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slashingdisneypasta · 2 years ago

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Jim Bickerman x Reader || Oneshot

Little christmas present to myself, don't mind me.

Plot: Set during Lake Placid Vs Anaconda | You get a good chunk of your leg bitten off by a crocodile and Murdoch wants to leave you behind, but Jim wont let her.

Warnings: Crocodile attack/gore related to that

You didn't even see it coming. You heard that something was nearby, and Beach saying to raise your weapons while Murdoch demanded you all to be cautious, in case its one of her beloved snakes- but it came from behind and you didn't have time to even turn around before the crocodiles was right behind you.

Beach did- he lunged and tried to yank you out of the way- and that kept the monster from biting off your whole lower half but it still managed to catch one of your legs. Its jaw clamped around your leg, huge teeth digging into your knee and tearing skin while you let out a terrible scream. Your gun flies out of your hand when you fall and crash in the dirt.

You try to get away anyway from it, forcing yourself to tug at your leg, but that of course only makes it worse. The pain is immeasurable, and you think you're going to pass out and die- get swallowed up by one of these fucking crocs even after everything the last time you were here.

It feels like forever that the crocodile rips at your limb but must have really been only a few moments, before bullets rain down on the beast and it finally stops. As you're breathing heavily, watching in absolute terror, as it slowly stops moving and both Beach and another of Murdoch's remaining guards rush over to pull its mouth open- to release your shredded leg.

"Oh god... " You whisper, before biting down on your bottom lip as you look at it; Fighting off another scream. No... No no no-

"Get out the medical kit!" You hear Beach bark behind you, once they'd managed to drag the crocodiles corpse out of the way and gently lay your leg down on the grass. The sounds of the other guard cursing and Murdoch yelling about something also fill your ears but you choose to focus on Jim, kneeling beside you looking alarmed and not-at-all confident about your leg.

He helps you to sit up, hauling you up with his good hand before holding you up with his bad. You dig one hand into the mud behind you to help keep yourself up, eyes filled with tears looking at your poor leg. "Okay- alright, sweetheart, we're gonna, uh... wrap that up, for ya. And we'll getcha to a hospital, and they'll fix it up. It'll be fine." Your free hand finds his and he lets you squeeze it as hard you like- no complaint. "Just don't, uh... don't go moving it... "

"I- I don't think I could if I wanted to." You force out, watching Beach fall to his knees with bandages and a sturdy-looking stick he found, by the destroyed appendage.

Jim looks awkward, and worried; Eyes flickering from your face to your leg. "Oh, well, good. Look, ah- worst comes to worst- you just get one a these old things, eh?" With his hook, he reaches back and pats his own prosthetic leg, a wonky grin on his face that you hold onto. "No big deal, hey? Yeah, its gon' be alright... yeahh, just fine... "

"Hey!" Murdoch snaps, then, standing above you all with a disgusted scowl on her face. "What are we doing?? We need to move on! My snakes- "

You watch Jim roll his eyes heavily, then, trying not to snap at her- and failing miserably watching you back- your eyes are getting heavy and your grip on his hand looser. "Oh, shut up about your goddamn snakes, bitch. With any luck, the crocs already made a meal outta them."

Murdoch's eyes flash at the back of his head. "... No. No, I cant believe that. And it would do you good to keep your thoughts to yourself Bickerman."

"... considering you already paid me, I don't see why... " He mutters sarcastically, an underlying trace of malice in tone; Face dark as he stays focused on you. His good eye flickers over your body still- making sure that you're breathing, checking how much blood you're losing, how Beach is going wrapping you up, and then tightening his grip on you when he sees how badly its going... You just take deep breaths, letting your eyes fall shut so you don't have to look at your leg anymore, and... because you're suddenly also really... really tired... "Hey, hey- no, no sleepin', ey princess? Stay awake... "

"Mm... don't think I... can... " God, you're passing out. All that blood loss stealing all of your strength away, making your eyelids so so heavy... you don't think it would be possible to lift them open again. You rest your upper body against Jim and take a deep, shuddering breath. "I... don't think I can... Jim... "

"Yeah, hey Bickerman I don't recommend she take a nap right now." You hear Beach call, still wrapping all the gauze they have around your leg and the stick

"Yeah, I got that, thanks so fucking much." Jim growls, and you feel it more then you hear it. Actually his voice is starting to sound like he's underwater. Or you're underwater. Where are you again?... Something cold and metallic presses against the delicate skin beneath your chin and pushes your face upwards. You feel panicked, heavy breathing on your face. "Uh uh... no... damnit Y/N!... Open up your eyes again- ... now!"

Jim's words cut in and out, sleep overwhelming you- and then, it all goes black.

"... she's asleep." Murdoch informs, leaning over your body and peering at you like some stinky road kill they just dragged off the highway, before giving a sigh and straightening up. "Its better that way. Come on- "

Shaking his head carefully, Jim lets your head fall against his shoulder, removing his prosthetic from your face. "We aint going anywhere, 'ma'am'... " The tone in his voice is dark, and angry, and it makes the business woman stop. She looks to Beach with a glare, waiting for him to do something about this.

But he doesn't.

"Look- she's asleep now. She wont feel any pain when she dies." She says it as if its a certainty, and Jim sets his jaw hard, the only thing keeping him from threatening this bitch with a gun being his unwillingness to lay you down in the dirt. "We don't have time to sit by and hold her hand through it, that's suicide. So lean her up against a tree somewhere and lets go!"

At this Jim doesn't even respond, unable to form words to accurately describe how much he is not leaving you here. He just glances at Beach, who's just finishing your leg up, having used up all the bandages they had for emergencies in order to curb the bleeding, and knotting it tightly. Without looking up, he shakes his head sternly. "The others were dead Murdoch, we had to leave them. I get that... but L/N's still breathing. We cant just leave her defenceless."

"Then leave her a gun! If she miraculously comes to- she'll have it to protect herself with."

Beach just glares, his mind fully set on this matter- he might have to work for her but he doesn't have to become someone else to do it. Then he gets up, walks around your body and gestures like he's going to pick you up- asking Jim, silently with his eyes, if that would be alright.

Poking his tongue into his cheek, Jim gives Beach a careful glare. "... son if anything happens to her, I'll be happy to shoot ya dead before y'can say 'oops'... " Slowly, he nods though and helps to stabilize you in the other mans arms.

Beach slowly stands up, getting used to your weight, while Murdoch watches- dumbfounded and pissed at the blatant insubordination happening in front of her.

"... She'll slow us down." She snaps, as if they don't know that.

This time, Jim has his hands free and scrambles to his feet- grabbing his rifle on the way and pointing it at her without blinking an eye. For a moment he doesn't say a damn thing, just carefully watches the cocky look that was on her face initially, give way to a lick of fear when he turns the safety off in her face. "... I'm not gonna say it again- Y/N's comin' with us whether you like or not, snake lady. So if I were you I'd get with the goddamn program, eh?"

No one has ever accused Jim of being a good man, but he's about to pop a bullet in this bitches face and he's not even going to blink about it. "... Don't you talk about her like that,"

But she doesn't let up, even then. "Surely, dragging your dying whore through the woods is just going to hurt everyone else in the end, huh?"

"Murdoch," Beach pipes up, stealing both their attentions. "Its 2 against one- I'm sorry, but we're bringing her along."

"I'm the boss here!- " Murdoch exclaims, disbelief in her tone at everything that is happening right now. All for some- some- invalid?? She didn't even want this chick on this expedition, she wanted Jim but apparently they're a 'package deal' as you had told her when she tried to make off with him- ugh.

Rolling his eyes, losing some of his steam from a moment ago, Jim gives a great sigh. "You're about to be the boss a the underworld if you keep talkin', woman."

Finally Murdoch stops arguing, glaring between the two men and at your pale body propped up in Beach's straining arms- your head drooping backwards into empty air in a way that's definitely going to ache when you wake up again. Its useless, she thinks, eye twitching. They're idiots, and the mission is going to fail because of it.

But, it seems there's nothing she can do about it. "Fine- lets try and find my snakes quick. And you better hope they're alive, Bickerman. Because if they're not- " Murdoch flashes an ugly glare the old mans way. One he doesn't much care about, lowering his gun back to his side and shaking his head. "You'll be paying for it."

"Oooh, shaking in my boots...," He growls back, rolling his eyes. As long as you're alright, he could not care less what Murdoch could do to him. He's gotten out of worse scrapes.

As the group trudges on, Jim's eyes glide back over to you, still unconscious in the Terminators arms up ahead, and gives a frustrated huff; Hurrying to catch up with them with his own bad leg slowing him down. "Watch her head, wouldja?? C'mon, now- "

When you woke up, you were alone, on a beach, with a gun in your hand. It was terrifying, waking up at Blackwater, way too close to the lake for your tastes, with one gored leg. You didn't know where everyone went, or how much time had past by since you passed out, or anything. All you did know was that you had to move.

It was difficult, but you managed to force yourself up against the tree you were propped against. All you were thinking was how you cannot die in this hell. And where did everyone go?? Where's Jim??

So, taking a deep breath, you tucked the gun into the back of your jeans and walked.

The bad news- the bones in your leg were most definitely broken, and the skin was torn to shreds, and it hurt like hell to put any kind of weight on the limb, but the good news?? It worked. Feeling it meant it was still there, you supposed, and at least you had it. With just a stump, you aren't sure what you would have done.

You managed to walk 10 minutes into the tree line, searching for any signs of... anything. Crocs being the worst case scenario, the fence being the best. Nothing turned up- but you began to hear something.

Is that... laughing?? What in the name of hell is going on-

OH Jim. Its Jim. You only know one person crazy enough to sound like that and you would bet good money that it was him. "Oh- damnit!" You try to move a little quicker, to find him, but your leg screams at you for it and you have to pause and take some deep breaths to curb the pain. "Okay... okay... I'm sorry... we'll go slow... "Sucking in a final deep breath, you start up again, moving very, very cautiously, with your arms held out at your sides for balance; Taking only tiny little steps in hopefully the right direction. "Hooohhhhkay... "

The laugh turns into more a drunk chuckle after a few moments, but you know you're closer because you can hear it much more clearly now and, yes, its definitely Jim. You would know his voice anywhere.

"... Jim??" You call out, taking a chance that if there were crocodiles nearby- they would have come at the sound of laughing earlier.

"... I must be goin' crazy... " You hear him sigh, then chuckle again- and you roll your eyes.

But you're also pleased- because if this is a trick created by your own head and blood loss, then its a really really good one. And you're not that creative. "Nope- you went crazy a long time ago! Now- ah, fuck. Now you're just going dumb- where are you??"

There's a pause as you struggle through the trees, towards another beach. You can practically see Jim's face in your mind, trying to decide whether he's hearing things or what. You give a heavy sigh. "Do I have to insult you again old man or are you gonna help me out here?"

Finally you see him, laying on the beach covered in blood not 10 feet away. Your heart drops, because this is the second time you've seen him like this and you're honestly so sick of it.

When you get to him, you ease yourself down to the sand and wince when your leg stings at having to bend. When you're forced to drop the last foot down because your leg just wont bend anymore, you let out an 'ooft!' and an 'ow'. "You're alive, then... happy to see it, dumplin'... Now- now whatcha gonna do, huh? Heheh, you gonna- heh- gonna tear off bits a your clothes to set my wounds with? Cuz I- I got a lotta wounds... and I could get behind that."

"I'm sure you could," You humour him, shaking your head. Then you just sit and assess him for a moment, eyes gliding up and down his body- and sigh. Why. "... We can never come back to this fucking lake."

"Oh," Jim chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm with ya there, sweetheart."

"Good." You nod, resting your chin in your hand and your elbow in your non-injured leg, and leaning over his head to give him a soft little grin.

"Unless they offer me a lotta cash, and I mean buckets and buckets of- " The grin slips right off your face, and he starts to laugh again.

"No- "

"Ah ah ah," He suddenly leans up off the sandy dirt, managing hook his good hand around your neck and pull you down into a salty-tasting kiss. You let your eyelids fall closed, an absolute sucker for his kisses; And for a good long moment, it feels like neither of you are potentially bleeding out. When he pulls back again, theirs a wicked grin on his face that's oddly comforting, to you. "... I was just kiddin'."

... Sighing, you roll your eyes with a bemused grin, and straighten up again while he lays there and laughs - like the insane old man he is, - taking the moment to yourself to just wonder how you're going to make it out of here. Its going to be tough.

... at least he's alive, though.

#Jim Bickerman x Reader Oneshot #Oneshot #Jim Bickerman x Reader #Jim Bickerman #Lake Placid #Lake Placid; The Final Chapter #Lake Placid Vs Anaconda

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years ago

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There was a Girl...

Pairing | Jace Wayland x reader

Summary | When Clary becomes a shadowhunter, she notices how cold and ruthless Jace is. Every one seems to relate to his pain, not resonating at quite the same level. They’re all mourning nevertheless.

Warnings | Mentions of death, brief smut (handjob), angst, heartbreak, unrequited feelings (for Clary)

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Opening your eyes, you awoke to Jace's chest, his blonde hair falling over his face. You preferred how it looked when it was a little bit scruffy instead of slicked back, and you reached for one of the hanging strands. They were like seams of gold, reflecting from the light that hid within him.

Most people had the wrong perspective on the young man, they only saw a well skilled shadow hunter. But they ignored the smart and witty, yet simultaneously charming person that he was underneath all of his runes. His parabatai Alec was familiar with the set of abilities that his brother figure had, and all that he would accomplish. People thought, because of Jace’s distorted, and confusing past, that he was just another warrior to serve whatever institute that he was sent to.

But in fact, he was not. His duty would always be, to put his family and friends first. He liked to put you on the top of the list, but you always felt the need to scrap that idea, claiming that you could not be his priority from start to finish. It was as though you knew what you future held for you, and how indeed, he could not manage to protect every person that he cared about. The prospect was a great responsibility, far too much for one shadow hunter, even if they be among the best of their kind.

To put such a weight on your own shoulders was defiantly cruel, it would always end in failure, no matter what was done to prevent said downfall. There was never a possibility of saving everyone, that was insanity. The monsters had to kill, in order for you all to remain outside of Idris, and continue on with your heaven sent duty.

“Jace?” You could tell he was awake from how he smiled at the sound of your voice. “Come on.” It was an attempt to encourage him, but you were quick to realise that it wasn’t working. He didn’t like mornings all that much, for good reason too, after all you were shadowhunters.

“Jace.” Your voice became louder and clearer, up to the point where it no longer sounded like your own. He looked away from the screen, to see the new girl watching him. She had an expectant glaze to her green eyes, which were much different from the shield that was covering his own. His pools were surrounded by a shadow of grief, pulling down the entirety of his face to the point where it looked as though he no longer wanted to live.

And that wasn’t entirely incorrect, he struggled at life, often never finding a moment of happiness, and if he did, then he would paint a smile upon his face and wear it to satisfy everyone else around. He had tried to cope with the loss that burdened his heart so gravely, yet nothing made it feel okay. You’d want him to move on, whether it be to lose his vengeful esteem concerning your passing, or find someone else to confide in late at night, to stay up with talking as his head rested upon the pillow, that he needed to wash, so it didn’t smell like you.

Or even, if not to share a bed with this new person, your overall plan as you sat with the angels above would be to find some kind of peace. But that appeared to be the last thing that he wanted as he digitally scoured the city of New York for monsters to uncover, and kill. If he couldn’t protect you, the love of his life, then he would settle for doing so with humans, after all, that had been the way that you had gone. The job had been your passion, yet simultaneously your downfall, and he’d be fine if one of these days he failed to tackle a beast, and it got to him first.

“Clary.” He greeted her, wanting to remove a dangerous monster from the streets by decapitating it. In memory, he would use your favourite blade, spilling blood upon its glowing stake to keep your legacy continuing, although, it did not do much but serve to release Jace’s frustrations. It was a day in which he wanted to speak to nobody, have nobody following him, nor asking him mundane questions about what it meant to be a shadowhunter. Hell, he didn’t even know! To him, the lifestyle was nothing more than accommodated anguish, though, he had been told not to promote it using those words, otherwise, there wouldn’t exactly be many people lining up to join the adverse fight.

And one of the people that he had in mind concerning excitement over a dire and ‘exciting’ lifestyle was Clary. She was naive, and whilst she didn’t know everything, today wasn’t particularly the day in which he wished to explain it to her. It, being predominantly anything. Whilst he had managed to be nice to her during the first few days, it was out of courtesy, considering Alec had an instant distaste towards the wide eyed redhead; he wasn’t sure why, but he supposed that Clary could see a detail of himself that was hidden from the others.

However, even through Jace’s welcoming exterior, was in pain. The feeling tormented him, denying him a break from the patronising pressure, leaving him to hold blame to nobody but himself. The hurt was cemented into his eyes, reflecting as he watched all other tragedies with a stone cold expressions, them hardly affecting him, because he had and was experiencing the worst routine of torture that was possible to him. He had watched you die, and nothing could take those horrific memories from him, no matter how much he wanted them gone.

That was the last time that he saw you. When you passed in his arms, a large wound in your abdomen pouring out with blood, drowning his desperate hands as he tried his utmost to put pressure on the life threatening injury. He wanted to save you but he didn’t know how, his training had always claimed that killing the monsters was more important than saving the life of a shadowhunter from an unknown bloodline. There had been nothing to prepare him for that day in the field, he was a fighter, and taught to be so, not a healer; he wasn’t a medic, he was just a warrior. “What do you want?” Blatantly fell from his round lips as he cast an eye towards the newbie, unimpressed by her timing, or her presence at all.

Clearly, she hadn’t received the memo to leave him be, especially today out of all the rest. Alec, having the personalised intel as to why Jace was emitting a solitary rut understood why he wished to be alone, and respected the space, granting him as much time to himself as he wanted. And whilst Alec was your friend also, he could feel the deep longing that was stabbing his parabatai in the chest, and it killed him too. Your death had been so unexpected, and now without you, there was a void within the institute. And the archer felt as though Clary was trying to fill it, and he saw that as nothing more than disrespect, though she was probably ignorant to the history that wandered the halls.

Her face revelled back at his tone, but nevertheless she continued on with her prying. “I was wondering if I could join you on the hunt, I’m getting better, Izzy even said so.” Jace refrained from rolling his eyes, and contained the feeling that was trying to burst out of his chest. It was anger, directed at everyone that was still alive, including himself. There was no fairness in it, to say that he was sad was an understatement, he was eternally devastated, the death of you had broken him, crumbled him into a figure that he no longer recognised.

“No, you can’t Clary.” He dismissed her, walking away, and going to grab his seraph so that he could hunt this sucker down, and bring upon the same kind of pain to its family as its kind had down to him. God, did you look badass as you swung it, and the thought alone had tears resonating in his unmatched eyes, thinking of how it was the last relic that remained of you.

Walking casually into the armoury, Jace had his hands prized in the depths of his pockets, as his expert and quick fleeting eyes focalised on you, and the weapon within your hold. Your body leant in harmony with the blade, the sound of it woosh-img in the air satisfying to all that could hear; that being only you and the Wayland boy.

