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alwaysmarveling · 2 years

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Ease My Mind

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: mentions of death, anxiety, and depression, also not edited

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: Wanda can read minds, but that doesn't mean she knows what to do with her own.

A/N: Sorry for not posting anything in so long, life got in the way. I wrote this a couple of months ago and just wanted to finally get it out of my drafts, so here you go :)

Three things cannot long be hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth. Wanda can’t remember when she first heard the quote, but if there’s anything she’s learned from experience, it’s that one.

Some nights, she lays in bed and prays to whatever god might exist that the sun won’t rise, that she can be swallowed in the chaos and darkness plaguing her mind and forever leave this world. Her parents did. Pietro did. Why can’t she?

But rays of light always make their way above the horizon, shedding a glow on the green grass that surrounds the compound. The tiny, disruptive seed that was planted in her chest the night before has grown into a mature Whomping Willow, attacking at the slightest hint of hope or happiness that dares to escape the confines caging Wanda’s heart (That’s what the Whomping Willow does, right? Wanda’s not too sure; she didn’t pay too much attention when Clint forced her to watch the Harry Potter series.). Wanda’s decided she doesn’t like the sun. It suggests too much promise for something that isn’t even there to begin with, for something that could never be.

Other days, the brunette buries herself in the corner of her room in the hopes that the moon won’t come. Darkness is too much right now, it makes the thoughts unbearable as they fly at her from every possible direction. Each introduces a new fear, a new possibility. Some of them are hers, some of them not. But none of them are good. So she needs the sunlight, needs the sounds of the compound that surround her, something to tell her that life still thrums through the building, a sign that some good still exists.

But the moon always comes eventually. Somehow, despite the large number of people living in the compound, many of them insomniacs, night always comes, bringing a much dreaded silence with it. And while Wanda tries to brush the thoughts away–they’re just thoughts, after all–if she thinks about it, isn’t there a reason she’s having all of them in the first place? She’s always been smart, was always praised in school for having good ideas. Why should these be any different?

The light from the moon is never enough. And that’s when the anxiety really kicks in.

It’s dark, but Wanda can still hear the screams of the wounded and the dying, still see her home as it crumbles around her. The red mist comes out of her fingertips no matter how hard she tries to reel it back in, and just like it seems when she has a grip on it, she loses control again, killing thousands in the process.

Wanda is a liability, a land mine just waiting for an unsuspecting child to take one wrong step before obliterating an entire population. Wanda is-

“Excuse me? Ma’am? Your drink is ready.” The moment the brunette’s eyes met yours was like getting punched in the gut and sucked under a rip current at the same time.

“Of course. Thank you.” You slid the black coffee across the counter with a small smile, still entranced by the… emotions that swam in the green orbs. Was it sadness? No, that wasn’t right at all. Depression? Anguish? Who hurt her? She interrupted your studies with a request for a sleeve to go around her cup.

“There are napkins to your right if you need those,” you offered, sliding the cardboard sleeve in her direction. You turn around to make an order for the next customer, but you can feel her eyes on your back, her head tilting slightly. By the time you turn around, the woman is gone.

- - -

You don’t work the next day, but the woman from the day before doesn’t leave your mind. Why you didn’t even take a peek at the name written on the cup, you’re not sure. It just… felt like an invasion of privacy. She’d lost so much; who were you to take that much more from her?

It’s just her name. It feels like so much more.

Luckily for you, you don’t have to spend too much time wondering if you’ll ever see the customer again because she comes in the next day, entering the shop at the same time she had the first time you’d met her.

“And can I get a name for the order, ma’am?” Spiders crawl up your spine at having to ask the question, so intrusive. Asking her anything seems intrusive.

“Wanda.” You’ve already written the second “a” when she speaks up again. “Wanda Maximoff.” You’re about to tell her that last names aren’t necessary, especially for a name like hers, which isn’t very common, but she beats you to it, spelling it out. You write it out for her sake. Wanda speaks as if she wants to tell you more, but there’s nothing left to tell. So she places the money on the counter gingerly before fleeing your line. Exact change. You want to ask her to come back, invite her to say whatever was resting on the tip of her tongue. The next customer is already rattling off their order.

- - -

“Do you have any drinks that you might recommend?” She catches you off-guard with her question, the Sharpie only a centimeter away from the cup. If she was any other girl, you’d recommend anything pumpkin spice; it’s a favorite among many, and it’s true that she might like it too. But she’s Wanda. And you don’t quite know what that means, but it’s gotta mean something right?

“Between you and me, I think the hot chocolate is the best drink we’ve got.” She wrinkles her nose, and it’s only then that you realize how beautiful she is, how much you want to press gentle kisses to the beauty marks dusting her cheeks, how you want to learn what makes her smile, what makes her laugh. You suddenly feel embarrassed for recommending the hot chocolate even if you believe it’s one of the best drinks the store has to offer. You’re ready for her to say she’ll try something else instead, something less… childish. But she orders it anyway, giving you a small “thank you” before paying, once again, in exact change and stepping into the next line.

“You were right. The hot chocolate was really good.” You respond with a gasp, and that’s all you can do at the moment because your heart is racing and you can’t feel your fingers anymore. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Her voice is syrupy and soft, and she apologizes as if she’s killed your lover. Your eyes don’t miss the awkward jerk of her hand as she attempts to reach out to you before tugging herself back in. You should tell her it’s okay.

“Don’t worry about it,” you finally manage to get out with a smile. “Just wasn’t expecting you to be there. Wanda, right?”

“Yes, Wanda Maximoff.” You nod politely, not sure why she insists on telling you her last name every time, but you repeat it for her sake.

“Wanda Maximoff. I’m Y/N. L/N.” Your last name is added as an afterthought, an effort to add some symmetry to the conversation. Wanda doesn’t quite bother to look at your finger as you point to the name tag pinned to your chest, instead taking the time to study your face. “I’m sorry,” you finally interrupt, “was there something you wanted to say?” She shakes her head sadly.

“Just wanted to thank you for the recommendation.” It’s only then that you notice the slightest hint of an accent. How had you not picked up on it before? You want to ask her where she’s from, what her childhood was like, why her eyes are always swimming with so many emotions every time she enters the shop.

You want to ask her who hurt her.

But she’s already turned around and left, and, unfortunately, you can’t tell the answer to any of those questions based on her gait. A posture so tall and delicate, though… You want to rock her in your arms, tell her everything will be okay. No one else can hurt her.

Wanda can’t help it; she reads your mind. If only you knew that wasn’t the message she needed to hear.

- - -

The truth… the last thing that can’t be hidden is the truth. And the truth is that losing your parents is hard. Becoming a science experiment for an evil organization is hard. Losing your brother afterward is hard. Hell, even losing your brother in general is hard. But Wanda’s been through them all, and somehow, she’s still standing.

Barely.

Anxiety is not an unfamiliar feeling to Wanda, just like it isn’t for all Avengers, but it seems like they all seem to manage it better than she can. After all, she’s spent at least one night in each of their rooms, giving in to their sympathetic gaze when they ask her if she’s been getting any sleep.

At first, it was easy to lie, say that, yes, it was hard, but she was managing. But it turns out that sleep deprivation has consequences that cannot be hidden, like dark bags under the eyes and mixing up words without even realizing it. Cue the Avengers trying to help Wanda in various ways ranging from offering sleeping pills or letting Wanda sleep in their bedroom. Wanda’s tried every medicine and home remedy, slept in every room in the compound. Nothing. Not until-

“Hey.” She can’t help but smile when she hears your voice, feels the warmth of your lips brushing her jaw. “What are you so busy thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Wanda dismisses you gently, her hand squeezing yours.

“Nuh uh, I don’t think so.” The brunette closes her eyes as you travel further up her jawline, giving her one last kiss on her temple. “What’s up?”

“Just thinking about what life was like before you. How hard it was.”

“Yeah? You okay?” Wanda hums, her voice low. She’s about to open her mouth when you let out a small “oh,” letting her know with a slight wince that you’ll be back in a second before running off. “Now, be careful, it’s a bit hot, but-”

“You made me a hot chocolate?” Your heart sinks slightly at the surprise in her voice, the unconscious implication that she doesn’t deserve good things, that she doesn’t deserve people doing good things for her. You give in to her request for a quick kiss before pressing the steaming mug into her hands.

“Of course I made you a hot chocolate. It’s the least I could do, babe.” She takes a sip, the room filling with a pregnant pause.

“Why?” You feel yourself fall further as you think back to when she first asked you out on a date.

A soft rap on the door pulls your attention away from a stubborn spot on the counter. It’s Wanda, her eyes bright and hopeful. Her posture is slumped, as if she doesn’t quite want to be seen by anyone, including you. But you open the door, more than happy to see her, albeit a bit confused.

“I’m so sorry, I know I don’t normally come this early…” You watch as her hand comes up to brush some hair out of her face, her green eyes taking the opportunity to flit to the ground.

“Well, I’m afraid no one does. I mean, we are closed,” you smirk. She laughs, your joke giving her enough confidence to continue.

“Right, right. I, um, I have some stuff to do later today, but I just wanted to hear…” You miss the rest of her sentence, her mouth falling behind her scarf as she speaks. The wool muffles her words.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” You can just barely make out the slight shading of pink that covers her cheeks as she lifts her mouth slightly.

“I said I didn’t want you to think I was flaking or anything.” Her answer is definitely different from what she said the first time, but you nod anyway, understanding her referral to her daily visits to the coffee shop (well, she only came on the days you were working, but you didn’t know that at the time). “I know it’s a long shot, but maybe…”

“Come on in, I’ll see what I can do.” You can’t help but return Wanda’s grin as you usher her into the shop, making sure the “closed” sign is still facing outwards before heading to fix the drink. Wanda is quiet the entire time that you work, but you don’t miss the way her eyes follow your form as you make your way around the bar.

What you do miss is the way she looks at you, the way her eyes shine as she thinks about why she’s here, why she shouldn’t be here with you, a practical angel. She knows it logically can’t exist, but Wanda swears there’s a halo around your head as you float around the shop.

“Lucky for you, there’s never a wrong time for hot chocolate.” The brunette is finally snapped out of her trance at the feel of the paper cup in her grip.

“Thank you, moy-” You quirk your head at the way she stops short, wanting to ask what she meant to say. But she’s taking a sip from her cup to cover up her embarrassment, and you let her, going back to setting up the shop for the day as you hum along to the song playing from your phone’s speaker. You don’t turn around until she blurts out something else.

“Go on a date with me. Please.”

You’re still trying to process what she said when a horn grabs the attention of you both.

“Wanda, let’s go! We’ve got a mission!” And as those words are spoken–by whom, you’re not sure–you can tell she instantly regrets her request. “Wanda!” Suddenly you’re debating if you should say what you want to or just let the girl go in peace. She’s almost out the door when you finally open your mouth.

“Can you pick me up from work tomorrow after 5?” That stops her escape, the bell above the door ringing as her hand pushes on the wood.

“You still want to come on a date with me?” Her back is still to you, but you hear every careful word she says.

“I’ll see you at 5 tomorrow, Wanda Maximoff.” A smile graces your face as she slips out. You can’t see her face, but you know her expression matches yours. You know who she is, what she is, and you still said yes.

“I’d give you the whole world if I could.” It’s quiet, the sentence, but she hears it all.

“You already have.” The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you sit hand-in-hand on her- on your bed, your head resting on her shoulder as she slowly drinks up the chocolatey goodness you’ve made especially for her. Your eyes roam the room, noting your suitcases and a few cardboard boxes you brought over from your place. You’d unpack later. Tonight, you just wanted to be with her. To enjoy her. To let her know just how lucky you were to have her.

- - -

Some people might think it’s weird, but you and Wanda never slept in the same bed until the two of you moved in together. And after just the first morning of waking up to see your face, Wanda realizes just how much she was missing.

It’s still dark out, as one might expect it to be at 5 AM. But Wanda’s used to the darkness--and the dreadful pit in her chest that only grows as time passes. She expects her breathing to pick up its pace rapidly, her palms to get sweaty, her heart beating so quickly it seems like it’s about to rip out of her body. The witch wants nothing more than to reach over and hold you close, beg you to talk about anything and everything just so she can hear her voice, make things go back to normal. But in some ways, the dark is comforting because it means she doesn’t have to get up and face the fears plaguing her mind. So she continues to lay there in silence. She doesn’t touch you, doesn’t dare disturb you.

And as you sleep, your breathing slow and your countenance peaceful, everything she expects to happen does happen… until the slightest glimpse of gold catches the corner of her eye. Suddenly, Wanda is captivated by the gentle splotches of light being painted across your face as the sun rises. Wanda’s eyes never leave your form. She watches how your chest rises and falls slowly, how the light makes its way across the room. It’s almost jarring when she realizes that you’ve awoken.

“What are you doing up, my love?” Wanda’s always known she loves your voice; its morning rawness no exception. She could listen to it all day. She would listen to it all day.

“I just love watching the sun rise.” And for once in her life, Wanda means it.

- - -

“C’mon! This way!” The two of you giggle like schoolchildren as you pull Wanda towards the lake, the sound of your feet brushing through the grass filling your ears.

“Where are you taking me, solnishko?” You smile at the pet name, remembering when she first called you it. My sunshine, she’d told you. Because out of the many sunrises as I’ve seen, none of them could ever compare to your light. The second she told you that, you swore your heart was going to jump out of your chest and land directly in her hands. Because you were hers.

“It’s a surprise!” And a surprise it was. You take in her gasp with a grin, kissing her gently on the corner of her mouth when she finally stands still, the two of you now at your destination. “You like it, baby? I had Tony check, and it’s safe for us to go as far out as those last line of lanterns.” You smile gently at the feel of her leather gloves against your cheek.

“Like it? I… I love it. So, so much. I can’t even… oh my gosh. How’d you do this? How’d you even find this place? You only moved in a few days ago!” You laugh as she pulls you closer. The warmth of her body is something you could never get enough of.

“It’s really not much, Wan. Just a couple of lights.” Her hair brushes your chin as she shakes her head. Her eyes roam as she surveys the surroundings, the lights that hang from the trees, the lanterns that you placed carefully on the lake’s frozen surface.

“Not true at all. It’s absolutely amazing. Thank you so much, solnishko.”

“It’s not ‘everything?’” you ask with a wink.

“No, I love it, but it’s not everything.” You make sure to keep a smile on your face, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t damper your mood just a little. It’s your fault for pushing it, though. “How can it be everything when you’re everything?” And just like that, your face is brighter than it had been all evening.

“Let’s go, my little sweet talker. We only have so long until your team worries why we’re not home yet.”

Unbeknownst to you, Wanda has never been ice skating before. But you quickly find out when she almost falls flat on her face after placing one skate onto the surface of the frozen lake. You make sure she’s okay, one hand pressed to your mouth, at first in shock, and then in an effort to stifle a laugh. And maybe Wanda should be offended, but the moon illuminates your face, highlighting your cheekbones and making your joy just that much more contagious; she can’t do anything but smile.

As you carefully guide her around the lake, the two of you bursting into laughter whenever the witch slips (although you never let her hit the ice, of course), Wanda admires the darkness that surrounds you. She falls in love with the moon, the peaceful glow it gives off. For once in her life, the moonlight is more than enough. It allows her to see your beauty, the features that took her breath away the first time she met you and every time since then. The light reflects off of your teeth, brings out the sparkle in your eyes. It emphasizes your whole-hearted smile, the joy that fills you, manifesting itself as a breathless laugh that bubbles out of your throat and blesses her ears. Wanda’s heart has never been more full.

“Have I ever told you how much I love the moon?” Her voice is low, sweet, and ever so enchanting.

“No.” You bite your lip in an effort to not smile, to not give in to her teasing tone.

“It’s a relatively new development, I think.” Wanda joins as you barked out a laugh, quickly stopping when you pushed her gently.

“Babe, no! I was serious, I swear! I love the moon!” She clings to your arm for dear life before she can fall, one of her hands sliding down to link your fingers. The relief is clear in her voice.

“And I love you.” You adore the way her nose scrunches as you swipe the tip of it with your gloved hand, but you’re more concerned with how you have clearly caught her off-guard. “Too soon?”

“No. Not too soon at all,” she reassures you quickly, “Just… surprised is all.” She watches as you nod, wondering what you might be thinking as you bring her hand up to your lips.

“You deserve to be loved, Wan. And it’s okay for you to love other people.” Your hand is already on her cheek before she starts crying, ready to wipe the tears that you know will soon fall, and at that moment, Wanda doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know what you’re thinking. She can see in your eyes how much you wish to make things better. In Wanda’s mind, you already have.

“I love you too.” You barely have time to process her words before she pulls you in for a kiss, her hands cupping your cheeks. You lose your breath then, neither of you speaking for a full minute after you separate.

“And the moon,” you finally interject with a smile.

“And the moon.” She leaves a kiss on your cheek. You think she’s done, but she tugs you back before you can pull her for another precarious trip around the lake. “And seeing you smile.” You smirk at the brush of her lips against your temple. “And hearing you laugh.” Wanda presses a third kiss to your eyebrow. “And hearing your beautiful voice.” She finishes by finally kissing your pouting lips.

After that night, there is never a time where Wanda doesn’t smile when she looks at the moon.

- - -

You never realized just how kind Wanda was until you moved in with her. Of course, you always knew she had a deep desire to help others. You remember the incident in Lagos--how could you not, when it seemed like the government never wanted anyone to forget it--but you know that that is the most inaccurate depiction of your girlfriend anyone could ever give. You knew it even before you met her. After all, how can someone risk their life for the sake of others time and time again if they don’t have a good heart?

But Wanda has a heart of gold. She gave her brand new jacket, which she had been eying for months, to a child who looked cold without a second’s thought. When she and Steve came back from their mission, she offered to do his share of the paperwork because she thought he could use a break. And she takes care of her team as much as she can, even when they don’t realize it.

It started a week after you moved in with her. You rolled over in your sleep, your arm falling over the space where Wanda should have been. And even though the two of you hadn’t been sleeping in the same bed for long, your body still recognized the lack of a presence that should’ve been there, cold sheets when they should’ve been warm. It woke you up.

You checked the crack under the bathroom door first. It was dark, no sign that your girlfriend was in there, but, you told yourself, maybe she just didn’t want to turn on the light, worried it might disrupt you or pull herself too far out of her drowsiness so that she couldn’t fall back asleep.

When you heard nothing to suggest she was in there, you finally allowed yourself to worry. Had she gone to get a cup of water and fallen? Or maybe she was pulled away on an urgent mission and you somehow missed her leaving? Or what if an uncaptured enemy had gotten to her? It was the last thought that got you out of bed, leaving the bedroom in a rush to find out where the brunette could have gone. Where your brunette could have gone.

You almost missed it at first, how the door to Tony and Pepper’s room was open just a crack. You ran right past the room just as you had with the rooms of the rest of Wanda’s teammates. But you got just the slightest whiff of her, of home, and you knew she was in there. What you didn’t know was that she knelt with her knees pressed into the hardwood floors, a not-so-gentle reminder to try to keep herself grounded as she squeezed her eyes shut and clenched onto the edge of the sheets, trying with all her might to fight off the nightmares that plagued Tony’s mind. You found that out soon enough when you pushed the door open, though.

“Wan?” Your whisper pulled your girlfriend out of her focused state.

“Solnishko? What are you doing awake?” It was only then that you noticed the tears that stained Wanda’s cheeks. Your realization had you running over to her, waking up Pepper and Tony be damned.

“What are you doing here? Are you okay? Wha-” Wanda was quick to press her trembling index finger to your lips.

“Baby, don’t talk. Please don’t talk. Your throat.” And if it wasn’t for her being obviously upset at the moment, you would’ve rolled your eyes. Screw the laryngitis; she was so much more important.

Then read my mind. Her eyes widened at your thought, but you simply met her with a pointed gaze until she nodded. Can we get out of here first? You weren’t sure what it was about what you’d said, but your thought only made her shaking worse, the tears now falling rapidly. Okay, okay, just listen to me. Can you do that for me, love?

“No, no, I can’t do it. I can’t do any of it.” You wished for nothing more than to pull her into your arms, make it all okay. But the most you could do was try to regain her attention.

Listen to me, Wan. You can do it. The slightest nod of her head was all you needed to continue. Tell me what you can’t do. We can figure it out together, yeah? You just have to tell me.

“I can’t…” Your hand drifted up to her lower back as she paused to take a breath. “I can’t make his nightmares go away. It’s not working. I’m supposed to be saving lives and I can’t even help my teammate have a good night’s sleep!” She collapsed into you as she hurled the last few words in the air, her sobs being muffled by your shoulder as you held her close. And maybe you should’ve brought her back to bed before she woke the couple--who was somehow still sleeping despite the noise from you two--or became even more upset, but you knew that wasn’t the answer. Because you knew her.

Just breathe, angel. You can do it. I know you can. It’s just hard because you’re upset. So take a deep breath, calm down, and try again. Okay? You weren’t sure if she heard you at first, her tears continuing to soak through your shirt as she cried. But eventually, her back rose and fell with a shuddering breath, the exhale having a sense of finality to it. Wanda pulled herself back up onto her knees, one hand on the side of the bed and one hand latched firmly in yours.

You watched in awe as her eyes flashed red. You’d never seen her use her powers before. Sure, you knew what she was capable of, but actually seeing it was something else. You had one badass girlfriend (and you’d be sure to tell her about it later). Wanda’s right hand came up by Tony’s temple, red mist drifting from her hand to her teammate. When it reached Tony, his body was quick to finally relax, his chest falling as he released a breath you didn’t even realize he’d been holding. And with Wanda’s task done, it was now your turn.

You didn’t try to communicate with her again until the two of you had returned to your room and she was curled up in your arms on the bed.

How often do you do this? For each second that she didn’t respond, you felt your heart sink further. Wan?

“Every night they need me to.”

And how often is that? She gave a half-hearted shrug before answering.

“It depends. Maybe every other night?”

This isn’t your job, Wan. I know it feels like it because you can read minds-

“That’s not why I do it.”

Then why do you do it? You brushed your thumb over the back of her hand, not missing the way she let out a heavy sigh before continuing.

“Because I’ve hurt so many people. I hurt them, my own team.” She began fiddling with your fingers as she paused. Anyone else would’ve assumed she was done, but both of you knew that you could read her better than that. So you waited. Finally, she spoke again. “I’m Wanda Maximoff.”

I know you are. You told me your first and last name every time you ordered something, Wan, trust me. I know. You continued when you saw the slightest hint of a smile on her face. I know who you think you are, because of Lagos and what’s happened to your parents and Pietro. But Wan, none of that is true. That’s just a narrative that news networks and the government try to shove down people’s throats because they’re scared of what you can do. Your thumb smoothed over her cheek as she forced herself to swallow, a lump growing in her throat. But I also know who you actually are, and I know you’d never do that. You’d never hurt anyone on purpose. Because you’re right. You’re Wanda Maximoff.

“So then you know why I do it, right? Why I have to do it?” Her posture visibly worsened as you shook your head.

You have nothing to prove to anyone, love. Not to your team, not to the public, not to yourself, and certainly not to me.

“But if I have the ability to help them, to give back, even if it’s something small, I should do it.” Her eyes were anguished, pleading. You could only imagine yours looked the same, both of you trying desperately to make the other believe your own message, one that contradicted the other’s thoughts.

And who helps you when you need it? You watched as she turned towards you, her green eyes finding yours with an urgency that left her once she’d finished helping Tony.

“You do, moya radost. That’s what I was going to call you that day, at the coffee shop. My joy. You… clear my mind. There’s always so much going on in my head, so many things that I hear. From me, from other people, but you make things calm.” Tears fill your own eyes as she continues to speak, and you want so badly to interrupt her, kiss her, try to tell her how much her words mean to you, but she keeps talking. You let her. “Your voice, even your thoughts, there’s something special about them. I don’t know what it is, but it eases my mind, makes things better. It’s you, Y/N. You help me. It’s just you. It’s all you. I know it’s selfish, but-”

Stop. Wan, listen to me. Please. You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. I don’t just mean that physically, I mean you are the kindest person I have ever met, the kindest person I could have ever thought to exist. I haven’t doubted that for a second since I’ve known you. So believe me when I say that I will remind you of that every week, every day, hell, every hour if you need me to. I’d be honored to. You just have to listen to me because what I’m saying is the truth.

Both of you forgot you were sick as she pulled you in, her hands resting firmly on your cheeks as she brought your lips to meet hers. But Wanda would have done it whether or not she remembered because it was you. She only let go when her lungs screamed for oxygen, your foreheads still pressed firmly together as both of you tried to regain your breath. You were so focused on that and the feel of her that you almost missed what she’d whispered, but you’d hold her to it for the rest of your lives.

“Always.”

- - -

The truth is, being Wanda Maximoff is hard. Being herself is hard. Accepting herself is hard, intolerable even. But with you, well… with you, life is different. Life is happy.

Three things cannot long be hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth. And, thanks to you, Wanda loves them all.

- - - - -

🏷 : @007giu @vancityfire13

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #avengers x reader #marvel #mcu #I wrote something #alwaysmarveling

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buildmeafairytale · 4 years

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Orc Boyfriend - Bash

Oh my gosh guys I just hit 160 followers! I honestly didn’t think I would have nearly this many when I made this blog, and I’m so thankful for all those who read and like my stories! Here’s another one featuring a gifted woman and her orc babe. If you like my work, please consider donating to my kofi, it helps me out a lot <3 Also, sorry if you’re seeing this twice, I had to fix the ‘keep reading’ thing so it wouldn’t be so long. NSFW

I was a little girl when I heard the siren’s call. My parents were busy doing anything but watching me, and slipping away was never hard. I followed the voice through the forest near my home, the song notes pulling at me like strings tied around my bones. I saw a woman laid out near a creek, sick and dying. She was singing a mourning song for herself, so I sat with her and tried to offer her any comfort I could. She was scared of dying alone; that much I could tell from her pained wails. So I sat there and held her hand for as long as it took, and she thanked me with a gift. I felt the power come over me, blue lights whirled up my arm and through my body from where my hand was grasping hers. I didn't understand what had happened for a while, but it became impossible to ignore. I would whistle a tune and birds would start to follow me, or I would sing and my parents would suddenly want to spend time with me. I didn’t understand the strength of the power until I started school, though. A boy tried to grab at me and lift up my skirt, and the shrill sound that left me was anything but human. He was on the ground with blood pooling in his ears by the time my mouth sprung shut.

I was more careful after that. Being different in my town is often a death sentence, so I learned to control it and keep this power to myself. I always figured my parents had a hunch, but as they didn’t spend time with me much I was unsure. That was until my parents sold me off, though. Then it was confirmed.

The men came in the middle of the night. They were dirty and unkempt but dressed in good, although mismatched, armor. They probably had a single set of teeth between them all. I heard the commotion and came downstairs.

“Ah good, she’s awake. Go ahead and take her, I have no need for her here.” I heard my father say, his nose upturned and his awful fake accent exaggerated.

I watched my father be paid by them while my mother stood to the side. Her lips were pinched tight but she did not speak up in my defense. I looked back and forth in confusion, still half asleep and not understanding what was happening to me. They stood there by the large french doors, draped in their finery while I was sold like a broodmare.

“She is a monster,” I heard my mother say, “do not be afraid to treat her like one.”

The men went to grab me, but I tried to fight. I squirmed and clawed, and they led me away as I struggled in their grasp. I opened my mouth to scream but I was hit over the back of the head before I could get a sound out.

When I woke up, all I could feel was pain blossoming at the base of my skull. As I got used to the pain, I felt a tender hand brushing the sweat soaked hair off of my forehead. I peeled my eyes open, and as they went into focus I found I was inside of a wooden box, the only sunlight coming in from little gaps between panels. We must have been moving, as I was only slightly aware of the jostling of my head when we hit bumps. The hand was attached to a small orcish girl, still a child. She couldn’t be very old, her tusks were still just nubs peeking out of her lips. It was then I saw her lips moving, the actual words taking longer to get to me.

“Shh are you alright lady? It’s gonna be okay, my papa and uncle are gonna come, I promise. I’m Sheely, and -” her words faded slowly, and I felt myself go unconscious again, her voice luling me out again.

The next time I wake up is to the screams of the girl being held prisoner with me. I awake abruptly, and while I’m still in pain I move quickly. I see a man is trying to drag her out of the box we are in. She is clawing and fighting him with tears rushing down her face. I do not hesitate, and when I hear men comment about ‘breaking her in’ I let out a cry that has them all on their knees. Blood is running out of all the orifices in their head, like tears coming from their eyes, and a few of them have collapsed. Sheely is unharmed by me and my power does not touch her, which I am thankful for. I grab her and start to run. Everything is blurry for me but I know this is my chance to get us out of this. I don’t want to dwell on the intentions of those men, but I know enough to know we would be better off lost in the wilderness.

