#my voice: raw gone deceased | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

normspellsman · 1 year

Text

Nothing Is Lost

part one | part two

pairing: lo’ak x fem!tawkami!reader & fem!tawkami!reader x deceased!oc!brother

genre: angst (majority of it), fluffish, comfort (from both lo’ak + reader), & lo’ak looking out for reader

word count: 2.6k+

warning(s): mentions of sibling death, self deprecating thoughts, reader wishing she was dead instead of brother, mentions of neglectful parents, lo’ak feeling guilty, reader blames jake for what happened, mentions of loss of appetite + indirectly starving self, kissing, lo’ak briefly crying, & guilty feelings

word bank: uturu — any refugee seeking sanctuary that must be granted safe harbor, great mother / eywa — goddess deity that the na’vi believe in, yerik / hexapede — land animal that resides on pandora + is hunter for meat, tsmukan — brother, tsmuke — sister, oeyä — my, tiyawn — love, yawne — beloved, yawntutsyip — darling; little loved one, & txe’lan — heart

taglist: @aonungsmate @dearstell @optimisticblazetrash @thatonegirlwiththebeanie367 @goodiesinthecloset21 @universal-s1ut @amortencjja @liyahsocorro

note: slightly inspired by the song “nothing is lost (you give me strength)” by The Weeknd. a small dedication to @jimfiqs for their comment on the first post which slightly inspired me to write this :).

Days had passed since your brother's funeral and the attack of the sky people on your clan, the Tawkami.

Lo’ak had refused to leave your side throughout the entirety of Kelu’s funeral, paying his respects to your brave little brother as he gently wiped away the tears running down your raw cheeks, trying his best to comfort you.

When your parents caught wind of your brother's unfortunate death, they had a much colder reaction than yours. Your Father, the Olo’eyktan, had buried himself in his duties and in aiding others in attempts to salvage the parts that were left of their beloved home. Your Mother, the Tsahìk, had busied herself with healing the wounded and tending to the elderly. So that left you with the funeral preparations for your deceased brother.

You had been distant and cold towards the others in your life, paying them no mind as you scrambled to make your little brother's funeral perfect. You had to give him a perfect sending off to the Great Mother. You’d accept nothing short of it.

Lo’ak had noticed your sunken eyes and paling cerulean skin whenever you appeared out from your family’s tent, which was rarely. He was worried. He felt extremely worried that you were driving yourself to the bone, giving yourself no time to eat or sleep. It was evident what you were doing to yourself and due to that, Lo’ak felt immense guilt. If only the Sully family has gone past the reefs and seeked uturu from the Metkayina clan instead of the Tawkami. Maybe then your precious brother would still be here, alive and breathing instead of six feet underneath the base of your Home Tree. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in the position you were in now, overworking yourself as your parents neglected you at every turn.

Lo’ak had whispered reassuring words to you as your Mother performed your clans funeral ritual, voice shaking as she did so. He wanted to make sure that you knew he was going to be there for you even if you hated him at the moment. That no matter what, he was going to be there to aid you in picking back up the pieces of your broken, grieving heart.

You pretended that Lo’ak didn’t exist. Ignoring him whenever he brought you a warm piece of yerik that he caught and cooked up for dinner, leaving it outside your tent. Switching the direction you were walking in when he just so happened to be walking towards you, smile on his face before you swerved out of his way. Avoiding eye contact during your clans weekly gathering, watching as the others freely danced in front of you in choice of not meeting Lo’ak’s persistent gaze on the side of your head.

All of your actions were purposeful. You truly didn’t want to see him. But not for the reason he thinks.

You felt awful for reacting the way you did when he tried to comfort you that fateful day, but you had lost the other half of your heart and needed something to blame. And Lo’ak was the one you lashed out at.

A part of you did mean your words, believing that Jake Sully should’ve fought back instead of run, unnecessarily dragging you and your clan into his war. He should’ve never asked uturu from the Tawkami and now all of you were paying the price for it. You resented Jake for causing all this pain and suffering to those who didn’t deserve it. Who offered up their home for him and his family. Who protected him and those he loved. And what did you get in return for your kindness? A dead brother and half a home.

Another part of you knew that your words were just that, words. No true meaning behind the insults you spat. Again, you needed someone to be mad at and Lo’ak was the first person you saw. This part was mad at you, at yourself. Mad that you took your eyes off of Kelu while trying to gather all the children you could to safety. Angry that you didn’t think to take him with you first. Angry that you didn’t find him faster. Angry that he was dead and you weren’t. You should be in his place. In the soil of your home as your clanspeople chanted your song chord and guided you into the hands of Eywa. Maybe then, if you had been the one to die instead of Kelu, your parents wouldn’t mind as much. Wouldn’t sulk as much or wouldn’t ignore your brother in hopes of burying away the pain.

You knew that some part of your parents had wished that it was you instead of Kelu. That you were six feet under instead of their only son. They had always preferred him over you, not that you minded much. You preferred Kelu over you too. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt any less. That your suffering wasn’t as much as theirs. Kelu was of your blood. You both had the same metallic substance coursing through your veins. He was your brother first before he was theirs.

You had visited him many nights via the Tree of Souls of your clan. You never missed one, often skipping dinner to see him even if it was for a brief moment.

“(Y/N), look! I did it!” A familiar voice screeched out in excitement, jumping up and down from their feat.

Most of the memories you saw consisted of Kelu when he was younger, them often being of you teaching him something or him coming to you whenever he couldn’t sleep and begged you to sing him to his slumber. This night wasn’t an exception.

Kelu spent weeks trying to convince you to teach him how to use a bow way before both of your parents deemed him old enough to start training with you. Obviously, you couldn’t say no when he approached you one night crying about it, pleading for you to teach him. You gave in once he looked up into your eyes with his wide, amber puppy dog orbs. He was only nine then.

“Good job, tsmukan,” you exclaimed, ruffling his hair in a teasing manner.

He had hit some part of the makeshift target you made, his previous attempts unsuccessful and landing in various places amongst the grass and bushes. The arrow wasn’t embedded into the bright red dot in the middle of the circular target, lodged nearly into the edge. It was his first successful attempt at shooting the arrow at the target and making it. Albeit that fact, he was over the moon about what he did. Excitement shook through his body.

Kelu wrapped his arms around your waist, head barely coming to the middle of your ribcage, burying his face into the flat of your stomach with a wide grin on his face. “Thank you so much, tsmuke. You’re the best teacher ever!” He giddily yelled out, practically shaking with excitement.

Your heart dropped to your stomach, tears pricking at your waterline as you brought younger Kelu into your abdomen. You dearly missed your brother. The warmth of his hug from the memory felt so real. You often found yourself questioning what was real and what wasn’t during your visits with Kelu, struggling to decipher if it was reality.

“What’s wrong, oeyä tsmuke?” Kelu asked, now up to your clavicle, his nine-year-old form no longer as it was replaced with his most recent thirteen-year-old body.

He always rubbed it in your face that he was most likely going to be taller than you once he reached of age, proud that he at least surpassed you in something. Kelu thought the highest of you. Viewing you as the golden child of the family. You naturally excelled at everything you did, being the top warrior of your age group. He wanted to be just like you. Shine in the same light that your parents bestowed upon you from your birth. To be honest, he lacked a lot of skills that was expected of a Tawkami warrior, struggling to keep up with the other children his age. So to be so close to being better, or in this case, taller than you, he took pride in it as he flaunted it to you every chance he got. This was the only thing that he ‘beat’ you at.

“Nothing my dear tsmukan,” you whispered, putting your hand on Kelu’s cheek and softly stroked the patch of skin with the pad of your thumb, “There’s no need to worry.”.

You were almost certain that Kelu was ignorant to the fact that he was dead. You didn’t want to voice your thoughts and ruin the experience your brother was experiencing within Eywa. He deserved to continue on blissfully in his afterlife and not worry over how you coped after his death. He deserved peace.

He didn’t seem too convinced at your words, brow bones pulling together in a furrow. But he quickly let it go, burrowing himself back into your arms, face resting in the crook of your neck. You didn’t know if he did it to comfort you or just because he wanted to be in the warm embrace of your arms but you didn’t complain, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulled him further into your figure. You missed hugging Kelu. Missed his healing hugs and comforting words. You missed him with your whole being that every bone in your body longed to be within the consciousness of the Great Mother twenty-four-seven.

You pulled yourself out of the memory when you heard your name being distantly called, knowing who it was.

“Yes, Lo’ak?” You numbly asked, robotically pulling your queue away from the glowing tendril of your clans Tree of Souls. You really didn’t want to interact with the Omatikaya boy, but you knew you should. A part of you called out to be comforted by him. To be pulled into his arms and be gently reassured that everything was going to be okay and that he will never leave your side for as long as he breathed.

Lo’ak stopped in his tracks upon hearing your response to his calling, surprised that you knew it was him. But you’d always know. You practically memorized everything about the boy. You could tell how he felt by the twitch of his eyebrows to what he was thinking by the way he shifted from foot to foot as his tail softly twitched from side to side. The tone of his voice was something you dedicated to memory very early on in befriending him.

“Have you eaten yet, tiyawn?” He asked, kneeling by your side as he placed his five fingered hand onto the side of your head that was closest to him, gently scratching your braids and scalp.

He hadn’t seen you since this morning. You brushed past him without a second glance, making your way deep into the deep forest that was untouched by the sky peoples fire. He knew that you were frequently visiting your brother at the tree, often ignoring the need for water and food, spending hours upon hours at the glowing Spirit Tree. He was worried that you didn’t eat yet. Worried that you were indirectly killing yourself as punishment for your brother's death.

Your silence is his answer, making him deeply inhale as he moved closer to your figure, fingers still moving against your scalp.

“You should eat, baby,” he mumbled, trying to get you to look back at him as he lowered his face to meet your gaze, “Don’t have to eat everything, can be just one bite.”.

You knew he was right but you couldn’t bring yourself to stomach the thought of eating anything. Your appetite had greatly diminished following Kelu’s funeral. Your body was too consumed with grief to hold anything down or barely even chew for that matter. But you would be willing to try. Try for Lo’ak.

You nodded your head in response to Lo’ak’s words, leaning into the boys side. Your head gently laid on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around your waist, hand resting against your hip bone.

Everything was quiet for a couple of beats, the sounds of the forest echoing throughout the area. Until Lo’ak spoke up.

“I’m sorry, yawne,” he whispers, voice slightly cracking at the truthfulness behind his words, “I’m so sorry that you had to experience that. That your home was destroyed. That the sky demons hurt you. I should’ve done better at protecting you from my Fathers sins.”.

His words made your heart stop, causing you to pull your head from his shoulder to turn towards him, an unreadable expression painted across your face.

Your heart sunk at his confession. You knew that your prior words to him days before may have had something to do with it. You may have meant it in the moment but you no longer believed them to be true. Lo’ak shouldn’t protect you from his Fathers sins no more than you could protect him from your own Fathers. It shouldn’t be his responsibility.

“It is not your fault, Ma Lo’ak,” you mumbled, bringing your left hand up to rest on his cheek, “It is not your responsibility to protect me from your Fathers past. It is him who should protect you from it, fight it,” you finish, him melting at finally feeling your touch after being deprived from it for days.

“I am sorry that my words had affected you as much as they did, my yawntutsyip,” you added, kissing the tip of his nose in reassurance, “I was…so angry and needed to blame something. I know it doesn’t excuse what I said to you. I’m glad you came into my life when you did, even with the consequences that followed.”.

Tears fell from Lo’ak eyes. This was the most you had talked to him since you dismissed him the night of your brother's death. He desperately missed the sound of your voice.

“There’s no need to apologize, my txe’lan,” he replied, bringing your face into his hands as his lips met yours in a gentle kiss. Your lips moved in tandem together, hands going up to grasp whatever body part was closest. He was the first one to pull away from the kiss, not wanting to leave the warmth of your lips against his, “I understand. I just wished that I could’ve protected you from that kind of hurt. You do not deserve that kind of pain,” he continued, resting his forehead against yours.

You didn’t reply to his reassuring words, pulling your lover into a searing kiss, pouring all of your love and affection you held for Lo’ak into the action. You felt guilty for avoiding him for days and that you possibly caused him immense hurt from your words. You wanted him to know that you felt regretful for how you acted.

A soft chuckle fell from Lo’ak lips as they slotted against yours, bringing you even closer by pulling you in by his hands on your face. He knew to take what you had said and how you acted with a grain of salt. He knew that you truly didn’t mean what you said. That you were too overcome with grief to properly think. He was sympathetic towards your situation and tried to understand what you were going through. He would’ve acted the same way if he lost one of his siblings the way you did. He thought you were strong for continuing on even after the traumatic death of your brother. He couldn’t imagine him doing the same if he were in your shoes.

You were the one to pull away from the kiss this time, breathing deeply and heavily as you did so.

“We’ll get through this together. Yeah?” Lo’ak muttered, stroking your jaw with his thumb as he gazed at you through heavy lidded eyes. He wanted to help you in your healing journey and he’d help in any way he could.

You only nodded in response to his words, eyes closing at the repetitive soothing motion of Lo’ak’s thumb on your skin.

You knew that with time, you’d heal and the pain would be easier to deal with, especially if you had Lo’ak by your side. Nothing is ever too broken to be fixed or mended back together and Lo’ak would be there to pick up the pieces if you ever fell back into this state again.

326 notes · View notes

gamma-rae-bursts · 11 months

Text

My Little Dove

Emily is grieving the loss of her girlfriend y/n, who committed su*cide a day before Emily’s return from the dead.

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Rrader

CW: grief, implied suicide, arguments, swearing (let me know if I missed anything)

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 1000+

A/N: This is a pt.2 to "It Was Night When You Died, My Firefly". Big thank you to @storiesofsvu for brainstorming the idea with me! This also covers Katt's Birthday Bingo Square.

Unedited.

The minutes that followed were filled with desperate screams and attempts to bring you back to life. The paramedics arrived at the scene within what seemed like a split second, announcing your death upon arrival.

“Emily” one of the agents dared to break her out of this spiral she fell into, not wanting to give you up “Emily, she’s gone” the pain filled voice sounded again, it was JJ speaking, her eyes filled with tears as the words were leaving her mouth.

Emily held you in her arms, not willing to let you go, feeling the still-present warmth of your freshly deceased body, already feeling the effects of rigor taking control of your lifeless muscles. Determined to hold onto you.

Her sobs never ceased, overpowering the silence of the room. The heart-breaking sight causing a stream of tears falling from the other agents’ eyes. Her firm grip on your body only tightened as the paramedics attempted to separate the two of you. Her fingertips tracing gentle patterns on your skin as her tears fell onto you, softly pleading for you to come back.

The apartment filled with more and more people forcing her grip to loosen. All the agents watched as the medical personnel transported your motionless remains to the body bag, trying to hold onto Emily and stop her protests and fights.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye yet”, the raven-haired woman pleaded, her whisper filled with indescribable pain, as you were transported out of the building.

Everyone stayed still, slowly losing the sight of the medics that were now out of the apartment. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this!” Emily cried, raising her voice at the other agents “None of this was supposed to happen! How could you let her get to this point?! How did none of you notice the signs?!”

“Emily-” an attempted response came from Hotch as the other agents lowered their heads, refusing to look the other woman in the eyes.

“No! She’s dead Hotch!” Emily was fuming, not quite sure who to direct her anger at “You are all profilers for god’s sake! How comes none of you bothered to check up on her! And you?!” she turned to look at JJ, the blonde woman’s head still down refusing any eye contact “I have asked you how she was doing! Does this fucking look like alright to you?! You promised you would take care of her!”

There was no reply, just as the heavy silence started filling the room once again Emily's voice roamed through the space.

“Everyone get out of here!” she shouted as the tears kept streaming down her cheeks. “Now!”

And they did. Leaving Emily in her now empty apartment. The place was filled with silence as the woman crumbled under the weight of her grief. Her body trembled with each sob, and her miserable cries filled the air, echoing with raw, true pain. Tears streamed relentlessly down her face, tracing wet trails through the dust of sorrow etched upon her cheeks.

The rest of the day was a blur, the time consumed by the overpowering sense of loss. She could still smell remnants of your presence, the smell of your cherry shampoo combined with your favourite perfume lingering in her nostrils. Every time she opened her eyes, now swollen from the continuous cries, it was as if she could see you out of the corner of her eye, never daring to look that way preventing the illusion from fading. The room grew darker and darker, the capital slowly consumed by the darkness of dust.

“I’m so sorry y/n/n” a barely audible whisper left her lips as she looked at the photo of the two of you. “I am so, so sorry”

9th of October

Emily woke up with heaviness weighing on her chest, the feeling of suffocation never seemed to lift. Every breath seemed just a little harder than the previous one. She knew she was awake, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a never-ending nightmare that she couldn’t wake up from. There was no escape from it. The darkness still filling the room as she reluctantly began to open her eyes that now held a hollow emptiness, lacking the life that was once present. With her vision blurred by tears she reached out to the other side of the bed hoping to find you there, hoping that it was all a horrible nightmare. But the other side of the bed was cold. Untouched.

And you were gone, the piece of her that kept her going for the last seven months was ripped away from her embrace as you took your last breath just hours prior to her arrival. A part of her that gave her a reason to live was now gone and it was all her fault.

Time seemed to cease its passage allowing her to navigate through the labyrinth of her thoughts. The memories of you came like a flood, her trembling hands clutched to her chest, holding herself tightly, feeling her heart shattering at the sight of your shadowy figure sitting at the edge of the mattress, disappearing with a single blink. The piercing pain of her breaking heart echoed with every gasp for air, each sob that left her quivering lips.

Looking out of the open window her eyes were fixed on the brightness of the moon, the only source of light filling the space, just like she used to do with you. Always getting lost in the mindless conversations, the plans for the future, the life you wanted to build together. Being snuggled in the comfort and safety of each other’s arms.

Leaving you never seemed right. The excuse of it being for the greater good was not enough anymore.

Could she have prevented this? If she only reached out, left you a clue that she was alive and would be coming back to you. That she never truly left. There was not a day she didn’t consider that, not a day you didn’t fully occupy her thoughts. Even going as far as purchasing a little white dove figure, just like the one you gifted after a particularly hard case, with a sweet reminder that no matter how things go you’ll always love her. Did she give you enough love?

There were so many things she wanted to tell you. Apologise for. Experience with you.

But it was too late now.

Taglist: @nightmarish-fae @storiesofsvu @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @venromanova @maybe-a-humanbean @section-chief-prentiss

Join my taglist here!

#k2023bdaybingo #criminal minds #emily prentiss #angst #emily prentiss x reader

155 notes · View notes

godstrain · 8 months

Text

Chris sighs. His thumb brushes almost lovingly along the old, weathered badges in his palm, following the metal grooves that made up an old faded design. S.T.A.R.S. . . . Lifting his head, hazel flicker across the scientists face, darkened brows knitting together in torn contemplation, a tense silence that lingers before eventually he caves, cursing under his breath in a not so graceful manner before he steps in closer to his former captain.

Maybe this was a mistake, confronting him on such a date — the anniversary of the mansion incident — but for all the progress they’ve made to become somewhat civil in one another’s company again . . . Some things still needed to be addressed before Chris could start to truly ease his grip of the long-held grudge he’d clung to for so many years.

