#points at the bloody I Can Fix Him case across camp

[yannadere]

Songbird Soliloquy

daryl dixon x afab!reader who's a musician

summary: y/n is an underground alt musician who uses their music to lure hordes away from the group.

tags: mild songfic, musician!reader, jealousy, pining, cuddles, fluff, injuries, hurt/comfort

((based off of jazmin beans's worldwide torture))

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

you sit patiently, tuning your guitar and giving it an experimental strum. the sound of your loud instrument alarms most people in the camp, and you smile sheepishly, turning down the built in amp. "y/n-." shane starts, but you cut him off. "relax, it's fine. it was barely loud compared to how loud this baby can get." you grin, continuing your tuning. "okay, just please don't alert every walker for miles to our location." he sighs, and you roll your eyes. "dude, relax. it was barely a strum." you giggle, noticing carl's curious gaze.

"hey, little man. wanna learn one day?" you ask with a smile, and he looks up at lori. "maybe when we're somewhere safer." she nods, smiling. "cool!" carl bounces slightly, clearly excited. "alright, the plan is to move out of atlanta..." rick states, and you nod as the group starts listening. "we're heading to fort benning, georgia. should be safer." rick informs, and the group seem to agree.

"alright, we're heading out asap." rick nods, walking away, lori following. daryl huffs, slumping down onto a chair next to you. "you ever gonna ditch that thing?" he asks, and you shake your head. "never. she's my baby." you grin, sticking your tongue out at him. daryl rolls his eyes and carl beams. "can you play something?" he asks, eyes staring at your guitar. "ahh- i don't think that would be smart..." lori butts in but you give carl a few chords to keep him happy. "not too loud." shane scolds, and you roll your eyes. "c'mon, we've gotta move." rick sighs, closing a car door. "alright. let's go."

the rv comes to a wheezing stop, and you open the door to step out, observing the broken down vehicle next to you. daryl's motorbike passes you and you grin at him as he glances at you. everyone gets out, observing the engine with disappointment. glenn chews his nails anxiously, and you nudge him as you approach him. "relax, dale can fix it." you grin, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "i don't know... it's more duct tape than hose... and i'm out of duct tape." dale huffs, shrugging before crossing his arms in thought.

"surely we could scavenge from these cars..?" you suggest, gesturing to the mass of dead cars down the road. "we can get supplies too..!" glenn nods, but lori doesn't seem happy. "this is a graveyard..." she points out, and you sigh. "lori, we need the stuff in this graveyard to survive." you say, walking away to gather some items. daryl follows you, seemingly agreeing to your statement.

you open a car door, peering inside. "ooh! jackpot!" a toothy grin covers your face as you pull out an unopened bottle of whiskey. daryl smirks at the sight, popping the trunk to check for anything useful. you shrug your backpack off to put the whiskey away when a noise catches your attention. a walker gurgles, trying to crawl towards you. you roll your eyes, grumbling about the 'ankle biter' before stomping on it's head with your heavy platform boots.

"they do some good damage?" daryl passes by you, moving on to another car near where t-dog was scavenging gas. "of course they do. i'm the one wearing them." you reply cheekily, adjusting your guitar strap idly. daryl huffs out a laugh, already searching through another car. "don't blow your ego up." he teases, and you chuckle, bumping him when you pass. another zombie catches your gaze in the distance, sluggishly trudging between cars. rick seems to spot it too, aiming but freezing as more seem to pop up. "daryl, look at this shit." you hiss, grabbing his vest roughly to point him in the direction of the approaching horde.

"holy shit..." daryl moves on quickly, going to pull you with him. "hold on, i can lead them away." you say, grabbing your guitar strap. "are you crazy?!" he snaps, going to grab your wrist. "absolutely." you grin, running towards the horde. you couldn't let anyone get hurt, there were kids in this camp. you had already witnessed so much death, feeling useless as you normally held no weapons other than your pocket knife. "this time, i'm gonna be the hero." you nod, ignoring everyone warning you as you vault over the barrier to sneak past.

you had your target, clambering upon the truck and turning up your guitar to max. you give the strings a harsh strum, happy with the tuning. slowly, the undead turn to you, and you grin. "come on, come get some." you whisper under your breath, starting up gently with a few notes. as the crowd slowly turns to you. eventually, as they start approaching you, you turn up your theme, playing your song adeptly. everyone comes out of hiding one by one to watch you, clearly shocked by your confidence.

carl seems to light up as you play your song, having to yell your lyrics so it would be heard over your guitar's loudness. shane and rick quickly gather the group, moving them back so no one would get hurt if a stray zombie wandered off, yet it seemed they all wanted you. the truck rocks slightly as they bang and press on it, yet you keep your balance.

"i'll be chewing on your face and knocking down your door-" you regain balance as the truck wobbles dangerously, glancing around for another safe car. a van was your best bet in case the truck went, but you had to wait for the rest of the horde to catch up. "a pure violation of god's great creation! it's an infestation, it's world domination-!" you belt out, the truck fully swaying by now. you glance up, everyone's staring at you anxiously. you had to come out on top for them.

thinking fast, you jump from the truck, landing on the van and almost slipping. the crowd slowly moves around the truck as it's rocking ceases, and you realise just how dangerous your new pedestal is. you have to keep moving to avoid getting grabbed, jumping across the cars and ignoring how your guitar doesn't hit every note perfectly.

"i never come second place, always been a big disgrace- shit." you dodge a walker quickly, clambering up onto another car. "smell the fear, i know you see- high achiever." you manage to get back on top of a high truck, watching two of the walkers approaching sophia who was at the side of the group. you strum aggressively, yelling your lyrics as far as your diaphragm would allow. "killing so i stay on top but i could never do any wrong! c'mon you freaks! i'm right here!" as sophia scrambles to carol's open arms, the zombies turn to you slowly and you grin.

"sour to the bone marrow, horrid to the core- all you've got is not enough, stupid! i just want more!" you yell, ignoring how the truck starts swaying. "and i'll throw another punch! yes, i'll get the highest score!" you land on the road, almost falling over before hopping over the barrier and leading them away. you had no plan, truly, only knowing that you had to lead the geeks away from the group.

as the music fades into the distance, the crowd of zombies following, the group almost relax. "what the hell are they thinking?!" dale snaps, peeking down from the top of the rv. "whatever they're thinking it worked." daryl huffs, crossing his arms and putting up a hard front to hide his anxiety. "are they gonna be okay?!" carol stresses, smoothing sophia's hair. "that was a LOT of walkers." lori adds on, holding carl close. "they'll be fine." daryl sighs gruffly. "let's wait for them to come back." he shrugs, walking off. "how are they gonna lose that many geeks?" glenn asks, and rick sighs. "let's just hope they do..." shane decides to add onto his friend's sentence. "and that they do it far from here."

night time approaches fast and the group's worry is increasing. carol notes how daryl anxiously scans the tree line for any sign of you. "daryl, come sit down." she sighs, gently touching his back. "nah, ain't that dark yet..." he sighs, perking up as a repeated clicking sounds through the woods. "you guys know y/n?" a woman asks, her horse jumping the barrier with ease. "yeah.. who're you?" daryl tenses.

"they're at my family's farm." the woman neglects his question, "they're hurt pretty bad." she adds, and daryl swears under his breath. "where's your farm?" he asks, approaching the woman. "i'll take you there. it's southeast from here, can't miss it. it's safe. we killed off the horde that was with them." she nods in the direction as daryl straddles the back of her horse before riding off with him.

"damn... they got away." t-dog says in amazement. "but they're injured. c'mon, we'll get ready to head there in the morning." rick nods, and everyone settles for a long night.

daryl dismounts the stranger's horse, running into the house where an old man stood. "they're-" "where are they?!" he snaps, pushing past. "they're resting." the old man replies calmly, leading him to a bed where you lay, a bloody bandage around your arm. "are they bit?" daryl tenses, observing you. you didn't look sick, but daryl couldn't tell in the poor lighting. "no. they got lucky." the man sighs. "i'm hershel greene. the woman who brought you here is my daughter maggie."

"there anyone else?" he asks, and hershel nods. "my other daughter beth and her boyfriend jimmy, my wife as well as otis who is out hunting and his wife patricia. you'll meet them in the morning." the old man nods, leaving daryl be. "you idiot..." he whispers, combing some hair out of your face. "you could've gotten killed." he adds, and you smirk slightly. "at least i helped... are they okay?" you ask, your voice raspy as your eyes peel open.

"everyone's fine, just worried." he shrugs, trying to seem like he doesn't care. "were you worried?" you tease, taking his hand in yours. "nah. but it's rather impressive how you managed to lead them away." he shrugs. "i passed out on these people's front door, i've got no idea how they dealt with those walkers." you cough, resting your hand on your dizzy head. "relax, don't overuse your brain. it ain't used to that much action." daryl smirks, nudging your arm.

"haha, very funny." you roll your eyes, swatting his elbow away. daryl lets out a breath of laughter, looking at you. "once i'm out this bed, i'm gonna try and figure out where the walkers went." you sit up, but daryl grabs you. "naw, you're resting tonight. you need it." he protests, pulling you back into the bed. as daryl goes to get up, you tug him back as well. "same goes to you, cowboy. come rest." you grin, pulling him onto the bed next to you.

daryl lands on his elbow to avoid landing on you. "before you protest, i could use the company right now. got a lot on my mind." you sigh as daryl hesitates before settling down. "wanna talk about it? 'm a good listener." he prompts, but you shake your head. "i'll manage... just need a familiar face right now." you sigh, resting your head on daryl's shoulder. "i get that.. i didn't have much but merle, and he helped me in his own way." daryl nods.

the two of you sit in silence, grieving over both of your losses before the topic changed. "what's wit' your song anyhow?" daryl asks, and you hum in question, looking at your guitar that was neatly leaned against the wall, your blood staining the strap. "dunno. was the first song that came to my head 'suppose." you yawn, voice sleepy. "had to have a loud song for my plan to work." you add, eyes fluttering closed.

daryl shuffles so his chest presses into yours, arm stiffly draping over you. "what if your plan didn't work? i saw that truck wobbling like it was about to tip over." daryl points out, and you shrug. "if it did, i would be dead, or at least bit." you sigh, opening your eyes once more. "you are an idiot." daryl scolds, and you chuckle. "mhm. but it worked. saved your ass anyway." you fall quiet before asking what's nagging your mind.

"is sophia okay?" you mumble, and daryl furrows his brows. "sophia? she's a bit shaken but yeah, she's doin' alright." daryl confirms and you let out a breath. "thank god." you chuckle as daryl shakes his head with a smile. "saw two of them going for her, too far to see if she got grabbed or not." you explain, and daryl hums. "well, she's not bit, carol would be hysterical if she was." daryl notes, and you nod, happy with his answer as you slowly doze off.

you wake up with daryl wrapped up around you tightly. he's normally the first one awake, so you guessed he had a late night. "dixon, c'mon. get up." you shake him gently, ignoring how he groans in protest. "daryl, c'mon! i wanna snoop around!" you whisper yell, jumping as hershel walks in abruptly. "ah, i see you're awake. lemme check your arm." the new presence wakes daryl immediately as he groggily blinks and grips the handle of his knife.

you sit up, letting hershel peel back the bandages with a yucky noise. you wince, letting out a pained noise as he pokes the flesh around your gash. "there's still bark in there from where that stick stabbed you." he notes with a sigh. "bark?" daryl sits up, watching hershel slowly press the bandages back onto the wound. "careful!" your friend snaps as you let out a strangled noise. "don't worry, they'll be fine." hershel replies, nonchalantly.

you pat your arm gently as if to soothe it as daryl broods, leaning over you protectively. "let's clean it up and get some fresh bandages on it." hershel gathers some material and his tools as well as calling to his wife to bring a bowl of water.

soon enough, you're say with an arrow in your mouth as hershel pulls the last piece of bark out of your arm, dropping it onto a tray where it clutters uselessly onto the metal. "right, let's clean it." he mumbles, mainly to himself as he wets a small cotton ball in water with a pair of tongs. with every gentle dab against your gash, you whimper, teeth clutching the metal of the arrow.

your free hand grabs the nearest thing to you which happened to be daryl's hand, squeezing tightly for reassurance as your eyes flutter closed. "do y'think it'll need stitches?" patricia asks, to which you shake your head. "i'm not having stitches." you protest, words muffled by the object you're biting. "unfortunately, you may need them..." hershel sighs, and you shake your head as he puts the tongs down. spitting out the arrow, you glare at hershel. "i'm not having them." you declare, barely being able to raise your arm to look at the wound crossing your bicep.

"i'm afraid you might have to. it's deeper than i thought." hershel nods, looking for his needle and thread that patricia hands to him. "i'm not having them!" you panic, scrambling back from the man and almost falling off the bed. daryl catches you, steadying you and glares at hershel. "y/n..." hershel tries but daryl snaps. "if they don't want 'em they ain't havin' them!" he snarls, and hershel backs down.

"fine. i can't force you." hershel sighs, putting the needle and thread down as you calm your breathing. daryl rubs your back soothingly, helping you unwind faster as maggie barges in. "daddy! the others are here." she informs, before leaving. hershel nods, gesturing for you to come over to him with some bandages. "i'll do it. patched up a fair amount of people in my time." daryl extends his hand to hershel who hands them over. "alright, but if you get it wrong i'll redo them."

with hershel gone and patricia following, you relax slightly as daryl readies your arm before gently wrapping the bandages around your bicep. "why don't you want stitches?" he asks, and you shudder. "i don't want a needle going through my arm!" your spine shivers at the thought. "naw, i get that.." he mumbles, carefully pinning the bandages into place with a safety pin. "done, c'mon. let's go see the others." he nods to the door, helping you up.

glenn smiles brightly at you, wrapping you up in a hug. "ow- careful- careful!" you hiss as he accidentally presses into your wound. "sorry!" he stumbles back, and carl bounds up to you. "y/n! you're alright!" he smiles brightly, and you smile awkwardly. "yeah..! i'm alright." you tense as he hugs you tightly, awkwardly patting his head and looking at lori for help. his mother laughs, beckoning him over. "you were so cool! the way they all looked at you and you didn't even get scared!" the boy beamed, practically vibrating.

"carl, c'mon!" sophia beams, gesturing to a swing nearby. "stay in sight of me or carol!" lori reminds and they nod. "glad to see you're alright." shane nods to your arm, and you grin. "i'm tough. had plenty of bottles to the head or thrown at me. i'll live." you cross your arms, glancing at daryl. "what happened anyway?" dale asked as hershel guided everyone to the house away from the tree line. "stray branch stabbed me. nothing awful." you shrug, peering to the barn curiously.

"daryl, i'm gonna go walk around, stretch my legs. you coming?" you smile, and daryl nods. "sure." you grab his hand to pull him away, but hershel stops you. "don't go too far and don't go in the barn. nothing in there but old rusty tools anyway and the last thing i need is another injury." he warns, and you sigh. "fine fine, no barn concert then." you grin, pulling daryl away from the group.

"you're going in anyway, aren't you?" daryl smirks, following you closely. "of course. are you saying you wouldn't?" you giggle before hearing carol yelp. "sophia?!" the two of you turn to see the mother searching the area around the swing desperately. "shit..! another time then." you run back to the group with daryl hot on your tail.

"carl said they were gonna play hide and seek so he doesn't know... i'm sure she didn't go far." rick sighs, adjusting his hat to keep the sun out of his eyes as he scans the tree line. "hershel, any idea of where she could hide around here?" shane asks, but hershel shakes his head. "nothing around here but open field..." he gestures around, and carol hiccups a sonb as lori tries to comfort her.

you look at daryl before glancing to the barn. "is she behind the barn?" you ask, and hershel falls quiet. "could be... but there's no way in other than the doors and we would of seen her go in." he shrugs. "me and daryl can scan around there, see what we can find." you nod, and daryl heads off in that direction. "don't go in!" hershel reminds you, and you feel your spine tickle with suspicion. "what a weirdo..." you roll your eyes and daryl hums.

you walk around the barn, gently calling out for sophia. "nothing..." you sigh, looking around. "hey, see that?" daryl asks, and you turn to where he points. "an open window..." you grin. "gimme a lift, i'm gonna take a peek." daryl crouches behind you, grabbing your hips and hoisting you up so you can grab the windowsill.

"see anything?" he asks, but you shake your head, squinting harshly to try and see. "nah, it's too dark." you gesture for the flashlight daryl carries, and he hands it to you carefully to ensure he wouldn't drop you.

the light flickers, slowly blinking to life and you gasp, almost falling backwards. "holy shit!" you yelp, and daryl panics, pulling you back down. "what, what's in there?" he asks as you recover from the sight. "we need to go! there's a LOT of walkers in there!" you gasp, running back to the group.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl dixon fic #twd x reader #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction

[kaylaxwrites]

Street Kid

Pairing: (platonic!) Frank Castle & Reader Words: 1.9k Request: “hi :) can you do a platonic frank castle imagine where he is in a fight and looses alot of blood and end up passing out in an alley but a street kid (16/17 yo female) stitches him up and saves him and later he runs into him and they develop a father-daughter relationship? thank you so much!” (anon) A/N: I don’t know if this is what you wanted, and my mind blanked half way through when trying to come up with some father/daughter scenarios, so that aspect of it probably isn’t the best. But!! even though requests are technically closed, I’ll also some father/daughter requests for if you have any specific situations/scenarios you wanted to see. Just because I feel really bad that I couldn’t write what I wanted to see so it’s probably not what you wanted to see lol

Warnings: reader has an ambiguous background of being kicked out by her parents and she’s homeless and also somewhat-graphic description of stitching somebody up. but it’s a punisher fic, so you know

You ducked through the alley, taking the shortcut you always took. You stumbled to a halt when you noticed a body laying on the ground. Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, you thought as you inched closer to the man, letting out a breath when you noticed the rise and fall of his chest. You hesitantly leaned over him, toeing him with the edge of your shoe. “Buddy…uh, you okay there?” you asked, nudging him a few more times. It wasn’t until the fifth nudge until he finally gasped awake, wildly swinging at you the instant his eyes opened.

“Woah, woah, woah,” you called, stepping back several feet. “Chill, dude, you’re fine.”

It was a few moments for him to calm his breathing and gather his surroundings. “Who’re you?” he grumbled, words almost slurred.

“Uh…Y/N. I was just walking by and I saw…” You noticed his wide away of injuries then. He was so bruised and bloodied, you weren’t sure where one wound ended and another began. Blood obscured his face so you couldn’t make out any details as to who he might have been. But the skull on the chest was a dead giveaway. The Punisher. “I think you need a hospital.”

“No—no hospitals.” He stumbled to his feet but crashed into a dumpster, unable to find his balance.

“Uh, yes. Yes hospitals.”

“M’fine.”

“Uh-huh. Is there…is there anyone after you? You look like you got the shit beat of you. They won’t be coming back, will they?”

“No. No.”

You sighed. “Glad that’s settled. So if no hospitals, you got anyone I can call? You got friends?”

“Look like I make friends?”

“No.” You looked around and sighed. “Well, I wouldn’t feel like a good Samaritan if I left you all by yourself. You wanna follow me or…?” He huffed something that almost sounded like a laugh, but hesitantly shuffled behind you after you started walking.

You kept pace with him as you navigated to your home. No, house? No…place you slept. The abandoned building that acted as the roof over your head wasn’t much, but it was all you had. After your parents had kicked you out a year and a half ago—and your subsequent emancipation—it was the best spot you could find. The shelters were always overcrowded and no landlord in their right mind would lease to a sixteen-year-old, so you settled. At the very least, you were able to spend money earned from your two fast food jobs on things other than rent. Like food. And a nice sleeping bag. And, useful in instances like this, a well-stocked first aid kit.

You held open the gap in the chain link fence for the man to wince his way through. In any other instance, you’d feel hesitant to let a stranger—a grown man, no less—into what acted as your home, but this was the Punisher you were talking about. Even though he…killed…people, you read enough in the news to know that his moral code—however skewed it was—wouldn’t let him hurt women or kids. As you fell squarely into that category, you figured you were safe.

You kicked open the door to your building and led the Punisher up the stairs to the room where you camped out. You directed him to sit on the dusty table at the center of the room. You pulled out the first aid kit you had, as well as a couple clean towels you had nicked from work. You set those on the table next to the Punisher before pulling the 48-pack of water bottles out from under the table. You wet a towel with one of the bottles and handed it to him. He started cleaning his face until he could finally see clearly through the blood.

“You live here?” he asked after taking in the room fully. You noticed his eyes lingered on the sleeping bed and mat framed by battery-operated string lights in the corner of the room. Then he finally took in your appearance. “Jesus, you’re just a kid.” And your age, apparently.

“I’m eighteen!” you tried to defend yourself. Frank arched an eyebrow, eyes sliding to your stuffed animal still propped up on your pillow. You sighed, looking down. “Sixteen. And a half,” you added after a moment. As if it would help your case.

“Where are your parents?”

You crossed your arms defensively. “It’s a long story.”

“Fair enough.” He looked around the room once more. “You got a mirror I can use?” You nodded and slid a half-shattered mirror from behind the door. He nodded his thanks and stepped over to the mirror, sliding his shirt and vest off with a grimace.

You puttered around while he did whatever he needed to fix himself up and clean himself off. You tried to avoid looking over at him, the blood making your stomach queasy. You were able to ignore him until he caught your attention half an hour later.

“Kid,” he called. “Kid. Hey, kid!”

It was the last one that startled you to attention. You jumped and turned to face him. He was cleaned and stitched up. For the most part. He definitely looked a lot better than when you saw him for the first time. But you still thought he should go to the hospital. Punisher or not.

“I need your help,” he continued.

“How am I supposed to help?” you asked.

He turned to show you a gash on the back side of his ribcage. “Needs stitched. I can’t reach it.”

“And you want me to…” You gulped.

“You got anyone else here to help out?”

“Well…no.”

He gestured you over and then pressed a needle and tweezers in your hands. You eyed the curved suturing needle warily. “I’ve already sterilized everything. I just need you to close it.” He braced himself against the wall with his opposite arm.

“I—I don’t know what to do.”

He pulled your hands so they were against the wound. “You gotta pinch it closed then about half a centimeter from the edge slide the needle in and straight across.”

You followed his directions and gagged at the feeling of the needle sliding through skin. “Oh my god! That is disgusting!”

“Yeah, yeah, keep going.”

You gagged again as you pulled the needle through the opposite edge of skin. “Now what?” you asked, breathing heavily.

“Double knot it and cut it off. And then go every quarter inch or so until the end.”

You did as he said until the entire would was sealed off. You raced to grab a bottle of water to pour over your hands. You never wished more for running water so you could thoroughly wash the blood off your hands—and the memory of feeling the sutures pull against skin. “Please tell me that’s the only one,” you said when your hands were the cleanest they were going to get.

“Yeah, that’s the only one.”

“You do that often?”

He chuckled. “More than I should.” He shrugged his bloody shirt back on, seemingly preparing to leave. “You stay here by yourself?”

“For the most part,” you answered. “I mean, sometimes there’s a few kids who hole up downstairs, but for the most part, it’s just me.”

Frank looked conflicted, as if he wanted to leave but didn’t feel right leaving you here alone. After a few moments, he seemed to make up his mind. “I should probably lie low for a little while. You mind if I stay out in the hallway?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I don’t…I don’t have, like, any extra pillows or anything to give you, though.”

“Trust me, kid, I’ve slept in worse places than that dingey hallway.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I probably should…be getting to bed,” you said. You weren’t anywhere near tired, but you don’t want him to feel like he needed to hang around you any longer. You passed him two water bottles as he stepped outside of the room. “Well, uh, goodnight, Frank.”

He tensed as you said his name. “How do you know my name?”

You almost rolled your eyes. “Uh, it’s not exactly like you’re incognito. The Punisher logo on your vest kind of gave it away.”

“Right. Night, kid.”

“Goodnight.”

You smiled and shut the door, moving to curl into your little bedspace. If you were being completely honest, you felt the safest tonight sleeping here than you’d ever had. Logically, you knew the Punisher was supposed to be some big, scary man, but deep down, you knew no harm would come to you with Frank Castle sitting just outside your door.

The sunlight slowly woke you the next morning. You squinted into the light that poured in from the broken window above your sleeping bag. You turned over and tried to fall back asleep, but it was no use. You rose from the makeshift bed, wincing as your joints popped, and made your way to the hallway. You looked down each end, but Frank was gone. It didn’t surprise you that he left at some point in the night, but you couldn’t say you weren’t a little disappointed he wasn’t there. You shuffled back into your room, freezing when you saw what was on the table.

Breakfast.

A hot, steaming breakfast.

You weren’t sure how you didn’t notice it earlier, what with the smell now wafting towards your nose. Instantly, your stomach rumbled. You rushed over to the takeout container, eager to find what was inside. A sticky note on top simply read “Thanks, kid,” but you set it aside. Your mouth watered the instant you opened the container.

Pancakes.

This was probably the single most happiest moment of your life. You hadn’t had a hot meal—let alone a hot breakfast—in who knows how long. The platter spread before you seemed like a feast. You dug in happily, savoring every bite until it was gone.

 That was the last you expected to hear from the Punisher. You stitched him up, he bought you breakfast the next day as thanks, that should be it, right?

Turns out Frank Castle was a man of many surprises.

Nearly every single day from that point forward, you would find a takeout container centered on your table. Sometimes, he left you breakfast like that first day—sometimes pancakes, sometimes omelets, but all from the diner a few blocks down the road. Other days, he’d bring you dinner, leaving Chinese takeout containers piled high on the table or a Tupperware container full of homemade spaghetti. You weren’t sure who made the spaghetti—you couldn’t exactly picture Frank in the kitchen—but it was incredible, nonetheless.

Your favorite days were when Frank lingered after dropping the food off, eventually going as far as to sit and eat with you when he could. Those days left you feeling the happiest. Dinners with Frank happened more and more until he offered you the small second bedroom in his rundown apartment. “I’m never gonna use it,” he said, “and I’m not gonna bust you out of jail if you get caught for trespassing.” You eagerly grabbed the opportunity with both hands—you wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if that horse would get you out of this rat- and cockroach-infested hellhole. Living in an actual apartment would be a dream.

Thinking back on everything, you weren’t sure when the feeling began, but one day, you realized…you felt like a family. By all means, the relationship you had with Frank Castle was far more familial and paternal than any you’d ever had with your biological family. With each passing day, you couldn’t be happier that you’d stumbled across a half-dead Punisher in the alley that night.

#Frank Castle & Reader #frank castle x reader #frank castle & you #frank castle x you #frank castle imagine #tagging x reader bc I don't even know if anyone follows & reader #but it's platonic #so #mine

[blinder-secrets]

Ring Girl - Part 2

part one

ao3 link

a/n: i can’t believe after 3 years i’m finally continuing this... i genuinely feel so good about it, i hope it was worth the wait

Bonnie woke before you, as he often did. He could’ve left you sleeping, slipped away without stirring you at all, but his softness wouldn’t let him. It never did. He’d told you once that his day couldn’t go right unless you welcomed it in and, after that, you’d stopped complaining. You let him wake you when he wanted and smiled each time that he did.

‘Dove,’ he said quietly, trailing his index finger across your collarbone. ‘It’s morning.’ He drew a line and then looped it, spinning patterns on your skin until you showed signs of waking.

You were on your back, with him on his side next to you. When you’d said goodnight, you’d been tangled together, wound up like string, but he fidgeted too much; in the mornings, you were always apart again. ‘Already?’ you sighed, talking round the edges of a yawn. ‘What time?’

‘Six.’

With your eyes still closed, you turned your head, flipping your cheek onto the pillow to face him. ‘More sleep, please,’ you murmured.

He laughed, keeping it quiet and light. Soft like he might’ve startled you. ‘I need you to wish me luck, dove.’

You pulled your eyes open then, peeling the lids apart and blinking a few times to keep them so. ‘Why?’ you asked, yawning afterwards. ‘What’s today?’

The room was dim, lit with what little sun could filter in through the curtains, but he still lay there glowing. Dark eyes melting into amber. His skin fresh and pale, and drawn across his cheeks like bone china. Precious, you thought. Gold in name and value.

His hand shifted from your chest and pushed under the covers to link with yours. ‘It’s the first day training,’ he said, lips settling into a grin. ‘They’ve got me in the best gym in Birmingham.’ He pulled the word, stretched it and curled it into his accent, cherished it like it was his for the taking.

Birmingham. The city, the bricks and the smoke. It all held a weight to him that was lost on you.

‘What do you need training for?’ There wasn’t a man in England that could beat him, you’d seen enough of them try.

‘It’s important.’ He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. ‘Rules are different.’

‘Fuck rules,’ you answered lazily. ‘You’re all instinct, Bon.’

He squeezed your hand before letting go. ‘Not anymore.’ He sat up with a groan, pausing on the edge of the bed to roll his neck out, to stretch his limbs and wipe his eyes before standing.

‘Come back,’ you whined, reaching a limp arm over the bed to him. ‘Just for a bit.’

He shook his head as he bent over the chest you both kept your clothes in. ‘I can’t be late.’

‘Who says?’ You rolled onto your elbows, chin in your hands. He began to dress himself as you watched. ‘Your dad,’ you asked, ‘or the Shelbys?’

