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writing-the-end · 3 years

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LoL Chapter 55- Hell’s Chosen

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits discover a dark past to their paladin knight, does this change their perspective of him, or will it save their unlikely ally?

Warning: Some description of wounds (i think)

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All eyes were on Wels. Very few had a look of knowledge. TFC, for one. But Tango’s visible confusion gives way to a much softer, quieter version of the hellfire wizard. “Helsknight? You mean the marauder from years ago? But he died.”

“You’re right, he did. And I killed him. I buried him so deep inside me, and vowed to do whatever I could to be a better man. When Helsknight died, Welsknight was born.” Wels’s fingers are tight in the bloodstained fabric, knuckles turned white as he’s forced to relive, to speak of his dark past.

“No no no no. You’re joking, right?” Doc shakes his head. Even he feared Hell’s chosen knight. Wels can’t possibly be that same person. Wels, a quiet, collected paladin with the heart of gold and courage of a lion. “I mean...no one ever told the story of Helsknight with a tail.”

“Less limbs to get cut off if it’s protected by armor.” Wels points out, flicking the lionesque tail. “You want proof? What was the last time anyone ever saw Helsknight?”

Doc cocks an eyebrow, then waves his hand. “Hels and his band of bad guys attacked one of Ventus’s- the God of Judgement- temples. But the attempt was failed, and Helsknight himself was left behind as he bled out...from his neck…”

The entire group stares as the scar that Wels reveals, running from his collar to his clavicle. TFC doesn’t stare like the others. He’s known all of this the whole time. Tango shakes his head. “But you’re nothing like Helsknight. He murdered and killed for fun, to cause chaos and bring hell onto Lairyon. Wels, you’re…”

“A changed man. Just like Apatia can be- if you give him the chance. Like the woman who healed me did, like X and TFC. Tango, if you don’t let Apatia give his chance to change and rectify what he can, then you can’t let me be any different. You can’t be a hypocrite and pick and choose.” From between Wels and Tango, Apatia groans. The blood has stopped, Ren’s work healing leaving a sloppy open wound behind.

Apatia was pale, paler than he already was. Almost the same color as Grian, as the latter continues to recuperate from the torture he faced. But unlike Grian’s shallow, soft breaths, Apatia’s runs ragged and harsh. His jaws are clenched, fighting off the pain. With the remaining bandages and healing salve, Wels wraps up the stump of Apatia’s tail fin.

Tango and Doc are still quiet, trying to comprehend the news that’s been delivered to them. It all makes sense, but their eads still struggle to put the two completely different personas together. As if they’re different people all together.

Everyone knows who Helsknight is- was. He appeared as if from nowhere, like a demon spawned straight from hell. And immediately, he began reeking havoc. His band of villains attacked and raided. They were more than just some lowly bandits, or even a mafia. Helsknight was a villain, killing without mercy, without remorse, and without discretion. It wasn’t until their botched attack on that temple that ended the reign of terror that Hell’s chosen knight left on Lairyon. Just as quickly as Helsknight appeared, he faded into nightmares and horror story. Kids were told to watch out for the knight with one eye, because he’d pluck out their own to replace his.

But Welsknight? He’s calm and collected, if a bit snarky. Even when battling even the husks, he always hesitates to strike a killing blow if there’s a potential to save the life instead. Wels is jovial, and a great baker, and tells great stories. Sure, he’s a great knight, but Tango once saw Wels cry over a dead fish he found at the beach. He’s a paladin, not a barbarian.

Helsknight supposedly died years ago. Welsknight joined the hermits a few years back. Though there’s a span of time in between the day Lairyon celebrated the defeat of Hels and Wels following TFC back to Eremita, it begins to all make sense. There's a reason why Wels never talks about his past. Never visits home. Never explains how he got many of his scars.

Like puzzle pieces, it all falls together and paints a picture. Doc’s jaw clenches. As much as he hates to say it, or even think it, Wels is right. If a monster like Hels can become the man before Doc today, then maybe, just maybe , theres hope for Apatia.

So long as he lives. The hermits are so focused on Apatia, their argument on whether he should live or die, no one notices Grian rouse from the darkness that still grips him. No one noticed the sky open up, both in Grian’s eyes and the sky beyond the windows. No one notices him weakly clamber out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face, and walking over to join them in the group.

“What are we on about?” Even when he speaks up, the other hermits are so used to his voice that it hardly registers.

“Welsknight was once helsknight, and whether we should save Apatia’s life or not.” Tango shrugs, his red eyes glaring down at Apatia with distaste. He still hates the man, but at the same time… they’re supposed to be the heroes.

“As your resident healer, I think we should. But...I’m not sure why he’s here in the first place.” Ren looks up, realizing who is speaking, and scoops Grian into his arms. His tail wags loud and heavy, banging against the other hermits with every oscillation.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, my dude!” Ren only sets Grian down when TFC reminds him that Grian is still working towards regaining his life, his color. He’s still slightly unsaturated, his skin missing the tint of pink, the red of his robest boarding the color of dried blood. Ren sets Grian back on the bed, trying to force the angel to rest. But now that Grian’s awake, he’s ready to cause trouble and start his day- even though he has no clue what time it is.

“What’s going on? I...I don’t remember much. When did you guys save me? Why is Apatia here? How did you find me?” The questions fall like rain in a storm, impossible for the hermits to catch every last drop.

It’s TFC that manages to slow the downpour. “Hold on, hold on Grian. Why don’t we start from the beginning? We’ll fill you in on everything, in time.”

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

All the hermits, once again under the safe canopy of the massive oak tree in their guild hall. Grian is wrapped in a warm, soft blanket- knitted by Stress- and a mug of warm apple cider rests in between his pale hands. “I can’t believe you guys came for me.”

“Of course we were gonna save you, Grian.” Scar practically laughs at the mere idea of leaving him behind. But for Grian, who’s been kicked out of so many guilds for his troublemaking, it really shows how much they care.

A rumble of agreements follow, and after a few more minutes of quiet comforting, it’s Grian himself that changes the subject. “Dolios is getting more powerful by the minute. I could feel all the energy flowing through those leylines, into him and that monster, Eurynomos. We can’t delay this any longer. Dolios has to go down.”

“But we don’t even know how. We can destroy as many crystals as we want, but he’ll just keep making more. He has more power than a bunch of lowly mercenaries. He even beat Apatia, one of his own Councilmembers. One of the strongest guildmasters in all of Lairyon.” BDubs points out. Everyone goes silent as they remember the man in their infirmary. The stranger- he’s not a hermit, yet he’s among them.

Grian looks up, pale face and hollowed eyes alarming for the hermits. He hardly looks to be among the living, but less like a dead man walking like he was before. “Xisuma, your brother mentioned something about the ancient ones. DO you think there could be a clue for us there? In the past?”

X sighs, leaning back in his chair as he considers the question. “If the answer to ending Dolios’s dark reign truly lies in the past, then we’d have better luck finding the answer ourselves. Thousands of years, eroded by time, by kingdoms and cultures rising and falling, not to mention the disappearance of the ancient ones. There’s a reason ancient magic is dead- because none of the books teaching it survived.”

“There’s one person we know who has studied the ancient ones for years.” Joe’s voice cuts through the crowd, looking around. Every other hermit is lost and confused, but Joe can see the mixed emotions raging in Xisuma’s eyes. “Besides Ex can take care of the island, of Apatia while we’re searching.”

“Ex chose to leave Eremita. Why in gods’s names would he want to come back, to help us?” X growls.

“Because he’s your brother. He helped us save Doc. He’s been helping us, helping all of Lairyon- in his own weird, Ex way. He’s not the villain here, he’s your brother.”

X clenches his jaw. The scar over his eye burns at the memory of their fight. The words he said to his brother, and the worst responded in kind. Xisuma still received letters from Ex, but he only opened them when Cleo’s cider had clouded his better judgement. And he never responded.

But he also remembers the moment, after years estranged, he laid eyes upon his twin brother, crammed into the bookstore he was running. The moment of relief, of happiness to see Ex alive and well. Their identical faces, like mirror images of one another. His hair pure white, like the bright sun in the sky. Even now Xisuma remembers how often he’d complain he could always find Ex hairs on his clothes.

And that Ex helped them save Doc. All these years fighting, Xisuma can’t believe he’s going to be the one to concede defeat. But for the fate of Lairyon, he guesses he has to. He pulls off his mask, turning it over in his hands, running a thumb over the scratched out symbol. He swallows his pride, and stands. “I’ll get the letter to Phoebe. What’s one more stranger to the island?”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #wizard hermits #light of lairyon #hermitcraft fanfic #wizard au #lol #wizard wels #welsknight #wizard Tango #tangotek #wizard doc #docm77 #wizard xisuma #xisumavoid

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umaficwriter · 3 years

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SOUVENIR IS AMONG US!

KALIJAH SMUT DARINGS!

I was feeling like shit and started this weeks ago, finally came to finish it and kinda don’t give a damn about how it turned out, still, hope you like it!

You can read it on AO3 or FFNET or even, down below this lovely gifs.

The light breeze of a New York’ spring night passed through Katherine mahogany curly strands as she admired Jane and Greenwich street down ten floors below. She engulfed a full breath, filling her lungs with the not so clear night air, cigarette smoke coming from the party on full swing behind her.

The balcony was empty. She had compelled anyone that came in her direction away, so it would stay that way.

Finally, Katherine Pierce had piece of mind.

She had run for so long, firstly from her past in Bulgaria, then from Klaus and all that his figure entailed, then she ran from him when he found her. And then she had made her escape when he failed her once again.

Elijah Mikaelson.

Not her biggest mistake, nor regret, but close enough to discomfort to make chills arouse in her body when she recalled his figure. His suits represented an armor she once thought she would be able to penetrate. Oh, was she wrong.

For he could never be truly hers.

Elijah was like an expensive gift you bought someone, just to regret later you gave it away when in fact you wanted it to yourself, when on his part. he seemed to consider her, them a disposable souvenir.

New York back in August, tenth floor balcony Smoke is floating over Jane and Greenwich street

Katherine leaned over the steel railing, aiming her vision to the busy Big Apple streets. Her heightened senses catching the environment around her. The faint smell of putrid trash from the alley couple blocks away, the blinding headlights of cars so tiny from where she stood. The wind picking up the hairs on her arms, giving her body an enjoyable hum. The cigarette smoke entering the balcony from the lounge party behind her, the smell of sweat and sex lingering in the air coming from the humans inside the giant apartment that wasn’t hers.

She should go back down to hell; she was its Queen after all. Mystic Falls people had been so naïve believing she would die after the tunnels caught fire…

She was Katherine Pierce, a survivor, of the upscale kind, caring for her life, being it as a vampire or otherwise.

She had woken up, without Stefan, completely naked in the throne that had been hers for sometime now.

A smile had creeped itself on her features, her limbs stretching as if she was a sated cat after a long afternoon nap.

Since then, she had given up on tormenting that filthy gang. Stefan was truly dead, although not in Hell, for Katherine’s dismay. She wished she could enslave him for eternity, albeit looked like it wouldn’t happen.

Shrugging, Katherine looked over her shoulder to the gathering inside the condo. She didn’t know anyone there, as expected, she didn’t live in this world anymore. She was just passing by the human land, and soon enough, she would go back to Hell to ruin her tormenting souls even more.

Another strong breeze floated the NYC night, and that was when she felt it.

At first, only a discomfort in the pit of her stomach, similar of when she was being followed, or observed. Case being the latter tonight.

Goosebumps from your wild eyes when they're watchin' me

The smell the wind brought was rich blood, expensive cologne, leather from Italian shoes, moving in her direction.

Her unliving heartbeat scaled, for she knew very well whom was walking inside the recently opened balcony glass’ doors, bringing the blasting music to her ears.

Katherine didn’t dare uttering words, she maintained her position as the man closed the doors behind him, muffling the sound from the party once more.

Was he to think she was her doppelganger?

Katherine would prefer he did not make that mistake. She also knew he would not.

His presence was enough to make shivers run down her spine. Katherine wasn’t fazed by what they had in the past. She had decided to bury those feelings deep inside, still he awoke a brutal wave of desire inside her. And as a supernatural creature, her emotions were as heightened as of a vampire, if not more, considering she fed from souls as well as blood. The latter just for reminiscing the thrill of the hunt.

Shivers dance down my spine and head down to my feet

The hot night wind picked up her skin and she hugged herself, running her hands through her arms, before directing her speech at him.

“The noble, family-oriented brother so far from home. I wonder why is that?” her voice was laced with sarcasm, although Elijah picked up a faint tone of hurting. He couldn’t blame her.

After Niklaus’ death, Elijah had bid his family goodbye and decided against settling in New Orleans. Marcel had claimed his throne back, for being king had never been Elijah’s call.

Hope was attending the Salvatore Boarding School and he didn’t see the need to disturb his niece education, still he visited her and even took her to vacations when the time called for it.

Elijah had chosen traveling the world instead, although always coming back to the US for his supernatural business, New York to be precise.

The city always brought good memories into his troubled mind.

It reminded him of the second woman he had loved. So deeply, her name remained engraved in his heart and soul.

Elijah was aware he didn’t have any right to claim her, nor search for Katerina, so he had not.

He had talked to Alaric once about her whereabouts and it was then he had discovered of her last attempt in destroying them. They believed she had died in the fire.

Elijah never had.

She hadn’t the first time in 1864, she wouldn’t have this time around.

Still, imagine his surprise when he caught her silhouette in the veranda at a party one of his associates was throwing.

He wasn’t to attend, he never did. Petty, unimportant things he would justify. Except, this night he was strangely bored by his usual book and wine program, hence his presence.

Elijah couldn’t say he regretted it.

From the moment he walked into the large apartment, loud music and abusive expanse of drugs had surrounded him. The Original had gone to the bar and ordered various doses of whiskey, before his business subordinate had found him, urging him to mingle around the gathering, and have a proper drink.

Elijah had bled various wrists inside his glass, being slightly intoxicated by substances within the blood he fed from.

And that was when he saw her.

Alone over the balcony, her slender body hugged by a lace black dress, her hair in soft waves adorning her stance and stopping over the middle of her spine.

That was, without a shadow of doubt, Katerina Petrova.

“Niklaus is dead,”

“I know,” she turned around to finally face him. “Lucifer fed from his soul,” Elijah saw the faintest of smiles quirking over her lips.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I assure you, he doesn’t remember who he is, so it’s no fun torture him,” she justified, for she knew that was what he wanted to know. “Although, he deserves it anyway, for everything he caused me,”

Elijah looked down at his expensive shinny shoes.

“Apologies are never going to fix that,”

“No, they won’t,” agreed the brunette woman.

“And what you’ve been up to?” the trivial question floated from the man’s mouth as he moved beside her and leaned his back over the steel banister.

Katherine mirrored his position with her wine glass in hand and almost scoffed with his bluntness. It was clear he already knew what she had been up to.

“You already know, skip the small talk, what is it you want from me?” she questioned before downing the last of her drink, setting her glass over the nearest surface. “I mean, aside from everything you’ve already taken, obviously,”

He deserved that; he also would take it.

“I’ve got word you’ve been ruling over Hell, although I was never certain of the veracity in this tête-a-tête,”

She rolled her eyes. Elijah was much smarter than that.

“You want to know about my line of work?” she asked a little taken aback, after all, what kind of mundane questioning was that?

“Well, you don’t seem too keen talking about our past, do you, Katerina?” he glanced at her from the corner of his eyes.

She gave him that credit.

He wanted a civil conversation? She could do that.

“I feed from blood just for the rush of it, although what I really need, all inhabitants from Hell for that matter, to survive is: souls.”

He nodded in understandment. “Any soul?”

Katherine shook her head “Supernatural souls,”

The pair didn’t utter a word for a little while.

“How’s your life without your brother?” she questioned. For anyone knowing their history, would claim she was only being cruel. Maybe a little bit yes, but Katherine really wanted to know how he felt.

Maybe she refused her devoted heart from breaking, but she still held Elijah dear. The Petrova only had a different way of showing it.

“Never thought life could be this calm,” he honestly answered, a ghost of a smile dancing in his features.

She smiled and turned her face at him.

“Do you miss him?” she already knew the answer, still she couldn’t avoid it from going out there.

“You already know the answer to that, Katerina,”

“True,”

“At first, I couldn’t stop thinking about him,” Elijah prompted and crossed his arms and legs in front of him. “but then, time has passed, and grief ran its course…” he paused “now he’s a pleasant and hurtful memory,”

“Just as me, I presume?”

He turned his upper body at her, unfolding his arms and passing his hands through his short brown hair.

“Just as you were half an hour ago,” he confirmed.

“You really did give up on us, didn’t you?”

He let out a heavy shudder “I couldn’t promise you anything, they’re were broken words, like stiches. It was shattered glass we could not put back together to perfection, so I let you be,” she didn’t turn her head back at him. “I’ve never forgotten about you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You never came to say goodbye,” he didn’t respond to that “you know, Damon showed me a version of you with me, when I was in my deathbed, then you dissipated into his face and he promised he would kill you,”

“I’d like to see him try,”

“He’s human now,”

Elijah seemed surprised in hearing that piece of news; Alaric had never mentioned that, also he had never asked.

He turned to face the sky and the street ten floors down, she didn’t mirror his posture this time.

“What should I call you? To summon you.”

She let out a chuckle.

“That’s not how it works, Elijah,”

His name floating from her lips, made him aim his looks at her and smirk in amusement.

“You didn’t respond me, what is it Katherine and Katerina do?”

The woman looked down at her Jimmy Choos’ and folded her arms in front of her lace covered chest.

“Katherine rules Hell with iron fists, has no mercy whatsoever, never had, but when she comes up to the land of the living, she drinks nice wine, walks long distances…”

“What about Katerina?”

“She cooks,” they both smiled at that “and read lots of romance novels that remind her of what she never had,”

“You did have love,”

“You, then Stefan, then you again,” she pointed out unfolding her arms and counting on her fingers to emphasize. “and look how that turned out,”

Elijah looked away back into the beautiful night.

“What is it you want, Elijah?” it was her turn to question.

“Right at this moment?”

She turned her head in his direction. His eyes were locked with hers, his nose almost touching hers, his breath dancing in her face.

“Yes,” she whispered looking down through her lashes, just to look inside his eyes once more.

“You,” he whispered back and didn’t gave her time to refuse him as he advanced his lips to touch hers in a long kiss.

Katherine’s arms wrapped around his shoulders as their kiss deepened, his tongue invaded her mouth in a ferrous battle while his arms circled her waist in a vice grip, bringing her closer with nothing in between them aside from their clothes.

Elijah let out a groan when she bit his lower lip hard making it bleed, which she latched on looking up at him through her long lashes. He hissed and used one of his hands to grip the rail when she descended one of hers to the front of his trousers, fondling his half-hard member.

“Katerina,” he nibbled on her earlobe, while he moved her hand. His whisper sounding needy, and that was what he was indeed.

Elijah moved his mouth to her neck descending to the feminine jaw, ‘till he reached her plump lips again, but Katherine had other plans in mind.

The brunette woman pushed him away, until his back hit the far corner of the veranda. Elijah new what was to come. Usually, he would give her pleasure first, but she looked irrefutable into having him the way she wanted.

Katherine unzipped his slacks while attacking his mouth, his hands gliding along her slim arms, arousing modest shudders from her.

You're giving me chills at a hundred degrees

She separated herself from his mouth and descended her body, kneeling in front of him. Freeing his length from its cloth prison, Katherine looked up at him and smirked deviously.

“Now you’ve summoned me, I must show you the extent of my abilities,”

Elijah smirked back at her, and it transformed into a board smile when he felt her hot mouth on him.

Her lips surrounding his penis felt amazing. Her skilled tongue swirling around him, making him murmur with excitement, while she bobbed her head making him harder than he was before.

His member pulsating inside her mouth made Katherine heart beat faster, he was delicious, and the sensations she was causing him, the sounds he was making as he slowly let himself relax, encouraged her to suck him harder and faster.

Her mouth left his member, as Elijah grabbed the back of her head, moving her face away from his lower region and bringing her to him, to engulf her in a passionate kiss.

Elijah spun her around and made her sit on the steel railing. With a swift move, he moved her panties away and ran his fingers through her folds, feeling how ready she was, he inserted two fingers, while she gripped his suit clad arms with such force Elijah didn’t know if it would heal as fast as it should.

The Original kept his slow pace, and when he felt her walls clenching his digits, he removed them from her, receiving a disapproving wail.

Katherine reopened her eyes only to close them shut, as Elijah replaced his fingers for his engorged shaft, filling her up with a strong thrust.

“Oh God!” she proclaimed and held his shoulders tighter.

“If saying that was wrong before, I can’t imagine how much more it is now,” he mocked as he kissed her neck and Katherine smirked, sighing as he moved almost all out of her, just to pump back in with another hard thrust.

She guided her mouth to his neck and moved his shirt collar away, biting him hard, while he started moving frenetic into her, searching their deliverance.

As their breathing shallowed signalizing their approaching climax, Elijah moved them to the glass doors.

Neither giving a damn about someone watching them.

Katherine’s back hit the surface hard, while she let out a moan appreciating the pain and feeling Elijah’s penis never leaving her aching core.

The man stopped his pace and observed the woman in his arms.

Her chest moving up and down, her face flushed and her lower lip between her teeth.

Katherine opened her doe orbs and looked straight into his.

All sounds dulled around. Her blood pumped hard against her hot skin.

“Tell me what you want,” he prompted in a throaty whisper, his whiskey-blood-laced breath hitting her face, his words transforming her insides into puddle.

She smirked and leaned her head ‘till her mouth touched his earlobe, pulling it with her teeth.

“I want you to finish what you started and fuck m-“

Elijah thrusted deep while Katherine swallowed her words.

An almost animalistic groan left her lips while he continuedly kept going, the hot friction creating a delicious sensation, building more and more, until the stars in the night sky mingled with the ones behind her closed eyelids.

Katherine didn’t speak his name when she came, although he whispered hers in a prayer to the devil herself.

His seed ran down her thighs as he collected himself and helped her lower her dress.

Neither elaborating on what had just happened.

Calling your name, the only language I can speak Taking my breath, a souvenir that you can keep

They met again two months later.

Mid October’ sundown shone beautifully over New York skyline while Katherine Pierce sashayed into the luxurious hotel lobby.

Elijah had invited her into his apartment in the 5th avenue, although the she-devil wanted to keep things carnal only, and frequent his place was opposite to that.

So, she had suggested a random hotel.

Knowing full well he would choose the one they’d stayed when looking for the Cure a lifetime ago.

Sunset tower lobby, waiting there for me

And there he stood.

In all his glorified tailoress. Armani suit, combed back hair, elegant and subtle. Not giving away what was about to happen a few floors up in just a couple instants.

At the sound of high heels on the marble floors, Elijah looked up, smiling at the figure approaching.

He was hopeful she would come, as a good serve he waited so. Although regarding the possibility she could not.

Fortunately, he had been wrong.

They don’t greet using words, but he ghosts a hand on the small of her back, as he guided them to the elevator. Her hand grazes his upper thigh when they enter the gold metal box, he stands behind her, hovering over his new favorite thing in the world.

Guess she always has been, he only had just remembered one of the reasons why.

Katherine waits for the elevator to shut its double doors, before turning her neck to look over her shoulder, encountering his face inches from hers.

She smirks with the proximity that wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.

She leans up and captures his lips with hers in a sensual kiss. Her tongue darts out to touch his and that’s when Elijah moves them to the lift’s wall, his hands multiplying as he tried and touch her every inch at the same time.

Katherine’s head hangs back as he explores her neck with his mouth, only a hint of his fangs coming out to play and that pulls a moan from her throat.

When the transport dings its destination, he reluctantly breaks their contact, and lets her out into the presidential floor first.

In the elevator, fumble for your key Kissed in every corner, Presidential Suite

Opened a Bordeaux from 1993

When Elijah opens up the room’s door, contrary of what Katherine thought, he does’t jump right back at where they left.

He aims his steps to the light’ switch and dims it, leaving the room in a comfortable yellow glow.

Outside the twilight shows itself purple and orange, subtly letting the night in.

Elijah goes for the glass’ center table, and only then she notices the wine bottle as well as two glasses siting there.

He had thought everything through then, huh?

What did he think this was?

A reconciliation encounter?

Even with those questions inside her head, she collected her tongue and accepted the wine glass when he offered it to her.

“My favorite,” she quips after tasting the grape fermented juice.

He sheepishly smiles at her , downing his own drink.

Putting her glass aside, she goes to him. Her walk purposeful, her heeled feet tapping on the hardwood floors, her hips swaying, and Elijah appreciates the sight.

Elijah deposits his glass by the side table and backings until he reaches the king sized bed.

“And now what?” he quips, his voice low and husky as he leans back, sitting on the mattress, his chin up high to face her standing figure.

“I though you had it all figured out, my Lord,” she taunts, tilting her head and smirking at him.

Elijah chuckles and meets her cockiness.

“Oh, but I do,”

Katherine’s eyes go wide, her lips forming an ‘o’.

“Is that so?” she pushes and leans herself forward, her hands gripping his parted knees.

Elijah’ smile doesn’t leave his face as he contemplates her mannerisms.

Katherine’s face is closer now, her wine hot breath blows on his face, as he looks through his lashes at her plump lips.

How he missed touching her.

But he lets her have her fun, looking back into her cocoa orbs.

Like a cat she’s slow on her actions, calculating every slight move while she climbs in bed straddling his thighs.

Her eyes never leave his and their wordless communication turns her on just as much as his touch.

Speaking of, why wasn’t he?

“Afraid I’m gonna burn you?”

“If anything is I who burns for you, Katerina,” he justifies, his head going to the hollow of her neck and shoulder, grazing his teeth there.

She hisses with the caress and her hands travel from his knees to his shoulders, moving his suit jacket away from his frame.

With his tongue darting out to taste her neck, Elijah whispers in her ear

“Delicious just as the forbidden fruit,”

“Rich, since you’re tasting the devil herself,”

He chuckles again and takes a yelp out of her sinking his fangs deep into her flesh and vamp speeding them to the nearest wall.

The coherence escapes the doppelganger as the sensations of shared blood curse through her body.

Her legs are wrapped strongly around her lover’s waist and his member is pressing between her jean-clad legs, and it feels like heaven, more so when unconsciously, Elijah starts to thrust forward into her.

“Oh, yes…” her breath is caught up her windpipe.

The sharp nails tinted black she possesses go to his man shirt and tear the fabric apart to find his bare back and scratch it with will.

His groan as he moves his head from her jugular is guttural and makes her chill in excitement.

Elijah’s fangs are out, his lips red from her blood and the veins around his eyes are prominent.

He’s the beast she wants and when she goes to kiss him, he trumps her, enveloping them in a bruising lip locking.

The Original dismisses her jacket and blouse like rag, although leaves her bra on, vamp speeding them back to bed, throwing her over the soft surface.

Katherine gets rid of her jeans and boots as the man does the same with his garments, leaving only his boxers on.

If she was to be the she-devil, he certainly was a Greek God.

Elijah’s body was built, strong and as his fangs subsided, his beauty screamed old world elegance, even more so alluring with his bloody face.

He’s standing at the foot of the bed, staring at her hungrily, his chocolate irises almost didn’t show such was his lust.

Katherine knew better than thinking her eyes were any different.

She knelt over the bed. Her hair tousled, lips parted, black lace adorning her flawless body.

Neither moved further.

It was a battle of sorts.

Who would give in first?

Katherine didn’t like losing.

Although she despised wasting time.

And thinking of that she makes her crawling to him.

A hunting peer.

She was the beast now.

Her lips reach for him.

She kisses his navel, going up to his stomach as she feels his muscles contracting there. She looks up and Elijah has his eyes half opened, trying to fight the urge to let it completely go.

Katherine giggles mischievously and ascends her kisses to his nipples, as he finally touches her again.

His hands going directly to her breasts and squeezing them through the fabric of her bra.

Katherine’s nose is nuzzling his jaw as she hums her approval. The wetness of her tongue darts out to taste her dried blood of his face, her hands running through his hair while she pulls that back, making his neck available for her to taste.

And drink.

And as she laps her tongue, filling her body with rich Original blood, Elijah moves her panties out of the way, inserting a long digit inside of her.

Katherine stops her feeding to moan into his neck while he joins another finger in.

“Don’t stop…” she pleads and he has no intention to whatsoever.

Just as expertly, her skilled hands take his briefs off the way, the heat of her palm in contact with his erect shaft.

Elijah lets out a grunt while moving his ministrations in her pussy faster, seeking her release just as she does his.

The scene was sensual, erotic in its maximum, the blood she spills when she comes with a loud wail runs down his neck and chest, just as her juices travel down his hand and wrist.

She’s panting, in her mind only his face and form.

With a strong tug, the eldest vampire alive takes off her bra, throwing the material carelessly behind him and pushes his Katerina down onto the now stained red sheets, as his head and lips descend on her hard nipples.

He plays with them, biting and soothing it after with a blow, making her writhe beneath him.

“Lijah…” she implored.

But for what?

For him to make her cum again?

For the Original vampire to let her go?

Was she begging for release? Of what kind?

Katherine liked to think herself headstrong, but when he touched her like this, doing what only he knew how and for how long and how intense, she couldn’t straight her thoughts. Every pierce of knowledge she knew of flew through the window and the only thing left were the increasing sensations.

She didn’t know how to love anymore.

For if she did, this would be their lovemaking.

As it always has been.

Although, Elijah certainly awakened something inside her being.

Something he knew how to tame.

Calling your name, the only language I can speak Taking my breath, a souvenir that you can keep

Slowly letting her flesh mounds go, Elijah trailed down kisses until he was facing her wet entrance.

Katherine’ soft gasps echoed around the room as the man sucked her clit and gripped her thighs so forcefully, restraining himself from devouring her in one go.

