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soft-girl-musings · 7 months

Text

An Unexpected Proposition (pt. 1)

based on this prompt from @imaginexhobbit, previously submitted under @jawn-i-made-coffee

cross-posted to ao3

part 2

Kíli x fem!Reader

tags: mentions of blood/injury, Reader is described as tall (by human standards), Y/N is used

wc: 1,615

fic summary: An injured dwarf appears on your doorstep. Do you grant him sanctuary on this stormy night?

A/N: posting this is totally self-indulgent and very out of left field for this blog but idc, we just reached 800 ao3 hits on this bad boy (some days we blog for the younger self anyway). I submitted this from my high school blog and revamped it in 2020, might flesh it out beyond pt 2 if the muse strikes.

Thunder and lightning seem to battle for superiority in the storm, chasing heavy torrents North. The evening is dark and damp, but you don’t mind. Your cottage is as safe a haven as any. You sit before your hearth, fire blazing as you bury yourself beneath several blankets, a mug of tea warming your lap. Nothing could ruin your cozy evening alone.

As if on cue, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminates the windows. A bloodied man’s face is pressed against the glass, his lips moving incoherently. You stifle a scream. In an instant you have your sword in hand and cloak about your shoulders, ready to face your intruder. Throwing the door open, you strike a defensive stance and scan the property. To your right, you see that it is no man at all, but a dwarf bleeding out in your garden. Dark hair clings to his face, bruised and battered. Blood marrs his complexion as rainwater drenches him. Before you can speak, the dwarf doubles over and begins to heave into your prized rose bush. You grimace.

"Please," he rasped, "please, I ask for sanctuary." His knees give way with the last syllable. You manage to catch him before he falls into the mud.

"I’ve got you, sir dwarf." Propping him up, you guide him inside. "Poor thing, you're soaked to the bone."

His small frame would not have been so heavy if not for his copious belongings. The dwarf seemed to have packed for a long journey, which had somehow led him to your door. You stumble over to the kitchen and deposit him in a chair, his head lolling to one side. You pour a cup of water and help him drink.

“Thank you,” he manages to rasp after downing a second glass. Life seemed to be returning to him already. “I do not mean to be a bother.”

You tilt your head quizzically. “If anyone’s bothered, sir dwarf, it’s you. Come, let me help you--” you assist him in his efforts to remove his belongings from his weary shoulders. He shivers fiercely, but does not refuse your help.

You notice how cold and pale he is. “Best not to strain yourself… let me start a bath for you. Your wounds need to be cleaned before they are dressed.”

You hand him a blanket and lead him to a partition in the next room. “Here, you can wrap yourself in this while I start the water.” The dwarf removes his outer layers and complies, his dark eyes never leaving you as you begin the tedious task of hauling numerous pots of hot water to the tub.

“Why are you helping me?” he finally asks, his face growing more puzzled with each trip you make.

You stop in your tracks, offering a shrug. “Because you asked.”

With that, you leave him to his bath.

You gather the dwarf’s wet clothing and lay each article in front of the still-warm stove. On the other side of the table lay his daypack and weapons. You hadn’t taken the time to inspect them before: the dwarf had been carrying archery equipment, numerous knives, and a shortsword. You examine each piece with reverence. The dwarves were renowned for their craftsmanship in the forges, but you had never seen proof of their handiwork until this moment. The blades were smaller than any you were used to, expertly fashioned with intricate detail.

"Like what you see, then?"

You jump at the sudden voice, dropping a knife. The dwarf had come out dressed in the shirt and trousers you had laid out for him. He stands by the fire, drying his hair.

"I was just admiring your weapons, sir-"

"Kíli."

You nod. "(Y/N)." You notice the color has already returned to his skin and his cuts were clean. He had looked much worse before; in the light of the fire, he was almost handsome. "Feeling any better?"

"Oh, loads. I cannot thank you enough for taking me in." He grins, and you can’t help but follow suit.

"What were you doing out there? Facing that storm as you were seemed like a deathwish."

"I had the misfortune of running into some bad company at your tavern." His body fell heavily into a chair by the fireplace.

"I'm afraid the locals do not take kindly to dwarves," you say with an apologetic smile, standing to join him in your earlier seat. "What are you doing so far West? Your people are native to the mountains, I was led to believe."

You realize how young the dwarf was when his face breaks out in another eager grin. "I'm on a quest. I was on my way to Hobbiton."

You lean forward, intrigued. "The Shire? What kind of quest concerns the halflings?"

Kíli tells you of his Uncle's plan to reclaim Erebor for the dwarves. He makes sure to highlight how dangerous the task may prove to be. You try to hide your amusement, but your shaking shoulders and involuntary simper do not escape your companion's eye.

Kíli crosses his arms. "Is something funny?"

You wipe a tear from your cheek. "I'm sorry, but you look like you've seen nary a battle in all your days."

"What, like you have, lass?" he scoffs, nodding toward your sword propped by the door. "I'll bet you've never laid a hand on that weapon of yours until tonight."

Your expression darkens. "Watch your words, sir dwarf. I have seen and spilt more blood than you would care to believe."

Kíli shrinks back in his chair. "Y-yeah? When?" Even under correction, his excitement could not be diminished.

You tell him of your past days as a soldier. Having always been tall for your age, you had cut your hair and enlisted in a male disguise when you were barely sixteen. You regale him with tales of the lands you had seen and battles you fought as a young woman among hardened men. The fading storm is the perfect backdrop for your stories; in truth, it had been a long time since you'd been able to talk about your fighting days, and you revel in the drama of the moment. Kíli clings to your every word, apparent awe and admiration dancing across his features. Many hours and cups of tea pass between you before you conclude your saga, the fire having long since died down.

You yawn. Dawn was but a few hours away. "It's late. You must leave in the morning, I assume?"

"Yes, I have to get back on the road."

You stand and stretch your aching muscles. "We should both get to bed, then. I have an extra room you're welcome to." You hold out your hand. "Goodnight, Kíli."

Kíli rises and takes your hand, but instead of shaking it as you intended, he leans forward and kisses the back of it. Your face grows warm at the surprising softness of his lips. "Goodnight, (Y/N)."

He turns to leave, but stops and looks back at you.

"(Y/N)?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you leave that kind of life? You spoke so fondly of your time in service."

You give a sad smile. "Let’s just say it wasn’t by choice." You begin to walk to your bedroom, but Kíli grabs your hand as you pass.

"If you had the chance, would you go back?"

You squeeze his hand and wink. "In a heartbeat."

__________

"What's all this, then?" You laugh. From the looks of it, Kíli had been cooking a small feast since before dawn.

"Good morning, my lady!" Kíli wipes his hands on a cloth and bows with great bravado. "I hope you don't mind me raiding your larder. I wanted to express my gratitude for your generosity." He takes your hand and leads you to the head of the table, fixing your plate once you sit down.

"You really didn't have to do this."

"Ah, 'course I did! I'd have drowned if it wasn't for you."

You spend the morning laughing and eating your way through the meal with Kíli, realizing how much you will miss his company in the days ahead. He’s been a refreshing change of pace for the simple monotony you’d build for yourself. As you wash the dishes after your meal, you notice he is dressed in his clothes from last night, weapons and bag secured to his back.

"All set, then?" You know your face betrays you, but you don’t care if he knows how sad you are. You had gained a friend last night.

"Not quite." He practically bounds up to your side, that familiar grin plastered onto his features. "I have something to ask of you."

You set down the plate you had been scrubbing. "And what's that?"

"Will you join me? On my quest, I mean?" His face is radiant with expectation and excitement.

You busy yourself with another dish, shaking your head. “Kíli, I’m not quite sure what to say-"

"Say yes! (Y/N), you told me yourself that you missed your old life. This would be the perfect chance for you to reclaim it!"

Despite all logic, you realize how right he is. Some small but powerful part of you had longed to be on the road with him when he spoke to you last night. You knew it was rash, but your heart was already pumping from the mere mention of excitement, aching to get out in the world once more. The quiet life you had been leading was nice, but it paled in comparison to the journey Kíli now offered. You craved adventure. When else would you have the opportunity to taste it?

"I'll have my things packed within the hour."

__________

A/N: you ever feel an old hyperfixation staring you down, threatening to return if you look at it too long? that might be happening again. only time will tell.

tysm for reading!

#the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #hobbit fic #an unexpected journey #kili #kíli #kili x you #kili x reader #kili/reader #kili x y/n #imaginexhobbit #rip my old blog she will be missed #my works

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livesincerely · 6 months

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hopes are kindled (on scraps and ashes)

Or: something, something, a one shot/offshoot from the Merlin AU. Also on Ao3.

00000

Once again, the Lady Theophania lays her small, delicate hand across the breastplate of Jack’s armor, batting her lashes in a demure, courtly fashion. As he watches them David feels the polite expression he’s been wearing for the last half hour start to crack and splinter.

He slips away before anyone can notice or comment on it. He knows better than to let his disappointment get the better of him—knows intimately the futility of the feeling—but still his stomach churns, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

Poor, foolish, lovestruck idiot.

His feet carry him to the simple sanctuary of his quarters, though it’s something of a cold comfort. The tourney starts in earnest a few hours after mid-meal so he has an excuse to make himself scarce; there are still plenty of weapons to be sharpened, shields to be polished, horses to be dressed and harnessed.

Not that he expects his absence to be noticed, David determines, a touch bitterly. Any such… attentions will most certainly be directed elsewhere.

He can still make out the faintest roar of the growing festivities despite the thickness of the stone walls. Gritting his teeth against the urge to scream, he reaches for a pile of mending that still needs to be finished, hoping for some kind of distraction, then nearly jumps out of his skin when the door behind him creaks open.

It’s Jack—of course, it’s Jack. So distracted by the dark cloud of his thoughts, David hadn’t noticed him following.

He pastes a smile across his face. “Shouldn’t you be entertaining your guests, mi’lord?”

“Don’t,” Jack says, expression pained. “Don’t call me that.”

David raises a brow. “And since when did you start objecting to your title?”

“Since you started saying it like that.”

And suddenly David is exhausted, weary right down to the marrow of his bones, sick to death of this same old song and dance. Tired of impossibilities kindled on scraps and ashes.

“What is it you want, Jack?” he sighs.

Jack steps out of the doorway, moving further into the room, and the door swings shut behind him. David allows him to approach, holds his ground and lets him close the gap between them.

“The way you looked at me just now, at the banquet,” Jack starts in a low, serious voice. “I never want to see that look again.”

Oh. David hadn’t thought he’d noticed, preoccupied as he was. But Jack’s always been more observant than most.

“Of course,” David says, embarrassment curdling over his tongue. “It won’t happen again.”

“Dave, that’s not—“ Jack runs a hand through his hair, his mouth pressed into a hard, flat line. “That’s not what I meant.”

It’s inconvenient that David hadn’t managed to grab that mending. If he had, it would’ve given him something to do with his hands.

“Davey,” Jack starts again. “You can’t honestly think I’m interested in courting anyone but you.”

David’s heart ricochets off his ribs.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he says tightly, crossing his arms over his chest like a shield. “And, correct me if I’m wrong, but as I’m aware of it, it doesn’t matter what you want.”

A long pause. Jack’s footsteps echo against the flagstones as he approaches.

“Davey,” he implores gently. “We can't just give up.”

“It’s not giving up, Jackie,” David says. “It’s accepting that there’s no fight to be had! It’s understanding that we can’t— That we can’t—“

He makes himself stop, his eyes stinging against a prickle of frustrated tears.

Straining for the last vestiges of patience, he says, “Brooklyn is an important kingdom, an essential ally. Your council is all but insisting you create a formal alliance with them, and with Lady Theophania being so obvious in her affections��“

“She offered me her favor,” Jack tells him, and David thinks he might have genuinely choked on that information for a moment.

He hears himself say, “Well, I suppose that’s that—“

“She offered her favor,” Jack clarifies sharply. “I declined, seeing as I’m already spoken for.”

It takes David a moment to catch on. “You’re already… What, me?”

“Who else, Dave?” Jack says, on the verge of shouting. “Who else could possibly hold a candle to you?”

“Keep your voice down!” David hisses. “Someone’s going to hear you!”

“Because it’s some great secret?” Jack asks, sardonically. “As if it’s not written all over my face, as if it’s not painfully obvious to everyone in the Five Kingdoms exactly how I feel for you?”

“Jack,” David says, shaking his head as if that will keep the words from reaching him. “Stop it.”

“You said that you’d only gift your favor to me,” Jack continues, undeterred. “Was that offer made sincerely? Or merely in jest?”

David swallows. “If memory serves, that’s not precisely what I said—“

“Dave,” Jack interrupts, and there’s an almost angry edge to his tone. “Did you mean it?”

“Of course I meant it,” David says. “But surely you know that you can’t actually accept.”

“And why can’t I?” Jack asks, jaw stubbornly set.

“Oh, shall we go through the list?” David snaps, throwing up his hands. “Because even disregarding the alliance with Brooklyn, there’s the fact that you’re the prince, that you’ll one day be the king, and you’ll need a queen to give you heirs? Or the fact that I’m a peasant—a sorcerer—and that I even dare to breathe in your presence is grounds for execution? Or, how about the fact that you’re Prince Johnathan Francis Sullivan Kelly of Manhattan and I’m nothing, no one at all—“

It’s wrong to say that Jack appears, per se, but that’s certainly how it feels. That one moment Jack’s watching him with those depthless eyes and the next he’s suddenly in front of him, one hand curled around David’s chin, his thumb just brushing over his lips.

“Davey,” Jack says, intense and intent, and David’s caught, tangled in the snare of him, utterly helpless. “My darling. My dearest one. You are everything.”

David's eyes squeeze shut. They’re so close that when he hangs his head, their foreheads press together.

“The kingdom must come first,” David says, because one of them has to. “Manhattan, your people, must come first. You know that as well as I; affairs of the heart cannot come before duty.”

“I,” Jack says, the words full of venom, “am so sick and tired of fulfilling my gods-forsaken duty. Of sacrificing every inch of myself for the good of the kingdom.”

A shared breath.

“But you’ll do it anyway,” David murmurs, a statement of fact.

Jack takes in a shuddering inhale.

“…But I’ll do it anyway,” he quietly agrees.

His touch lingers for another moment—David thinks he’ll remember the heat of his hands, the strength of his grip, until the day he dies—before drawing away.

“I’ll fight in the tourney unadorned, then,” Jack declares, grimly resigned. “Because it’s your favor or none at all.”

It bubbles up, urgent and unstoppable. “Wait.”

David reaches up with trembling fingers and carefully unties his neckerchief from around his neck. Without giving himself a chance to think about it, he wraps the fabric around Jack’s arm, tying it off just above his elbow.

“Blue, for Manhattan,” he says, because that’s what it’ll look like to anyone else who sees it: that Jack has chosen a blue marker to represent his kingdom. It’s only the two of them that will know better.

That will know the truth.

Jack lifts David’s hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the tips of his fingers. “For Manhattan,” he agrees solemnly.

And when he exits, he carries David’s heart away with him.

#newsies #davey jacobs #jack kelly #javid #*editor's note #*the writing desk #*final cut #merlin au #but like an au of the au if that makes sense #the main plot is no longer moving in this direction but I liked this scene too much to let it die #so here it is as it’s own separate thing #context? what context?

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versatileginger · 8 months

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HIDDEN | CHAPTER 1

Billy Russo x OC (Ava)

Warnings: Not canon, violence, weapons, stalking (not MMC), murder, everything you'd find in The Punisher universe, no betrayal.

Summary: Billy meets someone that piques his interest. Did he mention she carries a knife?

A/N: Early upload! My very first time writing.. anything lol. English is not my first language. Artwork made by yours truly. Let me know what you thought!

The morning sun crept over the horizon, casting gentle rays through the curtains, and with it, Ava's day commenced. The shrill insistence of her alarm clock echoed through the room, urging her to greet the world at 6 a.m. She cherished the early hours, finding solace in the tranquil embrace of dawn. As she stretched, her long, dark hair flowed like a cascading waterfall over her shoulders.

Dressed in cargo pants, a comfortable top, and a well-worn leather jacket, she slung her bag over her shoulder before departing from her snug apartment. It may have been a modest space, but it was her sanctuary, and she treasured the solitude it granted her in the morning.

Amidst the awakening city, with the streets slowly coming to life, Ava made her way to her beloved coffee shop. There, she ordered her customary bold dark roast with a hint of cream and settled at a table near the window. Soft morning light filtered through the glass, casting a warm glow. With her phone in hand, she began to sift through emails and the latest news, savoring these quiet moments before the storm of the workday.

Then, a man in a finely-tailored suit graced the coffee shop with his presence, effortlessly commanding attention. His chiseled jawline and piercing coal- black eyes provided a striking contrast to his impeccable attire. The man moved with a purposeful grace, his gaze sweeping the room. When their eyes briefly met, an unspoken connection formed, acknowledging that they were the sole early risers in the establishment.

"Early start, huh?" he mused, his voice carrying a note of intrigue as he settled at a nearby table.

Ava glanced up from her phone, offering a welcoming smile. "Yeah, I find it helps me focus better at work," she replied.

Billy's curiosity was piqued. "That's interesting. What is it you do then?"

Ava, opting to share a glimpse of herself first, responded, "I work in IT, starting my day early gives me the feeling of having a head start on the day."

