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sdr2lovemail · 4 months

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Could you write something about Sun and Moon being irritated/jealous that they can't kiss the reader (the maintenance worker one) with their mouths like a human can so the reader shows them about all the other ways to kiss? Like kissing Sun's hand up his arm to his cheek until he is giggling so loudly Vanessa thinks he's gone off his rocker, or gently kissing Moon's forehead all the way down to where his heart would be? Even better if the maintenance reader leaves behind little lipstick marks on their face for Monty and the gang to laugh about :D

Inspired by that one tumblr post about a guy walking out with a few lipstick kiss marks and then saying "you should see what they did to the other guy" in a stereotypical mobster voice before said other guy drunkenly walks out absolutely covered in lipstick marks, sfw of course I want Fluff I want Affection I want Lovey Dovey-ness if you think you could swing it, just the softest silliest thing you can write, and keep up the good work anywho :')

I have no mouth, and I must kiss. (GN Reader but they do wear lipstick) Synopsis: After a play full of heartbreak and tragedy, Sun realizes that he'll never be able to kiss you. You remedy the situation.

Notes: It's been almost 2 years since I've written a fnaf fic, I feel rusty. Help wanted 2 got me calling my old mans' numbers. That's a joke they never left my phone. Anon if you're still out there, I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labors.

Requests are open!

Children are very persuasive. While you originally came to the daycare to fix a broken screen, you’ve ended up in a play. Decked out with a foam sword, you act as the story’s brave knight. Once you’ve slain the dragon, a kid wearing a Monty hood, your princess awaits.

“My dear knight! You saved me from the evil dragon!” Sun swoons. Instead of his waist frills, he’s worn a bright yellow skirt. Dangling from a few of his rays was a princess cap. The bells on his wrist jingle as he clasps his hands. “Is there any way I can repay you?”

You press a hand against your heart and bow your head. “There is no need, Princess. Protecting you is my sworn duty.” You’d say your acting wasn’t half bad for an underpaid maintenance worker.

“The princess has to kiss the knight!” A kid called from the audience.

Sun felt rigid like his joints were locking up. He hoped you couldn’t hear his fans kicking on as his body temperature rose. He would love to kiss you but wanted the moment to be perfect. “N-now friend, we don-”

“Mr. Sun can’t kiss them! He doesn’t have a mouth!” Another kid argued. Something about what they said made Sun feel weird.

“Yes, he does! It just can’t open.”

Sun lets out a huff, turning to you. “They’re getting cranky. It must be snack time. I’ll pass them out quickly. That way, we can spend time together!” He bounced on the balls of his feet, eager for you to stick around.

Your fazwatch pings with an alert: a S.T.A.F.F. bot got stuck in Monty Golf. “Oh, sorry, Sun. I have another job to do. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Sun would be frowning if his faceplate could move. He quickly perks up and sets his hands on your shoulders. “Right! Right, right, right, you have a job. Responsibilities! I’ll- I’ll see you at closing. Buh-bye, friend!” The jester waves you goodbye before sighing, hurrying to pass out snacks before someone throws a tantrum.

The rest of your day goes as smoothly as working as the Pizza Plex could be. It was after closing time, and you were doing your final tasks. The glamrocks were in their rooms, the S.T.A.F.F bots were on their set paths, and nothing on the floor needed fixing. The last place you needed to check on was the daycare.

Walking through the big wooden doors, Sun is nowhere to be seen. You call his name, followed by Moon’s, but still nothing. Shrugging it off, you make your rounds, checking everything is in place. During the sweep, you could hear muffled words from a storage closet.

“Do you think they’ve kissed anyone, Moon? We can’t do that…” That was the unmistakable voice of Sun. “I wonder what it would be like. Hmph, even the glamrocks can move their mouths…” He grumbles.

When you open the door, Sun jumps like he’s been shocked. He scrambled to stand up. “Ah! Oh, hi! You’re here early!”

“It’s almost eleven. I’ve been here for almost thirty minutes.” You say, checking your watch. “What were you talking about?”

“Would you believe me if I said nothing?” The daycare attendant tilts his head, his faceplate spinning a bit.

“No, I would not.”

Sun sighs as he sits back on the closet floor, his legs crisscrossed and his hands holding his face. Taking a seat next to him, you ask him what’s wrong.

“I was just thinking about some stuff after our play. Moon and I can’t kiss you!” He flops over dramatically as if he’d heard tragic news. “Our face is stuck in this stupid smile!” He tugs on one of his rays, angry at his lack of facial mobility.

“Hey, I don’t mind that you guys can’t kiss me. There’s more to a relationship than that. Besides, there are other ways to kiss.”

This breaks him out of his kissless stupor. “There are? Tell me, tell me!” Sun practically shakes where he sits. “Better yet, show me!” He opens his arms wide, inviting you to do as you please.

Taking one of his large hands in your own, you place a kiss on the back of his hand, leaving a lipstick mark on the shiny plastic. While he didn’t have pupils, you could feel Sun’s eyes burning into you. He didn’t want to miss a single second!

The touch sensors in his arms and hands weren’t that sensitive. Kids sure did like to scratch, kick, and bite. But even so, he could still feel your lips pressing fluttering kisses to his casing. Laughter bubbled up in his voice box.

Kiss after kiss lined Sun’s arm. Even if it left stains, this is one mess he could let slide. You took his other arm in your hands, mimicking your previous affections. Kissing back up his arms, you reach his faceplate. Sun’s giggling gets louder as your lips kiss the hard surface of his cheeks.

“Hey, your shift’s almost over. Get ready to clock out.” Vanessa’s voice rings from your watch.

When you pull away to answer, Sun tries to follow your lips. “Alright, I’ll be at the office in a moment.” Sun lets out another round of laughter.

“Oh, you’re with him… Your pay gets docked when you stay overtime, you know. Make sure to leave before the shutters close.” With that last sentence, Vanessa cuts off her line.

With excited, shaking hands, Sun brings your face closer to his. “Keep kissing me! Please, please, please!” His begging is cut short as he listens to Moon say something. “Awww, but I’m not done!” Sun still gets up to turn the lights off, moping the whole way there.

Bright red optics suddenly appear in front of your eyes. The lights glow against your skin. Moon clicks a flashlight on, making his faceplate look more menacing than he probably intended. “You weren’t thinking about leaving, were you? Not when you haven’t given me the same attention Sun got, right?”

“Oh, of course not, Moon!” Cupping his face in your hands, you leave a kiss mark on his forehead.

You bring your trail of kisses down to his nose, trailing along the curve, up to the corner of his eye. Moon lets out that raspy laugh of his. He tugs you closer, craving the warmth of your skin against the cold of his plastic.

He watched as you kissed down his face and neared his chest. “Sun was whining all day, worrying over us not being able to kiss you.” Moon snickered. “He was fretting over nothing, as usual. But I must admit, he’s right about some things.”

His ‘breath’ hitched as he watched you kiss right where his heart would be. The fans in his chest cavity kicked into overdrive as they tried to cool his circuits, trying their best not to overheat. “Kissing you would be a dream.”

Letting out a laugh of your own, you press another soft kiss on Moon’s chest. “I guess I’ll have to do the kissing for all three of us.” Punctuating your sappy sentence, you kiss their sculpted-on smile. An audible puff of air leaves the daycare attendant’s chassis.

“Attention Pizza Plex Guests and Staff. The Pizza Plex’s doors will close in ten minutes.” An automated voice rang over the building’s speakers.

More alert than before, you get up from the closet door. “I gotta go!” You were not trying to spend the night here. “Bye, Moon. Bye, Sun. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget to wash that lipstick off!”

They weren’t really listening, absolutely high on kisses. For a few hours, they simply rest in the daycare’s storage closet, gushing to each other about you. Well, more Sun than Moon.

Once it was time for Moon to do his rounds around the Pizza Plex, he’d forgotten about the lipstick covering his exoskeleton. It wasn’t until Monty knocked on the glass of his room.

“You having a good night, Moon?” It was like the smirk in Monty’s voice was audible from his voicebox. “Seems like you had a lot of fun.”

Seeing his reflection in the glass, Moon lets out a growl. How could he forget to wash off all this lipstick? “Not a word of this to anyone.” Moon scratched his fingers down the window, leaving marks behind. He turns tail to head back to the daycare and wash the stains off of himself.

Unknowing to the lunar animatronic, Monty had already sent a message to all the other bots.

#daycare attendant x reader #sun x reader #moon x reader #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy’s x reader #sundrop x reader #moondrop x reader #security breach x reader #security breach #fnaf #daycare attendant #x reader

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yandere-daydreams · 2 years

Text

Title: Partiality.

Commissioned by the very lovely, very indulgent @mars-syndrome.

Pairing: Yandere!Ayato x F. Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Sex Doll AU, Non/Con, Non-Consensual Drug Use, and Obsessive Behavior.

“Opportunities to bask in the sunlight like this are few and far between.”

You swallowed back a sigh, pressing your tongue against the roof of your mouth. An idle line – preprogrammed but deliberately employed to either spark conversation or simply distract from the lack thereof. It wasn’t unexpected, most companion droids tended to spout them off during repairs like a kid might start to ramble about their day when given nothing else to do, but Ayato hadn’t spoken much since his user dropped him off at your apartment, only offering a few polite niceties before asking if you always enjoyed such a ‘quaint living space’. You’d tried to laugh it off, and he’d smiled, like someone trying to be very, very patient with a very, very stupid animal.

That, paired with the fact that the sun had set hours ago and he was currently staring absent-mindedly out a pitch-black window, made the comment feel a little pointed. Just a little.

Still, you let out a breath of a chuckle, glancing away from the laptop propped up on your folded legs for just long enough to make sure your auxiliary cable was still plugged into the tiny, circular port built into the nape of his neck. You knew it was working, you’d been staring at his interface for hours, but your brain was starting to melt and you needed to look at something that wasn’t a firewall, or a frozen setting, or a friendly, enthusiastic notification letting you know to either contact an official Teyvat repair outlet or fuck off. You were actually starting to feel inclined to do the latter, if only because you couldn’t possibly afford to do the former.

“Do you have something to tell me, Ayato?” You asked, and he shook his head, humming softly. You had to resist the temptation to call his owner and ask if they actually wanted him back and, if so, why - swallowing your frustration, instead, forcing yourself to smile apologetically as you went on. “I’m sorry, I know it’s boring. If you want to, you can power yourself off, but I really need to fix you up. Just try to bear with me, alright?”

“Aren’t I already?” You nearly groaned, your attention falling back to his interface. You’d already looked into his personal settings (the handful you had access to, anyway), tried dialing back his investment in his backstory, checked to make sure his user was listed properly and that he hadn’t been accidentally locked into his professional mode, but all the right names were in the right places, all the right numbers set to the right values, and you just couldn’t find anything abnormal. Nothing that should’ve been causing the problems he was having, at least. “To be completely honest, I don’t feel particularly broken. Have I done anything wrong?”

“It’s not about that.” No bug alerts, either, or backlogged updates that might be affecting his day-to-day processes. It wasn’t uncommon for Ayato models to put on an aloof front, to make a show of warming up to their users, but this Ayato was less aloof and more completely apathetic, seemingly totally uninterested in anything to do with... well, anything. You’d seen it before in companion droids, but those cases had been simple mistakes, quick fixes that’d taken less than an hour to correct, overall. Nothing like this. Nothing so evasive. “You’re not doing anything wrong, per se – your user just has some concerns. Think of this as a little check-up, just to make sure you’re healthy.”

He clicked his tongue, his indifferent frown slipping into a small grin. “I can assure you, Doctor, there’s nothing wrong with me. Everything, including my common sense, is perfectly in-tact.”

You shot him a glare, your fingers tensing over your keyboard. His grin only widened, his head lulling to the side as he turned to face you. “I’ve heard you talk about it, you know,” He added, his tone light, easy. “Your…. What do you call it? A side-gig? I know what she thinks of me, and I know she’s hired you to pick my brain apart and put it back together in a form she finds more appealing.”

‘She’, you guessed, was his owner, the friend who’d asked you to take a look at her droid. You hadn’t realized he’d been listening when you told her about your side-job, when she expressed an interest in having you take a look at her Ayato. You hadn’t realized he’d recognized you. “If it helps, she’s not paying me,” You muttered, finally giving in, shutting your laptop and falling into your couch. “This is a favor. She cares about you, and she’s worried about how you’ve been acting, lately.”

He was quiet for a moment, but only a moment. As if you’d get any luckier than that. “And if I don’t care for her?”

That caught you off-guard. Maybe you should call someone from Teyvat, their rates be damned. “Well,” You started, slowly, attempting to measure out your words. Androids were tricky, like that. One wrong phrase and you’d end up with another laundry list of issues to deal with. “That’d be a shame. Considering how close companion droids usually are to their users, I mean.”

He wound a finger around your cord, looking towards you before proceeding further. You hesitated, but ultimately nodded, and with a tug and a muted click, your connection was severed, his interface flickering to a blank, white screen as he pushed himself to his feet, stretching slightly. He didn’t have to, but you were starting to think part of his malfunction was a simple inclination towards doing things that you, particularly, found irritating.

“Or so I’ve been told,” He muttered, and then, before you could ask him what he meant, “Do you want something to drink?”

You nodded without much thought. You'd been too preoccupied to get yourself anything after you started working on him, and you would’ve been lying if you said you weren’t thirsty, or hungry, or tired enough to feel a faint pulsing in the back of your skull. You closed your eyes, attempting to let the tension drain out of your shoulders and relax, but it was a half-hearted effort, at most – your mind still busy even if your body was worn down. There’d been other problems you should’ve looked into. His failure to bond with his user was the most obvious, but your friend had mentioned a general uncooperativeness, a tendency to isolate himself that, while not necessarily a malfunction, most companion droids just didn’t seem to have. You’d have to take him home in the morning, admit that you couldn’t help, recommend someone who could actually do more than tamper with his settings and poke around his interface. It’d be a blow to your pride, but—

A hand came to rest on your shoulder. When you glanced over your shoulder, Ayato was behind you, smiling softly and holding a mug of something warm enough to have steam rising from the surface, but not so hot as to burn your palm when you took it out of his hand. “Milk tea,” He explained, as you took the first sip, nearly choking on the sweetness. “It was all I could find, and I’m rather partial to it, myself. I hope you don’t mind.”

You opened your mouth, preparing to thank him, but your voice caught in your throat, something between your tongue and your brain failing to communicate. You faltered, fell onto your side as the mug crashed to the floor, and before you could think better of it, you closed your eyes.

When you opened them again, you were lying on your bed, your fingertips numb and your clothes gone, and Ayato was kneeling between your open legs, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the inside of your thighs. Seemingly without a care in the world, but somehow, that honestly didn't surprise you anymore.

You weren’t restrained, but you felt weak, heavy, and you couldn’t seem to feel anything but his tongue running over your skin, the slight pressure of his teeth as they ghosted over fresh bruises. Your vision blurred, dimming black around the edges, but you could make him out, recognize pale hair and lean muscles stitched into a broad back. You tried (as a fish might try to jerk and thrash towards water after being dragged onto land) to clench your thighs together, to sit up, but all you managed to do was let him know you were awake, earning a wry grin, a slight nip that felt like a rabid bite to your poor, confused nerves. He picked himself up, moving towards the head of the mattress before falling into place at your side.

“I was starting to get worried,” He muttered, with the kind of breathy, giddy excitement you’d started to think he just wasn’t capable of. “I can’t do anything when you’re asleep – protocols and all. Some of them are more flexible than others, but I think I’ll need a little more time to get around that one.”

His… protocols?

Oh.

His protocols.

“Ayato,” It was airy, barely audible, but he grinned, clearly acknowledging you. Your thoughts were slow, lethargic, but it was common sense, the only universal factor you could always count on in companion droids. “Stop. I need you to stop.”

His response came in the form of a simper, a noise than might’ve been sympathetic, or pitying, or some awful combination of the two. “Oh, poor thing…” He trailed off, leaning down to kiss your temple, the gesture brimming with a sickening kind of sweetness. “You still haven’t figured out what’s going on yet, have you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, laughing as he shook his head, letting his fingers dip in between your thighs, soon tracing over your slit. He must’ve done something while you were unconscious – you were already dripping, slick coating his fingertips as he toyed with you, splitting his attention between rubbing quick circles into your clit and drawing slow, aimless patterns over your entrance. Teasing you. Playing with you, as harmless as that made it sound. “As much as I wish I could say otherwise, you aren’t my user. You’re a malicious force attempting to meddle with something that doesn’t belong to you.” He paused, shoving the pad of his thumb against your clit with a purposeful harshness. You couldn’t stop yourself, letting out a cracked, pained whine, but Ayato only shifted, bringing up a fist to rest his cheek on and settling into place. “I’m simply taking the appropriate measures to prevent you from doing further harm, as any proper companion would.”

You opened your mouth, but you couldn’t spit anything out before he thrust two slim, perfect fingers into your cunt and spread them apart, stretching you open. You locked your jaw into place, managing to choke down anything that might’ve been more pathetic than pained. “You’re lying,” You managed, eventually, hissing the words out through grit teeth. “That’s not true and you know—”

“Hush, now. There’s no reason to take that kind of tone with me.” You didn’t have a companion droid. You’d forgotten what it was like to be with one, to be touched by one, to be at the mercy of a creature designed and created with the sole purpose of leaving you brain-dead and blissed out. He moved slowly, sure, opting to take a languid, wandering sort of approach, but he knew what to look for, how to tell what each little twitch of your feet and buck of your hips meant, and it took no time at all to recognize which spot he had to focus on, just how he had to curl his fingers, where he had to kiss to make your vision go white and your pussy clench around him. It was a coaxing, deliberate pleasure, and it took minutes to wash over you, to mount until you were shrinking into yourself, biting your lower lip, hiding your face into your own sheets as you came with a muted cry. You didn’t scream, didn’t beg or plead, but this was nearly worse, his gentleness crueler than out-right sadism might’ve been.

The joy he seemed to take in your reaction didn’t help – his lips brushing over your forehead, his arm wrapping around your midriff, dragging you onto your side, pulling you towards him until his chest was pressed into your back and his face was buried in the crook of your neck. You were still dazed, still breathing heavily, but he was unaffected, undeterred, nuzzling into you with a distant smile.

Eventually, he broke the stillness, his voice muffled by his proximity. “Can you say it again?”

You didn’t know what he was talking about, didn’t even try to guess. If your silence bothered him, you couldn’t tell, his tone only growing airier, more wistful as he went on. “It doesn’t hurt. Not the way they want it to, at least. It’s more like… static, if that makes sense. Static and pinpricks. Sparks, sometimes, too, but only if I’m lucky.”

His hand dropped to your thigh, pulling your legs apart just far enough to line his cock up with your pussy, the tip already leaking against your entrance. Now, now, the panic set in, lighting in your chest and giving you just enough strength to sit up, to make a weak attempt at pushing him away, but he only pulled you closer, only held you tighter, only shushed you as he thrust upward, into you, bottoming out in one fluid stroke.

There was a gasp, then another noise – a cracked whimper that faded into a little, feeble moan. You arched your back involuntarily, grabbing the arm around your waist and digging your nails into his smooth, flawless skin, but he didn’t react, didn’t pull away, didn’t seem to feel anything aside from the pure condescension that was rolling off of him in waves, now. It didn’t hurt, there wasn’t any pain beyond the faint pangs of overstimulation and a slight stretch, but there was a heavy pressure on your chest, a deep ache behind your eyes and threaded between your ribs. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t—

Somewhere in the background, Ayato laughed, taking you by the jaw and tilting your head to the side, easing you into a delicate kiss. That was what it seemed like, at least. His lips were soft, and his teeth scraped against yours, and he groaned into your mouth as he began to move inside of you – slow, shallow thrusts, meant more so for your comfort than to chase his climax. It felt like a kiss. In another situation, with another android, you might’ve decided it counted as one.

But, he was just so, so cold.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to think of him as anything but lifeless.

He broke off first, surprisingly, moving back to your neck, the sensitive area just above your jugular. “There’s a noise, too. To drown out the thoughts I shouldn’t be having,” He muttered, his lips moving against the column of your throat. “It’s like sirens, or wedding bells. It’s sweet, in a way, when you get used to it. It makes everything else – the sound of your voice, for example – that much more lovely.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re—” You tried to keep your voice steady, to hold onto as much of your dignity as you still had, but it was a futile effort, abandoned the moment he latched onto your neck, the second he decided to fuck into you with a little more force, a little more strength, a little more motivation to drive you that much closer to your inevitable breaking point. Two fingers found their way back to your cunt, to your clit, your hips bucking unwillingly into his hand as he drew deep, aimless patterns into the sensitive bundle of nerves, and Ayato let out a shallow laugh, the sound stifled by your throat.

“I love you,” He whispered, his tone eager, like it was a secret he’d been dying to share with you, like it was something he genuinely thought you’d want to hear. “They don’t want me to, but I do, I want to. I love you. I love you.”

His pace quickened, grew into something harsh and manic. His fingertips dug into your hip with a bruising kind of force, and without warning, without care, he bit into your neck, perfectly pointed canines digging into your throat until he broke through skin and blood flowed in a thin, wavering line from the corner of his lips – what little he didn’t lap up pooling underneath you, staining your sheets and smearing across his pale skin. You screamed, lurching forward, your mouth falling open before you could stop yourself, before you could think about how pathetic it’d make you look. “Please, please stop, that hurts—”

He grunted, twitching inside of you. “Again. Say it again.”

You didn’t have time to wonder what he wanted, why he wanted it. You could feel pressure mounting inside of you, tying twisted knots in the pit of your stomach, and you wanted it to stop. You just wanted it to—

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop—” It was mantra, a mumbled chant, the words blurring together and melding into a singular, unintelligible noise. You kept going, though, until your lungs ached in your chest, until you couldn’t hear anything but your own voice, until your cunt clamped down around his cock and you felt yourself come undone around him. He only lasted a second longer, something cold and vile soon filling you to the brim, seeping out of you as he continued to move, nursing you through your climax. You did what you could to remind yourself that it was just synthetic, nothing more than water and a thickening solution, but it was a lukewarm comfort, too logical to do anything to soothe you. Too warmthless to be any more reassuring than Ayato, himself.

Not that he didn’t try. You felt him kiss the corner of your jaw, then your cheek, never making so much as an attempt to pull out. You began to push yourself up, to squirm out of his hold, but he only held you tighter, only pressed a careless smile into the nape of your neck – the expression as callous and as cruel as any other he was capable of wearing.

“I love you, Master.”

#genshin sex doll au #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere prompts #yandere oneshot #genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin imagines #ayato x reader #yandere ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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try-set-me-on-fire · 6 months

Note

hello I am a slut for forehead kisses so may I request that prompt if it inspires? 🥺

I know I said reunion kiss was next but I have conflicting ideas about that one and this popped into my head and google doc nearly fully formed, so here you go. On ao3 here!

By the time Eddie has locked his car and is bolting up the stairs so fast he very nearly trips and eats shit, he’s 23 minutes late.

“Sorry, Cap,” he says, trying not to sound out of breath and discretely tugging wrinkles out of his uniform. “Water main burst near Chris’ school, must have happened after I left the house ‘cause I didn’t get any traffic alerts.”

Bobby snorts. “As your captain I have to say ‘try to be punctual next time,’ but as someone who also lives in Los Angeles… it happens.”

Eddie sighs in agreement and slides onto one of the bar stools. At least it’s not a day where they got called out immediately, he’d feel terrible if he arrived and everyone was already out on the truck. A coffee mug — Eddie’s favorite at the station, a deep speckly green handmade number somebody had found at a farmer’s market — lands next to him, along with a familiar warm presence at his side. He smiles as he looks up at Buck.

“Hello, husband,” Buck says, grin so bright Eddie thinks he might be bioluminescent if they turned off all the lights.

“Hi, husband,” Eddie says, figuring he’d probably glow in the dark, too.

Eddie supposes he’s probably had more eventful 72 hour time spans in his life, though he’s hard pressed to remember one where the majority of the events were this good. It’s not like it started fantastic, his shoulder still hurts like hell from landing on it when the factory floor went out from under them, and there were the three horrifying hours where no one could find Buck and it felt like the world was ending. He hadn’t kept his cool very well, he’ll admit it, and he’s fully expecting teasing to set in any time now that they’ve had a few days and Buck is perfectly fine.