“Can i not train in peace?” You groaned, lowering the blade whence you realised that you were being watched. The eyes trailed up your side where your shirt had ridden up, raking over the rune that you had drew upon your skin only this morning. A light laugh fell from Jace’s lips as he stalked forward, taking your seraph out of your hand, and going to lob it upon the ground, but the stern look in your eyes stopped him. Instead, against his nature, he placed it down as though it were made of glass, and rose to stand before you once more.

“Not when you look that good.” The blonde retorted with a sly smirk, sliding his hands up the sides of your hips, finding absolute solace in the feel of your skin. He could be against you forever, and he would not complain, so long as it did last for such a time. “Makes me want to do things to you y/n y/l/n. Terrible things. What would the heads think?” He asked, in reference to those that were in charge of the institute.

Stifling down remarked laughter at his sensually intended words, you raised your forefinger to the space above his brows, and poked him with enough pressure, so that he would pay attention to the notion. “That you’re not thinking with your own.” You went to cross your arms, but instead, Jace grabbed them, moving down to cast his hand over your own.

“Oh, I’m not.” The shadowhunter confirmed, placing your hand upon the crotch of his sweats, applying enough force behind his grip so that you could feel him twitching. “I am indeed having thoughts from elsewhere, would you like to see my sweet?” Licking your lips, you nodded, watching as he peeled the layer away, wrapping your hand around his base, and giving him a few jerks, feeling his pulse race through his cock.

“Tell me more about what you’re thinking my love.” You bit your bottom lip, fluttering your eyelashes up at him, only to reverberate a groan from the blonde male. He panted as your pace quickened, and he was almost certain that he was going to spray his jizz all over the floor if you did not uphold your sexual administrations. His head leant back, as pleasured sounds broke through the clenching of his teeth.

And then, it all stopped as a voice, dressed in absolute disgust, written over with unmotivated shock, interrupted your little exchange. “Really guys, this is a gym, not your damned bedroom. The two of you really are disgusting!” It was Alec, and he cringed at the fact that he had seen his best friend’s cock being stroked in your grasp. Yeah, he wasn’t going to be training today, or at least, not in the asserted place for it.

“Clary.” Izzy called her name, wearing a short lived smile. Whence she studied the expression of the redhead, she was quick to pay attention to the disappointment upon her face. There was confusion laddered in her skin, masking it with creased that made her look worried all at the same time. “What happened?” The Lightwood woman asked concerned, bracing a hand upon said girl’s shoulder.

“Jace snapped at me.” The newcomer informed her, frowning at the prospect, and then after all that, he had stormed off, as though she didn’t even matter. She felt well and truly rejected, like a newspaper that had been tossed in the street, and ending up in a horrible puddle. “I thought he might have liked me, but his attitude says otherwise.”

Izzy twitched her nose; she knew what day it was. There was no way to break it to Clary easy that Jace had no amorous emotions towards her, and so instead of being blunt with the new resident at the institute, she decided to tell the woman a story. “There was a girl...” she began, knowing that after all was explained, that Clary would understand.

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bubbleteaimagines · 4 years ago

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You Can Rest Now

Levi Ackerman Oneshot

Summary: People often wonder why Levi’s so cold. For a man that’s lost everything, it’s not so hard to see

Pairings: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Warnings: Ansgt, gore, death

Authors Note: I got this idea suddenly and decided to break my heart

there was speculation. there was always speculation, but none more about levi ackerman.

the short man had a notorious reputation. he was cruel, nonchalant and just generally didn’t seem to care.

he was different. cold. so cold in fact, that death didn’t even seem to faze him. he could watch someone die and be fine the next minute.

but was he? it seemed so.

all the recruits admired his bravery and strength, but they feared his attitude.

what had made him so cold, exactly? so...closed up? who or what had turned his heart into stone, causing him to shut out the world around him so easily?

how did he do it?

why did he do it?

what had caused him to snap?

it was simple, really. levi had made a mistake. long ago, when he was foolish enough to still believe in love and happiness in this retched world. long ago before he realized that love made you weak, he make the mistake of loving someone in this cruel, cruel, world.

flashback —

“shit! y/n, they’re gaining on us!”

after three years in the survey corps, you could safely say that those words were anything but a good sign. scratch that, those words were the worst thing to hear out in the field. an omen of death, if you will, but you tried not to think about that as you furrowed your eyebrows and gripped your horse’s reigns tightly.

“how close?” you made the mistake of asking your comrade. a lump grew in your throat as you guys trekked across empty land. no trees, no buildings, absolutely nowhere to even think about using your 3dmg gear.

“i...,” he was at a loss of words. neither of you dared to look back, so he had to go off of the thumping footsteps that were getting closer and closer. “i reckon in the next minute or so they’ll be...”

“got it,” you pursed your lips together, not wanting him to finish that sentence. you knew what was coming. you both did. the very ground beneath you shook due to the titan’s footsteps. the monsters that you had been battling your whole damn life. “you ready to kick some ass, then?”

“always.” his voice was weak, his hands trembling as he reached for his swords. but his spirit had not yet been broken. neither had yours.

the footsteps were getting closer.

“i say we stay in rank but finish this thing off. then we’ll speed up and catch the others in case some more come,” you told him

anxiety pooled in your stomach as you thought about the rest of the soldiers. wrong place, wrong time, you knew that. but you couldn’t help it — your mind flashed images of him and you couldn’t help but feel scared for him, wondering if he had made it back to the wall safe or if he was still stuck on the ground, like you.

levi was a much better fighter than you. he was fast, efficient, and a valuable fighter. humanity needed him, and he had to be kept safe to fight another day.

that was the only reason you guys had been split up. he was on the special forces team, you weren’t. a damn good soldier you were but you were needed on the outer side of the formation, you were needed to protect levi.

after two years, he still hated the idea of you risking your life to protect him. he had fought tooth and nail with you and just about everybody else to keep you safe, to keep you next to him at all times. but commander erwin wouldn’t allow it. he couldn’t, levi was needed to save humanity. you weren’t.

you guys had had this argument time and time again. and time after time, you had reassured him that you would make it back. that he would always find your tired but yet still smiling face waiting for him on top of the walls.

why should this time be any different?

“let’s move!”

before you could even think, you had a ten meter titan lunging at you causing you to yelp and yank your horse out of the way. the beast whined in terror, it’s fear possibly rivaling your own. unfortunately though, that didn’t cause it to go any faster. you were gonna be forced to take it down yourself — you wouldn’t be able to outrun it all the way back to the wall.

“y/n!” your comrade yelled as you were swiped at again. this time though, you stood up on your horse and launched yourself at the titan, your gear lodging itself in it’s shoulders.

“keep moving! i’ll take care of this!” you yelled out to him.

letting out an angry cry, you whipped around the creature at astonishing speeds and aimed straight at the back of it’s neck.

a routine kill, that’s all this was.

fire danced behind your eyes while the creature moaned and swatted it’s hands at you. 36, that was your number of solo kills. and soon, it was 37.

“take that you fat bastard,” you yelled and sliced it right in the weak spot, never missing a beat as you carved up the flesh. blood splattered everywhere from the fatal wound and steamed as it got on your face and clothes. the titan went limp, and soon you propelled yourself back to the ground and back on your horse.

“well, looks like petra and me are tied. can’t wait to tell her,” you grinned as you carried on riding, your partner sighing in relief.

“you really are one of the best, you know that? you totally just saved our asses,” he grinned back at you.

“yeah, and you’d do well not to forget it,” you chuckled. “next time there’s cake, i want-”

“Y/N LOOK OUT!”

there was a scream, and then there was a sudden pressure as an abnormal came leaping out of nowhere and hit you dead on.

you didn’t have time to react. you barely even had time to scream before everything went to shit, your horse flying away from you and you — oh god. your comrade screamed as you flew through the air, and appeared again only as you were clutched in the titan’s mouth.

“w-what?” you couldn’t move. your vision was blurry from the hit but what you could feel was it’s breath. blindingly hot, and rancid. you had a first row seat as you hung from the monster’s jaws, everything from your waist and below clutched tightly in it’s teeth.

“y/n, no!” the strangled cry of your fellow comrade was all too familiar. it was a helpless cry, one you had heard many times from many different people. it was a cry of death, a cry of sorrow if you will. it was the type of sound people made when they were face to face with death.

“son of bitch,” you moaned as you lifted your head up, your (e/c) eyes meeting the bright blue ones of the titan. “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

of all the ways to die, of all the times and situations, this just had to be it. with your luck, you were gonna be split in half by the ugliest goddamn titan you had ever seen.

“fuck me.”

dread pooled in your stomach.

as you stared down your killer, as you stared down death itself, only one thought crossed your mind.

“c-comrade,” you glared as the titan opened it’s mouth to devour you. “g-get out of here! you don’t need to see this!”

“y/n no! i’m coming!” he desperately clung to his gear, standing on his horse and preparing to take down the monster that was gonna kill his teammate. he couldn’t let that happen. he wouldn’t.

but you weren’t gonna let him die either. not whilst you were still alive.

“comrade! i said go! i’m the leader of this team so that’s an order!” you screamed at the solider causing him to freeze in place.

“no,” he whispered, watching as the monster’s jaws came down.

it was as if it were in slow motion. the universe dragging it out just so he could witness every detail. the moment you screamed profanities at the titan, promising that you’d see it in hell one day. the moment you ripped off your cape, letting one last piece of you remain on this earth. the moment you screamed for levi, yelling one last time how much you loved him.

the moment the titan’s jaws finally came down, cutting you in half.

everything stood still after that. time stopped completely, and your comrade couldn’t even scream, couldn’t even cry out for you as your eyes finally fluttered closed and your body went limp.

you were gone.

levi paced anxiously as he stood on top of wall maria. he had his hands behind his back, but his eyes were on full alert, searching the terrain in front of him for any signs of life.

for any signs of you.

levi didn’t understand. it had been well past an hour, and everyone had made it back except for your squad.

it wasn’t even a squad, really. just two people — so how could two people possibly be taking this long?

“captain, you should calm down. i’m sure y/n is gonna be fine,” petra placed a gentle hand on his shoulder but it did nothing to sooth levi.

“if they were fine they’d be back by now,” he snapped, his eyes darkening.

he didn’t want to admit it but levi was starting to lose hope. being gone for this long usually only meant one thing — but he refused to think about that. he refused to even let the thought cross his mind, shoving it so far back it was practically non existent. levi couldn’t think like that. he wouldn’t.

because it was no question whether you were okay or not. you had to be, there were no other options. no other scenarios other than you coming back alive and safe.

“captain—”

“silence!”

levi strained his ears as he heard hooves in the distance. he perked up.

it was the sound of a horse, most definitely. in fact, it was the sound of two horses, and in the distance he could see them galloping towards the wall, a titan right behind them and the lone rider.

levi’s heart swelled with hope.

“y/n!”

he was breathless as he ran towards the edge of the wall, igorning his fellow soldiers protests. extracting his swords, he quickly cascaded down the wall towards the person, hoping beyond hope that it was you.

commander erwin held out a hand to stop anyone from following him.

“don’t,” he warned, seeing how levi’s squad was gearing up. “this one’s for him.”

levi had never felt more eager in his life to escape into titan territory. quickly, he flew towards the rider and practically tackled them as he reached them.

“y/n, you—”

levi stopped dead in his tracks. confused, he tilted his head as he saw the grief-stricken face of your partner, but not you. in fact, you were nowhere in sight as the titan’s footsteps got louder.

“soldier, you had someone with you, yes? where is y/n?” levi demanded, completely ignoring the haunted and agonized expression of the solider.

“c-captain...i...,” how did he get the words out? how did your comrade look his captain in the eyes and tell him that you were gone — lost to the titan on a simple mission.

“well? we don’t have all pissant. spit it out,” levi snapped, becoming irritated at the lack of response.

where were you? if you hadn’t come back with your partner, then where the hell where you?

the soilder’s mouth moved but levi barely heard anything he said.

perhaps it was because he wasn’t standing close enough. or perhaps the titan’s thunderous footsteps drowned it out. or perhaps...it was because levi heard something he didn’t want to hear.

“dead?” levi tilted his head as if it were a foreign word. as if he had never heard the word before, when in reality it was probably the most used word in his vocabulary. “what do you mean y/n is...dead?”

the pieces didn’t fit. the word ‘dead’ and ‘you’ were apart of two completely different puzzles; they didn’t fit together. it was too wrong, too confusing for levi’s brain to pick up.

“t-they’re gone, sir,” the solider spit out painfully, letting out a wail. “w-we were on flat ground...the titan came out of nowhere...the abnormal...”

“shut up,” levi held his hand up as the pieces began to mold themselves. slowly, they transformed to fit each other.

“i-i’m sorry sir,” the soldier stammered, “t-they’re gone. they left this behind...but their body—”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” levi growled as anger began to flow through him, his fists twitching. the solider flinched back as levi’s death glare settled on him, burning holes through his skull.

“where do you get off on this? HUH?” levi yelled as he grabbed the man roughly, yanking him off of is horse. the beast whined in fear as the titan approached, but levi ignored it. instead, he focused on the red spots in his vision, pushing away the pain. pushing away the imagery that followed the solider’s words. all that was left of you was a cape...

“i’ll have you executed for this you bastard! you lying piece of shit—”

“CAPTAIN LEVI!” levi’s attention was diverted as commander erwin yelled out his name. briefly, he turned his attention to the wall where his fellow comrades and commander stood, horrified, “YOU HAVE A SITUATION!”

levi tore his gaze away from erwin and glanced over his shoulder. fast approaching was the titan that had followed the solider to the wall. an abnormal by the looks of it, with blood splattered all over it’s mouth.

levi felt his heart stop.

in the moment, it suddenly became real. he glanced at the solider’s terrified face, the cape in his arms that had your initials printed on it, and then back at the titan.

everything hit him at once.

and levi snapped.

“YOU BASTARD!”

he retracted his blades, squared his shoulders, and then zoomed off to battle the titan that that had murdered you. the love of his life.

levi saw red as an animalistic scream left him, his entire vision clouded with crimson as he made his target and slashed. levi slashed until there was nothing more to slash, the titan long dead and already dissolving by the time he was done.

“YOU ASSHOLE! YOU TOOK THEM! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”

“CAPTAIN! soldier, you need to restrain him and get back over the wall, NOW!” commander erwin shouted.

more titan’s were approaching. too many people were standing by the walls. too much prey.

but levi didn’t care. he was angry, hurt, and beyond the levels of revenge. his blades were stained with the blood of your murderer. he wouldn’t be able to rest if he didn’t end them all, right then and there.

“CAPTAIN LEVI! WE NEED TO GO!”

levi ignored the solider’s plea and stood his ground, hatred burning behind his eyes. he’d kill them, he’d kill every last one of them for what they did to you. his life be damned.

in that moment, it didn’t matter that humanity needed him.

he needed to avenge you.

“FALL BACK! DO NOT ENGAGE! I REPEAT, DO NOT ENGAGE! EVERYBODY STAND BACK!”

levi braced himself for the attack. he was running on pure hatred now.

he was dangerous when he was calm. but he was unstoppable when he was deadset on getting revenge for the one person he had left to care about.

“holy shit—”

“no way—”

“did he just?—”

all around levi was blood. crimson red soaked him to the bone, pouring over every inch of his body. it rained on him, like a sadistic waterfall carved out by levi’s sword.

but it wasn’t his.

none of it, not a single drop of the blood was his.

levi sheathed his now broken swords and leaned down to retrieve the only thing not soaked with titan blood. the only thing that wasn’t stained or reminded him of their treacherous, godforsaken existence.

“i did it,” he whispered, clutching your cape tightly. he held the fabric in his trembling hands, holding it over his heart as a way to hold you close— one last time.

“i killed that thing. you can rest now.”

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman oneshot #levi ackerman angst #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan #aot imagines #aot #attack on titan x reader

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solomonish · 4 years ago

Text

he comes with a warning sign (satan & his brothers)

One of these things is not like the other...the one born as soon as the others fell, the one made entirely of feelings they'd all rather forget.

ao3 link: here!

Satan started his life crashing into the ground, the impact creating a crater that is now considered a piece of Devildom history.

His first memory was the gut-wrenching jolt of falling through the air, watching as a man he didn’t know let out his anguish in a mess of feathers, blood, and tears Satan vaguely felt he wasn’t supposed to see. The next was of his collision, a bone-shattering hit that, somehow, only sent a dull ache through his body. Black feathers floated down around him, some matted with blood falling faster than the others, soft like the ones inexplicably around his neck in a boa. Around him, he could hear quiet moans of pain and the occasional sob, a cacophony that both grated in his ears but fit the turmoil that threatened to spill out from within him. Those first moments were nothing but hatred, an acidic burn within him so strong it felt like all he’d ever know.

Emotion didn’t come easy to him. For the longest time, he felt like an animal, some form of furious energy trapped in a cage of demonic armor that wouldn’t give no matter how often he lashed out. Occasionally, he’d manage to reach his arm between the bars and swipe at whoever made the mistake of getting close, attempting to ease him into the familial life that was expected of him. Who were these people? Why did they think they could expect him to care about them? It didn’t matter to him that they were shrinking from him, undoubtedly fighting behind closed doors about who’s turn it was to see him. In a way, it made him feel better. They should feel as angry as he did.

Even after he calmed down - convinced himself to put on a show of obedience for the right to stretch his legs and not have to wonder if the others forced the orange-haired one named Beelzebub to send his dinner (meaning he’d get none at all) - he was still aloof, uninterested in what the others thought about spot in their family. Eventually, he’d learn: learn of what they used to be, what they did to fall from that place, and of the person they lost. For the first time, he cared about the misfitting sensation inside of him. After all, he’d very much rather feel like an intrusion than a replacement.

The knowledge of what happened introduced that new emotion to him, a sort of sympathetically charged guilt that he, hah, hated. The others were in no state to teach him how to be a person. Their means of teaching him to be something other than a feral beast were certainly some sort of violation of his personal rights. So, instead, he took to reading, desperate to find answers to questions he didn’t yet know how to ask. Through the many novellas and epics, the treatises and research journals, entire libraries worth of fiction and nonfiction, Satan began to piece himself together. He taught himself how to craft a facade of sympathy and understanding, how to mask the anger that constantly boiled inside of him, and tuned himself to his emotions lest he fall back into the vat he always hovered just above. Cats and books calmed him down. Black feathers and Lucifer made him lose his grip.

Perhaps it was because, if he reached back as far as his memory went, the only thing he saw when his entire body burned with pure wrath was Lucifer himself and a tornado of feathers. Maybe it was because Lucifer seemed to watch him and regard him as a miniature version of himself, then promptly remind Satan that he would always be a step beneath his legacy. All Satan knew was, on the days Mammon would call on his crows to complete a scheme and the yard was littered with their feathers, his mood soured in the same way it was when Lucifer even made his presence known.

Every day, Satan had to wrestle with emotions the meanings of which he had to discern for himself, emotions that never should have been his in the first place. The war that raged inside his very core was only the product of a failure, a symbolic continuation of what robbed his “brothers” of someone he would never meet. There was no way he and this Lilith could exist at the same time, and Satan often wondered how readily the others would trade him for a chance to have her back.

