#so in summary: augh the agonies

[bidokja]

only on episode 3 of the untamed but my fav characters (aside from the obvious wwx numero uno) so far are lan xichen (so sweetie 🥺💖), jiang cheng (YOU HAVE SO MANY ISSUES i just know hes gonna break me), and wen ning (SO BABY...HOLDS HIM SO GENTLE...)

#also i really like literally every character so far except wen ruohan fuck that guy in particular #LIKE. aside from being a horrible person he jsut doesnt interest me much as a character yet he feels relatively flat so far. but again. ep3 #xue yang has only briefly appeared but i can TELL hes gonna commit atrocities a im gonna wanna shake him like a maraca #ALSO JIANG YANLI....SHE MAKES ME SO SAD AND IS SO SWEET AUGHHH.... #i dont know anything about the untamed except like. non-major-plot-related character info #im watching it with my boyfriend and he gave me the 'jin lings uncles' version of the summary lmao #but we got to the point where we entered The Flashbacks and i went 'ah. so ive been fucking shakespeared.' #DRAMATIC IRONY I LOVE AND HATE YOU...THE AGONY OF KNOWING THIS ALL ENDS HORRIBLY...AUGH #the untamed #ky speaks

[violetlunette]

Runaway_Chapter 3_Lilia's Part

Summary: Silver has run away. Who's at fault?

<-Previous Chapter

Master List

Ao3

Notes: *I had to split this as Tumblr no long takes long posts, I guess. *Twst spoilers for Chapter/Book 7

For the longest time Lilia felt numb. Thinking back, he must have been in shock.

He didn’t even realize what was happening until he was standing before Queen Malefica, the Queen of Briar Valley and the woman who took him in as an orphan.

She stared at him with the same accusing eyes she had 400 years ago after Malenore’s death, injecting emotions of regret and sorrow into his shocked mind and bringing him to the present.

The Queen demanded an explanation to what happened and how Lilia could allow Malleus to blot over.

The accusation reminded of the events outside of Silver and his feelings of shame overrided the emptiness Silver’s departure had left for the moment.

Despite—or maybe because of--what he was going through, Lilia was more than willing to take the blame for it all, as it was his fault.

Lilia failed to take note of how distraught Malleus was over his leaving. Then, due to his weakness, the guardian was unable to stop his ward from casting the spell over the island. Who knew what consequences Brair Valley now faced due to his negligence? And what would happen to Malleus now?

However, as they were speaking, Malleus himself teleported into the room.

Almost immediately, the prince confronted his grandmother about the past and how she misled him all this time. He was so enraged Lilia worried Malleus would blot over again.

It took time, but Lilia managed to calm him, and they began to talk rationally.

Once things were settled—as much as they could between two dragons--Lilia left them alone to speak, something he was glad to to ad the world suddenly felt very heavy upon his shoulders.

He knew that he and Malleus would have to speak later, but for now...

Despite his his exhaustion, Lilia knew he had things he needed something to do, he went to inform Sebek of the situation, namely Silver’s departure. He deserved to know, after all.

Sebek was angry and distraught, breaking into tears when he heard the news. Lilia didn’t blame him.

The boys had been together for ten years and were the only companions they had around their age. They fought and argued, but they loved each other.

So, hearing that Silver left...

It took all Lilia had to stop Sebek from running blind after Silver. (He had to physically restrain the boy with several STYX officers to keep him from running out.)

While the old fae sympathized, running off wouldn’t do anyone good, not even Silver. Instead, he told Sebek they should focus on other things, reminding him of Malleus—who was in a very fragile state—and how he would need them right now.

Thus, he convinced Sebek to help him with the dorm duties. While not vice-warden anymore, Lilia knew the duties. And they distracted him from the emotions swirling in his chest.

Or at least, he had hoped they would.

“Augh!” Lilia nearly toppled forward.

He was in his bedroom now—if he could still call it that—his only refuge from the world outside.

Inside, on the other hand…

Lilia hugged himself, as if trying to restrain himself as the gut-wrenching feelings tore the man from the inside out.

Now that there were no distractions, Lilia was forced to come face-to-face with his anguish, even as he tried to push it back.

“Uggh!”

His heart had become an angry beast, clawing, tearing at his insides. It shook the bars of its cage as it screamed its agony with every beat.

Silver was gone. Silver was gone. His Silver was gone. His son was gone--!!

A growl slipped between his fangs, which gnawed at his lip. The cute brow that Lilia was so proud of wrinkled as the white of his eyes turned as red as the irises.

“Arrgh! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cried, water rolling down his cheeks in barrels.

Lilia only felt this way once in his life and he hoped—prayed--to never feel this way again. Sadly, it seemed the heavens had ignored this prayer and kicked him in the face on top of it.

He bent forward in half, fists as his side, ready to smash something, anything.

“Fuck!”

He wanted to yell. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something. He wanted to break everything!

His hands shook.

No. He didn’t want any of that.

He wanted his son back.

“Auugh!” Lilia kicked one of his boot across his room, his break down having come while he was preparing to change.

The bedroom was nearly empty as he had gotten rid of most of his stuff in preparation for his trip. However, Lilia had his luggage brought back from the carriage as he wasn’t able to leave at the time for a multitude of reasons. Most of it remained in the suitcases, however, ready to be moved again.

The room was dark as Lilia hadn’t bothered to turn on a lamp and the only light from outside was a dark gray. Somehow, it matched his mood.

The boot into the pile of his Diasomnia uniform where it landed with a soft plop against the wall.

Around him, the world spun and wavered, causing Lilia to feel sick as his head pounded in grief, hammering the same words over and over again:

Silver was gone. Silver was gone—and it was all his fault.

He pressed his palms to his face, wet from all the tears.

“Hick, hick...! Fuck!”

His voice hitched a notch as Lilia collapsed backward into the bed, unable to stand anymore. He then moved his hands to his hair, nearly ripping it out as tears wet his pillow.

“Fuck…” ‘How did this get all twisted?’ Lilia was the one supposed to leave.

He was the one meant to disappear so everyone could be happy. He was the one meant to carry the burden of the past.

It wasn’t supposed to be Silver.

The man sobbed harder as he curled into a ball, his form messing up the silk sheets.

“Dammit…!” he cursed. “How did I screw up so bad?”

It shouldn’t have turned out like this.

Silver was meant to be happy with Malleus and Sebek while growing up to live his dream.

Silver was supposed to remain, to live life free from Lilia and the imaginary burden the boy placed on himself.

He was never supposed to learn the truth and get his heart broken.

“Silver…” The name of his boy came out in a ragged sob.

‘How could this have happened?’ Well, it was all his fault. He knew that much. If he hadn’t lied, then maybe none of this would have happened.

‘Or maybe he would have left sooner.’ Silver did have a bad habit of doing that when he was upset. Lilia thought he had broken that habit after he ran off into the storm all those years ago.

Now that he thought about it, the circumstances weren’t that different back then.

Instinctively, Lilia cupped his ear and traced the point.

That night started innocent enough; Lilia had woken Silver from his nap to ready him for supper when Silver suddenly asked why their ears were different. Lilia thought it was best to rip off the band-aid as quick as possible. He had been wrong. Silver was so shocked that he ran away and disappeared.

Just like now. Only this time...

Lilia rolled over, pulling tighter into himself.

“I’m such an idiot.”

He never planned to tell Silver the truth, or anyone. A part of him knew that he should have, as Silver had a right to know about his his history, but how could he?

How could Lilia devastate Silver that way? That kind boy who often took the weight of the world upon his shoulders? Who would sacrifice everything for those he loved? That gentle soul who believed the best of everyone, including Lilia? That sweet boy, whose smile meant so much to him...

Silver's broken expression immediately replaced the smiling child in his mind.

“Father, I…”

That moment in the dream was Lilia’s final memory of his son. That moment he failed to recognize Silver’s pain. That moment he failed--

Another sob wracked Lilia’s body.

‘I lost so many things in my life, but I swore Silver wouldn’t be one of them.’ He wasn’t sure when he made that vow. It could have been after Silver disappeared for the first time as a baby, or maybe it was before that.

Not that it mattered. As of now, these were just empty feelings and words.

Silver was gone, and Lilia had no idea where the human fled to. He didn’t even have a direction to follow.

“Father! Let’s stay together, forever, okay?”

A sense of helplessness washed over him once more and Lilia’s wails ceased. He felt himself go numb as fatigue overtook him, hopelessness filling him.

Silver was gone.

Silver was gone, and nothing was right with the world.

And it was all his fault.

--

A/N: Well, you all tune in for pain, so here’s the pain. Malleus is in the next chapter, so stay tuned.

Lilia Notes: *Lilia's reaction was troublesome at first. When I started writing the scene I assumed he would remain hopeful and would try to go after Silver right away, like Rook in Chapter 6, but it didn't feel quite right. It was more like that what I wanted rather than what Lilia would actually do. So, I rewrote it and had Lilia break down, which felt more accurate.

#twst #twisted wonderland #mine #twst silver #silver twst #silver vanrouge #silver twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #lilia twisted wonderland #lilia twst #twst diasomnia #Twst Runaway #Twst Fanfic

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Yandere Hetalia Demon AU: Mating Season

Since it's Spring I feel like every week I should post 1-2 about the Yandere Demon Allies or Axis and what it's like to need to have pleasure when it's Springtime in the underworld.

Summary

Each zone handles its king urges differently.

But it's a whole new dilemma different story when they make it out of the underworld to have intimate relations with humans or other demons. And occasionally Angels that didn't heed heavens warning that they really shouldn't be anywhere near the underworld from

1 March - 31 May.

Although Angel's too are stronger during spring as well and embody the virtues of chastity and purity that's not enough a lot of the time to ward off the flaming desires of the demon kings when their hot and bothered.

How will the human darlings handle the dire situations that they're put in when faced with a powerful horny demon(s) that can't be stopped once they catch their attention. The process of mating is brutal and long so whoever is in their clutches will need to adjust to being treated roughly.

The reason for the mating season is for the Kings to have a mate and begin the process of starting a family so that the kingdom becomes stronger.

And my dear you might just be the one.

(Sneak Peak) Btw this is super N$FW.

Demon America

His heart continued to palpate profusely. The prolonged feeling that he would have for the next three months would be unbearable for him to handle without going into hibernation, using some sort of spell, or actually accomplishing finding a mate and getting them pregnant.

