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ichayalovesyou · 3 years

Audio

~Act One: In Denial of Pon Farr~

Blood Moon~by Saint Sister, Madrid (Album)

“To return home, and take a wife… or die.”

Spock is feeling anxious and unusually lonely, more resentful of his complex heritage than usual. Feeling rejected, but not by Jim, he finds his thoughts wandering to T’Pring. Who he feels deep resentment toward, she hasn’t contacted once him in the two decades he’s been gone from Vulcan. He has yet to realize it is the beginnings of Pon Farr.

“I am sure, you craved me once before. When I think of all the fruit I’ve found, and how easily you left it on the ground.”

Evening On The Ground (Lilith’s Song)~by Iron & Wine, Woman King (album)

“I hoped that I would be spared this.”

Spock’s yearning and loneliness transforms into anger and frustration. He knows Pon Farr has begun, and he hates it. He has no desire to return to Vulcan, worse still, he loathes that he yearns for someone who he does not know. Worse still, she’s not the only one he’s longing for…

“We were born to fuck each other one way or another but I’ll, only lie, down by the water side at night”

I Want You (She’s So Heavy)~(Originally) by the Beatles, performed by the Cast of Across the Universe, Across the Universe (Album)

“How do Vulcans choose their mates… Haven’t you wondered?”

Spock cannot bear the tearing between Human & Vulcan halves that has come ferociously to light under the stress of Pon Farr. His duty is to that man on the bridge, but the call of Koonut Kalifee is only getting louder. He has no desire to burden Jim with horrible display of emotion. Yet desire is quickly becoming all that he can think about.

“I want you, I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad, it’s driving me mad.”

~Act Two: Blood Fever, The Nightmares of Plok’tow~

Howl~by Florence + The Machine, Lungs (Album)

“To have their logic ripped from them, as this time does to us.”

The first, foreboding rumblings of Plok’tow have begun. He dreams of a hunt, he’s chasing someone, he does not know who. Each time the blood of this faceless, slaughtered, ravaged victim is a different color, every time he turns around, green, red, green, red, green, red, green, red…

“Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins, I want to find you, tear out all your tenderness.”

The Horror of Our Love~by Ludo, You’re Awful, I Love You (Album)

“It strips away our veneer of civilization.”

The dreams are getting worse, more violent, detailed, intense. He knows his quarry-

Jim.

He tears his captain apart in a thousand visceral, grotesque ways, physically, mentally, no love, no hate, no want, just blinding hunger. And the most frightening part, he enjoys it. He begins withdrawing from Kirk, for fear of what may happen should dreams threaten to become reality.

“Carnivorous and lusting, I’ll track you down among the pines.”

Become the Beast~by Karliene, Become the Beast (Album)

“It is the Pon Farr, the time of mating.”

The last of his Blood Fever dreams occurs after Kirk confronts him about his behavior. This one is, much to Spock’s relief, not violent. The lyrics are spoken through the faces of fellow Vulcans- T’pring… childhood tormentors… Sybok… his cold and disapproving father… T’pau… Surak… himself.

The rage and hunger has cooled into ice rather than fire, for now.

“Do I terrify you? Do you feel alive? Do you feel the hunger? The desert howl inside?”

The Woods~by San Flemin, Jackrabbit (Album)

“You humans have no conception.”

When James Kirk grabbed the shiv from Spock’s hand in their confrontation, a shard of Spock’s Blood Fever came with it. Spock was spared a nightmare this final night, but not Jim. The dream even dared to be pleasant initially, alone together in the woods. Before the arena of Koonut Kalifee erupted violently around them, as did Spock. Yet, before Spock could deal the final killing blow, Kirk found himself sinking into the sparkling sands below. He startles from his slumber, feeling suffocated.

But he does not remember how, or why.

“The nights are lovely dark and deep, but I’ll appear when you’re asleep. You’ll wake up with a sudden hurt, your mouth and nose all full of dirt”

~Act Three: Kalifee, the Death of A Friend~

Take Me Down~by Brother, Pax Romana MMV (Album)

“I’ll get you to Vulcan somehow…”

All Jim knows is that Spock is getting worse, and that he needs him. Not knowing, and not daring ask whether the shiv was meant for himself or Spock haunts Kirk, as does the ghost of his forgotten dream. He does not know what will come of this wedding. Only that he will do whatever it takes to make certain Spock lives. No matter what, it’s a race against time.

“The powers that be, the powers that run you through, I’m taking a stand I know what it comes down to, God knows I do.”

Hunting Grounds (feat Joe Cotela of Ded)~by In This Moment, Mother (Album)

“He is deep in the Blood Fever, he will not speak with thee again.”

Kalifee has begun, Spock has completely lost himself to the Blood Fever, and Kirk must fight for his life. He finds himself outmatched by the environment, and by Spock’s rage. He knows two things, he has no desire to die, but he cannot, under any circumstances, kill Spock. (I imagine this duet could be as seen as Maria Brink=Kirk, Joe Cotela=Spock)

“Like a predator sink my teeth into your neck.”

Die Today~by The Txlips Band & Guitar Gabby, Queens of The New Age (Album)

“Kill Spock? That’s not what we came to Vulcan for is it?”

The Kalifee has been an intense drain, Kirk knows, deep down, that not even the “Triox Compound” could save him in this fight. He feels his life flash before his eyes, he bears no ill will toward Spock, he’s not in control of himself. He reflects on their relationship, and how much it has meant to him, and accepts, that for Spock to live, he has to die.

It was worth having known him, saving a friend isn’t the worst way to go out…

“If you die today, if we die today, at least I’d be in your arms.”

Pearl Diver~by Mitski, Lush (Album)

“You may find, that having, is not so pleasing a thing as wanting.”

Spock is absolutely distraught, he’s disgusted with himself, he loathes every single Vulcan he’s ever known, but most of all he is angry with Kirk. That he had to be the moth to his flame. How dare he want to get close to him! How dare James Kirk ever have the stupidity, the courage to love him?! The wanting had driven Jim to his death, and himself to murder. It was illogical, and he will never, forgive either of them for it. Curse having, curse wanting, and curse himself too.

“But hunter you were human don’t forget it and go safely. And I? I’ll live without you, though the struggle will be daily.”

Sweet Dreams~by JOSEPH, I’m Alone, No You’re Not (Album)

“I shall do neither, for I have killed my Captain, and my friend.”

Spock languishes in the agonizing hours between the Kalifee and confronting Bones about what must be done. He prays for a short and cruel life… and dares ponder the question, do Humans have Katras?

“I’ll return to my sleepless night, dreaming with my eyes open, watch the shadows play on the ceiling.”

[The final act is a little on the smutty side, here’s a read more just to be safe.]

~Act Four: The Need is Met~

To Be Alone~by Hozier, From Eden EP (Album)

“I shall offer no defense, their is no excuse for the crime of which I’m guilty.”

Though overjoyed and relieved that Kirk is alive, Spock continues to anguish over the reality that had Bones not intervened, he would have killed him. Jim knows better this time, he will not let Spock continue down this path. A tender and honest conversation puts salve to Spock’s fears. In any event, while the Kalifee burned away the Blood Fever, it becomes clear the needs of Pon Farr still remain. Kirk suggests, delicately, to put a new Bond in place of the old.

Spock accepts.

“You don’t know the hell you put me through, to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you, to feel your weight in arms I’d never use.”

Mermaid’s Calling #2~by the Cast of The Lure, The Lure (Album)

“The ancient drives are too strong, eventually they catch up with us.”

The thrum of Bonding needs no words, it is not just a joining of minds, but of bodies as well. They complete one another, no thoughts, no voices are required. They soon find that the physiological differences between them can be more than a little… fascinating.

“…”

The Deep~by PHILDEL, Wave Your Flags (Album)

“One touches the other, in order to feel each other’s thoughts.”

The tangible, physical world of course has it’s pains and pleasures, to be joined physically is one thing, to be joined in soul and mind alongside those sensations is a different ordeal entirely. If this, completeness, is what it means to be Bonded, Kirk now understands why Vulcans go mad over it.

“Give me a sign ‘cause it runs through my mind like your heat, caught in the web you’re so easily lead to the deep.”

The Mermaid~by Kate Rusby, Life in A Paper Boat (Album)

“In this way, our minds are locked together...”

Unbeknownst to anyone else in the universe, James Kirk & S’chn T’gai Spock are now Bonded, and neither has ever felt less alone. For once, it does not matter to Spock that he is of two worlds, here, he is home. For once, Kirk does not feel as though he is forced to live the Enterprise’s life, this time, she helped him live his. A shining, blissful moment in the vast, expansive sea of stars that they have devoted their lives to exploring.

For them, the journey itself, is home.

“In peace now, the sea it comes, and peace now, in her arms where I’ll be love, sleeping in the sea.”

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i-make-questionable-choices · 4 years

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When the Hurt Comes, So Does the Happiness.

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Torture, SPN level gore, mentions of rape/non-con, mentions of forced bestiality(nothing graphic), angst.

Summary: When Alastair disappeared after Anna’s death, he took you with him, holding you simply to torture the Winchesters. With the knowledge that angels are tracking him down, he sets out to hurt you as much as he can.

A/N: This kinda replaces the end of 04x15. Also my first work so please please please let me know how I did or anything else. Feedback is golden!

When Dean came back to life after 40 years in the pit, he had had trouble believing he was, in fact, alive. Paranoia followed him from hell, and it took a while for him to realize that his resurrection was not some cruel joke. It had taken some time, but slowly, he had accepted that this was real. That you were real.

But now you were gone. Plucked from his grasp like a child plucks a flower from the earth. It made Dean wonder if he ever left Hell.

—

Alastair hummed softly, relishing in the cries of his latest victim. It had been surprisingly easy to take his best student little pet away from him, and, though he was no where near either of the Winchesters, the knowledge that they would be driving themselves into the ground looking for you almost had him singing.

He hadn’t felt such exhilaration during a torture session as he was feeling since the righteous man had fallen onto his rack. And while he couldn’t use some of his preferred techniques, considering he wanted you alive, the knowledge that Dean was suffering at your mere absence was delicious.

Carefully selecting a pair cuticle nippers from his cart of tools, he turned with a flourish, grin falling as he realized you were unconscious. You were no fun unconscious, after all, he liked your screams.

With an aggrieved sigh, he dropped the nippers back on the table and, begrudgingly, snatched up a heavy leather collar. He sulked over to the rack where you lay unconscious and cinched it around your neck, far too tight for it to be comfortable, then stormed out of the room

—

When you flickered back into consciousness, all you could do was try and breath.

The still air chilled your bare skin, raising goosebumps along the paled flesh. The leather around your neck, though suffocatingly tight, was eerily comforting, and though it confused you, you lent into it. You needed all the comfort could could get.

Despite the freezing air and the chills that ran along your skin, the outside of your left thigh burned with a vengeance. Tears welled in your eyes as you recalled the moments before you fell unconscious.