Teeth grazed sensible skin and his breath oh so close washed away every curse she had in mind to praise him.

The woman could only make wonderful sounds as she moved her hips in encounter with his face.

“So sinfully divine,” he complimented, shifting his position to kiss her inner thighs not allowing her to come a second time.

“Says the saint,” ironized the girl her hands up gripping the sheets, her boobs moving with her heavy breathing.

Elijah chuckled in response.

“Am not. Regardless, Katerina let me blessedly cherish you just as such,” a raised eyebrow and a light lift of his lips, as well as those chocolate irises were all Katherine had time to process, before he was plugged to her, filling her to the hilt.

Her surprised shriek, followed by a whisper of his name fueled Elijah to take himself all out and thrust with no mercy once again.

“Fuck! Yes!” she exclaimed closing her eyes with the wonderous building up sensation growing on her lower abdomen. Circling her legs around his middle, draping her arms over his shoulders, Katherine moved her hips in encounter to his.

Male hands were everywhere as he fucked her deep. His mane being tousled by her fingers as she grunted in his ear.

“You’re such an obedient subject,” she played with the words, nibbling his earlobe as their bodies shook with the force of their bang.

He moved his head from her neck to look at her, a glimmer shinning in his beautiful eyes, as he moved her away from him.

Katherine was to open her mouth in protest, only a moan came instead when he palmed her pussy and flipped her on her stomach.

“However, I might cherish you the way I choose to,” the sultry velvet pouring out of his mouth, as well as his fingers assaulting her labia were enough to make her body shudder in a second orgasm.

Katherine was almost begging for him to enter her again.

Almost.

She bit her lower lip and enjoyed as he so subtly ran the tip of his penis along her entrance.

“Enough teasing,” she commanded after an instant, albeit her body moved back and forth to try and get him inside of her.

“And what do you want me to do, Katerina?”

Maybe she should be preoccupied this man could replace her as the devil, he certainly knew about torture.

On her hands and knees she turned her head back, her long curly hair slapping the bed, and watched the precum dripping from him.

Tempting.

“You’re gonna fuck me, with that gorgeous cock of your-“

Her hands automatically sought the wooden headboard as the vampire reentered her from behind efficiently.

A ragged breathy moan accompanied by a wave of pleasure shook the doppelganger as he deliberately inserted himself in and out of her.

His hands firm on her waist guiding her to the rhythm of his groaning.

“Katerina,” he loudly whispered seeking them both their ultimate bliss.

The sound of his palm colliding with her buttchecks made her yelp in surprise and laugh in delight.

She always liked it rough and Elijah knew it. That was exactly why he full fisted pulled her hair back as he increased the speed of his thrusts.

“Say that I fuck you like no one else does,”

She closed her eyes when his breath hit her ear. A wide cat smile appearing on her features when he enveloped her neck in his hand, aiming for lightly choking her while still moving, only slower now.

“Like you needed the reassurance,” she shot back with a groan when he went deeper.

Elijah smiled closing his hand tighter around her slim neck.

“I want to hear you say it,” he prompted taking his member almost all off and going in slapping their bodies together.

“Yes!” she chocked hanging her head back.

Elijah felt her walls clenching around him, so he retreated himself letting his fangs come out once again.

Katherine moaned in pleasure when his vampire teeth sank on her shoulder, his moves slow and languid.

This was to be the most amazing torture out there.

She wanted to let go, although without ever leave.

“Harder,” her command was clear and he bit her deeper on her shoulder.

“Faster!” she pleaded against her better judgment and felt his balls hitting on her pussy.

It was animalistic the way he was having her. Devouring her in all ways he could. Mind, body and soul.

He didn’t know if he would have her again, so he would prolong it the best he could.

“Say it, Katerina,” he quipped blowing on her ear, the blood dripping from his fangs on her glistening bare back.

Her mouth formed an arch in bliss with his never stopping but oh so slow moves.

“You have me like nobody else does,” she whispered in surrender, feminine hands back at the headboard, while his traveled back down from her neck to her waist.

“Now, I shall the devil to heaven,”

She laughed while he sank himself deep and hard into her wet inviting hole.

Their juices mixing as they both watched the lights dancing in front of their eyes.

Katherine came first in a trembling cry, her curly head hanging low as she felt Elijah cock explode inside of her.

You're giving me chills at a hundred degrees

Her body felt like the sun kissed it as they both laid spent between the blood smeared sheets.

Elijah had the sweetest of smiles, as if he hasn’t been the most pervert beast only a couple minutes prior.

Her hair was plastered on her sweated forehead and the man beside her moved his thumb to take it away from her face.

Katherine offered him a sated smile and wrapped her leg around him.

“What would you say about becoming my sex slave?”

Elijah laughed with that and leaned to bless her lips with his in a brief kiss.

“I would say you need to test drive the vassal again,” his voice sensual as they locked eyes and a smile appeared in her own face.

“Just to be sure I made a good deal?”

He nodded in agreement his hand traveling the side of her body, his fingers featherlight on the side of her breasts as he thrusted his hip into hers.

Katherine’s hands went to his short hair.

“Just to be sure,” he finally said sinking his head down for another kiss.

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peninkwrites · 3 years

Text

In Which Punz Never Shows

An alternative to another sad fic no one asked for

with another sad alternative to go with it

(basically I kill Tubbo and Tommy doesn’t get away. Major Character death warning and many suicidal thoughts)

Crossposted to ao3

“I’m the hero of this goddamn story, [Dream]! And the hero gets the reward!”

“No, [Tommy], the hero pays the price”

-Adapted from The Magicians, Lev Grossman

Tommy is untethered. His reality feels blurred around the edges, but maybe that’s easier than the agony awaiting him. He slit his throat. Tubbo bled out in your arms. He’s dead. His corpse is beside you and you are alone with Dream. Tommy didn’t look at the body. He just stared at the cold stone beneath him. He’s exhausted, but he hasn’t stopped resisting.

“P-Please don’t make me leave him. Please, I can’t leave him alone down here,” Tommy stumbles back sharply when Dream takes a step forward, pleading like it would make a difference, voice trembling with messy, hysterical sobs and Dream shows no pity.

Dream looks so amused, maybe faint irritation as Tommy continued to protest.

“It was funny the first few times. Just get up. I know you don’t really want me to leave you down here with him.” Dream laughs, “I mean, imagine the smell.”

Tommy’s anger wakes up. Blood still dripping into his eyes, his knees cold and aching against the stone, and he still gets up one more time. Dream, rather than angered, seems delighted. Tommy lunges forward, grappling with the axe, thinking if he can just get it out of his hands, he can bash in Dream’s skull through his armor, he can keep fighting until Dream finally has to kill him.

Dream shoves him away easily. Tommy trips backwards over something, hitting the ground hard. Tommy’s anger gets caught in his throat, his legs tangled on top of Tubbo’s unmoving body.

“I don’t know if you’re surprising or predictable,” Dream shakes his head. “Guess you wouldn’t be a hero if you gave up easy, right?”

Tommy ignores him, hands trembling as he reaches out to Tubbo. He’s still warm to the touch. Tommy wishes he were numb. He’s holding onto fistfuls of Tubbo’s shirt, burying his face in his bloodsoaked shoulder. He cannot let go. He just wants Tubbo to hug him back.

“Come on, this is just pathetic.” Dream sighs. He’s reaffixed his mask, that cold, unforgiving smile is too whole. Tommy shows no sign of moving, just holding onto Tubbo, trembling with sobs. They were desperate tears, not the kind that rose up willingly. Tommy couldn’t do anything else.

They never showed. Punz didn’t care or he didn’t see it or you fucked up. Maybe Punz really didn’t know anything. You’re fucking alone down here and no one knows where you are. No one is coming to save you. And none of that matters because Tubbo isn’t breathing.

Dream grew tired of waiting, he grabs onto Tommy’s arm, moving to drag him towards the nether portal.

“No!” Tommy just holds onto Tubbo tighter. Dream pries him off like a petulant toddler clinging to a toy, like Tommy’s grief is childish, inconvenient. “D-Don’t you make me leave him. Please don’t make me leave him– Please, no!” Tommy is screaming, there is no anger or bravery in it, there’s only distraught desperation, anguish that can only be quantified through that pain, through clawing at stone as Dream drags him away from his best friend. Tommy has something clutched in his fist; a red bandana soaked in blood, it sticks to his hand. He doesn’t let go.

Dream has Tommy by the throat, he’s too strong, Tommy clawing at him, still trying to get free even as he knows there is nowhere to go. Dream didn’t seem to mind this, he didn’t slow or pause, until Tommy started trying to tear his mask off. There was nothing to be gained in doing so, but Tommy needed to do something, not to fight back, but to know any sense of control was tangible, to pretend he wasn’t a puppet getting dragged off stage right.

Dream slams him into the side of the nether portal, knocking the wind out of him with a gasp. After the day he’s had, he might already have cracked ribs.

“You sure you want to do that?” He pauses, letting go enough that Tommy can breathe again. Tommy says nothing. “You’re not going to get what you want. And we both know this can get a lot worse,” Dream is calm, the cold anger underneath is dangerous. Tommy doesn’t care.

“I‘m not a hero…” Tommy’s voice is so hoarse. “You don’t want me. P-Please. Just kill me– Come on. I’m no fun like this. S-So just end it.”

Dream laughs. “What about this isn’t fun, Tommy? I’m winning.”

Tommy can still see Tubbo’s corpse. He looks so small, surrounded by empty space and blood. His best friend doesn’t look like a person anymore, he looks like a broken doll. Tommy is almost relieved he can’t see Tubbo’s eyes. He holds onto the red bandana tighter.

Tommy doesn’t respond, but he stops struggling too. Dream presses on, his hold on Tommy’s arm harsh enough to bruise. The portal shifts the world around them until dry, hot air replaces the stark cold of Dream’s vault.

Tommy’s exhaustion dims as he sees the harsh glow of the lava. Jump. You can do it. Once you get close enough all you have to do is pull away. He’s stronger than you but you can get free. Just long enough to–

“I know you want to. You won’t get the chance,” Dream didn’t seem perturbed by Tommy’s plans to fall to his death. Tommy is far more disconcerted by Dream cutting off his way out, a chain around his wrists now keeping him tethered to Dream. “We could’ve just walked there together, you’re the one who made me do this.”

“Why won’t you let me?” Tommy doesn’t even try to pull away, a fleeting thought of just break your wrist crossed his mind, but Dream would stop him before he gets the chance.

Dream chuckles. “I’m not ending the game early. I’ve put work into preparing the next round, I wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

Tommy flinches. Against his own bidding, when he sees the main portal he almost feels hope. No one came to save you. No one is going to save you. Tubbo is dead. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“We might see someone, Tommy. But you’re not gonna say something, are you?” Dream sounds almost cordial as they enter the Greater SMP.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Dream’s hand on his arm squeezes tight enough to hurt, “because if you do, I’ll hurt them.”

Tommy feels sick. He’s torn. Part of him desperately hopes someone, anyone will stumble across him being dragged up the prime path. He also is terrified someone will and he’ll have to watch them die too. He wishes he could scream, that all of his old friends would come to his aid. The probability of him finding someone who has a chance against Dream is slim to none. Maybe no one would help him even if they did see him.

Tommy stops as they pass the white mansion by the water, great walls of black stone not far off. He digs his heels in, his heart in his throat. He thought he’d gone at least a little numb as his one shot at suicide was cut away from him. Apparently not. He yanks away from Dream, trying to stumble back, breathing heavily, sobs returning, he had almost forgotten about the taste of blood in his mouth.

Dream laughs, pulling him back like a dog on a leash. “Aw, you getting nervous? Don’t worry, Tommy. I made this prison with you in mind.”

Tommy didn’t feel like he had the right to be terrified. He has nothing left to lose, but that daunting, monstrous black stone made his knees weak. Dream drags him forward, not caring when Tommy fell or staggered.

“P-Please, Dream– Please, I’m sorry– I’m sorry, okay? Y-You aren’t gonna forgive, I-I know that, I know. Can’t you just kill me? Y-You killed– You took Tubbo away from me. Isn’t that enough? Oh, fuck– Why can’t that be enough?!” Tommy stops fighting back physically, but he couldn’t stop himself from pleading for some form of mercy.

Tommy sees no one and no exits, and then they’re standing inside the entrance to the prison. Tommy’s chest feels incredibly tight, but he has a pang of desperate hope. Sam. Sam didn’t hate him. He...

He won’t be able to do anything. Even if he refuses to let Dream in the prison, even Sam can’t save him.

Dream presses the button. He’s too confident, his back turned to Tommy. Tommy knows he can’t run away in chains, but couldn’t he wrap the chain around Dream’s neck? Kill him first?

Tommy wants to give up. He wants to stop moving, stop being. He killed Tubbo. And he’s not coming back this time.

Tommy doesn’t know how Dream realizes, whether Tommy’s eerie silence was a giveaway or if Dream just always knows, but before he can wrap the chain around his neck, Dream has him, catching the chain and using it to throw him to the ground, stepping on it so Tommy is forced to remain there, wrists aching from the painful pull.

“Hello?” Sam’s puzzled tone pierces through the tension.

Dream drags Tommy back to his feet with a whimper, but Dream doesn’t hit him, just holds onto his arm.

“You’re gonna keep your mouth shut while the adults are talking, got it?” Dream speaks softly, enough that Sam can’t hear him. “Got it?” Dream shakes him roughly when he doesn’t respond, stopping only when Tommy shakily nods.

“Dream? Is that you? What’re you doing over here?” Sam pressed.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. I have something for you.”

“What? What do you mean?” Sam sounds nervous, like he too knows Dream always comes with an edge.

“I mean open the portal.”

“...Can you tell me why first?”

“Because this is my prison. And I’m telling you open the portal,” there is a more than subtle threat behind those words.

“Yeah… yeah come on through,” Sam reluctantly obliged.

Tommy shuts his eyes as they enter the nether once more, but the room they find themselves in is bare and simple, indistinguishable from the entry lobby they’d just left. There’s nowhere to jump from here either.

“Dream, why are you here?” Sam stops them once more in the middle lobby.

“We’ll talk once you let me through, Sam,” Dream lets out his irritation through how tightly he’s holding onto Tommy’s arm. Tommy didn’t speak up or protest, not simply because of Dream’s threats, but because he wanted to see Sam. He wanted to see someone who didn’t want to hurt him.

“Fine. Fine, it’s open now.

“Seriously, Dream, what’s all this…” Sam stared at the two of them, eyes wide. “...about.” Sam doesn’t look like his usual self. Decked out in armor, trident at his side. He looks almost scary, if not for the concern in his eyes. “What is this?” His confused curiosity is cold now, dark suspicion ill containing fear.

“I’ve got our first prisoner here, Warden,” Dream throws Tommy forward, he hits the Blackstone floor with a yelp, his knees sure to bruise. He’s breathing heavily, too scared to try and stand and even more scared of what he’ll see on Sam’s face if he dares to look up. He can’t help you. He can’t help you. He can’t help you. No one can help you.

“What the hell is going on? Why is he like that? Tommy, why are you like this?” Sam goes to kneel down and help Tommy to his feet.

“I wouldn’t do that, Sam. Just leave him there for now. He’s not going to answer you,” Dream seems amused by Sam’s concern, satisfied that he’s right and Tommy is silent.

“What do you mean ‘he’s not going to answer’ me? You’ve got some explaining to do. What did you do to him? Whose–“ Sam’s voice shakes as the true source of his fear surfaces. “Whose blood is that? It’s not either of yours. You wouldn’t be standing if it was, so whose is it?!”

“It’s not important,” Dream steps up to meet Sam, unintimidated. “It’s time for you to actually do your job.”

“Whose blood is it?” Sam asks again firmly. Dream says nothing. Tommy still refuses to look up, but he can imagine the two of them staring each other down. Tommy knows Dream will win. He always wins.

“I think you should trust me on this, Warden. Do the smart thing,” Dream’s voice is level and oh so dangerous.

“Are you kidding– I’m not gonna trust you on this until I hear things from Tommy. You still haven’t even told me what he did. Don’t you know how suspicious this looks?” Sam waits for Dream to retort. Dream says nothing. Tommy flinches when Sam kneels down in front of him. Sam is decked out in gear much like Dream is. It’s too easy for Sam to hurt him too. Tommy hates being at the mercy of others, even when he desperately hopes Sam can somehow help him.

“Tommy?” Sam doesn’t reach out to him, he keeps his distance. Sam can’t tell from the blood covering Tommy’s front, but it’s not hard to guess he’s injured more than the bloody bruise over his eye and his split lip. The chains around his wrists, his hands trembling, leaves Sam feeling sick. “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Can you tell me what’s happened?”

“I wouldn’t–”

“You can just shut up, Dream,” Sam snaps. He softens when Tommy flinches even at that. What the hell happened? “Let me…” Sam reaches forward, looking at Tommy carefully if he should try and pull away. He took the chains from his wrists. This is one of ours. Why was Dream planning on arresting Tommy?

“I didn’t say you could do that,” Dream says coldly.

“I don’t need your permission,” Sam offers Tommy a hand. Tommy almost doesn’t take it, glancing to Dream for the first time since entering the prison. If Dream is going to punish him for taking Sam’s hand, not taking it just means Dream has to wait until Tommy messes up some other way to hurt him. As if Dream even needs an excuse anymore. Tommy takes his hand.

“Dream, I think you should leave. I’ll take Tommy home,” Sam is unwavering. Maybe he’s brave, maybe he’s just stupid. Tommy doesn’t know if there’s a difference anymore.

Dream laughs. “You don’t get to give me orders. I commissioned you, you do what I say.”

“And I’m the Warden. I decide who gets locked up in here and right now the most suspicious person here is you,” Sam keeps a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. He’s gentle. He’s not holding onto Tommy, simply offering him some stability.

Dream tilts his head slightly, that minute reaction is enough to make Tommy shudder and look away.

“How’s Fran doing, Sam?”

Four words and Sam lets go of Tommy’s shoulder, his hand going to the hilt of his sword, everything about his demeanor changing in an instant.

They can’t see his face, but surely Dream is smiling. “Still tucked away in that secret base you shared with George, right?”

Sam is struggling to contain his panic, looking stunned.

Dream continues. “Don’t blame George, alright? He didn’t show it to me, he just… wasn’t too good about making sure he wasn’t followed.”

Sam moves to leave, Dream puts a hand on his chest. The sheer confidence he holds is unnerving. Sam stares back at him, something truly dangerous behind his eyes. Whatever scolding authority Sam had before is replaced by terrified rage. Dream is unphased. “I know you want to run off and check on her, how about you do this for me first?”

“If you’ve hurt her- if she’s dead-“

“Why would I hurt her, Sam? Let alone kill her?” Dream seems offended. “I’m not stupid. What would the point of that be? You could call me cruel, sure.” Sam didn’t look at Tommy when Dream said this, but it was like he almost did, like he realizes this is not merely a hostage situation, it’s a trade off. “...but I’m not stupid.”

“What do you want me to do, Dream?” Sam’s voice is softer now, guilty as he finally caves.

Tommy hadn’t even realized he had the strength to feel some sense of relief until it was stripped away from him. For a split second Tommy had dared to consider Sam might protect him. He should’ve known better. He’s going to hurt you too. If Dream asks he’ll have to. No one cares about you enough to protect you. No one left alive, at least.

“We’re going to put Tommy here in the main cell,” Dream said. “Don’t look so sullen, Sam. You’re doing the right thing. For Fran and for Tommy.”

Sam’s jaw tenses under his helmet. His hand is still on the hilt of his sword. “I’ll do as you ask, but you’re staying here.”

“Hmmm. No, I don’t think so. All this work, I want to see the fallout.”

“The fallout?”

“I mean, yeah. This is… the fruits of our labor. Finally, right?” Dream is still so cordial.

“You can come with us to an extent. You’re not coming with us all the way. You know that’s not unreasonable,” Sam pushed. It was unspoken, but Sam caved too quickly. He needed Dream in his sights should he decide to take this time to go after Fran.

“Fair enough,” Dream raised his hands passively. He takes a step towards Tommy, who flinches but doesn’t bother trying to pull away. Sam puts his trident across, blocking Dream’s path.

“You told me to do my job, Dream. So let me do my job,” there’s a threat to those words. Dream lets it slide. “You need to put all of your belongings in a locker.”

Dream laughs. “That’s not gonna happen. What am I going to do, Sam? Break out the guy I’m putting in here? I’m in charge here, so maybe you should stop pretending otherwise.”

Sam has no response, he just pulls a lever on the wall, opening the next locked door. Tommy still doesn’t react. He just lets Sam gently escort him deeper into the building. It’s all blurry. He knows Dream is standing right behind him and he knows where he’s going, but he just wants to fade out. It was easier to think about this than the blood on his hands.

“Aren’t you going to search him?” Dream irritatingly cuts in as Sam intends to move forward.

Sam sighs. “Search him for what? You’ve taken everything from him. That’s abundantly clear.”

“I thought you were going to do your job,” Dream sneers.

“Yep. And he’ll be searched when I set his spawn. You’re not going that far,” Sam refuses to yield. They might as well play tug-of-war with him for all the good it does. Tommy is helpless either way.

“Fine, Warden,” Dream says it mockingly.

Tommy feels sick, staring captivated at the lava, a floor rising up to cover it. The only thing that stops him from jumping is Sam. Not because Sam is holding onto him, but simply because he’s terrified of what Dream might do to Sam once his favorite toy is dead.

There’s too much lava.

Sam seems frozen. He doesn’t want Dream to come with him behind the scenes, he doesn’t want him to traverse the ravine of lava with Tommy.

“Dream, this is where we leave you,” Sam decides on.

“What? Why?” Dream snaps.

“You’re not visiting the prisoner, and I need to finish processing him,” Sam remains cool and calm, like a parent mellowing an unruly child.

“And?”

“And you told me to do my job,” Sam’s tone is deadly. Dream is deadlier.

“Except I don’t trust you, Sam,” Dream sighs. “So I need to make sure this gets done. It’s too easy for you to just… not set his spawn and take him home later. And we can’t have that, can we? I mean,” Dream tilts his head, somehow conveying mocking pity and disappointment in a single motion, “if I don’t have Tommy, I’ll just have to play with Fran, right?”

“If you do anything to hurt her–”

“How about you make sure I don’t have a reason to,” Dream cuts him off.

“Fine. You’re still technically a visitor, you take the ravine. Even if you’re keeping your damn armor on,” Sam says coldly. He wishes he was just angry. He wishes he wasn’t terrified.

“Fine by me,” Dream raises his hands passively.

Sam takes Tommy through the side door, not the ravine of lava. It’s the only mercy he can offer, protocol be damned. He has to take him up to where he’ll set his spawn anyway. It’s a small chamber, one really meant for one time use. A prisoner meant for this cell isn’t supposed to leave.

You’ll get him out. No fucking clue how, but by god you’re gonna get him out.

Dream joins them on the other side, unburnt and just as cocky as he was before. Sam reluctantly leads both of them through a narrow side passage, the heat of the lava only a few blocks away is enough for the corridor to feel just a bit too warm and dry. Sam stops Dream just outside the room.

“You told me I had to search him. You’ll wait outside,” Sam kept a hand on Dream’s shoulder, physically stopping him. Sam was surprised by his own bravery.

Dream chuckled. “Fine, Warden. You’re just following protocol, right?” There’s a threat behind those words. Sam will worry about that later.

Sam gets Dream out of the room as fast as possible, locking the door behind them, a foot of blackstone sliding into place. Even Dream can’t make trouble alone in a hallway. He hopes. Tommy doesn’t seem any less tense. In fact, he’s seemed nothing but numb since he’d first come through the portal.

“I’m not actually gonna search you,” Sam tries to reassure him. Tommy doesn’t react. “Tommy. Please. Can you tell me what’s happened?” Sam asks as carefully as he can, but he needs to know. He goes to put a hand on Tommy’s arm, to try and get him to focus on something besides whatever dark thoughts he’s drowning in. He stops. Tommy has an awful, dark bruise forming. It looks like a handprint, curled around his upper arm. Dream had held onto him tight enough to bruise. “What did he do to you, Tommy?” Sam wishes he sounded stronger, but he’s so worried about this kid who won’t even look at him.

Tommy just stares at the ground. If he moves an inch or says a word of his own bidding, he’ll wake up. And the pain of it all will finally hit him. Better to be numb. It was like exile, at some point Tommy just… wasn’t present in his own body anymore. It was easier than living in the shame, the guilt, the hunger, the burns and bruises of those terrible weeks. Until even that became too much for him. Dream had seen him adapting and pushed even harder. No point in toying someone who was for all intents and purposes dead to the world. It was harder to stay numb now. Maybe cause he knew eventually even this would fade. There was no ending in sight, not even from a jump off the edge.

“Tommy, please. Dream isn’t here right now. Okay? He can’t hurt you. I won’t let him. Whose… Whose blood is that?” Sam tries again.

That’s enough for Tommy to react, a horrible question written all over his skin, the answer held in his fist. Tommy staggers back against the obsidian wall, sinking to the floor, he just shakes his head.

“Okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Sam can’t force Tommy to speak. He rummages through his inventory. “You look like hell. Come on– Can you just drink this?” He hands Tommy a health potion, thinking of that vibrant bruise marking Tommy as Dream’s. Sam wants it gone, he wants Tommy to know it’s gone. “Please.”

Tommy doesn’t drink. He just stares at the bottle in his hands.

“He killed Tubbo.”

Sam feels like his brain is short circuiting. Tommy’s words just will not compute. “What’d… What do you mean, Tommy?” He asks hoarsely.

Tommy sets the health potion aside and uncurls his right hand which had been balled in a fist for so long his hand ached. He has a bloody red bandana, the twin to the green one around his neck. The one meant to be worn by Tubbo.

“Oh… Oh my god– Oh my god–” Sam stumbles back, hitting the wall across from him, chest heaving. “Shit– He– Tubbo is–”

“He’s dead. Dream killed him.”

“Oh my god–” Sam pulls off his helmet, feeling like his armor is crushing him. He’s killed Tubbo. Tommy is going to be locked away. He can and will hurt Fran. And it’s down to you to fix this.

“Sam, I need you to promise me something,” Tommy finally seems in focus, an eerie calm taking over. Sam stares, waiting for him to continue. “I want you to kill me. But I know that’s a hard ask– so just. Please do everything you can to not let him see me. Please keep him away.” Tommy glances furtively at the sealed door. “I-I’d rather be alone in a cell than let him near me again. Please.”

“Hell, Tommy– I’m getting you out of here. I promise you, I’m gonna find a way to get you out of here. I just– Fran is all I have. I need to know she’s safe first,” Sam is trying to justify himself. He hates how cruel this feels.

It’s the strangest thing. It almost looks like Tommy pities him.

“What?” Sam’s panic has yet to die in the slightest and this only makes it worse. He’s already lost one friend in the last minute, he doesn’t need to be told he’s destined to lose another. “Tommy, what?”

“I’m not saying she’s dead already. But…” Tommy shakes his head, eyes shut tightly. “You can’t get her back. You’ll do everything he says, you’ll promise to be good, and he’ll hurt her just to prove he can.”

Sam was rarely rendered terrified, the kind of insidious terror that burrowed in deep under the skin, sinking its claws in until it swallows everything in that hopelessness. He can’t help Tommy. He can’t protect Fran.

He couldn’t save Tubbo.

No. No, we don’t give up. Especially not on Fran.

“Tommy, I am going to get you out of here,” his voice shakes, a tiny tremor, not a moment of weakness, but something stirring, an understanding that this promise came with a price. It is overshadowed by a cold conviction that maybe Tommy even believed in for a second.

Tommy stares at him and Sam hates that there’s no trust behind those eyes, no faith, only a dull exhaustion. Tommy is still covered in blood, covered in Tubbo’s blood.

“I… I don’t have any water, but once you get down there you’ll be able to get cleaned up. You want to keep that, right?” He nods to the bloody bandana. Sam has to be professional and systematic. That’s easier than thinking about the terrible straits they find themselves in.

“Yeah,” Tommy is too quiet, just staring at the bloody thing in his fist. It’s like he’s carrying around a piece of Tubbo’s corpse. He’s not going to let go.

“You’ll need to… you’ll need to put it on. I’m going to have to make sure you don’t have anything in your inventory when you set your spawn. That’s how you’ll be sent to the main cell. And if you’re wearing it it’ll carry over with you as clothing,” Sam can explain mechanics. It’s easy compared to anything else.

“What’d you mean? Are you… I’m down to my last life, Sam. If you kill me...” Tommy sounds almost hopeful. Sam hates it.

“No, no it feels like dying, kind of, but it’s just going to send you across. It’s not a death,” Sam wishes he was reassuring him. He wishes Tommy didn’t look so disappointed. “This is temporary, Tommy. I swear it.”

Tommy nods, but it’s like he’s just going through the motions. He finally drinks the health potion. The wounds recede, but the blood staining him remains.

“I… I don’t want to leave you alone,” Sam doesn’t know why he says it. It won’t change anything. He can’t be looking for reassurance from a grieving teenager, but he doesn’t know what other point there could be to this.

“You’re gonna go look for Fran. I know,” Tommy is so resigned. He’s so impossibly hopeless. “I need to warn you, Sam. She’s not gonna be where you left her.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Sam knows it won’t actually hurt Tommy, maybe for a split second, but he doesn’t want to do this.

There’s a bed tucked into a crevice in the obsidian. Tommy sets his spawn.

“Tommy…” Sam doesn’t know what to say.

“It’s okay, Sam. Do what you have to.”

Sam doesn’t draw his sword, instead he pulls Tommy into a hug. Tommy tenses for a moment before holding onto him just as tightly, not minding the armor digging in as he closes his eyes and leans into the embrace. Tommy can’t help but think of Wilbur. As if he needs any more open wounds. Sam can feel his trembling exhale as he lets out a sob. Sam doesn’t want to let go of him. He wants to hold onto Tommy and let him just feel safe for a moment without consequence.