The orc - Sheely is just a child, though, no matter that orcish children are almost as large as a human teenager. She is panicked from the men trying to hurt her, sobs still leaving her despite the running and she catches her ankle on a root. She falls to the ground, but I waste no time in trying to pick her up. I have not known hard labor in my life and orcish children are not easy to carry, though. I feel the panic rising in my chest, and I hold her to me tightly.

I hear them, then. Some of the men have come after us, and I try to find somewhere to hide the girl. My feet scrape the ground as I try to haul her behind a fallen tree. It is no use, and soon the largest of the men is appearing in front of us. Before I can blink a long whip is wrapped around my arm, bringing us both to the ground. I sing and wail once again but while I can tell he is in pain, it does not stop him. I curse myself now, for ignoring the power I have. If only I had honed it, or practiced more, we could be okay. He backhands me, and I hear a crack.

The pain doesn't knock me out this time, although I wish it had. I am grabbed by the jaw, and I forget all about the pain in my head. Noise leaves me but not enough. and my voice is rendered useless. He glares at me with dark eyes, and all I see is hate in them.

“Are you going to try that again or should I crush your vocal cords too, siren bitch?” Spit flies in my face and I shake my head no to the best of my abilities. He increases his grip on my jaw harder, and if it wasn’t broken before I’m sure it is now. My vision swims with darkness, but I hold on. I won’t leave her alone with them. He lets go and pushes my face away and into the ground.

“Get the fuck up then,” he tells me, and I obey.

We are dragged back to their camp, and I hold onto Sheely. I see several of the men still on the ground before we are thrown back into the wagon. My head hits the wall and I feel the wood splinter into my skin. I manage to position Sheely behind me. I am hopeful that the men are in enough pain to be deterred from their plans with her, but I don’t want to risk not being able to help her if they come back.

I don’t know how long it has been but I have not had food nor water since I was captured. I had never known this kind of pain, this uncomfortable existence, but I refused to let myself succumb to sleep. Instead I spend my time trying to listen to the men and make sure no one was coming to get us

The words I hear from the men outside all melt together and paint an eerie picture of the life waiting for me. I feel as if I am living in a nightmare and just couldn’t make my screams heard or run fast enough to escape. Scenes play out before my eyes of the ways evil people mean to torture me and throw me away once I am used up. I hear screams and anguished cries, but it all fades into the horror playing behind my eyelids. The screaming dies down into a dark silence, and I can hear Sheely yelling from behind me, apparently awake.

The last of my strength I spend covering her body with mine, pushing her further into the corner of our dank wooden prison. The door is ripped apart, and the sun has risen. The light blinds me for a moment, but then a large figure blocks it out. I turn my back to the figure and pull Sheely further underneath me. I don’t feel as though I am long for this world in my current condition, and she is so young. I want to give her a chance.

“Uncle!” I hear Sheely yell this in the back of my mind, and the man yells out for Sheely too. I let go, then. I let go of her, and my will to stay conscious as well. I feel her relief and happy noises all around. I try to soak in her joy as I let go.

I know enough to know I am not dead. I drift in and out, feeling bumps in the roads and rumbling voices around me. Everything hurts enough that I wish I was dead, though. A wish that refuses to come true, as I am suspended in pain for what feels like an eternity.

The fog eventually clears and the heavy scent of medicinal steam hangs in the air. The smell is of a healers den, and if I am right then I am relieved. My vision is blurry but I see a shape run into the den, and Sheely’s voice. It’s the sweet voice of a happy and safe child, and I think I manage a smile. I see another shape duck into the tent behind her, as well as a deep voice coming from beside me. A gnarled and old hand comes into vision as well, holding a cloth to my face. The throbbing of my jaw and head is not gone, but muted. I feel bandages wrapped around my arm and feet as well. A small hand takes hold of mine, and when I fall asleep again I feel calm for the first time in days.

The medicine is strong and leaves me in a daze for a long while, but as I heal they give me less and less, until I am able to understand and remember when people are speaking to me. Ungral, the healer, is a constant companion to me. He explains that Sheely is the much loved daughter of their chief, and I am being honored among the clan.

“Sheely has painted quite the picture of you to us all, calls you a ‘screeching warrior’” Ungral informs me, his lips upturned in amusement.

“Oh goodness, everyone will be so disappointed when they actually see me. I am no warrior, although I did screech quite a bit.” I jest with him.

“Hush child, no one will be disappointed to see the women who took care of our Sheely,” He sets out food in front of me. It is a thick and meaty stew, and I am in heaven from the smell alone.

Sheely visits me everyday before her schooling and often before her bedtime, bringing me snacks and things to do. Her mother and father visited me early in my recovery, but I don’t remember very much. Sheely tells me they are planning a celebration for her return, and that they are waiting until I am recovered since I am an ‘honored guest’. I am grateful for their hospitality, but I feel I have not earned it. All I did was cower with Sheely in a corner while her family saved us both, but I would hate to insult them this way.

The first day Ungral has me leave the tent to walk is more eventful than I like. The moment I leave the hut, orcs are thanking me and introducing themselves left and right. I am friendly and speak to everyone, but it quickly becomes too much for me. Right before I am going to tell Ungral I need a break, Sheely comes running up to me followed by three other orcs. One of which was a woman, in decorative armor and beads woven into her hair. She grabs my hand with tear filled eyes as Sheely hugs my legs.

“Thank you for keeping my daughter safe when I couldn’t,” she tells me. My eyes start to fill as well, just looking at her.

“Of course,” I nod to her, my hands grasping hers back. I am starting to feel dizzy but I dare not disrespect her. One of the orcs with her, the smaller of the two men, comes up to me as well. This is without a doubt the chief. I know little of orcs and their customs, but the beads and armor he wears, as well as the tattoos covering him, seems to indicate this.

“I am Sheelga’s father, and Chief of this clan,” He tells me, his voice loud and clear. “We are all so thankful for you and that you were able to protect her. You will want for nothing here, nor ever again. Be assured that the men who took you are no longer in this world and as soon as you are fully healed, I will have my best warriors escort you home to your family. If there is anything you need, please, just let us know.” He tells me this, and I am reminded that my family is the one who did this to me. I stutter out a thank you and feel my legs shake. Ungral is by my side quickly, the old man more nimble than I assumed.

“Leave the girl alone, just because she is stretching her legs doesn’t mean you can all bombard her,” he waves off the chief and his wife, who just chuckle at him.

“Yes, we will leave you be then. Please, rest and know that you are safe here,” The chief and his wife say goodbye and turn to leave, but Sheely runs into the healing den. Ungral and I follow after her, partially to see what is wrong and partially because my stamina is running too low to do much else. Her parents and the other large orc come into the hut too, and I see Sheely in her usual spot next to the bed with tears running down her cheeks.

Everyone goes over her and when I settle on the bed she hurriedly plasters herself against me. I hold and shush her, and I can make out some words between her broken sobs.

“I don’t want you to leave,” she bawls out, and I immediately start to hold her tighter.

Her father has crouched next to her, and his large hand is splayed on her back. “She has a family too, my heart, and we cannot keep her from them,” he tells her, but I speak up.

“I don’t actually. Well, I suppose I do but they’re the ones who sold me to those men,” my voice wavers as all the eyes turn to me, mixed looks of anger and pity look back at me.

“Then you have to stay here,” Sheely says, her voice firm. I smile at her, but I do not wish to impose on these kind people.

“Now little one, I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” I try to sound cheery, but it really just comes out sad.

“I think I speak for everyone here when I say you should stay,” the other orc speaks up, and I no longer argue. He is the largest being I have ever seen, with dark green skin and long black hair in a single shining braid down his back. He has black swirling tattoos covering a great deal of his arms, and his deep brown eyes lock onto mine. His beauty stops the words from leaving my mouth.

“Yes, brother,” the chief nods at him and turns to me. “You will stay then, it is settled.”

His wife comes to sit by me and I open my mouth but no sounds come out, I just nod and squeeze her hand.

Not soon after this I start to heal more quickly. I am sure this has something to do with the lack of stress I currently have. I am surrounded by kind people who want to help me, and I get to stay. A large feast is held to not only celebrate that Sheely is back, but also to welcome me to the clan. It is loud and boisterous, and copious amounts of ale are consumed. Balo, the Chief, drinks so much in celebration that his wife Lorka is rolling her eyes at him. He is telling old war stories and spinning his daughter around, taking intermediate breaks to remind Lorka how in love with her he is. When he hears me laugh, though, he sends a large grin my way and starts a toast for me. I am embarrassed, but flattered as they raise their glasses to me. I drink some too, but Ungral warns me not to do much since it could interfere with some of the medicine he has given me.

Sure enough, I feel the effects of the alcohol much more strongly than I would have thought, so I go outside to get some space from the crowd. I find a pretty tree nearby and stumble my way over to it. I see Sheely’s uncle leave the great feast hall not long after I do. He looks around until he finds me, then struts toward me.

“Oh, hi! I’m sorry but I don’t think I ever got your name,” I squeak out the words as best I can, hoping I’m not sounding over eager or over drunk. He is large and powerful, and I cannot look away. He makes me feel so small, and it excites something deep within me. My head spins, and I am unsure if it is due to his presence or simply the mead.

“My given name is Rhugro’bash, but Bash is just fine little songbird,” he nods at me and settles onto a stump next to me. He offers me a smile and hands me a plate stacked high with food. “I saw you leave and wanted to make sure you would still eat.”

“Thank you, everyone is so friendly but I’m just not used to such big crowds,” I take the food eagerly, moaning at the flavors. I feel spoiled here, with a beautiful orcish man bringing me delicious food. I open my eyes to see Bash staring at me as I eat, and I almost choke at the look on his face. “Sorry, it’s just so good.”

He throws his head back and lets out a guwaffing laugh. “Well then I am happy to have pleased one as lovely as you.”

He reaches over and pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, and I’m sure he can feel the heat coming off of my face. He stands and leaves quickly after, wishing me a goodnight in his deep rumbling voice. Oh gods, I think to myself, I am going to get myself in trouble with him.

The next morning I wake up to a large breakfast and a flower set out for me. I ask Ungral about it and he laughs, shaking his head at me.

“It seems you’ve caught a certain someone’s attention,” the old man gives me a wry smile, apparently amused by my confusion. He sits across from me with his herbal tea, and passes me a note. It says nothing on it but ‘From Bash’, so it does little to clear things up.

“But...why?”

“The man wants to cook for you,” he shrugs, “wants to see to it you’re fed, and brings a flower? I think you can figure it out,” he chuckles at me then, and leaves me with a meal that was composed of more food than I would be able to eat in days.

Bash comes to visit with Sheely later in the day, who hugs me then promptly goes to hang out with Ungral instead. I thank Bash for breakfast and he goes from a warrior to a puppy in an instant. He lights up and breaks out in a breathtaking smile, the gold bands on his tusks shining brightly. The two of us sit down, and he sees the flower sitting next to my bed. I clear my throat, feeling much more nervous in his presence than the night before when I was emboldened by alcohol.

“I hope it wasn’t too forward of me, songbird. I wasn’t sure how things like this are done where you are from.” He speaks so casually and directly, I am not used to that.

“What kind of things do you mean?”

He reaches over and folds my hand in his, his calloused palms brushing against my skin in the sweetest way. “Romantic type things. I want to court you.”

“Can I ask why?”

He laughs a bit and schooches his chair closer to me, a playful look on his face. He leans closer to me as he speaks, and his proximity makes my head spin. “You are strong, and brave. I like the way you look when I bring you food, and how beautiful you are. You love Sheely, and were ready to lay down your life for her. I cannot think of better traits for a mate.”

My mouth is in an “o” shape, and he leans back with a satisfied look on his face. Sheely comes barreling back in and I am grateful for the distraction.

Bash continues to send food to me, along with little gifts or trinkets. He gives me clothing too, as well as a homemade chest to put everything in. I appreciate it and everything he does makes me feel so special, but I hardly feel as if I deserve it.

One day he comes to take me for a walk, and I voice this to him.

“I really do enjoy everything you do for me, I just feel like I am undeserving of all of it. You spoil me.” He finds a log to sit on, and pulls me to sit on one of his thighs. My arms wind themselves around his neck with his behind my back. The closeness is so effortless for him, it seems, while I feel my heart is going to pump out of my chest.

“Now don’t go feeling guilty, pretty bird. I like doing things for you.” He frowns at me, and makes everything sound so simple.

“I just feel bad I can’t give you anything in return.”

“You give me plenty,” he scoffs, “you gift me your time.”

You huff and adjust yourself on his knee, turning to face him more.

“You give me that too though. I want to give you something and yet all I have are things you have gifted me.” I frown at this realization. They have welcomed me in but I’ve really just free-loaded.

Bash taps a finger to my forehead, startling me out of my thoughts. “I don’t know what’s going on in here, but cut it out. You wanna give me something?” I nod, of course I do. He smiles, almost wicked. “Sing to me, bird. I want to hear it.”

My eyes grow big. Of all things, I was not expecting this.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says, playing with my hair with an exaggerated pout on his lips.

“I’ll do it for you, I’m just not used to singing nice things. It’s always been a bit of a defense mechanism.” I try to think back to when I was young and would sing to the birds and the flowers. I think about the feelings I have for Bash, the look in his eye when he sees me and the happiness he brings me. I concentrate and let my abilities take over. It’s natural for me, like taking a breath of fresh air after being underwater too long.

My voice sings of a new life, of a gallant rescue. I sing of new feelings and new family, how much more beautiful life is for me now. I sing of new beginnings, of spring. I let my emotions well up then pour out, and I am unsure how long I sing but when I stop he has tears in his eyes.

I reach up to wipe them away, noticing how out of it he looks. He has pulled me much closer to him while I was singing and I am thoroughly pressed against him.

He whispers “thank you.” Bash presses his lips to my brow and we stay like this for quite some time. Once we hear crickets chirping he takes me back to Ungral’s.

The courting gifts start to increase and get larger after this encounter. He insists on cooking almost every meal for me, and I try to squash my feelings of being unworthy. I sing to him occasionally too, since he says it’s one of his favorite things. We often have the healers den to ourselves, since Ungral lives in a separate building behind it. I haven’t been to his house yet, as he said he is in the middle of building onto it.

The first time he kisses me, it is while he is cooking for me. I move to the kitchen to peek at what he is making, and he just leans down and pecks me on the lips. He pulls back and looks shocked at his own actions, and I get to see my great warrior flustered. I give him no chance to apologize. I lift up onto my tippy toes and pull him down, slanting my mouth over his. He holds his arms out awkwardly to the side at first, but soon drops the wooden spoon and kisses me back.

He’s vocal and does not bother to hold in his groans. I pull at him until we are on the cot together, kissing and petting at one another. He moves to my neck, placing wet open mouthed kisses under my ear. The feeling of his tusks brushing against my neck sends chills up my spine. All too suddenly he rips himself off of me, running to the kitchen. The sound of soup boiling over registers and I hop up to help clean up the mess. Bash’s cursing turns into laughter when we look at one another, and I peck his lips again but the heated moment has passed.

I am adamant about giving Bash an actual tangible courting gift, and I ask Ungral about it.

“It’s not frowned upon, if that’s what you mean,” he tells me, showing me how to blend certain medicines. “Not required either, but after one courts you a while giving a gift back is a way to accept the courting or encourage them that you want it to advance.”

Winter is around the corner and Bash told me he has a lot to prepare for with his home, so I try to think of something good to get for him today. I talk to Ungral about this too, but it feels odd talking to him about my romantic life. He is more of a father than mine ever was, and I sense it’s a bit awkward for him as well.

“Take this,” Ungral says, trying to shove a bag of coin in my hand. I push it back at him.

“What, no! What for?” I ask him, “I already live here for free!”

He gives me a flat look in return “You help me with my work and Bash feeds the both of us with his excessive courting meals. I should still pay you for all the work you help me with. Go buy a courting gift and stop fawning, girl.” He turns around and leaves no room for me to argue.

I do want to give something nice to Bash so I take it, but I vow to help Ungral even more to feel as though I earned it. I walk along the shops in the center of the village, and one tent catches my eye. Inside are glittering beads, hair ties, and bottles of oils and soaps resting on shelves. Bash’s hair is beautiful, and he knows it, so this would be perfect. I look along the beads and one instantly catches my eye. It’s a pretty blue bead and dangling on it is a bird. It’s absolutely perfect. I go to pay for the bead and the shop owner wraps it up in a nice box for me. I can’t wait to give it to him, and I hate that I have to wait.

The hours could not go by any slower, but eventually Bash comes by to tell me goodnight. He walks in and kisses me, but I can tell he is tired.

“How was your day songbird?”

I cannot help to smile in excitement, I probably look crazy to him.

“It was good,” I tell him, “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh really? And what may that be?”

“Sit here and close your eyes! I’ll be right back.” I sit him on the bed and get a sleepy smile in return. I go to get the bead and a snack for him as well. I’m only gone a moment, but when I return he is snoring. My disappointment is fleeting, he looks so sweet like this. I set the box on the table and get to work. I gently peel his shoes off and his more uncomfortable looking clothing as well before tucking him in. The bed is small so I decide to snuggle in, hoping he doesn’t mind the liberty taken.

Bash is warm, and I find it was one of the best night's sleep I’ve had in awhile. We are tangled together in the morning and he is awake before me. A hand is petting my hair, and I just sigh and shove my face more into his chest.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” he whispers to me, and I have never thought him more attractive than now, with his groggy voice in my ear.

“Shh, m’still sleepin,” I mumble into his chest, and get a laugh in return. We bask in the moment before I remember how excited I am, so I just roll over and hand him the box, jolting up to give it to him.

“Open it,” I encourage, and he purposefully goes slowly.

When he sees it he gasps, and I feel like I’ve done well. I realize why he enjoys doing things for me so much now. His excitement and happiness when he holds it up is my new favorite look for him. He has me braid the bead into his hair, and the blue is a stark contrast to his dark hair.

“I have something for you as well, my songbird,” Bash gestures to his satchel, and I hand it to him. He digs around, and then presses a key into my hand. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up. I look at the key then back at Bash for a minute before it sinks in.

“You want me to...live with you?”

“Yes, I can’t think of anything I would want more,” he admits to me.

“I don’t need an answer right away,” he continues, one of his large hands caressing the side of my face. “Just...come by tonight if you decide to, otherwise I will see you in the morning and we can take things as slowly as you wish.” He kisses my stunned face and goes to walk away, apparently nervous for your reaction.

I grab him before he makes his way out.

“Bash!” I stop him, and pull him down near me. “I’ll see you tonight,” I whisper in his ear, planting a kiss underneath. I can practically feel the chill that runs through him, but I usher him out anyway. I’ve never been to his house before, and wasn’t even sure where to go. I talk to Ungral a bit before I pack up my things. I leave most everything there for now, as my chest and other things are too heavy for me alone. I then go to visit his sister-in-law’s house for a bit of help.

Later that night I walk up the cobble pathway in nothing but the silk nightdress Lorka has given me. My hair is down, and I feel every bit the siren I have been accused of being. The home is beautiful under the moonlight and the colors seem vibrant bathed in the blue of the night. Fireflies dance over the pond and the stone house is reflected in its depths. I open the heavy door and all the breath leaves my body.

Bash is waiting for me in the home he has built for us in nothing but his loincloth. He stands proud and tall in front of me. Deep rumbles of desire come from his chest and mix with the sounds of the crackling fire; it is the most beautiful melody I have ever been lucky enough to hear. The fire gives his skin an otherworldly gleam and he looks every part the formidable warrior he is known to be. My formidable warrior, now. I walk toward him as if I am a newborn deer and I fear he can hear my knees knocking together, but one of his hands reaches out to steady me.

His hand moves up my arm while his other goes around my waist, pulling me against him. His warm skin quells a shaking chill I didn’t know I had, and I let myself melt into him. He has barely touched me and I feel as though I’ve run miles.

“Let me take you to our bed, my songbird,” he says, and I nod my head. My eyes are wide gazing up at him and Bash smiles down at me. He bends down and lifts me up a bit to close the gap to place a soft kiss on my lips. His tusks brush against my cheeks and I gasp. He suddenly places his hands on my bottom and pulls me up with my legs around him. I squeal out a laugh and the nervousness is broken.

He gives kisses and raspberries all over my neck and chest as he walks me to the bedroom. I squirm and laugh, and my hand ends up in Bash’s hair. I give it a tug and am rewarded with a playful growl as he tosses me onto the bed. The bed he has crafted is beautiful, and I am once again lost in his duality. He is a powerful warrior who can wield his warhammer like no other, and yet he created and carved the delicate wooden features adorning our headboard. He seems hard on the outside, so intimidating and yet he kisses me so softly.

He climbs up with me and pulls my legs on either side of his hips, perched up on his knees. My hand splays across his stomach and I feel the muscle there, covered in a layer of softness that makes me find him all the more appealing. I gawk at him, tracing the tattoos and scared planes of his body.

“See something you like?” His large hands run over my thighs, the fingertips dipping under my nightdress on each pass.

“I see a lot I like,” I quietly admit, finally lifting my gaze to meet his. A pleased sound leaves him. He kisses me and pulls me even closer, so much so that the heat between my thighs settles on his manhood. I can’t help but grind myself into him.

“I want to make you sing for me,” He tells me, and he slinks down the bed. I push myself up onto my elbows and watch his broad shoulders push apart my thighs. I can feel a deep throbbing in my core, and I gasp when his fingers trace the lines of my underclothes. His other hand moves upward and settles on my stomach before he pulls my underwear aside.

His warm breath washes over me, and he places the gentlest of kisses around the apex of my thighs before licking a broad stripe along my folds. I fall back onto the bed writhing , my hands digging into the sheets. He starts to lick and kiss at my clit, and a strong finger finds its way to my entrance. My back arches and a moan leaves me at the pleasure he is giving. His other hand wanders up the bed to meet one of mine, untangling my fingers that were clutching the sheets. As his finger pumps into me in time with his mouth moving on my clit I cannot hold in my noises.

“Bash, please,” I moan out to him, unsure what I am asking him for. His answering rumble vibrates through me and his tusks start to dig into my soft flesh. He adds another finger and I feel myself quickly tighten around them. The crooking of his fingers and the pressure on my clit increases and a knot builds in my stomach. The noises leaving me increase as well, but everything quiets the moment that I find my release. Fireworks go off behind my eyes, my legs tighten around his head and my hips jerk. He sounds like a man feasting, grunts and groans leaving his mouth. He does not relent until I am jerking away from the stimulation with a whimper, the ecstasy too much.

“Bash, c’mere,” I pull at his shoulders, my request coming out a breathless whine. When he looks up at me he is debauched. His eyes are full of desire and my wetness covers his mouth and chin. As he moves up my body, he pulls my underclothes off of me as well.

“Did you enjoy me, my songbird?” He inquires, laying kisses up my arm as sparks continue to dance on my skin. I give a breathy yes in response to him. I reach my hands out to pull him down over me, and his arousal is evident as it presses into my stomach. I arch into it and my desire is reborn. I reach down and run my fingers along his shaft over the loincloth still covering him. I pull at the edges of the cloth and it falls down, releasing his heavy cock.

I feel my mouth water at the sight of it. It hangs beneath its own weight, and I bring my hand up to hold it. The hot flesh pulses in my hand, and I feel my entrance pulse in answer. It’s an even darker green than the rest of him, and more tattoos swirl near the base of it. Fluid leaks out of the tip, and I run my fingers over it, coating the head. When I look back at Bash’s face, I am not disappointed. His eyebrows are knitted together and his eyes are dark with want. I hold his gaze and give a tentative stroke, letting his hips jerk into my hand. My other hand comes up to caress his heavy sack, gently massaging him in time with the strokes.

“Fuck, I’m going to come from your hands alone if you don’t stop that, woman,” he snarls out, but I only slow down my efforts.

“Don’t you want to?” I ask him sweetly, leaning up to kiss his neck.

“Minx,” he scolds me in good nature, then leans down to snarl darkly in my ear. “I want to feel you come around my cock when I release. I want to fill you up so much you leak my seed for days, and any Orc who comes near you will smell my claim on you.”

His words alone cause a whimper to leave my mouth. “Please,” I breath out, wanting nothing more than for that to come true. He strips me of my nightdress, and I take his hands in mine and pull him back with me on the bed, curling one of my legs over his hip. His cock runs through my folds, my wetness coating him, before he notches the head at my entrance. He sucks and licks at my tits before smoothly thrusting into me, my nails coming up to dig into his back. My cunt is tightly wrapped around him, every vein of his cock pulsing inside me. He is so much bigger than me in every way, and I’m surprised he fits inside of me without pain. The stretch is uncomfortable at first, but soon fades as my pleasure crests.

“Look how well you take me, songbird. Will you sing to me again?” He punctuates this with a hard thrust, and I let out a long moan. I feel my power imbed itself into my voice, but I cannot help it. Tendrils of my magic reach out and touch him, caressing his skin and coaxing out more desire with my noises. His movements speed up, and I hear grunts leave him. Bash brings his face to my chest, growling into it. Pleasure builds in me again, and as I wail out my climax Bash follows me. He buries himself deep within me and pumps me full of his seed as he promised, his hands holding tight to my sides.

Fucked out mewls escape my lips and Bash coos down at me, praises passing through his lips. He gently rolls off of me and lays beside me.

“You’ve conquered me, my songbird. I don’t think I can feel my legs,” he teases, petting me sweetly as I come down from my high. He manages to clean us up before he throws blankets over us both. As I’m drifting off, I feel a kiss to my forehead and Bash mumbles to me.

“I can’t wait to cook for you in the morning, my love.”

#orc #orc boyfriend #orc x reader #orc x human #monster #monster boyfriend #female reader x male monster #female reader #monster lover #exophilia #orcs #i love orcs #my writing #bash x reader #bash

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pengychan · 3 years

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[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 23

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: There's Chekhov's gun and then there's Ernesto's poison. You know the rule.

Art is by @lunaescribe and @swanpit!

***

“This way, all of you, don’t make noise.”

“But Sister Antonia, these are your quarters--”

“And you’ll stay here until you’re told otherwise, chicos. Make no noise. We’ll bring you food here until they’re gone.”

“But the girls…?”

“They wouldn’t take them for their ranks. God willing, they’ll leave them be. We’ll keep them safe, too. Now you stay here, all right?”

A few terrified, wide-eyed glances from the boys. No reply.

“Am I clear?”

“S-sí.”

“Can we pray, Sister?”

“... Quietly,” Sister Antonia said, her voice tight in the way one’s voice gets when it’s so close to breaking up, and she closed the door, turning the key in the lock. When she turned to grab the bookcase and drag it across the floor, Imelda stepped in to help her push it. It left deep scratches on the wooden boards, but no matter. They would cover that with a rug.

“Is Miguel still missing?” Imelda asked, her voice as firm as she could make it. Antonia lowered her gaze with a nod.

“He’s the only one who didn’t come back. None of the boys has seen him since they went out to play hide and seek.”

Imelda bit her lower lip hard enough to almost break the skin. “Nor Óscar, have they?” she forced herself to ask, and the slow nod felt like a blow. Where was he? Where had they both gone? Could it be that they had both made it to her parents’ home, that Miguel had followed Óscar there? Maybe he had, maybe they were both safe.

God, please.

“I’m sorry, Imelda,” Antonia’s voice reached her as though from a mile away, and she scowled. Anger came easier than despair, and it was more than welcome. No point in fearing the worst behind the safety of those walls.

“They may very well be safe and sound,” she snapped, and marched to the door. “I will go out looking. If they ask, I’m looking for some of our girls. Make sure they’re all in - if anyone asks, this is a girls-only institution.”

“... Do you know where Sofía is?” Antonia spoke up, fear now showing in her voice, and it made Imelda pause. As much as she rolled her eyes at their antics, poorly hidden behind hastily closed doors and too thin walls, Imelda knew they cared deeply about one another.

“She’s taking care of something important. She will be here soon. Don’t worry,” she added, and smiled in the attempt to convey a sense of calm she did not feel. “She can handle herself just fine.”

Antonia’s own lips curled in a weak smile. “I won’t tell her you admitted that. Be careful out there. I really do want to see the gringo’s face when Padre Ernesto officiates your wedding.”

Imelda, who rather liked the idea of her wedding actually being both legal and valid in the eyes of God, knew they would probably have to settle for the gringo to officiate it, but that was not the moment to voice that thought. Except that, as she stepped out and ran towards the plaza, she quickly found out that perhaps the gringo would be in no position to officiate anything anymore, either.

