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violetmuses · 1 year

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Shards - Bucky Barnes (18+ MINORS DNI)

TITLE: “Shards” || James "Bucky" Barnes - 18+ MINORS DNI

FANDOM: Marvel - “Captain America: Civil War”

CHARACTER: James “Bucky” Barnes

MAIN PAIRING: James “Bucky” Barnes + Female Reader

MAIN STORYLINE: No matter what, you can’t get away from him.

Author’s Note: Hey! As a warning, this One Shot includes SMUT content. (18+ Minors DNI) Adult themes, strong language, etc. Dedicated to @targaryenvampireslayer as well. Thanks so much for reading and feedback would be greatly appreciated. - V. 💜

Sequel - "Seeing Black" (18+ MINORS DNI)

Main Masterlist

__________

2016

Through an unknown miracle, he “wakes up” from the dizzying hypnosis of mind control once again, somehow alive. Blurred vision clears. In return, James noticed the presence of Sam and Steve, who stood in this cold, decrepit room.

“I thought you were dead…” James hardly whispers, still fatigued by the daming headache that surges from so much pain.

“No.” You say, stepping further into dimmed lights that slightly casted through the ceiling.

Reality slaps James right in the face. You should be dead. He saw everything pan out long ago.

You were dragged to the Supression Machine, kicking and screaming. Across the darkened room, Kaprov stood in that camouflage uniform, adjusting his maroon beret in total silence.

Strapped into the apparatus without fail, you’re cuffed from arms to legs. Even another mouth guard is shoved to muffle further noise. In the corner, James is forced to watch, given those alarmed warnings every time he comes back to hell.

To make matters worse, you almost died because of the Serum, wailing and thrashing on that leather-belted cot.

As electric currents zip towards both temples of your small head, James knows that he heart drops. Only moments later, you scream out loud and almost shatter everything found close, nearly spitting out the mouth guard in response.

That night, security’s biggest mistake involved unlocking your restraints after successfully completing another mind swipe.

You jumped from the apparatus, bolting straight towards Karpov and not caring if anyone else dealt with the incoming carnage.

You’re strong enough to drag Karpov down, sending this man to the ground and straddling him just to punch that bastard over and over again. More operatives and white coats run for the hills, yet fail to escape your wrath before it’s too late.

The singular gunshot brings that room to a halt, and you fall away from Karpov’s loosely mounting body, still allowing him to breathe.

Blood spills onto the hardened floor, ensuring your death in James’s own blue stare.

And yet, all this time later, you stand before James, but your eyes peer towards him with venom that only HYDRA would bring out.

It was clear that nightmares lined up with your previous reputation. Hacking. Secret bombings. Covert murders. On and on.

You were HYDRA’S best kept secret, even after working through the Winter Soldier program.

“If the bullet moved elsewhere, I wouldn’t be here.” You reveal.

“Is anyone gonna tell us what the hell’s going on?” Sam interjects towards you and James, rightfully bewildered at this point. “Who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter.” You tell Sam, not wanting to explain yourself and prolong this mission. “Let’s go.”

It all matters to James. How in the world did you escape without risking more gunfire?

________

The backseat of this car is far too snug. You can barely move without James somehow lugging his own weight closer and closer.

“Sorry.” He mumbles to you. His eyes are crystal blue, looking towards you with some kind of light for once.

“It’s okay, but did Steve choose this car?” You make an attempt at humor this time.

“Yeah.” James bit his lip while facing you. No mind control. No restraints. He could think on his own, at least for a while.

Before he could ponder leaning inward, Steve and Sam returned the car, prompting James to turn away from you.

He clears his throat and glances forwards, watching nothing as the car moves again.

*****

“Can’t risk the airport and we’ve been driving for hours.” Instead of dealing with Zemo right away, Sam suggests hotel rooms.

“Fine.” Steve parks through shadows of the lot, still attempting to hide and dons his baseball cap.

“You two okay staying back here for a minute? Not sure yet if we can pull enough space for all of us.” Sam turns his head, looking at you and James.

“I’ve had worse.” You say, not even smiling because it’s true. Even James nods, completely silent here.

“All right. Don’t kill each other.” Sam warns now, locking the car as soon as he and Steve leave this vehicle.

_____________

“What happened?” Probably ten minutes have moved along and James is the first one to speak.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” You deadpan.

If you don’t speak to him, he’ll be left with his own thoughts, particularly those moments where you were terrified and screaming, trapped by the Machine.

He never wants to hear that sound again.

James never even heard your story. The real one. Did you serve the country like him before HYDRA found something? Possibilities seemed endless with someone like you.

Skilled. Inconspicuous. Brutal when need be.

Fucking beautiful.

Could some missions involve seducing people for information? He couldn’t read enough to know.

You’re watching every angle from this cornered vantage point, trying to ensure the chance of survival.

Any other time, James would’ve definitely asked you out, or at least flirted much better than Steve.

Instead, all he can do is use this new and rarely liberated time to think, even letting his mind drift to the gutter.

It’s been too long. Surely decades. James can’t help but wonder if you had someone at home before HYDRA barged through.

Did you kiss them every night after coming home from work? Did they admire your body?

You looked perfect, even right now. James quietly fought urges to reach and touch you quickly. Timing is crucial considering how often HYDRA encouraged stealth.

You would’ve flinched immediately, triggering reflexes to defend yourself and prompt an actual fight.

Not that he hasn’t seen your work before.

“It’s been twenty minutes.” You look down at your watch, planning to get the hell out of this car. Sam and Steve are taking too long.

Seeing black, not red, James whirs his leftward metal hand and reaches out, savagely clutching your wrist to pull one chance away from the door handle.

The recoil loads, but you can only whimper and he uses that same reach to pull you onto his lap. His jeans have already tented, leaving you to nearly gasp.

“Feel that?” James clenches those bright teeth, trying not to give himself away while starting to move his clothed hips.

“Do it, I dare you.” You snip back, immediately noting the way his erection bulges.

“Trying to get everyone caught? Stay here.” There’s a New York accent lingering through his words and you can’t help melting from within. You finally dry hump against him, barely hiding the mewls of your own voice.

James wraps both arms around you, especially using his metal arm to really lock down your waist. The fabric of his red Henley shirt absolutely burns his skin, but he can’t take everything off. Not here.

“Stop.” You then hurry, desperate to actually fuck James while alone in this damn car. There’s only a matter of time before Sam and Steve return after somehow lodging all of you.

As if told through another silent command, James unconsciously zips down his jeans. There’s not enough room or time for games. No foreplay, just outright filth.

“Turn around. Face the back window.” James growls through his accent once more, driving you mad.

No condoms were found in the piece of shit, either. Despite his true age, James remembers that their model would be far too old for modern times. Of course Steve would pick this one.

“Hurry.” You rush and lift up your ass for him to see, nearly begging for him to line up with your suddenly dampened entrance.

“Fuck!” The moment he slides into you from behind, James curses almost too loudly in this car.

You reach out, barely clutching leather upholstery that blurred straight ahead. Even without a condom he feels too good. His hips push up agianst your bare ass, hitting over and over again.

You hold back every scream, every call of his name, his real name. Instead of pain surging from HYDRA, you accept this much-needed pleasure, as rare as it is now.

Out of nowhere, you feel hollow without him moving inside, but ropes of white spill onto your ass, leaving James spent.

A short time later, his breathing settles.

Now, both of you have no other choice but to readjust clothes, sit back down, and act like nothing happened.

When you glance up, both Steve and Sam are walking out of the hotel, completely unfazed.

That was close. You think to yourself.

James never responds, simply looking forward.

________

Four rooms were located in the same hallway. James can’t sleep, barely able to sleep with his blanket almost covering up this floor.

He’s tossing and turning. Flashes of what just happened with you haunt him. You sounded too good, taking him quite well.

“Shit.” James rubs his face with the bare right hand, worked up beyond comprehension.

Just when he dares to slump out of here and find your room, knocking prompts his attention. James bolts up, not armed but alert.

When he opens the door, you’re standing right there, and lust fills your entire body.

_______________

This time, both of you are naked. The only sense of reality gives out when James’ leftward metal arm clutches around your hips again.

You’ve straddled his body again and started riding this man, thankful for soundproof walls. You set both hands onto his bare chest, screaming or bouncing for him.

You’re no longer terrified. He can slap your ass. Curse again. Damn-near yell out loud.

This time, James almost squeals, relieved in the name of his own control. No Cyrofreeze. No swipes. No operative or white coats giving instructions.

“Come on. So close. Come on.” He calls to you, growling as he moves closer and closer towards the edge.

“Oh, God!” At that moment, your eyes flutter to the ceiling and you spill again, warming him up as told.

You expect him to fall silent once more, thereby singaling your exit from his room.

No.

Instead, you cool down with him and he gently uses his bare right hand to push back your hair, directing eye contact.

You see it all.

The yearning. The melancholy. His need for you. His need for this.

“Stay.” James’ voice croaks. His soul would vanish if you left right now.

You nod, settling to rest your head on his chest and fall asleep.

The future can wait.

#tw dark content #dark themes tw #violence tw #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #captain america civil war #mcu movies #movies #smut warning #18+ only #strong language #minors dni #minors do not interact

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leorawright · 2 years

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Hellooo, saw this on another post in another fandom, though I'd send it here :)

Basically it goes something like s/o wears headphones and battles to music, dancing along to it, and by some miracle every time they move they're dodging bullets by an inch, and normally, their partner is in shock that

A) S/O is dancing on a battle field

B) They're somehow still alive and dodging literal bullets

And C) They're looking badass while doing it and absolutely destroying the enemy.

So I'd like to see how the tf2 mercs would react to this if you're not too busy, I'd advise you to take your time and take as many breaks as you need.

I always get excited whenever I see you post :)

Oh my gosh yes!

Mercs seeing their s/o dance around the battlefield and dodge every bullet

Scout

He was so panicking after seeing you on the battlefield with your headphones on

But you're somehow dodging every bullet and he's just dying silently because he doesn't want to distract you accidentally get you hit

After the battle though he'll just cling to you for a minute and catch his breath

Soldier

He's so confused

How in the actual heck do you manage to dodge every bullet... by dancing

Does dancing truly have this power?

Don't be surprised if he silently observes you dancing after this moment

Demoman

He'd be out there dancing with you as well of he wasn't worried about being hit

So he'll sit behind cover, cross his fingers, and pray to whatever made the world to save you

Afterwards he congratulates you only to realize you didn't know what was happening

Now he is confusion

Pyro

They, just like you, don't process the danger and just decide to happily dance along with you

And magically both of you dodge all the bullets fired your way

Yet you and Pyro never process the danger much to the dismay of the other mercs

Heavy

He's so tempted to just run into the battlefield and save you but then again he knows he'll die

So he just silently hopes you're not hit

And miraculously his wish came true and you don't have a scratch on you

You confuse and intrigue him to no end

Medic

He'd totally be dancing with you to some ebat that he can't hear

Who cares about healing the other mercs he's dancing with the most wonderful person in the world

Unlike Pyro he knows the danger he's in he just refuses to leave you

Sniper

He's so stressed out just seeing you out there

He forgets to do his job as he's just watching you and sniping anyone who tries to hit you

But all the bullets he couldn't prevent you somehow dodge

After the battle Sniper just hugs you eithout explanation and you're just like ? You good bro?

Spy

He's so done

How in the- does he want to know? The answer is no you're forever a mystery

Spy will never bring this up or question you he's too tired to do that honestly

#tf2 x reader #tf2 medic x reader #tf2 sniper x reader #tf2 scout x reader #tf2 demoman x reader #tf2 heavy x reader #tf2 spy x reader #tf2 soldier x reader #tf2 pyro x reader

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goodluckdetective · 11 months

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Fic: Falling

Fandom: Good Omens

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48304483

Summary:

Crowley has very good reasons he doesn't want Aziraphale to fall. These are the reasons why.

Notes: This fic is actually quite old but Tumblr ate it when I first tried to post it back in 2019. So I cleaned it up and decided to shove it on here before the new season. Enjoy!

Contrary to what one may assume, Crowley has no desire to ever see Aziraphale fall. For good reasons, if you were to ask him on the subject.

It’s painful, for one. Crowley might have sauntered vaguely downwards but the pain when he reached the landing that is Hell was the same as any other demon. It is hard to describe, pain is very much a human sensation, but the best comparison would perhaps be apt to being dunked under frozen water by barbed wire after being flayed alive (1). And while that initial pain eventually fades to that of a lingering cold in one’s bones (2), it is one Crowley would much rather like Aziraphale to avoid. It is not just a physical pain either; it is a harsh pang of loneliness in the most crowded of rooms, the ache of being the last person left at what was once a full table. Can the angel handle pain? Of course. Can the angel handle loneliness? Heaven made sure of that. But that does not mean Crowley wants him to suffer through it if it can be otherwise avoided.

Another small, but valid reason Crowley has no desire to see Aziraphale fall is simple: Aziraphale would be a terrible demon. It might be nice to work together in an official capacity, sure, but Aziraphale is not suited for the callous indifference and the minor inconveniences Hell specializes in. It is not that he is too soft, far from it (3), but Aziraphale wears his softness much like one wears a jacket. He finds the outstretched hand of kindness a nobler cause than the sword. And while kindness is forgotten in heaven these days, at least the angel is allowed to share his own on Earth somewhat freely. He may get in trouble for too many miracles, but he does not have to hide his care for performing them. But Hell? Hell is never kind.

Neither of those thoughts, while crucial concerns, are not the main reason Crowley hopes that Aziraphale will never fall. No, Aziraphale can not fall, because to fall is to lose faith. Faith in God, faith in humanity, faith in the world being kind. It is to doubt, to do it constantly, to never be quite sure that the move you are making is the correct one. Crowley knows doubt, it comes to him with every decision he makes, and the weight of it is far more painful than the lingering chill of hell’s flames. It is a doubt that does not allow for any faith in almost anything, not even in that of oneself. Doubt is the reason he puts on his sunglasses before he looks in the mirror some mornings, as if to pretend the yellow eyes are still an amber cold.

Doubt, the consuming kind that comes with being a demon, is the antithesis of Aziraphale. Aziraphale who decided to believe God could have intentions for mankind other than their doom. Aziraphale who thought mankind could be good, if they were allowed to try. Aziraphale who gave his flaming sword to Adam believing he would use it wisely (4).

Aziraphale who saw a demon and decided that his faith, the most powerful thing an angel could have, could be placed with a snake who talked too loud, drank too much, and secretly loved mankind enough to die for them (5).

If Aziraphale were to fall, the loss of faith, the faith that things can be good, would be the end of him. He would survive, but as something else. Someone else. And Crowley rather likes the Aziraphale he knows now.

So screw Aziraphale falling. Crowley already did that for the both of them. He can do it again if asked. He’ll spend an eternity falling as long as Aziraphale keeps his faith in others tucked behind a fond smile.

(Falling for that smile, after all, is still the best type of falling Crowley has ever done.)

Footnotes:

1. This is not Crowley’s personal comparison of choice, as he thinks it rather medieval and far too dramatic. The barbed wire comparison was popularized by the demon Alostar, who Crowley thought was an “overly winded-prat with a terrible taste in ties.”

2. This Crowley has used as a description for the sensation, though he himself did not popularize it.

3. Anyone who has the misfortune of meeting Aziraphale during the fall of Rome, when he decided to save as many humans as he could with his two fists and a shard of pottery, would never consider calling Aziraphale soft. Ever.

4. Adam actually did use the sword wisely, mostly to set fires to keep warm and to slay beasts that threatened him and Eve. It would be his ancestors who would use the blade to shed the blood of their fellow men.

5. Not that he would ever admit it.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands

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wikiangela-fanfics · 2 years

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Fictober22 - 11. Think! For once!

Fandom: 911

Ship: Buck x Eddie

Ao3

Summary: Buck puts himself in unnecessary danger again, and Eddie is not having it.

Words: 1129

Note: Not exactly what I had in mind, but after that episode you know I had to write this 😂 I hope the prompt works here idk

***

He walks into the hospital room and, when he sees Buck – sitting there, in the bed, all bruised up, with his leg in a cast, but at least awake and alive and mostly fine – Eddie feels like he can breathe again. He feels as if he’s been holding his breath since he saw Buck get on that bike last night, and now finally is able to release it.