‘Both, dove.’ He ignored the comment you’d slung beneath the words, the question you couldn’t ask outright. Who are you loyal to now Bonnie? Who’s threats scare you the most? ‘I have to go,’ he said.

‘I think I preferred when you were boxing trees.’

The soft smile you knew so well fell onto his features — the one that said, you’re difficult, but you’re mine. He came back to the bed and ran a hand over your hair. ‘Trees don’t pay, y’know. This is good for us.’

It’s good for Aberama, you thought. ‘Will you be away for long?’

‘Just the day,’ he said. ‘You’ll have me again before it’s dark.’

You smiled and turned to kiss his wrist. ‘I suppose I can keep myself busy til then.’

He nodded, and leant down to return the gesture, planting his lips onto the top of your head. ‘Be good,’ he said as he stood again. ‘Don’t be gettin’ into trouble.’

‘When do I ever get myself in trouble, Bon?’

‘Almost everyday,’ he answered.

You’d only lingered in bed a little longer after Bonnie left, then you’d washed and dressed, and walked from the camp with your hair damp and frizzing. It wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t cold enough to make you regret it either. It’d be dry by the time you got to town. You had thought about getting the train from the nearest station, but why bother when you had all day to waste anyway. The walk would do you good.

When you got to Small Heath, you followed the canals, clinging to those streaks of almost wilderness. They weren’t natural, but it felt nicer to walk them than the roads. You didn’t pass another soul until it took you through the Shelby yard. The old man that owned it gave you a look as you arrived, but said nothing. Perhaps he knew who you were. Perhaps he’d made the connection on his own, from the way you dressed, the way you carried yourself. Bonnie had said their family was Romani too, and kin recognise kin no matter how long ago they settled.

‘Can I cut through here, sir?’ you asked him.

He nodded once, wiping his hands clean on a rag that was already black with coal. ‘One of the Golds, are you?’

‘Not yet.’ You smiled as you veered from the comfort of the canal path to cross the yard. ‘Won’t be long, though,’ you added as you passed him.

He ignored your comment as you thought he would. ‘Don’t make it a habit, love, walking through here. S’a working boat yard, you know.’

You waved a hand over your shoulder in acknowledgment; you never made anything habit.

Following whim had led you to the bookies on Watery Lane. Last time you were there, Finn, you think he’s called, had let you place a bet on the Blinders’ winning horse. You didn’t follow the races yourself, you just did it because you could. Because it had never been offered to you before. He’d suggested a horse and you’d agreed to it, put the few pounds you’d had into his palm and told him to go for it. Make me a winner, Peaky boy.

He wasn’t around this time. When you walked into the betting shop, all the thick-sculled men twisted their necks to look at you. They went quiet like you were a ghost. Like they’d never seen a woman before.

‘I placed a bet,’ you said, to the room, because no one offered to help you. ‘Last week.’

‘Did ya, love,’ said the closest, laughing as he turned back to his work.

You stood straighter. ‘Yes.’ You took the slip Finn had given you, and held it out to him, shoving it under his nose so he was forced to look at it. ‘See?’

The man glanced at you sideways and then took the receipt, sitting back to scrutinise it. ‘Who the bloody hell let you do that?’ he said, accent thick and rolling and itching under your skin.

‘Finn Shelby,’ you told him, knowing it was a weapon to say so. They could be as rude as they liked, but you knew they were all hares in a trap that the Shelbys’ set. You watched the smugness flush from his expression. ‘So,’ you purred, ‘did I win?’

He shook his head, then he sighed. Then he leant forward again and held the paper back out for you to take. ��No, love,’ he said. ‘You lost like the rest of them.’

Frowning, you took the receipt and shoved it, crumpled, back into your pocket. ‘It was fixed?’ you asked. ‘He had me bet on the wrong horse?’

‘I’m not sayin’ that.’

But he wouldn’t, even if Finn had. ‘He said it would win,’ you continued, your words bitter and souring. ‘Was blessed, he said.’

The man cleared his throat. ‘Can’t be helped.’

It could, in fact, be helped.

‘Do you have a toilet?’ you asked.

You’d sweetened your voice slightly and it had worked, because he nodded and pointed to the back of the room, past the tables and the workers, without even looking up at you. You followed the direction he’d sent you in, and locked yourself into the toilet for long enough to seem convincing.

If Finn could sell you a false bet, you saw no harm in getting back what was wrongly taken from you — with some interest, of course.

When it seemed reasonable, you left the toilet and started back through the shop, eyes scanning the tables as you passed them. It mustn’t have been long since they took their last winnings; the desks were busy with notes, and pennies, and men counting as fast as their education would let them. Seeing a suitably abandoned pile, close to the edge of the nearest, you paused and crouched. No-one was taking any notice of you. You tied your lace though it had never been undone and then, with a final check for safety, you stole the money. Your hand curled over the table-edge, pushing the top inch of notes from the pile and into your waiting pocket. It was so easy you almost laughed.

In a way, you wish you had laughed. Now, you knew it wouldn’t have made a difference, because you never got away with it. If you’d have laughed at the time, you might’ve been able to flirt your way out of the trouble.

After standing, you had started to walk away, nonchalant and pleased with your actions. And then the thin-moustached man, who was previously looking for his cigarettes, had turned back and noticed. You’d been hoping he would be clueless to it. Or at least slow enough that you’d be out the door and down the road before he realised.

‘Oi,’ he barked, ‘where’s that fucking money gone?’

There wasn’t chance to plea your case. Out of everyone in the shop, it could have only ever been you that was responsible. It didn’t take them long to work that out.

You were by the campfire when Aberama found you. He knew already what’d happened, at least, he knew what Mikey had told him, who knew what you had told Allie, which really wasn’t all that much. All you’d said to her, was that you’d robbed some money from the wrong man, and he’d smacked the sense back into you. She didn’t need to know that it involved Shelby business, because Aberama didn’t need to know. The paths that gossip took were predictable enough that you’d accounted for it.

When he got to you, the kettle you’d been waiting for finally hissed and screamed into its boiling point. You reached for it, but Aberama took it off the flames and set it onto the table before you could. No tea for you, then. Just inquisition.  

‘So, what am I meant to tell Bonnie this time?’ he asked, crossing his wrists over his front. ‘He’ll be back soon.’

‘I know.’ You felt inclined to keep your face hidden, choosing to stare down at the fire instead of looking at him. ‘It’s nothing serious,’ you told him. The first slap had been hard enough to split your lip, the second just enough to bruise the cushioning beneath your eye. Everything else was so minor it barely left an ache.

‘Everything is serious to him, girl.’

You nodded.

‘This will hurt him,’ he said.

‘I know,’ you agreed. He didn’t want to hear anything else from you after all. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

‘You will.’ He stepped closer, and dipped his head so you couldn’t help but look at him. You didn’t find him threatening, just chilling. Unreadable but familiar enough that you couldn’t be scared of him. ‘I won’t have you distracting him now,’ he warned. ‘I like you, but I won’t hesitate to make a choice on his behalf.’

You nodded. He lifted your chin with the tips of his fingers to get a proper look at you.

‘You’re too rough for all your sweetness,’ he said. Then, after a moment of consideration, he added, ‘I’ll tell Bonnie before he sees you, but make this the last time, dear.’

After that, you sat on the steps to your wagon, anxiety rotting in your gut, until the sun had began to set. Just before it fell enough to make the sky feel dark, Bonnie came home. He entered the camp whistling, his hands in his pockets, his steps free and bounding. He saw you from across the way, but Aberama intercepted him before he could get any closer.

Guilt bit at your ankles as the joy went from his shoulders and into the mulch, his high from the day’s training lost once he heard of your own stupidity. You watched his brows pull together. His hands left his pockets in fists. The worst part of it, was knowing that it could’ve been avoided. You could’ve taken your failed bet and left, could’ve gone home and read, and waited. Could’ve lay down and listened to him gush about the fights he’d had. Instead, you had to watch his buzz harden into anger, and sit under the weight of his gaze as he approached.

When he got to you, he was mute. His jaw set and unset.

‘Bon,’ you started, looking up at him, ‘before you say anything—‘

‘No, dove,’ he stopped you. He folded his arms and then unwound them again, fidgeting in the way he did when he tried to keep himself calm. When he tried to put words before actions. ‘I told you to be careful,’ he said. His voice was so taut it was almost a whisper.

You exhaled heavily. Not in a sigh, in deflation. You dropped your head but he lifted it again, his hand so light against your cheek that it may as well have not been there. It was the intention more than the grip that brought your eyes back to his. While he scanned your face, you sat vacant, waiting for the disapproval to load onto his features. His thumb moved to hover over the cut in your lip, his eyes dark and scrutinising.

‘Who was it?’ he asked pointedly, still talking through the catch of his teeth.

‘No one.’

‘Don’t do that.’

‘Bon,’ you pushed his hand away, ‘it’s like you said, they’re less forgiving in the city. I know that now.’

He wasn’t satisfied. He knew you too well, knew you were smarter than getting caught for pickpocketing. ‘I’ll ask you again, who was it?’

Rolling your eyes, you looked away from him. You couldn’t lie to his face as easily as you could with others. ‘I don’t know names,’ you said.

‘What happened then?’ he replied, standing limp before you. His gaze bore into the bruise on your cheek. ‘Where were you?’

If Bonnie was anything, he was stubborn. The only person you knew other than yourself, that would run a thought into the ground, let an idea posses him until he found whatever it was he wanted. You closed your eyes for a moment, knowing the next words to come out your mouth would only make things worse. And yet, there you were, preparing to say them anyway.

‘I took money,’ you said slowly, 'from the Shelby bookmakers.’

‘What?’ The word hissed out of him, piercing the quiet bubble that had previously kept you safe from curious stares. Now, they looked freely, heads turning in your direction as Bonnie continued. ‘Fucken’ what?’ he spat. ‘They did this?’

‘No, no, Bon…’ You rolled your head between your shoulders, searching for something, anything, to say to quell him. ‘It wasn’t like that exactly.’

‘Then how was it like?’ His hands curled up again, rigid and set for striking.

‘Finn gave me a dud bet,’ you explained quickly. ‘I went and he wasn’t there, and they all gave me a look as if I shouldn’t be, and I thought, well, fuck them, I’ll take my own winnings.’

‘I’ll kill ‘em.’

You groaned. ‘No, Bon, I was being stupid. I deserved it, really. I mean, it was broad daylight, in a shop full of—’

‘Those Blinder fucks,' he cursed, turning to pace away from you. He spat into the leaves and threw a hand up to grab the cap from his head. ‘I’m s’posed to be fucken’ one of ‘em.’

‘Bonnie.’ You stood, stepping wide enough to reach him. You grabbed him by the arm and forced him to still. ‘It was a Blinder who stopped it,’ you said.

‘Yeah?’ His eyes darkened. ‘Not soon enough.’

‘He wasn’t there,’ you stressed. ‘When he came, he told them who I was. It’s sorted, Bon, we sorted it.’

You’d apologised to Finn, and he’d done the same. You were both crooks after all. There was too much between them and the Golds to be lost, so you’d agreed with him to leave it there, no bad blood. No revenge needed from either side. It’d be forgotten about before sunrise if Bonnie let it.

‘What’re you gonna do, Bonnie?’ you asked, softening your voice. ‘You go there and all this is ruined. I won’t let you do it.’

His jaw set again. ‘They hurt you, dove.’

‘I know.’ You rubbed his bicep. ‘It’s not worth it, still. Not even for me.’

‘Don’t keep sayin’ things like that,’ he scolded. ‘Always puttin’ me before you.’

His brows folded, and when he pulled away from your touch you let him. He looked upwards, to the trees, then to his feet. He was working through it. Tucking away the anger to consider the repercussions. There wasn’t anything he could do without causing more problems, no punch he could land without throwing the fight. He needed to be in the Shelby’s good books, for Aberama, for his career. He may not have liked it, but it was the truth.

‘Alright,’ he said, after a forced breath. ‘If it’s sorted?’

‘It is,’ you answered. ‘It’s forgotten.’

He nodded tightly. Then, for the first time, his expression faltered, softness melting the lines between his eyebrows. ‘You are alright, aren’t you, dove?’

You smiled, ignoring the pinch as it tugged the scab on your lip. ‘It’s nothing.’

Tutting, he pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you tightly. ‘Leave the fightin’ to me, ey?’ He said by your ear, words light and sad all the same. ‘Dun’t suit you.’

The hug was warm, and tight, and he smelt like a football team straight off the pitch, but you couldn’t pull away. You wanted to sink into him, right between the bones, and stay there. Mine, you thought. Mine and yours.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said, the stress delayed and boiling in your chest. ‘I could’ve fucked it up for you.’ You’d acted selfishly. It was pure luck, and understanding, and wilful retreat that kept it from shattering everything he and Aberama had built.

‘Ah,’ he soothed, his palm running up your back, ‘you know we don’t worry ‘bout the past.’

He didn’t but you did. Always, and relentlessly.

‘Here,’ he said, pulling back to hold your face. He kissed you once, gently, careful ‘cause he knew how it’d hurt, and then smiled. ‘I’ve still got to tell you ‘bout me day.’

‘Yeah?’ You leant back into his arms. ‘How’d it go?’

His eyes lit up. They shone in the twilight. ‘They said I’m gonna be a star, dove. A fucken’ star.’

#bonnie x reader #Bonnie Gold #bonnie gold x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #bonnie gold imagine #OMG i literally have never felt so accomplished in my life its FINALLLY HERE! #i reaallllly really hope you like this #ive been meaning to write more bonnie for so long #omg why am i nervous to hit post.... anyway.....

[oristromboli]

If You Be Our Star, We’ll Be Your Sky | 6

Chapter Title: Punishment

The fierce sounds of arguments melt into clashing weapons in the Liyue landscape as all frustrations are released in bloody fury.

Punishment is thus dolled out on the sore, sore loser.

(Smut this chapter: Reader/Childe, M/F)

(Warnings: rough and angry sex after a fight, power dynamic struggles, being very very mean to each other - not a fluffy first time between them given that it's Childe and his implied mission. please be careful if this isn’t your cup of tea!)

CW: the first segment describes Childe making a hunt! Canon-typical violence, but just in case: one paragraph starts with "Childe kneels down - " and another one is "With a firm - "

Childe takes a slow breath in, and on his exhale, releases the arrow, watching as it sinks into the boar’s side.

Damn, he was never good with a bow. He strolls leisurely up to the animal, frowning when he notices the pitiful struggle as it tries to move despite the mortal wound. Poor thing thinks it still has a chance.

Childe kneels down and reaches out to the pig, running his hands gently through the matted fur. He watches as its breathing becomes labored; each unsteady drag likely pushes its lungs against the arrow. How many ways did he watch the abyss deny death to the unfortunate prey wandering in? A quick death was mercy never granted in that suffocating darkness.

He feels black armor fighting to grow from his skin, feels the electricity pulling him taut as he smiles softly, running his hand up to cup the boar’s head.

With a firm twist, Childe snaps its neck and the body goes limp.

Blood from the arrow wound trickles onto his gloves, and he raises his hand to lick it idly away. His frown returns when he realizes that the flaming need in him is barely sated.

Warbled and demented noises creep up towards him from between the cracks in the earth.

Grunting, he hoists the animal over his shoulders and starts walking again while whistling a lullaby.

 ---

 Birds call overhead while the wind rustles through the emerald leaves around you in this little outcrop by the river. The sun felt warm, kissing the back of your neck gently as you took in your surroundings, counting each fish that crested the surface as they leaped further upstream.

Though you normally take these moments of isolation to regain your internal serenity, you didn’t necessarily hate the fact that Childe insisted on tagging along. Yet, confusion still wrung your head as to why he came along on a commission so far off the beaten path. Even Aether would complain at such a wildlife excursion.

“Hey girlie,” Childe calls, grinning wide and bubbles up a rare, genuine laugh when he sees your surprised expression. “I got lunch!”

Your eyes bulge as you watch him carrying one of the largest boars you’ve ever seen with a skip in his step like the animal weighed nothing. When he drops it unceremoniously to the ground, you hear the resounding thud and decide firmly that yes, Teyvat’s animals are ridiculous.

Childe cracks his knuckles and materializes his hydro knife to kneel at its side, and you just… You just watch.

Some deeply primitive part of you is hooting like a shameless dog as you watch him handle the meat with ease. Good man. Strong man. Can feed and protect.

“ – girlie, hey, you listening?”

You shake your head and blink at him. He starts laughing and gestures to the fireplace. “O-oh, right!” In a flash, you turn your back to him to hide the rising heat to your cheeks. “Um… That’s a lot of meat, you know.”

“Well, nobody ever complained to me about that, pretty bird.”

Nevermind. Big, strong man gone. “Why are you always cracking jokes? It’s like you never take things seriously.”

Childe pauses for a moment, stilling his hands. He never looks at you before he resumes skinning the boar, though you recognize the flash of a bygone memory nonetheless. “Nothing wrong in trying to get people to laugh occasionally in this shithole of a world. What else can you do? Tell your siblings that this place isn’t the fairytale they grew up believing in?”

You swallow and nod. Some time passes, and as you finish setting up the makeshift stove, it occurs to you that… There’s two of you. And one very big, very fat pig.

You’ll need a bigger fire.

“Hey, how do you plan on cooking this?”

“You’ll see.”

 ---

 An hour later and you’re in awe at how good the food is. The meat is practically melting off the bone as you eat the roasted pork, slight drool dribbling down.

Childe just stares as you lick your lips. “Did you learn this in Fatui boot camp or something?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, voice a pitch lower. “Closer to the ‘or something’ part though.”

Idle chatter starts between you two, soft banter and long talks about nothing. You ask about his past, he gives curt answers and you do the same, but there’s this silent understanding between you two about it. There’s little to say on the matter as neither party wants to remember. At least that’s something you have in common with Childe.

“So, along your travels,” he starts, wiping his mouth with a crimson handkerchief. “Did you come across any gods? Besides our resident funeral consultant, of course.”

“A few,” you reply. “Some also stepped down to join mortals too, but in those lands, they gave up their full divinity instead of just the title.”

“Why anybody would ever give up power willingly is beyond me.”

You laugh, though it sounds more vindicative than you intended. “Don’t you know? The gods envy mortals because their lives are fleeting and any moment can be their last. It’s all the more beautiful to them.”

Childe narrows his eyes. “Who said that? Seems to me the gods here don’t really care for us.”

You smile bitterly. “Yeah, I can see your point. The gods in Teyvat are different, but what about Zhongli? Don’t you trust him?”

“Ha, I trust him to pursue his own self-interests. If they align with mine, then great, there’s no problems between us. He’s reliable and stubborn. Shockingly, he has my honest loyalty, and I trust I can predict his next move.”

“Always the tactician.” You both chuckle at the thought. “I would’ve thought there was more than that.” You pray he doesn’t realize how you test the waters, and with the way he looks in the distance, you’re safe.

“You’re not wrong. I care about him. He drives me insane, but come hell or high water, he’ll be my friend to the bitter end.”

Friend. Your heart throbs again, though in deliverance or bewilderment for their strange relationship, you’re not sure.

“With your powers, were you ever seen as one?” Childe says, breaking your thoughts.

“A god? Sometimes, though only if people haven’t seen real divinity. We were also called demons. Unnatural. We keep to ourselves mostly and avoid too much trouble, but with our powers sealed, we don’t even have that going for us. We’re not really welcome among humans or divine, hah.” His eyes relax briefly, shifting to an indescribable emotion. There’s something in them, some light of understanding.

You hate it.

“Don’t act like you care,” you say, turning away and hugging yourself. Yeah, you know you’re being unfair, but you can’t handle Childe’s pity at the moment. He sighs as he tosses his leftovers over his shoulder and tries putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey – “

“Don’t.”

“I don’t care. Look at me,” he says, tone sharp and commanding you to listen. During easy exchanges, it became so easy to gloss over the fact that Childe is, indeed, a general of the Fatui.

He’s all but glaring down at you, matching your petulant stare. “What is with you? I’ve been trying to fix things between us, but I’m starting to feel like I’m the only one. This goes both ways, you know.”

“Us? There is no us, Childe. It’s just you. It’s always been about what you want,” you seethe. Stars, you sounded so much like a kid, but some sick part of you is enjoying this. All your words are underhanded and you both know it. “Did you even care? At any point, any at all, did you care?”

His blue eyes slowly widen as realization dawns on him. “Ah. You’re still mad about that. About me using you, huh?”

“What the f – Yes, I’m still mad! Congratulations, you’ve got a pair of eyes. Don’t you know that I – nevermind.”

“No, say it,” he says, placing both hands on each of your shoulders now and caging you in. His face leaves no room for argument as he says your real name. “Say it. Don’t back out now.”

“Stars, you stupid, selfish son of a – “

“Hey, don’t you bring my mother into this,” he says, though a lopsided grin works its way onto his face regardless.

“Very funny, Childe. I just… I kept it, you know? It’s no Mr. Cyclops, but it’s still mine,” you say, looking down. His eyes flick to the starconch dangling from your journal.

“You didn’t have to,” he murmurs, tightening his grip on your shoulders.

“Of course I did. I made a promise to you, and I have a feeling you’re the type to actually cut my pinkie off.”

“Ha. Who’s being funny now?”

You shake your head. “My question still stands: did you care? I’ve forgiven you – you know that – but I’m mad because… I need to know if our friendship was...”

When you look up again, he’s – oh holy – when did he get so close? His deep blue eyes are resolute and you’re holding your breath. Childe is close enough that you can practically feel the heat radiating off of him as his lips parts. “Honestly? I didn’t at the time.”

Oh. Of course not.

You close your eyes as you feel your heart plummet to your stomach. Great. Just fantastic. Nothing can get worse than this.

“But now…”

His fingers gently grab your chin and lift up as he tilts his own down at you. “I can’t remember that time without guilt. When I saw how Teucer showered you all with adoration, it just reminded me of what we had.”

“What we had? What was that? Friend? Enemy? Sparring partner?” You scoff and lean out of the space he made that threatened to suffocate you. “I don’t want to believe a word you’re saying, because even though I’ve been honest every step of the way – “ You pull his right hand off your left shoulder and lock a pinkie with it. “ – I can guarantee that you haven’t.”

Do you feel a sense of joy when you release his hand with a glare?

“You’re no better than the gods you hate.”

When he has the gall to look offended?

Yeah, you do, and know what? Fuck him.

Suddenly, your hand is harshly yanked up as he leans close again, locking a pinkie before you can escape. “You don’t want to believe me? Fine. But don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same for your duty if push came to shove. At least this time I had the decency to tell you why I’m here, why I’m ‘using’ you again. You beat me to it though, or did you forget?”

Childe sneers, fury now raging in those watery depths. “I’m not mad, I’m happy that you’re as shrewd as you are strong. Yes, I didn’t care then. Yes, I care now, even if I don’t regret it. I want to leave that in the past because today, this moment, is all that matters. C’mon, eye for an eye.”

“What are you even talking about?” You’re seething now, matching his frustration. Seriously, he can’t spout this crap and expect you to suddenly understand. “I am not doing this with you, to you, whatever ‘this’ is. Despite being upset, you’re still my friend.”

“No, we weren’t just friends and you know it,” he growls. “Or enemies. So just give the word and get it over with, comrade. Fight me, use me, do something and get it out of your system.”

He’s… He’s crazy, he’s just insane, you have to get out of here. You swiftly stand and pull your hand away, staring down at him. “I said no, Childe. Not everything is a battle. I can’t believe you… You would think that. Think that I’m no better than the people who treated you like some pawn.”

You sigh and turn away, but your hand is yanked behind you again. May the stars give you patience.

When he turns you, he’s looking at you with a familiar glint as his lips curl. It’s the same expression he wore in the aftermath of Osial.

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to them. You aren’t one of those out-of-touch bastards. I just… I wasn’t sure what else to do to get you to believe me.”

Who would’ve thought a Harbinger could be so maudlin. Torpor replaced your irritation and quiet resignation flickered in your mind. Why you still bickering with him? It’s pointless.

You take the hand holding you and bring it up to the center of your chest.

He freezes and stares at his hand, breathes growing shallow and quick.

“This is going nowhere. Leave it in the past, right? There’s always more to argue over, ha.”

When you squeeze his hand, you smile at him, meeting his bloodthirsty eyes. “You’re right, Childe. Let’s get this out of our system.”

You don’t want to, you really, really don’t, but seeing the way his shoulders relax with barely contained relief shoves that regret aside. Childe was never the best with words – while his fellow Harbingers wove tale after tale with silver tongues, he simply collected others’ tongues with that sharpened silver.

As you both pace yourselves apart, you pull out your journal, long modified to be a weapon of sorts in this world. You know you are at a severe disadvantage as you were never great with other tools, so you had to find a way to either stay out of his range – difficult with his bow – or get close enough to his personal space to land a direct blow with energy gathered in your hands – difficult with his water shields.

Childe summons his hydro blades and begins twirling them, head bowed as he watches your every step. Slowly, you circle one another as both try to find weak points to exploit. His eyes are nothing short of predatory, and as his lips barely twitch into a snarl, you’re once again reminded of just who is in front of you.

Tartaglia, the Vanguard of the Harbingers, whose arrogant and ruthless madness could only be soothed on the battlefield. He’s not so much like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but a monster in wolf’s clothing.

On instinct, you immediately tilt your head as an arrow whistles past your ear, nicking the edge. You feel warmth trickle down and your ear stings something fierce as you start to dodge his incoming folly of arrows.

Is it too late to back out? Like, right now? You can handle the proverbial tail between your legs but you cannot handle –

You curse as water rises from the river to wrap around your ankle and shackles you when you drew too close. Cruel laughter bubbles to your left as you turn and see him charging, serrated blades out for the slaughter.

When he gets close enough to leap, nearly too close for comfort, you immediately summon a wall of stone in front of you. A soft thud echoes, so you form a fist and push the wall forward and away from you as the hydro chains break with Childe’s concentration shifting to his predicament.

Normally, you would be more prepared and calculating in your attacks, but the sheer ruthlessness of his onslaught took you by surprise.

Russet-colored hair juts out from the top as he leaps up and over, twirling in the air. With a clear opening, you reach out energetically to the smattering of small – yet sharp – stones around you to use as projectiles. He laughs as he slices each stone, but your goal of interrupting his trajectory is accomplished.

Childe lands a distance away as you sprint farther back, summoning small pillars of stone between you two as he immediately chases after. Though he’s chaotic, his movements are somewhat predictable; you summon one stone in a bluff to get him to move to his right to dodge, but immediately slam another stone to his ribs on his side from the direction he moved towards.

He grunts, but hardly flinches as you see him double his efforts in chasing you. Belatedly, you realize he’s been herding you towards the massive waterfall the entire time. Either you finish him here or he finishes you there with the elemental advantage.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re not as fast as Aether, this is why you stay on the backline, fuck –

Childe’s lance smashes the shoddy stones rising quicker in your panic to separate you two. Not your finest work, but it’s a bit hard to focus on their construction when you have a maniac sent from hell on your ass, thank you. When you see how he leaps from your most recent stone, utilizing the momentum in its rise to propel himself forward, you tuck tail and run.

Safe to say, two thoughts occur as he tackles you and his iron grip is wrapped around your body to restrict movement as you both tumble along the ground.

One, you’re absolutely torn between humiliation and feeling shameless as you realize your undergarments are soaked with his husky pants filling your ears. His head tucked against your own in the roll.

There’s definitely something wrong with you, you decide, since you were nothing short of terrified two seconds earlier.

Two, when your head slams against the ground and you open your bleary eyes, you realize how lovely the snapdragon flowers lining the riverbank are this time of year.

You hiss as you feel heavy thighs cage your arms to your side and look up. Childe is leering down at you and snarling as his right hand curls into a fist, purple lightning slowly dancing across it. His left hand glows blue as you recognize the sensation of the infamous riptide mark forming over your chest, eyes glazed over with concentration.

In a moment of paralyzing horror, you realize just how far from civilization you two are.

Ha, haha, good one Childe. He’s… He’s playing, right? This was just friendly brawling. Ha. Oh shit.

He’s not slowing down.

When his hand clamps on your shoulder to still your frantic movements, you whine – high and feeble – at the pain blooming from his grip. For a split second, he falters as his eyes regain clarity, hand loosening a fraction to no longer being unyielding. You take the opportune distraction to flick your hand and throw a stone to his chest.

It’s not much, not without the power of your book – now discarded somewhere – but it does the job as he is knocked to the side and off of you.

In the action, you scramble to keep with the flow and slam him on his back, perching on his chest as your hands glow with accumulating geo energy.

Seeing his soft pants, a sparkle in his eyes, and how blood trickles down his forehead, the shattering in your heart is deafening when you realize how young he looks. His laughter is wet and harsh as his arms are splayed.

“Do it,” he grunts. “End the fight, ‘cause I won’t stop.”

No. No, you’re not doing this.

“Aw, is little birdie too scared?”

You lower your hand and wrap it around his throat, and stars, is his grin growing?

“Come on, just do it – “

“Shut up,” you hiss, leaning forward. “Stop it Childe, I’m not punishing you.”

“What if I want you to?”

You freeze as your mouth parts in a silent gasp, his expression never faltering. When you jump back, you grind against something hard and insistent against your ass, and oh. Was this his plan all along…?

