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kentopedia · 7 months

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♰ sweet serial killer — nakahara chuuya

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ KINKTOBER NO. 4 - serial killer!chuuya

chuuya's always in such a rush to get home to you, so he can't really be blamed if he misses a few drops of blood on his clothes.

contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, murder, blowjob, obsession, soft chuuya, one use of slut, pet names, slight corruption kink — 2.3k

the bloodstains had never gone unnoticed by you, despite what chuuya had thought.

the deep smear of maroon was the first thing that caught your eye each time he came home, smeared on his white collars, on the sleeves of his crisp button-ups.

naively, or perhaps out of sheer desperation, you forced yourself to believe that they were merely from cuts on his hand, ones that he’d missed, wiping them only on his shirt on accident. chuuya, from time to time, could be accident prone. he’d hit his hip on the countertops, stub his toe and curse profusely after, constantly too rough on his body. it wouldn’t have been unusual if one of those silly errors had led to a more serious injury.

truly, there were a plethora of things that could have explained why drops of blood so frequently coated his clothing—just none that made sense to you.

the more you tried to rationalize it with yourself, the more outlandish your theories became. you couldn’t justify the blood running down the back of his shirt, not when you’d scrubbed his skin raw in the shower and found no cut. you couldn’t explain the dirt on his pants, the way that he’d spend half an hour in the bathroom every time he returned, turning the white porcelain of the shower a watery red.

chuuya snuck out late often, came back even later. every time he thought you were asleep, you’d pop one eye open, notice that the door was cracked, and watch as he scrubbed his clothes clean in the sink.

after, he’d slink into bed with you, curl around you with a heavy sigh, and kiss you deeply before passing out, as if nothing had changed at all.

for a while, you’d wondered if he was cheating on you—but it seemed so unlike chuuya, and there was no other evidence to point in that direction.

you had another theory, of course, but it seemed crazy—the musings of an overactive imagination. it was unfair to chuuya, too, who was the most loving person you’d ever met. maybe he stayed out late, disappeared to places you didn’t know about… but he was charming, caring, and he loved you, didn’t he?

but after nearly two months of enduring the routine, you decided not to let him off the hook any longer. if chuuya couldn’t be honest with you after a year of dating, moving in with one another, you weren’t sure he ever would be.

something about bringing it up to him, starting the conversation, was too frightening, and instead, you followed him one evening, when he snuck off on his bike, disappearing after midnight.

he stopped first at a bar, coming out only thirty minutes later with a pretty woman on his arm, smiling roguishly as he gestured towards his motorcycle. for a moment, you had almost thrown up in your car, tears hot in your eyes as you wondered if, maybe, your suspicions were right. maybe he was cheating on you, even when you’d believed chuuya to be utterly devoted to you.

maybe it had all just been a lie, an act he excelled at.

still, you held your shaky hands around the wheel, determined not to get ahead of yourself. there wasn’t proof—yet—of that insurrection. you wouldn’t judge him until you knew for certain.

if he had any idea that you were following him, he gave no indication of it.

chuuya took her to an abandoned dock, one that was crumbling with old ships and empty slots, the dark waves crashing against the shore under navy october skies. it was eerie, hauntingly so, the sign decrepit and wasting away, the perfect place to commit a murder and get away with it.

he snuck in past the locked gate easily in his motorcycle, but you were forced to park beyond it and trudge ahead on foot. you only hoped that your car wouldn’t get broken into—and that you wouldn’t be killed in the meantime.

in the midst of your search for chuuya, you heard a scream—it rang out through the port, loudly, echoing in the hollowness of the empty air. there was no one around but you, no one to save whatever soul had met their demise.

against the logic of every horror film you’d ever watched, you followed the noise, running towards it with heavy breaths in the cold air. the wind snuck down your throat, burning your lungs.

you found him at the edge of the dock.

the screaming stopped, cut off abruptly as chuuya landed another rough hit of his knife, blood spewing over his blade, into his face, down his neck. he brought the silver weapon down over and over again, sticking it into the woman’s side, her chest, the sound as steely as it was in the movies.

for a moment, you froze, unsure what do as you stared at your boyfriend, the one who smiled at you so sweetly. it was hard to reconcile him to this monster.

chuuya stood, straightened, and though your body was screaming at you to run, you could do nothing but stand and stare, breaths heavy at the sight of his familiar frame. if you ran, he’d only catch up to you. but if you didn’t…

“did you follow me?” chuuya turned, then, revealing only his side profile, so dark and glossy with red.

you hands shook at your sides. “i—” the sound was so weak that you couldn’t finish your sentence. “chuuya, i’m sorry,” you said in a panic, wondering if you dropped to your knees, begged him that you wouldn’t tell, then maybe he’d let you live.

he sighed and wiped his face, though the blood smeared worse in the process. it streaked over his chin, his jaw, as it dripped from the blade in his gloved hand. “‘it’s okay, doll. ‘m not gonna hurt you.” chuuya took a step forward, and though you couldn’t help it, you stepped back, shaking with fear. he stopped then, eyes softening at your fragility. “i promise.”

“chuuya,” you said again, helplessly. “what’s going on?”

he let the knife clatter onto the dock, his hands held high in surrender. with a sigh, his shoulders deflated. “you weren’t supposed to see me like this, baby.”

“you killed someone,” you choked out, tears streaming down your cheeks.

he looked out towards the ocean, his tongue running over his teeth before his jaw clenched, tightly. “it’s just a little something i gotta take care of, okay? i’d never hurt you. i love you, remember?”

that seemed like the kind of stupid thing that only took place in books; a serial killer truly loving the woman that he kissed at night. but chuuya…

well, it seemed hard to believe that everything about him had been a lie.

“you’re scaring me,” you said, wiping your face. “i don’t—”

he was upon you in two strides, stripping the gloves that held someone else’s blood, seeping into the fabric. his cold hands cupped your face, and there he was: the man you adored, delicate fingers tracing your jaw, eyes full of adoration for you, and not an ounce of malice. “i’m sorry, baby, i’m sorry,” he said, kissing your cheeks, your nose, pressing affection into every pore. “i wish i didn’t have to, but,” he kissed you hard, wrapping you up in his arms. “it’s just an itch i can’t stop scratching.”

you knew enough about serial killers to understand what he meant. “she was an innocent person,” you argued, though you were melting into chuuya’s arms, forgetting your fear, despite your sprinting heart.

“no, no,” chuuya countered, his hands lacing through your hair. “i worked with her. she’s been after me for weeks. slipping things into my drinks when she thinks i’m not looking.” he smiled, but something about it was dark, evil. “just like that man who followed you home three weeks ago. just like your ex-boyfriend who made you cry every day. or the man who tried to mug your best friend. they’re people who hurt others. they’re not innocent, are they?”

chuuya seemed genuinely curious, his head cocking to the side, and his fingers stilled, his lips red not from blood, but from his force of his kisses.

you let a shaky breath leave your lips. “you did all that?”

when he put it that way—was it such a bad thing? you had been relieved when your horrid ex-boyfriend had been found dead on the streets. perhaps the men who found it fun to prey on unsuspecting women deserved a gruesome death just like him.

maybe even the woman who had her sights set on your boyfriend shouldn’t get off any easier.

“if i must live with this sin,” chuuya said, a response to your silence, his eyebrows pulled together tightly, “it only makes sense i should do something good with it.”

“by killing the people that hurt me?”

“well,” he smiled softly, “what other purpose do i have to live for?”

the weight of chuuya’s devotion washed over you, and you remembered your previous thought, of needing to drop to your knees and beg chuuya for your life. now, though, he was staring at you so lovingly that you fell to your knees in a different way, brushing your hair out of your face.

chuuya watched as your fingers ran over the bulge in his pants delicately, a thirst starting in your stomach. you loved him. and if you ever doubted that fact, now you were certain.

“what are you doing, doll?” chuuya asked, breathlessly, watching as you undid his belt, slid the silver zipper down his tight black pants. “you just found out your boyfriend’s a serial killer, and you’re gonna suck him off… are you that much of a slut?”

you’re not sure why the mean name spurred you on further, sent need coursing through you as your mouth watered for chuuya.

“my boyfriend killed someone who was trying to take him from me,” you smiled sweetly, licking your lips. “who else can say the same?’

chuuya sucked in a breath as you freed him from the confines of his tightened pants, stroking your manicured hand down the length of him, the touch barely there. then, you wrapped your hand around him, your fingers tightening as you watched the flush start from his neck, the red that couldn’t hide, even beneath the smears of blood.

“you wanna watch next time?” he teased, wispy strands of hair falling over his eyes. “if a man ever bothers you, just tell me, sweetheart. i’ll kill him with you right by my side.”

you were ashamed by how much that turned you on, the pool of desire sinking in your stomach. already, you ached to get your lips on chuuya, and you stroked him eagerly, listening as his gasps grew faster.

quicker than anticipated, chuuya was hard, the tip sticky as sweat gathered at his hairline. his lips parted so beautifully when he stared down at you with darkened grey eyes.

“maybe i’ll kill them myself,” you said back in a sultry voice, knowing perfectly well that your fingers would tremble around the blade, that you couldn’t kill a man even if you wanted to. still, you liked pretending to be chuuya’s beautiful siren as your thumb grazed over his slit, just feet away from the woman he killed. “think i’d look pretty with blood on my face, chuuya?”

chuuya groaned as your hand sped faster, shiny and sticky as he leaked down your palm. “oh, you’re pretty all the time, but god, knowing you’re just as fucked up as me would drive me wild.”

you smiled, chuuya’s cock stiff in your hand as you pulled away, licked the wetness from your palm. blinking up at him from under your lashes, chuuya’s gaze grew dark, his patience waning.

“taste good, chuuya,” you grinned, wiping your hands off on your thighs as you finally positioned your lips over his tip, kissing him lightly.

he hissed, but kept his hips still. “yeah? want me to cum in your mouth? fuck,” he said as you sank your hot lips over him, your tongue running along the side of his aching cock. a heavy hand landed on your head, and chuuya stroked your hair lovingly, his breathing heavy as you hollowed your cheeks. “such a messy girl, all for me. so hungry for my cock, aren’t you?”

you made a soft sound, your mouth too full of him to speak.

“y-yeah,” chuuya stuttered, his chest heaving as your fingers reached up to stroke him gently, massage his balls as spit made a mess all over your face. “fuck. fuck, you’re so perfect. i can’t let anyone else have you. gonna kill anyone who even looks at you.” chuuya groaned, his other hand coming around to cup your cheek, thumb stroking you in adoration. “i bet you’d like that. you’re so desperate for attention, and you’ve got all of mine.”

his words came out more raspy, then, voice lingering on the edge of a sigh. you ran your tongue along the vein, swallowing around him once more. from the deepened sound of chuuya’s voice, you knew he was close, and his fingers curled in your hair, roughly, squeezing at your scalp.

he choked out his words, chest rising quickly. “just like that, sweetheart, such a good girl. you’re gonna make me cum.” his voice strained as his hand guided you, gently, along his aching cock.

there was little warning when he shot thick ropes of cum into your mouth, yanking on your hair tightly as you swallowed as much as you could. it leaked onto your lips, down your chin, and you glanced up at chuuya with lust-blown eyes, smiling with flushed cheeks.

“i love you, chuuya,” you said, your hands resting on your lap as he gazed down at you, cock twitching once more at the sight of you so ruined.

“shit. i love you too, doll,” he said, pulling you to your feet, cradling you against his chest. “i’m never going to let anyone hurt you again. i’ll keep you safe, okay?”

you smiled, nodded at the sight of his flushed cheeks, but already, he was tugging at your waistband, sticking cold fingers down your pants.

“chuuya,” you gasped, grabbing onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady. “what are you doing?”

he smirked, eyes dark as he rubbed a finger through your wet folds. “didn’t think i’d let you go without taking care of you first, did you?” chuuya asked, watching the breaths come out of you quicker. “besides,” he nodded over his shoulder towards the lifeless, bloodstained body, eyes wide and white in fear as she stared. “we can’t leave without giving her a show.”

tags: @hannzai @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346 @annoyingpainterprincess

OCTOBER MASTERLIST

sorry guys i kinda rushed through this one a bit bc i wanted to get back to writing about my scrumdiddlyumptious pookie bear :/ (dazai)

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moronkombat · 6 months

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Straight to it, Bi Han finds his wife dead 😘🥰😍

tw: character death, afab pronouns used

god this ask is blessed

Wind blows lightly, the breeze is warm and pleasant. Loose strands of pure ebony wisp past the curve of a cheek bone while eyes just as dark look to a gathering of flowers so perfectly planted. Bi-Han watches as petals fall limp and wrinkled, flora beginning the end of its life. There's a hand holding his, so much smaller than his own, yet the weight heavier than any mountain.

He hears her speaking and notices her adoring smile. She is beautiful, really, a grand masterpiece of humanity's kindness. Bi-Han loves her more than he can love anything else. She knows this, he never has to say it. He need only look upon her and his heart shines through his gaze.

They stood together in their garden as they always did before Bi-Han had to go. This their own little sanctuary where time stops. They should have never left that place.

Heart pounds in his chest, legs carry him faster and faster. Blood has spattered and drenched him while he runs through hallways that seem almost endless. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This meant to be between him and the Tengu and yet they have pulled that which is most precious to Bi-Han in its horrible grasp.