Satan did not waste time wallowing in self-pity. However, despite his practiced control, he could not stop the frown that always formed when someone spoke of his origins. He was the product of Lucifer’s wrath and grief, a part of Lucifer that he tried so desperately to claw out of himself he disfigured himself in the process. Lucifer was once the most brilliant angel, the morningstar himself. Satan was the worst part of him, an embodiment of that which he could never want, not in his grace as an angel or his degeneracy as a demon.

If any of his brothers caught on to this pattern of thinking, they never breached the topic. Perhaps they agreed. Satan wasn’t sure he’d want to know if they did.

His withdrawal from the others was only natural. His violence in the beginning effectively conditioned them to stay away, and he could only imagine the things they associated him with in their grief. As they all did their best to move on, letting their broken bones fuse crooked, Satan gave up on his hope of ever fitting in. He was the youngest, yet the fourth most powerful - the one in the middle, splitting up the older and younger siblings and somehow not quite meshing with either group. When Diavolo commented on the everlasting love of brothers, Satan smiled and nodded. If he could put on an act of being a composed individual, he could put on an act of being a true member of their family. With how absorbed they were in themselves, it was rare the topic ever came up.

The only one who seemed to care was Lucifer. Even then, he only seemed to want to be his brothers’ keeper, if only for the disciplinary privileges it gave him. When Satan stepped out of line - which seemed to be always- Lucifer was quick to remind him that, oh, perhaps they weren’t brothers. Something churned in his gut, nothing like the bile he pretended rose up at the thought of being Lucifer’s son. As Satan simmered in his fury, silently planning something to get back at Lucifer, he wondered if they truly did find pleasure in reminding him how much he didn’t belong.

Logic said that only Lucifer knew to plan psychological torture that way, but Satan was under no obligation to forgive the behavior of the others on the ground of ignorance.

So, as was only natural, Satan came with a warning sign. He was the one to be wary of, a ball of uncontrollable rage disguised as one of them. His smiles were all surface-level and fake, hiding his true, devious intentions. Be careful around him - better yet, don’t associate yourself with him more than you have to.

After all, he had been pushed away from the beginning, a volatile bundle of emotions that Lucifer couldn’t - didn’t want to - deal with. There was no place for him anywhere when he had been tossed aside like trash from the start.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #swd obey me #obey me swd #obey me satan #swd satan #satan #satan angst

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

Note

Do you think you would enjoy writing a fairytale-esque Nielan story? Except, instead of being the scary beast or the fearsome dragon like he usually is, it's Nie Mingjue who gets to be in the heroine/damsel's role. :D

Toxicity - part 1 - ao3

When Nie Mingjue turned sixteen years old, he was alone.

He had taken nothing with him but his saber, Baxia. He had hugged his brother maybe-goodbye, and then he had gone down into the saber tombs to wait to see if this was the year he was going to go insane.

He hoped it wasn’t, of course. They’d lost his father only the year before, murdered by one of their political enemies – poisoned with his own saber, secretly weakened so that it’d shatter in the middle of a night-hunt and coated with some sort of toxin that ate away his brain within a few months. If Nie Mingjue went insane this year, his little brother, Nie Huaisang, would need to step up as the leader of their sect, and he was only eight years old.

(He didn’t have to spend his eighth birthday shivering in the saber tombs that he hadn’t even known existed before that day, clutching a saber he barely knew, in pain and wondering if he was about to die, but then again, Nie Huaisang wasn’t the one who’d been cursed with a body that cultivated three times as well as everybody else but would eventually cause him to lose his mind when he turned some multiple of eight.)

If he didn’t go insane this year, Nie Mingjue would finally accept the role of sect leader officially, and he’d devote himself to making his sect as powerful as he could in the short time he had left to him. He’d been refusing the role so far, purportedly on account of his grief at his father’s death, and everyone had been very understanding – only those closest to him knew the truth. He would have preferred that Nie Huaisang not know, maybe not ever but definitely not so young, but if Nie Mingjue really did go insane this year then Nie Huaisang would have to be sect leader, or at least sect-leader-to-be with their uncle twice removed acting as sect leader until he was old enough to take charge, so he had to know.

He’d cried a lot before Nie Mingjue left, and there wasn’t anything Nie Mingjue could do about it other than spend a bit of his time in the cold saber tomb mentally cursing the ones that did this to him.

It was, he’d been informed, originally meant as a gift.

His parents had had trouble conceiving shortly after their marriage, all their pregnancies ending up as miscarriages, and rather than marry in a concubine his father, hotheaded and reckless, had taken his bride to the mountains to request help from the dragons that sometimes stayed there as they passed through Qinghe on their mysterious business.

There’d been two of them, apparently. One was a celestial dragon, blue and white as a sky at noon and just as noble, five-clawed and smooth-scaled; the other a lowly flood dragon, yellow-bellied and scuttling and stinking of earth – while the ways of dragons were mysterious, Nie Mingjue’s father had confidently asserted that the two of them were sworn brothers in the same way as men, the latter having once saved the life of the former, and that their brotherhood had once included as its chief the proud azure dragon of the east, green of scale and mightier than either of the others.

The celestial dragon had heard their plea and had been delighted to be asked. He had sung them a song of overwhelming might, filling their ears to the point that Nie Mingjue’s mother became half-deaf, and promised them that they would not only bear a child, but that it would be blessed with the strength of the heroes of the ancient days, so as to serve with honor his parents, his sect, his land, his world. He shall be righteous and unyielding, straightforward and upright, the celestial dragon had declared, and then, having exhausted himself in his exertions, had retreated to the top of the mountain to sleep.

The flood dragon had watched the whole proceeding with a pleasant smile on its face, nodding along in interest, but the very moment the celestial dragon had closed its eyes he had said, Let me give you something too and breathed out poisonous fumes that had choked them both nearly to death. With that pleasant smile still firmly on its lips, it had told them a secret: that the celestial dragon had given them a gift, but that all gifts had a price. Their child would be just like the heroes of old, a candle burning too fiercely – doomed to madness that would turn all his strength into destruction, rendered blind and unable to tell apart those he loved from those he hated, turned into a beast that knew nothing but slaughter.

But not to worry, the flood dragon said. While he did not have the strength of the celestial dragon, he had taken a little bit of their life energy and used it and his own poison to lock away the prophesied madness into one year in every eight, so that their child would be able to live free and carefree the rest of the time.

At the time, they had thanked him, but – Nie Mingjue’s mother had been so weakened by the poison that she had not survived his birth, his father rendered vulnerable to his neighbor’s underhanded attack, and far from living free and carefree Nie Mingjue lived instead in terror of his eventual fate, knowing that one day he would go mad in the worst sort of way.

Some gift!

Nie Mingjue spent his sixteenth birthday meditating in the saber tombs, his saber unsheathed on his lap in the likely vain hope that if he really did go insane, he would turn it against himself out of lack of any other enemy to butcher as his ancestors had once done to animals for trade. He remained there for two days and two nights, wracked with terrible gripping pain from the remnants of the flood dragon’s palliative poison, and emerged only once there was no trace of the date left and he had answered all the questions posed to him by the guards set at the door to the tombs to their satisfaction, proving that he hadn’t gone mad and didn’t need to be left inside to either kill himself or slowly starve to death.

His brother was waiting for him by the gate of their home and had thrown himself into his arms, weeping, and Nie Mingjue vowed to himself that he would use the next eight years of his life to let Nie Huaisang live the best life he could give him.

He did the best he could.

Nie Mingjue devoted himself to strengthening his sect, recruiting steadily and devoting all his time to sect matters, putting aside any frivolity; to each one who rose to a level of sufficient strength and trust, Nie Mingjue entrusted the duty of guarding Nie Huaisang, pleading with them that when he died they would put themselves into his shoes, care for him as any elder brother would. He made sure his borders were well-defended and well-stocked, layer after layer of protections in place in the event of external attack, building it so that it could shut tight like a turtle in its shell, hidden behind an implacable wall of iron. To deal with internal threats, he promoted people on the basis of talent, careful not to have either too many old retainers or too many new faces, wanting each group to watch the other to try to forestall the other.

He tried to strengthen Nie Huaisang himself, but he had much less success with that. Terrified as he was of lashing out against his loved ones, Nie Mingjue found himself yielding time and time again to all of Nie Huaisang’s requests, forgiving all his faults and mistakes, the only educational tools left to him being scolding and appeals to Nie Huaisang’s own good sense.

Still, Nie Huaisang grew up clever, if lazy and a mediocre cultivator, and there was darkness in his eyes when he spoke of dragons, a common artistic motif that never appeared in any of his art.

When Nie Mingjue was twenty three and Nie Huaisang fifteen, he sent letters to the reclusive Cloud Recesses, a sect hidden away in the mountains of Gusu that was renowned for its artistic achievements in music and painting as well as swordsmanship, asking for permission for Nie Huaisang to attend lessons that summer. They agreed, leading to a flock of other sects seeking similar permission lest the Nie sect use the opportunity to form an alliance without including them.

Nie Mingjue had only been trying to find a place where Nie Huaisang could learn skills that would suit him well, and also to keep him out of the growing tensions developing with the Wen sect that had killed his father and had made several attempts to kill him, too, that only failed on account of underestimating his cultivation and martial skills – an easy mistake to make, if you didn’t know his story – but having Nie Huaisang befriend the other sect heirs and shining talents of his generation could only help increase his security, so he approved.

When he came to drop Nie Huaisang off, though, he insisted, as regretfully and politely as he could, on hearing about the defenses they had in place.

“If you do not trust us to protect your brother, perhaps you should rethink sending him to us at all,” Lan Qiren said, voice sharp and querulous. He was the sect’s representative – not actually sect leader, but the one who left their reclusive abode to do the external parts of the job normally associated with leadership – and the teacher in charge of the visiting students, and Nie Mingjue did not want to offend him, but he also knew how insidious the Wen sect could be when they wanted. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unwilling to retract the demand but also not wanting to spoil Nie Huaisang’s visit before it had even begun.

“It is a reasonable request,” said a calm voice that nevertheless carried with it a hint of laughter from behind his back, and Nie Mingjue tensed, not having heard someone approach. “Let me show Sect Leader Nie around, uncle.”

Lan Qiren’s face softened at once, something Nie Mingjue had never seen happen on his face before; he stroked his beard and cleared his throat before nodding, saving face by allowing himself to be persuaded.

Nie Mingjue saluted and bowed deeply, murmuring, “My sincere thanks for your indulgence,” before turning to look at – the most beautiful young man he’d ever seen in his life, actually. Tall and slender, dressed in the Lan sect’s white and blue, with a xiao tucked into his belt and a gentle smile on his face and warmth in his eyes...

Nie Mingjue had to clear his throat himself before saluting him as well, although the young man hummed immediately in disapproval and caught him before he could bow. “Nie Mingjue,” he said. “Of Qinghe Nie. And you are…?”

“Lan Xichen,” the young man said, omitting even his sect affiliation – though that was obvious enough. “Come with me, I’ll show you the main defenses we have set in place, although not all of them, of course.”

“Naturally,” Nie Mingjue hurried to say. “I would never want to pry into your sect’s secrets, Lan-gongzi! It’s only – my younger brother…”

“You’re worried about him,” Lan Xichen said, his smile deepening. “I understand.”

Normally, Nie Mingjue would leave it at that – he was not overly given to speaking with people, but he couldn’t help himself in this case. “He’s all I have in the world,” he admitted. “And I know I can’t protect him forever, or even for very much longer, but…what I can do, I would do.”

“You don’t need to explain, Sect Leader Nie –”

“Please,” Nie Mingjue said gruffly. “Call me by name.”

“Then I insist you call me by mine,” Lan Xichen said.

Nie Mingjue nodded, and they walked in comfortable silence. After a while, he, again uncharacteristically, initiated conversation: “You called Teacher Lan uncle, and he seems especially fond of you, much more than most. Are you directly related?”

“Oh, yes,” Lan Xichen said. “I’m his – ah, his nephew.”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “Really? I thought that was Lan Wangji…?”

“My younger brother,” Lan Xichen said, and he looked so pleased that Nie Mingjue didn’t have it in him to question any further, even though he’d really thought that Lan Wangji was the sole sect heir.

Still, when they came across Lan Wangji himself a little later, he saluted them both and referred to Lan Xichen as ‘xiongzhang’ – formal, but then again, Lan Wangji was very formal in all things – with a minute change of expression that suggested adoration, even awe, and so Nie Mingjue told himself that perhaps he had been mistaken. Or perhaps he had simply misunderstood, perhaps Lan Wangji was only the acting sect heir for external affairs, in the same way that Lan Qiren was, or maybe Lan Xichen had simply been exempted from the line of inheritance for whatever reason…

Either way, it wasn’t really his business.

He certainly wasn’t going to bring it up in front of Lan Xichen, with whom he unexpectedly got along splendidly – the conversation flowed easily, ranging over all sorts of subjects, and Nie Mingjue felt comfortable as if he’d known the other man for years.

“We must have been brothers in a past life,” he told Lan Xichen, and noticed the way Lan Xichen’s eyes grew briefly distant and dim, a little sad.

“We must have been,” he agreed, and clasped Nie Mingjue’s hands in his. “Regardless, I do not have words to express how much joy it brings me to meet you again in this life, my friend.”

Nie Mingjue went home feeling as light as air.

He clung onto that feeling throughout his twenty-fourth birthday, when the pangs of the poison wracked his body into horrific spasms, his back arching and arms and legs thrashing and every vein and meridian in his body aching fit to burst; it hurt so much that he thought he really would go insane, but just when he thought it was too much the pain began to fade and he survived.

Still, the experience was a bitter reminder that no matter how much Nie Mingjue’s heart sang and mood brightened at every letter from Lan Xichen, no matter how much he looked forward to discussion conferences as much as he had previously despised them only for the chance to see him, they could never be anything more than friends.

Distant friends, even. Bad enough that he would cause Nie Huaisang so much pain when he died too young – it didn’t seem right to impose friendship on someone else who did not know.

Of course, thinking was one thing and enacting another, and Lan Xichen ignored every attempt he made to try away and put distance between them, visiting whenever he didn’t answer letters and refusing to be dissuaded when he tried to keep his responses curt and uninviting.

“Xichen, please,” Nie Mingjue said one evening, when they had been walking the ramparts in the Unclean Realm, he in his familial green and Lan Xichen in blue but both cast into equal shades of grey in the light of the moon, and he thought he’d never been happier in his life. “You don’t understand – I’m going to die, and you’ll be left behind. How can I do that to you?”

“Even if you died tomorrow, I would be happy to have been your friend today,” Lan Xichen declared, and Nie Mingjue wanted to kiss him more than anything. “Don’t push me away, Mingjue-xiong. Please.”

Nie Mingjue always yielded to those he loved most.

“All right,” he said with a sigh. “All right. Only promise me that you’ll stay safe, and that if – if I ever turn on you, or threaten you –”

“Remember that I can defend myself,” Lan Xichen said with a laugh. “Better than you might think. You aren’t nearly as bad at controlling your temper as you think, Mingjue-xiong.”

Nie Mingjue couldn’t explain more without explaining it all, and he didn’t want Lan Xichen to pity him, so he didn’t. They parted on good terms, with Nie Mingjue promising to return each correspondence as soon as he received them this time, and to let Lan Xichen know if he got any more “stupid ideas” from which he needed to be dissuaded.

The next letter arrived in the hands of a young man with a pleasant smile who introduced himself as Meng Yao.

“Xichen-xiong said that you valued talent and recognized merit,” he said. “I thought I might prevail on his recommendation, if you have room…?”

Nie Mingjue thought to himself with a smile that Lan Xichen had sent him a babysitter, and agreed to accept Meng Yao as a guest disciple. It didn’t take long to realize that Lan Xichen had sent him a treasure, brilliant at organizing and personnel management, wise beyond his years, and while he didn’t want to embarrass his friend by thanking him directly, he made sure to speak very highly of Meng Yao in all his letters. Lan Xichen responded warmly, saying how happy he was that Nie Mingjue was surrounded by people he trusted who supported him, and Nie Mingjue thought to himself with satisfaction that his message had been understood.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin guangyao #my fic #my fics #toxicity #wantonlywindswept

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manyfictionsmusings · 3 years ago

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Pull Me Like A Ripcord

Summary:

This story takes place immediately after the events of X-Men Apocalypse, where Peter decides against going back to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, despite seeking his father’s attention prior. This fic will just be growing and “mutating” as I write but promising lots of Dad/son angst, hurt/comfort etc.

Chapter 1: AfterEffects

As naïve as it was, Peter had hoped Erik would somehow realize he was his son, now that idea seemed cold and stupid. Why would Erik magically know who he was? He wasn’t Charles, a mind reader, and this wasn’t a fantasy kingdom where the orphan got his father in the end of the story.

Peter pulled his legs up to his chest, or at least he would have if he could have moved his shattered knee, the pain, coupled with the emotional turmoil of the long day sent him easily to tears. He wasn’t used to losing, he wasn’t used to being physically injured. The finale of the Egyptian battle had seen the x-men triumph, but Peter himself had lost…lost another chance to connect with Erik, if only he’d been able to get the better of the Immortal it might have impressed his father enough to take note of him, but instead if it hadn’t been for Raven’s distractions, the Beast’s strength and his own father’s shift in loyalties, he would have been just another victim in the note book of Apocalypse.

Peter drew a shaky breath, trying to force the events to wash over him, normally things didn’t bother him, but the last few months he’d changed, the others here at the school, or what was left of the school…he didn’t want to call them family but that’s what they felt like to him. It scared him and it was too much to hope for, he’d been disappointed to many times to open up like that. Which was why he’d told Beast to take him to a regular hospital in Cairo and he’d make his own way home once he was healed.

Beast had had his reservations about it, leaving the scrawny, pale kid who’d been with them since he’d saved literally everyone at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters seemed a shitty way to repay him, but he’d finally consented to it, only after Peter had gotten angry and started yelling.

He felt lonely now, in the hospital bed, with an oxygen tube in his nose and his injured leg casted and hoisted by a sling, a thousand miles from anyone he knew, but the pain was reminding him of his failures as one of the x-men and the isolation served to remind him why he didn’t bother with people, especially his father.

They always left. Or were never there to begin with.

He deserved this.

“You don’t deserve any of this, Peter.”

Peter jolted, startled for only a second by the gentle voice, there was only one person it could be, to know what precisely he was thinking. He hurriedly wiped tears off his face before Charles came any closer.

“I told Beast I was fine. I don’t want anyone wasting any more time on me.”

“Beast didn’t tell your secret, but I was worried about you, Peter. You think I was going to just leave Egypt without you? I wouldn’t leave here without any of you.” Charles stepped closer, softly he took his hand and squeezed gently. “You all mean so much to me. I owe you my life, Peter.”

He removed his hand and crossed his arms. “I didn’t do anything, if…if Erik hadn’t stepped in, we all would have been killed-including you.”

