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thetriumphantpanda · 1 year ago

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in his healing hands | joel miller

Summary | You come back from patrol with a broken body - knees and feet aching with age and the physical toll of the world. Joel knows exactly how to help you, putting his hands (and mouth) to good use.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count | 1.8K

Warnings | Foot massage (not in a fetish way), knee massage, soft!Joel, oral sex (f receiving), Jackson-era, no use of y/n, no explicit reference to age but reader does say the line 'I'm getting too old for this' so make of that what you will (I’m 28 and I say this, so make her whatever age you wish!), nothing else, just porn without much plot tbh.

Authors note | So, I did a 25km charity trek yesterday and when I tell you my body is wrecked? My body is wrecked. My knees are shot, my feet have never known pain like it, my lower back is screaming at me. So, naturally, Joel massaging my aches and pains and then eating my pussy was the natural thing for my brain to come up with. Slight shoutout to @mvtthewmurdvck for the massage oil idea here... I couldn't resist. Enjoy - this was written and edited on my phone in about 3 hours so be kind.

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You’re too old for this. You’d been on your feet for what felt like a lifetime, though it hadn’t been more than twelve hours. Still, it was enough for the new boots Tommy had given you to cause blisters on the balls of your feet, and for your knees to feel like they had shattered under your skin. You had to speak to him, you think, as you hand your rifle back to the weapon store. Tommy needed to find a job for you that didn’t require you traipsing through the forest, up and down hills, otherwise your body was seriously going to give up on you.

One foot in front of the other, it’s slow moving to his house. To your house. That’s still something you’re getting used to, the fact that your belongings, though they are few and far between, are now entangled with his. Your boots sit next to his by the door, your clothes hang alongside his in the wardrobe, you have a bedside table on your side of the bed. It’s strangely domestic, but you wouldn’t be without him, without Joel. He is what keeps your feet moving, no matter how much you want to collapse onto the ground and cry from the pain.

The sun is setting, the slow pace back down your final hill and into the gun store mean you’re later than usual. When you push the door open, Joel is stood in the kitchen, his back to you, broad and straining against his t-shirt. You think you could watch him from behind forever. Immediately, you feel the stress you’d been holding in your shoulders dissipate from your body. The pain is still there though.

Joel turns around slowly, smiling at you gently, his hands are clutching two steaming mugs of coffee. You’re still scared to ask what exactly he traded for it, but you’re grateful for it none-the-less when it’s pressed into your hand, and he’s kissing your forehead, pushing a gentle hand on your back, driving you towards the couch. He sits down, his own age showing in the way his knees audibly creak as he sits.

You follow suit, a sharp gasp of pain leaving your lips as you sink into the couch cushions, legs sticking out straight because you can’t bare to bend them anymore. Joel is sitting up, concern across his face, because you never let on when you’re hurting, so for you to audibly wince when you try and get comfortable, he knows it must be bad.

“Where are ya hurtin’, baby?” He asks, setting his coffee cup down on the table.

“Backs of my knees,” You grumble, tipping your head back in pain as you try and shift into a comfortable position, “And my feet.”

Joel slowly moves off the couch, sinking to his knees in front of you. His deft hands are unlacing your boots, pulling them off your feet, peeling off your socks after them. He has his hand wrapped around one of your ankles, tilting your foot to look at it, “What did I tell ya about breakin’ these in?” He scolds, head tilting to the boots on the floor, “Told ya you’d get blisters.”

“The only place I ever go is on patrol Joel, I can only wear them in on patrol.” You shoot back, frustration in your voice.

“Alright baby.” He lets this one go, realising you don’t need chastising, just helping.

He takes your left foot in his hand and presses him thumb into the arch of your foot and you moan. You actually moan in relief as he works his thumb up to the ball of your foot, avoiding the blister that’s built there, pressing a thumb into the skin next to it.

“Jesus fuck, Miller,” You groan, starting to press your foot into the pressure of his thumb, “Do the other one.” You ask, gesturing your hand to your other foot.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He shifts his hand, repeating the same movements as before, thumbs digging into the arch of your foot, moving upwards slowly, until he presses slightly too hard into the ball of this foot, making you hiss instead of groan. He squeezes your ankle, knowing that he’s probably now causing more pain than anything else.

“How’s about I run you a bath?” He murmurs from his knees, “Then we can get you nice and comfy in bed.”

The warm water had gone some way to soothing you, but as you hobble from the bathroom down to your bedroom, the searing ache in your kneecaps is causing small tears to bloom at the edge of your vision. In the bedroom, Joel is already propped up against his pillows, glasses perched on the end of his nose with a book in his lap. It’s still warm, so he’s not put a sleep shirt on, he looks positively delicious and if your whole body wasn’t pain, you’d straddle his hips and show him just how much you needed him.

He looks up from his book when he hears your heavy footsteps coming towards the bed, “Hot water help?” He asks, chuckling slightly when you flop, unceremoniously, down onto the bed, face-first, groaning in relief at the weight finally being off your body.

“Will you…” You mumble into the sheets under your mouth, turning your head to him to he can hear you properly, “Will you do the backs of my knees?” You ask, “Just massage them a bit and see if it’ll help?”

He shuts his book and drags his glasses off his face, setting them both down on his bedside table, pushing the sheets back from his lap, moving himself up on his knees next to you. He reaches over and sinks his fingers under the edge of the towel you’ve got wrapped around you, pulling it out from under you to drop it to the floor, leaving your backside naked to him.

He runs his hands down your back, wide palms skimming over your warm skin, he stops to squeeze the globes of your ass as his hands continue their path down the backs of your thighs, all the way down to the crook of your knee. He leans over you, body pressed gently to yours as he fishes around in the bedside drawer for a moment, pulling out the small vial of oil he keeps there.

Tommy had given it to him months ago, during the winter, when Joel’s joints seized up with the cold – you’d been the one massaging his back and his shoulders then – with the rosemary scented oil that someone in town cooked up, meaning the hard-to-find pills stayed in the hospital for emergencies only.

You listen as he squeezes a tiny amount of oil into his palms, rubbing them together to warm and loosen the oil, before he’s got those palms wrapped around one of your knees, pads of his thumbs gently pressing into the aching muscle there.

“You tell me if I’m too hard, okay?” He speaks softly behind you, a pattern of dragging one thumb, and then the other, across the plane of skin there, swapping between each knee until you’re a mouldable mess of a human.

“Feels good,” You breathe out, head pillowed on your arm, “I ever tell you how good you are with your hands?”

Joel laughs now, “Feelin’ better, huh?” He speaks, oily hands leaving the backs of your knees to trail back up to your ass, giving you another squeeze to see if you’re going to tell him to fuck off or not.

He leans forward, lips pressing a soft kiss to the bottom of your back, “Think you told me once or twice,” He comments, answering your earlier question about his hands, “But, if I remember correctly, you think I’m better with my mouth.”

His lips press a kiss to one of the cheeks of your ass, then the other, before he’s gripping the meat of you in his hands, squeezing and spreading you open for him, he notices you tense a little, and that simply won’t do, “Relax, will ya?” He encourages, “Promise I’m gonna make you feel real good, baby.”

He knows that he can’t shift you up onto your knees, or bend them much as all, but God he has to taste you. He shifts himself a little, from straddling your legs, to shifting them open a little so he can rest between them. You’re still led on your front, head resting on your arms, tilted round gently to look at him as much as you can.

He settles in between your thighs, body spread out much like yours is, with his mouth just inches from your weeping core, that’s been gradually gathering slick since he started touching you downstairs on the couch. His hands are back gripping the meat of your ass, using them to spread you apart so he can finally see you already dripping for him.

“Can you lift up a little, baby?” He asks, watching with satisfaction as you move a little so he can finally get his mouth on you.

He dips his tongue into your aching cunt first, using his tongue to lap up the delicious slick he’s already drawn from you. It’s already obscene, the sounds of his slurping, the way he literally drinks from you, tasting every part of you. Then, from his place behind you, he moves his head so he’s lapping at your clit. Soft, gentle flicks with the tip of his tongue, swirling the mix of his saliva and your slick over the little bundle of nerves in such a way that you’re crying out for him already.

“Easy baby,” He grins into your cunt, “You that worked up, huh?” He pulls away slightly, “Do I need to make you come? Will that make everythin’ better?”

You push yourself back onto his mouth and he obliges, because he can never deny you, especially when you’re this delicate and pliable, all from his hands helping to stop you hurting. He’s giving you wider, longer swipes of his tongue across your clit now, alternating when he wants back to those tight circles with the tip of his tongue until you are literally a quivering mess, teetering on the edge, waiting for him to tip you over.

“Joel,” You whimper, hips chasing at his tongue as it sweeps across your swollen clit, “Make me come, please.”

He doesn’t even bother to reply, just latches his lips around your clit, sucking for pressure, but still driving his tongue over it, until you finally let go, body shaking and a chorus of his name and pleas for him not to stop echoing through the room. And he doesn’t, not until he’s sure that his tongue has worked every ounce of your orgasm from you. He pulls away from you, wiping the slick from his face onto the back of your thigh before he collapses down on the bed next to you.

He rolls you gently onto your side, pulling your body into his. His hand pulls at your knee gently, bringing one of your legs across his body to rest on him, hand staying warm and solid on your still painful knee, as his other arm snaked under your neck and around your shoulders to anchor you to him.

He is still in awe, as you fall asleep against him, with his hands wide against your clammy skin, that these were once the same hands that killed people, tortured some of them even, the same hands that cradled his dying daughter all those years ago, now used to ease someone else’s pain, to make someone else feel better. He uses those hands now, running gentle patterns across your skin as you fall asleep, hoping that when you wake up, it’s made all the difference, even though he knows if you’re still hurting, he would stay here forever, running those hands over your aches and pains to heal you.