Tommy pulls away first, not bothering to wipe his eyes as tears dampened the dried blood still on his face. “Well. Bring him back in, then. He needs to see this done.”

Sam doesn’t want to, but he fetches Dream, who had the audacity to look bored standing outside the room.

“Aw, Sam, you made him cry,” Dream mockingly scolds him. Tommy hates that despite all the grief and the pain, his cheeks still flush red. Dream already knows he’s weak and vulnerable and terrified, but mocking him for it is just too much to bear. All of this is too much to bear. Dream tuts him quietly, “you healed him, Sam. Why’d you do that?”

Sam bristles at the implication that he’s done something wrong. “He’s my responsibility now. I need to make sure he’s okay.”

“No, you need to make sure he’s learning his lesson, not undoing my work.” My work. Beating a kid senseless, leaving bruises from just holding onto him so brutally tight, that’s his work? Dream turns to Tommy. “I’ll see you later then, Tommy,” Dream steps towards him, he stumbles back, Sam steps between them, shielding Tommy best he can. Dream laughs. “Jeez, I’m just trying to say goodbye…”

Sam is haunted by the same dreadful thought he’d carried since Dream and Tommy had first arrived. He’s hurt this kid somehow. And it’s been this way for too long.

“You’ve said enough,” Sam snaps at Dream. Dream backs off and al there’s left to do is finish the job. He faces Tommy, not knowing what he’s going to say. “Tommy…”

“Fuck– Just do it, Sam.” Tommy remains staring at the ground. He doesn’t want to see. He doesn’t want to see Dream watching and knowing he’s won. He feels the blade, but it doesn’t hurt, not really. And then he’s in freefall.

“Thank you, Sam. For holding up your end of the deal,” Dream seems only smug when Tommy disappears.

“And your end?” Sam doesn’t know what he can expect.

“I didn’t make any promises. I just offered some… incentive,” Dream heads into the hall. “I’ll be back soon. First I’ll just let Tommy… mull things over.”

Sam wants to pretend Dream is still rational. That he could ask about Fran and Dream’s intentions, or that he could ask what the hell happened to Tubbo. Sam needed to bide his time. Tommy is trapped in a box, but he’s safe for now. Physically, at least. He doesn’t want to think about what must be going through that kid’s head right about now. He just needed to make sure Dream left and lock the door behind him. He doesn’t tell Dream anything, he doesn’t tell him he isn’t allowed to visit, once the man is outside the prison walls he’ll be free to run to his base to check on Fran.

Tommy had told him what would be waiting for him. He doesn’t want to believe it.

By the time Sam has snuck his way back outside Dream is gone. Dark omens. He’ll only be leaving Tommy alone for a matter of hours, a day tops, but he still felt awful. Not that he would stop. He needed to see what happened to Fran for himself.

His base was so far removed, he had been so careful. Sam was almost angry with George– how could he not realize he was being followed? Traversing half the nether for fucks sake– he’s colorblind, he’s not blind.

Nothing in his base seems disturbed. He’s spent so much time at the prison that it feels like it isn’t even a home to him anymore. He made his way downstairs to Fran’s kennel, the hidden door is unbroken. That doesn’t mean his worst fears haven’t been realized. He sees white fur curled in the corner and for a moment he’s relieved. She’s safe. That relief died the moment he went to pet her. This dog just stares at him, sitting patiently on the floor waiting for its master. That’s not Fran. Sam recoils, for a split second he had truly believed she was okay. That momentary lie was so much crueler than simply taking her away from him. This dog just stares at him blankly, no recognition, no getting up to greet him after he pet it, just nothing. Sam reaches out and checks its nametag. His hands are shaking.

A placeholder.

He’d already known Dream was a sick bastard, but him treating pets like objects, replaceable things to be tossed around like bargaining chips– He can only hope she’s okay. Dream said he wouldn’t hurt her. Dream has done a lot of things you wouldn’t expect from him. Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do now. How can he help Tommy if he can’t rescue Fran? How is he going to find her?! Surely the moment Dream realizes he’s poking his nose where it doesn’t belong, he’ll do something horrible like send him a piece of her. Sam shudders. He’s backed into a corner, complicit in hurting a kid, his own creation turned against him and used for evil intent. There’s nowhere to go from here.

He can’t do this.

Tommy is gasping for breath, shaking water out of his hair and getting to his feet on shaky legs. The room is both too bright and too dark, black obsidian walls, but a sheet of lava covering one side.

“S-Sam?” He sputters, stepping out of the small pool and into the cell. It’s not that small of a room, if it weren’t for the fact that Tommy’s entire world is this cell indefinitely. There is no reply. This is a strange, unnatural silence. The lava doesn’t quite bubble, but the way it flows is like white noise, layers and layers of stone and lava and water and everything keep him trapped from the outside world. He’s surprised that the room isn’t all that hot. He had imagined it would feel boiling and the stone warm to the touch, instead its cool, heat radiating only from the free wall. Tommy didn’t understand the science of it. He didn’t know where his fresh air supply came from or how the pipes connected to the basin of water. Tommy can see the water he’d landed in is already tinged pink. Tommy looks down at his hands and sees he’s still covered in blood.

For a moment his heart skips a beat, a spike of terror as he reaches to his neck, relief for a moment as he finds two bandanas.

The relief disappears as he recalls why one is covered in blood.

Tommy can hear crying; hysterical, hiccuping sobs, desperate gasps for air. It’s the only sound piercing the muffling of the lava and he realizes it’s him. He’s the only thing that can break this quiet and he can barely breathe. Tommy returns to the pool of water, knees giving out beneath him as he desperately tries to wash away the blood. These messy sobs won’t go away, the blood sticks to his hands and he’s covered in it. He still can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can only try and wring the blood out of the bandana, even as it coagulates and stains. It’s drenched his shirt, the blood having dried and made it stick to his skin.

“F-Fuck…” Tommy stammers, lip trembling against his bidding and tears still cutting through the dried blood marring his face. A shuddering inhale, a whimpering exhale. He cannot find calm. He is utterly alone and only now can he break down, not simply break, but crumble, fall to pieces in this empty space and fight down the bile rising in his throat at the thought that Tubbo was a corpse doomed to rot alone in that wretched place.

This room– this cell– is not that small, but it is too small. Tommy never coped well with being trapped. He doesn’t bother shouting out that he’s claustrophobic, nor that he’s scared and he just wants to go home. He knows no one can hear him.

He can only keep trying to wash the blood from his face, to wring out his shirt and watch the water run red.

His shirt is still a muddied pink, the bandana still too dark. The cloth dries in the heat of the lava and it feels rough on his skin. He can only stare at his hands, at the blood still around his fingernails. Some of it is his now, his attempts to scrape the dried blood from underneath them only causing him more pain. He would rather be rough and hurt himself than know that Tubbo’s blood is still on him.

“Why… Why, why, why wasn’t it me…” Tommy’s throat feels tight, so much time spent desperately inhaling dry air through tears and his voice is so hoarse. “Fuck– It should’ve been me!” Tommy doesn’t know who he’s screaming at. No one is listening.

“W-Why couldn’t he kill me?!” His words do not echo in this cell, the outside world not hollow but dense with molten rock, his pleas are absorbed into stone, unrelenting, unmerciful. Tommy’s begging is a lie in itself. He wishes he had died instead, but how could he ever condemn Tubbo to his current fate? Why did they have to suffer like this at all?

“It isn’t fair!” Tommy punches the obsidian wall with everything he has. He cries out, tears rising again despite him thinking he’d surely run out. His knuckles must be broken. His hand looks reddish orange in the light from the lava, but his damaged skin would soon turn purple. Tommy slowly looks up at the source of that warm light.

“Am I fuckin’ stupid..?” Tommy stares at the wall of lava, his knuckles still throbbing painfully. His exit had been pouring down the far wall this whole time. His way out. It would not be a pleasant way to go, but he had considered it more than once before.

It’s too easy to consider it again now.

He knew it would hurt, to fall forward into a burning hot void. He was only surprised by how little. It is far from the gentle itch of lava when he had drunk a fire resistance potion, but it is not an agonizing death.

In fact, it is not a death at all. Tommy is falling again. Then he hits the water. He refocuses on the bloody water around him and the dark of the cell and the unyielding wall of lava still ahead of him.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have come back.

Tommy is gripped by a new panic as another way out is sealed off from him. He takes a running start, only just flinching as he hits the lava again. He can’t scream or react or struggle as he burns, but even this pain ends, and yet again he’s in freefall.

“No! No– Let me out!” Tommy is screaming into the empty air yet again like it will somehow reply. “Let me out! P-Please let me out! I-I can’t take it anymore! Let me go! F-Fuck, let me go– Why won’t it fucking kill me?!” Yet again Tommy slammed his fist into unyielding obsidian. His knuckles, healed just like his burns when he fell back into place, break again. He can’t stop himself. He throws himself against the wall, banging his fists against it like this will end it more easily than the lava, like he’s trying to replace the bruises Dream gave him and Sam took away. Over and over again, throwing himself against the wall until his vision blurs, his legs give out beneath him, his whole body aches.

When he is too exhausted to continue to make his knuckles bleed, he curls in a ball on the floor wondering how many bones he’d broken in the past hysterical hours. He is not crying again, but breathing feels so much harder, every inhale it feels like his ribs are closing in tighter around him.

He just wants someone to hold him, to tell him everything will be okay. He just wants his Tubbo back.

What am I without you?

Yourself.

“Yeah look where that’s got you… What’s the fuckin’ point in being myself in a fucking cage…”

This is a world without false hope but maybe false hope is better than no hope at all. Not that Tommy has the luxury of knowing if there was a difference. Here, he has no notions of resurrection or power or freedom. There is only the obsidian and the lava and the empty expanse of time ahead of him.

#dream smp fic #my writing #c!dream #/roleplay #suicidal thoughts #major character death #i apologize in advance #please tell me if you cried #violence tw #dsmp #c!tommy #tommyinnit #c!sam

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chaoticallysapphic · 4 years

Text

the great divide epilogue

summary: Who knew that eight words would be your undoing. If you had known then what you know now you wouldn't have signed up for Suyin's dance troupe, you probably would have left Zaofu just to be safe. But you didn't and fate had branded you with a path that chained you to someone who would break your heart.

a/n: can this even be counted as an epilogue with a sequel on it’s way? It’s been a while since I’ve read a physical book and can’t remember if epilogues are reserved for the very end of a series or can be used at the end of any book. Eh, who cares? As always thank you to @medeliadracon for beta reading this!

word count: 2k

The end of her rule is anticlimactic. It doesn’t end with a victory but instead, with you, limp in her arms with blood all around the two of you. It ends with Suyin ordering some of her men to cuff Kuvira’s soldiers so they can be transported to a prison where they will serve the next two years of their lives. It ends with her defeat as she watches all her hard work wash away like it meant nothing.

Eighty people, the rebels, come up to Korra to admit you helped free them and how they were fighting on the Avatar’s side the whole time so she spares them. Kuvira looks down at your sleeping form to avoid the varying expressions of her former soldiers, ranging from angry to disappointed.

A few hours later someone closes the trunk and drives them back to Zaofu so you can be admitted to the hospital there. All of Korra’s men head to Zaofu on sky bison. Kuvira sits in the back of the jeep with you, she can’t hold you with her cuffed hands but before they cuffed her she gently placed your head onto her lap.

Everyone had watched the way Kuvira cared for you with eyes full of shock. She doesn’t care, not anymore. She almost lost you, the idea of appearance and image escaped her mind as all she thinks about is holding you in some way so she knows you're safe. When they pull up to the tram it takes multiple people to help both you and Kuvira out of the trunk. It’s still a bit slippery from your blood and with her cuffed hands she needs someone to help her get down.

The avatar holds you for her as they enter the tram, she wants to break out of these stupid cuffs and rip you out of her arms but she knows she can’t, not if she wants a future with you. So instead Kuvira inches closer so she can at least hold your hand. When it stops in the main dome she sees her men being escorted out by the Zaofu guard. They step out and her eyes find your mom who is decked out in her grand armor, commanding the men below her on where to take Kuvira’s former soldiers.

When her eyes flicker to the avatar and she sees you limp in her arms she forgets her job and races forward, dropping the staff in her hands. Korra slowly walks down the stairs from the platform so she can take you to the hospital but your mom is waiting at the bottom of the stairs as she holds back a sob.

“She’s alive,” Kuvira says softly, a little bit of the tension in her leaves, Kuvira’s words comforting her just the slightest. Once Korra is in front of your mom she takes you out of her arms, choking out “Oh baby.”

“We need to get her to the hospital. She’ll live but she needs to be monitored and will need a few more healing sessions before she can leave,” Korra says. Your mom nods as she begins walking towards the large hospital that’s situated not too far from here.

Kuvira follows, keeping in step with her so she can at least remain close to you. Once inside Kuvira catches the attention of a nurse who brings out a stretcher for you and carts you off to a room to be further examined, both Kuvira and your mom sit in the waiting room.

It’s quiet for a while, neither of them talking before finally, your mom asks “what happened?”

Kuvira’s brows furrow as she tries to make sense of the last few hours, it’s all so blurry and loud in her mind. She just remembers the warmth of your blood on her hands and her screaming out for help, the way her words scratched up her throat as desperation filled her senses.

“I…” Kuvira starts. “We were talking and the fight started and she tried to show me how I could help by ending it” Kuvira’s hand comes up to her mouth as she begins to cry. Your mother doesn’t move to comfort her, waiting for Kuvira to continue. “It was meant for me, she pushed me out of the way so I wouldn’t get hurt.”

Your mother's fists clench and she lets out a deep sigh, trying to control her emotions. “What happened next?” Kuvira looks over at her with a painful expression as she recalls the way you tried to cling to her when she set you down to drive.

“I drove us to Korra, she had waterbenders so I knew one of them had to be a healer.”

Your mother nods as she stands up, tears glisten in her eyes as she says “I need to call her father,” before walking away. She’s gone for roughly an hour, Kuvira thinks. In that timespan, she stares down at her hands now caked in dried blood as she tries to make sense of the last twenty-four hours. When you finally wake up, which you will, Kuvira reminds herself, she’ll go wherever you want even if that’s the frigid cold of the south pole.

Finally, your mother returns with your father in tow who pulls both women in a hug. “She’s gonna be okay,” he says, mostly for himself. When he pulls away his face is red as tears race down his chubby cheeks, your mother reaches up to wipe them away for him even though she’s crying as well.

A nurse walks into the waiting room that only houses the three of them and clears her throat. Everyone twists around to look at her, your father is the one to ask “can we see her?”

The nurse nods, eyeing them, her eyes narrow when they land on Kuvira before drifting back over to your parents. “Yes, she’s awake but very tired so you’ll probably only get a bit of time with her before she’s asleep again.”

Your father lets out an excited, wet laugh as he nods vigorously, “Thank you, can you show us to her?” The nurse nods and begins leading everyone up a set of stairs and to the left down a hall lined with doors. The hospital is so white and pristine, Kuvira feels so out of place and looks behind her to make sure she’s not tracking mud around the place.

When the nurse stops in front of a door labeled 203 that has your name in the place card Kuvira feels her heart speed up, “I’ll wait out here and let you guys have some time alone with her.” Your mother sends her a grateful look before she opens the door, they leave the door open so Kuvira takes a seat next to it so she can at least hear your voice.

“Hi” she hears you croak out, your voice is raspy and low, you sound so tired. Your father lets out a sob as she hears his feet skid across the floor and a quiet “oof” escapes you.

“Honey, don’t suffocate her, we just got her back,” your mother says in a half-joking manner. The rustling of sheets can be heard as Kuvira can only assume she's hugging you as well.

“We’re just so relieved you're okay.”

“I’m okay, just a little banged up,” you say in a reassuring tone.

There’s sniffling and hushed whispers of “we love you” as all three of them cries. Kuvira feels like she’s intruding on a private moment but her feet seem stuck to the floor.

Your dad is the one that asks the question burning within her, “You're gonna stay here right? We’ve missed you so much.”

“Well I don’t know, I haven’t talked to Kuvira yet. I’d like to though.” Kuvira’s heart skips a beat at her name leaving your lips. Spirits for a moment there, back on the jeep, she thought she’d never hear you say it again. “Well she better be okay with it, I mean after all the years spent following her around the earth kingdom one would think you’d get to cho-”

“Honey,” your father interrupts your mother. She threads her fingers together and squeezes tightly, will she ever gain the respect your mother once had for her back? “Sorry I just… I’ll support you no matter what I’m just a little… peeved.”

“Is she here?” You say hesitantly, you sound so unsure of yourself that Kuvira wants to take the two steps it’d take to reveal herself. “Suyin didn’t arrest her yet, right?”

“No, don’t worry she hasn’t been taken away, she just wanted to give us some time alone with you.” A sigh escapes you at your mother's words, “Do you want to see her?”

Not even a second later you reply “yes.” The shuffling of feet can be heard as they both say their goodbyes and “I love you”’s once more before walking towards the door. Kuvira moves down a seat so it doesn’t look like she was eavesdropping and looks at the platinum cuffs locked tightly over her wrists.

“She wants to see you,” your father says, Kuvira looks up at him and thickly swallows, slowly nodding. “We’re gonna get her some clean clothes, maybe some food. Are you hungry?” By now the sun is starting to go down, that piece of bread and apple didn’t last too long, as Kuvira is about to say no because she doesn’t want to be an inconvenience. He speaks for her “I’m sure you are, we’ll get you something too.”

Kuvira opens her mouth to decline but your parents are already walking away arm in arm. She sighs, shoulders slumping. Her wrists are already starting to hurt and she feels anxiety twist around within her as she realizes you’re waiting for her. You're awake and waiting for her and who knows what you’ll say.

She lets out a deep, shuddering sigh and walks through the door, you look up as you hear her enter and bite your lip. Your cheeks and neck are stained red, it looks like someone wiped away the handprints which is a relief, but your hair is a bit matted with it and your arms are tinted red as well. You look so pale.

You eye her, your shoulders tensing at the disheveled sight of her. “That’s a lot of… red.”

She looks down and sees how her clothes are practically coated in it. “Oh yeah, you bled out a lot.” She clears her throat and looks back up, your shoulders sag a bit, “so none of it’s yours?” Kuvira shakes her head and suddenly you look so relieved.

She takes a step closer and then another and another when you don’t stop her. You offer her a weak smile as she slowly picks up one of your hands and holds it between hers. “You almost died,” she whispers, scared that if she says it loud enough she’ll speak into existence.

“But I didn’t,” is your reply. Kuvira scoffs, having to look away as images of you bleeding out all over the trunk resurface. “Hey,” you gently tug on her hand until she looks into your eyes. “I’m alive, thanks to you.”

“You almost died, thanks to me.” Her voice cracks and she squeezes her eyes shut as tears escape her. “Why would you do that? Why would you take the hit for me?”

You give her a look of disbelief as you softly reply with a voice full of love that has an edge to it “because I love you, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Promise me you won’t, please,” her bottom lip trembles, suddenly her hands feel warm and slick with your blood again. She feels like her legs may give out. “Please.”

You shake your head ever so slowly, “I can’t promise you something I won’t keep.” She lets a groan of frustration so you tug her closer until she’s sitting on the edge of your bed, facing you. “If you ever die and there was a way I could have prevented it I’ll spend the rest of my life hating myself. So just… stop putting yourself in danger if you don’t want me to get hurt again.”

Kuvira is about to offer some kind of retort about how she won’t be in any kind of danger for the foreseeable future due to her house arrest but you squash it by pulling her closer and softly pressing your lips against her own. Kuvira gasps, you slip your tongue in her mouth and caress her tongue before pulling away, you give her a peck on the lips as you're pulling away.

“If I ask you to stay here in Zaofu, would you?” It’s silent for a few moments as she processes your request. Part of her wants to leave this place and never return, but she knows Zaofu like the back of her hand, she knows where the good tea is, which store has the best produce, which shops rip you off, and where to go to eat for any occasion.

She thinks of your parents, of how much they missed you and how much you missed them. How she might not have anything that makes her want to stay here, but you do. So she nods and wets her lips before saying, “yes, I will.”

And for a moment that great divide between the two of you seems to cave in as your beautiful face breaks out into a glorious grin.

#the great divide #kuvira #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira fanfic #lok #lok fanfic #legend of korra

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chokemeanakin · 4 years

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Patched Up- Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader

(aka ‘How To Make Your Jedi Boyfriend Simp Hardcore’ on ao3)

masterlist

Read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24603544

Summary: Reader gets her face all cut up during a mission, fluff ensues where Anakin helps patch her up, wash up, and get fed. Just some worried, protective, adorable Anakin with lots of fluff because soft Anakin is the best Anakin :)

You didn’t know you’d been cut until the blood dripped from your forehead onto the white linoleum floor between your feet. You stared at it, shocked for a moment before you realized the bounty hunter was getting away. The bomb he had set in the abandoned pub ticked in your ear menacingly, counting down the seconds you and your team had to live.

Ignoring the obvious fact that you’d been wounded, you stood and sprinted after the bounty hunter. It was hard-- the fact that you weren’t a Jedi certainly didn’t help-- but with your learned skills from training at the assassin academy for more than a decade, you managed to corner them against a wall. A group of clones came up on either side of the bounty hunter, trapping him.

“You put up a better fight than I expected,” you admitted, walking closer to the hunter with your duel daggers out. Once you got close enough, you knocked the gun out of his hands and pinned him against the floor. The clones watched closely as you dug your knee into his back and tied his hands together. “I’m sure the Republic will love hearing how you’ve tried to blow up this secret Sepratist weapon manufacturing hub,” you added, although the bounty hunter laughed in response.

“Not ‘tried to,’ love,” he chortled. You could hear the timer tick again, then stop. Realization dawned on you, and your eyes widened.

“Get to the ship!” you yelled, and dropped the bounty hunter. The blast would take care of him-- and you, if you didn’t move NOW.

Debris shot past your head as you rocketed out of the pub, the battalion of clones that the Jedi offered you to complete the mission following close behind. They shielded you with their armor as bits of the exploded pub shot through the air, but a sharp piece of metal managed to pierce the skin of your cheek. Adrenaline numbed the pain, and you made it back to the ship breathing hard, trying to drag in as much air as you could into your abused lungs.

As the clones filed into the spaceship, you looked back at the sight of your mission. All that was left was a smoking pile of debris. There was no way the bounty hunter had gotten out alive, and although the Senate would have liked to have him stand trial, your mission for the Jedi had been completed. Destroy the weapon factory.

Now all that was left to do was to make it back to the temple, without dying of blood loss first.

Holding your hand underneath your cheek, you tried catching as much blood in your hand as possible so that it didn’t get on the floor. Not that it mattered, this ship had seen enough blood in its days, but you’d rather not add to the mess the workers back at the temple would have to clean up. Doing so proved more difficult than anticipated, as you moved to close the door and then sit down at the piloting station and start the ship. Blood ran down your face fast, and soon your hand began to overflow.

Wiping your hand off on your shirt, you then tried soaking the blood up with your sleeve, although it mostly managed to smear further across your face. You’re not sure which slasher film victim you resembled once the Jedi council picked up your hologram message.

You relayed the details of the mission, and the outcome to Yoda. He looked pleased, and thanked you for taking on a mission the Jedi could not complete due to their busy schedules fighting the war. Before the call ended, he pointed out the obvious.

“Blood on your face, you have,” he said. “Medics when you return, will be sent.”

“There’s no need,” you assure him. “It’s just a scratch. Or two. But I can take care of it, the medics should stay with injured soldiers.”

“Very selfless, you are,” he bowed his head, and the call ended. Now that no one was watching you, you leaned back in your seat and blew out a long breath of air. Time to go home.

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

Hyperspeed brought you over the planet of Coruscant in no time. Within 15 minutes of departing from the planet where the bounty hunter had been, you landed the ship carefully-- flying ships still made you nervous sometimes, although your boyfriend Anakin had certainly helped you gradually get over your fears-- and stepped out of the ship. You dropped to the ground of the docking bay, the blood in your head suddenly plummeting. Your vision went all fuzzy and your knees went weak, so you steadied yourself against the metal of the ship. Thankfully, someone else was there to catch you before you could fall and truly embarrass yourself.

“Woah,” Anakin met your waist with his mechanical arm, pulling you back to your feet. You met his blue eyes, which were swimming with concern. “What happened here?”

You touched your cheek with your fingertips, and they came away wet with crimson fluid once again. You frowned, thinking the bleeding had at least slowed in the time it took to get back. The cut must be deeper than you thought.

“I’ll be okay,” you told him, already anticipating his onslaught of mother-henning. Anakin was a worrier, understandably so regarding what happened with his mother, but you appreciated the fact that he cared.

“Y/n, your whole face is covered in blood,” he brought his flesh hand up to try and rub some blood off your uninjured cheekbone, frowning when it proved pointless. “Those cuts need to be looked at-- you’re coming with me.”

Before you could protest, Anakin whisked you away from the docking bay. Removing his hand from your waist so it wouldn’t raise suspicion with the other Jedi, he settled for taking your bloody hand in his and pulling you all the way to his quarters. He brought you into his bathroom, sat you down on the toilet, and handed you a wad of rolled up tissue paper to hold to your face as he dug through his cabinets for medical supplies. All the while, he chastised you for… well… everything.

“What happened? Why didn’t the medics meet you at the docking bay? Does the council know the extent of your injuries?”

“Yoda offered to send medics, but I told him not to. It’s really not that bad,” your voice is muffled by the tissue paper.

“What were you thinking? What if you bled out? What if you passed out before I could catch you? You could have hit your head. How did this happen in the first place?”

“Anakin, I’m fine,” you laughed, finding his worrying adorable. “Yeah it’s a lot of blood, but it doesn’t even hurt.” You pause. “...much.”

He glanced at you from the corner of his eyes for a moment, then went ripping back into his cabinet for pain killers. Filling up a glass of water with the Force while simultaneously opening up the pill bottle with his hands, you barely blinked before he thrust them into your bloody palms.

“Down the hatch. Now.” he ordered, and watched with his arms crossed as you slipped the pills past your lips and sipped the water. You laughed all the while, although it looked more like a grimace due to the fact that you couldn’t move your face much without a piercing pain. Once you swallowed, he knelt down to your level and gently covered the hand holding the tissue paper to your face with his, peeling it back to see the damage. You watched his eyebrows draw down, his lips curve into a pout as he inspected your wounds.

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” you tease him, hating the fear that flashed through his eyes.

That did the trick-- he flicked his gaze up to meet with yours, his annoyed glare hard and unyielding.

“Can you blame me for being concerned? I was waiting for you to come back so I could take you to a picnic I set up in the gardens, only to find you falling out of the ship, covered in blood, your face all slashed up, and on the verge of collapse. Anyone would be a little upset.”

“A picnic?” Your voice raised hopefully. “Ooh, that’ll be fun. I’ve never been on a picnic before.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not going anywhere until you’re all patched up. And even then, you’ve lost a lot of blood. Maybe we should push it back for sometime else.”

Anakin took the tissues from you and threw them in the garbage bin. He wet a cloth in the sink, then came back to stand in front of you. He tilted your face up to look at him as he began running the cloth over your face, gently cleaning the blood away.

“Where in the gardens were you thinking?” you ignored his plans on cancelling.

“The south end, with the red flowers you like so much. I moved some stuff around to block the path and shield us from view, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Always one step ahead,” you close your eyes so he can get your eyebrows and eyelids.

You could feel Anakin’s cool breath wash over your face as he sighed. The cloth moved to the injured half of your face, slowing and dropping in the pressure used as he cleaned around the cuts. Your eyes were closed, but you could practically sense the look he had on his face right now.

“You still never told me who did this to you.”

“The bounty hunter,” you kept your eyes closed, fighting back the urge to wince as the pain in your face heightened. He was being astronomically careful, but the wounds had to be cleaned and that meant pain, unfortunately for you. The least you could do now was mask it so that Anakin wouldn’t feel bad for hurting you. “He threw a knife at me and it hit me in the forehead. Then he blew up the pub and a piece of shrapnel hit my cheek.”

“Force,” he muttered under his breath. “You know I know you’re capable of carrying out these missions, but I still don’t like the prospect of you getting hurt like this.”

“I know, Ani,” you open your eyes to look at him. His face was as expected-- drawn eyebrows, pouty lips, dark curls shining in the bathroom light. He was beautiful, protective, and all yours. “I don’t have to remind you how hard it is to watch you leave for missions. You’re fighting a WAR out there.”

“So are you, now,” he dabbed at a spot of blood on your temple. “This mission with the weapon hub was the first of many for you. The council says so. They’ll only get harder from here on out, and I just don’t know how safe it is…”

“I’m no Jedi,” you tell him softly. “But I am a fighter. I can handle myself, you know. Plus, I have you to patch me up if I ever get hurt again.”

He rolls his eyes at your crooked smile.

“Plus,” you continue. “Maybe now they’ll send us on a mission together! Imagine us, side by side, kicking some Separatist ass. That’d be kinda cool, wouldn’t it?”

At this, Anakin rewarded you with a small sideways smile. “It would.”

Deciding your face had been cleaned as much as it could, he dropped the dirty washcloth into the sink and grabbed a tube of some kind of antibacterial ointment. He used his gloved hand to tilt your chin back up again, and began softly running his real finger over the cut on your forehead, spreading the ointment along with it.

“They don’t look deep enough for stitches, and I don’t think you’ll have any scarring. You got lucky in that case,” he mumbled as he concentrated on keeping his touch feather-light. “However, these aren’t just ‘cuts.’ They’re deep, and they’re gonna take some time to heal. Tell me if I’m hurting you.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Anakin captured your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, moving it so the injured half of your face was closer to him. You took the opportunity to shamelessly stare at your beautiful boyfriend, studying every flawless inch of his face. Sometimes you wonder why someone like him would choose to be with someone like you. He was never shy to tell you time and time again how beautiful YOU were, but you always rallied it back on to him in which he just laughed and shook his head at you. Stupid, protective, heroic, reckless, kind, stubborn, beautiful boy.

