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annaizscribbling · 8 months ago

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Ch 8.

Wordcount: 2095

Content warnings: choking. Suffocation. Mutilation. Self hatred. Hallucinations. Suicidal imagery.

Virgil can see through the walls.

Slowly, it seems that he is rising above the illusion of captivity. He is more than what the fake tunnels and passages would have him believe. The waters show him who he truly is, what he truly is.

Pure instinct is what keeps people alive. The split-second decisions to fight or flee is what makes even the softest person capable of living to breathe for another day. The pure power of adrenaline, motivated by a strong enough panic, that is true survival. That is a very powerful gift.

And that is Virgil. Before there were ethics, there was terror. Before there were carefully crafted systems to manipulate, there was panic. Before there was understanding, there was the urge to flee. Before there were dreams and nightmares, there was the urge to bite and scratch until freedom could be achieved.

Survival is older than anything else, because without the tools to secure another sunrise, there is no civilization to see another sun set over them.

Some part of Virgil knows this to be intrinsically true. Some part of his nature is ancient and untamable. That part awakens in the cave down by the water.

His mind grows stronger, stronger than he ever thought it possible to become. Virgil is learning and growing, like an ant hill, buzzing and wriggling as the mound expands. Above, below, all around. Come too close and a thousand insects descend upon your skin to bite and burn like fire in your veins.

The water knows this to be true. The water wishes to grant Virgil the mercy of sight.

And Virgl is beginning to realize that he may just be strong enough to take it on. For the sake of his person, himself, his loved ones. The gift of truth and understanding is a heavy weight to bear indeed, but who better to understand than Survival? Who better to know and protect through an unclouded mind? Beautiful water, how you know best for him. Wisdom may never be his forte, but truth is what matters, is it not?

Virgil doesn’t remember where he is. In and out of the cave is all beginning to feel the same. Two worlds are bleeding together like watercolors on a wet page. His mind stays with the water even when his body moves about, but that makes sense, doesn’t it? None of it is real flesh and bone, nothing is real save his mind and the truth.

He runs his hand over the floor beneath him. He’s on the floor somewhere. His room, maybe. The dark shadows are not wet enough to be the cave, and he is too at ease to be elsewhere. Another caress of the floor reveals it to be carpet. Yes, yes, it is his room. His little haven away from his haven.

Blink.

The water is not as cold, this time. It was more gentle. Virgil’s eyes and arms were open, ready to receive. Because of this inner posture, the water was not a chilly blast like being hit with a tidal wave or attacked by a heavy storm. It was a cool, soft mist, like being at the zoo and getting one of those animal themed fans that spray water to keep you cool. It was gentle, almost playful. The water felt no need to fight for his attention.

His mind was open, listening to the sweet song of truth.

It’s been a long time since he had seen Logan. The thought to check on him crossed his mind a few times, but he never quite went through with it. There was so much else going on. Anger and solidarity were stronger emotions than just … neutral. How oddly fitting, in a bit of a sad way.

He’s heard nothing bad, which was good. So everything was good. Logan may not have been taking a stand, or picking a side, but he’s making things run, keeping Thomas in one piece. It’s fine. They are fine, he and Logan.

Well, Virgil is fine. He is quite well, actually. Perhaps the same can’t be said for Logan.

Virgil stares up at his ceiling, but he is not on the floor. He is not staring at his ceiling. His stomach flipped, as if he were upside down. He can feel his damp hair hanging forward, like he was on his hands and knees.

The ceiling is not the ceiling. The floor is not the floor.

Virgil feels like a spider crawling up a wall, unblinking eyes spread out to see everything around him unceasingly. He is comfortably perched with his limbs to anchor him upside down. A spider on the ceiling. A spider watches without moving, without malice nor compassion. Just a bug, just a little thing that sees what you do when nobody is looking.

Logan is sitting on his bed. The bed is black with tiny, subtle constellations dotting it. It is probably accurate to the night sky, as Logan would probably refuse to display something inaccurate so blatantly in his space. It is strange to see him sitting on his bed at all, he never uses his bed for anything but sleeping. Logan says that the bed should be left alone unless sleeping, as a best practice. It is one of those things that Virgil remembers quite well but never actually does.

Another thing Logan never does is try to kill himself, but that’s happening too now, apparently.

Virgil twists where he’s stuck to the ceiling, wishing to get closer, to see better. It’s hard to make very much out from where he is. But there are other ways to See without the use of eyes. He strains his ears and stretches to get just a few inches closer to Logan. Regret flares as his ears recoil away from the newly found sound.

Virgil makes out the distinctly foreign stifled sobbing noise from below.

That … that is not normal either.

Logan has both hands around the end of his striped tie. He is pulling. He is pulling very, very hard. Virgil can hear his muscles straining. He can hear the sound of his tendons stretching and flexing as he tugs harder and harder. He can hear Logan’s throat constricting. He can hear the air having a harder time getting up and down his windpipe. He can hear the trickles of sweat going down the side of Logan’s temple. He can hear the tears welling up in his eyes as one drop at a time runs down his face.

They are sounds not meant to be heard. Virgil begins to feel like he’s violating something here. He should not be watching this, he does not want to watch this.

And yet he cannot look away.

Every new tear that runs down Logan’s face seems to anger him. Each one makes a fresh heat flare in Logan’s rolling gut. His knuckles are white from how tightly he’s gripping the tie around his neck. Every single tear, each barely unrepressed sob, he pulls harder at his own neck for every new offense. His heartbeat is wild in his ears, yet it’s growing weaker.

