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pastelgrungewrecker · 4 years

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My Pride Goeth Before His Fall

Stand up high in the prow Noble barque I steer Steady course for the haven Hew many foe-men

{More fallout from this, mind the tags, warning for eye trauma.}

“What will you do, Whirl of Polyhex, if your son’s retaliations become more... severe? How will you feel? What will you say?”

Whirl swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling his better eye brimming with tears that dripped over the lid- dewdrops that tangled in his arctic lashes.

“I’ll tell my young’n I’m proud. I’ll tell my baby bluebird I’m so, so proud...”

The words spat in the face of victims will always be cruelest- they will always be demanding and vindictive, ordering them to be Bigger and Better than the Poor Lost Souls who Hurt Them But Not Really That Much.

It will always be wrong. But still, it will continue.

This was no different.

Quickdraw breathed deep and slow, eyes no longer able to blink doe-long lashes over flickers of summer sunshine; sunshine snuffed out by someone who’s life had been so dominated by old and outcast ideals that they took Judgement on someone they deemed unworthy solely by their birth. Their existence.

Their family.

He answered questions with a voice level and cold and calculating to a fault- a voice that felt near robotic, digressing his pain and fear and suffering and choking down the feeling of being a spectacle...

They asked him to prove his cybernetic eyes were real, he did not cry as he held his eyelids wide and slid one free- as it was taken by a lawyer as a man in gold watched in burning horror.

He did not look at the cameras all around the courtroom. He did not look at his selected peer with his destroyed hand and rage-twisted scowl. He did not feed the vindication of his audience, he did not drink down their shame as he outlined the pain and cruelty he had lived so long through.

“I retaliated as any scared little brother would.”, he said quietly, “My sister had been shot, had been beaten. They were hurting my big sister like they wanted to hurt me for so long. I had to make it stop, in that moment. In that exact second, all I wanted was for them to stop. To let me help her. To let me try to keep my big sister with us.”

“And then?”

“And then, when my sister recovered, they wanted to hurt my little sisters. My little sisters who’d... never done anything to them. They held Chrona and sliced her cheek. They restrained Dani, and Kiki.”

“They sliced your sister’s cheek? So you knew the defendant had a knife?”

“Yes.”

“And still you aggravated them?”

“They gave me a choice, did he tell you that?”, asked Quickdraw, his circuitboard eyes drilling holes through the sleaze and grease coating the loaded question, “It was either they hurt my sisters... or me. I still remember what he said, exactly.”

“A-ah. And can you say for those present...?”

“You want us to let her GO? Alright, then we wanna make a deal. You won’t let us erase the Conspawn? You want us to leave your bastard sisters alone? Then you gotta pay up Quickdraw.”, he recited, “ You pay the piper and the kiddies go home free.”

“Is that so- can you back that up with evidence?”

“Yes, the security footage that was shown yesterday also includes audio, and he can be heard clearly saying it.”

A patronizing stare before the lawyer chuckled to himself, “I find that hard to believe-”

“Then play it.”

Silence.

Quickdraw’s eyebrows tilted down- just a degree, just enough, “If it is so hard to believe, then play it. I insist sir.”

Quickdraw watched the color rise in his oppositions face before they spat demands, as the judge pursed their lips and nodded. As the footage rolled and Quickdraw refused to flinch at the sounds of gravel and rattling fences.

You want us to let her GO...

The lawyer’s face darkened in anger. He stomped to the mockingbird cage of the stand and slammed his hands onto the wood, staring between Quickdraw’s unnerving eyes.

“Tell me, sir. Is it fun to watch?”, he asked in a hiss, a glimpse of Whirl’s manic sneer visible, “Does it make you all warm and tingly, watching them rip my face open after threatening the only people I’ll ever care about?”

“Witness dismissed.”

The judge nodded as Quickdraw rose and stepped away- His growing hair tied in a braid and swaying slowly in time like the serpent trying to tempt a Messiah.

Whirl watched, pain in his face as his chest clenched like a fist closed around each lung and twisted. When his name was called, summoning him to the stand his son had already haunted, he walked like he was set for the gallows.

He sat uncomfortably, frame and soul and grief too large for the box the law settled him in in this sideshow trial.

He listened to his sins read aloud, the sneer curling so many faces except the ones that mattered. He hung his head, his own braid overlong like the anchorchain of old ships in legends forgotten by everyone except those who sang the old songs.

He knew this tactic. He knew they wanted him angry and loud and brash and cruel. He knew they wanted to use his mistakes as the ink to sign away his son’s soul.

He felt the fire that always burned in his chest cavity snuff out, tendrils of smoke leaking up and up and out through his mouth to curl into words laced in the mist of tears cried at midnight into a bottle he hid between the headboard and the wall before Brainstorm woke up.

“What will you do, Whirl of Polyhex, if your son’s retaliations become more... severe? How will you feel? What will you say?”, asked the lawyer, pondscum clinging to the words.

Whirl swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling his better eye brimming with tears that dripped over the lid- dewdrops that tangled in his arctic lashes.

“I’ll tell my young’n I’m proud. I’ll tell my baby bluebird I’m so, so proud...”

“Pride, in violence?”

“He’s... He’s been through hell, my poor li’l dino nugget.”, said Whirl, choking on his words and unable to blink away traitorous tears, “He’s seen... He’s seen too damn much. Too much I couldn’t save him from and my GOD did I try to save him...”

The lawyer faltered, seeing the liquid stardust running down both of Whirl’s cheeks now.

“He’s seen all his parents fall the hell apart- and thank God we had Frogyy, I mean. Mimi. She kept alla us goin’, kept my babies safe during that mutiny on the Lost Light.”

Those present shifted uncomfortably.

“And then we made it here- and it was s’posed to be safe, sir.”

The lawyer flinched, the judge leaned to the side to gently rest a hand on Whirl’s shoulder.

“Take a deep breath, Mister Whirl- I understand this is hard to talk of. Take your time.”

A shaking breath, “I was a fuckin’ Wrecker- cream o’the crop and all. I had killcounts and I had mission successes and I had downright MURDER under my belt and I... I helped make. I helped make Quickdraw. QD. My li’l bluebird- me ‘n my honeybee made that! And Quickdraw is...”

Whirl wiped his face with a metal hand, “Quickdraw is ev’rything I thought I fuckin’ lost, back when they took my hands... my eye.”

He looked to the lawyer, “And then someboys decided that my li’l bluebird’s wings had to be clipped. They took his eyes cause his big sister’s Papa was a Con once upon a time. Cause her daddy suffered and burned down and built back up and she used that strength to stand tall and help her siblings do that too.”

The lawyer’s face was mottled with anger and fear.

“And you’re gonna stand here, in front’f your God and your Country and your HONOR... And ask me what I’m gonna tell him when he grows into his talons and defends the nest? I’m gonna tell him I’m proud, sir. I’m gonna look at him and tell him I’m proud that he stayed soft an’ loving in all the ways I couldn’t. And I’m gonna tell him I’m proud that he knows when to fly away and call the flock and I’m proud he knows when to stand and flare his claws and fight back.”

“Don’t you-”

“Counsel, I think that is quite enough.”, said the judge flatly, “So far, the past three days have been nothing but you desperately trying to say that a boy, when faced with violence, was wrong in defending himself and you should be ASHAMED of your behavior in this court!”

The silence was heavy and thick.

“You have proven nothing except, time and time again, that the attack on this family was mindless vigilante cruelty! There is no justification for these actions and all present know it. This... constant tearing of stitches is now over, Counsel, and the jury will now be dismissed to decide the outcome.”

The slam of a gavel, the rustle of people rising to their feet.

Whirl’s head hung down, words and images swimming round and round like dying minnows in polluted lakes before someone reached in to hold his steel hands tight.

He raised his head, expecting Brainstorm or Perceptor or even Ratchet or Cyclonus.

Xaaron looked down at him, tattoos on his chin warping from the way his lips trembled.

“I... I am sorry, Whirl.”, he whispered, “I am sorry for my assumptions- about you, about the family, about everyone. I... I simply did not understand. I did not try.”

Whirl blinked, slowly.

“I can see, now, that my... my grandson, your. Your bluebird. Is a survivor. As his parents are, as. As I once was. I spent so long in misery that I forgot that it loves company- but often mistakes it for competition. You have born much, and you have fought to never let it touch him, and something in you has broken from this.”

“I tried to keep my fam’ly safe, Mister Xaaron. And I fucked it up.”

“No. No you did not. You did all that you could, with all that you had- when those who could have helped turned their back upon you.”

Whirl rose from his seat, his prosthetic hand and Xaaron’s clenched together in some kind of unity, of steadying.

He stepped down from the stand for Xaaron to stand in front of him, and bow his own head.

“I am sorry for letting my own foolishness compound this family’s grief, and pain. But I want, more than anything, to make amends.”

Whirl swallowed, another lump in his throat made of baby’s breath and grave lilies as he felt Brainstorm seem to appear at his side.

“Then come visit.”, said the scientist quietly, “Come visit, get to know them, us. Without all... this interrogation. Come learn who Quickdraw is, aside from our names and the kid’s pain. Please.”

Xaaron’s head rose, and he nodded, “I will. Once the verdict is delivered, when you all go home I.. I will come and. And visit.”

Mimi stood by Quickdraw, watching the trio converse. Mimi’s arm went around her taller but younger brother’s birdcage ribs, and she hugged him gently.

“It’s gonna be alright, pigeon.”

“Why d’you always call me pigeon?”, he huffed.

“Cause you’re actually a dove, Quickdraw, you just don’t recognize it yet.”

#pastelwrites #humanformers #fankids #crim is going to Destwoy Me UwU #mentions of eye trauma #cybernetic prosthetic fuckery

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heyhihellowhatsup0 · 4 years

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Tangled Webs - Chapter Three (Peter Parker x Reader)

Dark Webs Masterlist | Tangled Webs Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, language, Smut (smut in this chapter!), Topics of death and depression, PTSD, more angst, violence, a bit more fluff and smut than the last series? Somewhat ignoring the MCU timeline due to mature content

Word Count: 5520

Summary: When the truth begins to unfold about whats happening to you, you decide to turn to Peter for help

A/N: Cleaning up my taglist so if you haven’t put your name on the form please do so. I can’t wait to hear your feed back on this chapter! I know with everything going on right now, we can use more distractions so I really hope this helps. FEEDBACK PLZZZ (Also I found this .gif on google, so if you made it, or know who did, let me know and I will credit!) Thank you xx -N

“Every time I look at that picture of my brother, I really just want to use again so badly,” one of Peter’s grief members confessed as he stared down into his coffee cup, “Been clean for two years but his death has been something I don’t think I can get through,” he admitted as he looked up to Peter for advice.

Peter nodded his head solemnly, relating to each and every story he heard, as he always did. Coming to these meetings was always hard and Peter knew how hard it was to talk about your own story. Listening was the easy part; just nod your head and ask questions, try his best to offer advice and talk things out until hopefully the feeling of wanting to use again would disintegrate.

It was the telling that was always hard. Sharing what was happening, admitting there was a problem. Releasing the anger that made everything inside convince you that the only escape or solution was at the bottom of a bottle. Accepting the reality of the situation by admitting there was only one person responsible for those actions. That was the hardest part of all.

And Peter still struggled with it. Every time when it was his turn to talk, he’d stumbled over his words; sometimes afraid to fully admit the truth. If he had a bad day, he would talk more, hoping that if he kept talking that unnerving feeling would suddenly vanish.

He’d talk about the things that made him happy instead. The things that pushed him forward and made him realize the value of his life. Most of those things had to do with you; the way you made Peter feel and how lucky and grateful he was that you were so supportive of him. How every time he felt like he was going to lose his mind, you’d pull him back up in the simplest of ways; always making him see there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

“My dad has been coming up a lot again ever since I went back to work and it’s been making a lot of old feelings resurface that I wasn’t ready for. And like you, I wasn’t sure if I could push through that pain,” Peter responded as he looked at him knowingly, “But we came here today. And we’re here for each other to get through that. And we have to remind ourselves that tomorrow is a new day, you know?” Peter answered as best as he could. Giving simple advice was usually the best way to go.

He absolutely hated when others would preach certain ideas or beliefs and shove them down Peter’s throat. He knew what did and didn’t work for him and he just hoped those things might help somebody else in the process.

Peter thanked everyone for coming and ended the meeting, shaking everyone’s hand and telling all the participants how proud he was of them and he listened to how proud they were of him. He headed over to the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup before he headed back home for the day.

“Hey,” one of Peter’s confidants came up to him by the coffee machine, “Still no Y/N?” they asked casually as they grabbed a cup from the table to make them self a cup.

Shaking his head no, Peter let out a shrug, “I don’t want to force it too much. But she’s been pulling back a lot lately. I don’t know, I feel like I’m only making matters worse for her. It’s been a bit like walking on eggshells lately but I’m sure it will pass,” Peter admitted as he blew on his coffee.

He hated that he was telling somebody else his problems instead of confronting you. It wasn’t fair to you and he knew it. But he had nobody to turn to anymore. You were suffering and you weren’t telling him what was bothering you.

And even though Peter assumed it had a lot to do with you and Harry, he needed you to be the one to say that first. But in the meantime, all it had been doing was causing an enormous elephant in the room with you hiding things. And he was now at a standstill, unsure of where to turn.

“She uh...came home drunk the other night,” Peter revealed as he looked down vacantly at the black liquid in his cup, “We haven’t really spoken much since,” he cringed at the thought. Peter couldn’t stand not speaking to you, especially when you needed him.

“I know you probably don’t want to do this. But when this happened to me, I had to take a break. Take some time for myself and let them come to their own terms in their own time to cut off the toxicity in my life to grow. I know it isn’t ideal but-”

“Thanks,” Peter answered back curtly, cutting them off as he felt his nerves bundling up again. He couldn’t imagine his life right now without you in it. A break? It sounded absolutely absurd and not to mention, unnecessary. You needed time, yes. But you didn’t need to be isolated. That would be the last thing you needed.

Peter’s mental health was important, yes. And he’d come such a long way from then to now. If something or someone were that bad for Peter and he thought he would use again, he would do what he had to in order to make sure that wouldn’t happen. Especially since the city needed him to be on top of things, it was another reason for him to keep going.

But you weren’t toxic to his life, not even in the slightest. And just hearing somebody say that to him, who didn’t even know you, only made him more annoyed. You were sick and all he wanted you to do was just reach that point of acknowledgement sooner rather than later. Unlike Peter, who didn’t do something until much, much later.

Peter would never want that for you. You just needed time, which is why he was so goddamn persistent about it. But he didn’t care. If that’s what it would take, then so be it. He cared way too much about you to let anything else bad happen to you. He’d take the hit first with no hesitation before it even went to you.

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You stood still in the machine, waiting for the scan to complete as the lights swirled and swiveled around your head. Your head felt like it weighed a million pounds and the feeling that you got hit by a truck wasn’t going away. This wasn’t a hangover, you knew this had something to do with the other day.

Deciding to figure it out on your own before calling Dr. Octavious, you started your morning by doing a full body and brain scan of yourself up in the lab while Peter was out for counseling. Of course, if you had told him what you were doing, this would have been a lot easier since Peter had EDITH and KAREN; but you didn’t want him to freak out about what you had done. And Peter would freak out.

You robbed someone and someone got stabbed because of you. If you hadn’t been there, none of that would have happened. It felt like you weren’t in control of yourself anymore. And whatever was going on, was only getting stronger.

The only good thing so far was that you hadn’t heard any voices, or experienced any paralysis like you had since that night. But you couldn’t take any chances with this. You had a gut feeling they would be back at some point, whatever they were. You wanted to be ready when they did and perhaps create a countermeasure for it and prepare yourself properly when it did happen.

Stepping out of the machine once the scan concluded, you practically ran for the computer to check on the results. Waiting anxiously for them to finish calculating and uploading, you glanced to the other side of the lab where your stash of bottles were hidden away along with your mask and the pile of cash you had stolen.

“Don’t,” you told yourself through your teeth. Remember Peter’s face, you reminded yourself as you stared at the hiding spot. Remember what had happened to him. Distract yourself while you wait, you suggested to yourself.

You grabbed your phone and you called Peter like you always would when you needed someone. He was the only one you really trusted being around, your best friend. And even though the two of you really weren’t talking, you knew he would be there for you for anything no matter how upset he was.

But it went to voicemail, making you frown. His phone seemed to be off, so you assumed he was still in his meeting. Waiting for the voicemail to beep, you cleared your throat as you turned your head away from your stash, trying not to look at it.

“Hey, it’s me,” you told Peter into your phone as you felt yourself get quiet. Your voice was so off and you knew Peter was going to worry when he heard this. But you really just needed a distraction, “I just...wanted to say I really miss you. And I am sorry about the other night. I’m…”

You took a breath, feeling yourself get weak as you apologized. Apologized for coming home drunk in his face and hiding everything from him. It was a burden you began to despise more and more each and every day. You couldn’t take much more of it.

“I think it’s just a weird day, so just delete this when you get it. I just really miss you,” you sucked in another breath as your eyes fluttered to the computer screen, noticing the scan had officially been uploaded, “I love you, Peter,” you breathed out before you hung up the phone.

Tapping on the screen, you opened up the brain scan. Examining it carefully, turning it around in every which way. You felt your head already pounding like a migraine beginning but you tried your best to ignore it. Whatever the problem was in this scan.

Your eyes widened when you noticed a small white particle in your brain scan. What the hell was that? It didn’t look like it was meant to be there and it stuck out like a sore thumb. Zooming in on it, you couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Karen, can you please figure out what this thing is, please?” you finally asked out loud as you slid Peter’s mask over your head. You didn’t really want to because even with the protocols you created to prevent KAREN from sharing your history with her to Peter, you still knew Peter had authority to override anything. It was risky but you couldn’t make heads or tails with this scan.

Karen lit up, the computers moving around rapidly as she searched, “I’m having a hard time accessing the files in the microchip located inside of your brain, Y/N,” she answered.

“Wait, did you say microchip?!” you screeched, your heart beating even faster now. You stared at the computer in front of your eyes as Karen showed you a closer look, “Can you tell me what the chip is used for?” you asked again, getting more and more nervous.

“Ahem. She can’t. But I most certainly can,” another voice came through. A male voice. And it was crystal clear. You couldn’t tell if it was in your head or through KAREN’s system. But there was something about that voice that sounded eerily familiar.

It couldn’t be, you thought to yourself. Beginning to realize how badly you had screwed up. You did this. You trusted someone too much because you were desperate for answers and now you were paying for that in the worst way possible. You only wished that none of it were true.

“What the fuck did you put inside of me?” you finally asked as you tried to compose yourself but you could feel yourself breaking the more you spoke.

“Nothing that wasn’t already there. I just helped move it along a bit more,” Doctor Octavious replied in a menacing tone that sent shivers down your spine, “The others didn’t have what you had. You can go farther than any of them,” he continued, which didn’t make you feel any less at ease.

You swallowed harshly, the lump in your throat only getting bigger and bigger as you felt your body tense up. This couldn’t be happening. How could you have done something so stupid? So careless? You didn’t even know what was going on but you could already tell just how severe it was going to be.

“What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do?!” you asked again through your teeth. Feeling the anger and stress build up more and more, only you weren’t blacking out like you were used to. Everything felt different right now and you were completely lost.

You heard Doctor Octavious laugh and it only made your stomach continue to churn hearing he was actually laughing at your misery, “Consider it an implant with some oversight from our lab. Making sure you do better than the other experiments.”

“So it’s a mind control chip,” you scoffed out a laugh as you shook your head, feeling the tears streaming down your cheeks, “Please just let me go. I can’t even control what I have, I’m no use to whatever you’re thinking I can do,” you pleaded.

The vibrating through your body stopped suddenly as you heard a sound from outside of the room. Opening your eyes, you looked around and noticed that one of the computer monitors were now cracked. No doubt from you and whatever the hell you can call this sixth sense that was only getting worse now.

“Oh, I beg to differ. And we can help you control it and get better, Miss Y/L/N…” Doctor Octavious added with another laugh. He was laughing at you. And now you realized what you needed to do.

You already hid this for too long. Bottling it up, lying about it, trying to make excuses for it when it was only getting worse. You went to go see Doctor Octavious to help but now you really were in way over your head. And doing this on your own was only getting you into more trouble. Not to mention, you hated going through all of this by yourself.

“KAREN, call Peter,” you whispered through your tears as you looked over in the corner where your stash from the other night was hidden. Running over to it as quickly as you could, you threw the cabinets wide open as the phone began to dial with KAREN’s confirmation.