As Anakin smoothed some ointment over the gash on your cheekbone, you couldn’t help but flinch at the sharp stinging pain that flooded your face. Obviously the cheek had gotten hit the worst, and as the last of the adrenaline wore off, you were beginning to feel your whole face come alive with a pulsing sting.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin murmured, moving quickly to get the hard part over with. “The painkillers should start kicking in soon.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. “I can handle a bit of pain. Now, let me see how gorgeous I look.”

You pushed his hands off you and stood, swaying slightly on your feet but hiding it by gripping onto the sink under the mirror. With one look at yourself, it was hard to keep yourself from cringing at the gory mess your face had become.

Anakin was right-- the gashes on your skin were deeper than they seemed, and were a bright angry red. One ran from the middle of the your hairline to the edge of your brown, and the other started at the outside corner of your eye and travelled diagonal to the corner of your nose, then down near your mouth.

“It got your dimple,” Anakin frowned, washing his hands in the sink while studying your reaction in the mirror.

“I have another one,” you point to the uninjured side of your face.

He responded by kissing it softly, before moving past you to throw the empty ointment tube in the trash and to grab the gauze from the sink counter. He held it up and smiled with the corner of his mouth.

“Ready for the fun part?”

“Make me look cute, baby.”

He huffed at the pet name, but muttered anyway, “You always look cute.”

You stuck your bottom lip out and scrunched up your eyebrows. “Aaaaaww. You’re the sweetest! The sweetest little baby. Thank you, Ani.”

“Careful, or I’ll take it back,” he warned, carefully placing a square of gauze on your forehead. He ripped some tape off from the roll with the Force and gently smoothed it over your skin.

“So about this picnic,” you moved your face when he nudged your chin with his finger again. This had you staring at the wall now.

“Not happening.”

“Why?” you whined.

“You can barely stand without falling over. You need time to rest and heal up. The picnic can wait.”

“You don’t STAND at a picnic, Anakin.”

“You won’t be able to walk all the way there. And I can’t carry you without people asking questions.”

“I can make it there just fine! Plus, I don’t want all your hard work to go to waste.”

“Please,” he chuckled. “Moving a couple flower pots was not hard work.”

“But all the food you got…”

“I’ll have Obi-Wan retrieve it and bring it back for us. We can just stay here and eat it. Besides,” he used the Force to change the window from white to show the outside city of Coruscant. “It looks like it may rain.”

“Oh,” you study the gray clouds outside. “I love rain.”

“I know you do,” he smiled softly, smoothing down the last piece of gauze and tape on your cheek. When he finished, he enveloped the sides of your neck in his hands, using his fingers to push your head down. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the untouched skin on your forehead, breathing in your scent.

“I love you,” he said lowly before pulling away. You can’t help the grin that broke out on your face, the warmth from blossoming in your chest.

“Ow! Don’t make me smile,” you laugh through the pain, but bring your hands up to hold onto his wrists to keep him there anyway. “But I love you too. I really do.”

Anakin’s eyes shift to your hands holding onto him. His face darkens again, and he moves to hold your palms in his. “You’re still covered in blood. You wanna wash up here?”

You nod, and then lean back as he gets up to throw the rest of the supplies in the cabinets and then start readying the washing area. “Shower or bath?”

“Mmmmm bath please,” you decide, rolling your shoulders and feeling the uncomfortable stiffness plaguing your movements. Between the blood loss and your sore muscles, you don’t think you’ll be able to stand for very long.

While Anakin twisted the knobs in the shower to start the bath, you pushed yourself to your feet and pulled the ponytail from your falling-out hairdo, shaking your messy locks. A cute look, for sure-- all gauzed up like a paper mache volcano, hair falling wildly around your face like a lion’s mane, hands still caked in dried blood. A damn catch, if you’re being honest.

Anakin turned and moved toward the door to give you some privacy. “Uh, shampoo and everything is in there, towels are over there, just turn the bottom knob all the way to the right when you want the water off.” He opened the bathroom door and stepped out. “Shout if you need anything.”

As soon as the door closed, you yanked off your nasty shirt, followed by your bra and pants and underwear. It seemed like your blood had gotten everywhere on your clothes, even your boots, and you suddenly realized you didn’t know what you would wear when you got out.

A problem for a different moment, you decided, and stepped into the warm bath. Immediately, it was pure bliss, soothing your muscles and washing the sweat and dirt away. You got to work scrubbing the blood from under your fingernails first, then carefully dunked your hair and shampooed it to get the dried blood out of there too. Once you lathered your body up in soap, you decided to just soak for a while, turning the knob to slow to a trickle so the bath wouldn’t overflow.

Outside, you could here Anakin talk to Obi-Wan over hologram.

“--Yeah she’s here, pretty beat up but otherwise she’s fine. Hey, can I ask you a favor--” he then requested Obi-Wan clean up the picnic he had set up, being the only one who knew of your relationship, he was the only one who could without being suspicious. Obi-Wan agreed to bring the food over, and Anakin thanked him. A moment after they hung up, you heard a soft knock on the door.

“Y/n? I have some of the clothes you left here to wear, if you’d like.”

“Oh, yes please,” you closed the shower curtain so Anakin could come in without seeing your bruised body in all its naked glory.

“I’m leaving them on the counter,” he informed you. You could see his silhouette bend down to pick up your dirty clothes and boots, and then he left again. You sunk further into the water, the bubbles in the bath tickling your chin.

He was just so damn sweet.

You don’t know how long you stayed in the bath. Honestly, you think you might have fallen asleep at one point. You just loved being able to relax, knowing Anakin was right outside as you let the dripping water lull you into a peaceful meditative mode. The stinging in your face had dulled-- not disappeared, but it wasn’t a constant hum of pain anymore. You could honestly stay here like this forever.

However… the water was getting cold. And the darkening sky outside told you the rain would start soon, and you wanted to be in Anakin’s room where he had a big window overlooking the entire city to watch the storm.

Careful not to slip, you maneuvered your way out of the tub and wrapped yourself in a towel. You pulled the drain and made sure the water disappeared as you got dressed in the sleep shorts you kept in Anakin’s dresser for when you wanted to sleep over, as well as one of your sleep shirts and even a pair of your socks. You towel dried your hair, folded it up, and then hung it back up on the wall before opening the bathroom door to Anakin’s quarters. He was sitting on the couch, watching the skyline through the window when you walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your chin in his soft curls as you scanned the storm clouds with him.

“Obi-Wan’s coming with the food, he should be here any minute now,” he told you, bringing a hand up to cover your own. “You wanna take this to the bedroom?”

“Oh, would I,” you waggled your eyebrows, smirking with the good half of your face.

He chuckled and stood, keeping your hand in his. “You know what I mean.”

“Take me, Anakin Skywalker,” you begged wistfully as he walked across the apartment to his bedroom with you in tow. “You know you want to.”

“I know I want to,” his tone was serious despite your joking one. He closed the door behind you with the force, and then led you to sit on his bed. You crawled up onto the covers and crossed your legs, wondering where he was going with this.

He stood before you and rested his hands on your knees, keeping you rooted to the spot. You watched his chest get closer as he leaned in close, his lips near your ear, and you could feel his breath tickle your neck, raising goosebumps on your arms. You sat, wide-eyed and staring at the golden skin of his collar bone, barely breathing, awaiting his next move.

“Too bad Obi-Wan just got here with the food,” he whispered, and planted a warm kiss underneath your ear before pulling away. He left with a cocky grin, leaving you frozen on the bed so he could retrieve the supplies from Obi-Wan.

“Jesus…” you muttered, pressing a hand to your chest to stop your heart from beating so quick. No doubt Anakin could sense it.

Once the heat from your cheeks cooled and your heartbeat returned to normal, you laid back on Anakin’s bed and stretched out like a starfish. Your muscles protested, but it felt good to be on the soft, cushiony material of his bed.

“Some food for you, m’lady,” Anakin held a sandwich over your face when he returned, and you lifted your hands to take it from him. You immediately began eating it, not realizing at first how hungry you were. It had been over 24 hours since you’d left for the mission and had last eaten.

As you ate your sandwich, Anakin picked at some grapes and walked around the room, waving his arm over the wall to switch it to the window. Rain pattered against the glass now, droplets racing each other to the bottom. He adjusted the temperature in the room, and then began fiddling with one of the many new contraptions he’d been tinkering with, and then began to undress. You tore your eyes away from the storm clouds to watch him set his lightsaber on the desk, then unclasp his belt and set it beside the saber, followed by the tunic which left him in a loose fitting shirt and his pants.

He ran his hands through his curls as he walked the clothes over to his closet, and then started messing with the thermostat again.

“Would you just come here and sit with me already?” you moan, throwing your sandwich scraps in the trash. Anakin turned to look at you from his place across the room.

“One moment…”

You waited patiently, and soon you felt the bed dip beside you and you sat up to scooch over and give him more room. He passed a cupcake your way-- chocolate, your favorite-- and then brought a glass of dark red liquid up to his lips.

“Is that wine?” you laugh through a mouthful of cupcake. He narrowed his eyes, but smiled at your awkward facial expression anyway.

“Am I not allowed to drink wine in my own home?”

“You are, I just didn’t peg you as a wine type of guy,” you admit.

Anakin shrugged, then brought the bottle over to his free hand with the force. “You want some?”

You and Anakin then sat and watched the storm, sipping wine and eating chocolate cupcakes. A perfect way to end a shitty mission.

#anakin #anakinskywalker #injured reader #whump #caretaker anakin #blood and injury #soft anakin #secret relationship #fluff #worried anakin #protective anakin #playful reader #rain #baths #cupcakes #wine #badass reader

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tra-sh · 4 years

Text

Just a Touch (part 2)

Part 2 for the request: “First i just wanna say I really love your writing! If you’re still taking requests, Could I ask for one with the mandalorian? Like touch-starved din maybe smut? Thanks!"

Here we go! This is part two for this request, and includes the aforementioned smut. I’m sorry this took so long, I had serious writers block. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Smut ahead. Please don’t read if you’re under 18 or uncomfortable reading sexual content!

Part 1 Here!

Din watched you carefully as you sat on the floor of the cockpit, playing with the child. You'd become a distraction of the worst kind ever since you healed his "wounds" a few days prior. He could barely focus on anything when the two of you were in the same room. He became hyper-conscious of everything you did-- whether you were humming to yourself or even just moving around the Razor Crest-- and it was driving him crazy. He felt dirty wanting you so badly even as you cradled the child in your arms. He wanted to do something about it, but where would he even begin? The two of you hadn't done more than brush against one another in the halls or occasionally hold hands at dinner. You thought you'd scared him off by kissing his helmet and were being extremely cautious, much to the Mandalorian's dismay.

You stand up suddenly with the child in tow, walking over to settle him into the pram before turning to smile at the pilot. "I'm going to the refresher. Do you mind watching him?" Din tries not to focus on the idea of you naked under running water. He gives a curt not before turning back to stare at the control panel. He can hear the soft padding of your feet against the metal floor as you make your way to the ladder in the back of the ship.

You let out a shaking breath as your feet hit the floor of the Crest's downstairs area. Ever since you'd checked Din for injuries, it felt as though a rubber band was pulled taut between the two of you. You felt drawn to the Mandalorian, and the fleeting touches and hand-holding weren't enough to satiate your appetite.You found yourself needing to leave the room before it got overbearing. You'd caught Din staring more than usual in these past few days, and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't thrilling. He'd initiated a few touches here and there; boldly reaching out to grab your hand in his gloved ones every once in a while. It was maddening how attractive you found him. You needed to get it under control before you scared him off.

***

Din isn't sure what he's doing. He put the ship on autopilot and closed the child's pram in hopes he would stay asleep and not try to follow him. He stands at the top of the ladder, staring down at the metal floor a few feet below. He shouldn't go down there. You were probably changing, or at the very least wanted privacy. He shouldn't go.

He descends the ladder carefully, trying to be as discreet as possible. He feigns interest in a panel on the wall next to him as if it were the reason he'd come down here in the first place. His head tilts ever so slightly to the side, giving him a narrow view of the living quarters. His breath lodges in his throat and he nearly chokes when he catches sight of you.

You were wearing a dark long-sleeved shirt that hung to your knees, effectively covering you up. Your hair was wet and dripped lightly onto the sheets as you fold your newly-clean clothes. Something primal stirred in Din's chest as he stared. He felt a sudden sense of pride, seeing you in something that belonged to him. It felt domestic; and he found himself wondering just what else you'd look so irresistible in. Were you wearing anything beneath his shirt? Would you let him find out?

Din quickly looks away when he notices you turning around to put away the pile of folded clothes. You jump slightly when you notice him in the room, your heart nearly leaping from your chest. "Din!" You exclaim, drawing his attention. He looks over at you, hoping to appear as though he hadn't seen you there.

You suddenly feel exposed as he stares at you and you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You truly hadn't meant to steal his shirt. But your clothes were dirty, and the shirt had smelled so good that you couldn't help yourself. "I was going to return it,” you mutter. Your fingers tug at the hem of the shirt anxiously and you wonder for a moment if he's upset under that mask of his.

Din's shoulders twitch ever so slightly as though shrugging in response. He didn't mind if you steal his clothes. Maker, he would leave more lying around if it meant you'd walk around like this.

You feel a sudden rush of courage coursing through you and take a small step forward. Din watches you with a steady gaze, his eyes drinking in your figure as if to commit it to memory. You take a second cautious step, then another, until you're standing in front of him. You look up into the black visor of his helmet, your eyes searching for his. You reach out your hand and pause, debating whether you were doing the right thing. For a moment, Din thinks you're going to reach for his hand. He prepares for this familiar touch by moving his hand forward so you can grab it with ease. To his surprise, however, your hand reaches up instead to rest timidly on his chest plate. The Mandalorian is suddenly unsure of how to react. You'd never done this before.

Your hand slides across the smooth beskar surface, fingers dipping into the occasional dent or scratch. Din stands very still, afraid to disrupt your ministrations. It was hard for him to focus when you did this. He knew your touches were innocent, but Maker be damned if they weren't turning him on. Though your fingers weren't touching him directly, he knew exactly where they were on his chest without looking. It was as though your touch bled through the thick metal and left ghosting trails over his skin. Your voice cuts through the silence, pulling him from his thoughts. "I want to touch you. Is that alright?" Din stares down at you in decided shock as the words leave your lips. Not trusting his voice, he nods numbly and allows you to pull him gently toward the bed.

He stands awkwardly before you like a hulking action figure. His limbs are stiff and he looks as though he doesn't know what to do with himself. You fight the urge to laugh, afraid that it will ruin the moment you've so carefully built. You reach up and tug lightly at his breastplate, looking into his visor. "Can we take this off?"

The Mandalorian doesn't move, and for a moment you think he'll say no. After a long pause, you see his helmet tilt slightly in a nod and your chest swells with excitement. You fumble with the straps that hold the armor down, tugging at them with determination. Din watches you with a pleased gleam in his eyes as you work your fingers over the many knots. It made him feel strangely happy to know you wanted to touch him just as much. The breastplate comes off after a short struggle, quickly followed by his arm and thigh plates. You place them in a neat stack on the metal bench, careful to not topple them onto the floor. You turn back to admire your handiwork, noting the Mandalorian's lean figure under his clothes. The under-armor shirt and pants did very little to conceal his muscles, and you silently hoped you weren't drooling.

You step closer to him and let out a small gasp when his hands move to rest on your hips. The leather gloves rub circles through the shirt that hangs from your body. You reach down and gently grab his wrists, lifting his hands where you can see them. Your hips tingle from the sudden loss of his warmth. Your fingers gingerly trace the gloves and you look up to him for silent permission. Din tilts his head again to nod, and you slowly tug at the fingers until the gloves slide off with ease. You marvel at the calloused, tanned skin that meets your prying eyes and allow yourself a moment to wonder if the rest of him matches. Was his skin marred by battle scars? Or was it smooth and freckled, protected by years of wearing beskar armor? Would he allow you to see more?

When your fingertips glide over his skin, Din is sure he's forgotten how to breathe. Your hands are just as soft as he'd imagined; if not more. You cradled his hands as if they were the most precious things in the galaxy and it almost drew a groan from his lips.

You gently pushed his chest, moving him to sit on the edge of the bed. You move towards him and bring your knee up to rest next to his thigh. You study him for a moment, your eyes searching for any sign of discomfort. You needed him to know he was safe here, and you wouldn't push him further than he was willing. You slowly straddle him, your knees on either side of his legs.

Din swears he could die now and be happy.

He never knew how badly he craved another person's touch until he met you. His hands shakily rest on your hips, holding you against him. He was painfully inept at this-- he could at least admit that. You seem to notice his uncertainty and reach down to guide his hands along your body. His eyes flicker with keen interest as you move his hands along each dip and curve, eventually letting go to allow him to explore on his own. His touches are shy but purposeful. His fingers rub small, calming circles along your hips and waist. He pauses his movements every so often to squeeze you gently, and you're quickly running out of patience. It's taking all of your willpower not to arch your back and moan at each caress. You feel as though you should be embarrassed at how quickly you're coming undone to such innocent touches. His hands are clouding your mind to the point where even thinking becomes a monumental task. You melt into his touch, much to Din's pleasure. He quickly decides that you are a vision to behold; especially when you're slowly unraveling in his grasp.

Without warning, Din boldly slips a hand beneath the shirt that covers your body. A startled gasp slips past your lips and he pauses, wondering if he did something wrong. Your arms wrap haphazardly around his shoulders and you nod your approval. "Don't stop," you manage to rasp out.

That's all the confirmation he needs as he turns his attention back to his original task. He bites back a groan at the feeling of your skin against his, and shudders when his hands discover the lack of underwear beneath your clothing. Your thighs are smooth and round, and he can't suppress the fleeting image of his head between them. His hands eagerly travel up, fingertips brushing against your breasts. A breathless moan escapes you as he makes quick work of exploring your chest. You hang onto his shoulders desperately as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. The world around you spins at a dizzying pace as your brain clouds with lust. You want-- need-- more.

Din, on the other hand, was determined to drag more reactions from you. Your little gasps and moans spurred him on and sent a pleasant tingle down his spine. Seeing you like this was doing things to him that he never felt before. He wanted to see more; touch more. As much as he felt the urge to rush his exploration, this was uncharted land for the Mandalorian. He wanted to memorize each curve and freckle. Every potential scar, mark, or blemish. He wanted to worship you, to show you how much he loved you.

Your knees buckle and your legs give way as your strength leeches from your body, dropping you into his lap. You suck in a sharp breath when your core meets something very hard and very big. Din freezes when he feels it. Even with his pants in the way, he can feel how warm and wet you are. He admittedly fantasized about moments like this when he was alone in the cockpit of the Crest. Imagining you, dripping wet and ready for him, mewling and arching your back in anticipation. He hadn't realized his hands were no longer moving until you bucked your hips with a low whine. A strangled groan escapes him as you swirl your hips, grinding into him. "Din, please," you beg, no longer caring if it was embarrassing or not. He'd lit a fire within your belly, and you were determined to find relief.

Any last shred of willpower that remained in the Mandalorian dissipated the moment the plea left your lips. He reaches a hand down and slowly, tentatively, gives your core an experimental stroke. Your chest presses to his as you arch your back, your lips hung open in a silent cry. You didn't care how shameful you looked now. A needy wail meets your ears as his fingers begin to move against you, and it takes you a moment to realize the sound came from you. Your brain is sluggish, not fully comprehending your own actions. All you could focus on was him and how good he felt.

Din swallows thickly as he tries to find his voice, watching with lidded eyes as you squirm against his touch. He'd never thought about removing his helmet in front of anyone before, not even you. But he'd give almost anything to see you like this without his visor in the way. "Is this alright?" His words are thick with lust and send a shiver down your spine. "Yes, Din, more," you hiss impatiently. Your hips circle his hand, pressing yourself further against his calloused fingers. Din bites his tongue as he watches you use his hand to find pleasure. "You want more?" He's unsure of himself, you can hear it in his tone. "You want me to touch you like this?" You barely manage to nod in response and momentarily wonder if he enjoys dirty talk. You certainly have no complaints. He seems to gain confidence, stroking his fingers with added momentum. A loud cry leaves your lips when he teases your entrance. Your head lulls to the side and your grip on his shoulders tightens as he dips into your core. His fingers are hot as they explore their new territory, wriggling around before pumping in and out of you. Din falls into a steady rhythm and peers up at you. You look euphoric, reveling in the new sensation. "Good girl," he mutters. The moan that leaves your lips when he says this is absolutely filthy. He loves it.

His free arm reaches up to wrap around your waist, steadying you against him as you all but ride his fingers. Your body is flush against his and he can feel your erratic heartbeat through his clothes. Din allows a breathless groan to escape his throat as he feels you tighten around his fingers. Your orgasm violently crashes into you at an unfair pace. You throw your head back as a shrieking moan leaves your parted lips, your toes curling at the sensation. Din feels your muscles clench his fingers in an iron grip as he works you through it. He slows his ministrations only slightly as his eyes rake over your figure. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of seeing you like this.

His cock is almost painfully hard as he watches you slowly come down from your high. His confidence from earlier begins to dissolve as he tries to form a coherent sentence. "Can," he pauses, unsure how to ask. "Can I-- Can we-- I want to," you watch with an amused glimmer in your eyes as the man who just brought you to the brink of an orgasm suddenly becomes shy once more. Your chest heaves and you sit up straight, leaning forward to explore his body for yourself. Din's brain goes blank when he feels your hands under his shirt. You're gentle, taking your time as you run your fingers over his chest and sides. Your head dips down to place a soft kiss against the patch of skin between his shirt and helmet. You hear him suck in a breath and you can't help the smile that ghosts over your lips. You rake your nails down his back, being careful to not press too hard. "I want you," you whisper against his neck.

He wastes no time after that.

Din pulls you so you're straddling him once more, perfectly aligned with his throbbing member. "At your own pace," he says softly. Your chest swells at the gesture. You know he's nervous, and you're honestly surprised the two of you have gotten this far. Your hands ghost over his shoulders and settle on the back of his neck, fingers tangled in the wisps of hair that peek out beneath his helmet. He shuffles you a bit, careful not to disturb you as he frees his cock from its confines. A hot blush crawls up your neck when you feel him twitch against your thigh in anticipation. You bite your lip and glance down, taking in the sight before you. He was big; it would definitely hurt. This wasn't your first time, but it had been a while for you. The stretching would surely be uncomfortable.

Before you can move, you feel warm hands brush against your thighs. Din's fingers tug at the hem of your shirt and he stares at you through the visor. "Can I take this off?" His question mirrors the one you'd asked him earlier. You laugh, nodding your head. You lift your arms as he pulls the shirt over your head, revealing your body to his hungry eyes. Though the helmet keeps him hidden, you know he's staring. You can feel his burning gaze as he eyes your figure.

In one smooth motion, you're positioned above him. You feel his muscles clench beneath your touch as he watches with bated breath. All his reservations fly out the window when you begin to sink down, taking as much of him as you can. A loud groan rips from his throat and sends a shiver down your spine. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out a small gasp as he filled you. It wasn't painful, at least you didn't think it was, but he was stretching you more than you were used to. You feel his hands grab your hips, his fingers digging into your soft skin as you take him fully inside you. You can feel his thighs tense beneath you at the new sensation. He twitches inside you, dragging a hoarse moan from your lips.

Din had absolutely no idea what to do with himself. He'd never felt anything like this before-- and it was driving him mad. You were so warm and wet and tight that he felt like he was losing his mind. He subconsciously moves his hips in tiny thrusts without realizing it. His thighs brush against yours as he does, sending little waves of arousal to your core. Your nails dig into his neck and shoulder as you grip him for support. Din seems to snap back into reality as you scratch his skin and he picks up speed. Little moans and cries spill from your lips as his thrusts gain momentum. You were too distracted to form coherent thoughts. Your brain goes blank as he thrusts in and out, his thighs meeting yours in a resounding slap of skin. Din's hold tightens on your hips as he drags you down into his thrusts, hitting a deep spot inside you that made you arch your back and scream his name. You'd never had anything like this before, and it was absolutely drugging. His name fell from your lips in a pretty mantra, repeating over and over as though you were saying it in prayer. He groans and lets his head lull back as he peers down at you, his eyes nearly shut. He whispers your name, muttering something about being close. "Please, Din," you choke out.

Your words are what finally tip him over the edge. He pulls you closer and all but ruts into you at a fast pace. You cry out, your back arched as he repeatedly slams a deep spot inside you that makes your stomach clench. His arms tighten around your waist as he drags you down to meet his hips, pressing himself as deep as he can. His thighs clench and you feel his body go rigid as he rides out his own orgasm. You feel a rush of warmth as he releases his seed inside you, filling you up. Both of you are out of breath, chests heaving against one another. You feel him twitch inside you when you lean back to gaze into the visor of his helmet. You wondered what he looked like right now. You place a shy kiss to his helmet, right above his mouth. You'd give anything to kiss him. You feel him move beneath you and you can't help the breathy whine that leaves your throat when he slides out of you. Din lets out a small chuckle and pulls you toward the top of the bed.

His back leans against the pillow as he gently guides you over to his side. You happily curl up against him, basking in the after-glow of your earlier activities. You rub your nose against his shirt and breathe in the smell of leather and something earthy; warm, and inviting. You feel his hand hesitate, before resting on your back. Even after that, you knew Din was still coy about touching you. You smile and place haphazard kisses wherever you can reach with minimal effort. Your eyelids feel heavy as sleep threatens to take over. "Din?" The man hums in response, signaling he'd heard you. "I love you."

Though your brain is clouded and your body gives way to the impending slumber, you swear you hear a soft, "I love you too."

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #mandalorian smut #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #smut

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firefly464 · 4 years

Text

The Real World - Chapter 3

Hey guess what @i-have-this-now did a collaborative writing thing this time! They wrote the first part and then I took over for the second part and it was fun :D

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~~~

Wilbur paced around his base, book and quill in hand, quickly and nervously scribbling. Words looking more jumbled and rushed by the second. Tear stains quickly brushed off. At least he knew Tommy was okay. If he didn’t have to make a peace treaty, he’d stab that green bastard through the heart. Tommy was already bleeding and Dream tried to finish him off. His hands were shaking with rage, he had to put the book down. Sitting down and running his hand through his hair, he tried to calm himself. He tried thinking of something hopeful, something that he could look forward to. He couldn’t. L’manberg had surrendered, his friends in shambles, trying to pick up the pieces of a better time.

He looked outside, it was about four in the morning. He saw the black, broken walls of L’manburg. Looking slightly to the left, he saw the burnt wooden gate. Beyond that, he saw… him. Dream was pacing around the town, as if seeing it for the first time. His movements were sluggish and tired, clearly he hadn't had any sleep.

Wilbur, immediately heading outside, confronted the masked man. “What are you doing?”

Dream quickly turned around, stunned. “Oh- uh- Wilbur! I- I was just looking around. I’ll just head back if you need me to-”

Wilbur quickly raised an eyebrow at Dream’s odd behavior. “Just- what do you want?”

“Wil, I- look, I’m sorry for shooting Tommy.” Dream looked down, as if regretful for his actions.

Wilbur’s eyes widened in shock. “You’re sorry?” Anger quickly replaced his surprise. “You’re sorry?! You almost fucking killed him! He’s sixteen, Dream. You agreed to his- his stupid challenge! I swear to god-”

“Yes! I did! I fucking did! You- You think I wanted to-” Dream sighed. “You don’t understand.”

Wilbur looked at Dream once more, noticing the crack in his mask that was exposing his left eye. The crack looked like it was broken by a sword. Did he break it himself? Why would he break his own mask? Then, he noticed his red, puffy eyes. His tired behaviour. Dream truly regretted his actions. What happened to cause his sudden change of heart?

“I’ll- I’ll just go,” Dream muttered quietly. He took one last look at the man that had once been his friend. It was the first time he had really taken a good look at Wilbur in this strange, new world. He was no longer the same happy and cheerful man that he had once been. This wasn’t the man who had cracked jokes in the middle of fighting. This was a man who had been beaten down by the weight of war. A man who had seen one of his best friends get shot in the chest. He was in no shape to listen to the pleas of the one who had caused so much pain and suffering.

Dream had heard stories of war before. Stories of how the Generals in the Civil war had been forced to march soldiers to their deaths, unable to do anything. Stories about the horrors of trench warfare. He had never put much thought into those stories before. After all, he lived in a peaceful time. A time where he could go outside without fearing for his life. Why bother learning about the pains of his ancestors?

However, Wilbur’s eyes made all of those stories feel so much more personal. The eyes of a broken man. One who had given up all hope. One who could see no way out.

Dream could feel tears starting to well up in his eyes as he walked off. Wilbur was in no shape to listen, much less accept his apology.

Sighing, Dream headed back to his base, looking once more at the dreaded bow that had almost taken Tommy’s life. He picked it up and snapped it in half, he can’t bear to look at it anymore. He took off his mask, slashing it with his sword again, splitting it in half. He took his sword and stabbed the wooden floor of his base, leaving it stuck in the wood. He didn’t bother yanking it back out. He threw everything he could on the ground, breaking every fragile object in sight. He took his pickaxe and threw it at the window, shattering it.

This wasn’t his home. This isn’t supposed to be his life. Maybe hearing the glass break could bring him back to his reality, but it didn’t. He was stuck in a war, in a world he himself created. Dream wished he never made the server, never agreed to the war, never agreed to the duel.

