoilt ROTTEN!! (happy to spoil yall hehehehehehehehe 😚)

FIRST CHAPTER - NEXT - PREVIOUS

#the maze runner #tmr #maze runner #newtmas #tmr newt #tmr thomas #tmr fandom #newt tmr #tmr newt x thomas #newt x thomas #thomas x newt #the death cure #newt is alive

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author-morgan · 1 year ago

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Title: Riverside Rating: M Pairing: Harald Finehair x fem!Reader (and Halfdan the Black) Summary: Harald Finehair may be a fool, but at least he has his brother, and at least he has you. ❤️plot bunny that's been collecting dust for two years by @mrsragnarlodbrok ❤️

down by the river by the boats, where everybody goes to be alone

“YOUR BROTHER IS a fool,” you remark, watching Harald Finehair slip away with the princess who once promised to be his queen—the woman whose husband had only just been murdered in the early hours of the morn. Halfdan the Black watches his brother too, lips twitching as he lifts his cup of ale, taking a short quaff of the weak brew. He’ll be glad to leave England—an army of this size meant dwindling supplies, game, and ever-weakening ale and mead.

He picks off another hunk of meat from a roast pheasant. “Is that meant to be news?” Halfdan asks in turn, smiling as he flicks his stringy blond hair aside and out of his eyes—his dark gaze flitting back to you. Harald’s always been a fool when it comes to women and love, and Halfdan doubts time and age will ever change that.

“Halfdan,” you chide. Harald is a fool—a fool for thinking Ellisif would wait for him, a fool for killing Vik so crassly in the heart of the camp. You both know he is, but watching Princess Ellisif slip away with her husband’s killer makes you uneasy. Grief and the thought of vengeance would not have left her mind yet. And such things can drive people to act in unpredictable ways. “You don’t think it’s odd she wishes to seek a private audience with him only a few hours after he killed her husband?”

Halfdan raises his brow—the blue-black ink of the tattoo on his temple and forehead twitches and wrinkles. At the moment, he’s more content with filling his belly and entertaining your company than fretting over his brother, yet you won’t let the subject rest so easily, and deep down, Halfdan knows you are right, as is the feeling of dread in his liver. “Had it been me, the thought of retribution would not yet be gone, nor the fog of dolor.”

You make a convincing case, and with a sighing frown, Halfdan pushes away from the table and you, heading toward Harald’s tent—hand resting on the hilt of his sword, knowing already he will have to serve as his brother’s protector once more. A moment later, Halfdan emerges from his brother’s pavilion. The sword in his hand is coated with blood, bright and red. And it would seem, after all, he knew women far better than his brother—or at least how to listen to you.

He frees a cloth from his belt and slides it down the blade, cleaning it with a single long swipe as he looks at you, watching and waiting. Halfdan doesn’t have to say anything as he approaches for you to know, but regardless, your lips quirk upward. “Told you,” you declare, and he makes a low sound of agreement from the back of his throat, taking the cup of ale you offer. You knew Ellisif would not have so easily nor quickly forgiven Harald for his transgression, especially after not upholding her promise to wait for marriage.

Harald’s curses and fit of rage ring out in the brisk air. You know there’s little that can soothe his heart and pride, but if anyone in the Ragnarsson encampment can make an earnest attempt, it is you—Halfdan knows this too. “I’ll see to him,” you breathe, taking one last drink of ale. Halfdan grips your arm before you can go to his brother and leans close, offering a soft, quick kiss over too soon.

THE RIVER FLOWS slowly, given its breadth near the encampment of the Sons of Ragnar—a hundred longships are pushed up against the banks and moored in the water. Together, you and Harald walk along the water’s edge, heading north, where fewer ships and wandering eyes and ears are. The blood on his hands and chest is nigh dry, and it makes his red woolen tunic stick to him and stiffens his silver-tinged beard.

Harald Finehair looks at you but cannot dispel what you must think of him, of these circumstances—your expression is only a cool mix of solicitude and what he thinks is annoyance. Yet again, he finds himself failing to understand the mind and heart of a woman—one he has known since childhood, no less. “My brother is lucky,” Harald admits, feeling a spike of jealousy stab at him as he thinks about you and Halfdan, “to have only ever loved you.” But had he ever truly loved Ellisif beyond his desire for her beauty? Even he is not sure of the answer.

You stop near the prowl of one of Jarl Olavsson’s ships—his shields and sails marked by white and dark green—and stare at Harald, aghast and confused by his insinuation. “Do I no longer have your love?” You ask, reaching for him and the leather ties at the neck of his tunic.

“I had thought–” his voice trails off as he looks at the flock of blackbirds flying overhead, unsure if it is a sign from the gods or just an ill omen. He lets you draw him nearer, but it’s only when the flat of your hand connects with his bloody cheek that his gaze and attention return to you—his stormy blue eyes filled with bewilderment and indignation. He stares at you, nostrils flared.

“No, Harald!” You’ve finally grown exasperated by his foolishness—you could tolerate his laments about love and marriage, but to nigh let himself be killed by a recreant woman under such circumstances? “You didn’t think!” You tell him, and Harald steps back, hands curling to fists at his sides. He needs to hear this, though, if not from his brother, then from you. “And if you did, it was with the wrong head.” The same head all men think with first when it comes to women.

“You speak to a king,” he reminds you, puffing out his chest—a weak reply, and you both know it.

You shake your head and reach for him, hands settling on either side of his blood-spattered face—thumbs following the blue-black scrollwork of the tattoos on his cheeks. “And I am also speaking to one of my oldest friends,” you remind him. King or no, Harald and his brother are among your oldest and dearest friends—they could be little more than farmers or simple whalers, and you would think no less of them nor love them less. There’s a shift in Harald’s expression then, as though he realizes the error of his ways in disregarding your and Halfdan’s counsel, and hubris fades to humility. “One whom I care for and love very much.” Love, the word catches him off-guard. Then an ephemeral smile returns to grace your lips. “Even if he is pigheaded at times.”

He forces down the growing knot in his throat. “My brother–” Harald starts, but you press your fingertips to his weathered lips, shushing him and chasing away any apprehension or fear of driving a rift between the three of you with what comes next. “Halfdan knows,” you tell Harald with airy unconcern—fingers slipping down to comb through his silver-tinged wiry beard. Your trysts had never been clandestine, even before whatever this unspoken thing with his brother began before the first raid on Paris. “He’s very astute,” you remark, the corner of your lips quirking upward again. “You could stand to learn a thing to two.”

He huffs, then goes to the river, shrugging off his tunic, and kneels at the water’s edge, splashing the cold water on his face and chest—scrubbing the drying blood of the woman he once intended to marry. He stares at his reflection, shoulders falling forward, accepting his ill-fated pursuit of marriage and defeat, alas. “I’ve been a fool,” he grumbles. You crouch next to him, dipping your hand in the river to help wash the blood from his shoulders and the back of his neck, humming your agreement—gladdened to know it is no longer a whispered secret between you and Halfdan. “You’re not supposed to agree with me,” he admonishes, mirth slipping back into his tone.

There’s a scar on his shoulder, and without thought, you lean toward him, placing the gentlest and quickest of kisses on the raised patch of silvery skin. You can recall how he and Halfdan have gotten most of their scars, but the history of this small mark evades you right now. When you meet his eyes, you see him staring at you with a look of raw hunger and desperation you’re entirely unprepared for, and it sends a wave of heat washing over you. But he’s so gentle when he handles you—even in all his lingering anger and hurt.

He holds your chin until his thumb swipes across your flushed cheek—always touching you like you’re some fragile, precious thing and not a shieldmaiden—and then his lips part, and he exhales a shaky breath, waiting for your permission, spoken or otherwise. You give it with a breathy sigh of his name. Harald. His warm breath hits your cheek, followed by the faint tickle of his scraggly beard at your jaw before his lips are fully on yours. “Let me have you.” His plea is soft against your mouth—and you cannot deny him.