His body was beginning to tremble, he felt hungry, dizzy, and had burning urges. He was sitting alone in the dark near his fireplace. His legs were wide open. His member pointing upwards pulsating with life and much of his blood from his body. He was having another hormonal surge that would last for an hour and then relax. Since it was only the beginning of the mating season this may happen once a day. However, things will progressively get worse if he doesn't find a demon or human to warm his bed.

He desperately wanted to get back to destroying things in the human world than be here in agony. He couldn't even exercises forearms due to how heavy his body felt and the fact that if he did try to relieve himself it would only send more tidal waves of pain that coursed through his body.

The only way he would be able to feel good is if he had someone to rub him and give him a place to plant his seed and plant his familial tree.

Sweat drenched his body and he regretted ever having even only his boxers on. He was about to ruin them with the next half an hour anyway. Still, he could feel his veins throb through the thin fabric. Sweat was beginning to roll down his smooth skin. His toned chest was moving up and down rhythmically and shined brightly within the fireplace glow. He still tried in vain to relieve himself and when he finally was able to touch his large appendage the moment he touched it felt like it was touched by flaming coals.

"AUGH!"

He flinched back as if he was able to escape the pain.

#hetalia america #yandere america #yandere hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #demon au #demon america #headingalaxys spicy #headingalaxys #headingalaxys writes headcannons #headingalaxys writes stuff

[middleearthpixie]

In Time ~ Chapter Seven

Summary: Surprise, surprise - Amara saves our favorite dwarf’s neck once again. But, this time, it brings them a bit closer...

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield/Amara of Rivendell (female OC)

Characters: Thorin, Elrond, Amara, Kenia, Jassin

Rating: T

Warnings: Some blood, stitches without anesthetic, dwarf in pain

Word Count: 3,508

A/N: If you'd like to be added to the tag list, send me an ask/message!

@i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @tschrist1

Amara’s feet didn’t touch marble as she vaulted over the railing and practically flew down the colonnade on Jassin’s heels. “What happened?”

“I’m not entirely certain,” Jassin called back. “Kenia and I were out on the terrace—”

“Out on the terrace? I told you to keep an eye on Mr. Oakenshield. Pray tell, how were you doing that from out on the damned terrace?”

The Healing Room never seemed so far away, and she was actually out of breath as she rounded the corner and skidded to a stop, her fury shooting to new levels at the sight of a pale, limp Thorin Oakenshield lying in a pool of his own blood, with an equally bloodied Kenia frantically trying to quell it with linen cloth upon linen cloth.

Amara grabbed a fistful of clean cloths and dropped to her knees beside Kenia, slipping a little on the red ooze spreading in all directions. “How long ago did he fall?”

“Only minutes, Amara. I sent Jassin for you as soon as we heard the thud.”

“Move.” Amara shoved her aside. “Get me the scissors. Now!”

Jassin pressed the silver scissors into her hand and she cut away Thorin’s tunic and the blood-soaked bandages wrapped about his waist. Her stomach curdled at the horrific sight of torn stitched and shredded skin and muscle. “Needle, thread, and kingsfoil solution,” she barked, tugging the old bandages off to pluck the split threads free.

A low, mournful wail rose to Thorin’s lips. “I know it hurts,” she muttered, tossing the soiled bandages over her shoulder, “but there is no time to spare numbing you, dear. I am so sorry, but this will hurt.”

Jassin threaded the needle and passed it to her, then carefully flushed the area with the solution to give her a clean field with which to work. Taking the needle, Amara looked down at the semi-conscious dwarf and murmured, “Forgive me, Thorin.”

“AUGH!” His roar echoed all throughout the chamber and most likely even along the colonnade and out into the courtyards. Perhaps all of Rivendell heard it, she wouldn’t have been surprised at all.

“Kenia, Jassin, take his arms and legs and hold him absolutely still.”

Each did as they were told, pinning Thorin as best they could and even so, he still fought, writhing to get away from them, from Amara as the needle went through his flesh again. His cries echoed around them, bounced off the walls, the floor, rang out until Amara’s ears hurt from the sound and her heart ached from the primal agony tucked within each scream.

He tensed as she sewed as quickly as she could, biting on her bottom lip at his anguished cries. She knew it hurt, and knew how terribly so, but he was bleeding out and there simply was no time to make him more comfortable. Her hands shook slightly, her stomach curdled even harder, and she had to swallow the terrible brackishness rising in the back of her throat as she continued stitching and finally, Amara sat back and cut the thread. “There, love,” she whispered, shifting to stroke his sweat-matted hair. “It’s over. I am so sorry I had to do it, but it’s over now.”

Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes as he went limp, his breathing rough and shallow and ragged. Glancing first at Jassin, then at Kenia, she said, “We need to get him back into bed. Carefully.”

“He is still in bloody clothes.” Kenia pointed out.

“I will change them. The two of you go and wait out on the terrace. You seem to like it out there.”

Both elves turned scarlet, but did as instructed. Amara rinsed the blood from her hands, drying them on one of the few squares of linen they hadn’t used. She wouldn’t attempt to wrestle him into a tunic of any sort. It would only cause him more pain and that was the last thing she wanted to do.

Instead, she carefully removed his leggings, replacing them with fresh, clean ones, and took pains to make certain he didn’t lay in any of the mess on the floor. Then she called to Kenia and Jassin, “Come back and help me get him into bed.”

They did so and carefully, the three of them lifted Thorin and gingerly set him back in his bed. Amara arched her back, biting back a groan of relief as her spine popped from bottom to top, drew the light sheet to his chest, then turned. “You both clean up this mess and come to my study the minute you are done. Where is Valindra?”

“She is in her room,” Kenia replied softly.

“Thank you.” Amara stalked out of the Healing Room and down to Valindra’s chambers. Without preamble, she said, “I need you in the Healing Room at once.”

Valindra’s eyes widened. “Is something the matter?”

“It is, but you need not worry. You need only come and keep watch over Mr. Oakenshield.”

“Of course, but I thought he was out of the woods.”

“He was. Now he is not.” Amara spun about and gestured for her to follow. “Come with me.”

Valindra didn’t say a word as she followed Amara back to the Healing Room, but she gaped at the mess the other two were in the midst of cleaning up. “What happened?”

“Never you mind.” Amara glared at Kenia and Jassin. “My study. Now.”

She didn’t wait for them, but marched toward her small study at the rear of the Healing Room, just on the inside of the terrace. She was far too furious to sit, and so paced along the length of the bookshelves, trying to keep her temper in check as Kenia and Jassin slunk it,

“What happened here?” she snapped, leaning over her escritoire, knuckles pressing into the wood. “I told you to keep an eye on him! How the deuce did he fall?”

Kenia and Jassin exchanged looks, which only served to make Amara angrier still. “Do not look to one another for help! Tell me now what happened or you are both off my service!”

Kenia stared down at her bloodstained hands. “We only stepped outside for a minute, Amara. Just to discuss what happened to Elwynn.”

“A minute.” Amara folded her arms, leveling them each with a long look of disbelief. “You mean to tell me that Mr. Oakenshield, who was run through by a double morgul blade not two weeks earlier and had complications that resulted in his being opened up a second time only yesterday, was able to sit up, throw his legs over the side of that bed, and try to stand. All in the span of a minute? Is that what you think me fool enough to believe?”

Both elves turned scarlet red. “Amara,” Jassin began.

“No!” She cut him off. “No, I care not what fool lame excuse you offer me. What you both did was beyond careless. It was reckless and callous and depraved! He could have died! How dare either one of you stand there and look at me as if you are not to blame for this? You are both relieved of duty until further notice and I will be speaking to Lord Elrond about your utter lack of judgement.

“Now,” she looked from Kenia to Jassin and back, “do either one of you have anything to say for yourselves? Anything at all?”

Jassin looked as if he might vomit. “I am so terribly sorry, Amara. It was foolish and careless and I give you my word, it will never happen again.”

“It shouldn’t have happened this time.” She looked at Kenia, who also looked pale and ill. “And you?”

“I’m so sorry as well, Amara. I betrayed your trust, Mr. Oakenshield’s trust, and it will never happen again.”

“Good. Now, both of you, return to your chambers. I will let you know when we can meet to discuss your future here with me.”

“Yes, Amara.”

She waited until they left, and until she’d calmed completely, and then she went back into the Healing Room, where she found Valindra had cleaned up the rest of the mess. “Thank you,” Amara said, managing a smile. “You and Samblar are going to have your workloads doubled, I’m afraid. I’ve suspended Jassin and Kenia.”

“Suspended?” Valindra’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets. “What happened here?”

“Mr. Oakenshield took a terrible fall and that is all you need know. I will sit with him. Go check on his nephews.”

“Yes, Amara.”

Amara sank into the now-familiar chair and leaned her head back, her eyes closing as a heavy sigh rose from what felt like the soles of her feet. Jassin was a great disappointment, more so than Kenia, because while she was competent, she was young and pretty and tended to flirt more than actually try to heal. But Jassin… He was her protege and to see him be so reckless troubled her. Part of it, she was certain, was because Thorin was a dwarf. It could be difficult, treating anyone other than elves, but that was part of being a healer—the ability to put differences aside, to put any slights—real or perceived—aside, to let nothing get in the way of upholding the oath a healer took upon completion of their training.

Today, Jassin let something get in the way. True, he hadn’t taken the oath yet, but that did not matter. He still allowed something to distract him from his patient and as a result, blood now streaked the front of Amara’s once-ice blue gown.

A low moan rose from the bed and she sat up to see Thorin’s eyes open, but confused as he murmured, “What happened?” in a thick voice.

“You fell.” She stood up and leaned slightly over his bed. “How do you feel?”

“As if I’d been run over by a warg.”

“You tried to stand on your own, didn’t you?”

“Do not lecture me.”

“Do not do foolish things and I will not have to.”

The confusion cleared from his eyes, and they narrowed as he turned his head to glare at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“It was the height of foolishness to attempt it without me or one of the others here in case you needed us. And as it turned out, you did need one of us. Do not pull a stunt like this again.”

“I need no keeper.”

“Oh, ho, think so, do you?” She gestured to the front of her dress. “Do you see this? This is your blood, Thorin Oakenshield.”

She marched over to the refuse bin, almost overflowing with wadded, bloodstained cloths. “See these? This is your blood as well! And there is still some on the floor and on Jassin and Kenia as well. What were you thinking?”

