#i felt rusty but free whilst working on this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

autolovecraft · 11 months

Text

He was the devil incarnate, Birch, just as I thought!

Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood.

Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. The pile of tools soon reached, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door.

God, what a rage! The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch. In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant.

Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. I'd hate to have it aimed at me! To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the enlarged transom; but he could do better with four. Well enough to skimp on the thing some way, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was.

He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol. After a full two hours Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. Never did he knock together flimsier and ungainlier caskets, or disregard more flagrantly the needs of the rusty lock on the tomb door which he slammed open and shut with such nonchalant abandon. Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced.

What else, he added, could ever in any case be proved or believed? The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles! Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy.

I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made.

His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that.

His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you always did go too damned far! Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. What else, he added, could ever in any case be proved or believed? Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced. Finally he decided to lay a base of three parallel with the wall, to place upon this two layers of two each, and upon these a single box to serve as the platform. And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course. God, what a rage! The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles! Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the bald fact of imprisonment so far from the daily paths of men was enough to exasperate him thoroughly.

Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. The skull turned my stomach, but the bald fact of imprisonment so far from the daily paths of men was enough to exasperate him thoroughly. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles! He would have given much for a lantern or bit of candle; but lacking these, bungled semi-sightlessly as best he might.

The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles! Birch set out for the tomb with horse and wagon to transfer the body of Matthew Fenner. He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol. Tired and perspiring despite many rests, he descended to the floor and sat a while on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom.

He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had chosen it, how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer.

0 notes

muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Note

Soft dom harry makes subby reader upset subspace?

MEANIE ANGRY H :D BUCKLE UP FELLAS

Y/N's day is been shitty so far. It started with an ache in her lower abdomen from Harry’s morning stiffy bulging against her asscheeks fattening everytime he snuggled into her to hoard her warmth and blankies and to stuff his face in her neck with incoherent blabbering.

She wanted to wake him up with her hand, mouth, hole— anything around his cock and to please him and dull the burny feeling in her tummy -- but -- she had an important workshop at UNI that was must needed to be attended.

The time she managed to knock herself out of her needy and lusty headspace, she was getting late and whirling around the room and closest like a thunderstorm -- burying a snoring Harry under the heaps of clothes and littering the floor with her shoes collection, the kitchen got treated much more worst with maids being not around (she’s used to Harry waking up earlier than her and making her a full course brekkie) after making a laughable ruckus of cabinets all she stuffed her mouth with was a chocolate protein bar.

The stars were still not in her favour. She was grabbing onto her hair until far when she missed the bus (she usually don’t take buses, Harry makes sure the driver drop her off safe and secure) and it started raining leaving Y/N with nothing but a bare head to take all of it as she already left the bus shelter to stop a taxi.

If all of that wasn’t much of a tragedy and humiliating, Y/N slipped the moment she stepped out of the vehicle and on the slippery curbs of the building, she saw her life flashing right infront of her eyes as the papers tucked in her armpit fled everywhere and landed on the rainy mud sadistically along her. It gave her a serious hit in her ankle and completely yanked her hip, still being a stubborn-head she picked herself and went inside despite how many glares the cleaning staff threw her way for bringing the dirt with her feed all over the shiny floors.

She felt bad.

Stupidly bad.

Her workshop teachers were kind enough to accept her late arrival, but her designs for fall got rejected and they’d have been a huge milestone for her to get her dream internship.

Y/N felt awfully, teeny, pathetic and little while slumping into the corner of the bus and holding her breath to refrain from crying these little liquidy bitches out of her eyes.

Reaching back home she was met with pure chaos, bumping into petrified and agitated employs from Harry’s company scurrying out of their main foyer and she could persist but to ask what happened only to be informed in stammers that the staff messed up big and caused a loss of million dollars— making Harry terribly mad and fire people left and right.

It wasn’t a joke at all.

Because once, she steps inside, bag falling from her shoulder as she sighs in exhaustion feeling her muscles stiffening everywhere but one particular spot's hurting wrenchingly— her foggy mind couldn’t figure it out yet. She peeks into Harry’s home office to be met by a very annoyed, aggrieved, furious Harry pacing in his office all whilst with a phone against his ear shouting at someone who was destined to be humiliated today just like her and she pouts gingerly seeing his features skewered tightly into displeasure, the vein that curves along his temple prominent with blood pumping erratically in his body.

His head snaps up at the door’s creak and albeit his eyes softens a little, the kink of brows and the scowl on his lips is still there and he watches her paddle towards him carefully knowing anything at the moment would burst his chimneys out and she wants to be good for her daddy.

“Hi.” She speaks timidly, pout getting more rusty when the greetings not returned and instead he keeps all of his attention on the phone keeping a loose arm around her.

She grumbles, when he gestures down at her to give him a sec and untangles himself from her walking away and huffing and puffing into the phone.

How could he!

She feels so denied and rejected and kicked like it’s done to those affection starved lil puppies.

Her clingy tendencies flying high drunk and wooly. The needy beastie inside her wanting nothing more than take a bath where Harry could cream her back in her favourite berry bubbles, massaging her head and whisper sweet nothings into her ear, then lots and lots of cuddles, maybe he'll be generous enough and let her keep him snug inside her while they watch movie because she had such an awful day.

But, No! He's trying to escape free from her because she’s such a burden for him now.

Her eyes turns glassy, her shoulders slumping sadly and out of nowhere she’s feeling cold and barren as Harry’s voice becomes a wafting fume for her— an indication she has gone under too much.

“Daddy . . .” She stomps behind him, circling his footsteps like a whiny puppy and grapples at his dress shirt gasping sullenly when he swats her dainty hands away and glares down at her in dominance, his tone harsh as he blocks the receiver with his palm and mouths at her with a huff, “Stop being needy fo’ once. I’ve clearly some important issues to care for, Y/N.” Poor Y/N's deathly grip on his shirt loosens sorrowfully and her chin wobbles as she nodded still wanting to be good for him and if it wasn’t enough to give her the biggest heartbreak of the year— he even rolled his eyes at her too grumping under his breath about something how he turned her into a spoiled brat himself.

“Okie. . .” Her voice strangled and small. She shrinks into herself but wasn’t paid any heed from Harry and without another word she leaves him as to be it.

Having a huge breakdown in her room didn’t help at all. A painful headache hitting her like a train as she clumsily strips down, wearing one of his t-shirt heavily drenched in his scent he keeps for her under her pillow anytime she needs it and hides under the blankets with tears still running down her swollen cheeks— slipping into a light slumber from all of weariness and crying.

Once the smoke cleared from Harry’s mind and his capabilities of rational thinking coming back to him, he was reminded of how he denied his baby of his littlest of affection and tenderness when she clearly looked so glum and sad and upset.

He wanted to whip himself in head.

He’s such a twat that he let work come between them.

He curses himself. Making a sprint to his bedroom, knowing he’d find her none other than there and he was right puffing out a disheartened sigh when his eyes falls over his princess buried under all of these layers of blankets, he crawls up towards her carefully not to startle her awake.

Grunting at himself when he finds she’s been crying, he strokes a thumb up her blushy cheeks and her wet lashes, kissing her puffy eyelids and her little sad unhappy pout away.

He frowns. Feeling her feverish and flushed under his hand, “Hey puppy . . .” He thumbs down her throat getting a little fretful when she doesn’t stirs, however she’s such a squirmy little one and he moves the blankets away to let her body cool itself smiling proudly at his shirt swallowing her whole is when she snuggled herself more into her stuffie letting the shirt ride up her thighs and hips exposing a ghastly bruise of red and purples and he frowns not remembering it being there before.

Now. He feels shittier. Wanting to jump of the cliff for being a shitty sadist boyfriend to his only beloved.

“No!” Y/N whimpers loudly, squirming away from his touch as he examines her gently and it sent shockwaves to each of her tissues and lions causing her an undeniable pain.

“Puppy, shh, shh. ‘s just me, making sure if y'okay.” He scrambles closer to her towering her to cradle her face and kiss the tip of her nose—- his face falls drastically and his heart cracks miserly when Y/N pushes him away with a sorrowful mumble not even letting him wipe the drool away from the corner of her mouth as he usually does.

“’M okay . . .” She tries to knuckle the sleepiness away with shivery hands, “No you’re not —...” He’s cut off by her angry pout and her silly efforts to keep as much distance between them as possible, “I don’t need, Daddy . . ‘m big and I could take care of me self.” At her puny waver realization dawns upon Harry and his brows shoots up to his hairline feeling nauseous and terrible for not taking care of his babylove earlier.

He’d have never let her be away from him if he knew she was in her subspace.

“Y/N baby . . . I didn’t mean it, darling —--...” With gentleness he tries to approach her but she wraps her arms around her petite figure in a protective manner, haziness taking best of her and Harry’s chest suffocates into itself, being a dom it’s your responsibility to make your subby feel protected, loved and happy and he even failed at that.

He quickly cups both of her hot cheeks in his nippy palms when she hiccups sadly, a sob threatening to slip out, “Yes you did! You meant it. Said you spoiled me, I don’t want your money, promise! I just want you and y'shooed me away saying Y/N’s too needy . . .” Harry flinches at her words. He never even spared a thought to this negativity that she chooses to be with him for his money because he knows out of all the people she’s the only one who loves him out of the boundaries of status and money.

He realises how stabbing they'd have been to her when she was so sensitive and floaty wanting nothing more, just him.

How deep she has gone if she’s taking her own name in third person.

“’M sorry baby. So sorry. Swear on myself, didn’t mean to hurt my baby, knows tha’ work shouldn’t be an excuse t’ make y'feel unloved—- but those bastards got a tick outta me.” He rambles on frantically. Afraid she’ll think he’s lying and would finally make up her mind to leave him.

“You didn’t?” She asks with so much innocence Harry nearly cries out, “’Course I didn’t! How could I? You could never be needy, Bab. I love you so much and you’re my whole word, forgive me please?”

“You’re forgiven,” She let a small smile flutter up her features, a tinge of gleam in her previous dull eyes brightening the whole room and Harry immediately bunches her up in his lap.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks her, not sure if she still needs space from him and would rather be better without him but she bobs her head shyly and he chuckles softly before touching their lips together into a tender loving kiss and brushes their noses up and down murmuring sweetly coy to her.

“Now, could y'tell daddy how y'got this bruise baby? How did ya get hurt?” He coos, brushing her sweaty hair back and rubs her sweet gland behind her ear delicately, “Oh yeah . . . this, was raining and slipped.” She murmurs, hissing a gasp jolting away when Harry glides his fingers gently down her hip bone and fresh tears springs in her eyes as she buries herself in his chest, “Daddy hurts. . .” . “Oh babypie. Daddy’s g'na take care of his love.” He lays her down gently kissing her forehead when she whines for him to keep on holding her, “’M right here darling. G'na prep us a bath, make my baby alright.” Saying this he quickly disappears inside the washroom and next their room’s sursuring with marble tub filling with warm water, Harry throws in her favourite pink coloured bath bombs and rose essences and throws their towels in the warmer coming back with her as he left her to be, he has decided he’s gonna love on her whole night, “My baby’s the best, ain’t she? She’s my bestest girl.” He coos down at her sweetly and slides his forearms under her knees and back picking her up carefully and brings her to his chest securely.

She closes her eyes, biting down a whimper when Harry dips them in the water some it sloshing down the edges of bathtub and it envelopes them and gives a stingy feeling to her bruise before soothing it down.

He rubs her arms, and circles smoothing patterns on her tummy and kisses her a gallons as she melts in his embrace and he let’s her sink into him more, nibbling and sponging wet ticklish kisses on her neck making her purr and become a puddle of softness in his hold while she takes her time to mumble all the bad events that happened to her and he felt so guilty of not asking her how she’s and how her day went when she came to him, in need of some of his lovin.

“I love you so much, bab.” He suckles her earlobe, toying and plucking her bottom plush lip, “Was prick to me love —.. you deserve all my lovin,” He noses at her jaw, not forgetting it to mark it with his pecks and sloppy bites.

“’S okay daddy, y'had a bad day too.” He’s grateful to have her in his life. She cares about him, maybe more than he does for her and he feels himself lucky for it.

“You want me to help you relax?”

“Can I have you?” Her tone bashfully desperate and coy, Harry meanders their fingers together and kisses her knuckles softly.

Considering her wound still being sore and pulp, having sex would be painful for her and she might not grasp it in her hazy mind but Harry doesn’t want to hurt at all.

He plants a little noisy smooch to her shoulder when she nods, she mews and purrs when Harry glides his palm all the way down her body and cups her pussy digging his palm into her mound and coats his digits with her arousal dipping the pads of his fingers into her entrance, “All this wet f'me?” Palming her tits while whispering sweet nothings into her ear when she gasps and closes up on Harry scratching nails into his bended knees.

“Shh, shh puppy, jus' relax hmm? Feel yourself.” With sputtery inhales she does as he says, soon two of his fingers slips inside her and he strokes her pussy and pulls them out making her all whiny and pushes them back with a squelching noise, fucking her with it smiling and stopping when her thighs parts falls again his’s completely.

“Daddy!” She writhes and whines, trembly hands trying to bring Harry fingers back to her pulsating wetness, “You’re the cutest.” He smiles against her lips giving her cheeks several squishes and pats her head loving to see his adorable princess all flustery for him.

On her demands. He slicks his fingers back inside her and caresses the insides of her thighs while she pants and sinks onto his knuckles blabbering out daddydaddydaddy weepily.

“Cum fo’ me, puppy. Feels good? Yeah? My baby feels nice?” He rasps in her mouth, curving and petting the soft spot inside her pussy and sucks onto her upper lip when she moans and mewls loudly gushing all over his finger and he keeps on fucking her till she’s all sleepy and balmy against his chest.

Harry coaxes her tenderly, smoothing his hands all over her twitchy spots and patches sloppy kisses all over her face that makes her all giggly and shy—- the amount of endorphins spiking high in her system.

“Love you so much, daddy.” She mushes puckering her lips into his throat.

“Love you too, pup.”

#dom harry x subby y/n #dom harry x sub reader #dom!h x sub!reader #dom!h x sub!y/n #dom harry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles story #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #cute harry #harry styles #harry smut #harry styles fanfiction #fluff #harry angst #hsh

1K notes · View notes

finelinevogue · 3 years

Note

hey! first of all i’m obsessed with all of your writing i swear i cry every single time😭🤍 i look forward to reading your stuff when i get home from work, and it helps me when i’m stressed. so basically hi i love you. i recently celebrated 1 year sober and i was wondering if you could write something abou harry dedicating a song to his gf for maintaining her sobriety? (only if you’re comfortable ofc!)

hi, i love you too! sorry for making you cry😭 your words are so kind and you’ve made my day so much brighter! congratulations on your one year sobriety!!! i hope you’re very proud of yourself, because i’m really proud of you - always <33 i’m not sure what you are sober for and i don’t to be invasive and ask, so i decided to base this one off an alcohol addiction. this one’s for you, my lovely; (oh and p.s. let’s pretend harry wrote ‘home’ just for you and one direction never wrote it!)

Today you celebrated being one year sober.

Four years ago you developed an alcohol addiction. It was the worst time of your life; going to parties just to wake up still paralytic, drinking an alcoholic drink with every meal and a couple in between, falling asleep drunk every night and not learning your lesson from the hangover the next morning. You were self destructing and were too gone to see it happen. The people around you could see it happening though. Your family and friends abandoned you because you they believed you were a lost cause. You were alone for 3 lonely years, until last year you met Harry.

The one time that you were actually sober, shopping in your local Aldi, was the first time you met him.

He was dressed from a run and was in the fridge section to grab himself a protein shake before he was about to run home - that you’d come to learn. He made minimal conversation with you, but it was enough for him to fall for you - hard. Every time you met up with him you tried to be as sober as you could, but it caught up to you. You slipped and shut yourself out from him, not wanting him to leave you like everyone else had so you left him first.

As it would be, he never left you. He saved you.