It’s actually a miracle that Buck got away with just some bruises and scratches and a broken leg – thank fuck the guy hit the breaks when he did, though with his speed he still couldn’t avoid hitting Buck. Hearing Chim on the radio saying what happened almost didn’t feel real. In that one second, Eddie’s heart sank. He was afraid that Buck would finally run out of his dumb luck that allowed him to survive so much, and what if this time- he can’t even think about it now, as he looks at Buck smiling at him nervously. Suffice it to say, he feels immensely relieved.

“Hi.” Buck says, and Eddie has the urge to go up to him and wrap his arms around him and never let go.

“That was really stupid, you know?” he says instead, sitting in the chair next to the bed.

“It worked, though.” Buck shrugs and winces slightly.

“For who?” Eddie raises his eyebrow. He’s relieved, but he’s also annoyed and angry, because Buck always puts himself in even more danger than their job already requires, and each time Eddie feels like his whole world is about to fall apart.

“He stopped the car and Chim is fine, so it’s all good.”

“All good?” Eddie takes a deep breath. He feels all of his emotions melt into anger, and he doesn’t want to argue right now. He feels like it’s going to happen anyway, though. “You could’ve died, Buck.”

“But I didn’t.” Buck sighs with exasperation, like he’s already annoyed with this conversation. Well, tough, because at least they’re both here and able to have it.

“We talked about this before, but I’m gonna tell you again and again, until you believe it: you’re not expendable. You can’t just rush into these things on instinct-”

“What was I supposed to do?” he interrupts, annoyance in his voice. “Let him drive away and crash again, this time with Chim?”

“How about think?!” Eddie lets a bit of anger seep through, raising his voice just a little bit. Then he remembers he’s at the hospital, and, in a whisper-scream, adds: “For once!”

“I was thinking. About Chimney.” Buck looks at him coldly. Eddie’s honestly not sure if he wouldn’t have done the same thing. He knows that all that matters is that both of them are okay. Still, it could’ve ended badly for everyone.

“Yeah, but what about you?” he fires back, takes another deep breath, then adds, more calmly: “Look, I’m really happy that he’s fine, but he could be fine without you getting hurt, too. The police were on their way, Buck.”

“Can we not, Eds?” Buck sighs again, leaning his head back on the pillow. “I’m tired, I just wanna go home. I- We put ourselves in danger every day on the job. I don’t get why this is different.”

“Because this wasn’t the usual danger. This wasn’t necessary. Help was on the way. And you put yourself in front of a speeding car-” he abruptly stops and closes his eyes for a moment, feeling all the worry and anger build up. “What if he hadn’t stopped? What if both you and Chim got hurt?” now his voice is shaky and barely above a whisper. “We could’ve lost you. I could’ve lost you.” he reaches out for Buck’s hand, intertwining their fingers almost on instinct, as if they’d done that before, as if this was normal between them. It kind of feels like it is. But it’s not, and Buck looks at him, then at their laced fingers, then at him again, with wide, surprised eyes. “And I can’t- I can’t even think about what that would be like.” Eddie says, as his heart breaks just at the mere thought of that.

“Eddie-”

“Just promise me next time you’ll think twice. That you’ll stop blindly risking your life. I need you to be okay.” he feels tears in his eyes but refuses to let them go. He cried enough last night, worrying about Buck and not being able to sleep. “I need you.” he repeats with emphasis. He almost lost Buck too many times, and this one, though not as severe as before, finally makes him snap. In a split second he decides to throw his fear and anxiety over ruining their friendship out of the window. Whatever happens between them, he needs to tell Buck how he feels, before this dumbass jumps in front of another car or does something else stupidly heroic and Eddie won’t get a chance. His heartbeat accelerates. “After my son, you’re the most important person in my life. I can’t- and don’t want to imagine my life without you, Evan.” he looks Buck in the eyes. Buck looks stunned, but Eddie started talking, so he needs to finish. “I love you. I’m in love with you. And I can’t take seeing you hurt again and again. One of these days your luck will run out, and I just-” he shakes his head.

“You know, you get hurt a lot, too.” Buck responds, and it takes Eddie by surprise. He’s confessing his love and Buck says this? But then he squeezes Eddie’s hand, and he knows. “So I know how it feels. I’m sorry for making you feel this way.” he swallows audibly, then, a lot more quietly, adds: “I love you, too, Eddie. You have no idea-”

“I think I have some idea.” Eddie can’t help a grin. Suddenly he feels a ton lighter, though he’s still worried and wants nothing more than to take care of Buck and help him get better. “Why don’t we take you home and then we can talk some more? And later, when you get a bit better, I’ll take you out on a date.”

“Sounds good to me.” Buck beams, his gorgeous eyes twinkling with joy.

Eddie never expected to confess his love for his best friend in a hospital room after said best friend got into yet another accident. But, truth be told, it is kind of fitting. At least now it’s out in the open, and they can only move forward, whatever happens. Hopefully with less near-death experiences from now on, though he doubts that’s possible. For now all that matters is that Buck feels the same way, and Eddie can’t remember the last time he felt this happy.

#fictober22 #fictober #fictober 2022 #buddie fic #buddie #buddie fanfic #buddie ficlet #buck and eddie #fanfic #my writing #wikiangela writes #911 #911 fox #fictober prompts #911 fic #angst #a little angst #angst with a happy ending

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angel-tries-to-write · 3 years

Text

No Control

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Rating: Mature Pairing: Arno Dorian x fem!reader Word count: 3694 Genre: angst but later fluff

Inspired by Hamilton, again. Enemies to lovers, but make it fast. Might contain triggers.

Since the day you two have met, your relationship couldn't be more complicated. He was snarky and sassy Sad Boi, you were mean and Miss Perfect. He considered you a bitch, you considered him a jerk. Both of you lived for the other's failures and were delighted to humiliate and belittle the other on every occasion. But never once these fights interfered with your assassin job, the Creed was always your priority. You could be professional enough to put your feelings aside and cooperate for the sake of your mission. As the time passed and you were spending more time together, you got to know each other and started to grow somewhat close.

You knew something really bad had happened the moment you saw Arno entering the room. Although you were discussing some matters with the council, no one informed you what happened and why exactly he was there. If that wasn't enough, you were told to leave. The council had to talk to Arno in private. You did leave, of course. But as soon as you were out of sight, you ran to the other side of the hideout and placed yourself in a perfect spot for eavesdropping. It wasn't comfortable at all, but it was nothing you couldn't bear.

Despite your cold and snarky attitude, you cared about Arno. And it was no fun seeing him get in trouble, even though you would say it was, to keep your reputation. You were also curious about what he did this time to earn such a reprimand. It took a lot to be scolded by the whole council themselves. When you learned what happened, you started to think about getting away.

“(Y/n), you are not supposed to be here” you heard master Mirabeau and you nearly fell out of your hiding place. Luckily you managed to compose yourself and you got out with grace and dignity.

“Oh, great. You must be happy now” Arno said harshly and you winced a little. You may have not been very nice towards him, but it didn't mean you enjoyed his failures.

“I am not” you said calmly.

“Excuse me, but the last thing I want now is your mockery” he turned around and started to leave.

“I do not plan to do that. I need to talk to you.” Despite him being clearly unwilling to listen, you followed him.

“Save it.”

“Arno, wait. I know how you feel.”

“No, you don't.”

“I used to be just like you: brash, reckless, inexperienced and I wanted to act, not think. I have done something terrible, everyone paid for my mistake. I thought I was meant to do great things, to prove my worth, to play a big role in history. I thought I could have the whole world at my feet. Then everything slipped out of my hands in a brief moment. After that, my father took me aside and said: "Let me tell you what I wish I’d known when I was young and dreamed of glory. You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story." And I realized he was right. So now I'm telling that to you. Don't let your feelings cloud your mind.”

“I do not need your smart advices” he said dryly, but he stopped and turned around to face you. “Besides, I will never believe you have done something worse than I have.”

“I straight up murdered my friends” you deadpanned. Arno looked at you, speechless and shaken. “I know what I'm talking about.”

“H-how?”

“It was a few years ago. We were just a bunch of teenaged novices. We thought we knew everything and we could do anything, just like we thought our creed says. I was in charge of them, due to my family being a very important part of the Brotherhood. I was the best of them, as well. Apparently also the luckiest. We decided to break into the Templars' quarters and prove our worth. As you can guess, we were slaughtered due to our miscalculation and carelessness. I was the only one surviving, because I was badly injuried and they thought I died right away, so they did not finish their job. Also because someone overheard the conversation between the two Templars and told my father who came to save me personally. He found me sitting among the bodies of my friends and enemies, badly injuried and completely shocked, terrified and devastated. I still can remember how wet my robes were, or that I was slipping on my own blood while trying to get out, or that the pain of my wound was nothing compared to pain in my heart. I knew I had failed everyone. Besides me, only two girls did not die right away. I personally ended the suffering of one, due to her nasty fatal wound, they just gutted her, but she did not die and begged me to kill her. The second one died two days later, when I was fighting for my life with my wound and a fever. That day has changed me forever. That day I understood that it is so easy to die and there is nothing noble in it. It is way harder to live with consequences of my decisions. The Brotherhood lost eight apprentices that day. I lost eight of my friends and myself. I might stand here being an assassin after all, but I am just a mere shadow of the one I used to be. My wounds almost made me disabled, it's a miracle I can walk, the doctors couldn't believe it would ever happen. But I still feel the pain that reminds me of my horrible mistake and the toughest lesson of my life I had learned. I am useless at fight or free running, therefore I mastered stealth and disguise. But it's like having a hypersensitive hearing while being blind. I merely make up for what I don't have anymore. I also do my best trying to find the Piece of Eden. Not only because Brotherhood needs to keep it safe, but also because it can heal me. I know the location of one Piece, but it is safely hidden far away and it does not attract any unwanted attention. The one in Paris, however, is being searched for by both Assassins and Templars. So I decided to ignore my personal needs for the greater good and focus on looking for the one that is needed to be found, instead of getting the easy option and going for the one I have found already” you concluded, subconsciously clutching the clothes on your lower abdomen. The familiar jab was present there, as usual. The painful memory of your past and a lesson for the future. Arno was looking at you in dead silence.

“I am sorry” he said finally, his voice was soft and quiet.

“Don't be. I get what I deserve. Remember my story and learn from my mistakes. Do not repeat them. Respect life and death” you warned him.

“No, I am sorry for thinking you were just mean, grumpy and selfish” he explained. “I would not be happy myself if I had to live in constant pain and with such memories.”

“I got used to it” you shrugged. “Though I admit, I would rather have my friends alive and punished by the council instead of this.”

“I am going to help you find that Piece of Eden. You deserve to be redeemed and cured” Arno promised and you smiled a little.

“Thank you. That means a lot” you bowed your head in a gesture of appreciation.

“Good to hear you are a responsible man, monsieur (mister) Dorian. I always knew you are a lot like your father, after all” spoke Mirabeau, approaching the two of you, he looked at Arno, then at you and noticed your gesture. “You should rest, my child” he put his hand on your shoulder.

“I'm fine” you protested.

“My brother would kill me for not taking care of you” the older man reminded you.

“He should have taken care of himself, then he could be taking care of me in person instead of lying in grave” you growled angrily, then hissed when the pain in your old wound strengthened. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax, knowing that stress was making everything worse. “I apologize. You are right, I shall get some rest, uncle” you said quietly and headed to exit.

“Let me help” said Arno and followed you.

“There is no need” you answered, but grabbed his arm for support, when the jolt of pain almost made you bend over.

“Sure.”

“I'm serious, I- gah” you stopped walking, waiting for pain to ease. Arno didn't ask for the second time, he simply caught you and lifted you bridal style. As much as you hated to admit, you needed this.

“You never mentioned that you and Mirabeau are related” he spoke after a while.

“I did. I told you that my family is meaningful in Brotherhood. I just didn't mention him specifically” you said like it was nothing. Well, to you it was.

“So? Care to explain?”

“My father was his younger brother, that's the big secret” you sighed. “As you can guess, I would rather keep that information in private. I do not want anyone to think that I am somehow privileged, because I'm not.”

“Understandable.”

Arno carried you all the way to your apartment, then helped you to undress to the point you were comfortable, then carried you to bed. He was way more nice than you would expect. Maybe you judged him too soon and Bellec was just an old, grumpy man who wanted Arno to be like his father? You took his hand as he sat by your bed.

“Merci (thank you). You didn't have to do that” you said, looking at him. “Especially after all these things I have told you.”

“You are not as bad as I thought. And not as bad as you think. I guess that if I can put up with Bellec, I can be friends with you as well” he shrugged. “Unless you don't want to.”

“No, I... that would be nice. You are not that bad yourself” you chuckled softly. “But for now there is nothing else you can do, so if you have something else to do, I do not keep you.”

He didn't, so you talked for a few hours. You learned about Élise, monsieur de la Serre and all the funny stories about Arno's childhood. In exchange you told him about yours, about growing up in the Assassin Brotherhood and learning all the tenants of the Creed from the very first day of your life. That day both of you learned a lot about each other and though you hadn't known that, you started to develop feelings for the man.

Therefore after some time you knew that sooner or later you would end up in Arno's bed somehow. Of course, there was always Élise, whom he loved deeply, so you would never make the first move. But when she told him that she was willing to sacrifice everything to stop Germain and she didn't need his help, well, the problem sort of solved itself. Since Arno's banishment from the Brotherhood, you were following him discreetly from time to time to make sure he was doing fine. But suddenly he disappeared and that was very unlike him. You established that he wasn't leaving Le Café Théâtre anymore, so one day you decided to pay him a visit. The first day he was so drunk that he didn't even recognize you, but when you came back the next day, he wasn't completely drunk yet. He must have worked, after all, the Café still belonged to him and it required his attention from time to time. Therefore, he was still in a pretty good state when you came, you could actually talk to him.

“How are you doing, Arno?” you asked softly, taking your hood off and closing the window behind. You approached the desk he was sitting at.

“Go away.”

“No.”

“(Y/n)” he stood up, intending to leave. You stepped closer and hugged him, snaking your arms around his chest and waist.

“You are not alone, Arno” you whispered, holding him tightly. “No matter what you think, I will never leave you on your own.”

“I don't need your pity” he hissed, trying to push you away.

“I do not pity you. I care. I genuinely care about you.”

“Let me go. I need more wine.”

“No, you have had enough. You should go to sleep” you pulled away and started to pushing him in the right direction. “Come, let me take care of you.”

“I don't want to” he protested, but obeyed when you lead him to bed. You were gentle but firm. The man sat on the bed, accidentally pulling you closer and making you lose your balance, so you ended up straddling him. Your lips were way closer than should be.

“What are you doing?” you asked quietly, sort of curious where it would lead, while knowing very well that you shouldn't let him do what you thought he intended.

“I don't know” he answered honestly. Then he put his hand on your cheek, caressing it gently. Just to kiss you shortly after. And you knew fully well he was drunk and you shouldn't do that, but you kissed him back anyway. He pulled away shortly after. “I shouldn't.”

“I know.”

“I... Élise... I can't-”

“I know. But I am here for you anyway and no one will know.”

That was enough for him to kiss you again. It was wrong in every way, he was a traitor to your Creed, he loved another girl and she was a Templar. You knew he didn't feel about you the same way you felt about him, but you couldn't stop him. You didn’t want him to stop. Your discarded coat quickly fell to the floor with your weapons. His skilled hands quickly started to undress you further and you didn't resist. You started to take off his clothes yourself and you stopped him only the moment he wanted to get rid of your pants.

“Wait” you panted, holding his hand back.

“What's wrong?” Arno asked with concern. He might have been drunk, but not enough to not realize something wasn't right. His lips and fingers kept touching your skin.

“Remember how I told you about that wound I got as a novice?” you shivered as he decided to focus on the one of your breasts.

“Sure. This is it?” he asked and you nodded. “You got hurt there?” the man asked with disbelief, touching your sex through the thick fabric of your pants and even this gentle touch made you shiver.

“Not exactly” you helped him take off the rest of your clothes and let him see the large scar blemishing the soft skin of your stomach.

“It does look awful” he admitted, looking at the scar. “How did you even get that?”

“I was just stabbed there” you pointed a spot with your two fingers. “It was a miracle that the sword didn't even touch my vital organs. It slid right between intestines and above the bladder, one wrong move and I would die. But it cut the uterus pretty badly, amputating one of the ovaries. The doctors had to cut me open even more to even sew the wound and stop the bleeding” you traced the scar with your fingertips. “It didn't heal well, so it still causes me pain and if I ever miraculously get pregnant, it will probably kill me, because the growing baby might tear the scar apart. This is why finding a Piece of Eden is my only hope” you sighed, closing your eyes to avoid looking at the scar. But you quickly opened them again, as you felt the soft kiss on the side of the old injury.

