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shebeafancyflapjack · 5 months

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Blind Love

Quick Robin & Original Character(s) ficlet.

Set many, many years in the past, during one of the periods where Rogh "went mad for a bit".

Tw: insanity, delusion, grief, animal death

Aelfwyn and her sister had never been close. Their parents had done little to discourage rivalry and resentment between the two as they grew up. Quite the opposite in fact. Competition was seen as healthy for children growing up in their harsh, war-loving tribe. But their patents had taken it to extremes, showering one child's victories with praise and scolding the other, then when the girls turned their bitterness on each other, they were told to wrestle it out and not stop until one drew blood.

That blood had typically come from a nose bleed or a deep scratch across the cheek from sharpened fingernails. A couple of drops at most.

Not an entire puddle, enough to fill a goblet fit to offer to the Morrighan, gushing from a hole in one of their skulls after a blow from a rock had caved it open. As Aelfwyn stood and stared down at her own corpse, she thought maybe even her cruel parents would think this a tad too far.

Breathing heavily, she heard a thud as the rock fell to the ground. Her sister, Lliefa, was standing over her, pale as the snow. The anger that had burned in her eyes moments before as they'd scuffled was replaced with an almost childlike expression of terror and loss.

"Wynny....Wynny, sister, I am so sorry..." She began to weep, the tears falling down her cheeks disturbing the painted symbols that had been given to her on her coming of age ceremony only a few days earlier.

Only eighteen. Twins, though they didn't resemble each other. Lliefa had inherited their mother's emerald eyes and blessed red hair, while Aelfwyn had her father's square jaw and plain brown locks. Lliefa however, did have his temper.

Maybe that's why Aelfwyn found it hard to cling to her anger when the truth of what happened hit her. That was her body, her face that she'd seen from the rare reflecting glass that they were lucky to have hanging in their hut. It was her blood that soaked the grass.

She was dead. Killed by her own blood. But Aelfwyn could see the blow hadn't been intentional, or at least Lliefa hadn't been in her right mind at the time. If she had, she wouldn't be falling to her knees and throwing herself over Aeflwyn's body to weep as she now was.

Aelfwyn sighed, closing her eyes. Grandmother always advised her to breathe out all her unwanted rage as an offering to the Morrighan, or to Wotan. She knew she should be furious at her sister right now...but all she felt was sadness and pity.

Blood crimes were one of the biggest affronts to the gods. Siblings could slay each other in fair combat. But this had been a blow while her back was turned, an attack spurned from Aelfwyn saying cruel words she'd regret forever.

There was nothing she could do to the girl that would be worse than what the fates had in store for her.

"I forgive you, sister. Please, just return my body back to the tribe. Let me receive the proper rites so the gods will take me to the next world." She pleaded, reaching out to touch her sister's shoulder only for her hand to pass through.

The contact made her retch. She gagged, stomach lurching, despite not having eaten all day. They'd been sent out to hunt, their parents offering a reward to whoever came back with the largest kill.

She supposed Lliefa would win hands down. Aelfwyn hoped their parents would keep to their word.

It was rather painful to watch her sister try to carry her back to their settlement, being the shorter of the two of them. Aelfwyn tried to follow close, hoping her words with pierce through the veil.

"No don't pull me by my head! Look, you're making things fall out, that might make me dumber in this world!" Even in death, her sister still managed to vex her; "Maybe if you learned how to bind and carry your kills better instead of leaving it to me!"

But before she could rant some more, Aelfwyn took another step and then was shoved back in the opposite direction. She turned, blinked in confusion, then tried to follow again.

Same thing. Back away from the path.

"Sister! Sister, I'm trapped! Please do the ritual properly so I can be free, please! For Danu's sake, don't skip the part where you eat my heart!"

"Shh!"

She froze. Who just shushed her?

Turning to her left, she spotted a figure sat against the base of a tree. He'd managed to camouflage himself with the foliage as she'd approached but now she could spot the skin of a....man.

No, wait.

"Are you....Are you the Wild God of the Dead?!"

"SHHH!" He said again, a finger on his lips.

"Oh, I...sorry." She lowered her voice, not wanting to anger him if he was a god.

Though his image didn't resemble any carvings she had seen.

"Me just got her to sleep." He muttered, one arm curled against his chest.

He wore the most basic and mis matched selection of furs. No real fabrics or patterns. There were those who chose to live fully out in nature away from the tribes but they were usually shamans and nomads. This man looked as though he'd never slept in a hut in his life.

Or death, she supposed.

"Are you a spirit too?" She asked, quietly, stepping closer; "What's your name?"

"Dunno."

"You don't know your name?" She frowned.

He shook his head; "Name in shadows right now. Can't be bothered to go find. Shadow where memories go to hide when brain too loud and scary."

Definitely not a god, Aelfwyn realised. The man sounded like those in her tribe who smoked too much of the relaxing leaf until it wore off and paranoia sent them mad. How long had he been here?

"I'm Aelfwyn of the Horseli. What was your tribe called?"

The man blinked, tucking his arm up again; "Tribe no have name. Children of Moonah. Other tribe be children of Sunne. Other children of Earth Mother. Good tribe and...bad tribe."

"Where are they now?"

"....Gone. Gone up to stars. Me stay. Me always stay." The voice sounded so very old, even though there wasn't too many signs of age on him as one would expect. No grey hairs, hardly any wrinkles.

His blue eyes that didn't quite meet hers stared out in a deep, agonising loss that chilled her bones.

"You're all alone here?" She asked.

He began to laugh; "Ha....Ha ha! No, silly horsey tribe lady! Me not alone. Me have Moonah! Your tribe....They give thanks to Moonah, yes?"

Something in the way his brow furrowed told her she should answer carefully.

"We call her Rhiannön. Yes, we give thanks and ask for her blessings each month."

"Oh....Yes, have seen you and tribe do ritual at Moonah ston. Very good. We come and join you, though you not see us."

"Us?"

"Me and daughter."

"Oh. You have a child here?" She glanced around.

The man nodded; "You...want to meet?"

"Yes, I love kids. How old is she?" Her heart stung as she realised she'd now never have ones of her own, not in that life.

"She...She only just been born..."

Aelfwyn blinked; "I thought you said she was with us on the last full moon?" Almost a month ago.

"Me did."

It took a second for the penny to drop, horrifying Aelfwyn at the realisation. Of course if the baby was a spirit, like her father, she would still be a newborn if that was when...

"I'm....I'm so sorry."

"Why sorry?"

"I...never mind," She shook her head; "Can I still see her? I'm good with babies, I've helped my mum deliver a few."

"Okay...if promise to be very careful..."

"I swear by the gods."

The man leaned forward and pulled back a section of his fur covering his front. Aelfwyn nearly startled back before she heard the tiniest snuffling sound.

Peering closer, she spotted a tiny ball of grey fur curled against the man's chest. It twisted, mewling a little, then poking out a black dot of a nose.

"Ain't she bootiful. Me very proud dad." He smiled down, "Say hello to Horsie Lady, Kya."

"....It's a wolf pup." Said Aelfwyn.

Another chuckle from the man; "No, no, no, that just fur me swaddle her in. She look just like me, see? Have same ugly nose."

There may have been a wild resemblance between the two creatures but she was certain the little thing was not a human babe.

But the man was looking at it with as much devotion in his eyes as any parent she'd seen when holding their baby for the first time. She doubted there was anything she could say to convince him otherwise.

Aelfwyn forced a smile; "She's lovely. Her mum not here?"

The man's face darkened with weariness and pain.

"....Go up to stars with rest of tribe...They all go up and leave us behind..." He sighed and then twitched his head; "Too many babies. Mum can't feed them all. Little one die. Me wait. Me watch. Me listen to her cry and beg for milk but she left behind. Just like me. So I wait. Then when she stop cry, I pick up..."

Except the cub was still crying for milk it would never receive, nuzzling its nose against his skin and finding nothing to sate it.

"...She mine. She my cub. Her cry just like my Kya so she must be same...spirit reborn, yes?"

He seemed to be trying to rationalise it, probably due to how Aelfwyn was looking at him. She couldn't hide her doubt.

But then the druids did say part of their souls returned to the earth to be born anew.

"I understand." She nodded, wanting to placate the man; "Can I hold her?"

"You have milk for her?"

"Uhh...no." Even if she did, she didn't think that was something she'd be comfortable with in any world.

The man shook his head; "She keep wanting milk but I tell her that Daddy no have boobies to give milk. Have to wait until Mum come back with brothers and sisters. Not long now..."

She no longer knew if he meant his real family or the wolves that had abandoned their runt.

Aelfwyn looked down at the pup again. Its eyes were closed, probably forever, but it wriggled and pawed against the man.

"Shh, shh, little one, we safe. Horsie lady good me think...." He rocked the pup close; "She know my scent. My skin. It always dark for her, you see. She won't know who you are if I hand over. Might think me left...Can't ever leave. Never."

"That's okay. I won't take her-."

"No, no, no," He clutched the cub tight, shaking his head fearfully; "No take. Not last one. She all I have. Please."

"I said I won't touch her. Not if you don't want me to." She dared to reach and touch the man's shoulder instead.

He struggled to steady his breathing as he looked at her with those haunted eyes.

"....You have leak in head." He whispered.

Aelfwyn touched the back of her skull and felt the indent along with a moist matt in her hair. When she looked at her fingers there was no blood.

"Sibling rivalry." She tried to jape, as it was all she could do.

"Me try to stop. Yelled at you both to shut up so no wake baby."

"Sorry about that." She sat cross legged beside the man; "Maybe I can make it up to you by helping you look after her? Children aren't supposed to be raised alone."

He nodded; "....Everyone raise together. Peace and love..." He stroked his thumb over the soft, velvet ears of the cub; "She miss her mum and siblings and cousins...She miss a lot of people."

"I bet she does." Aelfwyn whispered, her heart aching for the poor man.

She'd always thought of wondering spirits as mysterious or wise, even playful. She'd never expected one to be so sad.

"Here..." The man carefully handed the cub to her; "Mind head. Best she get to know your scent."

"You sure?" She never thought she'd feel so honoured to be passed a wolf pup.

He nodded; "We family now. Aelfwyn of Horsey Tribe."

The pup whined in distress as she was moved away from the only source of comfort she knew and into Aelfwyn's arms. The man kept his arm close to her, the sleeve of grey wolf fur close to the pup's nose.

"Me here, Kya. Daddy right here. Daddy always stay." He promised, voice cracking; "She not hear me before when I say...When she and her mum found body and they scream...she not hear me say I here..."

His voice trailed off again as his eyes glossed over. Aelfwyn held the cub up to her skin above her dress so it was resting just above her heartbeat.

Her other hand reached to squeeze the man's fingers.

"She hears you now. She knows." She did her best to reassure him, just as she'd seen her mother do to anxious parents.

This was a whole other case she hadn't been trained for.

"You look tired. I bet she's been keeping you up all these nights like babies do." She said, softly.

The man nodded, "Been waiting for mum to take her turn...She be here soon...She always come back to visit....Be here very soon...."

"I'm sure she will. How about you try to have a nap? I'll look after this one. She'll be safe with me, I swear."

Hesitation and fear twitched in those lips again for a moment. Then he saw how the pup was starting to yawn and relax against Aelfwyn's chest.

He smiled, his eyelids clearly heavy. When had he last slept? No wonder he'd lost his mind.

"You wake when they come back? Please?"

"I will."

She tugged him to lay on his side and use her thigh as a pillow.

"Be good for horse lady, Kya. Daddy just take little sleep. Be good girl..." He whispered before closing his eyes; "Be good...Stay...Must always stay..."

Aelfwyn sighed, stroking the man's ragged mane while cradling the pup in her other arm. This was not how she imagined spending her afterlife. She hoped her sister would hurry up with the ritual so her spirit could move on...

Assuming that's how it worked. She wondered if she was desperate to become the same as the man on her lap, trapped and driven insane, clinging to whatever shred of company he could and convince himself it was his lost kin. The thought terrified her.

"We'll just have to wait and see, won't we Kya." She whispered to the cub.

#bbc ghosts fanfic #bbc ghosts #ghosts oc #angst #robin the caveman #oc: aelfwyn

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krakenera · 1 year

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They’ve boarded the Spaniard’s ship to pandemonium. Izzy watches in horror as several crewmembers are shot, run through, or pushed over the side of the ship. He manages to hold his own well enough, and doesn’t let Ed board until the crew’s almost entirely slaughtered or incapacitated.

When Ed hops onto the deck, his eyes immediately go to where a crewman has cut down a half-dead Stede Bonnet. Izzy frowns as he looks at the immense amount of blood pooling from his gut. So much for that, then. A waste of fucking men and ammo.

Ed frowns and hurries over to the man, pushing the hair back from his face. Bonnet’s still alive enough to turn his head slightly, blinking up at Ed. Ed grins slightly, sharp fangs peeking out.

“The gentleman pirate, I presume?” he asks.

“You…you’ve heard of me?” the man replies in a breath, and then seemingly passes out. The blood continues to pool around his wound. The others of his crew, a menagerie of pathetic looking almost-sailors, watch on in horror.

Ed goes to patch up the wound, and Izzy doesn’t miss the way he licks his lips. The blood doesn’t stop as Ed applies pressure, the man entirely limp where he lies on the deck, pale and lifeless.

“Well, if you wanted a taste, now’s your chance,” Izzy says. As stupid as the ponce seems, his blood does smell particularly appealing. Aristocrat blood, sugary and rich. He’s not sure it’s worth the trip, but whatever. That’s that.

Ed swallows and stands up.

“Turn him.”

“What?”

Ed’s eyes are dark, serious, and he repeats himself. “Turn him. Quickly. Fore he’s gone.” He stands, fixing Izzy with his gaze.

“Edward…” Izzy doesn’t fucking turn people. Ed knows that. And who the fuck is this? The idiot had it coming, pretending to be a pirate. Play dangerous games win dangerous fucking prizes.

“Said I wanted to meet with him, didn’t I? Can’t do that if he’s fucking dead, can I? Turn him.” Ed’s voice has that edge to it, the one that Izzy’s learned to be wary of. Still, this is fucking insane.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Fucking deadly, mate.”

“Ed, he’s dead, can we just—” Izzy starts.

Ed reaches out to grab Izzy’s shirt without looking up from Stede, yanking him up close. “You were supposed to bloody get me a meeting with him. Now, do your fucking job.” He shoves Izzy toward Stede.

Izzy stumbles, climbing onto his knees beside Stede. He looks out at the crew, who all watch. Fuck. Fuck.

“Ed,” he tries once more. This is so fucking stupid.

Ed’s eyes are on Bonnet, but he reaches across to the railing and slams his fist down on it. The wood splinters and he tears a piece free, pointing it toward Izzy. Izzy’s eyes land on the point end and he swallows.

“I believe your captain gave you an order, Hands.”

Izzy looks down at Bonnet, shaking his head as he hunches over him. He bites off the rope around his neck and tosses it aside, then clamps his fangs down into his neck.

He was right. The blood is rich, sweet, honestly fucking delicious. Izzy hadn’t realized how hungry he was. With how much blood is currently outside the man’s body, he has to control himself. He needs to do this quickly for it to work. Tempted as he is to drain what’s left of him, he reluctantly pulls himself back and sinks his fangs into his own wrist. He sends one more glance toward Ed, who watches intently with wide eyes, and then brings his bleeding wrist to Bonnet’s lips. The blood drips into his mouth. Izzy lets a good amount slide past his lips before he pulls back and collapses against the deck. He watches Bonnet carefully, frowning when nothing seems to happen. It’s been a while since he turned someone, maybe he somehow lost the ability. Maybe Bonnet had already been too far gone.

Suddenly, Bonnet gasps. He groans, his muscles visibly seizing, and he cries out a loud, pained, inhuman, scream. His hand splashes in the puddle of his own blood, and he reaches up to touch his neck, gasping, still seizing, leaving a bloody handprint where the noose had been. He passes out.

Ed sighs, relieved.

“Thanks, Izzy.”

#me: i have two chaptered fics i want to finish asap #also me: what if vampire steddyhands #ofmd fic #izzy hands #edward teach #stede bonnet #steddyhands #blackhands #i rarely write something under like 2k words so imma post this here sbsnsb #i will likely come back to this as i have several vampire ideas #long post

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words-writ-in-starlight · 3 years

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day 5: "betrayal"

When Cassandra de Rolo was fourteen years old, her brother Julius came into her room and shook her awake with blood on his sword. He had killed three guards to reach her room, and he was already hurt, bleeding from a wound in his shoulder where a blade had pierced muscle and bone badly enough that he held his sword in his off hand. He whispered to her to get up, to get out of Castle Whitestone, to run for her life and not look back. He promised that they would meet her in the forest, that he and Vesper were just going to get their brothers and they would be right there to find her.

If someone had asked her, the day before, hours ago at dinner, if she trusted Julius, Cassandra would have said without hesitation that he could put a sword to her throat and she wouldn’t even flinch.

Now, though, she cringed away from the dark hallway, and from Julius, the blood black in the moonlight spilling through her window. She could hear someone shouting, a deep, booming voice that echoed off the stone, but she couldn’t make out the words.

“What’s happening?” Cassandra managed in a shaking voice.

“It’s going to be okay,” Julius said, holding out his empty hand to her. He winced, and his wounded shoulder stopped short at an odd angle, but he tried to smile at her. “There’s fighting in the castle. You need to get out, all right? I’m going to send Ludwig after you, we’re going to be fine.”

Cassandra stared at him, gasping in shallow breaths of air as her head spun. Her hands were cold, and her ears were pounding, and she looked Julius in the eye, reliable Julius who let her and Ludwig build a fort under his desk last year even though they were really too old for it, honest Julius who never lied even when their parents asked him who had let Percival dismantle a firework on their dining hall table.

Julius, Cassandra understood in a hollow kind of way, was lying to her.

Cassandra clenched her fists tight, and nodded.

“All right.”

“Good girl,” Julius said, and his smile trembled a little as she stood up. “Go through the servant’s passages. Don’t let anyone see you. Don’t stop, no matter what you see. If you can’t get out, hide until the noise stops, and then run.” She nodded again, stiffly, standing barefoot in her nightgown, and Julius let out a ragged breath. He caught her around the shoulders with his injured arm and pressed her close to him for a moment, kissed her on the forehead.

And then he left.

Cassandra counted to thirty after Julius left, and then darted down the corridor on bare feet, trusting her knowledge of the castle to carry her through the dark, one hand trailing fingertips across the wall to keep count of doors. One door—washroom—two doors—study—three doors—Vesper’s room—her foot landed in a puddle of something slick and warm and she almost skidded into the wall at the corner, but years of experience with ice and snow kept her upright. Cassandra refused to think about what she had stepped in. Vesper was the best fighter Cassandra knew, their father’s pride and joy. She must have fought someone here, and beaten them. She must have told Julius to get Cassandra up, because she was a better fighter than him, and she could get to the others faster.

Leaning against the wall, Cassandra palmed blindly, fumbling, for the concealed door to the servants stairs. They led straight down to the scullery. The scullery opened onto the back courtyard, where the maids hung out the laundry on every fourth day during the summer. The back courtyard was gated off, but Cassandra could climb the wrought iron fence, the twins had bet her their dessert for a week that she couldn’t climb it faster than they could, two years ago. She had whipped them handily, and their mother had grounded her for risking her neck, but had also made the boys give up Cassandra’s winnings every night. Once Cassandra was outside the castle, she could run for the town and—no, the forest. Julius had told her to run to the forest.

It was the middle of the night, in the height of winter. Cassandra had never been in anything less than disastrous trouble for going into the forest at night, and everyone in Whitestone knew not to play dice with the cold, but—

All she needed to do was get down the stairs, Cassandra told herself. Then she was practically already free.

Her fingers found the latch, and Cassandra pulled open the well-oiled door in a silent rush, ready to run headlong down the stairs to safety.

There was a light, casting shadows on the far wall of the spiral stair. It was probably a dim thing, really, the steady white glow of an arcane source rather than a flicker of flame, but in comparison to the black of the corridor, Cassandra flinched back like she was looking into the sun.

It was that instinct that saved her life. Later, she knew, if she lived long enough to see a later, she would think about that moment where she flinched, instead of running forward as she’d planned, and know that she had been that split second from giving herself away. Instead, she had a heartbeat of time to see the light rise up the stairs, listen to the footsteps coming toward her and the voices calling to each other below, and understand that she wasn’t quite caught, not yet.

Cassandra didn’t latch the door shut, afraid of the noise. Instead, she pushed it back to touch the jamb, and ran for the first door she could reach.

Cassandra wasn’t as smart as Percival. She wasn’t as strong as Vesper. But Cassandra was fast, and she was small, and her siblings hadn’t beaten her in hide-and-seek since she was six years old.

Vesper’s bedroom floor was covered with a soft red rug, a simple pattern of red and brown and blue that Vesper sometimes laid on after training, flat on her back, while Julius called her a lazy sod and she snickered at him. But what mattered now, as Cassandra tried to breathe quietly and think in orderly lines, problem-to-solution, like Percival told her to when she was complaining about her studies, was that the rug was deeply piled, thick fibers that their mother always told them not to walk on in their boots. She said that it was too quick to absorb anything, and it was rude to make the servants clean it every three days just because they were a pack of young ferals who couldn’t take their shoes off.

Cassandra made directly for it, guided by her memory of the room and the dim light spilling through Vesper’s open curtains. There was more slick liquid in Vesper’s doorway, forcing Cassandra to walk through it again, and then something piled on the floor, barely visible as a dark shadow against lighter shadows, and Cassandra, hands shaking, reached out to touch it. Her hands found a shoulder. It was still, and warm.