Skirts rucked up around your waist, Harald grips your hips, drawing you closer to him until his wool and linen-clad thigh presses between yours. His touch is fervent—hot palms, calloused from years of battle, scrape over the bare skin they touch. His tongue sweeps across your bottom lip before kissing you—languid and soft. Your hands grasp at his back to pull his chest to your own. And then he fumbles to loosen his belt, but you knock away his hands, and Harald curses and groans when your hand slides into his undone britches, fingers wrapping around his half-hard cock—stroking him.

Your stomach flutters as his fingers caress you briefly, fleetingly—but gone far too soon. Your hips move towards his touch, but now is not the time for drawn-out caresses and teasing. In truth, he's not focused on your pleasure but more on his desire.

Harald pushes forward, rocking his hips slowly until his cock is fully sheathed inside the warmth of your cunt, and his hips meet yours. You gasp, somewhere between a whine and moan, head tipping back, and Harald takes the chance to press his lips to the base of your neck. He’s gentle as he trails a hand down your side and holds your waist—he and Halfdan have always been two sides of the same coin as lovers.

You lay back—letting him do as he pleases. He needs this moment, this release, far more than you do. His thrusts start slow, lazy almost, as though you’ve all the time in the world—like you’re back in Tamdrup on a spring night in a patch of wildflowers or bale of loose straw in a stable, not lying on a muddy English riverbank on the verge of another battle—not knowing if tomorrow will be the day Valhalla beckons you home.

He looks down at you—splayed beneath him and his gut twists with a sickening realization. I’ve been a fool, Harald thinks again, cradling your cheek, the rough pad of his thumb pressed against your parted lips, chasing a woman who could never love me. But you. It did not matter what misfortunes or victories the gods bestowed upon him. You were always there—never faltering from your place at his and Halfdan’s side. He’s only ashamed not to have realized or acted sooner.

Your legs spread wider to welcome him, squeezing at his shoulders to urge him to move faster. Every push and pull of his hips brings him deeper inside you. Harald pants at your ear, his breathing ragged and strained as his pace falters—thrusts growing quicker and rougher as he seeks release. Beneath your palms, the muscles in his back ripple, contracting with each thrust. His lips find yours again, and you pull him down closer until his bare chest presses against the rumpled wool of your dress bodice—nails scraping across his shoulders and the patchwork of tattoos on his shoulder blades.

The look in Harald’s eyes is nigh unsettling—a mix of emotion you do not wish to think about in this moment of lust and carnality—and you squeeze at his biceps, urging him to move faster, and when his trance breaks, he obliges. He breathes hushed praises against your neck and strokes a thumb over the racing pulse in your neck as he rolls his hips up into yours—strokes long and deep.

You whine and squirm for him, grinding your hips into his. The next time he moves, his cock strikes the place inside you that makes you cry out without thinking, and your toes start to curl—he does it again and again, thrice over. “Harald.” He works himself deeper still, pelvis rubbing against your clit, and he doesn’t miss the shiver that goes through you or the way your muscles tense—cunt squeezing his cock tighter. His breathy, open-mouth kisses grow sloven as you fumble to keep in rhythm, your movements slack—distracted by the fog of ecstasy in your head.

Breath hot against your lips, his eyes drift shut in unison with yours. Behind closed eyes, all that triumphs is the feel of your bodies sinking into each other. He will not last much longer. Harald barely manages a coherent rasp of your name, teeth gnashing, when his entire body shivers and he stills deep, deep inside, cock twitching.

His livid eyes are dark, like a stormy sea when they open once more, and there’s a crease between his brows that you have a yearning impulse to kiss away—and so you do, and in the wake of your lips, you smooth your fingertips over his brow. “I do love you, Harald,” you tell him—a breathless whisper—and suddenly, the knot in his throat and the offbeat feeling in his heart is back. “Just as I love Halfdan.”

He says nothing, only rests his forehead against your shoulder and shivers when your hand runs along his back, finding his dark braid to run your fingers along. But there’s a new dampness on your flesh—tears for love lost and love found.

HIS TEMPER IS quelled upon returning to the encampment, even if his heart has yet to mend. Halfdan rises from his spot at one of the fires, leaving the waning conversation with Björn Ironside when he sees you and his brother approach. The whispers around the camp of what happened between Harald, Vik, and Ellisif have already faded with new discussions of the army’s next move in Mercia—steadily creeping closer to Wessex and retribution upon King Ecbert for his part in Ragnar’s death. Harald swallows his pride and glimpses you before turning his attention to Halfdan. “Thank you, brother,” he says. “Yet again, I owe you my life.”

“I’ll always watch your back,” Halfdan replies, pressing a cup of ale into Harald’s hand before clasping his shoulder—then his gaze flits to you, and he smiles, a glimmer shining in his dark eyes. “But next time we tell you to kill someone, you should listen, yeah?” Harald shakes his head, looking down into the cup of ale with a dry laugh. You both told him to rid himself of Ellisif before setting sail to England. He should have listened then—knows he was a fool not to have. But once more, it is the three of you, and maybe that is how the gods always intended it to be.

[Harald & Halfdan taglist: @ahotmesswithprivilege / @alicedopey / @certifiedlittleshit / @charming-merlin / @elluvians / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @gearhead66 / @gossamarnie / @hc-geralt-23 / @kaexiao / @midnightmuze / @moonlightsspirit / @n0sferatus / @naaladareia / @queenfinehair / @queenyalo / @savagemickey03 / @xinyourdreamsx / @yalos-writing ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Vikings taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

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i-smoke-chapstick · 7 months ago

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'DON'T BLAME ME, [PART NINE]

-GOTHAM!JERVIS TETCH X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Reader comes to Jervis with a strange request.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!jervis x female reader. SLOW BURN!!! Not sure how many chapters this will be yet! LOTS OF PLOT SET-UP!! AGE GAP ROMANCE! (reader is Jim and Barbara's daughter) Two idiots in their element. The slow burn is slow burning. She fell first, he fell harder. Jervis is mystified. Soft Jervis. Both Jervis and reader are hurt. Writing this kind of artistically and as character studies for everyone. The girls are FIGHTING. Stick with me. I'm taking canon out back and beating it with a stick until it stops twitching.

⋆ tag list (tell me if you want to be removed!) @adalwolfgang @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @honestmrdual @moonlightnyx @all-things-fandomstuck @killingboredom @sweetlimeharvest @frenchfryqueen69

⋆ 'PART ONE, - 'PART TWO, - 'PART THREE, - 'PART FOUR, - 'PART FIVE, - 'PART SIX, - 'PART SEVEN' - 'PART EIGHT, - 'PART NINE, - 'PART TEN, - 'PART ELEVEN, - 'PART TWELVE, - 'PART THIRTEEN, - 'PART FOURTEEN,

♫ “Think I need someone older, just a little bit colder.” Older by Isabel LaRosa

Opening the door, the small firelight of the mansion paints the living room golden. It's the only light in the house.

You look around to find the place incredibly tidy. The only thing amiss is the two corpses, that lay bloodily on the dining table. The sight makes your breath catch in your throat, but you've admittedly seen much worse with Barbara Kean as your mother. These two must be the actual owners of the mansion. Or used to be, anyways.

You glance at Mr. Tetch in mock disapproval, and he clicks his tongue with a tsk.

"You must forgive me, I wasn't expecting visitors." He turns his nose up at you, voice coming out indignant. His eyes are still wide at your unannounced presence.

"...My bad." You huff, staring at him.

Silence overtakes the room, you two staring at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time. His eyes scan you over, landing on the wound on your waist. You don't miss the gesture.

