#I can stand outside a cellar if they want

[strangeshoepatrolbandit-alt]

Saudade.

Warnings: Distrust, being a hostage, mentions of death and murder, being knocked out yet again.

Part two.

Series Masterlist.

~☆~

Your hair had long since dried from your shower as you sat on "your" bed, thinking over everything that has led you to this moment.

You went from a small force user who was taken in by the Jedi and became a Padawan, to a Jedi Knight, to a newly appointed Jedi Master, to a person who went into hiding, then to a hostage for a Jedi killer.

A knock echoed from the doors to your room.

Weird, the Stormtroopers haven't knocked the past few times you saw them...

The doors opened and low and behold, there was a stormtrooper.

"Lord Vader has requested to see you, Ma'am." He stands at attention, looking forward, rather than looking at you.

A tingle went down your spine. This was it. This was how you die. "He does?"

The Stormtrooper nods his head ever so slightly. "Affirmative. He was very adamant. If you refuse, I will have to use force."

You listened to the slightly modulated voice before getting up from your bed. "There's no need...."

You walked over to the door, standing near the Stormtrooper so that he could lead the way. He grabs your bicep with the hand that's not holding his blaster, holding onto you so you don't run off.

He leads you down the hall where a few more Stormtroopers join your walk, marching behind the two of you.

To your surprise, you're not led to another room where you'll meet Darth Vader. You're led to big double doors that require a keycard and password so that they can open.

The stormtrooper you're with does what he needs, and the doors slowly open, revealing the hot atmosphere of Mustafar and the black rocks that sometimes have molten lava seep down them.

Your other arm is suddenly grabbed by another stormtrooper. They both pull you outside, their fingers digging into your arms from their firm grips. You were led away from the fortress that you had recently been forced to stay in. Now you stood in a plain open space. Black rocks covering the black ground.

They let go of your arms and immediately started walking away. "W- Hey!" You turned to face the Stormtroopers, ready to go after them, but a presence stopped you.

The presence is so familiar, making you giddy. Hopeful.

Only its more sinister. Dark

You slowly turn back around, your eyes darting around the terrain.

It felt like he was everywhere.

"You're scared." Another modulated voice speaks from behind you, but this one made it harder to understand the person's real voice.

You turn around yet again, facing him. He was big, standing almost seven feet tall. "Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering."

"Still using the Jedi ways, I see." He noted, standing eerily still, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Excuse me?" You're confused, frustrated. He can tell. "Do I know you?" You meant to ask: 'Did I know you?'

He took a step, then another. His aura was so striking. You feel like you're drowning in his aura.

Maybe you could.

"What do you want?" You ask, your voice holding false confidence. "Why am I here? Are you going to kill me now?"

"If I wanted to kill you, I would have left you in that cellar to die." He told you. "I would have made sure you were left neglected and rotting in there. I wouldn't have given you your own chambers and some new clothing."

"Maybe you just want to lure me into a false sense of security?"

He stopped his steps, standing just about six feet away from you. "I get what I want. I don't wait for it. If I wanted you dead, you would be dead."

The two of you stared at each other, neither of you uttering a word. Knowing he was looking at you from underneath his helmet, but not being able to see his face made you uncomfortable, exposed. You knew he could see and feel everything about you, but you can't see or feel anything about him.

"I was on that backwater planet for business." He told you, breaking the silence as he talked about where you lived and were taken from. "Imagine my surprise when I found a Jedi."

He won't tell you that he felt your presence on that planet he marched around on foot until he wandered across your comfy little home.

Hope.

"And now what? You just hold on to me?" You question him some more.

"I do not have to explain myself to you."

"You do when it is my life!"

He stood idle, staring at you with his threatening gaze. You couldn't find a single weak spot within him. His walls were too high. Regret started to fill you, your body full of trepidation.

"You've never had your own life. I'm giving you one." He offers an outstretched hand, his leather gloves reminding you of an old friend of yours. "With me."

Your eyebrows furrow. With him?

"Join me, Y/N L/N."

A breath escapes you. "No." Your voice is firm. "I'm not joining you."

His outstretched hand balls into a fist. "You will."

Your vision grows spotty, darkness starting to grow in random spots. Your legs give out and you collapse to your knees.

"Ngh..." A strained noise escapes your lips before you went down completely, unconscious yet again.

Vaders modulated voice spoke to deaf ears.

"Do not fight me, Starshine."

~☆~

Taglist: @songbirdcannabe @sonnensplitter @divxnee @anakinslvt @sweetcheesecakesblog @artemissunn @valsarchives @slut-4-ani @luvvfromme

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #star wars x reader #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x fem!reader #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker x you #anakin x you #anakin x reader #star wars #star wars x y/n #star wars x you #darth vader x female reader #darth vader x y/n #darth vader x you #darth vader x reader #darth vader

[sophswritingthings]

PART 9 🫠🫠🫠

So you know how Mizu went to assassinate that one girl and when coming back from the successful kill that some random kid she decided to trust actually snitched on her?? (Cant trust kids for shit anymore 😔😔), well i had an idea for reader and her to fight off the army like the badass couple they are.

So when the army comes around and says their grand plan and how they are gonna wreck shit up. Mizu ofc tells Ringo to bring everyone down to the cellar to keep them safe and shit, including reader of course because reader is just a magnet for trouble atp but Reader says “absolutely not” and goes to help her wife. Since she’s an Ex-Shinobi she definitely knows how to sneak around and be stealthy so she readies herself and even makes makeshift weapons like a rope javelin and smoke screens.

So when Mizu is out struggling with her wound, reader is out killing the rest of the other stupid men because she still has anger nestled in her from her Frenemy encounter. Some of the men even recognize her to be daughter of the infamous Shinobi “black death” (or smth idk, making this part while doing trigonometry homework 😓😓). And reader just doesn’t respond and kills them heartlessly. And then she helps Mizu and they fight together with such precision it’s beautiful.

At the end of the fight, The guards who were looking for akemi found her ofc and Reader wanted help even if Akemi was threatening to kill Mizu but Mizu just stops Reader and reader is like “☹️ i wanted to help her though.” (Best i can come up with while studying and doing homework 😭😭)

pairing: mizu x fem!apothecary!reader

warning(s): heavy blood, injury, swearing

a/n: really can’t trust them little bastards anymore 😞 and not the trigonometry homework 😭 I pray for you bestie

summary: after returning from your little encounter; you find a child snitched on mizu for doing her work. the thousand claw army shows up; and you and your wife are ready to fuck shit up.

word count: 1,225 words / 6,751 characters

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

bang—ban—ba—b—

your eyes flash up to the door, suddenly snapped out of your anger. 

mizu slowly gets to her feet, sliding her hat back on her head. you follow close behind—you promised never to leave your wife’s side, and you wouldn’t.

you step outside the brothel, the workers pooling outside behind you.

your eyes widen, recoiling back when you saw the thousand claw army; a young boy nestled at their side. 

mizu looked absolutely pissed when she saw the boy. 

oh, god. what now?

you turn your attention to the man, held by his hair. 

slash.

blood tricked down his throat, practically gushing onto the floor as his eyes rolled back and body went limp.

you’d seen so much death you didn’t even flinch.

mizu, promptly, threw off her overcoat, hat and glasses.

she didn’t give a shit who saw, right now; they’d all be dead soon, anyway.

“ringo,” mizu narrowed her eyes, placing an arm out protectively. “get them all downstairs.” she said in a hushed voice, ushering everyone inside as she boarded up the door. “keep them there and stand guard, don’t leave, you hear me? unless I say so you stay down there.”

everyone began being ushered downstairs, you stay still, holding your ground.

“you too,” she hissed, looking up up and down for a moment.

“oh, no.” you place a hand on her arm, “we are in this together; always have been. I know what I’m doing—two is better than one fighting a whole army, isn’t it?”

she narrows her eyes further, letting her eyebrows furrow being sighing.

“do as I say,” she whispers, “stay in the dark and stay out of sight. strike only when a few are around; never take on a whole group at once.”

you nod, squeezing her hand.

“we’ve got this, don’t worry.” 

you smile. you seemed so sure; it soothed her worries that something would happen to you—if only a little.

you slink into the darkness, pressed up against the wall. your wife is on the other side; glancing down the hall every so often. you have three kunai's in between your fingertips, and a small javelin type weapon in your other hand.

the thundering footsteps of the thousand claw army storm past you, never even stopping to look for you. after they separated, a little, mizu glanced at you—she gestured you forward.

you tossed one of the kunai's at the back of one of the men's throat; piercing through with a sharp “plunk” sound.

you took the next man, slipping past him as he attempted to swing it you—your small size coming in handy. you dash under his arm, grabbing his bicep and slashing the javelin across his throat with precision.

you may have been covered in blood, but you had plenty of pent up anger from your earlier encounter. the adrenaline of fighting was pumping through your body; you weren’t sure how long it'd been since you fought.

mizu grabbed your hand, pulling you along to the next area. you slunk into the darkness, peering around to see three more men come into your vicinity.

mizu slashed her sword across his waist, chopping one in half. you took on a different one; tossing your kunai's and pinning him to the wall with puncture wounds in his chest and legs.

you pulled them all out; smirking as he fell to the ground lifeless.

you tossed one of your kunai's to your wife, who caught it quickly—stabbing it through the warriors chest. it was laced with poison, so if the would didn’t kill him, the vile certainly would.

mizu groaned, scooting up against the wall—tucked away into a skinny hall. 

you're heart dropped—

—she was holding her stomach. four stab wounds from the claws punctured her skin.

you rush to her side, sliding onto your knees. you place pressure on her wound, slipping some bandages out of your kimono. you had no herbs or poultice right now; but as long as mizu didn’t bleed out, you'd be fine.

you leapt to your feet, leaving her to breathing heavy and struggling with her wound.

five men surrounded you.

you'd watched mizu handle the same situation with beautiful precision.

you could try.

you grabbed one of their arms, as they reared up to claw you with those metal claws of theirs—you sweat your foot under their feet, knocking them to the floor as you punctured his chest with your makeshift javelin. 

you tugged it out of his chest, turning around and slashing another’s throat—you tossed your poisoned kunai's at two others, stabbing their heads and knocking them to the floor.

you kicked the last one to the floor, digging your heal into his stomach.

you tossed the javelin down at him, letting out a scream before going limp.

“how many,” you huff, gazing at mizu, who was looking at you with almost lovesick sparkling eyes. “more?”

“plenty more..” she tried to get up, groaning as she fell back to the ground.

“careful..” you hiss, eyes narrowed. you wiped a dash of blood from your face.

“I’ll be fine,” she heaved herself to her feet, latching around you as you made your way outside. she had her weapon in one hand, your hand in her other.

you gazed at the hundreds of soldiers.

just you and your wife… fighting all them off.

seemed reasonable enough.

you hopped into battle, the two of you having each other’s backs the entire time. mizu, every so often, would pass you her weapon—and in turn you'd pass a few of your kunai's.

it was like a wedding dance; at least, your version of it, since you never had one.

you're breathing was heavy—and your entire body was soaked in blood, as was mizu’s. some of it was hers, most of it… wasn’t.

she reached out for your hand. she placed a tender kiss on top of it;

“thank you, my love. but please… never offer to fight with me again.”

her words make you giggle, placing a kiss to her cheek.

“whenever you need help, my darling, I will offer it—over and over again even if it gets me killed every time, in every universe,” you smile softly.

“mizu!”

“master!”

the two calls sound from the brothel doors, akemi and ringo, both covered in dashes off blood—come running out.

guards. warriors. more of them.

your head whips to the side; your eye widening as more guards approach. though they don’t seem violet, your hand stands readied in case they chose to be.

“we are here to collect princess akemi of kyoto,” they announced, gazing at akemi.

“no,” akemi hissed. “you won’t let them take me. right, mizu?”

mizu gazed into her eyes for a moment. she sighed, adverting her gaze.

“take her,” mizu hissed.

“what?!” 

akemi exclaimed, her voice hollering out mizu's name as she was lifted and taken away by the guards.

her screams hurt your heart, covering your ears so you didn’t have to hear them.

when it died off; you gazed at your wife.

“we should have helped her,” you murmur. “I wanted to help her.”

“we can’t help everyone we come across,” mizu settles down on the curb of the street. “she would only weigh us down; we don’t need the bounty of some stollen princess on our shoulders.”

you advert your gaze, “I suppose we do not.”

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

#mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu x you #blue eyed samurai #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #ask #asked and answered #x reader #request #fic request

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“Come here, little light.”

He’s not so little anymore. Lux shifts where he sits against the wall, eyeing the unusually tall silhouette atop the stairs warily. His knuckles rest on the floor at his sides, arms far too achy to even bother to lift them. He had to be chained up years ago, when he was young and sometimes fought back; now he is in his thirties, and carrying the painful consequences of being chained up in one position for too long a decade ago.

“I don’t really want to,” Rasps Lux. It must be sometime in December, he knows. His sweet Penny must be inconsolable about her dad being mysteriously gone around the holidays. Maybe Emory made up a kind lie about where his husband went, and when Lux is set free he can pretend to be coming home from some kind of business trip.

The top stair creaks with a threatening step down into the cellar, and despite his age and experience, Lux feels his breath catch and his eyes fall down and to the side in instinctive submission. It’s never worth hesitating too long to obey. Exhausted from too many years fearing this man, he sets his creaky body into motion, slow and careful not to force any throbbing joints to the point where they lock up in complaint.

He can’t walk up the stairs and they both know it. Lux plants an elbow to the second lowest step with grim determination and pulls himself up enough to set his better knee in place to climb.

A warm chuckle tumbles down from above. His long wavy hair, once curly, falls into his face as he keeps his head tipped down to hide his shame. Broken leg dragging miserably behind him, he climbs, arms shaking with the effort of pressing on in spite of the pain. He learned a long time ago to handle it. He knows it’s possible to get this done. It’s just hard. Hard to wake up huddled on concrete instead of his bed with a warm body beside him. Hard to feel pain in his shoulders that usually is warded off by Emory’s cautious, confident hands. Hard to usually be the one comforting someone smaller, and be reminded forcefully that he was once smaller and weaker than someone standing over him. That he can always be dragged back down to this position on a whim.

He got distracted. He’s sitting, panting between his elbows pressed to the step above. There is a heavy presence above him, and after a beat of silence, a warm hand pressing to his back. Lux shrinks down and away from it.

“Get moving, my light,” The Hunter hums, not unkindly. He can sound perfectly happy while threatening someone.

Lux swallows and nods. He makes it up the stairs and when he finally reaches the hardwood floor and warm lighting of upstairs, he collapses, pale and sweating. The weighty presence of his captor follows from behind, then passes over him, a waft of vanilla and spices following behind him. Bleary blue eyes blink open and long black hair lifts from the floor and for the first time today, Lux really looks at the Hunter.

Red pants, a black belt, white edges to his sleeves, a floppy hat. He’s dressed as Santa.

A turn of the head reveals the colorful lights around the room. The tree in the corner littered with shiny ornaments. Cookies on the coffee table.

“Not already,” He croaks, devastated. White flurries dance outside, glowing softly against the frosty window pane, stark against the night. It’s Christmas day - no, night. Christmas morning is already gone. Poor Penny, worried about her dad, with only most of the presents she was supposed to get. Poor Penny with a worried Papa trying to keep the day magical but secretly scared for his husband, who’s been gone for… for over a month already.

“Yes already, little one.” That name doesn’t work so well anymore, but the Hunter doesn’t seem to mind. “Come on over. I want you to see this.”

Seemingly done with waiting so long for his favorite victim to make his way over, the torturer takes a fistful of knotted curly hair and pulls as he walks along. Lux grunts in complaint and crawls as best he can to keep up, whining lowly as his broken leg drags and catches all along the way.

He’s dropped at the rug before the tree and Lux hides his face to catch his breath, struggling to ward off frustrated tears. Kids only get so many special days in the year where everything is about them having a magical experience, and his little girl didn’t get to have her daddy on the most important one of all. She throws a fit whenever he’s five minutes late picking her up from school, whenever he has to miss a recital because it doesn’t work with his or Em’s schedule. It’s going to ruin her whole week that-

Pain like he hasn’t felt in years erupts in his bad leg, and Lux’s mouth stretches wide to let no sound out at all. He can’t put any voice, any breath behind the silent scream, the pain is swallowing him whole.

Green, red, blue, and yellow lights suffocate his vision into nonsensical blurs as Lux twists to try to see… oh. The Hunter is standing on his leg, that’s all. Not cutting it off or setting it on fire or mangling it with magic. The pain is humiliatingly debilitating. Furious, frightened blue eyes swimming in tears blink up at the torturer, and the killer dressed as Santa laughs.

“Stay with me, light. You keep drifting off.”

“...Sorry.”

“I don’t like this attitude you’ve picked up, you know. Behaving like you are anything…” He leans forward, and Lux’s breath catches as more weight is applied along with it. “...but entertainment for me.”

“-Sorry!” He sounds it, this time. His voice cracks worse when the Hunter presses down harder, the damaged bone seeming like it’s going to creak audibly any second. “S-, I’m s-sorry, I, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright,” Says the jolly man, and he steps off, moving somewhere out of sight. Paper rustles.

