#non graphic injuries cw

[hakusins]

cw // bruises, non-graphic injuries, cigarettes

and a doodle for whit monday!!! :D

actually its alrdy tuesday so im late but u know what!!! i still gotta put it in anyways!!!

[withoutalice]

WIP doujin page. Kinda based in some past irl stuffs haha. Also can be looked at in the lense of my Max fic.

I know it looks bad in the tags but it's not medical malpractice i promise-

They're just trying to help...

[aplaceinthedark]

chapter ten: DOWN in HELL AFTER ALL

Summary: Down in the Shenandoah Valley, there lay a court consisting of the Grim, the Drowned, the Witch and the Watcher.

CW: supernatural themes, alcohol consumption, bodily injury, body horror, graphic violence, religious trauma, blood, physical assault, minor character death

Every chapter will have a different cw section. This is Bad Omens rpf, so obviously I don't know all the little nuances of the members or their family members.

A/N: Some things are color-coded. If any of you are colorblind lemme know. 

I breathed in, eyes slowly opening, feeling warm and…. enveloped. It was the only way I could describe the fullness I felt. Wrapped in a sweet, earthy scent, the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes fully was a tattoo of an eye, a spiderweb, and a rose on a tan neck. And that’s when I realized I was naked. In my bed. With a man.

No, not just a man; Nick. And I was… happy?

The anxiety and unsureness crept in. Barely two weeks had passed since I met him, and last night just… happened. Were we moving too fast? I mean, I sure as hell had no regrets, but… what if he did?

My eyes fell to his chest, where I finally could get a proper look at the lonely tattoo. It was a simple circle made of thorns with occasional gaps, done in a golden ink that somehow looked like liquid gold. I gently traced my finger around it.

Nick made a noise, stirring at last. I tried to snatch my hand away, but he moved the hand that had been tucked up above his head to take my hand and place it back on his chest.

“G’morning,” he groaned, his low voice raspy with sleep.

“Morning,” I said quietly.

“You doing okay?” he asked. His thumb started running circles on my hand, and I felt his other rub circles on my shoulder. I practically melted into his touch.

“Mmhmm,” I hummed.

“Good, good…” His voice trailed off. I felt him shift under the covers.

My eyes were pulled back to the circlet. “You’ll have to tell me about your tattoos sometime,” I said, my finger tracing the golden thorns again. I could see a trail of goosebumps left in its wake.

“That one… That’s for the Court,” he said. He chuckled quietly. “We used to call ourselves the Bad Omens, y’know?”

“No. Why’d you call yourselves that?”

“Because it’s considered a bad omen to see the others. Y’know, like a black cat crossing your path?” Nick said. “Needless to say, we don’t go by that name anymore.”

“I don’t know, it sounds kind of neat,” I admitted.

“Well you’re the only one.”

I swatted at his chest, and he chuckled again, squeezing my shoulders and kissing my forehead. My anxiety from earlier melted away.

Nick slowly trailed kisses down my face until he reached my lips, where he hovered for a few seconds before lightly pecking once, twice. On the third time, he lingered, licking the seam between like a plea for entrance. I had just opened my mouth when he let out a groan of frustration.

I pulled away. “What? What is it?”

“Noah… is out front,” Nick said, slightly out of breath. His lips crashed back down onto mine before pulling away again.

“If he’s going to keep interrupting, then we might as well see what he wants,” I said.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Nick sighed forcefully. Noah was about to get an earful.

Nick scrambled to pick up his clothes and put them on as I picked through my dresser for some shorts and a tank top. After I was done changing, I turned around, catching him staring. The way he was looking at me, I was certain he was about to make Noah wait a little bit more, but he then tore his gaze away and walked out.

Noah was indeed waiting on the front porch, drinking the now-warm beer I had left for him last night. To my surprise, Folio was with him. Of course, no Jolly.

Before I could ask, Folio sniffed. "You smell like sex."

Nick sighed as Noah choked on a sip. "You must be a delight at parties," I said.

"I wouldn’t know, since I’ve never been to one." He grinned.

Shockingly, Noah has remained quiet, which I thought was odd since he was so insistent that we got up. I couldn’t tell if he was conversing with Nick in his mind. Which was mildly infuriating, to be honest.

But as Nick pulled out a carton of cigarettes from his back pocket, he spoke aloud, “Spit it out. What’s so important that you had to drag us out of bed?”

“Well, I was going to tell you last night, when we were supposed to meet up. But you guys sounded busy,” Noah said, peering over his shoulder at the last word. My face grew hot.

“Well, you’re here now,” Nick said, a slight edge creeping into his voice. Noah’s eyes flashed, but it was only for a fleeting moment as he turned back around.

I glanced over at Folio, who had just glanced over at me, because when our eyes connected, he just made a face and shrugged. Yeah, that made two of us.

“We searched through the valley last night, but found no trace of any cult activity… or anything, for that matter,” Folio said.

“So if they are meeting, it’s not in the forest,” Noah said.

“They might be meeting in town,” Nick said. “They might’ve learned from their predecessors that they can’t exactly do their dirt work out in the woods.”

My gaze wandered up, and my eyes caught on my security camera. “Fuck! I forgot about that!” I exclaimed. I ran back into the house to grab my phone. I mindlessly scrolled through the app’s footage as I headed back to the porch.

“What are you freaking out about now?” Noah asked. I shot him a look and then pointed above my head to the doorway.

“I might’ve gotten a shot of the people who came to my door yesterday,” I said, going back to scrolling through footage. “Nick, you wouldn’t happen to know the person if I showed you, would you?”

“I mean, probably, yeah,” he said, exhaling a puff of smoke.

“Granted, I don’t know how good it’ll be, since there were a few nights when it would go offline and—“

“That was me,” Noah said.

My head shot up. “That was—“

“Well, couldn’t have you spying on me while I snuck onto your front porch now, could I?” Noah stated.

“Hold up.” Nick grabbed my arm, bringing me back to my phone. “Yeah, I know them.”

I scrolled back the footage until two men’s bodies walked up to the door. And one of them—

“He was the guy at the restaurant last Sunday!” I gasped.

“Should’ve realized something was up when he babbled about the Watcher,” Nick muttered. It was then his turn to go indoors. He came back out with his keys.

“You’re not gonna fight him, are you?” I asked incredulously.

Nick gave me a “don’t be ridiculous” look. “No, I’ve got to get back to Granny’s anyways. I forgot to let her know I wouldn’t be back last night,” he said.

“Dude, you’re 30,” Folio said, making Nick roll his eyes.

“Yes, I know that. I’m also a respectful grandson.”

“Hold on, I’m coming too,” I said.

“Relax, I’m not gonna fight the guy. Once I smooth things over with Granny, I’ll be back.” He kissed my forehead. “Don’t let them bully you.”

With that, he hopped off the porch and walked to his car, which the three of us watched drive off. I then turned to the two men.

“Would you like to come in?”

Folio was the first one in, bounding in and immediately lying on the couch. A part of me wanted to scold him for putting his muddy feet on my couch, but I immediately realized that this was probably the first time he’d been on a couch in ten years. So I let it slide.

Noah didn’t linger. His long strides took him immediately toward the back of my house. Confused, I followed.

“Your family lived here?” I asked.

“Just me and my mom,” Noah said, nudging open my bedroom door with the toe of his boot.

“There’s not a bomb in there,” I said.

“No, something else is in here—“ he said, waltzing in. He made a beeline for my dresser.

“Dude, what are—“ I winced as he easily moved my dresser away from the wall, the sound of scraping wood like nails on a chalkboard. He then pressed on the wall, partially lifting up a section of the wood paneling. “What are you doing?”

He inserted long fingers into the gap and pulled the panel free. Like he’s done this before. “Relax, little rabbit, I’m not ruining the property value of our house,” he said.

“I told you, don’t call me that,” I said, holding my arms over my chest. I watched as he shoved his whole arm into the hole; my mouth popped open when he pulled out a small lockbox. “How long ha—“

“I put it here when I had my doubts about Elin,” Noah said. “I didn’t even tell Nick about this.” He flicked the latch open.

Inside were papers: notebook pages, sketchbook pages, pages torn from books. There was also some little trinkets and ephemera, stuff I didn’t get a good look at before he scooped them up and shoved them into his jacket pocket. He set the empty box on the floor.

“Come on, Folio. We’ve got what we needed,” he said.

“What?” Folio and I said at the same time. Noah unfolded himself and drew up to his full height before he strided out of my bedroom. “Where are you going?”

“Nothing that concerns you, little rabbit,” Noah said.

“Yes, it does!” I shouted. “If… That’s technically my property! Everything in this house technically—“

Noah stopped dead, and I ran right into him. It was like running right into a tree; he didn’t seem that broad with all those layers of clothes. In a semi-dazed state, I was barely aware of him turning around and grabbing me by the throat.

“Hey, No—“ Folio started.

Noah growled, spitting out words that sounded similar to those he had used to command Folio earlier. They must’ve been the same, because Folio stalked outside, but not before he shot me an apologetic look.

“Wh-What are—“ I choked out.

“Listen, just because you fucked Nick once doesn’t mean you’re a part of our little club,” Noah spat out. “So do us all a favor, and keep out of our business, because it’s about to get very, very bloo—“

Noah’s words stopped dead, and he let out a choked noise. He let go of me, and I dropped to the ground, gasping for breath.

Just then, Folio rushed back in. “What? What happened?” he demanded.

“Nick. Something happened to Nick.”

It was like a living nightmare at Granny's. The rainy, late morning on the street was wrecked by flashing lights of cop cars, ambulances and whatever else. The only car I had eyes for was Nick's, and it was motionless in the driveway.

The block was cordoned off by tape and the policemen, so there was no way I could get close to see the damage.

ANYTHING YET?

I gritted my teeth together. I had sped as fast as I could in my car, while Noah and Folio ran through the forest. Something about they couldn't get in my car; not that I wanted them to, not after the shit that Noah pulled. And now, despite hurting me, here he was trying to get a vantage point from me.

HEY. ANSWER ME.

I tried to remain focused on the scene before me, though my dark thoughts were a mess in–

ANSWER ME.

A sharp pain pierced behind my eyes at his command. Fuck you, I don't answer to you!

GET OVER YOURSELF. THERE'S MORE AT STAKE HERE.

God, you think I want anything to do with you? First you pretended to be nice to get inside my house, then you tried to kill me, and now you're all buddy-buddy because Nick might be in trouble? Fuck you.

There was a presence behind me, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I peered behind me and nearly jumped. "Jesus!" I hissed.

"A lot of people say that when they see me," Jolly said. He was wearing a shirt now, and sunglasses blocked his translucent eyes.

"I thought you couldn't leave the river," I whispered. We were in the middle of a crowd after all.

"Rain."

"Really? That's how you can leave the river?"

"Well, this is a really good reason to be away, ya?"

I turned back to Granny's house. "They haven't come out of there yet. I can't tell if Nick's in there or not."

OH, YOU'LL TELL JOLLY WHAT'S GOING ON, BUT NOT ME–

Quiet! I snapped at Noah. Out of the three of you, Jolly hasn't tried to kill me!

HILARIOUS, CONSIDERING HIS BODY COUNT.

I brushed aside that comment. "Is there a way to shut him out?" I asked.

Instead of answering me, Jolly lightly gripped my chin and turned my head to face the house. Where they were bringing out a stretcher. And a covered body.

"Nick–" I jolted forward, but Jolly grabbed my arm. His grip was cold and clammy, and it made my mind reel.

"That's not Nick," Jolly said.

"Then–" Oh god.

Granny.

My stomach plummeted. Possibilities ran wild through my head, but I kept my eyes on the door, half-expecting Nick to also walk out. But my eyes were drawn back to the body as the EMTs loaded the stretcher into the ambulance. They then closed the doors and drove off. Surely Nick would've gone with her if he–

NICK'S NOT IN THERE

There was a terrifying edge to Noah's tone. With how he'd treated me, I had forgotten that he could care for someone other than himself. Granny had probably been a family member to him, as much as she was to Nick.

That's when I saw something flash in the corner of my eyes. Little eyes reflecting light under nearby bushes. With all the doors opening, they must've escaped while no one was looking.

“Come on, vännen. Let's go. There's nothing for us here," Jolly said. Which couldn't be true. Granny was the first person in this town to take pity on me. There had to be something I could do–

“Shit. Hold on,” I said practically leaving Jolly in the dust. I managed to sneak past the few policemen, which wow, they sucked, and crouched near the bushes.

“Jerry... Lydia... c’mere!” I said quietly, and making the cat-attraction sound. It took a lot of coaxing, and maybe the recognized me or the slight scent of Nick, but eventually I managed to make my way back to Jolly with an armful of cats.

“Okay, let's go."

With Lydia and Jerry safely tucked away in my room, cuddled on the side of the bed Nick had slept in, I came out of my room to see only Folio in my house.

“Taylor, I'm sorry about–”

“You couldn't help it,” I muttered. “Was that word he used a command you had to follow?” He nodded. “Then forget it. We have more important things to worry about.”

Suddenly Folio shoved his way in between us. “Seriously? Fuckin’ fighting when something bad might've happened to Nick?" he shouted. “His grandma is dead, he's nowhere to be found. We need to find out where he is.”

I trekked outside, where the rain was absolutely pouring, and Noah stood on my front porch.

“How long have you loved him?" I asked.

“I'm not dignifying that–”

“Answer the question, Davis,” I spat out venomously. “Don't fuck with me right now. I've seen how you look at Nick. Just because you're jealous–”

“Jealous?” Noah hissed, towering over me. “Jealous of what, you? You've barely known him for a week! You think you know Nick? I've known him for fifteen years."

“And you think killing me was going to... what? Clear the way? You were the one trying to get me to stay. You were the one who told me he was lonely. So tell me.. what do you want?" I angrily demanded.

“I wanted you to stay, I didn't say fuck his brains out,” Noah hissed.

“Well guess what? He was the one who initiated. And you know what? It was the best sex I've ever–"

“Jolly,” Noah said, tearing his eyes away from mine. Jolly, who had been sitting in front of the porch this whole time, turned his head towards Noah, “see if you can find anything. You're free to search as long as the rain holds.”

Jolly nodded, standing up and taking off into the woods. I was sad to see him go, as he was the one I didn't feel like was going to kill me in the future.

"Why would he be in the woods?” Folio asked.

"This has the cult written all over it,” Noah said.

My stomach churned. “Why would they want Nick? It's way past the Summer Solstice,” I said.

"That's one thing I can't figure out," Noah muttered. “Granny's death was definitely not natural; Grannies can live way past a hundred years old.”

“Wait, Granny wasn't just a nickname?” I asked.

"No, Granny is a title in their practice. She just happened to be Nick's grandmother as well." Noah said.

“Can't you just... see where he is? Through your mind-talking power?” I asked.

Noah sighed. “I tried. I can't get a feel for him. Which is another reason why I don't think he's okay.”

Something in my stomach fluttered. It’s been hours since Nick left. If something happened to him, it could already be too late. For what though, I had no clue. I was absolutely stumped.

Maybe Noah was right. I barely knew Nick. What claim do I really have over him? I was just someone who stumbled into their territory unwillingly. I hadn’t grown up scared of the townspeople possibly coming after me. I was a stranger.

I was lost.

I leaned back against the house and slowly crumbled to the ground, folding in on myself. What could I even do? I didn’t have magic powers or the ability to change into a form more suited for this. I was just a regular human, someone who couldn’t even decide what gender they wanted to be.

“Hey.”

That’s when I felt hands on my shoulders. I looked up, Folio crouched next to me, but it was Noah who was talking. “We’ll find him,” he said.

“Not for me,” I muttered.

“Maybe not," he said, shrugging, “but let's handle this one problem at a time.”

“We can find the guy who was in the footage," Folio said.

“I don't know where he lives,” I said.

“I do,” Noah said. “And he has easy access to the forest."

“You should... probably stay here,” Folio said, patting me on the shoulder.

“Why?" I demanded.

"I told you it was going to get bloody, didn’t I?” Noah said, standing up. And I’m not going to hold back with Nick's life on the line.”

I swallowed. At least he was warning me. “Fine. Do what you do," I said.

“Oh, we fully plan on it," Noah said, grinning. I swore I could hear twigs snapping with the movement.

Tysm for reading! Next chapter coming soon!

[thecouncilofidiots]

Warning for unintentional self harm/self harming behaviors, in the form of a meme : coping mechanism style

Me : absent-mindedly yet incessently scratches at our skin when stressed/upset

Also me, when skin hurts and starts bleeding :

Stupid collar bone :(

[lingeringmirth]

too still

Stranger Things | Lumax, Lucas centric | Rating: T | Words: 100 | Drabble, Angst, major canonical character injury , S4 missing scene.

cw: major character injury (no graphic description)

A/N: This is actually my first lumax and first time writing Lucas' pov.

Also here on AO3.

-

Lucas holds Max in his arms and he cries. He knows he should get up, should run, call an ambulance, but he can’t move.

Erica finds him there, his fingers to Max’s weak pulse, his vision blurry with his tears.

She runs.

‘I’m sorry… Don’t go. Please, Max.’

Death has brushed by him before, but never like this since they thought Will was dead, and that hadn’t been like this… he hadn’t been in love with him.

Max is too still, maybe too broken to be mended. He can’t lose her.

The sound of sirens has never sounded as welcome.

[voiceoffenrisulfr]

Multitudes Chapter Eleven

... Comes Memories Best Left Behind.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Nat wakes up, and starts to remember.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 8349

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) Post-suicide attempt, graphic flashbacks of sexual assault via mind-controlled friend, guilt tripping, injury detail (SH), external and internal examination, forced hysterectomy, restraint, SA of an injured minor (non-graphic, predominantly verbal).

𝐀/𝐍 -> Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the warnings, and proceed with caution. Check it out below, or on AO3 here!

The snazzy Black Widow divider comes from @/firefly-graphics and I love it <3 The Multitudes Universe one is our own!

<- Previous Chapter (10/72) Next Chapter (12/72) ->

I woke slowly, to a reluctant consciousness I immediately prayed was a dream.

The agony I was in told me otherwise.

I kept my eyes closed against the bright lights, a headache barrelling down on me  without hesitation.

Silence.

Odd, blissful silence.

I became aware, over time, of a hand in mine. Only when the fingers clasped tight flexed could I notice their presence, and as soon as they stilled once more, I immediately forgot that I wasn’t alone.

Occasionally, voices spoke around me, but I didn’t have the energy to decipher the words. I had no idea how long I’d been lay there, being poked and prodded, before I finally opened my eyes.

The room was nondescript and light, an airy space intended to encourage healing and wellbeing.

I immediately wished I’d never bothered.

Turning my head with a groan, I froze when I saw the person with their fingers interlocked with mine.

Clint’s eyes were puffy, the space underneath a violent violet of sleepless nights and poor-quality food, lips chewed to rags and scabbed over, time and again. His cheekbones protruded sharply, hair lacking its usual healthy shine, and his fingernails were bitten to the quick, raw and angry.

Beautiful.

His lids were closed in twitchy sleep, and I took the opportunity to follow the line of my arm, wrapped heavily in sterile bandages between wrist and bicep. Glancing across, I found the other to be the same, and, if the discomfort spread throughout my body was anything to go by, there were many more wounds scattered across my skin – rips and tears I didn’t remember making.

“Natasha?”

My head jerked back around, finding Clint’s red eyes watching me hesitantly, dropping my hand quickly. “God, I… I’m so glad you’re awake. There was… I didn't think you'd wake up.” He stood, weaving slightly, his clothes wrinkled and malodorous. “You’ve been out for a week. The blood loss, the extent of the damage… They put you into a coma to give your body chance to recover. They… You wouldn’t eat enough, and we knew it. They had to make the choice.” He gestured to my other side, and I followed his gaze to the creamy IV situated above me, panic settling in.

“No,” I whispered, my eyes flicking back to him desperately. “No, Clint – Please, please don’t let them do this to me.”

He smiled weakly, stepping away from the bed, hands raised to protest his innocence. “It’s none of my business, Nat. I shouldn’t even be here – don’t you remember? I’m just a rapist, and you never want to see me again.”

I winced, recalling the words that flowed unheard from my mouth. “…What did it say?”

“It?”

“The Voice. It… It was me, in the beginning. But not – it didn’t give me a choice. But then I couldn’t, and it… It took over. I don’t… I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t do anything,” I whispered, balling my mostly-numb fists and digging my nails into my palms. “I only woke up under the car.”

“’I remembered how you fucking hurt me, and now I can’t even look at you’,” he murmured, dropping into the seat once more. “That was you, wasn’t it?” I nodded reluctantly, and he pushed a hand through his hair. “After that… You were cold. You were… Nasty.”

“What did I say?” I whispered, trembling with fear.

He met my gaze slowly, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I can’t, Nat.”

“I can’t move on until I know what I did.”

“You won’t move on when you do,” he quipped, throwing my own words back at me. “You won’t be able to live with it.”

“It was that bad?” I pressed, hands shaking. He looked away, deviating from a script we’d followed once before.

“It was worse.”

I winced and rested my head back against the pillow, drained and tired of life. “… I’d still like to know, Clint.”

He hummed and met my eye once more, hard and haunted. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Clint tossed his knife from hand to hand, grinning wolfishly, his bright blue eyes sparkling with menace. “Natalia,” he crooned, the blade spinning between his fingers. “My dear, sweet Nat. Why don’t you come a little closer? I’ve missed you.”

“Leave him alone,” I hissed, fists raised and coiled loosely. “Clint, if you’re in there… You can fight this. I know you can.” He shook his head harshly, growling, and my hope flared. “Clint? Clint, you can do this. Come back to me, please…” My hands became open palms, offered soothingly as I inched closer, his eyes squeezed shut in a grimace. “Please, Clint, I-”

He jerked forward with a primal snarl, catching my wrists and securing them around the pipe with a zip tie. I looked up, stunned, into the brightest, most terrifying gaze. “Nat, Nat, Nat…” He tutted, walking around to kick my legs apart. “You love this one, don’t you? You’d do anything for him.”

I nodded sharply, heart racing in my chest. “Anything.”

He pressed the knife to his own throat, grinning sinisterly. “Prove it. I’m going to fuck you now, and you’re going to take it, or I will kill him.” He squatted by my side, trailing a finger across my cheek. “You’ve always wanted me, haven’t you, Little Spider?”

I flinched and recoiled, swallowing the bile in my throat. “I want Clint. Not you.”

He smirked as he straightened, undoing his belt. “This is the only way your precious ‘Clint’ will ever fuck you, Natalia. You may as well accept it.”

I blinked owlishly, then nodded, rigid and terrified. “Just don’t hurt him. I… I’ll do anything you want. Just please… Don’t hurt him.”

