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bookshelf-in-progress · 1 year

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The Turning of the Year: A Cinderella Retelling

In a long-ago year, in a faraway land, there lived a girl named Alena. She lived in the house of a cruel stepmother, who hated her because she was so much prettier than her own daughter, and who made Alena do all the work of the house. Though the stepmother let her eat only scraps and wear only rags, Alena grew only more kind and beautiful as the year's went by, while her own daughter, Vanda, grew ever more coarse and cruel.

Now one December, it became known that the king of the land would host a grand ball in the city upon the eve of the New Year. Alena, like all other girls, wished to attend, and asked her stepmother if she could go. Her stepmother promised that she could, in order to convince Alena to work even harder in the weeks before.

But when New Year's Eve arrived, and Alena asked if she could dress for the ball, her stepmother cried, "A ball? When there is so much work to do? We must cast out the old year! You shall attend no ball before the house is cleaned. If there is even a speck of dust left in this house at midnight, you shall bring bad luck upon us all--and it shall be very bad luck for you.”

With that, her stepmother left the house, along with her own daughter, Vanda, to purchase trimmings for their dresses at the ball.

Scarcely had Alena begun to clean the kitchen when she heard footsteps near the back garden gate. When Alena peered outside, she found an old woman walking alone, her back so bent she could not stand without her staff, and her hair so white the snowflakes seemed dark upon it.

“Good mother!” Alena cried, rushing to the woman’s aid. “Come inside to warm yourself! It is no weather for traveling.”

The old woman took a seat by the fire with thanks, and gladly shared the crust of bread that was the only meal Alena’s stepmother had given her.

“You are good to an old woman,” the stranger said. “Yet that is no surprise, for you have been good the whole year through.”

“You do not know me,” Alena said in surprise.

“But I do,” the woman replied, “for I am the Old Year. You have shown me kindness near the end of my journey, so I will be glad to do what I can to help you in yours. What troubles you, child?”

Alena said with sorrow, “My stepmother will not let me attend the prince’s ball until I have cleaned every speck of dust from the house.”

“That is easily done,” the Old Year said, “for April shall reign in this house for the hour.”

With that, though the woman remained old and bent upon her stool, she also seemed somehow to be tall and straight, young and beautiful, with apple blossoms in her golden hair. In the garden outside, the snow clouds cleared away for springtime sun, and warm breezes blew through the house, gathering all the dirt and dust and soot and spreading it neatly in the gardens outside. While spring reigned, Alena gathered blossoming branches from the garden and placed them in jars around the house. Before the hour was over, the house shone. The old woman then lost her youthful aura, and winter returned to the gardens outside.

Alena thanked the Old Year from the bottom of her heart, but at that moment, her stepmother and stepsister returned. Alena, knowing that her stepmother would beat her for letting a ragged stranger into the house, hid the Old Year in the pantry just before her mother entered the kitchen.

“You lazy girl!” Stepmother shouted, when she saw Alena sitting on the stool near the fireplace. “Why are you sitting when the house must be cleaned?”

“It is clean, Stepmother,” Alena replied.

Her stepmother protested, but when she inspected the house, she found not a speck of dust.

She returned to the kitchen filled with rage, for she did not wish Alena to attend the ball and outshine her own daughter in the presence of the prince. When there, she saw the sacks of grain that Alena had moved out of the pantry to make room for the old woman.

“Aha!” her stepmother said. “You have forgotten the grain! We cannot enter the old year with bad grain. You must sift through every kernel so you can throw out the bad and keep the good. If this is not done before midnight, it will be a bad year for you.”

With that, her stepmother and Vanda returned to their rooms to prepare their dresses for the ball. Alena wept by the fireplace, and when she let the old year back into the kitchen, she told her the new task her stepmother had given her.

“That is no trouble,” the Old Year said. “Dry your eyes, child, for July shall reign in this house for the hour.”

Though the woman remained as old as ever, Alena thought she could also see her as a woman of middle age, with roses in hair just beginning to go gray. Through the windows flew every one of summer’s songbirds--warblers, robins, thrushes, vireos, orioles, flycatchers, tanagers, grosbeaks. At the Old Year’s commands, they opened the sacks, and threw the good grain into the barrels and the bad out the back door.

The gardens outside were lush and green, and Alena spent the hour in the sunshine, gathering strawberries, raspberries, and roses by the armful. The birds finished their work before the hour was over, and then flew out the doorway. The sunshine faded, the snow returned, and Alena thanked the Old Year with all her heart.

Just then, her stepmother emerged from her rooms, and Alena hid the Old Year in the pantry once more. Her stepmother and Vanda were fully dressed for the ball, but they had been so absorbed in their own looks that they had not seen even a moment of the summer that had filled the house.

"The grain is sorted, Stepmother," Alena said. "That means I can go to the ball."

With anger in her heart, her stepmother sorted through the grain, but she could not find one bad kernel to blame Alena for.

"You stupid girl!" she said at last. "Just because the grain is sorted, it doesn't mean your work is done. You have forgotten the mattresses! We cannot meet the new year in beds filled with last year's down! You must empty all the mattresses and stuff them all with fresh feathers before you can even think of attending the ball!"

She forced Alena to drag the mattresses to the kitchen, and then she and Vanda returned to their rooms to finish dressing their hair.

With that, Alena fell to weeping once again. The Old Year emerged and asked what troubled her.

"My stepmother demands I restuff the mattresses before I can attend the ball."

"That is no trouble," the Old Year said. "September shall reign in this house for the hour."

The next moment, though the woman remained old and bent, Alena also saw her as a woman not quite so old, with an elegant bearing and iron-gray hair that was woven with autumn leaves. The light outside became golden, while the plants in the garden grew brown and dry, and the trees bore apples among flaming leaves.

The sky grew dark as the air filled with the sound of beating wings, and in a moment, geese and ducks of every kind filled the gardens. The birds filed through the door, and at the Old Year's command, they pulled the old feathers from the mattresses and replaced them with a few feathers pulled from their own wings and tails and breasts. While the birds worked, Alena went to the gardens and gathered sweet apples from the groaning trees.

When the hour was over, the birds flew away, leaving behind mattresses plump with fresh new feathers. Alena thanked the Old Year with all her heart, then flew up the stairs to prepare for the ball.

Her stepmother met her in the hall outside her bedchamber, her hair dressed and ready for the ball.

"I have finished the work, Stepmother," Alena said, "so I will be able to go with you to the ball."

Her stepmother did not believe her, but when Alena brought the mattresses upstairs, she found them so plump and clean and fresh that she could find no fault to blame Alena for.

"You foolish child," her stepmother said at last, so angry she could barely speak. "You cannot possibly attend the ball, for you have nothing suitable to wear."

"I have one dress," Alena said. She flew into her dark, drafty little room and emerged with a gown that had once belonged to her mother. "This dress will fit me, and it is fit to be seen even by a king."

Her stepmother could see that in such a dress, even old as it was, Alena would still far outshine her own daughter in the prince's eyes. She tore the dress from Alena's hands, and with hands made strong by fury, she tore at the seams until the dress tore in two.

"This rag?" Her stepmother cried. "You cannot attend the ball in something so old. I would not have you come and give shame to us all. You must stay here and greet the new year alone."

With that, she and Vanda put on their cloaks, stepped in their carriage, and departed for the ball, leaving Alena weeping in the hallway.

While she wept, the Old Year came to her side and asked what troubled her.

"I am without hope," Alena said. "Though all the work is done, I cannot attend the ball, for I have nothing but rags to wear."

"Nonsense, child," the Old Year said. "You shall be the finest woman there, for you will be clothed in all the bounty of the year."

The Old Year helped Alena to her feet, and through tear-filled eyes, Alena saw the woman change, so she seemed old and young and middle-aged all at once. In the gardens outside, spring blossoms sprouted beside summer's roses, and autumn's leaves blazed over winter's snow. Sun and snow and wind and rain all seemed to fill the little hall where Alena stood. Her limp hair piled high atop her head and was crowned with the blossoms of spring. Her rags became a gown as soft as the petals of summer's roses, and bright with autumn's crimson and gold. A cloak of winter-white feathers stretched from her shoulders to the ground, and her feet were shod in shoes of winter's ice, which through some miracle neither froze her feet nor melted upon the floor.

"Old Mother!" Alena cried in gratitude, throwing her arms around the old woman. "I cannot thank you enough."

"You have earned it," the Old Year said, "but I warn you that I will fade away at midnight's chime, and when I go, my gifts will disappear. You must leave quickly, child, while time lasts."

With that, another wind, warm and icy all at once, wrapped itself around Alena and lifted her through the window. In moments, she found herself before the king's palace, which was all lit up for the festival.

