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fairyysoup · 22 days ago

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the devil i know

chapter ten: i'm gonna stay faithful to the devil i know

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Your full moon rite sparks some unexpected confessions.

cw: explicit, smut, monsterfucking, piv sex, rough sex, name calling, public sex, exhibitionism, mild choking, brat taming, dumbification, reader is in heat, sex in a cemetery, eddie is a tease, marriage mention, sex pact, demonic rituals, love confessions, animal death mention, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

It doesn’t take you long to find a rickety motel in the middle of rip-roaring Cleary, across the river from Eastwick. You don’t imagine you’ll stay long enough to warrant another rental house or apartment, but you don’t want to think about what you’ll do when this is all over. You didn’t stop to collect anything besides a change of clothes after your apartment went up in flames; you hopped out the bedroom window and took off in your car, trying not to focus on how the fire never burned you, or how Eddie kissed your hand before disappearing into the flames.

The motel is backed up by trees, trees, and more trees. It’s a sprawling campus with two two-storey buildings, and a bungalow of a few cottages. The check in desk is inside a small reconstructionist Victorian-style house that doubles as a tavern on the weekends.

Thankfully, it’s not the weekend.

You stalk up the stairs of the second building, careful not to be heard by other guests. The motel still uses physical room keys; yours boasts a tag that reads 237. You slip mostly quietly into your room, and shut the door before leaning heavily against it. Checking in took more confidence than you have at the moment. You weren’t sure if the clerk could still see blood in your hair or your skin, smell the smoke on the clothes you’d quickly snatched from your dresser before the flames could touch them.

You’d washed off by pulling over and jumping into the river on your way out of town. The water was fucking freezing, and now instead of blood you have river water in your hair. Go figure.

You walk forward and collapse onto the motel bed. The box spring squeaks, the A/C unit clatters as it turns on, and you flop over to stare at the asbestos popcorn on the ceiling.

You laugh. You got out of everything easily; being attacked by Andy, your shithole apartment burning to a crisp, and (god forbid) skinny dipping in the Eastwick river. Eddie’s mark still burns on your wrist, under the sleeve of your sweater.

You don’t have anything now, aside from your car and the clothes on your back, and the money in your wallet. The police are stupid enough that they’ll assume you’re dead. You’re sure that if the complaints about gunshots aren’t enough to convince them, the blood on the walls that hasn’t been boiled away by the fire will.

Dante emerges from the shadows, barks happily once and hops onto the bed to settle beside you. He doesn’t have blood on him anymore, thank god– you don’t know what you’d do if you had to leave the motel with random bloodstains all over the white linens.

And the darkness forms into the shape of your lover, who sinks onto the bed beside you and stares down at you with the darkest, most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen in this life or the last. Eddie’s cheeks flush the prettiest carnation pink to match his lips when you reach up and trace them with your fingers. You lift yourself up to settle into his lap, all smiles as you wrap the demon around your little finger and catch his bottom lip between your teeth.

And you… you’re alive, and you can do anything that you want.

Whispers in the dark. Footfalls behind rotted trees, scuffs of earth that haven’t actually been stirred. It can’t entirely be in your mind. The crossroads is a volatile place at night, and even worse when the moon is full.

You asked a very confused motel clerk where the nearest crossroads she knew of was– she directed you to something in the center of town. That wouldn’t work, of course. You could only imagine Eddie throwing you down in the middle of an intersection and fucking you halfway to Sunday in front of the entire town.

You’re sure he’d love to do that, too.

You sighed and just ended up asking Eddie if he could tell you where the closest one was. If he’s a crossroads demon, it only stands to reason that he’d have a spidey-sense for that sort of thing.

There’s one about a hundred yards into the trees behind the motel. Take your time.

Of course, he isn’t there when you arrive. You don’t know why he’s drawing things out, while your body is breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought of him. Considering you fucked again last night, after you got to the motel, managing not to blow the place up this time, you would think that you’d gotten your fill.

But no, your body is still going insane with fever and lust, like it just can’t sit still without him there. The moon hangs overhead, bright white in the sky. There’s the littlest peek of it through the tree cover, but it’s enough to let you know that you have the right time, and you’re certainly in the right place. Your body knows that it’s in a more liminal place, now.

You tear at your clothes. You throw your shirt over your head so that your bare chest can hit some sort of fresh air and, theoretically, find some relief. You yank your pants off roughly and toss them into the bushes. All it does is cause another form of stimulation– the cool night air on the dampness of your skin, paired with the burning realization that you’re undressing in public.

Sort of. You’re the only one here. Or, at least, the only living person.

You’re not… nervous. Per se. You just don’t know what to expect out of a full moon rite. Will the ground split open and swallow you? Is it just gonna be a normal fuck with your demon boyfriend? Are you going to be able to walk afterwards?

“Probably not.”

Eddie. His presence pulses, screaming at you from across the clearing. Two paths cross in the center of it, creating an X on the ground where he stands, like he’s dead on a target.

“Look at you, getting started without me.” He chuckles. “And here I thought I was excited.”

The rabid animal in your chest leaps for him, and you follow it, like everything that you’ve felt and done for him up to this point has been preamble. Eddie’s arms come around you like they’re meant to be there, and you want them to be. Forever and ever and ever, until the meek inherit the earth and the sea swallows the land, et cetera.

Until the only thing left in the universe are your intertwined souls.

Your kiss is brutal, bordering on desperate rather than sweet. Eddie giggles into it– you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of hearing that soft, manic giggle, or feeling it on your lips as you kiss him.

Eddie is too sweet for Hell and too chaotic for Heaven. You’re not sure how to reconcile it. At the end of it all, you don’t really see how spending eternity with him could ever be a bad thing. You don’t see why you wouldn’t give him your soul, again and again.

Eddie’s hands cradle your face, stroking strands of hair away from it while his eyes glow warm and inviting. “Did you get everything you wanted, sweetheart?” he asks, his fingers toying with a little strand beside your ear, curling it tightly around his fingertip before letting it slip free.

You think about it. In total, roughly two weeks have passed since you first signed over your soul to Eddie, and so far you have everything to show for it. You had your promotion, you got your car, a new dog. You killed your shitty ex and now you have a real reason to get the hell out of dodge.

It doesn’t seem like it makes sense. It doesn’t seem like a happy ending, but it is. It’s the happiest ending in the world for you, because you don’t have to stay in Eastwick with all the stones being thrown and taunts being yelled in your direction. And you’re in love with him.

You fell for the demon you sold your soul to, in a grand fucking total of two weeks and counting. And if that doesn’t scream irony, you don’t know what does.

“I did,” you say, nodding between his hands. You suck in a deep breath, smelling his smoke and the warmth of his body, and it makes your chest ache. “You’re what I want, Eddie. I love you so much.”

Eddie stops, blinking his fiery eyes at you. “What– what’d you just say?”

“I said I love you,” you repeat. You’re not taking it back. Not now. And you don’t have the ability to feel embarrassed about it, either. “I love you, baby. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before–”

“That’s because you’re in heat, baby,” Eddie insists, anxiously stroking your hair again like he’s trying to self-soothe. “Your body’s just gearing up for the rite, it’s not– you’re not in love with me–”

“Yes. I. Am.” You shoot him a caustic glare, balling your fists against his shoulders. “You can read my mind, right? You must know, Eddie. I think I started falling in love with you the minute you showed up with that stupid smirk and I– I fell for you, and I don’t care about the deal or heat or fucking rites, I just want you.”

Shushing you, he pets your head with a gentle hand. He sounds pained when he says, “I’ve loved you since Lacey brought me your petition.”

You freeze at that. “Lacey?”

Eddie nods.

“My… my dog?” You can’t wrap your head around it. Your blood is pounding in your ears, adrenaline making your hands vibrate as they grasp at him. Your dog– your sweet little girl who you thought was simply gone forever– is still protecting you, still pulling strings to give you a happy ending? “Lacey brought my–?”

“She chose me,” he tells you honestly. “She chose me for you. Because… she knew I was meant to be yours. And I am. I am yours. Forever, if you’ll have me.”

You’re nodding, excitedly, but you also smother him in a kiss before he can continue. You’ll have him forever, and ever, and even longer after that. Your need and your love both stretch on for eternity, and Eddie won’t say no to it. He’s kind of selfish that way.

He takes your wrist, and raises it to kiss the mark of his name on your skin. His eyes meet yours, and the mark burns, glowing orange and bright like it’s just been placed there.

“Eddie, what–? ” You whimper, your grip tightening on Eddie’s shoulder, but he just cradles you against him, soothing his lips over the mark on your skin until it stops burning, seconds later.

“Have to start the ritual, baby,” he says, and winks at you. “Doesn’t count if we just fuck like idiots without clocking in, y’know.”

His hands on you are wretched as sin, kneading at you like he’s just trying to memorize your body. You make a soft noise in your throat, letting your head fall to his shoulder with a huff of breath. Your eyes feel heavy as you breathe in his scent– his smoke, his fumes. They surround you, shrouding you in comfort and warmth, safety in the unforgiving cold and empty night.

“I’d do it without the ritual,” you hear yourself murmuring into his shoulder, your lips grazing across his tattered denim vest and up onto his neck. There’s a pulse beneath his skin, something that feels so human that it makes your own heart tremble in your chest. You can’t seem to stop yourself from talking, now. “I’d fuck you anywhere. All the time. I just fucking want you…”

“I know,” he chuckles, his hand cradling the back of your neck. “So let’s have some fun, yeah?”

You nod. You expect him to lower you down onto the ground, something like last night but with dead leaves and dirt all over you instead of blood. But instead, he just presses a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, and then he swats your ass so hard that it makes you gasp.

“C’mon baby,” he whispers into your ear, his eyes and touch burning hot. “I know a spot.”

And with a blink, Eddie disappears, leaving you alone in the crossroads.

“Wait, what–”

A noise in the bushes makes you startle, and then something pushes you from behind, urging you into the trees. You yelp, and then a voice in your ear says, Trust me.

Stumbling, naked and delirious with lust, you trip and throw your hands against a tree to steady yourself. Darkness clings to the black night around you, just like your mind clings to every sound behind you, alerting you of Eddie’s presence.

It takes a good amount of you stumbling through the trees, guided by gentle prods at your back and sides, before you start to hear things behind you. You wonder if he’s climbed up into the trees and he’s watching you from above, like some angel of death.

The ground is uneven and damp from recent rain. There’s no path before or behind you, just infinite trees, looming out of the abyss apathetically. The trees don’t care what you do. They’ve been here, time and time again, and you’re sure that you are the least horrible thing they’ve seen.

In retrospect, you probably should have brought a flashlight. At least you’d be able to see him, wherever the fuck he is. Or where you’re going. You’re moving by the light of the moon in the trees.

He wouldn’t let you, like… actually eat shit, would he?

Eddie appears close to your shoulder once, just a flash of glowing eyes and a brush of a hand on your bare shoulder, a huff of breath in your ear. Toying with you, letting you know that he’s still there, guiding you in the direction that he wants. You whirl around to grab for him, but he’s already gone, leaving nothing but a giggle and a puff of smoke in his wake. He makes it clear, you can’t catch him; he’ll just appear, whenever and wherever he pleases.

You watch him skulk through the trees up ahead, just wandering as though he has all day. As if you aren’t aching for him and seething with rage at the trees that appear out of the darkness just to get in the way. His eyes are yellow, glowing in the dark like beacons, letting you know exactly where to go.

He leads you to a cemetery.

The back fence backs up to the trees, bent and mangled from teenagers breaking into it at night to party. Eddie disappears into the shadows, phasing out of existence in your periphery, leaving you alone to duck into the cemetery and weave through the weathered stones.

You can feel Eddie’s breath on your neck, even though your other senses tell you that nothing is there. It ignites every nerve in your body, raises the hairs on your skin. You stumble around a mausoleum, and that’s precisely when a looming shadow figure steps right in front of you. Clawed hands solidify out of the darkness, clad in heavy rings, and grab you by the waist.

“Eddie!” you screech as he materializes in his full form, monstrously large and covered in writhing, living tattoos. Enormous pointed horns and sharp teeth, black bat wings curling around you as he pulls you into him with a grin.

“You know you can’t hide from me,” he purrs at you in his low, demonic voice, and it might come off as disconcerting if you weren’t entirely in love with him. If you didn’t know that his claws will never bring you any pain that you don’t want, and his wings caging you in only serve to protect you, rather than imprison you.

You press in close to his hot chest, smelling his smoke and his aether, near purring, yourself. “Thank God for small favors.”

Eddie laughs, dragging his hand up to cradle the back of your skull. He bends down and kisses you sweetly, in a way that disarms you. So much more tender than you expected, savoring and long. He gives a deep sigh, and looks down at you with his beautifully glowing eyes, swirling with lava and ash, warm and near doting. “Much more romantic, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” you scoff, glancing around at the lonely tombstones in the darkness. “Real inviting spot you picked, honey.”

“I knew you’d like it,” he murmurs. And then sharper, when a mischievous grin crosses his face.

And he grabs you by the hips and spins you around to throw you down across the steps of a mausoleum.

“What– Eddie?!” Your stomach hits granite, your hands slapping against the hard, cold stone beneath you. Your knees brush the edge of a step and you squeak at the shock of the temperature, but something long and thin like rope wraps around your thigh and yanks you back towards him, spreading your thighs and making you collapse forward, your torso bumping the stone.

You yelp. “Do you have a tail?”

“Surprise, surprise,” Eddie murmurs into your ear. Then he drops the seductive tone to add, “Kinda cool, isn’t it?”

You find yourself giggling, pushing backward to press into his warm chest. He’s so big in his true form– hulking, like all of his bones have to grow in order to accommodate the amount of power he emanates. He crowds you, hovering over your bent body on the steps. “I fucking love it.”

“I know you do,” he hums. His tail, still wrapped around your thigh, pulls your leg until your knees widen. A quiet gasp leaves you when his hand, large and weaponized with sharp claws, cups your sticky cunt. “Think I can’t tell how much you fuckin’ love this? You were just made to be my whore, weren’t you?”