Ice continues to pierce those who stand in his way and the blood is so heavy upon his skin. He cannot stop, he must find her. Bi-Han knows the Tengu have her, they had told him as much. Their bodies are ripped and torn as the frantic man searches for his kidnapped wife.

The corpses have led him to some place dark but her light still shines through. There she stands, held by hands Bi-Han wishes to slice. Her eyes...she is terrified. She quivers and shakes while tears dirty her face. Bi-Han rages, an internal war erupts. Beast like eyes stare at the one who holds her from him and fingers twitch and become frigid.

"I'll kill you..." Bi-Han rasps through his bloodstained mask and everything within him begins to shake.

The Tengu looks at him, unafraid and resilient. He hums something that Bi-Han doesn't catch before eyes begin to crinkle into a smile.

"I know." He says. "But I will destroy you."

No! Bi-Han lunges forward, the ice that runs in his veins manifesting into life. Life really is a fickle thing. Blades catch the dimmed light of the room and beam with the strength of the sun. Sharpened and refined metal cuts through the air before it embraces flesh. Ribs begin to crack, blood begins to pour and her shriek lasts only but a moment before lungs are lacerated by a Tengu's wrath.

Blood flies through the air and paints a man most terrified. Droplets of her warm and scalding blood find themselves colliding onto Bi-Han's cheek as he reaches forward for her. Eyes widen while hers begin to fade dim. There's a scream. One inhuman and broken apart. As she falls, ice cuts through her attacker's throat and a life is ended.

Before that wretched Tengu body and even hit the floor, Bi-Han is cradling his dear wife who gasps and writhes in pain. His eyes look over her, blood is pooling from her wound even as his hands attempt to stop it.

"No, no, no, no-" Bi-Han panics, cold hands covered in burning crimson as a palm lays against her chest. "It's going to be alright, it's going to be okay-"

She knows he is lying but her words cannot form. Too trapped by the gasps for breath and cries of pain. Her blood is spilling faster now, it falls from her lips and runs down her chin like a flowing stream. The visage of him begins to blur until there is nothing but an obscured void.

"Stay with me now...!" his words all she has left to cling to but even they begin to echo and fade.

Her gasps, her pained whines...they are gone now. She is gone. An empty body is left in her place, limp and heavy. Bi-Han's eyes dart around her, a hand coated in red cups her cheek. He called out her name but she merely stares back at him with hazy eyes and bloody lips. Bi-Han's trembling body now crumbles apart and he cradles her just as he did when they were alone in that very special garden. The garden they never should have departed from.

He cries, he wails, begging her to speak to him, to hold him like she always did. She cannot, her body no better than the corpses he left behind. There's hurried clatter, the sound of footsteps approaching. Two younger brothers stand in the doorway, staring at the sight they should have never seen.

They stand together, Tomas and Kuai Liang looking at each other. Both are unsure of what to say as they watch their eldest brother sob and hold onto an empty husk of what was once the love of his life.

Bi-Han's mind is lost to him. He begs and pleads for her to awaken; he screams in the agony of pure destruction. The one he cries for cannot hear him. The wind blows lightly, the breeze cold and haunting.

#mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat fanworks #mortal kombat headcanons #mk1 #mortal kombat x reader #bi han #mk1 bi han #bi han x you #bi han x reader

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optimizche · 2 years

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Missing (Part 4) [Aemond Targaryen x Reader]

Warnings: Angst angst angst.

A loud groan left your throat as you came to, after remaining unconscious for what felt like a few minutes. Or a few hours, you couldn't tell.

The first thing you registered was the warm crackling of a fire nearby, the sound of the storm still raging outside. Using your arm to prop yourself up, you leaned up against the closest support, realising as you looked around that you were in a cave.

"Ah, you're awake, little dove," came Aemond's voice and you glanced at him. He sat across from you in the cave, a bandage of torn cloth, perhaps from his coat, wrapped around his head.

Trying so desperately to stanch the blood that still wept from his wound. He looked rather pale, his lips a lighter color as he held on to his head with a hand.

"Firstly," you began, swallowing the dry lump in your throat as you leaned back against the wall for comfort, fighting against dehydration. "That bandage is a recipe for a festering wound that will kill you from the infection's fever. Secondly, head wounds always tend to bleed rather profusely. And finally, I am not your 'little dove.'"

Aemond stared at you, his good eye widening incredulously, while the firelight danced across the sapphire shining in his lost eye socket. "I carried you all the way to this cave, started a fire to keep you warm and this is how you repay me?" he asked, sounding almost hurt.

"I'm actually surprised we're not halfway to King's Landing on the back of your dragon," you remarked, running your hand across the large, dried bloodstain on your waist.

Your wounds and fractures had healed themselves rather well as you remained unconscious, only the slightest hint of residual pain accompanying each movement you made of your torso. It was nothing unbearable.

"Wouldn't it have been nice to have King Viserys' personal healer and the ward of Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon as your hostage?"

Aemond looked at you with barely hidden disgust. "Have you lost your mind? I would never hold you hostage. I am not a dishonourable man."

"And yet you fucked your sister while she was married to your brother," you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him, feeling your strength grow with each passing second.

He watched as the blood returned to your cheeks, your full lips curled into a cruel smile as you remained on your side of the cave.

Refusing to make a single move to heal the head wound that had weakened him with blood loss.

"So, this is your game," he said, coming to the realisation that you were not going to heal him until you had the truthful answers to your questions. "You'll let me bleed?"

"Until you speak the truth."

"You'd allow me to die?"

"You almost tried to kill Lucerys! And you thought a few sweet words would turn me?" you sneered. "It is too little, far too late, Aemond Targaryen. You should have slit my throat while you had the chance."

He let out a disbelieving chuckle. "Is that how heartless you've become while you remained at Dragonstone? What happened to the girl I once knew?"

You looked at him with a hardened gaze.

"She died when you forsook her for a dragon and your sister."

Aemond stared at you, knowing that he had reached an impasse in this conversation. He could now see, from the fierce determination on your face in the firelight, that there would be no further reasoning with you. The anger and hurt he had caused you all those years ago had festered into bitterness and cruelty.

He leaned back against the wall, wincing slightly as he continued to bleed from his head. "State your terms, My Lady," he said and you grinned at how petty he sounded, returning to formalities.

"Gladly, Prince Aemond," you said, making sure that he took note of you avoiding the customary 'My Prince' honorific. "You answer my questions and truthfully. The whole truth and nothing but the truth. You swear under oath, not to attack me once I've healed you. Once you give me the answers to my questions, I shall heal you and depart, the both of us heading our separate ways."

"So that you can return to those bastardous whelps at Dragonstone?" he asked, smirking. "Your baby Lucerys who took my eye and your precious Jacaerys, who you took to your chambers that night in King's Landing?"

You blanched at his words. How did he know about Jacaerys?

"Have you been spying on me, Prince Aemond?" you asked, grinning openly now to cover how flustered you felt. "Is the one-eyed Prince jealous? Of his own nephews? Tsk, such a shame…."

"Hold your tongue-"

"You hold your tongue when you speak of my family, Prince Aemond!" you interrupted him, harshly. "Their mother and stepfather gave me a home when I had none. Lucerys cut your eye when he was trying to defend his own brother and cousins against you needless taunts. And if you are implying that I took Jacaerys to my bed, you are sorely mistaken. My maidenhead remains intact. I am nothing like you with your precious Helaena-"

"Shut up!" he roared. "You take advantage of my generosity and test the limits of my mercy? I should've beheaded you while I had the chance!"

You stood to your feet, brushing off the dust from your riding leathers. "I'm glad we've finally shown each other our true colours, Prince Aemond. I'll see myself out. Try not to bleed out and fall from your dragon in this nasty storm as you fly, half-conscious, to King's Landing," you said, taking a few steps towards the exit of the cave.

"No! Wait!" He cried out, suddenly desperate and very much in pain. "Please! I agree! I agree to your terms."

"Well, well," you said, sitting back down in your corner of the cave, crossing your ankles and leaning back leisurely against the wall. "So you swear under oath not to hurt me after I've healed you after you've truthfully answered my questions?"

"Yes! Gods be good!" he said, urgently. "I swear it."

"Wonderful," you said, with barely hidden elation. "First question. Which Baratheon girl did you betroth yourself to?"

Aemond gave you a look of pure loathing, remaining silent.

"Come on," you prodded. "Maris? Floris?"

He closed his eye in defeat. "Cassandra. Maris is a heathenous bitch."

You felt you heart skip a beat, feeling a pang of pain that you carefully did not allow to make its way to your face. So he had betrothed himself to another girl…

"Next question," said, far too quickly. Trying to distract yourself from how intently Aemond was looking at your face for some kind of reaction to his betrothal. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction. "Jaehaerys and Jaehaera-"

"Do you really wish to hear this?" he asked, raising a brow. "All of this?"

"Yes," you breathed, almost defiantly, trying to ignore how your heart was already sinking.

"Fine. Have it your way," Aemond said, sounding resigned. "I had always harboured feelings of affection for Helaena. But after her wedding to Aegon, I saw how badly he treated her. Barely acknowledging her presence, let alone respecting her as his lady-wife. She turned to me for comfort, as she had, since childhood. But this time, it wasn't so innocent… And I ended up bedding her."

You blinked, staring into the fire still crackling away merrily, feeling the weight of a million bushels suddenly fall on your heart, crushing it. Why did you still feel pain? Why did you still feel anything for this man?

"So," you began, carefully ensuring that your voice remained steady and did not break. "While Aegon was fucking handmaidens and serving girls, you were in bed with your sister?"

"Yes," Aemond sighed, running a hand over his face. "Helaena and I justified it as a Targaryen tradition," he laughed ruefully. "The twins are mine, I admit it."

Eyes moving to stare at the wall above him, you blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling. It almost made you feel lightheaded, hearing him speak the truth at last. But more than feeling hurt, you felt a sense of anger.

Had he truly never felt anything for you? Ever?

Before you even knew it, you had asked him the question aloud.

"I did. I still do, whether you believe me or not," he said, making a move to get closer to you but you held up your hand, wanting to keep your distance. "You were my best friend and I loved you more than I loved my siblings. All those days we spent together under the weirwood tree are still some of my fondest memories of you. When you left, I felt like there was an immense void left behind in my life. I tried to keep myself busy with combat training, dragon-riding and studying. I tried to lose myself in Helaena. But somewhere in my mind, you always remained."

You chuckled mournfully, feeling the tears freely falling down your cheeks. "Your love for me was not enough to stop you from fathering your sister's children. You call Jace and Luke bastards, when your own sister's children are-"

Aemond looked at you, hearing you trail off into the silence as you stared into the fire.

"There is no going back for us now," you said, your voice ringing with finality. "We're both on opposite sides of this war."

"That we are," he admitted. "But I desperately wish it didn't have to be this way."

You raised yourself to your feet, brushing the hair away from your face as you made your way to him.

To fulfill your promise.

Kneeling down before him, you drew his face into your palms. "I'm sorry, I wasn't there to heal your eye. And I'm sorry that my love wasn't enough to keep you faithful to me," you said, running your thumb down his scar, caressing the sapphire underneath it.

"Thank you for being truthful to me," you said, before bringing your lips to meet his.

For how many years had you longed to kiss Aemond, to know what it felt like. You had always gone to bed with a smile as a young girl after imagining how happy you'd be to be able to kiss him.

But now, you felt like your heart had hardened into stone and even the warmth of his lips moving feverishly against yours wasn't enough to break through it.

You could feel every wound that he had sustained in the fall heal itself, the gash on his head sealing itself like magic.

It was only when Aemond's own hands found their way to your face that you drew back with a gasp, pushing his hands away.

"There. You're healed," you said, forcing yourself to your feet even as he stayed sitting on the floor. Seemingly dazed by the kiss.

"I wish the wound you left behind in my heart could heal just as easily," you said, walking away from him.

"Goodbye, Aemond."

He called out your name, asking you to wait, asking you to stay, but you made your way out of the cave, shouting for Aquerion to come get you…

Through the flight to Dragonstone, your mind was racing. You could feel your sorrow turn into anger, blistering through your soul.

Your eyes were dry, far too tired to shed any more tears in the name of Aemond Targaryen.

This was a war that you found yourself in the middle of.

This wasn't child's play.

----------

When you arrived at Dragonstone, you received a welcome befitting royalty.

Prince Daemon hugged you and told you how proud he was of you. Queen Rhaenyra almost had tears in her eyes as she clutched your hands in hers, thanking you for rescuing her dearest Lucerys.

"You were right, my dear," she said. "I should've never sent Lucerys alone to Storm's End. You saved my son's life and for that I am forever indebted to you."

You embraced Lucerys, Joffrey, Rhaena and Baela, laughing happily at being reunited with your family.

But it was when you hugged Jacaerys that the anger you felt against Aemond Targaryen morphed into a thirst for revenge.

Grabbing Jacaerys' hand, you asked him to take you to the rookery at the Sea Dragon Tower. Immediately.

"But, sweet one, don't you want to rest?" he asked, looking at you with worry in his dark eyes. "You've just arrived from battle. Surely a warm meal and a good night's rest-"

"Jace," you said. "Please take me to the rookery. Now."