The phone rang once more before it abruptly disconnected and you froze in place. Of course, not by choice. You were right in front of your stash, your confession to Peter, and now you couldn’t move again, which was only making you more upset and beginning to cry harder. You were officially in hell.

“Please…” you cried out through your mask as you whimpered. You stared at the cash, the gun, and everything else you had stowed away inside of there. Wanting to come clean so badly but knowing you couldn’t.

“If you tell him. I will have you kill him. I refuse to have you fuck this up for me, girl,” he demanded of you as you began to feel your heart beating in your throat, “I’ll summon you when I need you next in a week. Until then, enjoy the silence as a thank you in advance,” he said.

And then you could move again. And the echo was all gone.

Collapsing to the floor, you let out a loud scream as you removed Peter’s mask from your head. All of your worst nightmares coming true. Not being in control of yourself, hurting Peter while the whole reason you went to Doctor Octavious in the first place was so you wouldn’t, commiting crimes, everything just too horrible to be true.

“KAREN, wipe memory of that phone call and everything from the last hour,” you said to the AI through your tears as you put everything back where you found it, shutting down the computers and scans. Peter couldn’t find any of this out.

You closed the cabinets and locked them again. If what he said was true, and he would make you kill Peter, then you had to do whatever you possibly could within your own will to keep him safe. You had to protect him in whatever way he would. And when Doctor Octavious came back as he said, you had to be ready.

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The rest of the day you stayed in the apartment, doing your best not to interact with too many people. You waited impatiently for Peter to come back, even though you weren’t speaking at the moment, you needed him by your side right now; even though you really couldn’t explain to him what was happening right now. You were hoping that he would eventually forgive you for that if it meant you were keeping him safe.

Luckily, Morgan came upstairs to visit after school with a stack of homework. Helping and spending time with her was the best distraction to keep you from freaking out and going off the deep end. And you were more than happy to be sitting with her at the kitchen table to keep busy.

“There’s no way you were given this as homework, Morg,” you looked at the sheet and how complicated it was for a six year old to complete, “This is a fifth grade level math. Did your teacher give you this?” you asked her curiously as you handed her back the sheet.

Morgan shrugged as she picked her pencil up, “I may have offered a few older kids my service if they buy me french fries for lunch for the week,” she answered as she answered the first equation on the sheet. Correctly, at that.

It was nice having Morgan around for the afternoon. You were actually beginning to feel normal again. Coming down from the shock you had earlier and trying to push it aside for right now. It was the distraction you wanted, even though you knew you really shouldn’t have one right now, you didn’t care.

“Your service? Meaning you’re doing their homework in exchange for french fries?” you asked for clarification, trying your best not to laugh. But the truth was, you needed that little laugh right now. And you were glad it was Morgan making you feel better. Like an actual human being with no problems to deal with.

Focusing on the math equation, Morgan nodded her head, “I think I can turn a profit if I make it until May,” she told you, knowing perfectly well exactly how smart she was. She was her father’s daughter, after all.

“Well then if you do, I’m requesting 10% equity for your company since you’re using my table as your office space,” you teased as you smiled at her, watching her solve the next problem. She didn’t even need your help.

“Four percent,” Morgan countered as she put her pencil down to give you a proud grin, “But only you get four percent, not Peter. Otherwise it’s 8% and I don’t trust him with my company,” she told you sternly.

You laughed harder as you extended your hand out to her, “Deal. But first, make sure your own homework is done, please,” you told her as she shook your hand firmly before both of your heads turned as you heard the door beginning to open.

Morgan pulled her hand away and brought her index finger up to her lips, shushing you to keep your secret as you placed your palm in front of your chest, promising her silently that you would as Peter came in with a bag filled of groceries. He smiled a bit when he saw you at the table with Morgan while he trotted his way inside.

Peter’s eyes fixed on you as he greeted the both of you with a warm smile. But you could tell he was looking at you because he heard your voicemail and you most likely panicked him. Especially since you turned your phone off after the incident in the lab, probably worrying Peter further when he assumably attempted to call you back to see if you were alright.

“Long time no see, Morg,” Peter said to her cheerfully, trying to keep his voice level. He didn’t want to worry her but Peter really needed to check on you and see what was going on. The silence between the two of you over the last few days was deafening and now he really needed to break it.

“Not long enough,” Morgan rolled her eyes as she answered Peter in her snarky little tone that always made him laugh. Only he really couldn’t laugh right now because he was only concerned about you, “We’re busy,” she sang at Peter, sticking her tongue out at him playfully.

Peter laughed to himself a bit as he stuck some of the groceries in the refrigerator, “Hey, Morgan? I need to talk to Y/N about something right now. But if you come back later, I will tell you what the password is to Happy’s snack cabinet where he keeps the good candy under lock and key,” he offered her with a playful smile.

Morgan gave Peter and you a look before she collected her things and slid them into her folder, “Bribing a six year old with snacks, real nice,” she told Peter, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the irony as you waved goodbye to her.

“Enjoy your grown up couple crap!” Morgan called out from the door as she grabbed the doorknob and started to pull it closed behind her.

“Don’t say crap!” Peter called out to her but the door was already closed, leaving the two of you alone, not sure of what to say to the other.

You knew you had to say something as you stood up and followed him into the kitchen. Trying to force a smile, but you couldn’t pretend with Peter. Especially when he knew perfectly well that something was going on with you based off of your phone call.

Sucking in a breath, you met Peter’s gaze as you stood against the counter, “I-I’m sorry about the voicemail I left you. I didn’t mean to freak you out or worry you,” you finally said as you felt your chin beginning to quiver.

“I already am plenty worried, Y/N,” Peter told you as he rested his hand against your hip to try and steady you, “I miss you,” he admitted, knowing how horrible it had been the last few days not speaking to you. Especially when he needed to every day since.

“I missed you too,” you told him as you wrapped your arms around him. Taking in his scent as if he had been gone for months. You felt yourself beginning to tear up, whimpering against his chest, “I f-fucked up, Peter. I’m sorry. I'll-stop drinking, okay?” you apologized for the other night, coming home drunk, amongst other things. But you were genuinely sorry for doing that to him, he certainly didn’t deserve it.

And with everything going on, you really didn’t intend on drinking like that again. You knew you needed a fresh mindset and that didn’t involve your clouded judgment from the other night. Not to mention, surrounding Peter with something extremely triggering for him. It wouldn’t be good for either one of you.

Peter shushed you as he brought his lips to the top of your head. Not wanting to say anything because he wanted you to get it all out. Release everything that built up inside of you as he held you in his arms, wanting you to so badly find your way to the surface as quickly as you possibly could.

“I let you down and I’m sorry,” you cried out against his chest as you pulled away, wiping your tears in hopes that he couldn’t see but you knew that he could. You were always so open with Peter, even when you didn’t want to be.

“I’m just worried, that's all. I’m sorry for shouting like that the other day. I-I just...” he trailed off thinking about it. Thinking about what he went through and seeing you go down a similar path. How he tried seeking some advice from earlier and hated the answer he got because he didn’t want to do that at all.

You cupped Peter’s face as you pulled him closer, “Am I going to be okay?” you asked him as you rested your head up against his, your lips both inches apart from each other as your eyes closed. Finally feeling a sense of calm knowing you had Peter again.

“You’re going to be more than okay. I know it,” Peter told you without skipping a beat. And he meant that. You were trying, he could see that. And maybe you weren’t ready to go to grief therapy like Peter, everyone worked in different ways. But you were taking small strides. And for that, Peter was glad.

“I love you, Peter Parker,” you told him as you swept your lips gently against his bottom lip. Capturing a small and gentle kiss, your first kiss in days in what had felt like an eternity without them, reminding you both how much you missed the other.

Peter’s lips began to trace yours slowly in return as he lifted you effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist, “I love more than anything, Y/N,” he whispered against your lips as he carried you into the bedroom.

Laying you onto the bed, your neediness for each other grew and grew as Peter discarded your t-shirt and jeans along with his, tossing them towards the wall. Cussing underneath his breath when he saw you in your lace bra with the necklace he gave to you underneath.

His fingers went to the necklace as he hovered over you, pressing small, soft kisses to your chest, “I never want to lose you again,” he muttered against your skin as he laced his free hand into yours. Beginning to think about the time last year when he had lost you and how empty he felt inside without that missing piece.

“And you never will,” you reassured him as you arched your back while Peter pushed himself into you. Letting out a whimper against his lips as he began to roll his hips slowly against yours as the two of you began to find your rhythm.

Locking your fingers together, Peter rutted his hips faster into you, whispering your name softly as your leg wrapped around his hip to pull him closer. You both craved each other so badly and even though you both knew you still had so much to talk about, this was all that mattered right now.

Peter’s lips found yours again as the hairs began to stick up on the back of his neck as his senses heightened with every touch. Moaning into another kiss, your tongues wildly began searching for each other’s. His hands running down to your breast, kneading you gently as he heard your soft moans wanting more from him.

Using all of your force, which wasn’t much at all since you were getting stronger these days, you rolled Peter onto his back, letting out a giggle as you did so, “I want to make you feel better too,” you whispered as your lips went to his neck, sucking a small bruise against his skin.

“Jesus, I’ll say,” Peter chuckled as his hands flooded down to your waist to guide you, “Nearly knocked the wind out of me there,” he laughed into another kiss as he pulled you down on top of him. The two of you laughing and being playful with each other was a simple reminder to the both of you of how much you both still loved the other and that feeling wasn’t ever going away no matter what was going on.

Your hand splayed against Peter’s bare stomach as you motioned your hips deeper into his. Letting out a soft moan as you felt him push himself deeper into you and his fingers beginning to circle you slowly while your eyes began fluttering opened and closed. The combination of his touch and your senses going as wild as his making it all the more incredible for you as you threw your head back with a loud moan, moving your hips faster for him. You knew everything always felt good with Peter, but this time was...different.

It was even better.

Peter bit his lip as he circled you faster, “Ungh...k-keep going like that, Y/N,” he cried out to you as he was trying to make you feel just as good as you were for him.

Pressing your palm into his stomach, you began to ride Peter faster. Feeling the coil in your stomach building up as you continued, Peter’s eyes kept watching you. Beginning to let all of your concerns from earlier go. The past was in the past and your present and future was Peter. That was all that mattered.

What once was tension from the last few days, now was turning into lust and love building up between the two of you as Peter arched his hips higher towards you. Your desperate gasps whimpering his name and breathy, ‘I love yous’ were beginning to send him over his edge as he continued to rub harsh circles against you.

Digging your nails into Peter’s sides, you bit your bottom lip as you began to unravel. Peter held onto your hips with his spider-like grip as he began to follow your lead. The two of you coming undone together as you collapsed into his chest, muffling your moans against him as you cried out one another’s name in ecstasy. The sensitivity from both of your capabilities magnifying it even more now than it ever did for you. Maybe it was because you were becoming more in control of it, but this was one of the few beneficial things of what was going on with you.

Peter took a few breaths as he came down from his high with you, smiling to himself as he picked your face up to look at you. Cupping your face lightly, he frowned at you when he saw there were tears in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? Please don’t do that because you know I’ll start crying too,” Peter smiled, trying to make light of it in hopes that he would make you laugh. Which only made him smile bigger when you let out a tiny giggle, rolling your teary eye at him, “That’s my girl,” Peter told you as he wiped a tear away.

“I just really missed you,” you told him as you smiled at him, resting your chin against his chest, “Missed this with you...” you mumbled as your finger began to trace circles against his bare stomach.

Pressing his lips together, Peter nodded his head, “It’s never a good day for me when I can’t speak to you,” he admitted as he felt his nerves coming back the moment he told you that. He hated not speaking to you and he hated admitting his stubbornness was one of the reasons why he didn’t.

His hands went back to your necklace as his thumb brushed over the spiderweb charm in the center of it. The fact that you wore it every day meant so much to him, “We’ll start fresh tomorrow, right?” he asked you.

“I’d like that a lot,” you agreed as you rolled off of Peter and nestled yourself against him.

That hope for a fresh start sparked a sense of calm within you. A feeling you hadn’t experienced in a long time ever since you developed these powers. You almost felt a pang of pain in your chest thinking about how this must have really been for Peter when it all happened for him.

But that serene feeling was beginning to become overshadowed by that prickling fear and anticipation of Doctor Octavious returning. And what that return would bring for you and Peter…

@captainemrys @geniousparker @fallingforfics @coni-martina @osterfield-holland-andcompany @mikalaka @beiroviski @missmulti @lonikje, @hazmyheart @averyfosterthoughts @detroitbydark @astoldbydanid @dee-rosemary @wherewecomealive @ninjalex1d @jillanaholland @mcuassemble @mannien @unicorn-princess-1999 @blahhhhhhhaaa @lauras-collection@ruefulposts @lilostif16 @thwip-it-real-good @parker-holland-osterfield @lightmelikeacigarette @when-marvellous-things-happen @farfromhaz @rebekkah4766 @kayla-m1996, @underoosmarvel @shirukitsune @mktravelbuggie @iamapersonwholikesunicorns @desir-ae @asmilinghopelessromantic @itsjusttor, @hollandfanficlove @msmarvel-19 @thevelvetseries @whatdafricklefrackle @missleahlin @000nova000 @sarahkatexoxo @adayasgeorgia @belleknows @itjustkindahappenedreally @spidermanffh3000 @pluckypete @whatareyouhidingpeter @baby-unidorn @bitteral @tnu-ree @heavenspidey @imsuperawkward @spideyyeet @morbiddanvers @tomhollandseverything @the-crazy-fanfictionist @lulueliott24 @fangirlingisajob @imfreefallinall @stilessarcasmqueen @parkeret @quacksonhq @the-professional-procastinator @tomhollandthing @madon566 @tom-holland-is-spiderman @peruvian-bae @molkel @giuls-394 @theolwebshooter @tori719 @quackson-love @rebekkah4766 @whiskeywinter89 @gathania93 @peterspideysense @skymoonandstardust @hoforhaz @spideylovin @greenarrowhead @holland-aisesauce @imagine-lovebug @thenerdiverse @hollandergirl @tom-hollands-blog @paaaam97 @ifntelyinspirit @thinkoutsidethebex @the-nargles-made-me-do-it @tomholland-mcu @u-rrose @hihiweezing @hollands-osterfield @violet-lilyy @phluffyphantom @spider-manholland @clarissahunter @dorbiksbitch @marvelbarbie @sophietsbastard @carol-danvers-wife @bellanotte24 @estate-euphoric @lulueliott24 @asonofpeter @sltwins @worldoftom @roosterteethgirl @harrysbbby @rororo06 @thewinchesterchronicles @aussie-holland @minetticatinwonderland , @spideyyypeter, @oswald-1998, @danicarosaline @wonders-of-the-multiverse @xapham @cxxl-gall @lowkey-holland @zabdisamor @lookalivefrosty @emmmmszy @babebenhardy @sondheim-stephen @angelicshinigami @ddaeing @demonsintheair @fangirl-trash-things @spideylovin @darktwistydiamond @th0ttie4tommy @just4muggles @good-vibes-and-glitter @muade-mua-de

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #peter parker

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crimsonrae · 4 years

Text

Across the Road, At the Brothel

Chapter Eleven

Summary: Jaskier fell in love any day that the sun rose in the East. It was a trifling, pleasurable experience for him. Even when he was jumping out a window to avoid cuckolded husbands. So what happens when his trifles start to become more significant? Jaskier/OC. Some Yennefer/Geralt

A/N: Jaskier is just too adorable not to write about. This is a relationship development story with an OC. There will be smut in later chapters and plenty of angst.

Rating: Mature

It's Not the Fall

A cloud of dirt erupted into the air as Geralt landed on his back. His medallion hummed steadily against his chest as he quickly gathered his bearings.

His sword landed a few feet from him.

The bruxa's scream continued to assault his ears as he kept a wary track of the fleder bearing down on him again. A curse fell from his lips as he barely managed to avoid an attack. The setting sun glinted almost tauntingly in his golden eyes and Geralt just managed to bite back a growl.

Had the whole fucking universe come against him?

A clawed hand slashed down at his face and Geralt only had his quick reflexes to thank as he caught the wrist before those too sharp talons could tear into his eyes. With little thought, he thrust the silver dagger in hand across the creature's stomach and felt the flesh give way like butter. The fleder roared in shocked-pain and flew back. It allowed Geralt the chance to roll to his feet and grab his sword.

Only then did the witcher notice the silence.Not daring to pull his gaze away from the infuriated vampire, Geralt pushed his senses out as he sought the bruxa, even as the fleder attacked again.

»»————-　　————-««

Jaskier hadn't come to the Rose and Pine.

Lyrra tried to swallow her disappointment as she went about her duties. She quietly berated herself for being so foolish as she tried to remember that this was what she had wanted. She had wanted peace again, to feel in control of herself and to return to a routine that was familiar. Things that had been inexplicably absent since Jaskier had sauntered into her life. He was giving her exactly what she had desired with his distance. It dismayed her how easily he had disrupted everything, even more so when she realized just how quickly she had adjusted to his presence. It felt like he had been with her for months, not weeks. She bit back a frustrated sigh. She shouldn't be pining for a man she barely knew.

He was a dalliance, nothing more.

She would repeat that until she believed it.

"Another beer, luv."

Lyrra nodded at a strange fellow in a brown smock and moved to collect another order. She needed to keep busy that was all. She moved about the tavern in a familiar dance. Kept her head bowed and the mugs of ale full as she faded into the background. Hillard was the only one to pay her much mind and even then, it was only a curious look or two.

The old barkeep had noticed the conspicuous absence of a certain minstrel, as well. He, like Lyrra, had grown used to the boy's presence in the pub – more so his inane chatter and propensity to break into song after have a few glasses of beer or wine. Not that the bard didn't sing without the alcohol, it was just those songs were quite a bit tamer than what spilled from his mouth after a little liquid courage – while often amusing, wasn't always...right proper. In truth, the boy was lucky the people of Glynedol were rather hard to offend or else he would have been dealt a resounding beating on more than one occasion. And while Hillard would never mention it aloud, he was rather delighted by the bard's propensity for calling Tyssa, Madam Hatchet, even when in mixed company.

It wasn't until the night was nearly half over that the barkeep finally gave in to his curiosity, "Alright lass, where is'e?"

Lyrra frowned as she passed him a tray, "Where's who?"

The deadpan stare she received had a smile quirking at the corner of her lips. Hillard dryly intoned, "King Llorad o'course. Yer boy, lass. Where's yer boy?"

"He's not my anything." Lyrra responded back softly as she took the now drink laden tray, "I dunno where he is. I'm not his keeper."

Hillard frowned churlishly as he asked archly, "Did 'e do somethin'?"

Lyrra smiled faintly at the older man's worry and shook her head, "Nothing that I didn't want. Promise."

She skittered off before he could ask any further questions. Despite appearances, Hillard was smarter than most gave him credit and she had no doubt that he was putting together the pieces without much input from her. After all, two years of working for the man had given him a decent insight into her proclivities.

Even still, the night seemed to drag on and Lyrra found herself glancing toward the tavern door any time it opened. Jaskier never appeared, nor did Geralt and she found his lack of presence almost as disheartening. The witcher never hung around for long, ever the loner, but his imposing figure had become something of a comfort to her.

As time passed and the customers came and went, Lyrra cleared the last of the tables and wished Mirel a good night as the other girl headed out with Owain. The moon sat full in the sky as she met Hillard on the road outside. The barkeep had become ever more protective over the girls in his employ after Lyrra's attack, she didn't bother protesting an escort anymore. She did, however, protest the silent judgment his company engendered.

She bit back a growl of frustration as she heaved a sigh and bit out, "What?"

"I dinnae say anythin'." Hillard rumbled back loftily.

Lyrra pursed her lips in annoyance as she sent him an unimpressed stare, "You didn't have to."

After a long moment, the barkeep shrugged, "Ye like 'im, he likes ye. Why chase 'im off?"

"What makes you think I chased him off?" Lyrra questioned lightly as she tried to ignore the bland stare she was receiving from the older man. She fidgeted after a moment and scowled, "Fine. There's no point in starting something more serious when he'll be gone soon... if he's not already."

She would like to think that Jaskier would say goodbye before he left, but she knew her reticence had hurt him more than he had allowed her to see.

"Hmmp." Hillard grunted dubiously but refrained from further comment. He had to remind himself that it wasn't his place to counsel his barmaid as if she were his daughter. To be fair if she had been his daughter, he would have chased the bard off the first night he had flirted with the girl.