With curiosity gleaming in her eyes, she continued, "And what about you?"

Billy smiled, appreciating her inquisitiveness. "I work over at Anvil," he said. "We're a security outfit that helps people stay safe and solve their problems. We've got a diverse team, includin' some ex-veterans who bring real-world expertise to the mix. We handle all sorts of gigs, from keeping big corporations secure to helpin' out in more low-key situations."

Ava nodded, captivated by his work and eager to learn more about him. "That sounds fascinating," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. "You enjoy doing it??"

Billy nodded, his gaze focused on her. "It has its challenges, but it's worth it," he replied.

Leaning in, Ava's curiosity was fully engaged. "That's truly admirable," she remarked, sensing his hesitation to elaborate more. "It must be a deeply rewarding job."

Billy nodded, his gaze unwavering,. "It comes with its challenges, but it's worth every moment," he replied.

Their conversation unfolded and as the coffee shop filled with the bustling sounds of other patrons Ava gracefully stood, a courteous smile gracing her lips.

"Well, it was lovely chatting with you," she said, preparing to take her leave.

Billy realized the omission and extended his hand with a friendly smile. "I'm Billy," he said.

Ava shook his hand, her smile warm and genuine. "Nice to meet you, Billy. I'm Ava."

Ava walked away from the table with a casual "See you around," leaving Billy alone with his thoughts. He continued to sip his coffee and recount their conversation, but then he saw her heading for the exit. As she pulled open the door, her top rode up a bit, and Billy caught a glimpse of something glistening.

Is that a fucking knife?'

Ava's workday was a mix of routine and challenges. As she settled into her office, surrounded by computer monitors and the soft hum of technology, she delved into her tasks. Emails poured in, demanding her attention, and she methodically sorted through them, addressing IT issues and providing support to her colleagues.

Her role in IT was diverse, and she enjoyed the ever-changing landscape of her job. Some days, it was troubleshooting technical glitches, ensuring the company's systems ran smoothly. Other days, it was collaborating with her team to implement new software solutions or security measures.

Her work brought her a sense of accomplishment, knowing that her efforts contributed to the seamless functioning of the company. Yet, amid the bustling work environment, she couldn't help but occasionally find herself lost in thoughts of her chance encounter with Billy at the coffee shop that morning. His intriguing job and friendly demeanor lingered in her mind, adding a touch of excitement to her otherwise ordinary workday.

As Ava immersed herself in her work, her coworker, Mark, approached her desk. Mark was a friendly guy with a penchant for coffee, much like Ava.

"Hey, Ava," he greeted her with a warm smile. "How's it going?"

Ava glanced up from her computer screen, returning his smile. "Morning, Mark. It's goin' well so far. Just the usual morning rush of emails and tech support."

Mark chuckled, nodding in understanding. "Tell me about it. I feel like you need a second cup of coffee already. Speaking of which, are you up for a quick coffee break later? My treat."

Ava appreciated the offer and the chance to catch up with her coworker. "Sure thing, Mark. I could use a coffee break. Let's say around 10:30?"

"Sounds perfect," Mark replied. "I'll meet you at the breakroom. Don't work too hard until then!"

As Mark walked away, Ava couldn't help but wonder how he knew she had already had a coffee. Perhaps her caffeine addiction was more obvious than she thought, or maybe it was just a lucky guess. Regardless, she looked forward to their coffee break, knowing it would be a pleasant distraction from her busy workday.

MAIN MASTERLIST HIDDEN MASTERLIST CHAPTER 3

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine #frank castle #billy russo x oc #billy russo x female oc #billy russo masterlist #versatilegingers masterlist #versatileginger writes #the punisher

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silverior968 · 2 years

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My Larrikin headcanons because all the cool kids have done it so I'm gonna do it too (long post ahead. Like Really long)

-Vitakinetic, specializes in emergency healing, although I am constantly on the edge of making him a teleporter instead. My friend @theathefool suggested the idea of him being ambidextrous and I honestly think that's a great idea. Actually they deserve like 50% of the credit for these headcanons

-Grew up in a mortal family on a farm and had several siblings. As a teenager he started craving adventure and left on amicable terms to join a circus as a trapeze artist/juggler

-He discovered his magic during his time at the circus. He also learned about the slower aging of sorcerers, which was quite a shock considering he had very few years left to visit his family before they'd start wondering why he wasn't aging

-He kept writing letters though, telling heavily toned down stories of his adventures and the people he'd met. He ended up faking his death in his late 90s, after his siblings and parents had all died

-It didn't take much effort physically, he asked someone with different handwriting to write the letter about him having been lost at sea or fallen into a volcano. It was a very hard day for him mentally though. It was like letting go of the final pieces of his family and mortal life

-When he was about 20 he joined the sanctuary in order to be able to help more people

-Has been with the sanctuary since before the Dead Men were formed, but didn't see much combat before joining them because of how valuable he was as a healer

-Actually one of the oldest of the dead men, like he's the 3rd or 4th oldest

-Undiagnosed ADHD

-Genderfluid, is fine with most pronouns on most days

-Also he's chimeristic, as in the genetic mutation chimera, not the mythological creature chimera. It's an odd hc I know, it stems from me making her catified design a chimera. This isn't really visible in any way other than parts of his hair being brown instead of ginger and small patches of his skin being ever so slightly darker

-About 6'0 and pretty strong too, like not to the same degree as Ghastly or Anton but like strong enough to pick up and carry any of his squadmates if needed. Even Ghastly or Anton

-They're a himbo basically, except they're actually pretty streetsmart, they just choose to participate in shenanigans because it's fun and gets a laugh out of people

-That's one of the reasons he and Dexter get along so well, both of them have a sharp head on their shoulders but commit tomfoolery because it's fun

-He just likes making people laugh

- She works with Kenspeckle Grouse during the war, and surprisingly enough they get along very well!

-Of course Kenspeckle acts grumpy about Larrikin's antics, but the sanctuary medbay simply wouldn't be the same without them to lighten the mood

- Their weapon of choice is a pair of daggers, and he will not hesitate to use them if someone he cares about is in danger

-Very optimistic and friendly, but not naive. They've seen a lot of stuff, and staying positive is very much a deliberate choice for them

-Acts quickly and almost impulsively, especially in high-stakes situations. They often put themselves in harm's way to help others without even completely realizing it until some time later. Basically it takes a while for the self-preservation part of his brain to catch up

-Ghastly thinks he's the bees knees because he'll wear literally anything which gives him room to experiment. He'll be like "can you model this rococo-esque punk rock inspired dress for me? I need to see how it looks on a real person" and Larrikin will be like "oh hell yeah!!" without a fail

-Also Ghastly's the one who always notices when his nd friends are under/overstimulated and suggests something that could make them feel better. For Larrikin it's some sort of physical activity or healing someone

-Actually everyone likes Larrikin

-He and Erskine both have massive levels of theatre kid energy, they get along well but their theatrics are quite the experience for bystanders

-Just to be clear I'm speaking of an "all the dead men go to therapy and the betrayal does not happen" au. If the betrayal happened or even *almost* happened, Larrikin would hate Erskine's guts. As I said, he takes bad things happening to his friends very seriously

-Larrikin and Skulduggery are not allowed to go on missions with just the two of them. It's like tossing a molotov cocktail in a gasoline container.

- Larrikin saved Hopeless's life back in the late 1800's (when they would've otherwise died) and Hopeless saves Larrikin's life during the confrontation with Serpine. Every once in a while during the war Larrikin would also convince Hopeless to help him pull off some sort of good-natured prank with their shapeshifting

-He's also friends with Saracen (spoiler alert: all of the dead men get along :D) and also very thankful for his ability to know things, like he can literally detect most acute injuries on a person. He's also the one that kept dragging Anton to get medical help instead of trying to deal with injuries on his own, and is therefore the reason for how Larrikin and Anton first started talking

-Honestly I could write a whole separate post on Larrikin and Anton. They weren't immediate friends, Larrikin would initiate conversations with him before the Dead Men were formed, and Anton would answer briefly and be polite but still super closed off

-After the DM are formed they start slowly becoming friends, not just because all of the DM end up getting more serious injuries and having to come to the medbay more frequently, but also because Larrikin's the one who volunteers to substitute for any member that can't make it to a mission

-During those missions they end up spending more time together because Larrikin is very adamant about making sure Anton's doing alright whenever he's used his gist and keeping him company whenever he can

-Anton's hesitant about letting anyone be that close to him, especially when he's in a weak state. He likes the company (although he's hesitant to admit it) and not being alone with his thoughts, but he has that mindset of always having to keep his guard up and not showing any sign of 'weakness' and such. After a while he starts warming up to the idea that maybe he can't/shouldn't/doesn't have to deal with everything alone, though

-And that maybe sometimes when you talk about your feelings and weaknesses they won't be used against you

-And of course whenever Larrikin's injured Anton's the one to keep him company and try his best to comfort him. He might be awkward but he's got a comforting presence and, like Larrikin, finds taking care of people very important

-He also helps Larrikin with accepting that they're allowed to be upset about things too and there's nothing wrong with not being able to look at the bright side of things every time

-Actually by the time Larrikin sends the final letter to his family they've already known each other for 30+ years, so Anton might have been the one to write it for him. Either him or Kenspeckle

-Seriously these two bring out the best in each other once they get past the initial awkwardness

-The birthday incident marks the moment where 1. They actually become really close and 2. Larrikin realizes that they actually like Anton romantically

-It's one of those cases where everyone else knew it before they did. Even Corrival knew. Meritorious probably knew. Hell, Serpine was probably aware of it

-The point they actually confess their feelings for each other is after the Corpse Attack in Denmark is well and truly over. It's very heartfelt and they've both just almost died

-After the war ends they end up establishing the Midnight Hotel. They plan it together after hearing of people like Serpine getting off the hook

-Because the hotel travels around he also has the opportunity to help lots of people

-They get to have a happy and relatively normal married couple life with lots of cats

-Oh yeah they get married at some point. They decide who walks down the aisle based on who has a living parental figure. That would be Larrikin, who asks Kenspeckle to do it. He can't even try to act grumpy about it because he is so moved by being asked to do it and probably cries the whole ceremony

-The Dead Men are the best men

-Whenever mortals stumble into the hotel they pretend that it's a ghost hotel by being vague and mysterious but insisting on them leaving within 12 hours

-Larrikin goes all out on it, he coughs fake blood into a handkerchief and then goes 'oh don't worry, it's not contagious. Not anymore, at least'. Anton's more vague about it but has a full backstory for his character made up in his head

-They also get the chance to wear their old clothes and speak in an old fashioned manner. Sometimes guests join in as well. Larrikin gets to release their inner theatre kid

-He also probably hosts some sort of events for the hotel, like ghost story night etc

-Also Larrikin and Val would get along great, Larrikin would remind her to spend as much time with her mortal family and just doing normal teenager stuff

-Oh and Larrikin and Tanith would be besties. I do not take criticism. I mean seriously think about it! They've both got similar chaotic vibes, they both specialize in bladed weapons, and I could keep going and going with similarities

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snappedsky · 1 year

Text

Borderlands: Skies the Ultimate Treasure Hunter

Moxxi has a proposition for Skies.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

The Handsome Jackpot: Introduction

Previously

“So where are we going today?” Skies asked as she followed Jack out of his office.

“The happiest place in the galaxy,” Jack replied, leading her to the fast travel station. He punched in a code and motioned for her to go ahead. Skies cocked her head curiously before using the station.

She appeared in another office much like Jack’s: large, opulent, and heavily decorated with his face. The surrounding walls were made completely of glass and looked out at what appeared to be a city of gold in a space station. It shone brightly, coloured lights dancing into the darkened sky. Just outside the station were two black holes swirling into each other.

“Wow,” Skies breathed in awe.

“Beautiful, right,” Jack said as he approached her. “Welcome to the Handsome Jackpot, my casino and pleasure centre. Just don’t play any of the games- they’re to-ote-tally rigged.”

Skies chuckled with amusement as she turned to follow Jack out of the office. They both stopped as a tiny, well-dressed man approached.

“Ah, H-Handsome Jack, sir, welcome back,” he said in a nasally voice.

“Pretty Boy!” Jack cheered, “Skies, this is Pretty Boy. He’s like a court jester. Pretty Boy, Skies is my guest today. Say something funny for her.”

“Ah, um, well...” Pretty Boy stammered as he fumbled with some cue cards from his pockets. “What uh...what does a baby computer call its father? Data!”

Jack and Skies stared at him, unamused.

“You’re lucky your face is so funny, Pretty Boy, or I’d throw you out the airlock,” Jack grunted.

Pretty Boy withered beneath his gaze.

Skies grinned. “So, you’re Jack’s dancing jabber then. Well, thing’s could be worse. You could be short and ugly- oh, wait.”

“Ha!” Jack guffawed, clapping Skies on the back. “She’s funnier than you, Pretty Boy. Come on, Skies, let’s hit the Vice District. I’ll buy you a drink and a dance.”

As they walked past, Pretty Boy glared daggers into their backs. Someday, somehow, he swore he would have his revenge for this constant humiliation.

---

Now

The Sky Rider approaches Sanctuary III, directed by it’s auto-navigation system. When it get close enough, it automatically releases a signal. Within the larger ship, an alarm goes off in the cargo hold, warning everyone nearby to stay out. A force field opens up around the hatchway, vacuum sealing it as the hatch opens. The Sky Rider slips inside, settling neatly on the floor. The hatch closes, the force field drops, and everyone continues about their day.

Inside the cockpit of the Sky Rider, the pilot’s seat is completely empty. This is because she’s in the backroom, fast asleep in her bunk.

Skies the Ultimate Treasure Hunter had been away for a few weeks on a treasure hunting binge. She had been going non-stop from planet to planet, collecting gold, jewels, and artifacts. When she finally felt burnt out, she decided to return to her new home.

She’s conked out on her bed, snoring lightly and dreaming of treasures and murder. Her sweet sleep is unfortunately interrupted however, by a rapping at her door, and she blinks awake. Groaning, she rolls out of bed and shambles out of her room to the ship’s hatch. She opens it to find the Vault Hunters- Moze, Zane, Amara, and FL4K.

“Nice jammies,” Zane comments.

Skies looks down at her clothes: soft socks, fuzzy, black pants, and an old, baggy Hyperion sweatshirt.

“What do you guys want?” Skies asks, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

“Moxxi wants to see you,” Moze replies, “she has a proposition.”

“Hm, colour me intrigued,” she remarks, “tell her I need like ten minutes to get cleaned up.” She pauses to sniff under her arm and winces. “Make that twenty.”

The Vault Hunters leave and Skies goes into her washroom, yawning as she starts the shower.

She quickly cleans up, washing away weeks old blood stains- not hers. She changes into clean clothes, grabs her weapons, and leaves the Sky Rider, locking it behind her.

As Skies makes her way through Sanctuary III up to Moxxxi’s, many of the citizens greet her; they wave, ask how she’s doing and where she’s been. She replies happily.

The Vault Hunters are sitting at the bar when Skies arrives. Moxxi is behind it and she leans against it as Skies approaches.

“Welcome back, Skies,” she smiles.

“Thanks, Mox,” she replies as she sits on a stool. “So what’s up?”

“I have a proposition for you,” she explains, “not a job. Just something I think we can both benefit from.”

“Go on.”

“Do you know the Handsome Jackpot?” “Of course, Jack’s casino. He brought me there a couple times.”

“It’s one of the few things Jack left behind that I’m interested in,” Moxxi says then winks. “Except you, of course.” Skies smirks.

“So if you help the Vault Hunters take it over for me, I’ll let you have whatever treasure hides inside.” “It’s a tempting offer, Mox,” Skies muses, “Jack did treat the place like his own personal piggy bank. There’s just one problem. With Helios and Control Core Angel gone, it’s now the most secure fortress in the galaxy. Everything with locks on it needs Jack’s face, voice, and DNA to open it. We’d never be able to take control.”

“I figured as much,” Moxxi replies, “fortunately, you have a friend that can help rectify this.” Skies scowls. “Oh, so that’s the real reason you want me help.”

“Of course not. I would’ve accepted your help even if we didn’t need him.”

“I can’t ask Tim to do this. He’s happy now. He even found a way to live peacefully with Jack’s face. He got out of this life and I will not drag him back in.”

“Come on,” Moxxi urges, “it won’t hurt to just ask him. Let me, and if he says no, we’ll drop it.” Skies scoffs. “If you ask him, then there’s no way he’ll say no.”

Moxxi smiles gently but with a sinister look in her eye and holds out her hand. Skies groans, rolling her eyes as she grabs her ECHO communicator and calls Timothy Lawrence.

“Wassup?” he answers.

“Tim, listen, just remember, it’s always okay to just say no,” Skies says quickly before Moxxi swipes the device.

“Timothy,” she purrs.

“Wha-Mo-Moxxi?” he stammers with surprise.

“I need a great big favour from you,” she says in a sultry tone, “and if you help me, I’ll repay you in any way you ask.”

Skies and the Vault Hunters groan with annoyance.

“Uh um wha-what do you need...?” Timothy asks.

“Jack left behind an old casino,” Moxxi explains, “I just need your face and DNA to unlock any security measures so I can take over the casino. You won’t be alone, of course, Skies and the Vault Hunters will be going too.” “Um....” he hesitates.