She needed to run. She needed to run right now, before her luck turned. But—

Cassandra’s hands were grown clumsy with fear, shivering and betraying her as she groped down the shoulder, for the arm, and then the hand. It was wrapped loosely around a sword, wet and glossy in the moonlight, and she tried to find the wrist, tried to find a pulse. Her other hand tracked up the shoulder to the neck, then to the jawline. The hair was long. Cassandra had to—she had to see the face, she had to know—

“Up here,” a voice called in the corridor, and Cassandra’s heart stopped. “This door is cracked. How many of the kids have we accounted for?”

Crouching on the ground, frozen, like a rabbit hearing the dogs closing in, Cassandra clutched at the body that might have been her sister, or might have been a stranger, and strained to make out the answer. She couldn’t, not quite. She thought there had only been one syllable called back up the stairs. Not all of them, then, no matter what number it was—it couldn’t be all of them because, she realized with a cold jolt, they hadn’t found her yet.

Forcing herself to stand, to leave the unknown body on the floor, was even harder than standing up had been, when Julius had come into her room. But she did it, and ran forward as quietly as she could manage, onto the familiar softness of Vesper’s rug. She scrubbed the soles of her feet against it, for as long as she dared, and then dashed forward for Vesper’s window seat.

Vesper’s window seat had been a gift for her twentieth birthday, a coming-of-age present from their mother. It was a long, solid bench with a cushioned seat and an engraving of the sun from the de Rolo crest, framed by a pair of swords. It was also hollow. Vesper, who had been using her wardrobe to store her armor and weapons despite pleas to consider their effect on the linens, had laughed, and filled it with sheets, blankets, and out-of-season clothing. The weapons were still in the wardrobe, but they did less damage now that they had more space.

Cassandra heaved the lid open as carefully as she could, quietly, and rolled herself inside. She lowered the lid down over her, nearly silently, and, in the dark, she began wriggling beneath layers of cloth. It was midwinter—this was not ideal, Cassandra noted with a kind of hysterical clarity, because it meant that most of Vesper’s thick blankets and coats were in use, and she was left with lighter summer wear to cover herself with. But she dug down through the clothes, deeper into the dark, until her hands hit the wood. Then she twisted herself around, so that she was on her side, pressed up against one edge of the window seat and buried under her sister’s clothes, and pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her breathing, and waited.

Cassandra waited as the voice left the stairwell and split up across the corridor.

She waited as heavy footfalls, not even bothering with stealth anymore, marched into Vesper’s room.

She waited as Vesper’s room was searched.

She waited, holding her breath and trying not to shake so much that she would be seen, as the window seat was opened, inspected, and declared nothing but old clothes.

And then, as the footsteps moved back toward the door, Cassandra heard the invader speak again. And now, closer, she thought she recognized the voice. It was—

Cassandra closed her eyes, hand still pressed over her mouth, as Captain Stonefell called out to his guards.

“Nothing here. Except this—” a thud, as if kicking something heavy, and a metal skittering “—room’s empty. You, go round up the rest of the boys and tell them we’re searching the castle. Sweep from this floor down. She’s a little slip of a thing, can’t have gotten far.”

“Yes, sir,” a handful of voices called back.

Another voice asked, “Does the Lady have any instructions for her? Or the doctor?”

“The doc thinks she can get everything she needs out of Percival,” Stonefell said. “And Lady Briarwood says that anyone Ripley doesn’t need dies. Once it’s done, put her with the others. Get a move on!”

A sob was building in Cassandra’s chest, or maybe a scream, an inarticulate howl of grief and terror. Put her with the others. Did that mean—was it possible that only she and Percival were left? But Julius couldn’t have left more than five minutes ago, and he had said that Vesper was getting the others. It couldn’t have happened that quickly, a young, desperate part of her whispered. They were her family. They were her family, they were supposed to be there always, they were the de Rolos and they were supposed to live as long as Whitestone did.

Cassandra choked down the child’s wail. She couldn’t let the Briarwoods’ people—their guests, people they thought were their friends—find her. She had to—

She had to wait, like Julius had said. She couldn’t get out while they were searching the castle, but, she realized, inspiration striking, she might be able to wait them out. If she could wait long enough for them to believe she’d made it out of the castle unseen, they would start to sweep the forest instead. That would get most of the people out of the castle—the forest was massive, the snow making it hard to search efficiently with anything but magic, and surely, if they could use magic to find her, they would have done it already. And then, hopefully, she could make her escape.

And—Percival. Percy, that nickname he always hated, that they all used when they wanted to get under his skin. Her most annoying brother, who was a pretentious prick when he wanted to be, who was so sure that he was the smartest person in any room half the time, who was always trying to get her to care about things like math, and gadgets, and science.

Who let her sit on the floor of his workshop when she was bored of learning about diplomacy and negotiations, and made her little wire figurines out of his scraps.

Ripley, the doctor the Briarwoods had brought with them—she had him. She wanted something from him, wanted something from the de Rolos besides their home, their fear, and their lives. Maybe something about one of Percival’s inventions, or something that any of them might have answered, but—a horrifying thought—Percival was the oldest de Rolo left.

It didn’t matter what they wanted, Cassandra decided, after what felt like hours turning the possibilities over in the dark. Percival was her brother. The Briarwoods could choke on the de Rolo defiance before she let them keep her brother.

Cassandra waited, listening to the search, peering out through the cracked lid of the window seat when she felt sure of the silence. She didn’t think she slept, but time passed strangely, in long syrupy dollops of fear and heart-pounding boredom. There was chill winter light, the muted white brilliance of an overcast day, pouring through the windows by the time Cassandra had finally stopped hearing the footsteps of guards searching the upper floors.

When peeking out revealed no noise or sight of another presence, she counted to five hundred before she dared to struggle out of her hiding place. Her legs were numb and her back ached and she was clumsy with the adrenaline of the night, and the lid of the window seat crashed out of her grip when she tried to close it. The sound was deafening in the mausoleum silence of the castle.

Cassandra stopped breathing.

No one came.

All right. That was good, Cassandra tried to tell herself as she crept toward Vesper’s door. The soft red carpet was still bloodstained from her feet, but in broad tacky smears that looked nothing like footprints. There was the puddle of blood she had stepped in beside the door. The body was gone, along with its sword. Cassandra tried not to look too long at the place where it had lain.

Cassandra stopped on her way to the door, and turned to Vesper’s wardrobe. Vesper’s wardrobe, full of weapons, the doors still flung carelessly open by the searching guards. One of Vesper’s swords, her favorite, was missing—probably she had taken it. There were two other swords, a handful of knives of various styles, a bow and a number of arrows, and Vesper’s deep blue winter coat.

Cassandra took a dagger, and the coat.

Cassandra tried to visualize the castle in her mind, every nook or cranny that she and her siblings had ever crept into. Where would she go if she was an invading murderer hoping to interrogate a teenager? It was a ridiculous question.

Maybe it was the wrong question, Cassandra thought as she slipped into the hall, taking careful steps to keep her bare feet out of the dried blood, now that she could see to avoid it. Maybe she shouldn’t be wondering where they were interrogating Percival. She couldn’t get him away from Ripley even if she found them—she was one girl, armed with a knife she wasn’t sure she could use and armored with her older sister’s overlarge coat. Besides, they could be interrogating him anywhere in the castle, and eliminating rooms one at a time sounded like a long and exhausting way to commit suicide, after she had gone to so much trouble to live.

But, if they were hoping to interrogate Percival, they would have to keep him somewhere.

And the castle did have a dungeon.

#whumptober 2021 #no.5 #betrayal #critical role #vox machina #cassandra de rolo #fic #violence #i am actually going to hunt through the rest of the prompts and find an appropriate one for the rest of this #because i have a Hunger to write this all the way through to the end of cassandra's worst day ever #there's a stabbing prompt? is that too much of a stretch for 'shot full of arrows'?#but i figured i'd stop here because it's already pushing 3k so y'know #here #UGH i love the de rolos what a nightmare #this includes several of my inane headcanons!#including that julius was a very good eldest son (trustworthy loyal honorable all that shit)#and that vesper was a fighter who liked Weapons and also her siblings #and that percy actually did not care for being called percy until after his whole family--everyone who called him percy--was murdered #starlight writes stuff

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the-weirdos-mind · 3 years

Text

League of Villains X Teen! Reader: You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid

Songfic of the song with the same name by The Offspring. Here’s the reader’s quirk:

Quirk- Manipulation

Type- Emitter

How it works- Similar to Aizawa’s and Nighteye’s quirks you have to look someone in the eye to get them under control. They’re unaware that you’re controlling them but still aware of their senses. When you have someone under control you can do whatever you want with them until you either look away from that person (it doesn’t always have to be eye contact), blink, or release them. Whenever someone is under your spell, it’s like being trapped in a room with one-way glass. They are aware of what’s going on but, can’t get help.

Drawbacks- If you use the power for more than an hour you’ll get a headache. If you push yourself you’ll get a migraine. You can choose when to activate it and for how long but the time still adds to an hour no matter how many times you activate it in the day.

Trigger warnings: Blood and use of violence, if I’m missing anything then let me know so I can correct it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Show me how to lie You're getting better all the time And turning all against the one Is an art that's hard to teach

You followed Giran down the hallway to an unknown place. You had the hood of you (F/C) on to hide your (H/L) (H/C) hair with your eyes on the ground. You watched as foot after foot in (F/C) shoes put pressure on the dirty ground. You mentally sighed as you reflect your life choices. You didn’t want to live this life but everyone around you saw your quirk as one thing; villainous. You got tired of the words and became what they wanted you be. You realized that heroes are worthless and they didn’t care that a young (boy/girl/person) was heading down a dark path. You glanced up to see the man opening the door. You immediately looked down and followed him in the room.

Side glancing at the room you noticed it was a bar. There was a purple cloud like man with yellow eyes in a suit and a metal brace around his neck. He was polishing a glass behind the bar. On a red stool was another man holding a glass of alcohol. He had his pinky raised away from the glass though and you silently raised an eyebrow. Is this because of his quirk or is he British? His shaggy blue hair was covering most of his face but when he turned to face the two, you saw a pale hand covering his face and his red eyes glaring at you. You glanced down at the floor. Not yet.

“You seriously brought a child?” He asked setting the glass cup down. “You do know that this is for mature adults? And (she/he/they) can’t stare at me in the eyes? How rude.” His voice was raspy and you concluded he was holding the glass like that was because of his quirk.

“Shigaraki, this is (Y/N), I brought (him/her/them) cause (he/she/they) need some training with (his/her/their) quirk.” Giran said and took a drag from his cigarette. He exhaled and a smoke cloud came in the room. “(He/She/They) is getting better at it but, (he/she/they) still needs some help.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “At least I don’t treat kids like they’re nothing.” You mumbled still bitter about Shigaraki’s comment.

“What was that?” The blue haired man asked, dangerously.

“So, you’re deaf huh? I thought an excellent leader would treat a new recruit with respect no matter the age they are.”

Another clever word Sets off an unsuspecting herd And as you get back into line A mob jumps to their feet

“Shut up.” Shigaraki muttered and scratched his neck. He was stressed about the trouble this kid was causing. Sure he and Dabi didn’t get along but he liked being in control. “(He/She/They) is mature for (his/her/their) age.” Giran said. “Maybe with (him/her/them) as leader it won’t be bad.” He added. He knew what you were doing. If you get him mad enough to get him to look at you in the eye then you can show off your quirk. You did keep your mouth shut as the man stood up and walked over to you. You looked at him in the eye and a (F/C) hue came to your (E/C) eyes. His eyes begin to fog up a little, not enough to appear blind but enough to look suspicious.

Now dance, ****er, dance Man, he never had a chance And no one even knew It was really only you

Shigaraki barely saw the change of your eye color. He was so surprised to started dancing. His feet moved in a fast pace in place. “What the ****!?!” He yelled, only in his mind. Dabi started laughing again. The scarred man leaned over clutching his stomach. He’s laughing so hard he might start crying, or blood will fall from his destroyed tear ducts, if he’s not careful. After a few minutes of dancing you blinked to end the curse on him. They didn’t know that you caused it to happen. Giran smirked and patted you on the head. “What the h***?” The man asked looking around, wondering what just happened.

“That is (his/her/their) quirk at work.” He man said before the other could get angry. “With a power like (hers/his/theirs) would be useful for heist situations and causing diversions wouldn’t it?”

“What is (his/her/theirs) quirk?” The wisp man asked.

“Manipulation.” You said. “Whenever I look at someone in the eyes it activates my power. I can hold control of them for at least an hour before I get a headache. Best part is no one knows that they’re under my grasp.” You said.

“I’ll admit that I’m impressed.” Shigaraki said. “Welcome I guess.”

Giran smiled. “You won’t be disappointed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And now you steal away Take him out today

After a few weeks of joining the League you’re on your first solo mission. Before this one you were mainly paired with a blonde haired girl named Toga. She was pretty nice when she wasn’t obsessing over blood or trying to stab you. Other times you were paired with a man named Twice. He would say two different things and it would give you mixed feelings about a job well done.

You walked through the area of the city to a hero agency. Your job is to find maps of the inside and steal them. Shigaraki didn’t care if they were on paper or not all he cared about was getting them, It’s pretty simple to do but considering this is you, you had a knife and a handheld gun just in case if things went south. So far it was going well. You got a security guard under control and using him you were able to get a computer with the building’s layout on it. Pulling out a flash drive that Compress had given you, you stuck it in the computer and start downloading. Unfortunately, you looked away from the guard and he glared at you.

“I don’t know your plan here kid, but it’s best if you leave now.” He said. He did try to alert someone but it was useless, he was trapped in his mind until you looked away. You looked at him and put your hand in your pocket with the knife.

“I don’t think so.” You said. Before he could call for backup you pulled the knife out and threw it at his chest. He gasped at the impact of the knife and slumped to the floor. Blood was falling from the wound fast, staining his shirt and forming a puddle. Thankfully there was a ding as the data had finished uploading to the flash drive. You walked over to the computer and pulled it out. You smirked as you pocketed it and pulled the knife out from the guard. You left the building leaving behind a guard slowly bleeding to death.

Nice work you did You're gonna go far, kid

You walked back into the hideout and put the flash drive on the bar next to Shigaraki. He nodded at you when he saw it. “Good job. A win for us.” He said and carefully pocketed the piece of tech.

“And in an hour too.” Spinner said.

“That’s really impressive!” Twice said. “It’s not that impressive.”

You feel a hand clamp on your head and ruffle your hair. “Not bad, kid.” Dabi said. He could tell you’re gonna go far in the villain industry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With a thousand lies And a good disguise Hit 'em right between the eyes Hit 'em right between the eyes

You had gotten in the school with one of the best lies you have, your parents went there. It wasn’t U.A. but it’s also training people for the hero industry. The plan was to get the best marks in the school and transfer to U.A. as the highest in your class. Giran came into play for making fake documents that pass off as real.

The one on one fight that took place with some kid you didn’t even bother to know was annoying. His quirk was something water related and you almost drowned a couple of times. You finally looked at him in the eye and ordered him to stop. You ran up to him and punched his face, in the between the eyes a couple of times. The first one stun him while the other knocked him out.

When you walk away Nothing more to say See the lightning in your eyes See 'em running for their lives

You panted and wiped the sweat away from your forehead. You walked away from the ring where the training took place and looked at everyone else. They looked away from you in fear and parted like a body of water. You swore you saw someone running for their life. You smirked to yourself and took your seat on the bleachers. Pride danced in your eyes like lightning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly out of line And drifting closer in your sights So play it out I'm wide awake It's a scene about me

The first thing the infamous Class 1-A noticed about you is how secretive you were. You shared nothing about yourself other than your name and quirk. They noticed that you did some… shady things to put it mildly. Some noticed you snuck out of the dorms at night. Idia, Miydoriya, Bakugo and Todoroki had followed you to an alleyway and heard you talking to some shadowy figure there. Both spoke in soft whispers that they couldn’t tell who you were talking to and whether or not they were male or female. Other than that occurrence, they didn’t get anything else.

About a week later, the League attacked UA. You had managed to get them in through your student ID and gave them full access to the school, by a really good copy of the little plastic card. Five minutes prior to the attack, you had excused yourself from math, who needs it anyways, and went to the bathroom. While the lockdown was going on, you met with Toga in the halls. The plan was to get to All Might and kill him, the typical plan made by the man child of a leader you have. You both heard footsteps running towards you and saw it was the class president, Iida. “(L/N), get away from her!” He yelled, doing his hand chop thing. You smirked and took out the dagger the blonde handed you. “No, I don’t think I will.” You responded. Time to shine.

There's something in your way And now someone is gonna pay And if you can't get what you want, Well, it's all because of me

He stood there, shell shocked at the sight before him. His classmate was a villain? You couldn’t use your quirk yet, anyways. You decided to let the scene play out. You let a dark chuckle seeing his face. “All my life I’ve been told that I was best suited for a villain. You know, you could’ve used the time you knew me to get to know me but, everyone treated me the same as before! It’s too bad that things had to end like this. Wait, no it’s not that bad. You and your class are gonna pay!” You yelled. You lunged at him and he dodged as he snapped out of his shocked state.

“(Y/N), it doesn’t have to be this way!” He said and continued to dodge the blade. He was still surprised and didn’t attempt to fight back because he couldn’t believe the suspicions about you were true. You growled in frustration. “It’s too late for me anyways. You can’t turn me to the light.” You said and looked at him in the eyes and yours started glowing (F/C). He almost let out a gasp but it didn’t leave his body as his eyes fogged up a little.

Now dance, ****er, dance, man, I never had a chance And no one even knew, it was really only you And now you'll lead the way

You smiled as the class representative had fallen for your trick. “Now, we’re going back to the class, and you’re going to act like everything is alright.” You ordered.

He nodded. “Yes, (Sir/Ma’am/Other).” He said, voice coming out robotically. He set off to find his class and you followed him, due to your power. The irony of the situation was almost amusing to you. Almost. The head of the class, now a puppet. A puppet that can dance to whatever twisted moves that you have set for it.

Show the light of day Nice work you did You're gonna go far, kid Trust deceived

You followed him down the twisting paths of the hallways to the rest of the class. Your gaze fixed on the back of his head. You knew Toga was going to inform everyone else that everything was according to plan. Finally, the two of you reached the hiding area where everyone else was. “Thank goodness you found, (him/her/them!)” You heard Izuku said. Then he noticed that something was off about his classmates. You were refusing to look at anybody else than the boy in front of you and Iida’s looked dazed. Like he was… under someone’s control.

The greenette’s eyes widened. His classmate was… no. He had his suspicions but the truth is hard to handle. Before he could say anything, Iida gave him a swift kick in the face.

With a thousand lies and a good disguise Hit 'em right between the eyes Hit 'em right between the eyes

They stood there in surprise and shock. A blanket of fear had covered them, making them stand there like statues. The only sounds were the groans of Miydoriya and the thud of his body hitting the ground. “I-Iida.” Ochaco stuttered in fear. No one had expected the class president to attack their classmate outside of training. The blue haired boy then hit the nearest person, Mineta, giving him a punch to the cheek. No one really reacted to that. In all honesty, the grape had it coming.

When you walk away, nothing more to say See the lightning in your eyes See 'em running for their lives

While they were distracted, you used the opportunity to leave. It didn’t matter if Iida was going to spill the secret you kept from them. That s*** was already out. You smirked to yourself knowing which side of the street you belong in.

Now dance, ****er, dance, he never had a chance And no one even knew, it was really only you So dance, ****er, dance, I never had a chance It was really only you

The mission went out as planned. It was only a ploy to strike fear in the hearts of citizens. After all, an attack with no causalities is far worse with ones that do. You now sat at the bar, a bottle of water in your hand. You may be a criminal but the age of drinking consent is something that you can’t argue with. No matter how hard you tried. The news was on talking about the event. Everyone was able to get away without anyone being caught. Call it luck or whatever but, you’re thankful that they did. The anchorwoman was talking about how a student was involved with the League and helped out. A picture of your face appeared on the screen and you smirked. It wasn’t a school photo but a mugshot from a previous capture. One you managed to get away from. No one even suspected you, or so you think, but regardless it’s wonderful to see.

With a thousand lies and a good disguise Hit 'em right between the eyes Hit 'em right between the eyes

You couldn’t help but chuckled remembering the looks on each of their faces. What they thought was a classmate was really playing a part. A perfect disguise if you asked yourself. You have the innocent looking (boy/girl/person) appearance and if anyone who didn’t know you found out about your job. It would’ve made you laugh as not everything is as it seems.

Your fists tingled as they remembered the feeling of their face contacting your skin. You placed the hand that held the plastic bottle on top of the other’s knuckles. The feeling is something you’re going to remember for a long time.

When you walk away, nothing more to say See the lightning in your eyes See 'em running for their lives

A pair of footsteps came walking in and you dropped your hands to your lap. You see Shigaraki walking into the bar holding a folder, with a finger away from it as always. You know it could only mean one thing. “Another mission?” You asked, voicing your thoughts. The boss nodded and handed it to you.

“Go over it and be ready for when the time comes. You did good on your last mission, keep up the good work. You’re a valuable character.” He said before walking away. You weren’t sure if the last sentence was a praise or another video game term but regardless you nodded.

“Will do.” You said and opened it up, wondering what will be to cause more fear in the people. And more pride in yourself. Each success makes you happy.