The pain from the brand had cast all other thoughts from your mind when Alastair had seared what he called a ‘permanent reminder’ of himself into your skin.

It was all too much, the cold, the pain, your hunger, and the confusing comfort of the collar. You didn’t see it coming, but you barely had seconds before you passed out once more.

—

Alastair waking you up by pouring water on you wasn’t unusual, as a matter of fact, it seemed to be his preferred method. But each and every time the water had been icy.

This time, it was boiling.

You screamed as it awoke you, drowning out Alastair’s cruel laugh as you gasped and sobbed. Your body spasming against its restraints, desperately trying to evade the pain.

“Good morning, pet,” the sickly sweet tone of his voice sent shivers up your spine, “did you enjoy your bath?”

A slight pull choked you for a moment as Alastair undid the buckle before the collar disappeared.

“You fell asleep on me last night, quiet rude don’t you think?” He grinned as tears streamed down your face, tinting pink as they washed away bits of dried blood. “No matter, we have plenty of time for just us today!”

A flash a metal caught in the cold light as Alastair brandished the cuticle nippers once more.

Slowly, delicately, he lowered them to your face, tracing your features just as Dean used to in the wee hours of the morning. If Alastair knew this, he would rejoice knowing that the seat gesture was now ruined by his doing.

He reached your lips, then without warning, split your upper lip in half.

Your wail was music to his ears, the fading sound leaving him yearning for more. He forced you to count threatening you with harsh punishment should you refuse.

By the time they got to one-hundred, your body was shaking with sobs, voice cracking. To add insult to injury, your stomach, having gone four days now with out food, rumbled and groaned.

Humiliation flooded through you, your cheeks burning.

Through tears you spared a glance at your torturer, furrowed brow widened as you perceived the look of sadistic joy upon his face.

“Pet!” He cried, the same way a mother or parental figure does when you do something unexpected. "You should have told me you were so hungry!”

He released the nippers, letting them clatter to the ground.

“I wasn’t going to feed you just yet but I suppose we could switch things around a bit…” The strap across your forehead prevented you from turning your head completely, but your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw the contraption Alastair selected; a long tube, open on one end with a funnel connected to the other.

In a desperate attempt at self preservation, you clamped your lips tight, ignoring the burning pain that spread across your face at the pressure on your cut lip. Alastair snorted, the corners of his smirk curling up further.

“Very well then, if you insist on being difficult…”

You cried out as he shoved the tube up your nose. It wasn’t a large tube, but good god was it to big for such a small space. You could feel it scraping away at the inside of your nose, could feel the blood trickle down to your mouth.

There was barely a warning before it entered your throat; a slight tickle at the top of your mouth, perhaps.

You coughed and gagged as he slipped it down you throat further, eyes leaking tears like a faucet.

Finally, after what felt like ages, the tube stopped moving. Sniffling, you sobbed, not bothering to muffle the sounds of crying.

“Bonne appétit, kitten.”

You couldn’t see what he poured into the funnel, part of you didn’t want to anyways. Your muscles tensed in anticipation, waiting for whatever pain you would feel next. You did not expect to feel a tickle in your chest before your body spasmed into a coughing fit.

“Whoopsie!”

Alastair’s voice sent shivers up your spine. “Wrong way. I’m so sorry, kitten, how careless of me.”

Pulling it back out was just as bad as him pushing it in, it was unnatural and you so longed to claw at your neck.

It took him a moment to actually get the tube into your esophagus, but with a sharp jab and a feel around your neck, he was pretty sure it was in the right place now.

He was halfway through, ignoring your gags in an effort to repeal the foreign device, when his head shot up, eyes gazing towards the door, before a smirk adorned his mug.

“Well, pet, it seems that we have a guest,” he reached for the collar, tightening it more than he ever had before. “You’ll be a good girl while I go and greet them, won’t you?”

With a slight bow, he disappeared from your vision, exiting somewhere behind you and slamming a door you couldn’t see. The only sounds now audible were your gags as your body fought to expel the tube from its system.

Tilted onto your back, it was excruciatingly hard for you to vomit up the tube and you needed up spewing several mouthfuls of bile onto yourself before you could spit it out.

With Alastair gone, you began to process your situation.

Naked, shorn, and weak, covered in cuts and burns and bruises, sticky with blood and bile and the filth of the dogs Alistair had set on you. Helpless. Alone. Collared, branded, and chained like an animal. For the first time in these two weeks, it hit you just how pathetic you were was.

It was the straw that broke the camels back. The loneliness. The time to think. With a shuddering gasp, you descended into tears

—

Dean sprinted through the halls of the warehouse. Slamming his hands into every door, yelling out your name. The desperation raw in his voice.

He reached the end of the hall and tried the door; locked.

At first, he backed up, trying with all his might to kick it down, and then to bodyslam it open. When his body couldn’t take it anymore, he grabbed his gun.

Aiming it at the glass square in the door, he fired several times until he had a hole large enough to reach through.

Shards of glass still clinging to the door frame pierced his jacket at sliced his skin, he didn’t care, he had to check everywhere.

It was an awkward angle, and Dean could barely reach it, but he managed to twist the knob on the inside until the door swung open; revealing the carnage inside.

—

It took the Dean a moment to register that the form on the table was indeed the women he was looking for. No longer did you sport your gorgeous H/C locks, the hair barely dotting your shaved scalp as it began growing back. Your skin was so stained and burned and bruised it didn’t look human.

Hesitantly, as if approaching a frightened rabbit, Dean paced forwards.

“Y/N?” His voice as hesitant as his steps.

Your eyes flew open, fearful as a rabbit chased by dogs. The relief that flooded them as soon as you realized who it was was immediate.

“de-an?” Your voice choppy and hoarse.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” Dean struggled to blink back tears.

“s-sammy?”

“He’s okay, I’m gonna get you outta here, okay sweetheart?”  You hummed, eyes half closed as your head lolled to the side, a couple tears cutting through the grime on your cheeks and nose.

Silence hung between them as Dean fiddled with straps around your wrists, slick blood and bile. The straps had been locked so tightly that they had rubbed the skin raw and left it paled as blood smuggled to fill back in.

As the moved to your ankles he grimaced, noticing the sticky white mess that dripped down your inner thighs.

You didn’t make a sound as he adjusted your prone figure to sit forwards, letting you lean against his shoulder as he fiddled with the too tight buckle around your neck. He didn’t care about the vomit that dribbled down your chin, staining his shirt, nor did he care about the blood that seeped into his clothes.

His only focus was you.

The collar fell away from your neck leaving behind rubs and bruised skin. Dean had expected the removal of the collar to calm you, not for your breathing to speed up ten-fold, nor to be able to feel your heart pound against his chest.

“no.” It was barely a whisper, a hint of a word, but Dean stilled, pulling back as he gripped your shaking shoulders. His mind was scrambling for answers, what had Alastair done to you? Why were you wearing t-

Oh.

He pulled you tight against his chest once more, murmuring reassurances in your ear as he hid his own tears from view.

His rage burned as he recalled his time apprenticing under Alastair; the time that monster had shown him one of his more ‘refined’ techniques.

Conditioning.

Training the victims mind into associating the removal of a collar or chains or the opening of their cage with extreme pain. It was a technique so ruthless that Dean had never been able to bring himself to do it.

Not even at his worst.

It took Dean a moment, but, as he desperately tried to banish those horrid memories from his mind, he shrugged off his jacket. Gently as he could, he draped the fabric over your shoulders and carefully guided each arm through the sleeves.

It was a bit too big, your fingers still hiding in the sleeves, but it gave you a shred of modesty and you clutched at him tighter.

When his arm wormed its way under your knees, you stifled your whimper as best you could but you could not conceal the tiniest of squeaks that escaped your cracked lips.

Deans eyes filled with pity, mouth parting to apologize but you beat him to it.

“P-please, just get me out of here.”

He hesitated a moment then steeled himself and nodded, his other arm supporting your lower back.

“Sorry about this sweetheart.”

You gasped softly as some of your injuries rubbed against his shirt and fresh tears sprang in your eyes. As he lifted you closer to his chest, you brought your trembling arms up around his neck, leaning your chin over his shoulder.

The beat of his steps both jarred your injuries and provided comforting sounds, lulling you into a more restful state. You would have fallen asleep had Dean not stepped outside moments later.

The air was crisp, slight breezing chilling you to the bone. Shivering, you burrowed deeper into Deans arms and he tightened his hold on you. As he carried you away from the hellhole in which you had been trapped, the sky came into view. And with the sky, came the stars.

They twinkled, blurring in you teary eyes and you took in a long, deep breath of fresh air.

You couldn’t help yourself; sobs wracked your body as it truly set in that you were finally free. Free from Alastair and his pain. Free from his torture. Free.

Dean didn’t say a word. He knew exactly the emotions that were coursing through you. When he had first come back, he had been hesitant and as wary as a rabbit. Not daring for ages to believe that his resurrection was not some cruel joke.

As he reached the Impala. He had to shift his hold on you to reach the passengers side handle and even then he had difficulty opening the door, but he managed. Not daring to set you down and the unforgivingly cold concrete.

Slowly ducking his head, he lowered you onto your back onto the cool leather seat of the Impala. He made to pull away but your arms tightened around his neck, terrified of losing him.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay sweetheart, I’m just gonna grab you a blanket, okay? I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He took time to check that everything he did was okay with you, letting you know everything so as not to leave you dreading something he would do, even if he knew he wasn’t going to hurt you. Gently he took ahold of your forearms, clutching them between fingertips, and lowered them to your chest. Pulling away quickly, he opened the door to the backseat, reaching up onto the rear dash to grab one of the thick blankets they kept there. He shut the door as quietly as he could, but that didn’t stop you from reflexively tensing at the abrupt noise. Though Dean noticed, he said nothing, it wouldn’t help you right now anyways.

Carefully, he worked the blanket underneath you, then laid you back down on the leather, wrapping you up nice and tight. He ducked back, about to shut the door when the rustling of feathers sounded behind him, alarming the both of you.

Quiet as a cat, in all his trench-coated glory, was Castiel. His eye were stoic and matched Deans fiery gaze.

“What do you want now?” Dean snarled, turning completely and shielding you from the angels view.

For a moment, Castiel was silent, eyes dropping to stare at the road beneath him before he returned his gaze to Dean, stepping forwards.

“This hasn’t been easy for you.”

“Yeah no shit! What the hell do you want?”

“I’m here to help.” He nodded at you.

“Why the fuck would you do that. You’ve done nothing for us since you pulled me outta hell!” Deans voice was low and angry, yet cautiously quiet.

Behind him, you shivered as the night air crept in through the open door.

Castiel said nothing, lifting his chin to regard Dean. The look he sported was not judgmental, but perhaps slightly inquisitive. And not the type of inquisitivity that came alongside confusion, no he knew everything he wanted and needed to, but instead a type of inquisitivity that prompted Dean to stop and think.