“You don’t have to do it, Ti-!” Skies tries to warn but Moxxi slams her face into the counter top, cutting her off.

“Y-yeah, I guess...I can help...”

“Fantastic!” Moxxi cheers, “just fast travel to Sanctuary- I can send you codes- and from here you can all go to the casino together.”

“O-okay,” Timothy replies and hangs up.

Moxxi hands Skies her ECHO back. She swipes it angrily, rubbing her face.

“What are you so worried about?” Moxxi asks, “you’ll make sure no harm comes to him, right?”

Skies grumbles and leaves in a huff. The Vault Hunters follow close behind.

“I have to admit, I am a bit confused,” FL4K says.

“As am I,” Amara adds, “this Timothy is clearly a friend of yours. He has Jack’s face...? Like as a trophy?”

“It’s hardly a trophy,” Skies replies, “Tim was one of Jack’s doppelgangers- the first and the last. It made his life a living hell, having to work for Jack, even after he died. He finally found a way to leave peacefully- making parody movies of Jack’s life, which are hilarious by the way. I hate having to drag him into this.”

They approach the fast travel station and Skies leans against a nearby table, glowering angrily. But her fury quickly subsides, to be replaced with excitement, as the station turns on and someone digistructs in.

Skies giggles happily and leaps into his arms before he’s even fully in. “Tim tam!”

Timothy smiles and hugs her back, spinning her off her feet. “Skies! It’s been so long.”

“Well, somebody’s been busy being a successful actor.”

“And somebody else has been busy being a successful treasure hunter.” They both laugh as they split up. “You look good,” Skies comments.

“As good as Jack?” Timothy asks.

“Jack wishes he looked this good.”

They laugh again, squeezing each other’s arms. Behind them, Zane awkwardly clears his throat, catching their attention.

“Oh, right,” Skies says and steps back, motioning to the Vault Hunters. “Tim, this is Moze, Amara, Zane, and FL4K. Kids, this is Timothy Lawrence.” “I’ve heard a lot about you guys,” Timothy says, waving politely.

“All good, I hope,” Moze replies.

“Well...good for a Vault Hunter.” They suddenly feel the ship lurch and look out the window to see they’ve entered hyper space.

“We must be on our way to the casino,” Skies says, “come on, we’ll use Ellie’s drop ship to get there.”

The group makes there way through the ship to the cargo hold. Many Pandoran citizens stare at Timothy, muttering to each other.

“Been a long time since I got stares like that,” Timothy mutters.

“Ignore them,” Skies demands, “they used to stare at me too.”

“So uh what are we expecting from this place?” he asks, “enemies?”

“Who knows,” Amara replies, “so be prepared for anything.”

“Should be lots of fun though,” Zane grins.

When they reach the cargo hold, they start to go to the drop ship when Skies stops. “Ah, hold on a sec.”

She quickly goes into the Sky Rider and comes back out, holding Jack’s mask. “We’ll probably need this,” she says as she tucks it into her coat.

They all squeeze into the drop ship. Ellie gives them a salute before sending it off. They watch through the window as they approach the bright and shining space station and get caught in a tractor beam.

“The casino’s got a hold of you,” Moxxi warns through their ECHO communicators. “Strap in.”

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #borderlands fanfiction #borderlands au #borderlands oc #myocs #myart

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late-nite-scholar · 2 years

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Falloutober Day 27- Vae Victis

Well I kind of fell off the wagon here. But I had this idea knocking around and I had to write it down. We have Hawke, post Blind Betrayal, dealing with an unexpected visitor in Sanctuary Hills that brings up some bad memories. Prompts by @falloutober

Warnings- mention of chems/being on chems

Length- about 1100 words

(Hawke doesn’t make a secret of which faction she supports)

***

Hawke saw the flash again, closer this time. It had been darting through the overgrown bushes and hedges for the last five minutes and now it was nearly close enough to touch. If she could catch it.

When it moved again, she threw herself into its direction before it could dodge. She backed out of the oversized boxwood with her arms full of a small, flailing body. It was human, she was pretty sure, and was shrieking like its hair was on fire. Hawke wrapped her arms more tightly around them until she had their limbs pinned.

“Okay, if you stop screaming and swinging, I’ll let you go, okay?”

The commotion had attracted others, too. Hancock was standing to her left, one hand on his shotgun. Danse, in his new power armor, was at her right. Nick was between them, with Deacon and Cait right behind. She didn’t see MacCready, but she knew he had her covered already. Even Curie and Codsworth had come over, and she could hear Preston and Sturgis shouting to be on the lookout for other intruders. The entire town was mobilizing now, just in case.

Hawke turned her attention back to their mysterious guest. It was a human child, surely not more than nine or ten. He was dressed in the very distinctive coat and boots of a Brotherhood Squire. A sour taste immediately rose in her throat. She'd only interacted with a Squire once before; she'd taken one out on a mission as a gesture of goodwill.

She'd never done so a second time.

A hand was rubbing circles on her back. Hancock. He hadn't gone on that mission, but he remembered how she'd been after. How she'd raged, barely coherent. They're just kids… just kids… they're so fucking brainwashed…. spouting jargon like a fucking cult! He'd never seen her so disturbed, nor disappear that deeply into chems for nearly a week. Enough to make even him worry. And it looked like those memories were coming back in force.

"Darlin'? Come back, okay? Stay with me." He stepped closer, his arm sliding around Hawke's waist.

"Yeah…" She took a deep breath and turned to the Squire. "What are you doing out here, kid? You get separated from your patrol? Did you get attacked?"

The Squire bared his teeth. "I came to find you! I heard you take up with all kinds of abominations. I came to see for myself. You're one of us, a paladin! I didn't believe it."

"Well, what do you think now that you’re here?”

"You are a disgrace to the Brotherhood! I see you not only have the exile." He sneered at Danse. "But also synths and ghouls! You cavort with the very things we are to stand against! Even right this moment, you let that creature touch you."

"Cut that shit right now." Hawke snapped, moving closer to Hancock automatically. "This is a good man and I love him. I accept everyone, no matter who or what they are."

"Then it is true! Then you are no better than these creatures! I will not allow such a stain in our ranks!" The kid fumbled for his pocket but Hawke was faster.

"A 10mm pistol?" She tutted, holding it up and away. “You packed light.”

Danse’s voice was deadly serious beside her. "Squires are not allowed weapons."

"I stole it, okay? I knew if I was coming out here myself I'd need protection!" The kid tried to make a break, but Danse had him dangling in the air before he could take two steps. That made him start shouting again.

"Unhand me, you filthy synth! You have no right to exist, let alone have power over me!"

Hawke saw Danse flinch hard at the words, and it was enough to banish any good will she had left. In a voice that left no room for argument, she thundered, “That is enough, Squire!”

The kid shut up immediately, eyes wide. Danse set him down and he stood at attention. Hawke stepped forward, standing over him. He really was just a kid. He was just regurgitating the Brotherhood talking points he’d been fed all his life. Maybe she couldn’t do anything to change that, but she felt, just this once, she had to try. An idea came to mind, a phrase in Latin. The Brotherhood loved that kind of shit, and maybe this time, she could turn it back on them.

“Squire, have you ever heard the phrase ‘vae victis’? It means ‘woe to the conquered’. It means that those defeated in battle are at the mercy of their enemies. And, they shouldn’t expect those enemies to go easy on them.”

The kid’s eyes were saucers. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I will be making a trip to The Castle in one week’s time. I will drop you off at the Prydwen on my way. If you want to be, given you’ll likely be in a lot of trouble for this little stunt. Until that time, you will remain here in Sanctuary Hills, with the understanding that you are under vae victis.”

“Y-yes ma’am.” The kid was sweating now, surely imagining a week of torture.

Hawke smiled. Perhaps it would be, for him. At least at first. “Excellent. For now, Curie will escort you to a room where you can sleep while you are here. For dinner, you will join me and my partner at my house. Tomorrow, perhaps you can meet the people of our little settlement, maybe help out in the garden. We’ll see.”

Curie came forward, bubbling with excitement. “Oh my, it is so good to meet a new person! And a child! This will add wonderful new information to my databanks!”

The kid stared blankly, too stunned to reply. Curie took him by the hand, a broad smile on her face as she led him away. He went without a fight, clearly unable to process what was happening.

Hancock’s arm slipped around her waist again. He sighed. “You ain’t gonna change him, darlin’. We both know that Brotherhood shit is too deeply ingrained.”

“I know. But I have to try. This kid’s got fire, got defiance. Maybe… just maybe we can show him something else. If not, in a week he’ll be Maxson’s problem again. But at least we can say we tried.”

As everyone drifted back to what they’d been doing, Hawke took a deep breath. Maybe Hancock was right. Maybe this was all in vain. But as she looked out over the town that had sprung up in her old neighborhood, and all its varied residents, she knew she needed to try. Not just for them, or for the man whose fingers were entwined with her own, but for everybody. For all the Commonwealth and every person who lived in it. That was something worth fighting for.

#falloutober2022 #falloutober #fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfic #sole survivor #sole x hancock #fallout hancock #fallout danse #fallout curie #brotherhood of steel #sanctuary hills #vae victis #fallout 4 leading by example

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sukiglycerin · 3 years

Text

it takes two || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: pro-hero!katsuki bakugou x reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: fluff, teeny bit of angst

* words: 1,647

* warnings: brief fighting scene (implied), swearing (duh), a lil bit of insecure katsuki but ofc comfort after, reader is mentioned to be in the hero business field, KATSUKI WEARS SHOES IN THE HOUSE !!! can you believe the audacity-

* original request: Hello dear :)) Can I request a Bakugou x reader fic where he gets hit by a clone quirk and the clone is like the complete opposite of him, personality-wise, and Bakugou frequently loses his temper because the clone keeps hitting on his s/o I am sorry for bothering you :(

* a/n: you? bother me? never. actually, i’m sorry this took so long to complete! i’m hoping i can restart a consistent posting schedule soon. happy early birthday bakugou! this is my gift :) i hope you all enjoy~ i love @toishi for proofreading this T^T

it’s a lazy day for you. all you’ve been doing is sleeping, waking up occasionally to eat, and indulging in six different rhythm games despite your lack of rhythm, it’s a good day, snuggled up under the mountains of fuzzy blankets and squished in between soft pillows on your bed, your favorite song quietly playing from your phone on your nightstand. natural light fills your otherwise unlit room, curtains pushed aside to let the sun shine in her full glory. time is idle in this sanctuary of yours for only today; whether a minute or an hour has passed is something out of your concern.

there’s nothing different when bakugou comes home, the jingle of keys and click of the door telling you that it’s him. he’s oddly quiet, though, and for a second you’re almost wondering why he hasn’t yelled “i’m home, dumbass!” before said blond peeks his head into the room.

“hey, love,” he flashes a rare smile. it’s kind, like the soft light of the sun you've become so acquainted with. “i’m home.”

“hey?” you sit up, propping the pillows behind you so you can comfortably lean against the headboard of your bed. “you feeling alright?”

you expect a gruff reply of “the fuck are you talking about?” and a scowl, but get the opposite. a pleasant expression graces katsuki's face, which makes him look more handsome than usual. his hair almost seems tame this way. he’s also uncharacteristically clean; his costume is usually dirt-treaded and at least a little battered whenever he returns from hero patrol. now, though? his outfit is pristine, as if pulled out from a laundromat and ironed professionally. there’s a ghost of a frown on your lips.

"i'm lovely, now that i can see you." the line is spoken like a sappy confession from the male lead of a k-drama; you'd laugh if it wasn't for your utter confusion about katsuki's sudden change in demeanor. his facial expression is twisted in such a gallant way that it arouses suspicion in you.

you’re opening your mouth to reply when there’s a startling crashing at the front door. katsuki’s face falls into downhearted dread, as if expecting the intrusion. his reaction surprises you more than the intrusion itself. the door slams shut in the distance, rattling the house. the sound of boots clomping against the hardwood floor frightens you as you thrust your warm sheets aside (alas, they could wait) and reach for your bat under the bed. katsuki only stares at you, transfixed, and you feel the slightest urge to clobber him with the weapon. why isn’t he ready to fight? you’re up and approaching the doorway of your bedroom when you stop in your tracks.

“hey, fucker!” a loud, abrasive voice yells from down the hallway. “i found ya!”

you recognize that timbre in an instant, then turn to look at katsuki, still standing at your bedside, with a questioning gaze. he’s wearing an expression you never thought you’d see your husband have - his eyes are wide, mouth agape like a deer in headlights.

despite this vote of inconfidence from him, you pad forward slowly, bat gripped tightly and slung over your shoulder. you plunge forward, passing the doorway and glancing left. a shadowy figure stands five feet from you, its stature menacing. you swing blindly, but you bat is only met with more air. the figure is a little bit further now - damnit, it had good reflexes.

“you could still use some work on that swing,” it lowly chuckles and confuses you. you squint, trying to make out who in the world this guy thinks he is to comment on your swing. you gasp, faltering your grip on the bat.

“k-katsuki? what?”

“got hit with a stupid clone quirk on patrol,” this katsuki grumbles bitterly, stepping towards you. he’s dressed in his full hero costume, green grenadier bracers a tight fit in the narrow hallway. “i apprehended the guy but my clone won’t stop following me around. it’s stupidly fast, too, whenever i try to catch it.”

“....and,” you start, “how do i know that you’re not the clone?” you pretend to inspect him close, eyes slowly trailing from the tips of his spiky, golden hair to his black combat boots. (oh, man, you were going to yell at him about wearing shoes in the house later.)

“don’t start this inception bullshit with me now,” he groans.

“what’s katsuki bakugou’s favorite food?” you question, though you have no doubt that this katsuki is the real one.

“anything spicy,” he bemoans. “now, let me-”

“that was an easy one.” you shake your head. “what was the first idea katsuki bakugou had for a hero name idea instead of lord explosion murder?”

if you were in better light, you’re sure you would’ve seen his cheeks flush pink.

“mighty boom,” he mumbles.

“sorry, what was that?” you tease.

“mighty boom!” he half-shouts, flustered.

“oh, okay, so you’re the real katsuki,” you say. “how do we defeat the clone?’

“according to the quirk user, it should disappear after two or three hours. but it can’t really do much harm, as long as it’s not in the sight of the user himself,” he says. “now let me at ‘im. he’s making a fool of myself.”

he attempts to shove himself forward, but you stop him before he can see through the door frame. you glance at the clone, who’s looking at you with round, ruby eyes. he looks like a puppy with that innocent expression, and for a split second, you think that you actually might miss the calm, charming air of this katsuki. turning back to the real katsuki, who pretends not to notice the shift in your eyes, you exhale.

“have at it, but take it outside first, please. i can’t have you tracking in more dirt.” you look to the dirt-ridden footprints behind him on the wooden flooring, sighing.

but in a flash he’s past you - wow, you really weren’t blocking him at all before, were you? - outfit a blur of black, green, and orange as he seizes the clone, slings it over his shoulder like it's made of air, and vanishes past you and out the door. he seldom leaves a trace of dirt, this time, smooth maneuvering himself outside while the clone bids you one last pleading farewell.

you hear blasting, yelling, and yelps, the lattermost presumably the clone’s, barely muffled from your position inside. your first thought wonders what the neighbors will think. you glance one last time at the tracks of katsuki’s boots then turn back to your room. he’d have to mop up that mess later.

ten minutes and an eternity later, katsuki returns inside. by the pause at the front door, you figure one of two things: katsuki’s either taking the time to take off his shoes and put them away properly or staring at the filth he left on the floor. you’re hoping it’s the former. his footsteps are light as he goes to fetch a mop and clean the mess.

finished, he shuffles into your shared room and briefly looks at your comfortable position on the bed.

“what?” you whine. “hero business is hard. i needed a day off.”

this earns a laugh from the man, who’s in the process of removing his gauntlets and stowing them away. he shrugs off the rest of his costume, opting for much more comfortable attire and dropping his mask on a dresser.

“how was your day?” you ask when he snuggles next to you on the bed. he’s sweaty and smells deeply of caramel, but you’ll nag him to shower later. the wear shows in his eyes and movement, sluggish after a long day of work.

“good,” he mumbles, nuzzling into your warmth. “except for that clone bastard.”

you hum, joking, “he was charming, though.”

when he looks up at you with a vulnerable look in his eyes, you regret it.

“did you… really like him that much?” his voice is hoarse, scarcely a whisper. he averts his eyes, fiddling with the hem of your shirt sleeve.

“of course not,” you reply tenderly, bringing your hand to caress his cheek. he still can’t look you in the eyes.

“you know you’ll always be number one in my heart, right? even if you’re not the number one hero, you’re the constant in my heart.” you touch your chest, right over your heart.

“y-you sure?” his words crackle like dying embers, inconsistent and unstable, flakes of lit ash that weakly dissipate into the atmosphere. a waning fire is still warm, though; with a bit of oxygen it can be rejuvenated, relit, and burn bright once again.

“am i one to be wrong?” you ask him, and he faintly shakes his head. “i fell in love with you not for your looks, katsuki… i don’t want a disney prince. i want you, not some fairytale guy.”

“i yell, and i’m brash-”

you cut him off, chuckling, “and that’s what i love about you. you don’t-” you make a vague gesture with your hands, then drop them, unsure how to articulate your thoughts. “you don’t care what people think. you’re unapologetically… you.”