Charles glanced towards the monitors attached to the young man, before his eyes roamed across the physical state of Peter, in contemplation. “It was a group effort; it took all of us.” He finally spoke after a moment of hesitation. “I know you seek his attention and yet you’re afraid of it…Lehnsherr is coming back with us to New York, he’s going to help me rebuild the institution.”

Peter glanced up, his eyes reflecting a youthful hope the professor hadn’t seen for some time. “I thought he left.”

Charles shook his head. “It’s a way to…perhaps earn his attention, little by little anyway. What do you think? Will you return with me?”

Peter grimaced. “I’m not in great shape professor, encase you haven’t noticed. I might swing in when I’m up and around.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I know all your pains, I’m sorry. I put your life in such horrific danger-”

“I came along on the mission of my own free will, no one forced me,” Peter interrupted.

Charles gripped his shoulder suddenly with an assertive intention. “Let me oversee your recovery, Maximoff, please, it’s the least I can do. I won’t leave here until you agree to be transferred to a hospital in New York, preferably close to Salem Center. You don’t have to be bothered by anyone from the school. But knowing you aren’t in Egypt would put my mind at ease.”

Peter sighed, he was feeling it again, the warm sensation that made him relaxed and somehow extremely uncomfortable at the same time. Family was something he would never be able to hold on to. He was going to mess it up, he knew that. He could already feel the threads slipping between pale, desperate, grasping fingers. But in the meantime, Charles cared about him enough to hunt him down in one of many Cairo hospitals, and he’d checked in under an alias. The professor cared enough to come back, or had he never left in the first place? His caring nature was beyond consolation to Peter’s broken, cold body, so comforting in fact he felt tears welling up again!

He sniffled and hurriedly wiped his brow before their return, nodding. “I’ll come with you.”

Professor Xavier had kept his word, medically and financially he’d arranged for everything to be taken care of, transporting Peter from Cairo to New York. He’d also arranged for him to have his own private room in Sheeran Hospital—a private hospital in upstate New York, forty-five miles from the current disaster of Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters.

Over the next two weeks physically Peter’s injuries slowly healed but mentally he felt wrecked beyond compare. He started having reoccurring nightmares that he couldn’t run; his ability had been fractured when the monstrosity had snapped his leg like a twig under his boot. In the dream he was trying to run away from someone, his first thought was that it was Apocalypse but a couple nights later he realized it was just a shadowy figure, one he could never outrun. Each time he fell, immobilized as pain shot through his leg, the sound of his own bones crunching reverberated in his ears, just as it had that day.

The nurses had unfortunately taken note of his mood, though Peter hadn’t put much effort into hiding his grim attitude, he’d slipped in a snarky remark about getting some extra drugs for an overdose. The nurse didn’t find his dark humor amusing and Charles suspiciously showed up the very next day.

He didn’t say much at first, just sat near Peter’s bed, looking out the enormous rectangle window that looked west, on a glowing sunset. “You have a good view though,” he finally spoke.

Peter pursed his lips. “I do appreciate your hospitality Professor, but I’m fine, you don’t have to check in on me. Just... really bored here you know, I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in one place this long…it’s wearing on me, I feel weird being at this speed.”

Charles turned his chair to face him, hands in his pockets, yet concern on his features. “Must be very uncomfortable to be forced to slow down. How’s physical therapy going?”

Peter avoided the older man’s gaze for some reason and snorted. “I mean it’s slow, I’m not the patience type or a patient for that matter…”

Charles nodded. “But the sooner you’re hobbling around, the sooner I can get you out of here.”

“And take me where?” Maximoff snipped with his signature deep-set frown.

Charles chuckled, “You’d be surprised what several telekinetic mutants can accomplish when it comes to construction. The east wing is already rebuilt, for now we’re using it for sleeping quarters. It’s a little crowded but…”

“…Anything is better than the smell of hospital?” Peter finished, trying to keep his mind in constant motion—moving from thought to thought. He didn’t know how much the professor knew about what he was thinking but Xavier had already noted his inward conception about seeking Erik’s attention in Egypt, so his guess was he was an open book, but Peter’s thoughts could be about as fast as his movement when we wanted them to be. “Well sounds like I need to hit therapy harder, if you’re actually going to get me out of here.”

As much as Peter didn’t intend to be shambling around a cramped wing in the school, Charles’ visit served to kick him in the butt about getting out of Sheeran soon, regardless of where he went afterward. And if he was being honest, he had never planned to go back to the school, though he also wasn’t ready to face his reasoning for not returning there.

No one was going to miss him, well not the one person that mattered, because he couldn’t even see Peter for who he was. A new plan had quickly formulated—get his leg in good enough shape to slip off before Charles came back for him and circumvent the entire situation altogether.

The nightmares continued to plague him, as day after day he added a little weight to the tender broken leg, between tears and a lump that had formed on his lip from how many times he had bit it to deal with the pain, he started making it all the way through the routes the therapist had set up for him. Once he realized he could make it to the end of the routine he had to mentally stop himself from trying out his true speed. He continually checked himself, forced himself to be normal, move slowly. He embraced the pain wholly, promising himself a whole box of Lemonheads when he got out of here.

A week and two days after Charles’ visit, Peter decided he was going. He’d woke up from his worst nightmare by far, clutching his throat, covered in sweat, his heart was beating hard enough his chest ached. His leg was throbbing with shadow pain from Apocalypse breaking it, only in this dream he hadn’t been saved before the giant mutant had slit his throat and tossed him aside like trash. His father hadn’t even noticed or cared.

Peter swallowed painfully, still tracing his fingers across the smooth, blanched flesh of his neck as he slipped out of bed. His x-men costume had been lost somewhere in the shuffle, or maybe the professor had taken it, either way Charles had been kind enough to replace it with his current pajamas and a change of clothing. Not the usual silver tinted clothing but considering he still wasn’t up to his Quicksilver speed, it seemed fitting to pull on the dark blue jeans and faded orange hoodie. Peter sighed in comfort at the velvety worn state of both items as they contacted his skin, though he tried to ignore how billowy the clothes were on him, he’d lost a significant amount of weight since Egypt—which the nurses had been lecturing him over—but what could you expect when there was only hospital food and no snacks to be seen.

Next Peter attempted to calm his silvery hair, by brushing his fingers through it repeatedly, which only seemed to make it worse. Between the wild shock of hair and the dark rimmed eyes, his reflection looked ghostly, coupled with the dim hospital lighting.

Peter exhaled calmly before grabbing the only items that had made it back with him from Egypt, his googles and his earphones, he stuck one of the foreign crutches under each armpit and silently slipped out of Sheeran Hospital…

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novelconcepts · 4 years ago

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Every time I watch episode 9 I think, for some reason, about what a long plane ride it is from Vermont to England and how Dani must of felt on that plane knowing she was going to her death and how Jamie must of felt on that plane ride, knowing what she was about to find. Not necessarily looking for an entire fic here, just wondering your thoughts on how long that journey was for them both and their mindset?

She’s fading. She can feel it--the past six months have served as more than a warning, of how it will go in the end. Moments vanishing into hours without her consent. Hours becoming days before she can blink. She’s fading, all the pieces that once were Dani Clayton being wiped slowly--slowly--slowly away like a wet cloth across a blackboard.

She moves as quickly as she’s able, knowing there isn’t much time left. Knowing the moments-hours-days in this unplugged reality can only end one way. One way that is acceptable, anyway.

The Lady would prefer otherwise. The Lady would prefer another method, another road taken. Every day, Dani gets a little closer to walking that road. Every day, the Lady gets a little closer to the surface.

She almost has a face, some days. Almost has a self, some days, beyond anything Dani has been able to make out over the years. Sometimes, she opens her eyes and watches blue eyes, long lashes, hair so dark, it’s nearly black tumbling across a sharply beautiful face, and she thinks, This will be me. If I let it. If I let her. No more Dani Clayton. No more love of Jamie’s life. Just this woman, whose red lips turn up at the corners like she knows a secret Dani would kill to keep buried.

She boards a plane. A nearly twelve-hour flight to London, they say, with expressions that suggest so much more. You don’t look so good, Miss. You don’t look so good at all. Can we call someone to travel with you, to make certain you aren’t alone?

Not alone, she thinks hollowly. Haven’t been alone in so long.

The last flight she boarded was so different. The last time on a plane, over a year ago, with Jamie at her side, had felt like one final bid for freedom. She hadn’t even cared where they were going--had just run her finger up a globe with her head turned to the side, heedless of where she’d land. Didn’t matter. Jamie’s hand over hers, Jamie’s ring caressing her skin, had been enough.

The Lady followed her, of course. She’s been outrun by too many ghosts, never once able to pull ahead in the race for her own sanity. She knows by now--knew, even before the not-quite-face started appearing in every pane of glass--there would be no escaping. A sacrifice willingly made is only legitimate if it is driven to completion.

But she’d thought--hoped--desperately needed--more time. More time with Jamie. More time burning popcorn, and lazily cherishing Sunday mornings in bed, and trying to wrap gifts the night before Christmas with Jamie bustling over mulled wine in the next room. More time. You get only so much, and she’s had so much more than she’s earned, but still--

I wish, she thinks, and does not allow herself to go further. If she finishes that thought, it’ll all change. If she finishes that wish, she might turn around in a London terminal. Book the first flight right back. She imagines herself turning up on the doorstep, imagines Jamie’s shell-shocked face on the other side of the lock. Jamie, pulling her close, whispering into her hair that she is still here, still her, still pushing toward a future both of them can see growing thin.

I wish, she thinks, and does not finish. She leans her head back, lets her eyes close, letting Jamie’s sleepy smile play across her memory. The memories are really all she has now, for this final day. This final bid for Dani. She ought, she thinks, keep her eyes open. She ought, she thinks, drink in every color the world has to offer. The sunrise. The storm. The grass, the architecture, the human laughter which ties the world together on even the worst day. She ought to keep the world firmly in hand as long as she’s able.

But it’s memory that wins out, in the end. She’s so tired. Maybe this is the Lady’s gift to her--maybe this is the Lady being kind, in her own horrific way. Not tucking Dani away, not really; Dani is terrified to let her hands off the wheel even for a moment, terrified she might wake to a plane in an unresolvable nosedive. She holds on, knowing it’s only for a little longer, knowing the exhaustion has to win out eventually--and knowing, even still, there is this one thing left to do.

No; she does not allow herself to be tucked anywhere. But the memories are stronger than the daylight stretching out beyond the plane carrying her home. The memories are stronger than the airline stewardess with her nervous eyes, than the drink cart rattling by, than the offer of food. Dani closes her eyes, and she is--

--in a bathroom, Jamie’s shirt soft around her shoulders, Jamie’s hand firm around her upper arm. Jamie, eyes refusing to shed tears, Jamie, lips trembling, Jamie, reminding her she will stay, she will stay, she has to stay--

--in a hotel in New York, skin stained with the neon of city lights strobing through the window as she kisses Jamie, as she keeps her eyes on Jamie’s face, as she watches Jamie cast her head back and arch into her hands--

--in a restaurant in Paris, cigarette smoldering between her fingers as Jamie’s hand slides around her ribs. Jamie’s thigh relaxed beneath the stroke of her fingers, Jamie’s perfume mingling with her own from the careless, easy way Jamie had leaned her head against Dani’s shoulder on the cab ride over--

--in their kitchen, a ring hidden in a pot, Jamie’s eyes widening with understanding as it clicks home that Dani is doing this, Dani is certain, Dani knows this is the thing to do even as she’s running out of time to do it. Jamie’s hands in her hair, Jamie’s thumbs on her cheeks, Jamie laughing and crying and kissing her all in mad, perfect joy--

--in the back room of The Leafling, Jamie shushing her, listening for the knock at the door that says they ought to have opened back up after lunch twenty minutes ago. Jamie shushing her, and sighing, and giving up any pretense as Dani kisses her neck, hand slipped between trouser and skin, not caring the least about time as it marches on--

--on a plane. She is on a plane, and the plane is touching down, and time is unraveling around her faster, now. She feels the world bend and twist, as though she is walking not on solid ground, but upon shifting waves. If she loses focus for even a moment, she might forget--might forget a woman cannot walk on water, might forget and sink under before she’s ready to go.

Could she ever be ready to go?

She calls a car, wishing almost that it could be a dark-haired man in glasses and a leather jacket who steps out to help with bags she has not brought. She calls a car, and closes her eyes in the cold sunshine to wait, and she is--

--in an apartment barely furnished, takeout containers spread across the floor, Jamie’s head in her lap. Jamie, saying, “Christmas in Vermont--know it’s silly, but I feel like I was always supposed to be here.” Jamie, leaning up to kiss her with breath tinged with wine, the giddy anticipation of a new life dancing along her tongue as it slides between Dani’s lips--

--in a bedroom no longer her own, tears running down her cheeks, Jamie’s pinky notched around her own. Jamie, in shades of blue and promise, saying, “D’you want company? While you wait for your beast in the jungle, do you want--” and pressing lips to white knuckle in a knight’s oath--

--in a hallway, vibrating with need, wishing she could find the words to coax Jamie into another night. Just one more night, she thinks, knowing it could never be enough. One more. And one more. And one-- as Jamie is kissing her with sweet promise, Jamie guiding her hands up to hold tight, Jamie saying, “There are other nights, and there will be...”--

--in a grove of glorious flowers, rain sweet on the air, feeling as though this is what it is to jump--to fly--to bury her hands in Jamie’s hair and linger in every inch of her skin, her jacket pulled tight between her fingers, her hips bumping into Dani’s like she never wants to be apart from her again as she recognizes, “Once in a blue goddamn moon, I guess”--

-in a kitchen filled with the mundane ease of afternoon meal, of new friends and new charges, a woman strolling in as though she has nowhere to be and no rush to find it, her eyes meeting Dani’s with the simple certainty of oh, hello, you--

--standing at a lake. She is dressed, she notes with distant alarm, in a tight red dress unlike anything she’s ever owned. She is dressed for a show no one else will see. A moment, she thinks, given to the Lady without realizing. And still, she wound up here. Still, her legs carried her all this way. The Lady had allowed it, or Dani had mandated it, but either way: she is here, now.

She is here, and she wishes. She wishes with everything she would not allow herself on the plane over. She wishes, and she dreams, and she knows she could not for all the world put Jamie through it. Even now. Especially now.

She is twisting the ring, as she begins to walk.

She is holding the ring, as the waves lick higher.

She is gripping the ring, as her shoulders, her neck, her head vanish beneath the waves.

And this, here, a final gift--from the Lady, or from Viola, or from the magic of the night Dani Clayton gave up her future to save a child from this very fate. One more sweet moment granted, as she closes her eyes, as she lets the cold seep into her bones. Her lungs are quiet. Her heart does not pound from her chest. She is--

--in a bed with someone she has chosen, for the first time. In a bed, with someone who helps banish the shadows, just a little. In a bed, with Jamie’s hair curling between her fingers, Jamie’s skin sliding warm and supple against her own, Jamie kissing every part of her she’s never allowed anyone else to grace. Jamie, asking if she’s all right. Jamie, asking if she’s sure. Jamie, already loving her in ways she can’t yet know will punctuate her entire life.

Jamie, holding her tight as she breaks, swells, breaks again. Jamie, kissing her brow, tasting her skin, testing the weight of her as she rolls them both over and takes the lead. Jamie, smiling with wonder, eyes dilated, body seeking contact as they move between soft sheets.

Jamie, falling asleep not upon finishing, but in the middle of a conversation. Jamie, who has been asking about school, about favorite movies, about Dani’s first look at the stars and last time being sick, as though she’s trying to pack a lifetime into a single night. Jamie, punctuating every sentence with fingers tracing Dani’s every scar, every freckle, every beat of a heart that already sings Jamie’s name.

Jamie, falling asleep mid-word, pushed tight against Dani as though making of herself a talisman against the dark. Jamie, breathing soft and deep and even.

Jamie, with her now, with her always, with her until the very last.

Jamie.

There is, at last, peace.

#ask #fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #dani clayton #well. it's not quite what you asked for #but it's certainly what I couldn't help #you're welcome. or I'm sorry. probably both

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artsy0wl · 4 years ago

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My Son (A New Teen Titans Fic)

So I have a headcanon or two for Joey “Jericho” Wilson. One being that, due to his childhood trauma, he as PTSD. I actually made a series elsewhere where I discuss how each Titan would react to it.

I also had a little fic series planned out about Slade visiting Joey during the night since he couldn’t during the day (due to work and Adeline). It was a 5 + 1, but as it went on, it felt a hit repetative and I really wamted to do the last one where Slade gets caught. By Nightwing of all people. And they decide to have a talk.

It’s a fun little project that I thought ya’ll might enjoy.

It had been two months since Joey had joined the Titans, and two months that Slade had to carefully sneak in to see his son. He had been successful and was thankful that he had not been caught. But that didn't mean he wasn't cautious.

This night was no different. As he sat on the edge of the bed, Slade noted Joey's good health. He was healthy, his weight appeared normal, and he showed no signs of physical damage. Slade was glad that the Titans were treating him well. It was something that he was sure that Adeline made them promise, with Nightwing probably the first to experience her protective rage first hand.

As his father, all that Slade could ask for was his son being in good hands. However, he couldn't entirely bring himself to fully agree with the arrangement. If it were up to him, Joey would be with either parent, preferably both, or on his own. Joey didn't need to get caught up in all this fighting, even if he had a love for helping others.

Slade's train of thought was disrupted as Joey unconsciously flinched. His body twitched in distress as he unconsciously found himself trapped in a nightmare. One hand gently grabbed Joey's arm while the other cupped the side of his face.

"It's okay Joey." Slade comfortably whispered. "Dad's here. Everything's okay now."

Joey seemed to listen to his father as he unconsciously melted in his father's grip. When his breathing regulated and his flinching stopped, Slade adjusted Joey's blanket. Slade let out a deflated sigh.

"How long have you been there?" Slade sighed, knowing that he was being watched.

"Long enough." Nightwing admitted.

"And how long have you known?"

"Two weeks."

Slade rose from his seat to face the young vigilante. He looked at Nightwing, not with anger or resentment, but exhaustion. He didn't want to be caught after such a long record of escaping unseen. Least of all by Nightwing.

"What are you going to do?" Slade inquired. "Arrest me for visiting my son?"

Nightwing sighed, shaking his head. He approached the mercenary, cautiously, but unfazed by his presence. He gave the mercenary an unusually tired grin.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Nightwing offered.

Slade shockingly flinched at the offer, eyeing Nightwing curiously. While spontaneous moments of kindness was nothing new for Nightwing, the fact that he was offering one of his sworn advisories coffee was. Nightwing's expression softened slightly, knowing that he had stumped Slade.

"I've been up working on tying a few loose ends for cases back in Gotham and am not going to bed any time soon." Nightwing shrugged his shoulders. "The next person up will be Raven and that's not for another two hours. And Joey not too long after that." He then glanced at Joey. "He'll still be here when we're done if you want to see him."

Slade bounced between Nightwing and his son. Joey was in a deep sleep, which was a good sign. And if he was going to be like that for a few hours, it wouldn't hurt if he stepped away for a moment.

"Why not?" Slade accepted.