Lux already knows it’s a gift. Some stupid gift in bright paper that he’ll have to open and act grateful for. He doesn’t want to be here, play this game. He wants to be home.

“I made this for you.” The Hunter returns with, surprise, a small box in red paper and topped with a gold bow. Lux sinks further into the floor with a groan of vague acknowledgement. He can feel every heartbeat in his leg, and sweat sticks frizzy stray hairs to his forehead.

“Want me to open it?” He anticipates. Maybe it sounded too dry, too tired, because he doesn’t even get a warning this time. His shoulder pops out of socket, and even as he screams and his vision whites out, he knows that magic did it. That the Hunter sent that magic with a flick of a finger and a disapproving frown. “S-sorry, I, I-I, I me-ean, s-”

“Shh. You’re getting used to this again, I know. I don’t mind helping you learn.”

He absolutely does mind, he’s the most insecure and bitter man alive. But Lux won’t argue again. He just reaches out with a quaking hand and accepts the gift, lowering it to the floor and picking apart the ribbon holding it shut.

The Hunter sits on the nearby armchair and leans forward, elbows on his knees, watching happily.

Lux thinks about how pathetic it is to have a prisoner instead of a family. To not know what love is. Because you can’t really know what love is, what overwhelming deep inescapable love is, until you have a little kid looking up to you with sparkling eyes.

The lid falls free, and he’s able to pull out a… Lux’s eyes focus fully, his distracted angry thoughts dissipating into a much stronger, formless cloud of rage. Outside the snow slows to a stop mid-air.

“...Okay.” One elbow presses to the floor, firm as stone as he pushes himself up to sitting. His displaced shoulder tries to make him collapse and sob but he refuses. His broken leg, too, wants to make him give up, but no amount of pain can override the feeling that’s caught in his throat right now. The small pair of earrings, little capybaras with diamonds instead of oranges atop their heads, is protected in his fist. These earrings were specifically asked for, and impossible to find online or in any store, so he met up with a jeweler and personally approved of drawn-up designs. They were bafflingly expensive and irrefutably worth it.

“Okay,” Lux repeats, and when his cold eyes meet the Hunter’s, he sees just what he expected - surprised, impressed curiosity. Joy. Amusement. “We’re not doing this. These? I know you summoned them without even bothering to go steal them in person.” They were hidden in a cardboard box in the closet, not wrapped yet. They were safe in the home his daughter sleeps in. “I know you didn’t step foot in our house.”

“Oh?” The Hunter reaches for a mug and drinks from it, setting it back down at a condescendingly relaxed pace. “How do you know that?”

His fist is pressed to the floor to keep himself upright. Lux won’t let himself pass out, he won’t let himself fall back down. “You used some kind of spell to find something valuable and hidden, there, and summoned it here. You didn’t go anywhere near her.”

The man shrugs and glances at a window, happy and calm, about to answer with some coy taunt. The words die before they reach his lips as his expression hardens with cautious focus, and he has to squint to make out the fluffy snowflakes hanging frozen mid-air out there.

“You can keep me here,” Continues Lux. “Do the whole scary Christmas thing, throw me back down there, make me obey. But this was a mistake.” He lifts his arm and holds out the earrings in gesture. They shiver and wobble in his palm. The Hunter’s focus is back on him, now. “Put them back. Never even pretend you went there. Never even hint at even knowing about her. Do you understand?”

“My light, I don’t think you want to-”

The windows shatter. The Hunter flinches - and good, he should - as glass flies in and scores a small cut across his cheek. Outside, the flakes tremble, straining to continue their natural path of falling but afraid to defy the furious magic holding them.

Lux hasn’t moved from where he sits. He doesn’t have to stand, to loom to be frightening. His eyes don’t glow, he doesn’t raise a hand in threat. He’s still quivering with pain and exhaustion. But his eyes are locked on his target, and the Hunter seems to finally feel like the prey that he now is.

“Do you understand?” Lux repeats. The tiny diamonds of the earrings glint beautifully in the light shining from the tree.

“...I’ll wipe your memory. Start the night over. You will obey me,” Says the Hunter carefully. He hasn’t moved since the windows blew in.

“Alright. But these will go back, and you won’t try this again.”

The Hunter sighs, looking down to the little pieces of metal and precious stone, then back up at his prisoner.

~

“Come here, little light.”

Lux shifts where he sits against the wall, eyeing the unusually tall silhouette atop the stairs warily. His knuckles rest on the floor at his sides, arms far too achy to even bother to lift them.

“I don’t really want to,” Rasps Lux.

The top stair creaks with a threatening step down into the cellar, and despite his age and experience, Lux feels his breath catch and his eyes fall down and to the side in instinctive submission. He sets his creaky body into motion, slow and careful not to force any throbbing joints to the point where they lock up in complaint.

Lux plants an elbow to the second lowest step with grim determination and pulls himself up enough to set his better knee in place to climb.

A warm chuckle tumbles down from above. His long wavy hair, once curly, falls into his face as he keeps his head tipped down to hide his shame. Broken leg dragging miserably behind him, he climbs, arms shaking with the effort of pressing on in spite of the pain. He learned a long time ago to handle it.

He got distracted. He’s sitting, panting between his elbows pressed to the step above. There is a heavy presence above him, and after a beat of silence, a warm hand pressing to his back. Lux shrinks down and away from it.

“Get moving, my light,” The Hunter hums. He sounds happy, calm. But underneath his pleasant warning, it sounds like there is some kind of… worry. Some kind of fear.

#whump #drabble #christmas whump woohoo! #lux #the hunter #mine #captivity #rage! hatred!

[notbadforafailedvessel]

Alcina/Neko!Reader - Part II

Part I

Now that I think about, I could have cut this part in three... because this ended up being incredibly long! But whatever, enjoy it all at once, hehe.

Your presence in Castle Dimitrescu became quite the adventure.

Alcina soon discovers that as long as she was with you, you walked as a human, but if you were wandering on your own (which she clarified you were free to do because it wouldn't be fair to keep you around with nothing to do while she worked), you preferred to turn your hands and feet into paws to move as an animal since in that way, you were nimbler. And since you still weren't familiarized with the place, it was handier.

The first challenge you encounter is with Alcina's daughters.

They aren't happy with having to share their mother's attention with you and they made it fairly obvious.

Alcina never told them you were out of limits, wanting to test your abilities.

To you, she simply said that you do whatever you need to do to protect yourself. Knowing that if you managed to reach any of them or vice versa, you wouldn't cause any real damage beyond their pride.

The girls would never admit it, but they were impressed by your agility and deep down, they enjoyed and had fun with your chases.

Their worst mischief ocurrs when they lure you towards the cellar in their fly form, where they locked you into the darkness, which wasn't really a problem to you since you could see in it, making you aware that the place is filled with monsters like the one that attacked you on your arrival.

Completely ignorant to how important that room was to the lady of the castle, you jumped from barrel to barrel carelessly, kicking many of them towards the floor as you dodged the monsters to take a proper position to attack them, only noticing the spilled liquid that came from them when you slipped in a puddle but it doesn't stops you from recovering quickly to continue with the battle.

Alcina, during a break from work, tunes your heartbeat, standing in the next second when she realizes how accelerated it is, followed by a commotion.

When she finds her daughters cackling in front of the cellar's door, Alcina knows that nothing good could come from it. Growling at them to move, she heads to the cellar.

You feel proud of yourself when the lights turn on and you can witness your achievement, having got rid of the monsters on your own. However, your smile disappears when you see how discontent Alcina looks.

Despite knowing it wasn't your fault, Alcina feels the rage taking her over after watching all the wasted product. In a few long strides she reaches you, taking you by the back of your neck like a cat, lifting you up effortlessly.

You shrink into yourself, immediately reading the mood, trying to become smaller, trembling when she turns her head to you, her features twisted in anger.

It's tempting to retaliate, but despite her wrathful fog, Alcina perceives you trembling with fear, your big eyes widened with distress, shining with unshed tears. And for the first time, such image doesn't suits her well.

She takes a deep breath with closed eyes to calm a bit, and cradles you in your arms in the next second. She waits a moment in that position, trying to give you some sense of security before setting in motion without letting you go.

The girls are waiting outside, almost expectant to see some kind of drama, but Alcina pretends nothing happened, giving them the order to clean up the mess and go find new maidens to recover the losses.

In silence, she takes you to her chamber, placing you at the end of the bed, standing on the edge. You are still tense, unsure what to expect and the silence doesn't do anything to soothe your nerves.

You fidget with your tail. "My Lady, I-"

"Quiet, pet," she silences you with a soft tone. "I can't blame you for this." She holds you by the chin so you look at her. "But after this unfortunate event, I shall make clear that the cellar is now forbidden for you and my daughters' games. I will let them know about this new rule too."

You nod earnestly. "Understood, my Lady."

For a beat she remains serious but then she chuckles. "Time to get you clean, pet." You imagine a bath is coming your way, but with a gloved finger she collects some of the bloodwine in your arm and then put it in her mouth, moaning appreciatively. The sensual act makes you blush. "I can't let this go to waste."

Alcina doesn't asks for consent, at least not verbally. She keeps your eyes on your face, reading your expressions as she undresses you slowly, giving you the time to stop her.

You are not naive to not understand her intentions but you don't even consider to put a stop to it. The most time you spend with her, the most you crave from her.

Once you are naked, she leans down to lick you clean, starting on your neck and working her way down your body, avoiding any part that would make the act sexual instead of simply intimate.

Nonetheless, it makes you tremble with desire, reason why she wraps an arm around your waist when she notices your legs wobble.

Finishing with your body, she puts her free hand on your neck, her fingers on your jaw so she can move your head as it suits her as she licks the bloodwine on your face.

She takes advantage of your gasps to slid her tongue inside your mouth, brushing yours fleetingly as she press her lips against yours.

The contact barely lasts a second but it's enough to add more impact to your already stimulated body. Lightheaded, you wonder if this was some sort of punishment even when she claimed she couldn't blame you for what happened.

Chuckling at your disarranged state, Alcina takes you in her arms once again, finally taking you to the bathroom to bathe you properly.

Alcina lived in a constant state of tenderness and flusteredness because of you.

Luckily for you, her affection for you it's stronger and she only resorts to scolding you or making clear that you can't do whatever it pleases you.

Like she will once this dinner it's over.

You had been invited to join the meals of your Lady and her daughters since the very first day and today wasn't the exception but this time you did something you have never done.

You feel sleepy, due to an exhaustive chasing with the girls that lasted several hours and the food only highlighted such state.

Mother and daughters fall into conversation, Alcina happily listening to the girls' affairs.

You get off the chair, rubbing your eyes to then turn your hands and feet, sitting on your butt with bended legs on the floor next to Alcina's chair, keeping one arm extended in front of you while licking your other paw to groom yourself.

It doesn't take long to feel Alcina's hand on your head, making you push your against her hand enthusiastically.

Her ministrations aren't helpful for your sleepy state and you can only think in the comfort she provides, the warmth that would surround you if you were closer to her.

Without thinking, you hop into her lap, fleetingly nuzzling your face in her neck before lying down in a curled up position, your purring reaching every corner of the room, completely unaware of the women's reactions.

Alcina looks down at you speechless, the hand with which she had been caressing you, hovering idly.

In other circumstances ─ more precisely, in the presence of the Lords and Mother Miranda ─ she would have reacted very different, and the outcome wouldn't have been pleasing for neither of you.

Thankfully, this time she can be reckless. But a serious conversation with you is bound to happen once you wake up.

Alcina cradles your head softly, her thumb brushing one of your ears, making her smile subtly when you smile in your sleep.

Gazing up while her hand rests protectively on the side you had been hurt months ago, she finds her daughters smiling like the cat who ate the canary, and she channels her Lady Dimitrescu persona for a second. "Not a single word." Afterwards, she clears her throat, taking a sip of her wine regally and smiles softly. "Continue, sweet Bela."

You wake up hours later, Alcina's lap no longer your resting place but you are still lying in a comfortable and soft spot, and when you open your eyes, your eyes find your Lady next to you on her bed, leaning against the headboard, reading a book.

"Have you rested well, pet?" She places the book on the nightstand and the glasses she was wearing on top of the book.

You cover your face with your paws while you stretch, then yawn. "Yes, my Lady." Though you scoot towards her with the intention to fall asleep again.

A hand on your shoulder stops you, making you pout and look up with a disgruntled expression.

"There's something I need to speak with you, pet. Something important and that can't wait."

You worry, wondering what could you have done to upset your lady, your mind already overworking with possible scenarios of your dismissal.

"Easy, pet." She shifts to her side to face you, resting on her arm. "Technically, you haven't done anything wrong. But what occurred in the dinner room can't happen again."

You frown, not understanding. If you haven't done anything wrong, why it couldn't happen again?

"At least not whenever it pleases you. You have known Mother Miranda and the other Lords. I have an image to maintain in front of them."

You still remember the day as it had happened yesterday. Your Lady had told you about them before their arrival and after finding out Mother Miranda was a scientist, you wanted to go hide in a room and come out until they were gone.

Alcina warned you to behave, and it had requiere a huge effort not to react in anyway when the leader entered the castle. You were scared and wondered why you had to be there even when Alcina explained that it was better to introduce you than trying to keep a secret from Mother Miranda.

Since your experience with scientists wasn't a good one, you were expecting to be taken away to be studied even when Alcina tried to reassured you that that wouldn't happen.

And your Lady had been right. Mother Miranda had looked at your way once, scrutinizing you up and down as if she was scanning you, capable to find out right in that moment that you weren't fitting for whatever she needed, and she had let out a snort afterwards, making a mocking comment to Alcina about what a good mother she was for getting a kitten for her daughters.

It hurt your pride but she never looked your way after that time, so only for that reason you were able to let it go.

"Do you understand, pet?" There was an edge on her tone, not appreciating having to fish for a response.

"Yes, my Lady." You gazed up. "I would never do that in front of them. I would never do anything to embarrass you," you promised, wanting to be a good thing for her and not a nuisance. "But-" you trailed off, hesitating.

"Speak your mind, pet." Her words might be slightly harsh but she was caressing your jaw with the back of her index finger softly.

"But what about when it's only you and I, my Lady, could I-?"

Alcina ponders for a moment. "Only when I'm not working and you have to wait until I allow you to do it."

You have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, you want to be selfish and take what you want whenever you want to as your nature whispers you to do and what usually gets you in troubles. On the other, you had never known about sincere care and interest for you until you meet your Lady, and you know that's something you won't risk losing.

You nod. "All right, my Lady." You smile and feel your heart fluttering when Alcina grins back at you.

"What a good pet." She buries her face in the crook of you neck, nuzzling your jaw with her head, acting as if she was a cat. She brushes your neck with her lips. "Such a good pet."

You close your eyes when you feel her teeth scraping your skin, knowing what's coming, letting out a whimper when she sinks them in.

Drinking slowly from you, savouring you, Alcina rolls over you, careful not to put all her weight on you, but enough for you to feel a satisfying pressure.

You grasp your Lady's shoulders, digging your claws for her to feel but without breaking her skin, dragging a moan from the woman.

"Mine." She grunts against your neck, making you shiver due to the vibration and the possessiveness she exuded.

Sitting on the couch in Alcina's office with your limbs and tail tucked under your body, resembling a loaf of bread, you stare at the maid who enters after knocking on the door to deliver a package until she leaves the two of you alone once again, hurrying to get out after making quick eye contact with you.

The staff was no longer very fond of you after the day you attacked one of the maids, taking away her life to rip her heart out to gift it to your Lady.

Alcina doesn't react at the box placed on her desk until hours later, once she's done with her work, when you are sleeping lightly. She smiles smugly after opening it.

"Come here, sweet pet."

Despite you are waking up, you are quick and nimble to stand up, transforming your paws to hands and feet, hurrying to your Lady's side. You wait next to her chair, looking up at her expectantly and when she pats her lap with one hand, you climb to straddle her happily.

She strokes your cheek, triggering your purring. "I have a gift for you."

You look down when she presents you the box she's holding for you to see, gasping in awe at the leather choker with the Dimitrescu crest resting proudly in the middle.

You reach out to touch it reverently with your fingertips. "For me?" you ask skeptically, not used to such gestures despite it wasn't the first time your Lady gave you something. Since your arrival, your wardrobe had increased thanks to her. But somehow you knew this was different, and much more valuable.

Alcina hums, taking the choker out of the box, leaving the latter on the desk. "I want you to have something that will always remind you of who you belong to. More importantly, to remind everyone who sets their eyes on you... who you belong to." She puts the choker in your neck, capable to close the clasp without looking at it. A pleasant sensation washing her over at the result.

You follow her hands until she's done with the task, raising your head to look at her. "I-I belong to you, my Lady?" you ask with wonder.