It isn’t working. This exercise in self-discipline isn’t working and he is angry. He is seething. How dare his own body betray him? How dare he fail at his own purpose?

Logan has strange tears. The tears are too thick and glossy, tinted like olive oil. They stick to his skin and move unbearably slowly. They mock him. They are not real water. It is very unfortunate.

Virgil can only watch where he’s stuck to the floor that is not the floor, looking down at the ceiling that is not a ceiling. It is so very uncomfortable. Logan isn’t supposed to cry…

It is then when Logan’s anger burns hotter, he releases one of the hands gripped around his tie, yanking his soft throat to the side. He holds his free hand below his face, staring at the way he’s holding it like an animal claw, fingers bent and ready to scratch.

Logan holds his tie at a sharper angle, pulling his head around like a bad dog on a leash. He seems to make a decision.

Logan plunges his free hand into his chest, it goes through with a loud squelch and a squirt of something hot and viscous.

Virgil finds his eyes blurring, from what he isn’t sure. His face feels wet and hot and salty.

In the foggy mist that Virgil’s eyes seem to be producing, he can only hear the fleshy sounds of a body being torn to pieces. It keeps going. Logan’s shadowy form is aggressive and jerky as he uses his dull nails to shred what is imperfect into imperfect ribbons.

The floor is being stained with far too many colors. The constellations on the bed cover are being tarnished, becoming very scientifically inaccurate. Very, very inaccurate.

Virgil’s throat hurts watching. It all hurts. He finds himself mouthing Logan’s name weakly, as if he could change anything, as if he was seen at all. He has all the right words to say, but no way to say them. Nobody to listen to it. It is a painful thing to be anything at all, and more painful still to be an invisible thing.

It keeps going, the bloody, self-induced one man massacre. And by the end of it, Virgil can’t see Logan. Logan never left, but there’s no Logan in front of him.

Blink.

Virgil shoots up from his bedroom floor with a loud gasp, as if he’d been saving the opportunity to inhale for far too long. He scrubs at his face, finding it slick with tacky tears. He nearly loses his balance as he stands up in a tizzy.

That one hurt. That one felt horrible. That one wasn’t okay.

He rakes his sweaty hands through his crusty hair, making it to an even frizzier mess than before. He paces the room, trying to catch a feeble breath. He’s lightheaded. He’s scared. He needs to do something.

Run a mile? Hit something? Hide under his bed?

He chooses the first option, flinging open the door and sprinting down the hall at full speed. He needs to outrun the fucking heebie jeebies flowing through his skeleton. He’s all backwards. Without so much as tying his untied dirty shoelaces, he takes off down the hall.

“Woah! Virgil! Pardon me, what are you doing?”

Virgil narrowly avoids tackling the person in his way. He dodges, tumbling against the wall, nearly knocking a mirror to the ground. His soul seemed to take a few steps without him before colliding with him again, leaving him with a nauseating vertigo.

“Uh—” Virgil is about to give a hasty apology, but he can’t quite get the words out, he feels pale. His heart drops into his legs.

“Virgil?” Logan frowns, tilting his head in that curious, almost robotic manner he does so often.

“Logan…” Virgil says weakly, staring at the decidedly not mangled and mutilated Logan standing in front of him alive and well. Still, he feels lightheaded seeing the real thing. It’s been so long since he’d seen him, but only moments since his vision.

“Yes, that is indeed my name,” Logan nods awkwardly, clasping his hands behind his back. “Are— has, ah,” he pressed his lips into a line. He’s struggling. “Well. It has been some time. How … How is everything?”

Virgil can’t stop staring. “…sick.”

“As in the good sick or the bad, illness sick?” Logan squints his eyes, pursing his lips.

“Yeah.” Virgil nods distractedly, staring at Logan’s eyes. They were red, a little swollen. His glasses were a little smudgy. Not normal. Not right. Not right at all.

“… I see. That’s good, I suppose, right Virge?” Logan tries slowly, still baffled, and a bit twitchy, but clearly trying something. It isn’t working. Is he okay? Is something wrong? Virgil’s gut tells him that he’s looking at the remains of tears, but Logan doesn’t do that. That can’t be right.

It’s fine, it has to be. Logan is fine, it’s all fine. He just needs to get back to the cave. His cave. It will all be okay.

“I gotta run, Logan,” Virgil finally says, tearing his eyes away, down to the ground. He can’t look anymore, it’s making him feel bad. Guilty. Angry. But it’s fine.

“Oh. Right. Of course, later then.”

Virgil can’t remember whatever hasty goodbye he gives as he leaves. It’s back to the cave. Back to the water. It’s safe there.

Ch 7. Ch 9

#virgil sanders #logan sanders #thomas sanders #sander sides #ts virgil #ts logan sanders #ts virgil sanders

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literary-lioness · 5 years ago

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*Blows Dust off of Blog*

Last year I made an effort to take part in Nanowrimo, but things happened and I wasn’t able to finish...I got about halfway. This year I am going to try again, only this time I am going to actually use this blog for it’s intended purpose and post the writing that I do here with my word counts.

