#to my father IT'S SO ABSURD BUT THE PARANOIA!!!!!!!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jgmartin · 11 months ago

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THE SLEIGH FATHER

[Short Horror]

I need to talk. Like, I really need to talk.

The trouble is, I don’t have anybody I can talk to. My family’s estranged, my friends are all gone, and the authorities think I’m a lunatic.

It's just five days from Christmas, and I’m alone. Isolated. If I don’t get this off my chest though, I’m afraid it’s going to start festering in my mind like a decaying carcass; I’m afraid it’s going to sink its teeth in.

So I’ll talk to you. All of you. It’s not perfect, but it will do.

My name's Terrance Sims. I’m sitting in my rocking chair, rifle draped across my lap, in bloodstained pyjamas that still reek with last night’s piss. I haven’t slept in two days, and I might not sleep for two more. Last night something came down my chimney, and I think it’s coming back.

I’m getting ahead of myself, so let me paint you a picture. I live alone, up in the mountains where the pine trees are draped in snow, and the rivers are an icy blue. I could be a bit more specific, but I don’t think it’s warranted. Besides that, I like my privacy.

All of this to say, where I am isn’t important. What matters is what I have to say.

I’m a researcher. Or at least, I was once upon a time. My funding has long been cut, and my job along with it, but I've stayed out here because I believed in the research my team was undertaking. It was revolutionary. It meant the possibility of bridging worlds, of seeing new forms of life.

Now I’m terrified that research has found me.

You’ve probably heard of monsters, or urban legends, of things that claw at our imaginations and lurk in the dark recesses of our minds. Perhaps you’ve even felt one. They wait there sometimes, prowling just beyond our vision, tearing at the fabric that holds our realities together. Desperate. Hungry.

My job was to study these beings. I was tasked with developing an understanding of not only what they wanted from us but how to gain access to their world: the place Beyond the Veil.

Needless to say, I wasn’t successful. The organization I worked for, the Facility, poured millions into my ideas and wasn’t forgiving of my failures. When my theories came up short, they cut ties with me– he cut ties with me.

“It’s unfortunate, but it’s business,” Mr. Reid had said, feet on his desk, long hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Your failures reflect on me, Terrance, and they’ve become an accounting nightmare.”

I had begged him. Groveled. It didn’t matter. I was terminated along with my research, and when you’re studying the kind of things I am, they don’t want that information leaking out into the world. It’s what they call a liability.

So I was blacklisted. Facility teams picked away at my reputation, whispering in the back corners of universities and at the water coolers of laboratories. My name became synonymous with paranoia and madness. I was a laughing stock among my peers. A joke.

It was the end of my life.

Only one person cared to associate with me afterwards, a junior colleague and a brilliant young man named Alexi Azimov. He believed in the research nearly as much as I did, and luckily for him, his name wasn’t attached to the project.

When the Facility pulled the plug and dragged my name through the dirt, they simply moved him to a new department, and that was that. Despite it, he spent his vacation days returning to the mountain, assisting me with further study whenever he could.

Until last year, when even he abandoned me.

But now I’ve shown all of them. I’ve proven they were wrong -- dead wrong. It’s here. He’s here. I always suspected he lived among these mountains, or at least that his Bridge was located within them, but I had given up hope for so long. It had been years, after all -- damn near a decade. They called me absurd. Insane.

Then, last night everything changed.

I was lying in bed, winding down after logging the readings on the temporal measurement equipment, when the cabin shook. At first, I thought an avalanche had struck it, but then I heard it: a clatter of hooves upon the roof.

I shot out of bed, my breath trapped in my chest and my body cold with sweat. I sprinted to the closet and pulled out my hunting rifle. Outside, a blizzard howled, but all I heard was the voice, a menagerie of tone and emotion, high and low, guttural and smooth. It rang out from above me.

Ho ho hO.

My first thought was to contact the Facility, but my satellite internet wasn’t functioning in the storm. Even if it were, I knew better. I was too far. Too isolated for help.

The mountains I study in are remote, and the cabin even more so. It was chosen for its seclusion as a means of observing the being known as the Sleigh Father, but the circumstances were meant to be different.

Much different.

Above me, the ceiling creaked, and dust drifted down from the rafters. Boots crunched upon the snow-caked roof. You always think you’ll know what to do when the moment comes, that your training will kick in, and you’ll just go through the motions like some kind of pre-programmed robot. I wish that were true. I really do.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.

I’d spent the better part of my career chasing that monster, and now that it’d found me, I was lost. My fingers played against the trigger of my rifle, my mouth dry, and my eyes latched open. Inside of me, my body thrummed with terror. My fight or flight response oscillated between cowardice and impulsive foolishness. I was paralyzed. Alone.

A chorus of chattering pierced the screaming wind. It came fast and jittery, like a ticking clock marking time in microseconds. I knew what it was before the hoofbeats followed. It was them, the creatures the Sleigh Father commissioned in the First Days when people still feared the night and all the horrors within. Eight abominations, stitched together by the innards of mutilated children.

Their agony acted as his gateway– his Bridge between worlds. The souls of the children lived on in the beasts, while their vacant spirits stalked the earth, lost and hopeless, seeking the missing piece that would finally grant them rest. Their tortured existence was his Link to our reality. The sleigh the abominations drew, his Bridge.

The thought shook me from my trance. I’d spent years waiting for this—a chance to see the other side, to see other worlds.

I had to act, so I lurched forward, moving through the lonely cabin while the Sleigh Father’s footsteps creaked above me. HO hO ho. He lumbered toward the chimney while I shivered down the cold hallway, rifle trembling in my skinny arms.

It took me only a few moments to reach the living area, and when I did, I settled there, just behind the corner of the wall. I kept my gun leveled at the fireplace, and my eyes plastered open. A crackling blaze danced in the hearth. It cast the sparse furnishings in an orange glow, throwing shadows across the loveseat and the messy desks.

The night became still.

The snowstorm quieted. The hoofbeats vanished. There was no sound of boots, no sound of laughter, only the snapping flames and my heart pounding blood through my skull. My mouth moved, and words spilled out. Affirmations. Come on, I muttered. Slide down the chimney, you beast. The fire’s waiting for you.

I knew better. Of course I did. I’d spent years researching the Sleigh Father, consuming tireless hours reading into his history. Of all the monsters the Facility had dealt with, the terrors that haunted old email chains and the urban legends that spread through panicked breaths, he was the anomaly. He was celebrated.

Santa Claus, they called him.

It was an error I traced back to centuries ago when a young girl witnessed her abusive father taken by the Sleigh Father. The creature devoured him and left the man’s skull as a parting gift, having taken what he came for: a human soul. To the girl, the beast was a savior.

A saint.

The words she spoke in the following weeks, months, and years became immortalized. They became history, and then they became legend. A jolly being, laughing and hungry, coming down the chimney and leaving gifts in its wake. It was as tantalizing a tale as they come, especially to young children, eager to be appeased in their search for comfort and joy.

Now he was here with me, looking for another soul to add to his collection.

Seconds stretched into minutes as I waited, tucked quietly behind the corner of the wall, rifle in my arms, elbow steadied upon my knee. Once, we had contingencies for this. Plans in place that provided the means to incapacitate the Sleigh Father should he pay us a visit, but those plans involved government agents no longer in my employ. They involved expensive technology and complex spells. They were a last resort.

A clump of snow fell down the chimney, and the fire responded with a hiss of steam. Its flame retreated for a moment, flickering, before lashing back in anger. Something heavy shuffled above– the Sleigh Father.

Emotions swam inside of me. Regret. Anger. Fear. Why had I stayed out here? How could I have been so stubborn, so goddamn arrogant?

The answer was obvious: my old boss, Donovan Reid. His mockery, his wanton destruction of my life. It left me with no other option. Either I remained on this mountain, burning through my life’s savings and hunting wayward game, or I returned home. One meant a chance at redemption, the other guaranteed humiliation and disgrace.

I hated Mr. Reid more than words could say. Alexi had seen it. He’d seen how much my loathing distracted me, and so he recommended methods to help get the snake off my mind. A list, he’d said in an email last month. Write a list of all the ways you want to hurt him. Write a list of all the horrible things you want to happen to him. I think it could help you get him out of your head and free up your attention.

It helped– a little.

hO ho HO.

The laugh came high and low, husky and slick. A crunch followed it, like something digging into brick, and panic found its way into my bones. Dust and debris fell into the flames. The Sleigh Father's legend was explicit in his form of entry: if possible, it was always the chimney.

A grunt came down the flue, followed by more pebbles and stones. Then, the cabin shook. It was as if something heavy had jumped from the roof -- and what comes up must come down.

A pulverizing cacophony filled the night like cannon fire. Rubble tumbled into the blazing hearth while the bricks of the chimney bulged outwards, crumbling as something massive shot down it. I barely brought my rifle on aim before a figure crashed into the flames.

Burning logs shattered with a thunderous crack, plunging the cabin into inky darkness. Wooden splinters ricocheted around the room like blazing shrapnel, their slivers slashing at my face and tracing my skin in searing agony. I swung back behind the protection of the hallway wall, rifle clutched to my chest.

My thoughts raced. This couldn’t be happening, I said to myself. It couldn’t. I slammed my eyes shut, trying to get my out-of-control breathing back in line. I was hyperventilating. Panicking. I had to calm down because if I didn’t, I would start making impulsive decisions, and impulsive decisions were a good way to die.

I opened my eyes.

The fire was gone. I could barely see a thing. A short distance away, boots groaned against hardwood, kicking past broken logs in the hearth. My finger quivered against the cold steel of the rifle’s trigger, and I desperately wanted to pull it, but I knew that if I did, then it was over. Either the Sleigh Father would die, or I would. The odds, I decided, were not in my favor.

So I waited.

A piece of me, infinitesimally small, wanted to see him, wanted to flick on a light or blindly fire into the darkness. I wanted to witness the monster that possessed my life for so long– if only for a second. But I didn’t. It’s not worth it, I told myself. It’s not worth it.

The footsteps stalked to the window, dragging something heavy behind them. Against the faint light of the moon, I made out the Sleigh Father’s silhouette. He was tall, inhumanly so. His neck craned forward, pressed against the top of the high cabin ceiling. A cloak was draped across his broad shoulders, and from his head slumped the pom of a stocking cap. Beside him sat a large sack.

“NaUghty oR niCe?” his voice hummed, in a discordant melody.

I didn’t reply. It seemed impossible, but a part of me held onto the belief that maybe he wasn’t speaking to me. Maybe he didn’t know I was there. It was just a monologue, perhaps– words for the night.

I raised the rifle, aiming it toward his massive figure. I could do it now, I reasoned. I could pull the trigger and hopefully make this nightmare disappear.

Ho HO hO.

The silhouette turned, its face masked in shadow, save for a single glint of bobbing light. “CaReFuL wiTh tHaT,” it said.

A cold breeze swept across me, and suddenly my fingers burned with agonizing frostbite. My rifle clattered to the floor while my hands trembled in pain. “YoU’ll TaKe yOur eYe OuT.”

“W-what do you want?” I stuttered, stumbling backward. My feet croaked on the floorboards as I came up against the back of the hallway. My heart hammered. Tears filled my vision as I cradled my cold hands against my stomach. “Please,” I whimpered.

“NaUgHty?” he sang. “Or NiCe?”

“Nice!” I said. “I’m a good man. I just wanted to l-learn about you.” The words stumbled out of my mouth like lemmings falling to their death. “I don’t mean any harm. I swear!”

The footsteps creaked closer, and as they did, the silhouette vanished from the window's moonlight. All that remained of it now were the sounds that it made. I listened intently to the burdensome echoes of boots on hardwood and the heavy scratching of coarse fabric being dragged across the floor.

ho Ho hO.

He was close. So close. I screwed my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable, waiting to die. Warm piss spilled down my leg, and my face screwed up as I fell to my knees, bawling on the floor. “Please,” I begged. “I'm a good man! I told you– please!”