His teeth scrape your shoulder as he rubs your pussy, his whole hand rocking between your legs and kicking up a lewd squelch into the air. You choke, arching your back and wiggling your hips further toward his.

“Please, Ed– fuck!” He replaces his hand with his cock, and the moan you make is pornographic. Your breasts scrape against the stone underneath you, your nipples hard from the cold and the rough texture of it. The chill is fading, slowly being warmed by your body and his, practically burning hot in comparison to it.

His cock glides teasingly through your folds, making you keen softly; the sound still echoes, bouncing off the granite and into the cavernous mausoleum, louder than hell. Straight ahead is an abyss full of the dead.

Eddie pauses. “You know, it occurs to me that this is technically our wedding night– I mean, right?”

“Oh, nevermind about that,” you huff, wiggling your hips back against him. He’s right there, and you’re so fucking wound up that you can’t bring yourself to have a goddamn conversation at a time like this. “Just– dammit, Eddie, fuck me already.”

“No, I mean, really,” he muses, still not moving. You groan. “Like, if we got married on the dark moon, then isn’t this technically the consummation? I mean I know we already fucked and everything last night–”

You growl and jam your hips back against his. “Eddie, shut the fuck–”

His clawed hand clamps down over your mouth. You squeak, and then roll your eyes as he continues, “Prepare for the first day of the rest of your life. That’s how it goes, right? Or– no, wait. That’s not for weddings…”

You slam your hands down on the granite, roaring as hard as you can against his hand while you writhe back against him, trying to get the words that are running around in your brain across without saying them. The empty mausoleum creates an echo chamber that throws the sound of your roar back at you.

Eddie obviously gets the message, because he chuckles and pinches your cheeks between his fingers. His claws press into your skin as he tuts, “You want to fuck me so bad you’re gonna throw a tantrum about it? Really?”

You whimper, shaking your head slightly but still trying to force back against him. His tail yanks your legs further apart, making you lose your little bit of balance and slip back down against the granite again.

“Oh no no, baby, that won’t do,” Eddie coos, sounding so saccharine sweet, but you don’t think there’s anything sweet about what he’s thinking. “Look around. You’re in my house now, and I get all night to fuck that attitude out of you. Consider this a courtesy.”

And then he all but slams his cock into you in one go, throwing you forward across the steps with a wail that could scare all the ghosts back into their graves. He doesn’t give you time to adjust– just starts fucking into you with abandon, letting you scratch at the granite beneath you while you scream from the overstimulation.

You’re so sensitive after having gone a full day in heat, even though he’d given you everything you wanted and more last night. He’d been so gentle and giving, made love to you slowly and passionately on the cheap mattress in your motel room, careful to make sure you didn’t burn that place down.

There’s nothing of the sweet and slow of last night when he weaves his fingers into your hair and yanks your head back by the roots, growling, “Say, ‘Thank you, Eddie.’”

“Thank you, Ed– FUCK!” You moan obscenely loud, arching your back as your eyes nearly cross. His brutal pace is too much all at once, making you go slack, literally fucking you dumb.

You can’t think. You drop your head onto the granite step beneath you and just let him use your body, because nothing in heaven or on earth will ever feel as good as it.

In Hell, maybe.

“That’s it,” Eddie snarls at you, with the sound of skin on skin filling the air as punctuation. “Little brat always telling me to shut up– how’s it feel when I do it to you, huh?”

He strokes over something inside you that makes you lose all train of thought. Fire burns inside you, your voice cracking as you moan, rutting back against him to get him to hit there again–

And Eddie snatches you by the hips and lifts you until your back is entirely against him as he pounds into you. Manhandling you until you can’t move or kick, you just have to stay and take it.

“Stay down, like a good fucking girl,” he spits, his fangs scraping your shoulderblade as he bends over you. Your hand wraps around the edge of one of the steps, nails scratching audibly against it.

His balls slap your clit from each angle, and a moan dies with a squeak in your throat when he hits your g spot again, making you contort and writhe despite his hold. Eddie hisses behind you, feeling you tighten on his cock, his breath breaking across your skin in waves of warmth.

“Right there, sweetheart?” The snicker in his voice is infuriating. You’d snap at him if you weren’t unable to speak from the way that he fucks into you again with the same fluid motion, making stars burst behind your eyelids. His breath hitches, an audible groan in his throat when he says, “Love all those little noises you make when you’re getting fucked dumb. I could do this for ages, baby, you have no idea–”

“Oh fuck, please, Eddie–” You’re so wet, the sound of the slickness of it nearly echoes in the cavern of the mausoleum. Your face burns, your body breaking out into a sweat.

“Mmm, what is it?” Eddie’s clawed hand comes up to wrap around your throat, completely eclipsing it and pulling you to him. “What more do you need, huh?”

It’s like the minute he finds the pace and angle that has you mindless, he focuses all his energy on it. You feel like you’re melting, your body turning into that same lava he embodies and molding with his own. Spinning and swirling until you’ve fused together and nothing can separate you.

You let out a noisy whine. “N-need– I need to cu– hmm–”

Eddie croons, “Yeah? Little witch needs to cum? Gone all day without it, you just have to cum so soon?”

Your eyes nearly roll back into your skull when his wings slam down on either side of you, cracking the stone steps you lean on with the force. He uses his free hand to stroke down your tummy, over your pelvis to where the lips of your pussy part around his cock. Eddie parts his fingers, gliding them around the seam of your cunt to feel the way that he pumps in and out of you, your body stretching to make room for him.

“You think you deserve it?” He whispers threateningly, beginning a torturous back and forth with his fingers, avoiding your clit entirely. You don’t think you can stand much more teasing– everything in you is wound up tight and ready to snap, your toes curling hard as your muscles flex in warning.

“Yes– yes, Eddie, for the love of fu–” You get cut off because Eddie squeezes your throat a little bit, making your sentence die with a moan.

“Just do one thing for me,” he rasps, sounding wretched and beautiful and so close to losing it, himself.

“Anything, I’ll do anything–”

The push and pull is intoxicating. You feel ecstasy vibrating in your limbs, removing any other thought or sensation from you until all you can focus on is him. Eddie, your demon, the one who was made for you and the one who was fated to be brought to you.

“Say that you love me again,” Eddie says, a gentle waver in his voice that makes your breath hitch and your heart race. “Tell me again, I want to hear it.”

You were always going to end up here. It just so happens that you came together sooner, rather than later.

“I love you,” you whisper back, and it feels like your entire body will burst with the intensity of it. And he kisses your shoulder once, just enough for you to know that he heard you. Enough for you to know that in spite of his teasing and his mind games, this is the truth.

“I love you so much,” Eddie tells you as his breath ghosts your ear, lighting a fire beneath your skin. And his fingers drift up to your clit.

When you cum, it’s with a cry that resounds in the cavernous chamber of the mausoleum and bounces back out into the hazy night. He grips your hips hard and fucks you through it. You feel lazy, sated, unable to move or speak or do anything other than take everything he gives you with weak whimpers that sound so much louder to your ears than they actually are.

Eddie growls and fills you, until you drip with him and the evidence of what you did here; the first of many full moons to come.

He cradles you there on the mausoleum steps, giving you sweet kisses as your body stills and lowers into a thick, post-orgasmic lull. You curl into his warmth, naked in the pale moonlight and shivering a bit from the early autumn chill.

“Hey, you know…” Eddie says after a moment, pulling you from the soft refrain of your thoughts, “I wasn’t entirely kidding about this being… my house. I guess.”

“You live in a fuckin’ mausoleum?” You slur tiredly, your head lolling to the side to look up at him.

“What? No, not the—” he sighs. “We’re, ah. Technically in the Otherworld right now.”

“Oh.” You blink up at him, watching the way the embers in his eyes swirl and glow bright orange. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, a bit of a half laugh that lets you know he’s embarrassed. As embarrassed as a demon can be, more or less. “It’s kind of where stories of the Witches’ Sabbath come from. Certain rituals… when the demon is present… they take place in the Otherworld.”

“And what does that mean?” You whisper up at him with a conspiratory grin.

“Just look.” Eddie gently tilts your head up, prodding you to look out across the cemetery. And you gasp.

Spirits. Ghosts and ghouls and the like. They mingle among the stones, the above ground tombs, the trees. A bonfire in the distance– the near distance, just in the treeline– shows you another rite happening. Another sabbath.

There are more witches in Eastwick than you thought.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, sitting up in Eddie’s arms. Mist hangs in the air, getting thicker the more your presence within the realm solidifies. Everything is eerie, foggy like it’s happening in a dream.

“A lot more fun than your standard crossroads,” he muses. “Am I right?”

You glance back at Eddie, all scars and horns and sharp teeth, but looking no less beautiful than he always does. You’ve chosen the prettiest of all the demons, you’re sure of it.

Or, is it that he chose you? Or… weren’t you chosen for each other?

A little figure materializes in the darkness, galloping toward you on tiny legs that don’t seem to touch the ground. The smoky figure of the Dachshund shifts in and out of focus– she’s getting the hang of manifestation, slowly but surely. It’ll take more work, but she’ll get there.

“Lacey?” you whisper, bending forward to let the little figure sniff your hand. She doesn’t need to, though. She barrels toward your hand and bonks into it at full force, her smoky head dissipating for a second with her excitement. Despite how much you wish you could pet her, you giggle, and it sounds echoey and strange in the liminal atmosphere. “Oh my gosh, I missed you so much.”

“She missed you, too,” Eddie says fondly, twirling a lock of hair at the base of your neck around one of his clawed fingers. “She might have to wait a little bit until she can hang with you in your realm, but as long as you’re here…”

He trails off, watching as Lacey yaps and happily runs back and forth in front of your legs, excited to see you again.

“Well, it’s only appropriate, considering who brought us together,” Eddie concludes, chuckling a little when she tries to jump on your legs and still passes right through them. “Lacey, she isn’t from this realm. You won’t be able to cuddle just yet. Aww– she’ll get there. She’s a smart one.”

You turn to gaze at him, teary-eyed and lovestruck in spite of your surroundings. “What do we do now?” You ask him shyly, in a whisper, as if you’re afraid that one of the spirits will hear you and take exception. As if you didn’t already fuck nasty right in front of them.

Eddie smiles, and the embers in his eyes explode into picture perfect fires. Roaring with love and affection. “Whatever you want, baby.”

There’s a rhythmic drumbeat from within the trees, where the witches dance around the fire with their respective demons– just as you always imagined a stereotypical witch’s Sabbath might look like, if old accounts from ye olden days held any merit. You tug Eddie by the arms, leading him toward the bonfire, the drums mimicking the rhythmic thump of your own heart. Lacey excitedly zips around your ankles, passing directly through them in her haste on occasion.

You dance.

And you dance.

And you fuck on the tomb of some guy named Roland, whose stands off to the side as a ghost, glaring at you the whole time. You don’t care at all. You’re looking at Eddie the whole time, anyways.

He’s everything you could have wanted and more.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #tdik!fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #demon!eddie munson #demon!eddie #roses*

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annie-creates · 8 months ago

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Good enough for a hero

Pairing: Andromache of Scythia x reader

Genre: angst

Words: 900

Note: Another fic for Andy after a while, nothing big but I hope you'll like it anyway. It's inspired by this amazing song.

Death wasn‘t a stranger to you. You met regularly like old friends, under the cloak of night or at the hand of your enemies. You weren’t exactly proud of your job, robbery and fraud being your routine tools. Being immortal however gave you a certain advantage when it came to dangerous situations. It’s not like you always wanted to become the villain, there was a time you tried to do good. A time where you did your best to become part of the group of heroes, yet despite your exceeding efforts they never accepted you as one of them.

As you leave a high security building with the prized possession secured in your hands, you recall the months and years you spent trying to prove yourself to Andy and her group of soldiers. The exhausting training sessions where she took your life in a blink of an eye if you weren’t fast enough. The nights you spent eating dinner alone because you didn’t earn your place at the table. Mornings you were woken up with a bucked of freezing water, the excuse being they were trying to give you actual army training you lacked.

“Get up. We don’t need cowards.” Andromache gritted over her teeth after beating you down for the hundredth time.

“Can’t we finish for today.” You pleaded as your sweat mixed with the blood trickling from your bruised face.

“We won’t finish until you get at least a punch in.” She decided uncompromisingly kicking you in the side.

“That wasn’t necessary.” You grumble as you stand up with difficulty.

“It won’t be necessary after you become more than just a useless burden.” Andy said venomously and run at you once again, choking you until your weakened body passed out this time.

After years of tremendous torture excused by the higher purpose, you couldn’t take it anymore. So you got up at the middle of the night and left without a trace. If you are not good enough to become a hero, you’ll become someone much worse. Maybe you didn’t fit their strict requirements but on the street you quickly became friends with the night life and everything that happens under the brim of darkness. You found a group of shady traders whose business was hardly legal, but you didn’t care anymore. They accepted you in and you proved yourself to be actually quite skilled.

“Another successful hunt.” Tony, the leader of your group praised.

“What is it?” You questioned, usually stealing gold or original paintings to sell on the black market.

“It’s the Vestonic Venus, our buyer offered a lot for this piece.” He explains as he puts the package in his coat. “Alright, let’s go home. Good job guys.”

They drop you off a few streets from your flat and you finish the road on foot. It wasn’t anything fancy even though your job allowed you to squander money from time to time. You still preferred the modest minimalistic life, it’s how you made sure to stay hidden from both the government and the group of immortals who definitely wouldn’t be happy knowing all these jobs were your doing. It was questionable what you’ve become, but as long as it kept you fed and safe, you didn’t really care. You were never one to play for a higher moral ground anyway.

The next morning you visit your favorite coffee shop in the area, having a weakness for a good morning cup of coffee. As you’re waiting for your order of cappuccino and a blueberry muffin, you look around the calm room, unintentionally meeting eyes with a lady at one of the tables. She was sitting in a booth with a young girl you didn’t recognize. She looked tired and somehow older than the many years ago, and her hair was cut short this time, but you’d recognize the face that spit so many hurtful lies at you anywhere. Somehow in the whole wide world Andy found you once again.