Acquiescing to your request, Jacaerys took you to Sea Dragon Tower where you met with Maester Gerardys.

"I will need a quill, a pot of ink and parchment. Plenty of parchment," you said, seating yourself at a desk. "And sealing wax."

"Right away, My Lady," Maester Gerardys said, going to his study to fetch the supplies.

Jacaerys could see the gears turning in your head as you stared at the sea before you from the tower's window. "What are you doing, sweet one?" he asked, grasping your hand.

"Jace," you said, giving his hand a squeeze. "What I write in these letters, you mustn't breathe a word of this to anyone. Not your brother, not your mother, not Prince Daemon. No one. Swear to me."

Jacaerys looked perturbed at your request, but swore that he would remain silent.

Once the Maester arrived with the supplies you needed, you made him swear to secrecy as well, before getting down to your work.

With Jace sitting on the chair beside you, you asked the Maester that you two were not to be disturbed, at any cost, as you confined yourself to the room.

Quill and ink in hand, you took a sheet of parchment and wrote. Carefully writing each word, each alphabet, so that your handwriting would remain unrecognisable to the one person this letter was going to hurt the most.

As you wrote the letter, you could feel Jace's eyes growing wide with shock beside you, scanning the contents of the letter.

You wrote and wrote. The same letter in multiple copies. One for each major and minor house of Westeros.

Denying yourself any sustenance, save for some tea that Jace almost forced you to drink, you sat at the desk, writing for hours. Well past sunset and well into the night, leaving it to Jace and Maester Gerardys to seal and dispatch each letter with a raven.

Ravens flew to the Vale and Winterfell, your letters going to Casterly Rock and Highgarden. You wrote to the Citadel and to the leaders of the Faith of the Seven. Even Dorne.

You wrote to the Great Houses, Noble Houses, Knightly Houses and Masterly Houses. You wrote to Shield Houses and Sistermen Houses.

You wrote and wrote until your hand hurt and until you felt like you were seeing words swim before your very eyes.

You wrote, ignoring Jace's protests that you should rest, you should eat…

You wrote well into the next morning, watching the sun rise as you finally grasped your quill, pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and wrote your last, most important letter.

To Aegon, worded slightly differently, but its message remaining the same in essence as your other letters:

I am a writing as a concerned citizen of your kingdom. You, of all the people in Westeros, deserve to know the truth that has been concealed in plain sight by your own kin.

The children you call your own are bastards, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, fathered by Prince Aemond, not you. Your Queen, Helaena, lay with your brother Aemond, giving birth to bastards born of adultery. It is my duty to bring light to these sins and falsehoods that have been hidden from you.

Your legacy is a lie, and you in your own heart know that the true queen of the Seven Kingdoms is your half-sister, Queen Rhaenyra, the firstborn child of King Viserys and his proclaimed heir.

Strike your banners, swear fealty to the rightful Queen and give up your throne before plunging the realm into war.

Sincerely,

Your well-wisher.

As you watched the last raven depart, you slumped down in your chair, looking at the rising sun, knowing that your actions would change the tide of this war.

"Do you think I've done the right thing?" you asked Jacaerys, finally allowing the exhaustion that you felt to creep into your mind.

"The realm needs to know the truth, sweet one," Jace said. "You have just done the most difficult thing one can ever do. I'm so proud of you."

Author's note: Your feedback is my fuel! Do comment and let me know how you liked this chapter. Hearing from you gives me so much joy ❤️

Part 5 ➡️

#angst #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond x helaena #house of the dragon aemond #aemond fic #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x helaena targaryen #aemond targaryen x female reader

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forever-1895 · 7 months

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Mr. Sherlock Holmes

Pay attention! To how cute and soft and bubbly Holmes is when he first met Watson in a Study in Scarlet. Just like a BABY. (long post btw)

While on the way to meet Sherlock Holmes, Stamford tries to warn Watson about how machine-like this guy can be. But he's wrong!

Here's PROOF:

At the sound of our steps he [Sherlock Holmes] glanced round and sprang to is feet with a cry of pleasure. "I've found it! I've found it," he shouted to my companion [Stamford], running towards us with a test tube in his hand. "I have found a reagent which is precipitated by haemoglobin and nothing else." Had he discovered a gold mine, greater delight could not have shone upon his features.

I found it! I found it! (p≧w≦q)

"Dr. Watson, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Stamford, introducing us. "How are you?" he said cordially, gripping my hand with a strength for which I should hardly have given him credit. "You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive." "How on earth did you know that?" I asked in astonishment. "Never mind," said he, chuckling to himself. "The question now is about haemoglobin..."

how are u? (✿◡‿◡)

"Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for years. Don't you see that it gives us an infallible test for blood stains? Come over here now!" he seized me by the coat sleeve in his eagerness...

THE MOST AMAZING FABULOUS PRACTICAL NOBEL-PRIZE MEDICO-LEGAL DISCOVERY EVERRR!!!!! \(≧∇≦)ﾉ

"Ha ha!" he said clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as a child with a new toy. "What do you think of that?"

🎩

༼ つ ◕∇◕ ༽つ ⚗️🧪 = ༼ つ ◕∇◕ ༽つ 🧸🚗

"Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point. A man is suspected of a crime months perhaps after it has been committed. His linen or clothes are examined and brownish stains discovered upon them. Are they bloodstains, or mud stains, or rust stains, or fruit stains, or what are they? That is a question that has puzzled many an expert and why? Because there was no reliable test. Now we have the Sherlock Holmes' test, and there will no longer be any difficulty. " His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand to his heart snd bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his imagination.

EVERYONE, Behold...

The Sherlock Holmes' test

And my man's got glittering eyes!

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me. "I have an eye on a suite in Baker Street," he said, "which would suit us down to the ground. You don't mind the smell of strong tobacco I hope?" "I always smoke 'ship's' myself,' I answered. "That's good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?"

Of course Holmes is delighted! Stamford just got him a beau!

"Let me see - what are my other shortcomings? I get in the dumps at times, and don't open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I'll soon be right. What have you to confess now? It's just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to date live together." I laughed at this cross-examination. "I keep a bull pup," I said, "and I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices when I'm well, but those are the principal ones at present."

sulky little holmes o(TヘTo)

"Do you include violin playing in your category of rows?" he asked, anxiously. "It depends on the player," I answered. "A well-played violin is a treat for the gods - a badly-played one - " "Oh, that's all right," he cried, with a merry laugh. "I think we may consider the thing as settled - that is if the rooms are agreeable to you."

do you include violin-playing in your category of rows? (•᷄- •᷅ ;)

"Call for me here at noon tomorrow, and we'll go together and settle everything," he answered. "All right - noon exactly," - said I, shaking his hand. We left him working among his chemicals, and we walked together towards my hotel.

#sherlock holmes #johnlock #holmes x watson #acd johnlock #a study in scarlet #the sherlock holmes test!#holmes is so cute and bubbly

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auroravictorium · 3 months

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vigilante shit (k.b.)

Summary: set nearly two years before the events of midnights, reader is fighting for survival in ketterdam after escaping her indenture contract before it can be stamped. after a confrontation with a few merchants, a certain bastard of the barrel arrives and offers her a deal that may ensure her survival in the city.

Pairing(s): kaz brekker x reader (eventually) Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: violence (stabbing, bludgeoning, shoving, reader killing four people), blood, injuries (dislocated shoulder, stab wounds, cuts, gashes, etc.), numerous mentions of indentured servitude (reader escaping this, exploitation of indentures in the city, etc.) Genre: action and lil angst Author's Note: rue publishing a new part just a few days after the last one?? who IS she?? anyway, here is reader's backstory + how she and kaz met :)) this will be important for the next part (back in the present) because it'll be mentioned, so i'm choosing to share this one first for lore purposes

masterlist

Summer in Ketterdam was unbearable. The near-constant cloud cover trapped the heat low, threatening to make residents collapse as they made their daily commutes and errands. Bright costumes of the West Stave stuck to the skin of their wearers. Good-for-nothing bureaucrats dabbed at their foreheads and pulled at their collars, trying desperately to find relief from the heat. Even gangsters had halted their usual brawls in the streets, preferring to drink themselves into a stupor until dusk arrived or avail themselves of whatever cool water could be found.

As the government ceased its already pitiful operations due to the heat, and gangsters took the day off, the city lapsed into a sleepy state. You took advantage of the sluggishness, ducking through the streets of the Financial District and nimbly swiping what you could as you went. Wallets, loose jewelry, colorful kruge poking out of pockets. Everyone was too hot to notice the thief among them, and those who did a few moments later didn't bother to give chase.

Finally, you heard a bell chime seventeen times in the distance. The Exchange was closed for the day, and merchants would be making their way home with bulging wallets and smug faces. Perfect.

You headed north, disappearing into the crowds of merchants and regular citizens alike and searching for wide eyes or furrowed brows, darting glances, and those who kept to themselves. New merchants, unaware of the dangers of being near the Exchange after it closed.

A few merchants trailed toward the Geldstraat, packets of papers in their hands with thick red seals at the top that you would recognize anywhere—indenture paperwork. From the looks of it, each man held a dozen fresh indentures in his hands, ready to be stamped to confirm the transfer of a human being from one bastard’s hands to the next.

Yet, moving in the opposite direction, a lone merchant with a poorly-tailored coat and bulging pockets filled with colorful kruge that needed to be deposited.

Freedom, or the funds that could make a difference in whether you made it to the end of the week.

If you were wise but heartless, you'd chase the lone man and tackle him once he was out of sight of the Exchange. Ketterdam had a way of ripping the soul from a person, making them make the worst decisions for survival.

But you'd almost been one of those indentures, had your name on one of those papers that almost got stamped. You'd been just blocks from the courthouse, huddled in a clunky carriage with five other women when you'd gotten the courage to stab the driver through the small window with the sharpened edge of a piece of cutlery you'd swiped.

One moment, you'd been stuck in that carriage, passing over a cobbled bridge. The next, you had those bloodstained papers in your hand, snatched from the inside of the driver’s coat pocket, and were running. You ran until you felt your lungs would give out, until you were sure the dots in your vision would turn to full-blown darkness and you’d collapse right there in the street amongst garbage and empty bottles.

But you'd made it. You'd disappeared into the Barrel, tossed the papers in a rubbish bin, and lit it on fire. Partially an act of self-preservation, partially an act of helping the indentures who'd scrambled out of the carriage after you. Had they made it? You didn't know. You hoped so.

Thinking of the women who’d been taken into Ketterdam with you made something spark in your chest. Swearing under your breath, you wove through crowds of merchants and market prodigies and started to trail the group of merchants heading toward the Geldstraat. Conversations of auctions, trade deals, and under-the-counter offers flowed in one ear and out the other. At any other time, those conversations would catch your interest; but you’d set your mind to something, could feel an urgency running beneath your skin like electricity, and the words passed in and out of your ears without sticking.

These damned merchants walked fast, even in the heat, and you soon made your way onto the packed Geldstraat. Glancing around for an opportunity to gain some leverage–a rooftop would be nice, or a distraction–you found none. This was the part of the city reserved for the wealthy; clean and filled with well-dressed residents who eyed you as you passed by in your loose-fitting tunic and well-worn trousers. Your boots were in an even worse condition, and you felt the ridges and dips in the cobblestones beneath your feet as you tried your best to look inconspicuous.

The Government District was fast approaching as you headed north, and your time to swipe these papers was running out. Fuck it.

As the mouth of the Geldstraat opened up to let people pour into the Government District, you made your move, darting forward and to the right of one of the merchants; as you passed, you yanked hard on his pocketwatch, pulling it from his pocket with enough force that he definitely noticed. “Oy!” he shouted, reaching for you in an attempt to apprehend you, or maybe grab the pocketwatch dangling from your hand. “Thief!”

You skirted to the side, high-tailing it back toward an alleyway you’d passed not thirty seconds ago. There’d been something metallic on the ground–a piece of pipe, you hoped–that caught what little sun came through the clouds and reflected it.

Boots pounded against the ground behind you, sending a rush of adrenaline through your body, enough to stave off the sluggishness of your muscles from the heat. Come get me, you son of a bitch, you thought, your legs burning as you skidded into the alleyway and scooped the object you’d seen from the ground: a rusty, jagged piece of drainpipe that had fallen from the edge of one of the roofs. It was perfect, especially since you had yet to acquire a better weapon than the flimsy dagger strapped to your hip and wanted to keep these bastards as far away from you–an eligible person to be indentured if they got their hands on you, as far as they were concerned–as possible.

You barely had enough time to survey it to decide which end would be better for bludgeoning before the sound of pounding boots caught up to you, and you adjusted your sweaty grip on the metal and faced the mouth of the alley as four tall shadows blocked it.

The merchants were bigger than they looked when you’d trailed them, and you recognized their clothing as being Fjerdan, rough material that did little to keep them cool in this heat. Oh, fantastic. Leave it to me to pick a fight with some wannabe Druskelle.

But their height gave you an advantage, one you’d quickly learned to utilize in the few months you’d been on the streets: being taller made them slower. And, judging from the lack of bulges at their waists and ankles, they were unarmed.

Tall and dumb; your day was starting to look up.

The merchant you’d robbed stuffed his papers into his coat pocket. “I believe you have something that belongs to me,” he said, his accent thick as he spoke. His eyes fell to the pipe in your hand, then the pocketwatch dangling out of your pocket. “If you hand it back now, I’ll reconsider how much I rough you up.”