“We are going to find it and heal your wound” Arno murmured, leaving butterfly kisses on your scar. He was getting lower and lower, and when he reached his destination, you nearly screamed. Apparently he was very skilled not only in combat or free running, but also in bed. He wasn't your first partner, but he was definitely the best.

When he finished, you couldn't calm down for a while, lying in his bed completely vulnerable. You looked at him with love and trust, both very unique to your everyday self. You were never as open and honest as you were that moment. He climbed up your body and captured your lips in a gentle yet sensual kiss. You buried your fingers in his messy hair and took off the hair tie. It was something you wanted to do for a while, you were curious how he would look like with loosened hair and you had to admit, he still looked good. It was giving him a little feral vibes, but these suited him well, especially when he had those wild glimpses in his eyes and looked at you with predatory hunger.

“Do you really want this?” you asked him, caressing his cheek.

“I do. It makes me forget the pain” he answered honestly and kissed you. “And you? Do you want this?”

“Yes” you answered and kissed him back. Upon hearing such a clear consent none of you had further doubts. Arno might have been drunk, but he was clearly making sure he was gentle enough and that you are comfortable with anything he did. And you were more than happy at his actions. You spend with him the rest of the day and when the night had come, you fell asleep in each other arms.

You woke up in the morning very suddenly, alone in the bed. At first you thought that maybe Arno had left you, but then you had heard his voice.

“...and what am I supposed to do? Pretend nothing happened?”

“No, but if you forgot that Templar girl, we would be able to show you the right path” said the other, male voice.

“I do not want to forget Élise. Besides, don't you see how pathetic it looks?”

“Pathetic?”

“Taking her because Élise left me? Isn't it pathetic?”

“If you think of it this way, then sure, it is. But I bet (Y/n) would never think like that.” Suddenly you realized it was one of Arno's friends, probably the one who was always carrying his axe.

“Right. She is too good for it.”

“Now you sound like a lovesick boy.”

“Ha, ha, very funny” it was the usual, sarcastic Arno.

“Look, whatever you are going to do, you should decide quickly. (Y/n) is still bound to the Brotherhood and she leaves for a mission soon. Time is running out.”

“Go away. Your advices suck.”

“As you wish. But think of it” the man said and left. Arno closed the window and got back to the bed. He took off his pants and slipped under the blankets, snuggling with you.

“He knows nothing” he muttered into your hair, pressing your body to his. You pretended to stir and wake up, you didn't want him to know you've heard that conversation.

“Hi” you smiled, looking at him.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up” Arno smiled sheepishly.

“It's alright. I wish I could wake up like this every morning” you smiled and kissed him softly.

“Who you are and what did you do to (Y/n)?” he chuckled and kissed you back.

“I feel too good to be salty” you looked at him with happiness radiating from your face.

“Why wouldn't we stay like this forever then?” he asked and your heart skipped a beat. It was the most wonderful thing you could imagine, but at the same time it was equally problematic.

“Are you sure you would like this? I thought it was nothing serious.”

”Positive. I need to take a charge of my life.“

“But Élise...”

“I should stop thinking about Élise. She told me she does not need me, I can live without her either” he answered calmly, but you could see his emotions buzzing.

“Why the sudden change?”

“Last night was really... something. I... well, let's say I realized that life doesn't end with Élise.”

“Or maybe you like to break the rules a little too much?” you smirked.

“You are not that innocent yourself” he looked at you and smirked too.

“I never said I was.”

After some time, when you were sure Arno was asleep, you carefully got out of bed, washed up quickly and dressed up. Then you sat by Arno's desk and wrote him a letter.

My Dearest Arno,

I wish I could stay with you for longer, but my duties call. I feel terrible disappearing like that, while you still are lovely asleep, but I have no other choice. I am deeply sorry for this.

I never hoped for anything like this to happen, after all you have always seen only Élise. I do not feel surprised, she is beautiful, smart and so amazing, that I could date her myself (do not tell her that though, she should not know). What happened between us, happened anyway and I am thrilled. I have to inform you that I had dreamed about it for a very long time.

As you may know by now, I have feelings for you. These might not be as strong as yours about Élise, but I still deeply care about you. I am thrilled that I could make you feel better, even if it was for a moment. I really hope that the next time when we see each other, you will be happier than you are now.

If you need some more time, I will give you all the time. I have a lot of it, I can wait as long as you need me to.

Forever yours,

(Y/n)

You left the letter on the desk and silently left Le Café Théâtre. Then you left for your mission, hoping that it wasn't your last meeting.

#assassin's creed #arno dorian #arno dorian x reader #my fic

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actress4him · 3 years

Text

Black, Yellow, Blue, Green, Orange, Pink ...Red

Part 8. Just a reminder that I can start a taglist if anyone wants on!

First | Previous | Next

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: torture, muzzle, minor character death, dead (alien) bodies, conditioned whumpee

Shiro didn’t want Keith nearly collapsing again, held up only by the alien’s many hands and nearly screaming in pain behind the muzzle, to be the distraction he was waiting for, but he’ll take what he can get.

They’re all focused on their victim, and he pounces, Pidge right behind him. He doesn’t even pay attention to how much force he’s using. If these aliens die by his hand, he won’t regret it one bit, not after what they’ve done to Keith.

What they’re still doing to him.

The hallway floor is dotted with aliens, unconscious or dead, and Keith is lying in the middle of them all, writhing. Every once in a while a choked sound leaves his throat, like he wants to scream but can’t.

Shiro drops down beside him, uncaring at the moment that this same boy was taking out his friends a few minutes ago. Right now, he’s his little brother, and he’s hurting, and Shiro doesn’t know what to do to fix it.

“What’s wrong with him? What did they do?”

————————————

It hurts.

He doesn’t even know what’s going on around him right now, all he knows is that everything in his body hurts, like his blood is on fire, and it just keeps going.

He doesn’t think they’ve ever left it on this long before.

Will it ever stop? Maybe they’ll just leave it on forever, just let him stay stuck in this pain until it somehow kills him.

A long, drawn out, painful death, just like he knows they want.

————————————

Pidge frantically searches through the bodies, not allowing herself to stop and actually think about what she’s doing. “There was...I saw it, it was a...a remote, or something. I don’t know which one had it, though! They all look the same!”

Joining her search, Shiro digs into the pockets of the closest alien, his eyes wild with the need to help. She can’t even look at Keith right now. She might just burst into tears.

In the hand of her second alien, though, her fingers find a small, hard object, and she pries it out with a triumphant, “I found it!” It only has a couple of buttons, so it’s just a few seconds longer before Keith finally slumps into the floor, panting heavily.

Shiro is by his side again immediately, Pidge limping closer cautiously. She saw and heard what Shiro did, knows that this is their Keith but with apparently almost three years of traumatic conditioning, but still...he did shoot her earlier. And four of her friends. She feels she’s won the right to be cautious.

————————————

He’s still alive. Apparently that death wasn’t quite enough for them, after all. Just a precursor, a taste of what was to come.

Something warm brushes against his temple, and he flinches, but it comes back to rest on his forehead a moment later and...just stays. It doesn’t hurt. In fact, it feels so good, so soft and comforting and not like anything he’s felt in such a long, long time. He whines out of sheer bliss. Fluttering his eyes open, he sees Black hovering above him, a look of concern on his face.

He doesn’t know why he’d be concerned. Maybe he didn’t want the device to turn off yet. After what he did, all of the Paladins will want him punished, too.

Black moves his hands, the prosthetic coming up toward his face, and he cringes, shutting his eyes again.

“It’s okay. It’s alright, Keith, you’re okay. I’m just gonna get this off of you.”

He’s well acquainted with the feeling of the muzzle being unbuckled. As it comes off, he obligingly opens his mouth so that the bit can slide out. It’s always a relief to have it gone, even now when it’s been in for possibly the shortest time ever.

What he doesn’t know is why it’s being taken off. Before his mission, it only came off when he was supposed to say his mantra. But this isn’t them, this is Black. What does he want him to say? Maybe it’s best just to stick with what he knows.

“I belong to you. I am a weapon.” It comes out a raspy whisper, but he presses on. “My job is…” Oh no. Oh no. He doesn’t know his job anymore. He can’t say it’s to kill the Paladins, not to one of the Paladins. And now he’s faltered, he’s taken too long, and they’re going to punish him…

“No, no. It’s okay. You don’t...you don’t need to do that. Let’s just…”

He peers up at Black again in time to see him look over at Green. “We need to get you both into pods. Do you think you can walk all the way there? I can come back and get you if I need to.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Black helps him to his feet, and pain shoots through his leg, but he doesn’t let on that it hurts. Besides, he’s a little distracted by the sight of those who owned him, scattered around and not moving.

He doesn’t know what that means. Are they...dead? Does that mean the Paladins own him now? It must. It has to mean that. That’s why Black is taking charge now, removing his muzzle and leading him around. He still doesn’t know what they want from him, but he’s sure he’ll find out. They’ll make sure he figures it out, one way or another.

He’s led by a hand on his shoulder down a few hallways until they get to what the others are calling the infirmary. He could probably run, he’s not really being restrained, but what would be the point? Go back to the fighter he flew in and...what? He doesn’t know anywhere to go but back to the space station he came from, and there’s nothing waiting for him there that he wants. Might as well stay here and see if by some miracle it’s any better.

Black insists that he gets in a ‘pod’, and he doesn’t argue. Whatever it does, maybe it’s not too bad, since he can see all the others that he shot and failed to kill already inside of them. They seem to be asleep. Maybe they’re going to put him to sleep until they decide what to do with him.

That’s okay. As long as he’s asleep in there no one can bother him too much.

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whumpwriterforlife · 3 years

Note

For your bingo card, could I request prisoner exchange and/or shaking and shivering with Nyx please? 🙏👀

Why yes you could! Come get your serving of prisoner exchange with Nyx! I hope you like this! And, as always, I'm accepting more requests!

(those underlined in pink have been requested, blue x's have been completed)

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Nyx Ulric, Cor Leonis & Crowe Altius

Whumpee: Nyx Ulric

Word Count: 1577

Warnings: Implied/referenced torture (but absolutely no descriptions of it happening, just a mention)

Can be found on ao3 here

The car slowed down and rolled into a stop. The atmosphere in the vehicle was thick with tension and Nyx had to force himself to take a deep breath, to keep breathing normally. His ribs twinged with pain but it was a minor inconvenience at the most, definitely not the biggest of his worries. He rolled his shoulders back, the handcuffs clinking together behind him. Nyx twitched as he heard the side door slide open, followed by a growled order.

“Grab him.”

Nyx stiffened. He whipped his head towards the voice but he saw nothing, not with the blindfold over his eyes. Rough hands wrenched him out of the car vehicle with little consideration of his condition. Nyx faltered and almost fell to his knees but the grip on his arm kept him upright. A thick feeling, one of uncertainty with a hint of fear, started forming in his chest but Nyx pushed past it. He instinctively struggled against the man holding him but it only resulted in him being shoved onto his knees on the ground. The impact sent a ripple of pain through his battered body. Something wet soaked through his jeans — water maybe? The thought vanished from his head as the cool barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his neck and forced his head down at an angle.

“Stay down and do what you’re fucking told and maybe — just maybe — you’ll get to go home by the end of the night, Hero.” The last word was spat out like it was a curse. Nyx bristled slightly but stayed down. If it weren’t for the gag that had been forced into his mouth, he might very well have retorted, but he couldn’t.

“Stop right there!” the same voice continued, louder this time. It was clear he was addressing someone else this time. Nyx shivered as the gun was cocked. “As you can see, I held my end of the deal. Your guy is here, alive and well. Now, let me see my guy.”

Your guy.

Nyx frowned. Did that mean someone was there for him? Something hopeful swelled in his chest but it was mixed with dread. He didn’t know how long he had been held captive. He only knew it must have been days. Days of isolation and beatings. Whoever his captors were, they had kept him in the dark of the reasons behind his abduction.

“Here’s your brother, just as agreed.” a new voice spoke up somewhere in the distance. Except, it wasn’t really a new voice. It was Cor.

Nyx shifted uneasily but the man instantly pushed the gun against his head more harshly in a silent warning. They were doing an exchange? A prisoner exchange? Nyx cursed silently. That wasn’t good. The Crown didn’t negotiate with hostage takers. Nyx wasn’t anyone important, he was just a random soldier, no one to give a damn about. There was no way the Crown would approve of a prisoner exchange like this. Had Cor gone against all regulations, broken laws to do this? Cor liked his job, Nyx didn’t want him to endanger that, not for him. A sickening feeling formed inside Nyx.

“Send him over!” the man shouted. “When he’s here, I’ll release your guy!”

Nyx shook his head, a muffled noise bleeding through the gag. That was most definitely a trap. If Cor did that, there would be no reason for the man to release him. The man, displeased by Nyx’s actions, pulled the gun back from his neck, only to hit him with it. A pained groan slipped from Nyx as his head spun. He missed what was said next but then he was yanked to his feet. By some miracle, he managed to keep his balance.

“Walk!” came the order from the man. He had an iron grip on Nyx’s arm, one that was bound to add to his collection of bruises, as he roughly steered him into the right direction, wherever that was. Eventually the man jerked him to a stop and placed the gun against his neck. “Happy now?” the man asked someone — Cor?

“Delighted,” Cor responded. His voice came from much closer this time. “We make the swap?”

“Send my brother over,” the man told him. Nyx winced as the man’s grip on him tightened. He hated feeling this vulnerable, having his senses taken away from him. He had no idea what was happening around him. Nyx didn’t hear Cor’s response but then there was the sound of approaching footsteps from ahead of them. Nyx held his breath.

The man pulled the gun from his neck and Nyx had a moment of confusion. Then he was shoved forward. Nyx hissed as he lost his footing after a couple of steps. Before he could hit the ground, however, someone caught him and softened his landing. Nyx’s instincts told him to fight but with his hands pinned under his body, it was easier said than done.

A gunshot rang out, followed by another one. Nyx heard cursing, not from Cor but from Crowe. Someone yanked the blindfold off. It was dark outside but it still took Nyx’s eyes a moment to adjust to see it was Cor who had caught him. Over them stood Crowe, holding up a magic shield against the bullets.

“Can you stand? Walk?” Cor asked. There was a potion in his hands that he broke over Nyx without waiting for an answer. It worked well to stabilize his condition, although it wasn’t enough to heal him completely. Nyx nodded in response to Cor’s question but made a disgruntled noise into the gag. Cor got the point and tugged the gag out of his mouth. Nyx coughed slightly and grimaced.

“What did you do?” Nyx asked, voice hoarse. Cor shook his head and pulled Nyx upright. Nyx wavered but Cor steadied him with ease. The gunshots had stopped at this point, and Nyx glanced up to see a handful of men disappear into two vehicles in the distance. “Cor…”

“Now’s not the time to worry about that,” Cor told him. “Crowe, we’re moving. Sorry, Nyx, we can’t get the cuffs off just yet.”

“Right behind you,” Crowe said as she dropped the shield. Their surroundings didn’t look familiar to Nyx when he looked around. Not even the familiar glimmer of the Wall was visible. Had he been taken outside of the Wall? Cor and Crowe led Nyx to a van a little ways off to the side and ushered him into the back of it. There was someone else in the driver’s seat, someone Nyx didn’t know but Cor gave the woman an address and then they were on their way which had to mean she was one of the good guys.

Cor wasted no time in getting Nyx out of the handcuffs and then Crowe was by his side with a first-aid kit. Some of his injuries were too old to be healed entirely by potions and would have to be treated the traditional way. “Where are you hurt?”

Nyx brushed her off for the moment as he turned to look at Cor. “Cor, what did you do? Prisoner exchange… you know the Crown doesn’t—”

Cor paused what he was doing to meet Nyx’s gaze. “They made an exception.”

“What does that mean?” Nyx exclaimed and broke into a small coughing fit. His throat was like sandpaper.

“It means you don’t have to worry about it,” Cor told him. “Right now we need to get you to the hospital for a check-up. Everything else can wait.”

Nyx frowned, unsatisfied with the response.

