#and that it's probably better if it remained asleep/dead

[thewolfisawake]

The Abyssborn Part 7.5: Balmoral

The adapted being...is not something standard. As in it's not a typical creation and thus a bit to unpack. For the most part, the being is called 'The Devourer.' And no prizes for guessing what it does. It appearance wise is two major ways being that is seemingly comprised of this condensed swarm of 'insects,' much like how in cartoons swarms can take different forms to cause all this damage or what have you. The other is considered bestial, a large quadrupedal with it almost appearing that it is wreathed in these swarms. It has a maw more reminiscent of fantasy worms with teethy mouths or the ones with that split mouth. And it has claws that can sound deceptively soft. It also has more tentacle-like 'legs' that can sprout, with its ends looking more like sharpened appendages of say any insect you can name.

In terms of appearance, Balmoral suppresses much of any look that has to do with the Devourer. The most ever showing is that he has teef, as Kristen likes to call them, so sharper canines. Instead of like a snake as some might for vampires, it's a bit more like...the pincers of a spider. But there is an appearance if he ever 'devolved' towards it. Where the crystalline appearance of his true form is, it gets darker and has a wreathing sort of aura around it. He gains claws that are somewhat insectoid, somewhat exactly what you think of claws. And rather than or mixed with the hoarfrost, is what almost look like shadows crawling across his skin that on closer inspection look more like centipedes. And perfectly concealed until actually set upon is a more teethy maw. He does gain wings with one set more like a moth's wing and the other more like a dragonfly's (the layering I see being similar to beetles or ladybugs).

...Bal does not find this appearance pretty by any means and thus kinda just does not let it be seen and unless he was gone mentally, would likely be horrified and terrified of being seen in this state. But it is from the Devourer that he gains his 'd/sney princess' thing of communicating with insects. And that's what he'll say it is. But the truth is that is actually 'vermin' so the range is technically larger than what he states. However he usually sticks with moths because...well, they're the ones people find most palatable. It is actually because of this that he also has sensitivity in his hair. It's similar to the antennae (but no, it is not how he hears or communicates, he does still have ears and a voice after all).

As for what the Devourer does...well, it consumes. And it is able to consume anything. From physical deterrents like bone to poisonous sacs; to things normally used for fighting such as melee weapons and magic; to nonstandard things like divinity and energy; and can go all the way to consuming creation and creators alike. And it is not even for some huge endgame. It has all-encompassing need/want that the conclusion for solving is to consume. The one that Balmoral is adapted from could be considered more 'benevolent' than others. It is one that will cause calamity when awaken and is in 'a haze' when conscious. However it has an affection for the world it ended in and knowing that its active existence is detrimental, chooses to sleep instead.

And while Balmoral chooses to ignore it...there are parts of the Devourer that simply is in his being. The hunger is one of them and it is why he's noted as 'insatiable.' Food, drink, sex, knowledge, connection...all of it are means to keep himself sated. So he eats a lot, will look like he drinks to excess, has his reputation of a lover and seemingly always 'going for more.' The impulses for this hunger are like an incessant drone in his head and it annoys him greatly. However he's old enough to not process it as actual words and just a 'buzzing.' On the other hand Balmoral feels he has to do a part to keep the hunger in check because otherwise he'll act instinctually...which is normally very violent and lead to problems.

This is most prominent with sleeping with others. I will say, he is very much a typical fae that is very into sleeping with others normally. However it is also something of a need for him to see others. Mhoirbheinn is his lover but Balmoral cannot solely be with him because it puts Mhoirbheinn in danger. This danger comes from Balmoral's obsessive self that would lead to him fixating to a point of madness. Imagine those heart eyes sort of thing. And this madness stirs that Devourer part. Because in a sense, Balmoral's all-encompassing want is love. He's so in love with his partner that he wants nothing more than to have them wholly. He wants their everything completely. To be possessed and possess them fully. And again, the Devourer's answer to the want IS TO EAT THEM. So by not balancing his interaction and himself around his lover, Balmoral risks EATING him because he desires Mhoirbheinn THAT MUCH. (Is this my attempt to get Mhoirbheinn to understand that he is very much at risk? Maybe. Do I feel it is on deaf ears??? Unfortunately!)

Interestingly despite eating anything, there are preferences to the Devourer. It likes to eat dreams and 'fear' in a sense. Both instances, it's more of the creativity of individual and collective that comprise their dreams and how 'the imagination can create something far worse than described.' It likes these because it is something it inherently lacks. It sleeps but it cannot dream. It can incite fear but it cannot feel fear. So it experiences these through proxy of what is consumes. It also like destruction because of the unique sort of chaos that it causes and the unknown sort of mentality that will crop up during it.

Bal is a strangeness to the Devourer part because it is part to a whole...and the whole self is a being that can dream and feel fear and experience what it cannot. So it is actually pretty content with Balmoral's ignorance towards it because it passively experiences what normally is impossible for its being. Though it does lend itself to Balmoral's aversion to sleeping for long as dreaming is so very beautiful to it and is that part that wants to lull Bal to sleep for a very long time. He has stuff to do so he fights this urge a lot. And Balmoral channels his violence into when he has the chance. It's likely why he seems to do 'too much' for punishment or dealing in his enemies.

What makes the Devourer dangerous is sense of 'nullification' in that a lot of things do not seem to bother it. And in return...what it has consumed, it can do. So if it eats lightning, that motherfucker can belch lightning if it so pleased. So getting to 'bigger game' is a bad time for any place dealing with it. Basically the higher up in consumption it has been...the harder it is to kill it. But on the other hand with Balmoral, he doesn't show any of this aside from mentally adapting against those he's dealt with before.

As for weaknesses of the being...well, it is an existence that's hard to start to begin with. The Devourer's existence are ones that likely die very quickly and it is rare they excel at all. They consume so much and it isn't considered very efficient or effective. So they end up exhausting quickly and end up on some world to either die out or sleep. Sleep is actually a very effective thing against Balmoral. It's immeasurably pleasurable to a Devourer and bonus if you can concoct all sorts of dreams. Sleep-based curses and the like work a little too well on him and unless combated when it first strikes, it's gonna be a little to get him to rouse on his own. If even capable of that.

The other is from Balmoral's refusal to indulge this aspect of himself as often. Because of him not consuming 'bigger' and the like, Balmoral can't necessarily handle things a Devourer should. The bigger concepts...he can't straight up consume that. Maybe if he started indulging, he could but as it stands he can't. So in some sense it can take him out. He could also be overwhelmed by the Devourer's need to consume and take something his body cannot handle. Notably, something like this was the problem with the Corruption with him. It used the Devourer's instincts to further the Corruption with Balmoral, who is not able to just absorb the creation energy.

However, I will say as a caveat that Bal does have a passive sort of 'consumption' that makes radiating things like auras or divinity take longer to get to him. Like auras that cause fear and panic...it'd take longer to get to Bal simply because he has an aura that eats anything and when it gets filled (which it can), then Bal feels it. So it ends up being that Balmoral is either delayed in reaction or that he ends up in higher risk because he has to be hit with a higher dosage, which is gonna start fucking up him up faster and worse. 'Direct line' sort of effects such as gazing into the eyes, touch and the like do still work normally because there is nothing diffusing their effect in this case.

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | teaser (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: alcohol consumption, curses

☆word count: 1.1k

☆a/n: teaser time babyyyy!! I hope you guys love it :') thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing, you guys are the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

The hour is late. Jungkook is tipsy, far more than he thought he’d get tonight, but then again, Taehyung is not in a better state, and Sera, Jimin’s girlfriend, had to force him to go home before they got too drunk.

They’re all supposed to help Taehyung’s little sister move in tomorrow, Jungkook included.

“Man,” Taehyung lets out, and Jungkook looks away from the game of Smash they’re playing - that he’s majestically losing - to focus on Taehyung.

“What?” he lets out.

“Can’t believe Y/n will be here tomorrow,” Taehyung answers.

“Can’t believe you’re forcing me to live with a girl.”

Taehyung chuckles. “Don’t worry, Y/n is chill.”

Jungkook doesn’t doubt she is, considering how well he gets along with Taehyung, and Taehyung’s made it seem that he gets along well with his sister. He imagines Y/n’s just going to be a mini Taehyung, which frankly could be fun to have around.

But he doesn’t know anything about her other than the fact that she is Taehyung’s little sister.

“You know,” Taehyung adds as the game finishes. “I meant to tell you something.”

Jungkook cocks his pierced eyebrow in question. “Yeah?”

“Just wanted to say that if you touch my sister, you’re fucking dead.”

Jungkook bursts out laughing, shaking his head, but Taehyung remains entirely serious. Like he meant what he just said - could he?

“You’re joking right?” Jungkook asks as his laughter fades away.

“No, I’m dead ass,” Taehyung insists. “You breathe in her direction, and you’re dead.”

“Damn.” Jungkook widens his gaze, and then picks up the beer he’s been slowly drinking since Jimin left. “Understood.”

Hell, Jungkook knows that he sleeps around. Taehyung does the same - he can’t help but understand Taehyung when he says to stay away from his sister. And he thinks it’ll be easy. Y/n’s probably just going to be a clueless baby college kid, and though Jungkook doesn’t mind going for younger, he’ll have plenty of new faces to explore once Frosh week starts next week anyways.

So he promises Taehyung he has nothing to worry about, and they play a couple more games before they head to bed.

Jungkook wakes up early the next morning, the sun shining right in his face the most efficient alarm he’s ever used before. He wants to go to the gym before helping Taehyung’s sister, and though he hates being awake so early, he immediately forces himself to get up lest he falls back asleep.

His workout goes well, and he’s pleasantly sore when he heads back home. He’s lucky - he manages to park not too far from the apartment. He’s walking home, gym bag in one hand and his phone in the other, when Taehyung texts him to ask where he is.

Jungkook types ‘Fuck off’, pressing send as his attention is solely on his phone.

Until said phone flies out of his hand as he collides with a girl he didn’t notice, and Jungkook watches in horror as the device falls in a flower bed.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” you say, and you immediately dive into the flower bed, retrieving Jungkook’s phone. 

You hand it to him, and Jungkook just stares at you, mouth agape. He’s aware he’s staring and that he probably looks stupid, but he’s dumbfounded.

You’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, and he’s seen a lot.

“Don’t worry about it,” he answers quickly when you cock an eyebrow, your cheeks slowly turning red. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“At least it didn’t break,” you say, and you flash him a quick smile.

It does things to his heart that Jungkook barely comprehends - it’s like his heart is going miles a minute, yet it’s soothing, warm, much like the pavement feels in the summer when the sun has just dipped below the horizon.

“Right, yeah,” Jungkook answers, and his cheeks burn.

His cheeks fucking burn, and he wishes he could just disappear, dive below the ground until you can’t see him anymore. You just keep on smiling, eyes never disconnecting from his, and he wonders if you, too, feel like he does.

Shit, he thinks he might even hear bells in the distance.

You glance away, and it’s like he’s falling forward while not moving at all, and all he can do is pathetically clear his throat, as if that’s going to offer any help.

“I see you’ve met Y/n!” Taehyung yells from behind you, and Jungkook freezes.

Jungkook freezes, and then something burns in his lungs, like he’s under the surface struggling for futile oxygen he knows he won’t find.

You are… Taehyung’s sister.

You’re Y/n.

His best friend’s little sister.

The one thing Jungkook can’t have.

It makes him feel cold, his heart suddenly dropping in the Arctic sea amongst the icebergs. 

“We literally ran into each other,” you say, looking back towards your brother.

And Jungkook sees it - your hair is the same shade as Taehyung’s, your face has the same shape. The smile though - your smile is different from Taehyung’s, and maybe that’s why he was fooled.

Fooled for a few seconds which felt like an eternity.

You walk away then, heading to the open back door of a car. You grab a box, and Jungkook puts his phone in his pocket, eyeing a bag on the backseat.

“Do you want me to bring this in?” he asks.

Only because he wants you to look at him again. His heart flutters in his chest when you do, and he forces it down with a swallow as you nod once.

“Yes, please!”

Jungkook nods too, and he grabs the bag before following you in. His right foot lands on the first step leading to the apartment when Taehyung stops him with a hand on his arm.

Jungkook frowns slightly, meeting his best friend’s gaze.

“I’m serious, JK,” Taehyung says through gritted teeth. “You fucking touch her, you’re dead.”

And Jungkook knows right then and there that he’s fucked. Entirely, thoroughly, immensely fucked.

Because he already wants you, and he hasn’t even talked to you for more than twenty seconds.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures Taehyung, and he hopes Taehyung can’t hear how fake he sounds.

How is he supposed to resist indulging in you when he already knows you’re all he’s ever wanted? 

He really is entirely, thoroughly, immensely fucked.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read chapter one here!

What did we think? Are we excited to read?? Let me know here!

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[fullfriendnerdclutch]

Richard actually preferred to spent his Spring Break lounging around his quaint and peaceful university town. But, since his Uncle drove all the way down to pick him up unannounced, simply because Richard is in the same state now, not like he could just shush that man away so he lazily packed his bag and hit the road with the 43 years old hulk of a DILF

They didn't talk much throughout the long trip into the farmland as Richard pretended to fall asleep before eventually really falling asleep on the way there. But he's dead wrong to assume that his Uncle is unaware of his avoidance. In fact, that very attitude is the sole reason why his Uncle came all the way down to pick him up. It's time to mold Richard into the perfect Dawson boys, and Spring Break provides the best timeline in order for Richard to hit his final alteration right during summer

When the pair arrived at the sprawling farm, Richard realized how stinking rich his family must be with all these acres of land under their possession. It's been more than a decade since he last visited the family farm, but clearly this visit will leave him with the memory about the family farm much more clearly. His uncle let him rest for the remainder of the day, he even fell asleep right after his quick dinner and cleaning himself. But Richard didn't expect that he needs to do some hard labour the following morning!

"Your cousin Adam is spending some time with his sickly wife while Steve took off for the entirety of this Spring Break to spend time with his kids. So I need your help, boy,"

"Wait, Adam is married?"

"Yes, a year ago, don't you remem--- oh yeah, you were on your gap year trip,"

The tone his uncle used irked Richard a bit, gap year trip, but he let it go. His mind is focused on the fact that Adam is the same age as him, and he's married? At 20? 19 if he considered the fact it happened a year ago.....what a totally different life the two of them have. His uncle snapped Richard's out of his mind as he told the pale, gangly-looking Richard to put on the boots before helping him around the farm and the ranch. Richard at first doubted that he could fit into the boots, but somehow it fits him just right. So, off he goes with his uncle

Day after day, the routine remained the same. He will wake up at around 5 or 6 AM, have his loaded breakfast and head out with his uncle. He surprisingly found himself enjoying the routine, he even started to address his Uncle with "Sir" and cooked the breakfast for the two. He simply didn't notice the change in his reflection on how his skin tanned on its own, how his form straightened rather than hunched per usual, how all his clothings somehow altered to solely consist of black t-shirt, jeans and some plaid shirt and he just didn't bother to ask his uncle for the whereabouts of his other clothing. He also failed to notice how his uncle has been subliminally planting in his subconsciousness that he enjoyed working in the farm, that he preferred to be called Dick since Richard sounded too posh for him, that Dick has always been interested with farming and the idea to continue the family's business, that Dick wanted to recruit some good trusted friends of his to join the family's business and how he needs to pivot to study about agriculture or farming in uni.....well, scratch that, he will probably drop out later in the summer and learn better about farming or agriculture by working with his Uncle.

