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moonlight-prose · 6 days

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RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 06. TIME CAN NEVER MEND

a/n: so before you dive into this i'm gonna warn you that it's not happy. we have reached the level of angst needed to start this story on it's final arc. the one that changes basically everything. i've put a lot of angst into this, because that's what it called for and well...if you've been here for awhile you know i love my angst. i'm sorry beforehand and can promise a happy ending. but these two have to suffer first.

summary: logan howlett is happy. he's content. by all definitions...he's found the reason for why he's still alive and it all leads down to you. yet time is a fickle and cruel being and she's decided his time for peace must come to an end.

word count: 7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, angst, a heaping of angst so bitter you will yell at me, oral (f receiving), face riding, overstimulation, wade wilson, mutant powers, violence, tw: blood, tw: gore, trauma resurfacing, ptsd, insanity, tw: torture, cliffhanger, BE WARNED PLEASE DON'T SKIP OVER THESE.

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Silence filled his mind, darkness an endless expanse behind his shut eyes. He couldn't remember the last time the world fell quiet. Piercing through him with a serenity he fought his entire life to acquire. Nightmares were an expected routine that came to him constantly with a bitter echo of things he couldn't change; people he never saved.

He couldn't recall sleeping without them. Not since he was a sickly child in his father's house—fighting fevers that were caused by a mutation he didn't know existed.

Eventually the world would rip a part his bubble of safety—expose him to horrors he never thought imaginable. He'd struggle against it. Bite, snarl, fight his way through the pain like an animal who'd been caged for far too long. There would be no light at the end of his tunnel. No peace for the man plagued by promises he longed to break—a vow he didn't intend to make.

Only to be found by the one person he thought was lost to his world.

A love that lingered in the shadows of his heart. Bringing back the flame of a torch that blew out the night he lost everything.

He awoke to the warmth of your body tangled with his. His heart didn't race with the anticipation of a battle that didn't exist. His claws were safely stored away in the depths of his arms, and for the first time...his soul didn't scream in agony for help that would never arrive. You shifted with a puff of air, a grumble building in your throat at the morning chill. He watched in rapture—his fingers trailing down your spine.

The clock read eight in the morning. Plenty of time for you to sleep in given it was your last day off. So Logan remained still in order to not disturb your peace. He sucked in slow breaths as you pressed your cheek to his chest—arm wrapped around his waist and legs tangled with his. Each small shift of your face, the furrow of your brows and quickening of your heart, let him know you were trapped in a dream.

Good or bad he couldn't tell.

What did you dream about? What ran through your mind when sleep washed over your body?

He made a mental note to ask when your eyes finally cracked open. The spell of sleep lost, retreating to the depths of your mind till later. But for now he admired the shape of your face, the lilt in your eyes and curve of your lips. You were a painting come to life. An art piece stolen right off the walls of The Met.

How he managed to wind up here, waking up beside you, continued to baffle him the longer he thought about it.

Surely he committed too many atrocities to deserve this. Too many lives lost by his claws, too much pain wrought by his own actions. He shouldn't be allowed to lay here, holding you close with a reverence that he thought was lost to the tragedies of his past. He once counted the days until his death. Marked them off with a tally that seemed to only grow the longer he went.

Now he thanked whatever higher being existed for giving him this.

For gifting him you.

Another soft grunt left your parted lips, nose scrunching in distaste as you were roused from your sleep. He smiled at the sight of your eyes fluttering open, confusion flickering across your features for mere seconds before it all came rushing back. The time spent with Logan ravishing your body in this very bed, in the shower you shared. The sweetening ache between your thighs that practically called his name.

You sighed, glancing up at him with drowsy glazed eyes and a crooked smile. "Morning," you rasped, voice thick with sleep.

His heart twisted in his chest. A feeling he could only describe as love began to filter through his veins like an IV. Filling him with the fear that usually came with that four letter word—the terror of possibly losing this. He swallowed it down painfully, his hand moving to press at the base of your spine to pull you closer.

"Sleep well?" he rumbled, dipping down to catch your lips in a kiss.

The shower last night left your skin warm to the touch. Logan found he couldn't get enough of it. He curled himself around you, drawing your leg up to hook around his waist as a way to keep your skin against his. You hummed in appreciation, pushing your face up to meet his movements in kind.

Sunlight spilled into the bedroom with a familiar warmth. The window was shut and locked after yesterday's phone call. Yet the muffled echo of the world managed to slip through the cracks in the wood, echoing in your small bubble of serenity he longed to stay in. This felt like a hazy dream. One that clung to the edges of his mind, dripping small slivers of joy into his heart.

Logan longed to remain here. Buried in the bed with you wrapped tightly around him.

Eventually you parted with a soft gasp, your hips shifting subtly to relieve the ache that began to bloom and unfurl in your body. Even though you had more than your fill of him yesterday, you remained insatiable.

He couldn't say he was any better—his cock already twitching in interest. If he had his way neither of you would find the need to leave this bed; far more interested in how many more orgasms he could wring from your still spent body.

"I like this," you murmured against his cheek, fingers delving into his messy hair. "Waking up with you."

"Me too honey." He grinned when you kissed his chin, thumb running along the edge of his jaw.

A soft breath washed along his skin, sending chills down his spine. "How did you sleep?"

"No nightmares."

He felt you smile. "Are you lying to me Howlett?"

Fuck if you weren't the last thing he wanted to see at night and the first thing he was welcomed to in the morning. Something sharp pricked his chest, bleeding him of the doubt that might still remain. Lingering beneath the surface of too many broken promises and shattered versions of I love you.

This happened before. A love so deep he felt it solidify into his very mutant DNA. Back then he thought it would one day come to an end; finalize when he fucked up too many times for you to forgive.

Now he knew there was no end to this road that wound up with him alone. No version of the story where he sat at a bar somewhere in the back roads of nowhere, lamenting about a woman he once wanted to spend forever with. Whether he stayed young and you grew too old; there wouldn’t be a final page without him in your life.

What transpired here would knot the strands of fate together. So if one was sliced for the final vow of death. They both went together.

"I'm not lying," he confessed. "I didn't really dream of anythin' this time around."

You hummed, eyes opening to see the contented shine in his hazel eyes. "Don't tell me. It was because of me."

"I think it might be bub." His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, hand curving to cup your ass. "Guess you're my cure. Been lookin' for awhile."

"My bad Mr. Howlett," you breathed through a soft laugh that clenched around his chest. "I didn't mean to take so long, but you were kind of in a different universe."

"Technicalities."

"Yeah right! Technicalities my ass."

He dragged you across his lap with a muffled groan he pressed to your chest. "Could’ve found me all on your own honey. You just weren't looking properly."

The high gasp that filled the air left him with a gratification worse than his satiated hunger. He longed to devour you with a need that felt primal. As if the animalistic side of his body craved the taste of you spread along his tongue. You were the answer to every fuckin' prayer he sent out. The embodiment of what his heart had been missing.

"You're right." Your words were shaky, eyes growing dark with lust when you felt his cock press against your slick folds. "I'll do better next time."

He growled, low and desperate; his hands now clamping down on your hips until pain flickered beneath the surface of your already tender skin. "There'll be no fuckin' next time."

"No?" The grin on your lips made him leak against your thigh. "I'm sure there's more than one James Howlett in the infinite number of universes. And who knows, you might not be enough to satisfy my insatiable needs."

Rolling to his back, he took you with him, even as you yelped in an attempt to pull away. You were trapped against his body with no chance of escape, yet running from him was never a choice. This was your safe place. Against his body that offered warmth and solace—a promise of more wrapped in a gentle touch and heated kiss.

He tugged you up his body, smacking your ass as you climbed to sit on his chest with a breathless smile. The sight alone made Logan's heart stutter. His eyes wide with awe—a semblance of adoration that existed solely for you.

"Insatiable huh," he mumbled against your thigh. "Alright honey. C'mere then."

"For what?"

His thumbs indented the skin of your hip, a smile curving over his lips. "I haven't had my breakfast yet."

The realization dawned on you slowly. Your eyes widened, scent growing heavy in the air, and Logan longed to stay here for the rest of his life. Beneath the weight of your body on his—the comfort of your hands cupping his face. Your slick pooled on his chest; a sign that you were in fact interested.

"A-Are you sure?" you breathed.

His teeth sunk into your wrist gently, causing you to jolt. "Fair's fair baby."

Your own words caused heat to spill beneath your skin; you shifted—eyes wanton for what was about to come. "Touché."

Shifting up higher with a hesitancy that turned his mind feral, you situated yourself close to his mouth—barely hovering over his face. With a growl, he looped his arms around your thighs and yanked you down. His mouth sealing over your dripping cunt with a moan of satisfaction. The cry that fell from your lips made his cock twitch against his stomach; the heady tang of you exactly what he longed for.

He was messy with it. Devouring you with abandon, tongue slipping through your folds with little grunts that sent sparks down your spine. When he sucked your clit into his mouth you were done for.

"Oh fuck Logan-" The breath caught in your throat, head tipping back with each swipe of his tongue along the pulsating nerve.

Without realizing it, your hips began to drag along his mouth, chasing the quick building release that threatened to drag you under. He growled—fingers a bruising grip on your skin—with each swivel of your hips. High pitched moans echoed in the room loud enough to resonate through the whole of your apartment.

"Please-" Logan watched—eyes drooped and a red flush across his cheeks—as your body curved towards him, your hand gripping the top of your headboard. "'M gonna. Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

His tongue plunged into you, thumb snaking around to rub harshly against your clit. The long drawn out moan he mumbled into your cunt is what finally broke you. Ripping the release from the base of your spine as you cried out—your hips nearly suffocating him with how you pressed down on his tongue.

Aching for whatever he had left to give you.

Logan drank you down with stunted moan, his cock leaking into the trail of hair on his stomach. But he couldn't fucking care about that. Not when you were gifting him with a nectar that would put the gods ichor to shame.

"Oh...baby," you murmured, eyes staring at the way his cock jumped each time his tongue slid against you.

Before he could turn you away—explain that he was okay and push it off as a natural reaction to you—your hand was wrapping around him. The wet slide of his precum now enough to fuck into your fist with ease. He'd allow you to touch him for a few minutes before deterring you the kitchen. Give you a fill of what need still remained.

He was perfectly okay with finishing himself off.

What he didn't expect was your thumb to settle between his balls, rubbing at a spot that made him see white. A broken feral sound echoed against your inner thigh—his teeth clamping into the skin—as he came across your hand. Spilling down onto his stomach and hitting his chest with a withered shout.

You rolled off him, panting and covered in a sheen of sweat. Logan could barely feel his fucking legs.

"The fuck was that?" he rasped, eyes cracking open to blearily see your prideful smile—teeth digging into your bottom lip while you eyed the mess on his torso.

"How'd it feel?"

"Like my fuckin' body isn't workin'."

You giggled, soft and sweet. A stark contrast to the way you made him cum fast enough to put a hole in his heart. He'd never gotten off so quickly. Yet there you sat, leaning against your pillows, and staring at him as if he'd hung all the stars in your night sky.

He very well would have if you asked.

"I can cook this morning," you offered, snuggling back against his side with a contented sigh.

"Just give me a minute honey and I'll get us food."

"You don't have to cook."

He silenced you with a kiss, your body melting into the mattress at the taste of you on his tongue. "Rosemary's. They still sell breakfast?" When you nodded he planted a kiss on your forehead. "Alright. Soon as the feeling in my legs returns I'll get us some food."

"Okay," you laughed with a kiss to his shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

The television blared loud enough to bounce off the neighbors walls. A loud and rather obnoxious theme song for a reality show. A steady stream of muttered cuss words overlapped the music as another piece of wood clattered to the floor. The screws with it scattered on the shitty coffee table found in the back alley of the building.

"Ugh. Don't hand over the rose!" Wade shouted, throwing a handful of popcorn at the screen. "Clearly they don't belong together. For fucks sake. I swear the bachelorette always settles."

Althea sighed, fingers sliding along the wood in search of a single screw that might be near. "I thought you said you wanted to help me with this."

"I am!" he mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn. "Moral support. You're doing great, just a little more to the left. Almooooost got it-"

She grumbled snatching up the silver piece, locating the wood by her feet. "Next time I'm evicting your ass so you can find someone else to annoy."

"Hurtful. Who else would provide you quality entertainment better than moi?"

"A rock."

"Wrong." He shoveled another handful in his mouth. "I've worked with the man. Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson is not as funny as he might appear. And starring in Fast Five doesn't count." His eyes flicker to the side, smile forming around his swollen cheeks. "To be honest I couldn't tell who was who between three bald men. Clearly that franchise has a type."

"Clearly I need a better system."

"Well of course you do. The shelf is upside down. No, the other way. No. The other way-"

A blinding flash of blue light burned through the living room, searing a hole in the hardwood floor. Wade clambered to his feet, gripping the ceramic bowl with white knuckles. His heart hammered in his chest, mouth dry as he scanned the room for some form of defense.

The closest weapon remained his katanas, propped against the door frame leading to his bedroom. He glanced at them—calculating whether to leap now or wait.

A whip ignited in blue sparks flew from the gaping hole in the air, striking his body and forcing him into the air. He hit the wall with a grunt; the bowl now severed in two on the floor.

"What the fuck!" he groaned, stumbling to his feet. "Al! You okay?"

"Who did you piss off this time?" Althea called, gripping her cane as he staggered towards her, leading her to the bedroom.

"Some fucking Asgardian apparently." A quick glance back revealed someone stepping through—their body encased in ripples of sapphire. "God where's Thor when you need him?"

The bedroom door slammed shut, Althea locking herself in as Wade yanked the katanas from their sheaths. He half expected to see the face of a pissed god coming to enact revenge. He felt his body tense as he prepared for a fight. Only for a hood of blue and gold to be pulled back; your face staring directly at him with milky eyes of white.

"You're not Asgardian."

A sneer crossed other you's face as the whip snapped against the floor, rippling in the space around him. He felt it tug along his body, aging his face with spots that wouldn't show up for decades to come. They healed as you pulled the weapong back; the blue wrapping its way up your arm.

"Where is he?" Your voice bled with a bitterness that punched his stomach. An anger he once felt before.

Whoever stood before him now was not the sweet angel he knew. The scarred skin along your body explained enough of what he needed to know. This was a sign of who you once belonged to. Who the humans hunted. The embodiment of time had become their prey, their plaything. You were the lamb given up for slaughter; the lover scorned and tossed to the side by a man who ran to a different universe.

"Mind giving me a name?" Wade knew who you were asking for. But he also knew Logan lay across the street wrapped in the arms of a you who couldn't protect him.

Your eyes narrowed, the flicker of blue flashing in what used to be the iris of your pupil. "I believe you know him as Wolverine. However...I knew him as Logan."

"Right." He gripped the handle of his swords with cold palms—his eyes flicking to the side where his window was pulled wide open. "Have you tried the yellow pages?"

A scream tore from your throat as you charged—whip sliding across the floor to wrap around Wade's legs. He rolled to the side, katana cracking through the floor to steady his movements. He cursed under his breath at the sight of the burn marks that now spread all the way up to his ceiling—the flicker of your whip lifting in air again.

"Listen you Wonder Woman wannabe. I'm sure we can talk this out rather than fucking me in the ass with the deposit of my apartment!"

Your lips curled into a grin—teeth flashing white. Wade could practically feel them dig into his jugular; all too prepared to rip it from his neck if given the chance. This wasn't a battle to see who could make it out alive. This was a warriors death.

This was you being merciful.

"We had a Deadpool like you on my Earth." He tried to dodge the slice of your whip, but felt it clamp down on his arms, yanking them forward as your hand cupped his chin—nails plunging into his cheeks until blood sprouted to the surface. "Annoying. Less than average IQ. I had such fun sending him to the Void."

The dull throb of pain bit at his face the harder you clutched him. Eyes still a flash of sapphire on an otherwise empty pale eyeball. In the picture Logan showed him, this wasn't how you looked.

The scar that ran from your forehead to chin seemed new—barely healed over. You were nothing like how Logan described you. No light in your smile, no hint of hope or joy.

Whatever happened left you buried so deep in grief and pain there was no chance of digging you out.

"On behalf of my people...fair. We aren't intelligent collectively as a group. Individually we're probably...not better. But as Deadpool Prime-"

"Fuck you're even more annoying than your variants," you growled.

The whip looped around his body, growing with heat as blue flickered in his vision—pulling tight each time you wrapped it around your wrist. His wince of pain brought the malevolent smile back to your lips. Your milky white eyes flashing as you watched him intently. Waiting for a sliver of anguish to cross his scarred face.

Instead his body twitched, a groan ripping from his throat. "Is this the lasso of truth?"

You sneered. "It's a slice of time."

"Because yes, I did steal Captain American themed condoms from the gift shop at the Smithsonian. I thought they would make me fuck like Steve Rogers. But instead they just gave me a rash-" His words devolved into a piercing scream—the once bright hue of his eyes now fading the more his body aged.

The katanas clattered to the floor as you drew him closer, wrapping the whip around his arms tight enough to slice off his blood flow. He struggled—face red and teeth bared—to rip himself free. To stop the aging of his body before it was too late.

He'd endured pain before. The travesty of each wound his body would heal over still burned bright in his mind. But this felt as if he was being crushed under the weight of the universe. The strangled scream you pulled from his chest left him sagging against the hold your whip had on his limbs. Eyes bleary with tears as you stepped back and pulled.

Limbs tore from his body, blood pooling on the floor, as his arms were flung across the room. Blue fizzled in his vision, body struggling to stand upright. And you turned with a flourish—the flutter of energy pouring out into the room around you.

"I'm not going to ask again Wade Wilson."

He weakly laughed. "Look Doc Brown I can't help you with your revenge plan."

The tilt of your head shouldn't have looked so innocent. But all he could see—all that ran through his mind—was a version of you that remained loving. Hopeful. The variant who gave Logan a reason to live. Wade wasn't about to let that slip through either of their fingers; you were too vital to give up.

Even if it meant he might never heal from the one wound that threatened to shove him directly into Death's hands.

Time.

It remained his greatest enemy. Yet there he stood, facing it with a smile.

"Pity." You snapped the whip on the floor, advancing on his broken form with a grin. "Send my regards to your fallen variants."

"If I find a way to come back from this. Expect me to fuck your ass up." He sighed, shutting his eyes. "That sounded wrong. Do I get a do-over on last words?"

He stiffened, waiting for the blow that would be delivered without mercy. But you stopped. Froze in place as you looked out the window—body stiff and breath caught in your chest at the sight. Wade's heart dropped when he turned, staring directly at the you he knew. The lovely angel who stood near the window wearing Logan's flannel, a mug of steaming coffee in your hand and a smile on her face.

"Fuck," he spit, moving to step in and block your view.

No words were spoken, but Wade could feel the anger fall from your body in waves. A rage that made him sick to his stomach. Not only did you arrive in search of your lost lover. But a mirror image of a healthier—a happier—version of yourself stood in an apartment across the street.

"Wait. She didn't do anything wrong. She doesn't know anything-"

Your hand flew up, a flash of azure blinded him—filling the room—and Wade felt time stop. He could hear the silence, the step of your feet, yet couldn't move his body as you lifted off the floor. Floating towards the window, you felt the particles of time slip through your fingers. Forming a bubble around your form as you broke the wall of the apartment with a slice of your whip.

The agony wasn't unknown to you as time froze; the people of New York stuck in their spots while you remained in the realm you knew well. Yet this pain—this never ending grief—formed like a pit in your stomach, growing the longer you stared at the person who stole your life. The false version that wore your face, loved the man you once claimed as your own.

You were plunged back into the frozen depths of that night. When your family was torn from your life and Logan left you in shambles.

The window shattered, glass stuck in place until you pushed past it, your feet setting down on the floor of an apartment that smelled eerily like cigar smoke. Logan's flannel hung off your variant's body with such ease. Memories of mornings spent like this, indulging in coffee he made as he went off to teach, left a bitter taste on the back of your tongue.

How dare he discard you to the side.

How dare he love you in another universe when you still lived.

How dare he replace you with a new version, not yet broken by his mistakes.

The tears flowed down your cheeks, hot and unforgiving. Yet you could do nothing but watch as the smile on your variant's face burned bright in the room. He made this version of you happy. Yet couldn't be bothered to remember the mutant you. The one who longed for his touch, for his love.

For his forgiveness.

"He loves you," you murmured, gently touching your variant's cheek. "He loved me once."

Time flickered, a mere second being allowed to pass. But that remained enough. Your variant's eyes flicked up, shock forming in the iris at the sight of a battered and destroyed mirror image stand before you. If the iris of your eyes could be shown, the sorrow would bring the both of you to your knees. The anger that dripped into your heart with a vengeance.