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gothic-aesthetic-gal · 4 days ago

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Old Scars (Part 14)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. This chapter continues the themes of being under the influence of a drug, with nightmarish hallucinations. Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

Part 14 -

I couldn't tell whether I was stuck in the grips of whatever Vladislav had dosed me with for hours, days, or weeks even. Time ceased to exist entirely in whatever dark place my brain had slipped down into. I was stuck in a purgatory of living nightmares, gripped by insanity, at the mercy of horrific hallucinations.

In the first moment of clarity I had, like the briefest spot of sun breaking through the thick clouds of a battering storm, I became faintly aware of my surroundings. I was laid out on a double bed in a white room.

I watched the peeling paint in one corner as it seem to pulsate and move. My blood was thumping in my ears, my throat dry as sandpaper, and the thin bars of light poking through the half shuttered blinds were unbearable. I groaned and drew up my arms and legs, rolling up like a little pilbug.

This glimpse of reality was short lived because the substance wasn't done tormenting me yet. I was burning up. Sweat beading from every pore, my skin felt raw and I thought that it was blistering. I frantically stripped off any clothing I had on, the fabric feeling like needles against my flesh. In this, the first of many subsequent after shocks, I began to see terrible things again.

All manner of abstract horrors flickered to life in my poisoned brain as I screamed and begged for help until my voice gave out. Occasionally, I thought I could make out voices nearby, or less often, in the room with me. Once of twice, I thought someone, or something, was stood over me but If I tried to make out their figure, it was like trying to look for a person in swirling mist - my brain kept latching onto shapes, and then they would move and I'd lose them again.

I thought that I was stood on one of the wide streets in the centre of the city, probably in the financial district. I shuddered at the sight of the glistening chrome skyscrapers towering over me, like knives stabbing into the sky. The air was thick with smoke and the sidewalks and road eerily empty. Devoid of life. Where were the finance workers in their suits and ties dashing around? Time is money so they always rushed between offices. Where were the cops on patrol, the city officials in sleek cars? Where were the taxis ferrying the regular folk: the cashiers, the bank tellers, the office workers, like myself? It was like finding an empty ant farm. What was the point of the structure if there was nothing living inside?

I felt my chest tighten up. Why was no one here? What had happened? I began to walk forwards into the fog, desperate to find some sign of life. Eventually I broke into a jog, one unsteady foot after the other, beating against the grey asphalt of the road. Rapidly twilight came and went and the heavy cloak of nightfall dropped over the city. The road seemed to never end or change. Just as I was about about to give up in utter despair, I hit a crossroads.

I saw a looming firetruck abandoned in the centre of the junction. Brilliant orange flames were licking their way along the bright red paint, reducing it to a burnt out shell. The windows were shattered and the tyres slashed. Still no people, alive or dead. Not knowing what else to do, I kept running along the main avenue. Finally the shapes of some cars emerged from the shroud of the smoke and fog. They too were abandoned, little more than burnt out husks.

Suddenly, I thought I heard the briefest whisper of a voice on the wind. I whirled around, this way and that, trying to seek it out.

"(Y/n)"

Something, or someone was calling to me.

"Where is it taking you now?" It came again from behind me this time.

I circled round, desperate to find the source. The voice was low, and oddly familiar. I couldn't place it. My brain felt like it had short circuited and all the connections were fried.

"What do you see?"

This time it sounded much closer, from the right and clear enough that the man speaking could have been right next to me. I whipped in the direction of the voice. There he stood, so close that I almost jumped out of my own skin. I stumbled and fell backwards on my ass in the road.

He stepped forward, his vibrant purple coat, even faded as it was, a dazzling contrast to the grey world around me. I looked up in silent fear at his face, covered in white paint with black circles around his dark eyes. There was the splashed curve of a blood red smile extending beyond the bounds of his lips, and his hair was a tangled mess of green-tinted curls hanging forward as he leaned over me with hunched shoulders.

I shrank back in his shadow, fear running through me, and struggled under his piercing gaze. I was silent, too afraid and confused to speak.

"What do you see?" He asked again.

"I - I see you," I stammered out in confusion, struggling to sit upright.

"Me?" Came his reply, and he looked equally confused.

The smoke was thinning out around us now, and the ghostly shapes of the city began to reappear with greater clarity as I slowly hauled myself up and back to my feet. My whole body ached in protest, even my bones felt like they were sore.

"Where... where am I?" I asked the strange man before me.

"Well, that depends?"

"What do you mean?"

I screwed up my face in confusion and rubbed my sore head.

"It depends. On the one hand you're here with me," he threw out his arms and spun around gesturing at the empty streets.

"And, on the other?"

He abruptly stopped spinning, his coat swaying around him and revealing a flash of beautiful orange silk lining, like dancing flames.

"On the other, you're supposed to be somewhere else."

I frowned.

"Where else am I supposed to be?"

"Beats me!" He erupted into laughter.

"Is she still out of it?" A new voice echoed around me.

Again it belonged to a man, and he spoke with a thick accent but it was still just the two of us standing in the empty street, now so clear that I could see right the way along upper fifth.

"She's sometimes responding to me now."

"So the the treatment is working?"

"Well yeah, but she's still gonna be a bit loopy until all of it leaves her system for good."

My head felt like it was full of thick sludge as I staggered forwards, past the strange man in the long purple coat. Nothing made sense. Something was wrong. What had he said?

'You're supposed to be somewhere else.

I decided to veer left, since going forwards didn't seem to actually cover any ground. I found myself in one of the compartments of a large revolving door to one of the skyscrapers. Turning around, I saw that the man had somehow appeared opposite me. He gave me an enthusiastic wave, much to my horror. I had to get away, something was deeply unsettling about him and now he was following me.

I turned and ran full tilt for a line of elevators, aggressively smashing my fingers against the call buttons and frantically looking over my shoulder. One of them finally arrived and I bolted inside, again smashing the buttons of the control panel desperately trying to get the doors to close. From my position, I could now see him again as he walked towards me - there was something all the more sinister about his leisurely pace. It was as though he was a big cat, stalking it's prey in the long grass.

The doors began to draw closed and I pressed the button for the top floor, feeling a swell of relief as the elevator began to shift upwards. I watched as the light on the control panel flickered through each of the markers for the forty-six floors. It seemed to take forever, and I was shocked when the destinstion arrived.

I gingerly stepped out into a large open-plan space. There was glass everywhere, and I felt like I was in a fish tank. I wandered by some partitioned executive offices, and paused for a moment as I saw that one had a beat up old tv set in it. It was so at odds with the surroundings that I felt compelled to look closer and approached. It was switched on and something was playing. I fiddled with the aerials on the top until the static dissipated and the picture clarified.

Much to my surprise, the film was one I thought I might have seen before... but I was struggling to recall what it was. I could see a man and a woman climbing the stairs of a tower. The scene was fraught, and they seemed to be arguing, or he seemed to be confronting her. The building violins in the soundtrack were spiralling higher and higher. I turned away from it: I had to keep going. I had to keep moving, even if I didn't know why.

Next, I came across an outdoor terrace which I rushed out to. The cold night air greeted me as I pushed open the door and a breeze blew past me back into the building, scattering loose papers in stacks on the desks. There were multiple empty tables and chairs lined up in neat rows. I wondered if some of the workers would drink coffee and talk about important meetings up here. I noticed one table was laid out, but not with what I'd expected to see. Instead it was littered with empty beer bottles and a deck of cards, like the vanished people had been interrupted mid-game. As I moved closer the wind picked up the cards and scattered them in every direction.

I reached out to grab the nearest one as it fluttered by. They were bigger than I'd have expected a standard pack of cards to be, and I soon realised why: they were tarot cards. I turned over the one I'd fished out of the clutches of the wind.

On it was a picture of a crumbling tower, struck by lightning, and two people falling from the top. The windows were bursting with flames and the storm clouds raging behind it. I felt a pang of dread at such an obvious bad omen.

The wind was rapidly picking up and I decided that I would have to head back indoors. I had wanted to look out over the city, hoping it might reveal some clue as to where everyone had gone, but I was terrified of being so very high up. As I turned to reatreat, there was an almighty boom, and the walkway beneath my feet shook so violently that I was thrown off balance. I knew immediately that something was deeply wrong.

There was a crescendo of shattering glass, and a horrible grinding, scraping sound. The whole building seemed to shudder beneath me. At a loss for what else to do, I picked myself up and ran back inside. As I fled in a total panic around a blind corner, I collided with something and went crashing to the ground.

"Hey, watch it!" Yelled out a man from the ground beside me.

I floundered around in confusion as he picked himself up and gathered the things I had knocked out of his hands.

"What the fuck is your problem?" He huffed, hurrying off.

I ran back to the elevator and waited anxiously for the next one to open. As the doors slid back I was again shocked as no less than fifteen people hurried out and chastised me for not waiting my turn. On the one hand, it should have been a huge relief to have people back, but on the other it only drove me to further madness in my desperate attempts to make sense of the whole situation.

As the elevator reached the fifth floor it stopped. The doors parted to reveal the strange man I had run away from earlier. I jumped back in horror and pressed myself back into the corner of the lift as he stepped in. He looked at me with an air of superiority and disinterest as I cowered in the corner. We continued to travel down to street level and a sharp ding indicated our arrival.

The opening doors revealed a scene of complete carnage unfolding - it looked as though a bomb had gone off in the lobby, all the glass was broken, things were on fire, people were running around screaming as the air was filled with acrid smoke. The man with the painted face strolled out into the middle of it all, entirely unfazed as I trailed after him in disbelief.

Out in the street, the usual bustle of city life had returned as though it was never gone and I stood beside the road watching as people and cars jostled for space. The air filled with the sound of police sirens as cop cars screeched to a halt outside the building and officers ran up the steps.

Just as I was looking down fifth avenue towards the mayor's offices at the end, several more explosions rocked the ground beneath my feet. Multiple buildings were hit. Cars swerved, people screamed, and panic took hold. Everyone began to run. Everyone except the strange man I had followed and myself. The crowd moved around us like water in a stream as we stared at one another.