"You shot me." You say, blunt.

"Yes," He hisses. "You're supposed to be dead."

"Should've shot me in the head, then." At this he lets out a very dry, humorless chuckle.

"Pity. I should've. I apologize, I was caught up in the moment."

You send him an unamused look.

Scanning over his face, you see cuts of his own decorate his cheek. He must've taken a blow while you were comatose. Either a scrap to get away from Jim, or the two home owners had put up a fight before he hypnotized them.

"You're hurt." You say, taking a note of how the dry blood sticks to his cheekbones.

He looks inquisitively at you. You're the one shot. You're the one who should be in the hospital.

You sigh at his puzzled complexion.

"What exactly are you doing here?" He drawls, slowly. "Revenge? For Mr. Gordon? For you?" He scoffs, ignoring your look of discontentment.

On Mr. Gordon, actually. You think. You don't say that just yet. That would probably make Mr. Tetch happy. He still shot you. You're kind of enjoying his disgruntled mood at your appearance.

"No." Is all you say, simply. "I just have a lot of questions."

Mr. Tetch raises an eyebrow at this, cocking his head. Good. You've piqued his interest. Before he gets the chance to ask what type of questions, you interrupt him.

"We can talk about it while I clean your cuts. That looks nasty." You say, nodding to his face. He looks equally frustrated and surprised at your words, hesitant. He purses his lips. "Relax. I'm not going to try to kill you. That's more your style, apparently."

He huffs at the dig.

"What did you have in mind?" He asks, curtly. You grin. You dig out of your pocket a bottle of painkillers given to by Selina. His eyes widen.

"Do you know if this place has any gauze or band-aids?"

He narrows his eyes, and turns on his heel without a word. You follow him to the bathroom.

He sits on the edge of the bathtub while you stand. His gaze never strays from you.

You're reminded of Lee digging through the bathroom mirror while you do the same. You managed to find some cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, and band-aids.

Looking over at him, you assess the situation. His top hat is askew, with bruises and small injuries decorating his face and neck. God knows how many he actually has, under his clothes.

"Death by a thousand cuts, huh?" You muse. He blinks at you, offering a scoff. "Take off your shirt."

"I beg your pardon?" You watch the blood drain from his face. It's satisfying.

"I'm assuming you have more injuries on your chest as well. Take off your shirt. And turn on the bath faucet."

A moment of stunned silence, before he leans over to run the water. You hold in a laugh as he awkwardly bends on the edge of the tub, long and tall limbs slowly peeling away his clothing. Soon enough, you're shut up yourself.

You swallow as he unbuttons his suit jacket, averting his gaze from yours. You take in his shirtless form with a breath. It feels like something out of a shitty romcom.

He stays silent, effectively embarrassed. You don't blame him. You wonder if he thinks you're purposefully trying to humiliate him. Not that he has anything to be humiliated for. He's gorgeous.

He notices you staring, and squints his eyes. Great. He probably thinks you're some perv now. The humor in the thought makes you involuntarily smile.

"Are you enjoying this?" He asks, sarcastically, through gritted teeth. You kneel in front of him and he goes silent. You can hear the small gasp he lets out and full-body shudder when you bury yourself in-between his legs to get a better angle. It's certainly more...intimate then you thought it would be.

Ignoring his words, you take a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol. You place it to one of his cuts, and watch him let out a loud hiss of pain.

"I enjoyed that." You grin up at him, referencing his reaction. He scowls at you.

The room is peculiarly comfortably silent, save for his low groans of pain he attempts to muffle at the stinging.

"You know, I've actually never done this before."

His gaze hardens.

"What?"

"I've never done this before. Not first hand. But I used to watch my mom do this to my dad all the time when he'd come home."

Jervis casts his eyes upwards as you stand up. Dark eyes follow your movements, looking up at you as you cradle his face to steady him. You softly wipe the dry blood away. This is as close as you've ever been to him. You think it's the first time you've touched him, too. It's not entirely unpleasant.

"Why are you here?" He whispers, keeping eye contact with you. His voice is so quiet, almost as though he struggles to get the words out, not being able to focus on anything but the feeling of your hand on his cheek.

You sigh. You knew you'd have to answer the question eventually.

"Same as you, really." You bite your lip, and his gaze flits. "I want revenge on Jim Gordon." You say your dads name quietly, but with no less venom.

Jervis furrows his brows. You'll have to elaborate.

"He chose Lee over me. Purposefully, I'm sure." You say, a bit bitterly, and a bit sadly. You notice how Mr. Tetch's eyes soften at your tone of voice. "He knew what he was doing."

"And you expect me to help? How so?" The corners of his mouth twitch.

"You," Here goes nothing, "You are going to teach me how to hypnotize people."

His expression doesn't change for a moment, before his lips part. For a moment you think he might laugh in your face, and then hypnotize you to go kill yourself. But he stays startingly silent, if not amused by the request.

"I assume you learned hypnotism somehow. So, it can probably be taught, yeah?" You ask. You finished cleaning his cuts a minute ago. You're unsure why you're still standing so close to him. "So, I propose, we form an alliance, of sorts. You want revenge, I do too."

"I could easily accomplish that my own accord." He speaks, glint in his eyes.

"Maybe. But I know everything there is to know about Jim Gordon. I know how to hurt him."

Mr. Tetch stays silent, before sucking his teeth. He seems to mull over his options.

"Hm. Alright." He hums, and your eyes widen. You really weren't expecting him to agree. "On one condition."

And there is it. The bargain. You'll take it though. It's better then him hypnotizing you into helping him after hearing your idea.

"You, young one, will owe me a favor. A favor that I can call upon at any time."

"What kind of favor?" You breath, hesitant. He smirks, and it's strangely comforting to see his charisma and showmanship slowly return.

"Oh, nothing too demanding, I assure you. Just a small service, whenever I see fit. Think of it as a... mutually beneficial arrangement."

You offer him a small grimace, but take the offer regardless. One favor couldn't hurt. No price can be put on revenge, it seems. You're mother taught you that.

You finish running the water, while his stare remains locked on you. Still sitting cross legged on the edge of the bath, he never yields in his gaze. He catches when you wince again in pain, from the shot.

"Do you trust me?" He asks, quirking his head.

You look back at him, eyebrow raised.

"...Why?"

"Can you hear the dripping of the faucet?"

You can...Aw, fuck.

Instantly, you're zoned out. Yeah, Selina was right. This was a horrible idea. But why go through the trouble of asking for a favor? For hearing him out?

"Do you hear how it synchronizes with your heartbeat?"

Beside yourself, you nod. He flashes a wolfish grin.

"Wonderful," He praises. "Your bullet wound won't bother you anymore. The pain is nothing more than an illusion. If anything, it's a mild annoyance."

When he wakes you up out of your trance, you smile at each other.

#gotham #x reader #gotham x reader #batman #batman rogues #gotham villains x reader #batman rouges gallery #batman x reader #dc comics #jervis tetch x reader #jervis tetch #the mad hatter #the mad hatter x reader #fic series #jervis tetch imagine #jervis tetch gotham #the mad hatter dc #mad hatter gotham

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pomegranate-pen · 2 years ago

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Hi iv really enjoyed your lackadaisy writing and was wondering if you’d be willing to write dating headcanons for Mordecai Heller?

He’s one of my favorites atm

A/n: hey everyone!! hope you're all having a good day!!! so a lot fo you requested mordecai dating headcanons, so here it is!! this will probably be the last headcanons I'll do, and I'll now stick to writing scenarios while also my main focus being continuing my fanfics. also going to start making up the plot for the potential rocky fic. though that all may come out in summer, since I'm slowly but surely exam seasons. anyways- hope you all enjoy this!!