“I am tired of lying here, staring at this laughable fresco of elves saving all of Middle Earth,” he growled. He then winced and sucked in a sharp breath, but before she could say anything, added, “I wish to get up from this fool bed and do something for myself!”

“And that was a screaming success this afternoon, wasn’t it?” she snapped, glaring down at him. “Did you enjoy my sewing your wounds closed without any sedative at all?”

He went pale as he grimaced and slowly shook his head. “I can still feel how it hurt.”

“Good. Perhaps you will remember that the next time you think you know better than I do when it comes to healing. Perhaps you will remember that I have spent my life doing this and that I might—just might, mind you—know more than you do about getting you back on your feet and out of my Healing Room. Because believe me, Mr. Oakenshield, at the moment, there is nothing I want more than you out of my Healing Room!”

“That makes two of us!”

“Then listen to me when I tell you something! Assume I do know what I am talking about and that I do know what I’m doing. You will be amazed how much more quickly you will be out of here and out of Rivendell and we will never have to see one another again.”

“I like how this sounds more and more.”

“Wonderful. Unfortunately, you just set yourself back by days, Mr. Oakenshield. I hope it was worth it.”

He surprised her then, by letting out a low sigh. “It wasn’t. Not by half. It was a fool thing to do and you’re right, I should trust you know what you’re doing.”

That was not what she expected him to say and hearing it took some of the fight from her. Carefully, she sank onto the edge of his bed. “You should, for I am good at what I do. And I only want to see you walk out of here. Under your own power. And I will help you get to that point, but you must stop fighting me at every turn and learn to be patient.”

“Patience has never been a virtue I possess,” he admitted with a sheepish smile.

“Then you need to work on that,” she told him, covering his hands with one of hers, “because without it, this is what happens. But, with it, I promise you, you will walk out of here under your own power. It won’t happen overnight, but it will happen.”

“It feels as if that day will never come.”

“Thorin, you almost died on that floe. But you’ve been given a second chance. Most warriors are not given that, there are no second chances. But you have it and you should listen to me when I tell you, that day will come. I promise you it will. But, not if you take it upon yourself to try to rush your healing along.”

“How can you be so patient with me?”

“Because it is part of what I do. And besides,” she smiled down at him, “I happen to like you, Mr. Oakenshield. You are stubborn and pig-headed, but so many others in your boots would have given up and not have survived the morgul-filth, or would not have survived losing so much blood. But you have. You are a fighter and I respect that even when it means you fight me.”

He looked up at her then, and perhaps it was only her imagination, but his eyes seemed so much darker blue now. Of course, that could have also been from the afternoon sunlight, which shifted from the rear of the Healing Room to the western wall, rendering the Healing Room itself a bit darker now as a whole.

“I should think you would have written me off by now,” he replied softly. “I am a terrible patient.”

“Yes, you are.” She let out a soft laugh as she patted his hands, then rose from the bed. “But, most dwarves are. You are all very proud and very impatient and very distrusting of elves as a whole.”

“Can you blame me? I trusted them once, only to have them betray that trust.”

She paused, peering at him over one shoulder. “When?”

“When Smaug came to Erebor.” He didn’t look at her, but stared up at the ceiling now. The silence stretched between them, but she had the feeling he had more to say, and so busied herself with tidying up the last of the mess left behind by his fall.

“Thranduíl was there,” he said, his voice low and soft. “He’d been trying to bargain with my grandfather over a necklace, they could not come to an agreement, and he left.”

She turned back toward him. “He was in Erebor?”

“Not when Smaug arrived, no. He was on the outskirts of Dale by then. But, when we ran—those of us who survived, that is—he was there. He saw us, our homes gone, our possessions gone, our kingdom gone, and I beseeched him to help. But, he just watched a moment or two longer, and turned away. The Woodland Elves turned their back on us when we’d lost everything, when we were starving and homeless, over a necklace.”

She set down the jar of powdered feverfew she’d been holding. “I had no idea.”

“And that is why we do not trust elves.” Now he turned toward her. “We learned that loyalty with elves is a one way street and that way is only should it benefit them. Before we returned to Erebor, we found ourselves in Mirkwood, imprisoned, when all we wanted was to find our way through and possibly a bit of water, since we had only what we carried. Thranduíl would let us go, if I promised him that bloody necklace. Sixty years later, and it was all he could think of.”

“Then, if I might ask, how did you escape?”

He smiled then. “Master Baggins. I have no clue how he did it, but he stole the keys and freed us. We floated out of Mirkwood in elven barrels, right into Laketown.”

“And then Smaug was awakened.”

“Also Master Baggins’ doing.” A low sigh rent the air. “I owe him a great deal, you know, and what did I do? I accused him of thievery, of betraying me. Which he did, mind you, but for a very good reason.”

“What reason could have been a good one to betray one’s trust?” She moved back to his bedside.

A hint of color rose along his cheekbones. “I—it shames me to admit this, mind you.”

“Anything you tell me here, I will never tell another soul.” She returned to the edge of his bed to peer down at him. “I give you my word.”

He didn’t meet her gaze, his eyes focusing on something over her shoulder and across the room. “I went a bit mad. Dragon sickness, according to Balin.”

“I’m not surprised. Smaug was in Erebor for many years. That was bound to taint that horde to a certain degree.”

“Yes, well… I became the Mad King Under the Mountain and nearly killed the rest of my people as a result. I became obsessed with finding the Arkenstone, and Master Baggins was brought to Erebor for the sole purpose of retrieving that stone for me. But, when he found it… he went to Thranduíl, who used it in an attempt to force my hand with the cursed necklace he so desperately coveted.

“I chose war over bargaining.”

“The Battle of the Five Armies?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“But you said you and Mr. Baggins reconciled.”

“We did, but he thought I was dying. I thought I was dying. He had little choice but to tell me he’d forgiven me.”

“So, you don’t believe he truly has?”

Now he looked up at her. “Would you? I called him a thief and a traitor and tried to throw him off the rampart at Erebor. Whyever would he forgive me that?”

She managed to hold back her horror at his confession. It would do no good to show it. He knew such behavior was reprehensible and also beyond his control. “Because you were sick? And that’s what it is, you know. That’s why they call if dragon sickness.”

“I was weak and a fool and a poor excuse for a king.”

“Yes, but you are also only a dwarf who’d fallen ill beyond your control.” She covered his hands with hers once more. “And from the sounds of it, Mr. Baggins has forgiven you. Perhaps it’s time you forgive yourself.”

He shook his head. “That I cannot do.”

“Why?”

“Because I cannot.”

“I hope you change your mind about that,” she told him softly, standing up once more, “for you can, you know. And it sounds to me as if you should.”

He didn’t answer, but stared back at the ceiling once more. She didn’t push, but instead gave his hands another pat and said, “If you change your mind and wish to see him, let me know and I will arrange it.”

Stone silence greeted her.

“I’m gong to check on your nephews and then I will be back. Would you care for some dinner, perhaps?”

“I am not hungry.”

“Mr. Oakenshield, you’ve eaten very little in the last few days. That isn’t helping you get back on your feet, you know.”

It was a risk and she held her breath to see if he’d erupt at her again or not.

But to her surprise, he let out a low chuckle. “Fair enough. Yes, I would like some dinner.”

“I will bring you a tray.” She moved to the doorway, then paused to add, “Would you care for some company?”

“I do not wish to see Master Baggins nor do I wish to see Gandalf.”

“I meant me, Mr. Oakenshield,” she said with a smile.

“Oh.” He fell quiet for a moment, then to her surprise said, “Yes, actually. I believe I would.”

“Very well, then. I’ll bring two trays.”

#The Hobbit #Thorin Oakenshield #Hobbit Fic #Hobbit Fanfic #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction #Thorin x OC #AU #AUJ #Thorin Fic #Everybody Lives AU #Hobbit Medical Drama #Hobbit ER

[neon-junkie]

you shouldn’t have kept me waiting

Summary: Sometimes, sex doesn't go as planned, especially when it's your first time.

Pairing: f!Reader x Flaco Hernández

Word Count: 1864

Rating: NSFW

Tags: First time, First kiss, Friends to lovers, Table sex, Making out.

Notes: Wanted to try a writing style a little different to my usual stuff, and I haven't written about Flaco for like 2 hours, and it's killing me bc hes my husband, so I wrote this lil oneshot <3

  You were bored, hunting yet again in Big Valley, dumping corpse after corpse by Cripp's butchering table, hearing endless of comments of "this'll do," and "beautiful!" But he soon told you to "calm down, we have enough to keep me busy for days! How's about you take some time to enjoy yourself? Go for a ride or something?"

 And, well, you did exactly what he suggested.

 You'd been itching to go and see him again, despite swearing you'd try and stay away for a while. Obsession is the right word for it, considering you used to trail up the mountain to see him once a week, but it had slowly become twice a week, then three times, then four. You were practically moving in at this point, but he didn't mind.

 Flaco adores your company, along with a long list of other things about you, and he'd begun listing a few things off whenever you've seen him. "Pretty coat, I hope it's keeping you warm," "your horse is looking healthy, they suit you," "you must be cold, chica, your cheeks are so rosy, but eh, it looks cute."

 Oh, yes, he's pinpoints each and every single thing about you, even the things you find unattractive like the bags under your eyes or the occasional cow-lick to your hair. Flaco hadn't told you directly how he feels, but it's hard not to notice from the way his eyes light up every time you've burst through his cabin door, or the way he soon began waiting in his doorway for you to return from your missions, shouting across the frozen lake to ask if you were injured. He doesn't care about the missions, but you he definitely does care about.

 Only today went differently.

You thought you were clouding up Flaco's personal space, using the excuse of 'work' to see him as often as you could, and although he'd never shown any disliking to your frequent visits, your mind had convinced you that you were a bit too much, excessive, in his personal space. Once a week is enough to work for somebody, right? You thought it was, until you finally entered his cabin for the first time in weeks to see his furrowed brows and a pout across his face.

 "Where have you been?" Flaco had questioned, his voice rough and rugged, monotone like it used to be, back when you first met him.

 You explained that you'd been busy doing other things, your trading company, the bounty hunting work, collecting odd items for a lady you met out West, but all your excuses were literally just that in the eyes of Flaco.