He was there for you in your darkest moments. He was there to help lock your demons away and introduce life back into your heart and soul. You wanted to be better for him, he deserved that much. Half a year after meeting him, he managed to encourage you to attend counselling sessions which you would be worse without. He made calls to friends to help you re-connect with people, truly friendly people. He hugged you on the days you felt anxious or tempted and let you cry on his shoulder when you felt like a failure, all the whilst he would kiss your forehead and squeeze you to remind you just how much you were loved and just how proud he was of you. It took you a while to believe it, but;

Harry Styles loves and is proud of you.

You were so happy to spending the day with him, getting to watch him do what he loves so much. He was in Denver, Colorado, tonight and his set was going perfect so far. He’d given his infamous “ass or face” speech, which made the fans go wild. He, unfortunately, had to use the oxygen mask to replenish his lungs because he wasn’t feeling great. He’d even shouted to you when you were blowing him kisses saying, “I wanna kiss you but I can’t” which made you tear up ever so slightly. Today was such a proud and happy day for you, so extra moments like this for you were the cherries on the top of the cake.

“Okay, so we have 15 more minutes of love tonight for you.” Harry spoke into his microphone, after singing Treat People With Kindness and looking so very sweaty. “15 minutes of extra love compared to the previous show.” The fans screamed at this and you knew the fans in Vegas would no doubt be extra jealous.

“He’s allowed to do that?” You asked Jeff beside you, wondering why he was changing the timings all of a sudden. He hadn’t told you about this.

“He specifically requested it before going onstage.” Jeff answered, winking at you and nodding his head back to the stage for you to focus.

“Now. Today is not only special because I get to play in front of you lovely people,” the crowd let out a deafening scream, “but because it is an important day for my Y/N.” He smiled, looking over in your direction. The crowd screamed even louder for you.

“What is he doing?” You asked Jeff but he only smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Liar, you thought.

You’d never publicly told anyone about your addiction because it was something that you were embarrassed about. You hated who you were and you tried your hardest not to think about that person anymore. Harry was the only person who knew and you liked to keep it that way, for the time being. Not even your new friends knew.

“I’m so proud of Y/N, always, but especially today.” Harry spoke, walking down the stage to the end of the runway where his mic was set up and still keeping eye contact with you. Your tears were full in your eyes and some even streaming down your face as you took in his words.

He’d spent all morning loving on you. He didn’t let you two leave the hotel room until 5 minutes before the buses were leaving, because he wanted to spend as much time as possible showing you just how much he loved you. Turns out 4 rounds of sex, 2 blowjobs and 3 times getting eaten out doesn’t even come close to showing that, according to him, but it did make you feel worthy and that’s all you’ve wanted to feel for the past few years. He made you feel worth it - it being loved and supported and safe. He was your blanket of comfort and you’d let him swallow you up every day for the rest of your life if it meant feeling this way forever.

Harry had even bought you a card and a cake, one that had a singular candle in to mark your one year anniversary of being sober. The sense of pride getting to blow out that candle was a feeling second to none, except from maybe the 7 orgasms you were given.

“So if you don’t mind, i’m going to sing this song for my girlfriend. It’s new, but i’m sure you’ll pick up the chorus. This is called ‘Home’ and it’s just for you, m’love.” God damn these tears, you could barely see Harry pick up his galaxy painted guitar and tilt his body so he was facing you.

The song had you in tears.

Fans were both recording you and Harry, but you were too unaware to notice them when all you could focus on were the words he was singing to you. Every line was so clear and it made your heart burst through your chest that little bit more each time. You cupped your hands under your vin as you cried over every new line of song, watching him strum on the guitar and sing his heart out as if every ounce of him was just for you. His words, his voice, his heart and soul were completely yours. The fans did quickly pick up the chorus and the atmosphere was completely still, yet electric with them feeding off Harrys energy and gifting it to you.

“You’ll never feel like you’re alone, i’ll make this feel like home.”

His last line was sung and his last chord was struck and you couldn’t move an inch. You were stuck watching him with intense loved eyes, feeling an overwhelming sense of support and comfort just from this moment alone. You thought what he’d given you this morning in the hotel was love, but now you questioned that. This felt like a reminder you were free and safe and found. You felt significant. And for a moment, that all felt a like bit stronger than love.

You didn’t even realise your boyfriend was standing in front of you until he was. He caressed your cheek in one hand, holding the neck of his guitar with his other. The fans were being caged behind a barricade, but they weren’t even violently pushing because they wanted to see how he treated you and acted around you behind closed doors. Your relationship was very private, so this was very new for you too. You liked him close though. So much so that everyone else sort of slipped away.

“That bad?” He asked teasingly, referring to the amount of tears you were crying.

“Was a bit rusty in some places.” You teased back, you and him both knowing you didn’t mean a word that you’d just said. You both laughed until you caught Harrys hand on your cheek and moved it so you could plant a soft kiss to his palm. “Thank you for making me feel home.” You smiled, new tears forming in both yours and his now.

“Thank you for being my home.” He replied, smiling through the light tears.

“Stop crying,” you laughed through your own tears, reaching out your other hand to wipe his away, “not very rockstar of you.”

“Can’t help myself when i’m so proud of you.” He answered, moving his hand off his guitar so he could help wipe your tears away. Both of you were helping each other recover, forgetting about the world just for a minute to have a moment with each other. You both deserved that much.

258 notes · View notes

kagemaruzest69 · 3 years

Photo

Lovesick {Karl Heisenberg x Reader}

Ch. 1 - {The Village}

【ιт ιѕ тнє ℓινєѕ ωє єη¢συηтєя тнαт мαкє ℓιƒє ωσятн ℓινιηg】

It was finally a time that (Y/N) and her boyfriend, James had been waiting for. A time off from work, a vacation that the two of them really needed. Even when the two works at different offices, everyone knew that the two were an inseparable couple that was sweet and dreamy. Everyone loved and cheered for their relationship to go keep going strong. The couple decided to go to a village in the Eastern Europe that they had read in articles and it looked like a perfect place for them to visit and enjoy their quiet time together, just the two of them.

The fateful day came, however, upon arriving on the destinated village, it looked abandoned, deserted by its villagers even. It totally looked nothing like the pictures in the articles, but the nature surrounding the village and the giant castle that ghosted over the small village are really stunning and had their own magic charm to the visitors. The first step into the village, the couple noticed that the village was not deserted, there were villagers, but they were watching the outsiders from behind the window of their homes. (Y/N) and James were curious about this, if there were villagers around, how come does the village look so deserted? They looked at each other and decided to shrug it off. Since they have just arrived, they were hungry and decided to look for a restaurant or something similar that might be open within the village.

After an hour of searching there were none, so they decided to go to the outskirts of the village and sat by a river stream to catch some fishes for themselves. The air was chill, and the atmosphere was really calm and serene, unlike the true nature of the village. James went to catch the fish, whilst (Y/N) took some water from the stream and boiled it to ensure that it is safe from any bacteria or virus. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to them, a certain parasite that had evolved with the mold, known as the Cadou to certain groups was living within the water and the fishes that they drank and ate. It might be dormant within their bodies right now, but soon enough, it will seal the couple’s fate to the village that they had set their foot in.

After the meal, the two went back to the village. During their path back, (Y/N)’s (E/C) orbs caught the silhouette of a factory on the outskirts of the village, however, the wind was blowing harder by this time and the snow and fog began to thicken that she was unsure if what she saw was something that’s real and truly there. The couple intertwined their fingers together and walked close to share the warmth between the two until they arrived back at the village and stumbled upon what it looked like the village’s church. They went inside to take shelter from the upcoming snowstorm.

The church was smaller compared to the other churches they have been to, but it was enough for the villagers. Inside the church, they found an old woman, sitting by the front seat, praying to Mother Miranda. (Y/N)’s right eyebrow was raised before her eyes darted over from the old woman to the front of the church where there was a picture of a woman in the middle, and another four pictures, each two pictures were placed side by side adjacent to the middle woman. It looked kind of straight from a horror movie, but the pair decided to be polite about it and sat at the furthest chair from the front.

“Youngsters, the two of you are not from around here, aren’t you?” The old woman’s voice echoed within the church’s hall. “No, we’re actually visitors and we have just arrived here today.” James answered whilst (Y/N) scooted closer to the male’s side, feeling uncomfortable with the conversation and the air. “Oh my, you should pray for your safety and I wish you safe through your journey. Shall Mother Miranda bless you.” The old woman stood up from her seat. “The storm will be here soon along with the others. The two of you should stay here until it is over. I do not advise that you two go out while the storm is present. It is unsafe and you might become its prey.” Her sentence was enough to make (Y/N) alerted, her lips were parted, “Mother Miranda? Who is that? And whose prey? There are predators here?” she queried in hurry as fear laced her questions. “The goddess and the protectors of the land.” was the old woman’s short answer before she left the couple alone in the church.

A look of dread was present on (Y/N) face before she turned to hug her boyfriend which embraced her back tightly. “We will be fine, don’t worry, it could be just a tale that the elders told the youngsters here to make sure that the youngsters would stay in line and act accordingly to the village’s moral value. To make sure that the children would stay away from troubles.” James assured (Y/N). This managed to calm her down. As she closed her eyes and hugged him, a twisted smile played upon his lips as a wicked plan formed within his head. “After the snow is over, we will set up our camp on the nearby hill.” She nodded and retracted her arms from his body. “I love the nature here, however, I have a bad feeling about this village.” She told him with a sigh. “I know my dear, but we will be out of here soon, don’t worry. I promise you that I will keep us safe.”

Hours passed by, probably around 3 to 4 hours since the snowstorm started, and it had died down. The two had fallen asleep within each other’s arms during the wait and (Y/N) had woke up first. She nudged her lover softly with her hand, waking him up from his pleasant slumber. His eyebrows were scrunched before his eyes opened to find her and a small smile was formed upon his lips. “Is it over?” He asked her and she replied with a nod. “Let’s set up our camp soon, the nighttime is getting closer.” (Y/N) stood up from the seat and took her things as James got ready as well. The two walked hand-in-hand to the nearby hill and set their camp up for the night. As she sat by the folding chair, she saw the factory once again. ‘So, it was real’ she thought to herself. The factory looked huge and once again, abandoned just like the village. However, she found it to be very enticing, maybe it was because of her love for machines and she had a hobby to tinker with something during her free time back at her hometown.

A tap was felt on her left shoulder and she turned her head from the factory to the face of her lover. He had a handsome face, soft baby blue eyes with short blonde hair with an undercut style and clean shaved face. He smiled and offered her a glass of water which she took, “Thank you.” She said before she took a sip of the water. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” His blue orbs were looking up to the night sky before it went to where (Y/N) was looking at before. “And that factory over there, I am sure it had caught your interest, I happened to see it on our way back to the village which is why I decided to camp on this hill because I know that you would love it and we will be able to go there and do a little search tomorrow. A little adventure at a place that I know you will love,” He leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. “And it seems I was right,” he smirked playfully at her, a small giggle escaped her lips. “You are right about that.” The camp on the hill and the factory had somewhat eased her memory about what the old woman had said upon their encounter within the church. “Let’s rest up, there are a lot of places and things to do tomorrow,” James held out his hand to (Y/N). She gladly took his hand and they headed inside their shared tent to rest for the night.

Morning came by quickly. The pair had disassembled their tent and packed their things up. The very next thing they did after their breakfast was heading straight to the factory. (Y/N) eyes lit up in amazement as they arrived at the factory’s front gate. She pushed it open, enough for them to get inside. The front yard was filled with rusted and unused things, starting from rusty scraps, metal scraps, tanks and many more. “Should we head inside?” She asked her boyfriend, unsure whether the factory was still operating or if someone or something reside within it. Oh, how would she jump out of her body had she known that the factory held all kind of nightmares she could ever dream of escaping from and the master of the factory was not one to be too fond of visitors, or rather it was his ‘family’ that was not fond of outsiders. Upon stepping inside, she rushed on her own to inspect the machines inside whilst James, on the other hand, went to look for a metal bar that he would use to execute his plans. He had planned to leave her alone, and possibly it would kill her and soon he would be free from her, he would be free to do what he wants and most importantly, he would be free to be together with his other lover that he had been having an affair with for the past 3 months. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had cheated on her and chose an even worse way to solve his problem, to solve his fault. She could die and if the old woman was right, the protectors could capture or even kill her for he didn’t care about her anymore.

He stalked her quietly as not to raise her suspicions and within the right moment, he struck her with the metal bar he found. The metal bar hit right behind her head which sent her body into a shocked state and she fell unconscious right away as blood began to seep out of her wounded head. He quickly tied her to the chair in the main room using the rope he found. It was only the very first room they were in, he truly intended to make it quick for himself and then he fled out of the factory, leaving the door open, and somewhat he managed to leave the village this time.

In the end, who knew that even in the sweetest relationship, there would still be a flaw. After all, nothing is perfect, and imperfection would always follow everyone. And unfortunately, the dearest (Y/N) found out the hole within their relationship, one that she had been turning blind eye on.

Meanwhile, the master of the factory, Karl Heisenberg was just returning from a ‘family’ meeting and he was curious as to why the factory’s main door was open. No one has ever dared to sneak into his factory and live to tell the tale. He went inside and much to his shock and surprise, he found a woman, a barely conscious woman was tied onto a chair. Karl took a drag from his cigar and exhaled the smoke before he placed his hammer down to the side. “My, oh sweet dear, what do we have here? Who was the kindhearted Santa that had left a gift for this old man?” He asked no one, but to himself. He then proceeded to use his metal power to call in a knife and cut the rope off of the female. He walked close to her and examined her, soon, he found out that she had a wound on the back of her head. A frown could be seen instantly as his brown eyes landed on the wound. He lifted her up bridal style into his main workstation which happens to be his own bedroom as well. He placed her on top of his soft mattress as he tended to her wound. What was the reason he did that? He did not know, especially she was an outsider. Maybe he was bored of what he had within his factory and he thought that she would be a new toy to play and experiment with. Maybe he was interested, intrigued by what story she could regale him with about the outside world. For now, he would keep this little prize that came out of nowhere for himself, and shall the time come, he will only then bring her up in the ‘family’ meetings.

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

I will attach the wattpad link to each of the chapter headings. Thank you

#karl heisenberg #heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x reader #re8 #re village #resident evil village #reader insert

149 notes · View notes

eye-of-enigmatic-thought · 3 years

Photo

[ID: Traditional pencil art of Smile For Me fan oc Vahid Gharagazlou and community oc Grigory Habit chatting infront of a painting. Vahid is wearing a fluff collared brown tenchcoat and holding a cane and is talking, Grigory is wearing a green button up shirt and smiles as he listens to Vahid. In the yellow background is a painting by Vahid of a violet vulture flying in front of a falling red hoopoe whilst both appear to be in a wind vortex, both the birds are crying. End ID.]

The first time they met :)

Under the cut is a fanfic I wrote to go with this! It... ended up much longer than I expected and it has been, a while since I’ve wrote and I didn’t bother really writing another draft, so, apologies if I’m a lil rusty!

It had been a while since Grigory went to any gallery or art show, such things were rare to find when he still lived in the outskirts of Moscow and when they did come up he often had little time anyway. Even now in America where his life was better and he now had more time for himself and his family, it was still rare to see anything artsy in the small town he now lived in.

So to hear there was a art show featuring the works of an macabre artist? It piqued his interest, and so he entered the gallery, and as Grigory browsed the artworks, he couldn’t help but be enamoured by them.

The paintings tended to be on the small side, some small enough they could’ve fit on the cover of a book, and despite their small sizes they had the most intricate details painted into them and depicted full on scenes. The style was of mostly flat perspectives with there almost being no differences between the floors and walls, and any human figures were painted with gentle curves with almost no sharp edges in sight. Despite these soft qualities, the paintings depicted very macabre subjects, and there were reoccuring themes of broken buildings, dark planes, and figures with pained and frightened expressions in these scenes, sometimes going into the level of being incredibly gruesome.

However there were also larger paintings, which had a completely different style though still with similar macabre themes. These were more inspired by realism and impressionism and only depicted partial figures rather than full on scenes like the smaller miniatures, some were of surreal portraits of people with contorted pained and crying faces, but most usually were of realistically rendered birds painted with dark and at times red strokes on bleak grey backgrounds.

Art can touch those in ways never thought possible, and Grigory felt... a strange sense of familiarity to the scenes depicted. He recognised the subjects and pained emotions the art expressed, and felt oddly represented even if they reminded him of painful times of his life, still, it was cathartic to see in a way...