For my November writing, I wanted to do something fun, so I decided to try and take a stab at doing a lesbian Christmas romance (Hallmark-style). It’s actually a loose version of the formula that Hallmark movies seem to use. (Don’t look at me like that, we all know there is a formula). I used these sites to help me with the formula:

http://www.shopwithstyle.com/stylewise/2017/11/22/hallmark-movies

https://nypost.com/2014/12/14/claus-in-the-contract-for-hallmark-channel-holiday-flicks/

https://www.vulture.com/2016/12/hallmark-christmas-movie-essentials.html

I took pieces from each website and mashed them together to make my own formula, so while I do try to follow some of the rules, I break other ones...for example...I am writing about lesbians instead of a straight couple. Anyways, hopefully you enjoy reading the story as I post it. Sometimes it may come in complete chapters, other times it may come in pieces, it just depends how much time I have that day. Additionally, I will mark the passages I post for language and steamy situations (its a romance novel ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ) in the tags, so be sure to check the tags before reading if there are parts you want to avoid. And as a final warning, I’m not editing these pieces before I post them if I like what I wrote when I finished I will go through and do the edits, but considering my goal is to write a 50,000 word novel in a month and work a full-time job, I just don’t have the time for editing. Thanks for understanding!

Now, without further ado, Chapter One:

Nanowrimo Word Count: 2095

Quinn

If trouble had a phone number Quinn would have save it under Mom. She thought back to the call she had gotten from her mom a month before. When her phone started buzzing, she had considered ignoring the call. She had enough to deal with already without whatever added stress her mom was about the pile onto her plate. But, ever the dutiful daughter, she picked up the call.

“Hello?” She said cautiously.

“Quinn?”

“Mom, if you pressed my name on your phone to call me, who else would it be?”

“Well you never know with this stupid thing. Sometimes it calls people I wasn’t trying to call.”

Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose, “I’m sure there is a reason for your call.”

“Of course, there is, I have some bad news.”

Quinn waited for her mom to tell her what the bad news was, but there was a long pause that suggested that she was waiting for her daughter to speak first, “Ok? Whats the bad news?”

“I’ve just been to the doctor and I’m sick. Really sick.”

“With what?”

“They- don’t know. They haven’t been able to diagnose it, but it’s pretty bad. I think I’m going to need you to come home and help with Daisy. I won’t be able to do it with the treatments.”

“The treatments for the undiagnosed illness?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Mom, how are they going to treat an illness they haven’t diagnosed?”

“You’re a doctor, you know how these things go.”

“Yes, I am a doctor and typically we have some kind of diagnosis before we go into treatment options.”

“Well maybe the doctors in Snow Haven are different. Can’t you just come home, please?”

Truthfully, it had been perfect timing. Quinn had just lost her job at the hospital she was working at and was struggling to find work in the city. The lease on her apartment was also coming up, and she wasn’t sure if she would be able to afford the payments anymore without her job. That coupled with concern for her niece, Daisy’s well-being made her mind for her. So, against her better judgement and the fact that it was very likely that her mother was lying to her, she said, “Yeah, Mom. I’ll come and help.”

Her mom had been thrilled when she agreed to come, probably from a mix of disbelief that her plan had worked and actual relief that Quinn had agreed to come. Now, as Quinn drove to her childhood home, she wondered if she was making a mistake.

Snow Haven was still the small town it had always been, with few opportunities for jobs, especially for doctors, and even fewer opportunities for the anonymity she enjoyed in the city, but at least in Snow Haven she would have a roof over her head. She might even be able to convince Dr. Henry to take her own at his office as a primary care doctor. Hopefully Dr. Henry’s familiarity with her would circumvent the need for a referral since she doubted the only hospital, she had experience with would write her one.

She had not parted on good terms with the hospital. Officially she had resigned, but unofficially it was resignation or termination. The new head of the hospital had told her there were complaints about her bedside manner and overall attitude regarding patients, and while that might be true, Quinn had a suspicion it had more to do with the one night stand she and the new chief had before she became Quinn’s boss.

Quinn couldn’t exactly argue her case either. There was plenty of evidence of her bad attitude and cold demeanor toward patients to support what the chief was saying. So, instead of suffering an embarrassing termination, she chose to resign. She had been confident that she would get another position at a different hospital but had woefully underestimated how difficult a task that would be without a recommendation.

She pushed aside thoughts of her failed career as she entered Snow Haven. The sun was beginning to set on the quiet town. Everything was about the same as Quinn remembered it. A few differences in the storefronts of main street-a chic coffee shop and a few new restaurants- but overall not much had changed. She was almost to the traffic light where she would turn left to get to her Mother’s house when a small, tan, French Bulldog darted out in front of her Mercedes.

Quinn stomped on the breaks and swerved slightly to avoid hitting the dog. Once her car was stopped, she whipped her head around to see if the dog was ok. A woman who looked about her age had run out into the street to scoop up the dog.

Quinn threw her car in park and jumped out. She stalked toward the woman, “What the fuck?!”

The woman turned toward Quinn so that she now had a clear view of her. For a minute Quinn was stunned by the beauty of the sandy blonde woman standing in front of her. She was taller than Quinn by a few inches so that Quinn had to tip her head slightly to look the woman in her sea-green eyes. Quinn couldn’t stop herself from letting her gaze sweep down the woman’s curvy figure. She was Quinn’s type on paper, and she had to remind herself why she was even standing in front of this woman to begin with.

“I am so sorry,” the woman said clutching her dog to her.

The woman’s voice snapped Quinn back to reality, “Wha-? Oh! What if I had hit your dog? What kind of irresponsible pet owner doesn’t leash their dog?”

“He wiggled out of his collar, he just got a new one and it wasn’t tight enough. I am so sorry. I’m so glad he is ok.”