None of this is easy.His fingers tremble when they smooth over old metal edges a fourth time, gaze averting again as he releases another strangled sigh, all before he holds over the small stack of long dead S.T.A.R.S. Team badges, knife sharp gaze thinning to something daring in challenge, demanding in a silent way for an answer or explanation of any kind. He takes another step in close, pushing the pile against his chest, finally mustering the courage to speak, even if it is in a softly whispered tone.

“. . . Why? I never understood why they had to . . .” He’s barely said much of anything & an already his voice is threatening to fail him. It’s a touchy subject, a raw wound that hadn’t healed properly in well over a decade. With a sigh, he continues, shoulders sagging in fatigue as he soothes the brief flare of anger that peeks. “Just tell me why.”

he knows what day it is- he remembers it vividly. a rather muggy and unpleasant july evening that was only going to get worse, because everything he had worked for had gone up in flames, quite literally! it was at the arklay manor that he'd lost everything, and he'd come to the realization that everything that he'd had since paled in comparison to that brief period in his life where he felt he belonged. he remembered the days leading up to it, hell, he remembered the entire month before. when he made his plans- when he thought that everything would work out. he hadn't noticed it in himself, william never said a word about his behavior. enrico and barry called him oddly optimistic.

hypomania was a strange state to exist in. he had enough insight to know that he'd need a plan to get in and out of the mansion with his team, but not enough to realize how unrealistic the entire plan was. he didn't consider the fact that they were all horrifically unprepared- wesker had grown quite fond of his team, and enrico was a respectable captain of his own. time and time again alpha and bravo team had worked well together, handing off assignments smoothly- at the time, he couldn't imagine anything being different.

❝ arklay used to be my home, chris. before the outbreak, it was home to many researchers. ❞ he wasn't sure what to feel about the memories of his days in arklay before the outbreak anymore. there was a mix of things; he'd always been close with william, and he'd found some of the others to be tolerable company- the ones he held in highest regard had ended up transferred to other locations before spencer's orders were carried out. ❝ i knew that place inside and out. i used to sneak out of the labs to explore the forests and to feel some fresh air- ❞

he knew now that the incident had been caused by his mentor, james marcus- or the queen leech that had taken over the deceased doctor's body. it was an act of revenge. the queen wanted to kill him, to kill william, and everyone else had paid the price. for a time, he found it easy to blame spencer, that hate had fueled his desire to break away from umbrella even more- and his final decision had come when he was given orders to sacrifice S.T.A.R.S. for mere combat data. he had been so confident in the members of S.T.A.R.S. to know how to survive. bravo team had a prodigy medic with them, a safety net- and he would lead alpha team in.

❝ i received orders from umbrella to use the members of S.T.A.R.S. for combat data against the remaining BOWs in the mansion- but i had grown fond- even if i had seen the members of S.T.A.R.S. as my little guinea-pigs, i wasn't so keen on abandoning what had been the most successful experiment i'd ever taken part in- ❞ it had started with the absolute shock of the order. S.T.A.R.S. technically operated under the orders of umbrella due to the checks that brian irons was receiving- wesker could've done without that pathetic excuse for a man, but he'd thought that so long as umbrella had irons, he would be free to do whatever he wanted with S.T.A.R.S.- he wondered that day if someone had figured it out- his past, his connections- if umbrella was asking this to silence them.

maybe it was because spencer wanted wesker dead.

❝ i had been- and i still am proud of S.T.A.R.S., the finest operatives that i have ever worked with. time and time again, you surpassed my expectations- and if i recall, i made it quite clear how high those expectations were. ❞ albert wesker had always been a perfectionist- he expected nothing but the best, and he had been given just that. so he'd thought that the mission would be rather easy to exploit for his own benefit- so he tried.

he tried and failed.

❝ miss chambers had proven herself more than capable of coming up with little things to tide bravo team over for long enough until we could get to them- my mentor, james marcus, led research on the t-virus, and when he was killed, william and i took over. ❞ it would've been easy for him to synthesize some sort of stabilizing agent at the very least- it would've kept his team alive, or so he'd thought. as the years had passed, wesker had realized that he was wrong about many things related to that mission. with how upset he was at the orders in the first place and his fraying mental state, it wasn't really a surprise that the plan had fallen apart.

❝ they weren't supposed to die, chris. we were supposed to meet bravo team for a proper debrief before we went in- ❞ instead, they'd lost contact with bravo team; he'd grown desperate and he'd lied to barry, he'd shot enrico- of the twelve members of S.T.A.R.S. who went to investigate, only six survived- back then, as far as they knew, it was only five. after all, chris had watched him die. it wasn't supposed to be like that. looking at the worn badges, that heavy feeling settles in his chest again. guilt- a weakness that he wasn't supposed to have- ❝ for many years, i wondered how everything could've fallen apart like that- how did i claw my way out from that hell empty handed- ❞ he's bad at this, he knows it- he doesn't know how to handle guilt and longing and nostalgia- he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, but chris deserves some closure- ❝ i planned for many things to happen, but not that. ❞ it's the closest he'll get to an apology, because an apology won't change anything. it's the closest he can bring himself to saying i miss them too.

#knightfeared #verse ╱ scars on my soul #anyway so the plan was made when he was hypomanic and so of course it was flawed and #actually it would ve been bad no matter what

10 notes · View notes

newgenog · 1 year

Text

REVENGE

Notes: This is part one of chapter two. If you're just stumbling across this, and haven't already done so, please stop and start by reading part one of chapter one.

My goal will be to post the first two parts of this chapter here on Tumblr, and then wrap it up with the full chapter being posted on Ao3 in week three. I'll try to post something every Friday. *fingers crossed*

This is a #Batwoman AU based on the ABC tv series #Revenge. The character parallels were interesting, and I decided to reimagine a world where Ryan Wilder has a more intentional pursuit of vengeance.

CHAPTER TWO - TRUST (Part One)

Summary: Robyn Wilde plots to take down Gotham's most elite lawyer and favorite Clue Master, who was the assistant district attorney and federal prosecutor in her case when she was a young Ryan Wilder.

LEAK DAY

Ryan is seated at the bar in the Hold Up, and a news alert on the mounted television above her, behind the counter, catches her attention.

Correspondent: "Breaking News! A number of files from cases that were represented by renowned attorney, Arthur Brown, were released today. Included was a recorded interrogation from the GCPD of children that were involved in the tragic shooting of Cora Lewis 13 years ago, where her adopted daughter served time for her death in juvenile hall. Arther was the assistant district attorney presiding over the case, and footage corroborating the deceased's daughter's story had mysteriously gone missing by the day the trial began. It seems that, now, we have a clue as to where it might have gone."

~~~~~

36 HOURS BEFORE THE LEAK

Kate Kane is standing in front of a mounted and hanging bag, her fists elevated and rotating against it. Ryan approaches and stops nearby at a much larger punching bag. She has her gloves tucked under her arms. Kate realizes someone is in her peripheral and doesn’t want to break her rhythm to look at who it could be, but she greets them anyway.

Kate: “You want next?”

Ryan is slipping her gloves on and wrapping her wrists.

Ryan: “Nah, I’m good here. Besides, those things are always kinda high for me.”

The voice brings Kate to a pause. She thinks she knows it. She looks over and is confirmed.

Kate: “Robyn? Was wondering when we’d run into each other again.”

Ryan: “Only so many kickboxing gyms in Gotham. How’ve you been?”

Kate flexes her knuckles and extends her arms, shaking them out.

Kate: “Honestly…?”

Ryan: “Wouldn’t want anything else.”

Kate: “Fair enough. I come here every Friday at this time. I block my calendar…And today, I was glad for it. This morning started early and rough, and I definitely needed to punch something.”

Ryan: “CEO life, or real life?”

Kate: “It’s a mashup.”

Ryan: “Damn. Well, since I’m here, want me to spot the bag for you?”

Kate: “That’d be great actually. Then I can for you.”

Ryan: “Alright, let's go.”

Ryan takes her gloves back off, while Kate puts hers on, and then she grabs the bag so Kate can begin her attack. After about 10 minutes, they switch. Ryan needs to hit something, too, but she’s also always ready to hit something. There’s a constant, slow simmer threatening to boil over that she keeps a lid on so that she can smile at and spend time with the people who ruined her life.

Once she gives over to it, she lets completely loose, releasing it all, without showing the full extent of her skills of course. Instead, she gives into raw emotion, and pounds or knees the bag relentlessly, until she can feel again. When Ryan starts, she’s always focused and precise, like every other measured moment in her life, but after a while, her head disconnects from her body, and it’s all instinct and muscle memory. When she’s spent all she can, she starts to feel the bag’s resistance against her fist, the repulsion against her shin, the mass and weight unwilling to be moved, and she plops against the bag, hugging it, and taking a deep, slow breath to calm herself.

Kate: “Shit, Robyn. You might have needed that more than me.”

Ryan knows she’s let her cards show, just a little, and decides it's okay. If Kate is going to learn to trust her, she has to show she’s human and relatable.

Ryan: “I haven’t been here a month, and already my plate is full. Remaining composed through it all is its own full time job. I don’t have to do that here.”

It’s easier to keep a lie that’s surrounded in truth.

Kate: “You have no idea how much I relate to that. Hey, what are you doing after this? Maybe us newly appointed CEOs should commiserate over a drink.”

Ryan: “The next best thing to releasing through my gloves is forgetting a little through tequila.”

Kate: “Cheers to that.”

Ryan: “BOB next?

Kate: “Lead the way.”

~~~~~

They decide to get lunch, realizing that drinks after that workout, on an empty stomach, would probably make them useless for the rest of the day. Another family business is nearby, anyway: Mary Kate’s. It used to be named Alesandro’s, but Kate attempted to take a date there, and the manager was so homophobic that he didn’t want to serve them. Petty, powerful, and rich, Kate went home and told Mary she was going to buy the place. Mary, angry on her sister’s behalf, announced that she and Kate were going into the restaurant business by posting a picture of Alesandro’s with Coming Soon and rainbows decorating the storefront. In less than 30 days, they were under new management and had a new name.

Ryan’s in the locker room shower, mentally preparing herself for what she has to do next. Kate Kane is not the worst member of the Kane family. Sure, she’s entitled and privileged, and in some ways a product of her environment, in terms of living lavishly and getting what she wants no matter the cost, but she’s not evil. And she was not there the day that everything that ever mattered to Ryan was ruthlessly snatched from her and buried. But she’s not exempt, either.

Kate knew everything, and unable to deal with the responsibility for her family’s misgivings, she ran, to Point Rock specifically. At 18, and with parents like hers, who didn’t set the best example for what a good human is supposed to look like, Ryan couldn’t exactly expect her to be the one to out her family as the cruel, selfish, lying criminals that they are. Even still, if Kate could choose herself, so could Ryan. And so, as a bystander to Ryan’s losses, Kate would have to be included in her family’s atonement.

Ryan knows all of this pain she’s allowed to fuel her pursuit for vengeance is not what her mom wished for her. She remembers her mom’s prayer for a completely different future.

Dear Daughter, You came home today so sad. You wouldn’t tell me why, or even admit that you were. You were “fine,” as you always are. But I watched your face fall the first time you spilled soda on your newest comic. I watched you cry when your class hamster passed away. I saw you experience loss when we watched My Girl together, and Veda lost her best friend Thomas. I know when my daughter is sad. When I see you like this, I say a special prayer for you. I know you have angels looking out for you, baby, because they brought you to me. And I just hope they’re staying close to you, so you can sense them and know that they’re there, like I do. You know my relationship with God has evolved over the years. Losing my husband was hard for me to understand - why the lord would want that for me - and then getting you helped me heal, and that helped us mend a bit too. But this world is sometimes harsh to us, and I end up asking why more often than I’d like. The most consistent answer I get back is you. You are light in the darkness, daughter. Your belief that you can help others and change things - I already see it at this young age in you. Your grit, to keep fighting and find a way, no matter what you’re dealt - you are stronger than most. Your innate ability to carry so much more responsibility on your shoulders because you believe someone has to, and why shouldn’t it be you - I admire and learn from you, too. And so, I don’t receive the answer to why, but I do hear how: how this world will be better in so many ways because you’re in it. And because I know you are chosen, and you’ve already been dealt so much more than you deserve to bear, I understand that you will encounter many challenges in this life, as a Black woman who will one day decide to tell me that she’s falling for a girl, and who is growing up in a blue collar home in this country that doesn’t always save a safe space for you... I know you can handle it. But this sadness I see in you, sometimes, I hope you can hold onto your light, daughter. That’s what’s most at risk. And it’s as important as every other thing in you I described. So I pray that when the angels are speaking to you, they’re helping you to forgive this hard world. To release the harm that it’s going to bring you. To find compassion for the villains who were not born with the goodness you have. Your soul doesn’t deserve to be hardened or cooled by them. Save your own space for warmth and love, Ryan. No matter how hard this life can get, you will feel full and hopeful as long as you have love. Find and hold onto that instead of anger and hate, and your future will be beautiful while you conquer the obstacles you face. I love you. Your Mama, Cora

No, Cora would never want any of this for her daughter. She didn’t wish for Ryan to lose nearly four years of her life to being locked up for something she didn’t do. She didn’t wish for Ryan to lose her opportunity at having a community and support system to love her throughout her adolescence. She didn’t wish for her to lose out on the chance to go to college, and make young adult mistakes and learn from them, and get to know herself through the relationships she’d build and education she’d receive.

Since none of this would have been in Cora’s plan, she hopes her mom would understand why righting these wrongs has become the new plan. It was Ryan’s found purpose - the thing that got her up off of that flat, thin, rigid mattress in that cell. It allowed her to eat, so she could survive and be strong enough. It allowed her to sleep, dreaming up a strategy instead of reliving that nightmare. It helped her get mentally and physically fit, so she could fight back and make it out of that youth prison alive.

Just like all she’d lost, forgiveness isn’t in the cards for Ryan.

~~~~~

34 HOURS BEFORE THE LEAK

They each downed one glass of their preferred beverage, Ryan a tequila girl and Kate more of a bourbon, before their plates had arrived, and another round was delivered to the table along with their meals. The old fashioned Italian Restaurant feels like a dressy establishment, and one meant more for couples than business meetings. Regardless, it was lunchtime, and drew in a business crowd. More, there was absolutely nothing romantic occurring between the two women.

Kate: “So how are you adjusting to everything? Gotham? The new place? I know you said you have a lot on your plate…”

Ryan: “I’ll answer the last part first. Jada Jett - do you know her?”

Kate: “Of her. I’m more familiar with her son. He’s a bit of a wildcard, but so is my sister, so I’m not really in a position to judge. Anyway, I think my cousin Bruce, who I replaced, had more frequent run-ins with her.”

Ryan: “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Gotham really isn’t that big. Anyway, she left pretty abruptly. So, I’ve had to manage a lot of doubts and uncertainty. I don’t want the whole company running scared. So, I’m much more of a therapist to my team, and them to their teams, than I anticipated this job being.”

Kate: “Being a boss really is a lot like being a mix of parent and a psychiatrist.”

Ryan: “Yes! And I’m here because I’m good at vision, strategy, and asking hard questions about our operations, so we have the right resources while growing our profits, not because I’m good at dealing with all of these feelings every day.”

Kate: “Hear, hear!”

Kate lifts her glass to toast with Ryan, who mentally pats herself on the back for reading Kate so well. She’s certainly loosened her up. And she takes the opportunity to redirect instead of answering any questions about her personal opinions about Gotham.

Ryan: “What about you?”

Kate looks at her glass and takes an exasperated breath.

Kate: “My parents have a tendency to hone in on things that really shouldn’t matter, and they won’t move on until their influence has won over. We’re suddenly having daily disagreements about the loft you’re renting, because it’s the last of the properties my parents own from their real estate days. And I’ve offered to buy it from them, but they won’t let me have it. They really just want to get rid of it…”

Of course they want to get rid of it…

Ryan: “The Hold Up…? The Moore’s bar.”

Kate drops her head instead of answering, and Ryan wants to return to the punching bag. She’s supposed to be focused on her own retribution, and yet, the idea of any harm coming to that family…

Kate: “I probably shouldn’t be sharing any of this, but… while Sophie was away, Diane was at the hospital a lot. I don’t know what for, but I know she ended up really behind on her bills. But we don’t need the money! My parents are just stuck on principal, boundaries, keeping the relationship professional…”

Ryan takes a guess at why this bothers Kate so much. The thick energy between Kate and Sophie at the Soiree was impossible to miss, like they were polarized magnets.

Ryan: “And…it’s too late for that?”

Kate: “Pretty much. Sophie’s my ex. And…I can’t do that to her. They know that, and they don’t care. I love them, but I hate them sometimes.”

Feelings really weren’t Ryan’s thing. The only emotions she allowed herself to experience were neutrality and rage. But mixed emotions were really breaking through from this conversation. She was improvising way more than she preferred.

Ryan: “So what are you going to do?”

Kate: “I have absolutely no idea. I have no control. They’ve only held on this long because I’ve somehow convinced them to wait, promising Diane would figure it out, and reminding them how visible The Hold Up is to all of the people they spend the summer trying to make think nice of them with these donations. I’d pay the overdue rent for them, if anyone would let me, but the Moore’s would never accept it, and giving the money to them is the only way I could do it without my parents knowing. My hands are kind of tied.”

And almost perfectly, things start to fall into place for Ryan.

Ryan: “What if…”

Ryan starts talking before she thinks, which is very unlike her, but again, this is unfamiliar territory, and she’s figuring this out as she goes. This really could be an opportunity more than anything.

Kate: “Yeah? I’m totally open to ideas at this point.”

Ryan takes a second to hear the words she’s about to say in her head before she lets them come out of her mouth, and for reasons she could not have seen coming but that seem manifested all the same, she decides they’re the right words to say.

Ryan: “I love the loft. And I’m not a huge fan of renting, because it feels like you’re just giving your money away with no possible return. I needed something urgently, and this worked out, but I wouldn’t have rented for long. Except, it’s kind of perfect - even the furniture. I don’t want to have to move if your parents sell the place, and the new owners don’t want to retain this setup. So…”

Kate: “Are you thinking about buying the building?”

Ryan: “Do you think they’d listen to you if you came to them with a buyer already in mind?”

Kate: “I mean, it’d be the easiest decision to make, except…we haven’t run the numbers. I don’t even know what we’d sell it for.”

Ryan: “I don’t want to turn this into something they have to think hard about, or try to get the best offer on. So, I’ll be that offer. Run the numbers, and I’ll pay double.”

Kate: “Double? That’s a lot - are you sure-”

Ryan: “I’m sure. And we’ll be able to pay off the Moore’s debt with that so they can start fresh.”

Kate: “Wow. Just, wow.”

The server comes over and is about to ask if they need anything.

Ryan: “Sounds like we need to wrap this lunch up, since we both added some tasks to our plates for the day.”

Kate: “For sure. We’ll take a check. And, hey, thank you Ryan.”

Ryan: “I think it was just meant to be…”

~~~~~

28 HOURS BEFORE THE LEAK

Kate Cell: Okay, it’s done. I’m sending Luke to the Hold Up to tell them.

Ryan Cell: Great! I’ll meet him there.

Kate Cell: Thank you again. If you ever need anything…

Ryan Cell: A favor from Kate Kane? Gotta save that one. Are you going to The Gallery tomorrow? Evan invited me.