Death didn't seem a kind enough gesture for the version of you that got to live her happily ever after.

You wanted Logan to keep her. To try and save her from the depths of your soon to be shared darkness.

The mark on your neck burned as you stared at the spotless skin. Free from the horrors. Free from a past you'd never endure.

You were perfect.

It made bile crawl up the back of your throat. The fear in your variant's eyes filled your stomach with a satisfaction that you clung to. The first glimpse of dopamine after years of fighting the darkness in your own mind.

Your nails scratched along the skin of your variant's cheeks. Digging into the flesh with a smile.

"Don't worry," you murmured, allowing the shackles you held on time to fall away. The gasp ripped from your variant's mouth as you gripped her. It swirled with joy in your heart. "We'll both make him regret his choice."

The apartment greeted him with a sickening echo of silence. He dropped your key into the bowl by your door, the bag of food still clutched tightly in his hand, as he allowed his claws to slide free on the other. His breath stuck to his chest, the hair on the back of his neck rose with each step he took. Something was wrong. Yet for the life of him...he couldn't find an explanation.

Your scent was stale. An hour old.

Where he expected to find the sweet echo of your heartbeat somewhere in the apartment; he was met with the chilling realization that you weren't here.

"Honey," he called, his voice lower than intended. "You here baby?"

Logan's heart ached when he was met with a response of nothing. Merely air that didn't carry the sound of your voice, nor the scent he'd grown accustomed to. What was he supposed to do when the emptiness was all the world offered? When the echo of his nightmares suddenly bled into reality.

He set the food on your kitchen table, yanking his phone out of his jacket pocket he slammed his finger on your number. The only one programmed into the damn thing. The incessant ring suddenly never sounded so threatening. So malevolent as he waited with baited breath for your voice to filter through the other line. Loud and clear without a single thing to fear.

When the shrill buzz of your own phone came from the bedroom, Logan felt the familiar cold drip of fear begin to slip down his spine. He struggled to maintain his breathing as he walked towards the room. His claws out—ready to attack at whatever came near him.

The empty bedroom—sheets in a laundry basket and comforter a tangle on the bed from this morning—felt like an icy pick in his chest. You weren't here. And Logan knew there had to be a logical explanation as to why this was.

You left for a reason.

You wouldn't simply offer up silence on a silver platter and expect him to take it with a smile.

You weren't that type of person.

Yet no matter how long he wracked his brain, he couldn't come up with a valid reason as to where you might be. Expecting to see you through the window at Wade's place, Logan rushed to the frame. Only to feel the crunch of glass beneath his feet—the panes shattered and crushed on the floor. Your favorite coffee mug severed in pieces beside it.

"No," he breathed, eyes wide and hand plagued with a tremor of fear as he knelt to grip the porcelain shards.

The terror he fought against for so long slammed into his body with a roar. It forced him to look. To see the truth that he could no longer deny. You didn't leave. You weren't gone of your own volition.

You...weren't safe.

"Fuck," he spit, shutting his eyes as the sting of tears began to prick behind his eyelids. "No. No. No."

"How touching."

The sound of your voice made him whip around, eyes wide and heart racing as he prepared himself to apologize for whatever made you leave. But the face that came into his sight wasn't the you of this universe. Pain sliced his gut as the version of you he couldn't save—the woman he would once die for—smiled at him.

"Fortuna," he said in a breath, eyes trailing down your figure encased in ripples of blue. Your eyes were white—devoid of any emotion. Yet he could feel your bitterness; the hatred that still existed from that night.

Your lips formed a pout, boots echoing against the hardwood floor like bullets firing from a gun. "What? No more honey?"

He flinched when your hand came up to cup his cheek. "What are you-"

"Doing here?" You smiled, blue flashing in the iris of your eyes. Logan felt his body sway with grief—the emotions he swallowed for years now hitting him with a force he never thought possible. "Why...I'm here for you baby."

"Fortuna-"

"Don't call me that." You gripped his chin, dragging him down to face you. "That name never used to leave your lips before. Why now?"

"Where is she?" he bit out, claws begging to take a slice out of your body.

Your voice was filled with mirth. Logan had never heard you this way.

So...deranged. Unhinged.

Whatever happened after you left had pushed you past the edge of what sanity still remained. The brink you toed even when you were together. He could see it in the scars that littered your arms, the long mark along your face. You weren't the woman he once loved. You weren't even the same fucking person.

His eyes trailed further, down to the collar of your suit, until he latched onto the scar that nearly had him staggering away to vomit. Burned onto your skin was a mark to represent who you'd been at one point. Who you would forever remain. The X, a stitched over wound that didn't have the proper time to heal.

The humans broke you. They destroyed the woman he once knew.

Logan felt anger burn in his heart at the realization.

"You mean my replacement?" you spit, shoving him away. "And here I thought you were still nursing your wounds in some fucking bar Logan." The whip twined around your waist sparked to life. "Forgive me for believing you cared."

"You're insane." He stumbled back at the first lick of your power stretching to touch him. "Charles warned you about what your powers would evolve into. He begged you not to go down this path."

Laughter pierced his eardrums—the fury biting at his heart as you cupped his cheeks and shoved your face into his. "Do you know who else begged Logan? Jean. Storm, Scott, Rogue, Bobby-"

He ripped himself away. "Shut the fuck up!"

"They screamed for you Logan!" Time began to slow, slip through his body and tear at the flesh that never aged. "They begged me to help them, to stop their attackers. And what could I do? When I was stuck in the future! But you. You could have saved them. You fucking worthless bastard!"

Blue filled his vision, his body sagging against your hold, as you ripped at his mutant gene with a ferocity that left him beyond saving. This was your last play. The final card you never intended to show him.

"Please-" he gasped, refusing to fight back.

How could he? When his heart still called your name, no matter the universe.

You were his. The person who held every piece of his heart to kill on a whim if you so wished it. The woman who he'd die beside.

He just never thought it would be your mutant variant. He never expected you would be the one to deliver that final blow.

Air filled his lungs when you pulled away. His body healing instantly—the spots of age now fading along his paled skin. Whatever you had planned, it wasn't going to start with his death. Logan knew you better than you knew yourself; a fact you seemed to have forgotten.

You may have been kind—loving once. But final grand shows of vengeance were your ploy. No matter the situation...you wouldn't give away the ending even if he begged.

He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. "Where is she? I-I'll...do anything-"

"You love her," you murmured, regarding him with an expression of pity.

"Yes."

"What a shame."

His head rose, eyes wide as time began to slow. "Fortuna-"

"I'll give her your regards Logan." Your lips pressed to his cheek, breath a familiar warm caress against his skin. He felt his heart shatter.

"Fortuna!"

Staggering to his feet—his heart trapped in his throat—he felt time stop. And any hope he held in his heart...ceased to exist.

The crack of wood jolted you from the darkness you were trapped in. Fear trailed up your spine, wrapping around your heart tight enough to blister in searing pain. Your wrists and ankles were bound, body attached to a chair, and you blinked through the haze to see an empty abandoned room. The cold air stung the bare skin of your thighs as you sat there encased in only Logan's flannel—your skin raw from the rope.

Broken furniture was scattered through the room. A couch stripped of its fabric, walls with torn wallpaper, and you leaning against the wall your head cocked with intrigue.

"W-Who are you?" you stumbled over your words, shivering from the cold.

The echo of boots made the hair rise on the back of your neck, your eyes going wide at the sight of blue spilling off this person's frame. There was no need for her to answer. No response to give, because you knew who stood before you. She wore your face. Spoke in your voice and emanated a power you'd only seen once before.

"Logan once called me honey once," she murmured, milky eyes flashing blue. "He calls you that doesn't he?"

You nodded, shuddering as she dropped to squat in front of you, hands braced on the arms of the air. She didn't regard you with anger like before. Though it still lingered beneath the surface, she watched you as if you were someone to learn from. Someone to figure out.

"Why am I here?" you whispered, voice hoarse.

"Pathetic he would choose to love your kind. After what they did.” Fear struck your chest at the malice in her words, the wrath that now faced you head on. “You can call me Fortuna," she murmured, finger stroking down the side of your face. The place where no scar rested—no mark of torture that echoed from a past she couldn't escape.

"Please." The sting of hot tears burned your eyes. "I don't know what I did-"

A bark of laughter ripped from her throat. "Oh sweetie. You didn't do anything." She stood, loosening the whip from her body. "You're merely collateral damage. No need to take it so personal."

"Collateral-" You gasped as the whip flicked forward, wrapping around your waist. "Wait! Y-You're the woman Logan loved. He told me about you."

The smile that curved her lips forced nausea to the surface of your stomach. "Yes I suppose he would. So guilt ridden by what he couldn't do."

"It's not his fault."

Another laugh had tears slipping down your cheeks. "Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't have to. The humans were the ones to kill your family. Not him."

The whip tightened around your body, pain slicing at your skin. "Oh I'm very well aware of what the humans are capable of."

Scars littered her skin, some larger than others, and suddenly you understood what happened. What she meant by it all. Logan couldn't save her. He wasn't able to keep her from the human's harm. Because he decided to wallow in his own grief than share in hers.

Fortuna had become Logan's worst nightmare. His walking shame that continued to haunt him even in this universe. No wonder he felt so afraid of what might happen the longer he remained with you.

"Do you know this place?" She glanced at the room—the staircase that was tucked away in the corner that led to a second story. "An old farmhouse near the mansion. Abandoned here, but not where I'm from."

"It's..."

"Ours."

Your heart dropped, tears spilling over faster than you could stop them. "Oh..."

"He didn't mention that part did he human?" She stepped closer, leaning over your cowering form with a smile that you felt tear at your heart. "We were going to live here together. You see...I have the one thing you will never be able to give him." Her hand cupped your cheek, wiping at the tears with rough strokes. "I will never die."

You shook your head. "He doesn't-"

"Care?" She clicked her tongue, disappointment flooding her features. "He'll say that now human. But what happens when you're sixty? Seventy? What happens when you outlive the Wolverine? What will he do then?"

"The Logan I know wouldn't leave me because of time."

"I am time," she snapped, gripping your chin. "I have lived as long as he has. I will continue to live even longer. Time means nothing when you are the physical embodiment of it."

"No-"

Wrapping the whip around her clenched fist, she pulled until the power began to split through your nerves. A sob broke past your cracked lips, pain burning through your body, lighting you with a fire only she could put out. She watched with a smile, her power flickering to life as the years began to seep from your body.

Second by second.

Minute by minute.

She stole what little time you could have held with Logan. What might have existed now began to bleed into the air as her whip cut into your skin. The crimson stain of blood seeped into Logan's brown flannel shirt, staining the fabric permanently. A scream tore from your throat—eyes squeezing shut as you tried to block out the sensation that intended to ingrain itself in your mind.

"You are nothing but a replacement." She yanked another inch of the whip closer to her chest—blood pooling beneath the chair and seeping into the wood.

"PLEASE!" you screamed, body wracked with tremors that weren't there before. White began to seep into your hair, streaking down to the base in a long strip—staining you with an age you might never reach. "Please! I-I'll do anything."

She tutted under her breath, her face now at your eye level. "That's where you're wrong. You can't do anything that hasn't already been done honey."

Tears blurred your vision. "W-What?"

"He wouldn't save me." Silence echoed in the still air of the room. The pain slowed to a dull ache as you slumped forward. "So I'm going to make sure he can't save you."

"N-No-"

"Like I said...collateral damage."

Your scream pierced the air like a knife, shattering what peace might have remained, as time began to form around Fortuna. Permanently altering the future that once shone with a light by plunging it into a darkness with no escape. And you were trapped in the center. Unable to claw your way free, to break from the one thing no one could run from.

A hell of time’s own making.

note: i am sorry. we will have a happy ending. just not yet.

#logan howlett x f!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #my writing

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edgeray · 4 months

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Hi child :]

What about arle cooking for reader?

I think she can’t cook it’s hilarious but I’d love to see what you come up with if you decide to write it<3

Onions Are Her Weakness

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi momma!!! I've been looking forward to this one, but I do my requests based on chronological order. Finally got to this one! Was waiting to write some crack :D Reader is gonna be gender neutral. I was so excited about writing about how arle can't cook, i forgot about the prompt and decided to have reader teach arle how to cook. hopefully this is okay Content warnings / info - author attempts to be funny, author pretends that they know how to cook

Despite Arlecchino's best efforts, it had come to her beloved's attention that Arlecchino did not have much cooking experience. Like the loving partner that you are, you aim to correct that. After all, cooking is an essential life-skill that even children need to learn. How Arlecchino has yet to learn, you're not certain, but you suppose better now then never for Arlecchino.

For your sanity, maybe never was better.

Your husband is, archons bless her, talented in a number of fields. But archon, you will never allow her to set foot in the kitchen again.

It was clear that Arlecchino didn't just not have cooking experience, but she didn't have any experience, period. Neither did she have any cooking intuition, or the bare necessity, common sense. With how abysmal her skills are, you no longer find her fondness of raw meat all that surprising.

For the day, you banned the kitchen from the rest of the House of the Hearth; it was reserved for you and Arlecchino only.

You first started off with Fontainian Onion Soup. Easy enough, you naively thought.

“Okay, Arlecchino. First step is to ‘peel and thinly slice onions from–” You begin reading out, but before you can finish the instructions, a flash of black and red flies past your sight and then a crisp, wet, crunch that makes you cringe. You glance up from the book and to your utter horror, a gruesome murder scene lies in front of you on the cutting board.

You couldn't fathom what the onions did to deserve such a fate. Instead of the thinly sliced peel you're supposed to see suggested by the book, there is the sick, disgusting scene of the maimed remains of the once fresh onions. It’s like the onions are crying for death after that assault. Arlecchino stands besides you, unaware of the atrocity she commited on your counter. The knife next to you remains untouched.

“Arlecchino,” you say, as composed as one can be, though you already feel like you're about to cry–and it's not because of the onions. “You're supposed to use the knife to cut.”

Arlecchino looks at her claws for a beat of silence. “Thank you for the clarification, my love.”

She awkwardly picks up the knife, as if never having picked up a cooking tool before. Her entire fists grips around the handle, as if she continues to torture the already tormented onions. You set aside the mangled onions, and place the unharmed ones in front of her.

“Don't hold it like you're going to stab them,” you sigh, correcting her finger placement so that she was properly holding the knife. The poor onions had enough, you think to yourself. Your husband seems confused, but adjusts to the new position.

You raise the book to her eye level, pointing at the picture. “Okay, it's supposed to look like this. Cut it like that, yeah?”

Arlecchino nods, and attempts her best. Though not proportional, at least the cuts were straight. Improvement, right? The process is slow, her fingers keep returning to a stabbing position before you correct her again, reminding her that the onions do not feel pain.

Finally, she has sliced the last one, as terrible looking as all the others, but you give her some slack. You glance up at her expression, wanting to see how she felt now that she had completed the first step of the recipe.

Her face is wet. More specifically. She's crying.

“Arlecchino. You're crying.”

Arlecchino hastily wipes her eyes with her sleeves. “No, I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Crying is a display of weakness.”

“So onions are your weakness?”

You don't stop cackling for a good while, imagining how the Knave, the Fourth Fatui Harbinger, being defeated by cut onions. Maybe the next time Arlecchino decides to have a duel with her children, you'll inform them to bring some onions and chuck them at her.

“You speak of this to no one.”

Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet would benefit from this information. No, even better, this can act as blackmail. Oh, you need to engrain this into your mind. “Of course.”

You decide that you can't trust her enough to mince the garlic cloves.

The next step was caramelizing the onions in the pan.

“Arlecchino.”

“Yes?”

“What is the color of caramel?”

“It is brown, why do you ask?”

“Look at your onions, and tell me what color they are.”

Arlecchino looks down at the pan in her hand. She frowns. “They appear black.”

“And why is that?”

“Perhaps they are cursed like I am.”

“Arlecchino, no–”

You drag Arlecchino to the nearest market for more onions as a punishment for wasting your hard-earned money. Once you've returned, you impel her to cut and cook the onions again.

“Stir occasionally, okay? Don’t forget the oil and butter.”

This time, the onions aren’t turned to ashes, and you think, maybe Arlecchino isn't so hopeless. The next few steps are just adding the rest of the ingredients for the soup, and you make sure that even she can't mess that up. Wine, then the stock and herbs, and you get something that vaguely reminds you of puke.

Next comes the Fontainian bread. Nice crispy, cheesy bread is great with soap. This is the last step. Baking is easy. Just put things in the oven, and it'll be done.

“Take a pinch of the cheese and sprinkle it on the bread–no, Arlecchiono, that is not a pinch, that is a handful and a half. Put that back.”

“But you like cheese.”

“I like my bread with cheese, not cheese with bread.”

“They are the same thing.”

“No, one is bread with cheese, and one is a mountain of cheese suffocating the bread as if it was demanding its money back. I like being able to taste bread.”

Arlecchino pauses, likely confused by your comparison. “But you like cheese,” she repeats again, so sweet and so, oh confused. Archons, she's pouting.

“Arlecchino. I don't need this much cheese,” you quietly confess. “Put it back.”

“But–”

“Arlecchino, I love you, and I will always ask you to get me a fistful of shredded cheese when I want to. But it is not now. Put it back.”

Sometimes, you wonder how this woman, this beautiful, sexy, hot woman of your husband was a Snezynayan diplomat. This is one of those times.

“Why do we have to wait for this long, when I can just use my vision?”

“Because you will burn them, now can you please set down the tray so we don't char our bread. The bakeries are already closed, and burnt bread does not taste good.”

Arlecchino sighs and places down the cheesy breads, sparing them from their painful fate.

“I'm sure charred bread tastes acceptable. Charred meat has excellent flavor.”

That explains so many things and it makes you want to cry.

After the bread is toasted, without the assistance of Arlecchino, you serve her the homemade soup and bread, the creation taking from noon to evening. Although you're starving, watching your husband’s eyes light up upon eating her creation makes all the hair pulling and teeth gritting moments worth it. In these moments, you forget that this hopeless, loving husband was anything but just that; not the Knave, not the Fourth Harbinger, just yours. You can forgive her for the slaughtered onions and the nearly burnt bread if it meant more domestic moments like these.

In the middle of her meal, however, she stops and comments something.

“This would benefit from raw beef.”

You don't have the strength in you to deny her otherwise.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact fic #genshin impact fanfics #genshin fics #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests #arlecchino

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itsclydebitches · 10 months

Text

Though I adore the dynamic myself, it struck me as odd a few months back that fans were taking a "Monster loved for the first time" approach to Astarion. Part of the allure of a vampire (for me anyway) is the act of transformation; the horror and tragedy of having lost who you were before—including all those everyday, human experiences. There were debates about precisely how old Astarion was when he died and at the same time fans were screaming over him having his first hug, his first real romance, this is the first time someone has helped him without ulterior motives, etc. and I'm going, "How is that possible?" This is an elf who lived a life before being turned, even if it was short compared to what his race would normally experience. Astarion had a family. He had a job! Yet the fandom (and to an extent the game as well) treats Astarion as more of a Phantom-esque character: deemed monstrous from birth and blindsided by the simplest acts of love because he was denied them from the get-go.

Of course, it's easy enough to read everything through the lens of slavery and torture. Sure, Astarion had all this at one point but it's been so long and his life as a vampire has been so unimaginably torturous that it's eclipsed those earlier experiences. I get that... but time as the answer still didn't fully convince me.

Not until I started romancing him and hit this line:

"I... I don't know. I can't remember."

This is in response to asking Astarion what color his eyes were before they turned red. Can we just sit with that for a moment? He doesn't remember the color of his eyes. This line was a game changer for me because I can't even CONCEPTUALIZE that. Mirrors appear to be pretty common in Faerûn—it's not like this is a setting devoid of all modern inventions and Astarion, as a member of the upper class, absolutely would have had access to various ornate mirrors like the one he starts this scene with—so what does it take to make you completely forget such an ingrained bit of knowledge about yourself? 200 years as a dehumanized slave, obviously. Still, my mind continues to trip over the idea. I have blue eyes. That's a fact I've known since I had any real sense of self. If my eyes were to suddenly change tomorrow I can't imagine forgetting that they were originally blue. Even if I'd put it from my mind for an extended period of time I'd expect the very pointed question, "What color were they before?" would fire some old synapses and drag the information back. Obviously none of us have any idea what 200 years would do to a human brain (or, you know, an elf's) but it still feels firmly in the real of impossibility that I could ever completely forget something like that.