He grinned once more, trailing the knife along my body, cutting through my suit from breastbone to abdomen and ripping it from my skin. I shivered under his lustful gaze, writhing in an effort to hide my scantily clad body, eliciting a tut and pressing the knife to his throat. “Natalia, we’ve discussed this. You will behave, or he will die.”

I stilled immediately, muscles going limp as his rough hands dragged down my underwear, tossing it aimlessly over his shoulder and forcing my legs apart.

There was no hesitation as he pushed a finger inside me, making me cry out against the intrusion. “Fuck, Natasha… Do you like that, Little Spider?” He pumped himself mercilessly as I sobbed, caressing my walls in an almost tender motion. My tight ring of muscle burnt, clamping down against the intrusion. “You love the way I stretch you out and make you all ready for me. You’re so goddamn tight – I thought you were a slut?”

“You pretend like you don’t want this, but you’re so wet… Your pussy wants this, and you can’t deny it.” He smirked as a second finger prodded my hole, rubbing gently. “You want another finger, is that it? You’re squeezing so hard – so desperate. No, it’s not a finger you want, I know. But one more first, Little Spider. We have to make sure you can take it; I wouldn’t want to hurt my dear Natty, after all.” He forced his way inside me and I screamed, burning and tearing, fading to a soft sob as he worked me wider. His fingers drew out and came to his mouth, licking the blood from the digits with a laugh. “Well… Wet is wet.”

He crawled up my body, smelling of sweat and Clint, and I wept aloud as he poked at my entrance. “Clint, I’m sorry,” I whispered, fingers balling into fists.

He pushed inside me once more, setting fire to my nerves and burning away my last vestiges of sanity, muscles relaxing as I gave up. “God, Nat… You’re so fucking tight. I never thought you’d be this tight.” He stuttered out a groan as his hips shifted, his length moving inside me, but I could barely feel anything anymore, my unseeing eyes locked somewhere over his head as I jerked at his motion. “Natasha… Such a good little girl,” he crooned, hand smoothing the hair from my face. “Talk to me, my little slut. Tell me how good this feels… How long you’ve wanted it.” I simply nodded distantly, and he growled, slapping me hard. “Do as I say, Natalia, or your loverboy dies while you watch.”

“Please,” I whimpered, forcing my body to wriggle in faux arousal – something I had more than enough experience of, but never in such a heartbreaking way. “I’ve wanted it for so long – it’s so good. You feel so good, please…”

He grinned wickedly, pulling out long enough to flip me over, my ass in the air, entirely at his mercy as he pushed into my clenched, unprepared hole, making me scream once more, nails snapping as they scraped the metal ground. “You like it when I do it like this, don’t you? You like it rough…” He jerked his hips forward, another cry escaping my torn throat, followed by a desperate sob.

“Please,” I begged, wanting this to stop – needing this to be over.

“You like that, don’t you?” he breathed, reaching around to paw at me ineffectually. “Tell me how much you like it, Little Spider…”

Now. Left leg back, against his neck. There’s a pipe he will hit his head on. He’ll be out cold.

Wh… What?

“What did I say, Natasha?” he ground out as he rammed into me, body chafing against the grating. “Answer me. Tell me how much you love this cock in your ass; I bet Barton could never-”

My leg raised of its own accord, colliding with the side of his throat and sending him flying into the pipe I was secured to. He instantly crumpled, and I sobbed, curling my beaten, damaged body into itself.

Thank you…

You’re welcome, Natalia. I only want what is best for you – for us.

“I managed to get the knife and cut through the zip ties. I found a fresh suit, cleaned the blood from my body, and got you to the medical bay. I never spoke of it… Not until now,” I added, wincing.

Clint’s mouth worked wordlessly, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “Nat…”

I shook my head, offering him a weak smile. “Your turn.”

Wiping his face, he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “It... Well, I feel like an asshole for comparing the two, now.” I reached out a hand across the space between us, and he hesitated before entwining his fingers firmly with mine, unable to hide his shaking.

“Like I said, I... I knew something was wrong. You said what you said about not being able to look at me, and then you just... Disappeared. You do it, sometimes; I think it’s when The Voice is talking with you. Sometimes you just go blank, staring off into the distance, and it’s almost impossible to get you back.”

“After that, things got... Weird. It was like you had a switch for your emotions, and you just turned it off. You... You looked me in the eye, and you said... You said that you only fucked me as test, to see if it was the same. To see if I was really under Loki’s control, or if it was just a lie to get away with doing whatever I wanted. You said that I failed.” He swallowed hard, looking away. “I tried for explain- to apologise- anything. But you – it – just laughed. It said that once a rapist, always a rapist. It said... ‘We never want to see you again. You’re a monster, Clint, and we wish we’d never met you’.”

He paused for breath and I rubbed his hand reassuringly, guilt settling like rock in my chest. “And then... Then it said that I was the reason for it all. The cutting, the starving. It said ‘we do these things because we can’t fucking live with what you did to us. But I bet you still touch yourself at night when you think of it, don’t you, Clint? You still come to the memory of us screaming and begging for mercy as you unmade us, wishing more than anything you could tie us up again. But we’re not going to give you the opportunity’.” He blanched and gagged,  eyes growing wide. “I- I don’t, I would never...”

“I know,” I soothed, extending an arm to him, pulling him tight against my chest as he crawled on the bed beside me, sobbing uncontrollably into my gown. “I know... I’m so sorry, Clint.”

“I understand now,” he whispered, fingers wrapped firmly in my sheets as he curled against me. “I understand, vaguely, how hard it must be. How mean that goddamn Voice is.” I nodded and hummed, placing a soft kiss to his hair. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he added, his voice a low murmur.

“I’m sorry too, Clint. I... Can we start over?”

He looked up, shocked. “You... Still want to be with me? After everything I did?”

I smiled affectionately, pressing my forehead to his. “You are my light in the darkness, Clint Barton. I will always, always love you.”

He grinned for a heartbeat, then winced. “Then... Why? Why did you leave me in the first place?”

I baulked and looked away, shame colouring my cheeks. “Basically? The Voice tricked me into doing something... Dumb. Intimately dumb,” I added when frowned, rolling my jaw thoughtfully as my face pinked further. “I... It convinced me I would get sick, and that I needed to be clean. I... Ate body wash. And... put it in other places.”

He winced sharply, hissing air in through his teeth. “Are you okay?”

I nodded dismissively, waving a hand. “Charcoal helped with the sickness, and it seems that the coma helped with the... Discomfort. I’ll be fine. But I felt stupid and embarrassed, and I knew I’d have to tell you about it. But... The Voice can be so persuasive. It made a fool of me, and then used that as proof that I needed it, and should listen to it. It… It made me feel like I didn’t have a choice.”

He leant forward, touching his forehead to mine. “You weren’t to know, Nat. You… You could have talked to me.”

Nodding quickly, I sniffed. “I know. But at the time…”

He clucked sympathetically, cupping my chin in his hand. “I know, my love. That Voice has a power and a way of making you believe things.” I hitched a sob, and his nose brushed mine before he hesitated. “I… Can I kiss you?” A few more tears leaked down my cheeks, touched and honoured by this humble, damaged man, and I nodded desperately, his lips brushing mine, sweet and chaste. “I love you, Little Spider.”

“I love you, too,” I whimpered, wrapping my arms around him as tight as the bandages and IVs would allow, clinging to him desperately.

I’m never letting go again.

That was how Bruce found us, curled around one another and crying softly, murmuring apologies and forgiveness into each other’s bodies.

“You’re awake?”

We looked up in unison, and Clint went to detangle his limbs from mine, but I held him fast. “She woke up only recently,” he offered, chagrined – I guess he was supposed to tell someone.

Bruce hummed, glancing between the two of us impassively, before a weak smile flickered on his lips. “I’m glad to see you’ve made up.” His gaze flicked to me imploringly, and I nodded.

“I told him,” I explained, wincing in shame once again. “I should have done that in the first place.”

The doctor grimaced sympathetically, moving closer, and I nodded when he gestured at the foot of the bed imploringly, settling himself by my legs. “I’m going to talk to you about the medical treatment you have received, and where we go from here. Would you like Clint to stay?”

I felt Clint’s eyes on me, questioning and unassuming, but I only chuckled under my breath. “Yes. I would always like Clint to stay.” His arms twitched around me protectively, and I smiled, burying closer into his chest.

Bruce watched us for a moment, his face a perfect blend of happiness and grief, before he shook his head. “Natasha, you were found in the parking lot seventeen minutes after you ran from Clint. Given the extent of the damage sustained and the lengths you went to in to try to hide, it has been assumed that this was an attempt on your life. Is that accurate?” I hesitated then nodded reluctantly, and he made a quick mark on his clipboard before placing it on his lap, meeting my gaze steadily. “You made seventy-three incisions, two of which involved major arteries. You were unconscious when we found you, already far into major hypovolemic shock. You were extremely tachycardic and tachypnoeic, with almost no capillary refill.” He flinched at a memory I couldn’t fathom, looking away before continuing. “You’re O-negative. While we always have universal donor blood on hand, it wasn’t enough. Without Clint -  the only other O-negative member of the team, aside from myself – you’d have died, Natasha.”

I offered my partner a weak smile, noticing for the first time the heavy bruising that marred the curve of his elbow, and pressed my lips to his forehead. “Thank you.”

“It took four hours to stitch you up. Near the… End, you stopped searching for skin and just went through the clothes. There were fibres and grit embedded into your wounds. One of the IVs is a broad-spectrum antibiotic,” he added, nodding at the multitude of bags hanging above me, “and you’ve been responding well. You… You had four-hundred and twelve stitches, in the end. Stephen and I worked on you in shifts, and we weren’t optimistic that you’d pull through. When you somehow started trying to regain consciousness, you had a seizure, so we induced a coma to give your body chance to recover. The drug was withdrawn yesterday, but you didn’t wake up. We weren’t certain if you would ever wake up, or the… Condition you would be in, if you did.” He offered me a tight smile, meeting my eye once more. “We’ll have to run some tests, but… It seems that you haven’t suffered significant impairment of your faculties, at least.” He gestured down at my arms, swathed in white. “Stephen did what he could to salvage your nerves, but… Natasha, you have to be warned. You may never regain full sensation or function. The damage was significant, and any healing will be slow, but there’s no guarantee you’ll ever be back to how you were before.”

“Your weight was at an all-time low, and you had a violent infection from the lacerations to your ribs, which were beginning to turn septic. You were severely anaemic, and deficient in almost all essential vitamins. I don’t know how you’re alive, Nat,” he finished simply, something akin to wonder and intimidation flickering across his face.

I shrugged half-heartedly, looking away. “Just lucky, I guess; or unlucky, depending on your interpretation,” I added with a snort, sending Clint’s head jerking up from my chest with a frown.

“That’s not funny, Natasha.” I rolled my jaw and nodded tersely, and his eyes widened infinitesimally. “Are you… Do you still feel that way? Like… Hurting yourself?”

I shrugged again, picking at my bandages absently. “Everything isn’t suddenly fixed because we talked a little, Clint. It’s better, but it’s not… Better. I still…” The lump in my throat made my voice crack, and I squeezed my eyes shut before continuing. “I still hate who I am. The things I’ve done.”

His fingers found mine one more, filling the spaces between. “Then we’ll keep talking,” he replied simply, my eyes opening to meet his sympathetic gaze. “For as long as it takes. Right, Doc?”

Bruce sighed, drawing our focus back toward him. “Actually… It’s my professional opinion that Natasha should be transferred to a dedicated facility.”

My blood thrummed in shock and devastation – no, don’t send me away, he is the only thing that makes this endurable and I won’t survive without him – but Clint merely stood slowly, stepping closer to the seated doctor and looming over him. “Do you make that choice?” Bruce shook his head, skin tinged with lime, and my partner smiled emotionlessly. “If she is not under non-voluntary admittance, as required by law, then she goes nowhere. And if you know what’s good for you – and more importantly, what’s good for her – you won’t seek out that order. Not only will it likely kill her, but it’ll mean I have a lot of free time on my hands to make your life a living hell, Bruce.”

I blinked vacantly, startled by the flat fury in Clint’s voice, his eyes dark and intimidating. But Bruce, the mottling of his skin growing more evident, only stood, his chest close to the other man’s as his height increased steadily. “Don’t make me angry, Barton,” he whispered, barely perceptible. “You won’t like me when I’m angry.”

“Boys!” I snapped, sending both heads whipping around to me, the doctor deflating slowly. “That’s enough. Clint’s right – I’m not going anywhere. You can try and force me if you want, but it will be the death of me. I’m an international spy; do you really want to test my ability to commit suicide in a locked ward?”

Bruce blinked and paled, then turned his gaze back to Clint, still vibrant green and furious. “Don’t ever insinuate that I don’t want what’s best for her. She was on a strict no-exercise order for a reason, and you fucked her. She could have had a heart attack. You could have killed her for your own pleasure – and even though you didn’t, what good has come of it?” Hands raised and open, he gestured to the surrounding room. “You are the last person who can ever question my motivation, Barton. Not when your own is clearly so selfish.”

Bruce’s words rung in the silence as he left, Clint stood loosely beside the bed.

“Clint-”

“He’s right,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “God, he’s right. I could have killed you, Nat.”

“Clint, I-”

He turned to face me, the blue of his eyes made ever deeper by the redness surrounding them as he held back tears. “I’m so goddamn selfish. I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head, shuffling toward him as best I could despite the various leads and tubes attached to me. “Clint-”

“Why would I do that? Why am I so fucking self-serving? God, The Voice was right, I’m no better than-”

“Clint!” I interrupted fiercely, my tone clipped and harsh. “That is enough. I will not listen to this. You are nothing like Loki. And you are not selfish. I made a choice – it might not have been the smartest one, but neither of us was fully aware of the risk. And I do not regret it, not for a second. It’s a choice I’d make over and over, because it was worth it. It…” I flushed, my passion overridden by my embarrassment. “It was the best I’ve ever felt. In every sense – physically, emotionally, and goddamn spiritually.”

He uncurled his fists, inching closer uncertainly. “But-”

“No.”

“I just-”

“Shut up, Clint.”

He sighed, moving back to lay beside me and pressing a gentle kiss to my nose. “… It was that good?”

I met his gaze slowly, a tremble of static shooting through my body and the memory of him; his teeth, his tongue, his hands. “I’ve never believed in God before, but… I’m pretty sure I did then.”

He smirked, brushing his lips against mine affectionately. “Glowing praise. If it’s any consolation, I’ve never…” Flushing red, he scratched the back of his neck shyly. “It’s never been that quick. Not by far.”

I grinned, rubbing my nose against his jaw. “I’ve just never, so I think I win.” He chuckled, his fingers finding the curve of my hip, shaking his head as I shimmied closer.

“Bruce was right, though. We should… I mean, we need to take it easy. At least until you’re stronger. I don’t want anything to happen to you, hon.” I pouted playfully, but paused when I caught sight of his serious expression, and sighed.

“Yeah. But hey… It’ll give me something to look forward to, right? A reason to improve?”

He smirked again, peppering kisses across my cheeks. “I’ll start planning it out. It’ll be the best night… Day… Weekend of your life.”

I swallowed at the implication, the connected ECG obnoxiously betraying my thrill. “I guess I’ll have to try and eat more, then."

Stephen rapped on the door before entering, and I hurriedly pressed a finger to my lips, inclining my head at the slumbering archer curled against my chest. He smiled wanly, moving to sit on the chair beside the bed. “I need to check your sutures, Natasha. All being well, you can get out of here today – but you’ll be on bedrest for the next few weeks, at least, and we’ll be checking on you several times a day. The perks of being an Avenger with a dedicated medical team,” he added, chuckling.

Nodding, I placed a tender kiss to the forehead of my sleeping love, caressing his cheek. “Clint, honey? Dr. Strange is here.”

Clint grunted as he stirred, blinking in brief confusion before his gaze cleared. “Huh? Oh. Hi, Stephen.”

The wizard dipped his head politely, hands tented in his lap. “Mr. Barton.”

“Stephen’s here to check my stitches. I may be able to leave later,” I added, grinning. But Clint frowned, glancing at the surgeon.

“Is that advisable?”

“It’s only upstairs, Clint. She’ll be in a wheelchair the whole way, and on bedrest for a few weeks. If we can find someone who is willing to wait on her hand and foot, that is,” he added, an eyebrow raised in self-amusement.

I muttered in Russian under my breath, then raised my voice. “I don’t need a wheelchair.”

“It’s not negotiable, Natasha. It’s the only way you’re leaving this room,” he replied smoothly, and stood. “Now. This is likely to be somewhat uncomfortable, Nat. You have stitches over most major swaths of skin, and examination will, unfortunately, require nudity, though I will provide a courtesy sheet to be moved around as needed. Do you understand?”

I nodded tightly, any humour lost from the situation at the idea of the doctor’s eyes on me. Hesitating, I met his gaze slowly. “While I’ve been unconscious?” I whispered, horrified when he nodded stoically.

“Not through choice, Ms. Romanoff. Life-saving measures were required, and there was no other option.”

“Who?”

Clint frowned at the question, but Stephen tipped his head, instinctively understanding the question. “Bruce did not feel able to work outside of your arms and legs. All other sutures were performed by myself. I’m sorry, Natasha.”

I swallowed dryly, cringing at the thought of the wizard looming over my naked, empty body. Stephen’s a professional. He did his job, and nothing more.

Are you sure?

I resisted the urge to groan aloud, hanging my head in my hand. Not you. God, please, not you.

The Voice laughed harshly – a grating sound that scraped the flesh from my brain. You didn’t say that when I got you away from Clint. Both times, it added meaningfully, and I flinched against my palm. raising my face to the doctor.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Stephen nodded, glancing at the man still sharing the single bed. “Would you like Clint to stay?”

“… No.”

Both men seemed shocked as I spoke, sharing a look before Dr. Strange recovered, nodding. “As is your right, of course.”

I could feel Clint’s gaze on my face, and winced. “I’m not… I don’t want you to see me like that. Not yet. Please.” The archer nodded and kissed my cheek, murmuring his understanding before standing. “But… Will you wait outside? In case I need you?”

He offered me a reassuring smile as he turned, his hand on the door. “Always, Little Spider.”

“Okay. I… I’m ready.”

I lay on my bed on my back, covered from collarbone to thigh with a thin sheet, littered with bandages and tubes. Dr. Strange edges around the sheet, taking me in without a reaction – for which I was deeply grateful.

He flicked on his glasses, moving to lean over my left arm. “Are you ready to proceed?”

I hesitated, and he raised a curious eyebrow, silently prompting me. “Could you… Can you sit?” I stammered, intimidated by his looming figure. He nodded, immediately sliding onto the chair beside the bed, offering me a reassuring smile.

“If you need a break at any point, Natasha, or you begin to feel uncomfortable – you just let me know.” I nodded gratefully, and he took a deep breath as he began to unwrap my bandages, beginning at my wrist, the hush of the fabric the only sound in the silence.

Those bandages would be a good way to tie you up. I wonder how the good doctor-

“Can you… Talk? About anything, just… I can’t sit in silence. Please.”

“We used braided nylon for your sutures,” he responded immediately, his soft, steady tone bringing me back to focus, The Voice hissing angrily as I concentrated on his words. “It comes in clear and black dyed – while less attractive, I opted for the black. With the amount of work to be done, visibility trumped aesthetic, I’m afraid.” His fingers gently poked at my wrist, light but sure. “Absorbable materials are de rigeur for an individual wound – but considering the amount of bodily fluids involved, we opted, largely, for non-absorbable. There’s a significant number of sutures, and we didn’t want to compromise integrity in any way. You had four hundred and twelve stitches in total.”

His hands reached my elbow, and I swallowed as I felt the skin there tingle, tight under his handiwork. “… Do you want me to tell you how the wounds are doing, or would you rather not know?”

I shrugged, swallowing. “Anything. Just keep talking to me.”

“Your sinister – left – brachial artery was approximately 70% severed. Ironically, this caused more devastating effects; complete transection of the vessel would have allowed for proximal retraction and constriction, though repair would have been more difficult. We internally sutured the vessel, followed by soft tissue repair through the layers.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” I murmured, my gaze still locked on the ceiling, and I felt him look at me.

“I’d do it every day if I had to, Natasha. While I wish it wasn’t needed, it was a task I had no qualms about performing. I care for you, as I care for the rest of the team,” he added, continuing his way up my shoulder, my muscles tightening involuntarily as his knuckles brushed my throat.

“Stay down, slut.”

I blinked in surprise and stammered, the ECG verbalising my distress, and causing Stephen to pause until I nodded tightly. “Keep going.”

He raised a bandage on my shoulder, the latex of his gloves catching on my skin dryly. “Here, there was only superficial damage. Four sutures – Bruce’s handiwork. He is more adept at cutaneous stitching than more invasive procedures. Fortunately, you have a surgeon on your side,” he noted, a smile in his voice as he rounded the bed to repeat the process.

I was counting the tally in my head, and Stephen hesitated at three hundred and nine, halfway up my left leg. “Natasha…”

“I have another one hundred and three stitches to be examined, Stephen. I know.”

He swallowed audibly, the faintest tremor in his hands. “Would you like me to break them down?” I nodded gratefully, squeezing my eyes shut, and he exhaled sharply. “There are... Seventeen stitches in your left breast, and three on the nipple. Fourteen and four on the right, respectively. Thirty-six on your abdomen and ribs; the pre-existing wounds were cleaned and treated, but suturing was no longer possible. A further twenty-one on your pelvis – six on the left, nine on the right, and six in… On the pubis.”

It was the first time he stammered with embarrassment, and I couldn’t help but smile wanly. “And the last eight?”

“Internal.”

My eyes snapped open, locked on his apologetic face, his brow furrowed in pain. “I’m sorry, Natasha. We… I had to stop the bleeding. I was as perfunctory as I could be, I promise. I haven’t checked those sutures since they were applied.”

“What did I do?” I whispered, horrified. He swallowed again, looking away.

“The tissue was already thin and inflamed as a result of the… existing cleanse trauma. You also have extensive internal scarring from historical injury. The serration of the knife was such that, when you removed it, there was significant damage sustained. I repaired the area in as efficient and swift a manner as I could.”

I felt myself go red, breath hitching in my throat. “You know about the… The soap?”

He nodded tersely, jaw set. “Bruce thought I should be aware of the pre-existing risk of infection. But even if he hadn’t, I would have assumed something similar upon examination.”

My head dropped back, shame flowing through me violently, causing my stomach to churn. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Where would you prefer that I start?”

I gestured to my chest reluctantly, jaw clenched. “May as well work our way down.”