“You should have armed yourself before making threats you won’t be able to follow through on,” you shot back. Your voice was remarkably steady, even as you were realizing there was a good chance at least one of them would land a strike on you while you were trying to get their papers. You wouldn’t be walking out of this uninjured, but when had you ever escaped a fight without scrapes and bruises? Such was the nature of the city. It took, and it took, and it took until its people had nothing left to give aside from their bones.

And this cause had settled itself on your shoulders like a weight you couldn’t shake. So let Ketterdam have your bones, but only after you wiped these bastards out first.

The merchant lunged, and you swung the pipe. The weight was unnatural in your hand, and you couldn’t get a good grip on it; but the pipe landed true, smashing into the merchant’s skull with a sickening crack as the other three rushed toward you. One of them took a detour, catching his comrade as he crumpled to the filthy ground, while the other two went straight for you.

You swung the pipe like a bat, bashing it into one’s stomach and making him hunch over before whirling to land a hit on the other. You didn’t have enough momentum to do lethal damage, but the very edge of the pipe made a long cut across your new foe’s face. Redness bloomed on the skin, and blood seeped down; his progress was slowed, but not stopped.

He shoved you back against a brick wall, and the impact knocked the breath from your lungs. Son of a– Your muscles burned as you gasped, pain rocketing up and down your spine, and your grip on the pipe almost loosened.

Almost.

The man tried to wrench it from your grasp, taking advantage of your breathlessness, but you kept ahold of it. “Give it,” he growled, yanking the pipe hard enough to make your shoulder pop as you fought to keep possession of it. Pain shot up and down your arm, and you were forced to release the pipe as your shoulder popped out of place.

You swore in pain, tears pricking your eyes and your good hand dropping to your belt and unsheathing your dagger before twisting it in your hand and jabbing it as hard as you could toward the man’s chest while he grabbed at the pipe. It drove home, embedding in an upward angle beneath his ribcage; it wasn’t perfect, and you were sure it wasn’t a lethal blow, but it caused the man to stagger back and drop to his knees. You ripped the blade from his chest and the pipe from his hand, pausing only to stomp your foot down over the wound hard enough for a few ribs to crack.

He cried out in anger, writhing against the ground, but you didn’t have time to savor the noise before another merchant was on you, the one you’d bashed in the stomach with the pipe.

With the dagger in your good hand and the pipe in your limp one, you dodged his attempt to punch you. The heat pressed down on you, and sweat soaked through your clothing as you and the merchant circled each other around his comrade on the ground. The one you’d initially hit was still being worked on by his companion; apparently, the pipe had done more damage than you’d thought, which filled you with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

The last merchant standing launched himself at you, and you dodged, slamming your injured shoulder against the opposite wall with a hard enough impact that something crunched. The pipe dropped from your hand again, and you were forced to let it fall for good. Leaning to grab it would be a death sentence.

Well…

You ducked slightly, letting the merchant think you’d gone for the pipe, only to twist at the last moment and slash the dagger across his chest in a wide arc. Blood bloomed beneath his beige tunic, and you slashed again as he stumbled in pain. More blood splattered, sliding down the blade of your knife and onto the handle, making your hand slick with red. It was warm, unpleasantly so, and your stomach twisted with nausea.

No matter how long you were in the city, you weren’t sure you’d ever get used to the feeling of someone else’s blood on your skin.

The merchant cried out as you drove the knife through his throat, cutting the noise off with a nauseating gurgle. He slumped to the ground, nearly falling onto you, and you stumbled out of the way to avoid it. A hand grabbed at your ankle, and you toppled onto the merchant you’d stabbed earlier.

Grunting, you pushed yourself away, skin scraping against gravel and glass shards on the alleyway ground, and grabbed your blade, driving it down into his chest one more time. Without your bad arm, you couldn’t hold yourself steady. Or maybe it was the adrenaline wearing off that caused the trembles. You weren’t sure. Either way, you managed to gasp out, “For them,” before staggering to your feet once more to handle the final merchant who was tending to the now-dead man you’d robbed.

“The indentures,” you rasped as you approached, your knees shaking as pain took hold. It was getting harder to stay upright, especially with the heat weighing you down and making the pain feel ten times worse. “Where are they?”

“I-I don’t–” the merchant began, his voice wobbling.

“Shall I help you remember?”

Your boot made contact with the merchant’s face, and something crunched with the impact. His nose, judging by the way he toppled over and cupped his face. A sob passed his lips, but you didn’t stop your advance.

“I won’t ask again,” you said, stopping over the man as he lay on the ground, nearly curled in a fetal position. Your heart raced in your ears, loud enough to almost drown out the next words that left your mouth. “Where are they?”

“Warehouse district,” he sobbed, trembling as you stopped before him. “One of the big ones owned by one of the–one of the councilmen.”

That was all you needed to hear.

You could have left him alive. Could have let him scramble to his feet and leave the alleyway to report what had happened to one of the pigs that called themselves the Stadwatch, not that they’d do anything. Could have let him recuperate and return to the Exchange in a few days with too much pride to admit a girl on the streets had briefly held his life in his hands.

But you thought of those indentures, probably trafficked, waiting in the warehouse for news that their lives had been determined for them. You remembered the fear you’d felt after being captured and taken into the city with several other women your age, women whose fates were unknown after you’d been forced to leave them behind in a bid for survival. You remembered the desperation as you’d ground that piece of cutlery against the stone floor in your holding room, sharpening it into something that would free you.

You thought of them, and you dropped to your knees, driving the knife into his throat hard enough that you faced some resistance once the hilt met flesh. The man’s sobs went quiet. His body twitched, his eyes rolling for a moment before going still. His chance to live disappeared as quickly as that.

Though you longed to sit back, to collapse into the ground and catch your breath, you feared two things. One, you wouldn’t be able to get back up. Two, the Stadwatch would find you and have you hauled to jail. You’d managed to avoid it thus far, but today was not the day you wanted your luck to change. Not when you had a job to complete.

Numbly, you searched the men, one by one, until you collected all of the paperwork and kruge you could find from their bodies. Dozens of indenture contracts, a few hastily scribbled receipts from transactions at the Exchange, and a few notes recording debts to be paid.

The contracts needed to be burned. The rest could be thrown away; let someone find them and wonder what happened to the bastards who’d written them.

As you collected your dagger and wiped it off on the tunic of the man you’d robbed, the hair on the back of your neck prickled uncomfortably. It wasn’t from the heat, nor from your conscience being stirred into an upset at what you’d just done. No, someone was watching you.

You turned your gaze to the rooftops, slowly turning on your heel as you searched for the source of that gaze. It wasn’t threatening; if it was, the person would have attacked. It was merely surveillance. Soon, you spotted a shadow pressed against a chimney, one that hadn’t been there before. Perhaps more obviously, the shadow moved, slinking closer to the edge of the roof before grabbing hold of the remaining pipe along the edge and swinging itself over as if on someone’s signal.

You stumbled back toward the mouth of the alley and raised your dagger, but the person made no move to attack. The figure was short and slim, and you saw wayward hairs peeking out from beneath their hood; a woman. Another person trying to survive on the streets? No, she was too well-dressed for that, with new-ish shoes, and clothes that fit with no visible tears or stains.

The woman didn’t approach, and you continued taking slow steps back, hoping to get out of the alley before the woman changed her mind and tried to stab you. I don’t think I can take down another person, you thought, least of all her, with at least five daggers strapped to her that you could see; you were willing to be that there were more.

There were soft footsteps near the mouth of the alleyway, followed by a tapping between each step, the sound of wood against the cobblestones. Your heartbeat picked right back up again, and you swiveled, pressing your back to the alley wall as another figure stepped into the mouth of the alleyway and blocked your escape.

The horrendous hat on his head made you think it was an officer with the Stadwatch, but the face beneath that hat was one of a boy no older than you. His skin was pale, drawn across angular cheekbones that cast sharp shadows down his face in the poor amount of sunlight filtering through the clouds. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you felt them; they pierced you with ease, scrutinized you, and evaluated everything from your messy hair to the blood soaked into your boots. They settled on the limpness of your arm for a moment, and you fought the urge to hide it behind your back.

“You’re a difficult person to track down, Y/N L/N,” the boy said, his voice raspy like sandpaper hissing across unfinished wood. His tone was devoid of humor. Instead, he spoke with a bluntness that told you this was merely business for him. A business that somehow involved him knowing your name.

You clamped your mouth shut, fighting the urge to ask how he knew your name. You were getting the sense that you didn’t want to know the source of that information, though you were willing to bet it was the woman standing just feet away from you. “Is that so?” you said instead, keeping your voice as steady as you could.

You were cornered, and you didn’t like that at all. Your skin itched with the urge to make a run for it, to shove this boy out of the way and bolt as far as your legs could take you. You’d done it before, had escaped from that carriage and gotten to this point. But this boy reeked of danger, of power, of a willingness to be cruel, if need be. He was not someone you wanted to make an enemy with.

The boy shifted his weight, twirling the head of the cane in his hand with a precision that told you he’d been using it for a while. That piercing gaze left you for a moment, and you assumed he was examining the damage you’d done to the four merchants in the alleyway. He was silent for a few long moments, then spoke again. “Aren’t you supposed to be serving one of the councilmen at his residence right now?”

Your blood turned to ice. He knew you were supposed to be an indenture. He knew you were not where you were supposed to be. He could turn you in, could get you taken back into custody for your paperwork to finally be stamped. Somewhere, there had to be a copy of your indenture paperwork. Just my luck.

“Come to collect me, have you?” Somewhere alongside your shock and terror was anger. Your knuckles tightened on the hilt of your dagger like you might throw it at the boy, and you saw the girl with the hood shift her fingers ever so slightly toward a dagger at her waist. Definitely allies.

“No.”

“So, you’ll let me leave the alley and go on my merry way after you finish making poorly disguised threats?”

“No.”

Throwing the dagger was looking more and more tempting if only you could ignore the fact that you’d also get a dagger to the chest if you did so. You were in enough pain as it was. “State your business, then,” you said, trying to keep your chin held high as you struggled to puzzle this out. This boy had power and allies, that was clear. But who was he, and why did you get the sense that you should know who he was?

“I’ve heard some of the chaos you’ve caused,” the boy said, tapping his cane against the ground a few times, almost impatiently. “A string of robberies on the outskirts of the Barrel, pickpocketing after the Exchange closes for the day, a few brawls here and there.”

“How can you possibly attribute those to me?” you said, though every word he’d spoken was true. The Barrel was rife with crime; nobody batted an eyelash at robberies anymore, and reporting them to the Stadwatch was useless. That was gang territory, and everyone knew it.

The boy tilted his head, ignoring your question. “Now, I’m curious why you’ve graduated to murder. These men are merchants?” He nudged a limp hand with his boot. “It’s quite a jump, petty crimes to killing.”

“You speak as if you know from experience.”

He ignored you again. “I have a deal for you, Y/N.”

“I don’t make deals with strangers, especially not those who particularly enjoy hearing themselves talk.” Your words were short and deadpan, but you noticed the hooded girl’s shoulders shake slightly with silent laughter. The prickling gaze that had been on you disappeared for a moment, likely to direct a glare at the girl, and it returned to you twice as sharp as before.

“Have you heard of the Dregs?” the boy asked, tapping his cane against the ground again as if this was all a tedious chore for him. You didn’t bother answering, because he proceeded on anyway. “We control a wide area of the Barrel, and the Dime Lions and a few smaller groups control the rest, which I’m sure you know since you’ve only robbed from disputed areas where you think nobody can catch you.”

“But you have caught me, and now you’re here to enact justice,” you said. Some mocking seeped into your voice before you could stop it, and the boy sighed in exasperation. If he was concerned about getting you to agree to whatever deal he had in store, he had to realize he wasn’t earning much approval from you.

“No. I see a use for you, and I want to capitalize on it.” The boy rolled his shoulders back and tightened his gloved fingers on the head of his cane. “In exchange, you’ll have a roof over your head and get paid for each job.”

Some of your desire to be sarcastic disappeared when he mentioned housing and wages. You couldn’t deny how tempting that was; to have a roof over your head instead of fabric wrapped around you when the rain came down would be bliss, and to have an income you could regularly count on? You’d feel like the wealthiest girl in Ketterdam, like getting taken to the city had been a good thing.

“What type of jobs?” you finally said, not wanting to agree so quickly. You refused to exchange one terrible contract for another. Ketterdam could make the worst situations appear like a blessing from the Saints themselves if you didn’t ask the right questions as to their nature.

“Robberies, mostly. Tracking leads on opportunities for kruge. Working shifts at the Crow Club in between.” He tightened his grip on the head of his cane again as if he could tell that you were considering his offer. “At the very worst, you’ll be taking out those who threaten my business. Dime Lions, mainly, but you seem to be quite comfortable with the idea of murder.”

Dregs. Crow Club. My business.

Recognition struck you. You remembered hearing about a shift in power in the Dregs that happened just before you arrived in Ketterdam. The leader, Per Haskell, had been ousted by his lieutenant, a boy called Dirtyhands. Saints, what was his name? The whispers rarely mentioned it, as if he had ears everywhere and could strike at any moment. From the tales you’d heard, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could; they’d been enough to deter you from robbing anywhere in territory firmly controlled by the Dregs. He’d been right about that, just like everything else about you.

