#they take the brunt of most of it and try to keep him from losing his mind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neonovember · 2 years ago

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Hello, uhm, so this MAY be an uncomfortable thing to request I’m not too sure. It’s totally totally okay if it is absolutely feel free to ignore this, but the way you write Carmen is so so comforting. I have this neighbor that lives downstairs from me, I’ve lived in my apartment for two years but the past 4 months with this guy has been hell. I live in the U.K. and the people that own the building and the police don’t view my situation as anything dangerous or serious, despite the fact I have made numerous complaints and even the other neighbors in my building have complained about him. But he targets me the most and bangs on my door at ungodly hours and threatens the most horrible stuff because I’m a woman living alone. I’m honestly terrified but unless he physically does something there’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry for the sob story but usually I always try and just picture Carmy as something comforting to help through this until I can be safe, would it be okay to request something like Carmen finding out about his gf losing sleep and constantly being terrified and deciding to take matters into his own hands, and demanding she moves in with him and helps pack her stuff because he will NOT stand for that shit (again totally 100% okay if you don’t feel comfortable responding)

oh my god anon, I'm so deeply sorry that you have to deal with such a shitty situation, and the fact that you have to wait to be physically attacked before the police can do anything? Fuck the justice system and fuck law enforcement. Don't every feel scared to send a request to make your day or week or fucking month better, it's why I'm here, and the fact that my writing can make you feel even a little better is the greatest gift i could ever ask for. God I just hope you're able to remain safe, call a friend or family to keep them posted in case anything happens, I'm so very sorry honey :(

Broken bones and soup

carmen berzatto x reader

warnings: misogyny, violence, feral!carmen makes an appearence, angst, horrible neighbours, angst, teeth rotting fluff, carmy feeding you

w/c: 5.3k

a/n: this was hard to write, i really wanted to do it right by you anon, and when have i ever written carmen without him breaking someones face?

The falling sun encapsulated the cerulean sky, exploding against the horizon in heated shades of orange, crimson and pink. The trail back to your apartment complex wasn’t long, but it gave enough time to bask in the warmth of evenings bathed in sunlight. It also conveniently enabled you to tell yourself you had gotten your sun for the day, rather than having to swallow pills you hated to swallow.

It was muscle memory however, your legs moved with the familiar comfort of the sidewalk, forgetting the stomach turning realisation of what had awaited you back at your apartment.

It had been a couple months, four maybe 5, you didn’t really want to count the days having a violent neighbour moved in directly down your apartment. The other tenants who you've grown to know collectively bristled with the annoyance of a 30 something year old filling the usual peaceful nights with crashes and yells of broken plates and incoherent obscenities.

When you had raised the issue to the landlord and even to the police, you had been shut down with a shrug of the shoulders.

‘We can notice him with a noise complaint, but if he aint hurting anyone we can’t do much’.

That had made you laugh a little then, before you had been close to bawling your eyes out and ripping out your hair. Sure he was loud, your neighbours from the other side of the apartment complex could attest to that, but it was so much more than loud fucking music, and somehow, you had bared the brunt of his violence. It was targeted, you knew it, and your legs began to shuffle at the thought of coming home to another violent outbursts at your door.

You hadn't gotten any proper sleep for the past 4 months, waking up to loud banging at your door, and declarations of brutality he whispered through your keyhole. It was all empty threats, those men in clad uniform had told you when you woke up shaking with fear as he screamed taunts of murder from below, you had run out in your pyjamas and bunny slippers and they had told you they couldn't help you.

There were not empty threats, and this wasn’t the hundreds of true crime shows you had binged, you felt it in your bones, you were a woman living with yourself for god sake, he was going to break down your door one day and hurt you, and you couldn't do anything about it. You felt paralysed by the helplessness of it, forcing yourself to stay up past 12, the burn of your tired eyes forced open by the blue light of your phone, in case he tried breaking in. You had begun to keep a bat near your bed, a knife in the drawer of your bedside, and you felt fucking insane. Noone had made a major problem out of it, and yet you felt like he was one bad day from a murderous rampage.

Carmen could tell something had been wearing on your shoulders, the way your eyes blinked slowly, and the syrup slow movements of your limbs when you had visited the Beef not long ago. You couldn't bear to tell him, your past relationships had taught you enough not to unload all your problems onto another person, but it had gotten bad. You had started getting notices of concern from your boss, asking if you were alright, telling you how your performance had been declining.

You had quickly shut down any looks of concern thrown at you, this was something you had to deal with yourself, you didn’t want anyone, especially another woman to be faced with the brunt of his violence. You guzzled caffeine and energy drinks like it was water, and your limbs jittered with the rush of adrenaline until the peak had dropped and you felt like your stomach was ripping itself apart.

You braced yourself as you turned the corner into your apartment complex, keeping your head down, and going through the carpack to avoid the hallway that was right next to his door. You felt your stomach drop, your keys pressed between your knuckles and you flickered your eyes up to the door of his apartment. You watched it like a hawk, ready to flee at any sign of opening, and when you had finally made it to the elevator, you breathed a sigh of relief like no other. The air suddenly fills your lungs once again.

Your phone buzzed in your jean pocket, and you reached out to grab it, the screen illuminated by Carmen’s text. You felt a tingle of glee shoot through you, biting back a smile at the thought of seeing him today.

“You still coming today for the family dinner?”

The beef had begun a sort of tradition, every last Friday of the month, they would close early and hold a sort of family dinner right out back near the tables and chairs. Everyone of the crew’s family and friends were invited to join, some bringing a plate or a drink or two. It was the highlight of the month, and you hadn't missed a Friday ever since Carmen and you had become something more than close friends.

You typed out a quick reply with a tongue in your cheek, as the elevator doors opened, you didn't look up right away, walking with your head down as you tucked your phone back into your pocket. It was a fault on your end, you should have looked up, at least then you could have braced yourself as your neighbour stood stationed near your door with a cheshire smile stretching ominously across his face.

You wondered if you could run back into the elevator, but the doors had closed well before and you feared turning your back to him was an even worse fate. You walked towards him, plastering on a smile that didn't look even a little believable.

“Something I can do for you?” You ask, your voice heightened by a mix of fear and false confidence

“Hear you've been complaining about me” The man replies with a smile, his hair slicked back, the shadow of a badly shaven skin spiking up. His shirt reeks of sweat and stains of spilt takeaway and you have to take a tentative step back to escape the stench radiating off of him.

“Yeah, you might not realise it, but you have been a bit- uh loud, and the loud banging on my walls?” You prouch him, and his eyebrows rise in surprise, shaking his head with a laugh that horrified you.

“Am I scaring you?” The man replies

You swallow as your eyes flicker to his burnt hazel ones, they stare down from above, almost mocking in the way they forced you to answer.

“Uh, uhm- well, a lot of us got work in the morning, and I can’t wake up if you're making a lot of noise during the night”

“Oh, is that right?” The man asks, scratching a hand across his jaw

“Well no one's been the one complaining but you” The man replies

“I don't think so many of us-”

“You saying I’m a liar??” The man suddenly shouts, and you can help yourself stepping back a distance quickly

The man watches the way you distance yourself away from him, his eyes flicker to the keys poking out from between your fingers and he bites back a laugh.

“So you are scared of me, liar.” The man spits out with venom, before stepping towards you, caging you to the wall as he whispers near your ear

“You think fucking keys are going to stop me? A little lady like you living here all by yourself?” The man digs his fingers into your sides, until you howl out and retch yourself away from him, you reach for your right side, holding the skin above your rib cage that had begun to swell and bruise.

“See how easy that was? A fucking pretzel in my hand” The man calls out with a smile, before walking back around the hallway corner with such ease and comfort that told you he knew the police wouldnt do shit.

Your hand shakes as you shove your key into your door, you have to hold your own hand to put it in, before shouldering your way through your door with wince, and dropping your bag and belongings to the floor.

You rush into your bathroom, undressing before your eyes flicker to your mirror, seeing the red rash of irritation and the start of a purple imprint of his claws shoved into the skin below your ribcage. You wince as you try to soothe it, the salty tears breaking down your waterline, you can't stop, the wretched sobs of your helplessness echoing off the bathroom walls.

You climb into the shower, sliding down to the bottom as the tears shake through you, you hug your knees to your chest, letting the warm water combine with your salty tears, so they become one, and you know longer now how terrified you are. You stay in the shower like this for a bit, letting the warmth and steam wiggle your body from its stone encapsulation.

You can hear the familiar jingle of your phone ringing from where you had haphazardly left it, and the memory of today's dinner comes rushing in. You had nearly forgotten, and whilst you were terrified to leave your home and go back into the hallway where it had happened, you couldn't let Carmen down.

So you had gotten up, in the same way you had fallen down, and tried to scrub away the smell of his day-old cigarettes and sweat until your skin burned, poking your head through a clean shirt and a skirt that hid the painful purple splotch that had begun to spread across your side.

Entering your quaint kitchen, you can’t stop your arm as it reaches for the brown liquid stored in that old glass bottle Sugar had told you was a century old. You didn't have a little liquid courage to make it past your goddamn threshold.

You downed it in a gulp, reaching for your bag and a pocket knife, just in case. The reality of that decision broke you a little, when did you start needing to armour yourself?

Your phone buzzed from its position edged between the living room couch, it was Carmen, again, telling you he was outside. Carmen had begun to ceremoniously show up to your apartment as the autumn had begun to bleed into the winter nights, and the sunlight had stretched until darkness hit by 5 in the afternoon. Any other time you would have chastised him till the point where he would stop, but now, with the reality of your neighbour, you felt a relief wash through your body at the thought of being close to him. You also don’t doubt he would have shown up anyway, ignoring your requests in the way he does when he thinks it's his responsibility.

You wouldnt say you had a lot of experience in relationships under your belt, but something spoke to you from within, carmen was something special, this was special, sacred in the way destiny was, and you shooke with the relentless fear of fucking it up. And scaring him away with your problems seemed to be on the very top of that list

You shake the thought from your head as you shut the door quietly, take a brisk pace as you walk but kind of run to the elevator. A neighbour you knew well stood near the doors, his dark auburn hair falling in front of his eyes, he nodded to you with a silent smile. He kept to himself most of the time, and you didn't know much about him, just that he always was tugging a sleeve down his left arm, but he always went out of his way to give you some sort of greeting.

The air between you was silent, as you were waiting for the ping of the elevator to drop to your door, and you heard a shuffling near you, your eyes watching the way he coughed and stared at you from the corner of your peripheral vision.

“Heard something out in the hallway, it wasn’t him again was it?” The man replied, concerned about lacing his features as his eyes seemed to be fixated on the way you leaned on one side of your body a little.

“Uh no, it’s- it’s alright, I guess it was my dues you know? Dealing with a shitty neighbour at least once” You reply with a tight smile, trying to poke fun at the very depressing thought.

The man nodded with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, your neighbours had known that he was loud, knew that you had dealt the worst of it being right above him, but they were clueless to his taunts and threats that he said into your door at night. You think the man next to you had an idea though, the way his eyes scanned anything like he was always assessing, always calculating the world around him.

It was also because your neighbour was nowhere to be found whenever he was around, you whispered a prayer of thanks that he was taking the elevator down with you, with his sweatpants and top, it was like he knew, a silent nod of protection.

Before you could open your mouth to whisper a thanks, the doors of the elevator had opened, a tired mom and her two energetic kids passed between you both. It was funny, you could see yourself in her, the drag of dark circles and the hunch of her shoulders mirroring your own.

You knew the very shakily painted on makeup did little to hide the exhaustion on your face and you rushed to enter the elevator to escape the thought. The motion of the elevator moving down nauseated you a little, churning your stomach in the way it always did with motion, but your apartment wasn’t big and soon enough the music of the elevator turned to a halt as the doors opened up to the ground floor.

You could see the headlights of Carmen's car through the automatic doors of your complex, and you gave your neighbour a smile before rushing to jump into the comfort of Carmen and his very, very warm car.

-- -

The car ride to the beef has been silent, just the syrupy beat of jazz from the car speakers and the burn of Carmen’s gaze searing a hole through you, you feared if you caught his eyes and the look in them the entire interaction today would tumble from your tongue.

You couldn’t ruin today, it was tradition, you had just begun to become folded into it. The joy of Tina calling your name for a hug, the talks about the new pastry ideas with Marcus, Sydney’s laughter, it soothes you like a balm, and you were sure the nausea crawling through your stomach would dissipate the second you entered.

But it didn’t, the beautiful lantern lights from outside the Beef glittered against the Chicago moonlight and the smell of Italian meatballs engulfed your senses and you still felt like you were being ripped apart from the inside.

You had said your hellos to everyone, biting back a yelp as Tina’s hand pressed against the bruise on your side, and nodding to Richie’s rambles whilst you felt outside of your own skin.

Your mind kept replaying the scene of him lunging st you, bristling your skin till goosebumps spread through, until your mind was exhausted from fear and well, fucking exhaustion and Carmen had to call your name too many times to rip you from your thoughts.

“Hey, you alright?” Carmen asks with that soft honey tone he keeps for you.

You nod with a smile, and Carmen’s eyes shift towards your plate untouched. It was your favourite, a twist on Osso Buco and yet it laid un moving, Carmen knew it, you did too, and you held back tears as Carmen simply nodded, not sure if he was overstepping his boundaries.

It was the first lick of the start of something, the both of you, the bloom of a companionship Carmen felt was destined, like it was seared into the sand years before you both had even come into existence. And Carmen was new to this, and that opened up a whole can of worms, he didn’t want to fuck it up, he didn’t want to think about fucking it up, but god did he always seem to fuck it up.

You reached across the table to grab the jar of water, your shirt riding up without you noticing. Tina’s eyes widen at the peek of a purple imprint from under your shirt and she has nearly drops her fucking fork

“Baby? What happened to your side?” Tina replies with concern, her voice is quiet but the tables loud boisterous conversations begin to slow down.

You tug your shirt down, and you burn with guilt like you had been caught with this big secret. Carmen immediately looks towards your side, his eyes scanning the way you since a little as your finger brushes against it.

“Nothing, uh um I fell” You don't even believe yourself

“That looks more than something you get tripping over your feet darling, did something happen?”

“What? What’s she saying honey? What did you see Tina?” Tina’s gaze flutters to Carmen, and there’s a pause like she’s assessing whether it was Carmen’s doing before the reality of who he is hits her. It was ingrained in every woman, and Carmen wouldn’t be an exception. Even for a second.

“Looks like someone’s goddam fist imprinted into her skin”

The restaurant is completely quiet now, and your head falls to your uneaten plate of veal, they look towards you in concern hearing the end of Tina’s words.

Carmen lifts your shirt, and you don’t stop him, the reality of your attack is shown right there in front of him, the imprint of a large hand bruising purple and blue.

Carmen’s eyes burn into the skin, his fists shaking as he remains silent, the rest of the family look on in horror, whispers of “holy fuck?” and eyes seeing the way Carmen practically vibrates, like he’s a second away from exploding.

“..Who did this?”

“It was my fault- I”

“Who did this baby? Who hurt you?” Carmen replies with an exhaled murmur.

“I’m, uh, Uhm- he- oh Carmen” You can’t get the words out, they’re stuck in your throat and you can’t get them out. You feel trapped, your body is sweating like you’re caged, like you're wading through a current and you're losing yourself to the weight of it, your breakdown on display for the whole world to see.

