#I mean he does have shape-shifting powers right? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tadpolesonalgae · 2 months

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The Dregs of Tragedy - Part 5

Mer!Azriel x reader

a/n: took a minute, thanks to the ungodly amount of italicising I had to do, but enjoy mer!az 🧡💛

Word count: 5,969

-Part 4-

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Seaweed flutters gently against your skin, feather-light as it pulls you back to consciousness.

Small, shimmering creatures dart about in between the barnacle-covered rocks and pleasantly-coloured coral, sparkling light reflecting off their tiny scales with easy, hastened movement. Out from a crevice unfurls a purple tentacle, spotted with blue and red dots that glow faintly as it emerges from its cozy home, and you watch as it politely ambles along the cave floor.

The drift of a current eases your hair out from under you, and you push up from the sandy patch you’d chosen for sleeping, set in the top of a particularly large rock, hollowed out to create a dip you can comfortably settle in. Seaweed brushes your upper arms as you peer about the luminescent cave, cast in mellow blue-green light as unknown flora sprouts from the cavern’s walls, lighting it up. Up on the other side of the cave, you spot his long, powerful tail lolling over the ledge, the rest seemingly tucked away into an alcove that he’s chosen to be his sleeping quarters.

With some effort, you manage to leverage yourself into open water, pulling yourself along until you reach the wall, where you attempt to shift your tail to propel forward. It’s a little tricky, but not an unpleasant journey—getting to haul yourself clumsily up the sides, passing other nooks in the stone that house all sorts of fauna.

You reach his ledge, folding your arms over the smooth rock, tail swishing idly beneath you.

Dark, charcoal eyes flit over, and he pauses, before lethargically rolling onto his front, copying your position in folding his arms, cheek propped upon his forearm as he gazes at you intently.

You’re awake, he thinks, and your stomach flutters with surprise, still not entirely accustomed to the way his voice resonates so deeply within your mind. Do you usually sleep up here, or was this a ploy to have me swim some more? You ask quietly, watching as amusement glows in his eyes. Swimming more certainly won’t hurt you, he replies, tail shifting slightly. But no. This is where I like to sleep.

The stone is so smooth, you wonder, glancing down to where the rock looks to have been lathed flat. Centuries of being worn down, he replies, shifting again, and you can see this time how well the slight hollows and curves fit to the shape of his body. Almost making the rock appear soft.

I forget you’re old, you think, a hint of amusement in your tone, the edges of your mouth curving, gaze twinkling. He rolls his eyes, before his features settle into something more serious, watching you quietly. You peer back at him, wondering what’s passing through his mind.

You mentioned a connection to the moon… You hedge slowly, tail swishing a little. That a new moon is when you’re closer to humans, and a full moon is when you��get stronger?

He doesn’t reply, just continues regarding you neutrally, unable to tell what he’s thinking. Your brows twitch. Is that not right? You push, peering at him. I remember you saying we were nearing a new moon. What does that mean?

Azriel’s quiet for a bit, before readjusting himself, pulling his long tail up into the alcove. You understand we are creatures of magic, don’t you? He asks, and you nod in clarification. Quite simply, upon a new moon is when we can become more humanlike. Becoming more distanced from how we are now.

How so? You push, something about the way he’s speaking sounding…slower than usual. Slightly reluctant. Wary.

Again he pauses, and you wait, tension coiling in your arms with apprehension. But then he pushes up from the rock, easily swimming past with effortless grace, so close you feel the sea move with his motion. We can rise from the water, he answers, swimming down toward the seafloor, glancing over his shoulder as he pauses, waiting for you to follow. We can walk among humans.

What do you mean? You ask sharply, scrambling away from the rock as you try to swim downward, using your hands to almost pull the water apart. I can become human again? You push, a spark of something in your chest. You don’t have to remain a mer forever. You aren’t shackled to eternity below the sea.

His brow narrows slightly, and then he’s cutting through the water, smoothly swimming upward. You blink when he moves around you, too unfamiliar with their motion to keep up as he settles in the water above you, hands gently but firmly pulling your arms back, keeping them from pulling you forward. You aren’t going to learn if you keep relying on your hands like that, he reminds, and you reluctantly ease beneath his touch, a look of disgruntlement on your mouth. Just try using your tail more, or you’ll ingrain bad habits into your body during your developing.

There’s more? You ask, aghast, trying to turn to look at him over your shoulder. Aren’t I fully mer already?

You are. But your muscles are still growing, and becoming familiar with your new form. Not to mention your mind will also need time to catch up. He answers succinctly, with surprising coherency. Just try swimming to the floor, he suggests, easing his grip on your forearms, putting a little distance between your bodies, though you can still feel his hands poised to guide your palms away from motion.

But, tell me more about it, you push, trying to figure how to turn yourself over, to see him better. You’re able to catch the way his chest expands in what you think is probably a sigh. Frustration simmers in your chest, brows narrowing as you swiftly pull your arms away, using them to turn, much to his obvious disapproval. I still have people—…I still have someone up there, you think, gazing into his glittering, coal black eyes. Azriel blinks, features flattening to careful neutrality. Who?

I don’t— …I’m not telling you. You answer, head dipped but managing to hold his intense gaze. Tension simmers in your chest, so close to this new information.

You barely know how to swim from one place to another. You aren’t undergoing a shift.

So you’re just going to keep me here? You think sharply, brows narrowing. No, he replies, voice a little softer, you’re free to go where you like. But I’ll keep an eye on you.

I want to go back to being human, you snap, anger forming as your hands tighten into fists. I didn’t even get a choice in becoming like you in the first place, and now I don’t get a choice in returning?

A new moon will come again. We have one each month. Missing this one won’t mean you’ll never have the chance again.

I’m not wasting my time, Azriel, you think, a hint of panic rising to your tone. You may be accustomed to immortality—having enough time for everything—but we…humans don’t live forever! I have no guarantee that he…that my person will be there at the next new moon.

Azriel pauses, something passing behind his eyes.

Tell me who it is, he says, slightly tighter than usual. Maybe you’re waring at his temper.

Someone important, you yield, lips pressing together, someone dear to me.

Who?

Why does it matter? You grit out. He might not be alive by next month. Isn’t that a good enough reason to let me go? Or is the life of a human simply not worth it to you?

You’re putting words in my mouth, he thinks back, tail swishing as he calmly floats down toward the floor, and you’re forced to follow after him. Besides, becoming human and returning to that village… Someone will recognise you.

The transformation would happen overnight, wouldn’t it? Surely I could get back by morning? You push, slowly managing to shift to where he’s come to a halt, coincidentally by the rock you chose to sleep in.

You’re not going. He thinks quietly, though his attention is on the hollow of the stone, able to mark the indentation of the sand—how it dips down and curls in line with how you’d slept.

You stare at him silently, something a little too similar to hurt twinging across your chest. You’d apparently been hoping he was different. But it’s the same story.

Maybe it’ll take the same solutions.

Carefully steering a conversation, gently turning it to the right direction, without a soul knowing.

So you swim forward a little, coming to the lip of the hollow that he’s hovering above. Moving to be at his side, keeping your attention ahead. Would you not be able to change him into a mer, too? You think, careful to keep on topic without a sharp turn. Smoothly bending the flow.

Azriel shakes his head. There are…requirements, that need to be met in order for a transition to occur. We can’t just take humans here and there.

And you need humans because…?

We’re a dwindling species, he thinks quietly. Almost sadly. When an opportunity presents itself, we take it.

I was an opportunity?

Dark, glittering eyes flit to yours, taking in the tension of your jaw, the resentment tucked between your brows. I didn’t mean it like that, he tries, a glimmer of guilt working its way to his surface. It’s fine, you think back with obvious bitterness, we’re treated as objects above water, too. You move to pull yourself away, hands pressing down on barnacle-covered rock, when his palm settles around your wrist. Firm enough to be noticeable, but light enough for you to pull away.

You’re precious, he thinks quietly, features mostly neutral save for the softness at the edge of his irises. Because of what I stand for, right? Not because of who I am? You return, though you don’t pull away—allowing him to feel that control. It’s always about control.

His lips press into a thin line, and you nod slightly. That’s fine, you think quietly, holding his gaze, I’ll try not to let it go to my head.

I’m treating you as I would another mer who had never undergone a shift, he returns, his grip loosening further as you drift a little closer, enough to appear subconscious or accidental. It’s all about having power over people. Let him think he can draw you in.

As I said before, you can hardly swim in a straight line, and you will be recognised if you’re spotted above sea. You can imagine what might happen, he reasons gently.

And it would be a waste if I died, too, you return, resentment becoming more apparent. After all the work you put in to finding someone suitable. Wouldn’t that be a shame.

It’s for your safety. Don’t pretend like you can’t understand that.

No, I don’t understand it, you hiss, moving forward, brows narrowing, because above there is the only person left in this world that I care about, and you are coming between us. All because your fucked up species is too selfish to care for anything else. You drift closer, pulling your hand away to grip his wrist instead, tightly. And just maybe, if your kind weren’t snatching, stealing, and murdering sailors, there’d be more of you left.

His pupils contract, tension shifting beneath his pale blue skin, before he’s firmly withdrawing his wrist, putting a clear distance between you.

I understand you’re upset, he begins.

No, you don’t, you hiss, moving after him, you say you do, but—

I understand you’re distraught, and confused, he states again, sterner than before, though this time he doesn’t retreat at your approach. But that does not mean you can speak so disgracefully. To me, or about our kind. Something inside you flinches at the tone, tension coiling as you wait for the impact, bracing for pain.

You have only seen the end result of their process. You do not understand the pain they will subject us to, nor the degradation of being strung up along the shore for the rest of us to watch as our folk slowly bleed out, so close to their home.

You could swear you hear his voice lilt with emotion before it’s swiftly shut down, as if blocking out the building pressure of what having to witness that slow death does to a creature.

You are not undergoing a shift, he repeats firmly; finally. Not this time around.

He makes to turn, likely to leave, to give time for both of you to cool off, but your hand darts forward, gripping him until your nails are squeezing his skin, and he whirls back to you.

You’re just like him, you think lowly, close enough that—had you been human—you would be sharing breath. Close enough to count his eyelashes, to see the flecks of glittering black and storm cloud grey in his eyes. To number every tiny, shredding tooth that’s concealed by a deceptively soft-looking mouth.

At least Alaric wasn’t aware of how awful he was, you hiss lowly, moving closer still, free palm settling over his other hand, like you’re able to hold him to the ground. But you think you’re so much better. You condemn him, and pretend like you’re anything better and it’s despicable. I’ve just been taken from one cage to another, except in this one, the only beast I have to fear is you.

His eyes shutter, then he’s forcefully ripping his hands away from your hold, and there isn’t a single muscle in your body that amplifies the shockwave of fear that strikes through your body. As you recoil into yourself, eyes squeezing shut as you duck your head, bracing for the staging slap of his palm or the piercing bite of teeth.

Instead, all you feel is the slightly cooler swish of water against your front, the gentle brush of a shift in current.

You open your eyes in time to see his tail disappearing into one of the tunnels.

A shimmer of iridescent blue, and pearly white, vanished in a blink.

———

You find yourself slowly trailing after an octopus, pulling yourself along the sea bed at a similar speed to its friendly amble, tentacles stretching ahead as it swims idly through the coral.

Maybe it’s because you have no one else, but you feel a connection with the creature. One that arises from being granted the wonder to freely follow something through its life, to observe as it goes about satisfying its more common interests: how it peers beneath a rock (maybe looking to move house?), bringing a fragment from the floor (as if to appreciate it!), shifting its movements so it looks as though it’s skipping between the stones after having eaten something.

It’s been still for a while now, though, as if resting, and you’ve found a comfortable section of flattened rock to settle on, shimmering fishes occasionally swimming closer, as if to admire your own scales.

As much as you’d like to return to being human, you can appreciate the difference. Animals and other sea creatures almost seem to like you, no longer flitting away as soon as the water’s disturbed, but rather swishing to float along the currents. They seem to recognise you as one of them, rather than something that will hunt them. Playing nearer, until you’re worried some might get tangled in your hair. But they seem to have fun, darting between and through the floating strands.

You’ve no idea how long he’s gone for, and frankly, you’ve been trying not to think about it. When you think about it, you find a temper beginning to bubble, simmering in your cold blood. You don’t know enough about him to guess at why he refused so adamantly. Can’t understand the deep-rooted desire to keep his species alive, when humanity seems to be existing in every corner, like an infestation of some kind.

Still, it hurts a little to remind yourself his only interest was in changing you to become like him. It’s hard to admit, but you’d felt appreciated. Comforted. But you suppose, by nature, nothing will be that simple. You’ll never be able to truly become something animate in their minds. They seem to have more compassion for fish that for women.

At least a fish’s effort to escape is acknowledged. A woman’s is just beaten out of her until she’s fixed.

Are you enjoying following him?

You startle from your rock, peering about to try and locate him. It’s one drawback to being able to speak mind-to-mind: you have no way of telling direction.

He’s swimming down from another tunnel opening—separate from the one he disappeared into—coming to a pause a more than healthy distance away from you. Really more than heathy.

There’s not much else to do down here, save for looking at things, you reply, not quite able to bring yourself to remove your attention from him. Too wary to do so after your last conversation.

He’ll sleep for another hour or so, Azriel thinks to you, nodding back to the quiet octopus who’s tucked himself up. You might want to find something else to look at.

I think I already have, you reply warily, keeping your gaze on him as you shift atop the smooth rock, not taking your eyes away from where he’s floating.

Why are you here? You ask, tail stretching out to hang off the ledge. Am I not allowed to be here? He replies, glancing throughout the cave. You don’t feel his attention leave you, though.

You left rather abruptly. I’m assuming you had a reason to come back. You counter, regarding him neutrally. Cautiously.

He waits for a few moments, before tentatively swimming forward, delicate swishes of his tail having him drift through the sea, and you shift yourself up and away a bit when he makes to settle on your rock.

Do you still want to go above? He asks quietly. Eyes on you.

Your brows furrow, narrowing as you pin him with a resentful look. I suppose you weren’t listening, earlier? You remark, subtly moving closer to the edge of the rock.

I suppose you have no manners, either? He replies, though it’s without any bite. I have nothing to say to you.

Do you still want to go above?

You remain pointedly quiet. He’s already said he won’t allow you to go, so there’s no point in answering. It’ll likely only boost his ego, knowing you want to leave, but that he’s keeping you here.

Do you still want to leave? He repeats, I won’t know unless you tell me.

Your brow narrows, hands curling as nails press into your palms, trying to find something else to observe. To direct your attention to.

Something brushes against your tail, firm but smooth as it drags lightly over the scales. Deliberately, and you swiftly glance over your shoulder, to see what it is.

The large fins at the base of his tail are gliding over your own, stroking up the spine of the long limb, brushing against it in gentle motions. Your throat rolls, but you don’t make the effort to move away. Instead you meet his gaze, remembering how his eyes had gleamed with an array of hidden colours, suitable for under sea.

I do, you reply tersely. Quietly.

He nods, holding your gaze. Then we’ll go.

We? You ask, slightly skeptical.

We. He repeats, his tail coming to a rest from its soothing motions, settling over your own.

Your lips press together, briefly glancing away, thinking, before you turn back to him, nodding. Okay.

————

So…how does it actually work? You think, awkwardly holding him as you attempt to move in time with his instructions.

We don’t know exactly why these points exist, or what caused them to, but there are certain places that seem to exist with more magic than others, he explains quietly, holding you steady. Some folk think it’s best not to wonder, while others theorise it’s to do with ley lines overlapping, creating an energy strong enough to fuel a transformation.

Azriel had told you he would take you to one of their moon pools, supposedly the only pool near Blackwater you’d be able to reach in time—and also the only pool that would allow you to return to something resembling human. With no other method of transportation, and Azriel deeming your strange half-crawl, half-swim method of movement to be too slow, you’d ended up in this position: your palms settled at the tops of his forearms, while he holds your elbows, theoretically helping to keep you streamlined while making sure you won’t resort to using your arms for swimming. He’s able to hasten your speed, while also helping you become more familiar with the muscles and tendons in your tail.

Though the pace is still slow, both by human and mer standards.

Ley lines? You ask, peering up at him, but his eyes flick down to where you’ve stopped moving, and you restart into motion. It would be easier to show you, but essentially lines drawn to connect significant structures from our history. Throughout the centuries—even millennia—different civilisations have risen and faded, each leaving their marks on the sea bed. There are still mysteries surrounding their collapse, but from some fragments that remain, questions have cropped up relating to certain consistencies. Architecture that should be impossible, long-lost tunnel systems that seem designed to confuse and trap, cave engravings that line up suspiciously with our own history—history that would have been their future.

Moon pools seem to exist where these lines overlap, which some consider to be signs. Others think the world is founded in patterns, and detail—were it not, none of us would exist. We are all fleetingly complex systems of chance and evolution.

That sounds…fascinating, you concede, watching him with interest. To think the mer had the awareness to document their existence, as if understanding it’s not a guarantee they will live on… Acknowledging their gradual disintegration, while remaining free of its fear. It’s admirable.

Moon pools bring out an ancient magic from the surrounding earth, though they can be dangerous. As creatures of the sea, the moon is at the centre of our world, the foundation of many prayers and fables passed down through mind. A new moon is the absence of that stability, hence it turns us into something not. Bringing us up from the waters and onto land, splitting our tails into legs. That sort of change can damage our anatomy, and has in the past, when used incorrectly.