Quinn wanted to continue laying into the woman, because if she was being honest it felt nice to vent her frustration on someone, but a few of the locales had started to gather on the sidewalk, “Just be more careful next time.”

“I will, again, I am so so sorry.”

Quinn shook her head, climbed back into her car, and drove the rest of the way to her mother’s house without incident. She pushed the woman and her dog from her mind as soon as she pulled into the driveway of her childhood home.

Her parents had purchased the old colonial style home right after they were married and fixed it up. In her childhood, it had been the gem of their neighborhood, but since her father’s passing five years before, the house had been on the decline. Her mother was unable to keep up with maintenance and lacked the money to pay for someone to help her with the upkeep.

Quinn turned her car off and leaned back into her seat. For a second she considered turning around and heading back to the city, but before she was able to really consider the plan her mother came out of the house.

“Quinny! Oh, thank goodness you’re here!”

Quinn sighed deeply, but climbed out of her car, “Here I am.”

Her mother, Molly, enveloped her in a tight hug, and despite her feeling about being home her chest warmed in the hug. Quinn pulled back and looked at her mother for the first time in over a year. Her once lustrous copper hair that matched Quinn’s own had dulled. Gray hairs were beginning to outnumber the copper ones. The lines in her face looked deeper and her stone-grey eyes seemed more sunken into her face. For a minute Quinn worried she had misjudged her mother, maybe she was actually sick.

Until her mother looked sheepishly away from her, “I have a confession.”

Quinn pulled back from her mother and cocked an eyebrow, “Go ahead.”

“I lied to you. I’m not sick.”

“What? No way,” Quinn said flatly.

“You knew?”

“I suspected.”

“But you came anyway?”

“Yes, look, Mom, this is going to help me as much as it will help you.”

“I doubt that, don’t you want to know why I lied?”

“I assumed desperation.”

Molly swatted her arm, “Stop that. But yes. It’s Daisy. She’s been out of control since the holidays have rolled around. She’s fighting at school, talking back to me, her grades are slipping, Christ the child is in second grade and she can’t keep her grades up. She’s never acted like this before, not even after-Noelle.”

A silence fell between them at the mention of Quinn’s sister. It wasn’t something they talked about, and Quinn did her best to never think about what had happened to Noelle. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, “Well, I’m here to help.”

Molly dabbed at her eyes, “Yes, and I don’t think I will ever be able to thank you enough for that, Quinny. Come on, let’s get your things inside, dinner is almost ready.”

Quinn grabbed the few belongs that she had out of her car and followed Molly into the house. Just like the outside, the inside of the house was not what is used to be. Once pristine in its cleanliness, there were now stains on the hardwood floors, jackets thrown over some of the furniture, toys left out on the floor, and a very thin layer of dust covered the bookshelves and TV.

Quinn almost commented on the state of the house but stopped as soon as she saw Daisy peeking around the corner. For the first seven years of Daisy’s life she and Quinn had been tight, but a year before, when Quinn could no longer bear to see her sister’s face reflected at her in her niece’s face, they had fallen out of touch. Once, Daisy would have run to Quinn, thrown herself into her arms and laughed when she was spun around, now there was only silence between them.

Daisy came out from behind the corner and glared at Quinn. Her small eight-year-old features scrunched together in what could only be described as fury. This was not the kid that Quinn knew, this child was a stranger to her.

Daisy looked at Molly, “What is she doing here?”

“Your Aunt Quinn is here to stay with us. She’s going to help take you to school, and maybe help around the house a little. Won’t that be nice?” Molly said encouragingly.

“No.” Daisy said, and then turned on her little heel and marched out of the room.

Quinn’s mouth hung open, she wasn’t sure what she expected, but that was not it. She looked to her mother, but her mother just sighed, “Don’t worry about it. She’ll come around. Probably. Why don’t you go put your things in your room and then come back down and we’ll all have dinner?”

Quinn nodded, grabbed her things, and climbed up the stairs to her bedroom. She opened the door to her bedroom and found that it was exactly the way she left it the last time she was there. There was nothing fancy about the room, it contained her oak dresser and matching bed frame, a small tv with a DVD player attached to it, and a bookshelf with a myriad of long-forgotten books. She had never thought she would be back in this room, especially as a 32-year-old woman, yet here she was.

She dropped her bags on the floor by the dresser and walked deeper into the room. She stopped when she saw a picture sitting on the dresser. She scooped it up and looked at it. She realized, too late, it was the picture from her doctoral graduation.

Four smiling faces that she hardly recognized stared back at her in the frame. She was standing between her mother and her sister, with a three-year-old Daisy sitting on her hip. They all looked so happy in the picture, and so much younger. Her mother’s hair still matched hers, Noelle’s, and Daisy’s. She didn’t have the weary lines that now covered her face. Daisy looked so carefree and happy, so unlike the scowl she now wore. Even Quinn looked older, more jaded, she no longer smiled so widely or laughed so freely. And Noelle, well, Noelle was there.

Quinn felt the lump from earlier rise into her throat again. She quickly placed the picture into her dresser and shut the drawer. She walked over to her bed and sat on the end of it, put her head into her hands, and wondered what had she gotten herself into?

#language #f-word #nanowrimo #literarylionesswriting #wordcount 2095 #lesbian #christmas novel

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altschmerzes · 7 years ago

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every time i read fic i like i’m like i gotta do that too, so here i am diving back into my macgyver h/c bingo fic.....