Alcina grins intimidatingly though you know it's not aimed to you. "Of course, pet. My pet. I got you first, you are mine." She wraps her hand around your neck, squeezing softly, not to hurt but as if she was looking to leave the choker's mark on your skin. "You are mine to look after. Mine to touch. Mine to kiss. Mine to taste. Mine to possess. Mine to do every single thing I want... isn't that right?" She wasn't asking due to uncertainty, simply because she wanted you to voice your surrender to her.

You gulp, momentarily closing your eyes as your body arches towards hers. Alcina's laugh make your ears flutter at the divine sound, and you are overjoyed when she wraps her arm around your waist, soothing your desperation to be closer when she pressed your front against hers, your hands finding her shoulders.

"Yes..." you whisper, your voice trembling but with your next words your tone is louder and firmer. "Yours, my Lady, ever only yours." Your hands slide towards her neck, your fingertips ghosting her jaw.

Alcina raises an eyebrow, almost like she was reading your mind and daring you to do what you wanted to do. And despite knowing there could be consequences for acting before your Lady approved it, you couldn't deny that you enjoyed her punishments because it usually meant keeping you at her side all day, doing things to keep her in a good mood or spend all day aroused.

Even when you were the brattiest and she resorted into something physical and you had trouble sitting comfortably, you never felt unsafe or scared because Alcina carefully keeps an eye on you to be conscious of your limits.

But so far she has never crossed a line, giving you comfort and reassurance afterwards; and you took pleasure in the soreness her hands left in your body, which you considered another way to mark you even when not always it was visible.

So you dare to hold her face in her hands, tilting her head as if you truly could have some control over her. She growls as if annoyed but she smirks before you press your lips against hers.

"I'm yours as much as you are mine, my Lady," you claim conceitedly.

Alcina doesn't denies it. She can't, knowing you are aware because you thrive on all the attention she gives you, noticing how different it is from the one she gives to others. Nonetheless, she narrows her eyes, golden eyes shining with only one purpose.

And when she grabs your ass with her free hand, squeezing it, you know the next following days, every time you sit down, you are going to be reminded of your cheekiness.

But when Alcina kisses you again, taking total control of you with her tongue and lips, you are more than clear that you wouldn't have it any other way.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #hd.txt #hdad.txt #writing this was more fun than i anticipated! #and way longer than i expected... i got inspired lololol #txt: ad

[octuscle]

I feel like my life has been spiraling out of control as late. Like I have no path. I was hoping you get put me where I’m supposed to be. Really put me in my place for good. Whether I like it or not. Sometimes we just have to gift into destiny and become exactly what we have been fighting the whole time ? You know ?

I am impressed… I wouldn't have thought that you little arrogant piece of shit would be capable of so much self-reflection… You're a nuisance to your entire environment. And your contribution to society lies in committing shoplifting and extorting protection money from people who are clearly inferior to you.

Unfortunately, there are also people who are not inferior to you. People who are clearly superior to you. And with the help of these people, it will be possible to put you in your rightful place.

Miserable faggots, you think as the two guys in full leather get on the train. And wimps who buy tickets. Of course, you always travel without paying. But the sissies seem to have well-filled wallets. Actually, you should have got off long ago. But you never let your victims out of your sight. You're already looking forward to seeing them whimpering on their knees. Maybe you'll even let them suck your cock. These faggots can do that better than any hooker.

As they get out, you jump through the closing door at the last second. The two say goodbye on the platform with an intense French kiss. Hey, that'll be easier than stealing a lollipop from a kid. Your combat boots are a bit noisy on the tiled floor of the pedestrian tunnel. Sneakers would have been better now. But the leather fag in front of you doesn't seem to notice. You're almost at him and pull out your knife. And at that moment, your mouth is covered from behind with a leather glove.

"Son, do you really want to mess with the big boys?" you hear from behind. Your supposed victim turns around with a grin, takes a small bottle from the inside pocket of his creaking leather jacket, unscrews it and holds it under your nose. After that, you know nothing more…

Damn, how long have you been away? You have no memory. But judging by the length of your beard and hair, it's been a few days since you first got down on your knees in front of your masters and sucked their cocks… Wait a minute! You did what? And where the hell are you here? This is a windowless cellar hole with nothing but a toilet and a mattress. And why are you naked except for a chastity belt? And why do you know that this is a chastity belt? And why the hell does that dildo feel so good in your ass? You'd like to jerk off. But you can't reach your cock, so you have to play with your nipples. Shit, since when are they pierced?

You hear footsteps outside. You have to get out of here. You get ready. The door opens, one of the two leather gods is standing in the doorway. You want to jump at his neck. But your anklet stops you and you hit the floor. "Who's a bad boy?" asks your master. And holds a flask under your nose.

That was all months ago. You are loyal to your masters. Whether you're cleaning the toilets or serving as a piss toilet, you perform your duties devotedly. And if you've been good, you get to lick the boots of one of your masters. I hope you have found your destiny!

Pics of your new path found @skinheadlife and @hunkydude777

#submission #leather tf #reality change #male tf #top to bottom #straight to gay

[tatesdiary]

Intruders

Summary When the group that wants to reenact the murder scene of the two girls catches you and your mom Vivien, you don't expect a certain blonde haired boy to save you.

tags Tate's hot, cursing, home invasion ig

word count 1414

Confused and frantic you search your bag and room for your cell phone. Why had your mom been so frantic?

When you're about to turn around and look in your closet something hits you against the side of your head and you pass out.

Waking up felt surreal, Vivien was tied to a chair and three people were standing in front of you, conversing in a relaxed manner. There was a splitting headache on the back of your head, making your vision blurry.

"Put this on," the guy demands and throws a white clothing at you. "I'm not gonna put this on!" You resist and throw it back at him. He huffs angrily and turns to his accomplices, "Take her to the bathroom upstairs." Before they can do that you get up and run around the corner, nearly reaching the front door when someone grabs you and pushes you in the small closet to the side.

A hand is placed over your mouth and when you look up, pressed against the wall, you see… Tate? His hair was adorably messed up and he wore that green striped sweater you'd seen once before - it suited him well in your opinion.

"What?" You breathe out, but he just urgently tells you, "Get to the basement. Quick," with that he's gone again, all that's left behind is his cologne.

The relief you feel at his presence is immense and the act of being pressed close to him in a closet was a whole different story. You had no idea why he wanted you to go to the basement, but you trusted him.

When you're back in the living room, acting like you were trying to free your mom, the one with the brown hair moves her knife and grips your wrists, tugging you along to the bathroom that was close to your room.

"Let me go!" You struggle against her grip but she just presses the knife close to your stomach, "Be quiet," when you're in the bathroom she gives you back the nurse outfit and tells you to put it on.

You could swear you saw a flash of green and black pass by, but you focus on listening to her. You start putting it on, getting a rise out of her when you seemingly take too much time.

Then the blonde girl comes in, holding her stomach. "I'm gonna shit myself. Don't do it without me!" Is all she says before she stumbles back outside.

"Ugh. Get in the tub," she pushes you toward it and you try making up an excuse why this wouldn't do. "This is the wrong tub," you simply state, throwing her off completely. "it's not. I studied the murder reports, this is the right bathroom."

You shrug, "Nope. We remodeled all of this, the actual tub is in the basement." You add a quick description that nearly matches the tub in this room and she curses, "Come with me."

She pushes you in front of her, the knife digging into your back as she makes you lead her to the basement - and the made up bathtub. You click the light on, the quiet buzzing of the old lamp disrupting the silence of the stone cellar.

You hadn't been down here often, now everything was up to Tate. The next second the light turns off and you shuffle around the corner. "Where are you?" The woman yells angrily, only for Tate to reply, "Over here, you stupid bitch." You suppress a chuckle and wait for what he is going to do.

She walks to where his voice comes from and you follow, staying unseen. You see him standing next to a tub filled with water, the stupid sweater making him look more attractive than he already was.

"I've already filled it with water for you," he tells her and she looks confused but not suspicious.

She walks closer to the tub, seeing a woman inside. The woman whose murder they were going to recreate.

Instead of staying you now run up to find your mom, seeing her run down the stairs right as you exit the cellar. You pull her out of the front door with you.

-

Walking past the detectives and to your parents felt weird, but that's basically all you've felt since you moved here, anyway.

"Your mom said that you told her Tate helped you escape?" Your dad inquires, "Yeah," you turn to your mother, "Thanks for nor dragging him into all that."

"What was he doing in the house?" He continues asking, and you shrug, saying you don't know - which was true. You know your dad has been suspicious of you and Tate, thinking he was bad for you or something.

But he doesn't let it go, and it's starting to get annoying. "You think I let him in? I don't know why Tate was here." You watch your parents before adding, "But I'm glad he was. You weren't." With that you leave and go back to your room.

-

It's later that day that you're sitting in your room while listening to music, a book in your hands. "Can I come in?" The door opens and standing there is Tate. He's still in the green and black sweater but his hair is even messier and the curls more prominent.

"Uh, yeah," you stop the smile from spreading on your face as he comes closer and sits next to you.

"How have you beenSince… you know," his voice is soft and you shrug. "It's hard to sleep but I'm fine." You'd have nightmares daily since that night - you couldn't even say when the last time was you slept through a full night.

He seemed pitiful as he listened to your answer and looked up, slowly taking your hand in his. "If you need me I'm usually always near." You smile and put the book to the side, about to answer when a knock sounds from the door.

You still before springing into action and shoving him into your closet, holding a finger to your mouth, "Stay here."

Then you sit down on your bed again, letting your mom know she could come in. "You okay? I heard you talking to someone?" You cough to cover up the chuckle that comes from the closet, "No, I was just on a call with someone from school. She needed the homework." Your mom looks suspicious but stays quiet and pats your leg. "Go to sleep. It's already ten thirty."

You nod and she gets up again, but not before nearing your closet and pushing the door closed. You exhale a heavy breath when she leaves, going to lock your door. "You're so bad at staying quiet!" You giggle and he laughs too, looking at you with fondness, "Gotta he had at something when I'm good at everything else," he winks.

You shake your head, getting comfortable on your bed. He sits at the foot of it, one hand on your calves. "Good night," he whispers and you smile, telling him the same.

But as he gets up, you don't think; "Tate?" He turns around again, a questioning look on his face. "Can you… stay? I just- I feel safer with you here…" it's embarrassing to admit, but you'd rather sleep for once than have no awkward feelings between you.

"Yeah, sure." He quickly agrees and your heart does a little excited jump. You scoot to the side and pat the empty space beside you, happy when he understands what you want and lays down next to you.

He turns on his side and you do the same, looking at each other. You don't know who leaned in first, but the next second his lips are on yours and your hand is holding his jaw.

One of his arms is laying over your hip and the other is gripping your hair carefully.

You continue with the kissing and you eventually pull him down to hover over you, his eyes piercing into yours. "Does this mean I'm your boyfriend now?" He asks breathlessly and you grin, "If you want to," he cocks his head and dives back down, kissing you longer.

"Seems like it."

That night you sleep in his arms, no nightmares anywhere.

#tate langdon x reader #tate langdon #evan peters x reader #american horror story #evan peters

[esteemed-excellency]

RE: Hiram's lodgings

Lore drop under the cut for everyone who's curious about the Townhouse, this is your chance to snoop around

Hiram coordinates all his affairs from his sanctum at the Brass Embassy and the Bazaar. He officially works for the Foreign Office, meeting diplomats in Wilmot's End, at the Palace, and overzee. He supervises his shady businesses from the Cabinet Noir in Balmoral, and he uses the Rooms above a Gambling Den as a secondary meeting location.

He keeps all his research notes and scientific papers at the university and at the Embassy sanctum, with backup texts in Parabola. There's backups of backups scattered around different lodgings like the Rooms above a Bookshop and a recently acquired Sanguine Château, in case of emergency. He keeps track of every single document and duplicate copy in his possession, never storing all his belongings in one place.

The Townhouse is the only lodging with an aesthetical purpose, other than functional: he needs a place to keep all the items he collected over the years, but almost everything is expendable in case of emergency. All the most important documents and personal items are in his rooms on the second floor, the only place he truly considers home.

The house staff is employed exclusively to look after the house and the guests, and even if the majority of them comes from a shady background they don't do any criminal work. Since Hiram is often out they can do whatever they want, as long as the house and the guests are looked after. The Second Floor is the only part of the house not accessible to guests, and if someone gets too curious the fingerkings can have everyone who gets too close to the mirrors.

Including foyers, bathrooms, facilities, balconies, corridors, store spaces, and other rooms I forgot to account for, the Townhouse consists of:

Basement: kitchen, pantry, scullery, store room, servants' dining room, cellar, vault. Other than the main stairwell, a servants staircase connects the basement to all the other floors. The vault holds some liqueurs, too expensive to be simply kept in the cellar, spirits (the alcoholic kind), spirits (the non-alcoholic kind), and whatever Hiram is smuggling around town on a daily basis. An old additional stairwell connects the basement to the attic but nobody knows about it, and if anyone discovers it they don't remember it for long. Hiram burned all the floor plans years ago (don't worry about it for now).

Ground Floor: porch, entrance hall, parlour, dining room, main library (literature, gothic novels, classics, poetry, theatre, art)

First Floor: drawing room, guest rooms + dressing rooms, budoir/fumoir (depending on the guests), second library (travelogues, naval tales, maps, globes, scientific treatises, penny dreadfuls).

Second Floor: Hiram's rooms + dressing room, private study, private library (law books, trade almanacs, hyper specific scientific treatises, proscribed material of various kinds). The main corridor is full of mirrors, and it's the only floor with mirrors big enough to allow entrance to Parabola. They're always covered when Hiram is at home. The curtains are almost always drawn in every room and the light is dimmer than in the rest of the house. A secret compartment in a bureau desk holds Hiram's infernal contract and an old stash of letters.

??? Room: (ok you can worry about it now) accessible only via mirror. It should be connected to the secret staircase but the door is always locked from the inside, and the outside is walled up and covered by another wall section, the staircase is just beside it. There's no windows. The room holds the Shrine to St Joshua, a weapon rack, a small vault with the Leasehold on all of London, some fragments of the Tragedy Procedures, a bottle of Brandy, and a few other items. The mirror is always covered. A pickaxe guarantees an emergency exit.

Third floor: servants' quarters and offices. Few of them can stand Hiram playing music at ungodly hours and they take turns sleeping at the townhouse. They all have their own lodgings and accomodations.

Attic: the main stairwell ends at the third floor, and the attic is only accessible via the servants staircase. The butler and some urchins are aware of the additional secret staircase, but the butler can't be bothered with it, and the urchins don't like to forget what they were doing every time they go down the stairs. There's no fun in sending someone to steal biscuits from the basement if they forget to bring them back upstairs.

Other than the house staff, the polycule, some urchins, and Hiram himself, the (semi)permanent residents include:

A Hungover Terrier, often out and about with the bohemians.

The Midnight Matriarch: you can pet her in your dreams if you fall asleep in the guest rooms.

A Lamp-Cat: the best bioluminescent bedlight. You can pet it but it will sit on your lap. If you try to sleep it will sit on the bed. Or on you. Pros: very cute. Cons: very humid.

A Bat with Attitude, permanet resident in the attic.

Two Raven Advisors. One white, one black. One always tells the truth, one always lies. Or so they say.

Sugarplum (Hiram's)

Sugarplum (Captain Dargor's)

Sugarplum (Giorgione's)

#i can't draw architecture and perspective so you get a big description #very important additional information: there's a grand piano in the parlour + hiram has a gramophone in his library #hiram hargrave #hiram lore #handsome townhouse

[shivunin]

Two of Hearts

I meant to post this with the full piece by @ndostairlyrium but sadly I didn't finish it in time to post them together--regardless, here it is now! (the larger version is here. Cannot recommend commissioning her enough; she is a delight of a human being!)

(Fenris/Maria Hawke | 1,541 Words | CW: alcohol)

“Belt off, Hawke,” Varric said the moment she and Fenris stepped into the dwarf’s room in the Hanged Man. “Cloak, too.”

Hawke paused mid-step, one foot through the door and the other on the threshold. Fenris caught himself just before he would have run into her.

“Andraste���s eyebrows, Varric—if you wanted me naked, you ought to’ve asked years ago. I’m afraid my heart belongs to another now,” she sighed. “What a terrible shame for you.”

The room was better-lit than the larger dining room downstairs. It was often so on the nights they came for cards, as if Varric was trying to beat back the Kirkwall night outside. The firelight caught in the curls of Hawke’s hair, left loose today for they’d hardly left her manor before they’d come here. When she tilted her head, Fenris saw the faint curl of a dimple in her cheek. Trying not to smile and failing; a night with Hawke when she was feeling capricious could be dangerous, but he could not find it in himself to feel concerned. He knew very well what had put her in such a good mood, after all. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Varric rolled his eyes.  “Off, Hawke.  If you want to sneak in that extra deck of yours, it’ll have to be some other night.”

“I am outraged,” Hawke said, unclasping her cloak and tossing it in the general direction of a cabinet. It slid to the ground with a soft thud. “Outraged, I say!”

“Oh, stow it,” Isabela said. She sat at the end of the table nearest Varric, her face dissatisfied. “He already took both of my boots, if you can imagine. If I’ve got to suffer, then so do you, Hawke. This floor is like ice.”