Mordecai Heller x gn! reader general

-Mordecai is definitely cold toward you the very first time you meet. He will not speak to you about himself or his interests, he will keep the conversations short and straight to the point and he will not care about a single thing you do, only he will be annoyed when you do a task wrong.

-If you’re a regular of sorts, or someone who will become his partner or co-worker, then you’ll learn a few more bits and information about him and if stayed long enough, you will get a few more lines other than orders about what he feels about a certain subject matter or a few other workers around here (mostly complaints about the Savoy siblings, given how much he has to spend time with them on the daily). even then, he merely considers you an acquaintance. And it will take many years and much more meetings for him to see you as a friend. and when it does happen, it is subtle, but the conversations are more apparent, and your opinion on different matters is valued much more.

-Being his lover, however, will take much longer, and needs a much more deal of spending time and getting to know him. Which can be hard given how closed off he is about his life and past. Despite that, it’s not an impossible task. Rather, it’s made extremely difficult due to Mordecai’s own lack of interest in such things, his trust issues, and a bundled amount of feelings of unworthiness towards such a thing as love. He believes he doesn’t need it nor does he deserve it, and he doesn’t mind either of those.

-However, though his feelings are completely uninterested in such matters, that doesn’t mean he won’t fall for someone, which in this case, becomes you after half a decade or so of being friends with him.

-the first to realize their feelings is most likely you. since Mordecai will first assume that his emotions towards you are just ones out of the care and respect he has for you as a friend. If you realize them, you must keep quiet about them for the most part, since Mordecai won’t really understand why there would be such a feeling harboring between you two, and he must process his own feelings himself before accepting yours. When he does realize them, oh boy, it’s rough. He feels guilty for loving you, because he doesn’t trust himself with any intimate relationship. Given how his friendship went with Viktor, he was already extremely hesitant about the idea of another friend, now, a lover and a partner, someone that he needs to trust and share a part of his life with, and they must do with him, is frightening and confusing to say the least. As said before, he doesn’t believe he’s worthy of such things. And now that he wants it from you, he feels like a villain of sorts. Taking something that doesn’t belong to him in the first place.

-It will take quite a few months for him to accept these feelings of his, almost half a year even. You seriously need to be very patient with him, something that he will appreciate the world of when you do. his confession is short, and straight to the point. Though, a few ticks of stress and anxiousness can be seen in him. For example, his ears are twitching here and then, his tail is flicking up and down in his seat and he cannot for the life of him seem to stare at you in the eye for more than three seconds. His words are quick, and his tone is a bit clumsy for a guy like him. at the end of it, the flicks of his tail are quicker in speed, and now, he’s looking straight at you with a hesitant look, as if he’s regretting the confession already a second after it’s done.

-He’s calmed down and surprised when you do accept his confession, and he’d not know what to do at that point. he’d nod his head, clear his throat, and thank you. “very well then,” his ears twitched a bit. “ I suppose we’d have to…plan a date now?”

-It takes him some time, but with some help from yours, he finds, in his opinion, the true meaning of dating someone. It is not about dates and being over the top like he presumed, yet it is a way of spending time and enjoying each other’s presence, and being loyal to one another for more than anyone else.

-So as you can guess, dates are quite rare. He never sees the point in it, though if you want such an activity to happen every once in a while, perhaps with a bit of pleading and coaxing you’ll get him to begrudgingly get time out of his day to do such things with you. yet, even though he seems annoyed by the entire occasion at first, you find him calm and even smiling at some point the more time you spend with him on the said dates.

His love language is spending time with one another. Though at the start of the relationship, miscommunication will be common, since Mordecai isn't one to speak about his feelings, if you try your best to tackle it healthily, your relationship with him will be all about communication and it will be the very reason why it’s so strong at the end of it all. It also makes him see communication as the most important part of the relationship, so he’s completely honest, brutally so at times.

--The love language he’d like to receive most is the same, though he does get a bit flustered anytime you use words of affirmation and compliment him, then quickly denies your compliments or thanks you for them.

-Not at all a PDA person, nor is he a physically affectionate guy in private either. He doesn’t like physical contact, either finding it too stuffy or too warm for his liking and just not being in much of a mood for it most times. Though, if in a situation you truly seem like you need a warm embrace or a hand to hold, he wouldn’t mind giving that to you, though he’ll be a bit flustered and quiet the entire time while doing so. He wouldn’t ever say this out loud, but his favorite act of affection from you is when you kiss or peck his cheek. It's surprising to him and it makes him melt a bit, being treated with such softness is quite rare in his life, so he doesn’t know what to do when you peck him, but his heart is beating so fast he can’t focus. He could only look at you in shock and touch the cheek you have kissed in instinct. Give him a forehead kiss and you’ll have an extremely quiet Mordecai awaiting you. he’s processing every second of that quick kiss and he’s speechless by how much it moved him.

-Word about your relationship will never spread out, since Mordecai is extremely private about such things. No one realizes you two are dating unless one of you says so. The only ones who do notice by connecting the dots themselves are the Savoy siblings and Viktor.

-Whether you like it or not, information about Mordecai’s family will mostly never be revealed. You’ll most likely just know that he has two sisters, but that is all he will ever tell you. and in fairness, he never tries to force you to speak about yours either, so it’s a mutual agreement at times to just avoid the topic unless it is deemed necessary by a dangerous circumstance to be said.

-He doesn’t have many hobbies, but if you still try to enjoy a few things he does such as reading the same book he has on his shelves, you’ll be met with a cautiously excited and info-dumping Mordecai who starts debates and discussions with you about which part of the books you enjoyed and detested.

-He’ll try to indulge a bit in a few hobbies you have as well, but he’ll probably not get much invested in them. Though, he still sees it as a worthy journey, since in the end you were smiling and excited when explaining things to him.

-Mordecai feels much more comfortable ranting to you than anyone else. So most times when he comes back from work for the day and has a weekend to look forward to, he spends that time drinking tea with you while speaking about anything and nothing that is on his mind. Treat this like it was diamonds in a mine full of charcoal. because not everyone has the luck to meet this side of Mordecai Heller. He’s more expressive when he’s with you, more open with his emotions, which means the level of trust he has with you is most than anyone else’s.

He’ll listen to all your rants and complaints as well, and if needed, he will give honest advice for your problems. Don’t expect any comfort, though. Because he isn't the best one for such things and he makes that clear all the time before you start your rant.

-Wherever you live, whether it's in a separate apartment from his or if you’ve moved in with him, it will be extremely clean. Whether it’s because of his actions or yours, a completely clean and tidied-up house becomes the absolute norm in your life. If you were one who never really cared about those things, well, you will have to at some point for his sake, since he’s always extremely uncomfortable in messy areas.

-Mordecai Heller loves you, but he won’t ever verbally say it. yet, you’ll always know that, because his actions speak much louder than words ever can, and you understand every word he's saying when he’s making tea for you or asking about your day, speaking to you on the daily or just sitting next to you. you know he loves you, and you know he loves you back. and perhaps, that is why this relationship worked in the first place. It will have its hardships, yes, but like any other relationship, it doesn’t mean it won’t have its good moments either.

#lackadaisy mordecai x reader #lackadaisy mordecai #lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy #fanfiction #x reader #headcanons #mordecai heller x reader #lackadaisy mordecai heller x reader

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storiesofmyhead · 8 months ago

Text

Alastor x Valentino Worker!OC

Warnings! Smallest of small mention of sexual abuse like only saying she works for Valentino.

Plot: Angel begs Charlie to let his friend Malice to stay at the hotel. Only one problem is the Alastor seems a bit hesitant to let the girl in. Once Alastor sees the girl, though he acts as if he doesn't know her, she seems to know him. And well too.

Word count: 1250

"Charlie darlin' please." Angel Dust begs his accent coming through thickly. "She needs a place to stay. I know you don't know how Val is, but I do and what's she's going through right now is something I've gone through. So please."