The rumble of footfalls stopped, and in their place came the sound of rustling fabric, like somebody opening a sack.

“NiCe, yOu sAy?”

A dim light formed, radiating out of a burlap bag some five feet away. Behind its glow, I could make out a white, singed beard hanging over a red suit. The Sleigh Father’s face was otherwise indiscernible amidst the suffocating shadow, save for one dancing speck of light.

“WoULd yOu LiKe a GiFt?” he asked.

My mind raced. Was there anything in the mythology that warned against accepting gifts? I couldn’t recall. “Yes,” I hazarded, in a small voice. "Yes, please." It seemed unwise to refuse the creature.

hO ho Ho.

A massive, red-jacketed arm reached into the burlap sack. My eyes widened in horror as I realized the sack was moving. Kicking. Like there was something alive inside of it. Muffled screams followed, and the great arm pulled back, clutching a man by his long, blonde hair. The man thrashed and whimpered. Tears soaked his pale face.

Our eyes connected, mine and the man’s, and something ran through me. It was a feeling I’d never experienced before, a mixture of dark excitement and absolute loathing.

“You,” I said slowly.

The light from the sack was dim, but to the man, it was all he had known. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the heavy darkness of the cabin, and as they did, he peered toward me, eyelids pinched together to discern the voice speaking to him.

“Who’s there?” he whimpered.

I gazed forward in stunned silence. Was this real? There was no way. He dangled in the Sleigh Father's grasp like the finest Christmas present I'd ever seen.

“Hello?” his voice called. “Please, I have resources -- more than you could imagine! I’m a powerful man in government! Just get me the hell out of here, and I’ll give you whatever you want.” His voice turned weak, broken. “Please… please get me out of here. I have a family.”

I opened my mouth, but if words were there, I didn’t speak them. No. It seemed wasteful, at this moment, to reply so thoughtlessly. This moment necessitated careful words and a measured tone. It required my best.

“NauGhtY,” the Sleigh Father hummed. “So, sO NaUgHty.”

I found myself nodding along. Yes, the man was naughty. The worst. He was an abomination, fit for disposal. He’d doubted me– made a mockery of me, and torn apart the life I’d so carefully built.

“Donovan,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice level. “Donovan Reid, isn't it?”

The light was faint. So faint. In spite of it though, I could see Mr. Reid had finally realized who I was, whether because his eyes had adjusted or he recognized my voice. Perhaps a combination of the two. His expression fell.

“That voice…You used to work for me,” he choked out. “Didn’t you?”

I gazed at him, something horrible growing inside of me. It ate up all of my fear, my regret, my rage and it left only hunger in their wake—a desperate desire for retribution.

“I did.”

A pause. He sensed it there, in my reply. He sensed the disdain– the hatred. “I’m so sorry,” he said at length. “You were right. You were right about everything!”

“That's true,” I said. “And you were wrong.”

“Yes, I was.” He winced in agony as the Sleigh Father lifted him higher by his tangled hair, then gently nudged him with a giant, clawed hand. Mr. Reid swung like a pendulum. “You were right,” he continued, weeping. “He’s real. Of fucking course he is! Are you–”

“– am I what?” I interjected. My hands, still burning with frostbite, became an afterthought in my mind. The warm piss in my pants hardly registered to me. I was beginning to build the puzzle. I was beginning to understand what this was. “Are you asking me if I’m going to help you?”

Silence.

“Of course I’ll help you,” I said. “I’m not a monster. Why would I ruin your life, all because you made a simple mistake?”

In the quiet of the cabin, Mr. Reid's shuddering tears struck the floorboards like gunshots. “T-thank you so much.” He hardly sounded like the man I knew. If he weren’t swinging in front of me, with his obnoxiously long hair and his fitted suit, I’d almost have doubted my own ears. He sounded weak. Cowardly.

“I’ll ask the Sleigh Father to release you if you can do one thing for me.”

hO ho HO.

“What is it? Anything! Your research is back on the table– of course, it is, you’re brilliant! Look at you. You saw this before any of us. You knew it was out there and–”

“What’s my name?”

“I’m sorry?” His words, once thundering along like a rollercoaster, crumpled into a heap. “Look, I’m not in a position to remember every fucking employee’s name. That was years ago! You need to be reasonable!”

I took a step forward, and the floorboards creaked. I understood what the situation was now. It was written in the subtext of the legend, the unspoken and unwritten words that undercut everything about the Sleigh Father. A singular concept, one still celebrated to this day.

Holiday cheer.

I reached out a hand, gripping Mr. Reid by his silky black tie. His swinging stopped, and I pulled at the accessory, making him choke and gag.

“Are you fucking…” he sputtered, “...crazy?” His face had lost the fear, the concern, the false remorse. In its place was something much more familiar.

Malice.

I let him go, and he gasped as his breath returned to him. My eyes shifted to the being behind him– the instrument of his destruction. The Sleigh Father remained still, clouded by darkness, with only his massive arm and singed white beard illuminated by the dim light spilling from his bag.

“NaUgHtY oR niCe?” the monster repeated, in that discordant voice masquerading as song.

My eyes connected with Mr. Reid's, and an irresistible smile crept along my lips. To see him there, helplessly hanging by his hair and a slave to my whims, filled something inside of me I didn’t realize I was missing. It filled a need for power– a need to be respected.

“Naughty,” I said, surprising myself with the tone of authority. “Donovan Reid is a terrible man.”

Ho ho Oh.

“No!” Mr. Reid screamed, even as the great red arm lifted him up to the rafters of the ceiling. His face screwed up in agony as the Sleigh Father gripped his legs with his other hand. “Please!” he shrieked, horizontal in the air. “Please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorr–”

His words were interrupted by the wet splatter of his intestines striking the cabin floor. It was hard to see in the darkness but easy to hear. I listened as the Sleigh Father pulled Donovan Reid apart, one end from the other, his innards slapping against the ground like spoiled fruit.

“Why…” Mr. Reid's last word died on his lips as the Sleigh Father slammed both pieces of him against the cabin floor, drenching me in an explosion of blood and bone.

When it was finished, I sat in warm, wet silence. Donovan Reid's blood dripped from my mess of hair and soaked through my thermal pajamas. Something akin to a near-death experience flashed before my eyes, except it was aspects of my life and my research.

I always believed the Sleigh Father to have been little more than a simple reaper. A monster hungry for souls, or other forms of mortal sustenance, piecing the veil once a year when its hunger grew too insatiable to ignore.

I had been wrong.

Much of the Santa Clause mythology fitted the Sleigh Father. More than I or Alexi ever expected. He didn’t just feed on souls. He fed on people’s joy. Their mirth. It appeared as though he required both pieces to be fully satiated, and such a phenomenon provided much more context to the original myth.

That girl, centuries ago, had been joyous when the Sleigh Father devoured her father, hadn’t she? And now I had been joyous when he’d gifted me my revenge. I’d felt ecstatic watching Mr. Reid die.

Ho ho HO.

The cabin began to tremble, and soon the very floorboards snapped, and the windows rattled. It felt like it was being torn from its foundations. I steadied myself against the wall as a blinding light exploded from Donovan Reid's skull before quelling to a gentle gleam. It snaked around the cabin, revealing the full extent of the building’s disarray.

Tables had been upturned, documents littered the floor, and the fireplace had become little more than a pile of bricks and a frigid breeze. Shafts of moonlight pierced through the hole in the ceiling the chimney once occupied, revealing Mr. Reid's blood and bones scattered all over. The cabin was soaked in his blood.

Then, the floating light passed across the Sleigh Father.

It revealed a behemoth, clad in crimson cotton with white trim. Two legs burst from the long red jacket, coated in coarse, black fur that ended in leather boots. As the light swam upwards, I caught sight of the creature’s arm scratching at its barrel chest. Its fingers were thick, human, but decaying. What I had earlier mistaken for claws were actually long, curled fingernails.

“Thank you,” I breathed, my heart thundering. “Thank you for this.”

“TiS tHe SeaSon,” it sang with a laugh.

The orb of light ascended towards its mouth, and for the first time, I saw the monster’s face. It was human but mangled. Above its white shock of beard were two pieces of coal, seared into its eye sockets. The skin of its face was discolored, a pock-marked mess of swollen, blistered flesh that sagged around its skull, and its nose was little more than two slits, with the faintest impression of bone jutting from beneath.

Burns, I realized. His face had been burned beyond recognition.

As the tiny orb of light finished its ascent, it revealed the Sleigh Father’s red stocking cap. At the end of it was a white pom, and it blinked. It was looking at me. An eyeball twinkled where the pom should have been, glimmering like a star in the night.

It seemed clear to me the creature meant me no harm, and so the researcher inside of me took over. “Can I ask you–” I began, before being cut off by a roaring sound of wind.

The Sleigh Father had opened its mouth, and within its jaws, a blizzard roared, frigid and horrible. My hands, anguished with frostbite, became numb and unresponsive. My ears screamed, and my nose throbbed. My entire body ached with the stabbing sensation of absolute winter.

Then, the light orb vanished, sucked up inside the Sleigh Father’s mouth, and so too did the cold. I heard what sounded like a gulp and a swallow, and then another discordant, tuneless round of hO HO Ho.

Darkness returned.

The Sleigh Father turned, his twinkling eye vanishing as he did, and began walking away from me. His lumbering footfalls crunched along the cabin floor, snapping pieces of Mr. Reid's bones as he made his way back to the demolished chimney. “MeRrY cHRiStMaS tO aLL,” the Sleigh Father sang.

I heaved a breath, warmth returning to my extremities. I couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in decades, I felt full of Christmas cheer, so much so that I even finished the rhyme for him. “And to all a good night!”

His boots stopped, and the floor groaned as he turned back to me, that bouncing eye gleaming in the night. “MErRy cHriStMaS tO aLL,” he repeated, though his voice had lost its whimsy. “I’LL sEe YoU iN tWo NiGhTs.”

My jaw fell open, the smile dying on my lips. No, that wasn’t right. Why would he come back? I already had what I wanted. Mr. Reid was dead. The Sleigh Father turned around toward the chimney, chuckling to himself.

“Hang on!” I spat, my voice cracking. “You don’t have to come back. It’s fine! Seeing you was enough! I just needed to know I wasn’t crazy– that I was right!”

“NAuGhTy,” he hummed, “Or RiGhT?”

I blinked, not understanding. That wasn’t the rhyme. “Nice,” I said. “I’m not naughty– I’m nice! I’m a good person that was abused and taken advantage of, just like that girl you saved. Remember?”

hO ho Ho.

His laughter echoed around the ruined cabin. “NAuGhTy aNd RiGhT. i’LL sEe YoU iN tWo NiGhTs.”

He stepped into the remains of the ruined chimney, and shafts of moonlight framed him through the broken ceiling. His beard upturned with a smile, and then he bent his great legs and leapt upward with a grunt.

A moment later, the ceiling trembled, and pieces of rafter crashed down around me. Above, I heard the Sleigh Father’s chorus of Ho ho Oh, and his heavy boots crunching on snow. Then came the whip of reins and the rapid chatter of eight abominations preparing to take flight.

Their hooves pounded against the roof in anticipation. Two more whip cracks and the cabin rafters whined as the sleigh began to move, slowly at first, before the monsters broke off into a rumbling gallop.

Through the shattered ceiling, I caught sight of the godless creatures taking flight. They were monsters in the truest sense of the word; pieces of children chopped up and reassembled into beasts of burden. Some had six legs and one arm, others three heads and four feet upon two legs. As the last remnants of the Sleigh Father’s laughter faded in the distance, I idly wondered if he purposefully designed the beasts to be more hideous than himself.

I chewed on the thought as I stumbled toward the kitchen, grabbing a flashlight from the drawer and flicking it on as I went. I used it to locate a blanket and a laptop, and then took a seat in the old rocking chair.

With the blizzard gone, the night was uncharacteristically warm. Whether or not that was a consequence of the Sleigh Father's visit, I couldn’t say, but I was thankful for it. It made thinking easier.