He fell to his knees, clutching his sides, as sobs overtook him.

~~~

George woke up early. He put his glasses on and immediately started the day. He went outside, going to Dream’s base. Squinting, he saw what looked like broken glass. Oh no. What happened? Did someone break in? Did someone try to kill Dream?

Rushing over to the disheveled base and heading inside, he saw broken things everywhere. Broken potions, swords, axes. The broken bow did not catch his eye, however, the mask did. Split in two, the mask was slashed diagonally across with a netherite sword, which was on the wooden floor next to it. Dream was asleep on the other side of the room, on a small raised platform. He hadn’t even bothered dragging himself into bed.

George went over to him, shaking him so he would wake up. “Dream, what the hell?”

“Hmmphh… gimme five minutes, George.”

“There is no time for five minutes! Why did you do this?”

Dream shot up immediately. “Why’d I do wha- Oh.”

“Well?” George helped him up.

“I… was overwhelmed?” Dream sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll clean this up.” Dream stood up, turning away from George.

“Dream, this- this isn’t what I’m worried about. I’m worried about you.”

“Me? Wh- Why would you worry about me?” Dream said, laughing nervously.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since the duel! Dream, if something’s going on, you can tell me.”

In reality, Dream couldn’t tell George what was going on. Would he even believe him if he said he was from some alternate reality where this was all just some video game? He fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket, trying to come up with a lie.

“I… I’m not feeling that well. Maybe it was the poison potion before the duel?” He said.

George’s eyes widened in shock. “You drank a poison pot before the duel?!”

Dream looked a bit confused, but nodded anyways. That had happened, right? Both him and Tommy had used a splash potion of poison to get to half a heart so the winner would be clear.

His friend looked genuinely shocked at Dream’s actions, as well as a bit angry. “What the hell Dream?! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? If Tommy had given you even a small cut you would have bled out and died! You know that we don’t have any way of curing that!”

Dream bit back a curse. Of course they hadn’t used any poison. In game guaranteeing death was essential to that style of duel. However, in a real situation, it was just idiotic. It would be like sending a military into battle without bullet proof armor.

But that was his story now, and trying to back peddle would only look more suspicious. And so he just shrugged, trying to look at least a little remorseful. “Sorry… Guess I got over confident.” It wasn’t unbelievable. After all, he was known in the minecraft community for being skilled at the game.

George however, didn’t look convinced. “That’s a stupid reason to put your life in danger. I don’t care how skilled you are. What if Tommy had gotten lucky? You would have died, no questions asked,” he chided, his gaze filled with fear and concern.

Dream felt a twinge of guilt. He hated making his friend worry like this. But he didn’t know what else to do. Better for George to think he was an idiot then to think he was insane. “Look, what's done is done. I’m still alive aren’t I?”

George let out a sigh of resignation “I suppose… But only because you got lucky.” He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the mess surrounding him. He figured it was as good of a topic change as any. “What did you even do? Why is everything… destroyed?”

Dream looked around at the mess he had created. Sure enough, everything was completely and totally destroyed. Glass bottles lay shattered on the floor. Chests were overturned, with resources scattered everywhere. An axe head lay next to the window, its handle nowhere to be seen. In other words, the room looked like a complete and total dump.

“I couldn’t sleep… Again, I haven’t been feeling good”

The other man stepped over to where the splintered remains of the bow lay. He kneeled next to them, before looking up at his friend. He still wasn’t quite used to seeing him without a mask on…

“Dream, isn’t this your maxed out bow?”

Dream stared at the splintered wood on the floor. Sure enough, the faint purple shine of runes still remained on the broken pieces. Enchantment. Oh well, it didn’t matter to him what bow it was. All that mattered was that it had released the deadly shot. The one that had nearly killed an innocent boy.

“Is it…?” he mutters.

“I thought you spent hours trying to get the experience needed for that bow. Why would you destroy it?”

“I told you. I’ve been stressed.”

“Stressed enough to undo countless hours of hard work? That doesn’t seem like something you would do”

He only shrugged in response

“Are you sure you don’t need anything? What if we… What if we went and spared for a bit?” George asked, his eye landing on the netherite sword embedded into the ground. “I know that helps you out. Besides, I’ve been practicing! Today might be the day I finally beat you!”

Dream forced a smile onto his face. Pvp… He was supposed to be good at that, wasn’t he? After all, he knew every exploit of the game. He was the world record holder for the fastest speed run time. He knew how to PVP. So then why did he feel such a heavy sense of dread?

“Yeah, alright. That sounds good”

“Great! I’ll go get the practice swords. You go wait outside at the normal spot” George rushed out of the small base, clearly trying his best to raise his friends spirits.

Dream stepped over to the netherite sword embedded in the ground and pulled it out. He held it in his hand for a second, staring at the glowing runes that were ingrained into the blade. It felt… natural in his hand. The blade felt balanced, and the handle fit perfectly in his hands. It was as if it was made for him. To be honest, it probably had been. Or at least, the him that had existed before he had shown up. The one that actually lived here. The one that wasn’t an imposter…

He did a single swing of the sword, trying to see how it felt. He poured all of his anger and frustration into the swing. Almost immediately, he lost his balance and fell.

“Shit…” he muttered. This wasn’t going to go well.

~~~

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#haha yeah dream doesnt know shit about using a sword #but shhhh its fine #im sure nothing bad will happen because of that :D #also this is my new hyperfixation #writing this is so much fun and i love it #i totally wasnt writing during class #dreamwastaken #dream smp #dream team #georgenotfound #wilbur soot #L'manberg #mcyt #mcyt au #my writing #The Real World #writing colab #The Real World AU #tommyinnit

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thicctails · 3 years

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Summer Of Whump Day 23 [Sick/Survivor’s Guilt]

Crosshair cursed as Cal went limp in his arms, the boy slumping lifelessly. Omega was right behind him, her eyes slipping closed as she wheezed in pain. Both kids needed his attention, but he could only focus on one of them at a time.

‘Damn it! This is why I need my vode here, then we could make sure they were both getting the help they need right now.’ He cursed mentally.

He laid Cal on the ground and pressed his hand against the boy’s stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. Part of him seethed with anger at the fact that he had given that wretched creature a quick death. Keeping one hand on the wound, he leaned over and started checking Omega over. Spots of crimson bled through her clothes, soaking into the fabric and spreading further as the seconds ticked by. The bite on her leg concerned him the most, as the animal’s fangs were quite long.

“What happened here-!”

A woman’s voice had his head snapping up. There was a woman and a few kids now standing before him, horrified expressions on their faces. He moved in front of the downed children, bristling with protective fury. The woman, a Togruta dressed in familiar brown robes, moved into a defensive stance, lightsaber in hand but not yet ignited.

“Easy,” She started, raising one hand, “I just want to help them.”

“They would not need your help if you hadn’t stolen them.” He spat venomously.

A flash of guilt came over the woman’s face. “I know, and I’m sorry. We thought that you were working with the Empire.” She inched a bit closer, and Crosshair’s hands twitched towards his rifle. “But I can help them. If you let me, I can save their lives, but we have to be fast.”

Crosshair’s eyes flicked towards the wounded children, mentally calculating how much medical supplies they had and if he could even carry both of them back in time to use the supplies before they passed away. His decision was made for him when Omega started shaking and sounding like she was choking. He nodded quickly and scooped Omega and Cal up into his arms. The woman and an older teenage Bothan rushed forward, grabbing the other teens who had been injured during the fight.

“Follow me.” The Jedi said, and he obeyed without argument.

They ran through a network of caves until finally stopping in a pristine chamber. A pool of water sat in the middle, surrounded by thick white cots. Crosshair placed each of the kids in his arms on their own cot, turning Omega over on her side. She coughed up a horrible mix of foamy saliva and stomach acid, her sides heaving as she vomited. The sight disturbed Crosshair greatly. Clones didn’t get sick, so if someone was puking their guts out, it was usually because of one of three reasons.

One, the person had had a bit too much to drink.

Two, they’d seen something so bad it had turned their stomach.

Or three, the person was dying.

Judging by how Omega hadn’t been drinking and had been face down in the dirt for most of the ordeal, that left only the third option.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t faster ad’ika.” He whispered, rubbing Omega’s back.

Suddenly, the Jedi was beside him, her hand pressing against Omega’s leg.

“What’s wrong with her?” He asked.

“The same disease that drove that animal mad is coursing through her bloodstream. I must remove it before it reaches her heart.” The woman said, closing her eyes.

Omega whimpered under her touch, and the sound was almost enough to make him turn and attack the Jedi to make her stop touching the girl. But he resisted the urge, knowing that Omega needed this Jedi’s help. Not wanting to be useless, he turned his attention to Cal, peeling up his shirt to examine the wound on his stomach. It was a large laceration, going from the tip of his left hip to the start of the right side of his ribcage. Blood spurted from the wound, sticking to the boy’s clothes and sliding down his pale skin. Crosshair cursed and looked around the room, searching for something to wrap the cut with.

“Bandages are on the left side of the room. Top drawer.” The Jedi murmured.

Crosshair got up and retrieved the bandages as quickly as possible, grabbing some clothes as well. He dipped the clothes in the water and began to clean Cal’s wound. Once the blood had been wiped away, he could see that it wasn’t as deep as he had originally feared. It would scar, but the boy wouldn’t need stitches. He carefully wrapped the gauze around Cal’s torso, making sure that it was tight enough to stop the bleeding, but not so tight that it would restrict his breathing.

He ran a hand through the boy’s hair, unsure of what to do now.

“I didn’t know clones could have children.” The Jedi mused, her voice startling Crosshair out of his own thoughts.

“They’re- they’re not mine. I’m just looking after them.” He said, a bit shocked that she had thought that he was their father. Had he really gone that soft?

“I knew that Cal wasn’t yours, but with how quickly you moved to protect them, I thought perhaps young Omega here might have been related to you. She has your ferocity.” The woman replied, frowning. “I can sense that she would be willing to kill to protect those she loves.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Crosshair questioned, eyeing her but not fully turning to look at her.

“For someone like her, it can be. She is strong in the Force, unusually so, but she is inexperienced. She has no way of fighting off the temptations of the Dark side, and if she uses her abilities to hurt or kill, she may end up Falling.”

“Falling?”

“Falling means you’ve given in to the Dark side. She’s a wildcard, and her raw power makes her dangerous. There are those who would seek her out and drag her down into the dark with them. In the wrong hands, she could become the Galaxy’s worst nightmare.”

“That won’t happen.” Crosshair growled.

“I had a feeling you might say that.” The woman smiled. “You’re welcome to stay here while they recover, if you’d like.”

“Thank you.” He said, knowing that she was taking a risk by having him there.

She nodded. “I am Crèshe Master Azeu Mirthver, but please just call me Azeu. There are spare rooms available, or if you’d like, I can set up a bed in here.”

“I want to stay with them. I need to make sure that they’re okay.” Crosshair said immediately.

Azeu nodded again. “Omega will need monitoring. Her Force signature is radiating a sense of illness and exhaustion, and I fear that a fever may soon set in.”

“A fever?” Crosshair arched an eyebrow. “This quickly?”

“Her immune system is incredibly weak, and she’s practically bleeding stress and pain. This has been a long time coming.” The Jedi sighed, getting to her feet. “I’ve managed to remove the disease, but the puncture wounds are deep. They are the highest risk points for infection, so they’ll need to be checked regularly. I must go check on Tiger and Chex, can you finish applying her bandages?”

“Sure.” Crosshair said, taking Azeu’s place at Omega’s side.

“I’ll be back with a fresh set of clothes soon. I’ll be right down the tunnel if you need me.” Azeu said, quietly leaving the cave.

Crosshair made a noise of acknowledgement as he started to clean the bites on Omega’s leg and ankle. Azeu had cut away part of her pant leg, making it seem like she was wearing shorts on one half and pants on the other. He dabbed at the puncture wounds until his cloth no longer came away bloody, hating how, for most of the time Omega had been around him, she’d been seriously injured or recovering from a major injury.

“We need to get you some armor, eh shiny?” He joked softly, wrapping the bites gently in gauze. “Where would we even find armor that little, huh?”

He ran a hand through her hair, smiling when she made a small noise and unconsciously shifted closer to him. Silently, he gently worked out any knots in her hair, occasionally plucking a stray flower petal from her hair. He glanced at them, a small twinge of sadness rippling through him. There had been two flower crowns on the ground when he had leaped down from his vantage point, well made and still mostly intact, if a bit dusty. He hadn’t payed them any mind at the time, too wrapped up in his panic as he tried to save Omega and Cal from bleeding out on the dirt. Thinking on it now, they were probably Omega’s handiwork, as there weren’t any flowers where he had first heard Cal’s voice coming from.

“We’ll go pick some new ones once you’re better, okay?” He whispered. “But you’ve got to get well first. No running off ‘til we’ve got all of that nastiness out of your system.”

He turned and looked at Cal, his voice still quiet as he spoke. “And that goes for you too, little jetii.”

Maker he is going soft.

It unnerves him slightly; how easily the two children in his care have made him drop his cold exterior. He hasn’t been this open, this vulnerable, since he’d been a small cadet, just barely beginning to learn what his purpose was. Back when he’d been shiny and wide-eyed and new, just like the rest of his vode. Back before the gruelling tests and painful experiments. Back when he had simply been CT-9904, although he didn’t miss the number designation. He’d worn the name his brothers had given him like a badge of honor, as it was something that had been freely given to him, the first thing that had really belonged to him.

He thinks about that, about names. Omega, although it is not a traditional designation, is still the identifier the Kaminoans had stamped on her medical charts. It’s a name, but is it truly hers? Does she even know that, if she wanted, they would help her find a new name? Would she want a new name? What would it be? Something soft in nature, he thinks. Hunter and Tech had picked picked their names based on their enhancements, but he doesn’t think Force or Sensitive would make a very good name.

Flower, maybe?

No, that’s too soft.

She’s good with her bow, so maybe Sharpshot or… just Bow?

No, he doesn’t want her to have to be named after her fighting skills or a weapon like so many of his vode are. They were made for war, but he will do everything in his power to keep Omega as far away from it as possible.

Omega shifts again, and the movement makes him realize that she’s shivering. Crosshair looked around, searching for a blanket. He can’t see any, so he moves to stand up and go look for the Jedi master to ask her where they are. Omega whines pitifully when he moves away, and the sound has him sitting back down right quick. Her face scrunches up in discomfort, and he can hear her murmuring under her breath.

“Mnh… Wrecker, snap out of it…” She whimpered softly, and Crosshair’s heart breaks.

He can’t leave her, not when she seems to be getting some form of comfort out of him being there, but he also doesn’t want her to be cold. There’s only two sources of heat in this room, and he’s not going to put her near Cal, not when he’s injured like he is. That left only himself.

He’s never been the best cuddle buddy, too gangly and thin to be very comfortable to lay on. Tech had been the only one who could ever find him suitable to use as a pillow, the smaller clone curling up near his stomach. However, he’d been told that he ran warmer than his brothers, sometimes reaching fever-levels of heat after a particularly intense combat training session. So if warmth was what Omega needed right now, he’d simply have to make himself as comfortable as possible.

He shed his armor and set aside his rifle, leaving himself in only his blacks. As if sensing his sudden increase in softness, Omega lunged for his stomach, pressing her face into the taunt muscles. Crosshair coughed quietly, wrapping an arm around her as he eased himself down to the floor. The area around eye was still bruised from when that damnable trooper hit her with his blaster, so he gently nudged her face so that she was resting with her bad eye off of his stomach. She snuggled down into him, sighing softly. Slowly, her shivers subsided, leaving her smiling as she slipped into a more peaceful state.

Crosshair huffed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The floor was far from comfortable, but he’d slept on worse. Shifting, just slightly, making sure that no sharp points were poking Omega, he settled down to sleep. The weight was so familiar, so comforting, he found that, for the first time in years, sleep was coming easily. He blinked tiredly, his breathing slowing down as he relaxed. Lulled by the exhaustion of the day and his own heartbeat, he let his eyelids slip shut.

Cal’s vision was blurred as he cracked his eyes open, groaning. His torso burned, a thin stripe of agony that stretched across his body. Bleary eyed, he reached out to the Force, searching for Omega. Her Force signature glowed warmly, drawing him in. Pushing himself up, he stumbled over to where she was, letting the Force be his guide. As his eyes adjusted to the now dim light, he spotted Crosshair and Omega lying on the ground, Omega’s face buried in the older clone’s stomach. Still groggy from sleep and unwilling to go looking for Master Mirthver, he laid down on Crosshair’s free side, leaning against his chest as he snuggled up to him. An arm fell over his back, pulling him closer. Cal yawned and closed his eyes again. For as long as he could remember, he’d slept alone, no matter if he had been sick or hurt or afraid. He’d always felt like asking to sleep with his Master would have been against the Code, even if he had just awoken from a terrible nightmare and really needed the comfort.

Now, as he lay in this cave, cuddled up to a clone that, a few days ago, would have killed him for comfort, he found himself wishing that he had sought out that comfort, taken that time to experience the closeness that he only now realizes that he’s been desperately craving. Tears well in his eyes as he fists part of Crosshair’s outfit, and he knows it’s not because of his wound.

He misses his Master so much that it hurts. It hurts more than any of his previous injuries combined. The guilt had made him feel like he was made of stone, but for the past few days he hadn’t had a moment to feel guilty, to preoccupied with either being terrified for his and Omega’s life or so filled with joy and warmth that he had been fit to burst. But now? In the stillness and quiet? The gnawing feeling came back, making him curl up into a little ball.

What was he doing? He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve to be comforted. He’d been a terrible padawan, possibly the worst padawan! He’d let his Master die, what kind of person did that? All he’d had to do was be faster, move quicker, think quicker, and yet he’d failed. He’d failed, and then he had been alone, lost and left to mourn amidst the wreckage of a war that would soon come to an end in the worst possible way. When he’d been captured, a part of him had wanted to simply attack, to get them to end his life the same they had ended his Master’s. But the fear that had been coursing through his veins had made him freeze up, to not call to his Master’s lightsaber, which was safely tucked away out of sight.

He thinks, bleakly, that he might have overcome his fear if he had been thrown into that cell alone.

Omega had been a burst of starlight in his life, the Force around her curious and untameable. She was unlike any padawan or Jedi he’d ever met, so open and bright. She projected her emotions and made no move to shield her thoughts, having no secrets to keep locked away. Being around her was overwhelming but it was good. It was good because he was so focuses on her that there was no time to think about what had happened, what he’d done. She’d saved him, kept his mind from going back to the dark place it had been in during his time alone on Bracca. A dark place that was slowly dragging him back, its sharp claws digging into his mind.

“Cal?”

Master Mirthver’s voice was quiet as she stepped into the cave, a bundle of blankets in one arm and a cot tucked the other. Cal sniffed and peered at her, his green eyes wet with tears. The Togruta gave him a sad look, moving over to kneel beside him.

“What is troubling you, young Ketsis?” She whispered.

“ ‘m a bad padawan.” He croaked, his voice trembling. “I let Master Tapal die.”

“Oh Cal,” The Crèshe Master crooned, draping a blanket over him, “that isn’t true in the slightest. No one would ever blame you for what happened that day. Jedi Masters that had been training for longer than you’ve been alive couldn’t stop the clones. Master Tapal’s death was not your fault.”

“Yes it was!” He sobbed, the tears falling freely now.

His raw emotions and sorrowful cry woke the two clones he had been resting with. Crosshair jolted a bit, his military upbringing making him snap to alertness. Omega was a different story, all slow movements and hazy questioning over their bond. Crosshair drew Cal into a hug, understanding that the youngster was upset but not yet knowing why.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, rubbing Cal’s back. “It it your cut?”

Cal pressed his face into the clone’s chest, making a noise of disagreement.

“He feels guilt.” The Togruta explained. “He blames himself for something out of his control.”

The Jedi’s words did nothing but make Cal cry harder. Crosshair looked hopelessly confused, unsure of what to do or how to make things better. Omega, now very much awake and practically being suffocated by Cal’s emotions, wiggled her way over Crosshair’s body and pulled him into a hug, holding him as tightly as possible.

“Let it out.” She whispered. “Let it all out. You’ll never be really alright if you don’t get everything out when it starts to be too much.”

The redhead shuddered, clinging to her like his life depended on it. Omega winced as she moved her leg, letting Cal cry into her shoulder. Her own tears slipped down her face as she shared his misery and pain, and she leaned against Crosshair for support. The man brought both her and Cal into a hug easily, wishing that he could help more.

“You’ll be okay.” She rasped. “I promise.”

Crosshair and Azeu looked at each other, neither one quite knowing what to say or what to do. Omega seemed to be the only one who could truly understand what Cal was going through, but neither adult wanted such pressure to fall on the shoulders of a young child. Azeu tentatively reached out with the Force, but quickly pulled back when she felt a sharp, almost electrical feeling. It was like a force-field, protecting those within and keeping any others out. She couldn’t tell if Cal had put it up in an attempt to shield his broken psyche, or if Omega was, in her exhaustion, was trying her best to protect her friend.

Unable to do anything other than simply hug the distraught kids, Crosshair murmured quiet comforting words, both in Basic and in Mando’a. After a while, the sobs died down as the children fell back asleep, still holding onto each other. Silently, Azeu and Crosshair constructed a plush bed for them. Crosshair held Cal and Omega close, not wanting them to wake up and start stumbling around in the dark. There was a pool of water near by, after all, and he didn’t want them falling into it. There was no resistance on their end, the duo easily finding a comfortable spot on his chest and in the crux of his elbow.

“I’ll be back to check on them in the morning.” Azeu whispered.

Crosshair nodded, laying his head down. The blankets made sleep come even easier, and he quickly found himself back in the darkness of sleep.

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

Crosshair smoothed Omega’s hair down, the blonde locks dampened by sweat. The girl’s face was flushed, reddened by a fever that had taken over her body. Her brown eyes were glassy, fogged over by illness. The sight was distressing, both for Crosshair and Cal. The freckled boy was in his cot, staying there only because Azeu had threatened to move him into a different room if he kept trying to check up on Omega. Crosshair wasn’t looking towards him right now, but he was sure that, if he looked, he’d see Cal sulking. He sympathized with him, but the clone knew that he needed to rest.

“I‘m cold.” Omega whined, shuddering.

“You might feel cold, but I assure you, you’re warm as an oven, little verd.” Crosshair replied.

“Lil’ wha?” Omega questioned.

“Verd. It means warrior.” The man responded fondly.

“Oh.” She said, glancing up at Crosshair. “Whatsa warrior?”

“Someone brave who fights for the good of others.”

“Y’think I’m brave?”

Crosshair gave her a kind smile. “Of course. Bravest little clone to ever grace this wretched Galaxy.”

“Awww.” She giggled, leaning into his hand. “You’re so nice, Crosshair.”

“I think you’re the first person to ever say that.” He said, ruffling her hair.

“That’s ‘cause you act too much like a cactus.” Omega replied.

“What?” Crosshair looked at her, confused.

“Prickly on the outside, soft on the inside.” She said, sounding very sage.

“Oh, quiet you.” Crosshair snipped, no heat behind his words.

“Crosshair?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

A bucket was swiftly handed to Omega, and the poor girl clutched it as she emptied her stomach of its contents. Crosshair awkwardly rubbed her back, wincing when she started coughing. He himself had never thrown up, but he’d heard stories from Echo about the time he and his twin, Fives, had gotten blackout drunk. Apparently, it was one of the worst feelings you could experience.

Once she was done, he offered her a cup of water and helped her get comfortable again. Omega groaned as she lay back down, her face contorting in displeasure.

“I don’t like being sick.” She whined.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Crosshair said sympathetically.

“I wanna go home.” Omega sighed, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

“Me too, ad’ika. I’m going to try and contact the Havoc Marauder as soon as you’re better.” The older clone said.

“Why not before?” The young girl asked softly.

“I don’t want to leave you here while I go look for a signal. You can both come with me once you’ve recovered.” He explained.

“Why can’t we stay here?” Omega asked innocently.

“I don’t exactly trust the people who kidnapped you and Cal to be the best babysitters.” Crosshair muttered.

“They’re not bad people, Crosshair. They thought that you had kidnapped us. They’re all really nice.” Omega glanced down. “Except for Chex, he’s kinda mean.”

“Kinda?” Cal lifted his head off his cot. “He nearly cut you in half!”

“What?!” Crosshair growled, sitting up straighter.

“He thought I was like the chipped clones!” Omega explained quickly “He just wanted to protect his family.”

“That’s not an excuse for attacking you. Nothing is an excuse for attacking you.” He hissed, pulling Omega closer, as if to defend her from some unseen threat. “You’re a child. You didn’t do anything.”

“He didn’t know that.” Omega said softly.

Crosshair hugged her closer, and Omega could hear his rising heartbeat thundering in his chest. She nuzzled his stomach, trying to calm his anger before he did something stupid.

“Please don’t hurt him.” The blonde haired clone gave him her best puppy-dog eyes. “I don’t want you to start a fight you can’t win.”

“I can win any fight.” He muttered, but made no move to get up and hunt Chex down, so Omega counted it as a success.

“He’s still a jerk though.” Cal piped up again. “I kinda want to see Crosshair scare the daylights out of him.”

“Cal!” Omega scolded, leaning over to glare disapprovingly at him.

“What?” He asked teasingly. “Don’t pretend that you don’t want to see that.”

Omega puffed her cheeks out, but her sickness-induced flushness and ruffled hair robbed her of any semblance of intimidation. “Where is he anyways? I lost track of him once things got crazy.”

“Forming an apology, I hope. He owes you his life.” Cal huffed, before closing his eyes. Omega lifted her head slightly, sensing him reach out with the Force.

“Oho, he is miserable! He’s as sick as you!” Cal chuckled, before hissing and clutching at his chest. “Ow, ow, ow.”

“Laughing at someone’s pain? That can’t be something Jedi do.” Omega teased.

“Not a Jedi yet, still got time to make mistakes.” Cal argued, lying back down.

Omega huffed, feeling sleep creep up on her. She yawned, stretching her arms.

“I just woke up, how am I already tired?” She complained, rubbing at her uninjured eye.

“You’re healing. Sleep, ad’ika.” Crosshair said, pulling a blanket up over her shoulders.

“One day, I will figure out what you keep calling me.” Omega yawned again, letting sleep bring her into it’s gentle hold.

Blaster fire, yelling, the smell of smoke.

Omega cowered, staring up at the uncaring face of the man before her. Steel blue eyes look down at her with disdain, the man’s lip curling with disgust.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the little defective. You’ve caused quite a stir, what with your escape on Verbrick. You know, the Kamnioans want you back, but since there are so many little Force users here, I see no reason why we can’t just take one of them instead.” He smirks, and Omega feels very cold. “Kill her, and grab one of the children. Not the redhead, though, that one is to be exterminated.”

NONONONONONONO!

The Force becomes alight with her rage and fear, and she calls out to someone, anyone.

She finds someone. She finds them, and the world explodes with noise.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump[23]#omega bad batch #cal ketsis #crosshair bad batch #the bad batch #star wars #star wars the bad batch #whump prompt #writing challenge

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geraltofriviasleftbuttcheek · 4 years

Text

the fate of all things

geraskier | teen | canon divergence, fate/role swap au, druid geralt, witcher jaskier, bard yennefer, canon-typical magic shenanigans, mystery-ish, fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, happy ending

this is meant to be a part of @geraltfluffweek for day 5: magic but the concept i went with is something better suited to a multi-part fic instead of a one shot so that’s what i’m doing!

starts out a little less fluffy than a fluff week warrants, i think, but it’s not going to be a heavily angsty fic and will have a happy end!

—

He wakes slowly, blinking the pull of sleep from his eyes as he lifts his head. The pale rays of morning sunlight pour through the small window in the room, telling him the early hour. His neck aches and he rubs at it, and with a sigh he pushes himself up from his chair and goes to collect more salve.

His hands are practiced and move with almost no thought from him, and he goes through a mental list of tasks to be completed before his mother returns. She'll be bringing back a few of the ingredients they can't grow themselves, but those aren't needed now—witchers heal well enough on their own.

He turns back to the sleeping form on the bed and brings the salve over. The witcher''s bare chest rises and falls in rhythmic beats. With gentle hands, Geralt unwraps the cloth from his wounded shoulder, pleased to see it hadn't bled through in the night.

He dips his fingers in the salve and begins applying it to the slice he'd taken from the wyvern he'd been hunting. Murmuring softly, he feels the rush of his own magic heat the salve, activating its more subtle healing properties, encouraging the wound to close.

He looks up as those blue cat's eyes open, finding his own, and Geralt begins to say, "Relax, you're safe," but the words are stolen from him as the witcher's brow furrows.

"Geralt?" he says, full of confusion, and a strange pulse goes through his head, a flash of blue eyes—without slit pupils; he isn't a witcher, he's a bard—in his mind.

"Jaskier." Geralt tastes the name like a familiar treat on his tongue. "What the fuck."

Just then, the door bursts open, and Geralt turns to watch Yennefer—Yennefer?—storm into the room, purple eyes ablaze. Her dark hair is in a simple braid over her shoulder and she's dressed in a dark jacket and pants, the least refined he's ever seen her. Unobtrusive, even. Completely unlike her, but it's not even the strangest thing.

No, the strangest thing is the lute slung over her shoulder.

What the fuck.

"Who did you fuck?" she demands, eyes on Jaskier, arms crossed. She seems about ready to turn him into an eel, but—wildly enough—Geralt can't feel her chaos stirring the air. She doesn't have any.

Jaskier, for his part, holds up his own arms in a placating gesture, eyes wide. "Why are you assuming it's me who's done this? I sleep with married nobles whose spouses at best want me castrated!" He points a finger at Geralt, who is still standing stupefied at what's happening. "He's the one with the track record of sleeping with mages known for cursing people!"

Yen takes that in, and then Geralt finds himself the subject of that bright, burning gaze as she turns on him. "Who did you fuck?"

It's so weird, so unexpected, so wildly improbable, that Geralt has come right back around to a strange sort of peaceful acceptance. He makes a face at her and snarks, "You're the last person I slept with. Are you admitting this is your doing?"