“For gods’ sake,” Crowe growled. She pulled one of Nyx’s hands to herself and started cleaning his wrist where the cuffs had bitten into his skin. Nyx hissed as she worked on the wound. “Stop being stubborn — the both of you! Nyx, sit still and let me take a look at you, you’re a mess! And just so you know, Cor made a deal, the exchange was planned and there’s a tracker on the guy. He didn’t go rogue for this.”

Nyx and Cor both turned to look at Crowe. Crowe glared at them and shook her head but her voice was fond as she spoke. “Jackasses.”

The two men shared a look, and Cor shrugged as he settled down to sit next to Nyx. He gave Nyx a sneaky smile. “She means you.”

“Hey!” Nyx exclaimed, followed by a flinch when Crowe found a particularly tender spot on his wrist. He nudged Cor and grumbled slightly. “She said Jackasses, plural. You’re just as much of a jackass as I am, just so we’re clear.”

“Whatever you say,” Cor said with a smile. He put his arm around Nyx’s shoulders and tugged him close so that Nyx’s head was leaning against his shoulder. He pressed a quick kiss on top of Nyx’s head. They both pretended not to hear Crowe mutter something about waiting until they were in private. “Get some rest, Nyx, it’ll be a couple of hours before we get to the hospital. And no, it’s not negotiable, you’re going.”

Nyx nodded. He felt safe again, relaxed. He wasn’t going to fight them this time. He was feeling every single one of his days spent in captivity, and he knew it would help alleviate Cor and Crowe’s worries. Nyx yawned and closed his eyes. He would be asleep in no time. “Thanks, guys.”

#badthingshappenbingo #prisoner exchange #nyx ulric #final fantasy xv #hurt nyx ulric #nyx ulric whump #cor leonis #crowe altius #tw implied torture #bthb #my writing #kingsglaive final fantasy xv #cornyx #crowe takes no bullshit #if someone is wondering #Crowe is there because she can out stubborn Cor whenever she so likes #and Nyx has gotten himself in trouble once again so hell yeah she's going to tag along

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oopsitsstella · 4 years

Text

Where It Belongs

Steve Rogers x Reader

Fandom: The Avengers

Summary: Presumed dead fiancé of Steve Rogers, Y/N L/N is found frozen in an abandoned HYDRA base

“This place is a mess and a half.” Nat mumbled.

Steve and Natasha had been sent on a mission to scour an old, abandoned HYDRA base to see if there was anything there of use or value to S.H.I.E.L.D, with Tony on standby on the jet in case of trouble. They had gotten through most that was there to see, and had just entered a large room full of shelves littered with files. Steve was standing in the middle of the room, while Natasha had walked down one of the aisles to see what she could find.

There was a thick layer of dust covering the shelves, showing the place had been untouched for a while. Nat came to the end of the aisle and stopped, looking at the shelf in front of her. She picked up one of the files, blowing of the dust on top of it, and opened it. The first paper had a picture in the top left corner, of a woman, with h/l, h/c hair and e/c eyes. Next to the picture, there was personal information, her name, her birth date, her duties within HYDRA, etcetera. But the name caught her attention.

“Steve?” She called. “What did you say your fiancés name was?”

“Y/N L/N. Why?” Steve called back, making his way down the aisle.

“She didn’t happen to medically trained?” Natasha asked him, showing him the document.

“Why would HYDRA have files in Y/N?” Steve mumbled.

“Well, it seems, she was in charge of patching up Bucky if he got injured during a mission.” Nat said, pointing to one part of the document.

Abilities: Skilled in healing, years of experience in the medical field.

Duty: Take care of any and all injuries the Soldat may acquire during missions.

“Wait, what’s…” Steve trailed off, grabbing the file from Natasha, his eyes trailing to the bottom of the paper.

Current status: Frozen after disobeying direct orders.

Steve froze completely, reading that part of the paper. A few moments of silence passed, and Nat placed a hand on Steve’s arm.

“We should keep going. We can talk to Fury about this when we get back.”

“Okay.” Steve said quietly. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

The two walked down the aisle, back to the middle of the room, when Nat’s eyes caught sight of a door at the end one of the other aisles. She walked down with fast steps, and halted when she read what the sign next to the door said.

Cyrofreeze Chamber

She walked forward, opening the door, her eyes widening when she saw what was behind it.

“Steve! I think I found her!” She called back, followed by fast footsteps approaching.

“Y/N.” He breathed out once he saw that it was indeed her.

Her eyes were closed, and the very tips of her hair were coated in a thin layer of frost.

“Tony, we need your help.” Nat spoke into the coms.

“What’s happening?” Tony asked.

“We found a Cyrofreeze chamber, and someone’s in here.”

“I’ll be right there.”

After some hassle and time, they managed to get Y/N onto the jet and to the tower, to get her to Bruce and Doctor Cho.

Y/N had been taken straight to the med bay, and Steve was sitting outside the room with his head in his hands.

“Hey Steve.” Bucky said, sitting down next to him. “How’re you holding up?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see her again.” Steve said quietly. “Now I find out she’s been alive the whole time, thinking me to be dead. I must have completely broke her heart. I just hope she’ll forgive me for that.”

“Don’t you dare even think like that.” Bucky said firmly, and Steve turned to look at him. “No one had any idea you were going to survive that plane crash. And we both know Y/N won’t blame that on you.”

“Do you think she’ll even remember?”

“Hard to know.” Bucky sighed. “They might not have done anything to her head, although I doubt that. But if she was frozen for disobeying orders, she must have at least know that what HYDRA was doing was bad. Maybe, if they did something, it didn’t stick.”

When Steve didn’t say anything, Bucky continued.

“But if she doesn’t remember anything, I’m positive the one who’ll be able to get her memories back is you.”

“Steve?” Bruce said, opening the door. “She’s awake.”

Y/N’s eyes slowly opened, swiftly closing again because of the bright lights that invaded her vision. Slowly but surely, she opened her eyes again, and once they got used to the light, the next thing she noticed was how cold she felt, and a shiver ran down her spine.

She sat up carefully, not knowing where she was or what was happening. She was in a small room. White walls and ceiling. A couch opposite the bed she was sitting on, one chair on either side of the bed, a table against the wall on her right, and two people standing in front of the door. A man and a woman.

“Oh, you’re awake.” The woman said, walking to the bed Y/N was sitting on. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, I’d say. A little cold, but good.” Y/N said hesitantly.

“Cold is to be expected, nothing to worry about.” The woman assured her. “My name is Doctor Cho, this is Bruce Banner.” She said, gesturing to the other person in the room.

“Just Bruce is fine.” He told you.

“Okay. Um, where am I? What’s happening?”

“You’re in the med bay of the Avengers Tower, New York City.” Bruce said. “2016.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, HYDRA put you under Cyrofreeze in the 1980’s. You were found earlier today, and we got you awake again.” Bruce said, and Y/N looked down at her lap.

“I understand if you want to wait, this has to be a bit to process, but there is someone here to see you.” Doctor Cho said.

“Who’d want to see me? There can’t be anyone I know who’s alive now.” Y/N said, looking back to the two doctors.

“Not quite.” Bruce said with a slight chuckle. “You’re not the only one from your time who’s been frozen.”

“Who?”

“Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.”

“They’re still alive?” Y/N said incredulously, amazed her fiancé and best friends were still around.

“Steve’s been waiting for you to wake up since you got here.” Bruce told her. “He’s waiting outside if you want to see him.”

“Yes, please.”

“Does she remember anything?” Bucky asked as Steve quickly stood up from his seat.

“She must remember something, she reacted when we said you two were waiting for her.” Bruce said.

Steve hesitated slightly outside the door, looking at Bruce, who nodded his head into the room. He slowly walked in, and froze when he saw Y/N sitting on the bed.

Her head was tilted down, looking at something that was laying in her hand, that was attached to a chain around her neck. Her head snapped up when Doctor Cho spoke.

“We’ll leave you two alone.” She said, moving towards the door. “Come find me if anything happens.”

The door closed, and Steve and Y/N were alone in the room. Together for the first time since 1945.

“Hi.” Y/N finally spoke up, breaking the silence.

“Hi.” Steve replied.

“Do you want to sit down?”

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked once he had sat down on Y/N’s right.

“A little cold, but I’m good.I just found out my fiancé and best friend also survived the test of time, so that’s a plus.” Y/N smiled at Steve, and he smiled back.

“How much do you remember?”

“If there’s something I don’t remember it’s not because of HYDRA, it’s just… me.” Y/N chuckled. “They tried so many times to wipe my memory, but it never worked. I don’t know why.”

“How are you?” Y/N asked, shifting the focus to Steve. “And how are you here? How did you survive that plane crash?”

“I got frozen in the water up there. It kept me alive.” Steve said. “It wa like Cyrofreeze, but just, nature. Then the world found me.”

“When was that?”

“2011. Then I found Bucky a few years later.”

“And how’s he?”

“He’s good. The HYDRA memory wipe worked on him, I’m sure you know.” Steve said, and YbN nodded. “But he’s getting there. There’s still bits and pieces he doesn’t remember though.”

“You know, when I got out of the ice, one of the first things I did was try to find as much information as I could about you. Try to find out what happened to you.” Steve said after some silence, looking at the floor. “The only thing I found about your fate was that you went missing in the 60s. I feel like I should have been able to figure out that after what happened to me, there could be a chance that you were also still out there somewhere.”

“Steve, you can't blame yourself for not trying to find me. cyrofreeze wasn’t exactly a thing we knew about. I don’t blame you at all for not looking for me, or even thinking to do so. You couldn’t have known.”

Steve looked up at Y/N, and he almost felt like time froze. Looking at her, she was still that same woman he fell for all those years ago. Same beautiful h/c hair, same shining e/c eyes, same smile he adored so much. Sure, she looked a little bit worn, but decades of hard work in a field as tricky as HYDRA was bound to do that to a person.

As his eyes were sweeping over her figure, his eyes caught what was hanging around her neck.

“You still have the ring.” He said.

“Yeah, I think it’s a miracle I do.” Y/N chuckled. “If HYDRA found out I had it, they probably would have thrown it out and tried to wipe my memory again. But of course I still have it.”

Y/N’s hand found the chain around her neck and pulled it off, laying the ring in the palm of her hand.

“Throwing this out would have been like throwing out one of my favorite memories of you. I couldn’t do that.”

Y/N turned her head to look at Steve, and he noticed a tear rolling down her cheek.

“But since we’re both here, do you want to put this ring back where it belongs?”

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers imagine #avengers x reader

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tearsofgrace · 4 years

Text

It’s Not a Date

15.14 fix-it that actually fixes nothing. instead of sam having a date, dean does

word count: 1.7k, tags: sam ships it, angst, fluff, empty deal

also on archive!

(this was written very quickly and is trash fair warning)

Dean looked in the mirror one last time. He hadn’t really dressed up. Well, there was no reason to. But he’d also spent almost an hour now trying on different flannels and standing in front of the mirror to see how they looked. But that didn’t matter.

When he walked into the map room, he immediately looked down. Jack was next to Mrs. Butters, his stance set and his hands hanging almost too still at his side. Something was wrong, Dean could see that. But he couldn’t- no, he wouldn’t talk to him about it. It was all he could do not to yell at the kid when he looked at him. Which wasn’t fair, of course. But he just needed a little more time.

“You ready for your date tonight?” Mrs. Butters said cheerfully.

And Dean almost choked on, well, nothing. His throat got tight and he went into a coughing fit, red rising in his cheeks.

“Date?” Sam said from behind him. “That why you dressed so carefully, man?”

“Not a date,” he forced out, looking between Sam and the nymph.

“Where are you going?” Jack asked. Dean looked up at him, holding his eyes for a second, trying to let the love and pride he felt for him overtake the anger. It didn’t work.

“To see Cas. He’s a couple towns over and I just want to check in. It’s been a while since we’ve seen him, you know?” He tried to keep his voice steady. Because this was definitely not a date. He and Cas would never go on a date. Just wasn’t in the cards.

“Why can’t we come?” Jack asked. And Dean hated that he sounded so innocent, so earnest, spouting off about shit he would never understand. But he also wanted to let him stay like this. Engaged, alive, bright-eyed and not bogged down by the trauma he’d been through.

“Yeah, Dean. You sure it’s not a date?” Sam said with a smirk.

Dean should have punched him. Would have served him right too. But he, through some miracle, restrained himself.

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“So, what,” Sam continued, and Dean rolled his eyes. Great. He was gonna push this. “You and Cas are just grabbing dinner or something? Heavy on the something.”

“You guys can tag along, whatever,” he grumbled. And he hated himself for how much he wanted them to say no. How much he wanted to be alone with Cas, to just relax.

He risked a glance up at Sam and saw his brother’s eyes soften. “Nah, Jack and I will stay here and help Mrs. Butters. You have fun.”

Mrs. Butters had been quiet for most of the conversation, but as Dean turned to leave, she put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “It’s not a date?”

He rolled his eyes. “No. Cas is our best friend.”

“You don’t talk about him like he’s a best friend.”

Sam snorted and he felt Jack shift next to him. Well, at least he was becoming transparent enough that a woman (nymph?) who had known them a week could tell he was in love. That was a bonus.

“He’s my best friend,” he said firmly, before walking from the room. They could speculate all they wanted, could laugh at his stupidity, at his idiot puppy-dog love. It wouldn’t change the facts. This wasn’t just a crush, or whatever the hell they thought it was. He was in love with Cas. And Cas would never love him back. Hilarious.

He got behind Baby’s wheel and took a deep breath. He had no idea how to sort through his emotions. Like he’d told Sam he was a picture of health. A picture of health with anger and guilt and love and pride and hurt and fear all swirling around to paint one grizzled old hunter.

He took another deep breath and started the engine. Talking to Cas, that would help. It always did.

He may have stretched the truth a little when he said Cas was a few towns over. It was actually around a four and a half hour drive. But it wasn’t like he was needed at the bunker… what could go wrong while he was gone?

It was around eight when he got to the shoddy motel. He texted Cas and waited anxiously for the angel to come outside. When he did, he couldn’t help the smile that immediately fixed itself to his face. God, he was helpless.

He had himself more or less under control when Cas got in the passenger seat. For one fleeting moment, Dean considered reaching out and taking his hand. Because Sam and Jack were miles away. No one needed to know. But he didn’t need to see the confusion, the disappointment, the disgust on Cas’ face. So he kept his hands to himself.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

He smiled again and started the car. It was easier to get air, somehow, with Cas here. It was something he didn’t even notice when the angel was gone. But as soon as he was with him, his chest felt less constricted, his mind felt clearer, everything felt right.

They drove in silence to a small diner. Dean didn’t even realize until they got there that he hadn’t put music on like he normally would, but he hadn’t wanted to. He liked the silence with Cas there.

Dean ordered for both of them--burgers, fries, and coffee--and they sat at a booth in the back.

“How’s the search for God’s sister going?”

“Not well,” Cas responded gravely. “Maybe we should focus more on Billie’s plan. I’ve been thinking about returning to the bunker.”

Dean felt his heart flutter at that, but he just nodded. “Of course, man. Whatever you think is best.”

Their conversation drifted after that. Cas was worried about Jack. And Dean was too, but he didn’t let the conversation linger there for too long. It was too much, and Cas seemed to sense it too. He always understood.

He tried to focus on the words, on Cas, but his mind couldn’t stop drifting back to the bunker. Back to, You sure it’s not a date? Because, really, how hard would it be for this to be a date? Everything was so easy, so natural, it would just be one step further. Wouldn’t change a thing, really.

Dean shoved the rest of his burger in his mouth, not caring how messy it was. Just trying to stop that train of thought. Because that one step further, that’s what would lose Cas to him forever. Cas didn’t love him back. He repeated it over and over in his mind until he realized Cas had asked him something.

“What?”

“Are you okay, Dean? You seem distracted.” Cas took a sip of his coffee and grimaced, immediately setting it back down.

“Just thinking about something Sam said.”

Dammit. Why did Cas always bring out the honest man in him?

“What did Sam say?” Cas had leaned forward now, his hands crossed on the table in front of him. Dean let his eyes linger on them for a minute before looking up to meet Cas’ eyes.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it, man.”

Cas rolled his eyes, an action that still looked foreign on him, and sighed. “Dean.”

“He said-” God, he was really gonna do this. That was not the plan for tonight. “He said that we were going on a date.” The words felt clumsy coming out of his mouth and he immediately wished he went back to being the picture of health, to keeping everything inside him. But after Purgatory… he owed it to Cas to do better.

“Do you want this to be a date, Dean?” Cas said seriously.