Kate Cell: LOL! I’ll be there…couldn’t miss it if I wanted to. Catherine basically plans it to support me during Pride Month.

Ryan Cell: Great, me too.

Luke Cell: Still can’t believe you bought the building. Are you sure this is a good idea?

Ryan Cell: Let me worry about the ideas. Text me when you get here so I can come down.

Luke Cell: Copy that.

~~~~~

To be continued...

End Notes:

Remember, I'll be back here on Fridays with more parts of each chapter, but will put the conclusion of each "episode" on Ao3.

All #Batwoman things I do now are in the name of #SaveBatwoman. Go follow all the social handles and support the cause, please.

#wmw23 #wildmoore week #wildmoore #batwoman #fanfic #ryan wilder #ryan x sophie #sophie moore #save batwoman

8 notes · View notes

rimefucker · 2 years

Note

felix just holding onto mc’s limp body as tightly as he can as if he can will them back…rime frantically scrambling to do anything he can to revive them and escell just standing, watching with a gut wrenching feeling of see’s his son’s heart so broken…and the icy fear that shoots up his veins when he realizes the LoS very clear warning

damn…i am breaking my own heart over here HELP😭😭😭😩😩😩 it’s too early/late for this but here i am

ahem

felix and death are well acquainted.

he met him twenty years ago, for the first time. one step skipped on his way down to the foyer. and for only being deceased for three hours, he can still feel that notch in his neck now.

just half a decade ago, they met again. felix just wasn’t the one departing with death that time.

rime was reaped in the war then, and although he was right about fate and the stars, there was no forgetting the time they spent apart. or the flashbacks, or the nightmares, or the -

“felix!”

their head thumps back into his lap with a soft thud. one single stripe of red that pooled from their lips is now smeared on their chin, and wiped upwards against their jaw. had he done that?

with sobs not nearly silent enough leaving him, he weeps for the way death follows him. the way it feels. he doesn’t have to die to feel death’s presence - as heavy and hollow it may be.

“felix!”

with his attempts to get felix’s attention gone unanswered, rime’s raw voice finally brings him back to the body beside them. he’s beside him too - having pulled [the mc] upright, slumped against his stomach, each arm wrapped around their abdomen like they can keep them from death itself. he’s crying like felix is, but only one of them is acknowledging their tear-stained faces. under his breath he’s reciting something, switching spells to find even one that could possibly stick.

it’s when rime’s rousing falls flat and felix is too frantic that they both notice escell. he’s stunned, standing so still with his lips parted and fists clenched.

and onward he stares, shellshocked. not for the lord of shadows newest victim, but for his own son.

#hmmmmm I Had To.#ask #answer #nyxxious #fictif last legacy #fictif ll #last legacy #rime solano varela #felix escellun #felix iskandar escellun #felix x mc x rime #kind of ??????#rime is showing emotion ...#g writes

96 notes · View notes

semischarmed · 3 years

Text

Cocktease

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes...” mused a deceased Harland as he eyed a future acquisition.

The specter licked it’s lips in greedy anticipation, taking note of the sun-glazed man in front of him building a substantial fort in the sand.

Beautiful curves baked in golden sunset outlined the man’s every muscle. Harland gawked as he followed every bend and bump of the man, committing his form to memory. He continued to hover his intangible mass near his future skin. The man’s hair was jet-black, and gently spiked from ocean water. The man’s muscles moved expertly beneath his skin, revealing their strength. This was a body sculpted through years of work, hard-earned and built for power. Unable to control himself further, Harland began to caress the man’s body from behind, causing him to jolt in a shiver.

“You alright there, Marco?” A small petite woman waved from afar.

“Y-yeah, just a breeze.. Sorry for the scare Val!” He shouted back, reassuringly as he shook off the odd sensations.

This only prompted Harland to continue further, deeper. Harland was as ruthless of a businessman as he was effective. In his day he was never one to compromise. He loved a good, dirty fight. He relished in the struggle. A vessel of this much resistance was made for him. This time around, he dug his spectral fingers into Marco’s golden arms, causing a slight ripple in its muscled flesh. He watched in glee as he traced the outline of those forearms, causing the fine hairs he dragged his intangible hand through to glow briefly and settle white. Property of Harland.

Marco meanwhile went from small jolts to a slight convulsion, as he felt something inherently wrong penetrate him. There was something otherworldly to the sensation he had just felt. Moments later a stream of vile, negative emotions flooded him, causing him to laugh uncontrollably.

Marco knew something was wrong. These were not the bright, sunny laughter he normally gave off. They were cruel, callous laughs which sent chills down his spine. He had no idea his body could even make these sounds. He glanced at his biceps and recoiled in shock as he viewed stray muscles writhing and moving on their own. Marco felt an enhanced sensation in his arms, like an increased awareness in his control of them yet by that very same sensation was an unnatural numbness to them. By all accounts, they were his arms but something was off. These appendages attached to him could hardly qualify as his arms. There was something not-Marco to them that his brain couldn’t quite resolve. Every movement he felt was unnatural, like he had to actively focus on moving every single muscle just to get his arms to move the way he desired.

Marco began to worry in his head, as more and more of his body began to follow in the same feeling. He ran through the day’s events, trying in vain to discern what could have caused these sensations. Then, his legs buckled and he collapsed into the very fort he had built earlier.

In sweat and sand, in struggle and sun, Marco began to convulse on the ground. His desperation unseen by others, shielded by the pile he excavated to make the fort.

He thrashed and shook vigorously, as more unfamiliar sensations flooded him.

The feeling was moving throughout him. It was unmistakably living. And it was drawing closer to his head.

A stream of drool left Marco’s mouth, as his shaking quickened. Veins bulged in his face and throughout his body as seconds later, his eyes began to roll back.

“F-Fuck!!” He shouted.

“Mmmm yes, ‘Fuck’ indeed” an elderly voice inside him spoke.

“What the-“

“Pleasure to finally meet you... I’m Harland”

——

Marco grasped his head in pain. “W-what the fuck do you want?!

“The answer to that question should be quite obvious.” Marco’s own lips spoke this time. His pained expression loosened and all visible struggle drained from it, as Harland commandeered Marco’s pretty face as his own. A hand still half-controlled by Marco shook in place until it eventually relented and caressed his face in rough unnatural motions. “I want this”.

“GET OUT” Marco shouted in protest. His body shook violently in one swift motion before settling.

In a brief instance, Marco again found full control of his body. He let out one sigh of relief before passing out.

——

Stirred awake by the sound of gently rolling waves and the vibration in his pocket, Marco awoke from a nap that had gone for far too long.

He viewed his phone, taking note of the hours lost in slumber. A new text from Val.

“Today was fun, had a client booked. Was gonna wake you up but you looked way too cute like that. Let’s do this again sometime. Maybe no giant sandcastles next time ;)”

He laughed gently as he spoke to himself “Damn, quarantine has really done a number on your stamina, eh Marco?”. He continued to slowly get up from the hole he had created himself- stopping every few moments as if to anticipate another fight for his body, despite writing off the entire event as a dream. “Must have dozed off or something.” He kept repeating rationalizations to himself, chalking the whole thing up to an illusion born of fatigue. Yet somehow deep down, he knew it was all too real. Something foreign, something unnatural was still there with him. Still Inside.

All reservations aside, nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have occurred since waking up and Marco began to even slightly believe his own little lie.

“Of course it was just a dream”.

As soon as Marco began to truly relax himself, his body shook into rigid, unnatural poses, defiantly showing its owner his error.

He attempted to get his bearings, grasping at whatever he could, only to catch loose sand with his arms. In the midst of Marco’s writhing, a toothy sneer pulled itself from his lips.

Harland spoke using Marco as his mouthpiece. “You didn’t seriously think I would just leave all of this?”

Marco’s own struggling hands began to grope and fondle his body.

“Don’t worry, having me inside will a whale of a time- you’ll see” he spoke, trailing of in a moan as his fingers circled sensually around his nipples. “Being my new body will make you successful beyond your wildest dreams”

Marco felt an odd warmth build inside him.

“Get the hell out of me!” He shouted in desperation.

In that moment, he was hit with a tremor of earthshattering pleasure- burst from deep within his abs, pulsing and delivering into the rest him. His arms splayed out, his hips swung into unnatural angles, as he was forced to ride the wave. In the aftershocks from the initial burst, his limbs couldn’t help but twitch slightly in unprompted delight. Marco had never felt anything like that before. His body couldn’t help but leak a little precum in anticipation.

“Some propriety is called for, young man. At least try to hide it.”

Embarrassed by the small stain that now appeared on his underwear, Marco began to shout back.

“Shut u-sh-shit… oh shit… holy shit holy shit” attention was immediately drawn to the second tremor inside himself. Once the second wave hit, he could only manage to barely contain an unprompted moan in his throat.

Marco tried to readjust himself, to acquaint himself with the pleasurable feelings and fight Harland’s onslaught on his senses. Instead, the pulses were getting quicker, stronger.

His abs were in pain, body sore, veins engorged. Muscles strained from their fleshy confine as they involuntarily contracted and relaxed in rapid succession from the increasing frequency of the pulses.

Marco laid in the ground shaking, riled up in pent up fury and ecstasy, expecting sweet, sweet release- only to be met with disappointment as his body, the very body he worked so hard to sculpt, betrayed its master. There would be no respite from the onslaught of pressure inside him. In fevered, labored breaths he cried out to his tormentor. “J-Just do it…. ah ah a-Holy shit. Take me. FUCK. We’re so close… please”.

Marco’s head hung back while his mouth contorted into a pained expression. The corners of his mouth twitched in place as the Harland new face took on a dark, lecherous expression.

“No, you were made to please me! You’re not getting a drop of this!” In that instance, something inside Marco’s body clicked into place.

This was it, Harland could see himself begin to manifest through his newly-acquired Marco-template. Marco’s eyes took on an evil, soulless demeanor. His hair began to flush white before settling into a dark gray color between Marco’s and Harland’s. All along his body, similar changes had occurred, cementing this new flesh as not-quite Marco and not-quite Harland.

Of course, the mind was a vastly different matter. Marco was no more- his body only the template from which Harland had fashioned his new corporeal form. Harland devoured his mind, connecting the new body to its sole owner.

Marco was no more- for he was now fully Harland incarnate. Lewd fingers began to explore the body they were attached to, tracing over Marco’s biceps, his shoulders, and his thick neck. His fingers continued to drag themselves among raw other crevices in his body, before gliding down his abs, down the treasure trail and landing gently around his cock. Harland scooped the bit of precum still on Marco’s dick from earlier.

The newly-minted man let out a smug, venomous smile, as he sucked his new fingers clean.

“Quite a delicious partnership”.

…

Though his mind no longer existed, Marco’s body was still pent up in lust and pressure, still attempting to shake and still yearning for that sweet release. With Harland in command, it was subjugated to stillness. Marco’s body continued with build in near-orgasmic heat and pleasure, further amplified by Harland’s mental fortitude.

But even Harland himself could not deprive this new virile body for too long. His hand went back in and quickly grabbed his engorged cock.

With closed eyes, he gave it a light, sensual tug, nodding in approval as he let out a short moan.

“We’re at the home stretch, bud”.

Another tug. This time, with a slight roughness. There was no hesitation to it- this was now his body after all, he knew how to please it best.

“You-this flesh was built for me, you just didn’t know it….and as for myself, I was built to control this to rule you… sorry I took so long to get home. You must have been so lonely building up all that muscle, sculpting all this without me inside to wear it” Harland stated as his free hand began to caress random parts of his body. The tugs began to quicken and his eyes fluttered in sheer delight.

“One final piece…” he moaned

…

In a quick jolt, Harland stopped dead in his tracks. Cum rapidly pooled over his hand, but he paid no mind to it.

He muttered but one word to cut the silence.

“Incompatible.”

In a flurry of feathers and a burst of red light, the two men finally realized their true form:

April Fools!

---

Note: Not actually a huge fan of the fried chicken company in question.

#male possession #male transformation #notaKFCad #recipieforsuccess

138 notes · View notes

officialsporkintheroad · 3 years

Note

here’s a prompt :) — tom and hermione dance at the yule ball. tom comes to terms w/ his feelings for hermione but does not confess right away. the next morning, she is gone (she went back to her own timeline). he wants to find answers.

(A/N: I know it's been literally months, but I finally got around to this prompt and I had so much fun writing a little snippet for it. Hope you like it, love, and thank you so much for sending in the prompt <3 )

warnings: brief violent/murderous thoughts, toxic relationships, possessive behavior, Tom being a little bit of a creep in general

The whole ordeal is tedious.

All parties, in Tom’s opinion, possess a certain dullness that seems utterly inescapable once you reach a certain point in society, and while the Yule Ball is a school function—and therefore not quite on the same level as, say, the Malfoy’s annual Yule party or even Slughorn’s more exclusive events—it’s still burdened by the same rules of propriety and small talk that Tom loathes.

Therefore, tedious.

Made worse, still, by the fact that Hermione Granger is floating around the dancefloor in a pale blue, satin gown that flatters her lithe body and delicate curves, her riotous hair half-pinned up, pearls peeking out between the wild curls. In the silvery atmospheric lighting, she looks ethereal, an otherworldliness that suits her bizarre personality. She is not the most graceful dancer nor the most practiced, but there’s always a confidence to Hermione that seems almost daring, as if to say, “My faults are irrelevant in the face of my accomplishments.”

And she is accomplished, Tom will admit that now. Four months of watching her breeze through classes, mastering spells on the first try and giving him a run for his money with her theory work. He has seen her do things that he had previously only thought himself capable of, has watched her match him wit for wit, barb for barb.

She is the only woman—the only person—that comes even close to being his equal, and yes, he had resisted that at first, but now…

But now, he can’t stand the thought of her dancing with anyone but him.

His feet are moving before he’s even really finished the thought, slipping through the crowd of dancing couples with ease as he makes his way to her. She sees him, of course, because no matter how hard Tom has tried, it seems like Hermione always sees him—or more specifically, sees through him. Her eyes—caramel brown, thick lashes, wary and angry and curious all at once—narrow, but she doesn’t stop him when he taps on the shoulder of her current partner and asks to cut in.

The boy pales a bit, throws Hermione an apologetic smile, and bows out. It’s nice, Tom thinks, how even now, with few knowing even half of what he’s truly capable of, there’s still an understanding that when Tom Riddle asks for something, he’s not really asking.

“You’ve given poor Adrian a heart attack,” Hermione comments idly, casually, like it’s just an observation and she couldn’t care less. He isn’t fooled into a false sense of security—they have been playing this back-and-forth for months now, and he knows her anger is always ready, always burning just beneath the surface—but admittedly, he enjoys it too much to ever back down.

“Perhaps you should have acquired a date that doesn’t startle so easily,” he muses, enjoying the subtle twitch of her jaw.

“Perhaps you should learn to wait until the next song to ask for a dance. I hear patience is a virtue.”

It burns, a little, that she’s right. He could have waited for the song to end, waited to approach her during the lull in music. It would have caused less of a scene, certainly. Would have seemed more gentlemanly, less…desperate.

But then, it hadn’t really been a conscious choice in the first place.

“And you could have refused,” he tosses back, because he’s petty and it’s true anyway.

The pause that follows is one that Tom doesn’t expect. What he expects is for her to push back, snarl some insult about Tom being childish and greedy, or snark that she could never dare to refuse the great Tom Riddle—all said with the heaviest, driest sarcasm he’s ever heard in his life. Instead, she sighs.

“I’m tired of fighting useless battles,” she says, and there’s something so bitter and sad and…and tired in her voice that it makes him stare. Because she’s definitely not just talking about the dance he stole from her.

Because maybe… Maybe, despite all the anger and derision and sheer viciousness that has tainted their every interaction since she arrived the beginning of September, maybe she, too, feels that he has worn her down in the way that she has done with him.

It is not love—Tom is absolutely certain of that—but it is something startlingly closer to it than Tom ever imagined he’d feel: a sort of raw possessiveness over her that pisses him off nearly as much as it gratifies him, an understanding that she is likely the only person alive that could ever satisfy him on an intellectual level, and the only person he has ever wanted like this, even if he’s half tempted some days to strangle her and throw her carcass down in the Chamber so no one finds the body.

It is strangely compelling that he can see hints of that same violent and conflicting desire in her.

When the song ends, she disappears into the crowd and Tom lets her go. After all, he doesn’t need to chase after something that is already halfway his.

*****************************************

Hermione is not at breakfast. She is not part of the group of students that Tom escorts to the train platform, and she is not at lunch when he returns. He asks the Ravenclaw 5th year prefect if he’s seen her, checks in at the Hospital Wing, and finally ends up at the library—where, truthfully, he really expects her to be.

The library is empty.

Almost.

“She’s not here,” a voice says, and Tom stiffens at the sound, an automatic response he can’t control no matter how he tries.

Dumbledore, always poking his nose in where it’s not wanted.

“Sir?”

“Miss Granger left this morning.”

Tom frowns, because he knows she didn’t get on the train, and the deputy headmaster must realize this because he sighs.

“She returned home, Tom.”

“Home,” he repeats flatly, because Dumbledore is lying. He’s sure of it.

Because Hermione doesn’t have a home to go back to. She told him as much—parents dead, all her distant family either deceased or estranged, and even if she could get in touch with them, none of them wanted to take in a war orphan. She was alone and lost when she came to Hogwarts. She can’t have gone home, because Hogwarts is home. For her, and for him.

“Miss Granger was only here on a temporary basis, Tom. You know that,” Dumbledore is saying. “Arrangements have been made with her mother’s cousins in America…”

That’s around the time Tom stops listening. It’s all bullshit, every word. It’s funny. As much as Dumbledore has always managed to know when Tom’s up to something, it goes both ways. It always has.

“I see,” Tom says eventually. “I…am sorry I wasn’t there to wish her off. We had been getting on better these past few weeks. You don’t happen to have an address for her, do you? I’d like to write her, if I can.”

“Ah, unfortunately not, my boy. Her relatives are travelling people, I believe.”

They both know they’re both lying. Neither of them blinks.

“I see,” he says again. “Well, thank you for informing me, professor. I’ll be off to dinner now, though.”

Dumbledore watches him with undisguised suspicion for a good minute before smiling. “Of course, Tom. It’s shepherd’s pie tonight. You certainly wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Tom holds his calm, impersonally polite smile through dinner, relieved that at least most of his peers in Slytherin have gone home for the holidays so he’s not subjected to their inane chatter. He keeps it in place through evening rounds, through his nightly routine. It’s only later, having sneaked down to the Chamber a little after midnight, that he lets the façade crack, firing off spells at the wall with a vicious, raging anger while he shouts his frustration.

Impulsive and erratic as it is, it does make him feel better. Steadier. Clearer.

He’s Tom Riddle, he reminds himself: prodigiously talented, sharp and clever and determined, the brightest mind of the century. And then he smiles.

There’s nowhere Dumbledore can hide her that Tom can’t find.

send me prompts if you want <3

#tomione #tom riddle #hermione granger #time travel ficlet

55 notes · View notes

babybottlepop96 · 3 years

Text

Basement (Levi Ackerman)18+ Only

Summary: Levi saves you from an abusive Ex.

Warnings: Abusive relationship, Yandereish situations, graphic depictions of blood, death, murder, weapon use

This is for @welcometotheclubhoe ‘s all around the world collab

A/N: Thank you for letting me apart of this and thank you @spellcasterlight for beta reading this!

WC:1584 "I did this for you." He spoke, his hand trailing down your red, tear soaked cheeks. His thumb lightly running along your bottom lip, swollen and bruised from his insistent kisses.

"But why?" You managed to choke out, throat raw from crying.

"I love you and he wasn't good for you, (y/n)!" His voice rising in anger from just the thought of your abusive boyfriend.