For a few tense moments, only the stars dared to move, it seemed even the air around the angel and the hunter stilled. Then, slowly, cautiously, Dean stepped back.

“Fine, but hurry the hell up!”

Periwinkle eyes softened, a look of compassion that one might expect when they thought of an angel, and he leant over you.

At first you shrunk away, not willing to be near anyone other than Dean, but you had to trust Dean, trust that he wouldn’t let anyone he didn’t mildly trust near you.

Eyes glowing blue, Castiel pressed but two fingers to your forehead. The tenseness in your shoulders seemed to relax and the frown upon your lips softened. A wave of warmth, like a loving hug, washed through you, chasing away the pain Though the bloodstains and other substances soiling your skin remained, the physical damage was slowly washed away.

He stepped back, allowing Dean to approach you and examine his work. Though Dean still had his back to him, Castiel gave one last thoughtful comment.

“We’re not all so stuck-up, if you give us a chance.”

Dean had barely started to turn before Castiels wings rustled once more and he disappeared into nothingness.

He stared long and hard at the spot where the angel had once stood, the let his gaze wander upwards. Overhead, a patch of cloud was slowly pushed across the sky, and the moon glowed brightly. She smiled down at the hunter as he gazed at her in return.

Dean lowered his gaze.

He stood there for only a moment longer then turned, shutting the passengers door behind him and walking across the front of the car. He pulled the door open and plopped down in the drivers seat, exhausted.

He hadn’t expected it, but a soft smile graced his features as you scooted closer to him, wresting your head against his thigh.

Starting the car he pulled out from the curb, placing one hand on your head. You murmured then nuzzled into the touch.’

It would take weeks, maybe even months, but, as he sped away from Alastair’s hellhole Dean knew you would be okay.

Both of you, would be okay.

#dean winchester #deanwinchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester angst #dean winchester whump #dean winchester one shot #supernatural one shot #spn one shot #supernatural angst #supernatural whump #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #alastair #castiel #SamWinchester #I Make Questionable Choices #Questionable-Choices writing

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vercopaanir · 4 years

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Chapter 28: Blood Running Cold

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!(Fem)Reader

Summary: The bounty boards the Razor Crest while Din is hurt and the child is incapacitated.

Words: 5.1k

Rating/Warnings: T, for mentions of violence.

Notes: Whew, it’s been a spell! Thank you all so, so much for tagging me in things, sending sweet messages, and reblogging me in stuff! It’s been so nice to check back in every now and then and know I haven’t been forgotten while my body betrays me. This chapter has been written for a while, but I could not get myself together to actually edit it. I hope it still delivers and that you all enjoy reading. Special shout-out to mandhoelorian for guessing who/what Din’s special bounty is. Read more to find out!

AO3

There is nothing quite like hunger. When you were abandoned as a young child, eating unripened berries, questionable plants, and bugs with too many spindly legs to survive, you remember the pain in your belly, the cramps that seemed to strangle you so tightly they would lift you off your feet. Hunger, like any pain, is a constant throb, a dull ache, something that sinks its hooks into the mind and slows time until it suffocates.

You should eat, you know. You have not put food in your mouth in nearly two days, but the very idea of anything that isn’t a prayer passing your lips makes you feel sick enough to struggle just to keep water down. Your fingers begin to shake as you mend shirts, closing up holes and tears like wounds.

The child is still unconscious, unmoving like a stone, with a clammy perspiration on his wrinkled brow that soaks his blanket in the silently floating pram. You check on him until the inside of your shoes wear against the delicate skin of your ankles from walking back and forth. You have not been without him before, not since your freedom was bought, and the black hole of silence that fills the metal void of the Razor Crest makes your nerves feel raw and exposed.

Din is still unconscious and unmoving, too. You had been able to wrestle him to his feet, buckling beneath the near-dead weight of him before bullying him onto the medical cot. You remove all the beskar beforehand, of course, and still he is heavy enough to cause you to pull a muscle when you try lifting him. You strip him of his torn, burned clothing and bring down the blankets from the bed in the captain’s quarters, knowing to sweat a fever will help. You can’t be sure what the fever is from, though, be it his healed burns or having stayed in the elements for so long. He’d been conscious long enough for his eyes to blink open, his brow dripping sweat into his gaze before pressing his sticky forehead to your own in relief.

Then, he passed out again.

In the afternoon, when the sun is at its peak, you risk opening the hull and collecting snow in the beskar chest plate like an oversized bowl, packing it tightly in clean cloths and keeping it on Din’s back and a cold wet rag on his forehead when his fever waxes and wanes.

Even when he is at his most alert, his most talkative, he is a quiet man by nature, but his presence fills the emptiness with familiarity that you now miss. This silence that the child and his father leave behind in their sickness is like a well with no bottom, cold and deep and dark, and you do your damndest to distract yourself.

You try to clean a little, though it doesn’t hold your interest, still allowing your mind to wander back to those breathless moments when you were alone in the world without him. You wake from half sleep throughout the night, head throbbing and mad with grief that he might still be gone. But, you curl against the wall, tucked across from the small medical bay where he lay asleep, his back rising and falling with steadier breaths each time you look upon him.

It is not so much his dedication and loyalty to you, but the companionship you two have fostered over these long weeks. You had never had such a person to fill your day with, to listen to you and respect you. It occurs to you, looking down at the half mended shirt now splotched with your tears, that Din Djarin is your dearest friend. The quiet revelation leaves you hiccupping with loneliness, and you put away the needlework in frustration.

The burn salve takes away the last sting of heat and redness upon his back, and when you trace your hand over the lovely slope and dip of his shoulder, all you feel is cool, smooth skin. You cup both Din and the child’s face while they sleep, holding a cup to their cracked lips to slip water down their throat. It is met with no resistance, and you worry even more when they will wake up.

Using melted snow for water becomes a welcome distraction. You find it’s easier to melt and boil for clean water than wasting the reserves on the Crest, though you slip a few times, falling hard on the metal exit ramp from the slickness of your boots. Face flushed, you’re thankful no one is around to see, scowling at your own lack of balance and clumsiness.

Day turns into night, and with it comes that awful, echoing wind that beats against the outside of the ship. You turn the engines on enough to recycle the warm air that chases the chill away, working to clean and organize the crates twice over until you’re damp with sweat and aching in your arms and legs. It is hard, fumbling with things in the dark with such poor sight, but you dedicate yourself to it. Creating distractions is more difficult than the chores you come up with, but it tires you out enough that your eyelids grow heavy. You take a turn around the cockpit, turning everything off now that the ship is warm enough to last through the night, and you close the doors.

It is easier for you to navigate your surroundings if things are kept a certain way. Doors closed, cabinets shut, things put away in their place. You are lucky that Din is naturally an organized and overall neat individual, and you’ve found he prefers his own things-weapons, food, clothes-kept tidy and stored. You imagine you’d be at your wit’s end if you had to keep bumping or tripping into things, and for a moment, as you stare down at the sleeping man in question, you wonder if he’s always been that way. Was he a particular little boy who grew into a particular man?

Or did he become one? For the child? For you?

The pram is just beside you, and you find yourself smiling, grimacing over the notion that you are the one sleeping nearest the door now. You are sleeping on the floor, beside the medical cot, but you are still the one nearest any possible danger.

You wonder what Din would think about that if he was awake. You hope he would be proud.

Sleep comes easily, but rest remains elusive. You feel as if you sense everything around you as you doze, never fully slipping into the dark deep of dreams. Perhaps that is just as well, you will think later, when an eerie sound of metal scraping metal drags you back to consciousness. For a moment, you think it is the child, awake and dragging around some tool or getting into playful mischief once more, but as you listen, you realize the sound is coming from outside the hull.

A tinny, high pitched shriek of steel on steel, as if the very ice is sinking its teeth into the ship, and you fumble to sit up in the bulky tent of your cloak, blinking blindly in the near darkness.

It stops suddenly, and you look towards the door before a terrible crash nearly shakes the hatch off its hinges. It rattles the very teeth in your head, and you struggle to suddenly stand, your heart thundering against your breast in terror. Another heavy crash, a heavy, metallic ramming that you feel in your chest and hurts. Something is being thrown against the hatch, and this time, they will get in.

The first thing that comes to mind is how your father had picked you up from playing with a worn, threadbare cloth doll when your family home had been stormed, and it is in your genetics, you think, to put your hands on Din’s shoulders as he lay sleeping. His eyes flutter, delicately long lashes kissing his cheeks. There are not many places to hide on the Razor Crest, built efficiently and with military power in mind. There is suddenly too much open space and not enough-

Crawl space.

You drop to your knees and feel along the corrugated metal flooring until your fingertips come into contact with the latch set flush into the floor. Din had once told you to mind your step in the hull, and often would call that he was working on panels and wires hidden beneath so you would not trip and fall in. You wrestle the latch open, sliding and pushing it up to open the small covering. You can feel with your arm it’s barely big enough for one person, and you make up your mind without a second thought, turning back to the sleeping warrior and throwing one of his arms over your shoulder.

His entire body is burning with fever again, and your knees buckle halfway across the floor beneath his weight. He wears no armor, but he’s still nearly too much for your spasming muscles to bear. You hold onto his shoulders, then his arms, bullying him into the crawl space until his legs fold beside him. Then, you let him drop softly against the metal wall. Every move you make is clumsy, rushed with panic and shaking with uncertainty from being unable to see.

You lift the baby out of his pram next, swaddled in his blue cotton blanket, and as an afterthought, you grab the beskar helmet that lays inside the medical cot. You affix the child until he is nestled in Din’s lap, folding yourself in half to reach beneath the floor so that you can let the helmet fit and slip over his head. If you are discovered, you think, his face will be protected, at least.

There is a sudden, shuddering movement that seems to rock the entire ship, and you catch yourself before shutting the crawl space again. It’s followed by a loud whirring sound, like an electric tool being dug into the side of the hull. With man and child stowed beneath your feet like cargo, you struggle to stand, planting your feet firmly over your racing heart. You can’t hide in the cockpit, the fresher, or the medical bay closure-it all seems too obvious.

There is a sickening shriek of the sound of metal bending, and your eyes settle on that darkened part of the ship Din had told you to never go near. Taking a quick breath, you grab the amban rifle and your staff, securing the latter to your side and the former over your shoulder, and you march into the darkened corner.

It only takes you three slippery steps to reach the carbonite freezer, the durasteel plated frame for the next bounty hanging like a cold slab for a dead body. You’re just the right size to slip behind it, the metal painfully pressing against every soft curve you have.

Just as you yank the rifle to your side, the hatch of the Razor Crest is wrenched open, falling open with a deafening thud.

You lift your free hand and cover your mouth, sweat pooling from your brow and dripping into your eyes as you try and catch your breath silently. Heavy boots hit the hull’s flooring, and you close your eyes tightly.