One of the frantic people broke off from the herd and collided with me. I moved to try and help her up from where she'd fallen but she slapped my hand back.

"What are you doing just standing there gawking. Get the fuck out of the way!" She yelled as she gathered up her briefcase and scrambled away.

Suddenly I found my hand was clasped in the purple gloved hand of the strange man with the painted face. He put me into the position for a waltz, posing my limbs like I was a marionette. Before I could protest, I was whirling around in a strange dance with him. It felt like I was bewitched, like my feet automatically moved and I had no choice but to obey. The only kind of dancing I was accustomed to was jumping around a crowded dancefloor, too many shots deep to form any coherent thoughts - and that was as a teenager: an increasingly distant memory. We had all paid off the bouncer to not question our obviously fake IDs, and misspent our youth drinking and dancing all night. I found myself wondering where any of those people were now; ten years was a long time...

We were spinning around at such a dizzying rate that the towering buildings around me started to blur as my body kept graceful timing. Abruptly, we came to a halt as he put me into a dip. It felt strange to be suspended, as if mid-fall, held there by his strong grip. I looked up at his face in silent confusion.

He pulled us both back to standing position and I withdrew my hand from its resting place on his shoulder. The city started to fade and bleed, like an ink drawing in the rain. All the bleak colours and the harsh lines blotted together. Everything around me began to re-materialse as something else, and before I knew it, I was standing on a bridge. The rain was coming down in fat, heavy droplets which soaked into my clothes and ran over my skin. The hands holding me in place released me and I looked back to see who had brought me to this place. My strange dance partner stood just out of my reach in the downpour. I stepped back from the barrier toward him.

The rain was so heavy it was washing the paint from his features, revealing piece by piece his nakedness - his real skin. He looked lost in thought, and I had to touch his arm before he would react to my presence. As soon as I did, he spoke.

"You need to wake up."

"But I am awake!" I protested in confusion.

"No, you're not," he muttered back darkly.

I didn't know what he meant. It was all too much.

"If you don't wake up, you might get stuck like this".

"I don't understand."

"You're dreaming, and you have to wake up," he pressed, grabbing onto me and shaking me violently by my shoulders, until it hurt.

"But..." I trailed off as I began to think it through.

It would explain the strange things which kept happening, the way time had seemed to stop, the unexplainable disappearance and reappearance of the city's inhabitants, and the sudden change of location.

"Okay, so how do I wake up?" I asked, but no one was there to answer: he was gone.

I was alone on the bridge. I sank down onto the wet ground in total despair. I don't know how long I sat there, dripping wet and miserable as the heavens continued to pour down over the city. I watched the occasional pairs of car headlights sweep by and listened to the crashing swell of the river somewhere far below.

Maybe what I needed was a shock. If the nightmarish visions had stopped, and I was stuck in this shallow imitation of the city indefinitely, then maybe I needed to do something to shock myself into waking up. I turned slowly towards the bridge's barrier.

Dread immediately sank its claws into my gut. Surely that wasn't the answer... but what if it was? Just the idea of jumping made me feel dizzy and sick. I paced back and forth as I weighed up my options. If nothing else here had inspired enough fear in me to wake me, then I'd have to do something more drastic, and this would certainly qualify. Forcing myself to act out a long-time fear might just be the only thing drastic enough to work.

Why start small? I knew it had to be this. The most fucked up part of me enjoyed the poetry of it too, as I gripped the barrier with trembling hands and willed myself to climb over it. Just the sight of the drop made me want to cry out in panic, to turn and run, but somehow I held fast.

I knew I couldn't do it facing oblivion, so I turned myself around. What was I doing? What if this was all just some mental break I was having? And, oh god, what if it was like the Matrix: where the dream was more pleasant than the reality? If that was the case, this dream world left a lot to be desired. I exhaled sharply, as though I was trying to physically expel my racing thoughts.

A part of me was telling me I had to do this, even if I didn't know why. The primal, most prehistoric part of me was screaming self-preservation, but something in my heart told me to ignore it. As I made my peace with the decision, I saw a dark figure on the opposite side of the bridge. He had emerged from the mist like an apparition, and said nothing as he met my gaze. It was the batman. I wasn't alarmed by his presence, and something about the way he was watching suggested a kind of understanding. He didn't move to stop me, or offer any resistance.

I let go of the bars and leant back as far as I could. My heart fluttered into my throat as I felt gravity come up to greet me and I passed the point of no return. I toppled down into the dark with a scream of terror at my imminent end. I prayed that it would be quick.

With a gasp like I had stopped breathing for several minutes, I coughed and spluttered as I lurched upright. My dry eyes snapped open and I suddenly felt the urge to vomit. I struggled to the end of the bed. Suddenly, a bucket was thrust under my bowed head just in time. My whole body ached. When I finally stopped being sick, I let myself fall back onto the mattress beneath me.

"Kurwa, I'm glad I put the bucket in here," muttered the looming figure to my left. As I looked at him I remembered who he was.

"Are you okay, you were screaming again?" He asked.

"Tony..." I thought aloud.

His eyes widened in excitement.

"You know who I am now, yes?"

"I - I think so," I muttered, rolling onto my side with a groan.

"I will go and tell the boss. He's been watching you a lot, but even he needs sleep sometimes," he said.

I barely had the strength to answer him.

"Okay," was all I managed as Tony left the room with the bucket in hand.

Silent tears of relief rolled down my cheeks as I realised it was over, and I was still breathing.

Link to the masterlist for other chapters:

Tag list:

@dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd

@dance-like-a-clown

@furisodespirit

@heath-ledger-jokers-wife

@sunfyrejoker

@lightsabergirl

@clowning--around

@ruby-da-archangel

@harleenqvinn

@helchronicles

@ostricx

@jumpingjellyfishhaha

@knoepfl

@nicklet94

Dividers by @strangergraphics

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crushedgraham · 1 year ago

Note

Hi again! Can you do a dva x fem! Reader fic which reader is a dps agent, and they take care of each other after a rough mission?

Kiss it Better

D.Va x fem! DPS Agent

"Hey, you okay?"

Hana's voice calls out to you but she sounds like she's miles away from you. Your gaze is stuck on your bloody hands, the callouses on your palms are peeled and ripped off, leaving pads of blood and raw flesh. The skin on your knuckles aren't any better. Shades of purples and reds have overtaken your natural skin color, dried blood caked into certain areas too. There isn't an inch of you that doesn't ache; your feet blistered, your legs sore, your torso bruised, your face cut, everything hurt.

You're pulled back to reality when a softer hand squeezes your shoulder gently.

"Y/N?"

It's worrying how much effort it takes to look up at the Korean girl but you do so anyways. A small cut decorates her bottom lip and you wish you had the strength to stand up and kiss it better but you would probably collapse if you tried.

"Honestly I feel like I'm dying."

The stupid, lopsided smile you give her is meant to lighten what you just said but it only makes her frown grow bigger.

"Should we stop by the Overwatch base?? I can call Angela and tell her it's an emergency"

"Wait Hana no- I was joking"

"That's not funny Jagi! I'm worried, you look like shit"

"You say you feel like you're dying all the time"

"It's funny when I do it"

The conversation distracts you from the ache in your bones and you two keep talking until you physically can't keep your eyes open any longer. Somewhere during the conversation Hana had sat down next to you in the ship which allowed you to rest your head on her shoulder. About an hour or so was left until you reached Korea so Hana pulled out her phone and started playing random games until you landed.

A small nudge to your head wakes you up. You grunt from the pain in your neck after having to lean down at an awkward angle to rest on Hana but it was worth it. Hana gets up first, she had only gotten a few minor bruises since she was shielded in her Mech. Her hand outstretches to you and you take it gratefully, boosting yourself with your free hand for extra support.

The walk through your headquarters is a painful one. Your arm is wrapped around Hana's shoulders as you limp to your shared room. Every now and then she glances at you with a worried gaze but you meet it with a half smile.

Once you two reach the room, your mind is set on hibernating for the next few weeks but Hana has other plans. She drags you to the bathroom, grumbling something about cleaning you up.

You sit on the toilet lid as you watch the small girl pull out the med kit from the drawers.

"How long do you think we're gonna do this?"

The words escape you faster than you thought they would. Hana glances up at you with a confused expression.

"What do you mean?"

"Like..Missions and protecting the world. I love it but I don't think it's sustainable for my body. Next thing you know I'm gonna be losing a body part like Cass or Rein."

A small punch is delivered to your arm at the joke.

"But doesn't it feel hard for you too? And I mean mentally"

Hana pulls out a cotton pad and dabs saline solution onto it, she brings it up to a cut on your nose bridge.

"Yeah, I'm definitely a lot safer because of my Mech but I get the mental part. Sometimes I feel like my youth and "golden years" have been stolen away from me to protect Korea but it was my choice, you know?"

The sting from the saline disinfecting your wounds makes it hard to respond but you nod with shut eyes.

"But don't stress, I'm sure we can retire at some point. Then we can be old and domestic like your cheesy movies."

Hana kisses the tip of your nose at the end of her sentence which makes you smile.

"I can't wait to grow old with you"

She rolls her eyes at the corny line but her smile grows from it. Once she's done disinfecting everything, she nudges you towards the shower. Hana strips first and turns on the hot water. Normally you would be jumping up and down at a chance to shower with her but the effort it takes to stand makes you dread it.

Throughout the shower Hana washes your body gently, making sure to kiss your cheek apologetically whenever you wince from the pain. You both towel off and you launch yourself at the bed, content to just lay there naked.

A cool gel being applied to your body makes you jump. You look towards your torso to see Hana rubbing the gel along your ribs and stomach to help the bruising. She applies bandages on those spots to lock in the gel. The way she pokes out the tip of her tongue as she concentrates makes you smile adoringly at her.

When she packs up the med kit you pull her down to lay next to you.