Clever alibis, Lord of the Flies Hit 'em right between the eyes Hit 'em right between the eyes

You almost busted out laughing seeing which role you were supposed to play. An innocent citizen who loves all the hero crap. You won’t be alone this time, having Toga to accompany you on this one. You felt excited for the mission. It would mean more people will realize what idiots heroes truly are. The truth will knock them down from the clouds.

When you walk away, nothing more to say See the lightning in your eyes See 'em running for their lives

But right now, it’s time for a nap. The last mission tired you out. You took the folder with you and walked to your room. All that matters right now is a bed, a blanket, and wonderful dreams of a world where people run in fear from you.

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Hiiii, so I decided to continue my combing through the books for random specific Everlark related content series. This one is Katniss and Peeta taking care of each other. This is Part One and only includes stuff from the first book because it was getting too long. 😭😅. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy.

I gently unzip his jacket, unbutton his shirt and ease them off him. His undershirt is so plastered into his wounds I have to cut it away with my knife and drench him again to work it loose. He’s badly bruised with a long burn across his chest and four tracker jacker stings, if you count the one under his ear. But I feel a bit better. This much I can fix. I decide to take care of his upper body first, to alleviate some pain, before I tackle whatever damage Cato did to his leg.

Since treating his wounds seems pointless when he’s lying in what’s become a mud puddle, I manage to prop him up against a boulder. He sits there, uncomplaining, while I wash away all the traces of dirt from his hair and skin. His flesh is very pale in the sunlight and he no longer looks strong and stocky. I have to dig the stingers out of his tracker jacker lumps, which causes him to wince, but the minute I apply the leaves he sighs in relief. While he dries in the sun, I wash his filthy shirt and jacket and spread them over boulders. Then I apply the burn cream to his chest. This is when I notice how hot his skin is becoming. The layer of mud and the bottles of water have disguised the fact that he’s burning with fever. I dig through the first-aid kit I got from the boy from District 1 and find pills that reduce your temperature.

“Swallow these,” I tell him, and he obediently takes the medicine. “You must be hungry.”

“Not really. It’s funny, I haven’t been hungry for days,” says Peeta. In fact, when I offer him groosling, he wrinkles his nose at it and turns away. That’s when I know how sick he is.

“Peeta, we need to get some food in you,” I insist.

“It’ll just come right back up,” he says. The best I can do is to get him to eat a few bits of dried apple. “Thanks. I’m much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?” he asks.

“Soon,” I promise. “I need to look at your leg first.” Trying to be as gentle as I can, I remove his boots, his socks, and then very slowly inch his pants off of him.

I scoot my square of plastic under him so I can wash down the rest of him. With each bottle I pour over him, the worse the wound looks. The rest of his lower body has fared pretty well, just one tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that I treat quickly. But the gash on his leg . . . what on earth can I do for that?

I know the tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so I start with those. Within minutes of pressing the handful of chewed-up green stuff into the wound, pus begins running down the side of his leg.

“What next, Dr. Everdeen?” he asks.

“Maybe I’ll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?” I say. I do and the whole thing seems a lot more manageable, covered in clean white cotton.

I help him dress, leaving his feet bare so we can walk in the water, and pull him upright. His face drains of color the moment he puts weight on his leg. “Come on. You can do this.”

But he can’t. Not for long anyway. We make it about fifty yards downstream, with him propped up by my shoulder, and I can tell he’s going to black out. I sit him on the bank, push his head between his knees, and pat his back awkwardly as I survey the area.

When Peeta’s able to stand, I half-guide, half-carry him up to the cave. Really, I’d like to look around for a better place, but this one will have to do because my ally is shot. Paper white, panting, and, even though it’s only just cooling off, he’s shivering.

I cover the floor of the cave with a layer of pine needles, unroll my sleeping bag, and tuck him into it. I get a couple of pills and some water into him when he’s not noticing, but he refuses to eat even the fruit. Then he just lies there, his eyes trained on my face as I build a sort of blind out of vines to conceal the mouth of the cave.

I check his forehead and find it burning and dry. I don’t know what to do. Leave him in the bag and hope the excessive heat breaks the fever? Take him out and hope the night air cools him off? I end up just dampening a strip of bandage and placing it on his forehead.

I spend the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Peeta, refreshing the bandage.

Peeta sits beside me, leaning against the wall, his bad leg stretched out before him, his eyes trained on the world outside. “Go to sleep,” he says softly. His hand brushes the loose strands of my hair off my forehead. Unlike the staged kisses and caresses so far, this gesture seems natural and comforting. I don’t want him to stop and he doesn’t. He’s still stroking my hair when I fall asleep.

I give him more fever pills and stand over him while he drinks first one, then a second quart of water. Then I tend to his minor wounds, the burns, the stings, which are showing improvement.

Peeta’s stretched out on top of the sleeping bag in the shade of the rocks. Although he brightens a bit when I come in, it’s clear he feels miserable. I put cool cloths on his head, but they warm up almost as soon as they touch his skin.

I sit back on my heels and look at him with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction. A stray berry stains his chin and I wipe it away. “Who can’t lie, Peeta?” I say, even though he can’t hear me.

I gingerly lift my hand to my head and find it bandaged. This simple gesture leaves me weak and dizzy. Peeta holds a bottle to my lips and I drink thirstily.

He doesn’t seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I’m just too beat-up and I’ll hear about it later when I’m stronger. But for the moment, he’s all gentleness.

“You need to eat. I’ll go hunting soon,” I say.

“Not too soon, all right?” he says. “You just let me take care of you for a while.”

Peeta feeds me bites of groosling and raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. He rubs some warmth back into my feet and wraps them in his jacket before tucking the sleeping bag back up around my chin.

Rain drips through several holes in the ceiling, but Peeta has built a sort of canopy over my head and upper body by wedging the square of plastic into the rocks above me.

“I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

My socks are dry enough to wear now. I make Peeta put his jacket back on. The damp cold seems to cut right down to my bones, so he must be half frozen. I insist on taking the first watch, too, although neither of us think it’s likely anyone will come in this weather. But he won’t agree unless I’m in the bag, too, and I’m shivering so hard that it’s pointless to object. In stark contrast to two nights ago, when I felt Peeta was a million miles away, I’m struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow; the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s arms have made me feel this safe.

I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought.

Although I’m shaking in the biting wind, I rip off my jacket, remove my shirt, and zip back into the jacket as swiftly as possible. That brief exposure sets my teeth chattering beyond control.

Peeta’s face is gray in the pale moonlight. I make him lie down before I probe his wound. Warm, slippery blood runs over my fingers. A bandage will not be enough. I’ve seen my mother tie a tourniquet a handful of times and try to replicate it. I cut free a sleeve from my shirt, wrap it twice around his leg just under his knee, and tie a half knot. I don’t have a stick, so I take my remaining arrow and insert it in the knot, twisting it as tightly as I dare. It’s risky business — Peeta may end up losing his leg — but when I weigh this against him losing his life, what alternative do I have? I bandage the wound in the rest of my shirt and lie down with him.

“Are you cold?” he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. It’s a bit warmer, sharing our body heat inside my double layer of jackets, but the night is young. The temperature will continue to drop. Even now I can feel the Cornucopia, which burned so when I first climbed it, slowly turning to ice.

“Cato may win this thing yet,” I whisper to Peeta.

“Don’t you believe it,” he says, pulling up my hood, but he’s shaking harder than I am.

Somehow, we make it back to the lake. I scoop up a handful of the cold water for Peeta and bring a second to my lips.

The hovercraft materializes overhead and two ladders drop, only there’s no way I’m letting go of Peeta. I keep one arm around him as I help him up, and we each place a foot on the first rung of the ladder.

“It’s my fault,” I say. “Because I used that tourniquet.”

“Yes, it’s your fault I’m alive,” says Peeta.

“He’s right,” says Caesar. “He’d have bled to death for sure without it.”

I guess this is true, but I can’t help feeling upset about it to the extent that I’m afraid I might cry and then I remember everyone in the country is watching me so I just bury my face in Peeta’s shirt. It takes them a couple of minutes to coax me back out because it’s better in the shirt, where no one can see me, and when I do come out, Caesar backs off questioning me so I can recover.

#everlark #thg #hunger games #Peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #honestly they’re so cute both little caretakers #also love that Katniss is just constantly like let me feed you more medicine and food #and Peeta is concerned with wrapping her up and keeping her warm #hmmm wonder if that has any individual character significance for each other them #each of them I meant #sorry long post y’all #I tried to cut it down I did I just didn’t wanna miss anything which i doubtlessly did anyway #also this whole thing is making me wonder where is their toilet???? where are they peeing all this water they’re making each other drink????#bookcomb ♥️🔎

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certifiedskywalker · 4 years

Text

Better Life - Ahsoka Tano

Anonymous said: Hey, do you write for Ahsoka? If you do, could you do an imagine with the reader having been a Jedi but becoming a bounty hunter or smuggler after Order 66?

AN: First time writing for Ahsoka!! I hope you like it! I went based off of Mandalorian Ahsoka. I hope that’s alright. Also, Y/L/C means ‘your lightsaber color’! Enjoy!

Corvus had seemed a far more enticing destination when you were a few sectors away and had a belly full of spotchka. Stepping foot on the black, turned dirt of the forest planet, you were having second thoughts. No, you were having regrets.

Murky, damp, and dark, the areas of Corvus surrounding the city of Calodan were entirely uninviting. The lingering, borderline parasitic remains of the Empire had left barely a husk of a planet behind. Imperials were leaning into old habits that way. Bleed a planet dry to better the heart of the Empire, the Core Worlds; Coruscant. Even with the New Republic instated, you were wary about nearing that sector of the galaxy. Your ventures never got too close to the capital or any of the other Core Worlds since the Jedi Order fell.

You had been forced out of that life and into another one. Smuggling was your second chance. All you had to do was stay alive, which was easy enough. You just had to watch your step.

“Karabast!” You pulled your foot back from a puddle of thick mud. Your ship’s loading ramp had landed perfectly in the muck. Your thoughtlessness, or, more accurately, your getting lost in thought, had blinded you. Now, one of your boots was soiled.

As you inspected the damage of your shoe, you heard a bird call. Wary, you looked up at the grey skies but saw nothing. Taking in the sight of the bare-branch trees around you, you still saw no sign of the bird that the chirping hoots had come from. You could sense it though. Whatever the creature was, it had a strong presence in the Force and that set you on edge.

“You’re here on business,” you reminded yourself. With the Imperials that once inhabited Corvus gone, there was a new, free market in Calodan. A free market full of new, eager buyers willing to pay higher prices for goods that the Empire had prohibited. With the stock you had in your ship’s hull, you could come away from the city with an inflow of credits.

That thought of money was enough to get you moving again. You shook the mud from your boot and leapt over the puddle. As you landed, you felt the cold hilt of your lightsaber knock against your thigh. With the Empire all but washed from the decayed forest planet, you felt safer carrying the weapon at your side. You wanted to feel safe but knew better than to get too comfortable.

Another hoot from the stalking bird was reminder enough that unseen enemies still lurked in the shadows. You would not make the same mistakes the Jedi had, that your Jedi Master had, all those years ago. You had survived and you had learned. Just keep moving.

As a stranger on every world you visited, you were used to being watched. Calodan locals, packed tight into the alleyways and streets of the city, were no different from the rest of the galaxy that way. Years of living under the shadow of the Empire had made them wary. Though, that did not stop them from celebrating their new found liberation.

Children, skinny but gleeful, ran through the streets as their parents shouted after them. A few Lothcats, with beady eyes and big ears, gave chase after insects, unafraid of being kicked by Stormtrooper boots. Vendors marketed sweets and trinkets, items they had hidden from the Imperials during the occupation. A few even called out to you.

“Care for fried Nuna legs?”

“Droid parts! Necklace charms!”

You ignored the sales pitches hurled at you as you walked by. Sneakily, you stole glances at the goods each offered to get a sense of what was needed in the market. It seemed like the Calodan market could use a little bit of everything, anything new to bolster the city’s infrastructure. Not that you cared about the wealth and quality of the citizens.

You couldn’t afford to care, not if you wanted to survive. Caring costed credits and time, both of which you were low on. Caring, being invested in the affairs of others was what toppled the Jedi. You would not make the same mistake.

“Spare credits for spotchka?!”

That seller caught your attention. You turned and eyed the slightly luminescent bottles full of blue liquid. At the sight, saliva started to gather in your mouth. Eager, you took a step towards the stall and shoved your had in your pocket in search of loose change.

Then you heard it again. A low, high-pitched hooting; that bird call. You turned your eyes to the sky and, finally, saw it. From where you were stood in the street, you couldn’t make out much detail. The bird was stout, a rather round creature, and was circling over your head.

It’s traced path, the continuous loop over where you were, was enough to make your blood run cold. Taste for spotchka overruled, you darted towards the nearest alleyway. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you ran. Nerves wild, you took random turns and relied on the Force, alway lingering in your mind and heart, to guide you.

Another hoot and you moved faster. Dirt and dust below your feet was kicked up as you ran. The feeling of eyes on you, despite being far from the Calodan market, intensified. You were used to being hunted, for even in this New Republic, Imperials still hunted Force users, Jedi.

But this was different.

Another hoot and you looked up. Your eyes widened as, instead of the bird, you saw a cloaked figure jumping from the roof at your right. Years of training took over and you dodged to the left, nearly ramming your shoulder into the side of a nearby building. Your attacker landed in the spot where you had stood moments before.

You raised your fists in a defensive stance and kicked your right leg up towards the cloaked figure’s head. They were just as quick to move, raising an arm to block your kick with such speed you felt your stomach drop. Who was this?

Whoever they were, they were able to land a strike to your shoulder that pushed you to the side. Years ago, in a room covered in cushions and mats, a fellow Padawan had delivered the same blown. The familiarity of it, stunned you. Where did they learn to fight like...like you? Like a Jedi?

You quickly refocused yourself, planted your feet to the ground and moved towards them. Hand-to-hand combat had not been your forte at the Temple but you managed to strike your attacker in the chest, knocking them back. Out from under the hood, you caught a glimpse of burnt orange skin. Something about the color was familiar; like a sunset.

A kick sent your way forced the thought from your mind. The attacker’s foot swiped at your ankles and caused you to topple to the ground. Rough and quick, the impact rattled your bones. While your chest and stomach took most of the fall, you chin had been scraped by the rocky dirt of the alleyway. There was no way you could win this without disorienting them. They were too good.

Quickly, you rolled over on your back. As you saw the figure jump again, aiming to land a final, conscious-ending blow, you reached towards your thigh. Your fingers wrapped around the cool hilt of your lightsaber and, against your skin, the weapon seemed to hum to life. You pressed the activation switch and raised your saber to block the cloaked figure’s lunge.

There was a sudden flash of clashing color. White, twin laser swords held your Y/L/C blade at bay. Shock flooded your system as you looked at the contrasted sabers. Then, desperate to see if your attacker was as astonished as you, you shifted your gaze up.

“Ahsoka!?”

“Y/N.”

Simultaneously, you and the Togruta woman deactivated your respective lightsabers. Ahsoka moved from her crouched position above you and, once she was stood up, she extended a hand down to you. Wariness made you hesitate at first; but you looked up into her blue eyes and felt a wave of relief wash over you. You took her hand and got to your feet.

She was taller now, with blue-and-white lekku trailing over her shoulders. You thought of Master Shaak-Ti, how long hers were. Unlike the Master Jedi, Ahsoka was smaller and, in your opinion, far more beautiful. Determination, that you remembered from your shared years at the Jedi Temple, still lined her face. As you looked at her, you felt Ahsoka’s soul was far older.

“What are you doing...doing on Corvus?” You had wanted to ask what she was doing alive but knew there was no point in doing so. Every day, you asked yourself the same question. What were you doing, still alive and on the run for all this time? You still didn’t have an answer.

Ahsoka gave you a smile, a smile that sent you back to your days together as Padawans waiting to be assigned Masters. So much had happened since you had last seen that smile.

“It’s a long story, as I imagine yours is as well.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “No, I’m just here smu-selling my wears.”

Ahsoka crossed her arms over her chest and gave you a look. Her white facial markings, where a human’s eyebrows would be, quirked up as she eyed you. She seemed so much wiser now. Part of you worried about what she had been through, what she had seen to change her so. The other part of you was nervous. You were a smuggler after all.

“I see,” Ahsoka mused, her expression unchanged. “Marketing has kept you alive?”

“Well, in a way. Kept me alive enough to get a ship and keep moving.”

“You’re still following that last order?”

At her words, your chest tightened. Master Obi Wan Kenobi’s voice rang through your head. ‘This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi: trust in the force. Do not return to the temple, that time has passed. And our future is uncertain’. It had been a warning, an order to run and not look back. You met Ahsoka’s steeled gaze and nodded.

“You could say that.”

“The time for running has passed,” Ahsoka said. The seriousness in her voice sent a chill down your spine. “There is hope in the galaxy and not just for the Jedi. For us, everyone.”

“You sound like them,” you replied softly, “the Rebellion.”

“You mean the New Republic,” Ahsoka corrected, “I worked with the Rebellion. It has grown better, as we have from the Jedi.”

You were about to speak, ask your long lost friend how she had found herself tied up in the Rebellion, when you saw it. The stout bird that had set you on edge before was perched in Ahsoka’s shadow. Bright green eyes glinted in the dark and every hair on your body rose in apprehension.

“That’s Morai,” Ahsoka explained, following your gaze. “She’s part of the long story.”

You nodded and jumped at the sound of firecrackers going off in the distance. The sound was reminiscent of the Clone Wars gunfire. Suddenly conscious of how exposed you both were, you grabbed Ahsoka’s hand. You began to lead her through the alley.

“Y/N, I need you to listen to me.”

“We need to find a place to talk.”

You blinked at Ahsoka, in an attempt to understand the story she had told you. Master Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka’s Master, her friend, had become Darth Vader. Sure, alright, that was easy enough to trace. Even your Master, Agen Kolar, had been wary of Skywalker’s attitude towards the Council. It was one of the few things you remembered about your Master now.

Then the Rebellion, Ahsoka’s stints on Lothal with a rag-tag group of fighters. One of which was a fellow lost Padawan, Caleb Dume, and a Lasat. You thought Lasats were all but extinct. While that part of her story was a bit more wild, a bit more mystical, it made sense. The Force had a strange way of connecting people, and people to places.

“But a Mandalorian had a baby...a baby Yoda?”

Ahsoka smiled. “Yes. Grogu.”

“He was at the Temple...with us?”

“At the same time, yes. He had special, separate lessons.” You held Ahsoka’s gaze with furrowed brows. “What is it?”

“Instead of going with him and the Mandalorian, you’re going after a Grand Admiral?” You stood from your pilot’s chair and walked over to the caf machine. You poured yourself a new, hot cup before adding, “I don’t get that. That kid is...he’s got to be powerful, right?”

“Too powerful,” Ahsoka said as you took your seat again. The air was tense in your ship’s cockpit, heavy as your friend had told you her story. “And Thrawn is a threat. His forces are, were, rooted here, on Corvus. With the Mandalorian, I was able to find the Admiral’s location.”

“You’re still on a mission,” you sighed.

“You’re still following an order.”

Ahsoka’s words stung. As Padawans, you had been so close. Now, it was like you were talking to a familiar stranger; but your feelings for her had remained the same. You were relieved, overjoyed, that she was even sat before you. She was still quick and sharp-witted. You took a breath to compose yourself and shook your head.

“Getting to the Admiral will what? Help you rebuild the Order somehow?”

“No,” Ahsoka replied quickly. Her eyes fell to the caf cup in her hand. You saw her thumb trace the edge of it. “That is someone else’s mission, a Jedi’s mission. I’m no Jedi.”

“Neither am I”, you admitted, “I feel more like a ghost sometimes.” Ahsoka lifted her gaze and met yours. You could feel, in the depths of her eyes, that she felt the same way too. For a stretch of long seconds, you stared at each other. With a hard swallow, you brought yourself from Ahsoka’s spell. “But, Thrawn. You’re after him because he’s...”

“Imperial, to this core. As long as he lives, the Empire’s ideas will survive. He may also know where Ezra is or how to find him.”

“And Ezra is?”

“Kanan’s, Caleb Dume’s Padawan. A friend.”

“Right. Sorry,” you pinched the bridge of your nose. “There’s a lot of people in your story, your life.”

Ahsoke leaned forward, a small smile playing on her full lips. “What about you, Y/N? What have you been doing? What’s next for you?”

“I…” Truth be told, you had done nothing like Ahsoka. You took Master Kenobi’s warning and, literally, ran with it. “Marketing, trading. Boring deliveries. No one as interesting as the people you’ve met. I haven’t been fighting like you. I’ve been…”

“Running.”

You nodded, met Ahsoka’s eyes and saw a glint of hope in them. You hadn’t seen hope so vivid before, not since you were younger, at the start of the Clones Wars. With a free hand, Ahsoka grabbed for yours. She gave it a squeeze and warmth ran through you.

“Stop running. Come with me, help me. Make this mission yours. No more orders, just making the galaxy safer, better.”

You frowned, but did not let go of Ahsoka’s hand. “That is what the Jedi did. Look how that turned out. We are no better than fugitives. You’re a vigilante and I’m a smuggler, so-”

“A smuggler?” Ahsoka’s tone shifted, her smile widened enough to reveal her sharper canines. “That’s a more rustic type of marketing. Isn’t it?”

“I see your teasing has persisted. Good to know.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Y/N. We have all had to do things, good and bad, to survive this life. I’m only asking you to come with me to make what life we have left a better one.”

Over the years, you had survived and you had learned. All you had to do was just keep moving, never linger too long or care too deeply. Though, perhaps, that was the Jedi’s problem. Maybe, they didn’t care enough or love passionately in the way they should have. As you looked into Ahsoka’s eyes, you could tell that she did.

