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noarose18 · 2 months

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SOON YOU'LL GET BETTER -- PART ONE

Here it is! Thanks to all the sweet people that let me know they were excited <3 Love you all. For those who don't know, this is a Peeta POV extension of the cave scenes with Everlark. It'll be very long and very fluffy and romantic but also sad. This is my first time writing so I'm really excited to share it.

Also, part two is out now! It’s pinned on my profile!

“Peeta,” I hear a whisper. It’s morning. It’s our first day in the arena together since she found me by the river with a cut on my leg down to the bone. I’m weak, and I haven’t eaten in two days.

I open my eyes slowly, groggily, and feel a hand on my cheek. A shiver runs through my body. “Katniss…” I whisper.

“You’re burning. You need some food and water,” I hear her say. Nausea clenches my throat at the thought of eating. I sit up a little, resting on my elbows.

“I can try,” I agree.

“I got you some berries,” Katniss tells me, holding out her trembling hand, stained with purple juice.

I stare at the berries as if it will make them disappear. Eating is the last thing I want to do right now. Everything I’ve eaten in the last few days has come right back up no more than 30 minutes later.

I slowly take a berry from Katniss’s hand and put it in my mouth. The flavor bursts in my mouth. I inhale cold air before chewing and swallowing.

“A little more?” Katniss begs, biting her lip. I glance at her face. Pretty, I think. I smile weakly and nod, taking a couple more berries from her and eating them as quickly as I can manage.

“We should wash your wound, Peeta,” Katniss says. I shake my head. The pain is barely even bearable now.

I turn to look up at Katniss again. I can’t read her face. “I….”

“We’ll use fresh water. Drinking water from my bottle.” I nod. “Can we get your pants off?” I nod again.

Katniss reaches for the waistband of my pants and pulls gently. I lift my bottom up slightly so she can get my pants off. She pulls gently, but I still cry out in pain as the fabric goes over the wound. When my pants are around my ankles, she places a kiss on my forehead. It feels almost chaste, but it’s also a sort of reward. Katniss takes off the cap of her water bottle and moves it toward my leg. I grit my teeth in anticipation. Slowly, I watch her shaking hands turn the bottle sideways. I can’t look away as the water hits my leg. I squeeze my eyes shut and tilt my head back, making quiet sounds of pain. The hot throbbing on my cut radiates to the rest of my thigh, and the searing pain in the center makes my vision white. My eyes sting with tears. I open them again to see Katniss’s pained look. I look down at my cut and see Katniss’s fingers moving towards it. I shake my head and wince. Her pointer finger lightly touches a speck of dirt just outside the wound and I cry out.

“Stop!” I almost yell.

Katniss clamps her hand over my mouth.

“You need to be quiet.” Her eyes burn into mine with an intensity that almost feels like anger. A tear rolls down my cheek and I nod silently. She takes her hand away. I gasp and blow a breath out. Katniss uses her hand to brush my hair out of my face. She keeps pouring the cold water on my cut.

“Katniss–”

“--I know.” Katniss uses her thumb to wipe the tear off my cheek, but when I blink another comes. “Stay still for a little longer. It’ll be over soon.”

I shut my eyes. My chest feels tight and I’m starting to feel really nauseous. I try to think of something nice, like my father. But all that does is make me think of my mother. She’d beat me if she saw me like this. Anytime I cried or showed weakness, it was an opportunity for her to hit me. I was always too soft compared to my brothers. Now, if she saw me letting a girl take care of me…I can’t even think about it.

I open my eyes and focus on Katniss’s face again, wiping tears from my eyes.

I try to calm down but my stomach is rolling. Katniss is still pouring a thin stream of water on my leg. I’m shaking as I turn over and vomit onto the dirt.

“Peeta–” Katniss sets down the water bottle and puts a hand on my back.

“Sorry–” I mutter, not looking her in the eyes.

“It’s fine, Peeta,” Katniss whispers. “We’re done washing the wound.” Katniss puts a hand on my cheek. “Can you try to have some water?”

I shake my head. “I still feel sick.”

Katniss presses her lips together. “When was the last time you drank something?”

“Yesterday. I can drink. Just not now,” I say. Water will stay in my stomach, as long as there’s no food. I’ve given up eating for now, but I can’t get dehydrated.

Katniss nods. “We’ll try to get some water in you in a bit. Why don’t we move you to the left a little bit? I can clean up.” I nod. Katniss comes behind me and puts her arms under my armpits.

“On three.” I nod. “One, two, three-” Katniss pulls me and I move to the left as best I can, but it sends a jolt of pain through my thigh and I gasp. We’re still in the cave, but closer to the side now.

“Good. Good, Peeta,” Katniss encourages me and pulls a little further. “Lay down. I’m just gonna clean this up,” Katniss says.

I straighten out my neck until my head is on the rock and shut my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say softly.

“It’s ok. Try to get some rest. I want you to try and eat again tonight.” I groan quietly. I don’t want to eat. I haven’t felt hungry in days. I shut my eyes. I don’t know how long they’re shut, but I know when I open them Katniss is above me and her hand is on my forehead.

“Peeta, you’re burning to death. You need to be cooled down.”

I don’t feel like I’m burning to death. I feel like I’m freezing to death, actually. I look up at Katniss.

“Cool down?”

“Mm-hmm. I think we should put you in the river.” My heart drops. I can’t swim. Most people in twelve can’t, but I still feel embarrassed to tell Katniss.

“I, uh…I don’t think so,” is what I manage to get out.

“I think so.” Katniss’s bluntness is attractive at times, but right now, it makes me feel like a wounded animal.

“I….I…”

“What?”

“I can’t….swim, Katniss,” I say quietly, looking down in shame.

“I know. I was just gonna have you sit at the edge with your feet in the water and get some water on your face.”

Suddenly I feel completely stupid for thinking she was going to have me swim.

“Oh. Yeah, of course,” I say quietly.” Maybe the fever is getting to my brain.

Katniss smiles at me. “I’ll pull you down, but you have to work a little too. This’ll really help your fever.” I nod. Katniss comes behind me and puts her arms under my armpits like last time. My breath picks up, louder, faster, with the pain that comes with moving, but I’m able to keep it together until we go over a particular bump and I make a sound between a whine and a cry. Katniss stops for a second.

“You’re ok. Just a little farther.” I open my eyes and see that the river is about twenty feet away now. I inhale, my breath catching before I can breathe out again. Katniss continues to drag me down the rocks towards the river. It’s taking an unbearable amount of time.

The pain is only increasing the longer this goes on. I can barely take it anymore. I try to breathe slowly, measured, but I’m quivering and starting to panic. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fist tight trying to forget the pain until I feel my feet in freezing water and open my eyes. I hear Katniss sigh in relief. “Good job, Peeta.” I turn to look at her.

She’s splashing cold water on her face. Then she cups some in her hand.

“Let me rinse your face off. You’re still covered in dirt.” I nod. She gently pours the water on my face. A shudder wracks my body. Now I’m really freezing. Katniss can see that I’m shaking.

“I’m sorry, Peeta, but we need to get your fever down.” She puts more water on my face, then a little on my hair. “I know you probably feel cold right now, but I want to get your shirt off. It’s soaked with mud and it’s not healthy to sit around in it,” she explains.

My shaky hands reach for the hem of my shirt, but I can’t grip it. “Just put your arms up. I’ll do it,” Katniss instructs, and I follow her order, lifting my arms straight up as Katniss gently takes my shirt off. She sighs. “Your whole chest, your stomach…it’s all covered in dirt,” she says. I look up at her. She’s already grabbing water and splashing it on my body. The shivers that come to my body are violent and blur my vision. It’s so damn cold. I need a blanket, or my shirt back, or anything. I look up at the sky and grit my teeth. The sun is right above me. It’s the middle of the day now. My body tenses when I suddenly hear Katniss gasp loudly.

“Peeta–”

“---huh???”

I look down to see what Katniss is looking at. My leg had been in so much pain that I’d completely forgotten about it. There’s a shallow cut near my left nipple, but that—

“Oh.”

I’d forgotten about that too. The large, purple-and-green bruise that stretches from my belly button almost to my right collarbone.

“Peeta, what happened?”

“After…no, before Cato cut me, he beat me.”

“With what? This is…”

“A rock.”

Katniss presses her lips together.

“Is it bad?”

“I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me. You could have internal bleeding in your stomach, Peeta. That can kill you.” Her tone is so serious that I’m suddenly humbled.

“I…I didn’t even think about it, honestly,” I run a hand through my hair. “It doesn’t hurt that bad–”

“--if I press, will it hurt? My mother used to do something…something with her fingers to check for internal bleeding…”

“Ah…I don’t know, Katniss,” I say honestly, shaking my head. Now that I think about it, it does hurt. But it’s nothing compared to the searing and throbbing in my thigh.

“Ok. I’m gonna press, gently–”

“Where?”

“Right here.” Katniss points to a spot just below my ribcage. I nod and draw in a breath. “This is how I’m going to see if you’re bleeding on the inside.” I nod again.

Katniss’s trembling hand moves towards the spot and she touches her fingers to my skin, pushing gently. The pain pulsates through my chest and stomach, through my whole body. I’m not even able to tell her to stop before my vision goes black and my head hits the rock.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what y'all think!

#thg #thg series #thg fanfiction #thg peeta #peeta #katniss and peeta #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #the hunger games #hunger games #fanfiction #new writer #everlark #josh hutcherson #hurt/comfort #thg katniss

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pastanest · 1 year

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if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to the very lovely friends who have relentlessly sifted through tumblr archives to recover them, thank you all so much!! ♡

Elven Blood Is Worth Spilling, Sometimes

- Thranduil is infamous throughout Middle-earth for never putting elf lives at risk if he can prevent it, because to him, the immortal life of an elf is worth more than the life of any other species

- and you, his Queen, are no exception to that, despite the fact you are no elf

- Thranduil has avoided battles, let innocent townsfolk die, in order to preserve the lives of elves

- when you arrived in his life and were made aware of this habit of his, it goes without saying that you were very unhappy

- it caused your first arument with the King, one that he surely lost after you shocked him into silence with a final statement

“One day, something so terrible will happen to someone you cant bear to lose, and you will feel the pain of those you have ignored who have come to you for aid. Thranduil will feel the immortal guilt of a thousand men, because he will provide that help for himself, when he did not extend that same consideration to others.”

- you took your rest in separate chambers that night, because you could not contain your frustration at the man you had married

- all the same, you could not sleep without him, and while he lay anguished in his otherwise empty bed, you roamed the halls of the castle, the moonlight streaming in through the arched windows, causing your skin to glow, and the silk of your dress to act as a hundred mirrors

- you walked to a stream and sat down beside it, allowing your fingertips to dance across the top of the water and transform the image of the moon

- you heard a sniggering laugh, and before you could turn around, a cloth was held against your face, and the sharp inhale from your gasp forced the strange smelling solution into your body, rendering you unconscious

- you awoke with your hands tied to a branch above your head, wearing nothing but your undergarments as the gaggle of orcs surrounding you tore the material of your dress between them. given the value of the jewels decorating that particular gown, and the rich silk that it was made from, it was hardly surprising that the orcs chose to save some for later bargaining endeavors

- they taunted you and poked your body with the sharp edges of their blades, leaving you with a few cuts, but no fatal wounds

- meanwhile, the King felt an imbalance in his heart, something was not quite right, and before he knew it he was searching the castle for you, wanting to make amends with you, regardless of not truly understanding the lesson you were trying to teach him

- however, upon discovering your disappearance, the lesson you were trying to teach him very quickly sunk into his skin

- without a moment to spare, he woke every admirable tracker he knew, and forced his entire army to be ready to leave the kingdom, all in under half an hour

- the orcs had not anticipated that the King would acknowledge your absence so quickly, for they had remained unaware of his blinding fondness for you, and they took very few precautions in hiding themselves from anyone trying to find them

- you kept your expression calm as the orcs continued to provoke you, and when you heard a rustle in the foliage surrounding you, you smiled to yourself

“Well, boys, it has been lovely getting acquainted with you, but Im afraid or conversation is about to end, along with all your lives.”

- and in comes Thranduil on his Elk, charging through the orcs and lifting them off the ground as the elves in the foliage stand, trapping the remaining orcs in a very small circle

- Thranduil instructed that no other elf is allowed to kill an orc that they encountered on this occasion, because it was a personal issue that only he could resolve

- the elves restrained every orc that the King had not already butchered, and with one final sweep of his blade, Thranduil decapitated the monsters that remained

- only then could he allow himself to look at you, because had he done so before, he would have been too overcome to continue his rampage

- Thranduil gazed at you, eyes with filled with such adoration and sorrow as he stared into your soul, taking a few steps towards you before he realised you had been stripped to your undergarments, and the entire elven army could see.

“Turn away now, or your fates will end in the same manner as these retched creatures!” He seethed to the army, who immediately turned their backs on you, but stayed in formation and shielded you both from any other potential dangers.

- you couldnt help but chuckle at this, and the sound of your joy bought a smile to the King’s face, even in those circumstances

- he removed the ropes from your hands and held you close to his armoured chest, but upon remembering his armour, quickly pulled away to discard it so that he could hold you properly

- Thranduil then removed his cloak and wrapped it around your form, shielding you from any pair of eyes that werent his

- you smiled up at him as he looked over your wounds.

“Did you learn your lesson, my love?”

Thranduil nodded frantically.

“Yes, you have opened my eyes.”

“And what do your eyes see?”

“That an elven life is no more or no less valuable than any other, for a length of time to live does not permit the extent of experience in that life. And I would risk any immortal life if it meant you were safe once more.”

- Thranduil helped you up onto the Elk, and the two of you rode with the army back to the castle, with you almost falling asleep against the King’s chest

- as soon as you were home, Thranduil carried you to your shared chambers and laid you down on the bed, gently tending to your wounds, before laying beside you and pulling you back into the safety of his embrace

“I know now that one can live more in lesser years.”

“How is it that you know this?”

“I have lived more with you in our short years together, than I could have ever dreamed of in my previous three thousand years.”

#thranduil #thranduil x reader #thranduil imagine #lord of the rings #x reader #lotr #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction

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pherelesytsia · 2 years

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Hidden Desires

Pairing: Stephen Strange x female/Avenger/Reader

Summary: Unable to stay strong anymore, Y/N, longing for a normal life, does something she thought she would never do.

Warning: Fluff, Angst, Nightmare

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: Requested by Anonymous

Tall figures, wide and board escaped the shadows, shouting in a language Y/N could not understand, but the message of desolation was clear. The corridor was endless. The lights were blinding, lighter than the five suns. Doors opened and fell shut. Gunshots sounded again, colliding with skin, breaking through all the layers of flesh and the bullet hit her heart directly. Sirens sang out loud, and the darkness grew, clouding her mind.

Gasping, Y/N awoke. Sweat danced in overflowing rivulets down her features kissed by the faint light streaming muffled through the curtains. Rising, she felt the gossamer sheets clinging tightly to her skin, refusing to let go. Red marks, crooked as stitches of an unskilled high-born lady, broke through the night. Tears, salty and hot graced her skin.

Quickly, her shaking fingers scanned her body. She exhaled in relief, realised no blood was oozing, no wounds were trying to bring her to her knees. Her throat was sore. The dark shirt wasn’t stained nor tattered, smelled fresh, of a meadow in bloom. Her heart ached terribly, longing for delicate touches, for love and soothing words, and it was one of those moments when Y/N wished she had a different job.

Hectically, her eyes searched for peace. His name wanted to escape Y/N but she swallowed the first letter, noticed the peaceful expression painting his face, something she hadn't often seen in the three years of their relationship. Y/N wanted to find herself in his arms and she knew she could no longer close her eyes and find a moment of peace. The tiredness was gone, and an icy shiver ran down her spine and deepened the pain in her heart.

Y/N turned around, inhaled deeply and exhaled again as her bare feet collided with the cold floor, and left the bed on which Stephen was peacefully sleeping behind with slow steps. Shielding her body with her arms, Y/N went ahead. She found calmness in the gloom, nearly a moment of peace yet she was alarmed.

Quietly, Y/N let the door fall shut and turned into the long corridor. Half heartily Y/N was listening to the chanting of the wood and ignored the pictures hanging on the high walls in delicate tones, knowing who was looking at her, the joyful faces of her siblings' children taken on an afternoon when peace reigned and Y/N didn't have to think about missions and worry about the enemy.

The wind knocked on the windows. Y/N didn't have to turn on the lights and entered the living room, saw the silhouettes of the sofa, the table on which lay the books she had read and forgotten to tidy up like the remains of the dinner they had ordered. A faint smile graced her lips and the murk overshadowing her face disappeared with the next gust. The phone rested on the edge of the dining table and her heart was beating faster, remembering the voicemail of her best friend, telling her joyfully she was finally pregnant.

The wounds painting her body burned terribly. They had healed a long time ago and only differently pigmented scratches on her skin reminded her every day of the missions which had almost failed. Tears were blinding and Y/N lowered her gaze, kept walking toward the kitchen. Her throat was dry. Y/N took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with cold water. She emptied the glass in one gulp and closed her eyes while her fingers clawed into the grey kitchen counter. Y/N tried to stop the tears from flowing, but she couldn't, allowed them to dance, no longer able to stay strong.

Warmth arose.

Suddenly the sadness disappeared and the tears stopped flowing, but the traces stayed, were visible in the faint light. His warm breath collided with her neck and the cold no longer was feasting on her soul. Y/N swallowed noticeably, no longer breathing. She searched for a hundred excuses why she had left the bed but she found no answer. His rough hands rested on her body, clasping her and was pulling his girlfriend close to his wide chest. Y/N leaned back and melted into liquid gold in his lose embrace, feeling the weight fall from her shoulders as he lowered his head onto hers. The touches were all she was longing for, delicate and soothing, healing the deep unhealable wounds.

"Is everything alright? You've seemed distressed all day." Stephen asked.

Gently he was running the thumb of his right hand over her skin in a circular motion, feeling her muscles relax under his touch.

"Yes, of course, what should be wrong with me?" breathed Y/N incomprehensibly.

She lowered her gaze and looked at the kitchen counter.

"You know you can tell me everything Y/N/N. I know you are not well; I can feel it.", "I know Stephen," Y/N interjected.

She turned in his arms but before Y/N could rest her face on his bare chest the tall man stepped back, making it impossible for her to hide her features from him. Tears glistened like liquid silver in the faint light of the moon. He had sensed something was wrong with her the moment he had entered the flat, heard it in her voice tinged with dripping sadness and fear, felt it in every fibre of his body.

"I'm fine," Y/N whispered before Stephen could utter the words resting on his tongue.