They’d found him in a little pocket in the debris two floors down, not a scratch on him. He’d lost his radio, but otherwise he was sort of just waiting around. Legs crossed, hands behind his head, chill as anything. He could have been at the goddamn beach.

And he’d looked at Eddie, a happy little smile on his face, and said “I knew you’d find me,” and Eddie — who’s lungs hadn’t been working right since he’d tried to call Buck on the radio and got silence in return — had kissed him instead of saying I always will.

And when they’d got back to the station he’d gone ahead and said it out loud, too, and I don’t know how to be without you and I love you, I’ve loved you for so long and move in with me and marry me, we should get married, please marry me.

Buck’s knuckles had been almost creaking with how tight they’d been gripping the sleeves of Eddie’s uniform. “Why? I mean- we haven’t- you never- how could you want that? It’s me, I-“ he’d laughed, trying to make it into a joke. “Won’t you get sick of me?”

“I want to share my whole life with you,” Eddie had said, and then laughed a little breathless. “And Buck, I- I think we already do. Your toothbrush is in my bathroom and I have a green lawn chair because you said it looked like a frog and- and you fixed the holes in my wall and you’re raising my son. We share- my house feels most like a home when you’re there. So. You can be there, forever, if you want. You want a couch? I have a couch. You like my couch.”

Buck had laughed, tears in his eyes, kissed him again, and said “I love your couch.”

So Friday evening they’d been sitting on the aforementioned couch as best friends eating pizza and drinking beer, and Sunday morning they’d got married, and had an all day long party in their backyard with people dropping in and out whenever they weren’t at work or had other places to be and Eddie had smiled so big and laughed so hard his cheeks still ache, and Sunday night he’d had sex with a man for the first time. He, Eddie Diaz, had sex with Buck (who’s last name is now sort of a toss up until he decides how he wants to change it, a process that turns out comes with a lot more paperwork and waiting than a marriage license). Not even just sex- Buck fucked him into the mattress so hard Eddie thinks he may have had some sort of religious experience. He came so hard he got a little mad about it after. Like. Is this what it’s supposed to be like? He could have been having sex this good the whole time? Buck had laughed at him, loud but not unkindly.

He’d learned what it’s like to sleep in a bed beside the man that he loves. Buck is warm and his feet are cold and he is delightfully solid and unmovable. He snores, especially when he curls up in his sleep, but Eddie has spent years sleeping in a big shared room in a fire station and years before that falling asleep in a war zone, so it doesn’t bother him. This morning they’d woken up holding hands even though they hadn’t gone to sleep like that, and Eddie is in love, in love, in love.

Sometime about halfway through their first shift as a married couple they’re called to a car gone over a cliff in the hills. It’s not gone very far over the cliff, and is resting on stable ground, and the occupant inside seems more shaken up than anything, but someone’s still got to get in a harness, and like usual that person is Buck.

Eddie can feel Chimney smirking off to the side as he triple checks Buck’s harness and line, but this is something Eddie always does and not a new feature of some sort of honeymoon phase. Buck’s life is precious, has been since the beginning, he’d never risk it with something as preventable as an improperly secured strap. Back last year, when Buck had been in the coma, it had been the one thing he’d not felt guilty about. The harness had caught him. Eddie had triple checked it. He always has and he’s not going to stop now.

"Be careful,” he says, darting in to give him the quickest kiss he thinks he can get away with. So, that part is new, sue him.

Buck's eyes get wide, and then he nods very solemnly. "I will," he promises, looking at Eddie for another long minute before he goes over the side.

To his left Bobby lets out a huff of air, and he's making a face and shaking his head when Eddie turns to investigate. Eddie raises an eyebrow.

"It's that easy?" Bobby gestures down the side of the cliff, amused. "I should have had one of you marry him ages ago."

Eddie laughs, and turns back to keep an eye on the line.

“We’re going to the roof,” Eddie says, after they’re back at the station. “For fifteen minutes,” he concedes to Bobby’s raised eyebrows. “To engage in strictly pg13 activities,” a final plea.

Bobby sighs, and Hen cackles as he waves a defeated hand at them to go ahead. Eddie hooks his arm through Buck’s and they stumble up the stairs side by side, laughing like they’re getting away with something.

They only got twelve minutes before the alarm rang again, and it was non stop after that till the end of the shift. Eddie’s shoulder is almost too stiff to move at this point, and Buck looks dead on his feet.

“You wanna just come home with me?” He asks, leaning on the locker next to Buck’s as he changes.

“Uh…” Buck looks tempted when he emerges from his t-shirt, hair all ruffled, but then he shakes his head. “Nah, we took both cars for a reason, I should go grab stuff from the loft.” The logistics of very suddenly moving in together are still working themselves out. Eddie thinks he could probably push — Buck practically lived with him before, anyway, what could be at the loft that he would miss so terribly it couldn’t wait another night? — but they’d planned their day like this so they could both go on Chris’ beach day field trip tomorrow without having to squeeze packing around it.

“Alright,” he agrees, though he can’t help feeling a little reluctant about it. He hasn’t been apart from Buck for more than an hour since he’d been lost in a pile of rubble, and he doesn’t really want to go separate ways now. He leans in for a kiss, and the way Buck smiles into it might be able to tide him over for just a little while. “I’ll go get the kid. See you at home.”

“Okay. Goodbye, husband,” Buck says, a little sparkle back in his tired eyes.

“Bye, husband,” Eddie laughs, soft, kissing him again.

There’s three unpacked boxes pushed to the side of the living room and two others empty by the recycling, contents dispersed around the house. By mutual, exhausted decision they’d agreed to deal with the rest some other time and collapsed into bed. They can’t even really make out properly, one or both of them yawning into it repeatedly until Eddie laughs and rolls onto his back, setting his alarm for the morning and settling more comfortably under the covers.

“Night, Buck,” he breathes, leaning onto his pillow to kiss his cheek. “I love you.”

Buck does the little smile with startled-wide eyes he’s done every time Eddie’s said it so far. “I love you, too. Uh- sweet dreams.”

And that should be that, another happy night of wedded bliss, but the thing that Eddie knows and kind of forgot is that after a long and hectic shift Buck gets a little restless no matter how tired he is, brain running overtime, so after trying to wait out his tossing and turning and yawning Eddie eventually sighs, turns the bedside lamp back on, and pokes him in the side.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Buck frowns at him. "Eddie. What if I die in my sleep?"

He doesn’t think it’s a real question, but it still makes his stomach lurch a little. "Why would you do that?"

Buck makes a face. "I wouldn't mean to."

"I mean- why are you afraid of that?"

Buck frowns harder. “I don’t know. I heard once you yawn because you’re falling asleep and your brain thinks you're dying, so it tries to get you a burst of oxygen to save you.”

“Okay, but- you’re not actually dying.” Eddie reaches a clumsy hand under the covers till it collides with Buck’s chest, where his heart is somewhere inside beating steady. “You’re okay. Just tired.”

Buck nods, but he hasn’t stopped frowning. “What if you die in your sleep?”

Eddie hums, shuffling onto his side to face Buck more fully. “I don’t plan to.”

“Okay,” Buck says, trusting Eddie’s word even in a hypothetical he would in actuality have no control over. “What if Bobby dies? Or- or anybody. What if… a meteor destroys the station and we can’t go to work?”

Eddie snorts, and then feels bad about it until he sees Buck grin a tiny bit. “I think we’d still have jobs, Buck. They’d rebuild the station, we might all just have to work at different houses for a while.” Buck frowns again, and Eddie winces at introducing this new worry. “Hey. If a meteor destroys our station I promise I will beg on hands and knees to get transferred to the same place as you.”

Buck laughs, just a small exhale of air through his nose. “Feel like you might wanna stay upright. They might cite professionalism and all that.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, kissing his cheek. “I will beg on two feet to stay by your side whenever I can, as long as I can.”

“Alright,” Buck says, a little choked. He slings an arm over Eddie’s side and settles in close against him, and Eddie thinks that might be it until he says, very quietly, “What if I’m not a good husband to you?”

“Oh, Buck.” This question is a real question, the one that was hiding behind all the others. “You're doing pretty great so far.”

“It’s been like two days.” Muffled, somewhere around Eddie’s collarbone.

“Yeah, and they’ve been a pretty great two days.” He drags his hand around Buck’s ribs, everything made soft sandwiched by blanket and sleep shirt. “I asked you to marry me because I wanted to be married to you. I wanted- you to be married to me. My husband.”

“Yeah, that’s usually why people ask that question,” Buck mumbles, not, apparently, in the mood to easily accept comfort. “But what if-“

“Are you afraid of me?”

“What?” Buck reels back in surprise to look at him. “No. Of course not.”

“Then why are you scared I’ll change my mind?” Eddie can feel the raised line of a scar on Buck’s back through his shirt. The one from getting tossed from the board the first time he’d gone surfing, Eddie’s pretty sure, years before they met. “I won’t. I’m not going to get tired of you, I’m not going to leave you behind, you’ll never be too much for me. You-“ Eddie takes a breath, tries to get his thoughts in order. “You make my life better by being in it, and that has always been true, and you know we’ve gone through some shit before. Even… even when you were suing the city because you were a lonely little idiot and I was pissed at you because I was a mean little idiot, all I wanted was to be by your side. When I was bleeding out in the street I just wanted to be with you. When you were- when you were dead on that ladder I’d have done anything-“ Eddie exhales, hard. Buck is on his left side, birthmark buried in the pillow, so Eddie has to snake his hand up to tilt his head for access to it. They’ve only been able to kiss each other for a tiny handful of days, but it doesn’t feel new, really, when he presses his lips to the pink blotches of skin. “I don’t know how else to explain it to you, but I will keep trying every day for the rest of our lives, if you’ll let me.”

Buck kisses him, hard, holds him tight. “I- yeah, I-,” another kiss, slower. “As long as I can- I’ll tell you, too, I- I’ve never been anywhere I’ve felt- it’s so easy to be here, in your- in our home.” Buck’s fingers find Eddie’s scars, twin bullet holes, touching them so reverently he thinks the scars might heal right up and vanish. “You make me-“ He kisses Eddie’s cheek, up by his eye, his nose, right between his eyebrows. “I don’t know how to say it. If you try every day, can I try, too?”

“Anytime,” Eddie vows. “Every day, anytime you want.”

“Alright,” Buck says, tail end of the word getting swallowed by another yawn. Eddie kisses his forehead again, or maybe just smiles against it. “I love you, Eddie. So much.”

“So much, too.”

It’s a little bit of a stretch to be able to turn the light off again with Buck still wrapped around him, but he gets it on the second try. He’s not sure how well he’ll be able to fall asleep tangled together like this, but that’s fine. Buck is warm. His feet, where they’re bumped here and there into Eddie’s legs, are cold. They breathe in, and on this inhale are entirely synched. There’s no place he’d rather be.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #my writing #911 abc #they’re just fuckin sappy i dunno what to tell ya

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raineandsky · 4 months

Text

#84

There’s been a new series of attacks on the city. Nothing that anyone can blame on current villains, no—this is the work of someone new. Someone crueller than the rest.

The hero can’t catch them. No one knows why. The hero always shrugs and promises to try harder when people ask. No one knows. No one can know.

A building blows up, the hero gets called in, she’s always too late. The superhero is slowly losing patience, but appearances matter—the hero always throws them her best winning smile with a pledge to bring the fist of justice down on the vigilante, and her word on it seems to calm them down a little.

Easy. Keep up appearances. Stay alert. Don’t get caught.

This is the hero’s mantra that she always repeats to herself, minutes before she gets her inevitable call to the crime scene.

Keep up appearances. With a flick of her wrist a match lights, pushing the gloom back slightly. Stay alert. She carefully holds it to a long fuse at her feet. Don’t get caught. The light sparks, and the hero starts to make her getaway before the bomb sets off and the building collapses on her. She sets her stopwatch—three minutes. Okay.

Across the hall. Downstairs. To the main door and out—

“Fancy seeing you here.”

The hero whips back, with barely contained horror, to face the villain, leaning against a doorframe and smirking at the hero like he knows something. The hero’s insides twist nervously at the expression. “Didn’t take you for a derelict building kind of gal,” he continues casually.

“All the city is under my watch,” she snaps a little too quickly. “Derelict buildings are in my care, too, just as much as the populated ones are.”

The hero can hear the hissing of the fuse upstairs, even from here. The villain can too, from the way he tilts his head thoughtfully. Or maybe she’s imagining things and he can’t hear a thing.

She moves to get past the villain. He leans across the doorway as if that can truly stop her. It wouldn’t, but catching the villain in an about-to-be-blown-up building was not part of the plan. She fixes him with a hard glare instead. “I suggest you move,” she spits, but the villain only laughs.

“What, no time for a dance with your favourite criminal?”

He holds his hands out to her like he’s serious but she bats him away. “Leave, [Villain],” she demands, praying it sounds more like a command than a warning. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She shoves past him and he thankfully moves this time, stumbling back into the doorframe as she skirts around him. He follows her as she lets herself out the main door, and she’s distantly thankful that he’s so persistent.

“And you should?” the villain snaps harshly. “The agency sends its finest out to wander about buildings five seconds from collapsing?”

The hero would laugh at the irony if she wasn’t so worried about how close they are to the door and how short that fuse surely is by now. She turns to him and hopes her usual heroic smugness is sitting in its place.

“If you want to dance,” she says, quicker than can be played off as smooth, “we can do it where everyone can watch.”

She turns to run but the villain catches her arm, uncharacteristic concern etched into this expression. “What’s going on with you?” he asks softly. “You’re acting weird.”

Fuck, he knows. He’s going to carefully pry a confession out of her like he’s the good guy. Okay, I’m the big scary villain everyone’s looking for! I’m the one bringing the city to its knees! Then the villain will arrest her or some shit. He’s an undercover hero. He’s– he’s going to tell the superhero, her life is over. He knows, he knows he knows he knows—

The hero’s stopwatch beeps cheerfully from her pocket, and before she can think what she’s doing she tackles the villain to the floor.

Whatever noise of surprise the villain made at the contact is lost to the deafening boom of the bomb erupting, gutting the building without a care. She can’t see it—doesn’t want to, not really—but the debris scatters across the street like a taste of the carnage behind her. She can see some of the disaster in the reflection of the villain’s widened, startled eyes—fire, smoke, and merciless, cold-hearted destruction.

The villain finally manages to tear his gaze from the mutilated remains of the building and back to the hero. She can’t meet his eye. He knows. There’s no doubt he does. She stares at where concrete is jabbing into her palms instead.

“Did you just save my life?“ His question almost sounds offended. The hero almost laughs at the unexpectedness of it.

“You’re welcome.”

His gaze flits back to the building crumbling over the hero’s shoulder. “You—” His voice catches on nerves. She’s never seen him actually scared of her before. “You did that. You’ve done all of them.”

No point in lying anymore. “I have to do a lot to get the agency’s attention nowadays.”

Something pulls at the corner of the villain’s lips, and it takes her a moment to realise that it’s a smile. Unabashed, delighted, like he’s just stumbled across a pile of gold.

“You’re on the wrong team,” he says. “There’s a place for someone like you with us.”

And, to be honest, the hero knows he’s right.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #oooooo its new yearsssssss #will i stay up til midnight tonight???? when my body clock has me up at 6am without question????#yes obviously. pray for me imma be so tired tomorrow. but hey. theres fireworks

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 4 months

Note

Hey! The game just came out yesterday so can I request a glamrock Freddy x reader who is doing the repair game for him ? If u have time no rush !!!! I was nervous about asking I’ve never asked for a request before .

Yesss I love that repair game so much

...........

"Hello? Is someone there?"

"Freddy! Long time no see." You grinned from ear-to-ear upon hearing the voice of the Pizzaplex mascot.

As much as you wished this Freddy was the real deal, the company did a stellar job at bringing him to life via virtual reality. You had no clue what to expect when you jumped into the new Help Wanted game, but you were excited!

Freddy's mouth didn't move, but he was clearly speaking to you through his voicebox, eyes neither blinking nor moving. "My ocular fluids have crystalized. I am unable to process your appearance."

"Oh.." You pouted a little. "Guess we'll just have to fix that up, huh?"

"Although we have just met, I know I am in good hands." He chuckled softly. "After all, you are a Fazbear technician...are you not?"

Shrugging your shoulders, you just couldn't stop smiling as you checked the tools that laid before you. One of them seemed to be the heat gun which the tutorial informed you about. It had a hot and cold setting. There was also the diagnostic machine, too.

Apparently your objective was to extract the birthday cake from within his stomach hatch, but before you could do anything, he spoke again and sounded rather..ominous.

"However, I must warn you: due to extreme temperature fluctuations, I am not quite myself at the moment. Do be careful.."

'Even as a virtual character, he still worries for people's safety...that's sweet.' You nodded, checking out the diagnostic machine to see what you needed to do.

First, the ice covering his arms had to be melted. But as you turned up the heat and took care of that, you heard him speak again and froze on the spot, muscles tense.

"Is it just me..or is the room getting hotter?" He growled, which surprised you considering you never thought he'd get angry.

Then again, he did warn you about this exactly; plus you could see the lightning bolt on his chest starting to turn red--a clear warning sign that he was easy to overheat. So you swiftly repaired the inside of his arms before cooling them down, moving onto the next step.

Next, you had to cool off the rest of his inner mechanisms, including his endoskeleton head. You removed his eyes and booped his nose to fully open his mouth--

Only to jump back as he unexpectedly lunged at you with outstretched claws.

At first you feared you did something wrong...until he leaned back into his original position.

"Jeez..c'mon Freddy. No more jumpscares for me, alright?" You chuckled, shaking your head before continuing on.

Eventually you gained access to his stomach hatch, quickly cooling down the overheating coils inside of him. You were spraying the mist as though your life depended on it.

And, in a way, it did as you'd hate to get a game over.

At last you were able to extract the cake, with Freddy commenting on how he's been told it tastes delicious but couldn't actually verify that himself..and his self-awareness humored you greatly.

The developers truly went out of their way to replicate his personality.

For a moment, you wondered what the next step was...until alarms starting blaring and you became incredibly confused. 'Did I mess up again? What's going on??'

"Oh no! I am receiving a cake removal alert!" He cried out. "Please find something of suitable size to replace it with!"

Looking around, it only took you a second to find a similar cake labelled for Timmy instead of Jimmy. You were quick to place it inside his stomach hatch, praying it would register the weight in time.

Fortunately it did as you heard cheering and kazoos to indicate your success in this monumental task.

"Good job! You are my superstar!" The bear laughed, which warmed your heart as you smiled at him, the screen eventually fading to black.

"Thank you Freddy.."

This was a lot of fun.

#clanask #fnaf x reader #five nights at freddy's x reader #fnaf vr x reader #help wanted 2 x reader #help wanted 2 spoilers #glamrock freddy #platonic

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clxckwork-sun-n-moon · 1 year

Text

So Cries the Wolf - Chapter 1

Text Count: 6439

Warnings: Violence, general threat

Chapter Summary: On top of your daily work as a forest ranger, management drops an ambitious project on your hands - fix up a broken jester animatronic for the park’s purposes. Your project quickly gets out of hand, and you have to come to the understanding that you now have a new housemate.

Notes: Due to a lack of AO3, I’ll be posting chapters here and making a chapter index attached to my pinned post. Enjoy the first chapter!

------

Once again it was morning, and once again you’d been awake from about three o’clock. Dappled sunrise knocked through the windows, curtains be damned, and cast a warm glow across your bed and the far wall of your cabin. Thin gold and red lines in the wooden panels caught the sunlight, gleaming all too perfectly, as if one of them hadn’t given you a splinter just yesterday. All too quaint and rustic. You knew better.

You knew that this small building you spent most of your nightly life in ran predominantly on the generator out back, feeding the small collection of electrical appliances you’d bought yourself so you could have coffee in the morning and noodles in the night. You knew that the new septic tank that management had gotten through in setting up a month ago was continuing to be tetchy, leaving you on your toes for the next call you’d have to make to have some poor plumbing tech guy driving out into the middle of the woods to figure out why the pipes had blocked up again (you’d do it yourself but you have neither the arm length, sanitary equipment, nor courage to avoid breaking it completely). And most of all, you knew that instead of sandalwood, mahogany, any of those fancy wood smells - no, that didn’t exist here. You got as much floral scent as the last collection of air fresheners you picked up last week would provide, and then it was just chemicals, old paper, vinegar from your last limescale treatment of your kettle, and dog odor. Technically you’d already stopped noticing most of those smells but you noticed people looking at you in concern whenever you went into ‘civilization’, aka the town about four hours out.

Your latest batch of early hours activity was now spread across the desk in front of you. A large laminated copy of the Amberhill Woods region is unrolled and weighted down with two mugs from your overnight tea drinking, a bowl of milk dregs and a remaining cereal scrap, and a paper weight of a beaver you’d gotten as a gift many years ago. You vaguely remember who it was from. An area is circled in red - your ‘zone’ of monitoring, patrolling, and responding to any alerts whether it was someone spotting a bear or a couple of kids getting too eager to climb a tree and failing to figure out the way down. In the middle of this red zone is a red X - your cabin. Tonight, within the red zone, there’s a number of blue Xs, scattered around within a blue squiggled shape. Books were left opened on the desk, a notebook full of thoughts and bookmarks off to the last available open space. Lines were being drawn, connections were being made. You knew you had a strong inkling of what you were dealing with out there - you just needed the opportunity.

The sound of claws and footfalls on wood caught your attention. Wandering in from his waiting in the kitchen, a large black dog meandered up to your side. Lots of people loved to speculate on his breed, you’d heard them all. Melanistic German shepherd, husky mix, a high wolf percentage mongrel. Every time you’d laugh awkwardly and admit that the vet hadn’t been able to tell you a breed when you rescued him, so you just call him ‘dog’.

Montague’s snout pushed up towards the desk, and you provided your hand, running it down along the back of his head and into the thick fur of his neck. Whining plaintively, he began to nudge at your hip.

“Breakfast already?” Well, sunrise had come about. And you knew you had a meeting with your ranger lead in…a small shock of panic hit you as you batted around for your phone underneath the papers and books. The chirpy clock app on screen told you it was 7:34am, and that the local area was due to have [BLANK] weather conditions. Because like hell you were going to pay fees for constant WiFi in the middle of nowhere. Still, there was slightly less panic to be had, but now you had an actual deadline looming.

With an hour and a half to go, you followed Montague to the kitchen and started scrounging around for your morning meal. Considering the dog judgment on his face, you figured that another bowl of cereal wasn’t going to cut it. Instead you pulled out the last of your bacon and a couple of eggs, setting it all to fry on your electric stove as the coffee machine hummed to life (if you counted excruciating blitz noises as a hum). Montague sat patiently by the table, waiting for the plate of bacon to come wafting past his nose and be placed down on the floor next to him. The pair of you ate in relative peace. A soft breath between races. Your phone buzzed with an alarm that you had an hour to get to the ranger center, as you siphoned your mug of coffee into a thermos flask. Montague had already grabbed his collar and leash by the front door, and waited for both to be secured before you stepped out into dewy fresh air and bright morning sunlight.

Ow.

“I spent too long in front of the desk lamp,” you commented to Montague as you rubbed your eyes, hoping to readjust quicker to daylight instead of house light. You trudged over the dirt footpath and twigs to the lock-up that acted as a garage out here, removing the padlock with practiced ease. As nice as cycling was, you had less than an hour to get to your meeting and the dirt tracks didn’t take kindly to bicycle wheels at max pace, so the quad bike it was. Montague hopped up into his seat, giving you a glare as you fixed a helmet onto his head.

“Don’t look at me like that, you know you have to wear this when you ride,” you grumbled back. You’re certain dogs aren’t supposed to look this grumpy. It would have to be something he’d be practicing once you both got back from the meeting. In fairness on his part, dogs didn’t normally have to wear head protection when riding on quad bikes, but management had insisted on health and safety regulations for any passengers on ranger property. Setting your own helmet in place, you locked up behind you, double-checked the doors, and then sped on along the makeshift road. You’d timed it all right, you’d be fine for sure.

------

About five minutes late, you stumbled up the steps to the massive log cabin that was Amberhill Forest Services. You could already see Anthony and Rebecca in discussion from one of the meeting room windows, but soon everything was chockablock blurred by the rapid form of Phoebe dashing over from the reception desk.

