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under-sedationnn · 3 years

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the arcana: main six reacting to injured! reader

anonymous: Could u do m6 reacting to mc coming home injured? I want some hurt/comfort >:))

Warnings: talk of being injured, blood. if that bothers you or tiggers you in anyway, please scroll away! i want this to be a safe place, only :)

thanks for the request anon!! i hope you enjoy!! <3 requests for the kissing prompts and physical affection prompts are STILL OPEN. please send them in with the character of your choice (which could be any character from any series i write for) and i will create an imagine!! thanks and happy reading!!

- tries his very very best to stay calm

- you can see panic bubbling under the surface

- faust is on high alert

- slithers around your shoulders and squeezes you for a hug

- "friend! hurt!"

- doesn't immediately ask what happened, just gets you to a comfortable place to be cleaned up

- then, and only then, will he brave to ask what happened to you

- or who did this to you

- wipes the blood from your skin with very gentle swipes

- winces when you wince, and apologizes profoundly

- "Y/n, how did this happen? i thought you were just taking a quick trip to the market."

- "i fell in the market, tripped over a stone"

- "and nobody helped you?"

- in this case he's disappointed with the bystanders, but does not become angry

- in a situation where someone hurt you?

- oh god

- "Y/n, how did this happen? i thought you were just taking a quick trip to the market."

- "yeah, well, somebody had their eye on the same apple i picked up. somehow, though, they managed to push me to the ground and steal it from my hands."

- i don't even think he would know what to say

- and asra is not really the type to march out into the streets of vesuvia and seek to challenge the one who hurt you

- but he would certainly hold a grudge against whoever it was if he did find out

- and would feel absolutely awful about letting you get hurt

- his mind would race about the possibility of losing you again

- because he simply can't handle it

- and what if that person had been particularly violent or malicious? what if you had been taken??

- you'd have to comfort the hell out of him to make sure he knows that you're okay

- "asra, hey, i'm fine! i can handle myself, you know that"

- "you're right, and i know you're right. it's just hard"

- "it's still hard for me, too. the market still makes me a little nervous and i got caught a little off guard, is all"

- that would make him feel better

- would finish patching up your wounds and would make sure to bring you to julian the next day if they were too bad for him to fix or needed stitches

- would also create a special brew to help with the pain and ease you to sleep

- "why don't i go down to the market tomorrow?"

- "why? so when you pick a fight over apples, i can pay you back for all of this high quality medical treatment?"

- "well of course, surely you didn't expect all this tender love and care to be free" *wink*

- panicked doctor mode enabled

- immediately begins checking you over, asking questions

- something tells me it would be a head injury of some sort

- "oh darling, what happe- you're bleeding!"

- "julian, i'm okay! it's just a little scratch"

- "no no no you might need stitches, come sit down. i'll go get my kit!"

- there's really no use in arguing

- he has cold ass hands, so he tries to warm them up before he begins suturing the wound

- tries to be gentle, and his expert hands move quickly without any snagging

- "so, how did this happen?"

- his voice is literally trembling

- "well, i was in the clinic grabbing the list of ingredients we need for our next grocery trip and there was a puddle of... something on the floor. i slipped and hit my head on the corner of your desk"

- immediately thinks it's his fault

- like "oh shit i should have cleaned better that could have killed y/n and then what would i have done-"

- doesn't necessarily voice this, but you can tell by the silence that follows that he's feeling really guilty

- would kneel for you, head on your knees

- "y/n, i am so sorry"

- "juli, it's really okay, i should have watched where i was going"

- "i'll make sure to clean better from now on, okay?"

- would guard you throughout the night in case of concussion

- nurse juli <3

- but let's say someone had put their hands on you

- would patch you up the same way, and apologize profusely for not being there with you

- tuck you into bed and fetch mazelinka to keep an eye on you throughout the night incase of a concussion

- would most definitely be self destructive and seek that mf out

- maybe not successfully, but would try his hardest

- "i'll be back in the morning, get some rest"

- "I can find them myself if I want to, you know"

- embarrassed blush

- because he KNOWS you can take care of yourself

- "of course, but right now you're hurt. as your partner, i will do what must be done on your behalf darling"

- probably shows up the following morning with battle scars of his own

- the guards found you in the garden, passed out in the maze

- blood trickled down your arm, a large gash marking your bicep

- ran you up to the palace and immediately to the medical wing

- them]n nadia gets word

- the calm, collected queen act disappears

- abandons anything she's doing, anybody she's talking to

- "we will finish this at a different time, i have more important matters to attend to"

- she is so worried and it's honestly adorable

- very much giving "where tf are they?" energy

- god i love her so much

- anyways um

- asks the nurses over and over what happened, if you're okay, etc.

- watches the physicians and nurses like a hawk as they clean the wound and suture the cut

- and they're so intimidated lmao they never come face to face with her literally ever

- brushes your hair back from your face as they do so

- holds your hands

- would demand that you be brought to her sleeping chamber

- so that's where you wake up! how cute

- she's laying beside you, her brows furrowed

- maybe even her eyes are a little hazy

- "y/n, sweetheart, do you remember what happened?"

- patiently waits for your answer, you're still a little groggy

- you were either attacked by an animal and passed out from the fright

- or you were attacked by an armed person and was knocked out

- either way, the guards are on it

- nadia isn't letting whoever or whatever did this get away without a fight

- the palace is meant to be a safe haven for you

- for the both of you

- "well, don't you worry, we'll take care of that"

- you try to sit up but she won't let you

- "oh no, you must stay down, y/n. you are possibly concussed from the fall"

- "oh okay, sorry"

- "is there anything i can get you?"

- the countess of vesuvia, serving you in your time of need

- "just some water would be nice"

- "of course, i'll have some brought up right away"

- i literally feel like he would just start crying straight up

- cause like he has some problems anyway

- he big sad boi

- and you coming home to the hut bleeding from a gash in the arch of your foot is not helping

- picks you and carries you to the bed without a word

- just starts examining the cut

- inanna is also very concerned

- she licks the blood from the cut, she's trying to be helpful

- meanwhile muriel is stumbling around the hut looking for anything to stop the bleeding, disinfect it, bandage it, anything

- but he's not the best about keeping that stuff in stock

- keeps looking back at you with worry in his eyes

- he doesn't know what to do

- "muriel, let me see if i can contact asra. maybe he or julian can bring me a salve. i'm pretty sure i'm gonna need stitches"

- low-key makes him feel worse

- cause he feels like he's unable to care for you and keep your safe

- even tho this was just an accident

- he's breathing really fast, his anxiety creeping

- agrees anyway, but goes to get them himself

- "i'll be back soon, just keep this piece of cloth pressed against it"

- cause you're bleeding like a lot

- inanna stays behind

- he returns very quickly with julian in tow, though he doesn't look happy about it

- leaves the hut without another word

- julian gets to work immediately

- "so, you cut your foot i see"

- smartass.

- "yeah, muriel always tells me to put on shoes when i walk in the woods but i love to feel the grass beneath my feet"

- julian chuckled at this

- "and i'm assuming you, what, stepped on a rock?"

- "...yeah, sliced it right open"

- after julian is done cleaning up the cut, he tells you to just stay off of it for a while and make sure it doesn't get infected

- once he's gone, muriel trudges back into the hut

- "muriel, baby, it was just a cut it's not a big deal"

- but his eyes look hurt, and you beckon him toward the bed

- "hey," your hands on his cheeks, "i'm okay, really"

- "sorry, i just got scared. blood is still a trigger for me and since you got hurt in my woods, i felt like it was my fault"

- "muriel, of course it wasn't your fault"

- he really needed a hug

- after this instance, he made sure to keep medical supplies in the hut and you promised to try and wear shoes in the woods more often than not

- "i'll try my best to be more careful. deal?"

- sweet lil smile

- "deal."

- "oh my god, y/n, what the hell happened??"

- you were tending the garden

- without her supervision

- and the garden sheers might have sliced into the palm of your hand

- deep

- brings you over to the sink and runs water over the cut, covering it with a towel when the dripping blood had been washed away

- girl is on the move

- cause she knows what to do! love that

- low-key a main reason why julian managed to live as long as he has

- pepi is curiously perched atop one of the counters, peering down

- finds her personal first aid kit she had stashed in the bathroom

- guides you over to sit on the counter while she tries to figure out what to do

- "damn, you really cut yourself, y/n"

- "sorry! i think i just got a little carried away"

- she giggles at that, though she is still worried about the fact that it won't stop bleeding

- gently wraps the cut in gauze and adheres it together

- places a kiss to your fingertips

- "all done! no more gardening for you!"

- "hey, why not?"

- "well you don't want that cut to open back up again and again, do you?"

- "no"

- "alright then," she smiled, moving to put away the first aid kit again, "and we're going up to the palace medical wing first thing tomorrow morning to make sure it's not infected"

- eye roll

- "yes ma'am" you mocked

- even though you know it's just because she loves you

- "but since you got hurt, you want me to bake you some cookies?"

- "only if you let me eat the dough!"

- good god do i love this man

- but he is so self-absorbed it's actually insane

- and I feel like he wouldn't even notice at first

- cause he's too focused on himself

- gazing into the mirror without a care in the world when you walked in

- "y/n, thank goodness you're home, how do you feel about these pants?"

- you just hobbled to the nearest seat, hand resting over the gash on your knee

- mercedes and melchior were lazing across a rug at the base of his mirror, their attention set on you

- "u-um, yeah, they look good"

- literally just trying not to bleed out, over here

- "good? oh really, now, y/n don't they look amazing?"

- "yes, they look ama- ow, damnit"

- then he turned around

- immediate shock and worry! oh no oh no y/n is hurt!

- mercedes and melchior walked over first, whining as they took in the cut, brushing around the edges

- lucio raced over, squatting down in front of you, and began examining the cut

- "hey, hey, what happened?"

- "i accidentally tripped on my walk in the garden and scraped my knee on the cobblestone"

- he was lightly touching around the cut, gauging how sensitive it was

- when you flinched he stopped, looking into your eyes with a soft "sorry"

- "i think i need to go to the palace infirmary"

- "oh there's no need, i can take care of you!"

- you were not convinced he could take care of you, at least not well

- "uh, lucio, are you sure?"

- he looked slightly offended, at that

- "you know, y/n, i did fight in battles at one point. i have not only tended to my own wounds, but the wounds of others, as well"

- you giggled at the thought

- "much to your protest, though, i'm sure"

- he moved to the small cabinet of medical supplies in the ensuite to your bedroom, returning to your side with it in hand

- "at points, but i don't mind helping you in the slightest"

- for all of his antics, his soft side was enough to make you fall in love all over again

- and although i know he would take care of you in literally any situation, i can't say for certainty that he would stick around and place nurse lucio for long if a person had hurt you

- attacked you

- much like nadia, the guards would be sent out without a second thought, lucio leading the pack in the search for you aggressor

#the arcana nadia #the arcana julian #the arcana #the arcana imagines #the arcana headcanons #the arcane game #the arcana lucio #nadia the arcana #the arcana asra #asra the arcana #lucio montag #count lucio #lucio #portia devorak #portia headcanons #muriel the mountain man #muriel x mc #the arcana muriel #muriel

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 4 years

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Dream SMP Recap (December 6/2020) - End of Week

What started as a sad but calm day ended with a revolution where morality was questioned and blood was shed. The server’s first canon death since the three lives rule was implemented occurred, and all hell broke loose.

Dream’s motivations have started to be laid bare, but whether or not he’s in the wrong or right remains foggy as ever in a world where everyone’s morals are gray.

Also, the prison’s construction continues and some strange red corruptions called “Blood Vines” have sprouted up on the server.

A short summary of the week’s total events is at the end of the post.

---

- HBomb hosts Niki and Wilbur’s L’Cast

- Fundy continues work on the chess board

- Ranboo is leaving a book with messages to communicate with Tommy

- Fundy and Ranboo visit Tommy and help him through the Nether to find blaze rods. It’s a very...interesting...time... Fundy fills Tommy in on the fact that Dream is officially recognizing L’manburg as a country.

- Tommy falls in lava and loses all his stuff

- Then he burns to death

- Then he falls in lava and loses all his stuff again

- He FINALLY gets an ender chest

- Lazar asks him for help since he’d fallen in lava and needed help getting out. As Tommy does so, Lazar questions why Tommy hasn’t turned against L’manburg. Tommy says it’s because Tubbo is there, but Lazar points out that Tubbo was the one who exiled him.

- Ghostbur comes on and says he has a gift.

- Tommy attempts to rescue Lazar from the depths of the lava pit. Techno starts arguing with him.

- Tommy falls in lava and loses all his stuff again. He gives up on helping Lazar, who is understandably annoyed at him.

- Philza joins the call wondering wtf is happening and why Tommy keeps dying, but Tommy just ends stream

- Psyche! After credits scene. Ghostbur asks Tommy to return to Logstedshire so he dies in lava to fast-travel back. Ghostbur gives Tommy a lodestone compass named “Your Tubbo” that points back to L’manburg at all times. Tommy puts the compass in his ender chest right next to the discs, saying he’ll keep it close to his heart.

- Thunder’s frustrated that Tommy got exiled exiled because the Prank War he was setting up between Dream and Tommy can no longer happen and Thunder’s great villain arc has been cancelled - he is no longer a villain now.

- Now, he wants to do the clay prank to George instead to try and get Dream and George to turn on each other as revenge for Dream burning his house.

- Puffy builds Tommy a second Christmas Tree.

--- Note: From this point on I tried to include more specific details than normal since it’s an important and confusing event ---

- Quackity declares war on the Dream SMP from Mexican L’manburg. He gets George, Sapnap and Karl on to help. He’s rigged TNT under Eret’s castle bridge and wants to invoke the same ideas as the Mexican Revolution. He wants to put M.L. on the map by staging an assassination and using George’s dethronement as an excuse to start a political movement.

- Sapnap wants to take on Technoblade but Quackity tells him that they have to take things step by step and that it’s an extremely bad idea to do it now.

- Eret asks Hbomb to be one of his knights. HBomb agrees.

- George wants his kingship back

The explosion goes to plan with H and Puffy as witnesses.

--- ---

CANON DEATH: KARL

Cause: Death by explosion and falling

--- ---

- George distracts Eret while Quackity, Sapnap and Karl steal his throne. Punz joins Eret’s side as one of his other knights.

- The M.L. side reconvenes in L’manburg and drink invisibility potions. Dream is in Mexican L’manburg. He is tearing the dirt to shreds. Meanwhile, Eret gives a speech to his Knights as they head to Party Island. Dream, alone, is invisible in Boomerville.

- Sapnap gets Dream to log (he says it’s lag). The Dream SMP faction blows up M.L. with TNT. The Mexican L’manburgians kill Puffy.

- They want to head to the Holy Land. Dream says he wants to talk. They collect at the Church.

- They argue. Dream threatens to kill Quackity permanently and make sure Mexican L’manburg can never rise again. (Also Karl’s acting is genuinely good holy shit)

- Sapnap tells George that he thinks Dream has completely turned against them, and that they’re better off disowning him.

---

Dream: “You’re painting me as this tyrant when I’m just trying to maintain peace.”

He refers to it as his castle, his throne. He calls the people of M.L. “terrorists.”

---

He says that in his eyes, Mexican L’manburg does not even exist, and that he’ll speak to Tubbo about making sure he sees that it doesn’t exist as well.

M.L. argues that putting a human life above a few blocks of gold is more important.

Dream refers to himself as the “ruler” of the Dream SMP, the “leader,” letting it slip that “king” is a meaningless title.

He says that Quackity is causing the most problems, the number one “enemy” of the SMP right now. Similar to how he referred to Tommy defying him.

He says that Quackity is not like Tubbo, who is a “fair, just ruler” and that is why New L’manburg is recognized and Mexican L’manburg is not. Tubbo would never do what Quackity did. Wilbur and Jschlatt and Tommy would. He says that he waited until New L’manburg had a reasonable leader to recognize it.

- “Un-killing” is implied to be a thing, where the person who gave you your canon death can take it back.

---

Dream: “The king is a figurehead and he knows that!”

Eret: “I do.”

Quackity: “So that’s what you are Eret -- a puppet--”

Dream: “Yes! -- no he’s not a puppet-- h-he has no power and I have - and - it’s the same thing and--”

(Dream proceeds to deny Eret being a “puppet”)

---

- Quackity decides to dissolve Mexican L’manburg for a clean slate and call it something else. He wants the server to have a precedent of establishing new countries without having to go to Dream for recognition every time.

- Eret agrees to recognize Quackity’s new country if they apologize and return the throne.

--- ---

CANON UNDEATHING: KARL (?)*

* Dream says that the death is still canon later since plot was based around it. I don’t know what Karl considers his death count to be?

--- ---

- Sapnap declares that he no longer wants to fight Techno but Dream instead. He says he wants to slay Dream in front of everyone.

- Overall, Dream and Eret declare it a “failed coup” and say that the destruction is just a consequence of “what happens when you don’t plan anything” but Quackity is satisfied that his new country has been “put on the map.”

- Quackity declares the country to be named “El Rapids” in honor of Cedar Rapids.

- Punz no longer wants to be an official Knight.

- Quackity misses Ghostbur and wants to speak with him. He tells Ghostbur about the war. Ghostbur asks if it was a revolution - Quackity says yes! Ghostbur also informs Quackity that he burnt the sacred texts - How to Sex 2 - in lava.

- Karl streams with the intention of rebuilding and preparing for Pokimane’s visit

- Karl steals Eret’s Museum Llamas and gets caught in the act. Fortunately this doesn’t spark up the war again. They take a llama to Party Island.

- They get into trouble at Boomerville and Lazar joins.

- Dream comes online and asks Sam about the prison’s progress. Bad gets annoyed at Sam for destroying the beachfront property value, and he didn’t authorize the seizure of the land. Dream is there helping to shovel but Bad wants him to stop. Bad is angry about the prison being built and starts shouting at Sam.

- Bad tries to negotiate with Dream. Dream refers to the prison as containing a “prisoner.” Singular. And that the prisoner would have nothing, and Bad would be in charge of helping to guard it. There are going to be multiple “layers.”

- The prison will be in the middle of the ocean bit, and Bad would have a terraformed beachfront property. All of the land would be considered property of the Badlands - including the prison.

- People are going to have to go through PORTALS to escape the prison.

- Bad starts to come around to the prison idea. Dream tells Sam he thinks they need more hands to help, potentially Ant and Eret.

- A strange, giant red “egg” has appeared in the corner of Bad’s statue room. He feels a strange aura coming from it, and he’s unable to bring himself to break it.

- Dream says Eret can’t help with the prison but he can help make the beach nicer. Bad says he might want to put Tommy in the prison but Dream says no, Tommy’s already exiled. So the prison isn’t for Tommy.

- Once the prisoner is in there, Dream says they would only be able to be let out “by the server.” It’s got certain secrets that only Dream and Sam know about. Sam says that he could potentially escape from it, but it will be so impenetrable that even if you know the secrets it would still be difficult to escape from.

- Bad shows Dream the Egg. Dream gets creeped out by it.

- Another Red Corruption has appeared near Hutt’s Pizza, and another at the Mansion. Everyone swears that it wasn’t there before, and there wasn’t enough time for someone to place all of it manually in the time that they were down there.

- Bad stabs Dream for trying to “hurt it.” He likes it for some reason.

- Bad asks Dream about who the prison’s for. Dream says “if you can’t kill somebody, you need to lock them up.” He mentions that it’s one of the more powerful people on the server, someone who either provides a threat now or in the future. He has someone in mind.

--- ---

Dream explains to Bad and Sam that the reason he switched sides in the Manberg-Pogtopia War was because Schlatt gave him something.

And that thing is “a card up his sleeve” until he needs it.

A book of great value.

It puts Dream in danger if people know of it, but also gives Dream power.

The “most valuable thing on the server.”

Something pertaining to the prison.

Something where they wouldn’t believe Dream if he told them what he was given.

--- ---

- The corruption grows AGAIN despite Dream, Sam and Bad all being in the middle of the ocean

- Another corruption appears on Tommy’s Power Tower

- The water level in New L’manburg has risen again, covering George and Quackity’s mushroom house

- The prison is going to be as tall as a MOUNTAIN

- Dream proposes the idea of Bad giving him the disc to piss off Tommy. Bad says that Skeppy has it so he’ll have to ask some other time. He might trade some information about Schlatt’s book in return for the disc.

- Bad says he likes the name a dono came up with for the corruption -- “Blood Vines”

- Dream and Sam removed the Blood Vines on the Mansion to Bad’s dismay. Sam burns the Vines and Bad goes on a murderous rampage against him.

- Technoblade got a “Bee our guest” achievement

- Dream burns down the Eiffel Tower again.

- The prison will be reinforced with 15 layers of obsidian, and the guards will have Ender Pearl Stasis Chambers that are alarm-activated.

- The Blood Vines have sprouted up from Schlatt’s Grave.

The prison’s unofficial name as of right now is “Pandora’s Vault,” but it is subject to change.

Upcoming events:

- Karl will be touring Pokimane around soon

Potentially Scrapped:

- Elytra Challenge

- Bad and Skeppy’s plan to burn the disc *

* Bad mentioned it on stream, but it’s unclear if it’ll still happen

END OF WEEK RECAP:

11/30: Fundy bonds with Wilbur, Cursed Lore Day

12/01: Creation of Mexican L’manburg, Girl Dream visits, Mexican Manhunt

Note: not sure what’s up with 12/02. Probably messed up the dates? Whoops.

12/03: Sleepy Bois Family splits in half, dethroning of George

12/04: Day of the Exile, Badlands start to divide

12/05: Tommy’s first full day in Logsted, Sean’s visit

12/06: The Mexican L’manburg Revolution, end of M.L., start of El Rapids

---

!!! SPOILERS AHEAD !!!

- Wilbur had two special lodestone compasses in his inventory. He didn’t want HBomb to see, but H looked anyway.

#mcyt #dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts #dream smp end of week recaps

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roll-da-credits · 3 years

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HC: Titan Shifter W/ a Reckless S/O

Characters: Porco Galliard, Zeke Jaeger, Eren Jaeger (around the time when Yelena came)

A/n: I really really need to write more for AOT characters, like I'm not surprised my blog already has a lot of MHA ones. But like I'm not even caught up with the manga anymore (I'm not caught up with AOT either but still). Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this!!!

🖤❤️🖤

Eren Jaeger

Eren would be slightly concerned, depending on how reckless you actually are, like would you run into battle for the sake of it or would you just do risky stuff

Obviously, he's someone reckless as well, but he's well planned and well prepared. He's also brave enough to take responsibility and the hate he'd get for choosing certain things

Of course, he'd worry about you a lot, he loves you with all his heart and truly doesn't want you to get hurt

But this was a war, and if you were willing to make the decisions, albeit risky and dangerous, he'd support you and instead of judging you for it he'd make sure you're prepared enough

There are times where the both of you would get into arguments about it though

He'd get extremely worried for you and suddenly explode out of nowhere, leaving you confused and angry

But these bursts of anger wouldn't last very long since Eren is someone caring deep underneath all the trauma

He'd protect you at all costs if you were on the battlefield with him, watching you from the side of his eyes hoping your recklessness doesn't get you killed

Every time a battle was won, the first thing he'd look for is you since he's terrified another person he loved was dead

Overall, he wouldn't be overprotective to the point of not letting you do what you want, but he will criticize your actions AFTER you've done it, though when you're doing said action, he will encourage you, hopping his encouragement will give you more bravery to complete whatever it is you wanted to do at that moment

Porco Galliard

Now Porco knows full well one day after a long battle, he might get the terrible news that you died. Probably by some random attack or your recklessness getting the better of you

But he doesn't have enough power to stop the higher-ups from putting you in high-risk situations. Those people know your recklessness will help when dealing with hard situations

This doesn't mean he doesn't try to convince you from dropping out completely though

Sometimes after a stressful war where he thinks you've done more than needed, and you were in more danger than the others he'd argue with you hours on end about how you shouldn't be doing things

When you'd get defensive and seem hurt is when Porco might drop the subject, opting to begrudgingly say sorry and just hope for the best the next time

Again, like Eren, he will protect you at all costs on the battlefield

Because the jaw titan is fast if he even sees that you were about to die, or were in the middle of something incredibly dangerous

He would not hesitate to run over to you and grab you in his mouth before running farther away and putting you down swiftly

You and the other higher-ups might argue with him later on but he could care less to be honest

He sometimes teases you about your recklessness as well, sometimes borderline mocking you when you'd get hurt because of your stupid decisions

It's all a lie to cover up the fact that he was genuinely worried, and you knew this, so you didn't take any of his teasings to heart

Zeke Jaeger

Now unlike both Porco and Eren, Zeke is worried, like EXTREMELY worried about you

He stresses about you a lot

Actually, I bet he loses sleep thinking about you, you know those moments in MHA where Midoriya is muttering to himself about random things? Imagine that but instead of out loud, he thinks about it in his mind.