Childe’s hands fly to your hips and pull you down, and oh fuck, a moan fumbles from your lips before you harshly cut it off. Your eyes glance down to see his hooded eyes and he’s panting as he watches you. “Pretty bird is suddenly backing out now? So weak, you won’t even take your venge – “

His words are muffled as you lean forward and kiss him, but you yelp when you feel sharp teeth suddenly bite your bottom lip. Something angry twittering in you possesses you to reach into his hair and fist it, yanking his head up to meet your irritated gaze. When he moans again, loud and shameless and grinds against your core, you’re seized by the same fierce need.

“You’re sick,” you say as your tongue darts out to taste a hint of blood.

For some reason, those words still him as his eyebrows furrow slightly. “I know.”

Stars, you hate how he stares you down, daring you to do something about it. You hate how it feels like it was your fault, that crack in his shield as you see your own shocked eyes reflected in his ocean blues. They flicker between yours, and that something whispers in you again: for whatever reason, he wants to be punished.

Maybe that’s how he gets his sick kicks. Yeah. That’s it.

(You shove aside any lingering doubts.)

You pull him to you this time, kissing him as you simultaneously begin a slow, rhythmic roll of your hips against his throbbing bulge. When Childe’s mouth parts in a strangled moan, you take the opportunity to dive your tongue into his and hum in approval as he rubs his hands along your thighs.

As you part, a thin trail of saliva stained red with blood connecting you two, you lean back and smirk at his whine from the loss of contact. Instead, you lean back and arch your back to apply more pressure to his bulge. “You’re such a challenge sometimes,” you murmur, scanning his features.

Childe moans, ragged and hoarse, as his hands find purchase on your hips. “Please,” he replies desperately.

“When was the last time someone put you in your place?” you say as your hands slowly trail down to his chest and meticulously begin undoing each button. Each time your nails scrape his skin, the contact is minuscule but enough to hitch his breath.

“N-not since the Tsaritsa,” he whispers, keening as you dip your fingers beneath his jacket to open it fully, baring his pale chest. “The people in Liyue are too… Let’s call it traditional in bed, hm? A bit too tender.”

You both snicker (unknowingly at the same man), but his laughter is cut off as you lean down to kiss along each scar littering his chest. There is a smattering of slashes and burns, enough to paint a picture of a life hard-won and deserving of his name.

When you ghost your lips back up, you pause at a pale, crescent-shaped… Is that a bite mark? You raise your hand slow to that juncture between his neck and shoulder, and you feel blue eyes watching you intently. As you trace it, you murmur, “What’s this? Did a lover leave this? Doesn’t seem very becoming of a Liyue native.”

Childe releases a puff of air instead of a laugh and rolls his head back. “Let’s just say it’s a trophy for the one time I managed to get a stupidly sentimental man to realize I’m not fragile on my last night here. He even apologized for it.”

Huh. You choose not to comment on the strange memory, but instead, opt to kiss the scar lightly. Childe openly moans, breathes becoming shallower as you move down the expanse of his creamy abdomen from there.

Gloved hands fly to your head and grab. His shallow thrusts against your chest halt when you lift away from him, glowering at him to stop. Childe’s eyes narrow, but when he tries again, you lie your palm flat against his bulge and push down.

Childe cries out at the border between pain and pleasure, and good, that fucker needs to learn when to stop.

Oh, gods, when did you get a mean streak? Except, when you lay your eyes on the Fatui again, memories of each time he’s pushed your buttons surface, directly compromising your promise to Aether to be kind to the locals in Teyvat to expedite finding Lumine.

Yeah, Aether isn’t here right now. You can make a special exception.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you grunt and you lean up again, choking back laughter when you see how his eyes widen at your abandonment. Ha. “Maybe I’ll go slower and, how is it called, ‘make love to you like the people in Liyue? Maybe I’ll stop pursuing you like this, where none else dared challenge the almighty Harbinger, huh?”

Admittedly, the lust in you skyrockets when you see how he tries putting on an intimidating façade again, yet the flush across his face and chest absolutely ruins it. Oh man, you can keep doing this all day.

Only… When the devil smirks at you, your heart begins hammering.

“Oh? Maybe you should,” he pants, and you pointedly look at his erection now forming a slight damp spot on his pants. “Tch, but don’t tell me you’re not curious. You’re too fucking nice all the time, you’d hate that slowness as much as I would.”

Irritation seers through you again as you suddenly – and perhaps unnecessarily roughly – grab his pants, purposefully dragging your nails along his skin as you begin to pull it down. “What makes you think I’d hate it?” you huff.

Childe aids in your struggle, shimmying his pants down and off as he kicks off his boots while you clamber on top of him again.

“Come on,” he sneers, snaking his right hand around your neck to pull you closer while his left makes begins to slide down your belly. When he leans closer, he pauses short of kissing you and stays like that. “Don’t you want a taste?”

“You – “

Fuck, you didn’t realize how he distracted you until one finger brushes your clit and slides along your folds. Fuck, fuck, you hate how he drinks in your quiet and strangled moans as it begins to slowly dip into you. When you feel something smooth and cold instead, it hits you that he never took off his gloves.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he coos and rolls his hips upwards to grind against your ass. You grit your teeth, though Childe takes this moment to kiss you again and suck on your bottom lip, massaging you all the while. It’s… It’s not enough, damn him.

"Give me a safeword," you rasp as you break apart. "Right now. So I know this isn't a trick up your sleeve."

He grunts and leans forward again to press his lips against your nose, though he pauses in his ministrations. "This isn't -"

"Childe."

"... Calla lily."

You nod and sigh, tilting your head to the side.

The hand formerly around your neck slides down to pull down your clothes, allowing more access as it pools around your thighs.

You pull away entirely – ah, there goes his fingers – and stand, beginning to strip. As he watches you, you see how his jaw clenches, impatient and yet thoroughly enjoying the impromptu strip dance.

When you’re bare, you begin to walk over and have to bite back a whimper at how Childe’s tongue darts along his lips as you approach. Hmm…

You pad over to his head and grab a fistful of his hair again as you kneel by his head, concentrating on how his face contorts with pleasure again.

“What makes you think you’re so special, huh?” you gruff at him as he grins up at you in that wicked, wicked way.

“Because I’m all the sins you never had the courage to commit,” he responds daringly.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Oh, stars forgive you if you (not so) accidentally strangle this man. You swing one leg over his head and pull it up as you lower yourself. At least he needs no further instruction as he immediately rests his hands on your thighs and tilts his head to lap at the wetness dribbling down.

Let it never be said that Childe didn’t know how to use his mouth, because fuck, the eagerness he begins devouring you out with is nothing short of a man approaching his last meal. You become hyper-aware of your wanton moans, how you grind your core further along his lips while his aching cock is behind you, devoid of all attention.

When his tongue dives deeper between your folds, truly fucking you with it, you slam a hand behind his head to prevent your fall. Fuck, you can’t fucking think –

Your thighs are trembling as the pleasure shoots through you, building with each rock of your hips. It’s slow and steady, but you feel yourself surfing the rising pleasure when you mentally short-circuit. At some point, he crept one hand under you and – without warning, the asshole – plunged two fingers deep as he turns his attention to your clit.

It’s pathetic how you mewl, it really is, and like a bloodhound, Childe senses your weakness. He doubles his efforts while humming against your clit, vibrating it with the motion, and fuck, you feel it coming, it’s, it’s –

You open your mouth in a silent scream as it shoots up, pulling you taut and your muscles stiffen. It’s like you’re a bow strung along and Childe is the man just using you like this.

Stars, he needs to stop, he needs to – stop it, it’s too much –

“Stop, Childe, fu-ah – “ When you frantically roll off of him, falling on your side, he merely turns and grins. It’s absolutely sinful how he slowly licks each finger that was knuckle-deep in you, never breaking contact.

You wish he’d say something because for once, he’s not actually talking. He just. He followed your initiative and was promptly shut up, drinking you in. You don’t know what to say to him, so you opt instead to reach over and grab his scarf, yanking him up.

He follows, nearly as eager as a pup, and crawls to you on all fours as you sit up. Childe blinks at you, the smile never wavering as his eyes wander to your chest rising and falling with soft pants. Something in you, some small and evil voice whispering on your shoulder tells you to ruin this man, this arrogant warrior still clad in his Harbinger jacket and gloves and mask –

“Your mask,” you gruff. Childe tilts his head (oh no, that was cute), but follows your command nonetheless.

When he hands you the item, you fidget slightly and fight back that creeping uncertainty. Fuck it, you’re the one punishing him, so why are you getting embarrassed?

In a desperate bid for confidence, you hum and refuse to look at him, pretending to inspect the mask as if just now seeing it. A shaky breath escapes him as he watches you, so you firmly pull on the scarf like it’s some leash. “You always get your way, don’t you?” you hum.

When silence meets you, you yank on the scarf again. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” comes the immediate reply. You smile softly and look at him, look at his wide eyes as you’re met face-to-face. Each of his arms has settled next to your sides as his legs hold himself over you.

You hazard a glance at his cock and smile at how it twitches in response, leaking driblets of pearlescent pre-cum and just throbbing red. Oh, he wants it so badly. “Beg for it,” you say, looking back into his eyes.

Childe narrows his own, gritting his teeth in a snarl. “Beg for it,” you repeat slowly, “or we stop here. Your choice.”

“Please,” he mumbles, and… Oh, oh is he shy? Pink begins to dust the tips of his ears as he dips his head.

“Please what?” you tease and he huffs.

“Please, let me… I want it, I want you.” Each word is punctuated and forced out like it took all of his willpower to hold himself back from taking you then and there.

Some quiet, dark part of you is slightly disappointed he didn’t.

Well, you’re merciful, and he did say please. You lean forward and tilt your own head, catching his lips in a kiss entirely too soft – and yet, Childe doesn’t complain, only sighing in relief as he moves his head with yours.

But this is still supposed to be a punishment, you remind yourself vehemently. That lustful side of you rears its head, screaming at you to stop whatever it is you’re planning because Childe is here, on his knees and begging to fuck you.

But this is still supposed to be a punishment. Damn it.

Childe seems to recognize the idea swirling in your eyes when he pulls back and he frowns. You smirk back and slide his mask into place, thoroughly relishing in how his breath hitches seeing his own face staring back at him.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

He jerks his head back like he’s been slapped. “Oh, you’re kidding me, right? You just made me beg, you charlatan.”

“Exactly,” you chirp back. You push him back while retaining your hold on his scarf and run your hand down his abs, pausing at the naval above his aching cock. He moans when your nails dig in there and he spreads his legs wide to allow you to move closer. When you finally, finally grasp his cock with a firm squeeze, a strangled groan is wrenched from his chest from somewhere high and deep like he wasn’t expecting the noise either.

“I’m still mad at you, so this is all you get. Nothing more than this, not even spit.”

Gods, how badly do you want to weep and take it back, but you have a point to prove, damn it.

Childe opens his mouth to protest, but you pull on the scarf to effectively cut off his air, watching how his eyes haze over with pleasure when you do an experimental pump. Is this… Is this how you looked when you fought for dominance with Zhongli?

Oh, you really can keep doing this.

Slowly, you shift forward more until you’re pressed close enough to lean next to his head as you gather the pre-cum leaking in torrents to twist around the head of his cock. “Does the Harbinger like this?”

Childe releases another strangled moan and nudges his head against yours, bucking his hips in demand for you to just go faster. You don’t, you’re mad at him, but the insistence is cute. That infamous earring of his dangles in front of you, tantalizingly close, so you grab it with your teeth and pull sharply as the pressure from your hand increases.

Childe cries out in a mixture of shock and pleasure, hands flying to your back to pull you closer to him as you release it to begin whispering filth into his ears.

With each movement, each tug and twist and sin tickling him, you watch as he slowly becomes unraveled and pulled from the seams. The contrast between you two, how you watch with startling clarity as Childe loses his sanity in chasing after that edge, serves only to thrill you. Your core starts to throb again, practically weeping with your own slick as you fight back the instinct to mount and ride him to hell here and now.

As his thighs tense and his breathing drawing quicker, you pause abruptly to stop him from cumming and – oh shit – he yanks your hair back as he growls in your ear, “Don’t you dare – “

Wish granted. You laugh openly and release his scarf to cup his jaw, leaning forward enough that he can catch the whites of your eyes through the slits in the mask. “Then don’t look away.”

And, blessedly, you resume your ministrations with a sudden increase in speed that has Childe panting so beautifully, so raggedly as he whines at the sight of his own mask staring him down. His hips rock into your hand needily, clinging to your back like his life depended on it.

“Ah, f-uck – “ Childe’s words are cut off as he flushes red and you feel warmth spill over your hand. You never pause as you continue milking his cock, jerking it well past the point of pleasure and deep into oversensitive pain. His blue eyes are squeezed shut as a string of Snezhnayan curses tumble from his lips, clinging to what shreds of euphoria are left before you slowly stop.

His chest is heaving, each exhale hoarse and dry as he buries his head against your neck.

Huh, what does a Harbinger taste like…?

As you idly bring your hand up to lap at the cum, you smirk behind your mask when you hear Childe’s breath hitch and he begins mumbling something indistinctly, watching you all the while.

When he’s this close, you can nearly count each freckle dotting his cheeks and nose, and… And you can almost draw constellations between them.

After a moment, he leans back to stare at you before pulling off the mask. When you both see each other again, a lazy smile tugs at his lips before he looking you up and down, then towards the scene around you.

“… Well, this is unsanitary.”

What – what the fuck? You bark out a loud laugh and Childe joins you, though his sounds huskier still as he recovers. “That was a little mean of you to keep going,” he says, pouting when you snort.

“You wanted it.”

“I wanted to fuck you,” he grumbles. You shrug and try to stand, though admittedly you’re no better than a colt with how your legs shake.

Eventually, you manage to waddle your way to the river and take slow steps into the freezing waters. Fish dart between your legs, barely brushing by with slick flutters, and you sigh as you force your muscles to relax.

Some time passes before you hear movement and splashes behind you, though you don’t turn to meet him. If Childe is upset with you, he can deal with that himself, you’re too busy trying to find some peace.

You just need a hard reset. Just once, you need to get one merciful moment alone.

Still, that wish remains ungranted as strong muscles wrap around your front and you jolt at the sudden contact, but more so when you feel Childe rest his head against the back of yours. Neither of you move, opting to instead sway lightly with the currents drifting by. Each wrist is wrapped in a leather brace with a Vision inlaid in the right while the Delusion is in his left.

When you glance down at the water, you suck in a breath upon realizing he’s been staring at you through the reflection the whole time. Soft aquatic plants dance at the corners of your feet, brushing ever so slightly with each tug.

It’s nice, but something about the stillness sparks uneasiness in you. But… It’s not the kind you felt staring down Childe’s lifeless eyes seconds before he struck, no, this is different. This feeling left you feeling both heavy and light, clear and foggy like you were alone with the dawn breaking and somehow that fact makes it all the sadder.

You… You want this to last, you realize. Stupid. You’ve gotten yourself stupidly attached already, two for zero with these men in your life.

He sighs as one hand reaches up, tracing idly over your chest again. “Do you ever feel like it’s some game,” he begins delicately like each breath is an affront to the world around you.

“What do you mean?”

“These gods, these… Not-humans, I guess. The one that took Aether’s sister, the ones that laughed at you for not being good enough in your travels, the adepti that thought Liyue too fragile… Do you ever think it’s a game to them? Like we’re just puppets on strings?”

He whispers these words, writing them like clandestine letters, ones that will surely get him executed should the gods ever see yet he writes them all the same.

“Like the fabled strings of fate?” you reply, and his lips twist in a wry laugh. “I don’t know if it’s fair for me to answer, since I’m not…”

Human.

Childe hums, understanding the tacit sentiment. “Doesn’t matter, you were never welcome among the divine anyway, right?”

“As if the humans would welcome us instead.”

“I would. I already have.”

Without skipping a beat, Childe continues hastily, once again obscuring that something in his voice. “Do you think they understand us? Actually care about their people?”

You shake your head, a barely-there motion, and should any soul look upon you two now, surely they would never see how you squeeze his hands. “I don’t think gods understand true strength.”

You don’t know why, but those two words, that single combination seems to still Childe completely as he listens, utterly rapt with another memory flickering across his expression. At least, that’s what you think, judging from the reflections.

“Gods may shape the world and play with the pieces, but mortals are the ones living in it. I don’t think they remember that humans are not – “

“Things.”

Another beat of silence passes before Childe breaks it again. “They think we don’t understand anything just because we haven’t had an eternity behind us, ha. I don’t blame them, I think I’d take the opportunity to be immortal too.”

You frown and turn in his arms, coming face-to-face with him. “Why?”

“So I can finally make right everything that’s wrong,” he mumbles, placing his hand on your chest again. When you look down, you see how water tickles and caresses your skin – almost lovingly if you were so bold, but you’re not – as it forms a vague riptide mark. You feel cool hydro energy seep into your skin before disappearing entirely, though you suppose more elemental energy could always trigger its appearance once more.

Childe sighs again, massaging the spot from the mark before roving hands move to your shoulders, rubbing along them. When he looks at you again, your heart stutters at the glittering image of wide-eyed wonder and determination staring back at you – the sight of it renders you mute. A cheeky grin pulls his lips. “And more time means more journeys, right? When my plans are complete, I can finally put this all to rest and go adventuring.”

(You vow then to never tell him that Teucer long spilled these secrets to your motley group.)

And then. And then he smiles, though it’s all teeth and wicked intentions, and then you feel your heart race with sudden fear as the sweet moment left as soon as it arrived.

“You know comrade,” he begins charmingly (oh no), “I did warn you about one thing.”

“Y-yeah?” Oh no, you didn’t mean for that to come out as quiet and breathy as it did. Childe chuckles as he slides one hand to cup the back of your neck.

“That I won’t stop.”

That’s all the warning you get before your world is turned askew, everything blurring together in motions of blue and rippling colors.

This is… He’s taking you somewhere, you realize belatedly, this is how he escaped the Golden House. When his face materializes before yours, peering out of the water as the element obeys its master’s commands, he holds one finger up to his lips in a signal to keep holding your breath.

So you do. You hold as long as you can, eyes darting as the world passes by and you’re struck by the kaleidoscope of light as it ripples along the outside of this shell.

When Childe leans forward, slotting his lips against yours, you swear then that he meant to steal your breath.

Hard rock slams into your back suddenly and you break the kiss, gasping for air and flopping your hands about you for purchase. Air, hallelujah, there’s air –

You grumble at him, sulking at the unexpected journey as his drenched hair trickled droplets onto you. Childe rears his head back, roaring with laughter at your cross attitude, but you can’t hear it. As a matter of fact, you can’t hear anything really.

Wait, did he just take you behind the waterfall?

Amusement dances across his face as he watches you drink in the sights around, of how you two are in a small enclave behind the waterfall roaring overhead. It’s not much, probably two lengths of Childe’s body long and wide with temperatures freezing you to the bone.

So, why did he bring you back here –

You keen when he suddenly dips his head to kiss along your sternum, one thigh nudging your legs apart. His hot breath fans across your skin, licking a long stripe up your neck to your ears as he brings one hand up to squeeze one breast.

“Sweet girl is always so far away,” he whispers huskily. “Will you finally let me hold you?”

“Childe,” you huff, your soft breath cutting off into a moan as he pinches one nipple. His teeth graze your jaw, kissing along it and moving steadily towards your mouth. “All this time, you never needed to ask. You already had me.”

He groans, capturing your lips again with the barely constrained ferocity of a starved man as the hand fondling your chest moves down. Stars, you’re already so slick with anticipation; Childe moans appreciatively as one finger slides easily in, then two, then three.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “Fuck, fuck, you’re so hot, sweet little thing.”

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that Childe is whispering something about fair trade and equal punishment, is sinking his fingers knuckle-deep into you and ruthlessly finding that sweet spot in you with a single goal in mind. You encourage him further, opening your mouth and welcoming his tongue as he explores your mouth with near-invasive energy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize how his cock is already at attention and ready to spear you, how it waits patiently for you to cum first.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight. You wail as his fingers press harder, palm now rubbing your clit while he nips along your jugular and scatters your thoughts. Childe shifts so he no longer needs his other hand to hold himself over you, and instead places it over your throat as he pulls back to stare into your eyes.

The devil grins at you. “Don’t look away now.”

“Ah – oh, Childe – “ His hands squeeze, tentative at first, then with more conviction – and a terrifyingly practiced technique – around your neck, cutting off just enough air to leave the images blurring around you. Fuck, fuck, you’re clinging to consciousness, holding onto that pleasurable spike for dear life and –

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he pants, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours and you wail. It comes out softer and quiet, like a lamb being laid bare before a wolf, and you’re shivering with the fuzzy pleasure blanketing your body. Calloused fingers work you over as he grins, murmuring praises as you come undone from his unrelenting pace.

Your orgasm is nothing fierce like when he ate you out, but as air steadily becomes harder, the pleasure refuses to fizzle out like the fireworks you felt earlier. No, it only builds and builds and builds like it refuses to let you go, dragging you through this sex-addled haze whether you like it or not.

“Stay with me now,” Childe grunts, dark hunger swirling in his eyes. “Come on, don’t black out on me now, that’s too easy. Do I have to be mean?”

What the fuck is he talking about –

You cry out in sheer panic and blinding euphoria as you feel light sparks dance along your clit. He’s using his fucking electro element, all fine control and just playing you like a fiddle while you writhe underneath him. You can’t take it anymore, this is too much to all once and impossible to describe, you can’t –

Childe blessedly releases his grip and you gasp in lungfuls of air for the second time in a short window; though his fingers slow, they don’t stop. He coos at your writhing underneath him, moaning with you as you ride out a second orgasm from his electro currents.

You’re biting your lip to stop from whining even more, but that must’ve irked Childe because he moves down to kiss you again, pulling your bottom lip away with his teeth. As the stimulation slowly pushes into pain, you hiss and swing your left leg up to kick him away.

Of course the fucker caught your foot and exploited the momentum to wrap it around his right shoulder, of course. “Pl-ease,” you cry out as tears prick at the corners of your eyes, the pleasure quickly becoming too much again. “Please!”

“Mm, you’ll have to beg for it,” he replies, too casually for a man whose fingers are working up a storm to bring you to a quick and merciless orgasm again. Your hands fly down to his wrist in a pathetic attempt to slow him, but he curls his lips in a challenge and speeds up, shifting closer to you to brush his cock along your cheeks.

Fuck, fuck – You cum again, though somewhere in you tells you that you never actually stopped. A last-ditch idea desperately hits you. “F-Fuck me!” you cry out, voice pitching a tune that’s dangerously needy. “Please!”

Childe laughs again, all cruelty and thrilled at your begging, but you can’t find it in you to give a damn, you just need him to stop fucking you with his fingers. You need a break.

But the Harbinger is a merciless god.

He hums as his fingers slowly, slowly withdraw and he makes a show of sucking each one clean before he takes his cock to line up with your entrance. As he does this, he tilts his head and looks at you again, pretending like he doesn’t see you plead for – for what, exactly? For more? For less?

And in a single thrust, he enters entirely into you. Two voices bounce off the walls, pitches varying but both as broken, and Childe immediately begins a harsh pace.

“Please,” you whine and he tilts his head again, grinning through each harsh thrust. He’s rubbing one hand along the thigh draped over his shoulder while the other holds your hips in a bruising grip.

“Please? You’re such a greedy thing, look at that, sucking up my cock like that.” Each word is punctuated with another harsh thrust, each word is met with your loud cries – and when he angles his hips enough that you can see the outline of it pushing against your naval with you on your back, you cum again.

The Fatui starts speaking in Sneznayhan again as you clamp down around him, squeezing and milking his cock for all you’re worth, but gods you can hardly care right now. Your back is surely going to be scraped raw with how you’re being dragged across the floor, but you fucking love it, love how pain and pleasure mix in some addicting cocktail you’re absolutely drunk on.

You make a long, anguished whine as Childe begins kissing along your leg and peppers your skin with nips to pierce that pleasurable fog. His words sound slurred, you’re willing to bet your life that he’s trying to call your name, but you’re not sure if it’s him or your perception that’s screwed up on this side of the river.

And then he’s laughing. The bastard’s laughing at your blissful misery.

Oh. Oh no no, no you’re not about to be humbled by some Harbinger –

“T-tartaglia!” you keen suddenly when a particularly fierce thrust hits you.

You both freeze.

Oh no. Oh shit. Cold panic rushes through you at that, at how you just admitted defeat by calling him out – and when he purrs your real name, low and husky and thoroughly vindicated, he knows it too.

“Pretty thing wants to wear my mask, but you forgot who’s fucking you like you wanted,” he snarls.

After he hoists your other leg over his shoulders, he presses his body into yours and folds you in half, the new angle devastating for your pleasure as he somehow reaches deeper. His hips start again, mercilessly hitting that spot deep in as his hands cage you in by your head. Childe leans in and nudges your head aside, brushing his nose along your cheeks. "What's the safeword?"

"C-calla lily," you murmur and he nods, turning to stare you down again.

When you try to look away, close your eyes, do something, one hand brutally squeezes your jaw to open your eyes again.

And it works. You gasp as he forces you to attention, forces you to address him as those dangerously blue eyes threaten to swallow you whole in the treacherous deep ocean. “Baby, look – hah, shit – look at me. Y-you want Tartaglia, huh? Isn’t that right?”

Your throat is betraying your mind, whining and begging and blabbering something in response as the grinding pleasure continues to drown you.

It hurts so fucking good as euphoria tears you apart, rips your insides as you start openly sobbing from the pleasure he’s dragging out, and the fucker has the audacity to shoot forward and press an open kiss to your tear-streaked cheeks. Chi- Tartaglia lets you claw at his back – hell, he encourages it with how he groans – and he torturously continues his pace.

You’re not sure if you have the energy to continue, so you smack at his back weakly as you mumble against his lips. Your cunt is squeezing and spasming around him in a vice grip, but he continues fucking you through it. “P-please, please c-cum, please, I don’t know if I can keep going,” you beg desperately.

“N-no,” he grunts and your heart sinks. “Fuck, pretty birdie is letting me finallyy – hah – fuck her, I warned you, I won’t st-hhop.”

“It’s too much,” you hiccup through the overstimulation and scream – your throat hurts with the force of it – as you feel electricity twist your muscles, clenching around his cock as white-hot plasma seems to seer you from the inside out. He moans in response, a low and gruff noise.

“Then suffer.”

And he keeps going.

 ---

 You never notice how he traces along a barely-there geo sigil with the smallest, briefest Cor Lapis glow beneath your navel. You never notice how it throbs in time with his thrusts, with each exertion of his elemental visions as if protective over your body in a lingering memory of whatever divine beast spurred its awakening.

You never notice how he grins.

 ---

 The Harbinger is a cruel and merciless god.

 ---

 He ruins you, thoroughly devastates you with a meticulous precision befitting the Vanguard of the Harbingers. You’ve been manhandled and manipulated into a myriad of positions until pebbles and scrapes litter both of your bodies. True to his word, you suffer through each orgasm he tears from you.

And fuck, do you love it.

Your back is to the wall as your hands are interlocked with his own by your head, hips rapidly thrusting you up and down against it as you wrap your legs around him for purchase while he nips your neck like a rabid dog.

Stars, you can’t concentrate, your eyes keep losing focus – and each time Tartaglia notices, he bites or thrusts or squeezes with that iron grip, electricity lacing each action jolting you to the present. He refuses to let you sink, refuses to let you black out as you’re dragged through hell and back by the devil himself.

“Please,” you weep as he rests his forehead against yours, dutifully watching how your chest bounces with the movement and how his cock is thoroughly drenched with your juices. The ease with which he slides in and out of you is downright criminal.

“T-tartaglia, please,” you whimper and his blues meet yours again. “Tartaglia… I want…”

A single eyebrow arches as he presses his body impossibly closers, now chest-to-chest as he cages you in and looms over you. “I want you,” you gasp between thrusts, “all of you, please. I – ah – I trust you, please.”

Tartaglia freezes for a split-second before groaning, raw and thunderous and wild as the storms that herald his coming, and when he kisses you, you feel wetness dribble down both of your cheeks.

In your haze, you weren’t aware you were crying again from it all, but a lot of things snuck past your attention.

You don’t know what happens after that, but you know it’s hot and wet as his body flexes over yours. Somewhere in your consciousness, you hear a voice cry out Tartaglia’s name, utterly shredded to ribbons from how it was abused.

Was that your voice?

His cock is throbbing in you as you feel him empty load after load of cum, more words in a foreign language wrapping you in warmth his tone lightens, his eyes grow soft and his lips curl up. It’s all you can do to squeeze your wet cunt around him, tightening around him to milk more out of him until Tartaglia is gasping desperately in time with the stutter of his hips.

Eventually, he slumps over you, draping his muscled body over yours with sheer exhaustion and sweat glistening in a thin sheen over his skin.

He whimpers your name, almost going unheard and the noise is halting as if he didn’t expect to say it either. Frankly, you’re too tired to unpack all the layers woven into that right now. So you don’t. Instead, you squeeze his hands as you start to feebly sing softly in your native tongue.

Childe freezes instantly as he sucks in a sharp breath. “What is that?”

“Hm? My people’s language?” you respond and he nods dumbly. “Sorry, probably sounds bad.”

“No,” he mumbles, shaking his head enough that his auburn locks bounce lightly. “Just familiar.”

Huh? Whatever. He’s probably too blissed out to make sense right now.