He nodded again, moving wordlessly to my side and lowering the sheet slowly, his motions considerate and careful as he smoothed it across my ribs. “I’ll make this as quick and painless as I can.”

I could only nod wordlessly, eyes latched on the ceiling, the machine by my side matching the staccato beating of my heart. His delicate fingers peeled back the adhesive bandages, gently probing at my chest and murmuring quietly. “The sutures are healing well. I was particularly concerned about this one – the positioning, close the breastbone, makes healing problematic, as it is prone to rubbing. But it has settled well, with no sign of infection or irritation.”

“The larger wound on this side was easier, but the nipple was almost completely severed. I did what I could to reattach the nerves, but you may experience some loss of sensation.” His fingertips were timid but my body clenched at the contact, his breathed apologies doing little to still my anxiety.

Mercifully, his hands left my chest, skirting the wounds of my ribcage, both new and old. “The existing lacerations were of most concern, both due to depth and existing infection. We performed a minor debridement, removing some infected tissue. You seem to be responding well to the antibiotics, however. The infection is still present, but receding.”

His hands paused by my navel, entirely uncertain. “Would… Would you rather I move the sheet? I’m not sure what… Where you would prefer to be covered.”

“Leave it,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Please.”

He hummed affirmatively, his gentle touch pulling back ever more bandages, tenderly probing at the space between thigh and abdomen. “This… This is why you can’t walk anywhere, Natasha. It seems you were aiming for the femoral, or perhaps the iliac. But this was almost the last set of injuries, and you had grown weak. If you had moved directly from the brachial to here… Well, you barely survived as it is.”

His hands were barely felt now, moving to the soft skin of my pubic mound, a low tremble settling into my bones.

I bet he’s loving this.

“This one is fine, too. A relatively simple suture chain, it should heal cleanly with minimal scarring – perhaps a minor interruption of the hair growth.” He smoothed the sheet back up to my collarbones, and I met his eyes, a quivering, heaving breath escaping me. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I replied with a desperate sob, wiping my tear-stained cheeks. “No, I’m not. But we should continue. If we stop now, I… We can’t stop now.”

He nodded, offering me a terse, sympathetic smile. “In that case, I shall continue.” His feet dragged on the floor as he moved, lowering the end of the bed and sitting down. “I… I have to look. I’m sorry.”

I only cried.

He took his own deep, preparatory breath, his fingers brushing my ankle. “Okay.” He cleared his throat, shaking off any emotion, separating himself from the guilt of what he had to do. “Natasha, I’m going to need you to shuffle down a little, if you could.” I obeyed silently, tears flowing freely as my knees slipped from the end of the bed. “That’s great, thank you. Now, bring your feet up – as close to your behind as you can – and let your knees fall apart.”

A ragged sob escaped me as the balls of my feet met the soft cotton, thighs seized and glued together.

“Take your time, Nat. I’m here.”

My legs shifted slowly, the muscles contacting and fighting for every inch.

“That’s excellent, Natasha. You’re doing so well.” My breath hitched in my throat, fingers curling into my palms and breaking the skin. “I’m going to insert a small speculum now, okay? You may feel a little pressure, but it shouldn’t be painful.”

There was a hesitation, both infinite and brief, before I felt the pressure.

“Stay still, Natalia, or it will be worse.”

The feet and hands were chained down.

The bar between the knees, digging into the flesh.

The tearing, tugging, cutting, dragging.

The feeling of having the core ripped out and snipped away.

The wet thud as it landed.

The screaming, and writhing.

The punishment, the blade twisted inside.

“You’re done. Now there is no risk. No distraction.”

The pain. The blood.

“He will be in to see you shortly. We need to make sure you can still perform, of course.”

“-sha? Nat? Natasha, you need to relax, okay? You are still weak. I’ll stop, but I can’t get it out if you don’t release me.”

“Если ты когда-нибудь снова прикоснешься ко мне, я отрежу твой член и скормлю его тебе,” I snarled, pulling tighter on the arm pinned between my legs.

“Sorry, Widow, my Russian is rusty,” he gasped, my foot pressing firmly on his throat.

“’Touch me again, and I will cut off your prick and feed it to you’,” I hissed, broken accent spitting past bared teeth.

“Natasha, I just needed to examine the-”

“Natalia,” I growled, bending his wrist back. “You examine nothing. You touch nothing. You are not authorised.”

“Authorised?” Pale blue flashed between my knees, his free hand held up imploringly. “I asked your consent, Natash- Natalia. I… The sutures. Your injuries.” He gasped again, the air audibly painful in his compressed throat. “I am Doctor Stephen Strange – an Avenger, and a Master of the Mystic Arts. I was a surgeon. I attended to you after you received a great number of lacerations.”

“Strange,” I repeated at a mutter, the sound sparking something distant in my terrified mind.

“Yes. Myself and Dr. Bruce Banner administered care. You received over four hundred stitches. Clint Barton, your partner, is waiting just outside this room.”

Clint.

I gasped, muscles relaxing immediately, and Stephen backed away, coughing, one hand clasped to his quickly darkening throat. “S… Stephen…”

He glanced up at me, his other hand raised imploringly. “That’s it. It’s just me. You’re safe, Nat. I promise.”

Trembling fingers touched my mouth, stunned and horrified. “S-Stephen, I… I don’t…”

He shook his head, his own hands lowering. “Natasha- Natasha?” he clarified, and I nodded once. “Natasha, you had existing, extensive damage, and I would have been a pretty terrible doctor if I didn’t notice you were missing some stuff down there. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I imagine it was not a pleasant experience. I should have predicted that this may be a triggering event.”

I whimpered softly, nodding my head. “I never remembered before… But now I remember.” I looked up once more, mortified. “Stephen, I… I’m so sorry.”

He rolled his shoulder and neck in turn, then smiled weakly. “No damage done. Though I may be drinking my meals for a few days,” he added playfully, touching a finger to his throat with a wince, before meeting my gaze seriously. “Natasha… The speculum is still…” I flinched and clenched instinctively, and he raised his hands. “No, no… Be careful. Without it being steadied, there’s a chance it’s caught on your stitches. If you try and push it, or remove it yourself… I… I need to get it out. Ideally, I need to re-examine you, to make sure there’s been no further damage, but I understand if you can’t do that.” He took a deep breath as he moved closer, eyeing me warily, like a flighty animal. “But at the very least, it needs to be removed. And if you’d prefer, I can put you under to do that – but I’d really rather not, given that you took so long to come out of your induced coma. There’s a slim, but very real, risk that you won’t wake up again.”

I hesitated, watching him carefully. “… Restrain me.”

Startled, he paused, one foot comically suspended above the floor. “… Why?”

“I can’t die. Not now. And I can’t… I can’t risk hurting you again – hurting you more. So use your glowing whip thing, and restrain me. It’s the only way we’ll get through this.”

“It’ll hurt.”

“I don’t care.”

“It’ll likely make the… You’ll probably remember more.”

“Stephen.” I met his gaze steadily, the ECG slowing as an eerie calmness set in. “Just do it.”

Slowly, his hands began to move. “You’re sure? Once I start… I can’t stop suddenly if you change your mind. I don’t think we’ll get another shot at this.” I sighed in acceptance, resting my head back against the bed, letting my knees part once more, wincing at the pain inside me.

The lash burnt against my skin, and I cried out, gritting my teeth against the scream as it wrapped under the bed and secured my other wrist, tight and immovable.

The binds around my legs snaked up to my knees before they grew taut, holding me still.

Helpless.

Stephen met my eyes, and I nodded around the trembling of my body.

“Well, well, well. I’m glad I could be the first.”

The HYDRA man, with his dark eyes and tangled hair, was one who favoured me.

I cried, trashing against my bindings, but they held fast.

His rough hands on my thighs, pushing and parting, made me freeze. “You’ve always been so good to me, little girl. Let’s hope they didn’t ruin that perfect hole.”

“Please… Please. I’ve always been good, like you said. But I can’t… Not now. It hurts. It hurts so much.”

“It’s okay, little girl. I’m going to make it feel better.”

It hurt. God, it hurt so much. It felt like he was fucking me with a hot poker, burning everything away. Unmaking me.

Maybe now you have learned your lesson.

You? It was… It was you? You did this?

An insurance policy, in case you survived. I wanted to make sure nobody would ever be able to touch you again.

“Fuck you,” I hissed aloud, vaguely aware of the faint sensation of pulling between my legs. “Fuck you. I’ll heal, and I’ll screw him again. I will make love to that man every day.”

Not if it hurts too much, you won’t.

“You wanna bet? I’ll scream and cry and do it anyway. I’ll let him put it somewhere else. We will find a way, together, because the Red Room will not fucking win. The Soldier will not fucking win. And you – you will not fucking win.”

“Nat?”

I opened my eyes, squeezed shut as I had shouted, to find Stephen hovering over me, his blue-grey eyes full of concern. “Are you with me?” I smiled weakly, and nodded.

“I’m here. I’m with you.”

“I’m all done. Are you… Can I remove the restraints?” I nodded again, and the tension released from my limbs, leaving me to slide myself into the proffered gown as he averted his gaze. Sighing, he removed his gloves, slumping into the chair beside me, a haunted look in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” I murmured, dragging the thin blanket back over myself with a wince.

He glanced up, nodding slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “The sutures are intact, and healthy, for the most part. They’ll finish dissolving over the next few days. There was some minor bleeding during our… Interruption, but it should be fine. If there’s any issues, you know where I am.” He sighed again, leaning forward onto his knees. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head, then nodded, then shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“That last part… You spoke aloud. It sounded as though you were arguing with someone.” He smiled weakly, standing once more. “It also sounded like you won.”

My own grin was hesitant, thin and painful. “Maybe not the war… But I think, maybe, the battle.”

He waved his hand, a circular seal over the door brightening and then snapping from existence. “Oh, that - I had to block the door,” he explained, when my eyebrow arched curiously. “You started screaming, and Barton tried to get in.”

On cue, the door flew open, and my archer bolted into the room, his knife brandished and ready. “Nat?” he questioned sharply, his head turned to me, but his gaze firmly on the wizard, who simply began to circle his hands to open a portal.

“I’m fine,” I murmured, and then, inexplicably, I sobbed. “I’m not fine. But it wasn’t him, Clint. It was… It wasn’t him.”

Strange turned to us briefly, his sympathetic gaze flicking between us both. “I will take my leave. Natasha… You know where I am, and I shall see you later this evening – no examination required, I promise. Don’t forget; no walking. Clint… Take her home. And look after this one; she’s been through enough. If you harm her, it won’t just be her you have to contend with.” A last long, pitying look at me, and a rub to the bruise forming quickly on his pale throat, and he was gone.

Clint was gentle as he could be as he manoeuvred me into his bedroom, but that didn’t stop me wincing at the pressure.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he whispered, bundling me into his arms. “Are you okay?”

I nodded hesitantly, leaning into his chest. “I’m okay,” I answered softly. “…Wait.”

“Hm?”

“Can you take me to the bathroom?”

“Ah. I forgot about that,” he admitted, chuckling, and placing a tender kiss to my hair. “Sure thing.”

He kept me in his arms, nestled lovingly against him, and I couldn’t help the soft purr of contentment that built in my chest. “What do I… Shall I leave? I’m not supposed to leave you alone, but I can… Stand outside?”

I rolled my eyes playfully as he placed me lightly on my feet, kissing his cheek. “I need your help. With my gown,” I added, as a panic-stricken expression crossed his face.

“Doesn’t it… Go up?”

“I want to see,” I explained softly, smiling weakly as he winced. “You don’t have to, but… I need to.”

He hesitated briefly, then placed a chaste kiss to my shoulder blade as he moved to stand behind me. “Together, Little Spider. Always.”

Fingers brushed my skin as he moved my hair away, slowly undoing the bow at the nape of my neck. I held the gown to my front as his arms slipped inside, hands gingerly finding my hips, his chin against my  shoulder. Our eyes met in our reflection and he nodded gently.

I flinched as the fabric hit the floor, taking in the macabre map of black sutures wound like rivers across my body, the flesh around shaded with blues and yellows. Between old and new, there was barely an inch of skin left unmarred and unmarked. The inside of my biceps were a furious red between the stitches, my abused arteries protesting their forced closure. The curve of my breasts were intersected by dividing lines, the nylon knotted beside each discoloured nipple. Further wounds trailed by abdomen, ending in a crooked, three-inch line where my pubic hair used to be. And beneath all that, there was bones. Miles and miles of sharp, protruding bones, my ribcage on display and hips sharp enough to cut glass.

You’re a fucking horror show.

I am what you made me.

I winced again, gaze flicking to my partner uncertainly.

His face was a mask of impassive emotionlessness as his eyes roamed my body, hesitating only briefly on each new stitch, before finally meeting my own once more. “…Well?” I prompted, throat bobbing in the mirror before us.

His hands traced my abdomen lightly as they snaked around, holding me in his arms as gently as he could. “What do you think?”

“I think…” I swallowed dryly, a low, fearful tremble working its way through my muscles. “I think I need help.” He nodded slowly, patiently, leaving me the opportunity to continue. “I think… It’s a terrible thing, what I’ve done to myself. And I think…” I took a deep, steadying breath, the shakes subsiding slowly. “I think I must be really strong to survive all of this. Stronger than I realise.”

He smiled at last, placing a gentle kiss to my cheek. “I agree… But there’s something you forgot.”

I frowned, turning in his arms carefully, my suture-tight muscles refusing to raise further than his waist. “What’s that?”

Hand finding my jaw, his lips brushed mine, sweet and loving. “As I believe I’ve said once before… You’re beautiful, Nat. You will always be beautiful to me.” His thumb skirted my cheek, catching a tear shed unconsciously, before kissing the damp spot.

“Now… Let’s get you to bed, little one.”

[marvelsswansong]

perfectly poisonous pair

summary: the three times Coriolanus realizes you're his perfect match, his eternal soulmate: darkness and all.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, possessive and dark soft!Corio with equally unhinged reader (an anon previously said morticia x gomez addams vibes), fluff, violence, non-canon compliant, CW for graphic descriptions of violence, kidnapping, murder, possessive/dark thoughts - please take care of yourself first!

☆ word count: 6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫����𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Marriage is, at first instance to Coriolanus, an institution and an act that he doesn't quite see the point of.

The legal and financial benefits, sure. But committing himself to one person, to be bound to them body, heart and soul for the rest of his life? That level of vulnerability and permanence feels too foreign. Too abstract, even, that thinking about it quickly makes his stomach churn with sickness.

Coriolanus spends the majority of his upbringing, consoling himself that he doesn't have the time to worry about such things as romance. After all, there was always the next bill to pay and the next threat of eviction to dread.

Not to mention, he thinks, no one will truly ever get him. Not even grandma'am or Tigris understands his inner being. The man deep within his guts, the cunning voyeur who enjoys violence and manipulation. And if they only knew, he believes, they'd be horrified.

No one really knows Coriolanus for who he is. And no one will truly be able to understand what it's like to feel and think like him.

So marriage is completely out of the question for him.

At least for a long time.

Until he meets you.

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

the beginning: "must be a coincidence."

You're the first person (other than the wide-eyed idealist, Sejanus) to treat Coriolanus with kindness at the academy.

You come in as a transfer student mid-way through the semester and he comes to notice the small ways with which you show your appreciation for him. Slyly backing up his answers in class discussions. Smiling at him in the hallways. Sticking up for him in conversations, not caring if the others give you odd looks for defending a 'clear outsider' amongst them.

"If you ever need anything, you can always count on me." you'd once told him after school, his knees barely brushing against yours in the car you've invited him into so that he wouldn't have to walk home in the freezing cold.

Suppressing the urge to interrogate the reasoning behind your kindness, his numb fingers felt sudden warmth when you delicately placed a crumbled up note into his fist with your address in it.

"Stop by whenever you need something. Don't suffer alone, okay?"

He never takes you up on your offer.

At least, not until a few months later, when he finds himself knocking on your door late at night. Three in the morning to be precise, with a busted lip and dark red stains blossoming across his white shirt.

And when you open the door, you don't react to his disheveled state in the same way he'd expect from his family. No pity and shock like grandma'am, nor is there a trace of light apprehension and fear like there would be from Tigris.

Instead, your eyes crinkle with kindness as you invite him inside your home and sit him down on a nearby chair in the living room.

"How bad is it?" you ask, cutting him off with a stern glare before he can lie. "And don't lie to me, Snow. I need to know if you're going to need a drive to the hospital instead of my attempts at first aid."

Sighing, the blonde gives in, his bones aching too much to put up a fight.

"Not that bad, I promise." he grumbles, trying to keep his breathing normal as you lean in closely to examine his injuries. At this proximity, he can see the reflection of the overhanging yellow lights in your irises, your eyebrows furrowing in concentration before you leave the room and return with a soft towel and warm bowl of water.

"Could you look up for me?" you question, your cold fingers steadying his neck to carefully crane it upwards.

The warm, wet fabric in your hands then trace the edges of his jaw, picking up the droplets of blood scattered across his face.

Keeping his eyes forward at the line of bookshelves by the fireplace, time seems to slow down. His senses are overwhelmed by your hairwash - rosemary and vanilla, he thinks - and the room is awfully quiet. All he can hear is the muted sounds of your soft breaths and the rustling of leaves outside, the pale moonlight creeping in through the gaps of the floral curtains in the dead of December.

"Do you mind me asking what happened?" you ask, now switching your attention to the trail of blood buried into the crevice of his neck. You cringe right afterwards, almost wincing at your audacity. "Sorry, you don't have to say if you don't want to."

If anything, it just makes him smile. He likes seeing you embarrassed, he thinks.

"No, it's fine. I'll say. It was just... a party gone awry. Felix managed to convince everyone to go downtown."

You frown at the mention of the downtown area - it was common knowledge that it wasn't safe to wonder the south of the Capitol this late at night, especially if you were obviously from central.

"And then?"

"Got jumped. Felix and his friends ran away quickly. Sejanus got caught up in the mix and I couldn't just... leave him."

Coriolanus hates admitting the slightest sign of weakness, that perhaps he had a friend he cares for, so he's eternally glad that you don't dwell on it. Humming in response, you squeeze the towel in your hands, the water below now a murky shade of brown.

"And how much of this blood is your own? Do I need to get the sewing needles out?"

"I-"

His response is staggered by brief flashes of the fight playing in his mind. He recalls there being a lot of heavy breathing and fast movements. A slash there. A broken nose there. His feet driving down onto the man's chest repeatedly, down, down, down - he hears bones cracking at some point and Sejanus is suddenly pulling him backwards, begging him to stop but Coriolanus can't-

"Coriolanus."

Your voice snaps him out from his dazed state. He then swallows nervously, not knowing how much is safe to disclose.

"I'm fine. Really. Just some bruises and a split lip. The blood is from dodging a few knife attacks and the criminals stabbing one another."

It's a half-truth, really. Coriolanus had dodged a few stabs his way, but only because he tripped the man charging him and grabbed the knife instead to drive it into the man's sides. Enough to severely wound, but not kill. He feels the soles of his left shoe drag on the floor, the fabric nearly coming off from the repeated force with which he'd stepped on the other accomplice's ribs. It makes his jaw clench with embarrassment.

If you notice it's a lie, you don't say anything.

You ask him if he can undress, so that you can wash his clothes for him. After all, you tease in a lighthearted manner in an attempt to lift the mood, you still have school tomorrow at eight.

"You can leave the dirty clothes hanging by the chair outside the bathroom. I think you're overdue for a long, hot shower."

All arguments die in Coriolanus' mouth when he realizes how nice this feels. The foreign comfort of being cared for by someone else, of having his guard down and following someone else's lead for once. So he wordlessly follows you to the bathroom in the back and discards of his dirtied clothes outside.

The hot water is a nice luxury, the scalding temperature starting to erase his memories of the fight. He rubs his scalp raw and watches the water beneath his feet fade into the drain, the steady dripping of water droplets calming his mind.

When the blonde finishes, he comes out and sees that you've folded a set of new, clean clothes for him by the door of the bathroom (your father's old clothes, he learns). Once changed, he wanders outside and finds you hanging the freshly washed clothes outside on your front lawn.

"You should go home, Corio." you say quietly. "Your cousin and grandmother must be worried sick." you look back at him, a reassuring smile on your face.

"How... how can I ever repay you for all this?" he finds himself asking, desperate for an answer. Surely, you'll want something back for this. Certainly, this was all to get something back from him-

You shake your head sideways, waving your hand in dismissal.

"There's no need to repay me. I like to think you help me out every day at school, so think of this as more of... a much delayed gift."

Once you're both back inside the house, no longer shivering from the cold, he finds the silence to be oddly tense. You're in your sleepwear, after all, a silky night dress stopping right above your knees with a gray knit cardigan on top.

He swallows, nervously. He hopes you can't tell how fast his heart is beating.

"Uh, thank you. Seriously. I owe you."

"You really don't."

"I really do."

You roll your eyes playfully.

"The only person who owes me anything is Felix. He shouldn't have suggested you all go to downtown when it's dangerous, and he especially shouldn't have left you and Sejanus to nearly get stabbed to death." you spit, and your angry expression makes him chuckle.

"Ah, well, but he is the president's son. What can we do." he jokes. A small grin flickers onto your lips for half a second at that comment.

"So he is. Good night, Corio. I'll see you tomorrow."

It's initially an uneventful day for Coriolanus the next morning when he walks into the academy, naturally catching your eyes from across the room. You give him a reassuring nod from behind the door of your locker, where the majority of your attention is being held up by an overeager Felix - your assigned partner for the week.

Due to his schedule, Coriolanus doesn't see you again until lunch time. By which the newest rumor sweeping the academy has been the sudden violent illness which has fallen upon the president's son.

"I heard he was puking blood." he hears Clemensia whisper to Arachne, who nods furiously.

"Sejanus had to carry him to the medic's office - Felix looked like a half-dead ghost."

He's itching to speak to you as he quickly rounds the corner and runs up the flights of stairs leading to the library, where he's shared many lunches with you before. He knows your favorite sport by heart, that being the cozy seat under the large arched windows overlooking the front lawn.

As expected, he finds you there, sitting cross legged and gazing out towards the lawn. Upon closer inspection, he sees that you're watching Felix get escorted into a dark vehicle, an unreadable expression on your face.

"Have you heard that Felix is sick?" Coriolanus carefully asks, sitting down from across from you. You turn to him, your face scrunching up in sadness.

"Yes I have. Terrible news, really. Something about nasty nausea and uncontrollable vomiting."

Your tone is sympathetic and your face has all the features of genuine worry, but there's a small twinkle in your eyes that indicates a secret.

It makes Coriolanus delirious with want.