The pacing pauses, and you can hear noisy breathing through a helmet. There is a series of clicks, perhaps on a handheld device of some kind, or even on a weapon. You can’t be sure, but you focus on picturing the sounds in your head rather than your encroaching panic.

The heavy footfalls resume, moving away from the freezer. A slam shakes the entire ship, and you think whoever it is has opened the fresher. A few more footsteps precede another rattling crash, which you know is the medical cot being shoved back into the bay.

Whoever the intruder is, he is searching for something.

You can hear his lumbering footfalls climbing the ladder, and you’re tempted to move. The sudden blast of icy air from outside hits the paneling of the carbonite freezer, and you feel it in your bones. Frost crackles and splinters, beginning to coat the metal of the inside of the ship.

Loud noises from the upper deck make you jump, cabinets being flung open, objects being thrown, walls being shaken. The ship itself is safe from being taken, the main controls linked to Din’s vambraces, and the rest of his armor is safely stowed in one of the crates beneath medical supplies.

You hear it when the intruder’s boots slam into the ground as he slides back down the ladder. He must be a well built warrior, or perhaps his armor is just heavy. His pace quickens with frustration as he walks the length of the hull, shoving aside boxes and supplies with an angry urgency.

It’s when you can hear the pacing nearly directly across from the freezer that you can’t contain your need to know any longer. You press your head to the side, listening to the rousing sounds of crates being broken open and supplies being thrown around the hull. You peer between the gap of the steel plate and the inside of the freezer.

Even blind, you know the blinding white armor of a stormtrooper when you see one.

Though, this is a different set of armor, slashed with deep crimson along the joints and helmet, and the weapon he carries is nothing like you’ve ever seen before. It’s nearly as long as Venka is tall, wide of barrel and heavy with artillery. It connects to an odd, black pack on the soldier’s back, but you can’t make out any details. You slip your head back behind the metal plate, heart racing when you hear the trooper’s boot connect with the side of one of the crates, cracking it in fury.

He snarls curses that have you red to the tips of your hair, and you listen with slow encroaching joy as he storms towards the hatch.

You drop your head forward against the steel plate in thankfulness, but the hinge holding it to the ceiling gives a quiet creak.

Immediately, the stormtrooper stops walking.

Blood running cold and your fingers gripping the body of the rifle, you move as slowly as you’re able, breathing silently through your nose as you gently lean your head backward. Bootsteps draw nearer, a slow, cautious tempo, and you hear the unmistakable click of a firearm being drawn from a holster. You take a deep breath and brace against the back of the carbonite freezer.

For a moment, silence stretches out, save for the soft breathing through the modulated helmet, and you are just about to relax when a creaking, splintering shadow appears in your periphery. Like creeping spider's legs, long, black gloved fingers begin to wrap around the edges of the carbonite plate that shields you from view, and you know now he has found you.

With a terrible wrench, the stormtrooper yanks the plating away, and...nothing.

The plate is secured firmly above and below, making it impossible to remove without a specialized tool or vambrace. You were only just slim enough to slide between, and the realization breaks over your blinding panic as the soldier continues to shake and yank on the plate uselessly. He slams his fist against it, the metallic reverberation making your ears ring before storming off.

This time, you wait until his footsteps retreat, past the metal ramp, and then you wait just a short while longer. You wait so long that the cold from the open hatch begins to make your teeth chatter, but you don't move a moment too soon.

The blast of icy wind pouring into the ship nearly takes you out at the knees when you push yourself out of your hiding spot, and you run to the control panel, feeling with your hand for the switch and the buttons you know releases the hatch back up into the ship. Sparks hiss from the top of the panel, and you flinch back, sucking in a breath when the ramp shudders before falling back into the snow. Whatever the stormtrooper had done to the door, it compromised the panel, and you are certainly no engineer.

It’s the night that won’t end, you think miserably, dropping your forehead against the cool metal wall.

A light scraping makes your temples prick with aggravation before you realize it’s coming from beneath the floor. Whirling about and dropping to your knees, you slide your hands along the corrugated metal until your fingers find the latch. When you draw it up, it’s too dark for you to see, but you can hear Din rumbling and sliding in the narrow crawl space, attempting to stand up.

His voice sounds about as smooth as a rusted used engine part. “Why am...I in the floor?”

The wobbly smile that pulls at your lips holds back a near hysterical bubble of laughter, and you sniffle, wiping your eyes with the tips of your fingered gloves. “It’s a long story,” you say, voice choked and hoarse. You give him your hand, and the two of you work awkwardly to pull him up out of the hole.

The baby is snuggled against his chest, still swaddled and sleeping, though his coloring is significantly better, you think. You silently lift the child from Din’s arms, letting him turn his helmet this way and that as he takes in the disarray of the hull. His hand rubs the back of his neck before he stops, and you think he must remember his injuries because he pulls his hand back to look at it as if he expects to see blood.

“What happened, Cyare?”

By the time you recount the whole of it, Din has managed to fix the compromised panel to get the hatch to close securely, cutting off the arctic winds bellowing into the ship. You tell him of the burns, his injured state, his fever (which he assures you has broken beneath his helmet), the child healing him, and the stormtrooper who overturned the entire ship.

It didn’t seem like such a mess when you first looked around with your mottled sight, but now you can see crates overturned, supplies and food strewn about. The refresher is nearly torn apart, and upstairs the captain’s quarters is a disaster. All you want is to crawl into bed and sleep without thinking of a time to be up, but you can’t leave this all to Din.

After tucking the baby into his pram, forcing the worry down and away, you prioritize your thoughts, kneeling amidst the medical supplies and frowning in concentration. You’re in the middle of rolling up some gauze, listening to Din shuffle and tinker and try to hide his soreness. You can’t banish the memory of the stormtrooper’s glove, and you turn your face toward where he stands.

“Who are they?”

Din pauses from where he’s trying to reassemble the shower shelf, his helmet tilting toward you and catching the light. You shift to rest back on your heels, dropping the gauze in the crate and gently feeling for the other supplies strewn about. You scoop up several medkits, pulling yourself up by the side of the crate.

“The bounty. It was your bounty, who came aboard, wasn’t it? The stormtrooper?”

He turns back to his task, rehanging the shelf and collecting the few bars of soap and bottles the two of you keep in the shower. When it’s functional and put together once again, he shuts the door and walks carefully over to you, crouching down on the balls of his sock-clad feet.

“Yes.”

You focus on affixing the lid onto the crate, and the two of you are silent for a while, working side by side in companionable and shared space. When the hull is free of mess, you feel yourself sway on your feet.

Din captures your elbow in a gentle cup of his hand, and you can hear the concern bleeding into his voice when he asks, “When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t remember,” you puff out a laugh, though there’s no humor in it. You allow him to lead you to the ladder, and climbing up to the second deck feels like an effort fit for the Maker. Din rearranges the overturned mattress and sheets, and when he leaves to adjust the heating system, you check on the sleeping infant again. Rather than dozing like a stone, he turns his tiny face toward your fingers in sleep when you stroke his ear, and your heart feels lighter at the response.

A warm blast of air comes through the vents above, but it is nothing compared to being wrapped up in the arms of the Mandalorian who comes to stand behind you.

“You’ve been so brave,” he whispers against your ear, his naked face pressing into your hair. You shiver, leaning back against him with nearly all your weight. “I’m so sorry I didn’t protect you, Cyare.”

For a moment that hangs suspended in the cold darkness of the ship, you close your eyes and let every shadow and shape melt away. The secure, warm feeling of his arms, the rhythmic breathing of his chest against your back, the gentle scrape of facial hair against the side of your neck where he buries his face all merge into a kaleidoscope of sensations that make you dizzy. You want to tell him that he shouldn’t apologize for anything. You want to weep that he was right, that this is too much for you, too much responsibility to bear watching him leave and knowing he might not come back.

But you’re too tired for that conversation. In fact, you’re too tired to even express how tired you are, because the next thing you know, you’re waking up in bed, tucked up to your chin with blankets. Your limbs are stiff and sore, your throat and mouth dry as a bone. You can’t tell the time, nor can you decipher how long you’ve been asleep. All you know is that you feel like you’ve slept a millennium, and you’re in bed alone.

When you sit up, your orientation tilts, and you nearly fall forward, sucking in a breath and bracing yourself on the edge of the mattress. You use your hand to touch your stomach, feeling the soft fabric of your sleeping shift, and you wiggle your toes inside thicker woolen socks that are several sizes too big for you. You don’t even remember falling asleep, let alone being dressed for bed, but you know who will.

He’s piloting, fully encased within the cold beskar armor, which you see from the polished gleam that the silver glare of hyperspace reflects. He looks even better than he did before being injured, you think, peeking around the open doors of the cockpit. One ankle of his boot is tossed carelessly over his knee, his arms holding the sleeping child in his lap. His hands are covered in gloves, new ones that share identical orange leather fingers. It’s almost as if he hadn’t been scorched from nearly head to toe, and you blink, standing dumbly in the threshold, feeling out of place and more dreaming than waking.

When he turns his helmet towards you, the chair creaks from the base, and it makes you flinch, reminds you of the stiffness in your limbs. You sit in the copilot seat, perched on the very edge in case of something else terrible happening, but the longer Din seems to gaze at you, the more you come to hear the little one’s soft snores, strong and rhythmic. Your shoulders drop, and you sit back against the leather seat.

“You were talking in your sleep.”

You blink at that, tilting your head curiously at the shadow of your lover, drawing your legs up to curl beside you. Still half drowsy with dreams you don’t remember, you lean your temple against the cold metal siding of the wall and sigh. “Anything interesting?”

“My name.” He pauses, looking down at the child. “Venka, and Corde.”

You wonder, if the child had a name, if you would have said his, too.

“Who was it, Din?” you whisper, slowly wringing your hands together in your lap. Now that you are in hyperspace, you know you are safe, you can be whole. His wounds are, after all, more healed than before he was injured, even though there may be missing pieces of your solace of mind, now. “The bounty. He didn’t...he didn’t seem-”

“He was a member of an elite and specialized task force,” Din’s voice is rough, cold, and hoarse, and you wonder what he is imagining as he describes his bounty. A shiver runs along your back, the planes and curves he has touched, and you bite your lip. He draws one forefinger along the tiny wrinkles of the baby’s brow, more gentle and tender than you’ve ever seen. “A stormtrooper raised to burn whole clans and cities and villages to nothing.”

You think of the oddly shaped object he was carrying, the sloshing of liquid you now know was some kind of fuel for incineration, and you shudder at what could have happened to you and the child. What did happen to Din.

“That’s why you were so hurt,” you whisper, and he nods once.

“Surprised me,” he mutters, dropping his hand away from the baby to flex his fingers over the armrest of the pilot’s chair. “Damn armor blends into the snow.”