Yet Astarion has and this line more than anything else has sold me on his Baby Monster Loved For The First Time characterization, both in-game and in the fandom. He acts like he's never been hugged before? Of course he does! The guy can't remember his eye color and you think he's going to recall any probably-treated-as-casual-and-thus-didn't-solidify-as-significant-memories hugs while alive? When was the last time you were hugged? I'm not sure. I know I HAVE hugged recently but was the last one with family over Thanksgiving? Did I give my friend a brief side-hug before we parted? I'm lucky in that hugs are such a normalized part of my life that I don't give them much thought... which means that if you were to suddenly enslave me and keep me isolated for 200 years, yeah, I'd probably forget what they feel like too. Or that I ever had any at all.

(Self-hatred is going to play hell with memory too. Once you feel like you don't deserve something and it's continually denied to you it's easier to convince yourself you never had it to begin with.)

So yeah, Astarion acts like someone who was always the monster because he has, on a literal canonical level, forgotten what it was like to be anything else. Which just sets his relationship with Tav into such angsty, terrifying focus. Here's someone who has lost his previous identity. He (rightfully) despises the identity Cazador forced on him. Even if he didn't, Astarion is now miles away, the tattered remains of his self threatened by ceremorphosis. He stares into a mirror knowing he'll never see anything, but doing it anyway because he needs to figure out who he is—and that's precisely where most of us would start. What do I look like? What do others see when they see me? Is that the person I want to be?

Then Tav offers to be his mirror, just like they offered to sketch out the poem on his back. How exquisitely horrible for Astarion. He's being given precisely what he wants but he's in NO position to take it. All his sense of self placed in the hands of another? Asking, "Who am I?" and hearing, "I'll tell you. I'll be the keeper of that knowledge"? That's a far more intimate, potentially destructive power than anything else Astarion is looking to get his hands on AND he's trying to manipulate YOU at this point in the story! It just makes me crazy because Astarion is desperate to figure out who he is, but circumstances have ensured that, at this point in time, he needs to put his trust in someone else to begin answering that question... and the one thing he does know about himself is that he's a manipulative, mistrustful rogue who's only out to keep himself safe. Allowing someone else to take the reins with his identity (again) is probably the least safe thing he could possibly think of.

It's this messy tragic loop that yes, Astarion is working to break by the end of the game (depending on your choices) but in Act 1? Goddamn. No wonder he's trying desperately to maintain control of this relationship. No wonder—despite his best efforts—he's still undone by the simplest acts of kindness.

#BG3 #Astarion #mymetas

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ruskaroma · 1 year

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omg omg (i really need professional help) i had this Vision of dark+DARK+mean!john wick learning about an asshole who bullied their bunny-really-the-nicest-human-being!reader back during her school years (the reader cluelessly mentions it during conversation). john is not just angry outraged etc, he is The Rage, The War, The Biblical Day of Wrath, so he finds that guy, beats/tortures the living shit out of him and then brings his absolutely clueless little pretty bunny so that she could finish him. john is behind the reader, his arms wrapped around her arms, his hands on her shaking hands holding a gun pointing at the barely breathing man tied to a chair. the reader is crying begging to stop, and john goes "he deserves it, honey <3. now, right kneecap. go, princess, don't let me down".

Oh my god I have something for you.

Let’s give it a very dark twist, shall we? We’ll stick to this concept, but let’s make it even darker.

TW: mentions of past sexual and physical abuse, blood and gore, graphic depiction of torture, john being a very very mean man like he is fucked in the head may god bless his soul, john is also forcefully making the reader kill the man so there’s that.

It was a slip of your tongue. You didn’t notice it, but John surely did. You were used to rambling your thoughts away, a habbit that John adores so much, hearing your voice and telling him everything that’s in your head, because it means you’re not keeping any secrets from him.

A supposed to be peaceful Saturday night ruined John’s whole week, but he didn’t let it show. He kept himself composed around you, smiling so softly when you’d share a random fact about the things you’re holding or whatever comes in mind. He’s a master in the arts of keeping his expression controlled despite his emotions practically clawing their way out of his fucking lungs.

Your head was on his lap as he brushed your hair with his long fingers softly. For a hand that’s killed too many people to count, it’s surprisingly merciful around you. A shitty horror movie was playing on the TV but your attention quickly diverted to somewhere else when you watched a rather familiar scene in the film.

“Oh, man, that sucks. I know how it feels, I used to get hit by my ex-boyfriend all the time.”

What the fuck, John thought. His fingers stopped their movements as he furrowed his eyebrows. You said it as a whisper too but he heard it. He heard it fucking clearly.

“What?”

“Huh?” You moved your head to look up to him. “You said something?”

“You did,” John pointed out. “About your ex-boyfriend. What did you say?”

“Ohhh,” you said in realization, but your tone was calm. Like it was the most fucking normal thing to say in a conversation. “Yeah, he was mean. He used to hit me every time I made a very small mistake, but he said sorry when we broke up.”

John didn’t know what to say. He was frozen, trying to comprehend the words that were being thrown at him all at once.

His baby – the love of his life, someone who cannot even hurt a fucking ant – just dropped a bomb that she was a victim of abuse.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” John tried to keep his voice leveled, soft, as he placed a large hand on your cheek and pulled you up so he could take a good look at your face.

“Well, you didn’t ask. And it’s not like it mattered anymore. I went to therapy and everything was back to normal.”

“No, that’s not –” he closed his eyes in frustration, trying so hard to keep his shit together. “Did he do anything else? Where is he now?”

“He’s–he’s doing fine. I don’t know where he is, it’s been awhile since we’ve gotten in touch.”

John could hear the tremble in your voice, like you knew what was going to come, like you knew what he’s going to do.

He didn’t answer after you said that. He looked away from you, put his attention back to the television.

You shrugged it off, hoping he would let it go.

He did not, in fact, let it go.

You came home one day after work to see him being rather... cheery than usual. It was unusual in itself. John being particularly cheery was not something you see in your everyday life.

He had already cooked dinner when you arrived, ate it beside you with an arm around your shoulders. He was also crooning at your ears, asking about your day if something special happened.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Your eyebrows flew up, curious yet amused. Is this why he was cheery all of a sudden?

He led you to his basement – a place where you’re never allowed to go, always bolted shut and completely restricted to you. You were getting a pretty bad feeling about this.

“What–what are we doing here, John?”

Again, he didn’t answer. You could see the grim, dark expression on his face as he opened the door. The face you only ever see when he was just coming back from a long, tiring day at work. The face you only see you know he just slaughtered someone.

Turns out, he did.

Not exactly slaughtered, but close enough.

The man who made you go through hell for years, tied up in a chair in the middle of the room, missing all his fingers on both his feet and hands.

“John, what the–”

Your boyfriend pushed a heavy pistol in your hand, and your heart is beating so hard inside your chest you couldn’t speak properly. You haven’t yet got the time to comprehend what was happening. It was all too fast.

“Pull it.”

“J-John, please don’t–”

“Pull it,” John repeated. He didn’t like repeating himself. You know this. He was standing behind you, his chest pressing against your back, warm and broad and his voice sounded so menice and fucking evil and– “Pull it, baby, before I do it myself.”

“Why are you–” your voice was shaking as well as your hands. You wanted to drop the weapon but you knew it wouldn’t do you any good, not when John was just behind you. “Why are you doing this, John? Please let him–let him go, it was a long time ago–”

“I don’t care,” he said simply, one large hand sneaking down to grab your wrist that’s holding the gun, pointing it directly at the man who’s – Jesus, was he still alive? You saw him move, he flinched, then let out a cough that made more blood from his mouth drip onto his lap. “I haven’t killed him yet because that’s your job.”

“N-No–” tears were forming into your eyes. The feeling of John’s hand gripping yours was already too much to bear, much worse pointing it to the man who abused and neglected you during your relationship, but why were you feeling bad? “John, I–I don’t w-want to, John, please, I don’t want–”

John sighed, disappointed, but he didn’t let you go. Instead, he leaned down closer to your ear and pressed a soft kiss there. His beard tickled, making you flinch and let out a shaky breath as you gulped hard.

“John, he–I know you’re doing this because you think it’s best, but I–I promise you that it’s not worth it–it’s in the past and, and–”

“Excuses, excuses,” John whispered, standing straight and taking a step away from you, positioning himself in front of the gun. “Here you are, begging for the life of the man who abused you in the past. Don’t you think that sounds absolutely ridiculous, baby?”

“It’s not–it’s not ridiculous, John, I promised! We–we talked one time after our breakup and he–he apologized for everything, I swear–I swear, John, it was all in the past–”

John cut off your rambling with an evil stare, and it was so unlike him that it scared you right to the very core. “Pull the trigger or I will. I’ll put a fucking hole in his head, saw it off and send it to his little wife and children back in Vegas.”

“John–” you sobbed. “John, please–”

“Did you know that I made him confess every diabolical shit that he’d done to you every time I chop off one of his fingers?” John said it in such a calm and steady tone that it made you only afraid of him even more. “I chopped all his fingers, and he still won’t stop confessing more. Can you believe that?”

“I already forgave him–I already forgave him, John, this wasn’t necessary–”

“It won’t be the same if I’m the one who pulls the trigger now, would it? It wouldn’t be fair, because I’m not the one who suffered under his hands,” John pushed even further, walking back to his original position behind you, gripping your arm and pointing the pistol directly at his head. “If you don’t pull that fucking trigger in the next five second, I’ll let you use a chainsaw to do it and trust me when I say you wouldn’t want it messy.”

You gulped, feeling yourself grow more and more afraid as John stood behind you. He was radiating anger, but he was keeping it at bay, though his swear words might be some of the leakage of his emotions he couldn’t contain any longer.

“I don’t want–don’t make me d-do this, John–”

“One...”

“John, please–”

“Two....” His voice was scary. Deep and level, and the grip on your arm tightened. You felt suffocated.

“I’m gonna throw u-up if I–”

“Three...” He was getting agitated.

The man’s head rose up from his position earlier to meet your eyes, and you swore you felt your stomach churn. His eyes were fucking gone.

The man opened his mouth to speak and a weak voice came. “D-Don’t–”

You pulled the trigger.

“There’s my little bunny.”

You dropped the gun as soon as his brains flew against your face and onto the wall, painting it red. You couldn’t bear to watch any further. You turned with a sob and buried your face in John’s chest, crying hysterically as he soothed you calmly by petting your head.

“Good girl. You did so fucking good, I’m so proud of you.”

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sleepynegress · 11 months

Text

So, I'm Watching Dollar Tree The Gilded Age: The Buccaneers (I apologize that this is a long one folks because of ADHD Romantic Period Drama w/ ~Color~ tangents)...

Okay... So, I have to preface this by admitting that Bridgerton never has been my great big thing. It's a cake sculpted from cotton candy.

Pretty and sweet, but not much substance. And very much leaning on the "fantasy" so everyone can enjoy the costume romance fun (but it does please me to see my marginalized players, playing well...). -Using an author's works as a base, who not only started with an all-white palette but was flippant and insulting in response to the idea of inclusion... And yet...

I'm just saying, it is something that the woman who walked away from ABC because an exec didn't respect her enough to get a Disney pass for her family, went on to make that lucrative author's uplift deal with, instead of say, Beverly Jenkins. I love underdog romances that aren't the typical het white bread. Give me the canon gays (I never got slash...but I love when it's canon, especially with color), the big girls, the dark brown skin girls, the Black couples, and the interracials, especially when both are BIPOC and there's no lag in charm/looks in the lighter half in some expertly lit, dressed, confection that makes everyone look as gorgeous as they actually are and there's all kinds of soft plotting and chemistry. Bridgerton for all its lazy ways of handling color, gave that. Everybody is hot. And the people that studios have typically just pretended either weren't "invented" yet or were all living horrible tortured lives of enslavement got to get the sweet costumed wooing, will-they-won't-they, ~romance~ treatment. But... being an obscure Black history nerd... I'm neurodivergent, so I have some deep-dive GEMS that I'll mention here that I NEED TO SEE DONE WELL, before I die. FYI I called Dido Elizabeth Belle a good 8 years before that was actually made. It is frustrating to see some of the ACTUAL interesting capacities in which some actual existing Black folks in history who did live interesting, not tragic lives, not given the big glossy budget, well-written renderings they deserve... In lieu of what has now, firmly taken hold as a trend, colorblind casting in known white works. See recent adaptations of David Copperfield, Persuasion, Tom Jones, & Great Expectations,

and now, this The Buccaneers (which like I said, is Dollar Tree, and *worse* the colorblind cast sister Conchita is using her regular-eggular Cali accent and...is not a compelling actress & her man is a jar of mayo) and baby...them costumes are Reign-levels of anachronistic/bad. It's the lazy jump onto the trend Shonda exploded, and Mr. Malcolm's List started (yeah, that short film was put on YouTube a full year before Bridgerton debuted). So, my point... Instead of *just* doing colorblind casting in old classic white period works... I need to see these ACTUAL GREAT stories of and/or written by or about the colorful people who lived in those societies. And this is where it could get long... but I'll do my best to keep it short... EXAMPLES that were gotten right and those *I need to see adapted*: ____

Interview With The Vampire is inclusive color-AWARE casting... The showrunner went beyond and actually rewrote the narrative to make sure the inclusion wasn't lazily done, but actually improved the depth of the source IMO. And I believe the showrunner is a queer white man. It just takes empathy and effort.

Passing... is a moody slow-burn horror based upon an actual work written by a Black woman in that period, and adapted by a white-passing WOC who not only lived the theme, but rendered it expertly.

Belle is often pointed to as a good example, but my nerd-ass knows Gugu's beyond AMAZING handling of the material elevated it.

Too much was changed from the reality of her life (IMO), still...Most period dramas are about as "true" and yall know I was not a fan of Sam Reid's over-dramatic ass in this... (yelling in that damn carriage for what?!) but he is PERFECT in IWTV. Sanditon being made, despite the typical side-character Black character issues...really was a reset because Miss Austen had already envisioned, in her day and above her class(!) a Black heiress as a character getting the Austen treatment, w/o any modifications the salty and ignorant would prefer to think is beyond "true history". ----- I have a little hopeful part in my brain that wishes it had the power to will capable adaptions of the lives of Carlotta Stewart Lai - middle-class educated Black woman who became a teacher & lived an "Anne of Green Gables" type of Edwardian life (more interesting really) surfing, having "bathing parties," and teaching Hawaiians with her Black family, Portuguese, Hawaiian and Chinese friends on the big island... Her life was w/o the stereotypes people assume all Black Americans lived in Victorian/Edwardian "America".

Gustav Badin, a Black man who was "Chessmaster" of the Swedish Royal Court in the 1700's...was in charge of the Royal family's secrets after the Queen's passing, really gives me intelligent queer Black man energy in his portrait and lived out a non-tragic life in a VERY white space many don't know we occupied.

And The Hunters... Who already have a short film and I've posted about it here... but I would LOVE to see an actual rendering of their lives in the Klondike, with their gold and silver prospects and son grandson Buster and daughter Teslin in Edwardian Canada.

(that is Teslin at the highest point in the photo, named after the lake she was born at)

(and the Hunters' grandson Buster ice-fishing)

All this to say... Now, that I've thoroughly veered away from my review of a middling show... I WISH THESE DAMN SHOWRUNNERS used a little effort in research and imagination and gave us more "true to life" renderings of Black life (and life of color, in these romanticized spaces) that isn't tragic nor the patronizin inclusive "fantasy"... That feels like it's smirking at me while saying "we know you weren't ~really~ here, but here! have a cookie!!" These people existed.

You don't have to *just* make inclusive versions of white works with the lie that you have to do that because thee above people ~didn't exist~. Nor do you have to be lazy when you do!! (see: IWTV) Right now, for me... It feels like for the most part we're in a period of very shallow "advancement" in period rep. And I'm saying if little old me can find the actual stories that could make AMAZING true history-based media. Why can't the more powerful people do the same?? P.S.

You already know I'm fresh off being mad about that shitty Bass Reeves show...but I'm even madder because I can't even say, "just make sure its made by Black people," because Jeymes Samuel (AKA Bullitts) gave us skinny biracial StageCoach Mary!!!

---NO!! I will never stop being mad about it!!

DO BETTER!! Have the empathy and care for the material, regardless, and don't rest on "I know what I'm doing because I'm Black" That male gaze won out over truth in The Harder They Fall *smh*

P.P.S I get the feeling the lazy adaptions are about cash-grabbing, what they see as a trend, and being all the ready to jump back into the whitewashed business as usual, that ain't true to *all* actual histories nor (as Austen proved) fictions of those eras or spaces.

P.P.P.S. On The Glided Age!! I do love that the Fellowes drama has Erica Armstrong Dunbar (known for her book and research on Ona Judge -another figure whose story needs to be adapted!!!- the Black woman who successfully escaped enslavement from George Washington's household and was doggedly pursued by him throughout her life) and Salli Richardson-Whitfield as producers... so, Denee Benton's Peggy is authentic... but as much as I like The Gilded Age, I want to combine Fellowes comfort drama... with a CENTRALIZED Black character... Why can't someone do all of it correctly?? WHY??!!!

#I am so sorry...#I may have to attempt to do a video essay on youtube to truly cover what I want to fully say in this..I #blah blah #meta #the buccaneers #the gilded age #bridgerton #black history #marginalized folks in period dramas in comfort period drama is what I want #and done WELL!!#give me sarah forbes bonnetta's life

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jarofstyles · 1 year

Text

Reaper 10

Reaper is a dark story with dark and mature subject matter. 18+ NSFW

A shorter but very important update. Finally heading closer to the meat of the story hehe

Check out our Patreon for exclusive writing and early access!

wc: 6.6k

warnings: violence, rage, reaper on the edge of it all

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“Good fuckin’ riddance.” Harry spit onto the body, life slowly draining from his veins as he bled out on the floor. “Piece of shit.”

Since the guy thought it was ok to sell people, to own and control their lives, Harry thought it was fitting that he had no control over what happened to him in the end. Cutting off each finger and toe, beating him, a few levels of torture. It wouldn’t make up for the lives he had stolen, the innocents that he had killed in the process, but it was some sort of revenge.

“Clean this shit up.” He barked at one of his brothers, giving another disgusted glance at the soon to be corpse before stalking out the door. His hands were bloody and bruised but he felt a tiny hint of relief. Getting rid of scum always did feel good in a weird way. One less person who would harm people who didn’t deserve it off of the earth. He liked to think of himself as an exterminator of sorts.

“Where’s Bunny?” He grunted as he kicked the basement door shut, seeing Viper at the bar playing cards with Wiz. Cigarettes hung from their mouths as they turned to look at him.

“Kitchen. May want to wash the blood off your hands before you see her. Look like a horror villain.”

Harry was too far gone just fresh off a kill, any consideration he had for his look at the minute was non existent. All he knew was he needed to see his Bunny if he wanted to get out of this headspace anytime soon.

The past week and a half had been busy to say the least. With no signs of the stalker, he and his brothers buckled down on finding the last of the scum involved in Mia’s case. It took lots of convincing, but Bunny was safe and protected by his brothers. They were all afraid of what would happen to them had she not come home in one piece.

The Reaper had been all the more violent and impulsive ever since the stalker appeared. His brothers had all noticed. Viper’s solution was to keep him on killing duty, hoping it would take the edge off like it usually did. It seemed that his feelings for Bunny went much deeper than any of them could imagine.

Harry pushed open the door to the kitchen with his elbow, immediately feeling his muscles relax at the sight of his girl.

“Okay so, we just want to make sure we gently tap them— so when they lift in the oven they have that little foot.” Bunny was teaching Mia how to make macaroons. Strawberry and cream ones.

His back relaxed slightly when he heard her soft spoken instructions, his body tuning into her voice. He didn’t say anything yet, going to the sink as he felt her eyes on him.

She didn’t deserve bloody hands on her. She needed clean and soft hands with tender touches right now. His exhale was slow, trying to shift himself out of the rage induced fog.

There was a reason people called him the Reaper. It wasn’t unknown. He turned off. He turned into someone else when he was there. The red brain space. He turned off a lot of his emotions besides the ones needed to get him through, the ones usually consisting of anger, rage, bitterness, aggression.

Shaking the water off his hands, he grabbed a paper towel and began to wipe his hands free of water, the jerky movements alerting Y/N to his mood.

“One second, Mia.” She said quietly, patting her back. Mia knew how the score went, nodding as she turned to mind her business. She knew better than to get involved with Reaper’s business. Everyone should.

Approaching with caution, Bunny placed her hand on his lower back first not wanting to startle him in this state. It always seemed off, his energy changed completely and radiated off of him like a thunder cloud looming over his head.

“Hi Baby,” She turned on her charm, resting her head against his back a little bit to ground him. It was better for her not to look at the blood that was being washed off into the sink, it was hard not to notice the smell though.

“Mia and I are making macaroons, we already made a batch if you wanna taste one, I can bring it to you.” She wanted to go along with things as normal, try and remind him of how things were when he wasn’t in this headspace.