I flipped the computer open, and my face was bathed in a blue glow. I noted the satellite connection was back online. Good. My fingers rocketed across the keyboard, sending out multiple emails to my contacts at the Facility.

I’ve done it, I told them. I’ve proven the existence of the Sleigh Father. Not only that, I added, but he told me he’s returning in two days’ time. We can acquire his sleigh. His Bridge.

I hit send, exhaling a sigh of relief. I truly had done it. I’d redeemed my name. I’d resurrected my reputation and executed the monster that murdered it in the first place. It had been a busy night. An important night.

I fully believed the Sleigh Father would return for me, but with the Facility’s resources, I suspected we could handle him. Their warlocks could do wonderful things with spells.

My computer pinged with the first email alert, a reply from the Facility's hiring manager. I figured why wait? I had a job to return to. The sooner I got paid for my work again, the better.

“Good evening, Dr. Sims," it read.

"Your work for the Facility has been greatly appreciated. Unfortunately, we have located another talent that has proven more reliable. Your contract will not be reinstated.”

I stared at the screen in confusion. Had they even read my email? I just told them I located the damn Sleigh Father! I just explained how I found the Bridge between worlds!

Cursing, I began typing my response. Two more email alerts pinged in the corner of my screen, distracting me.

No matter, I thought to myself. The hiring manager could wait. I clicked on the first new email. It was from an old colleague of mine, Anna Ling, a former team member on the Sleigh Father research project, and one with high-level security access.

“I am so sorry,” it read. “Take care, Terry.”

Sorry? Did she think I was insane? I clenched my fist, my frustration mounting at the thick-headedness of these idiots. I was sitting on possibly the most significant discovery in the history of mankind, and they were brushing me off like a common madman.

Bitterly, I clicked on the third email. It was from the Director of Research and Development– Mr. Reid's boss.

Good to hear from you, Terrance!

First off, I’d like to say we’re recommending you for the Medal of Merit. Your work has been incredible, and dare I say, worthy of certain additional awards down the line. Can you say Nobel prize?

I paused, a smile forming on my lips. This was more like it. I always found the Director of R&D to be a shrewd and clever woman. It was little wonder she saw the potential of this opportunity as soon as I presented it.

I continued reading.

Of course, public awards are off the table until the Bridge has been put to proper use. We’ll have to deal with the upcoming conflict first before spilling the beans on this new technology, but trust me, once we can, your name is going in the hat. I’ll be personally recommending you! I imagine you’re probably a little upset. It’s a terrifying prospect, what’s to come, but…

I blinked, shaking my head in confusion. Terrifying? That’s an odd way to describe a Nobel prize. No matter. I continued reading.

... unfortunately, it was the only option we saw available. Dr. Azimov has been a huge help in getting all of this setup, and we’re genuinely thankful for your cooperation in the matter. What’s losing another thirty years of life when you’ll be immortalized in history, eh?

Dr. Azimov? Alexi Azimov? What the hell, that couldn’t be right. Alexi abandoned the project a year ago. Sure, he’d occasionally kept up with me via email– more for my sanity than anything, but he had nothing to do with this. His mental exercise of listing my intrusive thoughts helped clear my head some, but that didn’t warrant such accolades. I did this. Me.

Furious, I clicked reply. Before I could finish the first word of my response, my computer pinged with another email. It was the last contact I’d messaged: Alexi.

Terrance,

I hope you’re well. In fact, I suspect you’re feeling quite good, if not a little confused. I know how much the Sleigh Father project meant to you. To be frank, your obsession with it has concerned me. It isn’t healthy. It’s damaging.

Before I go any further, I’d like to assure you that the Facility will be arriving at the mountain later this evening. They’ll be monitoring you from a safe distance, and when the Sleigh Father returns in two nights’ time, they’ll attempt to apprehend his Bridge.

I let loose a sigh of relief. Good. I knew I could count on Alexi -- even if he was trying to steal some credit for this. I cracked an exasperated smile and kept reading. It was probably a misunderstanding.

Earlier this year, I discovered some lore. I thought it might help both of us. You and I. You see, old friend, I have come to realize that the Sleigh Father shares more in common with the Santa Claus myth than either of us recognized. All those weeks, months, and years of study and failed attempts to locate the monster were rooted in a singular problem: we were too focused on the science of it all.

The Sleigh Father is a being that transcends science, of course. An anomaly. A myth. So it was to that mythology I returned. Within it, I found the means to quell some of your suffering and offer you an opportunity to have a merry Christmas before you pass from this world.

My fingers ached. I realized I was clutching the sides of the laptop hard enough that the plastic shell began to crack. I reread Alexi’s words. Before I pass from this world? What kind of phrasing is that?

Trust me, Terrance. It will be better for you this way. Easier. I know you're probably wondering what I'm talking about, so let me provide you with some background details.

I discovered that lists have the power to summon the Sleigh Father. They act as a sort of ritual or an offering to it. When one creates a list, the creature will sometimes deign them with their request -- providing they want it desperately enough. It is our emotional energy that calls to the Sleigh Father. It feeds upon our joy and our sorrow, our wishes and fears.

Your list to Donovan Reid was drenched in emotion. I suspected that if my theory was correct, given your relative proximity to the Sleigh Father’s Bridge and your hatred for Mr. Reid, you could provoke an encounter with the being. I’m happy to hear I was correct in that regard!

My eyes scanned his words, and my teeth dug into my lip. That son of a bitch. That absolute piece of shit. I made to get up and grab a new piece of paper, one I could use to write Alexi’s name on. I'd list it a thousand times, with a thousand different ways I wanted him dead.

But the email wasn’t finished.

Of course, there’s more to the Santa Claus mythology than simple lists. There are consequences. One such consequence is when somebody requests something selfish or sufficiently deplorable. It is the Naughty or Nice paradigm, and we see it reflected heavily in the mythology. It’s what I was counting on tonight.

Your desire for Mr. Reid’s death was selfish and, frankly, monstrous. You'll excuse my dry sense of humor, but it really was a Naughty sort of thing. I’m genuinely sad to know Mr. Reid passed with such brutality, but I’m happy to know it will pave the way to ending the coming war and saving billions of lives.

When the Sleigh Father returns to claim your deplorable soul, please know that it was never something I wanted. If you could have lived, I would have preferred that. Same too with Mr. Reid.

Unfortunately, we’re running out of time, and sacrifices must be made. The Eldritch horrors are knocking on our front door, Terrance. You know that. You know I had no choice.

Just know that you and Mr. Reid will be remembered for what you gave. Carpe diem, old friend.

P.S.

If at all possible, please draw the Sleigh Father as far from his Bridge as you can. Our team will have an easier time retrieving the sleigh that way.

Happy Holidays,

Alexi.

I closed the laptop. I didn’t even bother writing a reply. What was there left to say? ‘Fuck you, asshole?’ No, it wasn’t worth the energy. I doubted he’d even care to read it. He already got everything he wanted, after all. He had me right where he wanted me, and now he would get all of the credit.

That son of a bitch.

I stewed in my rage for a long time. Long enough that birds chirped overhead, and the golden light of dawn seeped in through the cabin window. Eventually, I decided what would happen next.

You would– all of you.

See, the Sleigh Father might be coming for me tonight, and it might be true that I don’t have a way out of here. The Facility is too powerful. Too all-reaching. But not even they can stop the wildfire of public outrage. So here it is, my testament, the true account of the final days of my life, and the research that led to them.

I’m not asking to be deified. I’m not even asking for a street in my name. I just want people to know the real story about what happened out here, on this snowy mountain. You’ll forgive me for not trusting the Facility to represent my contributions to this project properly. They’ve already spoiled my name once. Who’s to say they won’t keep dragging it through the dirt after I’m dead?

Words are cheap, and I know better than to trust emails from suits. So I’m begging you to spread this, far and wide. Tell my story the way it truly happened, warts and all. I’m not a perfect person, but I’m not a madman either. The Sleigh Father came to me. I witnessed him, not Alexi– me.

Tonight, when the creature returns, I won’t even run from my death. I’ll lead the bastard away, just like that snake Alexi asked. It’ll be my final contribution to my life’s research. A contribution I hope might lead to a better world someday. If they manage to steal the sleigh, then it’ll be a colossal boon in the war to come. If they don’t…

Well, just be careful what you wish for this Christmas.

Some gifts aren’t worth the price.

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umbravirtus · 3 months ago

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Hans giggles knowingly; because she now understands a little of what he has been saying since she inquired about his former fiancee for the first time. "I prefer to be dead than married to Helga."

"Positive, Elsa mentioned the adjoining door was because I need to start physical therapy soon, you know, start moving the arm, playing with a leather ball to regain mobility and grip strength on my hand" he explains

"And with the coronation drawing closer, I suppose she doesn't want you running back and forth from the infirmary" he jests "But I appreciate your company" he reassures her and gives her lips a gentle peck. Happy.

Then he gets a little pensive and goes to peruse his chest of belongings looking for something, but can't reach it, turning to Anna he asks. "Could you please give me a hand here, love?"

After she approached he explained "I can't raise this and pull the box underneath, so... I raise and you pull? when they retrieved the box they were looking for he opened it, it was protected with a mechanical puzzle, that he solved with muscle memory.

Inside, was Westergaard Ledger, it had the family crest and their motto which he read out loud for her "Familia Supra Omia," he parroted with monotony but in his best Latin "Absurd that our family crest says family above all it's a slap in the face every time I open this ledger." he complains, but finds that he is looking for, a glass fountain pen and a stamp. He smiles looking at Anna.

"I don't think she intends or can actually get a dime out of Ulrich but, thanks to his paranoia and own anti-forgery measures we, each brother, have a glass pen with a specific ink color, with a specific stamp that gives validity to our signed documents, since I'm dying, I think I want to leave my will and testament." He smiled hoping she would catch his drift. "Walk with me to your sister's office? soon your office" he asks.

Once there, Hans plans to sign and stamp so that all his assets can be given to Arendelle, with a couple of peculiar stipulations. "Harmon needs a better well, a bigger market, and safer roads, therapy should be accessible throughout the nation to those who need it so, I want some of my stipend to be used for that," he can't stop his father or undo his harm but he can help patch up people so they don't bleed all over the place, metaphorically.

"I want to support the jail rehabilitation program, my road to recovery would've been much easier if I had been offered something similar," he speaks honestly even if it's a harsh truth, he hopes that they understand where he's coming from, this is not for Elsa and Anna to feel bad for the decision they took rather, so no one else has to go through what he did.

"What do you think?"

Helga left in a flurry, much like she arrived, barking orders at the staff all the way to her last-minute accommodations. Ann and Elsa were left staring at each other, both knowing there were things said today they couldn't unhear. "Can we change the locks when she leaves?" she asks.

"Change the locks? We're moving." Elsa replies. The two share a look and break into laughter.

. . .

With the doctor's blessing, Hans was moved to his own room, right next to Anna's, and the part that surprised Anna the most was the door adjoining them.

"Your positive Elsa picked this room herself?" She asks Hans, watching him carefully and at the ready to help as he got himself out of bed. "She must be trying to send Helga a message --I can't believe she falsified your marriage certificate. You must be in a weird place right now. Married and dead. That's a lot."

