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insufferablelust · 4 years

Text

Pretty little thing (III)

Warnings : this series will be filled with Adult content, upcoming smut, murder, psychotic behaviors, dark kinks, traumatic events, manipulation, gaslighting, and isolation, interrogations, Daddy issues, abusive parents, blood, Spencer Reid x Unsub!Reader.

This is a dark fic, there might be stuff that could trigger you so please read with caution and/or don’t read it if you are sensitive to the stuff in the warnings.

MASTERLIST.

——————

Broke down the walls of her will, like the haunting willow tree singing as she savor and serve. adrenaline rushing and prickling inside her bloodstream, relishing the way his name rolls off her tongue. glistening with adoration, and graceful lust.

——————

“William Y/L/N, her father.” Next to her’s.

“Garcia—“

“On it!”

Y/N’s head was spinning, she hasn’t said anything hasn’t even heard any word that spilled from her lawyer’s mouth. Her mind solely pinned to the man behind the glass which she couldn’t see but she could feel him. His presence warms her up in a way, yet sent an incredibly powerful tingling feeling up her spine, from the beginning he was always going to be her’s— she has waited since cat, patiently waiting for her execution, playing the naive clean up girl for her, but now that her biggest threat, as well as her mentor is burning in hell, she’ll finally make him her’s. She just need to find a way to execute her masterplan.

“You aren’t listening, aren’t you?” The annoyed tone of her lawyer caused her to snap back into her role, sighing softly she let out fake tears slowly— knowing damn well the very man she want is right there.

“I’m sorry. This is all just overwhelming, listen do what you have to do.. all i’m going to say is....”

Spencer watched their interaction from behind the protective glass, his eyes never leaving every single micro expressions she made, every twitch of her lips, he saw everything even if he can’t hear them.

He watched as she cried, tears spilling all over the table her fingers were shaky, and her knees bounced. He could tell that the voice she lets out must be shaky, with hiccups, he scoffed to himself as he observed her. Knowing every single behavior she displayed was a cover up on top of a cover up.

Even after her lawyer stood up, his eyes never left her face, wanting to see everything. Not only that it’s his job— but there’s something about Y/N that almost.. amazes him in some ways, maybe it was because the cat situation but.. the way she built a fortress over her true self, the way she managed to be whoever she wanted to be and perfectly at that. It was like she was an actress, an art.

Then, he was snapped out of his mind when her lawyer close the interrogation door shut, sighing as she looked over at Spencer.

“Are you going to gawk at my client all day, agent? don’t you have a theory to pursue?” Typical, it was to get on his nerves.

“Yes, she’s a highly capable suspect of dozens murders. It’s my job to make sure we get her this time.” Spencer answered calmly, trying not to let any of their plans spilled, he was meticulous that way. Sharp.

“You better find those evidence soon agent, or the court will see to it that Y/N Y/l/N is— was in fact just another victim of Ms.Adams,” Spencer’s lips twitched at the sound of her voice, but moreover at the names she mentioned.

“Oh and My client asked me to tell you that the little brown house is only the beginning of the end, clock is ticking.” His eyebrows furrowed, as he snapped his head back towards Y/N— finding her looking straight to the glass almost as if she knew he was there, the sound of her lawyer’s heels clicking away turned all the wheels inside his head,

Little brown house,

beginning,

of the end,

————

“So, i found out William Y/l/N changed his name to Hansen Sharp after his company went bankrupt years ago. There’s not much of him few years after that basically just a mundane man living a mundane life but.. turns out, oh no..—“

“Garcia...”

“Hansen Sharp served jail time for a reported violence complaints from several different women but get this, after his bankruptcy, he worked as a high school janitor—“

“Let me guess, the women who reported him were the mothers.” Prentiss shake her head,

“Yeah... 4 Complaints, Violence against children, his victims were girls around 15 years old.” Garcia Cringed,

“Her stressor, she wasn’t even going to try to get her father after she left his house but then she heard it and somehow she met cat.” Tara sighed heavily

“No, cat found her, she told me that.” Reid crossed his arms this time

“Oh! i found his address, he’s currently serving parole, it’s 157 Brownstone— i’m just going to send it to you crime fighters.”

“We caught her before she could find her father whereabouts, that’s why she was so unstable. JJ, go with Alvez and Rossi, Tara you’re with me. Reid stay here, observe everything. Lets go.”

Brownstone,

Little Brown house,

Reid slammed the door open, meeting her eyes as she smiled, “Hello Professor, Is there anything i can help you with?”

She knew.

————

“Tell me where he is.” Reid banged the table harshly, eyes sharp through yours as you smiled still, bringing your chin down to rest against the table and rolled your eyes

“Who’s he? I don’t know anything, professor.” Y/N shook her head as she bit her lip teasingly, enjoying the tense look on Spencer’s face as he leaned in closer to where she was pouting underneath his gaze

“Y/N—“

“Oh! how wonderful professor! we’re using first names now? oh okay um hi Spencer right?” Her voice was bright, bright and manipulative. She reminded him of Cat, from the way she talked to her gestures yet there’s something about her that screamed wounded to him, as if she was tortured and this is the only way she knew on how to feel.

Closing his eyes momentarily, before opening them and slowly walked over her side of the table, gently running his fingers through her hair and chuckled as he suddenly grasp her hair tightly— she barely flinched, “Stop messing around, Where’s your father Y/N?”

“Oh wouldn’t you like to know?” She smiled in amusement, eyes glimmering with its doe like stares up at him. Y/N let out a satisfied whimper as he gripped the hair tighter, pulling it back slightly, his voice was so deep that she could feel the timbre rumbling through her spine,

“Tell me right now, or i swear to god you will never see me ever again.”

There, that right there made her eyes go soft, her smile turned into a genuine frown and she felt as if her guts were being punched— she hate it, hated the fact that he even dared to say something like that. Doesn’t he know that he’s hers and hers only? the possessiveness, the need to have him consumed Y/N the longer she sat there.

“Stop it with the tears, you might be a damn good manipulator to everyone but not me,”

What tears? Y/N thought as she sucked in her breath, she didn’t even realized she let out a tear let alone letting his words consumed her that way. She was in deep, and she won’t ever let him go.

“Oh but you see this, Dr.Reid,” She smiled sadly, leaning closer— so close that he could feel her warmth, and whispered,

“I’ll tell you where my wretched father is, although he’s all bloodied the last time i seen him,” She shrug as she press her lips against his cheek,

“but—“

“There’s no deal Y/N” He cut her off, causing her to giggle sweetly in his ear and tuts, “Ah ah but here’s the thing professor, i don’t mind if i get a death sentence or life in prison— either way i’ll die anyways and best believe i know how to,” She chuckled,

“You see all my life, i never ever wanted to hurt anyone but my father— well and Catherine of course but she’s death, and soon he too will join her.. unless...” She pecked his cheek now causing him to grip the table tighter,

“I’ll tell you where my father is but under the condition that you, my dear professor, shall go to a date with me.. You went with my so called twin, only fair i get the same treatment right..?” She smiled sweetly, leaning back down to her chair as soon as Spencer bolted out the door and thought, If only he knew that this is the beginning of the end, for him.

————

By the time the team got back from the house, Spencer is already waiting for them, pacing around in the room as he kept on thinking about her offer,

“you, my dear professor, shall go on a date with me..”

“I would like to go on a date with you..”

He flinched when he remembered the phrase that Cat used, shutting his eyes for a moment as he thought about their words— analyzing them thoroughly, letting their voices dance around his head, as if taunting him to find the difference,

You shall,

I Would,

Cat proposed, meanwhile Y/N demanded.

He was snapped out of his mind as he heard the team walked inside, placing each evidence and clues they found on the table. A pair of bloodied socks tested to be Hansen Sharp’s, a bloodied hammer with no lead on the DNA match, and a written note of “Have fun hunting, x C” were amongst the things they found back at Y/N’s dad’s house, there were no sign of him and no trace of her DNA that could link her to the murder.

“We need think to rethink the best way to approach her,” Tara muttered, “She obviously knows where he is, whether she’s the one torturing him or not— she knows. Garcia have you found anything linking to the handwriting or DNA on the hammer?”

“No... according to her school journals, it’s definitely not her’s.” Garcia whispered the last bit, eyes scanning through her screen and sighed.

“Reid?”

“She asked me to go on a date, in return she’ll tell us where her father is.” He looked up at his team, to find them looking back at him and he sighed, “Look, maybe—“

“No. Absolutely not.” Prentiss insists, her tone set dangerously low as she flip through the newfound evidence from Sharp’s house. “We will not follow her game, no matter what. She’s as dangerous as she could get right now, maybe she wasn’t responsible for other murders but she is certainly a master manipulator. Whatever you do, do not let her get inside your head.”

Too late, Spencer thought.

“Tara is right, we should try different methods and we have to do it fast, we don’t know how long Sharp could take it.” JJ suggested, he went to pat Spencer’s back as he shake him lightly “We know you think this is your fault, but it isn’t, we’ll save him and we’ll get her.” She assured, Spencer smiled as he nods.

Yet, little did they know that Spencer was beginning to wish he never searched for her.

————

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cherryjuicegf · 4 years

Text

with you all along

Ship: Geraskier

Prompt day: Day 2-Potions for @geraltwhumpweek

Medium: All media types

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, mild gore

Summary: "You are an idiot, Geralt of Rivia. You think that, eventually, you are all alone and will be until the end of your days. You say you don’t need anyone and yet, here I am, bandaging your wounds and singing your triumphs. You need people and you care about them more than you say you do, but refuse to admit any of it, and you harm yourself in the end. Tell me I’m wrong."

Jaskier has some unfortunate encounters and Geralt's potions lack any sense of timing at all.

Word count: 4644

a/n: it's also on ao3, i hope you enjoy!

“For real, now, Geralt, you can’t just expect me to stay here and wait, it’s not like I’ve never seen a kikimore before,” Jaskier rested his hands on his hips pouting and circled Geralt to stand in front of him. Roach snorted beside him as if in agreement and nudged his shoulder. “And you can’t also leave Roach behind,” the bard added and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Geralt glanced at him for a moment and then returned his attention to removing some bottles with colourful elixirs from the saddlebag and putting them in his satchel. “I’m not asking you to stay; it’s out of the question. And as you said, you’ve seen a kikimore before. No new song is coming out of this one.”

“How dare you doubt the impetuosity of my galloping imagination and the object of my inspiration in one sentence? I’ve seen a kikimore before but no one can guess what new dangers we will have to face with this one!” Jaskier let his enthusiasm subside after he received a glare from the witcher and he shrugged. Well, Geralt was partly right, no song was worth the danger, but the thing is, this was not a great danger. He’d been in great danger a fair amount of times before and he could tell when he had to retreat to an argument. That was not the case right now though, so he spread his arms expectantly. “And anyway, what about Roach?”

Geralt stopped moving for a moment as if a thought flashed in his mind and then proceeded to close the satchel. “Roach stays ‘cause the innkeeper asked so. So that he’ll be sure I will return and won’t leave the kikimore alive.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Bollocks. You never get paid before the job’s done and besides, since when do you listen to what–”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s growl interrupted him and he frowned in confusion. Geralt kept his eyes fixed on him for some seconds and then sighed. “It’s just out of the village. And we’re almost out of coin. But,” he paused and took a look around cautiously, as if somebody could be hearing, “You keep an eye on the people here… They’re… unsettling.”

Jaskier swallowed considering the witcher’s worry and then huffed indifferently. “A song or two will cheer them up. But really, Geralt, I can’t just spy on people…” He saw Geralt raising an eyebrow sarcastically and smirked. “I can’t just spy on people while you, my dear, are out there and in danger.”

Geralt shook his head tiredly and started walking past the bard. “No danger for me."

“Yeah, of course, o mighty Witcher, no danger at all!” Jaskier let his arms fall on his sides exasperated. “The last time you said that I had to drag you out of a swamp after those damn potions had you half-dead before you’d even noticed. You won’t even manage to be here before they wear off this time!”

Geralt didn’t bother to turn around; he just hummed and fastened his step. “I’ve already paid for dinner. I won’t be late.” He heard the bard heave a deep, resigned sigh and take some steps forwards before stopping. Again, he didn’t look around. If he did, he might regret leaving him. Yet he’d better brighten the moods of the people here if he wanted the witcher to get a decent payment. They were unsettling, the people. Dark, hostile glares, cautious words, a doubtful agreement. And Geralt didn’t bother, he really didn’t, he’d received many of those over the years and wouldn’t ever stop, no matter Jaskier’s honest attempts to improve this. He didn’t bother.

No, what actually pestered him and poked at his gut in the form of continuous uncertainty was the fact that those same glares, those same snarky words were also directed at Jaskier, albeit his charming smiles and kind words. They were hard times, people were suspicious, distanced. He knew. And it was not the first time they’d visited this kind of village together. And yet, it felt odd. Unsettling.

A scent of anxiety was floating in the air. It didn’t come from him.

He quickened his pace.

Geralt was late.

He was late and although Jaskier still wasn’t out of songs to perform, he gave up on trying cheering the sparse crowd of the inn. He set his lute aside and sat on the bench almost spiritless, taking a sip of ale and looking around attentively. He didn’t like the crowd; he’d worked with more enthusiastic ones admittedly. Those people were reserved, peculiar. Didn’t mouth a single song during the whole performance, didn’t crack a single smile. Jaskier could swear some hadn’t even turned their eyes on him. And if they did, their look was indifferent, almost hostile. There was no need to try gaining their trust any longer.

Apart from that, Jaskier was tired. They’d been travelling mostly on foot for almost a week now. Well, he was travelling on foot. And he longed for a soft bed and a good night’s sleep and would give his soul to actually go and sleep right now. But he couldn’t. Firstly, he couldn’t because he had to keep watching for the people here and he would even admit he felt shivers in the thought of going to sleep alone in an empty room in this particular inn. Not because of lacking defence, he perfectly knew how to defend himself, thank you very much. But still, it didn’t feel right to isolate himself here. Geralt was right. They were unsettling.

Secondly, he could not go to sleep because Geralt was late. And it was no big deal that he was late, it would not be the first time. What bothered him was that he said he wouldn’t be. That he was alone. And also the uncomfortable glances he received from time to time from the innkeeper, a couple of men sitting at the bar and another one who had just entered panting. Uncomfortable for him. For them, they probably felt rancorous.

He took another sip and stretched his ears without looking at them. He couldn’t discern any coherent phrases at first, only scattered words. Bard, together, coin, arriving. Mutant. Jaskier felt like he’d been punched in the gut, but not with force, only slightly, as a warning. A warning to get up and leave. He could pretty easily light up one of those amusing arguments he usually had about the wholesome humanity of witchers that most of the times ended in a fight which Geralt had to pull him from, and he was actually close to starting one more of them until he moved awkwardly on his seat and received another glare from one of the men that made him freeze in his tracks. He snorted silently, cleared his throat and slightly wriggled his foot to ensure the presence of a knife inside his boot. It was there.

He stood up as slowly as he could and, feeling all eyes fixed on his back, he headed to the door. He loved attention usually, but this was not the case. He had just passed by the men at the bar when he heard a voice behind him and started.

“Oi, bard! Where are you goin’?”

He turned around to the voice of the man at the bar and put on his kindest, least anxious smile. “You will excuse me, gentlemen, but I’m in need of some ai–”

“Shame.” The second man smiled malevolently and Jaskier glanced at the door, now guarded by another man much more huge than the three he hardly considered the chances of beating. He swallowed hard. The man kept talking undaunted. “Why won’t you sing us more songs of your monster friend? They’re so enchanting.”

Jaskier knew perfectly well this was no time for him to oppose. He did anyway. “My friend is no more of a monster than you are, you scum!” He clenched his fists and took advantage of the loud voice he previously held back from bursting. “He’s out there fighting what kills your children, saving their lives and yours!”

“Oh, we’re not much different then, you’re right.” The men stood in front of him and they were not three anymore, but he only could count up to five without his heart beating out of his chest. “You see, we too kill monsters. And anything that comes with them.”

Knives.

Fuck.

Jaskier ducked as the first blade whistled above his head and gripped his own knife, wasting no time as he stabbed the man on the back, leaving him screaming while he knifed another one’s thigh, trying to head to the door, now unguarded since everyone seemed to be after him. He had to remain composed, that’s what Geralt had told him to do during any fight. But with a dozen of men attacking him from all sides, this kind of advice was hardly practicable, damn you, Geralt. Another man came towards him and he raised his hand to strike but before he could move his arms were trapped in the man’s strong grip. Oh, that will hurt. He closed his eyes and smacked the man on the head with his own, having him stumble to the ground before he also saw the room swirling. He panted, shook his head. He was close to the door; if he reached he would find the handle. He did.

Then he felt pain burning his body and a knife came out bloody from his side.

It was an easy job, Geralt thought.

Not the first and definitely not the last kikimore he had killed during his long life.

Easy job.

And it would be. Yes, it would be if his damn sword hadn’t got lost in the lake until he found it again in despair, struggling for the life of him to escape the monster’s talons under the water with his breath shortening with every passing second. He had found the sword, thanks to the vibrations of his medallion, otherwise it would remain hidden under a cut off kikimore paw at the bottom of the lake and they wouldn’t even manage to bury him with it. He’d found it, and he’d stabbed the monster furiously, his patience and endurance barely hanging from a single thread. Then he had limped out of the lake, soaked to the bone, his thigh bleeding, cursing the moment he had taken up the contract because since then not a single thing had gone the right way.