“Or if you want we can go to our room and snuggle.”

She was always gentle with him in this headspace. It was a little scary at first but Harry wouldn’t hurt her. That was something she knew without a shadow of a doubt. Especially when she felt him relax a little bit with her hand rubbing over his back.

Her eyes looked over his shirt and noticed it was fairly clean, except for a few specks of blood on the hem. It was a weird feeling, to think that the man who was so damn tender with her had just moments ago, been violently ending a life. And that his first instinct was to go back to her.

“Room.” He grumbled, turning around once he was sure his hands were clean and taking her face into his palms. Y/N felt the damp, cool fingers on her skin and gave him a pretty smile, searching his eyes.

They were dark. Different. It always seemed to happen like this. 3 times this past week and some days, he has sought her out after she pretended to not know what he was doing and found her doing something mundane, peeling her away from the friends she had made here to keep her close and breathe in her scent.

He ignored Mia’s presence, leaning down to capture her lips in a hard kiss. He wasn’t shy about it, turning her around and tucking her into the corner of the room while he kissed her roughly. Fully. Bunny knew he wasn’t fully out of the weird, almost animalistic face and she was ok with that. She just wanted him to calm down eventually, and she enjoyed that she was the person that had that power.

He pulled back and kissed her again, sliding his hands under her shirt and caressed the hot skin of her lower back. It was grounding to him, feeling her smooth flesh and the softness of her curves, the sweetness of her mouth and taste testing prior batches. She smelled like the baked good and hints of her shampoo. He wanted to bathe in it. “M’so angry.” He admitted against her lips. “Want to fucking…” He huffed, resting his head against hers. “I don’t regret it, Bunny. I’ll keep killing those fuckers. I’m going to keep doing it and I’m going to keep coming back upstairs to wash my hands and find you after.”

He warned her. “I should terrify you.”

“You don’t.” She wasn’t lying. He didn’t scare her, maybe a little, but only because she could tell it wasn’t him. Was it dangerous for her to believe that she was the only one to get him to calm down? Would her luck run out one day? It was something she tried not to think about too much. She preferred to believe him and their feelings for one another.

“It’s just what you do… I understand, you aren’t like that with me. Why would I be afraid?” She asked the question that was never really meant to be answered. Instead she moved to press another kiss to his lips, her hands wrapping around his wrists to hold them comfortably.

“Come on, let’s go. We can watch a documentary about sea lions.” After their little trip to Vegas they’d been watching a lot of animal planet. Something about the animals also calmed him down.

“Let me just tell Mia.” She would have to fend for herself with the macaroons. She only had to let them bake off and cool off now. The filling was the easy part.

Harry leaned against the doorway as he watched her go to inform Mia when he heard his name being called from the front room. It was Kid, he knew, but he wasn’t sure what the fuck he wanted.

“What?” He snapped, stalking through the kitchen with irritation obvious on his face until he saw the red envelope he held in his hand. “What the fuck is that?”

Though in his stomach, he had a sick feeling. He already knew.

“It’s addressed to you.” He said quietly. “To Reaper. It was stuck in the gate, someone shoved it up between the bars. I saw it on my way in.” The envelope was snatched over quickly, Harry’s anger boiled again heavily in his stomach.

What the actual fuck?

“Funny, you think you can keep her hidden from me. I see her everyday.”

Harry was just about to snap when he noticed the back of the note felt a lot like a photograph. To his own horror, there were photos of her in the parking lot on a few desperate occasions this week. His Bunny, oblivious and stunning as ever, on her way back to this place this fucker has now made his way to.

Any ounce of solace he’d found in Y/N’s touch a few moments ago had drained from his body, replaced by a new, much more sinister rage. Without much thought, Harry slammed his fist against the nearest flat surface which just so happened to be the kitchen door.

Kid took a step back immediately, trying not to flinch at the flying pieces of wood now scattered across the floor.

The room went silent, nothing but Harry’s heavy breathing and the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

“That’s it!” Reaper was here in full force, not even noticing the blood gushing from his knuckles. “I’m going to butcher this rat. I swear to fuck no one better stop me, I will end his entire blood line so help me god.” His breathing was heavy, teeth grinding against one another.

Bunny stood speechless, not really sure what to do in this situation. She wasn’t even sure what he was yelling about until she noticed the envelope.

He’d found them?

“Reaper.” Viper barked as he watched Harry go towards the door. “He isn’t out there. He wouldn’t be. Don’t go shooting into the road.” He had watched as Harry took the gun from his back holster and held it in his hand, the rage shaking through him.

This place wasn’t easy to find. But obviously, whoever the creep was, didn’t just fuck around. It was making Harry angry. Yes- it had been their idea to poke the bull, but it only made him more upset now knowing the lengths he would go. The disregard he had for his life meant that was the same for his thoughts on Bunny’s- he didn’t care. He was insane.

If he had any clue what Harry belonged to, what his name meant, the rumors and whispers, he would know better. Obviously he lacked sanity for the fact he was stalking someone to begin with but after all the warnings, after all the attempted scare offs… he was still at it.

“He’s watching her. He’s at her school. He’s insane.” He shook his hand in the air, the gun waving around. The safety was on- Bunny was in the room. “I’m going to lose it.”

“I know, brother. I know.”

“No! None of you caught someone taking photos?” He hissed, looking around the room as he raised the weapon. “None of you saw a fucking camera?”

“Obviously not. Put down the gun.” Viper ordered. “Your girl is in the room. Put it down.” He said it lowly, the twitch in his hand and the reminder making him listen.

“I’m taking her away from here for a while. We’re fucking leaving. Make sure someone is at her mom’s place. Nowhere is fucking safe around here.” He hissed, turning to Bunny. “Go get your stuff. We’re going somewhere away from here. Wiz- get us on a fucking plane and someone go get me fakes to get out of here. I just-” He ran his bloodied hand through his hair, not even feeling the pain with the anger that made him burn. “How the fuck did he find us here? There’s a gate inside a gate.”

Bunny took this time to approach him once again, setting her hand on his back as she always did and tried her best to stay calm. She needed to be calm for him. All she wanted was for him to come with her, but it seemed like Viper wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Let me clean up your hand and I’ll go pack.” She spoke in a gentle and level tone, reaching for his bloodied hand without hesitation. It hurt her to see him like this, so angry and distraught because he couldn’t do anything about it. He was trying his hardest, she could see it. She wished she was able to help more.

Viper looked at her in warning, obviously worried about her safety. He didn’t know how they were in private, she felt like he had no right to command her. She knew what she was getting herself into. Bunny looked from Harry’s hand to Viper with a small pout, hoping he would let her do this.

“Follow me.” Viper let out a sigh, leading Bunny towards their in house infirmary. She made sure to keep an eye on Harry, rubbing his skin to soothe him the best that she could. He was still heaving, she could see the cogs turning in his head.

He was like a live wire.

Bunny watched his face carefully, not afraid of him but afraid of what he may do. It felt like the last few days he had been like a dog pacing in its cage, but this was a whole other level.

His jaw was clenched and his breathing was heavy, but his face had turned stone cold. His eyes? They were dark. Hot. Livid. She was treading with caution.

He was on another planet right now. He was in protector and killer mode at the same time and it was killing him. Reaper wasn’t one to run away from conflict in any capacity. Harry, however? He just wanted to keep Bunny safe. That was his goal, always. Her safety.

“You okay to be alone?” Viper asked Bunny. He didn’t want to offend Reaper but he also took her safety seriously.

“Yes, I’m okay. He won’t hurt me.” Bunny repeated once again, knowing it would only be worse if they were to separate the two of them. If they wanted Harry to calm down in any capacity, removing her was the worst they could do.

Viper eyed the two of them for a moment, facing an internal battle. He couldn’t live with himself if he let Reaper hurt her, but for some reason, he trusted her.

“I’m going to help Wiz sort out your trip. When you’re done here just meet me in my office.” Viper spoke calmly, giving her a look as if to say ‘be careful’. The metal door made a quiet crashing sound as he left, leaving the two of them alone.

The bright overhead lighting of the infirmary wasn't creating the most soothing atmosphere, but Bunny tried her best to be the softness Harry needed as she guided him to sit on the bed.

Her hands delicately pushed his hair away from his face and behind his ears, watching his snarling expression carefully.

“Can I get the first aid kit?” Her words were gentle, not wanting to leave her stop from between his legs if he wasn’t ready. She knew her body was something that kept him grounded and she didn’t want to irritate him.

He simply nodded.

It felt better in the quiet. No music, no nothing but the gentle touch of Bunny.

Bunny, Bunny, Bunny.

He had to keep her safe. The rage bubbled again before it ebbed, her hand stroking over his arm as she returned with the kit. He wasn’t worried about the split knuckles or the throbbing he felt in his hand. He had a high pain tolerance for as long as he could remember, but he felt a bit bad under all the anger about her life being disrupted. That he couldn’t just be… a normal protector. That he had to worry about snapping.

He’d always had a bad temper, but this sort of anger was new. He hadn’t cared too much about anything else for a long time. Now that he cared so much for her that it felt like she was injected into his damn blood, he felt out of control. Not having control over finding this guy was making him feel certifiably crazy. He’d never been sane, mind you, but he even knew it was bad now.

His thoughts lingered on how he had never wanted to take someone out more. The person who caused all of this shit, who made it unsafe for her to even be alone in the places she had grown and loved. The places she learned.

“Baby?” She whispered softly in an attempt to get his attention, gently starting to wipe off the dried blood as she disinfected the open wound. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t wanna,” Bunny cooed, “just come back to me.”

She let the hand holding his caress his skin in a form of comfort, using tweezers to get the splinters out from under his skin.

“You’re very angry, I know… I can imagine how frustrating it is— you are doing everything you can.” She wasn’t sure if her words would be of any help, but she wanted to say them anyway. “You’ll get him, I know you will. But for now, we are here.”

A small hiss came from her as she watched the peroxide bubbling over the wound. He didn’t even blink. It made her heartache seeing him so empty and drained.

Harry watched as she began to wrap his hand with gauze, turning it a bit to make things easier for her. He’d never had someone handle him with such care in this state. It baffled him to think she wasn’t afraid. How could she be so brave? To trust him when he didn’t trust himself.

“All done.” Bunny smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to the bandaged hand. She didn’t expect him to speak, she was waiting patiently till he was ready.

He sighed, looking over her face. She was so fucking good. A little damn angel plopped into hell and he had to be the one to protect her. He’s never experienced such a panic in his life. Self doubt that he would be able to keep her safe.

It fucked him up considering this was supposed to be the safest place. That someone could get by without being noticed was a tell to some sort of skill. Wiz was an incredible guy when it came to security and electronics. He had either blocked the alarms or there was some sort of rat.

He couldn’t trust most of these people right now. While he definitely felt guilt for that considering he knew 99% of them were on his side, there was a possibility someone wasn’t. And he wouldn’t chance that.

“Damn it.” He snarled. “You… I should be taking care of you.” His face showed irritation and instead of backing up, she repeated the soft action of brushing his long hair back out of his face that had fallen out of his low bun. “I’m supposed to take care of you and you’re here… fucking bandaging me up. Being so fucking sweet. “

“Is that so wrong?” She asked confused, “Think I wouldn’t be taking care of you if this wasn’t happening?” Of course she would be. Bunny enjoyed caring for him and providing a little bit of peace in his very rough and heavy lifestyle.

To think he’d ever imagine it as a burden, as if life wouldn’t have thrown something else wretched and horrid her way had it not been this.

“You are taking care of me. I’m here and I’m safe.” Bunny tried her shot at getting him to see things from her perspective. “You need me right now, that’s okay… I’m right here.” It had almost become natural for her to tend to his anger before she began to process her own feelings. She didn’t think it would help to dwell on the idea of someone watching her, she was already paranoid enough as it was.

“I want to help this feeling, I know I can’t, but please… you have to let me.”

He growled in frustration. It was almost infuriating how sweet and understanding she was because it was his problem. He felt like he was making shit even harder.

“I just… I feel like all I fucking do is drag you down. This was supposed to scare him away.” He stood up, walking away from her. He needed to breathe, to pace for a minute. “This shit was supposed to protect you. And I made it worse.”

He tugged at his hair, his bad hand throbbing at the action. He really was wanting to pull his hair out. A woman like Bunny didn’t belong in this decrepit, dangerous place and yet he had dragged her down. There was no way out of it either, not without the guy being dead.

All he knew was that he had access to the school area, was good at technology, was lanky and tall and was a little bitch. A creep. He hated him more than he had hated anyone else because he had no regard for Bunny. It was obvious at this point.

“I need to take you away; like a fucking coward. I’m running away but I don’t give a fuck. We need a break. You need to be somewhere you feel safe. You think I don’t see it?” He asked, approaching her again.

“You think I don’t see when you disappear inside your head and you try your best to just pretend like you’re fine? I see right through it. You’re not processing any of this shit of whatever it is you’re supposed to do. And I’m worried. I’m worried about you, mentally, physically, emotionally.”

He was right.

She hadn’t been processing it properly, but she was in distress and though he was blaming himself for making it worse, who knows what would have happened if he continued? It was just like Bunny to divert the conversation though. It seems Harry wasn’t having it today. He stopped her before she could speak.

“You know I’m right about that. Bun, listen, I’m not in a good fucking space right now. I don’t even know how I’m talking to you cause I’m my head I just want to tear this place to shreds. I need you to tell me if I’m stepping over the line, cause you’re being so fucking sweet— I don’t deserve that!” He shook his head, the last line coming out a bit louder than he’d anticipated. She could only shake her head at him.

“Harry— I’m trying to deal with it how I can. We both are. It hasn’t really hit me these past few times, I haven’t been letting it. I just know I won’t be able to keep going on with my life if I think about it too much. You know I’m in my head because I’m trying to self soothe… there is no answer to these feelings, they fucking suck. I know. This guy is fucking crazy. He could have done worse if you didn’t get involved. Who knows? The what ifs are killing me. Please don’t blame yourself for any of this. It’s not your fault.”

He swallowed thickly, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room before he dropped his hands, letting them smack against his sides.

Fuck.

He didn’t mean to explode on her. It’s the last thing she needed. She didn’t need his shit on top of everything else but he was so… so fucking scared. He didn’t like the idea of her getting hurt. He didn’t like that she wasn’t communicating it with him.

“Can you please just tell me… tell me about it when it does come up? When you feel like it’s too much?” Harry was well fucking aware he wasn’t the easiest to talk to. He wasn’t. He was intimidating and easily irritated and he had tried to build a wall between them in the past. It would be understandable why she would be hesitant before but now? Now he was doting on her.

He wished she trusted him.

“It is my fault. You shouldn’t even be in this position. I wish you had been able to fucking trust me enough when it first started happening so you could have told me. I know that it’s my fault you didn’t. It isn’t your fault at all.” He huffed, walking back to her. “I don’t deserve your sweetness . I was supposed to look out for you when Sterling left and now look at this shit.”

He felt like he had failed. He had failed her.

She was trying her best to stay level headed, trying not to blame things on herself for not telling him sooner. Seeing him like this was making her emotional, she didn’t want him to be so stressed.

“I’ll try, I promise.” Bunny said with a small sigh, “It’s hard for me in general. It's not that I don’t want to tell you these things, it’s just hard for me.” Y/N swallowed thickly, looking up at him with glossy eyes. “I didn’t think not telling you would come to this… I would have told you right away.”

Bunny snaked her arms around him in a hug, squeezing his body to hers, listening closely to his heart beat. She kept her head there for a few moments, relaxing as she felt the weight on his hand cradling the back of her head.

They were a mess. The both of them. Harry knew that this wasn’t exactly healthy- nothing with him probably would be- but he didn’t have it in him to stop his indulgence for her comfort.

He couldn’t keep himself from pulling her as tightly as he could to her body, exhaling heavily as he pressed a few kisses to her head. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m fucking sorry for all of this shit.”

The hoarseness of his voice caught her off guard. His anger was still there but he was still being soft with her. That was the difference. He never lifted a hand meant to harm her. Never. He never would.

“It’s okay. We’re going on a trip and we can just… we can try and forget about this for a little bit.” She whispered against his shirt. “Just pretend to be normal for a bit. I don’t even know where we’re going but I’m going to be safe with you. Maybe we can feel ok when we get away.” Her choice was muffled against the fabric but he heard it.

“I will do my best, baby.” He mumbled against her hair. “Don’t think it’ll ever be normal with us again.”

-————-

“Okay everything you need is here. For the time being, you are Ryder and Kitty Davidson.” Wiz spoke as he placed the documents on the table. “I got you rings as well, congratulations.” He winked trying to make light of the situation.

“You’re flying First class to London. Your flight is in about 4 hours so you should get heading to the airport as soon as possible.” He continued, looking up at Viper to confirm the details. The two of them thoroughly planned this trip to ensure their safety.

“I’ve booked you in indefinitely at the Londoner hotel. It’s very central with high security. They know you want your privacy and for their reputations sake they won’t fuck up. If you want to change locations, I trust Reaper knows his way around better than me.” Wiz let himself trail off as he tried to remember anything else he might be missing.

“I’ve arranged to have a car pick you up under the name Davidson. It’s one of our own so no need to worry. He’s returning a small favor.” Viper added, checking his phone for any other updates before looking at the two of them.

“We’re going to have some decoy cars leave first. One is going to Reaper’s place, one will be going to your Mom’s, and the third out of town.” Viper explained the plan, “We’re leaving through the underground exit in a completely different vehicle. All you have to do is finish up with packing and we’ll be on our way.”

Bunny was still amazed at some of the things the club was able to do. There were a lot of whispers about the things they were a part of from the normal people, the people around the town. But based on their assumptions, no one would have realized they had this sort of money.

Harry had explained they had eggs in a bunch of baskets, some legal and some… not so much. That meant an influx of cash and places to launder it through.

She knew if this was any other time,she would be asking tons of questions. Why? How? What? But right now she was putting her trust in Harry and the guys of the Devil’s Keepers. Viper and Wiz had always shown up for her since she met them and it was a welcome thing to have.

“Thanks for putting this together.” He nodded at Wiz, taking the folder from him. “We will call you when we land with the burners.”

“I’ll be prepared for a thick cockney accent.” Wiz joked, making him snort. Yeah, right. He was more of a Manchester and London hybrid but that wouldn’t make sense to him. Harry’s accent had thinned since being here as a teenager but he knew that it would thicken the moment he stepped back there. It usually got stronger when he talked to his mum on the phone, so he could imagine how easily he was going to fall into it later.

Bunny had never been out of the country before, this was something completely new. The thought of it was actually exciting if she ignored the whole point of the trip. The running away from a stalker bit.

Harry had always talked about his life in London, with a fondness she really saw in him elsewhere. It was as if he wondered what his life could have been had he been dealt a different hand. It seemed like his life there wasn’t that fruitful, but his returns to the country had always been pleasant.

“You packed warm, yeah baby?” He asked quietly, his Reaper persona taking a step back now that they had a plan. In all honesty, he was relaxed because he knew his way around London better than any man. He swore it. No one would want to willingly go to his ends. That he was sure of.

“We’ll get you more clothes.” He spoke without even listening to her response, he had a feeling there was nothing warm in her duffle here in Vegas. Poor girl was in for wind and rain and clouds.

“We will?” She quirked her brow. “And just how will I do that?”

“M’gonna buy you some. You need jumpers and jackets. The only one you packed was one of mine.” He gave her a slight look but it was in jest. He liked her in his clothes. The black jumper with slightly frayed sleeves tended to be her favorite and he wasn’t going to tell her no. Thankfully he had been able to grab some warmer clothes but not too much. He’d need to shop as well.

“Well, I did want to buy some stuff.” She admitted, leaning her head against his arm while she looked into his duffel bag. “You know the cool shopping places in London? Not the designer ones but hole in the wall shops?” She liked to buy stuff that was unique, but she didn’t have the chance too often here. Her slip dresses were a staple but she did want to get some good jeans in London.

It was definitely a way of coping. Y/N knew that eventually she wouldn’t be able to push the fact that this trip was to evade danger from the back of her mind anymore. She would have to accept it at some point. But god damn, did she want to pretend it was just a trip with her… boyfriend? Lover? Whatever they actually were.

“I think so.” It’s been a few years since I’ve been there.” The last time he had traveled back was 3 years ago, briefly. Only 2 weeks to get some things settled. He hadn’t been back since. “We’ll have to see. Things change rather quickly, but I found a place last time when I ruined my trousers.” He replied, zipping up the duffle bag.

“All right, Sniper say we are all set to go. If you have everything, let’s get to the car. No time to waste.” Viper was a bit on edge himself, not having expected someone to find the clubhouse. Nonetheless, he had no intention of letting Harry know he was worried. He needed Reaper to have a break. As much as they needed him, for all of their sakes, it was better he went.