 "I didn't think I'd see you again," Flaco confessed as he rose from his seat. This wasn't the first time you'd stood against him, tilting your head far back to gaze up at the much larger man, but it felt off today, as if your neck actually hurt from looking up for once. "I was worried something had happened, something... bad, you know?"

 You attempted to calm his confusion, explaining that you were fine, just busy, but Flaco still wasn't buying it. Only he finally did the second you reached out to rest your hand on his arm, kneading at him gently, a small reassuring gesture that meant the world to Flaco. He's never really touched you before, the only time being when his hands linger in yours when he hands over payments, and the only time you'd ever touched him was when you wiped some food from his face, and his look of embarrassment is one you'll never forget.

 Flaco's facial expressions alone made it obvious that he was crumbling, and he pushed back at his sombrero, letting it fall around his neck as the cord kept it in place, and dipped his head down to your level.

 You knew what was coming, you were hoping for the same, and stood on tip toes to meet Flaco in the middle. Your hand continued to knead at his arm, eventually trailing up to his shoulder as the other one joined, and Flaco cupped your jawline so perfectly that he had to move his hands to your waist to ensure your knees wouldn't give way beneath you.

 Flaco didn't taste how you thought he would, of rich chewing tobacco or a chain of cigarettes, but of whiskey and the herbs he uses to season his meals. Mint was the strongest taste, and it was rich on his tongue as yours slid across it, Flaco letting out a whimper against your lips, his moustache brushing over the sensitive skin just below your nose.

  Desperate kisses had turned needier and needier, just like the hands roaming your body, eventually dipping down to tug at your thighs. You knew what he wanted, and you knew he'd catch you if you somehow fell, so you allowed him to lift you, wrapping your legs around his waist, barely able to cross your ankles over. The sound of an array of items hitting the floor caught you off guard, and you soon realized that Flaco had swept some of his belongings from his table, replacing them with your ass instead, still nipping at your lip as you relaxed against the wood.

 Everything about him felt so intoxicating, not just his musk or the way he was holding you, but the groan he let out as you broke the kiss to nip at his neck. Who knew a man so rugged could sound so poetic? and he watched with half-lidded eyes as you moved your hands down his chest, trailing over the thick fur of his coat, over each cold bullet strapped to his bandoliers, and settled at his gun belt.

 The belt hit the cabin floor with a thud, and Flaco moved his hands from your thighs to your waist, gently unpicking each button to your pants, though you can sense his eagerness as he fiddles with them. One of your boots is slipped off, followed by your pants and undergarments being pulled from under your ass, letting the cold air hit one leg, and leaving the other clothed.

 Flaco popped a thick finger into your mouth before pressing it against your entrance, returning his lips to yours as he slowly pushed himself in, chuckling at the moan you'd let out against his lips. His chuckle soon turned into a sigh once you got your own revenge, reaching beneath his coat to unfasten his pants, and free his thick member from his undergarments, pumping him slowly as you feel his precum run across the back of your fingers.

 A pair of dark eyes met yours, gazing at you for mere seconds, yet it felt like minutes. Lips were reunited, and both of you spent some time working at each other, prepping each other, finally able to feel and enjoy the other after too many months of tension and frustration.

 You'd guided Flaco to your entrance, looking up at him with lustful eyes as you pressed the tip of his cock to your hole. Flaco pulled his finger from you, "how can I deny you?" he questioned in a voice so deep it made you tremble, and he grinned at your body's response. But Flaco soon began melting into you as he pushed his cock in, taking it inch by inch, both of you sighing in unison once he was fully sheathed inside of you.

 You moaned his name and he moaned yours, cupping your jawline with his calloused hand. Flaco nuzzled you briefly, pressing his forehead to yours as his eyes fell shut, before placing a kiss on your forehead. He didn't say anything, and you could tell he was lost for words, but he soon began thrusting into you.

 The rolling of his hips was deep and smooth, slow and steady, both pleasurable and painful at the same time. There was no actual pain, Flaco could never hurt you, but it was agony having him go at this speed; you've needed him for so long, and now you finally have him, but of course he's going to make you wait just a little longer. There was a smug grin on his face as you began mewling in his arms, head buried into the curve of his neck, his cold bullets pressed against your cheek as you began to whimper.

 "What's a matter?" Flaco questioned in a playful tone. "This not enough for you, eh? You make me wait weeks to see you, and then demand everything at once?"

 He wasn't serious, you know that, and it was painfully obvious as he was visibly biting at his lip in an attempt to stop himself from grinning. What a tease. But Flaco was quick to give in, not just because you needed it, but because so did he.

  If you said you hadn't thought about this before, you'd be lying; you've imagined Flaco railing you just about everywhere in this cabin, but you always thought the table would be the dodgy spot. It's an old piece of furniture, somehow still standing in the harsh terrain, but remained standing as Flaco slammed into you on top of it. You were careful not to knock the candles over as you relaxed into the wood, your eyes flicking between watching Flaco's length disappear into you, and watching the expression of pure lust on his face.

 You were surprised he'd waited this long, seeing as there's been many opportunities to pull you onto his lap, but something must have burst in Flaco's mind when you disappeared for a few weeks, and you wouldn't be surprised if he made a promise to himself to come onto you the second you returned.

 The sounds Flaco made were intoxicating, grumbles and groans at all different levels of volume, but he fell silent as he came. Flaco had pulled you up off the table and wrapped his arms around you, holding himself deep inside and burying his head into the curve of your neck, arching his back over so he could hold you, and be held at the same time. "Mierda," he muttered to himself, his voice muffled by your coat. "Too much, too fast, augh!" he grumbled, and finally stood upright to look at you.

 "I'm sorry," he had said, and avoided eye contact with you as you tilted your head in confusion. "I... I came too fast," he grumbled, and slipped himself from you.

 You had to bite back on your laughter. Really? This grown man, a legend, is pouting like a child because he came within minutes during your first time together. "It's alright," you smiled at him. "We'll just have to build your stamina back up, hm?" you suggested.

 Flaco looked at you blankly before bursting into laughter, placing a kiss to your temple and then your cheek. "You tolerate me too much," he chuckled, and you could feel the warmth radiating from his heart at your kind response.

 "Now, come on," he said as he pulled you up from the table, letting you dress yourself as he tucked himself away. "Let's hear all about what you've been doing over these last few weeks..."

#rdrwriting #you shouldnt have kept me waiting #Flaco Hernández #f!reader #fem reader #female reader #reader insert #smut #nsft #rdr2 #rdo #red dead online #red dead redemption 2 #Flaco Hernández x you #Flaco Hernández x reader #flachoes #first time #friends to lovers

[gumnut-logic]

The Road

Oooh, look I finished it :D

-o-o-o-

Title: The Road

Author: Gumnut

6 Feb 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: “Don’t let him sacrifice everything.”

Word count: 2118

Spoilers & warnings: None, other than weirdness.

Timeline: Season One sometime.

Author’s note: This is really weird. I’m totally not sure about it, totally not sure what it means or where it went. I know nothing, claim nothing, it probably is nothing. I hope you enjoy some of it, maybe, if you’re lucky ::shrugs:: I haven’t a clue.

This is for the first week of FabFiveFeb 2020 - Alan, dirt road. Challenge can be found here.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

The road stretched off into the distance.

Pale gravel limestone, sat as if it had just been graded. It climbed over the green hillsides and vanished off into the distance.

He turned in the opposite direction.

The road continued that way, too, but it vanished into darkness, its stark white swallowed by ancient trees, gnarled and bent, as if scooping the road off its surface and eating it whole.

Alan shivered.

He knew he had to make a decision of which way to go, but he was tired. Ever so tired.

It had been such a long week. Rescue after rescue. On land, on sea, in space. He and his brothers were so worn, it hurt.

It hurt, so much.

A slow blink.

“Alan!”

He startled. “Virgil?”

But there was no one.

Until suddenly there was.

A man was standing on the other side of the road.

It took him a moment to recognise the greying hair, the grey eyes...the flamingo shirt.

“Dad?”

The man didn’t answer. He just smiled a little and stared at Alan.

“Alan! Oh, god, don’t do this to me!”

“Virgil?” But his brother was nowhere to be seen. “What’s going on? Dad?”

A wind whipped up and a dust devil danced along the road in the distance, but other than that, there was silence.

His father smiled gently and held out his hand.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was in hell.

It had been a shit of a week. Too many rescues, too many losses, and he was exhausted. They were all exhausted, and exhausted led to mistakes.

The one saving grace was that Virgil was decked out in his exo-suit when it happened. One, it protected him and he was able to push off the rubble that collapsed on them. Two, when he found Alan crumpled under fallen powerlines, he was able to sever the electricity with one desperate claw.

“Alan!”

He moved...everything. He barely took the time to ensure his own safety before flinging rubble out of his way.

Comms. “Scott! Alan’s been injured. I need you!”

As soon as his way was clear, the exo-suit was shed and he was beside his little brother.

His lifeless little brother.

No breath.

No heartbeat.

God, no.

Please.

His reaction was automatic. Don’t think, just do.

Stabilise, clear airways, breathe for his brother.

Heart. Get his heart beating. Count.

Breathe.

Breathe again.

Please.

Chest compressions.

Please.

No response.

No response.

Breathe again.

C’mon, Allie, God, please.

“Scott, where the hell are you?!”

Heart. Get his heart beating.

Breathe.

No response.

“Alan! Oh, god, don’t do this to me!”

He fell into rhythm. Beat. Breathe.

Beat. Breathe.

Keep him alive. Keep him alive.

God, Allie, please!

-o-o-o-

“Dad?”

The man didn’t answer, but his expression was one of familiarity, fondness. His hand beckoned Alan forward.

Alan frowned and stepped onto the road.

The limestone crunched under the soles of his sandshoes.

Sandshoes?

He was wearing his clothes from home. His uniform was gone and replaced by his favourite guitar t-shirt, its frayed neckline soft against his skin. The cold breeze caught the hairs on his bare legs, teasing them to goosebumps.

Where was his uniform? Was he wearing his uniform?

One step after another and he crossed the road to stand in front of his father. “Dad?”

“ALAN!!”

It was screamed and spoke of so much pain. Virgil. Screaming.

Alan stumbled where he stood, eyes searching for his brother. “Virgil?”

But the wind in his hair was the only answer.

He felt numb, his thoughts slow. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t process why.

A hand reached up and cool fingers gently touched his cheek. It took Alan a moment to realise they weren’t his own.