#current wordcount is 2095 #gav plays bingo #writing liveblog

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twink-between-worlds · 3 years ago

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corruption of a hero

prompt from @transzeldas (ty again for letting me write this, rus! ily /plat) uhh,,,you could say i got carried away. *looks at wordcount of 2095* Legend uses 3 abilities/items because fuck you my fic my rules /j you can tell i suck at fight scenes um Wild angst sprinkled in, also because i said so ao3 link; muah

Legend frowned, hiding their arm from the chain. They have a fresh wound, which isn’t really a surprise, but… One of the monsters they fought was bleeding, too, and their black blood had mixed into the golden blood that Legend has. …it’s fine. The goddesses blood will fight off any negative effects, right? It’s just a little blood. Legend wrapped some cloth over the wound before tugging their sleeve down to hide it again. The chain don’t need to know. “Legend, are you alright?”Hyrule called out, looking at Legend. “Yeah, Rule, I’m fine.”Legend shrugged. “Out of breath, but fine.” Hyrule nodded, smiling before turning to Time to check on him. Hyrule has no reason to be suspicious of Legend—Legend has never lied to him before. It makes Legend feel a little…bad. Lying is fine, they do that a lot, but…they don’t lie to Hyrule. It feels wrong. But, all lies aren’t bad…he’d only worry. Legend stood up, whistling softly. Everyone else seems fine, and Legend’s wound will heal soon anyways. Everything is fine. They’re all okay. “Hateno isn’t too far away.”Wild announced, whistling. “We can get some rest there.” “Sounds good.” The chain started heading down the path, letting Wild lead the way. …Legend feels kinda sick. It’s probably nothing. “How long until we’re there?”Legend mumbled, glancing at Wild. “Ah, not too long! Why? Are you hurt?”Wild glanced back at them, concerned. “Tired.”Legend huffed out. It’s not exactly a lie—they’re exhausted and they aren’t sure why. Wild quickly took them to the inn, getting them rooms. Legend lay on the bed as soon as they had arrived in the room, and let out a breath they didn’t even know they were holding in. Maybe…I should check my arm…? Legend frowned, tugging up their sleeve and unwrapping the bandage. The bandage is stained with black, gold…and red? Where did the red come from? Legend doesn’t have red blood, never has. There shouldn’t be any red in there.. Maybe it’s just them seeing things. After all, they are worried about a possible infection… It’s nothing. Legend wrapped the wound up again with a fresh bandage, humming softly. They’re really tired now.. Legend shut their eyes, practically sinking into the bed. Maybe they’ll feel better after some rest? It works sometimes… Their uncle always said that if they didn’t know what was wrong, they should try napping. Legend’s never found a flaw in that logic. Legend kicked their boots off, stretching as they relaxed a little more. …They should probably change clothes, but… They don’t have the energy. When they get home they can get Ravio to take a look at it—the strange merchant has good first aid knowledge for reasons he won’t share. That’s fine, though. Legend doesn’t need to know where or why he learned it. …Legend likes that about Ravio. He’s strange, always seems out of it…but he’s really saved Legend’s life a few times. Legend feels better knowing they have someone like that. Legend ignored the pain in their arm as they drifted off. They felt a dull burning feeling in their chest, too, but they paid it no mind. They’ll be better in the morning… Wild hummed gently, checking in on��and waking up—the others in the morning. Twilight is always up at the crack of dawn, and Four never sleeps…so he doesn’t need to bother with them. “Vet?”Wild knocked on the door gently, waiting. “You up yet?” Silence. …odd. Legend usually swears at Wild for waking them up… “I’m coming in, okay? You’d better be dressed,”He joked lightly, knowing Legend would be. They barely ever change clothes to sleep.. They say it’s so they’re always ready. It’s a little concerning, but who is Wild to judge? Wild opened the door quietly, humming. He blinked in slight surprise upon seeing Legend already up for the day. “You’re up early.” “Yeah.”Legend turned to look at Wild. Was their left eye always that yellow..? “Didn’t sleep that well.”Legend shrugged. “Oh.”Wild nodded, pausing. “Well, I need to wake the others. I’ll meet you outside?” “Yeah. Okay.” Something feels wrong. Wild can’t explain it—he just feels like something is very, very wrong. Maybe he’s just being