~~~

You cowered in the bathroom after another fight with your boyfriend, Erwin. You had approached him, yet again, about his drinking habit. Missing the days before he lost his business, the days where he would take you out every weekend to either dance or have a romantic dinner. The days where you would cuddle on the couch and watch the worst B rated horror movies you could find. The nights where your bodies were covered in a sheet of glistening sweat, chest heaving as he hovers above you, eyes looking at you with admiration as you both cling to each other, thrusting against one another with silent words of love and praise.

Those are the days you wanted back, those are the days you once lived for.

But everything changed that night, things were broken, the picture of the two of you on your one year anniversary now laid shattered on the hardwood floor. Harsh words hissed towards you, “You inconsiderable bitch! Don’t you care that my life is ruined?! You have no right to say anything!” Ribs were bruised as his foot collided against your side, sending an agonizing pain throughout your trembling body as you held yourself, desperate to hold back the vomit that threatened to expel from your mouth. You went to the only person you knew you could talk to, the only person who knew Erwin better than you did, Levi. Levi had been best friends with Erwin since they were wearing diapers, Levi knew Erwin like he knew the best tea shops and cleaning supplies in town. They were basically brothers and Levi was furious at Erwin for treating you the way he had, but you made Levi, you begged Levi, to not do anything or say a word about this. Levi reluctantly agreed, having been harboring feelings for you for years now. But he was furious at himself for introducing you to his best friend when he wanted you for himself. Besides, he trusted Erwin then, he was sure Erwin would've been the most amazing person for you, but now? All he wanted to do was put his best friend six feet under in an unmarked grave.

Every night from then on, you called Levi, crying. Crying about the words Erwin would say to you, calling you pathetic and worthless. Crying about how every night you would worry yourself about his whereabouts just for him to come home, reeking of alcohol, hitting you when you tried to voice your concerns. Crying about how much you missed the old Erwin, how much you wanted that Erwin back. How you still loved him even though he gave you every reason to hate him.

Levi listened, his own heart aching for you. His mind tells you to run away to be with him. He voiced that once, offering you to stay with him, to escape from the toxic environment that you once felt safe in. Somewhere far away, away from the heartache that was Erwin Smith. But you refused, adamant on staying, believing that you and only you could bring the old Erwin back. It broke Levi's heart that night. It tore his heart in two hearing how you still wanted to be with a man who abused you emotionally, mentally and physically.

And then that fateful night happened, the night where Levi got a call from you, voice barely above a whisper. "Levi? Levi! Please! Please help me! I'm so scared!" You quietly sobbed into the phone, Levi already out the door, keys in his hand.

When Levi had to resort to kicking the front door of your shared home with Erwin down, he knew things were going to be bad. He heard Erwin yelling down the hall and made his way there, finding him yelling and pounding away at the bathroom door. Your sobs coming through the splintering wood between each hard pound. Erwin's knuckles were bloodied, whether it was his own or yours, Levi didn't care. You were scared and he was going to save you.

Levi tried to calm Erwin down, he really did, but once Erwin brandished the kitchen knife he had in his other hand and made a dash for Levi, he had no choice. He drew his gun and before anyone had time to react, before Levi himself had time to think, it went off, hitting his best friend right in the chest with impeccable accuracy. He collapsed on the floor, holding the wound in his hand as he drowned in his own blood. The blonde gurgling on the thick, sticky liquid was the only sound filling the home before he took his last breath, collapsing on the floor in a puddle of his own red fluids.

You opened the door a few seconds later and screamed as your boyfriend’s blood continued to pool around his cold lifeless body. Crawling over to him, you placed his head in your lap, angrily looking at Levi as tears streamed down your cheeks.