A steaming mug of coffee was generously placed in front of Slade, as Dick sat on the other side of the table. Slade took it, gingerly picking it up before taking a sip. Dick's domino mask sat by him, letting Slade know that he wasn't afraid that he saw his true identity. Not that he hadn't already. They sat in silence for a few moments as they scanned each other.

"So, how did you find out?" Slade asked, setting the cup down.

"I guess it started when we initially got Joey situated in the Tower." Dick recalled, taking a bit of coffee before setting it down. "Adeline mentioned that he suffered from chronic nightmares. Mostly resulting from the trauma of losing his voice, your messy divorce, and Grant's death." Dick's coffee cup slightly shifted between his hands. "She also warned us that the events with Terra might add onto that trauma. Her recommendation, if we caught him in the midst of a nightmare, wake him up, talk him through it if need be, and get him back to bed."

"That does sound like her." Slade confirmed.

Slade could picture Adeline given the Titans a list of odd requests and requirements as well as warnings. It was probably for the best considering Joey's traumatic history. However, that didn't entirely answer his question and opened the door for a new one.

"So I'm guessing all of you do this?" Slade assumed.

"Me and Raven mostly." Dick stated. "Beast Boy was a bit untrusting of him after Terra's death." There was a brief pause as they both recalled the initial fallout. "And while he's gotten over it, he's still working on building a good relationship with Joey." Dick moved on to the next member. "Cyborg would, given that he knows a thing or two about trauma, but because of the nature of theirs being a bit different, he's not sure if he's the best candidate. Though he does well for the most part." That only left one other member. "Starfire gets it as well, and while she gets the difference between coping on Tamaran and Earth, he is a little intimidated by her more assertive nature."

Dick look at his cup thinking about their attempt to help. Or at the very least how they were handling it. It wasn't that they weren't trying, it was how familiar they were with Joey's or how they thought they could handle it.

"To actually answer your question though, we started noticing changes after the first month." Dick circled back around. "In that first month, he would wake up petrified almost every other night. He only got three hours of sleep a night in the first week alone." Dick's face twitched at the thought. "We thought part of it was because of the adjustment on top of the nightmares. Then about a month ago, his panic attacks got less frequent. He wasn't waking up as much and was opening up a bit more. Raven and I thought he was getting better. That maybe he was getting used to being here, and the panic attacks were clearing up naturally. We also thought that maybe with him being away from Adaline helped, thinking that her constant presence might have been part of the problem. Two weeks ago, Raven decided to take a step back. She's still open to helping, both as an empath and just wanting to be someone he could confide in. But at that point, she didn't feel the need to constantly gauge his emotions every night."

Dick sipped his coffee, recalling the conversation. He understood her decision. Without any incidents in two weeks, there might not have been a need to have him constantly monitored. Plus, she was starting to look a bit under the weather herself, which wouldn't benefit Joey's psyche, or what was equally as important, her health. As far as Dick was concerned, Raven retiring was probably good for both of their sakes.

"Which left me on and off." Dick continued. "I was up two weeks ago, helping tie up a few loose ends for a case involving Two Face that Robin and I worked on. I was taking a break, so I thought I would check on Joey. I wasn't overly concerned, but I figured why not? I was up so checking on him wasn't going to do any harm. When I turned the camera on, I was startled to find you in the room."

Slade twitched slightly. He vaguely recalled that night. It was ten days after Slade and Beast Boy had a sit down and cleared the air after Terra's death and another two after Slade and Wintergreen returned from a hunting trip that turned into Slade's first real contract after completing Grant's. Slade remembered feeling a paternal needing to see his son. To check on the kid to make sure everything was alright.

"You were sitting on the edge of the bed, much like you were tonight," Dick stated, "and you must have just calmed him down from a nightmare as well given how tightly he was unconsciously holding onto your sleeve."

There was a prolonged sense of silence as they took the time to digest Dick's story. It was detailed, which was a plus. However, it also left Slade with a lingering sense of tension and a need to explain himself.

"I just want to see my son." Slade admitted. "I know my job hasn't made it easy. Even less so, now that Adaline and I have divorced. My family is the one thing that is still important to me. I just wish I had more time with them. That I had done things differently." Slade eyed his coffee. "I miss my kids and I've screwed them both up in equally horrible ways. But for Joey's sake, I want to be in his life. And for my sanity, I have to be. Even if it’s in secret.”

"I understand." Dick replied, to a slightly curious glare. "I mean, as a parent, I don't understand where you're coming from, but as a child who had a parent being gone for periods of time, I understand." Another, slightly confused, glare dug into him. "Just because I grew up in a circus, and close to my parents, doesn't mean my father never spent periods of time away from us. I know two times where that happened. The first when my mother was on maternity leave with me and the second when I got a bad case of pneumonia that landed me in the hospital for a week. In both cases, Haly needed at least one Grayson to keep the show going. So my father had to spend long periods of time perfecting a one man routine." Dick took a sip of coffee. "I might not remember his time away when I was a baby, but I vaguely recall calling out for my father during the worst parts of my pneumonia, only for him not to show. I remember feeling pain from the pneumonia on top of feeling heartbroken when he wasn't there."

It might not have been what Slade wanted to hear, but it was something he didn't mind hearing either. Hearing how the other side fells, helped put things into perspective. Even if that perspective was a little different as far as history.

"You've raised a great kid." Dick complimented, catching Slade off guard a bit. "It's true. I've never met someone as kind hearted and wonderfully talented as he is. He's a wonderful human being. So if there's any positive takeaway from everything your family's been through, it's that."

Slade wasn't sure if he should take the compliment. With everything he's done to his kid, he wasn't sure if he could take credit for it, outside of half his DNA and its side effects. But at the same time, he appreciated Dick at least trying to be somewhat positive about it.

"He's the only good thing we have," Slade admitted, "not that we deserve him. But thank you anyways." Slade gave Dick an intense glare. "And thank you for what you've been doing for him. He needs people like you in his life."

"Of course. I want him to be comfortable."

After another half hour of conversing, Slade finally decided to call it a night. But not without saying goodbye to his son. He and Dick quietly waltz down the hall to Joey's room. Right as Slade was about to open the door when the door slid open on its own. On the other side, a slightly dazed Joey stood in front of them. He jumped in surprise when his sight processed what was in front of him. Which prompted Slade to glare at Dick suspiciously.

"Don't worry bud," Dick comforted, addressing Joey first, "I'm not going to arrest him. He just wanted to see you, but you were asleep. What are you doing up so early?"

"Smelled coffee." Joey signed. "Have to pee."

That was enough to answer Slade's suspicions. He couldn't blame Dick for his son's bladder and he was just as guilty as Dick was for the coffee smell. Turning his full attention back to Joey, Slade tried to think of what to say. Not expecting to get caught, he felt at a loss for words.

Joey tightly latched onto Slade, hugging him to fill his father's lack of response. His face dug into Slade's shoulder and let tears dampen Slade's coarse top. It was clear that Joey needed this almost as much as Slade did. More so even.

After a few moment, Joey gently tapped Slade letting him know he was done. He was released, and took care of any rogue tears.

"I missed you." Joey signed.

"Me too kid." Slade agreed with a soft smile. "I'm sorry I have been a bit neglectful."

"It's okay. I'm just glad you're here now." Joey turned his attention to Dick. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Dick answered, approaching him. "I'm just glad you guys got to see each other."

#Joey Wilson #Slade Wilson #Deathstroke #Jericho #Dick Grayson #Nightwing #New Teen Titans #Fanfic #Fanfiction #DC #DC Comics #AU #Precious Boy #Sleepy Jericho #Anxiety #Panic Attack #Nightmares

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mavda · 4 years ago

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Beast Tamers

Summary: Mythical beasts roamed the world, all-powerful and terrifying, and the beast tamers sealed them withing themselves. Revered, feared or hated, a beast tamer will never have a normal life, and now Naruto Uzumaki is facing the start of his adult life: choosing a wife.

By his father's beseeching, Naruto is now seeking a wife from the Hyuuga clan, in hopes of extending his life somehow. Nobody expects him to be a real husband, to be a real father, but if Naruto is forced to start a family he will be damned if he disappoints.

Ch.1: A bride for the beast tamer

His father is looking at him with disapproval, he knows. He tries his best to ignore him by looking out the window and entertaining himself with the passing prairies, but Minato Uzumaki will drill a hole through his skull at this rate. "What," he barks. Minato breathes with exasperation, "Would it kill you to behave appropriately, son?"

Naruto blows a raspberry and keeps looking out the window with his slouched back, open legs and annoyed face. "I don't know, you tell me." "We're meeting your future wife, please try to at least look interested." "Bride," Naruto corrects, "future bride, and what's it they say? If you don't love me at my worst, you don't de-?" "Naruto!" Minato hisses, and Naruto knows he has overstepped. His father his hurt. He knows. He knew he would hurt him if he treated this meeting with such nonchalance, and he did it anyways. "Is wanting for you to live a couple more years such a horrible wish of mine?" Naruto bites his tongue, because he doesn't have the heart to tell his father that sometimes he wishes... "I will behave," Naruto concedes, "I will try my best to behave," he adds, because he knows himself. But he doesn't straighten his back, doesn't close his legs and doesn't wash the grimace off his face. "Thank you, son. Thank you." And Naruto pouts towards the window.

⁂

His stupid formal kimono is stuffy and the coat cord dangles in front of him. He has to fight the urges to grip it and rip it off. Their carriage leaves and a bunch of servants guide them towards the inner rooms of the house. Hiashi Hyuuga, head of the family, welcomes them alone and offers drinks to the both of them. Naruto became head of the family 5 years ago, the moment he became 18, so although he doesn't particularly enjoy drinking, he can't refuse the man's offering. They talk about unremarkable stuff, most having to do with their respective clans. Hiashi offers another drink and Naruto accepts out of politeness, it is common knowledge that a Beast Tamer should always keep their minds clear and alert. Naruto decides to give the man the benefit of the doubt, mainly because Minato has barely said a word and Naruto promised to behave. But then Hiashi offers another drink and Naruto crosses his arms. "I am afraid I will have to refuse, Lord Hiashi, I can not afford to get lost on the drink before meeting my future bride." Hiashi looks as bored as he had when they arrived, but he nods and calls for a servant to bring his daughters. They lock eyes afterwards and Naruto remains stoic. The man is getting on his nerves. When the door opens again, Naruto doesn't break eye contact until Hiashi does, and by that time the two daughters are already kneeling beside their father, one to each side of him. Their faces are glued to their hands on the floor and they do not move until their father says they are able to do so. Naruto hides his disgust by pressing his lips together. Patriarcal clans are always weird as fuck. If his mother had been alive he would have married a woman from another matriarchal clan, like the Inuzuka's or the Hatake's. Although if his mother had been alive she may have had a daughter and the Beast inside Naruto wouldn't be inside Naruto and maybe he wouldn't be looking for a bride to have an heir with. Specially not one from a patriarcal clan. Naruto hones in on the older-looking one. She looks as bored as her father, although Naruto is sure his own face isn't much different. She is pretty, dainty and delicate. Nothing of the things he looks for in a woman. His offspring need to be able to hold in a Beast inside of them, for crying out loud, he would much rather have a mean looking woman like Kiba Inuzuka's mother. Naruto remembers his friend's disgusted face when he had joked to him about it, and his mood is immediately better. He's just taking it out on the daughter because her father is such a stuck-up shit. Naruto's mother had been dainty and delicate, and his grandma Mito is graceful and solemn. Also, he's choosing his bride in order to lengthen his own lifespan, so whatever. Naruto turns slightly towards his right, puts his hands in front of him and presses his head to the triangle they formed, bowing towards the girl. He straightens, "Lady Hinata, I presume?" he says to the older-looking daughter, she gives the tiniest of nods. "It is my honor to be able to-" "Lord Naruto," Hiashi interrupts, and Naruto clenches his jaw. What a man. "Yes, Lord Hiashi?" "I would like to present to you my daughter Hanabi." The girl bows again and looks at Naruto directly into his eyes, "It is my honor to meet you, Lord Naruto." Naruto is confused. He glances towards Hinata, but her eyes are glued to the tatami in front of her. "I have been informed by your father that through this union you seek a partner that can help you maintain your chakra points clean and unburdened." Naruto nods, but he is still confused. "My daughter Hanabi is by far superior in terms of proficiency in the clan's techniques and as such, I believe, a better partner for you, my lord." Hinata hasn't said a peep, and Naruto can feel his very own chakras getting unruly inside of him. This must be a joke. "I do not understand," starts Naruto, "Is Hinata incapable of seeing chakra points?" Hiashi looks flustered, as flustered as he can look without losing his stoic face. "In terms of capability-" "Lady Hinata, are you incapable of using your clan's technique? Are you unable to see chakra points?" Hinata's eyes widen and stare back at Naruto's. "I can, my lord." "Are you incapable of releasing chakra points?" "I am capable of that, my lord." Her voice is reserved, like everything seems to suggest about her, but her eyes now have energy in them, and she can't hide the surprise behind them. "So could you explain to me then, Lord Hiashi, why are you offering your fourteen year old daughter instead of Lady Hinata?" "Naruto," Minato hisses from behind him. But Naruto is repulsed by this man's actions, so he awaits an answer. "As I have stated already, Lord Naruto, in terms of capability my daughter Hanabi is superior than Lady Hinata. I am sorry if me trying to be of use to you has resulted in me overstepping your boundaries." Minato raises, "Excuse me, Lord Hiashi, my ladies, I would like to have a private conversation with my son." Naruto doesn't move from his position and Minato calls him, "My lord." It's the change in tone that makes Naruto move. To anyone else, Minato looks just like a servant calling for his master, but Naruto knows his father is as disgusted as he is, there is irritation in his voice. "If you would excuse me." They walk towards a nearby pond. Everything is carefully positioned in this garden and Naruto tries to clear his head by admiring the place. Minato stops in the middle of a small bridge, just on top of a miniature waterfall. "What was that?" he asks, and Naruto is glad Minato chose a place that can somewhat drown their voices, because he's as shocked as his father. "I know, right? What is he thinking offering his youngest daughter to me? I've always known patriarcal clans were weird, but fuck-" "Naruto." Minato stops him, and his irritation is evident now. Naruto takes a moment to understand. "What?" but he refuses to think that his father is annoyed at him and not the man inside that room. "What are you doing going against Lord Hiashi?" Naruto has to remember to close his mouth. He feels somewhat betrayed, but he's more shocked than anything. "What do you mean? Hinata was the one we came here to see, didn't we?" "If Lord Hiashi says that Lady Hanabi might be a better choice, then why can't you just-" "You expect me to impregnate a 14 year old?" Naruto gets really close to his father. Minato is plenty tall, and usually towers the people around him, but Naruto has grown even taller than him, and he looks like someone that fights for fun, so now it seems like Naruto is threatening the blonde man into submission. "You do not have to have a child so soon," explains Minato. He reigns over his voice and attitude, nothing good will come out of having Naruto riled up. "Right, I have how many years left now? 8? 12?" Minato closes his eyes in pain, because this is exactly the reason why they need a Hyuuga in their family, for them to give Naruto a couple more years. "So I wait till she's of age, make her pregnant and then die a few years later, leaving her alone and with a child she will not know how to care for." "Our clan would never leave your child-" "If I am forced to have a family, then I want to at least be there for them!" Minato can't look Naruto in the eye. As Head of the family his expectations are far greater than Minato could ever understand, and if he wishes to be present... Minato understands. "Just control your temper, all right? We don't want Lord Hiashi withdrawing from this deal."

⁂

Hiashi and his daughters seem to have remained still since the moment they left the room. Naruto can't find a hair out of place and he can feel his annoyance growing again, but his father's words are at the back of his head. Naruto kneels in his spot and bows. "We appreciate your opinions in the matter, Lord Hiashi, and we appreciate your worry over the matter." Hiashi looks pleased, and Naruto has to remember to breath in and out, "I would like to have a one on one meeting with Lady Hinata, if you would let me." Hiashi's microscopic smile disappears. "As you wish, my lord." Minato leaves with everyone. He had told Naruto not to piss off Lord Hiashi, but at the end of the day, the decision regarding his bride and future wife must be his. Hinata remains as still as a statue. She had expected Lord Naruto to choose her sister, but now he is looking at her and Hinata doesn't know what to do. "Lady Hinata," Naruto starts, and Hinata breathes out the tiniest yes he has ever heard. "May I ask you to look at my chakra points and release the ones you feel are the most strained, please?" "Yes, my lord." By the way she had been conducting herself, Naruto would have thought she would have more trouble with his request. He half expected her to fumble while doing her work and actually to suck a little bit at it. But Hinata moves closer to him, keeping herself at arms length now and raises her hand to the front of her face with only her index and middle finger up, a usual hand gesture when using one's chakra. She mumbles a word beneath her breath that Naruto doesn't catch and the veins around her white eyes -characteristic to the Hyuuga- bulge out. Naruto can't look away from her eyes and he isn't sure she catches him staring. Hinata moves her eyes across his body and after a while she releases her technique. She doesn't look winded or tired, Naruto notices. "May I help you with your haori, Lord Naruto?" "Sure." Naruto notices his choice of words immediately, but Hinata pays no attention to it. She stands up and helps him take off his jacket, he feels refreshed instantly. "From what I have seen, Lord Naruto, the most restrained chakra points right now are in you upper back, chest and right thigh." Naruto nods along, because he has no way to confirm that information. "I need to put my hands in said parts of your body, may I?" "You may, Lady Hinata." The woman kneels behind him and presses her hands on his back. Naruto straightens even more, she whispers behind him again and starts moving her right hand in between his shoulder blades. She stops in one point and leaves only two of her fingers making contact. Naruto expects a jolt of chakra, a prick, pressure, anything, but he feels nothing and the next moment he feels his muscles relaxing. He feels better without knowing that he had felt bad before. "What the-?" "Lord Naruto?" Hinata moves to his side, as quick as her kimono lets her. Her hand is in his shoulder and the other hovers near his chest. He's hunched over and Hinata feels the tears coming. She did everything correctly, she may not be as good as her sister, but even she can close and release chakra points. Any child in the clan can close and release chakra points. Closing and releasing chakra points is the cornerstone of the Hyuuga clan and no one, in the history of the clan, has ever been unable to at least be able to use that technique. But this is her we're talking about, the weakest of the heiresses in history, so it is not that far-fetched for her to be the first ever to blunder such basic of the basics. "Lord Naruto?" Naruto raises his head with a delighted sigh, "That felt great," he can barely believe something so small is able to make him feel so much better. He looks at Hinata with surprise and stops on his tracks as he sees her face. She breathes in a shaky breath, presses her lips in order to stop them from trembling and does her best to smile, "I am glad, Lord Naruto." "I'm sorry," Naruto says immediately, "did I scare you? I'm sorry." Hinata shakes her head no and stands to move in front of him. Her legs feel weak but she carries on. What a disgrace. "No." If she wasn't so much of a failure then she would have never even entertained the thought that she could possibly hurt him with a bad executed technique. The fact that she even doubted herself is enough to send her spiraling into despair, and the fact that she may have disgraced herself in front of the Head of the Uzumaki is eating at her. "Pl-please think n-nothing of it, my lord." There is silence and Hinata would gladly throw herself to the ponds outside, shame herself in another way that was not her stupid stutter. She hates everything, maybe if he had chosen her sister then she wouldn't be making such a fool of herself. Maybe if her father hadn't shamed her for not being her sister, she wouldn't have such a problem with her speech when pressured. Maybe if she was better, then none of this would be even a problem. She sits in front of Naruto and presses her hands to his chest. She may be a failure and of no consequence but she was going to do what he had asked of her at least. If he would rather have a perfect, free-of-stutter wife then he could choose her sister. Why didn't he just go with her sister and save her the shame? Hinata releases the chakra point and Naruto makes a point of thanking her. Hinata barely hears him, ready to leave the room and for her father and sister to come back and change his mind. Her movements are practiced and she finishes soon. Thank god. She is ready for Naruto to dismiss her with a wave of his hand, but he only kneels. "I can see that you are more than capable of releasing chakra points, Lady Hinata. Thank you. May I know why you father decided to propose your sister instead of you?" Hinata knows this spiel by heart, "Her proficiency-" "You seem to be capable enough." "She's f-faster," Hinata wishes he would just let her go, "more controlled." "May I be blunt, Lady Hinata?" Hinata raises her eyes and breathes out a yes. "I am in need of an heir." Hinata can feel her cheeks heating. "I have no desire to wed a child, and although you and your father seem to be of the mind that Lady Hanabi is better at using your clan's technique, if she is only faster and more controlled in doing what you have just showed me, I have no interest in that. May I know what you know about my clan?" Hinata and her sister studied what they could find about the Uzumaki's, but like any high-positioned clan, they could only find basic information. "Only what is c-common knowledge, my lord." "In that case, I would love for you to get to know my clan before you make your decision, my lady. I would be honored to receive you and move forward with our relationship with marriage in mind. If you would accept my invitation, It would be my pleasure to have you in my compound starting next week." Hinata is puzzled. "My father..." "The Uzumaki are a matriarchal clan, my lady, and in matriarchal clans the decisions are made with the people affected by them, other people are inconsequential. Of course, I will repeat what I said to you word by word to your father, Lady Hinata, I know the ways of this clan." Naruto stands up and waits for Hinata to rise before getting his haori. Hinata moves her hands to help him put his jacket on without thinking. She is still shocked at Naruto's decision. Before they leave the room, Naruto stops in front of the shoji door and turns to her. He towers over her and in any other occasion she would feel anxious by this situation. "It has been my pleasure meeting you, my lady, I shall talk with your father about my proposal and await your answer." Hinata looks at him and nods as an answer. "Just keep in mind, Lady Hinata," Naruto moves his hand under her chin and raises her face to him, "we are not beyond kidnapping our brides and grooms if their decisions are faced with opposition."