The two of you sit quietly, and you consider this new information with the foggy memory of the soldier who overturned the Crest. Still, something doesn’t make sense to you. Two slotted pieces that don’t quite match, that won’t fit, and you can’t sit still. “I don’t understand,” you finally heave a sigh, brow furrowing. “Why does...why does the Empire want one of their own?”

Din shrugs lightly beneath his gleaming pauldrons. “I don’t ask questions.”

Of course not.

You breathe noisily through your nose. Bracing your hands upon your legs, you sit forward, narrowing your eyes. “It’s important to understand what we’re doing if this is to release us from underneath their thumb, don’t you think?” you ask quietly, your patience a living, wriggling thing.

“What I’m doing,” Din corrects, looking away from you then. “You will stay far away from it. That was the deal.”

You’re on your feet then, fast and striking, and you shove the heel of your hand into the back of his chair so it swings his helmet towards you.

“That deal was broken when I almost lost you,” you whisper, your voice wobbling on the painful knot choking your throat. You force any threat of tears back, steeling every soft part of your body into an unshakable fortress. Din’s shoulders draw up in defense, but you drop your other hand to the side of his cloth covered neck, loving and warm. You cannot see his face, but you know he’s holding your gaze. “This isn’t just about you, or the child, Din. Your actions have more consequences than just losing your own life, now.”

His chest plate begins to rise and fall like a shining, silvery wave, churning in the midst of a storm, and you are ready for him to use his size, his presence to push back against you. You are surprised when he does not, when he lays one hand over the child asleep on his lap and presses the crown of his helmet back into the headrest, presenting.

“What do you want from me?” he rasps, harsh and angry. Perhaps the anger once would have made you timid, but you recognize his fear for what it is. You grab his hand that threatens to choke the life out of the armrest, leaning over him until you can press your brow to his helmet.

“Teach me to fight.” You hear him suck in air, holding his breath, and you lean firmer to ground him. “To defend myself, properly. To defend our children,” your voice catches on the last word, blinking against your blind, stinging eyes. You squeeze his fingers as tightly as you can, dragging air into your lungs as if drowning. “I don’t want to hide like that. Ever again.”

Din drops his head forward, almost pushing you away in his attempt to press the visor of his helmet against the softness of your belly. You drape your arms around his neck, rubbing against the newly healed expanse of his back. You feel his words more than hear them, the modulator muffled against the fabric of your gown. “I should have protected you better.”

Your hands are not gentle when you slide them beneath his chin, pulling his visor upward to look at you. “We have to do this together. It cannot be one-sided,” you murmur, feeling his hand resting on the slope of your waist. You slip your fingers beneath the lip of his helmet, feeling newly shaven skin on his cheek. “Who will protect you?”

He chuckles, dropping his visor again against your stomach, and you feel him sink against you this time when he sighs. You rest against him, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand while the other lays warm against the back of his shirt. The two of you enjoy the silence, companionable and soft until a little gurgle perks you up.

When Din sits back, the baby’s eyes blink open, bleary and heavy, and you drop to your knees with a soft coo, kissing his brow. Din’s hand caresses the back of your head as the two of you marvel over the waking baby on lap, an entire wave of gratefulness nearly drowning you both. The child holds out a shaking three fingered hand out until he can grasp the Mandalorian’s forefinger.

“You can’t do this alone,” you whisper again, your heart in your throat as you look upon your little one. “Not now. Not anymore.”

“I know,” Din whispers, and you think he must know the sacrifice of the child, the gift he has been given in being pulled back from that hollow darkness, because he sits a little taller now, tilting his visor toward you. “You’re right.”

Your hands take the baby when he passes him to you, and those familiar petal ears begin to lift in happiness, his mouth smacking hungrily as you shoulder him, standing on wobbly feet. Din turns from you to the controls, pulling his navigation up with the lazy knowledge of a pilot who has crossed thousands of parsecs.

“So you will teach me?” you ask, leaning against the side of the pilot’s chair. The child begins tugging at your collar for attention, but your sight is trained on the sharpened silver of the beskar.

“No.” His voice is brusque enough to drop your heart like a stone, but you feel blindsided with excitement when he glances up at you and says, “But I know someone who does. Ever been to Sorgan?”

Mando’a Translations:

Cyare - Beloved

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#THEY TRIED TO KILL YA GIRL #AND HONESTLY...CLOSE #BUT NO DICE #i'm talking about myself #tho cyare has been through it #girl needs a vacation #The Lovely Moons #The Mandalorian fanfiction #Din Djarin #Din Djarin x You #Din Djarin x Reader #The Mandalorian x you #The Mandalorian x reader #Mandalorian x you #Mandalorian x reader #my writing #my fic

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eyeofthedrgn · 2 years

Text

A Heavy Battle Symphony Chapter 25

Catch up here

ao3

TW: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, mentions of sexual abuse/rape, drinking (comes up late in the story) just a lot of trauma, angst, smut

Word count: 1955

Chapter 25 - One More Light

Who cares if one more light goes out?

In a sky of a million stars

It flickers, flickers

Who cares when someone's time runs out?

If a moment is all we are

We're quicker, quicker

Who cares if one more light goes out?

Well I do

"Good morning, Lorcan. It's been a while," Ansel Briarcliff states as Lorcan takes a seat on the couch.

"I've been busy," Lorcan says plainly.

He hadn't been to a therapy session in quite a while, but after what happened on Solstice evening, he needed an unbiased party to talk to. So, he texted his therapist to see if she could get him in.

"Oh? What has been keeping you busy?"

"Barb has been letting me use her late husband's woodshop."

"And you're enjoying that?"

"Yes."

"But that's not why you're here. Why the sudden need to speak with me, Lorcan?" He always liked that she just got to the point of things.

"I want to talk about my mother."

Ansel cocks a brow. He had never brought up his mother. Other than to state that she died when he was five and that's why he was raised by his aunt.

"She killed herself. In front of me." Lorcan told her everything he could remember. It wasn't much. He had been five after all. The smell of the vomit, the tang of the blood, the hunger, the loneliness, the days of waiting for her to wake up. "I can't help but feel that it's my fault. It was my fault she killed herself. That I was such a terrible child that she couldn't stand being alive anymore."

"It wasn't your fault, Lorcan. You know better than most what depression can drive you to do."

"I cut myself again." All he could stare at was the carpet in front of his feet.

"Why?" Ansel's voice was void of judgement. She just wanted to understand.

Lorcan wasn't entirely sure. He didn't necessarily want to, but he couldn't stop himself. When they had gotten home from the Galathynius', he had sequestered himself in his room and before he knew it, the razor blade pulled over his skin.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "I didn't even realize I was doing it until it hurt."

"What happened before you cut yourself?"

He told her about the events on Solstice. About Aunt June and her horrible behavior. The things she said, the things he said and realizing that was the first time he admitted that she committed suicide. That for the first time, he asked Rowan, his home, his rock, to let him be alone. How the numbness just took over his body and how he relished in the crisp winter air and the flurries of snow that had started when Rowan went back inside.

"It sounds like you lost yourself a little bit. But it seems like you found yourself enough to text me and come talk to me. And that's good, Lorcan." She set her notebook on the table beside her chair. "You are a brave man, Lorcan." He finally met her eyes. "You are. And I really want you to come see me more. Even if it's only once a month." He nodded.

++++

Rowan didn't know what to do with himself. So, he just started cleaning. He cleaned his room and bathroom and then moved on to Lorcan's bathroom. As he was emptying the trash, he saw the gauze wrappers and alcohol wipes tinged pink. His heart dropped. He sat on the edge of the tub, feeling defeated.

Knock knock.

Lorcan was leaning on the door frame. Rowan looked up at him with silver lined eyes.

"How was your appointment?"

"Okay."

Lorcan walked in, put the toilet lid down and sat, his knee touching Rowan's.

"So," Lorcan cleared his throat, "my mother killed herself. In front of me. I was five." He licked his lips and took a deep breath. "All I remember is vomit and blood and hoping she would wake up. She never did. After several days of laying next to her in her filth, I was taken away. I was starving, confused, and then given to Maeve." He closed his eyes and continued, "Solstice night was the first time I admitted to myself that she killed herself because I didn't want to think about the reasons as to why she would do that. Why she would leave me and how I must have been the most horrific child that she didn't want to be in this world anymore."

Rowan watched Lorcan as he spoke. Told his darkest secrets. Why there was fresh gauze on his arms.

"Is that why you..?" Rowan couldn't finish the sentence.

"I didn't even notice I was doing it until I was doing it. I was so numb after my outburst." His hands started fidgeting as he looked down at his lap. "I'm sorry I asked you to leave. I know it hurt you. I could hear it in your voice. I'm sorry. I just-," he sighed, "I just didn't know what to do. And I know you never expect me to talk, but it just felt like I was being pressured to, like I needed to defend my actions and I didn't know what to say."

"Your actions were more than justified. I was about to go yell at June myself, but you beat me to it." Onyx eyes met his. "I will defend you with my life, love." He placed a hand on Lorcan's knee and gave it a squeeze.

Lorcan stood and extended his arms, Rowan followed suit, their arms wrapped around each other. He nuzzled his face into beautiful olive skin and held his lover tight.

---

They were sitting crossed legged in the middle of Rowan's bed. Lorcan was wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a fleece lined hoodie, Rowan wearing joggers and a t-shirt.

Two Solstice presents set between them.

"You first, Lor." He pushed the green paper wrapped box towards him.

He pulled the box towards him, picked it up and gently shook it. Rowan chuckled. Lorcan used his dexterous fingers to pry the tape up and carefully unwrapped the paper.

"Gods above, Lorcan! Just rip it!" Rowan was going crazy.

Lorcan just kept going at the same pace that he was before, doing best to keep his smile hidden. Finally, he pulled the paper off.

"A cardboard box! Oh, honey, you shouldn't have!" Rowan huffed and that caused Lorcan to reveal his smile.

With a soft chuckle, Lorcan opened the box and he paused as he looked at the contents before reaching in and pulling it out. He glanced up and met Rowan's eyes for a second before looking back down and running his fingers over the embossed leather.

"Ro, this is.." he didn't finish his sentence as he opened the beautiful collector's edition of The Hobbit.

"I know your copy is a bit knackered, so I thought you could use a new one. I hope you like it." Rowan was playing with a fold of the blanket he was sitting on.

"I do." Lorcan opened the cover and flipped through the pages, landing on a gorgeous illustration. "This is beautiful, Ro. Where did you find this?"

"I discovered what Dorian went off to do after he graduated." Lorcan's brows pinched together. "He took over the family business of Glass Castle Books. Maybe we can go there sometime. I think you'd enjoy it," Rowan said with a smile.

"I'd like that." They leaned across the distance between them and shared a kiss. "Okay, it's your turn," he said and he put the brown paper wrapped gift in Rowan's lap.

"What did you make me this time?" He said with a smirk and wink.