You blink back tears as Carmen tilts your chin to face him, and the look on his face, the look of distraught and fear that blossoms across his features un tetheres the tightly wrapped self control you had formed.

And Carmen scoops you up into his arms so that the entire family doesn’t have to see you break into his shoulder.

His soothing words are like a balm to your distress and he walks you, bridal style to the first aid cabinet, sitting you down on the counter, wiping away your tears as his fingers shake and his throat bobs with a tight swallow. He hastily tugs your shirt, kissing back the howls of pain as he whispers “I know, I know baby girl, I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry.”

His soft fingers press gently against the bruise as he rubs a heating ointment across it, he wraps a warm compress around it as bandage and his eyes are avoiding your own as he focuses his fingers on your skin.

“Carmen?” You whisper, the hiccups of tears resounding from your throat, Carmen reaches for a painkiller, placing it in your palm with a whisper of affirmation, he gently tips your head back as he pours water into your mouth, and you swallow it quickly, before looking back at him.

“Carmen? Please” You reply, had you done it, had you ruined everything?

“I can’t look at you because I fear I might break, and- and I can’t right now okay darling? I have to find, I have to find who did this, and I need to make it right, hm? I need to make sure your safe because god my heart is outside of my chest and I can’t feel anything but fear” Carmen replies with a tight low voice, his fists shake as he pressed them into the counter beside your thighs, but he looks up to meet your gaze anyway, and he smiles tightly as the tears stream down.

“Oh Carmen, this isn't on you, you couldn't have possibly known” You reply, wiping a hand across his cheeks.

“How can you say that? I am your, I am meant to protect you, and you, you come limping in without me noticing, fucking Tina saw it before I could, and i hate myself for it” Carmen replies, his cerulean blues shining bright against the shine of tears.

“Who did this, someone at work? A guy on the street?” Carmen replies and you flick away from his gaze, hand falling to your lap as your tongue burns with the desire to just say it all.

“You've got to tell me baby girl, you have to know I've got to make it right, I won’t sleep till I do. '' Carmen replies with a pained cry, like his heart is breaking from the thought of letting this go un avenged. And it's the tortured look on his face, it's the shake of his limbs like he wants to destroy and burn the entire world around him till he finds whoever has done this that uncurls your tongue and lets everything out in the open.

“What? This has been going on for months? Why didn’t you tell me?” Carmen replies, his thumb rubbing soft circles across your thigh.

“Didn’t want to scare you away Carmen, i love-i I like you a lot, more than I have anyone and I didn't want to fuck it up and unload all my problems onto you like a dumpster” You reply, and it sounds stupid when you say it out loud, and when Carmen looks up at you in disbelieved confusion.

“Huh? Oh sweet girl, I’m meant to help you bear it all, that’s why I'm here, and the idea of you thinking I'll love you any less, that I won't help you because of something like this haunts me. I’m meant to protect you yeah? That’s my fucking job, and I’ve failed it” Carmen replies with a grunt.

“No one has said anything like that to me” You say, eyes looking up to him, you weren't shocked, but you weren't, were not shocked, never had you experienced this, this burning adoration for another person, this soft warmth that burst through you at the sound of Carmen's voice promising his devotion, promising his unyielding protection. It armoured you more than a pocket knife ever could.

Carmen presses a soft kiss to your head, before shuffling around the kitchen, walking back into the dining tables, hushing out replies of ‘she's okay’ before coming back in with your things under his arm.

“What are you doing?” You reply in question, as he slowly picks you up with an arm, and gently places you back down. His eyes are constantly flickering to your side, like he’s torturing himself with the image of the first time he saw the horrific bruise across your side.

He had never felt true fear until then, the shatter of his heart beneath his breast as he realises you had gotten hurt and he didn't even fucking realise. Nothing had mattered but your safety and he scared himself with how much his body shook with a desire to destroy the person responsible.

“I’m driving back to your apartment, where you're going to grab your necessities, whilst I pay a visit to your little neighbour downstairs. You’re staying with me, for however long,” Carmen replies with a sneer, walking you through the back door, which you were all too thankful for, you couldn't bear to see the look on the crew’s faces if you had to walk back in.

“Carmen you can’t” You reply rushed, as Carmen slid you into the passenger seat, before clicking on your seat belt for you. He cocks his head, before raising his eyebrows

“Oh, I can’t? Honey, the police don’t do their job and my baby get’s fucking hurt. Nah, that doesn't work for me” Carmen replies, before rushing to enter the driver's seat, shifting the gear into drive before speeding down the city streets.

His focused on the road, his face unblinking and he grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white, you can’t stop looking at him, his gorgeous under the moonlight of the skies, his cheeks crimson from his tears, his cerulean blues calling to you like the sea, and the curl of his blonde hair falling like waves.

The view of your apartment complex comes into your vision as Carmen turns into the carpark in one swift move, you can’t stop the shake of your fingers and Carmen wants to slam his first into the steering wheel when he notices.

“You alright?” Carmen replies “You can stay here, I’ll grab whatever you need”

You want to stay, want to remain in the safety of his sleek tinted windows, but you want to face it too, and somehow that need is more important, he doesn’t get to win, no fucking way.

You unclip your seat belt, opening the door as you turn to him “You going to show me how you protect me or what?”

Carmen bites back a smile, god he was so fucking proud. He could tell you were scared shit less, and yet you fought through that fear, and god you mesmerised him. You were stronger than he could ever be, and he wanted to take that burden from you, carry it himself so you didn't have to.

Carmen jogs to the back of the car, reaching into the boot before the clunk of wood on gravel meets your ears. Carmen nods towards you, as he grips a bat under his arm

“He puts a bruise on you and i break all his fucking bones” Carmen replies, and you can’t stop the joy that image brings you

Carmen walks you to your apartment, waiting outside like a hawk, his bat tight against his grip as he watches the hallways, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, you feel infinitly and utterly safe.

You throw your toiletries into a bag, grabbing a few nights of clothes and your work shoes. You eyes flicker around your apartment, it had been home to you for the past 4 years, and yet it felt so foreign to you now, you had grown to attest this place, this place you had filled with so much of yourself, and you hate him so much at that moment, for making you feel this way about a place you had once loved.

You leave your apartment with the door shut closed.

Carmen carries your bag and places them back into the back seat of the car, and as he begins to walk towards the apartment of your neighbour you reach a hand out to stop him.

“Honey, I’ve got to-” Carmen begins before you shut him quickly

“I want to watch” You reply quietly, and Carmen’s eyes flicker, before lacing his fingers into yours, as you both knock on his door.

There's a grumble before the clank of a chain slides open, and his face appears as the door opens to him, you can see the illuminated light of his TV glaring, the floor covered with pizza boxes and beer cans. You see in real time, how his face morphs from anger into fear, his eyes dropping as he sees the way Carmen practically shakes, and the man isn’t able to let out a word, a protest or wail of a plea before the crack of Carmen's wooden bat swings through the air.

-- -

“Are you sure he isn't dead?” You reply, as you dip a washcloth into warm water, wiping away the blood across Carmen’s neck

“He isn’t going to die if I wasn’t the one causing it, besides, if he does, that’s God finishing off the rest of it”. Carmen replies, raising his face so that you cleaned the last of the streaks of blood splattered across his jaw.

Carmen reaches for your hands, pressing a kiss to the top of them as he looks at you in that way like he yearns for you to be closer.

“You need sleep, but first you need to eat, yeah?” Carmen replies, shushing your protests and he carries you to his room in his arms, after he notices the exhaustion in your limbs. It’s dark, illuminated only by the wall to ceiling windows that look into the busy city streets and light up sky scrapers.

The sheets are strewn across the bed, haphazard like Carmen had rushed to get them off of him in the early mornings. Carmen slides you into them, tucking you within the soft pillowy blanket, sitting on the edge as he caresses your cheek softly.

He leaves for a moment, rushing to make you something to eat, his skin crawling with a need to feel you against him, nearly tripping over himself as he walks back into his room with a bowl of soup and a bottle of water.

Carmen sits next to you again, pressing spoonfuls of soup into your mouth and wiping the edges ceremoniously as you rest against the headboard half asleep.

You don’t notice the way he looks at you, like he's trying to memorise every dip and curve of your face, his fingers clutching the spoon tight like he’s going to break if he doesn't hold you against him.

“Honey?” Carmen replies hushed

“Hmh?” You reply, your eyes heavy as the comfort of Carmen's warmth spreads through you.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, you tell me everything okay? Everything” Carmen replies pained, like the events that transpired somehow still were not resolved, like breaking the man's legs wasn't enough for him.

“Okay” You reply, and Carmen places the dishes onto the bedside table, leaving it to the morning because he can't keep you away from him any longer.

Carmen joins you in the bed, the left side of his bed finally taken by somebody for the first time in a long time. Tugging you against him, Carmen curls your body to lay against his chest, his fingers softly gracing your back, soft circles that had begun to lull you to a sleep you hadn’t felt in months, years even.

The beat of Carmen's heart joins with yours, together and entwined like how it was always meant to be, why had Carmen waited so long? Why had he let time pass without you tucked under him, safe within his arms and away from all the horrors of the world.

It’s only when Carmen notices the shift in your breathing, falling into a soft exhale before he even lets the whispers of sleep grip him within its grasps, his shoulders finally release from its tensed state once he knows you've finally fallen into a sleep that had been kept from you.

“You don’t know how much I love you baby girl, it fucking scares me, but I’ll keep reminding you until infinity if I have to, until you know it deep down like I do” Carmen mumbles out, his eyes falling heavy and you grips you against his chest.

You don’t really know how, but even between the state of sleep and consciousness, you hear him, and you whisper between the space in your bodies, that you already do.

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hamsternella · 7 months ago

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Douma being in love please?? and obsessed maybe👀

Douma x Reader

cw: obsession, yandere behavior, non-con elements, murder, gore, MDNI

Blood and viscera. Torn muscle beneath the fleshy openings of an unrecognizable body; the face contorted into a crude grimace. You thrust with both hands into one of the many flesh bags, keeping your sword glued to one of your legs. You tried not to lose sight of it as you made your way through the forest in the gloom.

The smell was intoxicating. The truth is that you wanted to vomit. Maybe retrace your steps and wait for a Hashira. But one of your companions was still alive, and most likely trapped with a Superior Moon. It would be a shame not to try to die on the spot for them; risk your sword with it, and put your training to the test. Even if the thought of ending up as another bruised and unrecognizable piece of meat turned your stomach.

A muffled murmur in the distance made your hair stand on end. You stopped in place, unsheathing your sword before you began to slide your feet along the pools of blood, taking cover behind the thicker trees. You regulated your breathing, approaching delicately until you came up with another scream. This time a broken one; a ghastly sound, accompanied by a piercing cry.

And a laugh.

A soft, sweet laugh. The crying was softer this time, and overshadowed by an animated voice. You tried to register the demon behind this atrocity, but you didn't think you had encountered this voice before. This way of mutilating. You wanted to try to see who was holding your companion; but you feared you would be discovered on your way out of the tree.

"Where are they? I'm still missing one."

A muffled sound. You assume the demon slayer drowning in their own blood. And then another laugh.

"I'm going to stick a finger through here... and I think I'll hang you up there. See?" Silence. A few steps, away from where you were, and the murmur of flesh being forced. A tearing; another torrent of blood-drowned cries. "How cute!"

You swallowed dryly, stopping your hands from shaking. Sooner or later you were going to have to get out. Sooner or later, even if you ended up dead and torn, the demon would find you and a fight would ensue. And you would have to endure. You were going to have to be of help until the sun took its place in the sky, or a hashira appeared.

Any moment.

A sigh, a laugh; and footsteps through the leaves and earth, with the distant gurgle of your companion.

Any moment.

You prepared your position, looking for where the demon was coming from. You held the sword with fear and anxiety running through your guts.

Any moment.

And there he was.

"Welcome, little one!"

Douma underestimated you

He did not believe much of you, neither by the way you held yourself, nor by the way you used your sword

He thought you were just a pretty face

But the truth is, you turned out to be freakishly skillful

You tore one of his arms, and almost made him lose an eye; but he was beginning to enjoy himself

He did not bother to take the fight seriously. The sun was not yet up; but the hashiras were approaching and you could no longer bear the brunt of his attacks

Douma tried to remember your face and your scent, excited to meet you again in the near future

The need to taste your blood burning in his throat; the hunger growing in the pit of his stomach as he disappeared into the distance, listening to your war cries

Since then, he has not stopped thinking about you

Eventually, your fight with the superior demon, in the forest, was rewarded with enormous gratitude, and a promotion that allowed you to be trained by a Hashira. This not only fueled the flame of your determination, but also made it easier for Douma to track you down. Neither of you stopped thinking about the other.

While your memories were inflamed with hatred, his were fueled by an almost unhealthy desire to find you again. Your face, which he considered beautiful when stricken with resentment and terror, was etched in his retina; the gleam of your blade reflecting in your gaze like a ghost. Your scent still wafted around him, as if clinging to his hands, with which he tightened his grip on your neck. The vein throbbing against his skin still existed even though you were not there.

Douma needed your head sheltered in a nice glass holder, and your heart deep in his stomach, after being chewed by his teeth and having soaked his lips with your blood. Nothing turned him on more than imagining you with him; your body under his, with his nose sunk into the space of your neck. Maybe a hand hidden under your clothes, to tear your belly and feel the tenderness of your viscera.

The second meeting was after many, many months; but it was received with great emotion by the superior demon, who kept knocking down humans in the hope of attracting your hatred towards him. Your attention. It was what he had been wishing for with deep desperation.

This time it was very difficult for Douma to contain himself

Seeing you fight with greater courage than before, and resisting his harm, inflamed him bestially

But there was something strange. You noticed that the demon wasn't even making an effort

The truth is that Douma wasn't trying to kill you at all

It was strange even to him; he had thought he had outgrown that side of himself

He didn't want you to disappear so soon

His hunger for you was increasing with every moment, his desire to drink your blood

But listening to your voice, even your breathing; and being able to see the change in your expressions were a thousand times more gratifying

The fight ended with you splitting the demon in half

One of your arms ended up broken; the other, too injured to continue

Breathing felt like swallowing needles. You would close your eyes as you inhaled, and open them with tears streaming down your cheeks as you exhaled. You needed to regulate your body if you wanted to survive until the sun came. Not for the demon to die, exactly. He could regenerate as he pleased; you knew he wasn't going to die that easily anyway.

You simply wanted to die while watching the sun in the sky. You didn't like the night. It reminded you of all the things you hated: darkness, death, demons... the night when you met this monster, especially. Since then you never stopped feeling watched; even your companions warning you of some strange movement around your mission sites.

As if someone was pulling the strings of a puppet theater.

Your eyes fell on the eyes of the demon. His head on his side, on the ground, still attached to his upper body. The rest was inches away and he hadn't even bothered to regenerate. Didn't he want to devour you? The Hashiras weren't going to get there that fast, anyway.

Unable to support your weight, you fell to your knees with your arms immovably at your sides, tight to your body. Your hands hit the ground. Your eyes, eyelids heavy with sleep from blood loss, still fixed on the demon.

"What are you thinking so carefully about? It's a bit embarrassing that you won't stop staring at me..."

His voice had taken you by surprise. You had a hard time answering him; your throat hurt from the blows.

"You're not... going to kill me?"

"I'm debating that right now, actually," he said with a sigh. He averted his gaze from you, searching the sky for answers. "What's so complicated?"