His disbelief gnawed at Lyrra, however, and she growled, "What?"

Hillard sighed and stopped. He looked at her knowingly, almost sadly, "He'll be gone soon or ye will?"

Lyrra damn near froze as she fought to keep her surprise from her face. Her mouth moved silently for a moment before she broke their stare, "How..."

The barkeep bit back another sigh, "Aye, girl – I've been around a bit. Ye've been restless, eyes searchin' and ears open. Pushin' ta bard away was ta the last clue. Ye was neva gonna stick around 'ere foreva. Surprised ye hadn't left sooner."

Lyrra shrugged, "I've liked it here."

"Ye've had a good break." A faint smile tinged the older man's lips, "But ta game still calls to ye."

Her grey eyes flashed with a mix of longing and anticipation and she couldn't deny his words. A rueful smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she caught Hillard's commiserating stare, "Still a pirate at heart, Hillard?"

"Pirate captain, lass." He corrected softly as a roguish grin flashed across his mouth, but Lyrra didn't miss the faint gleam of longing in his hazel gaze.

She had been lucky to stumble upon Glynedol when she had. Ill and quite frankly waiting for death, an old farmer had found her bleeding out in a vineyard and had taken her immediately to Tyssa. The old madam had taken her in without question and fetched the town healer. It was in the weeks that followed in which the former princess had discovered what exactly the small town she had stumbled upon really was – a retirement community for the outlaws and vagabonds. Those that hadn't been caught or killed for their exploits anyway. She had never felt more at home.

Hillard was right, however. That feeling of comfort and familiarity had started to become suffocating and she had been itching to move on. She had originally planned to be gone by the end of the harvest season, but the oddness of the last few months made her think that she had stayed too long already. Her little sparring sessions with Geralt had reinforced that fact. Her reflexes were not as sharp as they once were – she refused to believe that the witcher was just that good.

She and the barkeep turned down the path to her cottage. A comfortable silence now enveloped them, but Lyrra's mind continued to whirl. She ignored the sinking sensation in her belly as she braced to enter an empty home. Jaskier and Geralt's departure would be the last string holding her back from leaving... she truly had no other reason to stay. She couldn't explain why that made her sad. Moving to a new town had never caused her such grief, such uncertainty before. Hillard seemed to sense her thoughts as he gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

Yet as the duo neared her cottage, Lyrra frowned as she noticed a light emanating from the window. Her brow furrowed in confusion. A horse, no two horses lingered in her pasture. She only recognized Roach. The witcher had retrieved her from the stables just that morning. She couldn't fathom whom the other horse belonged to. Jaskier hadn't seemed overly fond of the creatures himself.

She picked up her stride and ignored Hillard's muffled curse as he moved to keep up with her as he sensed her unease. It took only a handful of moments before she crossed the threshold of her home and walked into a nightmare.

Lyrra barely managed to duck in time as a sword swung at her head. A curse left her lips as she glared up at the golden-eyed witcher, "You kill me in my own home and I will come back as a wraith to torment you."

Geralt merely grunted and helped her up. She noticed then the blood coating his clothes and skin. It was hard to see in the dim light from the fireplace against his dark clothing, but a faint copperish scent cloyed at her nose. This time her brow creased in concern, "Are you hurt?"

Hillard entered the cottage behind her more cautiously. He eyed the witcher warily for a moment before quickly evaluating the rest of the room.

Geralt paid him little mind as he shook his head wearily, "No, but I need to fetch the healer."

Lyrra frowned but didn't have the chance to question him further as she heard Hillard suck in a sharp breath. Her gaze followed his into her bedroom. She could just make out the form of a man lying prone on her bed. Hillard blustered forward for a better look as Lyrra snapped a demanding gaze back on the witcher, "Jaskier -"

"It's not him." Geralt murmured, impatience coating his tone, "I don't know his name. He was attacked by a bruxa. Lyrra, where can I find the healer?"

"It's Tyllan." Hillard grumbled casting a grim look at Lyrra as he ambled out of her bedroom, "He's a right mess, lass. I'll fetch Mirel's ma, but ye take care o'im."

Lyrra nodded, not bothering to watch as the old barkeep left. She slid around Geralt to her bedroom, "Geralt, get me some water from the well, please."

She quickly lit the lamp on her bedside table and turned to pull out a few cloths from her chest. She didn't have much left after taking care of Geralt's shoulder. She grimaced and grabbed a near-empty bottle of liniment as well. It wasn't until she collected her supplies that she finally turned toward the bed. She bit back a gasp as she took in the man on her bed.

Tyllan was the blacksmith's son. He ran his own shop in Belhaven but visited his father often. The man was built like a fortress. He was easily a few inches taller than Geralt with just as much muscle, but he looked nothing like the imposing man she knew him to be now. His normally tan skin was paler than the moon. Yet, it was the flesh around his throat that had her attention. It had been torn open like soft cheese and a moss-like substance had been pressed into his wound. She didn't dare touch it. Her grey gaze roved lower as she took in the slashes to his chest that wept slowly. She pressed her clothes over the wounds and held in a sigh as she tried to ignore the amount of blood Tyllan was covered in.

Geralt came to her side and poured the requested water into her basin on the table. Lyrra spared him a glance, "Are you sure you're not hurt? Your shoulder -"

"I'm fine, help him." Geralt murmured as he wet a cloth and passed it to her.She frowned at him, "What happened?"

»»————-　　————-««

"OI!"

A vague swishing sound of a projectile being launched through the air registered to Geralt's senses long before the shout had. He barely ducked in time as an axe flew past his head and embedded itself into the fleder bearing down on him again.

It landed with a sickening thunk.

The creature shrieked in pain, but the unexpected attacked worked in the witcher's favor as he managed to get his dagger through the throat of the lesser vampire without becoming speared by its talons. The memory of his last fleder attack was all too clear as he pulled away from the creature and ignored the dull throbbing from his shoulder. He ripped the axe from its chest as it fell to the ground, satisfied that it wouldn't be getting back up.

A shrill scream shattered the air and Geralt felt his feet skid backwards before he had a chance to even look for who assisted him.

The bruxa.

He whipped around, expecting to see the vampiress advancing from his blind spot. Yet, no one was there.

His golden eyes swept the area wildly. He spotted the horse before he spotted its rider and the bruxa's latest victim. She had the man pinned to the ground. His arms straining as he tried valiantly to keep her fangs from his throat. Her nails like lethally sharp claws dragged across his chest, ripping fabric and flesh, to tear into his arm. The man roared in agony, his fingers pressed into her eyes and she screamed again. This time throwing the man unconscious from the soundwave.

Geralt expected the scream as he gathered his silver dagger and quickly cast Quen to ward himself. The bruxa was too busy to notice his approach. He fairly lunged across the yard and slammed his dagger into the bruxa's back just as her fangs clenched upon the man's throat. His blade tore down through the hard muscle of her back, sizzling as it went, and finally pierced her heart. Her mouth opened in surprised torment, letting the man beneath her go as she fell into death's embrace.

Geralt hauled her small form off the large man as he moved to assess his wounds. His throat was bleeding profusely and the witcher wasn't sure if he could stem the flow... or even if he did if it would be enough to save the man. His attention turned abruptly to the horse and he fairly yanked the saddlebags from the poor beast as he sought out a useful compress. There wasn't much to find and Geralt growled as he eyed his surroundings. The drying moss dangling from a nearby tree-line caught his attention and he gathered as much as he could before packing it tightly into the man's wounds.The man was horribly pale, but the shallow quiver of his chest gave Geralt hope that he would survive.

»»————-　　————-««

The healer had arrived as Geralt told his tale and related his and Jaskier's findings from a few days prior. The small woman pushed Lyrra out of the way as she laid out her own supplies. She clucked disapprovingly under her breath as she listened to the witcher's words, but said nothing as she examined Tyllan closely.

A piercing look from her emerald eyes, so similar, yet so different from Mirel's was all Lyrra needed to vacate her bedroom. She tugged gently on Geralt's arm and swiftly snatched a few of the healer's bandages. She had long learned not to ask what it was exactly that Nyria did to heal people so close to death. To Lyrra there was no doubt that Tyllan was on that particular doorstep. The woman, however, always demanded privacy to perform her craft and Lyrra had the distinct feeling she would be without a bed again. Hillard hovered in her front room as Geralt followed after her.

She quietly bade him sit before the fire and moved to peel his soiled shirt from his shoulder. The witcher flinched away from her with a scowl and Lyrra merely raised an unimpressed brow, "Yeah, you're really fine. You've probably broken it open again."

Geralt frowned, "It's just tender."

"How can you be sure? You're slathered in blood." Lyrra intoned dryly as she ignored Hillard's muffled snort. Not even his hair had escaped, as splotches of red and brown – she assumed was dirt - glinted in the firelight.

She pulled a bandaged from her pocket and reached for his shirt again. To her surprise, she found an old dressing wrapped around his wound. She hadn't taken Geralt as the type to properly care for his injuries once he initially healed. The faintest staining of pink had risen to the clothes surface and she sighed, "It needs to be replaced. Shirt off."

Geralt shook his head, "It can wait. It'll be changed once I get a chance to bathe."

Lyrra pursed her lips in a frown, but couldn't disagree with that logic. Unbidden, she turned her attention toward Hillard, but found the old barkeep staring intently at Geralt, "Where did ye say this attack 'appened?"

"About four miles south of here. There was an old ruined farmhouse that they were congregating at – I would have the townsfolk stay away from there for the time being." Geralt answered after a moment. He turned his own hard gaze on the older man, "At least until I can head back and check for anything else lurking."

"Hmmph." Hillard grunted in agreement, but his brown eyes held a glint of worry that caught Geralt's attention, especially when the barkeep spared a quick glance at Lyrra who had suddenly taken an interest in feeding the fire, "I should get Myer down 'ere for 'is, boy."

Lyrra bit her lip and nodded her understanding, "He'll be worried, especially if he was expecting Tyllan. You should take the horse with you."

She stood and walked with him outside as Hillard quietly brought up sleeping arrangements. It wasn't until they were a good distance from the cottage door that their tone turned quieter and more serious, "It's odd that those creatures went ta the Ol'Croorey house."

Lyrra shook her head, "Not really. The magic of that place attracts all kinds. I'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner."

Hillard scoffed, "Tha place attracts those needin' a place ta 'ide."

"Well..." Lyrra drawled with a pointed glance. That had been the purpose of the Croorey House in a town of criminals. A place for the people to shelter if any law or crossed assailants reared their heads in Glynedol. "I'll head out there tomorrow. Check to make sure no one was using it as intended."

Hillard grumbled under his breath, "Jus be careful, lass. In an' out. Ya don't need one o'those creatures getting' ye either."

She nodded as she waved the older man off. If anything, slipping into the Croorey House would be the opportunity for her to assess her skills. It had been a long time since she had to sneak into anywhere. She turned and headed back into the cottage, only to be met with Geralt's piercingly expectant stare.

He had barely moved from his place by the fire, "What's the Croorey House?"

Lyrra blinked, "You could hear that all the way in here?"

A weary sigh fell from his lips, "Mutant... remember?"

Her mouth moved silently for a moment before she asked almost hesitantly, "Do I want to know what else you can sense?"

"Lyrra." Geralt warned quietly, not to be deterred by her weak attempt at distraction.

She paid his warning little mind as she pulled out her basket of laundry from the morning. Her fingers quickly shifted through the layers of garments before she pulled out a dark shirt and passed it to Geralt. He arched a brow, not having realized she had taken his clothing for washing but didn't move to claim his property.

Again he growled, "The Croorey House, Lyrra."

She stifled a sigh and placed the shirt next to him. She didn't know how to explain Croorey House without explaining the town and neither was an explanation she wanted to give. Slowly, choosing her words carefully, Lyrra began to explain, "Glynedol is... different from other towns. Its people are different."

Geralt tilted his head and waited for her to continue.

"Many here have difficult pasts – pasts that have the potential to come back and haunt." She pressed on quietly, "So, years ago, the town came together and created a... a sanctuary of sorts. The Old Croorey House is that sanctuary for any who need a place to hide. It's where your vampires were dwelling."

The witcher frowned, "That place was all ruins and framework. It'd be a poor hiding spot, let alone sanctuary."

A sly smile twitched at her lips, "Well, that's rather the point. No one is supposed to know that there Is anything there."

"An illusion." Geralt murmured as he remembered the way his medallion had continued to thrum after he had dispatched the vampires. He had assumed another creature was in the area, but if he had been inside a spelled space then the results would be similar, "Glynedol has a mage at its service?"

"An elf."

Nyria's voice crackled through the room like a snapping whip. Her green eyes burned hollowly, as the duo turned to her. She eyed Geralt's shoulder in much the same way Lyrra had, but made no moves to offer him aid, "Tyllan will need care through the night. Do you have a chair to spare, Lyrra?"

The young woman nodded as she grabbed a wooden back from her small table to move inside. Nyria cocked a brow at the witcher, her voice almost brittle as she chided, "I did not heal you to have my work spoiled. Have a care."

"I'm fine." Geralt bit out, "The man in there is the only patient you need be worried about."

Nyria sniffed unimpressed, "Don't come running to me when infection sets in."

Lyrra appeared at her shoulder, a faint smile twitching at her lips as the elf spun on her heel and to her patient's side. The barmaid crossed her arms as she murmured softly, "She likes you."

Geralt raised a disbelieving brow, "I would hate to see how she treats those she doesn't like."

"If she didn't like you, she would have ignored you." Lyrra continued just as quietly as she stifled a yawn.

Geralt nudged his bedroll to her and picked up the clean shirt from the floor. It was time he cleaned himself up, "You should sleep."

Lyrra shook her head, "I'll wait until Myer gets here. You may need a buffer if he decides you're to blame for his son's state.""Sleep, Lyrra." Geralt ordered unconcerned as he exited the cottage and headed for the stream.

»»————-　　————-««

Jaskier bit back a weary sigh as looked tiredly up at the building before him. The cobbled stone and plastered walls of the inn were a welcome sight after such a long day. Yet, even in his weary state Jaskier hesitated to enter and succumb to the simple pleasure of a soft bed and a hot meal. He itched to return to the cottage and seduce his way back into the arms of his recalcitrant enchantress. Despite his desires, he hadn't been lying when he had told Lyrra that they both needed space, however. All of it due to six words.

I don't want to miss you.

Those six little words had been bandying about his head since leaving her lips. Oddly, it was both the most hurtful and sweetest thing that had ever been said to him. Whether Lyrra knew it or not, she had struck a nerve he had thought he had long since buried. She had incited thoughts that were normally induced in darker moments, lonely ones when company was scarce and his drink a tad too strong.

I don't want to miss you.

Was he not worth missing?

Was he doomed to wander the world begging for even a scrap of true affection?

Worse yet, was the realization that there was someone who could, who potentially could, give him that attention he so craved, but that she didn't want to.

…

No, that wasn't fair. She was afraid to...and that was just heartbreaking.

He also knew he hadn't been fair to her with his translation of her meaning either. He had seen the faint sheen of her pain before it had been glossed over by guilt. It had made him feel like an utter bastard. She had every conceivable reason to be leery of him and his intentions and he had thrown it back in her face.

It was all too intense. Too much. Too soon.

Lyrra had been right. They barely knew each other, had barely scratched the surface with each other, and neither one of them had been particularly interested in that scratch going deeper. For all his blather, Jaskier was very good at keeping his past in his past. As his father would say, he hid behind his inanity.

Inanity that had almost damn disappeared with her bloody words. Oh, how he had become so serious in those few minutes, had shown her... He didn't know what.

Bollocks, he had made a mess of it.

Even that kiss had revealed too much, too soon.

He wanted to groan.

He had fallen in love before – this was nothing new, but falling had always felt like a blissful freefall before. Where his heart tightened and beat a little faster, where the butterflies fluttered erratically in his belly, where he felt breathless and besotted almost painfully so. He had the same sensations with Lyrra, but this fall felt more like a plummet down a steeply rocky mountain that was leaving scrapes and bruises with his descent. It was bloody terrifying... and fantastic.

A wicked grin spread across his lips.

Yes, he needed his space. He needed to regain some of the equilibrium that he had lost in the past weeks before he tumbled down that mountain again. It had taken him until he had reached the Rose and Pine to realize that said space would be scarce in a town the size of Glynedol. He needed to go further and to spend a few days to himself.

He needed Lyrra to miss him.

He had left word at the inn for Geralt and Lyrra with only a quick muttered prayer the bloody idiot innkeeper would get it to them before he departed.

It had taken a little more than half a day to walk.

Belhaven.

He pulled on the heavy wooden door to the inn and was pleasantly surprised to find a crowd still gathered, despite the late hour. The innkeeper a portly man of sixty raised a curious brow as he took in the flashy silk apparel of the bard.

"Here for the dice tournament?" His low voice grumbled in question.

Jaskier smiled, "Indeed, I am."

He never noticed the twin pair of eyes that followed his entrance as he requested a room.

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highqueenjude · 5 years

Text

THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS + PROLOGUE OF TQON

Buckle up buttercups. Everything is under the cut, but you can read it here.

PROLOGUE

The Royal Astrologer, Baphen, squinted at the star chart and tried not to flinch when it seemed sure the youngest prince of Elfhame was about to be dropped on his royal head.

A week after Prince Cardan’s birth and he was finally being presented to the High King. The previous five heirs had been seen immediately, still squalling in ruddy newness, but Lady Asha had barred the High King from visiting before she felt herself suitably restored from childbed.

The baby was thin and wizened, silent, staring at Eldred with black eyes. He lashed his little whiplike tail with such force that his swaddle threatened to come apart. Lady Asha seemed unsure how to cradle him. Indeed, she held him as though she hoped someone might take the burden from her very soon.

“Tell us of his future,” the High King prompted. Only a few Folk were gathered to witness the presentation of the new prince—the mortal Val Moren, who was both Court Poet and Seneschal, and two members of the Living Council: Randalin, the Minister of Keys, and Baphen. In the empty hall, the High King’s words echoed.

Baphen hesitated, but he could do nothing save answer. Eldred had been favored with five children before Prince Cardan, shocking fecundity among the Folk, with their thin blood and few births. The stars had spoken of each little prince’s and princess’s fated accomplishments in poetry and song, in politics, in virtue, and even in vice. But this time what he’d seen in the stars had been entirely different. “Prince Cardan will be your last born child,” the Royal Astrologer said. “He will be the destruction of the crown and the ruination of the throne.”

Lady Asha sucked in a sharp breath. For the first time, she drew the child protectively closer. He squirmed in her arms. “I wonder who has influenced your interpretation of the signs. Perhaps Princess Elowyn had a hand in it. Or Prince Dain.”

Maybe it would be better if she dropped him, Baphen thought unkindly.

High King Eldred ran a hand over his chin. “Can nothing be done to stop this?”

It was a mixed blessing to have the stars supply Baphen with so many riddles and so few answers. He often wished he saw things more clearly, but not this time. He bowed his head, so he had an excuse not to meet the High King’s gaze. “Only out of his spilled blood can a great ruler rise, but not before what I have told you comes to pass.”

Eldred turned to Lady Asha and her child, the harbinger of ill luck. The baby was as silent as a stone, not crying or cooing, tail still lashing.

“Take the boy away,” the High King said. “Rear him as you see fit.”

Lady Asha did not flinch. “I will rear him as befits his station. He is a prince, after all, and your son.”

There was a brittleness in her tone, and Baphen was uncomfortably reminded that some prophecies are fulfilled by the very actions meant to prevent them.

For a moment, everyone stood silent. Then Eldred nodded to Val Moren, who left the dais and returned holding a slim wooden box with a pattern of roots traced over the lid.

“A gift,” said the High King, “in recognition of your contribution to the Greenbriar line.”

Val Moren opened the box, revealing an exquisite necklace of heavy emeralds. Eldred lifted them and placed them over Lady Asha’s head. He touched her cheek with the back of one hand.

“Your generosity is great, my lord,” she said, somewhat mollified. The baby clutched a stone in his little fist, staring up at his father with fathomless eyes.

“Go now and rest,” said Eldred, his voice softer. This time, she yielded.

Lady Asha departed with her head high, her grip on the child tighter. Baphen felt a shiver of some premonition that had nothing to do with stars.

High King Eldred did not visit Lady Asha again, nor did he call her to him. Perhaps he ought to have put his dissatisfaction aside and cultivated his son. But looking upon Prince Cardan was like looking into an uncertain future, and so he avoided it.