A frown.

There were tears in his father’s eyes. “Dad?”

The man still didn’t answer, instead both hands cupped Alan’s cheeks. His father lowered his head until their foreheads touched.

A tear fell from his father’s eye and it hit the road in a little puff of powdered limestone.

“Dad, what is going on?” Through the molasses in his mind worry was finally worming its way through. This wasn’t right. This was his father! Where the hell was he?!

But he didn’t get a chance to ask before the world lit up in a rainbow of pain and his whole existence froze in agony.

Time stopped.

Everything stopped.

Limestone dust caught in his mouth and climbed up his nose. A gasp and he sneezed, his whole body spasming with pain, curled up on the gravel.

The world blinked out again and Alan’s back arched in a wordless scream only to fall limp a second later.

“Alan! C’mon!”

Scott. His big brother. He looked up expecting blue eyes but only found grey. The older man was leaning over him, offering a hand again.

Alan took it.

-o-o-o-

It became a mantra for Virgil. Time faded and his everything was to keep his little brother alive.

Muscles ached and burned. His head swam as his breathing was compromised in the attempt to breathe for Alan.

For Alan.

God, please, Alan.

His little brother was still at the gawky stage, still growing into the man he had to be. Had to be. The bones under Virgil’s large hands almost small in comparison.

Count. Compress. Breathe.

Count. Compress. Breathe.

Virgil’s brow crumpled a moment and his pace faltered. No!

“ALAN!!” Goddamn you, please.

Nothing.

Nothing an unarticulated sound broke through his lips and his heart trembled.

No!

Count. Compress. Breathe.

And suddenly Scott was there. His big brother sliding in beside him. Equipment appeared. Gordon appeared. Alan’s slack face disappeared under a breathing mask as Gordon took over.

Paddles. A call to clear.

His little brother’s bruised ribcage jumped.

“Again.”

Scott’s calm assurance and the whine of the defibrillator.

Another sharp shock that shook Virgil almost as much as it did his prone brother.

“Alan! C’mon!”

Virgil checked for a pulse.

Nothing.

No, no, no, no.....

Scott started compressions again.

Terror in his eyes.

-o-o-o-

“Come with me.”

Alan climbed to his feet, his thoughts caught in those grey eyes. His father’s voice was like a long lost memory.

“Where are we going?”

There was no answer. The man turned and pulled him in the direction of the hills and the road that appeared to go on forever.

Something in the forest behind them screamed.

“What’s happening?” Gravel crunched under his step as the road wavered on ahead of him.

“Scott needs you. You have to look after Scott.” And he was suddenly spun around, grey eyes ever so passionate. “Don’t let him sacrifice everything.”

Alan’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “Dad?”

“Please, Allie.”

“Allie, please!” Scott’s tortured echo of his father’s voice bounced across the landscape.

“Go.” Hands shoved him gently down the road. “Go!”

“But-“

“Go!” And those hands shoved, sending him tumbling just as another arc of agony tore across his landscape and took everything away.

-o-o-o-

The beep that woke him was directly out of one of Grandma’s daytime dramas and so predictable he actually let out a laugh.

Followed by a cough and a groan.

“Allie?” It was whispered, but so very Scott.

He blinked and turned his head only to come face to face with a messy tuft of black hair on his bed. Wha-?

Fingers touched his cheek and he shivered. For a split second he hesitated turning his head in the opposite direction, scared of what he might find.

“Allie?”

Familiar, but worried blue eyes greeted him. “Scott?” Augh, dry throat and a chest that throbbed in time to his heartbeat. “What happened?”

A straw touched his lips and he took the barest of sips of blessedly cool water.

“How are you feeling?”

A moment to assess himself. “Like Virgil used me for his gym mat.”

An eyebrow arched and then frowned. “What do you remember?”

A blink. “Call out in Two. Earthquake.” A frown. “Aftershock.” A moment of pure terror and he turned his head back to the black tuft of hair snoring softly beside him. “Is he okay?” His voice came out an octave higher that usual.

“Virgil’s fine. Exhausted, bruised and with a few extra grey hairs he has to dye out, but he isn’t seriously injured.”

“So what happened?” He continued to stare at the hair as it gently moved with Virgil’s breathing.

“You were both caught on the edge of a building collapse. Powerlines came down with it and you were caught by them.”

Alan turned to face his eldest brother again. “Oh.”

His fingers were picked up from the bed sheets and to his horror his brother’s hands holding them were shaking. “You scared us.”

Blink.

His hand was squeezed. Scott bent his forehead down and held Alan’s hand to it, closing his eyes. “Please don’t do that again.”

A swallow. “Not planning on it.”

“Good.” His hand was returned to him as if it had never been taken, his brother’s fingers resting lightly over it. “Rest, Allie.”

Despite the pain, rest was the last thing on Alan’s mind. “Where’s Gordy and John?”

“Grandma and John dragged Gordon out for food. They should be back soon.”

“Kayo?”

“Handling hospital security.”

To be expected. He sighed.

That handed patted his. “Rest.”

“I saw Dad.”

The patting stopped.

“What?”

“I saw Dad. He says I need to look after you.”

Something changed in Scott’s face. Something cold and fear-filled crept into his eyes. “You did?”

“I did.” And then what he was saying caught up with his sluggish brain. “I was dead, wasn’t I?”

Scott swallowed, but didn’t answer.

“I was dead and I saw Dad. Does that mean...?”

His big brother’s large hand curled around his and gripped just that touch harder than necessary. Parched voice. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“But Scott-“

“You didn’t die. It doesn’t mean anything.” That something in his brother’s eyes caused the cardiomonitor to beep out of sequence.

Scott started, blinked and visibly gathered himself, his commander facade smoothly slipping into place. His grip loosened on Alan’s hand, once again becoming gentle and the ever caring brother he knew Scott to be.

Quiet. “It doesn’t mean anything, Allie. You were injured and our brains do weird things at the edge of consciousness, you know that.”

Yeah, he knew that. But ghostly fathers hadn’t been in the medical training.

He turned his brother’s grip on his hand around and clasped it in return. Dragging his other hand with its monitor and IV off the bed covers, he gently draped it over Virgil’s shoulders. The snoring snuffled a moment before smoothing back into its regular pattern again.

Alan felt oddly grateful to feel his brother’s chest moving slowly up and down.

“You need to rest.”

A blink and Alan was caught in those worried blue eyes again.

A sigh. “So do you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You need to rest, Scott.”

His brother’s lips thinned and Alan suddenly felt like he had offered to take on a raging bull. He’d seen Virgil tackle his determined brother enough times.

Emotional blackmail. “I’ll feel better if you rest.”

Those lips thinned even further.

“Please , Scotty, I’m fine, I promise.”

And to his surprise, his big brother sagged where he sat, his head once again dropping. Alan’s hand was brought to Scott’s forehead and held there with both hands. “Thank, god.”

Alan lay there blinking for a moment, simply staring at his brother.

Virgil snorted in his sleep.

Alan slipped his hand from Scott’s hold and reached around his brother’s neck and gently pulled him down to the bed. Of course, Scott resisted, but Alan persisted and eventually his brother complied.

Now he had two dark heads of hair lying on his bed.

“What are you doing?” Scott sounded a little freaked out.

“What you’ve done for me all my life.” He patted his eldest brother’s shoulder gently. “It’s okay.”

“It’s weird.”

“Yeah? Well, welcome to my world.” Actually, it was rather nice to have his two big brothers together with him.

Virgil snorted again.

Well, mostly with him.

“You need to rest. Grandma’s going to kill me if she thinks I’ve kept you up.”

“I’m fine. I just...”

“What?” And Scott tried to sit up.

“Stay there, Scotty, please. I just want you here.”

His shoulders relaxed a little. “Okay.”

So, he wasn’t exactly willing, but Scott was here. There was more to unpack than his tired brain was able to work out, but Scotty was here and he was safe.

Safe. He had to keep him safe.

The ghost at the back of his mind smiled.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #virgil tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #alan tracy #fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2020

[inactiive-shit]

The Bones of a Miracle

TBOM Masterlist || AO3 [[Previous Chapter]] || [[Next Chapter]]

Chapter 2: Trying To Choose Which Way To Go

Summary: Roman Pyre is called upon to retrieve the missing Crown Prince by the rulers of Aerewadal, one of the strongest kindgoms in the world. He takes the job with the promise of more money than he could ever hope to spend and finally, at long last, peace. How hard could it be to find one Prince? Turns out, not that hard. But bringing him back and getting paid? That’s another problem entirely.

Words: 3,124

Remus can't move his leg.

He's been trying for the better part of an hour, while still pretending to be asleep so the swampwitch wouldn't know he's woken and won't see their untimely death coming at Remus' hands. Unfortunately, that plan is seeming less and less likely because his leg won't move, but there is an ache starting to build in his joints, like he'd taken a bad landing.

"Are you going to get up?" The swampwitch asks, back still to Remus. Remus lets out a particularly loud snore, but the swampwitch merely sighs. "I know that you've been trying to move for nearly an hour now. You may as well just admit that you're awake and ask why you can't."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Remus answers dutifully. "But since you're offering, we can have a conversation while I'm asleep." He forces himself into a sitting position and tilts his head around to crack his neck. The swampwitch shudders from their station at what looked like a sink and finally turns to face Remus.

"This is not how sleep talking works," they say. Remus shrugs.

"Maybe not for you. I've done this my whole life. Once, I stole a dragon from the aerie and didn't even realize it had happened until I woke up on fire."

"I find that...highly unlikely." The swampwitch examines Remus. "Regardless, I am sure you have queries for me, and I will endeavour to answer what I can to the best of my ability. Let's begin."

"Why is your hair doing that?" he asks. They stiffen slightly and run their hands through their hair, as though checking for something. Finding only the blond strands on their head, they furrow their brow in confusion.

"My hair is not doing anything," they say.

"Nah, I'm pretty sure it is. Look." Remus grabs a piece of his own curly hair and drops it. Then he points at the swampwitch. "Your hair is sticking out like you rubbed your head in dragon shit."

The swampwitch sputters. "I assure you, I have done no such thing." But they do pat their hair again.

"Whatever." He watches as the swampwitch comes to stand in front of him. "What's your name?"

"You may call me...Star," the swampwitch says. "He/him pronouns are preferred. And you?"