Imagine the surprise his roommates got when Richard went back from his Spring Break 30 lbs heavier and looking like a Southern farm stud with his outfit and the way he got this drawl out of nowhere. And he apparently have a souvenir too for them

"Got these from my Uncle, now, try to put these babies on and tell me how it feels,"

---

Fast forward to summer, not only Dick really followed through with his drop out plan, he brings along his now much-more fitting roommate to join him in the farm

Hey there, a bit rushed with this execution but hope it's still an enjoyable read

[wearywinchester]

Settle Down

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: A rough day leaves you unable to sleep, and unable to slow your thoughts from racing. But a certain hunter knows the solution to make things better.

Warnings: angst, anxiety, crying, mild language, fluff

You woke up again, just the same as you’d done probably as little as minutes ago. With the same pound of your heart, so much so it sent trembles through you. With the same wetness on your cheeks, the breeze from the half open window blowing over them and cooling the heat that burned in them.

You were still slightly dampened with sweat, each prickling round of it never having fully gone away. You woke up just as disoriented as the previous time, just as confused. And it remained as such until your gaze scanned around the room.

It was fine. You were at Bobby’s house, in that familiar old bedroom. You were laying on that same old twin size mattress, surrounded by those same four walls and all the posters that hung on it, their corners peeling away.

It was fine. You were in a familiar space, and not trapped in the nightmare your mind had created for you. You weren’t, but your head was telling you otherwise, and nothing could outmatch the stubbornness of your very own mind.

But this time it was different. It was different in the sense of dread it left you with. The dread of falling back asleep and repeating the same routine as you’d done so many times before, all in this same night.

You were so tired, so very tired and the fatigue weighed heavy on you. It was damn near maddening how exhausted you were, yet completely awake all the same. And you couldn’t bear the thought of tossing and turning and returning to that space your mind created for you should you allow yourself to close your eyes again. You couldn’t. You won’t.

You were fairly certain everyone was still in the house, but given the hour, there wasn’t much movement to base your guess around. You could only hope for it to be so.

And hope is what you held as you pushed the covers back towards the foot of the bed. They’d been suffocating you with an overwhelming heat, yet the moment they’d left your skin, a bout of shivers ran through you immediately. But the inconvenience wasn’t fully so as you planted your feet on the floor.

You were unbalanced as you stood up, that tremble radiating from head to toe as your heart did little in slowing down since you’d woken up.

Everything in the room was as you’d left it, from your duffel bag to your shoes, though you were certain you wouldn’t have been able to notice a change with how worked up you were in that moment. But you knew enough to know things were as they should be, knew enough to know you were alright where you were in Bobby Singer’s house.

You stepped in the hallway, the small nightlight that was plugged into the wall by the baseboards having illuminated the space some. The door to the room Sam was staying in was closed, the light from the lamp that’d been shining under the door having been turned off.

Bobby’s door had been closed as well, the sound of his snores seeping through the old wood having been a dead giveaway that he was home too. But neither were what you were looking for, and you continued on to the stairs in search of it.

You wince at the sound of the wooden boards, creaking under your feet. It spiked a fear of being heard by something you wouldn’t want to, the sound having attracted the attention of monster after monster in all the homes you’d hunted in before.

This isn’t there, you remind yourself.

But still, the fear was still there.

The further down you got, the closer to the first floor you were, you saw the glow of the lamp illuminating the space warmly, the one in the living room. And the closer you got, the more you heard the sound of the tv playing a show you couldn’t discern. But, regardless, it sent a flicker of relief through you.

You stepped down from the last step and looked to your side, seeing a familiar boot, half tucked under familiar blue jeans dangling off the couch. You walked towards the living room, relief in your timid stride as you got closer.

Dean was on the couch, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. One leg lay outstretched across the couch, the other having been bent, his foot planted on the floor.

The coffee table was littered with lore, newspapers and clippings scattered across it. A plate with pizza crust was on the far end, a couple empty beer bottles amidst it all. The rest of the six pack sit on the floor by the table, the one he bought at the gas station down the road.

His lips were parted and he was snoring softly, and it was then that you’d begun to feel bad. He was just as tired if not more. You shouldn’t be bothering him with your stupid little sleepless night, you shouldn’t disturb his sleep just because you couldn’t maintain your own slumber.

That feeling was sinking and it had you swallowing thickly, tears stinging your eyes at how hopeless you felt as you backed away, spinning on your heel as you began to leave the room.

You tried your best to be light on your feet, to sneak back upstairs just the same as you snuck down. But it was silly to be so hopeful, the floor creaking seemingly louder than before as you stepped on it.

You squeezed your eyes shut and held your breath.

“Sweetheart?”

Dammit.

You released the breath you were holding and opened your eyes after a moment. You felt selfish for the relief you felt upon hearing his voice.

You turned around after a moment or two, meeting his half squinted gaze as he sat up a little bit. You swallow thickly as you look at him, optimistic that maybe you didn’t look distressed, that maybe you looked like your normal self. But again, that was a silly notion.

“You okay?” He asks.

Your nod was immediate, frighteningly so, and you knew it wasn’t believable. “‘M fine.”

Your voice was trembled and you hated it, the pitiful sound having made you want to cry even more. He was never going to fall for that one.

“Y/n,” he says, and you can hear it in his voice as he wakes up more. He was never fully asleep anyway. “C’mere.”

“I said I’m fine, Dean. Was just grabbing some water.”

He knew for a fact that was nothing other than a lie. He knew it because he brought you a full glass just thirty minutes ago, and it accompanied the other glass that remained there from when he’d brought it up earlier. And he knew that if he would’ve been up there with you he’d have been awoken by your nightmare, saw it with his own eyes in real time. But he sees it now, can tell that’s what it is.

The only reason he’d been sleeping separately was because that damn twin bed was too small for two, and he wanted you to have your space. Because when you’re upset that’s most always what you want, even though he would have crammed himself onto that mattress in a heartbeat had you wanted him to.

You do want him.

“Yeah, well, ‘m not asking. C’mere,” he says, soft yet demanding all the same.

You don’t hesitate, your feet moving before your mind could tell you to stop. You walk right over to him and around that coffee table. You feel the warmth of his hand as it wraps around your wrist, tugging you down to sit in his lap.

The couch was warm, what little you felt of it anyway. But you tucked yourself against him, as tightly as you could manage. You no longer cared how pitiful and afraid you looked, he knew that’s how you felt regardless of how hard you tried to look brave and tough and strong. It was a useless effort and you gave up trying to hold it steady.

He picked up the remote and turned the volume down a couple notches, but left it on. He knew you don’t sleep as well without something on in the background.

He tossed it to the side, and you jostled around for a moment from your spot on his chest as he reached up and grabbed the fleece blanket from the back of the couch, opening it up with a couple shakes. It fell over you with a cool breeze before the weight of it conformed around you, warm, but not as warm as the green eyed hunter you’d tucked yourself against.

“Better?” He asks, the single word having been spoken against your forehead.

It wasn’t until he heard your hum of approval that he pressed a kiss there, humming himself as he smoothed your hair away from your face.

“Thought it might be.”

Dean Winchester may be rough around the edges, you knew that to be true, but a side so few see is just how much softer than that he could be. Just how nurturing he truly is.

You knew it to be so as he caress your skin with a featherlight touch, the calloused feeling of his hand having mingled with the warmth, the feeling putting the idea of comfort to shame as his hand settles on your cheek.

He can feel the heat in your face, can really feel it as he wipes away the dampness from your tears with a swipe or two of his thumb. He knew you weren’t alright, he knew it from the moment you got in the car earlier that day.

His lips were soft and warm as they pressed their way along your forehead and against your temple, nearly making circles if soft kisses as his fingers gently worked through every tangle in your hair.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks softly.

You respond with a simple shake of your head, and you began to worry he’d confuse it with a nod, but your worries soon diminish.

“‘S alright,” he says, “won’t make you talk.”

You exhale a long sigh, feeling as though you’d been holding your breath even though you haven’t been. But you lift your head as much as you could muster, tipping your head back to look at him and admire.

Admire the way he looks at you, the way he observes every inch of your face. The way he tangles you up with himself, keeping you close. The way he looks so sleepy, yet so ready to go up against anything that even puts thought into hurting you. You just look at him for a few moments.

“I love you,” you whisper, soft and gentle and entirely meaningful.

You watch a soft smile tug at the corners of his mouth, soon to fall from your line of sight as you lean up and kiss him. But when you pull back and look it him once more, it’s never left.

In a few fleeting moments he bends his legs to scoot you upwards, tucking you into him all the more closely. His hand settles on your cheek as his lips press to your forehead, and one to your nose. He pulls that blanket up some more, and lays further into the couch.

“I won’t let anything happen, sweetheart.”

In other words, I love you too.

And finally, for the first time that night, you were able to settle down.

—

Taglist: @harrysweasleys @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @campingmonkey @lanea-1 @deandaydreaming @agalliasi @malindacath @ajreturnstocringeyaccount @deanswaywardgirl @awkward-and-indecisive @drownthewitch @happyt0exist @sparkycorleone @humanmistakes @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @nyotamalfoy @elliewigginton20 @wandering-winchesters @senjoritanana

[dottiro]

A Dear in the Headlights

Unreliable summary: Your date doesn’t show up after hours of waiting; in frustration you drive over to Pantalone’s house, knowing he’ll always comfort you. / You get into a car accident due to a deer in the headlights—deer, dear? Does it matter? Warnings: Yandere, car crash, implicated kidnapping, Pantalone is rich, descriptions of dead/mangled body(ies), DEAD DOVE DON'T EAT Note: This is a rewrite of THIS fic from my old blog.

"Hey, it’s me. Your phone has been going to voicemail for a while—you’re probably asleep, but I'm almost at your house. I know, I know, I shouldn't have come to your home in the middle of the night, but once again; you were right."

You press your lips together during the silence that follows. The road ahead is dimly lit by lanterns that do a poor job of showing the way. Only your solitary headlights indicate what's ahead of you. 

Disappointment has yet to leave your system as you recall the events from a few hours before."It’s annoying. I wish I could see through people like you do."

Earlier in the evening, you'd been getting ready for a date with a guy who never showed. Unfortunately for you, these occurrences have become normal. The worst part is that hope remains within you. No matter how often it happens, you still believe the next would be better. 

You wonder why those assholes bother to chat when they never plan to show.

A bitter sigh escapes your lips. You’re rambling again… how embarrassing. 

For a moment, you hope Pantalone will leave his voicemails unread. Perhaps that’d save you face when you’d wake him up in the middle of the night—but you know better. Pantalone does not let anything go unnoticed. Sooner than later, he’d pick up his phone to hear your aimless talking and waste of time. 

“Anyhow, I’m almost there. Since you gave me the keys to the gate; I’ll be entering your property. Sorry, not sorry.” 

There is a short silence before you end the voicemail. 

Although you know you shouldn’t drive and call, the road to Pantalone’s home was—and will always be—abandoned. Not once have you seen traffic coming in or out. Keeping one eye open will be enough. 

As you continue forward, the gates surrounding his estate come into sight, and no matter how often you see it, you continue to be in awe at how much he owns. 

You’re not sure what his job exactly concludes, Pantalone is a private person, but you know he organises parties for nobles in Snezhnaya. Only the top percentage of people are invited—vision wielders with high ranks, the top businessmen, and daughters born into money pleading for his attention; they all flock for an invitation so they can have the possibility to fall in his graces. 

By now, you’ve been able to guess he works as a finance minister for Snezhnaya. If not, something similar will be the answer.

Yet, despite his charming personality and social life, Pantalone continues to appreciate the quiet over the chaos of Snezhnaya’s capital. 

At the end of each week, he’d return home to his mansion for the weekend.

You can't blame him.

With one last turn, you arrive at the entrance to the large gate. Usually, it’s closed. However, tonight you find them wide open. 

You can’t find a reason why they should be.

The car slows down as you hesitate to intrude into his property. 

In the distance, a gentle light is cast inside his mansion. 

Is he still awake?

With uncertainty, you let your car roll past the gates, speeding up in curiosity. Wanting to be secluded, Pantalone has surrounded himself by nature to hide. You have to drive through the dense greenery before you reach the lights in the distance. 

Your frown turns into a smile when suddenly the upbeat tune of your ringtone echoes through the car.

“Pantalone!” You pick up, holding your phone to your mouth. Your voice is upbeat—you didn’t expect him to call back so soon. You’re surprised he doesn’t comment on its loudness.

“Dearest, would you be so kind as to tell me where you are right now?”

You raise an eyebrow before a chuckle escapes your lips. “Did you or did you not listen to the voicemail?” you ask. 

Only a mere few minutes have passed since you ended the one-sided call. If he had listened to it, he would’ve known that you were on the way—already approaching his home. 

Background sounds on his end of the call muffle his reply. For just a second, you take your eyes off the road to turn up the volume.

“Are you busy? I hear lots of people.”

You glance at the road as you keep one hand on the wheel. Then, you turn back to your phone, trying to adjust the volume again.

“Pantalone? I can’t hear—”

A loud crash makes you drop the phone before you finish your sentence. In a panic, you release the gas pedal; trying to break instead, resulting in the car drifting as it loses control. Instinctively, both your hands reach for the steering wheel. With all your power, you try to go against the current your car is trapped in—hoping to stabilise it, but failing as you drive over a hobble. Instantly, a thud is created, and something slams against your window, breaking it and shattering shards of glass across the front seats. 

Your arms fly up in front of your face, losing your grip on the wheel as you brace yourself. In seconds, you fly forward as another crash happens; and this time your car comes to a full stop. Instantly, the airbags register, pushing your body back into the chair with immense force.

Your ears buzz as you struggle to breathe, feeling like the wind has been pushed out of your lungs. A million thoughts enter your mind and at the same time, you can’t register any of them. Time passes too fast, yet too slow. You try to grasp what happened, watching darkness swallow you whole when the headlights flicker one last time before turning off. 

ㅤ

It’s dark, it’s silent. 

Faintly, somewhere distant, you hear the motor continuing to hum. 

The sound becomes louder and louder until you hear a familiar voice. 

“Y/n—?!”

Pantalone?

You hear Pantalone’s voice through your phone. A dim white light tells you it must still be in the car. With only the artificial- and moonlight to guide you, you try to recall your surroundings. Did your phone get thrown back to the back or front during your crash?

As the sound of voices continues to increase, they become deafening. With a throbbing head, you push the deflating airbag out of your way, clicking the seat belt loose and climbing out of your seat with shaky legs. 

You take steps forward. 

One… 

then two… 

—you think you stop after that.

Cold air falls into your face, embracing you like death’s hands tickling your face as he debates whether or not to take you with him to the afterlife. Behind you, the front door of the car falls shut. After the slam, the blinkers go off; beeping as one of the orange lights flashes on and off.

You take a deep breath. 

Your entire body pulses as your body sways. You have to put your hand on the car to keep yourself upright. Slowly, your other hand reaches for your head. Aside from the confusion, you don’t feel any pain. You wonder if it’s the adrenaline.

Right.

What did you hit again?

A deer?

You block out the distant voices as you make your way around the car. By keeping one of your hands against the metal surface, you circle it without losing your balance. 

Without the headlights shining the path ahead of you, it’s hard to see what might be on the street. But, even without lights, no one can miss the mangled silhouette crawling forward. Its legs are bent; one loose to a point where you fear it’d fully snap off if it continues to drag its limbs across the cement. 

Suddenly, its head turns up and it cries out like a human. The sound brings chills to your bones and the hollow feeling it leaves behind makes a sob escape your lips. A small button nose lifts into the air as it looks at the moon shining above the gates. 

You are paralysed.

A button nose?

The figure crawls again, using its twisted arms to move forward and dragging what remains left behind onto the concrete floor. 