“What…?” Imelda stopped in her tracks, stunned at the sight of several men quickly carrying a body towards the church on a sheet, dark blood a stark contrast to the man’s pale skin and fair hair. He looked-- was he-- dead?

If they go around shooting priests, none of us is safe.

There was no love lost between her and Father John Johnson, and yet there was a stab of something in her stomach at the idea he may be dead. He had been trying to help, after all. He had left the relative safety of the parish to help its people.

Maybe he just said something stupid. He does it a lot. Only this time they were armed.

“Go call doctor Sachéz,” Imelda heard someone saying as they passed her by, but before she could even voice her question - would the doctor be of any use, was he even still alive? - someone else called out her own name.

“Imelda!”

Ceci’s voice caused her to tear her gaze off the gringo who was perhaps an ex gringo. She was running up to her, hair dishevelled in a way Imelda had never seen it - she had always been dignified, even when they were young girls.

But today was not a normal day.

“They have Miguel,” Ceci panted, grabbing her shoulders. “And Óscar.”

No. No. No.

For a moment, just a moment, the world seemed to spin around her. It was as though sunlight itself faded for a moment, distant screams muffled, leaving the world empty and dark. Imelda’s knees may have buckled, they almost did, but she couldn’t allow herself to collapse.

“Their commander is loco,” Ceci was saying, eyes wide. “He just kept screaming about a deserter, one de la Cruz, and the more we swore none of us knew him the more he lost it. And when Padre Juan stepped in-- Imelda! Wait! Come back!”

Imelda didn’t listen: she just tore away from her grasp and ran, towards the plaza, towards the cries.

They had her brother. They had her charge. She had to go to them.

Whenever she thought about that nightmare scenario, Imelda was so certain of what she’d do: get the pistol she had taken from Ernesto, and use it the second it was necessary. But now that it was happening, she knew that taking out the gun would mean signing her death warrant, and that of God knew how many others in the village. A lone woman with a pistol - she would be killed quickly, and retribution on everyone else would be swift. She would be of no use to anyone dead.

Maybe Ernesto had been right, after all. What involvement she’d had had been from the sidelines. She knew nothing of war; Santa Cecilia knew nothing of war.

But war had come to them, and it was a matter of learning fast or dying.

He just kept screaming about a deserter.

There is no mercy in war, Ernesto had said.

He’s one of our own now. I can’t give him away.

They have Óscar.

I promised we would protect him.

They have Miguel.

We protect our own.

He lied to us.

There must be something we can do. Anything.

As she ran as fast as her robes allowed her, blood rushing in her ears and thoughts going in circles, Imelda could only pray that Ernesto would stay at the González farm, unaware, for as long as possible.

If he returned too early and they found out he was there, and that they hadn’t handed him over, it would spell disaster for all of them.

***

“Miguel!”

Héctor’s scream was loud enough to hurt his throat, and it was still lost under the echo of the gunshot, under the wordless cries of the people of Santa Cecilia trying to back away, the shouts of those calling out for doctor Sanchéz and the stunned cries of ‘he shot him, he shot a man of God ! ’ coming even from the Federales themselves.

It was lost beneath all the confusion, and Miguel’s screams.

“No! What have you done! What have you done!”

“Be still-- be still, brat! Don’t try my patience, there is a bullet for you too if you won’t--!”

“Let me go!”

“I am warning you!”

“Murderer! Let me g--!”

“Wait! Por favor!”

This time, Héctor’s cry was loud enough to be heard. That, and it’s rather hard not to notice someone in a priestly robe throwing himself in front of your horse, gripping the reins and looking up at you with a look of pure anguish on his face.

The commander seemed startled, pistol still in mid-air, and he let his gaze shift from Héctor to the motionless priest bleeding out on the cobblestones, a few men already trying to press on the wound to stop the blood loss, calling for help to take him to the doctor. Héctor didn’t look down, didn’t focus on the fact he had just witnessed a man being shot down, didn’t even think he was putting himself in danger of being next.

All he knew was that the man had Miguel, and he couldn’t have him.

He opened his mouth to plead, but the commander’s eyes were back on him and he spoke up before he could. In his grasp Miguel was shaking, eyes full of tears and skin ashen.

“Are all priests in this village eager to become martyrs? Let go of the reins now, or--”

“I’ll join you,” Héctor blurted out, holding tighter onto the reins. “I beg of you to let him go. I’ll take his place.”

The soldier’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline; Miguel, on the other hand, let out a gasp.

“Héctor, no--!” he choked out, only to trail off when the man gave him a shake.

“You know him?”

“He is a warden of the Church. I--”

“Well, go back to the Church. We don’t take in priests.”

“I am a novice, not a priest,” Héctor spoke quickly, and fell on his knees. Blood soaked through the robe, warm and wet, while somewhere behind him Father John was taken away on a sheet. Federales allowed it, most of them probably still stunned at the notion their commander had just shot a priest; many held no more love for the Church than Huerta himself did, but fear of God’s punishment was too ingrained in their hearts since childhood not to hold some weight. “I have taken no vows-- none. I can join the army. I’ll do it right now. I’ll do anything you ask.”

There was a hiccupping sob, tears spilling down Miguel’s cheeks. He was always such a lively boy, so smart, always up to something - but now he only looked like the scared child he was. Héctor desperately wanted to comfort him, but he dared not tear his gaze from that of the commander, whose harsh expression had softened even so slightly. When he spoke again, his voice was… calmer.

“You seem to care about this muchacho an awful lot.”

“He’s like a son to me,” Héctor said, and he realized the truth of it only as it left his lips. Miguel let out another sob, trying to wipe his eyes.

“Héctor…” he managed, and Héctor finally dared smile at the boy. A shaky smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“It will be all right, chamaco, I promise,” he said, trying to sound like he meant it, and looked back at the soldier, who stared back a few moments… and finally lowered the pistol, putting it back in the holster.

“What is your name?”

“Héctor, señor.”

“Héctor and what else?”

“Just Héctor. I-- I have no family.”

“Can you hold a gun?”

“Sí.”

“Shoot?”

“I-- only tried a few times. But I will learn.”

“Mph. I guess it’s something. We can’t be picky these days.”

“You won’t regret it. I swear.”

The man sighed. Much later on, Héctor would wonder if the look he gave him that moment truly was somewhat apologetic, or if it had just been his imagination. To his last day, he would never be entirely sure. “... Very well, Just Héctor. I am Commander Hernández. Welcome to the Federal Army,” he said, and let go of Miguel. The boy jumped off the horse and was in Héctor’s arms the next moment, crying hard, face pressed against his shoulder.

“Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go,” he sobbed, holding on tight. “You’ve got to get married-- I’m sorry I was so mad at you-- please don’t go--”

I’m sorry, Imelda.

“It will be all right,” Héctor managed, trying to sound as optimistic as he could. “I’ll be back once this is over and I’ll have plenty of stories to tell.”

Miguel sniffled, still holding on tight. “Promise,” he choked out.

“I swear.”

Another shuddering breath. “Did you-- do you really--?”

“All right, all right, enough. Just looking at you makes my teeth rot.”

Gustavo’s voice rang out suddenly, and Miguel was torn from Héctor’s arms before he could react. He tried to protest, to break free, but Gustavo had already pushed him back towards Chicharrón, who trapped him in a steely grip the boy had no chance of escaping - Héctor would know, he had been on the receiving end of that a few times before.

As the old gravedigger began pulling Miguel away despite his protests, and Héctor stood - so much blood on the cobblestones, surely the gringo was dead - Commander Hernández gave Gustavo a somewhat weary glance. “And you are…?”

“Gustavo Torres, señor. I wish to join your ranks,” Gustavo said, making a dismissive gesture towards the plaza behind him. “I’ve had enough of this place. I am a good shooter, too,” he added. Héctor knew that was an absolute lie: Gustavo couldn't even hit his own foot with any type of firearm. What the hell was he going on about - and why join the Federales? He was a pendejo, that much was no mystery, but since well did he support Huerta? What was going on?

Commander Hernández tilted his head, seemingly taken aback of for entirely different reasons. It probably wasn’t often anyone volunteered to join. “... Well then. If you’re willing to join, I see no reason to deny you.”

“Uh, Commander…” a soldier approached them, looking a little shaken up. Either he was new to all this, or he found his commander had gone a step too far in shooting a man of God in cold blood - gringo or not. He gestured towards a group of people behind him, separated from the rest of the plaza; all men of varying ages… and, to Héctor’s horror, among them there was a boy. Óscar. “We have the thirty men you ask--.”

“No you don’t,” Gustavo muttered. “What you have is twenty-eight men and a half,” a pointed look in Héctor’s direction, “plus a child. The muchacho with glasses over there? Those two bottle ends on his face are not enough to make him usable with a gun. He couldn’t tell his sister from a donkey. I mean, sometimes no one can,” he added, making Héctor want more than anything to wrap his hands around his neck, thumbs on the throat, and squeeze.

But he could see what he was trying to do, so he held his tongue and his hands. Just barely.

Commander Hernández raised an eyebrow. “If this is an attempt at taking the boy’s place, it is rather transparent,” he said, and Gustavo shrugged.

“Then I can replace anyone else,” he replied. Either he did an excellent job at sounding like he didn’t give a damn either way, or he really didn’t give a damn either way. “Or you leave with thirty-one men. It just seems fair to warn you that the boy’s eyesight is awful and he’d make a poor soldier.”

Commander Hernández turned back to look directly at Óscar, who pressed himself against the wall under his gaze as though trying to make himself feel smaller, all skinny limbs and huge glasses. In the end, the man shrugged. “Mmh. Those glasses do seem awfully thick, and you do look like you’d make a better soldier,” he said, and he gestured for the closest soldier to let him go. Cries of mercy for others rose up from sisters, wives, parents - but none was heeded. There would be no more mercy that day.

As he watched in relief Óscar being pushed away from the lineup, eyes wide and bewildered, Héctor only vaguely heard the commander’s orders for his men to give the new recruit uniforms, get supplies and fresh horses from the village, and be ready to leave within the hour. He let out a long breath and turned to Gustavo.

“Gracias,” he murmured, only to get an annoyed look in return.

“Don’t thank me. If we survive this, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Let me guess. This is all my fault?”

“Of course it is. It’s always your fault, somehow,” Gustavo grunted, glaring at the ground while they walked to get their uniforms. “We can only hope the puta is going to follow my instructions and get us help.”

A thought crossed Héctor’s mind, unexpected and blinding as the flare of a match in a darkened room. He found himself blinking, taken aback. He had no clue who the puta may be, but the rest was… revealing. “Those messages-- the instructions-- was it y ouch! ”

“Scream it for everyone to hear, why don’t you!” Gustavo hissed, falling back into step after stomping on Héctor’s foot. It caused him to walk a bit awkwardly, but he didn’t protest or say anything more. Only after a folded uniform was pushed into his arms - obviously used, ill-fitting and with specks on it that looked a lot like dried blood - did Héctor dare turn, heart heavy in his chest, hoping to get at least one last glimpse of Imelda before he left.

And, for the second time that day, he got his wish. Imelda stood at the front of the crowd, holding onto Óscar. He was already taller than she was, but she cradled his head the way she did when she was a girl and he was just a young child. Miguel was there, too, having somehow escaped Cheech’s grasp. He was holding onto her robe but, unlike Óscar, he was looking towards him. Both him and Imelda were, his face tear-soaked and blotchy and hers terribly grave, and terribly pale.

I’m sorry, he ached to tell them both. Stay safe. I love you. I’ll be back soon.

But they were too far away, and he could only hope his glance would be enough to tell them that. He could only hope they knew.

When I return, Héctor thought, refusing to contemplate any other scenario, to add any ifs to that. He’d be back, whatever it took. When I return and we marry, Miguel will stay with us.

Only then, with that thought in mind, Héctor was able to give them a weak smile.

***

Had it not been for her brother holding onto her like he hadn’t in years, or for Miguel clinging to her robe while shaking with hiccuping sobs, Imelda may have ran forward. She may have pushed through, to the commander, and screamed to him that she knew where to find the deserter he wanted - that he could have him, if he released everyone else.

One man’s life against thirty. Thirty men, including the one she loved, that could be released in exchange for one.

I could save him. I could save them all, here and now.

Later on she would not be proud of what she came so close to doing, but neither would she be ashamed. She had promised Ernesto she would protect him from the Federal Army if it came to it, and she had meant it; if it came to taking a bullet to keep that promise, she’d have taken the bullet. But letting other people do the same… that was where she balked.

As much as it tore at her heart, she knew Héctor had made his choice. He must have known that giving Ernesto away would save him and Miguel both, but he had decided to take Miguel’s place and keep Ernesto safe instead. The others, though, had no choice at all. Twenty-nine men who knew nothing of Ernesto’s deceit and could not make their own decision as to whether he should be protected with their lives or not.

There were young husbands, young fathers, family men who may never return home, leaving widows and orphans and lonely parents. Who were they to make that choice for all of them? Who was she to do it?

We protect our own.

He is one of ours, too.

One life. One life against thirty.

Héctor may never forgive me.

He can hate me, if it means he’ll be alive to do it.

Imelda watched, her head wrapped in silence, as Héctor took a uniform and finally, for the first time, looked back. Their gazes met, the coldness in the pit of Imelda’s stomach turned to ache, and the idiota did the unthinkable. He had the galls to smile at her, and somehow it was the most heartbreaking thing she ever had to endure - seeing that smile, and knowing it may be the last time she did.

No. No, she couldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t let that smile be taken away from the world a day too soon than it had to, no matter if she would never again see it directed at her. She would live with it. They both would.

With a long breath, Imelda made peace with the fact she may never be able to sleep well again as long as she lived, and gently pushed Óscar away. “Go home,” she told him, stroking his cheek, and went to step forward and go speak with the commander.

Only to stop as Miguel’s grip on her robe tightened and he pulled her back, looking up at her with a tear-streaked face. “Don’t do it,” he choked out, and Imelda’s blood ran cold. It was as though the child had read her intentions on her face, plain as day. “I promised him he’d be safe here. I promised.”

Oh, my little one. It was too much responsibility to put on you.

Imelda swallowed, unable to speak for a few moments. “Miguel…” she managed, her voice barely audible, most of it stuck somewhere in her throat. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. Sometimes we need to make-- choices we’d never want to make.”

“I don’t want to choose,” Miguel pleaded, still holding on with both hands. “I don’t want either of them to die. He-- he’s loco, you didn’t see how he shot Padre J-Juan, he… he really hates Ernesto, I don’t know why, we can’t let him have him…!”

She sighed, and crouched down, wiping his face with a sleeve. “Miguel, listen to me--”

“No. You listen before you do something I assure you you’d regret.”

Sofía spoke suddenly before Imelda could say anything more, crouching next to her as though to comfort Miguel as well. “First of all, lower your voice, Jesus Christ. Second, don’t do anything. We can kick Ernesto around for putting us into this mess later, and I’ll be first in line, but no need to see him hang.”

“None of those men has ever been in a battle. If they take them--”

“We’ll take them back.” Sofía pushed something into her hand, a folded piece of paper. “We will have reinforcements.”

“What…” Imelda read the brief message, taken aback. Then she read it again, and again, and again; the handwriting itself struck her as much as the content itself. “Wait… this is…?”

“Same handwriting as the instructions you’ve been getting, yes. It was Gustavo all along.”

Somehow, Imelda may have been less surprised to be told that the Pope himself had been behind the entire thing. Gustavo, of all people? Someone who never cared about anyone other than himself?

Except that he took Óscar’s place just now. I owe him. Oh God, he made me owe him. He will never shut up about it, will he?

“It-- what?” was all Imelda managed to say in the end, stunned. But it made sense, suddenly - how José and his men had known their bell needed repair, and why they had come running to fix it after Ernesto’s unsuccessful attempt, once Gustavo took it upon himself to find a solution. She knew there was something behind it, but she had no idea what. Now she knew.

The bell had always been their means to call for help.

Once they have left, ring the bell to a death knell and don’t stop. Help will come. Tell them to follow the trail. They’ll know.

“Wait, what… what did Gustavo do?” Miguel was asking, confusion overriding his anguish. Sofía smiled, and pulled him close.

“Don’t worry, niño. We’ll fix everything,” she said, brushing back his hair. She smiled, but even her smile was wrong, sharp, teeth ground tightly. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Imelda stood slowly, slipping the note in her sleeve, and glanced up. Now all she could see were people huddled together mourning their losses, while soldiers took all that was not nailed down in the small weekly market. The men the Federales had chosen to join their ranks were gone, Héctor with them, without so much a last word between them.

No matter. This is not the end. We’ll bring them back. By any means necessary.

“... Let’s take Miguel back to safety, and be ready to ring the bell once they’re gone.”

“And what do you plan on doing?”

“There is something in my room I need to retrieve, and a horse I need to borrow,” Imelda said, very quietly, as they began walking away from the plaza. Sofía still held onto the hand of a very confused Miguel; she knew she was referring to the pistol, she had to know what she meant to do, but she didn’t say as much aloud or try to talk her out of it.

“Of course,” was all she said. "Be careful.”

“What’s happening?” Miguel asked, his voice small. Desperately wanting to be hopeful, but terrified of seeing that hope shattered. “How… can you really fix this?”

“... I’ll do my damndest,” Imelda replied, getting a somewhat shaky laugh from Sofía.

“If the gringo heard you, he’d have a heart attack.”

“Oh!” Miguel seemed to recoil. “Padre Juan! Is he-- did they get him help?”

“Huh?” Sofía looked down, taken aback. “What happened to the gringo?”

“He was shot.” Miguel swallowed, and tugged at her sleeve. “He was trying to save me and… and… can we go to doctor Sanchéz first? Por favor-- just to see if he’s… if…”

His voice faded, and Sofía looked over at Imelda with a bitter smile. “First one points a gun at me, then they shoot a priest. Our robes aren’t much of an armor anymore,” she said, and turned back to Miguel. “... I’ll send one of the sisters to see him as soon as you’re safe with the others, and let you know how he’s getting on. I promise.”

Miguel protested, but not too much. He was exhausted, still in shock for everything he had gone through in the span of little over an hour, and all things considered it was testament to his resilience that he was not curled into a ball and screaming.

He let Sofía lead him back to the orphanage, and Imelda watched them disappear with a long sigh. He was safe now. He could rest. Her own work, however, had only just begun.

Imelda gave another quick glance behind her, towards the plaza, before she headed back to her room, where a pistol lay hidden beneath a floorboard, waiting to be loaded. She had hoped it wouldn’t come to it; she had hoped the Federales would spare their village until the end of that war. But there they were, and there she was.

It was time to see if the hours spent learning to load and aim had been worth something.

***

All right, so maybe the painfully slow trip to the González farm had been worth it, after all.

Ernesto was almost entirely sure his half-assed blessing had precisely nothing to do with the young bull suddenly realizing what went where and enthusiastically getting to work - too enthusiastically, he had definitely seen more bull than he ever needed to see in his life - but he had to admit, the timing had been nothing short of amazing.

The look on old Manuel’s face had been a sight to behold, and the fresh eggs he had gifted him immediately afterwards were a nice plus. He’d probably been moments away from falling on his knees and declaring him a true miracle worker, which would have been flattering but also rather awkward, right next to a bull and a cow getting down to business.

Ah, he couldn’t wait to tell Juan his blessing had worked, after all. Maybe he’d suggest Manuel González to name any resulting male calf Ernesto and a female Juanita, just to be spiteful. That would teach him.

Ernesto was snickering to himself at the idea when suddenly, on the other side of the hill, the bell of Santa Cecilia’s church began tolling - slowly, with long gaps between strikes. It was enough to make the smile fade from his face, heart dropping somewhere in his stomach as always whenever he heard that sound. A death knell.

What happened? Who died? I was away only hours, what did they do?

It may be nothing, of course; one of the old parishioners may have kicked it, a sad but not really unusual occurrence. With some luck, it may be the insufferable gravedigger. Maybe the sexton had finally fallen off the stairs and broken his stupid neck.

But that couldn’t be it. The death knell would only ring out during a funeral, or… or maybe the damn Pope had died, didn’t all churches do that if news came that the Pope croaked? He was almost sure they did. Or maybe someone had just climbed on top of the belltower to fuck with the bell for no reason.

I was only gone for a few hours. What can possibly happen in a few hours?

Anything, was the answer. He’d learned the hard way that anything can do wrong in a few hours. Everything can go to shit in less than a few hours, and something in his gut told him that was exactly what had happened. Trying to keep a sudden wave of panic at bay, Ernesto spurred the stupid donkey to go faster until he reached the top of the hill, and looked down.

For a moment, he forgot to breathe; it was as though something had taken hold of his lungs, and squeezed all air out of him. From way up there in the distance, nothing about Santa Cecilia looked amiss - but it was not the village itself he stared at. What made his blood run cold was the column of men on horses and carts further west, leaving it behind. Federales.

They’re leaving, Ernesto thought, hands shaking on the reins. It’s all right, he told himself, but it was a lie and he knew it. The Federal Army never left anything behind if not devastation, and the bell kept going on and on and on, the continuous death knell making him want to scream. He could taste bile, stomach clenching.

Dead, dead, dead.

There it was again before his eyes - the men who stood blindfolded before the firing squad, his own rifle gleaming in the sun, the wails of women and children and the elderly quieted down by the deafening bangs once the order was shouted and they obeyed. When they left those villages, too, had he heard the church’s bell ringing to a death knell. Mourning.

Santa Cecilia was in mourning. His village, his parish. His people. His friends. Who did they take? Who did they kill?

Not me. They’re leaving, they must not have been here for me. It’s all that matters, isn’t it?

… Isn’t it?

Ernesto didn’t answer his own question. He shut down all thought the way he desperately tried to shut out the ringing of the bell, and spurred the donkey down the hill as quickly as he could, heart hammering somewhere in his throat.

***

They’re mourning us already.

The thought was enough to almost break him, but Héctor forced himself to keep going, holding onto the reins of the horse he had been given, clad in the too-small uniform that had been drenched with someone else’s sweat and blood. Forcing himself not to turn, not to break, because he knew that if he did he may never be able to put himself back together.

Was that how soldiers got through it? Was that how Ernesto had survived until he'd found refuse in Santa Cecilia - by focusing on nothing but the road ahead, never turning back to look at what they may never see again?

No. I will be home again. I’ll be with them again.

Héctor held tightly onto the reins and followed the horse in front of him, holding onto that thought with all he had.

***

They’ll come as soon as they get the message. They must.

Towards the back of the convoy, Gustavo shot a glance ahead towards the commander. He kept riding, not turning once. Thinking the bells were ringing to mourn them, most likely, or the stupid gringo priest who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, or both. Either way, he would be wrong… but he didn’t know that. He wouldn’t know until it was too late.

Gustavo Torres pulled a knotted-up handkerchief from his pocket, one of several he’d stuffed in, and prepared to let it drop as soon as the column of men turned to another path.

***

With how little he’d lasted in bed the one night she had been dumb enough to spend with him, Sofía had written off Gustavo’s stamina as non-existing. However now, with her arms already aching from ringing the bell no more than a few minutes, she had to take that back.

Not that she would say that aloud, let alone in his presence, but apparently he wasn’t bitching for no reason when he said bellringing was more work than it looked like.

No matter. Keep ringing. Keep going. Help will come.

So she did keep going, letting her gaze wander towards the column of men, their men among them, leaving the village right ahead of her. She kept ringing as she noticed Imelda leaving the parish down below, clearly having recovered the pistol they had taken from Ernesto and heading towards her parents’ home to… borrow one of their horses.

Be careful, Sofía thought, and might have prayed for her safety if she still believed God gave a damn. Instead she bit her lips and kept pulling. Kept ringing, focusing on nothing else.

And thus failing to notice Ernesto rushing down the hill, into the village and towards the plaza as quickly as the donkey - and then his legs - could carry him.

***

“They came upon us like locusts--”

“I turned and they were there--”

“They took my son! My only child, what will I do--”

“Why didn’t God smite them where they stood!”

“Thirty men, my brother among them, I ran but I was too late, I couldn’t say goodbye--”

Ernesto heard all of it, heard the cries and pleas, the anger and pain, but they seemed so very distant. He stood on the spot, reeling, eyes fixed on the ground in the middle of the devastated marketplace.

There was blood. There was so much blood, soaking into dirt and pooling in the cracks between cobblestones. People and carts and horses had stepped over it in the chaos, tracking it everywhere; no matter where he turned, there was blood. A trail of it left the plaza, away from it, towards the church. Only one clear trail.

Only one body.

“Who…?” Ernesto managed to ask. His ears were buzzing, and his tongue felt too large. The reply came like a blow to the pit of his stomach.

The Delgado widow crossed herself, her skin pale as ash. “Their commander knows no God. He tried to take an orphan, the boy Brother Héctor spent so much time with-- Marco, was i--”

“Miguel?” Ernesto blurted out, horror stealing his breath for a moment. He looked at the woman with wide eyes, feeling as though all strength was sapped away from his body. All that blood, it seemed impossible it had all come from a child. It felt like a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.

No, not him. It can’t be. Héctor will never recover.

“Yes, Miguel… the poor child, he was so scared. Padre Juan tried to save him, to stop that man, but that beast pulled out his pistol and… and… ay, I told you, he knows no God. To shoot a man of god like an animal!”

“What-- Juan?” Ernesto looked around again, at the blood, at the weeping people all around - and back towards the church, where the trail led. Above him, all around him, the death knell kept ringing.

“He shot-- Juan?”

Dead. Dead. Dead.

“Sí. Ah, it was horrible. He fell back, and didn’t move-- so much blood, I couldn’t bear to watch.”

Ernesto staggered back, light-headed, struggling to make sense of what had happened. How had it happened? Only hours earlier, Juan had been alive and well - in a good mood, even. Messing with him by sending him out to bless a stupid bull. He’d chuckled, patted his arm like the insufferable bastard he was, promised there would be no Latin lesson that evening.

And now there would be Latin lessons at all, ever again, because that idiota could learn every stupid rule of an useless dead launguage but didn’t have enough brains not to step between a man with a gun and his target.

Bile rose to Ernesto’s throat, and he closed his eyes. Behind his eyelid the sun still shone, merciless, and he stood in the desert, beneath two swaying hanging corpses, talking to a priest on the brink of death. Left to die for trying to be merciful when the world would not, for trying to put himself between prisoner and executioner.

It was a bad call, Padre, Ernesto had said.

It was my duty, Padre Joaquín had replied.

Stupid priest. Stupid gringo.

High above, the bell kept ringing.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

When Ernesto heard himself speaking again, his voice was barely audible to his own ears. “... And Miguel?” he managed. Had Juan’s death at least been worth something, anything at all?

“Oh, the child is safe-- Brother Héctor took his place, it was heartbreaking to see, but at least he has a chance of coming back alive.”

Ah, of course. Of fucking course Saint Héctor had taken the boy’s place. What was it with that village that made everyone so damn inclined to martyrdom? What was it about Santa Cecilia that made those who lived there so eager to die a stupid death?

God damn you, stop dying on me. Stop leaving me behind.

“Padre Ernesto, will you pray to God for our men’s return?” a voice spoke up, and Ernesto turned to face a small, scared crowd. It was the first time he got to linger in a village after the Federal Army left it behind, and he found he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the anger, the pain, the pleading looks. He couldn’t stand how the first thing they chose to do was praying to a God who would not hear, or chose not to listen.

God had never been any good to Ernesto. He had long since learned that if you want a job well done, you have to do it yourself.

Ernesto gave a kind smile, seething with anger behind it. Anger was good, though. Anger would get things done. Anger was something solid to cling on to, so that he could ignore that other thing gnawing at him, threatening to undo him if he let himself acknowledge it.

He knew what he had to do.

“Of course,” Ernesto said, still smiling. “I will immediately retire to pray for their safe return in the chapel. If you’ll excuse me.”

He rushed towards the parish before any of them could say one more word - and before any of them could mention anything about the deserter they were looking for. He followed the blood trail for a distance and then diverged towards the back of the church, the death knell unbearably loud in his ears. He did his best to shut it out, to focus on the small voice in the back of his head. Juan’s voice, back when they had only just met.

“As the founder of my order said, todo modo para buscar la voluntad divina.”

Any means to find the divine will.

Ernesto had seen the wisdom in de Loyola’s words then, and he certainly saw it now. By the time he reached the small shed where holy wine was stored, among other things, the blood rushing in his ears almost covered the incessant ringing of the bell. His hand closed around the cold metal key in his pocket, and bared his teeth in a smile that was almost a snarl, jaw clenched so tightly his face hurt.