“How often do you personally recruit people to your cause, Kaz Brekker?” you said, unhitching yourself from the wall. Slowly, you held up your dagger before making a show of sliding it back into the sheathe at your waist. The hooded girl who’d been watching you and the boy size each other up relaxed, dropping her hand from the dagger she’d been prepared to grab.

Kaz Brekker’s lips quirked upward on one side, a half smile indicating he knew exactly what you’d just been thinking. “Only when they serve my interests,” he said. “Do we have a deal?”

“Only if it serves my interests,” you said, and you thought you saw the ghost of approval cross the parts of Brekker’s face that you could see. You grabbed the stack of indenture paperwork from where you’d propped it under your bad arm and held it up, showing the vivid red stamp to Brekker and his companion. “These people are being held in the Warehouse District, awaiting their indenture notice. I want them released.”

You expected a long silence to stretch between the two of you. It was a bold move for you to make a demand as part of your deal, especially since Brekker made it clear it was a rarity for him to bother recruiting people personally. But, to your surprise, Brekker nodded once.

“Alright,” he said. He held out his hand, and you took a few steps forward to pass the paperwork into his gloved fingers. He skimmed the pages briefly before tucking them into his black coat. “Did these men tell you which warehouse?”

You cast a glance toward the last one you’d killed, frowning slightly. “One owned by a councilman. He wasn’t more specific.”

Brekker didn’t seem bothered by the limited information. Instead, he only nodded once toward the hooded girl who had observed all this. “Inej, see what you can find. I’ll escort our new recruit back to the Slat.”

Inej disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived, effortlessly climbing back up the wall and onto the rooftop before darting off without making a single sound. You watched her go, feeling awe burn in your chest as she disappeared without a trace. How long had it taken her to master that? Would she teach you, if you asked? She radiated such quiet power, and you wondered if the new mess you’d found yourself in would teach you just the same.

Kaz Brekker jerked his head back toward the alleyway entrance. “Let’s go. I don’t fancy having to deal with Stadwatch when they find the bodies.” He turned on his heel and strode off without another word, his cane tapping lightly against the ground as he went. He didn’t bother to wait for you or make sure you were following.

Another chance to back out, to reconsider joining the Dregs and binding yourself to a gang known for its leader's brutality. But maybe… Maybe the Dregs could give you some leverage and a better chance of survival in the city. You would no longer be fighting for enough food to make it through the week, would no longer be considered on the run; you could wipe your past clean and destroy whatever copy of your indenture paperwork Brekker had found that could come back to bite you and start over.

And the thought of starting over, of becoming someone new, was enough to make you follow after one of the most dangerous people in Ketterdam.

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lumierexfics · 5 months

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Chat Log Name : The smell of my love’s arbor

Chat Log Description : Eddie can’t seem to take his eyes off of you!

Online Users : Eddie Gluskin, Female! Reader

!! CW : Eddie being OOC, Phantom Pregnancy, Stalker-ish tendencies, Second Person POV!!

<< Ao3 link

Eddie was never allowed to have female nurses, oh how desperately he wanted to indulge in such tender flesh that he knew always wanted him. But his heart belonged to you, his flower. You were untouched; pure, a delicacy for him to unwrap and savor. How he watched from the window whenever you entered Mount Massive, not caring what the scientists did to him in the basement since your face is what he pictured during those experiments that made him feel his flesh rotting from the inside along the pulsating, wriggling bugs that danced within the rot.

He needed this. He needed to sneak out of his room and head towards the lounge where one of the windows perfectly overlooked the park lot though he would have never let you drive since it seemed too much of a demanding task—too delicate for you. His brows furrowed while he forced himself to stay awake to watch you leave your car but the dimly lit street light glowed around your car. Eddie’s eyes widened seeing you being walked down from the steps to your car by a man. You were clearly flirting back to him, the way you smiled back.

Today was a different day, a new day for him to watch you exit your car in the same parking spot that you have always parked in. He heard the whispers of your fellow nurses how you were graciously invited to Trager’s place but he didn’t know if you had accepted it. It tugged at his heart, you betrayed him but a small piece of salvation remained but the small piece of salvation flickered out as fast when it came to existence.

He couldn’t believe it, his eyes widened, seeing your pregnant stomach. Someone touched his pearl, his soon to be wife. He—Trager polluted your tender skin, no it was his wasn’t it? Did his wishes finally get answered?

Eddie hummed throughout the bloodied hallways.

“Rainbows day after day,” he mumbled the lyrics.

He smiled, scavenging through the bloodied rooms for clean cloth, sucking in breath and clicking his tongue in disappointment while using his knife to cut off pieces of white fabric that wasn’t coated in blood. He was near the entrance of the Mount Massive still scavenging and heard—smelled something so familiar from underneath the overwhelming aroma of metallic blood. His bloodstained black shoes walked towards a mixture pile of dismembered body parts and bodies.

“I will have to look around until.” He continued to say the lyrics while he knelt down and smelled a familiar perfume, moving organs till I reached it. “The right one I have found.”

He finally found you, nestled underneath the corpses; how the dried blood clung to your skin. You weren’t dead, he made sure that you weren’t dead. Clearly, you were happy to see him because you immediately wept out of excitement while desperately trying to escape; surely you wanted to get a view of your new home.

His back was turned, hearing the running water of the communal showers. He couldn’t have his new bride dirty and covered with the blood of other repulsive men. Dressing you in his homemade wedding dress that clung to your shaking wet skin with the homemade veil that he stuck to your head.

Eddie pushed away the rotting corpse of an unworthy bride, multicolored strips of fabric were scattered down the aisle and decorated ends of the rows of chairs. His hands adjusted the bow tie. He waited and waited to see you walk down the aisle, holding the bouquet of fabric flowers. You were taking a bit longer than he expected.

“Darling?” He asked.

His voice only echoed throughout the room, hearing himself from down the hallways. Stepping down the steps, his fingertips grazed the handle of his knife, eyes darted to the discarded bouquet of fabric flowers on the dirty hallway floor.

“Darling.” He picked up the discarded bouquet, looked around. “Where are you? Tell me that you’re alright.”

No response. Only the sound of his shoes crushing the shattered glass echoed throughout the ward. You were the same. All like the ungrateful brides that ever so desperately tried to flee from his loving grasp. He only wanted to love you, why couldn’t you do something so simple.

#outlast x reader #outlast whistleblower x reader #the outlast series x reader #outlast Eddie x reader #eddie gluskin x reader #Eddie Gluskin x female reader

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denaliwrites · 6 months

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Never Fallen From Quite This High

Martin Whitly x GN!Reader

Catch and Release Prompt: "Loyalty"

Summary: You didn't mean for this to happen... but you couldn't let him hurt Martin.

Soundtrack: Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Murder.

"Oh, my dear," Martin says softly as he creeps closer to you. He's keeping his voice quiet and his body low so as not to startle you, though you can't quite figure out why. You've been sat on your haunches now for what feels like hours. "What have you done?"

The question confuses you. He seemingly notices this, as he releases a quiet, placating shushing sound, almost as if by instinct. "It's okay," he tells you gently, shuffling ever closer. "You're okay."

Finally he reaches you, kneels down in front of you and takes your hands in his. It's only then, as he pries it from your fingers, that you realize you'd been holding a knife. "That's it," he murmurs, giving you a small, tense smile. "There you go." He drops it far from your reach, somewhere behind him where you can't see it. See the dried blood coating it.

"Hey, now," he coos, as he carefully manipulates your head, tilting it this way and that. "Look at me, darling?" His eyes are concerned, examining you like he thinks he'll suddenly find a grievous injury. But you're unharmed.

Next, he shifts your head so that you're facing him directly, and he's looking into your eyes, but you can see there's little emotion there. His mind is purely medical at the moment.

"Traumatic shock," he says to himself as his gaze dances from one eye to the other, noting the vacant look and blown pupils. "Darling, can you hear me?"

"H-he--"

"Ssshh, darling. Simple answers for now. Yes or no. Please."

"He--he was--he--"

Martin sighs as you babble. You struggle to get the words out, and he simply watches you with concern as disjointed syllables spill from your lips, until you finally string them all together and say, "he was going to kill you."

He looks down, taking note of the bloody body he'd had to step over to get to you. When he turns back to look at you, his eyes are softer. "Darling," he sighs, pulling you forward to place a gentle kiss to your bloodstained forehead. "You know I'd never let that happen."

"H-he -- he was... he was gonna kill you," you insist, voice raising, tinted with building panic.

Martin pulls you into a kiss, his lips crushing yours and stealing your breath and chasing away all other thoughts. Any words you're about to release in a torrential flood are diverted, lost to those devastating lips.

The kiss is the shock you need to bring you back -- at least, enough to really see him. To remember where you are, what you've done. Your eyes trail down to the body as Martin holds you close, one hand at the back of your neck and the other stroking your hair.

"I-I-I--" you stammer, tears springing to your eyes as you look down.

"Sssshhh," he hushes you gently, his hold on you tightening.

"I killed -- M-Martin, I killed someone..."

"I know, darling," he whispers in your ear. "I know. Don't worry. I'm here now."

You whimper, burying your face into his shoulder so that you can't see the corpse anymore.

"I'll take care of it," Martin continues, his hand now working to rub comforting circles into your back. "I'll make sure that you were never here, understand?"

#martin whitly x reader #martin whitly x you #prodigal son fic #prodigal son fanfiction #michael sheen #catch and release prompt

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triple-asstro · 11 months

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That Heartbreak Prince, Kíli

summary: kili and his lover bicker over who should stay warm with the help of kili's jacket.

word count: 1.5k

saw @mikathemonster's post about there not being enough kili fics and i agree, so i wrote this! hope you all like it <3

(yes that was a taylor swift reference, love her and her music <3)

Curse Mirkwood, and curse those elves.

Traversing through the Mirkwood forest wasn’t going to be a difficult task, and you weren’t expecting anything more. It still bitterly stung when they ordered you to drop your weapons and pulled both you (and the future Queen of Erebor, but that’s a tale for another day) from your hiding spot, riddled with cobwebs. Not even the heart-eyed expression on Kíli could sweeten your sour mood, no matter how adorable it was.

Those cobwebs still rested on your head, being swiftly removed by Kíli and tossed into the right corner. The stone walls of the prison stinged your eyes, spotting multiple dried bloodstains scattered on the floor; potentially years old based on the maroon colouring.

“Even with these cobwebs, they never seem to hinder your charm amrâlimê,” Kíli remarked, a cheeky smile appeared on his face. A grin plastered on your face, eyes forgetting from the stain. It seemed Kíli spotted your observation, as if your minds were linked into one. “Hm, already observing our prison?”

“Of course. Sadly, there’s not much to observe,” you wistfully stated.

Kíli’s eyes squinted, deep in thought. His eyes crinkled around the corners, and his eyebrows did the most unique thing when he’s in this state of mind. They would furrow together, one slightly higher than the other, creating a brief unibrow, which was always an amusing sight to witness. He viewed the landscape you were analysing before, spotting the dried blood.

“What about that? Quite the decoration, isn’t it?”

“Not particularly,” you began, Kíli’s eyes softening at what was coming next. “That kind of bloodstain because of its dark maroon colouring means that it’s been a while since anyone inhabited this place. Blood has a more vibrant colouring if it’s only been a few weeks or less, darkening over time. I could potentially see how the Elvenking would have that stain appear since it’s been quite some time since there haven’t been travellers in Mirkwood for capturing, or any that didn’t escape.”

Kíli widely grinned, his puppy eyes more enchanting than ever.

“I’m rambling again, I assume?”

“No, just talking. Talking in that alluring voice I love dearly.” he responded, inching closer on the stone chair, grabbing your hand. Your heart ignited, as if a string was interlinked between us, only conjoining once you and Kíli’s hands were reunited. An odd phenomenon, but one you weren’t complaining about.

A giggle echoed from outside, one that called both you and Kíli to peer from the emerald-green bars. Just down one level from you, was that future Queen of Erebor, draping Thorin’s fur coat over his sleeping figure. The coat flew through the air, waving almost majestically before slowly faltering down. Even his coat had a regality added to it.

You could feel Kíli’s giggles graze your cheek, his head lazed on your shoulder. “Cannot believe this is happening to my mother’s brother. He’s probably going to grumble like usual.”

“Probably. It’ll be worth every second, however.” you mentioned, jolting back like children once you saw her wide-eyed gaze dart towards you both. The laughs shared between you both were the only laughs shared that night, the rest of the Company were too busy grumbling and attempting to escape. Granted, you were trying that too but it was more whittling away the gates with spare rock and rubble.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook you, as it did with everyone, some more slowly than others. It was hardest with Kíli, his mind refused him any rest, much to your displeasure. The journey had proven its toll on you and you wished to find any solace that sleep could offer you. It proved to be difficult with this repetitive ticking sound. It was an itching sound that burrowed deep and refused to budge, like glass clinking on stone. With one more tick, you jostled up, darting your head right.

You saw Kíli, his bored downturned eyes following a round object he had in his palm. He tossed in the air, the object floating before missing his hand and clattering to the ground, being caught by your outreached hand. You also took a slight note at his sudden lack of his jacket, which you quickly found draped around your body. His jacket, your body, interlinked as one.