You blink through your tears. The world continues to spin and you eventually force your eyes closed. The voices in the background are becoming increasingly louder, making your head scream as it becomes too much. Almost instantly, your body starts to feel warm as pain floods over your being.

The silhouette on the floor is still there when you open your eyes.

Long hair is matted with blood and dirt. Eyes threaten to cave in as the circles under its eyes claw holes in its skin. Sharp cheekbones peek out, cutting through the air as it drags its nails through the rubble, inching forward slowly but surely; much like a poor animal.

You now realise it’s crawling away from the house.

Right…

Pantalone.

You turn around back to the car. With the adrenaline leaving your body quickly, you need to tell him to call for an ambulance. 

Before you can do as much as turn, a light is cast upon you. At that moment when you see her clearly, the girl screams in agony—not in pain but out of despair. 

Her clothes are ripped, and blood pools up around the middle of her body and she seems skinny, underweight even. Likely, she was already in a bad state before the crash; underweight and starving at the least. Her figure is already dishevelled and now deformed because of you. 

Hysterically, she claws forward, further gashing her skin and leaving more blood in her trail.

The thick long stripe of blood going from her body to the end of the car; down under your feet.

Did you hit…?

…No…

“Y/n.” Pantalone steps between you and the girl. With ease, he shields the sight from your eyes. His eyes inspect your body,

Much as if you were his priority.

“Can you move?” he asks.

His figure is blurry yet his face is so perfect… much unlike the girl. Your limbs feel weak as the image is etched into your mind like an ugly scar. Every time you close your eyes, you see her. Even as the people surrounding you reach over to Pantalone to help, the cries only double and combust into a choir of anguish.

Pantalone says something to you, but you can no longer process what he’s saying.

He seems calm…

You think of how easy it’d be to fall in his arms and believe everything to be a dream. Surely, it must be—!

The back of his hand comes up to caress your cheek, dragging a line of thick blood from your forehead to your chin and staining his gloves

His eyes open, and the intense colours of his irises flood sense into your brain. With his hand keeping your head steady, he says, “you’re alright, my dear.”

Then, he repeats it.

You’re alright.

Pantalone wouldn’t lie to you. He hadn’t lied in the past, and neither will he now. You choose to believe him. 

His hands hold your face. He brings you closer until his lips fall next to your ear.

You diminish your thoughts as you let his voice carry over. 

You got into a car crash because you hit a deer. You lost control of your wheel, ran into a tree, and as a result of the impact you got a concussion—your mind is scrambled, trauma making your memory warped and untrue.

He repeats it, whispering the words like a gentle song as his arms turn you around. One hand creeps up to your neck, while the other pushes the small of your waist forward.

You got into a car crash because you hit a deer. You lost control of your wheel, ran into a tree, and as a result of the impact you got a concussion—your mind is scrambled, trauma making your memory warped and untrue.

Lights shimmer onto the roads. For a moment, you’d believe they’re fireflies. Voices surround you, either barking orders or following them with timid voices. Pantalone’s presence stands out among the others. His warmth makes you continue forward. You want to continue forward with him.

He repeats the words. 

You got into a car crash because you hit a dear. You lost control of your wheel, ran into a tree, and as a result of the impact you got a concussion—your mind is scrambled, trauma making your memory warped and untrue.

The next time you open your eyes, you’re in Pantalone’s room.

His silken sheets are a beautiful dark violet. They feel soft against your skin. When you place your head against the pillow, you smell his natural scent mixed with a soft lavender. It's different from the perfume he wears daily—more subtle and inviting—but you find that it suits him. You wonder if the lavender is a remnant of the many bath scents he uses.

You savour the short moment of your headache disappearing. The fresh and calm scent makes you want to turn around in his bed for longer. Your fingers dig into the mattress, enjoying the remaining warmth, and then you close your eyes.

You think of last night.

You clearly remember the date date-gone-wrong; and the crash too, but you fail to recall how you got to Pantalone’s house. Did you pass out?

You know you shouldn’t have called without driving, and you know you shouldn’t have assumed his roads would be abandoned as always,

But…

What got in your way…?

As you shovel through your memories, Pantalone enters the room unannounced. His expression shifts from a frown to something you’d describe as relief.

He apologises for entering before knocking. 

“It’s alright. I’m the one who should say sorry. I…” 

Your headache returns as you try to remember what happened. 

“I can remember crashing my car but everything after is fuzzy, like… a scattered memory or dream…?” 

You stop, taking a moment to find your following words. 

“It’s like my brain stopped working.”

Pantalone sits next to you on the edge of the bed and places his hand near yours. His fingers snake forward, reaching to intertwine yours in his. “The doctors tell me you suffer from a concussion. I believe it’d be best for you to remain in my care until you’ve recovered.”

“I’ve already made a big enough mess. I wouldn’t want to bother you more.”

You place your hands down on the blanket that covers your legs. Your fingers fiddle with the fabric as a way to distract yourself. Only now, you notice that you’re dressed in an oversized pyjama, which you assume is Pantalone’s. You are left to wonder when and how you got changed.

Pantalone tilts his head, eying you down from over his glasses. You know that look, he’s sent it many times before. Never does it fail at making you feel small.

He brushes his thumb over your knuckles and you realise he has shed his gloves. It’s a rare sight and you take comfort in his natural warmth when he squeezes gently.

“You can depend on me, dear. I’ve informed my assistant that I’ll be home this week. You only need to recover; let me figure out the rest.”

You sigh, letting out a mix of disappointment and frustration pointed towards yourself.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have called while driving, but—“ You groan in frustration. A fragment of yesterday flashes through your mind. “It just… ran in front of my car. I don’t know what animal would do that.”

You recall the first impact into the second. The pain in your body is a reminder of what it felt to take one hit after another.

When you lift your head from your hands—you gaze at Pantalone. The hand that had held you is now under his chin. He appears to be lost in thought, slightly frowning with lips pursed as a habit of focus.

“’lone?”

His frown turns into a soft smile at the sound of your voice and he puts his hand on your knee. “Sorry, dear. Just thinking.” He continues, “let me fix your problems. In the meantime, rest. I shall be here if you need anything.”

You watch him stand up from the side of the bed, patting your knee affectionately before disappearing into the corridor. 

As much as his presence calms you, you sense a feeling of dread.

You’re missing something.

You try to summarise last night’s events one last time.

It starts with the date. An hour before you left for the restaurant, he had messaged you; telling you he was excited and ready to see you. Then, when he fails to show up, you call him, but end up with an ‘unknown number’ response. He had blocked you. 

After this, you drive home, only to turn around as you arrive home and decide to head to Pantalone’s instead. You try to call him, feeling guilty for showing up unannounced in the middle of the night, but he doesn’t pick up and you leave a voicemail instead. 

You pass his open gates—did you open them?—and your cell phone goes off as Pantalone calls you within mere minutes of the voicemail being sent.

When you can’t hear him—why couldn’t you hear him?—you turn up your volume.

You crash… but you run into something first. 

What did you run into?

Something ran from the woods into the pathway.

You remember vaguely getting out of the car, but you’re not certain… 

What comes next…?

No matter how much you try to shuffle the events; certain things remain a mystery. Gaps are left unfilled as you toss and turn under the soft sheets. On the feathered pillow, you lay your bandaged head in defeat. 

You try to push the questions out of your head, letting the lingering scent of Pantalone consume your mind. When you close your eyes, you force the cries of last night out of your mind. A vague image of a mangled body comes up. You try to remember Pantalone instead. 

His reassuring words, his gentle touches. His generosity and never-ending patience with you; even in this situation. You think of how calm he is and how restless you are.

Sooner than later,

It’s not enough. 

You sit up and toss the covers from your body.

The cruel cold embraces you. A chill crawls up from your feet to your neck. You remember it similarly last night.

If you could, you’d stay in his bed forever. Alas, your mind plagues you and even he could not bring comfort in your darkest hours.

The room has been darkened, yet, stipes of stubborn sunlight continue to escape the cracks of the thick curtains. The time is evident to you even before you pull open one side. In the late morning sunlight, all of Pantalone’s property is visible.

Unlike last time, you now see his beautiful garden. At the window, you can see the gardener tending to the plants available in Snezhnaya below you. You see the few servants walk around at the front of his mansion. Then, your eyes follow the gravel path that’s framed by trees. 

Your car is gone,

But the long trail of blood on the street remains.

To your surprise, it drags into two directions, as if there were two separate entities. One seems to have combusted into a pool at a tree, while the other continues to drag towards the gate for a few meters. 

The image of a mangled woman pops up in your head. You remember her dirty and worn-out clothes, her leg that had been twisted at an inhumane angle, her bones that stuck out from beneath her skin.

“Y/n.”

You let the curtain fall from your grasp and you turn around.

Another flash pops up in your mind. You remember the stranger that walked up to you with the flashlight, the other people who Pantalone yelled at, the way the mangled woman started begging for her life when one of the men crushed her skull with his boot.

Two hands place themselves sturdy on your shoulders. You jolt backwards, but Pantalone’s hands keep you close.

His expression is peaceful. Gentle. Calm.

So many things you’re not.

He calls out to you again, dragging one of his gloved fingers like a familiar habit over your cheek. So so familiar.

His eyes remain closed and he users you back to his bed, telling you that you’re still unwell and that you need rest.

You ask him about the mangled woman.

He frowns.

“Dear, your brain is shaken from the crash. When I, alone, came to your car—you were passed out. I had to carry you back to the house.”

You ask him about the trail of blood and your missing car. 

“I first called a mechanic to drag your car away, then I called a friend who works as a vet to carry the deer away.”

Pantalone holds your head in both of his hands. His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, and he brings you closer to place his lips against your forehead; leaving chaos in its wake.

“The doctors told me your head suffered from injury after the impact. I feared I might’ve underestimated it. Your mind is already filling these gaps of your mind with horrid ideas. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you.”

He looks solemnly down at you.

“That, my dear, is why you should stay here. I can take care of you until you’ve recovered. I’ll call a private doctor for a check-up. He should be able to tell you if it’s advised to go home or stay under someone else’s care.”

You nod your head. 

It’s slow and unsure, but you show your trust in Pantalone. 

You’ve been friends for so long… He wouldn’t lie to you.

You trust him.

After all…

A ludicrous laugh escapes your lips at the notion.

ㅤ

“—as if a woman would be running at your property. It’s nonsensical, right?”

He smiles;

“Yes, it is.”

©dottiro. Do not copy, repost, translate, feed to AI, or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thank you for reading ♡

[ghostboneswrites2]

Girl of Your Dreams || Pt.3

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Summary: Daryl coaxes you up to the watchtower with him. He's much nicer this time :)))

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: profanity, unprotected p-in-v, general smut, TWD typical zombie killing

        It took you literal hours to recover from the blatant torture he had inflicted upon you in that little loft. Talk about cruel and unusual punishment, you thought to yourself.

        You were both back home at the prison now, having not spoken a single word to each other since he left you sitting there on that bed, high and dry (or... wet?)

        You decided you couldn't sit on  your cot and stew about it anymore, you had to get up and do something. Problem was, it was late, and most people would be asleep by now, so you couldn't exactly do much work inside. You guessed that left you to find something to do outside. Had the gardens been weeded? How were the pigs doing? Maybe the fences were piling up with walkers. That sounded good, you'd go stab walkers through the fence. 

        You sat up, tying your freshly washed hair up behind you, and slipped your boots shoes on. You snuck outside, shutting the door behind you as gently as you could, before making your way over to the inner gate and tugging it open. You glanced up at the guard tower and held up your spear to show whoever it was that you were just working the fences. You guessed probably Glenn and Maggie, as that was usually where they slept when they wanted some privacy.

        You stabbed and prodded the clumsy corpses through the holes in the fence for maybe a half hour before he silently snuck up on you, leaning against the inner fence behind you, simply observing. He saw the way your legs flexed every time you shoved the sharpened wooden pole through a decaying skull, the way your loose ponytail slapped side to side, and most of all the aggression you used, no doubt trying to work off some frustration. 

        You were short of breath after so much work. You wiped the sweat from your forehead with your arm and set the spear against the fence. You went to turn around and take a break, but you jumped as you did so upon noticing Daryl standing there watching you.

        "Shit, man! What the hell?" You gasped, placing your hand over your startled heart.

        "Was on watch. Seen ya out here." He shrugged. "Y'okay? Seem a little frustrated." He smirked.  You shot him a cold glare.

        "Nuh-uh." You shook your head. "No. You take that evil mouth of yours and go somewhere else."

        "What's the matter? Talk to me." He was so nonchalant it made you want to hit him.

        "Oh, nothing." You waved him off. "In fact, I have never been better."

        A bluff, and a poor one at that. All this time you thought you had him, you had reveled in the fact that you could get a rise out of him, only to realize it was him who had you around his finger the whole time. He was a lion in the grass, just waiting for his moment to pounce. Well, you decided you wouldn't fall to his wicked games. He would not make a fool of you again.

        "That's good." He nodded. "Wanna come help me keep watch?"

        "Absolutely not." You crossed your arms.

        "Not even for..." He trailed off, digging in his pocket and holding up a little napkin. He unraveled it to expose your favorite snack, one that only he knew how to make. 

        "Deer jerky?" You whined.

        "Uhuh. Freshly smoked." He said, taking a bite out of one of the strips and chewing slowly, staring you dead in the eyes.

        "Why?" You scoffed. "You gonna tie to to a string and dangle it above my head? Pull it away every time I reach for it? Seems pretty fitting."

        Your tone was harsh and accusatory. It amused him, but he didn't let it show outwardly. He just kept his defense up, remaining as calm and calculated as ever.

        "Nah. Just thought I'd share. Got more up in the tower." He nodded his head to the guard tower.

        You chewed at your lip. You could smell the smoky meat from where you stood. It was tempting, too tempting, but something told you there was nothing but misery awaiting you in that tower. Sweat, delicious, pleasure filled misery. You faltered a little, clearly not convinced you didn't want to join him.

        He pressed on. "Found some candy, too. Out on our run today. Got it all stashed right up there."

        "What kind of candy?"

        He smirked again. It was too easy. He might as well have driven a white van with 'free candy' painted in big black letters on the side. 

        "Dunno. Some chocolate, jawbreakers..."He trailed off, pretending to try to recall the diversity of his sugary loot. He hadn't forgotten, though. In fact, it was all part of his elaborate scheme. He knew exactly what he had up there, one of them happening to be your favorite. "Oh. And those little rainbow strips with the sour sugar coated all over 'em."

        "The sour rainbows?" You uttered in disbelief. Damn it, he was good. You eyes narrowed. "How do I know you really have them up there?"

        "Have I ever lied to ya?"

        You considered his question. He had a point, and he also potentially had a feast of deer jerky and your favorite candy.

        Still, you couldn't make it easy for him. At least, not that easy.

        "Well, you still owe me an apology." You demanded. He scoffed, a laugh escaping his lips. Your chest felt gooey inside. He didn't laugh much. The most you got was a chuckle, a little huff of air.

         "For what?" He raised an eyebrow.

        "For.." You weren't actually sure. You just said whatever came to mind in the moment. "For being mean."

        "C'mon, now. Y'ain't that soft. Let's go. No tricks." He urged, walking backward toward the tower but still facing you.

        "No. Say you're sorry." You doubled down. You couldn't give in. He changed his direction, taking slow steps toward you now, until he was nearly touching you. Your throat got tight as your eyes looked up at his. He leaned down slowly his face growing near. Your eyes fluttered shut, leaning into what you expected to be a kiss. He stopped, though, when his lips just barely grazed over yours.