At the ball, her beauty far outshone every woman there, and the dancers stopped dancing to whisper about this strange foreign princess who had arrived with no escort. The king, seeing her, was enchanted at once, and asked for her hand in the dance. For the rest of the night, Alena danced with no other, and found the king as kind and handsome as all the tales had claimed.

The hours flew by in what seemed like moments, until just as the king led her out toward a balcony, the palace clock began to chime the midnight hour.

"The new year has come!" the king declared, but Alena fled from him, out of the palace, down the stairs, and to the dark and snow-covered city streets. The Old Year's wind--what was left of it--found her and carried her through the midnight sky, but at the stroke of twelve, it faded away, dropping Alena into her house's back garden, clad once more in her rags. A single shoe of winter's ice clung to her left foot--though the Old Year's gifts had faded, winter still reigned, so only that season's gift remained.

The king, when she fled, ran after her, but he could find no trace of where his partner had gone, save one token, dropped in the place where the wind had picked her up--a single shoe made of winter's unmelting ice. The king declared that he would marry no woman save for the one who fit the miraculous shoe, and at the first light of dawn, he left the palace in search of her.

He had not gone far when he came across a girl child, barely old enough to walk, with hair as soft and golden as the sun's first rays.

"Where are you going?" the child asked him, in a voice too strong and clear for one so young. The king knew at once that he spoke to the newborn Year.

"I search for the woman I love," the king said, "though I have nothing to find her save the shoe she left behind."

"I know her well," the New Year said, "for she was a great friend of my mother's. You will find her in a house at the edge of the city, where spring's blossoms sit next to summer's roses and autumn's fresh apples."

With many thanks, the king swept the child onto his horse, wrapped her in his cloak, and sped off toward the far edge of the city. Before long, he came upon Alena's house, and knew it by the baskets of blossoms, roses and apples she had kept by the kitchen window.

When Alena's stepmother had come home from the ball, she had seen the signs of autumn, spring and summer in her kitchen, and knew that Alena had been the princess at the ball. She searched in Alena's room and found the partner to the shoe the prince held, then she seized Alena by the hair and locked her deep within the cellar. As she saw the prince approach, she fetched Vanda--her own ugly, cruel daughter--and perched her near the window with the blossoming roses, with the shoe of ice upon her foot.

The king rode to the house's entrance and presented himself by the main doors. Alena's stepmother greeted him with warm joy and welcomed him inside. While she took the king's cloak and tended to his boots, she did not see the small child toddle from the prince's side and make her way to the room where Vanda sat waiting.

Once there, the New Year reached her tiny hands toward the loaf of bread that Alena had baked only that morning. "Might I have something to eat?" she asked Vanda.

"Go away, little girl," Vanda said crossly. "Don't you know that the prince is here?"

The New Year asked for bread again, and once more, Vanda scolded her. At last, the child began to cry, and Vanda hit her on the ear and sent her tumbling to the floor.

Red-faced and crying, the New Year rose to her feet and told Vanya. "You are a cruel, selfish girl. Your heart is cold as ice, and so it is winter that will reign in this house today."

With her words, all the doors and windows of the room flew open, and a wind as cold as death blew in. Snow blew into the room and fell in drifts upon the floor. Before long, Vanda's lips and hands were blue, but her feet, encased in blocks of freezing ice, were black as coal.

Vanya's screams drew her mother to her side, and the king, alarmed, trailed in after her. He saw the girl with blackened feet, and though one foot wore the slipper of ice, he knew she was not the girl he sought. He feared that these cruel women had done her some great harm.

While Vanya's mother tended to her and sent for the doctor, the king saw the New Year standing in a drift of snow. He lifted her onto a stool, wrapped her in his cloak, and asked her, "Where is the woman I love? You promised she was here, yet I do not see her, and there are no other women in this house."

"You will find her in the one place where winter did not touch," the New Year said, "for her heart is too warm to be touched by ice."

The king waded through the kitchen's drifting snow and opened the door of the pantry. There, he saw all the house's food stores covered in snow and ice, but with not a flake covering the small door that led to the cellar. With a few blows, the door broke open, and the king pulled Alena out into the morning light.

"I have found you at last," the king cried in joy, and knelt before her with the slipper of ice. "You have my heart," the king replied, "and if you are willing, I would make you my bride."

With a smile, Alena said, "I will gladly be your wife."

With joy, the king took Alena to his home and introduced her to his court as his chosen bride. The people were charmed at once by her beauty and her kindness, and before the month was over, she was wed to the king and became queen over all the land. Her stepmother and stepsister, with Vanya maimed and their food frozen, became paupers, because they, in their pride, refused all of Alena's charity. Their cruelty gained them no friends, and before the winter's end, they were found, frozen to death, in winter's snow.

Alena, reigning as queen by her husband's side, became beloved by all the land. She and her husband remained pure of soul and warm of heart, and together they all lived happily for all the rest of their years.

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #cinderella #have one last fairy tale #i've wanted to do a new year's eve cinderella #and one that mashed it up with the story of the twelve months that i've liked since i was a kid #i came up with the angle when i woke up the morning of the 30th #and decided i had to pull it together before the end of the year #i had wanted to do a full story but it only seemed to work as a fairy tale #(i also wanted to have the twelve months as separate men like in the fairy tale)#(but in practice hiding twelve men made the story ridiculous)#(and the new year as one woman seemed to work both from the fairy godmother angle and the new year angle)#i hope it's not too boring or trite #i just had to write it as quickly as possible #this was just how it came out so i'll have to go with it

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crown-ov-horns · 2 months

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Captured Angel

Michael Langdon x F!Angel!Reader

Contains: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, elements of coercion, implied loss of virginity, blasphemy, hierophilia

“Good, you’re awake.”

A chill ran down your spine. You had awakened in an unfamiliar room. Your head ached, your wings hung limp, and your limbs were heavy. The air was soaked to the last thread in malice. It made you nauseous. Gritting your teeth, you dragged yourself up, your mind aflame with a single thought – you had to get out. You looked around, but before you could spot a way of escape, you felt a presence. Dark... Darker than the blackest night. Your heart froze in your chest, a taste of iron suddenly coating your tongue. Though you had not seen his face, you could recognize him anywhere. Seven heads. Ten horns. His honeyed voice left a cold, oily trace on your very soul as he spoke. You drew a deep breath, and spun around, to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

His lips crooked into a smirk. Holding your gaze, he moved towards you. You drew back.

“Get away from me, filthy Beast...” you snarled.

Deep down, you loathed yourself for the instinctive reaction. You were a soldier. You had a duty to stand your ground, and instead, you cowered. He promptly crossed the gap between you two.

“Ah-ah!” he scolded, clasping your chin “That’s not very nice, now, is it?..”

You grimaced. Michael Langdon. How ironic, for Satan’s son to bear your General’s name. The one who cast him out... You hoped it hurt the Evil One greatly. Michael caressed your cheek. You winced, and pushed his hand away. Sneering, he grabbed you by the throat.

“Why am I here?” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He glanced down at your heaving chest.

“You’re my captive” he purred “Isn’t it obvious?”

You swallowed. Struggling would only worsen your chances, you knew as much. His gaze darkened with hunger as he watched you – like a wolf, salivating at a wounded deer. Your guts had coiled into a tight knot, a sickly sweet taste coating your mouth.

“Why didn’t your bootlickers kill me?” you asked, not quite certain if you wished to know the answer.

A chuckle escaped his lips. The Antichrist’s lecherous expression made your blood boil. How dare the abomination touch an angel of the Lord, you thought. A strange sensation was budding between your legs, but you pointedly ignored it, just as you ignored the feeling of unease clawing at the back of your skull.

“That would’ve been a waste...” Michael tilted his head “They thought a gift would please me. They weren’t wrong...”

You snarled, attempting to pull away.

“Get your putrid hands off me!”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

“Hush” he coaxed in a mockingly gentle voice “I’m not going to hurt you, angel.”

“Vile creature...” you spat.

He pulled you closer. You bared your teeth, as your face almost crashed into his. Though you did not need air, the pressure on your throat was beginning to make you dizzy. Every nerve in your body screamed to fight - your muscles had tensed, prepared for combat. You might have broken away. Escaped this unholy place. You should have at least tried... But, perhaps because of the mist gathering over your mind, your legs trembled underneath you. You found yourself staring at his mouth. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and silken. Your pulse leapt into a frenzy.

Michael snuck his other hand under your clothes. The captors had stripped you of your armour, and taken away your sword, leaving only your linen tunic to cover you. His fingertips caressed your thigh, slowly creeping upwards. You held your breath as you felt him part the soft folds of your skin.

You had never been fondled like this before. Carnal pleasure was forbidden for your kind. You should be disgusted, you understood as much. Still, the electric-like impulse roused by his touch paralyzed you, preventing you from breaking his arm.