“you sure?” katsuki tries again. “that- that guy, that thing- you sure you don’t prefer a guy that’ll buy you roses with a note on the tag that says ‘you are the most beautiful flower in my garden’ in fancy cursive script on it?”

“do people really do that?” you frown. “i mean, i hope no guy does that for me-” katsuki exhales a breath of relief. you look at him questioningly but don’t press the issue.

“i love you, katsuki,” you finish, “and no shitty clone will ever change that. ever.”

while he showers, katsuki’s thankful that he burned the roses from some secret admirer he found in your shoe locker during your high school days.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst #bnha angst #bakugou headcanons #bnha headcanons #luna's writing

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commonwealthoccurences · 3 years

Text

If It's A War You Want

Request: Idea: Sole at the end of Blind Betrayal threatening "You lay one hand on Danse, and you start a war with me!" Can't trust Bethany Esda to write a proper conclusion for my boy Danse, so I trust u cuz ur writing slaps.

Word Count: 2,2027

Warnings: Threats, canon typical violence mentions

It was never supposed to turn out like this.

Sole hadn’t exactly come to love the Brotherhood’s ideology, specifically surrounding their opinions on synths, but it was a means to an end. It was messy, and at times downright infuriating. But Sole never intended to go face to face with them; the priority was the Institute. Once they were out of the picture, Sole intended to enjoy what was considered retirement in the Wasteland, and take up the role of a simple farmer.

Everything shifted once Elder Maxson told them about Danse and then ordered them to kill him. They couldn’t even think to react, to lash out in astonishment or in disgust. They were whisked away and before they knew it, they were being told his location by Scribe Haylen, and off they went. On an assassination mission for one of the people they cared about most in the Wasteland.

Of course, that was never going to happen. The walk to his location left them a lot of time to think. To come up with a plan, specifically. First, they wanted to hear his side of the story. It didn’t matter whether or not he was a synth, but they couldn’t imagine what he was going through, the stress, the betrayal, the possible resentment. Then, they would get him out. Wherever he wanted to go, they would get him there safely.

There would always be a place for him in Sanctuary. If it appealed, the Railroad could do what they did best, though they doubted he would want to lose what little he had left of his identity. Whatever Danse needed, they were there.

Before long, they were shooting down the turrets outside of the bunker Scribe Haylen said they would find him in, and they crept in, gun held in a tight grip by their side. Sole wasn’t sure what state of mind he’d be in. Whether or not he’d be defensive, whether or not he expected an enemy instead of a friend. He was smart. Maybe he expected Elder Maxson to test them the way he was, to send them after him to prove the loyalty Danse knew had wavered the very first day they stepped on the Prydwen.

There was water dripping from the ceiling, a leak of some sort made obvious from the heavy rains. The incessant dripping grew more and more irritating as Sole took careful steps through the damp hallways, jaw clenched, boots barely making a sound. It was a break in the structure of the wall that opened up to the end of their journey. Carefully, they straightened up, and stepped through the crumbled wall. “Danse?” Sole asked, cautious. They raised their hands on either side of their head in an attempt to appear non threatening.

But when Danse turned around, it was apparent he wasn’t going to make any attempt to defend himself. His gun was across the room, bullets scattered on the floor, magazine a few feet away. “Danse?” They repeated, tone softer, as they holstered their weapon.

“If you’re here to kill me, get it over with. Please.”

“Danse, I’m not here to kill you.”

He laughed, but there was no humor to his tone. “You should be. There’s no way you made it here without Maxson finding out, and if you’re disobeying direct orders….”

“I don’t give a damn about his orders, Danse. You know that.”

Danse scoffed. Yeah, he knew that. They had never been great at taking orders from anyone in the Brotherhood, until he asked them himself. It was obvious where their loyalties lied, and maybe he was selfish, but he had been okay with that. Now? Now, their misguided trust was only going to put them in danger. He knew that if they didn’t take back his holotags, they would be the next to fall. It was the way the Brotherhood worked. He had been a cog in their machine, after all; he knew better than anyone.

He turned away. It was nearly unbearable to look at them, at the hope they had represented for him in the year that they had been around, and the fact that they were looking at him pleadingly, a silent begging for him to go with them, and directly result in their death. “Get it over with, Soldier.”

“I’m not a soldier. Danse. You know I was never one of their soldiers. Don’t make this decision for me, please. It’s hard enough.”

Maybe if he begged them, they would go through with it, and they’d be safe. Of course, Danse didn’t want to die, if the loss of his life even counted as death, considering what had been discovered. But between the options of him living just a moment longer with the hope that he could return to some semblance of normal only for both of them to die, or for him to die for Sole to live, Danse would not hesitate in choosing them every time.

The drip hadn’t gone away. It drove at Sole’s patience as they stood there in silence, waiting for Danse to come to his senses. Or maybe it was them who needed sense, the sense to just move, to grab Danse and drag him away where no one could hurt him again. They nearly fully considered it when he spoke. “You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

They wanted to laugh, but instead, sucked in a deep breath and tapped their fingers against their thigh. “Have you met me?”

Danse nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He turned and looked at them. “It was a blessing in disguise. More than I knew, in the beginning.”

They found themself clenching their jaw tighter in an attempt to suppress the urge to cry. “Danse, let’s go. We can go back to Sanctuary and figure this all out. You don’t have to stay here and be alone in this miserable ass bunker.”

“Are you sure?”

“Danse, please. Let’s go home.”

It would be a long process, of course. To get him settled in Sanctuary, into a civilian lifestyle, without all the heavy-duty armor and the rigid structure to keep him firmly in place. But he would figure it out, Sole knew; he was much more resilient than he’d ever given himself credit for. They held out their hand and placed it on his shoulder when he stepped forward.

They guided him over to his weapon and loaded it for him before placing it firmly in his hands. “You still need to defend yourself.” The double-meaning of their words hung in the air between them as Danse stared them down. He nodded choppily.

The walk out of the bunker seemed much shorter than the trip in, and to Sole’s relief, they put distance between them and the dripping leak faster than they expected. As soon as they were relieved from one pressure, the next appeared in front of them. Through the thick rain, they could see the shadow of a familiar figure, one dressed in an oversized coat that they had thought many times would go for a high price at Myrna’s. “We don’t have to do this, Maxson.” They had to raise their voice to be heard over the pounding rain.

“You had orders, Soldier. Explain yourself, or I end this now.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. And I’m not your soldier.”

Sole could feel the rage radiating off Maxson. The vastness of his ego must’ve taken a dent from being so blatantly disrespected. “Sole, he’s right.” Danse piped up from over their shoulder, not loud enough to be heard by the leader of the Brotherhood, but clearly heard by Sole. They shook their head and raised a hand, clearly signalling him to be quiet. “See, Maxson. I’m not as stupid as you think I am. I didn’t come out here blind. I knew you were testing me.”

They took a step forward, despite the fact that they felt adrenaline and anxiety thrumming in their chest. God knows the rain wasn’t helping, with the way they had to squint to be sure they had an eye on Maxson’s weapon. “I didn’t leave straight away. I have help, Elder, and I don’t take risks without insurance. I’m sure once you return to the Prydwen, after being unsuccessful in locating both Danse and I, that you’ll find many hidden explosive charges located throughout your beloved airship.”

Danse’s sharp intake of breath was barely audible, and they hoped he didn’t make his surprise too obvious. Of course, they were lying through their teeth; they hadn’t had time to even think before they were being ushered out of the Prydwen on their mission. But Maxson didn’t know that. He had simply sat back in his chair and expected them to clean up a mess that didn’t even exist.

“You’re bluffing.” Maxson called back.

“Do you really want to find out? You lay a single hand on Danse, and you’ll start a war with me. With me and the Minutemen, and while you may have protocols and guidelines, know that I will stop at nothing if something happens to someone I care for.”

Silence. If there was anything Maxson cared about more than being respected, it was the Brotherhood. If what they had said was true, they could turn the entire Eastern branch of the Brotherhood into gory, scrap metal ridden confetti and then follow up with their own, albeit small, army if there were any survivors. They shifted their grip on their weapon and raised their chin; this was the moment of truth. Would they get away with their companion in a nerve wracking scrape, or would they die for their loyalties?

Their heart thudded, even when Maxson lowered his weapon and took a half step backwards. The pressure was off, ever so slightly. “Go. You can return to wherever you came from, but if either of you are seen again-”

Maxson didn’t have to finish. The pair knew exactly how little they had as an advantage, and they were lucky to get as far as they did. Sole managed to not burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation and instead gave him a sharp nod before their hand returned to Danse’s shoulder, and they began their departure to Sanctuary.

The first half of their journey was silent. Each was lost in their own thoughts about the situation, about what their futures may look like now that Sole had threatened war against one of the more powerful Commonwealth presences. Danse’s footsteps faltered momentarily just as they made it to Quincy. “Were you- did you actually have the means to blow up the Prydwen?”

Sole, overwhelmed with the confrontation of what they had said, burst out laughing. “God, no, Danse! But I had to think of something. If I didn’t have any leverage we would’ve ended up as ghoul feed.”

Danse frowned. “I told you you should’ve-”

“I know what you said, and it was the worst idea you’ve ever had. Try not to top it in the future, would you?”

The humor fell flat, Danse’s expression barely illuminated by the first rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon. “Look, Danse. I made my choice, there’s no going back, and even if there was, I wouldn’t change my mind. Even if I couldn’t blow up the Prydwen at that moment, I was serious. I would’ve started a war that rivaled the Great War. I still will, if he sends anyone after you.”

“Sole, you can’t possibly mean that.”

Whatever semblance of humor fell from their demeanor. They closed the gap between them and Danse and looked him in the eye. “I know that the Brotherhood may have made you feel otherwise, but you have people that will fight for you, Danse. You have me, and you have the Railroad and Sanctuary now. And it might be hard to believe, but I’ll spend every day proving it to you. Do you understand?”

Danse swallowed. The nod he gave them was barely visible. Stunned. They gave him a weak smile and brushed a strand of his hair away from his eyes. “Let’s go home, Danse.”

#Fallout 4 #Fo4 #Paladin Danse #Imagine #Oneshot #Angst #Fluff #Angst with a happy ending #Canon divergence #other tags im probably forgetting

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hlizr50 · 3 years

Text

These Scars Paint the Map that Led Me to You

Azriel and Gwyn both have scars, and both are determined to show the other that those scars are just as beautiful as the rest of them.

Read on AO3

Part 1: Azriel

“You’re brooding, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel could feel the Valkyrie’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look up.

“I don’t brood, Berdara.” He kept his gaze firmly on the report in front of him, eyes narrowed. He didn’t understand how there could be so little intelligence. He had personally surveyed every location and made sure that every spy was in the most prime of positions to overhear and intercept information. It had been a time-consuming, harrowing endeavor, and it had taken him too far from home for far too long. It was the first long mission he’d undertaken since he had started spending considerably more time with the copper-haired priestess lounging in the settee across the room – since they had started sharing more than banter and nights running away from nightmares – and every minute away had put him more and more on edge.

Gwyn snorted.

“I love when you lie to yourself.” He heard the dampened clap as she snapped her book closed, but he still refused to meet her gaze. The shadowsinger could feel the intensity of those teal eyes boring into his profile, and he wasn’t prepared to compound his frustration with the questions he would find there – questions that would turn into an ocean of concern. He leaned back into his chair, tilting his head further and sighing in exasperation. His breathing was deep, measured, as he pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. The rustle of fabric was the only indication that Gwyn had moved, but he remained focused on his breathing and the bitter burn of failure in his chest. Where was Koschei? Why couldn’t he find anything at all?

“Azriel.”

Her voice was quiet, the softest of melodies that always seemed to help silence the infernal voices that threatened to tear him apart. He opened his eyes when he felt her hands on his shoulders, graceful fingers feeling for the knots of tension and seeking to soothe them from where she stood nestled neatly between his wings. Azriel grinned half-heartedly, eyes roaming from the silken locks that nearly brushed his forehead to the constellations of freckles that painted her cheeks, to the deep sea of her stare that had darkened with concern, to full pink lips that were pursed. “What terrible lies are you telling yourself this time, Shadowsinger? Tell me, so that I might prove you wrong.” The small smile he had tried to use on her faltered, so he just sighed and reached up to gently wrap his fingers around her forearms.

It never ceased to take him by surprise how thoroughly she understood him. Gwyneth Berdara so easily saw past his practiced mask of indifference and coldness. It had alarmed him at first, but he had found a surprising comfort in her companionship. She had always made it known that she could see right through him, but she would never pry, never push him to share things with her that he wasn’t ready to admit.

He kept his hands on her arms, closing his eyes as he brushed his fingers up and down the soft velvet sleeves the color of the forest at midnight. He loved when she didn’t wear her robes, instead opting for casual gowns (a taste she had likely inherited from Nesta) or the practical tunic and leggings, which were much easier to fight in should the need arise. Gwyn looked beautiful no matter what clothing covered her tall, lean frame, but he could not deny how those dresses made him burn for her.

“Lies, priestess?” He murmured, trying to soothe her worry and direct the conversation away from his internal self-loathing.

“Oh yes, Shadowsinger. You tell many lies.” He felt the brush of lips on his forehead and the subsequent heat that crept up his neck. “But like I said, I love when you do.” And he let his eyes drift open again. She stared back down at him, a wry smile accompanying eyes dancing with stars.

“I’m afraid I’ll need you to elaborate.” His hands had stopped their exploration of her arms and had come to rest back where they had started. He drummed his fingers for emphasis, waiting for her explanation.

“You of all people should know, Azriel, how I strive to prove you wrong,” she snickered. “But in this, especially. I have well-crafted arguments against some of my favorite lies of yours.” Azriel quirked an eyebrow in question and he could have melted at the softness he found looking back at him. Gwyn pulled away from his grasp and circled around to his side, only to reach for a scarred hand again. She tugged at him, willing the Illyrian to abandon his reports. “Come sit with me for a moment.”

He put on a show of being asked to step away from his work even though he knew that he could not refuse her. She knew it, too, but she was still gentle with him and gave him an encouraging smile and a quiet request.

“Please, Az.”

He wound his fingers between hers and moved first, pulling her toward the couch she had been sitting on moments before. The pale blue upholstery was faded, the buttons rubbed bald where they tufted the cushions. Nesta had insisted that the well-worn fabric only served to prove how impossibly comfortable the settee was, and therefore replacing it was out of the question. He sat down without letting go of the pale hand that glowed like moonlight in his tanned grasp, wings draped over the corner where the back and armrest met. He pulled the redhead down between his legs, drawing her sideways into his chest. His free hand found her hip and immediately started massaging easy circles with his mangled fingers. She drew their connected hands up between her chest and his.

“These are my favorite lies that you tell.” Gwyn’s voice was so gentle that he couldn’t even muster the tension he usually felt when he knew someone had noticed the mottled whorls of skin that covered his fingers, hands, and wrists. He had never felt the need to hide them from her – yet another surprise. The list was becoming quite extensive.

“What… what do you mean?” Azriel croaked, unsure of what to expect. From Gwyn, he supposed, he should not have any expectations. They would be shattered by her wit and candor.

“You tell yourself that your hands are disgusting. That they have done terrible things and they make you undeserving of compassion and love. A bald-faced lie if I’ve ever heard one.” He tensed, hand pausing on her hip. He studied her face, mostly hidden by a curtain of fiery chestnut, but found her attention centered on his hand in hers. She used a finger to trace the scars over his knuckles, taking her time to follow each line until it reached the next, an intricate map of flesh. Azriel’s skin pebbled, a tremor rumbling through him at the attention, the awe and adoration in her touch.

“Gwyn…” He breathed, but he couldn’t form the words. The priestess dipped her chin and pressed her lips to each of his long fingers, then to each of his knuckles, then to the scars on the back of his hand. Keeping one hand wound tightly with his she reached her other hand to cup his cheek, finally lifting her lashes to peer up at him. His chest swelled as she smiled widely, eyes glittering with challenge.

“Are you ready for my well-crafted arguments?”

The shadowsinger chuckled, keenly aware of her body against his. He squeezed lightly over her hip and answered, “I’m guessing I don’t have much of a choice in the matter.”

“You are correct.” She tapped the tip of his nose before returning her hand to his cheek and then tracing those cool alabaster fingers down to rest on his neck. She let her thumb stroke idly over his jaw. He felt like he could barely breathe under the gaze that she had fixed on him. Her teal eyes were bright with sincerity and compassion, but her smile was sad. He knew why – he had always been consumed with hatred for himself and the things he had done, and she hated that he felt that way.

“I don’t think I will ever be able to think about what was done to you without being absolutely torn apart, Azriel. It was cruel and it was wrong. You were a child. It breaks my heart. It was a disgusting act, but these hands are the furthest thing from disgusting.” She squeezed the hand she held at her chest and Azriel wrapped his other hand further around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to him. She had never moved her eyes from his, and he found it difficult not to cower. But she gave him strength – she had emboldened him for awhile now – and so he held her gaze, mesmerized by her words. “These hands are beautiful. And perfect. And strong. They wield weapons and magic that make the whole of Prythian stand back in awe –“

“They have killed people,” he found himself arguing, an automatic response. Her fingers left his neck and pressed against his mouth, and he finally broke the eye contact she had so fervently held to look down shamefully.