        "I'm sorry." He whispered. He stood back up straight and turned on his heal, strolling casually back to the tower. Bamboozled again.

        He didn't have to turn and look, he knew you'd follow him. 

        You sucked in a sharp breath and shoved the air out, groaning under your breath as you marched behind him. Up in the tower, he handed you another napkin full of jerky and a pack of sour rainbow strips, just as promised. You snatched them away and began to tear into the candy.

        "You're a lot of things, Dixon. But I guess you can't be called a liar." You sighed. He didn't say anything, just roamed around the perimeter of the balcony, pretending to watch for any threats. You continued, mostly just mumbling to yourself. "A tease, maybe. A cruel, heartless tease capable of great bodily torture.. but not a liar."

        His keen ear picked up every word. He chuckled silently to himself, shaking his head. It didn't take long for you to eat every last bit of the treats he had saved for you. When the instant gratification of your snack had washed away, you were left to wonder; "So, was that all you brought me up here for?"

        He leaned on the metal railing and looked you over, head to toe. Still wearing a baggy shirt you stole out of his bag forever ago and biker shorts. Your usual sleep attire.

        "Y'ever gon' give that shirt back?" He asked.

        "Nope." You boasted, popping the 'P' sound.

        "Mm." He nodded. "Like wearin' my shit?"

        "Yup." You nodded, repeating the same popped 'p'.

        "Got somethin' else for ya to wear." He revealed. He nodded over to a small plastic bag that you hadn't previously noticed. You eyed him curiously, stepping over to the bag and lifting it up. You peaked inside to see a sort of lacey silky fabric all bunched up at the bottom. You looked back at him, eyebrows raised. "Go on." He urged.

        You sighed and pulled the soft fabric out of the bag and held it up with both hands to get a good look. It was nothing crazy or overly lewd, just a simple short nightgown with lacey accents framing the cleavage. 

        "I'm supposed to wear this to bed in a prison full of kids?" You scoffed.

        "Nah. Jus' up here. With me." He said, just over a whisper. There it was, that familiar lump in your throat, heat in your cheeks, pounding in your chest.

        "N-now?" You asked. Your voice was already failing you, cracking a little.

        He loved it, though. You were a violent, volatile little firecracker. You had bigger balls than most of the men around there. But when it came to anything suggestive, suddenly you were a whimpering fool, barely capable of a full sentence.

        "Mhm." He nodded, treading toward you nd taking it from your hands so you could strip down and change into it. Your hands were uneasy as you slowly pulled your shirt off. You were braless, but somehow he didn't even look. You were nervous enough. He wanted you to be comfortable. He could save the lust for later.

        Next was your shorts that slid off with ease. You were wearing underwear, mostly because going without in tight spandex shorts was sure to be a mess.

        You went to grab the nightgown but he instead moved behind you and gently slid it over your head. You worked your arms through the corresponding straps, and he slid the rest of the dress down over your frame. He stepped around you, stopping in front of you, taking in the sight that was you in a sexy, silky dress. It wasn't that tight, but it still formed to your curves nicely.

        You just stood there, arms at your sides, second guessing everything about yourself. Even down to the very way you stood.

        "Alright," he nodded. He moved his hands up to the buttons of his shirt and undid them, one by one, slowly until his torso was exposed as he shook the shirt off of his arms.

        Your breath was caught in your throat with admiration. He was so.. defined. 

        He stepped close to you and ran his hands over your shoulders, down your back, and then up again until he reached your ponytail. He carefully slid the band out, letting your hair cascade around your face, framing it perfectly. He gently moved little strands and tufts around, until he thought you looked absolutely perfect.

        His hands found your neck and he leaned down, planting an actual kiss on your lips, then your jaw, then your neck. Your knees felt weak but you were determined to be strong.

        His lips trailed along your collar bone and over your upper cleavage, hands rested on the sides of your head to hold you steady.

        "C'mon." He told you, grabbing your hand and leading you over to a nest of blankets. He held your hand as you sat down, gently urging you to lay back, and you did, never taking your eyes off of him. He crawled over you and kissed you again, this time with rhythm and urgency. You couldn't help but to snake your arms and legs around him, fearful he might pull away again and leave you in need.

        He didn't, though. He kissed you gently but desperately, sliding his hands over every curve of your body. It was like your first time again, so nervous and excited for whatever new sensations awaited you. You could feel him getting hard as his body pressed into yours. You let out a little whimper when the pressure grew. That one little noise woke him up. It was like he wasn't even in control, just his hands and his body working with yours.

        He slid your dress up just above your waist and traced his fingers over your panties, feeling accomplished already. You were soaked. After that stunt he pulled earlier, you were begging to be touched. You longed for any kind of human contact. Hands rubbing your back, fingers through your hair. It had been so long. It had been a long time even before the turn. You hated every man that entered your space, and that girl who got all starry eyed at the slightest show of interest from a boy was long gone.

        But, here, now, all you wanted was his touch. He slid his fingers just under the hem of your underwear, dragging them sideways, giving you a chance to deny him if you didn't want it. An unnecessary gesture. You couldn't have denied him if you wanted to at this point. Your body was in control, not your brain.

        Without your protest he gripped the fabric of your panties and slid them down, sitting up quickly to pull them off. As soon as they were out of his way he was back on top of you, lips smushed against yours, sloppy and passionate. He traced his fingers over your slit, rubbing softly up and down. A sharp breath escaped you. He slipped a finger inside you, then two, curling them and massaging slowly. Small, breathy moans lulled out of you, music to his ears. He wanted to make sure you were ready for him. 

        You gripped at his arms and back, meagre attempts to pull him closer, deeper. When you seemed eager enough, he reached down and unbuckled his belt, then in jeans. He unzipped them and pulled himself out, stroking himself. He was rock hard. It was almost painful for him. He was throbbing for you just as much as you were for him, maybe even more.

        He wanted you from the moment he laid eyes on you, showing him your bare torso to prove you weren't bitten. He had it bad for you always, but it wasn't until today he acted on it. He didn't know why. Not why he never pursued you sooner, nor why today was the day. He was in a particularly bad mood earlier, thinking about his brother who he had lost not once, but twice. He was frustrated with his lack of luck in finding the Governor, and overall everything you said just pissed him off. There was no flutter in his stomach when you teased him, no urge to flirt back. He was angry, and he wanted to take it out on you. But, when you were looking up at him with his hand around your jaw, eyes full of shock and wonder, he realized how bad he really did want you. That didn't make him any less angry, though, so instead of enjoying you, he tortured you.

        He wasn't mad anymore, though. He was tired of waiting, tired of denying himself.

        He pressed his tip against you and you gasped a little, anticipation rising with every second. You looked up at his eyes to find them trained intently on your own. He didn't look mischievous like he did earlier in the loft, it was a soft, lustful look. Still there was uncertainty there, like he was waiting for you to stop him at any moment.

        Slowly he pushed, sliding the very tip in. Another gasp. He pushed a little further and you let out the tiniest moan. When he was finally sure it was okay with you, he slid the entirety of his length inside you. A loud, guttural moan pushed out of you. He sighed with pleasure as your gripped and throbbed around him. You were so wet and warm he began to fear he'd finish too soon. He eased  back down over you, breathing softly in your ear as he slid out slowly, and then back in, acclimating himself to the sensation. Every time he pushed in you moaned.

        Soon he was picking up the pace, and your hands roamed his shoulders and arms  as you panted and whimpered. His hand slid down between the two of you and a single finger circled over your clit rhythmically. Your hands froze in place on his arms, fingers curling, digging your nails into his flesh.

        You were already buzzing, just centimeters away from the edge, ready to dive off. You felt a mild sense of panic. This was the exact point he pulled away earlier, over and over and over. You were expecting it again, but he kept going, and sure enough you fell over that edge into blissful oblivion. You body shuddered and tensed up as you rode the wave, moaning louder as he pounded into you.

        You began to twitch with over stimulation, jerking your hips a little. He took the hint and pulled his hand away, determined to satisfy himself now that you were taken care of.

        You just held onto him, breathing heavy as he knocked little sounds out of  you, enjoying the relaxed feeling as your orgasm washed away. It didn't take long after that, with the convulsing muscles inside you gripping him. He sped up the pace for only a moment before he pulled out, hot cum shooting on your leg.

        You laid there motionless, catching your breath. He quickly used part of the blanket nest beneath you to wipe you down before he crashed beside you. He looked over at you and you returned the stare, before a laugh escaped you both. You covered your face with your hands.

         Now you knew. You knew he could be just as cruel as you were, or he could give you exactly what you wanted. It was all up to you and how you decided to treat him.

[noorionoodles]

A very self-indulgent Vash The Stampede Drabble

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tw/: tooth-rotting fluff, modern!vash clingy as hell for reader, really corny, tristamp coded but all of them deserve love.

Summary: Lazy mornings and an even lazier Plant traps your tired self in an early morning cuddle session. Too bad you love his clingy ass too much to say no.

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A sudden warmth envelopes you, suffocating you in its tight grasp. You feel something cold and hard wrap around your waist. A ticklish sensation, prickly yet soft smothering your chest. Refreshing scents of citrus and lavender herbs reach your twitching nose, stirring you awake.

Your eyes flutter open, squinting at the rays of sunlight peeking shyly through the delicate curtains. You stretch your arms above your head, letting out a loud yawn. Or at least you tried to, your arms seem to be stuck. In fact you couldn't even move an inch of your body.

And the culprit? A very familiar blonde man nuzzled in your chest, lean arms locking you in place as you remained curled up in a blanket like a stuffed burrito. Groaning, you wiggled an arm away from his grasp, placing your freed hand on the mop of hair.

"...Vash?" You murmur a futile attempt, calling out to your boyfriend who you thought was dead asleep.

"Yeah?" A muffled voice replies, surprising you, maybe you do have a chance. You soften your tone, rubbing the nape of his neck with the base of your thumb for added effectiveness.

"Can you please get off me?"

"No."

"Why?"

He tightens his grip around your soft blanket, "Don't wanna."

Aaand there goes your chance to start an early morning. Productivity doesn't exist in this household, and your boyfriend is taking full advantage of it.

With a defeated sigh, you bury yourself further into the mattress, the bed creaking as you shuffle underneath him. One hand still combing his bedhead, the other that was trapped between two bodies now reaching for his prosthetic. The stark difference of the cool metal against the warm skin of your hand tells you that you've made it, fingers intertwining in victory.

"Got work today?" Your voice flowed in much better harmony, smears of life from the outside world doing anything but distrupting your bubble.

Vash only hums in reply, leaning into the touch of your hand as you massage his scalp. His free hand of flesh and bones leaving soft trails on your back.

"Then you should get up." That earned another tight tug on your already squished body. A giggle left your lips. He reaches over to nuzzle his face into your neck.

"Don't wanna."

"You don't want to do anything today..." You trail off, turning your head away with an dramatic 'hmph!' "Guess you don't want to give me a good morning kiss either."

Now that gets him moving. Slowly raising his face from the crook of your neck, Vash glances up at you. With ocean-blue eyes you could easily submerge yourself in, they almost glow in the hues of soft, soft yellows and whites. You tilt your head back, a lopsided grin creeping up on your face as you watch him come out of hiding.

You watch him close his eyes again, leaning forward to close the gap only to have his lips ghost over yours. A few seconds of silence and he gives in, chapped lips locking onto yours for a tender kiss.

You didn't know how long it lasted, probably mere seconds that rejuvinated you more than hours of sleep will ever do. Your fingers find his hair again as he pulled away, sporting the sheepish smile you adore so much.

"Good morning, Mayfly." His voice a low murmur, strained with a rasp that Heavens above stirs something in you. His prosthetic lets go of your hand and instead gently curves behind your head, bulky fingers tangling in your strands. "Five more minutes please?" He gives you his best puppy-dog eyes–pouting trembling lips and all.

"Good morning, Sunshine." You whisper back, and with a roll of your eyes you glare at his silent begging with mock annoyance before letting your hand go. Taking it as a sign he buries himself ontop of you again, if you look close enough you can see his imaginary tail wagging.

"Gonna get off of you soon. Want coffee?" He perks his head up again, and you could only kiss the crown before nodding.

"Sure, sunshine." You mutter under your breath, watching him in your arms slowly melt into an embrace. A rare expression of pure content etched on his face.

Maybe lazy mornings aren't so bad after all.

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[highlordofkrypton]

my ACOTAR wips // you wanted a villain?

I've been sitting on this one for a hot minute. I wrote this as a response to my annoyance with the shift in narrative, specifically towards Rhysand in the ACOTAR series.

So, I figured I'd introduce my morally gray boy (idek if he's gray, either), and see how it holds up, but then I got attached to the sibling dynamic with Amren. I also really enjoy writing ancient horrifying creatures, so...

Not sure if I'll continue this, but it was cathartic to write.

TL;DR - There's a new menace in town, and he's... Amren's older brother? Beware of depiction of violence, if ever you're not cool with that. Read the WIP under the cut.

TAGS: YOU ASKED FOR MY OC, YOU'LL GET MY OC. @watcherintheweyr @amalhe-kofee and @feyres-divorce-lawyer this is my anti-IC WIP that I mentioned... IT'S NOT FEYRE FRIENDLY BTW IM SORRY

The House of Wind rests on the side of a mountain, atop a valley, overlooking the beautiful city of Velaris. It is the throne upon which the high command of the Court sit, watching over the peasants who rebuild after war and knitting fanciful tales of proximity. From high above, behind their wards and between wild oak walls, they tell themselves—these are my people, this is my court. 

Lights wink shut across the city, like candles snuffed out by a violent breath. The darkness creeps in from the outskirts, slithering towards the House with frightful purpose. A blanket of silence hushes the people, though most are already asleep. There is no such thing as the winds of change; change simply happens when it is least expected and least desired.

A mouse tiptoes against marble floors, silent as ever. Years of hunting to survive have taught her the habit, even if the need for discretion has long vanished. This is her home and these are her people. She has nothing to hide. (Oh, but who said she is hiding?) The smile that spreads on her face is wicked as she circles her prey, settled in the foyer, looking pensively into the fire. The bond between them remains firmly shut, an important part of her game, and the rest of her family has been ordered to bed in hopes of avoiding an… unwanted spectacle.

Rhysand looks as handsome as ever, if not more tonight. He stands tall and confident, broad shoulders in a dark suit that seems to drink up the dance of the flame. Feyre yearns for him—her love, her male, her mate. She creeps closer and closer, until she can wrap her arms around his waist. She has to stand on her toes to kiss his neck, nuzzle the fine hairs there and breathe in the scent of him. Crisp, cool, like the evening breeze. 

“You seem different today, I like it.”

Rhys always finds a way to take her breath away. The house rattles with the impact of Feyre's body against its walls and she sobs.

“Do not touch me,” he clips.

Rhys always takes her breath away, and he would, had he been the one here.

One by one, the Inner Circle of the Night Court appears. First are the three Illyrians, two of which are armed to the teeth. Their armour and weapons are familiar—discarded iterations of better inventions that this realm never did see. Their battle stance implies that they are trained, but not enough. Not for the villain they face now. 

“Let her go.” The very shadows warble around them as Rhysand makes his demands and utters his threat. “Or I will tear your throat out.”

Johan’s icy gaze slithers from the pseudo-Fae to the false prince. His face remains handsomely impassive.

“Oh, would you? I’d rather like that.”

There’s a glint in his eyes that betrays the rest of him. His tone is dead, like his soul at this very meeting. Is this all they are? The famed Night Court? Children, all of them.