"And would his illness have anything to do with you being close to him as his project partner?" he questions, sliding in closer towards you to keep his voice down.

He looks down at your lips then back up at you, smirking.

"Just seems strange, don't you think? Given that he seemed just fine last night?"

A half-second smile, you shrug.

"Must be a coincidence."

He kisses you right then and there.

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

the point of no return: "you're quite a messy lover, Coriolanus Snow."

Finding you is a miracle to him.

And now that you two are officially dating, he sees the glimmer of hope for something permanent like marriage in the future.

But Coriolanus is still unsure of the publicity of that kind of arrangement, which leads him to request that you two keep the relationship under wraps. At least until graduation, he justifies, to keep the romance hidden away from the judging eyes of the faculty and fellow classmates.

You don't seem the least bit bothered by the news, your lips only quirking up into a warning smile as you tease that you may then have to bring other men as dates to public events to save face.

At the time, he'd just shrugged at that, playing it cool. "I don't get jealous easily." he'd said confidently.

Oh, how he was wrong.

It's only after he becomes your boyfriend that he becomes acutely aware of and sensitive to how desirable you are to others. Visitors to the academy flirt with you openly, not knowing that Coriolanus is watching from the background, fuming with anger. Your male classmates are too eager to carry your books for you, their body leaning ever too close towards yours when you ask them to pass on the papers in class.

But this, right now, seeing you with another man at the spring gala... It feels different.

Those people, the strangers and classmates, you let down firmly but gently. Those people, you wouldn't even let their hands hover above your skin, always placing a firm distance between you and them. Those people-

Fuck.

You didn't smile at those people like you're smiling at this date of yours. The tall, dark haired man's arm is lingering just above your waist, too close for Coriolanus' comfort, and his thoughts turn lethal when the man leans down to whisper something in your ear that seemingly makes you laugh.

It takes everything within him to not lose control then, when Sejanus speaks up.

"You alright?"

His friend's voice cuts into the tirade of violent thoughts playing in Coriolanus' mind, the whiskey starting to taste sour in his mouth. Forcing another sip of alcohol, he meticulously coaches himself to nod along, feigning disinterest in you and the mystery man.

"Just fine, Plinth." he grits out, but with his steely blue orbs not deviating from where you and your date are standing, it's obvious to any bystander that he's lying. So Sejanus chuckles, nudging the blonde playfully.

"Yeah right. Though, I'm not surprised that (Y/n) brought him along." Sejanus takes a sip of his wine, before pausing at seeing the blonde's expression remain hardened. "You do know who he is, right?"

"Am I supposed to?" Coriolanus scowls.

"That's Harrison Bramford. His grandfather was one of the main generals back in the days of the war and his family single-handedly leads the weapons manufacturing industry in Panem."

"Hm." is all Coriolanus says in response, the revelation doing little to appease his anger. His left arm rises in a reflex to force more alcohol down his throat, only to find the glass half empty.

"I need another drink." he announces, not caring to hear his friend's response.

Sliding into the bar, he hears your soft laugh and whisper before you disappear into a nearby hallway, leaving your 'date' alone. Out of the corner of Coriolanus' eyes, whilst he leans forwards and pretends to watch the bartender grabbing him another glass of whiskey, he sees the tall dark haired man also beelining towards the bar.

"Vodka on the rocks." Harrison growls, nearly slamming his glass down onto the counter. It's only then that Coriolanus lets himself look into the man's light green eyes, taking care to keep his expression fairly neutral and his voice calm.

"Rough night?" Coriolanus asks, deciding to play the unassuming role of a concerned stranger. Harrison chuckles, wiping his hands on his thighs whilst shaking his head.

"You have no fucking idea. Women are such pieces of work."

The blonde tastes blood with how hard he bites his cheek in an effort to stay silent.

"Your whiskey, sir."

He's grateful for the interruption of the bartender sliding his drink down towards him, as with every word leaving your date's mouth, Coriolanus is feeling his rage boiling and threatening to spill over like toxic waste.

"This chick asked me to come here tonight, you know? Me. A Bramford. I put up with her annoying stories and stupid questions all night, I even held her fucking bag for her to go to the bathroom." the man rants, his skin starting to twinge red with how fast he was speaking. "But will she even let me kiss her? Nooooo. Apparently it's too quick. Wouldn't even let me grab her ass."

It's then that your boyfriend finally loses it, and there's a muted sound of something shattering and the feeling of something sticky and hot running down his right hand. There's a few gasps of shock, the bartender hurrying over with a spare napkin as Coriolanus' blue eyes adjust to the blurry scene in front of him.

He's shattered the glass in his hand.

"Shit, you alright?" Harrison asks, leaning over to see and then pulling back with a disgusted expression after seeing the bloody sight. Remaining calm whilst pulling out the chunks of glass, Coriolanus chooses to play nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yep. Sorry, not used to..." he pauses, trying to find the right excuse. Instead, he finds a brilliant plan. "Not used to going so long without smoking."

The dark haired man nods in agreement, seemingly sympathizing.

"Ah, I get you. Nasty withdrawal symptoms, huh? Seen a lot of my buddies get them whenever they try to quit smoking."

Securing the makeshift tablecloth wrap around his injured hand, Coriolanus pushes his chair in with his legs, his uninjured hand strategically reaching into his pockets.

"I think I need a cigarette. Care to join?" he asks, already knowing the answer from the overwhelming scent of cigarettes spayed over the man's clothes.

"Why not."

Suppressing a smile, the blonde leads the drunken man out the door and far away from the venue, down a few shady alleyways and into narrow dirty streets crowded by graffiti and trash bags.

"Uh... you sure this is the right way?" the man behind nervously asks, and Coriolanus almost wants to roll his eyes at how pathetic he finds the man's fear.

"Don't worry, Bramford. Just avoiding the 'no smoking' signs and security guards by the venue."

Once the blonde is sure that they're both sufficiently far away from the venue, at a dead end alleyway sandwiched between a run down bike shed and abandoned dumpsters, he stops in his tracks. Coriolanus then uses the split second of confusion felt by the other man to strike him directly in the chest, forcing the taller man's entire body down.

Grabbing the nearest object next to him - a wooden crate- Coriolanus smashes it into bits on the man's head, whose face is now pressed up against the dirty cement.

"You absolute piece of shit." Coriolanus swears, adrenaline pumping through his veins in irregular rhythm as his boot kicks into the pained man's ribs repeatedly. "You disgusting, vile, privileged piece of shit."

Each insult is compounded by a stronger kick, the three glasses of whiskey and pure rage emboldening his thoughts and strengthening his attacks. Coriolanus thinks he may have heard a bone or two cracking, but he isn't sure. He can't even bring himself to care, not when his mind's fixation switches to the enticing sight of a broken glass bottle laying to his right, the jagged scars glistening under the moonlight. Coriolanus snatches it up in half a second, before pressing the edges of the makeshift blade against the whimpering man's throat.

"W-why are you doing this?" Harrison barely gets out, mouth already filled with blood, his gasps stuttered in pain.

The blonde only chuckles, his left knee coming down to press the man further into the ground, right hand beginning to trace the edge of the glass down the man's neck.

"Because, Bramford. You denigrated the love of my life. You dare try and place your filthy hands on her. Hell, for the crimes of your family and your disgusting behavior tonight, I should do the Capitol a favor and ki-"

"That's enough, Corio."

Your boyfriend nearly drops the bottle in his hand out of shock at hearing your voice ring out from behind him, the development so unexpected that for a second he almost wonders if he's hallucinating. But no, when he tilts his head backwards, he sees as clear as day you standing there with an amused grin on your face.

"Darling, I-" Coriolanus begins, stepping back up carefully and setting the glass bottle aside (but far away from Harrison's reach).

You just shush him, that ever-so-understanding twinkle in your eyes, your heels clicking on the uneven cobblestone as you stand with your body right up against his.

"I warned you about this, you know." you sigh. Coriolanus frowns, confused.

"What?"

"That you'd be jealous. He's just a toy, love. Nothing happened nor was ever going to happen tonight." you assure him, taking his uninjured hand in yours and squeezing it in comfort. You frown at the sight of his other bloodied hand, but he waves it off as an explanation for a later time.

"It's not that I don't trust you, petal. It was just... this scumbag was speaking about you in a revolting manner. I just couldn't contain myself." he slowly explains, a mix of guilt for being caught and anger for not being able to finish his actions creeping in. "He deserved it."

"Not denying that, love." you assure him again, smiling. "But goodness... What a mess you've made. You're quite the messy lover, Coriolanus Snow."

Coriolanus then can only watch, mesmerized, as you walk up next to Harrison's squirming body on the floor. Crouching down next to the man, you tut, as if you're saddened by the sight in front of you.

"Here's what's going to happen. We'll do you the favor of making it looking like you had too many drinks and got robbed. We'll take your wallet and expensive jacket. You'll survive, only a few major injuries but nothing life-threatening, and that's the story you'll tell your father and his friends." you pause, letting out another sigh, as if explaining this whole ordeal is tiring you. "In return, I will keep quiet about your nasty drug addiction to your father. One more strike and you're out, as your daddy said, so let's not aggravate him further. Deal?" you ask, smiling sweetly.

When the man stays silent, only letting out pained breaths in response, your right hand snaps out to press his face further into the concrete.

"I said, do we have a fucking deal, Bramford?"

Coriolanus finds himself completely transfixed by the attractive sight playing out in front of him: your pretty face scrunched up in fury, your delicate fingers dipped in blood as the man beneath you pathetically sobs and agrees. You then smirk, harshly dropping the man's head back down. Your boyfriend is by your side immediately, taking off the man's jacket as you pocket the wallet, your eyes finding Coriolanus' once more.

"I think I'm in love with you." the blonde confesses, the words coming out faster than he'd anticipated. It's a mix of things that causes the sudden confession, the adrenaline from having beaten a man nearly to death, the way your hair is being caressed by the harsh winds, the smell of your sweet perfume mixing with the harsh stench of copper in the air...

It's all making him dizzy and lovesick.

But all you do is roll your shoulders back and chuckle, kissing him quickly on the lips.

"I know."

But, Coriolanus thinks, you can't know - the real depths of his love, the unbridled fire now lapping at his skin, the overwhelming desire to claim you as only his.

And when he finally comes back home, he digs through his cabinets and finds the family ring. Swallowing thickly, he stores it in a small jewelry box and tucks it right underneath his bedroom's windowsill.

One day, he knows. He'll marry you.

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

the final act: "sorry for worrying you."

He'd meant to propose sooner.

He really did.

But then the games happened, his victory came with the assistant position to Dr Gaul and a full ride scholarship to university from the Plinths, and you'd be called away to District 2 to assist on your family's business operations.

Coriolanus missed you, fiercely. No amount of blurry phone calls and monthly visits lasting no more than the short weekend could satisfy his ache for you. Your melodic laugh. Your soft touch. Your witty observations and jokes, your soft breathing on his chest when he'd hold you at night.

But it's necessary, you'd remind him, lips trailing across his cold skin. It was how you and him were going to conquer the Capitol. Together.

On an assuming Tuesday in April, on the day you were due to arrive in time for Tigris' birthday, the phone rang in the mansion. The housekeeper, mid-way through dusting the library in preparation for your arrival, had come running into Coriolanus' room without even knocking. He'd woken up bleary eyed, a few swear words of annoyance on the tip of his tongue, all of which dissipated upon seeing the alarmed look on the housekeeper's face.

"It's for you, sir. Says it's urgent."

Brows furrowing, but not thinking anything much, Coriolanus answers the phone.

"Coriolanus Snow speaking." he mutters into the receiver, eyes still foggy from the remnants of sleep. The voice on the other end chuckles, a dark and pompous sound which makes him scowl in annoyance.

"Mr.Snow... when was Miss (L/n) set to arrive in the Capitol?"

The sinister question jolts the blonde awake immediately, a quick glance at the clock hanging by the door confirming his worst fears. It was four am, at least three hours past the time you were set to arrive.

"Is this a ransom call?" Coriolanus growls into the phone, his fingers clutching the receiver so tight his knuckles were beginning to redden. Teeth aching with how tensely he's clenching his law, his frantic eyes find the housekeeper's worried ones, before he urgently signals for the older woman to fetch the guards roaming the front of the property.

The stranger on the other side only chuckles in response, clearly gleeful at the distressed sound of Coriolanus' voice.

"I'm not sure, Mr. Snow. Would you like to perhaps ask her instead?"

The string of curses and violent threats bubbling under his throat never get spoken when he hears the sudden shuffling of feet and muffled arguing on the other side of the phone, before your voice fills his anxious ears.

"Hi, Corio."

Huh.

You seem awfully relaxed for someone taken as hostage.

Yes, he recalled having numerous discussions with you about such a scenario occurring once Coriolanus' status was elevated in the Capitol and you'd agreed to take on some share of the family business. And your boyfriend also knew that you'd grown up training in archery and fencing, so it wasn't as if you were wholly unprepared to defend yourself.

But still, it shocks him how your voice is completely aloof and calm, with even a hint of a smile at the end of your sentences.

"Hi, darling. Are you alright?" he carefully responds, pondering if you are perhaps being held at gunpoint and forced to speak in an unnatural manner. But you just hum in response, the same noise you'd make if he'd asked you something simple like what you wanted on your toast, nonchalant as ever.

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Just don't forget to water the lilies, they get very temperamental this time of the year. Wouldn't want a repeat of last April, now would we?" you joke, and Coriolanus feels himself slightly relaxing into the conversation.

"Of course not."

"And don't forget you promised me pancakes the moment I came back to the house. I've been missing your banana pancakes dearly."

He can almost picture your smile at that comment.

"Well then... you should hurry back soon." he calmly responds, only for the phone to then be ripped away from you and the stranger's voice returns - grating and aggravated. Coriolanus can tell that your kidnapper is frustrated and dumbfounded by your seemingly calm disposition and mundane conversation with your boyfriend, a revelation which fills him with great satisfaction.

"If you still want her alive, leave a suitcase of $20,000 by the coordinates sent to you. You have two hours."

As if on cue, the housekeeper rushes back in with a note - tied to a bird sent over to the house, she says - and the security team behind. Unravelling the coordinates written onto the piece of paper, and looking back at the clock, Coriolanus' mind whirls with endless possibilities.

Explaining the situation in brief, he directs three of the guards to go out into the location with a briefcase loaded with fake cash - one to drop off the bag, the other two to keep extensive watch to see who picks it up. The other two, he commands to stay by watch at the house.

Sitting in an unmarked van whilst staring at the spot where his security guard had placed the suitcase, Coriolanus' leg won't stop bouncing up and down.

He's riddled with anxiety and doubt, hating himself for being unable to protect you, worrying about your whereabouts. As even if you sounded awfully calm and capable on the phone, a part of him can't help but wonder if that was all for show, to prevent him from worrying too much.

A torturous hour passes before Coriolanus gets a call from the housekeeper.

"Sir, she's home."

He nearly drops the phone.

"What?"

"Miss (Y/n) is home. She is sitting in the kitchen, having a cup of tea as we speak."

It's a blur as Coriolanus commands the car to race back towards the house, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest as he bursts through the doors of the main hallway.

And there, calm as ever with a light grin on your face, is you.

You're sitting in his favorite velvet cushioned chair by the dining table. Your face smeared with blood, your clothes are torn and hanging in loose threads, and your hair is wet, red crimson droplets falling onto the floor in steady drips. And as the sun rises over the estate, the golden light illuminates your hairline and Coriolanus swears he sees a halo above your bloodied form.

"Hi, love. Sorry for worrying you."

Without a single word, he rushes over to you and nearly yanks you up to a standing position, backing you up against the wall to kiss you fiercely. Your knees almost buckle from the force with which he grabs your neck, his shaky breaths so desperate, his hooded eyes still looking into yours as his left hand suddenly shows a ring box in his hand.

"Marry me, darling."

You blink twice, surprised at the sudden action, as he chuckles and laces his fingers with yours - blood on blood.

"We're perfect for each other. You are my soulmate, my perfect pair: body, heart and soul. Truthfully, I've had the ring with me for almost two years now, but it never felt... quite right." he pauses, taking in your shaky, happy smile. Your cold hands warming in his embrace. "Not until now. You're the one for me."

"Even if I bleed all over your kitchen?" you croak, as he slides the cool metal onto your ring finger, before kissing your bruised knuckles.

"Especially if you bleed over my kitchen. As long as it's not your own blood, of course."

It's you who closes the gap this time, nearly tackling him with the force with which you kiss him, arms encircling around his back. Smiling into the kiss, he tastes the mix of your strawberry lipgloss and the metallic hint of blood on your lips, an intoxicating combination.

When you two finally part for air, the silver band now glistening on your ring finger, Coriolanus chuckles.

"Now, would you like those banana pancakes?"

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

epilogue: "nonsense, darling. I'd clean blood off of you forever."

"I think I'm starting to see a gray hair. on you, Corio."

Your husband scowls at the playful joke in the bedroom mirror, standing up to straighten his tie as you get changed in the walk-in closet.

"Please, I'm barely 30. Are you sure you're not hallucinating, darling?" he fights back, and you peek out half-dressed from the closet, pouting.

"You're questioning my eyesight now? How could you be so cruel."

Your faux sour expression is quickly kissed away by two cold hands cupping your cheeks, and you would've lost the balance in your heels had he not steadied you immediately, his hands dropping to your waist.

"Aw, I'm sorry, petal. Will you ever forgive me?"

You pretend to think about it, cocking your head sideways.

"That would depend."

"On what?"

"Mom! Dad!"

Your snarky response is cut off by the sound of small feet pattering on the marble floor, the front doors swinging open as a small figure runs straight to you and crashes into your legs. A spitting image of you and Coriolanus, your daughter, looks up from your knees before grasping onto her father's hand.

"Up, please."

Clearly amused by the sudden burst of energy in the room and his daughter's politeness even in moments of silliness, he crouches down and picks up the squealing child who comfortably settles into his arms.

"Guess what."

"What is it, honey?" you ask, brushing the stray hair out of her eyes.

"I got the highest score in my entire class on my math test."

"Wow, that's incredible, sweetheart." Coriolanus practically melts on the spot, bouncing the child up and down as she giggles into his neck. "You are the smartest person ever, Belle."

"Not as smart as mommy." she sasses in response, looking up at you for approval. You coo, ruffling her hair affectionately before looking up at your husband with raised eyebrows.

"See, Corio? Even our daughter is kinder to me than you are."

He rolls his eyes in response, left hand sneaking out to pull you in close as his lips kiss the top of your head.

"Nonsense. I love both my girls equally." he says, only for the picture perfect moment to be interrupted by another figure rushing into the room.

"Mrs Snow, the car's just arrived for you by the fr-" the intern freezes in his steps, having clearly caught the Snow family at a private time. You of course don't mind, just being amused by the situation, and your daughter is just curious at the new person who just walked in. All the while, Coriolanus' reaction couldn't be more different, his glare sharp and mean.

"I thought I made it clear, I don't want to ever be disturbed when I'm with my family. Unless it's an absolute emergency." Coriolanus states, his tone icy and unforgiving.

By the furrowing of his eyebrows and the cold stare in his eyes, you can already anticipate the flurry of murderous thoughts filling his head before you cut in. After all, the interrupting intern, a 17 year old boy by the name of Elijah, is only trying his best. And you find him oddly endearing and sweet, particularly with how badly he tries to impress your husband.

"It's fine, Elijah. Please ignore my husband's rude comment. I'll be right out."

Setting your daughter down, Coriolanus leans forward and growls into your ear, watching the young boy scatter away quickly.

"You're too nice to him, darling. Don't you think we should dispose of him and get a new intern...."

You slap his shoulder.

"What do I always tell you? No need to create unnecessary messes. Besides, he's really good with Belle and easy to control."

He smirks at that, irises filled pink.

"You're probably right. Can't have another bloody mess on your hands to clean up."

"Or vice versa."

He leans in close, cold lips touching your forehead.

"Nonsense, darling. I'd clean blood off of you forever."

And he truly means it.

a/n: andddd that's another major Corio fic down! thank you to everyone who showed me love on my last Corio oneshot ("melting snow") and for those who answered my poll - dark soft! and possessive Corio won out but girldad!Corio also got a TON of love so I included it a bit here and will probably write a whole standalone fic with girldad!Corio as the concept. thank you again to everyone for remaining patient, I had writer's block for a bit and I've just had the most awful few weeks ever (mental health wise and life wise) so it was difficult to find moments to write.

as always, please leave a like/comment/reblog/ask if you enjoyed. the interactions is what motivates me to write! I hope you liked it hehe x

[cookiesupplier]

chapter eleven: JUST wouldn't STAY DOWN, part two

Summary: Down in the Shenandoah Valley, there lay a court consisting of the Grim, the Drowned, the Witch and the Watcher.

PLEASE READ THIS NEXT SECTION

These next three updates will deal with very dark themes. I would HIGHLY suggest that you be in the right mindset to read these, otherwise I'd recommend you take a good step back and wait until you are. Please, take care of yourselves, cryptids 😘

CW: major character injuries, mentions of religious sacrifice, mentions of mockery of religious themes, ptsd, supernatural themes, large canine, whatever you want to call what Noah is, body horror, graphic violence, angst, blood, torture, graphic depictions of vehicular crash scenes

Every chapter will have a different cw section. This is Bad Omens rpf, so obviously I don't know all the little nuances of the members or their family members, and technically Bad Omens doesn't exist in this universe.

A/N: So the next two chapters are super long, so I'm splitting them up to be bearable, and because I'm a sadist that likes to watch you all suffer. I’m writing this as I go, so I'd rather you all have semi-frequent updates.

Some things are color-coded. If any of you are colorblind to blues, reds or greens, lemme know.

FEATURED CREATURES:

If you want to be on the tagged list, lemme know.

@ladyveronikawrites @lilhobgobbler @signs-of-ill-portent @roley-poley-foley @badhedonist @screamsinsilver @kingdomof-omens

@deathblacksmoke @cookiesupplier

“So when did you learn how to practice?” Noah asked.

“I didn't. It just… I don't know,” I said, sighing.

This trek through the woods was a lot faster, even though I kept tripping and falling, due to not having Nick keeping me upright. At one point Noah suggested Folio carry me on his back, even going so far as to call it a “furry piggyback ride” after we refused the first time. Needless to say, we refused again.

Unfortunately, Folio ran on ahead to scout the area in front of us, with Noah acting as the middle man if we had to change directions because of the terrain. Which left me with the man who just this morning had me pinned to the wall by my neck.

“So how long?” I asked. Noah made an inquisitive grunting noise. “How long did you have feelings for him?”