You know how to use it right, right? You ask, peering up at him as you try to remember your motion, attempting to keep up with him as he holds you steady. He nods in answer, nothing bad will happen to you.

So what happens after I…after we go back…I mean, when we change into humans?

Clothes are left for use by the pool, so you have no need for worry. But once we’re above ground, the task will be returning to your village. You will have to guide the way to your… He trails off, watching you silently, waiting for an answer.

You miss the signal, and nod. Okay, you think, gills fluttering with a deeper breath, I can do that. Will you wait on the outskirts?

His hold temporarily tightens on you, the roughened pads of his fingers pressing against your skin before loosening again. I will be coming with you.

But you’re so noticeable, you think back. You’ll draw attention. It’ll be better and quicker if I go by myself.

I will either be there with you, or we will not go at all. It would be irresponsible to let you return on your own, he reasons firmly.

I can manage myself, you return, I understand your point, but I know my village. Having you there might scare someone away.

I can keep to the shadows, he replies.

You peer at him doubtfully. He seems quite big compared to you…Will that be reflected in a human form? You have no idea what the scale would be like.

Okay. But I want privacy, when we get there, you push, following his motions as he guides you through another tunnel, the pale blue lights beginning to fade, replaced by an iridescent shimmer along the walls, like powdered stars. I don’t want to have you looming in a corner the entire time. Please allow me to speak with him alone.

Azriel is about to reply, to think that he won’t be leaving you for a single moment while in such dangerous territory, but you continue, pupils shuttering a little.

…Especially if I might have to be saying goodbye.

His jaw tightens at the obvious sadness in your thoughts. The deep-soaked pain, and loss. He doesn’t want to be listening to this.

You can go into a separate room, he relents, but you will have to be able to leave quickly if something happens. In other words, he doesn’t want you to use this last chance to physically take this man into your body. His teeth grind at the thought alone. Don’t do anything stupid.

I won’t, you reply, unaware of those un-communicated thoughts, just trying to figure out what you’ll tell him. How to ever explain your situation. You hope he won’t be scared.

Your eyes seem to wander of their own accord, moving from the iridescent walls, powdered with shimmer light, to plants perking from the rock, their ends glowing faintly as if to guide the way. The thought starts with a question, curious if he curated these tunnels too, perfectly placing these lovely fascinations at well-timed intervals to keep the caves light and in-oppressive, to transforming itself into a visual wonder of, perhaps, slightly morbid appreciation.

The tales you’d been raised on still have a place in your mind—they’d been true about the shredding teeth, their affinity for dexterity and agility beneath the deceptively calm surface of water. And yet they’d spoken nothing about the unearthly beauty.

Perhaps it’s just him though.

After all, he’s the only one you’ve encountered. Are there many others? He’d mentioned they were a dwindling species, but…

Something on your mind? He thinks, eyes glittering, and you realise you’ve been staring. How long had you been zoned out for?

Why have you been looking after me? You ask, holding his steady gaze, taking in the softness to the edge of his mouth. How his ears flutter slightly as something brushes by, but his attention remains on you.

As opposed to…? He returns, shifting your course once again, directing you toward a tunnel that has a slight upward tilt to it. There are more of you aren’t there? You push cautiously. You said that cave was fashioned after a Rainbow, so there must be more of you somewhere. And earlier you spoke like groups of mer existed to examine past events, and remnants of their buildings. Why not bring me to wherever the rest of your kind are?

Azriel is quiet for a pause, and you wait curiously, watching him steadily. It almost feels like hesitance.

You need time to become accustomed to your surroundings, he replies at last. Your mind needs to adjust to this new life, so it would be unwise to bring you to the centre of our civilisation, where you would likely be overwhelmed.

Your brows narrow as you watch him. It feels like the truth but…not all of it. Like he’s leaving something out. But maybe that’s just you reading into the infection of his thoughts too much. You don’t even know if they have a different method of intonation beneath the sea, or if thought suffices for intention.

No other reason? You push, regarding him cautiously.

He raises a brow, what other reason would I have?

Well that’s why I’m asking, you think, because I don’t know.

A noise enters your mind that sounds similar to a hum, and your spine prickles, making you shudder, ears fluttering. His pupils mark the reaction with a strange intensity, before increasing the pace a little, tail brushing lightly against your own, as if encouraging you to put in more effort. I suppose I might have wanted to see what sort of person you were, he thinks, and you wonder if you’ve subconsciously drifted closer to him.

What’s that supposed to mean? You ask skeptically, peering at him. Is there something I could have done to make you leave me?

Perhaps.

Like what?

Now why would you need to know that? He asks, amusement clear, eyes twinkling as his mouth curves at the edges, thumbs lightly grazing the bone of your elbow as his tail again flicks against you own.

Your expression shifts into one of displeasure, brows pulling together in distaste. Please just answer.

He seems to be thinking in his own mind for a bit, and you watch carefully, wondering if you’ll catch any hints to what’s passing through his head.

Perhaps if you hated us so viscerally… he answers slowly, quietly. That would have complicated things…would have muddied the choices, a little.

Choices?

With what to do with you. How to progress.

You couldn’t have just turned me back into a human using the moon pool?

We only look like humans, he thinks quietly, watching you. You can never return to one.

You blink, lips parting a little before remembering to keep them closed, keeping your mouth filled with air to prevent water rushing in. You said… but you trail off, letting it dawn on you all over again. Then why are there clothes ready? You ask. What happens if you don’t return to the moon pool in time?

The you’re simply stranded until the next new moon. The clothes are there for when folk might wish to be above ground for…longer.

But not as something entirely human.

That’s right, he replies softly, thumbs brushing your skin.

A quiet settles between you, but you try not to let it lower your spirits. You’ll be on two legs again regardless, and you’ll get to say goodbye to him. Though you hate that he’ll be the one to see you go first.

It should never have to be that way.

So what were the choices you mentioned? You ask a touch quietly, easing in a calming breath.

Those don’t matter anymore, he thinks gently, you’re adjusting well.

I want to know. You push, wanting something to focus on. There’s still so much you don’t know about his kind. About mer folk.

Azriel goes silent, his eyes taking on that strange intensity again that at one point had made your insides squirm with discomfort. Now you just hold it, levelling him with your own gaze. Eventually though, he blinks, glancing elsewhere, chest deflating in what you can guess is a sigh.

A strange tension seems to shift beneath his features, carving his expression into one of seriousness.

When you made the choice to cut me free… he begins slowly. Softly.

Do you remember what you had been thinking, when you did it?

Your throat rolls, casting your mind back to that day. Those hours where everything changed. Those few minutes, where a choice had been made. One that had arguably altered the course of your life.

I was thinking what they’d do to you, if your were found, you manage quietly. About how I’d thought it was an unnecessary act of violence, one routed in hatred and revenge, and that a conflict that continuously took lives would never be resolved.

Something flits past behind his gaze, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even catch its trail.

I thought it would be hypercritical of me to leave you. That not helping would be as good as condemning you myself. You manage, grip loosening as you’re called back to the thundering shudder of wooden boards, groaning and creaking as Alaric had approached.

I thought it would be better to save you.

Despite all the stories you’d been fed, Azriel thinks quietly, pace slowing a little, drifting unnoticeably closer. You decided to save a monster.

I don’t think you’re a monster.

But that’s what I was in that moment. Wasn’t I? You didn’t know any different.

You didn’t feel like a monster, you return.

The lowest part of your tail makes a small movement, brushing against him.

Exteriors can be deceiving, he warns softly.

Sometimes they can, you reply, quieter. Not always. But what does that have to do with it all?

Your intention, he almost whispers, so close now. Close enough to again catch a glimpse of the spectrum contained within his irises, glowing with a smattering of stars from the powdery cave light. Close enough to fully see the soft sections of his features, hidden beneath the unforgiving exteriors that you’d almost been fooled by. Close enough to pick out the hint of emotion he’s unable to conceal, raw, and blinding, and—

You recoil in a blink, jerking away as your hands frantically cross over your chest, your breasts having grazed the bare skin of his torso.

You blink with shock, having become so accustomed to your own nakedness, but now overwhelmingly aware of how bare you are. Your skin hasn’t become any less sensitive from shifting to a mer—everything is just as responsive—and your heart pounds with a drive so intense you can feel it in your stomach.

The breath puffs from your gills heavily, caught off guard by the force of your own reaction, arms still covering your breasts as you shift backward. Something brushes just shy of the nape of your neck, a mere finger’s-width from the height of your spine, and something tingling and exhilarating bursts through your blood, flinching away from the wall, hand now slapping over the spot.

Gods above, you think, heart still pounding wildly in your chest, using your hands and tail to shift to see what it was that had brushed so tantalisingly against your skin.

A small plant stares back at you, and you sigh again, returning your attention to him.

Sorry about that, you think, I was startled. You force your arms to remain at your sides as you make to shift closer, hands gliding up to settle at the tops of his powerful forearms.

It’s fine, he replies, though his movements seem a little stiff, his tail less flexible than before. You might find your spine and sternum to be more acute to touch, than before.

My sternum? You ask, peering up at him. Where’s that?

Muscle flexes beneath your fingertips, before calming, and he gestures to the bone down his chest, joining his ribs. Careful not to touch.

You blink, before nodding, looking down at yourself, raising your hand to your chest.

Azriel visibly stiffens, but remains silent as your fingers brush against the bone—between your breasts. Sure enough, that tingling feeling returns, pulse spiking, tiny muscles fluttering beneath your touch, and you hum, the edges of your mouth curving faintly.

I didn’t know you had such obvious weak spots, you think, at last returning your palms to his forearms. Good to know.

He doesn’t reply. Just holds you lightly as he begins moving again, tail shifting with less fluidity than before.

Your brows furrow, wondering at his silence. Did you say something wrong?

Anyway… you think, attention flitting about before settling on him. What were you going to say?

But he shakes his head, eyes flicking to a light at the end of the tunnel. Moonlight spilling into the water.

We’re here.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

tdot taglist: @mika-no-sekai-blog @blueeclipsepaperstudent @lalalucha @v3lv3tf0x @acourtofbatboydreams @coureurs-de-bois9 @sidthedollface2 @lees-chaotic-brain @vickykazuya

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fic #mermaid au #mer!azriel #tdot #the dregs of tragedy

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z3nitsusgf · 2 years

Note

I feel like homelander would be the type of yandere to make his soulmate/darling bathe with him.

“Isn’t this nice?” He sighed and you wished that you could have been anywhere but there, sitting in between homelander’s legs.

He would :// and he’d be so annoying abt it too

cw: soulmate au, nudity, implied nsfw, homelander’s vile mouth, he’s so needy bro, mention of fem.reader

It’s the only peace you get. Bath time is quiet, serene even. The only place in this fucking tower he couldn’t reach you.

When you clicked that lock into place, it meant safety. Tranquility. A moment of rest where he wasn’t pestering you about random bullshit or chewing you out for not folding his suits right.

The hot water feels so good and you won’t lie, Vought makes sure all the supe’s have the best products. The bath bombs and salts smell like heaven, and they work wonders. The bathroom is fogged with steam, smelling of citrus and starflower.

It’s easy to relax, to shut your eyes and fall asleep in.

Maybe it is your fault for thinking any place on earth would be safe from him.

You’d like to think Homelander’s not as cruel as he says, that he does what he does out of misguided love. He is your soulmate after all.

He just needs control.

That’s why you don’t say anything when he simply twists the handle of the door and breaks it. That’s why you let him shed his suit and climb into the tub behind you.

This was your one escape from everything in this fucking tower. Even that’s overtaken.

Your music plays on his speakers, this was the only time you could enjoy it without him complaining you’ve got shit taste. But that’s kind of shot now.

You draw shapes into the side of the tub, fingers leaving droplets on the porcelain. You would sink lower into the water if he wasn’t holding you against his chest. He’s kind of a poser, he’s not actually as muscular and huff as his suit makes him seem. Though you don’t underestimate the brutal power that flows through his veins.

He’s got his legs pressed against the sides of yours, his chin rests on your head. You try to ignore his stabbing length that rubs against your lower back. Trying not to shift in the tub, the water already close to spilling out, thanks to him.

You tilt your head back to look at him, the sharp jut of his jaw and his lashes fluttering over his cheekbones. He looks weirdly cute this way. Human for once.

“Whatcha pouting for?” He asks, hands smoothing across your waist, skirting dangerously close to your inner thighs.

“M’not pouting.” You mumble, furrowing your brows.

“Uh huh, you are.” He squeezes your cheeks in his hand, chuckling at the way your lips pucker into that stupid fishy face. You drop your chin, refusing to look at him anymore.

“You’re pouting because I came in here and started botherin’ you while you were soaping up your tits.” He makes a move to flick the underside of your breast, smirking when you try to jerk away.

He’s so crude and annoying, you hate him more when he’s in a good mood.

“I wasn’t-“ He raises his eyebrow mockingly, you huff at him. He’s roping you into his stupid little games.

You huff, you’d rather he left you alone. But you’ll take advantage of his good nature if it means giving you a few more hours of peace.

“Lighten up, buttercup. S’supposed to be relaxing.”

Relaxing your ass, he’s probably never taken a bath with anyone in his life. You’d roll your eyes if you knew he wasn’t gonna catch you. You opt for staring at the faucet that drips steadily into the soapy water.

“Hey,” he maneuvers you so you face him, and you try not to kneel him in the dick while he spreads your legs across his hips. Missing the flash of a smile on his lips when he trails his eyes over your body.

“Don’t get all pissy, babe. I only wanted to spend some quality time with my soulmate.”

Of course, he’s pulling that card.

You purse your lips, looking at him from underneath your lashes. The air is cold around your waist, you can feel the droplets of warm water slide down your back. Homelander gently pushes your arms, gesturing you to wrap them around his neck, and you do.

You’ve long since grown accustomed to his neediness. In some ways, you’re glad it exists. Because it shows you he’s still got some sensitivity left in that decayed rotten heart of his.

“I know,” you pull out all the stops for him, “I like spending time with you.” He makes a satisfied sound in his chest.

You wish you could say you were lying, but a sick depraved part of you is so used to him - that you get lonely when he’s gone.

You card your fingers through his bleach blonde hair, the wet strands sticking to the nape of his neck. He practically purrs under your hands, gripping your waist as he closes his eyes. You’re still annoyed that he’s ruined your personal space, but you’re just happy he’s feeling soft. You’re still aching from last night.

This is what you were meant for. Moments like these are what he’s always wanted, and now he has them. Homelander feels the flurry in his chest when you even peck his jawline, narrowly missing his lips.

He’s never taking a bath alone again.

#the boys.✮#val.writes ❦#homelander soulmate au #the boys x reader #homelander x reader #homelander x you #the boys x you

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grandlinedreams · 7 months

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You probably hear this a lot, but your writing is amazing. I’ve spent hours just going through your works and they all tug at my heart. Is it possible to request a lax x reader where he realizes he’s been overworking the reader a bit to much. Like, asking her to do something while she’s already working on something else he asked for. And maybe poor reader gets frustrated but tries to hide it.

Hiya!! Thank-you so much, it really does mean a lot to me that people enjoy my rambling hehe ㅡ but also absolutely, I can do that!! I hope that this is to your liking bb!!

He doesn't mean to, you know he doesn't.

But you're still a human, and there's only so much that you can do at a time ㅡ and Law tends to forget it. Sure, he delegates tasks to the others, but you seem to be the one he entrusts more difficult ones to and you're honored, truly ㅡ you just wish it weren't so much all at once.

Case in point, he's sent you out into the main town of this island for supplies, both crew-related and not, the list varying wildly from pantry staples to medical supplies.

You don't mind, you tell yourself firmly. After all, he's done so much for you ㅡ the least you can do is take on whatever he asks of you without complaint.

It's a whirlwind of activity as you flit from place to place, amassing a pile of neatly wrapped packages, boxes, and brown paper bags that only seems to grow with every stop. (How you're going to get all of this back to the Polar Tang is beyond you, you have no nifty powers like your Captain.)

Your muscles ache by the time you find a second to rest, studying the remaining items on the list and eyeing the sack full of berries that Law had sent you out with. You're almost done ㅡ and you smile to yourself, pride tempered by the abrupt growl of your stomach. Right ㅡ you haven't eaten yet today.

"I'm making good time," you mumble to yourself, "so I could grab lunch..."

Neatly folding the list, you tuck it into your pocket along with the money for said items, retrieving your own pouch of personal coin and set off to find something to eat.

The closest place ends up being a little shop with a refrigerated display case showing off various sandwiches and salads, along with neat rows of carefully shaped onigiri. Your expression lights up.

"Could I get two of the grilled salmon onigiri, please?" Given that he'd been in the middle of studying when he sent you off, you have no doubts that Law has yet to eat anything either ㅡ and since you're using your own money, he has no room to complain, either.

It's as you're watching your items be wrapped up that you become aware of the low 'purururu' from your pocket, rummaging to retrieve the tiny transponder snail. It's made in your Captain's likeness, from the tiny speckled cap to the shadows under its eyes.

Hurriedly handing the waiting cashier the berri needed, your attention shifts back to the snail as you answer it. "Captain?"

"[Name]," Law answers, "have you finished getting supplies?"