She wanted to leave this galaxy better than the one that was handed to her. And, while you had dulled the want with spotchka and smuggling, you wanted that too. You had missed so much, Ahsoka you had missed terribly to the point where you did not dare to think about her. Now, she was sat before you, on your ship, looking at you with hope in her eyes.

Neither of you were Jedi. You were not ghosts either, even though you felt that you were. You and Ahsoka were alive and ready to build a better life. The thought made your chest tightened slightly with want. You squeezed Ahsoka’s hand and met her gaze once more.

“Then where are we headed?”

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

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"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

I've heard that on TV shows all the time, but hearing it with my own ears is new. I'm scared.

"Hello, hi, uhm." What do I say? How do I do this? "I'm on interstate four, right by the exit to route 408 and I just watched a car go over the side." It feels not real, feels like I'm watching an action movie or one of those dashcam tiktoks that find their way onto my for you page from time to time.

"What interstate four, northbound or south?"

I look to the sign, forgetting that I've driven on this road a million times, still reeling. "North- northbound on four."

"I've dispatched emergency services to you. Can you see the driver?"

I can't even see the car, just the chunks taken out of the concrete barrier where the car hopped it, can see the brake lights still though. "Not where I am but I'm- I pulled off to the shoulder, I can get out and go see if they're okay."

"You don't have to do that, ma'am." A million things are running through my mind, but one sticks out.

"I'm, uh, I'm first aid trained, and I took an EMT class for extra credit in college, I might be able to help?" I turn my keys in the ignition, make sure to keep my hazards on and pocket them, dig through my glove box for the bare bones first aid kit I got when I got the car last year.

"Emergency services are 5 minutes out. I can walk you through helping and give them a better picture if you go over there, but you don't have to. Help is on the way."

"I'm going to see if I can help." Opening the driver's side door seems much too scary, with cars whizzing past going well over the 65 miles per hour speed limit. It's 3 in the morning, and there are no speed traps on this stretch of the interstate. People speed, and they go way over. Instead, I opt to climb over to the passenger seat, careful not to accidentally turn off my hazards, and start over to the crumbled concrete and brake lights. I can hear the driver before I see him, yelling for help. I call out to him.

"Thank god, can you call 911?" He yells, and then I see him. He's laid up between the dash and a cracked but not shattered windshield, curled to see me through the passenger side window, which is gone.

"I'm on the phone with them now, they're, how many minutes is it, 911 lady?"

"Gigi, two minutes out. Can you see the driver? Does he have any visible injuries?"

"Two minutes out, yeah, he's got cuts on his face and his arms, and-" It registers then, that I can see the bones of his arm jutting out of his elbow, and his leg is bent at an impossible angle, and his nose is much too bloody to still be intact. "I think a couple broken bones, too." It's then that I hear the sirens, loud honking, and look to see flashing lights moving down the road. "They're almost here, dude, just keep hanging out."

There's really not all that much distance between where he went over and the ground, so it's easy to clear the wall and land on the ground. Up closer, I can see the puddle of blood he's laying in, bubbling steady out of a large cut in his leg. A flash of my EMT class comes through, it's an artery, somewhere in his leg, and you need to tourniquet it, like ASAP. The truck is still honking, backed up in the saturday night orlando traffic and people pulling to the side to let them through and while I can see and hear it, there's a good half mile wall of bumper to bumper pulling off to give space. No clear path.

"Hey, are you, how do you feel?"

"I feel like shit for crashing my buddy's car, but that's about it right now. Why?" Asking that after you hopped an embankment crashing a car seems kinda weird, but ok?

"I think I need to, like, help you with your leg? Can I?" He nods. I close the distance between me and his car door and manage to open it enough so I can get in the car. It's awkward and there's no real good footing, but I manage to wedge myself in enough to get in a stable spot. "Let's see if I can remember how to do this. I need-"

Ever the helpful phone call, Gigi reminds me. "You need to tie something just above where he's bleeding, tight as you can. A cut seatbelt, a t shirt, something like that." There is nothing like that in my immediate vicinity except for my own shirt, which, I can give up my shirt for this guy, there's another one shoved somewhere in my trunk. It gets stripped off quickly and Gigi helps with directions all the way through. My hands shake vigorously, but I manage to get it to the point where I can't visibly see volumes of blood pour out of him, so I count it as a win.

I look at the truck, still pretty stuck where it is, but the ambulance is getting through, still huge but better able to work through the gaps between the large quantity of cars.

"Am I going to die? Is that why you keep looking to see where they are? Cause I'm going to die?"

"No." I speak firmly despite the panic coursing through my veins, the fear that I might be lying right to his face. "No. The paramedics are almost here and they're gonna help you and get you to the hospital and all that. You're not gonna die." I read somewhere once that in that situation you have to reassure people. They don't fight to live if they think they might die.

The stretch of time that passes before there's an EMT in front of me feels like a lifetime, even if it's only a couple of minutes. And the first thing I notice is that his gaze travels down my body, catching at my chest and oh, yeah, I gave my shirt to the bleeding guy and should probably get out of the paramedic's way. I make to go back and get the extra shirt I know I have in my backseat but I get stopped on my way by another EMT who wants to check and make sure I'm okay.

"I wasn't in the car, I called it in." I wave my phone, which still has 911 on the line, but the paramedic insists, points to a cut on my arm I hadn't realized I'd gotten. I get led to sit on the tailgate of an ambulance, watching firefighters run past from the truck that finally got through carrying loads of stuff, heavy equipment with ease. Nimble fingers clean out the cut before deciding it's not deep enough for stitches, just using steri-strips and wrapping it in gauze with gentle hands and a reserved smile.

"Jade, we need to get going with him!" The first EMT I saw calls while running with a gurney, the guy from the accident strapped against a yellow board with my work shirt still tied around his leg. The paramedic helping me jumps into action, ushers me into the ambulance and helps the guy get the gurney in.

"Sit down, buckle up." He says, looking at me. Jade turns and gives me a bit of a sympathetic look.

"He's always like this. You have to get that checked in the ER still." Oh. Okay. I sit down, strap into the seat, and the ambulance starts moving before the doors are fully closed. They get the car guy all hooked up to all kinds of machines and fuss over him, till the monitor beeping with what I assume is his heart rate steadies, and then the EMT guy visibly relaxes, eyes landing on me again. I cross my arms over my chest, much more self conscious of my state of dress with his gaze on me. He's, unfairly attractive, wavy blonde hair and toned skin, wrapped in an unbelievably tight uniform.

"D'you- here." And then he starts unbuttoning his uniform shirt, and I'm sure my eyes go wide. There's another shirt on under, just as tight with the fire department logo emblazoned on the chest of it. He shrugs off the button down and pulls the t shirt over his head and dear lord, why the hell do men feel so called to wear wife beaters under their clothes, I wanna see how fucking hot he is. The t shirt gets tossed into my lap. He really just- gave me the shirt off his back. My gaze locks on to it, only being torn away from the offending garment when he clears his throat and I snap back up to see him, button up back on his shoulders but undone, face sheepish and what I'd guess to be a blush tinting his skin further in the half dark of the ambulance. "You looked uncomfortable."

It's my turn to go red, flush covering most of my skin and incredibly visible. "Thanks." It takes a moment of maneuvering to get the shirt on with the seatbelt, but it's warm and smells of laundry detergent and a hint of cologne.

"Dream, only fuckin' you." His head whips to the other EMT.

"Only fuckin' me what? Huh?" Jade just laughs, head shaking from side to side.

"Only fuckin' you would give the first girl your age on a call the shirt off your damn back." If he wasn't blushing before, he is now, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck.

"Sorry if that's weird."

"No, it's- I appreciate it." I do.

"Good work, with the tourniquet. He'd be dead by now without it." Is that really the best thing to say while the guy can hear us? Maybe not. Speaking of the guy,

"Is his leg supposed to turn blue like that?" The relaxation in his face vanishes that instant as he hauls up, moves to where he can look up close at the leg, tearing up the leg of the guy's pants.

"Jade, I need to set it so he can keep the leg, can you keep him still?" A distinct yes, and then I get to watch as his muscles flex, hands gripping tight to the broken leg of this guy, and then an audible crack resounds through the small space of the ambulance as he pushes his body forward. The car guy's closed eyes shoot open, mouth gaping in a yell of pain underneath of an oxygen mask. I'm sure that probably hurts like a bitch, and suddenly I am very grateful that I've never broken a bone.

There's not much left in the ride. The two EMTs, Jade and Dream, mainly continuing to work on keeping his monitor from making the erratic beeping it has been letting out from time to time. The ER is a blur of people bustling around the guy, but I get led from the ambulance by a doctor to check the cut on my arm before he comes to the same conclusion that no, I do not need stitches, but that I do need to change the dressing once a day and gives me some disinfectant cream to put on it when I do. While he cleans the wound out, he asks in a lilted british accent. "Did you really tourniquet the guy with your shirt?"

"Yeah, I did. The one thing I remembered from my EMT class, really came in handy." I joke, and he laughs.

"Well the guy is lucky you did. You're an EMT?" I shake my head, and wince a bit when he presses a bit too hard.

"Nah, I wait tables at the Waterfront in South Orange. Took an EMT class for a summer course cause I thought it'd be fun." He hums, turning to grab more bandages to rewrap my forearm.

"Well maybe you should look into it. Quick thinking like that would get you far there."

"I might." It's a real possibility. My accounting major proved to get me the single most boring desk job ever, and I've been looking into other career paths recently. He smiles at me when he finishes wrapping, pulls a card out of his pocket and a pen, scribbles something on the back of it.

"Put me as a reference if you decide you want to." That's, incredibly nice.

"I will, thank you, uhm," The name stitched into his coat is hard to make out. "Doctor Davidson?"

"George. You're good to go, just need to fill out a little paperwork and then you can leave." He walks over to grab a clipboard and a form, brings it back to me, and then heads over to another bed with a little girl in it, pulling a curtain closed behind him.

A week later, I find myself outside of the massive firehouse on Central Boulevard. There's a couple guys in shirts that match the one in my hand outside washing a firetruck, and one notices me and comes over. He's cute. Dark hair that's a little longer than a boys regular, scraps of facial hair on his cheeks, and brown eyes that crinkle at the edges when he smiles.

"Y'need help with something?" His voice confirms the fact that he's young, and it takes me a minute to pull my eyes away from the way his sleeves are tight around the muscle of his arms.

"Uh, yeah, I'm looking for Dream?" I hold up the shirt and the brownies I made as a last minute addition for the firehouse.

"Ahh, shirt girl. Follow me." He heads into the building through one of the massive garage doors, and it is remarkably clean inside. He heads up some stairs to a balcony that overlooks the firetrucks, and both of the paramedics who had helped me are sitting there, talking over plates of pasta. The guy leading me clears his throat and they both look up.

"Hi." I say awkwardly with a small wave. "I brought your shirt back." Dream flusters, standing up to take the shirt from my hands with a thank you and I give him the brownies, too.

"Dream, cough them up, I want one."

"Sap, shut the hell up, here." He places them gently on the table.

"Okay, what's with your guy's names? No way his name is Sap." All three of them laugh.

"They're nicknames." Dream laughs. "My real name is Clay, and his is Nick. Jade is just Jade though, haven't gotten a nickname for them yet." He looks over his shoulder back at his coworker. "Coward." I feel like there's a story here that I don't know, but I don't press for it.

"I mean, I told you my last station called me Storm, so unless you can top that you can call me Jade and nothing else." I like Jade. Jade's funny.

Clay just rolls his eyes, no real malice behind it. "It's gotta be one we give to you. I'm thinking something about you being our getaway driver."

"Dream if you make a baby driver joke right now I swear you will not live to see tomorrow." He laughs, hard and wheezing, sounding nearly painful.

"Fine, fine." He turns to me. "Thank you for returning this." There's a distinct red flush creeping up his neck, but his smile is genuine, green eyes bright with it. Shit. Why do they have to be unfairly attractive? Who's idea was it? Huh? "I'll walk you out."

He walks me all the way to my car, standing awkwardly next to the door of my car.

"Well, I'll let you get back to work. You got lives to save."

"Wait," He says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I'm sorry if this is too forward, but could I get your number?" Oh. Oh.

"Yeah, of course." He hands me his phone and I punch in my contact, handing his phone back to him. "You should text me so I have yours."

The smile on his face is fitting, full of white teeth and bright happiness. "I will."

I don't think I put my phone down for a week. Clay and I text nearly non stop, and I learn a lot about him in the process. He has a cat (a beautiful tabby named patches who purrs very loudly), he's from Orlando (born and raised, baby.), he wanted to be a firefighter because his dad was one, but his mom who's a nurse had him take EMT training instead (I owe her everything for that), and that he's off work this Friday and wants to head out for drinks with a couple of his fire station buddies and me. I also start getting snapchats from that cute coworker of his, Nick.

I can't tell if Nick intends to be flirting with me or is just trying to get to know the girl his "best fucking friend" is talking to, but... I am definitely feeling some type of way about both of them. It's great, the attention is nice, until Nick invites me out to drinks with them on Friday night not three hours after Clay does.

I feel like my best bet is to be honest with them. I'm not one for lying. And then a new groupchat shows up on my phone. It's got Clay and a number I don't have saved in my phone, and there's a message sent, and then another. I'm scared to open it.

I expect it to be both of them mad that I'm talking to the other and instead it's not? There's a message from Clay and it's-

Dreamie

Hey, I just talked to Nick and wanted to make this groupchat with the three of us. I'm not mad you're talking with him, and he's not mad you're talking to me. We both really like you, and are open to letting you make the decision for yourself if you end up with one of us. Just wanted to communicate that with you :)

And another from who I'm assuming is Nick that says:

Unknown Number

its up to you what happens and if your not ok with this then just tell us and we'll back off.

It's not something I've experienced before talking with two guys at once. Talking with two guys at once that know and work with each other with their consent? Never would have imagined it in a million years. But this is probably the best way to go about it.

Three more days pass before I see either of them in person, still having plans to go out for drinks with Clay on Friday. I end up sandwiched in between the two of them in a both of some firefighter bar on the south side of the city. I feel awkward tucked between them until I get a bit of alcohol flowing through my veins, and then conversation comes like second nature. It's not crazy eventful, feels like I'm hanging out with close friends rather than basically strangers, and it's nice.

The night passes quick, but it's still fun, especially when Clay drives me home and drops me at the bottom of my apartment building with a promise of more plans and a quick kiss that leaves him blushing all the way to the tips of his ears.

In the morning, I wake up to go into work and see a text from Nick, inviting me to dinner with him tonight. I shoot back with a sure, I'd love to. Getting off work at four so that's perfect. and he just sends back a :) and an "I'll pick you up at 7." that makes my shift drag on and on. True to his word, he's outside my apartment building at 7 pm sharp in a button down with his hair brushed neatly behind the wheel of a toyota corolla.

"Where are we even going for dinner?" Nick just shoots me a smile and fucking winks at me.

"You'll see. It's a surprise."

It ends up being some hole in the wall chinese restaurant with what Nick claims is "the best moo goo gai pan in the city". It's fucking amazing, that's for sure, a steaming wok full of it in front of the two of us with plates of fried rice to go with it. It's not an experience I've had at a restaurant before and it's insanely fun. Nick pokes fun at my inability to use chopsticks, tells stories about his friend making fun of him for not being able to use them and learning how at three o'clock in the morning. We're constantly laughing between bites of amazing food, and this easily makes my top three first dates of all time. He refuses to let me pay for my half, but he does let me get the tip after I insist several times that its the least I could do.

We're halfway through a really good conversation about something that doesn't matter when he pulls up to my apartment, and, not wanting that to end, I invite him upstairs with me.

"Oh? It's my turn to come up with you?" He teases, and I'm confused for a second before I realize, oh yeah, I'm essentially talking with him and his best friend.

"What do you mean turn? Clay didn't come up with me, he-" It's probably not the best idea to say he kissed me, I don't want to make Nick jealous. "He dropped me off at the door and he said goodbye." It's not- a lie, per say, but the second it passes my lips I feel guilty, knowing that we need to be honest for this to even have a shot at working. "He kissed me goodbye though." Honesty. We need honesty.

I don't really know what to expect as a reaction from him, but it's not a smile, cocky as ever.

"Does that mean if I go up with you that I get a kiss too?" Nice, easy, no drama with honesty.

"Maybe. You'd have to come find out." The grin he's got stays plastered to his face the whole time we're in the elevator, the whole time he's talking mindlessly about the distinct lack of fire safety in the building, the whole time I'm fighting with the works half the time lock on my door. "It's probably too late for coffee, but I have tea in the fridge or coke, or water if you want it." I say, turning to close the door behind us.

"I'm all good, thank you though." The smile's still there, crinkling his eyes and baring white teeth. "Could go for a kiss, now that I think about it." I shake my head, but still, I laugh.

"What is it that they call it?"

"Kissing? Lip locking? Smooching?"

"One track mind." That one earns a laugh, a hearty one from deep in his throat.

"You're funny." He says, grabbing my hand and gently tugging me to come sit on the couch with him. "And cute." He sits, pulls me with him so I end up sideways in his lap. The hand he led me over with comes up to brush some of the hair out of my face. "And unbelievably pretty. How could I think about anything else?"

Smooth. Smooth as fucking butter. Smooth enough for him to earn a quick press of my lips to his own. I can feel him smiling before I pull back, but he chases, returning with a kiss just as chaste before leaning back into the couch, looking like the cat who got the cream.

"I'm winning. I got two kisses." I roll my eyes.

"Isn't it quality over quantity?" He hums, eyes playing from my lips to my own.

"Why not both?"

"Haha, funny." They're playful, his eyes, as we talk. His bottom lip juts out in a joking pout, and I lean in to kiss at it. He moves at the last second, though, closes the last little bit of space between us when he moves forward to kiss me, soft and slow. His lips are slightly chapped, ever so gentle as the press against mine. My hands press into his thighs to keep me up as his hands come to wrap loosely around my shoulders and he pushes further into the kiss before pulling back.

"Quality?"

"Need more data." I say before our lips meet again. He's sweet with it, the way he kisses me. It's nice, easy, feels familiar even though it isn't, not yet. One of his hands moves to rub soft at the nape of my neck.

I'm just getting comfortable in it when he deepens the kiss, tongue soft against the seam of my lips. It draws a gasp, just what he needs to push further, licking into my mouth before catching my bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at it. He's a good fucking kisser, hahh's into my mouth when I bring my hands up to tug at the dark strands of hair on the back of his head.

But like all good things, it must come to an end. Unfortunately, that end is when my phone starts blaring the insanely annoying ringtone my friend set it as that I don't know how to change.

"Nick, I gotta-"

"Yeah." His arms drop, letting me stand so I can grab my phone and answer whoever is calling.

"Hello?"

"We have new information regarding student loan repayment in your area." Is loud in my ear, so I just pull back and press the red end call button.

Nick laughs a little. "Not important?"

"Spam call. Can't be assed to get put on the do not call list right now. I was doing research."

"Yeah? You happy with the results you're getting?"

This motherfucker I swear.

"This motherfucker I swear." Is also the first thing I say in the morning when I wake up for work and there's a fat hickey on the side of my neck, dark purple and blatantly obvious. I send him a snap of it, just saying really? and he sends back a picture of himself and Clay sitting on the tailgate of a ladder truck with a :) and I am instantly worried that one, Clay saw the snap I sent him and two, that I won't be able to cover it for work. Pushing the first thought out of my mind to focus on the second, I try to get it as normal looking as I can before my shift. It's not perfect, not by a long shot, but it's good enough.

I'm riding the high of not getting comments on it at work when that first thought comes back, catalysted by a snapchat from Clay, a picture barely of his hair with the geotag from the gym down the street from the firehouse with text across it that says "purple looks good on you." I don't know how to respond to that, just send back the floor in front of me. oh come on now pops up in the chat, and he's still typing. not mad. excited for my turn. Right.

sorry I shoot back. this is all pretty new to me

trying to be careful cause i dont wanna mess this up

The little bitmoji he has attached to his account pops up in the corner, lurking for a moment before he starts typing

having these chats is what makes it work. I don't go bragging to Nick about what you and I do, and he doesn't do that to me, but we don't lie about what happens.

its alot, and none of us have done this before

but keeping communication open and honest is how it works

and that means feelings talks

He's right.

youre right

He is. I don't want to make them jealous of each other and that's probably the best way to combat that.

we also have to keep things fair ;) so i get a date too

That has me smiling like an idiot at my phone.

yeah? you got one planned?

not exactly. you doing anything rn though?

I was going to make a sandwich and watch She's the Man for the third time this month.

was gonna watch a movie if you wanna join?

I get a sure, would love to and a could i trouble you for a pick up from the station? that has me grabbing my keys and jogging to the elevator faster than I would like to admit.

When I get there, I head inside to say hi to Nick and collect Clay after both of them have assured me that I'm allowed to do so. I don't see Nick when I first walk in, but I do see Clay and jesus, mary, and joseph his hands. He's working over a slab of what seems to be silicon with those massive fingers moving with the utmost precision. When I get a little closer I can see that he's making sutures to close gashes and holes in the mat. I'm impressed with how uniform they are, each a perfect match of the one before it, and with the speed that his hands were moving, I'd say its even more impressive. I'm- not a perfect person, and the thought of what those hands could do to me has me flushing.

He's pretty wrapped up in what he's doing so I don't want to bother him, but I'm watching so intently that I don't notice Nick come up to me until he hugs me from behind. It makes me jump.