He had no idea what the divine will was, and neither did he care. He knew his own will, and he would see it become reality.

“Todo modo,” he gritted out, and turned the key in the lock.

***

“... Do you think he has any chance of pulling through, Doctor Sanchéz?”

The man didn’t reply right away, washing his hands in a bowl of warm water that had by now turned almost completely red, as had the towels strewn about. For several moments all Antonia could hear was the quiet splashing of water, the distant echo of the bell ringing outside - what was Sofía doing? - and the painful-sounding gasps as Father John Johnson struggled to draw in each breath, eyes shut, skin pale and clammy, covered by a sheet.

“Mph. I stitched up all I could, but my guess is that he’ll be the gravedigger’s problem before sundown. I have never seen a man lose as much blood as he did and live to tell the tale.”

Ah. Antonia nodded, folding her hands. There was no love lost between John Johnson and… any of the sisters, really, but this was not something she would wish on anyone.

He tried to stop them.

“I see,” she finally said. “We will pray for him.”

“Getting Padre Ernesto to come as soon as he returns would be a better use of your time. He will need the final rites,” Sanchéz muttered. Antonia barely had enough time to open her mouth to let him know she would when she was cut off by a groan. They both turned towards the bed; the gringo was still unconscious, but stirring weakly. Or was he regaining consciousness? Had he heard them? Or--

“Er-- nest--o,” he choked out, and that was it. His head fell back on the pillow and he made no more noise except for a weak, low whimper.

After a long silence, doctor Sanchéz sighed. “... Go get him, for Christ’s sake, so he can give this poor bastard his final rites.”

Antonia nodded, something heavy in her chest, and went out to do just that. She was told almost as soon as she stepped outside that Padre Ernesto had indeed returned, and headed to the church to pray… only that he was not there. He was not in the chapel, not in the living quarters - not in the yard, nor in the orchard, or in the orphanage to comfort the children, or even back at the plaza. No one had seen him since.

Padre Ernesto had returned, they told her... only that now he wasn’t anywhere.

***

Chicharrón needed a drink.

It wasn’t that the events of the day had left him shaken, that he had felt powerless, or that he was terrified out of his mind of how quickly Héctor would die in battle, after a lifetime learning how to handle a guitar and barely touching a rifle. It wasn’t that he worried about Miguel’s state of mind, or that he was generally so upset even Juanita looked crestfallen.

No, of course not. He was too old for that nonsense. He needed a drink for reasons unrelated to the day's mess, that was all, and he knew just where to find it.

But it seemed someone had found it before he did, because the shed’s door was open and what caskets of holy wine had been left were gone.

Of course, better of them to have found the wine rather than any weapons or other supplies hidden away - that would have probably made them decide to burn Santa Cecilia to the ground - but that was the last straw and Chicharrón was suddenly too furious to even try and see a silver lining to anything.

“Those bastards! Even the wine! Is nothing sacred anymore?”

Chicharrón would have kicked the door, if not for the fact he would have probably lost his balance or even broken his peg leg, so he did the next most reasonable thing, and punched it.

“YOWCHGODDAMNIT!”

He punched the door again for good measure - his hand already hurt, anyway - and limped inside. Maybe they had left at least some wine, at least a casket; it wouldn’t hurt to check.

As luck would have it, there was one casket left, but Chicharrón didn’t pick it up right away. For a long time he could just stand frozen on the spot, staring at the empty space where something else had been stored. Something that was not wine at all.

Well, look at that. Had those damn idiots taken the rat poison, too? God, he hoped they thought it to be sugar or something or the other. He hoped they would eat it and choke on it.

Chicharrón limped right out of the shed with the remaining casket under his arm, slamming the door shut behind him and getting ready to toast to that wish - entirely unaware of the fact that a priest who was not a priest at all was currently clambering up the hill with two donkeys, one of whom carrying nothing but caskets of wine, hellbent on making that wish come true. By any means necessary.

High up in the belltower, the bell kept ringing.

***

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#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #hector rivera #imelda rivera #miguel rivera #coco #fake priest au

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zhe-lazy-fox · 3 years

Text

Is it a Repeat of History

Fandom: Dream SMP Words: 1 827 Category: Gen Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 link: [Here]

- - -

“What are you doing?”

Wilbur froze, stood before the dark wooden button on the stone wall. The button connected to the 23 stacks of TNT that would blow up the prison and let Dream out.

“Phil?” No no, Phil couldn’t be here! he shouldn’t be here! Wilbur had made sure Phil would be distracted with the others by fighting the withers!

WHY WAS HE HERE?!

“What are you doing.” Phil asked again, his voice sounded tired and old.

Wilbur’s fingers twitched against the stone, hearing the rustle of feathers and cloth behind him. A shaky exhale left him as he slowly turned to look over his shoulder.

Phil stood there, Armour and clothes damaged and dirtied from the withers Wilbur had spawned earlier, from what he snatched from Techno’s stash of wither heads and soul sand, but Wilbur wasn’t able to concentrate on the damage his father had taken. Instead his eyes were staring at Phil’s face. Phil wore a tired expression with mixed emotions, he looked sad, worried, angry and disappointed all at once, and Wilbur hated the combination.

“You couldn’t stop me last time. What makes you think you can stop me now?” Wilbur asked with a smirk. Phil sighed before he walked further into the room, but stopped when Wilbur gave away something akin to a growl, moving closer to the button.

“I was misinformed and confused back then, you forced my hand! I regretted it! I still do! You lied to me in your letters, I couldn't understand why for a while, but I know the truth now and I understand. You don’t have to do this, Will.”

“Phil!” Wilbur laughed, stumbling away from the button to face his father fully with a wild grin spreading his arms out “You don’t understand a thing!”

“Then explain it to me so I can understand!” Phil cried out, a small burst of anger and desperation in his voice. “Will please-”

“I have to do this, Phil! I have to repay Dream for saving me from the hell that was purgatory! I have to repay his kindness!”

“Kindness?! Will, Dream did not bring you back out of kindness! He did it for his own gain!”

“You can’t stop me! You couldn’t stop me last time! You can’t stop me now! I AM going to press that button!”

Phil clenched the hand he held his sword while grounding his teeth.

“I won’t let you do that. I owe Tommy and everyone else that much, to make up for Doomsday.”

Wilbur grew still before he stared at Phil with cold eyes

“Are you going to kill me again, father?” Phil shuddered, feeling memories of the first time flash through his mind, Wilbur’s manic laughter, wild eyes and crazed talk, Phil was forced to look away as tears burned his eyes.

“No.” He said, voice steady and clear, he inhaled before he looked up at Wilbur, meeting his eyes head on “I won’t make that mistake again.” Phil sheathed his sword. Wilbur stared at him before he laughed.

“You’re a fool!”

“Yes, I am, aren't I? A fool for not realising my son was suffering on his own, and still is.”

“I’m perfectly fine!” Wilbur snapped

“Are you though? You were alone for 13 years… that’s a long time, Will.” Wilbur snarled and spun around to face the button again.

“My mind is made up, You can’t change it!”

“You’re making a mistake! What do you think Dream will do once he gets out? Huh?! He won’t care about you, he only cares about himself and his idea of being a god. Who’s to say he won’t kill you once you’re no longer of use to him?”

Wilbur stood still, staring at the button. Baring his teeth at what Phil said. Dream wouldn’t kill him, he was his hero! he wouldn’t- Dream saved him from purgatory! He would send him back there! Right?

“Why are you doing this?” Wilbur asked in a cold voice. “Why are you trying to stop me?”

“You’re my son, Will.” Phil said as easily as if Wilbur had asked him what the colour of the sky were. “You will always be my son. Your actions disappointed me, but I still love you, I could never stop loving you. I want you to be happy and okay… Is that such a selfish wish for a parent? You wanted what was best for Fundy too in the beginning, before things got bad. But if you press that button I can’t say the others will forgive you again!”

Wilbur clenched his fists, trying to ignore how the button grew blurry before him, only to clear up when he blinked and the clear drops of water fell to the floor. Phil should be shouting at him, be angry and demand answers, not- not say how much he loved him. Wilbur scrunched up his face before he gave away a scream, slamming his fists against the wall.

He distantly heard Phil call out his name in a panic.

Wilbur opened his eyes to stare at the button. The button that if pressed would let Dream out… and also destroy whatever chance he ever had left of rebuilding the bridges he burned during the 16th.

His arms fell limp to his sides. as more silent tears fell from his eyes. He had to press the button, but he couldn’t do it. He had to repay Dream for saving him, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t press the button… He couldn’t do it.

“Will?” Phil asked, voice filled with worry from how quiet Wilbur was being. A sharp inhale followed when he saw how Wilbur raised one hand towards the button. “No!” he gasped “Will please!”

But there was no click of a button pressed, just the muted sound of a button being removed. Phil started when Wilbur slowly took a step away from the wall and turned to face Phil, the button held in his hands, tears streaming down his face.

“Dad-” Wilbur’s voice cracked. Phil sprung into action pulling Wilbur into a hug, holding his son tight.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

A keening noise left Wilbur followed by the clatter of the button falling to the floor as Wilbur threw his arms around Phil, hiding his face in his fathers shoulder as the two of them sank to the floor. Screaming his anguish and sadness out, choking on his sobs and tears. Phil pulled him closer, wrapping his wings around his son, like he had done so long ago when Wilbur was younger and small.

“I’m sorry!” Wilbur choked out between his sobs and cries “I’m sorry dad-”

Phil shushed him, kissing the side of his head.

“It’s okay, it will be okay, everything will be okay.”

Steps made Phil turn his head to see the others in the opening to the room. Techno looked worse for wear but relaxed at what he found.

“Dad!” Fundy called out pushing past Techno.

Phil could feel Wilbur freeze in his arms, and try to get out, possibly to run, but Phil held him still. Fundy crashed to his knees next to them, worry clear on his face, ears folded back.

“Dad?” Fundy glanced up at Phil, several questions on his face, Phil gave him a tired smile before pulling one of his wings back to reveal Wilbur. Fundy hesitated before he reached out his clawed hand placing it on Wilbur’s head. He felt Wilbur flinch under his touch before the older turned enough to be able to look at Fundy., eyes red and puffy from crying.

“Hey Funds...” Wilbur croaked out with a wobbly voice. Fundy gave away a sniffle before he threw himself at his father, worming his way into the hug to cling to Wilbur.

“You’re okay! You asshole! I hate you so much!” Fundy cried as he clung to Wilbur, Wilbur looked shocked before he pulled back one of his arms to hold Fundy instead.

“I- sorry...” Fundy sobbed before he pushed his head up under Wilbur’s jaw, something he hadn’t done since he was a child.

“You’re not dead, again… I don’t want you to go, you idiot father.” Phil couldn’t help but laugh at the expression that fell over Wilbur’s face, complete and utter confusion before he started to cry again, hugging Fundy even more.

The sound of a pickaxe hitting the stone made them look up to see how Techno and Tommy were both working on breaking down the wall to get to the TNT to remove it. Techno and Tommy both grumbling under their breaths as they argued but worked together. Wilbur once he calmed down, pointed out the other places where he planted TNT for the prison, Techno and Tommy, now joined by Quackity, Sapnap, George, Ranboo and Tubbo helped to clear it all away.

The destruction from the withers wasn't as terrible as Wilbur thought it would be, but then again, everyone had been together fighting them, killing the withers fairly quickly.

“Wilbur!” Techno called once the last of the TNT was removed and the holes filled with dirt. Wilbur blinked and had to tilt his head up to look at the older piglin hybrid, who glowered down at him.

“Yes..?” Wilbur asked, panic rising in him.

“Don’t steal my shit.” Wilbur blinked and spluttered, THAT was what Techno was focusing on?! “The same goes for you Tommy! You still have my axe!”

“WHAT?!” Tommy screeched further away, patching up Puffy who had taken a bit more damage than the others.

“Will.” a light voice asked, making Wilbur turn to look behind him, finding himself face to face with Niki. She gave him a small smile, but it was lacking the previous warmth he was so used to seeing her smile have.

“Niki?” The slap echoed out causing everyone to turn and find Wilbur stumbling back.

“That’s for blowing up L’manberg!” Niki shouted, another punch followed, causing Wilbur to winch as he stumbled backwards to try and get away from Niki’s angry advances.

“That’s for dying!” “That’s for brushing everything I said away!” “That’s for betraying everything we stood for!” “Wai- NIKI!” Wilbur yelped as he avoided another hit, hands held up in surrender. “That’s for releasing the withers!” “That’s for trying to free Dream!”

Wilbur steeled himself for another punch only to freeze and blink when Niki hugged him.

“Wha-” “And this is for listening to Phil and still being here.” she spoke, muffled by Wilbur’s sweater. Wilbur stood frozen in her arms before he gave away a congested sniffle. “Thanks… Niki.” Niki let go and stepped back to look up at him.

“Now don’t go and die any time soon okay.” Niki said as he turned to walk back towards where most of the others were gathered “I have so many new recipes I want you to try.” Wilbur gave away a wobbly smile before he rubbed at his eyes not wanting to cry again, before he followed.

“Okay.”

#Dream SMP #Dream SMP Spoilers #Wilbur soot #Philza #Technoblade #niki nihachu #tommyinnit #revived Wilbur soot #revivebur #Others mentioned #Text #Hurt/Comfort #Gen #My writing

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personuhh · 3 years

Note

Hi! My friend and I came up with a really angsty yukichie au where the IT fails to save Yukiko in time but they do save everyone else. So for the prompt, how about Chies thoughts and feelings? Like her initial reaction, her maybe being mad at Yosuke and Yu for not being fast enough, resenting the first years cause they actually got out of the TV world, etc. I'm sorry if this is too general or something I've never written a prompt before

I really wanted to write a sort of.... prequel to this idea. I decided to set it around a week after Yukiko’s death, so everyone is dealing with that fresh wound. I think before resenting Yu, Yosuke or the first years, she would blame herself for not being strong enough to save Yukiko by herself.

Chie kicked her boots off and tiptoed to her room, careful not to wake her parents. She hadn't properly spoken to them since the night of the broadcast, and she'd have liked to go the rest of her life without having to endure the looks they'd given her again.

She threw herself down on her bed and curled in on herself. She wanted nothing more than to call Yukiko, talk about how unfair the world was, apologize for not giving her enough freedom... Just to hear her voice again would be enough to halt the tears that came whenever she was alone.

All because she knew that she truly was alone; robbed of her best friend, and on top of everything, knowing that she was to blame for it. She hadn't been strong enough, couldn't protect her, and Yukiko had died alone and scared, trapped within a nightmare world which represented her best kept secrets and deepest fears come to life.

Chie buried her face in the bundle of blankets, sobbing pathetically. Her parents couldn't possibly understand the truth, nor did she want them to. How could she begin to explain the circumstances of Yukiko's death when she didn't even fully understand them herself? The only thing that she knew for sure was that they hadn't been fast enough. That she hadn't recovered in time. Her weakness, Yu's caution, Yosuke's recklessness; if they had only pushed on and rescued her–

The cellphone in her school bag began to ring, causing her to jolt back at the sudden noise. For all her caution earlier, the noise would surely alert her parents to her presence. She resigned herself to answering, and dug for the phone, fishing it out of the depths of her bag and shaking off the eraser shavings.

"Hey Chie," said the voice on the other end, as it had each night since their failure.

She made a noncommittal noise in response, feeling familiar rage bubble up inside of her. It was really starting to get on her nerves – she didn't need to shoulder anyone else's guilt on top of her own.

After a long, moment of uncomfortable silence, Yosuke spoke again, in that horrible, pitying tone. "I know you said not to call again, but Narukami and I are worried about you. We... I just want to make sure that you're taking care of yourself. You looked like a damn zombie today at school. Letting yourself waste away isn't what Yukiko would have wanted for you."

"What do you know about what she would've wanted?" Chie growled, drawing a surprised noise out of Yosuke on the other end. "You know nothing about what Yukiko wanted, and now you never will. None of us will, because she's... s-she's dead." It hurt to speak it aloud, even this long after she’d accepted the facts.

No matter how hard she tried to hold back her tears, Chie couldn't stop herself from breaking down. Hunching over and clutching her stomach, she found her whole body dully aching.

Yosuke cut in, raising his voice to be heard over Chie's cry of anguish. "You aren't alone, Chie, there are people who care about you. Narukami and I went to visit Yukiko's parents today. Do you know what the first words out of her mother's mouth were? 'How's Chie'? I swore after Saki, that I..." He trailed off, his voice shaking as he struggled with his own emotions. "I won't let anyone else die. I won't sit around and feel sorry for myself, because I'm still here, and I have a job to do. If you want to blame anyone for Yukiko's death, blame the sick freak who pushed her in there. He's still out there, and he'll kill someone else if we don't stop him."

Chie inhaled shakily, trying to calm herself. Of course there were people worried about her, she knew that, but if Yukiko didn't have that comfort, why should she? Even if she wasn't the only one affected by Yukiko's death, that didn't mean that they could ever fully understand how it felt, watching her die, writhing and screaming in pain as the black void engulfed her. Knowing that it was her fault. It was her fault. She was dead, and Chie watched it happen.

"I'll do what I have to do," Chie croaked, "but when we catch that bastard, I'll kill him myself." The words came out before she could really think about it, but she knew she'd meant them. She didn't care what that said about her; whoever had done this to Yukiko would pay.

She couldn't see Yosuke's face, but she could hear the grim understanding in his voice, and knew he must be frowning. "Y-yeah. If the police can't catch him, we need to take care of it ourselves."

Silence washed over them, the weight of their words setting in. If it meant preventing more innocent people from dying, was it the right thing to do? Could she really kill someone?

"Well... I, uh... Goodnight, Chie." Yosuke sounded conflicted, his voice unusually flat. "And... maybe don't tell Narukami about this. I don't know if he'd understand."

When Chie didn't respond, he hung up without saying another word. The dead line buzzed in Chie's ear, and she sat listening to it for a long while.

Yosuke's words had stoked the fire in her, blazing hot with rage. She hoped that she could learn to make use of it, tempering and honing her skills before she met the man who killed Yukiko face-to-face.

But for now, she would have to be patient. They'd have to play along, wait for the crumbs scattered by the killer, carefully watch the midnight channel, and rush in to save whoever they could.

She stood and wiped her eyes, throwing her phone back into her bag before determinedly walking toward her parents' room.

#persona 4 #chie satonaka #yosuke hanamura #yukichie #ada's writing #HOOOH this was a heavy one to write #major character death #if anyone would understand chie itd be yosuke... though both of them know that chie and yukiko's bond ran far deeper than his and saki's #ask ada #prompt fics

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captainkurosolaire · 3 years

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A Father’s Instinct!

The emerging stark black and white halves returned with a shattering of Silv’a ice-fence with a flashiness, they were past their play-enclosure. When arriving they saw only the foul demon who was kicking back and forth Nihlius and Klethera with their helpless unconscious state, each painfully being decimated and cheaply used as something to get aggression off with sadistic intent. Grinding a foot over and slamming it over and over Klethera who was screeching in bloodied pain in such defensiveness, trickling of celestially sparks of life, called tears, were protruding from her oceanic blues. Captain and Shiro stood in dismay both trembling but a slow-languid stare, tilted head of the Noble, came to look at the pirate’s response… Blistering red heat emitted his sun-kissed complexion. Why... why was it so scorching hot, so hot, so painfully searing like being thrust in the Sun. Blood pumping and swelling out against the surface breaking every blood-vessel into vascular veins, muscles enlarging and expanding from tensing, bulging, nail’s breaking flesh into its own. Sweaty and unruly deep thick melting red waters flowed in contesting against the cool-shifting room’s temperature. Brow-twisting and twitching, eye’s dilating and spinning around faster than the rotating orbit of the world. This feeling… Uneven attainable unless you possessed someone of your own, those tears held glitter stars of hope, and they were shedding from anguish. Gut-wrenched his diaphragm uncaring to even breathe. Caution drowned away, rightful sanity was murdered. Zieton’s own heed, ‘The half-soul you have is now an empty pot, what you fill, is what you’ll receive, that goes for all seed’s in life.’ Disregarded, nothing mattered, who cared anymore, was transcribed over. He was careful. Never wanting to let a child of his own into his dangerous sailor escapades, the same went for all he valued and loved, wives.., To know him, is to die so it seemed the outcome, or be forced to be strong, he pushed away everything and castaway it for many sake’s…but... Klethera, weaseled herself into his life with unrelenting to track and succeed in finding her deadbeat and chose this on her own, not for him, but her. Shiro was staggering noticing and barely able to fathom what was consuming his rival. Captain drowned and died on this day. He blew through with a Father’s instinct, of sheer resolve, the power that’d DESTROY anything God or none, to rip the head off shoulders for those who’d make their children suffer. The same adrenaline that’d an exhibiting atypical regular parent, under desperation were documented in news the uncanny performance to seething of upset feats which punctured through impossibilities. Pupil’s swallowed away as his eye’s seethed and glowered red. He broke through a Ghost-Step and round kicked the devil off her and then instantaneously a series of two identical clones carrying his fury began erupting with the same rage, the room was being taken over from an uproar of animistic rage that brought even sorrow. A demon found himself becoming intensified and strong from this and was able to dodge the clone’s before grabbing both their legs on respective sides. Limit’s were insignificantly allowing Captain to push another close in quarter, ghost-step, nothing would allow him to get away, his teeth puncturing his own mouth, as he brought an indomitable punch that shattered through Silv’a’s entire sternum and broke through on the opposing side. Silv’a found himself in more agony than he could suffer screaming, ‘get off, get off, get off!’ getting his karma. Senses overloaded Captain was devoid of all reason, logic. Returning to his heritage of a lineage of savages. Harkening primal and primitiveness that conquered his mind. Backhead round kick’s of the clone’s unleashed before squeezing this fiend’s arm’s and tugging on them to yank them off with a ferocity. Trying to escape the clutches but that blasted fist straight through the sternum prevented him, his feet were caught and pinned as Captain’s boots and weight prevented him, that facial rage overflowing with hostility, Captain broke a torrent of headbutts and then wrapped his second palm around a wrangling throat and began tugging up, at the risk of tearing this demon sheerly apart from spine, like a furious lion who watched a cub being abducted. His aether… so volatile was biting at both their fleshes like stings of bees. Shiro reinforced his rival with a skin of diamond ice but had to channel it and maintain it. Captain was temporarily indestructible, unwavering, finding his nails growing and sharpening from the Amdapori’s cell that had a small remnant trace left, settling into puncturing that so called perfectly immortal body Silv’a sold himself too. Silv’a felt every bone of his rattle like tide’s were going to swallow him into an endless vortex. His own survival instinct, unleashed all the might of the medallion’s of fire and lightning he swallowed. Captain scowled and winced before erupting even more angry and explosively mad, “ANYONE WHO MAKES MY BABY GIRL CRY IS T’ DIE! I WILL RIP YOU LIMB FROM LIMB N’ EVERY EXISTING HELL, THERE IS NO REALM YOU’LL ESCAPE ME.” This was not a threat… It was a promise! No.. worse, it was being proven. Fear knew the demon of a Father who held the belly of a beast. So counter-opposite in their parental approaches and handling. Silv’a was fighting for his life and survival as his neck bones were heard snapping from their sockets. The clone’s kept back and forth punching his face into left and right cheek barrages of complete annihilation and barbarically. Flesh and skin was being removed in an unbridled flash flood of gore. The clone’s dissipated and were electrified out. Giving back his arms, Silv’a unrelenting back, squeezing back and punching fist’s of the voidal inferno into the Seeker. Even with reinforced diamond skin it still busted through with hellish need. The Warlock set a palm on Captain’s face to push him back and even gouged a thumb against his eye socket. This viscous black lion, wasn’t halting though, only terrifying ever shivering bone of the demoniacal entity. His soul and spirit were being feasted by a fearful aura. Shiro collapsed from being aethercially drained to maintain and sustain all those hits, “I’m sorry.” Face planting with exhaustion barely conscious. Captain showed no restraint as if he was accepting on dying here, wanting to claim the trophy of this demon’s head before. It was his resolve. Though suddenly in fortunate favor, for the demon, the pressure loosened as Captain slunk back and collapsed instantaneously with a lifelessness thud into the pavement. The Noble actually had a shot of mourning and disbelief. Did he just witness his first unspoken…secret friend… die. The Keeper didn’t have anything in his reservoir to repeat the same feat. He didn’t have the force of a brute with carnage. The opposite effect transpired throughout him though. Realization of something angelical, as if felt, he saw the glimpse of a bright sun-ray exorcise all the traces of evilness in him. He felt sheer remorse and emotion that could icebreak his coldness. Convinced and impulsed, ‘to save’ Solaire. At all, cost. His body denied him, making him crawl like a peasant but his arrogance was beside that fact. For once he wanted more than any other time, he wanted to save and protect a life truly. He never wished to do anything else but be an Aegis. Though always unsuccessful or felt, never achieved it. The terrible Silv’a still looked through his shallow hole that went completely through him. He kept puking up an endless entrails of organs. Starting to regenerate, heaving and having to use the maximum force of his medallions wasn’t designed. Furthermore, that shot also broke a Voidal Relic mirror that Silv’a kept clinging to prevent that type of thing from occurring, this beast even punctured through that, these infuriating insects had nullified his foresight, overextending only for that to fail too. Their troublesome union and teamwork was a fellow nightmare. Silv’a gassed and tried to recuperate with such dreadfulness and still a swelling of life-threatening that crept in his spine, immortality… Was this useless his plan for Project Immortal Age? “NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” How dare this mortal question his own self! Demon’s can't feel doubt… He couldn’t either, he achieved a higher-level above all these scattered disarray insignificant whelps! (Previous) << (Voidal Relics) >> (Next)

#tw:violence #tw:gore #Lord Shiro Elune #Klethera Sunkiller #Silv'a #Pirate #Miqo'te #Immortal Age Saga #Tales of the Goldbrand #FFXIV #Power of a Father #Treasure Hunter #Dark Fantasy #creative writing

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flyinghome-againstthewind · 3 years

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the best by far is you: chapter 12

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Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you - Cecilia and the satellite

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Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Special thank you to Michaela for just the most beautiful moodboard! I’m obsessed with this one!

Chapter 12

The 1st of May

Three days hadn’t been much time to plan, but she had planned carefully with what time she had, and with only Mrs. Graham to help her. Once the option had been laid out before her, she knew what to do. If she couldn’t find her family in the 20th century, might it be easier to return and search from there?

Mrs. Graham drove her in the early hours of the morning, just before dawn. Claire waited, watching the dance of the druids from her same hiding spot three years ago, only this time she was prepared. Her dress had been sequestered out to Mrs. Graham’s car and Claire had changed in the near-dark when they arrived, too scared to try and sneak out of the house with it on. Claire felt a tinge of regret for how she was leaving things with Frank ‒ a letter left out for him, explaining where she’d gone and why ‒ but the need to find her family overpowered that regret.

It had been a brief goodbye and when Claire thanked the older woman for all she’d done, she still felt as though it wasn’t enough to convey her gratitude.

“I’ll look for ye,” Mrs. Graham had winked. “I dinna ken how, but I’ll try. Now, go and find yer wee lass, my dear.”

The journey through the stones was as awful as her recent memory of it and when she came to on the grass, she laid there for several minutes, waiting for the world to settle.

But it hadn’t felt real, on top of that hill, that she was back in Jamie’s time again. And the fifteen days she’d spent in 1948 had seemed to last a whole lot longer than that.

Even when she’d gathered herself up and trekked into Inverness, seeing once again the horses and muddy paths for roads and other signs that confirmed she’d made it back, the listless feeling never quelled.

She hadn’t been able to bring much with her, but she’d planned for her way home, and that included valuables intended for bartering. With that, she’d secured herself a horse and made for Lallybroch.

It was a day’s ride from Inverness. She knew the way by now and if the horse didn’t fail on her, she could make it before nightfall.

The hopeful wish rose in her chest like a soap bubble that they might all be at Lallybroch, in hiding. Or that perhaps Jamie had managed to sneak Faith back, safe and sound, and that Jenny and Ian would know where to find Jamie.

Maybe they’d taken on different names and that was why Claire hadn’t been able to find them. But the possibility that they might all be there waiting for her was almost too much for her heart to hold, a real possibility and almost within reach if she could just make it home.

The days were long this time of year, and by the time Claire crested over a hill and saw Lallybroch in sight, she knew it was late in the evening, well-past supper even though the sun still hung low at the horizon, casting the estate in a golden glow.

She was tired and beyond hungry, having burned through her small stash of food a few hours ago, but seeing the stone farmhouse again banished any nagging physical needs from her mind for the moment.