Levi had to forcibly remove you from the floor, leaving Erwin's now limp and lifeless body on the floor, taking you back to his place.

~~~

"You… you did all this," motioning around the room under his home. The basement that he had spent countless hours cleaning and disinfecting, de-bugging, just for you. The room he filled with your favorite colors and small knick-knacks he thought you would like, stuffed animals on a queen sized bed and movies filled the tall, dark brown shelves he installed. Just for you. "You killed Erwin, my boyfriend, your best friend, your brother, just for me?" You were so confused, between knowing Erwin was no longer the man you loved and still loving him even through all the shit he put you through, you didn't know how to react.

You were angry at Levi, he killed the only guy you really seemed to love, but you were also thankful for him. He saved you from a quest you could not complete because the old Erwin was already too far gone to be saved.

"You're safe now, (y/n)." Levi spoke gently to you. You looked up at the man who seemed to show no sign of remorse for killing his lifelong friend, but instead his eyes showed worry, concern and love for you. You're all he has ever wanted and now he has you. He was a killer, but he was your hero. Saved you from Erwin and yourself because you knew you would have never had the balls to leave him.

You flung yourself onto Levi, knocking the two of you back onto the freshly cleaned carpet underneath. Your lips met his in a wet, sloppy kiss. Coming together like two missing pieces of a puzzle, not even the events of what had just happened minutes before could ruin what was happening. Levi gripped the back of your head and the back of your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer to him as he kissed back. Your hands gripped the front of his ironed white shirt, now wrinkled and stained with blood of your deceased boyfriend. This felt so terribly wrong, kissing the man who killed Erwin, his best friend, but nothing has ever felt so right either. Levi was always the one you ran to when Erwin was hurting you, Levi was the one who offered to take you away from the abusive relationship, Levi was the one who saved you. Levi saved you, he would've died for you, he killed for you. Maybe it was Levi all along, the one who you should've been with. The one who you should've chosen since the beginning, someone whom you had a small crush on when you first met him but decided on the blonde instead.

You pulled away from Levi, looking straight into his steel grey eyes. "I was wrong." You whispered just centimeters from his lips.

"What are you talking about?" He asked as he caressed your cheeks.

"I was wrong for choosing Erwin. It should've been you, it was always you Levi. I was just too blinded by my own heart to see you, right in front of me, the whole damn time. I'm so sorry." Levi then brought you in for another passionate kiss, flipping you over and running hands up and down your sides.

"I love you, (y/n)." He said as he started to nip at your neck, nimble fingers swiftly lifting your shirt over your head.

"I… I love you too, Levi." You repeated his action and took his shirt off, running your fingers over his toned stomach, tracing scars from childhood and sport related injuries. "There is nowhere that I'd rather be than with you, right here, right now. Even if we had to stay in this basement for the rest of our lives, I don't think I could ever be happier."

So you and Levi spent the next few hours in that basement, the basement where you found yourself in love with the man who saved you, even if that same man was now a killer. He was yours and you now belonged to him.

#allaroundtheworldcollab #dark #abusive relationship #yandere like situation #blood #violence #minors dni #levi ackerman #levi aot #attack on titan fandom #abusive ex #death #levi loves you so much #he will kill for you

57 notes · View notes

jwritesandrambles · 3 years

Text

“Supposed to Be”

Hi there! Yeah I still barely use tumblr but hey lookit I did the wrote thing down!!!!

I would like to give a bit thank you to @schweeeppess and @dragonsworn05 for editing my messy dyslexic rambles. @noroomforcream and @just-a-little-in-over-my-head did some really cool art for this!

(if I missed tagging someone, it’s not personal I appreciate you so much, I’m just posting in a rush mwauh)

Jason was back in Gotham. For the second time since he died, actually.

The last time hadn’t gone well. Technically, it had gone according to plan--for the most part--but Jason was still shambling together the broken pieces of his mind. Back then in December, all that was left of Jason were the shards of hurt and anger. He had been living for nothing but the idea of someone else’s death. Coming back to the real world, away from the sheltered and hidden places of the League of Shadows and the All-Caste, seemed to bring a bit of him back. Seeing Bruce, talking to him…everything that went down, and the reminder that he cared about him--loved him, even--it woke something up in Jason. Something that he thought had died along with him and never came back.

He had spent a year by himself, taking any mercenary jobs he could get, trying to find something other than the all consuming anger that had fuelled him for the past few years, but his travels didn’t matter now, as he stood in a back alley of Gotham, the protective red helmet tucked under his arm. He wished his replacement, Tim Drake, hadn’t chosen this particular alley to meet up in.

The balcony and rickety old fire escape were unforgettable to Jason. It was where he had met the Bat, after trying to jack the tires off one of those many damn expensive cars that Bruce had. Not only where it began, but where he once thought it would end. It was only a year ago he had stood, gun trained on Bruce, the man he had, for a time, called father. His voice shook and tears rolled down his cheeks, “it would be so easy to kill you.”

Jason was ripped from his reminiscing as a soft thud signaled that Red Robin had landed behind him. Jason flinched more than he’d like to admit, but fought the urge to draw his weapon. Quick reflexes was a nice way of saying jumpy.

“Hood,” The teen greeted.

“Replacement,” Jason said with a nod, echoing Tim’s tone back at him, relaxing.

“Weren’t you a replacement too?” Tim pointed out, seeming to take no offence.

Jason shrugged, “True. I’m not denying it. Just as long as you know that’s probably what B expects. Another Grayson,” he mumbled.

Sure, he was less angry than before, but that didn’t mean Jason wasn’t a bitter son of a bitch.

Tim bit the inside of his lip, an awkward and slightly uncomfortable look on the visible part of his face. It flickered away and was replaced with a more professional, neutral expression as he cleared his throat.

“Yes... well... We’re here for a job so let’s focus. You got all the information B sent you?” He was honestly trying his best, but he was hesitant about this mission. Could anyone blame him? Jason Todd had proven himself to be... volatile. The memories of Jason’s violence were all too fresh in Tim’s mind.

“Yeah, I got it. I read the file over,” he mumbled. He puffed out a weak breath, “Scarecrow set up a chemical mixing shop by the docks, at least one shipment has come in, but we can expect more, right? Anything I missed?” Jason asked, rummaging through his coat pockets.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He had been trying to quit, but he didn’t want to be getting distracted with cravings while trying to focus on the mission.

Tim watched him quietly as he lit off, smelling the tobacco from up on his perch.

“Um... yes, that’s all,” the teen dragged his teeth along the edge of his lip. The skin felt slightly raw and sore from his empty minded nibbling.

Jason started walking off down the alley, leaving a slight trail of lingering smoke in damp air. Tim followed.

“So,” Jason pulled the cigarette from his lips, careful not to let his helmet slip from under his arm. He held it between his first and second fingers, “Uh.. Why’d you have us meet here instead of anywhere closer to the docks?” He asked, trying to break the awkwardly growing silence.

“Scarecrow has patrols circulating around the docks. We’re less likely to be spotted if we’re not waiting around there to meet up,” Tim explains with a little shrug.

Jason hummed a brief note of understanding, “Oh yeah, that makes sense. I’m, uh, I haven’t worked with anyone in... years,” Jason paused, taking another drag from the smouldering cigarette, “Y’know, really nothing team oriented since working with B. Even then I was a shitty teammate,” he laughed hollowly.

Tim nodded, thinking about what Jason’d just said. Had it really been that long? Maybe… maybe the fact that Jason was even admitting to being a bad teammate didn’t bode well. It could mean trouble for them later. If it was so obvious that even Jason could admit it, perhaps Tim shouldn’t have done this team-up.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Tim ran to catch up to Jason quickly, “Wait... how old are you?” He asked upon reaching him.

“I’m t- uh... hold on, well... how long was I gone?” He asked Tim in return.

“You were thought to be dead for five years,” Tim told him, in a tone like he was reciting a Wikipedia page written about the formally deceased, wayward Wayne boy. Now that Jason thought of it, he was certain Bruce had a file written up on him now. Bruce had written up for every major criminal in Gotham city.

Jason let out a low whistle and soft huff, “I must be… twenty one now? Weird.”

“So... you didn't know how old you were till now?” Tim raised a brow, causing the mask to shift.

“Yeaahh,” Jason drew the word out sarcastically, pretending to took him deep thought to reconcile. “Somethin’ about the severe head trauma, dying, comin’ back, and being isolated from the normal world for years, all while being a wreck the whole time seems to have made my memory a lil’ fuzzy,” Jason said with a wry, sarcastic smile.

Tim seethed silently, letting out a series of apologetic mumbles, eyes dropping to ground ahead of him- it was a tactless and rude thing to ask, and Tim should’ve known that!

Jason laughed weakly, hand quickly coming up towards him and... ruffled Tim’s hair? The boy hadn’t even had a chance to recoil. He was just confused; that was the last thing he’d expect from Jason.

The man stubbed out his cigarette and lumbered on ahead of Tim, dropping it in the trash, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I was just being a bitch, you’re fine.”

Tim opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. A man who tried to kill him only a year ago had just ruffled his hair?! He decided not to comment on it, because-- after all--what the hell could he even say?

Tim cleared his throat again, “We should get into position, we’re almost there. Maybe get your, uh, helmet-thingy on?” He suggested.

Jason glanced at the helmet- he’d almost forgotten he had it tucked under his arm.

“Yeah, of course,” Jason said, lifting his helmet and plunking it on his head, “good reminder, Timbers.” His voice became modulated the second the helmet covered his head. His low, gravely, smokers growl of a voice, was nowhere near and deep and gravely as Bruce’s--but sounded like it took a step closer with every box of cigarettes--became a pitch lower still. An odd robotic twang edged his words, giving him a metallic, cyber sound.

Tim adjusted his own mask, making sure it was firmly in place before nodding to Jason. The two silently started up again, approaching a warehouse that was supposed to be locked until the next morning’s shipment. “Supposed to be” being the operative words. Instead, there was muted huffing and shuffling as two of Scarecrow’s workers uncomfortably hauled a large crate into the building.

Both Jason and Tim seemed to shrink into the shadows at the same instant; each becoming one with the wall. Jason drew his weapon quietly, earning a disapproving frown from Tim. “I’m not gonna kill them. Chill,” Jason whispered in that odd robotic voice.

Tim seemed satisfied enough to quit pouting at Jason. They crept closer, making little dashes between hiding spots when the coast was clear.

Jason let out a breath of curse as his eyes fell about the giant, glass, canister. It was filled with a bubbling, sickly, arsenic green substance.

“No way, that shit is all fear toxin? Fuck! He’s got enough to blast the entire downtown!” His voice came through in a synthesized hiss.

“Worse.” Tim whispered, spying the large pressurizer on top of the glass container. “That’s just the liquid form. When he releases it, it’ll be gaseous. If it’s released from the container from a high vantage point, a small breeze could cover the entire city in minutes.”

The severity of the situation washed over what little of Tim’s features were visible from beneath the mask.

This wasn’t just a quick little in and out operation anymore. One wrong move and there could have a small, yet very messy, catastrophic outcome.

Tim had to plan this carefully, because there was no way they could afford to mess this up.

He turned to Jason...or, rather, where Jason had just been seconds before.

Jason had evidently had a similar train of thought to Tim’s. He’d realized this was a serious situation, though, instead of drawing the conclusion to re-evaluate, re-plan, and carry on with caution, or something sensible-- he seemingly forgot any sense of subtlety he had. Oh, God forbid carefully thinking his actions out, like any sane rational person would do. Or calling for backup, like anyone with a vague semblance of self-preservation. No no, instead, Jason had decided it was best to act now and not waste a second with plans or any ideas of safety. He jumped into action.

Jason was already leaping over the crate the two vigilantes had been hiding behind seconds ago, as Tim let out a quiet imploring hiss of “Wait--oh no-”“ but it was too late.

Jason already had his gun drawn.

“Scarecrow!” he yelled, “this ends now!” He fired at the box the two workers were carrying, sending it out of their hands and clattering to the floor. A series of shattering followed the initial crash as the contents shattered. Whatever chemicals that had been inside hissed loudly, a faint smoke rising from between the boards of the wooden box.

“Hood!?” The Scarecrow rounded to face who he knew as the ex-criminal, ‘The Red Hood.’

“In the flesh.” Jason kept his gun trained on Scarecrow, while a third worker who had been off to the side started to shuffle his way towards him.

“Thought you moved your little operation away from Gotham when the Bats got the better of you,” Scarecrow commented, not seeming pleased about the interruption at all.

Scarecrow’s worker lunged at Jason. Tim kicked himself mentally and left hiding, kicking the worker --physically, not mentally this time-- back away from Jason. The third worker scuttled back, apparently deciding this altercation was above his pay grade.

Jason felt something he hadn’t really felt in a long time; it was a feeling akin to camaraderie. He had someone watching his back for once. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, he might have even cracked a smile. Or, rather, he might have felt a slight tug at the corner of his lips, at least.

“Well, yeah, the bats did get the best of me. Now I’m tryna give them my best. And that involves bootin’ your sorry ass out of here.”

“Quick witted, aren’t you?” Scarecrow tensed slightly. His eyes darted away from behind his mask for a moment. He was glancing to the side. Tim followed his gaze over to the-

Shit! The canister! If the bullet missed Scarecrow it would-

Tim knew what scarecrow was thinking, but it was too late.

“NO!” Tim shouted, helplessly watching as Scarecrow dove.

As expected, Jason pulled the trigger reflexively, but the Scarecrow had already ducked. The bullet made a resounding bang as it fired, hitting the large gas canister.

Tim seized up, every nerve buzzing, every muscle tensed, every fibre of his being filled with an awful sinking sensation. The room was deadly-still. It was like something written by the hand of a fool-hardy novelist, who was paid far too much for over-the-top paperbacks; The bullet had embedded itself in the glass, acting like a stopper. A sickening series of cracks emanated from the canisters, as a thin spidery web formed across the glass. All tendrils originating from where the bullet hit.

Jason let out a low whistle, “Well. That coulda been disastrous.”

Tim couldn’t help but feel relieved, a stressed laugh escaping his lips.

Scarecrow was scampering away, his workers already having pulled a quick disappearing act themselves, because, this wasn’t what he’d planned.

“Don’t even think about it, Crane,” Jason said as he turned, taking a heavy step.

Said heavy step was apparently too much. The glass gave a shuttering groan, followed by a small hiss as gas began to leak.

Tim made an involuntary distressed sound. Something akin to an exhausted sigh mixed with a whimper.

The one word that ever so eloquently graced Jason’s lips was, “Fuck.”

And the canister...

Burst.

The pressure placed on the glass had built up and could no longer hold.

Jason’s final step had been the breaking point, the spider work of cracks along the glass giving way with a great shatter.

Shards of the canister flung themselves across the room. The liquid that had been held within instantly began vaporizing into a thick, sickening gas. To anyone that had the misfortune of inhaling it, it felt as though the gas was trying --with every atom of its existence-- to choke the life out of its victim. It reached into their lungs, clawed at their insides, grabbing at their desperately beating hearts, and squeezed. It forced their brain to fill their body with adrenaline and hallucinogens. Tim knew this.

He’d studied the Scarecrow’s fear toxin many times. He’d been exposed to it before, too. Tim knew this fear and knew he was helpless to do anything about it.

Tim was helpless to stop this. He had failed. He’d failed Bruce. He’d failed this mission. Because he was weak. He was weak, helpless, hopeless, a failure, a burden, unwanted. He was nothing more than a replaceable replacement. No one would care if he was gone, God, it’s not like anyone would ever notice! He was a forgettable nothing. Tim coughed and wheezed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!

Tim staggered. He tripped over his feet trying to get away from the intense fear that gripped his throat. Tim realized something physical was gripping his neck. The thing dragged him back roughly, towards what he could only assume was something horrid. Tim clawed at the thing gripping his throat. As he gasped for shuddering breath, he couldn’t help but begin to sob. He was going to die. He would die and no one would care. No one would even try to find him when he didn’t come home, they wouldn’t even notice because he was worthless, replaceable, weak, failure, helpless!

A new level of fear washed over Tim as he felt something cover his face, it encased his head. Tim could feel it squeeze his skull, he swore the pressure felt tight enough to crush his cranium like a tin can. It was claustrophobic. He felt his own shallow breath bounce back against his lips, because it had nowhere else to go. He was trapped and suffocating.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t BREATHE! OH--oh, oh no... no? Wait a moment... he COULD breathe.

Tim took a moment to try to get his bearings. He needed to remember how his lungs worked. He awkwardly sucked in a breath of filtered, recycled air. It tasted tinny on his tongue. Tim blinked the tears from his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks, and he became aware of the taste of salt too. There was the faint scent of stale tobacco and smoke. His mind was reeling as he processed each detail. He dragged tongue over his lips nervously, and began to chew at his bottom lip. Tim’s heart was still pounding and his hands were shaking. He raised his hands to feel his head, glancing at his twitching fingers as they passed in front of his face, confusedly. Everything had a red tinge to it. He pressed his hands to his head, feeling a hard smooth surface.

Tim’s brain felt slow and groggy, taking a moment to clue into what was on his head. Was it Jason’s helmet? Yes, yes it was Jason’s helmet, that was certain, but where was Jason?

The thick gas still hung in a green fog, but the helmet seemed to be filtering the worst of it out. Tim swept his arm though the air, watching the gas clear slightly, before swooping in to fill the gaps. Tim knew he needed to thin this stuff out if he wanted to have any hope in finding Jason before tripping over him. He rushed through the room, feeling his way over to the door. Scarecrow’s men had closed it, containing them --and more importantly the gas-- inside. Small mercy the fear toxin wasn’t being released on the city though.

Tim dragged his fingers along the wall. His senses were so heightened that it was almost overstimulating. It was likely due to the toxin, Tim guessed. He could still feel the rough brick as he scraped along, even through the tips of his gloves. It was oddly reassuring. A steady constant he could focus on until -thunk- His hand bumped into a smooth metallic protrusion from the wall. Exactly what Tim had been looking for.

“Bingo.”

Tim swept his other arm through the air again, doing his best to fan the gass away for him to get a bit of a better view of what he was hoping to see. A metal switch box, old and slightly rusted around the edges. Tim had been counting on any wearhouse by the docks having a ventilation system to keep the products safe from humidity. Of course, he was right. With some difficulty, Tim wrenched the switch box open. After straining to read faded, dusty labels through the gas in the air, he flipped what he hoped was the right switch.

There was a small whine of aching metal that hadn’t moved in a long time and Tim cracked into a grin underneath the helmet.

He’d done it!

The fans kicked into a regular pace. The smooth ‘whoomp whoomp whoomp’ of turning blades filled Tim with a sense of muted triumph. The foggy haze of fear gas began to thin as the building began to filter it out, mixing it with the humid air. Tim figured it would be condensed and drip out to puddle with the dirty water in the alley behind the warehouse. If Tim was right, which he usually was, it wouldn’t harm anyone unless they decided to drink from the puddle water. Which was unlikely, but not impossible. It was Gotham after all.

Tim looked around the room as the gas dissipated. His gaze found its way to a shaking heap on the floor next to the shattered remains of the canister he had been standing before. The proud grin faded from Tim’s lips.

That... that wasn’t a good sign at all.

“Hey, um, hood? Red hood, status?” He asked, the words felt strange as they left his mouth. Hearing his own modulated voice echo slightly in the room felt vaguely surreal.

The heap of muscle and leather known as Jason didn’t reply.

Seeing Jason’s twitching body on the floor emptied a hollow pit in Tim’s stomach. Jason had never seemed like he was even capable of fear. Capable of rage, capable of hurt, and capable of pain, sure, but fear seemed like something Tim would’ve assumed Jason was beyond. Something so... innate, that the unnatural nature of Jason’s second life would’ve swept it away.

Tim made his way over, hesitantly rolling the helmet forward off his head. The fear toxin seemed to be thin enough now that it wasn’t harming him.

“Ja-er, Jason?” Tim’s soft voice seemed thunderously loud in the quiet room. The only other sounds around were the fans quietly whirring away and, far more disturbingly in his opinion, the even quieter shaking breaths and distressed whimpering tumbling from Jason’s lips.

Jason was not in good shape. He was shaking violently, hands over his head. His whimpers were punctuated by violent spasms that racked his body every few seconds, accompanied with a louder more pronounced cry.

Tim felt the colour drain from his face. He quickly kneeled down, setting the helmet on the concrete floor next to them both with a slight clink. Tim grabbed Jason’s arm, trying to turn him on to his back. Jason heftily flailed the arm Tim pulled, unintentionally hitting Tim in the face. Tim yelped in surprise as a sharp pain sprung from his nose, warm liquid leaking down his face. The blood pouring down his face didn’t deter Tim much, the blood coursing through him seeming to do the opposite for pain as it did the rest of his senses. The pain was slightly numbed--or, rather, it had become easy to ignore. He fought to wrangle both of Jason’s arms, quickly scrambling to sit on Jason’s torso, struggling to pin Jason’s arms down with his legs.

Tim took off his mask. He knew it was against protocol, but an un-obscured face was easier to recognize when the toxin took hold, in Tim’s experience.

“Jason? Jason, look at me. Can you hear me?” he asked quickly, holding on to Jason’s shoulders. He desperately hoped Jason wouldn’t throw him off. Jason’s eyes were unfocused, spinning around wildly all over the room.

Tim tried to process Jason’s words, “No, not again, ple--I can’t I--it hurts! Fuck! It hurts,” Jason’s words became incomprehensible for a moment, then his fists clenched tightly. “I don’t want to die! Not again. Not again not again not again! He’s gotta come save me, take me home, he’s gotta! Shit, not again!“ he choked and broke off with a shout and another full body jerk.

Tim was jostled but didn’t fall off, by some miracle. “Jason!” he tried. “Listen to me!” Tim put his hands on either of Jason’s face. Jason flinched away from Tim’s touch with a sob of “It hurts, it hurts, I can hear all my bones snapping, I’m dying, it’s crushing me, I can’t--I can’t--”

“I know,” Tim cut him off gently, “I know it hurts and--and you’re scared, but you’re not alone, I’m right here. I’m going to help you,” Tim tried to catch Jason’s focus.

Jason’s roaming eyes stopped dodging around the room, and turned towards Tim. He kept looking from Tim’s shoulders, Tim’s chest, back up to his face and then to his eyes and back to his chest again. Perhaps not the ideal image of calming down but it was a first step.

“Good,” Tim praised softly in relief. He ran his thumbs over Jason’s cheeks gently. Now more so than ever did Tim take notice of the scars on either side of Jason’s face. On Jason’s left cheek, there was a jagged line that traced from his cheek bone down to his jaw. A similar yet smaller one was mirrored on Jason’s right. Tim could understand why Jason flinched from him. He shook the thought from his mind, “See? We’re okay. Just try to breathe, in and out. You can do that, right, Jason?”

“No! No! I c-can’t, I’m crushed, I can’t. My--my lungs, they’re all full of blood, and mud, and dirt, and fuckin’ I dunno what!” Another violent thrash went through Jason’s body, almost toppling Tim off this time. “I can’t breathe, it hurts! I want it to stop hurting! How do I make it stop!?”

“Uah--yeah, I know it hurts, but I promise nothing is crushing you. It’s just me, I’m light, and I’m here and I--I know it hurts I’m going to try to make it stop but I need to--” Jason thrashed, but Tim didn’t relinquish his hold on him, “--but I NEED you to stay still!”