“They have killed people. For your family, for your court. For me. You were there on the worst night of my life, Azriel. You may or may not know the details, but you know what happened to me. And yet here I am in your embrace, even when I can barely venture into the life and light of the city below without collapsing into a puddle of tears and panic. Because these hands… I know it’s you that holds me. I know that your hands are the ones touching me. The comfort that I feel, being able to know that it’s you, cannot be overstated.” Her voice was quiet, but fervent. Azriel could barely fathom her admission. He knew that she would feel remorse for the cruelty that he had endured, but this was so much more than that. “These hands belong to a male that I have never feared, even when I watched you slaughter men, cloaked in shadow. These hands are my safety and my sanctuary. They deserve compassion and understanding and adoration – you deserve those things. It hurts that you think otherwise, but I strive to prove you wrong, as always.”

The shadowsinger kept his priestess pressed against him at her waist and carefully pulled his other hand out of hers to cradle her face. He leaned his forehead against hers and let his ragged breathing betray his vulnerability. She was too good, too pure and perfect. But she was here in his arms, just like she had said. He lifted his gaze and found those teal depths for just a moment before slanting his mouth over hers, reveling in the softness of her. He had always been a man of few words, and while Gwyn had cracked him open wider than anyone in his family had ever seen before he still sometimes struggled to form the words he needed to show her just how incredible she was. He didn’t push to deepen the kiss, but after a moment gently pulled away. The lovely face he found nearly sent him over the edge with want – lips swollen slightly, wide glittering eyes, pink-painted cheeks. He was too overwhelmed with emotion to speak yet, so he buried his face into the crook of her neck, clutching her close with both arms. Her arms were trapped between them, but she had managed to slide her hands around his neck. Azriel felt her fingers gently teasing the hair at his nape as he breathed her in, the scent of water lilies and goodness permeating into his soul.

“Gwyn…” He shuddered against her. “Thank you.”

They remained wrapped in each other, for minutes or hours Azriel couldn’t comprehend. But he knew it, in that moment. It had been so easy to fall for her because this was who she was. She had chosen to be kind when the world had not been kind to her. She had chosen to fight back after she had been made helpless. She had chosen to show him light when she had been thrust into darkness. She saw him and did not cower. She challenged him and accepted his challenge in return. She had put her trust in him, and he could not imagine a greater gift.

So he held her against him and breathed her in, relishing in her heat and her light and her trust. And for the first time in his five centuries of life he thanked the Cauldron for the scars that marred his hands, the paths she had traced on the map of his skin – a map that had led his heart to her.

@trashforazriel @tealnymph-writes

#gwynriel #azwyn #gwynriel fanfic #gwyn x azriel #how do tags work #so fluffy #azriel x gwyn #they're so perfect

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thatfanficstuff · 3 years

Text

Impossible - 19

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warnings: canon typical

A/N: I'm lazy so a gif instead of a header and no editing. Course I'm lazy cuz I'm writing a bunch of stuff behind the scenes, so...

***

“How long has it been since you fed?” Eric asked Godric.

“I require very little blood anymore,” he responded, looking rather annoyed. “You sent a human to rescue me?”

Eric wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his side. “I had little choice. These savages mean to destroy you.”

“I know what they had planned.” Again, that little voice spoke up in the back of your brain that they couldn’t have taken Godric and held him without him allowing it.

“You should eat,” you told him and nudged Gabe’s leg with your foot.

He simply looked at you with a bored expression. “He would have raped your mate and the human,” he said without even turning to Eric.

A second later, Eric broke Gabe’s neck then proceeded to glare at the body in fury. Suddenly, an annoying alarm and a flashing blue light caused you to jump as it startled you. “Shit.”

“Get them out of here,” Godric demanded of his progeny.

“I’m not going anywhere until—”

“Now. I can take care of myself. Spill no blood on your way out.”

“Why do you always have to ruin all my fun?” you pouted. You managed to catch his smirk before Eric herded you and Sookie toward the stairs. When you reached the top, you and Eric peered around the doorframe while Sookie hung back. Several men were rushing around mostly armed with stakes. “Where the fuck did they all come from? They’re like cockroaches.”

Eric huffed a laugh. “I could have us out in seconds.”

“Not without killing someone you can’t. You heard Godric.”

He growled low in his throat. “Stay here.”

“What’s he doing?” Sookie asked as she came out to stand with you.

You shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

He slumped forward trying to make himself look more human, less intimidating. You snorted. Like that was even possible. “Um…excuse me, sirs, but uh, Steve sent me over to uh man the exit here so I’ve got it from here.”

What even was that accent? You laughed again knowing Eric would hear though the humans would not.

“By yourself? I mean, you’re big and all but there’s a vampire running around,” one of them said, looking uncertain. “Where’s your stake?”

“Oh, golly. I knew I forgot something. Could I, uh, borrow yours?” Eric asked. You prepared to sprint to his aid at the first sign of trouble.

“I don’t think so, man. Get your own.”

As Eric prepared to glamour the man into handing over his weapon, one of the others moved around him. It was obvious he didn’t trust a word coming from Eric’s mouth. “Stake!” you yelled as you moved from the doorway.

Eric turned too quick for your eye to follow and knocked away the man trying to kill him. He did the same to one of the others, while you shoved the third into the wall with a hand on his chest. His friends ran off when you did so. So brave. Eric snatched the stake from his hand and tossed it aside. He cracked open the front door to see a mass of men headed in your direction.

“Those arrows are wood, you’ll never make it through,” the man you had pinned said.

“The sanctuary,” Sookie said.

Eric glanced to you and you shrugged. You had no idea if you could get out that way or not. You were guessing not but you sure as hell weren’t getting out the front. The three of you moved into the sanctuary, your hand firmly ensnared in Eric’s. “Where’s the exit?” he asked.

“Back there,” Sookie said, hurrying a bit so she could show you the way.

Then Steve Newlin appeared with a smug smile. “There are several exits, but the easiest one takes you straight to hell.” As if he’d coordinated it, the door behind you opened at that exact moment to admit some of his ‘holy’ army.

“Fuck,” you spat.

“You’re in God’s house,” one of the men in the group behind you said.

“Whatever you got to tell yourself, buddy,” came your easy reply. God had nothing to do with what they had planned.

“Let us go,” Sookie cried. “Save yourselves.”

You glanced at her. You had a lot of faith in Eric and yourself, but you were surrounded by about thirty men at the moment. There were limits. And you had no idea if Godric would help at this point. “She’s right, you know. You really should let us go.”

“The war has begun you evil whore of Satan,” Newlin said, stretching his arms out. “And the vampires started it by killing my father.”

This guy was such an asshole. “I’m going to have to stop you right there, reverend. I’m the evil whore of Eric, not Satan. Just thought I should clarify.”

“Really?” Eric muttered beside you.

You shrugged. You might as well go out laughing.

“Well then, you won’t mind dying beside him,” Steve snapped, that creepy smile still in place. You didn’t bother to tell him you didn’t intend to go out any other way.

“The vampire you were holding got away,” Sookie said in an effort to save you. “He’ll send help.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t care about Godric. Any vampire will do and we have one right here.”

Eric tried to release your hand, but you were stronger than you looked and kept hold of him as he stepped forward. He looked up at your captor.

“We will have a holy bonfire at dawn,” he announced.

Eric turned his attention to you as you gripped his hand harder. He reached down and pried your hand from his. “I will be fine.”

You clenched your teeth as he stepped forward, every instinct you possessed telling you not to let him go. You hated this, but the only way you could escape was to wait for the right moment and this wasn’t it. So, you let him go.

You stood your ground while he laid on the altar and allowed them to lay silver chains across him pinning him down as you kept from crying out at the echoing pain in your own body. You ignored Sookie while she yelled at you and asked why you weren’t doing anything. You swallowed your protests when Eric offered himself in exchange for you, Sookie, and Godric. And you ignored Newlin announcing you would be tied to the stake to burn with Eric because you were a traitor to the human race.

Then your salvation came in the unlikely form of Jason Stackhouse and a paintball gun. Just the distraction you needed. He shot Steve in the head, a green splatter coloring his pale skin. His ‘solidiers’ fell back, confused. They apparently couldn’t function without Newlin telling them precisely what to do. “I’m not human, asshole,” you said as you hurried past him to take the chains off Eric.

Eric grabbed Steve by the throat and slammed him into the floor. Sookie was yelling, telling him not to kill the reverend while Jason was telling him to do it. Your gaze found the male Stackhouse to find him being held by several men. What the hell was he even doing here? You really missed your gun.

Then Steve himself starting in, encouraging Eric to kill him and make him a martyr. You rolled your eyes and kicked him in the temple to knock his ass out. Eric released him and stood. Before either of you could say anything to the crowd around you, you heard the distinct sound of vampires moving. You exchanged a glance with your mate as you reached out and pulled Sookie into your side.

The sanctuary doors flung open to reveal Stan fucking Baker flanked by several vampires who quickly moved into position around the room. “Steve Newlin, you have pushed us too far,” he announced.

He was such a fucking drama king. “He can’t hear you, jackass. I knocked his ass out.”

“Be that as it may, we’re not going to sit around while he plans to kill us. We’ll kill them first. Just like we killed his father,” Stan said, shifting his weight like he was in an old Western prepping for a gunfight. He dressed like it, too. “Kill them all,” he ordered.

The vampires swarmed forward to select their victims. Just before you could take control on behalf of the Authority, a voice rang through the room. “Enough.” Everyone stopped and looked up to see Godric standing on the wall of the balcony above you. You could almost see the irritation and disappointment rolling off Stan.

Steve stirred beside you and pushed himself up on his elbows. Godric looked down at him. “Reverend Newlin, we do not have to be at odds. I will make the first move by promising there will be no violence against you and yours. Will you join me and make the same promise?”

“I will not make deals with sub-humans,” he announced as he got to his knees. He looked up at Eric. “Kill me. Do it. Jesus will protect me.”

“Shut up or I’ll kill you,” you told him. “Then you won’t be a martyr. You’ll just be an asshole that pissed off the wrong person.”

Eric chuckled then you both turned as Godric flashed between you and picked the reverend up by the back of his neck. “Good people, who of you is willing to die for this madman’s ideals?” No one stepped forward. “That’s what I thought.” He released Steve and let him fall to the floor. “There will be no bloodshed here. Go home.”

Once the humans dispersed, Godric stepped forward and glanced at the vampires. “Come.” Stan stepped forward trying to push his agenda and Godric just stared at him. “I said come.”

Jason ran over to hug Sookie while Eric turned you to look you over. “Are you okay?”

You nodded and held up your wrist. “Better than you. Drink.”

He didn’t even bother to protest and accepted your offering to heal him from the silver. The Reverend Newlin was still crumpled on the floor beside you crying for everyone to come back and not leave him. Idiot. You glanced from him to Jason. “Jason, thank you for the rescue, but the Fellowship of the Sun are not good company to keep.”

“Yeah, I know. I see that now. I promise.”

You studied him for a minute before giving him a nod. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” you said as you grabbed your mate’s hand to drag him out the door.

#eric northman x reader #eric northman fanfiction #true blood fanfiction #eric northman x you #series #impossible

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colicotq · 3 years

Text

day out with appa | the return of superman au ( 2 )

pairing: lee ho seok x reader

keywords:

camera position

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time

9:04 AM

Entryway

( eomma is leaving )

ho seok stands by the doorway, holding chin hae bouncing him up and down in his arms, watching you gather all your things. chin hae watches with his eyes furrowed together as his little finger points at you, leaning his small body towards you and looking at ho seok with such a confused look on his face.

( it’s as if chin hae knows eomma is leaving )

“i’ll see you later, okay? don’t worry too much! i know you can do really well!” you reassured, as you tip your head back, ho seok leans down and places a quick kiss on your lips * chuu *

“ha yoon, ha eun. come here give eomma a kiss!”

the twins immediately scrambled to the entryway. attacking you with lots and lots of kisses all over your face ( so sweet like candy~ ).

you stood up,

“chin hae, give eomma a kiss.” you present your cheek to your youngest and tapping your finger against it,

( chin hae knows how to give kisses? )

/ slow motion / ( will he be able to do it? )

chin hae leans his whole body and placed a clumsy, sticky kiss to your cheek.

“thank you, chin hae. i’ll see you soon, okay? bye-bye.” you wave shutting the door behind you hurriedly.

( 3... 2... 1... )

( chaos ensues )

not too long after, chin hae broke down into sobs and screams, pointing at the door and tears began to run down his tiny cheeks. babbling some incoherent words that seemed to sound like he was calling out for you.

“it’s okay, it’s okay.” ho seok rushes out of the entryway, “what is that?!”

( startled! )

chin hae stopped crying.

( what could it be? ) ( what kind of special weapon does appa hold? )

Living Room

ho seok points out the large window where it is overlooking the bustling whole city of seoul. endless cars. brilliant skyscraper. chin hae stares in wonder as he tries to fit his tiny fist into his mouth.

ho seok runs his large hand over chin hae’s small back and lightly patting it.

* amazement * ( appa’s distraction technique worked so well! )

“appa, where did eomma go?” asked ha yoon,

“eomma is going to work. appa doesn’t have work today so, i get to spend time with you and do fun stuff!”

“are you not working forever? i want to play with you every day, appa.” ha eun mumbles.

“appa is going to work less from now on. i want to play with ha yoon, ha eun and chin hae too.”

“is that a promise, appa?” ha eun looks up at expectantly, holding out her little pinky finger to ho seok, who wrapped his own much larger pinky.

“yes. stamp.” they press their thumbs together, “and sign. ho seok says, ha eun opens up her palms as ho seok runs his index finger all around in squiggles.

( it is official! appa can’t take it back anymore! )

{ authors note: in Korea, when you do a pinky promise, you curl your pinky together, ‘stamp’ pressing thumbs together and ‘sign’ just signing. which to some kids make it official and can’t take it back type of thing! }

ho seok: it honestly breaks my heart every time they tell me that they want me home more. there are so many things that i have missed out i feel, i want to bond with my kids and make it as memorable as possible. i don’t want them feeling that they are unloved, that i am not putting in the effort or not wanting to be there. this show will help with that.

ho seok: ha yoon, ha eun and chin hae. let’s create lots of memory together from now on. * coo *

11:28 AM

Parent’s Bedroom

“we have to get dressed up, okay?” ho seok says as he flicks through your shared closet that now took the majority of your kid’s clothes. chin hae who now didn’t think about his eomma anymore rolled around happily on your large bed, scratching the bedsheets with his ever-growing nails. ( calm )

( where could the lee family going? )

/ zoom in on chin hae, ha yoon and ha eun’s clothing for the day on the bed as well as a pair diapers. / * awe *

/ a side by side photo of, ha yoon and ha eun similar clothing. / ( they are going to look so pretty and cute dressed alike~ )

“where are we going, appa?” asked ha yoon bounding into the bedroom, plopping herself on the ledge of the bed as she watches her appa with careful eyes.

( looking at appa with lots of adoration~ ) * coo *

“we’re going to a sanctuary today then we’re going to eat lots of food!” ho seok responds, as he undresses chin hae’s pyjamas and taking off his diapers then scurrying off the bathroom.

ha yoon follows.

( trotter, trotter )

Bathroom

“appa, what’s a sancgary?” ha yoon mispronounced, standing by the door way.

“sanctuary.” ho seok corrects, “it’s where they take care of animals.”

ho seok quickly washes up chin hae, the little 6-month-old would occasionally reach out his small for the running water and be splashed on. chin hae throws his head back meeting his appa’s loving gaze and show off his gummy smile when ho seok grins at him. ( i’m having a lot of fun playing with water! ) * coo *

“is it nice there?” ha yoon continues to ask.

“yes! we’re going to meet lots of birds.”

with that ha yoon runs off once again ( sprints! )

“chin hae~” ho seok calls as the baby he had in his grasp swivels around by the sound of his name, “do you like the water? hm?”

chin hae stares then smiles brightly. ( big smiles for appa! ) dipping his hand in the running water before splashing on ho seok.

“i’m soaked now, chin hae~”

( sorry, not sorry appa! )

Living Room

( rush, rush )

“ha eun! ha eun!” ha yoon plops herself on the sofa beside ha eun ( oof ) who is entranced by the cartoons playing on the TV.

( fixated on cartoons. don’t disturb. ) * laughs *

“ha eun, we’re going to meet birds!” this caught ha eun’s attention.

“birds?”

“yes!”

“can we feed the birds?” ha eun ask, making ha yoon ponder before sprinting back to the bedroom.

Parent’s Bedroom

chin hae is wrapped up in a warm, fluffy blanket. ho seok laid out some toys to keep chin hae entertained all in while he gets the little 6-month-old ready for the day out, ho seok slips on his diapers.

warms up the baby lotion on his hand and lathers his hand.

( chin hae is fully bathed now~ )

ho seok in and presses his nose on his cheek and taking a deep breath in.

“chin hae, you smell so good now. eomma is going to be very happy!” ho seok exclaims,

“i wonder why, babies all smell really good and adults smell different.” ho seok mumbles to himself, “chin hae-ah, what’s your secret, hm?”

chin hae smiles cheekily as the sound of his father calling his name.

( it’s called love from eomma, appa and noonas! ) * coo *

“appa! appa!” ha yoon screams who came barrelling into the room, crashing into ho seok’s calves.

“yes? yes?” ho seok says as he slips in chin hae’s shirt and trousers.