#sovereignofarendelle #ℋ » Love is an open door. (C: Hans)#ℋ » Crazy Trust Exercise #ℋ » We finish each other’s…(Hansanna)#✎ Listo (Notion)

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carolinemillerbooks · 8 months ago

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New Post has been published on Books by Caroline Miller

New Post has been published on https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/8000-years-of-mysogeny/

8000 Years Of Mysogeny

I’ve given up worrying about the existence of God. Discussions about diety I leave to the young. After decades spent thinking about the inscrutable, all I gleaned from religious precept was that misogyny rises from it like a noxious odor. I’m not alone in this opinion. Donna Nolan Fewell, a scholar of the Old Testament writes, The Bible, for the most part, is an alien text (to women), not written by women or with women in mind. Christopher Hutchins cast a withering eye on the Scriptures, as well, and arrived at an ancillary conclusion. The cure for poverty has a name; it’s called THE EMPOWERMENT OF WOMEN. Now, name me a religion that stands, or ever stood for that. Feminist writer Barbara G. Walker also added to my knowledge. She pointed out that Thomas Aquinas and St. Augustine held grudges against women and that holy father John Scotus Eriuge made men the following promise. ..when the heavens finally open in glory, women will be eliminated. (“Does Religion Make People Kind, Generous?” by Barbara G. Walker, FreeThought Today, March/April. pg. 14.) A prediction like that makes God irrelevant to the future of womankind and raises a question. If the weaker sex is to be barred from heaven, why can’t men be more charitable to them on earth? So far, the patriarchal doctrine has done nothing except insist that women are inferior creatures unworthy of simple justice Honor killings are an example. That a woman who has been raped should pay with her life while her attacker goes free is perverse. What’s more, the myth that sustains it is absurd. Reason balks at the suggestion that all women should be punished because one plucked an apple from its branch. In Western societies, Honor killings aren’t prevalent, but other injustices prevail. The Supreme Court’s decision to overturn Roe v. Wade is a heinous example. No longer allowed to control their bodies, women in the United States have been returned to the status of chattel. After 8,000 years of brainwashing, it’s not surprising that many women have accepted their inferiority, helped by Judas Goats who betray their sisters for a smattering of patriarchal privileges. Phyllis Schlafly, an attorney in the 1960s, is an example. She railed against the Women’s Movement and warned equality was the enemy of domesticity. Amy Coney Barrett, U. S. Supreme Court Justice, appears to follow in Schlafly’s footsteps. Her religious conviction that a husband is his wife’s master made her vote to overturn Roe v. Wade inevitable. Katie Britt, U.S. Senator from Alabama, may be another of their ilk. That she chose to deliver the Republican response to Joe Biden’s State of the Union Address from her kitchen is noteworthy. My comments about these women may seem unfair. Nonetheless, I’ll wager none of them found the time to make biscuits from scratch. If they are or were to be blind to their hypocritical positions, I must blame 8,000 years of patriarchy. Masculine paranoia predates the Women’s Movement, so I’m inclined to question the conclusion of a 2024 study laying blame for misogyny at women’s feet. If true, the cause and effect is unclear to me. Why should a woman’s desire for equality disconnect men from society and send them into private lives of underachievement, underemployment, online addiction, and white supremacy? I propose we search for masculine hostility within the male psyche. At the subliminal level, is it possible men doubt their superiority or harbor the fear that nature favors women? Consider this solitary fact as evidence. The male-defining Y chromosome is disappearing. The fault has nothing to do with women. It lies within the human genome. The female X chromosome reproduces through genetic recombination, but the Y chromosome uses a cut-and-paste procedure. The latter is inferior to recombination because it produces errors that cannot be corrected. Over time, these flaws accumulate so that, according to scientists, within another 4.6 billion years women will find themselves alone in the universe. Let me hasten to assure my male friends that neither I nor a majority of women rejoice in that outcome. Nonetheless, nature is experimenting with unisex reproduction. Enter the Japanese spiny rat, the first among mammals to shed its Y chromosome yet continue to procreate. And so, my male cohorts, given your prospects for the future, it’s time to consider the olive branch. Women are willing to forgive 8000 years of neglect if over the next 4.6 million years you join us in peace. Together we can confront a deaf, dumb, and blind universe confident that we are unique because we know how to love. If any man doubts the generosity of this offer, let them remember this. A woman’s voice is the first sound a child hears in the womb. At the closing, a woman’s tears may be the last sound a man hears.

#Amy Coney Barrett #Barbara G. Walker #Christopher Hutchins #Donna Nolan Fewel #genetic recombination #holy father John Scotus Eruige #honor killing #mysogeny #Phyllis Schlaflyj #religious oppression of women #Roe v Wade #Senator Kate Britt #St. Agustine #the Women's Movement #Thomas Aquinas #Women and the Bible #X and Y chromosomes

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faces-ofvenus · 2 years ago

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I dont know if you can but could you do one where the reader is rhaneyra daughter and ends up in a relationship with Aegon and ends up marryimg him*

Yes yes, I took my time this time lol, only I was blocked from writing this.

You looked around worriedly, maybe it was just your paranoia maybe not, no one could see you here, or rather with a certain person, it had been a few months since you and your uncle had met so often, your little childish passion like the others would dominate, but it was real, you could feel it, you were y/n Velaryon the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Laenor, you had many Targaryen characteristics a little different from your younger brothers, Aegon was taking too long, he never took long, not with you. You met from a very young age, your mothers seemed to harbor a deep hatred for each other, or rivalry, so much so that they both disapproved when they saw their children talking to each other, so your meetings were never well regarded or appreciated.

- Looking for someone my love

You had been lost in thought again, it was almost an everyday thing, you had a crazy and hyperactive mind, and people hardly understood that, as the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra they always put a lot of burdens on your life, just as they did on your mother's, but with Aegon, things were different, you didn't want to be king or queen, you didn't want your obligations. You opened a wide smile, and shared a big longing look, Aegon had his typical mocking smile, the kind that would get someone in trouble.

- Maybe I already have.

You sat down, usually your escapades involved hanging out in the castle, without permission, or even spending much of it with your dragons, this afternoon you would spend it together in a small tree hidden inside the castle garden. Aegon surprisingly always respected your desire to remain untouched until the day of your wedding, which you dreamed would be with him, at least in the promises you made to each other it would be that way, but that doesn't mean you didn't have long kisses and hugs.

The air seemed to come out of the lungs of everyone in the room, almost a deafening silence if that was possible, but certainly the lack of sounds in the room, were uncomfortable for everyone, well almost everyone, Alicent was the first to speak.

- But my king, like y/n and Aegon, together at a wedding....

She tried to protest but the shock of that absurd idea was surely destabilizing her, marrying her eldest son, to her daughter, it couldn't be, it would soil both the Targaryen name and her mother, but at least on this she and Rhaenyra agreed, this marriage, it couldn't happen.

- My father, we were already preparing to leave. Can't you take this decision without consulting us first?

The king denied vehemently, he was an old man, but not blind, he knew that both y/n and Aegon were together, he remembered how he used to run away with Aemma, his beautiful queen, even though their relationship was arranged, he quickly fell in love with his beloved, running away and sneaking away so they could be together, he looked at you and at Aegon, both looked in shock, but his son had perhaps one of the few smiles of pure happiness he had ever witnessed, he wanted more to see that smile from Aegon, how he wanted, he knew he was not a good father with him, just as he was not with Rhaenyra for a long time but, he would never want him and his granddaughter to be unhappy.

- My decision is made, in a few days, at the height of spring, they will marry, further uniting the Velaryon house with the Targaryen, wouldn't that be a great idea!

Nobody would go through the decision of a king, not even dissatisfied mothers, your heart could only beat fast, looking at Aegon, you could already feel yourself making your vows, looking into his eyes and kissing him freely without having to hide from anybody.

#hotd #hotd x reader #reader #reader insert #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon

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sodaquail · 6 months ago

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LEGITIMATLY THIS IS SO TRUE. Chip and Reuben both have a lot of key characteristics - and in my mind one key difference - that make their characters so *interesting* as foils. I think at the end of the day they both share a need for love, a fear of abandonment, instability in their lives, and an insecurity that leads them to think they're not enough. . But what really sets Reuben apart is the fact that he desires POWER in a way Chip does not. His traits are infected with his growing desires. Reuben desires love, but he feels unsafe unless he can control that love and make sure it can't leave him. His fear of abandonment skyrockets because of how paranoid he is at the thought of being left alone and unloved once more. His life is unstable and he seeks to control it - staring a gang, a bounty hunting trade - instead of succumbing. He feels constantly and fully insecure about the fact that Chip was the kid his father wanted, that everyone in the world has a boot on his neck just bc of the circumstances. What does he do? He controls Chip. Pushes him to the ground so those feelings of inferiority can never see the light of day. Someone who is on the floor at your feet can't possibly be better than you, that's absurd. No matter what your father's actions imply. I think they are so utterly similar and that with the right enviornmental pushes, they could have become similar to eachother, but at the end of the day Reuben wants power. Power within love, power in his life, power over his community, power over what he feels and does not feel.

It's just a matter of how long that takes to grow. Take hold. When is the turning point where a simple hug is not enough to convince Reuben that Chip won't abandon him? Then, months later, when is the turning point where staying in sight 24/7 isn't enough? Then, when is the turning point where obeying all orders isn't enough? When a simple expression of doubt is met with the deep, nasty feeling of a brewing fight? When is the turning point where killing a man becomes needed? Where's the point where Reuben cares less about Chip's feelings, about the person he loves, and more about the fact that he stays? He listens? He takes the affection he needs and knows what he needs to do to get it - listen, stay in their rotting home forever and ever, ignore the blood on his brother's hands, ignore the blooming black eye on his own face. The simple fact that his body is warm against Reuben's and his arms are tight pale in comparison to the fact that he's crying. that maybe reuben is holding too tight. maybe it hurts. They both know it sucks. Reuben is changing for the worse, with paranoia and a terrible hunger for all the things Chip cannot give him, in every way he cannot fully fulfill. But fuck, they need eachother. They stay.

it is 1:30 am I need to go to sleep and I cannot have coherent thoughts but I will never stop thinking about how easily Chip could’ve become Reuben. They’re both hurt and motivated by the same things. They both had no one left to care for them and nothing to do but cause trouble. And (if Reuben really is Captain Rose’s son) the hole in the sea took people away from them both.

their situations are so similar yet somehow Chip manages to make it out of Reuben’s gang, and manages to be more than that. Maybe there is just something inherently good about Chip and bad about Reuben that sets them apart. Maybe Chip was lucky to have been around such good people with the Black Rose that he was saved from ending up like Reuben. Maybe under any different circumstances the roles would be reversed

#reuben price #jrwi #just roll with it #jrwi riptide #jrwi chip #chip jrwi #jrwi price #jrwi reuben price #just roll with it riptide #chip bastard #guhhhhhhhhhhhh #just my thoughts

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girlwiththenegantattoo · 2 years ago

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Let Me Help You

So I got this idea from a Golden Girl episode where Rose (RIP Betty White) is addicted to pain killers and the girls stay up with her throughout the night.

This is the first thing I've written where it literally feels like a bunch of "and thens" but I already went through all the trouble of editing and posting.

Warnings: Smut and mention of drug use/addiction

Tagging @plainlo-inthemorning and @everythingbutresolved

“The bishop may move as many squares diagonally as you wish, so long as it is not blocked by another piece."

"I heard what you said but it doesn't make any sense" you snapped feeling instantly guilty for doing so. Letting out a quiet grunt you all but slammed your elbow on the table and buried your hands in your hair. This wasn't working and you were only 2 hours in.

You just have to make it until the morning.

"What's troubling you, my child?"

Father Paul asked as he sat down next to you at the end of the only pier in Crockett Island. How he came to find you in that particular spot had surprised you. Especially because you went there to be left alone. If you truly had to guess you’d guess it was Struge. The man looked burly and intimidating but was a devout follower and a regular at St Patrick's. He probably alerted the local priest as he watched you make your way to the pier, by yourself, for the 8 consecutive day. Though such an act can be seen as a healthy, daily routine, you were sure it was the staying for hours on in that had brought the most attention to you. Knowing very little about Father Paul you were hesitant to speak, even if deep down you were appreciative of someone lending their ear and knowing they wouldn’t cast judgement.

"Have you ever...struggled...with something and people look down on you for it? You eventually asked.

Father Paul thought for a moment before he spoke. "Maybe they aren't looking down on you. Maybe they are just worried."

"Even if it's not hurting anyone?"

"It could be hurting you." Father Paul replied, his gaze still fixed forward, onto the water when you turned your head to look at him.

"Yea well I don't think that's an issue."