And it didn’t have any intention to, as he realized quickly after walking a few meters. Because it was then when he felt the effects of the potions starting to wear off, and it was the least appropriate time, and he also cursed the moment he decided it would not harm to leave Roach behind. The village was less than a mile away and that was the only thought that kept him going. That and the fact that a bugging concern about nothing in particular kept poking on him since the second he stepped out of the village gates. Nothing had gone the right way. And it definitely didn’t have any intention to.

His legs felt heavier with each step. In his darkest hours, he would probably admit that Jaskier was right to question his decision to hunt all alone, as if he hadn't been for all those years before they met. This particular hour though still had not become one of those hours. It had good chances to, he thought as he cursed under his breath for the hundredth time the second he saw the gates popping out behind the trees. They were wide open, in contrast to the last two times he crossed them, and he would be a fair amount of suspicious about that if his mind could conceive any other thought than that of throwing himself onto a bed. He grunted and fastened his step as more as he could, feeling his body getting cold and his nape going numb.

He took one step past the gates and stopped. No guards. The streets were empty.

A cat hissed at him hidden in a corner.

And then loud voices and curses sounded from the far end of the street and before he even managed to consider them he felt something moving behind him and unsheathed his sword to strike. Only that the fading potions were muddling his movements. And he was slow. Not to slow to miss, but slow enough not to avoid the blade of a sword cutting through the armour and deep across his abdomen. He stumbled back as the beheaded body of the man before him fell on the ground and he shook his head, gathering as much strength he had left to strike another man that ran to attack him. The slash on his abdomen was barely burning, but the potions were still wearing off and, damn, it was deep. He parried and his sword was crossed with the man’s, but he pushed him hard before he twirled to repel another sword lowering on him. They were four, maybe five; he shook his head again and grunted, trying to retain his consciousness. The cut was now burning, and it was bleeding, and he could feel it. It certainly didn’t make things any better. He parried, and attacked, and dodged again and almost lost his step and he could have been dead if the man attacking him didn’t suddenly gape in pain and stumble to the ground with a knife protruding from his back. Geralt squinted, he thought he heard galloping. Three men were circling him now. He heard his name.

He knew this knife.

The men scattered in fear and he just managed to look up and catch the hand reaching for him before he was under the horse’s hooves. Instead, he found himself on the horse’s saddle. He grunted. Roach’s saddle. And in front of him Jaskier, in his bright yellow doublet, staring at him with eyes wide with terror and calling his name.

“Geralt! Geralt, answer me, hey, Ger–”

“What?!” He swayed slightly and wrapped his hands around the bard’s waist. He saw him sighing with relief, but the tension didn’t leave his body. Geralt frowned, feeling hot liquid flowing between his fingers. “Why are you…” He raised his hand, saw blood flowing down his hand, and his heart fluttered as he looked at Jaskier again. “You’re bleeding.”

An arrow ripped the air beside them, and then a second. Jaskier reined Roach and huffed humorlessly. “Yeah, I noticed. You too.”

“Jaskier!” He wanted to keep talking but another arrow whipped above their heads and Jaskier led Roach into the forest without slowing their pace, and Geralt was exhausted and numb. He snorted and rested his forehead on Jaskier’s shoulder with a hum. “What happened?”

“Oh, don't fret… Nothing out of the usual.” Jaskier’s voice was softer than before, and bitter, and the bard smiled instinctively as he felt Geralt’s warm breath on the back of his neck. Warming the coldness the pain had thrown his body into. He cupped the witcher’s hand on his waist with his own. “Sleep now, dear. Sleep.”

Geralt didn’t have the voice to object. He closed his eyes. The arrows stopped whipping.

He didn't know how long he was unconscious. He would either walk in complete darkness or stumble in and out of vivid dreams that left him trembling and sweating, dreams and nightmares, even the ones that hadn't visited him for a long time. Every now and then he would catch glimpses of a different place, one much more peaceful than that of his dreams, where he would lay on the ground and a soft, familiar voice would hum beside him, and he thought the voice was shaking and breaking sometimes, just like it did in his nightmares, the same voice. He didn't want it to shake, it was not right.

Yet he couldn't do anything about it. Only to escape. So he slept again, for he preferred to hear that voice shaking only in his nightmares. At least those he knew were not real.

He barely managed to crack his eyes open once before the pain hit him like a wave, reminding him why he was not awake. He tilted his head, searching with his look for something, he didn’t even know what. But he had to find it, because he couldn’t hear the voice anymore, and his heart skipped a beat and he tried to raise himself on his elbows, but fell back with a wince and then the voice was there, beside him, placing a hand on his chest to keep him back, smelling of tears and blood. It was not right. It should smell of lavender and wildflowers. It should sound bright and clear and warm, like the sun on the back of his neck. Now it was broken, and whispering like a wail. But he heard it and at least, at least, it was still warm.

“Sleep, Geralt. Sleep, dear. I’m here.”

In his darkest hours, the voice was right. So again, he closed his eyes.

It was the sound of cicadas that woke him at dusk, and at last, no pain accompanied the return of his senses. He guessed it was the cicadas anyway, and not the sudden feeling of overwhelming warmth and the little bit of extra weight that was added upon his chest. He snorted and half-opened his eyes, his gaze meeting the red-painted sky reigning behind the trees. A sudden neigh was heard near him and he turned his head, resting on a pile of blankets, to see Roach sensing him awake and wiggling her tail. He hummed. She did that.

And then it went silent.

The cicadas had not stopped singing, neither had the last birds chirping on the trees. Still, the sound he expected to hear when he woke up, feeling as expectable as the fact that he would be laying on the ground, was now yet to be heard. If he had fully come to his senses, he wouldn’t probably freeze with a momentary panic that pierced his skin, only to be reminded of the warmth on his side and the weight of his chest by a flinch and look down to see Jaskier’s dishevelled head rested on him and his shoulders shaking softly with sharp breathing. He swallowed. That was way too close.

Yet he found himself barely minding at all, as an arbitrary hand was raised and he gently tangled his fingers on Jaskier’s tawny locks. Suddenly the weight on his chest felt too heavy. He could have this. He wanted to have this. He could think of every morning he would wake up like this, with a warm breath against his skin and the smell of lavender he so loved. He could think of every night he would go to sleep with a low, sweet voice whispering or singing beside him, about him. Oh, how he loved that voice. If it was up to him, he would never let it shake and tremble again. Just like it did in his nightmares. Just like it did when he’d heard it that day. Just like it did… now.

“Geralt, please…”

His fingers stopped moving between the locks and he caught a glimpse of the bard’s face, distorted in an expression of fear and pain. He’d seen that expression again. Didn’t like it, not at all.

His arm embraced Jaskier’s trembling shoulder and he shook him slightly, and then shook again. Nightmares had to go away, even if he would wake up breathless and sick. He shook again. Jaskier flinched, mumbled, and the trembling stopped. He went silent for a second. And then he jerked up, his cheeks painted pink and he looked around in sweat, finally resting his eyes on Geralt and almost sobbing.

“Oh, thank the gods!” His eyes were wide and he felt his fingers shaking with tension. Geralt didn’t speak, he just tilted his head, his look fixed on him intensely. He heaved a deep sigh of relief and shook his head. “Don’t you dare do this again, I won’t ever again stay behind if I’m to find you half-dead once again, you understand?” He drew closer to a still silent Geralt and pushed him back on the blankets. He met no resistance and smiled shortly, raising his eyebrow at the witcher and unbuttoning his shirt to examine the bandage.

Geralt sighed and rested his head back. This man was really stopped by nothing, as he realized while unable to take his eyes off him. Gods, he was beautiful, cheeks flushed and eyes still hazy from sleep, like a child that had just woken up, although he was far from being one. And yet a weird feeling was punching his gut, a feeling that, as he looked into those cornflower-blue eyes, something was out of place. He snorted, returning his attention to the undaunted rambling beside him. “Jaskier…”

“But, of course, I know, no danger for you, o mighty Witcher, you need no one et cetera, et cetera, well look at you now!” Jaskier unwrapped the bandage to reveal a scar whose redness was the only thing reminding of the wound that had been there. He pointed at it without taking his eyes off Geralt. “Do you have any idea how deep was that thing? It took the sweat of my forehead to clean and tend to it, all the while you were mumbling nonsense and having those horrible dreams of yours. Oh, Geralt, I can’t stand watching you have nightmares, it breaks my poor heart.” He shook his head, throwing the bandage aside and deepening his voice in imitation as he made to stand up. “No danger for me; whatever, if it weren’t for those damn potions –”

He stopped abruptly as he put his foot on the ground, winced with a sharp breath and fell on the grass again. He saw Geralt frowning and his eyes flashing as if he remembered something. And he did, because he lowered his look on Jaskier’s right side where the shirt was painted red with blood and his heart skipped a beat. Jaskier swallowed, cleared his throat and made to stand up again.

“What was I saying? Ah, yes, the potions…”

A hand wrapping around his forearm stopped him and he looked at Geralt almost with guilt. Geralt waited for a moment, as if for Jaskier to stop him, then loosened his grip and drew closer. Jaskier shook his head.

“Really, Geralt, I’m fine, just applied one of those salves of yours –”

“Just let me see it.”

Geralt’s voice was low, and calm, calmer than usual, and his golden eyes pierced Jaskier like blades. He looked at him for a moment, then snorted resigned, lowering his eyes and unbuttoned his shirt. He’d taken care of the wound, he didn’t want it to matter anyway, this whole thing was about Geralt taking care of himself, about him being damn careful, not one stupid stab of the several Jaskier had experienced in his short life. And yet, it hurt, it hurt a lot now that he moved and he’d be damned if he didn’t admit it. He glanced at Geralt who was now kneeled before him as if he hadn’t been comatose five minutes ago. He shook his head.

“I would use a bit of your healing abilities, if you should know,” he chuckled but any hint of humour left his voice when he felt Geralt’s calloused fingers unwrapping the bandage and gently pressing the skin around the wound. He closed his eyes, sighed shakily and then hissed, as the witcher’s soft touch sent a wave of pain through his body.

Geralt looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier let out a silent huff and nodded. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Not just that.” Geralt looked at him for a second longer, then wrapped the bandage again around the bard’s waist and drew an inch back, avoiding his eyes. “I’m sorry for leaving you there. I knew the people were up to no good.” He paused and glanced up for a moment. The faint smile curving Jaskier’s lips warmed his chest like a fire. He shook his head. “I should have guessed.”

Silence fell. Unusual state for the bard, a state that made Geralt fidget with the fabric of his shirt like a child waiting to be scolded and then get angry at himself for being such a fool even now, still avoiding Jaskier’s eyes, as if the smile he previously saw was no more than an illusion. He didn't know what he was waiting for. So he made to stand up.

And then a warm hand was cupping his cheek and he froze and finally, finally raised his look and almost drowned in the sea of the bard's eyes, and Jaskier smiled, oh so lovingly, and shook his head.

"You are an idiot, Geralt of Rivia. You think that, eventually, you are all alone and will be until the end of your days. You say you don’t need anyone and yet, here I am, bandaging your wounds and singing your triumphs. You need people and you care about them more than you say you do, but refuse to admit any of it, and you harm yourself in the end. Tell me I’m wrong."

Geralt swallowed. He could feel Jaskier's fingers shaking, then lingering on his face for some seconds before slipping away and he almost whimpered in the absence of warmth he suddenly noticed. He felt as if he had been laid down and cut in half to reveal every feeling storming in his heart, even those he didn’t know he had. Even those he said he didn’t have. He moved his lips, as if to protest, as if any sound was ever able to come out of his mouth while he looked at Jaskier. As if the bard was wrong.

Oh.

He was not wrong.

Jaskier felt his fingers twitching on the witcher’s knee and swallowed around a lump in his throat. He huffed and lowered his look with a shake of his head.

“Maybe I’m wrong. You’re the only one who can tell. But if I’m right about one thing,” his gaze met Geralt’s again and he smiled, “it’s that you’re not alone in this, Geralt. And I don’t know about other people, but I know that I’m going to be there, to drag you from swamps, to sing about you, to talk until you go mad. You can’t get rid of me.” Jaskier laughed as he saw Geralt’s lips curving a bit without taking his golden eyes off him. He tilted his head. “So since you’re never going to stop pouring that stuff into your body,” he pointed at the saddlebag containing the potions, “at least don’t leave me behind again. And I’m not asking you either.”

Geralt’s eyes were shining, Jaskier noticed as the last light of the sunset vanished on the horizon. They were shining with a glow he’d rarely seen before, and it was so beautiful he felt shivers running down his spine. And he waited for an answer, but Geralt rarely was one to give answers, so he made to button up his still-open shirt. But then a hand was on his wrist and he raised his head flustered to see Geralt lowering their entwined hands back on his knee, and smiling. His skin was warm.

“Thank you, Jaskier.”

A wild shade of pink painted the bard’s cheeks and Geralt knew certain feelings he said he didn’t have were dancing inside him. Jaskier’s blue eyes were shining as he chuckled and squeezed his hand.

“Any time.”

The sun had set.

Geralt rarely left him behind after that. And if he did, he would return before the potions wore off. And Jaskier would still be there.

#geraltwhumpweek #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #the witcher tv #the witcher netflix #the witcher fic #fic recs #chrysa writes #my fics

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coffeecomicsgalore · 4 years

Text

Heated Encounters

Ao3

<<Prev || Next>>

Chapter 15

Chat Noir reached the building across from the school and dropped down into the alleyway below. He stuck his head out to ensure that no one was around to witness him transform, then turned back into the alley to mutter his detransformation phrase. He caught Plagg into his open palms and grabbed a slice of Camembert from his pocket, hastily stuffing it into the kwami’s mouth. Plagg choked on the bit of cheese before he swallowed it whole, then glared at his chosen instead of muttering the few choice words that swam around in his head.

“Was that necessary?” The kwami finally choked out as Adrien glanced back out into the street to make sure the coast was completely clear.

“I need to get back to Marinette. I need to make sure she’s okay.”

“You sure you want to go back there? She’s going to be pissed.”

Adrien sighed as he opened his shirt to let Plagg nuzzle into his spot. “I don’t have a choice. Hopefully she won’t be too mad at me.”

He ran his hand through his hair and walked out into the street before turning the corner to the school. As he ran up the steps, he could see Alya and Nino walking towards the locker rooms. The hallways were buzzing with students now that the akuma was defeated, and he noticed a few students walking out of the locker rooms and making their way towards their next classes.

He had yet to see Jordan back at the school, but Adrien knew that he was able to come back quicker with the help of his super speed and Jordan declined the extra help. He honestly didn’t want to think about the alpha for long; it made him angry to think that Jordan wanted Marinette for himself even though she was clearly not his soulmate. At least Adrien didn’t think it was common knowledge that he and Marinette were mates besides Nino and Alya finding out during lunch along with his pack already knowing, but he guessed that he would have to ask around to see if anyone suspected anything soon.

But what puzzled Adrien the most about this whole situation was that Ares ordered his soldiers to bring Lila to him unharmed while Adrien himself was to be brought back alive but tortured. Besides the little incident earlier, what would have possessed Jordan to want to harm him and what does Lila have on him to anger him that much?

Adrien needed to push those thoughts to side for now; he would have to talk to Ladybug about it during patrol tomorrow evening. Right now, he needed to focus his attention into finding Marinette and making sure she was okay.

As Adrien rushed up the stairs to the classroom he had left Marinette in, he could see that the door was wide open as a few students made their way in. Quickly scanning the hallway, he didn't immediately see her standing there waiting for him, and he tried to swallow the knot in his throat as he understood the implications.

Marinette was mad. Plain and simple. He knew her. He knew that if she was fine or even slightly upset at him, then she would have at least waited outside the room until he got back. But if she was mad, then she would have left for her next class. Calculus was only down the hall, but just to be completely sure that she wasn’t talking to someone in the class, Adrien popped his head in and scanned the room for her form. He paled when he noticed that she wasn’t there, but as Adrien turned to scan the hallway again before making his way down the hall, Kim noticed his lingering form in the doorway and called out to him.

“Agreste!” Kim hollered as he ran past the other students to the door.

“Hey.” Adrien said flatly, quickly turning his head towards his friend before looking back into the hallway in search of her raven hair.

“She’s not here.”

“Figured.” Adrien tried to walk away, but Kim’s quick words stopped him in his tracks.

“Marinette told me you tossed her in here and barricaded the door.” Kim sighed as he crossed his arms. Adrien turned back around to listen to what Kim had to say. “Look, she’s one of my oldest friends and I know how she gets. But I’m just going to give you a heads up. You’re in trouble, Agreste. You don’t want to ever get Marinette mad. That’s just asking for trouble.”

Adrien’s eyes widened. He knew she was mad, but to hear the truth made his stomach turn.

“She’s mad? Did she say that?”

“Dude, she didn’t have to say it. But you can tell she’s pissed off. Like, if she were an alpha, she would rip your head off. You can tell by her short words... and her eyes?” Kim shivered as if he had seen the devil incarnate. “Yeah. Good luck.”