“are we going to feed the birds too?” ha yoon asked,

“you have to ask the uncles and aunties who work there politely. you have to say, ‘can i feed the bird, auntie, uncle?’, can you say it after me?”

“can i feed the birds?” ha yoon follows her appa softly.

“good girl.” ho seok praises, “ha yoon-ah, can you call ha eun for me? you two have to take a shower before we go because the birds will smell you. auntie or uncle won’t let you feed the birds.”

“yes, appa.”

( did you start teaching them manner at a young age? )

ho seok: of course, i want them to have great manners and extremely polite. i also want the girls and my son to know that it is extremely important to ask for permission beforehand. it’s not okay to whatever you want because you just want to. teaching them that also makes them think too about what they feel comfortable with. it teaches respect. it starts off at the household, from eomma and appa. * amazement *

( who thought of it? )

ho seok: it was me and my wife’s idea. we first introduced them to it by showing them, my wife would ask me ‘is it okay for me to use your bag?’ then i would say yes or no. vice versa. kids are smart, they were able to pick it up immediately. as i said, it starts off with eomma and appa. * amazement *

( great parenting technique by lee ho seok )

“chin hae, you have wait here and play, okay? your noona’s have to take a quick shower, yes?”

chin hae was preoccupied with the toys around.

( i’m busy, appa. )

just in time, his little girls came through the bedroom door.

“appa, are there cameras in the bathroom too?” ha eun ask glancing all over the room,

“yes, do you want me to turn it off?” ho seok ask,

“yes please. i am a big girl now.”

“okay, okay. appa will turn it off now.”

12:45 PM

Car

with that everyone was out of the house, showered and dressed for the day’s activity. out of the apartment, everyone was now down in the parking garage getting ready to leave.

“is everyone excited?” ho seok asks as he buckles in chin hae into his car seat,

“yes!” the twins exclaimed excitedly as they climb on their own car seat in the minivan.

( they truly are big girls now! they can buckle themselves in without appa’s help~ ) * amazement *

/ zoom in to ho seok smiling at them. / ( proud appa! )

“chin hae, are you excited?”

( yes! )

( chin hae can’t hold his excitement any longer! ) / zoom in to feet kicking back and forth / ( he can’t contain it! he has to kick his legs )

“okay! appa has to check your car seat, okay?”

“yes!”

the twins raise their arms up in the air as ho seok closely inspect and make sure it is secure. ho seok ensured that it was firmly in place.

“good girls. ha yoon, ha eun, you two really big girls now!” ho seok compliments making the twins beam in excitement ( proud big girls! ).

ho seok shuts the van door behind him and got onto the driver’s seat.

“are we all ready?”

“yes!”

/ zoom in on chin hae / ( yes appa! )

“then let’s go!”

1:15

Sanctuary Entrance

ho seok had chin hae strapped against his chest, he also had a dark backpack on which contained all the essentials ho seok needed for his children such as bibs, their training chopsticks, diapers etc. while he adjusts carrier on his chest making sure that chin hae is comfortable.

ha yoon and ha eun stood by their father’s legs waiting patiently. * amazement *

ho seok: my wife drilled onto their heads to never run off especially in public, they always have to hold onto appa, eomma, uncle, auntie, grandma or grandpa's hand. we told them it’s because they can get lost and we would be very sad. it worked pretty well. * oh~ *

ho seok: though they are young still, it doesn’t always work. i may be a little bit cruel too when they let go of me or my wife's hand... i hide on purpose. * laughs *

“alright, can you hold hands with appa?” ho seok held his hand out as the twins reach out.

{ author pop in: imagine a big beefy guy with his tiny cute children😭😭 }

“appa, did uncle camera want to see the birds too?” ha yoon says, pointing at the vj cameraman who is walking ahead of them.

“yes. uncle camera wants to see the birds. do ha eun and ha yoon want to see the birds?”

“yes! uncle camera, you have to ask the aunties or uncles if it’s okay to feed the birds beforehand, okay?” ha yoon repeats her father’s words. * amazement * ( ha yoon took the advice to heart! wow! )

“good girl. you always ask if it’s okay!” ho seok compliments.

Sanctuary Booth

“hello,” ho seok greets the woman, “i booked tickets under the name lee ho seok.”

“yes. please give me a minute as i sort your ticket.”

/ zoom in ha eun goes on her tiptoes, desperately trying to see what the lady was doing behind the low counter. /

“auntie, is it okay for ha yoon, ha eun, chin hae, appa and uncle to feed the birds?” ha eun ask, ( how considerate of ha eun! )

“yes! it’s okay! but, you have to ask the workers for their food. don’t feed them the food you are bought because they can get a stomach ache.” the worker informs as she prints off the ticket.

“yes. i will not feed the birds my sandwich and my juice.” ha eun nods determined.

“okay, here are your tickets.” the woman hands the ticket as ho seok bows politely.

“thank you very much.” ho seok turns to his twin girls, “let’s go!”

“thank you very much auntie.” ha yoon bows politely mimicking her father.

“have a good day! drink plenty of water.” ha eun waves her hand before running to her father’s side and grabbing his hand.

* coo * ( the twins are so bright and polite! ) ( they speak so well too! ) ( they will grow up to be amazing girls ) * cheers *

Parrot Sanctuary

“hello!” ho seok greets the worker who had a colourful parrot resting on his arm, the twins look at the man in such awe ( uncle is so cool ) "say hello to uncle, ha eun, ha yoon."

"hello." the twins bows, ha eun hides behind her appa's leg and clutched onto his jeans ( ha eun is a little bit scared of the bird. ) while ha yoon bravely approaches the man and got on top of the bench. staring at the bird and flapped its large set of wings.

ho seok: you can still clearly tell the difference between them. ha yoon is the twin that always tries everything and is not easily scared. ha eun is a little more cautious when it comes to new things which okay, you just have to encourage her. ha yoon really takes after the unnie role and makes sure that ha eun is comfortable. * awe *

( ha yoon is such a sweet unnie~ )

"ha eun, come here." ha yoon calls for her sister patting the free space beside her on the bench, "it's not scary!"

"is it not scary?" ha eun looks at her twin for comfort who nods in confirmation and slowly ha eun approached ( hesitant ). sitting on the bench, ha yoon presents her hand out to which ha eun quickly accepts * laughs *

/ zoom in on their intertwined small hands / * awe *

"see, it's not scary!"

"i'm not scared because i'm with you and appa." * awe *

"chin hae, do you want to see the parrot too?" ho seok cooed as he carefully shifts chin hae in arms as he unbuckles the carrier so chin hae could a chance to see the parrot. once, chin hae is free from the carrier, he quickly swivelled around to inspect the unfamiliar place.

( freeze )

"dah!" chin hae points at the parrot,

"yes, it's a parrot. doesn't the parrot look pretty?" ho seok approaches the parrot and stood behind the girls, "ask uncle if you can pet the parrot, chin hae."

"app, it's rude to not ask for the parrot's name before petting them." ha yoon lightly scolded ho seok * laughs *.

( nervous )

"sorry, sorry. what is the parrot's name?" ho seok ask the worker slightly embarrassed.

"her name is, jeolla and yes you can pet her but just gently on her head."

"okay, chin hae, we're going to pet jeolla gently, okay?" ho seok held onto chin hae's wrists as he leans onto towards the parrot, he sticks out his index finger, ho seok let his tap the head of the parrot then quickly pulls away.

"wow! chin hae you just pet jeolla!" chin hae stares at his father silently then points his index finger once again.

"oh? do you want to pet jeolla again?"

"uncle, can i pet jeolla too?" ha yoon ask,

"of course!" the worker agrees as he holds the parrot closer to ha yoon and ha eun, unfortunately, ha eun didn't expect the sudden action and flinched. scooting away from the parrot. * laughs *

ha yoon scrambles not missing the opportunity to pet the parrot's wings and head ( ha yoon is so brave ), the parrot preened its feather, ha eun was startled even further when it did this. she grabbed onto ho seok's shirt like some sort protection.

( oh no, appa is the only protection from danger. )

"ha eun, it's okay. the parrot is not scary, can you try for appa? just once? if you don't like it, it's okay."

ho seok: we don't believe in pressuring them into things especially when they're uncomfortable. it just ends up with nowhere, we want them to try it out without force then let them decide for themselves.

( will ha eun bravely pet jeolla or will she stay within her comfort level? ) / slow motion /

ha eun bravely pets the parrot then quickly pulls away.

"good girl! that was really good, ha eun! appa is very proud of ha yoon and ha eun!"

"do you want to hold jeolla too? appa can go first if that is okay so, the kids can be more comfortable."

"yes, yes." ho seok agrees shifting chin hae to rest on his hip so he could have one free hand. the worker quickly help ho seok slip on the protective leather gloves.

"watch appa!" ho seok's children watch him with eager eyes, as the worker place the parrot on his free arm.

( appa looks so cool )

"appa, i want to try!" ha eun exclaims,

"you want to try? if you're okay with it then go for it."

the worker slips on a much smaller leather glove,

( how well will ha eun handle this? )

the worker carefully places the parrot, ha eun watched the bird rest on her arm cautiously.

"ha eun, you look so cool! well done!"

( let's do more cool things in the future appa! )

tags ( that you didn't ask for but wanted to see a part 2 ):

@babybee05 @ugghsthetic

#wonho x reader #mx wonho #wonho #lee wonho #monsta x wonho #wonho x reader domestic au #wonho imagines #lee hoseok #the return of superman wonho

139 notes · View notes

chiwhorei · 4 years

Text

who prays for the headsman?

paring: k. kyoutani x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 3.2k

warnings: size kink, crying, oral (f. receiving), major character death, pseudo-incest, stepcest, violence (not a gorey depiction), stabbing, a mention of blood, medieval beheading, angst okay this is sad you have been warned

a/n: Hello! HQHQ monthly collab time, sinners! I’m super excited to share this with you all, it was truly a work of love. All of the other amazing fantasy collab pieces can be found here!

hymns: murder song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) - AURORA, the judge - twenty one pilots

“The girl’s mother and I are to be wed with haste,” Kyoutani Kentarou’s father pats his small head, smoothing down the blond locks, “Be sure to make y/n feel comfortable. She isn’t your blood, but she’s your family now, son.”

From the moment his father brought you and your mother home, still wrapped in thick mourning veils and tears, his cross to bare was you.

You needed barely an introduction before melting into the comfort of Kentarou. Wrapping your small hands around his middle and burying your face against his neck. Your stiff black dress crinkles against him. The contact was a magnetic, instantaneous spell. Like moth meeting flame, and Kyoutani would burn for it until the next lifetime. The bubbling, itching hellfire marring his tanned skin for two decades.

It’s easier to see the resulting moments in pieces. Shiny, silver blade raised high and gleaming in the light, a sharp swipe of the weapon through the stale air, and finally a thump of weight against the ground below. Still, quiet, and absolute. There’s no escaping the headman’s blade.

The virgin light of dawn rouses Kyoutani from a fitful night of sleep, he stretches his arm out to find your form and only catches the empty shell of blankets you’ve left behind. You’re always awake to greet the cresting rays of light as if they need your permission before ascending to greet the rest of the townspeople. You are the end and beginning of each day.

He finds you sat by the stone fireplace, nightdress hanging off of your shoulders and shawl wrapped tightly to keep the winter’s air at bay. You’ve always preferred the springtime. Even so, the smile that turns at the ends of your lips warms his body like the pouring of melted honey. He basks in you for a moment from afar, as close as he ever feels worthy of being.

“How did you sleep?” Your hand reaches out as he moves farther into the cottage’s main room, touching the warmth of his bare chest. Kyoutani pulls you into him, pressing a kiss to your temple and folding your head against the crook of his neck. Your question goes unanswered, as you both already know: there’s never much rest gifted to the headsman.

A tall wisteria tree sits just outside of town. It’s branches are long and decaying. No flowers bloom on a tree the gods have forgotten. But that doesn't deter you from airy footsteps carrying you to it’s base.

“There’s nothing you can do, y/n,” Kyoutani presses, reaching his arms out to ensure you don’t fall, “there’s no fixing rotten roots.”

You scoff, bunching up your skirt at the ends and kneeling at the large trunk.

Where you bound forward without care, your Kentarou is always there to catch you. As you stoop down by the lifeless tree, his stern eyes narrow. You lay your hands against the rough bark, rubbing upwards and back down. All you need is the notion of life. Your eyes shut in concentration, fingers dancing along the coarse texture. It’s there, deep inside, waiting for you to tug at and rouse back to life. You can see it just behind your eyelids, purples and long flora hanging down, surrounding you in it’s beauty.

“H-how did you do that, y/n?” Kyoutani is cemented in shock behind you, where naked, ghoulish limbs once sat are now filled with swaying, violet life.

“I dunno, I get a tingling feeling in my hands. Here,” You pull him down to sit on the ground, pressing your palms to his cheeks. Your touch is like balm on a wound, he closes his eyes and leans in further. His forehead presses against your own. Your hands cradle the sides of his face, thumbs tracing over the soft skin in soothing patterns.

This is wrong, even as a boy no taller than prairie grass; he knows how wrong this feeling is.

“Do you feel it, Kenta?”

Kyoutani’s job isn’t to decide a person's fate, but the blood still soaks his hands all the same. His walk home is always to the beat of heavy, warning footsteps. His figure is looming, shrouded in thick leather and chain medal. The faulted axe hangs by his side, gripped tightly and weighed down with the heavy smell of iron. He counts his sins every night, prays for absolution but still scrubs the blood of strangers off of his arms and wraps you up in them.

“You fucking bastard,” a strangers voice sounds behind Kyoutani like a siren. He hears the rustling of critics followed by the feeling of a stone thrown against his back.

“You murdered my brother. He was a good man and you killed him.” Kyoutani sighs deeply, he knows the blame will fall on him with every swing his blade makes, so any retort is swallowed. There’s never much reason to quabble, as word travels in a small town like water through a sieve.

“I know who you are, Kyoutani Kentarou. Your father was a good man, and your sweet little sister grew up to be quite the-” All reason shatters under Kyoutani’s boot in an instant, feet carrying him in his hecklers’ direction. His clenched fist meeting the man’s eye socket with deadly force, vision blurring and reason fleeting. He shouldn’t be handing out home brewed justice, but there’s no rationale exercised when your name passes through a strangers mouth.

Kyoutani is a strong man, but fighting three against one would be a losing battle no matter what. No matter how noble his intent is, a sharp knife to the stomach is impossible to ignore. The stranger twists the dagger, bringing his face to Kyouatani’s ear.

“Say hi to your dear ole’ dad for me, eh?”

He hears the man’s snide voice against the pounding in his head. He feels cold and far away, falling down a tunnel with no bottom.

“They’ll be coming for you, y/n,” Your lover's voice lilts against your back, but you don’t turn to meet his eyes just yet. Your hands busy themselves against the familiar grooves of bark. The wisteria’s flowers create a sanctuary from the cruelty of the outside world. It’s a sanctuary, but this spot is one of original sin. The first brush of lips sealed fate years ago that will be actualized by daybreak.

“I know, Kenta-” Your soft voice usually calms the blonde man in front of you, but under the plague of circumstance, your words are sharp spikes against his heart.

“Why did you do it then? How could you be so careless? The mark of a witch means only one thing.” Kyoutani’s stern voice cuts you off, holding you in place, “You never think about the consequences of your reckless heart. Look at me, woman.” His body towers over you, broad chest against your back. His hand finds your jaw, pulling it harshly to force eye contact. Darkened brown eyes fall upon your watery ones and his angry facade shatters like pottery in the small space between your two bodies. You sniffle in his hold, fat tears run down your cheeks as you stutter a response.

“I couldn’t let you die, you’re the only family I have left. I- I love you, Kenta.” A sob rips through you, the declaration isn’t a new one, but it’s context is uniquely heartbreaking. Kyoutani pulls you into him immediately, wrapping strong, scarred arms around your shoulders. You cling to him, a piece of history repeating itself as it likes to do, wrapped in each other and the royal purples of wisteria.

Your lips quiver an inch away from his, stained with salty tears. Kyoutani feels the warmth of plush skin dangled in front of him, there’s an urgency rushing through him where he’s usually hesitant. There isn’t much more time. Without consulting the angel on his right shoulder, two large hands cup your face and pull your lips against his own.

Your cries are muffled by the sloppy pull of your own tongue into Kyoutani’s mouth. As his traces over yours with a chorus of nips and licks, his hands fall to your waist to bunch up the fabric against your hips. The action causes your body to press flush to his crotch.

“We have one more night together, Kenta. Please.” Your words don’t need much appraisal, you could ask Kyoutani to pull the skies down with his bare hands and he would tear the blankets off of any gods above without a second thought. One more night.

Kyoutani unwraps himself from around your form to sit down on the spongy grass below. The terrain is soft and forgiving despite its location in the dense forest. He watches you above him, angelically outlined in the soft moonlight. The personification of virtue and goodness glimmering off of you like an aura. The purest beauty to ever exist, and he’s at the helm of it’s destruction.

The sound of your dress pooling at your feet pulls him from mulling over his past transgressions. His eyes follow a line up from said garment to where your bare cunt is nestled between hip bones. His gaze climbs farther, lacerating the memory of every dip and curve so they scar against his heart. He needs to remember everything.