He stroked your entrance. You stifled a gasp, your intimate muscles tightened in anticipation. Your hole was beginning to well with slick. Taking your lack of resistance for a welcome, he slipped two fingers inside you. The feeling of his skin against your sensitive membrane made your head spin, and you barely held back from bucking your hips into his hand.

He let go of your neck, only to wrap his arm around your waist. Keeping you steady, he spread his fingers wider, straining you until it hurt. You shuddered. He massaged the velvety walls of your flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. Aware of how much satisfaction hearing your cries would give him, you clenched your jaw. His skin grazed against a certain knot of nerves, and you nearly sunk to the ground as your legs buckled from the bolt of stimulation. Still, somehow, you did not make a sound.

It only made Michael more determined. He fixated on your sweet spot, leaving you to desperately clutch the lapels of his jacket. His mouth lingered but a thread away from yours - you felt his heartbeat echo against your rib cage. He narrowed his eyes, and pressed his thumb to your clit. Overwhelmed, you drew a sharp breath.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?..” he teased “What is it, my dear? What do you want, hm?”

He pushed a third finger into your dripping slit. You whined in pleasure muddled with despair.

“Speak up, angel” he demanded.

Virtue be damned. Something tameless had infected you. Caught in the furor of sin, you eagerly cast your innocence aflame.

“I...” you stammered “I want... I need you to ravish me...”

Michael threw you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you. Laying flat on your back, your wings sprawled open, you looked up at him, your eyes sweetly half-lidded. His knee shoved between your thighs, he ripped the front of your tunic open. You sighed as cold air brushed against your nipples. He placed his hands on your breasts, savouring the softness of your bare skin. His eyes aflame with lust, he took a moment to admire your flushed, helpless body. Biting your bottom lip, you pushed your chest into his touch. He grabbed you by the throat again.

“You’re mine” he snarled “Mine alone...”

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Your gaze wandered down to his crotch, causing your mouth to immediately water. Michael’s lips crooked into a sleazy smirk. He unbuckled his pants, and slipped his underwear down. Your eyes widened as his hard cock sprung free. Large, but not obscenely so. You pulled the skirt of your tunic up, leaving your aching cunt at his mercy.

He pinned you down under his full weight. You wrapped your arms around him, savouring the feel of luxurious fabric under your fingers. Like an animal in heat, you craved to feel him inside. His eyes locked with yours, Michael clasped your leg, and positioned himself more comfortably. You blindly caught hold of his member, helping guide it into your hole.

Your heart skipped a beat – you let out a moan as your membranes clamped around him. Hardly giving you a moment to adjust, he began to move. The sudden strain roused a twinge, but it soon was obscured by shattering pleasure. No longer holding back your mewls and whimpers, you sank your nails into his back. Should the expensive suit get ruined, it will be his fault.

Michael groaned, his teeth bared in primal satisfaction. Your response only encouraged him, and he quickly picked up the pace. Each thrust sent a shattering wave of pleasure through your fevered nerves. You wrapped your legs around his waist, welcoming them. He traced the tip of his tongue over your neck. You hissed as his long hair tickled you, overwhelming your senses even more. He purred, and nipped at your jaw.

“Kiss me” you demanded.

He obeyed, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. You parted your lips for him, and allowed your tongues to battle for dominance.

“Say my name” he ordered, upon pulling away.

“I can’t...” you gasped in horror.

“Your general isn’t here...” he growled “It’s just you and me...” he pressed his face to your temple “Say my name, sweetheart. Show the Beast how much you’re enjoying your downfall.”

He pulled his cock almost all the was out, then slammed it back in, roughly grazing your sweet spot. Your cried out, and sank your fingers into his hair. You didn’t want to think about her. You loathed to imagine her disappointment in you. But his presence eclipsed her face. Drowned it in the storm of ecstasy ravaging you.

“Michael!”

“Good girl” he praised with a grin.

Shock after shock of ecstasy tore through your body, setting every cell of it aflame. Your forehead was laced in sweat. Your muscles quivered from the tension. You were close. Very close. Turned feral by the pleasure, he grabbed you by the wrists, thrusting into you with merciless force.

“Michael...” you moaned.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You arched your back, trembling and convulsing as a scream escaped your throat. Michael threw his head back with a snarl. You had grown painfully tight around him, prompting him to reach his own release. You felt him spill inside you – it was the strangest, most pleasant sensation you had ever experienced.

You collapsed into the pillows, limp and gasping for breath. He slumped down on top of you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to soak in the glowing haze of bliss. But, just when he had crept off of you, and was about to pull you into his arms, you leapt up. Using his surprise for your advantage, you climbed onto him – this time, you were the one to pin him down. You caught his gaze, and drew a dagger from underneath your ruined tunic. Afraid to molest their master’s gift, the devil worshippers had missed it.

“You will find the men who captured me, crucify them, and bleed them like pigs” you growled, pressing the blade against his throat “Do you understand me, Antichrist?”

A drop of blood sept from under the metal, glowing against his milky skin in a warning.

“Yes” he murmured, as his eyes blazed with adoration.

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hailsatanacab · 8 months

Note

For the prompt ask game!

9. Sleep deprivation and/or 37. Secret Relationship and/or 40. Identity reveal/major secret reveal

(I selected a few so you can chose the one that resonates the most.)

For any DPxDC characters. <3

*emerges from a google docs, covered in blood and panting* i did it... it is done.

thank you for the prompt!! because i love a challenge, or because i can't stop myself, i went and did all of them!! for everyone!! everyone is sleep deprived and everyone is revealing secrets ^^'

Danny/Tim, mentioned Jazz/Jason

(๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) enjoy!! prompt ask game

kid napping

“Red Robin, sound off. Status?”

“All good here, Oracle. Everything okay?”

It’s been a slow night, never a good sign. Pent up energy itches under his skin and he stretches when he stands, preparing for whatever Oracle is going to throw his way. It’s going to be something, he can tell.

“Good.” Relief briefly colours her voice answers, before she becomes serious again, keys clacking away in the background. “There’s been a report from Agent A. It appears that one Timothy Drake has been kidnapped and is being ransomed for five million dollars and a helicopter. I’m tracing the call now.”

“A helicopter, too? Kidnappers these days, used to be they just wanted their money and that would be the end of it… a fucking helicopter, wow.” Red Hood scoffs, and Red Robin can’t help but join in the laughter over the comms.

“Doesn’t exactly sound like these are the brightest tools in the shed now, does it, Hood? Wonder what poor schmuck they’ve got instead.” Nightwing says, slightly out of breath.

The smile slips off Red Robin’s face and clammy, cold dread shivers down his spine. A stone settles in his stomach. He wets his lips and clears his throat. “Oracle, can you pull up the CCTV on my apartment near WE? Any closer to tracing the call?”

“Still on the trace, they’re using a jammer. Agent A is cooperating so they should phone back soon, which will help.” she reports, falling into silence as he finds the video feed.

“You know who it is?”

“I hope not.”

It’s tense, he taps his feet on the rooftop, fingers tightening over his grapple as he fights the urge to fly off the roof and check for himself. It better not be him. Please, dear God, don’t let it not be him.

“What are you thinking, Red Robin?” Batman growls through the comms. Red Robin can hear the wind under his words, whipping fast as he no doubt makes his way over to his position.

“I had a, uh, a friend coming over tonight. From behind, he… he could be mistaken for Tim Drake.”

The jokes fall silent, the comms growing serious as they pick up on his tone.

“Well, fuck.”

“Eloquent as always, Hood.”

“Shut up, bat-brat.”

“You were right, Red Robin, it looks like it was your… friend they caught, instead. About two hours before the call came in. I’m following their van now, I should have the destination soon. In the meantime, it looks like they’re heading towards the docks.”

Red Robin throws himself off the building, shooting his grapple as low as he dares to get the fastest swing he can.

They have Danny.

Worry gnaws at his gut even as gravity pulls it into his throat with another swing.

Danny is… And Red Robin means this in the nicest way possible, but Danny is fragile. They haven’t talked about it, but RR knows that Danny has health problems. Something plaguing him since he was young, that’s landed him in the hospital more than once. A weak heart, far too slow to be normal, possibly chronic fatigue—he’s always so tired, falling asleep anywhere he can.

Sometimes, he doesn’t even need to put his head down. Once, when they had gone to the corner store to get some popcorn to enjoy their movie (which Danny had explicitly and repeatedly promised he wouldn’t snore through this time), Danny had rested his head on Tim’s shoulder while they were waiting and he’d just… gone. On his feet, asleep, just like that.

He’d laughed, when Tim woke him up. Apologised. Said Tim made him feel safe enough to fall asleep just about anywhere and—

Red Robin grits his teeth and corrects his course as Oracle updates them with more precise coordinates.