That day he'd offered to have NA meetings with you. Although he wasn't sure what all went into them he could easily find out. Plus, he was already doing AA meetings with Reilly and surely it couldn't be much different. At the time you scoffed at the idea, because unlike Reilly you hadn't done anything to affect others life and you figured it was just your paranoia that made you feel like you were drawing people’s attention to your 'habit'. Although, your lethargic speech and lopsided smiles were surely enough to draw some suspicion.

When you heard his second idea you thought it was more absurd then the first. He had suggested that you could stay over for a night. Being at the rectory would offer you less temptations than your home and would be strictly used to keep an eye on you. The small space would give the perfect opportunity to speak with him while distracting yourself from the outside world.

"I don't do the Bible thing. I'm mad at a-lot of people in my life and he is at the top of the list."

Father Paul nodded in genuine understanding and made a mental note to come back to that on a different day. He continued to intently look at you, waiting patiently to hear, what you were now sure he knew, was another excuse.

Why you agreed to any of it was currently, completely last on you. Two hours into what was to be the longest night of your life and your withdrawal symptoms had already started before you knocked on his door. Paul promised you that you would just have to make it through the night and after that everything would be downhill.

Bouncing your knee up and down under the table you finally looked up to see Father Paul looking at you in sympathy.

"We can do something else if you'd like.

How was he being this calm?

You had chills, body aches and an irritation level that was through the roof. You had offered him nothing but impatience and anger since you arrived, even being downright crass. Yet he sat by waiting attentively. Willing to do whatever he could to help.

Your chair made a loud scraping noise against the wooden floor as you quickly stood up.

"I can't do this...I mean I'm fine really. I gave you my medication so I'm just going to go home."

As you headed for the front door Father Paul spoke. "You know if you leave this will never stop."

You knew he was right, but that fact wouldn't help your discomfort end any sooner. Turning the brass doorknob Paul spoke again, this time his voice was more assertive.

"Y/n"

Father Paul hadn't known what came over him in that moment, but he did know he promised that he would help you and he was going to make sure he followed through.

"I want you to go sit down on the couch."

You had every chance to turn the doorknob, step outside and make your marry way back to your home but there was something about Paul's sudden change in demeanor that transfixed you to your spot.

Your eyes never left each other as Father Paul stood by the small table and watched you take your seat. Walking over to stand in front of you he made sure that he had your full attention.

"I told you I'd help you. So please...Let me help you."

Although his voice and demeanor had changed to something softer now there was a darkness that looked to be clawing its way forth. Father Paul sat down to the right of you, his knees touching yours. Taking his right hand, he gently caressed your cheek and turned your head to face him.

"I think I know what you need. What you really need, but I want to hear you say the words"

The man constant change of demeanor was starting to severally confuse you, yet you knew exactly what he was asking. You hadn’t had the energy to weigh the pros and cons, but since he told you to stay, you hadn't thought once about any of your withdrawal symptoms.

Opening your dry lips, you softly said "I want you to help me, Father."

It was eerily quiet before Father Paul let out a relieved sigh, suddenly crashing his lips into yours.

Opening your mouth to grant him access, your tongues danced together as his frenzied hands worked to find the bottom of your shirt when he abruptly stopped. Looking over the couch he gestured to his bedroom.

"Let's make you more comfortable."

You followed him to the room where all you could hear was your own heartbeat. He stopped and stood next to his patchwork covered bed, his hand reaching out for yours.

"Lay down for me, will you? I'm going to take all of your pain away." He whispered against your ear sending a shiver up your spine. Slowly following his command, you awkwardly laid in the middle of the bed. You watched in complete aw as Father Paul remove his clerical collar while deft fingers undid each button on his black shirt. Tugging the bottom out from under where he kept it tucked in his jeans, he pulled at his cuffs to remove it from his arms and off his body. His mahogany brown eyes were now blow wide lust, something of which you had never seen before.

"Forgive me Father, for I am about to sin."

The bed dipped as he placed one knee on the right side of your body, swinging the other over you and straddling your upper thighs. His large frame on top of making you feel caged in, but only in the most wonderful way. His lips collided with yours again, becoming madly intoxicating as you wondered how many times he's done this before. Trailing his lips from your mouth to your neck, Father Paul used a finger to pull down your shirts collar so he could run his mouth over the smooth skin of your clavicle.

"Let's get this out of the way, hmm."

It hadn't been a question; however, you weren’t sure you would be able to answer him regardless.

Father Paul all but ripped the thin material of your shirt up and off your body before sitting back and studying you. His features now looked animalistic, a predator waiting to jump on his prey. All signs of the faithful, caring man were now long gone. Running both hands up your torso his thumbs traced the outline of your rib cage before reaching behind you to undo your bra. Even though you still wore your tattered jeans you now felt so exposed.

Moving down to your legs he made quick work of your button and zipper, sliding off your pants. Bringing his focus back to your face his brows furrowed. While he had been distracted with your lower half, you'd covered your breast with your left forearm and hand.

"There is no need to hide yourself. You are absolutely perfect as you are." Father Paul's tone was soft and genuine leaving no room for you to feel like he was lying. As you hesitantly removed your arm, he lowered himself over your chest and ran his tongue over one of your peaked nipples.

A low moan crawled out from your throat as your back shot up from the mattress and you arched your body into his. Lifting his head Father Paul palmed your other breast, softly tugging and rolling the other harden nipple between his fingers. The way you were writher underneath him was something he hoped he would always remember.

"You're so responsive for me y/n"

Moving back up to your lips Father Paul began to undo his belt, the metallic jiggle of the material setting your core on fire. You reached down to cup the erection that sat painfully confined behind his jeans when he pulled away from you again and slowly shook his head. "This is not about me. I want you to lay back and let me take care of you." Paul hadn't missed the slight look of disappointment that covered you face.

Wasting no time, he ran a finger over the cotton materiel that covered the junction of your legs causing you to let out a gasp.

"Is that it?

He sounded as if he was fighting a battle inside his head. A side wanting to completely destroy you and the other wanting nothing but to make you truly feel loved.

Removing your last article of clothing Father Paul's long fingers exploded your fold. "So wet too" he all but growled working the pads of his fingers over your sensitive bud. Very few words were needed as he went off your body’s reactions of each touch. Using two fingers he circled your opening before working them inside and setting a gentle pace. You weren't sure if it was the care Father Paul was putting into his ministrations or if he was just finding the perfect spot, but you were beginning to come undone and fast.

"I can feel you holding back, just let go" he whispered while speeding up his movements. Your hips bucked on their own accord and your body convulsed with a loud cry that was ripped from you.

"I know, Angel." Paul soothed as he slowed his fingers. Riding you through your high he then pulled his fingers from you and gave you another fervent kiss. Sitting back on his knees, frantic hands undid his jeans button and zipper, hastily pulling them and his briefs down to his lower thigh. The sheer size of him had caught you off guard but you hadn't had time to stare for he was laying back down between your legs.

Resting a hand on the side of your head Paul used his other to caress your cheek. "Are you ready?" Biting your lip, you eagerly shook your head as you watched him trail his hand down your body and grab his shaft. With one swift thrust of his hips, he had buried himself to the hilt as his body began to tremble.

"Is this, ok? It's not too much is it?" He rushed as he opened his eyes to intently search yours.

"I'm ok...please...don’t stop."

There was something that switched in him again as his facial expression intensified. When he finally moved, he drew his hips back and slammed them into you. His movements were fast and rough and the grunt that fell from his lips were turning into growls. The bed creaked with every harsh contact of your hips, sending you inching up the mattress. His touches felt like they were everywhere all at once. Grabbing ahold of his back, you felt his muscles flex divinely under your hands.

"I’m close" he uttered almost embarrassingly, his lips leaving yours only long enough to speak. You hadn’t expected for him to last long in the beginning, and you wanted to let him know that it was ok. Taking both of your legs you wrapped them around his hips using your calves to push him further into your heat. It only took 3 more thrust after that before he came with a guttural moan, his hips coming to a stuttering stop.

There were many things that happened that night that you've never experienced before however, the way Father Paul looked into your eyes at that exact moment, was an experience that you were positive, you would never get anywhere else. Father Paul collapsed down beside you and pulled you to his chest. The fast beating of his heart was all you cared to listen to as you both tried to catch your breath. He had returned to his gentle nature, combing your hair out of your forehead and behind your ear. Rubbing the arm you slung over his stomach he let out a quiet single laugh.

"Hmm?" You hummed basking in the aftermath bliss.

"Look out the window," he whispered into your hair. As you lifted your head, a smile covered your lips. Just past the little 4 pane window with the small white curtains that hung above, you could see the sun rising from behind the clouds.

You had made it and he helped you every step of the way

#hamish linklater #midnight mass #father paul #father pruitt #monsignor pruitt

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ffangirlingsince2001 · 4 years ago

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The Princess and the Witcher: Extinquished

*not my gif*

Geralt x Reader

Geralt of Rivia is not a babysitter, he is not a bodyguard, and he has no interest in transporting princesses across the continent. Until gold is offered and for the next 90 days he’s saddled with a chirpy, bubbly, princess, who is betrothed to the prince of Narok and has a desire to see everything before she’s trapped behind another set of walls.

A/N: A little early post to ease off the cliff hanger from the last post, but I am also sorry to say, this is the end, so please enjoy (as much as you can)

Warnings: ANGST

“You’re here to kill me.”

Geralt didn’t think he had heard her at first.

What his ears were convinced they had heard was so absurd he wanted to howl with laughter until no sound came out and he was just shaking. This was all some silly joke, she was trying to get back at him for something, no doubt.

It was a trick, to calm him down after she dropped the news about the prince, or the lack thereof. She was afraid and it was the first lie her childish mind had come up with, something so absurd it was only told in stories about Witcher’s that were meant to frighten children. Now, she was just trying to spare herself his wrath, and honestly, he was prepared to forgive her for everything. There was no prince and she was all his, they even had a home to grow in.

He knew he would live much longer than her, but every moment would be worth it. He would bask in every moment that he could love her. He would enjoy every smile, every soft touch, every worried look she would cast him when he came home from a particularly detrimental kill. She would be his wife, of course. They couldn’t have children, but that wouldn’t stop them from trying. Oh, he was already toying with all the ways they could try to have children. In the loft, in the fields to the west, on the beach to the east, and here in this little house that they would make a home.

All he had to do was forgive her, and hold her, and assure her he was mad no longer, and then they could begin their life together. But, when he moved forward to hug her, she took a solemn step back, tears still running down her face.

“Y/N, I’m not mad, there is no need to lie,” he whispered but all she did was drop to the table and bury her face in her hands, sobbing without restrain. He wasn’t sure what to do. She was lying… and yet. No, she had to be lying. There was no way she could be telling the truth, not when this proclamation was so horrible his hands shook at the thought of it. “Y/N…”

“Please, sit down,” she cried, still hiccupping with tears. He did as she said without a word, dropping his sword for good measure. She eyed it and then turned the teary irises back to him. “I’m not lying. I wish I was, but I am not.”

“Then I have misunderstood you.”

“You have not.”

“Then you must have hit your head as you fled.”

“Geralt, you have to kill me,” she snapped, slamming her clenched fists against the table. He was silent as he stared at her hands, they were so small and undamaged.

“What makes you say such terrible things, Princess?”

“Because they’re true. That’s why we’re here. That’s why you were chosen.”

“Chosen for what?” he yelled, irritation growing as he grew more frantic. He just wanted her to admit it was all a sick joke.

“Do you remember the first night we laid together, in the inn?” she asked, and he nodded. “I told you, you were chosen because you would do whatever it takes, this is what it takes. You were chosen because my father, his advisors, and I all knew that you would do it, when the final hour is upon us you will draw up your sword and end my life.” Geralt stood from the table, shoving it into her stomach as he did so.

“If you are to die, why the trip, why not kill you in your home?”

“Because I wanted to see the world before mine came to an end. It was never to end up like this, you were never supposed to know, not until the very end. And I never meant to become so close, it was supposed to be easy, it was supposed to be easy,” she cried, reaching for him.