"Well no, Iㅡ"

"Good, I need you to add a couple more things." You bite back a groan of weary annoyance. Of course there's more. It takes a second of fussing to find the list, mouthing a "thank-you" when you're handed a pen to scribble it down. "Have you got it?"

"Yes, Captain." There's the click on the other line, and you huff. "Wouldn't kill him to say 'thank-you'..."

Food stacked as carefully as you can on the pile of purchases, you set off to resume retrieving the rest of the (now longer) list.

"Do you need help with that?" Concerned, the last store owner watches as you struggle to lift the massive pile, parcels at the top wobbling.

"No, I've got it. Thank-you though," you answer, trying to keep the strain out of your voice as you stagger off in the direction of the Polar Tang, muscles straining under the weight.

How you manage to get everything onto the submersible, you don't know ㅡ only that your body aches something fierce by the time you've hauled the last armful onto the deck.

Vision obscured by the boxes in your arms, you jolt as your boot hits the corner of a box and makes you scramble to correct your balance.

"Gotcha!" Fingers snag in the back of your shirt to keep you from falling over, but there's nothing to be done about the sway of the items on top ㅡ the food you'd picked up for yourself and Law ㅡ and you watch as your food topples from it and busts open on the deck.

Wonderful.

"You good?" Penguin peers at your face, finding you staring silently at the mess of food on the floor. Law's onigiri, at the very least, remain neatly wrapped on the stack of boxes. "It's okay, we can clean it upㅡ"

"[Name]." Both you and Penguin look up to find Law standing by the door, taking in the stacks of supplies before he continues. "I needㅡ"

Need. Need, need, need ㅡ frustration mixes with exhaustion in the way you tremble, snatching the onigiri from the pile and striding towards Law.

"All due respect, Captain," you say flatly, shoving the food into his hands, "but either ask someone else, or do it yourself."

And then you're gone, trying not to stomp your way to the bunkhouse. Law turns, startled by the way you've talked to him, the thinly veiled insubordination ㅡ and then down to the pair of onigiri, smell of grilled fish reaching his nose.

"To be fair," Penguin pipes up, "you've been running [Name] pretty ragged lately. They're usually the last one to go to bed and the first one up, so maybe...go a little easier on them?"

Law frowns. Has he been asking too much of you as of late? You've never complained, simply offered a "yes Captain" and continued on. Tasks got done, things completed. But then again, you shouldn't have to complain for him to know it's too much for one person to handle.

It's guilt that has him turning to head for the bunkhouse, knocking tentatively before he opens the door and steps in.

Your back is to him, blanket tugged up around your ears, and he can see you tense as he approaches. "If you're coming to tell me my punishment for talking back," you say, "I'll accept it."

You sound so tired, and it makes Law feel even worse for continuing to add things to your seemingly never ending task list. "I'm not going to punish you," he says. "If anything, I think I'm the one who deserves punishment for not noticing how hard I've been working you."

"I don't mind." You still won't look at him. "It's just a lot to handle at times."

"I know." Law plays with the wrapping of the onigiri. "And I apologize. I rely on you for a lot, and I appreciate what you do for me, for this crew." He pauses. "I also apologize for not saying that enough."

You're quiet for several long moments before you roll over to look at him. "I forgive you."

A small smile tugs at Law's lips. "Good," he says, "but I need you to do one more thing for me." You frown as you sit up, eyeing him warily before he offers you one of the onigiri. "Eat with me?"

You blink, then take it from his hand and meet his gaze, an answering smile curving your own lips. "Of course, Captain."

#ㅡmine.#one piece x reader #one piece scenario #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #ㅡanswered.#anonymous

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laurancezvahlslefteyebrow · 20 days

Text

TRAVIS TIME TRAVIS TIME

i had such a hard time drawing him i was so scared i wasn’t doing him justice 😭

headcanon time babeyy

His natural form is a cross between human and demon, naturally. he only allows himself to be like this when he’s alone or with Eseryt. He’s at his most powerful like this (not including demon form), as shapeshifting causes strain if he holds it for too long.

He can shape shift into any living creature, but he cannot turn into specific people.

His father has the ability to enter his mind and puppet him around if his defenses are down. In order for Travis to be weak enough for this, he must have put some strain on his power, like holding his human form for too long *wink wink*

When his father is in control of his body, his eyes turn from green to purple.

Transforming into his demon form puts a great strain on his body, and can be very painful. He only willingly does it if he absolutely needs a power boost.

His mother, Olle Valkrum, was trained her whole life to fight the Demon Warlock. He had been feuding with her family and their island since Enki’s time. Olle, being a descendant of Enki himself.

The Demon Warlock one day disguised himself as a man named Micheal and whooed Olle. He spent months gaining her trust as Micheal, while simultaneously fighting her as the Demon Warlock as to not draw attention. Eventually Olle became pregnant and gave birth to Travis. Appalled at this inhuman creature she created, this is when Micheal revealed himself to be the Demon Warlock all along. Olle raised Travis to the best of her abilities, training him the same way she herself had been trained, until one fateful day when she lost her life.

Shortly after everyone returned from the Irene Realm (which he of course had no idea about), he started having dreams of a girl with red hair and a scarred face. He could interact with her, but he could not touch, speak to, or hear her.

A while after the dreams began, he came across this very girl in the woods one day. Assuming it was a trick by his father, he rushed her. Though later she revealed herself to be Eseryt Yrva, a girl who’s group crashed on Enki Island and were just looking for a way out.

He and Eseryt eventually became very close and romantically involved. No Travlyn doesn’t happen (sorry guys). It never felt right to me. Not only was Katelyn always mean to Travis, but I’ve always thought she was a lesbian. (She is in my rewrite)

Travis is NOT a creepy perv!!! He’s just socially awkward and doesn’t understand social norms or ques. He doesn’t have much of a filter and will often unintentionally make people uncomfortable or offend them, though he always means well.

His lack of filter is part of why Es likes him. He’s honest, which is rare.

He’s a lot smarter than he lets on, or that people give him credit for. He has a lot of time to himself, which he spends reading and researching. He also is an incredibly skilled fighter and survivalist.

He’s never been fond of fighting. Much more preferring things like reading, writing, and painting. He’ll paint or write about whatever he sees around him.

Once he learns certain social norms and ques, he sticks to them religiously. He only wants to make people feel ok and safe around him.

He’d sacrifice himself for the people he cares about in a heartbeat a thousand times over and over again. trait he gained from his mother.

Travis was born female but shortly after he was born, he physically shifted to male and stayed that way. He can shift between male and female (or neither/both) at will, but prefers to present as male.

He generally uses he/him but doesn’t mind they/them. But please not It. That makes him feel more disconnected from his human side.

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captainofthetidesbreath · 9 months

Text

So, there's a possibility that Fjord will be at least warlock 13 for the live show. Which means: 7th level Mystic Arcanum! There is not an abundance of options to choose from, but I'm curious what people would choose for him. Here's a poll about it. Tell me why your choice in the tags if you're so inclined? Brief summaries of what each spell's effects are at the end if you're not familiar with them.

I personally think he should take Crown of Stars because it's really pretty, thematically vibes with the Star Razor, and also because I like the spell a lot. Forcecage is my next favorite choice because that sort of spatial control seems like the right vibe and the concept of the time out box is so funny. I also like Etherealness and Plane Shift. The clerics do have Plane Shift, but I think it'd be funny if he used it exclusively like Banishment+.

Crown of Stars - Seven motes of light orbit the caster's head for one hour. The caster can use a bonus action to expend a mote and make a ranged spell attack against a creature or object within 120 feet. A successful hit does 4d12 radiant damage. The spell ends early when all motes are expended. Four or more motes sheds bright light to 30 feet and dim light to an additional 30; three or fewer sheds dim light to 30 feet. Action to cast, no concentration.

Dream of the Blue Veil - The caster and up to eight willing creatures fall asleep for six hours and experience visions of another world on the Material Plane. This world is of a magic item that originated from the world that is in the caster's possession or the origin of one of the affected creatures. The caster must be aware of the world's existence. If the spell reaches the full six hours, the caster and creatures still under the spell are transported to that world. The spell ends early on a creature if the creature takes any damage. If the caster takes damage, the spell ends for all creatures. Ten minutes to cast, no concentration.

Etherealness - The caster enters the Border Ethereal. While in the Border Ethereal, they may move in any direction, though moving vertically costs an extra foot of movement. The caster sees and hears the plane they originated from, though everything is gray and vision is limited to 60 feet. They cannot affect anything on the original plane, nor can anything there see or affect them without special means to do so. The spell lasts for 8 hours or until the caster uses an action to dismiss the spell. When the spell ends, the caster appears in the plane they left in the spot they currently occupy. Action to cast, no concentration.

Finger of Death - A creature within 60 feet takes 7d8 + 30 necrotic damage on a failed Constitution save and half that on a success. A humanoid is killed by this spell is raised at the start of the caster's next turn as a zombie permanently under their command. Action to cast, no concentration.

Forcecage - The caster created an immobile, invisible, cube-shaped prison of magical force around an area within 100 feet. It lasts for one hour. The prison can be a cage with bars up to 20 feet on a side or a box with solid walls preventing everything (including spells) from pass through up to 10 feet on a side. Imprisoned creatures cannot leave by nonmagical means and must succeed on a Charisma save to teleport out. The cage extends into the Ethereal Plane. Action to cast, no concentration.

Plane Shift - The caster and eight willing creatures are teleported to a different plane of existence. The caster may also make a melee spell attack against one unwilling creature in their reach; upon a hit, the creature makes a Charisma save and upon a failure is teleported to plane of existence of the caster's choosing. Action to cast, no concentration.

Power Word Pain - The caster chooses a target within 60 feet. If the target has 100 of fewer, it is subject to intense pain. The target's speed cannot be higher than 10 feet, has disadvantage on attack rolls, ability checks, and saves that are not Constitution saves, and must first succeed on a Constitution save to cast a spell or the casting fails and the spell is wasted. Action to cast, no concentration.

#Critical Role #Critical Role things #Fjord #Fjord CR #Fjord Stone

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strwberri-milk · 1 year

Note

May I suggest Diluc being shy cause the FL is flirting with him at the angels share in front of everyone???

as much as i adore kaeya i also!! am such a fan of diluc i wanna be his best buddy he seems like hes just?? such a nice guy, your traditionaly gentleman, and a bit of menace too!! tbh i thought diluc would steal me away from kaeya but no. diluc is just friend shaped <3

Drunk patrons are the norm at Angels Share. Not having drunkards means Diluc isn't doing his job properly, which he definitely can't have.

Regardless, Diluc doesn't mind too much having a bunch of drunks. Sure, the atmosphere can get a little much to handle but there's something about the looseness of people's lips that can't help but amuse him. He stands behind the bar with the most imperceptible smirk, one that resembles the one a certain navy-haired captain wears proudly.

However, today was a little different. Diluc feels he's being a little accosted, your attention throwing him for a loop as you continuously flag him down for more drinks and attention. He can feel his sweat sticking to the back of his neck, the heat of his face reddening his cheeks, the way his gloves are getting wet to the point of slipping off.

Diluc Ragnvindr is shy and he does not like this one bit.

"Don't you think you've had too much to drink?" he tries again, wanting to steal your glass and pour it into the sink behind him.

"That would be if I was drinking anything alcoholic, which I'm not," you smile cheekily, taking a sip of your juice.

"I wanted to come here and admire you to the fullest potential. Of course I'll want to stay sober for it," you say as though it's the most obvious thing on Earth.

"Of course you do," he mutters under his breath, turning around to try and evade your scrutinising gaze.

"You're not gonna kick me out just for that, are you Master Diluc? Surely even you aren't that cruel."

You're practically purring at him, your eyes never leaving his form as he flits about. This isn't strange - tons of people have been trying to keep his attention in similar manners but something about the way you do it makes something childish flutter in his chest, biting his lip whenever he turns away from you.

"I won't do that, but can you please stop?"

You blink a little at Diluc, the tone in his voice sounding a little more biting than you would normally expect. You sit back on the stool, nodding and shooting him an honest, apologetic look.

"Sorry Diluc. If it's really too much I can..."

He's put a drink in front of you, one to replace the one you've just finished but the look on his face is what draws your attention. His gaze is still averting yours, eyes shooting daggers at the wall furthest from you. Diluc's turned almost as red as his hair, clearing his throat as he tries to speak for you and only you to hear.

"Please, if you wish to say such things I ask that you tell me privately. I don't know how much more of this I can handle."

An evil look crosses your face, and he realises a second too late he's given you far too much power over him.

"Is that the case? Well, I'll be sure to come right when your shift begins every day just to tell you how lovely you are, and how I wish to make you mine. Is that fine then?"

Your hand reaches out to rest over his, gently squeezing it to draw his attention back to your face. He nods stiffly before turning back to finish the rest of his work, ears never fully returning to their normal colour thanks to you.

#diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #genshin x reader #diluc fluff #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfic

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ofheroesandvillains · 1 year

Text

New Purpose

Halbrand x elf!reader

Words: 4k

Request: by anon – “I have a Halbrand x reader request/idea. Where the reader is an elf and she and Sauron fell in love in the really early days of middle earth. Because of this Morgoth killed her because she made Sauron soft. She then goes through the whole elf reincarnation thing and reincarnated to be alive during the rings of power. She’s now Galadriel’s friend and jumps off the ship to Valinor with her, meaning she ends up on the raft and numenor with Halbrand and Galadriel. She doesn’t remember her previous life but falls for Halbrand still. The rest is up to you 👀”

Thanks for the request, anon! ❤️

Warnings: Mentions of death. Injury and blood (nothing major). Lots of pining. Maybe a little ooc, but he’s in love, and she makes him soft.

I have almost finished the second (and final) part of this. This one was getting too long, and it felt right to split them. Been a while since I’ve done this much writing, so hopefully it’s not completely awful. Also, not my gif – credit to the creator!

You do not anticipate returning to Aman so soon. Námo had been clear when you awoke in his Halls – you have a greater role to play in the shaping of Middle Earth. For whatever reason, the fate of the one they call Sauron is inextricably tied to your own, and it is that fact that brings you and Galadriel together in the beginning and keeps you together long afterwards.

Galadriel herself is a guiding light in this unfamiliar world. Beleriand, you learn, now rests beneath the sea, and your home along with it. Your memories of the place have yet to return – after all this time, you doubt they ever will – but the thought brings with it a sense of longing for all you have lost. Even if you don’t remember what that is, you know it is much.

Having perished early in the First Age, you also know little of Middle Earth and its peoples, but the elves of Lindon are still quick to welcome you as a herald of the Valar. Though the lands are foreign, there are people there who knew you once, and it isn’t long before you find your footing in this curious new world.

The High King Gil-galad doesn’t object when you choose to accompany Galadriel to the Undying Lands – in his eyes, the evil has passed and your work on Middle Earth is done. While you know this to be false, it is an easy decision to make. It feels right, and your instincts very rarely lead you astray. For reasons you can’t explain, you know you must follow Galadriel on this final voyage.

She is quiet when the ship leaves the dock, offering only a curt nod to the elves of Lindon when they bid her farewell, but behind her eyes is a maelstrom. It worsens the further you sail into the open sea, until there is finally a palpable shift in the air, an otherworldly radiance that can only mean you have reached the threshold.

The clouds part, and down shines the inimitable light of Aman, its golden rays warm and welcoming. To your left stands Galadriel, her crystalline eyes wide with wonder as she stares at the spectacle. And yet, despite her awe, despite her longing, there is also a great sorrow etched into her brow. It reflects a truth she has known since you departed from Lindon – she will not return to Aman until her own work is done. Seeing its light has not swayed her mind, only strengthened her resolve to return when she finally deems herself worthy.

She turns slowly, catches your knowing gaze, and with one look communicates all her words cannot.

You send her a reassuring smile. “To whatever end, my friend.”

The ship nears its destination, the light shines brighter than ever, she takes your hand into her own, and you leap into the water – into the unknown – together.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The Sundering Seas are unforgiving. Your limbs slowly lose their grace from cold and fatigue, and you know as well as Galadriel does, that your chances of survival are dwindling. These seas are too vast, and your only hope of making landfall once more is if you are carried there by ship. Through nightfall and daybreak you have yet to see one on the horizon.

You don’t speak, opting to conserve energy, but Galadriel’s guilt and doubt are palpable and rising with the tide. They have plagued her mind for months now, and Elrond’s words surely echo in her ears when she casts searching glances at you from over her shoulder.

Will you lead more elves to die in far-off lands?

The thought isn’t as daunting to you as it is to her. You have, after all, died before, but you would not have such a thing rest on her conscious if you could help it.

The skies darken once more, but not with night. A fog descends on the water and grey clouds converge to hide the sun. Despite the unease that suddenly broils in your stomach, you swim towards the coming storm and pray Ulmo shows your mercy.

When salvation finally arrives, Galadriel is the first to see it, and you stop to float beside her as it draws near.

It’s a foreboding sight – a heap of broken beams that protrude like the prongs of a dark crown. But as it approaches, the sky seems to lighten, and you share another look. Anything is better than nothing, it says.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A strong hand grasps your forearm and hauls you up onto the raft. You rest there a moment, on your hands and knees, limbs shaking from exertion and breath ragged. When you look up at your saviour you can’t help but smile in a mix of relief and exhaustion.

“Thank you,” you say, voice thick with gratitude.