"What about you?"

"I'm fine, I probably got one bruise at most"

"Oh! That reminds me-"

You lean down to kiss her lips softly. When the kiss ends you kiss only her bottom lip which makes her giggle.

"What're you doing weirdo?"

"Kissing your lip better"

#overwatch #overwatch x reader #dva x reader #dva overwatch #d.va x reader #hana song x reader #hana song

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 6 months ago

Text

Embrace

Summary: Written for Day 11 of Augusnippets 2024. Modern AU, Sci-fi AU. With the help of the Defenders of the Wing and the heatstroke he suffered, Astrid can finally have a moment with Hiccup.

Warnings: Implied Child Abuse

Rating: Teen and Up

Dead Dove: No

Words: 440

Prompts: Escape, Breaking the Conditioning, Safe and Sound

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Astrid

Pairing: Slight Hiccstrid

Author's Notes: One of my favorite whump tropes is when the whumpees loved ones can see what was done to them. So good!

Enjoy!

-XOXOX-

Astrid can’t look at him the same now that she knows some of the things that have been done to him.

The leg he lost to a Skrill, the surgeries to place implants that were meant to help enhance his mental capacity to tap into a dragon’s brain, the painful injections meant to enhance him further, the sedatives when those implants gave him unbearable migraines. The kind that made him feel like his skull was splitting open day in and day out.

And yet he still defends her.

“She’s my mother! She loves me!” Hiccup snaps at her.

After that heatstroke made him collapse, his dragons were forced to allow them to help, they brought him here. Underground, far away from his dragons inside a room lined with something that interfered with the implants. His connection isn’t cut off, just back to normal. Suddenly, he can talk.

And feel his recent back injury.

Astrid wishes she could tell him how wrong he is. That mothers who love their children don’t turn them into science experiments, they don’t exploit them for an innate ability, it’s not normal to put them through so much pain that he’s been caught on camera begging for death. The Defenders of the Wing, a group that protects dragons without putting baby boys through actual Hell, have every second of footage. They also own this facility and have funding.

Astrid stares at him, at his sunburned face, where his skin peels, where there are burst blisters, where the raw skin of his wrists have been bloodied by the cuffs. His ability to sense his own body so ruined he still can’t feel any of that. His back he does feel, sitting there like he can hardly breathe. She notices that there are two white, raised scars on his right forearm that look like they could’ve been caused by human teeth.

After watching all of that footage, even Snotlout can’t help but be upset.

But fighting him won’t help him escape his mother’s control. She’s lucky Mala allowed her this moment. So instead of instigating him further, Astrid rises from her chair and walks over to his side to capture him in a hug.

He draws away from her, tenses up within her arms. Not like he’s averse to her touch, but like he expects something bad to happen. Normally, conditions are tied to hugs like these.

Astrid allows the embrace to linger, gives him time, until eventually he settles and his chin rests on her shoulder.

On the other side of the one-way window, Mala, Throk and the rest of her friends, Heather and Dagur included, watch.

#augusnippets #augusnippets 2024 #httyd fics #httyd movies #rtte #race to the edge #au #alternate universe #modern au #sci-fi au #mind full au #dragon whisperer au #the handler au #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #hiccstrid #my fanfics #embrace

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dotchi18 · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I like your writing :) I dunno if you're still doing the flower prompts, but could I request H (hyraendga) with the demon of your choice? If not, then have a nice day :))

Hey there!

Thank you so much for the compliment, sure you can request that!

It was a bit tricky picking a demon and a situation, so I kind of took an embarrassingly long time, but I Hope you like this! :D

H - Hydrangea (heartfeltness, gratitude): “I thank every divine being that exists for having guided me to you.”

Yandere!Asmodeus x Reader

(Anyone who says regular Asmodeus is plenty Yandere is absolutely correct, but since the Flower prompts are Yandere, I might as well tag him with it <3 )

Also, I usually put the prompts at the very start of the Yandere with the first meeting, so I thought it would be nice to put it a little further in! <3

Warnings: Mentions of Reader Death, Manipulative and Delusional Behavior, Reader being Called 'Darling' and 'Hon'

--------------

When your senses came back to you, your entire body pulsed in utter and complete agony.

Where were you?

Honestly the effort it was taking you to open your eyes led you to give up on that pretty quickly, you can get back to it later.

What was the last thing you remembered?

You remembered exiting a store with your friends and walking along the sidewalk, but what happened after...

You weren't too sure.

It was then, laying where you were, you heard humming.

Cheery and in tune, it was a sound from a voice you remembered.

Your friend.

It was your friend Asmo.

With an effort that felt like you put a crowbar under them, you finally forced open your eyes.

The first thing you saw was pink-red sheets you laid upon, the smoothness really blossoming on your skin now that things were coming back to you as your eyes casted up.

And there he was, sitting on a chair with a pink seat and a barred back in the shape of a heart, clad in a fluffy robe you recognized.

You had joked in that robe he looked like someone who was 'mourning the 'mysterious' disappearance of their rich husband'.

It was fluffy around the edges, almost angelic in vision as the rest of it hugged his slender body as he was slowly peeling away his face mask to smooth skin, admiring his beautiful face with his champagne-colored eyes until his eyes turned and met with yours.

His whole countenance brightened and he pushed away from the table, turning his body to you as he beamed.

" Oh my Darling, How wonderful you're awake!"

He strode over almost toe to toe causing a swing to his hips, his eyes sparkling as he pressed a well-manicured hand into the blankets before you.

" How are you feeling Hon? After what had happened, you're going to need some rest."

What was he talking about?

" What happened?" You finally managed after some pause, your throat feeling achy, " Where is everyone else?"

" Oh Darling, don't worry about anything else anymore." Asmo ran his other hand over your hair, combing his fingers through it in a soothing gesture that made your eyes feel heavy again, but you fought off the comforting gesture for some answers.

" No, Asmo... what happened?"

He sighed indulgently as if you had asked him thing, reclining right beside you as his eyes stared into yours with a small smile on his face.

" You died, Hon."

The words were like receiving a cold splash of water to your face, your body jolting as you sat up, pain blistering through you as you gasped, Asmo's eyes wide as he sat up with you, his arms wrapping around you as you shook. " Shh Shh... Darling, it will take you some time for your body to adjust to what happened-"

" I died?"

Your head pounded as you tried to think about what had happened just earlier.

You had been walking with your friends... You all had just went browsing in a store, Asmo was there as well, you remembered that.

You remembered walking down the sidewalk, talking and laughing with your friends.

And then you remember looking beside yourself to Asmo.

He was holding a drink in his hand, something that he had offered a sip to you earlier, the taste on your tongue as he smiled to you, a smooth, knowing smile.

Then you felt his hand, so manicured and delicate looking, go to your shoulder, and with a force your mortal brain couldn't comprehend he shoved you.

You remembered stumbling over the curb in surprise, and then... everything went black.

Your body felt like ice, and you were unsure if it was because you were dead or if the blood you had simply just went cold from the realization.

" You?"

" Aw Hon, don't look at me like that~" Asmodeus huffed as he sat up, the look of betrayal on your face making him pout, " It was the only way for me to preserve you as you are.

Waiting any longer and who knows what might have happened to you, you know?"

His tone was almost scolding, as if you were a doll that someone could handle improperly and bring you back in a worse state than the perfection you already were to him.

" What in the hell is going on?" You were too stunned to do much at the moment.

Why were you here?

Where was here anyways?

You were definitely angry, but what could you even do with all of that when you were dead?

" Hell is a rather correct term my lovely!" Asmo giggled as he stood, his attention still fully on you, " You see, this is probably hard to believe, but I am a very important person in this place, and I just had to pull a few strings to get you right here, where you belong!"

You could only stare at him in shock as Asmo laughed and went back to the make-up table, cleaning up what he had worked on, glancing in the mirror for a moment before grabbing at a few more things, gathering it as he snapped his fingers and you felt your upper body being lifted from the bed as if a doll being picked up by an invisible hand, your body too sore and disused to do more than hang limply as you tried to shake your head.

" Why? "

" Why? Well why not?" Asmo flounced back with a smile, placing a few silk pillows underneath you to eventually prop your head up as he unscrewed the caps to the make-up he had brought over and laid by himself on the bed, gently gripping you by the jaw, where his warm and soft hands made contact filling you with the feeling of pins and needles as he rubbed against your flesh, trying to massage feeling back into it, but putting more effort into the make-up he brought.

" I do love you so much after all! Now, I know you're upset, but you'll get over it."

Your mind was a mess. How does one even comprehend the horrible mess one was in?

It was hard enough to truly believe in a life after death, but to know that you were in Hell, and a friend of yours specifically sent you there for themselves, it was too much.

The make-up felt like he was painting a shell upon your face, more than likely because you barely had any feeling in your face, so this new stuff felt unnatural as Asmo happily pampered your limp body.

He wouldn't let you speak when you tried to voice your frustrations, sealing your mouth shut.

" You can vent your frustrations at me when you feel better tomorrow.

For today we're just going to get you all dolled up in a way I know you'll look good in, and we're going to rest together!

Then, we'll see if you're fit to walk tomorrow!"

Tears of frustration burned in your eyes, but Asmo merely smiled his poisonously sweet smile, cupping your face with both his hands this time, mostly settled in your hair and under your jaw to not ruin the make-up, his champagne-colored eyes settled on yours.

" I thank every divine being that exists for having guided me to you.

I'm going to make sure that after everything blows over, we're going to have the best time together!"

A tear started to streak from your eye, and Asmo wiggled a bit before leaning close and licking the tear from your cheek.

" I promise!"

#obey me #Obey me Asmo #Tw Death #Yandere #yandere asmodeus #He's a drama queen #I kept writing about the beginnings of the feelings so I thought #'Might as well jump into the thick of it I guess'#I hope you guys enjoyed #This took literal months to make #Yandere Obey me

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pr0serpinas · 1 month ago

Text

lest ye die

“Do you see what you’ve ruined?”