“You’re lying. You’re fucking lying, you don’t want to be married so badly that you want me to believe I am supposed to kill you, to end your life before someone can control you. Well, you’ve made one error, I do not kill people, I kill monsters.”

“All the better,” she replied, voice dangerously steady as she straightened herself in the stiff, wooden chair. There were still tears in her eyes, but she meant business. “Please sit down, so I can explain.” He considered leaving, shearing off a piece of her hair and marching back to her father to demand the gold he had promised him, but instead he sat as instructed. She tried to take his hands, but he pulled away. Hurt etched itself across her face but he did not search for restitution.

“It happened before I was born, I didn’t even know it had occurred until a few years ago, and even then, I found out on accident. I assume they wouldn’t have told me until today if they could have avoided it, they would want to spare my sensibilities.”

“Tell you about what?” he snapped, jerking her out of her ramblings.

“The curse.” There was a beat of silence as she waited for him to respond but when he remained quiet, she continued. “Like I said it was a few years before I was born, my father was trying to find a queen to rule along side him. He was looking for someone with royal blood, but even commoners were invited to the parties he was throwing, in hopes of creating something so extravagant that it would attract a woman just as lively as the parties.

“Among the guests was this woman. My father says she looked like an angel that had dropped from heaven like gold from a sunset. He was captivated and mesmerized, so taken aback he was nervous to approach her. He thought about it the entire first night, never quite prepared to introduce himself to the woman he was sure he would marry.

“Because he failed the first night, he hosted another party the following week, and then the one after that, trying to produce something that would be as magnificent as her. On the third week he finally succeeded in approaching her. He introduced himself, and as he nervously stumbled over his name, she must have grown enchanted, because the parties ceased, and she was brought to the palace to be prepared for the wedding.

“Much to the disgrace of the royal family, she was a commoner, nothing more than a milkmaid, but my father was enamored, unwilling to part with her even when his father threatened to send the couple far, far away. The wedding drew nearer, and they were both so happy, so in love.

“And then war broke out. Our borders were shredded to nothing more than desolation, fires ripping across our crops until our farmlands were black scars against the rich earth. The wedding was postponed and for her safety, the lovely bride was sent away to hide. She waited years, and suddenly the war abruptly ended, and she returned to the palace, prepared to wed my father. Yet, when she entered the throne room, she found another sitting on her throne. My mother, the princess of the warring country, had stolen away her place by my father’s side. A marriage of treaty was formed while she was away, and she was left heartbroken and alone, an outcast in the palace that had once welcomed her as their future queen.

“I don’t know if she was a witch or a mage, or maybe she hired someone to do it for her, but the curse was cast on me. A curse that now hangs on the cusp of erupting into violence and bloodshed, a curse that you must end before it begins.”

“What is the curse?”

“A transformation.”

“Of what kind?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then how do you know it is worth your life? How do you know your death is undisputable?”

“Because I know it’s bad. I can feel it in my bones. I could feel it when I killed the monster. I can feel it every time I look in the mirror and my eyes seem a little more animalistic. I just know, call it intuition, call it paranoia, I know that I am destined to be a monster.”

Geralt roared in frustration, slamming the blade of his sword into the door, lodging it in the soft wood. “You can’t know that.”

“I do.”

“I cannot kill you, especially not on the gut feeling of a princess who has not left the palace before three months ago.”

“We’ll know tomorrow, and you will have to be prepared. If you are right and it is nothing more than ugliness you can leave with your sword clean, but if it is what I know it to be, you must kill me. You cannot allow another monster to exist in this world.”

“There must be a way to break the curse, there is always a way,” he growled, head resting against the split his sword had created. He could hear her standing, inching her way towards him.

“You don’t think we have tried? You don’t think my father spent eighteen years trying to find a way to free me of his mistakes? We have tried, I’ve taken every motion, endured every experiment. It still lingers just beneath my skin like thick, black smoke, ready to turn me into a nightmare.”

“I can’t kill you,” he whispered and she took his face in her hands.

“You must, for the world and for me. I would rather die than ever have to kill another living creature.”

“You are so selfish it hurts.”

“I know, but I need you to do what it takes, and I need to remember what you promised me.”

“What have I promised you?”

“That you will not linger on those you kill. You must forget me, move on and continue to do good in this world.”

“Y/N, I love you, you cannot dare to ask me to kill you, let alone forget you.” She seemed taken aback by his confession, but as she pressed her lips to his he could feel the return of her feelings.

“You must, for the world and for me.”

*******************************************************************************************

Gold is not gold.

Some is tainted with blood and loss.

And Geralt had no interest in coins that would cause him agony to spend. He was not even sure if he had wanted the gold if he would be able to enter the throne room without severing the kings head.

They had spent the night before her birthday making love. They had whispered confessions into one another’s ears long into the evening and into the night, basking in the secrecy of their affair. When she laid beneath him, he was unable to imagine her dead. She was so full of life, even with the sadness that settled itself in her eyes.

They imagined a future together, both silently and aloud. He could imagine her old and still kicking, like age couldn’t hold her back and she spoke of a twin on each hip, a boy and a girl that would talk just as much as she had when they first met. Beneath the candlelight and the peppering of kisses it was almost easy to forget it was all fake.

Then, the night had begun to draw to a close and she had lead him to the shackles attached to the wall, the hooks he had once mistaken as a tether for horses. He had begged her not to make him to do this, all while he assured her she would be okay.

The chains were tight and as the sun rose over the mountains, she was proven correct. In between screams of agony as her body transformed into a creature of no natural creation, she promised she loved him, that she would be with him, that even as his blade ended her life she would know him for nothing but sincerity and kindness.

And then he killed her, staring back into the eyes that did not change with the transformation. They seemed grateful, relieved that he went through with it, she clearly had doubts that he would be able to do whatever it took.

He buried her, it was the only life he had ever taken that he had buried, but he felt unable to leave without hiding her beneath the earth.

And then he left, in the opposite direction he had come, knowing that he would only be able to keep half of his promise.

He could kill her, but never in his lifetime would he forget her.

The End

@mallorydoesstuff @facelessfiction @aphadriel-fanfic @raspberrydreamclouds @thegreattodd @saint-hardy @ravenclawsstolemybunies @queenofmankind @britty443 @lonewolf471 @utterlyhopeful-fics @persephonehemingway @fuck-me-gently-with-a-slurpee @josis-teacup @gabbysblogthingy @sadttitude

#the witcher #the witcher angst #the witcher x reader #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #the witcher imagine #the witcher fluff #the witcher smut #Geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia smut #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia angst #geralt of rivia fluff

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thedadkraken · 5 months ago

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Dalton walked towards Aegon and rested his arms on one chair's top rall that was left in front of Aegon. Literally no one would think to search for Dalton inside Aegon's chambers, so the paranoia slowly left his body. He stared at Aegon, his children called it his planning murder face, but it was actually his focused face, because Dalton himself wasn't even sure what was happening.

—No, I mean... yes, but not —Dalton inhaled and exhaled. He hadn't even started talking and he was already tripping on his words. He sucked at asking for help. Dalton loathed having to ask for help. All his attempts ended up ignored or answered with terrible advice. « He said he never had to deal with in-laws, fucking weird. Would he understand? »

—I have a wife named Tess. She's my first wife, redhead, freckles, insults and punches like a sailor... I mean she is a sailor. She punched my other wife, Genna, who I haven't seen in a while now... Because it's Genna. She has the best gossip but always insults people so everyone hates Genna and Genna hates everyone.

He made a small pause, hopefully his marriages weren't so confusing that Aegon would get lost.

—Apparently, Genna now has a black eye and I'm getting the blame. I didn't do it. I was sleeping with Lysa until fifteen, twenty? minutes ago. And I mean actual sleeping, not a metaphor for sex or something like that. I'm still wearing my nightgown and everything. I'm getting sidetracked. Genna's father saw the black eye and started threatening to kill me or at least that's what Tess told me because I'm not finding out on my own.

Dalton decided to finally sit and leaned into the chair. Saying it aloud made it feel absurd. It probably was. He was now staring at the ceiling. Maybe he was so used to the chaos that it didn't surprise him. Being used to the chaos didn't make him immune to getting so exhausted afterwards. « Am I getting old? »

—It hopefully gets cleared on its own today, but until it happens I was planning on hiding and you seem like someone who knows how to disappear from the Keep. Also, I could use some drinks and something to eat.

The Red Keep, 129 AC. With: @goldaegontargaryen

The only good thing about being forced to stay inside the Red Keep was that Dalton could sleep as much as he wanted. He didn't have much to do in the first place, so he stayed in his chambers and slept at any moment for as long as he wanted and no one would bat an eye. Dalton's sleep was obviously interrupted anyways.

The door of his chambers opened, but Dalton stayed unbothered. He was cuddling with Lysa; his body behind her, head hiding on her neck. So oddly peaceful that it became suspicious. Until someone started touching his face.

—I know you are awake. —Tess' familiar voice made him hide even harder in Lysa's hair. She noticed he heard her and continued. — I punched Genna.

—Deserved —Lysa murmured.

—Why? —Dalton knew Genna Lannister wasn't in good terms with most if not all of his wives, but Dalton enjoyed her honesty and Genna always had good gossip.

—She was being a bitch, like always, so I punched her. —Tess made a pause and Dalton thought she would leave him alone. —Her father saw the black eye and now thinks you did it. He's coming here and he looked really mad. He kept screaming he was going to murder you... You should probably leave.

Usually Dalton would laugh at the idea of one of his in-laws wanting to kill him. Today he knew Lord Lannister meant it. He got up and put on a long black coat to hide the fact he was wearing his nightgown. He hid two knives under his belt just in case and kissed Lysa goodbye before leaving her in the room.

—You should find Genna, apologize and ask her to clear the situation. —Tess rolled her eyes, but Dalton knew she would do it.

Three weeks trapped inside the Red Keep meant Dalton was running out of places to hide. He wished he could find one of King Maegor's secret tunnels, he definitely needed it right now. « Any Targaryen would know them. » Luckily, Dalton knew one.

—Where is prince Aegon? —He asked one of the Red Keep's servants and soon enough he was guided to his chambers.

Dalton knocked on the door and opened it. He turned around to make sure no one followed him and closed the door shut. He let out a sigh of relief and finally acknowledged Aegon. Dalton wasn't sure how to explain the situation. He wasn't sure if he wanted to explain it in the first place. The man's sister almost died. If any of his sisters were poisoned, Dalton would have gone crazy. So he tried to appear calm and collected while leaning against the wall.

—You never told me if you got to insult your father one last time.

#asoiaf rp #asongofgf&bb #with:#aegon ii targaryen #asongofgoldenfireandblackblood

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awhitehead17 · 3 years ago

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Batfam Alphabet: D - Death

Summary: Jason and Damian bond over similar experiences that only the two of them have faced before.

Enjoy! :D

He knows something is up as soon as the kid enters the kitchen. It’s as if Damian had an aura wrapped around him highlighting that something is wrong. While Jason doesn’t know the kid well, certainly not the extent like Dick does, he can still read situations and body language.

When Damian enters the kitchen he heads straight for the fridge to grab a sports drink before moving over to the kitchen island and settling down with a tablet in his hands. He continues to stay there, completely ignoring Jason as if he weren’t present, all without saying anything.

Jason’s in the kitchen because he’s cooking some lunch for himself. Alfred’s wonderful kitchen and fully stocked cupboards grant him the luxury of cooking whatever and whenever he likes, he absolutely loves it. However Damian sitting at the island doesn’t explain why he’s there. The kid isn’t conversing with Jason so seeing him isn’t the excuse of being here. Not that Jason cares about his presence of course, it’s just a little strange.

Jason lets it go for the time being. If the kid wants to talk, he’ll talk when he’s ready to. Even if he does choose to talk about it, he definitely wouldn’t open up to Jason of all people, especially not when both Bruce and Dick are currently in the Manor available to chat too at the same time.