"I can see you're not fine." he replied.

Y/N didn't dare lift her gaze, lowering it to the floor. Stephen exhaled loudly, knowing there was no point in forcing her to look up, not needing to look at her to know she wasn't well. Something plagued her mind and deep worry sprouted in his heart. His hands rested on her back, pressing her closer to his body. No longer longing for answers he let his hands travel up and down her spine.

"I had a nightmare, nothing out of the ordinary.", "Have they got worse again?" asked Stephen worriedly.

His fingers slid over her back, feeling the wetness and nodding, knowing she still had much to say, that much still rested on her heart.

"I've been thinking about us a lot of things," Y/N whispered.

Stephen turned to ice, fearing, and before he could inquire further, he felt hot tears travelling down his defined body.

"I can't go on like this any longer. I can´t do it anymore. Tomorrow I´m going to talk to Fury and tell him I'm not going to work as an Avenger anymore. I just can't do it anymore and I don't have the strength to protect people." Y/N breathed brokenly.

She exhaled deeply, not able to continue the story.

"I want to keep helping people, but I can't sleep anymore. All my wounds, even if they are healed, hurt terribly. You don't have to tell me it's just a phase, I know it is but when I think about taking on a simple boring job for Fury as a secretary or work at the local library, no longer an Avenger I feel good and it feels liberating," reported Y/N, not afraid of his reaction.

The words escaped the deepest recesses of her heart.

"I'm not as strong as the others.", "Stop talking about yourself like that. You're one of the strongest people I know. It takes a lot of strength to say something like this. Have you ever talked to Stark or Barnes?" said Stephen in an almost stern tone, interrupting his girlfriend gruffly.

"I've seen too much and I've already talked to my psychologist about my plans. He also thinks it´s a good idea if I get some distance from this work. He even offered me to be his secretary, as his will soon be relocating to another city.” Y/N continued.

The heavy weight fell from her heart.

“I feel I need it. I want to have a more normal life, a job where I don't have to risk my life and be afraid that around the next corner will be people who want to kill me. If you don't mind, I would like to move into a small house, far away from the centre. I have saved enough over the years. I can understand if you don't want to do that, it is a big step. It's understandable," Y/N stopped.

His hands rested on her cheeks and lovingly he forced his girlfriend to lift her head. Eyes met and Y/N saw all the answers she craved and felt ashamed for questioning him, assuming Stephen would leave her.

"I will always support you even if you decide to work for Stark. I don’t mind. The next time you wake up from a nightmare please wake me up. You should have told me about your worries and nightmares earlier, the moment they started.” Stephen said in a gentle tone.

He flashed a smile.

“And the first thing I will do tomorrow after a lovely breakfast with my lovely girlfriend is to look for a small house, but my love, one day the little house you are longing for will be too small for all of us." it escaped him.

The cold was melting and tears were falling. Heat rose in her cheeks, she couldn't believe her ears, was sure she had misheard, but as Stephen whispered the words again Y/N realised she had heard right. The pain vanished and Y/N embraced Stephen, rested her head on his heart. The smile gracing her lips widened as a lightness wrapped around her like a protective cloak.

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 1 year

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Fallen Angel Part 9

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Words- 5.7K

Pairings: Izuku Midoriya x Takami!Reader, Hawks x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Massive angst, TARTARUS ESCAPEES ARC SPOILERS, talks of murder, references to mass injuries (stab wounds, gunshots, broken bones), anxiety attacks, PTSD later chapters will have more triggering content. TW: TORTURE, Assault on a minor

—————–

First Name: Y/n

Last Name: Takami; L/n (Formerly)

Age: 16

Quirk: Quirkless (Currently); Angel Wings (Formerly) (With wings that resemble an angel, she can use them to fly and fight, she can fly up to 200 mph the fastest she has ever gone is about 300 when racing Hawks. She can also use her wings as a shield against attack by slightly hardening the feathers, but if enough damage can fail on her. Unlike Hawks she can’t remove her feathers to fight so has incorporated a staff in her fight style; melee combat)

Hero Name: Halo (Formerly)

Villain Name: Nemesis (Currently)

Affiliation: Student at U.A. (Formerly); Hero-in-Training (Under Commission) (Formerly); Devil’s Advocate (Formerly)

Family: Brother: Keigo Takami aka Hawks, Father: Shinyo Takami, Mother: Unknown

BY CLICKING KEEP READING YOU UNDERSTAND THE TRIGGERING CONTENT THAT MIGHT BE AHEAD

The sound of beeping fills your ears as you open your eyes. The bright lights make you close your eyes but you slowly peek them open adjusting to them. Your body feels sore, just all-around pain. Groaning you move your head to your right only to find curtains and you sigh. You were so tired you barely could lift your finger. You hear a door open and close behind you and footsteps coming to the curtain opening it quietly. Both of your eyes widen as you stare at each other, Hawks is covered in scratches and burns but mostly healed up. Keigo stares at your open eyes looking at him, the last thing he remembered was your face before he wakes up in a bed in Recovery Girl’s room and his sister fighting for her life in another room. You managed to survive but entered a two-day coma, no movement you were practically dead. Recovery Girl and the medics did their best with all the injuries they could see you had gained many were not healing correctly. It was now on you if you wanted to keep living. Seeing you awake in front of him he felt tears filling his eyes.

You open your mouth, your mouth very dry, and wheeze out a croaky, “hey..”

Keigo bursts into tears, you’re alive, you are breathing looking at him as he cries. His sobs cause the room door to slam open thinking something was wrong and Recovery Girl and Endeavor rush inside, see Keigo crying over your bed as you just stare at him. After a few minutes of crying, Keigo calms down and Recovery Girl examines you. You had suffered major internal injuries when you exploded, with the little amount of energy you had. She and surgeons had to work together to keep you alive with her quirk and modern medicine. You sip the water slowly through the straw too sore to move your body as much. Looking at your arms they were covered in scars almost like you were struck by lightning and you assumed the same for the rest of your body. Keigo stayed by your side the entire time getting you whatever you needed, water, food, or just talking to you though those were mainly one-sided as you couldn’t talk. You still needed another day’s worth of rest for Recovery Girl to use her quirk, to heal any minor injuries such as soreness and pain, or your lost voice. You stay quite isolated and have only seen Keigo, Endeavor, and Recovery Girl. Did others think you were alive, did they even want to see you? The next day Recovery Girl pressed a kiss against your cheek and while you felt tired, the soreness and pain disappeared, and after drinking water your voice had slightly come back.

“Is All For One here yet?” That was the first thing you fully said and that stunned your brother. Out of all the things you could have said you were focused on the message you gave to the heroes.

“The others had to wait until you were better so we could talk more about it..” He said and you nod slightly, taking another sip from your water. Even though you weren’t going to plan to hurt anyone they weren’t a hundred percent for you and you remained restrained.

“I can talk now Keigo, stopping All For One is more important than my health.”

He gives you a look before standing up, “I’ll go tell Recovery Girl.” He leaves you to your thoughts, what would even happen? Would they listen to what you say and then throw you in jail? Can you even go back to becoming a hero? Would your teachers accept you back? Would your classmates…your friends want you back?

After a while, Keigo returns with a female officer. She unlocks your restraint before Keigo steps out and she helps you dress. She is silent while helping you in simple sweatpants and a sweater before restraining you back in handcuffs. You're led outside where there is an escort of three other officers and Keigo. You follow behind him and feel your legs crack from walking for the first time in 3 days. After walking a bit you end up outside a room and Keigo opens it leading you inside. The door closes behind you and you stand in front of Pro Heroes from all over Japan and your old teachers. The teachers that haven’t seen you since the war, their eyes widen in shock at how different you’ve changed. You're brought forward to be cuffed to the desk so you couldn’t try anything.

“Takami what information do you know involving the League of Villains and All For One.” Endeavor starts.

“Um.. well during my time with The Devil’s Advocate…my father. I spent time trying to find the location of the League, specifically Dabi...when The Advocate had a meeting with Grian they planned to create some form of an alliance. I was given a number for Grian during the raid, and went to go look for him.” You said, look back at the things you did and who you associated with you did things you never thought you did.

“How did you get in contact with The Advocate?” Edgeshot asks, crossing his arms, analyzing you.

You look down picking at your fingers, “Before joining him I spent nights in Hosu trying to find my father to find out information about myself. He owns multiple clubs, underneath them they are fight rings. You fight and get paid, I found one that Takami visits often and I signed up and fought.”

“So what? You fought and got his attention.” Edgeshot presses and you feel your throat close up.

“Um no sir, these are run by criminals and crime lords, you fight..you fight until..”

“Until you kill them.” Aizawa's voice cuts through and you look up to see him staring into your soul and you nod.

“I… I didn’t get his attention he wasn’t there, but Kase was there. He is…was his right hand.” You said memories of you pulling the trigger and killing him ring through your head. All the people you killed in the fight clubs, during drug deals, or petty villains that lack information on the League, you were fueled by rage that allowed your morals to be blinded by red.

“When the transport was attacked, what did you do?” One hero asks but you just keep looking at your hands picking at your skin more harshly.

“Everything went by so fast, they were all there, and then they were dead…I wanted to help but I couldn’t get out of my restraints fast enough. He had me and then he brought me to them.” You clear your throat trying to clear your nerves though nothing worked, “It was some forest I don’t know, I didn’t even know if I was still in Japan. All For One… and Shigaraki was there. He tried to take my quirk away from me.”

“Did he tell you anything?” Endeavor asks and you shake your head.

“He wanted me to join but I ran, I cut him.” You remember the fear that ran through you as you saw his hand come towards you and you just acted. “I killed one though.” You mumble faint memories returning, your fight with the Near-High End.

“Killed what?” All Might asks and you look at him.

“One of the Nomus, it was like a dog creature, I couldn’t outrun it so I fought it and…I killed it.” Your chest tightens; you can still feel its breath against your face as it snaps and bites at you, destroying your body. You hiss in pain not realizing you were picking your hand hard enough that you start bleeding.

“I died that day.”

Your statement leaves the room silent. No one knew what to say. This child in front of them is forced to relive the most traumatic moments of their life, constantly witnessing death every day either by someone else’s hand or by their own.

“What do you mean you died..” Keigo is the one to break the silence and you look up at him. The concern on his face makes your heart hurt.

“I didn’t realize how injured I got and before I knew it everything just stopped, I woke up and there were Dabi and Shigaraki. They looked at me like I was a ghost.” You laugh slightly remembering their shocked faces.

“2-XE has a regeneration factor, it brought me back.” Most heroes understood what 2-XE was and everything made sense, with how damaged you got but still kept moving. “All For One took my quirk, thinking that it was the regeneration but he was wrong so I was locked in a room for god knows how long.”

“A month.” Endeavor says and you look at him, your mouth dropping slightly. “You disappeared about a month ago, following your arrest.” You were stunned, you were gone for a month, and it was May already, your time spent in that room you lost track of time, never seeing the sun, the visits were random so what you thought was a couple of hours by yourself could have been days.

“Woah um while there I would be visited by Shigaraki and Dabi. Shigaraki would come and he would…he would-” You can’t physically speak about it, your throat tightening up, your screams filling your ears, your clothing getting soaked in blood constantly, his laughter as he tested new quirks on you. And Dabi….his manic grin as your weak body could do nothing as the door closed behind him leaving the two of you together…alone. God you couldn’t breath.

“You don’t have to say anything else,” Mirko says seeing your frantic face, the rustling of your handcuffs being a constant as you twist your hands anything to distract yourself.

“All…all for one, had Toga take my blood and just let me go one day telling me to give you the message.” You feel nauseous. Hands grazes over your body as old memories fills your mind as if they are with you right now. You were supposed to die from the bomb attempt, you can’t leave. You take one step out of here you’re going to be taken again by Dabi and he isn’t going to let you go for the third time.

“Thank you for the information Takami,” Principal Nezu says and you silently nod, “With you turning yourself in and giving information about the League, we are allowing you to stay here.” You lift your head looking at your former principal, “You will be under constant supervision by a hero and you’ll be restricted to certain areas of U.A.”

“But I thought I would go back to jail..” You say that’s what you thought when you first woke up.

“The discussion of your crimes will be processed later on, at the moment it is not a priority.” He finishes and you nod.

Keigo comes over to uncuff you from the table and you bow to the heroes in front of you, “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

Keigo leads you out, taking you back to your room. While the other heroes discuss the information Aizawa is silent thinking about what you went through, the way you specifically remember certain memories but hesitate on others, the compulsive fingerpicking that caused you to bleed, the way you keep trying to keep the handcuff from touching your skin, and just the look in your eye. There was something else going on and he needed to figure it out. You're silently walking alongside Keigo. You didn’t know how to describe the feeling of reliving all those past events. It seemed easier to not think about it and move on when it happens. It was retelling that the true pain from each event followed.

“Y/n…” You lift your head and see your classmates in front of you. You're frozen staring at them, they all look okay each wearing their uniforms. The last time you saw them was a month ago, you almost forgot what they looked like. Keigo nudges your arm and you look at him. He tilts his head telling you to go speak with them. Slowly you approach them until you are a good few feet away. You see Mina step forward walking closer to you until she’s standing a foot away. You're both silent and she just gazes over you taking in your features and how much you’ve changed. Class 1-A had already dealt with Midoriya returning and getting him slightly back to normal but you dealt with something different, and they weren’t sure if they would get the old you.

“You look like shit..” she says and your eyes widen. Mina rarely curses and usually, it’s when she is truly mad about something. You just nod unsure what to say.

“I’m sorry.” You say and it’s a shock to hear your voice again.

Mina is still quiet before she opens her arms, “It’s not your fault.” You freeze when you hear those words. The entire time you spent dealing with Dabi, and running away, it was always your fault. Everything you did was your fault, the killing, and the fighting, were all your fault, and here was this savior telling you it wasn’t. You feel your throat tighten and your eyes burn, your vision getting blurry.

Your classmates are shocked, you were a blunt, reserved person, they have never seen you cry before and here you are tears falling down your face just from a few words. Mina wraps her arms around you while yours stay cuffed together as you cry into her shoulder. Days of thinking it might be your last, and nights where you spent blaming yourself. You haven’t given yourself just a moment to cry everything out.

You fall to your knees with Mina right beside you as you sob out your apologies, “I’m sorry! I didn’t want you guys to die! You’re my friends!” You cry and Mina soothes rubbing her hand up and down your back. Kirishima steps forward kneeling joining your hug and one by one your classmates fully join you leaving only two left on the side. They all pull away standing up and Mina helps you up while you wipe the tears from your face.

Two people still stand in front of you not moving, Bakugo steps forward and your classmates take a step back.

He looks at your red face and scoffs, “You’re a fucking idiot leaving you know that?” You laugh slightly, nodding, wiping the tears from your face.

“Yeah, I know.”

His arms wrap around you crushing you into his chest, “You pull that shit again and I’ll murder you, got it!” He mumbles and you nod, accepting the harshness from Bakugo, something you missed a lot. He pulls away, giving you a glare, the small crack of softness coming out.

In front of you was the last person you would think is going to forgive you. You look down at your feet you can’t even bear to see the disappointment and hatred in his eyes. The things you’ve done could you even ask for forgiveness from him? A hand lands on your shoulder and you look up to see Midoriya looking down at you, his face calm but in his eyes, you could see many thoughts happening behind them.

“I shouldn’t be begging for your forgiveness after everything I’ve done to you Midoriya, to any of you. You should hate me just as much as I hate myself.”

He stays quiet listening to what you have to say before he speaks, “I could never hate you.” Your eyes widen hearing what he said. He reaches into his pocket pulling out a familiar bracelet, the metal scuffed but you can still read the letter of your initial. His hand rough from fighting grabs your own scarred hand before sliding the bracelet on it stopping before the handcuffs. He holds your wrist rubbing his thumb along your hand as the two of you just stare at each other. You both looked tired, each returning to the other like lovers during war. A hand lands on your shoulder making you jump and it was Keigo, he felt bad breaking apart the clear moment the two of you were having but he had to rejoin the heroes.

“We gotta go Y/n, you can try to see them tomorrow.” You nod still looking at Midoriya as you slowly pull away from each other, your hands dropping to your sides. Your friends give you brief waves, and promise of seeing you tomorrow but your gaze is still locked on the green-haired boy, as you get further away until you have no choice but to turn away. You return to the room getting cuffed against the bed.

You stayed in the room for a while, Keigo had to return to the meeting with the other heroes leaving you with your thoughts. It was until the evening came and the sun began to set when the door opened and Keigo and Endeavor walked in and your brother looked upset.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him and he seems more agitated by the question.

“Hawks is needed for a mission but he’s quite adamant on staying.” Endeavor explains and Keigo shoots him a glare.

“Like I already told them I am not leaving her alone.” He says and you frown. You being here shouldn’t stop him from helping others.

“You can go.” Keigo looks at you in betrayal while Endeavor looks grateful. “I’ll be alright, you need to help the heroes.” You try to persuade him.

“Who is going to watch you, Nezu said-” Keigo starts, “Eraserhead has already decided to watch over Takami, he volunteered.” Endeavor says and even you were surprised. Your old teacher volunteered to watch over you, if anything he would seem like the person to avoid having to watch over kids, his students being more than enough. Keigo looks over at you and you shrug.

He sighs knowing he wasn’t going to get what he wanted, “Fine but if anything happens to her while I’m gone..”

“I’ll be alright Keigo, not like I’m going far.” You say emphasizing that you were still cuffed to your bed. He gives you a look before walking over and pulling you into a hug.

“I won’t be gone long okay.” He whispers, pressing a kiss on your forehead and you smile wrapping your arm around his neck. He pulls away and they both head towards the door, you wave goodbye and the door clicks close leaving you alone. The silence quickly gets to you, you try humming to whatever tune in your head or counting the ceiling tiles but get bored after the 15 tiles. In the practically empty room, you couldn’t help but get a tight feeling in your chest as your brain starts to overrun.

You had the door to your left and the window, you could easily break these cuffs and get out. When is the next visit with Recovery Girl? Was the glass bulletproof? Why were these cuffs so goddamn tight? Was this room always this small? When could you leave? What even was the time? With your mind running a mile a minute you couldn’t focus on your breathing that got more erratic and fewer. What if All For One came now? The League got in. Where were they? He’s gonna find you. He’s going to kill you. He’s going to- A hand touches your shoulder. You act so quickly that you didn’t even realize who grabbed you.

The cuff around your wrist snapped as you swung flipping the both of you over off the bed, crashing against the ground, Your arm is grabbed and you’re flipping onto your stomach your arm getting twisted behind your back a knee being pressed onto your back while their hand grabs your other hand pinning it behind you as well. The utter fear that went through you at that moment, the involuntary scream that came out of you caused the person on top of you to let go. Flipping yourself over and pushing yourself flat against the wall as you finally got a look at who you attack.