He's always thinking about the worst possible outcome for whatever choice he thinks you're going to make and tries to think about solutions to everything.

But other than that he's actually got a lot of power in the government, so he will use that power to influence the higher up's to not let you go in the front lines.

Though when its absolutely necessary he will strategize with you beforehand to create the best strategy to make sure you stay alive, he will tell you that strategy though he already knows you're not going to listen to him

If you're in a battle with him, he will tell you what he's planning to do so that you stay out of the beast titan's attack, because let's be honest the beast titan is pretty destructive

Zeke knows that you're reckless but that doesn't mean you're suicidal, so whenever he thinks it'd benefit you, he'd tell you his plans, make sure you know what to expect, and make the best decisions (though still risky) at those moments

#porco x reader #eren x reader #zeke x reader #attack on titan #aot #porco galliard #eren jaeger #zeke jaeger #zeke jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x reader #porco galliard x reader #porco x you #eren x you #zeke x you #porco headcanons #eren headcanons

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krabmeat · 3 years

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I have not written anything in some time - since I took a break from my writing account, actually (now deleted) - so cut me some slack here. I’m gonna format this in the same way that I did my old fics for that jolt of serotonin. So, if you would be so kind to indulge me, this is how I (niceimafan) would have submitted this work on fandoesfictionwriting:

What War Does || (platonic) Father Figure c!Phil x Teen gn!Reader

A/N: This is my submission for the 100 follower milestone of the lovely @/krabmeat! Krabs (Damien today) is an amazing friend of mine and is quite possibly the best human being in the world. (Go follow him if you haven’t already!)

War struggles paired with the classic familial miscommunication, what could be better as a way for me to get back into writing? This takes place around the time of Doomsday, or the final battle/destruction. Also I can’t remember if Wilbur’s room was still there at the time of Doomsday because I have goldfish memory so pretend it was if it wasn’t.

Requested: No

{Word Count: 1,946}

CW: intense arguing, mentions of war, mentions of death, cursing (up to the f-word), caps, use of godforsaken (I don’t know if people get triggered by that? I’m not religious so I wouldn’t know), very brief mention of spit, less than great relationship with father

This is an xreader fic!

This has been proofread. (skimmed rip I don’t like reading my writing)

- In which Y/N and Phil argue about Y/N and their right to participate in Doomsday. -

Phil works away high in the sky, loading cannons with enough TNT to detonate a nation. He, Techno, and Dream have everything planned out; you know because they did all of the planning right in front of you. Meaning you know everything they are going to do, and you aren’t even allowed to be involved.

You avert your eyes from your father and pick mindlessly at some grass instead, feeling the cold breeze of afternoon cool your flaming temper. For a moment, it appears as though everything might be fine, like you could get over this and let the Big War Men do their thing. But then Phil’s boots appear in front of you, and it’s all ruined again.

“You look miserable,” he says. Phil finishes his sentence with an airy laugh, trying to convey that he’s trying to joke with you. And so you make sure that the gaze you shoot him ensures he understands you do not find him humorous. Phil sighs, taking a seat beside you.

“Look, I understand that you want to help. I do! But I also understand that people with a spirit as strong as yours have risen to unimaginable heights, only to crash back down onto the blade of loss. And I fear that you will be no different.” Phil places his hand on your shoulder. “I just want you to be safe.”

You shrug him off, turning your neck so fast to glare at him it leaves a sharp stinging sensation in your movement’s wake. “Safe? You want me to be safe? No one is safe here, and you know that.”

“Y/N, you know-”

“What, Phil? What do I know? Because according to you, it doesn’t seem like a lot.” You stand after that, stomping off in an attempt to clear your mind, hoping Phil won’t follow you. But, of course, he does.

“Y/N, wait.” He shouts, but he makes no move to speed up or stop you. He simply follows along at a distance, saying nothing else. Probably waiting for you to make the first move. But you refuse, you refuse to let him win this and watch you break again.

And so the two of you walk in silence, you with no destination in mind and Phil’s footsteps echoing yours calmly in the distance. All you can do is follow your feet to wherever they find fit for this argument to play out.

To your amusement, you find yourself in Wilbur’s old room. Where he blew up his dreams for the first time and where Phil took the life of his son. How fitting.

You finally come to a stop, taking a brief moment to collect yourself, before spinning around on your heel to address your father. “Ph- Phil?” It does shock you to find that Phil isn’t there. He’s not standing behind you with a small, comforting smile, or with his eyebrows pinched together in a way that lets you know you’re going to be scolded. Nothing.

“You dress like him, you know.” Phil says from behind you. You whirl around again, reaching for your sword on instinct. Phil stands with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out over the soon-to-be battlegrounds.

“What?” It feels like you’ve lost all air in your lungs. Phil doesn’t just say things like that, especially not to you. And of course you know who he’s talking about; Techno doesn’t wear tattered trench coats and Tommy hasn't adorned ripped up fingerless gloves to protect from burns, to your knowledge. But speaking of Wilbur when referring to another child of his in this room in particular hit you in a place you have not yet built walls in.

“Wilbur. You dress like him.” Phil turns around, and you finally see that his eyes are watering. But he still has that sympathetic smile plastered on his face. “Every day, you remind me of him. And in doing so, you remind me that I can not let you turn out the way that Will did.

“Wilbur was changed by war. He destroyed everything he worked for because of it. And for that to happen to you, with such grand dreams and ideas, it would be heartbreaking.” Phil can’t maintain eye contact with you anymore, “I just want you to be everything that Wilbur couldn’t have been.”

You let his words sink in, and as they do, you begin to fight with yourself.

He just wants to help you!

How, by comparing me to his dead son? Yeah, something about that doesn’t feel right.

Just hear him out.

You grit your teeth, balling up and releasing your fingers into and out of fists. “I am not Wilbur.”

Phil shakes his head, rubbing the place where his eyebrows crease together. “I know that, and that’s not what I’m trying to sa-”

“Yes, that is exactly what you just said!” You begin to raise your voice, getting tired of this stupid game you two are playing with each other. Lying about what you’re really talking about to try and avoid the inevitable. “You just compared me to your dead son that went crazy and blew up everyone’s homes! The one that sold drugs out of a damn hot dog van!”

The air around you seemed to heat up as tensions between you two started to rise, Phil clearly getting more angry as well. “You are not Wilbur, but you are my child!”

“Oh, am I? Am I, Philza? And how long have I been your child for, huh? My whole life, a year, a few months, just this past hour? You have been trying and failing to be my father figure because you just see me as some rogue that could get too far out of control unless you’re there. Isn’t that right?”

“No, of course not. I just-”

“No! How could I have not realized? You just want a replacement! Someone to fill the hole that was left in your poor old heart when you stabbed your son through the chest.”

“I love you, Y/N, you don’t understand! You are like a child to me, you always have been! From the moment that I met you, I saw greatness in you. I swear, you mean more to me than just some replacement for Wilbur.”

Tears burn your eyes, the singular one that fell leaving a streak through the gunpowder and dirt smudged on your cheeks. You shake your head and scoff, unable to believe that this is the conversation you are currently stuck in. “Phil, that’s the kind of bullshit that you have to tell yourself in order to sleep at night. But guess what? It doesn’t work on me.”

“It doesn’t have to ‘work on you’, it’s just the truth, Y/N. I don’t know how I can get you to believe me.”

“You can’t, Phil.” You say, trying to ignore the way your voice cracks. “Because I have believed people, and then those people have either died, or tried to kill me, or both. So you know what I did? I grew up, Phil. Because THAT is what war does.

“It doesn’t make you write sad song lyrics on the walls, it doesn’t make you love your father figure oh so dearly, all it does is make you realize that there is more in this world to deal with than whatever any one person can do. And once you wrap your head around that, you realize that the best you can do is make the smallest of dents, and hope some other people do the same. That is how this world works, Phil.

“And do you know what my dent is going to be?” Phil has blurred by now. Once you blink the tears away, you can see that he’s crying too. Good. Now you’re really on the same page. “Blowing up this godforsaken nation once and for all.”

You turn to walk away again, hopefully for the last time, but Phil actually makes a move to stop you before you can get anywhere. “Y/N, I refuse to allow you to go out there and risk your life for a war already fought.”

“No war is already fought until people are dead.” You snap at him, resisting the urge to spit on his boots. “Besides, I can handle myself, I don’t need you to tell me who I can and can’t fight.”

“Y/N, I am your father!” Phil’s voice practically echoes through the entire SMP as he shouts at you, finally just as mad as you wanted him to be. You’re convinced people on the other side of L’Manberg can hear you two arguing. “Listen to me, you can not risk this.”

“YOU ARE NO FATHER TO ME!” You scream, getting your face as close to Phil’s as possible while still being able to look into both of his eyes. Phil’s eyes widen, whether in pain, shock, or both, you don’t know, but he quickly recovers with a stare solid enough to cut through stone.

“Do NOT turn this argument to family matters when we are discussing life and death!”

“This is no longer a discussion, dad,” you make sure to add as much venom to the name as possible, “We are not talking this out like a father scolds his young kid about what they can and can not touch in the house. We are screaming, and shouting, and ruining relationships like adults.” You try one more time to walk out. This time you make it down to the ground floor, but Phil follows you yet again, stopping you before you can reach the Prime Path.

“You aren’t an adult, though.” Phil’s voice is softer now, he sounds like he’s on the verge of defeat. “You’re still a kid. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.”

“I was made an adult because of this damn war over some stupid place, I should be able to fight for it’s destruction like one.” You also stop shouting, but you don’t soften your voice. You keep it as firm as it can be despite your wobbly crying, letting Phil know that you are no longer playing games with him like you used to.

“I know that you could. I do. But that does not mean that you should.”

“Awwe, you really think so?” You feign a high-pitched voice, even clasping your hands together under your chin. “You honestly think that I can handle something more than a boo-boo, huh?”

“You know that I am making no attempt to infantilize you, Y/N. If you’re such an adult, you need to grow up. I do believe that you could fight for us, but I do not see it as wise.”

“Bullshit,” you say again, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. Phil tries to speak again, but you cut him off. “No. No! No, I don’t want you to tell me over and over about what I can and can’t do. About how you think I could be a good ally to you. I already know that, because I can make my own decisions.

“Do you know what I do want, Philza? I bet that’s something that your infinitely wise mind can’t think of. All that I want, all that I have wanted for the past SIX. FUCKING. YEARS. Is for you to just take me seriously for once in your damn life!”

Philza stands there in silence, seemingly dumbfounded, and you take this as your chance to stomp off for good. But you know full well that you’ll see Phil tomorrow. On the battlefield.

But you won’t be fighting for him, or Tommy, or Wilbur, or any of them. Tomorrow, you fight for yourself, and you win for yourself.

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

DUDE WHAT?!?!?! INK THIS IS IMMACULATE HOW IN THE- WHAT THE F-CK THE WAY YOU CAPTURE THE ANGER AND FEELINGS AND HESITATION OF THE ARGUMENT IS SO WELL DONE!! AND THE FLOW OF TRANSITIONING FROM ONE SETTING TO ANOTHER ISNT CLUMPY OR FORCED AT ALL, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL INK! AND THE BUILDUP TO THE QUOTE, THE WAY YOU REALLY EMBODY ALL OF THE CHARACTERS IS SO MASTERFULLY DONE DEAR, AMAZING JOB!!!

#submission #hope you dont mind the tags ajdjslsol #xreader #x reader #platonic #platonic x reader #platonic xreader #c!phil x reader #c!phil x teen!reader #father figure c!phil #angst #dreamsmp x reader #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #writing event

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hufflautia · 4 years

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Believe me darling, the stars were made for falling

Hello! I didn’t expect to post this “fanfic” because I didn’t write it specifically for fanfiction, if that makes sense. Today, (well it is technically tomorrow for you or perhaps you’re not viewing this on the day that I posted it. today is 12/11 (technically its 12/12 because its 1:39 AM rn lmao i did my makeup and it took longer than expected)) my creative writing teacher told us to write a short piece for a character that I created for the class. I wrote it and I thought about posting it because I liked the idea of it, and I felt as though the main character had slytherin vibes. I also really like the ending, and I wanted to share it with others.

This is not a typical slytherpuff story. It has no magic involved. Slytherin and Hufflepuff are normal people like you and me, aka muggles (or maybe you’re not a muggle( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) who knows?). The story has nothing to do with Harry Potter. Thus, I am creating another section for my masterlist and it will be labeled “somefink special” because its not technically harry potter related. However, it will always have Hufflepuff and Slytherin in it, because I made sure to change the names from the original character. Stories like this is just a work of art that I would like to share with others, so I think of it as somefink special (and somefink is not an actual word, its supposed to be “something” but i just think the spelling is funny). I’m not sure if I will post more stuff like this, as in stuff that doesn’t relate to harry potter but still has my usual characters. Heck, perhaps I’ll write fanfics like this but for other character ships like Slytherin x Ravenclaw or the other ones. We shall see.

Anyways, this “quick” author’s note is running a little long, so I will end it here. I hope you guys enjoy reading this! TOODELOO

FYI, this is not my “monthly” fanfic. In other words, this isn’t the only fanfic that I will be posting for december. I will still be posting The Queen and the Dragon soon (around Christmas). I am almost done with the college process, I need to revise some of my essays and I will finally submit it. After that, I will continue writing the long story. I am currently stuck at a difficult scene that will require a lot of thinking, hence the delay. OK BYE NOW, THIS IS THE FOR-REALSIES TOODELOO :D!

***WARNINGS: Drug abuse, addiction, and suicidal thoughts

Summary: Slytherin is hanging out with her favorite person in the entire world: Hufflepuff, her darling little sister. They lay beneath the stars, comfortable silence drifting upon them like a soft blanket that wraps around them, keeping them safe from outside forces that threaten their moment of contentment. This small pocket of tranquility is rare—and Slytherin knows this. She knows it all too well. As if on cue, it breaks into shattered pieces when she overhears their parents arguing. Again. Dread stealing her breath, a familiar urge rises once more, an urge that is more destructive than she realizes. She wishes the overwhelming feeling of anxiety would go away. And it could—with the help of a couple of pills.

Slytherin smiled, a feeling of mirth warming her heart when she saw the smile plastered on her sister’s face as they laid on their backs against the porch floor, staring up at the stars. She took a hold of Hufflepuff’s hand, her touch slightly sweaty but cold at the same time. She didn’t mind and merely gave it a light squeeze. A cool night breeze blew past them, the wind’s touch like gentle kisses against their skin.

This was nice. This was really nice. Slytherin hardly had any time for herself this week, because she was busy with exam after exam, stress piling on top of her before she could even take a breath of air. To her relief, the burdens finally lifted because it was Saturday, and she didn’t have to worry about school. She was with her sister, and that was all she needed. In fact, she was so comfortable and content that she didn’t even think about the drugs. A pestilent part of her, the part that was created the moment she swallowed the white pill down her throat, urged her to go inside. To walk nonchalantly towards the bathroom with a pace that was fast enough so that she would get to where she wanted to go quickly but slow enough to not attract any attention. To snatch her mom’s bottle of Xanax and hurry to her own room, making sure to lock the door before sitting on her bed. To pop the drug into her mouth and allow the artificial feeling of euphoria to overtake her.

But that destructive part of her settled down, for she was with the person she loved most. Their surroundings dark enough to see the hazy glow of the stars above, they laid there, gazing upon the night sky. Aside from the soft rustling of the trees nearby and the occasional giggles that spilled from her sister’s mouth because that’s just how 10-year-olds were, it was quiet and peaceful.

But like most things, it didn’t last for long.

“You fucking asshole!”

Through the walls, Slytherin could hear her mother’s muffled words, her tone hot and angry. Whenever her parents argued, they would spit curse words out like poison, the dreadful toxin targeted at each other with the intent to kill and destroy.

She sighed. For once, just for once, why couldn’t things be normal? She desperately wished that the comfortable silence that drifted upon them could come back, and she would gladly welcome it with open arms.

However, she felt Hufflepuff squeeze her hand, and she knew that the peace that she had known a few minutes ago would not return. Not for a while. Squeezing her hand was a nervous habit of Hufflepuff’s—a habit that Slytherin was well aware of. Even if she tried her very best to shield her darling sibling from the atrociousness of their home-life, it was essentially impossible.

Her sister was young and so terribly innocent. If she could, she would take all the pain that Hufflepuff endured from living in a dysfunctional household and pour it into herself. That way, she wouldn’t have to suffer.

But this wasn’t a fairy tale. Slytherin didn’t have magical powers to take their suffering away. She couldn’t give her sister the happy ending that she deserved. This was reality, and they would just have to endure this for a while.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered before opening the porch door and stepping into the dungeon that she called home. Dread seemed to choke her as she neared her parents’ room, inhaling sharply at the sound of shouts that seemed to boom from the walls.

Gingerly turning the knob of their door, she peeked inside. Tears trickled down her mother’s face, her slightly red eyes ablaze with anger. “I can’t believe you would cheat on me again!”

Her dad started to mutter something lowly but she cut him off. “Do you have any idea how much this affects me,” she said in disbelief. “How much this affects your children?”

She suddenly caught sight of Slytherin, who immediately felt a sinking feeling in her chest when she was caught lurking. The feeling intensified when her mom walked towards her.

Slytherin immediately withdrew and tried to close the door but her mom opened it enough to fixate the full force of her anger onto her daughter. “Why can’t you mind other people’s business,” she hissed before slamming the door shut, leaving her in complete darkness.

There it was. The breaking point. Her face contorted into a grimace as she tried to will the tears away. Her sadness quickly morphed into annoyance. “I hate her,” she thought angrily as she walked to her room. “She’s gonna wish she didn’t say that when she finds me dead on the fucking floor.” Her chest heaved with sorrow and a torrent of emotions clashed within her. A million thoughts zoomed through her head. Fucking bitch, I fucking hate you. I hate everything. I wish I was never born into this family. I hate my parents, I hate my mom, I hate my dad. Why the fuck did he have to cheat? Were we not enough?

She was frustrated and resentful, but most of all, she was broken inside. She needed to calm the raging storm of anxiety within her—and she knew exactly what to do.

Hiding the bottle of Xanax in her pocket, she walked towards her room. Just as she was opening her door, she felt someone close their hand over her wrist. She looked back and saw Hufflepuff, who looked at her with furrowed brows.

“Are you coming back,” she asked in a small voice.

Slytherin swallowed with difficulty. If things had gone differently, she would have gone back to the porch with her sister and continued their night of stargazing. If her parents weren’t completely psychos whose hate for each other shook the household, she wouldn’t be addicted to the drugs that controlled her life.

“I have homework to do,” she responded. “Ask Gryffindor to go outside with you, okay?”

Her sister nodded and started her way to their other sister who decided not to join them on the porch because she had cooler 13-year old things to do.

Slytherin watched her retreating figure before closing the door and twisting the lock in a flash. She exhaled slowly as she took a seat on the edge of her bed.

“Finally,” she breathed out in a whisper as she uncapped the bottle, gently shaking it so that a couple of tablets spilled out onto her hand. She had never taken so much, and she knew that as she poked the contents with a finger. But she needed this. Her family—more specifically, her parents—were fucked up, and there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t fix her father’s constant infidelity. She couldn’t control her mother’s temper. Hell, she couldn’t even take hold of her own life, for the white rectangular capsules held the reins, the power. And she would gladly let it take control. Just for a little while longer.

Slytherin tossed the pills into her mouth and took a sip of water to ease them down her throat. She fell back onto her bed with her arms spread out on either side of her, forming a crooked ‘T’ shape. As she stared up at the ceiling, a blissful smile slid onto her face.

She could see the stars again.

Comments and reblogs are a writer’s gold!

MASTERLIST ; sometimes links don’t appear on posts. if you can’t see the link linked to “MASTERLIST”, the masterlist itself is pinned to the top of my blog. check it out if you haven’t already :D

Author’s note: HELLO AGAIN! I hope you enjoyed reading that. The story is dark and sad, so I will include some wholesome pictures to rid you of the lingering sadness that you might be feeling right now.

you can probably tell that i’m a dog person lmao :’) I hope you are feeling better! I am not sure if I will turn this into a series; there is a chance I will because I will have to continue writing stories in english class for this character. i actually have another story for the character (her name is Faye) and idk if I should post it. Let me know if you want me to release it!

Did anyone else feel slytherin vibes from... well, slytherin? Technically it’s Faye, but I changed the name for the purpose of posting. In my opinion, the slytherin in her is presented in the fact that she cares a lot about her sister, aka Hufflepuff, and slytherins typically care a lot about those close to them. it was also shown in the sense that she isolates herself, but then again, anyone can isolate themself, regardless of their hogwarts house. maybe im just overthinking this. After all, if I had changed the name from Faye to Hufflepuff, that could still work as well.

In fact, I might even change the names sometimes, depending on what is happening in that moment. Faye is pansexual, and I was talking to my friend about the story, and she said maybe she’ll get a gf, so maybe ill keep Faye’s name as Slytherin and have Hufflepuff (DIFFERENT HUFFLEPUFF FROM THE LITTLE SISTER OF COURSE) be the girlfriend?? idk, we’ll see.

Anyways, let me know what you thought of this fanfic. Should I do more like this, as in post my future works that arent actually related to harry potter but is set in the real world?

OH GOSH BEFORE I FORGET, THANK YOU FOR 700!! I guess this will be my thank you present, because I like to write fanfics as a present whenever I hit a follower mark. I intended The Queen and The Dragon to be the thank-you present for 600, but we are well past that, and the fanfic is long overdue. I had planned to change the fanfic to “thank you for 700” but i plan on posting it near christmas, so i will consider it as a “MERRY CHRISTMAS, HERES A FANFIC:D”.

As always, I appreciate you very very much. Thank you for reading this and being caring enough to do so. I appreciate that very very very much, and I am sending you some gucci vibes! It is currently 2:34 am and i should get some sleep. goodnight! love you all! BYE

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glacecakes · 3 years

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Hellfire, Dark Fire

Rapunzel pardons Varian from his crimes in the eyes of the law, but not the eyes of the people. The people decide to take action.

Alternate title: I roast Varian at 300 degrees for 30 minutes

The google doc for this is titled Toasty Marshmallow lmao I have. so many jokes for this. I dropped my varian in the fire! He's golden brown! I left the oven on! Just gotta flip him over and wait another ten minutes! Chestnuts on an open pyre! The list goes on. Anyway yea I set Varian on fire enjoy

“Varian of Old Corona, you are here on the following charges.”

This was a familiar scenario.

“Theft of Royal property, blackmail, destruction of Royal property, kidnapping, treason…”

Isn’t there some sort of rule about being tried for the same crimes twice? It felt illegal. He looked over to his right, where the princess gave him an awkward smile.

“Escaping prison, sedition, assault, chemical warfare…”

“Ok I’m pretty sure that’s not a crime you can charge me with.”

Nigel raised an eyebrow from his scroll, standing between the thrones that Varian helped bring down. The throne room was a mess, debris and alchemy remnants clinging to every surface, begging to be taken care of. But there were more pressing matters at this exact moment. Like, deciding what to do with the child responsible for all this.