Silence settles in the room and Jason continues to make his food. Just a couple simple quesadillas that he's been fancying, nothing extravagant at least. Waiting for it to finish up, Jason glances behind him at Damian who is slumped at the island, his attention on his tablet only. He’s wearing his signature scowl and occasionally reaches out to have a sip of his drink.

Jason hums to himself and decides to do something about the kid. Clearly something is wrong because Damian never slumps at the island nor does he ever willingly choose to stay in Jason’s presence for so long. All without a snarky remark too!

Moving his own quesadilla to the side he starts up another one and makes it for Damian. He doesn’t care if he’s eaten or not, this will be a good start in trying to get the kid to open up to him.

He makes this one vegetarian and once it’s done he plates it up and takes it over to Damian, dropping it down in front of him. Jason grabs his own before settling down at the island opposite his brother.

“What’s this Todd? I didn’t ask for this.” Damian scowls at him.

Jason rolls his eyes. “I decided to be generous and make you one, it’s a vegetarian quesadilla.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well it’s there if you want it or not.” Jason responds back. He’s half tempted to snap at the kid for the rudeness but he knows that this isn’t the right time to be bringing up manners.

Damian watches him for a moment through narrowed eyes like he’s suspicious of Jason, probably trying to work out if he has an ulterior motive or not. In the end the kid drops his gaze and returns back to his tablet, not touching the food.

Jason lets it go as he digs into his lunch. The silence between them stretches and when Jason finishes his first quesadilla he decides to drop the subtly and approach Damian head on as it’s clear he won’t be opening up any time soon. Call it his brotherly instincts if you have to, though he’ll deny all of these feelings and vows to make sure Dick never finds out about it.

“Right, what’s up with you? What’s wrong?” He crosses his arms and leans forward on the island putting all of his attention on Damian.

Damian, predictably, ignores him and jabs at the screen of his tablet.

Jason rolls his eyes. “You can ignore me sure, but I know there’s something wrong. You’re here with me rather than somewhere with Bruce or Dick, or even on your own, meaning you’re probably avoiding the other two and most likely here because you don’t want to be on your own.”

“That’s absurd Todd.” Damian comments hotly not looking at him.

“Perhaps,” Jason says easily, “but it doesn’t make it any less true.”

The kid continues to stay quiet, not talking about whatever is bothering him and Jason stares at him. He wonders if he could annoy Damian enough to open up about whatever is going on.

“It has to be something big right, if you’re avoiding the only two people you can stand. Unless it’s something bad, are you feeling guilty about something Damian? Did you kill someone and don’t want them to find out?”

That was a little uncalled for, Jason feels bad as soon as he says it, but it gets him a reaction at least. Damian snaps his head up and levels Jason with a murderous look. “Do not joke about that Todd! As it is, it’s none of your business!”

“So there is something wrong?” Jason points out.

Damian scowls and drops his gaze. He lets out a heavy sigh as he goes back to his tablet. “This is something father and Grayson cannot relate to, they won’t be able to help.”

Jason blinks, not expecting that confession. “Even if they can’t relate I’m sure they’ll try. Believe it or not they do care about you, if they can’t help they’ll find someone who can.”

There a few tense beats go by before Damian is shaking his head in denial. “That is not likely.”

“Why not?”

Damian looks at him again and makes eye contact, his expression both grave and irritated. “It’s about my death Todd. That is why.”

“Oh.”

That really isn’t something Jason had been expecting. Damian does make a point about Bruce or Dick not being able to relate, well lucky for him (or unlucky depending how you see it) there is someone who can relate to the situation. Him.

Jason runs a hand through his hair and sighs softly, letting go of the tension that’s built up inside his body.

“Is it nightmares that are bothering you? Or perhaps is it the paranoia and anxiety, being weary of everything and everyone around you. That feeling of almost irrational fear that this may not be real, that this all may be a dream. The continuous fear that death is going to happen again, what killed you the first time is going to come back and finish the job properly.”

Damian is staring at him with a grim expression, confirming that he knows exactly what Jason is on about.

“They may not know what it’s like, lucky bastards, but I do Damian. Of course circumstances are a little different, you’re surrounded by family and those who do care even if they don’t show it in the best ways. I didn’t have that. If you need to talk to someone about what happened or what you’re feeling, you can talk to me. I can relate to it, I know what it’s like.”

Damian carries on staring at him, his expression turning into one Jason couldn’t identify. The kid is probably trying to work out if Jason genuinely means his offer or not. If he’s being honest, Jason has surprised himself by actually meaning it too. He doesn’t blame Damian for the doubt.

Damian opens his mouth to respond but closes it before any sound comes out. He opens it a second time before closing it again. When it repeats for a third time Jason decides to step in. “You don’t have to talk about it now, or even tell me at all, but just know the offer is there, any time you want okay. I get that it’s a hard thing to open up about.”

“Thank you Todd.” Damian says in the end. After that he seems hesitant to continue, a look that rarely appears on his face. “It is by the way, what you mentioned earlier. Those are common thoughts I have been having.”

Jason nods at the admission, having already guessed that. “And it’s completely understandable. If you want to talk about it now, why don’t we move to somewhere more private so we won’t be disturbed?”

It takes a second but then Damian is nodding. He gathers his things up before moving towards the door of the kitchen. Jason gets up from the island and puts the dishes to the side, he’ll deal with them later, and grabs his uneaten quesadilla before starting to follow Damian.

This is certainly something he wasn’t expecting to do that day but if he can help the kid deal with something as traumatic as his death, then Jason will do what he can to help him get through it. He didn’t exactly have the greatest support system when he came back to life so he’ll be damned to make sure Damian has one.

#batfam alphabet #Jason Todd #Damian Wayne #sibling bonding #hurt and comfort #talk about death #no one dies in this #just talk of their experiences #bat bros #bit angsty #fanfiction

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twinkleton · 4 years ago

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at the end of the century - douxie x reader

Whew, this was a douzy to write! I'm so sorry about the wait, maybe it's length will make up for it! This is part two to my last fic, so be sure to give the first part a read if ya haven't! I wanted to include a familiar for the reader, but it just didn't make sense for the story. I'll happily write another fic that has a reader with one if anyone would like! Also, to avoid confusion, this takes place during the "first" battle at killahead. No time travel going on yet, obviously it's changed to where Douxie is involved in the fight. Hope you guys like it!

Tags: @purplesinnerw @clarencebells

As per usual for Camelot, its streets were bustling with its citizens up bright and early for morning shopping. Traders were bartering their newfound treasures, and parents were buying food and supply for their families. For Y/N however, she was neither a trader or a member of a family. She had nothing, except her magic. Of course she felt terrible tricking people into looking the other way while she grabbed onto a loaf of bread or an extra shirt she’d need, but in order to survive it’s what she had to do. After a while, the guilt can subside. She’d rather be doing this than have to rely on anyone ever again.

Still, as she leaned back against a wall, taking a bite out an apple she’d taken earlier, she couldn’t help but feel jealous at the sight of a little girl on top of her father’s shoulders, laughing along with her mother without a care in the world. She’d argued it was because of having to look at someone so privileged, but really it was because of having to look at someone so loved.

---------

Three years later,

Tensions had reached their peak between Morgana and King Arthur, and a war was about to begin against Gunmar and his army of Gumm-Gumms. Morgana had had enough of his mistreatment of magical creatures, therefore her loyalty to him was hanging by a thread. It didn’t seem enough that Arthur seeked help from the trolls of Dyoza, as she believed he only saw them as pawns.

Back in Merlin’s study, him, Douxie, and Archie were discussing how to prepare for the upcoming battle, more specifically, what to do about Y/N.

“No, we are not leaving her here!” Douxie shouts at Merlin. Archie gives him a concerned look.

“Douxie…” he says, trying to calm his friend.

“No, Y/N has never given us any reason to doubt her. How could you suggest such an idea as to lock her up until the battle is over? What has she ever done to deserve that?!”

“Hisirdoux, this is not about what she has done, but she potentially could do. We know how close she is to Morgana, and Morgana will say or do anything to persuade her to be on her side. With Y/N she has an advantage, an extra card in her deck. Keeping her here is only a precaution. It’s a way to keep Y/N safe and to keep Morgana from being stronger,” Merlin explains.

Douxie isn’t convinced by that. He knows Y/N. He knows that she would not want to be stuck here while the rest of them go off and risk their lives for Camelot. And if Morgana sees her on their side, maybe Y/N could be the one to convince her to stop.

“Clearly you’ve forgotten that she was the one that stopped me from bringing dark shadows into Camelot. Ever since she’s been here she’s done nothing except be the kindest and most understanding out of all of us. There’s nothing Morgana could say or do that would convince her to go against that.”

“I’m with Douxie,” Archie agrees. “Surely Merlin, you can have a little more faith in the girl. And with her training from Morgana, she could be our biggest asset against her and Gunmar.”

Douxie gives him a scratch behind the ear, silently thanking him. Archie beams at him.

Merlin gives a sigh in defeat, not willing to argue anymore about the subject. “Alright, we won’t keep her here. However, should she side with Morgana, I fear her safety will be gravely-”

“What are the three of you up to?” As if summoned by them talking about her, Y/N walks in.

All three of them stop in their tracks, faces blanched.

Douxie decides to sacrifice himself in explaining. “N-nothing Y/N! We were just uh..trying to calm down Archie! You know him, always been a scaredy-cat,” he nervously chuckles, picking up Archie and frantically petting him. Archie’s face screams unenthused.

“Ah yes, frightened I am.”

Y/N giggles at the absurdity going on. She walks over to Douxie, saving Archie from him. He relaxes in her arms, belly exposed for Y/N to give light scritches.

“Aw, it’s alright, Arch. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you, okay?” she playfully reassures. Despite obviously not needing the comfort, Archie purrs at that. Much like everyone she’s come across since being here, Archie full-heartedly loved her.

Merlin takes the opportunity to leave the room. “I must go. There’s still much to be done before the battle.” He stops at the door, turning to look at Y/N. “We all trust you, Y/N. Please, don’t let that be a mistake.”

She understands what he meant by that, and stays silent. Merlin takes his leave.

Douxie glares at where Merlin was standing moments ago. “Don’t listen to him. We know you’d make the right call with Morgana.”

Y/N lets Archie out of her arms, the familiar jumping onto the table. “I don’t know what to do. Morgana is adamant that Arthur will never see through his hatred with magickind.”

“Don’t you see Y/N? This is the only way to stop my brother and his tyranny.” Morgana had been hiding away, deep in the forest. The only person she trusted with her location was Y/N, on the condition that she swore not to reveal it to anyone else, or else their lives would be the first one targeted in the upcoming war. Y/N agreed to the terms.

“And you honestly believe Camelot or the world even would be safer with someone like Gunmar? Once he defeats Arthur, there would be nothing to stop him from conquering everyone, including you. The world would be in shambles,” Y/N insists. It pained her heart arguing against Morgana, the first person in the longest time she’d felt safe with. It wasn’t easy for Morgana either.

“What have I been trying to tell you from the moment you set foot in that castle? Arthur fears us, he fears Gunmar, me, and you. Magic is nothing to be afraid of. You’ve seen the wondrous things magic can do.”

“And I’ve also witnessed the horrible things it’s capable of. I know magic can be good, but people like Gunmar have to be stopped. Please Morgana, you can still do the right thing,” Y/N pleads.

Morgana turns her back on her apprentice, beginning to walk away. “The same could be said for you, my dear.”

Despite her best efforts, Y/N can’t stop a tear from falling out of her eye. Douxie immediately walks over to comfort her, wrapping his arms around her.

“I’m afraid, Doux,” she admits, grabbing onto the front of his tunic. “I spent years not trusting anyone, fending for myself, and the whole time I was so lonely.” Soft whimpers could be heard coming from her.

Douxie begins softly petting the back of her head, patiently waiting for her to continue.

“Morgana was the one who saved me from that life, who gave me hope. She felt like the mother I never had.”