You examined the stone he’d dropped, the object shining a blue iridescence with intricate runes etched onto the surface. It had to be a labradorite mineral from the looks of it. “What is this?”

“It is a token,” he stated, picking it up from your hand, fingers tracing over the engraved runes.

“If any but a dwarf reads the runes, they will be forever cursed.”

He swiftly showed you the stone, as if it was to unleash a horrible curse on you, causing you to jerk back. He paused, tucking the stone away behind his back, causing you to rest back into your previous position. You’d had enough foolishness for one night.

“Or not.”

You rose back up, now in a mix of confusion and intrigue. But you weren’t going to admit that, for if you did, you’d just be playing into his game and you didn’t want to enlarge his ego anymore than it already had.

“Is it a token, then?”

“Hm? Oh, yes,” he said, sitting down next to you. “It was a token gifted to me by my mother. I remember her shoving it in my hand before me and Fí set off. ‘Promise me, Kíli. You better come back in one piece, with your brother if you can.’ She practically made me memorise it.”

“I can help with that,” you said. “Getting back home in one piece, I mean. I’ll protect you.”

“Nonsense, who will protect you then? You could get hurt.”

“You could too, you dolt.” you reminded, watching in slight hilarity as his expression blinked, as if his mind was completely empty. You shoved his shoulder, sending him stumbling back to his seat opposite of the room. “Now, get rest.”

With a pout, Kíli obliged, curling up into a ball. Sounds echoed from above, sounds of cheering and music. Guards occasionally passed by, even one with auburn hair watching your cage with close precision. You’d never heard of an auburn haired elf, but she quickly left before you could speak.

Kíli’s small shivers drew your attention away, however. The way his face contorted in unease and frigidity made guilt tug at the jacket wrapped around you. Eventually, it was strong enough for you to take off the jacket and drape it over him, the coat flying in a similar way to Thorin’s. When it fully rested over his body, you returned to your bed, resting with ease.

Unfortunately, when you acted in your decision, you unknowingly started a little game. A few minutes passed as you felt a familiar texture cover you. As you slightly cracked your eyes open, you saw him return to his bed as well, a content smile stuck on his face. When you awoke, you found his jacket back on your body, along with the stone he had mentioned earlier, tucked into your palm.

This ‘game’ had continued for quite a while, with you whispering for him to ‘stay still’, but of course Kíli being Kíli, he defied. Finally, you decided to go through with the usual routine, except wait for him to awake, catching him in his act. ‘An excellent plan,’ you thought. You got up, resorting to shoving the jacket onto him and placing the stone in his hand. Instead of turning around, you simply took a few steps back, gaze completely fixated on him.

As predicated, his eyes flung open, clutching the jacket and ready to dash to you before being pinned back by your arm. Eyes wide with shock and mouth slightly agape, he could only stammer at your words.

“Keep it, son of Durin. You need it more than I do.”

His mouth clamped shut, solemnly nodding as you walked back to your place, eager to get some true rest. The game was fun, not to be mistaken otherwise, but rest was a rarity and you weren’t missing it.

When you awoke, it was hard to tell how much time had passed. Whether it’d been minutes or days, your mind was groggy and scrambled. It took a considerable amount of time to process what Kíli was saying, or more excitedly rambling to you. The sight of Bilbo unlocking the lower cage doors, keys jingling filled in all the gaps you needed. You pressed your head through the bars, spotting Bilbo working faster than ever. You clutched your shoulder, feeling a soft leather wrap around you.

A soft leather.

A jacket.

Kíli’s jacket.

“Kíli…”

“You were shivering!” he sheepishly answered. His earnest expression made it hard to stay mad at him for long. You sighed, mumbling something about giving his jacket back as soon as you both got out of Mirkwood and to safety.

That didn’t stop Kíli from having a smug expression until then.

#kili x reader #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit #kili durin #hobbit fic

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cinnamongorll · 4 months

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a fragile line - chapter 15

read on ao3 (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 2.5k

Chapter 15: 'Bloodstream'

Juliet's POV:

The floorboards creaked as Juliet stepped into the living room. She cringed and her eyes darted to Joel’s motionless body on the floor beside the couch, his head still cushioned by her jacket.

A sharp sting of fear pierced her heart as Juliet waited for Joel’s chest to move. Her steps rushed towards him, darting around the furniture in the room. Eventually, as she staggered upon his resting form, she watched his chest rise and fall, a soft groan escaping his closed lips. Juliet’s breath rushed from her open mouth, her whole body sagged in relief as she bent down in front of him.

The apology she had drafted inside her head, while standing outside in the cool night air, died on her tongue. Joel didn’t look angry, he didn’t look disgusted, instead, he looked almost peaceful. No doubt, his stab wound was still excruciatingly painful, but in sleep, that didn’t show. Juliet reached out her bloodstained hand, fingers trembling, towards his face. She wanted to smooth every line on his forehead, soothe every anxious thought from his mind, stroke the surprising softness of his lips. But she stopped herself, her hand halted only an inch from his face. Juliet could feel the heat from his breath caressing the tips of her fingers. She closed her eyes.

Joel was alive, Joel was okay, Joel was still with her… for now. Juliet repeated the words in her head as her fingers hovered over his face. She wouldn’t touch him again, she wouldn’t dare feel his rough skin against her smooth flesh. Juliet wouldn’t allow herself to submit to the desire that lurked under her skin. If she touched him again, she didn’t know what she’d do. Juliet couldn’t predict herself around Joel. He’d changed her, chipped away at her usual defences, allowed her to see a part of herself she didn't know existed.

It was dangerous. He was dangerous. Juliet had known that since her first day in the Boston QZ.

She opened her eyes and stood up, moving to sit on the armchair opposite Joel. Juliet sank into the dust coated cushions, coughing softly when a cloud blew upwards into her face. As soon as her body touched the plush fabric, an intense tiredness attacked her mind and her eyes closed.

Joel was alive, Joel was okay, Joel was still with her. Juliet let the words lull her to sleep, her breathing imitating the rise and fall of Joel’s chest as she let the terror of the day fade from her mind.

……………………………………………..

Juliet woke to the sound of grunting. Her eyes fluttered open, sunlight invading her vision as she sat up. Her back ached from sleeping on those stiff cushions all night. Juliet rolled her neck, her mind was still fuzzy as she yawned. Then she heard another grunt, followed by a curse.

“Joel?” Juliet groaned as her eyes finally focused on Joel’s struggling form. He was trying to stand but his body was too weak. That didn’t stop him from attempting to pull himself up using the coffee table, though.

Juliet leapt from the armchair and instantly broke her new rule: she touched him. Juliet grabbed his shoulders without thinking, her fingers gripping his soft flannel as she positioned her body behind him, taking his weight.

“Leave me, I’m fine,” he growled, the sound vibrating right through to Juliet’s chest pressed against his back.

“You’re not ‘fine’... you were stabbed,” Juliet gasped out between rough breaths as she struggled to hold him upright. “Please stop moving,” she pleaded after she caught her breath.

Joel came to his senses and stopped attempting to claw his way onto the couch, his body sagged against hers.

“Okay I’m going to push you up on three…” Juliet croaked out. She could imagine Joel rolling his eyes at her shaky command.

“One, two…”

On “three”, Juliet pushed against Joel’s shoulders with all of her strength as he gripped the couch cushions, rolling himself onto the sofa with another loud groan. Juliet tilted backwards, just catching herself before hitting the floor. Reaching a hand behind her, Juliet pushed herself up, now standing over Joel as his body stretched out on the sofa. Her eyes darted to the gauze peaking through his rolled up shirt, checking for any fresh blood. There was none, thankfully.

Juliet had to force her gaze up to Joel’s face, sweat coated his forehead and dampened his hairline. She wanted to look away, her mind screamed at her to look somewhere else, anywhere else, but it was like time had rolled backwards to the night before and she was still leaning over his body after painstakingly stitching his wound closed. She was locked in his gaze again, Joel’s dark eyes were an abyss she desperately wanted to lose herself in.

After a moment, Joel’s stare drifted slowly down her body as though he was memorising every detail. He stopped at her stomach, his eyes hardening. Juliet’s forehead creased as she followed his stare, then she realised what had caught Joel’s intense attention: she was still covered in blood, his blood. It coated the bottom of her t-shirt and both of her hands.

“Were you hurt?” he questioned in a harsh, demanding tone.

Juliet shook her head, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“It’s your blood,” she whispered back, the horror of the memory kept her from speaking louder. She didn’t want her voice to crack as she answered. Joel was stained with it, too. Surely he noticed the dark red patches which soiled his shirt and the top beneath it. Joel wasn’t looking down, though, he was still staring at Juliet with an intensity she wanted to run from.

Seconds later, Joel shifted, his whole body flinching as if he finally remembered what happened the night before. His head pulled back like he’d been slapped.

Juliet wanted to scream. She wanted to grab him and pull him close again. She wanted to grip his shoulders just to push him away. Every look he’d thrown her way, every touch he’d grazed upon her skin crawled over her at once. Juliet was frozen, waiting for Joel to say something, anything, to dispel the tension, to allow her to breathe properly again.

“Thanks,” was all he said, turning his head away from her, severing the eye contact. The action hit Juliet like a blow to the chest, she almost stumbled backwards. Last night she had armed herself to walk into the room and beg on her knees for Joel’s forgiveness, to tackle the consequences of that kiss head on. At the same time, a small part of her had hoped, selfishly wished, that Joel wasn’t horrified by the kiss, that his loud groans were actually signs that he enjoyed it.

That part of her died when Joel turned his head away from her, dismissing her entirely. She had stitched him up, saved his life, but nothing more happened, and nothing more would ever happen. Juliet swallowed the lump crawling its way up her throat and stepped backwards, running her hand, still stained with his blood, over her face.

When she was far enough away from him, Juliet straightened her back and blew out a long breath.

“I’m going to see if I can find us some clean clothes,” she muttered, hesitantly looking over at Joel again. He didn’t even turn to face her, just nodded his head in a sharp, dismissive movement.

Juliet fled from the room on unsteady feet. She had gotten what she had wanted, there was no mention of the kiss between them.

Juliet didn’t expect it to hurt this much.

………………………………………..

Upstairs, Juliet searched each room for wearable clothes for her and Joel. Tears burned in her eyes but she kept looking, kept pretending that there wasn’t an ache in her heart again. In the first bedroom she found a tank top around her size and in the next bedroom she found a flannel. Armed with her new clothes, she rounded the corner and pushed through the door into what she assumed was the master bedroom. Everything looked untouched, just like downstairs. You would never have known the world had gone to hell unless you looked closer and noticed the layer of dust that covered every inch of the room. Juliet thought it was strange that the bed was still made, as if the owner would return to it later, pull back the covers and sink into the mattress after a long day.

Juliet walked around the haunted room, her eyes gliding over every object, every decoration, every sign that there was once life here. Then her eyes closed and a hot tear escaped from the corner of her eyelid. Home was such a foreign concept to Juliet. Life with her father was a prison, life on the road was a nightmare, and life in the QZ never really felt like her own. Juliet struggled to think of a time when she closed her eyes to sleep and actually felt safe, like she would wake up the next morning without a care in the world. The tear burned against her skin as it rolled down her cheek and dropped onto the clothes tucked against her chest.

Juliet blew out a breath and kept moving, searching for another closet. Thinking about what she didn’t have was never a good idea.

Around fifteen minutes later, Juliet walked down the stairs, dressed in her new tank top and flannel with Joel’s new shirt gripped in her hands. She readied herself to see him again. Her heart rate increased with every step but she transformed her features into a neutral expression.

Walking into the living room, Joel was still spread out on the couch, his eyes closed and his moving in a steady rhythm. Juliet inhaled a breath of silent relief.

This time, she let the floorboards creak on purpose, waking Joel from his sleep. She needed his attention and wasn’t going to risk touching him again. He opened his eyes with a gasp, immediately searching for Juliet. His head fell back against the couch when he noticed her standing over him, a new shirt dangling from her fingers. Joel reached up and took it from her, stretching it out to see the navy material. He nodded his thanks. Juliet responded by turning around and dragging her backpack over to the armchair, then digging her hands in to pull out a can of food.

Next, she grabbed her water canister and wet her hands, attempting to scrub off the reminder of Joel from her skin. She kept her head turned away from him, giving him privacy to get changed. Juliet heard him struggle with his wound but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate her help, so Juliet kept staring ahead, fiddling with the can opener in her hand.

She couldn’t bear to see another look of contempt in Joel’s eyes.

After a few minutes, Joel had gone silent and Juliet felt that it was safe to turn around. She grabbed her water canister and brought it over to Joel, who sat upright with his back against the couch. Joel, now dressed in his navy blue shirt, had missed the top buttons so Juliet was forced to look at the patch of chest hair it revealed.

Juliet bit the inside of her lip, hard.

Joel took the canister from her and drank the water in large gulps. Juliet had to look away when her gaze strayed to the muscles in his throat, swallowing down the water. Had it always been like this around Joel?Juliet wondered. Had she always felt such a magnetic pull towards him?It felt as though the kiss had awakened something in her, like she had touched him once and now her skin couldn’t forget how he felt. Longing pulsed through her as his dark eyes quickly grazed over her new outfit while his throat continued to move.