“Miss Y/n.” The barista announces and you grab your paper cup and bag and practically run out.

You weren’t fast enough though cause you were hardly three steps out the door when her strong hand catches your arm, forcing you to look at the woman you despised most in this entire world and whole century. Unlike you, dressed in an elegant spring coat, she wore a worn-down jacket she probably owned even back when you first met her and her whole being looked tired and worn out, including her clothes. On the contrary the look in her eyes was full of resolve and determination.

“Y/n…” She starts warily.

“Don’t.” You warn her. “I don’t wanna talk to you.”

“Wait. A lot has happened okay? There’s this girl, Nile...” Andy starts explaining to you with urgency.

“I don’t care! I want to have nothing to do with you people!” You pull your hand out of her grasp. “Leave me alone. I don’t fuckin care about your business, so whatever it is, go bother someone else with it.”

You scold her and turn around quickly pacing away. You couldn’t comprehend the audacity she had to talk to you after all those years and want things from you without as much as an apology or acknowledgement of all the things she did to you. You couldn’t think of what would be so important to overcome her passionate hatred for you.

#andromache of scythia x reader #andromache the scythian x reader #andromache x reader #andy x reader #andromache the scythian #andromache x you #andromache of scythia #the old guard #fanfic #fanfiction #andromache of scythia angst #andy angst #andromache angst #andromache the scythian angst #Spotify

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cevansbrat0007 · 2 years ago

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A Lapse in Judgment

Summary: Restless energy and an ill-advised night jog land you in a heap of trouble with your man. Andy Barber x Black Reader

Warnings: Andy Barber, Daddy Kink, Bratty Reader, Spanking, Punishments, Cursing, Sexual Themes, Minors DNI

A/N: Requested by @writer84. Part of my ongoing Growing Pains Series. Partially written on my phone, so all mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

___

You spare a glance at the clock as you lace up your shoes. At just after 7:30pm it was a little late for a run, especially this time of year. But since you were bored out of mind and your man was busy burning the midnight oil, you figured this might be a good way to relieve a little bit of this extra energy that was currently coursing through your veins.

It was officially the holiday season. And while you enjoyed the festive decorations, music, and movies, this particular time also left you with a dull ache in your heart – because you missed your family. But sometimes being around them wasn’t always good for you, especially when it came to your mental health.

Instead you had chosen to spend this past Thanksgiving with friends, just like you had the year before. But unlike last year, you’d actually had three celebrations. One with your friends and then one with Andy and his family. Which had been so fucking lovely that it makes you smile just thinking about it.

You hadn’t known just how much you’d needed a mom hug until Andy’s mother, Lisa, had wrapped you up in her arms and given you such a heartfelt squeeze. And even though you had only met her a couple of times since, you still cherished that moment.

And later on that evening you and your man had each taken turns expressing just how grateful you were for each other. With the help of a French Silk Pie. You’d never made one before, but you now knew that it required a lot of work and was best enjoyed with a side of Andrew Barber’s abs.

Still smiling, you throw on your jacket and take another quick peek at the time.

7:42pm. Alright. If you were gonna be back before you man got home you needed to head out now.

After making sure you have everything, you go ahead and step out of Andy’s brownstone and onto the porch. You take a moment to scroll through your phone, searching for the perfect playlist.

While you stand there, you can’t help but feel grateful for this recent bout of unseasonably warm weather. Sure, it was probably global warming at work, but at least that meant you wouldn’t freeze to death.

Setting your playlist on shuffle, you slip your iPhone into the fitness band attached to your bicep. And then you turn on your AirPods before checking the lock one last time. Satisfied that you had everything just right, you take off down the street and into the night.

___

You’re about fifteen minutes in when you realize that you were actually doing pretty well for yourself. You weren’t even breathing that hard. At least not yet.

Ahh, progress.

Looks like all that cardio at the gym was finally paying off. While your boyfriend was always very, very vocal about just how much he appreciated your curves, you really were a little concerned about some of that damned happy weight.

Sometimes your boyfriend even liked to join you. But seeing as he spent most of his time glaring at every man who even so much as dared to look at your ass, he never actually managed to get in much of a workout himself. You bite back a small laugh when you think about that time some guy, one of those wanna-be bodybuilder types, had asked if you needed a spotter.

Andy had just stepped away to use the restroom, briefly leaving you all by your lonesome. Deciding to give into temptation and fuck with your fella just a little, you’d responded with “oh my gosh, that would be great”. You’d gotten through all of five reps by the time Andy had finally re-entered the main fitness area. And, oh, how you wished you could’ve had someone snap a picture of his face.

Saying your man was pissed had been a colossal understatement.

Those two had spent several minutes exchanging quite a few testosterone-fueled snarls, grunts, and chest thumps before your very unhappy boyfriend had dragged your ass out of there. His proprietary grip on your waist had been so tight that you were pretty sure your poor feet had ceased to touch the pavement once you’d hit the parking lot.

Your Big Man had seethed practically the entire way home. But the moment you’d stepped foot inside, Andrew Barber had you on the ground. The next thing you knew, he had ripped a hole in your expensive black leggings, before proceeding to fuck the living daylights out of you right there in the hall.

At least he’d had enough sense to shut the front door before raviging you like a wild man. Good god, you hadn’t walked right for two days by the time he was through. He’d shown you no mercy.

And it had been so freakin’ worth it.

Forcing yourself back into the present, you continue on. Not yet ready to stop, you keep pushing yourself, focusing on your breathing as you round the next corner of a familiar block. You decide to turn around once you make it to the outskirts of one of your favorite local parks.

Yeah. That would be far enough.

You’re also grateful that your phone hasn’t gone off, not one time.Which meant two things. One, that your Big Man was deep in work mode. And two, you’d be able to make it back to his place before he did.

Because now that you thought about it, you were pretty sure that he would not approve of your little adventure. Swear to god, he could be so overprotective sometimes that it bordered on ridiculous…

Once you reach the park, you finally allow yourself a well-deserved break. By now, your precious lungs are on fire. Standing under a lamp post, you spend the next few minutes greedily sucking in air.

You really should have brought along a bottle of water. But then again, you also hadn’t planned on running this far.

After giving yourself a little more time to recover, you’re finally ready to head on home. But before you do, you remove your phone to search for a new playlist. Since your light jog back would act as your cool down, you needed something that meshed with your new vibe.

And you can see that there’s still nothing from Andy indicating that he’s left the office. Thank goodness. Maybe you’d even have time to shower before he walked through the door.

A girl could only hope.

___

Forty minutes later…

Thankfully, your journey back to his place is just as uneventful as your quick jaunt to the park. You manage to keep a pretty good pace the whole trip, alternating between jogging and walking, which keeps blood pumping.

And now you’ve entered the home stretch, putting you just shy of a block away from the finish line. Turning off your music, you decide to check your phone one last time.

It reads 9:07pm.

You frown when you see that you still haven’t received a message from your man. Now, you weren’t typically one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but you were starting to find his lack of communication just a tiny bit strange.

And then you notice that you also haven’t received any Facebook or Instagram updates either. Alright. And the same holds true for your email as well. Okay, now that was really, really odd.

And then it hits you.

You’d accidentally switched on your device’s Do Not Disturb feature at the start of your run.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Bracing yourself for the worst, you quickly fix your settings. Less than two seconds later, you’re hit with a barrage of notifications consisting of missed texts, voicemails, and calls. All from Andrew.

Deciding to listen to forgo the voicemails, you go straight for your text messages instead. Seemed like a much better option. That is, until you actually read them. You make it through the first three before giving up.

Concern. Panic. Frustration. And then more panic. It was all right there in his texts. By now it was pretty safe to assume that your Big Man had kind of gone off the deep end with this one.

You’re in the middle of calculating just how long it would take you to run all the way back to your apartment when your phone buzzes in your hand. Which, of course, causes you to accidentally panic too.

Which means you accidentally hit decline. Oops.

Well, at least you were being consistent. You’d be back at the house in a minute anyway. So you would deal with him then.

And not a second before.

___

Five minutes later you quietly unlock the front door, wincing at the sound it makes as it slowly creaks open. You were almost certain that it had never made that noise before.

So much for trying to be stealthy.

You pause when you briefly catch sight of Andy as he paces back and forth. And then you feel your phone vibrate.

“C’mon, c’mon.” He growls from somewhere just beyond your line of sight. “Damn it! Pick the fuck up, baby girl.”

Okay, now you were just being silly. You had no doubt that you could fix all of this with one simple explanation.

“Um. Hi, honey!” You call out as you work to remove your shoes. “I - I’m…back.”

You hear a sudden burst of commotion from the next room, which sounds suspiciously like a chair as it connects with the floor. And then there he is. Your man. Looking like he’d just been through the wringer.

His tie is long gone, and his light gray dress shirt untucked. Couple that with the fact that it looks like it’s missing a few buttons, you can definitely tell that he’s been freaking out.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Andy is quick to bridge the distance between you, roughly hauling you against his solid chest. You give him a moment, ignoring the fact he’s squeezing you so tight that you’re having trouble breathing.

You attempt to tell him that you’re fine, but the words come out too muffled.

“What?” He asks when he finally lets you go. His large hands go to your biceps as he takes a step back to get a good look at you. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m okay.” You repeat, hating that you’d worried him so much. “Since you were working late I just decided to go out for a little run. That’s all.” Prying a hand from your arm, you press a sweet kiss to his knuckles. At least maybe now he could relax a little. “And accidentally managed to set my phone to Do Not Disturb too. Isn’t that funny?”

You brush by him so that you can head into the kitchen where you spy a bag sitting on the counter. Along with a dining room chair laying sideways on the floor.

Not a good sign.

“Smells good in here, Big Man. Did you,uh, bring home tacos?” When he doesn’t respond, you take it upon yourself to go ahead and look inside. “Oh, you stopped by Gomez Salsa? How yummy!”

Silence.

Sighing, you go to fix the fallen piece of furniture. Maybe if you got him to eat something he’d –

“I’ve been home for almost an hour, Y/N.” Andy hisses from his place just outside the kitchen. “I called. I texted. Searched every inch of this place. Twice. And nothing.” While his tone remains eerily calm, his big body is bristling with anger. “I got nothing.”

“Aw, c’mon Andy Bear. I just told you that I accidentally turned off my notifications.” The charge in the air has you feeling more than a little on edge. “I’m sorry. I promise, promise, promise that I will be more careful about that. Okay?”

Your words do nothing to ease the tension radiating from his broad shoulders. In fact, they only seem to make things worse.

Much worse.

“What stopped you from leaving a note, sweetheart?” He crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for your answer. “I mean, you had to know that I’d be pissed either way.”

“I - I didn’t think –” You stammer out, suddenly tongue-tied.

“I’m gonna stop you right there, little girl. Because you’re absolutely right. You didn’t fucking think.” Andy’s caustic, unflinching tone catches you off guard.

“I didn’t – I wasn’t planning on being gone that long.”

“Of course you weren’t.” A dark chuckle rumbles out of his throat as he sinks his hands into his pockets. “Swear to God, baby girl. I just don’t understand why you would do something so fucking dumb.”

‘I’m not dumb, Andrew.” You hiss, resisting the urge to tear up.

“You’re right, Y/N, you’re not. In fact, you are one of the smartest people I know. Which is why I just don’t get what possessed you to go out running in the middle of the goddamned night!"

“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic.” You scoff, rolling your eyes. “It is not that late. This is exactly why I was trying to make it back before you got home.”

“Oh, really?” He responds, raising one imperious brow.

“Yes, because I knew you would overreact like you always do!” You tell him, hands on your hips. “And then, bam! I’m in "trouble” with my big, bad Daddy. Pfft.” Reaching for the bag, you fish out a taco, unwrap it, and daintily shove it into your mouth. “And all because tonight I was cursed with having too much energy.”

The look he gives you lets you know right away that he doesn’t appreciate your tone. But at this point, you don’t really care. You were over this entire ridiculous conversation.

“Okay, baby girl.” Andy sucks on his teeth before scraping a hand over his bearded jaw. “Okay.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Comes your stubborn retort as you wolf down another delicious bite of food. “These are good. You should eat one while I go shower. Might help you calm down a bit.” You spare him a pointed glance before balling up your trash and tossing it in the garbage.

“Is that right?” He chuckles, somehow managing to sound anything but amused. Feeling brave, you snag a bottle of water from the fridge. And then you go to walk past him.

Or, at least, you try to.

“Would you move?” You try again, only to have him block you yet again. “Agh! Please?”

“No.” That’s it. That’s all he says.

“This - this isn’t funny, Andrew.” You grunt, doing your best to physically move him out of the way. But alas, the beefy bastard doesn’t budge.

“Well, that’s good, Y/N. Because I’m not fucking laughing.”

“So what are we gonna do then, huh?” You huff, arms flailing wide. “Stand here and look at each other until…until one of us turns to dust? Which’ll most likely be you, by the way.” You poke him in the shoulder for good measure. And you can tell that your level of sass takes him by surprise.

Grasping your face in his hand, he tilts up your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m only gonna say this one time.” You try to jerk away, but his grip remains firm.

“You’re gonna drop this defiant little attitude of yours right fucking now.” He purrs, his stern eyes flashing. “And go park your ass in that corner right over there.” He points in a random corner, located just beyond the table.

“And if I don’t?” You sensed you were pushing him too far, but you didn't much care.

Andy smiles at you then, brushing a thumb across his lower lip. “Ass. Corner. Now.”

“Make me.” You were not about to go quietly into this good night. No, sir. Not without a fight.

“Alright, baby girl.” Shaking his head, he rolls up his sleeves before beginning to undo his black leather belt. He then makes a show of pulling it through the loops of his slacks. “I had a feeling we’d get here at some point." He muses, more to himself than you. "Evidently, you need Daddy to remind you just how serious I am about your safety."

“I don’t need anything from you except – ooh!” You shriek when he lunges without warning, tossing you over his shoulder as if you weigh nothing. “Shit! Andy, wait!”