Noah was silent for a while, almost making me think he wasn't going to dignify me with a response, until he finally spoke, “Not too long before shit went down, actually. We… bonded a little after we watched Folio get killed.”

“Bonded? Is that a euphemism for–”

“No, get your mind out of the gutter,” Noah snapped. “We kissed once, okay? After i lost my mom, I stayed over a lot. Nick wasn't into it, and I respected that. We stayed friends, and I got a girlfriend soon after.”

“Elin?”

“God, don't fucking remind me. That bitch deserved her fate,” Noah growled. The thought of what that fate probably was had me pushing through another several moments of tense silence.

“You didn't get over him, did you?” I asked quietly.

“I did, in fact. When I was in service to the original Watcher as the Towering Man,” Noah said with a bitter laugh. “Being over six feet tall was a curse in school, and the Watcher just loved to rub my face in it.

“I would wait for Nick to realize that I wasn't dead; that I was right outside in the woods behind his house. Nick used to search the woods after the search parties gave up, turns out. I thought he had just given up. So I left, and didn't see him until the next Summer Solstice.

“I guess seeing him with you… brought back old wounds. And I acted on them.”

I couldn't feel angry at him. Just… pity, I guess. “You got serious anger issues then. Probably should see a therapist about that,” I stated.

Noah was about to respond when he suddenly crouched down, pushing me down with him. “You see that fire?” He hissed.

We crept up on the scene before us. It was… horrifying. That was the only way I could describe it, but even then, it felt inadequate. It looked exactly how I’d imagine a cult would look like: dark clearing, candles, an altar.

I could only count ten members. They all wore black cloaks, and black masks that mimicked a deer’s skull and antlers. They all stood in pairs, except one who stood before a tall effigy made of thick branches, twigs, vines and leaves. And tied that effigy, in some kind of terrifying mockery of the crucifixion, was Nick.

I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to middle the sound of my choked sob. From this distance, I couldn’t see if he was alive or not; just that he was covered in blood.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“Wait for Jolly to lure them to the river. He's not far,” Noah said.

My stomach churned when I looked back at Nick. A part of me wanted to rush the cultists and get him down, but I knew with my disabled hip I wouldn't be able to take on ten people who may or may not have something to stab me with. At least one person had to if they were going to try to sacrifice Nick.

Just then, one of the cultists brought out a small drum, starting to tap out a rhythm that was simple but loud. I could compare it to what my heartbeat felt like.

The one that was closest to Nick, who stood out amongst the others because their mask’s antlers were blood-red instead of black like the others, held up a hand. “We will now drink from the Cup of Fate,” the leader called out.

“Come on, Jolly. Any second now,” Noah hissed from behind me.

“Our words uttered into the formless void.”

“Our words uttered…” the cultists parroted back.

“Reverberate through the space between space, between space.”

The rhythmic beating of the drum and the smell of smoke was almost hypnotizing. More so than the one time I heard Jolly’s guitar playing…

“We are heard by THAT WHICH WATCHES OVER US, so it may lift one heavy, eager eye in our direction.”

“You don’t think they have the drink to dispel Jolly’s näcken song, do you?” I whispered to Noah.

“We are heard by those who shall always be nameless—“

“Fuckin’… shit!” Noah cursed.

“—whose incorporeal arms reach for us—“

“Alright, Folio, get in there.”

“—uniting us in unbodied observance, until we are heard no—“

The chant was cut off by the sound of a long howl. The drum stopped, and when the howl faded, I could hear the sound of a guitar and a clear voice singing:

“If God came down from His kingdom; He came down from His home, and we asked Him if He would take us back, He would surely tell us no.”

Noah had warned me of Jolly's songs, which was why I brought some small ear plugs that blocked out certain frequencies. It just so happened to block out any siren-esque frequencies as well.

What they didn't block out was the absolute chaos that came next.

They didn't block out the sounds of creaking wood and snapping branches behind me as Noah shifted into his other form. They didn't block out the sounds of Folio’s paws thundering through the forest, nor his snarls. They didn’t block out the screams as some people were ripped apart by Folio’s jaws. I had to block it all out myself.

I looked up as Noah’s deformed shadow fell over me. He looked down at me through a deer’s skull, which from this angle, I could see was melded to his face. His large, glowing white eyes pierced the darkness.

GET TO NICK.

I didn't need to be told twice.

As Noah loped towards the remaining cultists, I bolted towards Nick as fast as I was able to. I almost slammed face-first into the effigy when I skidded to a stop, but I caught myself by digging my fingers into the cracks between the sticks. The carnage behind me was still unfolding, even as I heard Noah unleash an unearthly shriek. Using a small pocket knife to cut Nick’s legs free, I soon had to climb the effigy to free his wrists.

That's when I heard a small noise come from him. I pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat and his chest rise and fall. I almost collapsed in relief. “Nick? Nick, hold on. We're gonna get you out of here,” I sputtered, moving my hand to cup the side of his face. His eyes fluttered open at the touch. They looked drained of color in the dim light.

“Hey, you’re gonna be alright, okay? I’m gonna get you out of here,” I repeated, trying to keep him conscious. “I'm gonna cut this one rope, and I'll try to catch you, but we might take a fall–”

I had cut through the rope, finally freeing him, and Nick started to slide down. I managed to catch him, but I couldn't compensate for the near-dead weight in time. As my footing slipped, I tried to catch us by grabbing onto the effigy. The wood tore my hands up. I hissed in pain, but held on for dear life; more for his and less for mine.

My feet touched the ground, followed by Nick's. Luckily he was only half a foot taller than me, because otherwise this would've gotten awkward as I wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

I searched wildly for Noah. Thankfully, he was easy to spot. I got him!! I screamed out into the ether in his direction.

GO! RUN!

Just then, a dark force barreled into me, launching me and tearing Nick from my arms. As I landed on my bad hip, a visceral scream of pain tore up my throat. In my dazed state, I barely saw the same force kick me with what seemed to be supernatural strength, as I heard bones crack as I flew several feet away and landed on my back.

“You who are empty, I shall guide your step. Lo, though you envy, envy not. Lo, though you covet, covet not.”

Despite the agonizing pain in my side, I managed to turn myself over onto my stomach. Vision spinning, I was able to find Nick, who had managed to push himself up onto his elbows. I started to pull myself toward him.

“You who are empty, I shall see through your eyes. Lo, though you toil, toil only for me. Lo, though you suffer, suffer only for me.”

A strong hand grabbed the back of my skull, tearing some of my hair out from its bun and my scalp. The pain was dulled, thanks to the adrenaline. The voice that hissed in my ear was the same voice as the leader.

“You who are empty, I shall be with you and within you. You who are empty, you shall want no longer.”

He suddenly let me go, a wave of dizziness and fog overcoming me as I collapsed back to the ground, face smashing into the hard ground. I groaned into the pavement as the adrenaline faded, and my entire left side felt like it had been scorched. I couldn’t feel my legs.

I sucked in a deep breath, though it hurt my chest to do so, and shifted my head to where my cheek was pressed against the hot asphalt. Someone’s headlights illuminated the entire crash scene, but my eyes immediately fell upon a masculine body that was several feet away, blue-gray eyes fixed on me. Eyes that pleaded for me.

I forced my body to move, even if it was just my arms. I clawed at the blacktop, my weak strength barely getting me off the street, and I barely felt the twinge as my fingernails split and broke.

YOU CAN'T SAVE HIM.

Yes, yes I could. If my stupid body would just cooperate–

YOU ARE WEAK.

Why wasn't I moving?

YOU ARE EMPTY.

No. Not this again.

My brother was dying. Again.

And I was being forced to watch. Again.

Tysm for reading! Chapter twelve, part one coming soon!

[abbeyofcyn]

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles AUs

New! Merch

Phantom Pain

Donnie was finally back to normal. At least.... he was no longer feral. But months of being infected takes its toll and Leo has lost a lot to get him back. It's not easy having two idiots who can't deal with emotions as brothers for Mikey.

Start reading here

Hiatus

CW: nightmares, amputation

Tags: #phantom pain comic

Krang infection sequel

Krang Infection

Two years after the invasion, Donnie feels sick and his gut instinct tells him it's very different from the rat flu.

Start reading here

Completed

CW: minor body horror, implied amputation, non graphic brain surgery

Tags: #krangified Donnie #Krang infection comic

False Memory

All the brothers have had nightmares from the Apocalypse pop up and ruining their sleep. Casey confirmed that what they've dreamt actually happened to their counterparts in his timeline. They refer to it as 'false memories'. Leo wakes up to the worst 'memory' he's had thus far.

Start reading here

Completed

CW: death

Brains and Brawn Apocalypse

Donnie and Raph lost their brothers during the apocalypse when they were only in their twenties. Now, in their thirties, there's not much hope left for them to win this war.

Several one shots: overview

Completed

CW: death

Great, what's next...

A poll based adventure with Donnie as the main character

Start reading here

Discontinued

CW: none

Wretched Little Pests

Read the comics here

CW: death, injuries, murder, savage mode

Tag: #wretched little pests au

[strawberrystepmom]

shifting sands and the fingers they fall through | one

cw: non-graphic discussion of an injury reader has. trafalgar law x fisherman f!reader. | word count: 1.7k, reading time: approx. 6 min.

note: this is the first part of a series. each post will contain warnings that pertain to that particular chapter. | part: two, three, four; five, six

The late morning sun beats hot overhead but you remain cool enough tucked beneath your fishmongering stall, humming to yourself while pouring more ice into the chests behind you that contain everything you caught last night and this morning.

So far everything has gone the same way it does, well, every day. You wake up, you fish, you clean, you put them on ice, you sell what you can. This is the rhythm of your life, never up or down or out of tune, just the way you think you like it. It has been this way for at least a decade so there’s no sense in complaining about it now, even while you notice the tune your humming feels off key. It must be the lingering heat.

It’s technically autumn although you’d never know it. Island life is perpetually sundrenched, the waters that provide your shelter and food thanks to their contents never cooling quite enough to keep you from doing the job. There’s always demand regardless, whether it be from small fleets that dock near your sleepy seaside hometown or your fellow inhabitants. The work is never quite all the way done.

You go back to humming, fixing your pitch, only to be interrupted by footsteps approaching the front of your stall.

“Good morning, flounder is the catch of the day. The fish comes cleaned and I’ll even throw in deboning for free if you’d like.”

Your spiel goes unanswered which is rare. It’s usually recited back to you by any one of your regular buyers, a smile on their face mirroring your own. This draws you to turn around and face whoever is standing in front of the stall, one of the few in town run by a woman.

The man standing there is a stranger.

Every person on this island knows one another, the various small fishing villages dotting the coastline deeply interconnected. You were an outsider once too. Granted, you tried a lot harder to fit in than this man standing in front of you, his clothes vastly different from the breezy linen and cotton worn by everyone else. His face is firm, mouth set in a line with dark hair that brushes the tops of his eyebrows and narrowed golden eyes.

At least he’s a handsome stranger, you reason. You smile and roll your shoulders forward slightly and he remains as you found him. Unmoved.

“The flounder is fine and so are the bones.”

In an instant, your expression turns from pleasant to puzzled. He doesn’t react, simply keeping his hands folded over his chest wordlessly and expressionless. Clearly this guy isn’t interested in small talk and that’s fine, you get to work and pull a piece of parchment from beneath the counter and open the ice chest behind you to pull out your largest catch.

A fruit of the sea, caught and processed lovingly by your hands. Sometimes you catch yourself softly smiling down at the faces of all the fish you catch, perhaps as a means to honor them or at least say you’re sorry. Today though, you keep the subtle smile to yourself and get to work.

“It’ll be 350 Belly,” you mutter while plopping the flounder down on the paper, folding the edge of the paper over the tail. This mysterious man says nothing but his gaze is heavy and is clearly pinned to your movements, your left arm specifically.

“Your stitches look like shit.”

A loud exhalation followed by a humorless laugh is your initial response, pausing your work and then resuming it for a moment to avoid saying something snarky to a man who is about to pay you. You pause again, tilting your head to the side to look up at this stranger who apparently believes insults are appropriate.

“Thanks, I did them myself,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes, proud of your ability to do so covertly enough he won’t even be able to tell.

He absolutely notices it, alongside the range of emotion you’ve let show all over your face in such a short span of time, and shifts his weight from foot to foot while folding his arms over his chest. Law isn’t trying to be an asshole. If you insist on taking his concern that way, it makes no difference to him. The bottom line is that he can see clear as the sky overhead that this wound was not properly tended to.

“You need to see a doctor about that.”

Still narrowed eyes dart down to inspect the jagged wound that will undoubtedly leave a scar if it doesn’t get infected and kill you first. You shake your head and shrug, back to work wrapping his fish. The wound aches if you’re honest. Thankfully you’ve been able to stay busy enough to ignore it although it’s an angry, screaming red and makes itself impossible to completely tune out.

Sighing again, you finish wrapping the fish and slide it across the countertop to the man still appraising your arm from afar. You have work to do and this conversation is preventing it from getting done. Why is he wasting your time with a lecture?

“When you find one, let me know. We don’t have one on the island.”

Hopefully your tone is dismissive enough that he gets the picture. You still feel him looking at you, which is frustrating. Law raises his brows, eyes finally shifting from your arm back to your face.

“Today must be your lucky day because there’s one right in front of you.”

You laugh again. It’s a bit more genuine sounding than the first, a confused smile spreading across your face. This man, the one with the ominously tattooed knuckles, is a doctor?

“What?” He asks, face as impassive as it has remained since the moment he arrived at your little stall.

What is he doing here to begin with? Fishing islands are no strangers to a range of visitors, some more nefarious than others, but it’s a surprise that anyone shows up here. Maybe he’s just like you and he’s running to find himself. Or hiding, that’s always a possibility.

Either way, your sleepy little life could be about to get more interesting. Thrusting your arm outward in his direction and raising your eyebrows expectantly, you see how he’ll react. If he’s going to brag about it, you may as well put him to work after all.

“I wasn’t offering to look at it for you,” he clarifies while reaching out to wrap his hand around your wrist.

He finds it slightly annoying that instinct kicked in before he could stop it, his earnest desire to help people buried deep enough he can ignore it most of the time. The touch makes you a little skittish, defying your boldness in offering the opportunity to begin with.

“I told you we don’t have a doctor here. Where else am I gonna find one?”

Sighing, he tugs you gently toward him. You bend at the waist, leaning over the counter, wincing when his thumb brushes against the sorest part of the wound - the skin directly on the edges of it. It’s hot to the touch, eliciting an annoyed glance in your direction. The wound is bad but you did your best with what was on hand which was nothing but a huge needle and durable thread meant for mending sails.

“It’s going to get infected if it isn’t already.”

This should scare you more than it does but you shrug flippantly, preparing to pull your arm back before being stopped with a firm but strangely gentle thumb on the outside of it. The doctor, as you know him now, leans in closer and really glances at the damage done, shaking his head so quickly you’d miss it if you blinked.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle under his gaze. This is far more attention than you’re used to even for being a somewhat attractive, single woman on an island mostly populated by men. Most of them are old and settled into their lives with wives or kids or partners or their own unconventionally formed families. Everyone just kind of sees you as friendly but odd, a reputation you’ve grown to appreciate.

So this, this attention, this heavy, searing pair of eyes belonging to not only a handsome stranger but a doctor no matter how bad his attitude may be, makes your face heat. You are ready to send him and his fish on their way, a stranger departing on the wind that brought him in.

“I’ll pop and re-do the stitches myself when I get home,” you assure him, even if it’s likely untrue. By the time you wrap up at the stall you will be too tired to do anything but drag yourself home, throw your dress over your head, and crash into bed to be up early enough to do it all in the morning.

Raising his eyebrows, he glowers down at you. “Make sure you clean it first.”

Nodding to indicate that you understand, you wait for his thumb to drop from your arm and pull it back as soon as he does. The wound aches even strongly now that it’s all you can focus on, painful enough that sweat prickles at your palms. All you want right now is for him to just go as quickly as he appeared so you can move on with your day.

“You got it, doc.”

Getting back to work, you quickly fold and wrap the fish up. Twine is tied into a bow to secure the parcel and it’s passed across the counter, your wide eyes gazing up at him. The way he meets them makes you shiver despite the warm, humid air of your home. Digging in his pocket he produces a few coins and places them down on the counter wordlessly, taking his bundle and turning his back to walk away.

“Hey,” you call, and he looks over his shoulder. “What’s your name?”

That never changing expression remains but his voice, deep as it is, sounds quite nearly amused.

“Law.”

Law, Law, Law. You commit it to memory, notoriously bad with names as you are. Then you start to attempt to recall if you’ve ever heard it before, maybe having heard it muttered amongst the fisherman who help you at night during flounder season.

Nothing rings a bell. By the time you are no longer lost in your own reverie, Law has long gone and you look down at the counter where shiny gold coins sit.

He left you 500 Belly, more than he had to.

[twola]

Passerine: Chapter 5

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Things hurtle toward their conclusion - the pregnancy, the gang, and the relationship.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

chapter cw: references to rape, violence, injury, illness, death. canon events have been modified.

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Even the songbirds sound sad and gloomy in these hills. Everything is dark, wet, foreboding. A general unease has settled into the gang, or at least, what was left of it. The evening fell far too early, darkness blanketing the valley far earlier than you thought it should. Presently the blazing orange of the sunset already seems to be escaping this land for the west.

If only, if only.

“Can I listen to the baby?”

You shake your head slightly, waking yourself from the brooding thoughts you were having. The scarf you were darning for Abigail lies draped across your lap. You’re sitting against a tree toward the outside of camp, along the hillside where the only sunlight seems to penetrate the tree cover. You secretly are happy for the company, knowing that it would be an embarrassing struggle for you to get back to your feet from the ground, something you should have thought of before sitting down.

You smile, ruffling Jack’s hair. The boy hovers in front of you, waiting for your response, a huge, giddy smile on his face. At least someone here was happy.

“Sure, C’mere.”

Jack stoops down in front of where you are sitting and places his head upon your belly, closing his eyes in concentration. You place your hand back upon his head, running your fingers through his hair as he listens.

“There’s just a bunch of gurgling!” The boy snorts, and you ruffle his hair again with one hand as you take the other and guide it against a spot on the left of your swollen abdomen.

“Cause the baby’s in water….can you feel it? That’s probably a little foot right… there.” You press Jack’s hand against your skin until his eyebrows raise in amazement when he feels a protrusion.

“That’s a foot?” He asks as he scrunches his nose, pulling away from you. 

You smooth over your skirt again, gently rubbing at your belly, as you can feel the child squirm within, having been awakened by Jack’s curiosity. A foot to your kidney, a head against your bladder. The constant discomfort of soon-to-be motherhood.

“Do you think the baby will like my Penny Dreadful books?”

“Some day, Jack, when you’re reading it to them.” You suck in a breath at a well-placed kick seemingly right underneath your rib cage. A hiss escapes your mouth as the child squirms uncomfortably within your body, and Jack immediately frowns at your pained expression, pulling back from you.

“No, no, it's okay,” You try to calm the boy down, placing one of your hands on his shoulder,  “The baby’s just kicking. Almost ready to come out.”

“Jack!”

John Marston’s rough voice cuts through the falling dusk, and Jack scrambles up from his knees.

“Over here, John.” You call out, thankful that at least you weren’t going to be forced to holler for someone to come help you up. 

It's only a few moments before John comes upon the two of you, rubbing his hands on his pants in an attempt to clean them. He nods back over toward the tents.

“Jack, come on now, time to get cleaned up. Go on over to your momma.” 

“Yes, papa.” Jack nods up to his father, smile beaming, before running back toward the camp. A pang hits your heart and almost makes your eyes mist over in your emotional state - to think how, months ago, John could barely even look at his son, and now he’s spending afternoons play fighting with sticks with the boy. 

“Y’ need some help there?” He looks down at you with an amused half-grin, the silvered scars across his cheeks moving as he snorts.

You give a tired half-smile back up to him. “Would you? God only knows I’m going to hear it from Arthur for not being in bed right now.”

He steps in front of you and holds both of his hands out for you to take. You grab them and groan as you let him pull you up, breathing out heavily as you lean forward into him to steady yourself as you’ve gotten to your feet. To his credit, John holds your shoulders patiently as you huff. 

“Y-you’re too skinny these days, Marston.” You pant, trying to break the awkwardness. God, you were pitiful.

John doesn’t seem to mind, “Ain’t like I was fed like a king in Sisika.”

You breathe out another long breath and nod, your hands moving from his biceps as you’ve steadied yourself. He removes his hands from your shoulders and holds out one arm for you to interlace your arm with to walk back.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to the tent. Startin’ to see why Arthur’s gonna be mad as a hornet.”

“Hush, not you too.” You groan, rolling your eyes as John starts to slowly walk you back to your tent. Upon reaching it, you unlace your

“Thank you, John.”

He nods, his eyes lingering on your belly.

“You alright?”

He swallows before responding, “Guess I’m just startin’ to see what everyone else did.”

“About?”

“How much of an ass I was to ‘em. Abigail and Jack.”

You place one hand on his shoulder, giving a small, knowing smile. The other lands on your belly. “Well, now you have the chance to make things right.”

John nods, remaining silent.

You squeeze his shoulder affectionately.

-

The night has fallen in the campsite, and you have shed your dress within the privacy of the tent, clad in your shift with a shawl over your shoulder to stave off the cold. Another night alone, it looks like - you sigh and start to ready yourself to settle into the cot, grunting in discomfort as you reach for and toss random items of clothing that you had worn during the day into the far corner of the tent.

You go to reach for the dirty bandana curled up on the bedside table to add it to the laundry pile.

“Don’t touch that.”

You jolt, surprised to hear the rough voice of your lover as he reties the canvas behind him, having silently stepped into the tent. The orange glow of the oil lamp inside the tent casts shadows, to include across his face before he takes off his hat, placing it on the small shaving table. His shaving kit has not seen much action these days, having grown out his beard fully.

“Arthur,” You pull his hand to rest over your belly, large and taut in your dress. The child within squirms as you press Arthur’s hand against the top of the swell. Abigail said the babe has dropped - and you’re apt to agree, the pressure on your hips is becoming near unbearable these last days.

But, as with the jovial mood of the gang, as with the loss of good men and the move into these cursed hills, gone is Arthur’s joy, a blackness having set in upon him as Dutch seems to be reeling, as

A blackness that mirrors the blackness that has set into his lungs. 

He won’t admit it, but you’re sure that he’s grown out his beard to hide the darkening gauntness of his cheeks as he has lost weight, his muscles no longer straining against his shirt. He came back from that blasted island after that damned bank job and has never been the same. Tuberculosis, the doctor in Saint Denis had said.

Downes, Arthur had muttered darkly, ending the conversation.