“There’s a carpet, Bela,” Varric said, shuffling his own deck. “Boots, too, Hawke.”

“And?” Isabela shot back. “The least you could do is lend a pair of socks.”

Hawke’s belt and boots were set aside, too, and she flounced to the table with visible indignation. Fenris, still standing in the doorway, watched her until she sat, shaking his head slightly. Hawke looked back at him and held out a hand. 

Dangerous. Fenris lifted a brow at her and crossed the room, setting the bottle of wine they’d taken from her cellar on the table. His fingers brushed against her outstretched palm while he climbed over the bench. In turn, she touched the small of his back lightly before turning to the cluster of glasses in the center of the table.

“Added more rules, have we?” she asked, sliding one glass to Fenris and taking another for herself. He lifted the corkscrew from the table and passed it to her in turn. 

“Just enforcing the usual ones,” Varric tilted the cards up until they shuffled downward again, then cut the deck. He waved half of it at Isabela and Hawke in turn. “I saw the two of you last time. If you can’t play nice, maybe someone has to make you.” 

Hawke gasped, still busily twisting the corkscrew. Fenris steadied the other end of the bottle. 

“Cheating at Wicked Grace is the point of playing Wicked Grace, as you well know,” she said, and the cork popped loose. “I cannot believe you are interfering with a time-honored tradition when you never even returned my second deck—”

“The one you intended to cheat with,” Varric said, tapping the cards back together again with a snap. 

“—oh, allegedly—I never did any such thing—”

“Can’t we just start playing?” Aveline asked from the other end of the table, looking between Hawke and Varric. Hawke poured Fenris’s glass of wine first, then her own. 

“—and why don’t Aveline and Fenris and Sebastian have to give up their belts or turn out their pockets, hm?” Hawke went on, glancing between the three of them. Aveline sighed heavily and took a long draught from her goblet. 

“Aveline never wins,” Varric told her. “If she’s cheating, she needs the practice.”

“I’ve no need to cheat,” Sebastian added calmly, accepting his cards when Varric slid them to him. “I can win well enough without it.”

Fenris snorted and took his own cards. Under the table, Hawke looped her stockinged ankle around his. 

“Why would I cheat?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around the stem of his glass. “Watching you try is more entertaining.”

“I am positively surrounded by spoilsports,” Hawke announced with an air of great tragedy. She accepted her own pile of cards with a sigh. “Where’s Merrill tonight?”

“Some holiday in the alienage,” Isabela said, shifting until her legs were crossed before her. “I told her I’d bring her regrets, but she said she’d be along eventually.”

While Isabela spoke, Hawke shifted on the bench beside Fenris, sitting back and bouncing her leg, then leaning forward again. He took a careful sip of his wine and glanced sidelong at her. Hawke ignored him and drank deeply from her own cup. 

“Well, go on, then,” she told Varric. “If we’re to be proper about this.” 

“One silver,” he replied, tossing a coin onto the table. “Hawke?” 

She set a coin of her own on the table (nobody seemed inclined to ask where she might have produced this from; Fenris, who’d felt the tug on his own belt pouch, said nothing). 

The round progressed. To the outside observer, Hawke might have seemed entirely engrossed in the round. Fenris knew better—but then, he could feel how close she sat on the bench, could feel the occasional brush of her fingers against his back or arm. She never demanded any show of affection from him before the others, for which he was grateful. What they had was for them, not for everybody else’s entertainment or speculation. 

Even so, she was still herself; he did not begrudge the small gestures she offered instead. She held his hand beneath the table sometimes, or sat so close to him that their legs pressed together. And sometimes, like tonight—

Fenris straightened and turned to look at her, narrowing his eyes. Hawke smiled winningly and rested her stack of cards face-down on the table—a stack of cards slightly thicker than it ought to have been. He reached for his glass of wine, shaking his head at her, and the dimple at her cheek deepened. 

“Whatever are you looking at me like that for, messere?” she asked in an undertone. 

“You know quite well.”

“Truly, I’ve no idea.” 

This time, he felt it when she tucked the card into his belt. Hawke tilted her head and rested her hand on his back for a moment. 

Ridiculous. Of late, he spent more than half his nights in her company and yet something in his chest still caught when she looked at him like that. 

“Hmm,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything to say except her name. Hawke leaned closer and turned her face away from the others. 

“You did promise,” she whispered, “but if you’re having second thoughts…”

“No,” he said, because he had promised, “go on.” 

“Thank you, dearest,” she said, and leaned away again.

“Now, what are the two of you whispering about?” Isabela asked, peering at them over the lantern that rested between them on the table. Fenris lifted his wineglass and took a long drink, studying his cards. 

This was…most of a winning hand. He was certain he hadn’t been holding these cards before. He’d intended to fold when the round returned to him, in fact. 

“Something terribly boring,” Hawke told Isabela, still smiling. “You couldn’t possibly be interested.”

“Try me,” Isabela said. 

“Hawke?” Varric asked. 

Hawke lay her cards on the table face-up, not bothering to glance at them again. Fenris studied them briefly, though he’d already known what he would see. They were his cards, with an extra tucked beneath. She had traded her hand for his

“If you must know,” Hawke began, lifting her glass and gesturing broadly with it. It was fortunate that she’d drunk most of it or the two of them would certainly have been doused. “I was reminding him that we need to stop by the market tomorrow. I have been wanting to buy a new pair of boots, you see; the ones I have now pinch awfully and it is rather pleasant to be playing without them on. It is so hard to find a good pair of shoes these days, don’t you think? What I wouldn’t give for one of those fine sets from Antiva with all of the tooled leather and that embroidery that looks—”

“Alright, alright,” Isabela said, taking a bun from the table and rolling her eyes. “Go on then, Fenris.” 

“Raise,” he said, and set two coins on the table. 

Aveline groaned. 

Beside him, Hawke set her glass down. She’d finished the last sip of it and she was smiling to herself, gathering her cards into a neat stack. 

When Fenris rested his hand on the table again, his elbow nudged hers as if by accident. Beneath the table, she pressed her knee against his thigh. A thanks, offered and accepted. 

After the round ended (Fenris’s belt somewhat heavier for it), he did not turn again when he felt her hand at his back. He knew very well what she was doing—and he had promised, after all.

#fenhawke #fenris #fenris dragon age #maria hawke #femhawke #da2 #dragon age fic #shoutout to one of my favorite pieces of dragon age art ever though i am admittedly biased (thanks again ali! <3) #and a shoutout to my husband who has tolerated me loudly saying 'they're in love!' and pointing at this painting #every time he walks into the room

[supercriminalbean]

Sneaking around.

Derek Morgan x GN!Reader.

Summary: Derek and Reader start a relationship but keep it secret because their Dad is David Rossi.

Warnings: Kissing, swearing, drinking, (I think thats it, let me know if ive missed anything)

Words: 2.4k

Derek knew dating you would have its risks, but he didn’t really care. How could he because whenever he looked in your eyes he felt at home and that his world is perfect and

full of love. He met you one night at a family night hosted by David Rossi. Dave decided it was time to introduce his team to his kid, one he had kept hidden from most of the team, knowing it was safer to keep his family hidden away from the spotlight.

Morgan was given a stern warning from Rossi just minutes before you were introduced, of course Morgan promised to stay away from you, knowing the reputation he has. But the moment his eyes set on you, he regrets making that promise because he has never seen someone as gorgeous as you. The way your smile just brightens up the whole room, the way your laugh is the most addicting sound he has ever heard, he wishes he could hear it every single day. That night is filled with the team getting to know you, you don’t know how but you find yourself being drawn towards Derek Morgan. Your dad had warned you to stay away from that man, according to him he's a good man but Derek Morgan can be a bit of a player. You can’t help but laugh at your dad’s warning, you're not after a relationship, especially someone on your dads team, plus you're a little bit of a player yourself.

That night is full of talking and getting to know your Dads team, so you know who has back when he's in the field. Somehow that night ends with you being invited to a Doctor Who marathon with Penelope and Reid the following week and the next day you're going to go and help Derek Morgan pick out some window frames for his house he’s renovating. 

~~~

You met Derek nine months ago, and you two started dating six months ago. You both decided to keep it to yourselves for now, none of you wanting to tell your Dad about it. You both hang out and go on dates on the low, having to make sure you're not ringing him when he’s near your Dad at all. You enjoy being secretive with him, enjoying the private moments with him. It becomes hard at the dinners your Dad hosts, doing your best to keep your distance from him, not being allowed to hold his hand or lean into his side, it sucks. Especially tonight, tonight is your six month anniversary and somehow your Dad decided to do another pasta night and it would look suspicious if you both ditched tonight. So here you are, standing in the middle of the living room, talking and laughing with Aaron and Penelope. Glancing outside to where your other half is, he’s sitting down on the outside table with Jack and Henry, helping them with some sort of project, and your heart can’t help but melt at how good he is with kids as you finish your glass of wine.

“Ciao ragazzino, can you get some more wine from the cellar for me” Dave calls out, walking out of the kitchen, his eyes landing on you. Looking over at your dad you send him a quick smile, wiping your mind off your boyfriend.

“Sure thing Dad” Smiling you quickly make your way downstairs to the wine cellar. You take your time grabbing the bottles, enjoying the quiet.

“Need some help?” His loud voice makes you jump.

“Jesus hell Derek” Huffing feeling annoyed as you turn around to look at him. Spotting him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed with the biggest cocky smile on his face.

“You need to be less jumpy cupcake” Derek chuckles as he walks over to you, his eyes sliding over your body before landing on types pretty eyes of yours. 

“Hard to do when you sneak up on me” You grumble softly as you let him pull you into his arms, resting your head in his chest.

“I missed you” He whispers softly as he kisses your forehead, resting his head onto yours. “I haven’t seen you all week and I wasn’t even able to hug when I finally saw you today”

“I know baby, but you know why I can’t tell my dad yet” Biting back a sigh as you could just imagine your Dads lecture if he found out. 

“I get it pumpkin, but I still don’t like it” He slowly pulls away, his arms resting around your waist.

“Maybe next week we can tell, maybe it's time” You smile lightly as you look up at him, meeting his kind and loving eyes.

“Good, because then I can hug you whenever I want” he chuckles before kissing you smoothly.

“What a flirt Derek” You can’t help but laugh when pulling away. 

“Come on, you better get back before they wonder what you're up to” Derek chuckles, passing you the bottles of wine before following you out. 

~~~

You make your way back to the living room, via the kitchen leaving a bottle of wine for Dave, bringing the rest back with you, topping up your own glass. When you enter the living room you're glad to see Derek is already there and talking away with Reid and Garcia. You stand by yourself for a while, you can’t help but stare at Derek, the way he is with his friends always warms your heart, the way he is just always himself makes your heart flutter. 

“I thought you may have gotten lost down there” Aaron smirks to himself as he comes to stand beside you unnoticed, your eyes too occupied with something else across the room.

“Oh I just couldn’t find the right wine he wanted” You lie quickly, without a glance at Aaron, knowing if you did he would easily read straight through you. Your uncle has alway been the best at reading your lies especially when it comes to your love life.

“Huh, I thought your Dad kept them in alphabetical order” Aaron smirks more when you finally look at him, your face heating up under his stare.

“He does, but I don’t like reading wine bottles”

“Oh right, well I think Dave wanted to come and check on you. Luckily I managed to distract him, isn't it?” Aaron's grin widens just slightly as your eyes narrow.

“Are you implying something here, Aaron” You have to hold back a smile as you stare him down.

‘Only that it's been over six months now that you have complained about anyone while babysitting Jack for me” He looks so cocky when you don’t respond right away.

“Well, cockneys doesn’t suit you Uncle Aaron” Groaning softly as you sip on your wine. 

“Oh come on, you can’t hide from me” Aaron laughs softly, his eyes lingering on you. He can’t help but appreciate the look in your eyes as they turn back to Morgan, the same look Morgan had on his face every single time he’s texting away on his phone.

“You two should just tell Dave already, If i have figured it out, it won’t take him long” 

“Yeah but he told us to stay away from each other when we first meet” You grumble before looking up at Aaron for advice.

“Yes, but this was before you two look at each other like no one else exists, just tell him, he’ll understand” Aaron smiles, but smirking over at Derek then back at you. “But maybe warn Mogan, that if he hurts you it's not just Dave he needs to worry about” Aaron sips on his wine before glances down at you, where you're rolling your eyes.

“Yeah yeah Aaron” Rolling your eyes before smiling. “He could take you both anyway”

~~~

As the night goes on, it's filled with laughter and drinks, once dinner has finished everyone is seated on the couch. You're not sure how much alcohol you have consumed tonight, you stopped counting after glass number four and Garcia brought out tequila. Aaron and JJ have left already, claiming they have to get back to their kids, leaving Dave on ‘Dad’ duty. The team starts playing truth or dare, excluding Dave who has headed off to bed already, making sure that everyone knows where to sleep for the night.

A takes a few rounds and some shots for the game to get interesting, Spencer was staying sober and laughing at his overly loud drunk friends. 

“Okay okay, (Y/n) your turn” Penelope exclaims, putting her glass down, grinning at you “Truth or dare” 

“Hit me hard Pens, dare” Laughing as you lean into the couch, all four of you are sitting on the floor, while Spencer watches from the couch.

“Ohh okay Ems, help me think” Penelope whines leaning into the women, who smirks evilly at you.

‘Oh no no, you love evil” Smirking back at her, never one to back down from a challenge.

“I dare you to kiss the hottest person in the room” Emily sniggers as you glare at her.

“If you just want me to kiss you Emily all you gotta do is ask” Your laugh turns into a groan, as her smirk widens.

“Oh we all know it's not me you were staring at all night” Emily teases back while Penelope giggles while throwing some ‘Ohhhhhs’ at you. You glance over at Derek who is smirking widely at you before wiggling his eyebrows making you laugh. Pulling yourself up on to your knees, you crawl carefully over towards him.

“Well hi” His smirk is adorable as he cups your face.

“You're annoyingly cute” Giggling softly as you press your lips against him firmly, almost losing yourself as he starts kissing back, his arm wrapping around you pulling you into his lap. Cheers erupt around the room, forcing you two to finally pull away, snuggling down in between his legs as you all look around the room laughing with them.

~~~

“So this is who you're dating then” Penelope grins at him.

“Wait you two are dating, like officially” Emily mouth falls open as she gawks at them.

“How the hell did you figure that out Babygirl?” Derek groans softly, wrapping his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder. 

“Oh come on” Garcia scoffs before smirking. “It wasn’t hard, you’ve been smiling at that phone of yours to much lately and also you haven’t spoken about anyone else but (Y/n) since you meet them”

“Aww you like me” Laughing sweetly as you lean into him.

“No I love you, dummy” He rolls his eyes as he laughs pressing a kiss against your neck.

“Aww you love me”

“Okay that's cute, but sickening” Emily fakes gags before smiling.

“So does Dave know?” Reid asks.

“No, no one knows about us,” Morgan answered.

“Well, not no one, Aaron figured it out tonight” Groaning softly, as you tell Derek.

“Oh great, my boss knows” Morgan huffs out a laugh as he leans backwards.

“He also threatens you with bodily harm if you hurt me” A soft chuckle slips through your lips as your eyes start closing, the alcohol making you sleepy.

“Oh, an overprotective uncle and Dad, goodluck Morgan '' Emily laughs as his face drops.

“Funny Prentiss” He pokes his tongue out at her, before slowly standing up pulling you with him. “We are going to bed,” Morgan informs them, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“Penelope beat you to it” Spencer smirks, as he grabs a blanket. You three all turn around to spot an asleep Penelope, cuddled into Emily's side.

“Guess I’m sleeping here tonight then” Emily laughs, taking the blanket from Spencer, snuggling down for the night. 

~~~

Dave wakes up to a quiet house, walking out he spots Emily and Penelope cuddled up on the couch, a blanket spread over them and an empty bottle of tequila on the coffee table. Dave chuckles softly as he leaves them before, walking past the guest room where he figures Spencer and Morgan are before heading to your room. He opens the door slowly, hearing low voices coming through, he guesses your awake. He peaks in quietly and he wishes he never did.

“What the fuck” He exclaims, his eyes almosting falling out of his head with how wide they are. He wasn’t wrong, you are awake and currently laid on top of Morgan, pressing your lips against him. Both you and Derek’shead shoot towards the door with fear, your heart pounding away. 

“Ever heard of knocking” You gulp thickly as you stare at your Dad, rolling off of Derek quickly, thankful you both were still fully dressed. 

“Downstairs, five minutes” Dave glares at Derek before walking out, the door closing with a slam.

“Well that went well” Derek groans as he sits up, meeting your amused look.

“Hey at least we had clothes on” Laughing softly as you hug him, kissing him gently. “You ready?”

“Don’t have a choice, do I cupcake?” He smirks lightly, standing up.

~~~

You both make your way down stairs, hand in hand. Making your way to the patio where you can see your Dad is. You both take a seat opposite him, taking a deep breath.

“So how long has this been going on” Dave sighs, looking up at you both.