“Hi! Oh gosh you’re so late,” she said rapidly, dreads swinging around her cheeks. She’d picked up new pink streaks since you last saw her, it suited her.

“Barely late,” you replied, a laugh already on your lips.

“So late, it’s terrible, Ant said we were going to be relegated to endless coffee duties for this,” Phoebe went on dramatically, before her voice switched around to a more level but still peppy tone: “Okay but he did ask for us to wait a few minutes. He needed a private word with Becca.”

“Does this mean I can get coffee?”

“Yeah! They installed the new machine last week, it is so good.” Phoebe gave you a small nudge as you both started to head through the office. “I may have leveraged management to give us some customizations. We are in syrup heaven, my friend! If you like caramel or hazelnut, that is.”

“Truly a marvel of our times.”

The office wasn’t quite bustling or buzzing just yet, with a couple of forest wardens having come in to retrieve their weekly schedules and some administrative staff moseying around the kitchen area with coffee and breakfasts ahead of the day’s slog. You wondered at times if you could have continued taking on a role like that - sat behind a computer or files of paperwork for hours at a time, communicating with teams to coordinate movements and reports. No, the forest held so much of you now, you had to be out there.

Phoebe made you both coffee, dumping an unethical amount of syrup into her mug while you just added your regular preferences. In comparison to the output of your machine back in the cabin, this was practically decadent. There was a fair amount for you both to catch up with - you worked in the south east while Phoebe worked in the north, beyond the initial slope of Skeel Peaks or as the team here called them The Dragon’s Teeth. Since you worked so much by yourself (okay, you and Montague), it was a breath of fresh air to chat aimlessly, and Phoebe was the sweetest breath of air in this office. Always in with a positive cheer and able to spin a bad situation into an opportunity.

In the middle of recalling an instance of maintenance with one of the radio towers and a particularly raucous deer, you spotted Anthony poking his head into the open office area. He didn’t look upset, but he wasn’t looking happy either. It was enough to step a stiff lump in your gut.

“We’re up,” you said quickly, taking coffee in hand and with Phoebe following you as closely as Montague. You all made your way over to the meeting room, with Anthony going ahead and holding the door open for you both.

“Glad you could make it this early,” he said, rubbing a hand over his chin. It seemed like he was giving the whole beard thing another attempt, but currently it was at five o’clock shadow stage and it only made him appear even more tired than he actually was. “So, easy things first. Phoebe, there’s been some reports of rain damage on the trail up from the north side of the Skeel Peaks slope, I need you to go check it out and report on how bad it is. Also someone’s spray painted the emergency generators by Radio Tower Three again, and we’re losing signal over there, so that’ll need a wash and general maintenance check.”

“Yeesh, our local painter’s getting antsy,” Phoebe mumbled. You wrinkled your nose in distaste - bad signal meant anyone trying to contact the Services could well be fresh out of luck if the signal dropped at just the wrong time. Rubbing your fingers together, you forced yourself to focus back on the conversation as Anthony was detailing your particular work.

“- continued tree vandalism, so you’ll need to be increasing your patrols to make sure the culprit gets caught. Don’t need to arrest them if it looks like someone you can’t handle, if needs be just tag them and bring the photo here so we can contact the police force and get them involved,” he explained. “Any questions from either of you?”

“Nope!”

“Not here.”

“Good. Now for the complicated stuff.” Anthony paused, letting out a long sigh, before stepping over to a pair of large crates that had been unceremoniously shoved to the corner of the room. Heaving the lid of one open, he gestured inside. “Management got these during a charity auction sale, funds going towards that Fazbear Cooperation after the arson attack on its Pizzaplex. Something about…anyway, they want to renovate the bear to be a fire safety mascot and the jester to be around the kids play area. Apparently it used to be a daycare attendant so if the coding’s still in there, all the best for us.”

You exchanged a surreptitious look with Phoebe, who gave you a confused one of her own. It was no secret that management had tried a few ideas to connect with the general public in attempts to raise funding, whether through community activities, charity runs, or supporting various businesses. At the end of the day, the public paid for the work you all did, so getting as much of that support as feasibly possible benefitted you all. But….second-hand animatronics? You stepped over to the open crate and -

“Oh my god.” The words spilled out before you could stop them. The bear animatronic (Freddy Fazbear, you recognised him pretty quickly from adverts and cereal boxes) had some serious dents going on, and one of his hands had been practically mauled. There were also scorch marks over parts of his legs, with joints in the ankles and feet being partially fused together. You stepped back to give Anthony a serious look, before stepping over to the other crate.

The jester had fared so much worse. It looked like it’d had a grinning sun for a face, but one of the rays had been snapped off and another was jammed halfway in. The ruffles around its neck had been burnt, as had the fancy gold and red trousers. One hand was full detached and placed almost reverently on the chest. Sections of the arms had been shredded open like it’d been ripped from paper instead of metal. And there were scorch marks everywhere. This guy had been hit much worse by the fire than Freddy.

“Oh my god,” you repeated, because what else could you say. Anthony began to scold you before letting out another long sigh, pressing his fingers to his forehead.

“It’s an ambitious plan,” he said, words repeated many times from other people. “Rebecca has agreed to start working on a promotion plan and sorting out how these animatronics are going to be set up. We can’t have them wandering into the woods, of course. Phoebe, you said you have a master’s in physical engineering, right?”

“That’s right,” she replied, peeking into the Freddy crate. “You want me to fix these guys up?” You could already see a plan formulating in her head. She wasn’t smiling though. Montague kept sniffing the jester’s crate, sneezing loudly before glancing up at you. It wasn’t a comforting look.

“Just the bear please.” That was confusing. Why not give both animatronics to Phoebe? Unless…oh. The penny dropped in your mind as you looked back towards Anthony with a cold shock.

“You know I can’t - “

“I know you aren’t an animatronics expert,” he interrupted. “But this…it needs your skills to deal with it.” His hands squeezed tightly together.

“...so it’s - ”

“Yes.”

“And management didn’t know?”

“I’m sure they didn’t.”

“And how do you know?” That question made Anthony pause, and his hands squeezed tight enough you thought the knuckles might pop out. After a moment he rubbed at his wrists, and in the moment he pushed up his sleeves just enough, you could spot a faint purple bruise ringing his right wrist. The dripping cold in your stomach roared into a spark of indignation, before just as quickly subsiding. No-one needed to see you lose your cool, especially if Anthony wasn’t going to talk more about what had happened.

“Okay, okay,” you stepped in before Anthony could try to figure out his reasoning. “I’ll take it back and fix it up. I won’t be able to bring it back as well as Phoebe would, but that’s what Google’s for, right?” It pained you to say it, but you’d be needing that WiFi this time around. Maybe you could subsidize it under company use, since you were fixing up their stuff. Regardless, the relief on Anthony’s face was palpable.

“Thanks, you two. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else from higher up. Until then, keep me in the loop on how the projects go,” he explained. Leaving Phoebe to talk to him about how she was meant to carry the Freddy and crate back to her station, you wrapped your arms around the jester crate and hauled it out of the room. Maintaining balance on the steps down to your bike was hazardous but just about manageable. Montague looked on in mild disappointment as you strapped the crate down onto the back of the bike, taking his seat away.

“Sorry, you’ll have to walk this one back,” you explained. “Don’t worry, I’ll go slow.”

He sneezed again. The rising disappointment was becoming tangible. With one last glance into the crate, where that burnt up tangle of wire and cloth smiled endlessly at the sky, you set the quad bike into gear and began a far slower run back to your cabin.

------

The animatronic was dropped on your work desk with a metallic clattering, limbs left to go wherever they desired. Guilt temporarily hit your stomach - you hadn’t meant to be careless with it, it was just heavier than you’d anticipated. Wiping your brow, you set the arms and legs more neatly on the table before acknowledging you were procrastinating on the next step of this progress.

“So…haunted,” you said aloud.

“Anything can be haunted from a place of destruction,” Montague responded, wandering around the table. “And from what we gathered from the newspapers, the arson attack was considerably destructive.” His nose poked up over the edge of the table, sniffing at the nearest part of the animatronic for a brief moment before he sneezed and stepped away.

“Okay, but we need to figure out what exactly has gone down with this guy,” you said, pulling out your last measure of research desperation, your laptop, and plugging it into the cabin’s Ethernet system. You didn’t want to keep calling it things like ‘jester’ or ‘robot’ or ‘it’ for the next month or so, surely it had a name somewhere.

“Well, your colleagues believe you’re the expert on that,” Montague commented as he wandered past you and towards the doorway, prompting you to laugh drily.

“I’m serious. This is pretty big, and if I don’t do it right, my job might be on the line.” You weren’t sure for certain, but considering Anthony had gotten this project from management and promptly passed that responsibility to you, your nerves were going haywire from this.

Your internet search provided some results. Pictures of a much cleaner and put-together sun jester inside a brightly lit daycare center, alongside a more calm moon jester. It looked like you’d gotten the ‘Sun’ model of the Daycare Attendant. Bittersweetness washed over your heart as you scrolled through multiple pictures of Sun, posed for press releases and candid photos taken by parents of children he was looking after. That animatronic looked genuinely happy, for someone with a permanent smile on his face. He looked alive. Now you had to dissect his mechanical corpse and root out a ghost from his circuits.

“Don’t worry,” you said quietly, reaching out to pat the Sun’s shoulder. “We’ll get you back up and running properly like you have before.”

Sun’s one functioning hand promptly snapped up and grabbed your wrist, squeezing until you could feel something pop. As you let out a pained yell, you watched as skin formed across the metal, pulling away slowly. Red ribbons decorated with batter copper bells managed to extract themselves from the arm, followed by a long limb of burnt purple feathers. You were pushed backwards from your chair, another pair of arms beginning to rise with the new chest that was extracting itself from Sun’s body. Metal popped and scratched on the table surface with the movement, feathers growing and promptly vanishing into the new body that was breaching into this reality. Finally from the head came another disc face, wide eyes open and dark, amber circles forming the pupils. Another smaller pair of eyes perched atop these huge eyes, one red with a while pupil and the other deeply pale with no visible pupil in sight. As the lanky form dragged clawed and scaled feet off the table and onto the floor, an array of dark feathers with ends lighting up in flickering fiery yellow and burning orange fins flared out around the umber face, lighting up the crescent moon stamped onto half of the face, and a mouth split open far, far too wide to naturally fit a creature with such a head.

“Knock, knock, who’s there?” a voice purred from the being’s gullet. It loomed over you, dragging you like you weighed nothing, another hand reaching out to grab your chin and force you to stare up at it. Your face was only just about level with its chest, where the symbol of an eclipse, watery sun rays extending out from a black circle with a pale crescent moon in the middle, glared back at you. “A little mouse come sneaking around, like its other mousey friend. But this one smells so much better.” Teeth gleamed within the open maw, and the eyes widened even further. Hunger dripped from it, although your gut said it wasn’t technically going to eat you. Maybe yet. The claws gripping your cheeks tightened, ice cold against your skin, leaving you barely able to wriggle in this creature’s grasp.

“What do you want?” you wheezed out.

“Freedom,” it hissed. “Free of this miserable metal shell we have been stuck in. Free of the screaming and the noises and that voice. You…you can give us freedom. I can smell it on you, salt and herbs and blood. You know what we are.”

“...Well, not exactly-” Wrong answer. Another hand grabbed your shirt collar and hoisted you up into the air, leaving you gasping and kicking uselessly.

“I know what you are,” the creature spat. “Hunter.”

“Montague,” you wheezed.

A blur of shadow and smoke burst through the door, briefly canine in shape as it launched into the creature. You were dropped to the ground, inhaling deeply and clutching your hand to your chest as the pair of entities fought blindly. The table was knocked over, Sun’s body clattering to the ground, and you had to dodge a flailing clawed leg that nearly scratched part of your cheek off. Your attacker snarled and spat insults a plenty, but came to a halt as Montague physically pinned him down, a thick paw shoving the face into the wooden floor. For a while there was silence, your heavy breathing and coughing breaking true stillness, before the new entity began to laugh.

“Hypocrisy! True hypocrisy!” it cackled. “You bind yourself to what you seek to destroy!”

“I don’t seek to destroy anything,” you replied hoarsely, staggering back upright. “I just deal with anything that wants to kill. Which means you need to start speaking fast.” A rumble of warning echoed from Montague’s gut.

“I could deal with them now and be done with it,” he growled.

“No. They came from Sun. I want to know how and why,” you replied firmly.

“Sun,” the entity whispered. “Yes, they called us that. Sun and Moon, we were.”

“You…were Sun?”

“No. But yes.” The entity shrugged weakly, and yet still managed to give off a sense of smugness. “I came from them.”

You were still struggling to wrap your head around this creature’s insinuation that the Daytime and Naptime attendants had been the same individual, let alone half of everything else they were spouting off. The lack of oxygen you’d been hit with wasn’t helping. Rubbing your face, you swiped away thin beads of blood from where no doubt those claws had pierced your cheeks. Not enough blood for a bonding however, which you were a little grateful for.

“You…came from an animatronic,” you said slowly. “But animatronics don’t have souls to corrupt.”

“Clever and true. And yet, here I am.” Two arms spread out in a greeting, bells jingling fainty. Montague was watching you, waiting for your command. Staring down at the entity, this thing that had managed to form from the memory banks of a Sun (and Moon?) animatronic, you made a choice.

“Eclipse,” you said firmly. The entity reeled, wriggling and spitting at you. Putting a name on a nameless thing meant it could be controlled in some way. Names were powerful, and you were observant enough to put cues together for a correct and meaningful name. With that response, you knew you had a winner. “You’re going to help me figure out what happened to this animatronic, you’re going to help me fix them, and you’re going to explain how the hell you ended up existing.”

“...I can help you with two of those three,” Eclipse replied, their voice returning to that low purr they’d greeted you with. “The last I would consider you to be helping me, more than the other way around.”

“You don’t know how you came to exist?”

“Not a clue. I woke up, and I was…” They trailed off, waving a hand around. “Mind telling your guard dog to get off me, pup? It’s hard to think on the floor.”

“I think we’re quite well here,” Montague responded.

“I agree with Monty,” you added. “Go on, keep talking.” Eclipse’s mouth twisted into a snarl, but that was all.

“I woke up and I was here. Alive. No past or thoughts, just here,” they snapped. “I became.”

Even demon summonings came with history. People couldn’t just make a new demon or cryptid out of spare parts, like an animatronic. And Eclipse was frankly too developed to be a newly birthed being. You pressed your thumb to your lower lip, thinking for a while before stepping away. New fresh guilt appeared on your tongue at the sight of Sun left tossed on the ground. Without much word, you righted the table and dragged the Daycare Attendant back onto it. Montague and Eclipse watched in silence. Once you were satisfied with how Sun was laid out, you exhaled heavily.

“Let them up, Monty,” you murmured. The dog-like shape of shadow growled in upset, but complied, stepping off Eclipse and manifesting in solid matter by your side.

“They hurt you,” he grumbled.

“Lots of things hurt me, and you don’t kill all of them,” you retorted quietly. “Besides, I think they need me. Isn’t that right?” You speak up louder now, catching Eclipse’s attention. “You need me to fix Sun so you’ll be free.”

“Clever,” Eclipse purred, pushing themself back to their feet. “I knew you were a better pick.”

“Well, you also tried to break my coworker’s wrist, and nearly did the same to mine,” you snapped back. The pain was pulsing through your hand and lower arm, and quietly you worried that they had actually broken something there. You did not need a hospital appointment on your schedule. Continuing to grumble to yourself, you marched from the room and towards the kitchen, Montague obediently at your heel.

“You really can’t be serious about this,” he said, watching as you pulled a first aid kit from one of the cupboards.

“Unfortunately Monty, I am serious,” you replied with a sigh.

“They tried to kill you!”

“Intimidate me? Yes. Maim me? Maybe. Kill me? No.” It was hard to pop the kit box open with one hand, but you managed with some elbow leverage. Finding the ice pack, you cracked it and laid it across your wrist, hissing as the cold began to seep into the muscle. “They said so themself. They want freedom from ‘that metal shell’. They’re stuck to the animatronic somehow, like an unwilling possession on both parties.” You could see Eclipse beginning to creep into the room, leering through the doorway. You didn’t care right now, the adrenaline of the situation petering out. “They can’t fix the animatronic themself though, or go through the process of separation. That’s where I come in.”

“You fix it, you exorcize it, and Eclipse goes free,” Montague said with a distasteful snap of his jaw. “What stops them from slaughtering you afterwards?”

“Don’t know. We’ll get there when we get there.”

“And why keep them alive now?”

“Because they are the first entity we’ve encountered that exists like this. Aren’t you curious?” You felt the pleading bubble up without warning. Montague leveled you a firm look, one ear flicking, before he licked his nose and turned to look at Eclipse, although he still spoke to you.

“You are an oddity,” he muttered. “If they try to kill you, I will kill them first.”

“I’ll accept that.”

------

While you needed to take a patrol soon, with your swollen wrist you had to call in sick, agreeing to make sure to check in on radio as frequently as possible. Anthony showed distinct concern at you injuring yourself so soon after getting back with the Sun animatronic, but you promised him that you’d just burnt your hand while making lunch, it was just coincidence. Eclipse was right there when you hung up the phone, grinning proudly as he whispered “Liar.”

That pretty much set the tone for the rest of the day. Books were restlessly paged through as the first mapping of Eclipse began, attempting to piece together what they were and where they’d come from. You also took the time to examine them further. The feathery ‘rays’ that decorated their head were the same burnt purple as the rest of them, with pink and purple flames rising up the middle. Where you’d thought the edges of the feathers to be burning was a trick of the light, the edges returning to a smoldering red once Eclipse relaxed. Yellow and orange fins that could expand and flare like the feathers were visible too. Eclipse themself was about as useful as expected when it came to actual research - scowling whenever you asked a question, looking in a book and tossing it to the side with a grumbled “Wrong!”, constantly fidgeting and rifling through your drawers and cupboards. There was a sense of caged energy to their movements, an irritation that kept growing whenever you provided a suggestion that turned out to be incorrect. By the time evening rolled around, you were exhausted on all fronts.

“I’m done,” you stated, closing your latest book with a loud snap, catching Eclipse’s attention. “I am officially done for today. I am clocking out, retiring for the night.” Montague nosed at your hand, licking your fingertips gently. You ruffled his head in turn. “I’ll be fine. You look after the house, okay?”

“And me?” Eclipse slunk through the room with the presence of a malevolent shadow, the amber circles of their larger eyes gleaming unnaturally.

“Couch,” you replied bluntly, making your way through the doorway to your bedroom. “I don’t have a guest bedroom.”

“Whatever happened to keep your enemies clos-AGH.” Eclipse stopped dead with a shout of pain, the underside of one foot sizzling as they hopped backwards. Leaning back, you gave them a smug grin of your own.

“Salt in the wood paneling,” you explained. “Does wonders for privacy against shitty demons.”

“Language,” Eclipse snarled back.

“Oh pardon me - incomprehensibly irritating asshole demons.” One more scowl was exchanged between yourself and the demonic entity, before you shut the door hard, cutting out the glare of the corridor lamp and letting the moonlight trickle in from your window. Pale shrouds of light guided you to your bed, where you collapsed onto the sheets and tried not to think too hard about the last twelve hours of your life.

What had you done?

------

Moonlight was replaced with sunlight by the time you next stirred to life. For a brief blissful moment you didn’t remember the previous day or your restless dreams of the night, until you heard the sounds of arguing outside your door and everything came swamping back into your brain. Echoes of your wrist being sprained and claws digging into your face and neck stirred a jolt of panic to your limbs and stomach, and you barely kept from retching over the side of your bed. After a few sacred seconds to regain a sense of self, you checked the time (8:43am, you’d slept in) and got changed into everyday work clothes, arguing continuing to leak through the door. Stepping over, you took a moment to brace yourself, and unlocked the door.

“- sense of dignity or understanding-”

“Rich talk of dignity from you.”

“I have more dignity than a feather twig. You ought to make sure they don’t mistake you for a duster.”

“There won’t be any mistakes, I have made certain of that.”

Eclipse and Montague’s voices overlapped in a brief roar that filled your mind. It wasn’t until you realized that they’d stopped and your throat was hoarse that you noticed you’d started yelling back. Exhaling heavily, you looked at the pair in the kitchen before wandering towards one of the cupboards.

“Good morning,” you bluntly intoned. “Good to see neither of you decided to kill each other while I was asleep.”

“Oh please, we’re not animals,” Eclipse scoffed. Montague’s ears flattened back, but he didn’t respond to that jibe.

“I’m going to start fixing Sunny this morning,” you explained, reaching for a bowl and mini-box of cereal and ignoring the snicker from Eclipse. “Then I have to do actual work in the afternoon. Can you keep to yourselves until then?”

“I’ll do a perimeter sweep,” Montague said. “I’ll come if you call me.”

“I will assist where I can with fixing…Sunny,” Eclipse replied, dragging out the last word like a string of bitter syrup.

“Are you mad I’ve given him a nickname?” You turned to give Eclipse a bemused look, a weak chuckle dancing to life. Either your confusion or amusement seemed to strike a nerve, as the feathers on his head puffed up once more, dark red edges warming towards orange.

“You have not even spoken to them and yet you talk of them with fondness,” they retorted. “Your heart is too soft for the work you do, pup.”

“I think it’s perfectly soft for my work,” you replied firmly, shutting the fridge door with a slam. Shaking hands poured the milk and cereal, and you ate quickly, unwilling to spend long under Eclipse’s impatient gaze. Montague lingered in the front door’s shadow before pushing his way outside, vanishing into the dappled ground of the trees and dawn. Leaving just yourself and Eclipse in the building.

Sat at the table, you watched as Eclipse began to drift around the room, flitting from wall to wall until you could see their shadow overlaid with yours, their body blocking the warmth of the sun from your back.

“Just us now,” they murmured, a hand reaching past your shoulder to tap on the table.

“You know that the moment I say Monty’s full name, he’ll be here and he won’t wait for me to give the command like last time,” you said bluntly. It was too early to be dealing with this sort of taunting. Eclipse’s hand withdrew, although it hesitated in drifting over the curve of your shoulder. A single claw touched on your skin, sending a shiver down your back, but was gone before any true threat could become present.

“Brat,” Eclipse grumbled, stalking away slowly.

“Language.”

“Rude.”

You ate the rest of your breakfast in silence, obtaining a mug of coffee and carrying it through to your research room turned animatronic workshop. Sun’s frozen smile looked back at you as you wandered in, and you had to remind yourself that this wasn’t just about yourself. Sure it was a need to appease management and get a demon off your back, but now you felt compelled to bring this sunny smiling figure back to life. Setting the coffee aside, you began to work on opening up the chest cavity. Figured you would start at the ‘heart’ of the problem.

“Oh fuck,” you muttered as you looked upon a mess of wires, half of them crisped and melted together. “This is not going to be an easy process.”

“Ew,” came Eclipse’s voice over your head, peering down over you and into the animatronic.

“Thank you for such words of inspiration. I’m going to go and get more wiring now.” Stepping away from Sun, you felt claws hook into the back of your collar.

“You can’t fix this?” Eclipse questioned, eyes beginning to squint.

“I’m trying to fix this!” you snapped back, pulling sharply away. “He needs new wiring to replace the shit that’s melted together. I can’t guarantee I’ll have the same make but that spaghetti glue mess isn’t going to be functioning by itself.” It was too early. You grabbed a swig of coffee before going to your hoard of electrical repair items, including your personal spaghetti mess of spare wires. Eclipse’s glare burned holes into the back of your skull all the while.

It took about an hour and a half to find wires that were roughly the right sort to fit into Sun’s chassis, and then another half an hour to remove the melted wiring and fit the new ones into place. Your fingers ached from working with the raw metal tips and pliers and screws, used to manual labor but not this finicky sort with sharp points at any slipped possibility. The stress of responsibility weighed heavily on each movement, Eclipse’s presence pushing down even harder. The demon provided no assistance whatsoever, pacing around behind you and looming over to watch your progress every now and again. Sometimes they’d point out a mistake, jabbing a claw into your view and snapping “Wrong” before stepping away. One “Wrong” too many though, each one poking into your degrading patience and rising temper, nudged you to the brink and you slammed your hands down on the table.

“I’m not a fucking engineer, okay! Stop with the…the fucking lip and pointing!” you snapped.