"Remus," Remus says. "I've been called a he and a him since I was born."

"You do realize that if I were Fae, you would have just given me your name, don't you." Star's voice is completely monotone, despite the statement being phrased like a question.

"I've always wondered what those kinky fuckers would want to do with me," Remus says. he grins. Star doesn't return the gesture. "What's in the jar?" Remus asks, launching himself off the bed with only the use of one leg. He snatches at a jar full of a slimey, acid-green substance and tilts it over his hand. It doesn't fall out, but Star does make an interesting noise and yanks the jar out of his hand.

"That is poison that is absorbed through the skin, you abosulte moron," he says, glaring. Remus positively cackles.

"Spicey."

"It is not!" Star shouts, cradling the poison to his chest like a kid. Remus thinks this may just be his sort of person.

"So you've eaten it?"

"No!"

"Then how do you know it's not?"

"I-you-AUGH!" Star reaches back blindly and chucks a book at Remus. Remus takes it full in the face and collapses back against the wall.

"Harder, daddy," he says, wriggling his hips. Star stares, open-mouthed and not speaking. Then, he spins on a heel and walks right out the door. Remus laughs loudly after him.

Star is gone for one minute, two, three four five, and by the time he finally returns home, Remus has managed to break three different knives in an attempt to get the weird, oddly thick thing off of his leg.

"What are you doing?" Star says, voice pitching unevenly.

"This is why I can't move my leg," Remus says, as though it's obvious. "So I'm getting rid of it." He says. As thought it's. Obvious.

"That is the only thing keeping you from being in unbearable agony," Star says, "and also the only thing that will ensure your leg heals correctly. Stop trying to remove it before you put hours of valuable spellwork to waste."

"Aw, you did all that for me?" Remus asks, voice high and shrieky. Star winces.

"You know what, I am about to remove it myself. Perhaps you shattered your ankle by design of some Deity and the pain was meant to be your punishment for existing. And now my punishment for helping you is having to put up with you."

"People have said that I'm a handful," Remus says, nodding. He glances around until he sees another knife. "Ooh!" He goes for it, intent on getting the shit off his leg, but Star interrupts him and manhandles him back to the couch. Remus glares at him.

"If you take off the cast, all of the spells I performed to ensure a quick and correct recovery will also come off, and then you will be stuck here for months until your leg has healed enough naturally for you to go back to wherever it is you came from and let your family know that you're not dead." He grabs Remus' hands and roughly shoves them onto the bed. "Now, refrain from what you're doing and allow yourself to heal in a timely manner."

"I never did like deadlines," Remus muses and, with one last stab, cracks the white stuff off of his leg. He howls when it comes off, like a rabid animal, and Star rushes over to him, fingers already sparking with the beginnings of a spell.

Finally, finally, the pain stops. Remus examines the now green thing on his leg. It is somehow even bulkier than the last one. It is also glowing faintly.

"For the love of Penelope, just stop," Star exclaims, smacking Remus' hand away again.

"Penelope?" Remus asks.

"The deity of healing, among other things. They're one of the Old Deities. They've fallen out of common knowledge now, but their presence is still here, among us and impacting nearly everything."

"Huh," Remus says. "I've never heard of that one."

"I'm not surprised," Star says, clear dismissal in his tone. Remus makes the executive decision to ignore it. Many people have tried to dismiss him; they all found out one way or another that nobody dismissed Remus except for Remus.

"What else is Penelope the ruler of?"

Star's eyes practically light up. "They are the Deity of Faith, Healing, Being Found, and New Beginnings. Some scriptures also inidicate they may have had a hand in the growing of commonly found medicinal plants, as well as healthy growth, though the scrolls are old and in many cases barely legible." Star pauses. "I did get to see one, once. At a very old library. It was...enchanting."

There's a lull, and Remus can see that Star is probably done talking unless Remus continues the conversation.

"So, what even is this thing?" Remus asks, poking at the glowing green.

"I call it a cast," Star says. "It is a combination of hardened bandages, different herbs to keep the wound clean and mitigate pain, and my own spellwork to ensure proper, enhanced healing."

"Fancy," Remus says.

"I suppose." Star preens.

"How long have I been here?" Remus asks. That's the important question. There are some time sensitive tasks he has to complete, as well as some pesky people following him that he needs to make sure can't find him. The longer he stays, the harder both of those things will be.

"A couple of days. I kept you asleep through the worst of the pain."

"Well," Remus says, "thanks for everything, but I have to go."

"What?" Star demands. "You can't even walk. Where are you going to go?"

"An adventure," Remus says. He hops up again, this time to Star's disbelieving, outraged face, and staggers toward the door. Star grabs his arm.

"No-"

"Let go of my arm, swampwitch," Remus cries, trying to wrench away, only succeeding in losing his footing and falling flat on his ass.

"Swamp-swampwitch?" Star sputters. His mouth forms a thin line, his face reddens, and his eyes begin to glow a faint, deep blue. "I am not a swampwitch. I am a wizard." His voice drops dramatically, and Remus can feel the magic rolling off of him in waves, like slime coating his skin. "I am the wizard that is healing your wounds, and I am the reason that you are not a corpse being picked over by woodland animals. You will stay with me until such a time that your leg has healed and you can walk, at which point you will leave my home and never return to it. Do you understand?"

Remus nods mutely.

"Good." Star's eyes stop glowing, his skin goes back to its almost transulent paleness, the magical feel in the air disappears, and the sparks of magic zinging off of him begin to dissipate into the air. "I expect fair compensation from your family for having healed and put up with you, in addition to saving your life. Now, until you are in a state fit to make the journey back to your home to repay me for my kindness, you will stay here and mind. Your. Manners."

Star drags Remus up from the ground by the arm he still had a grip on and practically throws him into the bed.

"That was hot," Remus tells him, eyes wide. He's never seen somebody with magic like that before, and to be so affected by Star's emotions is dangerous.

Remus is going to piss him off.

Star's face goes red again, but this in a flustered way, and he shoots away from Remus. "Ah, well, just. Behave yourself and stop trying to sabotage my efforts to ensure your recovery is swift." He tries to look stern, but the blush all over his face just makes him look like someone playing at teacher. Remus grins.

"Sure thing," he says. Star turns away, and Remus decides his stay here might be very fun after all. He goes to speak again, to ask after food (perhaps that jar of slime he'd had earlier. It looked spicy. Remus wants to know if it is spicy.) but there's a knock on the door.

Star throws a hand out, indicating that Remus should stay quiet. "Who's at the door?" Remus asks anyway.

"I don't know. Some people find me to get help, some people find me for...less savory reasons. They could be here for any number of things." Star takes a hesitant step toward the door. Magic crackles at his fingertips again. Remus' eyes light up.

"I hope it's somebody who wants to gut you," he says, practically vibrating at the thought.

"Excuse me?" Star chokes, jolting to face him.

"Then you'll have to kill them," Remus says, still grinning. With magic, he doesn't say, because he knows that it's not always wise to lay all your cards on the table.

Star sighs, shakes his head, and then turns back toward the door. "Stay there," he commands. Remus settles in to watch whatever show is about to go down. Star throws the door open.

"Hi," says the person on the other side. "I seem to have gotten lost in the woods. Could you help me?"