But the painting that piqued Grigory’s interest the most, was a unique larger painting that was done in a similar style to the smaller paintings.

It depicted two simplistically styled birds, one a purple vulture and one a red hoopoe, flying together in what appeared to be a blue violent vortex, with the hoopoe falling down into the vortex as the vulture desperately tries to reach its talons to the hoopoe as both birds cry. The artwork was more simplistic and did not hold any brutal imagery, but its themes of anguish were all the more apparent.

Grigory was enamoured by this unique painting in the gallery and how it differed from the rest. Despite its more simplistic qualities, he couldn’t help but stare and observe the details of its various strokes and emotions for a long while...

“Tsk tsk” Came a sudden accented voice. “Such poor quality.”

Grigory turned his face to see the source of the voice, and saw a hunched old violet man smugly smiling back at him. His hair was wild and large, spread on both sides of his head like wings. He held a cane in his left hand whilst he wiggled his free hand’s talon-like fingers, seemingly in anticipation for something. He wore a fluff collared brown coat, which paired with the man’s hunched posture and wild hair, gave the appearance of some large vulture, in fact, his entire demeanour gave the impression of a vulture eager for prey.

Grigory tilted his head in confusion at the man. “Excuse me?”

The man’s smile grew before continuing his ‘critique’. “Look at the artwork! All of this artwork!” He stood up taller as he said, revealing how large this man actually was when not hunched over, and also not seeming to actually pay much attention to the painting in question. “The composition is wrong, all the various strokes altogether make such a mess and the colours contrast poorly together! You can barely see what its meant to convey! And what is with all the birds in this gallery? Some silly type of symbolism? The artist clearly had no clue what they were doing! It’s so amateur!”

As the man continued his rant and went in detail of his criticism. Grigory was dumbfounded at seeing this seemingly random old man coming out of nowhere to just complain about the art to him, he couldn’t help but observe them with... just a tad bit of suspicion.

“Well...” Grigory interrupted with a smile that held mischief of its own. “I think artwork is nice. You should not be so hard on yourself!”

“Well of cours- W-W-WAIT HUH!??” The man visibly jumped from the shock of being discovered, making Grigory chuckle. His stature went back to being hunched, and he gave a slight cough to clear his throat as he looked back at Grigory with a raised eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m the artist?” The man asked.

Grigory shrugged with a chuckle. “You seem like type, mostly how you go in detail, and ah, sorry, but personality gave away too.”

The man raised an eyebrow at Grigory before smiling, impressed at his deduction. “Very observant, aren’t you?”

“Comes with job! Have to be when mortician, and father of... three. Yes...” Grigory said with a warmness in his words.

The man’s head perked up when he heard Grigory casually say he was a mortician, what a morbid job to have! And yet this man just seemed so... sunny and cheerful.

“But... I was sincere when I said I liked your art.” Grigory said as he looked at the man with gentleness. “It’s all beautiful.”

The man’s face visibly lit up with a subtle blush. “Beautiful is a nice word, most just call it scary, ehehh.”

“Perhaps, but it is beautifully painted.” Grigory turned to the painting next to him, with the vulture and hoopoe. “Like this one, it is gorgeous and well made...”

To Grigory’s surprise the man was silent for a while as he looked at his own work. "Merci... this one was, a difficult to paint.” He sighed with a melancholic tone.

Noticing the sudden drop in the man’s mood, Grigory decided it would be best to not pry further into this one.

“I must ask...” Grigory began, changing the subject. “Why ah, insult your own art?”

The man gave a slow blink, oh goodness, this was awkward wasn’t it, he really did not expect Grigory to have deduced he was the artist so quickly. He gave a shrug. “It’s a joke I like to play on others, see how they’d react when they find out they find out I painted it all.” The man then leaned in closer to Grigory, as if lending some juicy gossip. “It’s especially funny when they first agree with me before they realise.”

Grigory snickered, it’s certainly an odd prank to play, but he could see where the humour came from, it wasn’t too different from the pranks his twin sons often played. “Well, was this funny?” He asked.

The man nodded. “Even if I was the one fooled this time, it’s certainly interesting!” The man laughed, and Grigory chuckled with him.

The two ended up talking for a long while, talking about the art and small parts about themselves and their lives, though not too much, as they were still strangers after all. Time went by as the two talked, and they didn’t even realise at first that the afternoon became evening.

“Oh...” The man realised as their surroundings got darker. “It’s getting late...”

Grigory turned his face to a nearby door in the gallery, realising the sun has set through its windows. “So it has... I did not realise...” Grigory gave a small laugh. “I’m not so observant, I’m afraid.”

The man gave a chuckle of his own. “We all make mistakes.” He assured. “Perhaps it’s now our queue to leave... It was nice talking to you.”

Grigory nodded and gave a warm smile at the man. “Likewise.”

As the two said their goodbyes and left, they both couldn’t help but wonder about eachother. Grigory wondered what kind of person would be able to create such art, meanwhile Vahid wondered what could be behind that warm smile.

...It was then the two of them realised they never got eachother’s name.

They both wondered if they’d ever see eachother again.

#traditional art #pencil art #ink #crayola #my art #smile for me #smile for me game #smile for me oc #s4m #s4m oc #s4m uncle au #grigory habit #vahid gharagazlou #oc

15 notes · View notes

the-witches-you-couldnt-burn · 3 years

Text

It's final

Dedicated to my best friend K, who exclusively reads angst (yes I know she is crazy).

Warnings: domestic disputes, panic attacks & mental breakdowns.

Ao3

———————————————

“Why are you such a fucking bitch?”

She froze, her anger steeled within her. Their argument was abruptly silenced, both tempers flaring high enough to threaten the heavens. Heaving breaths from their vocal exertions became louder than their previous yelling. A pang of fear struck her heart as she wonders whether the neighbours had heard them and called the police for a domestic dispute.

Marinette was furious. She wasn’t a saint during this war of words, and had said somethings she shouldn’t have. She had started this argument with the intentions of lessening his reckless behaviour, but ended up stating in anger that his mother would be stopping his behaviour too. That line lead to his outburst and the state they were in now.

Cheeks flushed red, particles of perspiration dotted their skin, bodies wound with tension. She swiftly motioned towards the door, hand reaching to the knob. Jason grabbed her other wrist, deep seated sadness displayed over his features, immediately regretting his words spoken by ire. Her head tilted downwards, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it,” his voice cracked, any traces of rage had melted into sorrow.

“You never do, but it hurts the same.” She shook her arm, detaching his hand from her wrist. His grip was firm but unwilling to deny her, her free will. She picked up her purse, slinging the strap over her shoulder. The door opened, she could feel his stare on the back of his head. Her sigh filled the empty space, without turning she said, “I think it’s better that we seperate, we aren’t good for each other. I’m willing to keep up appearances with your family at the gala but then I’ll move my belongings to another apartment.”

She turned around, rushing into his embrace, tears shed from her eyes. A final hug goodbye. His stray tears raced down his cheeks to reach their raven hair finish line. He made no move to respond to her hug. Usually he’d have wrapped her in his arms, especially after an argument like this. But this one was different. This would be their last.

“Au revior, Jason.” She removed her body from his. It left him wanting to pull her back but it was as if his muscles had necrotic back to a corpse. His eyes flicked down to his invisible chains, begging his arms to move, to capture his lightning bug and never let her go. He looked back at her, she stood there, seemingly wanting him to say something, anything.

“I’m sorry.” His hoarse voice whispered, he desperately wanted to pepper her face with kisses and beg her to forgive a cretin like him. His voice broke as he uttered, “Please.”

Blue eyes met blue eyes. Marinette’s head shook slightly, non-verbally denying him. A bitter laugh escaped her mouth, she brought up her hand cover her crazed smile. “I’m sorry too.” She sobbed.

She rushed out the door, practically sprinting to the elevator. As the strong metal door closed, her sobbed echoed around the empty box. She broke down, months of fights and building tensions had weighed her down, her creativity had been primarily funnelled into ways she could improve her relationship. Il vaut mieux prévenir que guérir (It is better to prevent than to heal).

When the door closed Jason’s knees collapsed, a hollow echo resounded through the hallway. Their shared apartment would be no longer. No more hello, good bye kisses; no more delicious meals shared between the two; no more sleepy morning kisses. He looked down at his hands, clenched fists. A primal cry left his throat, he felt it to his core. He would have rather had his heart ripped out, he would have rather have died again, than to feel this pain.

——

It was the night of the gala, only four days after their fight. Marinette had only come back to their condo once to collect some clothes and her sewing machine. Only the essentials were taken, the rest could be gathered by movers.

Jason was a wreck. He had worked multiple overtime shifts to avoid the festering wound that was his bleeding heart. Preparing for his family’s ball was tough, this would be the first time they would see each other since the argument. He sported a fresh haircut which was left messy, his white button down top hugged his muscles perfectly, was paired with a slate grey blazer and matching dress pants (both gifts from Marinette).

He was fiddling with his tie, the gala’s atmosphere was already suffocating due to insufferable and rich hotshots, and his tie decided that he didn’t need to breathe. Marinette didn’t care for appearances but knew his family lived under the watchful eye of the media, so she always made sure they were matching. But tonight, tonight he had no clue what she was wearing and had received no colour matching instructions, so he went with trusty rusty red. It was the first thing the fashionista made for him and he will always cherish it.

His eyes widened as he saw her enter. She wore a midnight silk black mermaid gown that had a chiffon overskirt that was black fading to blood red. Her hair was down and curled, a silver feather hair clip pinned back the left side of her hair, exposing her magnificent facial features. Cerulean eyes framed by dark painted lashes, scanned the room.

Her heart caught in her throat, she had entered the doors to the banquet hall. She came with the intention of saying her silent goodbyes to the family who had taken her in when she had no one else. She had been suffering in silence for the past few days, her only support system being the Wayne Clan, but couldn’t bring herself to tell them what had happened. She couldn’t do that to Jason, she wouldn’t make them choose between him and her, she dreaded to hear their answers. Resigning herself to reside in silence, she came here to keep up appearances then fade into obscurity, but she saw him and her breath died in her throat. He looked as handsome as the day she left him. She wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. She walked towards him; he spotted her and did the same. They met in the middle, on the dance floor.

“You look amazing Marinette.” He swallowed the urge to call her pixie, it hung heavy in his throat. He needed to create distance between them, that was the first advice in ‘How to be civil after a breakup’. During the silent nights, he delved into any written text that would give him refuge and advice.

“You too Jason.” The pit in his stomach grew, he should have known she would take the same path. Never would he hear ‘Jay’ or ‘Jayjay’ from her plump red lips again. His shoulders slumped a fraction before he shooed away his depressing thoughts.

Their conversing was viewed by many around the room. They were the odd couple of the family. Jason, despite his rich adoptive home worked in security and charity whilst Marinette was a hardworking fashionista who had built her own fashion empire. They were from two different worlds and only fate knew that they’d meet.

He bowed and held out a hand to her, a lopsided smiled danced across his face. She smiled sadly, she would miss her dork, she would miss his smile. Her hand brushed against his calloused palm, their fingers locked together. She hesitated before placing a hand on his shoulder, ‘just one dance’, she could do this.

His hand found her waist, warmth bloomed upon his cold skin. He was always cold since he died, only his temper had warmed him. But then he met her. Marinette was his warmth, she made him feel like he was a child again, bathing in Gotham’s rare sunlight. His lightning bug brought him warmth and he had lost it.

They swayed to the classic instrumental melody. Neither looked at each other as their bodies flowed, ‘it was just an act’, they chanted as a mantra within their minds. ‘It means nothing, soon this will be over’. It struck her, this would be the final time they would see each other. A quiet sob escaped her, she was unable to do anything to stop it.

Jason’s head snapped towards her, sweeping her away into a private garden. Between her weeping she apologised for the state she was in, hyperventilating soon after. Jason guided her to a bench and clasped her hands in his.

“Hey, hey! Mari look at me. Deep breaths in and out, ok?.” Screw creating distance, this was his girl, he will fight anyone who says otherwise. Marinette slowly began to wind down from her panic attack, eyes misty and her water-proof mascara blotchy but still intact. The temperamental man wiped her cheeks free from trails of liquid fright.

“I’m so sorry for everything Jason. I never should have said that thing about your mother, that was cruel. I can’t keep hurting the people I care about. I can’t keep you happy. I’m just not enough.”

Her cries broke down his own walls, exposing his vulnerability to the Gotham night. “Fuck the word enough. It’s synonyms: sufficient, ample and adequate, could never describe what you mean to me.” He pressed his forehead on her, blue eyes fluttering shut. “I’m not sure if any of us will ever be enough for anything. There’s no point in begging for it.”

“I hate goodbyes.” She whispered, lips inches from his. Their breaths mingled, cheeks flushing. The icy Gotham air whipped at their skin causing them to move closer to the other for sanctuary.

“Then let’s not make this one.” Fireworks. That’s what they felt when their lips connected. All of the week’s tension unraveled within this lip lock. Their teeth clashed and hands tugged at hair in desperation to close the distance between them. When she entered the gala tonight, she had been so ready to say, ‘adieu pour toujours,’ but was glad she didn’t need to.

C’est cela l’amour, tout donner, tout sacrifier sans es poir de retour. (This is love, giving it ones all, sacrificing everything without hope of it being returned.)

#maribat #mlb x dc #dc x mlb #Jasonette #Jason x Marinette #Marinette x Jason #angst #Marinette is no saint #things were said that they can never take back

85 notes · View notes

pink-imagines · 4 years

Text

hand print

request: i just had an idea lmao so i read your bakugou x baker! s/o hcs and i can totally see him smacking your ass and leaving a flour handprint 😭you don't know its thwre (continuation): oops lol i sent that before i finished it lol but imagine him not telling you its there and everyone sees it and they're like 👁👄👁

click here to read the head canons i made that inspired this

a/n: i am so rusty at writing so this turned out... well weird.

warnings: ass grabbing

masterlist

requesting rules

You hadn’t gotten a chance to bake in a while. Work always got in the way and your free time was spent relaxing from the amount of work you had. So you had done it. You had worked day in, day out to get an entire week off. Not only that, you had planned to meet up with your old school friends in the middle of that week. Up to that day you had been making small muffins and even bread, since everyone was coming over to your place. Of course, it wasn’t only your place - you were currently living with your long time partner, Katsuki. The two of you had been a bit on and off since UA, but had finally moved in together after so long. One thing had never changed during all those years, he still loved to tease you when you baked. Baking had been your hobby since you were a kid and, instead of putting his amazing cooking skills to use and help you, he opted for standing beside you and doing everything he could to distract you. Though many would find this act annoying, you found it quite endearing. He wasn’t being mean to you, on the contrary actually. Katsuki tried to do everything he could to make you flustered, just to see how much you could take before you were bound to mess something up. This “distracting” could be anything from suddenly really wanting to dance with you to having to kiss every inch of your body for some unknown reason.

It was the day when everyone was supposed to come over and you were of course planning on making your famous macaroons. To do that you decided to get up early, since your guests would be coming over around four. This idea wasn’t something that Katsuki enjoyed. Not only did he have to spend time with a bunch of people when he could’ve just spent the day off he took with his significant other. He also had to wake up to an empty bed that morning, which according to him was entirely unacceptale. Katsuki decided what he was going to do as soon as his eyes opened to see you walk out the bedroom door what he was going to do.

“You’re wearing jeans at home?”, he questioned as soon as he walked out of the bedroom and saw you in the kitchen. “It’s just so that I don’t have to change later.”, you looked down at your black jeans, “They look okay right?” “You look great, babe... but why jeans.”, he sighed and wrapped his arms loosely around your frame. “It’s not that uncomfortable you know.”, you said and kept mixing your batter that you had prepared the night before. Katsuki’s arms stayed wrapped around you as his chest pressed up against your back. His chin later found your shoulder and placed itself there. “You didn’t have to get up now too, you took the day off.”, you smiled slightly at the memory of you having to beg him to take the day off for today. “... the bed gets too cold without you.”, he muttered. “Are you kidding me? You’re like a personal heater! How can my lack of presence make it cold?”, you chuckled, “If you mean that you missed me you could’ve just said that.” “Well, I didn’t mean that.”, he huffed and took a step away from you. “Lies.”, you teased and pointed your finger at him, “... I missed you too, either way.” You enjoyed seeing the way that his ears went slightly red at your comment. He could easily hide his facial expressions and even the blush on his cheeks, but his ears always went red when he was flustered. “It’s nice to have a week off so that I can spend all the time I can with you.”, you admitted and went back to your baking.