You must look a sight, because he stares, eyes wide and lips parted, for what seems like an eternity. Then his hands are on you again, wrapping gently around your elbows and helping you to your feet.

Distantly, you can hear Galadriel conversing with the others – you hope she remembers her tact – but you find yourself transfixed by this strange man who has yet to say a word, who has yet to even blink, whose breath is growing increasingly shorter the longer he stares at you. You wonder if perhaps the sun has made him ill, if dehydration has addled his mind, because he looks at you as if you are some illusion.

You flush under his unrelenting gaze.

“I–I’m alright to stand now,” you say gently to avoid startling him – or worse, offending him. You know little of these people, and there is no reason to believe they are your allies in this.

His brow twitches downward, but his fingers slowly, reluctantly, slip away. At last, he blinks, and it’s as if a veil has been lifted from his mind. Despite his damp hair, tattered clothing, scraped cheek, and possible insanity, he looks quite handsome when he smiles at you.

“Name’s Halbrand,” he says, and his eyes seem to soften when you give him your own.

You think to ask Halbrand just how he came to be stranded on this raft, adrift in the Sundering Seas, but you find out soon enough.

You are old; old enough to sense danger before it appears. It prickles at your senses. Was this the calm before the storm? The raft rocks beneath your feet as large ripples crash into it, and something moves through the fog, something you have never before seen.

When the sea serpent comes, you find yourself thrown into the waters once more.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When the sea serpent comes, it brings with it a storm.

There one moment, gone the next.

With his heart in his throat, he can only watch as you lose your footing. It is almost unheard of for an elf, but your limbs still tremble with exhaustion, and the raft rocks treacherously beneath your feet. You slip on its slick surface, your head strikes the boards with a resounding crack, and though he scrambles to catch you, you tumble into the frothing waves before he can.

A blur of white dives in after you.

His mind reels, it has been ever since you looked up at him with those unmistakably kind eyes – eyes he would recognise anywhere. For a moment he thought he’d strayed into another of his vivid dreams, and even now he is not entirely convinced he hasn’t.

But there is little time to waste on speculation. If it is real, if you are here, then there is a very high chance he might lose you again in the space of mere minutes. And that is not an option.

He has a choice to make when neither you nor your friend resurface after an agonisingly long moment. Does he abandon the raft and retrieve you himself, or does he trust that the elleth won’t get the both of you killed?

He doesn’t like relinquishing control, least of all when the fate of something so significant hangs in the balance, but what hope does he have of returning you to shore if he loses the raft to the storm?

Thankfully, It is a decision he does not have to make. A golden head breaks through the waves with a loud gasp, and the tension rushes out of him in a shuddering exhale when he sees she is not alone.

When he pulls you from the water a second time, your body is limp and there is a bleeding cut on your brow that will need tending.

“She isn’t breathing,” your friend pants, collapsing onto the raft beside you.

It’s not the way he imagines feeling your lips against his after so long apart, but she is right, and propriety is the least of his concerns as he puts his mouth to yours and breathes air into your lungs.

Your body quickly jerks beneath him, and he turns you onto your side as you hack up a mouthful of water.

“Easy,” he soothes, pressing a reassuring hand between your shoulder blades. You look so small and frail like this – two things he knows you are not – and his protective instinct surges.

He pulls gently at your shoulder to help guide you onto your back once more, and you catch his hand before it withdraws. Your skin is icy cold to the touch, and your bleary eyes blink up at him sluggishly.

“Halbrand…” you manage to mumble before your eyes flutter shut and your fingers slip away.

He smothers an irritated huff as he glances at your friend. Were you alone, he’d rid you of your soaked smock and let his heat warm you, but even now, as her eyes droop and glaze over in exhaustion, your friend watches him warily. He’s almost grateful for her protective nature – it is a relief to know you have found an ally willing to risk her life for you. But it also grates. He is not a threat, not to you, and he is far more capable of protecting you than she is. She will learn as much, in time.

Sleep slowly but inevitably overpowers her, and the moment it does, he lies down beside you and draws you into his arms.

It has been a long time since he’s held you this way – too long – and it reminds him of all he has taken for granted. It reminds of the times you would kiss the hollow of his neck and trace soft circles into the skin of his sternum; the way you would press your ear to his chest and let his heartbeat lull you to sleep. Sometimes the warmth of you, the comfort of your presence, would coax him into the dreamworld as well, and other times it would keep him awake long into the night, so he could marvel at his own good fortune.

He holds your trembling body tight to his chest, careless of the sea water that drips from your clothes and seeps into his own. He is fire, in the end, and nothing has made him burn quite so brightly as you have. So, he guides your face into the warm crook of his neck and wills warmth into your bones as day fades to dusk and dusk to dawn.

That is how the Númenóreans find him. And while they lift your friend from the raft and carry her below deck, they know not to touch you. It may be the look in his eye or the greedy way he clings to you still, but they make no attempt to part you from him and for that he is grateful.

In truth, he fears what he might do if they so much as try.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s barely had a day to come to terms with your appearance, or rather your reappearance, but he has plenty of time to think as he waits for you to wake.

Upon boarding the ship, the Númenóreans led him below deck and offered a spare hammock for your rest.

You lie there now, slightly swaying with each rock of the ship, and he just can’t take his eyes off you. Memories are never enough. They are ephemeral, and in the time it takes him to remember the curve of your jaw, he has forgotten the slant of your nose. You are never quite whole in his mind, not like you are now, and he is never quite whole without you.

Millennia have passed, and yet here you are. Why? And why now? Part of him doesn’t care for the answer, but the other part knows he must ask the question. The Valar never do anything without reason, and this is no small thing – not to him.

There is only one conclusion he draws that truly makes sense.

You are a sign; a peace offering. Stranded at sea with his ship besieged by a sea serpent, his path to repentance may have been hindered, but he had tried to do the right thing by returning to Aman, and perhaps that had been the sign they needed to show him mercy.

Your return is beyond mercy. It is a dream, a fantasy, a reward he doesn’t deserve but cherishes nonetheless.

But, he thinks.

There had been no hint of recognition in your eyes. No sign of the adoration you once gazed at him with. And though it hurts, he reminds himself that this human guise is not the fair form he donned in the First Age. It is not the form you had fallen in love with, and that brings new doubts to his mind.

Perhaps your return isn’t a reward at all, but a punishment. Perhaps you will never love him as you once did, and he will be destined to admire you only from afar, to pine and yearn and ache for you, and never be able to have you. Could he survive such a thing twice?

Even now, as he watches you sleep, face soft in rest, his fingers itch to hold you again, to stroke your hair, to trace your cheek. The last time he’d seen you, your body had been bathed in the fiery glow of a red dawn, broken and bloodied and empty of its soul. His Master’s mark carved into your flesh.

He forces the image from his mind with a clenched jaw. While he tells himself that the past no longer matters – that Melkor is all but dead, and you are very much alive – he has harboured this rage and agony and despair within him for millennia, and he will never truly be free of them.

He is pulled mercifully from his thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps. They come to a slow stop beside him, and he tears his eyes away from you for a moment to glance up at the Captain – Elendil, he recalls. There is clear nostalgia in Elendil’s eyes as he looks at you, a mingling of tenderness and grief that makes it clear this is a man who has loved and lost – and that is a pain Halbrand knows intimately.

“For your lady,” the Captain says softly, holding out a pouch and waterskin. This too feels like a peace offering, one Halbrand accepts with a grateful nod and murmured thanks.

The cut on your brow is still tender and open, but it no longer bleeds. You will heal well, as all elves do, but he flips the pouch open anyway. He wets a clean cloth and dabs gently at the crusted blood on your brow as Elendil’s footsteps slowly retreat.

You don’t react to his ministrations, and he’s almost grateful to have a reason to touch you again – there’s no telling if he will ever be welcome to do so again.

No, he thinks stubbornly, that will not be his fate. He has not spent an eternity praying for this chance only to squander it. The familiar spark of ambition was lit the moment he laid eyes on you, and it is exhilarating. An old challenge; a new purpose. For the first time in a long time, he is not content to simply roam without direction. He can see his destination. What he doesn’t know, is how to reach it.

And so, he spends the next several hours imagining how he will woo his wife once more.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It doesn’t go entirely to plan.

He is forced from your side when your friend wakes. Galadriel, as he learns her name is.

She watches him with thinly veiled suspicion and asks more questions than he knows to answer about the ship, the crew, its Captain, and their destination. What’s more, there is no subtlety in the way her eyes dart between your still form and his, perched on the stool beside you. He is too close for her liking and too far for his own. A stalemate, one he has a feeling will become all too common from this moment onward. This time, he will concede.

He hides his irritation with an innocuous smile.

“I need to stretch my legs, and the Captain doesn’t want her left alone overlong,” he lies. “Would you mind?”

His words have the desired effect. The tension leaves her shoulders, and she gives him a nod.

He wants to be there when you wake, wants to be the first thing you see, but the need to worm his way into Galadriel’s good graces outweighs his desire – it must if he hopes to worm his way into your good graces as well.

So, he stands and retreats into the cool night air.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You dream of a man – the same man as always, but this time the image of him is clearer in your mind. Not by much, but enough for you to realise he is tall, his arms are strong, and his hair resembles silken strands of white gold. His face, however, remains a mystery.

You try to discern his features; the smile you hear in his voice, and the eyes you feel lingering on your form. But they are just beyond your grasp and obscured by a light that rivals that of Aman. He must be so beautiful.

If not in face, then in soul, because you have never felt this way before. It is only in these dreams that you know love, and joy, and peace, and comfort. The waking world is for everything else, and much of the time you rue returning to it.

How you wish you could remember him. How you wish you could learn of his fate and perhaps find him once more.

Would he remember you? Would it please him to see you again? Or had too much time passed?

Gentle fingers grasp your chin. A gold band glitters on the index finger of his right hand. It is beautifully crafted, by what must have been the greatest of smiths. You know what it signifies, and so, you aren’t entirely surprised to find a matching band on your own finger – somehow, it even eclipses his in splendour.

“You are troubled, my love.”

You can’t help but huff a soft laugh, it’s watery and distressed, and enough to prompt him into action. He pulls you into his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, and the other tracing soothing lines along your spine.

“I fear I’ve lost you,” you mumble into his chest and feel it vibrate beneath your ear as he hums.

“Then I will just have to find you again, won’t I?” He says it so simply, so absolutely, as if there is no doubt in his mind he will do so.

“Would you?”

“Would I?” Now it is his turn to laugh. Your eyes slip shut at the press of soft lips to your crown, and you wish to hold onto this moment forever. “Always.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s reluctant to admit it, but the fresh air does him good. Thoughts of you still swirl in his mind – they have done from the moment he met you, so that’s hardly new – but he’s regained some of his composure. It wouldn’t do to be so obvious around the Captain, around Galadriel, as he has already been, so he pulls himself together in this brief moment of respite.

For now, he must pretend – pretend he doesn’t know you, pretend he doesn’t love you, pretend he is okay with pretending.

It’s something he’s come to be quite good at over the years.

He heaves a deep breath and braces his hands against the gunwale as he stares out across the seemingly endless horizon. The waves have calmed, lapping gently at the ship’s hull, and they reflect the pale light of the stars and moon.

He’s paid the night sky more attention in recent millennia than he ever has before. The stars seem to shine brighter than usual this night, and he suspects he knows why. He swallows thickly – his pride is a heavy thing – and his lips curve in a small and humble smile. Gratitude costs you nothing.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into the night.

The stars twinkle, and he clears his throat uncomfortably. The sudden sound of muffled voices comes as a relief.

“—costs you nothing. If you won’t thank him, I will.”

He peers over his shoulder in time to see you emerge from below deck. There is a disapproving frown on your weary face he is all too familiar with – and glad to not be on the receiving end of for once.

Galadriel walks at your side, her lips set in a thin and equally disapproving line. You communicate without words when you realise you’re not alone – a pointed look, a raised brow, an exasperated huff.

He tries to ignore the swell of envy he feels at your familiarity with each other but takes solace in the fact that he still knows you better than she does. You have not changed, as he has, in your time apart. Unfortunately, that only makes him crave you even more – makes him yearn for that same familiarity, that sense of belonging and completeness he’s gone so long without.

He feels more like himself when he’s with you.

But one thing he has always been – then and now – is patient.

Your face brightens when you meet his eye, and he greets you with a charming smile as you approach him. “Awake at long last.”

“Yes,” you laugh lightly. “Galadriel tells me I owe you great thanks for overseeing my recovery.”

“Does she?” He can’t help but glance over at Galadriel dubiously before meeting your eye. She hovers in the background, fists clenched and jaw tight, and he almost smirks at the sight. If she is this unsettled by mere gratitude, she’ll surely be furious when you come to him with love instead.

“Well,” you smile, and it's wide and knowing and achingly familiar. “Not in so many words. But I am grateful nonetheless. Thank you.”

You give his forearm a gentle squeeze. It’s nothing to look into, a subconscious move to emphasise your appreciation, but his fingers still tighten around the gunwale at your touch.

Patience, he reminds himself.

“Happy to be of service,” he quips light-heartedly, and you share a smile.

No, he thinks, admiring the light in your eyes and the warmth in your smile. Whether you were reborn for his benefit or merely your own, it did not matter.

This could never be a punishment.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Almost done with the other requests too, so I’ll probably be posting them within the week! Anyway, I hope this was okay – let me know what you think!

#halbrand x reader #halbrand #Rings of Power #rings of power fanfiction #sauron x reader

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steadymongerbatscissors · 10 months

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Leo Valdez And His Mistreatment

Recently I have taken some time to go back to some books and reread them for the hell of it. One of these books being the Heroes of Olympus series. Now the Heroes of Olympus series has been my favorites series overall yeah I know people think its worse than the others but I just honestly prefer the multiple point of views. Of course some characters could do with some fleshing out like Jason,Piper,Frank,and Hazel. My personal favorite of all the characters was Leo Valdez mostly because I though his fire powers were cool and he was a surprisingly deep character compared to fellow new characters.

But while reading I noticed multiple facets of his character that I felt did not need to be added or needed to be expanded on and this post I will tell you them all.

His Powers

I’m starting with his powers because that was the main thing that drew me in and in my believe sort of made Leo the person he was in the books. I mean without his fire powers he wouldn’t have accidentally killed his mother therefore never being an orphan and meeting Jason and Piper. This all say nothing about his frayed mental state.

So there pretty important but while also being important they are pretty inconsistent.

What I mean is that when Leo first uses his powers he had been purposefully not using them since he was 8 years old. This gives off the impression that has major control over his fire powers to supremes them for so long. Yet when they are on the bridge to the Wind God’s palace in the sky he suddenly loses control even though he realistically should have not done that since he had already shown he has major control over his power and wouldn’t suddenly lose control just cause he got excited.

Another problem his powers have is that they are supposedly super dangerous yet the only thing he does is throw a couple fireballs towards monsters and that’s it. Well except for when he somehow learns to nuke Gaea with his fire powers.

Wait what?

He learns to nuke somebody!

You see how his powers are super inconsistent. Like how do we go from fireballs to fire nuking a primordial goddess.

This problem seems to only exist for Leo since we get see Hazel get over her tragedy and control her powers to a far more powerful degree,Piper gets to hone her charm-speak so when she makes Gaea go to sleep it makes sense,and finally Frank multiple times throughout the series get to show off his shape shifting and how strong it is. So why does Leo never get this treatment cause we never see him actually hone his power and develop new ability’s from it.

Like your telling me the guy whose dad is the god of fire never once threw Greek fire out of his hands even though he is supposed to be the special fire guy.

His Appearance

Allow me to read you this passage describing how Leo looks.

“Leo looked like a Latino Santa’s elf, with curly black hair, pointy ears, a cheerful, babyish face, and a mischievous smile that told you right away this guy should not be trusted around matches or sharp objects. His long, nimble fingers wouldn’t stop moving—drumming on the seat, sweeping his hair behind his ears, fiddling with the buttons of his army fatigue jacket. Either the kid was naturally hyper or he was hopped up on enough sugar and caffeine to give a heart attack to a water buffalo”

To put the description simply he is described as ugly and extremely hyperactive.

I don’t understand why Rick wrote him that way because why does the outsider of the seven have to be the ugly and can’t sit still.

It’s not like any of the other characters are described as ugly unless their Frank before Mars blessing. Rick has Hazel literally think that Percy is a Greek God. Piper is the daughter of the goddess of love. Annabeth is described as a princess implying prettiness. Hell it’s not even kept to just the seven, Will Solace (the character with no personality trait aside from being a doctor and loving Nico) is described as being hot by Nico.

So like why does it seem that Leo Valdez is the only character described as ugly and hyperactive. Hell it doesn’t even make sense that Leo doesn’t have a little muscle considering he’s a mechanic and mechanics have to lift heavy shit all the time like realistically Leo would have a decent amount of muscle.

Note:Expanding on his hyper-activeness, we know that demigods ADHD helps them react to monster attack better and Annabeth describes Leo as extremely ADHD so wouldn’t that just mean that Leo would have like spider-sense and dodge extremely well.

His Character Connections

Why does everybody seem to hate Leo or at the very least try to avoid speaking with him. Like for real half way through the series Jason,and Piper completely stop hanging out with him. The only interaction they have after the Lost Hero is them going to Asclepius to make the Physician’s Cure.