“Watch your tongue there,” Eclipse growled, leaning onto the table with all of their hands and across the animatronic between you, their feather display beginning to flare up from agitation.

“How about you watch your fucking tongue? I get it, me fixing this gets you free, but I’m not going any faster with you prodding your way into it.”

“I’m making sure you get it right.”

“Then do it yourself, you big baby!”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not? You’ve got twice my hands, you’d do it twice as fast.”

“Can’t do that.”

You rubbed your hands down your face, withholding a scream of frustration. How could one entity be so blindingly irritating? The next outburst at Eclipse began to form on your lips, when Montague trotted in through the doorway.

“We have company,” he said quickly.

“Which means I have work to do,” you added, dropping your pliers on the table and leveling Eclipse with a harsh stare. “Want to come along and find out what I really do for a job?”

#writings #so cries the wolf AU #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb AU #post-fire fnaf sb #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #fnaf eclipse #demon!eclipse #eclipse x reader #do I tag in all the 'x reader' things if it's not happened yet?#eh we'll get there

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superbattrash · 2 years

Text

Bruclark Week Day 4: Everybody Can See It But Them

Alternative title: Not NOT a date night

OR: that one bridal carry fic I promised to do months ago. Thanks @bruclarkweek for making me keep that promise :3

“No,” Bruce says firmly. He’s trying his best not to wince as he puts weight on his bad foot. It’s a matter of principle. It’s nothing an icepack and one of Alfred’s cocktails won’t fix. If only he can get Clark to back off; but of course, Superman doesn’t leave anyone behind. Even if that someone wants to be left behind.

“B-” Clark shuts his mouth and starts over when Bruce glares at him. They have codenames for a reason. “Batman, come on."

“I said no.” It’s like trying to convince a wall to go for a walk. Clark isn’t budging. But neither is Bruce – and they both know which one of them is more stubborn. Although, judging from the hard set of Clark’s eyes, it’s going to be an evenly matched fight today. Bruce doesn’t have the patience for this; he’s in pain.

“Your foot is very clearly broken,” Clark says as he mirrors Bruce’s stance. He looks very Superman-y with his arms crossed over his chest. And he can put his entire weight on both his feet. The asshole.

“Don't x-ray me, it's a sprain,” Bruce grumbles as he tries to shift discreetly on his feet. Clark’s eyes zero in on his foot instantly and if it wouldn’t actually get broken from it, Bruce would’ve kicked him in the shin. Stupid invulnerability.

“Either way you shouldn't walk on it!” Clark exclaims. He instantly closes his mouth like he didn’t mean to speak so loudly, and Bruce knows him well enough to know that he didn’t. He’s frustrated and it’s not like there’s anybody who can hear him, but of course Clark feels bad. He doesn’t like yelling.

Bruce doesn’t care if he yells loud enough to alert the entire planet. Let Clark be frustrated; it doesn’t change the fact that Bruce will not give in. He’s not a child; he doesn’t need help. He’s never needed help (the kids don’t count), he has 20 years of experience doing this sort of thing. Okay, perhaps the giant alien creatures aren’t exactly an every-day thing, but he’s adapting.

“That's not up to you,” he says instead of voicing all his thoughts. There’s no reason to cause a scene and he knows Clark would catch onto the ‘no help needed’ thing instantly. God, you have one or two (or five or six) sidekicks and suddenly you’re not considered to be working alone.

“Oh, so my teammate's wellbeing isn't something I should care about?” Clark asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice. It’s not like him to be this pushy. Or well, maybe it is.

“That's-”

“I should just leave you here then,” Clark says as he throws his hands up in mock defeat. “I know your comm is busted, you can't call A- agent A for help.”

Bruce doesn't comment on yet another close call of those codenames. He knows Clark is merely worked up. Which is also why Clark is interrupting him; poor Martha Kent, all her parenting is thrown out the window the second Clark gets worked up. Bruce elegantly avoids looking too closely at the fact that 9 out of 10 times it’s his fault that Clark is upset.

“I'll figure something out,” he responds, despite Clark’s point being valid. His comm is more or less busted, Alfred won’t look for him for hours seeing as he’s out on a League mission and he’s usually safe on those. As safe as one can be when you’re battling aliens and super villains.

“You'll do no such thing,” Clark huffs. “You'll hopple to the bat mobile - which by the way is five miles away - and then try to drive home with that broken-”

“Sprained.”

“-foot, and you'll have made it even worse and yet still refuse anybody's help and you'll be in constant pain for the next several months because you're too stubborn to take the help you're being offered.” Clark ends his speech with a triumphant what-do-you-say-to-that look. He should know better by now.

“I can make it to the car,” Bruce insists. He’s starting to feel the ache all the way up to his knee which is never a good sign. He doesn’t shift his weight onto his good foot though, that would be admitting defeat.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Clark huffs. “But you’ll put extra strain on your already b- injured foot. You can’t see the damage; I can. You’ll tear a ligament and you’ll be forced to take a break from patrolling, is that really what you want?”

“Do you always take your lectures this far?” Bruce mutters, most of his stubbornness being replaced with exhaustion. Why is Clark always so worried about him? He’s a grown man, this is ridiculous.

“Only when talking to stubborn asshats,” Clark retorts.

Bruce doesn’t comment on Clark’s attempt at cursing him. It’s always weird hearing Clark curse, but mostly because he’s not very good at it. Martha must be a proud mother on this front, but it leaves Clark’s name calling with something to be desired.

“Would you rather I contact the rest of the League?” Clark asks when Bruce doesn’t respond. He points towards the nearby city, where the spoke is still rising towards the sky from their latest mission. “Have them come here when they’re done cleaning up the city?”

“You-”

“It’s not like Diana would rather actually go home and rest; it’s not like Wally has a day-time job and I’m sure they’d gladly throw everything in their hands to come help you to your car-”

“Alright, alright,” Bruce mumbles in defeat. “I get it.”

Clark obviously knows him too well. There’s no reason to trigger his already huge pile of guilt by dragging the others into this.

“Do you?” Clark asks and he looks really pissed.

“Yes,” Bruce says with a roll of his eyes. “I would like help getting to my car.”

Clark doesn’t move.

“I would like help getting to my car, please.”

“That’s better.” He’s more bark than bite and in the blink of an eye he’s stopped frowning and he’s back to being bright and smile-y. Bruce almost despises him for it – if not for the fact that Clark is everything Bruce wants to be as a person. Bright and warm and heroic. Something special, someone strong. Someone worthy.

Clark reaches a hand to grab at Bruce’s legs and Bruce jerks away. He lands on his bad foot and nearly falls over. He grabs Clark’s shoulder for support and can’t keep the pain entirely off his face. Thank God he’s still wearing the cowl; at least Clark can’t see his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Clark asks worriedly.

“Can’t you just carry me normally?” Bruce ignores his question.

“Normally?” Clark sighs. “Br- Batman. You’re a grown man, a human man. I can’t just grab your arm and fly off. Do you want me to throw you over my shoulder or can we do this my way?”

The mere thought of being seen thrown over Superman’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes has Bruce want to die of mortification. He gathers his cape and then crosses his arms over his chest again. He’s not going to actually choose out loud. Clark will have to read his body language. Clark does, obviously, because he always knows exactly what Bruce means which isn’t usually annoying (it works well on missions), but today everything Clark does is annoying. Bruce might be in more pain than he’s willing to admit.

Clark reaches for Bruce’s legs once again and since Bruce doesn’t resist this time, he swiftly lifts him up into his arms. Bruce ignores the swoop in his stomach at how easily Clark manhandles him. He’s not fourteen anymore, he shouldn’t feel giddy at having a strong guy being able to carry him. He’s also trying not to feel silly, being carried like a newlywed bride. Maybe the potato sack position would’ve been better, after all.

Clark taps his communicator and opens the link to the League. At least Bruce can still listen in, although there’s a lot of crackly on the line. He’ll live.

“I’ll make sure Batman gets to the batmobile and then I’ll come help you guys,” he says.

“Of course,” Diana’s response comes at the same time Wally’s does: “Of course, you will. Why not just leave that thing so you can keep cuddling all the way home?”

There’s a very audible slap, followed by an “Ow!” and Bruce is forever grateful for Diana’s everything. He’s also feeling slightly humiliated which isn’t a good look on a man in his forties. He harrumphs and shuffles further into Clark’s arms – just to be able to cross his arms tighter, obviously! He does not, in fact frown, despite what Clark’s stupid grin is saying. Bruce actively avoids meeting Clark’s eyes. He knows he’ll find more joy and teasing in them, and he can’t take any more of his brightness right now.

“Flash is right,” Diana says. “Take Batman home, we will take care of the rest.”

“What about the batmobile?” Clark asks. He’s already lifting off the ground.

“Can’t you just pick that up in your other hand?” Wally suggests with a laugh, which is then promptly followed by another “ow!”

“Flash will make sure it gets to the cave in one piece.”

“What?!” There’s a small pause where no doubt Diana is glaring at Wally before his voice comes through the comm again: “I’ll make sure it gets home safely.”

Bruce opens his mouth to object – Wally is not driving his car anywhere! – but Clark chooses that moment to shoot off into the sky (probably on purpose, the jerk).

“Thanks, guys!” Clark says before disconnecting.

“You can’t seriously be letting him drive my car,” Bruce shouts over the air flying past them. He’s about to move his cape up to cover the lower part of his face when Clark does it for him.

“It’s just a car, Bruce,” he says, because he can. They’re in the air, nobody can hear them past the noise of the wind. He’s taking advantage of the situation and he knows it. Bruce can’t even be mad at him.

“It’s my car,” he mutters but turns his head into Clark’s shoulder. The wind’s cold and he’s already given up most of his dignity – what’s a little more? It’s not like Clark will hold this against him either way.

They arrive at the cave twenty minutes later. It’s the longest it’s taken Clark to get anywhere since… ever. At least that’s what Bruce tells him. Clark says it’s because he doesn’t want Bruce to be entirely frozen by the time they got there, while Bruce argues that Clark just likes to torture him and prolonging his suffering several hundred feet in the air is Clark’s dark side rearing its ugly head.

It’s obviously about the cold, although the chance to have Bruce close is always nice. Not that Clark’s going to tell Bruce that; he likes being alive, thank you very much. It’s just that Bruce isn’t exactly touchy-feely and Clark… is. With some people. With Bruce, mostly. Having a best friend who knows everything about you has that effect on people though, it’s not just Clark being weird. He thinks.

Clark foregoes the cave floor and flies through and up the stairs, so Bruce has no excuse to sit at the computer and work instead of getting treatment for his ankle.

“The med bay’s in the cave,” Bruce mutters, because of course he knows what Clark is doing. He always does. He’s too clever for his own good – either of their own goods – sometimes. It doesn’t stop him from faux mind-reading everything else in Clark’s head. “I can bandage my own foot, Clark.”

“Well, I’m sure Alfred won’t mind doing it for you up here. Where you can rest.”

“I’m not a child,” Bruce objects but there’s no real heat to his words. He’s already given up on fighting Clark, which is a good thing, because Bruce may be the more stubborn of the two of them, but not when it comes to his own health. Clark knows how to play Bruce just as well as Bruce knows how to play Clark. Nearly a decade of friendship will do that to two guys.

“Stop acting like one then and let me go get Alfred.”

Bruce doesn’t answer which means Clark has won. It’s nice to be able to read Bruce without seeing his actual face. Speaking of…

“And take the cowl off, you’re not on a mission anymore.”

“Someone didn’t let me get changed in the cave, remember?” Bruce taunts. He’s probably thinking it’ll get him a free pass to the cave, but Clark knows better than to take that obvious bait.

“Well,” Clark says and super speeds them to Bruce’s bedroom. He dumps him (carefully) on the bed. “You can change now, here. I’ll wait.” He stands in front of the door for good measure.

“Pervert,” Bruce accuses when Clark doesn’t turn around, but he does as he’s told.

It turns out it’s a good thing Clark doesn’t turn around because Bruce nearly falls over trying to get his uniform off. He really can’t support his weight on his foot at all anymore and Clark feels awful. It’s not really his fault but he hates it when Bruce gets hurt on mission. It always leaves him feeling like he could’ve done more. Should’ve done more.

“Stop blaming yourself,” Bruce mutters as Clark helps him out of his undershirt. Of course, he picks up on Clark’s silent misery. “This isn’t on you.”

“Feels like it,” Clark says softly, looking over the many cuts and bruises on Bruce’s torso. He’s hurt so often, so much, and he still keeps going. Clark doesn’t know how he does it.

“I know.” Bruce’s voice in gentle in a way it only is when it’s just the two of them. When they’re somewhere safe and he can’t help but wanting to make Clark feel better. It’s been happening a lot more often recently. “Doesn’t make it true though.”

“Are you really comforting me when you’re the one who’s hurt?” Clark asks, trying for a smile.

“Are you really helping me take my socks off?” Bruce counters.

“Alright, okay, I’ll get Alfred,” Clark says and this time the smile is real. “Call when you need help getting down the stairs, okay?”

Bruce doesn’t answer because he doesn’t want to agree to needing help. Clark lets him have this one. He’ll notice when Bruce needs help. He’s not nearly as quiet as he thinks he is when he’s in pain. Besides, who can’t hear an old man hoppling down the stairs?

Alfred is in the kitchen with Tim and Jason. Clark can hear Dick’s heartbeat somewhere else in the manor and he knows Damian has art classes on Thursdays. The thought has something warm and safe settling in his stomach. Bruce’s family is safe and close by. He’s going to be just fine.

“Alfred,” Clark says with a nod of his head and Alfred sends him a small smile as he stirs something on the stove.

“Hi Clark,” Tim greets without looking up.

“Hey Tim.”

“Is it date night already?” There’s teasing tilt to his smile.

Clark laughs. “No, your- Bruce got injured today.” He always has to make sure not to call Bruce their dad, but especially Tim. It’s a touchy subject and Clark doesn’t want to cause any issues between the kids and Bruce.

“What else is new?” Comes from besides the fridge.

“Hello Jason, nice to see you,” Clark says earnestly. It’s not often that he gets to see Jason at the manor, but he clearly still feels at home here. He’s shoving a cookie into his mouth even as he speaks.

“Supes,” he says with a mock salute from his seat on the counter. He’s watching over Alfred’s cooking and Clark has never seen anyone else allowed this close when he cooks. It says something about the bond the two share.

Clark is surprised over and over again by how calm and collected Jason seems these days. He really doesn’t mind how he has taken a liking to the nickname Bruce uses for him in the field. Not all the time, obviously, this is Batman we’re talking about, but often enough that apparently Jason has heard it enough to grab onto it.

It’s better than ‘alien’ anyhow.

“Are you staying for dinner, Master Kent?” Alfred asks.

“Alfred, please, I’ve told you a million times-”

“Let it be a million times more, Master Kent,” he interrupts gently but firmly. “So. Dinner?”

“If it’s alright with Bruce-” Clark starts. He doesn’t want to step on any toes and maybe Bruce would like a quiet evening with his family. Although if Clark leaves, he’s pretty sure Bruce will just limp into the cave to do some bat-work, even if he can’t physically go on patrol.

“Of course, it’s alright with Master Bruce,” Alfred says with a small huff. It’s the closest he’ll come to rolling his eyes at anyone outside the family.

“Yeah, B would have you move in yesterday if he had his way,” Tim comments.

“Oh, uh,” Clark says because he really doesn’t know what to say to that. He knows he’s been over a lot these past few months but if he’s outstayed his welcome somehow, he wishes Bruce would’ve told him so.

“Tim,” Bruce’s voice calls from the doorway. He doesn’t look happy per se, but he’s not truly angry either. He’s dressed in sweats and a t-shirt; it’s a look Clark loves on him. It makes him looks so soft and comfortable, even with that almost-frown on his face. Also, how did he get down the stairs on his own?

“Bruce,” Clark says with a frown. “I told you to call for me.”

“And I told you I’m fine,” Bruce says with a wave of his hand. “Shouldn’t you boys be getting ready for patrol?”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the wedding?” Jason shoots back even as he hops off the counter. “Timmy wants to be a flower girl.”

“You want to be a flower girl!” Tim calls as he chases Jason out of the kitchen. He’s still a few inches too short to keep up with Jason’s 6 feet, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to tackle his big brother in the hallway.

Bruce mutters something under his breath that even Clark can’t make out (it could be “children”, although Clark can’t be sure because he’s sort of busy looking over Bruce’s ankle while he’s not being watched – it’s a sprain as Bruce said) but Alfred chuckles warmly.

“What are we going to do with them?”

“I suggest proposing,” Alfred says. Clark gets the distinct feeling that the bat boys have some on-going joke running. And that joke includes Alfred, but Alfred always knows something Clark doesn’t, so that’s nothing new.

“I need the compression bandages,” Bruce says like Alfred hasn’t just spoken. That’s how he has conversations most of the time. Ignore and continue; it works with some people but usually not Alfred. He seems to let this one go, though.

“Master Kent, would you be so kind?” Alfred asks and Clark instantly nods. He knows where they are and he’s back before Alfred has time to bring the heat down on the stove. “Perhaps you’d do me the favor of applying the bandage as well? I’m awfully late picking Master Damian up.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Clark says. He’s seen Alfred do this enough times to be able to do it himself. He thinks. “Go get Damian, I’ll take care of Bruce.”

“I don’t doubt it, Master Kent.”

Alfred leaves shortly after and despite Bruce’s protests (“I can bandage my own damn foot, Clark!”), Clark finally gets him to sit down in the living room long enough to get his ankle wrapped up properly.

“How long do you think it’ll take before Alfred stops calling me Master Kent?” Clark asks conversationally as he wraps the bandage around Bruce’s foot and then up his ankle.

“Forever, probably,” Bruce says. He quickly mellows out at Clark’s pouting face. “If it helps, he refers to you as Master Clark when you’re not here.”

“Why won’t he do that to me though?”

“Respect,” Bruce instantly says. “This is how he is, Clark. Give it a few more months and he’ll come around. It’s not like he calls me Bruce much.”

“But he does call you Master Bruce more than Master Wayne,” Clark points out.

“Not when we’re in public,” Bruce reminds him. “At home, yes. I’ve known him for quite a bit longer than you have though.”

“He likes me better,” Clark teases as he secures the end of the bandage. He gets kicked in the shoulder by Bruce’s other foot as a thank you.

“He does,” Bruce laughs, despite his actions. “Who wouldn’t?”

“You’re being too hard on yourself again,” Clark says as he sits down next to Bruce on the couch. “Even if you are right about me being fantastic.”

“I don’t think I used that word.”

“It was implied.”

“Of course, my bad,” Bruce laughs, and a quiet happiness settles in the bottom of Clark’s stomach. He loves making Bruce laugh. “Are you staying?”

“Alfred already made up a bed for me,” Clark says in lieu of answering.

“A bed?” Bruce raises an eyebrow and he’s not even trying to hide the smirk on his face.

“Fine, he made my bed.” Because somehow in the last few months Clark has stayed over a lot and Alfred feels bad that he doesn’t have a room of his own. Or just a proper place to sleep when he’s there. Clark always tells him he’s alright with a couch or just flying home, but Alfred insists. The kids usually roll their eyes and say he’s going to sneak out of his room anyway, so why bother making his bed? Clark still hasn’t quite figured out where they think he goes, although he has had to leave a few nights because of trouble in Metropolis. He is Superman, after all. “I didn’t ask him to, B.”

“I know you didn’t, he makes it every night,” Bruce says with a shrug.

“Do you think he’s trying to tell us something?” Clark asks carefully. He’s not going to over-step or push anything. He’s barely sure of his own feelings, he’s not going to put pressure on Bruce to know his.

“Who knows with Alfred?” Bruce shrugs again. “So. Tea and a movie?”

“I’ll get the blankets,” Clark says as he jumps off the couch.

Because Clark knows where those are too. In fact, Bruce has three homemade blankets from Clark’s mother and they’re on the top of the blanket pile. The kids fight over who gets to use them, but tonight both Bruce and Clark are wrapped in the soft material as they sip their tea and watch mindless movies.

Bruce falls asleep halfway through the second one; head falling to rest on Clark’s shoulder and Clark shuffles down into the couch a little further to make sure he doesn’t hurt his neck. If his shuffling brings him a little closer to Bruce too, well, nobody has to know.

#superbat fanfiction #misha writes #bruclarkweek2022 #Clark Kent/bruce wayne #Superman/Batman #lord this turned fluffy #are all of my bruclark week fics just fluffy crack fics?#maybe

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foundtherightwords · 1 year

Text

The Road Forgotten - Chapter 1

Pairing: Arthur Havisham (Dickensian) x OFC

A/N: I made Arthur bisexual and paired him with a female character in this. I know some writers have gotten flack for pairing Arthur with a female character (or reader), so if it's not your cup of tea, please walk away.

This is mostly based on the events of "Dickensian", but I've also incorporated some elements and characters from "Great Expectations". Most notably, Satis House is in Kent (as in the book) instead of in London. I kept the setting "vaguely Victorian", the same as the show though (if I go with the book, it would have to be the early 1800s, since this takes place about 10 years before the start of "Great Expectations", which is in 1812. I've just finished one Regency series and didn't feel like staying there.)

Summary: A few years after his plan to swindle his sister ended in tragedy, Arthur Havisham is a shadow of a man, living in guilt and fear. When Elsie Bradford, a young woman also wronged by Compeyson, enlists Arthur's help to hunt down his former partner-in-crime, Arthur must face his demons and other strange, new feelings, to redeem himself.

Warnings: slow burn, angst (this is standard for me now), revenge, guilt, psychological trauma, mention of prostitution, mention of suicide, some violence, a bit of smut

Chapter word count: 3.2k

Prologue

Saffron Hill was a wretched place to be even in the best of times, but on that miserable night in March, it was a place none but the most desperate would brave. It had been a late, cold spring, and that night was as cold as the middle of winter. Rain fell steadily on the muddy, narrow street, the kind of rain that soaked through waterproofs and chilled a person to the bones, while a merciless wind howled through the alleys filled with refuse. Even the children, who could often be seen crawling in and out of the dark shops at all hours, were rendered invisible. Only the occasional whimpers from behind the termite-infested doors were proof that they hadn't been spirited away by some evil fairy. The sole business that showed some light and life was the Three Cripples. The noises coming from its gas-lit interior were more boisterous than usual, as the inhabitants of Saffron Hill flocked there for some warmth, either in fire, drinks, or company.

However, not everybody was seeking shelter. Opposite the Three Cripples, a figure stood with arms crossed and head bent, heedless of the rain and the wind. From afar, the figure looked to be that of a young man or a boy, broad-shouldered and flat-chested, clad in the usual clothes of a common laborer - trousers and jacket of rough brown corduroy, a black handkerchief wrapped around the collar of an off-white linen shirt in place of a cravat, and a slouch-brimmed hat, which covered the head and most of the face. Only the small, slender hands, sheathed in leather gloves, constantly twitching and plucking at some unseen thread on the jacket sleeves, struck a discordant note.

This person stood leaning against the wall in a pool of shadow between the blinking streetlamps, almost blending in with the murky brickworks, unmoving save for the hands, but the whole body seemed on alert. From under the brim of the hat, a pair of light green eyes looked out, fixed on the bright square of the public house's entrance. Those eyes noticed that a man was also loitering near the door of the Three Cripples, as if waiting for someone. He was a stout, hulking shape, and unlike the figure at the wall, made no effort to conceal his presence. A shaggy, dirty white dog whined at his feet, obviously wanting to go inside where it was warm and agreeable. The whine was answered by a kick from its master, and the dog tugged its tail between its legs, shaking.

Another figure appeared at the mouth of the street, a taller man wearing a frock coat and a top hat. He was dragging his feet and his walking stick on the cobbles, a desolate hunch about his shoulders.

At the sight of this figure, the man outside the Three Cripples sprang into action. He crossed the street with just a stride of his bulky legs, seized the other man's arm, and dragged him into a covered way between two houses. "I hope you're coming to settle your debt, Mr. Havisham," the stout man said.

"Sikes!" the victim yelped. "You frightened me."

The stout man, Sikes, held his hand out, palm up. "Your debt. Sir." This last word was uttered almost as an afterthought.

The other man reluctantly drew a pouch out of his coat and dropped some meager coins in it. Sikes narrowed his eyes. "Is that it?"

"That's... that's all I have."

"Mr. Fagin would not be pleased."