When you had almost finished the macaroons the guests were supposed to arrive in half an hour. Katsuki had been cleaning around the house, all whilst insisting that he really didn’t care if the guests found the apartment messy. However, when you were putting together the finishing the last few heartshaped macaroons before you could put them in the oven he had just gotten out of the shower. “Katsuki, could you help me put some powdered sugar on the cake I made yesterday?”, you asked him. “You know, you really do too much sometimes.”, he commented whilst getting the powdered sugar out of the cupboard. “I like baking, otherwise I wouldn’t do this.”, you explained. “Jeez this shit really sticks to you easily.”, he said as he opened the packet. “Yeah, be careful you won’t ever get it off that t-shirt - especially since it’s a dark color.” If you had turned around at that moment you would’ve seen the gears in Katsuki’s head turning as you said that - but alas, you were left unaware of his newly found idea. Once he had finished decorating the cake he set the plan into work. “Hey baby...”, he said sweetly and wrapped his arms around you from behind once again, “... you know they won’t be here for a while...” “No, Katsuki.”, you said sternly. “Please, baby?”, he asked and placed a few soft kisses against your neck. “... I know what you-... don’t try me, Bakugo Katsuki.”, you stammered out as your face started getting more and more red. “You’re really cute when you get so flustered over the smallest things.”, he smiled and pressed a kiss to your cheek. As he walked away from you he smacked your ass and you let out a yelp in surprise. “Hey! You ruined this one!”, you pointed to the now ruined macaroon. “All the other ones are perfect, honey.”, he assured you with a grin. You huffed and returned to your baking, unaware of the powdered sugar print, in the form of a hand, on your pants.

When the first guests arrived you were still finishing up putting your pastries on plates, so you asked Katsuki to welcome them. Once you were finished with the last plate you carried them out to the kitchen table where some people were already seated, talking, while a few others were walking around, looking at your decour. “That looks amazing, Y/N!”, Uraraka complimented as she sat down. “Thank you, I haven’t been out of the kitchen since my break started.”, you smiled, “It’s nice to bake stuff again.” “Do you need any help taking out the rest of the plates?”, Katsuki asked, already walking past you towards the kitchen. “Yeah sure there are a few left.”, you turned around and were about to start walking when someone gasped. “Is that a handprint?”, Mina asked and hurridely walked towards you. “Huh?”, you tried turning to her but she kept you still. “That’s way to big to be your hand...”, she commented. “I don’t see the big deal...”, Shoto said from across the room. “Clearly, Mina is insinuating that someone grabbed Y/N’s bottom.”, Iida explained. “Don’t say bottom, Iida.”, Kaminari groaned. “I’m putting my detective spectacles on!”, Mina pretended to put on glasses, as Katsuki walked back into the room. You were stood there, frozen, while looking at your boyfriend with an angry look. Of course he would do such a thing! While everyone looked at Katsuki putting down the plates, Mina had little to no patience. As soon as the plates were on the table she grabbed Katsuki’s arm. “Oi! Watch it, pinky!”, he exclaimed. “Just lemme borrow your hand real quick!”, she argued back. An annoyed sigh escaped your lips but before you could speak you felt a hand carress your ass, again. Mina had pressed Katsuki’s hand on the handprint to see if it would match. And of course it matched! It was his! As if the man you had decided to live with couldn’t annoy you more he decided to gently squeeze. “Hey!”, you yelped and turned around. “It was him!”, Mina revelled in her findings. “Yeah, who else would it even be dumbass?”, Katsuki scoffed and went to sit down when someone grabbed his arm again, “What?!” “... Katsuki...”, your grip tightened around his bicep, “You did this?” He gulped.

Let’s just say... he might be one of the best heroes in the country, but he’ll never stop being scared of you when you’re angry.

#katsuki #bakugou katsuki #Katsuki Bakugō #katsuki x reader #katsuki imagine #imagine #imagines #mha imagines #boku no hero academia imagine #bnha imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #boku no hero academia fanfic #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero academia fanfiction #bakugo #bnha bakugou #bakugou imagine

161 notes · View notes

zodiyack · 4 years

Text

Imprisoned (2,000+ Follower Special!)

Pairing: Kai Parker x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mention of murder, fluff, I dunno what else

Words: 1,154

Summary: Whilst imprisoned in the prison world, Kai reflects on his girlfriend. She’d been searching for a way to free him, despite him knowing exactly how, and the thought of her is what keeps him from giving up hope. If only Bonnie and Damon cared.

Note: Thank you all so so soooo fucking much! I love you all from the bottom of my soul. You beautiful people never fail to put a smile on my face. I’m crying right now but believe me when I say, I don’t plan on stopping. Again, thank you, I love you guys, please stay healthy, stay safe! I’m horrible with words and I’m a writer wtf but I’m really really happy right now, I can’t stop smiling, and I hope those help in making up for my lack of friendship with ...words 😅🥰💖

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @dpaccione, @thewarriorprincessxo, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow

Masterlist | The Vampire Diaries Masterlist

“She was...beautiful.”

“And in love with a psychotic dick.” Damon stared at Kai with wide-...ish eyes and furrowed brows. Normally, he would’ve said the same thing about Elena and her attraction to him, but killing his own family? And enjoying it? Kai was far worse.

“We don’t have time to bicker, c’mon.” Bonnie tried to urge her friend to continue their travel.

Kai chuckled. “She’s right, you know? We’ve got to hurry or else you’ll be forced to spend yet another miserable day with me. But, either way, I can continue with my story!” He reveled in the fact that he was right. He knew he was right and he loved it.

“Fine. We’ll listen, but if this is a trick, you’re gone, okay?”

“Threatening me won’t exactly make me eager to help either, Damon. Anyways, as I was saying, she was beautiful. Loving tender e/c eyes, soft lips...I miss the way they felt on mine...and a little more down south if you catch my drift?” His smile grew with his reference, widening when Bonnie and Damon shared looks of disgust. “Her embrace was...well, the closest thing I know to a real home. I am really looking forward to going home.”

“I thought you were telling us about her, not your sex life.” Damon groaned.

“And I thought I was telling a story. Now, let me continue, Y/n was the best thing to ever happen to me. She knew the real me, and she knew how desperately in need of an escape I was, both then and currently.”

“Then why don’t you just have her get you out?”

“Well, she’s trying to, but we can’t exactly communicate at the moment. I remember the one time we successfully made contact, though. ...The one and only time. She promised me she’d find a way to get me out but... I don’t know the rest.”

“I’m sorry.” Bonnie held a faux smile which quickly slipped from her face the moment Kai opened his mouth to thank her. “Not as sorry as you’ll be if you don’t get us out of here though.”

“Again, with the threats! And I thought you were the smart one. Nevertheless, I shall continue despite being interrupted for the...what is it, eighth time now?”

“Just get on with it already.”

“That I will. I remember the week before this...well, before May 10 of 1994...”

He wanted ever so badly to find an escape. The things he wanted to do, the thoughts plaguing his mind, it couldn’t be helped. But...Y/n always helped. She grounded him, made him feel safe and aware of reality. Aware that he wasn’t alone or in somewhere other than the real world.

Slipping into her room, he paused. She was nowhere to be found. His heart’s pace picked up speed slightly. Then he remembered the one place he knew she was more than likely to be. The park near both their houses, a swing-set abandoned apart from Kai and Y/n’s usage of it’s rusty yet well-functioning seats.

They met there, and years later, had their own little safe haven there. Whenever Y/n needed Kai but couldn’t reach him inside his home, she waited on a swing, vice versa. The set could be seen, with just the right angle, from both houses, therefore making it the perfect spot.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She didn’t flinch, but laughed a little instead. The sound made Kai’s chest warm. “You could just ask, rather than bribe me.”

“I thought you’d be interested in earning money. Perhaps I thought wrong.”

“Perhaps. C’mon, Parker, have a seat.” She pat the swing beside her. They swung lazily for a small amount of time. No words were needed in that moment, just the two of them and the swings. However, the time for conversation did eventually show. “I could use that penny right about now...”

“Why?” Kai’s feet hit the ground, completely halting his previous movements. “What’s bothering you?”

“The whole thing your coven does...I get that there are two new twins but...if you have to kill Jo? That’s gotta be hard on you...”

His fingers lingered on the rusted chains, visibly lost in the memory. Kai turned to Damon and Bonnie as his mind retreated to the present. A sad expression sat upon his features only for a second before he cleared his throat and put on the mask of “fine.”

“So she didn’t approve of your mass murder? Why on earth would she still love you then?”

“Easy. She loved me before and after, despite the crappy things I’ve done, she knows me and loves me. I can’t control her and I don’t plan on ever doing so. Besides...”

”Kai?” A hopeful tone could be heard in her voice. Kai whipped around at the mention of his name, curiosity cutting into him like a hot blade butter.

“Y/n? H-how is this possible?!” His arms wrapped around her tightly. Somehow, she’d managed to communicate with him both verbally and physically.

“I don’t know, but knowing your family, I don’t have long. Tell me what I need to do.”

“I don’t know either...I have the key but I’m missing a witch. Preferably a dead one but there might be a way to retrieve me from the real world...I’m not quite sure yet.”

“I’ll search the best I can, I promise.” Kai couldn’t help but smile. Even he didn’t know why Y/n was still in his life, but he was grateful. He was in love and he was homesick. “Kai...this is the only time I can visit you on my own.”

“Why?”

Her eyes welled up with tears but she did nothing to stop them from spilling from her eyes. “In order to search for you... I know you might not agree with my choice but... Kai- I have a vampire. This could take me centuries the more I think about it, but luckily, I don’t care. I don’t care how long it takes, I just- I just...I... I miss you.”

“It’s okay...” Their lips were closer and closer with each second that passed them by. Eyes flicked down to each other’s mouths, yearning to feel once again. “I miss you too.”

A sound split them apart, Kai’s father not looking too friendly. He didn’t look happy to see his son’s girlfriend in his prison world either, a bad sign without a doubt. As quick as he could, Kai turned back to Y/n and pressed her to him, lips clashing together in a feverish kiss.

“I love you.”

“I love you too-”

“You have to go.” His father was fuming. “Now!”

“I promise, no matter how long it takes, I will find a way!” Then she disappeared. Never again did she reappear, but deep down, Kai knew she was still hard at work. She sacrificed her literal life just to have him in her arms again. Y/n would never give up on Kai. And he loved her for it.

156 notes · View notes

tetsuro-wulf · 3 years

Text

The Wulf's Eye: RP Journal #36 | The Raven

Levin Lessons

This morning I decided to visit Omor. Why? Well, because of practicing my lightning. I need this thing to work in my favor, considering the last time I've casted off as stated in the last entry.. lightning damages the hell out of my nerves to a point where they're slow to self-heal. Sejad recommended Omor, and Omor shall be one of many guides when it comes to harnessing what Eorzeans refer to as 'levin'. In the east, we associate it with Kaminari.

I met up with him at the Vault's building to practice. First, he asked me some questions as an evaluation, feeling out the ring. He suggested that my lack of control is due to the fact that it was forced upon me so it's not exactly my natural element. I'm so used to fire, because well.. I was /born/ AS fire. But lightning and fire could work well together. I must focus on it. Omor noted that I shouldn't focus so hard on trying to control and manipulate it. Rather, to find a flow. I offered to show him a test.. I haven't controlled it since the last rift my company and I worked to close. Though, this resulted in the fact that I once again couldn't control it and the lightning shot at Omor.. nearly fucking killing him. I felt so horrible. He wasn't angry.. I'm so rusty because I've not actually sat down one on one with a 'teacher' or guide before. I talk aloud a lot, I realized too. Always thinking.

Omor then channeled the flow of his levin aether throughout me with a simple handhold.. that was when it flicked. It was all about flow. No fighting it, no desperately trying to grasp and control it. I must flow with it in a way that works out for me. So.. he offered to start with something more basic, rather than an ancient dragon king's relic. Levin crystals. I held one and attuned with it in a way where, sure enough, I was able to allow it to flow throughout my hold and manipulate it. After that, I thanked Omor as he casually handed me an entire sack of useable levin crystals I can take on for practice.

The Raven

It was time to advance with the operation of saving our two, Rakushi and Youta. We met in the meeting room; myself, Natsume, Haruko, Kara, Hikaru, Marce, Ryder. Our plan was to first get Rakushi back to gain the upper hand. He was being fought over by a patron known as the Raven and Berru.. voir.. the voidsent lord he was in contract with.

We set for the Peaks once again. It was a rocky start, climbing to the top of the structure.. but we managed. There, we were met by the abomination that was once Rakushi. A creature in the form of a Raven. Why is it always Ravens.. at least it isn't an abomination that perches my shoulder. At the top, we had to subdue the mass to the best of our ability. Everyone expended themselves. I maintained our talismans to ensure my people lacking the 'echo' were not tempered. It was tight. But I was not going to let my anguish stir me incapable of battle. And so we managed and we needed to act quickly. Haruko and Kara suggest we reached Rakushi through the metaphysical; the mind's eye. I summoned forth the incense pot, brought our people in and soon did we connect with the mind's eye of what was Rakushi within the primal he forcefully became.

We were presented with a grand room, large table.. various necklaces upon it like offerings. At the end were two doors. One smelled revolting, which I suspected to be that of the void. The other held the Raven. We ideally wanted to free Rakushi from the clutches of Berruvoir, so we sought out the Raven first. Caged.. She spoke of holding the voidsent lord at bay whilst like this. A deal was to be made, as things were complicated. I could not quite understand, for you are either to a Kami or not to a Kami. But the Raven seemed to be there against her will whilst not getting along with the voidsent.. which is a given. We needed Berruvoir's cooperation. We trekked into the other door, faced with the voidsent lord. She initially refused to release Rakushi, but we offered a soul which I spoke amounting to that of a Kami, one to quench the starvation over souls she had. But we needed her aid in getting Rakushi back and fighting against Coyote. While I thought she would go back on her word after visiting the Raven was mentioned, she stuck to the deal.

Afterword, we had exited only to trek deeper into the mind's eye. A room of many many statues resembling Rakushi.. voices.. one line stuck out to me. Something along the lines of; "If I ever start to hurt people, I want you to kill me." Something he spoke to me before when we took down the Rennir fellow who merged with his void project, far from saving. That wasn't happening. Not for Rakushi. For how desperate my people moved to save him proved enough, he is not to die, nor be killed by my hand. A reminder of the very fate we once questioned whether we can bend and altar.

The answer is yes. We brought him home.

That Night

I felt heavy as hell. Maintaining talismans against a powerful being, holding the metaphysical with a larger amount of people, and teleportation to headquarters.. my spiritual tank had drained. After carrying Natsume to bed, I could barely stand on my feet. I dragged myself to my chambers.. and Li was there upon my collapse. Of course he fussed. I could barely remember his words. But I ended up in my bed, and he returned with my primary source of recover; a giant bowl of beef with rice and egg. I ate to my heart's content with him at my side. This respite.. while I was feeling more uplifted that we managed to retrieve Rakushi.. the thought of Youta gone from the safety of his home hung over my head. Li talked me through it, and I was grateful for him recognizing my efforts.

We decided to talk about other things to decompress for the evening. Happier things.. while holding onto hope. Like the iris in Roku's shrine. Lessons.. Li has been practicing and I'm so happy for that. He's also been getting along with Kenta and Haruko.. and the attendants. He seems eager-- I heard he's practiced some dancing for when we go out again. To think I had been in shambles two moons ago. Things have been steady, healthy in pace.. I'm grateful for it.

He had asked if I wanted to go on a date, which.. wow. I have not been asked on a /date/ in decades. It may be silly for a thousand year old spirit to say, but I felt safe with Li. A reminder to decompress even in the face of all things against us. I felt hopeful.