“Shit, Nick, you scared me.”

-gg w the 911 au update

Gg I'm 😩😩😩 you are an amazing writer 🛐 teach me

#pigeon mail #gg my dear

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bottomlouisficfest · 4 years

Photo

We hope you’ve enjoyed the second week of fics from the Bottom Louis Fic Fest! Every weekend, we’re compiling all of the fics from that week into one roundup post so they’re easy to find for anyone looking to catch up on fics they missed. Enjoy these amazing fics and give them the love they deserve!

blinded by the sparks

A fic by wallstracktwo on AO3 | @wallstracktwo on Tumblr

22k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"You can’t even keep your lies straight. Mike has the memory of an elephant and can remember every single detail about every single person he’s ever met, so don’t stand there and tell me that he mixed you up with someone else.” He took back Harry’s cigarette. “I saw you exchanging lower chips for higher ones. I saw you counting the cards. There is no fucking way you won seven thousand dollars tonight honestly. And so I will repeat myself — I want in. Fifty-fifty.”

Harry was completely taken aback by the stunningly attractive man standing in front of him. He made several attempts to say something — opening and closing his mouth at least twice before he was finally able to string a few words together. “What? No. No way. No. Sorry, but I work alone.”

That was the truth too — he had never trusted anyone enough to let them get close, especially when it came to his scamming, so having a partner was completely, utterly out of the question.

“Don’t you think you need someone on the…” Louis’ tongue darted out, licking his lips as his eyes flickered to Harry’s mouth, one eyebrow cocking up. “...inside.”

Or - Harry is a scammer who drifts from casino to casino. Louis is the new waiter who wants in on the scam.

somewhere in between

A fic by soldouthaz on AO3 | @soldouthaz on Tumblr | soldouthaz on Twitter

42k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Louis wakes up early. He brushes his teeth and can only stomach a piece of toast for breakfast, dressing quickly and heading for the car. He pulls into the parking lot of the Department of Dominance and Submission just as they’re unlocking the doors. It takes him all of an hour in the uncomfortable chairs to fill out the paperwork to the best and most accurate of his ability, handing it over to the receptionist as soon as he’s finished and wiping his sweaty palms on his business trousers.

There’s a high chance that within ten to fifteen business days, Louis will be matched with a dominant.

Shit.

On My Mind All The Time, Say You're Mine

A fic by Safetypinprince on AO3 | @roselouis on Tumblr | femboyIouis on Twitter

9k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“Dude, we’re inside, and it’s night time. Those don’t look as cool as you think they do.” Louis could kick himself, he sounded so stupid, but it certainly got the guy’s attention.

It was at that unfortunate moment that he noticed several other things about this hot asshole, that he hadn’t noticed just staring from afar. First, when Louis spoke to him, his gaze was kind of unfocused behind his sunglasses, and secondly, that he had a red and white cane folded up under his arm.

“I’m… Blind,” the man chuckled, awkwardly.

Louis wanted to melt into a puddle out of pure embarrassment.

“I— am so sorry. I have to go.”

“Hey, wait, wait,” the man soothed, grabbing at Louis’ shoulders before he could get away.

“I’m sorry,” Louis repeated, looking down at his shoes.

“It’s alright,” He cackled. “I get it a lot. More than you know.”

Alternatively titled: and they were roommates.

A Silent Whisper (That's Left Unsaid)

A fic by MyEnglishRose on AO3 | @lwtisloved on Tumblr | darlinlou on Twitter

50k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“So… we’re doing this?”

Louis shrugs, suddenly acting disinterested.

“Your call, Curly.”

Instead of a verbal response, Harry suddenly takes Louis’ left hand in his. The black ring seems to nag him as the fire’s light reflects its polished edges. He ignores Louis’ curious gaze as he quickly takes off one of his own rings — the rose one —, sliding it on Louis’ middle finger. It is a little large and when he lets go of his hand, Louis has to curl it into a fist so the ring doesn’t immediately fall off.

“We’ll tell them it’s a promise ring, not an actual engagement,” Harry declares, trying to ignore how warm his cheeks feel. Hopefully, it can’t be seen as he is facing away from the fireplace.

“Right… could have gotten me a fitted ring though, my Harry ten years ago was more thoughtful.”

Louis’ tone is light and teasing again. It creates a small smile on Harry’s lips.

“Someday,” he whispers before he even registers it himself.

They both ignore it.

Or. A Fake Relationship & Exes to Lovers AU ft a failed proposal ten years ago, an oblivious Harry, an overworked Louis, Zayn as the protective best friend, a meddling aunt and a lot of talks about weddings and rings.

sweet like honey

A fic by falsegoodnight on AO3 | @falsegoodnight on Tumblr | falsegoodnight on Twitter

33k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Weeks of flat shopping with their limited budget with Louis as a librarian aid and Harry as a barista and arguments about whether a balcony or extended bathroom suite were more important (Harry wanted to be able to feel the crisp night’s air and watch the sun set and Louis just wanted to take long bubble baths) led to them stumbling across the perfect fit. A small flat only ten minutes from campus with a cramped but lovely balcony and an included bath.

It’s affordable too… well, sort of. But they always manage. Louis picks up more shifts as an aid, adapting a habit of bringing his Psych textbooks and homework with him to finish in between duties, and later his script so he can quietly practice lines with little distraction.

Harry also increases his number of shifts at the cafe and valiantly endures the nasty customers who for some reason flock to their establishment like moths to a flame.

For a while, it’s enough.

Or, Harry and Louis need money and they find an unconventional solution in the form of PornHub. It’s not supposed to be a big deal.

Spoonful of Sugar

A fic by zanni_scaramouche on AO3 | @zanniscaramouche on Tumblr

42k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Harry Styles.

A name better suited for a myth than a man. Like the name of the devil, people either whisper it in fear or laugh it off as fable. Cut it open and this city’s heart doesn’t bleed red. It’s snowy white, and it pulses in the tight grip of Lucifer himself.

Louis Tomlinson cares for his family above all else, a fact that’s led him on a twisted path peddling drugs to support them. Just as he’s made the decision to jump ship, Louis gets snared between the two largest crime syndicates in the city. To keep his family safe he’s forced to trust the man that failed to keep his promise two years ago, the resident drug lord he’s unknowingly been working for, Harry Styles.

Let's Break the Internet

A fic by louizsv on AO3 | @ashleyjohnsonfanaccount on Tumblr | piccadillyplum on Twitter

9k | Explicit | Louis/OMC | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I’ll tell you what,” Sam leans forward in his chair and steeples his fingers in front of his face, “If you actually make an account and sell nudie pics and porn for more than three months, I’ll believe you.”

Louis purses his lips, ignoring the returning blush on his cheeks at the thought of having to film himself in compromising positions or taking photos of himself without any clothes on. Raising his chin defiantly, Louis accepts the challenge.

“Fine,” he agrees, “But when I win, you have to make one too.”

Lips quirked, Sam nods and holds out a hand, “Deal.” -- Or, the one where Louis is an Only Fans baby.

in a sea of mist

A fic by tomlinvelvet on AO3 | @tomlinvelvetfics on Tumblr

126k | Explicit | Louis/Harry | Tumblr post | Twitter post

A Greek Mythology/Camp Half-Blood AU where Harry is lost, the road to peace is a wretched one, and somehow, through a mist of confusion and regrets, Louis seems to be the only thing that makes sense and everything Harry needs.

---

View the other roundup posts here:

Week #1 Fic Roundup

#fics 2020

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cywscross · 4 years

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From @lightveils on Twitter (free to use wherever!). I’ve been meaning to do this for a while. I definitely have enough fics to fill it lol~

-0-

A Fic You Love Without Knowing The Source Material:

I was born for this by esama (Assassin’s Creed | Altair x Desmond | M)

Juno did her best to lead him to her preferred fate, but the end is coming and Desmond has doubts.

A Fic With A Premise That Shouldn’t Work But Does:

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24 (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | G)

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he'll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn't know who this kid is, but he's cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He's not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn't really mind.

A Fic You’ve Reread Several Times:

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | E)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

A Fic You Still Remember Many Years Later:

All True-Hearted Souls by mardia (Temeraire | Laurence x Granby | G)

“For God's sake, if someone doesn't talk Laurence out of these constant heroics, I wouldn't bet a farthing on his chances; no, and not ours either.” Four times that John Granby helped save William Laurence's life. Laurence/Granby. Spoilers up to Empire of Ivory.

A Comfort Fic:

Nothing Improper by Bunnywest (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | G)

“How long since someone touched you, sweet boy?” Peter asks, his voice barely a breath in Stiles’ ear. “Days? Weeks? Months?” Stiles nods imperceptibly at that last one.

“After…after everything, after Allison,” is all Stiles manages to get out.

A Cathartic Fic:

Swing by ShippersList (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles wants to fly.

A Fic You’d Print And Put On Your Bookshelf:

Nose to the Wind by Batsutousai (HP | Tom x Harry | M)

While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?

A Fic You Associate With A Song (x2):

Strange Duet by BelleAmante, thiliart (thilia) (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | M)

The past three years have been a series of shocking, or not so shocking, successes for 2018 Tony award winner and two time Grammy nominee, Stiles Stilinski. You don’t typically find classically trained opera singers singing alternative folk rock to crowds at Coachella. Nor do you find indie singer/songwriters winning best actor awards at the Tony’s for their Broadway debuts. Stilinski has made it his lifetime habit to defy and exceed all expectations.

-or-

A Steter fic loosely based on Phantom of the Opera

Full Circle by Nike Femme (FMA | Roy x Ed | T)

Edward Elric returns with amnesia. He has lived the past four years as Auric, a Gatekeeper. But there are some battles that only he can fight. Will his friends be able to awaken Ed, and what happens to Auric if they do?

A Fic That Inspires You:

Off the Line by esama (FFVII | Cloud x Vincent | T)

In which Cloud gets a Virtual Reality Dream Console – ShinRa's latest in virtual reality technology. Aaand everything pretty much goes downhill from there.

A Fic That Brought You On Board A New Ship:

Me and Mine by linndechir (Fast and the Furious | Deckard x Owen | E)

The last time they'd spoken, Deckard had told Owen that he was tired of cleaning up his messes. But the first thing he did after breaking out of prison was to take Owen to the other end of the world so they could lick their wounds and start planning their revenge.

A Fic You Wish Could Be A Movie:

Moving In (To Every Single Aspect of Danny’s Life, Including the Boring Bits like Dry-Cleaning) by westgirl (Hawaii Five-0 | Steve x Danny | T)

It felt wrong for Steve to sound unsure of his place in Danny’s life. His place in Danny’s life was at Danny’s side, driving him slowly insane. Steve should feel secure about that.

A Fic That Led To You Making Friends With The Author:

Begin and End by Rikkamaru (Log Horizon x HP | G)

This is how it begins: a boy rejected by his family, a boy reunited with his brother by his sister-in-law's intervention. A boy who found a family in an online game. But how will it end?

FREE SPACE:

Reverti Ad Praeteritum by Batsutousai (Fullmetal Alchemist | Roy x Edward | M)

Unwillingly forced to serve as a human trial for a crazy alchemist experimenting with time travel, Edward Elric finds himself standing across from Truth in the moment it takes his leg from him. Armed with the knowledge of what's to come and burdened with guilt for the choices he'd made as an adult, Ed sets out to fix every mistake he ever made and save every life they ever lost, no matter what it takes.

A Fic You’ve Gushed About IRL:

Designation: Miracle by umisabaku (Kuroko no Basket | M)

It's been three years since seven human experiments, called "Miracles," escaped Teiko Industries, alerting the world to the presence of super-powered children. Now they're finally integrating into society-- going to normal high schools, playing basketball, falling in love-- and trying to find out if it's possible to truly escape their past.

A Fic You Associate With A Place (have to self-rec for this one):

Safe Harbour by cywscross (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles x Chris | T)

Peter didn't think he'd find a home here. He certainly didn't think he'd find a home with two other men.

Chris and Stiles prove him wrong.

A Fic That Made You Gasp Out Loud (kind of? it was suspenseful):

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | E)

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

A Fic You Found At The Right Time:

slow increments by Areiton (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles)

Peter is enigmatic, egotistical, sometimes barely sane. He's sharp and cutting and takes more time to care for the pack than anyone.And sometimes, John catches him watching Stiles.

A Fic That You Would Read Fic Of:

if you try to break me, you will bleed by Dialux (Game of Thrones | Jon x Sansa | T)

It had been a slash across her chest from a White Walker’s sword that finally ended her life. Sansa’d landed in a puddle of her own blood, and she’d died quickly, quietly.

And then she’d awoken with a gasp, trembling, in a bed that had burned under Theon’s betrayal.

A Fic That Made You Laugh Out Loud:

The Path towards Unwilling Godhood by Sky_King (Bleach | Kisuke x Ichigo | G)

Ichigo has never had the most normal life, and this latest chapter of it is no different.

"I'm not a god!"

A Fic With A Line (Or Two) That You’ve Memorized By Heart:

Atlas by distractedKat (Star Trek | Spock x Jim | T)

Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning.

A Fic That Gave You Butterflies:

The Rest of Our Lives by mia6363 (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

“I don’t know, as a kid I watched a lot of movies, you know? And at first I figured like… I’d be on some great adventure that would take me away from it all, you know? Like Indiana Jones comes around and is all, ‘Hey Stiles, buddy, come with me we’ve got to go save the world.’ Then… you and… everything happened… then I just… I figured I’d die before I was eighteen.”

A Fic That Embodies Something You Value In Life:

The Boy Sleuth by Shey (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles is eight when he discovers a box of his mom’s old Nancy Drew Mysteries in the back of the guest bedroom closet.

A Favourite AU:

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | M)

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

A Fic You Stayed Up Too Late To Finish Reading:

Of Dwobbits, Dragons and Dwarves by ISeeFire (The Hobbit | Fem!Bilbo x Fili | T)

Bilba has been a slave her entire life. All she knows of the outside world is what she sees from time to time outside the gates of Moria and the stories her mother used to tell her. Stories of a place called the Shire where her mother once lived and a placed called Erebor where, as far as she knows, her father still lives. Stories of dragons a thousand times larger, and more intelligent, than the beasts the orcs rode and of a strange concept called freedom where one was allowed to live as they wished with no one to tell them what they could, or could not do.

The stories meant little to Bilba. The only future she had was to live, and die, as a slave as countless number had before her.

And then the orcs dragged an injured female firedrake through the gates, her rider screaming obscenities behind her as he fought to reach her side...and everything changed.

A Fic That Made You Feel Seen (another self-rec lol):

i am addicted to death (so remind me what it’s like to live) by cywscross (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles is sixteen years old. He has already died seventy-eight times.

#Fic Rec Bingo #Bingo #Misc Fanfic Rec

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marvelslut16 · 5 years

Text

Too Much

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x reader

Part 2 of A Helping Hand

Synopsis: Months after Billy admits that he wants to be better, shit hits the fan and (Y/N) realizes him and his attitude may be too much. Throw in an abusive father who has come to visit and Neil treating Billy like shit, making everything harder for the two before they finally blow up at one another.

Word count:4153

Warnings: Blood. Violence. Domestic violence. Swearing. Bullying. Shit fathers. Angst. Use of the word fag and other insults.

A/N: Thank you to the four lovely people who requested/asked about a part two: @speedmetalqueen @strangerfictions @noshi-chan @jojokoko0717 I originally had no interest in making this, but I got inspired. Also I’m thinking about making a part three, which would take place in the future. Let me know what you guys think about that.

“I can’t do this anymore Billy,” your eyes fill with tears. “I really thought you could be different.”

In the months following Billy’s plea for help, he really tried. You would give him that much. But as summer grew nearer, Billy grew tired of your little arrangement. While he was super nice to you, and a decent human being when you were around; he was still an ass when you weren’t. He still threatened Steve, constantly making his life a living hell whenever you weren’t in sight. He still booked nerds in the hall, threatened people that would look at him the wrong way, and fight the ones that dared to talk back.

And if that weren’t enough, your dad found out where you were living and came for a visit, citing your upcoming graduation as the cause. Your stepdad threatened him with a louisville slugger and the terms of the restraining order your mom has against him. Your father left, but you knew from the look in his eyes that he’d be back and you’d regret sending him away in the first place.

And boy were you right, on your way home from the video store, you were picking up a movie that Carol wanted to see, when you saw him again. He didn’t approach you, just watched you. You hurried back to your car and drove home, checking every once in a while to make sure you weren’t being followed.

You knew that you should have told your mom and stepdad as soon as you got home, but you didn’t want to worry them. And, there was a part of you that didn’t want to seem weak, and immediately complaining would make you seem weak in your eyes. So you stay silent, hoping he will just leave on his own.

A few days later you and Steve are babysitting the party, the two of you sneak off to eat some cold pizza while the kids watch the movie you picked up for Carol. It was Beverly Hills Cop, a movie that you and Steve had seen in the theater together. Some of it may be a tad inappropriate for the kids, but Dustin already swears like a sailor and the shit they’ve already faced, what's the point in pretending that they’re so innocent?

“Dustin said that he’s known Carol since they were kids, but you moved here freshman year,” Steve states more than asks, leaning against his kitchen counter.

“Our moms have been friends since they were kids. My mom moved away in high school, but they kept in close contact over the years. They used to come visit us often when we lived in Illinois. After the divorce we moved around a bit before Claudia convinced my mom to move back here, and this is where she met my stepdad. So we stayed.”

“I bet you’re happy you moved here, you got to meet Billy,” Steve frowns, insinuating that there’s something going on between you and the boy with the mullet.

“I’m just trying to help him be a better person, that’s all. He asked for help, and who am I to deny him that?” you frown at Steve. You just want him and Billy to get along, they’re more alike than either would like to admit.

“I just think-” you cut Steve off before he can bad mouth Billy.

“That we should be studying for our math test? Great idea!” you head over to your bag and pull out your textbook before he can change the subject back to Billy.

In the following days Billy grew more distant, and you heard in the hushed whispers of Hawkins High that he had been getting in more fights than he had in ages. The worst news of all was that Billy had befriended Tommy H and Carol again, something you had heard around school and eventually seen. He had originally agreed with you that they were bad influences on him, and that they only encouraged his erratic and terrible behavior.

In those days where Billy purposely, and obviously, ignored you in school and out of it; your birth father had been following you obviously. Your mom had the restraining order and you didn’t, which he used to his advantage. Everyday the same busted up silver car would loosely follow you everywhere you go.

Your father was keeping his distance, until one day he followed you to a park. You needed a breather, needed to think about Billy and how long helping him could go on when he didn’t seem to be making any real progress in weeks.

“Fancy seeing you here,” his acid voice dripped with sarcasm.

“What do you want?” your voice surprisingly doesn’t break. But maybe refusing to turn and look at him is helping with your strength.

“To take back what's mine,” his voice grows closer.

“And what's that?” you whip around and face the man that had left you for dead on your kitchen floor all those years ago.

“My favorite punching bag,” he seethes, face inches from yours. You can smell the strong scents of bourbon and tobacco mingling to create the naeusating scent that is your father.

“Go find someone your own age to torture,” you glare at him.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he grabs your wrist tightly, causing you to twitch in response. He laughs like a maniac when he sees how easily he can still hurt you. “I saw you with that blonde boy by his Camero at school the other day, I don’t think he’s a good influence on you.”

“Leave him out of this,” you try to sound strong, but it comes out as a desperate plea.

“Aww, are you his little whore or something?” his grip gets impossibly tighter.

“No,” you try to yank your arm away from him. His nails dig into your skin and are sharp enough that they leave cuts in your skin. “He’s just some guy in my science class.”

“Don’t lie,” he leers at you before his palm connects with your cheek

“I said no, and I meant it,” you blink back the automatic tears that come with being slapped. He ignores you and yanks on your arm, pulling you into a public restroom that's in the park locking the door behind you two.

“It looks like I have to teach a little slut a lesson,” his fist connects with your side. You don’t even bother trying to fight back as his fist connects with your gut and your ribs repeatedly. There’s no use, you’ll never win. The moments start to get hazy and blur together as he pulls out a switchblade. He runs the point over your arms, causing small cuts to appear and bleed onto the ground.

You fall onto the hard concrete underneath you as he sweeps his legs through yours. He sticks the blade into your leg deeper than on your arms. The knife cuts through your denim jeans and flesh like they were a mere piece of paper. Your legs starts to bleed profusely, he steps on your arm as you go to put pressure on the wound.

“He won’t want you now,” he laughs loudly, kicking your ribs as hard as he can one last time before leaving you on the dirty floor alone.

Your pretty new top has splotchy crimson stains scattered on it, blood drips down your arms and there’s a gash on your left leg from his knife. You manage to pick yourself up and somehow drive yourself all the way home.

“(Y/N), where have you been?” Carol’s yelling voice greets you as you walk through the door.

You ignore your sisters calls and slide down the door after you close it behind you. A loud sob shakes your entire body as you finally feel safe enough to cry. Two sets of feet coming running towards you, but you can’t be bothered to stop crying. Your body and soul hurt too much.

“(Y/N),” Carol gasps. “Oh my God, MOM!” she screams, running off to the kitchen.

Your eyes follow the shoes standing in front of you, up until you see the red headed girl staring at you in shock. “Don’t tell anyone,” you hiccup between sobs. Max quickly nods her head, not knowing what to say

“(Y/N),” your mom breathes in horror when she sees the small puddle of blood coming from your wounds.

“He’s been fo-foll-following-ng me-e. He c-c-corn-nerd me at a p-par-rk. S-s-sai-id he-e mis-ssed hi-is f-fa-favorite-te pu-pu-punching bag,” you sob out.