“Nope.” He grunts, sounding just as casual as can be. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you need me to take control. Which is exactly what I’m going to do, baby girl.”

“I’m sorry!” You cry, bouncing on his shoulder as he carts you up the stairs.

“Huh. Look how easy that was.” Andy’s hand comes down hard on your bottom. “Shame it’s too late for that.”

“Agh!” You kick and squirm in his hold, but it's to no avail. Forget the cardio, you needed to take up street fighting to deal with your district attorney. “You are such a fucking brute!”

All that earns you is another slap.

“Not yet, I’m not.” He grunts as he shoulders his way into his bedroom. Your Big Man then unceremoniously dumps you on the bed. And when you try to crawl away, he grabs hold of your ankle. It takes him a moment, but somehow he maneuvers you in such a way that allows him to restrain your arms behind your back with help his fucking belt.

You cry out again in frustration, the sound now muffled thanks to his stupid comforter. And then your world tilts once more as you’re lifted and then draped across your man’s lap.

“Alright.” Andy mutters as he gets you both settled. “Now that we’re both comfortable, how about we try this again? Hm?”

“Fine.” You grit out. “I’m sorry for –”

“No, no.” Your man is quick to interrupt. “I’ve heard enough out of you. It’s Daddy’s turn to talk, and you’re going to listen.” A soft whimper escapes when he drags the material of legging and panties down your thighs, exposing your ass to his feral gaze. “Understand?”

“Yes.” You whisper, suddenly fascinated by the grooves in the panels of the hardwood floor.

“Yes, what?” Andy snaps, delivering a solid blow to your upturned rear. "Don't tell me you've forgotten already."

“Ungh! Yes, Daddy!” You hiss, biting your lip as you sink your nails into the fabric of his pants.

“Much better, thank you. What you did tonight wasn’t just dangerous.” He begins, double checking your bonds to ensure that they aren’t too tight. “It also showed an incredible lapse in judgment, along with a complete disregard for your safety!”

Sometimes Andy Barber’s patented daddy-mode also came with a lecture. And this evening you seemed to have earned yourself one hell of a good one.

“I –”

“Quiet!” Your Big Man barks as your spanking continues. “You didn’t leave a note because you knew, you knew, that I wouldn’t like it.” Smack. Smack. Smack. “You deliberately made one careless decision after another.”

Smack. Slap. Smack.

One particularly hard blow has you trying to scramble off of your perch. But your efforts are thwarted when he throws one of his heavily muscled thighs on top of your own.

“Ow!” You wail, hating the salty taste of your tears. “Andy! Daddy! Oh shit, stop!”

Crack. Smack. Slap.

“Do you have any idea how terrified I was?” He snarls as he liberally reddens your vulnerable flesh. “Are you really surprised that I’m tearing your ass up right now? The reason isn’t obvious to you?” The spanks keep coming, leaving you a squirming, whining mess.

“I get it! I swear!” You howl, not caring if his neighbors heard your pitiful pleas. You were just ready for your punishment to stop. “I won’t do it again, okay?” You sniffle, wiping your face on his pants.

“Damn it, Y/Nl! You could have been assaulted, mugged, or worse. And no one would’ve had the slightest idea that you needed help or even where to start looking for you, including me!”

Andy delivers several more harsh slaps, making you cry out with each one. But he’s still not done.

“And then, when I confront you about it, you want to act like a complete fucking brat.” He chuffs, briefly pausing to paw at your sore left cheek, squeezing roughly. “Absolutely not! Never again, my gorgeous girl. You’re much too smart for all of this.”

Smack. Slap. Crack. Holy shit, your ass was on fucking fire!

The grip you have on his calf slowly goes slack as you begin to sob. “No reflective clothing, you were wearing your earphones. I just –” He trails off, trying to calm his breathing. “Promise me you won’t do this again.”

“I promise.” You hiccup, watching your teardrops hit the hardwood.

“Thank you.” Andy growls before administering a few last smacks to your already smarting derriere. “You ever pull some crazy shit like this again and, swear to God, I’ll give you a taste of my belt.”

And you knew without a doubt that he most certainly wasn’t kidding.

“Yes, sir.” You sniffle, feeling positively depleted.

“Good girl.” He hums, lightly raking his nails across your heated backside. “You ever find yourself feeling restless like that again, then you call me so that I know I need to make a special trip to wherever you are so that I can fuck you so good you can’t move.”

“O-okay, Daddy. Can I please sit up now?”

“Of course you can.” Adjusting your positions, Andy helps you right yourself so that you can finally look into his stormy blue eyes. “There we go, baby.” He gently wipes a stray tear from your cheek before sucking his thumb into his mouth.

“Your little tears tast so sweet.” He murmurs, brushing his full lips against your temple. “Here’s how the rest of tonight is gonna go. You still listening?”

Unsure of what else to do, you can only nod as you stare at your lap.

“I’m going to help you get cleaned up, and then we’re going to go back downstairs so that I can feed you. After that, we’ll get on with the rest of your punishment.”

“The rest of my punishment?” You breathe, your eyes wide with confusion. “But I - I thought we were –”

“Done?” Your Big Man finishes for you, the word spilling out on the heels of a laugh. “Oh, absolutely not, young lady.” Andy tucks a stray curl behind your ear. “Once you’ve had dinner, you’re going to spend the rest of the night riding your Daddy’s cock.”

A small shiver of anticipation courses through you as your traitorous pussy clenches at his words.

“Daddy just wants to make sure we do everything we can to get rid of whatever’s left of all that pent up energy.” He nips at your jaw as two of his talented fingers slip between your thighs. “Even if it takes all night.”

In fact, he secretly hoped that it did. Otherwise, how the fuck else would his stubborn baby girl learn her lesson?

END

#cevansbrat0007growing pains series #chris evans #andy barber #chris evans imagines #andy barber imagines #chris evans smut #andy barber smut #chris evans x reader #andy barber x reader #chris evans x yn #andy barber x yn #chris evans x y/n #andy barber x y/n #chris evans x black!reader #andy barber x black!reader #chris evans x woc!reader #andy barber x woc!reader #edited #cevansbrat0007 asks

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mydarlingbeatrice · 1 year ago

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Arcadia , PT. 2

A/N - SORRY OMG FOR TAKING SO LONG BUT HERE U GO!!!

Sad and lonely, the poor girl watches as the entire school gets ready for the upcoming Valentines day. She had heard from one of her closest friends, Andromeda, that this year Hogwarts would have more preparation for the loved holiday.

"I'm surprised you're not with James, you still like him don't you?" Andromeda questions her, taking a bite of her biscuit after. She stares at the girl in front of her, waiting for an answer with raised eyebrows.

The girl sighs and looks back into her tea, trying to formulate a response for her friend. "I don't know Andy, I think he likes Lily Evans. They've been talking a lot this past month. He might as well ask her to be his Valentine!" She pouts, complaining.

Andromeda considers the weight of her words for a mere second, "Well, I've heard that the Rosier, Evan was his name wasn't it? Yes him, he's been glancing at you quite often in the hallways! Why don't you see if you like him?" She turns to look at the girl, waiting for a response.

She however, smiles before responding, "Perhaps. He's been nice to me so I don't see why not? Maybe he'll take my mind off the boy I've liked for almost 4 years." She says. The two girls stand up to put their trash away as they exit the Three Broomsticks.

. . .

I freeze. I was truly stupid to come to the Three Broomsticks without expecting a couple. But, I didn't know that I'd be faced with James Potter accompanied with an annoyed looking Lily Evans. Andy looks at me staring the two down. She grabs my arm and we quickly make our way back into the campus.

"Stay unaffected." She tells me when we walk through the hallways to the library. I smiled at her, entering the library.

My face morphs into one of surprise as I find a now awake Evan Rosier staring back at me, smirking while sitting in one of the many chairs that we have.

My luck just keeps getting better, doesn't it?

Andy smirks, "Well, go to him!" She whispers to me, pushing me towards the man. My face is still stuck in the surprise I had when I first saw him.

"What a pleasure, lovely to see you darling." He says in a nonchalant way, still smirking at my smitten face. I quickly regain myself, patting my hair down.

I stare at him nervously, flashing him one of my smiles. "Can I sit here?" I say, pointing to the seat next to him.

. . .

Evan and I had been getting along for the most part, we had shared mostly similar interests. Currently we were talking about Slughorn’s new project in Potions. “That’s amazing! How long did it take for you to finish the brew?” I asked him. He thinks, trying to remember.

“Erm, I don’t think it took much time! I mean, I did also have Snape as my partner..” He finishes off with a chuckle, adjusting to face me in his chair.

I smile softly at him. “Of course, Snape’s amazing at Potions! I’ve never seen him not make a potion perfectly. Need to ask him his secrets!” I laugh along with him.

Soon, a comfortable silence falls over us as I turn to my homework for Slughorn, writing “The Draught of Living Death” in underlined letters. I continue to finish up my essay and go over it with Rosier, who doesn’t hesitate to help me. We both peacefully look over each other’s essays and homework. Suddenly, we are interrupted by a loud slam against the outside of the library door. I furrowed my eyebrows as I then saw Sirius, Remus, James and Peter emerge through the library’s old wooden doors.

I smile brightly as I look towards them. They however, fail to return my advances as they look confusedly between me and Evan Rosier. “Hello you guys! Come sit with us.” I scan all of them with a smile, faltering my movements when I see James.

“Hey, can I talk to you in private for a second?” The brunette I was staring at asks me, I nod wordlessly as he pulls me out the library.

#james potter #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter fic #the marauders #marauders era #marauders fandom #hp marauders #marauders #harry potter marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #lily evans #peter pettigrew #evan rosier #tysm y’all

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silvershewolf247 · 10 months ago

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Tearing at the Seams (2)

Andy Barclay could handle a lot of things. He could handle dying. He could handle not eating for a month when this started. He could handle being force fed with a funnel when he refused the food Chucky brought him. He could handle being cut open. He could handle the freezing cold winter. He could handle a hot knife pressed against his skin. He could handle cigarette burns. He could handle the stench of the bodies Chucky piled in the room. He could handle the fucking gag. He could even handle Chucky bitching about his shambling marriage.

But under no circumstances could Andy Barclay let Chucky into his mind. When Chucky announced his plans, Andy thought he was having a nightmare. For the 15 years he spent waiting for Chucky to come after him again; whenever he had a nightmare, a panic attack, tried to drink away his childhood, spent the night with a gun pointed at his door, or got a dollar store birthday card from Chucky, he had one comfort. And that was that Chucky gave up on possessing him. He might kill him, it might be a brutal, long, and painful death. But it would be just that, death. It would end, and so would he. But now Chucky wanted him to live, and Andy had never been more scared of him.

Andy had done his best to keep it hidden. He knew how desperately Chucky wanted him to be that scared little six year old again. And he wouldn’t let that happen. And he wouldn’t let him possess him. Whatever it took, he’d stop him. He had tried to talk his way out of it. And when talking was taken away from him, he tore his wrists raw and bloody trying to break the restraints. That’s when he tried the ones on his legs.

When he tried to pull his leg back against the restraint, he ended up pulling his whole body up. And banging against the bed frame, when he came back down. It hurt like a son of a bitch, and testing the strap only made it worse. It was undamaged. But he noticed a warm feeling trickling down his leg. He looked and sure enough, his leg was bleeding again. He wasn’t sure if he tore many stitches, but he’d definitely done something. And Chucky couldn’t use his body without one of his legs.

He spent every waking moment after that tearing his leg open and screaming to cover up the noise that was making. That was until he heard Chucky coming back down. He was quiet for a moment, hoping he’d go back to ignoring him. Then he tried screaming, hoping it would drive him out of the room again. And when neither worked he just focussed on trying to stop him from looking at his leg, or at least ruining it before Chucky had a chance to stop him. Chucky eventually got frustrated and just grabbed his leg.

“Oh you little shit,” he was clearly frustrated, but he also sounded almost amused. Andy didn’t have time to consider that much before Chucky jammed a needle into his side, and he found himself passing out again.

He wasn’t sure how long ago that had been. He felt more groggy than the last time, but he didn’t know if that meant he was under for more or less time. All he knew was that Chucky was somewhere nearby.

“Well look who finally woke up.” Andy squeezed his eyes trying to blink away the last of his drug induced sleep. Something was wrong, something was different. The gag was out again. But that wasn’t it. Andy looked at his side, not expecting Chucky to be looming over him. Then he looked at his leg. He figured Chucky had repaired it. It was wrapped in gauze stained with his blood. And while he didn’t look at it that much, he couldn’t imagine his leg being bandaged was something that would throw him off. It probably wasn’t even the first time it happened. It was so painful that he hadn’t even noticed getting stitches. That’s when he realized his leg didn’t hurt anymore. Not in the slightest. He tried to move it, it didn’t budge.

“How you doing buddy,” Chucky asked, patting his leg. Nothing. It didn’t even feel like it was part of his body, just something next to him.

“What did you do,” Andy asked, his voice sounded so tired, weak, it felt pathetic.

“What did I do? What did you do? You did quite a number on yourself champ, lucky for you I caught onto it before you tore open more of your stitches,” Chucky said, his tone physically paining Andy. Andy cringed at his voice

“Don’t worry, sport. Doc was already here. You only tore a couple of stitches, Mixter was able to patch it up, not even going to set back your recovery,” Andy didn’t have the energy to hide his devastation.

“You’re a real lucky guy aren’t you Andy,” Chucky continued.

“Why can’t I feel my leg?,” Andy asked, he hated the weakness in his voice almost as much as he hated the mockery in Chucky’s.

”Oh, well I realized it had been kind of inconsiderate of me not to give you pain killers when we stitched you up. It must have been very painful for you. So I talked to Mixter, and she got you something to help with that.” Andy looked at his leg, wincing.

“Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll make sure to give you something everyday, so you don’t have to deal with that,” Chucky answered. Andy closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

“Now unfortunately they’ll leave you a bit tired and you won’t be able to move that leg. But don’t worry, once we get those stitches out,” Chucky gestured to himself, “I’ll make sure to help get that leg back to 100%.” Chucky finished, patting Andy’s leg again.