“The point remains,” Nigel said, rolling up his scroll and slamming into the palm of his hand. “You have a lot to make up for, young man. Half of these crimes warrant the death penalty.” Varian winced at that. Right. Last time Arianna had just barely managed to convince the King not to impale his head on a spike, and while neither ruler actually remembered his crimes, he wouldn’t put it past Nigel to carry out the deed in their place.

“Buuuuuut,” Rapunzel butt in, ever the optimist. “You are sorry for what you did, and you helped us stop the Saporians from destroying Corona!” Her smile felt like a blazing sun, warming him to the core with how it shone in his direction. “And I think it’s fair to say the second round of crimes were more by association than actually carrying them out.”

Varian shook his head. “Actually, I uh, I was the one who thought up the escape plan.”

“Varian.”

“Right, sorry, not helping.” He coughed, trying to hide his red face.

“So,” She said, acting as if the interruption never happened. Her footsteps barely made a sound on plush carpet as she padded up to Nigel and plucked the scroll from his hands. It tore with a satisfying chhhhh . “I think we can toss out these charges. Varian, you are officially pardoned of all crimes towards Corona. You’re free to go home.”

He beamed. Home… he hadn’t actually been home since the battle in Old Corona, and even then, it hadn’t felt like home since the blizzard. Home was with his dad and Ruddiger, sitting by the fireplace and reading while dad finished making dinner. After over a year of being without it… going home sounded like a dream come true.

“Your highness!” Nigel gasped, scandalized, snapping Varian out of his trance. “I can’t in good confidence let you do this!” He pointed to Varian. “That boy is a menace we would be better off without!”

Rapunzel’s eyebrows turned up, distress coloring her features. With the king and queen currently out of commission, she was acting regent, and she did not work well with Nigel, not like the way her father did. “Nigel, that’s a bit harsh. And we need him. He’s going to be working in the castle to try and restore my parent’s memories.”

“And the damage to the castle? The people hurt in the mines?” The advisor pressed, and Varian shrunk with every word. Guilt clawed at his insides, dragging him down to the earth as he lowered his head.

Rapunzel winced. “I-I… he can help rebuild…?” She tried weakly. “I’m not sure what you want from me…”

“He wants me to pay, Rapunzel,” Varian whispered. He didn’t blame the man, not at all. When the Saporians had been in charge, he’d made Nigel’s life a living hell, a petty revenge for how Nigel accused him of attacking Rapunzel. It was no shock to him that while Rapunzel may forgive him, not everyone does. But still… it hurt to have someone talk about you like you’re a monster.

After a moment of glancing back and forth between them, Rapunzel sighed. “I guess that’s fair… Varian, maybe you can come back in a few days to help with castle repairs?”

Of course she’d side with him. Of course she’d let the advisor undermine her authority. A familiar anger was quickly building, but he quickly stomped it down. Getting angry sounded exhausting, and it wasn’t an unreasonable request. It was perfectly fine, he should be grateful she wasn’t burning him at the stake. “That sounds great, princess.”

She led him out of the castle, a warm hand in his. He had yet to buy new gloves after she’d accidentally melted the old ones. “I’m sorry,” She said in a rush. “I know you just want to move on, and I want to too, but-”

“It’s ok, Rapunzel, really. It’s the least I can do.” He offered her a half smile. “Maybe then people won’t hate me so much.”

“People don’t hate you!” She shook her head, gripping his hand a little tighter. Perhaps a little too tight, but he wasn’t going to say anything. “I certainly don’t. How could anyone hate you? You’re like an angry kitten.” Her other hand pinched at his cheek. He laughed, high and bright, and it brought a smile to the princess’s face. It was strange how fast they went from despising one another to a comfortable friendship. But he was starved for positive companionship, and something told him she was too. Judging by how she was doing this sort of thing to everyone, it had something to do with Cassandra’s mysterious absence. Still, he wasn’t going to complain. It felt less like an attempt to rush making up, and more like… picking up where they left off before the blizzard.

It definitely helped that the source of their fighting, the amber, had been dealt with.

“People definitely hate me,” he laughed. It died when he saw how distraught Rapunzel appeared.

“But…” she whispered, clenching a fist over her heart. “You nearly died trying to save Corona. Everyone knows that, right? Right,” She smiled weakly. “Yea, no one hates you, Varian. I pro-” Her voice cut off abruptly. “No one hates you. You have nothing to worry about.” She said with an air of finality. This was not up for debate, how could anyone hate him when the people he most affected didn’t?

“Rapunzel…” Varian sighed. He… wanted to dispute it. To say that no, people definitely hate him, that he didn’t want her to brush it off. But the anxiety in her eyes kept him quiet. He’d just been pardoned, after all… “Ok, if you say so,” he wanted to trust her most of all. Maybe she’d protect him. “I’ll see you next week?”

“Sounds good! Get some rest, you earned it.” With a quick hug, they parted ways with a promise the next reunion would be more positive.

How wrong they would be.

“Rapunzel?” Varian called, stepping into the grand foyer. A week had passed, granting Varian the most relaxing staycation in his life. It was just him and his dad and Ruddiger, cleaning up the farm after a year of disuse, making up for lost time. It didn’t feel right to be away from his dad after everything; what if something happened while he was gone? What if the rocks reared their ugly head and destroyed what he didn’t deserve? But then Rapunzel had sent him new clothes and he remembered his promise, so here he was.

A soft breeze pushed him forward, citrus and lavender wafting through clean corridors. His head swerved to and fro, taking it all in, until he bumped into a maid. Freshly cleaned clothes spilled from her hands and onto the floor.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” He rushed, leaning down to help pick up the clothes. “I-I can-”

“Save it.” He lifted his head to a furious face staring down at him. The maid placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t want any help from you.”

So she was one of those types. That was to be expected, of course, yet still it stung. Varian gulped, but slowly leaned back so she could collect what she dropped. “If I were you, I’d turn right around and crawl back to your dad.” She hissed, furiously swiping up clothes.

“I’m supposed to help the princess,” He argued.

“You should be dead for your crimes .”

Varian narrowed his eyes. “Is… is that a threat?”

“What are you gonna do about it?” She taunted. If it was, he’d… he’d… no, he wouldn’t do anything to her. A few months ago, he would’ve threatened her right back, or let Andrew and the other Saporians at her, but now he was powerless. Still a part of his mind longed for justice, for her to beg for his forgiveness. Remnant from his villain stint, he figured.

A heavy sigh forced his shoulders to slump. “Nothing,” he grumbled. With a satisfied “hmph!” The maid stalked off, leaving him alone on the floor.

“Varian?”

He blinked up, meeting the concerned eyes of the princess. “Are you ok? What happened?” She offered a hand which he greedily took. Her warmth pressed into his arm, spiralling down into his chest. It takes some effort, but she’s able to lift him off the floor and set him by her side.

“Uh, well…” He gazed down the hall and bit his lip. “Just someone who wasn’t happy with me.”

For a moment, the princess doesn’t understand, a question hanging off her lips. But it clicked fast and she gasped. “Did she hurt you!?” Nimble fingers brush against his cheek, checking it for bruises.

“No! Not yet at least,” he joked, but it didn’t land well, judging by her face. He coughed. “She just said I should be paying for my crimes. You know, standard death threat.”

“No...” Rapunzel’s eyes fell to the floor. Her toes curled as she bounced in place for a moment. “I doubt she meant anything by it. Or rather, I don’t think she’ll follow through.”

In all honesty, he wasn’t so sure about that. The hatred in her eyes, the way she spat at him… But he wanted to trust Rapunzel. She lived in the castle after all, and she likely knew the maids. Surely if one of them were dangerous she’d know… right?

Then again, she hadn’t predicted Cassandra’s betrayal…

“You sure?” He asked.

“Yup!”

His thoughts vanished when the princess’s warm hand near burned, guiding him down sunlit halls with a shaky smile. If she wasn’t too worried, why should he be?

According to Eugene, it was long past sundown when they stopped for the day.

They hadn’t meant to work for so long, but between Rapunzel’s love of painting and Varian’s love of engineering, it was easy to get lost in their project. The hallway they were rebuilding was nearly finished, and honestly looking a lot better than before the damage. Stars already hung in the sky as the alchemist stepped outside. He took a breath of fresh air, before exhaling loudly.

To think he went a year without it.

Corona was oddly quiet, even for this time of night. All the lights were off, not even a candle shone in a single windowsill. Was there a city blackout? Were people mourning? It wasn’t uncommon for blackout nights, in which everyone turned off the lights and went stargazing, but all the lampposts were lit… so was everyone just… not home? Then where were they?

His question was answered as he approached the main square.

The crowd was massive , nearly five dozen in total, full of faces he did and didn’t recognize. Some were carrying candles and torches, others had spears. They all stood in a circle, and in the center was a massive stake, the base of which was shrouded by wood. How odd, maybe there was a festival going on?

He gently tapped someone’s shoulder, and they jumped. “Hi, excuse me,” Varian said. “What’s going on?”

The figure turned around, torch in hand illuminating their face, and Varian paled.

Nigel.

The advisor’s face morphed into a scowl just at the sight of him. “Ah. So the mutt finally appears.” His voice is booming, catching the attention of all in the square.

Varian backed away slightly, confused. “Who, me? What’s going on?” It was a little insulting to be called a mutt , were they referring to how neither of his parents were born in Corona? That was the only explanation Varian could think of, otherwise it was just a dehumanizing insult… oh.

Oh no.

The torches. The angry expressions. The large spike. It all made sense.

He took a shaky step back, eyes darting to and fro as terror clawed at his throat. It climbed up and up, until it spilled out of his mouth. “Rapunzel…” he whispered. “Rapunzel!” His feet scrambled underneath him, dirt flying while boots struggled for purchase.

He’s only able to make it a few meters before an “Oh no you don’t!” rang through the air, and his path is blocked by a mountain of a man. He couldn’t recognize him, or really anyone else in the dim lighting, but as his feet finally gave out under him, adrenaline went into overdrive, allowing him to skid underneath the man’s legs.

He darted into a nearby alleyway, now grateful for the cover of night and his naturally small figure as he ducked behind a can.

Cries of anger and frustration lingered in the air on top of his heavy breathing. “Split up!” “He couldn’t have gone far!” “We’ve been waiting for this!”

Slowly but surely, the voices finally died down, and Varian let out a shaky sob of relief. Only to hear the scuffling of feet, and then he’s face to face with the maid from before.

For a moment, neither spoke.

“Please,” Varian whispered. “Don’t do this.”

Her face twisted into a cruel grin. “I found him!” She yelled, and Varian let out a wail in protest.

He had to get out of here, he had to get to the castle, find Rapunzel! She’d protect him! She couldn’t possibly know about this, right? Surely she had to see all this from her castle and come out to investigate, right?

She didn’t last time, his traitorous mind whispered. She didn’t save you last time.

“Quiet you,” the maid snapped, teeth barred as she snarled down at him. The wolfish grin only grew as she fished something out of her pocket. “You know, I have a dog at home, I’m sure this’ll work on you, too,” her prize glinted in the moonlight; a muzzle.

“Fitting for a beast, hm?” Varian scrambled back, his spine colliding painfully with the alley’s wall. He held up his arms in a brace, trying desperately to keep her away from his face, but soon the woman was joined by her pack. A man yanked on his arm, sending him pitching forward, only for his face to be grabbed, cheeks squished and held firmly in place. Varian screwed his eyes shut, flailing wildly, but it was no use. With one hand held captive and his center of balance askew, he could only whimper as the muzzle was strapped into place.

No, no no! This couldn’t be happening! Rapunzel said she wouldn’t let anyone hurt him! He flinched, trying in vain to squirm away from the multiple hands moving him, but it was for naught. The hand on his arm was stronger than steel, no matter what Varian did, it wouldn’t budge. The streets were filled with jeers and taunts, screams of anger and hatred. People yanked him around, jolting him with each stumble.

“MONSTER!”

“This is what you get!”

“My father nearly died for you!”

“To hell where he belongs!”

A heavy object slammed into his back, sending him sprawling to the ground. He sobbed, curling up into a ball to shield himself, the sounds overwhelming and all encompassing.

Suddenly, sharp nails dug into his scalp. They tugged, forcing his head up until he met the eyes of an infuriated Nigel. “Get up, dog,” he snarled, yanking on raven hair so hard fistfuls came tumbling out when he let go. Varian shrieked behind the muzzle, tears spilling over as the pushing and pulling resumed anew, currents of writhing bodies washing him towards the pyre. He grasped the muzzle, fingers dipping into the spaces between bars in an attempt to pry it off, but with only one hand it was easier said than done.

The towering pyre loomed over him, obscuring the moon from view and obscuring Nigel’s face as he stood on the platform. “Varian of Old Corona, you are here on the following charges!”

No. God please, no.

“Theft of Royal property, blackmail, destruction of Royal property, kidnapping, treason…”

He thrashed violently, kicking the man holding him in place over and over, but the man simply hissed and gripped tighter and tighter until the circulation was cut off in that arm.

“Escaping prison, sedition, assault, chemical warfare… and the murder of Quirin of Old Corona.” Varian’s blood ran cold, freezing him in place for a moment. But a moment was all that was needed. His legs fumbled underneath him as the man dragged him up to the pyre. He threw Varian at it, twisting his arm so it was now behind his back. The maid from before grabbed his other arm, pulling it behind along with a rope.

“The sentence is death.” The advisor’s voice cut through him. “You will be burned at the stake until you are dead.”

“Please,” he begged, muffled through the muzzle. “Don’t do this.” He’d paid for his crimes! He spent a year in prison, abused by guards and cellmates alike, groomed into a conspiracy he never wanted any part in, and indoctrinated into a cult that threatened death if you left. Hadn’t he paid enough? Hadn’t he suffered enough?

It's not enough until you endure the same amount of pain and agony I have!

Nigel dropped his torch into the kindling. It lit immediately.

First, Varian smelled it. Cedar and pine wafted into his nose, normally reserved for his home, curled up by his dad as they recounted the events of the day, or, on rare nights, stories about his mother.

Then he heard it. The crackling of logs, the cries of the people slowly drowned out by the roar at his feet. Once his lullaby, or his savior during the worst blizzard of the century, now his undoing, its thunder akin to horse hoofbeats, an army coming to kill him for kidnapping the queen.

Next: heat, oppressive, choking, overwhelming. It caused his eyes to water, only for flames to lick his tears away. They evaporated, steam joining the smoke that rose to the sky, a beacon of his suffering.

Finally, as the fire reaches his feet, pain. He clenched his teeth and turned to the sky, attempting to somehow escape, but the ropes on his wrists kept him grounded. Hopefully they’ll burn before he does, and he could escape…

The pain built, travelling up his legs and climbing higher and higher, until the flames had engulfed him entirely. His tongue was coated in ash, coughing turning to screaming in mere seconds.

“DADDY! PUNZEL! HELP ME!” He shrieked, likely music to the mob’s ears. The smoke entered his open mouth, suffocating him. His lungs were probably turning black, he thought morbidly, wheezing for breath in an attempt to lessen the pain, but with each inhale his vision swam more and more. Black and red were all he could see, no doubt a sign of what was to come when he went to hell…

Yellow…

Yellow interspersed with the red and black, and then suddenly there’s more, and more, until it shone like the sun, completely surrounding him.

It was the last thing he saw before he slumped over.

Rapunzel heard it before she saw it.

After bidding Eugene goodnight, she’d begun the nightly routine of brushing out her hair. It took a lot longer without Cass to help, so she spent the hour or so staring out her window. Planning, thinking, watching. Normally she hummed to herself during the process, but not tonight. Tonight, she was deep in thought about a certain alchemist.

He’d been a massive help that day, and even fun to be around. Not that he wasn’t normally fun! Well, when he wasn’t a villain. Which he wasn’t anymore! It was strange to consider him a dear friend, yet it felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. If Varian could be brought back, so could Cass, after all.

Sounds and screams from Corona shocked her back into reality.

It sounded like a large group of people, rather than just one in danger, she noted, eyes scanning the island. Like a moth to a flame, her eyes were pulled to the source fairly quickly. There, in the town square, a bright light. Rapunzel squinted, unable to make out the source at first, but the longer she looked, the more her eyes adjusted, it looked like… a bonfire?

“Wonder what they’re burning,” She mused, holding out her hand as Pascal tossed over her telescope. She peered in, focusing on the center of the fire. Maybe they were cooking? A block party? It made no sense…

The telescope came into focus. And in the center was a young human.

“Is that…”

A spark of blue.

“ VARIAN !”

There was no time to leave the castle properly. Golden hair fell down the tower’s wall, bringing its owner close in a ball for the landing. She didn’t stop to catch her breath, instead barrelling down cobbled roads, following the trail of smoke. Each puff of breath she took was one Varian was without, and it spurred her to run faster.

She thundered into the courtyard with all the fury of a thousand suns, burning just as bright, if not brighter than the crime in front of her. It only intensified when she saw her advisor watching on with a content smile.

“NIGEL!”

The way his smile immediately faded delighted her.

“P-princess…!” He held up his arms placatingly, stepping in front of her as if to hide the pyre currently lighting her friend on fire. “I can explain…!”

“Later,” she growled, pushing him aside. The heat curled her toes, forming a wall normally impenetrable. But she had unbreakable hair, hair that once failed to help Varian, but wouldn’t fail again.

Rapunzel leaped into the fire, hair curling up underneath her feet and preventing burns. Through the smoke and sun, Varian’s slumped form was barely visible. His eyes fluttered weakly, cheeks coated in soot that fell off with each cough.

“Oh Varian…” She breathed, reaching out to grasp at his face, ignoring the pain in her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Golden hair glowed brighter, balling closer and closer as she approached the pyre until it squeezed .

The ball parted to reveal Rapunzel hugging Varian tight. She pulled back, taking in his sorry state, and gasped in horror.

Through shakes her hands made quick work of the ropes, before grasping the muzzle that had burned a mark where it had been pressed. She ripped it off in one, anger-fueled tug. A silent Varian fell into her arms, and she readjusted until he laid against her chest.

The crowd fell silent. In their eyes, their princess, the knight in shining armor, had been the one to defeat the monster once. It was their job to finish it off once and for all, and keep their world safe.

But to her, as she readjusted a small boy in her arms, his breaths weak against her neck, she just saw a sea of monsters.

Like a bolt from the blue, quick as she arrived, the princess vanished, hair trailing behind her as she ran.

For Varian, days blurred together, swimming together in a sea of haze of time and random moments.

Blink, an unfamiliar man was rubbing salve over his arm. Blink, Eugene regarded him with sorrowful eyes as he read a book. Blink, Dad yelled at Rapunzel, the words too fuzzy to make out.

Blink. He was alone.

Sun filtered through the window and bathed the world in golden orange as dusk approached once more.

He couldn’t find the strength to do much else besides stare up at the ceiling and take inventory of his body.

Clink, clink, a soft bell chimed, and he rolled his head to see where it was coming from: Rapunzel was carrying a tray of food into the room with a crestfallen expression. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw him awake.

“Varian!” She gasped, nearly dropping the tray as she rushed to his bedside. “You’re awake!”

“Uh… yea…?” He mumbled, confused. “Did I fall asleep while we were working?”

Her face fell.

“Or… oh no, did I hit my head? God, I must’ve seen blood and passed out, or something stupid…” He laughed awkwardly, but each idea only deepened the frown on her face. Her lip wobbled, and suddenly Varian found himself drowning in blonde hair as Rapunzel launched herself at him.

“I’m so so so so sorry!” She sobbed, form shaking. “I should’ve done something about that threat! I should’ve trusted you when you said people hated you! I should’ve… should’ve…” Words trailed off into sobs and she burrowed deeper in his hair.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok…?” Varian mumbled, bringing up his arms to hug her back, maybe stroke her hair… but…

Only one hand responded.

He pulled back to stare at his hands.

Hand.

One of his hands was gone, replaced by a stump.

Fire, fire everywhere, pain and agony and the jeers of others...

When did breathing become so hard?

His uninjured hand gripped his hair and he choked, tears streaming down his face. “I… Rapunzel… He… they… I…”

“It’s ok,” she whispered, wiping away tears of her own. “Let it out. I’m so sorry.”

He threw himself into her lap, shuddering sobs of his own. He almost died. Maybe he did die. He’s missing a hand! He needed those! How was he supposed to do alchemy without it? By some small mercy it was his non dominant hand, but the point remained.

For what seemed like hours he poured his soul into Rapunzel’s lap. The only sounds were his hacked sobs and her soft humming.

Finally, when there were no more tears to cry, he mumbled, “It’s not your fault.” Because it wasn’t. Even if she had taken the threat seriously, what would’ve come from it? Firing the maid? Maybe? It certainly wouldn’t have stopped the angry mob. They had been planning this, no doubt with help from Nigel, the bastard.

“You don't need to comfort me right now. Still,” she hummed. “If you want... If you make a blueprint... we'll pay for you to get a prosthetic. It's the least I can do. Your dad and mine are talking about what to do with Nigel. He’ll be taking you home in a bit, when you’re fully recovered.”

Home sounded nice…

But when he looked up, and he saw his savior, the woman who was wronged by him so, and yet saved his life twice over now…

“I think I’m home right now.”

Her smile was like fresh rain after a forest fire.

#tangled #tangled the series #varian #rapunzel's tangled adventure #tts #tts varian

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maaaddiexo · 3 years

Text

The Within Series | Legolas Greenleaf

Book 1: The Devil Within - 1.8

Mainlist | Serieslist

Nyx of Tyndall does not know love or kindness. Cursed at a young age by a jealous witch, Nyx has lived a life of solitude and death.

Until Gandalf the Grey requests her presence and uncontrollable skill in assisting a young Hobbit across Middle-Earth with nine others to destroy a ring so powerful all fall victim to its evil.

Not only must Nyx face Orcs, demons, and creatures she’s never seen before, but also the devil inside. Controlling the devil is the key to finding freedom in a spell that can’t be broken. But it will not be so easy for Nyx when every obstacle she faces pushes her to an edge she cannot return from.

Chapter Eight

Nyx marched through the halls of Rivendell angrily. Flight of stairs after flight of stairs she went until she was at the highest lookout point the Elves of Rivendell had built. The sound of water cascading down the mountain drowned out the sound of blood pumping angrily in her ears, but she could still feel it nonetheless. She crossed a small arched bridge in front of waterfall. The mist that came off put out the smoke on her cape.

Nyx discarded her cloak angrily, throwing it on the floor and kicking it away. Her face burned with anger and she rubbed her face, frustrated tears running down her cheeks. Not even a week she’d worn the ring and already it had torn down the defenses she’d spent over a decade building up. She braced herself against the stone balcony railing.

“Focus, Nyx. Like Gandalf taught you.”

“Milady Nyx?” An Elf stood timidly at the top of the stairs. Clearly, he knew he was interrupting something. “Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes.”

“Tell Elrond and Gandalf I will not be attending. They will understand.”

The Elf hesitated and then bowed. “Of course, Milady Nyx. Would you like to have it sent to your room?”

Nyx hesitated and then nodded curtly.

The Elf bowed once more and then descended the stairs quickly and Nyx felt her knees give out, splitting when they hit the stone. Her fingers gripped the stone spindles and her head rested against them. Nyx couldn’t find it in herself to move. Not even as the sun began to set and the temperature dropped.

Nyx was tired. She could go no further.

⍥⍥⍥

When Nyx woke up the next morning, she was still on the outlook, her cloak wrapped around her like a blanket with leaves in her hair.

Someone was touching her shoulder. She saw the familiar staff before she heard the voice.

“My dear, why sleep on the floor when you’ve been offered a bed.”

Nyx looked away. All around her were burnt leaves and grass. Her fingertips were black with ash. She’d spent a long time trying to control her anger the night before. And though she hadn’t burned down a gazebo, Rivendell wasn’t completely unscathed. “What time is it?”

“The Council is about to begin but Frodo refused to start without you. He insists you be part of the meeting.”