You both stay like that for a time in a slow-going bid to steady your breathing. You… You never honestly expected this to happen when he invited himself along your commission. Not that you’re complaining, of course, it’s just… It’s not what you expected.

Some lust-addled part of your brain, utterly fucked out and blissful, is already planning another ‘excursion’ into these deep woods.

And then you start to giggle at the gooey mess pooling between both of you. Childe huffs against you and you feel his smile against your cheek. “What’re you laughing at, pretty bird?” he slurs out.

“Oh, just. This is just unsanitary.”

Childe just grunts, too tired to join your laughter, but that’s okay. Your bubbling joy is enough for the two of you in this little enclave behind the waterfall.

 ---

 Hours have passed, and somehow – through sheer and utter spite – you both manage to drag yourselves back to Liyue Harbor despite the protesting aches from your muscles. Nerve endings are set alight with each step, but judging from how Childe winces, he feels it too. Night has long fallen and you remind yourself to apologize to Aether and Paimon, since you said you’d be back by dinner at the latest.

Do you regret it though? Nope.

Eventually, you stumble (literally in your case, tripping over a rock in your lethargy) across Zhongli scrutinizing various wares on display with a careful eye.

Zhongli’s smile is brilliant and warm as he spies you two, immediately weaving his way through the crowd to make his way over. In a way, the movement is serpentine as he manipulates each person away. It’s fitting, really.

“I expected you two to be back much earlier,” Zhongli rumbles, though there’s no disappointment. He looks pleased to simply see you both safe and sound.

“Ah, it was a little far,” Childe chuckles as he rubs the back of his neck. “Y’know how it is.”

“Where are the others?” you interject, too tired to maintain any sane conversation. Or sanity in general. You need a bed and you need it now.

The former Archon tilts his head as he peruses through his memories. “I believe they moved to Wangshu Inn. They said that since you both took too long, we are to meet again at midday tomorrow near Jueyun Karst.”

You nod weakly and tune out their conversation, trying to muster what little energy you have left to begin the trek to get outside the city.

“I saw the most interesting thing,” you hear Childe say conversationally. The tone feels off, though. “Did you know geo sigils can stay on skin? I got a most intimate view of it! Even left a little hydro mark of my own,” Childe’s teasing voice continues with something else lacing the undercurrents of it.

Your heart sinks and you slowly turn around, thankful that in your brief glance at their faces, Zhongli was all-too distracted with Childe’s words to see you. However, when one eyebrow raises, you immediately duck your head.

Fuck. What the fuck. You’ll sprint if you have to, but for now, walking away is okay too.

“Oh?” You hear a curiously deep rumble from behind you as you slowly make your way out, but you can’t place the tone. Zhongli is as stoic as ever and you can’t get a read on him from his voice alone, oh no. “Is that so.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement, a fact, an observation, and it’s delivered so flatly you want to cry from sheer mortification and horror as your mind shifts into maximum overdrive with panic at all the worst possibilities.

What’s he thinking? What does either of them think of you now? Did you cross some unspoken line?

Well then! Now’s as good a time as any to flee.

“See you at Jueyun Karst!” you throw over your shoulder as you wave, but the words are broken since you’re shaking like a leaf in a fierce wind.

As you make your exit, you feel two pairs of eyes burning into your back as neither man says anything.

Haha! Terrific! That’ll surely help you sleep tonight!

 -

notes: 

i love how the 1.5 leaked cutscene says there’s a liyue saying that goes something like “waiting for rain to fall on earth once again” like hello?? metaphors??

#childe #Childe fanfic #genshin childe #genshin fanfic #childe x reader

[fuckingfuckityfuck]

Don't Blame Me

A/N : First ever OC x Negan fanfic and I hope y'all love it as much as I had fun writing it.Excuse my mistakes since I haven't been feeling fine today but this just came to my mind.This will be short because I already have written the next chapter that I'll post tomorrow.

Pairing/s: Negan x Scarlett (OC)

Warning/s: Angst,violence,mentions of suicide and rape,cussing.

After the war between Negan and Rick had taken place,Scarlett was a lone survivor.She never believed in numbers,that it was just a weakness.

After losing her mother and sister during the apocalypse,she told herself that it'd be the last time she'll lose someone close to her.

What will happen if fire meets fire?

Grabbing my survival knife from my thigh,I quickly moved behind a tree and waited for the walker to come.A loud snap of twigs caught my ears.Stupid motherfuckers.

"Shit,shit,shit," A loud raspy voice whispered.What the fuck?I squinted my eyes,trying to look where the voice might come from.A black leather jacket caught my eye and a bloody bat covered in barbed wire.Definitely not a walker.I thought.

"Raise your hands"I said,pulling out my gun.I've already hidden my knife just in case this person tries anything.

"Holy fucking shit,doll,you scared the hell outta me here" The tall man said,his hands were on the air,waving and trying to explain.

"I am not the bad guy here,doll,I saw you earlier and I thought maybe you needed some help"He explained.

"I certainly do not need anyone's help as you can see,I'm fine being on my own" I said,not even bothering to lower my gun.He looks like danger itself.Well,he wears a leather jacket for a damn reason.

"Look,doll,I'm not even gonna try anything on you.So if you can just get that damn thing off of my face." He said,while taking a step towards me.I took a step back and shook my head as a sign.But his eyes look so sincere.What the fuck am I even saying?

"How about you tell me why you're all alone in the woods?And why follow me?I want an honest answer,that way,maybe I can trust you" I said and he nodded.

"That's a lot but I'll try." He said and started to tell me that he was in a group before.They had a place and it was secured.And then they came across this other group and a war happened between them.They lost and that's why he's alone.From what I can see,he looks like he's telling the truth.At some point,his eyes turned glassy.

"How about you,doll?You haven't even told me your name?" He asked and I motioned for him to sit down as I did too.

Turning to face him,I gave out a sigh."The name's Scarlett.Like you,I was in a group before and I also lost important people in my life.That's the reason why I chose to be alone,I don't want to have that kind of relationship with someone and just have it taken away from me by those things."

"I'm Negan" he said and he flashed me a toothy smile.I smiled back and nodded.I lowered my gun and put it on my holster.

"You have other weapons?I mean,that's pretty creative of you." I said and pointed to his bat.

"Yeah,I named her Lucille,after my wife." He said,not even looking at me.

"Looks cool to me.I have a camp that I have set up,it's not far from here.Do you want to come with me?"

Negan looked at me for a second before smiling.I rolled my eyes and fixed my bag.

"It'll be rude of me if I didn't accept your invitation." He said.He stood up and carried his bat.

masterlist

#negan #the walking dead #twd #twd fanfic #negan fanfic #negan x oc #jdm #daddy #negan smut #jeffrey dean morgan #jeffrey dean morgan imagines #negan imagines

[the-lone-wolffe]

Pivotal Moment

Notes: Another Death Omens story, featuring Thorne this time. 

Warnings: Death, Character Death, Descriptions of Death, Mentions of/Implications of Murder and Violence, Angst, slight (slight) swearing,  Manipulation (?), Ask to Tag/Warn.

Word Count: 1298

AO3

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

“Hey, how about the last person to make their way around has to buy dinner- deal?”

Thorne rolled her shoulders, stretching her arms out before looking over at her friend. He stood with a hand outstretched, crowbar slung over the other shoulder and a smile on his face.

For a moment, Thorne felt like smiling to.

Jackson’s smiles were rare nowadays, usually forced. His general go-with-the-punches mentality and contagious energy weighed down by grief and loss.

So seeing him finding fun in the moment, and trying to smile…

She wasn’t one for turning down challenges, anyways.

Thorne grinned, taking his hand firmly in hers with a nod, “Deal.”

“Great,” Jackson let go of her hand, backing away into the dark hall behind him, “I want a chicken salad sandwich and fries. Maybe something for Iolanthe to.”

She folded her arms, watching him go. Her voice rose as he got farther away. “I’ll get Iolanthe whatever she wants, you however can buy yourself a chicken salad sandwich alongside my brisket. “

There was a beat of silence, the darkness having already engulfed Jackson. “Other way around, Thorne. Other way around.”

She shook her head as his footsteps faded into the darkness, and silence over took the building.

Time to get to work.

Lifting her gaze, she looked around the ceiling, shoulders tensing and hand reaching for her pistol as she turned on her heel and faced the cold, echoing hall before her.

Even in the dark, she could see long scratches tearing into the wood, whole portions torn out by creatures seeking shelter from the sun. Old bones, both animal and human, were scattered about like twigs.

The stench of death clung to the walls like mold.

Not long ago, she would’ve been clearing this place out for some nearby village or settlement. Bringing the heads of shadows in to some Hunter Trading Point and getting paid.

But now…

She exhaled, narrowing her eyes as she took a step forward into the hall, well aware that Jackson was well ahead of her and close to winning free dinner.

Enough wasting time.

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

It was hard to tell just how long her sweep of the building took; what she did know, however, was that her arms were sore and that a new scar would soon be added to the growing collection on her face.

Another story to tell one day, she supposed.  Hopefully one she’d be telling while eating dinner she didn’t have to pay for.

Stepping around a pile of splintering wood, she glanced into the dark rooms she passed by, eyeing them cautiously for movement.

Just as she was about to enter what looked like an old kitchen- it’s cabinets long torn apart and fridge leaking- a deafening  bang sounded down the hall. Her gaze snapped in that direction, fingers brushing over the pistol at her side.

She knew full well Jackson didn’t have a gun.

“Shit”

Heart beating in her ears, Thorne bolted down the hallway, stepping around holes in the ground and crushing bones beneath her feet. In a blink, she faded into shadows, skipping portions of the hall at a time and shifting about. Weightless.

A familiar presence made himself known. She didn’t pay him any mind.

She didn’t physically reemerge from the dark, leaning against the wall for support, until she was well into the hallway Jackson had wandered down. The smell of gunpowder and blood hit her nose immediately, muffled voices drifting in from around the corner.  

Her fingers dug into the wall beside her as the impending sense of dread became heavy. A cold hand placed itself on her shoulder.

A monotonous voice whispered in her ear.

“You know what’s around that corner.”

Thorne sucked in a sharp breath, lips forming a thin line. Slowly, she stepped out into the hall, hand over her pistol and eyes glancing around the dark space.

Her gaze quickly found Jackson, lying on the ground, chest bloody and eyes distant. Thorne rushed over, kneeling beside him. Her hands shook, vision blurred with tears.

“Jackson!” Her voice was hushed and brittle, one hand covering his injury- as if that would fix anything. The other gripped his shoulder lightly, “Please no-“

No response. Just the empty gaze staring up at the ceiling.

She bent over slightly as she fought back a sob, forcing her breathing to slow. Now wasn’t the time or place, not with…

Thorne’s gaze left her friend, lifting to the muffled voices just down the hall.

“You know exactly who did this...” Diavel’s voice returned, the demon standing just behind her with his hands in his pockets.  He looked down at Jackson with disinterest.

Her hands fell away from Jackson, eyes narrowing, darkening. A burning sensation bloomed in her chest, slowly overtaking the grief and shock.

She wanted them to hurt.

“He was your closest friend, wasn’t he?” Diavel continued, stepping forward to look down into Thorne’s eyes. “And they just orphaned his daughter. Quite mercilessly.”

“They deserve what’s coming to them, don’t you think?”

He leaned in close; she continued to stare past him, jaw clenched. A dark ink spread from her fingertips, crawling its way up to her throat.

It is what they deserved.

“Besides. Wasn’t it your idea to split up, in the first place?”

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

Auburn stepped into the old building cautiously, sweeping the entrance with her rifle.

Thorne and Jackson had been gone an hour longer than they were supposed to.  They hadn’t checked in- the camp was getting worried.

Once she was certain the coast was clear, Auburn lowered her rifle and glanced over her shoulder. Fen, who’d been standing just outside, gave the huntress a nod before stepping out to watch the entrance, pistol in hand.

Auburn’s lips pressed into a thin line, as she continued into the building, turning down the hallway to her left.

Her footsteps echoed loudly in her ears, eyes glancing in and out of rooms that lined the hall. Each one in worse condition than the last.

“Damn…Thorne really thought we could make a base here..?”

She trailed off as the overwhelming scent of blood hit her nose. Metallic, sickening. She tensed, heart dropping.

Hesitantly, she looked around the corner, dark green, wolf-like eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

Her grip on her rifle tightened, eyes widening as she stared at the body of Jackson.

“No...No…”

She stepped over, lowering herself to the ground and placing her fingers on his neck, desperately checking for a pulse. She knew he wasn’t breathing, that his eyes were enough to tell her all she needed to know but…

But she still had to check. Just in case.

The brief moment of denial didn’t help with the shock.

She sighed, moving her fingers to instead gently close Jackson’s eyelids. Her hands shook slightly.

“I’m sorry…”

Auburn stayed there for a moment, kneeling beside Jackson in silence. A momentary, private vigil for her friend before she left to find Thorne.

She carefully stepped around Jackson, walking towards the room before her. The smell of blood grew stronger, heavier.

She hoped, prayed, that she wasn’t about to find another dead body.

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

The scene she stumbled across was…gruesome, to say the least.

Dead bodies- she counted five of them- scattered across the room. Blood almost everywhere.

And in the center, stood Thorne, breathing heavily, eyes pitch black. Her hands and sleeves were coated, matted, in blood.

Auburn stared in horror, gripping her gun tightly as she looked around the room before locking eyes with Thorne. Her friend was almost unrecognizable, unsettling in the way she stared.

“Thorne…what...what did you do..?”

There was silence, before the darkness faded from Thorne’s eyes, her anger remaining. She stepped forward, brushing past Auburn without a second glance.

“What does it look like?”

#Original Story #writers on tumblr #my ocs #ocs #Thorne Crow #Death Omens #Auburn Wolffe #Jackson Poe #Fen Jesper #death tw #blood tw #angst #manipulation tw #ask to tag #ao3 #Diavel

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Broken Bones And New Homes

Clark has a surprise and you fuck up.

Masterlist

Warnings:swearing, injury, angst

A/n:so a little bit of fluff and angst 

Broken Bones And New Homes

Clark sat back in his chair as Diana took the young girl to get settled and was fixed with a look from the others he sighed.

"She was still doubting herself she needed to see it for herself" Bruce spoke up first unimpressed.

"Yes but it could have gone down hill fast! What if it had pierced you! She'd never have forgiven herself or trusted anyone again!" Clark sighed he knew that Bruce had a point.

"But there was also another reason I was testing her as well like she did to you earlier ...did you see? She was holding back, even when she was angry she found the power to hold it back she didn't want to hurt me not for a second she just wanted to scare me...shes used to scaring people off. I wanted to see if she was truly wants to harm or not anger reveals your true intentions shes good through and through..." Arthur nodded

"He is right Bruce she held back it wasn't nice to watch but the kid did good tho... it was unnerving to watch her have that much restraint ....aren't teens meant to you know? loose their shit she held it together." Bruce nodded it was horrible in a way seeing the control she needed for herself Clark was right she'd had to grow up fast just like them but unlike them she will have someone there for her question was who, tho he had a guess already.

"So whose gonna take her Legally?"

"I will she needs stability, normality but still someone who can keep her in line can you get the paperwork done?" Bruce nodded smirking at Clark, looks like he was taken with the girl in a way they all were Bruce would take her in in a heart beat but with the others it wouldn't be a good idea so this time he will settle for being an uncle, doesn’t mean he cant tease the big man tho? Does it

"Your sure your not even letting anyone else what if I want to-"

"No I'm taking her, she will fit right in at home with me and konner, he has always wanted a sister to look after we can give her a family that she can relax around no offence Bruce but if anything would happen at the manor, your boys are strong but...." Bruce waved him off laughing

"I was messing with you,I know what you mean I will get on it first thing" Clark rolled his eyes at him, Victor pulled up her file on the screen.

"Whoa, her file is .....large shes been through.... to much I don't know haw shes so....stable Clark your gonna have your work cut out for you... how she hasn't already gone mad is beyond me." Barry came closer frowning

"She has a police record?" Victor nodded sadly scanning through the data quickly Clark got up coming over to them

"You found her file? When?" Victor didn't bother looking up at him just pointing to Barry

"He took her bag to her room when you had your little heart to heart and got her name y/n l/n birthday April seventh, born in central city moved to Gotham with her parents at six months old... Clark shes been through a lot its..."

"Tell me I want to know what happened." Victor side and continued

"There’s nothing until she was five when her parents died...police report says parents were only identified by dna because....."

"Because what?" Victor looked down then to Arthur everyone was tense suddenly Diana came into the room hear most of it so far she can gather whats they are on about.

"Bodies crushed beyond recognition, no teeth remaining for a dental record to be found, official cause of death was crushed by ceiling, flats collapsed due to breech in building regulations, no one was charged for it. Child found in flat had resided by parents bodies for three days before being found, no one knows how she survived but she was unharmed and thought the police were there to arrest her, she was under the impression she did it."

"She must have tried to save them and failed...that why she was frightened of the police" Clark summarized  victor nodded

"That’s what she said in her report that she did it she couldn't stop the ceiling, after that there is nothing on the incident apart from information about the therapy she should under go and where they sent her. Children's home north Gotham on Presington street." Bruce swore

"Fucking hell that's a shit hole, been pouring money into it for years they were pocketing it as bonuses only went down for it three years ago two deaths to malnutrition" everyone winced things did not look good

"The next eight entries are from the weeks after, mental evaluations, says here she started hurting other kids in the home lashing out and became aggressive to staff, she claimed they were accidents that she couldn't help it that she had powers, they didn't listen until one kid ended up missing an eye... can understand it looks like a vicious attack"

"Probably bullying, it happens a lot to the new kids, if they attacked her then it'd protect her right?" Victor nodded to Bruce and sighed moving on

"They certified her had to drug her to get her out of the home, Jesus Christ they put her in a mental unit in Gotham general child's psych ward inpatient  where she stayed under various levels of sedation for a majority of her time there until being released at ten years old showing no signs of instability or any indication she was a danger to herself and others a successful case. By law she couldn't return to the group home so she was fostered between then and a year ago shes had foster homes all across Gotham. Then a year ago she was on a trip with school doing a big beach clean up, it was a campaign the school was behind to help clean up the oceans? they kids were going to protest at Washington....never made it tho...it was when the atlanteans threw out the trash, oil tanker landed on her class's camp sight, two survived her and her student teacher....he said she had held it for around two minuets but most of the others were to scared to move the ones that did couldn't get out of the way and she passed out and well you can guess the rest.... no one believed him when he told them what he'd seen....he killed himself four days later. Since then its been petty thievery and some assaults, shes beaten up a few known drug dealers and gang members.... The police reports are mostly about injuries from dragging her back to foster homes three in the past year, seventeen in the past six, it was more frequent when she was younger, she under goes psychological evaluations once a year to see if her 'schizophrenia' is coming back. But that it" Diana covered her eyes rubbing the bridge of her nose shaking her head at the humans stupidity.

"So they told her she's mad? For four nearly five years they locked her away? made her believe she was crazy? And drugged her" She leaned back feeling sorry for the girl she'd been put into a brutal system at the most devastating time in her life, shed had to deal with it alone. Bruce sighed he knew Gotham wasn't the best place for an orphan... but that seemed harsh even to his standards.

"She hid it to seem normal, so she could get out of the hospital no wonder she so guarded she had to outsmart Drs and psychiatrists when she was a child" everyone spoke apart from Arthur he sat there fists clenched seething."Arthur! what happened you couldn't have known" he growled he knew that, there wasn't anything he could so but still it irked him knowing that it had happened, that shed tried to save her class mates from his people-his brother and hadn't been able to.

"I know....I know that but that is what triggered all this again isn’t it? That’s what made it come back stronger and now she cant control it? The reason shes been on the streets...And I was here laughing and jokeing around with her? When she knew it was me-my people who did that? How she didn't fuck me up right away I don’t know cos if it was the other way around I would have" Barry sighed before speaking quietly.

"Well doesn't that show she doesn't blame you? I mean we all knew that something big happened so I don’t think she blames you... she had every chance to blow up at you about it when she explained a little herself but she didn't..I wouldn't worry." Clark nodded agreeing with Barry then continued.

"Be there for her now, if she wants to talk she will.." Arthur nodded letting out an angry breath that was all he could do now, be there for her.

"Clark could you go check she's in bed I gave her half an hour to have a shower and be in bed by" he nodded hearing the others all start making their way to their rooms deciding to call it a night. He slowed opening the door poking his head in he smiled seeing you curled up in the blankets not asleep yet but near enough he quickly shut the door. He was determined to become the father you needed he would talk to Konner tomorrow about it, he would be happy having a little sister but Clark would have to explain to his son what was going on with her before introducing them...And his mom he will need her help.

"AAHHH!" You screamed bloody murder when there was a excruciating crunch then you slammed into the floor, tho it was softer then it should have been your head struck it hard with a bone cracking force, you groaned laying there sobbing and gasping as your arm head and ribs were in agony, seeing blood, you cried harder heaving and  panicking when your vision went fuzzy then heard the door be all but ripped off its hinges and saw someone you didn’t recognize, he looked around a year or so older then you black hair, blue eyes. He kneeled beside you then looked up inspecting your arm wincing there was bone....

You woke up stretching and yawning it had been three weeks since you got here...and things were pretty sweet, you had a comfy bed free reign of the kitchen and a private bathroom. You hadn't really trained with the others yet just a few practice sessions that ended reasonably well most of the time you'd read, using various books to help you understand what was possible then sort of felt your way about the place and kept to yourself as much as you could which wasn't much as you found they all wanted you to feel welcome....It was hard not to become close but you kept saying to yourself it was temporary despite what Diana had said Clark hasn't been near you since the first night, only popping in briefly then off again for days on end it didn't give you much hope for the future.

But you assumed by now they all knew the story so you cant blame them, no one wants to be around a mad meta-human so its understandable...not that your mad at least you didn't think you were just gifted and confused. You quickly threw your hair up out of the way ignoring your thoughts, you’d rather not fall into that little debate again for now, wanting to just get your powers under control and get out of here before you get to attached. Taking your current architecture book, this you was using to find different types of structural systems which is the strongest and most reliable ect and made your way to the training room, today you were testing something out...A theory you'd been working on basically you wanted to make some stairs see how many things you could hold at once.

You opened the door to the room you’d been working in. It was tall and must be about ten meters across each way not the biggest in the watchtower but it was enough for you. You placed the book at the door open on a page depicting floating stairs. It should be easy just platforms from the walls big enough to step on you flared your power feeling your way around then took a deep breath to the side stretching out a hand to the wall, metal with concrete behind it, you started moving one foot up pulling a platform from the wall then another above this continued until you was a fair height you opened your eyes looking down you’d made it half way up the tall room you smiled it had worked!

You jumped for joy then moved faster paying less attention trying to force it on auto pilot climbing higher you faltered a little the next step was a little uneven, it looked tilted and .....iffy you gulped looking down only now realizing just how high your were you slumped back against the wall a little nervous, maybe you should have had someone in here with you but hindsight was 20/20 staying still for a few moments you took deep breaths collecting yourself, that was enough you thought you turned placing both hands on the wall completely freaked out as you made a slow descent making sure two feet were firmly placed on each step before you moved to the next as you went down the stairs you got maybe eight steps then all hell broke loose.

A few fell away as you panicked but tried to breath through it only for more to slip back into the wall in your addled mind you panicked watching the steps one by one collapse you made a snap decision and made a leap of faith crying out as you smacked your ribs on it making you try and scream you couldn't make a sound winded , you scrabbled on the step flailing legs trying to find purchase your eyes widened watching as the rest disappeared then the one you held crumbled away you screamed pulling at the ground to help but in the confusion you only smashed a few pillars into you one clipped your waving arm

"Shit shit hold on y/n, I'll get dad just stay here okay? Don’t-don’t go to sleep okay?" He dissapeared then returned seconds later with Clark Diana and Barry close behind. Clark swore seeing your crumpled form running to sit beside you, he didn't need his x-ray vision to see that you'd broken your arm as it had snapped and was sticking out crudely at an odd angle he sat by your head stroking your hair whispering softly to you trying to calm you down as you panicked crying and hyperventilating.

"Shh shh its okay, I've got you I've got you, Barry can you tell Bruce whats happened we need a car, ambulance or something, Diana can you help hold her still I've got to move her ,get her to the hospital, I can't fly her there could cause an infection or something." Diana crouched beside you shushing you trying to help calm you, moving your head to look at her you tried moving but screamed loud, Clark placed a hand on your tummy holding you still.

"Don’t move y/n don’t move Let me do it okay? Diana I need her on her back can you hold her shoulder I don’t want to move her arm to much Yet ready one... two.. three" everyone winced as you cried out loud your pain echoed in the room

"Shh shh its okay your doing really well I'm here its going to be okay...Konner can you get a cloth we are going to have to stop the bleeding" he looked nervous

"Can't you just laser-" Clark shook his head

"Shes human and will need a cast for it to heal kon we can't explain that in hospital, a clean cloth konner now!" Bruce came running in with a medium black box he swore loud seeing you on the floor.

"Bruce whats that?" He ignored Diana and quickly stopped by you opening the case pulling out a small needle and vial filling the needle with half a dose he would use himself.

"Tramadol, I always have some here incase...Clark I need a vein find one!" Clark moved from your sight making you whine trying to move your head to him. Clark pointed one out on the inside of your arm Bruce’s hand shook he was stopped by Barry.

"We can't just give her tramadol! If they give her morphine it could cause a reaction, We need to get her to the hospital...We can't explain how we gave her tramadol" you looked up as you felt someone else by your broken arm the blue eyed teen went to press the cloth hard over the wound on your arm Diana called out to him

"No head, head the arm will stop bleeding before the head!" He nodded shuffling forward holding it to your head you cried out.

"FFFUUUUCCKK! Fuckfuckfuck noNOOOONO PLEASE STOP!" You screamed at him Clark looked over to a distraught konner who hesitated.

"Keep it there, hold on y/n we get you to a hospital soon just hold on okay sweetheart"

"Yeah don’t go towards any white lights" that brought on a whole new flood of tears as everyone screamed

"BARRY!" you weept as Diana cradled your head in her lap holding you still for konner and making sure your arm was left alone.Bruce was already on the phone to the ambulance requesting one to come over immediately two blocks down where Clark could take you as Clark repeated what he saw.

"Snapped right through the radius and ulna, broken ribs and cracked head, heavy bleeding" Bruce recounted what Clark had said

"Five minuets away okay yes we already moved her to stem the bleeding, shes pale already we will be outside yes" he put the phone down.

"Five minuets we have to move her they think shes on third" Clark bit his lip you cried begging them not to touch you.

"Konner, Barry open the doors for me" you shook your head at him as he moved slowly.

"NO! Please don’t Clark-Clark please don't it hurts I don't want to move" he ignored you taking the cloth from konner pressing it firmly

"Hey hey its okay, just breath I promise I'll be so quick you might not even notice okay? But we need to get you to the hospital, now deep breath in and out that's it good girl breathe in and out" he used the the moment you breathed out to quickly move your arm as gently and fast as possible. Your breathing hitched then you screamed again feeling the boned move.

"YOU FUCK YOU FUCKING FUCK!" He closed his eyes trying to calm himself down he felt bad but it had to be done he couldn't move you anywhere with it dangling about, opening his eyes he crouched over you wiping at the tears hushing you.

"Good girl all done the worst is over now ,I'm so proud of you, now we can move you without touching it again , we don’t need to move it anymore" 

"Y-you promise?" He nodded moving tucking you up into his arms the stood up with you pulling you against his chest making sure to stem the blood from your head wound, the bleeding front your arm had slowed but he was worried you were drowsy, very weak you head lulled back eyes unfocused and you was very pale.

"I need something to cover her shes cold, shes gonna pass out" konner shrugged off his heavy coat placing it over her gently tucking it down between her and his dad making sure it was secure.

"The apartments on 3rd right?" Bruce nodded

"Y/n close your eyes honey" you closed them as tight as you could still moaning in pain, it was unbearable there was a rush of air then nothing you'd passed out.

When you come to you were in a white room with huge animal stickers across the walls you grunted then whined at the fluorescent lights you moved your arm to your face noticing a thick bandage. Looking around you saw you was in a private hospital room. Scanning the room you noticed Clark slumped in the chair beside you and the teen from before. The door opened and you saw a woman you didn't recognize she looked kind and chilled out holding a cardboard drinks holder with three cups in it, she stopped short and smiled looking relieved.

"You know you gave them quite a scare...I haven't seen Clark that frightened since...well I don't think I have ever seen him that frightened" you moved sitting up wincing she quickly placed the cups down

"Whoa slowly honey that's it slowly are you in any pain? They said the medication would last longer but you now how doctors are..."you shook your head no.

"Groggy, err what happened?" You trailed off as Clark stirred beside you then blinked his face lit up as he saw you awake and he quickly grabbed you tugging you in for a hug you yelped a little in surprise making the bed shake small pins forming on the surface as it tried to stop the offending body that launched itself at you, you caught it in time, he tucked your head under his chin running his fingers across your scalp holding you for a few seconds then pulled back holding your shoulders looking stern.

"Don’t you ever do that again, you hear me you almost gave me a heart attack! You nearly bled out! You don’t train alone ever! Not until I know you can handle it Do you understand me?!" You nodded slowly at him not quite with it then looked at the woman who stood at the bottom of the bed the blue eyed boy got up standing next to where Clark sat at the head of the bed.