#Chapter 2 Au: Not Out Of The Woods #andy barclay #torture tw #gore tw #non consensual drug use tw

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jmagnabo92 · 10 months ago

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GGSB Fest 2024 - Ticking Clock

@goodgodfathersiriusblack

Prompt - Sirius Returns

The minute Sirius fell through the veil, there was a ticking clock just waiting for him to return.

AO3

***

Sirius always knew that there was a clock. A clock from the moment that he fell through the veil until when he would eventually be returned to Harry.

Still, knowing that he’d return, but he’d have to wait was rough.

Especially as he watched over Harry struggling through the war and the aftermath. All he wanted to do was be there for him, but instead, he’s watching a clock tick tick tick… until his return.

Finally, five years after his death, Sirius can feel the pull to return. He says his goodbyes and follows the pull back through the veil, and into Kingsley’s office as the Minister (he wanted to go straight to Harry, but Kingsley felt it would be better that he didn’t just show up on his doorstep – plus, the Unspeakables didn’t give him a chance for anything else).

“I just want to see my godson, Kings.”

“He’s coming, alright. Just relax.”

“I can’t relax,” Sirius states. He’s pacing the room, uncertainly. “I let him down and I went and sort of died on him and – and what if I’ve spent all this time wanting and waiting for the moment that I can finally be there for him and – and what if…”

“Sirius!” Harry yells, from the doorway.

Sirius freezes unsure how much Harry might’ve heard and if he even wants Sirius around him, but a second later he’s being hugged like Harry never wants to let him go and he melts.

“Kid, oh kid, I’m so sorry that I died or kind of died on you – it was temporary, and I wished that I could do something, anything to help you along the way, I – I …”

“Sirius, calm down,” Harry states. “I know it’s not your fault. You were just protecting me because you cared about me. It was hard, but I healed and I’m happy to have you back.”

“Really?” Sirius asks, worriedly. Admittedly, he should be reassuring Harry not the other way around, but he just… suddenly being alive again brought back uncertainties.

“Yes, really,” Harry answers, smiling. “I’m happy to have you back and I’m sure my godson, Teddy, is going to adore having you in the house and Andy will be delighted to have you back. She basically –”

“Adopted you,” Sirius finishes. “Yeah, I actually… know what’s been going on … at least somewhat. I could watch over you…”

Harry grins. “Well, then, at least I won’t have to explain much.” He looks to Kingsley. “He’s free to come home with me, right?”

Kingsley nods. “He’s all yours.”

“Good,” Harry replies, then turns back to him. “Then what do you say to finally going home together?”

Sirius grins. “I love it.”

“Fantastic. Then let’s go.”

“Yeah, let’s.”

#sirius black #harry james potter #sirius and harry #sirius and harry saturday #good godfather sirius black

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salixsociety · 2 months ago

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The Autumn Palette for the Healer and Seer

On the bounty of the earth in the waning season.

For quite possibly the last year, my spouse and I have driven about six hours North for the fall semester. We will be here, wintering in the city, until the early signs of Alaskan spring begin to show around graduationtime, and then it looks like we will be off to Ireland for a few years, for grad school.

There are many reasons for me to walk with my eyes firmly affixed to the ground: six hours North, much closer to the subarctic, it is already starting to look like autumn, and there is much to look at in the newly soggy soil. The pushki (heracleum maximum) has felt the beating down upon it of rain shower after rain shower, and begun to yellow and die. Fall mushrooms are starting to spring up, and I know that to the Northeast there is the Pass where every mountain is dark with berries right now. I enjoy listening to the earth take a final, heaving sigh, pushing out the very last of the gifts she has for us to gather, before she finally falls asleep, and we must use those riches to make it through her slumber.

Before I moved to Alaska, I harbored quite the secret loathing for autumn. As much as I knew it was objectively beautiful, and I could appreciate that at times, I knew what the reddening of leaves signaled. The Netherlands is a beautiful country, but where it once boasted frigid cold, enough to freeze over major rivers and host ice-skating races from city to city, and beautiful coniferous forest, it is now drab and grey for the most part. Snow and ice are rare occurrences, and often come and go rapidly. The woodlands outside of the national parks have been micromanaged to the point of intense monotony: there's no winter biodiversity to indulge in, no fun fauna to spot. For the most part, the Netherlands in the wintertime is drab, grey, and wet. While I always prided myself on my attempted love for my home region, when my life consisted of a 2.5 hour one-way commute to school, an extremely stressful unpaid internship, and monotonous grey weather, there wasn't much to love. I am not a city-dweller normally, but during the winters I could only find shelter from the landscape screaming 'flee' when I was surrounded by tall and ancient buildings, beauty immovable and immortalized, unaffected by the changing of the seasons. Only now that I have indeed fled, am I learning to love autumn for what it is, for there is much to see, once your eyes open. In my short adult life, spent in Alaska, I have learned much about death and dying, and one of the things I've learned is that a dying breath is not a wasted one. The gods bestowed us with a soul made up of many parts, to make us inspired, wise, and talented beings. One of those many semi-autonomous spirits that make us up is the ǫnd, our breath. But the ǫnd, or andi, is not just breath, literally. The old ones acknowledged the crucial nature of breath in life, and knew that death was the departure of the ǫnd, among others, from our bodies, our lík. Lík means body, but also corpse, depending on context, because the lík is not a person without the ǫnd, the hugr, the hamr, the oth. Andi, or ǫnd, in that way, doesn't just mean breath, but also life, spirit, force. When the earth breathes her dying breath, it is steeped in much symbolism. Her death, temporary and painless, is not for no reason. There is a lesson of rest for perseverance hidden there, and she teaches it to us by giving us a vast array of autumn colors to celebrate before the cold comes.

Last week, in an effort to not become a sedimentary indoor-person as I do my paperwork, I dragged my spouse along to come camping with me. I needed fresh air, my eyes away from a screen for a while. We drove up to one of my favorite places in the world: Hatcher Pass, specifically the side above Fishhook. I have many fond memories there, and many things still to see. We've climbed many of the mountains there and further North, we've made it to mile six of the Mint Glacier trail exactly four times, and never made it any further. There is beauty in everything in that pass. From the magnitude of the mountains and gorges, the deep blue color of the Little Susitna, to the small details like the gold shimmering in the sand of the riverbanks, and the saxifrage (saxifraga oppositifolia) decorating the rock walls in the summertime. Presently, the pass is an orchestra of fall color, and in such a glorious place, it was hard for me to not to revel in the reds and yellows. With blueberry season already over, the crimson of the various streamside berries was my main interest. Red is a very fascinating color in European folklore, and I can't help but give that much thought as I make note of everything bearing fruit next to our campsite: devil's club (oplopanax horridus), highbush cranberry (viburnum edule), lowbush cranberry (vaccinium vitis-idaea), red elder (sambucus racemosa), rowan (sorbus sitchensis). All bright red berries, following the short-lived season of black berries. The idea that the earth would produce so much red, the color of life, blood, celebration and protection, in the last moments before the snow comes, is wonderful to me. That we are bestowed with amanita muscaria right when the veil is thinnest, that we are shown all this life and spirit right before the resting season. What a reminder of the finite nature of it all. This time of cold and struggle will pass.

When we had sufficiently gathered materials and set up our rather luxurious little camp (we recently invested in self-inflating camp mats... life-changing), we waited for nightfall so we could finally start our fire. I'd been waiting for that moment to come, as it was not only quite chilly, but I thought falltide camping was a perfect opportunity to make blót to the gods in thanks for our fruitful summer. In lieu of a real salmon to offer in exchange for our phenomenal salmon run, we had drawn a ton of artsy little salmon on some nice paper instead. A cute offering, and a solid nod to my development as an artist in the last few months. We struggled for about an hour trying to get the fire going, our phenomenal fire-building skills nearly outcompeted by how wet and humid the surroundings were. I proposed just tossing the offering in while keeping the fire alive with our breath, to make sure it'd be burnt. The sausages were not my priority. But, "no, no," said my Dove, clearly determined. "The fire doesn't have a heart yet." And what profound wisdom there is in that single statement. It's true, a fire kept alive with our ǫnd has no life of its own, its smoke contains no ǫnd with which to carry our offering to the gods. It clings desperately to the wood we provided it with, the life we sacrificed to it, and roars briefly when it feels our breath, our spirit, but it cannot come to life and become a spirit of its own until the fire forms a coal bank, becomes completely opaque, and somehow, in the middle of that log cabin fire setup, develops a blindingly bright heart seemingly sustained by nothing. Every fire that roars of its own volition, whether hearth-made or forest-devouring, has a heart and spirit that makes it roar that way. When that empty space between the kindling fills with light, and the fire starts talking in sputters and crackles to be fed, and fed, and fed, and fed, that is when there is spirit, when there is ǫnd with which to bring the blót to the gods. This ancient and elemental spirit is our greatest friend when Ullr mounts the throne of Asgard. When we stack wood in our hearths and by our tents, and plead deliriously at the small flame we've nursed for it, we are begging for that spirit to visit us. To take our offering of wood and torn up newspaper, to hear our voice encouraging it as it tentatively spreads out to the aged logs, and warm our homes so we may make it through the wintertime. Miraculously, as long as we are diligent, it almost always does. It comes when beckoned, and stays until we cease to feed it, like the good guest it is. We are grateful to the fire, and have been for many many years. Creating a living fire is such an ancient success to celebrate, such a human victory, the joy is universal. We understand we have it to thank for our lives many days, as much as it is a cooperative effort between man and flame. We see, if we squint, our home reflected in the fire. Just as it has a heart surrounded by walls of wood, the fire in the hearth is a home's heart. As such, it plays a crucial role in our fall and wintertime endeavours. When the veil is thin, we use fires for divination, and when the weather is frigid, we use it for sacrifice and celebration. When we perpetuate our culture by telling tall tales during the dark hours, we do it gathered around a fire to fuel our imagination. Fire aids us in most of our endeavors, even if we can't see it do so anymore. Fire, as one of the many gifts for us to use during the waning season, is worth using to the fullest.

Something else I never got to experience in Europe is Halloween. There are minor celebrations for it in the west of the Netherlands, where most American culture was imported to, but east in the flatlands, Halloween is merely a passing mention, maybe a movie night with friends. Halloween starts and ends on October 31st, and rapidly makes way for the Saint Martin festivities and then the Saint Nicholas festivities. Halloween proves to be quite the point of light when learning to love Autumn. Of course, I had always had my autumn equinox festivities, and my harvest sacrifices and the alfblót, and I was aware of samhain, but Halloween as a modern cultural phenomenon is truly intoxicating. Or maybe I'm just goth. Seeing reminders everywhere of the thinning veil, and knowing that soon comes the season for communing with elves, for hunkering down for winter, for chopping wood and living life more meditatively, is taking the edge off that monotony and silence I have come to fear so much. Indeed, while what I can perceive with my eyes is not so interesting, what I can see with my second sight is wildly colorful and worth celebrating. We've taken to calling the week leading up to Halloween 'Holy Week' and are crafting a list of activities and movies to entertain ourselves with as Halloween approaches. I'm also working on a lovely Halloween-themed gift for my spouse, which I will not disclose for fear of them reading this, but it will certainly distract from my sense of impending doom. Since the dawn of time, fall and winter are times of love, community, sharing and celebrating. Most Germanic and Scandinavian festivities around this time focus on coming together with loved ones, enjoying the safety of the indoors and the rewards reaped during summer, and toasting to love and togetherness. Being away now from my family, I too can be surrounded by love and safety when it's most cold out.

Beyond food, faeries, fire, family and frith, there is another thing that solidified my faith in myself to feel joy through another winter. Some weeks ago, for the first time in my life, I saw the Northern Lights as I've always wanted to see them. The nightly bifröst visits the Netherlands on occasion, but generally as a red glow shrouded by clouds. My childhood dream had always been to see the teals and greens of them at full power. It happened unexpectedly and unceremoniously. I had just taken off my makeup and gotten ready to wind down for the night, when my spouse's phone rang. Their best friend, telling us that he'd just seen the brightest aurora, right there in the middle of Anchorage. That he'd looked at the forecast and it was crazy, that we needed to go to the mountains this instant. We debated for a moment, but I decided it was worth the odds of failure. We drove all together to the mountain, and we weren't the only ones who'd had that idea. We spent a solid amount of time there, but only saw white wisps, ones that could nearly pass for clouds. The full moon wasn't helping, the car headlights weren't helping. After some time, we drove back down. It wasn't until we walked into a dark alley on campus on the off chance of spotting those tendrils once more that we noticed the aurora picking up. Thankfully my spouse knew a great spot on campus to sprint to, where we could see nearly the entire sky, and sources of artificial light were few. That's where I found out everything I thought I knew about the aurora was a lie. It is truly indescribable. The vibrancy shocked me. The aurora looks very much like ecstasy feels; like the feeling of seeing everything come together, understanding that everything is itself and each other. Witnessing something so divine, so inspired, so incomprehensibly large on a random Saturday in the city... there is nothing better to fill the canvas that is the winter sky, nothing better to serve as a reminder that magic does not die, and all things end. The reds of ecstasy and life, the yellows of perseverance and modesty, the white of death and rebirth, the teal of divine inspiration contrasted against the black of it all will make way for tender greens, for violets, for pinks, for blues, and eventually for reds again. There is nothing to fear in the slumber of winter but my willingness to succumb to misery. There will be joy. There will be auroras to admire. There will be snow to ski on, there will be moose to hunt, there will be fish to lure, there will be ducks to tend to.

The final breath of the planet before she dies to come back to us renewed and plentiful offers me an array of colors to be inspired by. I will look at them with gratitude and love. I will know my home among the reds and browns like I know it among greens and blues. Winter is my time to rest and recuperate, to ponder, to hone my craft, to lie in wait until the first sign of spring comes, for then I can labor again. Until then, I will smell winter on the winds blown over the fresh snowcaps on the mountains, and I will look forward to looking it in the eye and learning from death once more.