A study in three drabbles as Sebastian plunges ever deeper and unrepentant into the Dark Arts.

Read on ao3 or here.

CW: nonconsensual use of legilimency, hurt/no comfort

i. pain

Why did he think it would be such a trifling thing?

The spell crackles, setting his bones on fire. He is helpless on the filthy floor, either screaming at the top of his lungs or in far too much agony to draw breath, he’s not sure. He feels muscle peeling away from bone. His skin parts as easily as paper. The pain is a circle with no end. And yet. His eyes, unfocused as they are, find the graven image, watch the tormentors bleed away. The door takes shape.

The spell lifts, leaving a faint hint of ozone behind. Sebastian rolls shakily to all fours so that he doesn’t choke when he vomits. He learns that he can, in fact, sob and vomit at the same time.

Ominis is by his side, murmuring sibilant incantations that close the wounds and soothe the nerves. He is still in blistering pain, but at least now he won’t die. He is afraid to look at Ominis but forces himself to. Ominis’s face is a mask.

Years later, he claws himself to standing.

His back slams into the wall. Ominis holds him there with his wand over Sebastian’s thudding heart, seizes his jaw brutally with his free hand. “I’m glad I did it to you.” Ominis’s voice shreds him with dispassion.

“You’re—you’re glad that you tortured me?”

Ominis’s lips twist in a sneer. “Torture? Please. That was a taste. You can still stand. You didn’t lose control of your bowels or rip out your own fingernails.”

“Why are you—why are you saying this?”

“Because maybe if you know what it’s like, you’ll finally trust me,” Ominis snarls. His voice shakes with anger, and oh, Sebastian shouldn’t find it so beautiful to witness Ominis lose control. “I tried to tell you. Can you imagine now, truly, what it was like to have that done to me as a child? At age five, at age seven? Can you imagine what it felt like for me to do it to someone else, knowing what it would feel like, and doing it only so that I didn’t have to feel that way? It was my eighth birthday. Can you imagine what it was like for me to do it to you, knowing this and knowing that you wanted it without knowing what it meant?” He releases Sebastian’s jaw. “It’s a poison, Sebastian. The Dark Arts are not a secret tool to save your sister. They’re a poison.”

Sebastian’s chest is hollow. He wants to say something. He wants to apologize. He wants, strangely, to kiss Ominis. He wants to vomit again. He does none of these things.

The grimoire lies in wait on a table, not even concealed behind protective enchantments. “I hope it was worth it to you,” Ominis says as a parting shot over his shoulder.

Power blooms under Sebastian’s fingertips as he picks up the heavy, dusty book. The feeling is heady, intoxicating.

Worth it doesn’t begin to describe how he feels.

ii. power

Bony fingers seize Sebastian’s wrist. “You’re a liar, Sebastian,” Ominis spits. “You swore to me—“

“I didn’t,” Sebastian says reflexively. “I said I would never give up on Anne. I would never lie to you.”

Ominis scoffs. “I honestly doubt you’re aware of whether you’re lying or not.” It cuts Sebastian, and he opens his mouth, but Ominis holds him off. “No, you only led me to believe that you valued my feelings on the matter. I had really hoped that after the Cruciatus, you’d realize that the Dark Arts are not going to help you. Sebastian, don’t you understand? They don’t work unless you want them to.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I wanted to hurt you,” Ominis says with venom. “I wanted you to hurt you badly enough that you’d be too frightened to continue. I see that I failed in that regard. I will not fail again.” His wand prods the underside of Sebastian’s chin, tilting his head back. “If experiencing it for yourself didn’t work, if you hold yourself in such blatant disregard, maybe seeing it on me will.”

“What are you—?“

“Legilimens.”

Pain licking at the bones. A child, sickly-looking in his paleness, screaming on the floor. An older, darker boy, cackling. The child, older now, fingers bloody from scratching at the wooden door to try to escape the flames of agony. The boy, outside now, casting it from behind a bush at an unsuspecting Muggle girl, his hand being guided by the older boy. Light and images fracture as though through a prism.

The image shifts, or rather, dissolves. The memories are pure sensation now. Guilt and fury, betrayal and hurt, fear and—love? Yes, love in sunlit fields sharing the summer’s first raspberries and curling together in a narrow bed and calloused fingers guiding his head towards a voice so he can fit in and look a little less odd, less blind—

And suddenly, Sebastian’s mind is his own. The intrusion of light sends him staggering. “What the hell,” he spits on the ground, ridding himself of bile. “What the fuck.” He shudders, nauseated, violated, yet…impressed. Even he lacks the nerve to attempt Legilimency, let alone execute it expertly enough to project his mind into someone else’s. He tries to move finds himself crumpling instead.

Despite everything, Ominis catches him. Sebastian leans his forehead on Ominis’s, sharing ragged breath. It’s not a question of if he will break Ominis’s heart, but how, when, and how many times.

Ominis seizes the back of Sebastian’s hair and pulls, forcing his head back and away from his own, so that Sebastian is forced to look at his blazing eyes. “You know how much I care for Anne,” Ominis says in a low voice. “You’re all the family I have. You know that I would never deprive you of something to help her if I thought it would work.”

Sebastian does know this about Ominis. And yet, who is he to deny himself? “How do you know it wouldn’t?”

Ominis’s eyes flash dangerously, blue flames in a white face. “The Dark Arts have given me nothing but misery. Some magical trinket mentioned in a book by Salazar Slytherin is about as dark as it gets.”

“But—“

“There is always a cost, Sebastian. Let’s say—let’s just say—that it works. What are you prepared to give for it?”

Sebastian’s silence is answer enough.

Ominis laughs joylessly, his face a study in incredulity. “I can’t believe you.”

And it’s really not fair, Sebastian thinks, that he has to choose. Here are the two people he cares about most in the world: which one does he eviscerate?

There is also the matter of himself, he knows. The groundswell of power from the book, better than the blood of life itself. He’s felt it making him stronger by the day. He starves for it.

Ominis steps back, releasing his hold on Sebastian and dousing the light from his wand. He doesn’t put it away, doesn’t render himself entirely helpless, but he seems to be making Sebastian’s choice for him. “The only way I will not follow you is if I can’t. And if I follow you, our—our relationship will not survive.” His tone is so calm, so controlled, and Sebastian didn’t expect that he would be the one to get his heart ripped out.

“What do you mean, if you can’t follow?” Sebastian’s throat has never been so dry. “I don’t—I don’t know how to Obliviate or Confund you.” The admission tastes like vinegar. Ominis blinks impassively, and it comes to him. Sebastian’s stomach roils. He has never felt worse, not even under the Cruciatus, because he cannot hurt Ominis, because he knows he’s going to.

He raises his hand. His hand shakes, but he forces himself to look into Ominis’s eyes. “Imperio.”

Ominis’s eyes go glassy and his head looks as power floods Sebastian’s veins. He is acutely aware that he holds Ominis’s soul in the palm of his hands. It’s breathtaking, exhilarating. What had he been worried about only moments before? He is transcendent, a god. The power wells in his throat and threatens to choke him, but he manages a delicious, steadying breath.

Ominis waits attentively.

“Can you hear me?” he asks, as if Ominis has possibly gone deaf as well.

“Yes,” Ominis says vaguely.

“Will you do what I tell you?”

“Yes.”

“Will you remember what happens?” Sebastian realizes that he doesn’t know the answer to this, has only ever read about the Imperius Curse, has no real idea what it will do, and a creep of doubt infiltrates his glory. Ominis pauses. Ordinarily, Sebastian would say he was considering. He feels the connection between them go taut, and he’s not entirely sure which of them will be hurt if it snaps. “Ominis?” he prompts.

“No,” Ominis says almost dreamily.

For reasons he can’t pinpoint, he’s not at all sure that he believes Ominis. He gambles anyway. He commands in a voice like a prayer. Ominis will wait for him here. He will think that the relic is lost, or that Sebastian has failed in some way, but he will not ask questions because Sebastian knows he cannot lie to his face. It’s risky, but the risk is far greater in telling Ominis to make his way back to school with only fragments of his wits intact. As a parting blow, he kisses Ominis. He doesn’t ask permission, doesn’t ask if Ominis wants it, he steals it. Their first. Just a brush of the lips that sends his cells buzzing. Just one more reason for him to hate himself.

The power of the Imperius Curse is nothing compared to the power that suffuses his body when he grasps the relic. It swells in him, making him drunk and triumphant with it, and he can feel that this is it, this is what he’s been searching for.

iii. ruin

Like so many things in Sebastian’s life, it happens before he realizes, before his rationality can temper his impulses.

It’s so simple, really: either he dies, or Solomon does. And while Sebastian has never entertained the idea that he will die warm in his bed, an old and happy man, he would prefer not to die an angry sixteen-year-old, burnt to a crisp by Fiendfyre. He doesn’t know how to control it—it’s too dangerous, even for him—and nothing in Solomon’s magical repertoire has impressed him that his uncle can control what he’s unleashed.

Watching him obliterate the relic that was all his hopes and dreams simply made it easier.

The loss of it is a physical ache, a voiding of power so fierce that Sebastian’s head spins with it. He feels, as messily and distinctly as pulling a tooth, the relinquishing of control over the Inferi. His planned sacrifice—fulfilling the spirit, if not the letter, of the requirements, by willingly giving up the delectable feeling of control over them, by condemning them back to the dust. His own lust-filled power and control for Anne. It would have been the second-hardest thing he’s ever done, but he would have. He was ready. But the relic evaporates and the Inferi don’t melt into the earth, but turn on him instead, hungering for the hint of life.

And Solomon summons Fiendfyre, of all things.

The flames tickle the hems of his robe, sear the tips of his eyebrows, and he isn’t sure if Solomon intends to kill him, but he wouldn’t be surprised. There is no love lost between them. He isn’t killing his uncle so much as he’s squashing a particularly loathsome insect.