Max was sent home after promising she would never breathe a word of what she saw or heard, even if she wanted to tell Billy. Carol was sent to her room while your mom cleaned you up and your stepdad gave your leg stitches, his military background coming in handy. After convincing your stepdad that he couldn’t go kill him, you decided to sleep and pretend that the events at the park never occurred.

It’s unseasonably warm in Hawkins Indiana this spring, you’re the only one still wearing long sleeves. You have on one of your striped turtlenecks and a pair of well worn overalls, it successfully hides every inch of your body.

There's a group of kids standing in a giant semi-circle in the hallway you walk through to get to third period. Kids are murmuring so quickly all you pick up on are the words Harrington and Hargrove, causing you blood to run cold. You push your way through the crowd, and instead of complaining like they normally would, your peers parted like the red sea as soon as they saw it was you.

“Billy!” you gasp, when you come face to face with him pushing Steve into the lockers. Your heart drops to your stomach as your last little bit of faith you have for Billy disappears. You wished that you heard the kids wrong when you were making your way through the crowd, but now your worst fears have been confirmed.

It seems like the men in your life just keep disappointing you. At least you have Steve; trusty, dopey, kind hearted Steve. Who apparently did something so bad that it warranted he get beat up for it?

“(Y/N),” Steve mumbles, still trying to get air back to his lungs from Billy’s shove.

“I can’t do this anymore Billy,” your eyes fill with tears, ignoring Steve and looking straight into those blue eyes. “I really thought you could be different.”

“(Y/N)-” he reaches out for your wrist, but you quickly move out of his grasp.

“It’s too much,” your voice drops to a whisper. “You’re too much.”

“Like I need you anyway,” he laughs viciously as the crowd that was gathered around him and Steve now laughs at you. “You’re just a pathetic little freak.”

“I’d rather be a pathetic freak than be as miserable and lonely as you are Hargrove,” you frown as words you don’t even mean tumble out of your mouth. “What happens when we graduate and your just another has been bully that peaked in high school? At least Steve and I have potential in our futures.”

You grab Steve and pull him out of the building, needing to put as much space between you and Billy as humanly possible. The fresh spring air hits you as you hear the muffled sound of the bell ringing from inside the school. You’ve never skipped school, but there’s a first time for everything.

Steve’s wide eyed gaze on you makes your brain process what you just said in the hallway. A traitorous sob leaves your mouth as you fully comprehend how rude you were to Billy. And how rude he was to you.

“Hey, hey,” Steve pulls you into a hug, running his hand over your hair to calm you. “It’s going to be okay, but for now let's get you home. I’ll pick Carol up from school later when I get Dustin.”

Steve helps you into his car and drives you home, your too empty home. Your mom and stepdad are on vacation celebrating their anniversary, leaving you home with Carol. Normally you would love it, but with everything that's happened lately you hate it. Granted, you had insisted they still go last night, you didn’t plan on being home alone.

“I just wanted to help,” you whisper to Steve. “He wanted help and I wanted to help him.”

“I know, and you're an amazing person for it,” Steve says lightly, and you pull on your sleeves that started to rise up during the commotion with

Loud knocks on the door pull yours and Carol’s attention away from Tom Selleck running around in a pair of short shorts on your tv. You quickly mute the episode of Magnum P.I. and head for the front door. “Stay there and don’t make a sound,” you warn Carol.

You look out the peephole and see a mop of red curls pacing the length of the porch. “Max?” you question as you throw the door open.

“Billy came home from school fuming that he ruined everything. He was listening to his music too loud when Neil got home and he started screaming at him. Billy screamed back, saying that it was Neil’s fault that he can’t be normal. It’s so bad (Y/N),” Max’s voice breaks. “It’s never been this bad before. I’m scared he’s going to kill Billy.”

Max’s mouth continues to move, but you can’t hear anything after the words kill and Billy. Your heart rate picks up quite substantially as you run out of the house in slippers and just your keys, no jacket, no drivers license, no anything. You see Max and Carol watching from the doorway as you back out of the driveway and speed down the street. You don’t care how fast you’re driving, if Max believes Billy is in serious danger he probably is.

You whip into the Hargrove driveway, not caring if you hit Neil’s car. You run to the door finding it strangely unlocked. As you get closer to the door you can hear Neil screaming so loud you can hear him clearly through the closed door. His voice becomes impossibly louder as you throw open the front door and enter uninvited or that you're in a Hawkins high basketball t shirt and plaid pajama pants.

“You. Stupid. Fucking. Fag,” you hear skin loudly hit skin between every word. “You. Ruined. Your. Own. Life.”

“Get off of him!” you scream as soon as you see Neil straddling Billy. Neil was randomly switching between smacking and punching Billy randomly. You wrench Neil off of the beaten Billy with strength you don’t know you possess. Adrenaline you suppose.

Neil’s anger quickly switches to you, and he slaps you across your face, just like your own father. You can feel the familiar sting from flesh on flesh.

“That all you’ve got?” you antagonize him, trying to keep his attention away from the broken boy that you love.

Love? Now is definitely not the time to have some emotional breakthrough. You’re newly discovered feelings need to be put on the back burner, all that matters is getting Billy out of this house alive.

“This is the worthless whore turning you into a pussy?” Neil laughs loudly as he turns back to Billy, who is now sitting up. “Max’s friends older sister? She must be damn good in the sack.”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Billy screams. He gets up quickly and pushes Neil into the wall so hard that the picture frames rattle, and some fall to the ground and shatter on impact. “And don’t you ever lay a hand on her again!” Billy winds his arm back to punch Neil in the face, but you grab his arm to stop him.

“It’s not worth it, it won’t make you feel any better in the long run. Take the high road Billy. Please,” he looks at your desperate face and the adrenaline that helped him stand immediately dissipates.

He falls into your arms, the only thing keeping him standing is you. You wrap his arm around your shoulders and snake your arm around his waist. You glare at Susan, who has stood in the corner quietly watching the entire thing. Neil gets between you and Billy and the door.

“Don’t test me,” you seeth, getting ready to lean Billy against the wall so you can hit his father. Screw being the bigger person, this man is really testing your patience. “Move before I kick you so hard where the sun doesn’t shine that it’ll be coming out of your mouth.”

Neil's about to make some smart ass remark until he sees the fresh bruises and cuts littering your arms. You narrow your eyes at him and he silently, and reluctantly, moves out of the way. You quickly help Billy into your car before speeding back to the girls.

He’s bloody and bruised, worse than you’ve ever seen before. And he’s crying, something you weren’t even sure was possible coming from Billy Hargrove.

“What happened?” you whisper when you’re stopped at a red light. The obnoxious red illuminating his slightly bruised face. Props to the abusive fathers for choosing hideable places to really bruise their kids.

“I want to be normal,” his voice comes out quiet, far from the confident cocky boy that you’ve come to know. “He’s why I can’t be. Every time I’m happy he finds a way to hurt me, and then I take it out on kids at school.

“You need to find a coping mechanism,” you advise as the light turns green. “Maybe you can practice basketball more? ‘Cause I’m sure you don’t want to write your feelings down like I do.”

“The only other woman I’ve ever loved in any capacity abandoned me. No one I have ever loved before has ever stuck around. And I thought it would be easier to push you away rather than you realizing I’m not worth it. That’s why I fought Harrington earlier.”

“Love?” you're bewildered by Billy’s confession. “You don’t love me Billy, if you did you wouldn’t have hurt my only friend to make things easier for you.” You pull into your driveway, neither of you making any move to exit the car.

“My mom left me with Neil so she could have a better life. I’m worthless to her, I’m worthless to everyone,” Billy admits quietly. “I just didn’t want you to see me like that too, so I found a shitty out.”

“You aren’t worthless Billy Hargrove,” you say softly, hoping he believes you. “And even though we aren’t friends anymore, you and Max can stay here as long as you need.”

This time you make an exit from the car, quickly walking away from Billy and the tangled webs of your feelings for each other. Max and Carol are waiting for you at the door, eyes wide as they land on Billy who’s walking up behind you.

“Carol, go get the first aid kid,” you give her a look that says stop staring. She scurries off and you bring Billy into the kitchen. Her and Max hover quietly as you clean Billy’s cuts and bandage him up. You must have been concentrating really hard, because it feels like some sweat is trickling down your leg.

“(Y/N), you’re bleeding,” Max sounds worried as the blood seeps through your pant leg.

“Shit,” you breathe out quietly. “Not another pair of pants,” you whine, taking a seat next to Billy.

“I’m calling Mom,” Carol exclaims nervously.

“No you’re not,” you sigh at your little sister. “I probably just popped a stitch, which I can fix myself.”

You gingerly roll up your pant leg to see that you have indeed popped a few stitches. You give a long dramatic sigh as you reach for the needle and thread, but a large thick hand beats you to it. You meet Billy’s eyes and you can see the silent rage burning in them, wanting to beat the shit out of whoever did this to you.

“What happened?” his voice as soft as yours was in the car. He carefully pulls your bleeding leg up to rest on his lap, his fingers gentle as he caresses your skin before threading the needle.

“My dad,” you whimper at the confession, and not the needle sliding through your skin. “He’s been following me for days, yesterday he cornered me and beat me up.”

Once Billy’s down sewing you up, he aggressively paces the kitchen like he wasn’t just beat up himself.

“Billy you need to calm down,” you say gently. “There’s no need for you to get worked up over it.”

“Damn it (Y/N)!” Billy pulls at the ends of his hair. “I’m in love with you! And nobody hurts you and gets away with it.”

“You hurt me!” voice far louder than you intended. Max and Carol’s wide eyes move between the two of you. “More than I ever thought possible. You pushed me away in every way you knew that would mentally hurt me. That’s not love.”

“I was giving you an out-”

“No, you weren’t, “ you cut him off. “You hurt me in order to save yourself pain down the road. Well newsflash, the only one that abandoned someone here is you.”

“I’m scared!” if you didn’t know any better you would swear that there are unshed tears shining in his eyes.

“So am I! I realized that I loved you when I was, quite literally, saving your life,” words are once again leaving you before your brain can process what you’re saying. “Hours after you started a fight with Steve for God knows what reason. It’s hard and scary being in love with the Billy Hargrove, the infamous ladies man. Especially when he’s too embarrassed to truly be my friend when we’re at school.”

“You love me?” Billy sounds stunned. Max has a small smile on her face as Carol gaps at your confession.

“No?” you squint, hoping you can pinch yourself and wake up from this pain pill induced dream. But you aren’t that lucky.

“I want to be better for you,” he gently grabs your hand, pulling it up to his face so he can kiss the scratches on your arms. “I’ve never felt this way before and I got scared. I wanted to really be friends at school, but I knew Tommy H. and Carol would rip into you.”

“Two broken people don’t make a whole one,” you whisper your last line of defense.

“But they can be there for each other with love and support,” Billy’s words surprise you. He pulls you into his arms. “I’ll never hurt you (Y/N), never lay a finger on you.”

“I’m sorry,” you rush out. “For what I said at school. It was rude and uncalled for, I was lashing out because it hurt.”

“I’m sorry too, for what I said and did,” he sighs before continuing. “I’m even sorry I pushed Harrington into those lockers.”

“You have to apologize to him,” you push lightly on his chest so he looks into your eyes and not at your lips.

“Whatever you want,” he leans forward, finally capturing your lips with his. His lips are softer than you imagined, him being such a heavy smoker and all. Typically the smell of tobacco is a turn off for you, but with Billy it’s an inviting smell. The kiss is over too soon, you pull away as Billy goes to slip his tongue in your mouth. There was no way you would go that far in your kitchen.

Whoops coming from Max and Carol make you extremely glad that you didn’t let the kiss get any deeper. The girls don’t need to see that, and you don’t know how far you two would have gotten before you remembered you weren’t alone. You laugh lightly before placing fingers to your slightly swollen lips.

Max and Carol say their goodnights, winking at you tow before running off to your sisters room. You lead Billy up the stairs, the energy from both of you draining as you come back to Earth and realize just how tired everything you've gone through has made you two.

“I love you Billy,” you carefully snuggle closer to his chest.

“I love you too (Y/N),” he gently runs his hand over your hair.

It may not be conventional, but Billy Hargrove is undoubtedly the love of your life. Both of you have been dealt some pretty shitty cards, but it helps you understand the other better. As you lay in your bed with Billy, you and him make a plan to leave this dangerous city and move to California after graduation. For the first time in a long time, you fall asleep truly happy wrapped up in Billy’s bruised but strong arms.

Permanent tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny

#Billy Hargrove #billy x reader #billy stranger things #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove x you #dacre montgomery #billy x you #billy x y/n #billy hargrove x y/n #stranger things #Stranger Things Season 1 #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things season 2 #stranger things season 3

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mail-me-a-snail · 4 years

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Put on a Show

my first jse fic, in where anti teaches dear jackieboy man a lesson :3

Be a hero.

That’s what Jack had said to him, before…before the incident, before all of this. Before that son of a bitch Anti got to him.

It boils his blood and makes him gnash his teeth at night. As much as he hates Anti… …he can’t deliver the final blow. He has Anti pinned by the front of his shirt against the brick wall of the alleyway. Anti’s hair is ruffled and sticking up in all sorts of places. With some sort of sick sadness, the hero sees Jack in him, most of all in his blue-grey eyes, instead of monstrous black pools and tears. Even the slit on his neck isn’t bleeding black—it’s red. As if he’s human. As if he’s Jack. It’s not the only thing that’s bleeding red. Anti’s nose is bleeding, thick trails of blood dripping from his nostrils into his lips and soaking into his beard. Anti’s fangs are splashed with his own blood. Still, he smiles. Bruises black and blue dot his face and has swollen one of his eyes a dark purple. Jackie feels just as beat up as Anti looks—the knife slashes scoring his arms and back like tallies sting like hell. His fist is pulled back to wipe the smug grin off of Anti’s face but he just can’t do it. “C'mon, hero,” Anti sneers, coughing. Jackie’s fist curls tighter around Anti’s shirt. It’s black; no one will see the blood. “Take the shot.” Anti raises a mockingly frail hand and points at his chin. “Right here.” Jackie sucks in a breath through his clamped teeth. His own fist shakes. Why can’t he do it? Anti is right there. This isn’t different from all the other times. And that, right there, is why he can’t do it. Because it is the same process, the same cat and mouse game that they always play. The same bridges that are built then burned with a crowd to cheer for the winning side. But there isn’t a crowd now. In this dank, dirty, rat-infested alleyway, it is just him and Anti. So, take the shot, He yells at himself. But he can’t. “Why?” He manages to growl, more to himself than Anti. Anti tips his head and frowns. A bead of blood drops onto his cheek from a gash in his forehead. “Why what?” He says. “Why is it always the same damn game with you?” Jackie narrows his brows. “Day in, day out—you come out of hiding, act like some kind of big bad, and we fight while the crowd eggs us on. I never leave these fights with debilitating wounds. I rarely get hurt. Why? It’s like—it’s like this is all it is to you, this war between us. Like you never tried to hurt my brothers—” Jackie unconsciously lifts Anti a little higher off the ground. The demon looks pleased. “—like you never tried to fucking kill Henrik, or Chase, or Jack—” His voice elevates into a shout. “—so, why do you think this is a game?!” It’s only when the still silence that follows settles in that he realizes he had been shouting. Anti’s collar is still bundled up in his fist. He’s nearly ripping the fabric out. “The game only stops,” Anti isn’t smiling as he says, “when one of us is dead. I’m not interested in killing you, Jackie. You’re a comic book superhero—a try-hard with big dreams. You needed a villain. A villain who could be the big bad, who could never cause any real harm…at least, not to the city. So, I reeled it in. Just for you.” “…what?” “You’d never be able to handle what I can really do,” Anti sneers, “You’re a super hero without super powers—of course, the crowd doesn’t know that. The kids…they love you. They think you can do so many wonderful things…things that I do for you.” “I don’t…” “Come on, Jackie. You think I can bleed?” Anti wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it’s like the blood was never there. His bruises have faded away. His black eye is healed, the skin around it pink. “I’m not human—never have been. Never will be. They—” He throws his hand towards the street. “—know as much. They see me as the villain. The Saturday morning cartoon bad guy. And you’re the titular character.” “Shut up.” “It’s a show to them.” “Shut up.” He can hear the blood rushing through his ears. Every wound fades. “It’s all a ploy—” “Shut up.” “—because without me, they wouldn’t fucking believe in you the way Jack does—” “I SAID, SHUT UP.” His fist vaults forward. His breathing is ragged. He expects blood under his knuckles—but finds Anti gripping his fist like it’s nothing. Jackie’s hand shakes with the effort. He’s pushing with all his might but Anti isn’t budging. He isn’t the frail, beaten victim of justice he was just a few seconds ago. Jackie sees this in the way Anti suddenly straightens, the way the crusted blood under his fingernails disappears. Anti pulls back his fist and strikes Jackie. The hit connects and lands square on Jackie’s jaw, making him see stars. He shakes his head and loses his grip on Anti. The other sidesteps out of his range and grabs the front of his jacket, forcibly spinning him around. He head-butts him, a wild grin on his face. Jackie’s head snaps back from the force of it and he stumbles backwards, trying to stop the warm blood gushing from his forehead. He coughs. “That’s no way to play, hero,” Anti taunts him from behind. “What if all your fans were watching? You can’t let them see you lose.” He growls and whips around. The moment he does, Anti grabs his throat, rough nails digging in and leaving angry half-moon marks in the soft skin, and pushes him against the opposite wall of bricks. The back of Jackie’s head nearly smashes into them—he throws his head forward just in time to avoid the worst of the impact, but it still sends a shock down his spine. He can’t think much, can’t see much, either. Anti’s hold tightens and he gasps for air. His hand instinctively grabs Anti’s wrist, pulling and scratching, nearly begging. He’s about to break out of his hold when— The hero doesn’t even have enough breath to cry out when a sharp, hot pain erupts in his stomach. He jolts, hands jerking and teeth clamping down. Anti jostles the knife, just to toy with him. He can hear the other end grinding against the bricks. The demon leans close, so close Jackie can feel his beard tickle the shell of his ear. “This is why we put on a show, Jackieboy,” Anti whispers. Jackie flinches, wheezing. “You couldn’t kill me if you tried, not like this. So, at the end of the day, you win and I crawl back to whatever cesspit I came from, wherever they think I came from. The crowd wouldn’t like it if they saw you like this. Bleeding, broken…” Anti leans back. His grip on Jackie’s throat is iron tight. He smiles, and for a moment—it might be his concussion but—the scleras of his eyes turn pitch black, then flash again to white. Anti brushes the hair out of Jackie’s face, a motion so tender for a moment, for a stupid, vulnerable moment, that he wheezes, “J…Jack.” “That’s right,” Anti laughs. His voice dips into a perfect impersonation of Jack. “I’m Jack. I believe in you. You’re a hero to everybody, but most importantly, to me…bla, bla, bla.” The knife slides out of Jackie’s gut, a sickly slick accompanying it and a resulting gush of blood down his leg. Jackie squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t be like that,” Anti’s voice comes from somewhere in the darkness. “Give us a smile, Jackie. You’re our hero.” He refuses. The silence is deafening. He feels Anti’s thumb rubbing against his Adam’s apple, before his hand caresses Jackie’s cheek, the limb cold against it. He could breathe again. He took the time to take a few slow breaths. Jackie opens his eyes. He glares daggers and spits blood onto the Anti’s cheek. His smile never wavers, even as the blood drips down his chin and onto his shirt. “You’re forgetting your place in our game. You’re the hero, the one who wins…and I’m the bad guy, the bleeding baddie. This won’t do at all. How about this: a little something from me to you—a time out, if you will.” “Fuck. You.” Is all he can manage. His vision is starting blacken around the edges. The knife’s tip presses into his neck. Anti forces his head up with his other hand, his fingers digging into the side of Jackie’s temple and his thumb pushing against his lips. Jackie gnashes his teeth and has half a mind to bite Anti’s hand like a dog— The knife slides across his neck in one smooth motion, like cutting through paper. He had only ever seen the after effects of a slit neck—the blood, the loss of voice. Never had he realized that blood would bubble in his mouth, dribbling down thick as spit, nor that the pain would be like a tight wire cord was being wrapped around his neck and pulled taut. He slides to the grimy floor, grasping his neck, wheezing and coughing. Everything is tinged red. He sees Anti’s black Converse at the edge of his vision, one shoe tapping as if impatiently waiting for him to die. “Crawl back to your precious doctor,” Anti leans down and suddenly grabs his hair, pulling his head up to look at him. Jackie squints, the sunlight hurting his eyes. “And think about what you’ve done.” Anti lets him go. His head drops and so does he, breath slowing, bleeding out. The scarlet from his neck grows into a puddle beneath him. Anti starts to walk away, leaving bloody footprints behind him. Jackie’s shaking hand reaches out to him, but drops limply. The blood splashes. “When you come back…” Anti’s voice starts to fade away, as did everything, into darkness. “…let’s put on a show.”

#jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #jse #jackieboy man #mine #my writing #gore tw #knives tw #whump #angst #anti beats a bitch the fuck up #writersofjack

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ofgoodmenarchive · 4 years

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The second in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.

Spring Thaw

Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.

No- he was definitely getting ahead of himself.

At the very least, Dorian shouldn't have discarded the Venatori's equipment so impulsively. It was possible- even likely- the Herald would be immune to his charms. If no attraction existed between them to start with, then he'd forsaken his current, sole employment for nothing.

Introducing himself was also a complex matter. His subject of fixation was more often than not swarmed by Chantry puppets- Inquisition puppets, whatever.