Rick tried to have Hazel and Leo be friends because she knew his Grandfather or something but that is so flimsy. Frank hates Leo from the jump even though he started the beef by asking Leo if he was Sammy and getting mad every time Leo looked at Hazel. Yet there the ones he confides his whole plan to beat Gaea.

Percy is yet another person who doesn’t like Leo even though they are the basically the same person in different fonts. Annabeth seems to dislike having Leo aboard the Argo with the rest of the seven because she has no problem making fun of Leo in her mind by mocking him cause of his ADHD but then again that’s a bigger problem with Annabeth’s character than their relationship.

The only thing that seems to like having Leo around is Festus the dragon who Leo rebuilt after accidentally destroying him in their first quest.

I don’t care what you say just because Calypso insults Leo a little. It doesn’t mean that she hates him because she actually care like she really fucking cares.

So to recap Leo only has two people that genuinely like being around him and seven friends who put up with him and don’t really want him around.

Compares this to the main character of the last prophecy I.E Percy. Everybody likes Percy even people who realistically shouldn’t like him like him. Like your Reyna the girl who lost a home and was put on a pirate ship thanks to Percy had a crush on him just because he was a decent fighter. Yes right I call bullcrap.

Small Problem

Leo Valdez is a character who throughout the series has a lot of problems in his character. One problem is his treatment towards or more accurately why does Rick write Leo to be incredibly disrespectful even though he himself acknowledges how it was for his mom to get a good job just cause she is a women. One scene that I think emphasizes this problem is when the trio of the Lost Hero book meets the Hunters of Artemis. Now your expecting that since Leo himself saw how hard it was for mother just cause she was women would be extremely respectful towards the Hunters especially Jason’s sister Thalia. But nope he goes right up to Thalia and just says she’s hot to her face like come on Rick your contradicting yourself. Then in Trials of Apollo Rick has Reyna teach Leo about respecting women no like come on Leo since childhood should have know to respect women. I know you might be saying that’s just the persona he uses around people but like that doesn’t change the fact he should have already knew not to do that thanks to his mother.

Conclusion

In conclusion Leo Valdez is a character who could have been treated far better by the story,author,and the people inside the story. He is a wonderful character who in universe only has two people that genuinely want him around and deserved to have his powers explored more than just fireball. But sadly he is riddled with holes that shouldn’t be there if you actually look at his character.

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the-darklings · 2 years

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today i bury you in me ╱ finale preview.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ series masterlist

The Endless are formidable individually. Raw power holding this universe together given form and reason. Their realms are kingdoms that put others to shame. You’ve visited plenty by now to draw the unsurprising conclusion. Dealing with each sibling is an exercise in patience, tact, and subtle respect in differing shades.

Sitting in the same room as seven of them makes you want to crawl out of your skin and run for the hills. You’ve met them individually in the past. There’ve been a handful of occasions where you encountered several simultaneously. But never all together in the same room like this.

They’re terrible and wonderful and so suffocating in their casual existence that every instinct in your mortal body warns you of one indisputable truth:

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Death shakes her head promptly, giving you a stern glance. “Nonsense, sweetheart,” she asserts. “You’re right where you belong. Isn’t that right, Destiny?”

Destiny of the Endless sits unmoving, only his mouth visible behind his flowing hood. His hand rests on the Book of Destiny, pale but relaxed. Whenever Destiny does move, the chain connecting him to the book rattles through your bones.

He hosts these family gatherings, though all Endless have equal prominence in this universe and its continuous function. Despite it, from your angle, it appears as if he’s the one at the head of the table. He was the oldest and certainly the most overwhelming in his sheer aura. It took him a simple swipe of his hand for an additional chair to materialise at the table for you. For his fluttering, eerily silent attendants to lay a plate and glass on either side of you.

“All is as it should be, sister,” Destiny replies, his voice whistling wind through dry leaves.

Your pulse beats against the curve of your throat. If your stomach weren’t empty, you might be throwing up right now.

Death grins brightly, pleased. Her smile is no doubt meant to be reassuring when she turns back towards you. “See, that’s a yes.”

Your words form clumsily on your tongue, “I didn’t mean to impose—”

Sitting on your left, Delirium tightens her grip on you, cutting your words short. Her chair had been dragged towards yours, your arms linked despite the uncomfortable angle. The scent of leather, sweat, and burnt sugar bites into your nostrils, her hair flickering between bright orange, yellow, and neon green today.

“Uhm… impose?” she mutters. Her words flow so swiftly that it’s an effort to keep up. “No, no, imposing to be imposed on, and, um, imposing is impolite. What is impolite?”

“To impose would be impolite, yes.” Your words come out measured. “Like that man. You went into his home.”

“Well, he, well, he wasn’t a very good man.” Delirium’s voice thins, frustration biting into each syllable. On your other side, you sense Destruction turning in your direction. Tension blinks out from Delirium’s lovely features, her different-coloured eyes shining in the dimly lit room. “I made him see colours. Really pretty, pretty colours.”

Yes, she certainly did. You’re hopeful the man received a swift death via villagers, having no doubt concluded him mad or consorting with devils and demons. As if to illustrate her point, Delirium lightly positions her thumb and index fingers together, forming an O. She giggles, blowing air, and much to your unspoken wonder, multicoloured bubbles float through the air. Some remain bubbles, bloated and bobbing. Others shape into animals and birds.

“I am not an Endless,” you remind, feeling foolish for doing so. As if anyone could mistake you for one of them. Your eyes briefly skim over each sibling, shifting in your seat for the dozenth time. “I don’t think it’s right for me to be here.”

Despair, sitting opposite to you beside her twin, hoods her eyes. The metal hook on her finger digs into her chin. Blood bubbles beneath the honed metal point. “Yes. Mortal.”

Her whispering, thin voice blankets you, and your insides ball up.

Destruction chuckles beside you, deep and echoing in the dining hall, smoothing over your suddenly chilled, clammy skin. “Sister, do you meet many mortals who live over three hundred years? I see no harm in you being here, dear Wanderer.”

Desire stretches indolently in their seat, candlelight washing over their indescribable features. Scoff ripples from their chest, their chin dropping in their open palm.

“Right, is anyone else opposed to Wanderer being here?” Desire voices, sweeping a challenging look around the table. When no one speaks, Desire shrugs, arms open at their sides. “See, sweet thing, relax. Have some fruit.”

They pointedly push the fruit basket closer towards you. The fruit does look tasty, and you hadn’t eaten in two days, but you’re not sure you could stomach it right now. Not without losing it moments later.

Dream casts an inpatient glance Destiny’s way in your peripheral. In extravagant robes, Dream Lord appears the most disgruntled with being summoned. “Why are we here, Destiny? You do not call upon the family without a cause.”

Destiny’s answer comes predictably vague: “You are here, brother Dream. That is all.”

Despite your unease to be dropped into their family meeting, annoyance pinpricks you at his words. Always the same ambiguity, always what the book dictates, and never what someone might feel. Destiny is not human. It would be unfair for you to hold any of the Endless to mortal standards. For you to expect them to comprehend and grasp sentiments that are so far out of their reach.

It doesn’t take away from the sting, though. At least this time, the curse was mindful enough to drop you inside Destiny’s stronghold inside the Garden of Forking Ways. Last time, you found yourself helplessly lost inside the boundless maze for weeks. Destiny did nothing to aid you—it was as it was meant to be. That wild animal fear and helplessness is what you associate him most closely with.

“Why the rush?” Desire calls out, interrupting your thoughts. “Eager to get back to another failed relationship, sweet Dream?”

#the sandman #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #sandman fic #sandman x reader #sandman imagine #morpheus imagines #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #the sandman netflix #sandman neil gaiman #fic: today i bury you in me #extra long to make up for the fact it's taking me seven centuries :D

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kittievampire · 1 year

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Kin of the Demon Prince (pt. 8)

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, MC is a fuckin unit, Childhood trauma, Drug usage (not MC) , Alcohol usage (not MC), Child Abuse, Female MC, Single Mom MC, MC x Diavolo, MC is like super-bffs with Belphegor

Link to part 1

Link to part 2

Link to part 3

Link to part 4

Link to part 5

Link to part 6

Link to part 7

Link to part 9

Enjoy.

"Lord Diavolo!" Lucifer called out, rushing through the halls of the Demon Lord's Castle. They seemed longer than they were normally. Of course, that may have been because his mind was plagued with worry.

Not that his brothers were in any better shape though.

When the eldest entered the room, he saw Diavolo standing at your bedside, broken pieces of the door on the ground, and you on the bed with your eyes closed.

Only, the infant that was usually next to you was missing.

"MC!" Mammon and Asmodeus yelled in unison, both of them pushing past Lucifer to rush to your side. "What happened to her, huh? Is she dead?" Mammon asked. "No! MC can't be dead, she's too young and pretty to die!" Asmodeus whined right after, tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

Lucifer stepped to the side, allowing Satan, Beelzebub, and Belphegor to step into the room. The Avatar of Sloth stared at you for a moment before glancing at his two brothers who were almost sobbing. "She's asleep, dimwits."

Satan took a step forward, lifting his hand toward your figure, a green glyph appearing before his palm. He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. "It's a sleep spell. Someone maximized it multiple times over." He flinched, pulling his hand away as the glyph disappeared. "She was hexed too?" He asked rhetorically, taking a step closer.

Diavolo looked up at the blond. "And that means?" The Avatar of Wrath shifted in his position so he could better face the demon prince. "That means magic won't do anything but deepen her state of slumber." Diavolo clenched his teeth, frustration evident on his face as he stood up. "Lucifer, Mammon, with me," He ordered, making his way out of the room. Lucifer followed closely after while Mammon was confused for a moment. "W-Wait, why does he want me to go too?" He asked, earning an elbow from Leviathan. "Does it matter? Just go, Stupidmammon, it probably has something to do with MC!"

Diavolo led the two brothers to a different room, Barbatos waiting patiently for them, spreading out a large paper, that the sins identified to be a map of the Human World, over the table that sat in the middle of this room. Lucifer had seen this map before. He'd witnessed Diavolo placing tacs or marking certain areas on this map with a pen whenever he'd get the "strange feeling" that was supposedly coming from the Human World.

Mammon swallowed the lump in his throat as he and Lucifer took a step toward the table to inspect the map. Diavolo walked by the two, arms crossed as he peered down at it as well. "Selene was missing when I discovered MC in the state she's in. If what Satan said is true, and magic was used, then whoever was in that room and hexed her took Selene as well," Diavolo stated, shooting a knowing look at Lucifer.

Mammon blinked a couple of times, pulling off his shades. "Who's Selene?" The eldest turned to look at the Avatar of Greed, crossing his arms as well. "Selene is MC and Lord Diavolo's infant daughter," He explained, earning a look of shock from the white-haired demon. "Daughter?" Mammon turned to look at the demon prince. "You and MC have a kid?! When'd that happen, huh?" He asked dumbly, earning a smack on the head from Lucifer. "Mammon, focus on the matter at hand."

Diavolo glanced between the two brothers before looking at the map before him. "Selene's missing and MC's under a powerful spell and a hex on her. I could only imagine who could be the culprit of all of this," He said, leaning against the table, trying to focus. If he could feel something, he could point it out and locate Selene. Lucifer scowled. "Solomon," He murmured.

Now, Mammon was an idiot, that was a given, but he could follow along, albeit slower than ideally possible. "Wait... Are ya sayin' that sorcerer is why MC's asleep?" He asked, earning a nod from the demon prince. "He's no doubt the one responsible for my daughter's disappearance as well. Solomon currently has a cloaking spell up, meaning we have no idea where he is, what he's doing, or what his intentions are with Selene."

Lucifer nodded his head. "I will inform my brothers. However, I can't help but wonder why Mammon was called in here as well. Forgive my ignorance, but I highly doubt he'll be of any use," The raven-haired demon sighed, earning an "Oi!" from the Avatar of Greed. Diavolo turned to Mammon, looking him sternly in the eye. "I need you to come with Barbatos and me to the human world, Mammon. You are the fastest among your brothers, and I know you'd do anything for MC and our child. I know MC would trust you with our daughter's life, and, if I'm not fast enough to reach her, you will be," He spoke, the severe tone of his voice making Mammon shift in his spot. Suddenly, the white-haired demon adopted to same demeanor, which was rare. "Ya think Solomon'd be that stupid? To do somethin' to yer kid?" He asked genuinely, earning a nod from the prince.

Mammon bit his lip for a moment, pondering. "Okay. But, I gotta tell ya, killin' Solomon is off the table—" He shifted— "Asmo and yer helluva butler over there are still in pacts with him. M'not too fond of the idea that if the sorcerer dies, my brother will goin' down as well," He said, crossing his arms as he looked forward, not meeting anyone's eyes. Diavolo furrowed his brows for a moment. "I see. You're right, we can't risk the possible perishing of anyone here. And, I'm not entirely well-versed in pacts myself, nor in what happens when one side passes." The prince turned his head to look at his butler, who responded with a reassuring smile. "If I may, Lord," Barbatos spoke. "Perhaps the brothers should accompany you and Mammon to the human realm rather than I. Once the sorcerer is in our possession, we will need an area to contain him. I must prepare the dungeon for your return." Diavolo nodded, turning his head back to the brothers. "Hardly an issue, yes?"

Mammon glanced at Lucifer, who turned his head and responded with a nod. Diavolo sat down, placing his forehead against his clasped hands as he tried to focus. The Avatar of Pride turned to his brother. "I will inform the others. Stay with him— And don't. Touch. Anything." The raven-haired demon glared at his brother, earning a dramatic gasp in response. "I'd never do anythin' like that! C'mon, who'dya take me for?"

Leviathan shifted uncomfortably in his seat beside you, shooting a worried glanced at Satan. "Is there really no way we can help her? No spells, nothing?" Satan shook his head with a frown. "Any spells used could risk the chance of her falling even deeper into whatever magic-induced slumber she's in. I'm surprised I was even able to identify what it was without it causing any form of damage."

Asmodeus sighed dramatically. "There has to be something! I think that MC looks absolutely stunning when she's asleep, but this is different! Satan—" He squealed, grasping onto his older brother's arm— "Do something! The more I worry, the more likely I'll get wrinkles!"

Beelzebub was chewing on his fifth devil-burger, pieces of the wrapper getting caught between his teeth as he stared at you with a frown. "Belphie," He muttered out softly with a full mouth, looking up at his twin. Belphegor looked up at his brother through his messy bangs, having adjusted your pillow so you wouldn't have a sore neck. "Can you make sure MC isn't having any nightmares?" The Avatar of Gluttony asked, taking another bite of his burger. "Give her happy dreams with all kinds of good food and sweets." The youngest smiled at his twin's request, adjusting your covers.

"That's it!" Satan's voice boomed slightly, causing the other four in the room to flinch. The blond stood, stern gaze landing on the Avatar of Sloth before him. "You can penetrate her dreams, can't you? Does your ability require magic?" Belphegor slowly shook his head. "No, entering the dream realm does, but not going into someone's head when they're asleep," He explained softly, trying to remember how it was explained to him when he first got the ability. Leviathan gasped. "So, it's less of a spell and more of a skill! Like natural resistance to poison or certain elements that align with your class and power! One also has to account for their level, SP or mana..." The Avatar of Envy continued on his little rant, straying away from the topic multiple times during his monologue.

Satan and Belphegor deadpanned at him before turning toward each other, allowing their older brother to continue talking. "Do you think you'll be able to wake her up at all?" The blond asked, green eyes shifting to you. "I'm not sure. I can't wake anyone up from sleep, I can only go into their dreams. That being said, I can try and get her to wake herself up, but I'm not sure how much time it will take. She's in a deep state of sleep right now, I don't think it'll be easy," The youngest explained, resting his head on his folded arms at the edge of your bed, letting out a yawn as he felt himself getting sleepy.

"She doesn't have much... Of a choice, though..." He mumbled out, closing his eyes as he began to drift off.

"MC! You fucking rat, where are you?!"

You gasped, immediately clasping both hands over your mouth. The familiar voice that called out to you was accompanied by the sound of heavy yet distorted footsteps. "The hell did I say was gonna happen if you disobeyed me?! Huh?!" You could hear doors behind slammed open, the liquid in his beer bottle sloshing around loudly, and every now and then, you'd hear him gulp some more down.

You were hidden, tucked away inside of a small cabinet. You fit among the pot lids and little amount of pans in there, mainly because the rest of them were in the sink. The dishes were never clean, you remembered, so this was where you hid.

You closed your eyes, tears beginning to gather on your lower lash line. This scene played over and over again in your childhood. One of the monsters would be passed out in the living room in front of a line of white powder, an open medicine bottle, or an odd looking glass container; the other monster would be wasted out of his mind and initiate this game of hide and seek, where, if he found you, you would get beaten badly; and you would hide until you heard the shouting stop and the front door slam shut. Sometimes, it'd take hours; other times, it'd take a few minutes.

But it'd never taken this long.

"MC?"

"You ungrateful bitch! How dare you disobey your parents?!" Voices echoed around you, making you think the world was spinning.

No, that wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to be awake.

"MC!"

Tears streamed down your face, staining your cheeks and your clothes as you covered your ears. "Stop... Please, stop," You whimpered out quietly.

"Coward!"

"Bitch!"

"Little punk!"

"Rat!"

"Waste of space!"

"Stop," You cried softly.

Suddenly, the cabinet door slammed open. You screamed,

"NO!"

Silence.

You heard nothing. Nor did you feel anything.