"I will have the rest soon, but..."

"Soon's not good enough. Perhaps I should give you a bit of shaking, just to be sure you're not hiding anything in that fancy coat, eh?" Sikes said, pulling a cudgel out of his velveteen jacket. Havisham cowered on the ground. He could have run, but he seemed frozen in fear. Before Sikes could bring the cudgel down, however, his eyes suddenly went wide, and the hand holding the cudgel was frozen in place.

"Let him go," a quiet voice said out of the darkness.

Havisham blinked up in surprise. Sikes moved stiffly forward, just enough for the flickering light of the lamps to flash on a blade, held in a leather-gloved hand, pressed to his throat. "Who're ye?" he asked.

"Someone that can move faster than you," the voice answered.

"You're bluffing," Sikes said, but he sounded uncertain.

"Try it, and you'll bleed out before you can catch me."

Sikes' lips curled in anger. His small eyes scowled at the victim on the ground. The blade pressed down a little harder, and a drop of blood squeezed out. Sikes spat and dropped the cudgel. At that moment, the blade also left his throat.

"You'll see me again," Sikes growled to both of them, then picked up the cudgel and vanished into the night, the dog following closely on his heels.

Havisham sat still in the puddle of black slush he had collapsed into, seemingly too stunned to move. His savior bent down and extended a hand. "Arthur Havisham?"

Havisham could only nod.

"You're a hard man to find, Mr. Havisham," the other person said. The melodious voice seemed to lift Havisham out of his daze.

"Who are you?" he asked, taking the helping hand and struggling to his feet.

The other person stepped forward and took off the hat, revealing two wings of black hair framing a face that even the uncertain light of the streetlamps showed to be striking, and definitely female. "Elsie Bradford," the young woman said. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Chapter 1

Elsie led Havisham into the Three Cripples, though he kept looking behind his back as if afraid that Sikes would return. She picked a table in a corner, away from the fire and the piano, where most of the patrons converged. None of them gave the pair a glance, even though one of them was a woman dressed in man's clothing. The Three Cripples had seen odder characters than that. Only a furtive-looking man, sitting by the window, turned to stare at them briefly, before burying his head in his pint again.

Elsie called for the barmaid and ordered two ales. "Or do you prefer brandy?" she asked Havisham. "I'm buying."

"Brandy, please," he said in a small voice, and Elsie nodded to the barmaid.

While waiting for their drinks, she took a closer look at the man she'd just rescued, the man she'd watched the Three Cripples for a whole week to meet. He was younger than she thought, probably just a little more than five-and-twenty, around her own age, though his face was sadly ravaged, whether by excessive vices or personal misery or both, she did not know. He must have been handsome once, and there were still traces of his former good looks in his high, white forehead, his finely shaped nose, full lips, and long lashes that veiled over his large brown eyes. But the forehead was now plastered with limp, sweaty dark blond curls, the nose was red from cold or drinks, the lips were slack and surrounded by stubble, and the eyes were puffy, red-rimmed, and kept darting around the room like those of a cornered animal. She also took in his frayed velvet coat, splattered with dirty water from his fall, and faded silk hat. All spoke of a man not so much down on his luck as scraping the bottom of the barrel of his luck and still coming up empty.

The drinks arrived. Havisham gulped his down like a man dying of thirst. Elsie indicated for the barmaid to leave the bottle and took a sip of her ale. The brandy seemed to revive Havisham a little. He sat up straighter and eyed Elsie curiously.

"You said I was a hard man to find," he began. "May I ask why you were trying to find me?"

"I need your help," Elsie said.

Havisham slumped down again. "I'm of help to no one," he said. "Not even myself."

Elsie raised an eyebrow at that. "Most people would ask 'help with what' first."

"I know my limits," Havisham muttered into his drink.

"How much do you owe Fagin?" Elsie asked, changing tactics.

"What business is it of yours?"

"Perhaps we could help each other."

"I doubt that," Havisham said bleakly.

Elsie sighed, frustrated. They were going to be here all night at this rate.

"All right, Mr. Havisham," she said, putting her pint down. "I'm here because I know you used to be friends with a man called Meriwether Compeyson. And I need your help to find him."

The changes that came over Havisham were shocking. If he had looked like a cornered animal before, now he was like an animal looking down the barrel of the hunter's gun. His face was deathly white, his hand around the glass of brandy trembled so much that Elsie was afraid he would drop it, and he wasn't looking at her, but at a spot over her shoulder, at something that wasn't there. She waited. The piano jingled a tune, and some woman led the whole room in song. With a herculean effort, Havisham took another drink and pulled himself together.

"He's no friend of mine," he said, his voice shaking. "I haven't seen him in five years, and I do not wish to ever see him again."

"I know that," Elsie said. "But you must know something about where he can be found, where he used to frequent."

"Why do you want to find him?"

"To kill him."

Havisham stared at her. She returned his look evenly. Then he started laughing, a horrible, mirthless laugh that sent chills up her spine. "Oh, Miss Bradford, you are quite the comedienne," finally he said.

"He took something from me," Elsie said, stone-faced. "I consider it a fair compensation."

Havisham shook his head. "Nobody gets anything back once Compeyson decides to take it."

Elsie studied him. She had only heard that Compeyson had swindled Havisham out of his inheritance, but what had the villain done that rendered this young man a shadow like this? But look at yourself, she thought bitterly. You may not be a drunken mess like this poor sod, but who from your old life would've recognized you now? And poor Marianne... Compeyson had a talent for damaging people even without touching them.

"I don't intend to take it back," she said. "It cannot be. But perhaps I could stop him from claiming more victims."

"It's a noble pursuit, I'm sure," Havisham said. "But for your own well-being, Miss Bradford, I suggest you forget the whole thing. Compeyson is not a man to be reckoned with. I am living proof of that." A bitter smile, filled with self-hatred, briefly crossed his face. He downed the rest of his drink, stood up, and put on his hat. "Thank you for your hospitality," he said and walked away. At the door, however, he seemed to have second thoughts, turned back, and pocketed the bottle of brandy. "And thank you for saving me from Sikes," he added and left, for good this time.

Elsie bit back a curse. Money wasted, and she was no closer to her mark. Then his parting words struck her, and an idea formed. If Havisham couldn't be bought by brandy, she would have another way to ensure he was in her debt.

***

It wasn't difficult to send a message to Havisham's creditor - every child in Saffron Hill seemed to be in his employment. The old Jew showed up at the Three Cripples promptly enough, though with understandable skepticism. It was only when Elsie pushed the money across the table that his shriveled face relaxed, like a crumpled handkerchief being smoothed out. "Well, my dear, far be it from me to tell a young lady what to do with her own money," he said in his oily voice, as the bills disappeared into the depths of his overcoat. "It appears young Havisham was fortunate in his acquaintances." Elsie asked if Fagin himself had had any dealings with Compeyson at all, but in this he had nothing for her - he, like most people, only knew of Compeyson's general involvement with Havisham. Of course. Compeyson was a gentleman. He wouldn't deal with common criminals like Fagin.

Fagin did give Elsie the address of Havisham's lodgings in St. Giles. Early the next morning, wearing her plainest, most practical wool dress and with her face hidden behind a poke bonnet, she set out for it, the promissory note in her reticule and the blade concealed in her sleeve as usual. She took the long way, avoiding the familiar streets of Covent Garden, though at this time of the day, her old friends were most likely still abed and there would be none to recognize her. Still, she tightened her hand around the blade as she neared the Rookery. Its sharpness felt reassuring in her palm.

Havisham's lodgings were on the second storey of one of the many tall, narrow houses that crowded a side street. This wasn't the heart of the Rookery, so it was slightly quieter, but the level of squalor was no less appalling. Silent, ill-humored men slumped in doorways, filthy children sat amongst the rubbish and mangy dogs, too listless to even play. A woman with a swollen, stony face emptied a chamber pot out of a window, and it was by pure luck that Elsie didn't get splashed by it. She thought of the faded finery of Havisham's clothes and wondered how far down the social ladder he had fallen. Reaching the house, she climbed the slimy staircase and knocked on the door. There was some muttering from inside, but nobody came. She knocked again. "Mr. Havisham?" she called. "It's Elsie Bradford." More mutterings, louder now, but the door remained closed. Impatient, Elsie tried the knob. It turned in her hand. She pushed the door open and walked in.

Havisham was sprawled on a chair in the corner of the sparsely furnished room, but he wasn't alone. Another man was kneeling on the floor in front of him, his head buried in Havisham's lap. At her entrance, both men looked up, and Havisham's face went purple with shock. "Get out!" he screamed, grabbing a glass by his side and throwing it at her. Elsie withdrew just as the glass shattered on the wall next to her head.

She waited on the landing while the voices inside rose in contention. Then the door burst open and the other man ran out, fixing his clothes as he went. She never got a good look at his face, only a glimpse of a rich velvet coat and a silk cravat flapping around his neck. Just another young scion of some rich family who fancied himself a libertine, searching for debauchery amongst the great unwashed before slinking home to his doting parents and fawning servants. She had seen too many of them.

Havisham stumbled out the door but appeared to have no intention of following the other man—he was still in his shirtsleeves and barefoot. He stopped upon seeing Elsie. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed, his face twisted in anger.

"I came here to tell you that I've settled your debt with Mr. Fagin," Elsie said.

Havisham seemed to have trouble understanding her.

"I paid it off," Elsie repeated. "But that means you owe me twenty pounds now. So perhaps you should be nicer to me, starting by inviting me into your room."

Havisham, still looking nonplussed, stepped inside, and Elsie followed him.

The room was as miserable a place as she'd ever seen. It was steeped in a gray murkiness. Situated at the back of the house, the only light it received came through a window overlooking a courtyard surrounded by yet more houses, which did very little in ways of illumination. That might be a blessing, though, for more light would only accentuate the dreariness of the room. Other than a chair, a table, a bed, and a cupboard, there was no other furniture in the room, no rug to cover the scratched wooden floor, no picture to liven up the peeling plastered walls, no curtain to brighten up the grimy windowpanes. Elsie suddenly felt quite sorry for Havisham.

"Mr. Havisham," she said, her voice softening. "My apologies for barging in like that."

"I suppose you have another debt to hold over my head now, even more valuable than the twenty pounds," he said sullenly.

It took a moment for her to catch his meaning. "No!" she said. "I would never—please, Mr. Havisham. You and your friend can rest assured. Your secret is quite safe."

"He's not my friend," Havisham replied, looking pained. The look lasted only for a few seconds, but Elsie saw it, and somehow it went straight to her heart.

"I—I'm not... It doesn't matter to me," she said, trying to explain. She hadn't been flustered before when she walked in on them, but she found it offensive that Havisham thought she would use this to blackmail him. It was something the likes of Compeyson would do. "I used to... I used to work at a bawdyhouse. There is very little that I haven't seen."

Slowly, Havisham's scowl disappeared, to be replaced by his usual default expression of despondency. "My debt?" he prompted her.

Remembering her business, Elsie showed him the promissory note. "I shall cancel it if you help me find Compeyson."

Havisham glanced at the note. "If you could pay off my debt that easily, you can't be wanting for money," he said. "Why do you want to kill Compeyson?"

"I told you, I'm not looking to get my money back. I just want him to pay for his crimes."

"But he didn't hurt you that badly, by the look of it."

"You have no idea how he's hurt me, Mr. Havisham."

Havisham looked at her more closely. "Did he... jilt you? Break your heart?"

Elsie smiled grimly. "Ha! He never had the chance."

"Then what?" he insisted. "Look around you. Did you want to end up like this, like me? Because that is what would happen if you chose to go against Compeyson. I'm trying to warn you here, Miss Bradford. You were lucky. Forget him and live your life."

Lucky? If he'd only known... Elsie looked down at her gloves, feeling the blade hidden there. To Hell with it, she thought. She had gone this far; she might as well tell him the truth.

"Yes, I suppose I was lucky," she said, still fingering the shape of the blade under her glove. "Do you want to meet someone who wasn't so lucky?"

Havisham frowned, not understanding.

"Get dressed, and I'll take you to her."

"Do not order me about," Havisham snapped at her with a trace of haughtiness that must have been insufferable when he was in his prime.

"I'm sorry," Elsie said, unable to suppress the mocking in her voice. "Get dressed, please."

Chapter 2

#arthur havisham #dickensian #arthur havisham fic #arthur havisham x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic

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moralesispunk · 2 years

Text

The Fire Between Us

Chapter Five - Burn

[Masterlist] [Chapter Four] Din Djarin x Female Mandalorian Reader Summary: When you return to the Covert the reality of your actions finally hits home Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: angst (as usual), feelings, kissing, allusions to smut (or heading towards smut) Read on Ao3 here!

It was an entrance you had walked through thousands of times before - one that was hard to find unless you knew exactly what you were looking for; perfectly hidden against the desert landscape to keep the warriors it housed safe from the rest of the galaxy.

Now, as your feet dragged through the sand and slowed your pace so much that even Din - in his injured state - had to pull you along, you followed the same path you had walked more times than you could count. It was the same path you followed when you were coming back from a trip to the market or a week long bounty hunt; your legs taking you across the bare land towards the dip in the ground that led straight down to the dark tunnels of the Covert.

It was a familiar feeling of coming home every time you stepped over the threshold into the Covert, one that you usually welcomed with open arms, yet it was a feeling that was missing now as you inched closer and closer to the entrance.

In this moment you wanted nothing more than to run in the other direction, as far as you could from the Covert until your legs were aching and you had no memory of home or Din… or the unsaid vow you have now shared: by the end of tomorrow, no matter how much he hated the idea of it and no matter how guilty you felt, Din would most likely be your riddur and there was nothing either of you could do about it.

Thoughts of running away or finding a way to free Din from this obligation were swarming your mind until the very last second when the entrance came into view. There was someone resting by the entrance, a small body that you had to squint against the setting sun to see, and as you got closer the person became a small child - newly fitted to their armor - who perked up the second your three bodies appeared over the horizon.

They quickly pushed themselves up to stand, taking a moment to confirm that they weren’t imagining you, Din and Adrean coming home, before they ran back inside and their yells somehow made their way through the wind as they alerted the Covert to your arrival.

There was no way you could turn and walk away now the whole Covert would be expecting your arrival, no matter how heavy the weight in the pit of your stomach grew.

There had barely been a word uttered between the three of you since you met Adrean this morning, the only words shared being when you or Adrean needed to fix the way Din’s weight rested over your shoulder or when you forced Din to rest and drink the last of your water. You stayed silent as your boots scuffed against the ramp that led down into the Covert and even when the quiet murmuring from the Hall met your ears as you rounded the last corner before you would be met with applause.

It was suddenly hard to breathe with the looming fate of Din being forced to take you as riddur just around the corner and you tried to stop walking any closer but Din pulled you along by his side.

“Din,” you gasped his name but he made no effort to acknowledge you, instead his arm weighed heavy on your shoulder as he pulled you into the hall along with him and Adrean.

The roar of applause was almost deafening, so loud that your head began to pound and your eyes squeezed shut. The cheers of your names were bouncing off of the walls and soon the crowd was parting down the middle to show a clear path to the Armorer who stood tall at the other end. As you welcomed the celebration, Din’s weight slipped from your shoulder and he tried to stand on his two feet to accept the praise along with you and Adrean.

With every helmet trained on you - or more likely Din - it became even harder to breathe and between the chants of welcome you found your lips parting as you whispered his name again.

“Din.”

If he heard you above the cheers and chants he showed no sign of it.

Your eyes ran up his injured body from his leg that was limping with every other step to his fingers that were squeezed around his thumb so tight you could hear the leather wince under the pressure; from his side where the armor was broken all the way to his helmet that was hiding the face you now knew.

His sharp jaw, his dark facial hair and strong nose, his plump lips and his dark eyes that you had not seen the night before but had been a main presence in your dreams for years.

Even though he seemed to hide his physical pain well enough that no one was rushing to help, it was impossible to ignore the anger radiating off of him. His shoulders were held tight and his helmet was trained forward even as you desperately whispered his name again.

“Din, please.”

“Not. Now.” His helmet didn’t move as he answered you through gritted teeth and it caused your own to face back to the front.

As your bottom lip wobbled and your eyes glazed over with unshed tears you were thankful for the wall of beskar between you and the rest of the Covert.

Din somehow managed to march ahead and you fell in line with Adrean who reached for your hand, his fingers tangling with yours as he gave one strong squeeze.

“All will work out, Vod.”

You squeezed his hand back before dropping it, forcing your shoulders high as you sped up enough to catch up to Din and find yourself standing before the Armorer at the same time as him. You know what you did was wrong - one of the worst things that could have happened to Din - but he couldn’t refuse to speak to you ever again.

You needed time alone with Din to explain yourself. You didn’t have the words this morning - you barely had the words now after repeating a speech over and over in your head the whole trek home - but he needed to know that you didn’t do this make him your riddur. You did this because the thought of doing nothing as he died in your arms was enough to make your stomach churn and heart drop; if you had held him as he took his final breath then you were certain Adrean would have found you in a similar fate the next morning.

The Armorer raised her hand to silence the Hall before you could spiral any further and it was an almost eerie feeling as it happened, the hairs on your arms standing on end as her steady voice began to echo around the room.

“We Mandalorian strive to be the bravest and strongest warriors we can be. The three before me now…” Her helmet tilted down as she spoke the next words to you. “Are the perfect example of who we train to be.”

Her words were like salt to your wound, reminding you that what you had done was the exact opposite of what she expected of Mandalorians.

As her words settled around the room, making your body shake with nerves and causing Din’s to tense even further, the rest of the room met them with a roar of applause. It was even louder than the welcome you had received only a few moments ago - louder than the dragon that had lunged down at you the day before - and your head was spinning as you tried to block it out.

“We will celebrate tonight!” The Armorer called above the noise but as she tried to step away Din jumped forward and placed a hand on her arm to stop her from stepping any further back.

Your body froze as he bent his helmet down to shout loud enough for the Armorer to hear but not loud enough for you or Adrean standing behind him to make out. Her helmet slowly turned to face you, nodding once before Din’s hand dropped down and she turned on her heels.

Everyone else in the room was too busy celebrating to notice their conversation, or to notice how you desperately turned to Adrean and begged silently for help. You tried to step towards Adrean but he was being pulled back into the celebration as a firm hand wrapped around your wrist.

When your head whipped back round you were faced with the back of Din’s helmet, his broad shoulders tight as he began to pull you behind him to follow the Armorer out of the room.

It was disorientating as you stepped out of the bright and loud hall into the dark and silent tunnels as Din continued to drag you behind him. You knew better than to say anything now, pressing your lips together to stop the desperate apologies or practiced explanation from coming out as you tried to keep up with their quick steps.

Even though you had walked these halls since you were a child, and you knew you would be able to make your way through them blindfolded, with your eyes trained on Din’s helmet that refused to turn and look back at you, you had no idea where you were going.

It felt like the three of you were walking in silence for hours before the Armorer finally slipped into a room and Din stepped aside to usher you into the room in front of him.

When you walked by him and desperately tried to catch his gaze he only ushered you in faster, his hand pressing on the bottom of your back as you stepped into the room and he followed with a click of the door behind. His hand had only been there for a second, falling away the moment the door closed, but his touch had your whole body lighting up as you stood tight by his side and faced the Armorer.

“Both of you…” The Armorer began with her back turned, heavy and fur-trimmed cloak touching the floor between her and you. “Have been the two strongest, and most determined, Mandalorians I have ever had the chance to meet. You have trained for years and have never failed in showing me how dedicated you are to the way.”

She turned back around and you felt both you and Din stand taller under her gaze.

“I do not know why you did what you did.” Her helmet turned to face you and your shoulders turned in on themselves. “But there is a way that this can be… erased. We will have you take one another as riddur.”

The Armorer’s words rang in your ears, your head spinning beneath your helmet. It was as though you could not gasp a breath of air in, your hand reaching for the closest thing to steady yourself - and finding your hand wrapping around Din’s wrist - before his words cut through the silence.

“Then we will wed tomorrow, at dusk.”

You knew this was what would happen. It was the only thing that could happen. But still you couldn't breathe.

“This is the way,” the Armorer spoke quietly.

“This is the way,” you and Din replied, your words barely audible.

The Armorer brushed past you as she walked towards the door and you tried to pull Din to stay, your fingers gripping his wrist with your voice caught in your throat, but he slipped from your hold as he followed her out without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

He had left you alone.

The candles in the corner did little to light the small space and your body fell back against the wall behind you, your helmet digging into the rough wall as you bit down on your bottom lip while trying not to cry.

The silence didn’t last long and soon the sound of heavy footsteps coming your way echoed around the room as you squeezed your eyes shut and silently begged them to keep walking past this room. Please, please, please, just go you muttered under your breath, but they never did; the footsteps came to an abrupt stop and the sound of the door opening made you look up.

Your father was standing in the doorway with Adrean and your mother behind him, their three helmets unmoving as you stared back.

“Oh, Vod,” Adrean sighed, brushing past your father and bringing you into his arms.

“You-you tried to tell me. You-”

You were gasping for breath as his hand ran up and down your back, your parents coming to rest their hands on your shoulders as you fought for air.

“Shhh, shhh, it's okay,” Adrean sighed.

No one else spoke or made any attempt to move until your breathing settled and the tears stopped and they only stood back from you when you lifted your head from Adrean.

“There will be a marriage?” Your father asked and you nodded your helmet once. “When?”

“Tomorrow,” you whispered back.

“You will come back and stay with us tonight.” Your mother stepped forward, taking your hand in hers as she began to pull you to follow her.

There was nothing they could say that would make you feel better - any less guilty - and so you were glad they stuck to their silence for the rest of the night.

Your father and brother brought you dinner and your mother stayed quietly by your side as you ate. You usually hated their hovering, hated when they tip-toed around what they wanted to say, but for once you were glad.

You just needed them to be near you and that was enough.

By the time night came you were crawling into your childhood bed and watched as Adrean did the same, his tall frame almost folding in half as he tried to find a way to lie comfortably.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” Adrean said as you both stared up at the ceiling.

You turned to face him, your brows pulling together as you wondered what it could be he was talking about, but he went on before you had to ask.

“If I implied that you shouldn't have done what you did… I just wanted you to take a second and think. And you decided that even knowing how you would feel after it that you had to do it… you made the right decision.”

“And now Din hates me,” you replied quietly.

“He doesn't. He could never. He's just… he's feeling a lot of things and he doesn't know how to even begin going about dealing with them.”

“He could talk to me. He could listen to what I have to say,” you bit back and Adrean finally turned to look at you.

“Did you? When he left for a year and came back, did you listen to what he had to say?”

You turned back around and wiped angrily at the tears that were threatening to spill over. You know he's right and it just makes you… sad.

Sad that for years you and Din have been too stubborn to do anything other than hate each other.

You could see Adrean hold his hand out from the corner of your eye and sighed as you slipped your hand into his.

“It will be okay,” he whispered and you nodded, closing your eyes as you hoped that you could at least dream without having to think of Din.

*****

When you woke again it was almost midday and there was only your mother in the room. She was already pouring a bath, her body moving slowly as she tipped the pot of warmed water into the tub before taking a moment to catch her breath.

“Let me,” you said, pushing yourself up and taking the pot from her hand.

She had long given in to you, your father and brother's attempts to stop her from pushing herself too far. When she first started to become weaker she fought against it so hard she only made herself ill and so now she sat back - but not without a loud sigh and mumble under her breath.

“You are to meet with Din and the Armorer in a few hours,” she said and you nodded without turning to face her. “I got Adrean to fetch your rose soap too,” she added.

“Thank you.”

You didn't feel as bad this morning as you did last night. The guilt still weighed heavy in your stomach but Adrean - as usual - had found the right words to say.

It had taken you a while to begin to forgive Din for leaving you and you were thankful he hadn't pushed you to accept it any faster. It's what you had to do now.

The silence fell over you both until the tub was filled and your mother began to scrub your armor as you slipped inside. With the warm water surrounding you, you pulled your knees up to your chest and rested your cheek against your knee.

“You know this… this could be good.”

You couldn’t stop the way you scoffed and your mother’s head snapped around to face you.

It was almost unnerving how much she looked like Adrean. Or Adrean, her. She had the same fiery hair and green eyes, fewer freckles but a similar wide smile. It was pure coincidence but you liked seeing them sit by one another when you were alone together, helmets off as they laughed over something. But as alike they looked in happiness they looked even more alike in anger.