Either way, they'd be wary of something like him.

Which would be perfectly sensible, if we're being honest...

For days he stalked them through the Hinterlands, camping out of sight- preferably at high vantage points. On this occasion he'd discovered a homely cave dug into a cliff, with an ideal view of the Inquisition camp. They'd organised around a half-crumbled tower, wrangling full command of the King's Road at this end.

It took time to accomplish- Dorian had spectated most of the work. The Templar-Mage conflict was their main concern- by now almost completely eliminated. Still there was plenty of trouble to be had, Dorian knew.

Are they even aware of the Venatori yet?

Indeed for now they mostly focused on the resident lyrium-smugglers. To be fair, they were a nuisance- and had not enough sense to leave the Inquisition unmolested.

In his shadowing he concluded a few things, at least.

For one, the Herald was a mage with an affinity for ice. Admittedly Dorian felt stupid for not realising on their first encounter. That sword of light channelled the man's will, swaying him towards close combat. Odd for a mage- so Dorian didn't berate himself much for failing to notice.

Secondly, the man was Spirit-bound. To what sort of spirit and for what purpose, Dorian couldn't guess. He'd only concluded this due to a chance look at his weapon- a summoning circle was inscribed into the hilt. An insanely reckless thing to attempt- unless your will and the spirit's could work in perfect unison.

We have something in common, at least!

Though Dorian was positive none regarded him as an Abomination.

Lastly, the Herald was unaccustomed to such close work with humans. Dorian rarely overheard conversation but frequently witnessed him seeming lost, needing elaboration on what appeared self-evident.

Overall he was somewhat peculiar, even for an elf.

“You know...” Dorian mused while building a small fire for the night. “I'm already feeling chipper. It's probably a trick of the mind, since there's potential for a meal...but wouldn't it be funny if my desire was feeding into itself?”

An unamused grumble responded and he frowned at his shadow- slumped morosely against the cave entrance, like a wrung out towel.

“Yes, yes, I know that's not how it works.” Dorian rebuffed, scowling. “I'm just saying I don't mind all this creeping around! Or I don't mind it yet...give it a while, I suppose...”

The Herald of Andraste...

…probably also does not speak to himself.

“Well I'm not speaking to myself, am I?!” He countered, huffing. “I'm speaking to you!- And you're being especially bratty today!”

Desire slouched down the cliff-wall until it was almost flat.

Dorian spluttered with laughter.

“You're like a cat, you know!? An ominous, perverted cat.”

The creature bubbled sadly, giving no answer.

Rolling his eyes, Dorian would have returned to working on the fire- except Desire's head emerged from it's puddle, leering down the slope.

“Hrm...?” He followed it's gaze, squinting. “Something happening down there...?”

A tall figure wandering from camp, accompanied by a much shorter one- the Herald and his dwarf ally.

“Where are they wandering off to on their own...?” He frowned at his shadow. “Should they really be doing that?”

Desire shrugged, shoulders casting ripples along it's spooled form.

“For some reason...” Dorian swiped his staff from nearby. “I don't like it. Let's make sure nothing bothers them, yes?”

Maker forbid the elf get himself killed- it would be a waste of his whole week!

The pair strode upon the King's Road, moonlight leading their path and their path leading Dorian- always close behind but not too close. Eventually they paused at a road-marker, muttered between themselves and appeared to wait.

Are they missing one of their people, or something..?

Regardless of the situation, whatever was meant to occur, didn't. Exchanging anxious stares, the duo walked further along, ignorant to Dorian's presence as he slunk from shadow to shadow.

Within minutes all heard the same thuggish shouting- accented in Ferelden, somewhere amidst an outcrop of limestone. Sprinting forward, the Herald and his companion hunched behind cover, in frantic discussion.

Wanting a full perspective, Dorian climbed ledges as stealthily as possible. Once he had an ideal view, he sat and assessed.

Lyrium-smugglers again, of course. Carta, perhaps? No one Dorian had ties with, whoever they were. More than a dozen- with enough heavies in their ranks to pose serious threat to a miniscule party.

A party of two, for example, would likely be obliterated.

Dorian could see why there was discourse between the Herald and his friend. An Inquisition scout knelt among the group, bleeding and mid-interrogation.

So they did lose someone...

Now the Herald wished to attempt rescue and his companion reasonably disagreed. Even out of earshot, Dorian could tell who was winning- through pure stubbornness alone.

Glancing behind, he spotted that looming, bratty shadow of his.

“I hope you're ready to actually work for your meal.”

Not a second passed after his speech before all erupted into chaos. The Herald careened through the group, carried along paves of ice. Flailing and visibly irritated, the dwarf scrambled onto a high-point, where he could launch arrows from some elaborate crossbow.

Skidding from his perch, Dorian leapt into the fray.

Blood had already touched ground- that didn't bode well for anything near him. The grinning skull of his staff raised high, he willed every drop of lost life into himself. It swirled around him in crimson ribbons- he hadn't even channelled a form before people screamed.

“MALEFICAR!”

Earning a wild, blood-crazed laugh from him as he barrelled forth, slicing enemies with their own pain- weaponised. Anyone struck deep enough and lacking proper resistance became crazed, attacking all in their proximity.

It had been a while since he'd stretched his abilities for combat- quite invigorating, really! Not to mention all the blood- a fair snack, though not his usual preference. Licking some from his fingers, Dorian launched into another attack and found himself brushing passed blizzard.

Swivelling to face it, he bore his teeth in a personable manner.

Winter-touched eyes regarded him quizzically, then vanished into battle.

Moments later and it was done- together with the scout, their enemy was reduced to a pile of corpses.

Inhaling, Dorian glimpsed the dwarf and recruit in breathless conversation. Elsewhere stood the Herald- sheathing his weapon, sighing with relief.

Talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk-talk.

Maker, stop it! Yes, I see.

This was the closest opportunity he was chance to get.

Awkwardly, uncharacteristically- Dorian hesitated.

TALK-TALK-TALK-T

I SAID STOP THAT! I'M GOING!

Mustering composure, he sauntered that direction, beaming.

“Greetings, friend!”

The Herald blinked from wiping stained hands, eyes widening a second later.

“...Who are you?” He mumbled, automatically hunching to Dorian's level- as he'd witnessed many times.

“Me?” He laughed airily- had to restrain more when the elf flinched. “My name is Dorian Pavus...and you would be the Herald of Andraste, no?”

Much hesitation from this so-called Herald- the poor man's eyes darted as if seeking attendance, white complexion reddening. Effortless traits for human eyes to see- and then there were aspects only Dorian would see. A quickened pulse, hitched breath, heightened temperature...

Well, that answers that question...

But...I really didn't intend to give the poor fool a heart-attack.

He hadn't even exercised his will in any fashion- just introduced himself! The Herald's clan must have been terribly isolationist, if that's all it took to fluster him.

“That...is what they say...” He managed after a long pause, brow furrowing. “...Have you been following me, Dorian Pavus?”

Oh, I like that.

So formal.

“Only for your own protection, my darling Herald!” He chuckled warmly, gestured to their fallen opponents. “As you can so clearly see.”

Another drawn out silence, pale features struggling to stay that way and failing- pink had spread to his neck.

“You are from Tevinter.” He observed clumsily.

Dorian's head tilted.

“Nothing gets passed you, does it?”

The Herald didn't seem to know how to respond, grasping air dumbly and again searching around for aid. Deciding to provide such aid, Dorian inquired;

“Since I gave you my name- may I have yours?”

Though fidgeting, he offered;

“Lavellan.”

“That would be a last name, no?”

“I do not tend to give my first.”

“You don't 'tend to'...” He smiled, shamelessly familiar. “So you might make an exception?”

Something about this caught the elf off guard- absolutely flushed. He merely stared as though Dorian proposed he strip to his undergarments.

“Uhh...hey, there.” The dwarf ambled to them before Lavellan could recover.

“Ah, hello!” Determined to make a good impression, Dorian stuck out his hand. “Dorian Pavus! Pleased to make your acquaintance!”

The Dwarf relented to a light shake, inspecting him doubtfully.

“Varric Tethras- pleased to make yours..” He knit his brow, glanced between the two men. “...I guess.”

All the while Lavellan was statuesque, face crimson and attention flying everywhere.

“...You okay, Lord Heraldness?”

“I...am fine- I am fine.” He practically squeaked. “I think...Cassandra will wish us back at camp...right now...im...immediately.”

Incapable of restraining himself, Dorian roared with mirth and hoped it didn't sound unkind.

“We'll talk soon, my dear Herald.” He bid farewell with more obvious warmth. Lavellan swiftly fled- half-marching, half-scurrying, Varric at his heels.

-–

Dirt and blood raced beneath his feet. Evallan Lavellan fought to correct the hue of his face.

“...Are you okay?” Varric- barely audible above the sound of his heartbeat.

“I am fine!” He snapped, shrill. “I just...was not prepared for...for that.”

Varric's expression scrunched inwards, perplexed.

“Prepared for what?”

Speech died on Evallan's tongue, frowning helplessly at his companion. He barely had the words in his own language, how could he explain with the vocabulary they both shared?

All the human mages he'd encountered- they were so reserved, tame.

He couldn't imagine any human to carry themselves so shamelessly- draped in blood and bone, cackling and grinning through danger. Formidable yet exercising flawless control- so at ease in his nature.

And Mythal have mercy- Those eyes- deadly flares of red and gold.

Absolutely wild.

He must be mad.

“...Oh, Maker's breath, Herald...” Evallan became aware he'd been glaring into space. “Don't worry- I won't tell anyone you took one look at the weirdo-'Vint-blood-mage and turned into a tomato.”

He flushed every shade of red imaginable, snapping-

“I said I was not prepared!”

“I wasn't prepared either!” Varric chortled. “And I do not look like you do right now!”

Groaning, Evallan sped his pace, wishing for nothing more than to hide in his tent and scream until humiliation subsided.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #inquisition #dai #dorian pavus #blood mage dorian #blood mage #maleficar #pavellan #lavellan #m!lavellan #inquisitor lavellan #dorian pavus x inquisitor lavellan #dorian pavus x inquisitor #trying not to spam tags when all the content I make is dragon age rip #my writing #my aus

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boogiewrites · 4 years

Text

Reports & Repertoire 20: Death & Life

Characters: Eddie Brock x Venom x Candace Miller (OFC)

Summary: The final chapter. Candy faces the consequences of her actions. Life and Death make things a lot clearer somehow... if you can come out on the other side.

Warnings/Tags: Violence. Death. (BUT FLUFF and a happy ending.) Hope you like it. <3

Click on my icon then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters.

Candy lives a half-life for a little while. Defeated fully and looking over her shoulder. A break comes when someone else manages to release an article on the spree of Roofies and disappearances in the city and all the possible connections. It wasn’t much, there were no names, no fingers pointed or anyone blamed. But it was something and she’d needed a win, no matter how small it may have been.

Eddie was relieved, and so was Venom to a degree. Although he was still steadfast on being able to protect everyone, he was glad Eddie felt better. It allowed for the extra energy he spent being anxious to no longer be used up and therefore not make Venom as ravenous all the time. Edgier meant more food and Eddie was never in the mood to let Venom take control and have his fun. But now everyone had settled back into a nice pattern. Something… normal. As far as normal for them went.

A week later with the air clear and Venom fed, they go out for the evening. Something fun and light and intimate. It was fall now, a comfort in the upcoming holidays and the jitters of her secretly asking him to meet her parents after telling him something she should have long ago. Venom knew it, but telling Eddie and his bumbling nature had been hard. So Candy planned on telling him exactly how she felt that night. To let it all out and tell him what he meant to her, as a friend, a partner, a lover. To let him know she saw him in her future, and to ask him if he saw her in his.

Any serious discussions no matter how welcome and joyous they might be were far from Eddie's mind. They walked through the carnival like children with sticky mouths and hands full of candy when they weren’t in each other’s grasp. A laugh-filled trip through a haunted house, a stuffed Alpaca Eddie got way too into winning her and spent entirely too much money on goes home with them too.

They sit at the back patio, Candy's head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around one another and Venom quietly waiting in the wings. Fireworks from downtown we’re going off, a crispness to the air could be felt and in each other’s arms was the only place they wanted to be.

A ring at the door separates them. “That’ll be dinner! Didn’t take them long. Thought with the traffic from the festival it’d take longer.” She says with a pleasantly surprised look on her face.

“These explosions are aesthetically pleasing. Like the ones in July to celebrate the birth of America.”

“I see you paid attention.” Eddie nods approvingly, kicked back with a beer in his hand.

“I always pay attention.” He retorts. “Eddie.” Venom's tone and sudden stiffness brings a cool rush down Eddie's spine.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie whispers, feeling the tension.

————

Candy trots towards the door in her pajamas, bare feet soaking up the cool wood in the house.

“Candy?” A man asks as she opens the door.

“Yeah, do I need to tip you here or on the app?” She asked, fumbling with her phone.

“We tried to give you a tip but you didn’t listen.”

Her hair stands on end and her eyes shoot up wide and afraid. And they should’ve been. The man is holding a gun. “What do you want?” She whispers with a serious face and tone. Every muscle in her body was tense. She didn’t even breathe.

“All you have to do is stop. Just shut the fuck up about it. Stop trying to save the day Nancy Drew, this shit doesn’t fly in the real world. You shut up and it goes away.” he waves the gun around as he speaks.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. What you’re doing is wrong.” There are tears in her eyes for too many reasons to name. She’d had self-defense classes. She could get the gun, yell for Eddie and this would be over. The seconds felt like hours as they say in life or death moments.

“I’ll say it again. You shut up. And it goes away. I have to give you your final warning.” He extends his arm, gun pointed down and Candy sees her moment. She tries to get in close and gain control, but the man had an itchy trigger finger. It slipped, him only being a messenger to scare her into silence. But it backfired. For everyone.

————-

“The door.” Is all Venom says before he encases Eddie. He was faster than Eddie could be and took in the scene in front of him with quicker decision making.

Candy was on the floor and bleeding with multiple gunshots to her torso. A man staring in the doorway in horror at them with a gun in his hand. As Eddie screams inside the cage of goo, Venom eats the attacker without a second thought. Now there was no man.

Candy cries out, back against the wall as she reaches out for them. “Eddie…” She wheezes and holds her chest.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” He was never good at hiding his emotions when it came to worry for those he cared about.

“I... they…”

“Shhh, don’t speak. I’m calling the ambulance.” He fumbles and drops his phone into the rapidly growing pool of blood from underneath her.

“Eddie.” Venom says, tendrils moving down his hands as they touch Candy's pulse points.

“Eddie I-“ her eyes flutter as he cries and groans in fear, his phone continually slipping from his fingers as she sighs out his name, rapidly losing consciousness.

“Shhh shh we’ve got you baby. Don’t worry. I’ll call- SHIT!”

“Eddie she won’t make it.” Venom calmly states even though it helps nothing.

“We have to DO something we just can’t. FUCK!” His voice breaks and he holds her face as he cries.

Her head rests in his hand and she smiles for him, her vision tunneling. “Eddie I l-“

“Shhh save your energy Candy. Baby, I’ve got you.”

“Eddie I can help but… we have to separate.”

“What?”

“I can’t bond with her. I can try. To heal her, save her.”

He sees her go limp in his grasp and he sobs, hunched over and shaking. “Do it please just- FUCK!” He screeches and shakes her. “Save her, man!”

A warm embrace she finds herself in. Only the thought of “Eddie, I love you. I’m sorry.” In her mind. It’s all Venom hears as he takes her over, connecting to her every fiber and cell as he heals the wounds.

Eddie is left in his own personal hell as Venom works. He’s alone. Utterly for the first time in what felt like forever. There was no voice in his head but his own, and despite not holding the symbiote, his body had never felt heavier or harder to function. Candy lay lifeless, as Eddie sobbed and held her, choking out please, feeling helpless in the puddle of blood on the floor. If Venom had brought him back, surely he could help her.

———-

“She’ll live.” Venom says, a sluggish head forming from her shoulder and plopping onto Eddie's head.

Eddie can’t answer. He’s too busy sobbing into her hair to speak, he only nods and pulls Venom into his embrace.

“The superficial wounds are closed. I’m working on her heart now. It’ll be slow. Very intricate, human organs. Lots of blood to make.” He says weakly. “Wash her, take her to bed. Get us chocolate. Something. Need. Energy.” He hisses as he sinks back into her.

Eddie does as he’s told. Stripping them both and showering them off, leaving the bloody clothes on the shower floor. He puts her in bed, shorts and a hoodie of his she knows he likes. He touches her so gently, and she feels it, in a way. Venom tells her Eddie has her, and they’ll make sure everything’s okay.

Eddie left to deal with keeping the blood hidden as the food arrived. He looked a mess, red-faced and puffy-eyed but luckily the young guy didn’t seem to care. He forgets the food and tosses it in the fridge. Locking everything and now to the task of cleaning up the blood.

He’s never cleaned up a body’s worth of blood before. Towels were no help and paper was too weak. He gathers it all into a pile, slouching it into a garbage bag. He throws their now soaked and blood-stained clothes in as well and tries to make the place looked decent. He can’t do much for the blood spatter on the light-colored walls but, paint could fix that later right?

He falls exhausted into the bed next to her. He watches her breathing, color back in her face now that had been a ghastly white. “Is she...in pain?” He asks, feeling the tiredness take over his muscles as he tries to push back her hair and hold her hand.

“No.” Venom quietly answers. “Not physical.”

“Good.” He nods. “Wait, what does that mean?” He double-takes.

“She is distraught. Emotionally.”

“She DID almost die.”

“Yes. She understands. And wants me to tell you she knows who it was.”

“WHAT?” His brow furrows and his eyes go wide, his weak and human body ready to defend her anyway.

“It was a message. The men she was trying to expose. They found out it was her. A snitch she presumes from the tone, she says.”

“Can she hear me?” He asks.

“No. But I can talk to her for you if you wish. She has many things to say.”

“Like what? About the guys who shot her?”

“No. About you.”

“Me? What about me? What’d I do? What does she need?”

“You. Just you.” Venom’s voice reflects the loving nature of her request. “What she wants to say is that she loves you. What she won’t admit is she wants to marry you. She doesn’t want to leave you as much as she doesn’t want you to leave her. She loves us Eddie. Us.” A weak sigh as he feels it all so intensely in the new body.

“She… loves us?”

“Very much so. She was going to tell us tonight. Tell you tonight. Wants us in her future. To… meet her parents she says.”

“I’ll do anything she wants.” He laughs and kisses her forehead. “I’ll marry her as soon as she can stand if she would. I love her. Tell her I love her so much. I thought I’d lost her and I’ll never let her get hurt again. I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. You warned her, she says. And you were right.”

“Are you sure that’s her saying that?” Eddie laughs and kisses her cheek.

“She thought you’d say that.” Venom ripples happily at the love he was being sent. “You should ask her to marry you. After this has passed. I didn’t mention that part to her. She loves us. She will say yes.”

“I need a ring.” He says with rapidly moving eyes. “But we can do that right?”

“Yes we can.” Venom trills happily.

———

Venom totally healed Candy. Not so much as a bit of bacteria out of place when he leaves her. She awakes in her bed with a gasp and Eddie sitting upright beside her.

“Hey baby, it’s okay. We’re here. You’re good. Take it easy.” He rushes out as he holds her head and chest steady.

“Eddie I was… I thought I was dead there for a minute.” She speaks softly and takes his hand with wide eyes.

“You were. But Venom fixed you. Good as new. Not a stitch out of place now.” He tells her proudly.

“Eddie.. I…” She feels exhausted but really good otherwise. Like she’s been hit with a truck but then injected with adrenaline. She lunges forward and wraps her arms around his neck. “I almost didn’t get to tell you I loved you. And I do. So much.” She whines into his neck and he holds her back just as tightly with a soft smile as he kisses her head.

“I love you too. The most. So much. You’re not going anywhere Candy. I’ve got you.”

“I don’t think he meant to kill me.” She says with a stark change in tone. “I think it was a warning. He would’ve shot me in the head otherwise.”

“Shhh. We don’t have to talk about it yet.”

“That was…” She lets out a sigh and slumps, letting him direct her against his chest as he leaned back in the bed.

“You’re okay now. Just rest for a minute.” He shushes her and she accepts it.

“She is right. Her logic is on point. The angle, the weapon and words… all point to a warning and not a hit.”

“Venom we don’t have to-“

“See?” She mutters into his chest.

“Perhaps if we… lay low. Stop prying…” Venom reluctantly suggests.

“He’s right. I’m so sorry for risking it. For putting us all in danger.”

“S’alright Candy.” Eddie insists with a kiss to her head once again. Her hair soft and fluffy from the bath he’d given her. “If that’s true then… we can rest now, right? Take it easy. Just… us. Not take this for granted?”

“You’re right. We work too hard. I miss you too much. I need you Eddie. All the time.” She says weakly and squeezes his torso as he pouts and returns the affection. “Move in with me. Stay here. I’ll take time off work, so can you. We can hideaway. We can catch up for lost time and just… exist.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I love you and I want you around. I want you to meet my parents. I want you involved in my life, Eddie. I want you here. With me.”

“Then I will. Don’t have to convince me. I’m already sold.” He gives her a soft smile and she kisses him unexpectedly in response.

“I love you.” She whispers and holds him tight.

“I love you too. We’ll figure it all out. I’ll move in. We’ll take some time off.”

“I feel like I’ve been away for a year. I feel like I miss you so much and you’re right here.”

“I was here the whole time. Never leaving your side Candy, don’t ever question it.”