"MC, it's okay," You heard the faint whispers of a calm, soothing voice. The familiarity of it made your tense form relax a little. Still, you were reluctant to open your eyes. You felt the warmth of a hand gently touch your wrist and flinched, recoiling as you backed away. "No! No! Get away!" You sobbed, shaking as tears continued to fall from your eyes.

"MC, it's me, don't you recognize my voice?"

You did.

You swore you did, but your mind remained in lockdown, your body unmoving.

"MC, please look at me,"

No, you couldn't. You couldn't possibly open your eyes, not when the monsters were still out there.

Silence again.

Then a heavy sigh.

"MC, you have to wake up. Selene was missing when we found you here, you have to wake up and tell us what happened."

His voice was muffled thanks to your hands. Though the name sound familiar to you, it made you open your eyes, looking down at the ground. The familiar wooden floor of the attic in the House of Lamentation greeted your blurry vision, though little droplets of salty tears now stained the floorboards. "Se... Selene...?" You whimpered out softly.

"Yes! Yes, Selene! She's out there somewhere, and we can't find her unless you wake up!" Suddenly, hands reached out to girl your shoulders and you looked up at the man before you, hands pulling away instinctively from your ears.

"Belphie?" The Avatar of Sloth before you shook his head. "Listen, MC, I think Solomon might be behind this! There's no way a spell this powerful could've been cast by some lower demon! He might have taken her. I don't know, but you have to wake up!" The look of desperation on his face made you quiver.

"MC, you have to! You can't let him win! What about Diavolo, huh? What about Selene? Are you just going to let them—"

His voice was slowly fading away. You could feel yourself slipping.

"No, no, no! Stay with me, MC, stay with me!"

"That's it, MC... Rest just a while longer..."

Solomon carried Selene close to his chest, shielding her from the pouring rain as he approached a familiar building. It was the temple he and Asmodeus had built long ago, in all of it's aged glory. His smile never faded.

"There we are, my dear," The sorcerer said softly to the sleeping infant. "Mommy's sound asleep, daddy's probably feeling helpless by now. And you, dear, are going to play your part well!" He chuckled softly at the child.

Placing her down on a table before him, one that used to be a shrine, he turned away from her, gathering magical herbs and items he'd need.

What he didn't realize, however, was Selene slowly transforming as tears welled up in her eyes. A small cry escaped her mouth as horns sprouted from the top of her head and wings pushed against the table.

Solomon froze.

If she was crying, that meant she was shifting.

No, she wasn't supposed to shift. She was supposed to be under a containment spell, why was she shifting?

That would mean...

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#obey me mc #obey me #obey me angst #obey me diavolo #kin of the demon prince #obey me mc x diavolo #obey me diavolo x you #obey me diavolo x reader #diavolo obey me #diavolo x female mc #obey me diavolo x female reader #obey me diavolo x mc #swd diavolo #swd diavolo x you #obey me swd

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lipstickchainsaw · 3 months

Note

Do you have any thoughts on the Burning Grey or Damsel routes? Because I found them both fascinating with the themes of agency and denial of agency, plus with how your shaping of the princess is most clear in the Damsel’s chapter.

I do think it’s very cool that Burning Grey somehow manages to be less creepy than normal old Damsel. Because yes, she’s trying to kill you, but also she appears to have thoughts and feelings and that is significantly less creepy than the hollow shell that is the Damsel.

I think the Burned Grey is fascinating for very much the reasons you describe, but let's talk Damsel first.

Because the Damsel is incredibly unsettling and it's a route that leaves a bad taste in my mouth (in a way the game intended, I mean).

I think a lot of the routes in Slay the Princess explore the theme of agency, especially how unequal power dynamics shape people involved in those exchanges, what resistance looks like in the face of someone having power over you, and whether any real respect or relationship can follow from it.

And the Damsel says 'no, it can't'.

Oh sure, it seems like she says 'yes, it can!' with all the enthusiasm of a chivalric romance, but it can only exist insofar as the Damsel stops existing as a person, only to the extent that she can sublimate her agency, her personality, her wishes, dreams and desires by fully giving into what the person who's there to kill her wants.

(You kill her with one stab, but she has so little power that in Chapter 1 she has to stab you countless times to finally end you.)

The Smitten doesn't care about this and is happy to fully dominate her personality away (which is why he's awful), until she becomes but a prop in the story he wants to tell, an endlessly adoring maiden who hangs off his every word but will, crucially, never express any desire or opinion of her own.

Basically, she doesn't exist.

(And when you try to discover what she does want, what person does exist underneath the adoring accommodation, her physical body becomes as well-defined as her mental existence.)

And you get there by trying, at every turn, to save her, by not considering her enough of a threat to take the knife, and not even bothering to let her try to free herself.

You have denied her any agency in Chapter 1, and thus you get the Damsel.

Crucially, she doesn't even resist when you kill her.

Instead, you then get the Burned Grey, and here's where things get interesting.

You see, the Damsel thought you loved her, and so she became the prop to your story, but you killed her, so clearly this isn't actually what you want.

But that doesn't make sense, because you loved her enough to try to save her the first time!

These contradictions finally spark a degree of agency once again, and the Burned Grey concludes that something is off. She loves you, and she knows you love her, but you keep killing each other.

So it has to be the location itself! It has to be the cabin itself, the entire thing set-up that is setting you at each other's throats even though you don't want to, and the only way to escape this cycle of violence and abuse is to destroy it!

And she's right! The cabin represents the Construct within itself, and the Creator specifically set it up for the Long Quiet to kill the Shifting Mound, and destroying it together is the only way for this to stop!

I think the only other Princess that comes this close to understanding what's actually happening might be the Wild (and possibly the Moment of Clarity, but I am not playing through the Nightmare again to figure that out, thank you).

And so, in a statement of love, empathy, finally finding one's agency, the Burned Grey tries to end this cycle.

By burning you to death.

#slay the princess #slay the princess spoilers #stp the damsel #stp the burned grey

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postmodernbeliever · 1 month

Text

lifetimes and lifetimes - fox mulder x fem!witch reader

not every witch needs spells and stones to relive the past, or predict the future. in your opinion, the craft is much simpler than that- what is meant to be yours comes to you, at the right time. and the right thing does come, in the shape of a tall, curious fbi agent. it doesn't take long to learn just who fox mulder is to you- and that it seems you two always find each other, in every lifetime.

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this one is dedicated to @spookybasementboy bc they asked for it :)) i took some creative liberty because i’m not much of a witch myself- i was inspired by the past life situation in the season 4 ep “the field where i died” but also wanted to make sure i made it mystical, so i used a sort of invocation/prayer and vision experiences. but really i wanted to have an amalgamation of a witch and a regular person, who truly is a product of “coincidences”, run into our handsome little fox. i think it came out kinda cool. unlike anything i've written. ok ill stop explaining and let you read. <3

my ao3 | word count: 5,041

content tags: wicca, not too witchy but has spiritual experiences, mentions of bodily blood/gore, past lives, flashbacks, idiots in love, stress, fear, anxiety, slow romance, you both fall hard FAST but it’s gotta be slow!!!!!!!!!!

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special agent fox mulder believes in everything. he doesn’t know how not to, not with everything he’s seen in his lifetime. because of this blind faith, he gets himself in constant trouble. it was the first thing you noticed about him as he handcuffed you to the chair in the police station bullpen, that he was trouble, but in a good way. in the way that without having said a word, you felt he could turn your life upside down. even in a state of shock, you could sense that.

you sat like a prisoner, eyes shut as agent mulder settled into the desk chair opposite you. behind your eyelids, you relived flashes of moments from not even an hour prior. there was blood and bullets; you tasted wood, glass, screams, more blood. you remembered the red eyes, and the way bodies flooded beneath the pews, the sound of skulls cracking against the cold tile. you remembered reciting the only prayer that you could remember, the first one you learned when you left the church at 18. you felt the wiry carpet burning your elbows as you crawled away. you heard their voices repeating, “baruch hashem, baruch hashem, baruch hashem…” you remembered being chased, and after that, nothing else. as you awaited what surely was to become your interrogation you began to pray again, because it felt like you had no other means of safety. the earth is my mother, i shall not want…

“so, you like to run, huh?” the man teased, easing into his questioning.

agent mulder’s authority was practically dripping from him- tailored suit, slack tie, blue and white badge screaming from his pocket. the print of his gun pressed against the black holster which flashed enticingly behind his coat. you saw power in his eyes, and a boyish attitude in his smile as he awaited your response. he was an understated kind of handsome. the kind that snuck up on you.

you winced as you shifted in the chair, and the man watched you tremble, suspicious of your state. maybe it’s drugs, he thought, but he quickly rescinded that. you just didn’t seem like the type. to the naked eye, you were healthy; plump arms and legs, round cheeks, secretive eyes. you were an intriguing sight, and not just because of your clothes. chained to a chair, your curling tendrils of hair and berry lipstick looked so out of place in a dirty, bustling environment like the one in which you both sat. he saw a girl adorned in earthy colors both muted enough to communicate a soft darkness, and bright enough to draw people to it. the beat-to-shit brown boots on your sleepy feet showed how long you’ve been drifting by, living alone. silver ornamented your neck and ears and poised hands, and agent mulder liked how it contrasted the tarnished handcuffs. you were battered from the events of your evening, with deep cuts in your hands and knees, and bloody scrapes all over your body, taking turns sharing skin with the bruises. you were a dichotomous girl, giving him every reason to be curious; yet all personal inquiries aside, agent mulder had a job to do. he had caught you fleeing a crime scene, after all.

something in his gut wanted to release you, to let you float right out the front door and back to wherever you came from; but in his chronic open-mindedness, he couldn’t be sure if you weren’t tricking him some way into feeling that. so he kept you locked tight and facing him, eagerly awaiting your statement.

“running is for the guilty, agent mulder.”

“well, i had to chase you down, didn’t i?”

“who says you decide what i’m guilty of?”

the agent turned to the computer and opened a statement file, deciding to take yours himself. “what’s your name, miss?”

“which one? i have a few.”

“whichever one i can find in an official file somewhere in this pigsty,” he grinned.

“well, that’s not gonna be much help,” you shot the man a wink, “they know me by a handful, too.”

“well, come up with one, then.”

you sat for a moment, already settled on the name you wanted to hear him repeat, but wanting to tease anyway. when you offered it up, the sound rang in his ears like angel’s bells.

agent mulder simply couldn’t stifle his curiosity. as he typed your chosen name out, he asked, “what does it mean?”

“well, my last name is an old name. for us wiccan, it means old friend. and i like to think of myself that way- familiar, constant, when the world is always moving.”

“and your first?”

“my favorite shakespeare character.” you admitted. the man’s face flooded with color, and you could hear him thinking, is she fucking with me? so you tacked on, “you know, just because someone’s a witch doesn’t mean they’re an isolationist. i read.”

“i didn’t say anything!” agent mulder chuckled awkwardly. your intuition had him drawing nervous breaths. “so, you’re a witch. is that why you were at the church? did you plan to invoke, or just poke fun?”

“i’m not that kind of witch, agent mulder. not all witches are mean-spirited. i was there because i had walked past the church a few days ago, and i saw the stained glass windows from outside. they were so beautiful, i wanted to see them up close. i’m not a fan of what happens at churches, but i do love their art.”

for an accepting person, agent mulder didn’t realize how many preconceived notions he held. sat before him was a girl who pledges to be a witch, but visits catholic churches in her free time like museums. a girl who chose her name according to the day. in what little he knew, there seemed to be not one solid fact on which he could build a realistic profile. tight-lipped, the man asked for your age, place and date of birth, and address.

“i’m not sure exactly how many lives i’ve had, but in this one, i’m 29. arlington, d.c… um, october 31st, 1964… oh, and right now, i’m at 2632 hegal place, alexandria. apartment 42.”

as you spoke, a wind blew through the station. it ruffled the papers on agent mulder’s desk, and it whistled through the links to your handcuffs. the hair stood up on your arms as the wind whispered, and you knew what he was going to say before he said it. you felt it in your gut.

“2632?” agent mulder swallowed thickly, his curious pupils inflating almost cartoonishly. you saw his goosebumps and smiled.

as if you’d known all along, you asked, “you live in the building next door, don’t you? 2630?”

agent mulder didn’t respond, but the blood in his cheeks did for him. you shifted in your seat again, feeling a burning in your stomach. you hadn’t felt that hot intuition for a long time. there was a haunting quality to his face that was drawing you away from your defense; you couldn’t keep up the mysterious act, because something about him made it impossible to hide.

“s-so, what were you doing at the church?”

“you already asked me that, sir.”

you were surprised that even in the chaos of the police station, you weren’t alone. you felt alone. agent mulder seemed to look at you like his eyes didn’t recognize another thing, like the world was unfamiliar to him aside from your face, your eyes. and all those years of sitting in meditation, of attempting to regress, to see who you were before and who your soul was tethered to were useless. you should’ve known by now to trust in your world, in its karma. it always comes when it’s meant to.

“you can call me fox, if it’s easier. sir is so… formal.”

fox’s eyes sparkled. you’d seen that shimmer before, but in water, and in shifting light. you looked into him, and wiped your clammy palms against your pantyhose-clad thighs. for the first time all night, you felt your barrier coming down, the shield you raised back at the church, against the cops and the world. the fear you stifled to survive was finally flooding through your veins, and the tears in your eyes followed like dominoes.

fox instinctively abandoned the report and took your palms in his own, passing his calloused thumbs over your trembling knuckles. “hey, hey, it’s okay,”

“i-i”m sorry,” you hiccuped, struggling to speak. “i’m- m’over… overwhelmed,”

“catch your breath,” he whispered, running his palms up and down your arms. his touch was seraphic, and by it, you knew you’d felt it before. lifetimes and lifetimes of it. “take it easy, i’m here.”

when you calmed down, he began again, “can you tell me what happened?”

“well… i went into the church. to look at the windows, like i said. i was alone, it was maybe around six o'clock by then. they were just finishing mass, and everyone stood up to leave, a-and then they came in,” you stuttered, “the, uh, the shooters. they were- they were in all black, and wore red masks, like ones from the halloween store. they were chanting, they said, baruch hashem. it sounded like hebrew, but i think it was different, i’m not sure. it sounded old. and they were chanting, and they knocked so many people down in the aisles to get to the alter. they fired a few rounds off at the windows, glass fell on my head… i saw a lot of people fall, so i dropped to the ground and pressed my face to the wall. i prayed over and over, to the earth, it’s the only prayer i could remember. i just wanted to hide, y’know? a-and when- when they got up to the altar, they-”

the agent stopped you to ask, “what prayer?”

“why does it matter?” you sniffled.

“because it might have been what got you out in time.”

his eyes were so pleading, and the fire curling around your bones stood to remind you he was to be trusted. so you recited the prayer, a slightly juvenile one that in your newness you cut down to the meat of: “the earth is my mother, i shall not want. she restores my body and awakens my soul. although i walk in the shadow of changing seasons and passing time, i will not fear death, for the essence of life is within me, the peace and beauty of earth comfort me. as i look to the skies with wonder at the immensity of the universe, i know i am blessed beyond measure to live all the days of my life in the bountiful house of gaia.”

the man marveled at how the words spilled from your tongue, so ingrained in your muscle memory that they were second nature. you kept a cadence, and each word was its own. he saw now you were not one to sit surrounded by potions and symbols to cloud your focus; you simply let the power of the world pass through you, and hoped to harness it and be protected as you yielded to it. you repeated that mantra like it was all you had left- he could tell. he’d never met such a modern witch. to him, you were a brand new kind of x file, with subtle powers he has yet to comprehend.

“that’s beautiful,” he complimented as he squeezed your palms. “alright, now breathe. you're safe. keep talking.”

shutting your eyes, you tried to reimagine the horror. you’d never dreamed of seeing anything so inhumane, but maybe these details would be useful. you can’t have just seen them for nothing.

“they, um, they took the priest. one of them shot him, and then another laid him on the table, and- and he used a knife to cut him open. there… there was so much blood,” you swallowed thickly. “they took his… y’know, his uh, insides. they dragged them out, and they chanted, and anyone who stood up was shot. i- i watched them take it all and, uh, they put it in the tabernacle, of all places… and their eyes glowed under the masks, bright red, and they never stopped chanting. once they started taking people from the pews with knives, i crawled out the side door, because i had th-this feeling, like, like it would be me next. i felt it everywhere. and when the cops showed up…”

“you didn’t want to get stuck. and you thought i was one of them, coming to take you, so you ran from me.” fox finished your thought, a resonant pain shaking his ribcage at the thought of making an innocent girl just try to outrun the danger. “you saved yourself, you know. i don’t know how your prayer worked, but you did something, summoned something that saved you long enough to get you out.”

“and it made you follow me.” you sighed, wiping your tear-stained cheeks. “why?”

fox’s eyes traveled across your face, inspecting every detail, wishing he had a microscope. his hand raised deliberately to brush a lock of hair from your face. “i don’t know.”

“what is your gut telling you?”

“its…” the man felt like his lungs were going to pop, two balloons over-inflated, under siege by a swarm of butterflies. “i wanted to follow you. to find you, not arrest you. but you kept running, so… y’know, logic took over.”

fox took a moment to fish the handcuff key from his pocket, and he unlocked your wrists, rubbing softly at the red marks. the agent winced, guilt-ridden for fastening them too tight. “does it hurt?”