Nyx frowned. She wanted no part of the Ring and its journey, wherever it led. Not after what it did to her in less than a week. She felt the anger in her, glowing bright. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out slowly.

“Come on. Up you get.” Gandalf helped Nyx to her feet and began to fret over her, pulling the leaves and twigs out of her hair and brushing down her cloak. “That’ll do.”

Nyx frowned and self-consciously pulled her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck. They descended the stairs quickly, Nyx trailing behind the grey wizard. “Gandalf, I do not want to go with the Ring.”

“You do not have to. But attend for Frodo’s sake. Here,” he grabbed Nyx’s scythe and placed it in her hands. There was still dried blood on it from the last time she used it. “Come.”

Everyone was already seated in the Council Room and Nyx moved to stand behind Frodo’s chair. He smiled gratefully at her over his shoulder. She tried to smile back but wasn’t sure how convincing it was.

“Strangers from distant lands,” Elrond began. “Friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite, or you will fall.”

Nyx found Aragorn’s eyes across the circular room, fear brimming in her eyes. Her gave her a calm smile before turning to look at someone else. The Elf from the day before. They shared a familiar look with one another. A look of familiarity and friendship.

“Each race is bound to this fate – this one doom,” Elrond continued. “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

Frodo stood on shaky legs, looking at Gandalf and then Nyx behind him. She nodded encouragingly at him. He reached into his pocket as he walked towards the small stone table in the middle, octagonal in shape. He placed it on the stone gently but still, everyone heard it thud, like a boulder hitting the bottom of chasm.

Immediately, the Ring began to hum and sing, and everyone sat forward in their chairs, drawn to it. Except for Nyx. She took a step back in fear. Her fingers began to warm.

“So, it is true,” a man murmured. He stood up slowly. “In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark. But in the west, a pale light lingered. Voices crying. Our doom is near at hand.” He moved closer to the Ring. “Isildur’s Bane is found.” He reached his hand forward. “Isildur’s Bane.”

“Boromir!” Elrond shouted. The man stood up with a fright, shaken out the Ring’s lure, and looked to the sky in shock as it began to darken.

Gandalf stood, reaching a hand to the sky. He began to chant in Black Speech.

Ash nazg durbatulûk

Ash nazg gimbatul

Ash nazg thrakatulûk

Agh burzum-ishi krimpatul

Nyx stared at the Ring, reciting the translation under her breath. It was the inscription on the Ring.

“One Ring to rule them all,

One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all

And in the darkness bind them.”

With Gandalf’s word, the sky brightened as fast as it darkened and everyone sat back down except for Nyx, who had no seat.

“Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris.”

“I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond,” Gandalf said to Elrond. “For the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west. The Ring is altogether evil,” he reminded the people in front of him.

Boromir shook his head. “It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay! By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy! Let us use it against him!”

“It cannot be used against its true master,” Nyx said angrily. “All it does is pull the evil from within and make you a monster.”

“And what do you, a mere girl, know about the Ring?” Another man spat at her. The rage bubbled in Nyx and her fingers did more than warm. Someone laid a hand on arm. Gandalf.

“Nyx is right,” Aragorn said. “You cannot wield it. None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”

“And what would a Ranger know of this matter? You are no more experienced than the girl!”

“This is no mere Ranger.” Nyx watched as the silver-haired elf stood up. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.” Aragorn and the Elf did know each other.

“And it would not be wise to insult Nyx,” Elrond added. “For she has the nasty habit of catching fire.”

“Witch!” A man hissed. Nyx glared at him, her eyes flaming orange. It was one of the few tricks she’d picked up over the years. The man gasped and then fainted, and Nyx smirked. She swore she heard Gandalf chuckle too.

Boromir looked at Nyx and then Aragorn. He chose to focus on the latter. “This is Isildur’s heir?”

“And heir to throne of Gondor,” the Elf added. Nyx winced. Salt in the wound, if you asked her.

“Havo dad, Legolas.” Nyx glanced at the elf as he obeyed his friend’s words to sit down. So his name was Legolas.

“Gondor has no King,” Boromir said. “Gondor needs no King.”

“Then what does that make you?” Nyx wondered.

Gandalf spoke before Boromir could respond to Nyx’s angry words. “Aragorn is right. We cannot use it.”

“You have only one choice,” Elrond added. “The Ring must be destroyed.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” The Dwarf with ginger hair and a thick Scottish accent stood up and swung his axe. His axe should have shattered the Ring. Instead, the axe splintered into pieces and the Dwarf was thrown onto his back.

Frodo flinched, grabbing for his head. Sauron’s Eye flashed in his mind.

Nyx dropped to the ground, feeling a stabbing pain in her chest as images flashed in her mind. White hair. Fire. A blade dripping in blood. Somebody screaming. She coughed and black liquid splattered onto the stone. Ichor. Her cheek burned.

“The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft we here possess. The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came.”

Nyx wiped at her lips with the sleeve of her dress and stood up on weak legs. Gandalf offered her his arm.

“One of you must do this.”

There was silence all around.

“One does not simply walk into Mordor,” Boromir argued quietly. “Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly.”

“Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?” Legolas demanded. “The Ring must be destroyed!”

“And I suppose you think you’re the one to do it!” Gimli argued.

“And if we fail, what then?” Boromir added, standing up. “What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?”

Gimli stood up – not that it made him any taller. “I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an Elf!”

The other Elves stood at Gimli’s insult and, soon enough, everyone was standing and yelling over one another. Frodo sat still, staring at the Ring as it called for him.

“Nyx?”

“Yes, Frodo?”

“I think it needs to be me.”

“Are you saying that because It calls to you or because you are strong enough to fight Its call?”

“I’m doing it because I don’t want to do it. Everyone is fighting to be the one because they don’t want somebody else to do it. I just want it done.”

Nyx smiled. “Then say so.”

Frodo’s announcement went unheard the first time. And the second. Nyx huffed and grabbed her scythe, which she had placed on the ground at the beginning of the meeting. She lifted it and swung it down against the concrete as hard as she could. The blade embedded itself in the concrete until no more metal could be seen. The crack echoed all across Rivendell and across the ponds and ocean, bouncing off the sides of the cliff. The Men, Elves, Dwarves, and Wizard stopped arguing instantly.

Elrond sighed indignantly. “Why must you always break something when you visit?”

“Because you ignorant and stubborn men never listen. Now, shut up and sit down. All of you.” She stepped back as Frodo stepped forward, swallowing thickly. His hands were so sweaty.

“I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though…I do not know the way.”

“I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins.” Gandalf gently touched the young Hobbit’s shoulder in reassurance. “So long as it is yours to bear.”

Aragorn stood. “If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will.” He walked across the circular room and knelt at Frodo’s feet. “You have my sword.”

“And you have my bow.” Legolas moved to Frodo too, passing Nyx on the way.

“And my axe,” Gimli promised.

Boromir stepped forward slowly. “You carry the fate of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.”

Nyx stared at Boromir a moment longer. She didn’t like the way he spoke to Frodo, and she certainly didn’t like the faraway look in his eye.

“Heh!” Something brushed the side of Nyx’s skirt and she watched as Sam jumped from behind some bushes and ran to Frodo’s side, crossing his arms. “Mister Frodo’s not going anywhere without me.”

Elrond looked down at Sam in both disappointment and pride. “No, indeed. It is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret Council and you are not.”

“Doing some gardening again are we, Master Gamgee?” Gandalf asked with a pointed look in his eyes.

Sam looked down at his feet awkwardly. Nyx smiled.

From the other end, someone shouted. “Oi! Wait! We’re coming too!”

Nyx bit back her laughter at Elrond’s expression as the two cousins rushed to stand beside Frodo as well.

“You’d have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!” Merry insisted.

“Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission. Quest. Thing.”

Merry looked at Pippin. “Well, that rules you out, Pip.”

Pippin looked offended. Frodo turned around to look at Nyx, who was standing separate from the group.

“What about you, Nyx? Will you come with me?”

“You want me to?”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Aragorn said. “We could use a dragon in our company.”

Nyx smiled. For once, the name she’d been given wasn’t be used in anger or fear. “Then you shall have her.”

“Ten companions. So be it,” Elrond announced. “You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.”

Part 1.9 ➺

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roselen-mylady · 4 years

Text

In Another Life

Bucky Barnes x reader ° part eleven

Summary: Waiting 88 years to find your soulmate? It was cruel. But it was a cruel fate Bucky would have to face whether he accepted it or not. Bucky was a tortured man all his life and he wasn't even granted the solace of having his soulmate at his side. All he had was the promise of one in another life. They were separated by two different times.

But the pain in their lives were connected.

Y/n had been alone ever since she could remember. All she could depend on was the soulmate that was destined to be at her side. Yet when the snap occurred she lost him.

And Bucky never got to meet her.

"Cap, what do you want me to do with this damn thing?" Clint cried, loud and frantic. Y/n followed close behind, covering him using the various weapons the suit came equipped with and some of her own additions.

"Get those stones as far away as possible!" Steve demanded. Y/n's helmet retracted as she turned, sharing a look with Clint and wondering what the best strategy on getting out of there was.

But before either of them could suggest a means of escape, Bruce's voice came over the comms. "No! We need to get them back where they came from." He argued. Clint's gaze moved to behind Y/n and he swiftly shifted his hold on the gauntlet, firing one of his arrows at a creature behind her.

"No way to get them back. Thanos destroyed the quantum tunnel." Tony's voice cut in. The desolate space where the compound once stood was proof of that.

"Whatever we decide to do, we need to do it fast! We're sitting ducks out here!" Y/n called turning to take out another alien that had been drawn over to them like a beacon by the stones.

"Hold on!" Scott's voice rang out. "That wasn't our only time machine." Y/n groaned knowing where he was going with it as she narrowly avoided one of the incoming soldiers that appeared to be on their side.

"Scott, I swear if you mean that smelly ass van-" Y/n's swear was cut short by the out of place 'La Cucaracha' tune that echoed out over the battlefield. Clint merely chuckled beside her, doing his best to keep the stones out of the hands of the surrounding aliens.

"Anyone see an ugly, brown van out there?" Steve questioned. Y/n sent Clint an exasperated look to which he grinned at, his smile only growing as she glared at him.

"Yes! But you're not gonna like where it's parked!" A woman's voice answered.

"Scott, how long do you need to get that thing working?" Tony questioned. Y/n decided she'd have more of an advantage clearing Clint's path from the air and she hovered ahead of him, taking out as many of the strange creatures as she could.

"Maybe ten minutes." Scott replied.

"Get it started. We'll get the stones to you." Steve instructed. Clint motioned for Y/n to fire at one of his arrows and she nodded, directing the repulsor at the arrow he shot into a group of them.

"We're on it, Cap." A second woman's voice said.

"Y/n, get down here." Tony called suddenly. She was about to reply when one of the creatures jumped up grabbing her foot and dragging her to the ground. It pinned her down, it's hot breath seeming to waft through her helmet causing her to recoil in disgust.

"Uh, yeah. Give me a minute!" Y/n cried, grunting as she fought back, trying quickly to calculate how best to escape. Whipping around at the sound of her distress, Clint shot an arrow through its head making it fall limp upon her.

"Thanks." She said through gritted teeth as she forced the creature off. "Gross."

•••

Eventually Y/n managed to find Tony through the chaos of battle and landed down in front of him, letting her eyes drift to the man behind him. He wore a red cape and Y/n was about to question who the man was but stopped mid sentence as he pointed at her.

"You're here." He spoke as if recognizing her. Not only did he seem to know her, he appeared utterly defeated by her presence, even solemn. Yet before she could question his off-putting reaction, Tony grabbed her forearm, pulling her away. Her eyebrows furrowed and she retracted her helmet looking at him confused.

"Tony, are you okay?" She asked, concern etched into her features. Tony's expression was distraught as he looked around in a daze at the fight that raged on around them.

"The kid I told you about. The spider boy." Tony questioned though it sounded more like he was demanding something. She nodded, holding onto his upper arms as he grasped her forearms tightly.

"Yeah, what about him?" She asked, studying his darting eyes. She couldn't shake the feeling that he knew something she didn't and a knot started to form in her stomach as he struggled to piece together a sentence.

"He's-he's a lot like you. And after this he's going to need help, okay? From someone a lot like him, do you understand?" He told her urgently, his gaze drilling into her. His words rattled her and her eyes widened, unsettled.

"Tony, what are you talking about?" She pleaded, the knot in her stomach twisting tighter with each painful second that passed.

"Just take care of him, alright? If something happens…" His request trailed off. Y/n slipped out of his grasp, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing will happen, you'll be able to help him yourself." She promised. He didn't seem to take her word for it but nodded anyway for her sake.

"You're right...just-just promise me." Y/n could tell he was scared. He was terrified and all she could think to do was give him what he wanted. Reassurance.

"I promise." She swore to him, his eyes becoming more clear and focused as Y/n held onto his shoulders.

Her words seemed to calm him enough and Y/n offered a timid smile, unsure whether now was the time to give him a proper response like she would've if they hadn't been in the middle of a fight. But before she could even think about it further he turned, flying off to continue the battle.

Y/n watched him go, her heart contracting as his words echoed in her head. He wouldn't have placed the responsibility of his kid onto her shoulders if he didn't mean it and she felt sick to her stomach.

Please not again.

•••

"Y/n, where are you?" Clint called over the comms, his voice winded and heavy. Steve saw that he had managed to pass the gauntlet to T'Challa just in time for them to narrowly avoid Thanos' forces that were closing in on the stones.

He had been doing his best to keep the stones in sight but once hearing Clint, Steve's eyes also began to search for his friend wherever she may have been.

"I don't know. Where are you?" She replied after a few seconds of silence.

"Doesn't matter. I gave the stones to the cat guy, you gotta watch them!" Clint instructed.

Finally Steve had managed to find Y/n in his peripheral and he relaxed slightly watching as she began to lower herself to the ground. Yet before he could be put at ease, another being entered his vision, dangerously close to Y/n.

"Cat guy?"

"Y/n, watch out!" Steve suddenly cried in her comms. She whipped around too late to retract her foot in time. The large being had reached up, grabbing hold of her foot and dragging her down.

Y/n tried to release herself, firing her repulsors at the large creature but it did nothing as he tightened his grip on her boot and threw her into a mound of debris, obscuring her from Steve's sight.

"Y/n!" Steve yelled, beginning to run in her direction. Bucky noticed his friend's sudden panic and began running as well. Covering for his friend as he ran left Bucky behind, allowing Steve to reach Y/n first.

All at once, a series of blasts made Steve skid to a stop on the wreckage-covered ground. A forceful scream sounded from where Y/n was thrown and seconds later the being fell, multiple holes burned into its chest.

When Steve finally stepped around to see Y/n, the missile launcher on her shoulder was slowly powering down and folding back into her suit. "Y/n." Steve breathed watching with a concerned gaze as her suit shook slightly, mimicking her own trembling body.

Once her eyes landed on him, her helmet retracted exposing her terrified expression. Without another word, she shot up and threw her arms around his neck as she held onto him for dear life.

He held her back, sending Bucky a glance as she buried her face into his shoulder, rattled cries muffled by the material of his suit. Bucky froze reading Steve's wary gaze. Y/n had just opened up to him about her attack. It was too soon to throw Bucky right in front of her. It wasn't fair, he thought.

So Steve made him wait.

Again.

"Hey, hey it's alright."

"No. It's not alright. What am I doing here, Steve? I can't do this. Every time I think I can, I'm proven wrong! It's not me!" She broke down in his arms. Her entire life had turned upside down in a mere couple of days and as much as she wanted to walk it off like everyone else did, she couldn't. She wasn't built for it despite what the others thought. She wasn't a hero.

Tony believed she was and so had Steve. Even she had believed it all those years ago. But she was wrong and lost everything for it. And it only made her more angry at herself.

If the younger her had been put out there, she would've been eager to fight but now she couldn't. Maybe it was anxiety or even PTSD but either way it didn't matter. She wanted to believe she had another purpose other than to fight. And maybe she did. She'd helped people for years before ever getting a suit.

"It is you, Y/n. You have it in you to be a hero, you just need to accept it. I know it's scary but this fight-" Steve began with another speech but Y/n wasn't having it. She was tired of it. Tired of the wars and destruction. The world fought long before the Avengers were around and Y/n knew stopping it forever was impossible but she still wished it would. Was peace really that unreachable?

"Enough! Why does everything have to end in a fight? Why do people have to give up everything for a better world only to fail in the end?" She yelled, all her frustration and fear tumbling out of her mouth without restraint.

She hated herself for not being as strong willed but something deep down told her that this war wouldn't end well. She knew fighting Thanos was important and she was willing but at what cost? She'd lost her parents and mentor for nothing more than joining S.H.I.E.L.D and it terrified her to think what would be lost in order to restore the world.

How many more lives would be lost and could she handle it?

Steve watched her eyes fill with panicked and frustrated tears, unable to do anything to soothe her. He'd seen his friends break before and he was sure this wouldn't be the last time but something was different this time. Like Wanda had been at the beginning, Y/n was scared to accept her role in this battle. She was strong and smart, Steve knew that but Y/n was still scared and angry. She was still human.

Y/n struggled to reach that point where one accepts that they're a part of something bigger. It was something he had forced others to do and the guilt still ate at him inside but it was necessary.

It helped them grow.

"Because the most important things are worth fighting for. No matter how many times you have to do it." Steve replied finally, silencing the war in her head. He wanted so badly to take her out of it. He'd brought her back into this life after all, he owed her. But he couldn't. She was a part of this now and as much as she doubted herself, she was just like them. She had limits but she was powerful. He just needed to remind her.

"Look at what you did. Look how far you've come." He began, shifting her gently so she could look at the being now motionless on the ground where it'd fallen. She spared it a fleeting glance, focusing her stare back on Steve as she tried to put together what he was trying to say.

"You get knocked down but you always get back up, okay? You're one of the strongest people I know and even though you're scared it doesn't make you any less capable." His hands moved to her shoulders, gripping them tenderly. "You've been through so much and helped so many people. You're a hero even if you don't believe it. Even if you don't believe that fighting is helping- there's two sides to making the world better and I know you can do both."

Y/n studied his eyes, finding the familiar sincerity he always wore. So comforting and so safe. She was tired of being something she wasn't but what if all this time she was meant to be here? Meant to fight the fight no one wanted to. Meant to lose it all for a cause greater than herself.

Meant to be a hero.

"I need you to fight with me right now. I know you can do this." He pleaded, sending a short look to Bucky. He was yards away, just out of earshot but close enough to insure their protection. Bucky was always fighting the bigger fight and as much as it hurt him, Steve needed Y/n to do the same. "Please."

Fear still grasped at her heart but she knew she needed to do something. She couldn't run from this like she had so many times before. She had to fight and maybe just maybe if she fought hard enough, she could prevent the catastrophe she knew lingered around the corner.

"We need a vacation."

Steve paused, unsure if he'd heard her right. "What?"

"We need a vacation, after all of this. Somewhere warm and beachy." Y/n explained, a bittersweet smile curving on her lips as she looked up at him. She was still terrified, that much was certain but she was willing to push it aside. Willing to be half the hero Steve was, no matter what cost she feared she'd face.

Her request was pitiful but certainly one that gave them hope, something to hold onto. "A beach it is." Steve smiled.

Before he could say another word, Y/n had broken free of his hold, pacing a few feet away from him. A look of determination had taken hold of her features, deciding she needed to act before her nerves overcame her again.

Offering one more soft smile, her helmet closed, the eye slits lit up with the familiar white glow. Her thrusters engaged and she was in the air once more.

She caught herself much quicker this time with the added power of her hand thrusters and took off toward where F.R.I.D.A.Y had informed her the stones were. Steve watched a moment longer, hearing Bucky jog up beside him.

"Who was that?" He asked, watching the woman fly off into the war that was unfolding. Steve's smile still lingered though he was worried.

"Someone special." Steve replied. Bucky turned to him with a thoughtful gaze, unable to take his eyes off Steve's tender expression.

•••

Dodging the open fire upon the surface from Thanos' ship was difficult but keeping track of the stones all the while was nearly impossible. Yet Y/n was able to manage finding the stones in the hands of the very boy she'd swore to protect.

"Help! Somebody help!" He cried, his pleas echoing through her comms. Her headset quickly homed in on the source, making her alter her trajectory in his direction.

"Thruster power is critically low." F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke suddenly, displaying the power level in front of Y/n. Her eyes widened, trying to pay attention to her flight pattern despite the panic rising in her chest.

"And you wait until now to tell me?!" Y/n shouted.

"Your usage of the micro-missiles used up a lot of energy. Keep in mind this suit is just a prototype."

"Hold on, kid!" Y/n called, ignoring F.R.I.D.A.Y and using what was left of her thruster power to launch herself toward the Spiderboy. "F.R.I.D.A.Y is it possible to use the power from my armor?"

"It is possible but you won't be able to take multiple hits." The A.I. explained. Y/n chose not to answer, debating her choices. Either transfer power and avoid all hits or possibly survive future attacks with no means of escape or counterattacks.

The pile of alien soldiers continued to grow in the few seconds it took her to catch up and without a moment to lose she dove in, snatching the boy up in her arms as she allowed her suit to take over. "F.R.I.D.A.Y light 'em up!" She called. The action would definitely burn through what was left of the power but she didn't care.

"Activating 'Firework Protocol'." F.R.I.D.A.Y acknowledged Y/n's new protocol, spanning open the panels in the back of the suit. The advanced micro lasers she'd installed was the only light in the huddle of alien mass around them as the red lasers powered on.

Y/n's hold on the boy's head tightened and she pulled him close, trying to ensure he wouldn't be another victim of her suit as it fired at the beings atop them. He held the gauntlet desperately, stealing a glance up at her as the aliens began to fall around them.

"Power level 2% percent." F.R.I.D.A.Y informed.

"Transfer power from armor now!" Y/n called, shifting her hold on the boy to under his arms. As she'd commanded, F.R.I.D.A.Y put the shield power Y/n had preserved earlier into thrusters. It was a temporary fix but all she could think of.

"Hold on!" Her shout came hurried and Peter barely had any time to process it before they were in the air, his metallic spider legs flailing frantically. "You alright, kid?!" She called over the rush of air, peering down at him as they shot across the chaos towards Scott's van.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah I'm okay! I'm Spider-Man! Nice to meet you– OH, MY GOD!" The boy rambled, screeching as they served away from one of the large flying creatures that grew threateningly near.

However in the attempt to avoid one danger they'd entered another and Y/n's suit was struck but Thanos' ship, causing them to fall back down to the earth. And while she did everything in her power to move the boy to avoid direct impact, his groan still alerted her that he'd taken a rough hit.

She herself was struggling to recover, her headset glitching as the suit tried to reform after the hit. As F.R.I.D.A.Y had warned, the suit's armor level significantly decreased, alerting her that another hit like that would be fatal. The nanotechnology was strong but her decision to transfer power from her armor was quickly regretted.

In her daze she felt the boy tug her, pulling her back toward him as he cradled the stones against his chest. The intensity of Thanos' canons rattled the ground and Y/n found herself unable to focus on anything else. Sound was muted and her sense of touch seemed dulled. Maybe it was the aftermath of falling from midair in a metal container.

How had Tony survived this long?

Then suddenly it stopped. It all stopped. The strikes upon the battle were instantly directed to another target and much to her body's protest, Y/n sat up looking toward the skies. She could hear her peers struggling to figure out the source of Thanos' fire but it was all blurred.

"Mild concussion and multiple contusions detected." F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke, making Y/n groan as she looked over at the Spiderboy.

"Kid, you okay?" She called, making him peek out from his fetal position against the huge rock they'd taken cover behind. His nose was bleeding and his eyes were red but otherwise he seemed alright.

He nodded, still dazed himself as he eyed her curiously. "Hey, uh, who are you? I mean thank you for saving me but-" He trailed off, his eyes lingering on the suit. Why had she been wearing one of Mr. Stark's suits?