Aizawa stares at you, his hands held up showing you he wasn’t going to touch you as he moves back. Your eyes darted around the room as you pushed yourself closer against the wall trying to put as much space between the two of you.

“I’m not going to hurt you, just breathe Takami.” He says calmly and you finally notice you were holding your breath. Letting out a gasp of air you feel the air fill up your lungs as the cloud of fear around you fades. Taking into account the room, the bed is crooked and the bar on the side holding your cuffs is bent. Looking back at your teacher he still is watching you as you slowly push yourself to stand. He stands as well both taking account of the quick scramble that occurred.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Aizawa.” You apologize, you were in so much trouble, you told Keigo you were going to be already, and here you are fighting your teacher.

“I was coming to get you and you were having a panic attack, your heart monitor was going off.” He says wiping the invisible dust off him. You nod rubbing your chest to rid the dull pain when you see your wrist that had the handcuff black and blue in bruises. He is still watching your body language you were utterly terrified when he first came in and when he had you on the floor the scream that came out of you was something of pure terror.

The door of the room slammed open making you jump and there was All Might, “I heard a scream is everything alright?!” He quickly takes into account the slightly hectic room and his coworker staring at his student and said student against the wall looking terrified.

“Everything is alright All Might, I frightened Takami by accident, none of this was her fault.” He quickly defends you and you're shocked by his quick change.

All Might is silent looking between you two before nodding, “Alright, some of the students were looking for you but if you want to introduce Young Takami to the dorms first I’ll let them know you’re busy.” You pause hearing what he said about the dorms.

“The dorms?” you say and the two look over at you.

“That’s what I was going to tell you, to keep a better eye on you you’ll rejoin Class 1-A and stay in the dorms. That way if I can’t always be there you still have others around you since it seems you dislike the silence.” He says and your face flushes with embarrassment. The whole reason for this was because you panicked over the silence and being stuck.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’m still a vill-”

“What you did during your time away from U.A. doesn’t make you what you say you are.” He cuts you off, he doesn’t even want to think of you as a villain, you were just misguided in how to deal with things. It’s not like you had the best upbringing.

“Your classmates are excited that you’ll be in the dorms if that makes things better.” All Might says with a small smile on his face. You feel your heart lift slightly, at least your classmates didn’t not want you.

“Okay, I guess if everyone is fine with it.” You say and All Might sighs in relief and Aizawa just nods. You were given one last checkup by Recovery Girl and she questioned the bruised wrist but didn’t press for more. Leaving Recovery Girl’s office the walk to the dorms was quiet as you took in the surroundings of the campus you once knew.

People were walking around trying to enjoy the outdoors even in the circumstances they were in. As you walked past a family you could feel the glares on your side and when you went to look, they were quickly getting their children close to them away from you as they whispered things under their breath, “She’s dangerous, she’s that villain.”

Hearing their insults you look forward again following after Mr. Aizawa and All Might quickly wiping the tears from falling down your face. Avoiding the gazes of people as you walked by you finally arrived at the Class 1-A dorms and you felt nervous as you were led inside. You thought no one would be around, maybe off training or in their dorms but as if they all knew you were coming at this time they were all in the common area having front-row seats to your arrival. They all went silent seeing you and their teachers there.

“Listen up due to the circumstances of Takami she is under the protection of U.A. she will remain under surveillance by myself, if I am not available I expect all of you to keep an eye on her.” They all hum their agreement glancing over at you as you keep your eyes on Mr. Aizawa’s back. “Ashido,” the pink-haired girl perks up, “Her dorm will be next to yours. Make sure she knows where it is.” Mina nods giving a thumbs up. Aizawa turns to you, “I’ll leave you all to it.”

Mr. Aizawa and All Might go to leave, All Might gives you a small smile though it doesn’t help soothe your nerves. Now alone with your classmates that you were certain they are still wary of you.

Mina was the first person to break the silence that was in the common area, “Let me show you your room, I’ll give you some of my clothes to borrow.” She walks over to you slowly as if you were a wounded animal ready to attack. You nod letting her hand grab yours and lead you to the elevator, leaving their view the sound of your classmates talking quickly reappears. They hated you.

You’re quiet in the elevator looking down at your shoes as you pick at your fingers. “Your room is next to mine,” Mina says which makes you look up to see her looking at you. “If you need to talk to anyone you can come to my room anytime. We can watch movies, and have a girls’ day like we used to.” She tries to cheer you up and a slight smile forms on your mouth. “It might seem like everyone is walking on eggshells around you but we’re all here for you.” You nod slightly and a grin appears on her face.

Entering your room it’s pretty basic: a bed against the wall and a desk and dresser on the other side. The sliding door to the balcony is parallel to the main door. Another door leads to a half bathroom and closet.

“I’ll give you some of my extra blankets and pillows from my room, but not the worst.” She was right. While your time living in the Agency you had a penthouse or when you were with your father was a fancy compound, it was much better than the sleepless nights in abandoned buildings or chained to the wall with the League. “Come on let’s get you a change of clothes before dinner.” Mina turns leading you to her room.

“Oh I’m not hungry Mina it’s alright.” A rumble from your stomach has Mina giving you a look and your face grows warm.

“Sure definitely not hungry.”

Opening up her closet she pulls out a new pair of sweats and grabs a t-shirt, “Mina.” She turns looking back and seeing you staring at the shirt in her hands. “Can it be a long sleeve please?” Your voice lowers to the end rubbing your right arm which is completely covered in scars. She pauses seeing the discomfort from the shirt and nods putting it back and grabbing a sweater that has her old school logo on it.

Thanking her you grab the pants and sweater, “I’ll let you change.” She says stepping outside of her room. Left by yourself you strip the shirt and pants you’re wearing leaving yourself in the underwear and sports bra you were given. Looking in the mirror you trace some scars lining your body, you freeze seeing the scars on your legs. Chills run through your body the scars you gained will with the League, will you heal normally the cells can’t handle complete cell destruction giving Dabi the only person the ability to truly scar you. The two handprints on your legs the screams that fill that night when he..you feel sick thinking more about what happened as you quickly put your clothes on.

You fold the clothes you wore and bring them with you out of Mina’s room where she waiting in the hallway. Placing the clothes in your new room you follow Mina back into the elevator.

“They should be done with dinner now so we don’t have to wait.” She says and you nod playing with the fraying cuffs of the sweater you have on. The doors open to an active common area. Some are sitting on the couches talking to one another, some are setting up the table, or helping prepare dinner. Mina heads over to where Momo is and you quickly follow after her like a lost puppy.

“Momo need any help?” Mina asks and she nods, “Yes If you could help Tokoyami grab more plates that would be perfect.” Mina gives a thumbs up walking away leaving you with the black-haired girl.

“Um, Momo…do you need me to do anything?” You say and she looks back at you standing there lost with yourself.

“No dear sorry. You just got back you should be resting up.” She gives a small smile and you nod. Yeah of course you probably wouldn’t know what to do. You nod saying a quick sorry and walked away, there were too many people. Were the lights always this bright? God, you couldn’t catch your breath. Quickly trying to find a quiet place to be by yourself. Ducking into an empty study room you focus on your breathing pushing your hair away from your face you take a deep inhale before slowly exhaling. The tight feeling from your chest fades and you feel yourself calm down, this was all a bad idea, you should have never said yes to Mr. Aizawa. Why did you tell Keigo you would be fine?

“Aren’t you supposed to be supervised?” A voice says and you screech grabbing the first thing near you which was a book and chuck it in their direction. They catch the book before it hits their face and pull it down and you’re faced with a glaring Bakugo.

“I’m so sorry Bakugo. I didn’t think it was going to be you. Please don’t tell Mr. Aizawa that I almost assaulted you.”

“God shut up with your ramble you sound like stupid Dek-ugh Izuku.” He stumbles on Midoriya’s name but then fixes it. You stop feeling your face get hot in embarrassment.

“Why are you here?” You say and he scoffs dropping the book back on the table leaning against the wall.

“After you ran off like a child I came after you and found you here freaking out only to get a book thrown at me.” You open your mouth and he glares at you, “Don’t you dare say sorry.” You quickly close your mouth and he sighs. “Something’s off about you.” He says and you freeze fear going through you.

“W-what do you mean?” You stutter and Bakugo frowns, “Just look at you, you’ve changed.” He points at you and you look down at your clothes did he mean by physically changed like your clothes?

“Not your clothes you idiot. You’re this scared thing who doesn’t know what to do with yourself. You panicked over being told no.” You frowned wrapping your arms around yourself, it wasn’t really your fault after everything you went through no one would be the same.

“I spent a month captive having just got back what do you expect me to do?” You snap back. He out of all people should understand what it’s like to be captive with his experience in Kamino.

“That’s not what I’m saying, we’re in a war that none of us expected and we’re going to be facing the biggest dangers of our lifetime. If we want to be able to win we need to be at our best, that includes you too, or are you going to let Dabi hurt your friends again.” He picks the book on the table throwing it at you when your hand shoots out grabbing it. The dark look in your eye when hearing his name. Bakugo smiles seeing the fire lit behind your eyes.

“If you think I’m going to let him hurt you guys again you’re mistaken.” He chuckles coming over to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder,

“That time will come…first however is dinner, I’m fucking starving.” You felt slightly better that another person didn’t hate you, especially Bakugo of all people.

During dinner, you sat between Mina and Kirishima which wasn’t as nerve-wracking as you thought the redhead sent a toothy grin making you feel better. You ate until your stomach begged to stop. The warming feeling of having a homecooked meal instead of the food you got while healing. The calling for sleep came quickly and Mina helped bring you upstairs before you fall asleep at the dinner table.

While class 1-A was still hesitant around you not wanting to set you off they could relax knowing you well. It gave brief deja vu for when Midoriya first returned, everyone was walking on eggshells around him. Having all that stress of his quirk, Shigaraki, and All for One but all he needed was a decent meal for once and sleep. However, what you went through, figuring out your father was a crime lord and joining him to later on getting kidnapped by your tormentor to only return after a month missing just to blow up almost dying. Being nervous to even breathing in your direction could set you off whether that be you breaking down or fighting them all. They just needed to take everything one day at a time. Your first day in the dorms wasn’t horrible it was only when you were truly alone and the one thing that you couldn’t fight against was your own mind.

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themadknightuniverse · 8 months

Text

Burn : Lacho One Shot

Summary: What if instead of doing his crazy jump over a roof, Nacho helped Lalo when he hurt himself in El Mich's kitchen so he could gain his trust. Maybe it piques Lalo's interest a bit more than Nacho initially intended.

Warnings : wounds, implied/referenced child abuse Word counts: 1,6 k

READ IT ON AO3

Nacho was bored. It's collection day, again, because his life is just that repetitive these days. Everything has been calm, music aside. Lalo arrived in town two months ago, and Nacho had yet to find a way to get more information out of him. If he didn't, he was pretty sure Fring would pressure him more sooner or later. And Nacho preferred to avoid that possibility.

Working under Lalo's lead was different. Things were definitely more boring when it came to collection days than with Hector and Tuco. Nacho expected Lalo to take the same role as the two other members of his family, but instead he let Domingo in charge of the counting, and Nacho was still the silent presence behind. It should have been just Nacho and Lalo, but apparently the man preferred to watch them both deal with the business and eventual problems. The couple of times a dealer happened to be a problem, Lalo had stayed at his own chosen table, feet propped up on it like he often did, hands intertwined behind his head, a stupid grin on his face while Nacho broke two of the man's finger and completed the whole picture with a black eye.

A hiss tore Nacho from the contemplation of his annoying existence. That was unusual. He turned on his chair, trying to catch what had happened in the kitchen from where he sat. A curse in Spanish followed soon after, accompanied with something clattering. A quick look back at Domingo, a silent order to keep doing his job while Nacho went to investigate.

When Nacho arrived in the kitchen, he found Lalo with his hand under the faucet. He was standing there pretty immobile, hips leaning against the sink, somewhat impassible.

“Everything's okay?”

Lalo's attention turned to him, eyebrows up, seeming somewhat surprised to find him there. But it soon morphed into an easy smile.

"Oh, yeah, it's nothing. Just a little burn."

And then Lalo was looking back at his hand, almost looking bored while water ran over his damaged skin. Nacho got an idea. He hesitated. This could be his chance. He looked back over at Domingo, another dealer was entering the restaurant. He would do just fine. As he stepped closer, Lalo's attention switched back to him. Now near enough to see his hand, Nacho's eyes widened a bit. That wasn't just a little burn. That was a second degree burn at least. It covered a good half of the back of his hand. Nacho didn't know how the man could just stand there, so tranquil, with a burn like this. It wasn't the first time Nacho wondered if Lalo had the capacity to feel pain at all. Well this was another proof that his tolerance was ridiculously high, or that he felt nothing.

"You can't just pour water on that."

Nacho looked up at Lalo who was already staring at him, and there was his little smile again, amused.

"It'll be just fine. Not the first time I got one of those."

Nacho frowned. Did anyone taught that man how to take care of a burn? It made Nacho question the way the Salamancas were raised once more. He really thought that maybe this could be turned into his advantage now.

"Wait. We got something for that back there I think."

Nacho disappeared in the back of the kitchen, entering the fridge room, and looked for the small box he knew was stocked back here. He found it on top of one of the shelves. He came back into the kitchen with it, opening the cardboard box to slide the tube out of it. He had seen the cook use it a few times during his time here under Hector and Tuco's lead. He grabbed a case from the lower shelves in the corner of the kitchen and left everything on a counter near the sink. He grabbed a clean dish towel and turned to Lalo.

"Gimme your hand."

Lalo wasn't smiling anymore. He just looked at the dish towel, then Nacho's face, back to the dish towel. He huffed a laugh.

"You wanna play doctor or something, Varga?"

Nacho looked right back at him, frowning still, determined not to let the man make him back down.

"Your wound needs to be treated. You can't just walk around with that."

Lalo's lips pulled into an amused smirk. He seemed to ponder the question for a moment, and decided to see where it would lead them. He removed his left hand from under the water, and extended it to Nacho. Nacho hit the faucet to turn it off. He carefully padded the dish towel on Lalo's skin, his fingers, his wrist, and finally the wound. He grabbed his wrist through the towel then, and pulled him to the side, placing him next to the supplies he brought. Lalo leaned back against the furniture, resting his hand on the towel now on the surface.

Nacho could feel Lalo's eyes on him as he started to work. He made sure the wound was dry, the angry red skin looking so painful it made it hard for Nacho not to feel pain too. Lalo was still his impassible self. He used the tube of cold cream, padding the white cream in a generous layer over the wound.

"Oh that feels nice."

Nacho perked up at Lalo. No doubt the cold cream would help ease the burning sensation. Maybe Lalo could feel pain after all. He just didn't show it at all. He still had that stupid smile on tho.

"You never took care of burns like this?" Nacho asked as he wiped his finger on a corner of the towel before reaching for a pack of gauze.

"Naaah." Lalo answered, shaking his head a little, looking around the room as he shifted on his feet. "Just kept it clean and dry. Wait for it to heal."

When he looked back at Lalo, humor had vanished from his face.

Nacho winced. "Well, that's terrible." He placed the gauze carefully over the cream.

It was a wonder he couldn't see any other old scars on Lalo's hand. Well there sure was some scars, but all seemed to be from cuts.

"It healed just fine." Lalo shrugged. "That's some premium service you're giving me here." Aaand the amused eyes and smirk were back.

Nacho rolled his eyes.

He took the bandage next, before reaching for Lalo's wrist, skin on skin contact this time, guiding it until it was right before him. Nacho's fingers were by no mean cold, but Lalo still felt hot under his fingers. Nacho briefly wondered if the man's skin felt just as hot everywhere else. He closed his eyes for a long second, pushing the intrusive thought away.

He carefully wrapped the bandage around Lalo's hand, first around his palm a few times, then around his wrist, and back to his palm, and so on, applying himself to be regular and make it comfortable but tight enough. He tried not to think too much at how close Lalo's fingers were from his stomach, especially when they grazed accidentally against the fabric of his shirt. He reached for Lalo's wrist again to turn his palm up, holding the end of the bandage against the inside of his wrist. Not the best area to tie it but that would have to do.

Nacho took a first bandage clip and used it to fix the bandage in place. That's when his eyes caught sight of other burn marks. Old. barely noticeable. Round shapes far up Lalo's inner forearm. Cigar burns. His mind went straight back to the image of Hector smoking cigars. Nacho eyes narrowed, brows pulling together. A brief look up at Lalo, all he found was a blank expression. Dark eyes scrutinizing him, almost... curious? Lalo had noticed that he noticed. He quickly looked away and grabbed the second clip.

"Here. You're all good."

Nacho let go of Lalo's bandaged wrist, stepping back. He reached for the tube left on the counter.

"You should take the cream back with–"

Lalo's hand was around his own wrist all of a sudden, strong hold keeping him near. Nacho's eyes darted up at Lalo's, a shot of adrenaline running up his body at the unexpected move. Lalo wasn't leaning against the furniture anymore, he had stepped closer too. Nacho never stood this close to him. Even when Lalo offered food to him the day they met. He blinked up at Lalo, loosing his cool and composed face under the intensity of the taller 's man stare. Did he looked at his scars too long? Wasn't he supposed to see them? Lalo was wearing his sleeves rolled up pretty often, surely he didn't care. Right? But maybe he decided he looked for too long or–

"Good idea." Lalo smiled, his bandaged hand reaching up to take the tube from Nacho's fingers. "It does feel real nice."

There was something about the way Lalo said it. About the way he leaned closer. It made Nacho's heartbeat accelerate.

"Since I know nothing about taking care of a burn, I shall listen to my personal nurse's recommendation."

Nacho's cheeks warmed up so suddenly he almost could feel his skin prickle, brows furrowing furiously at the large smile Lalo displayed. Nacho freed himself from his grip, finally stepping back.

"I'm nobody's nurse." Nacho muttered, putting the items he used back inside the emergency box without much care.

Lalo's hand landed on his shoulder, and Nacho barely contained a jolt. His hands stilled in their task when Lalo's voice came again, right by his ear, full of something Nacho struggled to identify, but it made a shiver run all the way down his back.

"Gracias, Nachito."

And then Lalo was gone from his space, back to his cooking, singing along a song Nacho knew he liked. Nachito. Well, that was new.