The High Lord of the Night Court moves. Probably to save his mate. The second he starts, Johan squeezes harder. Feyre’s head turns red, then a little purple with suffocation. Her eyes bulge a pretty hazel. It is still a struggle, after all this time, for him to piece together recognition in the form of faces. He can scent the anger, the soaps they use to clean themselves and even the nature of their magic, but he cannot—will never—see them.

Threat of his mate’s death is enough to stop Rhysand in his tracks. The other two had started to circle him and they mirror the movement of their lord. While the demonstration of reason is reassuring, the clear weakness is disappointing. Johan squeezes a bit more, each increment with the end goal of snapping her neck and watching the life blink out of her. An unsatisfying end, but there are many of them here and he has many questions. One answer for one life, that should do. The first murder is always meant to send a message.

“Hanni?”

Amren enters the room, her voice so soft, it’s unrecognizable to the Illyrians she’s known for years. The way she looks at the stranger makes her seem much younger than her fifteen thousand years; it’s the longing that fills her expression, shattering every knowledge they’ve had of their friend. (Did they ever really know her? A creature this old and devastating?) She spares no glance at the violence against her friend, only bolting towards Johan to tackle him in a tight hug. He remains unmoved.

“I have missed you.” Her eyes wrench shut as she holds him. Not even the sound of Feyre hitting the ground and her friends darting to care for the once-human High Lady will take this moment from her. “You’re back.”

Johan’s hand rests in her hair, jet black to mirror his. (And their eyes, brighter than any stars in the Continent’s skies.) The touch is awkward. Stunted. “I am.” He says, flatly.

“You know this asshole?” Cassian whines.

When she pulls back, Amren puts little distance between herself and the visitor. “Yes, he is my brother.”

“Your brother?” Cassian sputters, choking on his own saliva. The room stills, every soul in it staring at their ancient friend who only ever hints at her past. The thought that Amren, a creature just barely contained in her flesh, could have family is beyond them. The younglings swallow audibly. They are afraid.

They should be.

Rhysand stands while Morrigan tends to the High Lady of Velaris, a boy defending his territory. “Tell your brother he is in my house and he will not lay a hand on my mate.”

How could you mistake him for me, his voice echoes down the bond and into… nothing?

“So long as I am here, all bargains are off,” Johan drawls. Even the ones made with the heart and the soul. Something he said must be amusing because he can feel Amren’s amusement bubbling up beside him, despite her mimicking his impassive expression. 

The rest of the children in the room are of mild interest to him, part of a task. Nothing less, nothing more. Tilting his head, he inspects Amren. He towers over her, both in stature and demeanour. If she was cold, then he is the ice that drew the world to a standstill. If she is distant, then he is the yawning crevasse between humanity, faeries and whatever they are supposed to be.

A metal finger slides beneath her chin, tipping it upwards towards him. His lips part to speak to her, but before he can get a word out, a wheezing useless sound interrupts him.

“What does that mean,” Feyre breathes, struggling to her feet. It would have been a better show of strength, had she not needed two people to keep her standing. “What… happened to the bond? Amren?” She looks to her friend, expecting their relationship to sway the situation in their favour how it always has.

Amren rolls her silver eyes towards Feyre, then back to Johan. “These are my friends.” She chooses her words carefully. For they all have been through together, the being before her would not understand the notion of family. Not with these people.

Johan’s handsome features twist into a brief scowl, but he smooths his expression just as suddenly. Her relationships mean nothing to him. They are infinitesimal before Amren, even smaller compared to himself. It is only out of affection for Amren that he does not flay the once-human. He does not bother with answering her question, he owes her nothing.

“What are you doing here, little one?” He finally asks, gleaming the answers from the cosmos in her eyes. “This is not your home.”

From the outskirts of the room, Amren’s friends flinch. Velaris had been her home. For now.

“I was trapped in this realm when you all left.”

A frown mars Johan’s features, no matter how slight. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers. She does not need to say it for him to understand. Left behind. He mourns the injustice in his own way. “Do you wish to return home?”

It’s not a question she can answer now, not without betraying one (or both) of her families. Amren steps back, schooling her emotions into their usual iron. Johan’s gaze follows her with the same attention a predator would offer his prey. One wrong step and he could have her between his teeth. All this time, she wrought fear to all the Fae around her—a bedtime story to keep them in line—but she is nothing compared to her brothers. (If Johan is here, then the Other must be, too, wreaking havoc across the continent.)

“Why are you here?” She speaks on behalf of their house.

You know why.

“Speak it, so that we all may hear.” The order is bold, a risk she has weighed out. Her friends stand at the ready; she’s still on their side and they trust her.

Johan surveys the cast before him, properly this time. There is Amren, standing in a new light by allying herself with children playing politics and heroics. The High Lord shares a handful of similarities to Johan, calling back to the origins of his line and his Court, but still only a shadow of its former glory. He is pleased to see the way Illyrians have developed. Still strong in build and character, with no visible adversity to techno-magic (despite its archaic shape). His gaze lingers on Azrael. Not his face, never the face, but the whole of him. The fae’s magic whispers to him—shadowsinger—and Johan’s nostrils flare in the only visible tell of amusement. This will need to be revisited. There is the female fae who is of no discernible interest to him and lastly, the High Lady who’s stature as fae decreases with every waking moment.

“This world is corrupt. I am here to return it as it should be.” Simple as that. “Your bond is no longer and so is your Making. Neither were earned, but if you are truly worthy, I am sure you will be able to gain one of those back.”

Shadows warble around the room as the High Lord winnows across the room, dagger in hand. He aims right for Johan's heart. Metal clangs loudly as the blade’s tip collides with Johan’s false hand. His other one slides behind the High Lord’s neck to pull him close. “Anything you can do, I can do better.” Johan purrs.

Rhysand would not be the ‘strongest of all High Lords’ if he did not have a vast arsenal of weaponry to use against any assailant. (In the background, Feyre tries to help, but stumbles when she comes to the sudden realization that she is no longer High Fae.) He barrels into Johan’s mind with the ease of daemati, and the mistake is his. Johan puts up no shields, welcoming him into the chaos of his mind. 

“Rhys, no!” Amren shouts, but it is too late.

Johan’s mind is—

A wasteland made of shadows. Light withers in his presence, basking him in primal darkness. Fear in its purest form lives in him, surrounded by the souls of the dead. (Failed experiments, blood on his hands and ghosts beyond even his explanation.) They haunt him endlessly, robbing him of the ability to connect with the living. (He is one of them and they will never let him go.) 

Rhysand claws at his face, fighting invisible monsters after spending a whole second inside the mind of an ancient demon. His eyes roll to the back of his head, body hitting the marble floors and seizing violently.

“What did you do to him?!” Feyre shrieks, crawling over to her mate and cradling him.

Nothing. Nothing was done to him, but the answer seems so obvious, it’s not worth speaking. What happened to Rhysand is a product of his own making. What point is there to all the power if he does not know how to wield it? Power pales in comparison to pure skill, and skill is nothing without the intelligence to know when and how to apply it. Johan simply tilts his head questioningly and looks down at the famed couple.

Cassian steps forward, ready to avenge his master, but the shadowsinger rests a hand on his shoulder, halting the thought with a shake of his head. Johan watches Azrael for a long moment.

Good boy, he presses into his mind. The thought is made of warmth and velvet. It slithers down Azrael’s spine and curls in his belly. The Illyrian flinches, glancing away from the invader. “What does that entail? Returning the world as it should be?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“What could—” Azrael’s question fades to nothing. Whatever he was going to ask, there’s no point. The man—the being—or whatever he was is already gone, clearly uninterested in entertaining their curiosity (and their fear).

Wisps of black smoke dance across the room as Amren is slammed into the wall. Johan manifests himself. “That is the last time you will question me on behalf of your mortals.” Her breath hiccups in her throat.

With that final word, he vanishes to finish his investigation of what this world has become.

[theamberfist]

Good evening my dear! I positively adore your writing! Especially 'Leave it all on the dancefloor' I LOVE HOW YOU DID ALASTOR'S DYNAMICS WITH THE READER HESHGDEG I WANNA PUT THEM IN MY POCKET I LOVE FRIENDSHIP!

Anywho, I was wondering since your requests are open if you'd write a platonic Susan fic? Like Susan and grandchild reader where the grandchild prevents Susan from being, well Susan to everyone else? Maybe some wholesome bonding moments? If you're okay with writing it!

- Radioisntdead 📻

❀ AHHHHH I'm so honored that you like my writing!!!! Of course I'd be happy to write for grandma Susan!!! She doesn't tend to get a lot of content at all tbh but this sparked inspiration for me so there will be more! Thank you SO much for the request I hope you enjoy!!! ❀

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The Susan Whisperer | Grandma Susan + Reader

Familial! Grandma Susan + Grandchild Reader

Description: After waking up in hell, you end up finding Cannibal Town, a peculiar little territory that also just so happens to be the home of your long-dead grandmother, whom everyone is happy to now make you responsible for.

(Notes: CW cannibalism, death) (gender neutral reader) (Reader is Susan's grandchild from when she was alive)

Words: 2,125

When you opened your eyes, you were surprised to find that you weren't in your bedroom anymore, as you'd expected. Not only that, but the place smelled...Well, horrible. 

Sitting up and looking around, it didn't take long for you to realize you weren't on Earth anymore. Or at least, not a version of it you'd ever seen. Everyone looked different and there was so much red. It was also horrendously hot, but no one around you seemed bothered; as if they were used to the insane temperature. 

Trying to remain calm, you stood up and went over to the friendliest looking creature, giving her a careful smile. "Hi, could you tell me where I am?" You asked. She looked you up and down before giving you a shrug. 

"Hell."

At first you thought it was a joke. But as she walked away and you looked around some more, you realized there wasn't really another explanation that made sense. The creatures around you were so...Casually horrible? You had to dodge bullets left and right as you walked down the street, and at one point you even ran into a couple of them down on their knees as they literally ate a person.

Shying away from the horrid sight, you continued walking around aimlessly. You supposed you'd died, though you weren't sure how. One moment you'd been asleep in your bed, and now you found yourself facing eternal damnation, for whatever reason. You didn't even know what you'd done to deserve it. 

As you passed by a clothing store, you paused at the sight of your reflection in the glass window beside you. You almost didn't recognize the version of you staring back. Your eyes were completely black and when you smiled, you had teeth so sharp they probably could have cut through bone if needed. 

At some point, the shock you felt turned into muted concern as you continued walking. What else were you supposed to do? You didn't know if there were any rules or paperwork new arrivals in hell had to complete, but considering it was hell, you assumed not. 

You weren't sure where you were going or what your plan was, but you couldn't stand to remain still. Walking had always cleared your mind before, and you used to take walks with your grandmother all the time before she died. Granted, going out with her was always a hassle due to her rude manners and loud opinions, but you still appreciated the companionship. 

Thinking of your grandmother made your smile drop a bit. After her death, you hadn't had a lot of people in your life that had cared about you; not that she showed her love in very conventional ways, as it was. You hoped she'd ended up in a better place than you did, but something at the back of your mind told you she probably hadn't. 

Eventually, you wandered into a cute little area of the city that you didn't know the name of. It was significantly cleaner than the rest of hell, which you could appreciate. And as you walked around, you realized many of the residents seemed to closely resemble you with their black eyes and sharp smiles. 

...What a coincidence. 

You turned your gaze towards what seemed to be the center of the little town now, where a small crowd had gathered, many of them shouting or calling out to someone in the middle. Curious, you approached the group.

"Rosie said we're not supposed to eat the new residents!" Someone called in a worried tone. In the middle of the group, a woman with what looked like a dead wolf resting around her shoulders scowled in their direction. 

"I'll eat whoever the fuck I want!" She replied, crossing her arms and then turning to the...demon, you supposed? That was cowering on the ground. "And it ain't like any of you are gonna stop me, are ya?" No one spoke so the old woman nodded before turning back to the smaller demon and barring her teeth. "That's what I fucking thought." 

You were struck with a sense of familiarity as you gazed at the old woman. It was almost like the two of you had met before; her voice sounded like you should have recognized it. But you'd never been in hell before today, so unless you'd become acquainted with her during life...

Oh no, you thought to yourself, taking a step forward and clearing your throat. 

"...Grandmother?" You asked carefully, making everyone in the area freeze. The old woman, who was inches away from biting into the arm of the small sinner beneath her, turned with a frown. 

"Huh?" She asked, looking around the crowd that still surrounded her, "Who said that?" Her tone was accusatory, and within seconds, the group near you had parted, leaving you exposed to her harsh gaze. You glanced at them sheepishly, feeling as if you'd just been thrown under a bus.

Once her gaze landed on you, she called her name as if she hadn't said the word in years. And, considering she'd been dead for that long, you supposed she probably hadn't. "That you, kid?" She asked, squinting her eyes as if she couldn't see you, even though she was wearing her glasses. 

"Yeah, it's me." You replied sheepishly. "Good to see you, Grandma Susan." In the blink of an eye, the old woman had abandoned the demon she'd been trying to make into her lunch and was standing in front of you, inspecting you and your clothes as if she were the judge of an important contest. You stiffened as she walked a full circle around you, humming as she took in the outfit you'd appeared in hell wearing. It wasn't too different from what you might have worn in life, and she seemed to approve because she stopped in front of you with a curt nod. 

"It is you." She decided at last, "You're taller than I remember, though; look how much you've grown." You chuckled before she turned to the rest of the crowd; all of whom were still standing around watching the two of you. 

Looking back, you noticed a tall woman whose features looked almost like a skeleton coming your way, accompanied by another, similar looking demon. "Not again," she was saying quietly to the demon beside her. She wore a big red hat decorated with black feathers and a worried expression on her face, meaning she probably held some sort of responsibility among the crowd of people around you. Meanwhile, Susan spoke, diverting your attention back to her.

"Listen up, all of you!" She shouted to the rest of the demons, "This here is my grandkid, alright?" You almost wanted to cover your ears from her volume. "So I better not catch any of ya tryin' to bite into them or I'll make you my next meal, got it?!" You weren't sure whether to be touched or afraid by her words, but it was now that the woman in the red hat reached the two of you. 

"Grandchild?" She repeated in surprise as she walked up next to you. Meeting her eyes, you gave her a sheepish smile. "You're Susan's grandchild?" 

"Y-yeah..." You admitted as the old woman continued going around the circle of demons and tossing out threats like they were candy. None of them seemed particularly afraid, though; only respectfully nodding at her words. "Sorry..." It was a habit you'd picked up in life whenever you brought your grandmother in public, and you supposed you'd be apologizing on her behalf a lot more in the future.

The woman in the red hat only smiled, though, as recognition finally appeared in her eyes. "Ohhh, don't apologize, dear!" She exclaimed, waving a hand dismissively, "We're used to your grandmother around here, and between you and me, a lot of the cannibals really respect her." You stiffened at the word. Had Susan been a cannibal your whole life, and you hadn't known? "In fact, it'll be nice to have someone else around that can handle her," the woman went on and you swallowed, realizing what you'd just gotten yourself into.

She later introduced herself as Rosie, the overlord of Cannibal Town, which you realized was the name of this area of hell. 

Rosie explained that your grandmother was one of her...Most active citizens. Once you got over the whole everyone-being-cannibals thing, you realized they were actually very pleasant; a stark contrast to the demeanor put on by your grandma herself. Rosie invited you to stay in her territory almost immediately, eager to have another person around that could be responsible for handling Susan, and since you literally had no other option, you agreed.

Rosie offered you a place to stay not far from your grandmother's home, but Susan wouldn't have it. She insisted that you live with her since your parents had 'kept you away from her' by living so far (a three minute walk) away in life. 