He can see the way she tenses, the urge to lash out with magic to throw him out the window, but nothing happens other than her fingers tightening their grip on her arms. She tosses her head and looks away.

Jaskier, sitting up, looks between them, then keeps his gaze on Geralt—on his face, on his hair. "That is so weird," he murmurs, and Geralt lifts an eyebrow at him.

"What is?"

"Your—" He makes a vague gesture. "Your hair isn't white. It's strange."

Geralt looks down at himself, catching sight of dark hair from the corner of his eye. He picks some of it up, pulling it around to look at it. Hm.

"I didn't always have white hair," he says with a shrug. "That was the second round of mutations."

"Do I have white hair?" Jaskier asks, eyes bright as he reaches up to his own hair—still the same chocolate brown, if a bit longer, curling around his chin. "No. Only one round of mutations for me. I—"

A strangle look passes over his face, and he shares the look with Geralt. "I remember that much."

He remembers the Trials. He's lived the Trials. Geralt forcefully pushes those thoughts aside—nothing to be done about that now. "Hm."

A strained, awkward silence falls around them, broken only by the sound of birdsong outside. The sunlight creeps further into the room, lightening it bit by bit. Geralt realizes he still has the salve in his hand, then looks back at the wound on Jaskier's shoulder. It's healing even still, slowly closing up. He'll need an ointment to help prevent scarring and make sure he can use the arm properly in the future.

Memories tangle in his mind, ones of helping his mother tend to herbs and make poultices for the town butting up against ones of being mid-battle with all manner of beasts, potions coursing through his blood; days at market buying cloth and fruits warped around gentle hands soothing over wounds on his own skin and a warm, rich voice singing to him in gentle candlelight.

Well. That warm voice is still here at least, he thinks. Jaskier has swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. He looks up at Geralt, and it's so strange to see witcher's eyes in his sweet, soft face, marred only by a single scar through his brow.

His Cat school medallion hangs around his neck, and Geralt instinctively reaches up to his own throat, feeling a sudden sense of loss to realize he no longer has his own medallion. He swallows thickly and blinks away the sting behind his eyes.

"Let me finish patching you up," he finally says, breaking the quiet around them all. Yen seems to snap out of whatever thoughts she'd been in, sucking in a breath and turning to stalk out of the room without another word.

Jaskier watches her go before turning back to Geralt. "Well," he says with forced cheer. "We're really up shit creek with this, aren't we?"

Geralt hums in agreement and moves to finish tending to his wound. The salve is working its miracles, the rough edges of the claw slice not as red as they had been. Satisfied, he applies an ointment to encourage the muscle to relax and then brings over clean cloth, wrapping Jaskier's shoulder with light touches.

"Quite the turning of tables, hm?" Jaskier jokes weakly, and he offers Geralt a small smile. It slips away a moment later. "What happened, Geralt? What's going on?"

It's the question that's been rattling in his brain since Jaskier woke up and called his name when he shouldn't have known it. It shook loose memories of another life—his real life?—and now they need to be shifted through, examined carefully to determine what might be the cause of this.

Magic, no doubt. Chaos is the root of most problems, he thinks. He ties off the cloth and steps back from Jaskier, cleaning up his supplies almost automatically. It's easy, methodical, and he doesn't even think about it. It's his life, what he's always done.

Do witchers ever retire?

Yeah. When they slow and get killed.

"I don't know," he says eventually. "We need to—my memories are...jumbled. Overlapping between this life and—the other."

"Well, I certainly understand that," Jaskier says. Geralt turns and watches him stand and search for his shirt, pulling it on over his head. It still has the remnants of bloodstains in it, though Geralt remembers cleaning it himself during the night. He keeps his eyes on the scars covering Jaskier's skin until the shirt covers them.

Geralt inhales, a deep-seated reflex, and is once again filled with a sense of loss when the familiar scent of meadow grass and wildflowers isn't present, his senses too dull to pick them out from the faintly pungent aroma of the salve. Part of him says of course you can't smell him and another, deeper part of him says you should be able to smell him.

It's confusing, and he rubs his temples at the on-coming headache.

Jaskier's voice is gentle when he says, "Let's...get something to eat, yeah? We can sift through this mess after we've filled our bellies. I've got to get that wyvern head back to town, as well."

"Your reward," Geralt agrees, and that—that feels normal. Perhaps a bit backwards, since he's usually the one doing the hunting—No, you're not. You're a druid, you don't see battle like that—but normal.

Nothing about this is normal.

Jaskier offers him another smile—he smiles quite a bit for a witcher—and Geralt watches as he pointedly leaves his swords and armor against the wall where Yen had tossed them the night before, when he'd told her to undress her wounded companion so he could help.

What the actual fuck is going on here.

One thing at a time, he thinks to himself, and follows Jaskier.

#geraltfluffweek #the witcher #geraskier

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i-like-plan-m · 4 years

Note

Something I've been thinking about is what if Madame Yu was just a bit more obvious in how much she hates wwx, and wwx ran away from Lotus Pier? It's clear his siblings matter more to him than anything else and he hates causing them strife. If he believes that he's the cause, he'd take steps to make them happy, right? I want to write story about that but I dont think I have the ability. If you ever wanted to write something like that I would be overjoyed to read it! - an0n

[Ao3] [Chapter 1/3]

I love this, thank you!! _____________________

“What are you doing?”

It was the fear in Jiang Cheng’s voice that stopped him.

Madam Yu’s last words to him still ringing in his ears, Wei Wuxian pasted on a cheery smile and spun on his heel to face his... to face Jiang Cheng.

“Ah,” he said on a little laugh. “Jiang Cheng…”

“She didn’t mean it,” Jiang Cheng said desperately, stumbling towards him with a panicked edge to his words. “You know that. She wasn’t serious, it’s just the same stuff as always.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian said gently. That was exactly the problem. Madam Yu’s hurled abuse at her children hurt them, and Wei Wuxian was too convenient of an excuse for her to ever pass up. She would never stop, not while he was there to set her off again.

“You can’t leave,” Jiang Cheng said, curling a fist in the front of his robes and holding tight like he could keep Wei Wuxian in Lotus Pier if he just held on tight enough.

“Madam Yu is right,” Wei Wuxian said with a sad smile, reaching up to cover Jiang Cheng’s hand with his own. “I’ve spent too long causing trouble for her and the sect to stay any longer. I shouldn’t be a burden for you all anymore.”

“You’re not a-- did you even tell jiejie? Does she know you’re leaving?” He seized on Jiang Yanli, knowing that she was his weak point. “She doesn't know, does she? Were you just going to disappear?”

Wei Wuxian ached at the thought of Jiang Yanli, of never seeing her again or having her hate him for leaving. But Madam Yu had been clear-- she no longer wanted him at Lotus Pier. He’d heard such things from her before, basically ever since he’d been brought back by Jiang Fengmian, but Madam Yu’s use of Wei Wuxian as a way to torment and ridicule Jiang Cheng had only escalated since their return from the lecture at Cloud Recesses.

Without him, she would have fewer things to be angry about, and less anger to take out on her children and husband.

“I left shijie a letter,” Wei Wuxian said, swallowing roughly. He reached down to pick up his bag, Jiang Cheng still clinging to him, and took one last look around his room. He hoped whoever got it next appreciated the art carvings, the hidden stash of snacks and alcohol under the floorboard, the small, colorful trinkets he’d collected over the years.

Or maybe they would get rid of it all, erasing the signs that he’d ever existed here.

“Then go give it to her yourself,” Jiang Cheng snapped.

“I can’t,” Wei Wuxian said truthfully. He tried to smile, felt it waver in the face of Jiang Cheng’s betrayed expression. “It’s time for me to go, shidi. Ah, and think of it this way! Now you can have dogs again.”

“I don’t want the fucking dogs,” Jiang Cheng choked out. “I want you to stay here. You promised we would be brothers, in this life and the next. You promised.”

Yes, he had. But Madam Yu had told him she’d had enough of him taking advantage of their family, of him thinking himself a part of it when in fact he was nothing but a burden. When he did nothing but make Jiang Cheng and by extension their sect look bad.

So. Better to leave now under his own power before the rest of them started to feel the same, or Madam Yu made Jiang Cheng hate himself and resent Wei Wuxian even more than he already did.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say. A thousand words between them and not a single one spoken, their relationship permanently fractured by the competition neither of them had signed up for, that neither of them had ever wanted.

Wei Wuxian’s presence at Lotus Pier made Jiang Cheng’s life harder. There was no way around the truth of it.

Jiang Cheng’s grip went slack, as though he realized that this was really happening, that his brother was leaving him behind. Wei Wuxian saw stark pain in his eyes before they shuttered, anger becoming his armor against such hurt.

“Fine,” he spat, but the hitch in his breath betrayed him. “If you want to leave so bad, then just go.”

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said, torn to pieces at the anguish in his brother’s voice. “I don’t want to leave you or shijie. But…”

Jiang Cheng looked away. They both knew the real reason he was leaving. Coming to terms with it would be hard for both of them.

“I’ll write,” Wei Wuxian offered quietly. “If… if you want.”

“You’d fucking better write,” Jiang Cheng said, swiping impatiently at his damp cheeks. There was a brief pause, the tension softening into a quiet, shared grief. “Where will you go?”

“Who knows!” Wei Wuxian said, trying for cheerful and sounding uncertain instead. “There’s a whole world out there, you know. Plenty of trouble to find.”

Jiang Cheng made a familiar exasperated sound that made him want to laugh. “Weekly letters,” he threatened. “Or I’m coming to find you.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile was a little more genuine this time. “I can do that.” He hesitated, then added, “Can you…”

“I’ll tell jiejie,” Jiang Cheng said quietly.

“Thank you.” Wei Wuxian enveloped him in a hug, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that threatened when Jiang Cheng gripped him back hard enough to bruise.

“I will see you again,” he promised, and felt the eyes of his brother watch him leave.

~*~

His new mantle of rogue cultivator hurt a little less when he thought of his parents. They hadn’t belonged to a sect after they married, and he wondered if they’d been happy to freely wander the world.

His one clear memory of them made him think so. There’d been laughter, and warmth, and a sense of safety and security that Wei Wuxian found himself wishing for during those first few weeks after leaving Lotus Pier.

Too much freedom, he’d discovered, was a hard adjustment to make. He had no responsibilities other than finding food and water, no duties or chores around a sect, and no sect leader to answer to.

He’d considered, briefly, going to Gusu. The lecture would be over by now, the guest disciples returned home. He wondered if Lan Zhan was happier now that the Cloud Recesses was quiet again. He wondered if Lan Zhan would even want to see him.

But after losing his home so abruptly, Wei Wuxian found that he did not want to go where he was not wanted. Usually he wouldn’t pay any attention to it, would not care what others thought of him or his presence, but now…

Well. He’d been kicked out of Cloud Recesses. Out of Lotus Pier. Neither would welcome him now. Maybe he could go to Qinghe and accomplish the trifecta of banishment.

The thought would be funnier if he weren’t so cold and hungry.

There was a trick to surviving as a rogue cultivator, and that was bartering. Larger towns were typically protected by sect cultivators who could banish spirits or ghosts. Smaller villages usually could not afford such services, so they would trade shelter and a hot meal for a cultivator’s help.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t yet made it far enough away from Yunmeng territory to find these villages. Mostly he hunted or fished to feed himself, and slept out in the open since he couldn’t afford to stay at an inn. It was a far stretch from his days in Yunmeng, never wondering where he would sleep or when his next meal would come.

He was lost in a way he hadn’t been since a recently orphaned child living on the streets and eating trash to survive. Funny, how these things came back full circle.

Wei Wuxian poked at his miserable little fire, hunched over it in the fading light within the forest to soak in the weak warmth it emitted. The wood was too wet to truly burn, still damp from the downpour earlier.

So was he, as a matter of fact. His wet robes clung to him uncomfortably, and he would take them off to let them dry if the descending night weren’t so cold.

Quiet voices had him lurching to his feet, Suibian in hand as he warily scanned the heavy shadows thrown by the trees. They were coming closer, light footsteps that echoed through the forest and hid the direction of their approach.

And then white robes bled out of the darkness, his heart skipped a beat in breathless, astonished hope… and then fell at the sight of a stranger’s face. The man’s companion wore dark robes like his own, a curious pair that moved in sync and spoke without words.

“Our apologies, Young Master. We did not realize there were others so deep into the forest,” the white-robed man said with a polite bow.

Wei Wuxian returned it, noting with a spark of interest that they carried swords that marked them as cultivators. “No apology necessary. I am Wei Wuxian,” he said, rising from the bow. “I was hunting for dinner and didn’t realize how far I’d walked before the sun set.” More like he’d had nothing to turn back for.

“My name is Xiao Xingchen, and my companion is Song Lan.” Xiao Xingchen looked around his campsite with a mild look of curiosity. “Are you traveling alone?”

“I am,” he said, his smile dimming despite his best efforts.

Song Lan studied him for a moment, then shared another brief, wordless conversation with Xiao Xingchen. “Do you have a destination in mind, Master Wei?”

“Ah… no? I’m just wandering,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You are welcome to travel with us, if you wish,” Song Lan offered. “Rogue cultivating can be dangerous and challenging on your own.”

Wei Wuxian looked uncertainly between them, remembering his recent vow to stop going where he wasn’t wanted. These two were obviously close, and he wondered if he would be intruding.

“As Song Lan said,” Xiao Xingchen added at Wei Wuxian’s hesitation. “You are welcome to join us.”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian decided, spirits lifting. “I would appreciate your company.”

“We are headed for a nearby town,” Song Lan said. “Do you need to rest, or can you make it through the rest of the forest tonight?”

Wei Wuxian stomped the dying fire out and eagerly grabbed his bag. “No need to wait!” He followed them through the forest, grateful to have their company. The world seemed less lonely all of a sudden, and the companionship was a buoy for his spirits.

“Have you two been traveling together long?” He asked.

“We met a few years ago. I was raised in Baixue Temple,” Song Lan said, drifting gracefully over the uneven ground. “And Xiao Xingchen was a disciple of Baoshan Sanren.”

Wei Wuxian made a startled sound and nearly tripped over his own feet. Song Lan steadied him and traded a look with Xiao Xingchen over his head.

“Baoshan Sanren?” Wei Wuxian asked, stunned by the reminder that he had family left in the world.

“Yes,” Xiao Xingchen said, eyeing him with some concern. “Are you familiar with her?”

“She is my grandmother,” Wei Wuxian said distantly.

Xiao Xingchen’s eyes widened. “You are the son of Cangse Sanren? Adopted into the Jiang Sect as a child?” Wei Wuxian nodded, and Xiao Xingchen’s surprise morphed into a smile. “Your grandmother wishes to meet you, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian was a little surprised she even knew he existed. “She does?”

“Yes, she does,” Xiao Xingchen said, smile lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes. “I can tell you where to find her, if you wish.”

What else did he have? No place to call home, no family left other than the immortal cultivator secluded on her celestial mountain-- and the part of his heart that urged him to find her, the only ones left in their line.

“There is no hurry,” Xiao Xingchen said gently when the silence stretched too long. “You are still welcome to travel with us as long as you wish. Your grandmother is a patient woman; you can take as long as you need.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed hard and paused to bow to him. “Thank you, Master Xiao. I… I think one day soon I would like to know how to find her.”

Xiao Xingchen nodded. “You need only ask.”

Wei Wuxian let the pair lead him out of the dark, unknown forest, with something like hope burning in his chest.

#anon #asks #the untamed #mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #xiao xingchen #song lan #wei ying #lan zhan #my fics #my writing

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thornescratch · 3 years

Note

🏅🖊

What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc).

At my best, (read: most panicked) I can slam out between 3K and 5K words a day. For my last exchange fic, I had a lot going on in my job and personal life at the time, so I couldn't write during my usual free time periods. I ended up writing a 43K word story in about a ten day period, and it mostly hung together. So, I was kinda pleased with that output.

For the exchange before that one, I wrote a 5K pinch fill in four hours on very little notice. So, I'm pleased that my bullshitting skills are still fairly on point.

Post a snippet from a current WIP.

I have no idea what fandom you're into, so I'm gonna go with some Star Wars shit I just wrote and have no idea where it’s going.

Luke wishes he still had his cloak. It's comfortable and flares perfectly; Han swears most of his Jedi mystique is all the cloak. But that's been long ruined now anyway, cloak or not. He's regretfully aware that it's difficult at best for a reputation to come back from multiple unconscious trips over someone's shoulder, no matter how many mysterious hoods and dramatic entrances came before.

"I'm awake," Luke says again, and before the Mandalorian can say anything, adds, "And I can walk now, actually this time."

"Good to know," the Mandalorian says, and doesn't stop walking. They're going upwards on a narrow path that has a rocky cliff wall on one side, and a sheer drop off on the other side. Luke vaguely remembers going past this gorge yesterday, walking on his own two feet. It hadn’t been much fun then, either.

"So. You don't need to carry me," Luke says. He pats the Mandalorian's back in what he hopes is a convincing way.

"You should try to be less portable, then."

"That's." Luke is jostled briefly as the Mandalorian takes two extra-long strides to get over a rock; his mind jostles along with it, grasping at the words. "I don't usually get that. Called that. Portable."

"Yeah?" the Mandalorian says. "If the armor fits."

"I said I could walk," Luke says.

"You did say that. Then you passed out."

"Only temporarily."

There was a long silence. Luke closes his eyes rather than look at the potential fall waiting for them and focuses on the light breeze blowing across the gorge, the feel of it as it stirs his hair, rather than the dull aching throb at the back of his head which is pounding in time with his heart.

"All passing out is temporary," the Mandalorian says.

Luke opens his eyes. The path is widening, and they're past the gorge edge and now headed towards flatter ground, thankfully. "What?"

"It's not a good excuse. Because it's all temporary. Unless you die."

"Are we still on—oh, right. I guess. But, I mean. I did wake up. And didn't die." He halfheartedly tests the strength of the grip across the back of his legs, and finds it as basically unbreakable of the beskar pauldron that's still digging into his stomach.

"This time," the Mandalorian says. "Stop squirming."

"No, you're right, it doesn't make sense. It's like partial nudity," Luke says, because while he probably isn't up to feats of strength for breaking free, he might be able to actually annoy the Mandalorian into putting him down. It's happened before. "You're either nude or you're not. You pass out or you die."

No answer.

"Come on, I set that up for you," Luke says. "On a plate."

"Is it a Jedi thing, then?" the Mandalorian says, and he must have something in his vocoder that somehow makes it come out even flatter when he wants it to. "Being naked and passing out. I had wondered."

"It might just be a me thing," Luke regretfully admits. He manages to get one hand up to swipe at the trickle of sweat that's been coming down his temple and driving him crazy, except his hand comes back smeared with red, so. Not great. "But since there's not a lot of Jedi. I guess you could make that argument. That, you know, now it's a Jedi thing. Because of me. Also I'm sorry because I think I bled on your cape. Hopefully just a little." He swipes again and winces. "Maybe more than a little."

The Mandalorian makes a noise deep in his throat. "Try to keep most of your blood inside you until we get to the treeline," he says. "And your clothes on." He walks a little faster, but his gait stays smooth, keeping the jostling to a minimum.

#writing #meme #Star Wars

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 3 years

Text

Motion Sickness Chapter 66

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I was sprinting through the woods at night. An unbearable pain in my chest. I slid to a stop and ripped my clothes off to see something massive worming its way around in my stomach. I took the edge of Crocea Mors to my body and screamed as I tried to cut it out of me.

A massive rolling Grimm masked worm flopped out of my chest from the gaping wound I'd cut in my side. It looked up at me with a pleased look.

It was killing me.

I was going to die and that would be preferable to this. This agony was too much for anyone to bear.

I woke up still on top of the building I passed out on top of. I felt like shit. My chest was crusty with blood and Neo… I felt like crying. My mistake had fucked her up. I'd need to find her and apologize.

I grimaced and pulled myself to my feet. I covered myself as best as I could then started a long painful march to Seventh Heaven. I tried not to draw much attention but I was a tall bleeding figure. I got looks. There was nothing I could do about that.

At least the mission had been a success. The White Whale was gone when I woke up. At the bottom of the harbor. And it hadn't exploded and destroyed the docks which was a nice plus.

The plan had technically been a success. But only in a technical sense.

I dragged myself into Seventh Heaven with a chiming of bells.

Jasper was there wiping down the counter.

"Cloud!"

"Jasper." I returned easily. "How was Neo?"

"She was fine within a few hours. She left. Not sure where to. But what about you? You're hurt!"

"He got a good shot off on me. It won't happen again. I need to find Neo. I need to tell her I'm sorry."

"I think she knows," Jasper countered. She pulled a medical kit from behind the bar.

"Doesn't matter. She's been all I've had. And I almost got her killed."

"I told you she was fine. She walked it off. Where have you been?"

"Sleeping it off. Taurus put a hole in me."

She started trying to pull my clothes and armor off. I jerked back away from her. I didn't even really mean to.

"Let me help you," she pleaded.

"After I find out where Neo is. She might have gone back to our hotel."

I pulled my scroll out and sent her a message.

Where are you? I'm at Seventh Heaven.

I waited a few moments and got a message back from her address.

!!!omw

I sighed. Neo was not a talker, even through text where she could have been. It was a touch annoying but I was glad she was alright.

"We told her you were fighting Taurus. I think she went looking for you," Jasper said. "We thought you died."

"Almost. I'm still kicking around though," I shot back. I kicked a barstool to prove my point. It aggravated my chest wounds. Ah, that was the stuff.

"Still think you can beat him?" She fired.

"Give me a few days to recover and definitely. I won't make the same mistakes again. I gave him an edge over me. I handed him the power he needed to win. His semblance surprised me. It won't work twice," I promised.

And it wouldn't. It had been an odd interaction of our powers but it had only happened because I'd gone for the blade beam. Any other Limit Break would have caused things to play out in my favor. Or closer to it. He wouldn't have had that devastating slice.

Jasper was unrelenting. She pulled and tugged at my clothes, she was determined to get a look at where I was cut.

"Come on. Let me take a look at you. Let's get you cleaned up."

"You got a shower here?" I asked.

She nodded and took my hand and started to guide me. I stripped out of my clothes and armor before she'd even left the room, leaving her blushing but I was too tired to care.

I hopped in the shower and the water burned against my chest wound. It wasn't a particularly deep laceration, it hadn't opened my abdomen like some other wounds I'd had before, and it was located just above the bottom of my rib cage to the right side.

I hissed under the hot water as it started to undo the blood clot and clean the wound. I bled a lot into that small shower. The water ran red for a long long time.

I popped back out and put my trousers back on. I came down to where Jasper had the medical kit.

"Think you have stuff to sew me back together in there?" I asked her. I stood shirtless in her bar. She stared for a moment before she opened it and rifled through it. She withdrew her medical line, tweezers, scissors, and a needle.

I propped myself up and wiped my chest down with alcohol wipes and then I started to sew myself back up.

That was when Neo came rushing in. She took me in for a moment.

"Neo…" I paused. She just stared at me. "Neo, I'm so sorry my explosive got you hurt. I've been running it through in my head and I have no idea when I made the mistake but it must have been somewhe-"

She walked up and tried to put her arms around me. Her arms weren't long enough to get all the way around me. I sighed into her touch. I felt the feeling of our bare skin against one another's. It was warm despite her chilling aura.

I relaxed into the touch and shuddered once against the cold of her aura. Goosebumps ran down my arms and back at her touch. Her exposed stomach and cleavage ran against my waist.

"Sorry," I breathed. "Sorry."

I had paused mid sewing myself back up. I continued once she backed away. I dabbed at the still bleeding wound with a cloth as I worked to keep my eyes free and my hands mostly clean of blood.

There was a growing pile of bloodied bandages and cloths next to me on one of the bar stools near where I leaned.

Neo and Jasper both watched me work until I put the last knot in the wire and pulled the wound tightly closed. I gasped a little in pain.

"Hopefully this reaches you that you're not invincible," Jasper said.

"I didn't need another reminder of that."

"But you're still going to fight Taurus?"

"Got to now. It's fucking on now. The gloves are off."

"You should have had them off to begin with."

"I made a mistake."

Neo took a Cosmo Canyon she ordered by pulling on my arm and splashed it against my chest. The alcohol burned and I hissed.

I glared at her. But she just leaned on one palm and smiled at me. I figured she was allowed a little of that considering what I put her through. Maybe I deserved it more than a little. I had to clean myself off of the sticky liquid again. I threw all the bandages and cloths and alcoholic wipes I'd accumulated away.

I put my huntsman clothes and armor back on. I strapped my harness and sword back to my back. In a week or so I'd be right as rain. But for now I needed to act like I was as hurt as I was.

"They confiscated and probably impounded my bike Neo. My bike, my precious, precious bike," I bemoaned.

She only laughed at me in silence. A shuffling of her shoulders and a wide open smile. She was grinning the entire time. She was happy that I was alive. She'd been worried. She tried to cover it by tormenting me but I saw through it a little. Only a little though. The rest was on to how she was a sadist.

"Thank you Jasper." I slid her back her medical kit across the counter after putting everything away in it.

I'd need to repair my huntsman clothes. They'd been torn in the fight. We could find a place that could fix or repair it, though. It would just take time. "And let me know if you see Taurus again. I've got a blood score to settle with him, now."

Might as well add his to my list of names I was constantly looking out for.

"You're really serious about fighting him again after what he did to you?"

"He got lucky," I countered.

" You got lucky," she countered back

"I did, but he got lucky first. That's how he won. In the luck race he got to the finish line first. I'll get him the next time we fight, just wait and see."

"If you say so. I think you should avoid him."

"Enough about that. What's been going down since I was out?" I asked.

"Well the unions are in action. Schnee will have to make concessions now. He's got no reserves of dust. Well, not as many and he knows that they are not safe and they're dwindling," Jasper said. She wiped some of my blood off the counter with a disinfectant wipe.

At least I knew this place was that hygienic.

"He'll need his workers back to work to keep up with local demand. He can't afford not to. He doesn't have any other customers what with the embargo and all. He's losing money fast as it is. And he has competitors. He'll have to give us something."

"Is that where Bisque and Wenge are?" I wondered.

"They're leading the charge with the strikes. Avalanche needs to be seen at the forefront of things if we want to be major players."

"Politics," I grumbled. "I'd rather be stabbed in the chest."

"You know what? You're lucky you're cute because that shit wouldn't fly with anybody else."

"Who says anything about being cute?" I asked.

"Don't be bratty," she said, leaning on the counter.

"I'm serious," I said.

"At least take it easy for the next few days," she said. "Promise me that."

"I make no promises. Anything could happen. But yeah, I probably will. Keep an eye out for Taurus for me."

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To be honest I was in quite a bit of pain. I'd taken some ibuprofen but it only seemed to bed the beast down and not so much actually able to put it to sleep. It was still rearing to clip at me. Nipping at my heels as I made my way around.

Plus they'd taken my bike so I had no wheels which meant Neo and I were walking to the seamstress where they could repair my shirt. Walking and in pain. And I had no one to complain to besides Neo who would probably just get a kick out of it my distress. Especially considering what I put her through. I deserved that.

I needed to get my hands on some real painkillers. That meant talking to Aurum and getting up to Atlas.

I took a gondola up to the floating island and got my shirt fixed up before I made my way to The Den and through its usual din. It only took an hour or two of waiting to get my shirt fixed up.

I wasn't sure how Aurum basically lived in all that noise twenty-four seven like he seemed to. I wasn't sure how he wasn't deaf.

He greeted me with a shallow wave to come over. I plopped down on the couch and let out a groan of pain as I rattled my ribcage in the process.

"I need painkillers," I told Aurum. "I'm willing to pay extra for them if you can get them to me fast."

He reached into a pocket and dumped a few pills out on his hand from a little bottle. He handed them to me.

"What's this?" I asked. I handled the round pills for a moment in my palm.

"Vicodin," he said. "I'll get you some more. This was just from my personal stash and what I had on me."

I took the pills with no water. I groaned as I did. That was that good shit. Real dosages of painkillers was what I needed.

"What happened to you?" He asked.

"I lost a fight," I confessed. "Ass end of an ass kicking and all that."

"To who?" He wondered.

"Adam fucking Taurus."

"Ah that makes sense."

"It does?" I asked.

"He's one of the few people in town that could give you a figurative bloody nose," he spoke over the noise of his music.

"Yeah well he got fucking lucky. I'll kill him next time," I said.

"Next time, hmm?" He made a questioning noise.

"Add him to my list. I want to catch him and kill him." He nodded at that and I could see him mentally do so. It was good for his business anyways.

"I heard Schnee's ship went down full of cargo. Was that you?" He asked.

"It was." I said. I sighed. Those were strong painkillers and someone brought me a whole pill bottle of them. I forked over a few hundred Lien in exchange. I could already feel them working. That was that good stuff. They were relaxing me.

Just because I'd been hurt worse on no painkillers didn't mean I relished the experience. Maybe I wanted to be able to relax and not feel like I was dying.

He laughed at me and I managed a weak glare.

I groaned and waned in and out of consciousness in the lair of drug lord who I would argue was kind of a friend. How things change. If you'd told me I would be in this position back at Beacon I would have laughed in your face.

Well maybe not. I'd had no confidence back then.

But then a lot of shit had happened to me since freshman year. I found out I was a failed experiment who only got passed around on the off chance that they succeeded.

I had the relic of knowledge still on my belt. It was secured to my person at all times. I considered asking it when the pain would fucking stop for good. It was still there. It was just muted by the Vicodin.

"Can I get you a drink?" Aurum asked.

"Should I mix alcohol and these kinds of painkillers?" I shot back.

"I always do," he said. "It's a fucking trip."

"Fuck it," I said. "Something straight and hard, if you please."

He ordered himself a screwdriver and me a few shots of vodka.