#thank you Lila for the word 'burn' leading to all this 💕#that was a fun thing to write!#them being idiots 💕#lacho #lacho fanfic #bcs #my art #text post

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justafairytailofinnocence · 1 year

Note

Can I request a Davy Jones one shot of the reader being sick but doesn’t say anything. Because she has been working with the crew 24/7 she hadn’t been able to take care of herself properly and because of that, it made her stubborn about it if anyone asked. Maybe after making a mistake on the job, Davy scolds her and asks her what brought her to that. Before she could respond, she takes off and vomits over the side of the ship then he understands when he sees that happening.

Thanks! 😊

Hello dear💖, thanks for the request, I hope you get better soon.

Davy Jones x Sick reader🐙😷 A hymn in sickness😷

Synopsis: A woman sings every full moon at the forecastle only to become ill, Davy seeks out her reson.

Warning: vomiting.

It was a fine misty morning along the sea’s horizon, clouds of fog hovered just above the water. The Briny deep had been aware of the Flying Dutchman’s presence—the ship that caused the sea to quake in fear. Up on top of the main helm, Davy Jones gripped the wheels edges; his long tentacular hand wrapped around the handle. One hand on the right and the other on the left. He had planned to set course over the horizon to hunt a certain buccaneer for their debt. The only problem was, they had to pass a monstrous storm, a tyrant Calypso had summoned to stop Davy in his tracks. A storm that represented her own heart ache from the day Davy Jones broke his promise. Davy could still hear Calypso’s voice in his mind, a cry out for the love they once had, a cry out for his heart to be returned. Davy locked his heart away forever, inside a chest that cannot be reached by any man nor woman. It’s said whoever owns the heart can control Davy Jones, however for that to happen, they would need to find the chest with the key—the key around Davy’s neck. Sometimes at night, along the current of uncharted waters, Davy would debate deep down whether to carry out his duties and ferry the dead to bring back Calypso’s love. However, as the saying goes, once a monster, always a monster. Davy would rather torture the souls he encountered rather than put up with any of the pain he endured over the centuries.

The legends all aligned toward Davy’s tragedy, a tragic drag that he brought upon himself. And now, he must bear those marks from his past.

Along the side the very front of the ship Forecastle, a woman dressed in brown breeches and a white blouse, held her hands together as she was kneeling. She sang a hymn.

“And even though I'm walking through the valley of the shadow I will hold tight to the hand of Him Whose love will comfort me.

And when all hope is gone and I've been wounded in the battle He is all the strength that I will ever need He will carry me.”

It was a well-known myth that, if you travel far out at sea and listen carefully, you can hear the wails of a hymn, a hymn in prayer. Even if sailors try to locate the mysterious woman’s voice, It disappears before you reach the whereabouts. The voice was said to come in two ways, either as a golden, soulful tune or as a deep, haunting melody. The voice will only appear when the moon is highly risen in the sky; a bright monument to commemorate a will of hope. It’s said to either be a cry out from Calypso, calling to her long, lost love or it’s the white wench, a ghost who pulls men and sailors under who fall in tune to her voice. In truth, it was a woman who sings at the front of the dutchman. It’s unknown as to why she does, even the crew couldn’t put a finger on the reason however, it seems to be the one calming, peaceful enchantment to Davy’s mind. He wouldn’t forbid her, he wouldn’t banish her, he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t kill her.

What? How? How could Davy Jones allow someone to live on his vessel?

Well…no one knows, believe me, if someone had the answer. They would’ve recorded it down on a piece of Paper and sent it, well away in some history book of myths or legends.

As per routine, the woman sang her hymn and ended it with a soulful tune. She had to get back to manning the Crowsnest, swabbing the decks and navigating into the unknown. Davy stood at the helm, his eyes were shut, he pictured nothing in his mind but the hymn. Listening to the tune, to the melody, to the rhapsody of her song. But—it ended, and like that Davy had to snap out of his trance. He uttered out a small growl of frustration, her voice, it was the only calming thing to his damned eternity.

The woman followed through with her task, swabbing the main decks until it’s spotless. Only, she felt ill, an illness that couldn’t be recognised as scurvy nor the flu. This has been going for a while now, well, since the start of winter. The woman wasn’t entirely damned, she was still human. However, a human who had to pay her debts through serving on the dutchman from her father. Y/n, a woman who was originally sold as Davy Jones’s wife, instead, a slave to her father’s doing. It wasn’t an arrangement she initially agreed to nor wanted, it was to save her own life. A daughter to take to wife, a soul for a soul. Davy didn’t necessarily pull through with the sailors accord—he wanted a soul and, well, he got the soul he wanted. Her father.

Y/n used the brush and rag to scrub the muck and mould out of the floorboards on the main deck. Her vision became blurry, her stomach ached. Y/n laid onto her side, clenching her stomach, praying it would stop. The Dutchman has been known to be a bad omen—and even her pleads couldn’t save her. Maccus patrolled the swabs cleaning the decks, he fell and tripped over y/n’s body. All the swabs stopped scrubbing to find Davy’s first mate collapsing over the lass.

“Ah! have mercy upon me for I did not intend to cause havoc on your duty” y/n begged. She kneeled over to plead to the first mate not to whip her.

“Bilging wench, will be keelhauled over the kraken” Maccas threatened.

“NO!” Y/n screamed.

Maccas went silent, he didn’t inch closer but instead, walked away—call this a blessing or miracle, in a few seconds, it was about to be a curse.

“WHO BAH DISTURBIN MAH PACE!” the booming voice of the captain emerged when Maccas backed down.

Davy Jones stomped down the steps; one by one, a boot then a peg leg, inching forward the miscreant. Jones leaned down, his head came on par with y/n’s eye level. Quickly, y/n averted her gaze to the ground. Smoke blew out of the captains mouth, the white mist surrounded y/n’s face as she dreaded the worst.

“What bah yer reason fer causin’ ah blistarin’ disturbance on mah ship” Davy spoke in a low growl. His heavy accent caused y/n to quake in fear.

“I-I lost my scrub captain” y/n whimpered in a whisper.

“Last yer scrub did’cha? Tha be yer best excuse?” Davy laughed.

“Aye” Y/n couldn’t come up with anything else. ‘Blast this sickness’ she thought, she couldn’t tell anyone. The only man who questioned it was Bootstrap bill, however, she snapped at him to not give away her illness.

Y/n tried to open her mouth but slammed it shut, she couldn’t talk, she tried to nod at the captain scolding her just to hurry it up. She needed to go—like, now.

“Wha’ brought yar ta tha excuse-Ah?” Davy’s tentacles curled with impatience.

Y/n pushed herself off the deck as she bolted toward the ships railing to haul up last night’s dinner. It was a mess; it poured into the water and stained the planks in the water. “I. am. So. Dead.” She thought to herself.

Davy witnessed the whole scene unfold, his brows furrowed with annoyance and yet he couldn’t speak aside from. “Yer Sick-ah” he muttered.

Davy’s head turned, he pointed his claw hand toward Bootstrap Bill. “Take er’ ta yar quartars, n’ keep ah’ aye on er’” he ordered.

Bootstrap came forward with an understanding, he quickly came up to y/n and placed his coat over her. Bootstrap carried y/n back down to the quarters. Davy felt foolish, of course, she had a sickness, a blasting sickness. The only thing he could do was watch, she could’ve died from this, he had to make it up to her. After all, she was the only human on board.

The captain ordered Maccus to keep an eye on the helm, he hobbled down to the quarters. There in the door way, he could see Bootstrap place her in a hammock with only one blanket and coat.

“She’s sick captain” Bootstrap pointed out “the child can’t push on anymore, if she did, she could fall ill fatally”.

Davy towered over Bootstrap and ordered him to get back to his swabbing station. He towered over the hammock, his eyes softened. The woman was asleep trying to catch a breather. Jones wanted to scream and shout at the dying woman however, he couldn’t, it wasn’t her fault. The woman, this woman right here was the only one who could bring him to peace. He believed, even if his heart still beats and the pain lingered, she silenced it. Davy’s tentacles reached toward y/n; he was caught in a trance. Davy placed his lips on top of the girl’s forehead, like a prayer for her health.

Jones turned and went back to his position at the helm not before looking back and muttering.

“Calypso, I bag o’ ya, bring mah y/n back”.

anyways that's all I have for now:

Ta Ta 🌟

#pirates of the caribbean #potc x reader #Davy Jones x reader #Davy Jones #Potc #pirates of the carribean #pirates of the caribbean x reader #Fem reader #Davy Jones x fem reader #Davy Jones potc

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dynjas · 6 months

Text

Meeting the Archdruid

Prequel to my Story "Serafinas BG3 Experience"

Halsin X female OC, first meetings, fluff, hugs

CW: blood

Words: 3.305

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It hurt. Flesh was being torn. Fangs were bared. Growling was heard. Everything was a blur. The stench of blood was all around her. But she needed to fight. She wanted to survive.

One last swipe of her big paw and it was finally over. The four wolves who attacked her - two dead, the last ones fleeing. She won. But she didn't feel like it.

She carried her heavy bear body over to the little pond, which was right beside her, so she could wash her once white fur. But her paws gave way beneath her and she fell snout first in the mud that was surrounding the water.

Her wild shape disappeared and exposed her elven body. The last thing she saw was a gigantic cave bear walking in her direction, a flash of gold light blinding her, before she lost consciousness.

********

With a sharp pain in her body Serafina shot upright just to regret it immediately when a terrible pain shot to her head. “Ughhh shit…!” She hoarsely muttered under her breath, vision blurring again while she held her head. Everything hurt and her mouth felt dry as sand.

“Oh, you should lie down again. But good you're finally up!” a female voice sounded from her side and Serafina froze.

In front of her bed stood a dwarf woman who smiled kindly at her while she carefully reached for Serafinas shoulders to push her gently back down into the furs.

She saw Serafinas' totally confused and terrified face and she patted the elf's hair gently.

“I know, you must be afraid. You're at the emerald grove. Our Archdruid Halsin found you badly wounded not far from here and he brought you back. You were out for four days.” she explained and smiled down at her. “Oh, and my name's Nettie. I’m looking after you together with Master Halsin.” She introduced herself.

Before Serafina could process anything or respond, the stone wall at the end of the room glowed in a beautiful blue and sank to the ground.

It revealed the most handsome and biggest elf she had ever seen. He looked at some paperwork while entering the room, his brows furrowed.

“Nettie, how is she today? Some improvement?”

His eyes left the papers to look over his glasses at the dwarf woman but his eyebrows shot up in surprise to see the other elf awake. A relieved sigh escaped his lips.

“Thank Silvanus, you're awake. How are you feeling, little one?”

Concern was evident in his voice while he shoved the papers and glasses to a stone table and then leaned down to her.

Serafina didn't know what she should do, so she just stared into his brown gray eyes. When she tried to say something she needed to cough in her hand, because her throat hurt like hell. But that was to be expected after being knocked out for four whole days.

Nettie handed her a cup of water which she gratefully took, while Halsin held a hand to her lower back to help her sit upright.

“Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse and small but they still heard her.

“You're welcome, dear. You have to stay hydrated. Here, have another one.” While Nettie refilled her cup, Halsin spoke again. “So, besides the dry throat, how are you? Does anything hurt? You were deadly wounded after all…”

While Serafina nipped at her second cup of water she nodded. Just after finishing the cup and handing it with trembling hands to a waiting Nettie she turned her attention to the worried Archdruid.

“Well…I would say every bone in my body is hurting. I have a terrible headache and I have the feeling those wolves ripped every limb off of me.”

Halsin hummed in understanding and reached his hand out, but stopped when Serafina flinched.

“I'm sorry, I just wanted to help with your head.”

He smiled apologetic at her and removed his hand from her personal space.

Serafina tried to calm her nerves but she wasn't used to other people anymore. She's been living on her own for so long and it was hard to trust after being attacked so often.

Before she could do anything about it, her breathing became erratic and her wild shape wrapped around her like a protective shield.

While her fur grew, she heard Halsin shout something at Nettie, who fled the room and seemed to lock the door.

Her green and terrified eyes flickered to him while he shot up from his seat and then a growl erupted from her throat - her nerves and pounding heart taking over her instincts.

The white bear jumped at the archdruid and they rolled around until she was pinned under a big brown bear. Her paws tried to push him away but his low growl gave her pause.

“Breath, little one! No one is going to harm you. You're safe."

Halsins calming voice and eyes bore into her and after some more wriggling and growling, her head began to work again. Her huffing turned into normal breathing again and then she broke her wild shape, lying panting on the cold stone floor under the big bear.

“I- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” she held her hands in front of her face and let out a heartbreaking sob. Halsins snout gently caressed her cheek before it was replaced with his calloused hand after shifting back.

“Shhh. It's okay. Can I hold you, little one?”

His voice was hesitant and so was her nod, but he picked her up carefully to cradle her in his arms.

They sat there for a while, Halsin cross-legged on the floor while Serafina was sitting in his lap and trembling in his arms. He rubbed soothing circles on her back, careful with her bandages and tucked her head under his chin.

She constantly whispered “I'm so sorry” while Halsin tried to detangle her long hair. But it was far too long to run through its whole length.

His low chuckle tore her out of her rambling and green eyes looked up to him. A soothing smile split his lips as he looked down to her.

“Did you calm down, little one?”

“Y-yes. I think so… thank you…” she nodded, rubbing her eyes with trembling hands and smiling softly.

“Don't worry about it.” He still smiled down at her when he carefully rose to his feet with her in his massive arms.

She felt safe, so she leaned her head on his shoulder without thinking and closed her eyes. Her adrenaline winded down and she groaned with pain again.

“Oak Father preserve me…. I'm hurting all over…”

Halsin hummed in understanding and laid her carefully back on the furs. “Wild shaping while injured is never the best idea. Do you think I can take a look now? I promise I won't hurt you. At least I'll try…”

Concern was etched in the Archdruid’s face and Serafina nodded, while looking up to him. “I'm really thankful you found me. I would have died without you.”

She watched him unwrap a bandage on her forearm to reveal a kinda nasty looking wound, but it wasn't as bad as she remembered. Blue healing magic emitted from his hand and healed her arm further, the wound now nearly disappearing.

She was speechless how easy it seemed for him to heal such a bad wound. But he was an Archdruid after all.

“I could have never left you there to die. I'm helping when I can, little one.” Halsin paused while he unwrapped another bandage on her leg and looked at her as if he just remembered something. “Before I forget…may I know your name? I mean, I can gladly continue to call you ‘little one’, but I don't think you would appreciate it?” He chuckled and Serafina let out a quiet laugh too.

“Oh, don't worry. I'm kinda fond of nicknames. My name is Serafina. It's an honor to meet you, Master Halsin.”

She tried to bow her head in respect but immediately regretted it, when a sharp pain ran through her head again.

Halsin reached out his hand in hesitation, but she smiled thankfully at him. When his big hand laid on her head to soothe her pain, she couldn't suppress a relieved moan. “Thank you…again.”

“Again, don’t worry about it, it’s my pleasure. And you don’t need to call me that, if you don’t want to. Halsin is enough.” he continued to heal her wounds, until he reached the bandages around her torso.

His fingers were about to unwrap the bandages around her large bosom, when Netties shrill voice sounded again. She must have entered without them noticing.

“Master Halsin! You could have at least asked her, before you fondle her breasts!”

Halsin froze and looked into Serafinas face, just to see it scarlet red and her eyes staring at her hands.

“Silvanus, forgive me. I’m sorry. I was so absorbed in my work that I didn't think that you could feel uncomfortable. And I was not fondling her, Nettie!” He removed his hands from the bandages and rubbed his neck. “I think Nettie should do the rest from here. But call me, if you need anything.” clearing his throat he nodded to Nettie and left the room, closing the stone door behind him.

Nettie let out an amused chuckle. It was better to not tell the white haired woman that he originally bandaged her whole body.

“By Silvanus, we have so few visitors that he sometimes forgets that there are shy people out there. So, shall I take a look?” she smiled reassuringly at Serafina and she nodded.

“Thank you, Nettie… I’m not really comfortable with my body…” she looked at her chubby form, thick tights and little fat rolls on her stomach. The only ‘good’ thing were her big breasts.

“That’s something we have to change then. You’re beautiful, dear.” Nettie got to work on the wounds on her back and front, directly under her heart, while Serafina just smiled politely. She didn't believe her compliment.

“You’re really lucky Master Halsin found you when he did…” she muttered under her breath and Serafina nodded silently.

She would forever be in his dept.

A while later someone knocked at the stone door and Halsins voice was heard again. “Nettie, Serafina, are you finished? May I enter?” as an answer, Nettie opened the door for him with a wave of her hand, while she finished braiding Serafinas insanely long white and green hair into two braids. She even gave her some spare druidic clothes, now fitting into the emerald grove. Her old clothes were torn beyond repair.

Halsin froze after entering the room and let his eyes wander over Serafinas now tidy appearance. A smile then split his lips.

“Serafina, you look like you were born to be here. Your green eyes and the green in your hair are a perfect match for the emerald grove.” he chuckled fondly.

“Oh hush with your compliments, you’re making the poor girl explode, Master Halsin!” Nettie jokingly scolded but Serafina was already holding her flaming cheeks again.

Yep, still not used to it.

And so Serafina was introduced to the whole of the emerald grove. Halsin and Nettie made sure she didn’t get overwhelmed by the others. Halsin even invited her to stay with them, if she didn’t have a place to return to. She pondered over the thought. Was she really ready to live with others again? But then she nodded happily. “I would love to stay, if everyone is alright with it.”

***********

The weeks and months went by - Serafina transformed on a daily basis for the first two weeks and Halsin had to always pin her down with his big bear form, so she didn’t hurt anyone. That earned her some distrust from the other druids, especially Kagha, who thought she was a danger to the grove and a disgrace as a druid for not being able to control her wild shape if overwhelmed. But Halsin always scolded the wood elf woman for her impatience and waved her off. He had full trust in Serafina and no one was perfect after all.

Luckily she had not only Halsin, but also Nettie and Rath - a human druid - at her side to calm her down and after some time she felt comfortable enough to gain control over her wild shape again. From this day on Serafina made sure to never transform near others again, if it wasn’t necessary.

She was still more to herself, only bathing together with Nettie and sleeping outside, because she didn’t feel comfortable inside the stone walls.

At first she was always alone at night in her bear form, but after a few weeks Halsin joined her. He had said it was more comfortable for him too to sleep in his bear form and under the stars. And he didn’t want her to feel lonely or left out. She hesitantly but gratefully welcomed his presence.

At some point the Archdruid took her under his wing together with Nettie and he showed her more powerful healing spells and many other things she had trouble controlling. Since her mother died when she was just ten winters old she didn’t have a druidic mentor again and so she learnt everything herself.