Lorcan had indeed made him something and he was a little nervous. It was a small book, the covers made out of thin wood, with a hand carved Celtic knot on the front. It had pages of heavy weight paper filled with his handwriting. The words were of a story that Lorcan had been working on for several years, this was the first time it had been written out. Lorcan's story had only lived in his head before. A story had started forming in his mind when the sleeplessness became too much to bear. He felt he was pretty good at storytelling, or at least that's what he thought, he had taken creative writing at Orynth High for a reason.

The story was about a queer boy who was homeless and only wanted to be loved. A woman took him in, gave him love and an education. As he grew up, he found friendship and eventually love. Lorcan named it Somewhere I Belong.

Rowan tore through the wrapping. Lorcan bit the inside of his lip and then chewed on the inside of his cheek. The paper fell off the bed and Rowan picked up the book.

++++

Rowan looked at the handmade book on his lap. His fingers traced the hand carved Celtic knot. It was stunning. Lorcan really was amazingly talented.

"This is beautiful, Lor. It really is," he looked up and was met with a nervous look. "You are so talented, love."

"Well, you still have time to be disappointed. You haven't seen what's inside." Lorcan's face became impressively blank.

It was slightly disturbing, the blank expression.

Rowan pressed his lips into a thin line at Lorcan's self deprecation. He chose to ignore it and turned his attention back to the book and opened the cover.

The page read:

Somewhere I Belong

Lorcan Salvaterre

He turned the page and was graced with more of Lorcan's handwriting. There were several handwritten pages. Rowan knew Lorcan liked writing, he remembered Elide telling him about how at ease Lorcan always looked when writing in their creative writing class.

Curiosity took over and Rowan just started reading. He forgot that he was supposed to say thank you and was looking forward to reading it. Forgot that he wanted to give Lorcan a hug and kiss for such a personal gift. The handwritten words just called to him. Only the sound of Lorcan clearing his throat brought him out of the story.

"So…" Lorcan had his sleeves pushed up and was forcefully dragging a nail down his scars. Rowan was pretty sure he didn't even know he was doing it. Reaching over the space between them, he grabbed Lorcan's hands.

"This is amazing, Lorcan. It's beautiful and amazing and I just want to sit with you and read it." He leaned down and pressed kisses to the irritated skin on Lorcan's forearm. "I'm sorry I made you worry," another kiss, "I was entranced by your writing. Have I ever told you that I love your handwriting?"

Onyx eyes just searched his face, they were unreadable. Rowan gently set both of their new books aside and moved Lorcan's legs enough so there was a spot he could sit as he wrapped his legs around his lover's waist.

Cradling those beautiful olive cheeks in his hands, he said, "I mean it. That book," his eyes quickly darted to his gift and back, "is amazing. And I can't wait to read that story that came out of your beautiful brain!" He kissed his forehead and then nuzzled their noses together.

Lorcan's hands rested on Rowan's waist and Rowan could tell that Lorcan wasn't feeling confident. He was probably thinking back to when he made the boxes for him and his mother.

"Hey. You are so talented, my love," Rowan accentuated each word with a kiss. "I love you. So much."

All of the kisses managed to get Lorcan to smile. Gods above, Rowan loved Lorcan's smile.

____

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like to be added to my Rowcan taglist.

@starlightorstarfire @thenerdandfandoms @tanvee1231 @inkstainedvictorian

#rowcan #rowan x lorcan #rowcan fanfic #rowan whitethorn #lorcan salvaterre #heavy battle symphony #linkin park #throne of glass #crackship

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rubik-ashala · 3 years

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Let Alucard have nice things!

This doubles as both a headcanon description and a rant so here goes:

I just got done watching the 3rd season of Castlevania and I am not happy. I have two things two say about it. This contains spoilers for the series so you have been warned.

First complaint and observation:

Did anybody get the feeling that the show was supposed to end after the second season but didn't? That everything was wrapped up nicely, Dracula was dead, the big world destruction war was halted, we were shown what the trio would be doing after everything etc. Like it was meant to end there but then a conversation like this happened:

Castlevania team: And that’s a wrap everybody! The good guys took down Dracula in an epic fight, the world was saved, Job Done! Time to move on to new things.

Shareholders, producers, etc: Uhh, actually we already signed you up for a 3rd season. So you might want to get on that.

Castlevania Team: What! But we weren't prepared for a third season! The whole plot is wrapped up! What are we supposed to do?

Shareholders, producers, etc: Don’t know but you better get to figuring it out.

Castlevania: I guess we will just game of thrones it terribly then and hope we make it through.

Because that is what it felt like happened. There seemed to be no overarching plot, just four separate ones and only two of them is even remotely together. They take two side characters Issac and Hector and give them there own plotlines. Issac gets the Denarius treatment for no real reason other than to seemingly follow in Dracula’s footsteps and Hector gets dragged to Camilla’s realm because, she needs a forge master to grow an army so she can take over what has been fractured. They split up the trio, suddenly giving Serphia and Trevor a romantic relationship with little to nothing building up to it and throw them in a quest to keep Dracula from coming back after some crazy monks due some occult doctor who style shenanigans to open a portal to other worlds. And while that is going on, Alucard aka Adrian Tepes gets left alone guarding his fathers now broken castle and the Belmont’s treasure trove for months after everything has happened.

Which flows into my Second point:

Alucard got done dirty in the third season!

We watch as Alucard deals with the mental repercussions of what he did, alone. We watch as he deals with the loneliness of being out in the middle of nowhere alone for months with none to talk too. And we see the toll it is taking on him albeit comedically.

Then the siblings come in.

They come to him for help and education on fighting vampires back in their homeland, something that Alucard is more than happy to help with. One, because he has company again and Two, passing on the knowledge to the new generation seemed fitting.

During the time they stay he grows fond of them and they him. You see them training and horsing around, eating meals together and other wholesome shenanigans.

You get to see a conversation where the sibling talk about how they notice how lonely he has been and how they believe he stays out here to punish himself and maybe they should do something for him before they move on. And it’s all like “aww that is so sweet!”

Then you see Alucard trying to sleep and failing miserably in his bed. Even so far as wondering if he should get a coffin to sleep in. Then you see the siblings show up in the door way and begin walking towards him in the bed saying , in a very sultry voice, how alone he must have been, how he should deserve a reward, ectera. Followed by them getting all hot and steamy with him.

The scene makes a point to show how much Alucard is enjoying this attention, and how happy it is making him. Your watching it and it’s like “Maybe it's gonna be one of those fond memories he will be able to look back on after their gone.” or “Maybe they will become some Badass monster hunting thruple and Alucard wont be alone anymore.”

Nope! Not today in my Grim Dark Gothic Fantasy World!

They instead, after giving Alucard the night of his life, put these metal cuffs on him that shoot out a bunch of ropes that tie him in classic Jesus on a cross position and then proceed to try and kill him.

Why?

Because the were under the belief he was lying and holding things back from them, and in particular about the castle not being able to move. And they were tired of being lied to.

Luckily for Alucard they didn't realize his sword could move on its own and they weren’t alive for much longer because of it but...Really?

Why? Why do this to him?

He lost his mother to a witch hunt, he had to kill his own father and now this? All in little over a year? What the Hell man!?

Let the Dhampire have nice things! He deserves better than this!

So, I made a headcannon to soothe me angry brain.

I took a fantasy race of mine that was inspired by the Crusnics of Trinity Blood and added them in to Castlevania. In Particular one specific one.

Name: Floki

Age: Around Adrian’s age give or take a few months.

Hair: Black

Eyes: Mismatched blue/green

Height: About the same as Adrien’s perhaps a little taller.

Personality: Mischevious, HArdworking, Loves deeply, Fiercly but wisely protective, loves to work with his hands, loves to learn more about the world and how it works. Deeply fond of Adrian even though he hasn’t seen him in a few years. Also, a smidge psychotic, but just a smidge.

Floki is part of a race of beings referred to as “The Old Ones”. They are a race similar in habit to the Vampire but they feed off vampires, night creatures and other supernatural beings over humans. They are immensely powerful, even at young ages and have been rumored to be the source of some of the gods of Ancient Mythology.

Floki’s father (Yet named) was Dracula’s mentor and where he got much of his scientific knowledge from in his early years. They became friends during his teaching and even after parting ways, would still occasionally see each other every few half centuries or so to trade information and chat.

During this time, Floki’s father was desperately trying to have children of his own and failing. At one point believing that he was sterile and unable to father children. Something Dracula knew as well and so hid Lisa’s pregnancy from him for fear of making his sadness worse.

However, a few months later, It was revealed that his current love was with child and Floki was born accompanied by much drunken Norse revelry.

When the two men met again a few years later, Floki was brought with his father to show to Dracula that he finally had a child. A moment where Dracula also revealed his son and Where Floki met Adrian.

Floki showed Adrian what it was like to play and horse around. They would play pretend out in the woods, get dirty, skin thier knees, the works. And where one was, you would find the other close by.

The visits between the two powerful men became more frequent due to the boys wish to see each other, not that the parents minded all that much.

Over time Floki’s affection for Adrian would change and deepen. His longing to stay by his friends side would get stronger and one fateful afternoon when Adrian got hurt, FLoki would realize how he had fallen in love with him.

Adrian would never know this however, due to Floki’s unstable powers at the time, his sub par control of his hunger and the fear of hurting him.

As they got older, and partly to the above, their visits to see each other would lessen and by the time they were full grown, had stopped entirely.

That is until Floki Heard of Lisa’s death at the hands of the church.

Even with his incredible power to teleport far distances it took him several months to reach Wallachia. He didn’t seek out Adrian immediately though, too curious to see the truth of what happened.

Each of “The Old Ones” Has a unique skill that is developed and evolved over time, according to personality, interest, skill and homeland. Due to Floki’s curiosity, his love for history and his desire to see how it all works together, he developed what he liked to call, memory recall.

His skill allowed him to see memories of the past through people, objects or locations where something that evoked strong emotional or magical reactions in the area happened. And if there was no such thing, if the event was more recent, if he had access to people that were there and stood on the location, he could see and feel the event as if he lived it.

Lisa’s death held him up in an inn for several days trying to chase the feeling of flames on his skin. Dracula’s anger and grief laid him up for even longer as he cried himself sick.

Gregit was better though, seeing the man who did the deed getting called out by a demon and then eaten gave him a bit of satisfaction.

Briela was fascinating though. He had to meet whomever managed to capture the ever moving castle.

By the Time Floki would arrive at the now defunk castle and underground hold, the siblings bodies are already outside on pikes.

This doesn't scare him away of course, and to find out why they were there he uses his memory recall. Where he sees through there eyes what they did to Adrian, albeit a little fuzzy. But is able to hear what the twins were thinking in that moment and see, just for a short time, Adrian tied to the bed afraid and hurt.

This causes him to snap his fingers and cause the corpses to burst into flames.

An action that draws Adrian’s attention causing a little bit of a fight before they recognize each other.