"I'd like to... I'd like to die with the... with the sun..." you coughed awkwardly, and a little blood shot straight to the ground. You frowned in pain. "Please... let me die here..."

"Douma."

You looked at him with confusion. He just smiled.

"It's Douma. You can call me that!"

The lower half of his body disintegrated, and almost instantly the rest materialized with a sickening sound of flesh and bone. In one leap he was on his feet again. He didn't seem to want to let you out of his sight, though there was no way for you to escape him. The thought made him almost tremble with joy.

You couldn't go anywhere. Not if he didn't allow it. Nowhere away from him. Didn't that sound wonderful?

When the demon stood in front of you, his body leaning forward slightly, his hands on his hips, you couldn't help but admire the color of his eyes. They were mesmerizing and terrifying; the color of a rainbow in the gaze of a beast.

"What should I do with you, then?" he asked with a smile. "It would be very sad if you were to die so soon... But there's no one to save you either!"

Douma put a finger to his lips, pretending to be burdened with a difficult decision. The truth was clear even to you: he already knew very well what he wanted to do with you. And when that realization fell on your head, you couldn't help but shake your body, wanting to pull away. Your legs barely responded.

"Don't you... fucking dare to touch me, monster..."

"But it would be great! Doesn't an eternity by my side sound rewarding?"

His hand grabbed you by the hair, lifting your head. You let out a whimper as your neck rattled miserably. Douma's eyes narrowed with the growth of his smile; a grimace of pure cynicism that turned your stomach.

"We could fight all our lives if that's what you want," he whispered, "or let you die in the sunlight."

His smile trembled for a moment, threatening to disappear. There was a long silence. Something was going on in his head as you writhed in pain.

"Honestly... I don't think I like the idea of you ending up like that so soon." Douma frowned, confused. "It's kind of strange, isn't it? Disappointing too."

His hand released your hair, returning to his hip.

"I guess this confirms my greatest suspicions!"

His laughter burst in his throat like an explosion of pure happiness, but it didn't last long. You interrupted him before he returned his attention to you, nudging him with your head as you propelled yourself with a piercing scream into his stomach. Surprise kept him frozen, but as soon as he was stable again, he wrapped his arms around your body in a tight embrace.

You wanted to cry from frustration. That wasn't even what you wanted to achieve; but the energy had long since left your body.

"Aw, how sweet of you! Who knew you'd thank me like this?"

"Let me go!"

"Let me think about it. Uh... no!"

His nails pierced the fabric of your clothes, reaching your skin. You held back another scream, choking back the pain with tears blurring your vision.

"I can't wait to see the things you're going to accomplish very soon..."

The transformation was painful and, obviously, forced

Douma made sure to keep you with him throughout the process. The smile didn't leave his face even when a group of demon slayers appeared on the scene

You killed them; he took care of a Hashira so that you could feed yourself to your heart's content

You cried all the time

He thought you looked even more beautiful doing it

In the end he carried your body away from the place, leaving the Hashira badly wounded. His only interest was you

Being with Douma was strange and annoying

He is especially loud all the time. He always seeks to figure in everything you do; and he wants to be where you are

All the time

Killing yourself was something you came to think about: dying in the sun. But he discovered you in the attempt

Punishment is something that could not be written down or said

Humiliating. Remembering it made you want to tear your skin off.

You stretched out an arm, reaching for one of the blankets in the distance, but Douma's claws digging into your flesh made you close your eyes, surrendered. The pain was imperceptible; by now you were used to it. It was commonplace considering your current nature... and the creature you had to live with because of it.

A gasp from the demon on your back caught your attention; his hot breath caressing the skin on the back of your neck. You didn't even bother to continue to deny his hands along your body. For you it was humiliating; for him, a sign that you were beginning to learn how things were going to be from now on.

"You keep thinking," he whispered hoarsely. "You always think—you don't stop. What is it that keeps you so far away from this place?"

His nails crawled along your arm, tearing your skin with deep cuts that healed as soon as they were opened.

"I thought I was very clear. You don't need to think." A laugh vibrated behind your back. The urge to cry hit you hard. "Not here, not with me... not with them."

His other hand grabbed your hair, forcing you to arch your body to reach his face. His eyes searched yours; in his gaze the ghost of madness.

"Because you're not going anywhere; not even in your mind," he muttered with a smile. "That belongs to me. All of you do. And nothing's going to change that fact."

And you knew it was true.

#fanfic #reader insert #reader #obssesion #horror #yandere #angst #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #yandere douma x reader #yandere douma #douma x reader #douma x y/n #douma x you #anime anime anime #anime and manga #anime #obsessive #obsessive love

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thatfreshi · 1 year ago

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As a prompt - maybe Astarion (or Tav for that matter) going absolutely feral (and i mean really) when someone or something hurts badly the other (or try to) ?

I don't know of it has already been donc by you and if it has sorry, really appreciate your writing though ! Thank you <3

Learning to trust is difficult

tw - themes of death, talk of injuries

"I just don't know how you don't seem to care! It's bad Astarion, really bad, and I'm not going to sit here and watch you hurt."

While you and the vampire were on night watch, you got jumped by some thieves scrounging around in the woods of the Sword Coast. He took the brunt of the fight, taking quite a couple slices to the abdomen.

"We'll wait til morning, like I said. Shadowheart will be rested by then, and we'll all be fine."

"Oh right, so you can bleed out? You think you're such a jester, don't you."

You already dealt with the perpetrators, making sure they were flayed across the grass, any hopes they had of stealing from you shot down from miles away.

"If it were that bad I would wake her Tav, but it's not."

Gods, he's frustrating. Driving you to the point of madness, constantly. For someone who finally has a second chance at life, he can be quite reckless. Instead of trying to argue with him further, you walk over to where he's propped himself against his bedroll, and start undressing his wounds. He almost tries to push you away, but the lightest touch of the cuts makes him lose his strength.

"Tav, stop it."

"No! Because you can wrap these all you want, but if you leave these like this overnight it's going to get nasty, and I know for a fact you can't stitch wounds like this."

"Then it is was it is."

"No, I'm getting her. Stay here."

Astarion grabs at your wrist. There's a dreary silence for a moment, and he refuses your eye contact.

"I've done this by myself, for how long? Do you have any idea what it makes me feel like, having to turn to someone who is practically a stranger, and put my life in their hands? I did that once my love, and I have regretted it ever since."

And you know exactly what he's talking about, that night in the alley, fragmented memories only covered up by digging through six feet of dirt.

"You would've died though."

"Perhaps it would have been best that way."

You know that no selfish reason you have about wanting him around could ever make up for all the things he endured under Cazador, that if he had bled out that night he would at least be at peace.

"This is different though. We're all working together, we all want the same things. Shadowheart isn't going to hold this over you."

"You don't know that. I mean look at me. I planned on seducing you and getting rid of you as soon as I could, all to keep myself safe. We will never truly know what the others want, what their intentions with us are."

"Then why trust me?"

He hesitates as you wrap his abdomen once again.

"I... I don't know... You're just, different."

"Then what's to say Shadowheart isn't also different? Or any of them for that matter?"

You cup his face in your hand.

"It's just easier to risk one of you. To risk loving you, and only you. Because if you betray me? Then I've played myself for a fool, and I can't have two knives in my back."

"You don't have to trust her Aster, but you need her right now. We need her, because I can't lose you either."

Your hand trails to his, and you feel at each other's fingers for a few long moments. He tries to come up with something to say, knowing he will most likely bleed out if you two don't wake the cleric.

"You trust me right? You're making that risk at least, taking that chance? Then trust that I'm trying to make the right choice for you."

Even if he doesn't bleed out, he doesn't deserve to writhe in pain all night, to which you're sure he would say something about how he's done it a million times before. Why, why does he try to be strong for you?

"Alright my love, wake her."

You get up without a word, planting a quick kiss on his forehead before leaving the tent, your feet gliding to where Shadowheart is sleeping.

"Shadowheart, we need you."

She's a light sleeper, like most of you, and wakes with the few simple words you speak.

"What it is?"

The cleric asks as she walks with you.

"Astarion. We had some unwelcome visitors on watch. It's... it's not pretty."

You come back to your tent, gently moving the fabric by the entrance as Shadowheart moves to him, focused on doing what needs to be done. She unwraps the bandages and you come to his side. He's silent.

"Lady of Sorrows, this is horrific Astarion. How long have you let this sit like this?"

It takes him a moment to muster the words, still clearly embarrassed to be receiving her help this late. You've learned though that he hates people speaking for him, so you just wait.

"It's been about half an hour. Tav and I have been arguing about getting your assistance. They insisted we wake you, and I insisted we shouldn't bother."

"Well, you're lucky Tav isn't as stubborn as you are, because this is nasty. While I'm not as familiar with vampire anatomy, this would not have sat well overnight."

She takes a moment to gather herself, before casting healing touch, letting the magic linger a little longer than normal. You watch as his pale skin slowly comes back together, stitching itself up like embroidery thread. Shadowheart takes a moment to admire her work, smirking slightly. Her expression then becomes somber for a moment.

"As much as I'm not the sappy type, please don't hesitate to get me when you need me. Despite how much you all annoy me, I'm still rather fond of you as companions. I would hate to see any of you go too soon, especially over something as simple as this."

Astarion says nothing in return, and soon after the devout Sharran leaves the two of you alone. The two of you lie down, wrapping yourselves up in each other, limbs entangled as if you're scared of being torn apart.

"I know it's hard, but you have to learn to ask for help. If not for yourself, for me. Because I can only do so much my star."

"I know."

"I'm sorry I yelled. It just really scares me, the idea that I could lose you."

He nuzzles into your chest, the movement dampening his voice.

"I don't think anyone's ever been afraid to lose me, except me. And I fear I lost myself far too long ago for it to matter."

You wrap your fingers in his hair, sitting in the sorrow with him.

"All things that are lost can be found. And we'll find you again my love, I promise."

He doesn't thank you, which you don't mind. After all, Astarion isn't used to having anyone to genuinely thank. But the way he lets you hold him, that slowly but surely the walls are coming down, that's his own way of saying it, saying that he's grateful. And as long as he lives to see another day, you'll take whatever he gives you, for as long as both of you live.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x tav #angst #comfort #x reader

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bananadramaaa · 9 months ago

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Idk if you’ve got any ideas or backstory for Alastor’s sisters, but I love the designs for them and have kind of taken some ideas about them and ran with it, mostly about the eldest, Adeline, though:

• Adelice was definitely a protector of the whole bunch. Alastor helped protect the younger sisters and worried a lot about his older sister, but Adelice would make a target out of herself to make sure the younger kids faced as little of their father’s bad days as possible.

• Leonore and Bertilda (the younger two) still experience a lot of the family drama, but it’s a little less than what their older siblings do since they try to keep them out of the fire, so while the older two seem to mature way too quickly, the younger two stay kids for a bit longer. This, however does piss off their father, who takes every moment to ridicule them on their inability to act like their older siblings when their older siblings aren’t able to keep them out of the fire.

• Adelice also gives off Tiana from Princess and the Frog vibes. She’s got a Dream and she’s gonna work hard every day to make it happen.

• Alastor Worries™️ and thinks she’s pushing herself too much, taking on the brunt of their father’s anger, taking on so many jobs, and trying to get as much of an education as she can for as cheap as she can get it. So he becomes her Distraction, constantly dragging her off to parties and out drinking and listening to music. Anything to get her to chill tf out.

• He’s also a hypocrite though, considering he takes on a ton of “side jobs” by the time he’s 15 before he starts working in radio to try to help out their maman. He somehow manages to get all the fun jobs though. She’s out here working in restaurants and factories and he’s playing piano at the speakeasy and working at a nearby gator farm during the summers. And even the jobs that shouldn’t be fun, he manages to turn into a blast, like apprenticing at the butchers or working the graveyard shift at the cemetery. He thinks he’s so damn funny, while his bosses low-key wanna strangle him. This somehow makes him more likable as a radio host.

• Eventually, Adelice manages to find herself a nice, rich, Creole man who she and Alastor run through the wringer trying to test just how wholesome of a man he is before she’ll accept his hand in marriage. This man is confused, but he is dead set on winning her heart. He offers her the money to achieve her dream, he offers her the happy and stress-free life that New Orleans won’t afford her, he offers a life where she’s free and not trapped by anybody, himself included, and most importantly, he offers to take her whole family away from their father and the impoverished life that keeps them with him.

• Their maman can’t fathom a life without her husband, but she can see why they’d want to leave.

• Alastor doesn’t want to lose his sisters, but he knows someone has to watch out for their maman and he’s far to attached to New Orleans to leave it now.

• Before all his sisters leave, Adelice jokingly says she’s gonna name a son after him and he politely declines the offer.

• They move to Alabama or something and he never sees them again, but Adelice has a bunch of happy children that she loves who know all about him :)

• Bertilda also gets married, but Bertilda and her husband find themselves unable to have kids so they adopt a cute little red-headed girl and her green-eyed little brother.

• Leonore dates a lot of people before she finds the perfect gal for her and they move in together as “friends.” Their maman was a bit progressive in some ways and taught them not to judge, where most others would do when Adelice and Bertilda don’t make a big deal out of it when they find out about it.

• All three of them keep an eye on the news regarding New Orleans and whatever can be said about their famous radio host brother from far away.

• The only times the lot of them return to New Orleans is when they hear about Alastor’s death and their maman’s death.

I've talked briefly about them in this ask :3 And I really enjoyed reading your version of their story. It seems more wholesome compared to what I have in mind for them (like Adelice definitely won in this one) XD

#but we have some thoughts in common #ask #human au

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guileless-beast · 7 days ago

Text

Reuniting with them… after they’ve twisted

(Ft. Astro, Glisten, Razzle + Dazzle, Shrimpo)

Tags: longpost, headcanons, ambiguous relationship, previous relationship, kinda implied you’re immune to Ichor or smth bc theres no mention of you getting infected, lots of hurt/comfort

notes: first post! don't be afraid to send an ask if u like things like this :)

Astro

•He doesn’t recognize you at first. Not for a while, actually

•Mindlessly chases you around like all the other twisteds, though something in him stirs when he first spots you

•Get somewhere safe and up high where he can’t reach with his arms. His telekinesis has been destroyed by the Ichor; the most he can do with it now is tug on your shirt, and he isn’t exactly focused enough to do so anyway, so you'll be safe so long as he can't grab you

•Talk. About anything, preferably things you used to do with him. Your voice is familiar. Comforting. It soothes the ache in his heart that the Ichor once weaponized

•Resist your own exhaustion long enough, and Astro himself will fall asleep listening to you

•Let him rest. In a few hours he’ll wake up and you can keep trying to help him remember who he is, or you can leave while he sleeps if you think it’s getting too dangerous

Glisten

•Yells your name and RUNS at you full speed. It’s more than a little terrifying.

•He doesn’t mean any harm- he really doesn’t!- he’s just been alone for so long… he’s sobbing as he chases you, he can’t lose you again, he just can’t, please-

•Tackles you down and hugs the life out of you. Literally. If you don’t tell him to let up in time you might lose a heart

•He apologizes, but doesn’t let go. Keeps babbling about how he missed you- he’s hardly even coherent, but you get the gist

•Get to a secluded little spot and let him cry in your arms. Rub the top half of his back and cuddle him close; he desperately needs comfort after what he’s been through

•He appreciates every bit of affection you give him, even if it just makes him cry harder

•So long as you let him stay with/follow you, he'll do anything you ask. Need help extracting? He's even better at extracting than before, somehow. Running from a twisted? You're already in his arms. He'll even scrounge around with you for supplies!