Tim had carried him home that night, piggy-back for four blocks, but by the end of it, he wasn’t tired at all. And that’s another thing, Danny’s just so light. It’s concerning.

They never did watch that movie, but it’s a night that Tim can’t help remembering fondly all the same. They’d ended up rewatching some old sitcom that Danny’s seen countless times but Tim’s never really bothered with, Danny drifting off to sleep again and Tim eventually following him, because… sleep is easy with Danny.

It’s the same for him, he thinks. He can’t explain it, but he feels safe enough to sleep with Danny, too.

He needs to be alright.

“So… Is this friend just a friend? Or a friend friend?”

“A friend, Nightwing. Now hurry up.”

He’s not in the mood to play these games, not now. There’s a reason why none of them know about Danny, and this is one of them. His family, as much as he loves them, are just too damn nosey for their own good.

“You know that doesn’t answer my question at all.”

“Then why don’t you ask something intelligible, rather than continue with your childish antics?” Robin snarks, and for once, Red Robin has to agree with him. Or, rather, he’s grateful for the distraction that it gives him.

Tim has secrets. He’s sure that Danny does, too, and so far—aside from the standard background check he always runs on new friends and friend friends alike—he’s done very well to respect them. He just can’t say that his family would do the same.

They can be overwhelming, to say the least, and Tim has tried his best to protect Danny from that.

Only to fail to protect him in every other way that it counts.

“How long have you guys been ‘friends’?”

“Nightwing, save it, please.”

“What’s his name?”

He ignores him.

Red Robin lands on the building first, thank goodness. He wastes no time in finding a skylight that can be pried open fairly quietly, slipping inside without a second thought.

“Wait for backup, Red Robin, that is an order!” Batman says, when he lets them know he’s in.

“Negative, Batman. I’m getting him back.”

“Red Robin!”

He weaves silently through the desks on the second floor of the warehouse, always moving, always keeping a trained eye on the shadows around him.

When he reaches the stairs, he hears voices.

“Looks like three of them, armed. The-the hostage is tied to a chair in the middle of the room, he…” Red Robin takes a steadying breath. The person has a burlap sack over their head is slumped to the side, from where he is, Red Robin can’t see if his chest is moving. There’s blood on the floor. “He needs medical assistance. Another two on the northside entrance.”

The comms explode in admonitions, everyone pleading with him to stay where he is, to wait for help, but fuck that. With a tap, he switches them off and he can finally, just about make out the words of the kidnappers as he creeps down the first few steps.

“—shouldn’t he have woken up by now?”

“I don’t know, man, you’re the one that hit him! Do you think he’s—”

“No! I didn’t even hit him that hard, I swear!” the man cries, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just couldn’t take any more of his stupid jokes!”

If there was any doubt in Red Robin’s mind that they picked up Danny by mistake, it’s gone now. Yeah. If you get Danny, you get his stupid jokes, too.

He creeps closer.

There’s some storage crates between him and Danny, if he can get behind there without being seen then that leaves him in a good position for when whoever’s next in takes out the guys at the front. He can’t do anything without them gone first, not without risking them taking shots inside and endangering Danny.

The man that hit Danny circles round behind him and grabs at his hands.

“What are you even doing, Pat? Who gives a shit, leave him alone.”

“I’m just checking! I just gotta see!”

“Fuck’s sake, guys, who cares? We just gotta get our money, that’s it—”

“And our helicopter!”

“And our—”

“Shit, I can’t find a pulse! Shit, Frank, I killed him, I—”

Jason told him once that when the Pits overtook him, he used to see green. Instead of blacking out, he’d be swimming in that putrid Lazarus colour and he’d slip into that rage and bad things would happen.

He’s heard of people seeing red, too, but really, he thinks that’s more of a literary device.

Tim doesn’t see anything aside from his targets.

A barrage of birdarangs take the guns from the guys at the front, the three around Danny startling badly enough that the guy that kil—that’s behind Danny—stumbles, losing his footing.

Only one of them shoots.

Amateurs.

There’s a round of curses on the comms as the shots come through. Oracle must have turned them back on.

“Fucking hell—Nightwing and I are at the front, Red Robin, don’t worry about them.”

Red Robin’s barely listening.

He spins, kicking the largest guy in the stomach hard enough so that he doubles over, wheezing. Following through the movement, another kick lands on the side of his head and he’s down.

The second one, Frank, gets his wits about him and raises his gun, spraying wildly. He’s a shit shot, going wide in panic, and Red Robin simply ducks and rushes forward, keeping low. Tackling the guy, he grabs the gun off of him and uses it to smash him across the face, once, twice, three times, before he stops moving.

“Oracle, get police and paramedics on scene, now.” Batman says, the displeasure in his voice evident. “Red Robin, Robin and I are coming in from the top.”

Pat hasn’t even made it up off the floor yet, scrambling backwards, fear plain on his face.

Red Robin stands, breathing heavily, gun still in hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to do it! Please—please, don’t, please!”

Red Robin doesn’t kill.

Well, no, Red Robin doesn’t normally kill.

No, that’s not quite right, either.

Red Robin has killed. Red Robin will more than likely kill again. Red Robin sees no problem with killing.

The gun is up, pointing towards the guy without any real thought about it.

Footsteps rush behind him, the familiar heavy footfalls of Batman and Robin, so he doesn’t bother turning around. The gun follows the guy as he keeps pulling himself backwards, snot and tears mingling down his face.

“Red Robin,” Batman says, softly.

It’s always weird hearing Batman’s voice like that. It’s not the first time, obviously—Batman can’t use his scary intimidating voice on victims or children, after all—but having it used on him is weird.

“Breathe.”

“He’s dead. They killed him.”

If hearing Batman’s voice was weird, Red Robin can’t even recognise his own.

Distantly, he realises he’s dissociating. There’s a tightness in his chest, it’s hard to breathe, a growing buzz drowns out any noise in his ears and he can’t think, he can’t—

A heavy hand squeezes his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. Batman reaches around and gently removes the gun from his grip, and Tim feels the instant loss of it. He should have done it, why hadn’t he done it?

Robin takes care of the last man, his crying cut off by a swift kick to the head. Nightwing and Red Hood join them, zip-tying the men on the floor and starting to drag them back to the entrance of the warehouse one by one.

No one says a word.

Shrugging off Batman’s hand, Tim moves towards the chair.

Shaking, he takes a deep breath and removes the sack. The small part of him that was left hoping it wasn’t him, it couldn’t be him, please dear God let it not be him, shatters.

Even dead, he looks peaceful.

Tim’s seen death. He’s no stranger to it, he’s seen what it can do to a person. There’s some blood coagulating over his eyebrows, but otherwise, he looks peaceful. Is that comforting? That he didn’t suffer?

Danny’s head lolls to the side as the sack comes completely away, his hair flopping over his eyes. Tim’s been on at him to get a haircut lately, he thinks it’ll be nice tidied up a bit, just on the sides. It’ll get rid of that permanent bedhead. Help him with job interviews, he’s got to be thinking about that now that he’s in his last year of college.

It’s about the only thing that’ll hold him back, Tim thinks. Danny’s brilliant. Any employer would be a fool to turn him down because of his shaggy hair, but employers are stupid so it makes sense to put your best foot forward and—

Tim falls to his knees.

Fuck.

He’s dead, he’s really—Danny’s skin is horribly pale, cold to the touch. Gone is his bright, cheerful smile.

“Danny, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I—”

He stops himself with a deep, shuddering breath. He can’t break down here, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Instead, he tips forward to rest his head in Danny’s lap, arms curling around himself. They were too late. They got here as fast as they could and they were too late.

“Danny, I’m so sorry…” he whispers. “I… I love you, I love you, I’m sorry.”

Dimly, he can feel the others standing around them. Someone crouches down beside him, resting a comforting arm over his back, but he doesn’t turn his head to see who it is. He squeezes his grip on Danny’s legs tighter.

“Come on, baby bird. Let’s—”

They’re interrupted by a huge, honking snore as Danny jerks himself awake.

Tim’s head snaps up, staring at Danny with wide eyes.

“You were asleep?” Red Robin springs up, several different emotions rapidly flip flopping through him.

“Wha… What?” Danny heaves a yawn, blinking blearily down at him. “Sorry, I’m just… they were shit kidnappers, man, really boring. Honestly, worst abduction yet.”

“You were asleep? I thought you were dead!”

“Not mutually exlusive, you know.” Danny says through another yawn. He rolls his neck around with an almighty crack and glances at everyone. “Didn’t think I’d warrant the whole Bat brigade, though…”

“The kidnappers thought they had Tim Drake.” Batman supplies, while Red Robin tries to work through the emotional whiplash.

“Ah, makes sense… wait.” Danny sits up suddenly, squinting at Red Robin. “Did you say you loved me?”