Over the next while Adrian allows Floki to stay and fix the castle as well as the Belmont estate and work towards getting the transportation engine online again. Eventually.

Overtime, all of Floki’s feelings come back with a vengeance and he gives as much attention and TLC to Adrian as he allows. Eventually getting Adrian to allow him close enough to see though his memory what the siblings had done to him

A scene that will either start a few revelations with both Adrian and FLoki or lead to a very steamy situation. Possibly both.

But it all ends in Adrian getting all the Love and TLC that man deserves after the hell he was put through.

I just hope they aren’t trying to set him up to become an antagonist later...

#castlevania #adriandeservesbetter #adrian tepes

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reginavere-arch · 4 years

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@arturiusrex sent: Five times kissed Arthur/Guin/ lancelot!

i. she wears a crown of glittering gold and a smile that gleams brighter still, dressed all in the new-bud-green of spring, a color vibrant as her eyes. in her hands a wreath of flowers, all the colors of spring contained within the circle of it, held between her slender hands. for it is spring at last, and truly, sunlight beaming through that last lingering bit of chill that hangs upon the breeze. everything is blooming or else about to bloom, and all around them there is laughter, music, a cacophony of bird song. in this moment the young queen looks more at home than ever, as though she and camelot had claimed each other, made an agreement between them. the flower wreath is for the victor, and the victor is the man who stands before her: lancelot, whose bow is a rougher version of any other, who hardly seems to smile as he takes the prize from her hands. perhaps it is for that reason she pauses there beside him, lifts up onto her dainty-slippered toes to kiss his cheek. light as the brush of a feather, quick and proper. no sooner was the light kiss given than she was gone, whirled into a dance with a handful of her ladies for a moment before at last she could disentangle and then, laughing still, walk right into the arms of arthur. this kiss is not a feather-light thing, not the kiss of a queen for a champion. it is warmer than the the sunlight spilling ‘round them, longer and deeper than the sort that they so often share before the court. the members of that court laugh, now, and applaud at the sight of them, and for a moment the court is ensconced in spring, and even the oldest of them feels (for a moment!) young and beautiful and everlasting.

ii. he kneels before them both with his sword set out before him, and there is something in his eyes that guinevere cannot quite place. something hurting, hungry, longing, like a starving man before a feast in which he cannot partake. (but where that hunger is directed she cannot quite tell, could swear she sees it flash deep within his eyes no matter where he looks: at arthur or at her. or if there is no direction of it at all, and it is only a trick played on her by the light.) the blessing of his journey is spoken, the petitions of protection, and he stands, approaches her and arthur one by one. kisses arthur’s ring and then her hand, and she could swear that his thumb caressed her palm before he let it go, almost as though he could not help it. as though he had not wanted that touch but had needed it, as though it was necessary as that blessing, necessary to sustain him along whatever path he took. (she cannot look at that too closely, will not let herself. for in the wake of that touch a strange warmth had seemed to course through her hand. and she cannot think what that might mean.)

iii. a kiss hidden in secret, given in stolen time: all teeth and grasping hands and gasping breaths, the rough stone of the wall behind her, the hard planes of muscle pressed so close. the entire world had all been lancelot: his touch, his taste, his smell. the feeling of his skin beneath her hands, his hair under her fingers. the burning of each kiss, the wild devouring. all want, all need, all hunger, both of them always starved for more. that abatement of loneliness, that harsh understanding. they were wild things, both of them, and in no place was that more plain than in these moments. another kiss given in hidden time, behind closed chamber doors, arthur’s broad hands upon her narrow waist, tugging (insistent yet gentle, as though too much aware one harsh tug could snap the laces) at the lacing of her dress. all warmth and intimate knowledge, his lips always finding the spot on her neck that makes her shiver, his hands always holding her just the right way. the entire world all only arthur: his touch, his taste, his smell. the feeling of his skin beneath her hands, his hair under her fingers. the radiating warmth of each kiss, like some sunlight summer day come to wash over her. all want, all need, both of them always reaching for more, that closeness, the knowledge that there need not be an “alone,” not any more.

iv. she wakes between them, and for a moment all she can think of is the way her puppies sometimes sleep, all in a tumble. for so this feels, this tangle of limbs and sleepy breathing. she wakes between them and she cannot move, for lancelot’s leg is bent over hers and arthur’s arm around her waist. it is a blissful way to wake, she thinks, shifting just enough to look between them. settles back into their arms and into the pillows to enjoy it, even drifts back into sleep and then out of it again until, at last, she decides they all must wake. kisses are split between the two, one after the other, upon any nearby patch of skin, until their breathing changes, until she sees them wake.

v. their last kiss tastes of salt, and she thinks of the sea. thinks of crashing waves, thinks how things tossed out to sea all return to shore in time, and can only hope that such a thing will prove true, too, for them. for now she clings to him as he clings to her, relishes the way his arms crush her too him. even laughs, though it is pained and all awash in tears, when his lips press hard to her cheek, to her jaw, to her throat. there is a blissful, blistering moment where she thinks he seeks to mark her, to leave the pale skin of her neck marked for all to see. a defiance, a desperate plea, she does not know. all she knows is that, for that moment, she would have let him. would have, had he not made a noise like a growl and buried his face against her neck instead, his fingers pressing harder at her waist as hers cling to his arms, his shoulders. “lancelot, i must go,” she whispers, her voice near shattering upon the words. “i must, my love.” another kiss, and then another as she backs up to the stairs, the last (truly last!) lingering and gentler and by far more painful than any injury she has yet sustained. “farewell, my lancelot,” she whispers, and plunges down the stairs until at last she can stumble against the wall, hold herself up against it, one hand pressed to her stomach and forehead to the stone. a moment, then another, and then she composes herself, clears her eyes of tears and lifts her head up high. down the stairs, each one more gracefully than the last, until she is outside beneath the air and arthur is before her. arthur, whose sight seems both to split her open and knit her back together all at once. arthur, who her heart cries out to even as it longs for the man she left behind. her eyes are upon him and him alone all that long and lonely walk, until she puts her hand in his and lifts up onto her toes to press her lips against his cheek. soft and lingering, landing just upon the corner of his mouth. “let us go home.”

send me five times kissed for a drabble about five times our muses kissed (ACCEPTING)

#arturiusrex #.REPLIES #remember me love when i am reborn. ARTHUR #i howl when we’re apart. LANCELOT

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erikismybitch · 5 years

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Waiting in Vain: Chapter 1

This One Guy.

Marleys room was her safe space . It smelled like her, it looked like her , even the soft sheets felt like her . They were expensive enough. “Quality over quantity“ her mother would say when she was little . That was something she carried on , even after her life .

“Alexa, turn on my fucking light” Marley groaned , she had been hearing voices in the living room for the past hour . She didn’t even have Alexa, Marley just wanted to humor herself. She was trying to take a nap before she had to be logged on to her computer for work .

Marley controlled the social media content for a food delivery app. When people messaged and tweeted the company , Marley was the person who had to respond and help . She had to take a total of six hours a day , all dedicated to the complaints of unhappy customers . She just wanted a few hours of sleep, she had a busy day and needed to pull an all nighter .

But no, Tiana had to invite people over tonight. They were cousins and shared a living space . Well, Marley was living with her cousin. She fell on hard times and needed a place to stay while she got on her feet . Marley had given herself a year , it was month six so she was half way there. Ready to go wasn’t even the phrase that could explain how she felt . Paying half the rent wasn’t bad, but she wanted her own space.

There was a knock at her door, one of the many over the past hour . It was the same thing , somebody asking when she was “gonna’ come out” . From the sound of it , a football game was on . Marley wasn’t interested in any sport that didn’t involve Serena Williams . And plus , to her, football was fueled by racism, it’s workings were slavery-like. Marley also thought it was too many confusing rules , what’s a first down anyway .

She left her nest , spotted a few familiar faces and this one guy .

The one guy who approached Marley a few weeks ago . But once he laid eyes on Tiana, Marley was a distant memory .

His name was Erik.

And there were many before him , ever since they were little girls Tiana always prevailed . Marley rested the side of her body on the living room wall , every seat was taken so she had no choice . Also she was able to see everyone , but couldn’t keep her focus away from Tiana and Erik. His hand rested on her thigh , Marley could see the imprint from him squeezing it ever so often . They kept stealing seductive glances at each other. Marley rolled her eyes .

This is why I stay in my room, Marley preached to herself. All the while grabbing an unopened lime-a-rita and taking a huge swig . It was time for her to start work anyway . Without so much as a goodbye , she went back into her room . Uninterested on being around people . Marley felt a particular way , she didn’t know if it was loneliness. Everyone could lie and pretend that they were okay with rejection and being single . But nobody really enjoys being alone . Marley wanted to be wanted , even if it was for a moment. So she did what a lot of impulsive girls do . She sent a text to her ex boyfriend.

Trey, wyd?

She sent the text . And after letting thirty minutes pass he didn’t respond . Marley figured he wasn’t horny enough to respond back . “Why did I do that !” She slapped her for heads as self punishment. She felt that instant regret .

Marley logged into all social media accounts for work . Twitter was her first @Gunna671 was really upset about something missing from his order . She started off with the blue print .

We are sorry for the mistake , please tell me the item(s) that are missing from the order. And please provide the order number .

She managed to stay up for four hours , right before crashing again . The small fifteen minute cat nap lasted a little too long . Thank god, but not thank god for the loud noise that woke her up. It was now 2am.

Tiana was so damn loud , screaming Eriks name over and over . The sounds were muffled through the walls but Marley could hear everything . Even Erik’s recent remark about how “her shit was so wet” and how “her mouth felt just like her pussy when he was in it “

“Damn” Marley spoke out loud .

Her computer screen was still active with hundreds of unanswered direct messages and tweets. Before she got back to it, her phone screen lit up .

My bad , I didn’t see your text

Treys bullshit lie made her stomach growl with hunger . So she got up , those customers could wait another ten minutes. Through the hall she could hear them mumbling to eachother , it seemed as if they had finished . Thank god now. Nevertheless, Marley was on a food mission .

In the kitchen , she grabbed a box of hearty cereal from the cabinet . Poured it in a bowl and then added milk . Just as she retrieved her spoon, Tianas door opened. Erik walked out of the room . Nothing on but his briefs and a smile , he exuberated confidence as if he lived there . This was Eriks house. He displayed the same arrogance that attracted Marley to him in the first place , he didn’t even have to say a word .

They were at a club , he approached Marley but he couldn’t keep his wondering eyes off her cousin . “Her name is Tiana, go ahead “

Marley had grew tired of his act quickly , she knew where he really wanted to be . Routinely, if he would have just saw Tiana first . Usually, Tiana would reject them . But not Erik , not a man who was built to perfection like him . From his brown skin , bulging biceps and dimpled smile . He probably didn’t even know what rejection felt like .