One look at Angel's face and Charlie knew she couldn't say no. Sighing she nods.

"Of course, she can stay. But she needs to go to all of our meetings." She says sternly to Angel, but that didn't last long as a nervous smile broke through. "If she wants too of course. No pressure. Ok bye!"

Angel pumps his fist in the air, having a little celebratory dance break.

Knocking on the door, Malice patiently waits outside of the hotel. Tapping her foot on the ground, she knocks once more, wondering if she could just walk in or if she even needed to knock.

She thoughts were interrupted by the door finally opening to show a man. Or well deer? He was dressed in a red suit, his hair two different shades of red, with soft-looking ears sticking straight up on the top of his head. And that grin. That grin had already implanted itself in her mind. The sharp teeth that he showed. Was it meant as a kind gesture? Or was it meant to scare others?

Anyways all those thoughts he quickly disappeared when a sense of Deja vu fell over her.

What was so familiar about the deer? Had they met before? Surely not. She wouldn't remembered someone as hot as he was.

"Hi. I'm Malice. I'm looking for Angel Dust, is he around here, sweetheart?" She smirked, batting her eye at the man.

Watching as his eye twitched a bit, his grin still there, though his teeth seemed to bite down harder on each other.

"He is. What did he do?" The small amount of static in his voice seemed to have flipped a switch in her mind.

Furrowing her eyebrows, her eyes drift down to the ground, before flying back up to his face as she gasped softly.

"Alastor?" She breath out.

She watched his eyes narrow a bit, though his grin never fading.

"Ahh so you know me from my radio broadcast. Not name know my real name you must be a real big fan." His voice comes out skeptical almost as if he was trying to convince himself.

Reaching out to touch him she stops herself remembering his boundaries. No matter how many times he had told her before that it was alright to touch him whenever she would always pause and hesitant before actually doing so.

"It's me. Malice." She said now searching for any recognition on his face. "You don't remember me. Do you?" Her body deflating and her voice becoming dull, as the disappointment sets in.

Letting out a deep breath. "Please Alastor you have to remember me. I've waited years to finally see you again. This can't be what I've waited for all this time. Just lie to me at least. Tell me you know me. Tell me that you remember." She sniffles a bit, though tries to compose herself not wanting to fall apart in front of someone who doesn't recognize her.

Ears twitching Alastor's eyes soften a bit at the now sadden girl in front of him.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, dear." Eyes falling to the ground, the girl shakes her head.

"It's quite alright mister. I'm truly sorry about that. You must just look like someone I used to know on earth." She pauses now looking up with a smirk. "I could give you something for your troubles." She lifts her brow a twice.

Alastor's eye twitches once more, before stepping aside letting her take a step into the hotel.

“Malice, Sweetheart!” She hears Angels distinctive voice yell out. Her head turned towards his voice to see him standing tall arms wide open.

“Angel!” She squeals running up to him, jumping into his arms as he spins her around.

She giggles as he places her back down, going into conversation quickly.

Unnoticed by the two Alastor stands behind them, his grin slowly dropping as he watches the two stand close together.

Malice can feel the static limiting from him, sending a shiver down her spine as all of her hairs stick up.

“Ŝ̶̨̰̟͈͌̾̒͌̂̂̔̉̔͠ͅt̵̛̛̻̣̓͑̉̉͆̓̀͆͠͝ȩ̵̪͇̩̃̃̓̈́͛̌̈́͌̑̕͠͝p̸̢̛̛̛̰̹͍̺̣͚͎̥͉̣̣̖̟̊̀̋́̎̒̋͑͋̌͘ ̷̙̟͕̓ä̵͎̫̼̤̐̏͛͗̀̒̕w̵̡͚͚̺͔̦̦͍̻̪̯̱̩̓́̌̅̃̎͋̀̕͝͝á̵̡̨̭̭̟͍̤̩͇͉̋̒̄̌́̾̎̉͒̋͗̇͝y̷̙͓͖̺͕̟͊ ̴͙̼̮͍̱̈̈́̃͆̈́͊̋̉͑̿̊͒̔̋͘f̶̧̯͔̜͇͈͚̟͇̮̠̣͑ͅr̸̙͑̌́̂̀̿̈́̈́o̵̩͎̻̳̺̤̮͉̻̐̒̂̀̾͘m̴̛̼͔͍͖̭̔́̀̔̉̅͝͝ͅ ̴̨̹̰̞̦̟͓̮͉̩̙̭̩͜͝ͅḧ̸̨̨̭̺̖͚͉̼̬̭͚̤͇̦́̓͆̈́̔̅̍̀̈͝͠ę̷̹̦̟̯̮̽̍̈́̏̓̽̊̚r̸̪̅̄͆̔ ̵̢͔͉̍̓͠͠r̷̛͙̙͕͇̙͔̮͓͖̱͇̹̘͚̣͒̅͑̎̂̄͐̎̚͠i̸̧̛̹̺͓̩̹��̄͜g̵̠̰̳̔̓ḧ̴̤͙̘̰̥͕̗͈͕͎͚͈̻̓̑̾͐̆̔̈̐̈́̒͆̈́ͅẗ̷̢̤̫́ ̸̢̥̱̲̜̜͛ǹ̶̢ͅo̵̢̡͔̝̱͚̺̖̠͒͜͝w̴̪̬͕͎͖̝̰̅̿̓̈́̃̎͛̇͊̀̕̕.̸̨̫̹͍̼̩̥͝ ̵̬̦̤̲͕͓̦͈͓̗͐́̑̋͐͐̃̄̈́̕̚͘͜ͅO̶̧̱̪̙͓͚͕̾̿̒̀̇̆̒̽̀̾̌̀͘͜͠r̷̰͔͇̞̫͇͉͎͈̲͒̓͑͜͝ ̸̢͉̓̎̍͂̑̈̾̎͠s̴̱̲̣̗̼̻͉͖̣̓̃̄͂̀͋̓͜ỏ̶͍͆̔̇̒͊̃̏́ ̵̻͔̹̭̙̞̬̲͔̱͚̥̩͂̽̋͒́͜h̴̢̢̧̛̛͎̲͍̲͎̲͎̻̗̙̋̊͂̔̊͊̎̾̌̀͘ȩ̴̲͈͍͖͑̓̊̑̍̃͘̕͝l̶̦̥̬̙̺̉̔̔̀͘p̴̨̢̣̯̙͖̞̭͕̘͉̔͑̃̒̑̐̌̿̿̃͆̚̕͝ ̶͉̥͕̓̿̓͐̔̎m̷̛̮͖͇̘͉̯̳͋̽̒̏̋̀̒̿̌̀ͅę̵̛̯̮̬͚̳͖̼͉̌̃̽̅ͅͅ.̴̧̛̟͉̯͙̼̻̳̗͚͛̆̔̐̂ͅ ̷̮̞̊̈́̓́̿͋̄͆̽̿̚̕I̶̢̡̱̩̲̫̠̩̗̲̜͗͌̍͒̏̾͂̌̈́͘̚͜͝ ̵͕̺̗̤̖̫̉̊̇͛̃̾̉̓w̴͖̩̅̀̈́͌̌̀̓́͆̚͝i̶̘̒̇̓ḷ̴̡̧̡̡̛͖̭̥͈̗̦͕̘͉͊̓̎̈́̍̈́̑̀̒̽͌̓̈́͠l̶̪̖̥͉̜̯̰̤̺̖̦̝̈́͐͗̎͌̚ ̶̨̡̰͔̠͎̳̖̺̬̙̩̈́͊́͒͆̽͒̅͗̕͜͜k̸̢̘̪̞͖̇̂̑̽̏̀̑́̀̌̔͛̕͝͝i̶̥͓̩͍̾l̶̢̧̜̮̜͖̦̲̝̞̱̬̺̭̀ͅl̷̤̿͑̅̃̐̋̿̿̎͒́͋͝͠͝ͅ ̴̨̢̡̛͙̞̩͇̝̠͍͕̱͔͎͌́͋̀̈́͑̊͑̂̾̌y̵̛̘͍̤͈̠̠̞̗̠̳̟̣̫͎͕̓̉͗̅̀o̸̼͍̠̾̈̓̈́͑̍̔̀̌͊̌̎̚͠ų̸̛̗̤͈̭̞̯̙͚͙̟̫̊̾̃̋͌̋̀̽͌̑̋̎̕̕ͅ.̶̖͛̽̅̚͝”

Turning around the two notice Alastor’s now grown horns that now lay pronounced on the top of his head. Angel takes a large step back, keeping his arms out in front of him making sure Malice stays at a good distance away.