Since then, the distance that you had put between you returned, coming from him this time. He slept on the ground - wet and cold, forsaking your bed, no matter how often you pled for him to lie with you. Even simple touch was limited, him refusing to get near to you as his coughing worsened, specks of blood appearing on his handkerchief as time wore on.

Any day now, Abigail had said and started to pack a small bag for you and her to go down to Annesburg - rebuffing Grimshaw’s annoyed statement that you would give birth in camp.

I did that five years ago and no way in hell am I subjecting another woman to that. We’re goin’ to Annesburg, and that’s final. John will take us when it's time. Abigail had forcefully stated, a matronly rage upon her, protective of you and your child.

Arthur remains silent, pulling his satchel from around his shoulders and placing it on the table next to his hat.

Forlorn, despondent, you step forward and press yourself against him, moving to throw your arms around his neck.

“Stop.” Arthur pushes you back, albeit gently, putting distance between himself and you while holding your shoulders.

“Please-” You plead, knocking his hands back, off of you.

Arthur lets out a long breath, the vestiges of a cough yet evident in his rough voice.  You grasp his hands and he makes to yank them away from you, but does not, his brow falling. His large, scarred hands loosely rest in yours.

“You - you’re acting like you’re already gone.” In your late stage, you can’t help but to sob, breath heaving as your tears spill over.

“Honey,” Arthur interrupts, trying to calm you down, taking his hands from yours and placing them on your shoulders, “I’m right here.”

“You’re not, you won’t hold me, you won’t kiss me - I’m about to have our child, Arthur-”

“I ain’t gettin’ you sick.” Arthur raises his voice, loud within the confines of the tent. He realizes only afterward that he snapped at you when you wince in response, “Sweetheart.”

“Sleep with me.”

“Sweetheart-” He clears his throat, “You know we can’t. I ain’t gettin’ you sick. And I sure as hell ain’t touchin’ you this close to you having the baby.”

“Abigail says it's fine.” You whisper softly, your hand resting upon his chest, and you look up to finally catch him.

He sighs, closing his eyes. “I need to protect you. Like I didn’t all those months ago.”

“Ev’rything is falling apart. Can we just… pretend for a moment? That we’re just… we’re just-”

Arthur remains silent. You remove your hand from his chest and place it on your belly. Swallowing, you continue, voice cracking.

“I just want to pretend that none of this happened. That we’re back at Horseshoe before you got sick or….”

Arthur sighs in a defeated manner.

“..o-or when that O’Driscoll took me. I never want to see you look at me like that again.”

His eyes shoot open. “What?”

“I was - I am - I’ll always be afraid that you’ll decide you won’t want me because of what happened. The look in your eyes when you found me in that cabin…” You rub gently at the swell, back swayed and hips aching, “I don’t know why… I just do.”

“That ain’t - there ain’t… Darlin’-” Arthur sputters, “That’s the last reason I don’t want you. Hell, it ain’t that I don’t want you at all. Christ, I want you more than ever. I just don’t want to-”

You reach out and take his hand, “Just be careful. Just be gentle. I gotta be on my side so I won’t be facin’ you, much as I want to kiss you.”

The dark circles under Arthur’s eyes betray him.  He squeezes your hand back.

“I need you.” You look up at him with it plain on your face.

Damn you, damn you and that voice, that look of yours. Much like that night out in West Elizabeth all those months ago, Arthur’s resolve cracks like porcelain. 

“Alrigh’,” Arthur whispers. “You tell me anythin’ don’t feel right.”

You let go of his hand and slowly shrug the shawl draped over your shoulders off and it falls to the ground within the tent with a muted thump.

You’ve gotten too large to wear your old chemises, instead opting for looser cotton petticoats that could be tied over your stomach. You bring Arthur’s hand up to your chest and wait for him with pleading eyes.  Arthur traces his finger along the neckline before pulling it down to uncover your breast. Your breasts are full, and swollen, nipples darkened and sensitive as you close your eyes to the feeling of him ghosting over them. He pulls the petticoat down further, showing more and more of you to his eyes.

Arthur swallows as the cotton falls slowly from your shape. Your belly, large with child, has dropped, centering low above your hips. 

“You’re the prettiest thin’ I’ve ever seen.”

You blush, moving to cover your breast, “I’m huge.”

“You’re growin’ my child,” Arthur says, pulling your hand away from your body. He trails his other hand down your belly, hard and full. “Evr’y day on that island all I could think about was you - how beautiful you’d be when I got back t’you.”

You close your eyes to the feeling of his hands upon you. A gentle squeeze of your swollen breast, a tender caress of your belly. 

“Knowing you were back here, safe, with our child…” Arthur whispers hoarsely as his hands trail over your nude form, “I’d fight through a thousand wars to come back t’you.”

You lay in the cot, settled in on your side, and look over your shoulder as Arthur pulls away from you and strips himself down. Boots get tossed to the side. His gun belt winds itself on the ground. Shirt and pants and union suit follow until he is as bare as you.

He is pale, now that the sunburn from Guarma has finally faded. Not as in he’s returned to his normal coloring, but pallid - his bulk and previously bulging muscles are much subdued. He is still Arthur, of course, but an Arthur stricken. Unwell. You can barely keep yourself from sobbing when you look him over, turning your head quickly as he climbs into the cot. 

His skin is warm behind you as he slides himself into the cot. He settles himself in, his blood-hardened cock pressing against your rear as he drapes one arm over your belly. In this moment of quiet intimacy, he presses his lips against your hair. Your hand covers his over your belly.

Perhaps you can forget, for at least this moment.

His hand moves down from your belly to trace through the hair above your cunt, and you sigh as you open your legs to him, his fingers finding that little nub with practiced ease. A few moments more, and you’re aroused enough for him to withdraw his hand and wrap it around the base of himself as he turns back toward you, stroking himself several times before guiding himself to your core.

You moan, throwing your hand over your mouth as he enters you - the smooth, warm column of him pressing slowly into your cunt.

“Y’okay?”

“Always, always - please move Arthur, please-”

“Christ,” Arthur swears as he slowly rolls his hips against your rear, cock sluicing through your slick - it’s clear your want for him, even diminished as he is.

You clench your hand hard around the edge of the cot, panting high and flighty as Arthur gently, carefully, thrusts in and out of you. His hand spreads out wide over your hip. Arthur continues at his slow, gentle gait. He secretly is thankful for the necessity to be soft and slow - he doesn’t think he’d be able to fuck you the way you two had at the beginning. 

“I love you, sweet girl,” Arthur whispers, holding still for a moment, his cock sheathed completely inside your body. That large, calloused hand of his moves over your belly once more, highlighting the magnetic need for him to touch you there.

You whimper, and your hand joins his. “I l-love you, Arthur.”

The pressure of the child, maybe a week away from coming into the world, and Arthur’s hefty girth stretching your cunt makes tears collect in your eyes. It doesn’t hurt: it’s overwhelming. It’s so much, it’s you giving so much of your body to others. 

Arthur slowly rolls his hips and your tears threaten to spill over. It’s so much.

“Arthur, Arthur -” you coo, trying to be quiet, “I’m gonna come-”

He groans as he slowly slides his cock all the way inside you once again and you shudder, clenching down on him as you stifle a cry. 

“That’s it, come for me, oh- sweetheart-” He murmurs into your hair and clenches his hand on your ass cheek as he lets loose his hot spend within you.

He gasps, far too winded for even the kind of lovemaking that was, his lungs feeling like sandpaper. Arthur goes to pull himself from your body-

“Don’t-” You whine softly, jutting your hips back to try to keep him inside you. He grunts lowly, squeezing your hip, but stops pulling away. Still hard, he sighs as he presses that inch of him that left you back in, staying in your wet warmth.

His hand tracks from your hip to cradle your belly once again, and you cover it with your own. Arthur traces his fingers gently on your belly as he listens to your breathing slow, and finally, your hand falls to the cot beneath you.

He gently extracts himself from your body, gritting his teeth against a hiss that he wants to let out as his softening cock slips from you. Unwinding his limbs from you, he stands up from the cot, quickly collects his clothing, and redresses himself silently.

After he shoves his feet into his boots and rewinds his gun belt around his hips, he grabs at an old blanket in the corner of the tent. The threadbare fabric is rough between his fingers. As calloused and worn as they are, he cannot help but frown when he thinks about how the old wool feels against your skin. You deserve better than that, but for now, this is all you have.

He pulls that blanket over your nude body, over your swollen belly, over your widening hips, your bosom, where your breasts are heavy with milk coming in for the child. Over you, sleeping fitfully.

Christ, he muses, you’re the most beautiful thing alive. If only he could stay and watch over you all night.

Arthur mashes his old gambler's hat onto his head as he ducks out of the tent, closing the canvas behind him. 

He spits on the ground, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, gritting his teeth as blood streaks across the freckled skin. The night has fallen over this miserable camp - there are no thrummed guitar strings, no drunken notes sung. The gang has never been so low, even in Colter. God, he misses Hosea. He misses Lenny. He automatically reaches into his pocket for a cigarette, needing the rush to pull him out of this pit of misery. 

A solitary figure sits on one of the chopped logs next to the fire, his head nodding upward as Arthur approaches. 

Smoke wafts through the night, from the campfire, from the cigarette now placed between Arthur’s teeth, from the match John Marston strikes to light his own cigarette. The song of crickets fills the air, and an owl randomly hoots. Arthur sits down upon the log, his boots crunching leaves softly beneath. This damn forest was too quiet. It was like something, someone was lurking just out of reach at all times. He hates it here.

“Need you to do somethin’ f’r me.”

John looks up from the fire, having been lost in his thoughts. He nods, watching Arthur take the cigarette from his teeth and hold it between his fingers, his other hand clutching that worn gambler’s hat of his father’s that he is never without.

Arthur’s voice is rough and tired. A reflection of his being. Shit, it could be a reflection of everyone’s being after moving to this shithole.

“What you need?” John asks, waiting for Arthur to ask for him to be his second on a robbery.

“Need you to take care of them. Her - the baby,” He nods over to the ramshackle tent, “I need you to keep them safe.”

“Arthur-” 

Arthur stands back up, effectively silencing his foster brother’s bellow. He throws his cigarette to the ground, mashing it under the toe of his boot. His spurs jingle against the movement. He places that black gambler’s back atop his head and glares down at the younger man.

“I ain’t askin’ you, Marston.”

-

One last train, of course, it had to be one last train. Damn well almost killed everyone involved, but Dutch was able to claim the army payroll, for whatever good it was going to do the gang now. People were leaving. Uncle. Pearson. Karen.

Have them packed. I’m having her ready to go. He had told John, to prepare for the finality - prepare to leave the people they had called family for years like thieves in the night.

John got a bullet through the arm during the heist, knocking him to the flatbed of the railcar. Fortunately, that seemed to be the worst off that anyone got in the fiery explosions that ensued, the felling of guards and the train rocketing over the destroyed bridge - but they got the damn money - and that was all Dutch wanted.

Arthur and Sadie had swung to the west when the gang broke up to return to Beaver Hollow. Riding hard, the two of them followed the Kamassa south to the Elysian Pool before crossing the river to head north again.

In the waning afternoon sun, Sadie pulls hard on the reins of her horse to slow him as riders approach from the north. She does not pull her gun, instead guiding her horse to the side of the road and dismounting. The riders pose no threat - women.

“Arthur, Sadie - we, we did as y’said,” Tilly pants, out of breath atop one of the camp’s wagon horses, with you clinging to her waist, also breathing hard. Abigail slows the horse she rides, with Jack firmly planted on the saddle ahead of her. Hastily packed bags are slung over her horse’s rump. Arthur coughs yet again as he brings his horse to a stop as well.

“Where’s John?” Abigail asks, looking past Arthur and Sadie for any sign of her lover, the father of her child.

“He’s comin’ back to the camp from the north.” Sadie gruffly states, motioning for Tilly to slide down from the mount she was on. Tilly nods, doing so as you balance yourself on the horse’s rump. “C’mon now, Tilly, you can handle your own horse. Let me ride with the missus over here.”

Arthur swings down from his own mount as he wheezes for breath. You wish you could swing down and rush to him, but you are uncomfortable enough in your state. Eventually, Arthur makes his way over to you as Sadie mounts up on the saddle ahead of you, whispering something comforting to the horse. 

“Now you go on and stay with Missus Adler here.” Arthur pats your thigh as you lean over and take his shoulders.

“What- you aren’t…?

Arthur solemnly nods and the weak dam holding your tears back bursts. Everything you have come to know is dying in front of you.

“A-Arthur-” you cry, tears pouring from your eyes, pushing against his shoulders as he lifts you gently by the hips to place you on the horse’s rump, “Don’t do this - y-you can’t do this.”

His eyes cannot meet yours, but his hands remain on your waist, gentle and warm, “Missus Adler is gonna take care of ya…”

Your hands move from grasping at his shoulders to his cheeks, hollowed under his beard, tipping his head up to look at you. His bloodshot eyes finally catch yours, dulled blue and glazed over in a sheen of tears unshed.

“Arthur-”

“Darlin’. You go on and be safe. You raise that baby right.”

“You can’t leave us,” you sob, voice cracking loudly.

Arthur takes the half step closer and places his head in your lap, his forehead against your swollen belly. Your sobbing is muted for several moments as your hands card through his short hair. He pulls back a few inches and looks up at you, an inescapable, endless sadness in his darkened eyes. Arthur places his lips upon your belly for a moment before taking your hand in his own, drawing it to his dry and cracked lips.

“I love you, sweet girl. Always r’member that.” 

Your brow furrows again as you push his hand away and cup his cheek, gaunt and hollowed under your touch.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur kisses the palm of your hand again, turning toward it. 

“Susannah.”

“What?”

“If it’s a girl, name ‘er Susannah. I’ve always loved that name.”

You smile, the track of tears down your face sparkling in the sunset. “If it’s a boy, he’s Arthur.”

Arthur snorts softly, “It’s a girl. She’s gon’ be as beautiful as you.”

Your hands hold his jaw with a gentleness that he does not deserve. His eyes slide shut with a weariness that he has not allowed himself to feel until now. He cannot help the furrow that forms between his brows. He cannot help the sudden pain behind his eyes, the desperate need to bury his face into your lap and shudder and let his strength down, whatever little left there is.

No. No. He cannot do that to you. He has failed you enough. He didn’t keep you safe. He got a child upon you when he was supposed to be comforting you. He wouldn’t be around to raise said child.

The teardrop escapes his eye before he can do anything about it.

He can feel your thumb tense, your wrist shifting to allow your skin to brush against his- 

Arthur pulls away before your thumb can wipe the tear from his cheek, and it disappears into his beard. He turns away from you, severing touch like an open wound.

“Missus Adler.”

You cry out like a wounded animal, “No. No, Arthur-!”

Sadie nods, “I’ll take care of ‘em, Arthur.”

Arthur turns to the other horses to nod to Tilly and Abigail. Abigail, clutching at her son, returns the gesture solemnly, unable to speak.

“Now all of y’ get outta here, go get somewhere safe.” Arthur stalks toward his horse, wheezing before spitting a glob of bloody phlegm out on the ground.

He hoists himself up into the saddle without looking back. He cannot, he cannot bring himself to know he will never touch you again, never see you again.

“Arthur,” you weep out from atop Sadie’s horse one final time, one hand over your belly and one around Sadie’s waist, “Our baby-”

He digs his spurs into his horse’s side. He cannot, he cannot look back at you, swollen with his child, days away from bringing that sweet life into the world.

“Arthur-!”

His horse rears and starts off up the road, leaving the women behind. Giving them a chance. Giving you a chance.

He grinds his teeth, trying to keep the sting of tears behind his eyes as your wailing fades away with distance.

Arthur wonders, for one fleeting moment, what color the baby’s eyes are going to be. He spurs the horse on faster as he reaches into his satchel, taking his father’s hat out and placing it back on his head.

At least, the very least, he would spare the child the torture of a terrible man as a father. 

-

So this is how it goes. This is how it ends. After all them years, Dutch, his foster father sides with that snake who hisses falsehoods in his ear.

He was never really the same after Hosea died.

Arthur is drowning in his own skin, sucking breath in vain to power himself forward, but everything is so heavy. He is heaving- stumbling, failing, dying-

“Come on, Arthur… keep pushing. Goddamn it! They’re everywhere, we need to get outta here-”

John Marston’s voice cuts through the night. For so long, it was grating, infuriating, annoying to him. Now? Now it is the greatest comfort in this time. The gang was done, Pinkertons descended on the camp - they were fleeing for their very lives-

“Y-You go…” Arthur wheezes, his feet dragging on the ground.

John stops, several steps ahead of him, his arm hanging limply as he clutches his revolver in one hand, “Keep pushing, Arthur.”

“No…I think I’ve pushed all I can.” Arthur pulls his hat from his head and starts to swing his satchel’s strap over his head and shoulder.

John shakes his head furiously as he walks the few steps back to Arthur, “Come on. We ain’t got time for this, not now.”

“Go to your family-” Arthur shoves his satchel against John’s good arm.

“And yours? Your woman, about to give birth, any day now. Your child?” John interjects, raising his voice.

“I’m dying, even if it's the Pinkertons or Dutch or anyone else that gets me first. This…this is why I..I… you, you gotta keep them safe,” Arthur coughs again, wet, wheezing. “Go to your family, John.” 

Arthur reaches up and places that old gambler’s hat on John’s head. His father’s hat, that he had kept for so long…

John’s voice gets small. “You’re my brother…”

“I know. Now go. Please.” Arthur stares at the ground, another volley of gunfire going off in the distance.

John frowns once again but heeds Arthur’s demand. He nods shortly before limping off in the other direction, down the steep mountain path to the north. Arthur gazes at the valley below, flashes of light from approaching gunfire sprouting from behind trees. The blazing fire from what was left of camp glowing in the distance. 

He takes a long breath in, knowing it will be one of his last. The exhale is shaky, devolving into a hacking cough where blood spittles out through his teeth.

He does not bother to wipe his face. 

Shooting his revolver in the air, he curses loudly before stumbling in the other direction, further up the mountain.

Ambarino lies quiet in the distance.

As he lumbers forward on unsteady legs, his blood is fresh in his mouth as he thinks of you.

You’ll be even more beautiful as a mother.

Damn, and he won’t be able to see it.

-

John’s damn arm is on fire. Freely bleeding against his hand, he can barely move it as he clutches his revolver in his good hand. Getting shot, the fall from the train, limping back to camp only to have the gang finally implode, and now Arthur sending him away, staying behind, sacrificing himself for the others, damn him.

He curses, batting the hat Arthur had placed on his head upwards slightly, so he could see better from under the rim.

The gunshots in the ravine below echo through the night, dark as all now, in the moments before dawn.

Abigail and Jack. Abigail and Jack. He pushes the pain to the back of his mind. Abigail and Jack.

Be a goddamn man.

Arthur’s words echo in John’s head as he slides down a rockfall ledge on the north side of the mountain. 

Ambarino lies quiet in the distance. 

Head north and hide out. Slink down the Kamassa by night. Find Abigail, find Jack. Copperhead Landing, Arthur said. 

Find his family. Save his family, his woman and his boy-

Save-

You let down Jack from your horse at Clemens. You read him a book under the covered porch at Shady Belle. You attempt to teach him dominoes at Beaver Hollow.

Jack asks if he can touch your belly. You smile and let him, urging him to put his ear up to your abdomen. He squeals with delight when your belly moves against his cheek and begins to babble about all the things he is gonna teach the baby. Abigail says they’re gonna be cousins, Uncle Arthur’s baby and him.

Save his family.

He stops; the echo of gunshots through the valley getting louder. The Pinkertons were likely closing in. Micah and Dutch were lurking about. Arthur on his last leg.

You’re my brother.

You’re my brother.

You’re my brother.

John Marston grits his teeth against the pain in his arm and turns back at the first hints of the sunrise on the horizon.

[aplaceinthedark]

chapter five: GETTING OUT is not ENOUGH

Summary: Down in the Shenandoah Valley, there lay a court consisting of the Grim, the Drowned, the Witch, and the Watcher.

CW: supernatural themes, ptsd, large canines, bodily injury, body horror, graphic violence, blood

Every chapter will have a different cw section. This is Bad Omens rpf, so obviously, I don't know all the little nuances of the members or their family members.

A/N: Some things are color-coded. If any of you are colorblind lemme know. 

I took in a slow, quiet breath, trying to will my hands to still as to not show the fear that was creeping up my spine one vertebrae at a time. “Was he found?” I asked, even though I had a feeling I already knew the answer. My voice shook no matter how hard I fought to contain it.

Steeling myself for her answer did nothing when it came. “No, dearie. It's been several years since he vanished into the woods. Even Nicholas has moved on.”

Probably because he knows the man is alive, I wanted to say. “But… if they never found a body… maybe he just moved away?”

Granny gave me a funny look. “Are you okay, dearie? You look like you've seen a ghost. “

I think I have. I handed her back the news article. “When does Nick come home again?”

I was done.

On my way back to my house - what used to be Noah’s house, I had learned - I tried calling Nick. When he didn’t answer, even though I knew he was with a client, I sent him a snap I had taken of the news article on Noah’s disappearance. Let him open it on his own time; I was going to get answers whether I had his help or not.

I wasn’t going to wait for Noah to come over; I was going to look for him.

I barely stopped in the house. I threw my bag onto the couch, not caring when the papers spilled out and made a mess. I then changed into some cargo pants and boots, and grabbed a water bottle and granola bars.

My eyes happened to land on an apple. Despite being angry, I grabbed one and put it on the plate outside. I looked up and waited, like it would summon the Watcher instantly - because I had no doubts in my mind that it was the Watcher I was making the offerings to.

But of course, the woods remained silent, or as silent as they could be at four in the afternoon. Then the offering would have to be for good luck, because I guess I was going to have to find Noah the old-fashioned way.

I looked up at the sky. I had maybe a couple of hours of true daylight, at least, but I wasn't going to let this stupid town's fairy tales spook me into what I could and could not do.

That's probably what Noah said before disappearing.

I groaned internally. I did not need to scare myself into abandoning this mission.

As I was about to take my first step into the woods, my phone rang. I flinched at the sound. Lighting up the screen was the picture of Nick flipping off my security camera that I had pulled from our test run. I hit ignore, but a few seconds later, he tried again. This time I just put my phone on silent.

No distractions. Time to go in.

And wouldn't you know it, nothing exploded as I took my first step into the woods. I let out a breath that I begrudgingly admitted to holding in. And then I walked in the direction that Noah had said his house - not my house - was in.