She urged her horse forward, closing the distance as fast as she could, until she crossed under the stone archway and slid off of the horse, her feet landing on Lallybroch soil.

“Milady!”

She heard Fergus before she saw him flying towards her as fast as his feet could manage. Her throat constricted with a sudden, choked cry, and she stumbled forward to meet him.

He made it home.

Fergus collided with her, head hitting her breastbone, and she staggered on unsteady feet, clutching him to her.

They collapsed onto the ground, still holding each other, as the relief of finding the other alive overwhelmed them both to the point of tears. Fergus began to speak, muffling his words against her shoulder as he cried, and some part of her brain registered he was speaking in French, though she couldn’t in that moment understand a word of it. For the first time since she’d returned through the stones… it felt real.

Real and wonderful and wholly overwhelming. She squeezed Fergus tighter.

There was a flurry of movement beyond them that followed. A door opened somewhere and footfall followed it.

“It’s Claire!”

More footsteps, frantic voices.

Her face was buried in Fergus’s curls until she felt someone drop down beside her, and she looked up to lock eyes with Jenny.

The question formed on her tongue ‒ are they here? ‒ and instead, what escaped her lips was a single, anguished cry. Because in Jenny’s eyes, she saw the same thinly-veiled hope for answers reflected back at her.

Jamie and Faith weren’t here. They hadn’t been here at all.

Something seemed to break inside Jenny as she registered Claire’s own disappointment. “Are ye alone then, Claire?”

“Yes.” Her voice cracked on the single word. Fergus’s arms constricted around her waist.

She was vaguely aware of Ian’s presence and the children being pulled back inside by Mrs. Crook, but her focus had stayed on the way Fergus still clung to her in that moment, and she realized that all of them here had been as in the dark as she was these last few weeks.

“Come on, then.” Jenny’s hand was at her elbow, trying to pull Claire to her feet. “Fergus, you too. Come on.”

The desperate wave of panic was returning as the shock of being at Lallybroch again subsided. Claire turned back to Jenny, hoping this was all just a strange dream. “...nothing?” She asked.

Jenny looked just as lost, shaking her head. “What happened, Claire?”

It was at that moment that Claire registered the presence of another, just joining them.

Murtagh, who had been the last one to see all three of them on that day. Who had been instrumental in Jamie’s plan and fetched Faith from Lallybroch a few days before. Who had been the last person besides Claire to talk to Jamie and who knew more than anyone else here the truth of Claire’s history.

He must’ve known, whether Jamie told him or not, what the plan was for Claire and Faith that day. Because he looked rightly horrified and confused as he stared at Claire. “Where’s Faith? Is Jamie alright?”

She felt something snap inside her and went almost feral with anger. In a swift move that shocked everyone in attendance, Claire rose up and struck Murtagh across the face. “WHERE THE HELL IS MY BABY?” She screamed, only vaguely aware of someone’s arms around her waist, pulling her back, and Jenny’s sharp voice in her ear. “You stole her from the safety of this home, from her family, and ferried her away to a fucking battlefield! She’s missing because of it. Because of you!”

Murtagh only stood to his full height, shoulders squared, and didn’t retaliate. “I did only as Jamie asked,” he said evenly, but there was a look of hurt in his eyes that cut Claire down before anything else could be said.

She crumbled then, struck dizzy from her outburst, from exhaustion and hunger. “Claire!” Jenny reached for her, but it was Murtagh who was able to save her from falling. She held tight to him like a lifeline as everything swayed about her.

“Oh, lass...” He said suddenly and full of pity. Claire didn’t look up right away, too focused on trying not to faint, but she felt that everyone’s attention had slowly shifted back to Murtagh.

“What is it?” Jenny asked.

Murtagh didn’t answer Jenny directly, but waited until Claire’s gaze met his again and asked, “Ye’re wi’ child again, aren’t ye?”

The courtyard, which had only moments before been filled with shouting, was now quiet enough to hear a leaf fall.

“She looks dead on her feet, mebbe we should bring her inside and let her rest.”

It was Ian who spoke up, and the rest seemed to come to the same conclusion that while each of them was dying to press questions, emotions running hot, perhaps it was best to let the dust settle around Claire’s sudden reappearance first.

And so Rabbie was called to bring Claire’s horse into the stables while Claire was brought inside. Jenny sent one of the servants to put together a fresh plate of food.

Murtagh stayed by her side and as the others got a few steps ahead of them, Claire froze in her steps in the hallway, unable to quell the immediate regret for how she’d treated him. “Murtagh, I’m so terribly sorry. I‒”

He made a dismissive sound low in the throat. “Dinna fash about that now,” he said as he led her on to the dining hall.

Supper for Claire was a quiet affair. Though wee Jamie had greeted her enthusiastically, the girls had given her shy, blank stares, not unlike Faith had when Claire saw her again, and Jenny had asked Mrs. Crook to put the children to bed soon after.

So it was only their solemn group of five, spread out around the table, watching Claire eat while occasionally Ian tried to lighten the mood with bits of conversation that had nothing to do with anything.

Jenny seemed to thrum with a nervous energy the longer they sat, and when Claire had at last finished eating, Jenny took a deep breath and spoke up. “I’ve no’ had a day of peace since Murtagh showed up here and said he was taking Faith to Jamie. And I need to know how it came to be that it’s you showing up on our doorstep expecting Jamie and Faith to be here.”

Claire reached for Jenny’s hand and squeezed it. “I will tell you what happened.” Her gaze swung to Murtagh, the only other person in the room who knew her story. He nodded once in agreement. Yes, they should know, too. “But there’s a lot more to it than just what happened on the day of Culloden and we’ll need somewhere private for all of us to talk.”

“Me too, Milady?”

“Yes.” Claire gave him a small smile. “This concerns you, too.”

Jenny sequestered them to the study and closed the door behind them. No servants in the room or even in earshot, just Claire and four sets of eager eyes. Claire settled on the sofa, Fergus at her side, and Jenny took an armchair adjacent to them. Murtagh stood by the small hearth and after tending to the fire, Ian took a seat near Jenny.

“Murtagh knows most of what I’m about to share. Jamie and I told him when we were in Paris, before Faith was born…”

And so she launched into her story, which got a little easier to share with each retelling, though it looked different this time. They knew of her life once she’d arrived here so there was no need to relive most of those moments, they needed only to know how she came to be here and why she knew things that hadn’t yet come to pass.

They were quiet listeners and Claire tried not to read into their range of expressions while she spoke. She just needed to get it all out. On occasion, her gaze slid over to Murtagh and found his presence reassuring. She already had one person in the room who believed her, and that made it easier to push ahead.

And then she told them of Culloden and why Jamie had risked bringing Faith to Culloden Moor that day. She told them about what happened that morning on the hill, and waking up alone on the other side. She shared about the two weeks she spent in 1948 trying desperately to find them and how she made the decision to come back.

“Faith couldn’t come with me when I left here. And as we searched and nothing came of it, I couldn’t bear not knowing what became of them. I started to fear that if I stayed and had the baby… well what if he or she couldn’t travel either, like Faith? And once I had that thought, I knew I needed to act quickly. Mrs. Graham had provided the means for me to travel through the stones again, and I thought if I couldn’t find them in the future, perhaps I could find some trace of them here.”

The room fell quiet when she had finished. She studied the three faces around her, but found their expressions unreadable. At last, Jenny broke the silence by turning to Murtagh. “And ye believe all this to be true?” she asked.

Murtagh gave a solemn nod. “Jamie believed it. That was enough for me. And he wouldna have sent me to fetch Faith from here if it was only a story. That I believe.”

“I know it’s a lot to swallow,” Claire added. “It’s alright if you can’t accept it or if you need more time to sort through it.”

Ian surprised her by being the first to respond. “I’ve known Jamie all my life, and I know you, Claire. It’s hard to fathom being from another time, but if you say it’s true, I believe you.”

She felt the vice grip of fear around her heart loosen just a bit at her brother-in-law’s words. These folks gathered in this room with her weren’t just Jamie’s family, but her own. Her gaze flitted to Jenny and she held her breath, waiting.

“Well, I ken fine well ye wouldna choose to be separated from Faith,” Jenny said plainly. “O’ course I believe ye, but why didna ye just tell us before?”

She let out a surprised chuckle, not really finding the situation funny so much as she needed the release of her pent-up nervous energy. “We only told Murtagh because he was about to actively partake in an effort to sabotage a war that hadn’t started yet. After I was tried for witchcraft, Jamie was protective about who we told, not as a matter of trust for who we told, but more so that he only wanted to tell if it was absolutely necessary to do so.”

A lull settled over them again, each absorbing what they’d heard and what it meant.

“I canna understand‒ Of all the pig-heided things my brother has done, this may be the worst,” Jenny said at length.

“Jenny,” Ian said gently.

“No. I mean it. What on God’s green earth possessed him to drag his own wee bairn to a battlefield and‒ and to try and send her and Claire away? As if that was the only choice he had?”

“He thought he was doomed to die, no matter what happened that day, with the British hunting him,” Claire explained softly, though the more they discussed Jamie’s plan, the more she hated it. But regardless of her thoughts on the matter, there was no denying the strength of Jamie’s love for others, or the lengths he would go to protect his family.

“Aye, he meant to fight in the battle. Meant to die. Told me so himself when last we spoke,” Murtagh chimed in. “So when we had no word on whether he’d survived or been captured, I assumed he had succeeded in seeing ye and the lass to safety and then in fighting… ‘til it was done. But seeing you here, Claire… does make me wonder what happened to them and why we havena seen them.”

“What exactly did he tell you?” Claire asked suddenly. “The last time you spoke, before we left for the stones, I saw you two talking.”

“Aye,” Murtagh said softly. “He instructed me to gather up the men from Lallybroch and lead them home, away from the battlefield. He said it wouldna be hard to escape in the chaos o’ the morning. And he was right about that, all the men did make it home safely…”

Murtagh walked with Jamie out into the bitter cold of that spring morning, watching Fergus’s back as he slipped away without notice.

“Gather the Frasers of Lallybroch together and get them out of here. There’ll be pell-mell on the moor wi’ troops and horses moving to and fro. Nobody will try and stop you wi’ the British in sight and the battle about to begin. Tell them the order comes from me, and they’ll follow without question. Lead them off the moor and away from the battle. Set them on the road to Lallybroch and home.”

“Are ye sure?” Murtagh asked.

“Aye. This battle is already lost. No matter how righteous, it was doomed from the start. We’ve done all we could, but now it’s over. I’ll not have my kin die for nothing.”

“And what are you to do?”

“I’ll take Claire and Faith to safety, and then I’ll turn back. Back to Culloden, and fight ‘til it’s done.”

“I’ll guide yer men to safety and set them on the path home. But ken this: when ye return, I’ll be waiting here to fight by yer side.”

“No. No, I said I’ll not have ye dying for nothing.”

“I won’t be. I’ll be dying with you.”

“No,” Jamie shook his head. “No, ye willna be dying at all because ye willna return to the battle.”

“Have ye forgotten the oath I swore to yer mother? Ye’re like a son to me, a balaich…” The words slipped out before Murtagh could refrain and his eyes widened slightly. An admission he’d never made, but something he’d always felt about Jamie. His godson nodded curtly, seeming to struggle for a moment with this unshakable front he presented. “I‒ I canna leave ye.”

“I ken, a ghoistidh.” Jamie’s voice was low, almost drowned out by the ruckus around them. He clapped Murtagh on the shoulder and his gaze swung over to where he had last seen Fergus. “But Fergus is a son to me, as I am to you, and with what’s about to happen, I canna give him my protection as I would like to. I’ve had to make peace wi’ the choices I made in this war, and I’m no’ afraid to die, but Fergus is only a lad. Please… lead my son home. Swear an oath to me as ye did to my mother that you will watch his back always, for as long as you live. Ye kept me safe until I became a man and then ye fought beside me, no matter the consequences, no matter what trouble I dragged ye into. I wouldna have Claire in my life if not for you, a ghoistidh, and now that we’re here, I need to see that my family will be safe.”

“I didna want to leave him,” Murtagh said quietly. “I’d spent the better part of his life defending him. But I couldna deny his request either, if it was to be the last thing he ever asked of me.” He smirked slightly, finding Fergus’s gaze in that moment. “Ye didna realize ye were stuck wi’ me, did ye?” he said wryly. “I’m bound to protect you by an oath now, my laddie.”

Claire looked over at Fergus and saw he was close to tears. Her arm went about his shoulders, drawing him against her side.

“He was protecting you too, then,” Claire spoke up, her gaze flitting back to Murtagh. “If you were protecting Fergus, you couldn’t be on the battlefield.”

“Aye,” he murmured. “Stubborn lad had it all worked out.”

“Except for the part where the fool wanted tae sacrifice himself on the battlefield,” Jenny fumed. “And where is he now? If Faith didna go through the stones with ye, and he was left with her at Craigh na Dun, why in god’s name didn’t he just come home?”

Claire drew in a deep breath. “Well, I… I did tell him what would happen in the Highlands if the British won the battle and put down the rebellion. Perhaps he felt there was a safer option. Perhaps he knew this would be the first place the Redcoats would look for him.”

“Oh, aye, they’ve been here already. But we could’ve hid him. We could’ve kept him safe.”

“They’ve been here?”

“Aye, about a week ago.”

She felt as though a weight had lifted off her shoulders at those words. “Then he got away with Faith. He did it. If the Redcoats are looking for him, it means they don’t have him.”

“Yes, but where?” Jenny asked again.

“Aye, that’s the question,” Murtagh agreed.

“We’ll need to puzzle it out, but I doubt we’ll come to an answer tonight,” Ian spoke up.

Jenny looked exhausted and at the same time, too worked up to sleep, and Claire knew her sister-in-law had lost as much sleep as she had these last few weeks, plagued with not knowing what became of her family. Still, there was nothing they could do at this very moment, as Ian had pointed out.

“I had one of the maids freshen up your room,” Jenny said suddenly and Claire startled.

“Not our… not the Laird’s room?” She saw the flash of confusion in Jenny’s eyes as she spoke. “I only mean that I don’t think I can sleep in there by myself.”

She felt silly admitting that, but Jenny’s gaze softened and she gave a quick nod. “I’ll have another room prepared.”

Ian and Murtagh had both cleared out the study, sensing all the talk was done for the evening, but Fergus lingered at Claire’s side as Jenny dismissed herself to make arrangements for Claire’s room for the night.

Claire turned to Fergus and brushed a hand gently over his curls. “How are you holding up? Do you… do you have any questions for me? About what I shared earlier? About where I’m from?”

Fergus only shook his head, and Claire understood ‒ it was a bit much to drop in everyone’s laps tonight ‒ but she wished for some sort of insight into what he was thinking.

She studied his profile as he stared ahead at the fire. “I… I have something for you.” She dug into her pocket and wriggled out the wooden horse, the rigid legs catching in the fabric of her skirt until it was free. “I saw this after I went back to my time, and I thought of you.” She held it out to him and watched as he took it into his hands and studied it, just as she had when she found it.

“Donas,” Fergus said softly.

She felt the tug of a smile and the burn of tears at the same time. Had it only been mere days ago where she’d carried the fear of never seeing him again? “I thought so, too.”

“This is mine?” He checked.

“Yes, that’s for you.”

She worried that he might find it juvenile, but he smiled then, ever so slightly. “Thank you, Milady.” His gaze fell back to the toy horse. “He reminds me of Milord’s sawny snake.”

“I hadn’t even thought of that. Well… I didn’t carve it myself but now you have something of your own like sawny snake.”

Fergus swallowed roughly as his thumbs moved over the smooth carving of the horse. She heard him hiccup slightly as he tried to stifle a cry.

“Come here,” she murmured, pulling him into her arms and tucking his head under her chin. “I miss him, too.”

“It’s not only that,” he said quietly.

“Then what? You can tell me.”

“I didn’t know if I would see you again. Murtagh told me you and Faith had gone away.”

She squeezed him tighter and felt her throat clog with emotion. “I missed you. Every day.”

“And Milord…” Fergus continued, his voice shaky. “Milord didn’t want me with him. H-h-he doesn’t trust me.”

She pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye. “No, that’s not true, Fergus.”

He stood abruptly and hurled the wooden horse as hard as he could at the floor. Something splintered off from it and the piece skittered across the floor. “Yes it is!” He screamed. “Whenever Milord would have to leave you, he always put me in charge of your care. He trusted me. Now he- he sends me away!”

“Fergus,” Claire whispered tightly. He stood rigidly with his chest still heaving and she reached a hand tentatively for his, expecting that he might pull away. But with his outburst over, Fergus’s anger seemed to give way to the grief it had tried to mask, and he burst into tears and gripped Claire’s hand. “Come here,” she cried. “Oh, I’m so sorry, darling.”

She pulled him back down next to her on the sofa and cradled his head against her shoulder. There were things she wanted to say to him ‒ things she realized in her time apart and also wanted to have Jamie present for when they were said. But Fergus was suffering under choices they’d made for him and some clarity was needed.

“It’s not because he didn’t trust you with protecting me and Faith,” she murmured as she stroked his hair. “I know my story earlier might sound hard to believe, but every word of it was true. And if… if we knew if you could travel through the stones, I have no doubt Jamie would’ve tried to send you with us. And if we knew Faith couldn’t travel, we would’ve thought of something else. It was a mistake, Fergus. One we’re all having to live with now, and you’re allowed to feel upset and hurt about it. You are. But it wasn’t because Jamie didn’t trust you or didn’t want you with him.”

“Then why?” Fergus’s voice was flat when he spoke, still choked with tears. Claire breathed in soberly and took his face in her hands so she could look him in the eye again.

“Well, it’s like Murtagh said earlier ‒ Jamie thought he would die at Culloden and he wanted to ensure every member of his family was safe before he did so. He loves you, Fergus, and he wanted you to be protected here, at his home… as his son.”

Fergus set his jaw, but Claire still caught the slight quiver of his lip before he spoke. “I’m not a baby. I don’t need protection.”

She drew in a breath, her mind scrambling for the right words.

“And I’ve never been apart from Milord, except when Faith was born,” he added. The crux of his pain was in the separation from Jamie, and no matter how well-intentioned the decision was, there would be no erasing that sorrow for Fergus.

Claire sighed heavily and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “You’re not a baby, you’re right. But even Jamie has needed protecting from time to time. It doesn’t mean you’re weak when you have someone protecting you, Fergus; it means you’re loved.”

His brows furrowed together and he looked away, a few more tears spilling silently down his cheeks. “Will he come back?”

“I don’t know that he will come back, if he thinks it’s safer for everyone if he stays hidden,” Claire told him honestly. “But we’re going to look for them. And we’re going to find them, Fergus. We will.”

“I’m coming with you?”

She framed his face in her hands and wiped at the tear tracks with her thumbs. “From now on, we stick together.” She caught the flicker of movement in the doorway and looked up to find Murtagh hanging back. “Though we’ll have to bring Murtagh with us,” she added wryly, smiling at him. “On account of his oath to Jamie.”

Fergus glanced over his shoulder and nodded once. “I suppose you can make yourself useful.”

“Oh, aye?” Murtagh took that as an invitation to enter and gave Fergus’s head a playful push into the back of the sofa. “I suppose so.”

He bent down and retrieved the small horse and handed it over to Fergus, who accepted it with a sudden flush in his cheeks, his smile disappearing.

“I broke one of his legs,” he pointed out regretfully.

“Dinna fash, I can fix it,” Murtagh said easily, scouring the floor for the missing piece, and upon finding it, he asked for the horse back, to see what could be done about it tomorrow.

“It’ll be alright, Fergus,” Claire said gently, hoping he understood she meant more than just the toy horse.

“I know, Milady.”

“Good,” she exhaled, feeling the smallest tug of a smile at her lips.

Jenny reappeared to tell Claire which room she’d be staying in and to usher both her and Fergus up to bed. Claire gave in easily, feeling bone-weary after the emotional toll of the day, but she’d said goodnight to Jenny at the top of the stairs so she might have a moment alone.

She then stood at the threshold of the bedroom that had belonged to her and Jamie ‒ off and on ‒ over the course of almost 3 years. Altogether, their time here likely only amounted to a year or so, but some of their most precious memories lived in these walls. From their earlier days here, married only a few months and learning what it was to give their heart and soul to another, to their days as a small family, navigating parenthood and building the life they thought they would always have here.

Even though she wouldn’t sleep there tonight ‒ she’d meant what she said to Jenny ‒ some part of her had a morbid need to still see the room before she could sleep.

She pushed into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, running her fingers over the bedding. She’d committed a serious mistake in the days leading up to this one and on her hours-long horseback ride through the spread of land that she knew so well: she’d allowed herself to imagine a homecoming.

Claire had pictured rushing into the farmhouse and finding Jamie there in the parlor, and how it would feel to behold him once more and feel his strong embrace, to hear his voice and cradle his face in her hands before she kissed him senseless.

And then there would be Faith to take into her arms and hold close to her heart and promise to never let go of her again.

She had let herself hope that if she could only make the journey ‒ travel 200 hundred years through time and then 25 miles through the Highlands ‒ then maybe they might just be here waiting for her, and she would at last be able to breathe.

As she sat there on the bed, Claire felt the pressure of tears building behind her eyes. The piercing blow amidst all of this sorrow was that it was Jamie’s birthday. Last year had been sweet and brimming with joy, and the soft memories of it seemed to belong to a different person entirely after the year she had lived.

What was he doing now, wherever he had ended up? She had no way to tell him that she had come back to this time, to their first home. Wherever he was, he would still think of her as lost to him forever, unless she found him.

“You promised you would find me,” she found herself murmuring into the silent room. “Even if it took 200 years. But we’ve gone and turned everything on its head now, haven’t we?” Her eyes glanced about the dark room and settled on Faith’s old cradle, still tucked away in the corner, now collecting dust. “Neither one of us is where we’re supposed to be, but considering that means you’re still alive somewhere, I’ll take it. Keep her safe, love. I’ll keep looking…” Her hand slipped down to rest over the barely noticeable swell of the child she carried. “No matter how long it takes. Even if I’m having to carry this one around with me. And I’ll have help, with Murtagh and Fergus with me.”

She stood slowly and slipped quietly from the room, pausing to turn back at the threshold for one last look before closing the door on that room and what had been a wonderful chapter in their life together.

It wasn’t done, their life together ‒ she refused to believe it was ‒ but with the deed of sasine and the hunt ahead of them for Jamie and Faith, she was keenly aware that the dreams of being Laird and Lady of Lallybroch had died that morning of the Battle of Culloden. What came next would be a different life than they had envisioned, but if she could find them…

Her hand rested over the door to the Laird’s room in a parting gesture.

If she could find Jamie and Faith, she’d gladly embrace the sorting out of new dreams. But saying goodbye to this one so unexpectedly left a hole in her already-battered heart.

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

author’s note: I know I’ve kept you in suspense... Jamie and Faith will be back in the next chapter for their side of the story! :)

#outlander fic #jamie x claire #faith fraser #outlander #OL fic #my fic #tbbfiy #the best by far is you

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sickficenthusiast · 3 years

Text

Bloody Aspirations (an angstfic).

I used an angsty prompt from here on tumblr and I wrote this all in like a few hours and I can barely hold my eyes open anymore so I hope y’all enjoy whatever this is lmao. TW for descriptions of death (don’t worry it’s not permanent or anything).

Her hand is the only thing her senses become aware of as they fuzzily come back into focus, and then it's the lances of pain flaring out from and around the multiple bullet wounds bubbling a bloom of crushed poppies down past her ribs, collecting in an already spacious pool beneath her. Before she could regain herself too deeply, Pearl clenched her hand within Helen's, as if afraid if she didn't she would get away from her somehow, but that wasn't to be realised.

The sky cast a perpetual veil of rain down toward the quiet earth, creating the only tangible sound Pearl was capable of hearing, as if the world had fallen asleep to its ethereal calmitive song, as she presumably had as well. All from the back of her throat to the base of her lips felt warm, frothing, metallic sludge rising up from her collapsing lungs and running down her chin and deeply bruised cheek to the grass under her head. Her insides felt as if they had been trimmed in velvet, also as if they had come to an absolute standstill. She couldn't get a full breath in without stabbing pain driving itself through her chest, and a broken, gurgling whine of delirious anxiety frothed about in the base of her throat, the ensuing tears indistinguishable from the pouring rain above them both.

"He..." her voice viscerally sputtered around the blood filling her failing airways, warbling adrenaline causing a louder whimper of anguish-riddled agony to rip free of her, blowing from her mouth in a way which couldn't be reversed. She shallowly coughed out productive rasps which brought further outpourings of frothing blood to dribble free of her mouth, the thundering world before her pulsing in and out of her already blurring focus, cracks running through it showing her that her glasses had been broken. Something even thicker worked its way up her throat, streaming from it without pause in trails down both cheeks. She gasped in panicky bursts of bloody air, even this panic felt beneath a layer of indistinction, softened somehow by this sense of peace she had never felt mimicked in all her years. But it was a terrible peace, one that just proved to stress her further. She was dying. She was dying and she wasn't ready. Fuck, she wasn't ready, she couldn't go yet, not here, not lying beneath this frigid sheet of showering rain, not where no one knew where they were. Their friends knew nothing of what had happened, how would they be notified of this, what about their goddaughter, how would any of them fare? And removed from them, she didn't know how to die. She had no idea and yet her body somehow knew, this was pre-programmed in her after all. Pearl knew she could feel her soulmate's hand clutched in her own, but she'd made not a sound since she had regained herself, was she really even there at all? Her dying mind could just be giving her some form of comfort to see herself out within, what if she really was alone, dying all alone on the side of the road, unable to see Helen one last time, to tell her how much she was loved and how much she was sorry for leaving her? She couldn't do this alone, God she couldn't do it at all!

"Pearl..."

That simple word had Pearl dissolving into further exhausted hysterics, the choked off voice of her love right beside her. She wasn't alone, Helen was here with her. Oh God, had that meant that she was dying too? Now if she thought intently, she vaguely remembered the slurs being thrown at the both of them, before her body became emblazoned in bullets. The shots had continued even after they weren't meeting her any longer, and could hear Helen's awful screams after she herself had hit the ground, a similar thudding sounding beside her not long afterwards. They had both been shot, she remembered now, the way their hands had been holding each other too telling of their sinful fucking god-hating love for those homophobic bastards to handle. They were both going to die for their love, and she supposed if there was to be a way to go, why not make it for something you stand for. Perhaps this was just to hold your lover's hand while walking, but even this inconsequential sentiment was too much for those fuckers to handle, and certainly was bigger than it initially appeared.

Pearl gently smacked her damp lips as her streaming eyes drooped, dizzy radio-fuzz billowing throughout her head. Every time she went to speak her mouth opened uselessly, a gurgling noise of intent leaving it in place of words. It took a great many tries before she could clear the mass of blood in her throat enough to rasp out a simple,

"Helen?" She fought to regain her failing breath as her hand was suddenly clenched even harder, although this wasn't a great increase, Helen coughing an eerily similar cough before responding in a expired voice much like her own,

"Don't be scared, love."

Her voice reeked of softened grief, and Pearl recognised the tone all too well. This was the voice Helen used to comfort a dying patient, to ease them onto the other side as best she could. Now it was being used on her. Fuck, this couldn't be happening, God or whoever was up there please save them both. But a heavenly idea of salvation is to be forever within its company, so to ask of Them to save them, that would more than likely come in the form of bringing them both to the other side. But this wasn't right, they were still so relatively young, their entire lives laid before them, together through every single moment. But it would appear that they had prematurely reached the end of their time, and to look at the possibility of anything After, truth would be kept upon their word: they truly would be together forever, neither having to be without the other for a moment.

"'m scared, Helen, wha's happ'nin'?" Pearl heard Helen give a hybrid between a chuckle and a sob, before answering her with tears clearly lurking beneath the folds,

"Leaving."

"'m no' read'y."

"Don't think anyone ever is."

With every moment passing and every word Helen said, the panic was loosening in Pearl's chest, giving way somewhat for the peace to envelope her more completely, encase her within a warming gel-like substance as the world lost its solidity little by little. All that seemed to exist in this space with her was her wife, her hand and her voice, and that suited her just fine. Speaking becoming harder with every passing second, she mumbled wetly,

"Are we dying?" Helen gave a slight sob in response, before responding restrainedly,

"Baby girl, I love you."

Pearl rolled her head somewhat to the side to vaguely see Helen sprawled on her side beside her, blood soaking through the entirety of the shirt covering her torso, the same crimson froth gathering at her mouth as Pearl saw how intensely, yet silently, she had been crying. There was a horrific distance behind her reddened eyes, seemingly trying everything within her power to stay awake. Despite how this broke Pearl's heart, she could do nothing to show this.