The static noise soon dies down to nothing as Alastor’s horns disappear once more. His smile returned to its natural position.

Though Malice had noticed the presence of the rest of the hotel guests, Alastor seemed to not.

Charlie stood with Vaggy, jaw dropped. Angel hung on husk for dear life, while he stood shocked. And Nifty was unmoving, holding her knife displaying a recently impaled bug that she had found.

Clearing his throat Alastor goes to speak, but is cut off.

“You know who I am. You lied to me. You acted as if you didn’t know me!” She pauses, taking a breath. “How could you!” The tears swelled in her eyes. Alastor’s heart squeezes at the thought of being the reason for her tears.

“Once again I apologize, my love-” Though he is cut off once more.

“No.” She says sternly, stepping towards him, placing a finger on his chest. “You don't get to call me that.”

He sighs. “Malice. I apologize for lying, but you must hear me out.”

Charlie quickly pushed everyone out of the room before getting out herself, giving the two alone time.

“What is there to say, Alastor? I have waited years to finally see you again. Years! And what do I get! Nothing! The moment I died I was glad. Because that meant that I would get to see you again. I asked around everywhere, but no one would give me a true answer. Always saying ‘You don’t want to go near him’ or ‘He disappeared a year ago’” Her chest heaves. “The one person that would give me an answer was Val.”

Alastor’s eyes widen at the name, realizing his mistake his arms wrap around her waist pulling her into his chest.

Feeling her tears start to soak his chest, he lets her sob. “I gave up everything to see you again. And what do I get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Why Al. Why.” Her cries grow harder.

Though he doesn’t say anything, Malice could feel his regret.

Feeling her body grow weaker, she lets the exhaustion kick in, as Alastor picks her up holding her bridal style.

“Sleep darling. I will protect you.” His voice coles at her, as he places a kiss on his forehead. Letting his shadows take them to his room, he places her down on his bed.

Stepping away he moves to leave the room, but is stopped by a small voice.

“Please don't leave, Al. Please don’t leave me again.” She begs.

Sighing he turns back, shrugging his coat off.

“Alright, my love. I promise. Never again will I leave you.”

The bed dips as he slips in, under the covers. Pulling her into his side, her body once tense, now relaxed, nuzzling in, as she lets sleep take her once more.

“G’night, Al.” She mumbles.

“Goodnight, my love.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x oc #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x you

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aldeanotes · 1 year ago

Text

the art of cooking

aemond / modern!reader, 16+, fluff / comedy / mild angst in later plot points. inspiration taken from kdrama mr. queen. reader is very bi and loves girls so much.

summary: in which you are a famous young chef whose soul was transported into the body of some way too pretty and privilege noble woman. oh, and you’re supposed to marry a prince or whatever. anyway, can you test this to see if it's ready ?

warnings: reader is batshit wild and doesn't have time for westerosi norms : )

preview

So there you were, sitting slumped in a chair in “your” chambers, having been so effortlessly stopped in your attempted escape through the gardens by a man with silver hair and an eyepatch. With dirt caked on your dress, flower petals scattered around your unruly hair, and gods know how many scratches on your exposed arms from your clumsy maneuvering through the greenery trying to escape. The man in question sits across from you, his finger tapping on the wood of his chair, waiting and looking at the fire. You don’t even give the flames a glance as you keep glaring at him. What a punk – is all you can think.

For stopping you from running away from the servants who were dead set on dragging you back into these chambers, for handing you off to them without even thinking about your pleas. How dare he? And all things considered, after being told you’re engaged to a prince of all people, you’d think he’d have more consideration of that fact too. Maybe he doesn’t know who “you” are. Yeah, that’s probably it.

Even if you hated the new life you’d woken up to, you could flex some of your status a bit, right? Just this once.

“You’ve really got a lot of nerve,” you say, and the man finally gives you the time of day.

Even the way his single eye stares at you pisses you off. He looks at you like you’ve just exhausted all his energy for the day, and it spurns you oon to throw your weight around a bit more.

“I had somewhere to be –” Which was not here. “And you just handed me off like I was a sack of trash. Do you have any idea who I–”

“I know who you are,” he cuts you off with a quick response. His voice has a certain coldness to it, but it doesn’t deter you.

“Oh, yeah? Then you must know I’m betrothed -” You emphasize the last word. “To a prince.”

You see the corner of his mouth twitch as if he found that funny. Like it was a joke to him. He cocks his head to the side slightly like he’s observing you. Alicent did that during the first initial visit to “you” after “you” woke up.

“It seems the Maesters were telling the truth, you are out of sorts,” he says before standing up and taking a small step closer to you.

Now, you were intimidated by him as he towers above you. You’re suddenly very aware of his stature – taller than you, much more muscular than you. The purple iris that peers down at you through his lashes is an eerily beautiful sight, even you must admit to it. Your fingers dig into the wooden arm chairs. You take a deep breath and your chest sticks out involuntarily. It’s a pathetic display of bravery (foolishness, more like it), and the man pays it no special attention.

“My lady–” You hate the way anyone calls you that. “I am your betrothed.”

Silence settles between you two. Your eyes stare up at him, widened to their fullest. You take a slow, obnoxious, audible breath in and then–

You proceed to laugh in his face.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #the art of cooking.

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quilteddreamz · 1 month ago

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Trick or treat! Sorry if I do this wrong. I'd love a Fluffy Cotton Paper Pals if that's okay. Would a Pinocchio x FNAF story be okay? Roxanne would have a Pinocchio theme for Halloween, and Chica the Fairy. Roxanne gets a new feature that makes her nose longer; not from lies, but anytime Chica boops Roxanne. Chica boops Roxanne so much she could use her nose as a table for pizza and decorations 🎃 👻

I'm sorry if I requested wrong.

You did it pretty much right! I was more looking for a vague idea of plot so I can experiment.

I loved the idea of Chica and Roxanne dressing up as the disney fairytale! I had fun and I hope you enjoy! (It's also posted on my Ao3)

================

Bubbling laughter filled the evening air. Small children dressed as ghouls and royalty dashed along the road.

Roxanne watched from the porch, sat on a bench. She growled, readjusting her fake nose for the seventh time that evening.

The wooden nose wouldn’t stay overtop her own. It looked more like a stick was balanced on top.

Pinocchio hadn’t been her first pick. The ideal costume would have been herself or one of the beetles. She had agreed to this to appease Chica — who chose the pretty fairy. Chica had been firm about them matching.

The wolf’s ears perked towards the gathered group at the porch steps.

“What adorable costumes! I could just eat you both up!” Chica squeals. Crouched down with her hands on her knees, her sparkling blue dress splayed on the porch wood.

Chica grasped a handful of candy from the bowl, adding to the children’s haul. She giggled, waving to the parents as the kids ran off.

Roxanne rolled her eyes as the chicken walked back.

“We’re not going to have any candy in an hour,” Roxanne grumbled.