"I'm Y/n. Or uh- Iron Star." Y/n explained, still reluctant toward the name. "Tony gave me the suit in case things went wrong." She explained, climbing to her feet clumsily as dizziness shook through her body. "Guess they did."

"I'm Peter by the way. Peter Parker." He introduced, hugging the gauntlet strangely as he watched her regain her footing.

Y/n smiled softly, putting out her hand for the battered boy. "It's very nice to meet you, Peter." He accepted her hand, climbing to his feet carefully, the gauntlet still tight within his grasp.

Suddenly their moment was cut short by the sound of a heavy force hitting the ground behind them. Y/n whipped around, unsure whether said force was a threat but much to her surprise, a woman was standing there, a kind smile on her lips.

"Hi. I'm- Peter Parker. This is Y/n." Peter spoke up, making Y/n glance back at him. Did he always introduce everyone during a fight or was he just in shock?

"Hey, you two. You got something for me?" The woman asked, slightly entertained by Peter's manner. At this he exchanged a look with Y/n, both sharing a short nod before passing over the stones to the woman.

"I don't know how you're gonna get it through all that." Peter's voice came tender and weak as he pointed his gaze toward the mess that was Thanos' forces. He was right, it seemed like it would be an impossible feat but if Y/n knew anything, it was that a woman's strength was nothing to be trifled with.

Especially someone with the same determined eyes Nat had.

"Don't worry." A woman with long red locks assured him, landing down beside the first woman.

"She's got help." A second woman added.

Another suit similar to Y/n's landed beside them, her helmet dissolving to reveal a woman she recognized as Pepper Potts. Soon a variety of different women emerged, standing together without an ounce of fear or intimidation from the force before them.

Y/n watched amazed as they set forward, a painful ping in her heart as she thought of Nat. Black Widow deserved to be there, fighting among the most powerful women Y/n had ever seen. But Nat had made the greatest sacrifice of all, displaying heroism like no one ever could. And for that Natasha was the strongest.

As she grabbed Peter once more, she wondered if she could be like that. Could she set aside her fear like so many around her had? Like she had tried so many times before?

Her friends believed she could.

With the stones safely transferred, Y/n took off with Peter wanting him as far away from the most intense part of the war as possible. Yet before they could get too far, an overwhelming surge of energy exploded behind them, sending them crashing back down to the ground.

Peter had fallen somewhere along the way, leaving Y/n alone once more as she tumbled to the dirt, landing a few feet away from the stones.

Before she could even process what had happened, Tony entered her hazy vision calling out to her frantically. "Get the stones!" He screamed, running past her. Her gaze followed him, her mind not yet understanding his plea. Yet when she caught sight of another being, her mind instantly cleared. It was a being she'd only heard about but one she knew to fear.

Thanos.

Y/n scrambled to her feet, grabbing the gauntlet urgently as she began to run, her balance still unsteady. But despite her head start, she'd only gotten a couple of feet before Tony flew past her, spamming into the earth with a groan.

She didn't dare stop but it didn't matter. A large hand gripped her leg, yanking it harshly from under her. Her body collapsed but her hold of the gauntlet stayed secure as Thanos dragged her toward him.

"No! Let me go, you freak!" She screamed, firing her repulsors at him but it was no use. He towered above her, his clenched fist inches from her face but before he could strike her, another hand grabbed her pulling her free.

"Go, Lady Y/n!" Thor spoke, stepping in front of her. She nodded quickly, clutching the gauntlet impossibly tighter as she spirited away.

She could hear the others struggling behind her to keep Thanos at bay and as much as she wanted to help them she knew it was vital that she got away with the stones. Yet try as she might her thrusters wouldn't budge.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, I kinda need my thrusters to work! Now!" She cried, the sound of Thanos' footsteps growing too close for comfort.

"The suit's power is draining too fast. Using thrusters risks the suit losing all power."

"Dammit, why'd Tony give me a prototype?!" Y/n cried, retracting her helmet in a pathetic attempt at making running easier.

Then she did something stupid. Something someone with the IQ of 280 would know better than to do.

She looked back.

And the sight she was met with was frightening.

Tony, Steve and Thor, all of which had tried to stop Thanos, were on the ground along with anyone else who got in-between him and Y/n. Even his own soldiers were being pummeled as he stormed through them, quickly advancing on Y/n.

Her race away instantly broke out into a terrified dash, running for the lives of everyone including herself.

But she wasn't fast enough.

His horrible hand wrapped around her once more, this time plucking her up from the ground as he began to pull the gauntlet from her arms. She fought his grip, kicking and squirming like a fish on a hook but when she didn't let go of the gauntlet, Thanos shifted his hold to her throat, squeezing her windpipe. With no other choice she choked a single command.

"Unibeam."

"Firing the unibeam will use what is left of your power. You'll be defenseless." F.R.I.D.A.Y objected. Y/n considered the A.I.'s warning. Doing this would leave her vulnerable and possibly even immobile. But she couldn't let him take the stones.

"Do it!" Y/n rasped.

Thanos recoiled as Y/n's chest lit up, firing an intense blast straight at him. His moment of weakness allowed her to escape his hold, gasping for the air she'd been denied. The stones had clambered down next to her and she quickly reached out to grab them but before she could, Thanos' foot slammed on her arm making her scream out in pain.

Agonizing pain shot through her arm but just as quickly as the pressure had been forced on her arm it was removed and Y/n quickly brought her arm back to her chest, rolling onto her back.��

She could make out the woman from before battling Thanos a few feet away but her senses were dulled as numbness flooded her body. She wanted to writhe around the ground but she could hardly feel her arm anymore let alone the rest of her body.

Was this what it was like being a hero? Being forced to your very limit but knowing you had to get back up? How did one do it?

Her gaze drifted to those around her. Steve was running toward them, shouting something Y/n could hear. The familiar worry creased his brow and even a bit of rage had taken hold of his features but Y/n could make sense of what infuriated him so, only allowing her gaze to move to Tony.

He crawled a couple feet away, his eyes elsewhere as she watched him. His expression was that of dismay and sorrow. She wanted to call out to him, to say something that would fix this. But nothing could be said.

Like Steve had told her, there were two ways to make the world better and right now she needed to fight.

With a pained grunt she sat up, struggling to climb to her feet with her shattered arm. Tony mimicked her, glancing at her with unreadable eyes. They shared a look, one that expressed their worries but also told each other how grateful they were for each other.

Then they both launched forward, Y/n's suit moving with greater difficulty now that it was running off of her alone. Tony immediately latched onto the stones trying his best to keep Thanos from snapping his fingers while Y/n dug her hands under the gauntlet, pulling at it desperately.

It was a weak attack and when Thanos swatted them away, Y/n's heart nearly stopped.

He was going to do it. He was going to snap the world away and there was nothing they could do.

"I am– inevitable." Thanos spoke, lifting his hand menacingly as everyone watched in horror.

When the snap rang out Y/n flinched, closing her eyes as she readied herself for whatever nightmare awaited them. But nothing happened.

Her eyes peeled open, registering the same confusion she felt on Thanos's face. She almost exhaled, relieved that he didn't have the stones but upon following his stare, she was faced with an equally alarming sight.

Tony had risen to his knees, his own hand lifted in front of him as he stared down Thanos. The stones slowly crept up his forearm, merging with his suit like they had to the gauntlet. Once each was in place the energy became too much, coursing through him like a deadly poison.

"And I– am– Iron Man." Tony grunted, bracing himself for the worst. Y/n could barely get out a hysteric shout before he was lining up his fingers for what would be his last action.

Time seemed to stop and before he could do what she feared he would, Y/n gave a final attempt to stop the tragedy she knew would happen. Without a moment of hesitation she threw out her arm, ignoring the agony from her broken bones as the snap rang out.

Her fingers had just barely brushed his arm but it was enough to knock her back several feet, smashing her battered body into a large pile of debris.

Her ears rang and her brain felt like it was rattling inside her skull. Her vision was quickly fading but in what little time she had left before it faded, she was able to make out Steve falling to his knees beside her and tugging her into his arms.

Then it all went dark.

Part twelve

Taglist

@cancanmarvel

@jessyballet

@eldahae

@mc225g

@kissesofdeadforme

@wantingtobekorra

@sxphiiwrld

@lunaticbarnes

@indecisivedolly

@saiyanprincesswanie

@lextheflexsthings

@silver-winter-wolf

@whatifwedo

@arguedquill1226

@lunashaw57

@loushkspr

@3aileypage

@mela-noche

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bxthharmon · 4 years

Text

Through the Ages || JJ Maybank x Routledge!Reader

Words: 1870

Warnings: Super toxic relationship, underage drinking, smoking, weed

Summary: The development of your relationship with JJ, from when your first met aged eight to adult life, MAJOR ANGST

A/N: okay i know i havent written anything in WEEKS but im watching obx and im obsessed... i really wasn’t expecting this to take such a dark turn?? contact me if you wanna request anything or make friends :)

masterlist

8 years

You’re eight and when you meet John in front of the school to walk home, he has a friend. You know your brother’s friends - most of them, at least - but this boy is new. He is tanned and blonde and tall for his age, and a girl in your class had told you about how he’s always getting into small playground scraps. You eye each other warily on the way home, your brother between you, oblivious to the hostility.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him - how could you dislike someone you knew nothing about? - it was that John had promised to stop bringing his friends on the way home, because he would end up ignoring you, and now there was a friend walking with them.

When the boy finally leaves, John looks at you as if he forgot you were there. You watch as the boy goes through the front door, catching a glimpse of a dark, cluttered house. You wonder where his parents are.

John coaxes you into a race - who can get home first - and he wins. He always wins. A year older, stronger, faster. Your dad greets you, asking about your days, and laughing as you complain about how John ignored you on the way home.

The next week, the boy walks with you again. His name is JJ, and he’s funny. He gives you a twinkie as a peace offering, saying that he wants to walk with you and John from now on. You shrugged, and took the twinkie, telling him it was for the food, and only the food.

11 years

You’re eleven, in your first year of middle school, and you and John ride home from school everyday on your bikes. On the days when you’re not surfing or hanging out with friends, you cycle home with John, JJ and a new member of the gang, Pope. You and JJ, while still at a twinkie-incited truce, are growing more competitive and show-offish around each other. You race your bikes to his, and if you stop at the corner store on the way home, you see who can chug their cola faster. John fights with you when you get home because they’re “his friends, not yours!”

You have your own friends, and sometimes you cross with your brother’s friends in town, sass thrown between the groups like a tennis rally, the twinkie-truce fading into the past. You can’t stand the tall blonde surfer, but you can’t wait to argue with him on your way home from school.

14 years

You’re fourteen, and after a year long break from your brother’s friends, you’re, once again, at the same school. You’ve changed, filled out more over the last year, puberty having hit you like a tonne of bricks since you last hung out. The three pogues now have one female friend, Kiara, and you become fast friends. You can tell your brother has a thing for her, and you wonder if he’ll ever bring her home to meet your dad.

JJ sees you differently now. You seem less like the eight year old he met six years ago, but you’re still very much yourself. He pulls your ponytail as you pass him in the hallways at school, and you flip him off in return. You sometimes go to the same parties, and your drinking races have switched from cola to beer. John hates you being at parties, claiming your too young to drink or party, as if he wasn’t the year before. John can see how JJ looks at you, and he hates it. He hates seeing how guys look at you now, how they flirt, hit on and catcall his baby sister. He also hates how in your efforts to compete with JJ, you get into fights and run your mouth. He hates how JJ shows off around you, and vice versa.

Despite his frustrations with JJ, he’s also the only guy who’ll stand up for you when you or John can’t do it yourselves. He hopes you don’t grow up too quickly, and he knows that his friends will always have your back, so he’s not worried.

15 years

You’re fifteen, and you go to a kegger for the first time. You get drunk quickly, flirting with too many guys and giggling at every little thing. You share a blunt with JJ, and the pair of you practically piss yourselves with laughter when John tries to reprimand you. The night is fun, and you can’t wait for the next one.

The next one is much worse. You’re one or two drinks in when you see JJ flirting with a touron. In retrospect, that’s probably when you first noticed your feelings, but at the time you have no idea why you’re so angry about it. By the end of the night, you’ve had half a bottle of vodka and two spliffs, and you’re way far gone. You might even have blacked out - but all you remember is the pure rage, and how you spent ten minutes throwing up by the front porch when you got home.

You saw JJ the next day, and you’re both hungover. He checks on you, and neither of you really understand why you’re so cold towards him, but he leaves pretty quickly.

You cry that night.

16 years

You’re sixteen, and your dad is missing. You lost all your friends when you fell into a depression after it. Nine months later, and you feel happy again. You’re the final member of pogue crew, and you spend the summer surfing and swimming and settle into the routine of summer. You surf first thing in the morning, as dawn breaks, often with JJ, competing over who’s a better surfer (he is). You spend your afternoons on the HMS Pogue, competing with JJ over who’s the better swimmer (you are). The group of you drink and smoke and live your best lives. On the days where you’re not on the boat, you work.

You know you love JJ, and you flirt constantly. He kisses you at a kegger, barely twenty minutes before he pulls the gun on Topper. You have your first serious argument that night, and it ends with him kissing you.

You wear your heart on your sleeve, and assure him you love him. He doesn’t say it back, but he shows it. You learn about his Dad and his work and how he learnt to surf. You sneak around, and, miraculously, don’t get caught.

16 ½ years

You’re sixteen and a half when John and Sarah go missing. Kie and Pope try to help, but you don’t pay them any attention. You and JJ struggle, with yourselves, each other, and your relationship. You’re on the rocks, you’re up against the wall. You don’t think you’ll last, and you fight constantly.

Your relationship is toxic, taking your own angers out on each other, fighting and screaming in each others faces only to make up for a honeymoon period that lasts a week, max, and the cycle repeats. You’re both miserable.

17 years

You’re seventeen, and he breaks up with you. You were too alike - both too impulsive, angry, broken for it to ever work. You apply to out-of state colleges, hoping to escape the islands you used to love.

You wait for an acceptance letter, and watch as the people you call family try to rebuild their lives.

18 years

You’re eighteen, and you get the letter. UCLA, on the other side of the country. You say your goodbyes to Kie and Pope, and eventually, JJ.

He looks broken, when you tell him. He asks you what you’d do if John came back and you weren’t around, but you had resigned yourself to John’s death long ago. You fight one last time. You fuck one last time. You love one last time.

You wonder if you’ll ever return.

22 years

You’re twenty two, and you’ve got a degree. You fly home the day after graduation, and everything has changed.

Kie runs the Wreck now, and she gives you a free meal and you talk for hours when you first arrive. She invited you to her and Pope’s place.

They have a nice place. Not on Figure Eight, but on that side of the island - Pope’s got a high earning job in marine biology research. They’re happy.

You smoke a blunt with Pope, for old time’s sake. He tells you to see JJ, and gives you a slip of paper with the address. You don’t know if you want to throw it into the ocean or treasure it forever. You do neither.

It takes you a week to psych yourself up to it, and then you knock on his door.

His house is small, but not tiny, not like his childhood home. He welcomes you in, a light in his eyes you hadn’t seen in years. He sits you down at the dinner table, and you take in the pictures on the mantel shelf, and the mementos stuck to the fridge.

You see the ring on his finger.

You enter a state of stasis. You were sure he was it for you, but the circumstances were wrong and you were too immature. Right person, wrong time, or something along those lines. No, apparently not. He moved on, he built a life without you, a happier, healthier life.

His wife is lovely, everything you’re not. She’s patient and kind and soft-spoken, the opposite to him, bringing balance. She stabilises him, and gives him what he needs.

You think of how you would argue with him, the screaming, shouting, throwing plates and vases. Your love was so naive, but so passionate. Everything that happened while you were together, everything that went wrong, happened because your tempers and stubborn natures and impulsivity was destructive.

You fly back to California a week later.

You sit on the plane and reminisce. The night you and JJ broke up, the house got wrecked. You had been standing inches apart, but screaming at the top of your lungs. You had lost your temper and overturned a table, smashing all the crockery left on it. He had thrown a vase at the wall, and you had fought until your voices broke and you were too tired and sore to keep throwing shit at walls and each other. You had sat next to each other, leaning on the wall by the front door, an uncharacteristic calm washing over you.

You had looked at him, heart aching, and told him that you needed to split up. He had nodded, and eventually, the pair of you had drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a world where you could be together without all the hate in the way.

When you woke up in the morning, he was gone, but the mess had stayed. You had had to tiptoe over thousands of shards of broken crockery and glass to get to your room, a reminder of how you were destined to self-destruct.

You watched out the window as the plane landed, and vowed never to return again.

Outer Banks was no longer your home.

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diyunho · 4 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 5

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

4 Months Pregnant

“I need customized stickers that say Baby On Board for my purple Lamborghini and the other cars I drive,” The Joker growls at his own idea whilst sharing it with the person fulfilling his wacko trades: Franco Rossi, the leader of best underground supply chain in Gotham.

“When would you like them ready Mister J? After Y/N gives birth?”

“Nope! Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?...” Franco hesitantly inquiries about the sudden emergency since he can’t understand why The King of Gotham demands them so fast.

The Joker hates explaining yet certain people are obtuse thus they necessitate enlightenment.

“Y/N’s pregnant: when she gets in a car, the baby is also. Baby on board! Hello??” the father-to-be loses his temper.

Who can argue with The Joker’s logic? Nobody. It sort of makes sense anyway.

“Of course, Mister J. I’ll have them ready. If you drop by after 6pm, I’ll have your guns ready too.”

“Perfect!” the Joker hangs up among the ruckus coming from the office near the kitchen: sounds of shattered objects and yelling alert Richard aka Panda you’re at it again. He nonchalantly passes by in order to deliver the items to The Clown.

“Your drinks Mister J,” he gives one cup with Starbucks caramel latte to his boss and the other is placed on the table. Why does your boyfriend require 2 identical containers? It won’t take long to solve the mystery.

“Are the lids glued?”

Strange question but there’s a purpose in it.

“Yes sir. How is she doing?”

“She’s hormonal: breaking things makes her feel better which reminds me we have to hoard porcelain objects for her to wreck. NO glass!”

“Sure, I’ll tell the crew,” Richard leaves the kitchen while texting Frost. “Hulk needs more to smash,” he types the code name they gave you in the last weeks although The King knows about it: J’s the one that came up with it.

“Hey Pumpkin,” you are greeted as soon as you pop up from the office. “How’d it go?” he scrolls down on his phone and takes a sip of hot liquid.

“Ugghh!” a frustrated Y/N swings the yellow teddy bear The Joker stole for her on their first date, hitting his hand in the process. The drink flies near the fridge and splatters on the floor with minimal damage: only a tiny puddle instead of a disaster, that’s why the lids are glued.

Safety measure for The Queen’s unpredictability.

J grabs his reserve cup of coffee, paying attention now hence he dodges your renewed attack and keeps his coffee intact.

That’s why his drinks have the lids glued, in case you catch him off guard the second time it will result in negligible destruction.

It happened before.

“I don’t think so Princess,” The Joker strong grip on the container calms you a bit because you won’t be able to win this round. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” you pout and sit in his lap.

“I bet the baby is,” the secret weapon is unleashed: J discovered such a gem by accident and it works like a charm. How can Y/N say “no” if the baby is involved? She can’t.

A plate filled with a bunch of your favorite breakfast food is placed in front of you and strangely enough you’re instantly hungry.

“Extra bacon,” he purrs. “Plus chocolate dip and honey mustard for your pickled cherries. I added peanut butter olives as a bonus.”

In your defense, you’ve been having weird cravings lately.

You place the toy on the chair nearby and start eating, ogling a Joker texting back and forth with his business partners. He chews the morsel you just offered and shivers: waffle dipped in clam juice is disgusting. Maybe he should look at the food you shove in his mouth.

“Gross,” J washes the terrible taste with coffee and gets a kiss for encouragement, yet he’s aware of the connotations. Another kiss confirms it.

Let’s put it this way: besides the hormonal episodes and food demands, The Queen has had a fresh type of craving recently - The Joker kind.

More than usually.

That’s why he has to clear it up.

“I’m flattered for being the center of attention; we gotta keep in mind that contrary to the popular belief, I don’t have unlimited stamina, Pumpkin.”

You nod in agreement and unbutton his pants, then unzip them also.

“Y/N, pay attention!” J insists since you don’t give a damn about his woes. “Think about it as a two way street: The Joker Street and I Want To Break Things Street. Are you with me so far?” he double checks.

Why is he yapping so much??! I guess you should make an effort to comprehend: he’s even doodling patterns on his phone to emphasize the speech.

“When you get hormonal, Princess, let’s try and walk on the I Want To Break Things Street instead of The Joker Street, hm? The Joker Street is sometimes closed for repairs until further announcement.”

OK, OK, this is a lecture. Something about a Joker Street, he seems upset he doesn’t have one…?... Right?...

If you were him, you would be pissed Gotham didn’t name a street in your honor when you’re so important for the town.

Another peck on his neck, then your lips go down his collar bone.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” J mutters when it’s clear his shirt won’t remain on his body for too long.

“I am,” you defend yourself.

“Oh yeah? What did I say then?”

“Ummm…” you try to piece together words among estrogen taking over. “No Joker Street?...”

“Bingo, that’s it Princess! No Joker Street, correct! Choose the other street, yes?”

This time he kisses you, excited his idea was well received when in fact, both parties are referring to unrelated concepts.

“Wait,” J dodges your touch, “Richard is calling.”

Because he’s on the phone ignoring Y/N, she is ensuring a nice surprise for later; concentrating to the maximum to avoid misspelling, the following message is sent to Franco Rossi from her cell:

“Make a landmark sign that says Joker Street.”

The King’s conversation is prolonged more than anticipated until he discerns you’re not wiggling: you feel asleep, softly snoring on his shoulder and he definitely can’t afford to wake you up.

The doctors said your body is trying to cope with the pregnancy the best way it can: if you doze off at random hours it means you ran out of fuel and you should rest. After cheating death and surviving the accident, the future mother is at high risk of serious complications which is why each day could lead to unforeseen problems.

The Joker rises from the chair holding you in his arms and after a few steps he realizes it’s difficult to walk: thanks to his unbuttoned and unzipped pants, they keep sliding lower and lower. There’s no way he will make it upstairs so maybe the sofa in the living room is the best option. He almost trips thus he begins to drag his feet on the carpet, the pants at knee level now.

“I’m reduced to a piece of meat,” J grumbles, finally making it to the couch and placing Y/N on it so she can have her power nap.

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

6:02pm

You accompanied The King to a meeting with Seraphim, the best hacker/strategist J uses: they’ve been plotting for a while concerning D.A. Kevin Winchester. The politician is becoming a huge pain in the butt for Gotham’s underworld and something must be done; either annihilation or blackmail, it truly doesn’t matter since he’s bad for business. Due to a total lack of interest in the subject, you are exploring the surroundings quite angry The Joker dragged you here.

Luckily there’s stuff to do.

Bam! you punch the fragile glass sculpture and it splinters into a million pieces on the lavish marble floor.

Seraphim jumps at the noise, immediately recognizing his beloved possession:

“That’s…,” he gulps, appalled. “That’s a Vitriol!”

Yup, the one and only Degas Vitriol, the latest sensation taking the art universe by storm.

“She’s hormonal,” J sneers. “She breaks shit!”

“That’s valued at 150,000 dollars!” the hacker breaths in much needed oxygen regarding the atrocity unfolding at his hideout.

“So??!!” your boyfriend sucks on his teeth, irritated. “Serves you right for buying that asshole’s artsy fartsy crap!”

The Joker actually has 4 Vitriol masterpieces at the mansion yet you were strictly forbidden to destroy them, alas he gave you the office for your rampages.

You continue your exploration as they talk about God knows what until you perceive an alarming detail: Seraphim is literally screaming having a gun pointed at J.

You sneak behind him then in a split second you strike the pistol out of his hand and your fist lands on his temple with such brutality it knocks him out unconscious.