Jason’s eyes finally locked on to Tim’s, “M-make it s-stop?” he echoed back to the smaller vigilante.

“Yeah, yeah I’m going to try to make it stop.” Tim slowly pulled his hands away from Jason, sitting back slightly, starting to fish through the many pockets and pouches attached to the strap around his waist.

He almost always had the antidote on hand. Bruce had trained him and prepared him meticulously, making certain that Tim would be ready with everything they had at all costs. The only issue was it was enough antidote for him; almost seventeen, about a head shorter and ninety pounds lighter--nowhere near enough antitoxin for the two hundred and forty pounds of murder that was the shaking mass of Jason Todd slumped before him.

Jason dropped his head back against the concrete floor, beginning to mutter once again.

“My fault. All my fault. I can’t--all dead.”

“No one is dead, Jason, everyone is okay,” Tim said, soon after feeling a small surge of triumph as he located his field fear toxin antidote kit. He opened it, quickly pulling out a small vial, and a syringe.

Jason’s eyes snapped to the syringe in Tim’s hand as he filled with antidote. Jason grew quiet for a second before starting to try to fight Tim off of him, “No, no no no no no no! Don’t go! don’t go! Not again, I can’t be alone, can’t be asleep he’s gonna kill us. Dad said he’ll get rid’f his mistakes!”

Tim knew Bruce wouldn’t have ever threatened Jason like that. He could only assume Jason meant his biological father.

“Said he would--don’t, don’t! It’s crushing me I can’t be alone!” Jason couldn’t keep hold of his own fears. They ran together, all mixed in to become some dread filled nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

Tim was lucky Jason was so sloppy in this state. If he’d had a bit more of his wits about him, Tim figured Jason would’ve easily shaken him off already.

“You aren’t alone!” Tim reminded Jason, struggling to inject Jason without hurting him. “This is going to make it stop, I promise!” Well, that wasn’t fully true. But the dose would reduce it.

When Jason wouldn’t hold still enough for him to properly gauge where the vein he needed was, Tim unceremoniously jabbed at where he hoped it was instead.

Jason shouted, thrashing around like a heavy shark in a net being lifted out of water.

Tim pulled the empty syringe away quickly, letting Jason throw him off. He stumbled and crashed back down, landing on the concrete floor a few feet away. Tim only now realized how heavy his breath was as he watched Jason writhe freely on the floor before him. As Tim caught his breath, Jason’s movements gradually began to slow. The mutterings of fear faded into soft whimpers, then into deep breaths like Tim’s. Tim bit at his lip again. “Jason?” he asked, leaning forward slightly.

Jason groaned in response. He took a moment to collect himself as he grew conscious of reality again. Really, reality was a shit hole too, but it was a better shit hole. He shifted slightly, cussing under his breath.

Tim felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders; swearing like a sailor was promising in Jason’s case.

He quickly scooted across the floor to him.

“Hey,” Tim said in a hushed voice. “Jason? How you feeling?”

Jason--with what felt like the struggle of Sisyphus rolling his boulder for the millionth time--rolled over to face him. The white shock of hair stuck to Jason’s forehead with panic induced sweat. He puffed out a lungful of air in a feeble attempt to blow the hair from his face. Jason swiftly gave up on that and swallowed heavily.

“I-I... yeah, yeah, I uh... I--okay. I’m feeling okay,” Jason rambled, looking dazed. He took up scanning the room again, hyper-vigilant to any danger.

Tim nodded slowly. He grabbed a water bottle that was shoved in one of his many pouches. He helped Jason sit up, just enough so he could sip at the water, and forced the bottle into Jason’s hands.

“Drink,” Tim ordered, quietly.

Jason’s hands still shook lightly, causing him to fumble with the cap in his hands.

Now that the danger had passed, Tim finally had time to process what had happened; he often found himself acting and only having time to absorb the details afterwards. Details like that Jason had traded his safety and immunity for Tim’s.

Why did Jason do that?

“Not... that I’m ungrateful,” Tim began hesitantly, “but that was a stupid thing to do, just… now- today,” he stumbled out awkwardly.

“I know,” gasped Jason after a long chug of water, a weak smile on his lips.

“I mean--it’s like in those before flight messages on planes. Put your mask on before the baby’s or whatever,” Tim joked slightly. Tim’s nose wrinkled slightly, cringing just the tiniest bit as he realized he implied he was the baby in this situation, “Well, you know what I’m getting at…”

Jason seemed to only take even more amusement out of the teen’s regret. Tim never thought he’d see the day where he felt tension draining at the sigh of Jason Todd, a man that tried to kill him and about eighty other people, smiling.

Jason laughed weakly, though it came out a little haltingly, as the shivering shakes hadn’t yet subsided. “Yeah, well, I d-did have my mask on. I just... gave it to the k-kid before the plane went down,” he mused. He didn’t really believe in his own point, and shook his head.

“No, no you’re right. It was stupid and I know that.”

They fell into a slightly awkward silence for a second, the burning question still gnawing at Tim’s mind.

“Why?” Tim said, abruptly. “Er, why did you do that? If you knew it was stupid?”

Jason didn’t answer for a long moment. Instead stalling by taking another swig of water. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before answering.

“I don’t know,” Jason admitted, with a little smile.

Jason was breathing heavily, but seemed more focused, “I didn’t... really think. Maybe I was just makin’ up for other stuff I f-fucked up or... dunno. I guess I j-just... I knew if one of us was gonna be safe, it had to be y-ou.”

Jason swore he could practically see the little loading sign twirl in Tim’s nerd-brain as the teen processed what he’d said. The mental loading bar filled, and Jason’s words seemed to click. Tim’s eyes dropped away, and he smiled a little shyly. Not an awkward or uncomfortable smile. Just complimented.

“Thanks,” Tim’s voice was just above a whisper, “ that was... really nice of you.”

“It’s okay, don’t men-ention it. Like literally ever. It’ll ruin my rep,” Jason cracked a teasing smirk once again and Tim got to his feet laughing lightly.

“Annnnddd he’s back to normal,” Tim chuckled and offered Jason a hand. Tim yanked him, not without obvious difficulty, up to stand tall. Jason leaned on him for a moment before straightening, keeping a hand on Tim’s shoulder to steady himself. Tim quickly bent down and scooped up their masks from the floor where he’d set them down.

“Let’s get you home,” Tim hummed, putting Jason’s arm around his shoulders again when he stood.

“Hey, I’m fin-ne, you don’t have to take me back,” Jason argued, but Tim was already starting to lead him away.

“Too bad, I decided I am.”

“Rep-placement Robin number whatever you are--I am fine!”

“Sure you are, that’s why you can’t stand up right by yourself?”

“Shut up!”

“I speak only truth.”

The two bickered all the way back through away from the docks. All the way back through the city. All the way until they reached Jason’s apartment complex. Then they bickered some more. Though neither knew it yet, what had begun forming was the beginning of a close bond. One that nothing would be able to break.

#batman #robin #jason todd #redhood #red hood #Tim Drake #red robin #batfam big bang 2021 #Just for Fun #idk how tumblr works

26 notes · View notes

meet-me-in-the-kitchen · 4 years

Note

Hi!!! I've just gotten my wisdom teeth removed and I'm emotional wrecked. Who knew I would miss those little shits? Anyway, could you maybe write something short about Y/n having her wisdom teeth removed and being super sad and in pain and Harry is just there to help her feel better? I love your writing and honestly read all of your work twice at the least. ILY

ANESTHESIA AND LETTING GO

(She would stare at him like he was god’s single greatest gift to humanity.)

“You’re gonna take care of me?” she garbled, gaping so he could see the gauze squished into her mouth and a little bit of blood trickling out of the recent incisions. He tried both not laughing or wincing, but couldn’t help an endeared little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips at her genuinely awed expression, as if she couldn’t believe he was actually there. Thsy’d had to remind her a few times that he was her boyfriend, which worried him a bit at first—he reckoned he’d watched The Vow a few too many times.

“Yes, lovie,” he’d rasped, a warm chuckle rumbling in his chest as he brushed away a lock of hair that was dangling dangerously close to her open mouth. This seemed to cheer her up, because she made a contented little cooing noise, the kind you would expect to come from a woodland creature or a baby, before nuzzling her cheek against his knuckles, gazing up at him shyly while blushing a bit. The older dentist in the room had sighed wistfully while passing by for her post-operative check-up, while her younger assistant sniffed jealously. Loopy from drugs or not, y/n took one look at the woman’s lustful gaze on harry’s bottom and glared at her fiercely, mouth full of gauze. He’d said he was her boyfriend, hadn’t he? That made her his girlfriend and thus perfectly eligible to grab his...

“Oh!” Harry yelped in surprise when y/n’s hands reached behind him and greedily squeezed a handful of his bubbly bottom, a gesture usually performed the other way round, not that he was protesting.

“She’s a bit loopy,” Harry explained sheepishly, a little pink in the cheeks, to the dental assistant, who was now huffing and sneering down at her clipboard. y/n simply batted her eyelashes, mouth still wide open, while Harry gently placed her hands down and she sneakily let them travel down his back and then deliver a firm smack to his backside.

“I can see that,” the assistant muttered darkly. She stuck her nose up in the air, and marched out of the room.

Satisfied that her nemesis was out of the picture, y/n settled back into the chair politely and thought back to what Harry had said before about how he was gonna take care of her and how the smooth planes of his perfectly sculpted face had felt against her cheek; thoughts that once again send blood rushing to her cheeks, and send her into a fit of cute giggles, staring up at the ceiling but not particularly anything as she does so with fingers pressed slightly to her puffy lips.

“Proper spanked me in front of the dental assistant only moments ago, love, and now you’re goin’ all blushy on me,” Harry teased lowly, his own dimple poking out as this sent his girlfriend into even louder giggles, ones that she covered with her hands.

After leaving the dentist’s office, however, things had quickly taken a turn for the worse once the drugs slowly exited y/n’s system. dental pain is quite arguably one of the most excruciating pains to exist on the face of this planet. especially if you’re the one going through it. and besides the physical pain...y/n seemed to be having some attachment issues to her teeth, as well.

“...Harry?” y/n whimpered, curling further into her boyfriend’s chest and looking dolefully up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. His forest green eyes flitted to hers in surprise of her sudden wakefulness. She’d been silent most of the car ride back, after ten minutes of initial happiness and humming his songs loudly under her breath. Once they were back home, she’d clung to his side, and he had to carry her up the steps to their flat, bridal style, because she was kind of flopping all over the place, but he didn’t mind an excuse to hold her so close to him. He helped her into a jersey that smelled just like him to comfort her while she was still neurotically out of it, her cheek squished to his chest while he put Tiger King on Netflix, but admittedly paid more attention to he, looking down every now and then to see a deep-set frown on her fresh face.

“What is it, baby?” he asked. She decided he loved his voice as he talked to her like this, because it was low and pleasant and he took his time saying each word, so it rolled off his tongue like syrup with authenticity and an accent that knew no exact heritage, but Harry. His green eyes were attentive, fingers stroking down her back. “do you need anything?”

“I hurt,” she sniffled, lips trembling. He pouted in response, turning over so he could hold her properly, hips melding together.

“‘M sorry. Do you want more medicine?”

“No,” she said indignantly, like it was obviously not what she would want.

“You sure?” he asked slowly, eyebrows raising. “I thought it hurt?”

“Not that,” she shook her head, eyes shifting to her nervously twisting fingers heartbreakingly. her lips trembled a bit, and Harry grew alarmed. He was him, so he’d naturally spent hours on WebMd, reading up on the side-effects of even such a common procedure as wisdom teeth removal. Had the dentist damaged the crowns of any other teeth? had she hurt y/n’s gums? what if—

“What’s wrong then, hm?”

“I— I just...” she burst into tears, sobs breaking as she choked out an explanation. In a hushed voice, she confessed: “I miss my wisdom teeth!”

He blinked once. Twice.

“You...” he paused. “Miss your teeth?”

y/n nodded, big eyes filling with tears again at the mention of her long departed acquaintances.

“Like...they were always there for me, you know?” she garbled, tears slipping down her face as Harry frantically tries to swipe them off her cheeks with his own thumbs, while also confirming that his girlfriend has, indeed, finally lost it.

“I mean,” Y/N took a deep breath before diving into a heartfelt monologue dedicated to her teeth. “I could be going through the worst day ever, and i could be a total bitch and most people would probably leave, but my teeth never left me. and like, they never even wanted to leave and they were always there, but I never even tried to make them feel wanted,” she sniffled, blinking back tears dramatically while Harry rubbed the small of her back, handing her a tissue she blew her nose into. “I know that humans don’t need them to chew on raw animals anymore, but...can you imagine how that feels?” She empathized, emotion in her voice, “to constantly be there for this total bitch and then she just wakes up one day and feels a pinch in her mouth—“

“Not a pinch,” Harry muttered defensively, recalling Y/N screaming bloody murder the night before, but unsure as to why he’s defending her from...her.

“—and decides to tear them apart, evicting from the only place they’ve ever really known. I didn’t even say goodbye, and it makes my heart sad,” Y/N aid so defeatedly, it kind of breaks Harry’s heart, too.

“And you know the worst thing,” she whispered brokenly: “they never even saw it coming.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” he stated, wiping away her tears delicately, watching her face until each one was gone, a bare sniffle the only reminder she’d been crying. “I love you too much to let you do this to yourself. We’re gonna watch a rom-com, and...”

“But, I never even named them!” she gasped wetly. He ignored her as she murmured alejandro, wisdom the wisdom tooth, and other potential names for her deceased teeth; while simultaneously contemplating if she could break into the dentist’s dustbin and maybe sneak back her teeth.

But when the day comes to an end and the drugs are flushed out of Y/N’s system, Harry takes care of her. He makes sure Y/N’s getting enough water and eating well; sets a timer to wake her up from her naps and feed her the bitter medicine her scowl suggests she wouldn’t take if it weren’t for him. He would make sure to replace her gauze even if she’s a bit squirmy from all the blood in her mouth, and most definitely wouldn’t be stingy when it came to cuddling; squeezing her so tight with his strong arms, trying his best to minimize the pain as much as possible. that meant pressing light kisses to her puffy cheeks. When she’d be up from an aching mouth, he’d be the one putting his hand under her jaw, massaging lightly, to help relieve some of the ache. He make sure her food was soft and the right consistency, and hold back her hair when Y/N’d inevitably puke from the taste of her medicine, or soothingly rub his warm hand over her back when she was tremoring from the anesthesia leaving her freezing.

“Are you staying?” Y/N asked in the morning, yawning as Harry pulled her up to his chest, stroking her hair.

“Yes,” he nodded, lips pressed to the side of her forehead. “Unless you want me to go.”

Because like her wisdom teeth, Harry would never let go.

MASTERLIST

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles x y/n #the LAST LINE LMFAO FORGIVE ME IT WAS LIKE 4 AM WHEN I WOKE TO WRITE THIS

838 notes · View notes

starrypawz · 3 years

Note

How about the "zero fucks given, next please" prompt for whoever?

(Can’t find this prompt list atm)

idk if there’s really any cws from this, but someone does have a hangover and is being a pain in the arse, set post heartbreak

Ricardo opens his eyes, unwillingly, there’s a dull thump in the base of his skull.

This is not new.

He realises he’s on a couch. His couch.

(That’s something at least)

This is not new.

He moves his attention from the ceiling, turning his head and biting down on a wince as he does so to find Chen standing there.

This is not new.

Neither is the expression that Chen is giving them right now. Ricardo in better mindsets can never think exactly how to describe that look, right now he has no chance.

Ricardo sighs and speaks, he’s got that cotton wool feeling in his mouth, “Did I lose my jacket this time?”

“No-”

He flexes his hand and winces, there’s a familiar patina of bruises and dried blood across them. Not the first time and not the last.

There’s faint memories of his fist going into something, something hard. Probably metal, sparks might’ve flown.

It was a something last night, not a someone. That’s an improvement right?

He stares a moment too long at his knuckles and it makes his already queasy stomach drop further.

Shattered glass.

Ricardo sighs and tries to give an irreverent smirk, “Sounds like a good night-”

“Anything end up in the paper?”

“No-”

Chen gives that indescribable, disappointed look coupled with a sigh and perches on the edge of the couch.

“Ricardo-”

He has a way of adding weight to his name that brings up largely repressed memories of a deceased, disappointed father.

“You,” Chen sighs, “You can’t keep-”

“Chen-”

Ricardo tries to project… something with his voice but it comes out more like ‘petulant teenager-”

Ricardo snorts, “Didn’t realise I need your permission-”

“Ric-”

“I don’t give a fuck Chen,” Ricardo sighs and lies back down, “Whatever it is, I don’t give a fuck,”

“Ricardo Ortega,” The edge has gone out of his voice at this point, “You-”

“Didn’t you hear me, I don’t give a fuck.” Ricardo pauses for a moment and swallows, trying to shake that cotton wool feeling from this throat. “Retired, no longer a liability, not your problem, ok, Marshal,”

On Ricardo’s lips Marshal sounds like the foulest curse known to man and Chen despite his best efforts winces and Ricardo sees the way Chen tenses up.

“Do you want me to fuck off?”

Ricardo pauses for a few moments, jaw tense and swallows again, voice quiet, untenses his jaw, “No-”

There’s silence after that. In that silence countless recent arguments spring to life and are snuffed out in the same breath.

All those wounds are too new, too raw, too tender.

Neither of them have the urge to rip the stitches on those particular wounds.

Not today at least.

Chen breaks the silence.

“Have you been taking your meds?”

“What do you think?” Ricardo rubs his temples.

Chen sighs and moves off the couch. There’s another unspoken argument in the silence, one they’ve both lost the energy for. Chen won that one and Ricardo doesn’t care to rip that one open again.

He can have that one.

“Same place?” Chen pauses in the doorway.

“Yeah-”

#fhr #fallen hero #fallen hero rebirth #starry writes stuff #Anonymous

28 notes · View notes

phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 3 years

Text

if you have a question about aussie slang, for a fic or whatevs, please just ask i don't know all of it, but we do have some fun words and sayings that are day to day statements

esp. the more rural you go

not everyone has the full accent though, because you do get a lot of pressure at work to come across... professional or whatever.

the only one i've never been sure of being an Actual Phrase, or if it Became A Phrase after popularisation on a tv show, is "Stone the Flaming Crows" bc a dude from Neighbours used to say it frequently.

examples of day to day stuff i can think of right now

mad as a frog in a sock (angry about something, went off, off the shits)

mad as a cut snake (usually means 'they're nuts', but can also mean they exploded with anger, usually contextual)

she'll be right (it's fine - can be a flippant statement, can be reassurance, etc)

drongo / galah - (idiot, not very smart, wanker, etc)

dunny = toilet

thunderbox/outhouse / long-drop - usually outdoor toilet

dry as a nun's nasty / dry as a dead dingo's donger (I am thirsty, or It Is Hot AF/we need rain so bad)

chuck a u-ey (do a u-turn)

Oi! (Hey I want your attention/i was surprised, general exclamation, stop that, you are in a lot of fucking trouble mate - depends on the tone of voice and volume) like "OI!" says aunty ruth has just found her dentures in jello and she knows you did it, etc

Bugger off (go away, or sometimes a statement of disbelief)

Yeah nah /Nah yeah (can mean yes, no or maybe depending on what was said directly before the statement)

you cant pull the wool over my eyes - you can't lie to me like that / i can see you are not telling the truth

shut your gob / put a sock in it / put a cork in it - (shut up / shut the FUCK up / close your mouth or i will shut it for you) depends on tone

Ya wally (you idiot)

Roo = kangaroo

o = can be affixed to anything to shorten it at the servo - gone to the service station, arvo - afternoon, smoko - morning tea, bottlo - where the grog is

goon/goonsack - wine in a box

grog - alcohol

stubbie - beer, ususally

boardies - board shorts

rashie - swimming shirt,

slip, slop, slap - ancient proverb for avoiding sunburn. singing pelican.

thongs - footwear

sheila = female / woman, don't hear this a lot at the moment tbh except in certain contexts or from specific people

'Getting rowdy' = things are heating up, people are riled up, a fight is about to/has just broken out, etc.

DJ's like a mad cunt = one very specific meme about a bad PM we had like 10 years ago. i can't tell you how many PM's ago, it's been game of thrones here lmao

Beyond the black stump / Out whoop-whoop / references to timbuktu (quite a distance away)

strewth!/crickey!/bloody hell - (exclamation of surprise, expletive replacement, etc)

flat out like a lizard drinking (tired / drunk / exhausted / sleeping)

pull a harry holt - (I've heard a dozens variations of this one, it means Go Missing / Disappear, often used as a joke. PM Holt went swimming one day and disappeared)

have a stickybeak (to poke your nose in/investigate/look around)

chuck a wobbly/throw a tanty/chuck a tanty/throw a wobbly (throw a tantrum, i have legit never seen anyone successfully deescalate a situation by telling someone not to chuck a wobbly or throw a tanty, go figure lmao)

bogan - (very specific kind of low-income, generally white, people. sort of like rednecks, but with more stereotypical aussie features like a mullet, singlet tops, sunnies, stubbies, etc. tend to fall under the liberal party ideology - who are our republicans... )

ankle-biters / rugrats / little takkers / gremlins / nippers - (kids, usually the littler ones)

tiff - argument, small fight (had a tiff, had a row)

pav = pavlova

piss/whizz/take a piss = going to pee

vegemite - delicious

Kiwi = New Zealander

Banana benders - the disrespectful bs that apparently other states call anyone living in Queensland, the wankers

station - farming areas that have sheep or livestock usually, have farmhands etc.

dole bludger(s) - (anyone on Centrelink, whether they want to be or not, with no other employment. but like, a lot of people on centrelink have a job that does not cover enough and need additional financial supports to meet a minimum wage, or are students or apprentices, etc. there are people who go on centrelink on and off to avoid engaging in the jobseeking stuff, they are the real dole bludgers, but a lot of richer people tend to call anyone on 'welfare' bludgers)

don't you come the raw prawn with me - (do not lie to me / don't try that shit with me, mate / I wasn't born yesterday /etc)

dak/dack - to dack someone is to come up behind them and yank their pants down (or skirts). Often taking out your boxers, too.)

budgie smugglers - (speedoes, male swimwear)

togs/toggs or cozzie (swimwear, any kind. cozzie = costume)

mozzie - (mosquito)

better than a kick up the backside /better than a kick in the arse - (pretty self explanatory, one of those phrases parents use to get slightly hurt kids to start laughing and/or coworkers to commisserate about new work rules, etc)

I wouldn't piss on (name) if they were on fire - (self-explanatory, you hate them, or they're a useless tit or an insufferable person /a suckup etc, and you would gladly hand them a match)

one for the road = getting a drink for the road, usually. can also make a joke of it like, "one last piss for the road" = I'm going to the bathroom before I leave

here's your handbag, what's your hurry - probs not an aussie phrase but a common joke in my family

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

So like, there's some words and items from Australian Indigenous culture that often get used wrong in stereotypical characters, like saying 'gone walkabout', using 'cooee', making digeridoo jokes, and making some really uncomfy 'savages' statements can be very disrespectful. You might want to go looking into Australia's fucked up policies and historical (and only recent) situations before starting any arguments about this stuff... in many ways it mirrors the cruelty of american colonisers to native american peoples, etc.

Avoid some phrases. Your character gone to cool their head? He's gone off on to soak his head, or he's on his bike (gone away) but he'll be back... You can use 'Oi, dickhead!'

Please don't mock the names of towns or places, they are often the names from the traditional custodians and inhabitants.

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

Random things:

We drive on the left side of the road, driver's side reversed.

More of our cars are automatic than manual. Utes aren't atypical, but bigger vehicles are out in rural areas because more than a few of the rural roads are poorly maintained or dirt, with potholes that yoyo your soul into your body.