•Be careful if he somehow finds makeup, though. He'll doll you up as SOON as the two of you are safe.

•(And if you do his own, he'll be giddy for the rest of the day.)

Razzle + Dazzle

•Sit just outside the circle with the both of them. Don’t talk, don’t make noise. Razzle bears the brunt of their infection; he won’t recognize you if you wake him. Not immediately, at least.

•Eventually Dazzle is going to wake up from his doze and scan around them for any threats, and spot you

•Dazzle will recognize you after a moment, and his expression will turn positively miserable. You’re not safe around him and Razzle, you need to leave…

•Silently keep them company for long enough and Dazzle WILL shed a few tears. It’s just been him and Razzle for who knows how long, and while he is very worried for your safety it’s nice to have someone else here (that isn’t crazed with Ichor)

•Razzle’ll finally wake up in the middle of his twin crying and see you. As he always does when he spots someone, he takes control of their body and stands, preparing to attack, but-

•…he can’t do anything so long as you’re not in the circle, though. He’ll growl and pull at the weight they’re tied to (as Dazzle squeaks and tries to take back control to no avail) but settles after a while

•Much like Astro, some part of Razzle tries to remember, but can’t- though, your face helps more than your voice in Razzle’s case. He won’t go back to sleep, no matter how much Dazzle pleads

•He sits and stares at you unendingly. It’s possible to talk to Razzle like this- though, he’ll pay more attention to your expression and gestures than your words

•Stay with them for a while, please. You’re the only way Razzle can be calm while awake, and while Dazzle knows it’d be safer for you if you left, your presence eases his mind too

Shrimpo

•It’s Shrimpo. Be ready for a scuffle of some kind.

•He recognizes you almost immediately. Does a full stop AND double take. He'll just stand there for a few moments until you move, and then he'll start chasing you like normal- or…

•...almost like normal. He's faster, more desperate, more angry, and keeps making these gurgling sounds as you try to lose him (to no avail; all his attention is on you, all he is going after is you)

•Be prepared to block his punches. He’s stronger now- they will hurt if they land. If you can, bring some kind of armor or protection for yourself like a shield along with all the patience you have. Otherwise, your arms are going to be real sore from blocking his attacks.

•He’ll punch, and punch, and punch some more. He’s so pissed it almost hurts. How dare you leave him for so long? How dare you think you could just waltz right up to him and be friends normal again?

•(How dare you abandon him here? How dare you not be there for him when he needed you most? How dare you not be there when the Ichor took over and he nearly suffocated? Where were you? Why did you leave him? What did he do?)

•Don’t hit back; your goal is to outlast him, not to overpower him. Let him take out his blind rage on your shield/guards, or you’ll never make progress with him.

•Don’t worry, it won’t take too long for him to falter. He’s still Shrimpo, after all. Wait until his punches weaken and his fists shake. Wait until he starts taking a full second between hits. Wait until he connects one more blow with your defense, and then shove him downward.

•Given he just exhausted himself, he’ll definitely be knocked flat on the ground. It’ll take him a good moment to get up- use this time to kneel down, slide your arms beneath him, and press him into your chest.

•He’ll try to move away- keyword: try, because no matter how hard he wants to, he cannot move his arms. All he can do is twitch and make those gurgling noises again as you gather the rest of him into your lap.

•Just… be patient, and hold him. He’s quite literally never experienced anything like this before. Eventually Shrimpo will stop leaning away. He won’t lean in, per se, but he’ll stop fighting it and go limp.

•Tell him how long you’ve been looking for him, how much you missed him, how glad you are to see him again; and maybe, just maybe, he’ll find the strength to shakily bring his arms around you.

•He rationalizes it as an attempt to scratch you, but he’s still too fatigued to do any damage.

•(Not only that, but he tells himself the heat in his eyes is just Ichor, too.)

#guileless-adoration #i really thought my faves wouldnt be too obvious but damn #shrimpo x reader #astro x reader #twisted astro x reader #twisted glisten x reader #dw razzle x reader #dw dazzle x reader #razzle and dazzle x reader #twisted razzle and dazzle x reader #twisted shrimpo x reader #char: shrimpo <3 #char: razzle and dazzle <3 #char: astro <3 #char: glisten <3 #guileless-writing #guileless-creativity #jesus fuck i forgot how weird tagging feels

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overwatch-headcanoning · 2 months ago

Text

Overwatch 2 Angst Headcanons

Just a few angsty headcanons for my overwatch favs because I'm having a bad day. Enjoy!

Mentions of self harm, chronic pain, SA and other abuse below the cut. Please read with caution and minors DO NOT interact. 18+

☣️ Hazard: He hides it well but his body aches, all the time. Phantom pains, chaffing until the skin is raw, muscular stress from uneven limbs. You name it, he's dealt with it. He metabolizes the pain as just another part of life and has learned to mostly ignore it but some days, especially after a particularly rough mission, it all comes crashing back and he can barley stand. He laughs it off, makes excuses to slink off on his own and as soon as he's alone he collapses. Screwing his eyes shut and just trying to breath through the pain. Feelings of loss and weakness crashing over him like a wave, threatening to drown him. He sits like that, in a heap, for hours, sometimes a full night. Just trying to lessen the pain or ignore it until it fades back into the dull ache he carries every moment of every day. It's still better than the alternative but sometimes it threatens to drive him mad.

🦉 Reaper: Sometimes, alone in the middle of the night, Reaper hauls himself to the bathroom and stands in front of the mirror. Staring with hallow red eyes at his own reflection for hours, trying desperately to spot any remnants of who he used to be. He drags claws fingers over his cheek bones and chin, trying to see something besides a monster. Trying to pretend it's a living face once again. He stares at himself until he's disoriented and angry. Sometimes the mirror takes the brunt of the frustration and pain, other times he turns it on himself. Tearing at his face and body just trying to bleed like he used to, or hurt in a different way. Something, anything to make him feel alive. Nothing ever works and eventually the rage and desperation dies down into exhaustion and surrender and he leaves the room in a cloud of smoke, letting his body come apart in defeat. Knowing he will be called back to work soon and the cycle will start all over again.

🐸 Lucio: Sometimes before a show and often times after one he will make cheerful excuses to head to the bathroom or his dressing room for a few minutes. As soon as the door closes behind him and he's sure he's alone he sinks to the ground, already hyperventilating. He curls into a ball, digs his fingers into his hair and has a panic attack. Sometimes they last 15-20 minutes. Other times he only allows himself 1 or 2 minutes of shaking on the ground, sobbing, struggling to breathe and pulling on his hair. The panic, the pressure, the risk he endures every day would get to anyone but he doesn't allow himself much. Just those few minutes of complete despair and terror. He's had panic attacks since he was a child so he knows how to deal with them but he can't stop them. So he just makes sure he has his time alone to come undone, even just for a minute or two before pulling himself back together, plastering on his happy face and going back out to face it all again. He has a reputation to uphold and people need him. They can't think he's weak or not enjoying himself, so he never lets anyone see it.

🪷 Lifeweaver: Most of the time he is all smiles and confidant quips but some nights, sitting alone in what ever safe house he is hiding away in, alone, the tears come. He sits tall, back straight, staring straight ahead as tears run a river down his cheeks. He doesn't sob, he doesn't shake. He just lets the tears come and burn his eyes as he thinks of his family, his school friends, his exes. All people he couldn't keep in his life. All people he was forced to turn his back on or watch them turn their backs on him. Niran is a people person but the path he has chosen in life forces him to spend most of his resting hours alone. Completely, staggeringly alone. He has learned to cope with it for the most part. Tea, music and novels help. As well as losing himself in his work, but some nights he can't escape it and the tears overwhelm him. Flooding him with memories of people he can't have, people he can't afford to love. People who have betrayed him or given up on him. Or worse yet, people he has betrayed or abandon. He can't tell which is worse but he sheds tears for all of them.

🐰 D.va/Hana Song: Not much gets to this streaming super star but there are dark parts of the internet she can't quite stand to look at. Once, near the beginning of her career taking off she took some time to scour the internet for what they were saying about her and what she found left her stomach in knots. She found hate forums, webpages full of threats and worst of all, a lot of people fantasizing about assaulting her. She closed the computer and never spoke of it again, never daring to look or let it get to her but sometimes the thoughts sneak back in. She tries to be a hero and entertainer and devote herself to her fans and her country but every once in a while it breaks her knowing how many people out there want to hurt her, take her against her will, humiliate her, etc. She gives everything and it's still not enough for some people. They want to take more and she can't ignore it. No matter how much she tries. One wrong step and people would descent on her like hungry wolves.

🟡🟣 Moira: Her confidence is unwavering but sometimes even she has to admit she might have gone too far. It's not uncommon for her to wake upon the middle of the night in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe, dizzy and sickly pale. The throbbing pain in her arm threatening to overtake her. She did this to herself yet in the wee hours of the morning, alone in the darkness. She can't help feeling like a victim. The pain is unimaginable and while she has learned to manage it with painkillers and injections to slow the spread, it's still there, it's still happening. Her own brilliant work eating away at her flesh. Sometimes it makes her so sick she can barley move, too dizzy to stand and too nauseous to eat. In those moments, despite herself and her ego, Moira wonders if she will be able to save herself after all. For all her plans, theories and experiments, she is still withering away, painfully. In those few, rare moments of weakness she wonders if she will be another victim of her own ambition.

#overwatch 2 #overwatch headcanons #requests open #overwatch angst #angst headcanons #angst heavy #hazard overwatch #reaper overwatch #lucio correia dos santos #d.va overwatch #niran pruksamanee #overwatch 2 headcanons #overwatch fanfic #angst #moira o'deorain #moira overwatch #chronic pain #SA mention #overwatch 2 writing

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yours-etc · 3 months ago

Text

12 Days of Steddie-Mas

Day 1:

I’ll Have A Blue Christmas

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

The fresh snow crunches under his boots. Flakes fall from the sky, sticking to his hat and shoulders and eyelashes. A cloudy of mist fans out from Steve’s mouth when he gasps as he slips on a patch of ice. He grips the flowers tight in his hand as he regains his balance, the box of cookies he had falls from his grip and onto the ground. Luckily it stayed closed and the cookies mostly intact when he peaked in.

“God damn this fucking snow!” Steve exclaimed, kicking the white fluff in frustration. He loved Indiana, but Jesus Christ, he was so sick of Midwestern winters.

The cemetery is empty besides Steve, the headstones, and whatever ghosts of Christmas were lingering around.

Steve finds his was to the plot he was looking for. He lays out a blanket so he doesn’t have to sit directly on the cold ground. He takes the now dead and frozen old flowers from the small vase and replaces them with the poinsettias he brought.

“Hey Mom,” he breathes out, tracing the words Roasanne Harrington Loving Wife, Mother, Sister, and Friend.

“Sorry it's been a while, you know how I hate the cold,” Steve laughs out the second half, “But you always loved Christmas, so I had to come celebrate.”

There’s no response from the stone, but Steve doesn’t mind the silence.

“This isn’t the first Christmas without you, but it’s definitely the one that hurts the most,” he starts, “because I can almost pretend to be happy. There are moments where I forget you’re gone. And then there will just be a second, usually when I’m lost in thought, or when I’m watching everyone laugh, I just think about how much you’d love them all. I’m sorry you never got to meet them, my new family I guess you could call them. You would love Robin, she reminds me of you. Her love of the holidays, her sense of humor, the way she looks at the world,” Steve sucks in a deep breath trying to stop himself from crying, tears pricking at his eyes, “Oh mom, you would have adored her.” He loses his battle with his emotions. Tears flood from his eyes and sob shudders through his body.

“I’m sorry we never got to patch things up before you left. It- it felt like there— there for a moment, at the end— we were getting close to being able to. I think after the wedding we both realized how much we missed each other. And I want you to know I don’t blame you for sticking by Dad,” Steve didn’t acknowledge the headstone to his left that had his father’s name on it.

“You loved him, and I’m sure, at some point, he was good. It’s hard to let go of things sometimes.” Steve swipes away his tears with the back of his coat sleeve. He didn’t need them freezing on his lashes.

He opened the box of cookies and took a bite of one, “I never can get them to taste the same as how you made them, I’m convinced you purposefully left out an ingredient on the written recipe.”

Steve giggles as he remembered how protective his mother was of her recipes. He quite literally could not get his hands on them till she died. And like hell was he going to let Aunt Katie take them. They were more valuable than anything left to him in the will. After the accident Steve was left with a big empty house and a stack of note card recipes.

He sold the house and laminated the cards.

With the money from the old place, he was able to but his own quaint little home. With three bedrooms and two and a half baths, Steve had finally found a home. It was a fixer upper on the outside of town, but he needed a project to keep his mind busy.

He threw his heart and soul into painting the walls a soft cream color and tearing out the drab carpet to be replaced with ward hardwood floors and redoing the front porch to fit some chairs and a swing.

He had help from Dustin, Robin, and of course Eddie— Steve played with the ring on his finger at the thought of him— but the brunt of the work was done by him.

He wanted to make his dream home. And so he did.

On the day him and Eddie moved out of their shared apartment with Robin, lots of loving tears and hugs were shared and promises of a dinner party as soon as the house was properly set up were made.

The house was a bit empty at first. They only had enough to fill half an apartment, and now they had much more space to grow. Wayne had made them a kitchen table with four chairs as a house warming gift. More tears were shed that day when he dropped it off.

Slowly but surely they filled their home with cozy couches and pillows, music, and photos of their life.

Steve didn’t need to turn around to know the footsteps approaching behind him belonged to his husband.

Eddie leaned down to give him a warm kiss on the cheek. Steve leaned into his warmth, not realizing how cold he had gotten.

“Ready to go?” Eddie asks softly, “We have to pick up little Robbie from Chrissy and Robin’s before heading to Wayne’s for dinner.”

Steve nods and grabs Eddie’s outstretched hand to help him up off the ground.

Eddie gathers up the blanket and shakes it out before bundling up under his arms. He makes a swift dramatic bow to Rosanna’s stone, “Mrs. Rose, looking as gorgeous as ever,” He doesn’t look to the left, but throws up a middle finger to Robert’s grave, “Mr. Harrington, hope hell is awful as always.”

Steve laughs at his ridiculousness before giving his mom’s stone a small kiss. Leaning his forehead against the cold rock he wishers, “You really would have loved little Robin, she reminds me of you more and more everyday. Maybe I’ll bring her next time.”

He stands to his full height and walks over to Eddie lacing their fingers together and give their hands a squeeze. Eddie squeezes back. The two of them walk back to Eddie’s new mini van, which is “totally just as metal as the old one, Stevie.”

The radio plays Christmas music as they drive off to pick up their daughter from her first ever annual Auntie Christmas Eve Eve sleepover. And in the moment Steve feels content and maybe a bit lighter.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

HAPPY DECEMBER 1st!!