Despite insisting that you live in her home, though, Susan routinely complained about your lack of assistance with the household chores. From cooking to cleaning to laundry, it seemed you didn't do nearly enough to take the burden off her shoulders; never mind that she'd verbally-and-adamantly forbidden you from helping with any of those tasks since day one. 

She tried to turn you over to cannibalism, too, complaining about how annoying it was to prepare two separate meals all the time to suit your needs. Though, with how much she enjoyed cooking, and the fact that she always talked about non-cannibal dishes she could potentially make you, you were getting mixed signals. 

It quickly became apparent that there were only two people Susan ever gave the time of day; Rosie and you. So whenever Rosie was busy- which was often, considering she ran all of Cannibal Town- you were in charge of making sure your grandmother didn't terrorize too many people. And thus, you came to be considered a sort of 'Susan Whisperer.'

It was a full-time job, and you often found yourself profusely apologizing to everyone for her rudeness as you walked arm-in-arm with her down the street. The other cannibals never seemed to mind, but that didn't mean you wouldn't at least try to get her to be kinder. 

When Alastor first started coming around Cannibal Town, Susan only got worse. She would often change the route of your daily walks specifically so she could go past him and make a rude comment that often had the Radio Demon ready to murder her on the spot. 

"I'm so sorry," you would always tell him, "Grandma and I are working on that." Then you'd turn to Susan and pull her along, getting her out of the situation before she could make him want to kill her even more. 

But despite her abrasive nature, your grandmother truly did care for you. She was always cooking food she knew you would enjoy and bringing it to you at random times of the day; whether you were dead asleep, walking beside her, or chatting with Rosie over tea. She had her own ways of showing affection, and that was one of them.

She was also surprisingly protective. One time, a cannibal sinner that had died around the same time as you had invited you to lunch in your grandmother's presence and she'd turned around and bit his hand off before shouting that you 'already had plans with your family then.' He never went near you after that, and in fact, most of the cannibals were much more careful in your presence from that day on. 

You knew from the moment Charlie arrived in town with Alastor that things were going to go south very fast. And when Susan wouldn't even let the princess of hell get a word in before she started heckling, you wanted to melt into the floor out of embarrassment.

"Grandma, maybe we should listen to what she has to say," You whispered, only to be ignored by the old woman, who continued talking over Charlie. Thus began a three-way conversation that really just consisted of Charlie trying to pitch her hotel, Susan doing anything but listening to her, and you trying to get your grandmother to stop being so rude to such an important figure in hell. 

So when Charlie finally had her outburst, you really couldn't blame her, bringing a hand up to rub your temples as you wondered what you'd done to deserve this. 

In the end though, you were what ended up getting Susan onboard with Charlie's plan. Not because you convinced her; you didn't think the old woman was capable of having her opinion changed by anyone, no matter who they were. But the angels' exterminations didn't leave Cannibal Town any more untouched than the rest of hell; meaning they put you in danger too. 

And as prickly as Susan was, she'd tear apart the flesh of anyone that dared to hurt her grandchild, so of course she took the chance to eat a few angels, especially if it meant protecting you.

[seetangus]

Taking care - Azula x gn reader

[masterlist]

Hello, thank you so much for liking my writing and for requesting! I hope I got everything right! Also, I am not familiar with anything about mute people but I tried my best to make it work :)

Azula x gn reader fluff, 2.202 words, warnings: bad treatment of prisoners, abuse of power, crying

This took very long to write and I am sorry for that. And something went wrong with answering to the request again, but hopefully it still reaches you as a little belated Christmas gift

In the midst of the night something woke you up. It was the clinking of keys - after having spent almost two years in the asylum, you knew this sound by heart. But why would the guards unlock something at night? Slowly, you stood up and made your way towards the door of your cell to hear the happenings better.

After only a few moments it was clear what they were doing - right after they pushed the door leading to your hallway open, a female's muffled screams of protest echoed through the halls. They brought a new inmate.

For you, this was probably the most exciting thing that had ever happened to you here, as you lived alone in this compartment of the building.

Even though the guards had gagged the new prisoner, her screams still made you shudder - they emitted pure rage and despair. It was understandable, though. Given the circumstance that the woman's voice sounded rather young and most people who got taken here would never leave this unpleasant place for the rest of their lifetime, she had a reason to be upset.

You felt bad for whoever this was; she sounded like she needed help instead of punishment. However, it could be that it was only your innocent (naive) character that made you think such things; most people imprisoned here were mass murderers or worse.

However, you had other things to worry about for the moment, as the guards were coming closer to your cell, and if they realised you were awake at night-time they would probably punish you, so you hurried back into your bed, or rather onto your wooden plank with a tattered blanket.

You did so just at the right moment, because right after you had laid down, you heard the noise of the guard's keys in the keyhole of your door! A moment later, your door opened with a noisy screeching noise that would have startled you even if you had been sleeping, but just to play it safe you continued to pretend to be asleep.

Despite the woman's muffled cries now being audible in your room, which should have definitely woken you up, the guards seemed to truly believe you were asleep, one of them roughly shaking you at your shoulder to wake you up, making the shoulder hurt.

You now hesitantly sat up in your sleeping place, looking at the guards and the women they brought into your room - or rather rolled, as she was put in a straitjacket and placed on a movable chair for movement purposes. "Meet your new cellmate.", one of the guards said in an unmistakably gloating tone, "Since this lunatic can't do it herself, you will make sure she eats her daily rations and doesn't shit herself, got it?" You nodded. "Great", the guard responded, "but you don't need to take it too seriously. Wouldn't be a great loss if we got rid of her quickly." With that the guards left.

Maybe you s h o u l d be worried that you were left alone in your cell with what seemed like a raving maniac, but something seemed familiar about that new person, although you could not quite make it out in the dark - also, you pitied her for how the guards treated her. The guards often picked on you too, but they didn't ever say they wouldn't mind you being dead - well, not directly.

< • ◇ • >

Since the guards had closed the door and left, the woman had remained completely silent. Not one tone had left her lips, and she had not moved. Since she also did not show any kind of interest in you, you decided it would be best to go to sleep again. Doing so was hard, as you were very curious and scared of your new cellmate, but tomorrow would be a hard day, so you had to sleep well. As the new woman did not move or make noise, eventually you returned to your realm of dreams again.

And a dream it was that revealed to you where you had seen the woman before. You had heard that you often dreamed about things you had experienced but forgotten, and this was such an instance. You had already met the woman - well, “met” was an exaggeration, but you had seen her: she was princess Azula of the fire nation, and when she had been old enough to enter the war a few years ago, there had been pictures of her all over the place. That had been just a few weeks before you got imprisoned.

After waking up there were many questions in your head: Why was Azula in this Asylum? Was the war over? Was the whole royal family of the fire nation imprisoned? Who ruled the fire nation now? Etc. etc.

You could have worried about these things the whole day, but in this Asylum there wouldn’t be any information or news accessible. There never were. Azula would also not talk to you… you had heard of her character before you got here. Even the few things you had heard of her were quite enough to make you reevaluate your situation. If she treated you like she treated anyone else, you were in a very bad place. Not that the asylum hadn’t been bad before, it just made it worse. You would have to be very cautious with her.

“Are you finally awake?” You were pulled out of your thoughts by her condescending voice. Her arrogant voice. Her beautiful voice.

You could hear in her words that she was a born ruler; you immediately sat straight up and nodded with your head. When you looked up at her again, you flushed brightly; she was beautiful. And even sitting chained to her chair in a straitjacket her gaze looking down at you from above made you feel goosebumps.

You felt fear, but also admiration.

“You probably know who I am, so let me be clear: as long as I am held in this unworthy place, you will serve to my needs in any way I want. Understood?” You gulped and nodded again. The disproportionality of being a prisoner yet wanting to rule others and succeeding was fascinating to you.

Anyways, once the guards arrived to bring your food, things seemed a lot different. The guards pushed you around like usual, but they seemed to find it especially entertaining to humiliate Azula. They didn’t only make fun of her but also sprayed some of her food on her and leaned her chair in an uncomfortable position, her obviously unable to get out of it on her own. Azula screamed at the guards in anger, but you could hear how her voice got weaker.

Once the guards were gone, you immediately relocated her chair to a normal place. Given that you weren’t exactly able to do sports in this place and you already lived here for some time, this was a lot harder than you expected, but you succeeded.

You then thought about cleaning the food off her, but that would involve touching her and you were very reluctant to do that. She was not well right now, she was very vulnerable and everything that happened to her now could hurt her, you saw that.

But you were here to help her, weren’t you? You did not care if she wouldn’t thank you for it or if she deserved to be treated like this, she was human and you were too, and that was reason enough for your heart to break when seeing someone endure such pain. 

Hesitantly, you moved towards her and began brushing the food the guards had sprayed over her jacket off with your hand. To your surprise, she said nothing, she only looked at you in an appraising manner. You dared not to look up at her face even though most of it was covered in loose hair that had been swirling around during the rough treatment by the guards.

After cleaning your hands you figured it would be best to do as the guards had told you yesterday and try to feed Azula. You picked up the wooden spoon and filled it with the porridge that was served here and moved it towards her mouth. But to actually reach it, you would have to move away her messy long hair.

You gulped. That would not be easy. You laid down the spoon again and moved your hands towards her face. When you touched her hair she first pulled back but didn’t resist anymore when she understood what you were doing.

You very carefully split her hair in the middle and moved it to the sides. You gently brushed it behind her ears, uncovering her beautiful face that was now close to yours. Your fingers meeting her warm skin sent shivers through your body as they had for years now not felt anything but the hard and cold stone of this cell. Her eyes resting on your face did not make this easier as well, as you felt your whole body heating up.

With a reddened face you pulled back and began feeding her the porridge. At first she was hesitant and it was obvious she didn’t like the food, but she knew she could either let you feed her or starve. So she held back her pride.

< • ◇ • >

It continued like this for some time. The guards insulted her and made things worse, you cared for her and made things better. In the beginning, she was rather dismissive and unwilling towards your efforts, but she got used to it.

Sometimes she ranted to you about the guards, her brother and the Avatar. About anything really. She talked about the revenge she would get, how she had been unfairly betrayed and defeated in an Agni Kai only because of dishonest tactics of her enemies. About how the Avatar was evil and needed to be removed from this world. You knew most of that was probably a lie, but you could not help but believe every single word that escaped her mouth.

Once she had, in a very demanding manner, asked about your name and why you never talked to her, but you had been able to make her understand that you were mute. To your surprise, she was very understanding and even seemed sorry to some degree for asking you so harshly. It was very rare to see emotions like in that moment on her face. Luckily, you had been able to show her your name, even with no paper being available in the Asylum: you had, with much work, formed each letter in the thick porridge you got to eat daily using your spoon. Azula had then started referring to you by your name, which always made you feel butterflies.

Months passed and Azula raged at the guards every day. However, today something was different. When the guards made fun of her she still was angry like always, but when they left she was quieter than usual. She did not start ranting, nor did she ask for her food. She simply sat in her chair motionless, her head lowered.

You got closer to her and lifted her head up. You could tell she did not want you to see her right now as she turned away her face. But as you felt increasingly worried for her, you turned her face to you again and then brushed her hair behind her ears like you had done many times now.

You felt the warmth of her skin, but also your fingertips got wet. You had brushed through tears that were flowing down her cheeks. At first, you were shocked as Azula despised showing any form of weakness, but when you realised what this meant you were more than happy; for the first time since being here, maybe for the first time in her life, she was honest with herself and opened up to someone else, in this case you, about her emotions!

She still was embarrassed to cry in front of you, but you tried to assure her that everything was alright. As you couldn’t take her bound hands you cupped her face with your hands and smiled at her.

“Y/n,”, she said with a very small but incredibly beautiful voice, “please give me a hug.” First you couldn’t believe your luck, but when you carefully sat on her lap and laid your arms around her it felt like paradise, especially being drained of any human affection after years in the Asylum.

“Y/n?”, Azula continued, some confidence building up in her again, “I’m going to get us out of here.” You hugged her more tightly and she answered by resting her head, that was the only body part she could move, against yours, your cheeks touching eachother.

[faeriekit]

This is the story of the road that goes to my house, and what ghosts there do remain

Phic Phight Fill for @moipale

“Thermos?”

“Got it.”

“Wrist rays?”

“Got ‘em.” 

“Ray guns?” 

“Nah,” Sam drawls, bare feet on Jazz’s driver seat’s shoulder. Her fingers are on her phone. Her socks and shoes are somewhere below her seat. “Forgot them at home.”

Tucker takes a look at her. Despite her insistence on their absence, there’s three ray gun handles bulging out of the pockets in her black daisy dukes. The purple-green-plaid flannel’s tied around her waist, hiding half of it, but they’re not not there. 

In her black tank and bare feet in the back of Jazz’s jalopy, she looks as overheated as the rest of them. 

Tucker doesn’t feel any better, sweating through his tank and board shorts and all that. At least he had the sense to wear sandals, and not black pleather combat boots. 

“Jazz, she’s lying,” Tucker snitches, groaning when Sam gives him a retaliatory slap to the ribs. He gropes at the spot where a bruise will no doubt be forming. “Ow.”

“Sam,” Jazz offers with the finite patience of older siblings, “Stop hitting Tucker.”

“...M’kay,” Sam mumbles, and slumps down into the hot cloth seats that only soak up more heat the longer they’re in this car. “Can we turn on the AC?”

“It’s already on full blast, Sam.” 

Sam retaliates by kicking a car seat. Thankfully, slumping over allows her to reach Danny’s seat, as opposed to Jazz, who is driving, and Danny is fast asleep with what’s probably early-onset heat exhaustion. He doesn’t even notice.

Tucker needs AC, a nap, and snacks, in that order. “Can we break from the road trip for a gas station?” he begs, not whining, because he’s almost an adult now and begging is far more mature. 

Jazz doesn’t even dignify him with a glare in the mirror. “No stops. If we want to make it to Tracy, tonight, we’re not stopping unless someone has an emergency pee break on the side of the road.”

Great. Just great. 

“Bazooka?” Jazz continues their list, looking just as wilted as everyone else in the car. There’s no head band today; her hair is piled up as high on her head as she can get it, wire sunglasses perched there from their drive to Chelsea this morning. 

“Trunk,” Sam offers listlessly. 

“Map?”

Danny doesn’t answer. Because he’s asleep. 

“Danny’s got it,” Tucker points out, since he was at least paying attention. 

Jazz grumbles something rude and swipes the map of of her brother’s lap. “The next time the three of you upset an Ancient spirit of the Wild, I’m not helping you run.”

“Noted,” Tucker and Sam chorus. Tucker’s pretty sure she’s over exaggerating. 

…Maybe. 

He swipes his hat off and shoves it into a pocket, wiping sweat off of his forehead with the back of a hand. “Okay. We have…one night to get out to Tracy and find the body. The abandoned barge should actually be there this time.”

Jazz taps the brake, flicks on the turn signal, and takes a steep turn across the highway— superseding an additional three lanes of now-irritated traffic. “As opposed to…?”

Sam sighs. 

“As opposed to breaking into his haunted house and getting arrested,” Tucker admits wryly, just as slumped back as the girl herself. “Sam.”

“I paid bail. We’re fine,” Sam grumbles. Her arms cross. 

“We weren’t fine until Danny infected their computer to delete their records. I need to get to college, Sam! I can’t have an arrest on my record!” 

“Record, schmecord.”

“Sam!”

“As long as no one’s got a record,” Jazz intervenes loudly, the only college student in their car, “We’re good! Now, are we hunting the dead guy, or the guy who killed the dead guy?”