⁂

As Naruto and Minato leave the compound, her father stands next to her with displeasure oozing out of him. And maybe this is just the shock talking or the comfort of not knowing what is to come. But Hinata feels the itch to run away.

#Naruto #naruhina #fanfiction #Beast Tamers #ch.1 #I'm gonna be real people I started this because Naruto and Hinata live rent free in my mind and I wanted to write them doing the do #Then the plot followed. Don't expect them to be doing the do every chapter though!! lol

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years ago

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The Killing Cure (Part 12)

It’s been a hot minute but I’m back from my vacation. I mentioned on my other fic that I just got a new job so updates will still probably be slow as I now have a job on top of art fight, a zine, two other fics, and an original story. So a big thanks to everyone who sticks with this one and for all of the patience.

Out of all of the beings that roam this godforsaken Earth, humans, monsters, mutants...it is Winters. Winters who has been on her mind since she kissed him. She wishes that she could call it an impulse but is it really an impulse if she had been thinking--however loosely--about it for several days before?

She wishes that he would do something to make her irreparably mad. But he doesn’t, he only ever seems to make her feel a sense of comfort. Even now when she is cringing at the sight of herself in a pair of pants, the man stands behind her with a collection of compliments. “You look great.” He promises. “It’s going to take some getting used to, you being dressed down, but it’s nice.”

Nice. He thinks that she looks nice. It is such a simple word, so plain, ordinary. But it means everything to her. Everything when she has felt anything but nice or attractive… “I’ve looked better.” She waves the compliment off. But, by God, it has taken at least some of the edge off of her mild sense of self loathing.

Ethan shrugs. “You just have to get used to streetwear.”

She chances another look in the mirror; she supposes that it isn’t quite so horrible. The shirt is loose and breathable though the linen fabric isn’t as kind on her skin as many of her gowns are. The pants are less comfy, more restrictive than her dresses but are easier to maneuver in without tripping. And she supposes that they don’t look too unflattering on her.

She jerks when Ethan suddenly thumps her hat onto her head. He laughs at her little jolt. “Do not test me, Winters! We have a long journey ahead of us.”

“Just trying to help.” He replies. “I didn’t want you to forget your favorite hat.”

He favorite hate is actually several sizes too big for her and sits draped over a chair. But with an exact replica of it, she decides that the technicalities aren’t worth mentioning. “Are my girls ready?”

“They’re your daughters, you check on them.”

.oOo.

He watches Alcina make her way out of the room. Words and hissed out promises aside, the woman has become increasingly less hostile since she’d kissed him. He smiles to himself, at least he isn’t the most awkward of the two of them anymore. At least, he isn’t alone in his conflicted, affectionate feelings.

She comes back with her daughters in tow; Bela has a grip on her left hand and Cassandra holds the left. Daniela, untethered, zips about, occasionally cutting in front of the other three before falling behind once more. The three of them are bundled up heavily, almost absurdly so. Alcina comes to a stop at the center of the room and Daniela takes the opportunity to lift her off of the ground.

“Daniela…” she grumbles through clenched teeth, “we talked about this…”

The woman cackles and puts her mother back down before bursting into a cloud of flies and rebuilding herself several feet away. Ethan has never seen anyone look less amused than Alcina in that moment. “We’re ready, Ethan.”

A jolt of adrenaline pulses through him, it is once again real. His mission is once again in sight and the dangers are once again going to be pressing. He wonders if Alcina is nervous now that illness has taken the place of a powerful mutation. She is just an ordinary woman with very basic gun skills. She gives no indication of nervousness, regardless of how she feels within.

Having grown used to the warmth of Castle Dimitrescu the cold stikes Ethan’s face as tough tendrils of the aurora borealis have reached down and coiled around his face. His is overcome by shivers, he can only imagine how the fly beasts are handling it. He doesn’t have to imagine it, one look behind him and he knows that they are recoiling. He thinks that he can hear faint crackles.

His speculation becomes knowledge when he sees the panic on Alcina’s face. Without a word of warning, she grabs all three of her daughters and, with more strength than he realized small Alcina has, ushers them back into the warmth of the castle.

Ethan follows her back inside. Her face is twisted in distress and concern, her breathing hastened. “Oh, my poor dears.” She mumbles more to herself than any of the three. “My poor little darlings…” She sandwiches Daniela’s hands between hers. “Winters, you get them some blankets, now.”

Stress pinches her tone and he elects to ignore the snappiness of her request. She holds Daniela to her chest, letting the woman drink in her body heat.

.oOo.

Were she herself she would be more efficient. She would mostly envelop Daniela until the frost retracts from her skin. Having skipped the test steps and thrown herself headfirst into the frosty outside world, the woman had taken the worst of its merciless frigidness--she is too bold for her own safety.

Alcina holds her so close--feeling the woman’s shivers and shakes--and brushes her hand over her hair. For once she finds herself thankful for her softness, it gives her an added warmth which she extends to Daniela. She has the urge to squeeze the woman but she must handle her with care, she is so terribly fragile right now.

Ethan comes back with three blankets which he wraps around Bela and Cassandra and then over Daniela’s. “Thank you, Ethan.” She murmurs as she continues to stroke Daniela’s hair. “We will have to see if the Duke will be a gentleman enough to look after my daughters while I’m gone.”

Ethan nods.

“Mother, it’s so cold.” Bela whimpers.

“It hurts.” Cassandra adds.

“I know dears, it’s going to be alright.”

“I think that I’m dying, mother.”

Alcina shakes her head, “no, Daniela. You’re going to be just fine, dear. We’ll get you nice and warm again.” She kisses the top of her head.

“I saw a deer pretty close by, I can get them some warm deer blood.” Ethan offers.

“Yes, Ethan, that would be ideal.”

With only a nod, he makes his way outside again. There is a new fluttering in her belly alongside the anxious tickles. She isn’t sure what to make of these flutters. But she knows where they come from. She watches Ethan through the window, watches him chase the deer down, likely cussing and shouting. She observes and she can’t help but let her mind wander. She barely knows him beyond the very basics. She has mostly tormented the man, mocked him. And yet he is good to her. He is kind to her girls. They aren’t even his own and yet he is fetching meals and warmth for them.

.oOo.

Ethan is completely drained by the time he gets back from his deer hunt. Physically and mentally--he can’t hold it against them, it isn’t the fault of the daughters that they can’t endure the cold. But it is still a setback. Still one more day away from finding Rose. One more day that leads her closer to a heinous sort of death.

He leaves the deer on the table, decidedly the girls can eat it raw and he can fix himself and Alcina a meal. Or perhaps she’d be willing to do the cooking this time. He opens his mouth to call for the daughters but the flies are already gathering. Three identical swarms that take shape.

“Where’s your mother?” He asks at the shaping of Cassandra.

The girl shrugs, “either the kitchen, having a bath, or the bedroom.”

“I’ll check the kitchen.” He knows that she is there before he reaches it. He isn’t exactly sure what she is cooking but she has added what smells like an overabundance of spice.

“What are we cooking?”

“I am cooking soup.” Alcina sets a bowl on the table. “Just a little recipe that Donna showed me.”

“She really loves her spices.”

Alcina shakes her head, “I like spices. Donna cooks her food quite bland. Donna favors simplicity.”

“Your daughters seem like they are recovering well.”

She sighs, “they should be in bed resting.” She clicks her tongue. “I can never get them to rest well. Daniela wakes up and then all three of them are awake.”

Ethan laughs, “sounds about right, kids are just like that no matter how old they get.” He pauses, “do you need rest?”

Alcina thinks for a moment, “I will be fine for now. The medications are working quite sufficiently.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“You sound unhappy.”

“I was hoping to be well on our way to find Rose.” He sees the vexation flash across her face but before she can rave at him he adds, “it’s...fine, it isn’t their fault. Just frustrating circumstances.” This answer seems to placate the woman. She silently continues eating her soup. He has to admit that it isn’t bad at all. Perhaps a little strong for his tastes but he is just thankful that he didn’t have to cook this time. “You don’t seem all too happy either.” He comments after pushing his bowl aside.

Alcina stares into her empty soup bowl. “I’m afraid of losing my girls. Today was a reminder of just how easily it can happen. They’ve been in more danger lately than they have been in, in years…” She stands and beckons for him to follow. Once upon a time, perhaps only a week or so ago, he would have hesitated. This time he trails closely behind her.

“I have a feeling that everyone will be too preoccupied trying to kill us to go after them.” He shrugs. He supposes that that isn’t all too reassuring. He is surprised to see her smile slightly and nod in agreement. There is something comforting about her willingness to die in place of her daughters, to put herself in danger to keep it far away from them. Humanity, he realizes. And he realizes too, that she would have done the same prior to his arrival. Humanity in a woman who, at that point, hadn’t been human in so long.

He watches her climb onto her bed. She gives a rather dramatic sigh and mutters, “I should make sure that my girls are…”

“I can get them into bed.” He doesn’t allow for protest. Rather, he slips out of the room and herds the three of them into their room.

“Do we get another bedtime story, Winters?” Bela asks.

“I wasn’t planning--”

“We need a story to sleep.” Daniela insists. “Mother always reads to us.”

And thus he finds himself suckered into reading them to sleep a second time. Alcina, he finds, has nodded off in his absence and jolts awake at his sudden reappearance. She grumbles something, that he can’t quite catch, about knocking first. “Sorry.” He mouths. Truth be told, he isn’t sure why he has come back to her room instead of going to the guest bedroom. “They’re all tucked in and read to.”

The smile she gives him this time is much softer than usual, sleepier too. It is pleasant, inviting. He finds himself wondering, again, who she had been before the mutation. What she had been like prior to Mother Miranda. She pats a spot on the bed next to her.

“Thank you for caring for my girls. They can be...difficult to manage when it is just me.”

“You’re…” he feels her weight shift onto him. “You’re welcome.” He chances holding her with his right arm. When she doesn’t jerk away or protest, he strokes her hair, trying to ease her stress away. He thinks that it is working.

It must be... She said it wouldn’t happen again, he knew that she was lying, he just didn’t expect her to stray from her promise so soon; she kisses his neck. And when she closes her eyes and rests her head against him, her curls tickle his neck. He holds his hand against her cheek--he supposes that he will be spending another night in her company. A night with her in his arms.

#Alcina Dimitrescu #Lady Dimitrescu #Ethan Winters #Alcina/Ethan #Fanfiction

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tamsin-moon · 4 years ago

Text

Not A Fish

Notes: Javier Escuella x GN Reader, angst, near drowning, slight cursing, turns into happy ending.

If there was one thing that made your blood run cold in an instant it was when you saw one of your friends horses outside of camp without it’s rider to be found and not hitched.

This would be the feeling you were currently experiencing as you came across Boaz at a fork in the road near the Dakota river when you were coming back from a small hunting trip. You could tell in moments that the horse was on edge, as if it had just run into a predator or so and you would be slipping from your saddle to approach slowly, “Easy boy, it’s alright” you call gently as you move. Luckily the jittery beast recognized you fairly quickly and was calming as you rub his nose and up his forehead, “There we are, now where is Javier?” you ask only to get a snort in return.

If horses could talk you were sure Boaz would answer your question, but at the moment all you could do was try to retrace his steps. Mother nature seemed to be with you, however, as a recent rain had the ground muddy and you were able to pick up his fresh hoof prints after a minute of searching. Staying on foot you would grab your rifle as a precaution, but would start to follow the trail, calling to both horses to follow you before focusing and trying to ignore your heart pounding in your ears as your mind raced with possibilities.

Was he hurt? Captured? You dare not even think of the worst outcome lest the universe make it come true. Moving quick as you could to not lose the trail you would eventually come to the river bank and your brow was furrowing as you looked around. There was no sign of Javier and it was too deep of a spot to cross, not to mention the current was strong after the recent rain, what had happened? Looking around for any sign you would slip the rifle back onto your saddle before moving to the bank close as you dared, the rocks and mud were slippery that one wrong step could be very bad.

Casting your gaze about again you would spot boot prints and by your guess they were Javier’s, there was only the one set so it had to be. It looked as if he had just been standing on the bank, maybe walking it some, but then you would see it. Some marred prints that were a mixture of hoof and boot and you had to swallow, taking a deep breath to not panic. He must have fallen in or Boaz knocked him in on accident and with the current he would have been swept away quickly. You knew he could swim, though, so as long as he had not hit his head there was a chance.

Mounting your horse quickly you would spur into a canter, rushing down the shoreline as quickly as you dared as you looked for any sign and about a mile downriver you would spot him on a large rock in the middle of the river. He was still mostly in the water, but luckily in a bit of a crevice and holding himself out, looking around. Yelling to him a moment later, “Javier!” and feeling a slight relief as he looked over to you, coughing as he called back, “Y/n! Little help por favor!”

Thinking fast as you could there was really only one thing you could do and you would be getting out your lasso. It would take three tries, but you would manage to get it over him on the third as he was a decent distance out and luckily the crevice kept him from slipping as he got it more securely around his torso. “Hold tight!” you call, tying the rope securely around your saddle horn and keeping a grip. Mostly you would let your horse do the pulling and in a few minutes you would pull the man onto the shore, not surprised as he began to retch up water. At least he was still conscious.

Off your horse seconds later you would be by his side, helping to get the rope off of him and rubbing his back as he spat the last of what was trying to come up from his stomach, “Damn that’s vile” he curse as he push himself to sit up with your help. Your heart rate slowly coming back down from the adrenaline rush you would resist the urge to hug him, for now, as squeezing him would not be a good idea. You did not miss the grateful look he threw your way, though, “Gracias Y/n, I was starting to think I was going to drown there. How did you find me?”

You would hook your thumb at Boaz, who had continued to follow you, and would give the man a smile, “Saw him on the side of the rode all jittery. Followed his trail to the river and figured out what happened” you would explain to him before seeing him cough again. He needed to get dry clothes you knew and camp wasn’t too far off, “Think you can ride? Would be best to get you back home” you say gently and when he nodded you would be helping him up slowly.

“Mind if I ride with you, will probably fall off if I try by myself” he would say as you got to the horses and you could hear the slight tone in his voice, hating to look weak like this, but you would just give his hip a squeeze where you had your hand bracing him up, “Sure thing” you assure. Making sure he was stable leaning on your horses shoulder for the moment you would swing up into the saddle before carefully helping him up behind you. Once you were sure he had a grip on your waist you would start back at an easy, but quick pace and made sure Boaz was still with you.

“So what happened?” you ask gently as you ride and you would practically feel him sigh behind you as his chest was against your back. Yes he was wet, but you did not care about that at the moment. “I was fishing and a muskrat or something came darting out of the water, Boaz got spooked. Next thing I know he bumped me and I slipped” he explain, the embarrassed tone clear, “I got lucky with the rock and that you came along when you did” he add a bit quieter at the end.

All in all you were just relieved you had showed up in time, in truth you cared deeply for the man and you were already quite close. After losing so many in Blackwater and how bad things had been if you lost Javier you would probably completely shatter, but you had yet to make anything more than friendship known. Hand resting over his own a moment you would give it a squeeze, “You’re going to be alright and it was an accident, could have happened to anyone” you try to assure as the camp trail was coming into view.

Sean on watch would call out to you, “Everything alright there?” You would just give the Irishman a wave as you called back, “Just an incident with the river!” before passing by and trotting up to the hitching post. Spotting Charles nearby you would call out to him and when the man noticed Javier’s state he was hurrying over to help him down before you were getting down yourself, “What happened?” he ask, worry clear as day and Hosea would be noticing as well as you explained. “Javier decided to try to be a fish, it did not go well” your try to joke and were smiling as the Mexican man cracked a little smile.

“Very funny” he retort before coughing a bit, Hosea nodding, “I’ll get some medicine together, Charles you get him back to his tent for dry clothes” the older man instruct before glancing to you and seeing you were wet yourself, “You too, don’t need you getting sick either” before shooing you all off. Nodding you would watch them go for a moment before you were heading towards your own tent to change and try to calm your nerves more. If anything the incident resolved you in the fact you needed to get your feelings out into the open.