The sound of their footsteps against wet cement echoed as the four of them descended down to the tunnels. They had a few for safety reasons. They had a bunker, a few rooms where most of their dodgy business took place. Killing and disposal and what not. Towards the end though was a garage full of three cars with the exact same plates. One was red, one was black, and one was white.

“Take your pick bun.” Viper decided to make light of the situation. These cars were all clean. For the most part. They were mostly used for situations like these, getaways for safety. The plates changed after every use so they couldn’t be tracked. They cycled through wrapping them in different colors. It was all to keep things as anonymous as possible.

Bunny went for the white one. The red would get attention, the black was an obvious inconspicuous choice, but the white was a medium level. Harry was quiet for the most part now, helping her in and waving to Mia. She was playing decoy. Her hood was up and it was obvious she was a woman but the tinted windows would hide some of her features, making it easy to confuse the both of them.

“Thank you.” He said quietly to her. Despite not talking to her much he appreciated even the slightly risk she put herself in for Y/N’s sake.

He got into the car with her, placing his hand on her thigh immediately. Y/N noticed this was something he did subconsciously. He didn’t even really seem to think about it. Every time he sat down next to her or drove with her, his hand would rest on her leg. Squeeze or rub or just rest still, he liked having a hand on her.

Her hand rested on top of his with a sigh, fiddling with his anatomical heart ring. He had a few he switched around but he rarely took this one off lately. It was chunky and large but it suited his hand, bruised knuckles and all. Her cheek rested against his arm, trying to let go of her nerves.

“S’okay.” He comforted quietly. “We’re getting a break from this. Maybe the guy will get tired of it. If he doesn’t… we’ll come back rested enough to finally get him.”

Harry was exceedingly exhausted. His eyes were heavy all day but he couldn’t sleep. Nervous about her, about the freak breaking in somehow, someway, and hurting her. It plagued him like a nasty sore that wouldn’t heal.

Wanting to keep the stalker off their trail meant that Viper and Wiz had to stay low profile. The guy would recognize the two of them and they didn’t want to risk it. Instead, he had other members who had not been seen with Bunny to drive all three cars.

“Be safe, yeah?” Viper nodded at the two of them from outside the window. “Have fun, little rabbit. Enjoy it.” The words were tender as they fell from his mouth. He wanted nothing more than for her to enjoy her time away from all of this. To have a bit of freedom again.

Bunny gave him a small smile and nod, watching as he gave Harry a small fist bump before their window was rolled back up. The sound of roaring engines soon filled the space, each car making their way out. They had a few come out the front as well, this creepy wouldn’t know what was coming.

She didn’t dare to speak up as they traveled down through the long, narrow, and dark tunnel. It seemed like it kept going and going. She wasn’t sure how it got there, but she was starting to think she shouldn’t ask.

Instead she snuggled further against Harry in the back seat, continuing to dig her face fully into him. It seemed his scent was able to do something to keep her calm since she couldn’t exactly wrap herself in his bedsheets anymore.

Harry didn’t like not being the one driving but he has to make that sort of sacrifice today. It wasn’t too big of a deal though, considering Bunny was nearly burrowed into him.

Harry, before her, wasn’t a fan of physical touch at all. He took his partners from behind, making them hold whatever was in front of them so they didn’t touch him. He barely kissed, barely allowed them to do a thing besides suck him off or spread their legs for him. It was very willing people, too, but still. He wasn’t a warm and fuzzy person. He would peels hands off of him and step back to avoid hugs or touches, keeping it hand handshakes for most, or a back pat or two.

That’s partially why it was so weird for him that he felt so grounded when Bunny touched him. The comfort that he felt when she would brush his fingers with her own or press a tiny kiss to his hand, leaning against him. His own body seeking her out for it. That had shocked him and made him feel incredibly out of place once he stepped back from it. The good thing though, was he didn’t hate it.

If anything he fell into it more and more each day. Initiating more and more like a nosy little puppy, chaste and gentle touches like fingers under shirts playing with her bracelets or adjusting the hair in her face . It felt a bit pathetic he wanted to touch her every day, if he was being honest. He’d also never felt so good with it. Her fingers tangled with his own little kisses that didn’t lead to anything other than a smile.

He was fucked. A goner. He had become well and truly soft, obsessed, possessive, enamored with the girl he definitely shouldn’t. Sterling is still going to beat his ass, and Harry is going to let him.

It was worth it.

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #one direction #one direction imagine #one direction blurb #one direction one shot #one direction fanfiction #one direction fan fiction #one direction smut #reaper #reaper harry

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ghosts-and-glory · 8 months

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Imma be honest, Narinder deserved purgatory more than his siblings. I'm glad you gave him the fate he deserves, and I'm excited to see what horrifying abomination had taken his place in the cult. (I desperately hope it's Nothing There from Lobotomy Corporation, but that's wishful thinking lol.)

I’m sorry bestie but I’m not the Nari anti you think I am, I just like putting my faves through the horrors™️

In writing tragedy I want moments of catharsis. Narinder is a character destroyed by his own actions and punished beyond human comprehension. I don’t have a desire to write his infinite torture, more to play with the questions the post game leaves me with. I honestly can’t help but read the stories Narinder and his siblings as one of tragedy, where they are ripped apart by their flaws and reduced to play things in the cult.

Honestly what we know about the crown bearers there’s an argument to be made that Narinder has committed the least atrocities. His ass is the only one who hasn’t done a war crime in facilitating a genocide against the lambs. We are never given in cannon what he did to get banished or how the betrayal went so I can only theorize on the severity of his past actions. The conclusion I have come to based on mostly his, ??? (Mystic seller or whatever you call it, to me it’s Kevin) and Shamura’s dialogue is that he did something to attempt to reverse the natural order of things, mostly like relating to death.

I’m gonna ramble cause I’ve been chewing at the bit waiting to be asked about my au. There’s also some art under the cut. Hehe hoho I’ll be so normal with my interests.

Going into my au, that I really really need to name, The Lamb executes Narinder after he’s defeated. Partly for revenge, for their dead family and for damning them to serve the crown, but at the same time they feel empathy for him, as a servant of death they know that to die is to rest. What The Lamb did not forsee was that killing Narinder would damn him to purgatory just as it did his siblings.

I have a early concepts of, who I’ve affectionately dubbed Not-Narinder, with Purged Narinder.

I don’t wanna divulge too many details on my plans for the au, but Narinder does eventually end up in the cult. After two thousand years in service of the crown, another thousand years in chains, and then a hundred years in purgatory stripped of his senses. To some level the cult grounds are its own prison but does he not deserve a chance to carve out his own life? I will however tease a half written script and doodle of The Lamb and Narinder’s conversation after he’s freed of purgatory.

Unfortunately for me my thoughts and plans for the au go back thousands of years before the plot of the game and then another few thousand years after. It’s like the Star Wars timeline, as in its a big mess.

#cult of the lamb #cult of the lamb narinder #cult of the lamb au #my art #my post #I think he’s fucked up in a endearing kinda way #Tw blood #Tw gore #no devotion au #ask

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cricket-reader · 1 year

Text

Safe and Sound

Summary: Bucky finds you. Everything goes wrong so quickly (yet again). Can Bucky forgive himself for something he blames himself for?

Warnings: language, canon level violence, death, kidnapping, captive, torture, injuries, Bucky’s self-hatred/negative thoughts, fluff

Word Count: 1830

Prompt: "At least it can't get any worse." | Stairs | Concussion | Hammer

A/N: Day 16 of June of Doom by @juneofdoom

Part One

Bucky swears up and down that he’s losing his mind.

When he went to find you in the rubble and ruin of the small restaurant, you weren’t there. He practically tore the place apart looking for you before remembering the necklace he gave you. Anyone else would have deemed it controlling. And in any other circumstances, Bucky would have to agree. Giving your significant other a tracking necklace is a shitty and controlling thing to do. That is unless you were a POW for an extremist group hell bent on making your life suck.

And that is exactly what he is, unfortunately. So instead of ripping him a new one like most people would if the person they had only been dating for a few months decided to get them a fucking tracker, you were willing to hear him out. Right now, he thanks every god above you were willing to listen.

He doesn’t even want to know the lengths that Hydra will go to make you suffer for making the mistake of loving him. If he can just get you home safe, everything will be fine.

He hops on his motorcycle and drives to the spot your tracker is. Worries claw at his brain. What if they discarded the necklace? What if this is a set up? What if he doesn’t make it in time? He forces himself to push those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Worrying won’t save you. Worrying won’t bring you back. He can’t let his emotions get the better of him.

The man that had been delivering punches to your gut and slapping you around froze upon hearing a rumbling sound. Knife in hand, he frowns. “I guess this means we don’t get to finish what we’ve started. Bummer.”

He actually has the nerve to sound disappointed. He sets the knife down along with the other torture devices he had one of his goons bring—which to your horror includes a pair of pliers, a hammer, and many different types of sharp objects. You hear him yell at the men watching to prepare for the Winter Soldier.

You would have corrected him had it been any other circumstance. He is not the Winter Soldier. He is Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. A man worthy of much more respect than it seems they’re willing to give him.

You see your boyfriend stomp down the creaking stairs. He’s pissed. You definitely don’t envy the men surrounding you.

“Let them go, Warrenson.” Bucky’s voice calm and collected, not betraying any emotion. He hasn’t looked at you which you figure is probably a good thing. You don’t want him to lose his cool just because you’ve gotten a good beating.

“We will. As long as you come peacefully in return. Hydra wants their Soldier back.”

Bucky clenches his jaw. He knew that someday you’d be used as leverage. This is why he should never have agreed to go on a date with you. This is why he doesn’t deserve happiness or love. This is why you are better off without him ruining your life. He destroys everything he touches with his dark, infected soul. Nothing good comes from knowing Bucky Barnes.

“I’ll do it,” he mutters. The heart wrenching protest from you begs him to look your way. You sound destroyed and distraught. No, he can’t look at you. It will demolish any and all of his resolve—what’s left of it anyway.

“Bucky, no! Don’t do this, please! No! I’m not worth it, okay?”

His heart shatters like the most fragile glass or porcelain, his soul crushed with the weight of a thousand suns. How could you say that you aren’t worth it. He’d burn the world for you.

“Shut that bitch up!” a man orders. A sharp throbbing pain erupts at the back of your head. You cry out, and Bucky loses all of his resolve. No one fucking hurts his babydoll and gets away with it. No one.

Bodies dropped like flies in the blink of an eye. Now you have always known that Bucky is skilled, but… well, let’s just say you are surprised.

He rushes over to you and releases you from your restraints. He looks over your body, relief nearly palpable to see that you had no major visible injuries. He had seen the hammer and pliers along with a plethora of knives. He’s just glad he got here in time because if he didn’t… he doesn’t want to even think of what they could’ve done to you.

You saw the far off look in Bucky’s eyes. You knew he is probably coming up with some way to blame himself for all of this. Your hands reach to grab his face. His eyes refocus on you, feeling your gentle hands with their delicate touch. You smile at him, not paying any mind to the throbbing of your skull.

“I’m okay, Buck, it’s fine.”

He frowns. His brows furrow deeply. Nothing about this is fine. He’s sure that your ribs are coloured purple and he can hear a sight slurring in your voice.

“Baby? I need you to tell me if anything is hurting real bad. Did they hit your head real bad?”

“Hmm?” You think for a bit. Maybe they did, you’re not really sure anymore. “I think so?”

“How does your head feel?”

“Mmm… kinda like someone is takin’ a hammer to it. It hurts, Buck… I wanna go t’sleep.”

“No, no, no, stay awake for me, c’mon. Let’s get you outta here.”

He hauls you up onto unsteady feet. You kinda just wanna stay there, maybe take a quick little nap. That should be fine, right? But Bucky told you not to. You frown. This is a dilema.

You stumble your way up the stairs and say, “At least it can’t get any worse.”

He smiles, or at least tries to… it’s more like a grimace, at your attempt to brighten the situation.

Turns out you spoke too soon, however.

The stairs groan under you before both you and Bucky are plunging through the wood. You hear a high pitched scream. Then you realise it’s you making that god awful noise.

Bucky curses under his breath as the wood gives way to both your weight. He wraps his body around yours, taking the brunt of the fall. He can’t let you get hurt more.

The wind is knocked out of him as his back collided with the ground. A piece of wood stabs through his torso, and he grits his teeth as you come down on top of him.

“Baby?” His voice is breathy. You whimper, terrified out of your wits. “I’m so sorry, doll. Can… can you reach in my pocket? Grab my phone and dial… dial Sam.”

You reach down and accidentally hit the wood post that’s sticking out of him. His groan is so guttural, even in your haze, your brain panics. You try to look down, but Bucky can’t let that happen. You’re only going to panic more. “Keep your eyes on me, m’kay?”

You nod, instantly regretting it. “Babe?” Bucky questions, seeing you wince.

“’m fine,” you insist, lowering your hand, being more careful this time around.

You make contact with the brick that he calls his phone and pull up Sam’s number. You make a joke about not knowing how to work the old thing, but Bucky thinks you’re serious. He goes to grab the phone, but you indignantly pull it away from his grasp. “Was a joke, Barnes. I’m perfectly capable…”

You were gonna say more, but it is so much work to talk. Maybe you should have convinced Bucky to let you nap. Then you wouldn’t be on top of him in a hole under some stupid stairs.

“Bucky? What’s up? I thought you were on a date.”

“I’s me Sammy,” you giggle. Why are you giggling? Nothing makes sense anymore.

The man on the other end of the phone groans. “Please tell me he didn’t get you plastered. Did you try to out drink him? Cause I tried that once… that was not a fun morning.”

“No… we’re under the stairs, Sammy.”

“Under the stairs? What stairs? Why—“

“You ask too many questions,” you mumble, half of the sentence jumbling together. Black starts to creep into the corners of your vision. “Think I gonna take nap now.”

Sam furrows his brows, hearing Bucky yell at you to stay awake. “Sam! Listen to me, you need to come help we’re both injured—“

You gasp, “Bucky hurt?”

He can’t stop you from looking down. Your gasp is so loud he can barely hear Sam muttering to him over the phone.

“Doll, hand the phone to me,” he demands. Tears form in your pretty eyes, seeing the wood sticking out of your boyfriend.

“But.. you hurt.”

He sighs, “Yes, but I need the phone so someone can save us.”

You nod, tears dripping down your face. Your heart is beating like a hummingbird is in your chest. You press your hand against it, crying out in pain. Your head hurts so bad. So does your stomach and ribs. You just want to go to sleep.

You don’t remember exactly when Sam showed up. But he is here now with a full team of firefighters and medics. The firefighters extract you both, though it takes more work to get Bucky out.

The next thing you know, you’re waking up in a hospital. Sam somehow convinced the medical staff to let you and Bucky share a room, knowing that you both need each other.

When Bucky wakes up, he is panicking. His panic settles when he sees you safe and sound in bed. His gut twists seeing the ugly purple bruises on your face. This is all his fault. He should have never got himself involved with you. Your life was better without him in it. He ruined you like he ruins everything.

“Bucky?”

He focuses on your voice. Tears blurring your figure. “Yeah?” He doesn’t deserve to call you any pet names. He doesn’t deserve to call you his. He doesn’t deserve you.

“You can stop that negative self-thinking right now.” You glare at him.

“But—“

“No buts!” you interrupt. “I’m too selfish to let you leave me cause you’re scared you’re gonna hurt me. To be honest, I’ll be more hurt if you leave me than if someone were to kidnap me again. My abandonment issues can’t take much more, so if you–”

“You deserve better–“

“Don’t give me that bullshit. I want you god dammit! Why can’t you understand that I love you?”

His eyes grow wide at your outburst. And your words. That was the first time you said you loved him. He thinks he could get addicted.

“You… you love me?”

“Yes! I didn’t think you were that oblivious! I’m in love with you, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Tears form in his eyes. “I… I love you too…”

You smirk at him. “You better.”

Bucky Taglist: @harleycao

Story Taglist: @cjand10 @marvel-stories33 @casa-boiardi @drunkbirdbug

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ladyylavenderrr · 6 months

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Re: Garak and psychosis

Hi! I do a lot of thinking about Garak, and I also read a lot of psychotic traits on him! I think while they didn't write him thinking of textbook psychosis, a man who has lied so much he can't really tell truth from lie because, to him, "truth is in the eye of the beholder" has to have some level of separation from reality. This is a rather looooong analysis, mostly of events that happen in "The Wire", but I promise I have a point lol.

So. I've been thinking about his "lies" to Bashir about his past, and one thing that caught my attention was the hesitation at calling Elim "... my friend";

once we found out that he is Elim himself, some stuff from the infirmary monologue got very curious: "we grew up together", true; "we were closer than brothers", true, in a very literal way; "for some reason, Enabrin Tain took a liking to us" well, the reason is that he is his father, that's some reason;

Now, I'll address his separation of Elim from Garak: I'd say that growing up keeping the secret about who his father was, living a double life from the beggining, then such a split of the ego is almost inevitable.

Elim is the son, the one who knows the truth, the one who knows Cardassia's love of the family and the people is a lie told to keep powerful men powerful; Tain was the Order, the Order was Cardassia, thus Cardassia's symbol is a man who is a hypocrite, one who betrays his own family- And Garak is the spy. The citizen, the servant of the State. As Tain says himself, he never had to ask Garak to put the implant in his brain, or to do anything - he was so eager to please, and that's what made him special.

He would keep the truth, one that would make his work unbearable, as something of Elim, while he would be plain and simple Garak, the muscle, the man who did the dirty work without asking any questions. The man to whom family and state, two things he was alienated from from birth, were everything, regardless of how much his work went against that.

Onto the next bit, now: in the end of his monologue, Garak tells a more complicated story to fit into this analogy- he says he faked records to incriminate Elim, only to find out in the end that Elim had beaten him to it; Elim had destroyed him, and before he knew what was going on, he was sentenced to exile;

But once we know that he is Elim, and if we keep the same logic that Elim represents his inner sense of truth - of knowing he is being used in a very cruel way and that none of that makes any sense - then it's logical that he would sometimes be one step ahead, and sometimes be killed by Garak in the blindness of duty; sometimes watching in horror as he let himself be driven by hunger or fatigue instead of seeing his duty to the end, for he knew the consequences;

Then, it would be Garak's inner sense of truth, of reality, what destroyed him as the soldier, the spy. Maybe he actually did let those bajorans go for any reason whatsoever, maybe he framed himself for it- I'd say he broke down, some way or another. And he says he deserves it for what he tried to do to Elim, his own screaming sense of reason; much like Marritza killed his past self to die as Darheel - it is the coward, who covered his ears because he couldn't stand to hear the screams for mercy of the Bajorans, who couldn't stand to look at the truth and do something about it, the one who deserves to be punished.

He became a man who is distressed and anxious during an interrogation, willing to take any answer no matter how irrelevant, just so he doesn't have to keep torturing someone he's kind of friends with, like what happens with Odo later on. We didn't see him do any torturing before that, so maybe he wasnt capable of doing it like he used to before he was exiled, not as a consequence of it; Imo life on DS9 made it "worse" as he became, slowly, part of a community like never before.

And then, there's Bashir. Again, Garak is a man who adores the state and the family, and has neither. A man who spent his life having no ties to anyone that he couldnt cut immediately, sometimes by killing the person if it was the most efficient way.

On his deathbed, after being really rude and hateful towards Bashir while Bashir lost sleep and thought of nothing but saving him for days, he comes up with this magnificent story, that ends with something that can be interpreted as "I deserve this. Not for betraying Cardassia, the State, but for betraying my best friend." And as he says "my best friend", he stares at Bashir. He then asks for forgiveness, as if he was also asking for Bashir to forgive him for his betrayal of their friendship, for the things he said. He needs to know that, if he can't forgive himself for the horrors, at least someone is capable of forgiving him.

Always full of layers to his half truths and truthful lies, even when he really thinks he's gonna die. He haf-believes it, as a half-truth, even the bits that are made-up; That's where I'd say his link to reality is broken. Idk if any of this makes sense, but this is how I read into it, as someone who has psychotic symptoms and traits, but also as a nerd who loves to nit-pick complex characters like him.

Peace and long life 🖖

I think it’s always really interesting if Garak truly does believe some of the lies he tells, at least partially. I really like your analysis!!

#star trek #ds9 #deep space nine #elim garak #psychosis #media analysis #schizophrenia #schizospec

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morganski-19 · 9 months

Text

I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 6: The Inspection

ao3 link, Part 1, Part 5

tw: descriptions of a minor panic attack

February 1984

Julie watched in horror as her journal was ripped in half by Matthew Anderson. The person who has been torturing her all year, but never stooped to this level. She could deal with the name calling, the pulling on her ponytails and braids, the balls of paper that would be thrown at her in the halls. That was just him being an idiot and picking on the poor kid.