“What the hell are you doing, Y/N???” The Clown hisses at your erratic behavior.

“Hm?”

“What are you doing??!!!” he repeats, annoyed.

“S-saving you…,” you stutter, confused on why J is mad. “He was yelling and…mmm, had a gun,” you wince in pain because your knuckles hurt from the impact.

“The guy’s half deaf and sometimes he raises his voice without noticing, or did you forget??!! Now I have to wait until he comes to his senses and that’s a waste of my time, Y/N!!! Seraphim wasn’t threatening me, he was showing me his newest collectible!!! I suppose someone with half a brain can’t acknowledge the mess they’ve created!!!”

A lot of accusations thrown your way still… the last sentence brings tears in your eyes.

“I…” you bite your lower lip. “…I don’t have half of brain…”

“Wanna bet??” The Joker bites more instead of leveling with your logic: you though he was in danger and took action. If it was a real emergency, yes, you would have been the hero; it’s not and apparently he can’t appreciate your fast intervention in these circumstances.

“Y-you’re stupid…” you whisper, frustrated. “You don’t understand anything…”

Here it is -- the cataclysmic event of the century: someone called The Joker stupid. He’s beyond outraged with nothing better to utter besides a very childish:

“You’re stupid!”

Y/N turns around and stomps out of the house leaving a trail of destruction outside: she slaps the bottled water out of The Shark’s hand, kicks Panda’s shin and snatches Frost’s donut basically inhaling the sweet treat.

“I want to go h-home!!” you shout and enter the first vehicle you see, slamming the door so hard the window on the passenger side cracks.

“Jesus…” Jonny mumbles and being the sensible man that he is you are offered the whole box of pastries he purchased for his family. He can acquire more, but there’s no way in hell he wants to endure Y/N in the state she’s in.

Gotta keep Hulk calm somehow…

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

3 Hours Afterwards

You sulk when The Joker strolls in the master bathroom frantically searching the cabinets.

“Did you see my shaver?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“Did you see my shaver?”

“I…I wouldn’t know. I only have half a brain,” the surprisingly eloquent phrase queues J his woman is holding a grudge for his earlier statement. Why wouldn’t she? He was a complete jerk.

At least you didn’t catch on to the obvious: The King of Gotham doesn’t own a shaver; hair just grows on his head.

He glimpses at Y/N soaking in the bathtub with a kid’s book in her left hand and the right hand fingers sunk into a bowl filled with ice placed at the edge of the Jacuzzi. The Joker leans over and switches your book since it’s upside down.

You huff at the unwanted help and stare at the pictures expecting he’ll look for his shaver and disappear.

You’re not that fortunate today.

“Imagine my surprise when I drove the main alley and detected a sign that says The Joker Street,” he brings up the topic.

Franco Rossi was super-efficient …sadly you ordered the item before J ran his mouth at the hacker’s place, otherwise you wouldn’t care he wants a street with his name.

“You said no… no Joker Street,” you stammer. “Now you have one,” the bitter tone makes him roll his eyes: Y/N’s brain got what it could from his monologue, he should have known better than to make it complicated.

“Excellent…” The King starts rubbing your tummy, “… precisely what I was aiming for. I’m washing the baby, not you!” he underlines when you move farther from him.

You scrunch your face displeased but let him do it because it’s for the baby.

“I know what you’re doing,” Y/N gives him a cold gaze. “U-using the baby… I’m not stupid!”

Busted, The Joker thinks. The schemer in him won’t accept defeat though.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Yes you did!”

“You said it first!!!” he reckons, antagonized. “Therefore two stupid people put together gotta make up for a smart one!!’

“I… I don’t wanna make out…” you frown at his suggestion.

The Joker sighs, deciding not to correct the trajectory of your judgement; it sure sounds like an opportunity.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired and…and I h-hate you,” your heavy eyelids close.

“Both viable reasons, even if I have to admit you striking Seraphim like that got me quite worked up. He’s no small fry! I had to wait for one hour for him to recover; you got a mean punch, woman! The more I reflect on it, the hornier I get. Which reminds me, Pumpkin: guess what?... … … I’m hormonal too.”

No answer, Pumpkin’s out.

“Of course nobody gives a damn if I’m hormonal!” he complaints while grabbing you from the bathtub. You cling to him for a few moments prior to drifting back into your dreams.

“Thanks for getting me all wet,” J snarls at the cruel reality of having his favorite Prada suit ruined.

“You…you’re welcome…” his Queen replies in her sleep, somehow her mind clutching to reality amidst pure relaxation.

This is what two hormonal individuals are reduced to: one’s dozing off, the other is suffering in silence, although being the proud owner of the tiniest road in Gotham compensates for the mishap.

It’s a two way street.

Also read: Masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker imagine #the joker fanfiction #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #the joker #joker #joker x reader #joker leto #joker imagine #joker suicide squad #joker jared leto #mister j #mr. j #dc #dcu

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thorne93 · 4 years

Text

The Stars Made Us (Part 30)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 3007

Warnings: angst and language throughout, fear, violence

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong and @arrow-guy and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

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

Charles found the closest parking he could and ran as fast as he could to the door of the sanctum. He tried to let himself in but it was locked. He pounded on the door.

"Strange! Open the door!" he ordered loudly, not caring who stared at him on the street.

A moment later, the door wrenched open.

"Hi, I'm sorry, do I know you?" Stephen asked.

"You Stephen Strange?" he asked.

"Depends on who's asking."

"I'm Charles Xavier. Heard of me?" he questioned.

"Charles? Yes. Why?"

"Is Y/N here with you?" Charles asked as he pushed past him to go into the sanctum.

"What? Y/N? No, why?" he asked as he turned to face him, closing the door.

"Then she's missing."

"Missing? Wait. What happened?"

"I don't know. I got home from work and she wasn't there. Our house looks like we had a break in, but she's nowhere to be found." He ran his hand through his hair as he paced in thought, trying to think who might've taken you.

Stephen was silent, his eyes slowly casting down the ground, shifting left and right in thought.

"And she didn't just leave?"

Charles frowned at Stephen as he stopped pacing. "I'm not 100% sure how she acted while she was with you, but she's never made a habit of wrecking my home and disappearing. Correct me if I'm wrong on that."

"No," Stephen muttered. "Quite the contrary. She leaves a place cleaner than it was when she walked in."

Charles nodded, biting his lip in thought, his hands on his hips. "You can say that again. Fuck! I don't know where the fuck she could be. I don't know who would've taken her. Maybe Erik but he's not the hostage type."

"Erik?"

"Old colleague who hates me, but we haven't had contact for a few years," he dismissed.

As Charles paced, running his hand through his hair, he felt something on his wrist. He looked down and tore his sleeve back.

It was your name and an address he didn’t recognize.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Okay, we gotta go,” he said urgently, starting to make his way out the door.

“No,” Stephen suddenly said from behind him, not moving a muscle.

Charles turned around. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asked, clearly irate as he walked back towards him.

“I said no,” Stephen responded, a little firmly.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said,” he responded, nodding before he cocked his arm back and threw a closed fist at Stephen’s jaw.

Stephen stumbled a bit from the blow.

"Jesus!" he cried out. "The hell is the matter with you?"

"Me? She is your soulmate for Christ's sake! Whatever happened between you two is in the past. She is in trouble, we have no idea who took her or how many of them there are. She might be fighting for her life and you and I are arguing about going to save her!"

"She isn't mine. This isn't my problem."

Charles shook his head. "What? Because you can't have her all to yourself? Are you a child? She isn't a toy that you can play with when you want and cast aside when someone else wants her. You bloody asshole." He glared at him. "You broke her heart twice and you don't have the goddamn decency to save her life? Forget the fact that you used to be a fucking doctor. She's your soulmate. You can't bullshit me all you want but I know you love her."

"Yeah well that doesn't change the fact that she chose you."

"She chose both of us, you bloody fucking idiot," Charles retorted. "You were just too consumed by your goddamn ego to see that. You had to have her all to yourself. It was either all or nothing."

"What? Because I want monogamy with my soulmate? Sue me."

"This isn't a normal situation, Strange! If you can't accept the fact that she loves both of us and she should be able to have both of us then you don't understand or respect her at all. I love her with all my heart, and I know she loves me back. She's proven it time and time again, it's why I didn't keep her chained to her and encouraged her to find you. She's destined for both of us but you're too shortsighted and selfish to see that."

Stephen didn't respond.

Charles shook his head. "Jesus. Fuck this. I'm leaving. She needs help and I'm going, with or without you."

Charles turned and made his way for the door. Muttering obscenities under his breath. He didn't have the time or the patience to convince him to come with him. You were out there somewhere, possibly hurt or worse and he didn't have the time to waste.

"Wait," Stephen suddenly called out. "I'm coming with you."

He stopped for a moment, letting Stephen catch up before they got out of the sanctum and into Charles's car, driving as quickly as they could to where you were. The GPS said it would take three hours to get there.

This was going to be a long drive.

Stephen and Charles drove on the interstate in a tense silence. Stephen didn't like the uncomfortable atmosphere so he decided to break the ice a bit.

"So what's your plan?" he asked, a bit of condescending in his tone.

"Plan? What plan? I came home to a ransacked house and the love of my life missing. Hank called the police and I came to find you. I don't have a plan other than to find her and make sure she's alright."

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Fantastic. Just go in guns blazing."

"Oh, I'm sorry, this is my first rescue mission. Sorry I don't have a plan. Let's hear all your bright ideas."

"First of all, what can you do?"

"As in...?" Charles prompted, annoyed.

He sighed. "As in powers. Can you do anything? I happen to be a Master of the Mystic Arts so we have that going for us."

"You're going to be Master of getting your ass kicked if you keep up the ego and the attitude," Charles muttered.

Stephen stared at him, clearly angry. "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted to save her. I'm trying to be proactive here and get a strategy going. "

A sigh left him. "Fine. Yeah, okay. I'm a telepath. I'm supposing Y/N never told you."

Stephen shook his head. "No, she didn't. What does that mean?"

"It means I can read minds, stop time, make myself or others invisible to others, I can put others to sleep, make others do things, take away memories, restore memories, cause pain and paralysis, and if push comes to shove, I can kill someone, it's called a mind bolt. I take all my psychic energy and shut down their brain."

For the first time, Stephen was actually scared of someone other than Kaecillius. Quite the feat, as he'd never truly known fear in his life, except for failure.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Stephen asked, scoffing a bit.

“I know you are,” Charles said with a smirk.

This made Stephen uncomfortable. He didn’t think he could hear his thoughts like that, just, at a whim.

“Oh, come now, I’m not going to kill you,” Charles responded with a smile as he glanced at Stephen. “Not while Y/N needs saved at least. I’ll use you for your powers and then I’ll kill you.”

Stephen nodded. “Ha-ha, very funny.”

“Speaking of which, what are your powers?” he asked curiously.

“Why don’t you just probe my mind and look?” he asked, a bit sarcastically.

"Because I'm going to try very hard not to get into that mind of yours, even though I desperately want to. To find out why you're the worlds biggest ass."

He gave a dismissive nod before perching his eyebrow up. "I'm not exactly sure how to describe it. I use magic and sorcery to conjure objects, weapons, and shield. I can create a mirror dimension which means I can go into a world that mirrors our own but nothing bad can happen to the outside world. Very useful for destructive fighting."

"So we may have a chance after all between the two of us."

"We should, but Y/N can handle her own."

"Yes, I know, which is why it bothers me she was taken. I think I saw gunshots in my walls. From what I gathered of her time with you at that temple she knows martial arts and the sorcery, and yet they still took her."

"Can you not just use your mind to reach her? To figure out what's going on?"

"It doesn't work that way. I have to be relatively close to them. I do have a device that can project my powers but it's back at the house. Ultimately I don't think it'll help. Seeing where she's at or who she's with won't help too much."

Stephen nodded in response.

Several more minutes went by without a word from either one.

"Can I just know why?" Charles asked.

"Why what?"

"Why you won't share her?"

"Is it really not obvious? I want all of her. I don't want her time divided between me, you, and work, and other social obligations. You and I both know that relationships are hard enough without adding another romantic interest in the mix. Seeing each other, making enough time for each other..."

"Actually, I don't really know. I've never really dated anyone."

"Never?"

He smiled, a bit amused and proud. "Never. I had a girlfriend in highschool for a small bout, but I've never dated anyone outside of Y/N, not seriously."

"Interesting."

"So you think that just because she can't devote 100% of her attention to you she'll somehow prove as an unworthy mate?"

"No, I just don't want to have to fight for her attention and affection. That's all. Doesn't it bother you?"

"Does what bother me?" he asked, entirely confused.

"When she left to see me. When she was with me for six months at Kamar-Taj. I know you missed her because you two had a couple of fights about it. So it had to have bothered you."

"No, if she was away on a business trip it would've bothered me. It had nothing to do with you."

"Why not?"

"Because she isn't property. She is free to love who she loves. She chooses to come back to me time and time again because we know we love each other equally, above all else. I trust her, and whether she loves you or not, or anyone else, doesn't change any of that."

"I don't see how you're okay with this."

"I know it's unconventional, but whether she loved you, me, or someone else, she's going to go where her heart takes her. She always has. So, instead of standing in her way and making it difficult on her, I decided very easily to let her have both of us. If my options are to have her and share her, or not at all, I'm going to pick whatever option gives me her. I can't bear to be without her. I did it once and I never intend on letting it happen again."

Stephen's eyes cast down for a second. "She is amazing. I'm not trying to make it appear as if I don't want her. In my mind it's not so much have part of her or none of her, I just don't see how it could all work with her running between the two of us and her work. I don't see how it's fair to any of us. If I'm having a shitty day but she's with you, then I don't have the right to pull her away."

Charles pursed his lips. "I can see why you might think it's that way."

"Or if if we're lying in each other's arms, is she wishing she was with you? Or does she wish she was making you dinner instead of me?"

He hummed in response. "All fair questions to have."

"Well, you can read her mind, what does she think?"

"I never read her mind. Some things slip through the cracks that I can't help, but I never intentionally read her mind."

"Oh."

"But I don't have to have that ability to know that's not who she is. She was fated for both of us. She gives 100% to who she is with in the moment, and then, if time allows, she goes back to the other. I mean, you saw how she was with you. She tended to you night and day, but still managed to call me. The moment she didn't need you there constantly, she made more time for me. Now that we're both better from our ailments, I don't see any reason it shouldn't work. She doesn't have to feel torn between us if we don't make her that way."

"But wouldn't it hurt you if you two were having dinner one night and she suddenly said she wanted to see me? She wanted to leave your presence and see someone else?"

"Why would it? It doesn't bother me if she wants to see friends or go out for drinks with Hank." He shook his head. "Stephen, you need to stop thinking in this all or nothing mentality. She loves both of us, at the same time, as a duality. We both complete her in different ways. When you want to spend time with friends, does that mean you detest her presence? Does it mean you love her less? No. So why is it any different for her?"

"Maybe I'm being selfish. You got ten years with her, uninterrupted. Then you got eight months, of nothing but her attention and love. I'd just like the same."

Charles laughed. "You did get the same. She didn't see me face to face for months. She only called a handful of times. And we also had ten years of being pen pals, it's vastly different than being in the same home together. You and I have had roughly the same face to face time with her."

"Yes, but yours wasn't a tug of war with another man."

"Neither was yours. She was adamant about staying with you." He took a deep breath. "I don't think it's the idea of sharing me at all. I think it's the same fear I had when she was with you at the temple. When I got the call she was going to Nepal with you."

"Yeah, and what's that?" Stephen asked, sounding uninterested.

"You're afraid that if you do have all of her, that one day she'll want me back and you'll lose her. So to avoid the pain of her abandoning you, you just pushed her away."

"Is that the mind reading or the psychoanalyzing?" Stephen inquired.

"It's having a brain and a heart and going through the exact same insecurities. When she said she was leaving with you, I suddenly worried about us. I worried I wasn't good enough. That she'd love you more. That she'd never come back."

Stephen nodded slowly, waiting for him to explain how he got over that fear.

"So... what did you do about it?"

"Well, other than fighting with her like an ass about it like I'd done a few times, I finally realized that worrying about her leaving wasn't going to convince her to stay. If she did love you more or leave me or whatever the case may be, my concern for that wouldn't change her decision. So, I let go of all my fears, insecurities, and doubts. As I said, I love her and I trust her. I know she loves me back very much so all I can do is hope she doesn't leave. It is a lot better than stewing over possibly losing her and a lot better than losing her altogether when I could simply share her."

Stephen nodded, quiet in thought now.

"We're almost there," Charles informed once they were ten minutes away.

"Strategy?" Stephen asked.

"I'll scan the area for minds, and determine what they're thinking. Once we know that, we can go in."

Stephen nodded and just a few minutes later, they pulled into what looked like an abandoned lot. Charles stopped the car and closed his eyes, focusing on minds. He heard Stephen's mind, but nobody else's.

"I don't hear anything," he informed, shaking his head.

"What? But the address sent us here," Stephen responded, confused, his eyes narrowing as he looked around.

"I know," he agreed, feeling something was off.

The two of them got out of the car and looked around. It was an empty bit of property except for a metal structure sticking up out of the ground that looked like it led to an underground bunker. It was small, almost like a bomb shelter.

"Wanna try that?" Stephen asked.

"Can't hurt," Charles said.

"Well, arm your mind lightning or whatever it is you can do," he responded.

"Mind bolt," he corrected. "Get ready with your impressive light show," he shot right back with a tiny grin.

The two men walked over to the bunker and opened it up. It stepped inside to a small room that only had an elevator in it. Stephen looked to Charles for confirmation to push the button, he shrugged in response, and Stephen pressed it. The elevator showed up after a few moments and the men stepped in.

"Do you have anything yet?"

"No," Charles responded. "Just you."

The men looked at each other worried, and also frustrated. How much time did they have? Were they already too late?

They hit the only button that was on the elevator and rode down, getting more anxious with every ticking second. Finally, the elevator that seemed old and rickety opened into what appeared to be a crisp, white, state of the art facility. They walked forward, the only way they could go.

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

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sweetteaanddragons · 4 years

Text

Day 2 - Maglor

@feanorianweek Day 2-Maglor >Weapons, Wife, Childhood, Music & Songs of Power, Elrond & Elros, Kingship, Maglor’s Gap, Redemption

. . .

Maglor’s first reaction to hearing his brother’s plans for the defense of Beleriand was, No. Absolutely not.

He didn’t say that, of course. He would have said it without question to Maedhros-his-brother, but Maedhros-heir-of-their-father was another matter entirely.

There was a fell fire in his eyes now that would have rivaled Feanor’s, and it was backed by a will of iron.

Brittle iron, possibly, but iron nonetheless.

That brittleness was exactly why he wanted to put his foot down and say, No. You shouldn’t be alone. Not now.

But he couldn’t find a way to say it that wouldn’t sound like an accusation of weakness, and it terrified him to think what lengths Maedhros might drive himself to in order to prove his strength if he thought it was in any doubt. His brother was already pushing himself too far, too fast, and while Maglor couldn’t argue with the results for their people as a whole, he was deeply concerned about what would happen if it finally proved to be too much.

It was just the seven of them in Maedhros’s command tent right then. If there was going to be an objection raised, this was the time.

But his tongue was failing him.

He shot a desperate glance at Celegorm, but his brother just gave a minute, grim shake of his head.

Yes, Maglor was right to be concerned.

No, Celegorm didn’t have any ideas what to do about it.

“Problem?”

Maedhros’s voice was deceptively mild, but it cut through the stifling air of the tent like a whip crack.

Celegorm jumped guiltily.

Maglor’s tongue finally recovered its wits, and he jumped into the breach. Maedhros was already angry enough at him; there was no need to drag the others into it. “Yes,” he said. “How exactly do you expect me to hold a gap in the mountains of this size without something slipping through?”

It was a reasonable question. Maglor would fight any orcs he could find, but with wide open plains of that size, he would be hard pressed to stretch his forces thin enough to find them in the first place.

“I have every faith in you,” Maedhros said.

And that, as they both knew, was a hideously blatant lie.

. . .

They hadn’t talked about it, was the thing. As far as Maedhros seemed to be concerned, time had stopped when he was captured and restarted when he was free, and everything in between wasn’t worth talking about unless it was militarily relevant.

The reasons he hadn’t been rescued until Fingon showed up were not, apparently, militarily relevant.

We sent war parties after you three times, Maglor wanted to say. We never even got close to Thangorodrim, things were different in the dark, his creatures were stronger. I had to stop them from trying again, or they would have gotten themselves killed trying.

Celegorm had been in every party. The rest of his brothers had each been in at least two.

Maglor had not gone because the others had convinced him that the Noldor could not lose another king. Not so soon.

Or he had allowed them to convince them. Good sense or cowardice or both or neither or -

It didn’t matter. He never said a word of it to Maedhros because it all came down to excuses in the end: This is the arithmetic we used to decide it wasn’t worth it to try again.

Even if they thought he was dead, even if they’d thought it was impossible, even if they’d tried - None of that was worth very much in the end, and he knew it. Maedhros would have done better in his place. Fingon had done better in his place.

So the reasons were there if Maedhros wanted them, but since he didn’t, Maglor had no business spewing them out in a plea for forgiveness. This wasn’t about him and his pathetic need to know just how deep the fury he thought he glimpsed in his brother’s eyes ran. This was about Maedhros and the fact that whether his brother admitted it or not, he needed to heal.

So he kept his mouth shut about that and about most things except in the very dead of night when Maedhros would wake up gasping and stare shuddering up at the roof of the tent until Maglor’s songs managed to soothe him back to sleep.

They never talked about that either, but Maglor managed to get one of his apprentices assigned to Maedhros’s people.

Even if Maedhros was tired of accepting his help, maybe this way he could still get some sleep.

. . .

When Morgoth attacked, he would attack through the Gap. Maglor was as certain of that as he was about anything. He and his people would be on the front lines of it.

So perhaps Maedhros did have some faith in him after all. If not enough to think they could hold the line permanently, at least enough to think that Maglor could hold it together long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

They would get ground to pieces in the meantime, but they could hold the line.

Some nights, he didn’t much care. He was a kinslayer who was only lucky that his brother’s blood wasn’t permanently staining his hands; if this was what Maedhros wanted, if this was what would bring him peace -

Those nights were generally the nights when the wind was blowing down from Angband, and he wasn’t the only one whose thoughts took a fey edge when it did. Song chased the thoughts away like ash before wind, at least for a while. Sense would creep back in; someone had to hold the Gap, Maglor commanded the calvary, there was nothing more or less to Maedhros’s decision than that. Maglor could hold the Gap. Maglor would hold the Gap.

He was all that stood between his brothers and further destruction. He would not fail them again.

But then the song would fade, and the wind would blow, and the shadows crept back into his dreams.

. . .

The wind brought more than ill dreams the night the sky erupted into fire.

The sentries’ warning cries had him out of his tent in a moment, sword in hand. Ash and smoke were heavy in the air, and Maglor pulled his tunic over his mouth to try and filter it out. He could see far too clearly in the night. Liquid fire was spewing across the plains, and the grass near it was catching fire at the sparks.

It hadn’t rained in weeks. It wouldn’t take long to set the whole plain ablaze.

And marching forward with it, undisturbed by the heat, were blazing figures he knew all too well.

Balrogs.

With them was something else, something lizard like and far too large.

It also appeared to be spewing more fire.

Creatures they could fight, but the fire -

“To the river!” he cried.

It would mean leaving far too much of the way open, but maybe, maybe, by the river they would stand a chance.

. .. .

The river was running black from soot, and the water was low after weeks of drought, but it still ran.

The air was heavy with heat. The cloth Maglor had wrapped around his mouth to protect from the ash in the air was drenched with sweat, but it was better than nothing. Those of his men who had lost their own protection or who had never had it were struggling to breathe between hacking coughs.

There were fewer of them than there had been at the start, but they had paid dearly for their losses, and the orcs they had run across were suffering nearly as much from the fires as they were, even if they were less affected by the foul air.