He hardly gets to revel in the lusty swell of dominion over life before he’s slammed once again (really, this is becoming a habit) into the far wall. But he can taste the leavings of magic in the back of his throat and recognizes immediately who’s thrown him back.

Anne doesn’t speak to him, doesn’t even look at him as she gives one shuddering sob and vanishes with Solomon’s body.

His ears ring from the impact of the wall. He tastes blood in his mouth from where he’d bitten through the inside of his cheek. Worst of all is the sudden absence of the power that’s been stoking the fire in him for months now. The loss feels like an amputated limb, like ice in his veins, like nausea.

The third unexpected thing happens then. Ominis appears through the flames like an avenging angel.

His hand lashes out to clasp Sebastian’s throat, not enough to hurt, but to hold him there and make clear he could hurt if he wanted to. “You just—do you have any idea what you—“ And for the first time, Sebastian is properly frightened, for he’s never heard Ominis so infuriated that speech fails him. The hornbeam wand, almost as familiar as Sebastian’s own, digs into the soft skin beneath his chin. “Legilimens.”

The images bleed like a drop of ink in water. Solomon telling Ominis that he can come back next holiday. Anne wrapping a scarf of her own making around Ominis’s throat. The three of them picking wild strawberries, growing sick on the sweetness. Anne tutoring Ominis in Potions so that he scrapes a pass, if only just. Sebastian pulling Ominis’s feet into his lap so that they can huddle close while Sebastian reads to him. Sebastian doubling in laughter, tears running down his face, at Ominis’s singed-off eyebrows. Sebastian, joyous and carefree and clever and alive.

The vertigo of regaining his own mind, mingled with the blood in his mouth and the weakness in his veins, nearly makes Sebastian faint. Ominis won’t let him. He seizes Sebastian’s jaw. “Do you see what you’ve ruined?” Ominis’s voice is whisper-thin.

Sebastian struggles to draw enough breath to speak. Even to his own ears, his voice sounds like he’s fallen down a well. “I would honestly prefer for you to cut out my heart than do that again.”

Ominis’s laugh is silent, mirthless. “I really don’t give a damn what you prefer. Just like you never did for me.”

Sebastian scrapes the last of his energy to summon a frown. “What are you talking about.” He’s too tired to inflect his voice for a question.

Ominis’s face, an eerie contrast to his voice, betrays nothing. He merely regards Sebastian for long enough that Sebastian figures he’s decided not to answer before he strikes.

The kiss Ominis catches him in sears like fire. He is too stunned, too exhausted, to do a great deal, but Ominis seems to pour himself into Sebastian, as if he could singlehandedly restore Sebastian to life. It is desperate and terrible and Sebastian feels the worst pain he’s felt yet when Ominis pulls away.

Ominis pants, turning his face away. “For the record, one recalls everything when under the influence of the Imperius Curse.”

The implication flays Sebastian alive.

Ominis moves to stand. Sebastian tries to raise his hand, but his fingers look so strange to him. They cannot possibly belong to him. “What—?”

Ominis looks down upon Sebastian, who forces himself to incline his head upward. Ominis is wreathed in flame that threatens to scorch his eyes. He watches Ominis take several deep breaths, watches the mask descend neatly into place. This knowledge, he pretends, soothes the pain of Ominis’s tone, which falls somewhere between indifference and disdain. “You wanted to rot. I’m not going to stop you.”

Sebastian lets the blackness take him as Ominis walks away from him.

#sorry for the formatting I’m on my phone #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #sebinis #gauntlow #pina writes #hl fanfiction

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nightraiderwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Pearl lays in bed, her suit torn to shreds. Queen Gem is sitting in a chair next to her, carefully peeling the remains of the beautiful midnight blue cloth.

Everything hurts. The explosion had ripped through the wall, and Pearl had vaulted over people to the Queen. She remembers wrapping her arms around Gem as the heat had torn through her. Then… nothing.

"You're such an idiot," Gem mutters as she inspects the skin. It's red and blistered, and the skin around the left side of her face is full of pain.

She coughs. "Well," she replies weakly. "I couldn't let the Queen die. You're too important to Eden."

"There's a reason Eden chose me to be her Queen," Gem replies, applying a salve. Her hands glow faintly green, as she moves them down Pearl's body. "She won't let me die so easily. You, on the other hand…"

Gem hesitates, before applying the salve to her eye. "You don't know that, Gem," Pearl says. "You don't know when the blessing of Eden will run out." Her hand is cool against Pearl's eyelid. She doesn't think she'll be able to see Gen's beautiful face with it ever again.

A knock on the door sounds. "It's me," comes Impulse’s soft voice. "Come in," the Queen orders.

The door opens silently, revealing a short man dressed in beaten up armor. "Hey Pearlie," he says. "I brought you soup."

"Thanks Impy," Pearl replies. She pauses. "Why're you still in your armor?" He chuckles, placing the steaming bowl on her bedside table. "Paranoia," he says. "They might launch a counter attack. And with you bedridden…"

Gem grumbles from where she's wrapping the last of Pearl’s wounds. "You're both idiots," she grouches. She sniffles suddenly. "I can't run this kingdom without both of you."

Impulse exchanges a quick look of panic with Pearl, who tries to sit up. Her ribs scream, but she moves to sit at the edge of her bed. Impulse moves to stand on Gem's right.

Pearl takes her hands. There are little flecks of gold in her antlers. She thinks about Eden, and magic, and claims. "I swore I'd always stay by your side," she says. Her soft hands are cold in Pearl’s. She brings them up to kiss it softly. "I do not intend to leave."

Impulse kneels. "I swore I'd always be here too, my Queen," he says. Gold still gleams above his heart. “My axe will always be there for you.” Pearl nods, "You'll have us until we die," she adds.

Her emerald eyes stare at Pearl darkly. “Impulse,” the Queen says. “You can go to bed. Or check the guards stationed around the palace.” He starts to protest, but gives up as soon as he sees her focus is all on Pearl. Good luck, he mouths as he exits the room.

“Pearl,” she says. Pearl thinks about gold and magic and claims. “You can’t do that again. You can’t keep throwing yourself in danger for me.” Her antlers are flecked with gold, just like the necklace burnt into Pearl’s neck. “Eden’s blessing will keep me safe,” she continues. “But you-!”

She cuts herself off as Pearl surges forward in a kiss. Her lips are dry and cracked, Pearl notices. Gem tastes like wine. Pearl kisses deeper, moving to sit on Gem's lap and wrapping her arms around her neck.

Pearl thinks of gold and magic and claims. Gem tastes like wine and hope and love.

They part, and Pearl presses her forehead to Gem's, as they both gasp for breath.

"I can't lose you," she whispers. Gem's eyes are emerald green, flecked with little slivers of gold. Droplets of tears color the corners blue."I love you," she murmurs, rough and real and desperate. "I love you, and I can't lose you."

"I can't lose you either," Gem replies, voice low and raspy. "I- I don't want to see you go." She wraps her arms around Pearl’s waist, moving her head to rest on her shoulder. Pearl clutches the base of her neck, terrified to let her go.

“I don’t want to die,” Pearl says. “But I would do it if it meant you would be safe.” She watches as Gem gasps for breath, gulping the air like a fish gulps water, and feels her earthquake under her fingertips.

Gem's dress is streaked with soot. "I can't lose you," she repeats. "You've all I've got left." Pearl shakes her head, ignoring the way it makes her ribs feel like they're being torn apart. "You've got Impulse," she says. "You have the rest of the Court."

"But it won't be you," Gem says. Her lip quivers. "I won't have you."

Pearl thinks again of gold and magic and claims. Have Gem says. Like she’s something to put a claim on. She's got her wrapped tightly in her fist.

She thinks as she hugs Gem again, that she's gotten herself into a half dug grave.

Day 3 for @mcyt-yuri-week ! This is once again from the soup group au, because I have been hooked and brain rotting about it deeply.

It is later today, because I had a horrible exam, but thankfully I made it through to write women kissing.

#nightraider writes #pearlescentmoon #geminitay #whats the ship name for these two #idk #mcytyuriweek 2023 #fic: my queen my axe my hand

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henrysglock · 7 months ago

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Ohhh my god so re: what i remember you for as a writer theres SOSOSO much to choose from, but I have to go with Ptolemaea!!!!!

And even though there’s SO many iconic scenes/lines in Ptolemaea that stuck wirh me/that I remember you by, the shower scene from Ptolemaea is the one I’m going to talk about right now because it stuck with me and i was flashbanged by it again last night when rereading it HWBDBFN

Like, this part specifically:

“That didn’t mean it was any less appreciated, though, even as the blisters on his ankles burned with it. Hot water meant that the dirt, grime, and blood melted off him with minimal effort. Even so, he took a certain amount of comfort in scrubbing himself pink and toweling off roughly, as though he could peel the past three years off his body the way a spider might shed its carapace. To grow.”

First of all, the line about how the water is making the blisters on his ankles burn is so strong/physical/it’s like I can feel it.

And it’s also such a fantastic line/fantastic use of word choice when it comes to the fact that Ptolemaea being a “Henry got out of the lab early” AU and therefore also a “Henry didnt get sent to Dimension x” AU versus the use of the word “burned” here, especially in the context of Henry trying to scrub off the lab/leave the lab behind versus the way that Henry physically leaves the lab behind in canon being getting sent to Dimension X & getting burned there.

It just works so well to give this subtle vibe/subtle reminded of “what couldve been” and how even though what Henry’s going through right now sucks (ie all of the Ptolemaea horrors, and even just the water from a nice shower hurts his blisters), it could’ve been so much worse/it really nails that “full of horrors but also full of Hope” vibe that Ptolemaea has.

And second of all, specifically looking at this part:

“Even so, he took a certain amount of comfort in scrubbing himself pink and toweling off roughly, as though he could peel the past three years off his body the way a spider might shed its carapace. To grow.”