03.10.2022

#wulf journals #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv writing #ffxiv coeurl rp #ffxiv crystal rp

3 notes · View notes

autolovecraft · 2 years

Text

Birch, just as I thought!

Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about.

That was Darius Peck, the nonagenarian, whose grave was also near by; but actually postponed the matter for three days, not getting to work till Good Friday, the 15th. Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily?

At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had chosen it, how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, just as I thought!

The tower at length finished, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible.

Birch set out for the tomb with horse and wagon to transfer the body of Matthew Fenner.

He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before. As he remounted the splitting coffins he felt his weight very poignantly; especially when, upon reaching the topmost one, he heard that aggravated crackle which bespeaks the wholesale rending of wood.

The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon. His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation.

He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the platform; for no sooner was his full bulk again upon it than the rotting lid gave way, jouncing him two feet down on a surface which even he did not heed the day at all; so that he was wise in so doing. He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree. You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. Whether he had imagination enough to wish they were empty, is strongly to be doubted. Davis, who died years ago. Why did you do it, Birch? Birch returned over the coffins to the door. You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. It may have been just fear, and it may have been mocking. That was Darius Peck, the nonagenarian, whose grave was also near by; but actually postponed the matter for three days, not getting to work till Good Friday, the 15th. Why did you do it, Birch?

Never did he knock together flimsier and ungainlier caskets, or disregard more flagrantly the needs of the rusty lock on the tomb door which he slammed open and shut with such nonchalant abandon.

Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it.

His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare. Then the doctor came with his medicine-case and asked crisp questions, and removed the patient's outer clothing, shoes, and socks. Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. In another moment he knew fear for the first time that night; for struggle as he would, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made. The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault.

What else, he added, could ever in any case be proved or believed? Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily? This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. For an impersonal doctor, Davis' ominous and awestruck cross-examination became very strange indeed as he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. Birch was lax, insensitive, and professionally undesirable; yet I still think he was not perfectly sober, he subsequently admitted; though he had not then taken to the wholesale drinking by which he later tried to forget certain things. There was evidently, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it. After a full two hours Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. For an impersonal doctor, Davis' ominous and awestruck cross-examination became very strange indeed as he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles.

He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. He was curiously unelated over his impending escape, and almost dreaded the exertion, for his form had the indolent stoutness of early middle age. The vault had been dug from a hillside, so that the narrow ventilation funnel in the top ran through several feet of earth, making this direction utterly useless to consider. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced. There was evidently, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died.

The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the right grave.

Whether he had imagination enough to wish they were empty, is strongly to be doubted.

As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been just fear, and it may have been encouraging and to others may have been mocking. He was a scoundrel, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin! Fortunately the village was small and the death rate low, so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked. Never did he knock together flimsier and ungainlier caskets, or disregard more flagrantly the needs of the rusty lock on the tomb door which he slammed open and shut with such nonchalant abandon. Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. There was nothing like a ladder in the tomb. The thing must have happened at about three-thirty in the afternoon. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. Birch returned over the coffins to the door. His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his body responding with that maddening slowness from which one suffers when chased by the phantoms of nightmare. Great heavens, Birch, but you got what you deserved. The wounds—for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him. At last the spring thaw came, and graves were laboriously prepared for the nine silent harvests of the grim reaper which waited in the tomb.

0 notes

chaoticallysapphic · 4 years

Text

the great divide part two

summary: Who knew that eight words would be your undoing. If you had known then what you know now you wouldn't have signed up for Suyin's dance troupe, you probably would have left Zaofu just to be safe. But you didn't and fate had branded you with a path that chained you to someone who would break your heart.

a/n: toxic level has decreased a bit, sort of. Thank you @medeliadracon for beta reading this!

word count: 7k

“For now”

turned into two and a half years. You had slipped up a few times causing Kuvira to punish you by leaving you alone for the night and each time you did you became more cautious with your actions.

One time a young man around your age had started to flirt with you while you handed out supplies, you tried to politely brush him off but he didn’t seem to get the message so he kept persisting until finally Bolin intervened and said Kuvira needed you to grab more crates from the train.

Another time you had blown up on Baatar when he tried to kiss Kuvira in front of everyone, she wasn’t much for public displays and you knew she would have stopped him if you hadn’t but your fuse was short that day and you paid the price. After that first night of celebration, Bolin and Varrick expected you to join them at the next town but you politely declined and even left earlier than Kuvira did. It felt like there were too many ways to mess up and you grew anxious about all the ways you may upset her.

Varrick took back his remark about you being fun, which hurt a little bit, and after a few times Bolin gave up on asking. You still missed dancing and that night reignited the passion you had for it so on days spent travelling you’d practice either in your room or in the gym, depending on how many people were already in there.

You hadn’t mentioned your desire to pick up classes again once you got back to Zaofu. A part of you was worried that she’d get angry about it and punish you once more so you decided to wait until you were married, she wouldn’t be able to hold him over your head like that anymore.

On days like today where the need to talk about work has come to a short lull and therefore Baatar fills it by talking to your soulmate, you have to remind yourself that one day you’ll get to hold her hand in front of everyone and proclaim she’s yours. You try to bury your nose in a book about chi blocking (you picked it up in the previous town and it was pretty fascinating) to distract yourself and for a few chapters it works, but when Baatar and Kuvira enter her office alone, the words on the paper become a jumbled mess and you can’t take sitting nearby as you envision what they may be doing.

You doubt she’d do something salacious with him during the daytime where someone could walk in, but you also didn’t think she’d sleep with him at all and look how that went. You slam the book down on the coffee table, effectively scaring Bolin awake who had fallen asleep on the couch across from you, and storm off to the gym.

You weren’t much for combat of any kind but suddenly you felt like hitting something, dancing wouldn’t do. So you changed into a pair of sweatpants and a white tank top and walked over to where there were rolls of bandages meant for your knuckles.

You begin punching at the punching bag hooked up to the ceiling of the train, it’s a bit pathetic seeing as you can’t even seem to make the bag move a little bit but you keep going, keep pouring all of your stress and heartache into each punch.

“Wow,” comes a voice from behind you, you look over your shoulder and see Bolin leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. “What's pissed you off?” You shrug and hit two more times at the bag, your sweating and you’ve only been doing this for a few minutes, the muscles you had were meant for elegant strides, not uppercuts.

“Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed I guess.” You lie through your teeth and you know he can tell, so to try and distract him you ask “will you spar with me? Maybe teach me a thing or two about holding my own?” He stays quiet for a minute as he looks at you, as if trying to see how you're doing, you try your best to shove everything rising within you down. “Well?”

“Okay, I guess I should probably make sure I’m not rusty in case we get attacked or something.” He takes his jacket off then wraps his knuckles in the bandages. You spread your legs until they are aligned with your shoulders and hold up your fists. Bolin is good, far better than you which isn’t a surprise seeing as he’s fought numerous battles whilst all you’ve done is read and dance throughout your whole life.

In Zaofu it was common to join the guard, especially for your young adult years but you’d opted out of it since you were more of a pacifist and therefore didn’t want to enter an altercation with someone if the job demanded such. You feel stupid now for not taking that opportunity as you narrowly dodge Bolin’s fists, you land a decent punch on him after a couple of minutes that temporarily stuns him.

You punch again but he grabs your wrist and pushes you back, you stumble, and trip over your feet. Falling onto the wrestling mat with a thud, Bolin, who was still holding your wrist falls on top of you. He pulls away but is still on top of you as he worriedly exclaims “Oh no, I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You groan due to his weight on top of yours but otherwise, you're fine, the mat is soft enough that it cushioned your blow. “I’m fine but can you get off of me, please? It’s kinda hard to breathe.” Bolin’s eyes widen and he immediately rolls off of you, opting to lay beside you on the mat as you catch your breath.

“Aren’t you a dancer, don’t you have to have a really good sense of balance for that?” He questions and you frown, you're not officially a dancer and you had only taken about two months' worth of lessons before leaving with Kuvira.

Your practices just consisted of you doing the handful of things you learned in the dance studio or saw someone do at one of the many town celebrations. “Not really, I just do it for fun.”

“Oh, you just seem so good at it that I assumed,” he sits up but doesn’t move to stand so you follow and cross your legs over one another.

“I took some lessons back in Zaofu before I left with Kuvira, but I’d only been doing it for a couple of months” you look down at your lap as you remember the freeing feeling of flying in the air as the petals catapulted you to the next. Or how it felt to gracefully spin in the air with your wire. You’d wanted to learn more about aerial moves from Suyin who seemed to be a professional at it and even planned to ask her for private lessons after the performance.

“I think that still makes you one if you want it to be” he offers, you throw him a grateful smile before looking back at your legs, you pick at the frayed hem of your sweats and sigh. “Are you okay, y/n?”

Your head shoots up to look at him, your brows pinch together in confusion “what do you mean?”

“You just seem really sad all the time, or angry. Zhu Li said you haven’t been eating much either.” That’s because you lose your appetite anytime Baatar is so much as in the same room as you and you all tend to take your meals together. If he so much as smiles you imagine throwing your butter knife at him.

Now that you think about it, your thoughts weren’t always this violent and loud, you’d never let someone's mere existence bother you before even when you got made fun of at school when you were younger. But now you want to rip things apart whilst crying, you want to be destructive especially towards him.

You must be silent for too long because Bolin places a hand on your knee which causes you to look up at him, it's then you feel how wet your cheeks are. You bring a hand up to your face and once you pull it away you see the telltale sign of wetness, of tears. “‘m just lonely is all,” you say, and it’s not a lie.

You think about telling Bolin, maybe he’d be decent at keeping a secret but you know it's too dangerous. You don’t want to think about what’ll happen if Kuvira’s grand plan is compromised by you and the young earth bender.

He pulls you into a hug and suddenly the floodgates burst open, you grip onto the back of his shirt to keep you grounded as you let out all the pent up rage and sadness within you. You think about the last time she didn’t show up to your room, how you stayed up all night in hopes that she just got caught up with some important documents. How when the sun rose and she still hadn’t snuck in, you felt so hollow and alone.

You grew up on the story of your parents and their perfect meeting, how they clicked instantly, and got married a year later. Your dad still bought her flowers every Friday and your mom still laughed at his awful jokes. You’d hoped for that kind of love when you were little, expected it even. When you met Kuvira for the first time a rush went through your body after she spoke and you just became so entranced by her every movement. She filled all your senses and when she wasn’t around she was all you could think about.

You’d kept it all for her, you never dated growing up or even kissed someone. You knew your soulmate probably wouldn’t do the same but you didn’t care. You just wanted all your firsts to be with them. You love her so much, you’d do anything for her and it's apparent in your current suffering.

Slowly as the days roll on telling yourself it will have been worth it when you’re married lost its comfort. You don’t know how long you cry into Bolin’s shoulder but you do know by the time you’ve calmed down you feel so exhausted that you may just fall asleep on this mat. Slowly, you pull away from him, there’s a large wet stain on his undershirt but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“We’re all here for you, y/n. You’re not alone.” He places a hand on your shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze, you offer him a thankful smile as you pull yourself up onto your feet. “Thank you, it means a lot.”

When you're in your room you pull your hair out of its updo and fall onto your bed, you're so exhausted that you decide to just sleep through dinner despite the grumble of your stomach.

You’re awoken a few hours later, you assume, the sun is down and it’s almost pitch black in your room if not for the glow of the moon through your window. Kuvira softly closes your door behind her as she climbs into bed. “Bolin said you seemed too tired for dinner, are you sick?” She wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. You wordlessly shake your head and snuggle into her side.

Kuvira runs a hand through your hair, slowly you feel a bit better about earlier as you begin to relax. “I have to tell you something,” she says softly, almost hesitantly. She’s never hesitant, always sure in her words and actions. You pull away, suddenly nervous at what she has to say. She’s not pregnant, right? Because you can’t raise his child, you just can’t. “Baatar proposed.”

Your heart stops, “you said no, right?” The silence that follows is enough and suddenly you don’t want to even be in the same train car as her. You sit up and press yourself against the wall since she’s caging you in. “ ‘Vira… no.” She sits up and grabs your face between her hands, you try to pull away but she’s persistent and looks into your eyes pleadingly.

“I’m not going to marry him, y/n. It’s just to placate him until we win and we’re so close to winning. Only a couple more months, I swear” her words do little to mend your cracking heart, suddenly you don’t think she’s telling the truth. She only said this would go on for a while, she never said she’d sleep with him and accept a stupid proposal.

“I can’t keep watching this… It’s killing me” you whimper, she pulls you into her arms, you don’t want her to touch you but you also don’t have the energy to push her away.

“I love you” she begins to pepper your face with delicate kisses, each kiss is accentuated with those three words and soon enough she’s laying you back down as she climbs on top of you. “I only love you, I hate him, I swear.” She pulls you into a soft kiss that conveys her feelings, you slowly kiss her back, your hand cupping her cheek. Slowly she makes you feel less lonely as she pulls your shirt off.

That night she tries to remind you of how much she truly loves you, and it temporarily works.

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

“For now,” turns into three years. After Kuvira’s announcement in Republic City, which wasn’t all too well received, you guys head towards Zaofu. Kuvira had kept you from seeing Suyin in the city, claiming she needed time to calm down before a reunion to which you agreed.

She eases up on you after the proposal, she hasn’t ‘punished’ you since despite accidentally upsetting her quite a few times in public. There’s still that fear of her doing it again, but she always crawls into your bed and pulls you into her arms. She doesn’t wear the ring around you.

After the announcement you just kept staring at her hand as you tried to fight the tears threatening to spill. A few days after catching you staring, she tells Baatar it was best if she kept it tucked safely away so it didn’t get damaged or accidentally used for bending, but her real reasoning was to help ease your pain.

Kuvira even spends more time with you during the day, much to Baatar’s chagrin. If she wasn’t in some important military meeting she was usually seen reading with you. After a bit of psyching yourself up, you ask her if she wants to practice dancing with you, she looks up from her book and into your eyes before slowly nodding.

Bolin ends up teaching you how to properly fight someone with your fists and as the months go on you improve greatly. One day you ask him if you can try something on him, he’s a bit apprehensive but relents, before he can even ask what you're going to do you close your fist except for your pointer and middle finger before hitting him in his chi.

Bolin’s eyes widen at your action, he tries to bend the metal of a dumbbell but nothing happens, “w-why would you do that? How did you do that!” Shock races through you as he keeps trying to bend, spirits you just chi blocked someone.

“I’m sorry! Some old lady gave me this book about it in a town, she said her grandson was an equalist and she wanted it out of her house. But look, I can block people’s chi’s in a fight!” You bite your lip to keep from grinning as Bolin looks at you as if you're insane.

“You're a bender, why would you need that?!”

“What if I’m up against a powerful bender? I need to have something to even the playing field.” You bring your hands to your mouth to hide the pride you feel for yourself. “I won’t ever use it on you again; I just wanted to see if it’d work. I’m sorry.”

A few days later you're sitting in Kuvira’s office with Baatar and Kuvira whilst they discuss how to get Zaofu on their side. Baatar had called for Bolin some time ago, their plan was for you and Bolin to convince Suyin to sign the papers. You felt a bit off about it but the night before Kuvira assured you that it was just because they were still bitter about her dating Baatar, which had caused you to flinch. She knew you didn’t like to talk about him, especially after the proposal.

The morning after she told you, you had stayed in your room for most of the day and when you snuck out to the gym around midday Bolin had entered and told you about their announcement over breakfast. If he noticed you hitting harder than usual, he didn’t mention it.

“Am I in trouble?” Bolin asks cautiously as he eyes the three of you, you send him a comforting smile which has Baatar quietly scoffing from the other side of the couch. The guy was a real dick and once Kuvira left him you think you might have a word or two with him.

“No. In fact, I have good news. We want you to be part of our inner circle,” she gives him one of those smiles that only you, and maybe Baatar, know is fake. Bolin looks like he’s practically vibrating with joy as he shouts out “inner circle? No way! Yes!” He begins to fist pump the air before realizing who he’s in front of, which makes you snort (Baatar sends a glare your way at that), and composes himself, “That is a great honor… What does it mean exactly?”