Throughout the month I will be posting 12 different Steddie Christmas/Winter themed ficlets!! Just short little things to bring on the Holiday fun. Now I know this one was a bit sad… I promise there will be Happy ones too!! Anyway I hope you all enjoy <3

Day: 1 2 3 4 5 6

#k scribbles on paper #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #k does 12 days of Steddie-Mas!!#this is 1 out of 12 #stranger things #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic

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peace-for-levi · 2 years ago

Text

Welcome Back

lol hiiiii, sorta haven't written in *checks watch* eight months so i am RUSTY.

cw: feelings of grief, graphic descriptions of dissociation, reader feeling disconnected and needing to be grounded. post-expedition hurt-comfort is my fav genre, lol.

word count: 1447.

taglist: @levmada @jayteacups @happybird16 @theferricfox @sckerman @wortverlust @lostinwildflowers @pockcock @nelapanela94 @notgoodforlife @unadulteratedtreecrusade @starstruckkittensweets

Arms up. Arms down.

Grief anchors and weighs you down like a ball and chain. It's heavy, cumbersome and you are left to just bear the brunt of it. It has a way of removing you from the world, leaving you unable (even unwilling) to reconnect. The most recent expedition and the deaths that came with it weigh down on your shoulders. You lean over, back hunched. Neck tense.

Distantly, you recognise what it is you are feeling (or lack of.) Distantly, you recognise the expedition has probably sent you into this state.

Your vision is 'stretched', or distorted, and everything has a dull fuzz to it. You're sure if you reached to grab the book on your bedside locker, it would slip through your fingers and melt away.

And that you'd wake up from this.

You form a fist and relax it, stretching your fingers. Lines on your fingers; oh, five fingers, all with fingernails. Five sets of knuckles. These are your hands? Surely, right?

You form a fist and this time you squeeze, and you almost feel your nails sink in. Just slightly but it's enough for you to shudder. In realization? In pain?

It's not unusual for your mind to be stuck out in the plains beyond the Walls. The boom and echo of flares rattles in your ears, the screams of your comrades leaves your head spinning. The idea of being back in your bedroom is just something you haven't registered yet, too busy stuck somewhere between a nightmare and reality.

A fake, shadowy middle of unreality.

It's nauseating, harrowing. If not for your feet pressed to the floor and your calves backed to the edge of the bed frame, you'd have a hard time trusting gravity in keeping you down.

There's a voice in the foreground, but you're not quite there yet. Their speech is fragmented.

You cling to reason; to routine and actions. You try to cling to dialogue and even though you understand the words, they don't get processed. You try to attune to the conversation, however one-way it is.

"Your shoulders tense up when you get like this. Relax."

Shoulders… ah, your shoulders? So you roll them. You don't really know what else to do. Tense? Why are you tense and what–

…

What are you…?

Where…?

Levi senses he's losing you further here, so he gives you an order. A command; you can latch onto that. It'll give your brain something to do, long enough to take you away from the plains.

"Legs out. I'll undo your buckles," he says as he kneels between your legs.

Leg up, straighten, leg down.

Same idea again for your left.

The frigid air against your – now – bare skin makes you shiver. Your clothes are being taken off, piece by piece.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Do you know…?" is a question that he noticed that also makes you come back to your senses. He has asked a question that requires a logical answer; you need to go searching for clues.

You know it's your bedroom – what else could it possibly be? – but it just looks so… wrong. In a moment of faint realization, you feel the night's gentle breeze prick the skin on your legs. You turn to the bedside locker and see a bowl of lumpy, congealed soup with a bread roll that looks like it's on the verge of going bad. You must have forgotten to eat it. There's an oil lamp next to the soup, as well as an old book. Reading is a bit too hard at the moment; you can hardly put together the title of the book.

Now you look in front of you. Of course the black hair and grey eyes belong to your lover, but he didn't look so real right now. If you reached out to touch him, would you feel the black tresses spill between your fingers? The war-torn hands clasp your own?

You sink your fingertips into his scalp. He lets it happen, lets you cling to him. He doesn't even flinch, he knows you need grounding. He brings a hand up and rests it on yours, as if to say…

Feel me.

I am alive. You are alive. We are both here, and you will not wake up from this.

(Your brain just needs a lot of convincing.)

He squeezes his hand over yours. "You're getting ready for a bath, I'm helping you," he states. More information to cling to. "Whatever you're feeling, let it be there."

He is slowly walking you to your ensuite. The ground beneath your feet felt soft, even for oak planks. You fumble as you walk, second-guessing your surroundings, but Levi's got you.

He's always there.

The boundaries of the room appear elusive and murky, as you reach out for the skirting on the sides of the bathroom door. Levi was smart and had the bath ready to go, warm water prepped. With a cupped palm, he gently guides you into the bath.

"Step in."

A command to follow.

Leg up, over, and sit.

You soak into the heated water and sit down. You vaguely feel the suds cling to you. The aware part of you hopes they'll wash away the muddy feeling.

Levi begins to fill up a bucket of the sudsy water. He takes a look at your toned back, marred with grime, dirt and caked blood, and stops. He thumbs over some of the rougher sores and tears; some of these scars have been there for years. Shades of purples and blacks and reds, dotting the surface; all serving as a horrific reminder that, so far, you have made it back home every time.

You watch the dirt drip down and swirl in the water, floating there.

Silence permeates between the two of you, and normally, it is a comfortable silence. But Levi wanted to check in.

"How are you doing now, [F/n]?"

Blink. You stare back at him with pupils blown, looking at everything and nothing. "Fine."

"Do you know who I am?" He asks, carefully, scrubbing your shoulders.

Black hair, grey eyes. "Levi…" you murmur.

He nods. Should he press further? He's not sure.

Dissociation is a fickle defense mechanism with a hair-trigger temperament. It can be the deaths of the comrades in your most recent expedition; it could also be triggered by the smell or sound that reminds you of something unpleasant. It sometimes comes when it wants and Levi learned the best way to deal with it was to not deal with it. To let it happen, and sit beside you as it does.

"Don't fight it. Let it be there."

But you don't want it to be there. You stretch out your palm and reach for the towel, but you just hold it. Maybe for comfort, maybe to feel a texture. You register the caked blood by your cuticles and you keep it in your mind's eye for a second, but your vision starts to splinter again.

"But it feels awful…" you find yourself saying. "I hate not recognising my surroundings, I hate not–"

He cuts in. "I know, sweetheart. I know." He takes hold of your hand and squeezes. "I know." He assures.

Because he does.

He's sat with you through every episode of this.

He guides you out of the bath when you're done, and dresses you in your nightgown. He sweeps your hair up and out of your face, before cupping your cheeks. You practically fall into his hands. He pats your cheek in response.

"You back with me yet?"

You shake your head, but your answers are coming out quicker now. He steers you with one hand on the small of your back and peels back the comforter.

As the room gets shrouded in darkness, you're pulled to his chest. A smell of cedar and black tea, the thrum of his pulse and the rise and fall of his chest. Small circles being etched into your hips by his thumb.

"We're going to try to rest now." He tells you.

A command of sorts, something to stick to.

Get in bed, lie down, and breathe.

"Yes, okay," you mumble as you twiddle your thumbs. "Okay."

He pulls you impossibly closer, nose in the crook of your neck and suddenly... you're in the clear.

"I'm [F/n]. I'm in my room. I'm with Levi…" you whisper to yourself, with confidence.

"Welcome back," your lover sleepily replies.

{friendly reminder acceptance doesn't work for everyone but it is a healthy start for some!}

#cece; speaks #levi x reader #husbando tag<3 #levi ackerman #captain levi #levi ackerman angst #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #aot #snk #aot levi #snk levi #levi x you #tw.dissociation #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

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tennessoui · 5 months ago

Note

for the OTP post (feel free to pick one of these because I am indecisive...): regency AU - 19; Pretty bird - 50; Nanny AU - 30; or wine party AU 52.

i love your indecisiveness! thank you for sending and i will answer all of these <3

[prompts sent from this otp list]

19. How do they feel about PDA? (regency au, squick tag: a/b/o dynamics)

the real question is how does everyone around them feel about pda because you know they're over-the-top and gross and indecent about it. obi-wan's a hair more apologetic & self-conscious than anakin because he knows the weight of society's eyes and the brunt of their judgement a bit more keenly than anakin - because he was on the outskirts for most all of his life and most people were not kind. but even obi-wan's protests are pretty weak because he's just going to be happy for the rest of his life that it all worked out and he gets to love anakin skywalker!!

50. who’s more likely to do something out of spite? (pbatmb au)

lmao you picked like. the most spite-filled verse for this question!! i think the answer has to be mobi-wan, but anakin is a close second for sure. like how can i even decide who is more spiteful? both of them live off of spite. they love spite. most actions they take are out of spite. sometimes at each other (anakin post vowbreaker, obi-wan during blanket thief) but mostly at others. those who terrorize together stay together <3

30. Your OTP gets to pick out each other’s outfits; what is each wearing? (nanny au/freudian slip au)

hmmmmm nanny anakin is a simple man who fell in love with his boss, the very serious music producer, while that man was wearing a bunch of like. business suits and turtlenecks and rolled up oxford sleeves. so he's pretty satisfied with how obi-wan looks in his day to day outfits (hot af) so if he got to choose obi-wan's outfit, i think he'd go like....seriously cosy. maximum cosy. big sweater, glasses, no product in hair cosy because he doesn't get to see that a lot and this is a look that anakin adores and that obi-wan rocks

obi-wan is also a simple man. he's dating a hot young piece. get that boy in a golden speedo (during the month of the year that korkie stays with his ex-wife)

52. Describe their weekend getaway? (wine party au)

i think the funniest scenario is that they don't actually get a weekend getaway because they can't agree where they want to go. obi-wan wants to take anakin to the beach (even though he knows anakin can't swim) (because then anakin will hold his hand the entire time which obi-wan loves but can't admit it); anakin actually wants to go to a winery/vineyard (he is surprised and dismayed to find himself rooting for this option) because he wants to prove to obi-wan now that they're---whatever they are---that really, honestly, anakin can fit into his world!! really!! he wasn't trying before but now that he likes obi-wan he'd rather try than lose him.

obi-wan doesn't want to go to a vineyard because he used that excuse so many times already when he was planning outings for him and anakin. he just wants anakin, no subterfuge

(except if the subterfuge involves 'you have to hold my hand because i've taken you to an ocean on a boat again even though you can't swim')

snippet - please enjoy a scenario of obikin in the regency au absolutely disliking pda (because of course, it's not pda between each other):

"It's bordering on obscene," Anakin snaps, hand clenching around the fragile wine glass despite his best efforts to keep his tone and posture relaxed.

His cruel and uncaring sister surveys their surroundings and then looks back to him with a slight shrug. "They are sitting next to each other at a banquet, brother. Of course they have found reason to talk to another more often than to the rest."

Anakin scowls. "That is not talking, Ahsoka. Look at them. Sir Fett's hand has rested more on Obi-Wan's arm than the table for the duration of this meal."

"Ah," his sister says. "Forgive me then. I suppose I was not keeping proper attention on Mr. Kenobi's arms and hands. Of course I shall endeavor to rectify--"

The growl that escapes Anakin is completely instinctual and incredibly embarrassing. If, that is, Anakin could find the wherewithal to feel anything but offended irritation at the fact that, a mere ten seats away, at his own banquet, Obi-Wan Kenobi is allowing some other alpha to place his hand on his arm and keep it there as though it belongs there.

As if it could ever belong there.

"You are acting as if it is a claim," Ahsoka murmurs, half incredulous and half irate. She spears a small bit of vegetable on her fork and brings it to her mouth. "As if you did not spend six dances with the lady of Bancarry just the other evening."

Anakin blinks and turns to stare at her. "Euphemia has nothing to do with this--this flagrant flaunt of decorum---"

"He was upset as well," Ahsoka says as if he, her elder brother and her duke, has not spoken at all. "Terribly so, I should say. Spent half the night in the gardens."

"Who?"

"Mr. Fett," his sister says with a roll of her eyes. "Who do you think, Anakin? Your omega Kenobi. During the last ball. He was terribly upset, though I suppose not many were paying attention. Given the Jinn omegas' social standings and every---"

Anakin growls again before he can stop himself. He recovers admirably, but nevertheless it is a recovery. "The Jinn family's social standing should not be given weight nor consideration at my table," he says shortly, setting his cutlery down with the slightest bit of force.

The resulting clang of metal on metal draws the eyes of half the table--Obi-Wan's included.

The omega looks as perfect as he always has, hair perfectly parted and clothes laying perfectly rumpled on his body. His scent, too, is something most definitely from some perfect storybook. If those came with scents. He is everything Anakin has always dreamt about. Has always yearned for.

And yet he's sitting half the table away, allowing some soldier called home from the war to put his hand on his arm.

Anakin has no claim to him. It is true. It is devastating. It is true nonetheless. Obi-Wan may court any alpha he likes. He may allow a thousand men and women to touch him. He may allow a thousand more to call upon his house the next day. He may decide to see those callers this time. He may decide to see them again. He may decide to mate.

This is true.

This is also devastating.

But Anakin finds that he is growing used to devastating from this omega.

And he meant what he said, all those weeks ago. Given the choice between Obi-Wan's absence from his life and this corrosive, hurtful presence---Anakin would chose watching another alpha's fingers curl around Obi-Wan's wrist every time.

Because at least---sometimes---the omega's eyes dart to look at him. And Anakin would not give that shock of blue up for anything in the entire world.

#asks #ask game #regency au #pbatmb #the freudian slip au #wine party au #squick tag: a/b/o dynamics

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spotaus · 5 months ago

Text

New Age au (og drabble)

Finally gave up trying to post this on my phone and I'm doing it from my computer >:(

Don't mind if this post seems outdated compared to any other lore you've seen, this is the very very very first version of this au that I wrote up in my drafts before making the first post about it here lol- It's inspired by @ancha-aus Real Age AU, and is buried in my bajillion insane Fantasy thoughts. (Knight AU basically, Nightmare is a king, usurped to twin thru prophecy stuff, hired on several murderers + outcasts as his elite group of knights.)

This is all un-edited and un-reviewed, best of luck! (I also lost 90% of the italics I added, unfortunately)

(@papiliovolens too btw! Hi!)

Oh. Oh.

The feeling that sloughed through Nightmare's body was one that was foreign and uncomfortable. The sound you get when you walk with a pail of water and it sloshes and slams around inside no matter how carefully you walk? Yeah, that was happening to him.

His magic felt like all at once it sloshed to the front of his ribcage, then back again as he recoiled.

He was training now. Pinned between his knights as they slashed and charged at him. He always loved to enrich them with fast-paced work outs like today. The task was to try and incapacitate him, and he'd planned to tire them out for a while longer.

Now, though? He felt sick to his stomach and his vision doubled as he slid out of the way of Killer's blade. He was trying to keep it together, his movements still confident, but hell was it going to shit quickly. He'd never felt a drain like this.

As he nimbly moved out of the way of Cross, he noticed they were corralling him.

He wondered if this would pass. If he could finish out their training session without giving away just how horribly off-put he felt. Just how unbalanced he was becoming.

And yet when he ducked to evade a magic attack from Dust and nearly slammed directly into Horror's broad chest, he realized he was... not right. He was addled, and his senses were dulling. He was grasping at straws trying to identify the magical signatures of his team.

Nothing. It was just as bad as being blind.

He spun away again, facing his entire team as he caught sight of them. They were having fun. They were enjoying themselves, focused and invested. He hated to cut that off so soon.

Nightmare stood tall, opening his mouth to announce a hault, when...

He threw up.

Not... not in the way most living creatures do. It wasn't bile or mucus or digested food that flooded from his mouth, but instead all at once his magic seemed to erupt.

It clogged his throat, and he reached up for his jaws as it flooded out of him. He hunched a bit, only barely catching the surprise enter the expressions of his team as he stared back at them in shock. In disgust at himself.