Kim placed a comforting hand on Adrien’s shoulder before turning around and going back to his seat. Adrien turned into the hallway and made his way towards her class and stopped as he was about to walk in. Fear started to course through his body, which was unusual for an alpha, but he didn’t want to dwell on that aspect for too long. He knew it was hesitation in confronting his mate.

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he could smell the sweet scent of her pheromones. She was definitely in the class, and he realized that there was the slightest hint of sourness mixed in. She was so mad that it was seeping through her pores.

Shit. That was not a good sign.

Adrien took one more breath and stepped right in, looking around the room for Marinette. When he caught sight of her, his breath hitched. She was glaring at him and the look alone made him feel cold. Her eyes were dark, her hands clenched into tight fists, and her lips were screwed tightly together. If eyes could kill, then her eyes were sending out daggers and impaling it into his chest and face a million times over.

He was totally dead.

He swallowed thickly and blinked. His heartbeat picked up speed the longer Marinette stared at him, yet she never took her eyes off him. He only started to realize that the other classmates had paused their conversations to watch the silent interaction when the deafening silence filled the void, and Adrien started to feel smaller than he ever thought possible. It was that moment that he knew he would never, ever, hurt Marinette again, because his own heart was breaking for even causing her the slightest bit of hurt. He never got the chance to ask her on a proper date, and yet the thought of losing her before ever attempting to terrified him.

“Ma-Marinette?” He finally called to her, his voice coming out broken and hoarse.

“What.” Her own tone was as hard as steel.

“Can we talk...” he looked around the class again and noticed that all eyes were on them, “outside the classroom?”

Marinette stood up and crossed her arms, her expression tight as she walked towards him. He stepped out of the way and led her to the almost empty hallway where she waited for him to begin.

Adrien never liked the feeling of being a disappointment. Even with his father being as considerate and kind as he was, there were moments where his father’s features exuded how disappointed he was in Adrien. It didn’t matter if it was over his modeling or his schoolwork, Adrien knew the disappointment was bound to come from something he did, no matter how well he did it.

But to see Marinette disappointed? Yeah. That stung harder than he ever thought possible.

He took a deep breath and started. “Are you okay?”

Marinette tilted her head. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? You locked me in a room during an akuma attack and left me to worry sick over you.” She lashed out. “You left me alone, freaking the fuck out that you were captured, or hurt, or worse! Yet you didn’t even care to think about my feelings over this. All you cared about was protecting me.”

Adrien winced. “I’m sorry. I thought it was best to keep you locked up somewhere where no one could get to you.”

“You thought?” She scoffed. “You thought, leaving me locked up in a room with no way of getting out except through a window on the second floor would be the best way to keep me safe? What if something happened and the building was on fire? What if I needed a way to escape? I couldn’t just go and wait for a superhero to show up because they were busy defeating the akuma!

“And I know that the akuma was looking for me, Adrien; Alya had the video on livestream. He asked for me, unharmed, to be captured by his army. Luckily, they never kidnapped me, yet they could have, and they could have brought me back to him so he could do whatever he pleased!”

Tears started to flow down her cheeks as she tried to hold back the sobs that had threatened to choke her. The words that spilled out from her small frame packed a punch to Adrien’s gut, and his eyes shuttered closed as she continued to berate him.

“And he called for you. He wanted you to be found. He wanted to drag you back to him and he didn’t even care if you were tortured in the process! You know how scared I was, how terrified that I could have lost you?”

“But Ladybug always saves the day-”

“And what if she doesn’t! What if she’s defeated and can’t bring you back! What if I lose you forever? I can’t lose you forever. I just found you.” The sobs finally let go and Marinette held her face in her hands, afraid to look at him. “Ladybug is just a teenager, just like us. She’s human, just like us. She could fail, just like anyone else could.”

“Marinette-”

“No. I won’t- I won’t lose you. I just can’t.”

Adrien tried to reach out to her, but as he took a step forward, she pulled her hands away from her face and took a step back.

“I’m sorry. I- I can’t do this.” She wiped the tears that ran down her face. “I need to get back to class.” She whispered as she ran back into the room.

Adrien stood there, unsure of what to do next. His heart shattered. He did it to protect her and it was only after he let his head tell his heart what to do to keep her safe.

Although, that what he was always taught to do. As an alpha, you protected your mate to the best of your ability. Being a superhero gave him better resources and better abilities to protect anyone in his vicinity, but Marinette didn’t know that part of him yet. However, here he was, trying to prevent her impending abduction by locking her into a room, yet protecting her was the last thing he did. He may have stopped the horde from capturing her, but he didn’t protect her heart from the repercussions of his hasty decisions.

Maybe his heart was wrong. Maybe she was an alpha. Maybe she didn’t need him to protect her. Who was he to take charge of a situation when he never took charge of anything in his life? First his father and then his partner. Adrien did what Nathalie relayed to him and in return he got his freedom to be with his friends. It was the same way with Ladybug. He always followed Ladybug’s lead, always letting her take charge and he just did what he was told. It was simply easier that way, and in turn he got to let loose and have fun while defeating the villain at the same time.

Some alpha he turned out to be.

Adrien sighed as he turned towards his class and trudged towards it, not caring at all whether he received another detention slip or not. What was one more when he already had to be there for the week? His father was going to have a field day when he got home, but it would just be another drop to the bad luck the day had brought on himself today.

Finally sitting in his seat after giving a lame excuse as to why he was late, he tried to focus on his course, but instead doodled her name in the margins instead.

-------

Monday, 14H

“Marinette?” Adrien called out to her as soon as he had seen her walk down the steps leading to the school’s entrance. He hadn’t seen her since their argument outside of her classroom after lunch, and he hoped that she had calmed down enough to talk to him.

When she looked up at him through her wet lashes, Adrien knew it was better to leave her be.

“Ne-never mind.” He finished, wearily. He watched as she turned and ran off, the faint sounds of her sniffles echoing in the air.

---------

Monday, 19H

Adrien: Marinette?

Adrien: Could you please let me know if you’re home safe?

Adrien: I know you’re upset. You have every right to be. I’m just...

Adrien: I’m sorry.

Adrien: I hope I get to see you tomorrow.

Adrien: Goodnight. <3

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

Tuesday, 07H

“Hey, Alya.”

Alya looked up to see Adrien standing near her, his face sunken and pale.

“Woah, sunshine. You alright?”

Adrien shuffled his foot against the ground, knocking a pebble from its spot. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” She tilted her head to get a better glimpse at his features. “Didn’t sleep? Didn’t eat? Mope?”

“Nope, nope, and yes.” He said, letting out a sigh.

Alya looked at him with concern. She wanted to tell him something, even a vague sentence to let him know how Marinette was feeling about all this, but it wasn’t her place. But to see this usually bright and happy ball of sunshine look so defeated and hurt stabbed at her heart. She couldn’t see him like this, but she promised Marinette to keep their conversation between them.

She tried to separate what she could and couldn’t say to him to make him feel better, anything that would give him a breath of relief if she said it, but nothing came to mind.

“Is she here yet?”

“I’m sorry, Adrien, but she’s not coming in today.”

Alya couldn’t believe how much ashier he could get with his already pale form. She needed to say something to at least liven him up.

“Don’t worry sunshine. She isn’t feeling all that well. She’ll be back tomorrow.”

Adrien gave her a blank look, but didn’t want to press her forward. He shuffled his foot against the ground again and opened his mouth a few times, but no words came out. Alya placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Give her a few days. Marinette doesn’t usually get mad, but when she does, it lingers. If Nino locked me in a room during an akuma attack, I would have gotten mad too. But that’s because I would have missed the scoop. I’m not saying what you did was wrong, or if she being mad at you is wrong, but I will say that when she’s ready to talk, she’ll come and talk. Just let her be.”

Adrien shot her a sad smile and walked into the school, not saying a word to anyone the rest of the day.

--------

Tuesday, 16H

“Marinette. Please talk to him. The poor boy is moping like a sad kitten on a rainy day.” Alya relayed the info to her after class. “He didn’t talk to anyone today.”

Marinette bit her lip. “I can’t, Alya. It just hurts too much to talk about it right now.”

“If not now, then when? You’re only hurting yourself as much as you’re hurting him.”

A tear fell down Marinette’s cheek. “I’ll do it soon. I promise.”

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

Tuesday, 21H

Ladybug sat on the glass fencing on the Montparnasse Tower. Her legs were pulled up against her slumped form and her arms were wrapped tightly around it. She squeezed her toes with her index finger and thumb as she stared out to the water, hoping that the simple touch could keep her thoughts from straying and cause her to break down further.

She didn’t sleep, barely ate a thing all day, and spent most of her moments awake fighting with herself. She cried; of course, she cried, and she cried herself into an exhaustive sleep many times since Monday afternoon. She pushed away her mate when all he did was try to protect her; doing his job as an alpha by keeping his mate safe and sound from harm. Yet he was doing it like he had superpowers. That bothered her more than she wanted to admit. It was as if to him, now that he knew he was an alpha, he could just go out and save people because he could.

That was a foolish way of thinking and that’s why this whole thing angered her.

Of course, she knew that her way of thinking was completely screwed up. Having him hide with her would only hinder her from transforming quicker, and of course keeping him in a locked room with no way to hide and avoid disaster was just as stupid. But that didn’t mean he should have locked her up in a classroom and away from harm like he did. Hiding in the bathroom would have been sufficient enough for that nonsense.

Maybe next time she should lock him in a classroom and see if he liked it. But that whole line of thinking was petty, even for her.

She let out a heavy sigh as she waited for her partner to arrive. She stopped squeezing her toes and placed her chin on her knees then started to wonder how she could fix this.

“Good evening, bug.” Chat Noir announced quietly, devoid of his usual carefree banter. She looked up at him and noticed that his face was dark and sullen. That alone broke her heart further.

“Hey, kitty.” She replied, her tone just as sad as his.

“You okay?”

“Not really. You?”

“Nope.”

Chat sat beside her and allowed his feet to dangle over the edge. They sat in silence, neither really wanting to speak and bring up any fresh wounds. Chat leaned forward onto his knees and wiped away a speckle of nothing before sighing and breaking the silence.

“I matured,” he admitted nonchalantly, “recently.”

“Congratulations.” She gave him a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, I guess you can say that.”

“What did you mature into?” Chat turned to look at her, his face tilted in confusion. He was surprised that she wanted to know his role. Guarding their secret identities and anything involving that was always drilled into their minds, so her questioning confused him. It seemed that Ladybug understood his expression and continued. “Tikki said that it was important to learn who was in what role. She didn’t say why, just the fact that it was something that could cause an imbalance if it was untold; whatever that meant.”

“Are you sure?”

“Unless you are something so ultra-rare that I would pick out your civilian form in a basket of hay, I highly doubt that I could guess who you are.” Chat opened his mouth with his finger in the air, but Ladybug interrupted his thought. “No Chat, there are no such things as ultra-rare roles so you don’t need to be suave about that.”

Chat pouted, but it made Ladybug giggle. In turn, he giggled too. It felt good to laugh even though his heart had been breaking every second over the last day and a half.

“Alright, alright.” Chat finally relented, letting out a sigh. “You are looking at a fully-fledged, larger than life, ever the handsome... panther!” He finished with an expressive smile, showing off his fangs.

Ladybug’s eyes widened before she feigned fear. “Oh no! Should I be terrified? This kitten has finally become a big, black, house cat?” She let out another fit of giggles when his expression turned pouty once again. “So. You’re an alpha, I assume?” she said as she caught her breath.

“Yup. Have you matured yet?”

“Nope. I wonder what that will mean for our dynamic?”

“Would that really matter? I know I'm an alpha, but I've been protecting you ever since we became partners. I’m not good enough to do more than that- and I proved enough of that lately.”

“Kitty,” she looked at him with indignation, the well of tears she had barely held back threatening to fall again, “I hope you don’t believe that for one bit.”

“Well, it feels like that.”

“I don’t believe that one bit. I bet you could do so much more than just protection. Whoever made you feel that way doesn’t deserve your friendship.”

Chat hummed at her response. He didn’t want to mention that his mate was mad at him for protecting her, and that he spent the last day and a half focusing on how to make himself better for her. He wanted to be the alpha she deserved to have, but he honestly didn’t know how.

“So.” Chat started, deciding he rather change to subject than dwell on it further. “Yesterday’s akuma had me slightly worried.”

“What do you mean?”

That victim, Jordan? Well, his akumatized object was his knife. Which wouldn’t be a big deal, but when I asked if he was okay... well, he really wasn’t.”

“Okay...”

“You know how victims are usually remorseful over getting themselves upset enough to be akumatized?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, he wasn’t. He looked almost angry that he was back to normal. I asked him if he wanted a ride back to wherever he needed to go, and he said no. When I asked him if he wanted to talk about why he was angry at Lila and Adrien, he refused to answer. That... that bothered me more than it should have, probably.”

“Lila causes more akumatizations than we probably know. Look at what happened with Oni-Chan a few years back.” Chat nodded in agreement. “I do wonder what the deal was against Adrien though.”

Chat flinched at the mention of his civilian name, but quickly recovered. “Yeah, and why Marinette?”

Ladybug flinched at the mention of her namesake, but responded back to his question with a thought. “Maybe we need to keep an eye on Jordan. Hopefully, he won’t be an issue in the future.”

“Well, hopefully Marinette is okay after what happened today.”

“And I hope Adrien is too.”

“...and Lila...” they both said in unison, enthusiasm withheld.

The two sat in silence, pondering over hurt that haunted their insides. They wanted to talk it out, to have a friend they can just reach out to and gain an outside perspective to their situations, but it couldn’t happen, and the tension in the air confirmed the wallowing they each had to endure in silence.

Ladybug sighed before scratching thigh. “Hey. Do you mind if we cancel patrol tonight? I’m exhausted. I didn’t sleep much and I don’t think I can handle a few hours of wandering around.”

Chat didn’t turn to look at her, but he agreed that patrol wasn’t something he wanted to do tonight either. “Yeah. I’m alright with that. I’m just going to sit here a bit longer. I need some air to think.”

“You sure you don’t want me to stay? I can, if you just want someone to sit here with you.”

Chat cracked a smile and placed a comforting hand onto her hand. “No. Go home, bug. I’ll be okay.”

Ladybug squeezed his hand and gave him one last smile before leaving the tower.

Hopefully, I'll be okay, Chat thought to himself as he let his tears fall.

-----------

Wednesday, 0650

Marinette walked towards the school and noticed that Nino was sitting by himself on the steps.

“Hey.” She softly tapped on his shoulder to not startle him. He removed his headphones from his ears and gave her a sad smile. “Is Adrien here yet?”

Nino frowned. “No, dudette. He texted me. He’s not coming in at all. Surprise photoshoot this afternoon with last minute fittings all morning.”

Marinette’s shoulders drooped. “Oh.” She added, wrapping a lock of hair around her finger. “How- how’s he doing?”

“Honestly? Not good. I’m not sure how he’s going to pull off modeling today in his state.”

Marinette started to feel the coil of guilt twisting in her stomach. She paled at his words and Marinette couldn’t help but let the threatening tears pool at the edges of her eyes.

“Mari. Don’t cry. Please, he’s-”

“It’s fine! I’m fine. No big deal.” She interrupted. “I- I got to get to class. I’ll see you later.”

-----------

Wednesday, 20H

Adrien couldn’t stand to be in his room anymore. Spending the day away from Marinette, even though she wasn’t talking to him, was eating at his insides. Plagg watched his chosen pace back and forth, his meal untouched and left on the coffee table.

“Kid, you need to eat. Can’t be hunky, muscular Chat Noir if you don’t eat. You’re going to turn into a stick figure.”

Adrien sighed and gave him a pitiful smile, appreciating the silly tone in his voice. He paused in front of the wall of windows and stared at the dark skyline, wishing and hoping that Marinette would reach out to him tomorrow at school.

He let out another heavy sigh and Plagg groaned, zipping to his chosen with an agitated look.

“Alright, alright. I can’t take this anymore.” He pulled on his whiskers. “Do you want to go see your mate? At least make sure she’s okay?”

“I really do. More than anything.”

“Grab a slice of Camembert and let’s go. Anything to get you to stop moping so much.”

“Plagg...”

“Just thank me later with another wheel of Camembert when we get home.

“Deal.”

With a quick call to his transformation, Chat climbed out of his window and swept over the rooftops, vaulting and propelling anytime he needed to decent. The cool breeze felt good across his hot skin, yet the nervousness began to coil the closer he got to her home.

Slowing down near Notre Dame, he managed to jump a few rooftops carefully as her balcony came into view. The fairy lights were on and he could see a small figure sitting on the chair outside of her trap door, and Chat swallowed as he crouched down near a potted plant on a rooftop across the way.

There she was, beautiful as ever, her small frame bundled with a plush pink blanket. He could tell that her knees were propped up and close to her chest, while her arms were wrapped tightly around it. Her face was tilted upwards, but he didn’t know what she was looking at. The canopy covered her sitting area and she wouldn’t be able to see the stars in that way.

But then he heard it. The sniffles and sobs and the little mutterings that came from her lips. She was crying and hurt over what he had done and she couldn’t contain it.