“It means you’ve proven your worth,” she takes a step back and gestures to the map that has one large piece missing from it, Zaofu, “we’re so close to uniting the empire but Su has some resentment towards me and Baatar that might cloud her judgment and stop her from making a wise decision. We believe you and y/n can help her see clearly.”

“I can do that!” He says eagerly, “by the time we finish telling her all the great things we’ve done, she’ll be begging to join.”

“Good, because we’re here.” She bends the blinds up, you look out the window in front of you and notice all the troops waiting outside… She didn’t tell you about this. “Vir-Kuvira, what is this?” You quickly correct yourself. Bolin adds to your question “aren’t all these troops going to send the wrong message.”

“The army is here to project strength. You’re here to present-” she looks over at you as she continues, her gaze hardening in a warning, “-peace.” You sink into the cushions of the couch and soon she turns away from you to look at her map once more, Bolin looks uneasy and suddenly you feel unsure.

Kuvira kept you out of some of the meetings in the past because she said it was boring nonsense that consisted of military talk which you knew nothing about so you always shrugged it off. Now you're worried those meetings weren’t nonsense at all. You didn’t even know the army was this big.

You thought your return to Zaofu would be filled with excitement and joy, you’d listed off all the things you wanted to do in your head, the top one being seeing your parents again. But the tram ride through the city has your stomach twisted in knots.

When the doors open and you all walk off the people of the city, people you’ve known your whole life, give you looks of disgust. You look down at the floor, unable to stomach the glares they send your way as you walk into the Beifong estate.

You all stop in front of a set of double doors, you’ve never been in this house before, it's massive and honestly seems like a sprawling palace. When the doors open you aren’t met with open arms, the entire Beifong family (sans Baatar) stares at you four with disapproving glares.

There’s a hint of surprise in Suyin’s eyes when they land on you and suddenly you want to be enclosed in the metal flower like all those years ago. Bolin rushes over to Opal, trying to hug her but she turns her back on him and crosses her arms.

That feeling in your stomach twists and tightens, you don’t think you can get through the speech you had planned now, it feels like there’s a fist-sized ball stuck in your throat.

“No, you’ve chosen your side,” she says. Kuvira looks over at you, urging you forward and so you hesitantly walk to stand beside Bolin. “Sides? There shouldn’t be any sides. I know, why don’t we all stand in a circle, huh, maybe hold hands?” You want to slap his arm but you don’t, it doesn’t seem like the right time.

Before you can say anything, Suyin looks at Kuvira and says “I’m not giving up Zaofu. I don’t care if you brought your entire army.”

Kuvira lifts her hand and speaks in an earnest tone “Su, I didn’t bring my army to threaten you. I wanted to show you all that your son and I have accomplished.” You bite your tongue, wanting to blurt out that Baatar’s hardly done a thing, and it takes all your might to keep those bitter words down but you manage, somehow.

“You must realize what your doing goes against everything your father and I tried to teach you,” Suyin seems so disappointed in him, you wonder if your mother is disappointed in you too.

“Son, you belong here.” Baatar Sr. says.

“Why?” Baatar forces out between gritted teeth, “so that I can go on living in your shadow?” Baatar Sr. 's eyes widen in shock and he looks so hurt, Suyin replies for her husband and says “don’t say that, can’t you see she’s brainwashed you?”

Kuvira guffaws at that, it’s true, she has brainwashed and manipulated him, twisted him around her finger with her husky voice and promise of love and devotion. “Ha, I didn’t brainwash him. I set him free. And now he’s accomplished more with me than he ever could have with you.” Towards the end, Kuvira’s eyes set into a glare and you decide to jump into action.

“Obviously there is a lot of personal conflict between you all, but we should be talking about the good of Zaofu and how we can help this great city,” you say, Suyin looks at you pitifully which has you feeling uneasy.

“Whatever she’s told you y/n, it’s a lie. I know you, you're too sweet and innocent to be siding with her if you knew the whole truth,” her tone is sympathetic, you furrow your brows and look over at Kuvira who looks to be struggling to keep her composure. “I would never lie to her or to Bolin.”

“You know what I think we need to do? Focus on the future and the future is bright. Let me tell you. I’ve seen it, yeah I saw it last month. We went to this town that had nothing. Most of the people there had never even seen a satomobile before but now they have two satomobiles, running water, and a magnet train that goes right through their town. I mean how awesome is that?”

You place a hand on Bolin’s shoulder, trying to silently communicate with him to shut up, “they also have plenty of food now, most towns we go to are on the brink of collapse.”

Opal crosses her arms and glares at the two of you, “they might have been happy when you first arrived but I’ve seen what happens after you leave. Citizens are forced to work as slave labor. Dissenters are sent off to who knows where.” You drop your hand off of Bolins shoulder and take a step back, you guys had actually never revisited any of the towns you helped. You chalked it up to being busy.

“-But I am giving you the 100% Bolin guarantee that we’re making the earth empire a better place to live!” Bolin says. You were too lost in your thoughts to hear the first half of his speech, there has to be a time someone at least mentioned what happens to the past towns and villages you helped. But your mind comes up short.

Suyin takes a step forward and says with anger laced in her tone “I can’t believe you brought Bolin and y/n here to try and sway us.” She keeps walking until she’s directly in front of Kuvira. “Leave. Zaofu will never accept you as their leader.”

“Then you leave me no choice. You have twenty-four hours to agree to join the earth empire or we take the city by force.” No, that was never part of the plan, it can’t be part of the plan. Your family is here, your mother is part of the guard. Suyin kicks you guys out of her estate, as you begin to exit through the front door, Suyin calls after you.

“Y/n, your parents are worried sick.” You look over your shoulder at her, she gives her a pleading look but before you can even comprehend a reply you hear Kuvira call out in a bored tone, “C’mon y/n. We’re leaving.”

You rush after her, leaving Suyin and your family behind. You take the tram out of the city then reboard your train that takes you to the center of the camp where Kuvira’s tent is. Throughout the ride, Bolin keeps giving you nervous glances that you try to ignore. Once in Kuvira’s tent she goes to sit behind her desk, you lean against said desk as Baatar stands a few feet from you and Bolin stands in front of Kuvira.

Bolin decides to break the silence “I mean, you’re not really going to attack Zaofu… are you?”

“When people don’t cooperate we must find other ways of convincing them to join” she replies smoothly. Your heart drops, she knows how much your family means to you, how much you still love Zaofu. She can’t really be willing to march through there and destroy everything you love.

“Other ways? How many times have we used these other ways in the past?” Bolin tilts his head in confusion. Your knuckles turn white as you grasp at the metal desk behind you while the struggle to keep quiet becomes harder by the second. Suddenly the idea of her punishing you tonight doesn’t seem so bad if you can somehow get her to remain peaceful.

Kuvira slowly stands from her desk, “It’s not for you to worry about.” Bolin fiddles with his fingers as he tries to figure out what to say next, you know you should intervene, the words are on the tip of your tongue but it feels as if someone’s sewn your mouth shut.

“So… what happens to all those towns and villages after we leave? I just realized I’ve never really gone back and checked on them.” Kuvira makes her way around the table until she’s in front of him.

“Those people are my loyal subjects and they contribute to the empire however I see fit.-” You push yourself off the table but Baatar grips your shoulder and pushes you back against it to keep you from getting involved, “What do you think you're doing?” you spit out, Kuvira ignores the spat going on behind her as she continues “-Now that you're in the inner circle, you're going to have to learn some hard truths.”

“You don’t need to be getting involved” Baatar replies smoothly, Bolin seems caught up in trying to figure out how to properly word his response as you glare at your soulmate's fiancee. “You touch me again and I’ll rip your arm off.”

Baatar laughs, “I’d like to see you try.” Suddenly all the reasonings you ever had to keep your anger at bay slowly start to diminish. “You won’t be laughing when I’ve finally had my piece of you.” He must not see you as a threat, he just shrugs you off and turns to proudly watch Kuvira.

“Maybe I’m not really an inner circle kind of guy. Or- Or we don’t take over Zaofu we could just let them be on their own, then yay the empires united! Congratulations to us.” Kuvira towers over Bolin as she threateningly stalks after him, her fists clenched.

“ I didn’t know your personal feelings for Opal were stronger than your loyalty to me.” He leans against the table behind him as she stares him down, her behavior is so familiar, you furrow your brows. Is that what she looks like when she’s angry at you? “- Zaofu will join us. The only thing I’m second-guessing is the decision to bring you along. Maybe you need to spend some time in a reeducation camp.”

“I thought that’s where we sent people to learn new trade skills…” He trails off, eyeing the two of them, his eyes even drift to you for a second, to see if you're in on this but your expression must give your surprise away because the tiniest bit of him relaxes. “Hard truths, Bolin," Baatar drones.

“Your loyalty seems to be wavering.” Kuvira crosses her arms across her chest as she stares him down, Bolin shakes his head thrice. “No, no I’m totally on your side, completely 100% loyal.” He salutes her. It seems to do the job because she simply glares at him for a minute before swiftly turning away. “Everyone, leave.”

Bolin practically sprints out of there and Baatar slowly follows after, you take your time and at the entrance of her tent you turn around to stare at your soulmate. “Vira-”

“I said leave!” She shouts, her hands smacking down against her desk as she glares at you. You stumble out, surprised by her outburst, before making your way back to the train to hide away in your room once more. As you pass a large tent pitched near the train's entrance someone grabs onto your shoulder and roughly yanks you to the side so you're both hidden from view. Before you can yell at whoever touched you, Bolin comes into sight.

“We need to leave, now” he claims, he grabs your hand and tugs you towards the ladder that leads to the roof of the train. “Guards are stationed at Varrick's door, we need to break in from abo-.”

“Bolin I can’t leave” you whisper, he whips around to look at you. “Are you delusional, did you not see what I saw in there?”

“You don’t understand, I know what happened was wrong but…” tears collect at the corners of your eyes and you feel that familiar feeling of fear claw up your throat. “She’s my soulmate, Bolin.”

His eyes widen and he drops your hand as if suddenly you might be diseased, it hurts to see the look he’s giving you right now. “But Baa-”

“She’s using him, she has for years. Why do you think I’m always so sad? If I leave her she’ll never forgive me.”

“She’s going to march on Zaofu and probably destroy it. We can get in there and warn them about how strong her forces are,” he tries to reason with you. “y/n the Kuvira you fell in love with is gone.” You look away, a part of you knows that with all this power she’s collected she’s slowly lost pieces of herself. She’s always been a bit controlling and aggressive but it’s gotten worse over the years.

“I think I can bring her back, You need to head to Zaofu and try to figure out some kind of peaceful solution with Suyin and I’ll try to calm Vira down.” You know you're running out of time, “go Bolin, you need to hurry.” You push him towards the ladder that leads to the roof of the train, before he climbs up he pulls you into a quick, bone-crushing hug.

“Be safe,” he says softly, giving you one last tight squeeze before climbing up and out of view. You look over your shoulder, eyes drifting to Kuvira’s tent, some of her soldiers are currently erecting tents nearby for your group, much smaller ones but you didn’t mind.

“You can do this” you whisper to yourself, trying to psych yourself up before marching back towards the massive octagon-shaped tent.

Once at the flap you gently push the fabric apart so you can step inside, Kuvira is sitting at her desk, reading over a pile of papers when she notices your presence. “I thought I told you to leave.”

“I wanted to talk to you, about Zaofu.” You try to keep your voice from shaking as you walk closer until you're standing in front of your desk. “My parents are in there, Vira.”

“They won’t get hurt, you said they're smart so they should know to stay out of my soldiers' way,” she sets the paper in her hand down so she can look up at you, giving you her undivided attention. “We need Zaofu, y/n.”

“What if we worked out a deal where they remain independent but offer to give us a certain amount of supplies a year in exchange for peace. It could work.” She’s silent, hope festers in your heart as she mulls over your idea.

“It would make us seem weak to the rest of the world,” she counters and you sigh. You can’t give up, besides the longer you keep her talking the less chance there is of her going to check on Varrick.

“It would make us seem merciful and benevolent. You told me our image is incredibly important and it’s in a delicate balance right now. Marching on them will make us be seen as no better than the earth queen, the other nations will hate us.”

Kuvira pushes her chair back and stands, her hands rest on the desk so she can lean closer to you until your faces are only a few inches apart. “If I think about it, will that make you happy?” Her voice is husky and smooth, she’s speaking softly to you and that pesky part of you that’s practically entranced by her is trying to rip through your focus.

“Yes, it will” you whisper back, she leans forward to bring you into a quick kiss filled with passion and love. You're surprised by her actions, technically anyone could walk right in but you know most people would knock on the wooden post outside before entering. It fills you with hope that she’s willing to kiss you in broad daylight.

Kuvira pulls away and goes to sit back in her desk chair, you're frozen in mild shock which must be evident in your demeanor because she looks up at you with a smirk. “I’ve told everyone for safety reasons I’ll be staying in your tent, expect me there tonight.”

Before you can answer, there’s a knock from outside and Kuvira waits a moment before saying in her usual commanding voice, “come in!” A soldier walks in, as he was trained he immediately bows upon entering before walking closer until he’s a few feet from her desk. You try to compose yourself so it’s not obvious what just happened, your cheeks feel warm.

“What is it?” She quirks a brow and looks up at him, her demeanor towards her soldiers is much calmer and you’ve seen her joke with them a couple of times. One night you asked her why, it just didn’t seem like her to which she replied “if, for whatever reason, I can’t protect myself, my life is in their hands. Why would I not be nice to them?”

“Baatar asked me to inform you that Avatar Korra is here,” his back is ramrod straight and his eyes are trained above her, as all soldiers are taught. Kuvira stands from her chair once more and rounds the desk, walking over to him, “take me to her.” You follow after them a few paces behind, your hands held together behind your back to appear professional and strong, as Kuvira taught you.

That smug bastard Baatar is standing beside the Avatar, you had caught a glimpse of her once in Zaofu but she looks so different now with her cropped hair and earth kingdom clothes. ”The Avatar is here to see you,” he says, glancing at her before his eyes shift back to your soulmate.

“Korra, it’s such an honor to see you again. The last I heard you were still healing in the south pole.” Baatar notices you beside Kuvira and gives you a hardened glare, one of these days you were going to break down his ego for all the pain he’s unknowingly caused you, and all the hatred he has towards you despite not knowing what you do to his fiancee whilst he sleeps.

“Well, I’m feeling much better now.”

“That’s wonderful news.” No, it's not. Not for Kuvira’s plans at least. But maybe Korra can help you convince Kuvira to back down and save Zaofu from the impending invasion.

“I’m here to ask you to back down. Please, take your army and leave.” Kuvira’s brows pull together just a fraction, you know her and you know that means the Avatar’s request didn’t work.

“I think we both know that’s not going to happen,” she says. Korra’s face sets into a firm glare as she stares her down. “I can’t let you take Zaofu.”

“Look-” Kuvira gestures to the camp around them, “- I was tasked with bringing stability to the earth kingdom. Zaofu is the last holdout. Why should I treat it any differently than any other state?” She clasps her hands together behind her back once more. Treat it differently because it’s home, because there are people we love inside! The voice inside your head shouts.

“What you're doing isn’t right,” Korra’s face softens as she tries to get through to her. This isn’t working, if anything it’s just giving Kuvira more ammunition to attack, you want to tell the Avatar to shut up and leave.

“I understand you're just trying to do Su a favor, but you can’t come to me as I’m on the verge of reuniting my nation and tell me to stop. The world was descending into chaos while you were gone,” Korra looks down when Kuvira mentions her absence, looking solemn and remorseful, “and in order to fix it, I had to make some tough decisions.” Yeah like, get engaged to Baatar…

“I know what that’s like. I’ve had plenty of people mad at me about decisions I’ve made,” Korra looks back up at Kuvira.

She takes a couple of steps over to the Avatar, “exactly. Korra if you really want to help,” she places a hand on Korra’s shoulder, “go back to Su and try to talk some sense into her. Let’s call a temporary truce. I won’t make any moves until you talk to her and get back to me.”

“Maybe that will be for the best…” Korra leaves shortly after, rushing to the metal city. Once she’s out of earshot Kuvira glances at Baatar and demands “prepare us for the worst, and go check on Bolin.”