Then his knees gave out. All at once, sense flooded from his mind and he slammed to the ground, his knees and elbows taking the brunt of his weight, joints jolting painfully as his good eye centered in on the ground. Where his magic was pooling and slipping away from him. Down into the cracks in the stone and the mat beneath him.

He trembled there, unable to bring himself to move. To try and hold it in. He couldn't breathe, it was just a flow of his magic like someone was tearing it out of his very core. Siphoning it like a straw.

He saw a shadow cast over his view, he heard scuffles. The voices were there, but the feeling of losing his grasp on his magic was too overwhelming. He couldn't make anything out past his out soul beating like a drum in his chest. He was losing it. Something. A part of himself.

Then a touch. A contact with his back.

Not through the protective veil of his magic, not through the sensation of transmitted contact. A thin fabric held him apart from the bony hand that so gently rested along his spine.

He gagged on the magic, seeing as it started coming in spurts. He... did not like that sensation. The gasping and the choking as it continued to rise from his core.

In a fit of shaking strength, Nightmare forced his body to move. He caught sight of pearly white bones exposed on his hands when he moved them out of the pile of sludge. He weakly shoved himself towards where he thought the hand was from, and collided with a large body. Someone's side. They were knelt.

He pressed his back to them as he continued to heave, and the presence drew closer, almost around him. An arm now covered his back, leather pressing heavily into his weak bones. It didn't matter if it hurt, because it made the heaving less horrifying.

It felt like an eternity of agony as the last of his magic dripped out of his throat and onto the ground.

His chest hurt, his neck hurt, and jaw hurt. His knees ached from the mat and his entire body still shook. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. Why had that happened?

He couldn't feel his team.... his team!

Nightmare's head shot up. His breathing was ragged, and he surely would've fallen over had he not been so heavily supported by that body.

Horror.

Horror was the one who was supporting him upright. Who was staring at him, brow furrowed and silent. Who seemed deeply perturbed by what he saw.

Past him, Nightmare could see the others. Cross, Dust, and Killer. They all seemed poised, ready to attack an unknown threat. Their backs were to him. The training room was utterly empty.

"M'lord?" Horror muttered in question, almost hesitant.

Nightmare stared up at him a few more seconds. His mind was chugging through what had happened, trying desperately to come up with a solution.

"Stand down." Nightmare ordered. Though, it felt like a squeak compared to his usual deep tone. His voice had lost any bit it might've held not ten minutes prior.

At the order, the other three whipped around and observed Nightmare.

Cross seemed reproachful. He looked to the others. He was the newest, probably wondered if they'd seen this before.

Dust only really turned a bit. A glance from the corner of his eye. Evidently he wanted to stay vigil.

Then there was Killer, who immediately dropped to his knees in a kneel to examine Night more closely.

"Lord, are you hurt?" Killer asked.

He was the first of them, and knew Nightmare best.

Nightmare stared at Killer. He was so earnest and loyal.

"I... the apples of the prophecy have revoked their magic. I am... I am weakened." He admitted loosely, staring at Killer. He felt empty.

Killer frowned, his brow furrowing. "May I check you, Lord?" He questioned then.

Nightmare nodded.

The feeling of magic flowing through his body was not invasive nor unwelcome. It combed his very being, before revealing itself in script before Killer.

Nightmare

The prophecy will not be delayed. His title may now be challenged.

Nightmare winced as Killer seemed to hunch even more down, closer to the ground. "If someone can reach my soul, they become holder of the prophecy. I- Dream will know. He'll come for me." He croaked. "Everyone will come." He added, suddenly feeling a terror strike into his soul as Killer raised his dark sockets to stare at Nightmare.

Killer hardly moved his hand, and Nightmare felt a second-wind sweep him up. A rush of adrenaline. Some wild jackrabbit just woke up in his soul and realized with a blood-chilling terror that it was surrounded by dingo.

He thrust himself out from under Horror's arm before the knight could think to constrict him, and caught himself on his feet.

Killer's gaze trailed him. As did Horror's as he seemed surprised.

Dust stood perfectly still as he went stumbling backwards. And Cross? Well Cross was-

Nightmare wasn't sure what came over him when he felt arms around his sides. He was hoisted off the ground, he recognized the technique, it was Cross.

"Cross, release me!" He ordered, bis voice weak and panicked. Some part of him knew Cross wouldn't do it. He knew he'd be delivered to Killer and Killer would carve out his soul.

He was carried back to the group of nights, then forced to the ground, Cross holding him in place firmly, right where Killer and Horror were still sat.

His vision- it was growing blurry with tears. His composure completely broken at the aspect of being killed so soon.

"Killer, please don't." He pleaded, seeing the skeleton draw closer.

Killer seemed to frown, "Lord, have some faith in us. We'd never let anything happen to you." Killer said, sounding unimpressed.

He raised his hands, and gently laid them against Night's neck.

Warm, soothing magic coated the tight injury, and Nightmare tried to resist the temptation to squirm in Cross' grip as it eased his ailment if only slightly.

"Your soul's beating so hard I can hear it from here. Breathe." He ordered then.

Nightmare took gasping breaths, slowly, very slowly, trying to calm himself. Of course they wouldn't hurt him. These were his knights. He just... he hasn't been so weak in years. Why did he... why did he panic like that? Why... was he so scared still?

He didn't open his socket, his good one, for a minute. He let the ebbing race of his soul calm. He tried to remember that he was the one who taught Cross this hold. A non-lethal hold, one which didn't risk harming the target. He tried to relax, to go limp in the hold, but he couldn't. He was still shaking.

He kept breathing. And breathing. He'd trained all of them to go for the kill, none of them enjoyed toying with their prey. They would not kill him.

"I apologize. I- I don't know-" He tried to speak, only to choke up again as he tried to open his eye. His body just felt so heavy, and so, so abysmally empty.

He squinted at the group.

"He hasn't stopped shaking." He heard Cross report unabashedly from behind him.

Horror stared for a brief moment, before he sighed. "Magic loss. I can hardly feel his aura, he has to be drained all to hell right now. Running on fumes." Horror announced solemnly, his big red eyelight focusing on Cross.

He knew Horror was right. He didn't know why it hadn't occurred sooner. His form was reacting poorly to the loss of a godly amount of power. Of course he was afraid and vulnerable.

"Mm. What did he usually do to help me? Soup and bed-rest?" That was Dust, his grumbling tone barely scraping Night's ears.

Killer and Horror looked to eachother in agreement, nodding.

"Lord, I'm going to assume you're delusional and exhausted from magic loss right now, so I'm not taking the tears personally." Killer voiced then, looking to Nightmare. "Cross and Dust are going to escort you to your quarters, Horror is going to bring your dinner, and I'm going to go triple check that this place is on lock-down."

Nightmare stared at him with a wide eye, and it took him several seconds to realize that Killer was waiting for something.

"P- permission granted." He muttered, and Killer nodded and raised from his knees to stand.

Horror followed him, and Cross took a few moments before he eased Nightmare onto his feet. He realized only then that he was barely Cross' height. Barely tall enough to look him in the eyes.

He still shook like a newborn fawn, but felt less weak. Cross offered his hand awkwardly. Nightmare noticed he was avoiding his gaze.

Horror and Killer were far out of the room by the time Nightmare could muster a standing position. His cloak was far too long for him now, and he hastily bundled the edges up into a bunch before tightening his belt into them. Dust helped him with the clasp, his hands still too shakey.

He pulled up his hood, and gripping Cross like a lifeline, the trio left the training room and headed towards Nightmare's quarters. He was a weak, weak man, he realized. Fragile. Once a servant was turning a corner away, no doubt spooked by Dust, and Nightmare nearly fled out of fear.

They opened and closed the doors, revealing the darker room. Cross led Nightmare to his bed and gently helped him out of his training wear, only leaving him in the simple under-clothes, which still seemed to hang off of him.

He eased into his bed, and he wanted to say something to Cross as he dutifully fluffed Nightnare's pillows, but he could muster nothing. He couldn't bring himself to- no...

"Cross?" His voice was a bit stronger again. It hurt less to speak. No doubt Killer's magic settling in.

The knight seemed to jolt a bit, looking to Nightmare. Nightmare slunk back under his gaze, unable to withhold the reflexive recoil.

"I- Thank you, for disobeying orders." He managed, "I could've hurt myself in my frenzy. You made the right call." He admitted, before swiftly turning his head away.

Cross seemed silent for a moment, hesitating at the bedside.

"You always said if you fell ill that Killer would be in charge. I just figured this was one of those instances and did as he ordered." Cross reported, his voice meek as well. He seemed to be taking Nightmate's sudden decrease in magic just as hard as the tyrant himself.

Nightmare nodded a bit. In agreement. In acknowledgement. Of course Cross would never disobey him on his own whim. Cross had always been a soldier.

The room grew still in the wake of the words, and Nightmare felt himself sink a bit easier into his pillows.

Cross stationed himself by the door, and Dust settled at the foot of Nightmare's bed, using the trunk sat there as a seat. He'd done it before in the past, and Nightmare had never noticed how defensive of a position it was until that moment. He felt... secure. Like he always did with his knights.

Horror returned with a meal within the hour, gently awakening Night from his dazed half-sleep which had nearly consumed him. His sockets were heavy when he sat up to take the plate onto his lap.

It was a nice cut of meat, and a drink he was almost positive was plain water, with what looked to be fresh plants from the gardens.

Horror had handed over the utensils, and stood idly near to Dust as Nightmare worked his way through the food. He'd never had a large appetite before, not even as a boy. Now he had devoured everything on his plate, and felt sick for it.

It seemed to please Horror, though. As Night discarded the plate to his nightstand, Horror had turned his head and smiled at him. He hardly had the strength to nod back in approval.

Night had fallen asleep mere minutes after he finished his meal, sinking back into his pillows with a soft repose. Horror had stood and pulled his covers up a bit further. Nightmare was a lot smaller, now. The linens drowned him, and the his bed felt all too large. His frame seemed fragile. Dwarfed in the expanse.

It wasn't until Killer entered that anyone spoke. Nightmare had drilled it into them that Killer was the one in charge if anything weren't wrong.

"Everything's secure, all the guards know to be on alert." He reported to the other three. His gaze only lingered on Nightmare for a few seconds before his shoulders sagged. "How are we feeling about Nightmare? Does it look like he was right? Prophecy privileges revoked?" He asked quietly, though he could see with his own eyes just how obvious it must've been. Nightmare was small, and frail, and his skull was covered in cracks.

Dust hummed, "No sign of his usual aura. Seems like he's going to be okay, though." He reported evenly. Killer didn't need to look to know the others were also looking at their King. Exhausted, tucked soundly into bed.

"Surely he can't continue his duties like this. I mean... we scared him. Us." Cross piped up from the door. It seemed he still hadn't recovered from his own apprehension. Killer had seen the hurt in his face when Nightmare had been so afraid.

Killer scoffed, "To be fair, I think that's the normal reaction to seeing us, Cross." He teased, "But no, you're right. Even if he's more calm when he wakes up, we shouldn't let news spread of this... change. It would put him in danger." Killer lamented a bit, and heard the others all give grunts of agreement.

Horror shifted onto his feet, "We'll have to keep close to him. He seems... younger. I don't like the idea of leaving him alone when there might be threats." Horror had been raised on the outskirts, he was always sensitive to young people. When Cross had joined them, he'd lingered around him so often Cross was sure Horror wanted him gone.

The big guy was just trying to make Cross more comfortable was all.

Killer tapped at his thigh as he stood there, "We'll take shifts, then. Assume we treat this as an illness for now, follow his protocol, and once he's feeling better we can decide if he's still fit enough to, y'know, order us around." Killer said to the group, though there wasn't going to be fuss either way. Killer was always the one they'd trust next after Night. It was only right. They'd all trust Killer with their lives.

They all seemed to silently debate.

"I'll take first shift. I was going easy during training, so I'll stay up tonight." Dust finally chimed.

Killer agreed, and the others, after some hesitation, ushered out of their king's room and out into the halls.

Cross said he'd go back and train some more on his own, Horror said he was going to go get food for himself and Dust. Killer was going to go reschedule all of Night's meetings for other times or assign them to advisors. They all had things to do, and it felt strange to know their King was now not who they once knew. The fear in his eyelight had been the same fear they saw when they got injured, or sick, or hurt. They never expected to cause that fear to the man who had earned their full trust.

#New Age au #I feel crazy rn #if you guys see this post 2 times later... no you didn't #Finally resorted to the laptop #Anyways hope y'all enjoy! I'm going to finish studying now!!

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daydreamgoddess14 · 5 months ago

Text

The Ties that Bind - Chapter 2

How d'ya like your fluff in the morning?

Thank you for reading so far, hope you're liking soft River!

CH 1

Masterlist

Chapter 2

“I want to apologise, dear.” David said uncertainly the next morning as Seren walked with him into the village. “I’ve been abominable the last few weeks and you didn’t deserve it at all.” She let him speak without interruption. “I’ve never been the easiest person to deal with. At work, or since. River bears the brunt of it most of the time. They used to call me the Old Bastard, you know.” She smiled as they ambled slowly along the edges of the open fields.

“I would never expect you to change your entire personality, Mr Cartwright. I’ve looked after prickly characters before, and I will again. I appreciate the challenge, and a bit of verbal sparring keeps your mind active and engaged.” Seren shrugged. “The only reason I put up with you the last few weeks is because you both seemed… well,” she paused, not wanting to undo the progress they’d made in the last 24 hours, “desperate, really.” Fortunately he laughed. A deep chuckle she was immediately grateful she was hearing for the first time, and she was the cause. She pressed on, “every single evening I doubted whether to keep coming over, whether to keep trying to win you over, and every single evening, the same thing would happen.”

“What’s that then?” He offered a hand to help her over the stile they’d reached, and on the opposite side, she did the same thing, taking careful note of his physical capabilities. Was he too frail to have come this way? Should she have taken the road route instead? He took the step down from the wooden step with ease and she relaxed. She looked around the semi rural surroundings, spotting a dog walker back in the field behind them.

“River would call me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. How was I? How were you? How was our day? Did I need anything? He cares so much for you.”

“He’s a good boy.” David said softly, “a good man. He tries. And that won you over for another day, did it?”

“Like I said, he sounded desperate. And I was not always the nicest to him when he called.” Seren laughed, David harrumphed.

“He said you called him yesterday from the bathroom.”

“I did. I wasn't sure what else to do. I was so scared you'd hurt yourself. Once everything had calmed down and he arrived, I realised I didn’t want him to confront you as soon as he got there. I didn't want to upset you further.”

“I appreciate that. We spoke later, after you’d gone. He told me I was very close to losing your much valued help.”

“I'm glad you do see the value of it. This kind of help, it's the best way that River can help you stay in your own home for as long as possible. You're not the kind of man to take up life in the local nursing home.”

“I'd rather you take me out back and shoot me.” He grimaced.

“Exactly. So,” she began, cautiously, “Do we have an agreement? That you need my help?” They walked in silence for a short time, reaching the outskirts of the village.

“Hmm. After yesterday’s performance I can hardly deny that the help isn’t a good idea, can I?”

“I mean, you could try… but I don’t think it would work.” She offered.

“Indeed. So it seems I have no choice but to agree.”

“We all have a choice. I’m not here to babysit you Mr Cartwright, I’d like to enjoy our time together and I hope you will too.”