"Clark? Where? Whats going on?" He looked down at you kissing your head he sighed tucking you under his arm.

"You lost focus and panicked you fell about twelve foot, you had a nasty break snapped your ulna and radius, broke three ribs and cracked your head open, you lost a lot of blood, they had to operate on your arm and you've had a few blood transfusions" you looked at your wrapped arm then followed the canula that tied you to a beeping machine with an iv bag that was half full of clear liquid you gulped.

"W-why is it beeping whats wrong?" The woman came over sitting on your right side straightening your arm making the beep stop

"Its when you cut off the tube, there see? Now it can carry on"  you looked from her then to Clark and blinked.

"Oh god don’t tell me Bruce had to pay for all that..." Clark shared a look with the other two in the room.

"Well he would have happily you know that but it just so happens Ma's insurance covers the whole family soo" you froze snapping your head up to him.

"I’m not family" He smiled at you then nodded to the woman sitting on your right.

"This is my mother Martha and my son Konner....as of yesterday they have been your brother and grandmother....Diana told you I was going to adopt you its only just been finalized, Konner and I came to get you yesterday we wanted to surprise you then he heard you screaming ...we've been working on your room at home and on the farm for the past few weeks, its why I haven't been around much I had a lot of paper work and court appearance's Bruce helped me through it all... but its all done....your officially  y/n Y/l/n Kent now." You bit your lip looking down shaking your head. No they couldn't have. You sniffed. Then felt the woman place her hand on your back rubbing it.

"Hey hey what the matter? Its okay" you shook your head using your good hand to wipe at your eyes trying desperately not to cry but failed miserably.she wrapped an arm around your shoulder pulling you in letting you cry on her you just kept shaking your head not willing to believe that someone had actually chose to keep,you, it had to be a mistake, or some sick joke. No one adopted teens, once you hit twelve you aged out.

"Hey whats with the tears? We don't look that bad do we?" You shook your head at the woman pulling back from her.

"No I-you cant" you couldn't even  get the words out around your sobs, you was confused and happy and terrified all in one. Clark interrupted

"Who says I cant? Your ours now and your coming to live with us" you hiccuped still trying to bite back your small shuddering sobs.

"I-I don't have to move again? And I get to stay?" He wrapped you up in his arms again .

"No your not going any where now, your stuck with us and when we leave here we are all going to the farm for a while to settle then you'll be moving back into metropolis with me and Konner...why don't you introduce yourself Konner?" He moved forward smiling shyly

"Im glad your okay now....don't do it again tho it wasn't...nice watching you bleed out like that" you smiled at him wiping your eyes trying to stop the tears.

"Thank you for finding me....if you hadn't I don't know what would have happened.. and I’m sorry for screaming at you..." he waved it off"Its okay you were hurt so of course you would scream at me, and I couldn’t let my little sister die before picking on her at least once wheres the fun in that." You fidgeted with the blanket.

"Y-you don’t mind having me around? Even near your grandma? I’m not exactly safe" he shook his head going to speak but was cut off by his grandma taking hold of your chin.

"No you are not dangerous," you held up your arm but she shook her head

"Yes so it was a stupid decision But you wont do it again, even with your powers your human just like me and need to be more careful, besides I'm pretty sure I can handle it, he got his laser vision when he was seven, try that for dangerous" you looked to Clark unsure but he shrugged nodding.

"Its true she raised me and came out fighting any way we've already established that you can acclimatize your powers to other people nothing happens with Diana Bruce or Barry anymore me and konner just need to hang around until you reach that point hence why we are going to the farm for a while first."

"How do you know that?" He sighed

"I may not have been around but Bruce kept me updated" you looked down again Martha sat back smiling you were lost, just as lost as konner had been but she knew you'd come around it will take time you haven't had anyone for a long time, Clark had let both her and konner know what had happened and about your power she was excited to have a granddaughter around the house for a while.

"Plus it will be good to get you away from the city for a while, whens the last time you got out of the city and had some fresh air?" You shook your head tilting it a bit

"Never left Gotham before" she smiled at you

"Well are you in for a shock, huge open spaces fresh air its really something"  Clark smiled as you relaxed konner piped up"It really is, there's lots of space to let loose and you can practice your power thing in the garden" you looked to Clark who smiled brightly at you

"Yes its just about time to start planting crops so you can help out on the fields and in the potting barn" you smiled eyes lighting up

"I've never grown nothing before, can I grow tomatoes And cucumber?" Martha nodded at you making you glow.

"After you catch up on your classes, your nearly a eight months behind in every subject" you frowned at him shaking his head

"What no I'm not-" he leaned back crossing his arms at you

"Yes you are, I was given your transcripts you have been slowly falling behind since switching to online so we have a strict schedule in place that your going to follow to catch up, konner will be there to he is doing online as well so your going to have a classmate" you looked at konner stumped.

"Is he serious?"

"Deadly I’m afraid, but I will help you so don’t sweat it" you nodded you didn’t mind really it will be nice having someone who really cared who wasn’t paid to do it you smiled leaning back a little Clark caught you moving in to quickly kiss your head

"I'm sure it wont be that bad" the door opened and a doctor came in with a smile crossing the room quickly standing at the bottom of the bed.

"So how is the patient today? Well your up which is good any pain at all?" You shook your head curling into Clark....You didn't like doctors one bit. He stood at the end of your bed reading the clipboard.

"Well that’s good" he smiled to you then began talking to Clark making you frown a little it was odd...being treated like a kid, when your an orphan people tend to treat you different older they know your more independent but now your doctor was bypassing you opting to speak about you not to you, Martha caught your confusion and patted your hand.

"Her blood is back to normal and the ob's are fine, I see no reason to keep,her in any longer there’s no fever or anything that could show an infection so you can probably leave today, just need to remove the iv and get a cast put on I will have someone come up to take you down for that in the next hour or so." Clark nodded then spoke

"Is it going to scar?" The doctor hesitated"It was a nasty break, clean cut but nasty it probably will leave a scar but I'm not sure how bad it will probably just be a small one where the bone came through the skin" you gasped

"It came through? Ew.... did someone get a picture?" konner laughed nodding moving to pull out his phone making the adults sigh

"Hell yeah look" you did immediately regretting it.

"OH FUCK I’m gonna be sick, we are white meat....looks like a chicken fillet" you bent over heaving Clark sighed rubbing your back you hissed as the movement pulled on your ribs.

"Kon put it away, what about her ribs will they heal? And her head?"

"Head will be fine the stitches will dissolve and her ribs will be if she takes it easy, the bandage she had on now will help but she has to go slow and come back for a check up" he flipped the chart

"Metropolis? I will arrange for you to go there for the check up" Clark corrected him

"Could you make it Smallville medical center? We are going to stay there for a while, I’m thinking if she wont listen to me she will listen to grandma" you flushed feeling a strange warmth in your chest as he said that....this was going to take a while to get used to. The doctor smiled chuckling

"Now that does sound like a good idea, cast will be on for a minimum of seven weeks...in her case probably longer."

"Will she get a color one?" The doctor nodded to konner

"Well we have a pretty bright pink-"

"Black....I want black" he stuttered looking for help from the others who all shrugged

"I don’t think we have black at the moment there’s pink,purple, lime green, orange and blue but you can ask when you get there. Now I’m going to go and cal a nurse to get that iv out." You blinked as he left the room.

"Well he was fucking rude barely spoke to me....just you I'm going on trust pilot what was his name again?" Martha laughed and Clark snorted

"Its called having a dad, I sort out the adult stuff now remember? You just be a kid" you faltered looking down it will take time, Clark cast a look over you to Martha who shook her head konner sensed the awkwardness and quickly interrupted.

"Can I draw on your cast....never drawn on one before." You regarded konner for a second"You gonna draw a dick on it?" He shook his head smirking

"Okay but if you do draw a dick on it I'm gonna draw one on your face in your sleep....just saying"

"No one is drawing dicks on any one" Clark rolled his eyes at the two teens, he'd admit he was a little worried about how you two would be but something tell's him your both going to be fine, you both had been crying out for someone who you couldn't accidentally hurt and that was going to be your starting point, no doubt there was going to be bumps along the way but for now he was happy, his family was growing happy and healthy he couldn't ask for more than that.

#justice league x teen reader #justice league x reader #superman x reader #clark kent x reader

[hypnoticwinter]

The Adventure of the Eidolon Chapter 1

“Bad business, this is, Holmes,” Watson remarks again. Sherlock glances over at him, then returns his gaze to the binoculars.

The weather is awfully nippy this far north, and especially this time of year. Sherlock has bundled up but Watson is seemingly completely unruffled, laying there on the berm in his immaculate maroon suit. Sherlock wonders, briefly, why he’d refused to change into more appropriate attire for the occasion, but he has long since learned not to question these things, for the line of inquiry leads nowhere.

It’s been a solid two or three hours since they set up camp there on the berm, and Sherlock is beginning to get bored. They are just high enough up and at just the right angle so that when the wind comes through it cuts like a knife and chills him straight to the bone. Sherlock looks at the sky, grey and nasty and sleet-hued, and thinks about it for a while, but in the end he drops his gaze back down to the small blot that marks the cave entrance. He doesn’t want to alert anything, not when they have such a good vantage point.

Watson is checking the rifle again. He draws the bolt back, not far enough to eject the cartridge in the chamber, but enough to see the brass gleam dully in the pale, overcast light. Sherlock nudges him. “I don’t think the bullet’s gone anywhere since last you looked,” he remarks, and Watson laughs, a muffled thud of thunder resounding somewhere deep in his chest.

“You can never be too careful,” he remarks enigmatically, and Sherlock rolls his eyes.

Another ten minutes passes without incident.

The smell of the mire from below wafts up to the berm every now and then, and each time it does some instinct makes Sherlock wrinkle his nose, driving pinpricks through his frozen skin. He yawns and then cracks his jaw, working it left and right. Watson glances over at him. “Why don’t we just go down there?” he asks, but Sherlock shakes his head.

“That’s a bad idea,” he tells Watson. “Staying up here is much safer.”

“Yes,” Watson grumbles. “Up here we’re only in danger of dying of boredom.”

“You didn’t have to come with,” Sherlock points out, tugging down the brim of his deerstalker hat just as the wind rolls in yet again. Watson takes it on the chin without complaining.

“And leave you to have all the fun by yourself?” he asks. “Tcha.”

“Fun?” Sherlock asks. “I thought you said this was boring?”

Watson smiles.

The sun is gradually settling lower in the sky, off to the west. Sherlock watches as Watson rubs the bags under his eyes, pulls at the corners of his eyelids, and then settles back down on the rifle. Sherlock checks his watch.

“What do you think they’re having at the inn tonight?” Watson asks.

“I saw the board before we left, it’s beef stew and cornbread.”

Watson grunts. “Could go for a spot of that right about now.”

Sherlock’s stomach grumbles in agreement. He eyes the sun warily, judging the distance between it and the horizon. “If this keeps up,” he remarks, “we might have to come back at night.”

Watson nods. “Won’t be much fun,” he observes.

“We’ll manage,” Sherlock mumbles. A bit of movement at the treeline a few hundred yards away has caught his attention. He shifts the binoculars over and lets out a sigh of relief. “Finally,” he groans. “Watson, do you see the…?”

“Over on the treeline? Yes, I see it,” Watson says, peering through the scope of the rifle. He squints at the dial on the side of the scope. “What would you say the distance to there is?”

“Keep it on the mouth of the cave,” Sherlock says, tracking the figure slowly picking its way across the moor.

“If I take the shot now,” Watson starts, but Sherlock’s voice turns brusque.

“I said keep it on the cave,” he says. “And get ready, it’ll be there in a second.”

“Christ,” Watson mutters, but he nudges the rifle back over to cover the yawning black mouth of the cave.

Just as Sherlock says, the figure make its way to the cave mouth, winding between trees and popping in and out of coppices here and there as it goes. Watching it through the scope, Watson reflects begrudgingly that Sherlock is right, if he’d tried the shot as it moved through the treeline, there’d be no guarantee he’d hit his mark.

The figure pauses at the cave mouth and rears up on two legs, one forelimb planted on the side of the cave, in exactly the same manner as a drunken man leaning on the doorframe to his house, trying to find his balance and his keys.

The rifle cracks and the figure stumbles and howls, and then drags itself inside the cave, a dark smear of ichorous blood staining the pale rock. Sherlock curses. “You couldn’t have shot it in the head?” he asks, and Watson shrugs.

“That was the head,” he says.

“Mm,” Sherlock grunts. “Well, let’s go finish it off.”

“No, you stay here,” Watson says, putting a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock shakes it off immediately and glares at Watson.

They stand there like that for a moment before Watson shakes his head and, leaving the rifle on the berm, starts down the long rocky path to the foot of the moor. Sherlock watches him go for a moment before he shoves his hands into his pockets and, tucking his chin down to keep the wind from biting at it, follows after Watson’s dwindling form into the moor below.

 * * *

 “Do you hear anything?” Sherlock whispers. Watson, cocking his head intently near the cave’s mouth, shakes his head.

“All quiet,” he murmurs. “Think there might be another exit?”

Sherlock shrugs. “Maybe,” he says, “but I think that even if there was, he wouldn’t want to leave the cave.”

Sherlock rummages around in his jacket for a little bit and then takes out a pistol and hands it to Watson. Watson’s eyebrows raise. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“I’ve always had it,” Sherlock says. “Let’s go in quietly. You go first, I’ll carry the torch.”

“Wouldn’t it be smarter to just wait for it to come out?” Watson asks. “I mean, you saw the size of that thing, we’ll be in close quarters…”

“And if you had just hit it in the head we wouldn’t have to do this the hard way,” Sherlock says. A vein throbs in Watson’s temple.

“I did hit it in the head,” he asserts again. “I know where I shot it and I didn’t miss.”

“Then why is it still alive?” Sherlock asks, a hint of a smirk forming on his thin lips.

“Look,” Watson starts, but from inside the cave there is a distinct shifting of weight, a sound like something moving around on dry packed earth. Watson shoots Sherlock a significant look, and Sherlock sighs.

“It’s hurt,” he whispers. “We’ll just go in and put it down and this whole damn case will be over with. Alright?”

“Alright,” Watson says, checking the pistol. He cocks it and motions for Sherlock to stay behind him, and then they walk into the mouth of the cave and are swallowed by darkness.

The first thing that hits them is the smell. The air inside the cave is rank and warm and wet, like they’ve just walked inside a decaying dog. Sherlock seems unbothered by it but Watson’s eyes have already started to water. He hesitates briefly, but Sherlock puts his hand on Watson’s shoulder and Watson shakes his head and pushes past it.

He’s holding the pistol down low at his hip, ready to bring it up and shoot at a moment’s notice, but for the moment no targets are forthcoming. Sherlock shines his torch along the worn, well-packed earth floor and along the dusty walls of the cave, but whatever had been moving around in there a moment before has now fallen ominously silent.

Watson clenches his jaw and proceeds forward at a slow but regular pace. The mouth of the cave is long and narrow and winding but it gradually opens up to the point that Sherlock and Watson can walk side by side.

There is a sound from ahead and they both stop. Watson glances over at Sherlock and Sherlock raises a finger to his lips, shakes his head.

The cave makes an abrupt left turn and then opens out into a great basin-shaped chamber. The smell is strongest here and Watson again has to take a moment to fight through it, eyes smarting with the sheer weight of the drooling animal stench.

“Watson,” Sherlock murmurs.

“Give me a minute,” Watson says, rubbing at his eyes.

“Watson,” Sherlock repeats, and Watson manages to force his eyes open and peer blearily at the limp, blood-soaked object bathed in Sherlock’s torchlight, laying there pitifully on the floor of the cave.

Sherlock’s eyes are very wide. Watson looks a little green.

“Is that…?” he starts, and Sherlock nods.

“Yes,” he says. “That’s Beryl…or what’s left of her, at least.”

The bloody torso on the floor has clearly been gouged at by massive teeth or claws, and Watson imagines he can see an expression of abject terror frozen on the poor woman’s face.

Sherlock finally takes the beam of the torch away from the corpse and plays it over the rest of the cave, but it seems utterly empty. Watson’s speculation about there being another exit seem to be irrelevant; there’s only the one entrance, and they would have noticed if anything had tried to slip out past them.

Watson clears his throat. “Well,” he says, glancing over at Sherlock, “we should probably call the -“

There is a scuffling sound from the roof of the cave, and Watson’s words catch in his throat. Sherlock whips the torch upwards and for a moment they can see nothing but the crenellated granite ceiling, but then -

“Jesus!” Watson cries.

The thing is enormous, its arms and legs sheathed in tawny fur, its tail like a fat black mop of ragged hair. It inclines its elongated wolfish head towards them and for a moment, just a moment, Watson can see the bullet hole in the side of its skull before its crazed, red-litten eyes fix on him and it releases its hold on the knobbly rock wall and falls directly onto him with an earsplitting howl.

The impact knocks Sherlock back and drives Watson to the floor, sending the torch spinning away and casting crazy shadows all across the cave walls.

Watson is struggling desperately to keep the thing’s teeth and claws out of him. He’s already gotten a nasty scratch across his cheek and his face is flecked with spittle from its jaws, gnashing in frustration just inches from his throat. “Sherlock!” he yells.

Sherlock gets to his feet and stares down at the muscular, furry form of the beast pinning Watson to the ground. Watson is struggling to keep its long, clawed hands away from his face, but it means he has to wriggle and writhe back and forth to dodge the snapping bites it throws his way as well. “Sherlock!” he calls again, a note of desperation in his voice. Their eyes meet and for a long moment, perhaps about a second or so but feeling infinitely longer, Watson thinks that Sherlock is about to turn around and walk out of the cave.

Then, Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut and with a curious sense of resignation about him, makes a small gesture with his hand.

For a second nothing happens. The beast rears up and tears its arm free from Watson’s grasp, its claws glinting wickedly. Watson tries to roll out from under it before it comes swinging down like a meteor, but the thing is far too heavy to just throw off. Watson draws in a breath to scream.

The rock floor of the cave erupts and a mass of stone slams into the beast, knocking it clean off of Watson and tossing it up against the cave wall. It tries to rise but before it can the mass of stone slams down onto it again. Watson can hear the thing’s ribs shatter like toothpicks.

It takes four more repeated impacts before it stops moving, four more tooth-rattling, bone-jarring impacts before the creature, little more than a flat disc of matter at this point, stops struggling.

Watson, breathing like he’s just ran a marathon, slowly gets to his feet. The cut on his cheek is bleeding freely and his suit is in tatters, but there doesn’t look to be any harm done. He glances back at Sherlock. “That’s that, I suppose,” he says, but Sherlock shakes his head.

“It’s still alive,” he says. “We have to burn it.”

Watson looks down at the mangled mess by his feet. “It’s still alive?” he asks, dubiously.

“Have you got a match?” Sherlock asks. “Or a lighter or something?”

“I don’t.”

Sherlock mumbles a muffled curse and gestures towards the crushed, furry form on the floor, and it immediately bursts into flames. Watson lets out a surprised yelp and scurries backwards, bumping into the cave wall. The thick, acrid smoke is clawing at his throat and he waves his hand before him, trying to clear the air. “Sherlock?” he calls.

“Come on,” Sherlock says from the entrance. “It’s time to go.”

Watson hesitates. “What about Beryl?” he asks. “We can’t just leave her here.”

Sherlock walks out of the smoke, seemingly unbothered by it, and takes Watson by the arm. “Let’s go,” he repeats, and Watson allows Sherlock to lead him out of the cave. They pass through the curving tunnel quickly, and once they’re out the fetid odor of the moor slams bracingly into Watson and clears the stench of smoke from his nostrils. He takes out a handkerchief from his pocket and blows his nose.

“Christ,” he mutters. Sherlock looks over at him. Watson feels the slender young man’s eyes on him but just clears his throat. “Haven’t had one like that in a while.”

“No,” Sherlock agrees, looking around. The last few slivers of sunlight are spreading across the sky languidly, over to the west. Somewhere close by, a chorus of cicadas are starting up. Watson coughs and then, with nothing more to say, the two of them start to pick their way back through the moor.

They make it to the cliff before Watson speaks. “What are we going to tell Stapleton?”

Sherlock laughs, but there is very little mirth to it. “That was Stapleton.”

“What was?”

Sherlock looks at him, but gives no answer, and after a moment, Watson looks away.

The moon is rising now and the pale light shines down on the two of them, picking their way carefully up the hill. Once they reach the top Watson turns round and looks back, and after a moment Sherlock joins him. Somewhere far off, a wolf howls, and Watson shakes his head.

“Are there many things like that in the world, Sherlock?” he asks.

“Like what?”

“Like that…creature. Whatever it was.”

Sherlock shuts his eyes and makes a minute gesture with his right hand, down low at his hip. Watson’s eyes unfocus slightly. “What creature?” Sherlock says. “Back in the cave? That was Stapleton. The poor man was deranged, clearly. It’s a lucky thing you managed to set him alight or he’d have gutted you for sure with that knife of his.”

Watson is silent for a long while. “Stapleton?” he asks finally.

Sherlock looks over at him. “Yes,” he says. “Don’t you remember?”

Watson shakes his head. “I guess I must have hit my head back in the cave there. Christ, that poor woman…”

Sherlock peers at his watch and sighs. “We’d better go back to the inn and call the police. The inspector isn’t going to be very happy about being woken up but there’s no way around it.”

“Poor him,” Watson says drily, and Sherlock laughs.

And then the two of them turn and begin the hike back down to the car, and from there the drive back to the village.

Down on the moor, the moon shines very brightly, and the howls of the wolves multiply until it sounds as though the entire forest were howling.

 * * *

 Watson is halfway through his bowl of stew by the time Sherlock gets off the phone with the inspector. He sits down heavily at the table and sighs. “Christ,” Sherlock says, “that man doesn’t know how to shut up.”

Watson laughs and pushes Sherlock’s bowl over to him. “How are the kids?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Marybell finally lost that baby tooth she’d been trying to get rid of for the last week and she’s very excited for the tooth fairy to come tonight, and Kenneth got detention at school for passing notes.”

“Passing notes? Kids still do that these days?”

“Apparently. Amazing how that man is a complete sourpuss at every hour of the day but if you ask him about his kids he transforms into a normal human being for five minutes or so. Oh, this is really good,” Sherlock says, having taken his first spoonful of stew.

“Right? Oh, I got you a beer but I didn’t know if you wanted - “

“I think I’m just going to get some water,” Sherlock says. “Did whatshername -“

“She went to bed already, told me to clean up when we were done.”

Sherlock nods and heads over behind the counter to the sink, then fills up a glass of water for himself. He peers in the freezer for a moment, then makes a face. “Do these people not know about ice trays?”

“The ice maker is broken, she said.”

Sherlock grunts. “I’ll take the beer, then,” he says.

The two of them sit together eating for about half an hour or so before Sherlock announces he will retire and heads up to the room. Watson sits there by himself for a while longer and then gets up, washes the dishes in the sink, tosses the bottles in the recycling container, and heads up as well.

He opens the door to their room very quietly and comes in without making any sound, but Sherlock shifts in bed. “It’s alright,” he says, “I’m still awake.”

Once Watson is in his cot he looks over at Sherlock, or at least where Sherlock would be. His eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness yet so all he can make out is a lumpy outline huddled in the bed across from him. “Will the inspector need us for anything?” he asks.

“No,” Sherlock says. “I gave him the gist of it and he sent a few men down to take a look at the cave, and then when they see the body they’ll get it wrapped up.”

“And Stapleton?”

“The remains are still there. They’ll probably have to go to dental records but he should still be identifiable, I expect.”

Watson grunts. “So that’s it, then,” he says finally.

“What is?”

“Mystery solved, I mean. It was Stapleton all along.”

“It looks that way.”

“And poor Beryl?”

“What about her?”

“Why did he…do what he did to her?”

Sherlock makes a small noise and rearranges his pillow. “Who knows? Perhaps she had finally had enough of lying to him and was going to come tip us off.”

Watson shakes his head. “That poor woman.”

They lay there in silence for a while. The wind has picked up outside and something about the way it howls through the old oak tree in the village square makes Watson feel very mournful indeed.

“Goodnight, Watson,” Sherlock says.

“Goodnight, Holmes,” Watson says.

And then, the sound of the wind still in his ears, Watson rolls over and tries to sleep.

 * * *

 “Watson, wake up.”

Watson, without opening his eyes, waves a massive hand at where he thinks Sherlock is. “Go away.”

“Watson.”

“Let me sleep in,” he says.

“Watson, they’re here.”

There’s only one ‘they’ Watson knows of that would have Sherlock sounding this concerned. His eyes flash open and he sits bolt upright, staring at Sherlock. “They’re here?” he asks, and Sherlock nods and gestures to the window. Watson goes to it and starts to open the blinds, but Sherlock stops him, shaking his head. “Just peek out,” he tells Watson. “Be careful.”

Watson leans down and peers between the slats of the blind. Down below in the square the Twins’ big black car is parked, hazards flashing, halfway up on the sidewalk. As Watson watches, one of the Twins, the brother, gets out on the passenger side, talking rapidly on a mobile phone. He looks round for a moment before his eyes fix on the inn and his gaze slowly travels upwards. Watson lets go of the blinds and takes a step back. “Did they see you?” Sherlock asks. His eyes are very dark.

Watson shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No, but I think they know where we are.”

“Fuck,” Sherlock snarls, casting his gaze about the room.

Downstairs, the bell rings as somebody enters the inn.

“Sherlock,” Watson says, “we have to do something.”

“I’m thinking,” Sherlock snaps. After a moment he points to the window. “Can that be opened?”

Watson goes to the window and checks it, but shakes his head. “No,” he says. “It locks and we haven’t the key.”

Sherlock curses again.

There is a knock at the door and both of them whip around. Watson looks at Sherlock. Sherlock reaches up and smoothes his messy hair out of his eyes. “Go open it,” he whispers. “But be careful.”

Watson goes to the door and reaches inside his jacket. “Who is it?” he calls.

“It’s Lestrade,” the inspector says, sounding annoyed. “Open up already, I need to talk to Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s face brightens immediately. “Thank god,” he says. “First time I’ve ever been happy to hear that man’s voice. Let him in.”

Watson throws the bolt of the door and opens it. Lestrade glowers up at him, a sallow, rat-faced imp of a man looking already peeved that he had to wait for two minutes at the door. Watson glances down the hall and sees the Twins just reaching the top of the landing. They freeze when they see Lestrade. The brother starts to put his hand inside his pockett, but his sister reaches over and tugs his hand away. She gives Watson a very unpleasant smile and starts forward.

“Come in, inspector, please,” Watson says, flashing the man a smile and moving out of the way. The inspector glowers at him and strides inside without a word, and Watson shuts the door forcefully behind him, and slaps the deadbolt shut. He stands there with his back to the door, listening, while Sherlock, a note of strain in his voice, greets Lestrade. He looks over Lestrade’s head at Watson, who shakes his head and gives Sherlock a significant look.

Next to him, the doorknob turns, very stealthily. Sherlock’s eyes flit down to it and he nods. “Inspector,” he says, grinning at the man, “why don’t you come into the study?”

Watson frowns. The study? There isn’t a study, it’s just the bedroom and an adjoining bathroom, what the devil is he -

When Watson rounds the corner he finds with a shock that there is a new door open right in the middle of the wall, which leads to a rather nice-looking study with a fireplace, a desk, and several chairs. Watson stares; even Lestrade seems a little confused. Watson wonders to himself for a moment how in the world he could have possibly missed the door all this time. Sherlock is busying himself with something at the desk inside the room. “Brandy, Lestrade?” he asks, holding up an elegant glass bottle filled with amber liquid.

“No, thank you,” Lestrade says after a moment. “I’m working. Really, I was just coming to ask what the devil you two did to the perpetrator, we came down to the cave and all that was there - besides the woman’s, er, remains - was a pile of ash and charred bones. What -“

“Inspector, please,” Sherlock says. His voice is pleasant but Watson can see a vein pulse in his temple. “Why don’t we all have a sit down and I’m sure Watson and I will be able to answer any questions you might have.”

Lestrade hesitates. Watson bends down next to the man and, very gently, puts his hand on Lestrade’s shoulder. Lestrade nearly flinches. “Please, inspector,” Watson says, keeping his voice utterly calm, “why don’t you sit down?”

“Well, I - you see, I - yes, alright.”

Watson shuts the door behind them, and before he can lock it he hears a series of clicks from the lock and the bolt and it has already locked itself. Quite a modern innovation for an inn this old, Watson thinks. When he turns round again Sherlock is putting his hand back in his pocket. Lestrade settles into one of the armchairs and glares dubiously up at Sherlock. “Now, inspector,” Sherlock says, “please, what can we assist you with?”

“Well, as I said -“

“Pardon me for a moment. Watson?”

Watson hurries over and leans down next to Sherlock. “Take the other door,” Sherlock says. “And then go and pull the car around. This ought to keep them busy but I don’t know for how long.”

“The other door?”

“Right there, Watson,” he points. Watson gives him a dubious look and starts to say something, but there is a loud crash from the room and Sherlock’s eyes widen. “Hurry!” he whispers.

“What the devil was that?” Lestrade asks, twisting around.