After a few minutes of walking, I realized Nick must've stopped calling, but when I checked my phone it said that I had lost service. That couldn’t be right; the house was just behind me—

No. No it wasn't. In fact, I couldn't even see my house anymore. Like I had walked for hours and not a few minutes. I didn’t even recognize the trees I had just passed.

Dread settled into my stomach, but I kept going, ignoring the rhyme that was repeating in my head; one that I had read in the library:

But if you venture far from home / If deep into the woods you roam / You’ll see what seems a moving tree / Coming toward you: that is He.

“Get a grip, Taylor,” I muttered to myself. I wasn't going to see the Watcher.

I wasn't going to get lost.

“Shit! Shit shit this shit—“ Nicholas cursed to himself as he repeatedly hit his steering wheel.

Taylor wasnt picking up their phone. He had been with a client when they initially called, and he hadn't looked at his phone until the shop was closed. And then he got the snap that made his blood freeze.

He hadn’t seen that article in years. He thought he had thrown it away, actually. Once Noah had come back, he hadn't needed the reminder of one of the darkest times of his life. Granny must’ve saved it, or had a copy of her own, or… whatever. That didn't matter.

Now here it was, biting him in the ass.

A part of him wanted to blame Noah. If he had just waited, and not “introduced himself” - Noah's words, not his, and definitely not Taylor's - he could've avoided this. But here he was, speeding back to New Hope a day early, trying to figure out how best to tell Taylor the truth.

Two hours later, he was jumping out of his car into Taylor's driveway. Their car was in the driveway, but none of the lights in the house were on. The automatic light came on when he stepped onto the porch; hopefully they could see he was there, surely. He then saw an apple was placed on the plate. They couldn't have gone to bed already, could they? It was only just past six.

He pounded on the front door, calling their name, but there was no answer. Nothing stirred past the window curtains. Against his better judgment, he tried the doorknob, and with a lurch of his stomach discovered it unlocked. He slowly opened the door, calling out again. Still nothing.

And with that, a horrible thought came to his head. What if they went into the woods?

Nicholas whipped around, staring into the treeline. That was the one rule he was fine with breaking; nothing out there scared him. Not until now. Especially now.

"NOAH!" he yelled out into the green.

Normally it took Noah a bit to appear, but with the fear in Nicholas' scream, he practically materialized out of the woods before the last echo of his name faded away. "What?" he asked, his angular brows creased in confusion.

Nicholas breathed out heavily. "We've got a big problem," he said, "and an even bigger hell to explain it."

I was irrevocably and utterly lost.

What I had thought was only fifteen minutes ago, I had given up and turned around, thinking I'd be back home before the sun sank way below the treeline. When I looked at my phone, I saw that those fifteen minutes had somehow become over an hour, and I was still nowhere near my home.

Worst of all, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched.

The sounds of my boots stepping on pine needles and rocks seemed deafening in my ears. My phone's flashlight barely seemed to penetrate the darkness, but it at least gave me the ability to see where my feet were stepping. It was practically all that my phone was good for, since I hadn't found a signal ever since I stepped foot in these stupid woods.

I cursed myself for the millionth time. Stupid woods, stupid Nick, stupid boots, stupid Noah even though I've only known him for half an hour and he might not even be Noah, if Noah's dead. Oh, and stupid me for thinking this was... well, I knew it wasn't a good idea, but–

Halfway through a step, I heard leaves crunch behind me, like I had finished my step but I hadn't. I froze, a sudden chill descending over me. I could feel the eyes watching me grow stronger. My heart was pounding so bad I thought that whatever was stalking me could hear it. It had to, because I could hear it coming closer. With my heart in my throat, I turned around.

As my eyes locked with what was coming towards me slowly, my body cut all communication. No matter how much my mind screamed at me to run, my legs wouldn't cooperate. I couldn't breathe.

The only way my mind could describe it was it had to be a wolf. It was still too large to be a regular wolf, but it was way too big to be a dog or coyote. It also looked too feral. Its body was thick with muscle, its broad body covered in a light fur that shined silver in the small light from my phone. When its eyes passed over me, I caught a glimpse of a mix of dirt brown and grass green. They looked almost... human.

And those eyes were focused on me.

My knees finally gave out, and I collapsed to the ground. The spell broken, I tried to scramble backwards and get up at the same time, but I just fell onto my back everytime. The creature was faster, and soon it was towering over me. I squeezed my eyes shut as it leaned close, snarling. I could feel it's hot breath wash over me. A whimper clawed its way out of my throat.

Please... I didn't survive that accident just to get mauled to death by this creature.

Suddenly, there was a loud roar from behind me, and I heard the sound of trees being snapped. Then something leapt into the air, colliding with the creature on top of me. The void of bitter cold it left in its wake when the creature's hot and sticky breath vanished made me scream. I opened my eyes just as I heard the loud sound of bigger bodies hitting the ground.

Bodies. Plural.

My mind reeled. The wolf-creature lay on its back several yards away, but it got up quickly and shook off the debris it had collected in its wake. And standing between us–

I almost collapsed again.

The new creature had its back to me, but that didn't stop my fears. If the wolf was big, then this creature absolutely towered over me. Its movements were quick, jerking, and its joints sounded like bark being peeled from a tree. It was humanoid in shape, its broad torso covered in whorls and symbols that made my brain hurt to look at. But my eyes were quickly drawn upwards, towards the thick, branch-like antlers protruding from beneath that thick mess of long hair.

The Watcher of the Woods.

It let out a roar that sounded like it could've been words, but it was in a way that I couldn't even think of understanding. It made my head hurt just hearing them. Judging by the sound that came from the other creature, it hurt it too. But then it began backing away.

The Watcher had commanded it to leave. And it understood.

After the wolf creature disappeared, its tail proverbially tucked between its legs, the Watcher turned and faced me. It was at that moment I turned and bolted, but didn't get very far when I heard a voice in my head.

WAIT.

I stopped, freezing at the familiar voice. It wasn’t full of the arrogance that I had heard, which nearly threw me off. I also didn’t expect to see a human hand come down on my shoulder and spin me around.

“Are you okay?” Noah asked. Gone was the Watcher, but he was shirtless, showing off every inch of his skin that, from his neck to his hips, shoulders to fingers, was covered in tattoos.

I backed away, Noah letting me go easily. “What… what are you?” I asked, fear soaking my every word.

“I… It’s better if we go back to your place. It’s not safe here—“

“No fucking shit! I just got attacked by some… wolf, and… and you were some… tree thing a-and… you’ve been missing for seven years—“

“Taylor—“

“No! I’m leaving, going back to my house, and going back to fucking sleep, because obviously I’m having a nightmare!” I yelled at him, turning away.

I felt his hand grab me again, and I swung. My just connected with his cheek, and with a loud curse that didn’t cover the sound of twigs snapping, he let me go. I then bolted.

Despite my feet probably bleeding with blisters, the adrenaline from the fight had them running as fast as I could go. I didn't even know which direction I was going, as long as it was away from him and his dog. I thought I could hear him behind me, but for all I knew, it was just my heart pounding in my ears. I just had to get away; get out of here—

My foot connected with something, pulling my leg out from underneath me. For a moment, I felt weightless as I soared to my downfall. It almost felt familiar. When my body connected with the cold, dark earth below, it almost felt like hitting pavement.

But I didn't stop there. I kept tumbling, skidding across the ground as I felt every rock embed into my skin. Until my head hit something hard, and I fell into dark oblivion.

Tysm for reading! Next chapter coming soon!

[wangxianficfinder]

I'm in the mood for...

Aug 13th

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1. Any wangxian fanfics with straight wei wuxian having a sexuality crisis over lan wangji?

ao3 has been erroring out for me when I try to get to my bookmarks , maybe because I have so many? but for #1 , there is a tag "straight boy wei ying" /"Wei wuxian in denial about sexuality" that will give great fics. when I can get to my bookmarks I'll add my faves

show me how you do that trick by ilip13 (E, 70k, WangXian, Modern Setting Porn with Feelings, The Porn Is the Plot, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, straight boy wwx, with an aspec twist, Sexuality Crisis, Voyeurism, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Anal Sex, Switching, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Slow Burn, Except for the sex that part is on fire soooo fast, sexuality realization, Feelings Realization, Happy Ending)

The Cause Of This Fair Gift In Me Is Wanting by Alliandra (E, 47k, WangXian, LQY/QS, Modern AU, High School, College/University, Time Skips, Slow Burn, Pining, LWJ POV, LWJ Fucks, WWX dates, "Straight Boy" WWX, Homophobia, Non-Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Reference, d Suicide, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Overstimulation, Light Bondage, Blow Jobs, Masturbation, Getting Together, Ableist Language, WWX Has ADHD, Autistic LWJ, Queer Themes)

I search myself (I want you to find me) by ilip13 (E, 22k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff and Smut, The Porn Is the Plot, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Self-Discovery, Adolescent Sexuality, Slight Gender Feels, Masturbation, Fantasizing, Voyeurism, (sort of), Exhibitionism, (also sort of), Lingerie, Explicit Het Content)

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2. Hi! Do you have any fic recs for fic where wwx come back as someone else other than mxy? I remember seeing one where he ends up as Qin Su @fysmiin

You still sound like a song by Moominmammashandbag (M, 64k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Ghost!WWX, Mystery, LWJ plays inquiry, AU from after the Wens came to Lotus Pier, Most people lived, not everybody died, Angst with a Happy Ending, river spirit!WWX, Angst and Feels, description of murder, imminent smut, Execution, Dogs, Poisons, Discussion of Attempted Murder, BAMF WWX, Family Feels)

To Deserve So Much More by renysen (T, 19k, wangxian, getting together, one big happy family, no angst, getting engaged, family feels, female bodied WWX) ofc summons wwx to defend her family's besieged manor.

🔒Femme Fatale by coffeepie (E, 76k, WIP, WWX/WC, WWX/WRH, WWX/WZL, WWX/JGS, Porn, Smut, Possession, Crack Treated Seriously, Humor, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Penis In Vagina Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Aphrodisiacs, Rough Sex, Minor WangXian, Canon Divergence, Oral Sex, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Strangulation, Object Insertion, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Blood and Injury, Somnophilia, Belly Bulge) WIP. wwx wakes up in wlj's body before the sunshot campaign. cw lots of sex with wc.

the problem with authority by isabilightwood (M, 139k, wangxian, qingli, Canon Divergence, Sacrifice Summon, slightly dark!JYL, wq lives because i said so, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chronic Pain, Mild Sexual Content, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, manipulative relationship (background xiyao)) qs summoning jyl-centric but includes someone else summoning wwx as well

patching the road with vague intentions by loosingletters (T, 39k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Humor, Developing Friendships, WWX Resurrected By Others, Trans WWX, Case Fic, POV WWX, POV LQR, Family, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, MXY Lives) WIP. ofc lwj was arranged to marry after wwx's death summons wwx. lwj hasn't appeared yet.

The Housewife's Guide to Causing Chaos by dvasva (M, 127k, WIP, WangXian, Canon-Typical Violence, Functionally Trans Character, Mild Sexual Content, Domestic Fluff, Love Confessions, Transphobia, Good Parents LWJ and WWX, Pining, WWX is a Tease, Grief/Mourning, Body Dysphoria, Fake Marriage, Canonical Character Death, Misunderstandings, Doting LWJ, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, WWX is not in MXY's body, Misgendering, Mild Angst, Assumptions, Comedic Elements, non-sexual nudity, Blood, Discussion of Various Bodily Functions, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, 4 years of mourning instead of 13, Méishān Yú Sect, POV Multiple, Corporal Punishment, Trans WWX, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, pregnancy mention, Timeline What Timeline, Sexual Harassment Threats) WIP. ofc lwj was arranged to marry after wwx's death summons wwx. wangxian starts early.

Friends, Sabers, and Other Essentials for Solving a Conspiracy by MeridianGrimm (T, 50k, NHS & WWX, LWJ & NHS, WangXian, Humor, Friendship, Love, Mystery, Canon Divergence, Smart NHS, WWX doesn't stay dead, LWJ gets a new friend, Happy Ending, Fix-It, To be clear the WangXian is mostly background, This fic is about friendship) NHS does a modified summoning

Karma's a Bitch (It's Me, I'm The Bitch) by loosingletters (T, 8k, SS & OC, WWX & OC, Minor Character Death, Canon Divergence, Suicidal Thoughts, Resurrection, Moling Su Sect, Cultivation Sect Politics, Body Dysphoria, WWX is NOT in MXY's Body, Unreliable Narrator, Assassination) Su sect oc summons wwx.

❤️ Beauty and the Boot by PTchan (T, 44k, wangxian, summoned by f!oc, Canon Divergence, Romantic Comedy, Genderbending, Denial, Fem!WWX, WangXian kids, Crack-ish, WIP) seemingly-abandoned WIP. OFC summons wwx.

So You Want to Start a War by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 41k, WIP, MY/QS, MY/WWX, WangXian, Reincarnation, Half-Sibling Incest Mention!, QS does the ritual instead of MXY, WWX as a woman, MY Is His Own Warning, Canon Divergence, Impersonation, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Please check the notes before reading a chapter, Timeline What Timeline, WWX Has PTSD) WIP. qs summons wwx.

sweet hay and the flowers rising by Shializaro (T, 4k, WangXian, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentions of Violence, Alcohol, Humor) qs summons wwx.

Crowded by nirejseki (G, 1k, NHS & WWX, wangxian, LWJ/NHS/WWX, canon divergence, different body offering ritual, atypical relationship dynamics, sentient sabers) NHS does a modified summoning (short fic)

❤️ The Book’s Cover by Eudoxia (E, 50k, wangxian, canon divergence, WWX not in MXY’s body, canon retelling, humor, demisexual LWJ, genderqueer WWX, smut) OFC summons WWX. this is probably my favorite one of all these.

Everyanything by deliciousblizzardshark, lingeringdust (E, 46k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Franken-canon, Gender Identity, Gender Dysphoria, Trans WWX, Protective LWJ, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Canon-Typical Misogyny, Fluff and Angst, Vaginal Sex, Canon-Typical Major Character Death) Qin Su summons WWX.

Chapter 1-23 of The Tales of Despereaux by stiltonbasket (T, 36k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, (when applicable)) Chapters 1-23 are "What if Qin Su summoned Wei Wuxian?" A prologue is linked in the author's note.

Wei Wuxian keeps / gets his OG body / Resurrected by someone other than MXY Comp

Five People Who Never Summoned Wei Wuxian by EHyde (G, 3k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, 5+1 Things, Angst, [Podfic] Five People Who Never Summoned Wei Wuxian by sisi_rambles)

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3. Hey! I have only once asked for a fic before but this is for a Itmf , can you recommend any dark lwj fic? Not just after wwx’s death but lwj protecting wwx or joining him in demonic cultivation, even better if wwx runs yiling wei sect^-^

A Matter of Time series by mrcformoso (E, 84k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, graphic depictions of violence, underage, LWJ pov, JC pov, dark LWJ, manipulation, grooming, teen body adult mind for LWJ, happy ending for wangxian, problematic consensual underage sex, blood & violence, insane LWJ, manic LWJ)

🔒 Flawed and Free by Vrishchika (E, 18k, wangxian, major character death, time travel fix-it, dark LWJ, dark LXC, dark gusu lan, temporary character death, not JC friendly, angst, hurt/comfort, WIP)

🔒 At heart by apathyinreverie (M, 36k, WangXian, WIP, Dark LWJ(Ish), Amnesia, WWX gets to be Not Okay after the BM, Hurt WWX, Recovery, Caring, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, some definite manipulation, but not everything is as it seems, not nearly as dark as the tags make it sound, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Revea, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, kind of, Domestic WangXian, Fluff, WWX Goes to Gusu, Possessive WWX, WWX happily atticwifing away, Sunshot Campaign, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ)

Until The World Embraces Me Home by azri (T, 5k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YLLZ LWJ, LWJ Has No Golden Core, Role Reversal, Not LXC Friendly, Not JC Friendly, Not cultivation world friendly overall tbh, Sunshot Campaign, Friends to Lovers, Temporary Character Death, WangXian Get a Happy Ending)

Corrupted Core by The_Gourmet_Gamer (M, 16k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Grief/Mourning, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Sad with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-First Siege of the Burial Mounds)

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4. Hello 👋

I'm in the mood for Twitter wangxian fic threads,i don't mind it if it's modern or not, but I don't like bottomji or switch wangxian

You might enjoy our Twitter comp

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5. Hello! Thanks for your work. Are there any Wangxian fics set at the Olympics? @chalionkat (previous ask moved to FF - mod C)

Our Sports AU Compilation has a Olympics au section you can check out 😊

and so my heart beats wildly by lily_winterwood (E, 106k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, Modern Cultivation, Rivalry, Competition, Competition-Set Fic, Athletes, Multimedia, Miscommunication, frenemies to lovers, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Seemingly One-sided But Actually Mutual Pining, Oblivious WWX, Competitive Cultivation, Anal Sex, First Time, Angst with a Happy Ending, Olympics, Inappropriate use of an Olympic gold medal, Breathplay, Rough Sex, Food Porn, Tanabata, Lily’s back on her Qixi bullshit, Switching, Bottom LWJ) this has cultivation Olympics

🔒 Dance Me to the End by venagrey (E, 35k, WangXian, Modern, Skating, 2021-2022 Figure Skating Season, No Pandemic, teammates to friends to lovers, Eventual Smut, mixed signals: on ice, Oblivious WWX, Bisexual WWX, mortifying ordeal of being known, slightly nonlinear timeline, Unreliable Narrator, gratuitous descriptions of skating, first time nudes, Accidental Phone Sex, WWX is Very Flexible, YOI homage, not actually a crossover, IRL skating homage, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a little gnc for added zest, inappropriate use of medals, Rimming, Winter Olympics)

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6. Hi! This is for ITMF where WWX is a king maker/advisor/spy master or something like Foot on the brakes, screaming there's a red light by Lookingkindofdumb or Copying Scriptures by chiyukimei

Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

🔒 Half Agony, Half Hope by queenklu (T, 105k, WangXian, LXC/JGY, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, LXC/NMJ, Jane Austen Fusion, persuasion au, Pining, Broken Engagement, Secrets, Espionage, Child Injury, Terrible Parents (YZY & JFM), Past Child Neglect) maybe? Wei Ying was a spy during the war.

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7. Hello!!. i need need need to know if theres any more fics like A Street Kid Named Wuxian where wwx isnt adopted by any sect and just grows up on the strrets/ poor or an orphan @yesibest

A Thousand Things by tickertape (M, 108k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiāngs, Developing Friendships, lots of OCs, miscommunication and misunderstandings (they’re idiots your honor), Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, Slow Burn) fits but Wei Ying lived in Yiling until he's around 17 and then gets invited to train with the Lans for a year. It doesn't go into a lot detail about his life on the streets but he is poor throughout his childhood and into his teens.

Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending) link in #14 Not sure if this fits as while WWX does grow up on the streets without being adopted into a sect, it's down to time travel, with his soul being sent back to his child body, so he has knowledge of the future & cultivation, so he gets to cheat a little & be more than a normal street kid

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8. Hello, I was wondering if you and the lovely community could help me find selkie-style creature fics? In myth, a selkie is a seal creature who can shed its fur and walk on land as a human. Whoever holds the fur has control over the selkie because they cannot transform back without it. So I am looking for similar themes in WangXian fics! I just read Burn It All Down by nekojita which suggested this would happen with Jiang Cheng holding one of Wei Wuxian’s dragon scales, but the wip hasn’t been updated to finish that portion of the story! So I come to you, looking for more “I control you as long as I hold this part of you captive” stories. Thank you for any recs you can suggest! <3

never love an anchor by tardigradeschool (T, 31k, WangXian, Selkies, No Powers, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Pining, Angst, Happy Ending, The Inherent Eroticism of the Sea, PTSD, Presumed Dead, Drowning)

💙 this river runs to you by sundiscus (T, 53k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mutual Pining, Dragons, Literal Sleeping Together, Tender wound tending) this might work? It has Dragon!LWJ whose dragon is missing. While no one actually uses it to control him in the story, the possibility that someone could is a major driver of the plot.

Lanterns To Guide You Home by cuttlefeeeeeeeeesh (T, 7k, WangXian, Mutual Pining, Mythology, Selkie AU, Fisherman LWJ, Selkie WWX, Sorta Established Relationship, Fluff, Soft (tm)) might like Lanterns to Guide You Home? It's a bit of a twist on the selkie trope, being less about captivity and more about wangxian reuniting/mutually pining years after being married, but I think it would still appeal to a reader who likes selkie stories. And it's a lovely fic!