He hoped it was only his imagination that made the hilt of his sword feel warm even through his gloves. The metal of his helmet was nearly unbearable, but he didn’t dare to take it off. Not with the enemy in sight once more and closing fast.

“At my order!” he called, and his voice split the air clearly enough even if it cracked in the middle.

He knew the river behind him well. He knew its rhythms, its current.

He knew it would answer to the right call.

His voice was hoarse, but the power behind it would be no less for that. The water had been heated and fouled, but it was the river still.

His voice grew in force and power, and his men were watching for when his hand struck through the air. Those closest to him peeled away quickly, and the others followed their lead.

The water rose behind him and burst forth in a massive wave, crashing against their foes.

Orcs were swept off their feet. The fires of the Balrogs went out, if only for a moment, and his men were ready to take up the charge. For a moment, one precious moment, the tide turned.

And then more of the endless waves of the enemy swept down across the plain, and they were pushed back, step by step, into what had once been a river and was now just thick, stinking mud.

. . .

His armor had been discarded, piece by piece, lest the metal scald him and he be left trapped inside, baking alive. The air was a near impenetrable haze of smoke and ash that enemies stumbled through as blurred shapes.

His horse had long since succumbed, so he fought on foot, his sword still swinging forward, again and again.

He’d called the retreat - Oh, an eternity ago. The wounded . . . Well, everyone was wounded. The wounded he could spare, he’d sent riding hard for Maedhros. They could tell him what had happened. Reinforce Himring. And they would be -

Not safe. But safer than here.

The small remnant he’d kept with him to guard their retreat. Only half their number remained now, or at least only half were close enough to be in view. Maybe the others were just lost in the burning haze.

Maybe.

Back and back and back. Maedhros’s faith really had been misplaced, but there was no time for that now, only for the scalding air he was pulling into his lungs, the swing of his sword through muscle and bone, and the smell, always the smell, of corpses burning somewhere out of sight.

Or maybe that was the smell of him and his men burning, bit by bit, excruciatingly alive.

But every orc they killed was an orc that would not attack the retreat, that would not besiege Himring, that would not - that would not -

It was hopeless, though, and he knew it. It would be easier to just let his sword fall, to admit that he was as useless to his brother as he had feared to -

There was something foul on the breeze, he realized suddenly. Something new, or rather old. Something that was starting to send shadows scuttling through his brain.

But he could barely breathe now, let alone sing.

He gritted his teeth and fought on.

. . .

There were five men left around him.

Probably five. The whole world wavered, and it was hard to be sure.

Swing. Stab. Back up another painful step.

He had to - He had to -

. . ..

When he woke up, the air was cool and nothing smelled particularly of burning.

Himring, he thought before he even opened his eyes. Only Himring could still make an attempt at being uncomfortably cold even in the middle of an apocalypse of fire.

The bleak grey walls he opened his eyes to confirmed his suspicion.

As did Maedhros’s pale unconscious form slumped in a chair beside his bed.

Oh.

He tried to swallow and failed. A hacking cough forced its way from his chest instead, and he shook with the force of it.

Maedhros was awake in an instant, holding him up and pressing a cup of water to his lips the moment the coughing ceased. “Drink,” he ordered, but Maglor didn’t need to be told. He gulped it down as quickly as he dared.

“My men?” he asked as soon as he thought he could.

“Of the five we found with you, three should make it,” Maedhros said quietly. “Of the others - casualty reports are still coming in. I’ll have the numbers soon.” He rubbed at his eyes, but the shadows under them only seemed to darken. Maglor wondered just how long Maedhros had been awake before collapsing at his beside. His apprentice had apparently failed at her job.

He didn’t miss the evasion on the casualty numbers. Whatever they were, they wouldn’t be good, but at least the fact that they were tallying at all meant that some must have made it through. He hadn’t failed them all.

But he had failed Maedhros. Again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he forced himself not to look away.

“You should be,” Maedhros burst out. “What were you thinking?”

Maglor flinched from the fire in his brother’s eyes. “I thought our chances of holding them were better at the river. In hindsight, perhaps we should have tried to hold them at the first approach - “

“The river was your best chance,” Maedhros said through gritted teeth. “I don’t argue with that. But what were you thinking staying behind when you sent the rest of your forces on?”

“Someone had to guard the retreat,” he protested. “And it wasn’t as if I was trying to do it alone.”

“Oh, because six men is so much better.”

“I didn’t try to hold it with six,” Maglor said through the growing lump in his throat. “There were - more. To start with. But in the smoke - “

Maedhros slumped back against his chair. “Oh.” A bit of color was leeching back into his skin. “I thought - “ He shook his head.

“That I was an idiot?” Maglor suggested with forced lightness.

“That you didn’t care if - “ Maedhros caught himself and changed what he was about to say. “That you were more concerned with continuing the fight than making it out,” he revised. He rubbed his face and looked away. “Himlad’s fallen,” he reported. “It was a massive attack. It seemed like they struck everywhere at once. I haven’t heard from Celegorm and Curufin. I haven’t heard from anyone except your people, and they said you fought like a man who would hold the land or die trying, and we were so hard pressed I couldn’t send anyone out to look even though you might be - “

A cold far worse than Himring’s crept over him. “The last,” he said. “We might be the last of our House.”

“We might be the last elves in Beleriand for all I know,” Maedhros said wearily before looking up sharply. “Not that it’s hopeless.”

“Of course it’s not hopeless,” Maglor said dutifully. Celegorm. Curufin. Little Celebrimbor. Caranthir, Amrod, Amras . . . And their cousins, too.

No word from anyone. Had their uncle held? Had Fingon? Or were they truly alone, one last hill that they would die on, Oath unfulfilled, family unavenged?

But all those bleak doubts were all too evident in his brother’s eyes, so he shoved them aside for himself and took up his role once more.

“Thingol’s probably still standing,” he offered.

“Much good that will do us,” Maedhros grumbled, but he looked a little lighter all the same. The lightness faded in only a moment, and he reached out to grab Maglor’s wrist with his one remaining hand. “I can’t lose you, ‘Laure. When I thought you were gone - “

To be alone, the last of their brothers; Maglor could imagine the horror of that. Better any death than to be the last.

“I’m not,” he reminded him. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Twice now, he had failed his brother, but if he had been wrong before - if his brother truly did not hold it against him that he failed again and again - Well, then perhaps this last request, he could fulfill.

If he could do nothing else, he could be here at his brother’s side until the Enemy’s fire swept them all aside.

However long until then that might be.

#maglor #maedhros #dagor bragollach #silmarillion #fic #feanorianweek #angst #sort of happy ending

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

Text

Okay since I’m not satisfied reblogging the recap as is since the older ones weren’t as good, I’ll just paste it here but with some edits to include more direct quotes and stuff

This is one of my favorite days for Quackity’s character

---

RECAP: December 6, 2020

- HBomb hosts Niki and Wilbur’s L’Cast

- Fundy continues work on the chess board

- Ranboo is leaving a book with messages to communicate with Tommy

- Fundy and Ranboo visit Tommy and help him through the Nether to find blaze rods. Fundy fills Tommy in on the fact that Dream is officially recognizing L’manburg as a country.

- Tommy falls in lava and loses all his stuff

- Then he burns to death

- Then he falls in lava and loses all his stuff again

- He FINALLY gets an ender chest

- Ghostbur comes on and says he has a gift.

- Tommy attempts to rescue Lazar from the depths of the lava pit. Techno starts arguing with him.

- Tommy falls in lava and loses all his stuff again. He gives up on helping Lazar, who is understandably annoyed at him.

- Philza joins the call wondering wtf is happening and why Tommy keeps dying, but Tommy just ends stream

- Psyche! Ghostbur asks Tommy to return to Logstedshire so he dies in lava to fast-travel back. Ghostbur gives Tommy a lodestone compass named “Your Tubbo” that points back to L’manburg at all times. Tommy puts the compass in his ender chest right next to the discs, saying he’ll keep it close to his heart.

- Now, he wants to do the clay prank to George instead to try and get Dream and George to turn on each other as revenge for Dream burning his house.

- Puffy builds Tommy a second Christmas Tree.

- Sapnap wants to take on Technoblade but Quackity tells him that they have to take things step by step and that it’s an extremely bad idea to do it now.

- Eret asks Hbomb to be one of his knights. HBomb agrees.

- George wants his kingship back

The explosion goes to plan with H and Puffy as witnesses.

— —

CANON DEATH: KARL

Cause: Death by explosion and falling

— —

- George distracts Eret while Quackity, Sapnap and Karl steal his throne. Punz joins Eret’s side as one of his other knights.

- Sapnap gets Dream to log (he says it’s lag). The Dream SMP faction blows up M.L. with TNT. The Mexican L’manburgians kill Puffy.

- They want to head to the Holy Land. Dream says he wants to talk. They collect at the Church.

- They argue. Dream threatens to kill Quackity permanently and make sure Mexican L’manburg can never rise again.

- Sapnap tells George that he thinks Dream has completely turned against them, and that they’re better off disowning him.

— [Including some more direct quotes here] ---

Quackity: “Listen...this should be between Eret and me, I don’t know why you are getting involved...we will give back the throne, but what we want-”

Dream: “- Mexican L’manburg is not...existing. Ever again...if you wanna destroy and grief the kingdom, then that is called being a terrorist! Listen, Karl, I don’t give a crap if you died, that’s your fault. You died griefing and being a terrorist...”

...

Quackity: “Is that what we’re going off of now? That the entire server can be run by one goddamn person? We’re not even allowed to voice our opinions now? What’s going on? As far as I remember, you’ve been taking all the shots, and anything, nobody has free speech anymore!”

...

Dream: “I think you forget that I designated this as the holy land.”

...

Dream: “I have no problem with Tubbo, who’s leading his country gracefully. You are a terrorist.”

...

Quackity: “What is it that you want from us? We were doing peaceful protest, that’s all we were doing.”

Dream: “Quackity...you’re not doing ‘peaceful protest’ when all I hear is ‘hey, the Dream SMP castle has been sieged.’ ...Look, I...You’re trying to paint me as this tyrant when I’m just trying to maintain peace...if you think Eret’s being too political, come and talk to me! Don’t go and raid my castle and my throne.”

Karl: “YOUR castle? YOUR throne?”

Dream: “Yes!”

Karl: “Dream’s an absolute TYRANT!”

...

Dream: “The only reason it’s a no-kill policy in the first place is because I wanted it to be that way, and it’s enforced by me.”

Karl: “That sounds like a tyrant!”

Dream: “It’s not a tyrant! I’m a humanitarian if anything! It’s not for my agenda...listen, my agenda always, since the beginning, has always been for the SMP to thrive. That has been my agenda, so if you’re saying for my agenda, it makes me a tyrant - no, it doesn’t, it makes me wanting the server to thrive and everyone to be peaceful.”

...

Dream: “In my mind, Mexican L’manburg does not exist as anything whatsoever and you know what? I’ll talk to Tubbo about it and make sure he sees it doesn’t either.”

Karl: “Dream said the same thing about L’manburg back in the day--”

Dream: “No I didn’t!”

...

Dream: “You don’t get a country recognized by being a terrorist, Quackity.”

...

Dream: “I did NOTHING! At all! Until you decided to attack my nation...you know what someone has to do to be recognized? A country that is established has to have a fair, and just, and logical ruler, and you are NONE of those things. Tubbo is all of those things, and that’s why L’manburg is recognized.

When Tommy was head of state, and Tommy was vice president, you’re right, L’manburg had no right to be recognized...it was the fact that Tommy, a dumbass, was exiled and is no longer in charge of their land anymore...Tubbo would never...never in a million years do what you just did.”

“You know who would? Jschlatt. You know who would? Wilbur. You know who would? Tommy.”

...

Dream: “The king is a figurehead! He knows that!”

Quackity: “So that’s what you are? That’s what you are, Eret? A puppet?”

Dream: “YES!” -- No he’s not a puppet --”

---

M.L. argues that putting a human life above a few blocks of gold is more important.

He says that Quackity is causing the most problems, the number one “enemy” of the SMP right now.

—

- Eret agrees to recognize Quackity’s new country if they apologize and return the throne.

- Sapnap declares that he no longer wants to fight Techno but Dream instead. He says he wants to slay Dream in front of everyone.

- Quackity declares the country to be named “El Rapids” in honor of Cedar Rapids.

- Punz no longer wants to be an official Knight.

- Karl streams with the intention of rebuilding and preparing for Pokimane’s visit

- Karl steals Eret’s Museum Llamas and gets caught in the act. Fortunately this doesn’t spark up the war again. They take a llama to Party Island.

- They get into trouble at Boomerville and Lazar joins.

- The prison will be in the middle of the ocean bit, and Bad would have a terraformed beachfront property. All of the land would be considered property of the Badlands - including the prison.

- People are going to have to go through portals to escape the prison.

- Bad starts to come around to the prison idea. Dream tells Sam he thinks they need more hands to help, potentially Ant and Eret.

- A strange, giant red “egg” has appeared in the corner of Bad’s statue room. He feels a strange aura coming from it, and he’s unable to bring himself to break it.

- Bad shows Dream the Egg. Dream gets creeped out by it.

- Bad stabs Dream for trying to “hurt it.” He likes it for some reason.

— —

Dream explains to Bad and Sam that the reason he switched sides in the Manberg-Pogtopia War was because Schlatt gave him something.

And that thing is “a card up his sleeve” until he needs it.

A book of great value.

It puts Dream in danger if people know of it, but also gives Dream power.

The “most valuable thing on the server.”

Something pertaining to the prison.

Something where they wouldn’t believe Dream if he told them what he was given.

— —

- The corruption grows AGAIN despite Dream, Sam and Bad all being in the middle of the ocean

- Another corruption appears on Tommy’s Power Tower

- The water level in New L’manburg has risen again, covering George and Quackity’s mushroom house

- The prison is going to be as tall as a MOUNTAIN

- Bad says he likes the name a dono came up with for the corruption – “Blood Vines”

- Dream and Sam removed the Blood Vines on the Mansion to Bad’s dismay. Sam burns the Vines and Bad goes on a murderous rampage against him.

- Technoblade got a “Bee our guest” achievement

- Dream burns down the Eiffel Tower again.

- The prison will be reinforced with 15 layers of obsidian, and the guards will have Ender Pearl Stasis Chambers that are alarm-activated.

- The Blood Vines have sprouted up from Schlatt’s Grave.

The prison’s unofficial name as of right now is “Pandora’s Vault,” but it is subject to change.

---

(You can tell this was written a while ago lmao)

#long posts

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that-one-girl-behind-you · 4 years

Text

Illicio

As the new Archivist debates between life and death, the Eye ponders on what to offer him in order to avoid an encore of the unfortunate situation with his predecessor.

-----

Gerard Keay opens his eyes at what feels like fuck-ass in the morning, inside a room with far too little space and far too much dust.

The Eye thrives on knowledge, of course. On understanding. Not necessarily on moving the pieces across the board -that's the Spider's domain, though perhaps that's why they work so well together, one knowing exactly where pawn needs to be to strike the king, the other moving it forward with the slightest pull of a string- but on seeing all details, and predicting all outcomes.

More than anything else, the Eye feeds on Knowing its chosen, and how to lure them in until they not only can't find the way out, but until they don't want to.

When Jonah Magnus first sat on the Panopticon, the Eye rewarded him with life eternal. It offered Gertrude Robinson all the gifts it had to give, and watched in delight as she -for all that she refused the powers- fed it knowledge acquired specifically to annoy other Entities. When young Gerard Keay marked his body with its image, the Eye gave him the ability to See. Just enough to entice him, to bring him onto the path of the Beholding and let the Archivist use him.

Now the Pupil has chosen it a new Archivist, and as he debates between life and death the Eye ponders on what to offer him in order to avoid an encore of the unfortunate situation with his predecessor.

Gertrude Robinson clung to her humanity with the same cold ferocity she used to guide so many innocents to their death -and worse- like lambs to the Slaughter. She was aware the monsters feared her, relished in the fact. She only ever gave the irony of it a passing thought.

Jonathan on the contrary, is painfully human, even as he steadily moves towards his realization as an Avatar. The Eye knows what he yearns for the most is the people he's lost. The ones he thinks will keep him human.

He's going to be sad, when he wakes up and finds that two more are gone.

It's not outside the realm of possibility, to bring one of them back for him. Make it blatantly obvious that it was a gift from the Ceaseless Watcher, that more can be given if he surrenders himself over fully and willingly.

Entities bring people back from the dead all the time. Dying is after all, a requirement to become an Avatar in full. Terminus is patient, mostly because Avatars of all kinds usually end up feeding it with their victims. Their patrons get their fear, The End gets their lives.

Resurrecting people marked by other Entities, however? Not as simple.

Sasha James fed the Stranger when she died, so long ago and before she could form any meaningful connection to the Entity that would have been her patron. She survived for a while even in her state of not being, banging against the inside of mirrors to try and make her friends notice the reflection didn't quite match up to the impostor. It never worked.

Alice Tonner is not dead, and even if she were, the Hunt has her well within its grasp. The connection grows fainter each year-long day she stays in the coffin, but as she is now, she's not a possibility.

Timothy Stoker is promising. Though he was marked by the Stranger in his youth, though the Desolation turned its flaming gaze to him the moment he pressed the trigger with only destruction in his mind, Tim belonged to the Beholding for years.

They were also friends. Well before the Archives, before the Knowledge, before the pain. Nights out in which the awkwardness became comfortable merely because of its familiarity, jokes that struck too hard and apologies that were more heartfelt than they were good.

Jon requested Tim be moved to the Archives because he felt his presence would make the new space safe. Tim followed because his love for people has always manifested in a need to be there, regardless of if 'there' is the Old Opera House or a stuffy old basement with too many statements to sort through.

The Eye knows better of course. It always does.

Jon flinched away from Tim's every movement, feared his barbed words as much as he sought them out. Drank in the bitter poison of his hatred as though it might kill the monster inside him, as he tried to hold back his new instincts for fear of driving him further away. Jon and Tim loved each other once, and even in the last months of his life Jon still held on to the hope that if he regained Tim's affection it would mean he was human again.

A misguided notion, and a dangerous one at that.

The Eye needs someone who has loved monsters. Someone who will do so again.

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

Gerard Keay opens his eyes at what feels like fuck-ass in the morning, inside a room with far too little space and far too much dust.

Of course, the fact that he wakes up at all takes priority in his mind over his apparent taste in nap spots, since the last time -or what he expected to be the last time- he closed his eyes, his page on mum's bloody skin book was finally going to burn, after years of being forced to play spooky Wikipedia for a pair of nutcases.

His head spins when he sits up on the cot, and he has to bend forward and rest his elbows on his knees until the world. Stops. Moving.

Why the on Earth is he still here?! Hasn't he earned his rest? He helped save so many people, he-

"Coma! Great," comes a muffled voice, and the world stills so suddenly he almost misses the nausea.

Gerry very slowly lifts his head, but the dizziness doesn't come back. Before him is a heavy door with a small window made of thick glass, glowing softly against the darkness of the room in an insinuation of light somewhere beyond.

"Let's rearrange his office," the voice says again, just as Gerry climbs to his feet. He feels much more steady than he expected just from his wild excursion into sitting, as he follows the familiar voice towards the door. "Sleeping people don't need pens."

He leans down to look through the glass.

There, down a long corridor and much too far for Gerry to reasonably be able to listen to, is Jonathan Sims.

That explains the sense of familiarity coming from the voice. But... it makes no sense. Jon promised to burn his page, and Gerry-

Gerry actually believed him when he did.

He seemed so different from Gertrude, eyes looking at him like a person instead of a tool, even when he had most decidedly stopped being the former and moved firmly down the scale to the latter. Had Jon broken his promise? Had he kept-

But no, this doesn't feel at all like waking up from his page. He feels… real. Human enough to be sick, to be sore and tired and-

"Melanie!" a burst of energy pumps through his veins -he's got veins?- when Jon speaks again, but when Gerry looks up he's not sitting at his desk anymore. "It's very good to uh- Melanie? Are you- WHOA!"

His hand tightens around the doorknob almost out of its own volition, and he sends the door flying open.

"Melanie, it's- it's me!" Jon's voice has a slight hint of fear in it. Of desperation.

Gerry takes a step down the corridor, and he stops for a second. His muscles tense and relax and he can feel his weight on his bones, smell the dust and the scent of old paper. He'd forgotten the human body could feel so many things. It's so stupid that he never stopped to notice when he was alive.

"No! I- I'm back!" A new set of words floats down the corridor, pouring into Gerry like warm water over a strained limb.

Oh right. The Archivist.

He runs then, flying towards the door as fast as his limbs can carry him. He arrives into Jon's office first, a small room with a desk that's much too neat for anyone to have used it recently, but he barely has enough time to take it all in before Jon's voice pulls at him again, towards the open door.

"What?! No I just- I didn't meant to-"

"How did you make it out then hm?!" Now that he's close enough, Gerry can finally hear the person Jon's arguing with. They sound like a woman, angry and dangerous and-

Much smaller than he'd expected, when he finally peeks through the door. The slight, bony woman exudes an air of violence -there's something wrong with her, Gerry can See it but not place just what it is- as she squares up to a very fidgety Jon, with a hand firmly stuck down her jacket pocket.

"What?" Jon asks. The single, nervous word is almost hypnotic, and a sneaking suspicion is beginning to form in Gerry's mind.

"Tim's dead. Even Daisy's dead, so why are you just fine?" The woman, Melanie, since Jon called her that a moment ago, asks.

"W- no! I've been in the hospital for six mon-"

"Something has been in the hospital for six months, something with your face!" Melanie pulls her hand out of her pocket and yeah, that's a knife. "I warned Basira to not let you back in here, but she! Doesn't! Listen!"

Everything happens at once then. Melanie takes a step forward -she's not wielding the knife as much as she's holding it, Gerry notices, like one would a stress ball-, Jon takes a step back and right over a piece of broken porcelain on the floor, and Gerry takes one out the door. It's like a very weird, surprisingly organized ballet.

"I wouldn't stab him if I were you" Gerry says right as he walks out. Both their gazes hone in on him, one much heavier than the other. "I don't think it'll do much good anyways"

"Who the hell are you?" Melanie turns the knife to him -definitely wielding it now- at the same time Jon lets out a strangled sound.

"Gerry?" Jon asks, eyeing him up and down with a frown. "I'm- That's not- I burned your page!"

"See, that's what I wanted to hear. That and some answers, but instead I have to keep you from getting stabbed as soon as I wake up." Gerry shrugs.

"Don't move" Melanie snarls at him, before turning to Jon. "Who is he?"

"That's Gerard Keay," Jon says as quickly as if he'd been compelled, his eagerness to be found trustworthy almost painful to witness. "he was- is... He worked with Gertrude. And he should be dead."

"Twice over," Gerry confirms with a nod. "apparently I just can't get any rest around you Archivists. That room at the end of the corridor needs a dusting, by the way."

Jon merely gapes at him for a moment. "I- This doesn't make any sen-"

"I'm calling Basira," Melanie cuts into his words, a mobile already lodged between her shoulder and ear.

"I thought you said she never listened," Jon mutters, and Gerry snorts.

"It's me. Get down to his office, now," and she hangs up, before pinning Gerry with a glare again. "Get in."

And really, Gerry's genetically predisposed to rear back against literally any order he's given, but something about Melanie tells him the knife isn't for show. If he's really alive, refusing to go into a perfectly normal room he was in just a minute ago feels like a very bad hill to die on.

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

"Yeah, I've heard some of the ones he shows up on," Basira nods. She's leaning against the closed door of Jon's office and he has no doubt no one will be getting in or out while she's there. "The Hunters had him didn't they? Back in America."

"Not my favorite time, I'll admit," Gerry says, and Jon looks over at him, still somewhat refusing to believe he's real.