“no, m’okay,” you muttered. your head was pounding, and when his fingertips grazed your pulse, you felt somewhat weak.

fox let you rest for a few minutes while he typed up your account. he remembered every word. as he worked, his leg consciously shifted out to knock against your knee, and the two of you sat that way for a while, touching bones. when he was done, he leaned back in the borrowed desk chair and sighed, dragging his big palms down his face.

“can i ask why you’re investigating this?” you brought one leg over the other, suddenly a bit conscious of the length of your dress. you saw his eyes follow, and you flushed.

“oh, well, my partner and i- scully, you met her- we’re, uh, we’re investigating a string of ritual murders. we’ve followed these guys through the state, they shoot up masses and do what they believe to be sacrifices to jesus himself. that- that chant you mentioned, baruch hashem, i recognize it. it’s aramaic, the language jesus spoke. means “blessed be the name”. we’ve gathered they chant that over and over and they, uh,” the agent paused, seeing the discomfort on your face, “you don’t want to know the details.”

“no, i do! it's just a little raw is all,” you flashed a meek smile, gesturing with a nod for him to continue.

“well, they seem to be taking people’s… entrails, the priest’s first, and offering them up by putting them in the tabernacle. my theory is they seem to think that if they offer holy blood, and let it be anointed with the eucharist, it'll reward them with god’s love and immortality. as far as we know, they belong to a cult that moves across the country, sacrificing lives to win god’s favor. and what you saw tonight- what you suffered- it’s going to help us stop them.”

“really?”

“yes, really,” he grinned. “listen, i’m not going to hold you here. you’re a victim, you don’t deserve to keep reliving this. you need to go home, get some rest.”

there was still that fire in you, churning and hissing within your throat, reminding you not to ignore it. you never did. in your practices, you always bended to the will of your fire. every invocation, every motion, was deliberate. it all came through you. you didn’t adhere to the rules of everyone else who believed like you did; you belonged to no wiccan circle, no congregation. you just made your way in the world, a ritualist by nature, working with this life and world while understanding your diversion from it. you let your selves be your guide- every version of you that has lived wisely for your benefit.

thinking of what you are, and what you’ll become now you’ve met fox mulder, the flames licked your tongue, making you honest again. “i’m scared to leave. i… i don’t want them to come for me.”

fox’s comforting grin fell. he saw how you made yourself small in the chair, and he wished he could switch places. in an instant, he’d be the one interrogated, judged, the one seeing guts and blood when he closed his eyes. he couldn’t let that be what you turned into.

“i can bring you. i can get you security, protective custody, anything you need. i’ll protect you myself if i have to,” fox swore, “i won’t let them get to you, okay?”

a sad little laugh bubbled in your throat, and you reached for the hand that rested on the computer mouse. you adored the feeling of his tired skin beneath yours so sensitive. “i guess i don’t really know what’ll feel safe just yet.”

“then let me take you home, at least,” fox offered. “i do live next door.”

“you do.”

you stood up, feeling a bit achy in the knees. fox offered you his arm and you wrapped your palm around it gratefully. you watched him motion across the station to the pretty redhead you’d met in cuffs, who nodded softly. his partner. there was a smart look in her eye, and you knew she had the answers- to what, you couldn’t be sure, but she held a truth within her. it glowed golden against the pink of her skin.

the agent ushered you to a small car outside the station, opening the passenger side for you to slide in. you giggled at his old-fashioned ways, enamored by how he shed his suit jacket and laid it across your nearly bare legs in the car. “so you don’t get cold,” he explained, but you couldn’t care less about why.

the drive was silent. fox went slowly, although you had the feeling he tended to speed. his hand rested on the gear shift out of baseless habit, even though the car was automatic. he was tense, anxious, aware; the muscle at the curve of his jaw clenched and unclenched like it was keeping time, and a stubborn slice of hair kept falling against his forehead no matter how many times he blew it away. you admired him from your side of the car, seeing how traffic lights reflected in his eyes. all it took was for fox to deal a soft glance your way, with just a slight tilt of the head, for you to feel yourself in this car before, within this exact moment some other lateral time. a second wave of goosebumps riddled your body.

show me, you begged in silence, willing to be heard by whatever force was showing you new versions of the man behind the wheel. show me who he is. show me who he is to me.

a sudden burst of rain smacked against the windshield of the car, causing both of you to jump. there was no storm following- it was as if a squall came down, just momentarily, to rinse the car. when you blinked, you saw fox driving a first-edition ford in a tweed coat and flat cap, a cigarette bobbing between his lips as he asked you about your day; then, he was jostling atop a cart, hands on worn horse reigns, singing some folk song you’d never heard. another blink revealed him as a boy, holding your juvenile hand and speaking middle french as he passed you a flower, with that same concentrated head tilt and gaze as all the other visions. you’d been here so many times, protected by him, going towards a life with him. you knew he felt it, too, because the beat of his heart was loud enough to hear how it synced with yours. not a piece of you both was out of time, now that the world had removed its wedge. you rested your hand atop his on the gear shift, and the muscle in his mouth loosened.

when fox pulled up to your building, you waited for him to come around and let you out with a teasing smile. he took your hand gingerly and led you down the sidewalk. he helped you through your building’s door, up the stairs, and he swiped the keyring from your shaking hands and unlocked your apartment for you. the familiar smell of cinnamon air freshener eased your nerves as you switched on the lights, and you saw fox get a glimpse of your life for the first time. he smiled at your home where you lived in the same room, on the same floor, in the same layout one building away, as him. your living room window looked like his. your television was in the same place. you had far more books, and your desk was littered with drawings, but everything was reminiscent of his apartment. and you saw his home now as you looked around, like you had three-dimensional lenses on- you in the blue film, and him in the red. he had no trouble finding the sink and filling a cup for you while you drifted to the couch and sat down. after having time to settle, your body ached.

“i can't believe this,” was all he could say.

you took the glass from him and sipped it greedily, falling out of shock and into need. you patted the cushion beside you, and he took a seat.

“you’re familiar with past lives, right?”

“well, yeah,” he confirmed, “i know different theories and cultural views of reincarnation. it's an interesting concept, to be born again but always the same, an amalgamation of the people you were before.”

“i think so, too.”

“but you’re wiccan, so you know all about that already, right?”

“well, i think you should know that things for me are different, fox. i mean, i tell people i’m wiccan, so they call me a witch, and i go with that. i guess i’m spooky to other people. i lean into it because it does them less harm to simplify me and me less harm to just live how i want in private. if i could create a whole new kind of practice, i would, but sometimes its easier to just let people see you how they do and move along,” you elucidated. “what you might think wiccans believe isn’t always what i believe, y’know? it’s just the closest label. works better than deist or freak or whatever. and being here with you, and all these visions, these memories i’m having… i don’t really know what i’m getting at. this is all to say that yes, i believe in past lives, and i’m not so much wiccan as i am just myself.”

“i get it. you follow your own rules. you have an instinct, just something that kind of… burns in you, right?”

all the words he could’ve used, and he chose burn. because love burns, pain burns, life burns. this entire night has burned you. and he’s burned, too, branded with the belief you share.

“yeah.”

“so, did you know me in your version of past lives, then?” the agent inquired, bumping your knee with his knuckles playfully.

“i know i did, because i asked the world to show you to me, and now i see every version of you. four, maybe five of you, in the same exact moment. you don’t change. and you’re always with me, always a force. this gentle, ferocious thing, keeping me to yourself. and i think in each one, i love you.”

fox’s brain was swimming in confusion while his body buzzed with want. distractedly, he wondered, “how can something be gentle and ferocious?”

softly, you recited, “it’s astounding the first time you realize that a stranger has a body. the realization that he has a body makes him a stranger. it means you have a body, too. you will live with this forever, and it will spell out the language of your life.”

fox beamed, “if beale street could talk. you are well read.”

you set the glass of water down on the coffee table that looked just like his, and you said, “i know you, fox. not in this life yet, but i’ve known you in every one before. coincidences aren’t just coincidences.”

“i never thought so,” the agent nodded thoughtfully. you couldn’t tell what was in his head this time, and you wanted so badly to know. when he did reveal a question, you didn’t expect it. “what was the part of that prayer you said for me earlier? something about the universe?”

quietly, you recanted: “as i look to the skies with wonder at the immensity of the universe, i know i am blessed beyond measure to live all the days of my life in the bountiful house of gaia.”

fox’s face burst into a wild smile, one that used every tooth he had. he thought of how his entire life, he looked up to the stars, worshiped them; hoping they’d be benevolent enough to bring his sister back, to save his life, to make all of his pain worthwhile. and there they were, divine within your oldest prayer, the very same prayer that guided him from the church in your direction in the first place. you could believe it was the earth, or the spirits you confided in all you liked, but to him the stars had made it all possible. maybe he was a witch in his own way, too, if he played by your rules.

fox sat in silence with you for a while, refilling your glass while you collected your nerves. the man offered to patch a few of your cuts just so he could pick apart the details of your life in the apartment. with the cover of looking for a first aid kit, he flipped through your books, searching for your copy of james baldwin. he admired your records, finding music he’s loved for years and some he’s never heard before. he studied your little jars of herbs that coexisted alongside tylenol bottles. he saw the parts of your window that you colored with magic marker, because of how you longed for true stained glass. he frowned, thinking what a shame it was those bastards destroyed the art you’d gone to admire tonight.

as he looked, he learned again what it is like to feel your presence, to be surrounded by you. he felt a sudden gap mending in the space within him, and he didn’t need magic to know why. falling in love was magical enough.

you spent some time allowing fox to nurse your bumps and bruises (once he stopped fake-looking for the first aid kit), and admired how he childishly placed bandaids all over your arms and legs as if they’d heal all. it was more about letting him care for you, and feeling his hands in places you’d only hoped they’d touched before. he hummed softly to himself all the while, and you were a puddle by the time he finished; when you were the center of his focus, he was nothing but a big sap, muttering soft praises and showering you with smiles. you couldn’t believe it took you so long to find him, or rather that the world took so long to bring you his way. you had so much to make up for now.

when it was time for him to go, you followed him to the door like a puppy. you didn’t feel the discomfort anymore, or the fear of your death. you only felt the doting hands of karma, proving to you the night was simply a means to a much greater end. (un)coincidentally, karma’s hands felt just like his.

fox leaned in your doorway, his tie undone and his authority stripped. “i’ll come by to check on you in the morning,” he assured.

“i’ll be here.”

“where do you work?” fox asked, and when your lips melted into a helpless grin, he pushed, “come on, where?”

“i’m a receptionist at the national archives.”

the believer before you fell to the mercy of his faith, picturing the building on the same street as his job. he imagined how many times you must have walked past him to go to work, all those days spent believing in a love he was missing. his ageless eyes folded on themselves with disbelief, and his laugh rattled deep in his chest.

“jesus. are you sure you’re not something else? a genie, a spirit? an angel?”

“nope. just a witch. and a bad one, at that.”

you pushed onto your tip-toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, finding his scruff so familiar to your lips. he sighed softly at the touch of your hands, feeling embers sparking in their wake.

like it was a secret, he murmured, “i have one more question.”

“hm?”

“why do you choose me? if you’ve lived all these lives, why me?”

you settled back onto your heels and smiled. your palm rested against his jaw as you replied, “you know, i don’t think i ever had a choice.”

he wanted to kiss you, but you both know he’s too much of a gentleman. so he only gazed at you for a while, pressing your hand flush to his face, before letting it fall and stepping into the hallway. and as you watched him leave, you imagined every time he’d come back to save you, to love you, to tilt his head and realign himself as the lover you’ve kept for lifetimes.

“you know where to find me,” you called after the man, and he looked over his shoulder with enough love to shatter the sky.

“i guess i always do, don’t i?”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

prayer altered for story, sourced from this website

quote used from novel if beale street could talk by james baldwin

#Spotify #fox mulder #x files #spooky mulder #dana scully #sculder #msr #the x files #msr fanfic #fox mulder x reader #fox mulder x you #domestic fox mulder #soft fox mulder #fox mulder x reader fluff #fox mulder fluff #witchcraft #witch character

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iggy5055 · 1 year

Text

Platonic Yandere! Batfam X Poor Reader Part 10 (Final)

Summary: (Y/N) wakes up in a new scary place with a man she has never met, As the man does what he pleases to her she finds herself wishing she was with her original kidnapers.

Let you dirty minds run free even if its platonic, because I do the same damn thing, there is no shame on this page all are welcome, loved and excepted.

I don’t add anything like weight or hair length/texture, skin color or anything like that so all feel included, I try to make my work as inclusive as possible, if I missed something please contact me if you where offended either way, If I do offend you I am so sorry none of this was meant to be offensive.

TW: This is platonic but that doesn’t mean it’s not suggestive, kidnapping, manipulation, fear, drugging, humiliation. y’all best get ready,

“ = talking

‘ = thinking

Previous parts:

p1 p2 p3 p4 p5 p6 p7 p8 p9

WARNING RAPE,

MINORS. YOU. SHALL. NOT. PASS!!!!

_________________________

When I woke up, it was dark. Dark and cold and I was terrified.

I couldn't move and I felt like I was in an ice box.

As I shiver I take a moment to go over my body.

First things first, does anything hurt. yes- yes something hurts.

I could tell I was lying down. It felt like a cold metal table, but that wasn't the worst part. I was butt ass naked, most likely why the cold was so much worse. This late realization only seemed to make me colder however. I was also tied down. I could feel the unwelcome but familiar sensation of shakes on my legs.

Both of my ankles were chained down along with my wrists, which was what seemed to be hurting so much alone with my shoulder and hip joints from being pulled to the max.

The table must have been pretty big, my arms were right above my head while my legs were chained but they were spread apart. I assume my body was in a Y shape.

As I shift my head back and forth I could feel a blindfold on my eyes tied uncomfortably tight around my head with a knot that made it hard to lay my head back.

The blind world was itchy and kind of wet, probably damp from my tears.

I tug a bit at my limbs. seeing of the chains would give me any wiggle room. They didn't.

My arms and legs were stretched to the max and my wrists and ankles being pulled hard by the chains so hard I thought they might break.

I let out a loud heart breaking sob.

‘Oh god, where the hell am I? Who took me? Will they kill me?’

As my mind raced with questions like a whirlwind and my lips shaking with sobs and whimpers I didn't hear anyone approach me until I heard their menacing voice.

“Oh~, it my little girl Scared?”

I freeze. I force my body to stop shaking, not making a move in fear of dying right where a lay.

The cold are seemed twice as rigged now. I knew the stand man was close. Standing right above my head.

The man laughed at me. It was deep, powerful, most likely from a powerful man.

“Come now, little girl~ no need to be scared.”

I could feel his knuckles caress my cheek.

I yelp and whimper a bit, being blind and naked at the mercy of a man I don't know, this is more scary than when Damian took me from their back apartment. At least them I was clothed in a warm bed, safe and knew what was going on almost from the beginning.

At lest when Damian took me, he did it as himself. Not hiding from me, not unknown to me. He made sure that I understood what was happening from the get go, mostly.

“L-le-t m-e g-go.”

My shudder was worse than before, both from the far and the intense cold nipping at my body.

My shudder made me cringe a little on the inside, I wanted to sound demanding and strong like a wolf hunting its pray, inside I was the merger rabbit begging for its life as the wolf stands above me, holding all the power I prayed I had.

“Oh sweet angel~.”

His voice was mock kindness, it made my stomach want to empty itself.

“Its ok~.”

He leaned down, I could hear the quiet ‘pat’ of his hands as he places them on either side of my head.

“Do what I say, Little girl~ and all will be fine.”

“P-plea-ase.”

I could do nothing but beg, plead with the strange man that he would let me go.

His hand moves down to my neck, he was so warm. It felt so welcoming, but I knew he had nothing but bad intentions. If he didn't I wouldn't be naked and chained, know would I?

He had moved further down, till he was caressing right underneath my collarbone.

I could feel my nipples harden, and with the cold and my stress it felt almost painful, the contrast of temperatures only causing me more pain.

He could clearly see my body reaction and chuckled deeply at me.

“Oh~ look at you.~”

His hands move even further down. Up until this point I couldn't find it in myself to move but as his hand I halfway from the top of my breast to my pard perky nipple I twisted viciously as hard as the chains could allow, which to be fair wasn't a lot. I imagine it looked like I was shaking and jerking around but I couldn't turn enough to stop his unwelcome advances.

He chuckles again, I could practically hear the sickening wolfish smirk on his face, I could only imagine how his eyes looked at my breasts and my exposed pussy.

Although he didn't seem too pleased with my harsh squirming, even though it didn't prevent his unwanted touches, apparently he wanted me still. So to ensure my stillness he pinched my nipple as hard as he could.

I scream, the cold and the painful grip of both a foreign sensation and a foreign man hurt more than I had ever been hurt before.

Whenever I got hurt with the Wayne family it was always on accident. Aside for needles which (even though I was terrified of them) didn't hurt all that much.

I had never had my nipple touched before either, so the cold the fear and the lack of experience in this kind of touch the pain felt even more intense.

I arch my back as far as my joints would allow, anything to try to prevent the harsh pinching.

As a keep crying out begging incoherently for the stranger to stop.

After what feels like an eternity he losses his torturing hold on my all to sensitive nipple. He didn't completely let go, instead, gently rubbing tight circles on my hard know, no doutably know bright painfully red, nipple.