Juliet tasted blood in her mouth. She looked away, clearing her throat.

Joel stopped drinking and used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth before he sat the canister on his lap, his legs spread as he leaned back on the couch.

“Just a couple hours to rest and we can be on our way,” Joel said, his fingers tapping against the metal canister.

“No.”

His tapping stopped.

“No?” he challenged, his head tilting to the side.

Juliet crossed her arms over her chest. There was no way Joel would be ready to continue their journey in just a few hours. He couldn’t even sit up without extreme effort. If they left now, he’d hurt himself even more.

“I didn’t stitch you up just for you to burst it open the next day,” Juliet countered, raising her chin to help make her point. “We’ll stay here tonight and discuss this again tomorrow morning.”

Joel was shocked, Juliet could see it all over his face. His lips parted as he struggled to formulate a response. Then something shifted, his eyes turned dangerous again.

Juliet involuntarily took a step backwards.

“So you make the rules now?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Juliet ran her tongue over her dry lips.

Joel’s eyes dropped to her mouth before flashing back up to her eyes, his jaw hardening as he waited for her reply.

“I make the rules when you’re not thinking clearly,” she replied, shifting on her feet.

Joel didn’t like that, his hand wrapped around the canister in a crushing grip. Juliet didn’t know how he managed it with his injury but he straightened on the couch, making him seem taller. Joel’s presence dominated her even though Juliet was the one towering over him. She had to stop herself from shivering in response to his wicked stare.

“I’m not thinkin’ clearly,” he repeated, lengthening the words in his southern drawl. “How so?” he finished after a pause. His voice was lower than usual, darker almost.

Juliet swallowed. Joel followed the movement.

“You’re injured,” she whispered in response, losing her bravado every second Joel held her in his piercing gaze.

“Is that all?” Joel questioned, tilting his head to the side as his stare shifted down her body again.

Her skin started to flush. Juliet didn’t understand what was happening. One second she was in control, innocently insisting that Joel take a full day to rest his injury, and the next moment, she’s trembling under his gaze again as a hot, traitorous, desire spread through her bloodstream.

Joel’s fingers began to unconsciously stroke the water canister up and down as he continued to watch her, waiting patiently for her answer.

Juliet had to put a stop to this, slice the tension, get back to the matter at hand. She tightened her arms against her chest and sucked in a deep breath.

“That’s all, Joel,” she replied, breaking eye contact as she whirled around and walked towards the half-open can sitting on the armchair. Juliet could feel Joel’s stare heating her back but she didn’t turn around. Surely he must still be delirious from his injury. Joel had never spoken to her like that before. Juliet gripped the can opener, twisting the cool metal with more force than necessary.

How would she survive the rest of the journey with him acting like this?

A thousand questions shot through Juliet’s mind, but she knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t the only one affected by that kiss.

_____________________________

@amyispxnk @shotgun-shelby

#joel miller #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel miller hbo #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #ao3 fanfic #tlou #joel the last of us #the last of us #Spotify #pedro pascal

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yoimix · 1 year

Text

「 cardigan 」

[ note: follows the the 3.3 interlude archon quest plotline ]

when you met him, he already bore too many sins. SCARAMOUCHE, sixth of the fatui harbingers, the balladeer, kunikuzushi. to mend a broken heart, you must break as many as you can.

tough luck for him, yours is as hard as diamond. and sometimes, a glimmer of it ripples across his skin too. you know things he cannot fathom, he knows things he cannot reveal to you. even so, he’d set half the world on fire if it meant you’d keep looking at him. after all, his eyes only ever reflect your joys and sorrows.

“happy from just the sunlight?” he scoffs. “that’s so childish.”

you chuckle. “what’s something that makes you childishly happy then?”

he purses his lips. there is no answer to that he could come up with. only you’re there to witness those moments.

ii.

“you know i don’t get along with anyone else,” he mutters.

“hm? you get along with me.”

his eyes soften. “right. what do i care?”

denial coats his skin like a blush. he’s already yours.

iii.

“hey, what if... what if i had a heart?” he whispers, a forlorn gaze lingering over your figure. “how would i fill that hole?”

despite being battered and bruised, despite his voice barely still there, his bloodstained lips call your name over and over. you hold him closer, arms around his neck. his fingers hover over his chest as though he could will a heart into being.

your lips stretch into a small, tired smile. “haven’t you filled it already?”

“the only thing i could possibly think of filling it with,” he refuses to meet your gaze. “is you.”

he breathes in a steady rhythm till he can no longer tolerate it.

“will you take me as i am? so full of sin?”

“over anyone and anything else.”

his lips press against yours anyway, a feeling he can come by only once in twenty lifetimes.

iv.

“do you... do you know me?”

like clockwork, you take steps towards him. reaching out, you place a hand against his heart and his breath hitches in his throat.

“of course.” you smile, eyes brimming with tears. you’re not sure why. but you’re certain you know him.

“how ridiculous.” he reaches out involuntarily, his thumb wiping away your tears. how ridiculous, indeed. you don’t usually make a fool of yourself in front of strangers.

“can we be friends again?” you ask, a small smile on your lips. his heart stops the way it used to. “if friends is what we were.”

“yes.” there you go again, putting him in a trance.

one day, he’ll learn to fall asleep without you around. until that day, he will keep reaching for your hand.

#when you are young they assume you know nothing~#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #scaramouche imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin spoilers #genshin impact imagines #scaramouche scenarios #genshin fluff #scaramouche fluff #yoimix.drabble #sorry for the long post :(#i was in my feels bc miss taylor struck once again

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cryptidghostgirl · 1 month

Text

The Land is Inhospitable and So Are We (Chuuya x Reader) (slight Dazai x Reader)

Pairing: Chuuya x Reader//Dazai x Reader

Description: Y/n left the Mafia, along with Chuuya, behind. She made her choice and it was most definitely her choice. There is no escaping the consequences.

Next Part: Coming Soon

Warnings: Angst, drinking your feelings, Port Mafia cannon stuff. You guys know the drill. I think that is it, please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 2,103

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Bungou Stray Dogs Master List

A/N AHHHHH! I am actually so excited to start posting some of my other work here. I wrote this little fic back in november (ish?? I think??) and it is what I have decided to start with in my reposting of wattpad stuff here because it is short and sad and under-appreciated on wattpad. Enjoy!

Chapter One: bug like an angel

Y/n sat alone at her favorite bar, turning her mostly empty glass of liquor slowly in her hand and watching the reflections of the dim lights in it. To anyone else, it would appear she was waiting for someone and maybe, somewhere behind those cold eyes, she was. After all, this is where they'd always come to be together, the three of them. Anniversaries were supposed to be a happy thing but in this moment, she couldn't feel anything but emptiness and loss.

"You dug your grave and now you must lie in it silly girl. Made promises you broke, so they broke you right back. Amateur. What else did you think was gonna happen?" she scoffed quietly beneath her breath before downing the rest of her drink.

With sudden assertion, she set the glass down on the bar and stood. Having already paid her tab, she gracefully put her coat on and, with a blasé wave of thanks thrown over her shoulder to the barkeep, took herself out into the cool night.

—— Did I make him a promise I couldn't keep? or am I going to be a man and do something about it?

Dazai looked around the room that had been his home for almost as long as he could remember. There were memories woven into the very fibers of the deep red carpet and the grains of the wood floor. This had been his childhood, his whole life, the only one he'd ever really known.

Looking around, a myriad of minute details caught his eye. It was as if some part of him had already made the choice he was mulling over in his grief muddled mind and was trying to memorize it all, trying to take in every inch of it before he couldn't anymore.

Look there, it said, that bottle of wine is empty because you shared it with Chuuya just last week. And there, that's the rose Y/n gave you randomly one day that you hung up on your wall till it dried. Somewhere in one of those drawers is a scalpel, in the back of that closet, there's a loose board that hides a scrap of Akutagawa's old coat you two found him in. There is a bit of your first coat there too, and Chuuya's from when you found him. And Y/n's she left here of course. Look here... see there... notice this... this plaguing infestation... this gap... this raw, bloodstained history you call a life.

He sighed again, turning his eyes away and running a hand through his already messy hair.

"I am so tired of this." he mumbled aloud, knowing no one was there to hear it.

Taking a step over to the dark wood dresser, he picked up a slip of paper worn with age. The pencil marks on it were blurred from the oil on his fingers, having read it again and again in the past year.

Thoughts continued to swirl around his head as he looked down at the blood soaking his frame.

"But what would I do with all this rage if I were to? Would it have a place to go?"

Dazai found his thoughts drifting to a time a few years ago. The three of them had snuck out into the night and found a bar, a little safe haven in all their madness. Y/n, mediator as she was, had smoothed out any disagreement, any anger spawned from snide remarks. Her exhileration at being out in the air that sharp January night had been all they needed. He had fed on that infectious joy of hers, a spot of light in the darkness that consumed them all and somehow, never went out. Not once in the six years Dazai had known her had he ever seen it even falter.

After dropping the drunken Chuuya safely back at his door, he had walked with her to her own room. They were less than sober themselves and Dazai couldn't help but laugh at his companion as she skipped down the hall, humming softly.

"What is it? Do I look weird?" Y/n asked, suddenly rather self conscious as she heard Dazai laugh behind her.

"Not at all." he smiled, catching up to where she had stopped in the hall, "Just a little unbecoming for the Port Mafia's youngest executive."

"Watch your tongue, dog." she joked, shoving his shoulder lightly, "I could have you drawn and quartered for a comment like that."

"Ooh, how medieval. I'm soooo scared." Dazai sarcastically responded, rolling his eyes as they started to walk once more.

"You better be, I am the notorious wielder of bacchic frenzy and hedonistic release after all." she teased right back.

"I'm too hedonistic as it." Dazai mused happily, "Your power would have no hold on me."

"That's just because no ability has power over yours which means it is cheating. I, Y/n the great, do declare my subordinate, Dazai Osamu, to be a cheater."

"Hey!" he pouted back for a brief moment before they both dissolved into giggles.

Before he knew it, they reached her door. It was an all too familiar thing to him, covered over with little notes and drawings he and Chuuya had left for her over the years that she had refused to take down for sentimentality's sake.

"Thank you for letting me convince you to do this." she said, turning to face him in the dark hallway.

Surprised, Dazai stood silent for a moment before taking a hand from his pocket and placing it on her head.

"Your hope shines in this dark place." was all he said in response.

"I've always known I was too full of feathers. My mother used to say it to me. She said it would kill me someday." Y/n mused softly, pushing the taller man's hand from her hair and holding it in her own, examining it as if it were some precious jewel.

"How do you do it?" he found himself asking, the alcohol coursing through his veins.

"It's just who I am. Plus, if you're just asking that in order to mimic me, remember: my mother was right. I'll be bent over from wishing and surrounded by false promises before long."

"You're too good for that."

"I am not good."

Y/n dropped Dazai's hand and looked up at last to meet his wide brown eyes. His frown only deepened with her gaze.

"I'm not good!" she insisted again, with a slight smile "I am full of all this rage. No one who is good should ever be as angry as I am. Besides, I know my place and I have learned to be content with it. I have learned to find the sun where it is shining."

"You're my sun." he said softly.

Y/n didn't respond but met his eyes once more and Dazai found them to be full of a grief he hadn't seen before. Maybe it had always been there and he had just never been close enough to notice.

"How do you do it?" he said gruffly, sticking his hands back in his pockets and looking away momentarily.

"Do what?"

"How do you deal with all the rage."

Y/n's eyes grew wide for a moment.

"The wrath of the devil was also given to him by god." she said after some thought.

"I never took you as the religious type." Dazai chuckled, lightening the mood slightly.

She smiled and shook her head.

"I'm not but this anger is a part of me whether I want it to be or not. I can sit and let it fester, or I can embrace it and learn to love it as it loves me."

"Aren't you afraid you'll be hated for it?"

His question came out as barley a whisper, a breath with substance.

"You and Chuuya have stuck around, haven't you?"

He turned the paper over in his hand. The backside was empty save for his name, written in that achingly familiar script that had plagued him since the first time he saw it. Dazai had never encountered another person who's handwriting suited them as perfectly as hers did. He shook his head slightly, placing the paper back down. His mind was made up. After all, she had left, she had made it out and, as far as he knew, lived to tell the tale. If she of all people could be redeemed, then why couldn't he?

——

Y/n woke up the next morning with a terrible hangover. Sluggishly, she pulled on her usual attire and dragged herself to work. Grabbing breakfast on the way, she somehow managed to make it to the office only an hour late and with her headache having subsided.

"Morning everyone, sorry I'm late." she managed through a yawn as she stepped inside, "I somehow managed to sleep through my alarm."

Her new life was no place for lies and secrets, Y/n knew that, but when your raised a certain way, things follow you. She couldn't help it and sometimes, her little lies even surprised her.

"Just don't do it tomorrow." said Kunikida, lightly hitting her on the head with his notebook.

"I won't, I won't." she hummed in response, draping her coat over the back of her chair.

As she went to sit down and start on the paperwork from her last mission, Kunikida spoke once more.

"The boss wants to see you in his office."

"What for?" Y/n asked, looking up at him with surprise evident in her eyes.

Kunikida shrugged.