“No, of course not, why would I—”

“Tim? Is that—are you—are you Red Robin?”

“Everyone, hold the fuck up!” Red Hood shouts from the other side of the warehouse, having finished securing the perps to a streetlight outside. “Double R is dating Danny fucking Nightingale?”

Well, there goes his identity… Oh, who’s he kidding, Danny’s smart. There’s no way he could have salvaged that. This was not how he thought the night was going to go.

“Cranberry, is that you?” Danny twists in his chair, somehow delighted to see Red Hood rescuing him, too. “I thought I smelled you lurking about!”

“Shut it, you little shit. Since when were you dating this dweeb?”

“I’m sorry,” Red Robin pleads, hands in the air to try and slow down the onslaught of information and insults, “you two know each other?”

“Cranberry?” Nightwing echoes, looking as lost as Red Robin feels.

“Yeah, Cranberry—The Cranberries—zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie. Obviously. Also he’s wearing a big, fuck off red helmet.”

“Yeah, sure, makes sense.”

It’s about the only thing that does.

“And please don’t call my boyfriend a dweeb, Cranberry. Especially when he just said he loves me for the first time.”

“He only said it because he thought you were dead.”

“I am dead, so it counts.”

“Only half, so I’d say that puts you at a solid ‘like’. Tim’s—and savour this, Tim, because I’m only going to say it once—Tim’s intelligent, so I’m sure he’ll come to his senses soon.”

Danny just throws Red Hood such a shit-eating grin. A level of feral that Tim’s only seen before in Damian.

“That’s what I used to say about Jazz, too.”

Hood scoffs in offence, and to be honest, Tim’s not sure where he should go from here. What the hell is happening, how do they know each other?

“Come on, is anyone going to untie me or am I really meeting your family mafia-style?”

“Do it yourself, Slimer.” Red Hood laughs, crossing his arms.

“Ugh, you suck so much. I’ll fucking slime you, just you wait. Can’t believe Jazz even likes you, I preferred it when she was dating Johnny.”

And then, without Danny doing anything other than muttering obscenities at Red Hood, the ropes fall to the ground. In one swift motion, Danny stands up and stretches himself to his full height of 5’6.

“All of you need to explain, now.” commands Batman, and honestly, Red Robin’s very much on his side of it.

“I can’t believe it… Jason and Timmy are both in secret relationships? That’s… How come no one told me?” Poor Nightwing sounds the most shocked out of all of them. He turns to Damian and clasps onto both of his shoulders. “You’re not secretly dating, are you, D? Please tell me you’re not, please tell me you’re single, please?”

Of course, Robin just clicks his tongue and pushes his hands away. Really, Red Robin doesn’t think that Nightwing’s in any danger of that happening, he’d be surprised if anyone could stand Robin enough to actually date him.

He shakes his head and turns to Danny, who’s staring right back at him, worry clear on his face.

Fuck, he... He's alive. He's really alive.

Tim pulls him into a bone-crushing hug, fingers buried deep in his NASA shirt. Tucking his face into the crook of Danny's shoulder, he laughs wetly with the joy of it. He's alive. He hasn't lost him. He's safe.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you before now, starshine, but…” Danny breaks the hug and softly pulls away from him to rise on his tiptoes to place a kiss his cheek. The skin burns cold where his lips touch. “I love you, too. Also, you’re gonna wanna sit down. This is going to be a lot.”

#dpxdc #dead tired #anger management #(barely but it's there haha)#dcxdp #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #i'm sorry this has taken a while but also this week has kinda sucked and i'm still pissed off about that #so writing has been a nice little break from that!!!!#i hope you enjoy it!! i'm not fantastic with writing romance/ships so like... hope it's alright haha #also i feel kinda bad about not putting the whole phantom reveal too but like... we get that all that time haha #idk maybe i'll continue it #OH SHIT I FORGOT MY WRITING TAG HOLD ON #must admit - i do like that you can edit the tags now even though the new post maker sucks #anyway!!!!!!! i had this whole bit from danny's pov in the beginning where he just decided to go to sleep but realised that fucking sucked #it was so boring haha #so we got this instead!#hope the emotions came across - i feel like i have a tendency to just go cold and clinical when emotions happen #idk #oh! danny and tim met because danny's a part time barista and when tim ordered his monstrocity of a drink danny just winked and said #'ah the walking dead special coming right up!' and added another three espresso #jason and jazz met before they did though - and none of them knew they were dating the other's family #danny and jason have a bit of a rocky relationship - he's not good enough for jazz!! she deserves way better than some two-bit gangster!!#jason just thinks he's a cute overprotective brother - he really envies their relationship and wishes he could have something like that #he likes to rib danny and tbh danny is really warming up to him too - now that the gross stinky ecto is starting to filter out #(which is thanks to him and jazz - which jason does know about and is extremely grateful for)#(he really does love jazz and is a little bit jealous that tim told danny he loved him first)#(jason goes home that night and dips jazz into a kiss and whispers it into her skin over and over again)#(he loves her he loves her he loves her - and who the fuck is johnny?)#once tim gets over his shock he's doing good! of course he accepts danny there was never any question of that #he meets ellie and then introduces her to kon and the rest of the team and ellie decides she might like to do some superheroing for a bit

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spider-gem · 19 days

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Alright, you know what time it is: THEORY TIME!

In Hazbin Hotel, everyone’s name correlates to their character (such as Angeldust, Vox, Sir Pentious, etc). As a writer and reader, I firmly believe that names are important and can give us a deeper look into characters. Alastor, despite keeping his real name from life, is not an exception.

In a series where names reflect their characters, I would bet that Alastor’s gives us a hint into who he was before he died. This, along multiple other reasons, leads me to believe that Alastor only targeted guilty or corrupt people in power.

Hear me out:

We don’t know much about Alastor’s past, as nothing has been confirmed in the show. So for now, let’s analyze the lore we’ve gotten from Vivziepop over the years and the context clues in the show. Let’s look at the hazbin wiki:

Now, that “weird moral code” could be directed at anyone, but here’s my reasons for believing he went after corrupt people with power:

1. I’ve never seen the show, but I know that Dexter was about a vigilante serial killer that targeted criminals that haven’t been punished by the justice system due to corruption. So I would say, seeing Alastor is being compared to Dexter, Alastor likely went after the same type of people.

2. He grew up and lived in New Orleans, Louisiana in the early 1900’s as a mixed man. If you don’t know much about American history, just remember that this during a period of segregation and heavy discrimination against Black Americans, and Louisiana was one of the most racist states at the time. I’m not going to go through a whole history lesson right now, but note that lynchings reached their height by the late 1800’s to early 1900’s as a way to enforce white supremacy and intimidate minorities. Some cases, if not most, were not regarded as homicides by police and the overwhelming majority of lynching perpetrators never faced justice. Even if they were tried, all white juries ensured that they wouldn’t be convicted. Seems like a good target for a Creole serial killer, right?

3. In the series, so far, we’ve seen that Alastor’s closest connections are with female characters, such as Rosie, Mimzy, and Nifty. He’s also been described as a “momma’s boy” before, so it’s safe to say he has high respect for women. During the period of his life span, women had little rights. Sure, they gained the right to vote in 1920, but that was about it. It wasn’t even until a few years after Alastor died before women had the right to divorce their husbands, and were often stuck in abusive households. For this reason, I could see Alastor going after domestic abusers as well.

4. He probably killed bigots that attempted to tear down his radio show as well. I don’t really have much evidence for this claim, but note that Alastor was a famous radio star. He’s also Creole. While some Creole people were considered as “white-passing”, interracial marriage was prohibited in Louisiana during this period. Alastor very likely had to struggle to succeed, and there’s no doubt that certain people in power attempted to tear him down because of his heritage.

5. Let’s look at his life in hell now. Who has he been rumored to have targeted ? That’s right, powerful overlords. Even in hell, Alastor still went after people in power. Sure, this was arguably to gain power, but the point that he only went after corrupt powerful figures still stands. Anyone else we see him kill, such as the loan sharks or the angels, threatened him and the hotel first.

To conclude, there’s no saying what sent Alastor on his path as a serial killer. I personally favor the popular fan theory that his first kill that sent him on this path was his father, likely after his father harmed/killed his mother, but anyone’s theory is as valid as that one at the moment. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.

It could just be the social justice warrior in me saying, “Oh yeah, Alastor TOTALLY killed corrupt cops and domestic abusers”. However, I do believe that my theory on Alastor’s moral code is true based on my observations.

#this has been rotating in my mind for a while #so i finally decided to write an analysis #because i’m bored and maybe a little insane #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #long post #hazbin hotel theory

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 9 months

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ough i wanna draw so bad but my arms are virtually Unusable... too much lifting and hauling... in other news i felt True and Intense Pining today for the soft, delightful, tiny pig beanie baby in a diner gift shop. she was a wonderful pink with a lovely purple nose...