Serafina looked up to Halsin with adoration and was eager to learn under his wisdom and patience. Nettie sometimes teased her with words like “You’ve fallen for his charm, haven’t you?” but she always shook her head. She admired him as an elder. Yes, he was handsome but she really wasn’t interested or even experienced in romance. Hell, she never was in a relationship or had a lover until now.

She wasn’t interested.

Not until a stormy summer night.

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

She had been hunting in the woods together with Halsin when a storm broke suddenly over them and they had to take shelter in a cave. Fortunately it seemed to be empty, so they ducked into it and detransformed.

Serafina groaned and squeezed the water out of one of her braids. They were both soaked to the bone.

“I can’t believe we didn’t see that coming. Or smelled the rain!” she cringed as her wet clothes clung to her body and Halsins laughter roared through the cave.

“That happens sometimes, little one. Nature can change so fast that even we can’t catch up.” For the first time they knew each other, Halsin let his hair loose to shake his strands free from the water.

Serafina nearly choked on her tongue. It was the first time she looked at him - really looked at him. As a man, not as a mentor.

She felt the heat creeping up her spine, although the cold rain on her bare arms gave her goosebumps. How didn’t she see how gorgeous he was? Absolutely breathtaking, stunning even?

The way his wet clothes clung to every muscle of his body and when he pulled his shirt over his head - arms flexing deliciously - to reveal how utterly ribbed he was. She nearly fainted.

“Serafina, you should get rid of those wet clothes too, so you don’t catch a cold.” he was working on his pants, while looking down at her. By Silvanus, this man knew no shame!

“I - I…yeah, you’re right….” With trembling hands Serafina worked on her robes and shortly both were just in their underwear, while she tucked her knees under her chin to hide her belly. She was still uncomfortable to show her body around others than Nettie and with those new feelings flying in her stomach for Halsin, it was even worse.

But the Archdruid would have none of that and took a seat directly behind her, pressing her back to his front. “I’m sorry to invade your personal space, but you’re shivering like a leaf, little one.” he began to rub her arms with his big hands and even more goosebumps appeared at the sensation.

His brows furrowed at this and suddenly his warmth was gone from her back, just to be replaced by fur.

“Master Halsin, what-?”

“It’s warmer this way, isn’t it? And I think you’re more comfortable with my bear form.”

He snuggled up behind her and let her decide if she wanted to join him in bear form or not. But then realization hit him. She already transformed a few times today so she couldn't shift again.

Hesitantly Serafina reached out a hand to pet behind his ear and he let out a low satisfied grumble. “Serafina, lie down. You can’t wild shape anymore, can you? Come here.” Halsins low voice rumbled through the cave and sent another shiver through Serafinas spine.

“Yes, you’re right. Thank you, Master Halsin.” she smiled shyly down at him.

“You’re welcome, little one.” Serafina laid down beside Halsin and pushed her back against his fur, but the bear rolled over, so he was lying on his back.

“The floor is cold, you can lie on top of me. Sorry for not thinking this through before.” Serafina could swear she saw a cheeky grin on the bear's face, while she climbed on top of him - face as hot as a fire. When she settled her head in his neck, he laid his front paws carefully on her scarcely clothed body to warm her up.

That was the moment she fully realized that she fell in love with Halsin.

She was down for this man.

Deep shit down.

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

After the events of this day Serafina never looked at Halsin the same again. Her heart sped up when he was near her, she shivered when his breath hit her neck when he stood behind her to show her a new spell. By the nine hells, she couldn’t even take her eyes away from him, when he was talking to someone else on the other side of the grove.

She watched him being absolutely patient while explaining things to her or others. His laugh heated up her face and the memory warmed her at night. And did he always touch her this much? It was like his presence was all over her.

A hand on her lower back, while he showed her something. Holding her small hands in his big ones, when he showed her some basic whittling. Letting his hands run through her hair more than necessary while helping her braid it.

One day, when he was finished braiding her hair, she noticed small wooden ducks attached to the ropes that held her braids together.

“Master Halsin, did you make these? For me?” her green eyes sparkled in the morning sun and he smiled down at her.

“I saw how you looked at the other ducks I made and I thought they would look nice in your hair. Do you like them?” she could hear his uncertainty in his voice, but she smiled brightly. “Yes! I love them! Thank you so much! I will treasure them!” she didn’t really think about it, when she threw her arms around his neck to pull him into a warm hug. When she realized what she was doing, she wanted to pull away, but Halsins big arms wrapped around her to pull her into a tight hug.

That was something Serafina learnt about him in the last few days. He loved physical touch but as an Archdruid it was difficult for him to go around and hug the other druids. She was glad she was able to provide some sort of comfort for him, while the other druids were still asleep.

They lived their days peacefully in the emerald grove until the day where Tiefling Refugees searched for shelter in the grove after the events of Elturel, which Halsin welcomed with open arms.

But there wasn’t only that. Goblins began to swarm the area and the talk of an ‘Absolute’ reached them.

#Halsin x oc #Halsin x female oc #Halsin x Serafina #halsin fanfic #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #Baldurs gate 3 fanfic #fluff #cw: blood #but not a lot

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savagesphinx · 1 year

Text

Tous les moulins de mon cœur

Chapter 1

I had this project in mind for a long time. Thanks to FlapJack for the correction. I don't know if it will be very long, but I hope you enjoy this little "AU" of what happens after those two fools summoned a goddamn demon.

The characters belong to Gatobob.

TW : Violence, some kind of kidnapping...?

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This is bad, he thinks.

A vermilion sheen absorbed by the sand. A red stain. A shimmering puddle he couldn't look away from.

Here, the evidence would be annihilated. Here, no one witnessed the massacre that’d happened. The victims were silenced. They had chosen the place exactly for this reason. The endless silence of the desert.

The despair of never being heard.

No one to know, no one to hear him cry.

This is so fucking bad.

Above the puddle, inert and stiff, lay the hunter's body. Jack hadn't seen the attack coming; couldn’t stop it from happening. Crushed like an insect. His body will join the sand and his blood will water the void of the wasteland.

I’m so scared.

He looked around for anyone's presence. Someone, something. Machete had simply disappeared. As for that little bleached motherfucker– he was nowhere to be seen. Probably busy with his hunt. Busy being the predator.

How lucky.

With a shaking hand, he turned Jack's body over. His face was covered in sand, his lips smeared with scarlet fluid. The gaping wound in his stomach smeared his clothes. It had been pierced and turned inside out. Mike would never have believed that the blood smell and the sight of guts would ravage his stomach so badly. He swallowed his bile and choked against the tightness of his throat. He shouldn't vomit. Not here, not now.

« Hey, calm down buddy… You’re not gonna puke right ? »

Footsteps approached his curled up body.

« You didn't give a fuck about that guy, did you? »

Two large hands frame his face and he thought his jaw was being ripped off, forced as he was to gaze into Jace’s eyes. His once tender blue eyes lit up with a poisonous greenish glow. The blonde sniffled, gave him a sideways grin. « Did you ? »

He was clearly waiting for an answer and Mike forced himself to shake his head despite the pain and the pressure applied to his jaw. His teeth chattered. He almost bit his tongue. The other, the one in Jace's disguise, the one wearing Jace's face, twisted his lower lip from his thumb, touched one of his piercings with a strange interest, and released him so abruptly that Mike was thrown back.

He fell in the sand. Until that day he had never realized the weakness of his body. The lightness of his bones and how fragile and malleable he was. It was always so easy to hide behind Jace. To let him manage things. To let him… protect him, in a way.

« You see ! You could say I'm doing you a favor here ! » The man spread his arms, enjoying the glow of the setting sun on his cherubic face, filled with freedom. Mike looked back. Maybe if he ran... Maybe he could get away before the heat and the thirst finished him off. Maybe that stupid Derek would find him and have the « kindness » to get him out of this shit alive.

He was gathering his courage when a hand grabbed him by the hair and lifted him onto his shaking legs. « Let’s go home buddy ! »

He pulled him forward, forced him to walk. Mike stumbled, caught in Jace's grip. He tried to free himself, claw at the man’s wrists. « No-no-no! No no–l-et go ! » he hissed.

Nothing helped. The grip was too strong and « Jace » didn't seem to feel any of his feeble attacks. He almost dragged him on his knees to their car – it was Jace's actually but he let him drive it sometimes – and threw him so hard on the hood that he brutally hit his head on it. « Don't you want to go home with your friend, boy ? Eh, what a mess… »

Trying to get up despite his dizzy head, Mike felt the weight of the man crushing his back. He stopped. The other whispered in his ear, tinkling his multiple earrings. « Did you really think I was going to stay in this cave ? You two wanted me here, didn’t you ? »

Mike held his breath. He hadn't even considered the possibility. The very idea that this damn ritual works hadn't occurred to him. Not for a single second. And he had gotten Jace into this mess. He suppressed a sob. « ... Please bring him back... We won't bother you anymore, we didn't know... »

The thing chuckled and sat up. « You didn't know, of course... It makes sense… »

He patted the top of his head in a humiliating caress. « You and I are going to spend one hell of a time together, boy. I mean the three of us. »

He tugged at his hair again and dragged him to the back of the car. « I kind of like your hair. Very useful. »

He had no trouble grabbing him by the arm and lifting him up. Mike was far from small, but facing Jace, he felt miserable. This thing seemed colossal, unbeatable, and Mike’s head was bobbing so hard he couldn't resist anymore. « You will have to make the trip back in the trunk buddy. I can't trust you yet. You look like one hell of a little eel. And you stink… »

Mike let out a nervous chuckle. The blow on the head didn’t help him clear his poor mind. « You're the one telling me that... You smell like sulfur. »

The trunk was opened and he was thrown in. He wanted to prevent the door from closing with a kick but was quickly locked in. Outside, he heard the lock click. the thing knock twice on the metal. « Try not to choke in there, okay? Or I’ll throw the three of us in a tree. »

He wasn't kidding. Mike snuggled into the bottom of the trunk. The heat there was stifling and his position uncomfortable, but he closed his eyes and tried to regain his composure.

Eventually, the engine roars.

Mike was tossed around for a moment and understood that they were leaving the desert. The prospect of not dying in the middle of nowhere, alone and isolated, relieved him for a moment.

A burst of conscience tells him that it could be much worse.

Demon of pain and agony. What a fucking lovely idea, Mike.

He cursed himself for not learning about exorcisms before getting into this mess, attempting to control his wracking sobs. Big boys don't cry, do they? Poor Jack. Poor, poor Jace…

This is so bad.

In the car, the radio cranked up and drowned out the sound of his uncontrollable crying, even as he bit his wrist in the attempt to hold himself back.

#tpof #the price of flesh #tpof komodo #tpof dragon #dragon #komodo #tpof fanfic

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dreamcubed · 2 years

Text

the loch ness monster | tom riddle x reader

song; the loch ness monster [matilda mann] pairing; tom riddle x gender neutral!reader genre; angst, ex-lovers word count; 1,3k timeline; around harry potter's birth warnings; swearing, implied abusive relationship, implied depression, suicidal thoughts summary; y/n had watched their lover become a despicable man capable of no good, and it pained them that he still had a hold over them

masterlist

"we all started to stray, nothing lasts anyway."

———————————

« I'm just swimming in lakes in my mind »

I have been swimming in the deep, gloomy lakes in my mind for what feels like eternity; each time I reach out for what appears to be a rescue line, it disappears into the inky blackness of my memories. My dark memories. They weren't always dark, though, they used to be bright and shined crystal clear like the sun on a warm Summer's day. It's Summer right now, but not for me.

« Don't make me get out and comply »

My mother tried suggesting therapy for me, to help me get out of my mental abyss, but I don't want to leave. If I leave, I have to come to terms with and accept everything that evil man did to me over the war. Me. His ally. His friend.

His lover.

« And my coy little smile will defend me awhile »

I smile it off to people like I always do; a small grin can go a long way if your eyes are convincing enough. After only a couple weeks, people stopped asking me how I was doing, under the false idea that I was over the relationship long before he fully succumbed to the dark side.

« So I'll stay with the lakes in my mind »

My intricately crafted lakes of each and every emotion and memory I have ever experienced; some more inaccessible than others, buried deep amongst the sand thousands of metres down. The memories of Tom are near the surface, however, since they are fresh wounds carved into my brain. I don't need to hold my breath to relive those events and feelings, they are right at my fingertips.

« Don't you dare think that here you can hide »

Young, calm, charming Tom. He still lives in my mind. I have to submerge a little in order to find him, but he is there nonetheless, acting like nothing bad ever happened. Every day, charming Tom sinks deeper, though, as he is fading in my mind. Was that version of him even real? Even I don't know anymore.

« We all started to stray, nothing lasts anyway »

I lost him- the original him- a very long time ago, when he began drifting towards more and more sinister views and methods, and thus straying away from me. Not only me, but also his friends: if he ever considered us his friends. I can't remember when it was that we all collectively accepted that Tom was too far gone.

« So I'll stay with the lakes in my mind »

These lakes are simultaneously my grasp on reality and the reason I'm losing touch. There is something so human about them, yet something so dangerous and consuming. I can't get out of the lakes (not that I've tried very hard) as I can feel the tugs underwater, beckoning me to venture further into my memories.

« And now you've faded with no traces »

Sometimes I feel like I'm forgetting who Tom was, and even is. Everything that happened between us was so incredibly surreal I question its authenticity every day. Nobody mentions him by that name anymore, it's like he never existed in the realms of our minds. Well, at least not mine. He moves around in the water like it's his second home, in many different versions of himself at once.

« So, who could ever tell? »

I struggle to tell the differences between the versions sometimes. They're all submerging into one gloomy memory.

« What you've taken's been misplaced »

Tom is only ever mentioned anymore by his new sinister name, or by the name that cowards created for him. His alias of Lord Voldemort holds an unreasonable amount of power; no wonder he went insane when he decided upon it. So much so that those afraid of him refer to him as either You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

« But your name doesn't ring any bells »

Who was Tom, really?

« Since the day that they took you to hell »

Whoever he was, he now surrounds himself with only evil. He has many followers, called death eaters, but no real friends. Not that he deserves any.

« I'm just swimming in lakes in my mind »

I can hear the echoes of my friends calling me back to reality, but I push my head under the water to muffle the sound further. It isn't safe out there, but it's safe in here, with everything I've ever known and no surprises. Reality could hold a million new blows to the gut that could completely break down my already fragile state.

« Too afraid to get out and deny »

Tom was my rock for so long. I never would have imagined that he would no longer be by my side; I thought it was a for-life thing.

« And my coy little smile will defend me awhile »

My limbs are numb as the coldness of the lake consumes my shivering body, and I wish for my brain to go numb as well. It's all become too much for me to take, so I just don't want to feel.

« So I'll stay with the lakes in my mind »

The hooded form of Tom conjures beside me, his arms wrapping around my figure and pulling me to the surface. I stare at him absently as he removes his hood, sighing when I see the evil grin that belongs to the Dark Lord - not my Tom.

« And now you've faded with no traces »

Where is my Tom?

« So, who could ever tell? »

No one can explain to me what happened to him in more detail than "his desire consumed him". What does that even mean?

« What you've taken's been misplaced »

He took my heart, and now I can't find it.

« But your name doesn't ring any bells »

Tom. Tom. Tom. His name has been said so many times in my mind it's become meaningless. But at the same time, it's the word that holds more meaning to me than any other.

« Since the day that they took you to hell »

"How have you been, sweetheart?" the eery memory of Voldemort speaks, "How come you haven't been to any meetings?"

« What's it like there in hell? »

"You know what you did," I reply shakily, "You betrayed me and everyone who loved you."

"I didn't betray anyone."

I scoffed, "What's it like being hell itself?"

« Glad they left you in hell »

"Lonely. I miss you."

"No you don't," I seethe, "I'm glad I left you."

« Stay right down there in hell »

"You don't mean that, darling."

"Yes I do. Stay away from me."

"I can't do that. I'm your conjuration, your memory, a part of you."

His lips curved into a smirk.

"I'll be with you in here until you die."

"Why?" The cracking of my voice remained evident.

"Because I'm a ghost of every version of Tom Riddle you've ever known, and my duty is to haunt you."

« So I'll stay with the lakes in my mind »

"This is my mind, and I don't want you here."

"Why don't you leave? Go back to your friends out there, re-become the Y/N you always were."

"You destroyed them."

"Maybe so, but you're the one choosing not to rebuild."

"It's not fucking easy, Tom."

He let out a laugh, "I have to go now, darling, but don't forget me- it's not like you can."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, and one more thing," he spoke as he began to fade.

"What?"

"Don't you dare think that here you can hide."

« Don't you dare think that here you can hide »

————————————

masterlist

written; 04/10/2021 —> 18/06/2022 published; 18/06/2022 edited; —/—/——

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #voldemort #lord voldemort #the dark lord #he who must not be named #you know who #hp fanfic #hp oneshots

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bornunequal · 2 months

Text

Birthstones

Those accepted into the tribe have their irises change into a gem-like visage, reminiscent of their sign's gem.

Consuming the sign's gems allows the level up of skills, the amount of gemstone required is based upon the cumulative level of the individual. Uncut gemstones coffer half of their weight instead of their full weight. (I like games)

(n(n+1))/2 carats (a carat is 200 mg) of the gemstone must be consumed to gain a level, where n equals the cumulative level plus 1. Consumed gemstones are annihilated inside of the consumer's body if the gemstone is that of the consumer's sign. (I like math)

Upon leveling up, the person unlocks a new ability or strengthens an existing ability.

Losing an eye reduces the abilities by 50%. This does not decrease the amount of gemstone needed to be consumed in order to level up an ability.

Auras can not be turned off, actually, most abilities can not be 'controlled' in a technical sense. Things such as generation or manipulation of elements or Invisibility are toggleable.