Lady Asha, as the mother of a prince, found herself much in demand with the Court, if not the High King. Given to whimsy and frivolity, she wished to return to the merry life of a courtier. She couldn’t attend balls with an infant in tow, so she found a cat whose kittens were stillborn to act as his wet nurse.

That arrangement lasted until Prince Cardan was able to crawl. By then, the cat was heavy with a new litter and he’d begun to pull at her tail. She fled to the stables, abandoning him, too.

And so he grew up in the palace, cherished by no one and checked by no one. Who would dare stop a prince from stealing food from the grand tables and eating beneath them, devouring what he’d taken in savage bites? His sisters and brothers only laughed, playing with him as they would with a puppy.

He wore clothes only occasionally, donning garlands of flowers instead and throwing stones when the guard tried to come near him. None but his mother exerted any hold over him, and she seldom tried to curb his excesses. Just the opposite.

“You’re a prince,” she told him firmly when he would shy away from a conflict or fail to make a demand. “Everything is yours. You have only to take it.” And sometimes: “I want that. Get it for me.”

It is said that faerie children are not like mortal children. They need little in the way of love. They need not be tucked in at night, but may sleep just as happily in a cold corner of a ballroom, curled up in a tablecloth. They need not be fed; they are just as happy lapping up dew and skimming bread and cream from the kitchens. They need not be comforted, since they seldom weep.

But if faerie children need little love, faerie princes require some counsel.

Without it, when Cardan’s elder brother suggested shooting a walnut off the head of a mortal, Cardan had not the wisdom to demur. His habits were impulsive; his manner, imperious.

“Keen marksmanship so impresses our father,” Prince Dain said with a small, teasing smile. “But perhaps it is too difficult. Better not to make the attempt than to fail.”

For Cardan, who could not attract his father’s good notice and desperately wanted it, the prospect was tempting. He didn’t ask himself who the mortal was or how he had come to be at the Court. Cardan certainly never suspected that the man was beloved of Val Moren and that the seneschal would go mad with grief if the man died.

Leaving Dain free to assume a more prominent position at the High King’s right hand.

“Too difficult? Better not to make the attempt? Those are the words of a coward,” Cardan said, full of childish bravado. In truth, his brother intimidated him, but that only made him more scornful.

Prince Dain smiled. “Let us exchange arrows at least. Then if you miss, you can say that it was my arrow that went awry.”

Prince Cardan ought to have been suspicious of this kindness, but he’d had little enough of the real thing to tell true from false.

Instead, he notched Dain’s arrow and pulled back the bowstring, aiming for the walnut. A sinking feeling came over him. He might not shoot true. He might hurt the man. But on the heels of that, angry glee sparked at the idea of doing something so horrifying that his father could no longer ignore him. If he could not get the High King’s attention for something good, then perhaps he could get it for something really, really bad.

Cardan’s hand wobbled.

The mortal’s liquid eyes watched him in frozen fear. Enchanted, of course. No one would stand like that willingly. That was what decided him.

Cardan forced a laugh as he relaxed the bowstring, letting the arrow fall out of the notch. “I simply will not shoot under these conditions,” he said, feeling ridiculous at having backed down. “The wind is coming from the north and mussing my hair. It’s getting all in my eyes.”

But Prince Dain raised his bow and loosed the arrow Cardan had exchanged with him. It struck the mortal through the throat. He dropped with almost no sound, eyes still open, now staring at nothing.

It happened so fast that Cardan didn’t cry out, didn’t react. He just stared at his brother, slow, terrible understanding crashing over him.

“Ah,” said Prince Dain with a satisfied smile. “A shame. It seems your arrow went awry. Perhaps you can complain to our father about that hair in your eyes.”

After, though he protested, no one would hear Prince Cardan’s side. Dain saw to that. He told the story of the youngest prince’s recklessness, his arrogance, his arrow. The High King would not even allow Cardan an audience.

Despite Val Moren’s pleas for execution, Cardan was punished for the mortal’s death in the way that princes are punished. The High King had Lady Asha locked away in the Tower of Forgetting in Cardan’s stead—something Eldred was relieved to have a reason to do, since he found her both tiresome and troublesome. Care of Prince Cardan was given over to Balekin, the eldest of the siblings, the cruelest, and the only one willing to take him.

And so was Prince Cardan’s reputation made. He had little to do but further it.

CHAPTER ONE

I, Jude Duarte, High Queen of Elfhame in exile, spend most mornings dozing in front of daytime television, watching cooking competitions and cartoons and reruns of a show where people have to complete a gauntlet by stabbing boxes and bottles and cutting through a whole fish. In the afternoons, if he lets me, I train my brother, Oak. Nights, I run errands for the local faeries.

I keep my head down, as I probably should have done in the first place. And if I curse Cardan, then I have to curse myself, too, for being the fool who walked right into the trap he set for me.

As a child, I imagined returning to the mortal world. Taryn and Vivi and I would rehash what it was like there, recalling the scents of fresh-cut grass and gasoline, reminiscing over playing tag through neighborhood backyards and bobbing in the bleachy chlorine of summer pools. I dreamed of iced tea, reconstituted from powder, and orange juice Popsicles. I longed for mundane things: the smell of hot asphalt, the swag of wires between streetlights, the jingles of commercials.

Now, stuck in the mortal world for good, I miss Faerieland with a raw intensity. It’s magic I long for, magic I miss. Maybe I even miss being afraid. I feel as though I am dreaming away my days, restless, never fully awake.

I drum my fingers on the painted wood of a picnic table. It’s early autumn, already cool in Maine. Late-afternoon sun dapples the grass outside the apartment complex as I watch Oak play with other children in the strip of woods between here and the highway. They are kids from the building, some younger and some older than his eight years, all dropped off by the same yellow school bus. They play a totally disorganized game of war, chasing one another with sticks. They hit as children do, aiming for the weapon instead of the opponent, screaming with laughter when a stick breaks. I can’t help noticing they are learning all the wrong lessons about swordsmanship.

Still, I watch. And so I notice when Oak uses glamour.

He does it unconsciously, I think. He’s sneaking toward the other kids, but then there’s a stretch with no easy cover. He keeps on toward them, and even though he’s in plain sight, they don’t seem to notice.

Closer and closer, with the kids still not looking his way. And when he jumps at them, stick swinging, they shriek with wholly authentic surprise.

He was invisible. He was using glamour. And I, geased against being deceived by it, didn’t notice until it was done. The other children just think he was clever or lucky. Only I know how careless it was.

I wait until the children head to their apartments. They peel off, one by one, until only my brother remains. I don’t need magic, even with leaves underfoot, to steal up on him. With a swift motion, I wrap my arm around Oak’s neck, pressing it against his throat hard enough to give him a good scare. He bucks back, nearly hitting me in the chin with his horns. Not bad. He attempts to break my hold, but it’s half-hearted. He can tell it’s me, and I don’t frighten him.

I tighten my hold. If I press my arm against his throat long enough, he’ll black out.

He tries to speak, and then he must start to feel the effects of not getting enough air. He forgets all his training and goes wild, lashing out, scratching my arms and kicking against my legs. Making me feel awful. I wanted him to be a little afraid, scared enough to fight back, not terrified.

I let go, and he stumbles away, panting, eyes wet with tears. “What was that for?” he wants to know. He’s glaring at me accusingly.

“To remind you that fighting isn’t a game,” I say, feeling as though I am speaking with Madoc’s voice instead of my own. I don’t want Oak to grow up as I did, angry and afraid. But I want him to survive, and Madoc did teach me how to do that.

How am I supposed to figure out how to give him the right stuff when all I know is my own messed-up childhood? Maybe the parts of it I value are the wrong parts. “What are you going to do against an opponent who wants to actually hurt you?”

“I don’t care,” Oak says. “I don’t care about that stuff. I don’t want to be king. I never want to be king.”

For a moment, I just stare at him. I want to believe he’s lying, but, of course, he can’t lie.

“We don’t always have a choice in our fate,” I say.

“You rule if you care so much!” he says. “I won’t do it. Never.”

I have to grind my teeth together to keep from screaming. “I can’t, as you know, because I’m in exile,” I remind him.

He stamps a hoofed foot. “So am I! And the only reason I’m in the human world is because Dad wants the stupid crown and you want it and everyone wants it. Well, I don’t. It’s cursed.”

“All power is cursed,” I say. “The most terrible among us will do anything to get it, and those who’d wield power best don’t want it thrust upon them. But that doesn’t mean they can avoid their responsibilities forever.”

“You can’t make me be High King,” he says, and wheeling away from me, breaks into a run in the direction of the apartment building.

I sit down on the cold ground, knowing that I screwed up the conversation completely. Knowing that Madoc trained Taryn and me better than I am training Oak. Knowing that I was arrogant and foolish to think I could control Cardan.

Knowing that in the great game of princes and queens, I have been swept off the board.

Inside the apartment, Oak’s door is shut firmly against me. Vivienne, my faerie sister, stands at the kitchen counter, grinning into her phone.

When she notices me, she grabs my hands and spins me around and around until I’m dizzy.

“Heather loves me again,” she says, wild laughter in her voice.

Heather was Vivi’s human girlfriend. She’d put up with Vivi’s evasions about her past. She even put up with Oak’s coming to live with them in this apartment. But when she found out that Vivi wasn’t human and that Vivi had used magic on her, she dumped her and moved out. I hate to say this, because I want my sister to be happy—and Heather did make her happy—but it was a richly deserved dumping.

I pull away to blink at her in confusion. “What?”

Vivi waves her phone at me. “She texted me. She wants to come back. Everything is going to be like it was before.”

Leaves don’t grow back onto a vine, cracked walnuts don’t fit back into their shells, and girlfriends who’ve been enchanted don’t just wake up and decide to let things slide with their terrifying exes.

“Let me see that,” I say, reaching for Vivi’s phone. She allows me to take it.

I scroll back through the texts, most of them coming from Vivi and full of apologies, ill-considered promises, and increasingly desperate pleas. On Heather’s end, there was a lot of silence and a few messages that read “I need more time to think.”

Then this:

I want to forget Faerie. I want to forget that you and Oak aren’t human. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. If I asked you to make me forget, would you?

I stare at the words for a long moment, drawing in a breath.

I can see why Vivi has read the message the way she has, but I think she’s read it wrong. If I’d written that, the last thing I would want was for Vivi to agree. I’d want her to help me see that even if Vivi and Oak weren’t human, they still loved me. I would want Vivi to insist that pretending away Faerie wouldn’t help. I would want Vivi to tell me that she’d made a mistake and that she’d never ever make that mistake again, no matter what.

If I’d sent that text, it would be a test.

I hand the phone back to Vivi. “What are you going to tell her?”

“That I’ll do whatever she wants,” my sister says, an extravagant vow for a mortal and a downright terrifying vow from someone who would be bound to that promise.

“Maybe she doesn’t know what she wants,” I say. I am disloyal no matter what I do. Vivi is my sister, but Heather is human. I owe them both something.

And right now, Vivi isn’t interested in supposing anything but that all will be well. She gives me a big, relaxed smile and picks up an apple from the fruit bowl, tossing it in the air. “What’s wrong with Oak? He stomped in here and slammed his door. Is he going to be this dramatic when he’s a teenager?”

“He doesn’t want to be High King,” I tell her.

“Oh. That.” Vivi glances toward his bedroom. “I thought it was something important.”

CHAPTER TWO

Tonight, it’s a relief to head to work.

Faeries in the mortal world have a different set of needs than those in Elfhame. The solitary fey, surviving at the edges of Faerie, do not concern themselves with revels and courtly machinations.

And it turns out they have plenty of odd jobs for someone like me, a mortal who knows their ways and isn’t worried about getting into the occasional fight. I met Bryern a week after I left Elfhame. He turned up outside the apartment complex, a black-furred, goat-headed, and goat-hooved faerie with bowler hat in hand, saying he was an old friend of the Roach.

“I understand you’re in a unique position,” he said, looking at me with those strange golden goat eyes, their black pupils a horizontal rectangle. “Presumed dead, is that correct? No Social Security number. No mortal schooling.”

“And looking for work,” I told him, figuring out where this was going. “Off the books.”

“You cannot get any further off the books than with me,” he assured me, placing one clawed hand over his heart. “Allow me to introduce myself. Bryern. A phooka, if you hadn’t already guessed.”

He didn’t ask for oaths of loyalty or any promises whatsoever. I could work as much as I wanted, and the pay was commensurate with my daring.

Tonight, I meet him by the water. I glide up on the secondhand bike I acquired. The back tire deflates quickly, but I got it cheap. It works pretty well to get me around. Bryern is dressed with typical fussiness: His hat has a band decorated with a few brightly colored duck feathers, and he’s paired that with a tweed jacket. As I come closer, he withdraws a watch from one pocket and peers at it with an exaggerated frown.

“Oh, am I late?” I ask. “Sorry. I’m used to telling time by the slant of moonlight.”

He gives me an annoyed look. “Just because you’ve lived in the High Court, you need not put on airs. You’re no one special now.”

I am the High Queen of Elfhame. The thought comes to me unbidden, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from saying those ridiculous words. He’s right: I am no one special now.

“What’s the job?” I ask instead, as blandly as I can.

“One of the Folk in Old Port has been eating locals. I have a contract for someone willing to extract a promise from her to cease.”

I find it hard to believe that he cares what happens to humans—or cares enough to pay for me to do something about it. “Local mortals?”

He shakes his head. “No. No. Us Folk.” Then he seems to remember to whom he’s speaking and looks a little flustered. I try not to take his slip as a compliment.

Killing and eating the Folk? Nothing about that signals an easy job. “Who’s hiring?”

He gives a nervous laugh. “No one who wants their name associated with the deed. But they’re willing to remunerate you for making it happen.”

One of the reasons Bryern likes hiring me is that I can get close to the Folk. They don’t expect a mortal to be the one to pickpocket them or to stick a knife in their side. They don’t expect a mortal to be unaffected by glamour or to know their customs or to see through their terrible bargains.

Another reason is, I need the money enough that I’m willing to take jobs like this—ones that I know right from the start are going to suck.

“Address?” I ask, and he slips me a folded paper.

I open it and glance down. “This better pay well.”

“Five hundred American dollars,” he says, as though this is an extravagant sum.

Our rent is twelve hundred a month, not to mention groceries and utilities. With Heather gone, my half is about eight hundred. And I’d like to get a new tire for my bike. Five hundred isn’t nearly enough, not for something like this.

“Fifteen hundred,” I counter, raising my eyebrows. “In cash, verifiable by iron. Half up front, and if I don’t come back, you pay Vivienne the other half as a gift to my bereaved family.”

Bryern presses his lips together, but I know he’s got the money. He just doesn’t want to pay me enough that I can get choosy about jobs.

“A thousand,” he compromises, reaching into a pocket inside his tweed jacket and withdrawing a stack of bills banded by a silver clip. “And look, I have half on me right now. You can take it.”

“Fine,” I agree. It’s a decent paycheck for what could be a single night’s work if I’m lucky.

He hands over the cash with a sniff. “Let me know when you’ve completed the task.”

There’s an iron fob on my key chain. I run it ostentatiously over the edges of the money to make sure it’s real. It never hurts to remind Bryern that I’m careful.

“Plus fifty bucks for expenses,” I say on impulse.

He frowns. After a moment, he reaches into a different part of his jacket and hands over the extra cash. “Just take care of this,” he says. The lack of quibbling is a bad sign. Maybe I should have asked more questions before I agreed to this job. I definitely should have negotiated harder.

Too late now.

I get back on my bike and, with a farewell wave to Bryern, kick off toward downtown. Once upon a time, I imagined myself as a knight astride a steed, glorying in contests of skill and honor. Too bad my talents turned out to lie in another direction entirely.

I suppose I am a skilled enough murderer of Folk, but what I really excel at is getting under their skin. Hopefully that will serve me well in persuading a cannibal faerie to do what I want.

Before I go to confront her, I decide to ask around.

First, I see a hob named Magpie, who lives in a tree in Deering Oaks Park. He says he’s heard she’s a redcap, which isn’t great news, but at least since I grew up with one, I am well informed about their nature. Redcaps crave violence and blood and murder—in fact, they get a little twitchy when there’s none to be had for stretches of time. And if they’re traditionalists, they have a cap they dip in the blood of their vanquished enemies, supposedly to grant them some stolen vitality of the slain.

I ask for a name, but Magpie doesn’t know. He sends me to Ladhar, a clurichaun who slinks around the back of bars, sucking froth from the tops of beers when no one is looking and swindling mortals in games of chance.

“You didn’t know?” Ladhar says, lowering his voice. “Grima Mog.”

I almost accuse him of lying, despite knowing better. Then I have a brief, intense fantasy of tracking down Bryern and making him choke on every dollar he gave me. “What the hell is she doing here?”

Grima Mog is the fearsome general of the Court of Teeth in the North. The same Court that the Roach and the Bomb escaped from. When I was little, Madoc read to me at bedtime from the memoirs of her battle strategies. Just thinking about facing her, I break out in a cold sweat.

I can’t fight her. And I don’t think I have a good chance of tricking her, either.

“Given the boot, I hear,” Ladhar says. “Maybe she ate someone Lady Nore liked.”

I don’t have to do this job, I remind myself. I am no longer part of Dain’s Court of Shadows. I am no longer trying to rule from behind High King Cardan’s throne. I don’t need to take big risks.

But I am curious.

Combine that with an abundance of wounded pride and you find yourself on the front steps of Grima Mog’s warehouse around dawn. I know better than to go empty-handed. I’ve got raw meat from a butcher shop chilling in a Styrofoam cooler, a few sloppily made honey sandwiches wrapped in foil, and a bottle of decent sour beer.

I knock three times and hope that if nothing else, maybe the smell of the food will cover up the smell of my fear.

The door opens, and a woman in a housecoat peers out. She’s bent over, leaning on a polished cane of black wood. “What do you want, deary?”

Seeing through her glamour as I do, I note the green tint to her skin and her overlarge teeth. Like my foster father: Madoc. The guy who killed my parents. The guy who read me her battle strategies. Madoc, once the Grand General of the High Court. Now enemy of the throne and not real happy with me, either.

Hopefully he and High King Cardan will ruin each other’s lives.

“I brought you some gifts,” I say, holding up the cooler. “Can I come in? I want to make a bargain.”

She frowns a little.

“You can’t keep eating random Folk without someone being sent to try to persuade you to stop,” I say.

“Perhaps I will eat you, pretty child,” she counters, brightening. But she steps back to allow me into her lair. I guess she can’t make a meal of me in the hall.

The apartment is loft-style, with high ceilings and brick walls. Nice. Floors polished and glossed up. Big windows letting in light and a decent view of the town. It’s furnished with old things. The tufting on a few of the pieces is torn, and there are marks that could have come from a stray cut of a knife.

The whole place smells like blood. A coppery, metal smell, overlaid with a slightly cloying sweetness. I put my gifts on a heavy wooden table.

“For you,” I say. “In the hopes you’ll overlook my rudeness in calling on you uninvited.”

She sniffs at the meat, turns a honey sandwich over in her hand, and pops off the cap on the beer with her fist. Taking a long draught, she looks me over.

“Someone instructed you in the niceties. I wonder why they bothered, little goat. You’re obviously the sacrifice sent in the hopes my appetite can be sated with mortal flesh.” She smiles, showing her teeth. It’s possible she dropped her glamour in that moment, although, since I saw through it already, I can’t tell.

I blink at her. She blinks back, clearly waiting for a reaction.

By not screaming and running for the door, I have annoyed her. I can tell. I think she was looking forward to chasing me when I ran.

“You’re Grima Mog,” I say. “Leader of armies. Destroyer of your enemies. Is this really how you want to spend your retirement?”

“Retirement?” She echoes the word as though I have dealt her the deadliest insult. “Though I have been cast down, I will find another army to lead. An army bigger than the first.”

Sometimes I tell myself something a lot like that. Hearing it aloud, from someone else’s mouth, is jarring. But it gives me an idea. “Well, the local Folk would prefer not to get eaten while you’re planning your next move. Obviously, being human, I’d rather you didn’t eat mortals—I doubt they’d give you what you’re looking for anyway.”

She waits for me to go on.

“A challenge,” I say, thinking of everything I know about redcaps. “That’s what you crave, right? A good fight. I bet the Folk you killed weren’t all that special. A waste of your talents.”

“Who sent you?” she asks finally. Reevaluating. Trying to figure out my angle.

“What did you do to piss her off?” I ask. “Your queen? It must have been something big to get kicked out of the Court of Teeth.”

“Who sent you?” she roars. I guess I hit a nerve. My best skill.