If you have a character on a long drive on a non-highway, or rural road: +if you are on a one-lane road and someone is comingthe other way, you both move half-on, half-off; for big vehicles or trucks, you can choose to pull off completely and stop. Just for safety, esp. in rain, fog, mist or late at night. +at one-lane bridges, you have a give way sign on one side. if you want your characters to have a moment of 'pause to look at each other while driving' or 'a quiet moment of reflection', have them wait for another car or truck to pass from the other side. These can be a few metres long, to like, a really long bridge. +They may pass markers that say 'flood level marker' with numbers of 2, 3 or 5 metres. Could be useful to remark on if your fic needs a reason for them to have a crisis. +Bushfire warning signs (from Low to Catastrophic) are frequent +Animal Crossing signs are very frequent, and often have a wildlife rescue number on them +Water restriction signs are in most small towns, they range from levels 1 to 6. This can change what the characters are allowed to do with water in little towns, etc. +You may occasionally find a small servo and one or two houses. +pubs don't open/won't serve alcohol until after 10am. the joke has always been, 'beer on your cornflakes' but you will never be able to actually get that unless you preplanned the night before in your hotel room. +Around dawn and dusk, a lot of animals like hares, kangaroos, wallabies, sometimes echidnas and koalas and little numbat things, and snakes and bushmice will be close to the road. Sometimes dashing across. They do not react logically to cars approaching, and will leap out at random. Hares do this zigzag nonsense. If you need the character to hit the brakes frantically, or swerve, this is a good reason. If you are ever driving here and see an animal on the side of the road, flip lights to low beam, slow down and watch to see how they react. If you can. If there's a truck blaring down on you, you may not be able to.

+Emus are in more rural areas. Echidnas sometimes appear on fringes of towns though.

+Kookaburras are a lovely creature, I have rescued a few and they are nice... but their laugh is very grating when it goes off super early in the morning. They eat snakes (good) and baby birds (not so good).

+Lots of snakes round here. LOTS. Carpet Snakes are pretty common, red-belly black snakes, eastern brown (big danger!!!), whip snakes have declined in my region, keelback snakes, this one black and white banded one we found deceased, etc. Snakes can climb, snakes can SWIM. Putting something that stinks around a campsite MAY help, but not always.

+Never go swimming in a dam you don't own, and that hasn't been checked, and if no one knows where you are. How deep is it? What's on the bottom? How stirred is the water? etc.

+Kangaroos CAN drown you. They have perfected this attack, and will do it to humans, dogs and other pursuers alike. They can also eviscerate you with their hind paws or shatter your ribs with a kick. The 'boxing' they do is exceptionally violent. This seems to surprise people, but like, giraffes can kill each other by slamming their heads into each other, you think a 7 ft swole motherfucking cryptid can't do harm? They can be lovely tho, if they trust you. But DO NOT GO PETTING WILDLIFE.

+Dropbears, austrilanicus vericanthus bitus, are real. We do make jokes about them, but they are a Problem. The pee on yourself thing won't ward them off, that's more about working out which tourists are the most gullible (and if they run with it, the moistest) lmao. Akubras and other thicker-layered headwear,

+We have wild dogs and feral pigs. Do not fuck with the feral pigs, some are HUGE, and no... they're not just pigs who escaped farms, these are MASSIVE motherfuckers who will Get You if they See You. Rustling in the night outside the tent? Good Luck.

+Koalas should not be picked up directly. They have claws, and a lot of them have chamydia. I mean if a character saves one in a fic that's fine I guess, but like... someone's getting antibiotics after that lmao. They are bigger than you think, dumber than you think, and sometimes they have to be chased across a highway with a windscreen cover bc they're not very bright and keep failing to climb metal fences, lmaoooo

+Towns of about 20-30k will have more shops (some franchise, some local owned), servos, fast food places and usually at least two to three shopping centres. Usually small level entertainments like a cinema, or local groups. +Towns with 10-20k, may have one or two major shopping centres, servos (tracks and RVs catered to), possibly a maccas, and the majority of stores will be local-owned. May have a cinema, but not one that has the newest releases. Local council may have more festivals, or 'that one thing they're known for'. +0-10k towns have a small local store, prices usually a bit higher. A servo, often with capacity for trucks. Local festivals. Characters can cop a bit of side-eye in these places, esp. if they don't fit the traditional ideas or are loud/violently american. +Grey nomads are a thing. Old people with fancy caravans who drive So Slow, and move all around aus. Several refused to stop during covid and it was like, WHO DO YOU THNK WE'RE TRYING TO KEEP ALIVE BY STOPPING YOU MOVING THROUGH MULTIPLE TOWNS???

+Some rural areas have legit red dirt, its always super cool to look at. Some places have light brown to dark brown, some have more chalky colours or yellowish dirt. Depends.

+Reminder: Australia has very specific gun laws, if your character/s have weapons then they may need to be sneaky or store them specifically in the vehicle. Although if you're talking about like, mad max type rules, then who cares. But if you have them get into a gun fight in a town, the police will come, etc.

Dunno, just ask if you have a question... just trying to think of random things to paint a picture if you have a character over here for a roadtrip or mission or whatever.

10 notes · View notes

sablelab · 4 years

Text

👻 Spooky meets Kooky 🎃

SUMMARY: Claire reminisces about the time when she first came to Scotland and fell through the stones on the eve of Samhain. Jamie tells her a story his da told them as bairns, and Claire recaps her favourite Halloween memory from the future which has James Fraser all engrossed in more ways than one.

A spoof of when the past meets the future. Retelling parts of Chapter 1, pp 22-25 from Drums of Autumn, inspired by Halloween with the Addams Family and Vera Adxer’s artwork above.

AO3

PART 1 … The Tale of the Tannasg 👻

It was nearing to Halloween time on Fraser’s Ridge, and as the Frasers prepared for a night beside the fire, Claire was reminiscing about times gone by on that fateful night that was to become her destiny.

“Jamie, Halloween, the spookiest night of the year, is almost upon us.”

“Don’t ye mean Samhain Sassenach?” he replied cheekily knowing that the two were indeed similar celebrations centuries apart.

“I do, but I was just thinking about the first time that Frank and I came to Inverness all those years ago … I remember it was on the eve of Samhain.”

She continued to tell Jamie the conversation they’d had in Mrs Baird’s Bed and Breakfast not realizing that her husband’s mind was elsewhere. “I can still recall what she said …”

“Well, you've picked a bonny time to be here. Just nigh on Samhain.”

“I take it that's Gaelic for "Halloween?”

“Well, Halloween is derived from Samhain. You're both welcome at the festival, of course.”

“Of course, what would Halloween, Samhain, be without a good ghost story?”

“Oh, and we have those, for sure. I hope you'll join us for Samhain tomorrow night.”

“What, the pagan festival?”

“Aye. There’s a circle of standing stones on the hill just outside the village, and there's a local group who still observe rituals there. It’s a place called Craigh na Dun and according to local folklore, the stones were carried there from Africa by a race of Celtic giants …”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Hmmph! Not Frank …” Jamie mumbled under his breath tapping his fingers against his thigh in dislike.

The mention of Frank Randall’s name only brought back his feelings towards the man he had sent his Claire back to on the eve of Culloden knowing that he would surely die on the battlefield. His emotions were still raw about this man even after all these years and their conversation about him and their daughter Brianna echoed in his head as Claire was still speaking.

“I hadna thought ever to be so jealous of a dead man. I shouldna have thought it possible.”

“Of a dead man? Of Frank?”

“Who else? I have been worm-eaten wi’ it, all these days of riding. I see his face in my mind, waking and sleeping. Ye did say he looked like Jack Randall, no?”

“How? How could you think of such a thing?”

“How could I not? Ye heard her, Claire; ye ken well what she said to me!”

“Brianna?”

“She said she would gladly see me in hell, and sell her own soul to have her father back—her real father. I keep thinking he would not have made such a mistake. He would have trusted her; he would have known that she … I keep thinking that Frank Randall was a better man than I am. She thinks so. I thought … perhaps ye felt the same, Sassenach.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser …!” Claire remonstrated noticing that her husband seemed a little distracted, “… Are you listening to me?”

“Aye, I am Sassenach,” he replied sheepishly knowing that his mind had indeed been elsewhere. “I’m intrigued about that night in Inverness, and what happen to ye before ye fell through the stones.” Jamie looked at his wife and gave her his full attention to what she might say next.

“Do you know that if I hadn’t gone to see the Druids that night, and returned in the morning to collect the Forget-me-nots, that I may not have ever gone through the stones and found you.”

“We were fated mo ghràidh. Ye would have found yer way to the stones regardless because I was waiting for ye on the other side. I thank the day, Murtagh brought ye to me at the cabin.” He leaned towards his love and clasping her hand brought it to his lips placing a tender kiss to the top of her hand and knuckles.

Claire blushed at her love’s romantic gesture and looking at him explained about that night so long ago. “I remember seeing those Druids dancing. They were mesmerizing Jamie twirling in circles on top of the hill with their burning tapers. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled at the sight of them, but some small voice inside warned me I wasn't supposed to be there. That I was an unwelcome voyeur to something ancient and powerful.”

“Aye, ye were Sassenach, but that is the mystery of Samhain. It is all about the supernatural, witches, spirits and fire. During the celebrations, people dance around bonfires while the dances tell stories of life and death. What ye saw that night was something magical that drew you tae me.”

“I wouldn’t change anything Jamie except for you sending me back on the eve of Culloden, but we found each other again and that is all that counts.”

“Aye. You belong wi' me. We're mated for life Sassenach. I barley lived for those twenty years wi'out a heart when ye were gone. I lived half a man and accustomed myself to live in the bit that was left. Did ye feel the same?”

“Yes, I knew how that felt, and had it not been for Brianna I don’t know how I would have survived too. But I had you always close because our daughter was so like you Jamie. Your carved initial in the flesh of my palm was also a constant reminder of our love. It gave me comfort whenever I touched it. When I closed my eyes, I could feel you touching me.”

Claire looked at the man she adored thankful every day that they had been reunited and that their two-decade separation had been both painful and heart breaking for each of them. “It was lonely without you, so lonely.”

“And me,” Jamie replied pensively, his voice a soft whisper. “I saw ye so many times. You came to me so often. When I dreamed sometimes. When I lay in fever. When I was so afraid and so lonely, I knew I must die. When I needed you, I would always see ye, smiling, wi’ yer hair curling up about your face.” He paused before an outpouring of emotion surfaced. “During that time apart, I prayed every day that you and our bairn would be safe, for whether I’m dead or you, whether we’re together or apart Claire, I will always love ye.”

“And I you, Jamie.”

“Samhain was the beginning of our destiny Sassenach. A pagan, Gaelic festival brought us together.” He kissed her palm and rested it on his heart.

Claire could feel his heart beating and her eyes misted over just thinking about the significance of this special time of the year. “All I know of Samhain is what Mrs Baird told us. Please tell me more Jamie.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Samhain is a three-day celebration in preparation for winter mo ghràidh and a time for kin all around the Highlands tae come together and feast. People believe that deceased spirits and faeries of the Otherworld can easily come into our world, so ye would honour the dead and implore loved ones to bestow some blessing on them in return. Offerings of food and drink are left outside for the spirits, even portions of crops are left in the ground for them.”

Claire listened, attentive to everything that Jamie was telling her.

“Tricks and pranks are played but blamed on faeries and spirits ye ken. Children disguise themselves as evil spirits by blackening their faces and dressing in auld clothes to go guising door-to-door reciting songs and verses in exchange for food.”

“Why do they blacken their faces?”

“’Twas so that they can venture out safely wi’out being detected by wicked spirits in hope of fooling them and to scare away the ghouls who might want tae harm them.”

“It is so like what happens at Halloween in the future too Jamie. A lot of Scots came to America in the 20th Century and brought these customs with them and they evolved to become extremely popular. There are many similarities to Samhain but also some differences too. In the future people dress up in masks and spooky costumes and the children go Trick or Treating for sweets.”

“Aye, it would seem so mo nighean donn. Samhain and Halloween do seem verra similar.”

“Mrs Baird said that you needed to be mindful for ghosts are freed on the feast days and wander about, free to do good or ill as they please.”

“’Tis true Sassenach. I myself have not seen a tannasg, but there are tales of others who have.”

“A tannasg? What, in Heaven’s name is that, Jamie?”

“Oh, a Dhia … where tae begin,” he exclaimed running his hand over his chin in thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Taking a deep breath as if calming himself before he started to explain, Jamie picked up his cup of ale and took a big swig before beginning. He looked at Claire as she waited for his explanation.

“Some say a tannasg is a balding, six-foot-tall, hairy, Celtic beastie, normally only found wandering around the hills and glens at night. Some say it is eerily like a fogy mist that covers the moors on a dark night and is what ye may call an apparition, a spirit or a shadowy ghost figure. Nobody really kens what it is but, nae matter, a tannasg is verra scary and if you come upon one when out in the glens ye must be verra careful. Sometimes it’s an unfriendly faerie or nymph who may have been holding onto a grudge and means tae cause trouble. A tannasg would put the fear of the Almighty in ye and scare ye witless. If ye ever were to meet one it would make yer hair stand up like a man’s cock in the mornin’ Sassenach.”

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ! I’m scared with just the description of one.”

“And so ye should be a leannan. They are verra scary beasties that ye wouldna want to meet.”

“Oh, I do love hearing a scary ghost story Jamie. Can you tell me any about tannasgs?”

Claire watched as his lip curved up into a smile. He had that twinkle in his eyes that she knew so well whenever he was going to tell a story.

“Aye, I will. Sit yerself down by the fire and I’ll tell ye one that ma da told us wee bairns that scairt us truly.”

Settling down more comfortably in her chair, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and waited for her husband to retell the tale told to him, his brother William and sister Jenny long, long ago.

“I can tell ye a frightfully spooky tale of the past. It’s a spine-chilling story guaranteed tae give you a good thrill and chill ye to the bones.”

“I think I best have a wee dram of whisky ready for the story you are about to tell then James Fraser.”

“Aye …” He picked up his cup of ale and they both took a wee sip of their drinks. “Sláinte. Are ye ready Sassenach?”

“I am.” Claire curled her feet up in the chair whilst Jamie began to tell the tale of the tannasg.

“My father loved telling this story.”

She watched as a muted glow descended over Jamie’s face as the light from the fire fell across his features and highlighted the animation she could see on his face and in his eyes. Claire looked at him waiting with bated breath ready for him to retell this tale, for she knew that she was going to enjoy this story very much indeed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Tis the story of a man who was afraid of being alone in the dark and most mortally scairt of the spirits, ye ken, and how one night he met a tannasg. I remember when my da first told this story. I was mortally scairt too Sassenach.”

His body shuddered a little despite the heat in the room at the thought of the untold story he would tell. “I kept awake half the night, after he told us this tale, though it dinna seem to bother Jenny that much.”

“Oh, my,” Claire uttered her voice eager to hear more. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her eyes round with the wonder and intrigue that he would impart with his tale as Jamie began to recount his childhood story.

Settling himself in his seat by the fire, he sat back, his ale cup in hand. Thinking, he rubbed his hand across his chin collecting his thoughts. Jamie then smiled at his wife wryly glancing at her as he began to recount his tale of long ago.

“Ah, well, it was in the late, cold autumn in the Highlands, just when the season turns and the chill in the air tells ye the ground will be covered wi’ frost come morning.”

Rolling the pewter cup slowly between his hands, he stared down into the dark ale as though seeing those Scottish peaks in the pitch-black night and the mist that floated across the glens. Raising his eyes, he looked at Claire. She was hanging on each word and so he continued.

“Well Jock MacBride’s son brought back their kine from the glen that night, but there was one wee beast missing. The lad had hunted for it up the hills and down the dales but couldna find it anywhere, so his da sent the lad to milk the two others and set out himself tae look for the lost cow.”

“Go on …”

“The da went some distance, but his cottage behind him soon disappeared. When he looked back, he couldna see the light from the window anymore and there was no sound but the whistling of the wind. It was cold, but MacBride went on trapsing through the mud and heather as the ice crunched beneath his boots echoing in the stillness.”

Claire pulled her shawl around her shoulders. If her husband could see her eyes, he would have seen that her pupils were decidedly larger. She was so engrossed with his story thus far and took another wee sip of her drink. With eyes fixed on Jamie, she couldn’t wait to hear more of his tale.

“Soon up ahead of him, Jock saw a small grove through the mist and thinking the cow might have taken shelter beneath the trees, he went toward it. However, the trees were birches, standing there with nae a leaf, and with their branches all gnarled together, so he bent his head to squeeze beneath the boughs.”

“What did he see when he got through the branches Jamie?”

“He came into the grove Sassenach, and saw it was not a grove at all, but a circle of trees. There were great tall trees, spaced verra evenly all around him and smaller ones too wi’ saplings grown up in between the trees to make a wall of thick branches. In the centre of the circle stood a cairn.”

Claire felt as though a sliver of cold ice had just slid down her spine. She got chills listening to him and shivered imagining the scene, for his picture was very real in her mind. She had seen ancient cairns in the Highlands herself that Jamie had just described and found them eerie enough in the broad light of day, let alone to see one at night. That would have been quite spooky indeed.

Jamie was getting that gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach he remembered feeling as a bairn when his father had told this tale. He looked over at Claire and she had an expression of foreboding for what he may say next on her face that he’d had too. He took a sip of ale to loosen his vocal cords for his mouth was dry before continuing.

“He felt quite queer did Jock MacBride, for he kent the place, everyone did and kept well away from it. It was strange and it seemed even worse in the dark and the cold than it did in the daylight. It was an auld cairn the kind laid wi’ chunks of rock all heaped round with stones. He was scairt, but he slowly glanced up, and saw before him the black opening of a tomb.”

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ! Was there a tannasg in there?”

Her husband gave her a piercing look. Jamie knew that Claire’s mind was thinking ahead and knew that he was getting close to revealing what Jock had seen.

“He knew it was a place that no man should come, and he was without a powerful charm to ward off any spirits. Jock had naught but a wooden cross about his neck, so he crossed himself with it and turned tae go.”

Jamie paused to take another sip of his ale to catch his breath. Claire saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed and reached instinctively for her own cup with eyes fixed on her beloved. Holding her breath, she gasped, “Don’t stop there. What happened next?”

Giving her the semblance of a wink and a wry grin, he paused then spoke softly stating, “As Jock went from the grove … he heard footsteps behind him.”

“No…!” she exclaimed.

“He dinna turn to see, but kept walking and the steps kept pace wi’ him, step by step always following. Jock came through the peat where the water seeps up and it was covered with ice, the weather bein’ so cold ye ken. MacBride could hear the peat crunch under his feet and behind him the cr-ack! cr-ack! of the breaking ice.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

James Fraser was a natural born storyteller, animated and engaging like most Scots were and listening to him speak reminded Claire of their wedding night and the awkwardness between them. She remembered him saying, “You’re a Fraser now Sassenach. You must learn to tell a story and listen to one.” So, to put her at ease, he’d told her story after story of his family and his life growing up and she in turn had told him about her life too. Her husband was in his element telling this story just like on the night they wed. She knew, that Jamie was aware that she hung on his every word and was eager to hear the rest of the story. The tension was building and placing her legs to the floor, Claire removed her shawl as it was getting warmer in the room and leaned forward eager to hear more of his tale.

“Jock MacBride walked and walked through the cold dark night watching ahead for the light of his own window where his wife had set the candle. But the light never showed and he began tae fear he had lost his way among the heather and the dark hills.”

“The tassasg was following him?”

“Aye, he was Sassenach. All the time the steps kept pace with him echoing loud in his ears. At last Jock could bear it no more and seizing hold of the cross he wore round his neck he swung about wi’ a great cry tae face whatever followed.”

There was apprehension in her voice for poor Jock. “What did he see?”

Jamie glanced at Claire and when next he spoke, his voice was so quiet, almost like a whisper, that she needed to concentrate to hear what he was saying.

“It was a figure like a man, but with no body. It was all white like it might have been made of the mist, but wi’ great holes where its eyes should be. They were black and empty and fit tae draw the soul from MacBride’s body with fear.”

Claire gasped with a cry of anguish at the description, and placed her hand across her mouth. “What did he do Jamie?

“Jock held up his cross before his face and he prayed aloud to the Blessed Virgin,” he said leaning forward intently. “The thing came no nearer Claire, but stayed there watching him.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The dim firelight outlined her husband’s profile in a halo of golden aura which made his rustic hair seem like it had flecks of gold and crimson sprinkled in it as well. Suddenly, she was a little distracted by the man and was mesmerized by his intoxicating Scottish drawl. Claire’s eyes glazed over overcome with feelings for the virile man whose silhouette was oh so tempting in the fire’s glow, but also for poor Jock MacBride and how he would get out of his predicament. She held her breath and waited for what would happen next.

“And so, he began to walk backwards not daring to turn around again. Jock walked backward stumbling and slipping in an effort to get away from the spirit, fearing every moment that he might tumble into a burn or down a cliff and break his neck, but fearing worse tae turn his back on the cold thing.”

“I would have done the same Jamie. Better to watch the tannasg than not to know where it was,” she added with a little shiver of dread for the poor Jock MacBride.

“He couldna tell how long he’d walked only that his legs were trembling wi’ weariness. Then at last he caught a glimpse of a light through the mist, for there was his own cottage wi’ the candle in the window. Jock cried out in joy and turned to his door, but the cold thing was quick and slipit past him tae stand between him and the door.”

“Oh no!”

“Dinna fash Sassenach, his wife had been watching out for him and when she heard him cry out, she came to the door at once. Jock shouted to her not to come out but to go and fetch a charm to drive away the tannasg. Quick as could be, Bessie MacBride snatched the pot from beneath her bed and a twig of myrtle tied with ribbons that she’d made to bless the cows. She dashed the water against the doorposts and the cold thing leapt upward straddlin’ the door’s beam. Her husband quick as a flash, rushed beneath and bolted the door shut tight. He stayed inside in his wife’s arms until the dawn hoping that the tannasg would nae come inside the cottage. They let the candle burn all the night and Jock never again left his house past sunset.”

Claire sighed as Jamie finished speaking. “Did they find the cow?” she queried, keen to know the fate of the lost kine.

With a raised eyebrow he answered, “Oh, aye they did. The next morning, they found the poor beast wi’ her hooves all clogged wi’ mud and stones. It was staring mad and frothy about the muzzle. Her sides were heavin’ fit to burst. Jock said that she looked as though she’d been ridden tae Hell and back.”

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!” Claire exclaimed imagining the visual of what had happened to the poor cow.

Jamie glanced at his wife to see her reaction to his tale. “Did ye like it?”

“Like it? … I loved it Jamie. It kept me in suspense all the way through.”