Unfortunately the rest of the day you would seem to get stuck in one chore after the next and it would not be until late in the evening that you would get a chance to go and check on him. With a thought you would grab a bag of peppermints from your tent before you were heading towards the main campfire. His tent was near it so you reasoned he would be at one of the two, so when you found him at neither you were concerned. Charles, though, would be on one of the crates and saw you coming, nodding towards the overlook area, “He went that way”

Out of everyone at camp Charles seemed to be the only other person who knew you had feelings for Javier and encouraged them as, unknowns to you, he knew Javier felt the same and was hoping this finally brought you two together. Thanking him you would change your course, seeing him settled on one of the stones looking out at the view as you approached. Not wanting to sneak up on him you would keep your footsteps louder and smiled as he looked over to you, “Hey,” you heard him greet before patting the spot next to him on the rock.

Coming over you would sit next to him and look him over, “Hey, you are looking better. How do you feel?” you ask in an easy tone and would watch him rub his throat a bit, “Probably won’t be doing any singing for a bit, my throat it raw, but otherwise just a bit sore and tired. Hosea’s medicine seems to be keeping a fever away” he assure you and it did have you relieved on that. An incident like that could have consequences after the fact you knew well so you were glad he was back at camp.

“I had a feeling your throat might hurt so I brought you these<” you then say after a moment and offered him the bag of peppermints. “When my throat is sore these help a lot, just suck on them, don’t chew” you explain and would see him blink before taking them, putting one in his mouth after opening it up and the silence would just seem to fall upon you both. It was a comfortable one as you looked out to the view, but you were almost jumping after a moment when you felt his shoulder against your own.

Feeling your cheeks warm a bit as you look over you would find he was looking right back into your eyes, something different in his gaze that just sent a shiver through you. Before you could think of a sentence he was speaking, “You know what scared me the most today, Y/n, wasn’t the river or drowning. I was afraid I was going to die before I got to tell you how much I care about you…how much I want to be closer to you. I should have made a move before Blackwater, I was going to try, but then everything went to hell.” The way he spoke you could tell he meant every word, watching for your reaction and you were uncertain what to say.

Your silence would seem to dishearten him, though, and you could see a sad tint coming to his gaze so you would act. You would figure out words in a minute, but for now you would just lean in and let your lips find his. Hands sliding up to his shoulders his own would be finding your waist as he wasted no time in kissing you back. When the need for air became too real you would pull back, finding your own words, “When I saw Boaz a million possibilities ran through my mind, but I had to force myself to not think of the worst. I was terrified I was going to find you dead before I could tell you the same.” You admit before your arms were wrapping around him to pull him close.

You could feel him relaxing in your arms and both of you just held each other tight, “Next time you decide to go fishing after a huge rain, take someone with you alright?” you would say after a bit, feeling and hearing him chuckle as he kissed the side of your head, “You’re right and I promise. Hopefully that will be you, but first I will have to get a new fishing rod” he muse as the tension of the day finally was beginning to fade.

#rdr2 reader insert #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella x gn reader #gn reader

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narniagiftexchange · 4 years ago

Text

THE WINTER NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

for: @lukejulies from @teenagedpevensies.

my best friend, my sibling.

for @lukejulies from @teenagedpevensies

“Why your Majesty it’s such an honor to run into you here,” Lucy curtsied deeply, giggling.

“Oh yes your Majesty, simply divine, what have you done with your hair?” Edmund bowed, keeping a serious expression fixed to his face.

“Brushed it, for once, your Majesty, and I must say where has your famous body odor gone this evening?”

“You mean you aren’t accessorizing with leaves and dirt anymore? Fascinating. You’re quite the trend setter, your Majesty, and if you must know my dearest sister I’ve taken the liberty of bathing today.”

“First time all week! Daring of you.”

“I thought so, yes.”

“Oh your Majesties! What an honor to run into you!” A noble from Archenland walked out into the hall. She was lady something or other, Edmund couldn’t quite remember which made him a little guilty. A little. To be fair, there were a lot of nobles here, and he was only twelve and had many many kingly duties. Like hiding out from the celebration with his little sister because if either of them went into the ballroom, they’d have to meet approximately 80 guests and then be expected to remember all of them. Very serious business, hiding from festivities.

Cair Paravel had finally gotten all fixed up, so they were hosting a huge celebration. It had taken about a year and a half to finish repairs and cleaning and furnishing, and it was good that the work was over and good to celebrate! But being in a room full of stuffy adults wasn’t Lucy or Edmund’s idea of a celebration. It wasn’t the first gathering the kings and queens had hosted since being crowned, but dear god it WAS the largest by a lot. Edmund had snuck out of the great hall and found Lucy sitting by the door making flower crowns, also having escaped from the chaos.

“Yes, good to see you again, madam,” Edmund said politely.

“Oh, your Majesty! Where did you get those divine flowers?” The lady motioned to the crown Lucy had placed haphazardly on her head.

Lucy and her quickly got into a lovely conversation about the flowers until the lady went to go find the gardens for herself. Lucy sent her off with a flower crown of her own and a brilliant smile.

“How do you do that?” Edmund asked.

“Do what, Ed?”

“Make friends with- well with everyone?”

“It’s not everyone, Tumnus’s nephew still hates me.”

“Impossible.” Edmund dismissed the statement with a wave. “Everyone likes you.”

“I’m just nice, I guess.”

“Well, I’m nice!”

“No, you’re polite, Ed. It’s different.” She took a seat next to one of the heavy wood doors.

“Is it really that different?” He sat next to her.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just cuter and sweeter and funnier than you and everyone thinks I’m an angel. It comes with being the youngest.”

Edmund shoved her, she laughed, the door opened, and Mr. Beaver stepped out.

“There you are! You can’t just disappear like that, Susan thinks you’ve been kidnapped. Or assassinated.”

“Oh Mr. Beaver, don’t make us go back in,” Lucy begged. “It’s lasted hours already, and I’m so tired.”

“Who said anything about going back in? Scoot over, I think I can hide away for ten minutes. It’s every creature for themselves at these things. The others can hold their own.”

The summer air in Narnia was heavy and warm, like the mantle of some great beast had been draped over them while they sat in front of a roaring fire. On days when there were no responsibilities to attend to, the teenaged kings and queens would often ride down to the river and swim there for hours, until their whole bodies shivered with the ice of the water. Susan and Edmund started the game of climbing the trees that trailed branches over the water and jumping in, and Peter and Lucy turned it into a competition to see who could make the biggest splash.

Sometimes the river turned their toes to prunes, or they began to fear catching a cold, and then they’d run around the forest, befriending squirrels and tree nymphs, climbing trees and rocks, and dancing and singing in clearings.

“Race you to the top of this tree,” Edmund shouted to Lucy, as she raced to catch up with him.

“No fair! We all know you’re the best at climbing!”

“Sounds like an excuse!” He was the best at climbing and demonstrated this with his graceful ascent into the tree’s lower branches.

“Edmund!”

“Better hurry up then if you want to win!”

Lucy reached the base of the tree, huffing and puffing, with a twig caught on the hem of her dress and dirt caking her bare feet. She jumped up to reach the lowest branch, caught hold of it, and promptly lost her hold. Edmund was seated on one of the middle branches of the tree by this point, watching with amusement.

“You’re the worst!” She called up, but she was grinning.

“Yes, but the best climber.”

“You have to race me later on foot, to make it up to me.”

“Actually Lucy, I don’t have to do anything.”

She caught hold of the branch and pulled herself up.

“One down!” He started climbing again, “only about twenty to go!”

She huffed in response.

They were quiet for a minute, both focusing on not losing their grip as they climbed higher and higher. Narnian trees, even the ones not inhabited by dryads, are particularly lovely. They are exactly the right height, always. They touch the sky or are as short as Peter and either way it’s right. They feel genuine; they make you think, this is a tree that knows, a tree that thinks, and feels. This tree has seen so much and is so beautiful, and being near it feels like being young. Each leaf is its own kind of beautiful, a tiny art piece. And each branch is strong and healthy, and holding onto it feels safe. Or maybe the trees back in England are like this, too. Neither Lucy nor Edmund could quite remember.

“I think I’ve gotten as high as the tree will hold me” Edmund called down after a bit.

“What do you-” Lucy stopped to catch her breath after heaving herself onto a particularly difficult branch, “what do you see Ed?”

“The forest, what do you think?”

“Oh whatever,” Lucy scowled up at him.

“Well, the trees all look plenty green up here. Like a sea of its own. The sky is lovely, it must be about noon, the sun looks to be straight up from here. The clouds look particularly alive today. Oh, is that-?” Edmund carefully stood, clinging tightly to the trunk of the tree, craning his neck to see something closer.

“What is it?”

“It’s a birds nest! Lucy get up here!”

“I’ve been trying! Don’t touch the eggs!”

“I’m not going to touch them, I’m not stupid.”

It was a phoenix nest, the eggs were red and looked hot to the touch. Lucy finally got to the top branch, Edmund giving her a little help by calling directions on where to put her feet for the last few branches, and the siblings stood on the branch together, overlooking the forest.

“We should name them,” Lucy said reverently, studying the three eggs.

“They have parents, you know.”

“Sure, but these can be special names that only we know. Then when they hatch, we’ll see phoenixes flying around and say to ourselves, I wonder if that’s little-” Lucy looked at him expectantly.

“Bartholomew?” He laughed at her scowl.

“You’re the worst. Pick a serious name,” she demanded.

“We should be climbing down, Susan and Peter are probably ready to head home about now.”

“Right.”

“Lucy?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, looked down at her hands instead as she picked at her fingernails. “It’s a bad night.”

It was late; most of the castle was asleep. Edmund hadn’t been, he was finishing the last chapter of the book he’d been reading. And clearly, since she was here, Lucy wasn’t sleeping either.

“Come on in.”

They sat on the floor, beside the mural on Edmund’s wall. They’d painted it for him when he turned 13. It turned out Mr. Tumnus had quite the artistic talent. Trees, tall and strong, the sun shining through the leaves. They’d all helped, and Susan said her favorite part was Lucy’s little squirrel she’d painted in the top left corner.

“What’s bugging you?” Edmund asked her, solemnly.

“Well not- Not bugging me so much as it’s just…” she paused. “No, I guess it is bugging me. We love it here, right?”

“Right.” They’d been over this conversation before, the two of them, and they’d both talked to Peter about it, and Susan, and many times all four of them had spoken about it in tearful tones.

“There’s no place I’d rather be, and it’s home, and we’ve been here for five years, and I’ve never truly really wanted to leave but. Do you ever think about it?”

“The professor’s house?”

“No, bigger.”

“Where our parents are.”

Neither acknowledged that they hadn’t said its name. Neither admitted that they no longer remembered.

“Do you remember what dad was like?” Lucy asked. She looked just as small as she had been, that very first day when they’d found Tumnus’s house empty.

“Brave. Funny. He told us stories.”

“I remember those. Do you remember what mom was like?”

“Worried.”

“And?”

“Kind. She loved us. She used to sing us lullabies.”

“I don’t remember the lullabies anymore.”

“I do. One of them at least. Do you remember anything?”

“A little. Nothing solid. It feels like that place was a dream. Like we were always meant to belong to here instead.”

“We do. We belong there too, but we do belong here.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“Do you think they miss us?” Lucy asked.

“Of course they do.” Edmund sighed. He laced his fingers together, remembering being a very small boy and holding his father’s hand to cross the street.

“Do we miss them?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, you can stay as long as you’d like.” After a minute, he picked up his book again, and Lucy sat quietly, staring off into the middle distance.

“Edmund?”

“Yeah, Lu?”

“Will you sing one of mom’s lullabies for me?”

Edmund hated singing. ”Sure.”

She scooted over to sit next to him, and he hugged her.

“Um, the only one I really remember is this,” he cleared his throat and began to sing, resting his chin on Lucy’s head. “Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye, four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie. When the pie was opened the birds began to sing— Wasn’t that a dainty dish to set before the king?”

He sang that song, and remembered another so he sang that one too, and another, and another. When he finally looked down at Lucy, he noticed that she’d been crying.

“I don’t remember any of them,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry, Lucy.” He felt close to tears himself.

She was quiet for a long time, sniffling.

“Do you need to talk any more?” He asked gently.

“No. I think I’m going to go back to bed.”

“Probably a good plan.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

When she left he set to work writing down as many songs as he could remember. He wanted them to always have them.

It’d taken teamwork and dedication and a week of trying but Lucy and Edmund had finally figured out how to scale the pillars of the throne room to perch in the rafters. And they were taking full advantage of it.

“Lucy! Edmund!!” Peter called from somewhere a few hallways away.

“Should we go see what he’s after?” Lucy asked, munching on a scone.

“Of course not, he either wants us to do some chore or other, or he found out about the scones.” They were Peter’s scones, he’d baked them yesterday.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have stolen them?”

“Hey, he bakes a whole batch every week and never finishes them before they go stale. We’re helping.”

“Fair enough.”

“Plus he’s being a jerk.”

“That too.”

Peter had been training all week for a tournament with some important noble. It was supposed to just be a friendly match, but Peter treated it like he did any of his other kingly duties, far too seriously. He was tired from training and tired from still keeping up with all his other work, and he’d been far more snappish than he normally was. This was agreed to be, by the two younger Pevensies, completely justified payback for the way he’d been behaving all week. Plus, his scones were delicious.

“LUCY! EDMUND!”

Peter was in the throne room now, stomping around. Magnificent though he was, and extremely kind most days, their brother acted like a toddler when he lost his temper over something petty. Lucy and Edmund exchanged looks. When Peter was below the rafter they were situated on, Edmund drew something from his pocket. Making a shushing gesture toward Lucy, he daintily dropped the acorn in his hand onto their brothers regal head. Both of them gathered themselves, hiding any trailing sleeves and dangling legs from Peter’s line of sight as he looked up. Lucy muffled giggles into her elbow, and Edmund hid his smile behind his hand. The door to the throne room opened and shut. Peeking over the side of the rafter and verifying that Peter wasn’t there anymore, they allowed themselves to burst out into laughter.

“Glad you find it so funny, now what HAVE you done with my armor?”

And there was Peter, leaning by the door. It had been a ruse.

“Armor? Why brother dear, I haven’t the slightest notion of what you’re talking about,” Lucy said sweetly.

“Get down here.”

“Come up and get us,” Lucy challenged, and there it was. Peter was hiding a grin, and soon trying and failing to climb the pillars of the throne room while they alternatively cheered him on and said he would never catch them, and his missing armor was completely forgotten in their laughter.

A good thing too because the smiley face they’d painted on the armor was still in the process of drying.

“I don’t know, Lu, doesn’t it seem a little. Well, risky?” Peter asked, moving a pawn.

“And how is it risky? It’s just a stag.”

“Yes, a magical stag. One that no one knows much about. I don’t think we should risk it.” Susan said, scribbling away on the paper that rested on the arm of her chair. She was writing a letter to someone, had been writing letters almost constantly for months, and no amount of pestering from Lucy or sleuthing from Edmund or curious looks from Peter had gotten answers as to who it was.

“Risk what? A few days away from the palace? Tumnus and the beavers and Oreius are perfectly capable of looking after things, they always have been before, and there’s nothing too pressing going on! Catching the stag could be big!” Lucy kicked her feet against the legs of her throne as she always did when she was excited. She was already dressed in her riding outfit as if she expected to go out and hunt right then.

“I think we should listen to Lucy,” Edmund spoke up from his game of chess with Peter, one that he was about to win by the looks of it.

“And why is that?” Susan sighed, casting an irritated look at her little brother.

“Because she’s never been wrong before,” he answered easily. “Well, other than thinking Tumnus is a good cook.”

“Is this still about finding Narnia?” Susan asked crossly.

“It’s always about finding Narnia. Lucy found our home, Susan, and we didn’t believe her, and she was right. That has to count for something.”

“I’d nearly forgotten about that,” Peter said thoughtfully.

“Me too,” Lucy said, a soft look crossing her face as she looked out the window at the people outside. Their home.

“Well just because she’s been right in the past doesn’t mean she’s always right,” Susan said, but her scowl had softened considerably. She smiled at Lucy. “No offence Lucy.”

“Still, she’s right about this. And who knows, we haven’t gone hunting well… hardly ever, it could be fun,” Edmund moved a piece on the board. “Checkmate! What does that bring our score to, Pete?”

“You’ve won nearly every game for the past year. I’m pretty sure our score is ‘I am solidly losing’” Peter looked at Susan. “What do you think?”

She sighed, fingers playing with the ends of her dark hair. “Fine. Let’s go hunt the white stag. Why not?” Her eyes glittered. She was excited about this even if she didn’t say so.

Lucy shouted with joy, stood right up and did a jig on the spot. “You won’t be sorry! Edmund! What should we ask it for when we catch it?”

“Well, we have to catch it first! I’m going to go to the library to research it.”

“I’ll come with!” Lucy looked out the window again, to the sea, to the people on the shore. She was glad that they were there. She looked at her siblings, the furrow in Susan’s brow as she thought of what to write next, the twinkle in Edmund’s eye as he headed off towards the library, the grin Peter donned as he tried to read over Susan’s shoulder. Yes, it was good that they were there. Very good.

#tcon #tconedit #lucy pevensie #edmund pevensie #narnia #narnia gift exchange #narniagiftexchange #winterexchange: 2 #type: fanfiction #for lukejulies #from teenagedpevensies

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dinoswordsb · 3 years ago

Text

A Labor of Love

In which James makes a difficult decision.

(AO3 link here)

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

She was sleeping again.

He watched her quietly, holding his breath without realizing it, hands folded in his lap. The only sounds in the room were the clock ticking above the bed and settling walls creaking against their own weight elsewhere in the house. The curtains were drawn, the sun barely able to stream in through their center. A lamp with a bulb that was ready to give out flickered on the bedside table. She had no sheets; she’d requested him just leave a light blanket at the foot of the bed so she could retrieve it if she really needed it. He’d complied, but he knew she wouldn’t. Even at the hospital, she would frequently complain about how hot flashes were a growing problem, during the nights especially.

She’d been doing this a lot lately. Ever since she came home, if not snapping at him while he cared for her, she was sleeping. He supposed dying was an exhausting task; not that he’d know or anything.

He may as well have been nailed to the chair by the bed, too. Bound to her room. It was no different than normal. At least when she was here, he got a break from that damned hospital. The fluorescent lights, the intense smell of the sanitizers that seemed embedded in the hard floors, the constant bustle. It was all too much for him to stay long, even on good days.

And the nurses. The goddamn nurses. He never wanted to see them again. And yet, when Rachel came in, or when he was navigating the halls to Mary’s room, he found his eyes wandering. Staring. He’d kick himself every time he caught himself doing it, each time the guilt lingering just a little longer. Every time one smiled at him(Was she fluttering her lashes? He could never tell.), it was more like an attack than a polite courtesy. A cruel reminder that Mary used to be like them. Not just in their beauty, but more importantly, she used to be sweet.

Now, he was lucky if he got much more from her than a few solemn words. Even though she was home visiting to spend her possibly last opportunity with the one she loved, most of the time, they sat in silence that made James’ chest heavy.

It hurt. It wasn’t her fault, he knew. Long nights flipping through endless medical textbooks and journals that he dumped paycheck after paycheck into to even get his hands on made sure that he knew well that it wasn’t her fault. But then, why did he feel this way? Even now, in the peace of their home that they’d had together, something was being ripped apart inside of him, split about a million different ways with a million other feelings, when logically, there should only be one: sorrow. Because he was losing his wife, and it was beyond their control, and it was only natural for her to act the way she did. She was the one with the disease, after all. He was merely a bystander.