I try not to smile, but I’ve missed the rush of power that comes with playing a game like this, of strategy and cunning. I hate to admit it, but I’ve missed risking my neck. There’s no room for regrets when you’re busy trying to win. Or at least not to die. “I told you. The local Folk who don’t want to get eaten.”

“Why you?” she asks. “Why would they send a slip of a girl to try to convince me of anything?”

Scanning the room, I take note of a round box on top of the refrigerator. An old-fashioned hatbox. My gaze snags on it. “Probably because it would be no loss to them if I failed.”

At that, Grima Mog laughs, taking another sip of the sour beer. “A fatalist. So how will you persuade me?”

I walk to the table and pick up the food, looking for an excuse to get close to that hatbox. “First, by putting away your groceries.”

Grima Mog looks amused. “I suppose an old lady like myself could use a young thing doing a few errands around the house. But be careful. You might find more than you bargained for in my larder, little goat.”

I open the door of the fridge. The remains of the Folk she’s killed greet me. She’s collected arms and heads, preserved somehow, baked and broiled and put away just like leftovers after a big holiday dinner. My stomach turns.

A wicked smile crawls across her face. “I assume you hoped to challenge me to a duel? Intended to brag about how you’d put up a good fight? Now you see what it means to lose to Grima Mog.”

I take a deep breath. Then with a hop, I knock the hatbox off the top of the fridge and into my arms.

“Don’t touch that!” she shouts, pushing to her feet as I rip off the lid.

And there it is: the cap. Lacquered with blood, layers and layers of it.

She’s halfway across the floor to me, teeth bared. I pull out a lighter from my pocket and flick the flame to life with my thumb. She halts abruptly at the sight of the fire.

“I know you’ve spent long, long years building the patina of this cap,” I say, willing my hand not to shake, willing the flame not to go out. “Probably there’s blood on here from your first kill, and your last. Without it, there will be no reminder of your past conquests, no trophies, nothing. Now I need you to make a deal with me. Vow that there will be no more murders. Not the Folk, not humans, for so long as you reside in the mortal world.”

“And if I don’t, you’ll burn my treasure?” Grima Mog finishes for me. “There’s no honor in that.”

“I guess I could offer to fight you,” I say. “But I’d probably lose. This way, I win.”

Grima Mog points the tip of her black cane toward me. “You’re Madoc’s human child, aren’t you? And our new High King’s seneschal in exile. Tossed out like me.”

I nod, discomfited at being recognized.

“What did you do?” she asks, a satisfied little smile on her face. “It must have been something big.”

“I was a fool,” I say, because I might as well admit it. “I gave up the bird in my hand for two in the bush.”

She gives a big, booming laugh. “Well, aren’t we a pair, redcap’s daughter? But murder is in my bones and blood. I don’t plan on giving up killing. If I am to be stuck in the mortal world, then I intend to have some fun.”

I bring the flame closer to the hat. The bottom of it begins to blacken, and a terrible stench fills the air.

“Stop!” she shouts, giving me a look of raw hatred. “Enough. Let me make you an offer, little goat. We spar. If you lose, my cap is returned to me, unburnt. I continue to hunt as I have. And you give me your littlest finger.”

“To eat?” I ask, taking the flame away from the hat.

“If I like,” she returns. “Or to wear like a brooch. What do you care what I do with it? The point is that it will be mine.”

“And why would I agree to that?”

“Because if you win, you will have your promise from me. And I will tell you something of significance regarding your High King.”

“I don’t want to know anything about him,” I snap, too fast and too angrily. I hadn’t been expecting her to invoke Cardan.

Her laugh this time is low and rumbling. “Little liar.”

We stare at each other for a long moment. Grima Mog’s gaze is amiable enough. She knows she has me. I am going to agree to her terms. I know it, too, although it’s ridiculous. She’s a legend. I don’t see how I can win.

But Cardan’s name pounds in my ears.

Does he have a new seneschal? Does he have a new lover? Is he going to Council meetings himself? Does he talk about me? Do he and Locke mock me together? Does Taryn laugh?

“We spar until first blood,” I say, shoving everything else out of my head. It’s a pleasure to have someone to focus my anger on. “I’m not giving you my finger,” I say. “You win, you get your cap. Period. And I walk out of here. The concession I am making is fighting you at all.”

“First blood is dull.” Grima Mog leans forward, her body alert. “Let’s agree to fight until one of us cries off. Let it end somewhere between bloodshed and crawling away to die on the way home.” She sighs, as if thinking a happy thought. “Give me a chance to break every bone in your scrawny body.”

“You’re betting on my pride.” I tuck her cap into one pocket and the lighter into the other.

She doesn’t deny it. “Did I bet right?”

First blood is dull. It’s all dancing around each other, looking for an opening. It’s not real fighting. When I answer her, the word feels as though it rushes out of me. “Yes.”

“Good.” She lifts the tip of the cane toward the ceiling. “Let’s go to the roof.”

“Well, this is very civilized,” I say.

“You better have brought a weapon, because I’ll loan you nothing.” She heads toward the door with a heavy sigh, as though she really is the old woman she’s glamoured to be.

I follow her out of her apartment, down the dimly lit hall, and into the even darker stairway, my nerves firing. I hope I know what I’m doing. She goes up the steps two at a time, eager now, slamming open a metal door at the top. I hear the clatter of steel as she draws a thin sword out of her cane. A greedy smile pulls her lips too wide, showing off her sharp teeth.

I draw the long knife I have hidden in my boot. It doesn’t have the best reach, but I don’t have the ability to glamour things; I can’t very well ride my bike around with Nightfell on my back.

Still, right now, I really wish I’d figured out a way to do just that.

I step onto the asphalt roof of the building. The sun is starting to rise, tinting the sky pink and gold. A chill breeze blows through the air, bringing with it the scents of concrete and garbage, along with goldenrod from the nearby park.

My heart speeds with some combination of terror and eagerness. When Grima Mog comes at me, I am ready. I parry and move out of the way. I do it again and again, which annoys her.

“You promised me a threat,” she growls, but at least I have a sense of how she moves. I know she’s hungry for blood, hungry for violence. I know she’s used to hunting prey. I just hope she’s overconfident. It’s possible she will make mistakes facing someone who can fight back.

Unlikely, but possible.

When she comes at me again, I spin and kick the back of her knee hard enough to send her crashing to the ground. She roars, scrambling up and coming at me full speed. For a moment, the fury in her face and those fearsome teeth send a horrible, paralyzing jolt through me.

Monster! my mind screams.

I clench my jaw against the urge to keep dodging. Our blades shine, fish-scale bright in the new light of the day. The metal slams together, ringing like a bell. We battle across the roof, my feet clever as we scuff back and forth. Sweat starts on my brow and under my arms. My breath comes hot, clouding in the chill air.

It feels good to be fighting someone other than myself.

Grima Mog’s eyes narrow, watching me, looking for weaknesses. I am conscious of every correction Madoc ever gave me, every bad habit the Ghost tried to train out of me. She begins a series of brutal blows, trying to drive me to the edge of the building. I give ground, attempting to defend myself against the flurry, against the longer reach of her blade. She was holding back before, but she’s not holding back now.

Again and again she pushes me toward a drop through the open air. I fight with grim determination. Perspiration slicks my skin, beads between my shoulder blades.

Then my foot smacks into a metal pipe sticking up through the asphalt. I stumble, and she strikes. It’s all I can do to avoid getting speared, and it costs me my knife, which goes hurtling off the roof. I hear it hit the street below with a dull thud.

I should never have taken this assignment. I should never have agreed to this fight. I should never have taken up Cardan’s offer of marriage and never been exiled to the mortal world.

Anger gives me a burst of energy, and I use it to get out of Grima Mog’s way, letting the momentum of her strike carry her blade down past me. Then I elbow her hard in the arm and grab for the hilt of her sword.

It’s not a very honorable move, but I haven’t been honorable for a long time. Grima Mog is very strong, but she’s also surprised. For a moment, she hesitates, but then she slams her forehead into mine. I go reeling, but I almost had her weapon.

I almost had it.

My head is pounding, and I feel a little dizzy.

“That’s cheating, girl,” she tells me. We’re both breathing hard. I feel like my lungs are made of lead.

“I’m no knight.” As though to emphasize the point, I pick up the only weapon I can see: a metal pole. It’s heavy and has no edge whatsoever, but it’s all there is. At least it’s longer than the knife.

She laughs. “You ought to concede, but I’m delighted you haven’t.”

“I’m an optimist,” I say. Now when she runs at me, she has all the speed, although I have more reach. We spin around each other, her striking and my parrying with something that swings like a baseball bat. I wish for a lot of things, but mostly to make it off this roof.

My energy is flagging. I am not used to the weight of the pipe, and it’s hard to maneuver.

Give up, my whirling brain supplies. Cry off while you’re still standing. Give her the cap, forget the money, and go home. Vivi can magic leaves into extra cash. Just this time, it wouldn’t be so bad. You’re not fighting for a kingdom. That, you already lost.

Grima Mog comes toward me as though she can scent my despair. She puts me through my paces, a few fast, aggressive strikes in the hopes of getting under my guard.

Sweat drips down my forehead, stinging my eyes.

Madoc described fighting as a lot of things, as a game of strategy played at speed, as a dance, but right now it feels like an argument. Like an argument where she’s keeping me too busy defending myself to score any points.

Despite the strain on my muscles, I switch to holding the pipe in one hand and pull her cap from my pocket with the other.

“What are you doing? You promised—” she begins.

I throw the cloth at her face. She grabs for it, distracted. In that moment, I swing the pipe at her side with all the strength in my body.

I catch her in the shoulder, and she falls with a howl of pain. I hit her again, bringing the metal rod down in an arc and catching her outstretched arm, sending her sword spinning across the roof.

I raise the pipe to swing again.

“Enough.” Grima Mog looks up at me from the asphalt, blood on her pointed teeth, astonishment in her face. “I yield.”

“You do?” The pipe sags in my hand.

“Yes, little cheat,” she grits out, pushing herself into a sitting position. “You bested me. Now help me up.”

I drop the pipe and walk closer, half-expecting her to pull out a knife and sink it into my side. But she only lifts a hand and allows me to haul her to her feet. She puts her cap on her head and cradles the arm I struck in the other.

“The Court of Teeth have thrown in their lot with the old Grand General—your father—and a whole host of other traitors. I have it on good authority that your High King is to be dethroned before the next full moon. How do you like those apples?”

“Is that why you left?” I ask her. “Because you’re not a traitor?”

“I left because of another little goat. Now be off with you. This was more fun than I expected, but I think our game is at a close.”

Her words ring in my ears. Your High King. Dethroned. “You still owe me a promise,” I say, my voice coming out like a croak.

And to my surprise, Grima Mog gives me one. She vows to hunt no more in the mortal lands.

“Come fight me again,” she calls after me as I head for the stairs. “I have secrets aplenty. There are so many things you don’t know, daughter of Madoc. And I think you crave a little violence yourself.”

17 notes · View notes

thisweekingundamwing · 5 years

Text

This Week in Gundam Wing 17-30 March 2019

Here’s the roundup for the last two weeks!

Remember to give your content creators some love! And join in on the events at the bottom!

~Mod Hel

Fanfiction/Snippets/AU Ideas:

Conversewit

And they hold counsel with the stars (Ch. 1) https://archiveofourown.org/works/18082163/chapters/42740324

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Gundam Wing

Heero Yuy/Pansy Parkinson, Chang Wufei/Ginny Weasley, Quatre Raberba Winner/Padma Patil, Duo Maxwell/Parvati Patil

Lady Une, Trowa Barton, Heero Yuy, Chang Wufei, Quatre Raberba Winner, Duo Maxwell, Padma Patil, Parvati Patil, Pansy Parkinson, Ginny Weasley

Post-Eve Wars (Gundam Wing), Alternate Universe, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant

Prewett Chang had definitely had better days in his 18 years of life. Currently watching a group of space Leos lay siege to L4 was definitely not one of them. Even if batty old Sybil Trelawney had come out of retirement to predict this he wouldn’t have believed it.

DarkeStar

Not the Usual Marriage Arrangement https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092927

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Duo Maxwell, Heero Yuy, Chang Wufei

Fluff, Humor, Slight Crack - Heero is a bit of a special cupcake, Preventers (Gundam Wing), Honestly I prefer to consider it more a sprinkling of absurd rather than crack

Wufei discovers something unexpected, learns his friends are even weirder than he thought, and the game of solitaire gets the last word.

Deathscythe_Demiguy (@deathscythe-demiguy [Please tell me if you’re not the same person!])

We Will Rise (Ch. 3-4) https://archiveofourown.org/works/18134567/chapters/43095503

Chang Wufei/Heero Yuy, Chang Wufei/Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy, Chang Wufei/Duo Maxwell, Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner

Nearly a year after Duo's death, Heero and Wufei are finally starting to heal, together. But what happens when when a discovery is made that will turn everything they thought they knew on its head? Will they hold tight to the new strength they've found in one another, or let their relationship crumble?

From the Ashes https://archiveofourown.org/works/18124721

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy, Chang Wufei/Heero Yuy

Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Chang Wufei

Character Death, Aftermath of Torture, Dreams and Nightmares, Beginnings, Complicated Relationships, Polyamory, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Love Confessions, Falling In Love

When Duo dies after a botched mission leaves him, Heero, and Wu Fei in the hands of the enemy, his partner and his best friend escape together. But what will they do now that their reason to keep fighting has turned to ash in the ruins of an OZ compound?

From the Ashes Alternate Timeling: Lost Boy https://archiveofourown.org/works/18126875

Chang Wufei/Heero Yuy

Chang Wufei, Heero Yuy, Quatre Raberba Winner, Trowa Barton, Hilde Schbeiker, Howard (Gundam Wing), Relena Peacecraft

OOC, Wakes & Funerals, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Songfic, Alternate Timelines

This is a bonus scene for FTA that I decided not to include in the original story in order to write a sequel that conflicts with this. Heero and Wufei attend a funeral service for Duo. kind of OOC, but I think its still worth posting.

@doctormegalomania

Masters of Our Own https://archiveofourown.org/works/18159329

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Post-War

Just after the war, Duo has a little time to discover what it’s like to be him.

Eldritch Holiday (Creature of the Night) (Ch. 8-10) https://archiveofourown.org/works/17802668/chapters/43113845

Explicit

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner

Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei, Lady Une, Sally Po

Horror, Body Horror, Occult, Comedy, Eventual Romance, Post-Break Up

There’s something wrong with Happiness. Duo doesn’t know what, and he’s determined to find out. The rest of the Gundam Pilots tag along to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.

@duointherain

Beneath: The Gayest Hug https://archiveofourown.org/works/18140063

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

First Kiss

Heero and Duo have a first kiss.

Beneath: LSD (Ch. 4) https://archiveofourown.org/works/17860106/chapters/43198217

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Duo Maxwell, Relena Peacecraft, Dorothy Catalonia

Drug Use, enlightenment, Sex Education

Duo learns the birds and the bees.

Beneath: Love Sweets and Death (Ch. 4) https://archiveofourown.org/works/17860106/chapters/43198217

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Duo Maxwell, Relena Peacecraft, Dorothy Catalonia

Drug Use, enlightenment, Sex Education

Dorothy is very naughty girl and gives both Relena and Duo LSD.

@fadedsepiascribbles

Cabbapple Tides (Sequel to Crabbapple Sunset) https://archiveofourown.org/works/18211340

Cabbage/Pinapple

More vegetable emotions, views on dogs and humans... and the ocean.

Muddled Allegiance https://archiveofourown.org/works/18280934

Dorothy Catalonia, Trowa Barton, Zechs Merquise

GW Cocktail Friday, Drinking, Mint Julep

Dorothy Catalonia takes the evening to enjoy a drink, and to play a bit of a game.

@helmistress

Cabbapple Ocean https://archiveofourown.org/works/18260204

Cabbage/Pineapple

The Oceans take on things.

Jenjengundamfan

The Forgotten Star (Ch. 3) https://archiveofourown.org/works/18080930/chapters/42889328

Relena Peacecraft/Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell/Hilde Schbeiker, Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner

The year is After Colony 207 Relena has not seen Heero in ten years. She hosts a ball in celebration of Peace day, and is hoping Heero will come. After a group of terrorists disrupts her party, it forces Heero out of the shadows. Will he keep Relena safe? He's been training for this day for ten long years.

@kirinjaegeste

WIP Wednesday https://kirinjaegeste.tumblr.com/post/183602988232/so-i-started-a-gw-fic-because-sense8-inspired-me

So I started a GW fic because Sense8 inspired me and all of a sudden I have a monster on my hands. Best part: it has nothing to do with Sense8.

This is mostly about Newtypes, and bringing back old enemies with a dark past and too many mysteries.

Starring all the GW pilots, Relena, and one of my favorite minor characters, Midii Une.

Here’s a taste of the beginning, but this is a wip, so there might be changes.

@ladyunebarton

The fundamentals of caring (Ch. 6) https://archiveofourown.org/works/12722562/chapters/43139873

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy. Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner, WuFei Chang/Sally Po, Relena Darlian/OC

Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, parenting, Adoption, Kid Fic, Adopted Children, Childhood Memories, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

Summary: After a fire on an Orphanage left three kids without a home. Heero and Duo decide to take them into their own for the meantime. But this decision will make them reconsider where they are and what they want from life...

@lemontrash

Cabbapple Sunset https://archiveofourown.org/works/18209831

Cabbage/Pineapple

Some vegetable emotions, and views on humans.

Single Male Ordered (Ch. 7) https://archiveofourown.org/works/17799557/chapters/43076123

Chang Wufei/Heero Yuy

Chang Wufei, Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell

Mail Order Brides, Strangers to Lovers, Mission Fic, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Arranged Marriage, Marriage of Convenience

Wufei is suffocated by the demands of his status, dragging his heels towards a wedding neither he nor Meilan want. Heero is at a loss, relocated to a new city but uninterested in making a fresh start. When a peculiar opportunity to fake an identity as a mail-order bride presents itself, Wufei takes a rash leap of faith - Heero is taken aback to find himself the guarantor of a stranger who has no interest in being the language tutor Heero thought he'd commissioned. Wufei meanwhile has ten days in which to convince Heero to marry him before he's deported back to a colony that's outraged by his defection, but Heero's personality doesn't make his odds seem good, and a burgeoning political disaster might make their problems seem very minor indeed.

Radio Meteor https://archiveofourown.org/works/17971154/chapters/42447008

Welcome to Radio Meteor, a podcast where I watch an episode of 90's anime Gundam Wing and ramble about it for many reasons. Each week I watch one episode and discuss the characters, language, translation and world building. Welcome to orbit!

Radio Meteor Episode 10 https://lemontrash.tumblr.com/post/183518726889/episode-10-heero-distracted-by-defeat-by-radio

Podcast

Radio Meteor Episode 11 https://lemontrash.tumblr.com/post/183816485324/episode-11-the-whereabouts-of-happiness-by-radio

Podcast

@lifeaftermeteor

LAM Snippet https://lifeaftermeteor.tumblr.com/post/183660370898/directors-suite-preventers-headquarters-geneva

Director’s Suite, Preventers Headquarters

Geneva, Switzerland

11 February 211

LAM Snippet https://lifeaftermeteor.tumblr.com/post/183829091421/location-undetermined-rainforest-vietnam-13-march

Location Undetermined

Rainforest, Vietnam

13 March 211

Luvsanime02

Liquid Courage https://archiveofourown.org/works/18201023

Trowa Barton/Relena Peacecraft

Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, Marriage Proposal, Cocktail Friday

Relena has to be mistaken about what Trowa just asked her.

Safety First https://archiveofourown.org/works/18122246

Trowa Barton, Chang Wufei

Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, Cocktail Friday, Dialogue Fic

“...How do you survive if you never cook or bake anything, ever?”

“Safely.”

To Consume https://archiveofourown.org/works/18281414

Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton

Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, Friendship, Cocktail Friday

Duo's suspicious of the leaf in his drink. Trowa suffers.

Phoenixrebirth88

Unexpected complication (Ch. 14) https://archiveofourown.org/works/7201409/chapters/42963068

Trowa Barton/Other(s), Trowa/Reader

Trowa Barton, Chang Wufei, Catherine Bloom, Reader

Reader-Insert

What if you woke up near somebody you can't remember meeting. What if you decide to stay, trying to escape your own life. Is such a thing really possible?