“Why.” He heard her say. “Why do I screw everything up.”

She thinks she screwed it up? But he was the one who locked her up. He was the one to make her feel like she didn’t have a choice.

“I love him so damn much and yet I pushed him away.”

She loved him?

“I can’t. I can’t anymore.”

Chat shot up from his position and started to run, hoping she didn’t notice his struggle as he tripped over the plant. Marinette wiped her face and called out to the neighbor, hoping that whoever was there was okay.

She squinted when she noticed the dark figure, calling out the only person who be out this late at night with an erratic tail giving away his form. “Chat Noir?”

“Oh, hey princess!” He purred. “Just patrolling when I saw a stray cat knock over this plant. Yeah... So, I came by to fix it! Yup!” He reached up to his neck and rubbed it nervously.

Marinette waved him over and he did so, but not before Marinette giving him a critical eye. “Sure, you did. And why were you spying on me?”

“I wasn’t spying!” He sputtered quickly. But the look on her face told him he had been caught. “Alright, fine. I was running by when I heard you crying and didn’t want to pry. So, I decided to hide over here just to make sure you wouldn’t be at risk of being akumatized.” While it wasn’t the truth, the lie on the fly worked better than he thought.

At first, she gave him a curious look, but then shrugged at his response. “Then I need to thank you for watching out for me.” She gave him a genuine smile, and he tried his best to hold his composure and being turned into a pile of goo. “Thank you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really? It’s just me being ridiculous. That’s all.”

“I don’t believe for one bit that you’re being ridiculous. You have every right to be upset about anything, no matter what that thing may be. You know that, right?”

“Maybe, but yet I hurt the one person that means the most to me.”

“Ooh,” Chat cooed and Marinette rolled her eyes, “got someone special in your life?”

Marinette let out a sad sigh and nodded her head. “Yeah, but that’s only if I didn’t lose him already.”

Chat twisted his lips. “Princess, I highly doubt someone as amazing as you could lose a loved one like that.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I just need to talk to him about this whole thing.”

He nudged her shoulder. “Need me to be there to cheer you on?”

She smiled and let out a tiny giggle before nudging his shoulder back. “It’s okay. I got it. But thank you, Chat.”

“Just doing my duty as Paris’s favorite superhero.”

“I thought Ladybug was the favorite?”

“Ah, maybe, but I bet I’m your favorite.”

“You got me.” She replied sarcastically, and he laughed in return. “I should probably get to bed. I haven’t slept in days.”

“Then I bid you adieu.” Chat finished with a bow and Marinette curtsied back.

“Goodnight Chat. Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Marinette.”

Reaching back to his room, Adrien released his transformation and handed Plagg his promised wheel of cheese. While Adrien didn’t feel entirely better, he was slightly glad to be able to talk to her for a few minutes. He hoped that Marinette would finally reach out to him sometime tomorrow and they could fix this blip in their relationship.

Now all he had to do was wait.

----------

Thursday, 01H

Ladybug sat on the rooftop across from Adrien’s windows. She wasn’t able to sleep after Chat Noir had stopped by, so she decided to take a chapter from his book and take a stroll to clear her mind. She made her way across the rooftops, twisting and turning as she made her way around the city she loved so much.

Moments of the last few days crossed her mind, and she sighed as she pondered her options. She knew she needed to talk to him; she needed to bring up her reasoning on why she was so angry at him in the first place. She knew Adrien wouldn’t come up to her and ask her himself. After that first afternoon when he saw her with unshed tears, and all the missed texts and phone calls that he tried to send out, she knew he wouldn’t try to bother her again until she was ready to talk.

Reaching a familiar area, she looked around and noticed the mansion. She decided to stop on the rooftop across from his room, hiding out in plain sight as she watched him from her perch. She only wanted to give herself some encouragement, anything from his form that made her realize her mistakes, but when she noticed how he stood up from his computer, the way he stretched and walked towards his bed, she felt ashamed at herself for all the tears she had shed. When he sat down to pull off his shirt, she noticed the smile on his face and his comforting stretch against his large bed, the sweet smile as he snuggled against the pillows to sleep comfortably for the night.

At first, she was happy that he wasn’t in pain, but then she realized how heartbroken she had felt over the last few days. She furrowed her brow at this discovery and it only made her wonder.

Was it all that bad that he wasn’t completely heartbroken over whatever was going on between them? Did she truly love him more than he loved her?

“Maybe not being with him was the best.” She said to herself, all confidence of speaking to him at school the next morning completely gone from her mind. Tears started to run down her face once again as she tried to fight off the pain, but it was all for naught. “Maybe I'm not worthy enough to be with him.” She cried out one last time before attempting to smear the tears from her flushed cheeks.

Ladybug grabbed her yo-yo and zipped herself home, never noticing the tear streaks running down his face as Adrien cried himself to sleep.

-----------

Thursday, 07H

Marinette stood beside her best friend as Alya went over a babysitting mishap with her twin sisters. Nino laughed at some of the funny portions of the story, but Marinette just stood there with a blank stare. Alya chose not to bring her thoughts into the story much more than she needed to, knowing that her best friend just needed a slight distraction rather than a full one.

As Adrien walked towards the three friends with a sad smile, he called out a good morning to the group hoping the conversation starter would help Marinette reach out to him. Instead of a smile in return, Marinette paled when she heard his voice, looking up to see a half-hearted smile plastered on his face. Marinette promptly screwed her face up to try not to cry, bolting into the school before anyone could stop her from retreating.

Adrien dropped his friendly act and ran his hand through his hair, ignoring any attempts at conversations from Nino.

“Sorry. I- I just can’t.” Adrien finally got out, putting his hands up in defense. He turned and faced the school, running up the steps and out of view.

Alya turned to Nino and let out a heavy sigh.

“They need to get back on the same wavelength.” Nino nodded to agree. “This is just becoming too painful to watch.” Alya turned back towards the school, a concerned expression etched in her features.

“Babe. How long has it been since they last talked?”

“Almost four days?” She thought for a moment before turning back to him. “Since Monday afternoon.”

“Dude.”

“I know. I know. I just wish there was something we could do.”

Nino nodded in contemplation before he noticed the look on Alya’s face. She then gave Nino a bright smile and an expressive nod. “Oh yeah. I have an idea.”

#heated encounters #adrienette #marichat #ladrien #LadyNoir #ml angst

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kaz3313 · 5 years

Text

Hell is in the Ink Machine

Chapter 3 and not close to being done (this story was originally going to be 5 chapters lol)

@a-rae-of-sunshine thank you for all the support you've given to me and for inspiring to create this!

Also I added a few Ocs that I just meant them to be a one time use kind but I might actually expand on them (and make versions of them out of this AU!)

As always TW violence/gore

(PS I live for reblogs and comments and tags and you can just key smash and it will warm my heart. So thanks to all those that have done any of those things or all of them I appreciate it)

Screaming is never a good sign especially in accordance with Henry’s new violent tendencies.

Wally closes his eyes hearing the screech. He’d made it to a vent and was planning on leaving the place through it. Henry made no attempt to join him, just aimlessly walked away, and for once Wally felt he’d be able to escape.

But that scream...it sounds a lot like Miss. Campbell...how could he leave her if she is in trouble? Wally is the only one Henry wouldn’t attack outright he should stay with him to keep him in line.

Though why should he? He’s barely twenty-three and he shouldn’t have to babysit a man who in an instant could kill.

The moral dilemma sits in his mind like a stomach full of food poisoning. Susie is one of the nicest people he knew; the two would gossip, eat, and even go shopping together (Both Shawn and Sammy poked fun at him for it. Wearing clothes he knew he could never afford was always fun to him it felt like an adult game of dress up). When she was new to being a voice actress at the studio Wally would always encourage her. The two even did funny voices together to pass the time on slow days (though Wally half the time only exaggerated his voice). He left Tom and Alison without a second thought and even if neither were hurt he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Wally sighs but his mind is already made up.

Sammy’s vision still is sinking in darkness when he manages to crawl to his office. His body yells in protest as he forces himself to his knees scrambling in one of his drawers. He pulls out an extra pair of pants and shirt he saves in case of an ink leak. Instead of a usual new stain of ink on the old clothes splotches of red show on the grey fabric. His fingers tremble as he attempts to tie both articles to his chest.

The loss of blood finally makes a bigger impact as the world wobbles but Sammy tries to counter it with rhythmic breathing and sheer will. Luckily he’s stubborn enough to stay conscious as he scoots his way to the office phone. He dials the police department’s number but nothing-not even dial tone- answers his call. Suddenly he realizes the lines dead and drops the phone emitting a small whimpering noise. Out of all the days-

His half broken thoughts are interrupted by the scream echoing through the studio. The voice seems so familiar but Sammy can’t place it. Not that he needs to he sends silent empathy to whatever poor soul is caught in line with the axe and the man behind it.

He swallows again not knowing what to do. He assumes either everyone in the art department is dead or unaffected; Henry doesn’t seem to have any in betweens. If there is alive people he could do his best to explain but...well the dead have to use Not only that but Sammy isn’t too sure how long he'll last with the pain he’s forced to endure. Stairs seem unpleasant and time consuming at the moment.

Now he can always travel downward but the chance of encountering Henry again was high. Then again it would be a better chance to find alive people then the animation department.

The exit is in the animation department though he could escape, collapse in the road, and someone may be a kind Samaritan to bring him to the hospital. If he leaves though the studio will be,without warning or mercy, in the hands of Henry.

He closes his eyes to better consideration unknowingly he’d fall under the ever present threat of a restless sleep.

Shawn hears the scream as clear as day and as much as he’d love to run to be hero he fears he’s too late. Last he knew Susie was I an unsuspecting storage room with shelves to block the door but based on the scream and a gut feeling Shawn guesses she didn’t stay there long.

He stares at his desk knowing the selfishness of grabbing his stuff in case he needed to leave quickly rather than looking and helping people out beforehand. He reasons with himself that he can’t help anyone if he’s dead as well as reasons that if he has no money he might as well be dead.

A familiar whistle fills his ears as his head pokes up seeing the wandering man in the department. Shawn recognizes him instantly.

Henry; Head to toe he’s covered in dried blood and from lack of apparent wounds Shawn guesses it it’s not his own. He whistles the theme of the cartoon and Shawn remembers he’s the whistler for the theme. That fact does little for him at the moment of the approaching murderer. He quickly shoves himself beneath his desk searching for anything that could be of use to defend himself. All he can find is a sewing needle that he holds like one would hold a pocket knife.

Henry walks slowly and begins to mess with the machines that fill the room. He stuffs then takes out plushies with a mad sort of daze in his eyes. Henry flips switches on and flips them off before turning to the time clock. He repeatedly punches in a time card while muttering phrases under his breath. Although these actions could just seem a little odd Shawn is terrified.

After a few minutes of Henry doing virtually nothing he walks over to Shawn’s desk the Irish man still under. Henry stands staring at Shawn but makes no move toward him. Almost like he can’t see. Shawn breathes out; whatever is in this man’s vision it definitely wasn’t him.

“Don’t even notice me, do ya? You’re in ya own world, ain’t ya? Well at least I’m not there,” Shawn states and Henry tilts his head to the side. “Can ya here me? Do you know where the noise coming fr-“ Shawn feels a pit develop in his stomach as Henry raises his hand. His father always told him not keeping his mouth shut would kill him; Shawn never thought much about the warning.

Henry places a hand on the other’s head and waits. Minutes pass and Shawn feels sweat form on his face. Something more had to happen right? The man is just waiting to kill him? Is he just drawing it out.

Nothing.

Henry leaves; Shawn realizes his opportunity missed but can’t seem to blame himself. There's something otherworldly about the animator. Something that terrifies Shawn even more than anything else.

Screaming and running is a very stereotypical thing for ladies to do but for once Susie decides that it’s not the time to be a groundbreaking women. No, all Susie wants to do is scream and run and cry into Sammy and be held and-

With all her heart she just wants to be saved and out of this hell. Quickly she finds a large room and barricades herself in breathing heavily. The room she noticies has another glass window and it looks about the same as the last one; why is everything down here so confusing?She sinks to the floor holding her legs to her chest and burying her head in her knees.

“Woah, Boris don’t scare me like that,” Wally jumps just hearing the older man’s voice. He manages a smile out of noticing the twisted irony. He would love to know why he’s always referred to as Boris but hey as long as “You found a weapon buddy?” Henry plucks the pipe Wally has out of his hands.

“That- it’s not yours Henry,” but he just swings it around no desire to give the new item up. “Please, you been calling me buddy and everything. I’ll keep it safe for you,” Even with asking nothing happens and Henry ventures on. Not wanting to leave him too his own devices Wally follows along.

Henry feels sick to his stomach as he grips the pipe tighter in his hand. The world around him a blend of cartoons and reality. His mind is muddled with memories but a sinking feeling in his chest told him something is off. Something off with the studio closing down, with him leaving, and the ink machine. He couldn’t get his timeline straight but he presses forward hoping an answer would provide itself at the end of his adventure.

His adventure full of ink and horrors no one should live through. At least Boris has joined him; otherwise it would be a rather lonely road.

“Where are you?” These question drifted to his head a few times previously. He was in the hellish Joey Drew Studio in the toy department.

“What are you doing?” Obviously trying to get out; too bad all the falling just lead to his spiral downward.

“Why are you attacking?” The ink creatures were attacking him! He has to defend himself.

“Why have you let your mind succumb to the Ink Machine?” This thought leaves him in a curious wonder. It’s an odd scary thought but something in him resonates with him...but not for long.

They encountered a room full of dead Borises; how horrific.

Wally is forced to see the horrific beginning of the massacre. As soon as he walks in the room full of people he knows bad things are to come. None of them suspected a thing. Wally tries to shout out, a desperate attempt to give them any warning but it was too late. Henry is already coming toward them so without a word Wally swiftly leaves.

Screaming, crying, begging, chaos that Wally decides he won’t experience experience again. Even if his own mind berates that he’s a coward, at least he’s going to live. A guilty conscious is better than no concious.

Daisy Patch has worked, in the toy department, at Joey Drew Studios for a little over month. It isn’t bad job to say the least nice people, paid enough to provide for herself, and all she has to do is make dolls sometimes even getting the benefit of taking one home when Shawn botches the smiles on them. Her own small smile creeps on her lips thinking of the Irish man. She already knew he wouldn’t be interested in her, well he wasn’t interested in any gal, but a girl could dream. Dream she did and keep all the dolls he gave to her. Daisy always reminded herself that he gave the plushies to everyone, not everyone but anyone who was halfway decent, but the thrill of getting a gift from a crush always gave her the blushes. Or when he greeted her, or when he asked for her to bring some message to another. or when she much delivered his love letters written in Irish to Wally; she read them like they were her own but who wouldn’t?

Speaking of Wally she just saw him dart out of the room when- her eyes widen as she notices the man covered in blood in the doorway. Her coworker,Stephan, stands up about to say something to the man but he strikes him with a pipe. Stephan shouts and the rest of the toymakers begin to panic. Daisy can’t bring herself to leave her seat and watches the mass of bodies run around like chicken with their heads cut off. Blood man is meticulously striking them down with his blunt tool.

Worker after worker falls; he beats them to unconsciousness and hits them a few more times, whether good measure or insanity Daisy isn't sure. Blood fell to the floor and many people along with it.

Stephan, who's closest to her, lays on the floor unmoving. Blood runs down his face and is matted in his blond hair. Daisy scoots from her chair to the floor beside him.

"Stephan?" She gently pulls at her friend's clothes but he doesn't stirr. He won't stir will he?

Daisy stares at the dead man pondering morality and wondering why she hadn't screamed from this morbid sight. Why she fails to cry; instead she sifts her fingers through his hair not noticing that all her other coworkers have fallen. She doesn't even notice the murderer right behind her. Not until with the pipe connects with the back of her head.

#batim #bendy and the ink machine #graphic descriptions of violence #implied character death #tw murder #tw death #henry stein #wally franks #shawn flynn #susie campbell #sammy lawrence #ocs

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stressedspidergirlsfandomblog · 5 years

Text

Chapter 1 -somewhat edited awaiting beta

working title: I found a reason

Curtis wakes up, feeling like something is wrong. Trying to figure out what it is, his first instinct is to check on Takashi. Rolling over, the room is pitch black, forcing him to rely on his other senses to assess the situation.

Soft, shuddering breaths fill the otherwise silent room, and Curtis carefully reaches out a hand to let it rest on his lover’s shoulder. Shiro’s whole body is rigid, the tendons standing out against straining muscles. The fabric of his sleep shirt is damp, sticking to his skin.

A nightmare, then. Although usually when they’re bad they’re accompanied by screaming, or begging. Sometimes cursing, too. “Please stop” is Curtis’ least favorite phrase in the entire world, now. He’d never thought anything would set his teeth on edge like that, but now if someone so much as starts to say ‘please’ he can feel his jaw clench waiting for the rest of the sentence.

Stroking Shiro’s hair gently, he kisses the back of his neck.

“Wake up,” he says softly. “Takashi, wake up, it’s over.” Shaking the other man awake has never gone well, and Curtis only ever does it in extreme situations. Generally only when he’s already prepared to leap from the bed before Shiro can retaliate. “C’mon,” he pleads softly, rubbing the middle of Shiro’s back and feeling the tense muscles. Shouting works sometimes, but he feels as if the people sleeping in the neighbouring apartments might not appreciate it. Thankfully the walls are well designed to muffle sound, but not much covers up yelling.