You join him on the soft grass, knees swung on either side of his large thighs. His hands find your hips again, pressing into the flesh as you begin to rock lightly against him. Your movement is disastrous to his resolve, the tension in his body delivers harsh oval bruises against the skin of your ass.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Your confessions are accented by kisses against Kyoutani’s cheeks and lips. Your soul, your heart, your everything are each other’s; and tonight is the final assemblage.

Kyoutani’s touch is like scarlet fever against your body, burning in its journey to grope any flesh he could reach. His fingers have to cement this feeling into his fingerprints, after tonight only the phantom pains of you will remain.

“You feel so good Kenta. S-So right.” Your mewls rattle around against his skull, as one palm comes down to meet your heated pussy. The most morally abject sin he’s committed- even counting the heads that roll by his feat every day- is you. But still; he can’t argue the morality of your body writhing naked above him when his cock is already straining angrily against the leather of his pants. His fingers trace down from the hip bone to where your puffy lips sit. It’s amazing how sweet, how soft you are. Where Kyoutani is calloused and harsh, you are smooth and silken. Perfection. Depravity.

As one thick finger proads against your hole, your hips buck with new resolve. You crave more than just fleeting touches and stolen glances. You want him to let go completely, something he’s only done a handful of times. You need him to.

“I’m not made of ceramic Kyoutani. You treat me like a child, but I’m stronger than you seem to believe.” You use your family name for punctuation, but the sentence comes out melted on the edges when he sticks another digit in to join the first.

“Don’t you think I know that, y/n. Fuck. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” a resounding slap meets your ass, jolting you farther against his fingers, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t protect you. That’s my job, damnit.” His thumb finds your swollen clit with ease even within his flustered state and presses down, “I failed you.”

You don’t trust your own voice to answer, you know nothing you could say would ease his heart. All you can do is push forward in hopes that one night can make up for the life he’ll have to live without you. Your hands move down to loosen his suffocating pants, wobbly knees digging against the ground as he eases the leather down his legs.

Your hand grabs a hold of his hard cock, stroking from his thick base to reddened tip. The touch is familiar. Something that wracks him with guilt but fills his soul with warmth. It’s always been your touch. Similar to the sparks rendered from striking flint, your touch lights up his every nerve

Kentarou’s fingers move back to work you open for him, your head falls back, causing the fat of your tits to bounce against his chest. His other rough hand comes up to palm your breasts, pinching your hardened nipple and pulling down. You cry out in pleasure at the attention, senses overwhelmed by your lover’s ministrations.

“Please, please do something.” Your voice is desperate against the shell of his ear, pleading for more. More of Kentarou, and naively, for more time.

With a swift, practiced movement, the blonde moves you to lay against the grass. He removes the blood-stained shirt from his chest and kicks off his pants. His body eclipses yours, shielding you from view. You’re surrounded by him, the heady scent of sweat, the sound of the racing heart against his ribcage like a trapped songbird. It’s all Kyoutani, it always has been; your home, your confessional, the safest reprieve and your most vile secret.

Kyoutani’s cock is freed from its confines to slap deftly against his stomach. Your mouth tries to swallow as if filled with dried tea leaves, his size isn’t always the most accommodating. Even so, you lift up on one elbow to curl your fingers around his shaft and groan once again when your pointer finger and thumb don’t meet. Kyoutani opens his mouth to speak but you answer before the words fall.

“Don’t be gentle, Kentarou, ” your dwarfed hand tugs him towards you, creating a dizzying pressure, “I can take it.”

There’s no room for argument in your words, so he dips down to kiss your lips once again. “Let me taste you, y/n. Just one more time.” His eyes hold flames but regard you as softly as possible. You nod in agreement. His lips running down from your neck to your hips, you feel the chapped skin against your own. With each peck, a path of tears follow in tandem. His shaky cries are hidden behind the moans being pulled from your lungs. You don’t acknowledge it, for doing so would just make the wracking pain even worse.

There’s no use speaking of your combined suffering, it’s already dug it’s blade into Kyoutani’s vertebrae.

Once his mouth reaches your wet pussy, there’s nothing left of his conscious. Where guilt usually lies, madness replaces. The first swipe of his tongue is painfully slow, he has to savor this taste, your taste. Your soft, swollen lips are the gods’ manna and he’s been given one last chance to indulge. Kyoutani’s tongue finds your clit and flicks upward, just the way that’s always made you squeal. You’re coating his chin in slick, and nothing else will ever quench his thirst like this again. He could stay in between your legs for the next century, but rips himself away from your dripping cunt.

Your mouth is captured in his again, tongue and cheeks coated in your own arousal. The feeling distracting you from the reddened tip prodding at your tight hole. You suck in a sharp breath as you’re worked open. Every vein and ridge tugs against your snug walls. It hurts, it always does, but there’s nothing that’s ever felt better either. You bite his collarbone in a feeble attempt to keep quiet, nails cresting small shapes against his back as he slides farther and farther in.

“My pretty girl, so perfect for me.” Kyoutani’s hips meet your ass, giving you a moment to acclimate. You’re pulled taut around him, cock dragging against you as he pulls back. He remembers your previous words. I can take it.

His hips slam against you with ferocity. Every expanse of fat on you bounces. Thighs, tits, ass- all moving with the pace he sets. His cock is begging for release with every union of his tip to your cervix. A litany of cries and pleas fill the surrounding air, lilting around to bounce against the drooping flowers.

“Please Kenta, I’m- I’m going to.” Your sentence breaks off at the end but he puts them back together. He coos you, “I know, little one. Let go for me.” He presses two fingers against your clit once more to rub tight circles.

Your toes curl against the grass below you, body locking up as the blood running through your veins is replaced with gooey syrup. Years of tension and shame pull tightly against your body and snap in an instant.

Kyoutani can’t hold off his own orgasm any longer, not with the vice grip you have on him.

Not with the sound of the constable's horses drawing closer to the old wisteria tree.

It’s easier to see the resulting moments in pieces.

Kyoutani’s blade is sharpened meticulously. “A dull axe is worlds more painful.” Even as his heart is being torn from under his breast bone, webs of muscle and tendon snapping like sewing floss the closer he walks to your kneeling form, he remembers his father’s words.

The ringing in his ear drowns out the sound of your sentence being passed, it’s better he doesn't hear the official crimes you are posed with, lest he swings his weapon against the priest instead. He wants to reach out, to untie you and run away, to find a new world. A world where he hears the pattering of little footsteps and sees chubby hands clinging against your apron. A world where he wakes up to your wrinkled cheeks and graying hair.

Shiny, silver blade raised high and gleaming in the light, a sharp swipe of the weapon through the stale air, and finally a thump of weight against the ground below. Still, quiet, and absolute.

There’s no escaping the headman’s blade.

The wisteria tree is the beginning and end. Long, purple flowers sealing fate. Kyoutani pulls reluctant feet to the tree's base, his forehead pressing against the bark. He turns around and slides down to sit against the trunk. His hands roam against the texture of the grass beneath him. He remembers the spindly branches and decaying wood from years ago when he closes his eyes, he remembers your hands clawing back it’s life from the lowest level of hell.

When his eyes open again, they are met with yours. Soft, beautiful, and achingly familiar. You smile, lips turning upwards and teeth peaking out slightly. Your hand reaches out to cup his face, a dull crackle of warmth reaches his skin where forest fires use to smolder. It’s not the same, but it’s you. He knows it’s you somehow. Whether it be a cruel trick from the gods or his brain succumbing to madness. It’s still you. Your warmth is surrounding him again, and it feels almost right.

“Do you feel it, Kenta?” Your voice is warped and echoes like a hollow drum, he can’t help the tears falling in thick streams. It’s you. He reaches out to touch you, but his hands remain empty and cold. You disappear in a second, your face vanishing from where he swore he could almost feel your lips against his own.

You leave him once again and take the bright flowers of wisteria with you.

#kyoutani x reader #kyoutani smut #kyoutani kentarou x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #kyoutani kentarou #kyoutani kentarou smut #hqhq server collab #tw: stepcest #tw: death #tw: pseudo-incest #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: stabbing

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cicada-bones · 3 years

Note

Could we get a snippet of The Warrior and The Wildfire please?

Hi! so first of all im so sorry for leaving this in my inbox unanswered for like 2 months, second of all i have graduated!!!! So now ive got some free time!!!! Extra long snippet for you guys as a treat (and perhaps a bit of a bribe lmao) for being so patient and nice to me ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Rowan spent the better part of dinner trying to convince Aelin to say something, anything, about what their next step was. How he could help, what she was doing with the money she get from the bank that day, even just what she planned for them tomorrow morning.

But Aelin just smiled that pretty smile of hers, and munched on a spare bit of toast. Apparently, all she could cook was breakfast. Rowan had to keep himself from smiling, and remembering all the ruined meals she had made back at Mistward. Those few nights they had spent around the fire, beneath the trees. He really should have tried harder to teach her how to cook.

Rowan would never regret coming to Rifthold, even though it had been against her direct orders. But he wished he could spirit her away from here, from this dank city, crawling with people and shrouded in the scent of monsters. Wished he could be back in the wild again, where the air felt clean and open all around him. Where his magic wasn’t crushed deep within him, so tightly that it made his skin crawl.

He had slowly gotten used to the feeling, though it was still uncomfortable. And every now and then, tremors would still wrack his muscles, making him shiver in discomfort. But they were getting less and less.

He could adapt, he could endure.

Aedion kept silent through most of his cajoling, either still nursing a grudge from their fight this morning, or already accepted it as a lost cause.

Aelin had decided to keep them in the dark, and Rowan would just have to figure out how to live with it. He just wished that he could explain to her that she didn’t need to bear this burden on her own, that the reason he was here wasn’t only because he wanted to be. She deserved help, and so much more than he could offer her.

So once again, they separated after dinner, Aedion moving into his bedroom while Aelin pulled Rowan into hers. Again, he grumbled as she insisted that he share her bed, but he put up far less resistance than he knew he should.

Aelin went to wash her face in the bathroom, and Rowan turned to the window, stripping off his weapons and extra clothing. It was dark in the bedroom, so he knew no one could see in. But still, he scanned the nearby streets and rooftops, watching and listening for anything untoward.

Of course, he didn’t notice anything. But when had Lorcan ever been known to leave a trace?

Rowan sighed and turned to slide between Aelin’s cloud-soft sheets, forcing down the guilt that pooled in his stomach. He knew it was a mistake to let her get so close, to let their scents get even more tangled up in each other. But he just couldn’t help it.

It was an inexpressible comfort, to have her so close, almost wrapped in his arms. It made him settle, feeling the undeniable truth of her safety.

Or it would settle him, if she wasn’t so insistent on provoking him with her scandalous clothes every night.

This time, the nightgown was a delicate blue. The soft silk hem stroked over the tops of her breasts like petals, and those paper-thin straps barely held the dress in place on her shoulders.

So narrow, so light, so easily brushed out of place –

Rowan shook himself, barely keeping his gaze from dragging down further, and glimpsing what awaited below. But that meant he couldn’t miss the brazen confidence of Aelin’s smile. As if she knew he was fighting a battle doomed to loss.

Aelin slipped into place beside him in bed, the silk billowing over her chest as she turned on her side to face him. “So, what do you think? Pink, or blue? Personally, I’m more fond of the pink, but I figured I’d test this one out, see where your preferences might lie.”

Rowan just clenched his jaw, scowling at her.

Aelin laughed at him.

···

Within a few moments, she was asleep, her breathing calm and even, eyelids fluttering with night visions. But once again, Rowan lay awake. Trying in vain to calm his blood.

It kept seeming to get worse and worse, more and more difficult. He had wanted her in Wendlyn, during those many nights they had spent together in the fortress. But his ties to Maeve had kept the desire in check for him. He had wanted her during those nights they had traveled together back from Doranelle, especially that first night, the night he had given her that tattoo. But abstaining, keeping himself and what he wanted in check, hadn’t been so difficult.

Now, it felt like trying to move mountains with his bare hands.

And seeing that ghost of Lyria today, seeing that remnant, that reminder of her, it had pulled all of his fear and doubt right back into place.

Hearing Lyria in his head again, those screams of agony…it had been far more complex than just pain. There was so much guilt there. And not that old, familiar guilt of his unforgivable failure. It was new guilt. Fresh and hot and roiling in his stomach.

The guilt of having fallen for another. And seeing Lyria, or at least this facsimile of her, and not being cleaved in two, not being rent through with agony – had him stunned in place. Unable to move.

Not with pain, but with shame. It was only the echo of a remembered hurt, one he had held on to for far, far too long. But one that Rowan knew he should still be holding on to. One that he knew should weigh on him until his deathday. And it honestly scared him more than he could admit, scared him senseless, scared him motionless, that this wouldn’t be true.

He had betrayed her once again. Betrayed Lyria in death, even. And Rowan had no idea how he could possibly atone for such a deep, yet wholly unexpected, betrayal.

And then Aelin had taken him to the theater. She had taken him to this small sanctuary from her past and she had reminded him of just how beautiful she was. And not the beauty of her body, but the beauty of her very soul.

And Rowan knew that he couldn’t help but love her. No matter who it betrayed, no matter if it was a tearing of his own soul, of the partner of his heart, of the only person he expected waited for him in the Afterworld.

It was like the movements of the tide, the phases of the moon, the rising of the sun in the east and setting in the west. Uncontrollable, unstoppable. He couldn’t help but love her.

And gods, he wanted to kiss her.

But Rowan just closed his eyes and turned over in bed, forcing himself into an unsettled, disquieted sleep.

Until, in the deepest part of the night, he felt the covers rustle slightly as Aelin silently slipped out of bed and across room, heading right for her black armor.

#rowaelin #rowaelin ff #snippet #queen of shadows #we were robbed of more pining in qos so i am legally required to give yall as much of it as i can #i promise no nightgown scene will be skipped! every night will be covered!#unlike sjm who deletes them because she has page counts and pacing and whatevethat shit is to deal with #i will try to be less petty about acosf #and the fact that rowaelin deserved at least as many sex scenes!#but i will fail lmao

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livia-dovehallow · 3 years

Note

Hi! Thanks for answering about requests, may I suggest something ? I was thinking about a scene in Coi timeline of when Gabriel had to deal with Thomas being accused of murder, and maybe adding also Gideons reaction to that, as it was a scene I really wanted to have read in Chain of Iron but sadly wasn't there.

Congrats on your celebration and happy bday!! Would you consider doing a fic when Thomas was arrested please? Like both Gabrily and Sophideon finding out

There were two of you who requested this exact scene so I thought, well I have to do it now! Please enjoy!

CHAIN OF IRON SPOILER WARNING

Family Above All - The Lightwoods

Characters: Thomas Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood, Cecily Lightwood, Gideon Lightwood, Sophie Lightwood, Eugenia Lightwood, Maurice Bridgestock

Time: 1903, London, England

Thomas had had better days.

Granted, being arrested and accused of several gruesome murders was not a remote candidate for one of his better days, but he’d surprisingly remained calm. Bridgestock had taken too much pleasure in arresting him for something he had no situational understanding of but for Thomas, he had a long list of people who would look out for him. Of course, when his parents find out, they would jump to his defense in a heartbeat. But Thomas had another advantage as well—Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel were currently running the Institute, and there was no way they would let Bridgestock try him for murder.

Thomas’s hopes were fulfilled when the doors of the Institute flew open and his aunt and uncle stood in the threshold with furious expressions directed at the Inquisitor. “What in Raziel’s name is going on here?” Uncle Gabriel demanded. His voice was thunderous and echoed in the entryway.

“Thomas Lightwood was found with the body of Lilian Highsmith, covered in her blood,” said Bridgestock, much too happily for speaking about a death of one of the most esteemed members of the Enclave. “We’ve caught the murderer and justice will be swiftly served for the families of the deceased.”

“Bollocks!” shouted Aunt Cecily, her voice just as thunderous and threatening as Uncle Gabriel’s had been. Thomas wondered if the Inquisitor knew that Aunt Cecily was not someone you wanted to displease. “Maurice, you cannot possibly believe that Thomas here is capable of something so horrendous.”

The Inquisitor did not flinch. So, he did not know not to anger Cecily Lightwood. “Your familial connection creates a conflict of interest in this case, Mrs. Lightwood,” Bridgestock said, annoyed. “It is best to let myself and the other members of the Council decide Thomas’s fate.”

Gabriel looked as if one of Christopher’s flammable experiments were about to erupt out of his ears. “It will be a cold day in Hell before I leave my nephew in the hands of someone without his best interest in mind,” he said sternly. “Until you come to us with cold, hard evidence of his guilt, Thomas’s name will not be announced to the Clave and he will remain here, in the Institute, is that understood?”

The Inquisitor looked furious, but Thomas had to admit that Uncle Gabriel had a point. There was no evidence other than being found. There was no weapon, no defensive wounds. “All right,” answered Bridgestock unhappily. “He will remain anonymous to those outside of the investigation. But, he will be under guard in the Institute Sanctuary until he can be tried under the Mortal Sword. Fair?”

Aunt Cecily took a step forward looking ready to swing her fist but Uncle Gabriel held her back, though he looked equally unhappy. “It is fair,” Thomas said suddenly. His aunt and uncle looked at him, their expressions easing to concern. “I will face the Mortal Sword. I am innocent and the Sword will prove my innocence. There are worse places to wait than the Sanctuary.”