Revy679

Peace Achieved (Ch. 15) https://archiveofourown.org/works/15888729/chapters/43090298

Relena Peacecraft/Heero Yuy, Zechs Merquise/Lucrezia Noin, Trowa Barton/Lady Une, Dorothy Catalonia/Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei/Sally Po, Catherine Bloom/Original Male Character, Duo Maxwell/Hilde Schbeiker

A love that survived war and the worst humanity had to offer. Now, can they handle what a peaceful life has to offer?

Rhea314

The Ion Arc by Sunhawk15 https://archiveofourown.org/works/602820/chapters/1086697

Podfic

Riru

О делах сердечных https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146075

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Romance, Humor, Getting Together, Fluff, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian

Дуо слышит тревожные сплетни

Относительность https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146093

Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner

Schmoop, Fluff, Post-Canon, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian

иногда Кватре слишком много думает. Часто его мысли оказываются о Трове.

Robot_Qwerty

Finding Home Again (Ch. 24) https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496823/chapters/43185521

Gundam Wing, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Chang Wufei/Quatre Raberba Winner, Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton/Original Male Character(s), Sally Po/Lady Une/Original Female Character(s)

Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell, Quatre Raberba Winner, Trowa Barton, Chang Wufei, Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s)

Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Mental Health Issues

Morgan lost any family he had left during the horrors of the Canadian Civil War, he lived on his own and carved out his own existence at eighteen years old. Adventure and magic only existed in fairy tales and daydreams, survival is all he knows anymore. The Civil War ends a little before the Eve Wars. So when the new laws after the Eve Wars come into place, his world was turned upside down and Canada's new government left little choice to the die-hard patriots. Finally escaping to the Sanq Kingdom wasn't the sanctuary he had hoped it would be. Add the former Gundam Pilots to the mix and he might just find his escape, or will he never find the freedom he craves?

Rogue53

The Ion ficlet for Sunhawk16 https://archiveofourown.org/works/18153230

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

ShenLong1 (ShenLong on AO3)

Bound, Bonded and Betrayed (Ch. 79) https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9726683/79/Bound-Bonded-and-Betrayed

Genre: Drama/Romance

Rated: M

Character: Heero Y., Duo M.

Summary: Heero is the eldest son of the King of Colonia. His 21st birthday is approaching and as tradition dictates his betrothed is soon to arrive. However he is also bound by tradition to select his own personal slave. The events that unfold lead him down a path that not only tests his sanity but his humanity and love as well.

@softnocturne

Many Ways To Say I Love You (Ch. 3) https://archiveofourown.org/works/17964329/chapters/43231040

Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner

One Shot Collection, Cuddles

Quatre's had a hard day at work.

Spicy_Marmalade

Let’s Dance (Ch. 1) https://archiveofourown.org/works/18173366/chapters/42981941

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy

Duo Maxwell, Heero Yuy, Hilde Schbeiker

Anything for the mission?

Duo and Heero go undercover at a gala to try and expose remnants from the war. Rich socialites gather at a charity gala with the claims they have the blueprints to a new mobile suit. Heero and Duo are sent in to stop them, disguised as socialites themselves Duo is forced to crossdress in an effort to blend in. Unfortunately for him, he blends in too well and draws unwanted attention.

Strailo

Bits and Pieces of Many Worlds (Ch. 1-45) https://archiveofourown.org/works/11796954/chapters/42848084

CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Harry Potter - Fandom, InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale, Naruto, Transformers - All Media Types, Weiß Kreuz, 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files, Hellboy (Movies), Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, Xena: Warrior Princess, Gundam Wing, Saiyuki, Bleach

Various relationships

various - Character

Short Stories, random pairings, some smut, nothing graphic, please note the pairings, at the beginning of each chapter

Various stories that fall under various worlds that just never got very far.

(I’ve no idea which ones are GW, I didn’t really have time to look through it all.)

Thai_Tea_Addict (@thaiteaaddict [Please tell me if you’re not the same person!])

Wolves and Lambs (Ch. 8) https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351587/chapters/42776327

Gundam Wing, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Duo Maxwell/Heero Yuy, Duo Maxwell/Harry Potter, Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, maybe Heero Yuy/Duo Maxwell/Harry Potter

Duo Maxwell, Remus Lupin, Heero Yuy, Trowa Barton, Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei, Harry Potter, Sirius Black

Family Reconstruction Act, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Politics, Wizarding Politics, War, Disturbing Themes, Technomagic/Technomancy, Gundam Newtypes are Space Wizards, Family Feels

On the cusp of war, Remus Lupin discovers he has a son. Facing a prejudiced wizarding world unwilling to believe Voldemort has returned, Remus must now navigate his duties as both a member of the Order and as a father to one Duo Maxwell.

Duo doesn't know a lot about families, but he knows war.

HP Fifth Year, Post-GW main series

@vegalume

WIP Wednesday http://vegalume.tumblr.com/post/183759504665/wip-wednesday

Pairing: Trieze & Heero —COLLIDE—

Wings_Landing

Broken (Ch. 3) https://archiveofourown.org/works/18057017/chapters/43059692

Relena Peacecraft/Heero Yuy

One of the greatest love stories never told... this way.

Snowstruck (Ch. 6) https://archiveofourown.org/works/17868848/chapters/42170189

Relena Peacecraft/Heero Yuy

Heero Yuy. Relena Peacecraft. Duo Maxwell

Relena is kidnapped by terrorists after she disobeyed Heero's direct orders. Obligated by his promise to protect her, a very frustrated Heero rescues her with the help of Duo. However, Duo claims to not be able to rescue them from their not so winter wonderland. Leaving both soldier and princess to survive in a log cabin in the middle of nowhere. What could go wrong?

@ziggystarsandmars

Prompted https://ziggystarsandmars.tumblr.com/post/183503596224/ziggystarsandmars-stringthe0ri

A sad. WuFei Chang... Quatre and mention of Duo.

Fanart:

@bluesquishylemon

https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/bluesquishylemon/183759008372

Quondam Legends, Quatre & Trowa

@christianmswanson

http://christianmswanson.tumblr.com/post/183593500864/since-ive-been-working-on-a-new-deathscythe-i

Deathscythe, model

@gundayum

https://gundayum.tumblr.com/post/183667955461/it-feels-like-forever-since-ive-doodled-so

Duo & Hilde with Heero & Relena dolls.

https://gundayum.tumblr.com/post/183742368001/here-have-some-more-ultra-90s-fashion

Hilde, Zechs, & WuFei

https://gundayum.tumblr.com/post/183752404451/lemontrash-hes-beauty-hes-grace-hell-bootay

Zechs in ‘high fashion’.

@helmistress

https://helmistress.tumblr.com/post/183660383819/boys-bein-bros-line-art-by-kirinjaegeste

Trowa and Duo, Line art by @kirinjaegeste color by @helmistress

https://helmistress.tumblr.com/post/183762566279/i-um-may-have-slipped-up-in-my-headcoldd-state

Pinebage/Cabbapple V_V

@kirinjaegeste

https://kirinjaegeste.tumblr.com/post/183642604902/ok-so-i-started-well-see-how-this-goes-im-not

This became the one above. ^_^

@lemontrash

https://lemontrash.tumblr.com/post/183629906524/froot-bug-buddies

Duo, Quatre, Heero

https://lemontrash.tumblr.com/post/183657678069/lemontrash-fadedsepiascribbles-edited-because

WuFei writs fic

https://lemontrash.tumblr.com/post/183681328274/sequel-to-this

WuFei burns fic

Photo Prompts/Prompts:

@lemontrash

https://lemontrash.tumblr.com/post/183633639839/so-i-looked-up-funny-wedding-photos-and-i-was-not

Funny Wedding Photos, Relena/Heero shoes

https://lemontrash.tumblr.com/post/183633972609/so-i-looked-up-funny-wedding-photos-and-i-was-not

Funny Wedding Photos, Trowa/Quatre, Duo highfive, glaring WuFei

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183584944354/lemontrash-incorrectgundamwingquotes-wufei

Apple Juice/Apple Tree fiasco, @incorrectgundamwingquotes

Head Canons:

@doctormegalomania

https://deathscythe-demiguy.tumblr.com/post/183824592645/incorrectgundamwingquotes-doctormegalomania

A Quatre headcanon lies here.

@lifeaftermeteor

https://lifeaftermeteor.tumblr.com/post/183639019581/this-is-because-when-you-gotta-run-anything-for

Trowa Barton

@writewithlight

https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/writewithlight/183737552810

Another hidden headcanon this time for Treize.

Chats/Discussions:

@gundayum

https://lemontrash.tumblr.com/post/183627958674/some-of-you-need-to-chill-with-the-crack-pairings

Cabbapple/Pinebage discussion.

@lemontrash, @helmistress, @fadedsepiascribbles, @seitou, @incorrectgundamwingquotes

Quotes/Dialogues:

@incorrectgundamwingquotes

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183529341987/catherine-why-is-there-only-one-way-in-or-out-of

Cathy & Trowa

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183533726484/heero-care-to-sit-im-sure-youd-like-to-take

Heero & Dorothy

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183537260698/heero-i-have-an-idea-its-very-uncool-but-not

Heero & Trowa

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183581584808/wufei-there-are-no-stupid-questions-heero-if

WuFei & Heero

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183614036841/quatre-texting-trowa-see-you-soon-baboon

Quatre

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183618342692/duo-do-you-want-some-of-my-leftovers-wufei-what

Duo & WuFei

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183642855515/une-i-dont-trust-birds-fucking-hollow-bones

Une & Treize

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183634759920/relena-heero-is-an-angel-that-fell-from-heaven

Relena & Duo

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183627625663/wufei-im-heero-yuys-emergency-contact-nurse

WuFei & Nurse, about Heero

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183627151319/heero-whats-that-movie-where-they-bring-that

Heero, Trowa, & Duo

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183639029818/sally-would-you-rather-punch-a-cactus-or-kick-an

Sally, Heero, Duo, & WuFei

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183628506999/incorrectgundamwingquotes-heero-date-a-boy-who

Heero, Duo, & Trowa

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183669213774/whats-the-first-thing-you-do-when-you-wake-up-in

The crew answers a question.

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183668158852/heero-i-had-a-dream-i-dropped-the-l-word-and

Heero & Duo

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183685252895/zechs-alright-think-whats-the-number-one

Zechs & Otto

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183645855279/hello-there-treize-long-time-no-see-except-in

WuFei

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183645462179/on-the-lunar-base-duo-alright-heero-i-know

Duo, Heero, & WuFei

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183660381698/at-preventers-hq-wufei-not-much-could-ruin

WuFei & Zechs

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183664809688/at-preventers-hq-une-alright-everyone-pay

Une & Quatre

https://lemontrash.tumblr.com/post/183606145364/incorrectgundamwingquotes-wufei-today-duo

WuFei & Sally (@incorrectgundamwingquotes & @lemontrash)

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183829103890/catherine-i-know-you-snuck-out-last-night-trowa

Catherine & Trowa

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183800951064/relena-noin-i-need-to-borrow-your-hair-dryer

Relena, Noin, & Dorothy

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183824582143/police-officer-youre-being-pulled-over-for

Police Officer & WuFei Chang

https://deathscythe-demiguy.tumblr.com/post/183800963676/ransomedbard-incorrectgundamwingquotes-hilde

Hilde (Turned into screencap quotes by the wonderful @ransomedbard)

http://outofworkshinigami.tumblr.com/post/183777747697/gwkimmy-incorrectgundamwingquotes

The Apple Tree drinking Apple Juice debate continues!

@incorrectgundamwingquotes, @lemontrash, @gwkimmy

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183763332604/at-preventers-hq-heero-to-une-i-am-an

Heero & Duo

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183762394256/quatre-hey-trowa-i-brought-you-coffee-trowa

Quatre & Trowa

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183757582761/duo-honestly-fuck-viruses-theyre-not-even

Duo & Quatre (I’m of a mind to agree with Duo at the moment.)

https://noirangetrois.tumblr.com/post/183749892790/incorrectgundamwingquotes-i-came-into-this

Dorothy (>_>)

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183752653521/during-mariemaias-rebellion-duo-this-is-a

Duo & Heero

https://incorrectgundamwingquotes.tumblr.com/post/183717778013/duo-i-know-im-getting-married-ro-but-its-ok

Duo & Heero

No Idea What To Put This Under:

@gundampilot

http://mooncrystalpower.com/post/183763878040/recommend-with-headphones-in-full-screen-my

Video edit

Calendar Events:

@acworldbuildingzine

Rhythm Generation https://acworldbuildingzine.tumblr.com/post/183502874098/hello-from-the-rhythm-generation-zine-crew-with

Donations have 6 prime locations!

The Rhythm Generation zine will be released digitally as a PDF on May 4. To receive a copy, please be sure to sign up via our Mailing List Form!

@gwcocktailfriday

Cocktail Fridays!

Post responses on Friday, during Happy Hour between 3 & 5 pm in your own timezone.

Here’s the prompt for Friday, April 5th! https://gwcocktailfriday.tumblr.com/post/183817930931/nbcwillandgrace-hitting-karen-where-it-hurts

For those going to Pillowfort, find us here.

If anyone has ideas for prompts, PLEASE send them in! Our ask box is always open.

@our-summer-of-zechs

Summer of Zechs 2019 https://our-summer-of-zechs.tumblr.com/post/183734829321/summer-of-zechs-2019

Come vote for a month to host it in and send in prompts!

Month Vote Count https://our-summer-of-zechs.tumblr.com/post/183825139256/votes

Here’s the Pillowfort discussion.

@thisweekingundamevents

Gundam Wing Mini Bang https://thisweekingundamevents.tumblr.com/post/183830183720/mini-bang

Let us know if you’d like to participate and if you’d like it to have a theme!

#Gundam Wing #This Week in Gundam Wing #Weekly Roundup #17-30 March 2019

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infiniteleftdoesffxiv · 6 years

Text

Liquid Heartache

There was a distant thought that Lahm dragged up from his muddled brain that this? This was pretty sad, if he thought about it. Well, you didn’t need to think about it, it was obvious.

Sitting in the corner of the Coffer & Coffin was the washed up and bedraggled miqo’te, lost in his own misery. Sure, the place was a little out of the way, but he preferred it here, than any other establishment within the direct limits of Ul’dah. The city was pricey and judgey, two things Lahm was inclined to be sick of.

Some son he’d turned out to be. Some brother he’d turned out to be. He forced himself to snort at the memory of his sister’s outraged shouting as he left her behind. She was a smart girl, she’d be fine. All of them would be.

There was a tiny, nagging part of him all-too-helpfully reminding him that this was a pretty unhealthy way to deal with his woes. He shut it up by downing the rest of his glass and sneered. He’d lost enough dignity already, couldn’t he just wallow in this for a moment?

It wasn’t like he wanted to be like this, miserable and on the run. All he wanted was to go home and counsel those who’d lost their way like he’d always done in his own, blunt manner.

Try as he might, though, the lump in his throat told him exactly why he couldn’t, his mind remembering in an unfortunate amount of clarity how warm and sticky blood was, and how much of it stained his hands –

Lahm snatched the bottle back up and rationed out another dose of liquid heartache. He remembered that’s what Gihyi used to call it… nothing but sadness in this remedy, she said. No cure. Only a delay of the inevitable, adding its own poison into the mix of grief.

Liquid heartache, hah. That sounded pretty apt to him right now. He deserved it, though. He knew he did. Forgiveness was for the innocent, for those who were purer of heart and soul, who still had love and life left to give.

There would be none for him. Not from his sisters, not from himself.

He deserved it.

#ffxiv rp #lahmsungh #writing #ic post #short story #hi i'm here to introduce/reintroduce this sad jackass #he's uber fucked up #my goal? un-fuck him #get him back into his HOLY BUSINESS #personal write

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wanderingblindly · 2 months

Note

no you're so real for being sad about the champagne bc when lando skipped over oscar to spray the others my heart SANK

I’m personally pretending that the camera just missed it :)))))

Otherwise, I’m deeply healed by the olive branch that was oscar joking about the trophy AND doing a shoey in the plane

#realistically they’re fine I’m just at a sensitive moment #but oh now that I know shoey is code for Oscar wanting to uplift lando oooooo boy it’s over for yall #ask me :)#lando norris #Oscar piastri #landoscar #hungarian gp 2024 #liquid’s grief counseling

83 notes · View notes

the-heart-of-leo · 6 years

Note

Could you please write a somewhat sad story with happy ending. A Hannor fic where Hank and Connor come home to hear Sumo wheezing for breath as he got stung by a bee that somehow got into the house and he was having an allergic reaction and Hank can't do anything but worry so Connor comforts him. Sumo survives though.

(uuuh, It’s kind of a happy ending?)

Thehouse was quiet, unnervingly so. It was surprising how much noise abig dog could make, even if it was just sleeping. No tapping of clawson the floor, no huffs of happiness, no small growls or whines ofdiscontent. The house was just… quiet.

Hankdidn’t like it.

Thehouse hadn’t been this quiet in years, not since he had broughthome that shaggy puppy with feet too big for his body.

Hankfelt the couch beside him dip as the only other occupant of the housesat down. Connor didn’t say anything and Hank knew he was weighinghis options, possibly going through his programming to figure outwhat he should do. Finally, he felt Connor’s arm slip through hisand lace their fingers together.

“He’llbe fine, Hank,” Connor said, voice soft but confident. “The vetjust wanted to keep him overnight as a safety precaution. We’ll goget him in the morning.”

Hanknodded his head. He knew that. He had been the one to carry Sumo intothe vet, to lay him on the table as Connor calmly – always so calm,even now – explained about the bee hive in the backyard that theyhadn’t known about and how Sumo had been chasing one of the beesbefore yelping in pain.

IfConnor hadn’t been there or if he had no way to connect to anetwork to find out emergency first aid or, hell, if they hadn’thad any benadryl in the house…

Heheard Connor sigh beside him and felt the brush of hair against hischeek as the android laid his head on his shoulder.

“Igot him for Cole,” Hank said, his voice heavy in the silent house.“For Cole’s second birthday.”

Hefelt the head on his shoulder shift and knew Connor was looking up athim. They had been together for almost a year now, not including thefew months where they just lived and worked together. In all thattime, trying to get Hank to say anything about his previous family,his son and his ex-wife, was like pulling teeth. He just didn’twant to talk about it.

“Childrenenjoy pets,” Connor stated the obvious, a thing he tended to dowhen he didn’t quite know what else to say. “Did Cole like Sumo?”

IfHank closed his eyes, he knew he’d have no trouble picturing Cole’schubby toddler face and those blue eyes wide with an excitement sointense his tiny body didn’t know how to express it. Even then,Sumo had been almost as big as the child but that hadn’t stoppedCole from wrapping his baby arms around the puppy and hugging himtight.

“Yeah…yeah, he did.” And with that, the last bit of Hank’s strengthleft him. He fell back onto the couch, slouching down into thecushions, dragging Connor down with him. Connor didn’t hesitate. Hecurled around Hank, resting his head once again against Hank’sshoulder, a hand clasping one of Hank’s while the other restedbetween them. It was a position they spent a lot of their downtimein, usually while Hank watched a movie or sports and Connor tried tofigure out if he liked what they were watching or not.

Theonly thing missing was the large dog at their feet.

“Sumo…Sumo’s the last part of Cole I have left, Connor.” The words feltsour on his tongue, his throat wanting to close up around them, likeSumo’s throat had started to close up on him. Against his will, hefelt liquid heat in his eyes and felt the first few tears run downhis cheek and into his beard. “I never realized it but… but heis.”

Sumois an old man like him now as well. If not today, then tomorrow, or afew weeks from now, a few months maybe. Saint Bernards only had alife expectancy of eight to ten years. Time was running out and hewas only now seeing it.

Connorcurled up tighter around him, wrapping his free arm around Hank’sshoulders to pull him into a loose hug.

“Idon’t know what to say,” he said softly, tucking his head underHank’s chin. The words he spoke next were soft and hesitant as ifthe android was trying to piece his thoughts together. “I wasn’tprogrammed for grief counseling and my human experiences dealing withit are limited… but I know that’s not true, Hank. I never had thepleasure to meet Cole but I know you loved him deeply and… and Idon’t think you can love someone that much without a part of thembeing inside you.”

That’swhy it hurts so much, Connor,he wanted to say but couldn’t make the words come. Instead, hereached up and pulled Connor to him, onto his lap, and buried hisface in the android’s neck, hiding from the rest of the world, ifonly for a little while.

Hefelt Connor’s hands start to card through his hand, heard the softshushing sounds over the dim hum of the android’s mechanical heart.He felt Connor’s lips brush the top of his head. Hank squeezedConnor to him harder, knowing he couldn’t hurt him, and let thegrief, worry, and panic of the day rush out of him.