“You’d better start calling me David then, hadn’t you, dear? You did yesterday.”

“Hmm. Seemed like the best way to try and… reach you? Felt like ‘Mr Cartwright’ would have ended up with someone getting hurt. And you’d better start calling me Seren, instead of girl.” She pushed open the door to the bakery and held it for him while he followed with a smile.

River was confused to say the least. The situation had gone from the ridiculous to the sublime. Or was it the other way around? He quickly realised how tense and unsettled Seren had been with the situation for the past six weeks because in the weeks since, she’d transformed entirely. His calls to check in each evening were no longer filled with drawn out silences and sighs, but with bubbling accounts of her day with his grandfather and even laughter. The Slow Horses had had a very busy few weeks which had meant that he’d been able to visit a lot less frequently and later in the day, so he’d hardly seen Seren in person. With her improved relationship with David, he also didn’t feel like she was depending on him visiting for her own sanity, or that he had to keep tabs on them both. He realised as he drove through the village that it had been too long since he’d seen her, and that he’d missed her. He couldn’t ignore the anticipation when he saw her car still parked next to David’s, happy that she hadn't left for the day. The house was filled with music. It was classical, which he expected, but it was louder than usual and seemed to travel through every room. He followed the sounds of laughter to the sitting room where Seren was being led, in fits of giggles, through what he could only assume was a terrible interpretation of a waltz. She had one hand in David's and the other on his shoulder, while he had a hand on her waist.

“And, one, two, three, one, two, three… right leg back, that's the way.” River leaned in the doorway watching. There was pure concentration on Seren's face as she kept her head down, watching their feet. “Head up, dear, don't look at your feet.”

“It's the only way I know I won't stand on yours.” She sighed. “I am awful at this. They make it look much easier on Strictly.” She faded to a grumble.

“One, two, three, head up.” David lifted her chin and out the corner of her eye, she caught sight of River in the doorway. He winked.

“Oh, shit,” she stumbled. David righted her and they continued to glide in a circle around the sitting room. “One, two, three, one, two, three, I'm doing it!” She beamed, eyes wide with happiness.

“And the grand finale,” David said, twirling her under his arm and letting her go with a slight bow, she responded in kind. River brought his fingers to his mouth and whistled before giving them a round of applause.

“Very good, very good! Ahh, I haven't danced a waltz in years.” David smiled. ‘River, don't loiter in doorways, make yourself useful and make some drinks.”

“I'm not sure I'd call that a waltz, old man.” He teased.

“If it was bad, it's my fault entirely.” Seren flushed.

“Bollocks, you were wonderful.” David chimed in from his armchair. River remained in the doorway, his height and broad shoulders filling the space, blocking her exit. “I should go,” she hesitated in front of him, something in her eyes he couldn't quite interpret. He created a gap for her, but not big enough to stop her body from brushing against his as she made her way past. He followed her to the kitchen.

“Nice dancing. Good day?” He asked, retrieving a bottle of red wine from the rack.

“Yeah, he's had a couple of really good days. There was a few minutes yesterday after he'd had a sleep that he didn't know me. He got pretty angry, but it passed quickly. He's enjoyed being able to read a bit, do some crosswords.” River smiled.

“That's great. I uhh, I actually meant you though?”

“Me?” Seren looked at him, a deer in the headlights. He stepped closer, holding out a glass of wine. She shook her head, “no thank you, I should go.” She said again. He noted her eyes flick to his mouth and back up to meet his gaze. She was nervous. That was the look he hadn't been able to interpret straight away. Now though, he could see it as clear as day. It seemed he wasn't the only one with butterflies. He took a small step closer again, closing the space between them.

“Sure I can't tempt you?” He asked, boldly. His heart pounded, being carried by bravado and bluster alone. Her eyes moved to his mouth again, this time for a little longer. She looked like she was bracing herself.

“No. I need to go.” She replied, confidently but quietly. He took a step back.

“Ok. Maybe next time.” He murmured. “Thank you.” He added sincerely.

“What for?”

“I don't think I've heard him laugh like that for years.”

“It was fun. And to answer your question, I've had a good day too. Definitely picked up towards the end.” She smiled shyly then called out a goodbye to David and left.

Seren wondered if the giddiness she felt was permanent. It felt like it. It felt like it had lasted months. She knew he'd noticed the way she'd looked at him. His ego had grown tenfold as soon as he'd clocked that glance at his mouth. She'd spent the couple of weeks since willing herself to forget him, to pretend she wasn't affected by his presence. It was easily done when he wasn't around, but when he was there he consumed her thoughts. She tried a new tact. If he was there, she'd leave. Either for the day if she wasn't going to be needed later, or to refill the cupboards or tackle various bits of cleaning if she was going to be needed. She encouraged as much as possible that they had time alone together.

“Have you started the crossword yet, Seren?” David asked.

“I have. You're going to love 3 across.” He settled at the kitchen table and pulled the paper towards him and chuckled reading the clue.

“River's on his way.” He told her, scribbling down some answers to the crossword. Seren hummed in response and focused on the flowers she was cutting down for a vase. They soon heard the scratch of River's car on the gravel outside. “Do you think 2 down is cuddle?” David asked, going to add it to the grid. Seren peered down over his shoulder as the back door opened.

“Nope, it's caress,” she took the pen, “see, this one is stamp. It's the first S in caress.”

“So it is.” He muttered, stealing the pen back and filling it in. “Good morning grandson.”

“Morning old man, Seren.”

“Perfect timing. You're on crossword duty, he cheats. I need to go and pick up some shopping.”

“I do not cheat young lady.”

Seren scoffed. “Yeah you do.” She and River scolded him in unison.

“Anyway, I'll be back in a bit.” Seren smiled. She was almost at the safety of her car when River ducked out of the house.

“You're avoiding me.” He stated, opening the car door for her and holding onto it.

“Course I'm not.”

“You are,” he smirked, “you can admit it.”

“I don't need to admit anything. You call me nearly every night, how can I be avoiding you?”

“In person, when I'm here.” He stepped closer but kept the door between them. She laughed.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Every time I show up here, you make yourself scarce. Hiding away upstairs, or going out to the village?” She bit her lip and looked away from him, over his shoulder to the house.

“I'm doing my job.” She muttered lamely. He didn't respond and the silence stretched on. She itched to fill it. “It's important not to confuse David.” One eyebrow arched up but he still didn't respond as she dug deeper. “Not that I intend to confuse him at all. Look, I need to get some food in, otherwise your poor grandfather is going to be stuck with cheese on toast.” Still he didn't reply. “Ugh, fine” She threw up her hands, disgusted with how quickly she'd caved in. “Yes I'm avoiding you. Every chance I get.”

“Was that so hard?” He asked at last, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth which she was trying desperately not to stare at. “We'll talk when you get back. You can tell me about how you're confusing the old bastard and why you're avoiding me.” He teased, gesturing for her to get in the car.

“No chance.” She scowled at him and jumped into the driver's seat, loud 00s pop music filled the air as the car started.

“What is that shit you're listening to?” He laughed, closing the door for her.

“Goodbye, River.” She called through the open window. He watched her drive away, the odd feeling that someone was watching crept over him. He shook it off, the old bastard was rubbing off on him. He went back to the house to check in with David.

He heard her back in the kitchen before he saw her. Leaving David napping on his armchair, River put down the book he'd been reading and found her unpacking the shopping bags and singing quietly and dancing along to whatever had been on the radio in the car. Her hips swayed in time with her singing, she was totally unguarded.

“Coffee?” He asked, making his presence known. She immediately stopped dancing. He found himself wishing he hadn't spoken up so soon.

“That's fab, thank you. David OK?”

“Having a sleep.”

“Good, he said he didn't sleep very well last night. Why on earth does he think someone's watching him?” She asked curiously.

“Probably just paranoid.” River brushed off. “You've not seen anything weird?”

“Weird?” She laughed. “The village isn't exactly Midsomer. No, nothing weird except the perv in the butchers.”

“The butcher has a perv?” He asked with a grin.

She finished filling the fridge and turned back to the bag next to River. They stood elbow to elbow while he made coffee.

“Honestly, every time I go in there he's… staring. Gives me the heebies.” She shivered. “It's a bit League of Gentlemen sometimes. I think the countryside always feels a bit like there's someone right behind you. It's so quiet, it's just unsettling, but then some bloody big dog appears out of nowhere and you realise you're just being an idiot.” He nodded in agreement.

“Let me know if you have any more problems with the perv though, yeah? How's it going now the old bugger isn't being a knob?”

“Oh, he has his moments. But we're definitely getting along a lot better than we were.”

“You're good with him.”

“When he's with it… god, River he's sharp as a pin. His knowledge is incredible,” she sounded almost proud. “It makes it sadder when he's… not quite here.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. He was always the smartest in the room. He used to terrify people at work. It's so weird to see him like this now.” She covered his hand with her own and gave a little squeeze.

“He said they used to call him the Old Bastard,” She smiled. “He's still in there.” She reassured him. He nodded gratefully.

“Yeah, I know. I know I need to do this for him. Look after him like he did me. Anyway, tell me more about avoiding me?” He said, clearing his throat. Seren whined, leaving his mind to wander to places where he could get her to make the same sound again.

“Can we not?” She turned to lean against the sink, her hands covering her face. He laughed.

“You brought it up, not me.”

“You brought it up, I just admitted it. Under coercion, I would like to add.”

“I don't think it's coercion when you're willing.”

“And what gives you the impression that I'm willing?” She demanded. He shifted to put a hand either side of her on the counter.

“Just… intuition.” Seren arched an eyebrow.

“Intuition?” She scoffed. “Doubt it.” He watched her face carefully, clocking each expression as she studiously looked anywhere except at him. He could tell that she was keeping her body as still as possible, but he could also see her mind racing. Finally she met his gaze. Her eyes fluttered shut as his nose grazed her cheek almost experimentally, her breath shaking almost as much as her hands. She felt a tiny kiss behind her ear, her body betraying her with a whimper she was certain he'd heard. His other hand came to rest on her hip, and it set her whole body alight. He held her hip with the most imperceptible grip, giving her exactly enough space to move away but silently begging her not to. She let his hand turn her slightly on the spot so she could face him better. She kept her eyes closed, felt his kiss on her jaw and her cheek before he paused. He rested his forehead against hers, one hand coming to the nape of her neck while the other stayed on her hip. She could hear only their shared breath and she could tell he was giving her enough time and space to say no. She finally opened her eyes. He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before pulling back the tiniest amount. He saw a longing and an intensity he'd never seen before and he took his chance, capturing her mouth with his own again. The hard edge of the counter burned against her back while she could feel River's cock hardening against her hip bone. The analogy of being caught between a rock and a hard place was not lost on her. She slipped a hand just under the edge of his t-shirt. The warm skin of his stomach under her hand pulled her back to reality.

“This should not be happening.” She muttered through the kiss, tearing herself away.

“Why not?”

“What about David? I don't want him to be confused. I don't want him to think I have an ulterior motive for being here.”

River frowned. “Why would he think that?”

“I don't know,” she sighed. Her hands shook with the effort of staying under her control. She felt the warmth of his body as he stood before her, it radiated from him. She leaned in, just a little, her body moving of its own volition. “I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I can't do this.” He squeezed her hip lightly and nodded, pulling back further. In the hallway, came the sounds of David's footsteps making his way from the sitting room to the kitchen and River sprang back away from her without taking his eyes off her.

“Ahh, do I smell coffee?”

“You do, old man, fancy one?” River quickly busied himself with another cup. Seren turned on her heel and plunged her hands into the cold washing up water. He watched her from the corner of his eye, the blush in her cheeks and the slight breathlessness. They were grateful that David hadn't seemed to notice the tension in the room.

“Lovely, shall we sit outside?” David suggested, the sunny afternoon catching his eye.

“I'll bring it out.”

“Excellent, I can tell you what I want to do out there next time you're here.” He said with a chuckle, River rolled his eyes. As soon as David was out of earshot, Seren turned to River.

“I really am sorry.” She said sadly. He held up his hands.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Just a misunderstanding.” He took up the tray, and went out into the garden.

Chapter 3

#river cartwright/you #river cartwright fanfic #river cartwright/reader #rivercartwright/ofc #river cartwright #slowhorsesfanfiction #slow horses #jack lowden #fanfiction #am writing

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mrspockify · 1 year ago

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What if the roles had been reversed? What if his daughter got hurt instead. What if she took the hit for her Uncle Luigi knowing just how important and and he is to her father. Just like she understands how important her siblings are to her, being the oldest, and how the guilt of seeing one of them get hurt would eat at her, and she knows it would her father to, to see his twin in so much pain, knowing he couldn’t save both of them.

Her father always taught that family is the most important thing and she would risk getting hurt if it meant she didn’t lose or see her uncle get or her father lose or see his other half get hurt.

So for her father and uncle’s sake, she takes the hit, nothing too severe but long enough for her to be unconscious for a bit, a scar or two. She may have taken the hit but Luigi jumped in last second to prevent it from being anything life threatening for either of them

Imagine the guilt Mario would feel, hell Luigi would feel the brunt of it all as she took a hit he knew he could take but she saved him anyway. Guilt and anger at himself. Would Mario be angry at him? Is he even able to, knowing how deeply close they were? Would they fight? Would Luigi try to apologize or maybe close himself off, would he even be able to look his dear brother in the eye, with his guilt being so unbearable?

What would Mario do? What could he do? Caught between a rock and a hard place? Is he angry at himself? Luigi, for not protecting his daughter, his daughter for not taking such a hit when she was still so very young?

Mia is very much like her father, and so I can definitely see a self-sacrificial streak making itself known, especially if it means keeping her family safe. She doesn't even think first, doesn't register that she is obviously much more vulnerable than either her father or uncle.

Luigi would be a nervous wreck. He would be eaten alive by guilt, and deep down absolutely terrified that Mario would blame him for what happened. There wouldn't be enough apologies in the world to ease how he felt.

For Mario, I think this would be another rare instance where he let's his own emotions get the best of him, and accidentally let's it bleed out and hurt his loved ones. He's completely terrified, and seeing his unconscious daughter after she gets hit (the brief terror he felt when he wasn't even sure if she was alive) does something irreparable to him. He takes it out on everyone, snapping at Luigi every time he tries to apologize, lashing out at Peach when she tries to tell him she understands (she doesn't, she wasn't there, she didn't see how still their daughter was).

Worst of all, he takes it out on Mia. It starts as a tense lecture, but when Mia cuts in and tries to defend her actions he just loses it. He starts getting heated, demanding why she would ever think that was okay, telling her what a stupid decision that was, threatening things he would never normally threaten (you're never allowed out of sight again, you're never leaving the castle unattended, etc.). It ends abruptly after he leans in, hands so close to her face while he signs that she can feel the air stir, and he asks Are you trying to get yourself killed? Are you trying to kill me?

She bursts into tears, and he realizes suddenly, as she flinches away, that she's scared of him. Obviously he would change tactics immediately and hurry to reassure her and apologize. He’d have to explain that he’s not really mad at her, he’s just terrified about losing her. It’s his and Luigi’s job to take care of her, not the other way around. He just wants her to understand that.