"He's speaking to a potential new hire, apparently he wants your opinion on the matter."

"Mine?"

"Seems like a waste of time. The man has an irresponsible, lazy air to him." Kunikida continued as if he hadn't heard her question.

"I guess I'll go see what he needs."

Y/n knocked gently on the boss' door and did not move to enter until she heard the command from inside.

"You ask to see me sir?" She said with a respectful bow once the door was shut.

"Yes, sit down."

Y/n nodded and moved to take the empty seat in front of his desk before noticing a strangely familiar person sitting beside it. Her eyes grew wide with disbelief for a moment before she quickly fixed her expression into a small, pleasant smile.

"What is it I can help with."

She could feel his eyes on her as she look straight ahead at the boss who took a sip of his tea.

"Y/n, this is Dazai Osamu but I'm sure you know that already."

"Yes, of course." she nodded, still absolutely avoiding the man beside her.

"He wants to work here."

"And why should you?" she asked, suddenly fixing her strangely cold attention on Dazai.

"My, haven't you changed." he smiled back at her.

"Your coat is different."

"And your feathers appear to have gone."

Y/n was silent for a moment.

"Not gone, just quieted. This is my hiding place, why are you here?"

"I thought you might know one another, it appears however that you two even have a history." the boss chuckled warmly, bringing the attention in the room back on him, "Tell me Y/n, this man claims to have been a Port Mafia executive. He says he wants to leave it behind, to 'be on the side that saves people.' Can you confirm his story? Back up his intentions?"

"You never asked anyone to back up my story or my intentions, why bother with this one?"

"You were sincere." the boss answered cooly, "This one appears to have something to hide."

Y/n rolled his words over in her mind for a moment, sparing Dazai a fleeting glance before she answered.

"Dazai and I grew up together. He was my subordinate and must have been promoted to take my position when I left. I do not believe there is any reason to not trust his intent in this situation. In fact, I had a feeling something would happen and he'd follow me someday."

"Thank you Y/n, that is all. You may return to your work."

"Yes sir."

Y/n stood and bowed once more. As she turned to leave however, Dazai grabbed her wrist lightly. She looked down at his still seated form, her eyebrows raised.

"How's that wrath of yours?" he asked with a seemingly harmless smile.

Y/n took a deep breath before moving her hand carefully from his grasp.

"How's your hedonism treating you lately?" she threw back and the door clicked shut softly behind her.

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headphonemouse · 10 months

Text

Follow up to this post brought to you by @forgetme-eternally-blissfully, in fanfic snippet format because I gave up on drawing the comic (the fanfic was supposed to be a comic draft but I added too many details)

Kim Dokja lays on the ground among the rubble of a ruined building. He twitches a little before his eyes open. The world is blurry. In the distance, he can see a dark blur fluttering around his surroundings. As his vision comes into focus, he can recognize Yoo Joonghyuk searching through the debris.

A sharp pain coming from his side causes Kim Dokja to let out a groan as he struggles to push himself up to a sitting position. The sound catches Yoo Joonghyuk's attention and immediately he starts making a beeline in Kim Dokja's direction.

As Yoo Joonghyuk approaches, Kim Dokja takes note of Yoo Joonghyuk's tattered coat, his bloodstained body, the wounds on his face, hands, legs. None too serious though some deep enough to inevitably leave scars later.

Yoo Joonghyuk is getting closer, kneeling down, reaching his hand out towards Kim Dokja's face, making a move to pull Kim Dokja in when Kim Dokja decides to open his mouth.

"You're not losing your balance and having trouble standing are you? I'm not going to carry you on my back this time."

"Shut up," is all Yoo Joonghyuk says as he wraps his arms around Kim Dokja's shoulders. His grip is tight, one hand on the back of Kim Dokja's head, the other circled around his upper back.

There is a gash in Kim Dokja's side that throbs with pain. Blood loss has his head spinning and his vision blurring again. From where his face is pressed into Yoo Joonghyuk's shoulder, Kim Dokja can smell blood, sweat, smoke. Buildings continue to crumple in the background and the sound of something falling pitters in his ears. His hands tense and untense, relax and remain by his sides.

Kim Dokja lets out a breath and leans into Yoo Joonghyuk, just slightly. Just enough so that Yoo Joonghyuk can tighten his hold by a hair.

----------

Author's notes (what would normally be my image caption):

I said in the referenced post that Kim Dokja has no trouble reciprocating affection once someone else initiates, but I think Yoo Joonghyuk is the exception. Always exceptional, that one. At least during the Scenarios.

Kim Dokja can read his movements, see what Yoo Joonghyuk is aiming to do, can read his mind, dammit. But he can't comprehend his actions. Yoo Joonghyuk acting in a way that Kim Dokja doesn't know about is something that happens more and more often as time goes on, and serves as a reminder of the wall that exists between a protagonist and a reader, but also the wall that exists between two normal people. Because at this moment, Kim Dokja is still struggling to see Yoo Joonghyuk as his own person instead of a protagonist or a 1863x-regressor-to-be. He's blinded by what he knows and has seen in his own past, which he assumes will be Yoo Joonghyuk's future. When he looks at him, does he see those ghosts of the future flickering superimposed over the shape of the man before him? This is the sort of wall that exists between them.

So when Yoo Joonghyuk acts outside of Kim Dokja's expectations, Kim Dokja tries to push them back on course with banter. "Yoo Joonghyuk is getting closer, kneeling down, reaching his hand out towards Kim Dokja's face, making a move to pull Kim Dokja in-" Kim Dokja sees all of this, takes note of all of this, knows what's to come of it. Doesn't understand it one bit. He's not oblivious. It's more like, "Why? Why me? Why would someone feel this way about and want to do these things with me?" He KNOWS the effect he has on people. He intentionally calculates how much he interacts with Jung Heewon and Lee Hyunsung to ensure their loyalty towards him in the early scenarios (not so much so after like Scenario 5-ish so we're talking early-early scenarios. After that point he more supports them in the direction they want to go (when that direction is the direction he already wanted them to go anyways. something something picking teammates because he knew they were already loyal and righteous by nature, nurturing them so that they would be able to carry out their justice no matter the adversary. He chose them because he knew they were loyal and strong, but they weren't loyal or strong at the time. But they would be in the future. But they wouldn't have been without him. But in another time where he didn't exist they were strong anyways see this is how he is able to have ultimate faith in his party members and know the kind of support he has given them while still being unable to recognize his own value in the grand scheme of things. Because they would have been fine without him, he's SEEN it. This is another wall between him and other people, another future ghost)). So he knows how much influence he has in other peoples' lives. But he values himself so little that he is blind to the emotional, sentimental weight he has to these people. No matter how much he knows he's done for them, he won't see himself as worthy of genuine praise or recognition, affection, love.

So this lack of self recognition extends to his perception of all of his companions, but especially so to Yoo Joonghyuk. Yoo Joonghyuk is probably the person whom Kim Dokja is the most strict about characterization with. Kim Dokja knows him the best, it's true, but he also doesn't know a damn thing about him as a person instead of a character and that makes him feel a certain way. Vulnerable, I think. Lonely. That childish feeling of betrayal when the characters walk off the page without him. There are sides to people and characters that you will never know simply because they weren't observed. And there are sides of people that you have no right to know. It is by becoming a person instead of a reader that you must abide by those rules and give up omniscience. Part of being a person and recognizing another's personhood is to willingly not know everything about them.

Anyways. He's not there yet. Not by Hug Attempt #2. This was supposed to have 3 parts with the last one set after the epilogue but we'll see if I ever get to it.

#I AM A FOOL.#I thought posting the snippet would be easier for me but instead I ended up going on a long ramble in the author's notes.#so uh yeah enjoy your 300 words of fic and 700 words of meta #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv spoilers #writing tag #reading tag #btw. did u kno. did you know this whole 'kdj misses the hug cue' idea all began because. becaus e i missd a hug cue. again.#thats right #on several occasions people have t-posed at me and i just gave them the polite smile #they gotta be like 'im giving you a hug!' for me to get it #then i was like huh sounds like something kdj would do and i like bullying yjh

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enigmatist17 · 11 months

Text

Gah Fox is in my head tonight!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

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

The Jedi Council are in an uproar when Anakin Skywalker tells them that Palpatine is dead, and not only that, but the very Sith they had been looking for.

After a solid three hours of yelling, someone gets an idea to go talk with this Commander Fox and ask what the kriff he was thinking.

They don't get that far.

Few clones were skilled enough to make the Jedi pause, and while the number was small, there was no mistake that they could be a threat.

Alpha-17 was one of these said clones.

He's standing outside the door that leads down to the Corrie Guard barracks, and the anger that is filling the Force is great enough to make even Yoda stop walking. He has his helmet on, but the way he slowly looks over at the mass of Jedi is telling enough, and Anakin presses forward with his hands raised.

"What do you want?" The alpha ARC trooper has every word coated with rage, yet kept his calm tone.

"Thire said Fox was down here, and they want to talk to him..." He starts, but the Knight shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth when the rage increases.

"Do you Jetti come here often?" He's done being professional, snarling at the group like a viper. The only one who seems to be spared is Plo, a ripple of affection surrounds the master underneath all the anger, and all the Jedi shake their heads. "You don't get to come to play savior nor inquisitor, so go back to your Temple."

The anger isn't pure anger anymore, it's a roaring protectiveness over Fox that not even Windu was stupid enough to ignore.

"We need to ask him questions..." Master Luminara begins, and Alpha-17 stares her down. "How did he know about..."

Senators who pass by in the distance silence what she has to say, and the clone regards them before pointing back the way they had all come.

"We will come to you. Leave...except General Koon and General Skywalker." Yoda motions for the two named to walk forward, and the rest of the Council quickly depart to await news. The rage has now drawn back to more of a simmer, and Alpha-17 points to the door that looked a bit worn compared to most of the Senate building. It becomes clear to Anakin that Plo had been here before, the master giving a shake of his head as they enter the area of those who patrolled Courscant and kept its citizen safe.

To be kind, it looks like shit.

The barracks of the Guard looked, for lack of a better word, more of an afterthought than a place to house hundreds of men. Anakin can see remnants of bloodstains that never got fully wiped up here and there on some walls, and the chill that runs down his spine makes him shiver. It's no wonder Fox thought he'd be killed, serving Palpatine and living in conditions like these?

For the second time within a few short hours, Anakin feels his blood boil in rage.

Alpha-17 finally pauses outside of a door, and regards the generals for a moment.

"Play nice, Prime adjacent is with him." Plo and Anakin share a look, and Alpha-17 stands aside to take guard by the door.

The room appeared to be some sort of office, its desk that was normally in the middle of the room pushed up against a wall to create some space in the cramped room. Fox was sitting in a chair against the far wall, head in his hands as he murmured something in the clones' language that far few outside of their circle understood. The hand on his shoulder belongs to a clone that few civilians of the Republic ever saw, one that only Anakin had caught sight of once himself.

"Captain Fordo." While he may share the hazel eyes found among millions of his brothers, neither Jetti had seen them sharper than a beskar blade nor colder than Ilum on a bad day. They seem to pass through the two as if examining their very core, and it takes a moment to realize it's more than just a physical examination.

"Generals." Fordo has withdrawn his probing before speaking, and Plo is quite impressed. "Do you need something?"

"We have questions, for Commander Fox." Plo remains in place as those eyes just stare, only for them to flicker over when Anakin took a step closer. "We can ask the easiest, how did you know?"

"I had my suspicions..." Fox sounds tired, and both Jetti can see that he's still suffering from Force exhaustion despite trying to hide it. "When he ordered us to hunt down Fives...I knew. None of us were in his office, and when that happens, it's usually corpse retrieval, sir."

"Corpse retrieval?" Plo sounds horrified, and wonders how they had been so blind. Imagining his children secreting away corpses while the Chancellor smiled and played audience, it made the older Jetti feel ill, and he sends out a feeling of love to both Fox and Fordo before he can help himself. Fox jerks like he's touched a live wire, and Plo does similar when he feels a rush of protective fury slams against him in the Force. Fox puts his hand over Fordo's, and the assault ceases immediately as the older clone averts his eyes to the younger commander.

That beskar sharpness fades into a soft adoration, just for a moment.

"What happens now?" For once, Fox isn't sure what his next orders were, nor what the blade he held in his hand meant.

"Right now, suppress the information as long as we can. You and your men will not be staying down here any longer." Plo Koon knelt down in front of the trooper, and carefully placed a clawed hand on his knee. "No one will harm you ever again, you have my word."

"Mine as well. Rex and the others can clear out some unused space so your men aren't...here." Anakin spat, glaring at a poor wall as if expecting it to change into something more homely.

"Really?" Fox finally looks up, and allows himself to feel a small bit of hope.

"Really, I can't believe you've all been stuck down here like this." The younger man scowls, but gives Fox a warm smile when he looks over.

"...yes sir." Fox doesn't feel his smile as a grimace for the first time in ages, and just leans into Fordo's touch as the alpha ARC begins to comm his men with the news.

He's fallen back into the Force with a blink of his eyes, and drifts among the stars that are each of his brothers' souls.

#personal #star wars #star wars clone wars #clone wars #cc 1010 #commander fox #captain fordo #alpha 17 #anakin skywalker #plo koon #fox kills palpatine au #force sensitive clones #feral for my corrie boy

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