“It’llbe alright,” he heard Connor promise him, “I love you, Hank.It’ll be alright…”

Fora long time, Hank hadn’t believed in ‘alright’, hadn’tbelieved in hope until Connor came crashing into his life. If Connorcould find light and goodness in this shit-hole world when it wentagainst every fiber of his being, against his very innate design, todo so… it had made Hank feel that, maybe, he could too.

Hejust hoped he could feel that way again in the morning, with Connorin his arms and the memory of his only child in his heart.

Ao3 Link

SEND ME PROMPTS

Tip Jar/Buy me a Ko-fi

#detroit become human #Connor RK800 #hank anderson #hannor #my writing #prompts

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upsmymindwanderedagain · 6 years

Text

Story of The Ice Wolf

PART 5

OTHER PARTS:

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4.1 PART 4.2 PART 6

WARNINGS: mentions of grief, torture (inflicted on reader), blood.

By the way this chapter is almost 5K.

Hey fellas! as I stated last chapter, there’s more story coming, we will see a little more of backstory of the reader and the twins. Now regarding this background, as I mentioned beforehand, in this story the twins Wanda and Pietro are not portrayed as we typically see them in other stories or even the MCU, sure they have the essence and personality (I hope) but this story is not flowers and sunshine, just have that in mind while reading. If something makes you feel uncomfortable or just something doesn’t feel right for you, send me a message and we can chat it out.

As always typos and errors are my bad, sorry.

"We will keep the details of the mission and what happened behind closed doors. The official statement is that Y/N and Bucky are on an undercover mission. We can't let the truth be known, not until we have an answer solid enough to reassure people peace of mind" Maria takes over "We will have a private ceremony..." "No" Tony interrupts Hill. "Bucky and Y/N were not that kind of believers" If you want to do one is up to you, but I'm sure that where ever they are they will laugh at us". "Stark is right, drink it off don't cry it out" Her best life counseling, even Barnes agreed on that one, May says. Everyone chuckles lightly. "Let's drink it off in their memory".

----

The pressure on your brain slowly pulls you out of the dark oblivion, your body feels trapped, something cold kisses your exposed skin, your brain begins to register the pain of your joints. A disgustingly familiar Russian voice starts to beckon you. "Ice Wolf, open your eyes asset". "Ice Wolf" There's no third call. A surge of electrical discharge shakes you to the core, making you open your eyes as you scream in agony. As your body rides the aftershocks, a hand grips forcibly your hair lifting your head. "Captain is good to have you again on our ranks" he says in Russian. You sneer a dry "Fuck you Yuri". His open hand slaps you hard and unforgivingly, making you spit blood as your face is turned to the right "That's no way of talking to your handler asset". Your voice is a gruff hiss "You are not my handler sergeant" you are quick to spit blood and drool straight to his face. You try to launch yourself at him, but you are clasped to a metal wall, the wall mounted handcuffs give you no space to move, you trash with all your strength but the burn in your veins tells you that is in vain, the flesh in your joints and neck end up raw and bleeding. He only stares blankly at your before letting out a mocking boisterous laugh "I want you to meet your new handler and team mates before we make you forget them" he calls them to come in. A tall bulky Russian man comes in followed by two girls, one has dark mist swirling around her hands her face is stern and uninterested, the second one has a smirk on her face and archangel wings (Anika?). "Captain Ice Wolf a 'honor' seeing you again" he says sarcasm heavy on his voice. "Go to hell Salarov" you voice is harsh and hateful. "Allow us to greet you properly" he lifts a syringe full of a nerve wrecking familiar dark liquid, he jabs the needle in your neck, the dark liquid starts making your veins feel even more on fire, you don't scream instead you set your jaw and groan in pain, the veins and tendons on your neck bulge under the strain. When the initial burn starts to wear off you notice the sinister smile on the men faces, Yuri hands Salarov bright almost white branding iron shaped with Hydras symbol. The dark serum is awfully painful on its own, but is meant to weaken you and make every single wound unbearable while you are able to withstand deadly wounds, making it hard for you to die still there’s a breaking point in that. The Salarov juggles with the metal branding mockingly, with no warning he jabs the metal on the old scared flesh on your chest re-doing the branding, you can’t hold back this time you scream in agony, muscles tensing up in pain. ---

Six months have passed since the day Bucky and you made the ultimate sacrifice, and Wanda still can wrap her thoughts around the fact that you are no longer there.

She is on a constant limbo of sadness, bitterness and anger, she is angry at Fury for making the call, she is angry at you for doing such a stupid thing, she is bitter because the four of you saw the clues and still walked in, and she is sad, that deep hollowing sadness that not even revenge call fill up.

She is curled up in the sofa of your shared loft, she is wearing one of your leather jackets that still smell like you, she eyes at the guitar resting on the wall that one was yours, cup of tea in her hand, she knows better than get smashed in the middle of the day.

She is not fool or naive, since the first time they saw you bloodied, beaten, tumbling into the warehouse you all used to call home after their parents were killed, they realized that death was a stalking companion. They understood how possible it was that you might not come home again or even them, the sokovian streets were a mess.

That's why after a lot shouting and fighting they convinced you to let them fight too and get involved in all the not so legal things you did to get money, sure you put rules and you were taking the worst part of the burden and responsibility, but not all anymore.

Since the day they found you bloody beaten, they took you in. Their parents knew nothing about you. You said you were seven, but you looked at least two years older, you were bigger and way stronger than the other kids. The lack of your papers and the thin financial situation of they were in resulted in you not being able to go to the school (besides you got expulsed before getting in for beating down a group of kids making fun of the twins in the school yard). Wanda can't hold back her jiggle at that memory.

Instead their mama taught you everything at home, how to read, numbers, equations, you learnt English from her and Spanish from an ex-CIA neighbor, Grace she was a hacker so she taught you how mend around technology and you avidly learnt, somedays she took you outskirts to shoot but you already knew your way around weapons, she used to call you 'lil Sokovian devil' some time later she nick named you "Sokovian Ghost" due to your hacking skills and your tendency to lurk in the shadows gathering intel.

She smiles at the good memories coming to her head. You were family even before you were her lover, always taking care of them and even helping others.

While their parents were still alive, the three were trouble always on the run, you taught them how fight to defend themselves, their parents learnt that fact when the twins got suspended for kicking their bullies asses. You were so excited and proud of them that you fist bumped them in front of the director of the school, he yelled at you for encouraging them and you simply stared at him and shrug it off. Their parents couldn't hold back their laughter at you not giving fucks about it, if something the week they got suspended you taught them grappling.

When things got rough you stayed strong, even though your adoptive parents home was available after their deaths, the three of you slept most of the time in a warehouse or in Grace's place to avoid social services, she didn't mind, those were the days that you all eat better, specially you (you avoided meals to buy them treats but they didn't knew).

Tears start gathering in her eyes, they knew the risks of their lifestyle, they spent 4 years in the streets making jobs for drug dealers and informants. Later at the age of 17 you 18 behind Hydra's back the three of you took over the Sokovian illegal affairs from weapon traffic to drug dealing that's how you meet Zemo and his unit then partnering up with him, he was the official face you three were the master minds and the ones doing the extra dirty work, the streets were less messy and now it was yours.

She misses the constant presence that you were in her life, you were fiercely protective of her you even killed on spot stupid guys cat hollering at her (mostly in your Hydra days). But you also made her feel strong and confident on her own, you never down talk her or keep her from doing things and missions.

Pietro, Wanda alongside Natasha they have become ruthless and merciless in the missions, to the point of plain slaughters, resulting in awful scolding’s from the star spangled cap and lectures from Fury, Hill is in the middle, she doesn't scold them, she is more empathic but always reminds them that they are better than that.

She plainly misses you, the hard-cold facade you built around you to show the world was that, a facade a mask. Pietro and her knew the real you, the caring person that loved cuddles a fluff ball with her, you loved sneaking out just the three of you, sometimes Loki will tag along even Zrinka and Costel when they visited, you all went outskirts to make bonfires and drink off the night while playing guitars like the small rock band trio that you were.

She misses how at her comeback from missions you always had something prepared to make her feel at home helping her wash away the mission followed by cuddles and a glass of wine, other times if she wasn't too tired or hurt you'd take her to extravagant dinners or you'll make a homemade meal, you didn't best her at cooking but you were far, far better than Pietro, he is a lost cause, even their mama recognized that when they were little.

Sometimes when she is trying to relax at the bathtub after a mission her minds tricks her, sometimes she foolishly think that you will walk in the bathroom to lift her in your arms to take her to your shared bed. Her heart breaks again when the truth seeps back in her mind.

She misses the sex because it never was plain sex, the two of you were vanilla in that aspect of your intimacy, the tough life and the scars you both have is the testimony of you not liking kinky hardcore things. You were gentle and caring with an edge of roughness is she asked you to be, but you were a dork as much as smooth, charming talker you were you always made her laugh in glee.

She shamelessly used her powers to spice things up though, but that was as kinky as you two went, she ghostly caressed your skin with her powers, red energy dancing on your skin, shivers of pleasure trailing along the places she touched or holding off your hands with her powers as she made you come undone under her ministrations.

You were always teasing her of how the sweetest and most innocent looking of the trio was the kinkiest dipshit, regardless you adored her always looking at her like a lovesick puppy.

She can see how much Pietro misses you, you were his sistra in every sense of the word, for him you were that immoveable force strong, confident and caring. You helped him get a hold of his powers and break barriers, go beyond his limits just like you did with her, during this process you even end up hurt but you always brushed it off telling them how someday they might save you with their powers.

Pietro was fiercely protective of both of you, but he always respected your rank and dynamic, however in the moments you faltered or just needed a break he was there to support you, and take over the lead until you were back on your feet.

He admired you, he wished that someday he could be as strong as you. They saw you being tortured in Hydra's grasp how they piece you back together with steel with no regard of your mental state or body. They went through the training with you, however Hydra's trainers always pushed you to breaking points to make you the finest weapon. Still you swallowed your revenge feelings and worked for them, never losing the soft caring side reserved only for them.

You fulfilled your promise, you got them out of Hydra to a better life, that's the life you've been having this past five plus years. Pietro always pictured you on it, he was thinking on marrying his girlfriend Zrinka but he couldn't bear the thought of you not being there, not when even their parents wouldn't be there. Wanda was his only family left, sure Zrinka and Costel are family but the bonds and the experiences you've been through together makes it impossible that someone will fill the void that your absence has left.

Wanda was always teasing you at how now that you were Avengers it was more plausible that you two would end up in jail due to your shenanigans. Pietro being the flirty shit he is, loved going to bars and strip clubs to wreak havoc and you were always with him, even she would tag along just for the fun of it and get you worked up.

Most of the time only you and Pietro would go to street racing, she was wishing you two would end up caught up by the police so she could witness Tony and Steve making an excuse to bail you out, you never fell in jail.

Clint now more than before has been acting like a father figure for them, he is making sure that they don't do reckless things, making sure they eat properly and trying his best to cheer them up in his Clint fashion way, but is hard because not only the twins are hurting, Nat is hurting too she is closed off and distant, even when she partners up with the twins the rest of the time she keeps to herself.

Tony and Steve are still a little uneasy on how to approach the three of them, Tony is blaming himself and his ego, Steve is just lost he puts on his strong face but behind closed doors he is not better than Pietro, Bucky was his only family left, he lost the only person that know him before all this mess, he lost a brother too. Besides he respected you, even when the two of you had a rough start, he admired you just like he admires Natasha, it breaks his heart knowing that a wrong call did this much damage.

Tony, the billionaire is trying his best he even tries to cheer up Pietro buying him a new car, but the silver haired man, politely refused telling him the story of how the first car he ever had is a Dodge Challenger RT 73, you had it restored and tuned for him, three weeks later he crashed the right side during a street race. when he told you just laugh it up telling him that you bet Wanda a week until he crashed it, and you lost the bet and regarding the car it was now his problem to have it repaired, pretty much was a 'work your ass off to pay the repairs' with a pat of his back. Tony laugh wholeheartedly at the story, you indeed were something.

The next days (months?) are a complete blur you can hear yourself scream, other times you hear Bucky scream in agony, that's the only way you both know you are still alive. Both are being beaten to make you comply obedience (They'll need more than that). They refused to wip you both, they now know that Wanda will be able to snap you out of it. Even though you are being beaten to unconsciousness on daily basis, you learn two things, the one with the archangel wings code name is 'Dark Angel' (so original, and is indeed Anika) she can blast you with energy spheres. The other girl is called Dark Mist she can play with your mind and hurl you round with her telekinesis like a ragdoll, both of them can knock your ass out. The next time you regain consciousness you are strapped to a metal chair, Salarov and his two companions enter the lab room, he has a spider like dispositive on his hand. "Time to obey asset" there’s other two soldats that you know well, after some wrestle they forcibly shove a mouthguard on you. You are not stupid, you know what is about to happen, the scientist fiddle with the equipment setting it up, they lower the head piece in place, you try with all your strength to scape, but is in vein, Salarov only laughs at you “Do it” the scientist turns the machine on. You can feel the electricity swimming in your head, the pressure on your brain makes your sight fill with black dots, then it becomes white, the mouthguard can’t stop the agony screams and grunts, the other soldiers stand unfaced at your suffering.

They repeat the process at least a couple of times at the end your jaw is locked close like a Rottweiler, they pry out the mouthguard leaving you panting like a wounded animal. Your head feels crushed, pain is all you can register, you can hear Russian voices around you, several heartbeats (or is just yours?) you sight is blurry, but slowly it clears out. When Salarov ugly mug comes in sight you growl at him, you don’t know how you end up there, but in the back of your mind you know that Bucky is somewhere near.

The soldiers unclasp the handcuffs, but your body feels out cold, they haul you off the seat to toss you to the cold unforgiving floor. Your body is so heavy and beaten that falls like a sack. The sergeant nods at the soldats who land hard merciless kicks at your midriff, you growl and fumble in pain. After tasting a couple of boots, they forcibly make you kneel, your body hunches to the front, a dark oblivion is tempting you to surrender. The Mist traps you in place her energy makes your skin shiver in disgust. Salarov crunches before you he makes the spider like dispositive pierce your scalp, skull and the metal plate on the right side, you feel tentacles swimming beneath your skin running down your neck, a new burn runs through your veins.

(I can only hope that Bucky is dead to avoid being through this). "Status report soldat". "FUCK YOU" you venomously grunt spatting blood at him. He forcibly wipes out the blood off his face. "Increase the poison". You hiss in pain as your voice starts to falter, sight getting even blurrier. "Status report soldat" "F-FUCK YOU" your words are slurred but not less despiteful. "More" he grunts. You can’t voice a thing, your body shakes but you refuse to comply. They up the dose more, you can feel your thoughts drifting away, mind starting to blank even the pain starts to shut off. "Status report soldat" he angrily request. You voice is cold, emotionless, void of any human trait, after all the screaming in agony your voice is husky "Ready to comply" you mind is blank you don't longer feel or think, your stare is stern cold and unforgiving. "Code name" he request the glee in his voice is clear. "Ice Wolf" a kick of a boot sole your left cheek snap your face to the right, but you are unfaced staring blankly at the unknown. "Wrong, code name: asset 1. Repeat code name soldat" "Asset 1".

---

The soldats drag you to other lab room, where the doctors patch you up, before they store you, they show you some pictures requesting you to tell the names of the people framed, in the beginning you can name them all, but after awful discharges on your head you start forgetting the man with a slug smirk and dark brown eyes, the one with blue eyes an a shield, a redhead with green eyes, the man with metal arm, the one with the patch, a stern woman with blue eyes, an Asian woman with confident stance…every single one of them get lost in a void, the last ones you forget is a grey haired man with piercing blue eyes and a brunette woman with bright green eyes, they are replaced with enemies, a group call avengers they are targets to be eliminated given the order by your handler. The last thing you register is cold, is almost like a déjà vu, cold…cold until everything shuts off.

--- It's been two plus years since that mission, the avengers have taken down a several of Hydra's bases and hideouts. But despite all this effort a new Hydra unit has appeared three soldiers and two enhanced, they've been responsible of assassinations of important politicians some ex-Hydra high ranks and even done some terrorist attacks, their moves are always deadly precise and organized, the avengers have encountered them a several times. The only intel they have is that the leader is called the Dark Tiger, his fighting style and armor like T'achalla's of course in no way as advanced as the king’s. He is always flanked by two soldiers (suspected super soldiers) they are always acting like shields to him, the intel says that this two are new advanced versions of the Ice Wolf and Winter Soldier (mocking the fallen ones with the names). The first enhanced posse’s electricity generation and telekinesis her code name Dark Mist, the other one poses archangel wings, can create energy blasts and has teletransportation, code name Dark Angel. The last members of this team are two 4’0 tall black wolves, one of them has bionic front limbs with long sharp claws the second one has bionic back limbs and bionic front paws they are always close to the Dark Wolf and the Dark Soldier. --- [Avengers Compound]

The avengers are gathered in the kitchen and dining table, some of them eating others talking. Wanda is currently talking with Natasha. As the news are playing in the background. *Breaking news, the truth about S.H.I.E.L.D's last failure*. The avengers pay no mind, since the Hydra mew group showed up some TV hosts have taken as their mission to talking crap about them. *... Well Charles, guess what we have here, you know about the rumors of the Wolf and the Winter Soldier, the Avengers said that the 'former' Hydra soldiers are on an undercover mission. Well unless this mission involves going to hell with no ticket back..." Everyone halted what they were doing. Steve turns up the volume. Wanda's eyes turn red in anger while Natasha schools her features. *An anonymous source has leaked footage of a carnage almost two years ago...* The video shows footage of the fight *As you all can see the almighty heroes and S.H.I.E.L.D agents had their asses busted, but hold on, the best part is coming...* All the avengers stop what they are doing to look the news, they make their way to living space. "...The Wolf and the Winter Soldier were the chosen bait, they stayed back and end up blown to pieces, the last thing you see is Thor and Vision recovering some of their weapons and their masks all the items bloodied and beaten. And we are not done yet, this anonymous source was kind enough to reveal that our ‘beloved’ Wolf was in no way a hero, she was a high ranked Hydra member, high in the command chain, Y/N was a captain known as the Ice Wolf. Responsible for this* A large file package is shown. *She did all this with no brain washing or mind control, she was a mercenary, a cold blood mons...* the sound is turn off. Nat tries to calm down Wanda who right now is livid and crying. Pietro goes to them to engulf them on a big protective hug, his voice is full of anger “I’ll be right back, I’m going to kill him”, when he tries to rush out of the door Clint halts him with a hand on his chest “Hold your horses speedster, think before you do” Pietro groans in annoyance and goes back to his twin holding her close and kissing the crown of her head. "F.R.I.D.A.Y trace the source and shut down the news broadcast, erase everything available on the red". Rushing heel clicks can be hear nearing, Pepper comes running "Tony turn off... Guys... I'm sorry". A hologram is displayed in the middle of the coffee table. *Stark we need to do damage control*. "I'm on it, F.R.I.D.A.Y is taking down everything" Tony says jaw set and voice stern. *Call a press conference, Rogers take care of that mess. Be prepared for an attack, Hydra is making a move* the dark skin man says his voice hinted in anger. --- [Hydra base] --- *Message delivered sir, the avengers are calling a press conference*. *Tiger, ready your unit, you are crashing their conference, make sure is a big play, don't kill them yet*. *Yes, sir*.

The bulky Russian man walks to the living room of the safehouse "Company we have a mis... Mist where the fuck is Angel?!".

"She is playing with her sex toys".

[Angel's room]

I can hear a female voice chatting, her voice is quite lively and lately is the only thing that's reminds me I'm alive, most of the time I just feel pain and my body moving, others I just feel an overwhelming cold, on the best days I get glimpses of what Hydra wills me to do. Never in my twelve years serving them I felt like an asset, now I'm just that, and seems that Bucky couldn't avoid this fate again.

"What ya think Bucky, should I pretend is you this time or Wolfy?" She gets close to me.

My voice is barely a broken whisper "Last time... Was Buck".

"Oh?" she tilts her head "Hey Wolfy did I lowered the poison that much?" she only jiggles.

Our bodies are slumped against the wall, handcuffs keep the arms above our heads, the ankles are shackled too, collar and chain included.

She gets close to straddle my lap and lean in to whisper in my ear "As soon as they find out about you I'll help them get you back... Now behave he is coming" she presses a button of the controller.

I feel the burn in my veins increasing, slowly my mind drifts away.