————-

With every bit of confidence they could muster, Candy and Eddie walked into their boss ' offices and said they were taking some time

off. Whenever someone asked, personal reasons was the answer given and due to their contracts, they weren’t left with too much of a choice in the matter.

A month. An entire month of just them. They huddled up in their little home. Like bunnies, they snuggled, fucked, ate, napped and played. With sight of what was important, everything was lighter, clearer and nothing had ever felt so right. She felt like she'd gotten a second chance, and it was all Venom's doing. She was eternally in debt to him and Eddie. Their long nights and days spent together let her think about what was most important outside of a career. What did she want to leave behind and still do that she had been pushing back in the name of work? It was time to prioritize.

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

They didn’t leave the house for four whole weeks. They did nothing but enjoy each other in every way they knew how. And with a few nights left of their getaway, Eddie knew exactly how to finalize the best few weeks of his life.

“Keep your eyes closed alright? Just trust me.”

“I do.” She replies happily as she covers them with her hands. He’s taken her downtown and showed her off, fed her the best food money could buy and they got to remember what being around civilized people was like. They much preferred the sanctuary of their home. They laughed a little too loud, kissed a little long for everyone else’s taste. But no one else mattered anymore.

So as the night moved into early morning, a walk through the architecture of downtown skyscrapers, hand in hand, he stops her at the foot of one. This one being the tallest of them all. And thus having the best view. If you knew how to get there.

She feels an odd whoosh, a rush of air that goes on for a minute but she keeps still, keeps her eyes shut as she feels Venom's embrace. She feels her feet on solid ground again, and she's thankful for it.

“Okay. Open your eyes but STAY CALM okay? You’re fine. I promise. Venoms wrapped around you, we’re both fine.”

“Are you convincing me or yourself?” She asks with a nervous laugh as she uncovers her eyes but keeps them shut.

“Uh… a little of both?” His voice breaks and she finds his hand and takes it.

She opens her eyes and her arm reaches for Venom's tight grip around her waist. They were at the base of the needle at the top of the building. Only enough room to stand, she’s left to gawk as she realizes she’s safe.

“Oh my god.” She whispers, taking in the breathtaking view. Everything seemed so far away, the lights and sounds so concentrated at ground level seemed like faint melodies and twinkling stars up so high. “It’s… this is beautiful.” Her eyes can’t leave the sight as her hand stays firm in his and wrapped in Venom's body.

“This view was the beginning of me learning to love earth.” Venom adds.

“I can see why.” She shares the sentiment.

“I now know it’s the humans. Like Eddie. Like you. That make it worth staying.”

“You’re very sweet Venom, thank you.” She strokes his happily rippling mass.

“I wanted to give you something no one else could.” Eddie takes her full attention. “I know there’s only so much I can do, and I’m not… we’re not what you planned to be with but, we’re thankful every day that you are.”

She smiles and pouts slightly before Venom brings them chest to chest. “Eddie, baby, you’re more than I could’ve ever hoped for.” She insists with a kiss to his cheek.

“And so are you. You’re, everything to me. Everything I wanna be, everything I’m not. You.. you complete me Candy and I don’t wanna go back to being alone. Not without Venom, not without you. I want you to stay. I wanna make sure you stay.” He insists with hands to her cheeks that surprise her, intensity and fear she wasn’t used to seeing in Eddie.

Venom swirls up her arm, tiny tendrils taking her hand and holding a ring that shone as bright as the city lights below.

“I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, Candy Miller. Would you do that for me? Would you marry me?” He asks with hopeful eyes that make her chest ache at the thought he might believe even for a second she’d say no.

“I’ll stay with you beyond that.” She promised and kisses him softly. “Of course I’ll marry you.” She laughs against his lips. A warm embrace against the cold winds up so high. A kiss that faded and turned into happy sighs as they caressed each other’s faces in excitement. “You’ve made my life absolutely insane.” She laughs, “But I couldn’t stand it without you now. Without you both.”

“We love you Candy.” Venom almost sings and wraps himself around her head to nuzzle her in the form of a slug-like round head.

“I love you boys.” She lets out a huge sigh and Eddie beams at her. It went perfectly. She was perfect. It was all so… perfect.

“It will be perfect.” Venom whispers into his head.

Eddie questions him wordlessly.

“You’ll see. One more present.” He insists inwardly. “Ready to go home?” He asks Candy.

“I believe so. I want to cuddle up with my babies.” She teases and kisses Eddie again.

“And you will. Keep tight. Eyes shut.” He says as they’re sucked together into his darkness and taken in leaps and bounds back to the safety of their bedroom.

“That feels sooo weird.” She laughs stumbling back and sitting on the bed as she’s released.

“You get used to it.” Eddie grins, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be able to stop for awhile.

“I have one more present.” Venom announces, a more fully formed head to speak to them both. “It is something you both wanted.”

They both wait with a shared glance as Venom vibrates with excitement. He moves Eddie closer to the bed and stands up Candy as they look at each other with laughter in their eyes he ripples again.

“Ready?” He asks with a wide smile.

“Yeah, I wanna know why you’re acting so weird.” Eddie playfully jabs him.

“Eddie…” He takes one of his hands. “Candy…” He takes hers and takes a deep breath that was only for show as he didn’t need to physically breathe. He places Eddie's hand to her stomach and places hers on top. “You’re going to have a baby.” He says with tiny tendrils flicking about in celebration.

“A- What? I’m afraid I can’t be, hun, I’ve got an IUD remember?” She looks at him confused along with Eddie.

“It was destroyed along with your uterus in the shots. I removed it and healed you. I can taste the difference in your sweat. The hormones. They’ve changed.”

She gulps and her hand clenched around Eddies. “Are you… serious?”

“Yes. I repaired you beyond what you were before, you’re a perfectly balanced machine now.”

“We’ve been having sex this whole month and... I…” She feels a little woozy and Eddie braces her back. Careful to read her reactions.

“Are you serious?” He asks him again.

“Yes! Why do you keep asking? I wouldn’t have waited to tell you if I hadn’t thought it would make a good present.”

“It… is a good present?” She can hear the break in Eddie's voice. His eyes moving to hers that were still wide in shock.

“I’m… I’m gonna… WE are gonna… OH GOD WILL IT BE AN ALIEN?!” She shouts and Venom rumbles out a laugh.

“No. Sadly not. This is all Eddies work.”

“Eddie.” She squeaks out, His high brows move closer to her own. “I’m pregnant.” She states with disbelief. A pause that makes him nervous then an almost maniacal laugh escapes her. “I’m pregnant.” She speaks again and laughs. “Oh my God Eddie. We’re gonna have a baby. A baby.” She laughs and throws her head into his chest.

“Please tell me these are happy crazy laughs.” He inquires hesitantly and she squeezes him tight.

“After I was shot. I thought about a lot of things. How I spent my time. What I wanted out of life.” She begins without looking at him yet.

“She’s always wanted to be a mother. But never knew when the right time would be.” Venom makes it easier for her, a loving stroke of her hair and pat to her back.

“Exactly. I forget you we’re in my head.” She lets out a sniffle. “My mom's gonna be so happy.” She laughs and it turns to tears. “Eddie we're gonna have a baby.” She starts to sob as he laughs at first at the absurdity of it all. But with the life he’d led, honestly, a baby was about the least crazy thing. A baby was entirely normal in comparison.

“We’re gonna have a baby.” He chokes out before the contagious laughing tears get their hooks into him as well. “We’re getting married and we're having a baby.” He lets out a loud sigh of relief.

“This is crazy.” She laughs as they rest forehead to forehead and wipe away the other’s tears.

“Is it? Compared to…” He motions to Venom whose big opal eyes were brimming with his version of tears. A sympathetic reaction to his host's emotions.

They burst out laughing at it all. Because what else could happen that would be more surprising than what they’d already been through? This mantra gave them the outlook they had needed. They would take it all in stride now from experience, they would work through the bad and cherish the good. They kept in mind how absurd it all was, and laughter followed them through it all. Because what could be crazier than what life had already thrown at them?

@hardygal69 @marvelgirl7 @emerald-bijou @brianaisasongbird @vale0413 @izzy-the-ginger @chortletortoise @onomatopoetic-aesthetic @anrm1 @jademox @nightcraver @venomous-possibiities @tinastarkandco @chipster-21 @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes @queenof-wakanda @s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s @peakys-mystic @jaegeeeeer

#venom #eddie brock #venom fanfic #eddie brock fanfic #venom fan fic #venom fic #venom fan fiction #eddie brock fic #eddie brock fan fiction #eddie brock fan fic #tom hardy #eddie brock au #eddie brock x reader #eddie brock x oc #eddie brock x ofc #venom x oc #venom x ofc

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hospital-wh0re · 5 years

Text

greek mythology aesthetics

aes: persephone

dark mornings when nobody else is awake, biting his lip till he bleeds, flower-shaped bruises and bullet-shaped hickeys. lust, sharp, black winged eyeliner framing bright, angry eyes where the stark blue shades seem to twist and tumble around in the light, perfectly applied crimson lipstick and cheekbones that could slice your skin open. wedding dresses covered in bloodstains and dirt, crumpled old polaroids of tanned teens decked in flower crowns, furious, screaming arguments that split open the floor, earthquakes and finding the best in natural disaster, roses growing out of slit wrists and tragedy.

aes: hades

brooding in the dark for days on end, sudden bursts of fury where you throw things on the floor and smash them, misunderstood teens, wanting to be liked and sarcasm. swelling orchestral, dramatic rock music, black bedclothes tinged with deep purple and green and blue, cracked windows and alcohol-induced shaking hands, crows that circle your roof and black eyes glinting with silver slits. snakes and finding comfort in the dark, burnt wings and tousled dirty hair, old books with well-thumbed pages, lust and aggressive kissing. stroking her soft hands while you sit together, sharing a charred wooden throne and subtle touches of the arm throughout the day.

aes: icarus

sitting across from the window to feel the sun's warmth filtering through the glass, bright, whiskey-coloured eyes, optimism and books about angels, dark nights spent reading the same books over and over and flickering candles. tiny wooden carved figures, circular gold-rimmed hipster glasses, freckles on light brown skin and not trusting people’s advice. getting grounded and stuck inside all day, the smell of burning skin, old poems copied onto your hands in scribbled biro, obsessions with fire and charcoal drawings of the weather almost every day. fingernails gummed up with wax from making candles and origami wings made of construction paper, engineering equations in flaky chalk on a blackboard and hot summer days when the whole room glows yellow.

aes: achilles and patroclus

subtly nudging his arm when something reminds you of an inside joke, nursing each other back to health after battle injuries, smoothly carved gold-tipped arrows and perfectly structured bows, tracing shapes on his skin and hiding together in the dark. kaleidoscopic, mosaic-like eyes, colours merging and moving together, bronze coins, flakes of white from the temple brickwork caught on your clothes, “name one hero who was happy...i can’t...i aim to be the first”, and noticing the rust-like dried blood and raised scars littering his shoulders as you hold him. limping, learning morse code, sarcastic affection, laughing whilst struggling out of armour, fine glitter under your eyes and untangling thin golden wreaths from his hair.

aes: orpheus and eurydice

contrasts in personality, shy versus outgoing, evenings spent listening to old records, graph paper covered in scribbled lyrics and notes littered over the floor, perfect white weddings, light sunset-coloured glitter dusting her cheekbones, sudden scenery changes and habitually never looking where you’re going. groups of people you know you can’t trust, intense jealousy, racing and weaving in between trees, snake bites and tiny pinprick cuts that hurt more than you’d expect, personal ballads and laments that make even strangers cry and dark tunnels. soft pastel-themed bouquets stained with dirt, the crunching noise of someone falling to the floor, “don’t go into the light”, not controlling your impulses, cruelly specific rules getting you in trouble, dappled sunlight hitting pale skin and shadows wrapping themselves around you.

aes: helen of troy

mirrors and men everywhere, confidence in your reflection, fresh bedsheets the morning after, cliche running away with giggles and held hands, soft pink lips puckered into a pout, jealousy and betrayal. never truly being on anyone’s side, always winning, love notes scrawled in expensive ink on thick folded parchment, passed discreetly between hands, flimsy, gold, low-cut dresses, holding your finger to your lips to signal silence, not keeping secrets, gossip, knowing looks and always somehow being trusted. being caught swearing as a teen, free and obnoxious laughter, questioning your own morality, blowing things out of proportion and inadvertently causing fights between other people.

aes: medusa

teenage years, acting defensive, thick, wiry dyed hair, dark green dirt school blazers, silver snake rings wrapped around your fingers and staring at nothing. always having cold hands, pale mottled skin, dirty white shirts, being blatantly lied to, frozen puddles in the winter and warped grey, stone statues. cracks in the pavement, irrational fear, being forced into the role of the outcast, jealousy and doling out punishment. hateful glares, dark bruises blooming in green, black and purple, punching the wall and cracking the plaster, lisping the letter s, creepy gothic music with slow, groaning bass and soft drums, mumbling to yourself in a low voice and still, grey eyes. boasting and being told you’re wrong, curses, avoiding mirrors, ironic punishment and knowing the difference between confidence and arrogance.

aes: zeus

angry storms, standing outside and basking in the rain, checking over your shoulder for threats to laugh at, asserting your authority, splitting your knuckles punching the wall, cracking windows in fury and shards of glass littering the floor. taking joy in ironic punishments, gold rivers and dark blue robes, glinting silver, warzones and strong drinks, army officers jacket covered in medals and stained in other people’s blood, bright neon signs and sailing trips where you fight against the sea not to be capsized. vengeance and perfect aim throwing tridents, fluency in foreign languages, control and fatherhood. aggressive love-making, angry wives, towering mountains capped with snow, cigarette smoke surrounding your head and thick, long grey hair.

aes: medea

vengeance, bloody knuckles, running away, planning and plotting, love at first sight, being usually nice but ruthless after betrayal, guilt and hiding. cliche eyes that glint mischievously when the sunlight hits them, soft lips being aggressively kissed, riches to rags instead of rags to riches, deep royal blue, purple and red dresses dirtied and burned, that internal punch in the gut you feel when you get replaced and “teaching someone a lesson”. prophecies and steaming potions, knowing the exact ingredients of a recipe by heart, hip flasks filled with strong drinks hidden under the layers of your dresses and causing quick diversions. soft, dark hair with natural highlights in loose ringlets, hoop earrings and dusty pink eyeshadow, gentle, natural-looking lipstick and sharp, murderous warning glares when someone dares to wrong you.

aes: pandora

never doing what you’re told, “curiosity killed the cat”, boxes filled with coloured smoke, causing problems but having small solutions and never giving up hope. colossal mistakes, innocence, perfection, looking ethereal and pure, roses in vases filled with alcohol, blue glitter adorning the parting in your hair, butterflies, gifts and growing purple flowers in the cracks of the pavement. dainty fingernails painted baby pink, s,weet fruit going out of date too fast, angry angels, guilt, a string of green fairy lights going out and only managing to fix one bulb, jars of honey surrounded by bugs, screaming “I’m sorry” and perfect droplets of dark blood staining pale, smooth skin. marble statues smashing and uselessly trying to stick the pieces back together, shiny blades, soft hair that’s so blonde it’s almost white and naïvety.

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songbrook · 4 years

Text

Shelter from the Storm

*music*

Spindly fingers of rain extending from the larger storm cell had licked and lapped at the little house with blue shutters throughout the day. Each one bringing with it playful breezes, which worked their way through the stone house, cooling it enough for onsies and shirt sleeves, booties and slippers. In fact, it was quite enough to bring blanketed cuddling and prompt a fire in the large stone hearth, whose mantle held photographs, candles, keepsakes and the ancient mantle-clock from Belore Loda. The minutes bled one into another only segregated by the chimes of each hour, while mother and child enjoyed the cotton-wool encapsulation of time, in their own little world. Feedings, naps, singing, and stories, all ran into one singular flow of activity between them. On toward evening, the storm had inched closer. It churned and threw gusts of wind rattling the blue shutters. The thin fingers of rain turning into waves, which broke upon the patio and the sliding glass windows at irregular intervals. Finally, the sky went from indigo to slate, indistinguishable from the sea over which it hung. A long nap had obscured some of this, Raerys and Olivia curled together on the sofa, blanket around them and wood dropping to coals in the fireplace. A loud crack of lightening and the rumbling thunder of report woke them, startling Olivia enough to set her to crying, infant rage expressed in balled fist and a red face. "Tch... shhh... it is alright, Livi. Just the storm..." Raerys muttered in the infant's ear, rising with the little girl in her arms, already bouncing softly in that mother patented way to comfort. "I bet you're hungry hm?" Raerys kept her tone even, smooth even, having seen before how the tiny child picked up on such cues, finding comfort in her mother's calm affect. Raerys lazily lifted the nursing panel of her blouse, and with much practiced effort exposed the needed nipple, settling Olivia into the crook of her arm. Olivia needed no more prompting, her startled and angry countenance destroyed at the offer of food and the comfort of suckling. While the hungry sounds of snorkeling began, Raerys set her feet on the floor and looked about the room somewhat hazily. There were wet curtains and puddles on the stone floor beneath the windowsills on the seaward side of the house, so as Olivia ate, her mother moved slowly and with continued bounce about the house, pushing down the windows to slits with her free arm. "Good thing Aunti Tris' window is on the port side hm?" Raerys chuckled, stepping lightly from the living room to the kitchen and then to Trisandrah's own room within the house. She flicked on the light, stepped round to the large multi-paned window, and pushed it closed before the whip and swirl of the storm could douse her friend's bed and curtains. "Ah... there we are... you know what?" Raerys leaned her head back and then looked down at Olivia who was swiftly draining her left teat, "I am hungry too... I wonder if there are any leftover spare ribs in the cooler?" Olivia had no response, beyond the flutter of her eyelids in acknowledgement of her mother's voice. Some things were more important, the infant's empty belly, clearly one of them. As Raerys made her way back toward the kitchen, she heard another crack of lightening, the sky going sterling grey outside. That one was close, almost too close. She was tempted to investigate but she noticed then a fresh bit of warmth in her palm, suggesting Olivia was making room for her dinner by wetting her nappy. "I love you, even if you are such a little piggers..." Raerys couldn't help but chuckle, while Olivia opened one eye and looked balefully at her mother. It was moments like these her resemblance to her father, around her eyes was most evident. She had a winning scowl. "Alright, alright, finish eating while I try to find a spare rib, but it is most certainly bath time when you're done." Raerys found herself at the cooler, her feet homing to it on habit. She swung the door open, and found the crock of ribs. Pulling off the lid she grabbed the final one and shoved it between her teeth to hold for a moment, as she drug the crock out and set it in the sink, turning on the water to rinse it. Then the nibbling began, right hand holding the sticky sweet stump of the bone in rib, while her teeth teased out the meat eagerly. Breast-feeding brought on powerful hunger in her, but it also managed to keep her slim so she indulged often and without guilt. "This is not going to do the trick." As she ate she pondered her options, cooking one handed was not an option. Leaning her butt against the counter top, she let her mind wander to the offerings of the larder, and absent-mindedly switched arms cradling Olivia and breasts for the wee-tot to sup. It was then she heard another crack of lightening, very close to the house, too close indeed. It sounded more like a gun report than lightening, and a queer lick of fear ran up her spine and set the hairs at her nape on end. Gut instinct pushed her off the counter, set her feet in motion across the room headed toward the first floor bathroom. She flung away the rib, she'd worry about that later, after she'd convinced herself that all was well.

As she hustled, silent as she could be, she shrugged off the blanket that was wrapped around her shoulders and Olivia, letting it slip down to the crook of her arm. She looked to the tub and then down at Olivia's contented face, noting that the infant's mouth had gone slack enough to suggest she was only nursing out of gluttony and comfort at this point. "Good," Raerys thought, quickly bending over the tub. Wriggling free of the blanket she let it fall into the bottom of the tub, pooling in something like a circle. Carefully she pried Olivia off her nipple and laid her gently in that swirl of soft cotton and wool. "Shhh... just a moment love, Momma has to check something ok? I'll be right back." It took all she had in her to quell the panic in her voice. She reached a shaky hand to tousle Olivia's curls while the baby kicked and gurgled, looking up at her mother with squinty-eyed good humor. "Thank Belore, you're so agreeable." There were noises outside, something like a thud, and then a scream. "Fuck..." Raerys jolted up, spun on her toes, and ran for the door. As if on autopilot she reached for the small shelf near the door. She grabbed her revolver, already loaded, safety off, and cold as ice in her leaden fingers. Terror, stark and encompassing ran through her. She peered through the peephole, gun held up, eye wildly roaming the fish-eye lens. She saw Ouro, bleeding, unsteady on his feet as if the wind were about to blow him down. Her free hand turned the knob in one swift motion, flinging the door open while she stepped into her shooting pose, looking past her bleeding lover. She did not yet see the body crumpled at her feet, but thought only of providing Ouro cover should he be pursued. The scents of sea, burnt gunpowder, and blood rushed into her nose and something else an odd almost arcane flavored ozone odor that made her nose wrinkle and her tummy lurch. Azerite, registered somewhere in the core of her brain, her fear ratcheting up a notch. Only then did she take a moment to assess Ouro, and he was a mess. "For fuck's sake...Get inside you fucking, git!" she hollered, only to be answered by the sound of Ouro's tall frame hitting the stone step in front of her. And there he lay, illuminated in lightening flashes, passed out cold on her porch and laying beside him the remains of her would-be attacker: a man twisted by pain and poison slowly seeping blood upon her step. ((more to come...!)) @ouroandar, @trisandrah Part 1 Part 2

#stories #continuence #part 3 of ?

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