Dean choked on his coffee, coughing until they got dirty looks from the only other man in the diner this late.

“What?” he finally sputtered.

Cas didn’t answer, just looked at him, one eyebrow raised. And it should have made Dean want to bolt. Should have made him terrified, ashamed, confused, but it didn’t. Instead he just felt safe.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I do.” He raised his chin defiantly, ready for the rejection, for Cas’ face to fall. And it did. But not in the way he thought it would. He looked scared, his eyes filling with tears.

Dean immediately backtracked. “Hey, man, we don’t have to do anything with this. I can’t- I don’t wanna lose you. It was stupid anyway. I didn’t even-”

“Dean.”

He stopped, his mind spiraling but his body completely still.

“I can’t.” A single tear tracked down Cas’ face and he resisted the urge to reach across the table and wipe it away. “I made a deal.”

“You what?” He felt a familiar emotion fill him. One he knew, one he could hold on to. Anger. He let the red cloud his vision and everything else faded away.

“With the Empty. To save Jack. When I’m happy,” Cas took a deep breath and Dean felt a pang of sadness ring through the anger, but he ignored it. He couldn’t deal with that. Anger, he knew. “When I’m happy, I’ll die. And you… you would make me happy.”

“What the hell, Cas? You could have told us. We could have gotten you out of this. Hell,” he slammed his hand on the table, trying to ignore Cas’ face when he flinched. “We will get you out of this.”

He pulled his wallet from his pocket and threw some bills on the table before standing. He stood there for a second, looking into Cas’ eyes, his chest heaving. “I’m gonna get you out of it,” he spat, before stalking away.

Cas called after him, but he ignored it. His shoulders were tight and he felt almost like he was shaking. But in a way, it was nice. The anger that filled him. It was easier. Far easier than dealing with everything else he felt right now.

He got behind the wheel and gripped it tightly, his knuckles going white. He had four and a half hours to control himself. To get his anger in check before Sam saw him and read him like an open book.

He took one last deep breath, pushing down the sadness, the love, the look of hopelessness on Cas’ face, and then started the car. Then he started for home.

Briefly, he hoped Sam and Jack were okay. Then he shrugged. What could have possibly gone wrong while he was gone?

tag list {ask to be added or removed!}

@fandomstuff67 @menjiiii @witchyanaels @starlightcastiel @chaoticdean @larryforeveralways @samhainsam @ghostsforcas @tlakhtwritesdestiel @wanderingcas @hallowena @spooky-things-do-happen-dean @jayus-fandom-writer @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @starrynightdeancas @radiantdean @piemaker-from-gallifrey @on-a-bender @eshaninjer

#destiel #destiel fluff #spn spoilers #spn fan fiction #s15 spoilers #destiel angst #not really a happy ending #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #destiel fanfic #deancas fic #destiel fic #destiel ficlet #my writing

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harcourtholmesii · 3 years

Text

Heaven’s Choir

Figured I could post some of my older works that are currently on AO3. Let me know what you think!

Fandoms: Team Fortress 2

Pairings: Heavy X Medic (Slight)

Warnings: - Referenced / Implied Violence and Gore - Referenced Death - Threats of Violence

Words: 1284

Takes place before everyone on the team has been gathered, but it is not explicitly important.

Enjoy!

He couldn’t sleep. The explosions from his first day of combat blasted still throughout his eardrums, and he felt the ghost of his limbs where they were but where they should not be. Being blown apart by rocket launchers or gunned down by sentries were still etched into his memory, and despite the miracle that was the Respawn system, Mikhail still could not separate his present physical health, with his dying moments on the battlefield. How did they do this? How were they supposed to do this?

The seven mercenaries had each parted ways once the battle was over, not one word was spoken to Mikhail after the battle. It was a horrific loss, apparently, not that Mikhail understood why. They were alive, weren’t they? But their objective had been lost. They weren’t acting like this was a battle where strategic points were taken and lost in an instant; they were reacting as if it was all some kind of childish game. He did not understand how they could look at it this way.

Being the newest of the seven mercenaries, he supposed it took time to come to terms with what they faced every day. He was a mercenary. He had done some truly terrible things in his life. He was brought up defending his sisters and mother, night and day, up until a week ago when he left them behind. He had killed before, many times in fact, so that way he could protect his family and earn them a living, no matter the blood that stained the rubles he earned with each murder to his name.

Mikhail sat up in bed, pondering this mess he had gotten himself into. He should have just snapped that woman’s neck when she turned up on his doorstep, threatening to reveal where his family had hidden themselves away. He should have! But she had promised him work, with enough money to sustain his family long after he had died. And it was far away from the horrors of his home. But, it meant being far away from his mother and sisters. Did no one else in this base have anyone to go back to? Did none of them really care how they saw their entrails on the outside each time they were on the battlefield? They were fighting a stalemate. The game had ended ages ago, and yet here they were, pawns circling each other on a complex chess board.

It was a soft sound that got Mikhail’s attention. Light, soothing and beautiful. He had not heard such a sound in… well, since he was a child. It was faint, but as he stood and opened his door, he could hear it clearer than ever. A skilled artist was pulling the bow over the strings of a violin; a melancholy piece, slow and angelic, carried its way down the corridor. Somewhere in the base, it seemed that Mikhail was not alone in his struggles to sleep.

He shut his door behind him, and followed the sound with ease. Without the Demo-Man’s disruptive guffaws and without Soldier’s proud proclamations, the halls were empty and quiet. It was as if there was a clear line, like a trail that led Mikhail out of the Defence corridor and past both the Support and Attack corridors. Instead, the sound led him into the underground, where only a few choice rooms were accessible. It was to the Medical Bay that Mikhail found himself.

From this side of the door, he could hear those sullen notes, how the bow wept to play them and yet how the violin sang like Heaven’s choir. And to think… Mikhail glanced about the door, the two large crosses glaring at him in the dark of the hallway. How could a man like the Medic, the man with that wicked grin and cruel laughter, how could he produce such a fine piece? Mikhail rested his forehead on the cool of the door, the metal biting slightly into his skin, but he cared little for it. He was much too focussed on the spell that bound him to his spot. He dare not press further, lest the harmony stop.

He did not know for how long he stood there. When the music had come to its end, he noticed his legs aching from how he had been standing, and he felt a slight burn in his brow from where he had rested it all this time. He pushed his weight off the door, the sound of gunfire and roaring bullets muted in his mind, replaced instead by the harmony he memorised. It was not a piece familiar to him. For all he knew, it could have been simply the Medic tugging on strings, unsure of what to perform. If it was, however, Mikhail still longed to hear it again.

He could just barely make out the sound of a shutting case, and then footsteps, slow but light heading towards the Medical Bay doors. Mikhail stepped back, turning his head to realise that there was no corner to duck around; no objects to hide behind. The door opened before him, and Mikhail was frozen in place. The man that stood before him still looked as impeccable and professional as he did before the battle, sweater vest and tie, button up shirt and ironed pants tucked into his boots. He seemed just as startled as Mikhail, taking a half step back at the other’s presence blocking the door. His steel blue eyes widened behind the spectacles, looking up at Mikhail with surprise and bashfulness. The faintest tint of pink entered the doctor’s fair cheeks, but he was quick to regain his composure, the colour disappearing as quickly as it had come.

“Herr Heavy.”

“Doktor…”

“Can I help you?” For a moment, the two of them stood there in silence. The other had gone back to his professional persona, the one he put on in the meeting before the battle. Mikhail cleared his throat, and shook his head, unsure of exactly what to say. He did not think he would be caught out so suddenly.

“Vell, zhen if you don’t mind, I shall be heading to bed.” Medic gave him a polite nod of the head, stepped around the giant of a man, and proceeded to make his way to the basement stairwell. As Mikhail watched him leave, he felt his voice trapped in his throat. He needed to say something. He should say something.

“Guten nacht, Herr Heavy.”

“Wait, Doktor.” The other stopped, but did not turn. He stood now at the base of the stairs, one hand on the banister. His head was tilted slightly, but otherwise, he gave no further attention to Mikhail. “I… Would you play again?”

The German turned on the spot, looking at Mikhail analytically, his eyes darting about the Russian’s face. He was looking for something. Something that Mikhail clearly did not have, or perhaps he did have? He did not know, but Mikhail felt the weight in his chest fall away as the German’s lips spread into a sincere smile. One that Mikhail had yet to see.

“I always do.” Medic’s voice was softer, less crisp. It was the voice of a tired man. A man who had found a kindred spirit in Mikhail. “Tomorrow night, you should join me. Don’t stand outside on your own, ja?” Mikhail nodded, feeling his own mouth part in a relieved smile. He followed the German up to the stairs, and as the man turned to lead the way up, Mikhail caught the faintest of that rose tint to the doctor’s cheeks.

“Da. Wish to watch you play next time.”

“Next time, mein freund, you vill.”

#Team Fortress 2 #TF2 #Medic #Heavy #TF2 Fanfiction #TF2 Fanfic #Heavy X Medic #HarcourtHolmesII

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

Text

Where Blood Roses Bloom

Fandom: Castlevania Pairing: Alucard/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades

Summary:

After Trevor gets grievously injured by a night creature, he and Sypha return to Dracula's castle to seek Alucard's help. The man they find there, however, is but a shadow of the friend they left behind.

Meanwhile, in far Styria, Hector does his best to survive in the vampires' court, a lamb amidst wolves. Little do the wolves know, the lamb has fangs of its own.

Chapter 2: Friends is up! Alucard POV, and a fair bit of introspection as he tries to come to terms with Sypha and Trevor returning after being gone for so long, and what that could mean for their (once) friendship.

Read here or on AO3! Read Chapter 1

Adrian’s footsteps ring hollowly along the empty corridor. He walks without thinking, with swift and purposeful strides that take him as far away from the room where Belmont is lying already half dead, and Sypha is wringing her hands in worry.

There is a stream of light pouring in from one of the windows along the dark hallway. Motes of dust bob and dance, shimmering iridescent in the early morning sun. Adrian walks towards it, presses his palm to the smooth, cold stone of the windowsill. His hand, he notices absently, is shaking.

What on earth just happened? What is he doing? What was he thinking, opening that damned door?

After that night —that dark mark in the series of dark marks that seem to be making up his life now— he swore he would not open that door for anyone ever again, unless it was to end them, swiftly and decisively. While sharpening the stakes that would hold Sumi and Taka’s lifeless bodies, he swore that those two would be the last to ever cross the threshold of this God-forsaken place alive. That he would remain in eternal solitude, feared and reviled, a prisoner in his own home, but at least he would be left in peace.

Barely two weeks later, and not only has he let Sypha and Belmont in, he practically carried them in himself.

Sypha’s frantic banging on the door caught him unawares. He never intended to open, not even when he realised it was them, but her desperate pleas called to him in a visceral, instinctual way. When he saw her red, tired eyes, her haggard appearance; when his eyes fell on Belmont —a miserable pile of blood-stained clothes and hair matted with feverish sweat, bleeding on his doorstep — his mind froze for a moment. There were no thoughts, not really, just shock, worry, and that deep, gut-twisting fear: please don't let him die, not him, not him, too.

And all this for Belmont. Trevor fucking Belmont, who can’t go two seconds without insulting and pushing and prodding him, even when he’s one foot in the grave already.

“Mad,” Adrian whispers under his breath. He had his doubts before, but now he is sure: he is utterly, undeniably mad. He has finally lost whatever is left of his mind.

He shakes his head as he pushes himself upright. For a moment, he wonders what in the seven Hells he’s supposed to do with them, with the mess that has been thrust in his hands. Belmont’s condition is worse than he thought. The wound is deep and ugly and festering, and unlike anything he’s seen before. It’s a miracle how the man is still on his feet; if he weren’t built like a tree Adrian is sure he would have been dead long before.

His feet take him straight to the upper floors, where he had been before Sypha and Belmont showed up. The large, dusty room with the tall floor-to-ceiling windows that his mother once used as her study is the only place he seems to be able to find any sort of peace these days. He has taken to sorting through her old medical journals; a long, painstaking process, but oddly comforting. There are still piles upon piles of leather bound books, notebooks and scrolls that she never took with her to that small cottage she had taken to living in and treating the peasants from the nearby villages during the last few years of her life. Adrian remembers thinking of taking them to her even then, mere months before she was taken, but he never did. Now he’s almost relieved, in a way, that he never did; at least he still has something of hers that the humans -those vultures- never managed to burn. As poor a consolation as that may be.

He walks to the tall cabinet made of elegantly carved dark wood that stands at the far end of the room. It is where his mother kept most of the ingredients for the medicine she used to make. It takes him a moment to find what he needs: dried wormwood and red dead nettle to alleviate pain and slow the course of infection, wild radish powder for the fever, a strange-looking mushroom that, when pounded into a paste, can stop the progression of even advanced gangrene, or so his mother told him once. Adrian takes them all to the work table that hasn’t been used in years, wipes the dust off the mortar and pestle and disinfects them with alcohol, and gets to work.

There is something soothing about mechanical tasks, about using his hands, he thinks, as he grinds the ingredients into a paste. He is so used to drifting aimlessly through the cold, dark corridors, to watching the days pass in a slow, never-ending stream, that moving with such purpose and urgency now is a welcome change, even if the cause for it is anything but.

He has something to do. The almost pleasant buzz of excitement in his stomach while he waits for the brew to boil over the old stove is a surprise.

“You’re back!” Sypha says, hardly a second before he has finished knocking on their door. The dark circles under her eyes still betray her weariness, but her smile is wide and relieved when she looks up at him. The fire that’s crackling in the hearth fills the room with pleasant warmth, and Sypha’s cheeks are flushed and rosy.

Adrian opens his mouth to respond, when a strained groan from the bed cuts him short. “Was about bloody time.”

Belmont is lying on his back, exactly where Adrian left him. He looks paler than death, his cheeks gaunt and sunken, the pillow and sheets drenched in his sweat already, yet he still manages a small, smug smile when he elicits an icy frown from him. “Thought you might have lost your way.”

“Fortunately, not all of us possess your embarrassing navigation skills, Belmont,” Adrian replies smoothly as he makes his way to the bed.

Belmont laughs hoarsely, “Excuse me? I have embarrassing navigation skills?”

“Yes. How would you call getting lost in an abandoned village of approximately ten houses, and ending up ankle deep in pig shit? That wasn’t too long ago now, was it?”

The other man groans and rolls his eyes. “Christ, it was one time. And I didn’t get lost, I was looking for booze.”

Adrian lifts a brow. “In a pig pen. Really. Even for you, that's a first.”

“What fault is it of mine that the storage room was right next to the pen? And part of the wall had collapsed, as you may remember, so I couldn’t get there any other way.” Belmont narrows his blood-shot eyes. “I don’t remember you complaining any when you drank half the wine that night. After scoffing down most of that wheel of cheese I managed to bring back, of course.”

Leaning against the bedpost, Sypha lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Leave it to you two to start bickering about something that happened months ago, and everyone else has forgotten but you.” She shakes her head, but Adrian can see the small, fond smile that tugs at the corner of her lips. It startles him how much he has missed seeing it. The warmth that spreads through him at the sight startles him even more.

It feels odd to be around them. It is odd, certainly, how easy it is to slip back into that familiar rhythm, without even thinking about it. The paradox isn’t lost on him. There was a time, however brief, that he had thought of those people as friends. Or something very close to that, anyway.

What were they now? Could he afford to trust them, like he once had? Could he trust anyone?

He straightens, his amusement dying abruptly. They are both staring at him curiously, unnerved by his sudden silence. The grey light of morning that pours in through the windows highlights the sickly pallor of Belmont’s countenance, casts sharp shadows on the concerned frown that furrows Sypha’s brow.

Adrian hands Belmont the vial, then takes a step back. “Drink it now,” he says flatly, “while it’s warm. It won't be much use, after.” That should stop the man from talking for a while, he hopes. It does something strange to him, when Belmont talks. It makes him feel —almost— human.

Belmont takes the vial he is offered without a word. He tips it over his lips with trembling fingers, winces as he swallows. The medicine is quick to work. His features swiftly relax and he sinks back into the pillow.

“Ah, that’s better,” he sighs. “Sweet, blessed oblivion.” He is fast asleep in seconds.

A tense, uncomfortable silence spreads between Sypha and Adrian after Belmont is asleep. He doesn’t really know what to say to her. He’s not sure whether he wants to say anything at all. Her bright blue eyes on him make him uneasy. They always have, a little. It is like they can see right through him.