Tucker mentally debates whether or not rolling down the car window would give them some air, or just let more hot air into their already sweltering back seat. 

“Ghost who killed a dead guy, but who the dead guy probably summoned,” Sam clarifies with a sigh. 

“Oh, great. One of those.”

“And sending him back probably shot him back to the barge, though, so now…” Tucker leads the problem on, “And there’s a new moon tonight. So.”

Jazz sighs. Loudly. “Of all the months…it’s got to be the dog days of summer, huh?”

Sam tucks her legs in, finally too tired to pout about their circumstances. “More like hellhounds, honestly. Did you see the ghost in the lake last week?”

“Heard about it. There was a poltergeist in the old high school last night— the one before the move to Casper in the fifties. Mom and Dad went out there at midnight before they went to tackle the bog thing in the golf course pond this morning.” 

“So that’s what Dad was whining about,” Sam muses, tired and sweaty. “I’d assumed parks and recreation got mad at them for violating the water conservation order again.”

“Nah.” Jazz signals another turn, cutting around an Amazon delivery truck and zooming into a side road. “Bog monster thing. Enraged by all the golf balls hit at it.” 

“Goootcha.” 

Tucker throws his head back and groans. “Is this going to be all we do all summer break? Hunt ghosts? Get chased around the state by cops?” 

“Yeah/Probably,” Sam and Jazz agree, both exhausted at the prospect. 

Tucker gives in and rolls down the window. If he’s going to be stuck in the car with his two best friends and their adult supervision, he needs some moving air— even if it’s just as hot and twice as humid as inside the car. 

They’ll be in Tracy tomorrow. All they have to do is find an abandoned barge floating in a forgotten waterway. 

Easy. 

…And then all they have to do is fix the problem all over again the next time someone gets it in their head to go treasure-hunting this summer.

Tucker bangs his head against Danny’s headrest, waking the guy up in the process, and wishes he had agreed to go to comp-sci camp after all. 

“I hate July,” Jazz mutters. “All the crazies come out with the heat.”

Everyone agrees with a moan and a groan. 

Jazz clicks on the radio, finds something that isn’t entirely static, and the road continues onwards in front of them…and will for miles and miles of hot pavement more.

*

Complementary song accompaniment/title source for this fic: July, July by the Decemberists. Thanks for reading!

[nomoreusername]

My Glue

Pairing: Newt x female reader

Summary: When your brother is killed in the maze Newt is still by your side to support you.

Being a Runner was practically what I was meant to do. Since I first showed up and laid my eyes on the maze I wanted to go in. Being a girl wouldn't stop me from that. That part's extremely relevant to mention because I just so happen to be the only girl here. Of course, just like everything in this place there are a few other details that make it different.

When I came up in the box I had a faint memory of some of their faces. I even knew a few names before they were told. That's probably how I figured out tho my brother was here. While a few Glader's were suspicious of me, which I guess isn't the most uncalled for, when they saw that we're basically the spitting image of each other it sort of became accepted.

We were close. He was my best friend and one of the most important people in my life.

That changed though. The day started out normal. I woke up, had breakfast, got packed for the day, said goodbye to Newt, and was off. That's how it should have remained. Nothing about that was supposed to be different.

On that day though everything was. I left the maze on time along with every other Runner.

He didn't though. Now he's dead, and I'm in the Glade barely holding it together. Of course, there isn't a lot of time for people to notice that I'm breaking. I barely even can because I am always doing something. I'm always running or trying to make myself better. If I can't then I'm asleep.

It's always there though. In the back of my mind the feelings will forever taunt me. I don't even know what to call it. I just know it makes me want to lay on the ground and never get up.

It's Greenie night now, and instead of being with the people that care about me I'm hiding in the Deadheads. Even though I safely could and want to I don't have the energy to cry.

As I laid there and stared at the tops of the trees I heard footsteps. Realistically I knew I should move. I know that I physically can. At the same time I also can't. There's this weight on my body that's forcing me to stay on the ground.

"Hey love,"Newt greeted, stepping towards me. I turned to look at him. He wore a small smile that almost gave me this bittersweet feeling. Despite it being so dark here I could still see the way it shine brighter than any star ever could. Usually, that would be all I needed to get through the day. Making him laugh just so I could see it used to be at the top of my to-do list.

Nothing is now though because there isn't one. As long as I run in the maze that took my sibling from me then nothing matters.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"He offered, taking a seat next to me.

"No,"I admitted.

"Okay. Do you want to talk about anything?"He asked in that same voice that's smooth as honey and causes me to go weak in the knees. That was different now too though. He always sounded softer and just a little quieter.

"No,"I repeated.

"Okay love. That's fine,"He said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I laid my head on his lap and tried not to think about anything that exists, did exist, or even might. I didn't want to think about anything right now. I'm a way I don't think I was. Physically, I'm right here. Mentally, I'm a thousand miles away.

"Do you know what you do need right now?"He asked, now gently running his hand through my hair. I took a minute to try and think, but nothing came to mind.

Thankfully, he knew me well enough to know what my silence meant because he assured me that I didn't have to answer or even talk.

"Thank you,"I whispered.

"Of course. I'm right here Y/N. No matter what,"He promised.

I knew that I had to believe him. He was the glue that kept me together. Whether that included smiling until my cheeks hurt and laughing until my ribs were sore, or just being the reason I kept going, he was the reason for it.

Newt means everything to me so all I can do is be grateful he's here. I don't think I could handle losing him too.

[swanimagines]

BOUND IN DARKNESS | NIKOLAI LANTSOV

Summary: You and Nikolai see nightmares about the Darkling every night - making your duties as the King and Queen of Ravka hard. But you both know you have to push through.

Darkling was dead, yet the damage he had left remained.

Just one night of peaceful sleep was unreachable, and hoping for it was futile. You and Nikolai both woke up at some point every night to the image of the Darkling plaguing your dreams. You held each other then, shaking slightly, trying to rest just little longer so your tiredness wouldn’t show as much. Genya helped you hide your eyebags, before you dressed up and were going in front of people once again, putting on your brave face and trying to act like nothing was happening, you weren’t damaged. You needed to show that Ravka was strong, that their King and Queen would thrive and show them how to be strong again. Ravka could and would be rebuilt. Your people would be able to recover, and the Kingdom would become whole again.

The court alkemi had made you a potion that basically prevented your brains from total exhaustion, as it would have been dangerous on the long run - usually this severe nightmares were treated by resting and taking it easy, but you didn’t have that option if you didn’t want to look like weak rulers. Vulnerability was also an important part to show if you wanted your people to feel closer to you, but time for that wasn’t now. So the vials were vital for your survival during this time, and you rewarded the alkemi handsomely for making the potion for you. But he, too, reminded you that it isn’t a miracle potion you could consume for very long. Its side effects would begin coming after a week, and after that they’d become more and more severe with every vial you’d consume and eventually those could end up killing you.

So you had to avoid using those too - gulping them down only if you felt like you wouldn’t get through the day without it. It didn’t mean days without it were easy though. One of those moments were now, you and Nikolai having a meeting with your advisors. The chair you sat on started feeling impossibly comfy, the words your advisors spoke to you blended together, they echoed in the room as you slowly felt your body falling asleep.

“Moya tsaritsa, are you alright?” your advisor asked, snapping you out from your stupor and you cleared your throat, nodding and blinking rapidly.

“Yes, I just need some water,” you croaked out, feeling Nikolai’s hand grasp yours and you squeezed it back. Your maid came over in a few moments, handing you a glass of water and you smiled at her softly before taking a sip from your glass.

The water brought a welcomed burst of energy as it made its way down your throat, and you put the glass down, nodding for the advisor to continue. You knew you had a duty at hand, and it couldn’t wait - you had to push through whatever it needed.

Nikolai squeezed your hand lightly again and you shared a brief look, and you could see weariness plaguing him too. But he was better in hiding it. At that moment, you wished you had been raised as a royal, they had training even on how to stay composed and remain alert even when exhausted like this - probably because during wars, rest wasn’t an option.

You tried your best to follow the example of your husband, listening to the proposals and checking through documents, occasionally interjecting the discussions with questions, but it wasn’t long before their voices began to blend into a constant hum again, and you couldn’t really hear what they said. You just saw their lips moving and hands gesturing, but you no longer heard what they said.

Nikolai seemingly sensed your struggle and nudged your leg with his own under the table, an unspoken reminder to remain alert. You straightened your posture again, and the advisor paused again for a moment, but then continued as you were following along again. You used all your willpower to stay alert and reminded yourself that this was the only way so you would get to rest sooner today - how you would get to rest for days. Once this was over, you wouldn’t have to sit here listening to plans and trying to act like everything was okay.

When the sun started to set and the advisors finally left to their own quarters, you were letting out a sigh of relief, knowing that now you would be able to rest - even if it meant you would see your loved ones being cut in half again. You had to try to rest. Seeing nightmares and crying in Nikolai’s arms was better than sleeping while you were expected to listen.

You stood up, with Nikolai supporting you by the waist and you walked to your bed chambers together and immediately after you had taken off your jewelry, you were falling onto the bed together, wishing to be able to take even a nap before dinner without nightmares. Nikolai spooned you, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist while his other hand grasped your hand above your head on the pillow.

As children, you both had heard the story that sleeping while touching a friend or a loved one guarantees no nightmares. It hadn’t worked til now, and you knew it wouldn’t work this time either - but it was still more comforting to wake up and notice you’re safe, with Nikolai holding you - and for him, to see you alive and breathing in his arms.

It wasn’t a situation you wanted to find yourself from when you married Nikolai while he was still Sturmhond, but the sense of duty this situation had forged into you was something you knew you should follow. For the people of Ravka, if not else. They needed to see they were safe now - they had a strong King, a strong Queen, ones who cared for them.

So you night after night, you had to try to rest. To wake up, hold each other, listen to each other, comfort each other, try to fall asleep again. Something good in the middle of this darkness, you needed to remind yourselves what was worth fighting for. Darkling was dead, for good this time. His shadow monsters weren’t attacking people anymore, things were better than in ages. Uniting Ravka was a task not any ruler would be able to accomplish, but you knew that with Nikolai, you would do it. 

You let your eyes droop closed, keeping this in mind, telling yourself that some dead shadow man wasn’t going to drag you two down. You would beat this. Together.

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[thewritergremlin-rae]

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Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Rating: T Words: 564 Content: 2nd person, fluff, a tiny dash of angst, cuddles Summary: Steve returns from a long, unsuccessful mission searching for Bucky.

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It had been another months-long chase of whispers and rumours but, like every time before, Steve returned empty handed.

No solid proof of Bucky, no glimpses, no certainty that the chatter was ever true, or if Bucky was even still out there.

You knew Steve was coming back today but the sky had turned black and inky by the time he entered your rooms. He toed off his boots and socks at the entranceway and it hurt to watch those broad shoulders slump in defeat, in remorse.

“Hey,” you greeted softly.

“Hey,” Steve whispered back, forcing a smile to his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We didn’t…”

“I know.” How could you not? You took his hands and wrapped his arms around your waist, coaxing his head down onto your shoulder. “I know,” you repeated, running your hand through his hair and down to the base of his neck.

He squeezed you in response. A silent thank you communicated in a simple movement.

You pressed a kiss to his temple and just swayed gently as he breathed you in, as he grounded himself in being home. You felt him breathe deeply, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your neck that made you shudder, but you didn’t push it. “Go take a shower, Steve, it’ll help you relax, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled back, planting a kiss on your cheek and leaving, with a final squeeze, for the bathroom.

You were settled in bed in your comfiest pyjamas when he came through in a pair of sweats, hair dry and fluffy from the hair dryer.

You pulled him down on top of you, hushing his grumbling about his weight and height as you all but dragged him into you.

You tucked his head under your chin, placing a kiss on his temple before your fingers rhythmically slid through his hair.

Steve held himself stiff, not wanting to totally let go of himself, but your touches slowly coaxed him closer to relaxation and to giving in to you.

“You always look after us, let me look after you, for once. It would make me feel better.” It’s the final nail in the coffin of Steve’s stubbornness and you find yourself finally pinned by his weight.

It wasn’t crushing, he felt a lot like a very warm, weighted blanket and if you hadn’t been so focused on Steve you could have probably fallen asleep like that. But you kept up the gentle touches, every so often pressing soft kisses to his forehead.

“I just…” Steve sighed heavily. “I don’t even know if he’s ok.” His words remained quiet and forlorn. You dropped a hand to his shoulders, rubbing in slow, soft circles.

You nodded, nuzzling into his hair. “I think it’s more likely we’d hear if he wasn’t.” It was a lot easier to identify a dead man than a live one. “You’ll find him when he’s ready.”

He sighed again but you felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “S’what I get for making Buck come to my rescue all the time.”

You chuckled and ruffled his hair softly. “Karma’s a bitch, Stevie.”

He huffed a laugh and pressed a kiss where his head lay. “I missed you,” he added in a whisper.

“I missed you too. Welcome home, love.”

Steve hummed, eyelashes settling against his cheeks as he breathed out slowly. “Thanks, doll.”

Want to be tagged in future parts or future Steve fic? Go here

[falling-star-cygnus]

I need Billy comfort after the one where he got trapped under a building, can you please make him be saved?

well since you asked so nicely, how could i refuse?

continuation of this fic‼️ you don’t have to read it, of course, but it will make this whole thing make more sense :D @starguardianniom [your request is on the way, i just thought you might also like to be tagged in the part two :D]

without further ado~

"BILLY!"

She doesn't know which one of them screams it, maybe it was all three, but Anby lunges for the android's jacket- lunges really for any part of him she might be able to grab- until her hands close on red leather. The inevitable weight of his metal body doesn't cross her mind until she's being tugged down with him.

The feeble floor cracks further under Anby’s feet as she digs her heels in. That damned, annoying Ethereal shrieks- probably much louder than what she can hear through her headphones- and stomps like a spoiled child being told no for the first time. She'll put it out of it’s misery once she gets Billy- too still, too unresponsive- back onto safer ground.

Only ...Anby never gets the chance.

The ground jumps under her feet, and the tight grip she had on his jacket futzs.

Billy falls.

Hands and arms wrap around her waist before she can do something stupid like leap down after him. An action she knows is irrational but all she can hear is the way the android hits each level of the building and she needs to get him back-

"ANBY-! WE NEED TO GO."

Of course. Right. Clarity washes over her like cold water; Anby can't save Billy if she's dead too. And he would just feel bad if she got hurt trying to save him, because he had no regard for himself-

The remaining members of the Cunning Hares' fumble out of building just in time to see it topple like a house of cards- with their former client pinned in front of them by a slab of concrete.

It flails a little bit- kinda like a bug does when you grab it's leg- and they're privy to a front row seat as a metal support beam crashes into the weird orb of it's head. The thing splatters like a paintball.

None of them feel much remorse.

A few seconds of silence go by, passed by the girls simply.. staring.

"Well…. alright, Hares," Nicole starts, dusting her hands off, "Divide and conquer. Billy has to be around here somewhere."

'Hopefully.' goes unsaid, but painfully heard.

"R-Right!" Nekomata pipes up, her tails lashing with nervous energy, "I’m sure we’ll find him in no time! He can’t really keep quiet, anyway, y- you know?"

Anby doesn’t say anything at all.

They split up, taking turns calling the android's name and pouncing on any slight glimpse of white or red or yellow. Even greenish black would be better than nothing. Each empty nook, each second of silence, grated on their nerves until they were like frayed live wires.

Usually, Billy kept track of how long the Cunning Hares' stayed in a Hollow. It kept them all from lingering too long, unless they got stuck, and it kept them safe. Why couldn't they keep Billy safe- Now they had no idea how long they'd been searching.