“Shhhhh, Little girl.~ No need to be so scared.”

He presses down on the middle of my hardened nipple.

I yelp out and bit my lip hard enough to make it bleed. It hurt, like someone lit a match and help it to my nipple.

He leans down even further, his lips pressed into my ear.

“Do everything I say and nothing will happen to you, understand?”

I whimper as he presses once more.

“Pl-ease”

My voice was so sad and low, I sounded pathetic, but I couldn't do anything else.

He bit my ear, not harshly but it definitely felt like a warning.

‘Someone, please, save me.’

_________________________

A glass vase fly's at the wall in the Wayne manor lobby smashing upon the contact of the stone wall.

The Wayne family had made their way back home for the winter gala after Damian had waited for (Y/N) for ten minutes and found his brothers and father to look for her.

When they could find no trace of her they all rushed home to search for her on the security cameras.

Tim was already in the bat cave as the others stood enraged in the lobby not knowing what to do.

Jason was seething, Damian fuming, Dick stressed and Bruce’s face was so stone cold he looked like a dead man.

“Jason breaking a vase won't fix anything.”

Damian was trying to hold it in but he felt guilty for letter his beloved go.

“SHUT IT DAMIAN! YOUR THE ONE WHO LOST HER, YOU HAVE NO SAY!!!”

Damian looks down, he is ashamed but he couldn't convince himself that she ran away. Her eyes didn't hold anything but honesty and stress from being around all those snobby high ends. He knew she wouldn't have done this.

Everyone was thinking that same but the anger of not having their poor, sweat, naïve little angel safe in their arms was too much.

They wanted her to become completely dependent on them but at the same time they became so needy for her as well.

They wanted to hold her, hug her, get her in a warm bath with a warm meal and put her to sleep in a warm safe bed. But instead they where here, alone and without the women they all loved so much.

Finally Dick said what they where all thinking.

“We need to find whoever took her as soon as possible, who knows what they're doing to her.”

This made Bruces head shoot up. His face more angry than they had ever seen it. He storms through the manor to the incredibly lardge library, all the boys follow him. As he storms down the carved stone steps behind the grandfather clock into the depts of the cave under the manor.

The boys follow their father in his rage as he approaches Tim sitting in the chair to the large computer in the cave. Security footage from the gala all on the screen.

“Have you found anything.”

His voice was deeper than usual, clearly holding a hidden anger.

“I found the right time know we just need to wait till she comes out.’

Tim sighs, rubbing his forehead and closing his eyes.

“There are not windows or secret point of entry or exit so she will have to come out this someone or she got taken en route to the bar.”

Jason could be heard grumbling as he walks away.

“where are you going?”

Dick growled at Jason as he try's to leave.

“When we have to go rescue our girl from whoever took her I want to be suited and ready to shoot him after I beat him dumb.”

As Jason continues to walk away Damian follows him. Dick looks at Bruce and Bruce nods without having to look at him. Dick hurrays off with his brothers.

Tim’s eyes seemed a little red, the stress of losing (Y/N) and the brightness of the screen to ensure he didn't miss anything did nothing to help his poor incredibly strained eyes.

Bruce stared at the ground.

“Tim.”

“I know, The longer I can't find her the longer she could be getting hurt. Just three minutes of video if filmed between when she could have been taken after she left the washroom’

Bruce nodded mutely.

Jason and the other boys walked back over to the computer.

All suited up and looking even more ready to kill a man.

“We need to get things ready.”

Tim said as he continues to stare religiously at the security footage.

“Ready for what?”

Damians voice was anger and impassion, clearly wanting his beloved back.

“When we get her back we will need to have a bed food and drinks she likes ready for her, She will be scared and will need things she enjoys so she feels safest. I’ll stay and get things ready while talking to you on comms.”

Bruce nods at the idea.

“First thing first, we need to find her.”

Dick was losing his patience by the second.

Tim growls at him.

“I am doing my best I can't fast forward anything I might miss something!”

At this point he was yelling. they were all angry and with time passing not having (Y/N) with them it only seemed to be getting worse.

After Dick and Tim yell at each other for a minute, Tim never taking his eyes off of the the huge monitor. Final Bruce chimes in.

“ENOUGH, BICKERING IS NOT GOING TO HELP US FIND (Y?N)! We need to be calm and patient.”

Everyone goes silent as the all nod in agreement. Bruce walks away.

Everyone is silent, the glow of the monitor the only thing lighting the dark cave.

Bruce came back seconds later in his own suit.

They stand their in silence, thinking of all the ways they could hurt whoever took her.

“GOT IT!!!”

Everyones head shoot up.

Tim turns to the all, a face of both relief and worry.

“Leo Hudson, also known as The Butcher. A new crime lord of the west side. know for taking and raping women, then killing them by cutting them into pieces, their body parts always in the same old warehouse.”

Everyones face turns even harder, not even wanting to think what was happening to their poor little angel.

And just like that, they were gone without a word.

_________________________

Cold tears were falling down my face, it felt like they were freezing as they slid down my face.

The strangers hands wondered all over my body, groping and touching wherever he pleased.

I cried and whimpered, for a while I begged him to stop telling him I would do anything but this. I even went so far as to say that I was apart of the Wayne family and they would pay to have me back.

Obviously they would, I couldn't leave on my own without them all going crazy but me being kidnapped, I can already picture the look in their eyes. Crazy and deranged. But right know, I want him to be dead. Killed in the most gruesome way possible.

After a while he must have gotten tired of my cry and begs so he gagged me with when felt like and old rag and put ductal overtop to make sure I couldn't spit it out.

Now everything was muffled and somehow even more pathetic.

His hand wandered down from my nipple to my navel, his fingers swirling around my pubic hair as he whispered in my ear.

“Feels good, doesn't it.”

It wasn't a question. And yes, to be body is felt good but to my mind I felt like I was being burned with a red hot poker anywhere he touched.

I shake my head, having only my hearing, it was probably a poor idea. Every touch he made seemed ten times more sensitive than it should be, pain seemed even more so.

And I was right. Right after I did he slapped my clit as hard as he could. I screamed into the gag as loud as I could.

It hurt like crazy. Like suddenly the red hot poker was on the most sensitive area of my poor already abused body.

Right after he did he shoved his fingers into my pussy. It hurt so much.

I was dry as a bone and as tense as a stone.

But unlike me, the blindfold was soaking wet. I screamed ‘please’ into he gag over and over again. I felt so helpless and I hated it. I was more vulnerable than I had ever felt before in my life.

‘Please, please. Dad, Jason, Dick Damian, Tim. Anyone. HELP ME!!!’

In that moment I forze. I count believe when I was thinking.

For the first time. I wanted to be with them. I wanted to be with them. And I called Bruce Dad.

As the stranger kept thrusting into me with no mercy I couldn't even hate the thought. I wanted them. I wanted to read with Damian. I wanted to watch a movie with Dick as he cuddled me. I wanted to eat with Jason. I wanted to lie in bed and watch Tim was the taping of his keyboard put me to sleep.

I wanted to see Bruces smile when he would look at me.

Suddenly I realized how quiet the room was, anise from my heady breathing.

I couldn’t stop shaking. I could feel his eyes but not his breath. But I knew he was close.

After a few moments I could feel hands on my hips and the tip of his dick at my entrance.

My cry changed. Instead of begging him to stop and say please I was crying out the names of my brothers.

They are heroes, saving people is what they do.

I was hoping for a big save. The moment right before the unthinkable happens to the victim. But life isn't a fair tale.

After a few seconds of painful anticipation it happened.

He thrusted into me with so much force he rocked the table. He was too big. I was a little wet from his harsh fingering but I still wasn't wet enough from was felt like a baseball-bat in my pussy.

My screams were deafening. But despite all that he didn't stop thrusting. His hands were digging into my hips so deeply it was drawing blood. One pain after another. It was never ending.

The thrusting, the clawing and the unmistakable feeling of hot breath. It was all too much. My voice was raw again and the blindfold felt like ice from my tears. But now I didn't even have any tears to cry.

I struggled and struggled trying my hardest to get away.

The stranger chuckled at me.

“Nice try, but those chains aren't going anywhere.”

His voice was right in my ear. His hot breath making the blindfold that much colder.

But dispute his words I didn't stop. He didn't seem to like that so his thrusting became even more violent.

His dick was punching its way into my uterus. each thrust felt more and more paralyzing. Like with each thrust it was making my legs weaker and weaker.

All I could see was the blind fold but suddenly my vision seemed to spin. I felt so light headed and powerless.

I was just about to pass out when I hear what sounded like glass breaking all around us along with loud aggressive yelling. But my mind was in such a fog I couldn't figure out who's voice it was.

About a second after the glass broke I felt two things.

One: The stranger was no longer buried inside me.

Two: Warm familiar hands.

These where not the same hands that where digging into my hips, those I could feel were harshly yanked away from me. A yanking that left what felt like several long scratches on said hips.

These hands where soft and warm and placed on the sides of my head on my cheeks. They must have been standing above me by my head because their palms were by my ears.

The second the warm, comforting hand touched me I immediately stopped crying. But it wasn't because I was frozen with fear, it was because I felt... safe?

I knew who's hands these were, kind of. I knew that they belonged to one of the boys. My original captors, but even so, I felt safe. The warms hand felt safe, inviting. As if, if I wasn't tied down I would jump into their arms begging for them to never let me go. I wanted them, needed them.

I could hear fighting. Well, not so much fighting as it was beating someone to a pulp. But above the noise of fighting was a voice. It took my a second to realize, I was so focused on the hands on my face.

“I got ya baby girl.”

It was Jason.

I started to cry again, but this time it was out of pure joy, I was so happy. I knew I was safe now.

“J-jas-on?”

I had to make sure, I needed to know who was with me.

“Yeah its me, baby girl. Just relax we’ll have you home again soon.”

His thumbs were rubbing back and forth on my cheeks. Rubbing away the wet cold tears and helping my probably very red cheeks warm up a little.

In the background I could hear swearing and yelling at the man who was just inside me. Along with the sound of multiple kicks and punches along with the gasps of the stranger.

“I-’m so-o co-ld.”

Jason leaned down. His face right above mine, his warm breath fanning over my face.

“I know beautiful, just give me a second I’ll get the keys.”

He kisses m hothead a few times before he lets of of my face.

I heard him yelling.

“Damian, get me the keys!!!”

I could feels Damians eye roll as if to say ‘what do you think I'm doing?’

After a second or two I could feel Jasons hands on my face again. warm and welcoming but this time there was something could in his left hand.

“Hold still baby girl.”

I nodded.

“o-o-ok”

He let go again and moved to my hands. He unlocked both and moved down to my ankles. I pulled my hands together. Rubbing my wrists trying to get back some circulation back into my hands.

When he finished my ankles he moved to my side. I was already trying to sit up and the table wasn't overly big I was was colder then an ice cube and in more pain then I had ever been in before so I fell off the table trying to get up.

I collided with a stone floor and let out a yelp. Jason was beside me in seconds.

He pulled me into his arms. I was sitting on his lap with his arms wrapped tightly as I was pressed to a warm chest.

Jasons hands run through my hair as I try to yank of the blindfold. Jason pulls my hands away.

“Shhhhh, baby girl. Hold still, I’ll get it.”

Jasons hands move from my hands to the back of my head. He starts to untie the blindfold. He had to tug at my hair a little. The blindfolds tight knot seemed to have some of my hair tied in.

I whimper when he pulls a little too hard by the blindfold comes loose and falls to the ground.

“I know, I'm sorry. Its all over know, baby girl.”

I look up at him. He was wearing his red hood mask so I couldn't see his face but I knew we looked sad when he looked at my frigid, naked body.

I looked down at myself, my skin was discoloured, brushed and scratched all over. I started to cry again. I buried my face into the junction of Jasons neck.

I spoke into his neck but he didn't seem to hear me.

He gently moved my head back.

“What was that, baby girl?”

“Ta-ke me h-hom-e, pl-ea-ease.”

Jason cooed at me.

“Of course.’

He hugged me close and picked my up. He held me up with one hand and walked towards the others.

He moved my head to his chest when he say I was looking at the crumpled up half naked man on the ground. I only got a quick look but from what I could see he had sever broken bones and was out cold.

“Lets go.”

Jason voice was stone cold serious, he wasn't asking, that was an order.

I look up enough to see everyone else, They had all huddled around me. despite that masks on all their faces I could tell their eyes were looking me over, checking for injuries.

I could see their mouths twist up in anger as they looked at the stat of me. Damian stepped forward and took me from Jason. for the first time Jason didn't put up a fight. I thought it was because of the current situation, he knew not to fight or argue with his brother right know, but I was mistaken.

As the boys walk out of the abandoned warhorse me in Damians arms I hear three gun shots. The shots echo into the large empty space.

Tim, Dick and Jason all had their own ride while Damian and bruce all hoped into the batmobile.

As we start to dive away Damian looks me over. Bruce was glancing at me from time to time but mostly he was focusing on getting home as soon as possible.

“Where does it hurt most, beloved?”

I keep my head down and mumble my answer, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

He didn't seem to like that, he took off his domino mask and moved his thumb and pointer finger under my chin, making my head move to look up at him.

My eyes were watering but luckily Bruce was blasting the heating system so I was warming up pretty quickly. But I was still ashamed of my current position.

“I need you to be clear (Y/N). Tell me where it hurts.”

His voice was harder than before.

My eyes stretch him, despite his harder tone I knew he was just worried.

“E-ever-yth-ing.”

Even though I was warming up my stutter wasn't getting any better.

It was true though, my wrists and ankles where clamped tight in the shackles and were sore. my hips and shoulders had been pulled on from the chains too and were not feeling like they should. It felt like I pulled a muscle. And the long exposure to the cold made my skin ache.

Damian pulls me closer.

“Don’t worry we are almost there.”

I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes. I felt like passing out. I tied to stay awake but this was all too much. so knowing I was safe again. I pass out.

_________________________

When I woke up I didn't remember being saved.

I shoot up scared, I was hyperventilating. My eyes wide as I scan the room. A room I knew.

I calm down a little, taking a second to look down at myself. I was all bandaged up. The boys must have given me pain medication, I felt kind of numb. I could not feel my fingers or toes but I wasn't cold. In fact, I was a little too warm.

A fire was lit and burning strong in the hearth, someone must have just added some wood.

I look over myself again. I was in one of the boys shirts. more of a dress on me though. one side fell over my shoulder, exposing it. I paid more attention to my skin this time. while I was bandaged and the cuts where clean, I was still covered in dirt sweat and grime. The sweat was new however.

I shoot out of the nice bed. I was still weak, my muscles and joints aching as I moved. The fast moment made my head spin and the pain in my body shocked me, the pain meds bust have been old, or maybe I'm just that hurt.

As I stumble to the ground I yelp. Not a second later I could hear footsteps outside the dark wood double doors.

Dick storms into the room making a quick scan of it till his eyes land on me. His eyes were heard and ready for a fight but once they landed on my crumpled room on the ground they softened.

“Baby bird!”

He rushed over to me. picking me up bridal style and siting on the bed with me in his lap.

His hadn't trailed all over my body cheating for any new injury. His eyes searching as well. once he was satisfied he look at me again. His eyes were soft, like they always were with me most of the time, but they also had a hardness in them.

“What happened, baby bird? Why are you out of bed?”

His voice was strained, he demanded an answer.

“I-I-i--”

I couldn’t get the words out, everything was happening so fast. I look around the room not knowing what else to do.

Dick moves my head to face him again gently with his hand on my cheek. he gave my forehead a kiss.

“Shhhh, baby bird. You’re ok. you’re safe. I have you.”

Dick cooed at me as he continued to hold me close.

“Why are you out of bed, baby bird?”

His voice was softer than before. His lips where right beside my ear. I could feel his warm breath. it felt good. I nuzzled closer to him. He chuckled at me stroking my hair waiting patiently for my answer.

“I-’m fi-filthy.”

I nuzzle into him more. He chuckles again.

“Oh, baby bird. You really think we care about the sheets right now?”

My cheeks heat up. I shake my head.

“B-bu-t I d-o.”

I couldn't seem to get my damn shudder under control. It made my even more embarrassed.

Dick kissed my cheek.

Suddenly all the other boys came into the room.

Jason was the first in and the first to speak.

“Whats wrong.”

I frown at him, I didn't want to cause so much trouble.

“Nothing, sh e was just world about getting the sheets dirty.”

Dick chuckles at the end, as does everyone else. My face was burning hotter than the hearth right now.

I squirmed out of Dicks arms and him under the blankets.

The all laughed loudly at me this time.

“D-don’t lau-laug-h.”

I sounded pathetic. It made them laugh at me even more but only for a second. once they calmed down I could feel Dick get up front eh bed and a hand pulling the blanket up so they could see my head.

I thought it was Dick but it was Jason.

‘Come one baby girl. Let’s get you all clean then.”

He smiled at me and I crawled out from under the blankets into his arms. As he cried me into he bathroom I snuggled close to him. The others slowly made their ways out of the room after telling me they loved me and that I was safe again and I smiled.

I knew it was true.

I was safe.

I would always be safest with them

So why would I ever want to leave.

_________________________

The End!!!!

Thank you everyone who liked and commented throughout my stories I had so much fun writing it.

For know Im going to focus on Star War (my true passion) And I hope you all stick around.

❤️❤️❤️

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam x reader #yandere platonic batfamily x reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake

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