This, this hit differently.

Her journals were her life. Stories written down that were fabricated from her mind or truth she was never able to fully speak. Worlds crafted and characters created. Places she’s always wanted to visit or things she’s always wanted to do. These journals made her days less lonely. Made her life feel fuller.

And now there it lays on the ground ripped into pieces, while Mathew and his friends laugh at her tears. Solemnly, Julie picks up the pieces of her book and runs away, scared that staying there for even a second more would bring on more taunting.

She runs to the back of the school and hides below a staircase, crying over her lost words. Stories jumbles together, pages ripped apart. Everything she’s worked so hard on teared apart in minutes.

“Hey, are you ok?” a boy with a black bowl cut wearing a sweater asks her.

Julie just looks back at the mess in her hands, overwhelmed by it all over again. “They ripped it apart,” she whispers. “Just took it from me an destroyed it.”

“Bullies, they’re just a bunch of mouth breathers,” the boy sits next to her. “It doesn’t look too bad, you could probably tape it back together.”

“Maybe, doesn’t make it the same, though.”

Julie’s mom told her that this journal was sent by her dad. Part of her knew it was a lie, but the innocent part of her really wanted to believe that it was true. This journal was special, it was her yearly gift from her dad. She would write stories in it about happy families, hoping that this magical journal would make her dad show up. That way her mom could be happy again, she could be happy too.

“What was it?” the boy asks.

Julie lines up the pieces of paper into a small, organized stack. “Stories. I like to write sometimes.”

“That cool. My friend likes to draw stories. He says that the best thing about them is how you can create them with your own mind, that way no one can ever really take them from you.”

“I never thought about it that way.” She looks at the piles of stories again and imagines them differently. Instead of ruined castles and homes, she sees rebuilding after a long battle. She sees hope. “Thank you.”

The boy shrugs. “I’m Mike, by the way.”

“Julie.”

. . .

Present Day

Steve hangs up the phone with the owner of Family Video, smiling to himself and can’t help himself from doing a small fist pump. He got the job. Which isn’t a lot, considering he can’t see himself doing it for the rest of his life, but it’s one step closer to passing this inspection.

The inspection has been looming over his head for the past week. After the meeting with the social worker, Steve has been working double to make sure the house was presentable, even if it wasn’t supposed to happen quite yet. Going through each drawer, making sure everything is in its place. Making a small box of all of his upside down related items to find a nice hiding place outside of his house so that they won’t be found.

It was a lot, but it was worth it. There would finally be somebody else living in this house, someone who was family. Another person filling the mass of rooms that stayed empty for his entire life. And by someone who would stay.

Or at least, stay for longer than a week.

This whole placement thing was still weighing over his head. If he was honest with himself, he wanted to one day get permanent custody of Julie, but that wouldn’t be for the best. With all that she’s been through, she deserved someone more stable than him. But he could provide her with a safe place to live where she actually liked, so that was enough.

And maybe when the time came to find a permanent placement, he would be stable enough to get it. If that ever would be a possibility.

But that would involve a better job than retail, his own place and not his parents. No more nightmares and a better explanation for his many scars. A less marked medical history and probably one less NDA than he has signed.

As much as Steve hoped, it didn’t seem feasible. It didn’t seem in reach. The family he’s found would leave again, and he couldn’t stop it. But he wanted to.

Eddie and Robin let themselves in through the front door, promising to help Steve get the house actually ready for the inspection. Since it’s in shambles from his weeklong obsessive searching for every possible thing that could be wrong. There were papers everywhere and things out of place. It needed to be put back together. And Eddie offered to hide out the upside down stuff at his new house, so that was helpful.

“Jesus, dingus,” Robin looks disgusted as she scans the mess, “the hell did you do?”

Eddie does a soft whistle, making his own observations. “Blew up in the living room?”

Steve sighs. “I know it’s bad. Just help, please.”

“Why we’re here.” Robin starts making small piles, organizing the mess.

Eddie grabs a few of the larger items, and brings them to the kitchen, placing them all on the table to be distributed later. Room by room they go through and put everything back to where it was, making sure nothing is out of place. Eventually it ends with Steve and Eddie in his room, gathering up some discarded clothing to be taken to the laundry room.

Steve is mentally checking off a list in his head, adding new things one after another of what he has to do. Clean the kitchen, clean the bathrooms, make sure the guest room beds are made and presentable, make sure there are no visible dangers in the house, check the railings for lose poles. Things he doesn’t even need to do but can’t help but think are necessary.

If this doesn’t go perfectly than what else is he supposed to do. Julie will be stuck in a terrible household until her social worker caves and moves her to another town. He’ll lose the only biological family that’s ever cared about him. All of this will have been for nothing. Julie will be let down and devastated, he’ll be devastated. It’ll all go terribly, and she’ll never talk to him again.

He'll be left alone in this house again. For God knows how long. He can’t move, can’t leave it behind for some reason. It just sits vacant with only him in it. And soon enough the kids will all go away to college, leaving him behind too. Robin will save enough money to go eventually too. Eddie will finally do what he always says and get the hell out of town. Leaving Steve in an empty house with no one around that loves him anymore.

A broken, empty house that has a million things wrong with it. So many things that this will never happen. They’ll see right through to the scared kid he still is but tries to hide. They’ll see the ghost that lives in his backyard. The pain and fear inside of him will come pouring out in the worst way possible. He’ll be deemed as unfit and this will all be for nothing. It’s always for nothing.

“Steve,” Eddie’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “Breathe. In, and out.”

Steve does what he said. Breathing deeply through his nose, not noticing how tight his chest had become. Breathing out through his mouth, hearing how shaky it is. He repeats it again and tries to stop the train on indefinite tracks in his mind, seemingly breaking off from itself and going in a million different ways. Each new branch clouding his thoughts and increasing the panic more.

“That’s good, now again.” Eddie breathes with him, making him hold his breath just slightly to help calm down his heartrate. He guides Steve to sit down on his bed, sitting next to him and taking his hand. Counting him through his breathes until the tightness alleviates, and he can breathe normally again.

“Thank you,” Steve breathes out, slouching a bit.

Eddie rubs his thumb across the back of Steve’s hand, squeezing it just slightly. Warmth radiating through the touch, making Steve want to lean in closer and absorb it.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly.

Steve takes another deep breath through his nose. “What if this doesn’t work? What if I’m doing all of this for nothing?”

“You’re not,” he says pointedly. “Even if this doesn’t work out, it shows that you tried. That you care about her. Trust me, that means so much more than you realize. For both her and for the social worker. The courts might think differently if you want to take this further, but for temporary, you’re good. Ok?”

He meets Eddie’s eyes, immediately feeling the pull in them. “Ok,” he says, feeling himself start to get lost.

It takes a lot for Steve to let himself go around people, to put down his guard. But here in this moment, he would give it every single time just to get Eddie to look at him like this again. Just pure care in his eyes, gazing over Steve’s face to make sure everything’s ok. Wanting nothing more to this moment then to make sure he’s ok.

“What if everyone leaves me?” Steve whispers his fears so silently he hopes Eddie doesn’t hear. “Robin and the kids will head off to school. Julie will eventually too. And you’re never going to stay in this town. I’ll be all alone again.”

Eddie’s eyes meet Steve’s again and he lets out all the breath in his lungs. Just taken away by the simple beauty of Eddie’s face. He reaches up gently slides his hand across Steve’s neck, just barely cupping his chin. Steve leans into the touch, letting the warmth of Eddie’s hand ground him.

“I’m not leaving, not without you. Neither is Robin, and the kids will always come back. All of them will.”

Steve grabs Eddie’s wrist and holds his hand in place, letting himself sit in this moment. How he ever let himself say no to having this sooner, he doesn’t know. Because in this moment, there’s nothing more he wants then to lean in and capture Eddie’s lips with his. Take back everything he’s said and just dive in headfirst.

When Eddie’s eyes flick down to his lips just slightly, it makes it a million times harder for Steve to want to pull away. But he has to. This is the wrong time, there are things to do, he almost just went into a panic attack. Everything wants to stop him, but he can’t seem to listen to it. Slowly, he starts to lean in.

“Yo, dingus one and dingus 2, I can’t clean a house by myself,” Robin yells from behind the door, breaking the moment.

Steve pulls back, clearing his throat. “We’re coming, calm down.”

Before he can pull his hand away from Eddie’s, a small kiss is placed to the back of it. Warmth enveloping his hand before the coldness washes it all away when they let go. Soon, Steve promises. Soon he’ll be ready for this.

. . .

Julie is waiting in line at lunch when Dustin walks up to her. She rolls her eyes, ready to walk away before he can get in another line of questioning.

“Hi,” he states cheerily, with a stupid smile.

“Hi,” she responds crossly, hoping that it will show him that she’s not in the mood.

Dustin seems unaffected, continuing to follow her through the lunch line. “So, about a few days ago-.”

“It’s fine,” she cuts him off. “You were just curious about your friend. It’s fine.” Julie picks the last of her food and heads over to her usual table.

“I wanted to apologize,” Dustin follows. “I acted like a jerk, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

She sets her tray down on the table and looks at him. A sheepish expression paints his face, and an awkward stance almost as if he wants her to ask him to sit.

“I forgive you,” she says, taking a seat.

“Good,” he says, still standing there.

After their last meeting, he can’t think that she would have invited him to sit with her almost immediately after the apology. It took him a few days just to give it to her anyway, it’s not like she’s that hard to find. But then he was close to Steve, so she should at least try to get to know him. If everything is going to work out the way that they hope, Julie will be seeing a lot of him, and the other kids that he looks after.

“Is there anything else?”

“It’s just,” Dustin sits, without an invitation. “I can’t wrap my head around the idea of Steve having a sister.”

Julie stabs at her food. “Well, it’s true. Living proof right here.”

“No, yeah. I get that. I’ve just always known Steve to be an only child, like me. And now he’s not.”

“If it makes you feel better, he still kind of is. Our dad would rather pretend like I don’t exist.”

“So, you share a dad then?”

Julie stares across the table, “Really? You just apologized for the uncomfortable questions.”

Dustin squints his eyes again, before smiling. “I like you. Let’s start over. Dustin Henderson,” he extends his hand across the table. “Pseudo brother of Steve Harrington.”

“Julie Lawson,” she takes his hand warily and shakes it. “Half-sister of Steve Harrington.”

“That is still so weird,” he says, starting to eat his food.

. . .

“Harrington residence,” Steve mutters through the phone, filing through the mail as he does.

“Can you explain to me why your mother got a phone call last week about a job application of yours?” Richard Harrington speaks through the phone.

Steve’s body straightens on instinct with the voice, trained to present himself the best as possible. His mind races back to the resume he gave Keith, a revised one that he had applied with originally. But he forgot to take his mom off of the reference list when he added Hopper and Joyce. Her name was still there front and center.

“I had applied to be a manager at the video store I’m working at now. One is leaving and I thought I could take their spot.”

His father sighs through the phone. “Wishful thinking, Steven. You won’t just get jobs because you think you can take them. You must work hard for them.”

Steve’s mouth dries. “Well, I got the job. So, I must have worked hard enough for it.”

“Like you would know the meaning of hard work,” Richard chastises without missing a beat. “You didn’t even have to have a college degree to get this job. Those careers are never real hard work.”

Thoughts race in his mind but never reach the front for him to actually say them. His father doesn’t know how hard Steve’s works. Doesn’t know how much pain he’s been through. The thought hasn’t even crossed his mind that there are other things important in life other than work. Other than money.

But his dad will never understand. Never understand how much he’s truly failed in life. How much he’s failed Steve. So, Steve’s stays silent, like he always does.

“I thought you wanted me to understand the meaning behind hard work. That is what I am doing?”

“But for how long, Steven. How long are you going to go around and play the charade as if you are not a Harrington. You have a responsibility to me. To the family. Some day you are going to have to wake up and start your life, and we are not going to wait around forever for you to decide when that day is coming.”

Like you were ever here in the first place, Steve wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat.

“Every time I think you have started to grow up you prove me wrong. You are still a child, Steven, and an immature one at that. Stop pretending that what you do doesn’t mean anything. Apply to schools again and get in this time. Get a real job, one that looks good on the family. We have a legacy that needs protecting, and you’re ruining it.”

Richard hangs up the phone before Steve can get a single word in.

He stands there for a few minutes, the buzzing from the phone line filling his ear. Stuck in the hopeless, fearful stance that happens after every phone call, every conversation. Every thought of his father that he has ever had.

Eventually, he hangs up the line. Eventually, he places his forehead against the wall and closes his eyes, letting them fill with tears. Letting them roll down his cheeks.

It took years for Steve to understand what he was meant to do and what he wanted to do. And even longer to understand that his father will never love him unless he did what he was meant to do. But every time he tried, he failed. Every time he did what he was told, what was planned, it never worked. It was never enough.

When the schools rejected him, he got a part time job. When Nancy and him ended, he went on the scheduled dates. When the world fucking ended and they weren’t here to witness it, he recovered in seclusion so nobody else would know. For his father. Always for his father and his fucking reputation. But it was never enough.

“You were never here,” Steve whispers to the wall. “You are never here.”

He stands straight again, taking a step back. Staring straight at the phone that his father spoke through however long ago.

“You don’t even know me.”

How can a parent know a child they didn’t even raise? How is a child supposed to live knowing their parents don’t love them? Questions with answers Steve’s been forced to answer. Questions that should have never even be asked.

Steve turns around to face the only family picture in the entire house. A professional taken when Steve was a child. His young face, innocent to what is to come, sits on his mother’s lap. All while his father looms in the background, standing behind them both, a hand on his mother’s shoulder.

“You know nothing about me,” Steve yells. “You have never stayed long enough to try. Not even once.”

Tears are streaming down his face, clouding his vision. His breath picks up, stuttering with sobs.

“I’m not ruining anything. You are the one ruining it. I have seen more than you can possibly imagine, and you call me immature. At least I wouldn’t cheat on my wife. At least I wouldn’t have another fucking kid and hide it from the world. Because I own up to my mistakes, I change. Despite you.”

Despite. Steve has become the person he is without his father’s influence. His proudest accomplishment. He has become the exact opposite of the man who he was supposed to be a clone of.

“Despite you,” he continues. “I found people who care about me. I’ve fought monsters, I’ve saved lives. Can you say the same? I’ve learned from my mistakes, I’ve changed. I’ve grown into a person that I actually like instead of hate. Because I hated myself when I was trying to act like you. And if you were actually here to see it, you would hate who’ve I’ve become. Because despite of you, I’ve become a better person that you could have ever hoped for me to be.”

Something heals itself inside of Steve. Something retreats. The little boy who he once was smiles at him, knowing that what he says is true.

Richard Harrington may have never stayed long enough to know his son. But that meant that his son never got to know anything about his father other than fear and disappointment. And through that disappointment, he grew. And there’s no turning back.

. . .

When Julie walks through the front door of Steve’s house, the lights are dark. It shouldn’t be surprising, she’s been there when he’s at work, but there’s mail on the hallway floor. She picks it up, stacking it gently on the hall table and continues through.

“Steve,” she calls out, walking into the living room. He’s sitting there in the dark, his elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his hands. “Shit, sorry. Do you have a migraine, I can leave.”

“No,” he says, lowering his hands, sitting up. “You’re fine.”

Something’s off. Steve’s hair is disheveled and there is slight redness around his eyes. A part of her wants to leave, let him be alone. He clearly was having some sort of moment. But when she thinks of this empty house, how empty it feels, she can’t leave him to it alone.

“Are you ok?” she asks quietly.

Steve scoffs, looking the other direction and shaking his head. “I’ve been better.”

She racks her brain of ways that her mom used to comfort her. The many things that failed, and how even when she tried her hardest, the sadness was still there. Talking about it always helped, though. Just to get the pain out of your system and have another person listen to it. For someone else to know your pain, for someone else to listen that it’s there.

It was never a lot, but it was something.

Julie walks over to the couch and sits on the cushion next to him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve takes a moment before he finally says, “I know you probably got a lot of shit for not knowing your dad, and I know you probably wished you did on some level. But God am I jealous of you for never meeting him.”

“Is he really that bad?”

Steve leans back on the couch and crosses his arms, looking at the ceiling. “Yeah. But it’s more of the fact that I’ve never seen him long enough to know if he was any good.”

There was another thing that sometimes helped when she was feeling down. Similarities. People who could relate to her situation. Show that she wasn’t alone in the way she felt.

And while she couldn’t say that she knows exactly how Steve feels, but she can relate in her own way.

“When I was little,” she starts, “like really young, I would always ask when my dad would come home. When he would finally meet me. For a while, my mom would lie and tell me that my dad was in the army oversees, and that’s why he wasn’t around. And on Christmas, there would always be a gift that was from him. That was the most special present every year, because I could bring it in and prove to the other kids, to prove to myself, that I had a dad that loved me.”

She pauses, thinking back to the gifts that little her would line on her dresser. One for each year, each more special than the last. She would sit and stare at them, praying for a day where her dad would give them to her himself. Once she got older, the spell was broken. The lies were unraveled, and her world was shattered.

“Of course, I didn’t know they were really from my mom at the time. When I found out, I took everything that I thought was from him and put it in a box and went straight out to the dumpster. I wanted to throw them out, cry over the child that believed so hard for something that was never there. But I didn’t. After the lies faded, they were still gifts from one of my parents, it just happened to be my mom.”

The box still sat in her room for years later. Gifts that she couldn’t bear to give away, because it just proved how much her mom loved her. She pretended every year that Julie’s father was still around, just to give her daughter a sense of normalcy. Julie never appreciated it at the time, not until it was too late.

“I guess I’m trying to say that there’s sometimes a little good that comes from the bad. My dad was never around, and after a while, I didn’t want him to be. But my mom was. And those presents made me appreciate her more that she was.”

When she looks over at Steve, he’s looking back at her with a thoughtful look on his face. “She sounded great.”

She looks away from Steve for fear of crying. “She was.”

“I’m sorry you lost her, I don’t think I ever said that.”

Julie has become so used to people saying sorry that the words don’t even affect her that much anymore. Not like they did a month ago. Everyone is sorry, but there’s nothing anyone can to do fix it.

“What’s your good?” she looks back at him.

Steve sighs, taking a moment to think. “Younger me would always wonder why he was never around, why he was never the one who raised me. But looking back, I’m sort of glad he didn’t. That way I turned out to be a better person than he was. He couldn’t raise me to be just like him. Even if he still tries.”

“Is that why all the lights are off, because he’s trying to?”

“Yeah, got a phone call from him today. Told me I was a disappointment because I got the manager job at Family Video.”

Julie sits up. “Oh my god. You got it. That’s great.”

“Not for him and his stupid legacy,” Steve grumbles, repeating what she can assume are his father’s own words.

“Forget him,” She insists. “This isn’t about him, it’s about you. You wanted the job, right?”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah. I did.”

“Then be proud of it. You got what you wanted. Not because of him, because of you. You did that. Own it.”

He smiles. “I guess I did do that.”

“Not guess, did.”

“Whatever,” he laughs, the mood in the room shifting. “Thank you.”

She shrugs, “What are no longer estranged siblings for?”

He snorts. “Cheering each other up about their same shitty dad, apparently.”

“Yeah, apparently.”

. . .

“Well, I think I’ve seen all of the house that I need to,” Sarah concludes, crossing something off on the clipboard she’s carrying. “There is just one more interview that we need to do.”

A slight weight lifts off Steve’s chest, just a slight one. The house inspection has been one of the most nerve-racking things in his life. Someone going through every room in his house and asking questions about the most random things. Looking at his life in one of the most personal ways possible.

“Ok,” Steve responds. “We can head to the kitchen if you’d like.”

Sarah nods and follows him to the kitchen, getting herself ready at the table.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Steve offers. She politely declines.

He sits across from her as she pulls out a file. Glancing quickly at the name and seeing his own across the tab. Papers filled with information about him. He doesn’t know how much she can get before he turned eighteen, but there was plenty past then that he hopes she has no access to.

The NDAs he’s had to sign especially. He might be legally required not to talk about them, but the fact that he has them at all could be concerning. But those records would be sealed, right?

“So, Steve, you live in this house alone?”

“For the most part. My parents also live here but haven’t been back in at least a year and a half.”

He remembers that because they showed up for his graduation. Most kids went out to dinner to celebrate the day. Steve had to sit through a lecture on how he was going to fix the fact that he didn’t get into any colleges.

She nods and glances over the papers in front of her again. Each second without a question making his pulse speed up.

“That’s a long time to be away from the house. Do you take care of all the needs while they are away?”