She slightly pulls away from Douxie, wanting to look at him. Looking into her grief-stricken eyes made Douxie almost want to agree to Merlin’s plan of keeping her here, just so she wouldn’t have to face Morgana. He knows she wouldn’t want to do that however.

“What if she’s gone after this? Will I be left all alone again?” Deep down she knows she wouldn’t be alone, but her paranoia was telling her other things.

“Never,” Douxie assures. He pushes her hair away from her face, pressing his hands against her cheeks. “I promise, darling. You will never feel alone ever again,” he swears. Y/N’s fears melt away with his words, her eyes refusing to leave his. They didn’t notice how close they had gotten until Archie interrupted. He hops onto Douxie’s shoulders, causing him to let go of Y/N in order to regain his balance. He lets out a huff of annoyance, with Archie giving him a cheeky smile.

“Don’t worry dear Y/N. No matter what happens, Doux and I will always be here for you.” She smiles at that, giving Archie a loving pat on his head.

“Thank you, Archie,” she says, looking back at Douxie to grin at him, implying that their moment wasn’t finished. Douxie gets the hint.

--------

Deya slams her amulet into the bridge, opening up the portal to seal away Gunmar and his army. Y/N had stayed with the trolls of Dyoza to help them against the Gumm-Gumms, leaving Merlin, Douxie, and Archie to defeat Morgana.

The fight had gone too long for Merlin who was injured, weakening his magic. Archie had been knocked out earlier by a strong blow from Morgana. Douxie was holding his own despite Morgana being far stronger than him, however it didn’t last long.

Pushing her hands away from her, a huge burst of dark wind cascaded the arena they were in, leaving Douxie and Merlin blind. Morgana seized the opportunity to trap them, tying them up in rope created by her magic. They struggled against them, but there was no use. Morgana started cackling with glee, believing she bested them.

“You fools! You should’ve known better than to go against me. You wasted your lives trying to protect my cowardly brother, and now all your squabbling will be for nothing!” Morgana rises into the air and raises her hand, a strong light pulsing from it, no doubt from her charging her final blow against them.

Douxie frantically looks around for any sign of help or weapon to use. Finding nothing, his last resort is to use words.

“Morgana! Think about Y/N! You know she doesn’t want this!” he shouts, desperation clear in his words.

“Don’t act as if you care about what she wants! You only see her as your puppet, another pawn for you to use! She and all magickind will finally be free once all of you are gone!” A final pulse comes from her hand, the light so bright it hurts to even glance at. All hope deferred, Douxie’s final wish was for the truth to be heard.

“You’re wrong! Y/N was the reason I changed for the better! I used to be whiny and immature-”

“Hisirdoux! Now’s not the time for a heart to heart!” Merlin interrupts.

Douxie ignores him, “I used to be bitter about the hand I was given, but Y/N gave me a reason to be grateful for what I had! She’s the brightest out of all of us, and I’m so, so lucky to have met her, befriended her, and fallen in love with her!” A wave of peace fills Douxie, accepting his fate.

His words have left Morgana speechless. Doubt floods her mind, for the first time since this battle began. However, she snaps back into her fury.

“Very well, you can die with a peace of mind. I’ll tell Y/N all about your feelings for her while she grieves over your dead body,” she maliciously answers. She throws her hand down, an enormous beam of light launches from her hand.

Douxie closes his eyes, waiting for the feeling of burning skin to come, but it never does.

“There won’t be any need for that, Morgana!”

He recognizes that voice, and his eyes shoot open. The ground beneath them shakes, as Y/N throws up a shield so large, it sends Morgana’s magic flying all across the other side of the room, most of it hitting Morgana herself. She lets out a cry, falling to the floor.

Y/N sprints over to Merlin and Douxie, freeing them from the ropes.

Douxie gleefully says, “Y/N! You made it! You’re okay- how much of that did you hear?”

Y/N giggles, “Just that last bit. You know, the important bit.”

Douxie lets out an embarrassed chuckle. Archie, having finally woken up, flies over to the couple. “I’d hate to interrupt this lovely reunion, but we do have a ninth-level sorceress to take care of.”

They all turn towards Morgana. “Right, let’s finish this,” Douxie commands.

Douxie and Archie team up, using magic and fire to seal Morgana in a ring of flames. Morgana growls in anger. Y/N puts up shields all around her friends, blocking any of Morgana’s attacks from hitting them. When Morgana shoots her magic at Y/N, Merlin defends her, the bolt ricocheting off his staff and back towards Morgana. Douxie jumps towards Morgana, armed with a sigil designed to freeze her. He successfully reaches her, and the both of them are frozen in the air, except she has no control.

“Hurry! I can’t hold her that long!” Douxie warns.

“You’ve lost yourself Morgana! Bound to dark magic,” Merlin yells, slamming his staff to the ground, a large sigil of his own covering the floor.

“I have no choice but to seal you away!” He begins the spell, balls of light rising from the floor. Morgana is able to swing her staff at Douxie, throwing him across the room. However, before she can move, Y/N replaces Douxie, freezing Morgana once more with an even stronger hold.

“Do it! Finish the spell!” Y/N shouts.

Morgana screams in frustration. “How dare you, Y/N! I am the reason your life has meaning, I’m the reason for everything you hold dear! You’d be nothing if it weren’t for me!”

“I never was nothing! The only thing I used to be was alone! You’ve given me a family, and for that I’m grateful, but now I have to protect that family! And the only way to do that is to get rid of you!” Y/N turns toward Merlin, “Any day now!”

Merlin chants the final line of the spell, and a beam of light expels from his staff, hitting Morgana at her feet, encasing them in stone. The light slowly works its way up her body.

“I will destroy you all! No matter what it takes, no matter where you go, I will not rest until I’ve ended you and all that you love!” Morgana vows, hitting Y/N with a bolt, knocking her down. Douxie sprints and catches her before she hits the floor.

Most of Morgana’s body has been encased, leaving only her torso and head free. “I swear on your lives I shall rise again!”

“And we’ll still be here to stop you once more, buttsnack!” Douxie promises, firmly holding onto Y/N. Once all of her has been frozen, Merlin crosses his arms, finishing the enchantment. Y/N opens up a portal to the Shadow Realm, and Merlin hurls Morgana into it. The last thing heard from Morgana is fearful screaming as Y/N closes the portal.

With the battle finally over, everyone gives a huge sigh of relief, falling to the floor. Archie marches over to Douxie and Y/N, jumping on top of them and licking their faces.

“Arch! That’s disgusting,” Douxie complains with a smile, clearly not meaning it. Y/N hugs Archie, giving him a kiss on the forehead. Douxie beams at the both of them, feeling so content in the moment.

He puts a hand on her shoulder, “Are you alright, love?” Archie hops off of Y/N, deciding to give them a moment alone.

“I’m okay, more than okay really. She was too far gone, there was nothing more we could do,” Y/N answers. “Now, about your little declaration of love there.”

Douxie nervously giggles, “Yeaahhh, about that. Look desperate times call for desperate measures! Had I known you were just going to waltz in anyway, I would’ve waited for a more romantic evening to confess my undying love for you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“There would’ve been flowers, music, little sweet buns iced with our initials toget-”

Y/N cuts off his rambling by grabbing his tunic with one hand, resting the other on his cheek, and pulling his lips towards hers. Their first kiss is a soft one, with Douxie wrapping his arms around her, pulling her even closer. They let each other go, feeling the sudden urge to laugh at one another for their impeccable timing.

“I love you too, Douxie. More than anything,” Y/N confesses.

Douxie grabs her face and pulls her into another kiss, convinced this is the happiest moment of his life.

Eventually, they remember they’re not alone. They look around to see Merlin passed out on the floor.

“Merlin!” they both shout, running over to him. Archie apparently had been trying to wake them up, waiting for their moment to be over in order to tell them.

“Why didn’t you tell us he’d passed out?!” Douxie scolds.

Archie waves his paws in defense. “Pardon me, you know I’m all for happy endings. I just didn’t want to be the one to tell you it’s not over yet.” Douxie lets out a groan, slamming his hand to his forehead.

“When do you think he’ll wake up?” Y/N asks.

“Hopefully, soon,” Douxie answers, doubtfully.

--------

Nine centuries later,

“FUZZBUCKETS!” Douxie screams in the air, being dragged along by a mephit he, Y/N, and Archie were trying to catch.

“Don’t let go of it!” Y/N shouts, trying to sprint ahead of the creature.

“Ah yes dear, that was the plan all along! To free this poor tortured beast!” he yells sarcastically, before slamming into the ground for the fifth time that night.

“You know it was your sense of humor I fell in love with first!” she quips. She opens up a portal on the floor and jumps into it, opening up another one right in front of the mephit. She draws up a sigil that the mephit bounces off of, knocking him down.

“Ah well, luckily for you I’m quite the jester!” Douxie jokes.

Archie swoops in and blows fire at the mephit, fatally wounding it. Douxie is then able to cast the creature away. They all let out shouts of victory, Y/N giving each of them a high five.

“You know, one of these days you two will be the death of me. Maybe don’t start flirting with each other until you’re absolutely certain you’ve caught the shadow mephit,” Archie chides.

Y/N scratches behind Archie’s ear as a way of apology. “I’m so sorry dear husband over there insists on putting his hands on me at every available opportunity. He’s quite the scoundrel,” Y/N teases.

Douxie scoffs at that remark, pretending to be offended. “Pardon me, dear wife. But if I recall correctly it was you who-” He doesn’t finish his sentence as he’s distracted by the lights suddenly flickering and then bursting.

“Hisirdoux,” a voice calls out.

“Is that…?” Y/N questions, looking around.

“I think it is…. Merlin!” Douxie grins in excitement, happy to know his master is finally awake.

A green sigil lights up from underneath Douxie, making him jump back. Merlin rises up from it, except it’s only a projection of him.

“Hisirdoux, my faithful apprentice-”

“You darn right I’ve been faithful. Who leaves a guy hanging for almost a millennium? You could’ve sent a raven, or a text! There’s texting you know!” Douxie whines.

“It’s so good to see you, Merlin,” Y/N says with a smile, giving him a bow.

Merlin smiles back, “Lovely to see you too, dear Y/N. I see Hisirdoux hasn’t tormented you enough to run to the hills yet.”

Y/N laughs, standing back up, “Actually, he’s done quite the opposite.” She raises her left hand, showing off the ring on her finger. Douxie wraps an arm around her shoulders, eyes staring lovingly at her. Merlin beams at the both of them, glad that they’ve had each other all the years.

“Congratulations, you two,” Merlin proudly says.

“Thanks, Master,” Douxie responds gratefully. The last nine hundred have been wonderful with her and Archie at his side.

Merlin clears his throat, “I’ve come here to task you all with a mission. You must bring the Guardians of Arcadia, with haste.” The projection of him fades away, leaving the three of them alone.

“Errand boys once again, aren’t we?” Archie complains. Douxie lets out a sigh.

“Don’t think of it as an errand, think of it as another adventure,” Y/N suggests, wrapping her left arm around Douxie and letting Archie climb on top of her shoulders. “It’ll be fun! You’ll see.”

Douxie chuckles, and brings his left hand to her head, pulling it closer to him to press a light kiss against her forehead. “With you, my love, anything’s an adventure.”

--------

Bonus,

“Wait, so the two of you are wizards?! Not just baristas at the cafe?!” Toby questions.

“Yup!” Y/N replies.

“And you’ve been living for nine hundred years?!”

“Yup!”

Steve gives Y/N a quick up/down glance, “Well, you certainly don’t look it.”

Douxie glares at him, “Careful, she’s married.”

Steve raises his hands in defense, “I’m just saying! Wait, to you?”

“Yes!” Douxie barks at him.

“Today’s actually our eight hundred and ninety-sixth anniversary,” Y/N informs them with a smile.

“And you’re spending it here? Wow Doux, you suck at romance.” Toby criticizes.

Douxie scoffs, “Alright, you go celebrate eight hundred and ninety-five anniversaries and report back to me!”

Y/N lets out a giggle, “Maybe that’s enough questions for now.”

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