Nicole had moved on to bargaining with empty air.

"Billy," she calls, heaving a heavy pillar to the side with a huff, "Come on, answer already! I won't yell at you anymore, or whack you or- or anything. Just answer us, please!"

"And I won't make fun of how you like to listen to classical music to fall asleep!" Nekomata joins in, from somewhere to Anby's left, "I'll even go to Random Play with you to find more, meow!"

"I'll watch Starlight Knights with you," It couldn't hurt to join in after all, Anby decides, "We could all go to the restaurant, and invite the Phaethon siblings, and-"

It was like something out of one of her movies. The second Anby pushes aside a new piece of rubble, she sees it. A tattered piece of the android's jacket- connected to tattered sleeves and sparking metal arms and a big fluffy head of white hair.

The relief almost sends the smaller Demara to her knees.

Time and place, she reminds herself fiercely, quickly signaling the other two closer to better excavate their friend. He's not in any form of good condition. It doesn't even look like he's conscious.

One of his video sensors is cracked, infected with a galactic black sludge that glows a mixture of pinkish blue red purple. The rest of his plating was pulsating green, and severe corruption was blooming anywhere it could take root.

It even looked like his audio processers were damaged. Anby couldn't even imagine how that must felt for her hyperactive friend- stuck in a silent, cramped space while Ether ate at his mind. Trapped without knowing that they were looking for him.

She hoped he would know anyway, that he wouldn't be wondering if he'd die alone under the weight of a building. Billy wasn't exactly insecure, but...

Anby shakes herself out of thinking about it. They'd found him, that was all that mattered at the moment. Now the Hares' just had to get him back home and back in working order.

"Both of you, stand back!" Nicole orders, aiming her briefcase above the wreckage pinning the android's lower torso.

The smaller girls are quick to comply, and out of the corner of her eye she can see the thiren swipe something golden off the ground. Nekomata shows it to her in silent explanation before shoving it deep into her sleeve for safekeeping.

Billy's little sheriff star.

A shot goes off before the smaller Demara can dwell on it, and suddenly the rubble atop their friend is being vacuumed up into the blackhole that Nicole manifests. They each grab a metal limb and tug him out of range.

One problem taken care of, another appears. The corruption blooming from his joints is excessive. If they take him out of the Hollow like this...

"We don't have time to think about it," Nicole reminds them all, voice tight with the weight of the android's life, "Anby, cut off as many of these... things as you can without hurting him. We'll see what we can do from there."

Anby nods once, and readies her sword.

One, two, four, eight turns to sixteen and sixteen turns to the very last one being cut down without mercy. With each bud removed, the sickly green light between his plates fades until it's barely there at all. There's not much to be done about the crack over his eye until they make it to a mechanic, but even that seems to lose it's glitchy appearance.

The Cunning Hares' don't bother with fighting the Ethereals they pass- there's no time- so it's mad dash to the exit that jostles the android's already crushed legs.

....Billy really was all limbs and pizazz.

It's only once the reunited Hares' make it a good deal from the Hollow that they stop running, doubled over and desperate for a full breath. Anby takes a quick survey of their surroundings as she gently lowers Billy to the ground, propped up on her lap to at least provide a little comfort.

It looks they ended up in Belobog territory, around where that eccentric mechanic liked to linger around. Gary-? Grail? Whatever...

Nekomata crouches down next to them and fishes the little star out of her sleeve. It's battered, and kind of dented around the points, but it still clips onto the leather like it never left.

Anby can vaguely hear Nicole tap away at her phone behind her, the curses muttered almost like a soothing balm of normalcy as the last of the corruption finally leaves Billy. His cracked eye returns to it's familiar shade of yellow- if painfully dull compared to his normal vibrancy.

But he's still unresponsive.

Still so hauntingly quiet and still. It's unnatural, and it isn't right. And none of them know if the android's going to last until tomorrow. Or even until the next hour.

Unbidden, Anby can feel her lower lip tremble- can feel stinging behind her eyes as she continues to run her hand through dusty white hair. It held none of the softness it did before this whole... job. Before her stupid grip had fumbled.

Anby hadn't cried in years, yet now she finds she can only helplessly watch as the salt splatters against the android's face plate. Like a mimicry of tears he wasn't built to shed.

"AhHh- Anby, don't cry," Nekomata frets, clearly freaked out by the uncharacteristic display, "He'll be okay! Bil- Billy's tough as nails, remember? I haven't known him for as long as you two.. but even I can tell that!"

Her puffy sleeves gently pat at the smaller Demara's face, trying to clear away the stupid liquid that was blurring her vision. Soft mantras of 'he'll be ok' are whispered, even as the thiren herself starts to cry.

Anby hunches over, would be curling into her knees if it wasn't for the weight of the unmoving android on her lap, and Nekomata clutches onto the lapels of his jacket and stifles a hiccup by biting down on her lip.

He wasn't coming back to them this time.

He wouldn't be there in the morning to braid her hair, or entertain her movie references, or lighten the mood with his silly Starlight Knight quips. He wouldn't be there to help them reach tall shelves, or distract their clients while Nicole emptied their bank accounts, or flail about with his lanky limbs.

Billy wouldn't be there.

...

..creak...

...Creak..

Creak.

Cool metal fingers brush past Anby's face, and then Nekomata's, and then fall limply back to the hard concrete.

"...don't... cry.."

...

...!

Billy!

Warm light finally flickers to life behind the android's video sensors, dimmer than normal but there.

Anby feels as though her heart's been restarted. Like the world had suddenly been bleached of color only for it to be a really badly timed greyscale shot.

Billy was alive, and whirring back into gear under their hands.

"You guys... really came for me..?"

"You big dummy!" Nekomata sniffs, ears and tails poofed like she'd been startled, "of course we did!"

"Have more faith in us," Anby echoes the thiren, resting her forehead against the android's with one final sniff. Nekomata rests her's against the diamond on his chest.

He can't hear them, his audio processers are still busted, but Anby hopes he can feel their care for him. Hopes he can feel how much they love him, and that they were here to stay no matter what happened. Just like he was for them.

Billy Kid was the heart of the Cunning Hares', after all.

[prosepoetryanddrama]

Put Your Money on Me (PART 2)

Fugitive Sirius Black x Bounty Hunter Remus Lupin

_

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/prosepoetryanddrama/754186012161441792/put-your-money-on-me?source=share

___

That night as he lay in bed, Sirius asleep, pressed to Remus’s back, Remus stared aimlessly as the clock turned three, then four, then five.

Only as the dusk light and the sounds of morning traffic began to seep in, did Remus start to feel calm.

He had, even as a young child, found it difficult to sleep in silence. Rather than relaxing, he instead found himself delving deeper into his thoughts, the most unpleasant ones finding him in the moments of night where it seemed he was the only person in the world who was awake.

The recent, warm presence of Sirius in his bed had helped in silencing his mind. It was hard to remain awake and tense when there was a bear of a man pushing you into the sheets, all warm and soft.

But this particular, starless night, with Arthur’s words still ringing in his head, sleep was eluding him. 

He thought back to his bar conversation and shuddered.

___

He had vague memories of Arthur Weasley from when he was younger. Remus would watch on his parent’s old, staticky tv, as the man made heartfelt speeches and passed out campaign stickers, fighting to end the corruption in Gryffindor.

Now, as he looked at the raggedy, twitchy man across from him, he thought that money could make a person do anything. 

“Now, I can’t promise that it was him, the younger one, I mean,  but I was looking at the wanted picture of Black on the news and there was a resemblance for sure,” Arthur continued. 

Remus merely hummed, gesturing for the man to continue. It was a trick he had learned early in his days as a bounty hunter, before he had connections and friends that could get him information. Back then, he had to hunt for information himself, and no one, with anything to hide, really wanted to talk to a bounty hunter.

Rather than urging someone to continue, the trick was to remain silent, making the other flustered, and blurt out everything. 

“He came often to the Nest,” Arthur said, referring the abandoned factory dubbed the “Snake’s Nest,” where addicts and dealers respectively went to get their fix from the Death Eaters.

“At first I thought he was a member, but he was always dressed a little too posh to fit the bill. If he really was Regulus Black, then I guess it fits the bill,” Arthur admitted.

When Remus remained silent, he saw a red flush climb up Arthur’s neck. 

A frown took over his face and his voice was a pitch higher when he continued, “I don’t know what else to say! That’s all I’ve got. I saw, who was most likely, Regulus Black buying drugs, and I mean hard drugs," Arthur spread his arms wide, “the last time I saw him, probably like uh-, I can’t be sure, maybe two weeks before his death was in the papers, he looked bad, like real bad.” 

Arthur’s frown deepened, “I’m low rank so I only sell the basic stuff, so I can’t say what Regulus was on but it wasn’t normal,” he paused ominously, “All sunken eyes and patchy skin, he-, he didn’t even look like a person anymore.” 

Remus felt chills run down his body at Arthur’s words. He imagined the suffering Regulus had faced in his last days, before he had been found dead in the corner of a dark alley. No information on cause of death or the conditions leading up to it had been revealed to the public, with the papers simply reciting, “natural causes.”

In a city like Gryffindor where crime loomed in the sky and morality was crushed under the boot of tyranny, it was better to not ask questions when someone, especially someone rich and powerful, turned up dead. 

Remus himself, as a humble but comfortable enough bounty hunter, had obviously never actually met the sickeningly rich but solitary Regulus, but found himself having a soft spot for the young man regardless.

“And you have no idea who was selling to him?” Remus asked. He obviously already knew the answer but had no evidence for it. Having a witness or anyone else who could testify to it would be needed. 

All he had was the word of wanted fugitive and alleged murderer, Sirius Black. Remus believed him without a second of thought, but others would scoff and simply throw him, and Remus at this point, in a jail cell in the middle of the ocean, and throw away the key. 

“Again,” Arthur answered, “I’m not that high rank. Regulu-, again I think it was Regulus, was dabbling in expensive stuff, way above my pay grade. I’ve got no clue.” 

Remus, internally, sighed miserably, his willowy shoulders dropping just slightly.

“Anything, Arthur. Even a hair colour or a tattoo, anything!” Remus said, fighting to keep his voice calm, not wanting to startle the man.

“Oh!” Arthur exclaimed, “I didn’t think to mention such a detail but he did have brown hair, but he, I think it was a he, was too far away anytime I got a glimpse to notice anything else.”

“Bingo,” Remus thought to himself, reaching forward to pat Arthur on the shoulder, then immediately regretting it, and subtly wiping his hand on his pants.

Normally, Remus was much more professional but this case held a certain personal importance for him. 

Tearing his eyes away from Arthur, he looked down at the shiny watch on his wrist, hidden under the sleeve of his coat. Gently running a finger over the hand of the clock, he remembered the day that a certain wanted criminal had gently clasped it around his wrist, three months ago.

After Sirius dropped a many revelation on him and Remus had begrudgingly agreed to help him clear his name, he had laughed as Remus had forlornly lamented that he would no longer get the bounty money. With a laugh, he had taken the watch off his own wrist and given it to Remus, telling him he could sell it for a pretty penny.

Remus had happily agreed but now three months later, the watch still sat on his wrist and not in a pawn shop. Every time Sirius looked at it when they were laying in bed together or making breakfast, their shoulders pressed together, his gaze softened. Remus tried to not think too hard on his feelings for Sirius, knowing the future was uncertain. He did know though, no matter how hard he pushed those feelings down, that he would no sooner let anyone put Sirius in a jail cell than he would put the watch in a pawn shop. Never. 

He thought back to that day his life changed, and despite the fear and anxiety, smiled. 

___

Remus stood frozen as Sirius Black pointed a knife at his face. For some reason, Remus had thought that Black would look insane after two months on the run. He had imagined grown out hair, a scuffy beard and ripped clothing.

The man in front of him was definitely Sirius Black, but his hair was cut, cropped short with a slight stubble on his chin, and his clothes weren’t ripped, dull as they were. On his wrist, was a shimmering watch that clashed with his surroundings.

The second thought in his head was how absolutely stupid the man was. While Remus, was more than happy with this, despite the knife in his face, he could not believe that the man who’s face was plastered on every surface in Gryffindor, had stayed in the city, rather than fleeing. 

He thought miserably to himself that this is how he was going to die, stabbed to death by Sirius Black in random, broken down shack. No one would ever find his body. Perhaps they would look for a week, maybe two, but then he be forgotten, remembered only as one of the many casualties of Gryffindor. 

“Who the hell are you?” Black snarled to Remus as if he was the wanted, sociopathic murderer. 

“Nobody important,” Remus responded airily, subtly moving his hand behind his back to where his gun sat. Black was a cop, trained to notice such things, but Remus had to at least try, it was the only way he might get out of here alive.

Plus, Black looked rather distracted, his gaze flipping between the open front door, the knife in his hands, and for some reason, his eyes kept straying up to Remus’s soft, brown curls.

Black let out a barking laugh, “I find that hard to believe. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time,” he moved closer to Remus, raising the knife slightly, “Who. The. Hell. Are. You. "

At the exact moment that Black took a step closer, Remus swiped his gun and pointed it forward at Black. The man froze only for a moment before he threw himself forward onto Remus, his palm on the side of the gun, their fingers touching. 

He tackled Remus to the floor, holding him down, one muscular arm pressing against Remus’s throat. While Black tried to pry the gun from his right hand, Remus threw up his left, smacking his fist into the side of Black’s face. 

But, Black was not to be deterred. No matter the fact that Remus had begun scratching his nails on his face, Black’s grip did not loosen from the gun. Remus watched with terror as Black, finger by finger, pried Remus’s hand off the gun, then, rather than point it at Remus, Black simply tossed the gun, sending it flying to the opposite side of the room.

Black looked back down at Remus, his grey eyes glowing, and pressed his arm harder on Remus’s neck. 

“James Potter! James Potter!” Remus gasped out.

“He sent me!” Remus gurgled out, sighing as the arm loosened abruptly.

Black reached forward, holding up Remus’s face close to him by his hands on his cheeks. 

“James, he sent you? Is he here?” Black asked urgently, his eyes searching Remus’s face for answers.

“Let me go and maybe I’ll tell you!” Remus spit out, his heart racing and his mind befuddled by the turn in events.

Black paused, as if just realizing that he was practically caressing Remus’s face before averting his gaze and coughing. He rose off of his Remus and offered him a hand to get up. Remus simply sniffed, turning his nose up at him. 

Standing up shakily, he looked at the dilapidated house around him. The hinges on the door that Remus had come through were barely holding up, and all the windows were cracked, with dust coating every wooden surface. 

Despite the warning bells in his head, at this point, Remus was feeling more annoyed at than scared of Black.

“Just listen to me,” He raced to say as Remus opened his mouth, “I don’t know who you are but if James sent you, you have to believe me, I didn’t do it, I didn’t kill him!” 

Remus responded curtly, “Ok.” He didn’t have much to lose at this point. 

Black continued frantically, as if he didn’t hear Remus. “ I have an explanation! Please it’s not what it looks like.” 

Black was starting to look a bit mad as he gestured widely, making Remus raise his voice and repeat, “Ok! I’ll listen to you.” 

“Oh,” Black responded, his tone softer, his head quirking to the side. 

He walked backwards, placing some distance between him and Remus before leaning on the wall. Remus was a bit worried the wall would collapse before remembering he didn’t care. 

Before Black could talk, Remus help up a finger to silence him before grabbing the gun from the floor. 

He walked over to the opposite wall, not leaning, and tucked the gun back in his clothing, looking Black in the eye carefully. 

“Ok,” Remus began, his voice carefully even, “What happened?”

___

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