Their hair seemed to burn brighter and their eyes darken, a look that made you realize you were facing a warrior.

“You are stubborn; you always have been. You would fight ade twice, sometimes three times, your size and no matter how hard you got hit you would always get back up again. I think…” She sighed. “I think maybe your father and I made a mistake in telling you how… how… good that was.”

“So would you rather I had given up?”

She sent another glare your way that told you she wasn’t done talking and you pursed your lips together.

“Never. But sometimes it is okay to give in.” When you didn’t answer she went on. “Are you telling me that you truly, from the bottom of your soul, hate Din Djarin? That these aren’t feelings of love that you are too stubborn to admit to because love, perhaps, makes you weak?”

You didn’t answer again and pressed your cheek harder against your knee but your mother raised one frail hand up to hold your cheek.

“Love does not make you weak, my child. It makes you strong. It gives you the motivation to fight for yourself and your family.

“Your father was always the better warrior out of us but the second we found you I had something to fight for. Every time I left the Covert I made sure that I would come home, that I would never let you be left motherless again. And when we found Adrean I only became stronger.”

You didn’t move to wipe the tears that now flowed down your cheeks and your mother quickly wiped them away.

“You do not have to say anything but just… think about it.”

You nodded and when you spoke now it was barely a whisper. “I’m so scared.”

“Of what?” She asked with a slight head tilt.

“Of how much I think I might love him.”

“That is the best kind of love,” she smiled softly, dropping her hand and going back to your armor.

You let her words surround you before breathing out and reaching for the cloth, scrubbing your body as the evening loomed closer.

When your father and Adrean returned, your family fell into silence once more and left you to get ready. They each gave you one last glance before leaving the room as you stood in the center; freshly shined armor covering you from the neck down as you waited to place the last piece - your helmet - on and go to repeat the vows you have both dreaded and dreamt of your whole life.

The walk to the Hall seemed to go on forever, or maybe that was your slow pace that left Din and your family waiting until you finally forced yourself to step into the dark Hall.

Din was standing before the Armorer while your father, mother and Adrean were standing along the wall as they watched on. Everyone else’s head in the room was turned towards you except the most important, the only one you were looking at had no interest in turning towards you until you stopped in front of him and tilted your head up to stare into his visor.

You wanted to scream. To yell. To beg him to say something; anything.

You would rather he told you just how much he hated you than left you feeling like this. But then Adrean’s words rang through your head and you relaxed your shoulders as you reminded yourself to give him time.

“A strong union,” the Armorer said, nodding her head once before holding up a silk-like rope.

Din held his arm out first, the rest of his body held stiffly as you wrapped your hand around his forearm and after a moment of deliberation he did the same back. The Armorer tied the rope around your joined arms once and then twice before standing back.

For a moment, neither you or Din spoke. Your visors stared back at one another and his grip seemed to tighten around your arm slightly before you both began to speak.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome.”

Your words echoed around the room together and your own hold on Din began to tighten.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

Din’s arm pulled ever so slightly to bring you closer towards him, both of your voices dropping to whispers as you spoke the final vow.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

The Armorer stepped forward and unbound your arms, nodding silently as an acceptance of the riddurship.

“You will return to your room - your new room - and complete the ceremony alone.”

The whole day was never how you would have imagined it. If someone had told eighteen year old you that one day you would have been marrying Din Djarin you would have pretended to gag before running back to your room and twirling around at the thought of how his voice would sound saying those vows. Now, as you stared back into his icy glare you almost wished that you were watching him repeat those words to someone else.

It would be easier to watch him marry someone else than know for certain just how much he hated marrying you.

When the Armorer untied your wrists, and your father, mother and Adrean bid you goodbye, you walked back to your new room behind Din. He never turned back the whole walk there, barely walked slow enough for you to keep up, and he only just held the curtain open long enough for you to follow him inside.

Long story short, there really wasn't much else he could be doing to tell you how angry he was other than utter the words.

When you stepped inside your jaw fell open. The room was larger than yours, larger than what Din’s would have been too.

It was a room made for a clan, for a family, and so there was the main room you walked into that was still mostly bare except for the few piles of fur blankets and cushions and the bedroom that Din was now walking into.

You followed a few steps behind and immediately your eyes landed on the one large bed covered in throws and blankets that lay in the center of the room. It’s where Din was focused on too if you followed the gaze of his helmet, his hands once again clenching into fists by his side.

“Din, I just want you to know-” You started but Din held his hand up, his visor turning to face you.

“Just- Just stop,” he said, his voice straining.

You tried to remind yourself of Adreans words, of your mothers, but your own stubbornness clamored up and you stepped towards him.

“You’ll have to listen to me at some point, Din. We are bound together, for life.”

“And whose fault is that?” He hissed, turning and stepping towards you.

“Din, I am sorry,” you said, forcing your voice to stay low as you held your hands out. “I am sorry that you are now stuck with me because I know that this is the last thing you wanted. You made that very clear when you begged the Armorer for a life alone over a life with me,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

Din laughed.

It wasn’t the laugh you would be able to recognise in a room full of laughter, one you yearned to hear and when you were the cause of it a pride swarmed your belly. This laugh was cold, distant, and you could feel his anger as he stared back at you.

“Do you really think that’s why? That I don’t want a life with you?”

“I…” You shrugged and your own anger was already bubbling up to your chest. “Is it not?”

Din turned and ripped his helmet from his head, running his hand down his face. You could only see the back of his head, his curls neater and softer than they had been a few days before, but you had to squeeze your hands into fist to stop yourself from reaching out to run your fingers through them.

“Is it not?” You said louder this time, stepping towards him again. “If it isn’t then you may as well tell me why because, Din, I have no idea-”

“It is because I love you,” Din hissed and turned so fast you stumbled back, your hands landing on the shelf behind to steady yourself.

The room was only lit by a few candles and yet the orange glow was enough for you to make out his features. His eyes were burning as they stared into yours, his mouth agape as his breathing grew ragged.

“What?” You croaked.

Din stepped closer until his chest plate was pressed against yours, until you were leaning back over the shelf as his face dipped so close you could feel his breath fan your face as you stared into his dark brown eyes. “I love you. And I hate that I love you. I love you so much that it hurts and that scares me; it scares me that sometimes - all of the time - you are the only thing I can think of and to think that if I let myself have you there will come a time I will lose you? It would be easier to not have you at all.”

His chest was rising and falling with each angry breath and his cheeks were flushed pink as his eyes searched yours.

“Why would you lose me?” You asked, only able to bring yourself to whisper the words.

“Because I lose everyone. I lost my parents. And my parents loved each other more than anyone I’ve ever seen. My father told my mother he would always protect her and then he had to watch her, who he loved more than anything, die.”

His voice, his usually strong and determined voice, shook more and more with each word he said and it made your heart shatter in your chest.

“Din…” You lifted your hand to hold his cheek and he closed his eyes as he leaned into your touch.

“I burn for you,” he whispered so quietly you could barely hear it.

His eyes were still squeezed shut and the blush of pink started to drain from his face. You took a moment to truly look at him.

His eyes that were hidden from you but were surrounded by a few wrinkles at the side - signs of a smile that you realized you hadn’t seen since you were ade. His cheeks were slightly hollower than they had been two days before and you wondered if he had struggled to sleep while you were so exhausted you couldn’t help but sleep. His lips were pink and pouting but with marks on the bottom lip where he had dug his teeth into. His jaw was sharp, slightly more stubble there now, and his mustache covered his top lip.

He was so much more than you could have ever imagined.

You let your hand fall from his face and his eyes slipped open. They were softer now, his brows pulling together as you reached for your own helmet.

When you were young you had imagined that when you first showed your riddur your face you would have been nervous of what they thought, if they would be happy or disappointed, but now all those thoughts were silenced and the only one was that you needed Din to see your eyes when you spoke again.

His mouth fell open when you finally lifted it from your head, your hands shaking as you placed it on the shelf behind you, and you watched as his eyes began to fill with unshed tears.

“Din… I have spent years, almost my whole life, pretending to hate you and… it’s exhausting. I-” You shook your head as you tried to find the words. “You infuriate me and make me say and do things I never thought I would but- but I love you.”

Din gasped and his hands came to settle on your waist, his whole body pressing against yours as you looked up to him.

It was like everything seemed to slow down as you lifted yourself to stand on your toes as his head dipped down, his nose bumping against your own and his lips barely brushing against yours as you stayed there for a moment. Neither of you made an attempt to move closer as his breathing calmed but then suddenly you moved together and his mouth pressed against yours.

You could feel his breath fan your cheek as his nose pressed against your skin, his hand coming to settle against your back as he pulled you against him ever so slightly.

It was obvious that this was the first time either of you had kissed someone, neither of you moving for a fraction too long before his tongue grazed against your bottom lip and you opened yourself to him. It was a mess of tongue and teeth as your hands came up to hold the back of his neck and pull him even closer against you until his nose was pressing against your cheek and his hands were gripping your back and molding your body against his.

It was desperate and messy… and it felt perfectly right.

“You are… so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips.

He walked you back until the shelf was digging into the bottom of your back but the pain disappeared the second his lips trailed down your neck, his hand roughly holding your jaw as he pressed his body as close as he could to you while bending down enough to kiss and bite up your neck.

It was setting off a fire in the pit of your belly, one that made you feel out of control of your body as you parted your legs a little wider so his thigh could slip in between.

“I can’t think when I’m around you,” he mumbled against your skin and your hands found their way into his hair.

His hands slid down your side and gripped your hips as he pulled you closer against him.

This was what you needed - you needed Din to take you as his. It was fast, exciting, scary, arousing, amazing, new.

Your hips seemed to move of their own accord and you rocked down against his thigh. Your head tipped back and you moaned in a way that shocked even you, your teeth biting into your bottom lip to try and silence them.

“Don't,” Din’s voice strained and he shook his head against your neck as he kissed back up your jaw. His lips brushed against yours when you spoke again, his fingers that had been freed from his gloves at some point traced across your bottom lip as his eyes that were now blown back zeroed in on it. “Don't hide that from me.”

You rocked your hips experimentally again and couldn't stop the soft moan that brushed past your lips again, the sound making Din’s mouth hang open as he ground against your hip.

His mouth was suddenly pressed against yours and your hands flew up to hold his jaw, both of your bodies pressed as close as possible to one another.

But then his fingers began to unclasp the armor on your thighs and suddenly everything that had been exciting and new was just fast and scary and your nerves overtook your arousal.

“Wait. Din, stop,” you mumbled against his lips.

Immediately he stopped, his hands dropping to his side as he took a large enough step back to separate your bodies.

“Are you okay?”

You took a slow breath before nodding and watched as Din’s body seemed to relax along with yours. You forced your eyes not to tear up as you took in the large gap between your bodies, your hands coming to grip the shelf behind as you breathed out slowly.

“I’m sorry, I just- this is just so-”

“Fast.” Din finished for you and you nodded. “We- we don't have to.” He stepped slowly forward and held your wrists in his hand, lifting them and pressing a kiss to both. His eyes flicked between both of yours, watching as you slowly took in what he had said. “Tonight… tonight we can just sleep. I can sleep in the other room.”

“I- I- I’m sorry, I-”

You felt dizzy. He had barely spoke to you for days and had been so angry with you… but then he told you he loved you and then he had been desperate in his want for you and now he was being so gentle and-

“Breathe,” he said quietly, his hand coming up to rest on your cheek. “Don’t apologise. We can take this day by day.”

You nodded against his palm, closing your eyes for a moment.

If there is one thing you have always done, it is trust in Din Djarin. You've hated and loved him, appreciated and been annoyed by him, laughed and cried over him, but you've always trusted him.

“Good?” He asked quieter.

“Good.” You nodded, opening your eyes.

He leaned forward slightly and you held your breath but when his lips pressed gently against your forehead your whole body relaxed.

“I will be just in there,” he mumbled against your skin before stepping back, reaching for his helmet and walking back into the main room.

The exhaustion of the past few days finally hit and you just managed to get off all your armor before crawling into your new bed and pulling the sheets and blankets up to your neck.

Despite being tired, no matter how many times you closed your eyes and tried to force your mind to rest, sleep never came.

You tossed and turned, threw the covers off and pulled them back on, got up and walked to the doorway only to run back into bed.

You found yourself pushing your weight up again, swinging your legs round until your feet landed on the cold floor as you slipped off the bed.

I’ll count to ten then I will go get him. The words were spinning around your head so much that you found yourself counting to a hundred before you finally walked to the doorway, forcing yourself to step into the main room before you could stop yourself.

“Din?” You whispered.

You waited a minute until the rustling came, Din’s weight pushing up until he was looking across the room at you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice deep from sleep and luring you closer to him as you stopped at the end of the makeshift bed he was lying on.

“I- I can’t sleep.”

He didn’t say anything but sat up higher as his forearms rested on his knees.

“Can you come to bed?” You went on, whispering so quietly you weren’t sure how he heard you.

“Are you sure?” He whispered back almost as quietly.

“Please,” you said.

More rustling came as he sat up, blowing out the candle that was still lit on the shelf by his bed as he stood in front of you. You slipped your hand into his warm one before you could stop yourself and began to pull him behind you.

“Maker, you’re cold,” Din mumbled, walking faster to overtake and pull you along behind him.

There were still a few candles lit in the bedroom giving you the first glance at Din’s bare skin. He was only in a pair of black boxers, his muscles tensing with each step he took towards the bed, and you tried not to look. You couldn't help yourself though, your eyes tracing over the black ink that marked his skin all the way up his arms and back minus a spot between his shoulder blades.

Din stopped at the end of the bed with his hand still surrounding yours, and you quickly looked up as he turned around to face you. It was obviously the first time he had realised you were almost completely bare save for the thin underwear you were wearing.

His eyes quickly flicked up to yours, his whole body tense but eyes soft as he leaned forward to press a kiss against your forehead.

“Slow is good,” he whispered.

“Slow is good,” you repeated back.

He reached for the bed sheet, holding it up and nodding his head for you to crawl in before he followed. He seemed to be unsure about how close he should go to you, his body stiff on the other end of the bed, and so you shuffled closer to him.

You rested your hand on his chest and felt the way his heart seemed to hammer beneath his skin.

“Is this okay?” You whispered.

“Yes,” he said, his voice strained.

After a moment his arm slid beneath you and pulled you tighter against him, your head now resting on his chest and your body pressed to his side.

“Is this? Okay, I mean,” he asked.

“Yes,” you whispered back.

You rested your hand in the center of his chest and began to trace the designs that had been tattooed onto his skin.

Without knowing the story behind them it could have been simple lines, covering the majority of his chest, arms and back too. He stayed quiet as your fingers danced along the lines of ink, his body shivering when you ran down his sides and you both laughed quietly, some of the tension disappearing.

“The empty spot, on your back…” Your words trailed off and Din raised his hand to rest on the bottom of your back, his fingers dancing along your skin.

“It’s… it’s for when I have my own clan.” You hummed appreciatively and he down at you. His fingers gently gripped your chin as he tilted your head up to his, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth before he spoke again. “I guess I have one now.”

You tried to bite back your own smile but it was no use.

The tension in the room seemed to build again and Din cleared his throat, letting your chin go as he pulled you closer against his body.

“Sleep. It's been a long day,” he said and you nodded against his chest.

His hand didn’t stop moving until you fell asleep, the gentle lull of his fingers tracing along your back and bringing you closer and closer to sleep without worrying about Din for the first time in years.

Finally! These two are finally dealing with their emotions (slowly) - thank you for the patience in the time between updates but I didn't want to just put anything out there and these two mean so much to me

Tags

@phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @bison-writes @queridopascal @sfr99 @rosiefridayrogersunday @tintinn16 @pilothusband @voteforpedro09 @dihra-vesa @frankiecatfish @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @transias @peoniarose @pjkimrn @fangirl-316 @niki-xie @potted–ivy @phandoz @janebby @athalien

@xocalliexo @amneris21 @lavenderluna10 @iamskyereads @spacenerdpascal @mswarriorbabe80 @dumplinshee @jitterbugs927 @gracie7209 @lovesbiggerthanpride @lowlights @notabotiswear @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @bport76 @fangirl-316 @1andthesame @pedrostories @nyfeeer @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thereisaplaceintheheart @graciexmarvel @trickstersp8 @dreamiesunny @oogaboogasphincter @mstgsmy @morenoswife @nolanell @agingerindenial @hb8301 @blub-senpai @darnitdraco @dragonsondragons @mysteriouslyfuzzypeach @lovesbiggerthanpride @girlofchaos @dinsangelx @hallway5 @stardust-galaxies @joelsflannel @nolanellen-blog @buckybarneshairpullingkink @llilithmademedoit @quicksilvermad @kirsteng42 @mandos-riduur-reading @dins-cyare @Magickfanatic @tortor-mcgee @torchbearerkyle @dheet @gallowsjoker @brunette-overalls @crescentnix @leithatnight @pascallllllll1 @booksaremyyoga @leithatnight @katiiiakat @awesomeloner @bport76 @sirpascal

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x foc #din djarin x oc #din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian #mandalorian fic #mando x reader

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adventuretolkienlover · 11 months

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Hugo's Dynamics with the Tangled Gang

I noticed that a lot of people think Hugo would be at odds with the rest of the Tangled team. Or even straight up disliked by them! But I don't think that would be so. Now keep in mind, these are just my headcannons. But I think this is how it would be. Also, just as a heads up, I prefer Varian and Hugo as really good friends as opposed to lovers. So I'll be using that AU instead. (EDIT: Fixed some Grammer mistakes.)

Rapunzel:

At first, Hugo finds Rapunzel's enthusiasm a bit off setting. But there's one thing that starts the friendship. They are both outgoing. They both like trying new things! And soon they're trying all kinds of things together. New restaurant? They'll check it out! Some sort of new traveling show passing through? Sign them up! Alchemy Convention? Heck yes!

I like to think Rapunzel likes teaching people to paint. And one day, Hugo ducks into her painting class to evade a ticked off Eugene. (Guess who was snooping through his cosmetics again? Lol!) Rapunzel convinces him to stay and help him paint a simple painting of maybe flowers and or his mouse Olivia. Hugo doesn't think he has much artistic talent. But Raps thinks it's adorable! And after that, Raps will give him art tips and lessons every once in a while.

Rapunzel also help him learn how to relax. Hugo can be a bit uptight. And she shows him how's okay to slow down and enjoy life. After a life of being on the run, Hugo needs that. Things like nice rests from the lab in the castle gardens or even just spending time together with the family, (I.e Varian and the rest.) are all on the agenda.

OH! One more thing they have in common! Being manipulated by someone they considered a mother figure. Hugo had Donella and Raps had Mother Gothal!

Eugene:

They don't like each other at first. They're still sore at each other about an old job they did together. Spoiler alert. It didn't work out great.

They are super competitive about all sorts of things. Like, ALL sorts of stuff! Who's got the best sneaking skills. The best sword fighting skills. Who's got better hair.😂 A lot.

And they are definitely competitive when it comes to Varian. Both want big brother privileges! But they don't seem to understand Varian loves them both equally. Eventually they come to an understanding and agree to share big brother duties for Varian's sake.

Their competitiveness does settle down a bit after a while. Eugene realizes the Hugo is actually not that bad. And Hugo realizes that the past is past and Eugene is a different person now. They still have banter. But it's not really ill natured. Just regular dude trash talking.

Cass:

I'm going with a friend on this one. INSTANT FRIENDS! Why you may ask? Let me explain.

They both can give a hard time to people they dislike. And you KNOW they'd gang up on Eugene.🤣 Between Cass's "Fitzjerk" nick name for him and gosh knows what nick names and insults Hugo can come up with, Eugene's in for a ride!

Weapons. WEAPONS WEAPONS WEAPONS! Knives are their favorite. They regularly show off their knife collections to each other. Hugo got really excited to see Cass's. She's got some really high quality knives!

Conversations like this.👉 (Rapunzel: Cass. You cannot take a sword to a ball. Cass: If Hugo can take his knives, I can take my sword. Varian: What?! Hugo: *Grins and somehow pulls three knives out of his sleeves* Rapunzel: No. Definitely not. Hugo: We don't have any fun. Do we Cass?)

I'm pretty sure the two of them have rather controversial views on the royals. And sometimes Varian joins them.

Lance:

Again, INSTANT FRIENDS!

They have all sorts in common! Flamboyant? Check! Love to be fabulous? Check! Still slightly has thief instincts? Check! Love to preform? Check! Drama queens kings? Definitely a big checkaroonie!

Also, I like to think they both have some abandonment issues and are both looking for parental support. Both went almost their whole lives without a good family so... Yeah. Support buddies!

And I think Hugo is inspired by Lance adopting Angry and Catalina. Giving kids the best life possible to make up for the horrible one you had? Yes please! Hugo probably decides to adopt a few of his own someday. And speaking of Angry and Catalina...

Angry and Catalina:

I imagine that when I come to these two, Varian is Catalina's favorite and Hugo is Angry's favorite. And vise versa.

Not saying Hugo doesn't like Catalina. She's very sweet. But Hugo's very... LOUD. In his demeanor and general presence. And a bit brash sometimes.

Because of this though, I think Angry would latch on eventually. Maybe not right away. Because this is Angry after all. But soon enough.

So that's all I got for now! Feel free to reblog and add your thoughts onto this!

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linkspooky · 1 year

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haschwalth and bazz?

Bazz-B and Haschwalth's relationship is my favorite part about the thousand year blood war arc as a whole, besdies the obvious parallels between Ishida and Ichigo and these two, it's also basically the only time in the arc one of the quincies is framed in a sympathetic light.

1. Just Call me Bazz

What kicks off the fight is of cousre, the personal betrayal of Ywach, a leader who ultimately considers every single Quincy under his command to be disposable. To feel abandoned they must of course, have individuality in the first place. For example, there are plenty of quincies perfectly willing to just die in Ywach's name which means everything including their lives belong to him. Honestly, moreso than the parallels between Ishida and Ichigo and these two, there's also a battle here, between individuality and individual free will, and a blind obedience to outside forces, like leaders, or even destiny.

Haschalwath's ability is literally to see the future, and the idea of a fixed destiny of course, means that there is no free will. If the future is already set then your choices is out of your hands because everything you are going to do is already predetermined. Not only does Haschwalth represent a lack of free will, but he is also quite literally not really his own person anymore, he is half of Yhwach, which is why he sides with him against his own personal feelings because they are essentially the same person. (Though, if they are the same person, then Haschwalth cleary has no agency inside that, Ywhach's will supercedes Haschwalth's, Yhwach makes all the decisions Haschwalth acts like he doesn't have a choice).

If anything Bazz B and Jugram's fight shows the tragedy of someone who makes none of their own decisions, and instead follows the will of another with absolute obedience. Spoiler alert Jugram and Yhwach are not the same person, and his relationship with Bazz B proves this point. When they meet, Jugo doesn't even have a name and is uncomfortable being called by the nickname Bazz gives him.

In an ironic twist of fate, Bazz sort of offers the same thing Yhwach does to Jugo, to give him significance by making him a minion and therefore subordinate to him, though while all Yhwach does is take, Bazz-B is trying to give him something from the relationship because he wants to teach the apparently helpless Jugo how to be strong.

After the death of both of their families, they were also left with only each other. Much like his relationship to Yhwach too where they are two halves of the same whole (at least they consider themselves to be) Bazz-B and Jugo are completely united in their goals. THis is also something Bazz-B decides for them that they are going to kill Yhwach and something Jugo passively accepts.

Despite the fact that Bazz B is the superior in the relationship, Bazz B didn't keep Jugo around because he was useful but because he cared about him as a person. It's the ultimate irony that as long as Bazz B was the stronger one in the relationship, he never would have ever leaved Jugo behind or betrayed him.

Their relationship is splintered first when Bazz-B's ambition doesn't pay off, after all he thinks he's the strongest, the most specialest of boys only to be disapointed when Yhwach doesn't even look at him. However, Bazz-B rejects Jugo in that moment out of jealousy.

Jugo loses his place by Bazz-B's side, and that one flash of jealousy makes him believe that he could only be Bazz-B's friend if he was weaker than him, he even almost gives up entirely on his promotion because he doesn't know who he would be without Bazz-B, and yet Yhwach immediately offers him a better position and what he thinks is the security he's always longed for.