Steve nods. “Yes. I have been given the rights to upkeep the house. So, paying all of the bills on time, making necessary purchases, making sure everything is up to date and replacing anything that isn’t.”

“And how long have you been doing that?”

He has the strong urge to lie but thinks that could be dangerous. But what is worse, saying that he’s only been doing it for two years, or since he was sixteen.

“I started to take over some of these responsibilities when I was sixteen. But that was mostly the financial stuff. Other normal chores I’ve been doing for longer.”

Sarah makes an almost startled look before writing something down in her notes, flipping to the next page before continuing her questions. Asking how long his parents would normally be away. If there was any change they would come home in the near future. How frequent these trips were and when did they start.

“What I am getting here is you know the financials and other necessities of keeping a good house very well, Steve,” she says with a hint of concern. “Even before you became a legal adult.”

If she only knows the things he’s done, the things he’s seen before becoming a legal adult. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Alright, let’s move on to the rest of the basic questions.”

She asks him if there are any weapons in the house. Basic safety questions to ensure that the house is fit. Then moves on to asking about him. When he graduated high school, where he works. What he likes to do in his free time. What his strengths and weaknesses are. General interview questions to get a better assessment of his personal life.

“You’re doing fine, Steve. You can calm down,” she jokes, marking one last thing before moving on to the last question.

He laughs. “Was it that obvious?”

She nods. “It always is. I just have a few more questions for you and I will leave you be.”

“Alright,” he rubs his palms gently against his jeans.

“Why do you think you would be the right placement for Julie?” She asks it with a smile, trying to make him feel safe but her words only making him panic.

He takes a moment to settle himself, try to think of what to say without it being jumbled. All the reasons seem obvious but not enough. To get her out of a house she hates. To give her a home where she feels safe. Be able to help get her through the rest of her schooling and help her go to the college she wants. Support her through the rest of her life, even if it isn’t permanent.

To finally be able to have the family he’s always wanted.

“I want her to be able to have a home that she feels safe coming home to. For her to have somewhere that feels like a home, that feels like a family. When we first met, I didn’t know what was going to come of it. But I knew I wanted to help her.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to figure out the best way to put it.

“My father is a difficult man. He’s done a lot of things in his life that I don’t approve of, or would repeat. And I couldn’t help but think that I had to help her. She was a victim of his mistakes, something I knew how to manage. So, I got to know her. I reached out and waited for her to make the decision if she wanted to get to know me. And she did.”

Steve thinks back to the first few moments of meeting her. The sorrow for him in her eyes that came with the information she’d given him. Not even realizing that she’d given him the one thing he’s begged for since he was little. A sibling. He’d be stupid not to try to get to know her.

“I know I’m not what you normally see when it comes to potential guardians. And I know that there are people that are going to tell you that this is a bad idea. You might even think it yourself, without them telling you. But I care about Julie, and I want to make sure she’s in a house that can provide for her. That loves her. And if I’m not the best fit for it, if there’s someone better, I’m not going to stop it. But she seems to really like it here, she comes over almost every day. And it might just be because she doesn’t like that other house, but I can’t help but think that she likes it here. That she feels comfortable with me.”

Sarah places down her pen and looks at him, fully paying attention to what he is saying. It only makes him feel like he’s saying the right thing.

“All I want is to make sure she’s taken care of. That she’s getting what she needs to survive through this change. I want to be there for her while she grieves her mom. Even though she tries to hide how bad it is. I want to make sure that she can go to the college she wants to. I want to make sure that she’s happy. And even if you tell me this isn’t possibly, that I’m not the right fit for her. I’m still going to be there for her, because I want to be her family. Whatever that means for us.”

All Sarah does is smile and close the file in front of her. “I think that answered the rest of the questions I had for you. You did very well.”

“Thank you,” he sighs in relief. “When will I figure out your decision.”

“Well, I have one last interview to do with Julie, but soon. We’re moving quicker than normal as the state of that house she’s currently placed in is not meeting my standard. They won’t be fostering for us anymore after this,” she adds as if she isn’t supposed to tell him. “You should be hearing from me within the next week or so.”

Only a few more days until he figures out if this was all for nothing.

“Thank you, for even considering this,” he says while walking her out.

“It is always a priority for me to look at family members, especially those who care as much as you do.” She holds out her hand and he shakes it. “It was a pleasure meeting with you again, Steve.”

With that, she walks out the door and the inspection ends. Leaving him with what feels like misplaced hope starting to flutter in his chest. He might have actually pulled this off. Just might.

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet, @steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy, @connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso, @crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @cheddartreets, @theupsidedownrealestateagent, @acidbubblegummie, @sirsnacksalot, @l0st-strawberry, @helpimstuckposting, @strawberry-starss, @freddykicksasses, @italianwhore1, @i-threw-my-name-out-the-window, @rageagainsttheapathy, @nuggies4life, @ape31, @whimsicalwitchm, @chrissycunninghamfanblog, @michellegilligan, @hippielittlemetalhead, @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale, @jaytriesstuff, @confused-stripes, @faeb1tch42069, @marklee-blackmore, @hel-spawn, @genderless-spoon, @mamafaithful, @estrellami-1, @starryeyedpoet17 @i-amthepizzaman, @lilpomelito @melonmochi

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #julie lawson #dustin henderson #lost sibling fic #secret sibling #steve has a sibling #steve has a sister #tw minor panic attack #cw minor panic attack #stranger things fanfic #fanfic

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critter-genfic-events · 11 months

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This week, we have thirteen angsty fics for you! Look under the cut, heed the warnings, and don't forget to comment or kudos if you like them!

our lives were never ours by vivolet (145817,Mature) Warnings: canon-typical violence, character death, implied/referenced suicide, implied/referenced torture, Pairings:

The Mighty Nein, but make it Hunger Games fusion.

Reccer says: Hunger Games AUs are a guilty pleasure of mine and I have such a soft spot for this series. It focuses on Yasha and Caduceus, so if you love those two and want lots of angst and torment and focus on their characters, this series has you covered. The level of detail, the continuity porn that utilizes every scrap of canon detail and puts it to use in a new setting, and the beautiful prose make it a compelling read. It will hurt your soul.

wild mountain thyme (among blooming heather) by Aurelie (NowImJustSomebodyThat) (8107,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Korrin/Vilya

Vilya's memories do not all come back at once

Reccer says: I love considering Vilya's story from her point of view, and the nonlinear narrative here is heartbreaking and beautiful

those that crawl and flutter towards the sun by vietbluecoeur (6163,Not Rated) Warnings: Major Character Death Pairings: Essek Thelyss & Jester Lavorre

AU; Essek's curiosity gets the better of him and he develops a friendship with a creature who only lives for three days. As that creature is Jester, she makes it memorable.

Reccer says: The worldbuilding is beautiful, the prose is gorgeous, and the tragedy is delicious.

the seed that falls on good ground by Ford_Ye_Fiji (1750,Teen) Warnings: Body Horror, Spiders Pairings:

While traveling with the Crownkeepers, Orym receives his own creepy crown dream.

Reccer says: I love Orym as an incorruptible beacon of light and I love it even more when he's being tempted. The angst is delicious.

a walk-on role in the script of your long, long grift by grayintogreen (1136,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings:

Cree delivers the threshold crest.

Reccer says: It's always a good time to feel sad about Cree.

come around when you break by maybetwice (3861,General) Warnings: None Pairings:

In the aftermath of the final fight in EXU, Opal gets taken care of.

Reccer says: I'm a sucker for stories where a sad character gets tended to by their friends and Opal went through A LOT in that last fight. She deserves to get pampered by all of her friends.

my devils they whisper in my ear, deafening me with all my fears (i'm living in a nightmare) by Ford_Ye_Fiji (12128,Mature) Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Disassociation, Suicidal Thoughts Pairings: Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III & Vox Machina

Scanlan does not destroy the pepperbox. For Percy it goes about as well as expected.

Reccer says: I liked it

One, Two, Switch-a-roo by Allise (3712,General) Warnings: Chronic Pain Pairings: Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III & Vox Machina, Keyleth & Vox Machina, Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III & Keyleth

Vox Machina manage to find some magical box that switches the body of whoever's closest. What happens when Keyleth and Percy get caught in the blast?

Reccer says: It's not that I want other people to deal with chronic pain, but there's something of a wish fulfillment in having someone else experience the pain and

From the Ocean to the Shore by commoncomitatus (7775,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Jester Lavorre & Mollymauk Tealeaf

A missing scene from C2E16 wherein Jester is hypervigilant about her friends going down and receives some much-needed comfort.

Reccer says: I love Jester angst and this fic has a unique perfectly Jester rhythm to the prose that makes it a fun read while still being very much in the vein of angst. If you like reading characters being sad but in a less gut-punching, visceral way, this is a fic for you.

the infinite grains of sand by jadeandquartz (1327,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings:

A look at Fearne's thoughts as she's forced to make That Decision.

Reccer says: The absolute tragedy of Fearne having to choose between which of her friends to revive is something I love seeing explored, and this fic does it so eloquently and true to Fearne's feyness.

the worst thing to happen by k_152 (2588,General) Warnings: Major Character Death Pairings:

The fight with Otohan ends with everyone but Imogen dead. She acts accordingly.

Reccer says: I LOVE a good Villain Arc story and this presents such an enticing what-if while also punching you in the feels.

i wont hurt you by dearestpiers (3038,General) Warnings: Vaguely suicidal thoughts; childhood illness; animal death; offscreen Nein deaths Pairings: Caduceus & Clay Family, Caduceus & Essek

An exploration of Caduceus's relationship with death, from childhood through meeting the Nein to long after.

Reccer says: I liked it

Home is Where the Heart Is by LessAttitudeMoreAltitude (1720,General) Warnings: Panic attacks, vomiting, self-harm, Caleb-typical self-esteem issues Pairings: Caleb & Essek, Caleb & Beau, brief mentions of all canon M9 romantic relationships

Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum, but being alone there makes him panic.

Reccer says: I liked it

If you liked this rec list, follow along for more! We'll be posting a new list with a new theme each Monday. Want to make your own recs? Check out the rules, and then use the form to submit!

If you didn't get enough angst this week, next week we're going to have recs featuring Percy!

Then, we'll have fights, modern AU's, and cuddling!

Also, the last few rec lists have had errors in their word count and ratings - I just went back and fixed them. If you're looking for more, why not check them out?

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tastefulstars · 1 year

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Of Wolf and Man 4/?

steve harrington x f!reader x eddie munson

a/n: all 4 parts total 14.6k words and we've just gotten a kiss, we're moving up in the world lads.

w/c: 3.9k

warnings: 18+ only mdni. slow burn. r is a werewolf. body horror. mutual pining. body horror. grief. angst. hurt/comfort. pov change halfway. r is Going Through It. eddie and steve take care of r. not proof read. kidnapping. violence. murder. blood/gore + descriptions of the aftermath of torture.

masterlist

part one / two /three

tags: @steddieloverrr @cherrycolas-things @5sosjay

You've always dealt with pain, you have to being what you are but this was a new level. There wasn't a moment of the day where you weren't in agony, longing for it to stop.

Your arms and wrists burned from the chains holding you, your flesh bubbling and tearing under the silver. Your legs were adorned with cuts, varying in length and depth and the hunters sprinkled something over the wounds to stop you from healing too quickly.

Your back was a mess of torn flesh and gaping wounds from the whippings they subjected you to daily.

Everything hurt and ached, and you weren't sure how much more you could take.

It had only been a couple of days since the hunters took you. You knew Steve and Eddie and the rest of the group would be looking for you, that they'd probably gone to Hopper and Joyce for help, you just had to find a way to hold on.

"This one isn't breaking as quick as the others" One of the men mutters to his companions, his voice making your skin crawl.

"Does it matter? It'll break eventually. They always do."

"And, means more fun for us"

You wanted to hurl at their tone, at their voices, wanted to lash out and break free and go home. You waited, lost in your memories of Steve and Eddie and your parents, knowing that either they'd get bored and kill you or your boys would find you.

Another couple of days go past in a blur of blood and agony when you realize the hunters had made a mistake.

The youngest had been put on watch for the evening while the others rested, only he hadn't secured your chains properly and there was enough slack for you to slip out of them. You knew you wouldn't have another opportunity to escape them so you waited, watching as the hours ticked past and he started yawning, his eyes slipping closed.

You ignored the pain and carefully slipped your restraints. Your heart in your throat and you held your breath as you crept over to the hunter.

He barely had time to react before your hands were gripping his head tightly, twisting and snapping his neck, the noise bringing bile to your throat. It was a quick death and not one he deserved, but it was quiet.

You crept to his companions, each one suffered a similar fate - a crushed throat or suffocated with a pillow. They all died quickly and you resented it, wishing you could have taken your time - made them suffer for the pain they caused you, for the deaths of your parents and so many others.

You stumbled away from them, hands shaking and vision swimming with unshed tears. You didn't want to be the killer they thought you to be. You hated wanting to inflict pain and suffering on others - no matter how much they deserved it.

Your wounds weren't healing yet and you knew you couldn't stay here. You look around for something to cover yourself, not wanting someone seeing your flayed back, cut up body and wanting to help but you can't see anything besides the hunters jackets and the idea of putting on their clothes made you want to scream.

You grind your teeth and decide to risk it. There was so much blood covering you, so it wouldn't make much difference. You stumble out of the warehouse, distantly realizing that it was the same one that you crawled out of the upside down of all those months ago.

You walk.

Rocks and sticks tear at the soles of your feet and each step was agony. Tears seep down your cheeks, creating tracks through the blood staining your skin.

You walk.

It feels like hours, but eventually, you shuffle closer to your home. The houses of your neighbors creep closer and closer and you nearly sob in relief when you see your house.

Steve's car was parked in the driveway, and you could hear too many heartbeats and voices inside, and you know that all of your friends are there.

You steel yourself, taking a deep breath before you push open your door and walking inside.

The noise stops.

You turn, and everyone is there - Steve and Eddie and Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Hopper and Joyce, Max, El, Mike, Will, Lucas, and Dustin. You could have laughed at their stunned and horrified expression if you weren't so tired.

"Oh my god," Joyce breathes out, and you let go of the lungful of air you were holding.

You move, hands shaking as you reach for a pack of smokes that were thrown on the table and taking one and lighting it.

"I'm gonna shower," you say, voice muffled around the cigarette stick, and you leave everyone in a stupor for your bathroom.

You keep your eyes lowered when you enter, not wanting to see the absolute carnage that was your body.

You stand under the cold spray of water, watching blood swirl around your feet and down the drain, when the door creaks open and you're overwhelmed with the scents of Eddie and Steve.

"Honey?" Eddie's voice is small and worried, and your lower lip trembles.

"Smoking in the shower was a bad idea." You choke out and Eddie slides the door open, plucking the wet cigarette out of your fingers and tossing it into the sink.

Eddie's hands grip yours tightly, holding onto you while you cry silently.

Steve moves closer and begins to gently wash your body. Fingers careful and slow, ensuring he wasn't putting any pressure on your slowly healing wounds. He peels your undies down your legs and tosses them into the sink along with the abandoned smoke.

"We've got you," Eddie murmurs, "we've got you, love."

Eddie holds onto you while Steve cleans you and when the water stops running with blood, they wrap themselves around you.

You sob into their chests and arms and they hold you through it until your breathing settles and you sway in their arms, your legs giving out on you and there's a knock at the door.

"We're comin', hang on" Eddie calls.

He gently passes you to Steve and steps out of the shower, reaching around the two of you to turn off the water. Steve lifts you easily, cradling you to his chest and hums when Eddie places a towel over your form, tucking it around you carefully to ensure you were covered.

You close your eyes and listen to Steve's heartbeat, strong and there, against your cheek. Eddie's voice soothes you as he talks to Hopper, your pain easing the longer they're with you.

"Hop, just give her a minute," Eddie's saying as he follows Steve to your room.

"It's been nearly an hour, Munson" Hopper sighs, "I need to know what happened and make sure nothing's going to cause problems."

Eddie turns and glares at him.

"No. It can wait until we've dressed her wounds and she's got clothes on" He snaps, shutting the door in Hoppers face.

You hear Hopper sigh and mutter about damn stubborn kids before retreating back to the living room with the others.

Steve sits you down on the edge of your bed, carefully patting you dry with the towel. He's so gentle with you and your heart shatters, tears welling, and you're not sure what you did to deserve it.

Eddie sits on the bed, angled behind you and begins to inspect your back, inhaling sharply.

"Shit"

You don't notice the desperate look he sends Steve but you feel Steve moving and his quick intake of breath.

A hand cups your cheek and it takes everything in you to pry open your eyes. Steve's face is an open book for his concern, worry written plain for you to see.

"Bug, we- your. Your back is healing which is great, but there's some. Most of the wounds have knitted back together right? But there's some skin that's - we might need to cut it off"

His voice is wavering but soft, his thumb strokes your cheek as he talks. Your mind is numb and you trust him and Eddie so you nod.

Steve's eyes are warm and filled with love and you watch him as Eddie begins cleaning up your back. Steve and Eddie murmur to you, soft nothings that wash over you and settles your brain into a mindless buzzing.

"All done, Baby" Eddie murmurs as he finishes wrapping your torso with bandages, tying it off and tucking the excess.

You glance over your shoulder and wish you hadn't. Eddie had placed an old towel behind you and it was covered in scraps of your flesh and bloody bandages.

"Here" Steve's hands gently lift your calf and you feel the soft fabric of your pants slide against your skin. They work quickly to dress you in loose comfortable clothes and clean up the mess.

"You okay to talk to Hopper?" Eddie asks, pressing a kiss against your shoulder.

"Just him, please" Your whisper, eyes on the floor. Shame fills you as you remember your actions, what you did. Your head falls and you cover your face with your hands.

You don't hear Eddie and Steve leaving, or Hopper entering the room, and you startle when a hand comes to rest on your shoulder. Your head snaps up and your heart leaps into your throat before you realize you're still safe, that Hopper wouldn't hurt you.

"You alright, kid?"

His voice is gruff and your face falls, tears welling in your eyes and you can't stop your body from shaking. You shake your head 'no' and Hopper's arm wraps around your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

"What happened?"

His voice held no judgement and you took a deep breath, pulling away from him and sitting up as straight as you could with your injuries.

"Did the others tell you everything I've told them?" You ask, not really wanting to talk about your entire life story right now and he nods, "Okay. Okay. They found me, knew where I'd been for a while I guess, took me to the old steelworks."

You absentmindedly rub at the healing burns that wrap around your wrists and forearms as you speak, feeling the raised skin under your fingertips.

"They're dead, Hop" You admit quietly, "They killed my parents and now they're dead."

"Tell me what happened" He matches your volume, keeping his voice soft.

You do, you tell him everything that had happened over the past few days, from the moment they busted down your door to stumbling back home covered in your own blood, and he listens until you're stumbling over your words and falling silent.

He sighs deeply, hand coming back to rest on your shoulder.

"Kid, listen to me" He leans forward and catches your eye, "It was them or you, alright? Like you said, they would have killed you and you ain't gotta feel guilty for doing what you had to to survive."

Hopper pauses, waiting for you to acknowledge his words with a small nod.

"Alright. Now, I don't want you to worry about this, I'll take care of the steelworks. You just stay here and heal, let those boys take care of you, okay? I'll take care of it."

You nod again and relief floods through you, making your body sag. Hopper pats your arm and grunts as he wanders out of the room. You lay down, knowing that Steve and Eddie would make their way back to you soon. Your eyes slip closed and you feel your exhaustion slam into you like a truck.

When they'd arrived to your front door kicked in and the coffee table knocked over, it took every ounce of self control to not freak out. Eddie carefully stepped through your living room, calling your name and Steve was reaching for the phone - intent on calling for Hopper because he knew what this meant and he needed help.

He's not surprised when the kids show up not too long after the phone call, El's guilty face greeting his.

"I heard you and Dad talking" She says softly, "We want to help, he'll be here soon."

Sure enough, Steve spots the cruiser pulling up behind his own car and he just sighs and lets them in. Eddie's sitting on the couch, knee bouncing rapidly as he chews on his thumbnail. Steve meets his eyes and see's his own fear reflected back at him.

Steve sits heavily on the couch beside him and hooks his fingers with Eddies, leans on him in a quiet show of support.

"Alright, what's the emergency?" Hopper asks, frowning at the gathered group.

Steve takes a deep breath, squeezes Eddie's fingers, and talks. He tells Hopper everything you had told them months ago, about the hunters, how you'd warned them of what they could do, and how they'd come over to the front door kicked in and you missing.

The kids take over once he finishes, explaining their experiments to test your abilities and ideas on what to do to find you, making Hopper pinch the bridge of his nose before growling at them all to be quiet.