She fakes kissing your neck as the door is slammed open.

"Angel! stop fucking them, we have a mission".

She groans in annoyance "Fine" pressing another button the shackles are open.

"Soldats! Gear up" he shouts, voice full of anger. Methodically like robots, both of you get up and walk out of the room following orders.

They wip you both before heading to the mission.

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, as I said buckle up and twist your undies.

I might post another chapter this week, since my holydays end this week.

PART 6

#wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #quick silver x reader #avengers x reader #shield x reader #story of the ice wolf #part 5

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creative-type · 7 years

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So this is going to be a bit of a departure from what I usually write because while micro-analyzing manga and writing fanfiction is what I do to escape from the real world, as a nurse who has spent her entire career working in nursing homes there’s something I wish more people would understand:

When a nursing home (or any other medical facility) bring up the possibility of hospice for a loved one, it’s not because we’re giving up or leaving them to die. I repeat: Nursing homes aren’t trying to kill off their hospice residents. Or any of their residents, for that matter.

Beware, there be frustrated ranting below the cut.

I have had too many families refuse hospice services or comfort medications such as liquid ativan and morphine because they fear their loved ones being snowed or have had a bad experience in the past. While I can’t vouch for what hospice was like ten or twenty years ago, I can tell you that if someone died less than a minute after being given a dose of morphine then chances are it wasn’t the morphine that killed them. In fact, it’s quite possible that the stimulation of pain was the only thing keeping them alive, and after having their pain adequately treated they were able to rest in peace.

Another thing that I don’t think is well understood but comes up quite frequently in these situations is the ethical principle of double effect. Yes, drugs like morphine have side effects like respiratory depression and sleepiness, but those side effects have to be measured against the positive effect of adequately managing pain. All medication has side effects - heck, Tylenol is one of the safest pain medications in existence but take enough of it and you’ll wreck your liver. The question becomes are those side effects worth it?

This question of course needs to be addressed on a case by case basis and obviously the needs of the patient change as their illness progresses, but often for the case of the terminally ill (especially the elderly terminally ill) the answer is an emphatic yes. Symptoms caused by heart and lung disease are especially helped with routine, low-dose morphine, because the same side effect that causes respiratory depression actually makes it easier for the patient to breathe. Many dementia patients are likewise helped with scheduled doses of ativan once they reach the phase of constant delirium and terminal agitation (yes, that is the appropriate medical term).

Nursing homes are not hospitals. There are regulations against the use of restraints, not enough staff for 1:1 care, and even new laws taking away our ability to have body alarms and side rails for our beds. I have had too many residents suffer from uncontrolled pain, or try to throw themselves out of their wheelchairs because they’re hallucinating and been helpless to do anything because a family member refuses to let staff treat the problem.

Hospice is a service that looks at a terminally-ill patient and asks what do you want with the time you have left? (As a side note, palliative care is in many ways similar to hospice, but does not require a life expectancy of six months or less to qualify.) This can mean different things for different people, and what makes hospice especially great is that it looks big picture, addressing spiritual and emotional needs in addition to the physical, and including whole family and not just the individual who is dying. Many hospices include services such as grief counseling for surviving family members for up to a year after their loved one’s passing.

Basically what I’m trying to say is that hospice adds care instead of taking away. There dozens upon dozens of different hospices to choose from, each with different specialties, but many include things like music therapy, massage, volunteers that visit specific times each week, chaplain services, and specially trained CNAs for bathing and other needs.

And if a nursing home isn’t for you, that’s okay! Hospices will go to individual’s homes, hospitals, and even have their own hospice houses where the actively dying can receive round-the-clock care from those best trained and equipped to handle the unique needs of a person in the last stage of their life.

I’ve had residents on who through the quality care provided by hospice improve to the point where they no longer qualify for services. I’ve taken care of a man who’s dying wish was to see his daughter who lived out of state get married - it was the combined efforts of hospice and the nursing home that he regained the strength for the trip. He said it was the happiest days of his life, and he died less than a week later. I’ve seen a hospice nurse stay with a woman whose end-stage congestive heart failure was so bad she was literally drowning on dry ground; the nurse administered morphine every fifteen minutes for hours, and in the last minutes of her life the resident was able to breathe peacefully.

I once admitted a man from the hospital who came to our nursing home as a skilled resident - that is, he was supposed to receive therapies with the intention of getting better. He arrived around four o’clock in the afternoon, and I knew immediately that he was actively dying. By six I had hospice on board, and it was almost eight o’clock exactly when he died. It was the hospice nurse who comforted his wife of sixty-nine years while she wept over the body of her husband, because there were forty other residents in my care who needed my attention.

Is hospice for everyone? No, of course not, but if any of my readers have a loved one with a terminal illness or know someone who does, please realize that those guys do a whole lot of good and don’t deserve the bad rap that I too often hear them given. It takes someone special to work with the dying, and speaking as a nurse I believe they deserve all the respect in the world for the service they provide, not just to their patients, but their families as well.

#nursing #hospice #creative-type rants

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metallikca · 7 years

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Ich bin nur Menschlich (I'm only human)

(@shotgunintheimpala)

Prompt: Christina Perri's Human

For Esther's 150 Followers challenge that I'm rly late for and I'm sorry but life went hectic and its so hard for me to write when I'm stressed

A/N: Set in 2045, Dean/66 Sam/62, Cas has been human for 25 years and lives with Charlie.

Additional A/N: My fic is based off of the song, rather than containing the song, because I find it really hard to incorperate songs in my writing.

Wasser (Water)

Surrounding Castiel, simply water, it’s Bläue lost on his eyes, instead the light shone red through lids closed over irises made of sky.

Holding his breath, he swam, his strong body taking the strain with ease. He emerged from the water at the edge of the pool, cool marble chilling his hands as he used them to propel himself up out of the water.

“Cas!” he heard a feminine voice call from the kitchen, His roommate, Charlie, hung out of the window. The redheaded woman was holding a phone, presumably his, and waving it out the window at him.

“Answer it, Charlie.” He replied, grabbing a towel. “I’ll be a minute.” He threw the towel over his head and quickly dried off, leaving the damp towel around his shoulders as he walked in through the patio. He looked at Charlie expectantly, who held his emerald green Samsung to her ear. She held it out, “Claire.”, she spoke dully, and Cas wondered whether this would be good or bad.

He hadn’t heard from Claire in over 2 years, she had been living in Toronto with her boyfriend and busy hunting with the Canadian branch of the Winchester Letters Initiative, a re-creation of the years-gone “Men of Letters” (which now included many talented Female hunters.).

Originally based in Kansas, the Winchester brothers re-created the Men of Letters, making it a mix between what they were and what the Men of Letters wanted to be, and allowing any hunter of any gender to join the collective, and be permitted to utilize the Bunker’s library, holding key information on all monsters across America. Often times Hunters came into the Bunker when they got hurt or needed a place to lay low, the countless rooms in the space provided a “Hotel” of sorts for them.

He took the phone and pressed it to his ear, holding it with his shoulder as he strode into the kitchen. “Claire.” He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, “What’s going on?” he turned the handle on the sink and the faucet started to pour cool water into his glass, as he listened to Claire he turned the faucet off, slowly placing the glass on the counter without drinking any of the water. He leaned against the counter, in the pit of his stomach he felt a knot, and in his chest he felt pain. Even after years of being human, he never quite got used to this feeling.

“Dad.. I....I'm so sorry." Claire’s voice fell flat on Castiel’s ears.

Grief, like waves from the Ocean, pummeled against him as if he was the shore, he felt as if he might collapse, but some part of him was too stubborn to let his body fail. The phone went dead and he laid it quietly on the counter. Charlie stood in the doorway, a concerned look had appeared over her usually happy features,

“I’m so sorry, Cas.” Charlie spoke, walking forward into the room.

“I…” Cas breathed in deeply. “I knew it was coming.” he spoke as if it might make him feel better to say it, but it didn’t. There was no peace.

He walked out of the room and into his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. He held his head in his hands and silent sobs began to make his body shake. After a long while he stood, crossing the room to his dresser, and pulled out a small box. He closed his eyes briefly, mentally preparing to face the reality Claire had told him. He opened the box softly, the light from the last of the evening sun illuminating shiny photographs, each one carefully labelled at the bottom. Cas picked up the first photo, with a black car, a man with green eyes was holding out a beer to the photographer, smiling widely. Surrounding them were trees in shades of red, orange and yellow. Underneath the photo a label read: Dean and Baby, October of 2020.

Castiel gently placed the photo on the table beside his bed, flicking on the lamp. He sat and continued looking through the photos, not noticing his crying until a drop landed on a photo of Him with Dean, Sam with his wife Eileen, and Charlie, each dressed as a different Scooby Doo character, titled The Scooby Gang, Halloween 2023.

Cas wiped the tear off of the photo, setting the box on the table he stood, trying not to cry. His best friends for years, the men who had saved him countless times, were gone.

‘Sam and Dean are dead.’

Thinking the words caused Cas’ emotions to overflow. He had seen Sam and Dean die over a dozen times and come back, but he knew, this time it was for real. He knew by how Claire said it, from the fact that she didn’t speak of any ideas to bring them back “this time”, or even tell him how they lost their lives. This time, was the last one, the last death for the brothers who had saved the world more times than anyone else could handle. He dropped to the floor and felt a rush of relief as his consciousness faded.

Hours later, Cas’ eyes open, looking around he notices that Charlie had gotten him onto his bed. Beside him on the table was a glass of water.

The box of photos had disappeared, he looked around systematically until he spotted the box sitting on the dresser, closed. He moved and felt something on his forehead, and removed what turned out to be a washcloth, damp with cool water.

He sat up only to feel a jarring pain in his head, and instantly grabbed the glass and the pill he noticed beside it, swallowing the pill followed with the water.

He moved the blanket off of his legs and swung them over the edge of the bed, wiggling his toes, encased in bumblebee socks peeking out from pajamas Charlie must have put on him while he was unconscious. He smiled gently, appreciating his roommate’s consideration and empathy.

He emerged to a semi-dark apartment, Charlie had gone to bed and night had long fallen over the city. The only light came from streetlights shining their light through the cracks in the curtains. He wandered to the window, pulling the curtain and gazing out into the artificially lit streets of Kansas City absently. The vast buildings made him feel safe, somehow, even knowing the monsters that lurked the streets.

He sighed as he turned from the window, and stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust as the curtain made the room dark, once more settling into place, shutting out the rest of the world. Shutting out the world that now seemed bleaker, knowing the Winchester Brothers were gone from it. He thought about how he would deal with this, he allowed his systematic Angel logic kick in. He thought that he might need counseling, that he might need help before their cremation. He knew they’d go like the hunters they were, burned on the pyre as generations of hunters had been. “The most honorable way to go,” Dean had once said, but now Cas wasn’t so sure he agreed. He wasn’t sure he could watch as his two brothers left this Earth for good, and he suddenly wondered where their souls went. Did they go to Hell, like so many Monsters undoubtedly promised? Did they go to Heaven, even though the Angels couldn’t care less about them? Did they get thrown in Purgatory, or the Void? His curiosity faded as quickly as it came, leaving behind a awfully large lump in his throat, which caused him to decide he needed an infusion.

He stepped into the kitchen, trailing his fingertips over the marble counter-tops. He loved this apartment, he loved the sleek kitchen appliances, the marble, the white carpet. He loved living with Charlie, too, because there would never be a day they’d be anything more than friends, and he decided a long time ago he didn’t want any more than friends. He may be human now, but his Angel instincts still made him wary of giving his heart to anyone, especially with past experiences in mind. He thought of Dean, and how they had such strong, undeniable Chemistry. An instant connection, he had thought it was love, and so had Dean. But it wasn’t. And even though Dean had moved on, Cas wasn’t sure exactly what held him back from loving anyone else. He knew he wasn’t in love with Dean, but nobody else could understand him, nobody else knew him the way Dean did and that made everyone else incapable of really being able to be with him.

He remembered back to Dean’s first marriage. A lovely young woman named Jo, if he remembered correctly, which of course he always did. That didn’t last long, but as far as he knew they stayed friends throughout the rest of Dean’s life. He wondered if the lady was still living, if she knew, if she cared. He moved on to Dean’s second marriage. She wasn’t a hunter, like Jo had been. She wasn’t even someone who was involved in this life at all. Her name was Sinead. She was brunette, built tall and broad-shouldered for a woman, soft personality, too. The total opposite of Jo. Her soft Irish accent made everyone in the room calm, and her music made everyone feel like they should be meditating. With Sinead, Dean had found love. Maybe not true love, maybe not his one-and-only, but certainly a wonderful love that made him happy until his dying day.

*screeeeeee* the tea kettle whistled, bringing Cas out of his reverie. He poured the hot water into his cup, watching the liquid pull the red colour out of the infusion, he breathed in, the scent of apple and cinnamon filled his nostrils and made him smile. He grabbed the honey jar out of the cabinet and smiled at the comb that was sitting at the bottom of the Jar. He poured honey in and stirred it, and put everything away before returning to the living room. He clicked on a lamp, and sat next to it on the recliner he usually occupied. Sipping his tea he thought of Sam, and how Sam had believed in him no matter what. Sam had always been like a brother, albeit a bit like an older brother, which Cas had plenty of with the Angels, but Sam was different. Sam understood, and when he didn’t, he listened. He always allowed Cas to finish his stories before adding feedback, unlike Dean who would cut in any time he had a thought. Sam was a genuinely good soul.

Cas thought of Eileen, Sam’s wife, and their three children, Dean, affectionately called “Dean 2.0” by the family, Bobby, and Ella. Dean 2.0 was the oldest, though luckily he wasn’t exactly like his Uncle. Instead he was more like his mother, caring and understanding but with a bite if he was crossed. He grew up to be a wonderful hunter, as did his siblings. Bobby and Ella, the younger two, were fraternal twins. Ella looked just like her mother, while Bobby looked more like Sam, built tall, they both exceeded their mother’s height as adults, much to her annoyance. “I’ve got a house full of moose!” she’d sign, smiling as she shook her head at her family. She could never really be annoyed with them, and Cas couldn’t honestly think of a family he knew of that loved each other more than them.

The clock chimed, signaling the end of another hour, and indeed, another day.

Cas debated whether he should try to sleep again, deciding to watch TV and finish his drink and then go back to bed, but before he knew it dawn’s light was shining in through the cracks in the curtains, illuminating the room in a soft glow. He sighed, running a hand through semi-long locks. He stood and stretched, empty mug hanging from one finger. He walked into the kitchen, cleaned his mug and got coffee on to brew for Charlie. He yawned, checked his watch and then proceeded to groan. 05:00. The worst time, in his opinion, to ever be awake. He didn’t have to work for hours.

‘maybe I should try to sleep,’ He thought absently to himself, yawning again. “I don’t think I can, at this point…” He spoke aloud, he had a habit or responding to himself. Stretching again, he tried to shake the stiffness out of his limbs.

He heard the coffee’s “Finished brewing” signal and returned to the kitchen, grabbing a mug and filling it with the hot brew. He heard a door open and Charlie emerged from her room, looking disheveled. She raised her nose and breathed in, a small smile forming on her face. “You made coffee?” She asked rhetorically, and Cas nodded. He held out a mug for her and she poured coffee into it, taking it from him to add the cream and sugar.

“Did you sleep?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. He knew he must look terrible.

“No.” He responded, furrowing his brow. “Well. I might have. I lost track of time at one point…” He added, thinking back to this morning, and wondering where the time had gone.

“When is the…thing?” He asked, not able to voice the burning he knew would happen.

“I…’m not sure.” Charlie responded, “Claire didn’t say anything to me. I figured she’d tell you.” She frowned, taking another sip.

“Alright.. Well I’ll call Eileen, I guess, and ask her that when I see how she is doing.” He took out his phone, but when the screen lit up to show time had only gone fifteen minutes, he set it back down. “Later. I’ll call her later. I’m sure her and the kids don’t want anyone bothering them before nine, at least.”

Charlie chuckled quietly, “You’re probably right.” She took another drink of her coffee and wandered out of the kitchen, Cas listened as her door shut, and Cas left to go to work.

The day dragged on, and Cas realized somewhere through it that he had somehow forgotten to call Eileen. He took a break and dialed her number, taking a deep breath as it rang.

"Dean Winchester," Cas squeezed his eyes closed, "Winchester Letters Initiative headquarters. What can I do for you?" The boy answered formally.

"Hey-uh-Dean." Cas muttered into the phone,

"Oh... hey Uncle Cas." The boy replied,

"Uh.. Dean... when is the.. the um.." Cas swallowed, trying to get his words out past the lump in his throat.

"The memorial?" Dean spoke softly, and Cas felt his eyes burn with tears.

"Y..ye..ah." Cas managed, feeling out of breath.

"It's in a week," Dean replied, "At the bunker. Everyone will be there."

Cas nodded to himself, taking another breath, "Alright. Charlie and I will be there. I have to get back to work now, tell the family Charlie and I love them."

"Will do. Love you, Uncle Cas."

Cas hung up, and slowly slid the phone into his pocket. The cold stone behind him was soothing, giving him a slight feeling of support.

~~~

The week went by, somehow fast and slow at the same time. Cas didn't think he could ever prepare himself.

Suddenly the day to leave was upon him, he packed enough for several days and joined Charlie at the door, clicking the autostart button on his truck keys. The engine revved to life outside as Cas locked the door behind him. Charlie slid into the passenger seat as Cas took the drivers seat, squeezing the steering wheel tightly before releasing it and shifting into drive.

The drive was long, and Cas had a hard time not thinking of all those memories of the boys.

Finally they arrived. Cas stepped out of the truck, grabbing his suitcase out of the back seat, and quickly strode up to the door. He felt a chill as he placed his hand on the door handle, turning it slowly and swinging the door open. The warm light of the hall illuminated his tired face, and as he walked down the steps into the main area he felt flooded with bittersweet memories. He could see Dean and Sam in his mind's eye, sitting at the tables, researching for one of their countless hunts. But the memory faded quickly as it had come, and he rubbed his arms as the chill came back.

Eileen and the kids were waiting for them in the media room. The kids were watching a movie and Eileen was crocheting. She set down the yarn in her hands and got up, giving them both big hugs, and the kids followed suit.

Then Eileen, sitting once more, took a breath, and began to sign, telling Cas how the boys died, and that they were so glad he and Charlie were there with them, that it was always good to have more family around. Tears began to flow from her eyes and she dropped her hands into her lap, looking down. At that moment Cas knew how hard she was taking the loss, so he pulled her close to him and hugged her. He knew he couldn't compare to Sam, but she needed something. He felt arms curving around him and Eileen, and glanced up to see Dean, Bobby, and Ella, half hugging him and half hugging their mother. All with tears streaming down their young faces. Charlie joined in and for awhile the group of them stayed that way, taking comfort in each other.

They stayed up late that night, telling stories of the men they knew and loved, laughing, crying, grieving, and just a bit, healing.

The next morning brought sunshine, they donned their black clothing and stepped outside into the bright light, the warmth drying their tears.

They spent the morning setting things up. The bunker needed seating for everyone who was attending the memorial later that evening. Before that, privately, would be the burning. The pyres were already set up, and Cas and Dean took the job of readying the boys for it. They cried, unashamed of their sorrow, throughout the whole process.

The burning itself went by quickly, and everyone involved was relieved as the last of the embers died out, for they weren't sure they could stand there much longer remembering.

As they shuffled inside, the first of their guests for the memorial arrived, a loud knock sounding on the door.

On the other side stood a very awkward Crowley, dressed in his usual black suit, with a black tie. Behind him stood his mother Rowena, looking equally as awkward.

"Come in." Dean gestured, eyeing them slightly.

"We're... so sor'y for yer loss." The redheaded witch offered politely, and Eileen gestured "thank you." She guided them to the main area of the bunker, in which sat dozens of seats and a table with a projector for photos and videos. Cas had packed his photos when he left, and now they sat neatly by the projector with a photo scanner beside them.

Many people arrived after that, Claire, Patience, Jody, Donna, Jack, Chuck, And many more arrived to say their goodbyes to the Winchester brothers who saved the world several times over.

A few hours past, they all ate dinner and had pie, and when everyone was finished they said their own goodbyes and eventually Dean, Bobby, Ella, Eileen, Cas, and Charlie were alone once more.

Cas and Charlie stayed for one week afterward, helping with anything they could. Eventually they too, went home, but not before both insisting Eileen call them if they needed anything.

Additional A/N: If you want the addition of how the boys died, send me an ask-I couldn't find a good way to put it in.

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