#apothecaric allerlei #folk magic #germanic pagan #inclusive heathenry #witchblr #animism #grimoire

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magic-is-something-we-create · 1 year ago

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Goddess-Touched Snippet - (14/?)

Word count: 375

POV: Andy

Content warnings: Mention of serious injury/amputation, brief mention of torture and confinement, mild violence.

In which Rosalind Quickhand gets a breath to explain what happened to them, and Lakia gets tired of inaction.

Note: Ros uses she/they pronouns - if it's unclear in the excerpt who is saying what, please let me know!

“I signed onto [Actaea's] ship,” Ros says, faint, barely holding themself upright even with Arthur’s hand on their back. “Shadow’s orders. They found me out a week in, kept me in the brig, in the dark--”

She cuts herself off when I offer her the fruit. Gives me a fragile smile, one that makes the tears drying on her cheeks glint in the light.

After they’ve downed a couple bites, Tieling clears his throat.

“And how did this happen?” he asks, glancing to her severed arm.

She shakes her head. “She... she knew about the tattoos. She’s--making a break for it. Needed a distraction, needed the Shadow off her scent.”

Lakia’s shoulders tighten. “She’s here.”

“Not for long.” Ros sways in their seat, blinks blearily up at her.

“You know where she’s headed?”

“She told the one who dealt with me to meet her at the northern gates.”

“Where was she staying? Does she--”

“Lakia,” Tieling interrupts softly. “She’s leaving. That’s all that matters.”

Her eye hardens, sharpens. “We have to do something about her.”

“There’s nothing we can do,” he says, flat, defeated. “No prison will hold her now, and death isn’t an option. There’s no justice to be had.”

“So she just gets to fuck off, now? Like the rest of you?” Each word comes louder, more powerful on the air. “You’re not even going to fucking try to stop her?”

“She’s an Eternal,” Tieling says.

“So are you!”

“What do you hope to--”

Her fist connects with his face before he can turn around.

It connects with a vicious crack, followed by the scattering of teeth. He stumbles back, blood dripping from his nose, hand flying up to catch the blood as he coughs.

Isa’s out of his chair in an instant, only to freeze once he’s standing.

She’s yanked Tieling back to his feet by the collar before another breath can be drawn.

“That fuckin’ hurt?” she asks in a growl, fist raised again.

Tieling flinches, grunts. “Yes.”

She scoffs, lowers her fist. “Then we’re not at a fuckin’ loss for what to do, are we?”

She shoves him to the ground and storms out, the scabbards at her hip clinking against their buckles, the Air all too still in her wake.

#goddess-touched #snip #violence #writeblr #writing excerpt #original fiction #amwriting #millennium saga monday #q

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theveriest · 11 months ago

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A couple of weeks ago I asked about people’s favorite book or books they read this year. Between Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and discord, I have a list of 123 books in no particular order that my friends and family loved this year. If it was a series then I listed the first book. Each star is an additional recommendation. I haven’t read all of these, they may or may not reflect my personal opinions, though my favorite books are on the list too. The most recommended books were How Far The Light Reaches by Sabrina Imbler, one or all of the Murderbot books by Martha Wells, and Light from Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki, because if there’s one thing my friends have in common across platforms, it’s that you’re all nerds (affectionate). Enjoy, and I hope you find your new favorite book!

Reformatory by Tananarive Due

Not My Father’s Son by Alan Cumming

Jesus and John Wayne by Kristen Kobes de Mez

The Soul Of An Octopus by Sy Montgomery

Rough Sleepers by Tracy Kidder

The Going To Bed Book by Sandra Boynton

My Hijacking by Martha Hodes

Longhand by Andy Hamilton

Babel by RF Kuang*

The Vaster Wilds by Lauren Groff*

Lies We Sing To The Sea by Sarah Underwood

The Remarkable Journey of Coyote Sunrise by Dan Gemeinhart

Dress Coded by Carrie Firestone

I Lost My Tooth! by Mo Willems

The Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros

Spirits Abroad by Zen Cho

How Far The Light Reaches by Sabrina Imbler**

Radiant Fugitives by Nawaaz Ahmed

Solito: A Memoir by Javier Zamora

The Making of Another Motion Picture Masterpiece by Tom Hanks

These Precious Days by Ann Patchett*

I’m Stuck by Julia Mills

Entangled Life by Martin Sheldrake

Iris by Eden Finley

Hot Vampire Next Door by Nikki St. Crowe

Devil of Dublin by BB Easton

Tied by Carian Cole

Romantic Comedy by Curtis Sittenfeld*

Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell

From Blood And Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Where I End by Sophie White

Wool by Hugh Howey

The Six Deaths of the Saint by Alix E. Harrow

Yellowface by RF Kuang

Idlewild by James Frankie Thomas

North Woods by Daniel Mason

After Sappho by Selby Wynn Schwartz

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin*

The Fragile Threads of Power by VE Schwab

My Heart is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones

Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari

The New Jim Crow by Michelle Alexander

The Book of the Unnamed Midwife by Meg Elison

Call Your Daughter Home by Deb Spera

The English Understand Wool by Helen Dewitt

Preserving Food Without Freezing or Canning by The Gardeners & Farmers of Terre Vivante

How Not to Drown in a Glass of Water by Angie Cruz

Blood Like Magic by Liselle Sambury

Firekeeper’s Daughter by Angeline Boulley

Love In The Time of Serial Killers by Alicia Thompson

Imogen, Obviously by Becky Albertalli

The Wicked Bargain by Gabe Cole Novoa*

Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle

Welcome to Night Vale by Jeffrey Cranor and Joseph Fink

The Sunbearer Trials by Aiden Thomas

The Last Mapmaker by Christina Soontornvat

Funny You Should Ask by Elissa Sussman

Gideon The Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

Prophet by Sin Blache and Helen MacDonald*

Light From Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki**

System Collapse by Martha Wells***

The Brutish Museums by Dan Hicks

A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine*

A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine

A Psalm For The Wild Built by Becky Chambers*

Several People Are Typing by Calvin Kasulke

The Lazarus Heist by Geoff White

The September House by Carissa Orlando*

I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao

The Spirit Bares Its Teeth by Andrew Joseph White

Mistletoe and Mishigas by MA Wardell

A Restless Truth by Freya Marske

The Last Smile In Sunder City by Luke Arnold

The Hidden Case of Ewan Forbes by Zoe Playden

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

Manywhere by Morgan Thomas

Shit Cassandra Saw by Gwen E. Kirby

Loot by Tania James

The Art Thief by Michael Finkel

Grave Expectations by Alice Bell

Astrid Parker Doesn’t Fail by Ashley Herring Blake

A Marvellous Light by Freya Marske

Kiss Her Once For Me by Alison Cochrun

The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison

All Systems Read by Martha Wells

The Once and Future Sex by Eleanor Janega

Mort by Terry Pratchett

Into The Drowning Deep by Mira Grant

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner*

The Door by Magda Szabo

Fluids by May Leitz

The Readers of Broken Wheel Recommend by Katarina Bivald

Nona the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

Lieut. John Irving, R.N. of H.M.S. "Terror" in Sir John Franklin's last expedition to the Arctic regions a memorial sketch with letters

In Five Years by Rebecca Serle

Raven the Pirate Princess by Jeremy Whitley

Under the Whispering Door by TJ Klune

The Fiancée Farce by Alexandria Bellefleur

Assassin's Apprentice by Robin Hobb

Slewfoot by Brom

The Secret Life of Groceries by Benjamin Lorr

500 Miles From You by Jenny Colgan

O Caledonia by Elspeth Barker

The Hand That First Held Mine by Maggie O’Farrell

The Secret Lives of Country Gentleman by KJ Charles

A Line In The World by Dorthe Nors

The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern

Glitter and Concrete by Elyssa Maxx Goodman

The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez

Tender Is The Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica

The Tragic Menagerie by Lydia Zinovieva-Annibal (translated by Jane Costlow)

The 100 Years Of Lenni and Margot by Marianne Cronin

Beartown by Fredrik Backman

I Have Some Questions For You by Rebecca Makkai

Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver

Tom Lake by Ann Patchett

Starling House by Alix E. Harrow

Twisted Love by Ana Huang

Precise Oaths by Paige E. Ewing

Hench by Natalie Zina Walschots

A Dead Djinn In Cairo by P. Djeli Clark

#favorite books #favorite books of 2023 #books #books and reading #what we read this year other than fanfic

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fanficrocks · 6 months ago

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Cardinal Points - fanfic finally completed!

@chrumblr-whumblr May whump challenge day 29.

Chapter 4: Epilogue - The said and the unsaid.

Robbie settled down at the table overlooking the river and watched James get in the pints. Unusually for him, the lad had a light lager rather than the dark ale they both typically favoured. Seating himself, James raised his glass in a toast.

“To your travels.”

“Haven’t gone yet.”

“It’s alright. You can admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you are going to miss me very, very, very much.”

“As if!.......... You made up with your sister yet?”

“The peace process has begun. We are spending the weekend at a retreat in Ilchester Abbey.”

“A retreat? To get in her good books? What if she doesn’t like it? She’ll do her nut.”

“No, she won’t. It is a silent one.”

Shaking his head at the facetious sod, Robbie took a sip of his ale and let his eyes rest on the gently lapping water as the peace of the long summer afternoon sank in. They had just cleared their latest case, and Moody seemed to have gotten off James’ back - at least to the extent of accepting that the younger man would do just fine in Robbie’s absence. Smiling at the thought, Robbie let his gaze wander back, only to see the subject of his mental soliloquy frowning intently in a way that presaged some loaded revelation.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Forgive me no matter what I throw at you? And accept me regardless. Don’t pretend like you don’t understand… I ran away without a word, then did my best to freeze you out upon my return. And I was an absolute beast on and off when Innocent brought you back as consultant. To add insult to injury, I had told you nothing about my family; yet ever since you learnt of their existence, you have done your best to help me connect with them, to make peace and to understand. Why?”

Robbie listened to the sudden rush of words and realised just how hard it must have been for James to come to the sticking point and say all this out loud. And while he knew the answer in his heart, it would not do to respond too quickly, lest James assume his answer was glib rather than heartfelt. As with everything else, he had to let James find his own way to the right conclusion.

“How long have we known each-other, James? Going on 9 years now, I reckon?”

“Yeah…”

“And in all that time, I can count my true intimates on the fingers of one hand - Lyn, Mark, Laura, yourself. My family, some by birth and some I found. My four cardinal points…. Why would I not care and do my best to smooth your way when I can?”

“Well, Laura is the second great love of your life. And Lyn and Mark are your children. So all that makes sense. But where do I fit?”

“Best mate, much younger brother, surrogate son or nephew. Take your pick. And whatever you choose, I hope you realise that you have a right to my attention and care, and to tell me off when needed, just as much as the rest of my family do. And that you will at some point find yourself able to ask me for whatever you need… or want from me.”

They both fell silent then for a little while, before James shook his head, as though faced with something he could not really believe. Robbie looked across at him, wondering just what it would take to convince that doubting bugger.

“We don’t need to label the relationship, daft lad. It just is. As you seemed to realise in the hospital last year.”

“I realised it? In the hospital? But I…”

“Oh, I am not talking about the afternoon just before I was discharged when you stopped in for what - 3 minutes - before you rushed away citing work. And spent most of that time hiding behind the unlikely spectacle of Innocent rocking Andy. No, I mean what you said that night when you stole in on your own… that I love you in my own way.”

“I said that, yes. But, but you…”

“But I was unconscious and barely alive? Yeah. Could still see and hear though, even if I don’t know with what senses exactly.”

“You mean you had an out-of-body experience when you were so near death?”

“I don’t have your way with words or your book-learning, lad. All I know is that something - call it my mind or my spirit or whatever you wish - was hovering in that hospital room, watching and listening to all of you.

And when the summons came for me to decide whether to stay and fight back to life, or to just let go… well, the first time, I couldn’t make a decision - for there was a void where my fourth cardinal point should have been. Later, after you had spoken to me, it just reiterated everything I had gathered from the kids and from Laura. Even from Jean. That it was not my time yet, that too many people cared, and that I should not give up.”

“That is… remarkable. That you remember so vividly. And there was no way any of the medical staff could have told you I had been there - I chose my moment carefully when the only one around was a nurse on her last day of duty at the JR before she moved overseas.”

“Hmmm. Trust you to always take the hard way. And I am sorry, lad. I tried so very hard to respond to you in some way, particularly when I felt your tears and the tremble of your lips against my wrist. But I just couldn’t… the will was there but the flesh would not cooperate.”

James went scarlet at this, and for a moment, Robbie was afraid that he had gone too far and embarrassed his awkward sod past reclaim - perhaps driven him away for all time.

But after a long draught of his lager, James looked up and met his eyes, all screens gone for once. He did not speak, but then Robbie did not expect him to… after all, their most weighty and poignant exchanges were often unspoken. And James’ brimming eyes and shy smile, so different from the wry and sarcastic grin he usually affected, said more than the finest speech could as he raised his glass to Robbie once more.

—Fin—

#itv lewis #robbie lewis #james hathaway #fanfic #kevin whately #May whump challenge #day 29 Infection

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practically-an-x-man · 5 months ago

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Prompt: Write a Zombie Apocalypse AU ficlet starring your OCs (let's be real, I'm mostly just curious about your take on the Zombie Apocalypse)

Ooooooh absolutely! I LOVE zombie apocalypse media, so this will be a fun one for sure :)

Decided to go with Ophelia and a techy Andy Weir-style take on the apocalypse for this one :D

____ 8.34 Million People

Word Count: 2.2k Tags: zombie apocalypse AU, science fiction, angst, emotional hurt, hurt no comfort, unhappy ending, major character death (implied) ____

Who the hell dared to spend the zombie apocalypse in the eleventh-most populous city in the world?

That was the question Ophelia Octavius had been asking herself for nearly four years now. When all the others fled - and in various states of composure, some calm early-stage relocations and others panicked stampede-like fleeing as the outbreaks spread - she wondered time after time why she'd chosen to stay.