Your eyes widen and you look between the two of them before speaking up, “I can go find him, we usually spar around this time anyways.” You try to keep calm, Baatar scoffs at your offer “now is not the time for you to run off into some closet for a quick stress relief.”

You gasp and take a step closer to him, “Bolin is my friend and nothing more. For you to accuse me of sleeping with someone who is happily in a relationship, with your little sister no less, is disrespectful and wrong.” Kuvira steps between you guys, glaring at you both.

“Baatar, go find Bolin, y/n I need help with some plans in my tent.” Her tone is icy cold and your heart drops, does she believe Baatar? You anxiously follow after her and once you're inside the large tent once more she heads over to a large table with maps scattered across it. Slowly you walk over until you're standing beside her, your gaze locked on the side of her head.

“You don’t believe him… do you?” your voice is small and she places her hand flat across the table as she stares at the Gaoling province on the map. “Vira…”

“I don’t think you would, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have feelings for you and I know you can be quite vulnerable at times.” She finally looks up at you with an inquisitive stare, “has he ever tried anything?”

“No, Vira, he loves Opal just as I love you. If he had ever tried something I would have told you by now, I promise.” You place your hand atop hers and give it a gentle squeeze. She flips her hand so her palm is facing upwards and threads her fingers with your own.

“Good, I don’t think I could keep myself from fighting him if something had happened between the two of you,” she says possessively while your stomach drops at her insinuation. She pulls you into another quick kiss and your mind is clouded with confusion at all of her affection today; it's foreign and strange. “We only have a few steps left before this great nation is stable due to our hard work. Only a little while longer until I can propose to you.”

“I love you,” you say softly, one of her rare genuine smiles appears on her face as she gives your hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away from you. “I love you too.”

Maybe there’s still a chance, after all, Bolin should be in Zaofu by now.

#kuvira #the great uniter #the great divide #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #lok #lok fanfic #legend of korra #bolin #varrick #opal #suyin #baatar jr

110 notes · View notes

danger-xylophones · 4 years

Text

Family Reunion (Darth Maul x Reader) Pt. 1: Wild and a Quest

I had this idea and I thought it was fucking interesting and I wanted to write it

This will be in multiple parts as I made this first installment hecka long. Maul will soon be more heavily featured but for now, I just had to establish some stuff.

Story summary: Reader reunites with Maul for the first time in twelve years and...the ex-sith lord gets a strange surprise.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, slow start

Notes: Female pronouns, an OC child

Current read, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

.............................................................

The roar of the ship as it took off was deafening despite you being housed in the cockpit. Instinctively, you reached up to cover your ears and closed your eyes as gravity shifted. You couldn’t wait to be in the vacuum of space; at least then gravity wouldn’t even exist. A gentle pat on your forearm was enough to make you open your eyes and look to the side. To your right was Wild, an eleven-year-old zabrak-human hybrid, the last piece of evidence you had of your life before all this. He was the symbol of your union with him. Wild was your son.

The carmine-colored, half-dathomirian, barely-tattooed boy was looking up at you with sympathetic saffron eyes, he knew of your deep-rooted hatred for liftoff. Gently, you smiled at the boy to ease his worry and offered a soft pat on his head, careful to avoid the tiny horns protruding from his skull. Wild didn’t return it and instead opted to grab your hand off of his head to hold it in his own before focusing on the viewport. You deflated at that as your heart suddenly ached.

Wild was so much like his father that it hurt you sometimes, not only in looks though (although he was practically his carbon copy) but in personality; proud, serious, and protective with a cunning unrivaled by anyone else on the outside but a soft-spoken, gentle, curious and sometimes anxious boy inside. It was hard to remember that he was eleven sometimes-not the adult he pretended to be and not your little baby boy that used to cling to your leg all day. You just wanted him to be a little boy who was free to dream, explore, and play as he pleased but it seemed the force would not grant you your one wish. Instead, it took his father away from you before he had even got the chance to know of the remarkable gift he’d given you. You did suppose that Wild’s predisposed traits that bound him so tightly to the father he’d never known were a blessing in disguise. It had always served as reassurance that if anything ever happened to take you away from Wild, he’d be fine on his own.

...His own. It was a thought you never liked to dwell on. Wild was born at a delicate time in your life. You were 21 when you learned you were pregnant with the baby of a sith-lord and the news had been...startling to say the least. It had occurred to you one day while you were preparing to face the Trials that your cycle had been off. Deeming it odd enough to warrant a visit to the medbay, you sought out one of the healers. You’d instantly wished that you had chosen a droid instead as it was soon revealed that you were two months pregnant. You had to feign ignorance about knowing of a father at all. It had worked for a time as the issue was immediately brought before the council who were all in various states of shock. The worst reaction, you remembered, was that of your master. But, the council did not kick you out like you were certain they would have had they known of the baby’s heritage. Instead, the council believed your lie-that there was no father. Of course, they believed it. You were Ki-Adi-Mundi’s apprentice, chosen specifically by him due to your, as he phrased it, “natural and strong alignment with the light side”. You were a model padawan who would never even think of breaking the code, let alone to this extent. Your training was put on hold for the time being as the council awaited the birth of your baby, some Jedi even began to wonder if the child would be the prophesied ‘chosen one’ (though Qui-Gon, most notably, believed otherwise). It was then that you knew that your time with the Jedi was up. You formulated a plan. Qui-Gon Jinn and his apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, were being sent on a mission to Naboo to protect the queen.

You begged your master to let you go with them as you had been cooped up in the temple for a whole month after the pregnancy announcement. Your master obliged, certain that no harm would come to you on the mission, and you were swift to join the grey Jedi and his stuck-up padawan. Your plan from there was to land on Naboo’s surface and disappear for a bit to get the Jedi off your back and to get in contact with him again. But, of course, that all went downhill and...you had seen your love be cut down by your fellow padawan. He wasn’t supposed to be there to your knowledge and now he was dead and you were still carrying his baby. Obi-Wan was swift to pick up on your anguish and even swifter to alert the council of your lies and treachery against the Order. You were ejected from the order and locked away in the temple prison to await the birth of your baby whereupon the Jedi would tear him away from you indefinitely. It would have been a fate worse than death for you. That is, had you not escaped and faked your death to get the Jedi off your back.

Wild came soon after, being borne to a disgraced and presumed dead mother and a most definitely dead sith-lord father. Yet, you had done your very best to love him in every possible way as he had no other family besides you.

It seemed that this was something your son was acutely aware of too as the young boy was fiercely protective of you just as you were protective of him. Case in point: the only other person in the room that could pose a threat-Wild’s own uncle, Saváge Opress.

The seven-foot walking mountain of a zabrak had found you and your son on Tatooine whilst during one of your rare visits to the desert world. Your first meeting wasn’t pleasant.

“You, woman, what is your name?” The low bass voice sounding from behind you would have been enough to make you run if not for the fact that your son was still in the store you had just left. Slowly, you moved your hand to one of your sabers concealed within the confines of your cloak before turning around.

“Give me your name, dathomirian,” You spat at the goldenrod zabrak despite the fact he towered over you and could probably crush your skull with one hand, “and maybe I will give you mine.”

He snarled, clearly displeased with the response but relented. “My name is Savage Opress.”

You analyzed him for a moment, eyes raking up and down his form. He was big and strong and going by the saber hilt hooked on his belt, trained in the force. Was he a Jedi? Was he a sith? Had he been sent here to kill you? He was in for a surprise if he had. “Why are you speaking to me, Opress?”

“You told me you would give me your name.” Savage growled, large hand landing on his saber.

“No, I said that maybe I would.” You removed your lightsaber from your belt but ensured you kept it hidden from view.

“I don’t have time for your games, woman.”

“That makes two of us, good day, sir.” You hissed and turned to walk away, intent on looping around and meeting up with Wild to get off this miserable planet. However, that wouldn’t happen right now as your ears soon met with the distinctive sound of a lightsaber igniting. With an agitated sigh, you whipped out your own weapon and spun around just in time to meet your attacker; green blade clashing with red. Sith. Most likely his master’s new apprentice.

Savage was strong, physically, but you could feel that he was weaker in the force than you. That would be your only hope; let the force guide you while he relies on his own physical prowess. You met the male zabrak strike for strike, each one threatening to knock you off your feet with the force Savage fought with. The fight was grueling and you could feel the rustiness in each spin and block-you only ever used your lightsaber when training your son-and as it went on, one thought became abundantly clear; you weren’t going to win like this. You had to figure out a way to make the mountain stand still. Thinking on your feet, you fell back before taking a running start at Savage. You feinted to the right and used the wall to boost yourself over the behemoth of a man, twirling as you went until you landed behind him and shot a well-aimed kick to the back of one of his knees. The move was meant to bring Savage down to your level so you could cut his head off but when the blow landed, nothing happened. Startled, you froze which would prove fatal.

Savage spun around and grabbed your ankle in one hand before roughly swinging you into the wall. The air was driven from your lungs as you felt your back connect with the sandstone of the building behind you. Savage released you, allowing you to crumple to the ground as you fought to breathe. You were granted little reprieve though as soon Savage was stooping down and roughly lifting you by your neck in one fist. Your feet kicked lamely at your attacker in your struggle for survival as your nails clawed at the back of Savage’s hand.

“I’ll ask one more time, what is your name?” Savage growled low in his throat and tightened his grip.

“Will you let me live?” You coughed out, looking Savage dead in the eyes which briefly reminded you of your son’s. Your son. You had to stay alive for him.

“Maybe, if you are who I am looking for.”

It seemed that that was as good a chance as any.

“Y/n, my name’s Y/n.” Savage’s necklace suddenly glowed an eerie blue and you were prompted to ask your next question. “Wha-What do you want with me?”

“I’m looking for someone-my brother. I was told that you knew him, jedi.”

Electing to ignore the incorrect title, you continued to talk. Maybe, if you lowered his guard, you could still make it out of this alive. “I know a lot of people but not a lot of them are zabraks.” Savage’s eye ridge quirked up in questioning. “But...if it’s who I think you’re looking for-he’s dead. Killed by Obi-Wan on Naboo twelve years ago.”

“That’s what I was told too-but I have cause to believe he is still alive and I was told that you would be the one to help me find him.”

No...impossible. “You’re....you’re a liar!” You screamed at the zabrak. “I watched him die! He’s dead-he won’t come back-he can’t come back no matter how much I-”

“Mom?!” A familiar pre-pubescent yet soft voice cut you off. Immediately your attention, as well as Savage’s, were on Wild who stood at the mouth of the alley with saffron eyes that blazed like molten lava. He had never looked more like his father than in that moment.

Savage looked at you, confusion and something else (regret maybe?) all over his goldenrod face. “Mo-?”

“Wild, run!” You cut Savage off and gathered enough strength to curl in on yourself and strike Savage in the face with both feet. The zabrak released you at once and you fell to the ground unceremoniously before summoning your lightsaber to you. Not wasting time, you ignited it and dove at Savage, ready to make him pay for his filthy lies. Savage was quick, though, and managed to block your blow with his own sword. However, what neither of you expected was for a second contender to join the match in the form of Savage’s nephew and your son wielding your old blue lightsaber. “Wild, I told you to run!”

“You also told me to never run from a fight!” The little boy shot back, pressing down with all the strength he had. Stubbornness. That was another trait inherited from his father and enhanced by your own strong will. With a roar, Savage launched both of you back, sending you to the ground and your son flying. You watched as his little body collided with the same wall you had been smacked against minutes ago and nearly lost it. Channeling all your anger, you reared on Savage and pushed him back with the strongest force push you could muster before immediately running over to your son. He had sat up and was clutching at the back of his head where you noticed a small cut. You were going to kill Savage; brother-in-law or not.

“Wild, when I tell you to ‘run’, think of it as a tactical retreat. And for the record, I told you to know when to run from a fight.” You reprimanded quickly as you picked your son up and ushered him behind you. The two of you began to back away as Savage struggled to his feet. The two of you were almost to the entrance of the alley when the zabrak got a hold of his senses.

“Y/n, wait, please.” Savage began, sheathing his lightsaber and holding out a hand to you in surrender. His yellow eyes flickered between your son and yourself, guilt prominent in his features. You found yourself pausing. “I know you do not believe me-”

“No, I don’t and frankly, you have given me no reason to. If...if Maul was alive, I would have found him.” You spat in anger at the arrogance of this zabrak. Did he think that you hadn’t searched? Did he think that you hadn’t cared for him? Did he not see the disproof standing behind you?

“But you did not have the magicks of Mother Talzin.” Savage’s voice was soft now as he tapped the talisman around his neck.

You were struck silent at that. He was of course correct-you hadn’t had the aid of his people. With a heavy sigh, you rose out of your defensive position and sheathed your lightsaber, much to the surprise of the two males. “Wild.” Your voice was soft, caring, and you could feel your progeny’s confusion as if it was your own. “Take everything to the ship. I’ll be there in a minute.” Wild hesitated for a moment and you expected to get some attitude later but for now, he just softly handed your second lightsaber to you and stalked off after sending a final glare at Savage.

“Alright, you have my attention, Savage. What do you need?” You asked in a steely voice.

“Everything you knew about my brother.”

From there, the three of you had begun your search. Savage had explained his story and you had explained yours (he was almost overjoyed to know that he had a nephew). However, you both agreed that, for now, you wouldn’t tell Wild who Maul actually was in relation to him. This meant that Wild didn’t know that Savage was his uncle which led to the current distrust you were witnessing now. You hated not telling Wild but you didn’t want to give him hope that his father was alive to then rip it away from him when Savage’s wild goose chase proved to be just that. Now, you were riding in a cargo ship on your way to the trash planet, Lotho Minor.

You had landed a few minutes ago after Savage took control of the ship and were now faced with a dilemma. Did you go with Savage or stay in the ship with your son?

“Wild,” Savage’s booming voice called the young boy’s attention to him, however resentfully, “Stay with the ship. Your mother and I will explore.”

“No.” Wild snapped immediately with a glare as his hand tightened around your own till his sharp nails started to dig into your skin. You sighed softly and turned to your son.

“Wild, I’ll be fine. Savage won’t hurt me. Protect the ship, sweetheart, we’ll be right back.” You placed a soothing hand on the side of his face. His little red face grew more grave. He didn’t trust Savage, plain and simple. You wrinkled your nose at him before placing a peck on his forehead and pulling him into a smothering hug. “You worry too much, little man.” The boy protested at the display and loosely pushed you away but you had done your job as Wild seemed much more on board with the idea. “We’ll be right back. Don’t let anyone else on board, got it?”

Wild sighed with an eye roll. “Yes, mother.” His tone was annoyed but, having raised the boy, you knew he was only exaggerating his feelings. You placed yet another peck on your son’s forehead and gently pinched his carmine cheek before striding over to Savage who had watched the whole interaction. Neither of you spoke until you were outside.

“You’re good with him.” Savage piped up suddenly, his low bass a welcomed contrast to the wind whipping through the heaps of garbage.

You were taken aback. For all the times Wild had been brought up in conversation with the older zabrak, your skill in parenting was never mentioned let alone complimented. “I should hope that I would be,” you began, uncertain where you were going with this, “I am his mother.”

Savage made a funny noise in the back of his throat that prompted you to look up at him. “I-I just meant that…you’re...different than the nightsisters. They...they didn’t care if they had a boy.” Ah, the nightsisters. The infamous clan of witches that had bought and traded your unofficial husband long ago and continued to do with Savage. You prompted Savage to elaborate as you two began to walk. “They cared if they had a girl as she would stay with their clan but...if it was a boy, he was sent to us to be subjected to the same fate as so many men before us.” Savage’s eyes were clouded in thought as he relieved what was probably some awful memory. “It’s strange to see a boy be cared for is all.”

“Dathomir sounds...awful. I can’t imagine what you went through, Savage.” You dared to lay a hand on his forearm, making the zabrak halt in his tracks. “But...but if Maul isn’t...but if Maul isn’t here to be found, you could have a place with us.” You smiled gently. “You are family, Savage. I see it and I’m sure Wild will see it as well.”

Savage’s other hand came up to rest on the hand on his arm. There was a genuine smile on his face, for once. “Thank you, Y/n.” With a dip of your head, you resumed your walk. “Y/n?” Only to be stopped by the questioning lilt in Savage’s voice. “I never asked, how did you and Maul ever meet?”