“Splendid,” Bridgestock announced. He motioned the guards holding him to move toward the Sanctuary and Thomas followed, hoping he wouldn’t have to wait long.

The moment Thomas disappeared behind the hall to the Sanctuary, Gabriel and Cecily went into action. “I’ll call for my brother,” Cecily rushed, her face pinched in worry for their nephew. “Have him bring the Sword from Paris and be the one to question Thomas.”

Gabriel nodded, holding on to her hands tight. She could see the worry and fear filling her husband’s body. “I’ll call my brother, as well,” he said, his voice wavering in his attempt to remain calm. “They’ve been through too much. Damn Maurice for putting them through more heartache but there is no reason on earth Gideon and Sophie should not be here.”

Cecily released on of her hands from his grip and held it against his jaw. He relaxed in her touch, as he always did, and kissed her palm softly. “We’ll protect him,” she said confidently. He nodded without a word. “We are the co-heads of the Institute,” she added, lifting his head to meet her eyes. “We will protect Thomas.”

Gabriel smiled, ever so slightly, and squeezed her hand. “Marrying you was the best decision I ever made,” he thought aloud. Cecily smiled happily.

“Of course it was.”

The room closed in on Sophie Lightwood.

The words no mother should ever have to hear she had heard too many times. These were her children—her babies. She carried each one of them for nine months and brought them into the world surrounded in so much love. And yet—

Barbara is gone. Thomas has been arrested. Eugenia is ruined.

“Sophie.” Gideon’s voice was urgent in her ear, pulling her back into the present. His arms were around her tight. “Sophie, we must go. He needs us.”

Sophie nodded. Her son needs her. She must go to him. “Where is Genia?” she asked, her throat hoarse.

“I’m here, Mum,” came her daughter’s voice. Eugenia emerged from her bedroom with a fierce expression. “No one is getting to Tom if I have any say about it.”

Despite everything, Sophie smiled in relief at her daughter. Eugenia was strong and it eased much of Sophie’s worries (not all, of course. Once a mother always a mother). And her girls had always been protective of their younger brother, who was not so little anymore. She nodded at Eugenia and glanced up at Gideon. “Let’s go. We must see Tom.”

Thomas hissed at the sting from cut on his hands from the rough way the guards has fastened him to his seat. “Aunt Cecily, that hurts.”

She clicked her tongue at him and continued to dab away at the blood around his wrists. She insisted on checking for any dirt or infection in his wound—Bridgestock had prohibited any iratzes for him as his injuries were considered evidence. “I’ll hang that man for having you tied to a chair,” Aunt Cecily grumbled. Thomas fought an ill-timed smile but he was comforted with the knowledge that the adults in his life were looking out for him. And the knowledge that Aunt Cecily was fully capable of following through on her threats.

He had heard his father arguing with several members of the Council upstairs, but it was his mother’s and sister’s heels clicking against the stone floors that created the loudest sound in his ears. The door opened and they flooded in. Eugenia looked angry and carried her knife in her hand, which she had likely used to threaten the guard to let her in. His mother, on the other hand, looked as if she were about to cry. “Thomas,” she whispered desperately and rushed to him. Her hands were soft against his face. There were bags under her eyes that had been there ever since they lost Barbara and Thomas knew they would likely never go away. It pained him to see her like that—tired and heartbroken. “They haven’t hurt you, have they? Are you all right?”

“I’m okay, Mum,” he assured her in as comforting of a voice as he could muster. “Aunt Cecily is a very good caretaker.”

“With a wicked good right hook,” Eugenia mused. He could almost feel the smug grin their aunt gave her at that comment.

“I’m happy to see you Genie,” Thomas said to his sister suddenly. Eugenia seemed surprised, but pleased. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more relieved to see you come at me with a knife.”

Sophie sighed in defeat and kneeled in front of him, still checking him over despite his insistence that he was not hurt. “We know it wasn’t you,” she told him. “Of course, it wasn’t you. You would never do such a thing. Your father has gone ballistic upstairs with your uncle over this and I have half a mind to march up there and join them.”

Thomas smiled. “I’m sure if you and Aunt Cecily paraded up there looking as angry as you do now, the Council will be frightened to tears.”

“As well they should be.” Aunt Cecily stood and wiped her hands on the skirt of her dress. She was still scowling, but her eyes showed her affection for him. She’d always looked out for his cousins with such fervor that it felt strange experiencing it for himself, but he was not surprised. His own mother had always told him that if he ever needed anything and he couldn’t reach her, that Aunt Cecily would help him as if he were her own child.

“Thank you, Aunt Cecily,” Thomas said to her. She smiled kindly at him. He turned back to his mother, who gazed at him with heartbreaking concern. “I’m all right, Mum. Truly.”

Sophie sniffed and tried her best to smile for him. Thomas wished she wouldn’t do that. “Hush,” she scolded him without malice. “Let your mother fuss over you. It is the one thing I can still do for my children that has no age limit.”

“You do plenty for us, Mum,” Eugenia offered in one of her softer tones. Her knife was still in her hand. “Tom is just like you. He’s looking out for everyone other than himself when he should be focusing on himself. Lucky for him, I am like Papa.”

Thomas scoffed, though it came out sounding more like a laugh, and their mother finally smiled ever so slightly. “Your uncle has convinced the Inquisitor to lockdown the Institute until Charlotte and Will return with the Mortal Sword. No curious onlookers will be poking around here. We’ll make sure of it.”

Aunt Cecily clapped her hands, looking pleased. “That man,” she said, delighted. “Reminds me why I married him every day. Come—let us go add fuel to the fire.” She gripped Sophie’s upper arm and lifted her from the floor at Thomas’s feet. She turned to Eugenia. “I trust you to guard the door?”

Eugenia smiled devilishly. “No one will get past me.”

Aunt Cecily winked—she had helped with much of Genia’s training—and tugged at Sophie’s arm. “Thomas will be all right. I promise. Aunt’s Honor.”

His mother rolled her eyes, but she went along with Aunt Cecily after hugging Thomas tight. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear.

“I know,” he had answered. “I love you, too, Mum.”

“This is idiotic,” Gideon demanded. He stood in the foyer of the Institute, behind locked doors that he would never be able to thank his brother enough for, staring down the Inquisitor with little hesitation. “You have known Thomas since he was an infant, Maurice. He has never done anything remotely like this in his life. You can’t possibly believe he’s killed all these people!”

Bridgestock was unbothered by Gideon’s outbursts. If anything, he looked simply annoyed that he had heard the same argument from various members of the Lightwood family. “Sentimentality and nepotism have no place in a murder investigation, Gideon,” he said roughly. Gideon thought he was less than a second away from knocking the daylights out of him. “I don’t care if he’s your son or not. He will be investigated.”

Clicks of heels sounded toward them; they were fast, determined. Gideon didn’t need to turn to know it was Sophie and Cecily, but he turned anyway to find her face red with anger. In no less than a moment was she at his side, her hand rising from her waist.

A loud, echoing slap filled the tense air. There was a moment of silence, in which the occupants of the foyer stood gaping, before Bridgestock’s face morphed into anger, his cheek turning a livid red. Nearly as quickly as his hand had come up to return the hit were Gideon and Gabriel’s hands on his wrist with an iron grip. “How dare you shackle my son to a chair and leave him bleeding,” Sophie seethed. She had not flinched. Sophie was hardly livid, but when she was, she was glorious and frightening. Gideon tightened his grip on Bridgestock’s wrist, forcing himself to hold back from snapping the bones into pieces for raising a hand to his wife.

“You arrest my son with no evidence, dare raise a hand to my wife, and now I learn you have shackled him without iratzes?” Gideon roared. He stepped closer to Bridgestock, his wrist still in his grip—Gabriel had let go long ago, though his gaze was thunderous—and hissed through his teeth: “Some man of the law you are.”

“Careful who you threaten,” warned the Inquisitor. He was annoyingly calm, testing even, with a pleased and self-satisfied glint in his eyes. “You may be at the Consul’s side, but it is I who dictate the Law, Lightwood.”

“And how long will that last—” interrupted Cecily. She stood at Gabriel’s side with her chin held high—“when Thomas states under the Mortal Sword that he is innocent? What explanation will you create to guard yourself from ridicule among the Council for being so certain of a case without evidence, dissolved with a single question under the Sword?”

The Inquisitor’s angry glare turned to Cecily, who stared him down right back. Gideon suppressed a smirk.

“Think twice before you say or do anything to my wife,” Gabriel warned.

Bridgestock angrily twisted his arm out from Gideon’s grip and took a step back. His eyes were still full of annoyance and anger. “It would do you both some good to control your women. Loose tongues lead to bad incidents.”

“Is that a promise?” Cecily wondered.

“It would do you some good to learn temperance and manners,” Gideon snapped. “Get out before I do something actually worth an arrest. Do not show your face to me again until Will returns with the Mortal Sword.”

Hope you enjoyed :’) || @tsccreatorsnet

#maggie answers #kind anons #request #chain of iron spoiler #coi spoilers #thomas lightwood #gideon lightwood #sophie lightwood #sophie collins #gabriel lightwood #cecily herondale #cecily lightwood #eugenia lightwood #the last hours #tsc #tlh #chain of iron

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milkytheholy1 · 3 years

Text

Apocalyptic Love: Chapter 9: The next mutation

tmnt masterlist. tmnt 2. ultimate masterlist. AL series

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

The light poured into the room through the glass ceiling above, the moonlight's radiant beam cascading over Karai's body like a ballgown dress. The leader of the Foot kneeled below what was left of her father, his armour held back by bent metal and encased in a glass box; a single helmet in her hands.

Her head was bowed down in shame as her fingers traced the outlines of the helmet, the fond and not so fond memories of its occupant fueling her mind. "I'm sorry, father," she spoke, her voice weak and quiet. Karai refused to meet the harsh posture of the armour, feeling that his presence, his spirit, still lingered in there and judged her immensely. Her eyes bore into the gaps and scratches of the rusted hat, breathing wavering as she accumulated her words correctly.

"I didn't think they were still alive, I thought they had died during the explosion, why else disappear for two years? You were right about them father, never trust an Hamato. You were always right, even to the end." she smiled earnestly, thumb sweeping over the curve of the right eye. Finally drawing her eyes over the armour, her smile diminished, "Our plan is almost complete, Baxter sent me the report this morning, it's only a matter of time until we have our own mutants running rampant again."

The doors to the sanctuary opened wide, allowing the harsh lights of the fortress to burn away the tranquil light of the moon. Karai's back straightens at the intrusion, all sense of emotion draining from her face and formed a harsh glare. "Speak," she spits out, her eyes beaming at the reflection in the glass. A Footbot stood at the opening of the doors, weapon limp by its side, "The one known as Baxter Stockman has sent me to find the one known as Karai to return to the one known as Baxter Stockman's lab."

It's voice was mechanical and reminisced that of the Krang, Karai sighed, glancing down at the only physical thing left of her heritage, "I'll be there in a minute," she soothed. The footsteps grew quiet as the bot marched down the hallway and to god knows where, meanwhile Karai managed to stand on her feet, reaching the glass casing open enough for her to apply the helmet to its rightful place. "Soon, father, I promise."

Upon arriving at Stockman's lab, Karai noted the decrease in lab assistants; no doubt due to the little riot a few days ago. Said mutant fly was stuttering his way around the lab, head bumping the ceiling when he got too aggravated with the pathetic work of his lackeys. "Stockman," Karai called out, the scientist bashed his head against the ceiling in shock, "K-Karai!" he stammered out in hysteria. The clipboard in his hand soon found its way to Karai, "Here are the reportzz from thizz morning, and thezze are the zzame reportzz a few hourzz later." he buzzed out.

Karai studied the small notes and graphs, she found the results unsatisfactory, "And what of our test subject?" she questioned, eyebrow raised along with her tone. Baxter's fingers rubbed together in nerves, he snapped his fingers and two lab boys left the room. "I muzzt admit, mizztrezzzz Karai, that human trialzzz are not on the table at thizz current zzstage. We zzztill need to figure out if there are any zzzide effectzzz."

Karai slammed the clipboard down onto the counter, her eyes red with rage, "Listen here Stockman," she affirmed each syllable with a jab to his chest with a pointed finger, "You signed a deal with us, you said you'd have new mutants in under a year, and you know what?"

"Mizztrezzzz, plea-"

"It's been two years, Stockman, and the Foot have seen little development. I'm starting to think we won't be needing your services anymore, there are much better scientists out there that could do this job in less time!" Her hand motioned for a bot to step forward, the sharp blade gleaming under the sterile lab lights. Baxter felt his adam's apple bob at the sight, waving his hands in the air he tried to save himself, "No Mizztrezzzz Karai, I promizze you that thizz will work!" he clapped his hands, demanding for the test subject to be brought in.

Screams echoed down the hall, gradually getting louder the closer they got. The lab doors were kicked open, the body of a 20-something male being dragged through the entrance and up to Karai. He struggled in their grip, trying to break free even if it was a lost cause. Karai swooned at the attempt, knowing she'll take pleasure in squashing out the light of hope in his eyes. "Aww look, he still thinks there's a chance he can escape, how pathetic." she mused, not a care in the world.

"The revolution is coming and the Foot Empire will be no more!" the man cried out, rage burning through his blood. Baxter hoovered beside Karai, obtaining the clipboard again with the details of the subject, he began to read them while Karai traced a finger along his jaw. "Test subjects name: Chester Manly, Age: 26, weight: 197.9 pounds, height: 5ft 9."

"Hmm, Chester, you've got a long life ahead of you, why don't you tell us everything we want to know about the rebellion and perhaps you'll see that life." Karai teased. Chester flinched away from her hands, sending her a glare as he spoke, "I'll never tell you anything, bitch!" Karai scoffed at him, dropping her hand from his face as she backed away, "Such a shame it had to end like this, Chester. But at least now you'll be able to reach your full potential with the Foot Empire."

Before he can question her motives, Chester is dragged back to two large tankers in the room, it was strange how he hadn't noticed them when entering. They glowed a bright green, so bright in fact he had to shield his eyes. Karai watches with that signature evil gleam in her eye, the same gleam her father possessed, as Chester was hung with rope above the steaming tanks. "Last chance, Chester." she drew out, but even if he did tell her what she wanted to know, she'd still dunk him anyway just for the hell of it.

"You made zzure to have him interact with a zzpecimen, yezz?" Baxter whispered to the closest lab assistant, the women just nodded in response, "Yes, sir. We made sure he had mixed with bear DNA."

"Exzzellent," Baxter purred, turning back to the experiment. With no further communication from Chester, Karai gave the command to drop him. His body fell without grace, his shrieking calls to be saved drowned by the mutagen, body fully submerged into the ooze. It took a few more minutes for things to finally start kicking into action, the tank shook and growled, no doubt the cause of the habitant inside. Suddenly large cracks started appearing on the glass, the cracking sounds resonating throughout the room. As Karai stepped back, the glass tank shattered into millions of pieces, the green liquid spilling out onto the floor and merging into piles.

Karai waited with a straight back, keen to see the mutant that would be fighting for the Foot. The largest of the green lumps began to shift with ragged movements, another growl emitting from it. A large claw was thrown into the air, the brown fur on the rest of the arm dripping with mutagen. Chester had finally emerged, his shirt shredded from the mutation, large holes littered his trousers as he stood to his full length. He had easily grown a few foot, now standing at around 6ft 3. His face was covered in cuts and scars, mostly the features of the bear, but his pupils were inherently human.

"Tag him!" Baxter shouted to the recruits, eyes largening when the beast illuminates blue, a more human scream falling from his lips as he tumbled to the ground. Once the area was free of mutagen, Karai waltzed up to the bear to inspect it further, "Seems strong, good size, tough build. Don't screw this up." she deadpanned, overstepping the bear mutant and leaving the lab. Baxter mumbled a small "Yezz mam," before yelling at the lab assistants to start prepping the mind control injection.

Flying back to his desk at the end of the day, Baxter sat behind his computer, hands scaling over the small amount of hair he had left. The light ping from his emails alerted him: New email from Karai.

"Thizz can't be good," he mused to himself. Opening the digital letter he found himself recoiling in glee, she was actually impressed by him, well she didn't say it directly, the line "Surprised you didn't mess it up," can only fill you with that much confidence. Yet he felt his heart drop when he read the last few lines, breathing beginning to quicken at the afterthoughts of what this could possibly mean for the future, his future.

"I expect more before tomorrow evening."

Thinking quick, he called down to the lab, ringing some late-night lab members to start working on some more mutants immediately. With the call made, he sat back for a small breath and pang of silence before he carried on whizzing around the room. Down in the labs, the assistants began prepping some more mutagen tanks, awaiting their new maker.

"Hey, tin can!" one called to the Footbots, "We need another test subject!" With no response, the two Footbots left their post by the lab's entrance and wandered to the cells. Opening the door, the inky darkness faded slightly, the light leading a narrowing path along the floor as the bots dragged their weapons along the iron bars of the cages. Whimpers and cries followed them as they continued to walk along unsuspectingly. They both simultaneously turned towards a cell, their red eyes illuminating the women's face.

"You." their monotone voice called out, opening the cell and grabbing the women by her arms and forcefully dragging her along the floor back to the lab. "No, no, please! Have mercy!" her calls were silenced not long later.

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