I took two of them and the room began to slouch. I was starting to feel a lot less shitty.

I sighed into the comfortable couch. Even with the music at such a high level I might just pass out. I waned in and out of consciousness in a way that was completely different to the way I'd done that on Hyper. On Hyper it had been all rush, making things a blur and making me wax and wane. On this it was all drowsiness so that I was just on the edge of falling asleep constantly.

"Fucking Taurus."

"What's that?"

"Taurus. He fucking cheated. I handed him the power to win and he nearly cut me in half. Luckily I had armor. I can't believe shit went down like that. I should have killed him. He just absorbed my attack. Must have been his semblance. Semblances are bullshit."

"I'm told you have quite the doozy of a semblance. That's just what I heard at least. You ripped into the prisoner transport like it was a tin can."

"Maybe. It's just bullshit when somebody else does, too. It's unfair. I'm going to pass out here for a bit." I leaned my head down onto the couch cushions.

I was straight off to dreamland despite the wump-wump-wump of the music in the place.

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-WG

#adam taurus #rwby #ff7 #ffvii #motion sickness #cloud strife #jaune arc #neo #neapolitan #ruby rose x jaune arc x weiss schnee #war of the roses #white rose #whiterose #whiteknight #white knight #lancaster #jessie rasberry #cloud!jaune arc #sephiroth!jaune arc

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liesyousoldme · 3 years

Text

in honor of eddie month, i’m releasing a collection of WIPs that will never be completed (usually because i just ran out of momentum writing them). they’re all eddie centric and canon divergent. here’s the third!

this is about 3600 words! featuring a lot of internalized homophobia, a gay crisis, and eddie’s issues from the book with religion and worrying about going to hell and how that ties into his sexuality

“Meet back in half an hour?” Mike’s voice was cheery as he looked around at the six other Losers that stood in the hotel lobby.

Beverly and Eddie spoke at the same time – Beverly suggesting they do breakfast instead so everyone could get some rest, and Eddie loudly saying: “You expect me to get this nasty shit off of my body in less than thirty minutes?” He noticed Richie wince next to him. “What?”

“Dude, you’re screaming,” Richie told him, just as Mike agreed with Beverly.

“No I’m fucking not,” Eddie countered, frowning.

“As much as I hate to agree with Richie,” Stan said, “you are. Clean out your ears while you’re in the shower.”

Eddie gaped at his friend. “My… my ears?”

“Bet you got leper puke in there,” Richie added, grinning. Eddie was horrified. He hadn’t realized everyone else had already headed upstairs to their respective rooms to shower – except Beverly and Ben, who seemed to have entered the same room. He wasn’t even sure where Mike had gone.

“While you guys argue, I’m going to take a shower and call my wife,” Stan said, an embarrassed expression crossing his face. Eddie wasn’t sure what to say; they all knew the story: Patty had caught Stan in the midst of writing seven letters, stopping him from making any permanent decisions and calling Mike to find out what had been so awful that her happy husband had decided to calmly sit down and write suicide notes for the people he loved. Mike and Stan had explained the situation to her as well as they could; in the end, it had been his own wife who convinced Stan that he couldn’t turn his back on a promise.

“Well, I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Eds,” Richie said, when the door closed behind Stan. He started up the stairs when Eddie’s voice stopped him.

“There’s… I don’t have a shower curtain anymore,” Eddie told him, voice still too loud. “Or, it has a knife hole and blood on it…”

“Eddie Spaghetti, are you trying to get naked with me?”

Eddie floundered, face turning red. “Wh – I – No! I just. Shut the fuck up, Richie!”

Richie laughed, gesturing at Eddie to follow him. “C’mon, dumbass, you can use my shower. I’ll even let you go first.”

“Wow, my knight in shining armor,” Eddie muttered, following Richie up the stairs. He’d already brought his luggage back up and left it outside his own room, so he grabbed it and entered Richie’s room. Richie was already digging through the one small suitcase he’d brought.

“You know…” Richie started, then paused. Eddie looked at him, dropping his toiletry bag on the bed next to Richie’s luggage. Richie looked back, biting his lip. He finally shook his head. “Never mind.”

“What?” Eddie asked.

“Just take your shower, Eds,” Richie sighed. Eddie felt his stomach drop and knew there was disappointment on his face. Richie was looking down at his bag, still moving clothes around like he was looking for something, but Eddie was sure it was just a way to avoid eye contact. He waited for Richie to say something for a few moments, and when he didn’t, he rolled his eyes and went into the bathroom.

It was disgusting work, peeling off the clothes he’d been wearing for over 24 hours. He realized this outfit had been on an airplane, in a rental car, at a restaurant, in the basement of the pharmacy, covered in Leper puke, bled on from his own stab wound, through the Derry sewer system, into It’s lair and finally into the Quarry.

He already began making plans to burn all of it.

The shower in Richie’s bathroom was exactly the same as the one in his own, down to the ugly green color of the curtain, and the sight of it made him shiver. He stood under the water unable to close his eyes, constantly checking to make sure a crazy escaped inmate wasn’t waiting on the other side of the curtain with a knife. He’d seen Bowers’ dead body, but he couldn’t help but think the sharp end of a knife was going to tear through the curtain at any moment.

He started by cleaning out his ears, steadfastly avoiding looking at the gunk that he removed, then moved onto his hair, because he knew he’d have to keep his eyes closed the longest to rinse out shampoo and he wanted to get it over with. It took three washes before his hair felt sufficiently clean, and he’d only peeked around the shower curtain four times. After that, he used a washcloth from the hotel, lathered in his own antibacterial body wash, to scrub every inch of his skin until he was bright red but clean. He checked for an intruder only twice as he did so. He washed only the bottom half of his face with his face wash, choosing to scrub his forehead with the washcloth so as not to risk soap in the eyes. It wasn’t until he had opened the curtain and begun to dry off that he realized how hard his heart had pounded the entire time he’d been showering.

He was going to have to find a place with a walk-in shower, the kind with a glass door and glass walls, once he decided where he was going to live after he left Derry. Not only did his house in New York have tubs with shower curtains, but it had Myra and years of unhappiness, and he had already decided he was not going back.

Once he was dry, he stepped out of the shower and frowned, wincing when it pulled at his cheek. He wrapped the towel around himself tightly and exited the bathroom, already planning to avoid Richie’s gaze and letting his eyes go directly toward his suitcase on the bed.

However, they landed on Richie in nothing but a white t-shirt and boxers on the bed, instead. He was clean, hair wet against the pillow, and he grinned wolfishly at Eddie.

“Oh,” Richie said. “Do you have something you need to tell me, Eds? You sleep in the nude? I’m sorry, but I’m not your wife, so – “

“Shut the fuck up,” he groaned, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “I forgot to bring a change of clothes with me. How did you shower?”

“I used Ben’s, since he’s busy fucking Beverly in hers,” Richie answered casually.

“Christ, Rich,” Eddie muttered, shaking his head. “Don’t… You can’t say shit like that, they’re our friends.”

“Just because they’re our friends doesn’t mean we have to pretend like they’re not absolutely having sex right now.”

“I’d prefer not to think about it, actually,” Eddie said, kneeling down to the floor where Richie had placed his luggage and looking for something to use as pajamas.

“I’d prefer to think about it,” Richie grinned, waggling his eyebrows at Eddie, who had glanced up to give him a disgusted look.

“Stop thinking about Beverly naked, Richie.”

“Oh, it’s not Beverly I’m thinking about,” he said.

Eddie whipped his head around, clutching a t-shirt in his hand.

“Oh, come on,” Richie said, looking in the opposite direction. His fingers fidgeted where they rested on his chest. “Ben’s super hot now, and Beverly’s like… my sister.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what to say. Was this a joke?

“Um,” he cleared his throat when his voice cracked. “What?”

“Don’t act all oblivious now, Eds,” Richie continued, though Eddie could hear the discomfort in his voice. He always resorted to that fake laughter, to jokes that didn’t quite land, when he was nervous.

“Uh – Is this…” Eddie trailed off, staring at Richie’s poker face. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious about Ben. Like, are you actually attracted to him?”

Richie glanced to the side. “Attracted to him how?”

Eddie felt the urge to stomp his foot. Richie was being difficult on purpose and he wasn’t sure how, but somehow this was a ruse to make fun of him. “Attracted to him the normal way, Richie. Like, physically. Sexually. Whatever.”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t say no if he offered,” Richie shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, “but is this you coming out to me right now?”

“I thought I did that at dinner when I talked about how hot Ben was.”

“Can you be serious for like, five seconds?”

“I am being serious!” Richie insisted, sitting up. Eddie pulled his t-shirt over his head without removing the towel from his waist. “I mean… if you’re okay with that?”

“If I’m okay… With you being attracted to Ben.”

“No, you fucking dumbass!” Richie rolled his eyes. “I don’t give a shit about Ben!” He paused and shook his head. “Okay, no, I give a shit about Ben, just not like that. I just meant… if you’re okay with me being… not straight.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathed. He was clutching his towel.

“I uh, probably should’ve done this at a better time, huh?” Richie said, cheeks red. He laid back down, staring up at the ceiling. “Like, when you’re not naked.”

“I’m not naked,” Eddie argued weakly.

“You’re naked enough,” Richie muttered.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“God, Eddie, please tell me you’re not this fucking stupid.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Eddie asked angrily.

“Nothing,” Richie answered, shaking his head. “Just go back to your room, Eds. I’m sure your bed doesn’t have blood on it.”

“Dude, no,” he said.

“I’m not asking, Eddie. You need to leave.”

Eddie stared, eyes wide. He’d never heard Richie’s voice like that and it made his stomach drop. He felt glued to the floor, watching as Richie sat up and put his feet on the floor.

“Eddie,” Richie said, his voice still cold. “I can’t do this right now, okay?”

“Do what?” He knew he sounded whiny but he couldn’t help it, Richie wasn’t making any sense.

“I can’t talk about my fucking feelings with you, Eddie,” Richie yelled, standing up from the bed. “Not when I just came out to you and you had no fucking reaction, and you’re either stupid or purposely ignoring what I’m trying to tell you, and you’re fucking naked!”

Eddie exhaled heavily. “You said you were attracted to Ben.”

“Oh my God,” Richie laughed to himself, though there was no humor in it. “So you are actually just that fucking stupid, then.”

“I’m not stupid, Richie, I understand what you’re telling me!” He shouted, finding a pair of underwear and gripping them in his hand. “I just – I don’t know what to say! I don’t know what you want me to say!”

“Just say you don’t hate me,” Richie choked. He looked up and there were tears in his eyes. Eddie’s heart lurched. His eyes drifted down, taking in the way Richie’s t-shirt was tight on his broad shoulders, the way it was so thin he could see the pink of his nipples and the black of his chest hair, and even lower than that more black, leading down… “Eddie?”

His head snapped up, heat crawling down his chest. “I-“ He took a moment to regain his thoughts. “I don’t hate you.”

“You sound very believable,” Richie snarked, falling back down onto the bed. “Now that we’ve had this shitty conversation, can you please just leave?”

He was trying to sound unbothered, even verging on annoyed, but Eddie could hear the hurt underneath. He didn’t know how he felt, but he knew he hated to hear Richie sound like that. Gathering his resolve, he found a pair of pajama pants in his luggage and marched back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He made short work of dropping the towel and dressing, ignoring the way his hands were shaking.

He'd never thought of another man like that. He’d never –

But that was a lie, and he knew it.

He had thought, he’d just ignored it. Even though he’d told Myra he wasn’t coming home, she was still technically his wife. And for his entire life, he’d technically been a straight man.

(Straight men don’t want a better look at their best friend’s happy trail, his brain told him, and he shut his eyes tightly to try and make the mental image go away.)

So he occasionally spent a little too long looking at other men. And he occasionally thought of strong thighs and broad shoulders and low groans when he got off. But it wasn’t…

He thought back to childhood. Had he felt like this about Richie then, too? He remembered how close they had been, physically. Had he been leading Richie on, all those times he climbed into the hammock with him? All the sleepovers where they shared a twin bed? The movie nights where he hid his head in Richie’s shoulder during the scary parts?

Was it leading someone on if you wanted it, too?

What if you didn’t even know you wanted it?

Did he want it?

He didn’t notice he had begun to wheeze loudly until there were two knocks on the bathroom door. He jumped, gasping for breath he didn’t have. He felt dizzy.

“Eds? Are you okay in there?”

There was concern in Richie’s voice, none of the hurt from before. Eddie yanked the door open to find Richie standing on the other side, his worried look exactly how Eddie had pictured it.

“I’m sorry, Eds,” he mumbled, stepping back so Eddie had room to get through the doorway without getting too close. Eddie didn’t move. He tried to breathe in deeply, gripping onto the door handle. “I didn’t mean to freak you out-“

“Can you help me?” He asked, interrupting Richie’s apology. Before he could answer, Eddie went on. “When I – When I breathe, can you count? Slow; 4 in, hold for 4, out for 4?”

He wasn’t sure if Richie could even understand what he was saying, but Richie was nodding, grabbing his hand and leading him to the bed. Once he was sitting he closed his eyes against the dizziness and gasped for air, ignoring the tears that leaked out the side of his closed eyelids.

Richie’s voice was quiet as he counted. It only took a few minutes before Eddie was breathing on time with Richie’s count, and it was only then he realized they were holding hands. With his free hand, he wiped the stray tears from his face. Once he felt like he could speak again, he turned to Richie.

“Panic attack,” he whispered. “Not asthma. Myra always just made me use my inhaler but… I saw a therapist, for a little bit. She taught me how to… How to make it stop, without it.”

“Why would she still think you needed your inhaler if it’s not asthma?” Richie asked, keeping his voice at the same quiet level as Eddie’s.

Eddie huffed a laugh. “Because it makes me weak. She likes me weak.”

“Eds, you’re not weak. You’re probably the bravest of all of us.”

He shook his head. Richie didn’t say anything else, just sat next to him while he focused on keeping his breathing even. He didn’t want to think about Myra, or about the kinds of things you need to be brave for. Richie was still holding his hand, and he let his eyes wander his direction, past where their hands lay in between them and to Richie’s legs, bare in just his boxers.

He’d never paid much attention to his own legs, or really the legs of other men. It wasn’t something that had crossed his mind

(except maybe it had, when he was younger and laying in a hammock, but it wasn’t really about legs then, it was about skin, the electricity he felt on days they both wore shorts)

Except in his dreams, the fantasies he pretended he didn’t have, the ones where thick, hairy thighs were wrapped around him, around his waist, around his head, on either side of his own – and he pretended not to think about what was in between, either, how lightheaded he felt when he got fucked up enough to really let himself think about it, to think about what was inside Richie’s boxers

(but it wasn’t Richie’s cock he dreamed about (wasn’t it, though?) when he took enough of those anxiety meds that his filter turned off)

And he could see it now, at least the outline, where thin material didn’t do enough to hide what was inside.

He was breathing too quickly again.

“Eddie-“

“You need to put pants on,” he choked out, taking in a deep breath.

Richie stood up immediately but Eddie couldn’t look at him as he spoke, embarrassment evident in his voice. “Fuck, Eddie, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it – I – fuck, I swear I’m not – I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable-“

“It’s just-“ He sucked in another deep breath, clenching his fists. His mouth started moving without his permission. “It’s – It’s hard to have a fucking gay crisis when your legs and your – your fucking dick are right there and I want-“ he closed his eyes when he heard Richie’s breath hitch. “I just… want. And I can’t have because the second I do I’m – I can’t – It’s wrong, Richie. It’s wrong, right?”

Richie had put on a pair of sweatpants while he was talking, and now he knelt next to Eddie, making sure to keep some distance between them. His face was red, and Eddie could tell his breaths were harsher than normal, could see his own hands clenched into fists. But he didn’t say anything, just looked at Eddie, who choked out a sob. “Help me,” he begged, though he wasn’t sure what exactly he was asking for. He just wanted, and he needed that to be okay.

“It’s not wrong, Eds,” Richie finally said. He sounded breathless. One hand came up to rest on the mattress next to where he sat. “I know it – it was fucking hard growing up when we did, right? Getting called names and listening to people talk about AIDS like it was punishment, and even now, hearing all the bullshit from people who swear it’s all a sin, like it’s something we chose. But we didn’t, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong, and if you… If you choose to act on it, you’re still not doing anything wrong.”

“How do you know we won’t go to Hell?” Eddie whispered, grasping the comforter in his hands. He felt young, like a child asking for reassurance, but he felt trapped in his own mind.

“I don’t, really,” Richie answered. Eddie looked at him, helplessly. “But I think… You go to Hell for doing bad shit, right? For being a bad person. But there’s nothing – there’s nothing bad about love. I’m not doing anything bad by loving you.”

“What about sex? That’s – that’s the bad part, right? Love is great and whatever, but when it’s sex…”

“That’s not bad, either,” Richie promised. Eddie jolted when he grabbed one of his hands, uncurling his fingers from the blanket. “It’s natural and normal. But I don’t – I really don’t know what else to say, Eds. That’s probably more suited for like, intense therapy.”

Eddie nodded jerkily, laughing a little and squeezing Richie’s hand.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, “for talking me down. You were always the one that took care of me.”

“Yeah, well,” Richie shrugged, voice still soft. “I love you, so I’m gonna take care of you no matter what.”

Eddie wanted to tell him, wanted to say he loved him, too, but the words felt stuck in his throat.

“I’ll always let you take care of me,” he said instead, and hoped Richie understood what he meant.

“What are you going to do next? With – As far as, you know, your marriage?”

Eddie sighed. “She already knows I’m not coming home, but… I still have a job in New York. I guess I’ll have to find an apartment. I don’t know. And you’re right, I should go back to therapy, because I clearly have some shit to work out.”

Richie nodded. “I don’t think there’s a single one of us that doesn’t need to go to therapy weekly for the rest of our lives.”

Eddie snorted. “I don’t know how well a therapist would take it if you walked in and started talking about how you fought and killed an evil alien clown.”

Richie laughed. “Eh, I’ll write it into a standup routine instead. Comedy is basically therapy, anyway.”

“No,” Eddie said, vaguely alarmed. Richie was grinning at him. “No, Richie. It’s important to me that you understand joking about your trauma onstage to a bunch of strangers is not the same as therapy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie said, waving him off. He crawled backward until he was leaning against the pillows again, the same way he’d been when Eddie had gotten out of the shower. The bed was big enough that if Eddie were to lay next to him, they wouldn’t be touching. He thought about it. “And if you want, I have an apartment in the city. I’m not there very often, I spend most of my time in LA or on tour, but. There’s two more bedrooms than I need and… I mean, we could split rent or whatever. Even if it’s just til you find a place for yourself.”

Eddie looked at him. He wasn’t avoiding eye contact, but he wasn’t making an effort to look at Eddie, either. His hands were folded on his chest.

“Okay,” Eddie agreed, taking a leap and situating himself next to Richie on the bed. His head hit the pillow and he sighed. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about how close Richie was. He fell asleep to the soothing sound of Richie’s even breaths, and when he woke he felt more rested than he had in years.

#ek #eddie month

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sorceress-coffee · 3 years

Text

Where Is My Mind

AO3 Link Phase 2 - Chapter 25 - Episode 20

River’s P.O.V.

Hanging out at the lockers Jim, Draal, and I watched as Mary freaked out over Claire asking Jim to Spring Fling. Apparently, Claire didn’t know ‘the kind of world’ we live in. I’d rather not freak Mary out with the truth. Toby groaned as he met up with us, landing face-first into his locker, exhausted from his new training.

“Everything hurts,” he complained, letting his arms sag next to him, causing Draal and I to smirk.

“First day of training will do that to you,” Jim chuckled, watching as Toby tried to reign his limbs in. “You’re the one who wanted the war hammer after all.”

“Hey!” Toby shot up, soreness seeming to disappear as Jim questioned his weapon choice. “Next time you have to face a creepy troll assassin you’ll be happy to have ol’ Warhammer, Shadowdancer, and Midnight to back you up!”

“Guess Toby did name my lance,” I shook my head, snickering at his codename for Claire.

“Shadowdancer?” Jim chuckled, “I’m guessing you haven’t run that by Claire yet.”

“What? It’s perfect!” Toby tried to defend, causing Jim, Draal, and I to shake our heads.

Draal smirked, punching Toby’s shoulder lightly; well lightly for Draal, “Normally the person who wields the weapon names it.”

My phone began playing Darth Vader’s march, the ringtone Eemeli programmed for himself. “I’ve gotta take this, you two try not to get suspended in the meantime.” I sighed as Jim and Toby ran for the locker room, leaving Draal and me to take the call. I answered quickly, Eemeli and Eri’s bickering the first thing I hear.

“Tell your danger noodle to just tell me where your father is! I don’t like cryptic snakes.” Eemeli sneered, through the phone, the sound of a blade slicing through the brush a constant white noise to the call.

“I told you where to take the Gyre, now I’m giving you directions, why can’t you be happy with that?” Eri hissed, close to the receiver. She sounded close to strangling Eemeli if the irritation in her voice was a clue.

“Eri, why can’t you tell Eemeli where he is? Out of curiosity, since I’m not there, wouldn’t it be alright?” I asked, confused as to why she was still not being clear about where he is.

I heard a disgruntled huff before Eri cut in again, “Fine! He’s in Camelot! We’re here because this is where it should be headed next.”

Dead silence met us as Eri finished her explanation. Draal shook his head, grumbling. “Of course, that’s where he’d be.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“Camelot,” Eemeli cut in, growling, “He’s been in Camelot this entire time?!” He shrieked, forcing me to rip the phone away from my ear. “Are the others there too?”

Eri hissed, rustling around on the other side of the phone. “He hasn’t been there the entire time! And I don’t know who the ‘others’ are?”

“The Changelings that left with him,” Eemeli snarled.

“Should I hang up?” I asked as Eemeli and Eri ignored us, in favor of yelling at each other wherever they were.

“Eemeli got the information he needed; I don’t see the point in listening to them fight.” He huffed, glaring at anyone who stopped to listen to the yelling coming from my phone.

I shrugged, hanging up the call, “They’ll be fine,” I sighed out, trying to convince myself that neither one would kill the other. “So, Camelot’s still around? And mobile too?”

Draal shrugged as we headed into the halls, snickering as students parted to stary out of his way, glad his fleshy form was still intimidating. “Not sure about mobile, but yes, Camelot is still around. I personally haven’t seen the castle or its residents in about, nine centuries I think.”

I paused as Steve came running for us, grabbing Draal by the shoulder, screaming “You’re not Steve, I’m Steve! I’m special!” He proceeded to push past us, running out to the courtyard.

“How is he the ‘bully’ Jim spoke of?” Draal asked, watching the doors Steve went through, confused.

I shook my head, just as confused. “Normally he has enough wit to punch someone. This is the first time I’ve seen him lose it.”

Draal nodded slowly, watching the other students as we continued walking. “Even for Fleshbags, this is odd.” He finally spoke as one student was trying to ‘swim’ across the hallway, many others beginning to freak out as well.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked, seeing the teachers joining in, Ms. Harper throwing paint all over her classroom as we passed.

A small glowing orb flew up to my face pausing for a moment. Draal snarled, pulling me away from it quickly. “Don’t let it in!”

“In what?!” I jolted as the orb gave chase. Draal grabbed my hand and took off running through the halls, practically dragging me along as more orbs joined the first.

“Pixies, once inside they give you horrible hallucinations. Nightmares!” Draal yelled back as he tried to dodge more. “That’s why everyone is going crazy!”

“Angor Rot,” I gasped out, realizing this was the plan Eemeli overheard while tailing Strickler. “Draal, we have to find Jim!” I fell back as a pixie rammed into my ear canal, immediately causing my head to feel fuzzy.

“River!” Draal stopped short, pulling the hood of his jacket up and holding his nose. “Are you okay?” He quickly helped me to my feet, checking my eyes.

Shaking my head as the hall began to disappear, I pushed him back, “Find Jim! If Angor Rot is here, Jim will need help.”

“What about the pixies?” He asked, holding my head, trying to keep me focused.

As I blinked, Draal disappeared, the school hallways shifting to the grand halls from my memories when Angor Rot called me sunshine. “I’ll be fine Draal. They’re not real, that’s all I need to know. Now go find Jim.”

“River!” Someone called out as they hugged me from behind, the British accent throwing me off, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Aunt Ganieda is having a fit since you teleported from the study!”

I pulled from the person, turning to see a boy around my age with dark hair pulled up in a bun and hazel eyes. “The study?” I asked causing the boy to laugh, taking my hand as he pulled me along the halls.

“Hurry, we can’t let the guards see you,” He explained, hiding behind corners and curtains as we went along, hiding from men in suits of armor.

“That’s the same armor as my dad and Uncle James,” I spoke softly, trying to make sense of the hallucination. Could this be a memory?

“Just because your father is on the guard, doesn’t mean the others are friendly to trolls, you’ve seen where they go if they trespass in Camelot.”

“They don’t know?” I asked, realizing my father and Uncle James were Gumm-Gumm spies at first. “Right, of course, they don’t know. Doux where is mama?” I asked, stopping short at the name that left my mouth, who is Doux?

“She’s in the study with Master Merlin, where you’re supposed to be taking a nap.” He chuckled, pulling me through a wooden doorway into the study.

“It seems Hisirdoux has found the little one,” an elderly voice called from further in the room.

A woman with dark hair, in a forest green dress, came running for Hisirdoux and me, “There you are Moonlight!” She hugged me tight, seeming to come down from a frantic state. “You know you’re not supposed to wander the castle, what if Arthur had seen you? Or the guards?” She asked, holding me back to arms-length, a stern look crossing her features.

“I don’t know?” I asked, more confused. If this is Camelot, why are trolls considered to be trespassers? It’s the magical center of legends.

“Of course,” She sighed, the sternness fading. “You’re only a child, you wouldn’t know.”

An older man with grey hair and green armor joined us, shaking his head as he drew close. “She’ll never learn this way Ganieda, she has no idea of the consequence.”

“There shouldn’t be a consequence.” A curt voice cut in. I turned to see a woman with long red hair, and emerald eyes. She carried the Shadowstaff with her. I immediately felt on edge seeing her.

“Gana!” My mother grinned, walking me to the newest person in the room. “How are the trolls fairing?”

“They’re unhappy, as they should be. However, it seems Sunshine has a habit of visiting them.” She chuckled, petting my hair back.

I ripped away from her at the mention of ‘Sunshine,’ the castle halls bled away to a forest. Gana was leading me through the forest, heading away from the castle. Gold armor covered her from, Shadowstaff held in a white-knuckle grip.

“This was Sunshine!” She called as I turned to look for the others. Why was I alone?

“Where are we going?” I asked, refusing to go further.

“I told you, we’re looking for your friend, Cali,” She turned to look at me. I flinched at her eyes, they were glowing gold, surrounded by black sclera. “Don’t you want to find your friend?”

“Not if I have to follow you,” I snarled, grasping for Midnight but it wasn’t on my belt. Right, this was a hallucination.

A dark chuckle ripped through her throat, “What’s wrong Sunshine? You were never scared of me before.”

“Why don’t remind me of who you are, because I don’t remember an aunt ‘Gana’,” I snarled, eyes burning, even in the open air of the forest I felt like my back was in a corner.

“I have many names Sunshine, but which one will hurt most?” She asked, the black of her sclera began to bleed into her skin, the woman in gold was slowly consumed by the shadows as she stalked forward. The gold of her eyes the only color left as she sneered down at me, not even a foot away. “How about the Eldritch Queen?”

My mind reeled, going back to the only book Blinky could find on my mother. The legend ending in her death at the hands of the Eldritch Queen, “You,” I choked out, blue and orange sparks erupting in my hands as rage began to overtake the hallucination. “No!” I screamed, flashing away from her. I was still in school, what if I hurt someone?

I did the only thing I could think of, I tried to teleport into the sewers under the school. The shadow figure of the Eldritch Queen chasing after me through portals. I stopped short finding my mother, “Get out of here!” I yelled, knowing what would happen if the shadow fallowed.

Lady Ganieda was surrounded by red magic as she appeared to be fighting off the real Eldritch Queen, clad in golden armor.

Green magic began to fill the stony cavern we had teleported to. Merlin entered the fight trying to help Ganieda. “River, get to your father!” He ordered, releasing a burst of magic that threw me back.

I felt trollish hands help me sit up, the only thing I could focus on was gold magic cracking through my mother’s torso as she fell forward. The Eldritch Queen and Merlin both released a large flow of magic as they attacked each other. The air around us began to rip apart, fissures in time appearing all around us.

“Moonlight,” a voice called from behind me, “We have to go, Uncle Merlin will take care of her, she’ll be okay.”

Orange magic ripped through the battle, a female Troll running into the fight, going straight for the Eldritch Queen as a roar left her chest.

I gripped the hands holding my shoulders tight, trying to get closer to the fight. My movement caught the eyes of the golden figure. A sick grin crossed her face as the male troll and I were swallowed in shadows, falling out and dropping into a fissure created by all the magic colliding.

The troll turned me into his chest as we continued to fall, holding me tight to him. “Keep your eyes closed!”

Struggling, I pulled my head from his hand, looking down as my nightmares became a reality. The open sky, the forest closing in fast. It hadn’t been a nightmare, it was a memory. I looked to the troll holding me as we fell, my eyes grew wide as I came face to face with my father’s troll form. Was this the time-lapse?

“Dad!” I screamed as a hand grabbed me from behind, ripping me from the memory. I felt a hilt hit the back of my head; everything began to fog over as the sewers slowly came into focus.

“Sunshine,” Angor Rot sneered as he dropped me, “Memories or nightmares, how broken your mind must be.”

I struggled to stand, holding where he had hit my head. “Either you weren’t going for a killing blow, or the Eldritch Queen is pissed off.” I snarled, backing away from the troll assassin.