“Thank ye Sassenach. I’m glad ye liked it,” he replied very pleased with himself.

PART 2 … Halloween Addams Family style. 🎃

“So, what about you Claire? Do ye have a tale tae tell as well?”

“As a matter of fact, I do Jamie, and when I’ve caught my breath, I will tell you something about Halloween from the future. My tale will not be as scary as your story of Jock MacBride though,” she replied with a cheeky twinkle in her eye. “In fact, it is about something that you might find hard to wrap your head around.”

Intrigued with his wife’s words, Jamie sat back in his chair and waited for her to begin. With a curl of his lip and a sparkle in his eye he asked, “And what might that be Sassenach?”

“Television.”

His brow furrowed in thought and Jamie raised an eyebrow a little perplexed as he glanced at Claire. “Television? … Hmmph?” He tapped his fingers against his thigh in concentration and ran the word slowly over his tongue as if savouring a new morsel of information, he didn’t quite know enough about. “Television ye say.” He looked at Claire again in earnest anticipation and waited for her to explain.

“Oh dear…” she sighed. “Where to begin?” Collecting her thoughts on how to explain this invention to her husband, Claire finally had an idea. “Remember when you rescued me from the Witch Trial and I told you I was from the future?”

“Aye, I remember mo ghràidh.”

“Well this is another one of those things from the future too. It is something from my time. You've never heard of it. No one here has, that is except for Bree and Roger.”

He grinned at her statement of the obvious. “Well then, I may not understand it a bit, not yet, but I trust ye. I trust yer word; yer heart and there is a truth between us. So ... whatever you tell me ... I will believe ye, Sassenach. Tell me more.”

Claire bit her lip before she spoke. “Do you also remember the photographs I brought back to show you of Brianna?”

Jamie made a small inarticulate sound, “Aye I remember.”

He remembered all too well Claire taking a small packet from her clothing, to show him the photographs of their beloved daughter Brianna, a fine boned, and delicate replica of himself. He looked up at his wife wondering what the correlation may be with the photographs and this television.

“Well television is those pictures brought to life.”

He remembered how he had splayed his hand out over the photographs, with trembling fingers not quite touching the shiny surface. How was it possible that pictures could be brought to life? He was a little perplexed.

“Television is a machine with a small screen that shows moving pictures and sounds. They were commonplace in many households in Boston during the 60’s and we had one too. The word "television" comes from the words …”

But before she could finish what she wanted to say Jamie butted in with his knowledge of the Greek language.

“Tele is the Greek word for far away, and vision would mean sight.”

A smile softened her lips, “Yes, that’s right.”

He shook his head in disbelief when Claire described something so unfathomable that it was hard to believe some such machine existed. He didn't understand it all, but he listened. Claire had risked bringing the photographs of Brianna through the stones and thus brought something of the 20th century into the 18th century. However, although still a little mystified, nothing she had told him about the future fazed him now and he believed her despite how inconceivable what she was saying could be.

“Television was used for family entertainment and we would sit around in our parlour and watch the screen.” Claire’s voice was animated when she next spoke. “There was a program on the television that you would have loved Jamie, called The Addams Family. Brianna and I loved that show.”

He grinned. “I would verra much have liked to see this television program too Sassenach.” If they loved it, he knew he would love it too.

“They were not your typical family; they took delight in most of the things of which normal people would be terrified. They were kooky and eccentric but they were a very close-knit, extended family.”

“Ah, so just like us here on Fraser’s Ridge Sassenach,” he replied giving her a huge, big smile.

“Yes, I guess, but there was one difference though Jamie, they had decidedly macabre interests and supernatural abilities.”

He balked at that. “Oh, indeed they wouldna fit in well in this time then. People believe in witches and things that go bump in the night, but they wouldna understand them at all. They would have their heads on a pike before ye could count tae ten.”

Although Claire nodded in agreement at what her husband was saying for that was exactly what had happened to her. As he spoke, she was momentarily distracted with thoughts of what had happened in Cranesmuir at the Witch Trial when she was tried and convicted of witchcraft.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

People’s superstitions of anything they didn’t quite understand, especially a person like her was met with fear for they thought her a witch. At the trial, the crowd was baying for blood and wanted to burn her at the stake, and had Jamie not rescued her, that would have been her fate. Nonetheless, he was a little skeptical as well because he’d seen the “devil’s mark” on her arm too. He had calmly asked if she was a witch, because what she had told him was far-fetched. His face throughout her admission was inscrutable and he’d sighed, then smiled ruefully down at her. She remembered their conversation well,

“Claire, are ye a witch?”

“I’m not a witch. Do you really believe me, Jamie?”

“Aye, I believe ye, Sassenach. But it would ha’ been a good deal easier if you’d only been a witch.”

“And if I were? If you had thought I were a witch? Would you still have fought for me?”

“I would have gone to the stake with you, and to hell beyond, if I must!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Claire? … Claire?” Jamie said a little louder as she had been quiet for so long that he was a little concerned for where her mind must have gone, but on reflection it was probably to the Witch Trial when he’d rescued her and she had told him she was from the future.

“Oh, I’m sorry Jamie, I lost my train of thought there for a moment.”

“Nae matter … So, mo chridhe, ye were saying?”

Claire let her husband’s endearment wash over her. Jamie was always so attuned to her feelings and giving him a tentative smile, continued to explain about the Addams family members. “Their mother and uncle lived with them and their children, plus they had a 7-foot-tall butler … their man servant called Lurch, and a disembodied hand that lived in a box called Thing.”

Jamie shook his head, as what Claire was saying was becoming more fanciful, but he kept an open mind as she described more.

“The husband, Gomez Addams was an extremely wealthy man and was able to indulge his wife Morticia's every desire, whether it was cultivation of poisonous plants or a candlelit dinner in a graveyard.”

He raised his eyebrow again at this piece of information. “That sounds verra interesting,” he murmured somewhat amazed.

Claire smiled indulgently at her love. “You are very much like him. He was very romantic and he was madly in love with his wife and loved her to distraction.”

“As do I you, mo ghràidh,” before adding, “I think I should like this Gomez fellow.”

She beamed at him once more as Jamie seemed pleased as punch at what he had just said.

He then blessed himself. “A Dhia! But … I willna have dinner wi’ ye in a graveyard, mo luaidh even wi’ candlelight,” he muttered under his breath. He chuckled at the thought of that idea, especially after having just told her the story of the tannasg who had come out of his tomb. No, he could not come at doing that.

“I agree. I don’t think I would like to do that either, but Gomez and Morticia did. They also had pet names for each other, Jamie.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His ears pricked up once more when she said this, knowing that his Claire had several endearing names that he called her. He sighed his voice a little raspy, “Aye, I do that too Sassenach.”

Her smile was soft and dreamy for the loving man she had married, then she told him some extra information. “Despite what I have just said, this television show was very entertaining and so amusing. It had unconventional humour, sex appeal, the breaking and questioning of the conventions of conformity at the time, as well as looking at the world in a unique, offbeat frame of mind.”

“Well then, tell me more mo muirninn. I am an educated man as ye ken, and I can see that perhaps these Addams people were different but nae different from our family. Do they have something tae do wi’ Halloween then?”

“Oh indeed. Halloween was their favourite time of the year and they would bob for crabs instead of apples as most people would do. You see, they were not a conventional family. They dressed differently to everyone else, they were weird looking and they had peculiar idiosyncrasies. They even lived near a cemetery at 0001 Cemetery Lane in an ornate, gloomy mansion.”

Jamie poured himself a whisky this time and laughed as her descriptions of this family were getting more and more unusual. He refilled Claire’s cup as well and handed it to her, then sat back in his chair to hear more.

“Oh, Jamie I wish that you could have seen it. You would have loved all the characters but particularly Gomez Addams. Bree and I would laugh so much. They were so funny.”

Claire paused a little as if thinking about something she remembered then looking at her husband with a mischievous expression on her face asked, “Jamie? Can you click your fingers? Like this?” She then demonstrated a click! click! sound.

“I may not be able tae wink, but I can click my fingers ye ken Sassenach.”

She began to set the scene for her tale of the Addams Family. “Well then … Every time I say … da-da-da-da … you click your fingers okay?”

“Okay, I can do that mo nighean donn.”

“I will sing you the theme song that would play when the television show came on screen but I’m going to replace their family name with ours, however, … the da-da-da-da was really played on a harpsichord, but I’m going to improvise.”

Claire grinned at her love and saw that Jamie was prepared and a little excited to know more of the Halloween tale she was about to unleash on him. “Are ye ready?”

“Always.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Da-da-da-da” … click! click!

“Da-da-da-da, Da-da-da-da, Da-da-da-da” … click! click

Claire repeated the chorus … as Jamie was thoroughly enjoying himself while getting into the swing of things with gusto.

“Da-da-da-da” … click! click!

“Da-da-da-da, Da-da-da-da, Da-da-da-da” … click! click

“They're creepy and they're kooky. Mysterious and spooky. They're altogether together ookey. The Fraser Family.

The house is a museum. When people come to see 'em. They really are a scre-am. The Fraser Family.

“Da-da-da-da” … click! click!

Neat

“Da-da-da-da” … click! click!

Sweet

“Da-da-da-da, Da-da-da-da, Da-da-da-da” … click! click

Petite

So, get a witch's shawl on. A broomstick you can crawl on. We're going to pay a call on. The Fraser Family.

They both fell back against their chairs laughing out loud as Claire finished the theme song and Jamie clicked the refrain part with enthusiasm.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I see what ye meant earlier Sassenach, so, tell me more about the husband Gomez and his wife Morticia.”

“Gomez was the patriarch of the family, just like you Jamie. He was a very dashing man who loved to wear pinstriped suits.”

She saw his puzzled look and explained. “Clothing was very different in the 60’s to what it is now, but he was as dashing as you were in Paris. Suits are a two-piece garment, long breeks and a jacket cut to the hip, made from the same material and worn together. Gomez Addams smoked cigars and had a very quirky moustache. I’ll ask Brianna to draw you some pictures of the family if you like.”

Jamie nodded in reply to her statement for he loved the drawings Brianna did, and although he could picture them in his imagination, seeing a picture of the family would make them really come to life.

Claire knew that her husband would relish this next piece of information. “He adored Morticia and would call her Cara Mia, Querida, Querida Mia, Tish, or Cara Bella.”

“Hmmph? … Querida is Spanish for "the woman I desire.” I can relate tae that Sassenach,” Jamie replied with a sharp look that made her heart skip a little beat. “I see now why ye think we are alike,” he proclaimed with a penetrating gleam in his eye. “And his wife?”

“She was very beautiful with long flowing, straight, raven coloured hair. Morticia was described as a witch; she was slim, with extremely pale skin.”

“A witch ye say? … a Dhia Claire! … It’s just like people called you because of yer healing powers. I am seeing more parallels here … Querida,” he added in that sexy voice that always thrilled her.

Claire nearly lost her train of thought when her husband called her Querida and she bit her lip in response to the endearment once more. “Stop interrupting me James Fraser, I’m trying to tell you my Halloween story.”

“Duilich … Sorry Sassenach, but I am just imagining the things ye are saying just like you saw on the … television. Tell me more about this Morticia Addams.”

“Her black dress matched her hair and it was skin tight and figure hugging with a fringe of octopus-like cloth "tentacles" at the lower hem that pooled around her feet.”

“That’s quite an outfit you have on there lady?” one of the robbers said to her Jamie.

“I always wear this for Halloween.”

“Looks great. Real good for Halloween,” he replied thinking that she was wearing a costume but it was her actual clothing.

“Is that so? Anything else …Tish?” Jamie grinned cheekily doing a mental checklist of the romantic names Gomez had called his wife.

“Morticia could easily excite her husband by speaking French and other languages. Her pet names for him were Bubula, Mon Cherie and Querido.”

“Ah, Querido, the Spanish word for "the man I desire." I like that too Claire. Ye can call me that at any time my … Cara Mia.”

She blushed a little more at another one of Morticia’s pet names her husband had called her and felt a hot flush warm her cheeks.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“So, Sassenach tell me about the Halloween story ye and Brianna loved watching on yer television about the Addams Family.”

“Well Gomez received a new carving knife in the mail and used it to carve out a pumpkin with the face of his Uncle Fester on it for Halloween. They would put a candle in it to light it up at night and the face would shine through the holes in the Jack-o-lantern. This is very common in the future and people in Boston would put their carved pumpkins on their doorsteps at Halloween. It was a fun thing to do and they would also decorate their houses with ghoulish things.”

“‘Tis similar to Samhain too Claire but people use turnips. I guess a pumpkin would be easier tae carve though,” he proclaimed. “Tell me more.”

“Their children, Wednesday and Pugsley, dressed up and went trick or treating with their Grandmama for sweets and treats that they would collect from their neighbours. While they were out two robbers who were escaping from the police … took refuge in the Addams family garden. Thinking they were their Halloween guests, they were invited inside for a Halloween party but unfortunately, they tried to steal money from the family instead of enjoying their hospitality. When they saw inside their spooky house they exclaimed,

“You folks sure don’t hold back on Halloween.”

“It’s our favourite holiday.”

Then Gomez said, “Gentlemen come here and I’ll give you a treat. Open your bag. They didn’t want to show him what was in there because it had the stolen money in it.”

“What happened next Claire?” Jamie asked thinking this story of the future was a little bizarre but extremely interested in her Halloween story of a show she had watched on television.

“Now, now, there’s nothing to be scared of, I think it’s kind of heart-warming that adults get into the Halloween spirit, and when Gomez opened their bag, he found it was full of money, and he assumed that their neighbours had given them cash for a Trick or Treat. He took out several hundreds of dollars from an open drawer and gave it to them. The robbers’ eyes widened with surprise and decided to hatch a plan to steal all the money and their valuables from them.”

“Did the Addams’ ken they were planning tae steal their valuables?”

“No, they were in the kitchen getting refreshments, and whilst Morticia was stirring the punch, her husband Gomez became quite amorous towards her.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

This story now was just getting more fascinating for James Fraser by the minute. He smiled at his Claire and asked a little provocatively, “Tell me more Sassenach. What did he do … in the kitchen?”

She was a little tongue tired especially with the way the man she desired was looking at her, but she ventured on regardless to how her insides were all fluttering with tingling feelings that she felt to the very core of her being. When Jamie was in this amorous mood, she was putty in his hands. How was she ever going to tell him what happened next, she thought, but she did.

“When Morticia called him “Bubula … darling” … he took her hand in both of his and kissed it before caressing each finger with his lips beginning at the little pinkie, then the ring finger, and then each other finger after that, until her whole hand had been caressed. It was something he always did.”

Jamie’s eyes were smouldering. “How did she react tae that ... Querida?” he murmured with a little raspy grunt.

She took a deep breath before continuing. “Morticia swooned at the attention her husband was giving her and replied … When we are together darling, every night is Halloween.”

Claire was starting to swoon a little herself. She was feeling a little hot and bothered, and bit her lip as Jamie’s gaze washed over her with intent, but she continued with her story. Her husband knew exactly what he was doing with the way he was looking at her, and he couldn’t be more interested in what would Gomez Addams do next. Jamie hung on each word that came out of her mouth.

“Go on … Sass-en-ach.”

Her mouth was getting a little dry, so Claire took a wee sip of her whisky to also compose herself before she went on with her tale.

“Then while his arm was around her waist, and holding out her arm, Gomez slowly ran his lips up the length of it, kissing across the back of her neck … her shoulder, then down her back and …”

“Aye? And … then what?”

“The punch exploded!”

Jamie couldn’t help himself. He was not expecting Claire to say that, and doubling over in mirth, he burst out laughing as too did she. The happy, raucous sound echoed in his throat and their combined laughter loudly resonated in the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

However, James Fraser suddenly stopped laughing.

Looking up, Claire saw the explicit intent in her husband’s eyes that always made her catch her breath. She watched; eyes fixated on her virile man as he rose from his chair and made his way over to where she was sitting. Jamie was now standing in front of her chair. He reached out his hand towards her, then placing her hand in his grasp, he slowly pulled Claire up and out of the chair until she was but a hair’s breath away from him. She could feel the solidness of her husband’s chest.

“So, mo nighean donn, what happened tae the robbers?”

“I … ahh, … I … don’t re-member,” she mumbled, tripping over her words as Jamie’s penetrating gaze held her eyes captive with a look that had her feeling quite breathless.

Claire could feel the warmth of his breath as her love quietly spoke seductively against her lips. “I see … Well then ... What were ye sayin’ about what Gomez Addams was doing tae his wife … Sass-en-ach?”

Lost in the suggestive look that Jamie was bestowing on her, Claire Fraser found it difficult to breathe let alone speak as she felt the gentle but scorching touch of lips brushing against her own.

“Ahhh … Ahhh …” she murmured incoherently. “He kissed … her hand.”

“What? … Like this?”

Placing his arm around Claire’s waist, Jamie held out her right arm and proceed to place warm, fervent kisses to the top of her hand before trailing them down to her little pinkie finger.

“Ye-yes…” she purred closing her eyes in the bliss of his seduction.

Soft, warm lips lathed the small digit before continuing on to her ring finger. His lips started at the tip of her fingernail drawing it into his mouth before releasing her finger. His tongue then skimmed up and over her knuckle to where his wedding ring, a silver band with a small thistle bloom carved in the centre of each intertwined Highland pattern, lay nestled against her skin. Jamie’s lips hovered over the ring, stopping as his eyes observed his token of love on his Sassenach's finger. Jamie hesitated for a moment, then bent his head over it, his lips barely brushing over her knuckles once more before they touched the silver ring and stopped there for one moment of remembrance.

At the same time, suddenly Claire’s thoughts returned to that day in the hospital recalling when Frank had tried to twist it off her finger and the panic that she’d felt. The guttural sound she’d made was heart wrenching and she’d jerked her hand away and cradled it, fisted, beneath her breast cupped in her left hand.

“I never took it off … mon Cherie,” she whispered, the love in her voice caressing Jamie’s ears as much as his lips had caressed her hand.

This ring was special to her and she had never taken it off even over the twenty years they had been parted. During those long, aching years of separation, it was one of her very, very few tangible reminders of Jamie. The Latin phrase that he’d engraved inside her wedding ring was a brief quotation from a love song by Catullus, and she had recited it so many, many times just thinking of her love when she closed her eyes at night.

Jamie’s lips found and touched the silver ring once more before his tongue slid from one side of the ring to the other. His ring which she wore on this finger since the day they had wed was special to him. It was his ultimate love token to the woman who had stolen his heart from the very moment he had laid eyes on her at Samhain time. This ring spoke to him and was a reaffirmation of how solid was their love and how strong their bond was.

Her eyes were closed, and Claire knew without looking, that Jamie’s were, as well.

“Da Mi Basia Mille, diende centum, dein mille altera, dein secunda centum …” he murmured, smiling before opening his eyes to stare piercingly at his love as he translated the Latin. “Then let amorous kisses dwell on our lips, begin and tell, a thousand and a hundred score, a hundred …”

Claire’s eyes blurred with tears. Placing her hand at the nape of Jamie’s neck, she fisted it in his glorious red hair, slowly twisting the curls between her fingers. "Dein mille altera … then give me a thousand more,” she uttered breathlessly clearing her throat.

He brushed away the tear that had trickled down her cheek with his finger, but two more welled up and overflowed; she felt them, full and round, roll down her cheeks.

This poignant romantic moment of remembrance between them was suddenly so overwhelming, that she felt her eyes well up once again. The reality of the power of their love and connection made the fictional one between Gomez Addams and his wife Morticia pale in comparison. Perhaps the show she had watched when back in the future was a reminder to her of who she missed terribly and how much she missed so achingly the sensuous kisses that her beloved husband had given her. Suddenly, she was overcome with emotion as Jamie continued to display his amorous kisses to her hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

However, he soon sensed that his Claire was feeling wistful.

“Cl-aire?” Jamie’s voice was gentle and his utterance of her name, spoken in tenderness, nearly made her break down again.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Are ye okay mo ghràidh? What’s the matter? Am I not doin’ this right, like Gomez Addams?”

“Oh, Jamie, … You are doing this … so much better … than he ever could my love.”

Slowly he drew her close to him, taking both hands and holding their linked fingers just under his breast to where Claire could feel his heart beating in his chest. Jamie held his love close for a quiet moment and kissed the top of her head as it lay nestled against him. Placing his finger under her chin, he lifted Claire’s face up to his, then cupping her beautiful cheeks with exquisite gentleness, he set his mouth on hers.

“I like yer Halloween story verra much mo ghràidh, in fact I like it sae much that I think we could … continue it in our bedroom. What say ye … Querida Mia?” … He kissed his wife’s cheek … “Cara Bella,” … and then her other special name … “Sor-cha,” … Jamie muttered against Claire’s lips before trailing them down her throat in an assault that had her losing consciousness in his arms.

“Per-haps … we … could …” was her garbled reply spoken against his hot mouth as she wound her arms around her husband’s neck. Her eyes glazed over with emotion for this wonderful man as she succumbed to the sweet surrender of his embrace. Jamie’s eyes too were shining with passion as he lifted Claire up into his arms and carried his love into their bedroom.

“This has been a verra good night Sassenach and one I think could be repeated each Samhain.”

“I approve … Querido,” she murmured seductively against his ear and cupping his cheek with her hand.

Touching foreheads, Jamie’s lips hovered over hers and he smiled with such a wicked look that Claire couldn’t help but smile too knowing that whatever came out of her husband’s mouth would be something profound. However, she was not expecting his reply with the phrase Morticia Addams had spoken on the television program.

“When we are together darling … every night is Halloween. Now, I want to take ye to bed, and I mean to spend the rest of the night thinking what to do to ye once I’ve got ye there.”

Then James Fraser proceeded to demonstrate the many ways that this Fraser husband showed his wife how he would seduce her every night … but twice on Samhain and Halloween.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The End

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Addams Family Theme - Vic Mizzy

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZZ5IWRz78DY

Halloween with the Addams family (full episode)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LavY2K3-Vhs

Endearment Translations:

Claire Fraser

mo chridhe - my heart

mo muirninn - my darling

mo luaidh - my darling, my dear.

a leannan - sweetheart, or beautiful woman

Sorcha – brightness

mo ghràidh – darling

mo nighean donn - my brown-haired lass

Morticia Addams

Cara Mia - my beloved

Cara Bella – pretty face

Querida - the woman I desire.

Querida Mia – beloved

Tish – strong willed

Gomez Addams

Bubula – sweetheart

Mon Cherie - dear heart, my dear love.

Querido - dear

#samhain #halloween #James Fraser #clairefraser #the addams family #2020 #the lallybroch library #outlander fanfic

34 notes · View notes