paranoid… It wouldn’t be too far-fetched. Wild shrugged it off, waking the others up one-by-one. He can’t shake the feeling that something’s going to happen. “Cub, you alright?”Twilight mumbled softly, nudging Wild’s shoulder gently. “...I think something bad’s gonna happen. I don’t know what it is, though.” Twilight nodded. “Hm. Any vague idea?” “Um. I think it might have something to do with Legend.” “How so?” “They’re acting…weird.” “We can keep an eye on them.” Wild nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s still worrying about it. Soon enough, the chain were heading out of the inn. Wild keeps looking at Legend, noting that their hair is now covering the eye that seemed yellow earlier… This is weird. Twilight put a hand on Wild’s shoulder. It was a silent way to comfort him…Wild appreciates it. Wild doesn’t want anything to happen to anyone. It might not have taken him a long time—but Wild doesn’t want to lose the only people he’s ever trusted since he woke up. He trusts the chain more than anyone. He doesn’t even trust his friends back home this much.. … Wild can see some of his friends in the chain.. He can see Teba and Revali when he talks to Legend. He can see Mipha when he talks to Hyrule. He can see Urbosa when he talks to Twilight. He can see Riju in Wind and Four. He can see Daruk in Time and Warriors, in the weirdest way. He…isn’t able to pin anyone that reminds him of Sidon or Yunobo—those two are so unique. But, his point is that he doesn’t want to lose them. He doesn’t want to lose people that resemble people he knew and loved. Not again. For most of their walk, it was quiet. But…the second they left Hateno entirely, Wild glanced back to see Legend collapsing. “Vet!”Wild jumped, catching the attention of the others. There’s something wrong with Legend. …and now? Wild knows what it is. As the others rushed to help Legend up, Wild was frozen. …Legend’s eye was uncovered. Their eye…it’s replaced with an eye that isn’t their own. This eye belongs to the malice that plagues Wild’s era. … “Get away from them!”Wild forced out. “They’re infected!” “What?”Four glanced at the champion, frowning. “That’s…that’s malice.”Wild stated bluntly. “It’s in their eye…but where’s it coming from?” Legend locked eyes with Wild, and they had a look on their face. A look Wild knows all too well. This is bad. How long did Legend have malice in their system..? Malice takes over quickly, and it can easily twist someone’s mind. … “Vet?”Wild hopes he doesn’t have to do what he thinks he has to. Looking at the veteran, Wild noticed which eye had been covered.. It’s the eye Legend likes most—their hot pink eye. Legend never said why they don’t like their golden eye. “Legend…can you hear me?” When he never got an answer, Wild took a deep breath and drew his sword—the others following suit, with a few of them drawing a bow instead. Legend grinned—a sickening grin, nothing like the smiles and grins the chain had seen from them before—and stepped up onto a nearby tree stump. Four aimed his bow at Legend, but paused when Legend pulled a rod out from their bag. The vet smiled again, before turning the dial on the rod and pointing it up and— Suddenly, the surrounding area was covered in snow. Four let out a groan, being half-buried in the snow. “I’m going to them.”Four mumbled, with a hint of curiosity in his voice. They all want to know when Legend gained that ability—but it can wait. Twilight put Four on his shoulders, and the colourful Link aimed the bow at Legend again. “Legend, please listen.”Wild begged. He doesn’t want to shoot him. He doesn’t want to shoot his friend! “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” That voice isn’t Legend’s. Yes, it sounds like Legend’s voice, but Wild knows it isn’t. They aren’t in control of any of their current actions…it’s the malice. And Wild knows how to remove it, but— Wild’s thoughts were cut short as Four took the shot. Legend simply grinned, and leaned onto the wall of the ruins they were in. Just like that—Legend became a chalk scribble on the wall. A painting. The arrow ended up hitting the wall,

and Legend popped out a second later. “Nice try.”Legend grinned, gaze turning to the shivering Wind. “You’re cold, hm? How bout I warm you up?” The chain were drawn back for a second, before the realisation hit them. Legend was already putting the gloves on, and a series of fireballs were shot out. Fire gloves? Since when have they had them?? Wind quickly pulled up his shield, wincing at the sound of the fireballs bounding back and fizzling out in the snow. Legend seemed to hum, letting the gloves recover as they pulled their sword out. …but the chain won’t be able to fight back. The snow is thick, and it goes up to their knees at most. Wild swallowed the pre-guilt, and took the shot when Legend wasn’t paying enough attention. The arrow went straight into the malice-eye, and Legend let out a scream of pain. The infection must have been inside of them.. The eye, along with the malice pool that had begun forming up Legend’s arm—possibly from the source?—, shrivelled up and popped til it was all gone. And Legend? Legend fell unconscious. Wild quickly grabbed the vet, feeling nothing but guilt. He got Legend’s eye. Legend is free, but… Their eye will be gone, or at the most, they’ll be blinded on that side. “...we’re going back to Hateno.”Wild declared, not giving the chain a chance before turning and heading back in the direction they came. Wild feels so guilty. It’s eating him up inside. …Legend’s okay, though. Wild hasn’t lost them. They’ll be upset, of course, but Wild is just glad the malice wasn’t left to take over all of Legend’s system. They need to clean Legend up. Their eye is bleeding, and the blood seems to be drying up on their face. Wild feels awful. “They’ll…be okay, right?”Wind mumbled from beside Wild. “I think,”Wild started, pausing, before continuing. “I’m going to take them back to my house. Can…can one of you go to the castle and get Flora?” “Uh. Sure..?”Four blinked, hopping down from where he was still situated on Twilight’s shoulders. “She knows first aid. She can help. Be quick.”Wild hummed, before sending Four off. Stepping into the house, Wild placed Legend on the bed upstairs. “...can someone help me?” “With?” “I want to know where that infection started.”Wild stated bluntly. “I need to check Legend over for injuries besides….the eye.” Hyrule nodded. “I can help. I can’t heal, though…I’m too cold to heal.” “Really? That’s a thing?” Hyrule nodded again, shrugging. “My hands get too cold to produce magic sometimes. I wonder where Legend got that rod from…” The two fell silent again, removing Legend’s tunics to check them over. …it’s not what they’re looking for, but Legend has a lot of old scars. They said they didn’t have a lot of scars, but… They must’ve lied. “Found it, I think.”Hyrule spoke up, pointing at a deep cut in Legend’s arm. “I keep forgetting their blood is gold…do we even know why?” “Nope.” Legend never explains it. The chain rarely see them bleed, and Legend seems to do anything in their power to hide it when they do bleed. They’ve never asked, though. “I’m back!”Four yelled out. It’s only been 30 minutes…Flora must have been exploring the kingdom again. “What happened to your friend?”Flora frowned, kneeling next to the bed. “..malice.”Wild mumbled. “I had to—I had to shoot their eye, Flora..” Flora nodded, sighing. “Well, given that circumstance…they’ll lose sight in the eye that was shot.” Wild nodded, the guilt only rising. “...will it—?” “End up like yours? Yes..”Flora frowned. Their eye will white out. Not as bad as Time’s—Legend will keep his pupil and that wonderful, gold ring that was around the pink iris—but it will become like Wild’s. Wild nodded gently, and waited for Legend to wake up as Flora tended to their wounds.