Garnet; OA: January; Traits: [Glowing eyes, enough to provide light in the dark to see by], [Supernatural Protection from Harm], [Magicall Anti-depressed], [Quick clotting of wounds], [Efficient blood circulation], [Percieved as more personable and friendly than actually is]

Amethyst; OA: February; Traits: [Anti-Horny Aura, minorly affects other passions], [Healing Factor]

Aquamarine; OA: March; Traits: [Protects vehicles riding in/on], [Increases luck when getting food], [Calming and trust reinforcing aura]

Diamond; OA: April; Traits: [Increases beauty], [Can force love to not degrade with those they have relationships with]

Emerald; OA: May; Traits: [Increased intelligence], [Futuresight], [Resistance to disease, poison, and possession], [Increased luck in the matters of wealth], [Lowered threshold for acceptance into other tribes], [Increased determination]

Pearl; OA: June; Traits: [Increased capacity at night related to the moon phase], [Lightning generation], [Water manipulation], [Increased wisdom], [Increased magical capacity]

Ruby; OA: July; Traits: [Healing factor], [Flame generation], [Can accelerate plant growth], [Can comprehend other's leadership capabilities], [Prophetic dreams]

Peridot; OA: August; Traits: [Shared emotions in a radius], [More resistant to afflictions], [Calms the mind], [More restful sleep]

Sapphire; OA: September; Traits: [Allows the ability to hear and see souls], [Increased luck in a way which willfully shapes own destiny]

Opal; OA: October; Traits: [Enhanced visual sense], [Invisibility]

Citrine; OA: November; Traits: [Happiness aura], [Warmth aura], [Anti-anxiety aura], [Healing aura]

Topaz; OA: December; Traits: [Anti-magic], [Generally improved health], [Increased light sensitivity for vision], [More difficult to perceive], [Decreased bad luck], [Anti-nightmare], [Increased capacity during the night getting stronger as the night goes on but disappearing as day arrives, losing capacity as the day goes on until night arives]

Shifting Method: None, because I think it is fine to leave it as is.

Do you like your capacities in this world were you born into this world? Feel free to comment below.

(This was a pain to do bc some of ya'll have more than one gemstone per month and I didn't care to due that)

#zodiac #creative writing #worldbuilding #oc #birthstone

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mathiwrites · 2 months

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five years, a clark x orm fanfic

note: sorry, I realized I never posted the updates on Tumblr! will be posting all the chapters on here until I'm caught up!

Chapter 4

He can feel the whole world. Everything, all at once.

Heartbeats tick, tick, tick away, like a doomsday clock against every life he can’t save. Some days, he can block it out—establish a boundary between the man and the (proclaimed) messiah.

Clark isn’t a god.

He’s just… Clark and he is alone.

His limit comes after a long day at work, and an even longer day fighting alongside the League. Ancient demons had poured from earth’s core, longing to wage war and devour humanity. The wounds look black under the moonlight, blood still trickling from his enemies’ magics. The others… they’d offered to help, but he just wants quiet.

(And they’re tired, too. They all fought.)

He wants the sound of the tide, an exhale of the sea against his ankles. He wants the softness of the sand, shaping itself to his weight. Clark buries his fingers in the shore, honing his senses to the present. He anchors himself to this private island that no one knows about.

“What’s wrong?”

The voice startles him, but he’d recognized the approaching heartbeat. He thought Orm would circle him, and pass by, leaving him to his devices. Then again, it is his secret place.

“Nothing. Sorry, I’m intruding, aren’t I?” He smiles out of habit, needing to placate those around him because Superman is the calm in the storm.

“You are lying.”

Orm’s gaze is as cutting as his words, narrowed in Clark’s direction. Clark knows he should feel bad, but honestly? It makes him laugh. The honesty and the accountability in a situation with no stakes at all makes him laugh.

“And now, you mock me.”

“No! No, I would never. It’s just… No one’s called me out before like that.”

“There is blood on you and you are saying nothing is wrong. You are lying.”

He looks down at the cut on his shoulder. The bleeding has slowed; it would have disappeared a lot quicker if the sun was up, but the moon does her best and Clark appreciates her for it. He presses his palm against it, staunching whatever flow remains, and perhaps out of some self-consciousness. He hadn’t come here for help, not really.

“Look, it’s already healing. Nothing to worry about, I promise. I just,” he pauses, gauging the Atlantean king before him. In the short time that they’ve known each other, there’s one thing he knows for sure: Orm is literal. If he says he wants time alone, Orm will leave. Does he really want to be alone? Or was he worried about adding to the burdens of his friends? “Wanted to be out of the city.”

It’s the truth.

Orm wades back into the water and Clark assumes he doesn’t want to spend time with him. The Atlantean must have come to check who was invading his privacy, and now that he has his answer, no longer needs to be here. It doesn’t stop Clark from watching him go, curiously. His eyes adjust to the darkness, following his shape in the water with ease.

Orm doesn’t leave.

He returns with a fistful of algae and shoves it in Clark’s face.

“Here. For the wound.”

Oh, he’s helping.

Try as he can, Clark can’t help the grin on his face. He swears that he’s not laughing or mocking; he’s genuinely happy that someone cares enough to yank weeds right out of the sea for him. Nobody’s ever done that for him.

He taps the inside of his wrist and the upper part of his suit fades away, the Kryptonian nanobytes skittering away to where they usually hide. His sleeve dissolves into a watch, some no name brand that a humble reporter would wear.

“I’ve never used seaweed before, could you help me?”

Consideration crosses Orm’s features, and it doesn’t look any different from his usual glaring judgement. Without so much of a preamble, he kneels and crowds Clark’s space, applying the strips of seaweed carefully across the injury. His touch is restrained and his movements are practical. If he can avoid contact, he does. Despite this, Orm isn’t as cold as he thinks he is. The kindness is in the things he does for Clark, the way he’d patiently waited until he was ready to visit this island, and the gentleness in which he cares for him. He has no reason to be this generous, but every single moment has been savoured and cherished by this Kanas boy.

Clark watches him, too close and too invested. (And when he catches himself, he leans back to give Orm more room to work with.)

“Stop fidgeting.”

“I’m not fidgeting, I’m giving you room.”

“If I need room, I will tell you”

“Sure thing,” Clark hums.

It’s nice. The seaweed feels cool against his skin, and it soothes the faint throbbing of his torn flesh. He might not have ever had the chance to feel this remedy had the earthlings—the name is a work in progress, he’ll find out what they’re calling the demons from the earth’s core in Bruce’s official report—not attacked and used their magic against him. Pain, soreness, and even the warm trickle of blood are all novelty experiences. Being taken care of in this way is completely new, too.

Not in a million years would he ever guess he’d share this experience with Arthur’s estranged brother—the brother that Arthur had emphasized time and time again, and without any prejudice against him, hates the surface. Yet, here he is, one of Atlan’s great descendants, tending to the wounds of a surface dweller.

Clark commits this moment to memory, etching it into the annals of his eternal mind. He tips his head up towards the stars and the moon. He listens to the hush of the waves, and notes the way the water and the weeds create a complimentary sensation. The coldness is sharp, but the texture is slimy, yet soft. He enjoys the cadence of Orm’s slow heart, the testament of his ease, along with the evenness of his breath. He notes the way his fingers brush against his shoulder just so , enough to send shivers down his spine.

He focuses on the here and the now.

“It’s quiet,” Clark says suddenly, his eyes opening to stare at Orm. Since his arrival, he hadn’t worried about the world and the thousands of voices that call his name. He can’t save them all, and for his own sanity, he can’t listen to it all. Not always.

“Yes, that is why I chose this place.”

“And now, you’ve got a pesky surface dweller ruining your peace.”

Orm says nothing as he applies the last strip. He inspects his work, yet gives nothing away. Only when he’s finished does he acknowledge Clark. “I do not mind. You can come here whenever you like.”

The awkward pause signals that he wants to say more, so Clark waits patiently.

“You are not like other surface dwellers. You are… clean.”

Clark can’t help the way he laughs. It bubbles up from the core of his chest and fills the air. “Glad to hear it. I shower whenever I can.”

“That sounds excessive.”

“It’s a saying, your highness.”

“Are surface sayings always so… meaningless?” Another pause. “Orm. You may call me Orm.”

There’s a moment where Clark debates the merits of revealing his secret identity. On one hand, he highly doubts the King of Atlantis will go around revealing that Superman is just some awkward reporter hailing from Smallville, Kansas. On the other hand, the League has yet to classify Ocean Master as a threat. He hasn’t flooded the surface yet, but Clark has heard the rumours.

“Clark. You can call me Clark,” he decides. He’ll leave the worrying to someone else. For tonight, he chooses to see the best in people. He holds out his hand for Orm to shake, but the other man clasps it in a warrior’s embrace. Just like Diana would.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Clark adds, but he’s starting to get a better read on Orm. He knows when he’s being judged. “I’m not lying this time.”

“But we’ve already met. What makes this meeting more pleasing?”

“This time, I get to know you.”

***

The island becomes their refuge.

On these shores, titles are shed. There are no heroes and there are no kings. Time here is exchanged for peace, but for learning, too. Clark learns to care for the animals in the surrounding waters, and in return, he brings trinkets and gifts to his Atlantean host. Flowers are his favourite, cultivated from his mother’s garden, and replanted a little deeper inland.

Clark can’t remember when this quiet place became a home away from home, but he knows that coming here feels natural. It feels like the warmth of the sun on his skin, lighting him up from the outside in. It feels like a warm cup of tea on a rainy day.

When he’d once visited only when he had time, Clark now makes time for the island and Clark has noticed the same goes for Orm, too.

Today, he’s particularly determined to weave a hammock out of rope.

“What are you doing?” Orm asks, watching on with his arms crossed and typical judgement lining his expression.

“I’m making a hammock,” Clark answers, like that explains everything. He weaves the ropes, trying to mimic the pattern from memory, and suddenly realizes that he may have overshot his confidence. It looked easy, but then again, he probably should have looked up a video before attempting this. It’s just rope, it’s easy. Good one, Clark. Good one.

“Is it a trap?”

“No, it’s supposed to be a place to rest. You hang the ropes between two trees and you can lay in it.” He looks around himself, lips pursing into a confused frown and brows furrowed. It’s starting to look like a shape. Specifically, a circle weaved around him.

“Are you sure it is not supposed to be a trap?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure.” The more he fiddles with the ropes, the worse he tangles himself until he’s turned it into a Ghillie suit. He tries not to look too helpless, but there’s no way to help the flush that colours his features the moment Orm steps in to rescue him.

“What are you trying to achieve, Clark?” He asks, softly.

In the sand, Clark draws a diagram. See, very simple. He ends up being the one perched over Orm’s shoulder, watching him work the ropes into its intended form with some structural enhancements.

“You got that just from the drawing?”

“Yes.” Orm says nothing more, quietly focused on his mission. When he finishes, he also finds the perfect two trees to hang the surface contraption. “Your hammock.”

It’s only fair that Clark demonstrates the wonders of relaxation. He hops into the hammock, letting the ropes cradle him. It rocks him gently and he grins up at his friend. “It’s perfect.”

“So, you simply lay there?”

“Yup. It’s like a bed, but different. You should try it.”

Without missing a beat, Orm climbs into the hammock. Clark freezes up, confused, and waits for his brain to process what exactly is happening. A flush sears across his sun-kissed features, tinting his cheeks and the tips of his ears pink. It’s a good thing Orm had reinforced the weaving. He lays there, awkwardly and unsure of what to do with his hands.

“This is uncomfortable,” Orm states.

“Well, yes,” Clark chirps. “I meant you should try on your own. It’s probably more comfortable. A lot less elbowing.”

“I see.”

Orm starts to get out, but Clark stops him, always with a gentle touch, or a soft-spoken word.

“Wait, can I try something? Just tilt your body this way, yeah,” he explains, guiding him to his side instead of planking on top of him. “If you want to share a hammock, you need to find a way to fit into the other person.” The crook of a shoulder is the perfect place to lay his head, or across his chest to listen to heartbeat. Clark wonders about gravity, if that shapes Orm’s experience, too.

The tension never leaves him, nervous about having someone so close. Clark longs for affection, and his love for others is usually conveyed through touch—a tight hug, the soothing caress of a thumb or a kiss on the cheek. He loves people, and he loves having the warmth of another close to him.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

They stay there long enough, swaying easily and listening to the waves. They lay long enough for Clark to finally ease and fall asleep.

He doesn’t know when things changed, but this island—

This island feels like home.

#my fics #clark kent x orm marius #orm marius #clark kent #superman #ocean master #ship: clam #dc fanfic #ao3feed #ao3

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whumping-in-the-wings · 2 years

Text

Finally another installment of Traces! I really did not mean for this piece to take quite so long, or to disappear for almost two weeks before I posted it, but, since it’s the first real whump-focused piece of the story (at long last) I wanted to make sure I gave it its due and made it the best it could be before sending it out into the world. Hopefully you enjoy, and I promise, updates should come a lot sooner from now on! (The next one, in particular, is very exciting for me on a personal level, so stay tuned…)

CW: branding, restraints, dehumanization, descriptions of injury (slightly more graphic than usual for this story), brief non-detailed mentions of slavery

Taglist: @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @finaldreams1106, @redwingedwhump (and as always, let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from the list!)

Traces: Part Four

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Sheer dumb luck, Sterling Cambrey had long since decided, was the only explanation for a great many things in Sir Aubrey’s life.

On the night of the centaur hunt, Cyra was one of those things. By some miraculous stroke of that endless good fortune, it turned out that Aubrey’s stubborn, cynical stablemaster had gone to the fair in the next village over and wouldn’t be expected back for several days, making it difficult for her to object to the lord of the manor’s latest undertaking. Oh, she’d certainly have something to say when she came home to find a centaur in her stable, but by then Aubrey would have already started on whatever he intended to do with the beast, and there wouldn’t be much Cyra could do to stop it.

Sterling would never have risked it. An irritated Cyra was still a force to be reckoned with, even if her irritation had no real effect. But then again, Sterling would never have risked trying to capture a centaur at all. Risk was simply not something Sir Aubrey Gravesend took much notice of; for one reason or another, it had always passed him by untouched.

And now, two days later, here he was, attempting another effort Sterling would never have dared to: making his wild captive undeniably his own.

“Maybe you ought to wait a day or two longer,” Sterling ventured, watching with no small amount of apprehension as a burly groom and a pair of wide-eyed stable boys struggled to force the centaur stallion to his knees in the middle of the manor yard.

It seemed as though they had underestimated the creature’s strength; it had been two days since the hunt, and at Aubrey’s orders the centaur had spent them without food or water. But despite that and the angry red arrow-wound still marring his black coat, he was resisting their efforts as fiercely as he possibly could. They’d blindfolded him, a common trick for calming horses; on him it had had exactly the opposite effect, sending him into a frenzied half-panic that left all three of the servants bruised and cursing. If the lord of the manor’s pet project was going to succeed- which was looking more unlikely by the minute- it would not be by the usual methods. To Sterling’s mind, the only option was to try a harsher tack: a few more days’ starvation, a good beating, make the price of resistance too steep to pay and take the danger out of the task-

Aubrey, however, brushed his squire’s words of concern aside with his usual easy confidence. “It’s been long enough. Half the fun is seeing him try to fight it. Although-“ his voice rose to a sudden sharpness on the word- “it would not be taking nearly this long if these fools had any idea what they were doing.” He cupped his hands around his mouth, calling out to the groom. “Use that wounded leg against him, clodpole, I put an arrow in it for a reason!”

They watched the struggle for a few more moments, Aubrey scowling in annoyance as the centaur showed no sign of giving up. “Ugh. I need Cyra back.”

“Oh, she’d have it all done in short order,” Sterling agreed. “Just as soon as she finished rattling off ten thousand colorful descriptions of reckless idiotic lordlings with more ambition than sense, who have never thought twice about anything in their lives and are apt to die of their own stupidity before they’re half the man they’d like to be-“

Aubrey punched him lightly in the shoulder, though his lips twitched upwards in his familiar half-smirk. “Alright, alright, you’ve made your point, and hers.”

“And it’s a fair point. But that won’t stop you, will it?” It was not a question that needed an answer; they both knew already what the answer was.

The groom, now red-faced and sweating profusely despite the cold of the misty grey morning, decided to try something else. Changing his grip on the rope around the centaur’s neck, he cracked the end of it sharply across the creature’s face. The centaur, by some sort of instinct, had sidestepped a moment before, avoiding the full force of the blow; if he’d taken it straight across the face, it might have broken bone. Even as it was, his cry of pain blended seamlessly with Aubrey’s growl of frustration. The golden-haired lord leapt off the wall where he and Sterling had been watching, stalking across the bare manor yard in a few quick, angry strides. “Let me,” he said roughly, seizing the rope in one hand and striking the nearest stable boy aside with the other.

It was over quickly after that. Though the centaur clearly knew where the true danger lay, redoubling his resistance as Aubrey’s fingers closed around the rope, Aubrey understood the task at hand far better than the trio of servants had. Instead of trying to drag his prisoner forward, he drove him backward, forcing the centaur’s weight onto his injured leg. On his feet, the centaur was dangerous, but once he’d been thrown to his knees, it wasn’t difficult to keep him there.

“You see?” Aubrey stepped back, the only sign of the struggle a bit of a catch in his breath. “It’s that simple. Do you suppose you can manage to hold him, or will I have to do that myself as well?”

Shamefaced, the three servants quickly assured him that they were more than capable of what was needed. Usually, Aubrey would have gone on haranguing them for a little longer, making his displeasure known, but today he didn’t bother. His attention was solely on the centaur; the servants were unimportant, no more than tools to help him do what he had set his mind to doing.

Though not the only tools that would be used. “Sterling,” Aubrey called out, “the iron.”

“Right.” Sterling knew Aubrey well enough by now to have a sort of instinct of his own when it came to the other man, and he’d already started moving toward the brazier set up a few paces away. The heat contrasted oddly with the chill air of the autumn morning, and he had to turn his eyes away from the thin tendrils of smoke curling up from the crackling coals, joined by a shower of sparks and ashes as he took hold of the heavy branding iron and lifted it free.

The Gravesend mark was the stylized and much-simplified head of a lion, given to some ancestor as a recognition of bravery in battle long ago, when the family had been much more meaningful to the world than it was now. Aubrey was fiercely proud of it, vowing to someday restore that mark to its former glory every time he strapped on his shield for a tournament. Watching it now, glowing a bright, ominous gold at the end of the iron as if it still held a little of its old power and importance, Sterling wondered if it might not be too early to be putting that mark on an untamed, unpredictable creature like the centaur. If he had been in Aubrey’s place, he would have waited until the beast was well and truly broken, well and truly his, before he marked him as such. There was certainly a risk involved in doing it sooner.

But Aubrey was Aubrey and risk was nothing, so Sterling only put the iron into the other man’s waiting hand. It surprised him a little when Aubrey didn’t turn and pass it off to the groom, but a moment later he could almost have laughed at himself for being shocked at all. Of course Aubrey was going to take matters into his own hands. He shouldn’t have expected anything less.

Now that Aubrey had gotten the stallion to the ground, the three servants had proven able to hold him there, but he had still managed to shift enough to extend his injured right leg a little, to keep it from being pinned under his weight. Coincidentally, in doing that, he’d placed himself just where Aubrey wanted him. A visible shudder ran through the centaur’s body as Aubrey dropped to his knees beside him and put a hand on his hip, a few inches above the arrow-wound, the same place where every horse in the stable bore the same brand. It was oddly gentle, that touch, almost affectionate, as though Aubrey was dealing with a newborn colt and not a formidable blunder of nature who might lash out at any second. He ran his fingers over the black-brown coat, not testing the beast as the other hunters had on the first night, or prodding at the wound the way Sterling had, but simply making his presence felt.