Chica plopped down next to her on the bench, smoothing out her dress. Her face scrunched at the comment.

“Kids deserve to have sweets.” She chirped, “Stop souring the mood.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“That’s ironic,” Chica blurted, reaching out and booping her nose. “Then why’s your nose so long?”

Roxanne’s ears flattened. “It’s always been that long. I’m a wolf.”

“Hmmm. No. It’s definitely longer.” Chica couldn’t stop her teasing grin. She booped the wolf again.

Roxanne’s low growl filled the air. “Stop.”

Chica feigned a gasp, “It grew again! You must love this.”

She reached out once more— Roxanne snatched her hand. She jerked the chicken forward, wrapping her arms around her. Roxanne’s false nose fell off in the wrestle.

“You’re going to mess up my dress!” She squawked, a laugh bursting from her beak.

“Should have thought about that before attacking me,” Roxanne’s lip twitched into a playful smile. She held her still in her arms, stopping her squirms.

Roxanne brought her claw forward, booping Chica’s beak. Chica blinked before bursting out into laughter.

“Trick r’ treat!” Excited voices called from the porch steps.

Roxanne released Chica, watching her race off to deliver more sweets. She sighed, seeing more handfuls being dumped in children’s pails.

There wouldn’t be any candy left by the night’s end.

#fnaf #fanfic #writing #ao3 #roxanne wolf #glamrock chica #chica the chicken #fnaf security breach #halloween #trick or treat #inbox trick or treating #one shot #fluff

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blackbird0blog · 2 years ago

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Naruto Fanfic Recs

I'm not normally a fan of Sasuke fics, but this is the best Sasuke-centric story ever written. It's got an epic plot and Sasuke has gotten over his angst phase, which always helps. Also known as Sasuke and Tobi vs Akatsuki. You know it's gonna be an epic disaster 🤣

Summary: Following the events of Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke never makes it to Orochimaru's hideout. Instead, he is waylaid by a one-eyed man named Tobi, a man possessing a Sharingan, a terrifying dual personality, a penchant for always being late, and a single-minded mission to stop the Akatsuki in their tracks. When Sasuke runs into Naruto again years later, he must ally with his old teammate in order to protect him from the Akatsuki, while keeping him out of the two man war Tobi and Sasuke have started against the dangerous organization.

Preview:

“Uchiha Sasuke was sighted doing what now!?” Sasuke does not screech. He doesn’t. But if his voice is just a bit higher pitched than usual, well, it is understandable.

Tobi’s looking over his shoulder the next moment, humming annoyingly as he quotes the report “‘raiding a feudal lord’s castle, bearing the flag of Otogakure, demanding a protection payment in the name of Orochimaru’.” Tobi pauses briefly, scanning further down the paper as if he hadn’t seen it yet. “ Oh , it looks like you burnt down the guy’s castle. I like it, Sasuke-chan. Nothing could scream Uchiha more than fireballs.”

Sasuke sputters. “I didn’t do this! I’ve been stuck in the forest with you for four months.”

Tobi taps the report, sounding frustratingly sincere in his skepticism. “But Sasuke-chan, this says you’re Orochimaru-sama’s errand boy now.”

“They’re idiots then. Someone starts throwing fire around and they just assume it’s me?”

“Well, fire is quite the Uchiha trait. As far as Konoha is aware, Orochimaru is in possession of an Uchiha, and there’s not a very large pool of them anymore. They’re connecting dots at this point.”

Sasuke grumbles. “Well, they’re doing it wrong.”

“Oooh, Sasuke-chan’s upset,” Tobi calls out in a singsong voice.

“ Stop calling me that! ” Sasuke snaps, a kunai flying towards Tobi before he even registers it leaving his hand.

Tobi screeches, throwing himself dramatically to the side to avoid the kunai and landing on his ass. The kunai lodges into a nearby stall, and Tobi spends several long seconds staring at it before turning his head slowly towards Sasuke. Sasuke takes a step back, unable to read the expression hidden in the man’s eye, and lets his hand drift down to hover over his kunai pouch.

“That was a very half-assed attempt,” Tobi says finally, sounding slightly surprised. “Usually there’s at least a fireball or Chidori in there somewhere.”

Sasuke blinks and, bit by bit, allows himself to relax. “I guess it’s just habit at this point.”

Tobi laughs, far too breathy to be classified under his regular giggle. “I’m touched.” He stands, dusting himself off with far more attention than is truly necessary. “Anyway, the point is, as far as the world is concerned, Uchiha Sasuke is currently lackey number one for Orochimaru.”

Frowning, Sasuke stares down at the scroll still held tightly in his hand. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

Tobi doesn’t reply, so Sasuke looks up to try and read him.

“You said the only way this works is with anonymity. That we can’t afford to have villages sticking their noses where they don’t belong.” Sasuke gestures at the scroll, his gut heavy with something he doesn’t want to acknowledge as dread. “This is the exact opposite of anonymity.”

Tobi is watching him, his eye fixed on Sasuke’s every movement as if he is staring into Sasuke’s soul. He doesn’t reply immediately, doesn’t move beyond the brief flickers of his Sharingan analyzing Sasuke’s every twitch.

Whatever he sees, it must be good enough.

“No, Sasuke,” Tobi says, his voice a serious baritone rather than the high-pitched insanity he pitches whenever they’re in public. “This is anonymity at its finest.” He turns, heads towards the edge of town, pointed east. Over his shoulder, he tosses out, “After all, if they’re expecting you to be burning down villages, they won’t be looking for you to be hunting missing-nin.”

Sasuke, stunned for a brief moment, has to trot to catch up, falling into step with the man before belatedly shoving his hands into his pockets in an attempt to appear less eager.

Making sure to pitch his voice as disinterested as possible, Sasuke asks, “Where are we going then?”

Though he can’t see it, Sasuke is convinced that Tobi is wearing a shark’s grin under his mask. “Ever wanted to be ANBU, Sasuke-chan?”

Confused, Sasuke doesn’t reply.

The lack of a reply doesn’t throw Tobi off for a single moment. He throws his hands in the air, waving ecstatically. “We should get Orochimaru-sama flowers for being such a great help, ne, Sasuke-chan?”

A hand settles on Sasuke’s head, and he barely manages to restrain a flinch. “Don’t worry, kid.” Something dark seems to settle over him, and with the dry air of dark humor that Sasuke is learning is an integral part to him, Tobi adds casually, “After all, the only cover better than this is being dead.”

#naruto fanfiction #fanfic rec #sasuke centric #sasuke #obito #akatsuki

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nokingsonlyfooles · 10 months ago

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Finish the Feed and Plug the Thing!

I write this! Steampunk! Dieselpunk! Indy! Found family! Magic! Listen: social media is very challenging for me, I'm only sticking around here because I want people to look at my work. Did you hit "follow" at some point because you like what I like? MAYBE YOU'LL LIKE THIS!

I SEE 44 FOLLOWERS AND I WILL GET EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU TO CLICK EVENTUALLY! I WILL WEAR YOU DOWN!! I'M A FROG ON THE EDGE! I MEAN IT!

Ahem.

Known readers: 3 (hi!) 1st goalpost: 10?

Known supporters: Still not asking yet, just letting you know, I will take your money when I start posting more story!

And now, so as not to be too ridiculously long for your feed (thank you for your patience) a sample under the cut!

[Ha-ha-ha, yeah, but the thing I'm writing right now is more of a side gig. It's been stressful this week. I fell into a Hazbin Hotel fic that I'm afraid to show anyone, because it looks like I made a Mary Sue and that's not what I'm about. But it's got David in it, who has returned to Soldier On from the grave and begun impacting the plot again. (That's a mild spoiler, but, c'mon, you must've suspected. He's always getting into places he doesn't belong.)