Curling tighter, Shiro whimpers in his sleep, tears slipping past tightly closed eyelids. He thinks he can hear something he never once heard during his captivity with the Galra: a kind voice. A gentle touch on his back. But it can’t be real. He’s the Champion now. Takashi Shirogane doesn’t exist there. He can’t. Takashi is weak, helpless, an explorer and pilot, not a gladiator. Takashi Shirogane had to die for the Champion to live, to succeed and make it back to Earth.

“Takashi,” Curtis says again as he pulls away, leaning over to reach his nightstand and tap the light there. Squinting a little against the addition of any light to the room, he chooses to leave it on the lowest setting. The glow is so weak it barely reaches past the nightstand. He doesn’t want to blind Takashi or himself. Not to mention if possible, he’d like to go back to sleep after this.

“Takashi, wake up,” Curtis tells him a little more firmly, but still quietly. Stroking damp hair back from Shiro’s face, he doesn’t try to do much else, yet. He’d noticed earlier that Shiro was soaked in sweat, and sighs a little. They’ll need to change the sheets again.

Curtis really has no complaints, he has nightmares of his own. A little less frequent, and frankly less horrifying overall. But they’ve both done things like puke their guts up before making it all the way to the bathroom. That had been an unpleasant night, the first time that happened. Embarrassing, too. For all now it seems like nothing.

Needing to see if his attempts to help are doing anything, he shifts to try and get a better look at the other man’s face. Leaning over Takashi carefully, he doesn’t want to get hit in the nose. Then again it would be fair; he’s hit Shiro twice now, in his sleep.

He feels his gut twist when he he sees the other man’s face crumpled in distress. Shiro’s bitten his lip in his sleep, and Curtis can not only see blood slowly filling the corners of his mouth, but also the tears slipping over the scarred bridge of his nose. Kissing Shiro’s cheek, he carefully slides behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle.

“Takashi, I’m here. It’s over, love, it’s all over. Wake up,” he says softly into Shiro’s ear. “It’s another nightmare, and I’m here, and I’m telling you it’s over. Wake up.” Kissing Shiro’s cheek, and lightly nuzzling him, gentle is always the best way. At least for Shiro. Curtis isn’t too likely to punch anyone if he’s woken up abruptly. However, the same cannot be said of him when he’s actually asleep and trapped in the throes of a nightmare. Shiro can just shake his shoulder if stroking his hair doesn’t work. For all Curtis is about to do something more drastic if Shiro doesn’t wake up soon.

Trailing his hand down to find Shiro’s, he can feel the tendons in the back of his hand standing out, fist clenched tight. Working patiently and persistently to force Shiro’s hand open, he twines his fingers in and pulls Shiro’s arm up away from his middle towards his chest. It’s a bit of a struggle, and Shiro’s breathing gets more ragged. Pressing their hands over Shiro’s heart, “This is real. I’m here. And you can be as mad as you want, but if you don’t wake up soon I’m going to dump ice water on you.” Not that he would. For all he knows that would be another trigger. Sometimes Shiro doesn’t even know something will set him off until it happens and the triggered memory paralyzes him.

The Champion hears the voice, now. It sounds fake. No one calls him Takashi anymore. Not since Matt and Sam were taken away. But someone is talking to him. Confused, he’s curled into a ball on the floor of his cell, crushed arm pressed flat against his stomach. In the last fight, the other prisoner had had some kind of mace. They’d crushed his wrist, he thinks. No medical assistance had come. If he screams, they’ll come ‘play’ with him. He has to stay quiet, has to get through the pain somehow. But that voice... he can feel his heart thundering under his palm. But his hand is around his middle, clenching the forearm of his other arm. Not metal. Flesh and blood. Strange. It should be metal, shouldn’t it?

Something applies pressure to a knot in his shoulder, and while it hurts it’s so out of touch with reality he blinks awake. Trying to quiet his breathing and slow his heartbeat, any sign of weakness can be exploited. What he’s seeing makes no sense; this isn’t his cell.

“Curtis?” Shiro whispers softly. This is Curtis’ apartment, those are his pictures of the Orion nebula on the wall. The soft dark blue sheets, cream walls, and wood nightstands -nothing like the cell the Galra kept him in. He’s safe here. The Galra are no longer their enemies. He has not been in a cell in years, and the war is over, the Coalition is gaining strength, and Earth is secure and rebuilding.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Curtis reassures him instantly, kissing the back of his neck. Not at all surprised when Shiro immediately tries to roll over to face him, he’s momentarily prevented from doing so by their interlocked hands. “You have to let go first,” he suggests, wincing a little from how tightly his partner has been gripping his fingers. Hand freed, he waits until Shiro situates himself, and takes his hand again, kissing his palm.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice shakes and he takes a few shuddering deep breaths. Speaking causes the bleeding to start afresh, and he closes his eyes at the taste of blood in his mouth, coating his teeth and tongue in a thick film. A shudder rips through him from head to toe, and he wants to spit.

“No,” Curtis tells him, exhaling in surprise. “No, you were locked in a ball. I think you hurt yourself, though,” Shifting, he props himself up on one arm, leaning over to kiss the tears off Shiro’s cheeks. Shiro just squeezes his eyes shut tighter, new tears rolling over the jagged scar bisecting his face. “It’s over now,” he reminds him. “Takashi, it’s over now.” Reaching past Shiro to grab a tissue off the nightstand, he pauses to carefully dab the blood off Shiro’s lips and the side of his cheek where it had pooled in the corner of his mouth before spilling over. He patiently waits for Shiro to talk once he’s done. He uses a thumb to smooth away more tears before kissing Shiro first on the bridge of the nose, and then the forehead.

“I,” he starts hesitantly, swallowing hard. He owes Curtis some kind of explanation, he feels. “I knew if I made a sound, they’d come in to make me scream louder,” he says softly. “I just had to stay quiet.” He shakes a little, real sobs starting to push through as he finally realizes it’s safe. They’re safe. Allowing himself to reach out and wrap his arms around Curtis, he buries his face in his lover’s shoulder. His whole body shakes with the memory of the fear, the pain, the utter helplessness of it all. “Say my name,” he bursts out suddenly. The name they tried to make him forget. He’s not the Champion anymore. He won’t ever be that person again. A shiver runs down his spine. He will never kill for sport again. In fact, if he’s ever in that situation again they can kill him. He won’t fight.

“Takashi. Takashi Shirogane,” Curtis tells him without hesitation. “Commander Shirogane, once the Black Paladin, and once Commander of the Atlas.” Then he smiles a little, pressing a gentle kiss against Shiro’s cheek. “Curtis’ boyfriend, the guy everyone calls Shiro even though it’s been setting his teeth on edge for years.

He feels more than sees Shiro smile a little, feels the soft kiss against his collarbone. Rubbing a hand in small circles on Shiro’s back, he kisses the side of his head. “You’re here, in my apartment, in my bed. We no longer live at the Garrison, and you will never ever live in a cell again,” Curtis says, his normally gentle voice turning to steel.

Shiro eases a little, reassured. His soft sobs dwindle and stop. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too, Takashi.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“I’m not. I’m always so glad when you wake me, I’m happy I get to return the favor.” He curls himself tighter around Shiro, working a bit to push his face next to Shiro’s to kiss him easier. Shiro finally pulls his face free of Curtis’ shoulder and kisses him back. He tastes like copper and salt.

Curtis idly strokes Takashi’s hair until he falls asleep, lost in thought. They haven’t really been dating all that long. But sleeping together feels natural. Then again since he started his nightly visits to the commander’s quarters on the Atlas, it’s felt more strange to try and sleep without seeing Takashi first. Not that they’d admit it, but towards the end of the mission they’d started falling asleep in the room together. And once or twice, just once or twice, they’d slept in the bed. Not quite together, but not apart either.

Considering he has nightmares of his own, it’s nice to wake up and see the other man next to him, whole and alive. He wishes it was easier for Takashi to pull himself out of the nightmares, but Curtis figures as many times as he’s had his head messed with, it’s a miracle he’s not insane. Or completely incapable of knowing fact from fiction. Thankfully, once Curtis wakes up it’s pretty obvious it was just a nightmare, and there’s nothing else to dwell on. All of his involve being buried alive, or of the endless digging in rubble and just finding bloody pieces.

Shuddering a bit, he’s surprised when Shiro shifts in his sleep, curling in closer in response to his partner’s distress. While it doesn’t wake him, his eyebrows still furrow and he doesn’t relax again until Curtis does. He hadn’t realized he’d clenched up just thinking about that day. The months... trying to rebuild and piece buildings and people back together. Letting out a soft sigh, he forces his focus away.

Kissing Takashi’s forehead gently he lets himself fall back asleep, comforted by the soft breathing and steady warmth of the man at his side.

When his alarm goes off he sighs and automatically tries to sit up to tap it off, but today he can’t. There’s a heavy weight on his chest and he feels a moment of panic before realizing the weight is Takashi. Somehow, the other man has crawled half on top of him, and also kicked half the blankets off of them both. No wonder his feet are cold. Groaning a little, he works his way out from under the other man who only starts to wake up when he’s halfway shoved onto the mattress.

“Whassat?” Shiro asks, rubbing at his eyes.

“Just my alarm,” Curtis reassures him, leaning over and tapping it off. Slipping out of bed he fixes the covers a little, picking up his blanket from off the floor with a sigh. He’d rather crawl back in bed with the beautiful man lying in it, but he has to work. Grabbing fresh underclothes and his uniform he heads into the bathroom. He’ll kick Takashi out after breakfast.

By the time he showers up and changes, Shiro has woken himself up and dragged himself into the kitchen.

“I made breakfast, I hope that’s okay,” he says, turning pink. “I should have asked first, but you were in the shower, and we didn’t talk about it beforehand…” Then under his breath, “But we were both kinda drunk and I wasn’t sure you’d even want me here at all, and-”

“Breakfast sounds great,” Curtis cuts him off before he can keep rambling. “I wouldn’t have invited you back here if I didn’t want you here. Drunk or not,” Curtis promises. Then frowns a little, “Do you regret being here?”

“What?” Shiro chokes on some water he’d been sipping. Couldn’t find any tea or coffee. He continues to splutter and choke as Curtis comes ‘round the small counter to smack him on the back a few times. “No, no, I just thought… I just thought maybe you wouldn’t… Not everyone wants to wake up next to a broken soldier,” he laughs self effacingly.

“Okay first of all, whoever called you that, I’m killing them, and then… we’ve been dating a while. And last night we said some things, and I’m kind of wondering if maybe we moved too fast? Judging by the fact you are babbling like some kind of crazy person and I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“Keith beat you to it,” Shiro says quietly, looking at the counter. Then back up at Curtis. “I meant it,” he says softly, not realizing that was their first time, and he’d had to go and say it after a nightmare like some kind of cretin. “I meant it. I don’t take it back. I’m sorry, I just. I guess I still have some trouble believing I got this lucky,” he looks away, not wanting to meet Curtis’ gaze.

“Well good, because I would have taken my time with them.” Lightly resting his hand on Takashi’s back, he squeezes his eyes shut for a second. “I don’t take it back, either. And sometimes I still feel starstruck around you, so I guess we’re even. Famous pilot. Famous paladin. Famous commander and space pioneer. Turns out you’re nowhere near as cool as I was lead to believe?”

“Mm?” he raises an eyebrow, not too sure where this is going because initially it was reassuring.

Curtis grins. “You told me you loved me, and then less than eight hours later you panicked over it. Like a teenager. We’re nearing thirty, Takashi… I think you should be able to handle dating a little better,” he teases gently, kissing the other man soundly.

“Okay, all valid points counselor, but in my defense I’ve had one boyfriend.”

Grin falling, Curtis nods a little. Adam. Who has died, and left that shadow over them. Not as if Curtis’ situation is any better. His fiance had died in the bombings. Trapped under a building. “And I’ve had three, so you’re right, I am better at this. And everything else, so we’re even. You’re extremely pretty, so you can be the trophy boyfriend, and I’ll be the brains.”

Cracking up a little, Shiro rolls his eyes and passes Curtis a bowl of oatmeal. “I couldn’t find the stuff I’d usually make, but uh, I hope it’s okay I raided the fruit…”

“That’s what it’s for, so it’s fine.” He can tell his partner has added some honey to the oat and fruit mix, and it smells good. A small taste reveals cinnamon and maybe nutmeg, too, he’s not sure, but definitely something to give it a little flavor. Kissing Shiro’s cheek again, he grins when Shiro turns his head so their noses bump. He’d never imagined the man on the bridge would be so affectionate. So willing to touch and be touched. It had gone the other way for Curtis, he couldn’t stand it. Then the loneliness had gotten to him and he’d hopped bar to bar, sleeping with total strangers with total indifference. Probably why he and Takashi haven’t been any kind of intimate yet, he can’t stand the idea of treating the other man the way he treated the other man and himself.

“Hunk taught me to make it taste better… and since dairy makes me sick, he recommended almond milk instead of water. Which you don’t have, but that’s okay I put milk in yours.”

“Oh, I can keep some almond milk around for you,” Curtis says, surprised. Now that he thinks about it, he’s never seen Takashi eat ice cream, or order a milkshake, or anything involving dairy. “I never even paid attention, I’m sorry.”

“You know all my favorite foods and drinks,” he shrugs. “I think you pay pretty good attention.”

“I just never noticed there was a trend there.”

“I mean I can just take a pill if I really want some ice cream or pizza, but the stuff I missed most was stuff from home, not….” he trails off, then spoons up a mouthful of oatmeal to avoid talking more. He just is not acting smoothly this morning at all.

“Japan, you mean?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, voice muffled by the food in his mouth.

“We should visit,” Curtis says with a half shrug, not thinking much of it. Then he realizes he’s more or less proposed a relatively involved vacation with the man he’s only been dating a few months. Formally dating anyway. They’ve known each other a while. “Obviously not now, or not at all if you don’t want to,” he backpedals.

Grinning a little, at least it’s not just him who puts his foot in his mouth sometimes. “Maybe. I don’t know how welcome I’d be some places, but. Overall it should be fine. The ‘Japanese’ food you can get around the Garrison is nothing like the real thing, just so you know.”

“What, you mean the Filipino guy making my Chinese style stir fry at the local Korean-Japanese fusion restaurant isn’t authentic?”

Snorting, he’s glad he’d managed to swallow the oatmeal before it came out his nose. He laughs, shaking his head a little. “I happen to like that restaurant,” he adds mock defensively.

“I do, too, obviously or I wouldn’t eat there,” Curtis points out, eyes dancing with laughter. “I gotta head out in a few here, you almost done?” he asks, getting up and rinsing his bowl out before stacking it in the dishwasher.

“Yeah, ‘m good.”

“Always, but, Takashi?”

“Mm?”

“Maybe don’t leave in your pajama pants?”

“Quiznak!” his eyes widen and he looks down. Well, he’d remembered to change shirts. Stuffing his mouth with the last few bites, he rinses the bowl and stacks in it by Curtis’ as he rushes into the bedroom to drag on his jeans and toss the pants in the direction of the hamper. Considering this hadn’t been a planned sleepover, he’d borrowed clothes from Curtis. They’re around the same size. Curtis is a little taller, but Shiro’s a little more muscular. Either way the shirt and pants had been comfortable. Rushing back out, he automatically pats his back pocket, checking for his comm and wallet. It feels strange carrying those things around again.

“Ready?” Curtis asks, small work bag slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m sorry!”

“Slow down space-boy, I’m not gonna be late or anything,” he laughs, as Shiro half bolts to the door, heading over quickly to tap the elevator button and looking back at him guiltily. “It’s no big deal.”

When the elevator finally comes up, Shiro’s glad it’s empty. Their relationship, and being out… in the world still feels strange. Not wrong, he doesn’t feel guilty about it. It’s just that his life is so much more public now. He and Adam had just been… private. Sure, they were out, and everyone knew they were a couple. It was just, no one outside the Garrison knew anything about them. Yes, the Garrison published flight records and stats, but that’s all Shiro was to the outside world. Some numbers and an ID photo. And sure, he’d also done some promotional interviews or visited a few schools, but it’s nowhere near the same thing or the same kind of popularity and hounding he faces now. Quite frankly he hates being seen in public and often wears a disguise of some kind to avoid being bothered.

Pidge stays on base a lot, now that her entire family also works there, Hunk is currently up in space building his culinary empire. Shiro misses him a lot more than he’d anticipated. Keith is off-world with the blade, but he’s in touch. Lance acts as Earth’s official ambassador to Altea, while Coran is Altea’s ambassador to the Coalition. So Lance tends to travel between the planets a lot. Currently he’s probably with his family, he had missed them horribly in space and enjoys catching up with them. Sometimes he visits the Garrison. Keith typically won’t, even when invited. Not that Shiro really has gone back since, either. Too many stares.

“You realize we’re alone in an elevator, and you’re staring at your shoes, right?” Curtis asks him gently, squeezing his hand. “You okay?”

“What? Oh! Yeah I’m okay, sorry. I just lost my hat last night, and I was thinking about how annoying it was going to be going home.”