He looks... Solid. It sounds like a dumb trait to remark on, but it's the one thing Jon can't get out of his head. The last time he saw him, Gerry was a spectre.A memory of a memory, not even the real him, an echo of pain bound to the pages of the book. Now he's sitting on top of Jon's desk, directly on top of a now very crumpled statement and all Jon can focus on is on how he can crumple paper, cast a shadow, push his paperweight around. His skin folds and stretches as he moves, and the eyes marked over every joint give the appearance of blinking every time he flexes his fingers.

"-n? Jon!" Basira's urgent tone pulls at him, and he looks away from Gerry's hands to find her staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh... What?" Jon asks. Did he miss part of the conversation?

"You tell me," Basira rolls her eyes. "I was asking you how is he alive, if you burned his page before the Unknowing?"

"Well, how would I-" know?, he means to add. But of course now something is pressing against his mind, like the beginnings of a headache only it feels like a thousand people whispering in his ear at the same time. "Urgh..." Jon frowns, pressing his thumb to his temple uselessly. Pressure doesn't work too well against these sort of migraines, he's found.

"Jon?" Basira takes a step forward, and Melanie's hand immediately shoots forward to pull on her arm.

"Don't touch him," she warns. Jon has little to no doubt the knife is back in her hand, and that she's waiting for him to sprout an extra eye so she can stab it. It would serve him right.

"I'm-" Jon grunts "just a moment, it's-" he stops talking then. It's distracting, and he needs to block-

"Ride it," says Gerry. Jon parts his eyelids -he has no idea when he closed them- and finds he's still sitting on his desk, leaning his elbows on his knees. He's intertwined his fingers, and the way his knuckles align with each other makes it so there's a line of eyes staring back at Jon.

"I- what?"

"You're Knowing something aren't you?" Gerry asks casually. "Gertrude had some of those too. Don't push back, just... Ride it out."

"I'm not going to just let it come, that's- I don't want this!" Jon doesn't know if he's trying to convince himself, or Basira and Melanie but the pressure just keeps getting heavier and heavier-

"You're just going to hurt yourself, you're going to pass out, and when you wake up you will Know," Gerry rolls his eyes. He certainly seems as snarky as when he was a book ghost. "Come on, let Daddy Eye tell you."

Jon darts a desperate look at Basira, tries to ignore how Melanie looks like she's a wrong movement away from launching at him with the knife.

He's... grateful for a moment, that Tim isn't here. That Martin isn't. He wouldn't want them to see him like this.

Basira sighs. "Just... Do it. I guess it works in our favor this time," she says, and it's all the permission Jon needs to just let go.

He closes his eyes again, and when he finally stops pushing against the Eye the knowledge gets implanted in his head almost gently, like it's rewarding him for giving in. It makes him feel nauseated.

"T- The Watcher resurrected you." Jon doesn't say 'for me', because it would sound just as disgusting as it felt when the thought was dropped into his mind "It... I think it's a show of power. To... To make me-"

"To convince you to stay a good little monster?" Melanie hisses "Do what you're told, and you get people back? Whether they want it or not. Sounds right up your alley, if you ask me. You can just keep getting people killed, and we'll keep-"

"Melanie," Basira cuts into her rant with a single word. Jon looks at her gratefully, but her sharp, dark eyes are looking at him more in suspicion than sympathy. "Is she right? Can the Eye bring others back?"

And just like that, Jon is abruptly reminded that he wasn't the only one to lose someone in the Unknowing.

"I... Don't know? Maybe?" He runs a hand through his hair in an old nervous tic that was much more convenient before he went into a coma and had no time for haircuts. "If I- if I serve it well... Maybe it will-"

"No," Basira's lips are a tense line, her eyes averted from Jon's "Forget it, I- we don't want to give it what it wants."

"... No. Of course not," Jon nods, though he Knows at that moment, very acutely, that Basira is not saying what she truly feels about the possibility they're being offered. "so... what should we do with Gerry?"

"It's going to sound crazy, but may I suggest you ask Gerry?" says the man himself. He looks... very unimpressed. But it's ok. Jon is starting to get used to that look aimed at him. "Maybe he has an opinion about being the Ceaseless Voyeur's toy."

"No offense, but I'm still debating on whether or not to kill you." Melanie crosses her arms. "If the Eye wants you alive, I'm pretty sure we don't."

"Well, I'm pretty sure I don't care." Gerry slides off the desk and turns his head side to side to crack his neck. "Gertrude, the Eye, the Hunters, you. I think I'm going to do my own thing. For a change."

He makes it as far as the door because Basira of course hasn't moved, and she's showing no inclination of doing so.

"I'm not letting you out," she says simply.

Gerry thrusts his hands in his pockets, looking down at Basira. Jon doesn't remember him being so tall, but then again he supposed it's hard to really estimate a ghost's height.

"Are you going to kill me?" He asks.

Jon holds his breath. Melanie still has her knife, inching back and around Gerry silently as if waiting for Basira to give her a signal. Gerry's eyes don't follow her, but he has to know, right?

"... No" says Basira after what feels like an eternity. Jon knows she doesn't kill innocents, that she prefers not to kill at all if there's another way -that's Daisy's M.O., Basira has never heard the blood sing in her veins- but he still worried.

"Great. Is there any other reason to keep me here then?" Gerry asks again. His voice sounds pleasant and conversational, like it did when teased Jon about not knowing anything about Gertrude's plans.

He finds himself thinking this might just be how Gerry is, all wrapped up in humor and snark to keep out the rest of it.

"You're alive, and you shouldn't be." Basira still hasn't moved from the door, but she gives her head a slight shake. Jon sees Melanie pocket the knife with a huff.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and say I'm not the only one in that category." Gerry takes a step sideways to pivot on his heel, and Jon flinches a little when both of them look at him. "Start stabbing, I'll go after Jon."

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

They let him go after that, of course.

Gerry wanders the London streets for about a week afterwards, trying to figure out a plan of action while ignoring the fact that he doesn't feel the need for sleep, drink or food. He manages to find two of his old emergency stashes, one in a park, the other at the air vents behind a public library so at least he's got some money and two sets of credible fake ID's.

At some point he considers leaving the city. He ought to be able to find a job out by the countryside, and finally be out of this for good. If he doesn't go out looking for trouble, none should follow him. If some does, he knows enough to make it regret the decision.

The normal, boring life Gerry always wanted.

Instead he falls back on old habits, because it's the only thing he knows how to do.

He watches people, sitting on park benches and standing at bus stops. Most of the time they're perfectly normal, just people going about their lives and giving the big, scary looking man a passing look and a wide berth.

Sometimes they aren't.

When Gerry Sees marked people, he follows them from a distance until they're alone, and then he approaches. Some are easier to help than others, and he's both pleased and unnerved that the Eye didn't just give him his Sight back, but made it stronger too. It's much faster to just go up to a man and tell him to think of his daughter waiting at home, instead of trying to convince him he's no threat, or at least not compared to whatever it is he's going to fall into soon.

He also Sees an Avatar out hunting, once.

She's wearing heavy clothes and a facemask, that bulges and squirms disturbingly as she stalks down a group of schoolgirls. Gerry sees a wasp crawl out from under it and into her nostril.

The girls stop in front of a store window to chatter excitedly about what the mannequin -which is thankfully just a mannequin- is wearing, and Gerry hurries his step to reach them before the Hive does.

"Hey," he says, stopping a meter or so away from them, because it won't do to scare them into running. The girls look up at him, already on edge and one of them clenching something inside her raincoat's pocket. Good. Smart girls. Still, he raises his hands to show them he means no harm. "Some freak's been following you. Go into the store for a bit and call someone to pick you up. I'll scare him off"

It takes them a moment to comply with his request, and Gerry applauds their instincts but really wishes they'd hurry because the Hive is coming closer, lurking behind a bus stop only a short distance away. Eventually though, one of them nods and takes one of her friend's hands to pull her into the shop. The rest follow.

"It's very rude to interrupt other people before a meal." The woman's voice is accompanied by a loud buzz and more squirming when Gerry approaches her. Her eyes are bloodshot and littered with yellow dots he suspects are eggs when she lifts her sunglasses to look at him.

"My mum didn't raise me too well," Gerry shrugs. "Go away, before I kill you."

"Are you with the Hunt?" the woman asks. A wasp crawls out of her ear. Gerry arches an eyebrow, but he decides not to draw attention to the literal dozens of eyes across his body. Corruption Avatars, at least Hives, never seem to actually be all there; maybe their parasites eat the key parts of their brains?

"I've got what it takes," he says instead of confirming anything. It's dangerous to align yourself with an Entity, even just in word. A larva begins to squirm out her tear duct, and God, Gerry hates Hives. "Last warning. Go away." He bats away the ear wasp that's trying to land on him.

"Hm... selfish," she mutters, before turning to walk away with her lone wasp following.

Gerry stays at the bus stop until he sees a car stop and the schoolgirls climb into it, darting suspicious looks all around.

He starts feeling the strain by the beginning of the second week.

It's subtle at first, a little exhaustion like he'd been standing in the sun for too long with too warm clothes. With his stylistic choices, it's a feeling he knows well.

Then one night he catches sight of a man sitting alone in his car by the piers, and he tries to See if he's having a normal middle age crisis or staring out into either the Lonely or the Vast, and it hits him.

His legs feel weak, and for all that he feels his breathing quicken Gerry's acutely aware he can't feel his heartbeat doing the same. The dizziness from his first day comes back, and black begins to creep along the edges of his vision.

When he wakes up the next day, the man's car is there, but he's not.

Gerry struggles to his feet, the nausea just this side of tolerable, and moves closer. The car's windows are clouded over from the inside with a heavy fog that has no business being inside a vehicle, much less under fairly strong sunlight.

He sighs, disappointed. This is one he could've saved.

He doesn't try to See again, but sometimes he can't help it, and every time he finds a mark on a passerby he feels weaker and weaker, until an idea pops up in his mind.

He's running out of battery.

It's a jarring thought, but he supposes it makes sense. While he doesn't think the Eye brought him back as a full on Avatar, he's been using Beholding traits to help people. He hasn't been feeding -regular or monster food-, but he doesn't feel the need to either. There's no telling what the Watcher wants.

It doesn't seem to want to tell him either, so Gerry just... keeps walking.

If worst comes to worst, he'll die. It's not that bad, and presumably this time it will be for good, as there's no skin book or Archivist in sight. Besides, he's helped some more people since coming back, so at least he did some good.

After two more days of aimless walking, Gerry leans back against an alley wall, and lets himself slide down to the ground. His legs can't carry him anymore. Maybe this is what a wind up toy feels like?

He rests his forehead against a bent knee, his arms falling down limp by his sides. Maybe he won't die. Maybe his body will just... Shut down, and Gerry will be trapped inside it just like he was in the book. Maybe they'll find him tomorrow, think he overdosed, and bury him.

He certainly never expected to end up feeding Too-Close-I-Cannot-Breathe.

"Yes, I do," says a voice, and Gerry's head whips up almost on its own. "I'm- My name's Jon. Jonathan Sims. I moved in a few weeks ago, but I'm at work a lot."

Each and every word Jon says feels like a small bolt to his nerves, and Gerry remembers the suspicion he had that day at the Archives.

Amazing.

"Yes it's- very nice to meet you too Doris. I should be going in now," says Jon, and Gerry's got enough strength to get to his feet again and look across the street.

The alley he collapsed in is in front of a small residential building, and he can just see the back of a messy haired head disappear behind a door as an older woman in a bright yellow cardigan begins to walk away.

Gerry hurries across the street -who knows how long this burst of energy will last- but slows down before reaching the woman.

"Excuse me?" He asks, trying for once to make himself look smaller and not threatening. Doris still eyes him warily, and he doesn't get any closer. "Did you come out of that building? My friend Jon lives there, but he's not picking up his phone. Do you know which one's his buzzer?"

That does the trick. Doris' mistrust evaporates like mist under the sun and she gives Gerry s perfectly pleasant smile.

"Oh yes! The new tenant, I just met him," she says, clearly very pleased with herself. "He's in 4A, and he just came back home, you're lucky!"

"Yep. That's me. Perfect timing." Gerry smiles back, though he feels his eyelid twitch a little. "Thank you miss, have a nice day."

"Oh, you have a lovely one too! Tell your friend to eat something though, he's awfully skinny!" Doris pats Gerry's shoulder before going on her merry way.

Gerry chuckles a little under his breath, imagining Gertrude in Doris' flashy cardigan, wishing him a lovely day.

Then, he goes back to the building, and jams his finger on the button labeled 4A.

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

Jon closes the door to his flat behind him, and immediately collapses face down on the living room sofa. It's comfortable enough, but whoever the previous owner was left it smelling strongly of essential oils and Jon has to turn his face to the side to avoid choking on the scent of lavender.

He'd rented the place fully furnished, because he doesn't have the time nor the taste to actually fill up a place he's only been using to sleep. Or to lay in bed looking at the ceiling until it's light out again. Whatever.

It's been... hell.

Jon's not one to look at a gift horse in the mouth, and he's very aware that waking up from the coma was his choice in a pretty literal way.

Still, nothing's going as it should.

Melanie has stopped attacking him on sight, but she still pulls out the knife if he gets too close to her. Basira says to just leave her alone, but that's difficult to do when one is quite literally sharing an office with her.

Then there's Basira herself. She spends all her time reading either books from the library or old statements she finds lying around, and she loses herself so completely in them she doesn't even seem to notice people around her when she does. Jon's tried talking to her about it, but she insists she's fine, and doesn't feel any different.

Jon also knows she's been seeing Elias at jail, but whenever he's gone to do the same he's been turned away without an explanation. It's not like he wants to talk to Elias, but the man could at least do him the courtesy of answering some questions.

And Martin.

He saw him today, and Jon's willing to bet it's part of the reason he feels so drained. Martin looks... well.

He's not pale or haggard, hasn't lost any weight or started sporting any prominent eye bags like the ones Jon sees in the mirror every day. He keeps busy, rarely going down to the Archives anymore.

Always going through some file with a slight frown on his face, and all Jon can think of when he sees him is that Martin didn't use to frown so much. His face is too soft and too open for the gesture, and Jon doesn't like it. He remembers the slight nervousness, the uncertainty in his eyes and the curve of his lips when he opened the door to Jon's office with a steaming cup of tea, and he can't help telling himself that this too is his fault.

Martin is dealing with Lukas on his own to keep the rest of them safe, because Jon can't do it.

Back when they were... friends, Tim used to say Jon didn't know what middle points were. Either he didn't care about something, or he went all in, no holds barrelled. He'd joked that had been what scared his ex-girlfriend away, and then apologized when Jon had gone too quiet too quick.

The joke came back when they moved down to the Archives. "First you didn't even want to check out the place, now we can't get you out, boss. It's ridiculous," he'd said. Jon had rolled his eyes at him, because of course he wanted to keep working as much as he could, Robinson's 'system' was absolute chaos, and they were no closer to fixing it months after starting.

"Now you care all of a sudden huh?" Tim had said that last night before the Unknowing. Jon had looked at him and had the thought that he couldn't remember the last time he saw him smile. "First we're all murderers out to get you, now you 'can't lose me too'. Typical Jon."

It's the last time Jon remembers hearing the joke, when it wasn't one anymore.

He's forced to concede the words some measure of truth, because he's been awake for two and a half weeks and all he can think of is Martin and the others, and how to protect-

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Jon blinks.

He... doesn't remember giving anyone at the Institute his new address. They're not going out -can't go out- anyways, so it's unlikely to be them.

He guesses Helen could bring them in if she wanted, but the Distortion doesn't need any buzzers when it could open a door directly into Jon's living room.

So probably someone who wants to kill him.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

They... don't seem to be giving up.

He should probably find a way to go out before they break in. Only he's in a fourth story flat, so that really only leaves the fire escape.

One way or the other, he has to do something before one of his neighbors goes to check. At least he can't die so easily now.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Jon sighs, before pushing and pulling and finally getting off the sofa and over to the panel by the door.

He presses the button to speak to whoever it is downstairs.

"Hello?" he asks. Has he always sounded this tired?

"It's me. Let me in," says a grainy voice through the intercom, and Jon feels his eyebrows climb up his forehead.

After he walked out of his office a week or so ago, he never thought he'd be hearing of Gerry Keay again.

The voice at the back of his head -it's not really a voice so much as a tight bundle of Knowledge that sometimes feeds Jon with thoughts and instincts that aren't his own- wants him to open the door.

Gerry was a gift for him, and there can be more if he plays along. Tim could be back. Daisy even. Sasha. It makes no sense to refuse what the Watcher has gotten for him, he deserves it, for stopping the Unknowing, for saving the world.

Martin's slight frown flashes in his mind, and Jon's finger freezes on its way towards the button to open the door.

This would be giving in, wouldn't it?

And all Martin is doing, all he's going through will be for nothing if- Okay, Jon's not so egotistical as to actually think Martin is placing himself in danger just for his sake, but... But if he's fighting, if he hasn't given in, then Jon can't either. Jon can't-

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Jon groans, and pushes the button. Martin will have to forgive him.

Gerry looks a right mess when John opens the door to the flat. His hair falls in lifeless strings by the sides of his sunken in cheeks, his clothes hanging off his frame like-

"Have you been eating?" Jon asks. The compulsion leaves a metallic aftertaste in his mouth, and Gerry gives him an unimpressed look.

"No. I've had snacks and stuff, but I don't get hungry anymore. Don't sleep much either." He shakes his head a little. "You don't need to compel me for that. Besides, I'm not the one who just woke up from a coma. Let me tell you, it shows."

Jon feels his face heat up lightly. It's not that he's purposefully not taking care of himself. It's just… he only really feels well when at the Archives, at least in a physical sense.

"Well, at least I've got an excuse," Jon crosses his arms over his chest. "So you don't need food or sleep anymore?"

Gerry only deigns to give him a shrug before going to sit on his sofa, leaving Jon standing there like an idiot in front of an open door.

"Do you?" Gerry asks from the sofa as Jon closes the door. "Your sofa smells like an old lady."

Jon shifts a little on his feet. Gerry's sitting on the center of the couch, knees spread wide and arms thrown over the backrest, leaving absolutely no space for Jon to sit. There used to be an armchair, but the landlord took it out before Jon moved in with some commentary about getting it reupholstered -Jon Knows he actually just took it back to his house, because it's very comfortable and he's wanted it for a while- and never brought it back.

After a moment, Jon sits on the coffee table, and when he looks back up he finds Gerry's staring straight at him, unblinking and with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" Jon frowns, flinching back a little as Gerry leans forward, shifting to rest his elbows on his knees.

"What else did it tell you? Gerry asks. "About me?"

"N- nothing!" Jon purses his lips shut and by some miracle manages to not avert his gaze.

"Jon, I admire your dedication to lying badly, but I have a feeling you're literally killing me right now." Gerry leans even further forward, now well and truly into Jon's space. The many metallic bits and pieces in his face catch the light coming from above in a very interesting way, and Jon chooses to focus on that instead of- Gerry's hand wraps around Jon's jaw, tilting his face up. "Focus."

"That's very unnecessary..." Jon pushes out through squished cheeks and lips.

It's... been a while since anyone's touched him. Even more since he's been touched without harmful intent.

He'd almost forgotten it was a possibility.

"I need to know, Jon. Please tell me the truth." Gerry's eyes are very intense this up close, and Jon has a second to think that maybe he finds the eye contact so unnerving because no one looks at him directly anymore, too scared of what he could see if they give him the chance. These eyes don't look scared. They look tired and pained, a perfect middle between green and blue that Jon doesn't think he's seen before. "Why did the Watcher bring me here?"

And he lets go of him slowly, softly. Like Jon is a wild animal he needs to keep from bolting.

He considers lying -badly, it seems- for about a moment. But the man before him has never done him that disservice, not even when Jon held his entire existence in the palm of his hand, and could've denied him his rest.

"It was... the Eye brought you back for me," Jon says after a moment that he wishes could've been longer. He feels disgusted even as the words leave his mouth, another confession to another slight against another person that deserves so much more than the life they're trapped in. "Some sort of- a present. Melanie wasn't too off the mark. It meant to entice me into serving."

Gerry makes a low, contemplative noise, and Jon looks up to find him worrying at the ring that wraps around his bottom lip.

It does not escape his attention, how not surprised he looks.

"You already knew?" Jon asks, frowning. Why isn't he more... upset? Tim would definitely have tried to deck him by now.

Gerry stops biting at his lip and lifts a broad shoulder in a lazy shrug. "I had the suspicion, but I settled on it when I realized your voice gives me strength," he says. "And not in like the nice inspirational way, I think I was about to die again when you started talking to Doris."

Jon blinks.

"My- when I what?"

"It's polite to remember the names of your neighbors, Jon" Gerry rolls his eyes, still much too calm for the kinds of truths he's revealing. "She's got a great cardigan. Would suit you actually, if you wore bright colors. You rock the octogenarian look alread-"

"Gerry that was just now! You should've- that's why you look so bad!" And now that he knows about it, he can see the effect of his words on Gerry. His skin looks less clammy, his eyes brighter, his cheeks less sunken and Jon feels disgusted. The Eye brought back a man who fought for a sliver of freedom his entire life, and it bound him to Jon in the absolute worst way. "Why- how come you're so... So okay with this?"

"How can you not be?" Gerry arches an eyebrow at him. "I literally cannot go away from you for too long, and you get a free sucker you can throw at the monsters."

"That's not what I want at all!" Jon exclaims, almost tripping over his words in his haste to get them out. "I didn't ask for- you can't possibly believe I would want-" Jon's voice grows weaker with every word, until he's left gesturing meekly at the space between the two of them.

Gerry's gaze on him feels almost searing, the weight of his judgement bearing down on Jon as the silence stretches by. Jon thinks of apologizing. This one in particular wasn't his fault, but hadn't Melanie said so? Everything happens because of him, every death and every wound a means to get him where the Beholding wants him.

He's just opened his mouth, when Gerry snorts and lets out a bark of laughter.

"Oh man, you should see your face," he says after the initial burst, and Jon's head whips up mouth agape to find him looking down at him in amusement. "Nah, I know it's not your fault. These things... they work in their own ways. You gotta roll with the punches, then find a way to punch back harder."

"I-" Jon stops talking so abruptly he nearly bites his tongue off, when a heavy hand lands on his head and messes his hair; like it needs any help.

It occurs to him that he never expected Gerry to be this... tactile. Maybe because he never expected to see him in a way that would allow contact, or because of the whole goth, aloof persona.

"Wipe that look off your face, come on," Gerry says once he stops assaulting him, and he drops down on his back, swinging his legs over the sofa's armrest like he owns the damned place. "You're making me feel like I killed your puppy. Do you have a statement lying around? I could still use a pick-me-up."

Jon stays there for a second, watching him in shock. Another thing he didn't expect Gerry to be was optimistic. Kind. It's weird to remember that under the cynicism, the snark and the eyeliner is the man that saw a young woman marked by the Lonely, and put his life on hold to try and give her the tools to survive.

"Uh- Ok. Yes, I have one." He gets up from the coffee table to find his briefcase, wherever he left it. "Are you sure this is alright?"

"It's not. But you've got to know by now it could always be worse." Gerry shifts on the sofa, burrowing more comfortably on the loose stuffing and letting out puffs of lavender.

"That's... not reassuring." Jon comes back with the statement on hand, and hears the click of a tape recorder switching on somewhere in the room. Gerry's now taking the entire sofa for real, so he sits back on the coffee table after a moment's hesitation.

"Didn't think so. Do you do the voices too? Gertrude said it was an Archivist thing, but I always thought she was just dramatic." Gerry crosses his arms under his nape, and Jon is quite lucky his eyes are closed like he's about to hear a bedtime story, because otherwise he'd see his face flushing again. Maybe taking AmDram classes is part of the requirements to be an Archivist. "Give me the spook, Jon."

Jon rolls his eyes, before clearing his throat. Gerry does look a bit healthier, and he knows from experience how replenishing a statement can be. If this can make things a bit better... then it's worth it.

"Statement of Pamela Moreno, regarding a visit to her childhood home...."

#jongerrymartin #jonathan sims #gerry keay #martin blackwood #j/g/m #vit writes

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