"I can't go first, just see her out. She doesn't deserve to die alone."

That had been Helen to speak, but her mouth didn't physically open, and Pearl moaned a tiny sound of confusion at this organic buffering, slurring out the last words she was to ever utter,

"I...love...you Helen, it's...been an honour, I...'m leaving..." She would try to talk over and over after this, but the process had begun. She was dying, and speech came first. A tremulous inhale sounded beside her, a gasping sob permeating it, before Helen choked out,

"'been the best honour, babe, biggest I can imagine. You're such a good girl, I'm right here baby and I'm not leaving, you...you go right ahead, Pearl, I'll, I'll g-g-guide you away."

Pearl's eyes fell closed at her words, her mouth gently hanging open as the peace choked her soul, the world losing all permanance save for her hand. She was floating now, suspended in a warm space, quiet except for the broken beauty of her wife's voice. Even the festering, blazing pain of her wounds faded to nothing, as if vanished entirely. As Helen spoke to her, her mind reeled with memories rich with the essence of them, and their friends. Their found family. Every instance of their happiness played out before her eyes anew, seemingly playing on mute as Helen was the only sound existing in her world,

"you're doing beautifully my love, I'm not going anywhere, you can let go for me, I'll meet you there. Wilson is waiting for us both, and, and Perry, our parents, everyone's waiting. You can let go, I've got you. Let go, love. Pearl, let go."

Pearl was then suddenly yanked from her body in one fatal swoop, floating above the scene with that same peace still accompanying her, still working within the process, but Helen's tone had changed. Now she was violently sobbing, audibly panicking as grief and impending death swept over side-by-side.

"Oh God, whyyyyy! Pearl no, I can't do this alone I can't, please come back I can't do this oh God please bring her back I need her please I-" the only reason she found any pause in her tirade was the choking of blood that flooded hard against her windpipe, spluttering a bubbly spattering of blood up over her chin, trailing down it to her weakly heaving chest. Pearl couldn't move now at all, and as soon as she was able, Helen continued,

"Please I'm scared, please, Pearl, bringg, bring, ba'..." Her words weakened with every syllable. She aspirated blood for the final time, going completely limp.

It was after witnessing that heartbreaking scene that she could do nothing to assist in, Pearl awoke, finding herself rocketing upwards into a sitting position, a screaming sob se had been too far gone to expell leaving her mouth as Helen's dying words replayed over and over in her ears. She thrashed wildly in an almost demented manner, continuing to scream out her lungs until the adrenaline set nausea into motion, an she gulped back the sickly urges and lowered her face down into her hands, breaking into tears as Helen screamed and hit the ground beside her.

"Pearl? Oh God, sweetheart, you're alright, you're okay I promise." That was Helen. She was okay. Pearl felt her strong, yet gentle arms wrap around her rocking form, and immediately turned her face into her chest and clung to her, feeling her and smelling her and hearing her. They were both okay, neither of them had been shot, and they weren't dying. She felt so incredibly ill, she stifled the urge to hiccup and tried to get as close to her wife as humanly possible, as the alternative was too frightful to comprehend in her mind.

"Helen, oh fucking God you're okay!" she exclaimed through her violent tears, "it was awful, just awful babe, we were both shot and, and we died but you let me die first so I wouldn't be alone but, but, but, but, but, but you were alone and I heard everything and you were panicking and, and I couldn't help, and, oh fuck you can't ever die Helen I can't handle it! I watched it just now, I can't ever again I love you, I love you I love you I love you, baby I love you!"

"Easy lovie, easy," Helen cut in with her emotions clearly audible, "shhhh sh sh sh. You're right, I'm okay. Nothing is happening right now, we're in bed all safe and all sound, I promise you. I promise you with all I am that we're safe." As Helen spoke she cupped the back of Pearl's head and calmingly rubbed her other hand up and down the curve of her back, and little by little, just like in the dream, Pearl's panic lessened, until all it was was her exhausted crying, as she rested against Helen's chest and leaned into her every touch. Things really were okay, she wasn't lying. No one would hurt them. Helen was telling the truth. Pearl kissed her neck with the touch of barely a stolen breath, as she listened to Helen's continued words,

"Baby may I?" Her hand was suddenly felt against her forehead, leaning into this movement as Helen remarked sympathetically,

"oh, my poor love! You're melting, that feels like one nasty fever you have! Probably caused your nightmare and everything."

Now that she mentioned it, Pearl was feeling as if that was the case, a heavy pounding present in her head and an unsteady trembling within her aching bones. She had no idea where she would have picked this up from, but it was regardless undeniable, and she would take this reality over the alternative she had experienced that night a million times over. She barely felt the kiss breathed against her forehead, before she became aware of Helen pulling the blankets back up over her, easing her down against the mattress.

"That yucky dream is over, baby girl, now just let me take care of you, I'll try and make you feel better. I'll be right back, I'm just gonna grab some stuff that should help, you'll be okay for a minute?" Pearl nodded as her eyelids drooped, feeling herself dropping off quite quick now that the initial panic had dissipated, and as Helen got up to retrieve what she needed, she smiled, grateful to be on this side of things now. They really were okay, and as soon as she shaken whatever had caused this whole mess, she would do well to ensure Helen knew just how much she appreciated her, and how much she was grateful that, even in dreams, Helen would insist she go before herself, even in dreams ensuring Pearl was okay over everything else. If she could be a quarter of that kind of woman, Pearl would be happy.

#angstfic #angst #tw death #tw guns #tw shooting #tw homophobia #tw #trigger warning #death #dying #gun violence #dying words #fever #pearl #helen #rory #maria

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writings-of-dumpy · 3 years

Text

George Weasley and the Girl in Ravenclaw: Part 5

Warnings: ~shawty fire burning on the dance floo, waoohh!~ No, but just fires and violence mostly.

“He didn’t like it, but he understood,” Raven told the twins as she exited Flitwick’s office. “I will be completing my term by mail starting immediately so that Dumbridge doesn’t get whiff of it and suddenly confine us all here like a jail.”

Fred and George nodded. “Good, then we have nothing to lose.”

Raven looked at them with an unreadable expression. “Are you two sure about this? I’d hate to see anyone else get hurt…”

Fred nodded. “We’ve got trackers on them so they’ll only go after her.”

Raven smiled. “Very clever of you two.”

“Well, we learned it from you, love,” George said.

Later that day, while the fifth years were taking their OWLs, Fred, George, and Raven managed to sneak past Filtch and grab their brooms. Raven had managed to shrink her things down into a small backpack that she wore so that he three of them could fly to the burrow at once.

“Ready?” she asked them.

“This is going to be SO fun…” George gushed in excitement. He could feel a pit in his stomach of anxiety that things may or may not go as planned, but for the most party, he couldn’t wait to see Umbridge’s face when that flaming dragon came straight for her…

~*~

“You did WHAT?” Molly barked at her sons when they returned home.

“You should have seen Raven’s face when she was through with her, mum! She deserved it!” Fred reasoned.

“Of course she deserved it, but if we all got what we deserved, we’d all be dust! I just hope none of this effects your father in a way…” Molly said with an exasperated sigh and sat down.

“Raven, dear, are you alright?” she asked Raven, who still looked slightly beaten up from her time with Umbridge and Inquisitor Squad the other day. George’s heart swelled almost every time he saw her, and he wanted nothing more than to use a spell that he hasn’t learned yet to ease her pain and take that nasty scar on her hand away.

“Yeah, I’m alright, Molly, thank you,” Raven said and welcomed Molly’s embrace.

“Alright, well… I suppose now is as good a time as any for the three of you to join the Order,” Molly said to herself it seemed.

“You mean it?!” Fred said with excitement.

“Well since you have no intention of going back to Hogwarts, and since you’re so eager, I don’t see why not,” Molly said. “But not a word of order business to Harry or your brother and sister. And we have to officially induct you, of course.”

George beamed at Fred and Raven. The three of them decided to share a room in the burrow, and while it was a bit cramped, they made it work. George helped Raven set up a space for her to send assignments back to Hogwarts so she could graduate in a month or two, and he and Fred went to Diagon Alley to scout space for their joke shop.

A few months went by, and the Order was meeting on a regularly scheduled basis now. With the death of Sirius Black, the Order had lost a critical member, and knew that it was his dying wish to allow Harry to be privy to their knowledge, so they all welcomed Harry, Ron, and Hermione into the Order officially. Ginny was an unofficial member as Ron and Harry would tell her basically everything.

Fred, George, and Raven worked day and night to build Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and stock it with their own products.

“I think these Skiving Snack boxes are going to be a huge hit,” Raven said from the ladder above them. “And the awful Umbridge is a nice touch, of course.”

George smiled and laughed with Raven. When she got off the ladder, he noticed something looked different about her today than it had in previous days.

“You cut your hair?” George asked her and reached up to hold a few soft locks in his hand.

Raven smiled and nodded slightly. “Yeah, I wanted a bit of a change… Do you like it?”

George smiled widely. “It looks beautiful.” The pair stared at each other for a moment longer and George wanted so badly to lean in and kiss her, but Fred’s voice from the other side of the shop interrupted George’s thoughts of locking lips.

“Well, I think we’re all set for opening tomorrow! And just in time, too. Hogwarts letters are set to go out this week, so Diagon Alley will be full of kids wanting excuses to skip,” he said with his hands on his hips and looking around.

“Just think of how much trouble you two could have caused if a shop like this had been open back in the day,” Raven suggested.

“Don’t forget your role in those pranks, spunky,” Fred told her with a smile. George nodded in agreement.

As Fred had predicted, the following week was flooded with kids and parents, and on the day before the train left, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stopped by for a few things before departing. George had noticed that he and Fred had been more in sync than ever in their shop, and he couldn’t have been happier. Raven often ran the till for them, but given that they were so busy, Fred and George offered to hop on either side of Raven’s usual spot. They were a well-oiled machine and George thought paradise couldn’t be too far off now. He had faith that Harry, Ron, and Hermione would figure out how to stop Voldemort with eh help of the Order, so he wasn’t too worried about the future. With every day he worked with Raven, his love grew and deepened, and every day he would find something new to make him smile about her. But with each day that went by, he worried more that she had moved on or worse, that she never felt for him in the first place.

“When are you going to talk to her, mate? I know we’re pretty focused with the shop, but… I see the way you look at her. Everyone does. You’ve been in love with the girl since you were thirteen!” Fred said one night as they were closing the shop. George nodded and locked the door.

“I know, I just… I haven’t found the right time. Maybe with Christmas coming up I’ll find a good time,” George said.

Fred nodded. “I just hate to see you looking so lost.” George nodded and the pair apparated to the burrow and were greeted with the arrival of Christmas holiday guests.

After gifts and dinner had been served on Christmas day, everyone retired to their rooms, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were no doubt plotting the latest scheme in their quest to take down Voldemort. George found Raven curled up with a book next to a lamp in the living room and decided to join her. He sat next to her and naturally placed his arm around her shoulders.

“Hi,” she said with a smile and glance at him.

“Reading something good?” he asked her and she scooted closer into his hold.

“It’s a muggle book about a girl with magical powers. It kind of reminds me of Harry’s situation with the rotten parents and sibling type. It’s a children’s book, but it’s quite interesting and fun to read,” she replied without looking up from her book. George smiled and gently rubbed her shoulder with his thumb. He smiled as he watched her turn page after page, when suddenly he heard a rumbling outside and smelled something like fire.

He looked up and saw flames outside of the house and bolted out of his spot next to Raven and armed himself with his wand. He heard Harry run down the stairs with his mum and dad, and the door flung open.

“Bellatrix,” Harry muttered and ran between the flames that surrounded the house. Soon after, Ginny ran after him despite her mother’s cries.

“Come on, we have to put the fire out,” Raven said and grabbed her wand and headed out to stop the flames from encroaching in farther.

She, Fred, and George all went outside and sprayed the fire down to embers and stomped them out as best they could. Before they had time to think and let alone breathe, a wicked cackle rang through the night air as Bellatrix and another Death Eater crashed through the burrow’s windows and set the house ablaze.

“Molly!” Raven cried out and ran inside the burning house. George and Fred followed her and they searched for their mother for a few moments before finding her and guiding her out of the house.

“Where’s Raven?” George asked his mother and Fred once they had stepped away from the flames and he didn’t see her.

Fred’s eyes widened. “I thought she was with you!”

George’s heart raced as he ran back into the flames and shouted for her with no answer. Flaming debris was falling all around him and he couldn’t see much past the smoke. He called again and heard a cough.

“Get out! I’m stuck, just go!” Raven’s voice called out from his left towards the kitchen. He made his way through the flames and found Raven on the floor with her legs trapped under a support beam.

“George, get out!!!” Raven screamed in anguish. Her arm was stretched far from her position and he could see her wand just beyond her reach. He scoffed and levitated the beam off of her, then ran to help her up. She grabbed her wand and George scooped her up in his arms and carried her out of the burning building.

“Raven!” Fred cried out and ran towards George. “Is she hurt badly? Is she okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I can walk…” Raven said and wriggled out of George’s hold. “Is everyone okay?”

“I think so…” Molly said in a sad tone. George watched Raven stand for a moment and held his arms out to help her if she fell. Once she was steady on her feet, he stood next to her, facing the fire. The four of them stood away from the flames for a moment and watched in despair as their house burned. After a sigh, Raven started to douse the fire with a powerful hosing spell that got the flames out reasonably quickly. Hermione managed to get the burning surrounding the house extinguished and they all went back inside to assess the damage. Harry and Ginny had returned in the meantime to help.

“I’m so sorry… This is all my fault…” Harry kept saying.

“Did you burn down the building? No. So it’s not your fault, Harry. Stop blaming yourself,” Hermione said sternly, which earned her an impressed look from Raven. After about an hour of putting things back together, they all decided to call it a night. George’s muscles ached and his mouth was dry, but his main concern was Raven’s comfort and safety.

“Only George’s bed is okay up there, mine’s covered in soot and ash,” Fred grumbled. “I’ll take the couch.”

“You can have my bed,” George offered Raven without a second thought.

“Where will you sleep, then?” she asked him. He shrugged. “The floor I suppose.”

Raven shook her head. “I’m sure we can both fit. Come on.”

“I don’t care where you go, just stop talking,” Fred groaned as he curled under the blanket on the couch. Raven and George laughed to themselves and headed up towards the twins’ room.

George’s heart was pounding, and his insides were doing flips. Was he really about to share a bed with the girl of his dreams? He could hardly believe it. Suddenly his fatigue was gone and he felt nothing but gratitude.

“See? There’s plenty of room for both of us… If you don’t mind, that is?” Raven said, suddenly becoming less confident in her idea.

Before her mind could wander and further away from the truth, George spoke up, “Of course not! As long as you’re comfortable, so am I.”

Raven yawned widely and George thought she was adorable. He kicked his shoes off, but didn’t bother changing into his pajamas, and settled on one side of his bed. Raven climbed in on the other side and while the bed wasn’t the smallest, it wasn’t the largest, either, so for the two of them to be comfortable, they were basically on top of each other.

“Comfy?” George asked her once she had settled. Raven nodded against his shoulder. George was lain on his back and Raven on her side facing George. George’s face was a bright red, he was sure, and thanked the darkness for shielding him from embarrassment.

“Good night, Georgie,” Raven said in a small voice.

“Good night, Raven.”

The next morning, George woke up to a clamor in the kitchen that sounded like Harry and Ron having a small argument. George couldn’t quite make out the words, but after a few moments, there was silence and he heard two pairs of footsteps walking back up the stairs. Deciding he wanted to see if the shower was working from the damage last night, he moved to get up, and realized he was lying very close to someone. So close that his arm was around a waist and his chin was touching the top of a full head of air. He remembered the previous night’s sleeping arrangements and his heart pounded. It was Raven who he felt right up against him and who he was holding onto during the night. He didn’t want to wake her, so he carefully and slowly (and very reluctantly) moved his hand from around her waist. As he did so, he heard Raven groan slightly.

“Warm, come back,” she said. George’s breath hitched in his throat and he felt the tent in his pants extend as he re positioned himself with his front pressed against her backside and his arm around her waist. She wiggled herself against him as he pressed closer to her and he was sure by now that Raven was out to kill him. He did his best to control his breathing, but it was ragged and his heart pounded with every touch they shared. He loved their new comfort with each other, and hoped he’d get to cuddle her like this more often. He felt utter bliss with her.

#george weasley #george weasley x oc

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mila-dans · 4 years

Text

Spells Out Trouble: Up Around the Bend

This is chapter six of “Spells Out Trouble.” Masterlist Here!

Chapter Five: Owner of a Lonely Heart

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 5020

Summary: You have been with the Winchesters for several years now going through all the literal trials and tribulations with them. What happens when Dean gets hit by a love spell and becomes head-over-heels for you? Will your pushed down emotions finally rise or will you get in over your head? Find out what happens when your best friend’s hard exterior becomes mush whenever you end up in his eyeline.

Just so you know: This is my first Fanfic so sorry if there are aspects missing. “Spells Out Trouble” is a series with about ten chapters. If you have any suggestions or tips, I’d love to hear from you. Thank you and I hope you enjoy it! (Also, not my gif!)

He signaled for you to come over to a room. “So this is your room,” he said as he opened the door. You ran inside and took off your wet layers that became soaked from the rain. “I paid for three nights upfront. Me or Cas should swing by later with some of your clothes and stuff. Okay?”

You go back towards the door.

Slam

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

Crying. Sobbing. Screaming. Terror.

“Help!”

“Help us, please!”

“I just want to go home!”

“Help me! Save me! Please!”

The cries and pleas for help continue. It sends shivers down your spine and makes you feel as if you too were in just as much anguish and pain. The lights kept flashing on and off. All your senses were distorted. All you heard were screams, all you saw was abrupt streaks, and the smell… The smell was the worst part. It smelled rotten, nasty, filthy. Burning flesh, bones smothered with flames. It was hell. Hell on earth. The underground basement was so wide and vast, the echoes of the screams only made it more difficult to navigate.

“Mom,” you struggled to say with the heat and lack of water taking all the moisture from your throat. “Mo--Mom.” You continued to croak. You kept going through the halls, passing by all the cages filled with children. Cages that could’ve just as easily had you in. “Mom!” You try to shout, but instead only hearing the raspy affects.

“Y/N?!”

You look up to see her there. Your mom. She was covered in blood from head to toe. She reached out to you as you fell into her arms. “Momma!” You started to revitalize the idle tears that had been streaming down your face.

“I’m here, baby. I’m right here!” She says while lifting your head up to see the darkened under eyes and pale complexion. She managed to wipe some of the dried blood from your face before she put you back into her comforting embrace. “I’m right here, baby.”

“Where--where’s dad?” You muster out, sending a shocked look your mother’s way.

“He--He’s not here?! With you?!” You shake your head no in reply. “Okay,” she says trying to remain calm. “Okay. Here’s what’s gonna happen: baby, you go and you break everyone out of here. Once you do, you go with them and take them far, far away from here, okay?”

“But, what are you gonna do? I can’t leave you and dad?”

“Yes you are, Y/N! You leave and you run and you keep going! Don’t stop and don’t come back. I’m gonna create a distraction to keep the witch busy. Then I’m gonna find your father and everything will be alright. Okay, baby? Can you do that for me?” She nods yes to your nodding no.

“No! Momma, I can’t leave you!” You cry out.

“Yes, you can. You will. And then tomorrow, we will go out for a snow cone like we always do for your birthday. Okay? It’s okay.”

“No, mom,” you keep saying.

“Yes. And look at this,” she pulls out a silver dagger, “here’s an early birthday present. Okay? Happy early sweet 17 Baby!” She pulls you in for another hug. She remains strong even as the world seemingly falls apart. “I love you, baby!” She says as she pulls away.

Lights flash. People scream. She’s gone.

After getting all the kids from the cages and taking them outside and down the street, you looked back at the witch's house. Your mother, your father, your life was still inside. And quickly, you too were inside.

You walked up from the basement, into the living room. You knew you were going against your mother's words, but you didn’t care. You needed to save them. You had to help them. You stood behind a big china cabinet in the dining room, watching as the witch had your parents pinned to the wall.

“This is what happens, you imbeciles, when you screw with me!” The witch shouted. “You die!” She started to choke your parents with just the formation of her hand.

“No!” You shouted as you leaped from behind your shield. “Let them go!” You ordered as you aimed your gun at the witches head.

“Oh, honey,” the witch says with a smile. “That was real stupid.” She lets your parents fall down and then she grabs a knife, turning her attention towards you.

Thud

“No!” You scream out as you go to your mother. Your father raced after the witch but you stood by your mother’s side. In shock. In peril. “No. No. No,” you say as tears start to form. This was all your fault. If you would’ve just stayed outside and listened to your mother, your now dying mother. Your mother who is bleeding out all over the floor from a knife to her heart. The same mother who jumped in front of you, is now choking on her own blood.

“Pr--Promise me..” She says as the blood overflows her mouth. “Take care of your father--take care--I love…” And with that, her last dying breath, she made you promise to take care of your father. A promise that you so stupidly and selfishly broke. Only two years later did you leave your loving dad. Only three years after that did your dad die, only two days after your own mother’s death anniversary. You left, they died. You tried, they died. No matter what you do, they still die. You killed them. It is all your fault. All of it is on you. All those lives and their blood are on your hands.

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

“Ah! Ah! No! Ah!” The screeches sounded worse than the sirens.

“Y/N!”

“Ah! Ah!”

“Y/N!”

“No! Ah! Ahh!”

“Y/N, wake up!”

“No!” You said as you shot up from the bed. Sam had his arms shaking you so that you could awake from your nightmare of memories.

“Hey! It’s okay!” Sam says as your heart beats faster and faster. He puts you into an embrace holding you tight and close as he rubs your back. “It’s okay.”

“No!” You say as your voice cracks.

“It’s okay. Deep breaths, Y/N. Deep breaths. Shh. Shh.” Sam tries to help you calm down.

“No,” you say, still stuck in the nightmare.

“Cas, get some water!” Sam orders. “It’s okay. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.” Sam pulls you away from him and props some pillows behind you. “It’s okay, Y/N. Here,” he says as he gives you some water.

You take a minute to stop the loud pounding in your chest. You notice the surroundings. It was Sam and Castiel in the motel room where they had last left you. The door looked as if it had been busted open while remaining on slightly damaged hinges.

You take a deep breath as Sam and Cas look at you while sitting on the bed. “What happened?” You say as you clear your throat.

“We didn’t hear from you yesterday,” Cas says. He was right. It had been three days since you found a new residence in this motel and you tried to send a text or a call every day. Yesterday, you just didn’t.

“Yeah, we figured we’d come by to check in one you. We came and then we heard the screams,” Sam continues.

“Yes, I knocked down the door so that we could make sure you were alright. Are you alright? Did someone do this to you?” Cas asks. Always worried.

“Ha,” you laugh sarcastically. “I wish someone did this to me. That way, I could kill them.” You smile trying to lighten the mood and take another sip of water, trying to strengthen your hoarse voice.

“What is it then?” Cas asks again.

You chuckle. “Sam knows. It’s called night terrors.”

“I didn’t know that you had them, Y/N,” Sam replies with a sincere voice.

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, pal.”

“Actually, Dean told us what happened.”

“Right.”

“I’m sorry for what happened, Y/N,” Cas says. “I would’ve never asked how you were if I knew how you were.”

“It’s alright, Cas. I think that’s how the whole asking thing works.” You smile trying to change the tone of the situation.

“Y/N?” Sam asks.

“Yep?”

“Why,” Sam takes a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell us that? That’s insane to keep all of that to yourself.”

“It--It’s sad. It’s my fault and I didn’t want you guys to think less of me. I mean, you’ve already accepted me as a part of your family, one which I do not belong in.”

“That’s not true, Y/N. It wasn’t your fault and you are just as much a part of this family as me, Dean, and Cas are family.” Sam goes in for another hug. “We love you, Y/N. So much. I love you and you don’t have to hide anything.”

“He’s right,” Cas adds. “About everything. I think of Sam and Dean as brothers just as much as I think of you as a sister.” You wipe your eyes and smile.

“You don’t have to deal with that type of stuff alone. We are here for you, right now.” Sam smiles at you. You look to Cas and he is doing the same.

“Okay,” you let out as you straighten your position on the bed.

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

You told them everything. You let it all out. For the first time, in ten years, you finally opened the memory drawer and viewed it all. Your life as a hunter, your mother’s death, your leaving your father, your father’s death, and you finally running away. You ran away and then ran to the Winchesters. The three of them had saved your life. Again. And again. And now. The cheesy therapy session that you had between Sam and Cas actually helped. That part of your life has left a scar but there’s no need to keep picking at it. It’s in the past. You’re in the present. Time to look to the future.

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

It had been a month since you left the bunker. Two weeks since you left the crappy motel room and instead moved to one of Bobby’s old hunting cabins. And one week since you last saw one of the boys. Sam and Cas would check in everyday. Occasionally they would even visit to bring some supplies or just to see how you were. You had worked a case or two with Cas while Sam was off doing who knows what with Dean. You hadn’t talked to Dean since that night. The night that he kissed you and instead of continuing the kiss, you had run away. You were still worried that Dean might try something again so you thought it would be best if you weren’t in communication with him. Cas said that Dean had managed it all by drinking, sleeping, and refusing to eat all day. He said that Dean would go out on a hunt then right back into his bed. Heartbroken. Sam summarized. Wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t even talk.

Heartbroken. Which one of you really were?

As soon as you could find a cure, Dean’s status would just fade away. You had kept looking as did the rest of the gang, for a cure. It still bothered you every time you picked up a book to fix the situation that you didn’t really wanna fix. Your heart? Would the pain just fade away? Would it only hurt worse once Dean sees how you used him while he was under the spell? How you messed with him? Kissed him? It wasn’t drastic but it was you and Dean. Something that you have wanted for so long. You can even remember the day that you fell for him.

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

Three years ago. Chesterfield, Missouri. Damn Nazis.

“Hey, hey! We’re good,” Dean says trying to convince the little girl who had ended up in the crossfire. “Everything’s fine. Okay? Just stay right here.” The little girl nods as she goes under the desk. “Good girl.”

“Where are they?!” You ask, trying to search the classrooms for the kid that the Thule had taken.

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” Dean says. He shoots two more guys as they walk into the art classroom with weapons aimed. “Uh, uh…. Hang on!” Dean rushes to a set of lockers.

“No!” A little boy cries out as Dean opens the door.

“Hey! Hey pal! It’s me,” Dean says warmly, trying to calm the child. “I need your help, kiddo.” The child nods his head. “Good. I need to know if there are any other exits in the school that you can think of. Any that aren’t the main or back entrance.”

“Um..” The kid thinks.

“Any places? Think real big for me.”

“The playground!”

“Playground! Great, where can we get to the playground?”

“In Mrs. Amber’s room in the east hall.” The kid nods in reassurance.

“Thanks, pal.” Dean shuts the locker again, keeping the boy safe and out of harm's way.

“East hall?” You ask. Dean nods.

“Where are the hunters?” Thule member number one asks. “Find them! Now!” He yells, sending away his fellow idiotic psychopaths in arms. He goes over to the little child who is cowering in the corner. “Little girl? Do you know why we are here?”

“N--no,” she replies so scared.

“Well. You are a very important child my dear,” he says as he brushes her hair.

“I am?” She croaks out.

“Oh, yes my child. Very, very important.” He pats the top of her head and moves over to a globe. “See this?” He asks, pointing to Germany.

“America?” She asks innocently.

He chuckles. “No. This is the great country called Germany. Not some putrid collection of simple-minded barbarians and their pig sties. This, right here, is your home little girl.” He smiles, terrifying the girl even more. “No, no, no my, Liebchen. Do not be scared. You are going to see your family.”

“No. I wanna stay. I want my momma!” She starts to break down crying again.

You hear the girls screams from the halls. You move closer to the source. Dean signals for you to take out the guards as he gets the girl. “One,” he mouths out, “two, three!”

You fight and take out the five guards that wanted a piece of you. Thankfully, they didn’t have a good grip on their guns as you were able to successfully kick them out of their hands. You knocked two of the guards out with a fist to the head. The other three all tried to go at you, as you did one groin punch to another.

Pow

“Ow,” you said as the shot hit your shoulder. You didn’t have time to think or cry. You snatched the gun of his hand and shot him, the two standing, and the two on the ground. You took your hand and placed it on the pain. Two inches to the right and you would’ve been done for.

“Y/N!” Dean yells as he sees the blood on your hand.

“Hey,” you say as you start to fall. Dean runs over to you, catching you right before you can hit the ground. “Did you get him?”