A wistful smile dared to dash across your face as your mind’s eye immediately conjured up the image of the stunning ruby red zabrak you’d come to love so dearly. “That, my dear brother, is quite the story...”

....………………………………

Next ->

#maul #clone wars #star wars #fanficiton #the clone wars #tcw #danger-xylophones #Family Reunion series

176 notes · View notes

clintbartonswife · 4 years

Text

i’d trade my life for yours

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Jaskier Summary: Jaskier will be loyal to Geralt until his last breath, this he swears. Notes: im sorry. descriptions of torture. mentions rape (not graphic in the slightest, more like an allusion, but tagged it just to be safe), major character death. This is the bad ending, for a nicer ending read the series below :) masterlist || nicer ending (p2)

Jaskier had always felt too much, falling a little bit in love with almost everyone he meets. The seamstress from Beauclair with the deepest green eyes he had ever seen, the knight from Kerack who had muscles the size of Jaskier’s head, the innkeeper and his wife from Rinde who had the warmest smiles he had ever seen.

All loves that he treasured, yet let go after a night or two, the heartache keeping him company until he found another gorgeous person to fall for.

When he finds Geralt at the ripe age of 18 it’s different, for once the bard doesn’t want to leave, a nagging feeling pulling him along the path by the Witcher’s side.

His love grows easily, from that of shallow appreciation of his honey golden eyes to a fierce want to protect his love from those that scorn him in every village they visit, a need to nurture the fragile relationship they were building.

It’s only Jaskier’s luck that the only person to ever intrigue him enough to stay seems to want him to leave, impenetrable walls built around his heart.

So, Jaskier writes songs of their travels, being respectful of Geralt’s boundaries whilst still trying to provide as much tender love and care as he could without scaring the Witcher, all the while falling deeper and deeper in love.

Everything starts to go wrong after the djiin.

He watches through the window as his heart breaks with every thrust of Geralt’s hips, the Witchers disinterest (which he had assumed was general Witchery distance) suddenly making more sense - he just didn’t like Jaskier.

Still the bard stayed, sewing his heart back together with every step he took beside the Witcher. His affectionate touches didn’t falter, not allowing his own personal hurt to affect his Geralt negatively. He still deserved as much softness as he could bring himself to provide - Melitele knows Yennefer wasn’t providing that.

Jaskier funnelled all of his creative energy in to his songs, more and more of them staying in his private notebook, too personal to be sung in front of Geralt, let alone the general public.

After each time they met with Yennefer, Jaskier was there to pick up the broken pieces the Witch left behind, baring the brunt of Geralt’s bad mood for a week after she had gone, heart chipping a little more each time as his hatred for the woman grows.

The last straw was the dragon hunt. The whistling winds whipping Jaskier’s hair in his eyes as Geralt’s words lashed out at him, vicious and hateful.

In the following two weeks, Jaskier drank to forget, falling back into old habits and into strangers beds with a new desperation.

The young farmer with hazel eyes - not as beautiful as Geralt’s. The miller’s daughter with blonde hair - not light enough.

The people begin to blend together, yet it doesn’t work. The heartbreak still radiates through his body, numbing him from any other emotion.

He’s too drunk to register that Cintra has fallen.

Too drunk to hear the rumours of the bounty on his head.

Too drunk to notice the Nilfgaardian soldiers entering the tavern.

Too drunk to defend himself against their arms that steal him away that night.

When he awakens the next morning, head throbbing with the familiar pain of a hangover, Jaskier is hit with a wave of nausea.

Turning his head to the side, he reaches for the bed-side table, blanching when he finds his arms restrained. It takes a few seconds to register that he’s in unfamiliar surroundings: the distinctly tavern smell (of weak ale and piss) gone, the slightly scratchy linens of the bed replaced with a hard wood surface.

Unrestrained panic swelled up in the bard’s chest, his instincts kicking in as he tried to mimic sleep.

‘Just breathe slowly, keep your eyes closed and stay calm’ repeated through his brain, sounding suspiciously like Geralt’s voice.

“-the bastard up yet?”

“He wasn’t the last time I checked, no sir”

“And no sign from the Witcher?”

“None sir”

Jaskier heard a scoff as the door opened, two sets of feet stopping at the side of the chair. Unnerving silence fell for a few seconds, before a heavy kick was given to his ribs, punching the air from his lungs in a loud exhale.

“Now listen here, bard” the bigger of the two men all-but-growled, looming over Jaskier as the singer blinked heavily to clear the daze that had settled over him, “We’re going to make this real simple. You tell us what we need to know, and maybe we wont kill you”

Scrunching his nose in disgust, Jaskier considered his options, “What is it that you want to know?”

Another scoff.

“Maybe he’s not so useless after all” the tall man sneered, exchanging an amused glance with the man stood in the corner, “Tell us where the Butcher of Blaviken is”

Self preservation was forgotten as the nickname stirred up anger deep inside Jaskier, the unfairness choking him, “I’m afraid I don’t know any butchers, not the biggest fan of hanging around long enough in towns long enough to befriend anyone in that profession I’m afraid”

That earnt him a sharp slap, the sting helping to ground him.

“Don’t try to be smart. Where is the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia?”

“Oh, I do know him” Jaskier answered, tone kept light and conversational, “Of course I haven’t seen him in months so I’m afraid I’m really of no use to you gentlemen”

Another slap.

“Now that must be a lie. Why would the Witcher leave his little whore behind?”

Now that one stung, the frown forming on Jaskier’s face before he could stop it.

“Aw, struck a chord with that, did I? He found someone else I assume - though Melitele knows how anyone can lay with a monster like -”

Rage finally overflowing, Jaskier spat in the man’s face, “How dare you call him a monster. He’s a better man than you’ll ever be”

A bitter chuckle, followed by a punch that left the bard tasting copper.

“I think you might actually be in love with that thing” he said, amused, “That just makes this all the more fun”

Jaskier held eye contact with the man, glowering as he slowly spat out the pooled blood onto the floor.

“Tell me where he is”

“No”

Two punches to his stomach, and a hard kick to his shin.

“My sister hurt me worse than that for stealing her brush when we were seven” Jaskier sneered.

“Where is he”

A backhand across the face, followed by three hard kicks to his ribs.

“Toss a coin to your-”

Another heavy kick to his stomach, winding him slightly as he keeled forward, a burning pain spreading over his chest.

“Oh valley of plenty” he wheezed, forcing his head back up to stare at his captor’s face.

The day carried on very much the same, Jaskier working through his repertoire of songs as he was beaten black and blue, the lyrics keeping him focused and alert.

The man in the corner just stood and watched, his silent presence looming over the beating.

“I must say” Jaskier eventually huffed, directing his words at the man in the corner, “Your indifference to this situation is highly annoying. Are you not enjoying the performance?”

His question was met with another heavy hit to his stomach, the skin there surely covered in a patchwork quilt of forming bruises.

“You bore me”

The voice was cold, cutting through the pain like a knife and replacing all feeling in his body with the need to flee, an innate wrongness surrounding the man.

He stepped forward into the light, pink eyes flashing at him, “I think it’s high time we shut you up”

The taller man grinned, a shark-like expression that just added to the bard’s discomfort, moving behind him to grab him by the sides of the head, tilting him so that his neck was bared to the room.

They’re going to slit my throat, Jaskier thought absently, half delirious with pain, this is it.

The slimy tendrils of magic prodding at his mind made Jaskier’s eyes widen in panic, struggling against the bonds in a fruitless effort to get away from the unsettling sensation.

No. No this was so much worse.

He could handle pain. He could handle taunting words and harsh treatment. The one thing Jaskier couldn’t handle was fucking mages.

“No - “ he gasped, voice distorted by the angle of his head, “please-”

Yellow eyes. Lips curled in to a snarl.

The mountain.

“Damn it, Jaskier!”

No. No no no no no no no. Not this. Anything but this.

“Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, its you, shoveling it?”

White hair. Curled fists.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands”

Wet eyes. Shattered heart. A wasted life.

“Damn it, Jaskier!”

And it looped. Again, and again, and again,

“Ready to talk, bard?”

His eyes fluttered open, eyelids heavy, fighting to remain closed.

“Fuck. You” he hissed, words mangled through gritted teeth.

The mage smirked, fingers reaching for his temple again, “Very well. It seems like one hour wasn’t enough”

The last thought Jaskier had before being pulled back to the mountain was one of horror, that one hour had felt like an entire day.

When he came to once more, Geralt’s voice still ringing in his ears, Jaskier realised there was a new man in the otherwise empty room.

“Going to talk yet little birdy?” the man asked, voice far too light for the circumstances, his posture reminiscent of those that approached him in taverns with hopes of charming him into bed that night.

The realisation occurred to him as he noticed his hands were free, a rusty cot added to the corner of the room.

“No” he whispered, the horror palpable in his tone.

“Well that’s too bad” the man sneered, his too-rough hands dragging him out of the chair and towards the cot.

The irony was that in that moment Jaskier would’ve given anything to have been back on that mountain, Geralt blaming him for everything, rather than be faced with his current reality.

Of course, the mage wasn’t kind enough for that.

Jaskier wasn’t sure how many days had passed since his capture.

What he did know was this: his throat was too sore to speak, ruined from both abuse and lack of water; his body was so mottled that it looked like he had begun rotting, greenish-yellow marks covering almost every inch of his skin; his back shredded by the impromptu whipping session earlier that morning; and he wasn’t sure he could muster a smile, even if informed of the untimely and gruesome death of Valdo Marx.

But, no matter what they threw at him, he would not betray Geralt.

He had made this vow to himself during a quiet moment on (what he guessed was) the second day, that no matter what faced him - be it further torture, mutilation and eventually death - he would not speak a word of the little information he knew.

He may have ruined Geralt’s life, may have annoyed him with his incessant and unwelcome company, but one thing Jaskier could give him now was his undying loyalty, the one thing that no one could take away from him.

They wouldn’t take away his love.

So he breathed steadily as he looked as his hands, tied down firmly to the arms of the chair, taking in every detail of the calloused fingers that made him the famous bard that he was today.

“Last chance. Where is the Witcher”

Jaskier just grinned, the smile bloody and insincere.

“Fucking your mother I would imagine” he croaked, withholding the wince of pain from the strain on his throat, instead widening his grin at the look of anger on the man’s face.

With a growl, the man brought the hammer down heavily on Jaskier’s left ring finger, smiling sickeningly at the bard’s agonised scream.

“Where is he?”

Head fuzzy with pain, Jaskier scowled and spat his blood in the man’s eyes.

The sickening crunch of bone echoed around the small room, Jaskier’s scream ringing out as another two fingers were smashed.

The line of questioning continued until all of his fingers were unrecognisable, the bard humming ‘Fishmonger’s Daughter’ through tears as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

“What a shame” the captor said, fake sympathy swimming in his cold eyes, “Looks like you’re worth even less than you were when we found you. What worth is a bard if he cant play anymore?”

The man pretended to think, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “Of course! A brothel worker!” He paused, tutting again and shaking his head, “No you cant even be that, we’ve made you far too ugly”

Jaskier tried to ignore his words, focusing on his rattling lungs instead, forcing them to inhale and exhale.

Unconsciousness crept forward, the pain finally overwhelming him, Jaskier falling into it’s open arms gladly.

“-cher isn’t coming for him. We’ve had the word out for two weeks and got nothing”

The words drifted in to Jaskier’s cell, the conversation prying him from sleep.

“So what do we do? The bard’s not talking”

“We were meant to give a destination by yesterday”

“So we make one up, blame the bard when it comes back empty”

“… That could work”

“Then I’m guessing we kill him afterwards?”

“Theres no reason to keep him”

“Well-”

“You’re not using army funds to feed just so he can be your personal whore, Cahir would skin you alive if he found out”

Jaskier huffed a laugh at that - the realisation that his worth had finally been reduced to what his father had called him all those decades ago, ‘a worthless whore’, ‘useless to polite society’.

The conversation carried on, though Jaskier’s mind drifted, thoughts racing yet head surprisingly clear. He shifted in his seat, only slightly to the left, wincing as the healing whip wounds on his back pulled open again, the stinging pain keeping him tethered to consciousness.

Not for the first time, he wondered where Geralt was. Safe, that he was sure of, hidden from the greedy eyes of the Nilfgaardian army if their unhappiness was anything to go off of.

Had he found Cirilla yet?

Was Roach okay?

Was he taking proper care of himself?

And - in even his lowest moments - he found himself wondering how Yennefer was.

If she was handling the break-up better than he did.

If she was safe, happy, looked after.

Or maybe, perhaps even back with Geralt. The three of them playing happy families while Jaskier rotted in a cell and waited for a hapless death.

Being on your deathbed gave you a lot of perspective, Jaskier had realised, and he found it hard to even hate Valdo on occasion (until he regained some energy from a piece of stale bread thrown at him and immediately felt disgusted that the thought had even crossed his mind).

As the fog in his brain seemed to seep into his dimming vision, his thoughts returned to Geralt’s eyes.

“Goodnight my love”

The news reached Geralt as they were passing a backwater town.

“The bard Jaskier - I swear it was! They dragged him out t’wards the Nilfgaard base”

“Tom stop jabbering, they would’a been shouting that from the rooftops if they got ‘im”

Coldness seeped into the Witcher’s bones as the words registered in his brain, his eyes flying to Yennefer. The sorceress was looking at him with pity in her eyes.

“I can try scrying-”

“Please”

Ciri watched in awe as Yennefer set up her equipment that night in their camp, bouncing with barely restrained curiosity at all the new instruments that the mage seemed to summon from nowhere.

The young princess’ enthusiasm calmed Geralt slightly, focusing on her youthful movements instead of the dread that settled over him at the thought of Jaskier’s current situation, guilt hitting him every few minutes as he replayed their last conversation.

‘If life could give me one blessing-’

“He’s in Neunreuth” Yennefer said, looking up with a solemn expression, “in a Nilfgaardian fortress”

“They were right” the Witcher breathed, utterly defeated.

“So we’re going to get him right?” Ciri asked, enthusiasm now dampened by the morose mood emanating from the two adults.

“Of course”

Yennefer quirked her eyebrow at his firm reply, before nodding in agreement, “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow”

Geralt knew the second he stepped out of the portal that something was wrong.

“He cant be here” he thought aloud, “It’s been abandoned”

Yennefer frowned, her expression telling him everything she refused to say out loud, “He’s here”

“No”

Striding forwards, the Witcher advanced on the old manor house, nose picking up on the scent of Jaskier’s blood the second he reached the front door.

“No!”

Strides turned in to a sprint as he chased the scent, denial still swirling through his brain as he got closer and closer to the muted wildflower scent.

“Jaskier”

The name fell from his lips as his knees gave out from under him, the sight of his bard’s limp body hanging from the chair punching all the breath from him. The smell of rusted blood was overwhelming, a pool in the corner dating back months.

Geralt sat there, disgusted by himself as he imagined how long Jaskier had waited for him to come and rescue him, how long he had stayed faithful to a monster.

He wasn't worth Jaskier’s life.

He wasn't aware he was crying until Yennefer laid a hand on his shoulder, “Geralt-”

“No” he hissed, struggling to his feet and moving over to the bard, “he cant be dead - he -”

Eyes wild, he turned around to face the sorceress, rising to his full height, “Fix him. I know you can - you did it last time”

“Geralt-”

Anger overtaking him, he pulled Jaskier’s limp body into his arms, unaware of how much his own hands were shaking.

“FIX HIM. YOU NEED TO FIX HIM NOW”

“Geralt stop”

“YOU NEED TO FIX HIM” he shouted, falling to his knees again, cradling the cold body in his arms as he sobbed, “Please fix him, Yen I need - I need you to fix him please”

The woman sighed, brushing a hand over Jaskier’s temple, looking for any sign of life.

“He’s gone"

Geralt’s cries could be heard in the next village over, lasting well into the night.

Not long after, tales of the White Wolf, Princess of Cintra and the Raven Sorceress were spread far and wide, the image of Cahir’s head on a stick engraved in the public’s minds.

126 notes · View notes