“Six months” Derek informs him, a small smile on his face.

“Six months” Dave huffs, holding back a smile of his own before glaring at Derek. “I told you to stay away from them”

“I know, and I tried but I can’t resist them Dave, they're different and this isn't just some fling for me I promise” Derek smiles just a little more as he speaks, his hand squeezing yours.

“Better not be”

“It's not, I love them” Derek smiles, glancing over at you, always loving the way your face lights up when he says it.

“And Dad, I love him too” You smile back at Derek, his growing even more.

“Okay okay I’ve heard enough” Dave smiles, shaking his head. “Well Derek you know if you hurt them, I know how to kill you and make sure no one ever finds your body” 

“Dad you don’t need to threaten him, Aaron already did that” Laughing quietly as you inform your Dad, his face dropping.

“Aaron knows? Excuse me, I need to make a phone call” Dave grumbles as he stands up walking past you two. “Oh yeah welcome to the family Derek” Dave Pats his shoulder before walking out.

#criminal minds #derek morgan x gender neutral reader #derek morgan fluff #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

wallflower 36

Warnings: age gap, creepin’, slow burn, stepdad-adjacent, possible noncon/dubcon, abuse, violence, self-harm, manipulation, panic attack, dissociation, gaslighting.

Character: silverfox!Thor

Your mother meets a new man, but he doesn’t seem very interested in her.

Note: <3 Another erratic drabble series. Appreciate any and all feedback. Love you all. And I didn’t expect this chapter to go this way or to be a bit longer than usual.

Thrud is glowing, her cheeks rosy, her eyes vibrant, her hair lustrous and full. You feel like a shadow next to her. In awe of her beauty as she takes a crystal glass and pours dark wine into its depths.

She fills a second and clunks down the bottle heavily on the round table at the centre of the room. A room surrounded by several others in a small villa outside the main house of the vineyard. She hands one to you and eagerly draws from the brim. You sip daintily, the taste acrid as it singes your tongue.

You swallow, nearly choking as she takes her phone and thumbs at it carelessly, tossing it back on the table as she sticks her tongue out, "boys."

"Uh, yeah," you laugh nervously and pick at your dry lip, stopping yourself as her eyes catch the movement. "Sorry."

"Oh, hon, you don't have to be sorry," she shrugs as she sits on cushioned divan, "why don't you chill out, girl?"

You tiptoe to her and sit carefully with your glass, hers sloshing obliviously as she angles it to her mouth again. She slurps with zeal and pops her lips as she pulls it away. You look around anxiously, uncertain. She's so nice. Well, so is Thor so you guess you shouldn't be surprised.

"You ever been to Spain before?"

You shake your head and make yourself drink the wine. It's sweeter the more you sip. You cradle the glass gently and look at her again. She's gorgeous. You wish you were like her.

"Oh, wonderful, I'll have to show you around. There's a pool... indoors. It's a bit too cold out to be that wild!" She giggles, "oh, and the cellar! You can have your choice of any bottle. I'm my uncle's favourite so you don't need to worry about that."

"That's nice," you look down into the dark wine, "I don't drink much, though."

"Quiet thing like you, of course not, but you've got a friend now. You don't have to be stingy for these old men."

"Um," you give a goofy smile, not sure how to reply.

"Relax, I mean it. You're much better company than my dumb brothers. They always end up breaking something. Oh! There's this club near here, I used to sneak away in high school, don't mention it to daddy, but it's so nice and the men. They'll buy you a drink just for a smile. They like foreigners."

"Men?" You utter and shake your head, "I don't..."

"I'll do the talking. Ah, oh," she covers her mouth, "I'm terrible for it. I gab away and no one gets a word in elsewise. Well, please, I want you to tell me everything."

"Everything?"

"About you!"

"Me? Well, I'm not interesting."

"You must be if you're here."

"I... I dunno, my mom... it was just me and her and then---"

You gasp as the glass slips from your hand. You squeak and stand as it spills across the wood and you touch your cheeks. You don't know what you were doing, not paying attention. God, if your mother was there she'd holler and howl until you cleaned it up. You stare down at the puddle and sway, searching for anything to wipe it up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you sniffle, "I'll clean it up. I don't know how-- I didn't mean to," you babble, "please don't be mad."

"Relax," she rises breezily and puts her empty glass aside, sweeping across the room and through a doorway. She returns with a towel but ignores your reach. She squats to mop up the mess, "it's not very much."

She sops it up and even gets a few drops from your feet. You step back shyly and hug yourself, "I'm so clumsy--"

"Hey, the glass didn't even break," she says cheerily as she lifts it, "no harm, no foul. It's all good." She smiles and goes to the table, "just means we need to get you a nice clean glass."

"Maybe I've had enough," you suggest.

"Enough, you just need to loosen up," she trills and stops, "but if you really don't want anymore, you don't have to."

You look her in the face. She makes you feel easy, like the world might not be that scary. You don't even know her but she feels familiar.

"Thank you," you try to smile, "I'm sorry. I just... don't have any friends."

"You don't have any friends?" She says without a hint of sarcasm, "well, I'd love for you to be mine so... wine or water, hon?"

You chew your lip and real curve takes over your lips, "I'll try some more wine, if that's okay."

🌻

You feel fuzzy and bubbly. Like you could float or even fly. Music pulses in the air, beats you've never heard before, a melody that has you twirling around. Thrud dances around with you in the space of the villa, her laughter mingling with yours.

You've never felt like this, free. It's as if all your troubles are gone, as if you're not you, as if you were never sad or mad or anything else.

You stumble over your own feet and she catches your arm before you can tip over. You giggle again as both of you nearly collide with the table.

"You are wild," she growls at you, "who knew the little mouse had it in her?"

You roll your eyes at her, "I always wanted to be fun."

"You are!" She slurs, "trust me."

"No one lets me be fun!" You pout and turn away from her, reach for the bottle. It's empty as you tip it up. "God. Fuck!" You cover your mouth guiltily and let the bottle roll across the table, "oh my."

She laughs and you can't help but join in, ripping your hand away from your mouth, "fuck, shit!"

"Oh god, stop it," she clenches her sides.

"I never, I never swear," you whisper, "it's... so cool."

She laughs again and shakes her head, "I won't stop you. Jeez, sounds like you've been living in a convent."

"My mother," you hiccup, "she's an old nun. Never let me swear or... wear anything pretty... or-- or--" you feel it all brewing to a boil. You fall onto a chair and clutch your head, "she didn't love me. She doesn't love me."

It goes silent as you hunch over and hold your head. Thrud comes to you, her hand resting softly on your shoulder as she coos at you, "I'm sorry, hon, please don't think about it now. Not like this."

"I'm sorry," you sit up and swipe your fingers over your lashes, "I'm stupid."

"No, no," she gets to her knees beside you and rubs your arm, "you've been hurt. That's all, baby."

"I'm grown, I just needa suck it up."

She scoffs, "suck it up? I hope that's not what my uncle's been telling you."

"No, no, no, he's so nice. He... he listens to me," you wiggle your nose, fighting the tide of tears, "he's too nice to me. He's..." you smile a little, "he's a good doctor."

"Good," she says, "that's very good."

"It's Thor," you eke out and quickly swallow up your voice.

"Thor? Dad?" She wonders, "what do you mean?"

You blink, long and hard, then look at her. You want to say it all. He's scary, he's confusing, he's suffocating. But she's his daughter and she loves him. And he loves her. You can't say it because it might not even be true.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"He saved me," you shrug, "from mom."

"Oh," her hands brushes down your arm, "that's good."

A sudden pounding comes at the door and you feel it in your chest. You whimper and knot your fingers over your chest, letting out a high-pitched squeal. Thrud looks up, her eyes smoky as she stands and wobbles around the chair.

She crosses the villa and grabs the iron hand, pulling open the heavy wood door. Her father waits on the other side, as if summoned by your mention. You cower and refuse to look at him.

"You two, it's late--" he stops short, "Thrud, is she..."

"She's okay, daddy, we're just having fun."

"How much have you given her?"

"Daddy, get out, we're young, we're just--"

"Thrud, you don't understand, she can't drink that much on her meds."

"Oh, uh, I didn't know--"

"You didn't give me time to explain, did you?" He snaps.

"Alright, you don't have to be so rude," she whines drunkenly.

"I should take her to her villa, look at her--"

"She can stay here, I'll keep an eye on her--"

"You're drunk too."

"Daddy, I said get out," she stomps her foot and latches onto his arm as you finally glance over.

"You don't underst--"

"I understand, just fine. I can take care of my friend," she insists, "hon," she inserts herself between you and Thor, "do you wanna go or do you wanna stay?"

You look between them. Thrud sways slightly, cheeks flushed, and lashes drooping, but Thor stands with a dimple in his cheek and a tick in his jaw. That same anger that lingers just under the surface. You hang your head and sniff, "I wanna stay."

"See, daddy, now good night!" Thrud says, "ugh, you always spoil the fun."

"K--" Thor begins and stops himself, "alright, fine. Just... no more. And go to bed."

"Nightttttt," Thrud sings as she ushers him to the door, snapping it shut at his exit, "I hate when he does that."

#dark thor #dark!thor #thor #thor x reader #thrud #loki #au #silverfox #wallflower #mcu #marvel #avengers #series

[evesaintyves]

for @remadoramicrofics october 3rd prompt, "cellar"

698 words. warning for violence and implied sexual violence

read it below or on AO3 🩸

In the last week of the waxing moon, Remus dreams that he is crushing the rat under the heel of his shoe, feeling the crunch and snap of little bones, hearing the pathetic squealing until it concedes to a satisfying silence. Sometimes he wakes up laughing. He dreams he is eating a hank of raw meat, not a steak but a long ragged silverskinned muscle, tearing it with his hands and teeth.

He's never quite sure if it's the stress of what's coming or if it's his other half making itself heard through the membrane that separates them, singing to him of its hunger and its lust.

He dreams he is fucking Tonks.

Sometimes she's taut with pleasure, incisors gleaming in her open mouth, bracing her hands on the headboard, breathing yes—yes—yes with his thrusts.

Other times, though—she's not.

And lately more and more she is there in his bed when he wakes up, cupping his cheek in her hand, cooing, "Shh, It's okay. It's all right. You're here with me." Not understanding that that's part of the problem. And when it happens he turns and lets her enfold him in her arms, tuck his head against her chest where he can shut his eyes and inhale that scent of salt and powder that lives in the smooth lowland there. He puts the dream away in the deep dark place where those things go. It's a physical feeling of pushing, cramming it down, shutting a lid on it.

He's quite efficient at it.

"I'll be there with you tomorrow," she's telling him tonight. She's rubbing his back like she's trying to keep him warm. The state the dream has left him in—sweating, tingling, heartbeat skipping, hard and digging into the flesh of her thigh—isn't as easy to stuff away. "Just outside the door."

He'd rather she wasn't, but he's in no shape to argue and arguing wouldn't do any good. She's better at it than he is, because she doesn't care about annoying him, losing her composure, making a scene. She only wants to win.

"I could read to you," she goes on, "or play some music."

"It wouldn't make any difference."

He can feel her heart rate spike.

"You know, you're living for free in this bonkers fucking house, you've got a safe place to go and—and do your thing, you've got Sirius, you've got me, I'm dragging a pillow and blanket down to the fucking cellar door and spending the night there with you—maybe you could count yourself lucky, mate. Maybe you could say thank you, Tonks, I'm glad you're here. "

"Thank you, Tonks."

She's quiet. It's a relief. His body is calming down too, his eyes start to roll, and he could forgive himself for falling asleep there in that shallow solace of her stroking hands, her swells of breathing.

"Sometimes," she says, startling him, "I have this dream that I've got the cellar door open, I'm standing at the top of the stairs, and you're at the bottom. You don't look like a werewolf, but you've got… these eyes… I know you are one. I've got my wand on you, and I'm going to kill you before you kill me. It has to be that way, it makes sense, the way things just make sense in a dream."

Tomorrow night, it will be as if they never spoke of this—he will kiss her before he walks his aching bones down the stairs. Standing behind her, Sirius will pull a smug-looking face. Remus will lock the door behind himself and hear the muffled thump of her weight as she sits against it. He'll find his way in the dark to the alcove where he puts his wand, his clothes. He'll still feel watched and want to cover himself, even in the dark, even alone. And he'll be afraid. Not of the breaking bones or the blood he'll wake up covered in: of the wanton, abandoned release he'll feel when he changes.

Now, she runs her finger down the vein that stands out in his neck. Her arms around him are as much comfort as restraint. 

Softly, she asks, "Do you know what I mean?"

#remadora #remadora microfics #remus lupin #tonks

[wanderingcas]

title: where there is darkness pairing: dean/cas tags: historical au (1950s), angst with a happy ending, gay but in sepia

Posting a (long) sneak-peek of this fic, because I'm getting restless not sharing this. Enjoy!

***

As with most things in his life, Dean has a love-hate (but mostly hate) relationship with this lighthouse. 

It’s easy to take care of on sunny days and clear nights, but it’s grueling during a storm or fog. Sun shines through the window in the midday, providing warmth, but it’s ever-loving cold the rest of the time. 

It provides him with shelter from the outside world. 

But it traps him in, like a caged animal. 

Love, hate—day in and day out. And right now, standing against the railing of the balcony with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips and the wind whipping at his back, it’s hate.

The light’s ready for the dusk that’s beginning to settle on the harbor. Dean’s cleaned the lens and brewed the meths. He turned on the tap, set a match to the mantle. The routine is so familiar, he could do it in his sleep. The light rotates behind him, illuminating his back briefly before turning its watchful eye to the rest of the harbor. 

Bright, dark. Bright, dark. Around and around like a carousel. 

Him and this lighthouse go way back, like a bad relationship that he can’t quit. When John moved him and Sam to Kittery and started work on this light, Bobby would bring Sam and Dean to visit during the fortnightly supply runs. Every visit was like a further punch to the gut to remind him of what he’d lost. It wasn’t like the light they’d all lived at when Dean’s mom was alive, with a cozy house that always smelled like freshly baked bread. This was a cold, sterile environment that smelled like three guys living in close quarters. And John—

He could barely look Dean and Sam in the eye when they visited. 

After a few months at Whaleback, John seemed to relax into the work and his smile came more easily, but Dean would smell the whiskey on his breath.  

After a while, Bobby stopped taking Sam and Dean at all.

The lighthouse took John and swallowed him whole. During his brief few days of shore leave, he’d just sit with a bottle at the table. Dean came to dread it, since it meant that the money he’d squirreled away in the coffee can on top of the cupboard would inevitably be pilfered for booze money.

Dean doesn’t know why he’s thinking about all of this, or about John. Maybe it’s because of where he’s currently standing. 

Muttering a curse, Dean pulls the zippo out of his pocket and lights the cigarette.

“Got you.”

Dean turns as his brother comes onto the walkway, collar popped and hands deep into his coat pockets. His cheeks are already pinched red from the cold. 

Dean adopts an easy posture, arms settling on the railing as he leans back with a grin. It hides the bitter taste of nostalgia still on his tongue. “I said I wanted to quit, not that I was going to quit.”

Sam rolls his eyes, then joins Dean at the railing. “Light all set?”

“Yup. Everything’s good. Go get some shut-eye.” 

“I thought it was my shift tonight.”

Dean shrugs a shoulder. “Not tired. I can take the whole night.”

“You took the whole shift last night, too,” Sam says with a frown. “What about that chamomile tea Bobby brought last week? Did you try that?”

“Not drinkin’ a flower. I’ll sleep the old-fashioned way.”

“Clearly that’s not working.”

“I’ll take the shift tonight.” Dean levels his brother with a stare. “Okay?”

Lips twisted into a frown, wind sweeping at his hair, Sam suddenly looks like a younger snot-nosed version that had that same miserable look when Dean tried to tell him that Dad volunteered himself for a double shift that month. Before the Coast Guard took over during the war, things were more relaxed—less regulated. John was able to take all the double, triple shifts as he pleased, drinking himself stupid with all the bootlegged liquor in the cellar. 

It always upset Sam, when their dad didn’t come home. He was a sensitive kid. 

Just like all those years ago, Dean’s heart is punched out with a desire to make that frown leave Sam’s face.

“You wanna sneak back with Bobby tomorrow when he comes for the supply run? Go see Eileen? I can cover things here.”

Sam rolls his eyes with a scoffed laugh. “That’s a pretty terrible first impression to make on the new keeper Bobby’s bringing in.”

Fuck. Dean had forgotten about that. “That’s tomorrow?” he asks with a wince. 

“Yes, and we need him to last more than a week, unlike the last guy. Otherwise the Coast Guard is not going to let us have a say in who comes or stays anymore.”

“Last guy was a pansy,” Dean grumbles around his cigarette. 

“You punched him in the face, Dean.” 

Dean glares out at the thin line of the distant shore and doesn’t reply.

“Since you’re a vet, they’re taking it easy on us,” Sam continues, “but Bobby was talking to someone up in a higher rank the other day and—I think this is our last chance.” He clears his throat. “Your last chance.”

“The hell you mean?” Dean asks, drawing up to a straight back. “They’re gonna sack me?”