And the moment the centaur seemed to grow used to that presence, the moment he relaxed a little beneath it, Aubrey moved with the speed of a thrown lance, replacing his own gentle fingers with the blazing heat of the golden-glowing iron.

The centaur, blinded as he was, had no knowledge of what was coming, no way to steel himself against it, and the first touch of the metal on his skin ripped an all-too-human scream from his throat. The mark was made at that first contact, but Aubrey held the iron down for far longer than needed, pressing deeper with a ruthless, relentless force, holding steady even as the centaur thrashed and the three servants struggled to keep him down.

It was a long, long moment, and the mist in the air had turned thick with the smell of burning, before Aubrey finally eased the pressure and stepped away, leaving a second red, angry wound above the first he had inflicted. The centaur’s chest was heaving, his nostrils flared, and for just a moment Sterling wished he wasn’t blindfolded, if only to see the hate and fear that must be burning in those eyes as hotly as the brand.

The groom shifted his grip on the rope again, the two stable boys stepping aside, but Aubrey’s voice stopped them all in their tracks. “Who said I was finished?”

He was smiling that devilish half-smirk again, the most dangerous of his smiles, as he snapped his fingers at the two boys. “Take his shoulders. And you-“ he addressed the next words to the groom- “keep a grip on that rope and don’t let him move.” He glanced over to Sterling, answering the squire’s wide-eyed look with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “No sense in leaving the job half done, is there?”

Sterling only shook his head. Risk. Such a risk. But he knew already that Aubrey would take that risk, that he would walk away from it with the Fates still smiling on him as benevolently as always, the closest a mere man could come to invincible.

The servants hurried to do as Aubrey had said, forcing the centaur’s shoulders forward, baring the back of his human half. For a second time, Aubrey began with a gentle touch, gathering up the long, sweat-dampened dark hair and laying it to the side as a maid might have a lady’s, exposing the back of the right shoulder. Another common place for a brand, but not the brand of livestock- the mark of a slave. Half man and half beast, that was what the centaur was. And Aubrey, it seemed, had no intention of leaving either half unmarked. There would be no part of the creature that did not belong to him.

This time there was no need to prolong the ordeal, no need for any force. The human half was weaker, more delicate, and the damage was done before the centaur’s second scream of pain had fully left his lips. He collapsed, sobbing for breath, as Aubrey lifted his hand and stepped away. But it no longer mattered how far away Aubrey was; his touch, his presence, would still be felt now, in the two lion-marks still glowing faintly gold. His presence would always be felt, even when the glow had faded, even when the years had faded the brands into nothing more than faint traces of scars. Still there. Still felt. Remembered. Aubrey took so many of his risks in his quest to be remembered, and he was not likely to stop taking them until he’d reached that goal. Until he’d made his mark, not just on a centaur, but on the world.

He crossed back to stand beside Sterling, tucking one arm around his squire’s shoulder and propping one on his hip as he surveyed his handiwork. “There,” he said. “Now the whole country knows who his master is, and soon enough he’ll know it too.”

“If you’re lucky,” Sterling cautioned, almost automatically, and he didn’t have to see Aubrey’s smirk to know that it was there. Luck, it was said, was a lady very particular about who she chose to ride with. But, poor country knight or not, it seemed she would always ride with Sir Aubrey Gravesend.

And, if Aubrey had his way in the coming days, it just might be upon the back of a centaur.

#whump #whump writing #medieval whump #fantasy whump #nonhuman whump #centaur whump

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alteon77 · 11 months

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*IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm copying everything over from AO3 to here because this series has a sequel coming out in the Fall, and I'd rather be prepared just in case AO3 goes down again. This is an old, complete story. So if you recognize it, you're not imagining things. 😂

Chapter Publication Date: 10/21/22 | Word Count: 4,718

All the Precious and Fragile Things (so easily do they break): Chapter 2

Part I: All of This Past

After banishing his lover to the waking world for her deception, Morpheus learns she's been captured by a revenge-seeking Alexander Burgess.

She's also very pregnant with his child.

Unknown to the both of them, this will set in motion a cascade of events that threatens the whole of existence itself.

AO3 here, Masterlist here

EIGHTY-SEVEN YEARS PAST...

May isn’t unaware of trauma.

She’s immortal, sure, her body made strong and enduring by dint of the magic she wields, but unlike most blessed (or cursed) with eternal life, she understands all the ways that one can be hurt without having a scratch on their actual physical form, those mental wounds that linger inside a mind even when the flesh deep bruises and cuts have long ago healed up. Since their return to the Dreaming, she and Lucienne have both had to throw themselves into preserving this place, and it’s no easy task for either of them. Her new friend seems worn to the bone, worse than she'd looked before coming back here, like all of her healing has been undone by the stress of this mess left behind by the Dream Lord's disappearance. As for May herself, keeping a dynamic, complex creation like a realm or a world alive is a frustratingly tricky thing, a feat she hasn't managed for nearly a millennia.

And poorly then at that. Very, very poorly.

Unfortunately, May knows she has no real choice except to try and do so again now, hopefully with more success than when last she attempted it. Strictly speaking, her particular brand of magic is all about making and less about sustaining, especially in regards to another's carefully crafted design, but this marvelous world will cease to exist if she doesn't. And that, she thinks, cannot be allowed to happen.

She knows she has to start with a center, a sort of seed ground to focus her power and push it out from. The palace serves as such a location for the Dream King, but it feels disrespectful to take it as her own, to put her mark on it when it so clearly belongs to him, and so she begins her search for an alternative. By sheer dumb luck, she stumbles across the beach on the second day she's there, scant hours after Lucienne had settled back in and immediately began relaying orders, all the while pretending at a calm that May had been absolutely sure she didn’t feel. Her friend's hands, now healed of their external damage, still shake in nerves or fear or trauma or some combination of all those things, and May catches herself noticing the tremors with worry. She had resolved before she set out that morning to speak to Lucienne about it when either of them could find a spare moment.

The potential center she finally finds later in the day is lovely, with a beach that has white sparkling sands and shining, crystal blue water. May wanders to the middle of the spot as if entranced, kneeling down and sinking her hand into the furthermost edge of the coast, where the tide is gently lapping at the shoreline, before she pushes past the water and sand there to tap into where the Dreaming is woven together. The magic here is impossibly old and wild, but May calms it as one might a skittish animal, soothing it gently until at last it unfurls and accepts her own spark into its being.

She sleeps on the beach afterwards, unsure of how long she's there while the realm pulls energy from her as a starving man might take in food, and May lets it do so while she drifts in and out of consciousness. When she awakens some indeterminate time later, Lucienne is hovering over her, clearly afraid, her forehead creased and her eyes narrowed.

"I've reinforced it," May breathes out, sitting up very delicately. Every part of her aches now, but the realm, clever thing it is, had left her more than enough to regenerate her magic.

Lucienne takes hold of her arm and hefts her up, keeping a firm grip even as May sways a little. She's wet from the water, and a strange chill settles on her in light of this, but she finds that she can't tear her gaze away from that tremble in Lucienne's hands where they're steadying her.

"What does that mean?" Lucienne questions, an urgency about her that makes May frown, pulled away in an instant from her thoughts.

"I've stopped the decay…. until we can find your lord at least."

Something in the librarian's features soften, a sort of tenderness taking over her expression. "Will you be all right?"

May nods, touched by the concern there. "Of course. It left me enough to make more and to rescue its master. I think it prefers him to me, if I'm honest." The water ripples particularly vigorously, and May smiles down at it. "Don't fuss, you wild, beautiful thing," she tells the realm affectionately. "It doesn't hurt my feelings in the slightest."

But Lucienne is looking at the spot, her brow furrowed in worry as if she thinks May has finally gone insane. And May would laugh if she didn't think it would offend her. After all, she's been insane before, has known the pull of fraying apart until the whole weave of herself was naught but a pile of threads in the violent winds of madness. The calm of this place speaking to her is laughably tame in comparison.

May considers telling her this, considers confessing to her the details of her sordid past. But... she finds that she can’t, which doesn’t truly surprise her. Her inability to speak on those times is so old by now that it’s dug in deeper than her bones. And so instead, knowing that she won’t be admitting to anything today, she changes the subject by casually suggesting, "Let's go back to the palace."

For the next few weeks, May watches the steadfast librarian issue orders and manage the matters in the Dreaming with unwavering composure, and she cannot help but to worry for her despite the brave face Lucienne's wearing. That her physical wounds are gone (right down to the grotesque brand that May had meticulously removed from her scarred hand) doesn't mean that she's healed.

And one night when May cannot sleep, her suspicions are confirmed. She hears crying, and she doesn’t even bother to knock as she twists the handle of Lucienne's door to let herself in to the librarian's room. The sight that awaits her nothing less than pitiful. Her friend thrashes in her small bed, choking out sobs as she battles whatever nightmare monster has gripped her tight and is hurting her.

“Lucienne,” May calls softly, her hand poised over Lucienne's shaking form as she contemplates whether she should actually reach out and shake her awake. May has always been a creature of touch, of physical connection, but she knows that others aren’t so inclined sometimes, especially when they’ve spent the past couple decades being tortured in a dungeon. “Lucienne,” she tries again, this time more urgently.

Glassy dark brown eyes snap open suddenly to regard May with confusion and fear. "What... What is it?"

“You were having a nightmare, sweetling,” May informs her friend gently, scrutinizing her as she does so.

Lucienne sits up, a fine sheen of sweat over her face and body, her nightshirt probably soaked through. “Yes,” she murmurs, sounding still half asleep.

Her drowsiness scares May, making the uncertainty of this situation twist her stomach in an entirely different way. She doesn’t quite know how the subjects of the Dreaming functioned before their master disappeared, but she’s noticed them all sleeping frequently. Perhaps too much, as if they might be decaying like the realm that May is struggling to keep alive.

“Do you want some tea?” May asks the trembling woman before finally, she works up the courage to tentatively stretch out a consoling hand out to her friend's shoulder, resting it lightly there so that Lucienne can easily push it away if it bothers her.

“No…. No, thank you.” Lucienne's voice is as shaky in panic as the rest of her seems.

May glances around the room, finding a plush, comfortable looking chair in one corner. She considers for a moment and then comes to a decision, closing the distance to grab the seat and drag it closer to the bed, all the while resolutely ignoring the horrid scraping noise it makes at the move. When she gets it where she wants, May fluffs the pillow in it before plopping down heavily. “Want to talk about it?” It's both an offer and a question.

Lucienne’s eyes go flinty, closed off in some prey animal instinct that May understands perfectly well. After all, she still does the same herself at times, hiding her wounds as if that might keep her safe, as if that might protect her in some way. “I’m fine now. You…. don’t have to stay.”

May sits forward and plumps the pillow behind her in the chair again. “Nonsense. This is the most comfortable thing I’ve ever sat in, Lucienne. You wouldn’t kick me out of it so soon, would you?”

Lucienne gives an unwilling chuckle, all breathy and broken, and May hates to hear her sound like that. She hasn’t known her new friend for terribly long, but from the reverence that the other denizens of the Dreaming treat her with, she gathers that the librarian had been strong as nails before her capture. “I suppose not.”

“You know... I was held captive for a time,” May admits quietly, falteringly. It's almost impossible for her to talk about it still, even after the thousands upon thousands of years since it had passed, but if it might help settle Lucienne, then May will try and trudge through it without complaint. She's safe here with her, May knows, and feeling safe is necessary for her to speak on this terrible part of her life. “I struggled with it for…. Well, forever I suppose. Something like that gets into the very bones of who you are, and it never really lets go completely.”

“Are you saying this will never pass?” the librarian asks, her voice wavering, and May could kick herself for making this woman feel that way, even if only for a moment.

“No, Lucienne. I’m saying that it does no good to bottle all of that fear and sorrow up. Talk about what happened if you can, free yourself a little bit at a time from the despair of it when you are able. Repressing your emotions will only make your recovery longer.”

“Did you….. talk about it?”

“Yes," she tells her, even as she's actively attempting to will the memories away. They're a poison inside of her, a rot in the core of who she is that May can never rid herself of. "But I was a child when it happened, and I foolishly waited for... a very long time... to try and ease my mind of it, I guess you can say.”

“A child?" Lucienne questions, disgust coloring her tone. "Who would hold a child as prisoner?”

For the first time since she's known the librarian, May feels herself falter in answering. She has so many secrets from her countless millennia of existence, so many parts of who she is that must stay hidden, but May... hates lying. She avoids it when she can, when she has the luxury of honesty. Her falsehoods are like armor, a camouflage that shields her from the worst of her most regretful actions and decisions. In this situation, she is aware that she should not speak the truth, should not let anyone get so near to even a hint of it, but May... is driven by her affection to do it anyway.

“Those same who held you.” Lucienne recoils at that, and May doesn’t have to be capable of reading her mind to know that she’s thinking of her own ordeal, of how that might have translated to someone so much younger. “I am truly sorry it took me so long to get you out of there. I would have came the moment they caught you if I had known.”

��Why?” Lucienne finally queries, her eyes growing clearer with curiosity.

“Guilt,” May supplies after a minute or two of hesitation, the single word a horrible confession. In truth, guilt had prompted her rescue, had prompted all of this. After all, Lucienne never would have been taken if the Dream King hadn't been, and it was her spell in the Magdalene Grimoire that had provided a mortal the means to do so.

“Do you want to try and get some more sleep?” May offers before her inquisitive friend can put more questions to her that May might not be able to answer so easily. She really doesn't want to lie to the librarian if she can help it. “I’m quite comfortable here. I think I’ll stay the night in this chair if that’s acceptable to you.”

“You don’t have to.” Lucienne sounds embarrassed, likely because her fear is so obviously perceived, but May can hear the yearning threaded through her voice regardless. May quite understands how much worse trauma is when one is alone, and while she can’t fix the Dreaming yet or locate Dream or undo any of the mistakes in her history that have led to this catastrophe, she can make sure her friend isn’t afraid and by herself with her demons in the dark. This, May has power over.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I hate sleeping by myself anyway. You’d be doing me a favor.”

May's excuse is poorly delivered, blatantly false, but Lucienne must want to believe enough that she accepts her reasoning.

And in the morning light, May wakes up curled atop that chair and feels more well-rested than she has in ages.

PRESENT DAY...

It’s the pain that wakes May. She’d been dreaming of Morpheus, lost in her memories of their happier times as she so often is these days. She knows that everything between them has burnt to nothing, but she takes up the ashes anyway, crafts them into whole worlds in her mind so that she has some hope, some bright spot in this hellish place. Anything to keep the bitter taste of terror from her mouth.

In her darkest moments, she'd thought of the Kindly Ones and the three boons they'd still owed her for her help millennia ago.They wouldn't have been able to free her of this binding circle, she knows, but if it hadn't been for the life swelling in her stomach, she expects that she could have called them and asked for a kind death at the least.

And there have been many times during this ordeal that a kind death had been… utterly appealing, too tempting for her to put into words. Not that she really puts much into words anymore, if she's being honest, not with her tormentor always nearby, ready and eager to inflict more hurt on her, to shut her up in the most horrific way he can imagine.

She hates herself for how afraid she is, for how thoroughly she's been broken by this mortal monster.

Her stomach roils, and she thinks for a minute that she might get sick, despite that there’s been nothing on her stomach for far too long, such a length of time that the hunger pains had faded to nothing as her body stopped trying to even process what clearly wasn't there. A shot of agony seizes her belly, tightening up the swell where her child rests. It snatches the air from her lungs, and when it finally eases, May has only a moment before it begins anew, stronger and more violent somehow. Beneath her, the floor is tacky with blood, rushing down her thighs in a way that she’s sure is bad. Can she even bleed out anymore? Without her magic, she doesn’t know. The binding she’d performed on herself had locked her powers away, cutting her off from a part of herself forever. It had been necessary, a brutal sacrifice to replace the bond she needed but would never receive from the father of her child. If she had done nothing, her own power would have grown as the babe did, grown until it burst, killing her and her little one, and rupturing at least a part of the realm she was currently in, if not the whole damn thing.

Makers, she knew, always needed a bond to bear. It was how her own mother had met her grisly end.

The pain now grips her tight, causing her to tremble despite her efforts to keep control of herself. She heaves onto her hands and knees, trying desperately to stretch out her back in an effort to relieve the ache there, anything to find some relief. She had thought (mistakenly, she now knows) that bearing a child into the world would be no different than making. After all, she’d assumed, that’s all a baby was, a world made flesh, crafted from her and Morpheus’ love and simply requiring her to bring it into being. She’d made worlds before, made living things from the ether. How much harder, she had thought when she’d realized she was pregnant, could a child be?

She had been an idiot.

Her hands claw atop the cold stone of the floor as she reminds herself to inhale and exhale, though it seems pointless since the urge to bear down renders her breathless. The spasms are cycling quickly now, but she doesn’t quite know what to do beyond the basics, mostly because she's never actually birthed a child prior to this. And she'd been captured before she could research and learn anything about how to do it. Her body guides her as best it can given her weakened state, so when she feels the need to push, she heeds it and follows the instruction. Frightened as she is over what her captor will do if they discover that she is giving birth, May tries to be as silent as she can while she does so, and that somehow makes the terrible, blazing burn of it worse.

Even though it feels like it goes on for forever, like a hellish eternity of her womb trying to tear every organ of hers into a million pieces, it only takes four pushes until her child slithers out of her in a great rush. And May (shaking apart it feels) scoops her up, cleaning her tiny mouth out and rubbing her back.

Finally, her daughter lets loose a cry, and it is the most beautiful song she’s ever heard, wondrous enough that it takes her breath away more thoroughly than the pain had.

Tears leak down her face as May brings the baby closer against her naked body for what little warmth is left there, a pitiful offering that's all she has to give in these circumstances.

“Hello, Aurora,” she soothes gently, so overcome with love that she feels as if she's been shattered and then remade anew with it. She tries to think of something to say, of some way to put all these emotions into words. Their kind remember their birth usually, and she wants her daughter to know that she's loved, that she's precious and important to someone. But all she can manage is another raspy and insufficient, "Hello."

The reality of her situation no longer makes her feel so hopeless, and a swell of determined strength rises in her. She has to get them out of there, has to see her daughter safe no matter the sacrifice that might be required to make it happen. Reluctantly, she lays the girl down, wincing at the iciness from the basement floor she can feel on her hands. Her child cries because of it, and May thinks that her heart is shredding itself at the sound.