“This hat?” Curtis asks, dragging it out of his uniform pocket.

“What the hell….?”

“I found it on the floor this morning and I wasn’t too sure if it was yours or not because I can’t remember you wearing one. And I was pretty hammered, so I figured I could have taken it from someone on accident or maybe someone just gave it to me.”

“Well. Thanks,” Shiro says taking it back. Putting it on, he squeaks when Curtis flips it around and kisses him. Wrapping his arms around the other man and leaning back into the metal of the elevator so he can keep his balance, he kisses back contentedly. When they reach the last floor, Curtis flips his hat back around, tips his head to give him one last kiss and darts out of the elevator. He knows how much Takashi hates when people stop them, and it’s easier if they leave separate. Or at least try to.

He makes it to his car unmolested, and glances back to see his partner ducking around a group with his head down and hands stuffed in his pocket. There’s really no hiding that oversized arm, though. Or the blue glow, not even under fabric really. Shaking his head in amusement when Shiro ducks down a side alley, he knows he’ll make it home safe.

By the time he makes it back to his own apartment, he’s dodged several gaggles of fans, and quite a few reporters and paparazzi. Asking questions he can’t answer. Half the time because he doesn’t know, the other half because it’s too painful and it’s no one’s business. How did you lose the arm Shiro? Clenching his jaw as he palms the lock to his room, he slumps against the door when it wooshes shut.

Now what to do with himself all day? Right, there’s a gym inside his building. That could take up a few hours. At least until lunch.

He changes into workout clothing, sleek black pants that wick moisture, and a matching top. Honestly he feels like he’s wearing the undersuit for his paladin armor when he wears this specific set of workout gear. The collar is a little high around his neck, but not as high as the suit was. Looping the thumb hole over his flesh hand, he sighs at the prosthetic. Why can’t he just have an arm like his old one? He presses open the door to the power source to stare at Allura’s crystal for a few minutes, before he snaps out of it, shuts the little hatch and heads down to the gym.

It feels like crap trying to lift weights with one overpowered arm, and the muscles in his back ache from trying to compensate. Giving up pretty quickly, he hops on the treadmill and turns up the incline to mimic pavement. A few miles in and he’s sweating and gasping for air. It’s a hard adjustment, the lower gravity in space, the different oxygen levels… he’d rather be out running at a park or something anyway. Slowing down the speed before eventually just stepping off, maybe he can work on his legs. Either way he’s warmed up, so he stretches out and then goes over to the other machines, losing himself in the give and take of the weights for a while.

At some point he realizes he’s not moving anymore, his legs are too shaky to do another rep. Sighing, he wobbles his way free of the squat machine and sits on a bench, giving his body a few seconds to breathe. Shifting to the floor to stretch again before the muscles cramp he forces himself up after and uses the wall for support so he can drink from the fountain. Thank god he doesn’t have to go up stairs if he doesn’t want to, there’s a lift in his building. He’s not sure he’d make it up to the sixth floor.

Full of water and remorse, he drags his way back to his apartment for a hot shower and lunch. Some microwaveable meal, he doesn’t feel like cooking.

Having some time off has been good, but it’s also infuriating because he can’t just live his life. And he hasn’t decided what kind of career paths he might want to take, especially seeing as how he doesn’t have to work for money, so there’s no real incentive to get off his ass and do anything when being miserable is so much easier. For all Curtis is indeed a bright spot in his life right now.

Turning on the holo, he watches a few hours of mindless programming before finding a channel that plays vintage sci-fi shows. It promises several hours of the old series affectionately abbreviated down to TOS. Getting up he almost falls his legs are so tired. “Quiznak.” Deciding it’s still worth it to make popcorn for the episode marathon, he drags himself into his kitchen and shoves a packet in the microwave.

When that’s done, the sound of tiny little corn explosions making him grit his teeth, he settles back on the couch to snack and watch for however many hours he can. He had other friends before all of this. People he could have spent time with. But now they’re dead, or missing presumed dead. Half annoyed at how pathetic he’s let himself be, he’s also too tired to really do anything about it.

Technically there’s nothing wrong with his life. He eats relatively well balanced meals, hydrates, works out, and tries to log around eight hours of sleep a night. He is dating, which means technically he has a social life. “Oh not the brain episode,” he complains to himself, tossing a piece of popcorn at the screen. “I hate that episode.” This would be more fun if Keith was around. Or literally anyone. His legs are too tired to carry him to the bed or he’d just turn it off and go to sleep rather than deal with it. But since he’s stuck out here anyway, he might as well keep watching.

When his comm pad starts beeping he starts awake, knocking the now empty popcorn bag off his chest. The holo is playing something trying to sell some kind of space knives, and his neck is so stiff he can barely turn his head.

Grabbing the pad up off the little coffee table he groans when he sees the time as he swipes to answer. “Hello?” he asks groggily. The sun��s not even up yet.

“Shiro?”

“Coran?”

“I was hoping you could give me a ride from the space port? It looks like whoever the Garrison was supposed to send didn’t show.”

“Uh, yeah I can do that. Everything okay?”

“I am enjoying a…” there’s some muttering in the background and Shiro rolls his eyes. “A tiramisu cake. It’s very good. Along with something this lovely vendor is calling an espresso.”

Clapping his palm to his forehead, that is the last thing he needs at 04:00 hours. Caffeinated aliens. Changing into something that isn’t covered in popcorn grease and the little shells, he grabs his hat and aviators before stepping into his shoes and heading out the door. His legs ache from the abuse he’d put them through the day before. Groaning internally at each step, he heads to the elevator and punches in P1.

He has a car in the building’s garage for all he rarely uses it. Muttering to himself the entire way as he unlocks it, gets in, and drives to the port, he’s not sure he can handle Coran speeding on coffee right now. But he supposes he’ll have to. It doesn’t occur to him to wonder why Coran is there, or what might have gone wrong that no one was there to pick him up.

“Hey, I’m here, what gate are you at?” Shiro taps into the pad once he pulls up. He groans when rather than text back Coran calls.

“I am at the 10th gate, I believe. Arrivals, let me see here, 10C Dash A.”

“10C-A, got it. Alright I’ll be there in a few ticks.”

Coran blinks at his comm when it goes dark, the call cancelling almost immediately. “Hm, I certainly don’t remember him ever being so grumpy.” Bouncing on the balls of his feet a bit, he’s excited to see the former paladin, and always is happy to visit Earth for a bit. Run into the Holts at the Garrison and other old friends from the Atlas. When he sees Shiro pull up he waves broadly, going up on tiptoes so there’s no way the earthing could miss him.

Rolling his eyes under the sunglasses, he leans over and pops the door open once he’s pulled flush with the curb. “No luggage?” he asks.

“Already sent to the Garrison. Without me, I’m afraid.”

“Weird.”

“Yes, quite. How are you?”

“I’m good, it’s good to see you,” Shiro forces a quick smile. “Let’s get you over there and see what’s going on, okay?”

“Sounds good,” Coran agrees pleasantly. “So what have you been up to since you chose to acquit yourself of the Garrison?”

“Not much, resting, I guess. Reading a lot. Y’know, the normal things you do, I guess.”

“Any thoughts to the future?”

“Not really,” he says, for all he turns red thinking about Curtis. They’re not really at that point where he’s sure it’s in his future, but they feel so right together. Even with his life feeling so empty and stupid right now. Half the time he can’t sleep, imagining he can still hear pacing outside his cell and it’s another mind trick the Druids came up with to break him down further. But in reality he had dreamed of Adam coming to save him, not Curtis. He’d barely known Curtis from any other junior officer at the time. The metallic stomp of the droids walking up and down the halls, up and down. Over and over.

“You alright there, Shiro?”

“Huh?” he asks, realizing he’s white-knuckling the steering wheel and hasn’t heard anything Coran’s said for the past few minutes. “Sorry, it’s just really early and I stayed up late, I’m sorry Coran,” he apologizes sincerely. “I am glad to see you, I’d just be more alert if it was later in the day,” he forces a weak chuckle.

“Fair enough then, it’s well after midday on Altea right now, so I’m wide-awake. If you’d caught me when I first launched out here, however, I’d be just as tired as you are now. Would you like it if I stopped pestering you?”

“What? No, no it’s fine. It’s not a long drive, and I can just go back to sleep once we get back. Don’t worry about it. How’re the Alteans doing?”

“They’re coming along quite nicely! I think we might have a few with the gift to be alchemists, but I unfortunately don’t have anything to teach them. Another thing we’ve lost, I suppose. But! We are seeing plenty of children learning their culture and their history, and the adults, too!”

“Has Romelle finally learned how to curse properly?” Shiro teases, glad the conversation is back in safer waters. For all it feels like a knife to the heart to hear about the alchemists. Allura could have taught them so much. He bites his lip for a second to ground himself, and then nods along to Coran’s tales of Altean misadventures.

He tunes back in about when the gates appear in view, to hear “Hunk stopped by recently, not sure how long ago, honestly, but he shared with us some Altean recipes he’d been trying. We’ve been working on perfecting them ever since. I brought some with me, but they’re with my travel gear. Never fear! I will save some for you if you’d like!”

“That’d be great Coran, thanks,” he says pleasantly. Pulling up to the gates, “This is where I leave you. I’ll make sure your clearance codes work before I drive off, though, I promise,” he laughs.

“Fair enough!” Coran agrees cheerfully.

Shiro breathes a sigh of relief when seconds after Coran types in the code, the gates start to open. He gives Coran a little mocking salute, sees it returned, and backs up the car to find more space to turn it around and head home.

He finds out later via exuberant voicemail that one of the cadets incorrectly input the time zones, and dispatched someone three hours after Coran had arrived. Even though Shiro had already dropped him off. Thankful it was nothing serious, he drops off to sleep for a while.

When he wakes up, his mouth is dry. Rubbing at his face, he gets up and heads into the kitchen and sets his comm down on the counter to pour some water before situating himself on the couch for a continuation of the TOS marathon. Apparently this is a daily event that cycles through all the episodes until it hits the end and then restarts.

When the intrepid captain is captured and forced to battle some sort of space lizard Shiro internally winces, rubbing at his non-existent shoulder. Having forgotten it's just oversized metal now, he starts and then stares. Right. Well at least there's no more scars from double rows of teeth across his shoulder, he supposes. The thing had bit him from behind and he had put his thumb through its eye before it would let go. Nothing else had worked. He'd tried so many things before he did that.

Gotten a grip on its lip, and had literally ripped a chunk away along the gumline. All that had done was make it bleed viscous yellow fluid and look even scarier. Ripping open a nostril hadn't worked either, he'd been trying so hard to get any kind of purchase on the scales… finally he'd just reached back and gouged out its eyes.

He'd thrown up later, sick from the feel of the eye bursting under his fingertips, and from pain. He can't bring himself to eat grapes anymore and they used to be one of his favorite snacks.

After a few more episodes he eases into sleep.

In the arena, sometimes he has the option simply to win. Sometimes the stadium screams for blood and he is forced to kill. Forced to behead his opponent, or in the rare cases that fails, find some other way to serve a fatal blow.

This alien is humanoid. Not much larger than he is. Its skin is soft like suede under his fingers when he reaches out to rip at the flesh, seeking to cause damage any way possible. They didn't give him a weapon, they expect him to take it. But it's not as if he needs it. That's half the fun for the Galra. See how the human will kill without a weapon. Can he do it injured? How long can the human go without food and still reign as Champion?

He has a feeling this alien doesn't enjoy this any more than he does. He's kept in isolation. Too violent to be trusted among the other prisoners. Bloodthirsty. Then again he had been provoked.

No, don't let your mind wander. It has knives.

One scores along his arm, moments of distraction costing him reaction time. Anger curls low in his stomach. Another scar. Another awful battle etched into his flesh. He'll never be allowed to forget. Assuming he lives long enough to get home.

Rage and fear fuel him as he lunges desperately forward, locked in a desperate struggle for the dagger. Finally he wrests it away, hands, arms, torso all bleeding from a plethora of shallow cuts. Slashing wildly backwards with it, he scores deep, the blade catching in bone. Blood sprays across his face, hot and thick. It half blinds him. This time the alien blood is oddly sweet. He spits but can't avoid the taste coating his teeth and tongue. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision, and jerks his head back on pure instinct raising his arm and-

Wakes up on the floor, heart pounding. He'd won that fight by putting his dagger through the roof of her mouth. Remembering the smell of the blood, the taste, the oily sensation of it… Shiro manages to roll over before he vomits.

Forcing himself up from the floor, the blue light from his arm reveals he hasn't eaten much. Trying to get to his feet he doubles over when his gut cramps and he heaves again. This time nothing but acid comes up, burning his throat on the way. Coughing and retching he struggles for air before getting himself under control.

The mess is on laminate, and he looks at it dispassionately. He feels like he's still splattered with blood. Finally on his feet he stumbles to the bathroom and turns the water on. Frantically peeling off sweaty clothes he lets them drop in a heap and steps into the spray. He doesn't even wait for the water to warm all the way, the need is so imperative. He has to wash the blood off.

Being clean is a luxury. Occasionally the Galra permitted him to bathe. More often they just hosed down the cells with the occupants inside. He could never get to the panel in the ceiling to pull it down. No way to get any leverage. Even when it was open and spraying water he couldn't figure out a way to take advantage other than to try and scrub off as much foulness as possible before it was too late and the water stopped. Sometimes it was the only drink he got that day.

At some point he can't stand anymore, violent shaking overtaking him. Drawing his knees to his chest, he is so thankful the water in the shower sounds nothing like the water in his cell. Not to mention it's warm. Head dropped to his knees, the next thing he knows he's tipping over and the water is ice cold.

He's so chilled his limbs are numb, not to mention everything's fallen asleep. Turning the water off with his metal hand, the flesh one is too cold to grip. He can't stand, not really, and drags himself over the lip of the tub to sprawl in an ungraceful heap on the bathmat. Teeth chattering, he gets ahold of his towel, taking advantage of the unfeeling metal to dry himself off. Cold and heat don't affect something that has no sensation. Mostly dry, he manages to stand and staggers into his bedroom.

You're Broken. Useless. Worthless.

Crawling under the blankets he drags them around himself, huddling into a ball. He imagines if he was shaking any harder he'd vibrate into another plane of existence.

He wakes up some time later, not sure what time of day it is. But in space it hadn't mattered. No reason it should now, he has nowhere he has to be.

When his memory slowly trickles in, he reddens even though there's no one to see. He hates the scars on his body. They're gruesome. A record of his kills. His perfect record of winning and murdering anyone who got in his way. A reminder he found the winning in and of itself satisfactory. Or at least The Champion did. The Galra washed Takashi Shirogane away in a sea of blood. The Champion lived in his place. No joy, no happiness, just grim determination. He would win. He would do whatever was necessary, and he would go home to warn them the Galra were coming.

Takashi Shirogane had been soft, weak; an explorer and pilot. He had thought some martial arts training and some Garrison mandated arms training would keep him safe. He was strong. He had to be, with a disease rotting him from the inside out. But he could never have survived the horrors the Galra inflicted on him. The cutting, slicing, dicing, starving, beating, shocking, dismembering agony was too much. The Champion however, held onto it and more. Although the line between them blurred more and more over time. He couldn't keep all the horror and pain locked away forever. Especially now that things were peaceful and he had no all consuming mission keeping him focused.

After he dresses and heads out into the kitchen for cleaning supplies and water, figuring he should probably handle that before it gets worse. His comm is occasionally emitting a soft beep and the notification light pulses every so often. Lifting it up he sees a missed call and a few messages.

01600 Want to meet after work for dinner?

1630

1730

Not to be that guy, but usually you answer in about 15 minutes, we don’t have to meet up, but let me know you’re okay. You don’t owe me prompt responses this just feels weird.

1830 Missed call. Voicemail transcript:

I’m sure you think I’m a freak, so I hope you’ll forgive me anyway. Maybe your comm is dead, or you’re asleep, or just busy. That’s fine, I just get antsy. You can ask Veronica. So many people went missing that I kind of can’t help getting nervous. Not your problem, ugh, I’m awful at this… Anyway. If you think I’m unstable and freaky that’s fair. I won’t blame you. Uh, if it’s all a big misunderstanding we could do dinner tomorrow? Ugh...sorry. I’ll stop making an absolute ass of myself now.

Shiro smiles at the comm a little. He feels guilty, he hadn’t even realized. And quickly taps out a response:

0230

Sorry! You’re not a freak. Well, maybe a little. I fell asleep and then showered and went to bed and didn’t realize my comm was in the kitchen. Never heard or saw it. (1/2)

Dinner tomorrow sounds great. We can try that new fusion place Hunk helped start? Unless you had something different in mind? If i don’t answer just come by. (2/2)

0231

Really sorry I worried you. If the situation was reverse I’d be worried, too. See you at 1700 tomorrow? Srsly if I fall asleep again just come wake my stupid ass up.

0530

Glad you’re OK. Sorry I was a freak. Will definitely come break your door down as requested.

0532

Joking about the door. Promise.

0800

That’s good. The landlord might not appreciate it. I will change early so worst case all you have to do is knock and I’ll wake up ready to leave.

1200

Then your clothes will look all wrinkled like you slept in them. Am I not worth looking nice for?