I cant even describe how much I love this part. There’s so many little layers to the comparison between Henry in the shower vs a spider shedding its carapace, snd how its not just “oh yeah yk hes got the same vibes as a spider shedding its carapace because hes trying to start anew” but instead the comparison *also* so Physical and the mental/emotional change/struggle is convey so Physically and how it’s specifically connected to the way that Henry scrubs himself pink, and the way that this line about how Henry scrubs himself pink evokes the visual of new skin being pink and “sore”/sensitive because it’s new, much like the new flesh under an old carapace.

And then how Henry towels himself off roughly vs that also working so perfectly to really convey that feeling of shedding a carapace in a very very physical way and the Movements of it and im just!!! The WORD CHOICES here are so perfect to convey a really visceral/physical feeling, like with the use of the word “peeling” and with how that use of the word” peeling” is where it all then connects to the mental aspect of it/the bridge between physical vs mental re: henry trying to peel the last three years off of his body (especially with the imagery re: peeling skin off/peeling years off vs all of the mental/supernatural “flaying” in ST vs the peeling skin imagery tying to the idea of literal flaying in the sense of flaying skin off).

And the “last three years” thing always gets me, it’s not only such a good reminder of how long he spent in the lab/how many years he’s lost, But then also, specifically in the context of shedding a carapace/molting, the implication that Henry hasn’t “molted” in three years/that this carapace that’s stuck to him is three years old/literally made up of the past three years really hits me every time re: the fact that spiders shed their carapaces/molt wayy more often than that so he hasnt been Allowed to molt & also the fact that some types of spiders stop molting entirety once they reach maturity (this is the case for black widows)/other types just molt less frequently (once a year) when they reach maturity vs the last three years in the lab being what makes up Henry’s “carapace” & Henry not having “molted” at all in the lab/at all in the last 3 years vs the way that Henry was forced to grow up quickly in the lab but how it Also stunted him & how not molting anymore is a sign of “maturity” /adulthood in spiders.

And especially with all of that/the idea of being forced to grow up quickly but also having your growth stunted as a result vs using the imagery of shedding a three year old carapace to convey that & the way that having a built-up old caparace/unshedded layers would make him seem “bigger”/more grown” when in reality, it’s a sign of *not* having grown/not being allowed to shed it is *stunting* his ability to grow/it’s like he was being forced to “grow” by not shedding (which then also ties SO PERFECTLY into Henry’s canon regen healing & the way that there’s all of this tumor imagery associated with it/unwanted growths) and that weighing up down/the extra “weight”/“size”/“growth” on him re: not “shedding his skin” & how his/a spider’s limbs aren’t going to grow properly unless they shed their skin so then there’s the whole visual of him not growing in a typical Growth way/his metaphorical limbs not getting longer but instead just “growing” by having all of these extra layers/“skin” that hes now trapped in/cant shed to properly grow vs the idea of Brenner wanting him to be like a child and like an adult simultaneously (ie being a Freak & Liking the fact that Henry’s a child vs also stealing his childhood/putting him in a lab/making him behave Like An Adult/making him grow up quickly).

Especially with black widows no longer molting once they reach sexual maturity vs the idea of Henry not being *allowed* to molt/stopped early from molting/being forced to reach that maturity early (smash cut to the SA imagery in the lab) when he hasnt Actually reached it physically.

And then that all also ties so well into the idea of being a Child Forced To Behave Like An Adult/Forced Into Adult Activities rather than Actually Becoming An Adult.

I just!! The line about a spider shedding its carapace as a way of describing Henry’s attempts to leave the lab behind is literally such a perfect line, like there’s something so physical and visceral about it, not only is it such a perfect description of the situation, but the spider aspect then ties so perfectly into Henry’s character specifically.

Especially with the next context TFS Henry & the visual of those spider legs bursting out of his back during the attic scene with Virginia & how that’s Also very Physical in a similar way to this scene (and yet again, Ptolemaea ages like a fine wine.)

And then also, specifically looking at the “To grow,” line, this line specifically always feels like so perfectly like Henry reassuring himself/tears in my eyes over little 15 year old henry “spider guy” creel reminding himself of how spiders grow and how it’s okay even though it hurts, because it just means he’s in Spider Mode and Spider Coded and Based and Spiderpilled HWHDBDDNHEHD like he’s reminding himself that not only do spiders shed their carapaces, but they do so in order to grow/it’s Necessary in order for them to grow. Like it almost feels like the way a parent would try and get a child to do something (ie if a kid loved superheroes, the whole “superman would clean his room 🤨🤨🤨😌😌😌😌” vibe/“a spider would go and clean himself in the shower because spiders need to shed their skin in order to grow-“) but it’s coming from Henry and directed at Himself, which then emphasizes how lonely he is/the lack of parents/Virginia being dead & Victor being locked up & Henry having to parent himself (but then also the other side of the coin and the lowkey Freedom of Henry getting to parent himself in the context of Brenner/no longer being forcibly “parented” by Brenner).

And it works so perfectly with the “grow together” stuff from the VR (yet AGAIN, Ptolemaea ages like a fine wine) vs what I said earlier re: Brenner “forcing” him to grow by making him keep all those unshed layers/giving the illusion of growth when in reality in order to Actually grow, he’d need to shed those layers vs the way that VR Henry is described as “eager to please” etc vs the idea of him not properly growing/not shedding his carapace in order to please Brenner…

Like I just can’t express enough how much I love that part- it that makes me feel like I’m back to when I was first getting interested in Henry as a character (in a very very good way) and is just this instant, perfectly encapsulated reminder of what I love about his whole story/the vibe of it.

Especially with this being Henry’s POV vs the way that not only is this whole part such a perfectly, artistic, extremely thought-out line on behalf of the writer, but it’s also such a perfect insight into Henry’s character & his spider nerdiness & what I said earlier re: spiders not molting anymore being a sign of them reaching adulthood vs when he does finally “shed his carapace”/scrub himself in the shower, he’s comparing it to a spider molting/his “childish” little spider nerd vibes are coming back, he’s both growing and “regressing” because he’s growing into the Child/15 year old that he Is rather than being a child forced to behave like an adult- especially then with adult teacher Henry’s continued love of spiders/the way that “childish” interest remains even when he Is an actual adult.

Anyway! Ptolemaea my beloved….. <333333

it's why he's so small in canon actually. bro hasn't molted in years we can all give him a break for being the world's Tiniest boy.

anyway alkdjflsd WOW

When I was writing that part the biggest thing in my mind was a combination of not molting/being held back/being trapped under the layers of what he had to do to survive but specifically in the way of protective layers being added with each trauma/him being forced to grow this thick outer shell layer by layer specifically to defend against what was being done to him/retain his sanity and dignity. Which speaks to a degree of removal from what was done to him, in my mind, this kind of

"It happened to me, and I'm self-aware enough to acknowledge that...but it was done to an outer layer that I can shed, so is it really something I have to live with? Or is it something i can just put away somewhere out of sight and never actually deal with in a healthy, meaningful way?"

and so while he's peeling the carapace that's stunting him, it's like...every light has its shadow. He's able to grow into a normal boy, now, and even though it's sore and tender all over at the moment, it's a good thing. But is the way he's doing it healthy? Is he discarding his carapace without addressing and accepting/healing the ways its weight and prolonged presence warped him?

Or is he hobbling around on eight misshapen legs like

"Lalalala...It doesn't exist because I can walk on these legs. They're a little weirdly shaped, but I can hide them well enough if I make a home in the neatly-trimmed Kentucky bluegrass lawns of suburban America. Could a damaged spider walk around as well as I do? I'm so normal and also healthy. Being prevented from molting definitely had no lingering effects on my well-being. Haha, no there's no reason why I refuse to go out on the pavement and show you guys my totally normal legs. I just don't want to. No other reason. There's nothing wrong with me, I'm a normal spider :) Anyway, look at my web. Could a broken spider make a web this nice? Didn't think so. I'm totally normal and there's NOTHING in my past that I need to heal from."

Something something "I'm not a freak. I'm normal. I'm Henry Creel."

There's also the more surface aspect of the Will-Henry Mindflayer-Brenner "I felt it everywhere/I still feel him" and Henry thinking that if he scrubs hard enough, he can rid himself of the lingering memories, the same way Will thought that if he could just keep running, he could escape the Mindflayer/the lingering trauma of what happened to him in the UD/the slug stuff.

They're both running away from looming, lingering CSA trauma, just in different ways. Will can run all he wants, but the Mindflayer is going to catch him anyway. His trauma will always catch up to him. Henry can scrub all he wants, he can peel off that outer shell and pretend like he's getting rid of everything that happened to him, but the damage was mental. It's something that's inevitably going to catch up with him until he can't ignore it anymore.

That's also where the burning came from in my mind: Will being rid of the Mindflayer by burning, but him still being able to feel it/it coming back later vs Henry trying to rid himself of his history with Brenner via scrubbing himself raw with burning water because he's still able to feel that history physically/that history will come back to haunt him later much like the Mindflayer haunts Will.

—————

Tell me what fic or line of writing you remember me by

#long post #asks #ask game

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b0amagination · 4 months ago

Text

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 5

I had a 500 word drabble and then it sprouted a plot to double the length. Come for physical whump and stay for emotional I suppose!

Sunburn

“Ouch… maybe I should’ve brought you in sooner.” A hand reached for their neck and they flinched away, hissing from the pain.

“That’s what I told you,” they gritted out.

“Yeah, but you’re always saying shit like that. How was I supposed to know you’d blister?”

They touched their victim again and got smacked away this time, fiery eyes trying to judge how they’d react.

“You said yourself that you started stalking me at the height of summer. Did you ever see me tan? Matter of fact- have you even seen the shade of my hair?!” Even in captivity they couldn’t escape these stupid questions. A startled grunt came out as that same scarlet hair was twisted and pulled up.