“Er, me, I think,” Watson says. “I was, uh, doing some reading last night and I put my book right on the corner of the nightstand. I guess it must have finally fallen over. If you’ll excuse me -“

“Now, wait just a minute -“

“Inspector, please,” Sherlock says, his voice pacific. “We’re all busy men, surely you have more pressing matters than to investigate books falling off of shelves,” he chuckles.

Lestrade pauses, then settles back into his seat, and Watson opens the other door and slips out.

The door opens, for some strange reason, onto a fire escape. Watson shuts the door softly and then bounds down the stairs, taking them two at a time. It’s the work of a moment to bring the car round, and somewhat to his surprise Watson doesn’t run into the Twins while he’s doing so. The village is still very quiet, although if they get into a fight that’s bound to change fast.

Watson honks the horn and after a moment the door at the top of the fire escape opens and Sherlock pushes a furious-looking Lestrade ahead of him. “Really, inspector, I’m very sorry, but we have to be out of the room so housekeeping can go through it,” he says, hustling Lestrade down the fire exit. At the bottom he seizes Lestrade’s hand and pumps it vigorously, clapping the man on the back. Watson shakes his head, trying to stop himself from grinning. “So very good to see you,” he tells Lestrade, completely ignoring the man’s protests, before spinning him around and pushing him gently off in the direction of the village square. Then Sherlock sprints over to the car and throws the passenger seat open, flinging himself inside. “Drive,” he tells Watson.

The door to the fire escape bursts open and the Twins come bounding down, taking the steps two at a time in their haste. Lestrade boggles at them and yells for them to stop, but they simply bowl him over. Watson throws the car into gear and reverses onto the main road, and then takes off.

“This is going well,” he remarks to Sherlock, who shakes his head, craning his neck round to look out the rear window.

Sherlock glances in the mirror; the Twins are dashing for their car. As he watches, the female Twin dives into the driver’s seat through the open window, and the lights power on just a second later. She kicks the passenger door open and the male Twin, coming up a little behind, catches it just as she starts to peel off and folds himself into the car, slamming the door behind him.

Watson grunts. “Haven’t been in a car chase in a while,” he says, and Sherlock nods.

“It’s too bad the road out of here is just a straight shot,” Sherlock says. “We’ve no opportunity to lose them.”

“We could call the cops,” Watson suggests. “They might not be too keen to do anything with the police watching. Sherlock snorts.

“Lestrade was there and they didn’t much care about him.”

“Maybe they didn’t know who he was?”

“Watson,” Sherlock says, a faint tinge of annoyance coloring his words, “this is the closest they’ve gotten in ages, you really think that calling the police will make them stop?”

Watson shrugs and stays silent, focusing on the road. There is a long gentle curve ahead before the road plunges into the forest. Watson bites his lip. “It’d be really bad if a tree had fallen,” he remarks, and Sherlock curses.

“Don’t jinx us,” he tells Watson. “Look, open the sunroof, would you?”

Watson glances in the rearview. The big black car is gaining on them. Watson is driving as fast as he dares but the twins are only about twenty or thirty feet back and getting closer every minute. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast,” he tells Sherlock as he thumbs the button for the sunroof. Sherlock unbuckles his seatbelt and stands up, stepping over so he’s straddling the center console.

“Whatever you do,” Sherlock tells Watson, “don’t crash the car right now.”

“I’ll try,” he mutters, edging over in his seat to give Sherlock more room. What are you -“ Watson glances over and then does a doubletake. “Where the hell did you get a cinderblock?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Sherlock grunts, hefting the cinderblock. Watson watches in the mirror as Sherlock throws the cinderblock at the Twins’ car. The car swerves out of the way and loses a bit of distance, but not much, not enough.

“Sherlock,” Watson says, voice tight, “are you sure -“

“Pass me another,” Sherlock says, in a tone that will brook no disagreement. Watson glances over and then reaches down into the footspace of the passenger side and hands up another cinderblock. Sherlock squeezes one eye shut, tracking the Twins’ car as it weaves back and forth, and then throws it.

Watson watches in the rearview as the Twins swerve in just the wrong direction and the cinderblock crashes into the windshield like a cruise missile, leaving a massive, jagged hole in the tinted glass right in front of the driver’s seat. The car oversteers and then runs off the road and into a ditch, and just like that the pursuit is halted.

Sherlock sits back down heavily and fumbles with his seatbelt, and Watson shuts the sunroof. He slows the car to a bit more manageable of a pace and then glances over at Sherlock; the young man is, as always, smoothing his untidy mop of black hair out of his eyes. “Don’t think they expected that one,” he says, watching the dwindling wreck in the right-side mirror.

“Do you think you killed her?” Watson asks.

“Oh, was Jessica driving? No,” Sherlock shakes his head. “I doubt it. It’d take more than a cinderblock to get rid of her.”

Watson glances over dubiously. “You’re awfully calm about all this,” he observes, and Sherlock sighs.

“You’d prefer it if I was having a panic attack?”

Watson just shakes his head, and then the two of them sit silently, Watson’s eyes fixed on the road and Sherlock’s watching out the window as the trees slip by. Every now and then Sherlock looks in the rearview and watches carefully, waiting for a pair of headlights to appear, but none are forthcoming.

Continue with Chapter 2

Return to Table of Contents

#writing #writeblr #alt lit #sherlock holmes #lovecraft #novel #thriller #mystery

[shibrogane]

collocation 1/?

They finish with the nest of yaoguai and make camp not far distant from the thick copse of trees that had been their home. (Jin Rusong is pretty sure that they've gotten all of the little beasts, but it's best to stay in the area just in case one gets feisty around hai hour.) Jin Rusong dumps his outer robe over the branch of a tree, grumbling about the damage done by the blood. Usually, they drop off clothes with a laundress in the nearest village, but that's not an option today. As Zewu-Jun clears a section of the forest floor and collects water, Jin Rusong fetches twigs and branches, enough to get a fire going. He stokes it and then flops down sideways on the gnarled roots of a nearby stump, sorts out rations from his qiankun pouch.

Wandering isn't much like he'd thought it be. Somehow, he'd imagined it would be a lot cleaner. He's grateful for the down time.

As the sun crawls towards its bed, Jin Rusong realizes that he hasn't heard Zewu-Jun's aimless humming for a while. Also, the bloody robe he'd hung over the branch is gone. He gets up and pokes the fire a bit more before calling out his uncle's title. Gratifyingly, Lan Xichen answers: "Only a few more moments!"

When he returns, it's with an armful of damp clothing. Befuddled, Jin Rusong helps him string up a length of twine between sturdy branches. They hang up the robes together: there's not a stain on them.

"Huh," says Jin Rusong, inspecting the arm of his outer robe. There's a few tears, but nothing Jin Rusong can't fix, thanks to hours of lessons. "I didn't know you knew how to do laundry, Uncle."

Zewu-Jun doesn't say anything, but there's a look around his eyes that tells Jin Rusong not to press. He's gotten good at not pressing.

They sit across the fire from each other once they've eaten. Normally they talk about the night hunt, and if they expect any problems, and where they might like to go next. At this point, they've been all through Gusu; it's time to spread out into another Sect's Territory. The question is just whose, since they should probably, like, ask permission. Tonight, Zewu-Jun is cleaning Shuoyue and his mien is... quiet.

Jin Rusong startles when Zewu-Jun asks, "Do you truly have no blame for me?"

His brow furrows. His mouth curves. It all happens before he can stop it. He wishes it hadn't. He wants to assure his uncle that there's nothing he blames Lan Xichen for, but that would be facile. He's trying to cultivate honesty alongside his golden core, lately. It's a good tool to have in one's arsenal.

"There's a Jin Sect precept," says Jin Rusong to the fire, "something about... not standing by your father's blood, I think. So, probably I should." And he shakes his head. There's something nebulous there, some kind of low resentment that brews in his gut when he thinks too much about the last months of his father's life. It doesn’t bear examination, because: "But he tried to kill you. Should I be trying to avenge that? Either way, I wouldn't have had him. Would it be better to lose you, too?" He shrugs. The gesture is lowborn and he’s not sure where it came from. It’s all he can think of to do.

Zewu-Jun looks away. "Of course," he says. "I understand." He says nothing more of it.

#ficlet #my writing #jin rusong #lan xichen #i should give this au a pithy title but who DOES that #here is my au point of divergence that's what they're all gonna be called #its gonna be stuff like camboy au. rusong lives au. get fucked au

[poor-wifi-uwu]

Veil ch.3

Tying up loose ends before the journey to the end... and the beginning.

It took some time for Wei Wuxian’s group to settle on their roles and responsibilities henceforth.

The time was too short.

He looked around at his friends, all staring back with reluctant expressions knowing it’s time for him to go. Biting his lip, Wei Wuxian suggested they check their compasses to ensure they’re properly aligned with each other. 

Honestly, it was pointless to check their compasses. They all knew that.

A token of honor denoting one’s place within Wei Wuxian’s inner circle, the Red Thread Compass is differentiated from other Wei army compasses by the red hanging off the top. As a sign of camaraderie between members, a person receives a compass for every bond they form with the others.

That’s the public description anyway.

In reality, the compass comes as a pair that react to one another. Once calibrated, the two compasses will point the red half of their needles towards one another, the attraction so strong that they remain accurate regardless of distance or weather. As long as you follow the compass, you will always find the other half.

This function is one of the main reasons Wei Wuxian’s inner circle could coordinate so well and quickly even when across the territories or in hiding. This secret is so vital that the only people who know about it are those that receive one. The downside is that each compass can only be calibrated to one other compass, so they always have to carry around a set. It took some playing around to figure out an excuse for that one. 

The materials needed to make them are rare and difficult to make, so one would think the one-time usage would be a problem, but it becomes an asset in Wei Wuxian’s case. Since they can be used to find the other side’s location, if someone were to learn the true meaning of the Red Thread Compass and somehow acquire it, it would be deadly. When uncalibrated, the compass needle spins wildly without end, unable to orient itself. If one of the pair gets critically damaged the calibration breaks and the compass becomes useless, unable to be fixed. What a useful defect!

Taking out his ‘angry’ compass, Wei Wuxian laughed.

Since they carry around so many, they need to keep track of them somehow. And just in case, they can’t use names so everyone marked their compasses in different ways to recognize its partner. It went about as well as you’d expect.

Instead of names, Wei Wuxian drew icons to represent each person. Wen Qing’s had an angry face drawn on it, while Wen Ning’s was a crying face. Of course, his Shijie’s was a detailed engraving of Guanyin. 

The others had a lot of fun with theirs. MianMian was all sass, calling him Yuan Dao and labeling Jiang Cheng’s as “Single and Ready to Mingle”. On the other hand, Wen Qing just drew a middle finger. Though, Wei Wuxian doesn’t know if that was before or after Jiang Cheng nicknamed her’s “Quack”.

He’s sure that anyone who gets ahold of them would be very confused.

His smile warped into a grimace as he took out Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng’s compasses. He’s never gone five feet without them since the day they were made, but with his siblings being so against this marriage Wei Wuxian can’t risk them finding him before reaching the Cloud Recesses.

He gripped the compasses tightly and raised his head to look at the others. They silently nodded at him. Wei Wuxian took a deep breath and steeled himself, “You all know what to do. I’ll release the courier falcon once I’m outside of Lotus Pier’s gates, just in case.”

Wen Qing looked out at the moon, “Are you leaving now? There is still some time left before the patrol shifts.”

Wei Wuxian crossed his arms, “I need to make a show of walking around Lotus Pier to lower everyone’s guard. Plus, I need to make a stop before I go.”

Wen Qing relaxed in somber understanding, nodding to him.

He should probably be grateful to not have run into any of his family while making his rounds, but instead felt like a rock was weighing down his chest. Even though he was purposefully avoiding the halls they frequented, a small part of him hoped he could see them with even just a neutral expression before he left.

He made his final stop at the medical wing. The heavy scent of medicine had always reminded him of the safety and protection of Wen Qing’s hands, but lately it just brings back memories of bloody sheets and Clarity Bells.

Wei Wuxian walked across to the door at the other end. Originally an office of sorts, they converted it to a private room since Wen Qing was always too busy to have time for an office. Reaching the door, Wei Wuxian hesitated. No matter how many times he visits, it just somehow never gets easier.

“Master?”

Wei Wuxian jumped, cracking open the door and sticking his head inside to see Suibian sitting up in bed with a smile on his face. Wei Wuxian threw himself into the room, “What are you doing, you need to lie down!”

Suibian pouted at him, “Aw come on, it’s not that bad. Doc even said my rehab is almost complete!”

Wei Wuxian bit his lip as he looked for any sign of strain, relaxing when he found nothing. Suibian had recovered well. Wen Qing has been taking care of him since he first sustained his injuries, so if she said anything about his condition it should be believed.

Wei Wuxian realized Suibian had a lap desk set up on the bed with some ink and a half-written letter. He pursed his lips dramatically with his chin up, “Hmm, how incredible. I wonder how you got Qing-Jie to let you stay up so late. Hasn’t she always been violently strict with patient rest?”

If the situation had been any different, Wen Qing would have knocked him out if he tried to work as soon as he got home.

Suibian crossed his fingers in front of his face like a mastermind revealing his tricks to the worthy, “Well you see! There is one method that always works on people like her.” His eyes scanned left and right quickly before he leaned forward slightly, “What you do is! Wait until she leaves for half an hour and stop pretending you’re asleep.”

Wei Wuxian huffed. So that’s why Suibian’s gotten a few bumps on the head before. Wei Wuxian sent him a cheeky grin, “You remembered to rotate the times right? Like 30 minutes for 2 weeks, then 1 hour for a week to see if she’s catching on?”

Suibian kept his pose, “...I never said that I didn’t.”

“Mhm.” Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows bobbed.

Suibian threw his hands up in a whatever pose, “What, I never said that did either.”

Wei Wuxian chuckled as he slid into the chair by the bed, “For the love of god, please tell me you at least took a bath?”

Suibian propped his head up on his palm, “Yes yes, I took my supervised cold medicinal bath.”

Wei Wuxian copied him, “And I’m sure Qing-Jie told you every single day how your bandages need to stay completely clean.”

Suibian pouted at him, “Well maybe she forgot today! Us Sentinels take after our masters, so any poor memory isn’t my fault!”

Wei Wuxian waved at him to take his shirt off as he moved the desk, glancing at the letter, “Who are you even writing to? You don’t have any friends outside of this palace.”

Suibian gasped in shock, “Rude!” Then he gave a mock sigh, “Master is so cruel… Bringing the truth when I clearly don’t want it.”

Seeing Wei Wuxian’s face lighten from its grim expression, Suibian cheered at his victory before glancing at the letter with a bemused tone, “Honestly, I don’t know. Wen Ning came by earlier with a letter from the Captain of the royal guard of Gusu addressed to me. It was really weird. He gave condolences for my injuries and wished me well in my recovery. He also thanked me for helping him in the Camp. He went through all this trouble, so I might as well respond.”

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow at him, “You know the Captain of Gusu’s royal guard?”

Suibian threw his hands out in a shrug, “No idea. There were lots of Sentinels, and I didn’t see the guy personally so I can't be sure.”

Wei Wuxian matched his bemusement, “A Sentinel? Given such a prestigious position in the tight-as-a-virgin Cloud Recesses?” Suibian just shook his head in bafflement.

Sentinels were specially trained lifelong servants assigned only to nobility. Raised from birth with the understanding of their future role, Sentinels are trained in many skills including combat, endurance, and caretaking. Often a few years older than their masters to better serve them, Sentinels do not have names until they are assigned a master, after which that master will name them personally. As a lifelong servant, they are neither expected nor permitted to marry or have children. Sentinels are such an integral part of their masters’ lives that the only time they are not attached at the hip is for a mission ordered directly by that master.

Of course, they are still human so problems can arise. Arguments can break out, loyalties can shift, and personal desires can arise.

Wei Wuxian thought of Suibian as a perfect mix.

He definitely had his own agency with a strong personality unbefitting one of his station. No matter how he got scolded or punished, if Wei Wuxian wasn’t the one upse then he simply wouldn’t care. Suibian knew what he wanted and carried himself like an equal to anyone around him regardless of rank. He treated Wei Wuxian like a friend instead of a boss, and wasn’t afraid to test the limits of Wei Wuxian’s patience in all the most fun ways.

At the same time, he was a marvelous Sentinel. The most loyal man Wei Wuxian had ever met. He treated his role as his meaning for life instead of the neutral acceptance many relegate themselves to. Incredibly powerful from endless hours training far beyond what was expected of him, when Suibian stood by his side it felt like nothing could touch him. He also took any opportunity Wei Wuxian offered to him to learn new things, even demanding to be useful when bedridden by helping with paperwork.

Beyond his skillset, Suibian also knew how to regulate himself when necessary. He was respectful towards Jiang Fengmian and knew when to hold his tongue around Jiang Cheng. He was never—. 

…

—He was rarely rude to Madam Yu, and understood boundaries expected of interactions with Jiang Yanli in public. Suibian always tried hard to be who Wei Wuxian needed him to be, and that alone was more than Wei Wuxian could ever ask.

Wei Wuxian stopped him from unwrapping the bandages, Suibian giving up with a huff. Almost recovered or not, Wei Wuxian doesn’t want him straining anything more than necessary. Fingers running across the gauze, his mirth faded into melancholy.

Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched as he unwound the bandages, never quite able to get used to the sight. Heat, chemical, and radiation burns ravaged the expanse of Suibian’s back, stretching even to his elbows and below the backs of his knees. Raw pink skin glistened where the charred patches of skin had to be removed.

Suibian sat still with a calm smile on his face as Wei Wuxian grabbed the medicine Wen Qing knew to leave for him, the man not even flinching as Wei Wuxian applied the cream directly to the sensitive skin. 

He should have recovered a long time ago, especially with Wen Qing’s special recipes, but she only dug her nails into her palms before telling him his options. Suibian’s injuries were so extensive that if they were to heal quickly the scar tissue along his spine would render him crippled for life. With rehab, he may be able to walk but he would never wield a sword again. The other option was to intentionally delay the healing process with a rare medicine so Wen Qing could slowly heal him bit by bit to prevent the scar tissue from forming. All that would be left is the discoloration of the skin. Wei Wuxian could never put Suibian through such a thing, and was shocked when Suibian chose the latter option without hesitation. He was so adamant that Wei Wuxian could only cry like a child with nonstop apologies as he held Suibian’s hand through his first treatment.

It must have hurt to even breath.

He would accept Suibian’s hatred, give him anything he wanted. Any rank, freedoms, anything! It doesn’t matter what happens to Wei Wuxian, he deserved it! He deserved all of it! He wanted it, needed it!

But from the very start until now, Suibian had only asked to continue serving as his Sentinel. Always looked forward to Wei Wuxian’s visits and showed him nothing but the friendliness and respect he had always awarded his master.

Wei Wuxian paused for a moment and leaned so his head bumped against Suibian’s hair, “...Do you resent me, Suibian?”

Suibian just raised a head over his head to rest on Wei Wuxian’s hair, “I only resent these injuries for keeping me from master’s side when you needed me most.”

Wei Wuxian gripped the fabric of his robes as Suibian gently pat his head, the comfort spreading from the motion leaving an equally bitter taste in his mouth. Suibian deserved better than this. He’s one of the strongest Sentinels in the world, he deserves better than some reckless servant’s son. Taking a trembling beath, Wei Wuxian returned to his work with pinpoint focus to block out any thoughts. This would be the last time, so he’d better make it count.

Suibian relaxed as they fell into a comfortable silence, smiling at the gentleness of Wei Wuxian’s touch. 

His master was truly the best.

Suibian remembered his first day assigned to Wei Wuxian with almost as much confusion as he felt that day. Like whiplash, Wei Wuxian had overturned every notion Suibian had ever thought of what to expect from a master. Little YingYing had somehow come to the conclusion that Jiang Fengmian’s description of Sentinels being someone who always protects you, fights for you, and listens to your whims until death meant “best friend for life”. The then shy newly adopted Wei Ying had looked at Suibian with stars in his eyes and the sun in smile as he bounced on his feet, silently begging the King to let them go play.

Although Wei Ying now had a home and a family, Lotus Pier was still a harsh environment. Wei Wuxian was constantly made to feel like an outsider, a rat given salvation that pests don’t deserve. No matter how much he smiled on the outside, Suibian knew he felt lonely.

Wei Ying had led them to a more private pier and began to ask a bunch of questions about him. Suibian didn’t want to disappoint his master, but he had no answers that wouldn’t get him a punishment. How could he tell his master that his only hobbies were being a troublemaker? Training sucked, work sucked, people sucked, and Suibian often wanted nothing to do with any of them.

In the two weeks leading up to his naming ceremony, Little YingYing did his utmost to ensure Suibian felt welcome and enjoyed his new home. The rest of the palace found it as ridiculous as Suibian himself did, and looking at the way the crown prince handled his own Sentinel, Wei Ying made for a rather unusual child. Suibian adored him. He knew, from the moment Wei Ying took his hand and pulled him to the ceremony room asking Suibian what he’d like to be called with those large shining eyes, that he would protect this boy forever.

Wei Ying wanted Suibian to choose his own name since it’s so important to a person’s identity. The way he looked down as he said that made Suibian wonder how long it had been since anyone called Wei Ying’s name before King Jiang found him.

Suibian didn’t know what he wanted to be called. Sentinels are not given names at birth, nor are they taught to give any importance to their individuality. A Sentinel is an extension of their master, which is why any personal decisions are relegated to the master’s discretion. Wei Ying tried to help him, listing off twenty different names while asking if he liked any of them. Some were genuinely good, others were so laughably silly that Suibian almost picked them. In the end he ended up rejecting each of them, much to the indignance of the others in the room.

He told Wei Ying he didn’t know how to pick a name. He wanted his master to give him one. Wei Ying just fumbled around for a while trying to explain before giving up and trying to lighten the supposed stress of deciding, “It doesn’t have to be super special or anything. Just pick whatever!”

So Suibian did, writing it down on his official papers as per ceremony. When Wei Ying begged to see it, excited to know what Suibian picked, he just froze and stared dully at the paper. The Jiangs that looked afterwards held the same expression. Suibian couldn’t help but laugh.

The confused look that Little YingYing sent him had Suibian ruffling his hair. Of course, everyone asked him why the hell he would ever choose such a name, so he told them point blank it was the name his master chose for him. Wei Ying startled and began knocking his little fists lightly against Suibian’s chest crying, “That’s not what I meant, I swear!”

It was a great day.

Wei Ying tried to fix his “mistake”, but Jiang Fengmian could only give him this wry smile and explain that since it was marked on official documents it would be a pain and a half to get it changed. So how about they just go ahead and call him “Suibian”?

Wei Ying soon began to love the name as they went on more and more adventures, two swashbuckling troublemakers making the most of life. There was one time when Wei Wuxian gained some power that he offered to go through the pain and a half if Suibian wanted a new name, but he adamantly refused. It was the name his master gave him with such, albeit indirect, enthusiasm.

Suibian loved his name.

Plus, it made for a great prank that had tsunderes the world over blushing at being tricked.

With each passing year they grew closer and Suibian’s conviction grew. He would suffer a thousand full-body burns before watching his master die. 

Wei Wuxian was there for every step of Suibian’s recovery, always taking care of him. It should have been the other way around. A Sentinel should not be a dead weight. Suibian could only hope to finish his rehab and return to his master’s side.

For now, all he can do is ease his mind.

Suibian lifted his arms as Wei Wuxian began wrapping the gauze around his torso, “Master is unusually quiet today. Did Doc knock you out again? Or did Lady Shijie find your porn and tease you about it again?” Wei Wuxian paused and Suibian grinned as his tone turned mischievous, “Oh my, master, there’s nothing to get upset over~. Lady Shijie already complimented you on your taste! Besides, she always makes sure to expose Grumpy Grape’s porn to everyone as well!”

Wei Wuxian cut off Suibian’s laughter, “I’m getting married.”

Suibian froze, wide smile slipping slowly into a slack-jawed expression. If Wei Wuxian had liked someone, Suibian would know. While he was still wrapping his head around the words, Wei Wuxian continued, “Well, married might not be the right word exactly…”

Suibian stared ahead dully as Wei Wuxian explained the situation. He didn’t even register when his master finished and sat back in the chair by his bedside. This… This can’t be happening.

Suibian understands. He understands more than anyone how much Wei Wuxian wants to end this war, how desperate the situation is, the damage that could result should the war continue on. He doesn’t even disagree with his master’s decision.

But why Wei Wuxian?

Why his master, who has given everything of himself and more already? He deserves something better than this, something real.

At the very least he deserves more than a concubine position!

He turned sharply to face Wei Wuxian, “I’m coming with you.”

“No you’re not.” 

Suibian felt as if the air got knocked out of his lungs. He stared at Wei Wuxian as if unable to comprehend the words. Wei Wuxian knew it would be a huge blow, but what was he supposed to do?

He looked at Suibian as if memorizing his face, before taking his hand and pressing two compasses in his palm, “I need you to stay and protect everyone.”

Suibian blinked dazedly, “They won’t just let you go without a fight.”

Wei Wuxian released a breath, “Shijie can’t leave the castle without a preplanned destination and a huge escort. Jiang Cheng has the stealth of a rampaging bull. It won’t be hard to slip away, if they even find me.”

Suibian stayed quiet for a moment. Then, with the smallest voice awei Wuxian had ever heard from him, “Will I...get to join you?”

Wei Wuxian squeezed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath, “...I don’t know.”

He really didn’t want to leave it off like this. Suibian hadn’t even been this pale when he was literally dying from his injuries. His wide eyes had this haunted light as he looked at Wei Wuxian, as if he was vanishing before Suibian’s very eyes. He quickly grabbed Suibian’s hand, unsure of what to say or what to do, when Suibian gripped his hand tightly back.

It was like the birth of a raging fire as Suibian’s eyes glared with a fierce conviction, “I will.”

He pulled Wei Wuxian into a hug so tight it was hard to breath, but Wei Wuxian could only hug tighter at his unyielding tone, “I will come to you. Whether through tricks or lies or false identities, I will find my way back to your side. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t respond.

Closing the door as Suibian stared at his back was the hardest thing Wei Wuxian had done that night.

Heart heavy and spirit low, Wei Wuxian could no longer bear to look at the fog-dusted lotus flowers that had charmed him most of his life. He immediately grabbed his bag and the bird,and left without a glance back.

He was glad royal courier birds from Gusu were trained to be silent. It was already difficult to carry around a large cage without making any noise, let alone worrying about its contents. Wei Wuxian had already attached his acceptance of the proposal to the bird’s leg, planning to release it outside of Lotus Pier’s walls in case someone tried to shoot it down.

Years of troublemaking came in very handy when Wei Wuxian knew every secret entrance and hidden passage that even the elders weren’t aware of. 

Reaching the horse stables was pitifully easy. With his best horse at full speed, only taking breaks when his horse needed it, Wei Wuxian could reach the Cloud Recesses in a week. Had the Jiangs gone beyond etiquette and touched his horses, then a normal horse could get him there in 10, maybe 12 days. Looking over, Wei Wuxian gawked at the empty stables.

They did it. They actually did it.

They had all his war horses put in the winter stables.

As a General, Wei Wuxian was to have unrestricted access to his horses at all times. Even a second could mean the outcome of a battle, so even Madam Yu respected that boundary even when he would ride around in the middle of the night with his friends. The only time anyone was allowed to touch Wei Wuxian’s horses without his permission is to move them into the winter stables to protect them from the cold. With all their horses in one place, the stables are heavily guarded. Of course, Wei Wuxian never minded especially since he could take out his horses as he pleased, but he couldn’t do that now without alerting everyone.

Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue. Now he’d have to buy a horse in town. Never expecting they would stoop so low, Wei Wuxian only brought enough for a month’s worth of expenses. Not only would a new horse and gear cost the majority of Wei Wuxian’s coin, but a horse not bred for the Jiang’s preference for speed would take even longer than before. These next two weeks were going to test Wei Wuxian’s frugality.

His mouth dropped even further once he made it past the gates.

Lotus Pier had officially declared Winter despite it still being a month away this far south. Wei Wuxian couldn’t even steal a horse because they were all locked up somewhere snow couldn’t reach them. Yunmeng’s famous night market would be the only place to buy a horse at this hour, and given the increased guards it was a no-go.

Wei Wuxian felt like breaking something.

This meant he would have to walk. At least until he finds a horse in another town, but who knows how long that might take if the news reached beyond the capital already.

Taking a deep breath, Wei Wuxian steels himself as he watches the falcon speed off in the direction of Gusu.

If he has to walk, then he’ll walk.

Lan Xichen couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched his brother slip the letter out of his sleeve and read it again while supervising the construction of the Red Lotus Pavilion. Despite having received the acceptance letter only a day ago, it was already as worn as ancient text with how often Lan Wangji took the paper out to read it. 

Despite their confidence in Wei Wuxian’s agreement to the proposal, Lan Wangji had read the acceptance letter with a face of awe as if he couldn’t believe it was real. Lan Xichen had never seen his brother so stunned and happy at the same time.

As soon as the emperor snapped out of his daze, he sprung into action. He finalized, with a bit of reluctance, the structural plans for the pavilion and immediately ordered for the construction to begin the very next day. His brother hired the best, and a lot of them. Already they had done so much work despite the short time frame. Although it won’t be ready in time for Wei Wuxian’s arrival, the pavilion would be ready in time for the wedding.