1202

Repayment for the voicemail.

1204

Fair enough.

1207

I will just lay clothes out… just for you… this once.

1210

It’ll be worth it.

1211

I hope so.

(So... this has been a p fucking awful time for me in general, so if anyone would like to comment (instead of just writing feels in the tags I might never see) that would be great. Please brighten my day. Also for the like.. 3??? people who read the prologue, do you think the story needs more between this and that, or is it workable? What’s awkward, what works? this started out as a series of headcanons turned drabbles turned nightmare bullcrap you’re reading... so... help?)

#curtashi #shurtis #curo #takashi shirogane #curtis #voltron #vld #vld shiro #my fic #i found a reason

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ameliathecatto · 3 years

Text

Spourting Gladiolus

"Hyphotecial question. Will you kill me by the end of it?"

The tale of a Goddess who was crowned the title, 'Guardian Goddess' and 'Queen of All Gods' going on a mission. From a title like those, you would expect extreme efficiency correct?

Unfortunately, things don't turn out the way anyone wanted.

The mission was to take out 5 cults, each with their own reasons of having to be taken out. However, she let one of them live on after a fatal encounter.

Why had she done so? Who was this man? Was there anything beyond her mission?

"Life sure is cruel, leaving live up in my hands once again."

After all, to her this was simply a matter of fate.

__________________________

Chapter 1.1 (Unedited)

Word count: Around 2.5k

Amelia walked through a hallway with blinding white lights shining off of pristine walls.

“I’m still amazed nobody has complained about the lights.” She complained as she stared up at them, her right eye twitching.

She could feel the heat the longer it went on as she stared at the light. Maybe I should add them to have an automatic adjustment to the surroundings. She gripped her shirt and fan her own body with it.

“You’re a bit dramatic.” Aeon’s voice chimed in.

She looked towards him as she continued to fan herself, “Ah. You’re he-”

With a large grin on his face, he placed his hand on her head. Amelia’s movement stopped immediately as her gaze gradually turned into a glare the longer his hand remained static on her head. He did eventually start moving it and ruffling her hair like a child. Her gaze softened in response to the gentle smile on his face.

“I question your… uh..”

She went to speak but not a single word left her lips. Amelia could see Aeon struggled to muffle his laughter, his hand ruffling her hair. Her right eye starts twitching again yet there is a faint blush on her face.

“Stop it.” She swats his hand away and brushes her hair to fix it.

His muffled laughter bursts out as he starts high-pitched wheezing. She slaps his shoulder although he is still laughing really loudly. She glares at him and the blush becomes more apparent on her face. Under the lights it accentuated the red on her cheeks.

"Be a little serious will you?" Annoyance apparent in her tone.

He shrugs and thoroughly ruffles her hair one last time. He pulls his hand back right before she swats it away from her head, like an embarrassed child being caressed. Aeon hums in delight with a grin that is bright enough to entrance Amelia for a second or two. Her hands reach for his face as he continues to grin.

His lips never flatter yet his eyes couldn't help themselves.

It never fails to amaze him how small her hands are compared to his, although that was normal for him under most circumstances given his height. Maybe it was because of how she presents herself and their perception of her that made an impact on him. Even his first impression of her isn't that far off from what she actually is.

Time and time again, he questions the validity of those thoughts.

His hands inch closer to hers as they rest comfortably on his cheeks. Even if her hands were small they no doubt had quite the power on him. Amelia could see the faint shade of pink on his cheeks as it rests there much longer than he anticipated.

"You-"

His 'daydream' is abruptly ended by the force of Amelia's fingers pinching his cheeks. The pain caused him to hold onto her wrists instead, gently pleading for her to let go.

A smirk present on her lips, "I thought I asked you to be more serious, Mr Aeon Alchemilla."

"I would if you just let me go."

She lets him go and his hands rub his cheeks.

“Dammit that hurt more than I thought. I'm surprised that you let go so easily." He whined.

Amelia crosses her arms as his eyes dart to anywhere else but in front of him. He still nervously moved his hands but she noticed he wasn’t feeling quite as panicked. She avoided staring into his eyes but from the way he reacted she could tell what he's feeling.

"You never cease to amaze me how you question my actions as though it's the first time you've seen it."

He was motionless as his eyes instead lowered themselves to the ground. Looking to her feet instead of her face.

"I know. You also know why I feel that way too. But I just can't help it."

Even if his gaze isn't facing her own, he could feel the lingering thoughts in his head as her gaze falls on him. The feel of it changes after a second in a way that makes him know that she intentionally wanted him to feel it.

"Your idiosyncrasies flatter your own characteristics though don't mesh along when considered what you're working for."

Those words make his eyes meet hers.

"Amelia. Could you... Phrase it normally, please?"

She crosses her arms, "I would appreciate it more if you purposely didn’t sound so staggered."

'Who told me to fight fire with fire again? Ah yeah, Zarnia. I should remember to not take every word of hers so seriously from time to time.' Aeon sighs internally.

From the corner of her eye she could see a pair of purple wolf ears peeking out from the corner. By the way it twitched when she noticed it, it's listening in their conversation. She lets out a loud sigh and rolls her eyes at the sight of it. It doesn't slip from him as he recognises it as a common occurrence to a certain someone.

"I'll be taking my leave then…"

She nods her head, "Alright. I'll see around then."

As Amelia turns around to face the owner of the pair of busybody ears, Aeon takes a step forward and places his head on hers. Though it's not directly above her head, instead his lips made contact with her hair.

A light kiss.

She was going to say something to the pair of ears, was. Her mouth gaps open as she stands there stunned. There is heat creeping up from her ears to her face, she curses internally when she notices the ears seemingly twitch in excitement. A hearty laugh comes out from the bottom of his heart as he steps away.

"Well, I'll see you soon too~"

The light-hearted tone has always caught her off guard due to it appearing at the oddest moment, at least to the bystanders who know nothing of their relationship. She stands there for a solid minute while the only remains of Aeon is the faint kiss that she could still feel.

"Look at you~ So cute!" The owner of the ears have shown themselves.

A woman with purple wolf ears and equally as purple wavy hair. Visibly she is not much shorter than Amelia but she leans down as if she's way taller. She hops towards Amelia with a large grin on her face, one that resembles an overly excited child.

Amelia clears her throat before speaking, "Still as childish as ever."

"Are you sure that I~ am the childish one~?"

She momentarily pauses and holds Amelia's cheeks in her hands.

"Look at you with your puppy cru--"

Getting interrupted isn't a nice thing. However, getting interrupted by a strong jab to the gut is rather rude all things considered, intensely painful even. Zarnia’s hand let go of them and instead opted to protect herself as a kind of instinct. Even so, Amelia’s fist still made contact with it before she could soften the blow.

The blush faints while Zarnia starts holding her abdomen in pain. Her ears flatten on her head while her tail that was wagging is now touching the ground.

"That h.. hurts.. Amelia…"

She sighs, "You knew that was going to happen."

She has tears in her eyes and covers her face with her hands, the overhangs of her sleeves covering the rest of her chin down. She is still hunched over as the pain hasn't faded.

"You're so cruel…"

Amelia’s eyes squinch while she sighs rather lightly compared to the blow she gave Zarnia. Her hands eventually come back down revealing her face once again, although it is as clear as day that she didn’t shed a tear there is an obvious pained expression on her. She pouts while placing a hand around her waist.

“You also know how to really position your punch, don’t you?”

She could tell that Amelia was eyeing to slug her in the gut specifically just above the black belt that made it look like a part of the dress. Her eyes locked onto her hands as soon as she felt like Amelia was going to make a move. Which seems all too normal to her to have such a fast and concentrated reaction even in a short frame of time.

“You also feel it coming from a mile away, you should’ve not done what you did.

“‘Makes sense’ But I will not stop at the chance to tease you.”

“Ugh, masochist much?” Amelia said it in a disgusted tone.

That line made them both just stare blankly at each other. Amelia seems to have realised something that Zarnia is thinking of as well. The pain subsides once their thoughts align. Another blush once again creeps up in her mind and her entire body reacts.

Her ears stand up as her tail starts wagging frantically with her hands matching the rhythm of them. Her mouth opens yet no words come out of it, instead it’s a ramble that is mostly incoherent. Amelia can only make out a few of the words from the mumbling.

“N-no it’s not… it’s.. It is.. Not what.. Uwaahhhhh.. What… no no no …”

Amelia places a hand on her head while her entire body is still panicking, “Don’t worry about it okay? I’m not interested and it’s not my place anyways.”

“BUT THAT’S NOT THE POINT??”

Her body grinds to a halt as Amelia turns around not before having a small smirk on her face. She raises her right hand up and gives Zarnia a lazy wave with her other hand now tucked in the pockets. Zarnia stands completely still as her brain continues to recollect what she heard and Amelia’s reaction.

People start crossing by the hallway; some decide to simply pass by her and go about their day; some casually greet her. The expression on their faces heavily implied that they were curious of what could have left the executioner so stunned.

Until Diane crossed the hallway carrying a large amount of paperwork.

“Um… Miss Zarnia?” She stands in front of the now slightly recovered Zarnia.

She jolts up as her name is being called out, “Ah yes. What do you need, Diane?”

“Have you been standing here for long? It seems like so to me anyways.”

Zarnia awkwardly laughed it off. Diane understood what she meant from it and gave a slight nod in response to it.

“There is in fact some work for you to do. Although I do need your help to find that particular document.”

She quickly nods her head and grabs the stack of paperwork and places it on the ground. Diane guides her through finding the document that she is currently assigned to. Her eyes don't move away from Zarnia’s hand that are hurriedly looking for it. Diane’s smile doesn’t fade as she stands there watching over her.

“Found it!” Zarnia’s eyes light up when she pulls it from the pile.

“Ahahahah that’s good. Hope you have a nice day.” She bows at Zarnia before she walks away.

Zarnia's footsteps are careless at first before they become firm and serious with her usual demeanor of jumping and hopping around completely gone. There was still a lack of seriousness from her usually childish footsteps that was often associated with her.

“She is an interesting person after all.” Diane softly sighed.

She picks up the paperwork from the ground and carries it to the office.

The door to the office is adorned with golden flowers and vines. The flowers itself seem unique as it’s a combination of wisteria, anemone and daffodil. They blended into the walls just like every other office, dorms and storage in the entire place. Some days Diane wonders why the entire place is painted in bright white.

She pushes open the door with her arm while firmly holding the paperwork in her hands. It was silent enough that she could hear Amelia’s pen over the papers. She places the stack of paperwork on Amelia’s table. Diane leans over enough that she could see another large stack of paperwork that she gave her an hour ago while she’s out.

Diane bows to her before speaking, “Are you done with that all?”

Her eyes are drawn to the afternoon sun that shines through the only window in the office. The warm glow shines itself down on Amelia which gives her a gentle aura.

“Yep. The usual ones on the ground.” Amelia remarked while continuing to work on her documents.

Diane pushes out a lock of her wavy white hair out of the way, earning her a slight chuckle from Amelia. That unchanging polite smile appears on her face once again, this time feeling a bit more genuine from the other one earlier.

“You’ve arranged the bookshelves?”

The office shared the same shade of white along with the marbled flooring as the outside hallways. It was much smaller than it appeared. The office wasn’t very heavily decorated and had little furniture. It had two dark long wooden desks that were separated by two bookshelves that aligned on the corner of the wall. There was also a standing clock beside the door.

Both filled with books of different kinds, with a few that stood out among them.

“I got a bit bored and my hands wanted to do something real quick. So I rearranged it actually.”

The books used to be arranged based on importance and according to category. Amelia rearranged it by something that Diane couldn’t tell exactly. It might look a bit random since the heights are still all over the place but there are some that are placed strategically.

“Should we ask for a cabinet space to place some of your papers here instead?”

Diane’s tone remains neutral while looking towards the corner of the room.

“Maybe. But most of them are classified so I would rather not.”

Amelia is still buried in papers, intently concentrated on finishing it all. Diane takes out a notebook out of her brown wool jacket that reaches her waist. She clears her throat while flipping open it and placing the white pen on the top of it. Her writing is clean and the majority of it is in point form.

“There were a total of three meetings up to this point. The first one was a full report from all fronts of the Divisions from their respective leaders. The second one was a preparation plan on raiding one of the cult’s bases as per your request. The third one was about your current progress on the investigation of the cult’s ringleader.”

Amelia scoffs lightly at the word, “Ringleader be giving him too much credit. He is just like them with the only difference being that he has a lot more credible backing.”

Diane nods her head, “I will tell them to refrain from calling him ringleader then.”

She raises her head up for the first time since Diane walked into the room. Her hand placed the paper onto the growing pile on the ground while the other hand waved her hand along with the pen.

“I will refrain from telling those bastards what to do. They have the inability to listen to others aside from their inner circle. Particularly anything I say.”

Diane reacts by lightly sighing as she is accustomed to the tense atmosphere when they just stand in the same space. This is exactly why I get a little tense when I want to bring them up, she thinks internally.

Amelia scoffs again, “Well then, give me a rundown of the first two. And the last one, just leave it be. Unless there is something useful aside from what they think of me.”

She flips through some pages of the notebook to see what she has written down about the last one. Aside from the agreed upon meeting date and purpose of it, not much else was written down. Diane looks over her own notes and collects her thoughts on it.

‘Let’s not mention anything about it. I don’t think she’d be pleased with what they said.’

#original story #original character #original content #original writing #dark fantasy #fantasy #romance

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noditchablepromdate · 6 years

Text

A consideration of the muse via TV Tropes

//Mun comments: these are based on my interpretation of and headcanons for the muse, not just canon events.

Appearance/Physical

American Accents - though Bobby himself is from South Dakota, his accent definitely hints towards a more typically southern redneck. Badass Beard - one of his most distinctive features. Blue Eyes - sometimes Icy Blue Eyes. Generally when he’s getting particularly enraged. Nice Hat - Bobby is almost never seen without one of his beloved trucker caps. Older Than They Look - Bobby is in his late fifties when the Winchester boys show up asking for help, and by the Apocalypse he’s sixty. He’s grizzled and clearly not in his prime any more, but is still younger-looking, tougher and much more physically capable than a guy his age would usually be. Seriously Scruffy - Bobby’s usual outfit is heavily worn and frayed clothes - usually jeans, t-shirts and flannel - that he’s owned for a very long time.