The pixies swarm around Angor, flying into a glass lantern strapped to his back. “You’re in luck, Sunshine. I came to make a deal with your Trollhunters.” He smirked, “The pixie invading your mind wasn’t responding to the call, so I happily dislodged it for you.”

“How kind,” I growled, keeping my distance. “Why go to Jim? Strickler won’t hear you out?”

Snarling, he grabbed me by the collar slamming me back into the sewer wall. “Listen close, witch. Strickler holds a ring in his possession. As long as he holds this ring, he controls me.”

“How does a ring have control over a troll assassin?” I asked, thankful the collar kept him from being able to choke me.

“It contains my soul,” He bit out, letting go as he realized he wasn’t doing any damage.

My eyes widened as I reached for the collar, checking it over. “Your soul? You,” I paused, realizing he was telling the truth, “He’s controlling you. How did that happen?”

Angor snarled, “Magic that ancient is out of your grasp Witch, Merlin’s heir or not. It’s primeval magic.”

I growled at the implication, “Why would I try to take someone’s soul? I’m not heartless!”

“Neither was the Eldritch Queen, at first,” He sneered, turning to head further down the sewers until the shadows swallowed him.

I sighed, teleporting up to Strickler’s office, knowing Angor had advised him not to be here for the pixies. Taking off, I began to run through the halls, trying to find the others. Hopefully, they weren’t infected.

Draal stormed out of the gym as I closed in on the doors, relief washing over his face as he spotted me. “River!”

I grinned, jumping for him as I reached the doors, hanging onto him like a koala, “You’re not pixied! Where’s Jim?” I worried, knowing Angor Rot had found him.

“Right here,” He groaned as Toby helped him out of the gym, armor disappearing as the boys and Claire met up with us.

I sighed in relief, untangling myself from Draal as I tackle hugged Jim, “Oh thank Deya! Angor said he made a deal with you, did he hurt you?” I rambled, looking for injuries.

“Angor? He found you?” Jim asked, holding my hands still.

“Yeah,” I winced, pulling a hand back to rub where he hit my head, a knot already forming. “I teleported down in the sewers, my magic started flaring during the,” I paused, unsure if it was only hallucinations or memories woven in. “The pixie attack, since I couldn’t tell who was around me, I went down there. I guess when he called them back, the one in my head was being stubborn. He had fun getting it out.”

“He hit you?” Draal snarled, checking the back of my head immediately. “No blood.”

I nodded, groaning as it made me a little dizzy. “Yeah, didn’t bother to attack after getting the pixie out, but the ring.” I looked to Jim, “Strickler’s controlling him.”

Jim nodded, huddling close as the police showed up to the school, corralling all the students and staff to the front lawn of the school. We quickly separated from the others, heading over to the school sign, relaxing as they counted off all the students.

“Strickler has something called the Inferna Copula, it contains his soul and allows Strickler to control him,” Jim explained as he climbed to sit on the sign with Claire.

“So, if we get the ring, he’ll leave?” Toby asked, hopeful that we’d get a troll assassin off our backs.

Leaning into Draal’s side, I nodded slowly, careful of the hit. “That’s what it sounds like. If Strickler isn’t controlling him, he won’t have a reason to keep attacking us.”

“Other than the fact that he hunts Trollhunters.” Draal grumbled, wrapping his arm around me to keep me steady, worried about the bump even without blood.

Jim groaned, settling his head in his hands, “Right, that’s something we have to consider.”

Toby grinned, hitting his leg, “Who knows maybe he’ll be so grateful you gave him the ring, he’ll quit the hunting business!”

I chuckled relaxing as the cops began to leave, clearing us to go home once Strickler returned. “That’s a good thought Tobes.”

Eemeli’s P.O.V.

“Oh, great!” I snarled, seeing the call had been disconnected. “She hung up!”

Eri slithered over my shoulders, tiny amethyst eyes boring holes through my skull, “Maybe she wouldn’t have hung up if you weren’t yelling!”

“I’m not the only one yelling here snake,” I snarled, pulling her from my shoulders and dropping her onto my backpack. Using a machete, I hacked through the underbrush in the middle of the Amazon forest. “Why would they drop a castle in the middle of the Amazon?”

“It’s the largest forest in the world, it would be the easiest place to hide a castle right now.” Eri huffed, dropping her head on my shoulder, staying mostly on my backpack. “Where would you hide a castle, Rusty?”

“New York, on top of a sky scraper, Gargoyles style,” I snickered, watching Eri tilt her head in confusion out of the corner of my eye.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” She pouted, sensing the teasing.

I shrugged, ducking under the foliage as the trees opened up a little. “Not surprising if you’ve been cooped up in a castle your entire life, Noodle.” I paused, looking up the length of the trees, “Imagine buildings taller than the trees here, some going up higher than the clouds. That’s where I’d park a castle. That way you get the mysterious castle in sky vibes next to a decent Starbucks.”

“Coffee?” She asked, referring to River’s caffeine addiction.

I laughed, nodding, “It’s a coffee shop, Noodle. There’s probably one on every block in New York.”

“That’s dangerous,” She shuddered, slithering up more on my shoulder as we calmed from our argument that led to the phone call. “If River lived somewhere where she could get coffee on every block, she’d combust… and not from her magic.”

I bent over, laughing so hard that I began to wheeze, “Good call, we won’t park it in New York!”

“Neither of you will be traveling further if you don’t identify yourselves.” A gruff voice snarled from behind us, the sound of metal unsheathing alerting Eri and me to a real fight.

I put my hands up as I slowly turned to face the owner of the threats, blinking as I came face to face with an older looking Jim in a suit of Armor bearing Camelot’s crest, “Jim? What the hell happened to you? Did you get old?”

The man paused, shock flashing through his eyes before he zeroed in on Eri. “Eirwen? What are you doing back here? Where’s River?” The knight began to ramble.

Eri popped up, grinning at the knight, “James! River is safe in Arcadia, well, not so safe. That’s why she sent us.” She explained quickly.

“Us?” James, James Sr., I’m assuming, asked, directing the question to me.

I rolled my eyes, shifting into my troll form, “Us,” I snarled before shifting back. “I’m Eemeli, a Gumm-Gumm defect and new ally to your son, the Trollhunter, and Lady Ganieda’s daughter, River.”

James eyed me for a moment before nodding, “This way,” he waved us, heading back to a ship-like vehicle.

Eri nodded to the vehicle, curling around my neck in an almost comforting gesture. Who knows, the Danger Noodle might be growing on me.

“Come on, Rusty! We’re going to the castle!” She flicked her tongue out in excitement. Scratch that, I can’t wait to toss the noodle back at River.

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, climbing aboard after James, watching him closely. “So, a boat on grass? How effective is that?”

James smirked back at me before grabbing a lever, the same twisted look Blinky got while driving the gyre bled into his eyes. “Hold on!”

We took off. Into the sky. Did I mention I hate flying? I screech, sitting down quickly, claws shifting out to sink into the boat/plane vehicle of doom I was in. Yeah, I really hate flying.

James and Eri’s laughter flittered through the rushing air as he slammed the lever back, taking us up further into the clouds.

Eri grinned, getting in my face as we broke through the clouds, “Ready to see home?” She asked, excitement filling her tiny little serpent eyes. All I could do was nod stiffly. She pulled back, and there, where Eri’s head had been, was a section of the original Camelot castle, in the sky. Flying.

“Oh, no,” I groaned, holding on tighter as we flew into the castle, James roughly docking the ship.

“You can let go of the floor now,” He snickered, shifting into a dark blue troll with a short mane of black hair and sky-blue eyes. The Camelot Armor still present in this form. “You’re safe unless Garridan decides to barrel roll the castle.” He grinned, jumping out of the ship.

“I’d rather jump,” I groaned, retracting my claws before carefully climbing out of the flying monstrosity. Once my feet were securely on the castle grounds, James took the lead heading further into the castle. It’s strange walking through a place that used to kill us on site. As we walked through, I noticed only humans and changelings in suits of armor. “So, Eri hasn’t been around full-blooded Trolls before?”

Pausing, James peered over his shoulder at us, eyeing me for a moment before continuing. “The Trolls had to find another Heartstone to survive. Staying away from one for so long makes it easier to corrupt them, so Changelings and humans are all that remain.”

I nodded, analyzing our path as we headed up into a tower. “Aren’t these the same humans that tried to…” I trailed off, eyeing the knights I recognized suspiciously.

“That was before the alliance, and before Lady Ganieda’s,” James sighed, arriving at a tall wooden door. “Before that battle. Now we work together to keep the peace where humans and Trolls coexist.”

James knocked on the door once before heading into the room, waving us in after him. “This is ‘War Room’ or what used to be, it’s main use is strategy and defense check-ins.”

A tall man with raven hair held in a braid was pouring over documents, most seemed to contain Trollish runes, however, many had human languages scrawled across their pages as well. “James, this better be important, an entire hollow of pixies have gone missing recently, if they’ve ventured into human society, who knows the amount of damage they could cause.”

“Probably the amount happening at school today.” I huffed, irritated that the man hadn’t even bothered to look up from the papers.

His head snapped up at my voice, confusion taking over his features as he looked between myself and Eri, processing what I had said. “School?” He finally asked.

“Good to see you too Garridan,” I huffed, Eri curling around my neck, relaxing her head on my shoulder.

Garridan shook his head, sighing as dropped one of the scrolls. “Eemeli, never thought I’d run into you again, and you’re here with Eirwen?”

I nodded, “River sent us,” I explained simply, wanting to gauge his reaction.

He tensed, standing straight at the mention of River. All the documents covering the war table completely forgotten as he strode up to Eri and me, eyes flashing gold as a warning. “Repeat that.”

I flinched at the shift in attitude, “River sent us. She, along with our new Trollhunter, is asking for your help.” I began, Garridan cutting me off before I could continue.

“I can’t leave the castle simply because a call is too hard for the Trollhunter, or my daughter, to accomplish.” He stated, turning back to the table, intent on returning to his work.

James nudged my back, gesturing to Garridan. Taking the hint, I steeled myself for a possible outburst. “Stricklander, the Janus Order, is targeting River specifically. Strickler brought in an assassin to kill Jim. Angor Rot.”

Garridan paused mid-step, hands clenching tight at his sides. “You mentioned a school?” He bit out, back still facing us.

“I followed Strickler to Angor Rot last night, Angor was planning something huge for the school and advised Strickler not to be there. You have an entire hollow of pixies missing, which hasn’t happened since they won the war with the fairies centuries ago. Who could possibly have ways of controlling them?”

“Morgana,” Garridan snarled, turning on his heel quickly, “and by extension, Angor Rot.”

“So, as you can imagine, this isn’t a call they’re having ‘difficulties’ with. They’re in danger, real danger.” I huffed, unsure if I wanted to tell him the last piece River mentioned. “And, it’s only going to get worse. They’re planning on entering the Darklands to rescue the goblin-napped human babies. Darklands also means Gunmar, and the only way out, per the council, is to kill Gunmar.”

All color drained from Garridan’s face, “If River goes into the Darklands, Gunmar could use her to free his army.” He tugged on the braid resting over his shoulder reminding me of when River tugs on the hood strings of her jackets. “That’s a fight they can’t win, not with what Kamaria has told me.”

I winced, remembering River’s birthday, “Yeah, good job on that one, she almost blew up the Heartstone.”

“That sounds familiar,” James coughed, looking away as Garridan leveled him with a glare.

“Alright, I will go.” Garridan nodded, more to himself than any of us.

“Really?!” Eri cried out, surprised that he was willing to leave the castle.

“James,” Garridan spoke, the voice of a general commanding the attention of his soldiers. “You’re in charge while I’m gone. No matter what happens, protect the Heart.”

James nodded, clasping his brother’s shoulder tight. “She’ll be safe, and so will our guest.”

Garridan deflated slightly, nodding to him as he waved for me to follow. “If they’re truly dealing with Angor Rot, then River is in more danger than I thought possible.”

“So, Gunmar is the second most dangerous?” My brow furrowed in confusion as I kept in stride with Garridan, “Is that because he’s in the Darklands?”

“No,” Garridan grits his teeth, retracing the path James led us through, heading back to the ship. “Gunmar doesn’t have a direct connection to Morgana, Angor Rot does. He’s her champion after all.”

I paused at the ship, mind racing, “I don’t understand, the Eldritch Queen was sealed away, she could be dead. What would she want with River?”

“What did she want with Merlin?” Garridan asked, leveling me with a hard stare, “She wants to rip the magic from his blood, magic that now resides in River’s. She can use River’s magic to eclipse the sky in eternal night.”

I could only blink, processing the threat that laid before my friend. River was in more danger than any of us realized, more danger than Gunmar could ever be.

#River of Arcadia #Trollhunters #tales of arcadia #trollhunters fanfiction #tales of arcadia fanfiction #trollhunters oc #trollhuntersoc #trollhunters draal #draal #draal the deadly #Draal x River #Draal x OC #River Marie Lake #River Marie Wyllt #Episode 20 #Where is my mind?#Phase 2 #Chapter 25

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Winter’s Fall (Final)

The finale and happily ever after to our fairy tale! Generic TW for Echidna’s death, it’s definitely not pretty.

MASTERLIST HERE

Enjoy!

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

The sides of the castle were covered in soot from the fire and anything left of the thorns blocking the sentry doors crumbled away like ash beneath Tony’s hands, the weakened boards beneath giving way with a few determined shoves.

Home was dark and Tony hated it-- hated the lifelessness in the cavernous hall, hated the empty furniture and long extinguished lamps. His footprints were the first to break the layer of dust on the marbled floor and as Tony hurried towards Bucky’s bedroom, he glanced behind ever so often, half expecting to see a ghostly set of prints alongside his own.

Home was dark and it felt haunted and Tony hated it.

Bucky’s bedroom was as empty as the rest, nothing but untouched furniture and dusty surfaces and Tony kept his eyes averted from the bed as he limped towards the wardrobe. Bucky wasn’t here, he was in the highest room of the tallest tower, Tony reminded himself over and over as he dug through the clothing to find one of his old shirts. “Just cos the bed’s empty doesn’t mean Bucky’s gone. He isn’t gone, he isn’t gone.”

Out through the ghostly hall and through the double doors leading to the courtyard, and Tony clung to the corners and the shadows as he moved from building to building, making his way towards the far tower.

The Hydra was dead and there was no sign of life, friendly or otherwise, but Tony still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was not alone. There were eyes watching from somewhere, and he turned his head every which way to try and spot them, there was someone following him, and Tony broke into a near run across a stretch of cobblestone to escape, straining his ears for the sound of feet behind him.

Someone somewhere knew he was in the castle and Tony’s breath came a little too fast, his heart pounded a little too hard as he bolted to the base of the tower and ducked behind the heavy door. His hands shook as he threw the bolt, and only then did Tony close his eyes and force himself to breathe, will his heart to slow.

He’d made it. He was closer to Bucky. No one was following him. He was going to be okay.

“We’re going to be okay.” Tony said out loud, ignoring the hurtful honest part of his soul that kept whispering he was too late. “We’re going to be okay. I’m coming, Winter.”

The stairs in front of Tony curved sharply as they rose almost a hundred feet in the air to the room at the very top. It wouldn’t have been an issue for Tony on a normal day, he could have ran up the stairs and carried Bucky down without missing a step, but today-- today he had traveled between Kingdoms, traversed a forest of thorns and briars, nearly died beneath the Hydra monster and now the stairs seemed impossible.

The first step was impossible but Tony took it anyway, bringing trembling fingers to his mouth to wipe blood from his split lip and repeating, “I’m coming, Winter. Hold on. I’m coming.”

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

Deep within the cliffs, far back in a twisting, winding cave that led to nothing at all, the creature Echidna woke from her hibernation with a gasp and a wail, clawed fingers clutching at her heart as it beat wildly out of control before stilling entirely.

And then came pain at her throat, at her temple, traveling down her limbs and ripping through her core. The witch lurched to her feet and then crumpled to her knees with a choking cry, gouging at the stone with her claws as she struggled for breath.

Sea water, bubbling up her throat and spilling from black lips, bile and acid mixing with the salt and eating holes in the rock at her sides and Echidna bared her fangs in a furious, broken hearted howl as she finally realized the source of the pain.

Her Hydra was slain, and by way of the magic woven through each of her offspring, Echidna was feeling the agony as her very own-- every last writhe and flail, the searing pain of cauterized flesh, the bitterness of fear, the burn of wrath, the hopelessness of the end when the last trickle of life drained away and the monster lay still.

“No.” Echidna struggled to her feet, throwing her head back and screaming in a decibel that cracked the boulders above her head. “No no no noooooo!” She gathered her magic and surged from her lair towards the surface, letting her hatred and grief propel her faster and faster until the creature burst free from the soil and could shriek her rage to the sky.

There lay her beautiful Hydra half submerged by the cliffs, mangled and torn to pieces, it’s blood black and oily staining the limestone, the poison from it’s fangs still potent enough to audibly sizzle on the rocks.

Echidna whispered a quiet blessing for her hild and then turned blazing eyes towards the Castle Barnes, forked tongue tasting the air and senses stretched to their limit to try and find the bastard that--

--There. A man climbing the tower where Margaret had place the cursed Prince for safekeeping.

“You are mine.” Echidna hissed, and even though the death of the Hydra had weakened her considerably, the creature still called magic until fire burst from her scaly palms as she stalked towards the castle. “You are mine.”

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

That same something awful and honest deep in Tony’s core whispered he was too late to save his love, but it hurt all the same when he opened the door at the top of the tower and saw Bucky lying on the bed.

“Oh.” Tony’s mouth went dry, his chest constricting in terror. “Oh no no no. Bucky?”

The Prince was too still, poised and perfect and porcelain, hair carefully smoothed back from his forehead and hands folded over his mid section. Tony could only barely see scars at Bucky’s left collarbone disappearing towards his shoulder and reappearing at his fingertips, and he took slow, terrified steps towards the bed, reaching out hesitantly to brush just lightly over Bucky’s cheek, and then over to where the scars began.

“Sweetheart, what happened to you?” He searched for a pulse, watched Bucky’s chest for the rise and fall of merciful breath. “The one time I’m not around to catch you and you go and do something awful? Get yourself cursed?”

Tony shook his head and tried not to cry. “I hate that you look so beautiful right now, you’ve always been so beautiful, but now it’s time to wake up okay?”

Tony closed his fingers around Bucky’s wrist and held tight, praying and hoping to find anything, a beat, a thrum, a patter, anything.

“What are you doin’ Buck, this isn’t okay.” he went to his knees at the bedside, holding Bucky’s hand tight between his own. “This isn’t okay, wake up. Wake up. You can’t be de-- be de-- no. No this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. I’m supposed to rescue you, I’m supposed to catch you when you fall, I’m supposed to come home and make you mine.”

An exhale that was more of a sob and Tony bit at his tongue until it bled as he tried not to fall apart. “I’m so sorry, Winter. I did everything-- I tried-- I tried--” words failed and the tears came faster. “Bucky, you’re my best friend. You can’t leave me alone, you’ve never left me alone, don’t--don’t do this don’t do this-- you are my best friend and I love you--”

It was sheer desperation that had Tony leaning over the bed and crushing their lips together, mingling his tears into the kiss as he begged, “Please, Bucky. Please wake up. Please don’t be gone. I won’t make it if you’re gone. Winter, I need you, I need you--”

Tony dotted kisses all over Bucky’s forehead and his cheek, back again to his cold lips, whispering prayers and pleas and despair into the pale skin. “Please please please--”

“....Tony?” hardly even a whisper, and when Tony gave a little cry of disbelief, Bucky blinked sleepy, confused eyes up at him. “Tony, what are you doing?”

“Oh my god.” Tony wrapped both his arms around Bucky and yanked him up for a hug and Bucky wheezed in surprise. “You’re awake, you’re awake, Bucky oh my god.”

“Tony I’m fine, I’m fine. But what are you doing?” Bucky leaned away from the hug and stared at Tony in bewilderment. “You’re home again? You came back? What are you even doing--” he wrinkled his nose. “Wait. Did you kiss me while I was sleeping?”

“Yeah I sure did, but to be fair?” Tony couldn’t handle Bucky being even inches away, and he tucked at the other Prince until Bucky came close again. “To be fair, I thought you were dead.”

“What?! That doesn’t make things any better!” Bucky objected loudly. “If anything, that makes it creepier! What are ya doin’ kissing dead people Tony? That’s not charming!”

“Damn it Bucky.” Tony’s grip tightened to nearly bruising, and he wanted to laugh in relief at Bucky’s immediate sass but it was all he could do just to speak. “Damn it, I just fought a monster for you. A Hydra monster, in fact. I think I’m entitled to a few kisses.”

“I think th’hell you--” Bucky stopped. “You-- you did what? Tony you did what?” Belatedly, Bucky realized Tony was hurt and this time he pulled away entirely so he could get a better look at him.

“Oh.” Bucky reached out to trace the angry red lines on Tony’s sternum where the acid had ate through cloth and armor to ruin his skin. “Oh no, what happened? You fought a monster for me? What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I promised to always rescue you.” Tony nearly crumpled under the warmth of Bucky’s palm at his heart, and reached up to weave their fingers together. “I promised, sweetheart.”

“You fought a monster for me.” Bucky muttered, leaning in to rest his forehead against Tony. “You came to rescue me.”

“Did you ever think I wouldn’t?” Tony whispered and Bucky whispered back, “Not even for a second.”

“I love you, Buck.” Tony tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair and tilted his head up for a first kiss and then a second, and then another and another because he would never get enough of feeling Bucky warm and alive against him. “I love you. I’m never leaving you again, do you understand? I will always be here.”

“I know.” Bucky nodded and pursed his lips for yet another kiss. “I know. I love--”

The door burst from it’s hinges in a blaze of light, red and gray smoke roiled into the room smelling of sulfur and death and horror and Tony barely had time to push Bucky off the bed and to safety before the blankets and pillow ignited in a flash of otherwordly fire.

“How dare you.” Echidna was so terribly weakened from the death of the Hydra that she could barely stand, but she called more fire to her palms and set them ablaze anyway, her eyes turning yellow and reptilian as she glared at the Princes. “How dare you slay my Hydra, how dare you try and change my revenge! You will pay! Both of you will pay.”

“Tony?” Bucky’s eyes were very wide. “I thought you slayed the monster?”

“This isn’t the monster.” Tony kept one hand reaching out his love to try and keep Bucky calm, the other hand slowly but surely pulling his sword from its scabbard. “I think its the monster’s mother.”

“Oh holy shit.” Bucky audibly gulped and then cringed with another blast of fire nearly singed the hair on his head, the witch ranting and raving in a language neither Prince understood, growing higher in pitch and more and more furious. “Tony!”

“I’ve got you baby.” Tony promised and jumped to his feet, sword brandished. “I’ve got--”

--There was a swish, a schwing and a sickening squelch and Echidna’s tirade cut off abruptly as she stared down at a blade in her heart.

“...what...”

“I’ve got you first.” Bucky finished, and tossed the sheath for his dagger to the side. “I got you first, baby.”

They shared a smile fond enough to be inappropriate for this particular moment, and it was only the sound of Echidna’s scream that brought both Tony and Bucky’s focus around to the witch.

Tony’s jaw dropped as the hilt of Bucky’s dagger began to glow where it stuck out from Echidna’s chest, the charmed blade superheating in the creature’s flesh.

The power of Margaret’s incantations were too much for the weakened witch and Echidna howled and shrieked, writhed and clawed at her own body as the magic seeped beneath her skin and burned it away.

Tony’s sword swung around in a furious arc as the witch began to convulse, and Tony struck with all that remained of his strength, cleaving the monsters head from her body.

Blood and poison splattered the floor and walls as the wicked creature collapsed to her knees and then fell lifeless onto the stones and the very second Echidna was still, Tony threw his sword aside and vaulted the bed to get to Bucky.

“Are you okay?” Tony yanked Bucky up to standing and ran his hands carefully down his body. “Are you alright? None of her got on you, you gotta tell me sweetheart, its’s poison. It’s poison, Bucky you need to tell me if--”

“Tony.” Bucky turned them so neither was looking at the grotesque mess left of Echidna, and hid his face in Tony’s shoulder. “I’m fine, I promise. No poison, nothing. I’m fine. We’re fine. Is it over?”

“It's over.” Tony sighed and pulled Bucky tighter as the big brunette started to shake against him. “It’s over, my love.”

“Thank god.” Bucky was trembling almost out of control now, burrowing as close as he could into Tony’s warmth, “I can’t believe I just killed a witch.”

“Uh excuse me?” Tony paused midway through petting at Bucky’s hair. “Bucky, I killed the witch.”

“I put a blade in her heart before you even remembered you had a sword.” Bucky scoffed and Tony pinched at his side, insisting, “I took her head off! I definitely saved the day!”

“She was dead before you did that though!”

“Maybe she was and maybe she wasn’t, but you have to agree that my kiss literally brought you back to life.” Tony pushed away from Bucky with a huff. “I have life giving kisses.”

“I was taking a nap and you woke me up!” Bucky flung back. “All you did was climb some stairs and kiss some unconscious guy! I woke up from my nap and killed a witch! Life giving kisses-- If anything your kisses are intrusive and unnecessary.”

“Intrusive and unnecessary--!” Tony grabbed at Bucky’s collar and yanked him in for a soul searing, heart stopping, body melting kiss, not letting up until Bucky was clutching at his side and moaning and wonderfully pliant in his arms. “There. Hows that for intrusive and unnecessary?”

“Oh.” Bucky whispered, and Tony kissed him again, gentler this time. “Tony, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about the curse. I know I probably should have, it was stupid to hide it, I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“I will worry about your forever.” Tony murmured into Bucky’s cheek. “You’re my best friend and you have a really terrible habit of ending up in crazy situations--”

“--hey! This wasn’t my fault--”

“I had to fight a Hydra Monster and then climb a million stairs to reach you--”

This time it was Bucky who kissed Tony to shut him up and by the time they parted again both boys were laughing, wiping tears from the others cheek and quietly apologizing about “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you” and “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before” and “I’m sorry I kissed you while you were sleeping” and “I’m sorry I yelled at you, it was a pretty good kiss, all things considered.”

Too lost in each other, the boys didn’t feel the castle waking up as the last of Echidna’s power drained away and the full force of Margaret’s magic came to the front.

George and Winnie woke up in their chambers and reached for one another automatically, wondering why on earth they’d spent so long avoiding each other. In the Castle Stark, Maria’s eyes opened wide in shock as she realized she hadn’t talked to her best friend in almost two years and Howard agreed that the particular misfortune needed to be rectified immediately, and called for a carriage.

Guards and sentries returned to their posts with nothing but the faintest idea that something had gone terribly wrong in the castle, servants came from the village chatting idly about how it had been so odd to not work for a while but now things were back to normal, of course they were.

The witch Margaret felt the abrupt disappearance of Echidna’s power, and she raced towards the Castle Barnes as quickly as she could.

What was left of the Hydra monster was pushed into the sea to be devoured by the other horrors of the deep and with a wave of Margaret’s hand, the clouds opened up into a fairy rain, melting the thorn forest into nothing and coaxing flowers to bloom along the pathways.

The gates barring the bridge were knocked away, the castle drawbridge lowered and Margaret darted through the dusty halls to bring light to every corner, banishing heavy drapes and boarded windows, erasing the gloom that had lingered since the night of Bucky’s fall.

But when she followed the traces of magic to the furthest tower where Bucky had slept for so long, Margaret found nothing but an oily slick where Echidna had melted away, a charmed dagger irreparably stained with the monsters blood, and a bed stripped of sheets and blankets.

And out the window, a rope of bedding leading to the ground, the only bit of proof that two Princes had saved the day and rescued themselves--

-- and were already off on their next adventure.

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

And They Lived Happily Ever After

There was a small estate in the mountains by the sea, some distance from Castle Star but not quite close to Castle Barnes either. It was the traditional honeymoon spot of newly married couples, a secluded hideaway that required the help of only one or two servants to maintain. Surrounded by towering pines on three sides and facing the mighty ocean on the fourth, the manor home was a private, personal sanctuary, meant for royals to take time away from their usual duties to simply live together and discover the wonders of being in love.

This morning, Crown Prince Anthony Edward Stark piled fresh baked cookies on a plate and carried them up the stairs to the sprawling bedroom suite, peeking around the door and smiling when he saw his husband sprawled out in bed and still asleep.

Bucky was beautiful, he was always so beautiful, but after weeks in the sea side sun and days spent swimming and hiking and napping, Bucky’s pale skin had bronzed into a shade that made Tony’s mouth water, his hair grown out to below his shoulders and wrapped in intricate braids. The scars at Bucky’s shoulder had whitened as they healed and faded to delicate lines that Tony knew by heart, just like he knew every inch of Bucky by heart.

“Mmmm.” Bucky peeked open an eye when he smelled the cookies, startling Tony from his thoughts. “Those for me?”

“Only those who do something useful with their day get cookies.” Tony grinned. “And you are at least six hours past useful. Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.”

“Useful schmuseful.” Bucky yawned and sat up, making a show of stretching just because he knew his husband couldn’t help watching. “I felt pretty useful that second time around this morning, you know damn well I did all the work while you just laid there.”

“You did do all the work, but that doesn’t mean you get--ack!” Tony yelped when he leaned down for a kiss and Bucky just yanked him down into the pillows. “The oven is on! I can’t laze about in bed with you all day! I’ll burn the house down.”

“Nothing will burn.” Bucky dipped his fingers through a chocolate chip and smeared the still warm chocolate on Tony’s lips before kissing it all away. “Mmm. Who needs a Prince Charming when I get you half naked bringing me cookies?”

“Damn you.” Tony huffed. “I am Prince Charming! Kiss of life and monster slaying, remember? Just say it once! One time!”

“I’m pretty sure that whole thing was more about true love and less about whatever your kiss of life is.” Bucky grinned and pulled Tony closer, bumping their noses teasingly. “But kiss me real good anyway, and see if I change my mind.”

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

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