“Move you, I think. To a solo light on the shore.”

Dean throws up a hand. “Well, fine. Let them. What’s the problem?”

There’s that miserable look again. Sam won’t raise his head as the unspoken words hang between them. Dean stays silent, challenging Sam to say it. 

“You know what the problem is, Dean,” Sam quietly says. 

Yeah. Dean knows. He knows that without Sam, Dean at a solo light would probably end with him hanging from the rafters. 

Blowing out a drag of smoke into the wind, Dean hunches back over the railing. “I’ll try,” he concedes. “But if he’s a dumbass—”

“Then I’ll train him,” Sam interjects. “You don’t even have to be in the same room as him. We’ll put him on the early morning shifts, make him sleep in the afternoons.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Make him stay in the service room listening to the radio.”

A grin forming on Sam’s face, he adds, “Tell him that shore leave is ten days instead of four so he stays off the lighthouse for longer.” 

“Yeah, the Coast Guard won’t notice that.”

“Whatever it takes for you to cohabitate with this guy, I say we do it,” Sam says with a shrug. “Get creative.” 

Dean makes a move to flick the stub of his cigarette away; Sam grabs his arm to stop him. “I just cleaned the landing, Dean.” With a scowl, Dean tosses it into the ocean instead.

Sam runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs, the disapproval evident in his frown. “Need anything before I go down to the bunks?”

“Nah. Get some sleep, Sammy.” Dean gives his brother a smack on the chest in dismissal. “I’ll wake you for the morning shift.”

“Okay, but actually wake me this time. Don’t let me sleep in until nine.”

Dean taps out another cigarette from the carton he fishes out of his pocket. “No promises.” 

“And let me actually make breakfast tomorrow, too!” Sam calls before he disappears through the door.

“I would if your eggs weren’t shit!” Dean barks back. His words are snatched up by the wind. He turns back toward the ocean, clicking the lighter as he holds it up to the cigarette butt. “Seriously, who raised you?”

Blowing out another puff of smoke, the cigarette still caught between his teeth, Dean eyes the shoreline. Their new keeper is probably staying at Bela’s place, if it’s still even running. The inn nearly went under last year after her parents declared bankruptcy. He ran with her a few times in high school before he cut town—she was sharp around the edges. Misunderstood. Just like him. 

He remembers the new guy’s resume. It had stood out to him among the rest, mainly because he seemed the least qualified. Didn’t make sense at all why the Coast Guard chose him as the new rookie, when five men before him—way more experienced, to boot—didn’t last.

No family, no money. Maybe that’s why they took him. That’s better, for these stag lights—bunch of single men with no families means there’s a better chance of them staying. It’s why the Coast Guard is itching to get a new keeper for the light, what with them eyeing recently married Sam, and Eileen, who’s in the family way.

It would make more sense for Sam to leave, get a position at a light with a house. Where he could see his family every night. 

What Sam and Dean used to have, before Mary died.

Dean runs a hand down his face, letting out a curse. Whatever the word is for wishing for a time that he can’t get back to, ever—that’s what tonight is. Memories he didn’t ask for turning around and around in his head like a wheel. That’s what the sea does when you look out into it: shimmers back at you, showing you what you want to see. And sometimes what you don’t. 

The door behind him creaks open again. With a grumble, Dean lets out a breath of smoke, a reprimand on his tongue for Sam to get the hell to bed. 

A bang echoes through the air. 

Dean drops his cigarette in surprise, whipping around to face the door. It yawns open, mercilessly blowing in the wind, banging against the side. Dean strides over to it and pulls it firmly closed before it breaks one of the windows. 

The lens, green and opaque, flashes across his eyes; he squints as the light rotates away. Turning back to the railing, spots dotting his vision, he sees a shadow. 

One taller than him, broader; stumbling toward the railing with a groan. 

Dean closes his eyes, briefly; chest constricting. A trick of the light. It happens.

“It’s haunted!” one of the failed keepers had shouted as he stuffed his clothes into a carpetbag, stumbling down the stairs. “This place is fucking haunted!” 

But that keeper had got it wrong—it wasn’t the lighthouse doing the haunting.

It was the person inside of it. 

***

(If you enjoyed this, I have a taglist! Just let me know you want to be added. Thanks for reading&lt;3)

#destiel #destiel lighthouse keepers au #literally i'm sitting on 5 chapters and want to start posting SO BAD but i want to wait until it's 80% finished #it's killing me guys lol #so i hope you liked this little bit of it

[silentcrowsilentravens]

Could I get Cass killing a monster, only to realize it's her S/O turned?

Ohh, painful. Of course!

Cassandra Dimitrescu killing a monster, only to realize it used to be her s/o.

(Gender neutral).

Warnings: blood, violence, death.

Masterlists here!

"Go away, Dani. I don't want to be bothered right now."

"You haven't let me bother you for forever now!" Daniela whines. She has to raise her voice quite a bit because the maiden Cassandra is torturing won't stop screaming. "Why have you been especially grouchy lately?"

"I haven't been."

Daniela spares a glance at the growing collection of dead maidens and crystalized Moroaice around the cellar. Almost all courtesy of her sister.

"...Right. You know—"

"If you don't leave, I'm going to tell Mother what actually happened to her favorite wine glass."

Daniela gasps, "You wouldn't."

"Care to test me?"

After a moment of consideration, Daniela lets out an overdramatic sigh. "Fine..." She throws her arms up and meanders her way back upstairs.

The screams of the maiden peter out. Her movements still.

"Dead already?" Cassandra mutters, her sulkiness still far from lifted. "I had a feeling you'd be a bore..."

She refuses to admit what has her In such a poor mood.

(It's you).

You stopped writing.

You stopped visiting.

She doesn't understand.

Did you fall out of love with her and decide to cut things off without another word? Like a coward?

What if you never truly cared for her at all? What if you were using her all along? That better not be the case. Cassandra will drain you of your blood if it is.

Could you have gotten yourself injured? Sick?

She's sorely tempted to go down to your house and the village and find out.

Unfortunately, she can't. Her mother will kill her if she finds out she went outside while there's still snow on the ground.

...

Fuck it. Cassandra can't stand another second of this.

In the dead of night, she dons the thickest clothes she owns, puts on a heavy cloak (which you're always so insistent that she wears when you think it's too chilly outside), clips her quiver around her waist, grabs her bow, and sneaks out.

The cold immediately hits her like loads of needles sticking her over and over again. She soldiers through it. Thankfully, the journey isn't a long one.

Your home is dark. The curtains are drawn. At such as late hour, that's to be expected, though.

Your horse is gone, the door to its stable left ajar.

Spots of blood mark your small porch. Your blood. Cassandra would recognize it anywhere. Not a good sign.

After the time that's passed, no other clues remain. A dead end. Hm.

Cassandra marches over to the house across from yours and pounds on the door.

It takes a few minutes, but someone eventually comes and opens it a crack. "Who's there...?" As soon as the villager sees the tall, dark figure on their doorstep, they immediately begin to close it.

Cassandra slams her open palm against the wood, stopping them short and promptly forcing her way inside.

The villager stumbles back. She grabs a fistful of their sweater before they hit the floor. "Tell me about the home across from you. What happened to the human who lives there?"

"A-a monster attacked weeks ago!"

"A Lycan?"

The villager only stares up at Cassandra, eyes wide with fear. She then remembers that villagers don't call them that.

"Was it man-like?" She joggles them. "Describe it!"

"N-no, it had the body of a large wolf and-and the face of a human. I've never seen anything like it before!"

A Vârcolac? Cassandra has yet to encounter one of those. They're a recent (accidental) creation of Moreau's.

Hopefully, it didn't kill you. You can defend yourself. Since you tend to go out in the very late hours of the night (which is how Cassandra met you), she went out of her way to make sure of that.

Perhaps after being injured, you took shelter elsewhere. Perhaps you're still recovering.

"And where did both of them go?"

"Ran off into woods!" The villager points to the area in question.

Cassandra releases them and walks off.

She heads straight for the trees. 

She isn't going home until she finds you.

She's still formulating more theories when she hears rapid, heavy footfalls approaching. 

Cassandra whips around and draws her bow.

The beast coming towards her matches the description that the villager gave her.

She probably shouldn't stick around for this. Not in her current state. The cold has rendered her movements stiff and near clumsy. She can't turn into her swarm. She's setting herself up for a potentially nasty injury.

But she's also setting herself up for her first Vârcolac kill, and this could potentially be the same one that attacked you.

The arrow strikes the Vârcolac.

Its fast. 

Its agile. 

Cassandra tries to keep her distance from its claws and teeth, firing off more arrows whenever there’s a window of opportunity. 

She manages to get a few nasty gashes on her arm and thigh, but she's fine otherwise.

Now reminiscent of a pincushion, the Vârcolac collapses on its side and crystalizes. Dead. Just like that.

Cassandra lowers her bow and approaches the remains. 

In the chunks of crystalized Vârcolac flesh, bones, arrows, and shredded fabric that used to be clothes lies a silver chain. Close to the base of the skull.

Cassandra freezes in her tracks.

She recognizes the pendant attached to it. She made it for you.

Hoping that her eyes are playing tricks on her in the low light, Cassandra drops to her knees and hurriedly picks the item up.

"No."

This is your necklace!

"No, this can't be..."

The chain could have just gotten caught in the beast’s fur. Maybe this isn't you. It can’t be you. 

But, upon closer inspection, although beyond dirty and nearly amorphous, the scraps of fabric are vaguely reminiscent of things Cassandra has seen you wear before.

...This Vârcolac is you. Was you.

And now, Cassandra has...

She...

She tries to control her breathing, which is growing increasingly unsteady.

Keep it together.

Deeps breaths.

With the necklace still in her grasp, Cassandra rises to her feet.

A harsh cry tears its way from her throat, more reminiscent of a wounded animal than anything else.

She hardly remembers half of her trip back to the castle. It’s nothing but a blur. 

She doesn't even feel as though she's piloting her own body anymore.

It's nearly dawn when she finally makes it back inside.

"Where have you been?" Great. Bela noticed her absence. Just what she needs. "It's still winter, Cassandra. You could have died out there!"

"Save it for someone who cares," Cassandra hisses.

"What's your problem?" Ignore her. Ignore her. Keep walking. Keep it together. "What was so important that you had to go out? Will you stop—"

"Don't touch me!" she snaps, throwing her sister's hand off her shoulder. "It doesn't matter where I went, what I did, or what I saw! And even if it did, it's none of your concern!"

There's a tense pause.

This time, when Cassandra continues on, Bela does not follow.

The maid staff is lucky that none of them encounter the middle daughter as she heads for her room, for she would slaughter all of them on the spot.

Upon reaching her destination, she slams the door shut.

She rips her cloak off.

She throws her weapons to the floor.

And then, she gently sets down the makeshift bag she fashioned from the scraps of your clothes. Your bones rattle.

...Cassandra doesn't know why she brought your bones back.

Sure, it's not unusual for her to take them. She has plenty around her room. But those... Those are like trophies and souvenirs.

And this... This is you.

Cassandra supposes she just couldn't find it in herself to leave you. Parts of you, since the crystals and bones are all that remain.

This isn't reversible.

You are gone.

She will never get to see your smile again.

Never get to hear your laugh.

Never get to listen to your stories or dreadful jokes.

Never get to write you another letter or read yours.

Never get to hold you close.

Never get to take in your scent.

Never get to listen to your heartbeat.

Never get to truly spend time in your presence again.

With your necklace still in her grasp, Cassandra slumps back against the door and slides down it until she's on the floor. She draws her knees up to her chest.

It's fine. This is all fine.

You were nothing but a pet. A pet. She has had more than a few of those before.

You were nothing special.

You weren't.

Or at least, that's what Cassandra's going to keep telling herself.

She’s not going to completely breakdown.

She’s not going to cry. 

That’s what she’s going to keep telling herself.

#resident evil x reader #x reader #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil 8 #resident evil 8 village #cassandra dimitrescu x you

[birdofdawning]

The Bookseller’s Eldest Daughter and the Witch’s Girl

Chapter One

There was once a bustling city, filled with merchants and shopkeepers and artisans and traders from distant lands, all working hard and shouting about their wares in the streets and making bargains in the coffee houses. The roads were well-paved and busy, and when you walked down them you might go past a row of colourful shops with a group of shop keepers all standing outside arguing together over some neighbourhood dispute, such as the mushroom farm Mrs Grimple insisted on kept in her cellar, or the annoying proliferation of goats about the city these days; or perhaps they would be gossiping about the Lady Dulcimell’s three quarrelling husbands, or the King’s son’s illness and how many ‘cures’ had been nothing of the sort. You might walk through a noisy market place filled with fine cloth or glassware or exotic birds, and leave with a parcel of fireworks or orchid bulbs that you had been persuaded to buy. And then finally you would come to a small quiet square with a fountain or a shady tree in its centre and you could take a few minutes to rest from the stir and clamour.

Now down a tiny side street in the Antique Quarter of this vigorous, colourful city was a bookshop. It was cluttered and comfortable and smelt of old paper. The Bookseller himself was a tall, gangly man with long fingers who liked to complain about everything no matter how trivial, and I am afraid that his shop might not have done quite so well if it weren’t for his daughters. For the Bookseller had two daughters, both very beautiful: the eldest was solemn and studious, but the youngest was smiling and sociable and beloved by everyone in their neighbourhood.

As well as being rather bad-tempered I am afraid that the bookseller was a parsimonious man, and one day, as he sat with the printer saying 'yes' and 'no' to the new stock on offer he caught sight of the prices being scrawled down on his friend's ledger.

"Why," he said, doing some quick calculations, "what all this? That's an extra thuppenny per book!"

The Printer shrugged. "Paper is a little more expensive at the moment," he said. "Just pass the extra on to your customers. No-one will notice."

But the Bookseller was sure that his customers would notice, and they would go elsewhere, to Ettlemen's Books in the Clockmaker's Quarter, perhaps; and soon word would get around that his business was failing and then the creditors would begin hounding him. He must cut costs to make up the extra thruppenny charge... but from where?

And as he sat at supper that evening he noticed his daughters moving about with the pots and the plates, and it occurred to him how much they cost him. “Three meals every day, and new dresses, and what-not! Why, with such extravagance I will be ruined! The shop will fail and we’ll be living in the streets with the creditors after us!”

He said so aloud, and you will not be surprised to hear that his daughters objected.

“Father, we make our own clothes, and I keep the house and cook all those meals,” said the youngest daughter, “and I make sure I always get the best price in the market when I go shopping.”

“And I run the shop with you, and do the accounts, and worry the printers for new books and hunt throughout the city for old ones,” said the eldest daughter.

But it was no good. “No,” said their father as he wrung his hands, “you will each have to leave and get married. Then the shop may manage to survive.”

The eldest daughter, who did the accounts, scoffed at this because she knew that the shop was in no danger at all. But the youngest daughter said “Well, the clerk’s apprentice wants to marry me and I like him very much. But who can my sister make a match with?”

The eldest daughter frowned and said Nobody! She would stay and help with the shop, of course. But “No, no, that’s no good,” said the Bookseller, “You will have to marry the Inkmaker. He says he needs a wife to keep house for him, and that either one of you will do; he’s not picky.”

“But he must be sixty years old!” said the eldest daughter, aghast.

“And he’s always talking about how much he hates women!” said the youngest daughter.

But the Bookseller said that his mind was quite made up: if his eldest daughter had no other offers she would marry the Inkmaker and that’s all there was to it. And no matter how the two sisters argued, it seemed there was little they could do to convince him otherwise. And so things stood.

Now one day the bookseller was in the back room opening parcels of new books from the printer and the eldest daughter was away bargaining for old books at an estate sale, leaving the youngest daughter to mind the shop. And as she was dusting the shelves (I am afraid that she was the only member of the household who noticed when the shelves needed dusting) the door chimed and an odd-looking man walked in.

Though she didn’t work in the shop as often as the other two, the youngest daughter knew most of their regular customers, and she had never seen this man before. He was very tall and thin with grey hair, and wore well-fitting but sombre clothes. But his eyes sparkled with life, and also — though I won’t pretend the Bookseller’s youngest daughter guessed at this! — with wicked mischief.

“I had heard that you were beautiful, and I see I was not misinformed,” he said, and though the Bookseller’s youngest daughter felt rather uncomfortable at this remark she smiled, and thanked him, and asked how she could help.

The man looked around and then said “Well, I was looking for Bartleby’s A Modern Contemplation of Clouds and Their True Meanings? Do you have that?”

“Um,” said the Bookseller’s youngest daughter looking around the cluttered shop, “I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you immediately. I’ll fetch my father, for he will know.”

“No, no, don’t worry him yet,” said the tall man quickly, “what about Grindlestone’s Catalogue of Hell and Fairy, Including Details of Many of Their Denizens and their Interests in Our World?”

“Oh!” exclaimed the Bookseller’s youngest daughter, “I hope we don’t have that book! It sounds rather sinister!”

“Well, well, perhaps it does, perhaps it does,” said the tall man. “And now tell me, child, do you buy used books? For I have one here that that is positively unique!”