“Ah, fascinating! You know what other myths I’ve heard about gingers?” They hissed in their ear, answered by silence and pained breathing. “I’ve heard they have higher pain tolerances. Should we test that too?”

“Compared to whom? Are you volunteering?” They were thrown to the floor for that and quickly pounced on, pinning them by bare, swollen shoulders. “Don’t touch those, asshole!”

“Or what?” Despite the knowledge that they were being egged on, they squirmed and struggled beneath unyielding force. “Yeah, that’s what I tho- oh!” One hand moved and they saw an opening, but the other clamped hastily over their neck. Then there were long, sharp nails digging into their sunburn and a horrific sensation they recognized all too well.

“Hey-! Don’t peel, that’s gonna make it worse!”

“It’ll come off anyway. Plus, it’s fun!” They flicked away a piece of dead skin and pulled at another part, feeling the other cringe at the feeling. “And I’m not cleaning up after you if you get little flakes all over the place.”

“Just give me a shirt! Problem solved!”

“Aw shit, most of these are just tiny pieces…” they murmured, completely ignoring their sensible suggestion. After trying and failing to grip onto them, they pressed their palm down instead and rubbed back and forth on the inflamed skin.

“Ahhhhh- hhhngh!” It felt as if they were touching an open wound, and in some sense they were. Underneath the layer of dead skin was a fragile, damaged one that screamed at the friction, no doubt even redder than before.

“See? That got it off.” They smiled and swiped their shoulder clean, but wouldn’t stop touching the injured area. “Now those blisters.”

A finger pressed down, then rocked up to the nail and swiped down the skin, eliciting a scream. Hands reached up blindly, but a well placed zip tie solved that problem rather handily.

“Fuck off! Fuck all the way off!!” Now it was all five nails, pulling through and- Christ, did they draw blood? The sting was unbearable and they shook, still trying to free themself by any means possible.

Somehow they were ridiculously dehydrated. And weak because of it.

Those godforsaken nails tore through to the other shoulder, finally coaxing out two pathetic tears as they busied themselves with the dead skin all over again.

“I’ll bite off your nails myself, you bastard!” they practically screeched. The harder they fought, the more they were convinced that the plastic would sooner split their skin than break.

“God, I knew you were weak, but you can’t even handle a little burn? Pathetic.”

“I am not!” Their voice cracked. “I know what you’re trying to do! You want me just like everyone else you’ve kept here, you want me to say I deserved all this shit, and then you’re gonna throw me out on the street to be another corpse, just another fucking victim with the same MO!”

“...oh.” The aggressor leaned back.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ feel bad yet?! One of your precious little projects finally knows who you are, what’s gonna happen to them?! Is that what it takes to knock some sense into that dense fucking skull?!”

“No, it’s just… mmh. I have a schedule to keep. And if I’m being honest, I really thought you’d break quicker than this. I wanted to enjoy my time with you.”

Rustling sounds, a cap, and liquid pouring out onto their back. Thick, but runny like water.

“I may have even gone easy because I do like you. You’re a lot of fun. But we have a long drive to your drop location if I’m to keep my name in the news and not triangulate my location. Well, not my name. The one they’ve given me. The one you know, don’t you?”

They spread it all across their back and down their arms. Cooking oil. That’s what it was.

“Despite your resilience you've definitely been a wimp, you know. You’re still biting angry quips out but complaining about a sunburn. There are worse ways to be burned, you know.”

That comment finally snapped their captive out of their daze, and wide eyes followed the matchbox out of their pocket.

“NO! NONONO!”

“Finally. I didn’t think you were such an idiot on top of everything!” A match slid out and teased the strike pad.

“DON’T!” Despite the thousands of words overwhelming their thoughts, it was nearly impossible to speak.

“In exchange for what, huh? What would you do to make me stop?”

“Anything, I’ll do anything,” they breathed, hope twinkling beneath fear. Consideration was a mercy, finally understood in this moment.

“After this? Oh, sweetheart, I know you will.”

They struck the match and

let

go.

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curekibouka-writing · 2 years ago

Text

The Day is Won (Twst one-shot fanfic)

**Warning: Major character death and mild Book 7 spoilers**

Summary: His last magic was a very gentle one.

Word count: 1073

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

A/N: This was somewhat a request(?) Someone on Twst amino asked me to write a fic where Lilia dies because then maybe it won’t happen in canon XD Yes I’m posting this before Book 7 chapter 2 drops tomorrow it carries all my hopes Liliaaaaaaaa T^T

*This fic is also on Ao3

They say dark faes are born from darkness and will perish into darkness as well.

And now as Silver watches his father fight with his last breaths, those sayings ominously echo in his head, pricking all his thoughts with thorns.

He sees mighty green flames towering over Lilia, yet his pale skin is still pale as always. After all, he had not survived centuries on the battlefield for nothing.

The dragon screeches, swinging his tail, razing half of the courtyard he loved to take nightly walks in. The clouds stir as he breathes in, and the thunder strikes as, in a blinding instance, a pillar of fire shoots out from its horrendous maw and brings Lilia to his knees.

Lilia screams. A low, ugly voice it is. He drops his weapon and claws at his arms, skin peeling and healing and blistering and recovering all at the same time. He was trying to preserve what little of his remaining magic and not squander it on healing, but even he could not stand unscathed in the hellish Draconic flames.

Yet stand he still would. He reaches for his weapon once again, with none of his usual swiftness, he rises to his feet with the blade as support. He wipes at his lower lips, wipes at the blood he drew when he dug his fangs too deep into his lips to keep himself going, and its colour goes to his eyes, a mighty flame burning crimson.

Contrary to Lilia’s soldierly demeanour however, Silver sees the magic that rises from Lilia’s feet and spirals around his body is rose-coloured, and quiet like a creek near their home, and gentle like the blessings he’d give on holidays, and sad, immensely sad.

Silver’s voice pierced through the crackling of flames, “Father!” He ran towards the ancient fae, only to be reminded that a magic wall had been laid between him and the battlefield. Yet he still pounds his fists on the invisible divide, “Father, please!”

Lilia flinches, and it’s not out of pain. With his back to his son, he says, “Forgive me, Silver.”

He speaks with some pensiveness and some confidence as the beautiful magic accumulates around his arms, “For all the centuries of battles I have fought in, I never intended to return as a hero. But today,” Lilia looks back at Silver, there is a tear streak on his cheek glistening in fire light, “today I hope to depart as one. I must protect what I wish to protect.”

He faces the dragon again, taking a step forward with certainty. But he breathes as if there’s still something stuck in his throat, and he adds, “I’m sorry, my child, I am truly sorry.”

He has made his choice. He chose one over another.

And Silver bites his tongue, uttering no word because he knows both his father’s selfishness and selflessness well, too well. His father is an unstoppable force.

Lilia’s magic reaches out to the dragon like growing flowers, holding the dragon in place. He takes another step forward, unyielding to the flames scorching his skin, he stares into the dragon’s eyes.

He smiles clumsily. He has seen those eyes when they first opened, curious and innocent. He has filled those eyes with joy and wonder with stories and gifts from foreign lands. He has looked down on those eyes, tired and peaceful, as the young prince had drifted off to sleep. He has been there to look up at those sad, lonely eyes when he had told them he was going to leave.

He smiles clumsily, remembering those eyes filled with so many things that are not monstrosity. He swears he will bring Malleus back.

One more step, and Lilia’s feet are off the ground. His blade drops with a clear clang as he flies toward the dragon’s head. His magic swirling around him all the while.

The dragon manages a small whimper as Lilia lays a hand on his snout. The dragon softly closes his eyes, the magic around Lilia flows toward the beast, embracing the both of them in a blossoming light.

For a few moments it was almost as if the sun was shining right before their eyes, until the light dissipates like sakura petals in spring, slowly bringing Malleus to the ground.

And next to the prince still in slumber, Lilia falls with a heavy thud.

His last magic was a very gentle one.

Before anyone could react, Silver and Sebek rush to their fallen dorm leaders. Sebek scrambles to his liege, checking his condition, shouting worriedly. Silver quietly sits by Lilia’s side, wrapping his arm around the back of his father’s small shoulders. He shakes Lilia softly, hesitantly, feeling that Lilia weighs nothing and everything at the same time.

“Father,” Silver mouths, but finds that no voice comes out. He rasps in a dry, breathy cry as he falls onto Lilia’s chest, all the while tightening his arms around Lilia’s torso until he was sure nothing small enough could possibly slipping away anymore.

“Lilia…” the first word Malleus utters as he begins to come to his sense. He wastes not a moment to try inching closer to his guardian, who had caused and resolved all this. He reaches for Lilia’s stone pale hand, burnt by his own flames, yet cold as the biting breezes on that night they stood gazing at the aligned stars together. He recalls Lilia’s gentle touch on his snout, and he presses his thumb against Lilia’s knuckles, as if he could make him come back the same way.

Sebek stands straight beside his teacher, and listens for the unfamiliarity such silence creates. He bows deeply, and makes no sound. Then he sits beside Silver, and waits.

Silver breathes in, trying to control himself. He knows he cannot hold on forever, he knows. All the dignity, respect, strength, Lilia had taught him in time. Trembling, he brushes Lilia’s hair out of his face, and softly plants his lips against Lilia’s forehead just like Lilia would long ago when sending Silver off to sleep in his childhood.

The rosy light of the dawn shines upon the family. For the first time the children manage to look clearly at his face, his eyes peacefully closed, his lips folded in a mundane, content smile. The body of the ancient fae begins to crumble, not into ashes, but into glimmers, dissipating like flower petals in spring.

The day is won.

#twisted wonderland #twst angst #twst spoilers #Lilia Vanrouge #silver #twst silver #malleus draconia #sebek zigvolt #diasomnia #diasomnia angst #twst writing #twst fanfic #twst fanfiction #twisted wonderland writing #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst scenarios #twst #twst chapter 7

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