Without Aurora inside of her, however, she crosses right over the binding circle.

Her footsteps leave bloody prints as she moves purposely towards the far end of the room where Alexander Burgess had kept the implements of her torture. Her stomach still cramps, and it feels as if all of her is burning, but she goes quickly as this might be her only chance. She grabs a knife and two spare jackets that someone must have left behind before marching back to the binding on the floor, angrily scratching a line through the paint so that she can get her daughter out of there.

With the knife, she cuts the cord on Aurora, separating it finally from the placenta on the ground, and she uses what minuscule amount of her magic remains to heal the stump of it up. The thinnest jacket, she slides on herself, reserving the thicker one to gather Aurora up and wrap her in it. The crying infant makes her leak a little milk, her chest aching, and following the gentle instruction of her own body, May lets her daughter snuffle and latch on to her breast. With her child nestled in her arms, feeding almost voraciously, May moves around the room to try and find some kind of exit that isn’t straight through the main house. Realistically, she can’t fight all of them off with a baby in her arms and her own wavering strength. She’s still bleeding, she realizes in a sort of muted panic, rivulets streaming down her legs to pool at her feet as she sways slightly from dizziness. She determinedly tries to put it from her mind. After all, she doesn’t have the luxury of focusing on it if she's going to get them out of this hell.

They'd indeed had to blast their way into the house.

On the main floor, Viego is presumably still busy restraining Alexander Burgess, who looks far younger than he should, curiously youthful despite that Morpheus knows he should be more visibly aged. Viego had muttered something about an eternity spell and stupid bastards meddling in things they didn't understand, a feral tilt to his behavior as he had set about roughly binding the foul human creature that had dared to imprison and torture his sister. And as Viego had worked on his task, he’d vibrated with violence and vengeance the whole while, both sentiments that Morpheus had understood all too well in that moment.

But Morpheus hadn't stayed to see or partake in whatever retribution Viego might seek, choosing instead to leave him behind, stepping over several still warm corpses to make his way to the door leading into the bowels of the estate before beginning the descent into the basement. The thought of coming back to this place makes his mouth go dry in apprehension, his throat swelling with it, and so he carefully tries not to think of his own time in captivity, of the fear and fury he had felt then. Despite that Morpheus is King of the Nightmares, Roderick Burgess had been the one to shape the nightmare here, crafting it and inflicting it on Morpheus with callous relentlessness. He knows, however, that he can't fixate on that now, even when the squeal of the gate opening makes him flinch in memory. The smell here, that of damp mold, startles him with the panicked aversion he seems to have towards it, but he forces himself calm and thinks of May, emaciated and frightened and hurt and brokenly alone inside the circle. She needs him, and no matter their separation and his anger at her, that need is strangely more than enough to move him forward into the abyss of his own personal hell.

It's relatively easy to locate the two binding circles, both a perfect copy of the same one he had looked on for decades. Blood pools at the center of the first one so thickly that Morpheus cannot understand what it is at first, and then when he finally does, he cannot fathom how any being who bled so profusely might still be alive. There's a break in the paint, though, a perfect line through the outer edge with a trail of crimson crossing it, and he wastes no time in following the path it makes.

A figure is on her knees mere feet away, hiding behind a stack of boxes, clad only in a once white coat that's speckled and colored with the rust of old blood. In her hand she clutches a knife so tight her knuckles bulge white, and a smaller, cleaner bundle is held firmly to her chest. Her hair is dirty and tangled, a fine sheen of sweat on her face, and her eyes burn with pain and fear that quickly turns to shock when she sees him. Unexpectedly, his heart twists viciously at the sight of her rendered so... weakened, so desperate and confused, so clearly injured even as she tries to keep her... their... child safe.

Their child.

His and hers both.

For several moments, they stare at one another, and he lacks the words to address her or this situation. He reaches out a hand for her, tentative in its slowness.

"May," Viego says suddenly from behind him. Startled, Morpheus drops the proffered limb, stepping back while her brother rushes around him. Viego roughly strips his coat off to wrap her up in it, not hesitating to shrug the thick garment from his shoulders in his apparent effort to cover her as best he can.

"V?" she questions breathlessly, relief in the little sob she lets out as she brings one arm around him in the tightest hug she can manage with the infant in her hold. The makeshift blankets against her chest seemingly cry out at being pressed between them, and Viego pulls back to glance down on the babe.

"Hi, sis," he greets, and it is surprising to Morpheus, who has never heard the acerbic magic maker so soft before, has never seen such tenderness from Viego as is present in the way that he studies the child. "And hello, little one,” Viego continues on, letting out a shaky exhale as he scrutinizes the infant more closely. ”Oh, she's beautiful, May."

And also very new. Morpheus thinks that May must have just borne her, but he can't overly ruminate on that, can't even think about the fact that he apparently has a daughter now as May cries freely, choked sorrowful sounds coming from her that wrench something deep inside of him.

"I didn't think you'd come. He told me…. He told me you were dead, and I couldn't hear you. I couldn't hear anything. I was…."

"Shhhh. It's okay." Viego pulls her into the shelter of his arms again, like he is trying to comfort her as best he can in this nightmarish basement.

Their moment is broken when Morpheus moves forward and May, protectiveness told in the tenseness of her body, instinctively brings the infant up closer to her as if he might snatch their daughter away and abscond with her. All he can see is the head of raven black hair peeking out, and his gut churns at the thought that she believes he would do such a thing, that she thinks him capable of something so cruel as stealing their child from her.

That she believes it with enough surety to fear it cuts mercilessly at him.

"We are here to rescue you." He hates how cold his voice sounds, even to his own ears. May seems to consider this, drawing in a shuddering breath while she does so. Despite her clear mistrust of him she gives a very reluctant nod at last, willing to accept his help, he assumes, only out of desperation.

"Can you stand?" Viego asks gently, and May blinks dazedly, seemingly having trouble parsing out what he's asking, as if she must think especially hard to answer him. She trembles as the adrenaline fades from her body, and her eyes go unfocused. The babe in her hold whimpers plaintively, and May appears to momentarily snap back to herself at the noise, glancing down at her daughter before she attempts to soothe the girl as best she can with her magic so obviously depleted. A sense of alarm creeps over Morpheus to see her so disoriented, to see her struggling to heal. Why isn't she mending? Her magic, however reduced, should be working faster than this.

"My head is killing me," she says. "I think I'm…. maybe bleeding out." She shakes her head a little in what Morpheus thinks is an attempt to stay awake, and the action seems to give her enough alertness to finally understand what her brother has asked. A newfound resolution writ on her face, she grasps Viego's arm, and with visibly weak legs she tries to get to her feet. Her body is clearly too worn, though, the strain of delivering the child too much, and she starts to fall almost immediately. As she slips in the blood beneath her, it is only Viego's arm holding onto her that keeps her from landing heavily in the puddle of it.

With a lurch, Morpheus comes to the sudden realization that all of the blood in the room might very well be hers. He shares one look with Viego, the worry and fear there a reflection of his own.

Decisively, he steps closer to her. "I must carry you, May," he tells her, trying to mimic Viego's more tender tone. His stomach swoops violently at the very real sense of emergency she now faces and the fact that she doesn’t seem to be healing at all.

She huffs out a small, out-of-place laugh. "But I'll get you dirty."

She sounds delirious, and he thinks back through his limited knowledge of human medicine. She had said she was bleeding out, hadn't she? He knows that can cause such a symptom, and she has assuredly lost a great quantity of blood. Morpheus strips off his own coat and wraps her up in that as well, certain as he is that her trembling is getting increasingly worse. Crouching down, he puts an arm beneath the bend of her knees and another at her back, utterly uncaring of the mess. "Hold tight to the baby," he instructs before lifting her up, painfully aware that she won't allow anyone, least of all him, to take the child from her just yet.

She weighs nothing, all bones and sickly pale skin stretched tight over them, like a small, broken-winged bird that’s been scooped up into someone’s hand for tending. Her heart beats slowly, and with another lurch of fear, he realizes that he can keenly feel the ebbing away of her life force with her pressed this close against him. Blood has pooled beneath her, and her legs are slick with the crimson ichor, but she curls into him, no doubt seeking his warmth as she's ice cold in his grip even through the layers of fabric she's now bundled in.

"I can better heal her in the Dreaming," he informs Viego, the urgency of his tone brooking no argument.

"I'm coming with you," Viego demands, and Morpheus nods once, pushing his power out to the maker as well. Like he had all those decades ago when she'd rescued him from this place and been injured doing so, Morpheus holds her damaged body in his arms and stretches his power out to his realm.

His sand swirls, and just before they disappear he hears the sound of wings, of his sister's wings, beating slow and steady in the distance.

It's two days by Dreaming time before Lord Morpheus returns, appearing in the throne room with a limp, half-dead May Westin in his arms. Even from this distance, Lucienne can see that she's shivering violently in his hold despite that his coat is wrapped around her and he's clutching her tightly against him.

"She's going into shock," Viego says, panic clear in his voice. "Hold on, sis."

Lucienne hears the other maker murmuring to the shaking woman as she comes running to them all, fear giving her haste that she doesn’t usually have. "Sir, what do you need?"

Lord Morpheus looks a mess too. There's a gash above his left eye, and his clothes are singed, torn in places. Spots of blood cover his arms, and she doesn't think she's ever seen him this disheveled, even when he'd returned from his long captivity with Roderick Burgess. "Warmth to begin with, Lucienne," he answers roughly, urgency in the tone of his words. "I'll take her to her rooms. Gather bandages and cloths to clean her and the wounds."

"Here. Take the baby too. I need my hands free," Viego interjects, handing her a bundle, a mewling infant that makes Lucienne gasp in surprise. She looks down at the very tiny child, who blinks back up at the librarian with eyes that are May's through and through save for the shine of her lord's stars in them. She has no time to marvel over this, however, given that May is obviously in poor shape if Lord Morpheus' alarm is any indication, and there are necessary tasks she's been allotted, ones needed to help heal her friend. For a moment, she holds the little one, unsure of what exactly she's supposed to do with it, and the feeling of being uncertain in this way is utterly strange. It's not as if there's a nanny in the Dreaming, not as if there are any dreamfolk at all who she might summon to mind an infant this young.

It's Minnie she goes to at last, the kitchen cook who seems as if she would perhaps do an acceptable job with this odd request, and Lucienne knows she's chosen correctly when the woman gasps at the sight of the babe.

Minnie takes the infant from Lucienne carefully and pulls it into the warmth of her bosom, doting sweetly on it as if by instinct. "Who's this then?" she asks, curiosity thickening up her usual accent.

"Lord Morpheus and... May's child."

Minnie glances up at Lucienne with wide eyes, shock clear on her ruddy face. "And when did that happen?"

"I've no time now," the librarian relays, putting a stop to that line of questioning before it even begins. She really is in a rush, so worried that she feels as if she might be sick. "May is returned and... injured. I need a bowl for water and cloths."

"Injured?" Minnie's lips thin out into a line, but she nods brusquely. "Go then. We'll keep watch over the wee bairn," she promises solemnly.

Relieved that the child is in suitable hands, Lucienne sets about collecting what she must before shifting to May's room, and the scene that awaits her there is... horrifying. The woman is laying on the bed, unclothed where they've stripped the coat, or coats she now sees, off of her. The librarian can't help her sharp inhale at the sight of all the blood. She's never seen so much in her life, and she thinks that surely this can't all be May's, can't all have came from her. What else could her heart even have left to pump at this point if so? Her friend shakes and wheezes as if she's choking, as if she's struggling to draw air into her lungs. Over her, Viego is casting his magic near furiously, but it doesn't seem to be doing anything to help heal her from where she's quite obviously dying before them all.

Dying. Lucienne can't fathom this, can't even understand the idea that May could be... could be fading.

From the side of the bed, Lord Morpheus watches, his eyes widened in the closest she's ever seen him to panic as he steps closer to May and seems to come to a decision of some sort. Face tensed in resolve, he places one solemn hand on her bare chest, his eyes fluttering shut in concentration as he pushes his power into her, so much of it that Lucienne can feel it swell around them, heavy and charged. The Dreaming itself starts to twist slightly, groaning at the pull from its energy. In the room, the lights flicker erratically, and beneath them the ground rumbles, shuddering for several moments before finally settling. When its finished, the sharp musky scent of ozone thickens the air.

On the bed, May’s tremors start to blessedly lessen, and the librarian holds her breath, wondering if it's because whatever Lord Morpheus is doing is working or because they are simply watching May die more peacefully. Lucienne prays silently to every deity she doesn't actually believe in that her friend survives.

Viego startles her, taking the cloths and water from her jittery hands. "Thanks Lucienne," he offers gently, tone unexpectedly soothing as if he can sense her upset and cares that she is rendered so.

"Is she… all right?"

Lord Morpheus is focused on shifting his power into her, so Viego answers in his stead. "She's alive. That'll have to be good enough for now."

Lucienne seems to come to herself in an instant, her practicality driving her to do something useful as she takes up a cloth and dunks it into the water, intent on helping however she can. "Let's get her cleaned off then. She hates so very much to be untidy." Her voice breaks slightly on this, but she's grief stricken at the sight of her friend in such a state, at the thought of what she’s suffered through to see her this near death.

Viego's look is all tender compassion as if he understands, but instead of addressing it, he simply repeats her actions, and together the two of them begin their work.

Lucienne has to gather cloths and bowls of water a dozen more times to get as much of the blood off of her as they can, and when they've got her mostly clean, they start treating and bandaging any open wounds. She wants to cry at her friend's apparent emaciation, at the clear jut of hip bones and stick thin arms, at the signs of horrid torture that has left visible scars. Her tears will do May no good, though, so instead the librarian focuses on what might. She takes on the task of carefully treating and stitching some of the deeper cuts. Her and Viego labor diligently for hours upon hours until her back aches with the strain of it and her eyesight has gone blurry from tiredness. Lord Morpheus remains focused on silently lending his strength to May, on using his power to mend her. He does not move, does not even seem to notice them, Lucienne thinks, so consumed is he by this undertaking. When the sun rises in the Dreaming, he finally opens his eyes, shakily exhaling before he removes his hand from her at last, all of him suddenly weary looking and sickly pale.

"Is she okay?" Viego demands, and the Endless nods once at him.

"She will live," he breathes out, his voice a ravaged rasp. Lucienne has a moment to wonder just how much of himself he's burned away to save her, to keep her breathing. Viego lets out a relieved sigh of his own, scrubbing a hand over his face. In a rare moment of camaraderie, he summons a chair to the Dream Lord that the drained Endless gratefully collapses into.

"Her magic is practically gone," Lord Morpheus tells them at last, the words rough as if he's speaking with broken glass in his throat.

She could be imagining it, but an expression of guilt flashes over Viego's face for a second before he smooths it out. "She's been through a lot. It could come back." He sounds as if he's trying to reassure himself of this, and that's a tell if the librarian has ever seen one. "Where's the baby?"

"With Minnie. The cook," Lucienne supplies, studying the other maker. His eyes, still shining blue with magic, alight on hers for a moment, and something passes between them from his gaze to hers. There's definitely information he's not supplying, but the librarian does not demand it, determined instead to get answers from him later. She knows they have enough on their collective plate now that they might not be able to handle any more revelations.

"Have her prepare a broth for May. She was starved for the entirety of her time in the binding circle." An undercurrent of carefully controlled fury pulses in her lord's order, a near hatred unlike she's ever heard from him before.

"For the whole six months?" Lucienne clarifies in a mix of disgust and disbelief. "But…. she was pregnant?"

Lord Morpheus meets her eyes, and his own burn black, a thousand galaxies incinerated to ash in them. Lucienne almost hopes that May's captors are already dead for the calculated wrath that the Dream King looks like he wishes to visit on them. "Yes. We'll need to get food into her when she wakes or all of this will be for naught."

Lucienne haltingly nods, still unable to process this cruelty done to someone as kind as May. The librarian has met and known quite a few entities in her very long life that might deserve such treatment, but her friend, she is certain, is assuredly not one of them.

Back in the kitchens, she relays Lord Morpheus' command to Minnie and checks on the infant. The little one is sleeping soundly in a new crib, an addition apparently made by an uncharacteristically enthusiastic Mervyn as soon as he heard that May's babe was in the palace. When she wakes she'll appreciate their consideration, the librarian thinks, that they'd all came together to care for her child when she could not.

Like a family does, and May had always treated them all as if they were nothing less than family to her.

"Poor lamb," Minnie tuts when Lucienne conveys the need for broth and why it must be one especially light. "I'll make her something that'll stick. Would you three want a tray for sitting bedside?" She doesn't truly feel as if she can eat, images of her friend's bleeding, damaged body flashing through her mind. It nauseates her, the gnawing worry and grief she feels, but she accepts Minnie's offer anyway. After all, Lord Morpheus and Viego might be hungry, even if she highly doubts they feel any differently than she does where food is concerned right now.

Minnie seems to know everything that Lucienne can't say aloud, though, because she gives her a soothing, comforting smile and says, "Ne'er you mind. I'll send someone in with it in a jiffy. Why don't you go back to her, dear."

And Lucienne does, her gut twisting as she makes her way back to May's room, only to come upon Viego and Lord Morpheus discussing something in hushed tones. She straightens at this, thinking that they're arguing again and that they ought to be ashamed of themselves for doing so in light of what's happened to May.

"What's going on?" she questions in her sternest tone, unwilling to put up with their usual bickering or to allow such a thing at her friend's bedside.

Viego scowls at Lord Morpheus before he directs his attention to her. "We were pulled into the soft places mid travel here and attacked by a rather large pack of hellhounds. We were just talking about how that could be possible."

"It is not possible," Dream of the Endless bites out, all of him still gaunt and haggard from the power he'd expended earlier.

"Yet it very clearly happened. You were there."

"Shall I consult my books?" she asks and then quickly amends, "after she wakes." Lucienne is afraid to leave these two alone for any extended period of time. Now that May's danger has marginally passed, the both of them seem like nothing so much as reckless boys on a schoolyard ready to pummel one another at the first chance they get. She's acutely aware from past experience that someone will have to break up their scuffle if it comes to that, and since May is passed out it will be up to her to do so.

"That would be appreciated," her lord allows, voice still wavering slightly though it seems to be growing stronger.

Lucienne nods, satisfied, before she pulls up a chair and settles in, watching the steady rise and fall of May's chest as together the three of them wait for her to waken.

NEXT CHAPTER

#sandman fic #morpheus x oc #sandman fanfiction #dream of the endless #morpheus fic #sandman oc #morpheus fanfiction #PreciousFragileThings #morpheus x pregnant oc #morpheus as a father #dad!morpheus #morpheus x reader

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