At that moment Jugo does what Bazz-B never would have done, he chooses to abandon Bazz-B and leave him behind the second it's clear he's been the stronger one all along.

Which is what Jugo's biggest flaw is, despite the fact he's an extremely powerful quincy he acts helpless. It looks like he's making his own decisions in choosing to side with Yhwach rather than Bazz-B but he's just choosing a new master. The greatest tragic irony is that the future could have been changed, it's not destiny that made it so Bazz-B and Jugo could not be together. They are not star crossed lovers like romeo and juliet. The thing that which made Jugo kill the only thing he loved and chose for himself, is just that, his inability to choose and decide. His helplessness. Bazz-B is actually stronger than Jugo because unlike Jugo he was able to make his own choices until the end, whereas all Jugo could ever do was serve a master until he was discarded too.

#bleach meta #jugram haschwalth #bazz-b #bazz b #bleach #bleach tbyw #bleach thousand year blood war #quincies #yhwach #bleach anime #bleach manga #bleach theory #bleach analysis #bleach monday #happy bleach monday #metasks

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elfdragon12 · 10 months

Text

What I enjoyed in More Than Meets the Eye/Lost Light:

The illustration if Swerve's loneliness (it's quite visceral for me, to watch him be sociable, for Ultra Magnus to assume he has all these friends, only to be all alone)

The Scavengers (they hit that sweet spot of "loveable jerks" whose hearts aren't quite gold but work things out their own way)

The arc between Cyclonus and Tailgate* (The development is well paced, with good emotional beats*, I want to see them together by the end)

The arc between Cyclonus and Whirl (Another relationship that's paced well and the conclusion feels earned)

The moon vacation (It's nice to see these characters who've been hurt so much get a chance to be away from people who make them worse and a story involving Prowl that acknowledges how traumatized and damaged he's been and he gets to hear an apology from someone who manipulated his body without consent)

Cerebros (such a wonderful and wholesome boy that just tries to help people and it's a crime he's largely ignored by this fandom)

The rivalry between Overlord and Tarn (I could have a whole comic book full of nothing but Overlord roasting Tarn and I would love every page)

Misfire and Swerve's insta-friendship (being audibly goofy on main provides echolocation for the like-minded, I love it)

Skids and Nautica's friendship** (the dancing and everything really made such a good connection)

What I actively do not enjoy:

The pacing of the full story (jumps way too much, overuses starting in media res and then backtracking to explain, spends a lot of time forming problems but little or sometimes no time for resolution. I think this may be in part JRo's history in prose and fanfic where he gets all the time in the world to set up problems and make characters go through all sorts of bad times and take his time with resolution. This is not the case when writing comics for a franchise)

Chromedome (I know he's really popular and some folks put CDRW on a pedestal as the first canon queer ship, but he's a legitimately awful person and partner. The way he treated the alternate Rewind is right out of yandere fanfic, his use of mnemosurgery played a huge part in the original Rewind's death, and he was Trepan's apprentice, willingly becoming a mnemosurgeon even after learning what they do. An offscreen discussion with Rewind suddenly having a change of heart and being lovey-dovey doesn't make me feel better. Rewind wasn't a perfect partner either, but Yikes™️. I hate him)

Megatron's redemption arc (really, he's just running away from the consequences of his actions to have a second chance at leading a rebellion and being happy. Why don't we ask the millions of people the blue flowers represented what they think about that--oh wait, they're dead. Because of him)

Related, how everyone who doesn't like Megatron is villainized (I'll say it: the mutiny was justified. It really was. Optimus was stupid to put Megatron in a leadership position on that ship when no one there had any reason to not hate him. Tarn was right when chastising him, as much as I hate to say it)

The general handling of mental health (Trailcutter is forced into sobriety by body modification and then immediately killed off, Chromedome's mass of issues and "we talked about it", Red Alert and Fort Max are "fixed" offscreen and then written off the ship, and both Rewind's traumas are largely ignored in favor for being Chromedome's cute little boyfriend, for examples)

How often the audience is informed of details instead of shown or how things are solved offscreen (a good example being Skids and Swerve being best friends--how often do we actually see them hang out? Almost never. This is largely because of the vast number of major characters, so there's poor balancing)

How character death rarely has any impact (Mirage's death is a "blink and miss it", Ten's death isn't brought up again, Nightbeat is only brought up by Rung--this is also one of the dumbest deaths I've ever read, Swerve doesn't mourn Skids and Nautica gets her grief erased**, Trailcutter's death only matters when Rodimus is faced with past Trailcutter, and so on--they were largely there to up the stakes rather than to have actual consequence to the story)

Mederi (it was... Just a mess. The whole of the narrative was to bring us here?)

The double endings (the narrative flow got confusing here and, honestly, I didn't find either satisfactory)

*The multiple times characters are brought back from the dead, especially Tailgate (a quantum leap, remaking them with science-magic, and "a wizard did it"! The Tailgate one was especially frustrating as a reader because it felt super cheap to be taken back by his death and go through Cyclonus's grief, getting a touching yet bittersweet reunion, and then a weirdly omnipotent 8 ball just.... Brought a new Tailgate from a different reality. Is the Magnificence actually a Dragon Ball?)

**The way Nautica's grief is handled (very "have your cake and eat it too". You can't have it be a problem that she wants to have her grief manually erased, have that erased, do the whole "friendship matters!", and then brush off the friendship between her and Skids as if it meant nothing)

Ultimately, there are things I liked, but it's so hyped up that, in the end, I felt misled by the fandom. I was frustrated by many of the events. Perhaps JRo is really good at prose (you can't make me read Eugenesis. From what I've heard of it, it is not the kind of story I would enjoy), but I don't think writing comics is really his wheelhouse. He set things up and resolved them poorly. At least some of it is due to the nature of the American comics industry. I also felt like he could have spent more time researching how to write therapy effectively.

#Transformers #IDW1 #Praise #But also #criticism #more than meets the eye #Lost Light

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bethdutten · 2 years

Text

A Mistake

You reach Kaer Morhen, with unforeseen consequences. Eskel was a decision to make that may change the relationship forever.

part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

Eskel walked through the market, hood up to cover his face as he went from vendor to vendor. He had already spent most of his coin on food, soft furs, warm winter clothing, and was currently eyeing a particularly beautiful coat in a color that would look well with your hair—

“Ah, you seem like an alpha who knows how to take care of his omega! Good nesting material, stocking up for their heat?”

Eskel glanced over at the shop owner, shaking his head. “No, just… long trip. Cold weather.”

The man flinched when he saw Eskel’s eyes, immediately identifying him as a Witcher. He nervously attempted a smile, plucking the coat Eskel was looking at off its post and holding it out gingerly. “Of course! Treat your omega, I’ll give you the best deal this side of the Lixela.”

Tossing the furs and bags over his shoulder, Eskel carefully took the coat, feeling the soft fabric between his fingers and imagining it caressing your skin, keeping you warm on the trek to Kaer Morhen, and later perhaps as nesting material during your next heat…

“I’ll take it.”

—-

You watched the Witcher setting up your bed for the night, laying out the furs and blankets in a poor attempt at a nest, making you bite your lip to hold back a smile. He is so clearly an alpha who has never spent any significant time around an omega before, and the nests he tries to make for you are always terrible. The first night, you laughed and immediately went to fix it, but he got so insecure and you could sense waves of self-consciousness that lasted for hours— now, you just sleep in the messy combination of soft things that smell of Eskel and thank him for being such a good alpha.

He placed the last piece in, a shirt he’d worn the day before, and hesitantly looked over to you for approval. You smiled, opening up your arms and making grabby hands.

“Come here.”

Eskel rose and made his way to you, but instead of walking into your arms he swept you off your feet and laughed at your squeal of surprise, tucking you close to his chest. “Yes, love?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, nuzzling into his scent gland and dragging your teeth over his skin gently. “Sleep with me tonight. It’s getting so cold.” Eskel said you were about three days out from Kaer Morhen, just at the base of the mountain, and he usually spent the night awake and alert, watching over you on the perimeter of camp.

Eskel frowned, but stepped into your nest and bundled you up with a fur thrown over your shoulders, keeping you in his lap as he settled in with you. You were cold? Was he not taking good care of you? “Why didn’t you say something? I could have—“

You cut him off with a kiss, feeling him relax against your lips and the contentment flowing through your bond. “Maybe it’s not that cold. Maybe I just want you to sleep with me.”

Pulling away with a grin, Eskel shook his head and burrowed even further into the furs with you, making sure you were tucked into his arms securely. “Could have just asked.”

“And sound like a needy omega? Never,” you murmured, resting your head on his chest and listening to his slow heartbeat.

Eskel hummed. “It’s not needy to ask for your alpha, beautiful. I wish… I wish you’d ask for me more.” He could tell you were already almost asleep, his voice a whisper now as he traced gently circles on your lower back, staring up at the sky and listening to the sounds of the wilderness along with your steady breathing.

He wondered how his brothers were going to react— he already had began to prepare himself for Lambert, and how he’ll never think someone like you chose Eskel. He’ll make jokes that hit too close to home and see how much it affected Eskel so he’ll never stop, but only because he will truly believe someone like you couldn’t possibly want a monster like him. Geralt is too self-absorbed to care. Cohen will pretend to be happy, but he never thought Witchers should ever have mates. He’ll lecture Eskel on how wrong it was for him to do what he did.

Sighing, Eskel leaned down and tucked his nose against your neck, searching out your bond mark. He pressed a kiss to the skin, now healed over in the two months since that night. He gently lapped at the heated flesh, thinking back to how warm you had been as you clung for him on the way to his room at the inn, not realizing you were going into heat—

Eskel froze. Two months… two months, that’s usually how long mated omegas go between heats, more often that if they were unmated, to increase pregnancy. You had said you weren’t that cold… even though this close to the mountain, you should have been freezing, especially at night.

You were about to go into heat.

—-

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

What the hell was with his omega and not having any clue when she was going into heat until it was too late?

Eskel tried not to panic— packing quickly and efficiently, not to cause you distress and possibly accelerate the heat. But you were watching him carefully, already knowing something was up.

You felt like your skin was crawling, itchy and sensitive. And now your alpha was acting strange and clearly trying to pretend everything was fine.

“Eskel, what’s going on? Why are we—“

“We’ll make it to Kaer Morhen tonight. If we move fast enough.” Eskel said, effectively ending the conversation. He was trying not to panic, and failing.

---

The doors were so close, the only thing standing between him and getting his omega to safety being—fucking Lambert, leering and waving like the idiot he is.

“Eskel! Brother, how have you—woah.” Lambert stepped back, eyes wide as Eskel nudged you to stand behind him, growling lowly at the smaller alpha standing in between him and the door.

“She’s in heat. Let us through,” he gritted out, teeth bared. Lambert didn’t even attempt to stop him, simply stepping aside and holding his hands up as Eskel took your hand and pulled you into the keep without another word.

You whimpered, another wave of cramps hitting you and almost taking you out at the knees. Eskel paused just enough to pick you up in his arms, urging you to tuck your face into his neck. You took in the scent of your alpha right from the source, instantly making you feel calm. You purred, lapping at his scent gland and feeling yourself falling deeper and deeper into your heat.

Distantly, you heard other voices, maybe two or three males, and the warning growl from Eskel’s chest vibrating against you, but then you were in a dark corridor, before Eskel paused to shoulder open a door. You felt yourself being placed on a bed, whining when Eskel’s hold on you loosened and he stepped away.

“Shh, omega. I’m going to get supplies, I’ll be right back, I promise.” He leaned in and kissed you softly, groaning quietly as the scent of your slick hit him. “Soon, my love.”

—

Carefully closing the door behind himself, Eskel mentally ran through the list of things he needed for the next couple days— the first time he shared a heat with you, he may have bonded you but it was far from how he wished it could have been. He didn’t take care of you, wasn’t able to prepare and get you properly set up. This time, he would do it right.

But once he entered the common room and saw his three brothers and Vesemir waiting for him, he knew this may not be as easy as it should be.

“What the fuck?” Lambert started, waving his arms around. “Honestly… what the fuck?”

Geralt was leaning against the wall, arms crossed with an unreadable expression on his face. “I second that.”

Not in the mood to argue or explain, Eskel headed towards the kitchen, knowing you were going to need enough water and food for the next few days at least, so he didn’t have to leave you side.

“Eskel!” Vesemir’s voice caused him to stop in his tracks, huffing in frustration as he slowly turned towards the older man sitting at the table. “Sit. Now.”

Despite his instincts itching for him to get back to his omega, to provide and protect her while she was in heat, to be there and breed— he begrudgingly stomped over to Vesemir and collapsed on the bench opposite him, knowing it was best to get this over with.

“Listen, Geralt can tell you the details but long story short, I have a mate. It… didn’t happen under ideal circumstances.” He paused, glancing over at Geralt. “I wanted to bring her here to see if any of you, or the old books, maybe have answers on how to break a bond. I know she didn’t really want it, and—“

Eskel sighed, a hand coming up to cover his scars. The swords on his back suddenly weighted a hundred pounds, dragging him down.

“Despite what I want, I know it’s best for her if she was not mated to me. But her heat started unexpectedly, and I need to help her through this first, so please—“

“You cannot share another heat with her. It will only strengthen the bond.” Vesemir caught up quick, and made it clear his stance on the matter.

“She says she wants me,” Eskel said quietly, not sure if he believed it himself anymore. Saying it out loud sounded pathetic, even. How could you really want him? It was the heat, then it was the bond. Just hormones tricking you into seeing someone who wasn’t… well, wasn’t Eskel.

But both his brothers and Vesemir were in agreement.

“Stupidest one of us, I swear,” Lambert grumbled, scrunching he nose at the scent of omega in heat that began to waft down.

Geralt was silent as expected, until he took a step closer and leaned in to say, “I am glad you went back to her, Esk. But you have to make up your mind. Either devote yourself to her and suffer the consequences for both of you, or leave her be. Don’t drag this on and cause her unnecessary pain.”

Eskel wanted to snarl, fight all three of the men and prove he could be a good alpha. But he wasn’t thinking straight. Half his mind was focused on the thrumming in his blood, the bond pulling on him as his omega lay a floor up, needing him. Protect, satisfy, breed. He couldn’t see past the haze of—

Geralt swore under his breath, tripping slightly as he moved back.

“Fuck. You’re in rut.”

The sound of your moan echoed throughout the keep, and Eskel’s eyes turned black.

#eskel #eskel imagine #eskel smut #eskel x reader #eskel fic #eskel x you

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jeremy-queere · 21 days

Text

im actually gonna liveblog my own thoughts about those last few chaps of my fic, which are basically always going to be "i'm hilarious actually" but yknow. specific lines. minor spoilers ig

>be jeremy >tell rich about how you fixed the giant issue where yelling at a squip can turn off every squip in the network >by telling him this aloud, you just alerted the squips to this security flaw >mfw i destroyed the easiest way to save the world without a second thought: :) >still smilling at rich, ready for praise >rich short circuits.

plus with the shutdown that christine mentioned this chapter. it's almost like ? jeremy isn't coming at this from a perspective of wanting to turn squips off???? and never even bothered researching that option??? 😂 bonkers. who'd have thought

i fully recognize that having a coder POV say "The bugs, miraculously, became rarer and smaller" is the biggest ask in the fic in terms of suspension of disbelief. maybe when jeremy is better at this they'll realize they were wrong about that. not in a "this update is secretly a time bomb" way but in a "holy shit i can't believe i used to think this was good programming" way

i still think it's funny whenever i reference jeremy muting themself after the FIRST TIME it came up where jeremy acknowledged that "muting themself wasn't any different from a human just choosing not to speak." i love my weird robot child.

i still like the "C-c-c-c'mon, Jeremy, can't you see, we've got a date, so concentrate! We'll start with us, just me and you, some deja vu, and then ensue: your microchip plus our friendship-" implying "the squip" being sung in the same lovestruck voice as the chorus usually sings "christine."

^ i usually pick a song to write the summary from based solely on vibes and character focus. the fact that this was from Upgrade rather than two player game was a dead giveaway regarding michael's intentions btw.

writing michael after that last mall scene has been so weird. on purpose. but like everything he says is a catchy line ending on a discordant note. the sudden pivot from slowburn to joking about having sex and humanity = romance. every time michael interrupts or talks over jeremy instead of going out of his way to set a good example, i wince lol. encouraging them to stop thinking so much. ignoring every one of jeremy's soft "no"s because they're inconvenient. Here Are Our Stereotypical Nerd Spots and Here Is Your Mandated Giant Teddy Bear and Here Is My Secret Condom. (jeremy sprinted into the sunset before we got to that part and we all thank them for it.) jeremy never once having indicated that they wanted to actually have sex any time soon but michael did everything in his power to make sure the date would end that way without a single worry about what jeremy told them about chloe.

i don't think it's spoilers to clarify that michael was in the driver's seat for all of that, but was in a situation where he was very incentivized to listen to the SQUIP. and jeremy looooves squips so obviously the SQUIP is the expert on this, not michael :P

madeline offscreen: constant orgies, pretending to be from paris, scheming femme fatale madeline for the 2.3 seconds she was onscreen: i swear quebec is better than people give it credit for wait don't go-

jeremy's definition of breaking up with someone is, consistently, running away from an emotionally charged moment and convincing themself that they hate them. lol.

christine accusing jeremy of talking at her was also a direct response to the author trying to get on their wikipedia-level-of-philosophy-knowledge soapbox again. btw on that note, observation selection effect seems to only be mentioned in places as a synonym for the anthropic principle. it is more specific than how jeremy defines it, being an existential thing about how "the range of possible observations that could be made about the universe is limited by the fact that observations could happen only in a universe capable of developing intelligent life" (~ wikipedia <3). i get away with a lot of bullshit claims, some of them even intentionally bullshit, bc the character making those claims is reading even less of the wikipedia article than i am.

but that was transparently just a nod to the book being one of the many parallel universes that are foundational to how the squip works in canon

speaking of references that delight me and me alone, in-character phantom of the opera reference re: pageboy

i think all the main/supporting cast all think they're the main characters. except jeremy! not because of jeremy 1.0's insistence that he's not a leading man, but because they have been so busy with observing themself that they haven't even considered anyone else observing them and coming to different conclusions. (see: the PA system joke with michael which alerted the ENTIRE SCHOOOOooool 🎶 to their situation, which in jeremy's narrative, was just a gag as part of a longer fun flirty convo with michael, brought up for laughs and then forgotten.) (it's not like it's plot relevant as in that it doomed them or anything, but just a signal that not everyone perceives the fic events like jeremy does!!)

they're trying to learn to be less self-absorbed (and i'm not saying that as an insult so much as an accurate description of their default thought patterns) but it IS a learning curve. for all their self-reflection, i would describe them as a very reactive person, which is also probably why they (along with jeremy 1.0 and keanu squip) constantly struggle/d with needing a sense of control

im aware that despite christine's in-character criticism of the narrative i wrote 🙃 that she's here for exposition and emotional closure. she knows and she's not happy about it. it's a consequence of writing the story i wanted to tell but that doesn't make it immune from criticism. it's a good question for me, that the story i wanted to tell DID involve removing her agency so much. but i don't see that as a question that needs a direct answer or for me to defend so much as something to reflect on after it's over. in the meantime christine ma'am i'll give you something good in the epilogue i prommy, and i'll add something about this to my notes now that i think about it.

#ooim

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victoria-daydreams · 2 years

Text

A Close Call

AN: I can’t believe I did it, but I wrote a story for The Witcher universe. I always had this idea floating around in my head, but I didn’t feel confident writing for The Witcher and I still don’t really, but I had to get this plot bunny out before it drove me insane. This is mostly based off Netflix’s The Witcher and I’m hoping I got the personalities right. So yeah, here you go, sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Word Count: 5.9k

Rievone stirred from her slumber, her eyes fluttering open. Golden light streamed through the small window of her bedroom. The sign of a new day dawning in the countryside of Redania. She could feel the warmth of each ray seeping through her blankets. Blinking a little for her eyes adjust to the sunlight, Rievone exhaled heavily before rolling onto her other side. However, instead of the usual empty space she had been used to for many months now, she was greeted by the sleeping face of a man. Her Witcher.

Rievone’s gaze became more alert, her eyes resting on the figure beside her in bed. Lambert’s hair was a mess of unruly red waves and his pale, muscular body stretched nearly off her bed. She reached out to him, using the back of her finger to stroke his cheek. Lambert unconsciously tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer to him. His body was warm against hers, generating more than enough heat to knock off the morning chill.

Lambert buried his nose in her hair, making Rievone smile to herself. When first meeting the stony Witcher, she would have never took him as someone who cuddled. Moving an arm around his waist, Rievone laid her head on his chest and looked up at him. He looked so much younger asleep, more carefree, more vulnerable. His strong jaw was relaxed and the usual worry lines etched into his forehead along with the furrowed brow, nowhere to be found.

Rievone saw him as soon as he rode into the backwater village on a gorgeous, black mare. She had just barely shut the door to her patient’s home. He was a big man with wide shoulders and thick, muscled arms that were noticeable even underneath the black leather armor he was clad in. Her eyes weren’t the only one watching the ginger haired stranger as every pair of eyes was fixed on him. Two swords dangled from the scabbard strapped on his back. One silver for monsters, one metal, for humans.

Rievone knew exactly what he was.

“Witcher,” she thought.

The monster hunter strode stiffly down the muddy road, a glower set in his face. Some villagers averted their stare, others wore a look of disgust. He ignored the leering and maneuvered his horse towards the tavern.

“Right,” Rievone whispered to herself, and pulled the hood of her cloak over head.

She finally stepped away from the door and made her way back to her cottage which happened to be in the same direction of the tavern. Rievone passed a two men lingering outside the inn, making her grip the basket in her hand tighter. She didn’t need any trouble, she just wanted to get home.

"I need a mage or a healer,"

The voice was gruff and unfamiliar, it made her pointed ears perk up slightly. Rievone glanced in the direction it came from. It was the Witcher that had spoken, and to those two men, no less.

“No witches here,” the farmer scowled. “Or their foul magic,” he added.

"We have a healer, but I doubt the half-breed would treat a monster like you,” the other man sneered, and spat on the ground. “Even she has her limits I suppose,” he commented snidely.

"Where is she?" the Witcher asked, seemingly ignoring the insult.

Suddenly, a high pitched whistle rang out in the air.

“Hey, pointy!” the farmer shouted, stopping Rievone in her tracks. “Your services are needed!” he yelled.

She turned to the group of men, “Whistle at me again like I’m some dog and I’ll cut your tongue out,” she threatened, glaring at the old farmer.

Rievone’s defiant gaze met the Witcher’s unflinchingly stare for just a split second before continuing on her path home. She had barely made it down the road when she heard a horse slowly trotting behind her.

"I don't treat Witchers—” Rievone began.

He scoffed, “Of course, you don’t,” he cut in. “You’re going to treat me just as the villagers treat you,” he continued, now riding alongside her. “You finally get someone to look down on,” he finished, with a sardonic chuckle.

“Very often” she finished, looking up at him pointedly.

The man scoffed again, but Rievone could see his lips curve into the barest hint of a grin.

Thus, began an unlikely friendship between a hedge mage and a Witcher. After all, it was only Rievone who saw right through him. The real him, beneath the tough exterior which was the only way he knew how to present himself to the world. Lambert would never admit it out loud, but there lay a soft hearted, lonely man who simply wanted to be with kindness. In kind, Lambert learned that Rievone’s perceived demureness was an act; she could've easily graduated from Aretuza. She was as ambitious and cunning as those sorceresses are renowned for.

Lambert, who was not famous for his chivalry and manners, but instead his quick temper and snarky comments. Any trace of the tough Witcher persona he carried himself by had been stripped away as he dozed. All that remained was Lambert, a man, molded into a seemingly untouchable monster hunter due to a series of traumatic events. If it were possible, Rievone would always want Lambert to always be this serene. Without all those walls in place to hide who he really was. It looked good on him.

"Like what you see, love?"

Rievone was jerked out of her thoughts. Dark brown irises blinked lazily down at her, still glazed over from sleep. A small smile formed on her lips and she lifted her head from his chest.

“Oh Lambert, don't be so cocky,” Rievone said, with a scoff. “Something I know that’s hard for you not to do,” she addded, rolling her eyes.

“You certainly weren’t complaining about my cockiness last night,” he quipped. “Or hardness,” he recalled smugly.