#and make no mistake the strong emotion i felt was indeed pining. longing. Yearning.#gazed lovingly at her for a solid ten seconds in the checkout line #i will think of her often and fondly #leaving the diner without her Hurt Me. but i cant afford a new friend rn </3 #still i am sitting by the bright window and playing rain sounds while looking outside in anguish #alas... we were two ships passing in the night....#absolutely unprompted #ough but really though i have to rest like. my entire arms on my desk #even just typing is making me take minecraft damage #Still I Am Going To Attempt Writing Because Now That The Work Is Done I Am Very Bored #maybe ill write some human au! i have Scene Ideas for it!#or ill continue to workshop lights out #probably work on act three... i cant decide which direction to go in with it #it'll end up in the same place for act four But. the road there... which turn will i make them take....#depends on how mean im feeling. theres the kind version. the distressed version. and the anguish version #knowing Me i will probably choose the anguish version as the au's canon!

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writing-with-gremworm · 6 months

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The Winter Duke

Notes:

Mentions of/implied abuse

Unhealthy relationship dynamic

Obsessive behavior

Yandere!Wriothesley

A little slow to start

The Duke of the North is a terrifying and cold figure. He is said to have slaughtered thousands and abandoned many to the monsters plaguing the snows. So it came as a surprise to you when he seemed like an ordinary guy during your first conversation.

"You must be (Y/N). I'm sorry you had to come here on such short notice, but I can assure you that this arranged marriage will not be permanent." The cold Duke states, motioning for me to sit down, "In the meantime, we have much to discuss. I don't expect your help for free."

"Ah, yes, that is only fair." Your voice quivers slightly. You were surprised he offered you such a deal. Generally speaking, you were seen as useless given what your power was. You had an affinity for minor mimicry. This meant you could make ice cubes after someone made a glacier, or a glass of water after someone made it rain. The power itself was weak, so it was dismissed. Especially since you came from a long line of saints. The (L/N) family were known as some of the greatest healers. Though how that healing was developed was a family secret and one that made you want to throw up when you thought about it. Your skin itches a bit at the thought.

"First, allow me to make a proper introduction. My name is Wriothesley, the Duke of North Fontaine."

"You've already gathered my name ... um, Rizzley."

"Wriothesley."

"Rizzley, what exactly do you expect of me? I know you seek the (L/N) name because of its ties to previous saints, do you seek a healer? If so, I can not help you." You state simply, looking at Wriothesley with a shakey gaze. Your heart was racing, he was said to be the coldest man in the empire, how could you not shiver?

"No, I already know you're the black sheep of your family. What I seek is your ability to move freely. I am confined to this place, as such, I need eyes. One who is as, and forgive me for this, generic as you will go unnoticed." You wince a bit and sigh. You were glad he wasn't going to kiss up to you because of your title, but it still stung to be told so blatantly you were boring.

"No, that's a fair assessment." You smile, Wriothesley's lips flatten more, but you don't notice, "But why can't you just leave? I know the social world has cast you in a ... less than positive light ... but you're not trapped here are you?"

"We'll discuss that when it becomes relevant. For now, just know I can not leave the North."

"... Cryptic. But okay. So, what will you offer me?" You swallow, looking at him with feigned courage. Your heart beat so quickly it felt like a hammer was bashing against the burdensome ribcage acting as a wall.

"If you help me, I will help you. This means you can ask for anything. A villa, money, even fame." Was he serious? You couldn't sense any change in tone, and he didn't put on a fake smile like your father did when he wanted something. Maybe you wanted to believe him. Maybe you should.

"Money ... sounds reasonable." You start, taking a shallow breath before continuing, "But you'll have to compensate me appropriately. Let's write a contract detailing what you want from me and what you think it's worth. I'll adjust it as needed to fit my conditions."

"... Alright. I can do that. Louis, escort Mx. (L/N) to their room." Wriothesley looks to his attendant and gestures toward me.

"Of course, Your Grace." Louis states with a polite smile, "Come with me Mx. (L/N)."

-- After the door closes Wriothesley smiles a bit before quickly covering his mouth.

"They're even better in person ... Ah, I hope you stay for a very long time (Y/N)" Wriothesley mutters to himself.

In truth, Wriothesley has been watching them for a long time. Fleur, his assistant, helped curate rumors to make the (L/N) family give in to his wishes. --

Louis opens the door to your room and you're surprised by its grandeur. It's a stark contrast to the attic you'd lived in before this. In the (L/N) family you aren't permitted to live in the second-floor rooms until you've awaked holy power. As you did not awaken said power, you were forced to remain in the attic. This attic was designed to test the limits of your body to encourage the propagation of holy power. Though, no matter how much you were tested, not a speck of holy light flowed through your fingertips.

Laying on the fluffy bed you close your eyes. If your bed had been like this, would you have been less tired? You don't know, but you can feel the exhaustion setting in. The distance between the Duke's estate and your own was several weeks without a magic portal. Given the prowess of both families, you only had to spend a few days on the road. The trip was still unpleasant. As part of the (L/N) tradition, you had to ride in the most frugal of carriages and fast daily.

"I'm scared." You admit, hugging your pillow tightly as your heartbeat lulls you to sleep. The familiar racing pace creates a frame to justify rest. After all, you already knew the pattern, it was too tiresome to punish someone half asleep, they never seemed to remember properly.

"So this is all?" You look at the contract, surprised it is so short.

"Yes, that is all. It is simple and to the point. I'm quite certain you'll be happy with the terms." Wriothesley states simply, leaning onto his hand as he glances over you. His silver eyes seem to pierce through you. You avert your gaze and quickly read the contract.

"So you wish for me to be your face?" This was troublesome. Your face in the social world was not well known, but your name was the current gossip of high society. Would you really be okay if you became his face? Surely Wriothesley, someone of Ducal status, already knew this. So why?

"That's ... one way to phrase it. Yes, as stated there, you'll be taking my place in socials and surveying the territory while I am still bound to my place." Wriothesley's expression shifts slightly, a hint of annoyance clouding his eyes before his gaze returns to a neutral state. You flinch without realizing it, it would be too much to ask him more now. It was safer to accept this.

"This ... is too much Mora. Besides, this contract doesn't detail the marriage aspect. I thought that was part of this." This much was reasonable, it didn't make you seem weak, and you could still get more information.

"The marriage is set to last until I'm no longer stuck in this place. I will write that down if you need."

"... Alright. I didn't realize you were the forgetful type. I thought that was my role." You write down that and alter the amount of Mora you'll receive before handing the document back to Wriothesley. You swear he smiles a little when you pass it over.

"Well, now that the contract is settled, I'll have Louis fill you in on your first task."

"Right, right, you're probably busy since you still have to do all of the paperwork." You nod and look over to Louis who has the same polite smile as yesterday. Besides, this was a great excuse to leave the room.

-- "Fleur, I have a task for you. Can you do some research into the secrets of the (L/N) family? Ah, and look into Transfer Relics." Wriothesley had a feeling his reports were missing something, while he liked this malleable version of (Y/N), they seemed different from what he'd been told.

"Transfer Relics- but aren't those only effective at moving curses?"

"Exactly." Fleur knew what that meant. She thought (Y/N) was fragile, a glass bird riddled with imperfections. Maybe that is why Wriothesley had taken an interest in them.

"... Understood, Your Grace." Fleur was sure now, Wriothesley's interest in (Y/N) would act as their cage, and she had no intention of saving them. At least in a cage, the glass might not break. --

"Eh? Wait, I have to attend the Royal Assembly? I guess that's why this marriage was so rushed." You mutter. You swallow nervously and place a hand to your chin. Your eyes dart to the nearest vase so you look preoccupied with thought.

"That is correct Mx. The Duke's family was required to go this time, however, as you can see, only Wriothesley remains of the main bloodline and until you, he had no spouse."

"Ah ... because of the rumors right?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so." Louis pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his eyes, "Ah, forgive me, I'm a little emotional. It's been so long since Wriothesley had someone to call family, however temporary this is." Something about the way he said it made you feel a little bad.

But, this was temporary, and you all knew that. Though, staying here for a while doesn't seem like a bad thing. At least you get to eat multiple times a day instead of just once. Your bed was soft too, it felt much warmer than the firm attic one at the (L/N) residence.

Attending Empress Furina's Assembly is something you never expected to do. Your oldest sister and father attended regularly, but you were never qualified to attend. Even now, you were taking Wriothesley's place, so it felt like you didn't belong. You may have accepted it with open arms, but the doubts you had were so loud. They screamed at you, tearing at your hair and reminding you of what happens when you don't listen.