“Y–es,” said the Bookseller’s youngest daughter carefully, “we do buy used books. Though it would be better for you to speak with my father about that.”

“Perhaps you could have a look first,” suggested the tall man, “and see if it’s worth his trouble?”

And out of a satchel he pulled a great tome bound in yellow silk, with leather hinges and brass clasps. He turned it around to face the Bookseller’s youngest daughter and unfastened the clasps and the book fell open, just as if it was eager to be read. Despite herself, the Bookseller’s youngest daughter leaned over to look, and on the page before her she saw an awful picture. It was of a sheep’s head rising out of a boiling cauldron. And as she stared in fascinated horror the sheep’s head seemed to grown bigger and bigger, travelling out of the book until it floated right before her! She screamed once and collapsed on the ground.

With a low chuckle the tall man closed the book, carefully put it away, and left the shop.

When the Bookseller’s eldest daughter came home, she found a strange figure standing motionlessly in the middle of the shop. It wore her sister’s clothes, but instead of her sister’s pretty head an old sheep’s head grew from its shoulders!

Well, you can imagine the to-do that followed. The Bookseller was horrified. “Who will marry her now?!” he wailed as he pushed his poor youngest daughter out to the back of the shop and away from prying eyes. “She will have to live here with me forever! Unless,” he considered, stopping in his tracks, “Unless we could get her into a sanatorium! We could say she had a disease. But then,” he added, his face falling, “that would cost money.”

The Bookseller’s eldest daughter found that the creature that had been her sister was quite tractable. It would follow where it was lead, and sit where it was told, and eat what was put in front of it. But it didn’t speak and it didn’t do anything but face straight ahead with its great eyes rolling in their sockets. “Keep it in the back room,” said the Bookseller, “I won’t have the neighbours gossiping about us. And make us some dinner.”

So his eldest daughter had a poor attempt at soup — I’m afraid she was an indifferent cook — and then sat and held her unlucky sister’s hand while her father whined and moaned about how their fortunes were all ruined.

The Bookseller was a man of regular habits. Every night, as soon as the kitchen clock struck eight he would stand from his armchair by the fire, sharply tell his daughters to cover over the ashes in the stove before they slept least a fire break out (he had a dread of fire destroying his stock) and take himself to bed. And the two girls would clean the kitchen, lock the door and go to the small bed they shared.

But this evening, once she could hear her father snoring in his room, the eldest daughter gently laid her sister out on their bed, covered her with a blanket, put on her sensible old boots, and slipped out into the night.

Now in the daily way of business the Bookseller’s eldest daughter had travelled all over that city, and she heard all the rumours and gossip that fly about every place where there are people. And while she didn’t necessarily believe everything that was said, she always stored it all away in the back of her mind, just in case. So she remembered hearing that at the end of a lonely lane behind the Braziers’ Quarter was an old house where a witch lived. And people who were in real need would visit this witch to get a neighbour’s curse unspelled, or find a child that had been beguiled by efts, or drive out gnarlings who had taken residence in a cellar.

So the Bookseller’s eldest daughter walked through the city — from the Antique Quarter into the Clockmakers’ Quarter, and from the Clockmakers’ Quarter into the Ostlers’ Quarter, down front streets and back streets — until she came to the lonely lane behind the Braziers’ Quarter. And, as she had been told, at the very end of that lane sat a rickety old house. There was no mistaking it — it looked like the sort of house a witch would live in. It was tall and thin, with a high attic window and a small white porch. And hanging from the porch was an elegant sign that said:

Dealer in Magic and Spells Reasonable Rates Pls Enquire Within

And below, fiercely handwritten in what looked like mulberry ink:

Hawkers will be transmuted into livestock and sold at market without character (recollect your Homer)

She stepped up onto the porch and tapped three times on the green front door. But it was a witch’s house and she was nervous, so perhaps she tapped a little softly; at any rate no-one came to answer. So then she tried the door, and to her great surprise it was unlatched! (The Witch had rather gotten out of the habit of latching her front door, because nobody with any sense was going to trespass in her house.) Slowly slowly the Bookseller’s eldest daughter pushed the door open and peered into the shadowy hall and whispered “Hello?” And when nobody answered she stepped over the threshold and into the Witch’s house.

Before her were stairs leading up to the first floor, but beyond them the hallway lead to a door, and standing in the doorway holding a candle and looking very surprised was a girl of about her own age. She had long black hair and was wearing a white night dress.

“Oh no,” said the Bookseller’s eldest daughter, “I was looking for the Witch, but I suppose she’s already gone to bed!”

“Well, she was on her way,” said the girl, raising her candle to peer at the visitor.

“But I need her help!” said the Bookseller’s eldest daughter. “It’s very important! Do you think she’d be awful if we woke her up?”

“Oh, I expect she’d probably turn you into a cameleopard and sell you to a travelling menagerie,” said the girl, “She’s frightfully bad-tempered and also very interested in natural history.”

The Bookseller’s eldest daughter wrung her hands. “Oh dear! And I know my father won’t let me away from the shop any earlier tomorrow evening, the business and his dinner must always come first! What am I to do?”

“I find sleeping in one’s own bed to be very efficacious in solving whatever little problem comes one’s way,” observed the girl, “perhaps you could try that?”

“But my sister is in my bed, and she has been half turned into a sheep!” said the Bookseller’s eldest daughter.

“That would seem to be somewhat of an obstacle to a restful night,” the girl admitted. “Although, not ever having found myself in that particular circumstance, I couldn’t say with any certainly.”

And at that the Bookseller’s eldest daughter had a wild idea. She eyed the girl anew. “You must be the Witch’s girl!” she decided.

The girl raised her eyebrows. “Must I?”

“Yes! And so of course you would have seen all sorts of strange things while you were in her service!”

“I suppose that’s true,” said the Witch’s girl.

“So perhaps you could help me save my sister!”

“Perhaps I could,” said the Witch’s girl thoughtfully, “But you must know that the Witch always asks a price for her help. That’s how magic works — even for a Witch’s girl. What would you give me to save your sister?”

Now the Bookseller’s eldest daughter wanted to say ‘Anything!’, just like you would have in her place. But she had read about magic and bargains made with queer folk at night, and besides she was a Woman of Business and knew when and how to barter. So she frowned and said “Of course I want to save my sister more than anything. But I’m afraid I have little to offer you. What do you think you would you like?”

The Witch’s girl considered this. “Perhaps,” she suggested after a moment, “I could offer you a little bit of help in return for a very small price.”

“What sort of price?”

The Witch’s girl put her head on one side and looked at the Bookseller’s long-limbed, tangle-headed daughter, and then she said “From some people I might ask for a secret nobody knows. And from others I might ask for a happy memory. But from you I think I will ask for a single kiss on the lips.”

The Bookseller’s eldest daughter gave her a suspicious look and said “Why, does a kiss have magical properties that you can use for spells?”

The Witch’s girl bristled and said “No! I mean, yes, but no, I was trying to be—!” And then she looked up at the ceiling and sighed in a way that the Bookseller’s eldest daughter thought unnecessarily theatrical. “Do you want my help?”

“Yes,” said the Bookseller’s eldest daughter.

“Well then, will you risk kissing a witch’s girl? Even if she may potentially later use that kiss in sinister and occult ways?”

Then the Bookseller’s eldest daughter looked at the Witch’s dark-eyed girl for a moment, and perhaps she was thinking about her poor enchanted sister and perhaps she wasn’t, but when she answered she said “Alright.”

The Witch’s girl looked a little surprised, but she said “Come along then! And shut the door behind you. The Witch has a horror of strays.” And she turned and lead the way to the back of the house.

Now I don’t know what you think of when you imagine a witch’s kitchen, but when the Bookseller’s eldest daughter stepped into this kitchen she found it was clean and tidy and well kept, though you could still tell that it was a Witch’s kitchen because of the stuffed crocodile hanging from the ceiling and the several jars over the mantelpiece that were labelled things like ‘Unspoken Words Between Lovers’ and ‘Star — unlighted’ and ‘Forgotten Hours’ and one that was unlabelled but which the Bookseller’s eldest daughter suspected contained marmalade.

The Witch’s girl set a kettle on the stove to boil and asked how the Bookseller’s eldest daughter liked her tea, and when they each had a cup and were sitting at the table she said “I suppose you had better tell me what has happened,” and the Bookseller’s eldest daughter did. And then the Witch’s girl sipped her tea and thought.

“Well,” she said after a while, “Of course I’m only the Witch’s girl, but it seems to me that some magician or other has stolen your sister’s head. And the sheep’s head is there to keep her body (and thus her real head) alive. Have you upset any magicians lately?”

“No!” said the Bookseller’s eldest daughter, “we don’t even know any magicians!”

“Perhaps you were recently ill-mannered to a man in a tall pointed hat, possibly covered in stars? You do seem to be rather indifferent to social propriety, so you may not even have noticed how awful you were being.”

The Bookseller’s eldest daughter rolled her eyes and didn’t answer.

“Well then, taking the bolder hypothesis (that is, assuming you haven’t committed some act of breathtaking insolence toward a member of the magical community) perhaps the magician wanted your sister’s head itself. Is she as pretty as you?”

“Oh, much prettier!” said the Bookseller’s eldest daughter.

The Witch’s girl sniffed and said that she didn’t approve of hyperbole. “Now your first problem,” she went on while the Bookseller’s eldest daughter tried to think that through, “is that you don’t know who this magician (or enchanter or fairy prince) is. And I think I can help you with that. Come to me tomorrow with something of your sister’s, preferably—”

But the Bookseller’s eldest daughter was already holding out a comb with a few brown hairs on it. “My sister’s comb. I am a Woman of Business,” she explained, “And I prefer to learn all I can about a matter before striking out on any new endeavour, even magic. William Samcloth’s Several and Diverse Accounts of Antique Sorceries with Commentary indicated that something like this might be useful. Although I’m afraid we only have volumes one and three.”

“I see,” said the Witch’s girl, taking the comb and trying not to look impressed. “Well then, let us begin.” And with quick, clever fingers she freed the hairs and wove them into a circlet. She placed this on the table, then poured a little pool of wine within the ring... and somehow or other not a drop flowed out beyond the circlet of hair, but instead the formed a dark red mirror that reflected the two girls in the candlelight. Then the Witch’s girl blew over the puddle of wine, making waves, and when the waves cleared the Bookseller’s eldest daughter was looking into the firelit study of a wealthy man.

And here was the man himself, tall and distinguished looking, and still in his shirt and vest, though he had changed the coat we last saw him in for a sapphire-blue dressing gown (which appeared a sort of plum colour to the observers).

“Ah,” said the Witch’s girl, “Mister Prosper. A rich man and an ambitious student of magic.”

But now Mister Prosper was making several odd gestures in the air and reciting something-or-other, though no sound could be heard by the two girls bending over the image in that small kitchen. And then a Very Wonderful Person stepped through the curtains. They were tall, even taller than Mister Prosper, and wore an exquisite tail-coat of crimson. The Person’s face was not visible to the young women, but they had hair like a ruby sunset.

The two spoke for a short time, and then Mister Prosper took up a box from his desk and presented it to the person, who opened it and then—!

“Oh!” cried the Bookseller’s eldest daughter, for inside she saw her own dear sister’s head staring fearfully about! The Person picked up the Bookseller’s youngest daughter’s head by the hair and appeared to examine it, then nodded. A bargain had been made. Putting the head back in its box, the Person turned and appeared to summon someone. A moment later a short figure with vine-leaves for hair stepped into view and went to stand before Mister Prosper, looking rather annoyed about everything. The Wonderful Person bowed and disappeared back through the curtains, and the waters settled down to show only the wood of the kitchen table.

“There you are,” said the Witch’s girl sitting back in quiet triumph. “Mister Prosper stole away the head of your sister to give to That Person, and in return he got a fairy servant. And no doubt he’ll be up to all sorts of carry-on now.”

“But where has my sister’s head gone?” cried the Bookseller’s eldest daughter.

“Oh, with the fairies,” said the Witch’s girl, and she handed the circlet of hair back to the Bookseller’s eldest daughter and fetched a cloth to mop up the wine. “And a few hairs aren’t enough to show her to us while she’s with them.”

“But how am I to get her back?!” cried the Bookseller’s eldest daughter.

And the Witch’s girl looked annoyed and said How should she know, she was only the Witch’s girl after all. “I said I would give you a little bit of help, and I have. Now you know what happened to your sister. What happens next is up to you.”

The Bookseller’s eldest daughter thought this through and found she had to agree. “Very well,” she said as she rose to her feet, “I suppose if I am to deal with the fairies I will need to consider that meeting very carefully.”

“Very wise,” said the Witch’s girl, “I shall walk you to the door.”

But as the Bookseller’s eldest daughter was about to step outside the Witch’s girl cleared her throat meaningfully and she suddenly remembered her bargain.

“Oh yes, of course,” she said turning back. The Witch’s girl was standing right behind her and without thinking about it too much the Bookseller’s eldest daughter leant down a little and quickly pressed her lips to the Witch’s girl’s.

Now I don’t know what you think kissing a witch’s girl would be like — maybe chilling like deep water? or dried out and dusty like something old and forgotten? — but the Bookseller’s eldest daughter discovered that this Witch’s girl’s lips were warm and alive and as soft as a whisper. And what she meant to be a brisk transaction went on far longer than she had intended; and in fact it was the Witch’s girl who stepped away first.

“Our bargain is fulfilled,” she said a little gruffly, “Good night.”

And the Bookseller’s eldest daughter found herself standing all alone outside that odd house, facing a firmly closed door.

The next chapter

#The Bookseller’s Eldest Daughter and the Witch’s Girl #myka bering #helena g wells #bering and wells #bering & wells

[deludedfantasy]

Trimax Vol 10 Ch 1-4

Hey guys, how are we doing with volume 10? I had to go lie down on my bed face down multiple times while reading this so....that's how we're doing over here. A good chunk of this is me screaming incoherently. Apologies for the overuse of exclamation points and all caps. I'm deeply unwell about all of this.

Ch 1

Wolfwood's never ending belief in Vash just!!! Wolfwood is a man without faith. But not anymore; now he has faith in Vash.

As he reaffirms his beliefs, he remembers Vash telling him that he gives up hope too easily. Suddenly, now that I know a whole lot more about Wolfwood, that line hits differently. People have said it before but until now I didn’t get how cruel of a thing that was for Vash to say to Wolfwood. He couldn’t know the thing Wolfwood did out of a desperate hope to protect the orphanage. And look at him now, not sure if Vash can defeat Knives, but he has enough hope that he might be able to that he won’t stop fighting. 

Wolfwood won’t give up because Vash has never given up!!! He’s taken on so many of Vash’s ideals, I can’t deal with this. 

Razlo tries to stop Chapel from killing Wolfwood because of how Livio cares about him and I think it’s an interesting moment. It shows us that for all of Razlo’s insatiable bloodlust, he’s concerned with what Livio thinks. He’s certainly not eager to kill Wolfwood and that’s an interesting chink in his armor, since he’s never hesitated to kill anyone before, even if it’s just because he’s suggesting they drag out Wolfwood’s final moments longer. 

Sidenote: oh my fucking god, I’m an idiot. I’ve been making jokes about Wolfwood’s magically appearing handguns for volumes. He’s not pulling them out of his tits, he just has a shoulder holster, like a proper gunman. 

I wanna kill Chapel with my bare hands!!! He’s taking way too much pleasure from shooting Wolfwood over and over again. 

So, Wolfwood hasn’t used his vials because he doesn’t think he’s going to die yet. That’s…yeah, that’s making me feel some things alright. First of all, I’ll say it again, Wolfwood is an incredibly smart fighter. He knows how to fight even while injured and in immense amounts of pain. He couldn’t stand up against Razlo at first, but he took it as an opportunity to learn how Razlo fights and find his weakness, so he could use it against him later. Chapel tells Razlo to stop underestimating him, but I think up until now, Chapel has been doing the same damn thing. 

Second of all, I know where this is going and I :) don’t :) like :) it :) 

Ch 2

Sworn friend? I sure hope that’s Vash because that cover image is going to kill me. Wolfwood’s been STABBED. By a GUN. 

Oh, cool, so Razlo confirms that Chapel is unhealthily obsessed with his students and making them into the perfect weapons for the Eye—morally and physically. He’s truly the abusive father figure of this story.

Well, that explains why Razlo’s been kicked out of the Eye. Killing nine other members in a murder spree will do that.

You know what? Chapel begging for Razlo’s life to be spared might honestly be the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him. It’s no wonder he’s so devoted to Chapel. When everyone else treats you like shit, the guy who shoots himself and begs the council to take mercy on you becomes someone incredibly special, even if he is absolutely insane otherwise.

Huh? When did Ms. Melanie and the kids get outside? I thought they were locked in a cellar. Did some of the other mercenaries bring them up on Chapel’s signal so he could torment Wolfwood more.

Awww, the kids don’t want to leave Ms. Melanie by herself! They care about her and each other so much. This is where Wolfwood gets all his love and caring from. 