Sometimes she looked down at the city below her and saw only walkers, a carpet of them so thick she couldn't see street nor sidewalk past their shuffling, ragged bodies. That wasn't safe. It was madness to stay here.

But aside from the imminent threat of a zombie breach, a lingering worry that resulted in far too many sleepless nights, the rest of her life had settled into something almost normal.

What once had been Oscorp became Denarii, and what once was Denarii became a towering fortress against the horde. The first four stories had been individually barricaded, each door and window welded shut with steel plates. There was no entrance from anywhere lower than the eleventh floor - and really, who needed it? She and her father had their actuators, Norman his glider, Peter his webs. If none of them could leave from the ground, neither could the zombies enter. She'd seen World War Z.

Floors five through nine had been converted to agriculture. In the early days, when the outbreaks had still fallen under a control level, Ophelia had insisted upon ordering the soil, seeds, and a veritable library of agricultural manuals. It was a weak point for them and she knew it, and she'd be damned if their downfall came from something as simple as starvation. At first they'd only grown staple crops, corn and wheat and potatoes for easy calories. Then that had expanded into fruits and vegetables, and even cotton and flax for making cloth.

None of the men ever seemed to think about making their own clothes. Ophelia figured that was a skill best learned before she needed it. Even synthetic fibers didn't last forever.

The tenth floor was insulated into oblivion, kept near-freezing and used for food storage. They only went into that floor once a week, to prevent any energy waste as the door was opened. Energy was a commodity, these days. Electricity came from an expansive array of solar panels Ophelia and her father had installed on the roof of the building, but much of that went to keeping the laboratories powered.

The eleventh floor became a coop for laying hens, the twelfth a hold for a trio of goats. Someday, Ophelia hoped to find a way to raise a few sheep as well (wool was durable and naturally flame-retardant, and would be much more helpful than the plant-based fibers they grew on the eighth floor), but the goats and chickens had been hard enough to acquire, let alone raise, in the heart of New York City.

Rainwater was collected in a vast steel funnel affixed to the roof, though the collection tanks themselves were on the ninth floor far below. The water ran through a series of channels and aqueducts through the building, powering a network of small water wheels on its way. It resulted in a small degree of water loss, mainly through evaporation, though Ophelia felt that loss was warranted in exchange for the additional electricity it generated.

Only six people lived in the fortress that had once been Denarii: herself, her father, Norman, Peter Three, Peter Two, and May. Even with the crops and animals, electricity was more a commodity than water was. Without her machines, none of this would have been possible.

So they survived, in this tall vertical settlement the likes of which Wayside School could never dream.

She thought of expanding, sometimes. Plenty of the skyscraper's floors were still dark and empty, unused now that Norman's employees had all died, fled, or turned. More hands meant more agriculture, more variety of skills, more sophisticated life, that was the crux of human settlement.

But more citizens in this strange vertical city also meant greater spread of disease (both benign and reanimatory), greater possibility for quarrels and infighting, greater consumption of food, water, and electricity...

And she didn't like people even at the best of times.

So she'd stick with six. For now.

"Thinking too hard again?" Peter Three asked, coming up behind her and running his hands warmly over her shoulders.

"Always." Ophelia replied, distantly. It seemed she spent more time in her head than in the real world, these days. It was her ideas that had led them to safety, but now safety wasn't quite enough. This couldn't keep up forever. She only saw two options forward: to develop a more sophisticated life for her little commune here, or to develop a cure and let society begin to sort itself out again.

Or to die.

She didn't like to think about that one.

"What is it today?"

"My knee." she muttered, drumming her fingers on the blueprints in front of her, "Need to get my mobility up. I'm too slow."

The best she had now was an articulated metal brace, which allowed her a hobbling half-jog if she really pushed herself. It made her feel like Forrest Gump- not the best feeling, in her opinion. If she got swarmed without her actuators, she was as good as deli meat. That wouldn't do.

"Alright, well, just promise me you'll take a break, alright?" Peter told her, and stretched around to kiss her cheek. Olly turned, and caught a glimpse of bright red fabric.

"You're going out? Again?" she asked, swiveling to look at him directly. Sure enough, he had his Spidey-suit on, sans-mask, and appeared to be halfway through strapping on his armor - additional padding, made to deter bites and scratches, strapped around his torso, shins, and forearms in case he ran into a fight.

"I thought you just got back from the last one." Ophelia added, and found herself wringing her callused hands in her lap. Supply runs scared her. She could design the perfect bunker, encase her loved ones in this towering city of safety, but she couldn't do a damn thing about the outside world. Every time he stepped outside these walls, it felt like tugging her heart out of her ribcage and letting it lie bloody and beating on the street.

"Norman's looking for a few things. Circuit boards, and tantalum and neodynium-"

"So he's making you hunt cell phones."

"Uh- yeah, exactly. He says he's trying to make some sort of universal communication device. To talk to other survivors, I guess."

Ophelia chewed her lip, rolling her shoulders to try and dissipate the tension in her muscles. As supply runs went... rooting through the pockets of the undead in search for now-obselete mobile phones was certainly among the most dangerous.

"Make sure the batteries haven't inflated." she said, biting back everything else she really wanted to say, "You'll be dead before the walkers could even think to bite you. And- and get out of there if they start to swarm. Please. Norman's project can wait."

"I know, Ol's. I'll be careful."

"I'll come with you." she decided at once, pushing herself up and out of her seat. Her joints creaked, after so long spent hunched over her desk. Peter took her arm, giving her a bit of stability before she found her balance.

"Nah, c'mon, I'll be fine. You need to take a break anyway."

"It's the literal fucking apocalypse. My last chance to take a break was four and a half years ago."

"And thanks to you, we have a super-cool skyscraper safe haven that means you don't have to worry about zombies while you go lay down for thirty minutes."

"Peter-"

"Babe, I was doing the solo act for years before I met you, I can handle a supply run. I promise. I'll be back by three."

"And you promise you're not just chasing me away because of my bum knee?"

"Promise. Hey- you go get some rest, and tomorrow we'll go out together, alright? It's like date night."

That made her snort, and she snagged the front of his suit to pull him into a kiss.

"I love you." Ophelia murmured, "Stay safe, Spidey."

"Love you too. Be back soon."

All too soon, he'd pulled open the window at the far end of her lab and took a flying leap straight out. From the corner, her actuators whirred sympathetically. They wanted to be let free too. Ophelia had become something of a hermit over the past four years, so busy fortifying the skyscraper that she hardly ever left its walls.

True to her word, she decided to call it quits on the engineering for the day. Anxiety still racked her head-to-toe, knowing Peter was out of the sanctity of this fortress, but at least it racked her from her bed rather than the middle of her lab. That was something adjacent to rest, she thought. Sometimes that was the best she could give herself.

She didn't even realize she'd drifted off until a chime from her phone startled her awake. The phones were one of the first things she'd rigged - tapped into any cell tower she could, including some that were less-than-legal (though who really cared, at this point?), a closed connection like a souped-up set of walkie-talkies.

Still half-asleep, she answered the call and pulled the phone up to her ear.

"Peter?" Ophelia mumbled, fighting to clear the fuzz from her mind, "Hey, are you calling for backup? Where are you?"

"No, uh- Ol's, I..." he stammered from the other end of the line. His voice sounded faintly choked, and it made her hackles rise unpleasantly. Then Peter cleared his throat and tried again, "Listen, I... I'm not gonna make it home. There was a swarm, and they cornered me, and-"

"Where are you? I'll come get you. We'll bring the whole cavalry."

"No, I'm in the vents now. They can't reach me. But-"

"No." Ophelia breathed, realization striking her like a bullet to the heart, "No, no, no, Peter, you are not saying you got bitten. Your suit's tear-resistant, and with the additional padding it shouldn't have even-"

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm really sorry."

"Come home. Right now. Quickly. I'll- I'll figure something out, we'll start working on a cure- it can't be that much different from curing Norman from the Goblin serum, right? Just- just get back. We'll work this out, I promise we'll work this out." She was babbling, speaking too quickly and barely making sense, but she couldn't stop. Her hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped the phone. She could hardly take in a breath.

"I'm not gonna make it home, Ol's. I'm half across town, I won't get back in time. I'm gone. I just, uh, wanted to tell you now. So you didn't have to find out the other way."

"Peter- let's talk about this. We need to talk about this. Just- just get as far as you can, I'll find you, I'll fix this. Tell me where you are, I'll come pick you up."

Now she was moving, limping down the hall as quickly as she could. Time was precious. She needed to find him before he lost himself entirely, or she'd be stuck desperately patrolling a city perpetually crawling with eight million of the undead.

Because she couldn't leave him. Not on her life. After everything they'd fought through to be together, she couldn't let it end like this.

She'd stop this. She'd fix this. She had to.

"Ophelia." Peter snapped, the use of her full name enough to make her pause. Then his voice softened, and he cleared his throat again like he was fighting back tears. "Ol's. Baby. I'm not gonna make it. I'm lodged in the air vent of an abandoned office building like fuckin' John McClane, and even if I made it out I'd be gone before I made it home. Just... just let it be."

"No, I'm not gonna fucking let it be, I can- I can fix this!" she snapped, only distantly noticing that her cheeks were streaked with tears, "Tell me where you are!"

"I'm gonna hang up. And then I'm gonna break my phone. Don't try to track me, Ol's, it's a death sentence." Peter insisted, his voice sterner than she'd ever heard.

He paused then, briefly. Ophelia wanted desperately to fill the silence - something, anything to make him change his mind - but she'd run out of words.

"I love you, Olly. More than anything. You know that. Thanks for keeping us safe. I'd never have made it this far without you."

"Peter, don't you dare-"

Her phone screeched with static, then went dead and silent in her hand. A guttural howl broke free from her throat, and Ophelia slumped into her desk chair. Her actuators drifted over and nosed at her arms, but she shoved them away.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd sobbed like this. It was sure to send someone running, sooner or later. Her father, or Norman, or Peter Two with his enhanced hearing...

But for now she was alone in an empty lab, drowning in grief.

#my friends!!!#answered asks #my writing #my ocs #ophelia octavius #zombie apocalypse au #ficlet #angst #no happy ending #hurt no comfort #major character death

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contradictivs · 9 months ago

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❛ you’re welcome to stay, if you want. ❜

"I don't want to impose on you or anything."

Given the shitty winter weather, the smarter idea was to take Andie up on her offer. He was probably going to either eat shit or freeze to death on his way back home — It wouldn't be the worst experience (maybe) and he didn't have far to go. But, as Ryder stated, the last thing he wanted to do was impose or inconvenience Andie. Plus the fact that it was only the first couple of times that they were hanging out? It felt a little weird.

"Maybe let's wait and see if the weather clears up? I don't want to biff it while walking outside."

#lvebug #( have this i guess ; answered. )#( procrastinate until you die ; queue. )

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coffinscore · 9 months ago

Text

"Delicious,," Ashley said her eyes filled with tears but a smile on her face, As she tore through the flesh she was holding with her teeth. Blood dripped from her chin as she consumed. "I love you,,," What more was there to say life was over now he was gone she was crushed the demon had taken him away from her his soul was gone all that was left was a body. It happened so fast, Too fast, He was gone before she had a chance to beg for his life and when she came too she was on top of him tearing into the flesh of her brother's chest. Andrew's life had been forfeited as punishment for the girl with the tar-black soul's sins if only she had known she would have never summoned that hellish beast. She choked on the muscle that was sliding down her throat spitting it up blood hitting the cheeks of her brother.

"God... Why fucking why.." her voice breaking apart her soul felt empty, as she looked at the peaceful face of her other half as he was nothing more than flesh. delicious delicious meat for her consumption. Screaming she began to scream out mania swelling in her mind as she looked at the mess below her slamming her fists on his chest."Why did they have to take you!! We had a deal you fucking piece of shit!!! I told you he was mine!" Ashley screamed out fists hitting the open flesh blood popping up and spilling around it looked like she was throwing a tantrum. Her eyes closed tightly even with tears spilling still spilling out she couldn't handle this his chest still pushing up and down with his breathing as blood loss hadn't yet caught up with the doomed body. She was falling apart and what was there for her anymore. Life without him was worthless.

Hours passed of her pained crying out cursing anything and everything she could, The demon, Their neighbor from the apartment for ever being into such a thing for them to find, as well as their parents for ever having them and letting them end up with such a fate maybe if she put more effort into being a mother the two could have grew up normally. Maybe they would still be together today. Her pink eyes dark no shine was left anymore as she looked away from her brother for the first time since she came too. Noticing his cleaver she knew how her life was going she had no life left to live without him. Shakey slow movements were made as she moved to grab it moving back all she wanted to do was hold him. Feel his comforting warmth but it was cold freezing once warm flesh was cold inside and out.

She laid herself to the right side of Andrew sitting the cleaver down as she wrapped his limp body around her. A tired smile traced her lips as she felt his weight next to her "I miss you Andrew,, I can't do this without you" she said like she was whispering a secret to him in their closeness. "I love you..." She adjusted to grab the cleaver falling on her back his body limply going down with her like the dead weight he was. Ashley couldn't stop the tears running down her face as she moved up leaving a kiss on Andrew's nose in the gentle way he always would to her "We'll be together soon... I can't wait to rot in hell with you Andy it's time for our final adventure to be over with." She arched her head back gripping the handle of the cleaver her arms shaking saying only one last thing before plunging the blade into her neck. "Till death do we part."

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Wip inspired by Hell and You by Amigo the Devil / The new Progress Report #3 art (as shown below)

#scorestales #the coffin of andy and leyley #writing wip #ashley graves #andrew graves #tw cannibalism #inspired by that new art THEY ARE SO CUTE I LOVE THEM #my grammer sucks i apologize

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safyresky · 2 years ago

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Hello hi, sorry to bother. But i'm in the middle fo righting my own ANGST and everything is horrible but i had a thought!

Have you ever had the idea of an AU where Jacqueline just fucking dies at the day of darkness? Just straight up bleeds out to death and dies. Jack is a full on child killer and Blinter is now back to only one kid. CATASTROPHE for sure, and the entire rest of the story never even happens. Everybody would stay frozen for an ETERNITY, Jack would have to go to jail for actual manslaughter, the works. But this idea has me thinking about what would happen anyway.