“The wound should be cleaned and dressed again,” he says matter-of-factly. “As often as possible. The less chance of infection there is, the better. I’ll bring some fresh water and bandages, you get him out of the rest of his clothes. Can you do that?”

Sypha nods sharply, and pushes her sleeves back.

By the time Adrian returns, she has managed to remove most of Belmont’s travel stained clothes without disturbing his injury. They only exchange the briefest of words as Adrian cleans the wound and applies the antiseptic he brought, then they both dress him in clean clothes. The shirt is one of Adrian’s own, and it is a touch too snug around the shoulders and Belmont's thick arms, but anything other than what he was wearing is a significant improvement.

As he stands back to let Sypha do the rest of the work, he notices the certainty and familiarity with which she handles Belmont. It hasn’t been lost on Adrian that their relationship seems to have changed and grown since they both left the castle. When she pushes a stray lock of hair behind Belmont’s ear, and gently presses a cool, damp cloth on his fevered brow, it leaves Adrian with no doubt.

They are together.

The realisation shouldn’t have made his heart tighten like this. An ugly feeling, something akin to jealousy, something that is eerily close to despair, rises in his chest. Sypha and Belmont are together. He wonders how he didn’t notice straight away. Of course he knew upon first seeing them that, during the months they’ve been away, travelling together, their bond has grown stronger than it was before they left. It was only a natural consequence of their way of life. But this…

He stares without meaning to. He watches as Sypha tends to Belmont, as she wipes the grime and sweat away from his face with so much tenderness, and he knows that she not only cares for him: she loves him. The realisation drives those twisted feelings deeper in his heart, when he wants nothing to do with them. Before he knows it, he’s already trying to imagine what it must feel like, to have someone care about him, so much, so deeply. He imagines what it must feel like, to be with something like this, to sleep next to them every night. He pictures Belmont’s arms coming around her, pulling her against his broad chest; he pictures him smiling at her, kissing her full, rosy lips.

Adrian tries to imagine what it would be like, if it were him.

It is a quick thing, effortless. He can almost see her responding to his touch, leaning into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He imagines her laughing at his jokes, gazing at him with love and adoration, like he’s something precious, something good, and his heart aches with a sort of longing he has long thought he is incapable of feeling.

He swallows thickly and drags his gaze away. What is it to him, if Sypha and Belmont are together? Nothing. Neither of them means anything to him. As she takes her time tending to him, he only wonders idly how she has managed to stay so close to the man, let alone sleep next to him. On the best of days, Belmont smells as if he’s been dipped in stale, sour beer— among other, fouler things that Adrian doesn’t want to think about.

Certainly, the man is quite handsome in a somewhat —or incredibly— rugged sort of way. Adrian can see the appeal, if dimly. That still doesn’t change the fact that Belmont is a boor and an insufferable lout and, frankly, more stupid than mud.

“There,” Sypha says quietly, laying Belmont’s head carefully back on the pillow, as if she were cradling an injured bird in her hands. “That should do it.” She wipes her palms on a clean cloth nearby and turns to him. There is something bright gleaming in her eyes. Hope. Adrian knows that look. “Did you find a cure?”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that.” He busies himself with cleaning his hands and pushing his shirtsleeves down so that he doesn’t have to see the hope wither on her face. “I have not seen a wound like this before. I need more time to figure out what we’re dealing with.”

“Oh.” He might not be looking at her, but he still hears the wind go out of her sails just a little. “Well. The medicine you gave him buys us time. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes, a little.”

“Good.” She nods and straightens, her jaw set in determination. “What are we waiting for, then? Let’s go.” Adrian blinks at her, and a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “Did you think I was going to leave you to look for the cure alone? I’m going to help you.”

“That… will not be necessary,” he says, a bit too quick. “I am perfectly capable of—”

“Nonsense.” She walks to the armchair by the window and picks up her cloak. It looks worn and the hems are mud-stained, but the way she throws it over her shoulders with so much grace and purpose makes her look fierce, almost… regal.

Her large, round eyes are on him now, and the intensity of her gaze leaves him breathless. She gestures towards the door.

“Shall we? We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

He finds himself complying readily, without wanting to, and it irks him.

They don’t speak much as they walk through the empty corridors. Sypha follows him quietly- her footfalls are light, probably soundless to anyone not possessing Adrian’s heightened senses. Only the whisper of the fabric of her robes around her ankles as she walks, and the sound of her breathing. It is smooth and calm, and only a little bit heavy. It is not difficult for Adrian to tell that she is keeping herself upright through sheer will and determination. It is admirable, really, and it makes him want to reach out to her, hold her hand perhaps, but he thinks better of it.

“There we are,” he says as the wide doors of his father’s library come into view. The hinges protest loudly when he pushes them open. Adrian hasn’t walked in that place in months— no, years. He has purposefully avoided it all the time he’s been there, yet he is left with little choice now. His father’s collection of books and magical scrolls is impressive; he always had a fascination with medicine. If there is information to be found on how to treat night creature wounds it has to be here, if it is not in the Belmont library. Adrian prepares himself mentally to visit both of the places he least enjoys visiting, if he has to.

He stands at the threshold for a breath, letting his gaze sweep over the expansive room. The neatly stacked shelves, the vials and the oddly shaped instruments his father used to collect are exactly as they used to be, not one of them out of place. There was once a time when Adrian would spend the majority of his spare time there, the countless books and scrolls his only company in that castle when he was growing up. It had been a comfort for him then, yet the sight of them now just makes him feel… hollow.

It was odd, how a man as transfixed with death and blood as his father went to so much trouble to keep the art of healing alive throughout the centuries. It seems like a farce now, a joke, a twisted image of reality that has no place in that world. Yet here it is before him, staring at him, laughing in his face. It is like looking at his reflection in a broken mirror.

Sypha’s shoulder brushes his own as she takes a step forward and into the room.

“This is amazing,” she says under her breath. She spins in a small circle, gazing around her in awe. “Look at all these things! There must be something here that we could use.” She walks swiftly to one of the low tables filled with the strange apparatuses his father liked to construct. She carefully pokes a brass, bell shaped instrument with the tip of her finger. “What is this?”

“A bloodletting cupping vessel, used by Ancient Roman healers. A long, long time ago.” Adrian drifts near her, coming to stand beside her. She straightens, and as she pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, he catches a hint of peach blossoms, of jasmine. Her soap, he assumes. He takes a deep breath, trying to discern the scents. Jasmine and peach blossoms, a hint of fresh hay, and is that sweet, slightly musky smell hers?

Before he knows it, he’s taken a small, perceptible step closer to her. Yes. That scent is definitely her. Jasmine and peaches, and that faint musk that is her, sweet and sharp like fresh cream—

He stops himself abruptly, drawing back as if stung. What on earth is he doing? He clears his throat discreetly and walks away. “And this is the funnel that goes with it,” he says, feigning disinterest, nodding at another apparatus nearby. “It is to collect blood for tests.”

“Tests?” Her eyes widen and focus. It unnerves him when she does that. Whenever she looks at him like this, it makes him feel like he is the only person in the world just then. “They used to run tests, back then?”

“In a way. Some of their methods are used to this day. Well. By those that don’t believe that sprinkling goat’s blood can cure a wandering eye, or that burning dried nettles can scare away the spirits that cause gout.” He clasps his hands behind his back and looks around. “So. I believe that what we’re dealing with is a sort of hex. We would need to remove that first, before attempting to heal the wound. Any idea where we should start?”

Sypha’s enthusiasm dims only slightly. “I’m… not sure. I can use healing magic, but my inventory of spells is quite small. I could devise a new spell, I suppose… but I would need the right books for that. That could take time. Or—” she glances up at him hopefully, “—we could look for a scroll. It seems your father has quite the collection. There must be something here, some sort of spell that can remove the curse. That was what I was hoping for, in fact.”

Adrian nods, humming in thought. “A scroll would be just what we need. My command of healing magic is rudimentary at best. I doubt I could even use it, but you could certainly try.” He turns around and walks to the far end of the room, towards the bookcases that line the walls. That was where his father kept his scrolls— hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, arranged in neat stacks in alphabetical order. His father was always very particular about the correct way to store books and scrolls.

“This is as good a place as any to start,” he told her, gesturing at the shelf with the scrolls written in Adamic. If there are powerful curse lifting and healing spells to be found anywhere, that is the place.

Sypha blinks, her eyes wide and sparkling as she takes in the sheer amount of carefully rolled up papyruses. She picks one up and opens it, swiftly reading the letters on the page.

“Fascinating,” she whispers under her breath. “This is… this must be at least two centuries old. This form here,” she points at the cluster of elegant shapes written in squid’s ink, “I don’t think it’s been used since the eleventh century. At least.” She walks up to him to show him. That faint, underlying scent tickles his nostrils again; he takes a discreet step to the side.

“Yes,” Adrian says, nodding absently even as his stomach twists in knots. “It is one of the more recent ones in my father’s collection.”

“Recent?” That gaze is on him again: bright, intent, clear like a midsummer’s day sky. Her lips widen in an enthusiastic smile. “There must— oh, there must be centuries worth of wisdom hidden in those shelves! There are scrolls from the ends of the world here. I wonder how your father came by it all.”

“Sacked the towns and villages that kept them. Killed and staked those who’d written them.” He shrugs as he examines elaborate glass vials on a nearby shelf. “Or so the tales go.”

Sypha stares, then looks away."Oh. Yes, I... I suppose you're right."

A cold, awkward silence falls between them. With slow, careful movements, she places the scroll back where it belongs and drifts slowly towards the far end of the bookcase.

They don’t speak much after that.

The hours fly by swiftly, one bleeding into the next in that sunless room, as Adrian and Sypha search through the scrolls. Were it not for the large, mechanical clocks on the wall, Adrian would never know whether it was day or night outside. It was probably late evening when Sypha falls asleep, with her cheek pressed to the desk. He brings her a blanket, some tea and a piece of pie he made the previous day, and continues to work. She barely stirs. Her hears her when she wakes up a few hours later; feels her gaze on his back, but says nothing.

His eyes are dangerously close to falling shut on their own as he reads through a scroll with annoyingly small letters, when an enthusiastic cry from the far side or the room jolts him bolt upright.

“I found it!” Sypha says, walking briskly up to him. She is grinning, her cheeks flushed, “I think I’ve found it. This must be it!”

Adrian blinks the weariness away from his eyes, examining the contents of the scroll that Sypha is holding under his nose. The forms are familiar, an incantation that must be hundreds of years old. It was first written by one Yin Chunhua in a province in Northern China almost three hundred years before, and was translated in Adamic by an Arabian scholar at the end of the twelfth century. Adrian takes it from her hands carefully, brushing the tip of his finger over the dried ink.

“Are you sure?” he asks, glancing up at her. “You think this will work?”

“I think so, yes. We can try.” Her face is glowing with enthusiasm, her eyes sparkling with determination. “If it doesn’t work, we try again. And again. And again. Until Trevor is healed. I know we can do it.”

Adrian holds her gaze for a long moment, a strange warmth creeping up inside him. ‘We’, she said. Them.

“Alright,” he nods. “Let’s do it. No reason to tarry.” He starts walking towards the door, when he is stopped short by Sypha’s hand on his elbow.

He turns around. Sypha’s touch is light, careful. She looks up at him, and, once again, it seems as if everything else has faded into the background, as if there's nothing else in the world but them, gazing at each other.

“Thank you, Alucard,” she says softly. Her blue eyes are earnest and crystal clear; it's like looking at the shimmering waters of a crystalline pool. “Your help means… everything. It really does."

Adrian’s breath grows shallow. The tenderness in her voice is unmistakable. It feels so strange, being directed at him. There is something stirring within him now, stronger the more he gazes at her; something that feels dangerously like hope. Could it be that she still considers him a friend? Could it be that the bond the three of them once had, however brief, is still there? Could it be that perhaps she could… love him?

The thought withers as soon as it blossoms. How foolish, how futile it all is. Sypha and Belmont left months ago to hunt monsters, they moved on with their lives, and he stayed behind, an empty shell of a man drifting endlessly through rooms and hallways that were emptier still, consumed by grief and loneliness. It was that same loneliness that Sumi and Taka had detected, and that they had pounced on, like hounds on blood. He let them. He paid for it, dearly, and so had they. And now, one kind word of thanks from the people that left him behind and he is ready to make the same mistakes all over again.

Adrian clenches his jaw as the familiar sting of shame and anger drives through him. They are not his friends anymore; he doubts they ever truly were. It was a matter of convenience from the start that they came together, and once his father was gone, so were they. What are friends, anyway?

What are friends? He’s never had any, and he never will.

Adrian takes a step back, slipping out of her gasp. His voice is flat and icy, his features schooled to an expressionless mask when he says, “This is wasting time. Let’s go.”

He turns towards the door, leaving her staring after him. The sooner Belmont’s injury is dealt with, the sooner they will both leave.

The sooner he will be on his own again, in peace.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, I’d love to hear thoughts! :)

#castlevania #castlevania netflix #alucard #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #alucard x trevor x sypha #adrian fahrenheit tepes #trephacard #alucard/trevor belmont/sypha belnades #castlevania fanfiction #netflix castlevania #where blood roses bloom #johaerys writes

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29-pieces · 4 years

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Whumptober day 27 - Good Omens

Day 27: Extreme Weather Fandom/setting: Good Omens, Pompeii ca 79 AD Read on AO3 Read on FF.net

~*~

Crowley hacked and coughed, face covered with his arm in a pointless attempt to protect himself from the ash. Stones rained down all around him; it was the only sound now that most of the screams had gone silent. Tears dripped down Crowley's face, carving lines through the ash that had already settled on him. What was he even doing here? It was useless... any human still in Pompeii was dead by now, or long past his ability to heal. And he wasn't supposed to be healing anyone, anyway. In fact, Crowley didn't know what his assignment here even was, but the crippling horror he felt at the scene around him wouldn't have allowed for him to function anyway.

"Anybody!" Crowley croaked out, desperation driving his sandaled feet a little further into the city. "Hello! Is- is anyone left...?"

One person. One wretched person to save, that was all he asked, but he couldn't stay here much longer himself, not without succumbing to the volcano and discorporating. At this point, it didn't seem like a terrible idea. A huge rock glanced off his shoulder, knocking Crowley off balance so that he tripped into the rapidly growing layer of hot ash coating the streets. Even if fire wasn't likely to do much damage to a demon (did lava count? He'd never tested this and wasn't eager to) it still hurt. Another stone crashed down beside him, so Crowley growled and drew his wings out into the physical plane, hoping to shield his head.

It wasn't the best idea he'd ever had, the hot, cloying ash immediately starting to stick to his feathers. It weighed him down, cumbersome and unwieldy. Crowley tried to stand back up but this time a falling rock did knock him over the head. The demon toppled the rest of the way to the ground, almost totally immersing himself in a hot casing of the volcanic brume.

With a strangled cry, Crowley forced himself up onto one trembling arm and called again,

"H-hello! Anyone, is anyone left alive?"

Shouting made him cough and choke and there was no reply. It was time to go; he was doing no good- er, well, he never did good, but he wasn't any use here. Shuffling around in the ash, Crowley staggered to his feet and tried to point himself out of the city, away from the cruel fires of Vesuvius. He blinked, shielding his eyes, and glanced around. His heart pounded faster; which way was out? Everything was covered in a thick, dark cloud and he had no idea which direction he was pointed now...

Maybe he should just lay down and discorporate there after all, but it was a terrifying prospect to die there alone in the volcano's wrath.

Panic overcame him, making the demon start to hyperventilate, which—given the debris in the air—only made things worse. Crowley sat heavily back down, about to go into a full-blown panic attack when a sudden light permeated the gaseous cloud around him.

"Hello!" a voice shouted. "Is someone there?"

"Over here!" Crowley immediately choked back, forgetting for a second the point had been for him to find someone else to save, not to require rescuing himself. At the moment, he didn't even care, nor did it occur to him that his wings—which he couldn't put away now even if he wanted, thanks to the layer of ash and dust bogging them down—might be a bit of a shock to whoever it was.

But when the light got closer, Crowley nearly sagged with relief to see the someone was the angel Aziraphale. They hadn't crossed paths since that day at Golgotha, but so far all of their meetings had been more or less on friendly terms, or at least neutral ones. So even though now would be the ideal time for Aziraphale to finish him off if he wanted, Crowley didn't think twice before reaching out desperately for the angel.