“Yeah, yeah. Are you okay?” Dean asks with a worried tone.

“I uh, got shot. Been better.” You smile.

Dean rolls his eyes as he can tell it isn’t serious. “Alright, slugger.” He lifts you up and he puts your arm around his shoulder as you head back to the classroom.

He sets you down at a desk as he starts to go over and gather all the children from their hiding spots.

You laugh a little in your head as you watched Dean take the hands of every boy and girl, escorting them outside. One after another, after another, until it was just you and him. He made sure every kid was out and away. Sam wouldn’t have done that. He would’ve just called the cops. Castiel wouldn’t have even thought to do it. He would be set on taking care of the bodies. But Dean, Dean made sure they were safe.

Dean had a gentle heart though his hard exterior may lead you to believe otherwise. Dean had always made you feel safe. It wasn’t that way with Cas or Sam. You trusted Dean. Even his gut feelings for things amazed you enough that you view it as fact. You knew Dean would be there to catch you. He always was. You always loved to pick on him and mess with him. Maybe it was because you couldn’t deal with the fact that he was pretty perfect. He was what you saw as being perfect. He could carry the world on his back while still making sure you, Sam, and Cas were okay. He went through it all and came out the other end. He never gave up. Never quit. It was him. It was always him.

Dean shut the car’s door and moved over to you in the seat. “Alright, lemme see.” He said as he pulled you close to him.

“What about the bodies?” You asked as you backed away.

“Sam can take care of it. He hasn’t done anything else today,” he answers as he pulls you close again.

“I’m fine,” you say as you slide away again. Dean rolls his eyes and pulls you back in close to him.

“Let me see.”

“No, I'm fine.”

“Well, if you’re fine then why won’t you let me see?”

You throw your head back and huff. “Fine.” You start to unbutton your flannel and strip down to your tank top. You show the wound to Dean. “There. I’m fine.” You start to pull on your shirt but Dean stops you.

“Would you quit it? Why won’t you let me help you?” Dean asks frustrated.

“Cause I don’t want your help if I can do it myself,” you answer.

“When are you gonna realize that you aren’t on your own anymore?” Dean pulls a first aid kit from under the seat. “And I know you can do it yourself but I’m here so you don’t have to.”

“I know I'm not on my own. I just don’t want to have to depend on you.” Dean wets the cloth with alcohol and places it on the wound. “Ow,” you wince.

“Well,” Dean dabs the spot and puts more alcohol on it. “Yes, you don’t have to depend on me but you also can. And I’d take advantage of that cause I die often.” He takes some gauze and wraps it around your shoulder. “You should enjoy me while you can, sweetheart,” he says with a smile.

You pull your shirt back on and button it up. “Yeah, quit dying, Winchester. It isn’t an achievement.”

“Right, but you’re just saying that cause you're a death virgin,” he smirks.

“What?! Really? You're gonna play that card?”

“Don’t worry. I don’t judge. In fact, I think it’s very pure of you,” he says with a chuckle.

“If you want me to die then I’ll go and get myself killed! You really want that?!” You say with a rising anger towards Dean’s snarky comments.

“No,” he says with a sincere tone. “I don’t want that, believe it or not.”

“Really?” You say, surprised with his shift in tone. “Why?”

“I’d uh, I’d miss you. You’re family and I’ve already lost so much. I don't want to lose my best friend too.” He looks at you as he fiddles with his keys. “So don’t die. Don’t ever die. Don’t you dare cause if you do,” he looks at you with a stern face, “I’ll kill you.” He smiles as you roll your eyes.

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

That’s when you feel in love with Dean Winchester.

After saving the kids and the moment in the car, you could tell that you had fallen head over heels for him. The last thing that you remember about that day was getting blackout drunk, and magically waking up in your bed the next morning. But you realized after your hangover that alcohol wasn’t gonna make those feelings go away.

Now, you just wish you could magically wake up from this dream. This nightmare. You hated being away from the boys, your family. Diving into cures for Dean’s ailment was a priority. You wish you could focus more. You wish you could want it more. Sure, you wanted the real Dean back but this Dean, this Dean made you feel good about yourself. This Dean looked at you like you wish he would. Dean meant so much to you and you wished you meant something to him too. You loved him. It wasn’t because of his looks or his intelligence. It wasn’t because his strength or his wit. It was his heart. His kind and loving and caring heart. The heart that sold his soul for his brother, forgave his best friend after he wronged him, and gave you redemption when you needed it.

You miss that heart.

You want that foolish heart back.

You are gonna get that heart back or die trying.

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

Bzz. Bzz.

You searched the room for your phone. You had the books scattered about the cabin and would trip over them every night and morning. It was all just one big blur. You would spend hours a day, if not the whole day, researching a cure to get Dean back. Anything and everything seemed to be a viable option.

Bzz. Bzz.

“Hello?” You asked as you picked up the phone.

“Y/N?” Sam called.

“Hey, Sam! What’s up? How is he?” You take a seat on the couch.

“He’s uh, he, he’s the same,” Sam struggles to say.

“Right,” you sigh. “Heartbroken.”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N. You did what you thought was best when you left. It’s not your fault that he’s like this.”

“Yeah, but it’s not not my fault either,” you try to explain.

“Do I miss my brother?” Sam says with a saddened tone. “Yeah, I do. But that’s why I called.” Sam pauses to take a breath. “I think we’ve got something.”

“What?” You ask.

“It’s time you come home, Y/N.”

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

“Y/N!” Sam shouts as he walks over to hug you.

“Sam!” You wrap your arms around him.

“I’ve missed you, Y/N. I’m happy you’re home.” He smiles.

“Me too and well, me too,” you say with a laugh. “Is Cas here?”

“No, he had to do something with Heaven.”

“And you let him go?! You know they want to kill him right?!”

“Yes! Yes. I know but he said he had to.”

“I’m gone for one month and already Cas is possibly in danger,” you sigh but give a sly smile.

“I know!” Sam says sarcastically. “Without you, it’s been one great big ball of chaos. I mean, no one to boss us around or make us dinner. No one to do our laundry!”

“Oh, shut up!” You say as you hit him on his shoulder. “Speaking of chaos though,” you say shyly, “where is he?”

“In his room. I told him what was going on and he thought that he should just stay out of the way.”

“Good,” you say unconvincingly. You missed him.

“I’m glad you're back, Y/N.” Sam says with a smile.

“And now that I am, what have you got?”

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

You and Sam had set up shop in the Library, going through one book after another. Sam had found an old book that had about two-hundred different spells and cures in all sorts of different languages. He called you because you just happened to be bilingual. One translation led to a book and another translation to another. It took about six hours straight till needing a break got to you. But you wouldn’t quit.

“Come on,” Sam said as he begged you to stop reading for just a second. “We’ve been looking at this all night. Give it a break.”

“No. We are so close. I can feel it,” you reply without even taking your eyes off the page.

“The more you try to figure this out, the worse of a headache you’re gonna get.”

You stare at the page and notice something. You grab the magnifying glass from the table and examine the seam of the page.

“What is it?” Sam asks, noticing your shift.

“It’s the page.”

“What about it?”

“It’s missing.” You look up at him as you both share a thought.

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

“Dean!” You yell as you race down the hall to his bedroom. You start banging on his bedroom door. “Open up the damn door now!” You shout.

The door opens slowly and you push through and start rummaging through the desk drawers. You take notice of all the empty bottles. From beer to vodka. They filled the empty space in the room.

“Where is it?! And don’t play dumb with me cause I know you took the page!” You turn to look at him. You see him for the first time since that night.

He stares at the ground with his head hung low. He has a short beard. Grown out his stubble. His complexion is paler than you've ever seen before. His freckles are showing all over his face. Under his eyes are dark circles. He’s the worst shape you’ve ever seen him in other than when he is bloodied and covered in bruises. But this was different. You could hear his heavy breaths. They were uneven. He was nervous. He looked lost. He wouldn’t let himself look at you. He was backed in the corner, scared like. He was heartbroken. Just like they said he was. Only you couldn’t picture a heartbroken Dean. This was awful and unlike any state you’ve ever seen him in. You hated to see him like this.

“Where is it?” You ask sincerely. He turns his head away, still refusing to look at you. “Dean, tell me where it is?” He stares at the ground. You turn back around and keep going through his drawers. “This would go a lot faster if you would just tell me where the page is, Dean.” You go through the box under his bed. “Why would you take it? You could’ve stopped so much from happening if you just told us you found the cure.” You find a folded page placed in a notebook.

It was it. You found the cure.

You shake your head at Dean. This all could’ve been avoided if he would’ve just fessed up to the knowing the antidote. You could cure him now. You could fix him. It would all be over. It would all just be over. You headed to the door and were going to go back to Sam and fix up a reverse spell.

“I know you’re in love with me,” you hear Dean say. His voice stops you in your tracks. The voice sounds so deep. Heavy and burdened. You turn around to see Dean standing there with tear-filled eyes. You look at him confused about his remark. “I hid the cure cause I know you're in love with me, Y/N.”

Your heart drops. “What?” You say as your voice cracks.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you and I know you're in love with me. I hid it cause I wanted you to be happy. To be happy with me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He looks at you so lost. He looks so hurt and in so much pain.

“Dean,” you try to say but instead he rushes over and just holds you tight.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he puts his one hand on the back of your head, pushing it close to him while his other hand is wrapped around your waist. “I just have to make sure you’re real.” You wrap your arms around him and squeeze him tight.

“I’m real, Dean.” You look up to the lost boy as he looks down at you. You go to sit on the edge of the bed as you take Dean’s hand so he does the same. “Dean, we have to fix you.” The words cut your throat as they come out. “We have to fix this.” Dean tilts his head down as tears start to fall from his eyes. You put your hand on the side of his face to get him to look at you.

Poor Dean. Poor, sad, heartbroken, in pain, Dean.

“I just… I just am so happy. For the first time in forever, I’m happy, Y/N. And it’s because of you.”

“Dean, it’s not real. This isn’t real.”

“It’s real enough. I’m not hiding anything. I don’t feel burdened. I don’t feel bad, I feel great. When I see you, I get butterflies in my stomach. I feel faint just by looking at you. Your my compass, always steering me straight. I’m a wreck without you. I just want you. I want you and me till the end of time.”

“No, Dean. This isn’t really how you feel. You’ve got to know that this is just the spell.”

“I know I love you. I know you love me. And I know the only way to prove it to you is to do the reverse spell.”

“You--you wanna do it?” You asked, shocked.

“I know you’ll never accept that I love you while I’m under the spell. And you’ll never love me back while like this. I loved you before the spell and if fixing me and taking away my happiness is how I can finally get you, then it is worth it.”

You close your eyes, overwhelmed that Dean is more onboard than you seem to be. You can feel his hand on your face and as you open your eyes you see his bright emerald eyes.

“Dean…” you almost start to cry.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He smiles at you and you laugh a little. “I just want you to be happy.”

You take a deep breath and start to get up and walk towards the door. You feel Dean tug on your hand and pull you back. You turn back to look at him as he hangs on to your hand.

“Please,” he says. “Please don’t go again. Stay. Please.”

Without any objection, you walk back towards the bed with your hand in Dean’s. You lay on top of the covers facing Dean. He turns off the light and you just stare at each other. Hand in hand. Your eyes slowly close as you drift off into sleep.

“Tomorrow's Gonna Be a Brighter Day.” - Jim Croce

—————————————————————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed it!

Tag list is open!

@crazybutconfidentaf @doctorlilo @pillowjj @busy-bee-angel-misska @vicmc624

Chapter seven: Beautiful Sunday

#dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #castiel #fiction #lovespell #supernatural fandom #spellsouttrouble

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whump-tr0pes · 4 years

Text

Honor Bound 2 - 32

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound.

AO3

Thank you to everyone who came to the livewrite for this!!! I had the time of my life watching y’all scream over my dumbasses. You have no idea how hard it was to write this with y’all screaming MAKE THEM FUUUUUUUUCK and not actually do it. So I love you. You’re my people.

The spice will come later I promise.

Cw: blood, gore, nightmare monsters with pointy teeth (idk dude I creeped myself out writing it), mention of past rape and torture, mention of really, really bad parents enabling/encouraging torture, tricky ex-whumper/whumpee dynamics

Gavin was home again.

He knew it immediately. The walls, the pictures on them, the carpet, the light, the smell, it was all exactly how he remembered it. Years ago, or weeks ago? He wasn’t sure. He just knew he was home.

He wandered through the front door, dragging his fingers along the wall, looking around at the place that seemed frozen in time.

When’s the last time I was here? Years ago, or weeks ago?

He shrugged and kept moving.

He passed the grand staircase, disappearing into shadows upstairs. Where his bedroom was, and his parents’ bedroom. And his play room, now turned into a study for when he wanted to work from home. A coat closet to his left. A bathroom to his right. Past a corner, into a living room. A kitchen, off to his right. A room at the end of the hallway, where he had spent hours playing under his father’s desk while he worked. “Come here, Gavin. Look at this map. We’ll learn the cities together. Soon it’ll be yours.”

It was exactly the same as he remembered it— Years ago, or weeks ago? What did it matter? It was perfect. He ran his hand along his father’s desk, the low set of drawers along the wall.

The hair on the back of Gavin’s neck stood up. He heard breathing behind him. Not the kind of breathing that comes from a normal human throat.

Icy terror poured down his spine as his hands clenched into fists. No. No no no no no.

“Gavin.”

The sound of his father’s shredded voice clutched Gavin’s heart. A shudder rippled through him. He closed his eyes, praying that if he didn’t look, it would go away. He wouldn’t have to see it. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he felt breath on the back of his neck.

He spun around in a panic, his hands flying out in front of his face to protect himself. Still several feet away, his father stood, looking at him.

His throat was completely torn away, gaping raggedly, blood bubbling in the deep tear that disappeared into his neck. His father’s eyes were blank and clouded, like his soul was already gone, as he stood there staring at Gavin.

Gavin pressed himself back against the drawers, heart beating out of his chest. “D-dad…”

His father’s voice gurgled out of him. “Hello, son.”

“P-please, no, I don’t… please…”

His father grinned. “Want to see me make her good again?”

Gavin’s stomach dropped, and he gagged. “No. No no no no I don’t want that. Dad. No.”

Gavin blinked.

There was someone else standing behind his father. She looked like Vera, felt like Vera. He knew she was Vera.

But her mouth gaped open with razor sharp teeth, pointed and deadly.

She looked like a monster.

Gavin shivered. “No. No no fuck, Vera, I’m sorry, please no…”

His father’s hand closed around Vera’s hair and forced her to her knees.

“No no no, dad no…” Gavin staggered a step forward, his hand outstretched.

Vera lunged forward and snapped her teeth at Gavin’s hand.

He screamed and fell backwards, bashing his head against the drawers behind him. His father barked out a wet, shrieking laugh. “I told you. She’s feral.” He jerked her back to her knees and stared down at her with a smile on his vacant face. “This is why I had to make her good.”

“Dad, you…” Gavin got to his feet, forcing down the bile that clawed up his throat as he stared at his father. “You made her like this!”

His father chuckled and loosened his hold on Vera’s hair. “You want me to let her go, then? You want me to let her get you?”

“N-no, please, just… Why did you…” Gavin choked down tears. “Why did you do this?”

“I told you, son,” his father croaked. “I told you from the beginning. What you feel is right, no matter what. They exist to be our—”

“No!” Gavin shouted. “They don’t! You… she wouldn’t be this way if you didn’t…” He gasped and his eyes snapped to Vera.

She was fighting his father’s hold, writhing against the hand in her hair, clawing her way towards Gavin. Her eyes bored into his, and blood dripped down her chin from her teeth. She snarled at him wordlessly.

“Please,” he whispered to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Her lips pulled back over her teeth. She broke his father’s hold and threw herself on top of him, snapping at his throat.

“No!”

Gavin pushed away from the weight on top of him, sobbing. “No no no no no please!”

“Gavin.”

He knew that voice. It wasn’t Vera’s.

“Gavin.”

“No,” he whimpered, flailing in the dark.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” The weight disappeared, and Gavin slumped back to the bed, sobbing with relief. The light blazed on and Gavin flinched back, covering his eyes. The sheets tightened around him and he thrashed, panicking.

“For fuck’s sake, Gavin, calm the fuck down. It’s me.”

Gavin shuddered. “I-Isaac?”

“Yeah, dumbass.” Gavin’s eyes slowly focused. Isaac was standing by the door, his arms folded over his chest, his face like a storm cloud.

Gavin trembled and pulled at the sheets. “I… Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Isaac grit his teeth. “Well, you did. I’m going back to bed.” He reached for the nightswitch.

Gavin’s stomach lurched. “Isaac, please.” Isaac stopped at whatever he heard in Gavin’s voice. “Can you just… just wait?”

Isaac stared into the hallway, his throat working around a swallow. A muscle stood out in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

Tears burned in Gavin’s eyes, and he looked down, mortified. “I… I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m… just really fucking freaked out right now.”

Isaac dragged his hand across his face. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mumbled, so quietly Gavin almost missed it. Then he turned and leaned up against the doorframe. “Okay. What do you want?”

I want to not be so fucking scared all the time. “Please. I just…” Gavin’s head fell forward into his hands. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Isaac crossed his arms across his chest. His hands were squeezed into fists. He stared at Gavin with a look that could have been disgust, if there wasn’t that flicker of fear behind it. Gavin’s heart clenched with shame. Yeah, no shit, dumbass. You fucking tortured him.

I never broke him, though.

Gavin picked at the bedspread. “I’m sorry it was, um, you.” Gavin stole a glance at Isaac where he stood.

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “Sorry what was me?”

“I’m um, sorry you’re the one I woke up. I guess I…” He fell silent.

Isaac blew out a scornful-sounding breath. “It’s not exactly like you have your pick here of people you haven’t fucking traumatized.”

Gavin swallowed. “I… I know. I’m s—”

“Don’t,” Isaac growled. “Don’t fucking say you’re sorry.”

Gavin chewed his lip. “Then what the fuck do you want me to say?”

Isaac ground his teeth together and for a moment, Gavin thought Isaac might beat him to death right here. If I’ve gotta go out some way…

Instead, Isaac slid to the ground. He pressed his face into his hands. “Ugh.” The sound came out muffled.

Gavin twisted the sheets between his hands, his heart still beating hard in his chest.

“I…” Isaac dropped his hands and stared at the ceiling. “I want you to say…” Isaac shook his head. “I don’t know what the fuck I want you to say. The damage has been done.”

Gavin’s throat tightened with a sob. “I… I kn-know I, um, damaged you.”

Isaac’s eyes snapped to Gavin’s. “Oh, fuck you.”

Gavin swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Isaac smoothly got to his feet and took a step towards the bed. “You don’t know fucking damage. You don’t know a fucking thing.”

Gavin pressed himself back against the headboard. “I—”

“Shut up,” Isaac snapped. “You don’t know how it feels to look at your two best friends and watch them fucking break because of something some entitled, sadistic asshole decided to do because it was a fucking Tuesday. You don’t know how it feels to watch every single person you love dragged into the middle of a room and tortured in the worst possible way. You don’t know a fucking thing.” Isaac’s hands curled into fists. “Do you fucking understand?”

A tear escaped to run down Gavin’s cheek and he nodded, cringing backways. “Yes. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Isaac’s body shuddered forward. “I don’t understand why Gray won’t let me fucking kill you.”

Gavin held a hand out in front of him. As if he could protect himself from Isaac. As if he could try. “P-please don’t.”

Isaac squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving. “Fuck,” he whispered. He blew out a slow, forceful breath. “Fuck.” He took a step back. Then another. He opened his eyes. His face was pulled into such a look of anguish that Gavin felt it like a physical pain. Isaac fell back another step, against the doorframe, and slid to the floor again.

Gavin cast around for something that would be helpful to say.

“Um…” He bit his lip. “I’m… I’m not a sadist anymore?”

Isaac looked murderous.

Oh. I fucked up.

Gavin frantically backpedaled. “Oh, fuck. I mean, um, I… I won’t do it again. And… and I don’t want to do it again. I just want—” He cut himself off as Isaac turned an alarming shade of red. Gavin’s mouth snapped shut.

“What,” Isaac snarled through his teeth, “Do you want. I’m dying to fucking know.”

Gavin’s vision blurred with tears. He bit down hard on his lip, trying to keep the tears from spilling. If I tell him, he’s going to kill me.

He’s never going to fucking trust me until I do.

Gavin swallowed, pressing the sleeves of his sleeping shirt against his eyes. “Um. I…” He blew out a shaky breath, considering for a moment it might be his last. “I… just… want to feel like I have a family again.”

Gavin held his breath. Waited for Isaac to launch himself across the room and bash his skull in like he so looked like he wanted to do just about constantly. Gavin didn’t move an inch. Waiting.

He started to get dizzy from the lack of oxygen. He dragged in a gasp and dared to peek over his hands at Isaac’s face.

Isaac had gone a ghostly white, looking at Gavin with something that surpassed horror. Gavin’s heart sunk in his chest.

“And you want… you want… my family?” Isaac rasped. His lips trembled.

“I don’t want to… to steal them, or anything, I mean…” Gavin wrapped his arms tight around his chest. “I mean…” He shook his head. “I thought…” His voice wavered. He tried again. “Everything about my family was, um. Was a lie. I thought they loved me. I thought they… they gave a fuck about me. But I’m, um… I’m starting to realize… they only ever loved me when I was, um. Like them. They… they ignored me when I did anything else. When I, um. Wanted. Anything else. And I…” He gasped, holding his hand out to Isaac. “I’m not trying to say I had it worse. Okay? I’m not. I swear. But… I never knew there was, um, anything else. I should have fucking known, okay? But… it… um… h-hurting people was, was all I was ever good at. And I was good at it. I never had to do anything else. I never had to, um, learn to be anything else. And then… when I didn’t want that anymore…” Gavin swallowed the burning sensation in his throat and closed his eyes. “Um… as soon as I was, um, someone else, someone who was, um, broken, they… she… threw me out. But you…” Gavin shuddered, sure he was pushing too far, that he would say the wrong thing, that he would ruin everything more than it had already been ruined. “Everyone’s, um, broken. Here. And you all…” He couldn’t say it.

“We what?”

Gavin opened his eyes and looked at Isaac. He had his hands at his sides, still curled into fists, his breaths moving fast through his chest. Gavin steadied his breath.

“Everyone’s broken here. And you all still love each other.”

Isaac leaned back against the doorframe, his eyes still fixed on Gavin. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and breathed slow.

Gavin swallowed hard. “And I want that, too.”

Isaac opened his mouth to speak. Closed it. Opened it. Closed it again.

Gavin buried his face in his hands. Fuck.

“You wanted a family, so you went and found the family you tortured?” There was something in Isaac’s voice Gavin couldn’t place. He didn’t raise his head.

“You are, um, good people. Good people are easy to hurt but, um, I don’t want to, uh, hurt you.”

“You almost took my family away from me,” Isaac whispered. “Do you fucking remember that? Is that even real to you?”

Gavin lifted his head. The pain that dragged at Isaac’s face made Gavin’s throat tight.

“Do you fucking remember holding a gun to Sam’s head and telling me you’d kill them if I didn’t fucking torture them? My fucking sibling?”

Gavin clenched his teeth together. He nodded.

“Do you remember torturing my best friend with the man who raped her and tortured her for months?”

Gavin opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t fucking say you didn’t know about the rapes. I’ve already fucking heard it. If you didn’t know, then you’re an idiot.”

“I am an idiot, Isaac,” Gavin whispered. “That’s what I’ve tried to fucking tell you.”

Isaac laughed once, bitterly, and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Are you even the same fucking person?”

Gavin swallowed. “Yeah. Just… minus everything that made me who I was, yeah.”

Isaac snorted. “Then there wasn’t much to you in the first place, was there?”

Gavin’s mouth twisted. “Don’t be an asshole, Isaac.”

“God forbid there be two in the room,” Isaac snapped.

Gavin laughed tightly, darkly. “See, this is why I—” OH GOD DON’T FUCKING SAY THAT.

“Why you what?” Isaac’s eyes narrowed.

—why I loved torturing you. The rapport. Gavin shook his head. “Can I just say it was something really, really stupid that I don’t wanna say and call it good?”

Isaac stared at him for a moment, then let his head thump back against the doorframe. “Sure. Why the fuck not.”

Gavin breathed out a desperate sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he wheezed.

Isaac tapped his fingers against his legs. After a moment, he said, “Dare I ask what your fucking nightmare was about?”

Gavin’s eyes widened. “Um. No. Oh no no no.” He really will kill me. I can’t fucking tell him that.

Isaac tilted his head. “No, I really wanna know. What scares Gavin fucking Stormbeck?” His tone was taunting, but he wasn’t radiating the murderous rage Gavin always seemed to cause in him.

“Um…” Gavin closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again as an image of Vera with teeth like a fucking anglerfish flashed through his mind. “Ugh. Fuck. You have to, um, promise not to get mad.”

Isaac’s face darkened. “No I fucking don’t.”

Gavin bit his lip. “Well, I… I can’t fucking help what my subconscious thinks of, right?”

Isaac said nothing, just stared at Gavin with a snarl on his face.

Gavin’s head thumped back against the headboard. “Fucking fine.” Just thinking of it made his stomach clench with fear. “Um… I had a dream I was um, at my house, where Vera, um… Where my, uh, dad was killed. And he was there, looking all bloody and fucking horrifying. And Vera was there, too, looking like a fucking… well, like a fucking nightmare, with sharp teeth and shit, like she always does…”

“Wait… ‘like she always does’?” Isaac’s eyes narrowed.

“I, um.” Gavin looked down at the bedspread thinking, for not the first time tonight, that this is when Isaac would kill him. “I’ve, um, ha-had nightmares about Vera, um, killing my dad. Every…” He drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “...every fucking night.”

Isaac leaned back, considering that. “Oh. Holy shit.” A smile quirked at his lips. “She’d be fucking thrilled to know that.”

“Yeah, I bet she fucking would,” Gavin grumbled. He glanced up and saw Isaac’s eyes fixed on him again. Agh, fuck. He shook his head and kept going. “So she, um, was there, with my dad, and my d-dad said he would, um, let her…” Another slow breath. “Let her get me if I didn’t want to…” Gavin’s eyes flicked to Isaac’s again. Yup. He’s gonna fucking murder me for this. “He said he would let her get me if I didn’t, um, want to watch him…” He squeezed his eyes shut, terrified to look at Isaac while he said it. “...make her good.”

Gavin flinched back, eyes still desperately squeezed shut, at Isaac’s soft intake of breath. He braced himself, shivering against the headboard.

Nothing moved for a moment.

“And what the fuck did you say?” Isaac growled at him.

“I… I didn’t want him to. I wanted him to stop.” Gavin shuddered. “I just wanted him to fucking stop.”

For a moment there was nothing but the sound of their breathing.

There was a rustle of movement and Gavin’s eyes flew open. Isaac stood from his spot against the doorframe and leaned against the wall.

“I…” Isaac said softly. He wet his lips and tried again. “I don’t know how I can ever trust you.”

Let me earn it.

Can I earn it?

I want to earn it.

“I… I know.” Gavin’s voice creaked out of him, heavy with sadness.

“No. Do you understand what you’ve done to me and my family?”

Gavin was silent.

Isaac shook his head. “I don’t know how I can trust you,” he said again, quieter. He turned to leave, his hand reaching for the lightswitch.

“No, please,” Gavin breathed.

Isaac paused in the doorway.

Gavin swallowed. “L-leave the, um, the light on. Please.”

Isaac dropped his hand and left.

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @insomniacscoprio, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @neutralcinnamon, @thatsthewhump, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @orchidscript

#honor bound 2 #whump #nightmare #blood tw #gore tw #scary Vera tw #(seriously she scary)#fuck joseph stormbeck #The Thing #whumper POV #hurt/comfort #mostly comfort #begging #isaac's PTSD #gavin is my bisexual disaster child #in which Gavin is such a dumbass #gavin's redemption arc #my oc: Gavin

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Of Comfort and Cup Noodles

Category: Hurt and Comfort

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Ochako Uraraka, Fumikage Tokoyami

Requested By: generic-goblin (Tumblr)

Hey, everybody! Here’s another story for @bnhabookclub’s Bingo Event for the prompt “Bad News”! Enjoy~

Ochako hummed happily to herself as she watched the cup of instant ramen slowly spin in the microwave. Her brown eyes focused on the bubbling water slipping out of the lid to roll in steaming droplets down the patterned plastic side. Her mouth watered as her mind danced with visions of soft noodles, hearty vegetables, and tender meat. She’d scored some high-scale ramen at a supermarket sale, so Ochako vibrated with excitement, simply dying to taste the fancy noodles from which she was typically barred. She watched the seconds tick down with mounting excitement. Before the microwave even had a chance to beep with the finished countdown, she popped the machine open.