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gameofthronesmarvelfanfics · 6 years ago

Text

His Warrior Wolf

Summary: You’re Jon Snow’s twin sister, you’re a fighter who finds her way back to her family, and Tormund likes it.

Pairing: Tormund Giantsbane x stark/snow!reader, Jon Snow x Sister!reader

Wordcount: 2095

Beta reader: @eggplant-bi

Warnings: fluff, angst, implied sexy times, first time writing Game of Thrones and Tormund, badly characterised probably, children

When you met Tormund all those moons ago, you never expected to fall for the free man kissed by fire.

You saw him as a partner, someone to spar and have a drink with, in him you found a fast friend, and in you he saw a southern lady (by free folk standards), who could hold her drink and hold a sword as well as any man could, for him it was love at first sight.

*flashback*

You rode into your old home of Winterfell, having ridden your chestnut horse, Cleaver, she was as tired as you were as you approached the gate at the city walls.

The guards stopped you in your tracks, so you dismounted your horse, your head still down, and you spoke.

“I seek presence with the King in the North, you don’t happen to know if he’s here do you?” you asked them.

“Who are you? What is your need of the King?” one of the men replied.

You tutted, removed your hood and lifted your head, hair blowing in the wind just as your cloak was.

Their mouths dropped in shock at the sight of your face, everyone presumed you dead when Cersei took the crown, but here you were; scars on your face from all the fights you had won and dressed as a man.

You placed your hand on the sword that was at your side, preparing to remove it from its sheath.

“Look, gentlemen, I haven’t got all day, so I’ll ask again. The King, is he here?” you huffed, becoming increasingly agitated with them.

“Right this way, my Lady,” the other spoke, looking at your chest as if it was the last cake in the bakers.

You cracked your jaw, removed your hand from your sword and used it to grab his face and pushed him against the nearest wall, the other hand flipped the dagger from its hilt, pressing it against his neck.

“Two things before I go in.” You turned to the other guard.

“This applies to you as well,” you said, pointing the dagger at him before turning back.

“Number one, if I ever catch you looking at mine or any woman like that again,” you moved the blade down as you spoke, “I will cut this off and display it as a warning to others, is that understood?”

He nodded, so you pulled away to look at their faces, placing the dagger back where you retrieved it from and climbing back onto Cleaver.

They scrambled to open the gate.

“And number two,” you looked ahead, “I’m no Lady.” you told them, riding into the place you once called home.

You felt eyes on you as you entered. You stalled Cleaver and turned your head to see a tall, bearded, red-haired man, dressed in furs from head to toe.

“You don’t happen to know where I can find Jon Snow do you?”

He stared at you in complete awe, as if he couldn’t believe you were talking to him, you were about to ask again when there was a call of your name.

“(y/n)?” You turn your head to the voice, seeing a face you hadn’t seen in a while.

“Jon.” You said to the man across the court.

You climbed off of Cleaver, and made your way over to him. as he did the same.

You embraced your twin brother in a hug.

Until you pulled away and hit his arm with all the force you could muster.

He winced.

“Seven hells sister, what was that for?” he asked, rubbing his arm.

“I’ve been missing for five years and you never thought to find me! That’s what it’s for!” You hit him again.

“Ow! I did look for you, you idiot!”

“Don’t you call me an idiot, Jon Snow! Now where’s Sansa?”

“Why?” he asked

“Because I heard about Ramsey and I’d like to make sure my little sister is okay, if it’s all the same with you,” you curtsied, picking up imaginary skirts, “Your majesty.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your throat.

Tormund watched your exchange from where you left.

The laugh that escaped your lips as you ‘curtsied’ made his heart flutter in his chest.

He knew then and there that you were the perfect woman.

*End of flashback*

Since that day, you and Tormund had grown closer than either of you had ever come to another human before.

You listened to his stories of the Free Folk, and all the battles and pillages he had been through.

He listened to you talk about your life, before King Robert asked your father to be his hand.

He listened to everything you said and you did the same with him.

One night, when you couldn’t sleep because your head was full of scared thoughts of the coming war and if you and everyone you loved would die, you got out from under your covers and made your way down to Tormund’s room, in the hopes he’d still be awake.

You knocked lightly on his door, nervously ringing your hands as you waited.

The door opening startled you.

“Little wolf, are you okay?” he asked you, his voice was gruff as he if had just woken up.

“I- I couldn’t sleep and I hoped you’d be awake, s- so we could talk, maybe?”

You tried to look up at his face but the mere presence of him made you too nervous to do so.

“Of course little wolf, I’m always here for you, ” he told you, pulling you into a hug.

You reached up on your toes to wrap your arms around his neck, placing your head in the crook of it.

Tears started to fall from your eyes as you two stood there.

You sniffled and he pulled away from you. You removed your arms and wiped your tears away.

“Sorry.”