There's not much they can do, besides driving around town and looking for places that you might have been taken. Hopper instructs the kids to go home, not do anything stupid, that he'd look into it and ushered everyone out.

Eddie's eyes are glassy and his lashes clumped together with tears, his lower lip trembled and Steve felt his heart break in his chest.

Steve cups his head and wraps his other arm around Eddie, cradling him in his arms and he feels his own tears wetting his cheeks.

"Can't loose her again" Eddie's voice trembles, wet and broken, "Stevie, I can't- we can't loose her. Not again, we just got her back."

"I know, honey" He murmurs into Eddie's hair, "She'll come back to us."

They cling to each other for a few moments before Eddie pulls away, wiping at his eyes and sniffing.

"We need to go find her" He says, standing and pulling at Steve's hands.

They drive for hours, Eddie practically hanging out the window like it could help him see better, with no luck. They stumble back into your home in the early hours of the morning, collapsing into your bed with aching hearts.

The following days pass in much the same manner, driving around town trying to find you and collapsing in bed together - wrapped around each other with clinging hands.

The group gathers again, Hopper bringing Joyce into the fold and updates everyone with what he's found - a couple of new face's had been seen around town but there wasn't many more leads when the door creaks open and you stumble in, looking like you'd stepped in a shower of blood.

You were practically naked, skin cut open and torn all over, and you take one of Joyce's smokes and mutter about a shower and limp down the hall.

Steve and Eddie shoot up and follow you, acid rising up the back of their throats as they take in the mess that was your back. They hold you as you sob and clean you, Eddie nearly throws up when he gets a better look at your back.

His hands shake as he lays out a towel behind you and puts on a pair of gloves. He dry heaves as picks up a pair of scissors taken from your first aid kit, and gently lifts a piece of skin that was hanging off you and begins to cut.

You looked like you'd been shredded. Your back torn apart and knitted back together with bits of flesh hanging. Anger burns hot through his veins at the men who tore you apart like this and he clenches his jaw, not wanting to accidently hurt you.

By the time he's done, there's a small pile of your skin on the towel and he drops the scissors onto the mess - intending on throwing the whole lot out once he's done.

He continues to patch you up, wrapping you in gauze and bandages until every inch of the still healing wounds were dressed and covered.

It takes a while but he patches you up and helps Steve dress you and you talk to Hopper, and then everyone's gone again.

Steve's standing in the doorway to your room, watching you sleep when Eddie's arm encircle him and his chin rests on Steve's shoulder.

"Should we wake her? She'll need to eat" He murmurs, staring at you unblinkingly.

"Let her rest for a bit," Steve whispers back, stepping towards you and pulling Eddie along with him.

They gently climb into bed with you, putting you securely between them. Steve's arms wrap around you and Eddie, who tangles his legs with yours. You snuffle, snuggling deeper into their embrace.

Eddie and Steve quietly hold you and each other while you sleep, taking comfort in your soft breathing. They lay there for hours, watching you, watching the wounds still visible close and fade into light scars, until you sniff - nose scrunching and a soft groan slips from your lips.

"Baby?" Steve whispers and your eyes open, flickering between them.

"Stevie" You answer, just as quiet, "Eds"

"God, Honey" Eddie breathes out, "no more disappearing okay?"

"Yeah, I think I can do that"

Your lips twitch into a small smile and Eddie's chest grows three sizes and he's leaning closer, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You make a little noise of surprise before pressing back into the kiss, your hand sliding up Eddie's arm and tangling in his hair.

Eddie presses a couple of quick pecks against you before pulling away and Steve's hand is cupping your cheek and then he's kissing you. He's not as soft as Eddie, kissing deeper and messier.

He pulls away when your stomach growls loud enough to hear and you groan.

"'m so hungry" You mutter, realizing just how long it's been since you ate last and how much energy you were burning through while healing.

Eddie springs up from the bed, gathering you up and wrapping his hand around Steve's.

"Should we order in or cook?" Eddie asks as he leads you and Steve to the kitchen, "what do you want, Baby?"

"Don't care, Eds" You say, peering into the fridge.

"How about you two go relax and I'll put something together for us?" Steve offers, soft smile gracing his face and Eddie smiles back before pressing a kiss against Steve's lips and pulls you to the couch.

You practically climb into Eddie's lap, almost purring in contentment when he wraps his arms around you and holds you tightly. You let your eyes slip closed and press your nose against Eddie's neck, breathing him in and listening to Steve in the kitchen.

You relax, the sounds and smells of your boys filling you with a complete sense of safety and home that you feel yourself going limp, your heart slowing, matching Steve's and Eddies.

Steve's hand gently strokes your arm and you lift your head, eyes half closed and feeling a little drunk from Eddie's scent. He sits flush beside Eddie and you slide over to his lap, wanting to bury your face in his neck and drink him in as well but you're stopped with gentle but firm hands on your waist.

"You gotta eat first, Bug" Steve tells you, voice fond and warm and you want nothing more than to just crawl into them and live there forever.

You look at the food and realising just how hungry you were, you practically inhaling the food much to the boys' amusement. Steve rubs your back, hand warm against your newly healed skin.

"Still hungry?" He asks, already slipping you back to Eddie's lap and moving back to the kitchen to fetch more food for you.

"Need lots of food" You mutter around a mouthful, "takes a lot to heal like this"

"I'm going to order something" Eddie states, sliding out from under you and joining Steve in the kitchen.

You're not really sure how much exactly you eat but you watch your boys faces go from amusement to incredulous, their eyebrows creeping higher the more you eat. You sigh and lean back into the couch, hand patting your stomach.

"Alright, I feel better"

Eddie laughs and you feel your lips curling into a smile and Steve kisses your temple, murmuring a quiet 'good' against your skin.

"I- You don't have to worry about this happening again" You admit, knowing they would want answers but not pressuring you into talking before you were ready, "They're um, I. They're dead."

Eddie takes your hand and Steve holds your thigh, their touches grounding you and you nod.

"Yeah, I. I don't think I'll have to worry about hunters again"

"Are they the only ones?" Steve asks quietly, not wanting to upset you.

"Probably not" You concede, "but they were the only ones who seemed intent on y'know, hunting I guess. I've never heard of any issues with any other groups."

"Either way," Eddie starts, squeezing your hand, "we'll be with you."

"Hmm, yeah." Steve agrees, "we're not letting you out of our sight ever again, Bug."

Something settles inside you and you're overwhelmed with how much you love them, how much you feel like you belong with them. You feel your wolf simmering under your skin and you know you'd need to shift in the next day or two after so violently suppressing the change over the past few days.

Your knee starts to bounce without you noticing and Steve gently holds it.

"You okay, honey?"

"Yeah. I just-" You don't finish your sentence, feeling like you had ants crawling under your skin and memories of the hunters voices flash through your mind, "I. It's a lot, I don't know."

"Do, would changing help?" Eddie asks, resting his cheek against your shoulder.

"Yeah, I think so," you admit, "everything's always simpler when I'm a wolf. Easier."

"Then, let's go downstairs, yeah?"

"Wait-" Eddie's voice stops you in your tracks before you reach the basement door. He starts rushing around the room, collecting pillows and blankets and snacks until his arms are full and he can barely see over his load.

"Might as well make it cosy," He says, voice muffled behind a pillow. Steve laughs softly and pulls a few items from him, helping carry the items.

Your stomach flutters at their easy acceptance, and you knew that you'd never love anyone the way you love these two. Completely and all consuming. They were a balm to all your agonies and a light in the dark.

Your throat closes up, chest tight with the weight of your emotions.

They worked together to create a little nest of blankets and pillows while you strip, letting the change take over and its the first time in a very long time that the shift doesn't have you screaming in pain.

You shake out your fur and huff, trotting over to your boys and sticking your nose into Steve's neck, making him yelp and Eddie laugh.

You wait for them to sit, curled into each other before you wrap your large form around them and settle in for the night.

Your mind and body settles, and the only thing that runs through your thoughts was home love mine home safe home home home.

#stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steddie x reader #steddie x you #werewolf #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve x reader x eddie #story:owam

64 notes · View notes

thelureking · 5 months

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LILIUM'S 2023 GAME LIST:

Hey! Better late than never! I actually have been editing this list since november, but I lost some of the things I said about the last games and it took me this long to remember what I had written. The risks I run because my mind flows better when I write with pen and paper. So, seeing how well the last list did on my memory, and because I got bored of talking to myself, I shall torture the unlucky ones who have found this post with both my video game taste and my rambles about them. I am so sorry in advance.

It's the same as before: they are ordered chronologically, from first played/finished to last, not ranked in how much I liked them. If I dont say a lot its not because I didn't like it, or that it was bad. At times I didn't want to give too much away. This time I tried to write each segment right after finishing them, or the following days, so that's why I talk way more or in more detail about each game and my own opinions. And who knows, maybe this will be a yearly thing. I like it, I'm Having fun. And hopefully some of these games get the love they deserve by whoever reads this.

So, once again, and now with more words:

1) Mothmen 1966

Mothmen being in the title was enough for me to give it a go, so it's good to say that the game is also good. It is divided by chapters, each one from the perspective of one of our three protagonists, showing the perspective of these vastly different people even if they are connected in some way. The game goes from a visual novel style to changing the gameplay to be interactive while also maintaining its format, something that I found entertaining. Its visuals are a treat, and I believe they enhance the horror presented in the story. All of the parts in this game work in its favor. I cannot believe I am actually saying this, but to get an achievement you need to take an L. I am not joking. It is part of a puzzle and me being good at it made me miss an achievement. No hard feelings, I had a good laugh about it as I was going back to the save file and doing it again. Sometimes, sucking is the way to go. I may have spent way too much time trying to win the Impossible Solitaire. But I will, one day, you'll see.

2) Roadwarden

You know a game is good when I play it for hours uninterrupted and is the main reason I turn on the computer.

Roadwarden is, as the title image says, an illustrated text based RPG, in which you take the role of a Roadwarden who is tasked to explore an unknown peninsula to expand a merchant's guild's influence, establish its safety, and find out what happened to the missing previous roadwarden.

Let me tell you, this game is amazing from both a mechanical and storytelling level. Mechanically because the game keeps track of so many things, it will remember even an answer you gave at the very beginning, and it'll become an integral part of your character. Even little thoughts as you are about to sleep will shape who you are playing as. On the story telling level, so many of the quests and towns are interlinked that holding back on finishing certain quests is the way to go, although in some cases having as many done as possible will no doubt help. The characters and towns are all unique and memorable, each with history that shapes them and how they interact with each other and you, the outsider. Both gameplay and story service each other to present an experience unlike any other, enhancing each other at every opportunity. The art and soundtrack set the perfect atmosphere for each moment. And the world building. Man, the world building, it's just. So well done, you actually believe this is a real place that existed before you arrived, and that it will continue to do so after you leave. It wasn't waiting for you, it did not kick into gear just because you showed up. It has its own issues, its own history, its own people, nature, culture, and you can feel that with each written word, each piece of information. I can't even explain properly just how good the world building is.

I just really fell in love with being a guy on the road taking care of these settlements' problems, getting to know their inhabitants and gaining their trust, all while falling in love with the game. There is one quest that I do not want to spoil, but the ending was so. Fitting, in a way, that I was surprised I didn't see it coming. Even as I saw the achievement name once I completed it, I looked back and just. I just smiled like damn, good job.

If you want to really take in this entire world and its people, I would personally recommend playing in Casual, since any other difficulty setting will put a limit to the days you'll be allowed to stay, and I must stress that this experience must not be rushed. Unless you dont mind a time challenge, in which case you do you. Also don't know about your memory, but I needed to take notes, and some highlights are: "Efren marry me", "We should have all stabbed Thais full Julius Caesar style", "Eudica and Efren my beloveds" and "Thyrsus is my Warlock Uncle". With that being said, the Journal mechanic is a god sent, and I can't be more grateful that it exists. Finally, a journal that doesn't get stuck in the first sentences of a quest from when you first got it.

Oh boy, those are a lot of words. Can you tell I really liked this game? I can't wait to see more from this developer.

EDIT: THE GAME HAS RECEIVED A HUGE UPDATE THAT I HAVE YET TO PLAY, BUT OH BOY IT'S MAKING ME WANT TO REPLAY THE ENTIRE GAME AGAIN.

3) Exhibit of Sorrows

A short game set in a clown exhibit, with a point - click and drag gameplay. I'll keep this one short, since this game can be played for free in both browser and for download in Itchio, and it is a neat little thing that you can beat as fast or as slow as you want. You interact with each exhibit, clicking and dragging the mouse depending on what you need to do, each with a little buddy that you need to help or have fun with to get the key, and proceed to the next screen. Its length and artstyle make for a fun and interesting experience, pacing itself beautifully. It is effective in every way. And come on, they are clowns, they are so cute and look like plushies. I love them all.

4) The Firebrand

A game about a detective interrogating a woman with different word prompts that he writes down in his notebook, all which branch into more questions and answers. You'll uncover the story and the truth of this conversation as you play along, finding out stuff about the woman, the detective, and even the world they live in. It is an interrogation against a clock that keeps on ticking, and luckily the developers give us the chance to check out a dialogue tree and how to get both the Normal and True Ending. With that in mind, the questions that don't lead to either of these are worth reading, as they serve to paint a bigger picture. And hey, you can also get the Bad Ending while you do it.

5) Royal Alchemist

Royal Alchemist is a visual novel in which you, the protagonist, are tasked with tutoring the three princes of a nation. You will fight for your life against the challenges this new position presents and also the stat checks you will have to pass at different points of the story, both of your character and the princes. Speaking of, each one of them represents a different route, with their recommended order (which I highly request following as stated by the creators: Aurelius, then Serin, and finally Nazir. Trust me, they were made to be experienced like this, you wont regret it). You will experience the constant back and forth, the battle of swords and wits with Aurelius, the emotional build up with Serin, and to describe the main appeal of Nazir's route before playing it would be a spoiler. The romance in this VN is some of the best I've experienced. I have never read about two characters holding hands in such an intimate way, it made the pure build up of a route worth every second. And the Princes aren't the only interesting characters, this visual novel is full of fun and complex characters, all with their own personalities and roles. From Raphael, the butler who might as well be the patron saint of patience, to Viola, the infamous head merchant. It has a mechanic of stat raising and, as stated before, there will be points in the story where you will need to reach a certain level of a skill to be able to pass. But don't worry, there is an official guide made by the developers which is a life saver, which not only has each stat requirement for each route, but also with neat additions like character profiles and more. The only criticism I'll give it is that some scenes are cut short when they could have been expanded on and it would have had a better effect, not only in terms of an emotional connection, but also to further enforce the bond between the player and the relationship developed in the route. But besides that small complaint, this visual novel is one I would gladly recommend.

6) Fear & Hunger

God, this game. This game hates you on a mechanical level. This game will put the fear of god in you every time you get further away from a save point, every time you think "yeah I can take this enemy no problem" and next thing you know you are eating dinner with your creator; every time you think "oh neat, a new area" and proceed to eat shit and die for the next hour because you just lost a fucking arm and a leg and can't outrun your enemies anymore. And you refuse to start another run because you are just that stubborn, and you will suffer through the consequences of your early game actions. No this is not my personal experience what are you talking about. It is a bleak and grotesque horror rpg game, made with RPG Maker. You will accompany whichever poor soul you choose as your playable character in their trip to the dungeon of Fear and Hunger, for whichever the reason their story presents. Should you play this game? Be mindful of the triggering content, first and foremost. This is a dark game, and it does not shy away from depicting it. From enemy designs, gameplay mechanics, to the way of worshiping gods, to specific game overs, and so on. Its hard and you will feel it unfair. This game will not hold your hand, and when you think it does it will put its teeth around your wrist and tear it off your body, its saliva infecting your wound with poison and leaving you to rot. I love this game.

7) Clash: Robot Detective

Fun fact: I never look into games that much before playing them, which in this case led to the asssumption that I was going to play a robot. So I named my character Flesh, because I thought a robot named Flesh was funny and also cool. Turns out, I ended up playing a human named Flesh. Which was somehow even funnier, and ended up becoming a pattern when I played the extras, which have a different protagonist, and I decided to commit to the bit and named them Blood. Flesh and Blood, my favourite human beings.

You play as the extremely new assistant to our titular detective Clash, who asks for your help in solving a mystery taking place in the cruise ship you are vacationing on. Depending on the different dialogue options, you can play as the good or the bad cop, and Clash will balance you out in this act, which leads to different and interesting outcomes.

I have to say, the artstyle drew me in. I am a sucker for these types of illustrations, and I'm glad that the writing and story were as good. I was invested not only in the case, but also on Clash as a character, who I will longingly stare at from a distance because I respect his boundaries and preferences.

Keep on going, you majestic robot detective, I can't wait to see what kind of trouble you get into in the future.

8) EXCUSE ME SIR (Demo)

Long awaited (at least for me) DEMO from Airdoft (creator of FAITH) and , and it all came about because of her videos and a single tweet.

The demo is short, but it shows the great potential of what a game like this could grow into, and I cant wait to see it become a finished project.

EDIT: Sadly, the game has been canceled, so we won't be able to see this concept grow into a finished game. Hopefully it'll inspire others with its style and presentation.

9) (Don't) Open Your Eyes

In this room, you know how everything looks. Does that include your midnight intruder?

This entire VN is a one sided conversation between you and something that may or may not be there, shaped in the darkness of your closed eyelids. Both of you are gripped by the same question, the intrigue eats away at you. Your imagination runs wild trying to give shape to this anomaly, and it is so desperate for you to find out.

There is only one way to do so:

Don't open your eyes.

10) Fortress

Man, short and effective is the way to describe this one. It has such a fantastic grip on atmosphere and tension that I admire. It truly captures the feeling of returning to a place where an impactful childhood memory took place.

Using the same location and making you play through it at different times of the story was done so well. I was ready for things to happen just because they did in the past, the first half of the game, and expected them to happen again.

In the past, I was ready to shoot on sight. As an adult, I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger, not even to see if I could. I don't know why, months after playing it, this little thing has stuck with me the most.

11) The Shadows That Run Alongside Our Car

You leave the gas station with a stranger, either on the wheel or sitting next to you. The silence hangs heavy between you two, the road is empty, the sun is setting, and the end of the world is now. Time to break the silence, you get to choose who. In this visual novel you get to decide how this conversation at the end of the world unfolds, a game of perspective between our two characters, who may hide certain details about themselves or reveal them, if they give you the choice. After all, what would you gain by hiding a secret in this car ride? It could be your last.

12) Attack of the Murder Hornets

Hornets are evil, evil things of nature. They are coming for your bees.

They are coming for you.

BE READY

13) Baldur's Gate: Enhanced Edition (+ Siege of Dragon Spear)

There has to be a saying that goes: If you can't play the game everyone is talking about, go play every single game in it's series that came before it. Because that's what I did, even if I already wanted to play the Baldur's Gate games before the third one came around. But it was definitely a good push. The game's story has a much smaller scope than I expected, or maybe that's just how I feel now that I am currently playing the second game, but I think it works in its favor.

I think the reason I don't have much to say, besides the fact that I had lots of fun, is because my head is still processing Siege of Dragon Spear (with its much bigger scope) and what I am currently seeing in the second game. What all I'll say about that one now is man, what a way to start a sequel.

My suffering came mostly from the ruleset used (which I was unfamiliar with) and the fucking paralysis spell. Fuck it. ALL MY HOMIES HATE THE PARALYSIS SPELL.

In terms of characters, I didn't end up using most of the available NPCs in my party, even if I made the effort of recruiting them all, mostly because the ones I had I liked a lot. I liked Rasaad and I was pleasantly surprised he had a romance in the expansion AND the second game, which I am enjoying a lot. Jaheira and Khalid never left my party, same with Imoen who I kept treating like a sister because come on, the setup of being raised in the same city since birth and being childhood friends was perfect. I love Baeloth an unhealthy amount, he is so perfect in the expansion I made an effort to keep him in the party even if I had high reputation. In the expansion my party was insane looking. Like Oh yes, the Hero of Baldur's Gate, her monk companion Rasaad, Jaheira and... a gnome nobody knows why he is around, Baeloth the entertainer I guess, and a GOBLIN? At one point I did switch Jaheira for Viconia, only because Baeloth was one point of reputation away from leaving the party. I swear, the grip that man has on me. The story from Viconia's POV must be so funny: She gets recruited and instantly tells me she is fucking off, gets recruited again only because I dont want an idiot entertainer to leave; and then when she is about to be killed, who comes to her rescue? THIS DUMBASS. She must be like: GOD, DAMN IT, I CAN'T ESCAPE THIS BITCH. I am her surface curse.

My closing thought for this game is: Whoever made the TOSC maze... Who the fuck hurt you? Same goes for whoever made that final boss. WHY?!

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