He saw Aziraphale's eyes widen before he hurried forward to take Crowley's hand and haul him back up to his feet.

"Can you fly?" Aziraphale asked urgently.

Crowley, who could barely move his wings now, shook his head.

Without another word, Aziraphale turned them both in the direction he'd come from, starting to run, still gripping Crowley's hand tightly. As bogged down as Crowley was, he couldn't go quite as fast, gasping raggedly for breath.

"Hurry!" Aziraphale urged over his shoulder. "The flow is about to hit the city!"

Crowley didn't answer, saving his breath for running. He didn't know how long or far they ran, but finally they broke free of the heavy cloud. Ash still drifted down like snowflakes, but Aziraphale didn't stop or let go of his hand until they had outrun even that. Not until they had splashed across a stream and Pompeii was far behind them did the angel slow to a stop, leaning over and panting hard.

Crowley fell to his knees at the stream to greedily gulp the cool water. It mixed with the ash coating his mouth, making him hack and spit out gobs of gunk. Crowley had never felt so miserable.

"Took too long gloating, did you?" Aziraphale wheezed, shooting a glower at the demon.

The implication froze Crowley in his tracks. He stared at Aziraphale, the accusation burning into his heart. "You think- that wasn't me," he gasped. Crowley's frame shuddered as he slowly shook his head and looked back towards the volcano—hidden in the cloud of its own eruption—with pain filled eyes. "There- there were kids in there," he whispered, voice breaking. "I thought I could get them out, but... They're all dead. All of 'em. I- Just get out of here and leave me then, if that's what you think! Stupid angel! I didn't do this!" He crumpled again. "There were kids..."

Aziraphale didn't leave, kneeling down next to him with an expression of sorrow. "I'm sorry, Crowley," he said contritely. "That was foolish of me to assume- I'm sorry, dear boy, please forgive me."

Crowley hung his head and nodded wordlessly. The angel had saved his life, after all, even while assuming the whole thing had been Crowley's doing.

"Oh, your wings are in such a state," Aziraphale fussed then, looking over the normally black feathers that were now streaked grey and white from the ash. "Let me get you cleaned up a bit, alright? Penance for my ugly assumption. And because I don't believe you'd have much luck on your own."

Well, he was right about that. Too exhausted to refuse and wanting nothing more than to be clean, Crowley nodded again.

Permission given, Aziraphale miracled a clean cloth out of nowhere and wet it in the stream. Then he sat behind Crowley and started to gently wipe away the layer of grime. While he did that, Crowley tiredly splashed water over his face and neck, rinsing so much ash away between the two of them that the stream ran cloudy where they were sitting. He finished before Aziraphale did; Crowley closed his eyes and sank into the comfort of having his feathers carefully cleaned, all the way from the tip of his primaries to the joint where the wings met his back and then back down over the other one.

His hurt at Aziraphale's accusation melted away along with the debris on his wings. To Crowley's surprise, the angel didn't stop even once he'd gone through several rags and the feathers were pristine again.

"Close your eyes," Aziraphale warned him, miracling a bucket now and trickling the water over Crowley's head to rinse out his long hair. Somehow the water was soapy and warm as the angel massaged it diligently into Crowley's scalp. It nearly put the demon to sleep, his throat closing up a bit at the gentle touch. He couldn't remember the last time someone had washed his hair. Had anyone ever? He didn't say a word, not trusting himself to speak, as the angel continued his careful ministrations.

"There we are," Aziraphale murmured, tipping one last bucket of warm water through his hair to wash everything away. "Now one last miracle—I doubt anyone on my side will notice, after all there's plenty that needs doing here—and you should feel like a new demon."

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley's ashy, dirty tunic was suddenly clean and shining white. Apparently the angel forgot that Crowley wore black, but it had been nearly white from the ash so he could be forgiven the mistake. Crowley would fix it later. Maybe. At any rate, it left him fully clean and fresh at last. Aziraphale crouched down beside him, a warm hand on Crowley's shoulder and a worried light in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" the angel asked softly. "I imagine this has... not been a good day."

"To say the least," Crowley replied, trying for flippant but sounding more downtrodden than anything. He cleared his throat. "But, uh, I guess I should thank you."

"Nonsense, you would have done the same-" Aziraphale cut off, turning an interesting shade of pink as though he'd said something he shouldn't have and wanted to have not said it.

Crowley wanted to tease him for it, but honestly he was too tired, so he nodded instead with all seriousness. "Yeah. Still," he said, shrugging. "Thanks." It was true, of course, he would have saved the angel if necessary. Crowley hated to be in anyone's debt, so maybe they should just make some sort of standing Arrangement, when the other needed help, they'd give it. Then it wasn't a favor, it was just... what they did. He'd mention it to Aziraphale sometime, see what the angel made of it. An Arrangement could come in really handy, the more he thought about it.

But that, he decided, soaking in the feeling of being clean and safe at last, was a thought for another day.

#whumptober2020 #no.27 #extreme weather #good omens #crowley whump #fanfiction #volcano #pompeii #pre-arrangement #wing grooming #hair washing #basically i'm a sucker for soft boys ^_^#Aziraphale to the rescue

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malereader-inserts · 4 years

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Too Good To Be Killed

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Remus Lupin & Son!Reader Summary: After the war, both Remus and you need to realise you’ve still got each other Word Count: 810 Request: @hopefulyellowlamp “hey just had a fight with my dad so wanted to ask if maybe you could do a dadfic with remus? i always enjoy those(and everything else you write), but yeah i could really use a comfort fic rn :') hope youre doing okay :))) thx ily bye” A/n: Sorry to hear that and sorry for getting this out so late, I am also sorry that it’s short because I couldn’t really think of anything for this but really wanted something out for you

The Battle of Hogwarts.

You’d never thought you’d make it alive, hanging out with Harry was never easy and being one of his companions was even harder. Still, it’s been a year since you’ve seen your dad and a hug from him would be lovely. You weren’t able to spot him during the hour break, but Hermione and Harry had reported that he was not part of the dead who was lined up.

You had also heard that your step mother was found running around the school, though you didn’t know whether it was true or not since you had not seen her face to face. But, the war efforts was well and truly good as Harry had defeated Voldemort. You haven’t had been able to get a good night sleep since you’ve been on the move, the world seems to be so fast that you couldn’t catch a break.

So, as everyone seem to gather in the great hall, you had sat yourself down with Hermione bandaging you up, something to stop your wounds from infecting as the nurses quickly get around to people. You sighed, tiredly giving Hermione a nod of thanks. Hermione smiles and nodded back before looking past you before silently getting up and walking to Ron and the Weasley family.

You looked confused before turning around and seeing Remus, your dearest father, stand looming over you. He sits down next to you, you had noticed that he was full of dirt with the occasional bloody area. Not as worst as you, with bruises already formed and your unmistaken bloody shirt.

“Dad!” You exclaimed happily, engulfing him into a bug hug.

He laughs, after he left out a little noise such as oomph, before wrapping his arms around you. For a year, he was left in the unknown if you were alive or not. Every day, he was asking for a selfish act from you, that you had abandon the caused and return home. Every night, he can’t help but think about the possibilities that you have faced. Hell, he wouldn’t know if your dead unless it was reported or if Harry had told him at Hogwarts, here before the battle.

In all fairness, Remus wouldn’t be able to cope if he had found out you had died in the expedition with Harry. Remus had also thought about the outcomes if you were announced you were dead, would he be angry at Harry? Would he be angry at himself, you maybe? For allowing yourself to join Harry in the search of horcruxes?

He gripped your harder as if you were going to slip away, and he wasn’t ever gonna see you again. He hadn’t realised how hard he was holding you until he had heard you whimper.

“Sorry,” Remus apologised as he lets go, you pulled back with a soft smile, but your dad’s hands rested upon your shoulders, “I’m glad you’re alive.”

You beamed at him, “Why wouldn’t I dad?” You joked, “I’m too good to be killed.”

And yet, despite the joke, Remus could see right through his own son. There was the fear lingering in your eyes, you hadn’t know whether you’d survive and it was miracle to you that you had. You had feared a lot of things whilst you were away from home, whether you’d make it home to meet your new little brother, whether if Harry would actually end the war.

You fear the unknown, the uncertainty of the outcome. For second, Remus had saw relief within your eyes, as realisation had come towards you - the realisation that what you were experiencing was real life and not some bad dream you were experience for the nth time before waking up in the middle of nowhere.

There was relief that you were sitting in front of your dad, he was alive and breathing.

“You’re okay, (Y/n),” Remus reassured as you looked at him with bleary eyes, unknown to the pair of you whether they were sad tears or tears of joy.

“Tonks? Is she...?” You asked, your tone shaking, before Remus beams at you.

“She’s alive, she’s an idiot but alive nevertheless. And little Teddy wants to meet his big brother,” You choked on your tears as you attacked your father, once again, with a hug.

However, this time, you were the one gripping him like mad, grateful that you were still able to hold him like you have been doing for the past nineteen years of your life. You had felt your dad run his hand through your hair whilst the other hand had rubbed your back, but equally holding you tight.

“I’ve got you kid,” Remus says, “You’re not going anyway, you’re alive, you’ve survived and dad’s got you.”

“Yeah,” You sniffled into his shoulder as Remus chuckles, kissing your forehead.

“Dad’s got you now, you’ll be alright.”

#Remus Lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin x male reader #x male reader #platonic

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bush-viper-cutie · 3 years

Text

“The Sickening Proof” || YEAR 3 – Ch.37 (HP au)

Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 1/8/2021

Word count: 3, 076

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

The next chapter will be posted either later today or early tomorrow! :D

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Snape might as well have been a terrifying shrieking shack ghost. He certainly got the right type of reaction from everyone.

Hermione let off a loud, shrill scream. Lupin jumped a foot in the air and turned. Harry went white as a sheet, though not as white as Ron. Sirius Black whirled so fast Heather thought he’d make himself puke. She just stared, dumb-founded at her Head of House for not only catching them out after hours, but outside of Hogwarts grounds after hours and outside of Hogsmeade visits. Maybe she’d be the one puking.

Snape moved slowly in a hunched crouch, inching towards Lupin as he aimed at his heart, arm fully extended and unwavering. He was a predator ready to strike and it stilled the air around them. “Thank you, Potters, for leaving the cloak behind for me. It came very useful.”

As still and calculated as Snape looked, he spoke from breaths. Heather could see it was a great struggle to contain his look of triumph, though she could still see it plainly in his eyes.

“Not expecting me, Lupin?” Snape’s eyes glittered as he continued to hold their silent attention perfectly. “You’d forgotten to take your Potion tonight, Lupin – not surprising considering how relentlessly unreliable you prove to be. And… like the responsible dog-sitter I am… I took a gobletful along with me to your office. How very lucky was I, that there, open on your desk, was a certain map.”

Snape’s eyes flickered to Harry and Heather for a second, letting them know they never had him fooled. Heather swallowed and began to shiver with fear. Surely, this was their last year attending Hogwarts… whether they made it through tonight or not.

“One glance,” Snape continued, “and I knew everything I needed to know. I saw you run along the passage and out of sight.”

Lupin licked his lips and began speaking with a quiver. “Severus – ”

“I’ve told the Headmaster again. And again,” Snape spat the words out like venom. “That you’ve been the one helping Black into the castle. And here’s the proof. If only I had guessed you’d be using this old place as your hideout – Only I never dreamed you’d have the nerve.”

“Severus, you’re making a mistake,” Lupin held his hand down and out, as if trying to physically lower Snape’s anger. “You haven’t heard it all – I can explain everything – Sirius was never going to kill Harry or Heather – ”

“I’ll be the one to call and let them know they’ll be needing TWO cells in Azkaban tonight.” Snape’s eyes gleamed fanatically. “I shall be interested to see how Dumbledore takes this… He was quite convinced you were harmless… A tame werewolf – ”

Lupin shook his head and took a step back. “You fool…” he said softly. “Would you really put an innocent man back in Azkaban over a schoolboy grudge – ”

BANG!

Thin, green, snakelike cords shot out from the tip of Snape’s ready wand and wrapped themselves around Lupin’s head, shutting his mouth tight. More twisted themselves around Lupin’s wrists and ankles, unbalancing him and knocking him to the floor. He fell with a heavy thump and groaned.

Black growled furiously and started to lunge at Snape. Snape snapped his wrist to Black and held his wand tip right between Sirius Black’s eyes, stopping him mid motion.

“Give me a reason,” Snape whispered. “Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will.”

Heather didn’t doubt for a second that whatever it was, Snape really would do it. Nor did she doubt, that at the first chance Sirius Black saw, he’d turn into that horrible dog and rip Snape’s throat out in one quick tear. It was plainly obvious to her, that in the presence of one another, they were only both still alive by some miracle.

“Professor,” Heather whispered, trembling.

He did not take his eyes off Black. She looked around and saw Hermione pressing her hands to her mouth and turned away. Harry stood frozen, looking wide-eyed between Lupin and Snape. Ron was looking even paler and was sweating as he continued to struggle with Scabbers in his grip.

She turned back to the terrifying display of lethal hatred Snape and Black were somehow managing to rein in and remembered Professor Trelawney’s words. Tonight was the night Voldemort’s servant would return to him, and Sirius Black was the only one so far accused, no matter how much Lupin was trying to convince them of his innocence.

Hermione creaked along the floorboard to Heather, steady, so as to not make either man jump or flinch at the noise. “Professor Snape – m-maybe – it wouldn’t hurt to listen to them – to what they’re trying to explain?”

“You four are already facing certain expulsion from this school,” Snape spat. “Not only, but also currently in the presence of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in your LIVES – hold, your tongues – however hard that might BE, Granger.”

“B-but i-if – if there was a mistake – ”

“SILENCE, YOU STUPID GIRL!” Sparks were sizzling out of the end of Snape’s wand as he seethed, looking very deranged. “DON’T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!”

Black did not seem to flinch at the threat of Snape’s attack, still waiting for an opening with deadly patience. Hermione fell silent and stepped back.

“Vengeance is very sweet,” Snape breathed. “I did hope I would be the one to catch you…”

Black forced a laugh that deepened Snape’s glare. “Joke’s on you again. Severus. As long as this boy takes his rat up to the castle I’ll come quietly.”

Snape’s mouth twitched up in amusement. “The castle?” he said silkily. “We won’t need to go that far… All I have to do is call the dementors once we get out of the Willow. They’ll be so pleased. They’ve been so eager to see you, Black… I wonder how long they would hold off on giving you their long-awaited kiss… Seconds? Minutes perhaps?”

Sirius Black’s color went from grey-white to egg-white at the mention. “Severus – You’ve got to hear me out,” he croaked. “The rat – look at the rat – ”

Heather stared into Snape’s eyes, wondering to see if the man’s desperate pleas would change anything in Snape’s certainty, but all she could see was a mad glint she’d never seen in anyone before.

Snape snapped his fingers and the ends of Lupin’s serpent-y ropes flew to his hands. “Come on. All of you. I’ll drag the werewolf. Perhaps the dementors will have a kiss for him too.” His eyes flicked to Heather. “Potter. Open the door.”

Heather nodded, hoping beyond hope that this was all the prophecy working itself out correctly. She edged passed Sirius Black and put a hand on the doorknob. She looked down and twisted it, but before it could open even a centimeter, a body had rammed into her and the door had slammed shut.

She looked up at Harry with shock.

“Get out of the way, Potter. You’re in enough trouble as it is,” he snarled. “If I hadn’t been here to save your skin – ”

“But Professor Lupin could have killed me about a hundred times this year! I’ve been alone with him loads of times – same with Heather. If he was working with Black, why didn’t he finish us off then?”

He had a point, maybe that truly wasn’t the intention…

“I wouldn’t fathom to understand the way a werewolf’s mind works,” Snape hissed. “Now get out of the way, Potter.”

Or maybe all Black wanted was to make sure he knew where the boy who defeated his master was. So that when he went back to Voldemort, he could tell him everything. Then Lupin wouldn’t have needed to kill them at all. He would have only needed to help Black hide until the day he needed to return…

“Harry,” Heather shoved him away hard, making him stumble back. “Sirius Black was Voldemort’s servant and he still is! Please… We’ll all just leave and go back to the castle and nothing bad will happen tonight, alright? Please?”

Harry looked at her, and back down to Lupin, up at Black, and finally back at Snape. After a moment, he took his place at the door again. “No.”