He loved her. Truly, he did. Even in the worst of times, when she begged him to stay after lashing out, he found himself doing it anyway. He listened to her cry, telling him that she wanted to die, to get it over with already because she knew she was a burden. She knew it would be better if everyone could get on with their lives; why was he even here anyway? He had to hate her for what she was doing to him. Was it out of pity, or was he just stupid?

It was hard to watch, to listen to. Even harder to see her hurting the way she did when she was scared of her inevitable fate.

He told her it wasn’t true. But on those bad days, he hesitated when he did. When he was home alone, away from her and the noise, there was a beast of contempt deep in his chest that would stir. Just a little.

Now, as he stood over her, watching her, that beast was waking.

She was peaceful. Serene, almost. Even with the way her sickness whittled away at her skin, the way her hair was starting to patch and fall out in clumps, when she slept, she looked just a little more like how she used to be. Kind. Whole. Like the Mary he’d taken to Silent Hill two years ago, the Mary who was motherly to children that weren’t even her own, the Mary he’d held so tightly when she accepted his offer on one knee. The Mary that he swore only death would do them part.

The Mary who wasn’t suffering day and night.

He loved her. Really.

As he leaned over her motionless form, lips brushing her forehead in the most sincere, gentle kiss he’d given her in a long time, he wondered if it was a reminder to her, or himself.

Her eyes began to open slowly. Before she had the chance to even do so fully, he snatched the pillow from under her head, fists tightly gripping either side, and thrust it over her face.

Her protest was immediate. She thrashed and writhed under the pressure, as much as her feeble body would allow, screaming the entire time. Even her cries were weakened, tired. She grasped at him, fingers closing around any part of him they could find, but her grip wasn’t strong enough to hold on for more than a few moments before reaching again.

He was having second thoughts. This was wrong, he knew it, the guilt was already starting to close his throat. But he couldn’t stop now, because this wasn’t really something you could come back from, was it?

Just kidding!

Got you, Mary.

You really think I’d do that to you?

You really think I’m that bad of a guy?

You really hate me that much?

His grip faltered. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough for her voice to choke through the pillow a little more clearly. It was muffled, a weak word rasped over an even weaker tongue, cushioned by thick polyester, but he knew what she was saying.

“James-!” She’d cried, and he doubled down on his efforts, like it was instinct to stop his name from crossing her lips again. Before, it was a thing of love. Of comfort, of joy. Now, her cadence only traced his name in scorn, he was sure. Or…something like it. Something desperate and ugly.

Perhaps it was befitting of him after all.

His knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the fabric, fingers starting to ache. It was almost over.

It’s almost over, Mary.

He told himself that, and it was true; her movements were starting to slow, and she wasn’t even trying to grab for him anymore. Her voice was giving out. And yet, the time between then and her body falling still felt like an eternity, every ticking second scraping by like father time had decided to don a pair of lead shoes.

And then, it was over. She was motionless, and though he held his position for just a moment longer to truly make sure the job was done, he knew it was over. Her chest ceased movement, her fingers not even twitching. Cautiously, he lifted the pillow, tossing it behind him in his chair.

He hovered over her for a moment longer, watching the trickling sun caress her face one last time. The bulb in the lamp had gone out; the sunbeams were the only thing left highlighting the curves of her face, tracing every crevice and imperfection the sickness had carved into her skin, the orange scars illuminated. He wasn’t sure what he expected her to look like after, but this…relaxed wasn’t it. Or was it? That was what he’d been trying to do, right? What else was a corpse supposed to look like?

His hands were shaking like an addict's, somehow his ears ringing and blood rumbling in them all at the same time. His heart hammered so hard against his ribcage, James truly would not have been surprised if it popped out and he joined her. His knees trembled as he stepped back, reaching forward for her wrist. It was hard to tell because of how uneasy and out of focus he was, but after a long moment of waiting, he was sure he didn’t feel a pulse. He’d done it.

She was gone.

They were free.

Oh, God.

At first, he could only stand and stare. Paralyzed by shock, he could only watch her, ears ringing and reality falling away. The world around him suddenly felt fuzzy. Like he was in a dream. A million miles away. He wasn’t sure how long he stood before he felt anything.

It hit all at once, like a sack of bricks. The regret was so strong it winded him.

He felt vomit burning in his throat. He stumbled to the bathroom, having to grip the walls for support, his vision going starry, black starting to creep around the edges. Luckily, he made it to the toilet, and after emptying his stomach, he remained on the floor. With his face buried in his arms, he was too afraid to stand; the world was spinning.

His eyes stung, and it felt like a fog was rolling into his head, thickening with every passing moment. Like he was numb and raw all at the same time, like he had no idea what to feel. But that was nothing new, was it? This time, though, at least he had a feeling to use as an anchor in the storm. Even if that feeling was regret so heavy it made him sick all over again. Every pent-up feeling from the past three years was bursting out of the dam he’d built to contain them.

When he finally found the stability to stand, he wobbled to the sink, grasping at the edges to steady himself. He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, breaths heavy, eyes swollen, pink, and spotty. He lowered his head, whispering apology after apology to Mary, each one choked on a sob.

On top of everything, he’d never gotten to take her back to Silent Hill.

#Silent Hill #silent hill 2 #sh2 #james sunderland #mary shepherd sunderland #silent hill fanfiction #idk how else to tag this lol but yeah <3 i wrote this literally the morning after i finsihed the game and it has minimal editing so pls #be nice 2 me. anyways enjoy #cloudchats #my writing

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angelicichor · 5 years ago

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We really really really need a pt 2 nsfw slasher hc’s , maybe this time include Jason aswell ? Only if you want to of course 💋

more N//SF//W it is.

Don’t worry the yearning is strong today so I’m more than willing to continue.

Starting soft:

Bubba Sawyer:

• Fight me on this, but Bubba is ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE IN EVERYTHING HE DOES.

• He’s an obedient boy, always looking out for you, be it during the day or at night when finally, FINALLY his brother/s leave you alone.

• And then you’re sitting on the bed, he’s below you, doing his best eating you tf out, that sloppy tongue making you a wet, slippery mess. And be sure that Bubba goes DEEP.

• He’s a strong man, so his hair is your driving stick, pull him in when you want him deeper, tug it when he’s going too fast, growl at him if his teeth touches your sex, you’ll soon find out that he’s very, VERY responsive.

• He’ll worship your body, from your magnificent hair, through your beautiful face, your waist, your fingers, even your feet if you want him to, he’ll make you feel like a divine being with his shaky touch, his unsure hands that have touched you so many times but still feel like you’re going to disappear if he touches you wrong. Gosh, he’s adorable.

• Ride him, for god’s sake! He’s a mess underneath you, squirming, whining, moaning something that sounds like your name and when you smile at him, replying to his call, he literally melts.

• Through all this adorable stuff it’s often difficult to remember that this man is an absolute beast if you let him off the leash.

• The last time you told him it’s okay to take the lead he was groping you in a heart beat, trembling hands squeezing your curves through your clothing, making you bend under his weight, the room just filling with his arousal as he ripped your poor shirt from your chest and you squeaked in surprise. Well, there goes that.

• He grabbed your hands above your head, keeping both in his one, as the other palmed your face, exploring it’s features closely and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was thinking of making a mask out of you.

• He wasn’t, but he thought it would be absolutely stunning if he did and he’d never make another because you’re just too perfect for him.

• Soon enough his tongue’s over your nipples, licking, sucking and biting, taking in your smell and taste, his hand squeezing onto your thighs, awestruck at how soft they felt in his calloused hands.

• He’s a messy lover, that’s for sure, but his hot breath makes everything just so much better.

• You felt more of his weight moving onto you as his hips grinding against your leg, the tent in his pants way too obvious to be ignored and you couldn’t help but whimper, wondering what he was going to do to you.

• He’s quick to answer your mute question, as he rips your pants off you and janks his own belt and clothes down, pushing your legs apart before him, a nervous yet aroused giggle leaving him just before he slips into you, taking your breath away.

• Excuse him, he isn’t that well versed in preparing a lover for his adoration. Good thing you were already horny as all hell.

• His thrusts are fast, uneven and heavy, with every move you can feel yourself sink into the mattress, his weight crushing your frailer body and it’s just too fucking good. He’s so big, so damn warm and smells so goddamn sweet and the way he squeezes your breast is so hungry you’re afraid he’s going to bite it off.

• He doesn’t but his teeth find their way onto you anyhow as he moans and grunts with your neck in his mouth, leaving a big, fat mark and drawing just a tiny bit of blood. It’s adorable that he’s afraid to hurt you even when he’s allowed to.

• When he’s about to cum he cups your face and whimpers nervously, asking for your allowance. Nod and he’ll have you dripping with his head, shake your head and he’ll pull out with a cry, heartbroken that he has to abandon your warm insides and leaving a hot, thick trail of cum on your belly.

• He quickly perks up watching you breath heavy underneath him, covered in his come. Bubba will never get over how beautiful you are, NEVER.

Jason Voorhees:

• Fight me on this, but I believe Jason is actually less reserved about sex than what people often think. I believe he understands what’s the main focus of the activity and what is means for the people involved, his mommy was a smart woman, she most likely explained to him all the stuff about birds and bees.

• But tell me you wouldn’t feel like murder if a group of unattended teenagers/young adults invaded your place of death and started fucking? It’s the worst thing and after that is somebody screwing on your front yard. In Jason’s cause, it’s both.

• Still, he’s definitely a virgin, so starting off everything is pure instinct.

• That’s a good thing though, because instinct is how he learned to kill, to hunt and to survive, that and probably some books.

• Starting off he’s gonna fuck like he hunts - Holding you in his iron grip, squeezing your body tight, his gaze focused on you and you only, it’s as terrifying as it is arousing, and his relentless thrusting ain’t helping nobody.

• Good thing he actually cares about your consent and instructions before, preparing you with his long tongue and thick fingers, following your every demand, not breaking eye contact, so he can see that he’s doing it right, that man rarely blinks, get used to it.

• By the way his tongue is AMAZING?? If you gave him a cherry he’d definitely be able to tie a knot, it’s just that goddamn good and once it leaves you it’ll leave and empty, needy void that he’s more than happy to fill with his enormous cock.

• And here’s the bad thing - no matter what, you’re gonna be so sore after your first time. Jason’s a tight fit, probably not even coming in fully, because as the slasher community is well aware of - Momma’s boy is one of the biggest guys around.

• So you’ll be definitely moaning and screaming his name into the woods, overcome with joy, pleasure and sweet pain.

• Don’t worry, he WILL carry you to bed. It’s his fault that you’re outside anyways, he just couldn’t handle you being so close and so adorable anymore, so he hopes his jacket is thick enough to counteract the harsh wood behind you.

• Once he learns that you can enjoy a slower pace too, he’ll make sure to take his time with you, teasing you lovingly with a bright smile on his face, it’s really unfair, but don’t complain, you love it.

• While he’s a good boy™ don’t expect him to be as submissive as Bubba. He’s well aware of how strong he is and isn’t afraid to use this strength to overpower you and make you shiver under his touch.

• Jason isn’t a sadist, at least he swears he isn’t, but there is a certain glint in his eyes when you tremble as he closes his huge hand around your neck, aware that he could snap it in a second, but trusting him not to do that.

• Don’t worry, he’d never hurt you without your consent.

• Still, Jason’s a playful boy. Rough house with him and if you win (aka. he takes mercy on you and let’s you win) he’ll give you a bit of control. You lose it as soon as his dick slips into you though, but enjoy the moments of glory he’s happy to provide you with.

• His biggest kink though, which he’s a bit ashamed and disappointed with himself to admit, is hunting. He’s been literally resurrected to hunt and damn it if it doesn’t make his cold heart beat faster when he sees you put on some more comfortable shoes and look at him to start counting 5 minutes, giving you a head start. You’ll need it.

• You can’t see his amused head tilt as he cheats a bit and watches you run into the thick of the forest, but not following you yet, it’s always more fun when you think he doesn’t know where you are.

• It’s during those hunts that you remember that he IS the Crystal Lake Killer. Everything about him scream terror as he scans the surrounding for you, his heavy steps completely silent, how, you have no idea. He’s tall, muscular and dressed to kill, if he took of his jacket you can see how his muscles shift under each breath he takes. You realize how powerful his arms are when with one swift motion he hurls a bunch of boats down to see if you’re not hiding under one of them, his senses sharp enough to catch a small crunch of leaves under your foot as you shift towards a building and he follows.

• The wooden boards creak in complaint under his weight and you hide in a closet in alarm, your breathing quick and uneven, you can feel your whole body tensing as he passes the old piece of furniture and moves onto the beds. There’s a quiet squeak as you can hear him lifting one of them, letting it fall down with a loud thud when he realized nobody’s there.

• But the sound was just loud enough for you to let out a silenced squeak. Don’t worry, he heard that.

• You can see his shadow in front of the wardrobe and you’re trembling, fear mixing with excitement, part of you screaming that you’re going to die and the other adding “in the best possible way”.

• And that thought makes you whimper almost silently, but his quiet laughter let’s you know he heard, knocking onto the slightly open door politely, mocking you for losing. In a fit of rebellious spirit you stand up and pull the wardrobe closed, there’s a moment of silence.

• There’s a huff and before you know it he has pulled both doors open, leaning inside with a small head tilt, eyes smiling devilishly.

•“Not fair…” you whimper and his body shakes under his voiceless chuckle. He knows, you little cutie, you!

• He takes you right there and then, making your clothes nothing more than garbage with the precise cut of his machete, the cold metal making you shiver, arousal building even more as the realization that you’re at his mercy hits you, hard. “Be nice… okay?” you ask and he lifts his mask up just enough for you to see him mouthing the word “no” and smashing his lips into a heated kiss with you, squeezing your ass in his huge hands, lifting you up onto his cock.

• You tear up at the sheer size of this thing spreading you open and you know you’re in trouble. He knows it too, but in his attempt to humor your wish just a little bit he lets you adjust, pushing you back into the wardrobe and pressing his hand onto the old wood to stabilize himself as he still held you, warming you with his length, pressing his masked forehead against yours, watching as your eyes flutter closed and then open, gaze filled with lust, but don’t worry, his is exactly the same.

• Once he can feel you getting wet around him there’s no more mercy, he thrusts into you, relishing in your offended gasp, his eyes sparking with amusement, before he starts fucking you senseless.

• You ain’t leaving until cum’s spiling out of you, darling.

• When he’s done with you, however, you can expect a load of kisses, hugs, nuzzles and gentle caresses in the cabin. He’ll make you tea too and once he’s sure you’ve calmed down he’ll go around the camp looking for books for you to read. You ain’t gonna be walking tomorrow.

• Once you can walk you can go to his momma to tell her that her son is a BULLY.

• How rude.

Trigger warning for the next boy: blood play, bdsm, abuse??, some might call it that, cutting, hitting, Mikey is a nasty fuck ok?

Michael Myers (OG)

• When I think about the original Shape of Haddonfield all I can think of is one word - Beg.

• Mikey is the definition of a dom, rough, cold, decisive, unshaken. Some may argue you’d be better of if he just killed you, but one way or another you ended up as his fuck toy obsession.

• Call him Daddy, Master, Sir, any of those will get you on his good side during sex, but even his good side is BAD.

• This man has barely any limits when it comes to using you, sure, sometimes he’ll just push you onto the bed and lazily take you, his hips hitting you like an iron pump, but that’s rare. Most of the time he comes to you is to ruin you and you’re lucky if you live alone.

• He loves fucking your face, tilling your face back and making you choke on his dick repeatedly, only giving you seconds to breathe or to swallow back puke if it comes to that. If you see him grabbing a knife in the morning or just notice on of your missing, don’t eat that day. Just a precaution.

• No matter how he takes you choking is a must and not just lightly gripping your throat, no, he will make a mark, you’re his and the world needs to know. Nobody else is allowed to touch you, he’s even showing mercy by letting people talk to you when he’s around. You threw a fit about it at one point and while he made sure to leave you bruised and used as punishment, he understood.

• There’s just no back talking him, ever.

• While he’s well capable of destroying you with his bare hands a knife is Michael’s best friend and some friends are worth taking to bed.

• There’s many scars on your body and only one or two are from before meeting him, you can’t count the sheets he ruined when something in his head sang for you to bleed, his hands painting you in red, pushing your blood deep down your throat, a raging bliss in his eyes as you cried underneath him, getting dizzy, weak, cold. That man doesn’t know how much blood you can lose and honestly he just doesn’t care. If you faint he will patch you up, but most likely not because of concern, he’d just hate to lose a grateful toy like you.

• Speaking of which, he LOVES it when you thank him for fucking you, when you beg for him to fill you up or to let you finish, if you don’t beg, you ain’t getting anything.

• He’ll make you sit on all fours before him, gripping your hair tightly, forcing you to look him in the eye and slapping your face if you dare turn your eyes away, but don’t worry, the slap is almost loving, your face is the only thing he won’t scar or bruise, he actually likes it, well, he likes all of you, won’t admit it though, but you can’t make those adorable expressions if your face is all swollen, right?

• His biggest kink is fucking on corpses and YES, he has forced you to do that, you should know what you’re singing up for when asking MICHAEL-fucking-MYERS to be your mate. Yeah, mate, that man ain’t boyfriend material, I’m sorry.

• Surprisingly he isn’t that much into tying you up - why waste tame on that when he can keep you still with his hands and a simple knife?

• DON’T EVER ASK HIM TO BE SUBMISSIVE. This is a threat.

• Bitting, hitting, pushing and pulling his hair are forbidden. He can accepts scratches though, they feel pleasant. Also if he ever get’s high or drunk you might get to cut him. He’s a daredevil when intoxicated and seeing how much pain his body can handle sets something off in him. Still won’t submit to you though.

• To be honest the most docile you’ll ever see him is from the morning in the kitchen. He’ll laze up to you, enveloping you in his arms, pressing you firm against his powerful chest so you can feel his body rumble in a sleepy purr.

• While he never takes time to do aftercare with you (unless you get a panic attack, then he’ll just pin you down until you calm down), at those times you can sometimes hear small, caring phrases like “mine”, “you okay?” and “darling”. I know, shocking, but there’s SOME human in there still.

•“You okay?” he asks, voice deep and hoarse form the lack of use, but so damn handsome. You stop breathing, unsure if you didn’t accidentally die and go to heaven, but no, the way he grips you makes your bruises from yesterday hurt, this ain’t heaven, darling. “Y…yes, I’m fine…” you murmur back and all too suddenly you can feel his nails digging into your skin. “I’m fine…what?” he growls and you search your head for an answer, panicking lightly. Finally something clicks. “Yes, I-I’m fine… Sir.” you say and he hums in approval, letting you go for a second to turn you towards him, his mask lifting for a millisecond so he can kiss your forehead. “Adorable.” you hear him say, before he shifts away, grabbing one of your knives and leaving.

• And all you can think is - ‘but… my hips are still dying…’ Because you know damn well what will happen when he comes back tonight.

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