Chapel is an evil, evil motherfucker. We know that already, but this moment? Oh, the rage I’m experiencing. He’s playing on Wolfwood's worst nightmare, going all the way back to that dream he had where he tried to hold the kids but couldn’t because there was so much blood on his hands. Chapel went and made that real. He shows Wolfwood’s face to Ms. Melanie, while he’s covered in blood, and lets them know all the terrible things he’s done. Ms. Melanie doesn’t need to say anything. The guilt Wolfwood carries will be enough to bring him low. Chapel knows his student and his weakness so well, and he twists until it hurts. 

ARGH MS. MELANIE DON’T MAKE ME CRY. 

This is Wolfwood’s worst nightmare, but she’s not reacting with disgust or hatred! She isn’t looking away from him! The way she says, “You foolish boy, you tried doing everything on your own again.” It’s so sad, but it’s so fond. She still loves him! She wishes he’d come home earlier! It’s still a painful realization for Wolfwood to have, that he would’ve been welcomed back, but it’s also, maybe, a shock and a relief. 

Also, “You’ve always had so many stubborn ideals and were never one to compromise.” NICHOLAS D. WOLFWOOD THESIS STATEMENT RIGHT HERE. It’s what got him into this mess after all! 

Oh my god Wolfwood! No!!!! Don’t look down on yourself now!!! Ms. Melanie’s right! You  came when you were needed!

AND HE’S THINKING ABOUT VASH AGAIN.

When he’s losing hope, he always thinks of Vash. And he realizes that maybe he should’ve asked him here. Because they work so well together, they could’ve taken out Chapel and Livio and saved everyone! IF ONLY HE HADN’T INSISTED ON DOING EVERYTHING ON HIS OWN. 

“I made a friend. He ain’t as dumb as I am.” Wolfwood, I appreciate your whole-hearted belief in Vash but that man is just as stupid as you are and probably would’ve also run straight into danger without asking for help. You two are just peas in a pod. 

“We could’ve done this as a team.” Yes!!!! Because everything’s different when you’re back to back with him!!! Vash and Wolfwood are a battle couple and when they are together, they’re unstoppable. Wish you’d realized this sooner!!!!

Hey, did Wolfwood just grab all of Chapel’s vials with his mouth? Wolfwood is the king of making batshit insane moves in the span of like three seconds because that was a small opening he had before Chapel shot him or the kids.

A mysterious shuttle appears at the eleventh hour?

IT’S VASH!!! VASH CAME TO HELP HIM!!!

And look at Vash, using his powers to protect people! Not only that, to protect the people Wolfwood cares about!

Ch 3

Wolfwood, come on. You were just thinking about how you and Vash could’ve easily handled this as a team. 

Wolfwood’s self-hatred is blinding him so much he can’t even figure out why Vash would come. Just as Wolfwood considers Vash his friend, Vash thinks the same of him. He’s shown time and time again that he’ll help people in a tough spot. Why not you, Wolfwood? Why don’t you deserve that same kind of care? 

This battle is important to Wolfwood and that’s why it matters to Vash. But of course, the tragedy of it all is that Wolfwood can’t see how much Vash cares about him and admires him because he hates himself too much to even allow love in from someone else. 

And with that thought, it’s time to break out the tissues. 

Razlo’s like, “Ooooh, a worthy opponent? Time to absolutely lose my shit!” 

So, on my first read, I somehow didn’t catch that Wolfwood drank two vials at once when he stole Chapel’s pouch and I was VERY confused for the rest of this volume. Now, however, I’m rolling on the floor sobbing. 

He knows how dangerous this is and how it’ll probably end. But he does it because he thinks he’s going to die anyway. He’s come to the point where he’s not scared of death, and he’d rather go down protecting what he loves than live to see it ruined. 

“If we survive this, drinks are on me.” This line is some horrible foreshadowing, okay. I’m just…I think I need to go take some deep breaths. 

Did Wolfwood just toss Chapel like a log? That’s WILD. Razlo actually gets distracted by it! Then again, he’s so devoted to Chapel that the idea of him dying or being defeated must be pretty tough to deal with.

Wolfwood grabs Punisher again but also, he stops just long enough in the middle of battle to put his glasses back on. He’s hiding. From himself, from everyone at the orphanage, maybe even a little from Vash. He doesn’t want anyone to see what he’s about to become, what he’s about to do. 

There’s been a couple times where I’ve wondered if Vash could read Wolfwood’s mind a little with his telepathic Plant powers and this is another moment. But I actually like to read this as Vash knows him so well that he realizes this himself, because that just hits harder. 

OH. I missed that. Wolfwood killed Chapel. Snapped him like a twig even. 

Razlo is actually so…lonely. The only person who’s ever been kind to him was an equally unhinged cult leader and now he’s dead. And all Razlo knows is violence, so that’s how he responds. As always, Nightow makes me feel so much sympathy for what should be the most villainous of characters. (Except Chapel, that’s the exception that proves the rule here)

Vash and Wolfwood executing insane maneuvers when they fight together because they’re so synced up!!! Certified battle couple. 

Wolfwood lighting a cigarette in the middle of a fight after performing some insane moves is so on brand for him. 

This last interaction is so funny and so them. They don’t know how to use their words! They slap at each other like five year olds and Vash can’t even tell Wolfwood he’s here because he cares about him and wants to help. WHY ARE THEY SO STUPID.

Ch 4

Wolfwood is starting to talk like Vash. The reminiscing about times past, pushing away the help people are offering him—it reminds me of Vash right before he got on the Ark. 

It’s so not like him that it even scares Vash, who tries to remind him that has to live. He’s always wanted to live, right?

Well, except, Wolfwood has finally found what he’s willing to die for. He’s already made the decision. Vash just doesn’t know that yet, and that makes what would usually be a light, bantery scene between them incredibly heavy and so hard to read. 

And Vash, goddammit, he still thinks this is Wolfwood giving up! It’s not, at least not in the way he thinks. Wolfwood is more determined than ever. He hasn’t given up hope. He’s taken all his hope and placed it on Vash, and left none of it for himself. 

“What is important? What are you willing to do to protect it?” → Trigun thesis statement. That’s what the story is all about! The worst part is Vash realizing too late what he would do to protect Wolfwood. 

When Vash really, truly fears that he might lose Wolfwood, that’s the first time he realizes how much he needs and wants him. How badly he wants to survive and see a tomorrow with him. Except, it’s heart-wrenching, because it’s already too late by the time he finally realizes this. Vash has finally found something worth living for and Wolfwood has finally found something worth dying for. How ironic that it’s each other. They’re like ships passing in the night, their lives and wants intersecting for only the briefest of moments before being torn apart.

Just as Vash thinks all of this, he catches Wolfwood. Look how tightly he holds on to him, his fingers pressing into Wolfwood’s skin. He uses his body to shield him, barely noticing the blades in his shoulder. He’s so overcome by what he’s realized, but also that he’s about to lose it all.

Look at the reluctance when he lets go of him. He doesn’t want to, he wants to hold on to him. But Vash would never disrespect Wolfwood’s choices. He knows how much it means to him to be able to do this on his own terms. So no matter how much it hurts him, he lets go. But there is rage in his eyes, an expression that is so alien on Vash, who has always been so in control of his anger. He hates that he has to do this and he hates that it’s this that’s causing it, and he won’t hold back anymore. 

Not the bird symbolism. Because Wolfwood has finally found his freedom in his willingness to accept death.

And Vash beneath it, with his face obscured looking up into the sky, but hunched over beneath the weight of his grief and anguish as he walks away from Wolfwood. God, this image is so powerful. 

#trigun #trigunbookclub

[writingkeepsmewhole]

Are You Afraid Of The Dark?

This is part 5 of Snow In The Dark. Been a while I know but hope you like anyway.

Fic Summary: Snow has never known who she was. Being raised in the streets made her strong but lonely. That changed when she met Jack them becoming as close as sisters. She thought she found her family. That all changes when she crashes on a planet with only one rule. Stay in the light.

Part Summary: Snow finds out about the dangers of the planet.

Riddick x OC Snow

Warnings: Language, slight abuse I think that’s it.

Let me know if you want to be tagged :P : @here4thespice

We all head towards the coring room. Johns taking the lead like it was his idea. One of Iman's boys was missing and Riddick suggested this place.

I quickly recognized the building as the one Jack tried to scare us at. We didn't get a chance to check it out before Johns called for us.

Johns shoots the chains off the doors making the doors smoothly open.

Iman rushes in, Johns telling him to go slow but not going with him.

Jack tries to follow. I quickly grab her before she can run in.

"Jack, wait. Just wait." I say her looking up at me with worry on her face.

Her eyes snap over my shoulder, her looking at something behind me.

I didn't have to turn around or ask. I could feel him behind me. My body is aware of him more than my mind has ever been aware of anything.

I take a breath to settle myself and smile at her.

She spins around to face the inside of the building, us waiting to see what happens.

Carolyn slowly steps into the doorway. All of us huddled around it as Iman moved around the room calling for the child.

I watch him walk towards a cabinet of some sort. The doors are slightly shaking. I jump when he pulls them open.

A swarm of winged beasts comes flying out, knocking him over. Johns and Carolyn quickly move to close the doors to the building, ready to trap Iman in there with them as the flying creatures rush towards us.

I feel an arm wrap around my middle pulling me back a few feet. I gasp from the sudden movement, my back being pressed into a hard chiseled chest.

The smell of him invades my senses. I don't get a chance to figure out what it is before he lets me go.

Everyone slowly moving into the room

"Iman." Johns calls out looking around. Carolyn right behind him.

Iman screams as the two of them rush over to him.

Jack rips herself from my arms running in. I follow her, stopping quickly as everyone looks at the fresh body in the closet.

It is mostly bone left. I can't help but make a face as I realize what happened. Those things ate him.

"Jack, come on." I say moving over to touch her shoulder.

"What happened?" She asks, turning around and hiding her face in my chest.

"Nothing good." I say holding her.

"We must bury him." Iman says solemnly. Him sitting on his knees in shock.

"I'll find something to wrap him with." Johns says I swear, almost sounding annoyed. Carolyn moves to comfort Iman.

"Come on, let's wait outside." I say, leading Jack outside.

Riddick leaning on the side of the building as we walk outside.

"I wanna help them." Jack says, looking at the other children.

I nod and smile at her letting her do what she needed to.

After they bring the boy out and begin their funeral I follow Riddick back inside.

Johns, Carolyn and Sharon standing on a platform over the hole in the middle of the room. Johns lighting a flare and dropping it down. It falls down deep into the ground.

"What happened?" Sharon asks.

"Other buildings weren't secure." Riddick says walking under the platform.

Him crouching down to look into the hole. His goggles pushed up on his forehead. I follow him, seeing nothing but bones at the bottom.

"So they ran here. Heaviest doors. Thought they'd be safe inside. But they forgot to lock the cellar."

I look over at him wondering how he gathered all that so fast.

Hearing footsteps I look past him seeing Sharon approaching us as Riddick puts his goggles back on.

"Here." She says taking her oxygen off and throwing it at him.

Him catching it easily.

"What, it's broken?" He asks, throwing it down on the ground.

"No, there's still a few hits."

"Actually you asshole, I'm trying to say that I'm sorry." She says surprising me since she wanted to kill him just a few hours ago.

Johns stopped behind her looking at us.

"Okay." He says as if telling us to stop talking.

"Let's bored this place up and get the hell outta here." He says motioning us to follow him.

Sharon kicks the oxygen towards Riddick, her arms crossed as she walks off.

I don't focus on what John's and Carolyn are talking about. Johns just talking about staying out of the dark. Instead I watched Riddick bend down and pick up the oxygen. Him placing it around his shoulder.

I watch his brows wrinkle up as if he's dealing with something on the inside. I quickly realize no one has ever done anything nice for him before. My heart clenched at the thought. He was a street kid just like me.

He straightens up and looks over at me. I offer him a smile which he doesn't return. Him moving over to where Carolyn is playing with a diagram of the planet we were on and the ones around it along with the three suns. 

"Eclipse." She says softly.

"A total eclipse."

"You're not afraid of the dark are you?" Riddick asks, smirking.

Despite not knowing him that long I knew that smirk. The one where he knew no matter what happened he was going to be just fine.

"We need to leave before it gets dark." I say, everyone turning to look at me.

"Let's go." Carolyn says standing up and going outside. Johns quickly followed after her. The others going with them as well.

"I need to go find Jack." I say, turning to look up at Riddick.

He nods but doesn't speak. I start to turn around heading for the door but stop when his voice fills my ears.

"A lot more people are gonna die before we get off this rock. Be sure you're not one of them." He says, making me look over at him.

"I will, because I'm not afraid of the dark." I say, watching a twisted smile form on his lips.

I return it without thinking of the tug of splitting skin on my lip reminding me of Johns hitting me.

Riddick steps closer to me. His presence consumes the space around me. I almost shiver. Almost. Instead I take a deep breath, something I'm sure he noticed.

He leans into me, his face inches from mine. I have to resist the urge to close my eyes. His mouth is so close to my ear I can feel his breath.

“You should take care of who gave you that busted lip.” He whispers, his voice rumbling through me.

“Or would you like me to?” He asks, making my stomach flip. A fluttering settling deep inside it.

I just got turned on by him threatening to kill someone for me.

I take another breath through my nose to calm myself down. This time the smell of him makes my head spin.

Charcoal, spice and something I can’t quite put my finger on. But it’s enough to make me want to reach out and taste him.

Instead I clench my fist and take a step away from him.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I got it.” I say, having no intentions on killing Johns but it got my mind off of wanting to climb Riddick like a tree.

“We should get started on leaving before it gets dark.” I say, taking another step away from him.

Him looking at me, making me wish I could see his reaction but I can’t for those goggles of his.

“I’ll find you later.” I say, earning a smirk from him.

I quickly spin around and leave the building.

‘I’ll find you later?’ I question myself feeling my face heat up from embarrassment.

Trying not to think about the alpha male that is Riddick I quickly make some distance between him and me. I decided to walk around for a few minutes to clear my mind before I found Jack. I knew my face was flushed and I didn’t want her asking questions.

I don’t know how long I walked around for.

Coming around the forgotten houses I’m stopped when someone suddenly grabs my arm jerking me towards them.

I let out a grunt when my back is slammed into the mettle wall behind me.

“What the heck?” I ask looking up to see Johns glaring down at me.

“What are you two planning?”

His other hand snaps up grabbing my jaw pinning me in place. I match his glare trying to pull my face from him. He tightens his grip so hard I feel like he's going to break my jaw.

“I’ll ask you again. What are you two planning?”

“Nothing!” I yell at him.

“Don’t lie to me bitch. You are planning something with Riddick. You have been doing it since we got here.” He says a crazed look in his eyes as he pushes himself closer to me.

“Let me go.” I say clenching my jaw as he tightens his grip both on my arm and face.

“Tell me and I will.” He says his breath fanning over my face.

“Let go before I hurt you.” I say earning a laugh from me.

“We both know you’re not going to do that.” “Let. Me. Go.” I say through clenched teeth.

“Not until you tell me what I want.” He says pressing himself closer trying to intimidate me with his size.

I close my eyes feeling the darkness start to drip into my mind. Tilting my head I try to fight it, knowing Johns would be dead when I came back.

I take a deep breath and open my eyes looking back up at him. His gaze is wild and unfocused the way I’ve seen beggars on the street look. Johns was definitely a user of something and he was coming down from it.

When his finger tips dig harder into my skin I don’t stop myself from reacting this time.

With one arm free I use everything I have to hit him in the throat, at the same time my knee jerks up to hit him in the balls.

I don’t react as he drops to the ground holding both sites of impact, gasping for air as I crouch down over him.

“Touch me again and I will kill you.” I say, my heart racing.

Standing up I quickly walk away from him. This time it’s a completely different reason why I don’t go find Jack.

I slip into a nearby house hopefully away from everyone and go into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

It was small, barely big enough for the necessities. Looking in the mirror over the sink I take a shaky breath.

As the adrenaline leaves my body the ache in my jaw and arm find their way into my brain. That plus the angry red marks tells me what I already knew. They would bruise.

I take breath to calm myself, the darker side of me still hovering on the edge of my mind.

“You're okay.” I tell myself my voice barely a whisper.

“Just get off this planet, survive.” I say, calming myself down.

I stay  in the bathroom for a few moments then walk out. Leaving the house I head back towards the ship.

Jack runs up to me when she sees me.

“Hey I was- what happened?” She asks when she gets close enough to see the marks on me.

“It’s nothing. For now.” I say smiling at her.

“Did Riddick-?” She starts to ask, the look I give her is enough to shut her up.

“No, the cop did this.” I say looking behind her not seeing Johns anywhere.

“Stay away from him okay?” I ask, placing my hands on her shoulders.

“Yeah, okay.” She says, nodding.

Smiling at her I rub her cheek then pull away from her walking closer to the ship, to join the rest of the group.

#riddick #chronicles of riddick #richard b riddick #riddick fanfiction #riddick x reader #pitch black fanfic #pitch black fic #pitch black #snow in the dark