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9. Hi! For the ITMF, I was wondering if there are any fics where WWX knows a bit more about MXY when he wakes up in his body? By viewing MXYs memories maybe, or something like that? Just, I want him to be able to act like MXY better and understand his situation better. Is there anything like that? Thanks in advance! @hikato-chan

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10. Hi! This is for ITMF. Is there a fic where WWX tells JYL (or someone else really) that he trust LWJ but not his clan/sect? Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

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11. ITMF a fic that takes place during the Cloud Recesses study arc, in the scene where WWX gets LWJ drunk. Something goes different: a kiss? A love confession? A fist fight? @luliaka

Cartwheels In Cloud Recesses Series by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 23k, WangXian, CSSR/WCZ, CSSR and WCZ Live, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans)

You Are My Euphoria by orphan_account (M, 17k, wangxian, canon divergence, fluff, making out, 5+1, pining)

it’s just (aah) a little crush (crush!) by sweetlolixo (T, 9k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Romance, Fluff, Pining LWJ, Humor, Courting Rituals, Teen Wangxian)

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12. itmf some concubine wwx, following canon as mich as possible? something along the lines of the concubine mo series by enigmatree

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13. Itmf:

A) some wwx realizing that he's been abused as a child (for example: Madame Yu) and having to accept that actually the adults in his life kind of suck (no Jiang Yanli bashing pls ♡)

B) wwx being raped and his recovery

Thank you 💕

13A)

🔒💙 Holding shreds by barisan (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, Body Swap, Not for sexy shenanigans, Chronic Pain, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jiāng Family Bashing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Getting Together, Smart WWX)

🔒 in the shadow of moonlit flowers by Reverie (cl410) (T, 56k, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, Cloud Recesses, LWJ & NHS Friendship, Developing Relationship, POV LWJ, Minor Injuries, Autistic LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, aka the Madam Yu warning, Genius WWX, Light Angst And Hurt/Comfort, WWX Protection Squad, Gusu Lan Sect, Slow Burn, Protective LWJ, LWJ-centric)

🔒 Warming up (to him) by barisan (T, 9k, LQR & WWX, WangXian, Hypothermia, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Temporary Character Death, Medical Inaccuracies, YZY Abuses WWX, JFM Bashing, pre-wangxian, Good Uncle LQR, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort)

so i cut the shackles and changed my name by MichelleFeather (T, 9k, WangXian, LQR & LWJ, LQR & CSSR, LQR & WWX, CSSR/WCZ, WWX & The Lan Clan, WIP, WWX Leaves the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, WWX is a Lan, Good Uncle LQR, Supportive LQR, Protective LQR, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, JFM & YZY Bashing, Jiang Family Bashing, Abusive Jiang Family, Running Away, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Hurt WWX, Genius WWX, No Sunshot Campaign, Gusu Lan Sect Rules, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Cultivation Sect Politics, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon Divergence, Protective Gusu Lan Sect, WRH isn't a power hungry tyrant, mostly)

Just go forward like you mean it by tawaen (M, 101k, WangXian, WWX & WN &WQ, WWX & JYL, NHS & WWX, Canon Divergence, WWx does not attend the Wen indoctrination, WWX saves Lotus Pier, Inventor WWX, No Golden Core Transfer, Sect Leader JYL, JC Has No Golden Core, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Not JC Friendly, but he gets a happier ending than canon so don't look here for bashing) WWX gets frustrated with how unconcerned JFM is regarding the Wens & ends up leaving. Features sect leader JYL

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 283k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious) WWX realises he's been poorly treated by the Jiangs & defects. However it could be seen as JYL bashing depending on how you define bashing. She does ignore her family's treatment of WWX & later tries to stop his wedding to LWJ, but she's portrayed as meaning well & just wanting to avoid conflict, & believing she is saving him from a forced marriage. Up to you whether that counts as bashing

13B)

🧡 Heaven Has No Rage by flipfloppandas (M, 51k, WWX & YZY, JFM/YZY,  implied wangxian, WWX/WC, WWX/others, rape/non-con, modern, hurt/comfort, protective YZY, good parent YZY, hospitals, medical procedures, vomiting, trauma) focuses more on the immediate aftermath Wei Ying being raped but does touch on the beginnings of his recovery.

feast and famine by luckymarrow (E, 49k, wangxian, rape/non-con, aftermath of gang rape, modern au, trauma, PTSD, medical procedures, rape recovery, non-consensual drug use, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending, mind all the tags) Rape/recovery and the ripples across the friend group. JYL is the glue that holds everyone together. It's a gut-wrenching, amazeballs fic.

~*~

14. Hii, I'm itmf some good coming of age fanfics!

🔒 Flowers Blooming by Ilona22 (M, 35k, WangXian, Adoption, Prostitution, Family Fluff, Family Drama, Growing Up)

A Life Without Regrets by naqaashi (M, 128k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Crack Treated Seriously, musical cultivation, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Murder Husbands, Happy Ending, PTSD, BAMF WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Worldbuilding, Módào Zǔshī & The Untamed Combination, No Yīn Iron, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Artist WWX, Musician WWX, Bad Parent JFM, Bad Parent YZY, Cultivation Theory, Sentient Burial Mounds, Dysfunctional Family, Grief/Mourning, Parent-Child Relationship, Angry WWX, Angst, No Golden Core Transfer, BAMF LWJ, Idiots in Love)

Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending)

🔒 Life is Like a Stranger by through_shadows_falling (T, 69k, wangxian, Kid Fic, Child LWJ, Child WWX, First Meetings, Canon Divergence, Cute Kids, Orphan WWX, Autism Spectrum, Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Canon, POV LWJ, Growing Up Together, WWX raised at Cloud Recesses, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Puberty, Growing Up, Coming Out, teenage angst, Wet Dream, Pining, This fic gets a little raunchier as the kids become teens, But it won’t get too explicit, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Spanish Translation, Brief mentions/moments of WWX kissing others in chapter 22 but only on the cheek, also characters kiss WWX on the cheek in chapter 23, but his real first kiss is with LWJ, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian)

~*~

15. Hey!!

So i was wondering if there are any fics where wangxian have a cute little couple’s argument..they make up in the end obv, i don’t really prefer heavy angst. Just a normal couple’s argument. @honestlyewww

tipping point by cherrywhiskey (M, 13k, WangXian, Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Married Couple, Married Life, Bickering, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Fights, Arguing, Making Up, Angry Kissing, Making Out, Modern AU, POV Alternating, Fighting)

you became my husband when i first laid my eyes on you by bunnylan (weiyingpretty) (G, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, Modern Era, Fluff, Boyfriends, Cute, Tik Tok Challenge, Husbands, Established Relationship)

~*~

16. IMTF wangxian or any one of the two as (a) lawyers (b) teachers trying to hide their relationship from students (c) scientists (biologist, physicist, etc.) any kind

Thank you <3

16A)

🔒 a thousand fragile and unprovable things by theLoyalRoyalGuard (G, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Trans Male Character, Trans MXY, MXY Deserves Happiness, Best Dads Wangxian, Handwaving The Legal System With The Power of LWJ, A little bit of angst, mostly soft, Happy Ending, Gender Happiness, Let LWJ Wear Skirts Agenda, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note) Lan Wangji is a lawyer

Close to the Truth by Winglesss (M, 14k, WangXian, Modern AU, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, Romantic Comedy, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Tooth-Rotting Fluff) Lan Wangji is a lawyer

Scapegoat by Anonymous (E, 216k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Trials, Lawyer LWJ, Defendant WWX, Courtroom Drama, False Accusations, Criminal Investigation, Threats of Violence, Hurt WWX, Protective LWJ, Childhood Trauma, Murder Mystery, Pining, Soft WangXian, Slow Burn, Domestic Bliss, Happy Ending, Found Family, Bad Parent YZY, neutral jc, Good Sibling JYL, neutral lxc, Bad Uncle LQR, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, POV Alternating, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Pining while fucking, Belly Bulge, Gentle Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Neck Kissing, Eventual Smut, porn in chapter 15, Praise Kink, Homophobia, chapter specific TWs will be in top notes, Power Play, Power Imbalance, Wet Dream)

16C)

🔒 at first sight of the sun by sunflowersfield (T, 3k, WangXian, Modern, Coworkers, Fluff, Neurodiversity, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Happy Ending, First Dates, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort) Lan Wangji is a researcher at a forest preserve in at first sight of the sun

A Cyborg’s Three Laws by @joshua-beeking, FairyGardenCorgis (M, 194k, WangXian, Future, Cyborgs, Science Fiction, Science Boyfriends, Romance, Slow Burn, Medical Procedures, Surgery, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, LWJ has RA, Idiot Friends to Idiot Lovers, Medical Assault, Dehumanization, obscene amounts of cuddling, Versatile wangxian)

~*~

17. Hi! I meant to ask this, but I think I haven't yet (it would already be posted otherwise). For the ITMF, are there any fics where WWX, post canon, gets transported timewise into the 13/16 years he was dead? Preferably only for a bit until he figures out how to get back, and while hiding his identity. Thanks for the help! @hikato-chan

Less Than Two Years by wenqing (maniafic) (T, 5k, WangXian, Time Travel, Post-Canon, but also canon divergent, in an alternate universe though, Minor Angst, mostly wwx confusing the kids)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[kybercrystals94]

Come Back (ch. 1)

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 12 - Prompts: Underground Caverns // "Just a little more"

Rated: T | Words: 573 | CW: non-graphic mentions of blood and injury.

Next Chapter>>

A/N: This fic is for @fionas-frenzy, because she mentioned a Tech-Lives fic yesterday, and I just had to make it happen. Also, yes, another Tech-Lives fic, because denial isn't just a river in Egypt, ya know??

It won’t be the fall that kills him. 

Although, that certainly did not help matters. 

Tech holds the shattered remains of his comm, cupped in trembling hands. Entirely irreparable without proper replacement parts. His pack is gone too. If he rests long enough, perhaps he can garner enough strength to find it. Or what’s left of it. Find something. 

He is not optimistic.

Strangely, the first loss that seems to trigger an emotional response is his goggles. It is less their importance to him, and more that they are the final straw placed on an already precarious situation. He is frustrated to find himself brought to tears as he pulls them from his bloodied face. 

Because he is bloody. There is blood everywhere. Head wounds have the unfortunate tendency to appear far worse than is necessarily accurate. He tries to find comfort in that, but it is threadbare and flimsy. Hardly worth considering. 

The goggles slip from his hand, falling amongst the wreckage of the railcar. He is not sure how he survived. It all seems surreal. The pain, the circumstances, the depravity of the whole situation. They’d lost their chance to find Crosshair. He sacrificed himself to give the remainder of his siblings a chance, fragile as it might be. He hopes they do not squander it. He hopes they get away. 

He hopes they are not foolish, and try to come back for him. 

He hopes they do.  

Sucking in a shaky breath, Tech knows he has to move. He cannot remain here. The Empire will come to scour the wreckage, find salvageable parts. Maybe even try to find him, or what is left of him. 

He moves to get up, tries to push himself to his feet, but his strength has abandoned him, pain excruciating. He only manages to draw himself up enough to crawl. And so he does. He is his only chance of survival, he only needs to put himself out of reach. 

His brothers will not come back for him. 

His brothers will think he is dead. 

Afterall, no one could survive such a fall. 

It is only logical. 

Please, come back. 

He finds an opening in the ground. An underground cavern. Cavern might be a generous description. He debates the likelihood that it is a dwelling for some sort of ferocious creature. He cannot remember what sort of animals are native to this planet. He knows he looked it up. He and Omega had discussed the likelihood of running into such things. The odds were low. What was it? 

Another defeated sound escapes him. He arranges himself, every movement agonizing, to descend boots first. It is a slight descent, easily manageable, even in his broken state. It is dark, but he is not afraid of the dark. He is alone, but he is not afraid of being alone. That is not entirely true. He does not have a memory of ever being truly alone. Not like this. Never like this. 

I don’t want to die like this. 

He knows he is hidden now. He just needs to rest. Close his eyes. Sleep for a moment. Maybe his mind will be clearer when he wakes. Maybe he can find a way home. Home to his brothers and his sisters. He never thought of them as home before, but it makes sense now. 

He isn’t ready to leave them yet. He just needs a little more time, yet.

END

A/N:

I might do something more with this story. Maybe. Possibly.

But if I don't, here's a spoiler: Tech does survive and he does find his family again. I promise! This fic might end hopelessly, but the greater picture is hope 🥲

Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @baddest-batchers @laughhardrunfastbekindsblog @omegafett99 @heidnspeak @fionas-frenzy @royallykt

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Chp.6 (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 5. Chapter 7.

The Gorge

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, graphic descriptions of injuries, blood, swearing, death and battle, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, reader insert, names of non-canon dead clones, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag LMK

Minors DN

Airbase. 

That’s the priority. That's why the 501st had retreated away from the capital. 

A fucking airbase.

You could see it in the distance from where you were. The tall tower was clearly marked by a bright pillar of light that reached towards the clouds.

As Fives, Krell and Rex inspected the area on a cliffside, you and Kix weaved around the men, treating any injuries you saw. Sadly, painkillers were getting to low levels, so you decided to use them for the truly brutal wounds. For those you had to deem were suffering beyond comprehension.

You regretted using them on yourself. 

But, everyone else…well, they were big boys. They just had to handle it. Judging by the uninterested look that Hardcase had while Kix stitched up his shoulder, you were confident that the men weren’t going to complain. 

Your gaze swept over the battalion. The dark, tentacle-like trees had fanned out from the jungle, allowing an easier view of the soldiers. You counted the silhouettes, their white and blue armor stark against the ash colored ground. 

By the end you were right. A majority of the battalion had been injured in some way. Wounds were expected. But this many…It was getting hard to keep up, and judging by the way Kix swayed slightly when he stood, he was feeling the same thing.

“Alright men, we’re splitting the battalion,” Rex called, getting everyone at attention, “Half of you will remain here. The other half, follow me down to the gorge.”

You sighed and watched them go. Your tired steps were about to go to your medical speeder, but Krell halted you, “Doctor, you will be going with them.” He stepped between you and your goal, which was to resupply.

“Respectfully, sir,” you looked up into his small yellow eyes, “I think it would be better if I remained here and-.”

“My orders are for you to go with the platoons down to the gorge.” the besalisk crossed two of his four arms, surprisingly, he wasn’t yelling at you. Instead, his tone was icy and yet uninterested, “I’ve seen how you are during battle, and your expertise is wasted as a backline medic. You will be with the men on the front.”

You blinked and nodded. Was that a compliment? 

“Understood, sir.” you saluted with your uninjured arm and followed the platoon. At this point, arguing with him about your training would only result in a bad outcome.

You found your position next to Kix, who looked very unhappy to see you, “please don’t tell me…” 

“He complimented me,” you gave a sarcastic smile, “Said my expertise was wasted by not being on the front.”

Before Kix could respond, Rex began to speak, getting all the attention onto him, “Alright listen up!” His voice held authority with every word, “We’ll assemble the squads into two divisions. We’ll move straight up this gorge to the airbase on the far side.”

The medic beside you snapped, “The casualties are going to be high!” 

Tup scoffed, “Is Krell trying to get us killed!?”

“You know, I wasn’t sure that Krell was crazy before.” Jesse snarled, helmet in his hand. He practically glared at Rex as he continued, “But now, I’m positive!”

“We had to retreat from the capital because the general pushed a flawed strategy!” It was Fives’ turn to argue, “Now this?”

Hardcase raised his heavy weapon, “I don’t know! Could be fun.”

“Well, I, for one, agree with the general's plan.” Dogma chimed in, seeming much more confident than anyone else. 

“What plan?” You turned to face him, “Blindly rushing into the unknown without a care for the costs isn’t a plan!” Your words might’ve struck Rex, truthfully, you couldn’t look at him to find out. 

You had all the faith in him. You just had no faith in Krell or his tactics. But arguing would seem like you were against your lover and not the temporary General.

“We are running out of time and this is the best option!”

Jesse spoke up again, royally pissed, “No recon? No air support? We don’t know what we’re up against!” He waved his helmet in the air in frustration, “They have weapons we’ve never seen before!” To punctuate his point, he tapped his helmet to his head a couple of times. 

The 501st captain stepped forward, attempting to reason with everyone, “A few of General Skywalker’s plans seemed reckless too, but they worked.”

His words did little to ease the rising tempers, “Yeah, but General Skywalker is usually leading his men up in the front not bringing up the rear like General Krell!” Fives stepped towards Rex, riling up everyone else, “A full frontal assault would leave us too exposed!”

The other men rose up in dissatisfied chatter. They were clearly unhappy with the plan.

“We have to look at other options!”

“It's going to be a meat grinder!”

Rex sighed, frustration clear, “Fives.” He commanded the ARC trooper to follow. The two stepped away, out of earshot. 

“What supplies do we have?” Kix turned to face you, “This…is going to be difficult.”

Wordlessly you took off your pack and knelt to go through the packs you carried. Luckily the both of you stocked up as well as you could from everything on the medical speeder. But it never hurts to check. 

Bandages and bacta were the most needed, and hopefully, you had enough to see this through.

You attempted to get your pack back on by lifting it with your bad arm, only to drop it and hiss in pain. 

“Damnit.” you swallowed, feeling the very bone pulse in agony. It’s only been a few hours since you were shot. Your arm was nowhere near healed. 

Kix put a hand on your uninjured shoulder to hold you steady, “Take it easy.”

“I’m fine,” You mumbled, adjusting your pack, “The men have survived worse than this. How would it look if I burst into tears every time I get hurt?” 

“Nearly getting your arm blasted off isn’t just ‘getting hurt’. If you need a break, the others will understand.” He argued softly.

You shook your head, “And what about you? You’ve been unsteady on your feet from exhaustion for hours and yet you still run around helping those who are wounded.”

“Only because you’ve been taking a majority of them.” Kix responded, though he didn’t argue with your point. 

“Are you two done?” Dogma snapped from his position, “We’re about to start moving.”

“Hey, Dogma, have you considered shutting the fuck up?” An ARF trooper, Jumper, leaned forward on his AT-RT to silence the ground soldier, “How about you don’t pick a fight with the two people keeping all of us alive.”

“Hey-!”

“Everyone, enough.” Jesse finally stepped in to get everyone quiet, “Now is not the time or the place.” A mere minute later instructions were given. 

You’d go with Rex and his half of the platoon. Kix would go with Fives and Hardcase and their half. 

Splitting up…wonderful idea. There’s no way that could ever go wrong. 

You hung back, keeping your position behind a majority of the men. Noct and Nax, however, were walking on either side of you. As if they were intending to guard you from threats. Your nod to them was in appreciation as both platoons marched forward slowly and carefully. 

Three of those flying beasts that attacked on the main road flew overhead. They didn’t make a dive or move towards anyone on the ground. Instead, you’d think they were fleeing something.

A rapidly approaching rumble cut off your thoughts. The ground was shaking, and it was only getting worse. Nax grabbed your wrist to keep you steady as the vibrations got stronger and louder. Even the AT-RT’s were unstable from the sheer power of the sway.

You raised your comm and began to speak, “Kix, what is going-.”

In the distance, you heard the commotion. Shouting. Booms. It sounded like something was…howling? 

Everything around you was shaking violently, and Kix finally responded, “We’re under attack!”

Without wait, Rex diverted off the original path to aid his brothers. You all ran as quickly as you could despite the dark, dense plant life that hindered your movements. Once you made it over the ridge, you paused, taking in the battle.

Chaos. Chaos and mayhem. At the center of it all, was a tank in the shape of a centipede, marked with blue lights. It roared before slamming down, killing all soldiers under its massive body. 

“Get those rocket launchers down there! Move it troopers!” Rex commanded, pistols in hand and immediately running to aid the soldiers.

The blaster guns that ran down the centipede tanks back were firing in all directions, making it difficult to maneuver or navigate. Still, you managed to get close enough while remaining behind the cover of a massive tree and its roots.

One of the green shots hit Jumper’s AT-RT, killing him in a burst of neon flames.

Another name to your list.

“Watch out!” The ARF trooper next to you called as another tank shot up from the ground. He was hit almost instantly, knocking down from his vehicle. immediately your hands were on him and dragging him behind cover. 

“I got you, Dia.” you reassured, pulling off his helmet.

Pupils uneven. Head injury. Concussion. Watch for seizures or signs of stroke. Traumatic brain injuries were difficult to deal with in such a chaotic environment, but you did what you could with the supplies you have. 

One of the tanks swung its massive head, slamming into one of the troopers that had a much needed rocket launcher. He hit the ground, but curled his body to protect the precious weapon. Once the Umbaran tank turned to continue its destruction, Kix leapt out from the black and red foliage. Thank whatever gods decided to keep him alive!

He grabbed the trooper just as Hardcase got the rocket launcher. You rushed out to join him, taking hold of one of the troopers shoulders, “Follow me!” You shouted, leading the medic to your position of cover hidden in the dense trees. When you returned, there were already several more injured that were taking refuge.

Behind you, there was another explosion. The now headless tank roared before it melted into a screech. Its massive silver and blue body twisted and spasmed as every section burst into flames and destruction. You spotted Fives and Hardcase sprinting to avoid getting hit by its thrashing legs.

Rex called out, tone commanding yet anxious, “Everyone regroup, now! Take cover!” 

The platoons scattered, fleeing into the dark and foggy forest. Luckily the thick trunks and roots of the red, glowing trees were condensed enough the tanks couldn’t push through. 

“Move it! Move it!”

“Let's go!”

“Go! Go! Go!”

You swallowed and looked up at Rex. He was breathing heavily, but still standing. However, you didn’t miss the blood on his wrist. 

You reached into a small pack on your thigh and took out clean bandages as you approached. He would always opt for bandages and not bacta. At every battle, if he got hurt, he’d reject the medicine, saying ‘save it for the next soldier you treat.’ So you’ve learned to just accept his selflessness and use standard first-aid supplies if the wounds weren’t so bad.

“We’re safe for the moment, but they’ll be coming around any second,” He continued to lead the men, not stopping even when you grabbed his wrist and began to bandage it up, “Bring up the launchers, spread detonators along that corridor. Trap them in the bottleneck.” The captain nodded in appreciation once you finished your work. He continued, “We’re going to blow those things sky high.”

Fives rushed past you to a soldier, Hana, who carried explosives in a large pack. He grabbed several of the bombs before running with the other to the narrow part of the gorge. Several others followed the ARC trooper. 

You remained with the injured, just like Kix. Your focus was on the trooper, Hek, in your arms working to stem the bleeding on his chest. However, no matter what you tried, he slipped away under your hands.

Hek. One more death to blame on Krell.

Your priority shifted to Silk, who had sat down and waited patiently with a bleeding, smoldering neck and shoulder wound. Either he was the most patient man in existence, or mentally gone. It didn’t matter though, because you began to patch him up, using whatever you could to save him.

After a few moments, the ground shook violently again, causing you to hold him close to your chest to protect. From the direction of where the men placed bombs, you heard the booms and crackles of their explosives detonating. The tanks they destroyed howled and wailed as it sounded like they crashed into one another, ripping each other apart.

Soldiers had run back to your position to take cover from the resulting explosions. Hardcase dove to your right, getting behind the massive root protecting everyone from the fire. Rex, who was thrown from the force of the bombs, landed on his front right next to you and Silk. Fives and Jesse stumbled, also hitting the dirt after getting shoved by the burst of heat and flames. 

It was a few seconds later when your ears were blessed with silence. Seemed everyone was waiting for…something. Another attack? Or just appreciating the brief moment of calm.

The captain got onto one knee, turned his head to you, and his shoulders slumped slightly with relief, “Good job.” he stood, addressing his men, “Be ready to move out in five.”

Five minutes to rest.

Hardly enough time for you and Kix to tend to all those that were sporting injuries, but you could at least handle the more serious cases. And in those five minutes, despite your best efforts….

Fyre. Vim. Oz. Ringo. North. Gabe. Tro. Tess. Zeb. Sante. Reign. Pheon. Dawn. Nim. Jamie. Jumper. Hek. Recon. Mav. Zeo.

You added a few more names to the list of the dead.

[groovynightstrawberry]

Tadfield Zoo - Epilogue

Rating: E

CW/TW: Animals, inc insects and reptiles, minor dubcon, non-graphic animal injury and surgery

Summary: Happily ever after

Excerpt:

Crowley has become quite used to waking up to find Aziraphale already wide awake. On their days off, with no alarm to wake them and force them out of bed, it’s become standard for Aziraphale to read in bed while Crowley sleeps in, using a tiny booklight to avoid hurting Crowley’s eyes when he wakes, no matter how many times Crowley tries to sell him on getting an e-reader.

So it’s somewhat of a surprise, when Crowley wakes up one Thursday morning, to find Aziraphale frowning at his phone instead.

Read on AO3

Start from Chapter 1

@goodomensafterdark