“(y/n), there’s no need to apologise.”

“I feel so defenseless, I could lose everything to this war and I finally found someone I care about more than anything in the world and I’m going to lose him.” you admitted.

Tormund felt jealousy bubble in his chest.

“I- I’m going to lose you and I won’t be able to cope.”

“I don’t want to die a maiden either,” you added, hoping he’d catch the meaning in what you were trying to say.

Finally gaining the confidence to look him in the eyes, he looked at you, his face unreadable.

That was until he started to lean down, his lips met yours in a passionate kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck again, this time to pull him against you.

His beard was rough against your face but you didn’t care.

He picked you up and wrapped your legs around his waist, slowly backing into his chambers as the kiss continued.

“Don’t worry my wolf, I’ll take care of you tonight.” He whispered, pulling away from your lips and placing his forehead against yours lightly, before leaning back in a kiss.

*time skip to the next morning*

You awoke to you and Tormund cuddling, him facing you, his arms wrapped around your waist and his head in the crook of your neck as yours was last night.

You were both deprived of any clothing.

You sighed in contentment, he stirred in his sleep pulling you closer to him.

You chuckled lightly, accidentally waking him from his slumber.

“Morning my love.” he whispered kissing your forehead lightly.

“Morning my darling. I should get dressed, Jon will come looking for me soon and I think he may kill you if he catches me naked in your bedchambers,” you whispered back as he kissed your neck.

“Or, we could just stay here and fuck,” he said, lips still against your neck.

You hummed in agreement, as he kissed up your jaw eventually reaching your mouth.

You smiled against his lips, realising in that moment just how much you loved him.

Everything was bliss, until there was a knock on the door, making you both raise your heads in shock.

“Tormund, have you seen (y/n)? I haven’t seen her all morning and I’m starting to worry.”

You quickly got off his bed and started searching your clothes, occasionally throwing some at Tormund who gladfully took them from you.

“No, I haven’t seen her, but she’s a grown woman I’m sure she’ll be fine.” he spoke, putting on his undergarments and other items of clothing. Getting ready to open the door to your brother if it came to it.

“Oh well, if you see her let her know I’m looking for her would you?”

You tried to suppress a laugh at your brothers cluelessness, but failed miserably and laughed loudly.

Your hands flew to your mouth as Tormund glared at the door. Waiting for the inevitable response from your brother.

“Tormund, is she in there with you?” anger was laced in your brothers words which scared you, Jon had never been angry at you, sure, you had annoyed him in the past, but you were siblings it was expected.

Tears welled in your eyes as fear raced through you like an arrow, you stood stock still, your nightdress loosely hanging off your shaking frame, even with every fight you’ve ever been in, the thought of your brother catching you with a man terrified you.

Before you could sink to your knees Tormund caught you in his arms.

“Little wolf, please don’t cry, it’ll be alright, I promise.” he whispered to you.

For such a tough man he had a soft side that he showed only to you.

He pulled away from the hug, walking to the door and opening it revealing the angry face of your twin.

“Jon, (y/n) is in here with me, she got scared and worried last night so came to see me, I promised to protect her.”

‘Okay that wasn’t as bad as what I thought he was going to say’ you thought.

“And then we made passionate love all night.”

‘Okay this is officially a nightmare come true’ you looked to him and your brother.

Your brothers hand clenched to a fist.

Tormund was unsurprisingly relaxed.

“Because that is what I feel for her is love, has been since the moment she rode in through the gates and punched you on the arm.” he confessed

“So please, do whatever you want to me, just know it won’t change what I feel for her.”

You were still looking at your brothers fist, which he was getting punch Tormund with.

“JON SNOW! IF YOU SO MUCH AS PLACE A HAND ON HIM YOU WON’T HAVE ANY BY THE TIME I’M DONE WITH YOU! IS. THAT. UNDERSTOOD?!” you screamed at you brother, who then looked at you, a scandalised expression on his pale face, fist uncurling in fear of your rage.

Your eyes widened in shock at yourself, never having shouted at any of your siblings in such a manner.

“Oh seven hells I sound like Catelyn.” you realised out loud, placing your head in your hands, laughing lightly.

Jon spoke up after a few seconds having come down from the initial shock of it all.

“I’ll allow this,” he coughed “relationship, on two conditions, one, you never shout at me like Catelyn again and two, if you hurt her she’ll kick your arse back over that wall Giantsbane.” he said to both of you.

“I never plan on hurting her, Jon. For I love her.”

You smiled at Tormund as you walked over to him grabbing his hand, only letting go to slap him when very happily and smugly states;

“Except for when she has our beautiful, angry babies.”

*time skip of about 5 years*

The battle was won and very few survived, except the ones you loved.

Jon was King, and Dany, revealed by Bran to be your aunt, was Queen.

You had married Tormund a week after the battle, having fought by each other’s side throughout, the both of you never wanted to spend another moment without each other, now five years later, you held your little bundle of joy as you watched your twins, Ned and Lyanna, play with their father in the courtyard.

Their hair and red as his and their eyes as grey as yours.

“Tormund! Your son wants you.” you shouted to your husband as the boy in your arms grumbled, watching as he ran over to take him from you, you wondered how you had gotten so lucky.

But you knew that you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

A/N: I’M BACK OFFICIALLY AND YES IM POSTING THIS AS GoT HAS STARTED

#tormund giantsbane x reader #tormund giantsbane/reader #tormund giantsbane x you #tormand giantsbane/you

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