You make it to the assembly room before your mind traps you in the background. You hear your name announced, but you can't even move your lips.

You try to step out of your head, but something drags you back in. The tendrils of cold and hot wrap around your body and remind you of the torn flesh and the inability to breathe. You try to scream, but nothing comes out. You try to look around, but the only colours surrounding you are black and red. They cover your vision and the red creeps outward. You finally move your hands, only to see them covered in a deep crimson that has started to flake.

"Mx. Are you alright?" A cool voice cuts through the screaming silence.

"A-Ah ..." Your mouth opens, but only weak sounds escape it.

"My liege, I'll escort this guest to a rest chamber, please continue the tea ceremony without us." The man with silver hair tells Empress Furina calmly. The blue streaks reminded you of the water, or maybe of a dragon's horns. Your eyes widen when you realize who is escorting you away from the Royal Assembly.

"Justice Neuvillette ... You need not have left to escort me ... but I ... thank you. I am in no place to berate you for attending to my needs. That would be rude." Your throat hurts, but at least the words seem to sound normal, maybe no one would be able to tell you'd just frozen up. Unfortunately, your legs and hands were shaking noticeably, so it was clear you shouldn't be left alone. The red still faintly overlaid your fingers, it made you want to puke.

You look at your hand and notice Neuvillette holding it. Maybe he thought you wouldn't be able to follow along without guidance. It was sweet in its own right. Neuvillette, too, had a reputation that preceded him so this gentle side was new. Maybe that difference made you feel a sense of calm.

"Think nothing of it. I simply wanted to help my friend's spouse." Neuvillette dismisses it with amusement colouring his words.

"Did you two bond over scary reputations-" You start before covering your mouth with your free hand. Why did your tongue move so freely with this man?

"No, though said rumors are one thing we seem to have in common. If that were a tell, then you'd be my friend too, no?"

"Huh? But I- don't have much of a reputation, do I? As the black sheep maybe, but nothing more."

"Ah, I suppose you're not aware of the other rumors. Then pay me no mind, if such things have not tainted your ears, it is better to leave it here." Neuvillette states, clearing his throat and opening the door for you to step inside the resting area. You furrow your brow.

"But if it is about me, then shouldn't I be aware?"

"Some things are better left unknown. Though, if you wish to know, I will ask you something first. Why weren't your sister and Father with us at the assembly Today?" You look surprised. You hadn't had time to register anyone's faces, just the flood of anxiety that threatened to eat you alive.

"I ..." You start, but you realize quickly your answer wouldn't have made sense. You could have suggested they were both ill or otherwise wished to avoid you, but in public, they always pretended to adore you and they were healers who had excellent natural constitutions, "Someone prevented them from being here today."

"... In a sense, they were prevented from being able to attend," Neuvillette confirms, though his phrasing concerns you a bit.

"I ... see. What does this have to do with the rumors?" You ask pointedly.

"They imply that you're the person who ... barred the attendance of your family." Neuvillette pauses in the middle, clearly thinking about something else before deciding on this phrasing.

"But it doesn't make sense for them to avoid me ..."

"Regardless, you should take a seat and breathe. I'll return to the assembly if you do not wish for me to stay."

"I'll be fine. Thank you." You say certain that you could find your way back when you were sure you were okay.

"Fleur, you've done exceptionally this time. The (L/N) family was keeping this sort of thing, hm? Well, I suppose as a family of healers, it's only right they once held something so precious." Wriothesley smiles, his lips forming a tight curve as he holds a glowing sphere.

"Your Grace, this has caused rumors to spread about your spouse. Should I handle those?"

"... No, rather, we should use them to our advantage, no?" Rumors are what brought them here, so rumors would bring them closer.

"Understood."

"I apologize for earlier, your highness." You bow before Furina once you get a chance to speak with her.

"Hm, well I suppose you should. It's only right." Furina starts before Neuvillette clears his throat quietly, "Ahem, I graciously accept your apology! But to make up for this transgression, you must attend my next Tea Party!" Furina insists, throwing her hand out to point at me. You blink, a little surprised this is the only reprimand someone of her stature is giving you.

In the (L/N) household you had to isolate and pray for several days for your wrongs, especially with something of this caliber. Your knees start to tense up, and your calves pulse with phantom pain at the thought of it. You notice Furina's gaze and realize you haven't responded.

"Oh- yes, of course, Your Highness." You promptly reply with a polite smile. Neuvillette notices something in your demeanor that concerns him. Perhaps, he thought, Wriothesley's words were correct.

Wriothesley was displeased when he heard (Y/N) was invited back to the palace. He was well aware of why, (Y/N) was his spouse, so they should stay nearer to him, but it wasn't time to let them see that side of him. After all, wouldn't they run away? There were moments, little flickers of their gaze, a slight alteration in the way they breathed, a change in stance, or even something they forgot in their routine that told him they were afraid of something, but their smile remained.

He recognized that smile, it was something he had grown tired of using. The mask to deter those who would pray on sorrow. It was the mask someone deeply hurt would use. It was the reason he'd orchestrated the death of the (L/N) family.

"They need me. They need my hand." He mutters. Wriothesley closes his eyes and imagines holding their fragile body in his arms. In this fantasy, one hand was on their fragile neck, the other wrapped around their waist. He imagined how warm they would feel in his arms, how delicate their lips would look as they trembled. His breath hitched as he thought about kissing them, taking their soft lips with his own. The petal-like touch and spring warmth would surely be addicting. He knew, of course, that he was the one who needed them most. Though, he didn't understand how he'd come to adore this fragile being.

Wriothesley opened his eyes and peered at the artifact. He smiled, knowing it was almost time to put it to use.

The day you were to attend Furina's Tea Party approached more quickly than you imagined. You sigh as you look out the window. You wondered if it would be like last time- if you would freeze in place and be unable to speak. Your fingers trembled, so you gripped your dress clothes tightly.

The carriage rattles and thrusts you against its door. You take a moment to reorient yourself before you see the window is looking up into the sky, not the treeline. Your carriage had fallen over.

"Assassins." You mutter. You knew some hated you, but you never thought it was to the point they'd want you dead. Though, did you mind? Before this, hadn't you wished for death?

"I need someone as my eyes and ears." But you were needed now. Even so, was it a position only you could fill? Surely not.

"Found you~ Now, why don't you let your Godfather take you home, hm?" A strange and yet familiar voice coos, accompanied by sullied blue hair and a crow-like mask.

"Godfather- then- Father has died?" You ask, looking at the man, confused. You're not sure if he heard you. Your throat feels stuffy, so the volume of your words is minimal.

"Yep! You have no idea how long I've waited. So, (Y/N), will you come with me willingly? You have nothing to lose, do you?" The man, claiming to be your godfather, whispers cruelly. Your hands shook, and his grin seemed to widen. Did your fear excite him? Who was this? It hit you. This was the 'God' that Father prayed to. But he was no God, not really. His essence was too cruel to be the benevolent God Father claimed to love.

"Y-Your name." You stutter.

"Hm? Well, I suppose I can tell you that, under the pretense, I get to know something from you first. Tell me, (Y/N), what do you think I am?" Did he know what you were thinking? Could he read your face? You didn't know, but your mouth refused to move. His presence felt like a thick ooze, sinking and slipping over your skin, entangling your flesh and clothes in its putrid fluidity.

"I asked a question. Do I need to ask again?" His hand touched your chin, his skin freezing to the touch.

"A false God." You manage. Though you hadn't intended to be so honest.

"A false God? Hahaha! Good, then you don't expect me to be gentle. I am Il Dottore." The man smiled widely, his sharp, shark-like teeth catching light on the edges as shadow cascaded over his face and mask. You press your back against the carriage door instinctually, your body shaking. Why did that scare you? Why did that name sound so familiar? It wasn't the name of a God, no, it was the title of something far worse, far more mortal.

"The Wings of Revolution-"

"Oh? You know of us? Well, that makes it easier." Dottore grabs your wrist and pulls you out of the carriage, "Ah, minor mimicry, what a fascinating skill. I'm excited to learn all about it."

Just like that, it felt like your world was being consumed. How would you escape this? You were frozen in place. A stream of water replaces the spot Dottore's head used to be.

"It looks like I got here on time. I'll escort you back to the Wriothesley Estate. I'm afraid it would be too dangerous to finish the journey to the palace." Neuvillette states with a sigh, "Worry not about Furina, I will discuss this with her." You nod without thinking and look down at the headless body in front of you. Instead of viscera, you notice wood.

"It wasn't ... him ... Then what was that ominous feeling?"