And, well, that's really not what Remus had been hoping for.

~~~~~

Groaning, Roman very nearly throws the trap back to the ground in frustration. This is the fourth trap he'd set for rabbits, and it was the fourth trap that he's opened this morning to find empty. Something is setting off all of the traps he's set to find food, but somehow managing to leave no food or trace of whatever it is behind. At this rate, he'll have to stop off in a town to buy food, which is exactly the last thing he wants to do. More isolated towns like the few he'll find in and around Wudour Forest aren't known for being the kindest to travelers.

Drukha, from her spot near his bedroll, snorts at him. Though it's been two days since he left the castle, and one more day of traveling only through the forest, Drukha had yet to warm up to him at all. In fact, it rather seems as though she's becoming less trusting, unless she considers prancing away fromhim every time he approaches to tie his pack onto her saddle an appropriate greeting.

"Stubborn horse," he says, sending her a glare. She chomps at nothing, large teeth on full display. Roman chomps back and Drukha rears up, whinnying.

"Over-dramatic beast," he mutters, and Drukha turns her back to him. Would the Monarch have sent him with a hellsfoot for a companion? Surely not. Surely they wanted Roman to find their son as quickly as possible, and sending him with an animals overloaded with dark magic would do nothing to accomplish that goal. But it was the only true explanation Roman can think of. Sometimes it sounds like she's talking about him under her breath! That's not something a normal horse can do, but a hellsfoot? Well, it certainly isn't outside the realm of possibility.

Roman gathers up all of his supplies and makes quick work of getting Drukha ready for another day long trek into the forest. She seems just as excited about the notion of more trees and nothing but trees as Roman does. At least they'll be miserable together.

"It's what you deserve, cretin," Roman tells her and narrowly avoids a bite to his leg. "You'd think a horse would have better instincts than you do." She kicks one of her legs back and Roman makes a rude gesture back at her. He grabs the reins and tugs slightly, trying to urge her to keep heading East with him. Drukha snorts and shakes her head, mane flying all over the place.

"I'd just as soon leave you, too," Roman says. "But you were lent to me, and you must see this quest to its end, so come on." He digs his heels in and tugs, but Drukha stays right where she is.

It takes ten minute for Roman, panting and mud splattered, to admit he might have to find another way around this obstacle than going straight through.

"If I let go of the reins, will you at least follow me?" Roman demands. Drukha tosses her head but doesn't try to pull away. "You better not run, beast," Roman tells her. He drops the reins and moves ten paces east. After a moment of hesitation, Drukha begins walking forward.

Roman sighs. "Thank Basil." A branch somewhere above him creaks, and it sounds almost like a laugh. Can't he catch a break? First no relaxing after a hard job, then a horse that hates him, and now being mocked by trees? Could this trip be any more unfortunate?

As rain starts falling from the sky and Drukha tears a chunk out of the hood of Roman's coat, Roman violently curses Della and Basil, Goddess of unfortunate weather and God of animals respectively.

This is going to be one long trip.

 Long trip may have been an understatement.

The rain had finally stopped, but now the ground is entirely mud and sopping wet plant matter - which doesn't even make sense with the amount that it rained! It shouldn't be this wet! Damp, sure, that would make sense, but Roman is in a forest where there are trees that catch a lot of the water! The ground should not be sucking them in like the quick sand pits in the Tharene Desert!

It feels like it's been hours since the rain had stopped, but checking his pocket watch reveals that it's actually only been about an hour and a half. Roman wants to scream with frustration. He is going to miss so much that he had been desperately looking forward to, and now there is this. This soul-sucking mud and an angry horse and his clothes are wet and he's uncomfortable and-

And once he finds this stupid, arrogant royal offspring, he is home free. He will never have to take another job again, and he'll be comfortable for the rest of his life.

He just needs to find this prince. He's good at evading the royal guard, but Roman isn't the royal guard. Roman has been trained by some of the best trackers on the continent, and there is no way the prince will be able to keep from leaving the traces someone trained by the Fae would look for.

Drukha whinnies and rears onto her hind legs, splattering Roman with mud.

"You know," he starts, but then stops. It's not like the horse will understand him or care. Damn horses and their stupid aversion to all things Fae-like.

Angry, tired, and in need of a break, Roman stops where he is, climbs a tree for a dry-ish spot to sit, and takes his lunch. There's an apple, and some meat left from the last trap he laid that had caught anything. He doesn't eat much; he'll try hunting again tonight, but if nothing comes of it, he'll be forced to stop at a town for food, and he will stave off that possibility as long as he can.

Then again, there are other kinds of traps one can lay. The kinds of traps with much bigger prey.

Whistling to himself, finding his mood rather suddenly lifted, Roman hops out of the tree. He doesn't try to pat Drukha, though he's feeling good enough now that he might have considered it. Instead, he just keeps whistling, a jaunty little tune that he heard in the first human village in Aerewadal that he lived in. It's been one of his favorite songs since he had heard it.

Roman takes a few things out of the saddle bag and quickly goes to work with his plan. An hour later, and Roman packs all of his supplies away and begins walking.

"Come along, Drukha," he says. He feels the side-eye the horse gives him, and he doesn't even care that she's being so wilfully suspicious of him. He just begins leading her farther east, and though it takes longer than it did the first time, Drukha follows.

Roman will follow the prince's path through the woods until the sun goes down, at which point he'll set his traps for game - both large and small. He'll be having freshly caught meat for breakfast tomorrow, one way or another.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #tbom #the bones of a miracle #tbom au #fantasty au #chapter 2 #tbom ch 2 #fanfic #my writing

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

when he smiled [chapter one]

Summary: Louis is horribly wounded after the defeat of the raiders. 

Preview: And when Lily’s knife finally plunged deep into Louis’ shoulder and he let out an anguished cry, Clem saw red.

She couldn’t remember the seething scream that bubbled from her lungs or yanking the used arrow from a walkers head and aiming, but before she could even think, the arrow shot through the side of the woman’s neck with a sickening sound.

Warnings: Blood, violence, and Louis does get pretty damn hurt, so....there. 

Author’s Note: Sorry, I’m trying my hand at writing some angsty clouis with an alternative look at how the fight could’ve gone. There’ll be more chapters in the future if anyone’s interested.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |  Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 [coming soon]

Clem couldn’t see Lily.

And, fuck, after the explosion everything just... happened so fast.

But, that didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was that everyone had gathered into the school, ready to attack. Even Mitch and Willy had managed to drag Omar in and keep him hidden while they waited for the raiders to barge through their front door and into their trap. The log took out two of them, leaving Abel to chase the group up the stairs. It was a mess of frantic heartbeats, curses and struggling against the one-armed man, but Clem managed to shove him out the window after AJ went all out with the fire poker, stabbing the gross old man several times.

Clem carefully peered out the window and saw her.

Lily and one of her men had a hold of Tenn.

They moved quickly. Her and AJ practically stumbled out of the burning room and carefully headed outside where Clem drew her bow. Lily and the man were roughly pulling a struggling Tenn over to a cage. 

Before Clem could get her bow ready, a violent cry broke through the air as Mitch charged the man from the side, sending the two tumbling to the ground as Mitch’s fist collided with the man’s face until there was nothing but blood spurting. Through it all, Tenn broke free from the off-guard Lily just as Clem fired.

The arrow pierced Lily’s leg and she fell back before she could reach Mitch.

Tenn grabbed at Mitch’s sleeve and begged him to stop, breaking Mitch of his bloodthirsty anger, and the two ran to join Willy and Aasim, who were firing arrows from the top floor.

Clem continued to shoot from her and AJ’s hiding spot, hitting both raiders and the walkers stumbling through the gate. She saw Louis and Violet, weapons in hand, killing walkers back to back and watching out for one another.

However, more and more walkers kept barging in, and most getting a hold of the fallen raiders trying to crawl to safety.

“Shit!” Clem called out. “Everyone inside! Now!”

Violet rushed at Clem, slicing the head of a walker in half on her way. “Fuck!”

Behind her, she could hear Mitch cursing and Ruby hollering something about Omar’s leg. Clem shot another arrow, killing a walker, but it seemed that for every one she successfully killed, three more replaced it. She cursed under her breath, turning to AJ, who stayed beside her, shooting walkers. 

She spotted Louis. He knocked over another walker, meeting her eye and calling out, “Go! I’m right behind you!”

“Hurry!”

Quickly, she hurried into the shelter of the school. 

“AJ, c’mon!”

---

AJ didn’t follow her, though. The boy had his gaze fixated on Abel, grunting and crawling towards him.

 “You fff-ffucking little shit!” he croaked.

With a broken leg and a missing arm, he had no chance. AJ reached for his gun, holding his breath. He had promised Clem that he wouldn’t kill the man that haunted his nightmares. After all, he lost.

Still, he pointed the gun at the suffering man, thoughts buzzing with rights and wrongs. This man was a monster, and monsters die. This man would hurt them if he lived, even without an arm and a leg. 

But, for the first time, AJ hesitated. 

Don’t hesitate.

Always aim for the head. 

Before he could pull the trigger, AJ was yanked back by his coat. “Ah!” 

“C’mere!” 

The woman had a hold of him and his gun.

---

Inside, Clem was in the office with everyone.

Everyone...

She turned toward the door.

“Where’s Louis?” Panic settled in. 

Violet shook her head. “Shit, I thought he followed me!”

“Clem-”

“Shit!”

Clem turned to Tenn, noticing his wide, frightened eyes searching the room. Immediately she knew what he was looking for. 

Her insides twisted. 

“AJ-!”

He was just-

“Clementine!” Lily’s shout stopped Clem in her tracks. “Clementine! Get your ass out here! I know you’re in there!”

“Fuck! Clem!” Violet grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the broken window.

There stood Lily, her arm wrapped around AJ’s neck with her gun to his head. She seemed to vibrate with furious pain as she glared at the building.

“Your kid’s right here, Clementine!” Lily snarled. “You can have him back if you come out!”

“Clem,” Tenn’s quivering voice sounded beside her. 

“I’ll shoot him! I will!” 

“Lily! Don’t you fucking dare!”

“You want him alive!?” Lily exclaimed, pressing the gun right to AJ’s temple. “Then do as I say!”

A million thoughts ran through Clem’s brain. None coherent, none plausible.

“Fuck, I’ll kill that bitch!” Mitch exclaimed, ready to go out there before Aasim and Willy stopped him.  

“We can’t just charge her! She’ll shoot him!” Aasim argued.

“She’ll shoot him anyway if we don’t charge her!” Mitch snapped back. 

“Fuck! Fuck!” 

“We need a plan-” Violet was cut off. 

“Clementine!” Lilly shouted. “I’ll count to three! If you and your friends aren’t down here, he gets a bullet in his head!”

“No!” cried Tenn.

“Oh shit...” Violet hissed. “Louis!” 

“ONE!”

Clem’s heart practically broke right out of her chest when she spotted Louis through the window, crouched down, avoiding walkers and carefully approaching Lily.

“TWO!”

Clem shoved away from the window and ran faster than ever before.

“Clementine, wait-!”

“THREE-AUGH!”

By the time she reached the staircase, a shot rang out.

“AJ!”

---

Louis wasn’t thinking. 

 Everything moved so fast; his swings at the walkers and his frantic search for anyone needing help. When he didn’t see anyone else left besides himself, Clem and AJ, he was supposed to hurry inside. 

But, when he saw AJ neglect to follow Clem and approached the man with the broken leg instead, he didn’t. 