[Mind if I shoot you a few paragraphs from this otherwise useless, self-indulgent thing, so you can meet him in noodle-bird form? The gag about the Stages of Grief was that they are Denial (Charlie), Anger (Husk), Apathy (Angel), Concern For Your Girlfriend (Vaggie) and Blowing Shit Up While Obnoxiously Australian (Cherri) but I trimmed off the opening so it's just David's arrival, and all you see is Serial Murder (Alastor). Oh, god, I am forever explaining myself...]

A glowing orange hand, much the same shade as the portal, peeked hesitantly out of one side, and swiped through the air as if testing the temperature of the bathwater. Finding no bathtub, it eventually lit on the wall, and scratched the wallpaper with a red lacquered talon. It slid down and found the floorboards. “Oh, well,” said a male, but terribly fussy voice. “Might as well give it a shot!”

The hand vanished. An instant later, it returned, clutching the handle of a purple cloth suitcase. The suitcase thumped on the floor, followed by a shiny shoe with a white spat, and a striped trouser leg.

A fiery orange bird-creature in a purple frock coat emerged, trailing red and blue flames from its head like the tail of a comet. Then again, that wasn’t even the weirdest hair in the room right now, let alone historically. “Ah, hello.” He bowed. “Sorry to bother you. Is this the Happy Hotel?”

Charlie squealed. “That guy just deadnamed my Hotel!”

“Sorry…?”

“Hazbin,” said a grinning shadow with narrowed eyes. One might call this the unprecedented seventh Stage of Grief (Serial Murder), and a very good reason to stop at five.

“What is it now?” said the bird, with apparent sincerity.

Alastor materialized, smiling — as always — resplendent in red, and with a razor-thin veneer of patronizing levity concealing his violent nature. “Ha-ha!” Two syllables, not quite a laugh. “We have an Abbott and Costello fan!”

“Abbott and Costello?” said the bird. He shook his head. “Sorry, it’s always a bit disorienting. Must’ve dropped my timely references. Mind if I go out and come in again?” Without pause, he exited via the portal, and climbed back in. He pointed a knowing finger at Alastor. “Abbott and Costello! The comedy duo! Vaudeville! Oh, you must be ancient…”

Alastor was still smiling, with narrowed eyes, one of which gave a slight twitch.

“I don’t get it,” the bird admitted. He leaned closer and blinked at the smile. “Are you feeling quite well? Do you have head trauma?” He laughed. “Or do I?” He touched his own head, feeling it, and the flames, with both hands. “I do seem to have something worthy of traumatizing. Does anyone have a reflective surface?” He glanced aside at the man in red, who was still grinning. “...Although I quite understand if you’ve covered them all.”

“...Who the fuck are you?” said the Radio Demon, with unusual clarity.

“David Valentine!” He extended a hand, which was not accepted.

The spider recoiled.

The bird did, too, but only a half step. “Sorry?” He leaned forward cautiously. “I have a few other names, if you don’t like that one? Um… Oh, God, have I been here before?” He took a single step towards Angel. “Listen, whatever I did, I assure you, I am perfectly… I am reasonably sober now, and I will never do it a…”

“We’re very pleased to meet you, David!” Charlie said, pumping his proffered hand. “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!”

“What is it now?” David said, blinking. He laughed. “Oh, I get it. I get it! That’s hilarious!” He clapped Charlie on the back. When he looked up, there was a grinning face with a twitching eye examining him from a near distance. He backed off a pace and straightened his cravat with a polite chuckle — followed by a shriek. “Christ! is that an actual eyeball or a clever design? Is my tie alive? Is that me? Is this even a suit? Are we all naked?”

Nobody was offering any opinions on the ontological nature of living clothes, but they did seem a bit perturbed by the cravat with the expressive eyeball, so he tucked it back into his vest.

“Sorry! I know I’m being a bit weird, but I’ve travelled quite some way and I may not technically be authorized to be here.” He grinned, displaying neither tongue nor teeth but a gullet full of yellow flame. “But that’s never stopped me! Hmm…” He turned, touched a hand to the centre of the portal, and collapsed it back into nothingness. He winked. One eye was pitch black with a single fleck of white serving as a pupil, the other glowing yellow with a red iris. “Before someone notices!”

“Can I get you a chair?” Charlie whispered in Alastor’s direction. Unfortunately, it was more of a stage-whisper.

Several shadow tentacles sprouted, though they were not aimed in Charlie’s direction. Yet. “No.”

David Valentine was making do with the reflective surface of a glassed-in Lillith poster. He combed back his hair, or whatever that was, with both hands, then examined the hands, both sides. “It’s not quite what I’m used to, but I think it suits me. Love the manicure!” He laughed. “It’s nice to have something corporeal of my own again. I’ll have to oil my hair with lamp oil! Ah!” He turned and posed in front of the glass. “And so thin! Really, incredibly…” He glanced at the others. “Please tell me, has Persephone been winding us all up? Is there food in Hell?”

Angel lifted a hand and volunteered, “Yeah, but it’s shitty and expensive.”

“Oh.” David pointed and nodded. “Like Vegas.”

Angel cackled. “Yeah!”

“Lobsters scream when you drop them in boiling water,” Niffty said, vibrating with joy. “Most things scream when you drop them in boiling water.”

David leaned down and measured her little body with one hand. She was still vibrating. “Is child labour legal in Hell?” he said.

“Yeah,” Angel said. “But I don’t think Niff qualifies. I ain’t sure what she is.”

“Unhinged,” Niffty said. She smiled — she had been, and it was terrifying, but now it was more. “Are you a bad boy?”

David gave an airy laugh. “I make a good girl!”

Vaggie introduced herself, spear point first. “Listen, cabrón, where, exactly, are you from?”

“Exactly?” said David, blinking. “Oh, dear.” He sighed, shaking his head. “That’s always a bit difficult. I have what you’d call a ‘context-based’ memory…” He pointed a sharp finger. “You know that thing where you get up to do something, and you go through a door, and you forget why in fuck you got up in the first place, so you’re just sort of wandering around pointlessly and trying to remember so you don’t have to turn around and go back?”

There were a few puzzled nods. The gentleman with the evident head trauma abstained, but David quite understood.

“Well, I’ve been through several doors to get here and I’ve left a lot of context behind me. I am positive I don’t belong here, but, let’s see…” He counted on his fingers. “I’ve sinned, I’ve died, I’ve continued sinning, and I’m very much hoping to be a better person…”

“That’s what we do!” Charlie said.

“...for the sake of my friends — one of whom died to get away from me…”

“Pardon?” said Angel. “You wanna back up, there?”

“Oh, he’s just being silly,” David said. “I’ll find him eventually!” He cleared his throat. “...and the other of whom is rapidly nearing the end of her finite existence. I fucked up her whole childhood, and it looks like most of her adulthood, and I was really hoping to make amends before she goes into hiding like he did. Oh! And I’m not at all interested in going to Heaven,” he added, with a firm shake of his head. “No. I’ve been — to my version of it, anyway — and it’s terribly dull.”

Charlie’s expression fell. “What?”

The strident sound of a game show buzzer played. The audience seemed very disappointed. Alastor joined them. “Aww. That’s a real shame. But thanks for playing!” He strode forward. “The Hazbin,” he paused, for emphasis, “Hotel is only concerned with redeeming the souls of worthy sinners in need of a second chance. Interloping travellers who are,” he popped up over the flaming bird’s shoulders and made a beaky mouth with one hand, “‘not at all interested’ in going to Heaven need not apply!”

[I dunno. I'm trying to get over myself and numb the shame, but if you like the style, I write like that! That's me! I've written a lot more! And if you hate it... Please don't tell me,. It's a work in progress. I may never show it to anyone anyway. I just think David would do well there, if they don't kill him, and he has a good reason. He just found Hyacinth again!]

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