Im sorry that this thought is just incredibly morbid and sad, but i'm in my fictional world FEELS atm, and im very curious as to what this would look like/mean.

Me reading this:

My fiancé when I read this out loud: ANDIE ARE YOU OKAY?? DO YOU NEED A HUG????

He then IMMEDIATELY ASKS ME WHAT I THINK WOULD HAPPEN, and he kinda let me use him like a rubber duck (because I've thought of a lot of "what ifs" on the day of darkness, but never this what if admittedly bc. Y'know. Magical healing springs and such) so here's what I've got for you on this fine angsty night! It turned into a bit of a drabble...whoops? Anyway.

Enjoy!!!!! I hope it kills us all dead!!! 😊😊😊😊😊😊

Jack succeeds in something he never intended to do.

He sees the icicles go right through his little sister's body, all three of them; he sees the blood. He sees the magic on his hand, he KNOWS that it was him. He sees Blaise and Winter make it out of the house.

He panics.

He leaves her there in the snow, and he runs, disappearing into his storm.

Blaise and Winter rush to Jacqueline. They see the blood. They see the icicles. They go into crisis mode.

Maybe they bring her inside and stop the bleeding, but it's too late. Maybe she bleeds out on the spot. Maybe one of the icicles actually hits her heart or another organ that is integral to being alive and she dies before she even knows what hit her.

It'd be nice to think that, wouldn't it?

However it may come to pass, Jacqueline dies. She's gone. Blaise and Winter lay her to rest in Roseterra, hoping that it was fast and quick and that she's being taken care of by someone warm and sweet in Rosehaven. Maybe Mother Gaia; maybe the Goddess herself.

What comes next is hard.

Both Winter and Blaise are overcome with emotion; they've just lost one child by the hands of their other child.

In one fell swoop, they've lost both their children.

Winter freezes almost immediately after the funeral. She's desolate in her sadness; lost not one, but two children because Jack is, in fact, wanted. She has no words. What can she say? All she can do is cry and sob it won't change a thing. It won't bring her back. Nothing can.

Blaise struggles. He now has to apprehend his own son for murder. Murder of his own sister; Blaise's dear, dear little girl.

It hurts.

It hurts to think about how this happened, given that Jacqueline adored her older brother, and he her. He taught her everything she knew up until...that point.

He knows what he needs to do. But he can't bring himself to find Jack and do it. There's just too many emotions. That's his son for the springs sake! But he killed someone. He killed his own sister, Blaise's little snow angel, and murder is murder and it's hard to think that maybe there's some good left when the brightest little sprite is gone thanks to his son. He's all out of hope.

Blaise knows what needs to be done. He knows what he needs to do.

And like he had centuries, millennia before that, he encases his heart in stone.

It's his duty to bring Jack to justice. And he will do what he needs to do to get it done. Emotions be damned.

So both Blaise and Winter are, essentially, frozen over.

And they begin to drift.

Both are frozen; both keep their feelings to themselves. they don't talk like they used to. They focus on their jobs and nothing more.

Winter does as she was meant to do. She keeps the season going. But the winters change. They are cold, so, so, so very cold. Bitterly cold. Temperatures hit negatives that should not be hit. Twenty, forty, sixty, all below zero. They're dry. So very dry. So very dry and cold and there is no snow; just hard ground, cold, cold, cold and frozen. A tundra with no snow.

The joy of the season is gone.

Blaise throws himself into his work. His duties come first. At home, he exists alongside Winter, both numbed by grief and their hardened hearts. At work, he does his governor duties in the morning, and devotes his afternoons to the search for Jack.

The search lasts centuries.

A week after leaving, Jack checks in, as he does in a better timeline, to see if Jacqueline made it. But here, in this timeline, when he pokes around for his dear little sister's link with him, it's gone. It's dead. The spot in his mindscape that once housed the bright blue thread is cold and dead. Empty. The wind howls; beyond the connection, there is nothing.

He knows what he did. He killed her dead. And he knows the consequences, of course; but he refuses to face them. He refuses to face any of the memories, the feelings, the everything that transpired when he flung his hand and shink shink shink and the deep, deep pool of red and the darkness where once there was light.

He stays under the radar. He avoids the Council; he hides. And he is DAMN GOOD at it. Blaise expends so many resources and cannot find the man anywhere.

The years turn into decades; decades into centuries. Blaise intensifies his search for his son, throwing everything he has, all his power as Governor, his connections to other Governors and powerful castors, The Council of Legendary Figures, the operation up North--but he cannot find the man who murdered his daughter. He cannot find his son anywhere, and were he able to feel anything, he'd be furious.

But his heart is stony; all he can focus on is the hunt. Doing his duty. Bringing his little snow angel justice.

"It won't bring her back," Winter says to him one day. Her hair is so frozen it doesn't move; her face cold.

Blaise doesn't reply. Ash floats off his sooty head. His face is stony.

Winter would sigh, if she could bring herself to. But she can't. All she feels is a sadness that is building and building and growing into despair.

The front door opens and closes.

Blaise doesn't look up.

Winter doesn't look back.

---

They drift further and further; they rarely see one another. Winter finds solace in the mountains. Longer and longer stretches. The storms surrounding Bianca's Range grow stronger and stronger. The peaks are obscured constantly, now. The drifting mists from the crystal springs themselves can't even break through the whiteout.

Longer and longer stretches.

One day, she leaves for her new home.

The house, silent before, grows more silent still. Long ago, they had dreamt of filling the house to the brim with little flurries and spitfires.

But that was almost three thousand years ago.

Now it is filled to the brim with ghosts.

---

Jack gets cocky.

Of course he does; Blaise hasn't found him and it's been centuries. He ventures out. Shows up to a Council meeting or two. Plots and schemes and harasses Santa after Santa. Tries to gain the recognition that should be his.

Denial can be quite powerful when you live in it for a millennium and almost a half. You trap the thoughts of what could've been, what you could've done together; what you could've experienced with her. First partner. First major snowstorm. Freeze drying. Taking back the season together. the things you could've done, together!

Down the thoughts go, into the deep dark recesses of his memory until they no longer emerge. He goes about his business, getting closer and closer to taking out Santa, and having some near-misses of his own with the man pursuing him.

But an opportunity comes up; one that's too good to let go. You cause a little trouble here and there, have these amazing standees made of yourself with your own holiday name, and suddenly the entire Council is up in arms. So you go; this will be a fun one to get out of, and maybe Mother Nature will be so distracted by the balance swaying, that she won't think to tip off the authorities. The Authority.

Jack admires Blaise's tenacity. The man has NOT stopped pursuing him. He understands why, of course. Fully. But before he can dwell on it, he shoves the thoughts down down down, as far under the ground as she was now, and continues to do his thing.

And that's when he hears about it. Well, two things.

First off, Santa is stressed. Work is too much and the wife is expecting and he is afraid. He is TERRIFIED even. Jack can see the fear on his fellow Legend's face. He's very familiar with it. He's seen it on many a Santa before. Many a poor soul freezing to death. Falling to their death off a slippery slope. Landing in a heap with three icicles deep through their chest, the blood pouring out--

Down. Down, down, down. Lock those thoughts away. Deep breath. Keep going. Escape Clause?

Escape Clause.

Now that's interesting. Even more interesting when the other Legends don't tell him what it is. That's fine. He's clever. He'll figure it out.

And he does.

And all it takes is a little messing about here, clever words there, frosty meddling on the side, turning Curtis against Bernie, the whole nine yards.

And the family.

Jack chuckles to himself. Humans. So easy to get them upset! Rile them up enough, cause a very upsetting scene, and voila! Trouble in paradise!

A brief segue before this, of course, to follow Santa and the redheaded brat to the Hall of Snow Globes. Waiting just behind the doors and watching the secret door spin; waiting for it to spin back around to get in. Ignoring the very familiar handiwork of the icy walls inside the space and going for the prize.

Bring the man aside at his lowest low, get him to say the magic words, and voila!

Jack was Santa now.

But it didn't bring her back.

---

Not that he thought it would, of course. He'd like to think she was six feet under his long lost memories, but that was a lie.

She was always there. In the corners of his eyes, gone when he whipped around. One room over, gone when he entered it. Ghosts of giggles past and whispers of whoops when she mastered a new technique. Always there. Always in the corners, just out of reach.

So maybe, he had hoped, just a bit mind you, that somehow, doing this would change things!

But it didn't.

She was still gone, and his parents?

As gone as she was when he flipped the script on Santa.

He had it all. He had nothing. And when Scott finally appeared, Jack would've willingly gave it all away and turned himself in--if the man hadn't cut him off.

It was infuriating.

A last ditch effort to fight him for the jacket; a guilt trip that went nowhere (stealing the coat was nothing compared to stealing a life), and they were back.

As if nothing had happened.

And Jack knew that his time had run out.

Blaise had caught up to him.

---

Mother Nature had told Blaise of Jack's presence as soon as she could. Told him he would be staying at the North Pole. He had a large window of opportunity. Mother Nature felt this could be it.

And so had Blaise. His stony heart grew loud; he wouldn't blaze in this time, no. He'd do what needed to be done.

He gathered the Elite Peacekeepers, the Peace Enforcers. The strongest of spell casters. The most ruthless of the fighters. He prepped his staff, making sure he had the right spells himself.

He covered all the exit points of the Pole; pulled some strings to keep his son from escaping.

Murderer, his head corrected.

His heart was silent.

Troops assembling, he made one last trek through the city, past the springs, through the Forbidden Forest and up the Valley to Roseterra.

Her mausoleum was well kept. It always was. Flowers bloomed around it; the most beautiful snow sat on the top, hugging the warm structure. It was all sorts of light blues and yellows, her name written clearly still after all these years.

"I've got him now," Blaise said. "I'll bring you justice, snow angel. I love you."

He presses his forehead against the writing, his hand warm on the inscription. His eyes pricked, but no tears fell; they hadn't in years. He placed his flowers down, the orange lilies and red roses contrasting beside the fresh blue roses and white lilies, little red snow berries in between.

Good, he thought. Winter's okay.

And without a second thought, he kisses the tomb and turns to leave, the moment he had been waiting for for fourteen hundred years finally coming.

---

The Elfficers get him; the Council has him in their grasp. There is no escape. And before anyone can do anything, the Peace Enforcers come in, a stony man leading them, a staff glowing in his hand. His face is steely. Determined. Familiar. Older.

"That's enough," he says, his voice hard and full of a cold rage. "It's over."

"I know," Jack replies, as the Peace Enforcers spin circles of magic and capture him.

He's brought in, finally. Blaise does Santa a kindness and thaws his relatives. He doesn't say anything to the man. Leaves before he can see the family celebrate, together. He doesn't need to see that. He doesn't want to.

Outside, he taps his staff on the floor. It glows a multitude of colours, and Jack can feel so many magical traps and seals settle on him.

The fight is over. Neither sprite have any of it left in them.

And Jack is brought to justice.

He escapes, of course. Multiple times.

But Blaise catches him each time, patching the flaw.

The rehabilitation programs don't work. He keeps trying and trying to escape and a prison, a prison akin to the mortal ones, is made just for Jack.

There are a few more escapes, but they lead nowhere. He's caught each time. Until finally, he stays put. Makes himself comfortable, freezes the building solid with him inside. Brought to justice. (But it didn't bring her back).

Up in the mountains, Winter manages a sigh when she hears the news. Brought to justice. But like she had known the weeks after her darling little girl had passed, like she had told Blaise what felt like eons ago but also, like it was just yesterday, it hadn't brought her back.

And Blaise sits in the empty home, the dust and cobwebs clogging up the surfaces and corners. A sad wind blows through the desolate halls, echoing from bare room to bare room, wailing. He sits at the faded and worn chair at his desk.

He brought Jack in. He caught his daughter's killer. He brought justice.

But it didn't bring her back.

Jacqueline was still gone.

Winter was still gone.

Jack was gone.

They were all still gone, so far gone, and Blaise knew deep down, that he, too was gone.

And nothing could bring him back.

Nothing could bring any of them back.

Not even him.

---

(Comfortably hidden away in the East, The Man chuckles to himself, leaning back in his plush armchair and throwing his feet up on the ottoman below him, a roaring fire crackling in the fireplace. He chuckles to himself. He had heard the news. Blaise had lost everything.

The Man's lips quirked into a sneer of a smile. A simple curse was all it took; and a little bit of time, and boom. Blaise's life? Ruined. The Man closed his eyes, satisfied at last.

He had done it.)

#frowny shots #smile shots #dani writes #tsc #tsc3 #crystal springs #cs #to put this in the tag or not....hmmm...ah what the hell ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#the santa clause 3 #ENJOY THE ANGST #writing blaise visiting jacqueline's grave made me cry and that is not a joke or hyperbole. wholly fuck.#ANDIE YOU HAVE KILLED ME DEAD WITH THIS PROMPT. I HOPE IT DOES THE SAME TO YOU TOO #THEN WE CAN BOTH CHILL WITH TINY JACQUELINE IN THIS NICE SNOWY FLOWERY GRAVE OF ANGST :)#ask box shenanigans #i'd guess this is a solid uh. 2.5k #GOD WHAT A PROMPT #I;VE THOUGHT OF ALL SORTS OF POSSIBILITIES POST DOD BUT NEVER THIS ONE #SO WHEN I GOT TO THINKING AND RICHARD PROMPTED ME? HOLY FUCK. KILLED HIM DEAD.. KILLED ME DEAD. KILLED JACQUELINE DEAD #WOW! I'm gonna go play more hades now and try to forget the angst I have wrought #jack frost #the frosts #jacqueline frost #blinter #well. nega blinter lmao #they wouldn't divorce but they wouldn't support one another and they'd just drift apart as a result!#might make a happier sequel to this. we'll see!#upon posting this. that is NOT where i wanted the read more #but it'll do #i kinda like it there better #anyway time to go cry and play hades! goodnight everybody!

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