And thank God he didn’t. 

He had no qualms attacking this woman, tackling her to the ground.

The second you put a gun to the temple of a young child, the gloves come off. 

He wasn’t letting AJ die because of some vindictive woman and her army fantasy.

Not AJ.

---

Bursting through the front doors, Clem spotted him instantly.

AJ was curled up on his knees, hands pressed over his ringing ears and face twisted with agony. Luckily, no bullet wounds in him. Practically jumping off the stairs, Clem rushed to AJ.

“AJ!”

When she reached him, she realized Louis had Lily pinned a few feet away, and walkers surrounded them. 

“No!” Clem cried out. “Walkers!”

Violet, Mitch, Aasim, and Willy charged out, weapons drawn and began taking down as many walkers as possible. Within the mess, Clementine pulled AJ into her arms and shoved past the walkers to the safety of the dorm, leaving him with Ruby, Tenn, and Omar.

“What’s happenin’ out there!?” exclaimed Ruby. She had blood smeared on her hands from patching up Omar’s leg. 

“Walkers are everywhere!”

“The raiders-!”

“They’re dead, or gone, but- fuck! We need you out here, Ruby!”

“Go,” Omar urged. “I’m fine, just go!”

Ruby nodded firmly, pulling out her weapon. Clem turned to AJ, who still kept his ears covered. 

“AJ, watch Omar.”

He did very little to protest. 

Outside, Clem’s eyes searched frantically for Louis. She found him struggling with Lily, an expression of absolute fury on his face, unlike anything she’s ever seen on him. 

“Keep the walkers off him!” Clem shouted. She pulled out her knife and fought her way towards the struggle. 

---

Louis forced most of his weight onto Lily’s chest. He fought to keep her pinned,  but she managed to curve her non-wounded leg up and land a blow to his gut.

 Louis grunted, losing his balance and loosening his grip on one of her wrists. The result was a well-found blow to his jaw. Blood sputtered from his mouth and dripped onto Lily’s face.

With adrenaline and the will to fight pulsing through him, Louis’ dull nails clawed into Lily’s face and throat. 

Her response was a knife in his side. 

Pain enveloped his body.

---

Through the mass of walkers, Clem watched in absolute horror as Lily fought Louis off of her and reversed their positions. Grabbing her knife, Lily held it above her head and thrust it down towards Louis.

“Louis!”

The knife hit the ground beside his head as Louis ducked forward, grunting in pain. Lily rammed her knee into his stomach, right next to the fresh wound. This time, she put all her weight into the punch she landed on his cheek. It left him dazed, the world shifting between black and orange, throbbing, aching.

The woman above him stuck again, and again, and again.

---

Lily didn’t just want him dead.

No, her fury was hot, blinding.

It reflected in the flames of her eyes.

The world had collapsed.

Her people were dead.

She had nothing but the rushing sound in her ears and the boy under her. 

She wanted to make him unrecognizable, nothing but flesh, blood, and dirt...

---

And when Lily’s knife finally plunged deep into Louis’ shoulder and he let out an anguished cry, Clem saw red.

She couldn’t remember the seething scream that bubbled from her lungs or yanking the used arrow from a walkers head and aiming, but before she could even think, the arrow shot through the side of the woman’s neck with a sickening sound.

Lily shot up, dropping her knife and holding her neck. She fell atop a horrified Louis, twitching and gurgling blood.

Then, Clem watched as Louis went limp. Even though the fire burned around her, ice ran through her veins and her heart plummeted into her stomach.

“No!” she cried.

She ran to them, yanking Lily off him and grasping his swelling face in her trembling hands. “Louis!” 

He didn’t respond. 

“Fuck! Clem!” Violet killed a walker from behind Clem before rushing to her side. “Goddammit, Louis!” 

Clem shook her head. “No!” She pressed her palm against his neck. His pulse beat slow and harm compared to hers, so panicked and distraught. His chest rose and shuttered with every tiny gasp that escaped his lips.

“Is-is he-”

“We need to get him to Ruby! Now!”

“Ruby!” Violet called over. “Mitch! Aasim!”

“Oh God!” Ruby gasped, running to the call of her name. “No!”

The rest was a blur for her. Clementine watched the last of the walkers fall from arrows to the head and the flames spread as Louis, wounded and unconscious, was carried in. 

Clem knew there couldn’t possibly be a word to describe how she felt in that moment. 

She turned to Lily’s body. 

Lily was dead. 

And Clem could do nothing more than take her knife and make sure she wasn’t ever, ever coming back. 

---

“Figured out what to call the song.”

“Oh?”

“’Clementine,’“ he grinned. “Obviously. You know, because I like fruit.  And... I like you even more. So.... there.” 

Her eyes darted to his smile.

“Gotta admit, of all the things I saw coming, you having a crush on me was not one of them.”

A crush...

What an understatement.

He spoke, and all she could focus on was the movement of his lips. And when he smiled, so wide, so genuine, she was done for. 

She didn’t mean for the hum to escape her throat when she kissed him.

Or the sigh. 

She kissed him.

And she kissed him...

“Clem...?”

She kissed him...

She’d been spacing out. 

The quiet was such a contrast.

Her gaze focused, searching over the various familiar faces for the source of the voice. Rosie rested beside her with her head in Clem’s lap.

AJ watched her cautiously, his hands pressing together nervously. His wide eyes flickered from her to the door. “Clem, can I go in?” he asked quietly. 

“No,” she replied. “We... we need to give Ruby space to work.”

“But, someone should be there with him,” protested AJ. “To tell him he’s okay and he’s gonna get better.” 

Clem sighed. “The best thing you can do for him right now, AJ, is to let Ruby concentrate on saving him.” She told not only him this, but herself. 

Clem wanted nothing more than to go in there and help Ruby, but she demanded that everyone but Aasim, who promised to shut up and hand her whatever she needed, to leave. 

No one was happy about it. 

“She’s right, AJ,” said Violet. “Ruby knows what she’s doing. She fixed you, remember?”

AJ nodded, though not entirely convinced. 

“Fuck!” Mitch kicked the wall. He ran his fingers through his messy hair before rubbing at his face. 

“Knock it off,” Violet scowled. “You’re not helping.”

“If we had all gone after that bitch, then this wouldn’t’ve happened!”

“Or,” Violet interjected. “More of us would be injured, or worse.” 

“We would’ve had a better chance! She wouldn’t have been able to handle all of us if we attacked at once!”

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda! It doesn’t matter anymore-”

“It doesn’t matter? Louis is fucking dying in there-!”

“I said, knock it the fuck off!”

“This is our fault-!”

“Stop!” Clem spoke, breaking the argument. 

Mitch stared at her before looking down at his feet. He uncrossed his arms and bit at his lips,  looking at the dry blood staining his fingertips. His face was a cocktail of rage and remorse. 

After a long silence, he murmured, “I’m not digging another grave.”

“Mitch-” Violet warned. 

He turned and walked away from them, muttering, “I won’t. Not another one.” 

They watched him go. 

Clem could see the panic settle on Willy’s face as he scrambled to his feet and followed Mitch down the hall. 

I’m not digging another grave.

I’m not digging another grave.

Heat pressed against the back of Clem’s throat.

“He’s just freaked out,” said Omar. He lay on the couch, drowsy, with his leg properly bandaged. His brows furrowed with worry. “I’m freaked out, too.” Omar closed his eyes, leaning back against the armrest. “Never been shot before... Hell, never seen Louis in such... bad shape.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” muttered Violet. 

“He...” Tenn stuttered. “he... couldn’t even open his eyes. O-or speak.”

“He’s gonna be okay, though, right?” AJ turned to Clem with worried hope reflecting in his stare. “Ruby’s gonna fix him like she did with me?”  He reached over and held onto her sleeve. “Clem?”

Clem said nothing. 

Neither did anyone else. 

#twdg #twdg clouis #twdg louisentine #clouis #louisentine #twdg clementine #twdg aj #twdg louis #twdg violet #twdg mitch #twdg aasim #twdg willy #twdg ruby #twdg omar #twdg lily #welp this is a thing i wrote #i'm sorry

[ilovereadingandilovebreathing]

But Everyone Calls Me “Dad”: Roman (1/?)

So there’s kinda this headcanon in the fandom that the Sides call Patton “dad,” soooo I wanted to kinda explore some possible scenarios for what the evolution of this paternal relationship might have been. I’ll do all 3 of the other Sides at some point, but idk how many lil’ ficlets each will end up getting. Bear with me and my Sides-loving heart.

Also, yes, I know, I humanize them a bit in this, but they’re more fun and #relatable that way. Let’s call it metaphor and suspend reality for my sake. Please.

Sooo yeah, here’s the first tiny installment in a whole bundle of comedy and fluff  that I definitely didn’t write out of guilt for how angsty my last fic was. 

Enjoy!!

Summary: The first time one of them used that word, it took everything Patton had not to squeal and hug the unsuspecting Side. The next few times after that, Patton simply can’t contain himself.  

Word Count: 562

Pairings: Patton x everyone (paternal)

Warnings: None 

Part 1/?

Part 2: Logan

Part 3: Virgil

The first one to say it, not surprisingly, was Roman. 

It was disgustingly early in the morning on the 3rd day of the New Year (when Thomas, like many others, was still serious about his New Year’s resolution to get up before 11 AND go for a run first thing in the morning), when Roman stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and yawning.

“You know, this might have been a rush the first day,” Roman grumbled, rubbing his left eye as he grabbed a plate from the cupboard. “But 3 days in a row of waking up at 5am sucks. How do people DO this?!” The Prince moaned, sulking as he watched Patton remove the first few slices of bacon from the frying pan.

“Actually,” Logan replied, never looking up from his morning Sudoku puzzle.  “Waking up in the actual morning hours of the day is healthy for the body’s circadian rhythm. Perhaps Thomas will finally develop some healthier sleeping habits.” The Side paused in thought, stifling a yawn of his own. “Though I do have to agree that 5 o’clock is a bit extreme, and playing “Agony” from Into the Woods as his wake up tone is not conducive to boosting his morale.”

“It’s not so bad!” Patton cut in, that ever-present grin folding his smooth cheeks as he laid three strips of bacon on Roman’s plate. “Early bird catches the worm, right? So we can watch them wake up AND get their breakfast, too!”

“I suppose.” The Logical Side sipped at his mug of coffee.

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, reaching for the pitcher of freshly-squeezed orange juice on the counter. “But-AUGH!!” He’d misjudged the full weight of the pitcher, and now there was yellowy-orange mess all over his pristine, white bathrobe. “This is my FAVORITE robe!” He whined, peeling off the soaked and sticky fabric before the juice soaked through to his skin. 

“Oh, come on now, kiddo, you know better than to cry over spilled orange juice!” Patton giggled as he plucked the garment from between the Prince’s fingers and scampered off with it. 

“Pat-” Roman stood in the middle of the kitchen in his red t-shirt and boxers.

“Nice undies, Princey.” Virgil chuckled a bit as he trudged past the Prince to the kitchen table, sitting heavily with a Monster in hand. 

“Nice to see you finally joining us, Edgelord.” Roman quipped back.

The Anxious Side merely grunted in return, sipping on his energy drink as he swiped a slice of bacon from Roman’s plate.

“How dare you! Can you not see I’m having a difficult morning as it is?!” Roman exploded, grabbing the breakfast meat from between Virgil’s teeth.    

“Hey!-”

“Now, kiddos.” Patton returned, fully cleaned bathrobe in hand. “No need to bicker! There’s plenty of bacon to go around; I brought it home myself!” He chuckled as he approached Roman, grin as white and flawless as the bathrobe in his hands. 

“Patton, it’s marvelous!” Roman gawked, allowing the Moral Side to help slide the robe on. “You even got the bits of foundation out of the collar! You are truly talented.” Roman enveloped Patton in a warm hug, whispering, “Thanks, Dad,” in his ear before returning to his breakfast war with Virgil. 

“No problem, kiddo.” Patton whispered after him, quickly wiping the fog from his eyes before returning to his post before the stove.

“Who want’s pancakes?!”

Part 2: Logan

Part 3: Virgil

All of my Sanders Sides fanfics

#Sanders Sides #Sanders Sides Fic #Sanders Sides Fanfic #Thomas Sanders #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #tadaaaa #its not great but its a start #i love my lil Patton But You Can Call Me Dad Sanders #tsfanfics