"... Yes, it was Puppet Magic. The real culprit remains intact." Neuvillette confirms your suspicions in an instant. Puppet magic is well known as cruel magic. It is a manipulation of the soul and body. That magic is most commonly used like this, as an extension of the creator's will. In this case, it was a doll made to host a piece of the soul and memory of the creator. Of course, this likely means that the creator knows what happened here since those memories return once the exterior unit is destroyed.

"Then he will come back ..." You realize, your gaze blurring as a rush of nausea grasps your neck and stomach.

"I can not deny that. However, I can assure you that Wriothesley, within his Domain, will stand by you." Neuvillette tries to comfort you. He sounds so sure. You want to believe him. But is it safe? Puppet Master's manipulate the soul. His strangely soothing presence could be a result of that. You nod quietly. Did you have anywhere to go? You had no friends, your family wasn't an option, and Wriothesley was the only one with his arms open to you. Did you have a choice?

Yes. You told yourself. Of course, I have a choice. It's just a bad one. Truthfully, you only had one choice to survive. Despite your prior thoughts on the matter you weren't willing to actively choose demise, it had to take you itself.

"... I have a way to guarantee your safety, but it means giving up your freedom," Wriothesley tells you. His voice is softer than usual, and his eyes look tired. You falter.

"That is the only way. That is what you mean." You mutter, biting your lip. Did you have freedom? Was that a right you felt was worth the risk? You close your eyes and think. The creeping shadows and cold touch creep through your thoughts, scrapping at your mind and digging into you. You stop breathing for a moment before opening your eyes. The world is slightly blurred and you feel unsteady. You came to a decision. Wriothesley was generous compared to his rumors. You knew that the safest option was to be near him in this house. It still felt suffocating, but you knew it was the right choice.

"I'm sorry that this is the choice I can offer you. A binding to this place." What you didn't know was that Wriothesley's heart was racing. His lips had shifted into a subtle smile covered by a thoughtful cup of tea.

"I ... accept. So tell me what to do." Your voice shakes despite your wishes to sound confident. Wriothesley doesn't comment on this, instead he asks you to close your eyes and hold out your hand. There was no other option, so you did as he said. It was only when the whispers of a curse settled in that you understood what he had done. He had given you the same curse he bears. This curse was cold, like steel cuffs clinging to your wrists.

"Don't cry, I'll protect you." Were you crying? The hot tears fall down your cheeks, falling pleasantly into the hungry carpet beneath you. Wriothesley sounds happier than normal, but maybe you're mistaking his kind consolation as something more. He offered you a hug, a gesture you were not well acquainted with. Maybe that is what drew you to it, why you accept his arms so willingly around your smaller frame. His breath tickles your ear as he whispers gentle consolation. His breath feels strangely cold, but not unpleasant.

"I will make sure no one takes you away carelessly." His words were surely meant to be sweet. You knew he was trying to be kind. You just felt a strange sense of sickness twist in your stomach.

...

"I don't take kindly to false promises Wriothesley."

"I did not lie, you have done well to aid me. In return, here are the artifacts you wanted. You may do as you please with them according to our deal."

"I'm sure you'll need my help again soon. You know how to contact me."

"Of course, Doctor, I hope you weren't too bored. You even sent a puppet alone."

"Minor Mimicry. You know that 'minor' mimicry doesn't exist don't you?"

"Of course I do."

...

#genshin impact #yandere #tw yandere #wriothesley #wriothesley genshin #genshin wriothesley #Someone said he was boring #so I decided to make this.#Anyways- enjoy.#writing #fanfiction #fanfic #tw implied abuse #tw implied violence #tw obsessive love #tw obsessive behavior #gn reader #reader insert #x reader

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onlysanepeoplesleep · 7 days

Text

umm dont hate me y’all I was bored.

for: @b3achysurfur cuz you wanted smth like this I think? I know you never asked me personally but I couldn’t stop thinking about it so I decided to write it.

disclaimer: english is not my first language.

tw: death and slight blood (but like I’m bad at describing it so there’s not much.)

The day had gone like this: Alex came to her room (or prison or cell or whatever the synonym of ‘locked up somewhere against one’s will’ was called) did mandatory checkups and then stayed to chat for a bit. Not that Ashlyn participated, instead opting to stare blankly at Alex until he understood that she wanted to be left alone. And once he did (quite dense, he was) he left without a word.

Finally being alone for the few minutes or hours (she never knew the time anymore) before twelve, she worked on devising an escape plan. She knew they couldn’t escape via window, mainly because no one was allowed permission to leave the cubed room without guards following them. Ashlyn was aware that leaving through the alternate dimension wouldn’t help either, since their bodies stayed tethered to its original spot.

A pain to work with, yes, but not a nuisance. She could find a way, somehow, and she would. She wouldn’t let her friends stay in this weird asylum place any longer than they had to. By any means necessary.

Ashlyn could feel her body being transported to the alternate dimension, the way her stomach dropped and her heart began to beat faster until she blinked and she was still in her claustrophobic room, but the scraping and screeching of phantoms gave away where she was.

She didn’t take long to get off the bed and made her way to Tyler’s room (where everyone had unanimously agreed to meet up the first time they’d been sent to the phantom dimension). Everyone else was already there when she opened the door and she felt relief wash over her once she saw them — as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders temporarily. They were somewhat safe — as safe as one could be in a dimension with deadly creatures out to kill you.

It didn’t take long for everyone to begin looking for a way out. They went in pairs: Tyler and Aiden (obviously), Taylor and Ben and Ashlyn and Logan. Once the teams had been made everyone was quick to split up (save for Tyler and Aiden, who were stuck sitting in Tyler’s room).

Ashlyn hadn’t been paying attention when it had happened. One minute, she had been looking through a hallway checking for phantoms with Logan behind her — and the next she’d heard him scream and drop his gun on the floor with a loud clunk. She looked over her shoulder, a question about to leave her lips when she paused.

A phantom held Logan’s face between two claws, pressing down on either side and making a sickening crunch. She winced but didn’t move. Logan was screaming, crying, pleading to her to do something, but she was frozen. She couldn’t tell if it was fear or mild curiosity that was stopping her from helping the boy.

Her hesitance paid the price in the end, with blood oozing out of Logan’s eyes and nose and ears, and one last sickening crunch echoed through the halls before Logan stilled. The phantom dropped him immediately, the manic grin on its face never dropping as it charged for her. Ashlyn’s feet finally moved, dodging the attack and grabbing the discarded gun from the floor. With a resounding bang, the phantom dropped to the floor and stayed down.

She wasn’t sure why she had to bite back the grin that was forming when she looked at Logan’s body. Claw marks were bruised into his face and the blood kept oozing out until it made a small puddle on the floor. Ashlyn tilted her head, something akin to surprise flowing through her as she blinked at the sight.

Logan was dead. Logan was dead.

A grin finally broke through her face and this time she didn’t fight it. Maybe she should feel sad since Logan was part of the team, part of the same team she’d sworn she’d protect and yet here he was. Lying on the floor looking pathetic as ever. She showed no sympathy towards him and almost wondered why, before deciding that contemplating such queries would be a waste of her time.

Instead, she walked passed Logan’s body and made her way back to the gang. They all seemed worried about the noise, asking questions and wondering if she was alright. She reassured them, of course she was alright. In fact, she was delighted!

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Tyler asked, almost suspiciously.

“Logan died,” was her only explanation before the room burst into relived laughs and celebratory clapping.

“Actually?” Aiden asked, tilting his head with a smile, “he’s like actually dead?”

Ashlyn nodded, “yeah.”

“You know what that means?” Taylor said, grin stretching into a happy smirk. “Party time!”

And with everyone’s enthusiasm, they set up a party with whatever decorations they could find (which wasn’t much, but Taylor was really good at compromising) and before long the starch-white walls had been splashed with a variation of colours from Aiden’s paints and ‘LOGAN DIED!!!’ was written on the wall with bright red paint.

Ashlyn had never been to many parties before, she could count on one hand how many times she’d attended a party willingly. But she didn’t think any other party or event could compare to the tomfoolery they got up to while celebrating the death of their teammate. Aiden started a conga line; Taylor shredded paper to throw it around the room like make-shift confetti; Ben showed them a few dance moves and even Tyler was enjoying himself.

Deep down, Ashlyn knew that no sane person would host a party for a dead comrade, but it’s been a long time since she was considered ‘sane’ and the facility they were locked in just proved it. So maybe she let herself indulge, just a bit, now that Logan was gone.

#take my dogshit writing guys #don’t criticise me I know I’m bad #BTW I AM NOT A LOGAN HATER (although I do think he’s kinda boring story-wise rn)#pls don’t come for my family/j #school bus graveyard #sbg #sbg (webtoon)#ashlyn banner #aiden clark #logan fields #ben clark #tyler hernandez #taylor hernandez #tw death #my writing #my fics #I guess?#if I decide to post it on ao3 that is #fu’s writing

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