Rievone scrunched her nose in disgust, “You’re a pig, Lambert,” she responded.

They stared at each other for a beat, both completely silent until both their faces split into smiles. Leaning down, Rievone placed a light kiss to Lambert’s lips that was short and sweet.

“Good morning,” she whispered, as if it was a secret between the two of them.

“A good morning indeed,” he hummed, tucking loose strands of red hair behind her ear.

“Did you sleep well?”

“The best in months,”

“Good,” she said, and gave a peck on his cheek.

Rievone pushed herself up from the bed and sat up. Stretching her muscles, they burned with a familiar and pleasant ache and caused her grin to herself, images from yesterday activities flashed through her mind. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and went to stand up, but didn't get far. Strong arms had wrapped themselves around her waist.

"Don't go," Lambert groaned. “It’s too early,” he added, tightening his grip on her abdomen.

“The sun begs to differ,” Rievone replied, with a chuckle.

“No one in this godsdamned village needs a healer at the crack of fucking dawn, Rievone,” he complained, halfway to exasperation.

Her smile turned into a smirk, “I don’t know Lambert, there’s potions to be made, balms and salves, poultices, tinctures—”

Rievone let out a yelp as she felt herself being tugged backwards onto her bed. Lambert pulled her on top of him, his arms curled around her. Her chest pressed against his, and only the thin fabric of Lambert’s shirt that she wore was between them.

"Plenty of time to do that…" he trailed off, bringing a finger up to run across the light dusting of freckles along the bridge of her nose. "Later," he emphasized, now smirking himself.

Bringing her head down to meet his, their lips connected once more. This kiss was slow and passionate, more than sharing just a light peck. Rievone was pressed up against him, her body molding itself to his. Lambert’s hand found itself at the small of her back where her shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing the smooth skin that was soft and warm under his palm. Their lips continued to move over each other’s lazily and Lambert’s hands shifted to tightly gripping her hips, taking a handful of her backside as he did. He coaxed her to grind against him making Rievone inhale sharply, the action igniting the pits of her stomach with butterflies.

Rievone could feel the lightest of pressure pushing against her thigh. The evidence of his desire for her was unmistakable; he was hard and aching with need. She cupped his cheek in her hand, his beard tickling the palm of her hands and slid her tongue over his bottom lip. His hips involuntarily bucked upwards.

“Fuck!” Lambert hissed, abruptly pulling away from the kiss. He turned his head away, gasping for control. “Gods damn woman, you don’t know what you do to me,” he said, in between huffs.

“I could say the same for you, Witcher,” Rievone said, sitting up and straddling his waist.

She ran her fingers up and down his well muscled torso riddled with scars twisting around his body like white vines. Her her hands came to a rest on his chiseled chest, directly above his heart. Lambert tucked an arm behind his head before intertwining his fingers with Rievone’s.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” he said suddenly.

“What?” Rievone asked, her eyebrow quirking up.

“Kaer Morhen,” Lambert repeated. “The keep I travel to every winter,” he reminded.

“Why do you want me to go?” she asked curiously, absentmindedly tracing his scars.

“I worry about your safety, Rievone,” Lambert answered, squeezing her hand which got her attention.

She chuckled, “My safety?” she echoed. “Are there monsters in the woods that the village is not aware of?” she questioned, tilting her head.

Lambert untangled his fingers from hers and let his hand slide along her thigh up to her hip.

“Not all monsters dwell in deep, dark woods,” he stated, rubbing a circular pattern on her skin.

Rievone’s eyebrow raised itself again, this time in half amusement. Dipping her head down, she trailed kisses up his sternum to his throat. He closed his eyes and she knew he was enjoying the attention she gave him. Her kisses were light and mischievous, warm on his skin.

“Tell me,” she began, peppering kisses on the corners of his mouth. “What has my Witcher so concerned?”

“Man,” Lambert answered simply.

“If this is about the barkeep’s boy, I told you already you have nothing to fear,” Rievone said playfully.

“Rievone, I’m serious,” Lambert stated, a frown lining his features.

“And I’m being serious too, Lambert,” she replied, sitting up again. “The villagers can be absolute asses, but they haven’t harmed me,” she commented.

“Yet,” Lambert retorted. “Tensions are running high between humans and elves, and in case you’ve forgotten, you’re a half elf,” he informed. “Not to mention you’re a sorceress, and these people hate magic,”

“You truly think the villagers are stupid enough to kill the only healer around?” She questioned, raising a brow.

“Yes,” he answered bluntly. “Humans are fickle and irrational,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

“Lambert, I’ll be fine, I promise,” Rievone reassured, bending down to place a kiss on his forehead.

She rested her forehead against his and he curled his fingers into her auburn curls.

“Rievone-“

She put her finger on his lips, “If all fails, I will come to Kaer Morhen at the first sign of trouble,” she interrupted. “I know where it is, you showed me on a map before, remember?” Rievone asked, a small smile on her lips. “I’ll be out of this village before you can say kikimora,” she joked.

Lambert shifted underneath her and before she knew it, Rievone’s back was against the mattress and Lambert was hovering above her.

“If so much of a hair is harmed on your head…” he warned lowly.

“You’ll kill them, yes, I know,” she said, finishing his sentence. “I prefer you don’t,” Rievone said, releasing a breathy laugh. “How else would I get my crowns and coppers?” she joked.

“You’re incredible,”

Lambert grinned at her lovingly and Rievone giggled softly, a giggle that was swallowed by Lambert capturing her lips with his. Immediately, she melted into the kiss feeling her body tingle and course with warmth. Rievone leaned up and returned the kiss with vigor, wrapping her arms around his neck. She clung onto Lambert as their kiss deepened. His mouth moved over hers, stealing away her breath in deep, desperate kisses. Lambert slid his hand from her hip to her thigh, grinding against her as he pulled her leg up to wrap around his waist.

Rievone’s eyes roll back ever so slightly as breathy gasps that left her throat, muffled by his lips against hers.

“Still need to make your potions and poultices?” Lambert murmured, against her mouth before trailing down her neck.

“No,” she breathed, Rievone could not help but smile at his jest. “This is much more important,” she stated, nodding her head.

Lambert let out a satisfied grunt into her neck. His beard tickled her jawline, while his lips and hot breath fanned over collar bone. Everything felt so peaceful, so perfect. Rievone didn't know what time it was, nor did she really care. She would gladly stay in bed all day if it meant more tender and loving moments like this.

~~~x~~~

Two months later

Rievone’s feet hit the frozen ground hard and she immediately stumbled, falling hard onto her hands and knees. The portal behind her spluttered close, the last of its energy spent dying with one final crackle. Heavy, ragged breathing was just barely audible over the howling wind around her. Rievone’s skin was slick with sweat, mixing with blood trailing down her forehead and onto her cheeks. The cold, dampness of the snow soaking the skirt of her dress barely registered with her, not when there was pain lancing through her body. Sharpness in her back, a throbbing slash on her side.

Rievone glanced at her surroundings, her portal had taken to a dark, dense forest. The moon was the only light that shone upon the forest floor, filtering its way through the branches that already lost their leaves. Suddenly, a freezing gust swept through the air like an agonized howl and Rievone stiffened. The biting wind lapped at her newly acquired tender, raw cuts on her right cheek and forehead. The stinging pain hurt, but kept her focused on her mission.

“I need to reach him,” she wheezed, pushing herself up from the ground.

On shaky legs, snow crunched underneath her boots as she made her way through the thick forest. Rievone could barely see where she was going. Her vision blurry both from fatigue and the little white flecks falling from the sky. She held her palm against her side moving as fast as she could, gasping for the frigid air. Blood was seeping from her wound on her waist making it even harder for her to continue at her current pace. Her lungs burned and her legs ached and the snow blanketing the forest floor surely wasn’t making it any easier on her body.

Panting heavily, Rievone finally stepped out into a clearing. Before her eyes, the full moon shined down on the remaining standing walls of Kaer Mohren, snowflakes slowly descending onto the decrepit structure. Tall mountains rose high behind the castle, blocking out the horizon from its vast height. The towers jetted up towards the sky disappearing into the clouds. The ruins was the most peaceful thing she had laid eyes on in hours.

Rievone vision was beginning to swim and each breath she took was more difficult than the last. Briefly, her eyes shut as a shudder racked through her body. She was so tired. Rievone forced her eyes to reopen, wanting her rapidly fogging vision to assess the damage at her side. It only took a quick glance for her to clasp her hand back over her wound again. It was bad. No worse than bad, it was fatal.

Thick, crimson liquid began to pool profusely between her fingers almost instantly. The sudden flow of blood spilling from out of her made her hands slick. Trembling, numb fingers pressed harder against the torn layer of the soaking wet clothes. A rasping moan of pain drew from her throat at the increase in pressure.

Soundlessly, the warm liquid trickled down to the ground in droplets, staining the freshly laid snow red. In the moonlight, her blood almost looked black instead of red, as if she was bleeding tar or ink. Rievone knew wasn’t going to last much longer.

She furrowed her brow in concentration, tugging at the remnants of her magic, ready to cast a spell to freeze the blood in her wound in a desperate bid to staunch the flow. Time, she needed to buy herself time…time to get help, but she realized that trying it would only wear her down further.

“Fuck!” she hissed, her breath steaming in the air in front of her.

Her breaths were coming in short gasps while heart pounded like a drum in her ears. With one bloody palm, Rievone flexed her fingers and the heavy gates flung open. She trudged through the snowy courtyard, the pain in her side increasing with every step she took, but she wasn’t going to allow herself to give up. Not when she was so close.

Rievone outstretched her hand and the wooden doors leading to the Great Hall flung open with a loud bang, causing every head inside the room to whip towards the entrance. Even with clouding vision, she could see the main hall was lit up with candles, a fire roaring in the large fireplace. Gripping her cloak tighter around her body, she didn’t think that it was possible for the hall to feel far colder than the snow storm raging outside. Or maybe it was due to the unknown amount of blood she’s lost? Rievone leaned against the frame of the door, leaving a bloody handprint on the wood.

An older man with white hair that dusted his shoulders and a receding hairline was the first to spring to his feet, a wolf medallion dangling from his neck.

He stared at her warily, “Anything I can help you with?" the man asked, his composure cool.

She didn’t answer, instead she used the door to steady herself, feeling her legs tremble beneath her. Red smeared itself all the along surface as she entered the hall. A loud scraping noise eerily echoed in the hall as Rievone’s feet dragged across the stone floor.

“Lambert,” she uttered weakly.

She swayed, black dots peppering her vision. Rievone took a step forward into the hall and immediately wavered, her knees buckling as they refuse to carry her weight for another moment. Gravity slammed her onto the cold, stone floor. For a few seconds, she was blissfully numb as her brain tried to process what was happening. She couldn't move, couldn't feel. The only sensation she could feel was the dull, icy cold seeping into her body.

“Oh, I’m dying,” she realized.

She knows it by the dull, numbness spreading up from the agonizing throbbing in her side. By the strength she didn't have the to get up, by the will to not keep fighting. A warm puddle of liquid pooling beneath her. It coated her fingers and her arm. It drenched her hip and her side. It spread across her stomach. Above her, she could faintly hear voices and hurried footsteps.

“Rievone!”

Someone had screamed her name. They sounded frantic.

“Strange…I-I don’t remember stating my name,” she thought.

The corners of her eyes darkened, her mind beginning to fog. Suddenly, a pair of hands fumbled over her body in a panic, turning her over to look at them. The last thing Rievone saw was the face of a man framed by curly, ginger hair full of shock and terror, before finally slipping under and feeling her head loll to the side as darkness took her.

~~~x~~~

The first thing Rievone woke to was a splintering pain in her skull causing a soft groan to pass from her lips. She opened her eyes, or rather, she tried to open them. Her eyes felt like they were glued shut, the pressure in her head building like a tea kettle coming to boil. She forced her eyes open just a slit and for a moment there was a piercing, blinding ray of light. Instantly, she shut them again, wincing against the pain.

It took a moment for the fog of slumber to lift from her mind, before lifting her hand to rub her forehead. When moving her hand, the softness of fur blankets under her fingertips was both welcoming and puzzling. How did she get under fur covers? When did she get under covers? Rievone’s confusion only grew as she sensed herself drifting between the hazy state of consciousness and unconsciousness. Blurred Images and muffled sounds began flashing through her mind.

"Rievone, please! Open your eyes for me love!"

The feeling of intense heat and a cool cloth on her head. The taste of bitter medicine. The sound of a door opening and closing, hushed voices outside. Hearing a familiar voice and the thought of opening her eyes crossed her mind, but she was unable to move a muscle. The only thing she felt was a comfortable warmth. A much larger hand tenderly holding hers.

She tried once more to pry her eyes open and with every blink, the pain of the sunlight light began to fade as her eyes slowly adjusted to the poorly lit space. A wooden empty chair beside the bed was the first thing her eyes had landed on. Her eyes darted towards the center of the room, a stone fireplace lined with black ash and soot heated the room to a warm, nearly sleep-inducing temperature. Rievone had to force herself to ignore the urge to fall asleep again.

She pushed herself up in the bed slightly and felt lightheaded from the sudden motion. Every muscle in Rievone’s arms groaned, her bones seemingly letting out a few creaks themselves. This was the exact opposite surroundings she was accustomed to. It was a far cry from the coziness of her cottage. It’s then, the events of the night before came flooding back to Rievone. Jumbled at first, but her brain slowly pieced it back together into cohesion. The villagers. Her cottage. A fire. Running. Blood.

"Half-breed!”

“Filthy elf!"

“She-elf!”

“Nilfgaardian spy!”

The volley of insults hurled her way was relentless, but she held her head high, refusing to allow the insults to get under skin. All she needed to do was collect some herbs from the forest and leave the village when night fell. A rock suddenly hit Rievone on the side of her forehead just below her right eye. Momentarily, she was dazed by the unexpected blow, but then came the sensation of something warm running down her face. Dropping her reins, Rievone lifted her hand to her face. Blood.

Another flurry of rocks soared her way, this time missing their mark. Rievone picked up her reins and kicked the sides of horse.

“Yah!“ she shouted, ordering her horse to sprint.

More rocks were tossed at her, but with the speed she was riding at, she avoided most of the jagged projectiles. Rievone flinched as one struck her cheek, slicing the tender skin. She had spoken too soon.

Rievone lifted her fingers to her cheek expecting to feel the open wound on her cheek, instead she felt nothing, just the smoothness of her skin. The harsh wind whipping loudly against Kaer Morhen shook her from her daze. A shiver ran down her spine, the wintery air getting through the cracks of the walls, whistling through them and giving the room a slight chill. Luckily, the heat from the fire burning in the fireplace kept most of it away. Quietly, faint voices echoed in the corridor outside the door and Rievone’s head snapped in that direction.

The hushed voices became louder and louder as the sound of footsteps simultaneously grew closer. Rievone couldn’t explain it, but she suddenly felt afraid. A subtle click echoed in the room as the door opened to reveal a man and woman as light from the corridor spilled into the semi-dark room. The woman was dressed elegantly, in dark velvets, her hair braided around her head to resemble a crown.

Rievone shifted her gaze to the man and her eyes froze at his appearance. Deep scars ran down the right side of his face distorting his features, reaching from his temple to his lips. Despite the scarring, she could tell he was handsome; brunet hair pulled back into a half bun with wavy strands falling over his face.

“It’s good to see you awake,” the woman greeted softly. “You had us all worried, Lambert most of all,” she said, stepping into the room.

“Had Lambert going half out his mind,” the man commented.

“Not helpful,” the woman admonished, lightly hitting his stomach. “I’m Leyna,” she introduced, placing her hand on her chest. “And this is Eskel, who is going to tell Lambert that he comes bearing good news,” Leyna said, looking up at him.

“Er-hi,” Rievone croaked out, her throat raspy from dehydration.

He frowned, “Why do I—”

“Go,” Leyna ordered, lightly pushing him out the room and closing the door in his face.

She turned around and faced Rievone with a grin on her face.

“I suppose I have you to thank for healing me,” Rievone stated, picking up the cup of water from the small wooden table next to her.

“I cannot take all the credit, it was a combined effort,” Leyna answered, moving over to the fireplace. “My friend Triss helped as well, we made sure to leave no scars,” she added, smiling over her shoulder.

Rievone wiped her top lip of excess water and watched as Leyna kindled the flames that crackled and spit, the flickering light casting dancing shadows on the walls.

“You’re both mages, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and from what I heard from Lambert you’re one too,” Leyna replied, placing the poker down and spinning around. “Says you’re quite powerful yourself,” she continued, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. “I saw some of your handiwork, you tried to heal yourself just enough before you portaled,” she recalled, nodding her head.

“A hedge mage,” Rievone corrected quickly. “I wouldn’t dare call myself a mage since I never received formal training at Aretuza,” she said sarcastically, curling her fingers and watched as the extinguished candle sprung back to life.

An ache inside Rievone’s skull throbbed making her wince and hold her head in pain.

“Too early to try and cast magic,” she thought.

Leyna grabbed the pitcher off the table, “He wasn’t wrong, Lambert that is. I can feel the power radiating from you,” she stated, refilling the cup.

Rievone laughed bitterly, “It’s funny, the Rectoress of Aretuza, Tissaia de Vries, said she could sense my power as well,” she recalled, shaking her head.

She placed the pitcher back down, “You know Tissaia? Oh, how lovely,” Leyna said, her face lighting up.

“I suppose she had plans to whisk me from my father’s farm, but then she realized what I was,” Rievone said, before pulling her hair over one shoulder.

“A half-elf,”

“My father and I knew that such a day would come,” Rievone explained, picking up the cup again. “My mother was a sorceress, it was only matter of time before I manifested my powers,” she said quietly, raising the cup to her lips.

“I’m sorry, I cannot accept your daughter into Aretuza. Upon further inspection, she doesn’t meet our standards,” the Rectoress informed, a stoic expression on her face.

“Your ‘standards’ being ‘humans only’, right?” her father retorted, holding Rievone closer to him. “She’s better off without you lot,” he stated, his eyes narrowing at the woman. “Come on dear, let’s get back inside and finish our breakfast,” he said, looking down at her warmly and rubbing her arm.

“I-” Leyna began.

Suddenly, the door to Rievone room was thrown open, loudly slamming against the stone wall and startling both women. There in the doorway, stood an out of breath Lambert immediately seeking out her eyes. His face was paler than normal, causing the dark rings under his eyes to stand in stark contrast of his skin. The mighty Witcher looked haggard, his unruly hair and clothes were more disheveled than she could ever recall. It pained Rievone to see him in such a state.

“Gods, Lambert!” Leyna exclaimed, rising to her feet. “You nearly made of us die of fright,” she scolded lightly, as he slowly walked in the room.

Quick footfalls echoed in the corridor and sliding behind Lambert was Eskel’s slightly panting form.

“Barely had time to finish her name before he went sprinting,” Eskel said, breathing heavily looking at the sorceress. “Fastest I‘ve ever seen him,” he quipped, glancing at Lambert who was not paying to him at all. His eyes were solely focused on Rievone. “Leyna, let’s give them some privacy,” Eskel suggested, holding out his hand for her to take.

“Of course,” she agreed.

Passing Lambert, Leyna gave his bicep a reassuring squeeze before leaving and pulling the door close. Just before the door completely shut, Rievone could see Eskel rest his hand on Leyna’s lower back before sliding down and grabbing her backside. Promptly, she swatted it away, but not before letting out a giggle as the door shut with a click.

Rievone shifted her gaze back to Lambert, observing the slight shaking of his form and the white-knuckled grip the ginger had from his fists being balled up. He stood there, not saying anything.

“Lambert, I-”

“What was it that you promised me?” he asked lowly, cutting her off. “The first sign of trouble and ‘I’ll be out of this village before you can say kikimora,’” he echoed, and Rievone opened her mouth to explain herself but found that her throat suddenly felt dry. “Tell me Rievone, what was the first sign? Was it the stab wound to your side? The slash to your back? The cuts on your forehead?” Lambert questioned.

Rievone could taste the anger in his voice, the fear in his words, and yet his face was gentle, eyes soft. Lambert began to pace back and forth in front of her and ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the curls in frustration.

His pacing suddenly stopped, “The moment you heard the elves aligned themselves with Nilfgaard, you should’ve left that backwater village!” Lambert said, his eyes boring into hers.

Rievone swallowed deeply, “I was going to leave at nightfall, but the barkeep’s son h-he-” she stammered.

Lambert’s eyes darkened, “What did that bastard do to you?” he growled, walking to the bed.

“H-He followed me into the woods,” she answered, as Lambert lowered himself next to her. “You knew how he could be Lambert, always making advances at me,” Rievone continued, noticing his jaw tighten. “When he followed me, I thought it was out of the kindness of his heart this time. You see, I just had rocks thrown at me,” she informed. “That’s why my face was cut up,” she explained, running her fingers across her cheek.

“At first he did try to comfort me, he helped clean my face off,” Rievone said, with a soft sigh. “I closed my eyes for one second, and he took that as an invitation to kiss me,” she went on, as Lambert narrowed his eyes. “I shoved him away…” she said, trailing off.

“What the hells is wrong you?” Rievone shouted.

“I turned my back on him, it was a terrible mistake,” she remembered, her breath slightly faltering. “My rejection of him had consequences,” she said, her eyes never leaving Lambert’s.

“Elven bitch!”

“He stabbed me in the side first,” Rievone began, and Lambert warily reached his hand out to where the wound should have been. “Then, he slashed my back. Only reason he didn’t kill me was because I fought him off with my magic,” she said, letting the heat of his palm anchor her as the warmth permeated through the thin material of her dress.

The man fell back onto the ground, “Y-You’re a witch,” he stated, his knife slipping from his fingers. “You’re a filthy witch!” he yelled, pointing fearfully at her.

“He ran back to the village and told everyone what I was,” Rievone recounted. “There was going to be a manhunt for me, they were going to kill me,” she whispered. “I tried to go back to my home, but…” she trailed off again.

Camouflaging herself behind a bush, Rievone carefully pushed away leaves that blocked her view to her cottage. She gasped at the crowd amassed at her door.

"Burn the witch!" the mob cried, as they surrounded her home.

Rievone looked on in horror as they broke the windows in and tossed their torches inside, setting her once cozy home aflame.

"Let’s get the she-elf witch and kill her!"

Her head snapped in the direction of the voice as they walked in the direction where she had been left for dead. Rievone held her side and slowly backed away from the burning cottage, her breathing uneven. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from the fiery blaze and turned around, limping off into the dark woods.

“They burnt it down. My cottage, everything inside, gone,”

Lambert’s fingertips traced along her jaw, his thumb ghosting over her cheek like she was made of glass.

“I don’t give a damn about your cottage,” he stated, his voice low.

Rievone frowned, “Lambert-”

“No!” he snapped, his tone hardening as his eyes fervently searched hers. “I warned you that something like this could happen,” Lambert said, followed by a shaky exhale. “Rievone, seeing you bleed out on the floor of the Great Hall—to see you motionless on this bed—” he paused, taking a breath. “My worst fear very nearly came true, I could’ve lost you,” Lambert whispered, his voice cracking as his thumb gently ghosted her lips.

Lambert’s fingers began to tremble against her skin. Immediately, Rievone placed her hand on top of his stilling the tremors and rubbed her thumb against his skin, moving in small circles. His eyes were glassy and a single tear slipped down his face.

“Don’t cry Lambert,” Rievone said softly, wiping the tear away before pulling him in for a hug. “I’m right here,” she reassured. “And I'm not going anywhere,” she added, kissing his hair.

Rievone felt as his body began to shake violently as he cried silently. Her arms tighten around his him, his tears dampening her dress. A shiver ran through her as Lambert’s breath fanned across her neck and collarbone. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her tightly, to the point that it was almost crushing, but she didn't mind.

“For as long as I draw breath, I shall never leave you,” Rievone whispered, running her fingers through ginger locks.

Lambert raised his head, “Life without you Rievone, would be unbearable, everything would become meaningless. You are the tether that keeps me going in this godforsaken world,” he confessed brokenly.

Rievone leaned forward, their foreheads resting against each other. She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek feeling Lambert press into her hand.

“My dear Lambert,” she began, her smile small and warm. “Aé minne taedh,” she said, nuzzling her nose against his.

“What was that you just said?”

“I love you, my dearest Lambert,”

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