Yunmeng’s acceptance letter was rather strange. It was addressed directly from the General instead of the Yunmeng royal family. 

The General stated that due to their current states it would be best to make the engagement official as soon as possible, so he would be journeying ahead to reach the Cloud Recesses quickly. He added that the Jiang retinue and all proper procedures would be handled afterwards. There were other things as well that found puzzling, but he hoped it was just some cultural differences. The emperor didn’t seem to notice the rest as he kept rereading the opening line where Wei Wuxian personally accepts the proposal.

Lan Xichen smiled softly as he watched Lan Wangji trace the characters gently with his fingers. There’s still a lot of work to be done, but for now he’ll let his little brother enjoy the moment.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lan Xichen noticed Lan Qiren approaching and panicked. He would never approve such an unorthodox design and even if it’s not his decision in the end he doesn’t wish to sour Lan Wangji’s mood.

The emperor was too lost in his daze to notice the fluttering of his brother’s robes as he bolted at maximum allowed speed.

When he first held the sealed letter, Lan Wangji could feel the world fade away as his heartbeat increased. His brother was saying something but his voice felt far away as if he was on a boat while Lan Wangji sunk further into the depths of his thoughts. His heartbeat seems to thunder through his chest as such an intensity he wondered if Wei Ying could feel it from across the land. 

Only his brother’s hand gently tugging on the paper snapped Lan Wangji out of his daze as he slapped the letter to his chest protectively. Lan Xichen just gave a knowing smile, “Wangji, if it’s too much I can open it for you.”

Lan Wangji froze as his ears went hot. To have lost his composure at such a small thing…

With a light cough the emperor straightened, ignoring his brother’s raised eyebrows, and broke the seal to open the response. Lan Xichen stood beside him as they read and and could practically feel the slight tremble in Lan Wangji’s hands as his eyes widened in pure awe. With the face of a lost child in disbelief of receiving their greatest wish, he turned to Lan Xichen as if to confirm that what he read was real.

He and Wei Ying are getting married.

At Lan Xichen’s warm nod, Lan Wangji felt a sudden lightness hit him with such an intensity that he had to sit down. They’re getting married.

He will finally, finally get to be with Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji could not sleep the entire night. It was the first time he had ever broken curfew. The bubbly feeling of fairies dancing across his heart had him taking out the letter over and over to read under the moonlight. Some part of Lan Wangji feared that if he fell asleep he would wake to find it was all a cruel, albeit beautiful, dream.

Justifying it as truly important political work, the emperor gave up on sleep and spent the rest of the night finalizing the design and writing a list of tasks to delegate in preparation for Wei Ying’s arrival. He ignored his brother’s amused look the following morning.

The official announcement was a short affair, Lan Wangji not wanting to waste time listening to pointless drivel when there are so many things to do. It was for the best anyway, as hiz daze had caused Lan Wangji to make several mistakes, walking into door frames and pouring his tea until the entire table was soaked. 

Lan Wangji could only relegate himself to those tasks which he knew could hold his focus, and therefore put his full attention into the wedding preparations. He didn’t wish to pressure the workers with his authority, but he cannot deny his appreciation at the speed and quality that resulted from it. With winter having begun, the foundation must be finished before the first snowfall.

He had already sent people to buy the various textiles, decorations, and other such materials, even giving the order to journey to other cities should the capital not have enough.

Lan Wangji was dismayed to learn the pavilion would not be ready in time for Wei Ying’s arrival and wanted to decorate the guest courtyard to properly welcome his bride, but Lan Xichen had informed him that with the season ramping up, removing any workers from the pavilion could cause drastic delays. The emperor could only hope to make up for the housing with hospitality.

Lan Wangji stared at the construction silently before his ears turned red.

Of course, should Wei Ying accept, Lan Wangji would gladly host him in his own pavilion. The emperor shook his head of such thoughts. He looked down, remembering their meeting in Yiling. No matter his intentions, he doesn’t wish to put pressure on his empress to do anything he doesn’t wish to. And if it takes time for Wei Ying to feel comfortable in his presence, then Lan Wangji will wait.

As Lan Wangji ran through a list of activities to host for Wei Ying’s arrival, he saw a flash of gold approach from the side. The emperor turned his head just enough to acknowledge Jin Guangyao’s presence before returning to gaze forward. With his gentle smile, Jin Guangyao gave a salute before standing a respectful distance away. They were silent for a few minutes as Jin Guangyao seemed to fidget, unsure of what to say.

In the end he took a breath and turned to bow to the emperor, “Your Highness, I would like to offer my sincere apologies.”

Lan Wangji turned his head, flicking his fingers in pardon which Jin Guangyao shook his head to refuse. He looked down with a scrunched up expression, “Er-Ge spoke to me about our discussion over Yunmeng.” His voice lowered with a slight irritation Lan Wangji had not seen on him before, “As you know, my status in Koi Tower is… rocky. As the king, Father demands I report to him on my activities in case my actions somehow affect Lanling. I had always kept our discussions as a Triad private. This case was the only exception because the resources would need to be prepared in advance for the recovery efforts to work, and such things are outside of my influence.” He grit his teeth, “The one time I tell him…”

Lan Wangji stared at him for a moment before lifting his hand, “Rise. It has already finished.”

Jin Guangyao gave one more salute in gratitude before rising with a smile to admire the enormous construction taking place. The scale of it was truly astounding, more fit for a goddess than an empress. If he had to guess, Jin Guangyao would wager it matches the size of the emperor’s own pavilion at the very least. He struggled not to show the astonishment on his face as his mind tallied up the costs involved.

Even Lanling with its abundant wealth does not have such a glorious construction for such a relatively minor purpose.

This is an area to tread lightly, especially given the current tension.

Jin Guangyao spoke his praises of the pavilion, marveling at the planned man-made lotus pond they planned to build all the way up here in the mountains. Lan Wangji just nodded with a subdued air of excitement as he gave some small information, though nothing of importance.

Jin Guanyao turned to him with his own excitement, “Your Highness, such a marvelous palace must surely be expensive. And given the purpose of the marriage is to end the war we are all involved in, I am sure that both Lanling and Qinghe would like to gift resources and treasures to the Red Lotus Pavilion to ease the tensions between our countries and welcome a new era for the coming future. While I am sure Gusu is brimming with more than adequate quality, there are some things that can only be found in other countries. Lanling especially has some of the finest hardwood in the world. And I have personally felt the quality finish of Qinghe silk. With your permission, we could have these gifts prepared for the Red Lotus Pavilion before the wedding.”

Lan Wangji stayed quiet for a moment before responding, “tradition dictates that the husband provide all resources for the wife’s living.”

Jin Guangyao just smiled, “I see.”

They stood silently for a few more minutes until Jin Guangyao excused himself to return to his diplomatic paperwork. It reminded Lan Wangji of his own desk overflowing with documents about the treaty and wedding. Releasing a small breath, Lan Wangji turned to leave, but his daze had yet to life as he had bumped into an attendant after a few steps. The girl had immediately kowtowed and begged forgiveness. Lan Wangji could not blame her for his own carelessness, especially after noticing her pole, “No matter, rise.”

The girl kowtowed one more time in gratitude before getting up and dusting off her robes to be more presentable. With a salute she greeted the emperor and asked if he needed anything. Lan Wangji was about to refuse when he noticed the bounciness in her stance as they listened to the construction. He motioned for her to speak, remembering after a moment that she can’t see it, “Speak.”

The girl jumped and blushed as she lowered her head, “I heard we will be getting a new empress. This servant has not yet been assigned a proper master, so this one wishes for some work to help prepare for the empress’s arrival.” Her pale eyes widened as she waved her hands, “Of course, this one does not expect to have such a prestigious assignment especially with my… inadequacy. I only wish to help…”

Lan Wangji’s eyes softened behind his headdress. He was sure Wei Ying would never have a problem with a blind attendant, especially one who shared parts of his own history.

Ever since learning of the tragic tale of Wei Ying’s childhood, Lan Wangji could no longer look past the struggling children on the streets of the capital. He had set up programs to aid them, but it never felt enough. Sometimes he would see their thin wrists and hollow cheeks and wondered if Wei Ying had once suffered the same state.

This young attendant was one such orphan living on the streets. He had always seen her near the entrance of the city leading up to the Cloud Recesses. It was a good spot for sure, with a lot of traffic to offer food. She had always been more quiet, content to sit in her spot and not draw attention to herself. When he realized the girl was blind and the cacophony of noise must make things even more difficult, Lan Wangji had since made sure an attendant would give her some food. 

She reminded him of the stories of an orphan Wei Ying, shy and quiet, but looking forward with a smile. Although it was a year ago, Lan Wangji could still remember his worry when the seasons began to change. Going into the capital dusted with snow and finding the girl sleeping under a ratty square of fabric, Lan Wangji’s mind would always superimpose a young Wei Ying over her face.

He couldn’t just leave her out there.

The most he could do was offer her a position as an attendant. 

When she first heard his offer she stared at him absolutely dumbfounded, quickly becoming suspicious. Of course, someone in her position must face unsavory liars hoping to take advantage of her every day. Lan Wangji could only hand her a jade token to the Cloud Recesses and hope it was enough to convey his sincerity. He could almost see the thousands of thoughts running through her head as she looked side to side in slack-jawed disbelief before accepting his offer with an enthusiasm that left him heartbroken.

She was a nice girl with a strong work ethic. Regardless of the job, she would do it with full effort, going to every corner of the Cloud Recesses on an almost daily basis. She even refused assistance to not bother anyone else, her supervisors only accepting because of the quality of her work despite her disability.

Even now she wishes to help with the marriage preparations, willing to give up what little free time she has to work within the Red Lotus Pavilion.

Watching her be so grateful to be worked hard as a servant just to have a roof over her head, Lan Wangji wonders if that is why Wei Ying was so loyal to Yunmeng.

He narrowed his eyes.

Lan Wangji would make sure to treat her with the kindness he wished Wei Ying had been given in Lotus Pier.

Wei Ying would be a good master for her, and she’s shown a dedication to her work that Lan Wangji would approve within the Red Lotus Pavilion. Lan Wangji stroked the sachet in his sleeves, “This emperor accepts your request.”

The girl lights up.

Lan Wangji nods as he gives her an assignment, “Clean the tiles and other embellishments for the pavilion. 139 each. Wash thrice.”

The girl froze and sent him a closed-eyed smile, “...Thank you, Your Highness.”

Lan Wangji nodded to himself before dismissing her and returning to his study.

Lan Wangji spent the rest of the day finishing paperwork, and yet it felt like he barely got anything done. Thoughts of the wedding would hit him as soon as he got bored and left him distracted throughout the day. 

He wanted to see Wei Ying.

He had never understood the impatience of wanting something so close within your grasp. Never before had he wanted to see Wei Ying as strongly as he did then. To hold him, to listen to his chatter, to spend time idling over nonsense together. 

He wanted to spend some time as fiancees instead of rivals.

His thoughts haunted him that night, the phantom warmth of another body pressed against his side torturing him with yearning. Lan Wangji got up to look out at the moon, its silver glow reminding him of bright mischievous eyes. 

He wondered if Wei Ying was looking out at the same moon.

Based on the letter, Wei Ying should already be on his way. Lan Wangji had not expected him to come separately from the Jiang retinue. Did he go alone with no protection? Lan Wangji found it ridiculous, but stranger things have happened when Wei Wuxian was involved.

A small gust of wind blew a chill into the room. Was Wei Ying prepared for the Gusu winter so far north?

…

Wei Ying...

The emperor could only gaze out at the moon as he made up his mind.

The following morning was a subdued flurry of activity as Lan Wangji’s attendants prepared him for his journey. 

His brother stood to the side with an indulgent smile, “Ah, I should have seen this coming. Wangji is a proper gentleman, how could he marry without even a date?”

Lan Wangji’s ears burned as he chose which betrothal gifts to bring, “Brother.”

Lan Xichen dabbed his eyes with his sleeve, “Gallivanting off to woo your bride, leaving this old Xichen behind. Brother feels lonely.”

Lan Wangji curled away from him, ears a blazing crimson, “Brother.”

Lan Xichen just gave an exaggerated sigh, “Yes yes, this brother understands.” His hazel eyes softened at the emperor in his travel attire, “Wangji, be safe. Our decision has not been met with enthusiasm on most sides. It could be dangerous.”

Lan Wangji looked back at him before fastening his sword, “All the more reason I should go.”

Lan Xichen huffed a laugh, “With you and General Wei together, I have no worries.” Then with a suggestive wink, “Good luck.”

Lan Wangji stood stiffly for a moment before quietly turning around, ears red, “Mn.”

He left at dawn.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #lan wangji #suibian #lan xichen #jin guangyao #a-qing #royalty!au #arranged marriage au #emperor!lwj #general!WWX

[bxcksdoll]

Injured

Summary: Steve gets injured on a mission but refuses to see Y/N. Y/N doesn’t know why this is the case and tries to find out why.

Warnings: angst

A/N: I’ve been gone for a couple weeks so I’m sorry about that but I’m back and ready to write!!

The warmth of the coffee cup between your hands; the fluffy, entangled blanket positioned across your thighs; the admirable smell of the smooth book pages in front of you. These qualities of your night were perfect to set you at ease, at calamity with the world. It was now more than ever that you needed this sense of peace and comfort with your nerves. Steve had been sent on another mission to a Hydra camp which always made you more on edge than you’d usually be.

Before leaving, you had begged both Steve and Tony to allow you on the mission but they wouldn’t. Their excuse was that they already had enough crew members but you knew deep down that Steve was the true reason you weren’t accompanying them; Steve was too frightened to let you set foot near any Hydra agents. But you never approached him about this issue as you didn’t wish to argue about it or for Steve to go through that fear of losing you to his worst enemy.

So here you sat, in only the company of your own, reading until your worries seemed as fictional as the tales on the pages your eyes so gracefully danced over. This calming atmosphere was all you ever dreamed of. You felt at peace with the universe. At peace with the thought of the Hydra mission. However, that peace, sadly, only lasted a couple more minutes.

The sound of your front door swinging, aggressively, open made you jump from your comfortable seat - spilling coffee over your shirt in the meantime - and look towards the direction of the door anxiously. Your mind raced at the thought of a kidnapper, a murderer, a Hydra agent. Soon enough you would be faced with your disturber. The figure shot round the corner in one short sprint. Your disturber was revealed: Carol Danvers.

“Don’t you knock?!” You demanded. “You scared the shi-”

“Y/N, this is important,” she interrupted. “It’s Steve - he’s back from the mission. He’s injured but-”

“He’s what?” Your face dropped, a cold sting piercing your heart. “Is he okay? What happened?!”

“He recieved a couple shots to the chest but he’s holding out steady. You don’t have to worry, the shots weren’t fatal.”

“Oh thank god,” you sighed, holding your hand on your heart. “Can I see him?”

“Of course,” she gave you a sympathetic smile. “I’ll take you to him now.”

Carol escorted you down the winding halls; the journey felt endless - as though you’d never reach Steve or as if, when you finally did, his injuries would turn out to be fatal. Eventually, you arrived at the recovery room he was held and cautiously made your way into the room, by yourself.

Steve lay on the hard medical bed, staring at the ceiling. His cheeks were bruised to the bone, his torso wrapped in bloody, seeping bandages. You could barely see your Steve under all the pain and suffering he’d undergone. He didn’t seem to notice your presence inside the room so you stepped closer to him, clearing your throat. Still, Steve’s eyes never wandered off the ceiling.

“Steve?” You uttered, trying to receive his attention.

“I want to be alone,” he replied, closing his eyes.

Pain hit your gut, you felt a form of guilt that he acted so.

“Steve, I came to see you. I was worried,” you ignored his words and, instead, pushed on to try to get him to talk. “I’m glad that you’re okay now, th-”

“Did you not understand what I said?!” Steve suddenly snapped, his eyes fixed on yours. “I want to be left alone.”

You didn’t know how to response, your eyes searching in his for some form of mercy to let you stay. None could be recognised.

“A-alright,” you uttered, retreating from your post. You wandered out of the room, shooting one last sorrowful glance behind you. To your dismay, Steve’s eyes were, once again, fixed on the ceiling.

Once outside, Carol was there to meet you. Her expression was one of confusion as she absorbed the melancholy expression of your own.

“What happened? That was a quick talk,” she remarked.

“He told me he wants to be alone,” you frowned, glancing back into the room. “I’ve never seen him like this, Carol. He barely looked at me.”

“Well, it is getting late. Maybe he’s just tired. Maybe he just wants to rest,” she offered.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” you returned, not believing a single word you said. “How did it happen?”

“I’m sorry to say that I don’t exactly know. Steve was on the west-side of the base and seemed to have it all under control but then, suddenly, there appeared to be Hydra agents with him. I’m sure he’ll tell you what happened tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he will,” you replied, once again not believing when you were saying.

“You should probably get some rest though. Give him some space and get a good night’s rest of your own,” she gave a small smiled, placing an arm around you and leading you back to your room.

——————————————————————————

That night was full of restlessness and the occasional nightmarish thought. You couldn’t help but think of Steve slowly deteriorating in his bed. This thought circled your mind till the point that you couldn’t take it. You had to see him again to check that he was alright.

You snuck down the halls of the compound and approached the door to Steve’s new room. Inside, you saw him lying peacefully in sleep. Or was it a coma? At this point, your mind was too paranoid and sleep deprived to process the difference between reality and your own thoughts.

But just seeing Steve wasn’t enough - you had to be close to him. Pushing the handle down ever so slowly, you opened the door and stepped into the, almost pitch-back, room. From the corner of your eye, you spotted a chair at the side of the room. This sparked an idea in your head. Tonight you would stay by Steve’s side in order to be there immediately if anything were to happen. And so, you sat yourself down in the most comfortable position the small wooden chair would allow you and attempted to drift off into sleep...

——————————————————————————

Throughout the night, you slept lighter than you ever had before. Even one shift from Steve would wake you and cause your adrenaline to kick in. Moreover, you’d find difficulty in returning to sleep once you’d been woken up. Eventually, you ended up sleeping for a while, receiving the rest you needed. However, soon you were woken up by a familiar voice.

“Did you sleep here all night?”

Your eyes shot open at the sound of his voice, taking in the sight of him: he sat up in his small, uncomfortable bed, a crease on his brow and anger in his eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep in my own room thinking about what could happen to you in the night,” you replied.

“I’m fine! I’m not going to die,” Steve raised his voice a bit.

“And thank God for that but still I couldn’t help worrying about you.” You stood up, picking your chair up as you did and moving it over to his bedside. “Steve,” you breathed. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Steve wouldn’t look into your eyes. His body seemed to shift away from yours slightly.

“Steve, c’mon,” you pleaded, “what happened to you?”

“What happened to me?!” He suddenly growled. “You should look at yourself before asking what’s wrong with me! You’re filthy - is that stained coffee on your shirt?”

Glancing down, you remembered the coffee you had spilt from the night before. Steve was acting extremely different - more conservative but argumentative, at the same time. You felt like yelling back at him but you knew this was coming from a deeper, more emotional place inside him. Instead, you responded politely and calmly.

“I’m only concerned about you, Stevie. I don’t want to pressure you.”

“Yeah well I don’t want your concern - I want you to leave!” He spat, his eyes burning into yours.

“Look, I know you’re hurt but the least you could do is be nice to me. You could’ve died, you should be thankful you get to see me again,” you continued in your calm voice.

“Don’t tell me how I should feel,” he argued. This really wasn’t your Steve. Steve would always try to avoid an argument - or even a disagreement - with you. His behaviour was now childish, irritating.

“So you don’t feel thankful that you’re still alive?” The words fell off your tongue like poison, as they left your almost-quivering mouth. Steve didn’t answer, only stared harshly into your eyes. Every second of silence gave you more and more pain. Then, as if by habit, you reached out and touched his cheek. He seemed to melt into your touch, closing his eyes for a few seconds.

“Of course I’m thankful that I’m still alive,” he finally uttered, making your heart warm again. “...I just don’t want you to see me like this, Y/N.” His whole demeanour seemed to alter at your contact. He was more honest, gentle, thoughtful.

You furrowed your eyebrows and took your hand away from his cheek at his words. “Like what?”

Steve motioned down to his bandages. “Like this.”

You couldn’t help but a small laugh escape you. “Oh, you’re embarrassed about being injured? Stevie, you shouldn’t be. It’s not your fault, after all.”

“I know but...I feel weak. Like I didn’t do a good enough job,” he admitted, smiling to lighten the mood.

By this point, you’d moved much closer to his bed. The two of you were almost face to face as you sat and talked. “Steve, you’re still alive. That’s a good enough job for me.” And with than, you leaned forward and captured your lips with his. It was a long tender kiss, as if you were fighting for life. After breaking apart, the two of you leaned your foreheads together, smiling sweetly.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

Tag list: @xmarveled @scuzmunkie

#niv’s mind #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers

[zeldadeservesbetter]

Arthur's Breaking Point, Part 2

((lmao this was a little more than 5 minutes later but i just had to back tf out of the mission where Sean gets fucking shot so now i have to stay frozen in the game in the beginning because i don't want poor Sean to die 😭😭😭))

Arthur had just kept riding until he couldn't anymore, his horse getting exhausted to the point where it had reared him off unexpectedly in his blind rage, leaving him stranded in the snowy woods.

"Goddamn stupid horse!" Arthur cursed as he watched the horse ride off, his body shivering from the cold. He only had on his everyday outfit and a hunting jacket on, that was it.

Adjusting his hat, he decided to just find a small spot to make camp so he could warm himself up and eat whatever he had left in his large satchel.

Sitting down in the shade of the trees on the bottom of a cliff, Arthur had made himself a cozy little fire, using the buck skin from earlier as a blanket to cover him.

All he could scavenge from his satchel was a can of strawberries, some coffee and a little bit of salted beef, something that could hold him over until the next day.

Maybe standing up for himself wasn't so much worth it...

He already missed Preston's crappy but very warm stew and the constant noise that had kept him sane inside the camp. Here, all it was, was complete silence and the occasional chirping of the birds.

Laying down with a shaky sigh, Arthur curled himself into a ball, placing his hat over his head and pulling the rather large buckskin over him, slowly drifting off and hoping he was able to wake up the next day.

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

John had been worried sick about Arthur since he had ridden off, now not coming back for a solid three days now. Arthur would've at least given them a notice he was alive, and they would've most certainly found him in one of the many towns in one of the many hotels.

John, Dutch, and Sean had scoured each state, looking carefully in each town and even riding around in the woods. They found absolutely nothing.

Now John was getting frustrated. He couldn't find Arthur, so he couldn't think straight. All he could think about was if the man was okay, and hoping to God that he wasn't dead.

Miss Grimshaw deserved every bit of what she got, she never paid attention to anything Arthur did, which is why she always bugged him about the camp and resources.

As of now, everyone had been ignoring her and pushing her aside completely, and if she asked one of the girls to do something they'd blow up and tell her to do it herself.

John sighed as he scribbled nonsense into his torn up journal, trying his best to write out how he felt but rage quitting after he couldn't spell something.

Getting up, he grabbed the bottle of gin sitting on his beside (or cotside) table, taking a big swig before setting it back down and exciting his tent, heading straight for his horse instead of the stew pot like everyone else.

"Hola, Buenas tardes amigo. Going to look for Arthur again?" Javier greeted, his expression and overall attitude neutral, unlike John.

"Yeah, you coming with?" John had asked as he approached his horse, hesitantly handing Javier a rifle.

"Yep. I miss him too. I really feel bad about how we treated him..." Javier answered, his expression quickly turning sad.

"We can't think about that now... We have to focus on getting him back, for all we know he could've been kidnapped by O’Driscolls again... Let's hope not."

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

Arthur woke up to none other than the freezing cold temperatures, just the way he felt had shown he had slept longer than one night. His fire was completely out, and it seemed that a snowstorm was coming, and soon.

Arthur quickly got up and packed his things, shivering as he made his way down to barren trial that had very, very faint hoofprints on it. Even if it led to nowhere, it didn't help to follow them.

As he followed the prints for almost twenty minutes, he came across Colter, the place where the group had taken camp when they first escaped Blackwater, and where they had lost their friends.

Arthur hurriedly made his way into the cabin where his old room had been fixed up, and just the memory made him feel guilty. His camp, instead of thinking about themselves, had given Arthur his own living space and comfy bed, in each camp they had been in. They made sure he had food, and anytime he was very dirty Miss Grimshaw made him sit down and wash himself like a mother would.

Tears rolled down his cheeks at the memory, but he quickly sniffed and wiped them away as he prepared another fire. He could hear the howling wind of the snowstorm, knowing that it was going to be a pretty long night.

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

John had followed a lead of someone seeing a "distressed cowpoke" running directly for the mountains, and sure enough as they had entered the snowy terrain Arthur's horse was on the ground, bloody and closing towards death.

Javier quickly hopped off his horse, grabbing a bottle of horse reviver and scurrying to the wounded creature.

"Looks like wolves got him. If we would've been any longer he wouldn't be moving right now." Javier mumbled, patching up the horse as best he could. The creature slowly got up, but hung it's head low as it stood.

"... You reckon Arthur's okay?" John had asked after a brief moment of silence, getting a silence from Javier before he spoke abruptly.

"At this point, i don't know. The blood on the saddle could be Arthur's, but let's hope not. For now, let's follow the trail and keep his horse behind us in case we find him." Javier said, rather quietly this time. It seems that he was running out of hope for his friend.

John shot the other a worried expression, but proceeded to get onto his horse and slide his big jacket on, riding into the seemingly endless snow.

After riding for what seemed like hours, John and Javier had come across footprints, they looked like they were recent but almost swept away by a storm. That's what they used to get to Colter, a place they really never expected to be again.

"Arthur? Arthur! are you here?" John had yelled upon entering, Javier quickly joining in.

They knew he was here, but they were afraid to find out whether he was alive or dead.

"Let's scout the buildings. Maybe he's in one of them." Javier said after a moment, hopping off and hitching his horse along with John.

"Got it." John said blankly, sucking in a deep breath to prepare for the worst.

Building by building, they had scoured the place for Arthur. Finally, they hit the last building, which was Arthur's old room when they were camped there.

Busting open the door, John was surprised to not see Arthur sitting in the center of the room, but once he entered the back room his heart dropped.

There Arthur was, hunched under a broken window with his face covered in icicles, wrapped up in old blankets and skins.

"Javier! Javier, Javier get over here now!" John hollered, racing to Arthur's side, his hands shaking as he reached up to cup the man's face.

"Arthur, Arthur hey its John. C-Can you hear me?" John rambled, his voice quivering with fear of the worst. But his fear had subsided upon hearing his name being weakly said.

"John... You came..." Arthur wheezed, his voice sounding strained, as if he hadn't been able to keep himself warm all these days.

"Shh... Of course i came... I'm not letting you just storm off out of my life like that, you idiot. Please don't ever do that again." John pleaded, taking his own coat off and moving the thin blankets out of the way to wrap his coat around Arthur, who seemed most appreciative of the gesture.

"Jesus- i heard you John what's- ARTHUR!" Javier yelped, his surprised expression twisting with joy as he approached the man.

"He's okay... Thank God. But we need to get him to camp before he freezes to death." Javier continued, pulling out his already half-opened bottle of gin, holding it to Arthur's lips, who graciously took a swig. "That'll help keep you warm until we get you to camp."

John and Javier heaved Arthur up and they each held an arm, carrying him out of the cabin and to the horses, making sure to carefully set him on his own horse.

"Let's get you home, Arthur."

((Sorry if this felt rushed, i wanted to do this first before i watched Quackcity😂😂😂 part 3 will be around sometime soon, and i mean soon soon... Because i can't sleep worth a damn. Thanks, and goodnight to anyone who's also just starting to fall asleep 😂😂))

#johnmarston #john/arthur #javier escuella john marston #dutch van der linde john marston #john marston

[saunteredslowlydownward]

Born As the World Burns verse Headcanons: Season 5

Sympathy for the Devil

Emma wants so badly to smack Becky.  What a creep.

While Dean is still unable to forgive Sam, Emma chooses to forgive him right away.

She and Dean still haven’t resolved the hurt that Emma felt about Dean calling Sam a monster.

“Are you guys serious?” when Bobby demon gets angry at Sam for starting the Apocalypse.

Foolishly steps in front of Dean at the storage unit when Zachariah shows up - get’s herself angel smacked for the trouble.

Being a vessel is a bloodline thing - that means Emma is both a viable vessel for Michael and Lucifer.  That’s got to have some sort of impact on things.

Bobby: “That was the demon talking.”  Emma: “I knew it!”

Gives Bobby a kiss on the cheek before they leave the hospital. <3

Good God, Y’all

When Castiel says he’s going to find God, Emma makes a “Dogma” reference - about finding him on the boardwalk playing skeeball.

“It would figure that War is a man.”

Tells Sam that if going off on his own is what he needs to do, then that’s what he should do, but she will miss him.  A lot.  And he better stay in touch.

Free to Be You and Me

Still mostly stays in the backseat even though the shotgun seat isn’t occupied by Sam.

“Who are Bert and Ernie and why are you so sure that they’re gay?”

Emma obviously does not go along with Cas and Dean when they go to get Cas laid.

They pick her up from wherever on the way back to the abandoned house where they run into Raphael.

The End

Actual Emma doesn’t get taken forward to see the future, but there is a 2014!version of Emma at Camp Chitaqua.