#ask #Mario #dad mario #dad Mario is p much always mute in my mind lol

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morgueofstories · 11 months ago

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Dark Farfadream Royalty AU

So the Dark Farfadream Royalty AU won by a landslide so I will be talking about that. Be warned this will contain some dark themes like non/con, torture, miscarriage mentions, and just Dream going through the wringer for this idea

TW mentions of rape, miscarriage, and torture in graphic detail read at your own risk

Farfadox is the Demon King who came out victorious in a war against the kingdom of Essempi. To not have the kingdom destroyed, the nobles agree to a list of demands the Demon King has given them, one of the demands being they give him a bride because his previous spouse died and he has no heirs to his throne.

On the final day before departure, Farfadox is handed his bride who he notices is dressed in a wedding dress too big that covers the bride completely. The bride has a veil covering their face but Farfadox can see that his bride-to-be is trembling in fear as they are pushed into the Demon King's arms, ignoring the snide remarks from the soldiers who brought him his bride, he lifts the veil covering their face to see beautiful emerald green eyes filled with tears staring back at him. His bride's face is heavily scarred but to Farfadox, his bride is one of the most beautiful people in the world he has seen

Dream, Essempi's princess turned prince has been locked away in prison after his family was overthrown and executed by the NotFound family with him only being alive due to the NotFound family's son who took an interest in him. After an incident, Dream was tortured and assaulted for many years until he was given to Farfadox being told he wouldn't even survive the first night

Side Notes:

Dream is trans but he was misgendered during his imprisonment and when he is offered to Farfadox he doesn't bother trying to correct him whenever Farfadox addresses him as a 'she'

The reason why Farfadox wasn't enraged when Dream was given to him as his bride after being told Dream was a prisoner is that in demon culture it's not uncommon for their people to sometimes marry slaves; Farfadox's father was a gladiator slave before his mother married him

During his time imprisoned, Dream was impregnated against his will and had multiple kids which are Ranboo (kicked out of the house at a young age due to how 'different' he looked and now lives in the forest at the edge of a village), Connor (living in fear with his dad who is a raging alcoholic), Hannah and Tina (half-sisters who are constantly abused by their stepmother but their half-sister Sylvee tries her best to keep them safe even if it means taking the brunt of her mother's abuse) and Yogurt (who was actually the only consensual pregnancy Dream had with Fundy after Fundy was forced by his dad Wilbur to sleep with Dream)

The reason why Dream was saved from being executed was because George had seen Dream once as a kid and wanted him as his wife, so another kid was executed in Dream's place. Over the course of a year after the rebellion he gets close to Dream and when he tries to initiate sex Dream gets scared, lashes out and on accident breaks George's nose; this then leads to Dream getting raped by George, beaten by some knights who then are given permission to use him as they see fit

Before Dream is sent off to Farfadox, he is gang-raped for hours and was told he was sent off because he couldn't produce any more kids so Dream doesn't say a word to Farfadox about the assault until a couple months later he wakes up feeling nauseous and finds out he is pregnant (it's George's kid) but loses the baby a couple weeks later

Techno is Dream's Godfather and emperor of the Antartic Empire, a small kingdom. He was devastated when he heard of the rebellion and execution but he couldn't declare war as his kingdom was smaller and not as powerful compared to Essempi

Farfadox and Dream eventually work things out and Dream gets all the help he needs to fully heal and a couple years later the two have sex and eventually Dream gets pregnant with twins

My inbox is open for asks so feel free to ask me anything about this au as this is one that I've been fleshing out for a while and will publish after Wither Roses is done

#farfadream #nethersmile #c!dream #dreblr #farfadox #morgue's writing #dark farfadream royalty au

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alexanderlightweight · 2 years ago

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Wednesday prompt :) what if the reason Valentine made Luke a wolf was that a wronged nephilim in a parabatai bond can declare the other an oathbreaker, to trigger divine judgement, and if the judgement finds fault with the other you get back your soul piece and the other is punished? What if Alec, faced with another entitled and selfish rant, just snaps and declares Jace an oathbreaker?

okay so I couldn't figure out a way that would work like you were wanting but i did really like the idea that traditionally, a ritual with the silent brothers as a conduit to raziel is the only one allowed to judge and break a parabatai bond

this is actually an au of all your cracks i'll paint gold. because my thought is that an alec who didn't have the faith or hope to wait to give jace till the very last minute (because until the first rune is taken, some part of alec still believes jace is coming). this alec knows he's about to be deruned and he wants to lose his parabatai bond on his own terms. because fuck if he's going to let the clave tear him from jace, he's going to ask raziel to judge them and whoever ends up taking the brunt, so be it. because only raziel can judge the bond between him and jace.

also a part of alec expects to be the one judged as an oathbreaker. he's really tangled up in his own thoughts at this point and he knows he's not thinking straight which makes him doubt himself.

alec wants answers and to fuck the clave by not letting them get their way.

also tbh, for parabatai, i think the loss of the bond itself, especially not knwing what is happening would feel like divine punishment itself. especially for two peple who are so devout to the bond.

i hope you still enjoy <3

lumine

Alec doesn’t know what to do, but there is only one thing left to try and Jace is going to lose him either way. This is the most selfish thing Alec’s ever done in his life and he almost doesn’t do it, until he thinks about how long he’s been sitting here, alone.

Jace isn’t coming. Alec knows that at this point. Wherever his parabatai is with Clary, it’s far beyond anywhere that Alec can reach him in time.

And Alec can’t stay sitting here, waiting to be deruned whenever Imogen gets bored of making him wait.

Treated like he isn’t a Commander and not even given the choice of someone as a witness of his own to keep watch.

“I demand the presence of a Silent Brother for an oath.” Alec rasps to the next shadowhunters who pass, and they wince, looking at him with concern but they shake their heads.

Imogen has scared them all with his imprisonment and Alec is paying the price. Alec is normally the backbone of his Institute, the shield between him and the clave and while they trust him to do that, Alec’s never been their official leader or had the chance to make these hunters completely his.

It’s with a snarl and the determination of spite in his heart — because what was the point of any of this? Of denying himself and Magnus even a moment of anything if this is the way things end — and Alec spits his blood and saliva onto the ground.

It’s grueling work.

Alec was already tired from patrol and the mess with Meliorn when they dragged him to a cell and pronounced him a traitor. There’s been no soul sword and no trial. They want an example and they’re not afraid to use Alec as one.

Where once, Alec would have assumed he had the protection and privilege of the Lightwood name, he knows now that none of it is true. He’s protected himself and his siblings by his own merits, despite their name, all of these years.

So, Alec reaches deep within himself and calls forward the blood magic that every nephilim is told about but rarely any ever attempt.

It’s a brutal, vicious magic that can turn even the simplest of magical desires into an onslaught of eldritch curses.

Alec uses the blood from his split lip and cut cheek and paints a series of runes before placing his hand down and willing it to activate.

His fingers shatter from the pressure he’s using t push down at the same time the array activates and Alec smiles in satisfaction, copper thick on his tongue.

—

“The Silent Brothers have been summoned and so will remain, especially for a trial we were not notified of.”

“Because this isn’t a trial.” Alec rasps out, “I’ve been asked no questions and offered no recourse. I request two things of the Silent Brothers, one of each.”

“Your requests?”

“I declare a broken oath between parabatai. I wish to let the angel judge my parabatai and I’s bond, not the clave.”

Alec isn’t going to fight his deruning, he can’t.

But he’s not going to let the clave strip away his bond, the angel himself can do that.

“The second request?”

“After the first is finished.” Alec says firmly, not about to let them know that his request depends on how the ritual goes.

“Very well. You will need a warlock to maintain your vitals.”

Alec hates to do it, but there isn’t a warlock who he trusts more than Magnus and Alec is very tired of being betrayed.

—

“What is going on?” Magnus asks tightly, because the Institute is full of strange nephilim and there isn’t a single one he recognizes. Which normally isn’t strange, except it wasn’t like this even a week ago.

“You’ve been requested to monitor and maintain the vitals of the nephilim, Alexander Gideon Lightwood, during a ritual.” The Silent Brother escorting him informs him with their invasive way of communication.

Magnus freezes, because this sounds dangerously close to the idea that he’ll be holding Alexander’s life in his hands.

“And he knows I am the warlock working with him?”

“You are the only warlock he would agree to work with.”

Magnus wonders at what that means and curses the flare of hope in his chest. As he enters the room he frowns, noticing it’s heavily guarded by what are clearly clave guards.

They sneer as he passes and Magnus lets his glamour drop, smirking as they flinch from him. The cell-like quality of the room means he’s not prepared for Alexander when he enters, though he should be.

Alexander looks exhausted and worse than Magnus has ever seen him, and his eyes are dull. There’s a small spark, the softening of Alexander’s gaze on him. When their eyes meet there is wonder and curiosity for a brief heartbeat before Magnus’ glamour goes back up and Alexander’s eyes drop to the floor.

“Well, this is not how I imagined seeing you again.” Magnus says, trying to soften his words but he’s surprised, and he can’t help it and the hope makes him coy. “In my dreams, I imagined crashing your wedding. Not being summoned here to keep you alive.”

Alexander lets out a hoarse, defeated laugh and shakes his head. “There’s not going to be a wedding to crash, Magnus. I’m being deruned for treason. If I’m alive in a week, it’ll be considered impressive.”

Magnus feels his heart crack with the icy hands that have suddenly grabbed it.

“Tell me, everything, Alexander. Now.”

Alec sends him a weary, hopeless gaze and then shrugs, his hoarse voice forming words that tear into Magnus’ cracking heart.

—

Alec recites the words of his oath, the one that will allow Raziel to judge the bonds of his and Jace’s soul.

If he’s to lose this, then he’s going to do it by his own choice.

He expects the pain, when it comes, but it’s more excruciating than he thought it would be.

The part of Jace’s soul that is melded with his own is burrowed tightly. It writhes and tugs and fights leaving, and Alec is too tired to do anything but accept the pain and the struggle. He doesn’t even have the energy to fight for himself, he certainly doesn’t have the energy to fight for Jace one last time.

Instead, he lets him go and wonders, whose soul will be returned to who.

—

Magnus has never seen such a gruesome, intimate ritual in all of his life, and it galls him at how many are watching it. He’s keeping Alexander’s heart beating only through the strength of his magic, or Alexander would be lifeless on the flat table they’ve laid him on. There is nothing to comfort him or ease him from the cold marble and Magnus seethes that he wasn’t allowed to add any kind of magical cushioning.

It’s as if they want Alexander to feel the most discomfort possible.

He can see it in Alexander’s eyes, the surprise and confusion of waking up and it breaks apart the walls he tried so hard to hastily rebuild.

Alexander didn’t expect to wake up and Magnus was the only one he trusted to make sure that if he did die, he was properly taken care of. Death is an intimate affair for shadowhunters, and Magnus knows the honor he’s been given, but every part of this except keeping Alexander alive feels like a curse.

Because what could have happened in the mere days since they last talked and saw each other, to send Alexander spiraling so low? When he was so proud in his own misguided beliefs the last time they saw each other.

“His soul and bond have been judged. Alexander Lightwood’s soul has been returned to him; he has not broken the oath of his bond.”

Alexander doesn’t look pleased by the pronouncement, if anything the distress and grief grow before they’re hidden away. It’s then that Magnus realizes, while there are a variety of important shadowhunters, there isn’t a single person there connected to Alexander.

“Is family not allowed?” He asks casually, smirking at the Silent Brother, because all of their order know Magnus’ reputation enough that it’s better to indulge his curiosity.

“There was no family willing or available to come.” Is what he’s told instead of something like, ‘they’re not allowed’ and Magnus, Magnus itches with the urge to destroy something.

“And Alexander?”

Whatever information Magnus is about to learn, is interrupted by Alexander himself.

“My second request, to the Silent Brothers. To request the right of severance. A trial of law.”

Magnus is curious and he raises an eyebrow imperiously at the Silent Brother standing near him. Magnus hears the mental sigh before he’s told, “to request such a thing, means the clave has first betrayed the nephilim requesting it. There is no risk besides the soul sword knowing it is a lie and he is still due to be deruned. If he cuts himself from the clave, the clave cannot destroy first destroy him.”

“Does he need a magical aid?” Magnus asks without thinking, because of course he wants to help Alexander get away from the people doing this to him.

“Only comfort, when the strength of his own will finally fails him.”

Magnus wonders what that means but he has no further interest in what is being said and he takes the five steps that separate him and Alexander.

“What will happen, when you succeed in the next ritual?”

“I might fail.”

“You won’t.” Magnus assures him, his fingers light as he boldly places his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. Alexander stiffens for a moment and Magnus almost moves, before Alexander visibly relaxes and leans even closer.

“I’ll be allowed to leave the clave, though I doubt any Institute will take me. I wouldn’t trust them either, not anymore.” It’s a bitter thing for Alexander to admit and Magnus can tell. “I’ll still have my runes; I won’t be hunted. I can hide in the edges of the mundane world if I need to. I’m sure Night Markets have some use for what I can hunt.”

Magnus tsks and tightens his grip on Alexander’s shoulder and sends a soothing, warming pulse through Alexander’s muscles. His shadowhunter has been shivering since the ritual and not a single shadowhunter has offered him a blanket.

This entire time he’s been dressed in thin clothes, the kind nephilim are buried in, as if his fate is already decided on. Magnus is going to burn the horrendously white shirt and pants Alexander is wearing and never let him wear the color again.

After Alexander agrees… of course.

—

Alexander’s voice is low, but strong as he speaks his truth upon the soul sword. It carries across the room as he grips the soul sword and speaks. He looks at no one but Magnus as he talks, repeating line for line the various laws the clave have broken in his case. Even Imogen looks a little pale when he’s done, as if hearing the truth of her own crimes is worse the committing them.

Alexander seems stunned when he’s finished.

As if he didn’t really think it would work, as if he thought he might actually be in the wrong and Magnus heart breaks.

“Alexander—” Magnus murmurs as he walks towards him, for his shadowhunter’s eyes haven’t once looked away from Magnus’ unglamoured ones. His dark eyes are weary as he watches Magnus, there’s no satisfaction in having one.

Hazel eyes widen in shock as Alexander watches Magnus reach out and wrap his fingers around the hilt of the soul sword.

“None of it has ever been a game. I would cherish you, darling. Far more than the clave, your family, your parabatai or even your exalted angel, Raziel.” The sword doesn’t stop him from speaking, because it isn’t a lie. Raziel cares little for the race he created and what Magnus is starting to feel for Alexander can’t be matched even by a divine being.

Let alone the petty, hateful mortals that have brutalized Alexander’s heart and soul so badly.

“What if you get tired?” Alexander asks and Magnus knows he’s too worn to voice the ‘of me’ aloud.

“I will keep you for every moment of your life.” Magnus tells him, swearing upon an angelic relic that croons temptingly to the corrupted blood in Magnus. “I will never throw you from me. Or give up on you. Whatever exists between us, it can grow to whatever we let it and no matter what that is, I will never abandon you. You, just you, would be enough, Alexander.”

Alexander wraps his trembling arms around Magnus and nods, “then take me away. Please, Magnus. From all of it.”

Magnus smirks at the one Silent Brother who never approached him and Jem nods in return. If his friend hadn’t told him about the properties of the soul sword in detail, this never would have worked. However, Jem isn’t afraid to toe the line of nephilim law and Magnus has never seen him so enraged as he was when he pressed against Magnus’ mind in secrecy earlier.

The clave cannot refute Magnus’ words, not when sworn on the soul sword or witnessed by two Silent Brothers and that means that this is binding.

The clave no longer has any say or power over Alexander, only Magnus does.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #shadowhunters #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #the bonds i'd break #deruned alec au

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