Personality Traits

A Friend In Need / The Reliable One - One of Bobby’s defining traits is that no matter what, if someone calls on him for help, he will do whatever it takes to give that help. Even if he’s freaking DEAD. Badass Grandpa - Bobby’s out there fighting evil well into his sixties. Brutal Honesty - He doesn’t really do sugar-coating very well, so if he’s presented with something and asked his opinion he will often be very blunt about what he thinks of it. Catch Phrase - His go-to swearword is “Balls!” and he often expresses his annoyance (or affection) by calling someone an “idjit”. Character Alignment - Chaotic Good. Bobby gives absolutely zero fucks about legal or illegal, but he’s absolutely committed to helping the fight against evil and is basically a decent and kind person. Combat Pragmatist - He doesn’t fight in a bid to impress anybody, he just aims to take his opponent down and make them stop fighting back as fast as possible, and has no qualms about fighting dirty to get the result. Crazy-Prepared / Properly Paranoid - Bobby regularly doses visitors with holy water, keeps guns to fire several different types of monster-slaying ammunition, and has built a panic room in his basement, made of solid iron coated with salt, that is demon- and spirit-proof. He has also made several copies of all his priceless books and stashed them in safehouses around the country, just in case something happens to the collection in his house. And he does it all because he knows it could happen. He’s even described himself as a “paranoid bastard”. Deadpan Snarker - A fundamental aspect of his personality. No matter what situation, he usually manages to come up with a sarcastic or snarky quip. This can lead to Snark-To-Snark Combat breaking out, especially if it’s Crowley he’s talking to. Determinator - He just will not lie down and die. Even when a bullet to the head puts him in a coma, he spends the entire time evading and holding off the Reaper coming after him so he can warn Sam and Dean about the Leviathans’ plans. Encyclopaedic Knowledge - He’s done so much studying that he’s able to reel off facts about rare monsters, cast spells and recite exorcisms, and draw a number of sigils from memory. Forgets To Eat / Must Have Caffeine - Bobby regularly stays up pulling all-nighters in order to do research for a fellow hunter, and in such cases will often subsist on strong coffee and/or caffeine pills. This has left him with a reliance on coffee that’s almost as bad as his drinking problem. Genius Bruiser - He looks and often acts like a typical dumb redneck, but spends most of his time at home with his books, doing research for others; when called on to join the fight directly, Bobby proves himself as capable of kicking ass as hunters half his age. Good Is Not Dumb - He might be on the side of the good guys, but Bobby sure as hell is not stupid. Good Is Not Soft / Good Is Not Nice - While he has dedicated his life to helping others and saving lives, and is gentle and caring to those in need, Bobby is also a cranky, short-tempered alcoholic who lives on his own and gives everyone, including the law, angels, and Satan himself an attitude. He’s also not likely to spare enemies out of the goodness of his heart, either - the few antagonists who manage to escape his retribution are usually the ones who talk the quickest and convince him they’re worth sparing. Otherwise he’ll finish them off without blinking. Grumpy Old Man - Has definite shades of this, though often as not he’s just playing it up, for the sake of a cover or to amuse people. Gut Feeling - Bobby’s instincts are usually spot on and he’s learned to rely on them reasonably heavily, to the point where he can usually guess within seconds if someone he knows is possessed by a demon or otherwise not actually themself. Of course, being paranoid, he’ll generally follow his guess up with a test to see how right he is. Handicapped Badass - During the year he spends wheelchair-bound; although he’s no longer able to actively hunt, his mind is as quick as ever and he’s still a crack shot. Jerk with a Heart of Gold - Famously bad-tempered, antisocial, yells at people who ask him for help and calls them stupid, regularly gets arrested and has no respect for... pretty much anyone. Also one of the key players in the attempt to head off the Apocalypse, who loves the weird little family he’s got with all his heart and will do anything for them. Knight In Sour Armor - Yeah, the world sucks and pretty much everything is horrible apart from a few little warm spots... but he’ll step up to fight for its right to exist time and time again, because that’s the right thing to do. Mr. Fixit - As well as earning his living as a mechanic and salvage yard owner, Bobby is able to turn his hand to a number of other practical skills; he’s successfully modified several guns to fire specialised ammunition, and built the panic room in his basement himself, during “a weekend off”. He’s also proven to be very capable when it comes to installing booby traps and surprises around his house, including a trapdoor outside the hall closet that drops straight into the basement and a specially strengthened basement door to keep whoever got dropped in from getting back out. Nerves Of Steel - He’s faced down dozens, maybe hundreds, of monsters over the years, armed with a few weapons and his wits and, if he was really lucky, someone competent running backup. He’s even intervened in a showdown between the archangels Michael and Lucifer, though that didn’t go terribly well for him. Not much fazes him now. Old Master - Bobby has likely fought, researched and warded off more monsters than Sam and Dean put together, and is known to be THE person to go to if you need help tackling something you don’t recognise. Omniglot - He speaks several languages, including Japanese and Latin, and is able to decipher and translate a huge number of written languages. Only Sane Man - He often feels like this, especially after dealing with hunters who have managed to completely fail at displaying common sense. Physical Scars, Psychological Scars - Bobby has picked up scars from all sorts of monster encounters over the years, many of them reminders of what went wrong on the hunt. He also still has some old scars from his childhood, as his father used to beat him with a belt. Self-Surgery - Given he prefers to avoid the authorities unless it’s really serious, Bobby will generally patch himself up with needle, thread and a bottle of Jack Daniels. Street Smart - Studious as he can be, Bobby is also a capable survivalist and very savvy at bluffing his way into situations - or out of them. Taught By Experience / Seen It All - Bobby’s one of the best in the hunting community simply because he’s made it his business to be. He’s encountered monsters very few others have, he’s studied countless texts to find weaknesses nobody else knew about... and he’s closely linked to the Winchesters, who seem to get targeted by all the weirdest things out there. Which he takes as a learning opportunity. It’s not often he actually gets startled by something. Talented But Trained - He’s a very smart man, that’s absolutely certain, but many of his skills are what he’s picked up over a long, rough life, and he’s honed them till they’re sharp as a razor. The Alcoholic / Drowning My Sorrows - He’s turned to alcohol to cope with the horrific things he’s dealt with, from an abusive childhood to killing his possessed wife to the deaths caused because he wasn’t quite quick enough to take down the monster he was hunting. The Kirk - Usually plays this role between cool, logical Sam and hot-headed emotional Dean. Undying Loyalty - Literally, in his case; he takes lethal injuries several times, at least one of which was deliberately self-inflicted, and still keeps trying to help his boys in any way he can. Workaholic - He doesn’t often take a break from working, at least not for very long. Wouldn’t Hurt A Child / Friend To All Children - One of his more likeable traits - after the horrendous upbringing he had, Bobby will go above and beyond to make sure any kids he spends time around feel as safe as possible. He’s gentle, affectionate, and respectful of their thoughts and feelings, especially if their own parents are harsh.

Personal History

Abusive Parents / Alcoholic Parent - Bobby’s father Ed was a drunk who thought nothing of being verbally and physically abusive, punching his wife and regularly taking his belt to his son. By the time Bobby hit his teens, his mother was also blaming him for his dad’s violence. Back From The Dead - Bobby was killed by Lucifer while trying to help buy time for Sam to regain control of his own body. Castiel, newly resurrected himself, brought him back minutes later after the crisis was over. Bobby will occasionally refer to it as “that time I died” or something along those lines. Calling The Old Man Out - He finally snaps and intervenes with a rifle when his father begins beating his mother, demanding Ed leave her alone. When Ed taunts him and threatens to deal with him, Bobby pulls the trigger. Later in life, trapped in a coma, Bobby sees his father again in the memory and confronts him, fiercely claiming to be far better than Ed told him he was. Dead Partner - This applies to a number of Bobby’s old hunting friends who have died over the years, most notably John Winchester, Ellen Harvelle and Rufus Turner, all of whom he had a particular bond with. Deal With The Devil - Technicaly a deal with a demon, but the same principle. When Lucifer is on the verge of triumphing in the bid to start the Apocalypse, Bobby sells - or, technically, pawns - his soul to Crowley for the final key piece of information that gives them a fighting chance. He also regains the ability to walk, though that was more of a generous freebie on Crowley’s part. (Naturally, Crowley does not keep his side of the agreement, and later has to be threatened about it.) Fighting From The Inside - When possessed by a demon trying to kill Dean, Bobby manages to put up enough of a fight to turn the blade on himself. Hero Secret Service - Technically the hunting community could count as this. Although they are not organised and have no authority figures, Bobby is a major persona within the ranks. Only Child Syndrome - With no siblings around, Bobby took the full brunt of his parents’ abuse; he never really understood why, but his mother once hinted that he was too much hard work on his own for them to handle having another kid on top. Survivor Guilt - Regarding pretty much everyone he knows who gets killed. His attitude is always I should have done better.

Romance & Family

Badass Family - Adoptive version; anyone who spends a while around Bobby will absorb some of his personal badassness, even if they are already damn awesome themselves. First Love - Karen, the first woman he ever really loved, and whom he holds a torch for long after her death. Happily Married - With Karen. Until she finds out he doesn’t want to be a father... at which point they have a fight that never gets resolved, because she’s dead three days later. Honorary Uncle - To Sam and Dean as kids, and to most other hunters’ kids he spends any real time around, he was always “Uncle Bobby”. Ho Yay / Foe Yay - He and Crowley clash repeatedly, but all that snark-laden verbal fencing, long looks, moments of real vulnerability around each other... yeah, there’s definitely something going on there. Incompatible Orientation - One of Bobby’s main attempted defences against the attentions of a certain king of Hell. Like A Son To Me / Happily Adopted - Sam and Dean, who he played a large part in raising until their teens. Also counts for any of the other younger people he takes in and becomes a father figure to. Papa Wolf - Don’t mess with his kids. Just don’t. He will hurt you. Parental Substitute - To many of the young people he takes in or keeps an eye out for, particularly those who have had poor experiences with their childhood. He absolutely relishes being able to be a positive figure for a kid who needs it. Stalker With A Crush - This is how he tends to treat Crowley a lot of the time, especially when the demon’s being particularly flirtatious or overly attentive. Team Dad - To... well, pretty much everyone with the age or life experience to be considered a kid in his eyes. This includes the Winchesters, Jo Harvelle, several other hunters around their age, a freaking Vampire Slayer, and Castiel, an actual angel with the social savvy of a very sheltered gerbil.

#headcanons #about bobby #tw: abuse mentions #tw: alcoholism #tw: violence mentions

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blazedroses-archive · 5 years

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under read more are melinda’s halliwells headcanons!!

ok but melinda views phoebe as an evil pre-aiden situation. murdering someone? running away from its crimes? sacrificing everyone to save herself? YIKES!!! coward moves in melinda’s eyes. her entire future ruined because of her mothers half of the family. unfortunately, mel doesn’t get it till she follows into the same footsteps. definitely a no bueno. hates phoebe for setting up the path for darkness since melinda had no control.

PIPER IS A GREAT MOTHER! don’t get me wrong, i know in my main verse, piper is nonexistent in melinda’s life. realistically, in morality bites, it is the only universe piper even considered leaving her child behind. at the end of the day, in canon, phoebe would have never let her. it isn’t piper to abandon her family. she is the heart of the family because piper fights for it. drastic situations cause people to take drastic measures. leaving melinda behind to save her sister? it was difficult, but at least melinda would have her father and phoebe would still be alive if they escaped.

honestly melinda has a really bad habit of just…. speaking out her ass. she doesn’t think and just blurts everything out. truly not her finest quality yikes!!!

melinda loves her bad boys and girls. she loves when they give her trouble and is like severely addicted to them. they’re her weak spot and senses them when they’re like a mile away. it’s what gets her into her sticky situations all the time and like???? yikes terrible dating life.

melinda, due to those great whitelighter abilities, is able to speak multiple languages, both commonly and uncommonly known. it’s definitely comes as a surprise to others when she’s in school and hears people talking shit in a different language due to being related to phoebe halliwell, but ya know, gotta reciprocate that trash talk.

melinda talks a lot with her hands especially when she’s angry. that’s it. thnxs for coming to my ted talk.

melinda knows when she fucks up. she won’t deny or try to hide it. the downside? once she already knows she’s in trouble? she’ll keep on doing it. out pass curfew? looks like she’s staying out. stealing? well, there’s no return. secretly using magic and then getting caught? oh fuckin well!!! truth is, she is self destructive but is super clever when it comes to getting herself out of shitty situations.

elders can go fuck themselves!!! she has and always will hate them. they’re cowards in her books and hid when the witching world needed them the most. when they needed guidance, they vanished. they are useless and the fact she is even part whitelighter is like a punch to the gut because they are a disgrace. ok thanks. plus their rules and moral even during this time are unethical!!!!!!

bisexual mel? YOU BET! boys were typically a means to an end, using them just as a fun time or to occupy her time. with girls? those are some of her best memories and the places she stems her relationship advice from. girls were so affectionate and caring and kind and loving and everything melinda could have asked for in a partner. the reason why those relationships never lasted because of trust issues. melinda knew her girlfriends and aiden weren’t the same but letting her past go was just too hard. it was a buried memory she wanted to keep hidden. plus melinda knew it wasn’t her partners job to fix the toxic mess of herself. it wasn’t their job to stick around when she would self destruct. it was her own problems to deal with and letting them go was the easiest way to keep them safe and happy.

melinda had gotten into some serious trouble crime wise growing up. luckily for her, darryl was ALWAYS there to help weasel her way out of it. the last time she was ever arrested was when a reality check hit her in the face. darryl was told to not let her out per leo’s orders and ended up spending a night in lock up. although it wasn’t terrible, the idea of doing something so terrible that she’d end up in prison for the rest of her life was a NO GO. ever since, mel has tried to be on her best behavior and doesn’t give darryl too much grief with the amount of times he had to put up with her.

in any reality, melinda wasn’t very keen on getting told she was like piper. she never wanted to be anything like her because piper broke her heart in the worst ways possible. it wasn’t like she had DIED and there was closure. in fact, being ALIVE with no contact made everything so much worse. melinda just wanted her mom to play with her hair, give boy advice, protect her, and even tell melinda how much she loved and appreciated her. abandoningyour own child and never looking back? YIKES!!!! a no go in mel’s book and refuses to be anything like that.

mels mother figure is wendy beauchamp ( aka @wouldntdie ). she stepped up to the plate when piper left. the person who tucked her into bed, told all her secrets to, her pride and joy, everything and more. that’s her mother in every way, shape, and form. having piper walk out on her was painful, no doubt about that, but if that hadn’t of happened? wendy wouldn’t be the mother melinda had. she wouldn’t change that for the world.

friendly reminder that mel has five tattoo’s and twelve piercings! the first tattoo she ever got was when she was fifteen. her dad definitely did not know about this and basically, one of her older friends had a tattoo gun and low and behold, that’s when the triquetra tattoo came about on her hipbone - to represent the heritage of magic! leo didn’t find out about it till summer time since it was hidden but when she’d go out swimming in a bathing suit? yeah that was ruined!! did that stop her? nope!! her next tattoo was fairly simple, small flowers and leaves wrapped around her wrist. she was seventeen getting this tattoo and had wendy’s permission with leo slightly against it ( too bad neither girls ever listen to him? ) BLESSED BE on the bridge of her foot written in cursive on her eighteenth birthday, nothing too crazy, it was a little treat to herself. a little after turning twenty, she then got a moon tattoo behind her ear with a minimalist mandala within it and at this point, no one could say jack about what she did. that was the last tattoo melinda got for awhile until a little after jaxon died. she ended up getting the phrase ’in aeternum’ on her rib cage which is latin for ‘to eternity ; forever.’ because to mel? that’s what their love was.moving on to piercings! she has her belly button pierced and a double nose piercing. she actually got this when she was fifteen too and convinced leo into letting her get them…. which they regretted once they found out about her little tattoo scandal. the rest are just ear piercings which mel gradually just ended up getting over time!

if you ever wanna get fucked up, mel is your go to! not only is she the best joint roller ( teen mel just took a huge jump to rock bottom but it’s ok she built herself up again ) and not afraid to ever cook up a batch of pot brownies ( which her family probably ate by mistake a time or hundred ) but the BEST bartender. the second she turned 18, melinda was behind the bar serving drinks, being everyone’s personal therapist to get them through their dramatic bullshit, but all-in-all? there for a good time! it was a natural talent for someone who delved head first into drinking at the age of fourteen and built a fucking tolerance. even before her 21st, melinda would sneak into clubs that never carded. those who personally knew her knew that her id was a fake, but no one ratted her out because she was that chill. bringing pot brownies to share, taking shots, dancing, you name it, melinda patricia halliwell fucking did it. coyote piper? more like coyote melinda because mother like daugher! when she was legally allowed to bar tend, melinda started attending a university to get her bachelors degree as both entrepreneur and engineering and paid for it using her paychecks and tips.

not being able to use her powers literally killed mel. she had no help from anyone, not even her father. melinda learned how to orb and sense on her own in secret. without anyone knowing, she figured out how to connect with those she loved in order for them to remain safe. obviously, mel had to be super careful due to the fact she could get caught. yet, this one? was super sneaky and sly, running under everyone’s radar in order to remain a secret.

aiden really fucked her up. he was the boy she would’ve gone to the end of the world for. the one she would’ve given up her entire family and morals and lifestyle just to be around. melinda was willing to convert completely to dark magic and essentially expose herself in order to keep him in her life due to wanting to be a magical being. they would’ve destroyed the world if they had to. the worst part about him is that even though he was so bad for her, he treated her so perfectly. aiden treated her like a princess, spoiling her with endless gifts and a kindness that wasn’t shared to the public. like she wishes he treated her bad so the pain and sadness wouldn’t of been so bad and she could’ve walked away sooner in the relationship. even after he died, melinda was still so in love with him and it took years for her to realize how toxic aiden truly was. his death was and always will be a pain that she carries in her heart. after his passing, melinda never settled for anyone. she had MAJOR trust issues and the idea of being in a serious relationship was a literal nightmare. never did she think she’d find love again, let alone really wanted to. then when she was 23, melinda met jaxon and everything really changed. he was a military man, no ties to the magic world. she didn’t want to fall for him in fear of being his downfall. he mended her heart in so many ways and taught her how to love again and just opened her up. he was everything the family envisioned for melinda and they truly lived a happy life with their 3 ( 4 but you’ll see in a sec ) kids. when he died during his final tour, it really put a dent into her life. she couldn’t grieve the same way she did for aiden because she had kids to care for and a baby on the way, one that wouldn’t even have the chance to meet her ( 3 girls, 1 boy. we all know this!! ) father. she wanted to keep his memory alive in positive light and the years that they had together were the happiest. aiden damaged her in so many ways, jaxon was truly melinda’s salvation. having a mortal husband kept her tamed in the no magic world!

listen, if piper ever walked back into melinda’s life, honestly? she’d rock her shit. like to abandon her without saying goodbye or even trying to communicate with her really messed melinda up. all she wanted was her mother and at her worst times, piper wasn’t there. her mother chose her sisters over her own daughter and that was a hard concept for melinda to come to terms with. she doesn’t have it in her to forgive piper, phoebe, or prue. it is too painful to even consider letting that possible heartbreak from happening again. even though melinda’s last name is halliwell, she’ll introduce herself as melinda patricia wyatt because her father? yeah, that’s her hero in every shape and form. wendy? stepping up and being a mom? yeah, that’s her mother in every shape and form as well. a halliwell by blood, a beauchamp-wyatt by choice.

#* ✦ ⋆ ˚ ❪ MELINDA HALLIWELL. ❫ — dossier.#i have so many #i wouldnt be able to post separately

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warsbled · 5 years

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under the read more are headcanons for melinda halliwell !!

under read more are melinda’s halliwells headcanons!!

honestly melinda has a really bad habit of just…. speaking out her ass. she doesn’t think and just blurts everything out. truly not her finest quality yikes!!!

melinda talks a lot with her hands especially when she’s angry. that’s it. thnxs for coming to my ted talk.

#* ✦ ╰ melinda halliwell — dossier !

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