Though I would totally love to do a version of the episode where it’s Emma that ends up in 2014, either with or without Dean.

Half tempted to say that Emma is among the girls in Cas’ cabin getting ready for the orgy.

She’s cold, hard, but also fiercely loyal.  There’s a distinct possibility that Dean doesn’t allow her to leave camp.

Fallen Idols

If he hasn’t yet, Dean has to teach Emma about the wonder that is James Dean.

Complains about the clear lack of female representation at the Wax Museum.

I Believe the Children Are Our Future

On Sam's side with telling Jesse the truth.

Cas to Sam: You didn’t. (As in make the right choice)  Emma: And he didn’t have all the information either, did he?

The Curious Case of Dean Winchester

Changing Channels

Dean insists it was Emma that wanted to watch "Dr. Sexy, M.D.”

Once again, Emma is not on board with killing a god.

ends up in scrubs as an intern on Dr. Sexy

dressed as one of the booth babes on the Japanese game show

keeps getting “cast” further and further from Sam and Dean - cause sehs' not supposed to have a role in the Apocalypse

Procedural cop show - she’s the innocent bystander who found the body

Knight Rider- she’s not even there

The Real Ghostbusters

Will physically stop Becky from touching Sam if she has to.

Manages to find quite a bit of humor in the idea of a Supernatural con.

Until she meets a girl that has gotten the Amazon symbol as a tattoo.

At the gravesite when Demian and Barnes are freaking out about the real bones, she points out to Dean “You know you two come across as a couple of psychopaths, right?”

Instead of making the actress face the ghosts, Emma trades clothes with her and does it.

Abandon All Hope

Bonds with Jo and Ellen, drinking with Cas.

Dean demands that she stay behind with Bobby.

Like Emma’s gonna go for that.  She steals a car from the scrap yard and chases after them.

So, not actually a headcanon, but do no hunters actually know basic first aid?  They hardly did anything to stop Jo’s bleeding.  It’s called putting pressure on the wound, people!

Emma catches up with them at William Jasper’s farm (or just misses them in the verse where she meets Lucifer).

Sam, Interrupted

Emma has a bad feeling about this job.

All the more so when they meet Martin.  She keeps it very close to the chest who she actually is.  There’s no non-supernatural option as to why Dean has a kid Emma’s age all of a sudden, after all.

Swap Meat

I have a feeling Gary might not know what to make of Emma, possibly hit on her.

The Song Remains the Same

Stuck behind because Cas doesn’t have that much juice.

My Bloody Valentine

Emma gets hungry for man flesh.  In both ways.

Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid

Emma really likes Karen.  She full on cries when they have to take her out.

Hugs the crap out of Bobby.  Obviously it doesn’t fix anything, but he fucking needs one damn it!

Dark Side of the Moon

Emma is downright shocked when she goes to Heaven - she had assumed that she was going to be doomed to Purgatory.

Pretty much all of her happiest memories revolve around Dean, a few around Sam.

“Sam… I’m pretty sure that if someone like me deserves Heaven… apparently… the you *definitely* deserve it.”

When “Mary” gives her speech about everyone leaving, Emma stubbornly points out that she hasn’t left him.

Emma grabs the Samulet out of the garbage can on her way out.

99 Problems

So pissed at Dean for running off.  Especially when she finds out that he went to say to goodbye to Lisa. (not for the goodbye itself, but for the giving up that it implies)

Point of No Return

Before raising Adam, the angels try to kidnap Emma to take Dean’s place.  When she proves to be as stubborn as her father, then they move on to plan C.

When Dean says ‘yes’, it’s the first time that Emma calls him Dad, cause she yells out “DAD NO!”

Hammer of the Gods

Whatever Greeks are there get a bit possessive over Emma, since she is technically one of theirs.

The Devil You Know

Two Minutes to Midnight

Goes to Delacroix to retrieve de-powered Cas.

Emma has never been sick before so Pestilence hits her particularly hard.

“Sammy, if I hear you call yourself the least of us again, I might just have to smack you.”  Emma won’t stand for that self hate from him.

Swan Song

Emma makes an attempt to talk to Lucifer… but it doesn’t go well.  He snaps her neck just like he does Bobby’s.

Goes with Dean to Lisa’s.  She doesn’t know what else to do, really.  She promised Sam that she would look after Dean and she plans to keep that promise the best that she can.

#v: born as the world burns #c: emma #headcanons #supernatural rewatch #long post

[kelliangrey-ffxivrp]

Short Story - Misadventure in the Shroud

It’s been a long time since I wrote anything to post on a public forum, but that kind of was the whole point when I started the blog. This was mostly a warm up, but maybe I’ll try to continue the plot line when the mood next strikes me. In any case, if you choose to read on, I hope you enjoy it!

Kellian had made a promise not to bite off more than he could chew. Despite his best efforts, Kellian was not particularly good at keeping his promises. As he crashed through the dense undergrowth, he hissed and sucked in painful breath around cracked ribs until finally he slid under a fallen log and straightened up to put his back to it, wincing and grunting. “Bloody hells.” He cursed, opening his coat to find the bandolier tucked around his chest, retrieving a vial from it and quaffing the contents, grunting as the bitter taste went down. “Fix? How many of them are there?”

His mammet, floating loyally by his head as always, lifted herself on aetherfoil wings to peek over the top of the log. “Seven.” She announced. Lifting a little higher to peek, it wasn’t long before an arrowhead struck her in her small forehead with the sharp clang of metal-on-metal, and she dropped to the floor. Kel lifted the mammet into his lap, brushing a thumb over the shallow dent.

“Are you okay?” He asked, frowning. “Yes. Alert, Kellian. They are armed and surprisingly accurate.” “No kidding.” Kel grunted, letting the mammet take to the air under her own power once more as he shifted to kneel. His injuries didn’t bother him so much thanks to the mixture he drank, though he knew he’d need someone to take a look at it before he called it a day or he’d regret it in the morning. Patting around for a different pocket, he retrieved a few rounds of ammunition and began to slot them into the chamber of his trick-rifle. “Think you can spot them out for me?” He asked, retrieving a sleek visor from inside his jacket and unfolding the arms to put it over his face. “Yes.” After a few moments for the device to initialise, Kel’s stolen (and modified, naturally) Garlean Shadow visor gave him vision of the surrounding area once more - only now, the tiny pricks of light that his mammet recognised as aetheric signatures were visible to him. He saw seven of the coerlclaw poachers, just as Fixia had counted. Kel turned in his position of cover to try and get an angle, though he couldn’t tell their bearing or armament with the visor he at least knew that three were hanging back while the other four moved up to try and flank his position. It was a good tactic. If he moved, he’d be shot down and if he stayed where he was it wouldn’t be long before they had a good angle to do just that anyway. It was a bad spot to be in, but luckily Kel had one significant advantage.

He was a dirty, underhanded cheat.

His hands tightening on the grip of his rifle, he slid his other hand into the hold on the inside of its bladed length, taking a breath.

‘One flank at a time.’ He thought to himself. Without emerging from cover, he checked the position of the two moving up on his right before he sprang into action. Leaping out of cover and over a rotting stump, he twisted just in time to avoid the first of likely many arrows, firing in the short space of a second before he hit the ground. The aether-charged round splintered right through one of the thick trees, eliciting a rewarding howl of pain from the poacher on the other side. Rolling to lie on his stomach, Kel fired again, splintering more wood. A miss, judging by the unchanged aether signature. He flicked the revolving chamber out to the side of his rifle once more, reaching for another special round from his satchel and sliding it into place. The chamber snapped back into place, and Kel span it with his thumb, pulling the trigger as soon as the correct round passed the hammer. This aether-charged round fired with an even louder crack - but as it struck the tree and passed through the wood, it split into shards of razor-sharp shrapnel, coming out the other side as a deadly hurricane of metal shards. They didn’t have enough velocity to kill, most likely, but they at least took a second poacher out of the fight.

“Behind you.” Fix’s alert came with no urgency to her voice, but Kel knew better than to ignore the mammet’s advanced warnings. He rolled and brought his weapon up to clash with the axe being swung down at his back from above, grunting as he parried the downward force into the dirt just above his shoulder. He twisted, swinging his right leg into the poacher’s knee. The dense metal of his prosthetic foot cracked into the man’s joint with an audible snap, and he dropped to the ground, howling and holding his knee. That was, until Kel brought the heel of his metal foot down onto the side of his head as hard as he could. It didn’t really matter whether he was dead - just so long as he wouldn’t be rejoining the fight. Pulling the visor off his face, he tossed it aside as his next opponent came charging at him with a spear - the other flanking enemy from the left. Only just having got to his feet, Kel had to scramble to avoid the spear - it tore against the fabric of his coat at his shoulder, but didn’t graze his flesh. As he twisted again to avoid another thrust at his hip, Kel shifted his grip on his trick-rifle. The mechanism in the grip shifted, lining up parallel with the straight edges of the blade; now more comfortably wielded as a heavy (and admittedly slightly awkward) sword - though it was far more useful now to parry the head of the thrusting spear. He caught the bladed tip with a swipe of his own weapon across his torso, turning it to once more go up and over his shoulder. With his opponent’s arms up high, he took a single step forward to deliver a winding blow to their sternum with a heavy kick from his good leg. As they stumbled backward, Kel let the momentum cause him to stagger away in the opposite direction. Once he found his feet again, he held his weapon up in rifle-grip once more, and promptly shot his opponent in the gut. Grinning, he felt a clever quip coming to his lips - one that was promptly cut off as an arrow embedded itself in his shoulder. The only thing that had saved him from getting it in the neck was the cocky pose he’d adopted. Cursing his own stupidity, Kel threw himself to the ground once more as two other arrows whizzed by.

Leaving his rifle on the ground for a moment, Kel gripped the arrowhead in both hands - not to pull it out, as he knew that would be unwise, but instead to snap the shaft about a fist’s length from where it had buried into his flesh. It was the best compromise between retaining some mobility and not bleeding out, he figured, and he managed to hide his reaction save for a minor whimper through grit teeth.

“Are you functional, Kellian?” “Aye.” Kel bit back. “Just another scar. Three left.”

“They seem to be holding position. Likely they are not as proficient in close quarters as those who were sent to flank you.”

Kel glanced at the poacher writhing with a shot through his gut. “Then they’ll be like kittens in a fistfight.” He said dryly. “I don’t see me getting close, though. They’ve got a good angle on us.” He took a moment to think, though he frowned as it was difficult to form thoughts around the goraning poacher. A smack to the head with the butt of his rifle solved that. Reaching into a satchel at his waist, Kel retrieved a steel cylinder from it and twisted the top, offering it to Fix. “Take this flash bomb. Stay above me, in the trees. When I signal, drop it.”

“Understood.” Fix said, hugging the flash-bomb to her chest as it was about half her diminutive size. Using the cover of the trees, she lifted higher to the skies and disappeared into the foliage above. With a bracing breath, Kel sheathed his rifle in the leather holster on his back, grunting as he got to his feet, his hands up above his head. He had to duck as another arrow whizzed past, and he called out with a scowl. “Hey!” He snarled. “I’m surrendering! You got me!” Luckily, they seemed to believe him.

“Come forward!” One barked, while the other two kept their bows trained on him. “And don’t try anything. You’re gonna answer for making us chase you through the forest. Gods help you if you don’t have what you stole!”

“Wouldn’t be a particularly good thief if I’d dropped it.” Kel said dryly, fishing in his pocket to retrieve the amulet that he’d stolen from the Coerlclaw’s camp. “What’s so special about this, anyway?” He asked as he stopped in the clearing, his arms still up - though one hand now held the sparkling jewellery.

“That’s none of your business.” The apparent leader said, stepping forward to snatch the amulet out of his hand. “What’s it to you anyway? What does it mean to you, that it’s worth killing over?”

“It’s just a payday to me.” Kel answered honestly.

Sneering, the leader tucked the amulet back into a pocket. “Well, thanks. Anything left to say?”

Kel shrugged, then raised a hand a little higher, pointing upward. He snapped his fingers, and naturally, all three couldn’t help but look upward. Just as the flash-bomb went off. Knowing it was coming, Kel shielded his view from the flash - and immediately hit the deck as it went off, since the two remaining bowmen loosed their shots as the flash went off. Kel bit back a pained scream as the impact drove the arrowhead in his shoulder just a little deeper. Scrambling to his feet, he drew a knife from his boot and lunged forward to drive it into the shoulder of the man who had come too close, plunging his free hand into the man’s pocket to retrieve the amulet. He pushed past him and twisted, ripping the knife from his previous victim to hurl it at another one of the archers. With one left, he pushed himself forward and tackled the archer, driving a quick crack across their jaw with an armoured fist. He finally let himself sit up with a frustrated gasp, holding his shoulder as he felt the arrowhead shift, and a pang of pain from his cracked ribs.

“Stars above.” He growled. “You good, Fix?”

“I am functional. Are you?” The mammet chimed cheerfully.

“Enough.” Kel grunted. “Lead me back to the Fenrir. Let’s get out of here and get paid.”

“And seek medical attention.” Fixia reminded.

“Sure.” Kel muttered. “I’ve got a medkit at home.”

#kellian #ic #writing #my writing #ffxiv #ffxiv rp #combat #fixia #story 1

[theepitomeofamess]

okay here’s the first of the original works I asked y’all about @witch19 and @anuninspiredpoet, here ya go. I’m also posting it to my ao3, if that’s easier to read. Feedback is more than welcome if you have any to give! Thank you!

This story was requested by @witch19. 

Autumn Blue (the title may change)

word count: 2233

The air has chilled around him significantly since he started the day, signalling the slow beginning of night. Crickets begin to sing and howls announce the arrival of the wolf’s time. He knows many who would slow against the cold, who would insist on setting camp for the night before the sun has even started to set. Many of his comrades in arms would already be settled down at a fire by now, roasting a squirrel on a spit. Not him. He keeps riding, following the fading light even after it’s dipped beneath the horizon. He’s better than that.

Thalia whinnies as the sun rises. She isn’t overworked yet because of the steady pace he’s been keeping, but she needs water. She can hear a stream nearby. He can hear it, too. They stop for two minutes so Thalia can drink and he can fill his water skin. They don’t have time for anything else. He hears the whispers in the stream, the snickers and the stories, and he knows that he needs to keep moving. Mounting Thalia again, he gets back to the trail as quickly as possible and keeps going, following the line of his shadow.

The trees talk with the stream, the breeze laughing at their comments. He can’t understand a single word - he hardly hears them - but he knows that they are talking about him. They know what he is doing. They know what’s happened to every other person that has been foolish enough to believe the rumors.

They know that the rumors are true - far too true for anyone willing to prove them right.

The colors around him are saturated to the point of painful to look at for too long, scarlet and tiger orange leaves burning furiously against an impossibly blue sky. He has to bow his head, watching the trail just above Thalia’s ears to keep himself from getting nauseous at the sight. He doesn’t see when the trees open their eyes, watching as he rides by a bit more quickly than he was before. He doesn’t see the vultures grinning at their future meal between the blazing canopy and eerily cloudless sky.

He only truly stops riding on the third night, when he can hardly stand the exhaustion any more. Thalia felt the same, lying on the ground almost as soon as she was content with how much she’d eaten. He known that he’s been working her too hard, only giving her short bursts of rest while he stopped to gather more water or food, but he can’t afford to lose time on this. He refuses to end up like William, declared dead after being missing for a month after he should have been back. He refuses to become just one more soldier lost to the woods. He’s smarter than that, better than that.

He refuses to take his armor off, just in case.

Leaning back against Thalia’s side, he looks to the sky. He can only just make out stars beyond the canopy that has faded from fire to ink. It still unnerves him to look at the space around him - he’ll imagine a face in the canopy if he looks for too long, or hear a word of doom prophesied in birdsong. It makes his head spin.

No, it’s just the exhaustion. He knows that it’s just exhaustion that’s making him hallucinate, that’s making him dizzy. Pressing himself closer into Thalia, he clings to the handle of his sword and tries his best to get sleep. It’s hard, though, when all he can hear is the not so distant chatter of what he imagines to be wolves praising the thought of his liver soon becoming their chew toy.

“Getting close,” he mutters to Thalia, petting her head as he feels the wind pick up. They’re coming up on the center of the wood, the center of the myths. He knows that it’s almost unheard of for journeys through woods like this to go untampered with, but he knows why he hasn’t come across any foe - any living thing at all - since the beginning of his journey. He knows that they want to see the fight, that they want to see him lose. The only concern in his mind is how he’s going to get out of the woods once he’s won, since they will probably all come after him once they see that their champion is no match for him.

He’s nervous when he sees the clearing, of course. Who wouldn’t be? He’s been hearing stories about this place since he was a child, stories meant to keep him from entering the woods in the first place. His mother had sobbed so much when he’d told her about his quest. He knows that she thinks he’s being foolish. He probably is. But the line between foolish and brave is finer and more fragile than a glass hair. He can’t afford to try and make a definite distinction between the two, especially not now that he’s here. He can’t afford to be like that. He has to be better.

He hitches Thalia to a tree - he doesn’t want her to be in the line of fire, but he doesn’t want her to run away once he wins and needs her to take him home. Petting her between the eyes, he almost can’t bring himself to say goodbye. That might be what happens beyond the treeline - he might never see her again.

He can’t afford to think that way. He has to be better than that.

“I’ll be back soon,” he assures her, the words scorching his throat. “I’ll be back soon.”

Knuckles white as he grips his sword, he does his best to take in the clearing. The color saturation is worse here than anywhere else. The grass and small garden to the left of the cabin are just about glowing, the windows looking into the cabin iridescent. He hears expectant chatter echoing from the treeline. The creatures - spirits, nymphs, fae, he’s heard them called a million things - are gathering to see the show, to watch and see if they get a particularly bloody bit of entertainment to hold them over until the next righteous moron comes along.

His mind swarms with the different stories he’s been told about the witch throughout his life. His father had called her a creature of hellfire and scorches her victims entirely with a single look. His mother had called her a wolf that had assumed human form and shares her victims as a meal with her pack. The village priest warned that she was possessed by the ultimate evil and would send her victims to serve their dark master, leaving only a few corpses at the edge of her woods as an example. His grandmother had called her a wonderful judge of character. 

He never knew what she meant by that, but it didn’t matter among the pile of men the witch has stolen away.

He’s sure that she would have every entrance to the place lined with traps. After all, she’d been attacked countless times over the past century or so. Of course, the front door might be spared. Nobody uses the front door when they’re planning an attack. It’s only when he’s got his back pressed to the front facade of the cabin that he realizes he might have wanted to come up with a plan.

Something moves in the cabin. The tap of a cup on a wooden tabletop and the whistle of a teapot.

The whistle is broken by the crack of the wooden door against his foot.

He can’t remember a time when he hasn’t worked with horses. His father owned a horse farm, his first job away from home was in the king’s stables. He was there when Thalia was born, and he has never wanted a life away from stables, away from the smell of hay and mud and horse shit. Most people he met couldn’t see the beauty in it, they scrunched their noses at the life that always left him covered in dirt and sweat that nearly crystallized if he didn’t wash it off immediately.

He’s brushing Thalia gently. He’s in stables that are familiar but foreign. Craning his neck slightly, he looks to the worn down ceiling of the stables. Between the cracks, he can see the color of the sky - so blue, so bright, always cloudless. He can’t remember a time the sky hasn’t been clear. The color seems to squeeze his head between his eyes, the color so flawless that it can’t be real.

He makes a mental note to fix that ceiling before they get a storm rolling in.

He doesn’t ask when they last had rain. He doesn’t question what he knows. He’s better than that.

Through the window behind Thalia, he can see William working in the fields. He’s always had a green thumb. Their parents used to be friends, trading horse manure for produce and buying each other drinks. He’d gone to school with William, played with him while they weren’t working or in class. He’s the one who had taught William to ride a horse, the practice leading to William’s stories about how he would be the famous hero who brought the witch’s head back to the village on a pike. Something about the proclamation had always sounded fake, halfhearted as he looked to his father who warned him to stand by his promise of heroism.

It was William who had persuaded him to join the royal guard in a world somewhere between a dream and a memory, another life entirely.

“Glad to see you’re settling in all right.”

The voice is so clear that it startles him, the brush landing in a cloud of dust on the ground. The woman standing in the doorway of the stable looks old enough to be his mother, silver hair and laughter lines the only indication of any aging. She wears a cloak the came green as the trees lining the perimeter of their little community and a smile that radiates the kind of maternal compassion that’s laced with white lies. In spite of her welcoming presence, he can’t bring himself to look her in the eyes. They’re blue - autumn blue - so clear and bright that it hurts his head.

“Can I help you?” He picks up the brush to avoid looking at her. He wants nothing more than to make her leave, but he won’t. He’s better than that.

“ I just came to see how you’re getting on. It can be disorienting for some, and it doesn’t always go through the first time.”

What the hell are you talking about?

“Would you like to sit down?” He grabs a chair from the corner, setting it out for her. It’s all too easy for him to bite away the question that he actually wanted to ask.

“I see you retained your training in chivalry. Most of them didn’t learn it in the first place.” She moves to sit where he set the chair, and he turns back to Thalia.

The closer she gets, the harder he finds it to focus on Thalia’s mane. The brush isn’t moving, just sitting between his palm and the side of her neck. He can almost feel a crisp breeze coming off of her, running its fingers through his hair. Though she seems vaguely familiar, he has no idea who this woman is or why she’s watching him so intently. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that he was reliving the first time he prepared a chicken for cooking, his mother watching his every move over his shoulder.

“You’re a friend of William’s, right?” He nods, still with his back to her. He hears the chair just barely creak under her weight. The brush manages to move through the hair again, his body running on autopilot. “He’s a good kid. Just barely edged out of death, he did. He buried it so deep that I almost couldn’t figure out what he was trying to prove.”

“I’m sorry,” he finally forced himself to face her, “but what are you talking about?”

“Oh,” she nodded after a moment, realization crossing her features. “It really hit you hard, then. Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.” She stood, making a stride to leave before looking back at him. Reaching out, she places a hand on his shoulder. “You’re good, you know. I’ve known that for a while. You’re good, better than most. You don’t need to prove it. Not anymore, at least. Just take good care of Thalia. That’s all you need to worry about now.”

Something about the curve of her smile, the crows feet at the corners of her eyes, the slight crack in the cadence of her voice. It all seems more familiar the more he looks at her. She’s still otherworldly, but there’s something that he knows. Something that he trusts.

He nods, and she leaves him to tend to Thalia. There’s something about her, a feeling that he can’t shake. She knows him better than anyone ever has, she knows things that he’s never told anyone before, at least to his recollection.

“Maybe she’s psychic,” he mutters to Thalia, who whinnies and shakes her mane in response as he brushes his way down her side. “Or maybe she’s just a really good judge of character.”

#original writing #my writing #for @witch19 #original work #my stuff #sorry to bother you with my crap #but here it is #a few of you said you'd like to see it #and rae wants me to post it #so here it is #here ya go

[asexual-fandom-queen]

for the fanfic trope selector: bruce/tony & 6 ! :)

The prompt was “Next Generation” so I get the feeling this turned into… not what you wanted, but it was fun to write anyway, so I hope you like it all the same! (and give ‘er a good ole fashioned reblog)

Gravel crunches heavily under Ginny’s feet. The unyielding scents of ash and sweat linger in her nostrils, burning and raw. It’s eerie, walking through the hollowed out ruins of the old, industrial building. The film of grime clinging to her skin feels like a million eyes, the echo of her paces the creeping crawl of spindly robot arms, following her. Watching her.

A sudden clattering of rubble sets Ginny spinning on her heels. Raising her hand is a reflex – willing the swarm of nanites curled around her chest to migrate down her arm, to form a repulsor beam in her cupped palm.

She lets off a shot.

“Oi,” sputters a very indignant, very familiar voice. Ginny watches strong, chiseled arms swat the repulsor beam away, rough, calloused hands tamping down the fire that’s caught at the hem of an army green tank top. The stilted, smokey-blue light cast through the sunken roof highlights taupe tones under brown skin.

“Odin’s Arsehole! Would you watch where you fire that thing? We aren’t all of us tough as Asgardians, yeah?”  

A chill runs up Ginny’s spine. The swish of her ponytail against the nape of her neck turns her stomach.

“Ulla.”

Ulla rolls her eyes, kicking the rubble at her feet with the steel toe of her mud-caked boot. Her smile is disarmingly casual as she maneuvers around the wreckage to draw closer. Ginny’s shoulders drop.

“Obviously,” Ulla replies. “Would it hurt you to think before you act?”

Ginny shrugs with one shoulder, then turns again, giving Ulla her back. She hears the rasp of Ulla’s fingers through her short, wavy hair, followed by her deep, long-suffering sigh.

“Penny for your thoughts, Virginia Banner?” There’s something ritualistic about hearing her full name from Ulla’s mouth, the way her lips curve around the vowels, tongue languid and slow, dropping consonants. It stirs up the faintest traces of a smile.

Picking at the raw, bloodied skin around the beds of her nails, Ginny replies, “we haven’t come across a single bot in four days. That doesn’t worry you?”

“I suppose if you’re one to look a gift horse in the mouth, it does,” Ulla says.

Ginny frowns. “I’m serious.”

“As a coma,” Ulla replies. A warm, familiar hand lands on Ginny’s shoulder, and Ginny allows herself to be moved, to be spun around so Ulla’s deep, brown eyes can look into her own, every bit as deep and brown.

“I know how bad this is, Ginny,” Ulla says. “It’s End of Days bad. I get that. But if I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, I’m going to wear myself into the ground before I’ve had the chance to do anything about it. And I can’t let that be how this story ends.”

Ginny worries her lip. It tastes faintly of copper. “Anxiety,” she says. “It– uh. It runs in families, you know.”

“Let us look over your shoulder for you then, yeah?” Ulla offers. “At least to rest. You’re jumpy enough to kill us all before the apocalyptic hellscape we live in’s had the chance.”  

Ginny’s answering smile is rueful, and it makes Ulla purse her lips. Ginny taps her bicep with the back of her hand. “‘Fraid it doesn’t work that way, Thunderstruck.”

She takes a step back, putting distance between herself and Ulla, to pace backward through the pulverized mess of what used to be a concrete floor. “Why don’t you go rally the troops, huh? It’s been a week since we lost radio contact with Nat. I’m sure Hawkeye Lite is about ready to jump ship. We need to hit the rendezvous point before there’s no one left to rendezvous with.”

Ulla frowns. “Cooper and Lila are still MIA,” she argues. “He’ll not just up and leave.”

“Oh, believe me,” Ginny says. “That might be the best case scenario.”  

Ulla takes a purposeful step back, arms spreading wide. “Fine,” she says. “We’ll give it another few hours before we stop to make camp. I’ll get everyone going.”

Ginny nods, but makes no move to follow Ulla as she takes another step back.

Ulla frowns. “Are you not coming?”

Ginny diverts her gaze upward, combing through what’s left of the rafters, looking through dinge and grime for flashes of bright, stainless silver. “Go ahead,” she says. “I’ll catch up. I just wanna do one last sweep of the place. Make sure we’re not being followed.”

Ulla sighs. It sounds deep and perturbed. “You could at least give the apocalypse a chance to be the thing that does you in.”

Ginny doesn’t reply, nor does she dare to look over at Ulla as she speaks. It’s quiet for a moment – eerily quiet. Cities and towns used to be filled with noise and chaos and sounds of life. Now, the only sounds are ones of danger, and their absence makes Ginny’s hair stand on end.

Finally, Ulla’s boots track through the rubble, fading away into nothing until a fire burns in Ginny’s chest. She wipes fervently at the wetness on her checks, then reaches into the pocket of her fraying tactical pants and pulls out a small, folded paper square.

The image is faded, almost to nothing in the areas where it’s creased. Ginny unfolds it with careful, shaking fingers, and runs the same fingers reverently across the smiling faces she uncovers. Three pairs of dark brown eyes stare back at her, all sandwiched together in a loving embrace. They’re so familiar, yet she almost doesn’t know them from memory. It’s sits with her uncomfortably, how time and trauma and violence pull memories apart like candy floss. Even memories of herself.  Ginny traces the lines of two vivid orange pigtails, and the empty space where a front tooth is missing from a child’s innocent smile.

“We just have to find Strange,” she whispers to the two men smiling up at her from her photograph. Even now, all these years later, she feels the weight of them pressed solidly against each of her shoulders. “Wherever he’s hidden himself, Billy thinks he’s close to finding a way in. We’ll find him, and then this’ll all be over. We’ll fix everything, okay?”

There’s something terrifying about the prospect of starting over, of finding Strange and resetting the timeline and erasing the last decade of her life. Erasing the way it feels to have Ulla’s hand on her shoulder, steady and hopeful and optimistic in a time when hope and optimism are all but dead.

The last memory she has of her fathers is around the breakfast island. Smells of motor oil and cardamom and pancakes, the sizzle of them frying on the stove, the rough scratch of sleep-heavy laughter, nimble fingers tressing her hair, massaging her scalp, while the sun filters lazily through the windows, all of Manhattan spread out beneath them.

It’s an easy trade.

“I’ll see you soon.”  

#mcu #marvel #bruce banner/tony stark #...kinda #future fic #next generation #prompt fill #fanfiction #my fic #mine #ask answered #tiredpasserby #long post for ts