“Oh my Goooooood,” she exhaled exultantly as the aroma of cooked ramen wafted up her nose. Her eyelashes fluttered with ecstasy just smelling it, so naturally, her tastebuds tingled in rapt anticipation. Using a dishtowel to transport the hot cup, she scurried over to her small table and set the cup down. Wielding her chopsticks in one hand, she slowly peeled the lid back and watched with dilated pupils as hot steam billowed from within. The noodles looked simply perfect bobbing in the light brown broth, and a thick slice of chicken surrounded by green onions, spinach, and carrots practically screamed at her to be eaten. Laughing almost maniacally with exaltation, she plucked the meat from the broth, which dripped deliciously from its off-white surface. Ochako blew on it briefly before slipping it into her mouth. With a delighted, muffled squeal, she melted against the floor, having achieved nirvana with just one bite.

“Soooo gooooood,” she groaned blissfully. The ramen was seasoned to perfection, and the healthy blend of vegetables only added to the delectable taste. She flopped back up and began digging into the ramen with gusto, savoring each swathe of noodles with airy giggles before inhaling some more. She was so enraptured with her meal that she didn’t notice that her phone was ringing until she almost missed the call.

“Hello? Hello?” she cried into the phone as she hurriedly picked it up, her voice slightly distorted from the noodles still shoved into her mouth. She quickly swallowed, beaming when her mother voiced greeting on the other end of the line. “Oh, hi, Mom! What’s up?” she asked and pushed the ramen aside to hold conversation properly. They made pleasant small talk, but there was a particular strain in her mother’s voice that had Ochako’s nerves buzzing suspiciously. When her mother abruptly sighed, Ochako inquired, “Mom? Is everything all right?” Silence hummed in the other end of the line for several seconds.

“I don’t know, ‘Chako,” her mother finally admitted in a small voice. Unnerved, Ochako tucked her legs under herself and narrowed her eyes.

“What is it?”

“Your father… His company lost a really, really big building deal.” Ochako gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth in shock. Her mother’s voice shook tremulously as she struggled not to cry, but Ochako could practically hear the fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “He’s been working so hard to score this contract for three months… But the investors went with someone else. It’s already so difficult finding projects in the winter,” her mother lamented woefully. “This was our only shot. I don’t know what we’re going to do, Ochako. The bills are mounting up, and I just… I just…” Her mother trailed off into bitter sobs.

“Mom, it’ll be okay,” Ochako offered weakly. She wanted to help her mother, but the fear crept up, spilling a dreadful cold feeling through every inch of her body. “You know… It always is,” she continued lamely. Ochako struggled to offer encouragement to the weeping woman, but every forced reassurance fell pitifully short. After about five minutes of weak consoling, her mother quietly thanked Ochako for listening and assured her not to worry about her parents’ financial struggles. By this time, her body had gone painfully numb. Ochako couldn’t even feel her limb moving as she slowly lowered her cell phone to the table. She stared down at the half-finished bowl of ramen, and her belly twisted with nausea.

Guilt swept through her like a tidal wave. Sure, she’d gotten the ramen on sale, but she’d still splurged and spent an extra dollar or two on the package. How could she be so selfish when her parents were literally struggling to make ends meet? Shameful tears burned in the corners of her eyes; as they slipped down her cheeks, they felt like lava, searing marks into her skin. She pushed the cup away, no longer able to bear the thought of finishing it. She had no right.

Ochako pressed her face into her palms as sobs gripped her body. “Oh, Mama… Oh, Papa… I’m so sorry!” she cried petulantly. In her anguish, she didn’t think to quiet her crying, and instead wailed openly. Mina’s room was down the hall, and the bubbly pink girl frequently spent her evenings in the first-floor common area, so by all rights, Ochako thought no one would hear her sobbing.

That’s why the light, timid knock at her dorm room door nearly startled her out of her skin.

“Uraraka?” The wood muffled the voice, making it difficult for her to hear who exactly it was, but it sounded like one of the boys. “Uraraka, are you… okay? I heard… I heard you crying.” Ochako shakily stood up and swiped at her face, trying to conceal the evidence of her misery.

“I-I’m coming!” she cried, stumbling over herself to get to the door. In her clumsiness, she banged her shin against the corner of the table. She swallowed a pained squeal and stood there for a second to let the burning pain subside. “J-just a second!” she called, her voice now several octaves higher, as she slowly limped to the door. She tossed her hair from her face as she opened it, forcing a bright, fake grin on her face. “Oh, hey, Tokoyami!” she cheerfully greeted the feathered boy standing at her door.

Fumikage inspected her critically.

“Uh… Are you okay?” Fumikage asked suspiciously. Ochako’s cheesy grin didn’t falter as she leaned casually against the door frame, mentally cursing as her shin flared with pain once more.

“I-I, of course, why wouldn’t I be okay?” she asked with a nervous chuckle. Fumikage’s red eyes looked her up and down, drinking in her very disheveled appearance.

“Uh-huh…” he droned disbelievingly. “Well, I was just at Shoji’s room,” he explained while pointing over his shoulder, “and when I was heading to the stairs, I heard you crying… pretty loud…”

“Are you sure it’s not Mina? She’s been soooooo stressed about the upcoming winter finals.”

“Mina’s downstairs.”

“Ummm, someone’s television could be on…”

“Please stop lying to me, Uraraka. I’d rather you just tell me that you don’t want to talk about it.” Ochako’s plastic smile fell from her face immediately to crash at her feet like porcelain, making her nerves prickle up her legs. Fumikage’s eyes had taken on an irritatedly concerned aura, and it felt like those ruby irises bored straight into her soul. Ochako’s bottom lip wobbled as she stared at him culpably.

I do want to talk about it, she realized sadly. With a troubled sigh, she stepped aside and tiredly gestured for Fumikage to enter. He hesitated a second, jerking as he debated stepping over the threshold, before stiffly walking into the room. Ochako swung the door closed and then walked over to her bed, where she slumped onto it like a bag of lard.

Fumikage leaned against the wall opposite her and crossed his arms, capturing her in an intense but not judgemental gaze. “So, what happened?” Ochako played with her fingers for a minute before answering.

“My parents are having money problems…” she admitted in a tiny voice. “My dad works in construction, and he just lost a huge contract that would’ve floated them through the winter. It’s hard to get work during the winter season because the cold makes construction work difficult… They were really relying on this contract, and now, my mom isn’t sure they’ll be able to make their bills.” Her lips trembled as she slid her teary gaze to the now lukewarm cup of gourmet ramen on her table. “And here I am… splurging my allowance on stupid gourmet ramen while my parents are struggling,” she moped with a sob and buried her face into her hands. “I’m so selfish and greedy!” she wailed.

“Uraraka!” Fumikage cried, and she could hear him stumble forward by the sounds of his unsteady footsteps over the wood floor. Ochako peered through her fingers to find him standing in front of her, hands fluttering around her form but too nervous to actually touch her. Eventually, he grabbed her wrists to gently lower her hands from her face and rest them in her lap. Muted, Ochako allowed the boy to manipulate her body like a puppet, finding a strange comfort in his guiding movements. Fumikage exhaled deeply and sank onto the bed beside her, pressing himself slightly against her in a soothing fashion. “Uraraka… You aren’t selfish or greedy.”

The girl cast another remorseful glance at the cup ramen on the table. Before she could voice opposition, Fumikage gently grabbed her chin and turned her face back to him. A blush crept into her cheeks as his fingers slowly fell from her face in a gentle caress. “You’re not. Your parents’ troubles aren’t your fault, and so you don’t need to punish yourself with guilt over some ramen.” Hearing it out loud solidified how absurd her feelings were, making her snivel. She shifted nervously and looked down at her lap.

“You’re right… How silly of me…”

“It’s not silly,” he objected with a kind smile. When Ochako looked up at him, he turned nervous and twiddled his fingers. “I-I mean, it’s not uncommon to feel bad and shoulder the burdens of your parents…” he explained quickly. “But I’m sure they don’t want you to do that. I’m sure they’d much rather you be smiling and enjoying yourself,” he said with another look into her face. Ochako blinked, surprised by the wisdom of his advice, and then smiled warmly.

“Yeah… You’re right. Thank you,” Ochako said. She genuinely felt a lot better, and she rose from the bed to stretch her arms over her head. “I feel loooooads better!” she crowed. Tokoyami jumped at her sudden outburst, but then chuckled and stood up beside her.

“I’m relieved.”

“You’re so kind for coming to check on me, Tokoyami,” Ochako beamed, clasping her hands behind her back and smiling radiantly at him. Fumikage flushed and nervously shifted his feet with shy mumbles. When he mentioned something about excusing himself, Ochako grabbed the hem of his shirt. “No, no! Please stay. If you’re not doing anything else, of course,” she asked with a flutter of her eyelashes. If his face wasn’t covered in dark black feathers, she was sure his face would be beet-red. “I’ve got another packet of that gourmet ramen. We can share it.”

“What? No, Ochako, I couldn’t-” he began to stammer, but in that moment, Dark Shadow sprang out of him with a delighted squeal.

“Ramen! Ramen!” the shadowy spirit demanded insistently. Ochako giggled and patted the bird-like spirit’s head, then proceeded to prepare two more packets of the ramen for them. Fumikage flapped anxiously around her as she filled the two noodle cups with water.

“O-Ochako, you spent money on that… I simply couldn’t!” he protested. Ochako ignored him as she popped the first one into the microwave.

“Nonsense,” she said while starting the timer. She looked over her shoulder at him with a sweet smile. “You helped me deal with my bad news. Besides, a meal is always better when you have someone to share with!” Fumikage blinked at her, then resigned himself to the situation with an amused smile.

“Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.” Ochako hummed happily, and together, they watched the ramen cup spin slowly around the microwave- but they were too absorbed in trading smiles to count down the seconds.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @sadistiks @wesparklebitch @simplybakugou

#tokochako #platonic tokochako #tokoyami fumikage #fumikage tokoyami #ochako uraraka #uraraka ochako #my hero academia #mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 4 years

Text

Survivors of Unfair Choices (16) | FirstOrder!Poe Dameron x Reader

Words: 2086

Warning: SW-verse typical violence, minor swearing

A/N: Sorry this was a little late. My mind has been all over the place the past few days and I forgot to queue it. This is the second to the last chapter, guys! As always, I thank you for following along with this series.

Series Masterlist

Han steps out of hiding onto the catwalk, approaching his wayward son. His old name echoed off the metal walls as Kylo Ren turned and saw his father. You quickly reach the top near the railings where you could see Finn and Rey stood, watching the scene below.

“Han Solo. I've been waiting for this day for a long time,” Kylo Ren said calmly through his mask.

You shivered. You remembered being interrogated by that man and it was hard for you to imagine that he was the son of Leia Organa and Han Solo. There was this energy about him, chaotic, unstable, and lost.

“Hey,” you whispered over to the two. They turned and Rey grabbed your arm.

“What’s going on?” Rey asked.

“Han’s… being Han,” you sighed.

“We need to do something. The sun’s almost gone-” Finn started.

You shook your head. “We can’t detonate the explosives until Han and Chewie are out of here,” you said, looking back down at the bridge that bisected the space below. You tried to calm your racing heart so you could hear what they were saying.

Han slowly approached his son who stood still. “Take off that mask. You don't need it,” Han said. Not around your father, was left unsaid.

“What do you think you'll see if I do?” Kylo Ren asked.

“The face of my son.”

Kylo Ren reaches around and lifts the mask up, revealing a pale and exhausted face of what was left of Ben Solo. Han’s eyes widened, seeing his son as a grown man for the first time. He really shouldn’t have sent him away. Maybe none of this would have happened, if he had been there for his own son.

“Your son is gone,” Kylo Ren said firmly, as if reading his thoughts, “He was weak and foolish, like his father. So I destroyed him.”

Han shook his head. “That's what Snoke wants you to believe but it's not true. My son is alive.”

You heard a sound from the other side of the stairs and saw Chewie climbing up to join the group. You reached a hand out and he took it firmly in his large hairy hands. He was Han’s best friend, surely he could think of something… Chewie shook his head, not knowing what to do. You turned back to the scene before you, watching helplessly.

Kylo Ren lifts his chin up. “No. The Supreme Leader is wise.”

Han takes another step towards him. “Snoke is using you for your power,” he said, “When he gets what he wants, he'll crush you… you know it's true.”

There was something that flickered through Kylo Ren’s features. His eyes briefly looked away and deep down he knew it to be true. But it was too late. There were too many acts of darkness that he had done for him to turn back now.

“It’s too late,” Kylo Ren said, his head lowering.

“No it's not. Leave here with me. Come home. We miss you,” Han pleaded, reaching a hand out.

Kylor Ren’s feet shifted. There was finally a hand reaching out to him through the darkness, offering him a way out. A hand that belonged to his father. You gripped the railing hard, a part of you hoping for the improbable, that he would take his hand and become Ben Solo again.

“I'm being torn apart,” he said, almost broken as tears stung his eyes, a flush of emotion on his otherwise stoic face ,”I want to be free of this pain.”

Han takes another step, but stops himself.

“I know what I have to do, but I don't know if I have the strength to do it. Will you help me?”

He was vulnerable, of course Han wouldn’t turn him away. Your gut twisted, wanting to scream out, to tell him to stop, but what can you do when there were stormtroopers that outnumbered you? You could even feel Finn and Rey growing restless, wanting to jump into action as well.

“Yes, anything,” Han said.

You see Kylo Ren upholstered his lightsaber and held it in front of Han. You look up at Chewie again before starting over towards the stairs. He grabbed you by the hood of your parka and shook his head again. He knew stepping in would go against Han’s wishes. You shrugged him off and looked back at Kylo Ren. Wishes be damned. You rather have Han angry at you than Han injured or worse. As the light from the dying sun faded, so did the light in his eyes.

“No,” you said hoarsely before the fiery red blade of his lightsaber pierced right through Han’s chest.

“Solo!” Finn screamed.

“No, no,” Rey shook her head, not wanting to believe that her new found mentor was gone, just like that.

Han’s knees buckled and as Kylo Ren extinguishes his weapon, the life in his eyes fades and he slips off the catwalk, down, down, down, to the depths of the oscillator structure. You could see that Kylo Ren was a bit shaken from the act, almost horrified at what he had done. There was too much darkness in him, that turning to the light would turn that darkness against him and swallow him. Maybe, if he continued his training, he could…

“Han!” you shouted.

Kylo Ren’s eyes snapped up at the railings at you while Chewie cried in anguish as his best friend was lost to him. He shot a bolt out of his bowcaster, hitting the man that he once thought of as his nephew in the side. Kylo Ren stumbles back, stunned at the sudden attack. You push Finn and Rey back as stormtroopers begin to shoot at Chewie. He ducked away and started the detonation. Kylo Ren’s eyes flickered back to you and saw that you were not alone. His eyes widened as he recognized them, taking long strides to reach the railing.

“We need to go!” you shouted, shooting back at the stormtroopers.

You and Rey fire in quick succession, backing away as Finn helped the two of you to retreat out of the structure. Once out of the line of fire, the three of you began to run straight into the forest.

“The Falcon’s this way!” Finn said, pointing in the direction.

You ran as much as you could, the event playing over and over in your mind until you were breathless. You gasped for air, dropping your knees into the crunchy snow. Finn and Rey stopped as well, panting.

“Come on,” Rey said, bending down and offering you a hand. You took it and Rey hoisted you up.

You looked up at the two and they shared the same thought as you. There is no way you could run now. You have to face him, all three of you together.

“He is trained, but he is emotionally compromised,” you said as you regained your bearings. The three of you continued to move deeper in the forest, trying to come up with a plan. “We use that to our advantage and he’ll lose focus. Catch him by surprise, wear him out. Alright?”

Finn and Rey nodded, holding their weapons up and ready. Rey gripped her stolen rifle blaster and Finn held up the lightsaber given to him by Maz. You checked the condition of your blaster before holding it out in the middle. They joined in, sharing a look of determination.

“May the Force be with us,” you said.

“I still don’t know how exactly the Force works,” Finn muttered.

“It’s all around us. You just have to… feel it,” Rey said.

“That’s how you got away, isn’t it?” you asked with a proud smile. Rey nodded.

The moment was short lived as the three of you heard the sound of a lightsaber igniting. You turned and readied your blaster, signalling for Finn and Rey to spread out. There, thirty feet away, stood Kylo Ren in all his rage.

“We’re not done yet,” he said.

“Han trusted you!” you said, tears threatening to fall, “He loved you. Leia loves you. They just wanted you to come home!”

“You’re a monster!” Rey shouted at him.

He tried to keep his face neutral at the mention of his parents before narrowing his eyes. “It’s just us now. Han Solo can’t save you.”

You gave a nod to Rey and she stepped forward, aiming her blaster. Kylo Ren’s hand shoots out, making Rey struggle and unable to shoot him. His face contorts as he puts more power into it and you could see the wound that Chewie inflicted on him was affecting him. He tosses Rey’s blaster to the side, giving you an opening to shoot. You raised your blaster just as he sends Rey flying, hitting a tree thirty feet away with a thud.

“Rey!” Finn shouted, looking back at her dazed, slumped form before muttering to himself. “Rey… Rey… no, no, oh no…”

You inhaled sharply, aiming your blast at Kylo Ren, but for some reason, your stomach didn’t sit well shooting him. He noticed this and chuckled.

“You can’t even shoot me,” he mocked as he stomped closer, his lightsaber buzzing with each movement, “You hung around your precious general too much. Hoping to be like her? You could never achieve anything close.”

“Glad you still think of your mother so highly,” you remarked, your blaster still raised.

“Yet, you had managed to seduce one of my officers to the light, though I believed it was only a matter of time before he cracked. Your general spoke highly of his parents growing up. In the end, he was fated to die just like them-”

You shot, grazing his cheek and burning strands of his dark hair. He slowly raised a hand and touched the wound with the tips of his fingers, pulling back to see blood. He glared back at you and started to stride over. He raised his hand again and easily flew your blaster several feet away before pushing you back until you hit the nearest tree behind you.

“(Y/n), no!” Finn rushed over and stood in front of you.

Kylo Ren paused, narrowing his eyes. “Traitor! You have no idea what you have just done! What you have lost! But you were weak. Traitor!”

Finn’s nose flared as he raised the lightsaber and ignited it. The bright blue light illuminated his face and through your haze, you could even feel an energy swirling around him, standing up against Kylo Ren’s.

Kylo Ren pointed his lightsaber at him. “That lightsaber, it belongs to me!” he spat.

A flash of a smirk appeared on Finn’s lips. “Come and get it.”

Kylo Ren charged at him with a growl and, while terrified, Finn managed to block the lunge. Your ears were ringing as you tried to move, a throbbing pain erupting at the back of your head. You struggled to right yourself up, using the tree for balance as you slowly made your way over to Rey. Sparks from the battle lit the area red and blue as you knelt down beside her, checking her injuries. She blinks, slowly gaining her focus back. Her eyes drifted over to the battle between Kylo Ren and Finn.

“He has it, too, doesn’t he?” she said, “I knew it.”

You help her up before turning back to the battle again. Finn was holding up fairly and impressively well. You could even see the amazement in Kylo Ren’s face before adding more power to his swings, testing how far he could push Finn. It was then that you connected the dots.

Kylo Ren had known Finn was force-sensitive, wanted to see how and when he awakened his powers, only to be disappointed when he had done nothing on his first mission before defecting. If this was true, then finding Luke became more of a pressing matter than ever before. With him, Finn and Rey could learn to hone their powers and use it for good, giving the Resistance more of a chance against the First Order.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the shouting coming from the fight. Kylo Ren was attacking more viciously than before, a new wound on his arm from one of Finn’s attacks. He began to beat and swing relentlessly, forcing Finn back again and again, until he lost his balance. With fire in his eyes, Kylo Ren raised his lightsaber and slashed Finn’s torso, the blue lightsaber flying out of his hands twenty feet away.

Taglist: @megzdoodle @psychoticobsession @thescarletknight2014 @marrypuffsstuff @theoralpha @daniellajocelyn @badwolf-212 @gleigh42 @ella-solei @roserrys @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @juliaguliaa

#survivors of unfair choices #poe dameron x reader #first order!poe dameron x resistance!reader #first order poe dameron #poe dameron #star wars imagine

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treatian · 4 years

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The Chronicles of the Dark One: The Dark Curse

Chapter 138: His Remarkably Persistent Caretaker

His tower was quieter than the Great Hall anyway. It was more familiar, more peaceful. And he liked its darkness. It wouldn't be long until the sun began to creep up over the horizon and flood it with light, but for now he found the darkness comforting. There was something to the gray that accompanied the sunset, something clammy and perfect about the color it cast about his tower that seemed to fit his mood. He wanted to sit at his wheel and spin, and he would. Straw into gold, wool into thread, he hadn't made up his mind which just yet. But that was okay, he didn't need too.

His first stop was by the mantle, the place that he'd hidden his Curse and protected it against the Blue Fairy. He'd already made one tragic mistake tonight, he couldn't afford to make two. And so he numbly remembered the signal he'd received from the castle and the panic he'd felt that she might have taken Belle or the Curse. The door to the inner chamber, the place that he'd left Belle was wide open, and obviously, he'd already seen her more than he cared to in the last few hours, so there was no need to worry about that. But as for the Curse…

In the clearing his magic had told him it was safe. It took him only a moment to confirm his defenses and discover that they were all intact; not a single one was tampered with or disturbed. And breathing just behind the stone, with a heartbeat all its own and a blackness he'd recognize in an instant now was his Curse…a product of his mother's magic.

Why had she created the Curse? What was her anticipated result? Did he have to worry about anything? Would his plan work? Was there anything he should know but didn't?

Those were the questions he should have asked her. Those were the questions he'd needed to be answered and now he would never know, he'd never have those answers. The Blue Fairy surely wouldn't tell him, the Red Fairy wasn't answering his summons, and now the Black Fairy…she wouldn't be taken by surprise ever again, not now that she knew who he was. She might not ever answer a summons by him again. The doors were all closed. The windows locked. There were no other hallways to venture down to give him the answers he needed, at least none that he knew of because he didn't have clues and he certainly didn't fucking have answers!

Trust was not really something he did well, but in this particular case he found no choice but to have trust. The Seer had yet to lie to him. If she said the Dark Curse was the way back to Baelfire then he'd have to trust her. At the moment, she seemed to be the only female in his life that he could trust…

He sighed in anguish and rolled his eyes the moment he heard the door to his tower open then close. A baby's squeal echoed up through the tunnel to his ears.

Belle.

He should have known that she was not one to give up.

Her footsteps were quick, and he just barely had time enough to push himself away from his mantle and begin spinning at his wheel before he saw a glow and then the top of her head appeared at the stairs. She carried a candelabra in one hand and little Gideon in the other pressed tight against her side. She still looked determined, but her face had softened, cooled. Fortunately for her, so had he.

"You are on very thin ice!" he hissed.

She only swallowed and set the candelabra down on a table. To his horror, he watched as she removed one of the candles and used it to begin lighting other candles he had around so that it's light invaded his depressing gray tower. Stubborn woman.

"Look, I can't imagine what you went through-"

"It's none of your concern-"

"But the child is!" she stressed, keeping her tone forceful but just below what would be considered yelling. "You grew up without a mother, and I am so sorry about that, but this child…he's loved by his parents."

"And how would you know that?" he questioned. He was almost dying for her to say something childish like "I can feel it", but he knew she was beyond that. And he knew the moment he said the words he wanted to take them back. It was just like the gauntlet all over again. She'd taken his words as a challenge; an opportunity to prove something to him. She was worse than stubborn.

"They care for him," she explained, coming closer. "They made him decent clothes and kept him healthy and clean. Parents that do that will be missing him. And listen to him cry! He's been changed and well-fed and slept since he got here. Now, he's heartbroken!" she claimed. "He misses his mother and father too! Please…please don't sentence him to the same fate as you by making him grow up without a mother!"

"Why not?" he demanded, finally turning himself so that he could truly look at her. "I turned out perfectly fine!"

But he hadn't. And they both knew it. The silence that she allowed to stretch between them as his false observation went unanswered denied it.

"If that were true, then you wouldn't be stealing children and demanding answers that make you miserable," she finally pointed out gently.

Miserable. He wasn't always…

Suddenly he felt guilt creep up on him as he remembered...he hasn't always been miserable. His aunts, Mr. Oak, Margery, Baelfire…he hadn't been alone, not always. They had taken care of him before he'd become this. His life may have been sad, but it wasn't bad. In fact, it might be because of them that he had the amount of humanity he did as a Dark One, that when he returned from stressful nights he was able to sit down at his wheel to spin and deny the instinct to kill like he'd had earlier. Other Dark Ones hadn't always managed that instinct well. He had.

And Belle…what he wouldn't give to count her as one of those people who saved him, to have arms to fall into again, to give comfort like his blood family never had.

That was a stupid thought. It was thoughts like those that fueled his fantasies. Fantasies...not visions!

"Look…" she finally swallowed, jumping up and down a bit to settle the screaming child in her arms. "I know that despite what you say and how you act, there is more to you than just this thing that you have become, what she helped turn you into. And I know that you don't want this child to suffer the same way that you did just like I know you don't want him to be here forever." She knew? How was it possible for her to be so certain? "Tell me who his parents are. Let me take him home so that we can get back to our peace and quiet, so that we can talk about what happened."

Talk about what happened…didn't she understand that was the last thing he wanted?!

"There will be no talking regardless!" he roared, pushing back from the wheel and moving to escape her again. He didn't want to talk to her or to anyone, not to her about his mother or with Bae about his father! He just wanted to forget it all! If he could take a memory potion and afford to lose the knowledge, he would.

"Fine…" he heard her sigh behind him. "Make me a deal."

The monster inside of him, a moment ago tired and exhausted from the night's events, rolled over with inescapable interest.

"Deal?"

"Well, the other one worked out so well, why not?"

If he wasn't trying so hard to be upset with her, he might have laughed at her sarcastic joke.

"Let me take the child back to his family and in return…in return I'll forget everything I saw and heard today. I'll never mention the Black Fairy, or your mother, or even this child again!"

He winced even as she said the words and reminded him just how great her own knowledge was.

"I could just as easily take away your voice or erase your memory," he suggested.

"Take away my voice, and you'll soon learn that there is more than a voice to complaint and protest. You won't be able to silence me forever. And if you take away my memory, then you'll hand me a baby and I'll spend the rest of my days asking questions about him. Those questions will be a constant reminder of tonight! Every time we speak, every time you see him, he will be a constant reminder of this conversation, tonight, and your stubbornness.

"Please," she begged. "I know you didn't want to hurt him or me, you just wanted your answers, but…she won't come back to you now, not now that she knows who you are. He's of no more use to you. Let me take him home."

She had the upper hand. Damn it all. He looked down on her, and yet she was the one in control. An answer to every question, a counter argument for every point he made. She was right in every conceivable way, and he hated that almost as much as he hated what had happened tonight. This was not a night he wanted to look back on. Ever. And that was exactly her point.

"His parents live a fair distance from here, in the middle of a distant wood. Jack and Jill, royals cast out of their home they are farmers now, working the land. Even if they told someone the child was gone, there is little chance anyone would help them," he finally admitted with a sigh.

"Okay…" she sighed with something like relief as she heaved the child into her arms one more time. "I have to find them."

"Stop!" he yelled before she could start toward the steps. Foolishness. How was it possible for someone to be so foolish and so incredibly intelligent all at the same time?! Did she really think it would be that simple, that she'd just walk down off the mountain and find Jack and Jill in the forest, dressed as he was, with a baby in her arms and without a map? She'd be gone for weeks. And after what happened with his enemies…

"I can't have you roaming about the countryside!" he concluded as she looked at him with confusion. He waved his hand and let magic take them.

And that was how, as the sun rose, he found himself hidden in some distant shrubbery, watching as his caretaker walked the baby in her arms over to the couple that came running out of the house to greet him.

His mother took him, held him in her arms, and hardly seemed to notice Belle as his father joined them. They exchanged a few words, but he watched the look on Jill's face as she held her child close. His aunts had held him like that when he was little, and he appreciated everything they'd ever done for him, every sacrifice they'd ever made, every comfort they'd given him in troubling times. But he couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as he watched Gideon's mother hold him. It was an embrace he would never recognize, no matter how much he longed for it.

The moment Belle walked back into the tree line, he was quick to use his magic to get them away and back to the castle. He was eager to let this experience fade away.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Belle #Black Fairy #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

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