“Potter,” Snape gave a warning growl. “I will not listen to you or these – ”

“YOU’RE PATHETIC!” Harry staggered forward with the weight of his words. He meant it with all his being. “JUST BECAUSE THEY MADE A FOOL OF YOU AT SCHOOL YOU WON’T LISTEN – ”

“QUIET! I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!” Snape looked like he’d had enough of everything. The sparks started up again on the ends of his wand like a frayed wire ready to start a large uncontrollable fire. “Like father, like son, Potter! I’ve just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on hands and knees! You would have been well served if he’d killed you! You’d have died like your father, too arrogant to believe you might be mistaken in Black – Now get out of my way, or I. Will. Make. You. GET OUT OF THE WAY POTTER!”

Before Heather could think she raised her wand, and at the same time as Harry yelled ‘Expelliarmus,’ she yelled “Flipendo!” right at Snape’s heaving chest, putting all of her pain and anger into the words.

Both Harry and Heather’s spells blasted out of their wands and hit Snape square in his chest, lifting him off the ground and sent him flying onto the wall with a thunderous thump. He fell onto the bed below him, making Ron dive for the floor. Snape’s wand had been blasted out of his hand and landed with a rolling click down at Harry’s feet.

Heather was at the bed in an instant, checking to see if Snape was alive. There was a trickle of blood oozing from under his hair. She gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth. She was shaking, trembling so hard she might have fallen if she wasn’t kneeling on the bed besides Snape’s still body.

Sirius Black gave a quick, victorious laugh that snapped Heather back into the moment.

“Don’t worry. He’s only knocked out.” Black glanced at Ron and back at Harry and Heather. “You two really should have left him to me…”

This was wrong. This was so horribly wrong. Snape was knocked out and Sirius Black, convicted murderer, servant of Voldemort, was free and loose. She had been so angry she had completely lost her mind after hearing him say those awful things. She wanted to hurt him, make him regret saying Harry should have died. She could care less what he’d said about their father. Harry was everything she had. And now… this night could end in her worst fear.

“We attacked a teacher…” Hermione was shaking her head furiously, staring at Snape’s body. “We – we attacked a teacher!”

Heather sniffed. She’d have run and hugged Hermione if this was any other situation. It had really only been Harry and her that attacked him.

“We’re going to be in so much trouble – !”

“We were already going to get expelled, Hermione,” Ron groaned from the floor.

Sirius Black had managed to untie Lupin and they both stood quickly.

Lupin rubbed his wrists and mouth. “Thank you, Heather, Harry.”

Heather shook her head, regretting her actions immensely.

“This doesn’t mean we believe you,” Harry replied.

“No, of course not.” Lupin nodded. “I think it’s time we show you the proof.”

Black turned to Ron. “Give me Peter. Now.”

Ron held Scabbers closer to his chest. “Come off it,” he whimpered. “Are you trying to tell us he broke out of Azkaban just to get his hands on Scabbers? That’s just… That’s mental,” he said weakly. “Peter can turn into a rat – there are millions of them! How’s he know this one is Peter if he was locked up in Azkaban!”

Lupin turned to Black with a puzzled look that made Heather’s heart stop and her stomach flip.

“How DID you find out he was here?” Lupin asked with a slight frown.

Black stared at Lupin as he extended out his hand like a claw. He bent his elbow and in one exasperated motion pulled out a wrinkled paper from an inside pocket. He smiled and handed it to Lupin, who took it and smoothed it out.

Harry inched closer and Heather followed suit, peering around Lupin’s shoulder to look down at the very same photograph Heather and Harry had seen of the Weasleys the previous summer holiday. It was a Daily Prophet clipping of Ron and his family posing to show off the vacation they had won, and Scabbers was clinging to Ron’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Ron croaked.

“Your family on vacation,” Heather whispered, stepping back.

“Mental!” Ron yelled.

“How did you come by this?” Lupin asked Black, thunderstruck.

Black gritted his teeth. “Fudge. When he came down to inspect Azkaban, he gave me his paper.” Black laughed weakly. “And there he was. Right on the front page. On this boy’s shoulder… I knew him at once… How many times had I seen him transform? And the caption… it said he was going back to Hogwarts… Back where Harry and Heather were…”

Lupin stared at Sirius black with wide-eyes and in total disbelief. Heather felt sick.

Lupin looked back at the picture and pointed. “Merlin...” He looked from the picture to Scabbers and back. “His paw.”

Black nodded.

“What about it!” Ron looked down at Scabbers.

“He’s got a tow missing,” Black said flatly.

Lupin looked at Scabbers incredulously. “Of course… So brilliant. He cut it off himself.”

“Right when I cornered him. Right before he transformed. He yelled for the whole street to hear. Before I could curse him he blew apart the street and killed everyone within twenty feet of him… and sped down the sewer with the other filthy rats.”

“Scabbers probably got in a fight with another rat!” Ron looked to Hermione, Heather, and Harry for support, but they all stayed very quiet. “He can’t be Peter, he’s been in my family for – ”

“Twelve years, isn’t that right?” Black snapped.

“Rats don’t live that long, Ron.” Lupin looked down at Scabbers. “That’s an abnormally long time for even magical rats.”

“No, we’ve just been taking good care of him!”

“He looks sick and underweight. I’m guessing he started getting like this right around the time when he heard Sirius had finally escaped.”

Ron was shaking his head. “No. No. It was that cat! That monster! He’s been scaring Scabbers ill! That mad cat!”

“He’s not mad.” Black bent down and pet Crookshanks as he purred between his legs. “He recognized him for what he was immediately. He even tried to help me. Tried to bring him to me and couldn’t. Then he tried to bring ME to him. Stole the Gryffindor passwords for me.”

Poor Neville. Heather was feeling a little less ill as everything was slowly getting clearer, to her immense and relieving surprise.

“He tried relentlessly for me. Then he said Peter faked his death – bit himself and left blood on the bed – he must have supposed if it worked once it could work again – ”

Something clicked and Heather felt like puking again. She shook her head. “He really is Peter… And he knew you’d come to finish him off – ”

“That’s why he faked his death! Why he’s been running!” Harry yelled, coming to the same conclusion Heather had just come to. “He knew you’d murder him like you murdered our parents!”

“I will murder him!” Black yelled back.

“We should have let Snape take you – ”

“Harry – ” Lupin put up his hands quickly. “All this time we’ve thought Sirius betrayed them and Peter tracked him down – But it was the other way around! Peter betrayed them, and Sirius tracked him down!”

Heather stepped forward, refusing to let Lupin continue with the lies. “No. We know Sirius was their Secret-Keeper, Peter couldn’t have betrayed them. Only HE could. Only the Secret-Keeper could betray them.”

“Precisely.” Lupin stared at her.

She blinked several times. “Peter wasn’t their Secret-Keeper…”

“I persuaded Lily and James to change to Peter at the last moment.” Black’s sunken eyes darkened with pained regret and he looked down as he continued. “I Persuaded them to use him as their Secret-Keeper instead of me… The night they died I had arranged to check on Peter. To make sure he was still safe. But when I got to his hiding place he wasn’t there. There wasn’t any sign of a struggle. I got scared and headed to your parent’s house right away… That’s when I saw it had been destroyed… and their bodies… I realized what Peter must have done… He betrayed them… But it’s my fault they’re dead. I as good as killed them – ” his voice caught and he turned away.

Lupin, looking down, shook his head. “Enough… Let’s really prove what happened. Ron,” he stepped over to Ron and extended his hand. “Give me that rat. I’ll force him to show himself. It won’t hurt him if he really is a rat.”

Scabbers was struggling like crazy in Ron’s grip. Ron looked down at him, and finally handed him over to Lupin. Scabbers started squeaking and squealing at the top of his tiny lungs, thrashing and twisting in Lupin’s hands.

Lupin turned to Sirius, who was back to his ferocious-looking self, teeth bared and all. “Ready, Sirius?”

Black nodded.

Lupin handed Sirius his wand. “Do the honors.”

Black snatched it from him at once. “Gladly!” He pointed the wand and a bright flash of white-blue light erupted from the tip, engulfing Scabbers’ body.

Lupin had let go and jumped away, and for a moment Scabbers was suspended mid-air and thrashing wildly. Ron yelled. And the rat hit the floor.

For a few seconds nothing happened, and then the rat started growing. It arched its spine and held his ears down. His tail began to shrink as his head and hands grew and turned from worm-pink to pale-pink. In a quick blink the rat turned into a grotesque child-sized creature and in another quick blink there was a man cowering in the very spot Scabbers had been.

Heather quickly turned and threw up under one of the farther boarded up windows, clutching her stomach and holding back her hair as she did.

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Chapter List

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Welcome to the taglist!! :D @marvelschriss

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#harry potter #heather potter #pro snape #severus snape x oc #severus x oc #snape x oc #severus snape x reader #severus x reader #snape x reader #snape fanfic #snape fanfiction #snape fan fiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction

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seance · 3 years

Text

2020 content creator tag

RULES: answer the questions and then tag 10+ other creators to answer the questions!

finally got around to do this, terribly late i know and i’m sorry but i swear i wasn’t ignoring all the incredibly talented people who tagged me! thank you so so much for thinking of me guys ♡ probably lost some @ in the process cause my notifs are a mess. @goinesjennifer @juliesmolina @faeryglass @almondchestnut @olisgifs @andyoudoctor @yenvengerberg @iridescentides @juliesmolinas

first creation and most recent creation of 2020: god, i already said this but giffing really became my #1 coping mechanism this year so i have a LOT of stuff just from this year. the first one is this THE WITCHER INTRO CARDS gifset and the most recent is actually my julie’s gifset from yesterday but i’m not satisfied with it so! i’m gonna say this KLAUS AND FIVE PARALLELS gifset instead.

one of your favorite creations from 2020: oof, this is super difficult because i get attached to most of my creations, even if they don’t come out as i initially hoped. i’ll go with this five gifset BIRDS HOVER THE TRAMPLED FIELD just because it’s a perfect example of a rare occurrence aka when both my inspiration and my vision and my skills align and i manage to create something exactly how i first imagined it. and also because i think there’s not better fitting poem for this man.

a creation you’re really proud of: i have a few but maybe this ODE TO NUMBER FIVE gifset just because i had a very specific vibe i wanted to give off and i think i managed alright with the colors, texture and design choices! and then i can’t not mention this YOU WERE ALWAYS GOLD TO ME gifset just because i literally poured all my heart into it. this song and these people mean so so much to me.

a new style you tried this year and a gifset that uses it: my style really evolved at the speed of light starting july and i still can’t believe the things i learned once i just let myself try. i keep having new ideas and trying really hard not to dismiss them and see if they work out, telling myself it’s okay if they don’t! i think this ALLISON HARGREEVES gifset basically has it all: the blending, the font work, the shape play. or even this JATP + BODIES OF WATER type of style, complex blending such as this one WILLEX SUPERSTAR is slowly becoming my trademark and i’m not mad about it, i love playing around with fonts like i did in this ALEXREGGIE gifset even if i know it gets really crowded and hard to read sometimes, or even with lines and block of colors like i did here JATP BORN FOR THIS, i finally got back to play around with textures JATP SCRAPBOOK and even JATP DISCOGRAPHY i also tried my hand at creating entire new “atmospheres” playing with specific visual choices like i did in the HARGREEVES AS PARANORMAL INVESTIGATORS set.

your favorite coloring: okay you guys know coloring is easily my favorite thing to do in the world and i’m usually pretty proud of every outcome because i remember how difficult it was for me, for years i thought i would never learn but i still did it, all by myself just keeping trying like a madwoman lmao basically all my the umbrella academy gifset are my pride and joy because did you see that show? how shitty the lighting is? gifmakers need a miracle every single time. so i’m gonna list a few that i still look at fondly ♥

THE SEVEN HARBINGERS OF THE APOCALYPSE

WILLIE AND CALEB

YOU CAN SET YOURSELF FREE (HARGREEVES)

SEASON ONE FAVORITE EPISODE

ALWAYS GOLD TO ME

THE OLD GUARD + RICHARD SIKEN

a creation that took you forever: basically everything i do ahah just because one way or another i always get stuck on something for hours at end be it the fonts or the colors or the scene choices. but i’d say this STRONGER + HAGREEVES SIBLINGS gifset just because my inspiration went off and i decided i wanted to try a bunch of different techniques all at once and my brain didn’t let me rest until i did it all. to think it all started with just that “everyone will know me by a different name” line, oh my god.

your creation from 2020 that received the most notes: this VANYA + HER SIBLINGS LOVE gifset with 15.406 notes that i kinda hate because what’s up with that font? and the ugly coloring?! totally gonna remake this one because they deserve far better.

a creation you think deserved more notes: oh my god deep down i want to be selfish and say so many because that number never really match the effort i put in most of my gifs but i’ve also learned not to get too bitter about that, few people rb it, even fewer people comment on it but those people are worth more than anyone else. if i had to chose i’d say either the ALWAYS GOLD TO ME set just because it means so much to me, this ALEXREGGIE set that was so fun to make and i love how the colors and the font work came out, this VANYA + EMPATHY set, and this SWEETIE LITTLE JEAN one.

a creation with a favorite scene/quote: i rarely do actual, canonical quotes and i never use just one scene gsjds- so i’ll go with this DIEGO + LOVE FOR HIS FAMILY one even if i don’t like the font and again ALEX&REGGIE being themselves.

a new fandom you joined and a creation you made for it: considering i was already the umbrella academy and the witcher obsessed i’d say the old guard (YOU KNOW ME WELL) and julie and the phantoms (FAVORITE FRIENDSHIP)

a creation you made that breaks your heart: oh, if you know me even one bit you also know i thrive on angsty feelings, they’re usually my main inspiration not gonna lie so choosing is not that simple! again, this KLAUS AND FIVE parallels gifset because of the sheer tragedy of their lives, this SWEETIE LITTLE JEAN five gifset, this KLAUS HARGREEVES one and this I WANNA BE NUMB AGAIN, this DEAR FORGIVENESS, YOUR BOOKER because this man is a walking tragedy (and this PIECES OF ME DIE ALL THE TIME too for good measure) and then this HARGREEVES SIBS + DAUGHTER gifset.

a ‘simple’ creation that you really love: i have brainworms and once i’ve learned how to do something i never manage to come back to the things i did before so i’ve rarely made “simpler” things lately. maybe this JATP + TIMES OF DAY still qualify.

a creation that was inspired by another one (add both your creation and the one that inspired it!): this FAVORITE JATP CHARACTERS with the circle text inspired by this gifset by the loml @evakant // this JATP ROLES with the triangles technique inspired by this work of art by @anya-chalotra and this WARRIOR JULIE set with the text layout inspired by a lovely gifset that now seems to be deleted :(

a favorite creation created by someone else: i love everything my mutuals make but there are some people who really pushed me to always learn more and their gifs are still my absolute favorite thing to date. for example: this THE OLD GUARD TAROTS set by @milkovivhs // this incredible HARGREEVES SIBLINGS one by @yenvengerberg // this GERALT OF RIVIA masterpiece by @anya-chalotra // this CROWLEY set by the queen of colors herself @meliorn

some of your favorite content creators from the year: really too many to count, my mutuals inspire me every single day, the keep my creativity alive and seeing their creations on my dash is always such a treat! so, all the above for sure and then: i‘m stupidly proud of @sunsetscurving i saw her grow into the giffing process with such speed and such vision, everything she does is so pretty, but all my mutuals are incredibly talented. they don’t do anything half-assed, everything they do perfectly mirrors their efforts! @captainheroism @emeraldphantoms @nora-reid @amandaseyfried @rockyblue @juliesmolina @juliesmolinas @lettersdeeplyworn @jakeperalta @kennyortegas @merceralexs @alexreggieluke @calebcovington @andyoudoctor @almondchestnut @iridescentides @number5theboy @evakant

and for good measure, another a couple more creations of yours that you love: excluding all the above i’ll go with

JATP FAVORITE QUOTE

HARGREEVES AS GREEK DEITIES

YOU ARE HERE TO RISK YOUR HEART

THE JATP GEMSTONE SERIES x / x

SOBRIETY IS OVERRATED

AMOR C’HA NULLO AMATO

IF MEMORIES COULD BLEED

this took me so long that everyone else already did it before me so i don’t think i can tag anyone, if you’re reading this and feel like doing it please feel free!

#text #creator tag meme #ari.txt #my eyes are burning so bad this took SO LONG #aodgsd- how did you guys do it so fast?!#maybe i just gif too much sh*t lmao #love you all with ALL my heart

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