He smelled like cologne and latex. That latex smell always carried on its own . Erik mumbled something about juice . Marley heard him loud and clear but she was still upset at him for his choice . She ignored him . It got awkward because he repeated himself , so he knew for a fact she heard him . He didn’t like that , he could get rude too .

“You didn’t hear what I said?” he raised his tone , in a father-like manner , like one that was fed up with a teen .

“Nope” Marley was dry with him . Erik kissed his teeth and brushed past her . He moved so quickly that it startled her . He opened the fridge and grabbed a carton of orange juice . It just so happened to belong to Marley. “Aye, that’s mine!” She warned him .

“So I can’t have none?” He smirked, trying to use his charm to dissolve the situation .

“No, you should have asked” Marley went towards him to reach for the carton of juice , he snatched it back just as the tips of her fingers touched his. Erik looked down at her , his smirk was gone . He had tried his best to be cordial , but he took big offense to people who snatched things from him . Plus, he had already asked her twice .

“I don’t give a fuck if this is your house or not , don’t you ever try to take something from me “ He was loud and clear . Marley stood back in fear . Something about him made her freeze . If it was any other person , she would have returned the same energy . He looked directly at her but she couldn’t fathom looking him back in the eye. He slammed the carton on the counter , so hard that the bottom began to leak.

“You shouldn’t be drinking all this sugar anyway , you’ll just keep getting bigger”

The gasp that seeped through her lips came out strong. Erik had made Marley feel so small , thank god he walked away . He didn’t get a chance to see her eyes water . Marley had completely lost her appetite.

Is he saying I’m fat ? That was a fat joke right ? I know he isn’t concerned about my health , he fucking called me fat .

She continued to cloud her thoughts with disaproving opinions about herself . Marley cleaned up the leaking juice and threw the carton in the garbage can . Her cereal bowl went into the trash too.

I’m not even that big , I wear a size twelve , sometimes a ten . It’s because I’m not cute . Does he think I’m fat ? Tiana and I are the same size . Maybe I should cut out the sugar . I am fat .

She washed the stickiness off of her hands , dried them and walked back into her room . Down the hall where the return of their sex sounds was ever so prevalent. “Fuck him” she whispered loudly.

Like everyone, Marley had experienced a few insults in her lifetime. Self confidence and reassurance can only go so far . Only liars say things can’t hurt their feelings . Words hurt everybody . She crumbled into her safe bed and thought of the things she should have said back . But who was she kidding , there was no comeback that could have broke Erik down . She wished she had something on him , like “Thats why you failed high school” or “That’s why your father left your mom” but she didn’t know his history . She just knew his name and from the sounds of Tianas screams , she knew he could fuck .

She opened her phone again .

My bad , I didn’t see your text

She read Trey’s text and responded. Again , Marley knew he was lying , after four years she could read him like a book . Even through his text messages . She just wanted the feeling of touch from someone, even if that person endowed the most pain on her.

It’s fine , you sleep?

Nah , come thru

He knew what the 2am text meant . She needed him to make her feel good . Pulling pride to the side, Marley got dressed . Leggings, hoodie , and uggs. Whatever she wore would be snatched off as soon as she walked through his door . Well, depending on who was all there. Treys house was a never ending revolving door. Full of drugs , fights , a mother who let the streets raise her kids and everlasting drama. The stories Marley could tell about the time spent there were unbelievable.

I’ll be there in 15

She left , without telling Tiana. She was sure to have a few angry text messages from her cousin in the morning . Living with Tiana came with a dirty kitchen and attachment issues . Marley got into her car , when it heated to completion she left . Six more months , the lease that held both of their names would be over . Where Marley could move on with her life , new friends , new experiences, a new state . She hoped . But for now , Trey would do.

Hope you guys like the intro :)

#erik killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger fanfic #erik killmonger imagine #black panther fanfic

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juju-on-that-yeet · 5 years

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Out of the Dark

Prompt: Whumptober Day 7, Isolation

Summary: The Jim twins have been thrown in Dark’s void as a punishment, but it’s the loneliness that’s hurting RJ more than anything else.

Warnings: Mental breakdown

Tagging: @peribloke (ask to be tagged!)

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

Reporter Jim is alone.

Not alone, alone. Because RJ’s hardly ever by himself, completely by choice. CJ is just as codependent as he is, and the two brothers do everything together…including get into trouble, as they’ve managed to do today.

Is it still today? RJ doesn’t know.

Because he and CJ finally got on Dark’s last nerve and have been tossed in his void for it. But not only have they been thrown into that churning darkness, they’ve been thrown in alone. RJ’s spent hours (days?) calling for CJ, but to no avail, to no response but the hum of the void. It reminds RJ of the baseline in a song, but so deep it almost can’t be heard by human ears, subliminal but tangible, naturally unnerving.

RJ can’t remember the last time he was apart from CJ so long, the last time he didn’t know exactly where his baby brother was. He can’t even begin to imagine how CJ’s feeling, how terrified he must be. RJ can’t even imagine his own feelings. He slingshots between fear for his brother and plain fear, because what if Dark keeps him here for weeks? Or months? What if he never lets them go? Worse, what if he lets one of them go? What if it’s already been days, what if CJ’s been let out and RJ’s meant to stay here, apart from him, forever?

It’s hard to keep a grip on time when there’s no light to go by. He can’t even track sleepies like the fans have done before; RJ can’t bring himself to sleep here. He keeps seeing things in the dark, keeps seeing the lightless nothing mold into shapes, into beasts. They’re probably not real, they’re probably just RJ’s eyes drowning in the boredom of constant darkness, but RJ can’t be sure. He can’t risk it. He can’t risk the monsters and demons in the black deep ripping him apart.

He clutches his own arms until his knuckles turn white. His skin aches, itches. He needs CJ. He needs to hug his brother. He needs to know he’s okay. He needs to be okay himself, he needs to get out of here.

He still doesn’t know how long it’s been. But it gets longer every second, doesn’t it? How many seconds has it been since he last thought about that? How many seconds has it been since he last thought about CJ? Not that many. But how many times has he thought about CJ? Very many. It’s cold here. RJ isn’t normally so bothered by the elements, but it’s too cold here. It’s cold like Dark is.

Cold. He’s so cold. Dark’s so cold. Would he really keep RJ here forever? How long has it been? It must be days. RJ’s hungry. His skin is hungry. He wants to hold his brother. He wants to be warm. He wants the dark to stop watching him.

His throat hurts. When did he start screaming?

At some point he closes his eyes. It’s better than seeing things in the dark.

He curls up eventually, holding himself like he wants to hold CJ.

Then eventually, finally, he’s brought back out, but he doesn’t know which way is up anymore, or what day it is. The light is too bright – he doesn’t know how many fingers Dr. Iplier is holding up either. He can’t remember how to talk, and his hands are too cold for sign. He feels like a stone at the bottom of a deep well, one that got stuck in the pail and dragged to the surface. Divers get the bends when they come back to the air too fast, and RJ feels something similar; an aching paralysis keeping him frozen.

After a while, though (he’s given up on trying to guess how long anything takes), he can see through the light correctly again. He’s in a clinic bed, covered by a blanket. Dr. Iplier is with him, sees his eyes start to focus, ruffles his hair.

“There you are, kid,” Dr. Iplier murmurs, “It’s been a few hours since Dark let you guys go, how are you feeling?”

RJ is still numb. Dr. Iplier’s hand in his hair and the blanket over his body feel like static. He’s too overwhelmed with sensation to speak, to move. Someone comes into the room, RJ hears it (his ears grew sharp in the dark to hear the whispers).

“Bim–” Dr. Iplier sighs. “Why’d you bring him in here? RJ’s still not well.”

Bim is standing in the doorway, with CJ, CJ (oh god it’s CJ), CJ wrapped around Bim’s upper body in a tangle of long limbs. His legs are around Bim’s waist, his arms cling around his shoulders, his head is buried in Bim’s neck. Bim is holding him in return, arms securing CJ to his chest, one hand smoothing his hair. His expression is sad, bloodshot eyes that have cried too much recently, but resolute.

“I know RJ’s not well,” Bim says in response to Dr. Iplier, “He needs CJ. They need each other.”

The only things RJ can feel are the heaviness of his own skin, and the ache like hunger pains that runs over it.

“Yes, but eventually,” Dr. Iplier tells him. “If we put them back together too soon they’ll retraumatize each other. RJ still won’t move or talk; it’ll scare CJ, and then that’ll scare RJ, and they’ll both be worse off.”

“Doc, RJ’s not gonna get better until he sees CJ. I know these two, I know them better than you do.” Bim’s eyes begin to shine with wetness. “CJ keeps asking for RJ. He cries every time I tell him “not yet.” They can’t survive like this, they need to be together.”

Dr. Iplier and Bim stare at each other. Dr. Iplier is stern, chewing his lip in thought, and Bim is near tears but determined. RJ watches, still too numb to react to anything. He barely feels real, the world barely feels real. Dr. Iplier sighs again.

“Fine,” he relents, sighing. “We’ll try it, but if something goes wrong, we’re following my instruction from now on.”

Bim nods, a watery grin spreading across his face. He looks down at CJ.

“Hear that, bud?” he murmurs to him, “It’s time to see RJ.”

CJ jolts in Bim’s arms as Bim carries him to RJ’s bed. Dr. Iplier moves out of the way so Bim can set CJ down in front of him. CJ’s eyes are bloodshot like Bim’s, and already wet with fresh tears. He surges forward and hugs RJ tight, head in his shoulder, hands clinging at his back.

For a long moment, RJ is still. His body begins to register what’s happening, the gears in his mind start to turn. The numbness, slowly, begins to recede. Then CJ’s trembling hands let go of RJ’s shirt to trace letters into his back, over and over, RJ, RJ, RJ.

Just like that, the dam bursts. RJ’s locked body opens up, the numbness falls away like shed skin. He feels CJ’s warmth, feels the solid weight in his lap, feels the tracing of his own name from CJ’s long fingers. He starts to whimper, then sob, then he’s wailing, hugging CJ back, clutching him so hard he’s afraid he’s hurting him but he can’t make himself stop.

“CJ, CJ, my brother,” RJ sobs, “I love you, I missed you, I love you…”

CJ nods into his neck as a reply. I love you too brother, I missed you too.

CJ doesn’t object to being crushed in RJ’s hug, hugging him just as tight in response. They cry, rocking against each other, and RJ finally feels okay again, finally feels normal. His time in the void doesn’t matter anymore, he’s home, home is holding him, and home is in his arms.

“Told you,” Bim tells Dr. Iplier. His voice is wet.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dr. Iplier brushes him off, but his tone is light.

RJ feels Bim brush back his hair and kiss the top of his head, and though he can’t see for tears, he imagines Bim does the same to CJ next.

“Don’t either of you make Dark that mad ever again, you hear me?” Bim demands, though the words are undercut by his soft, weepy tone. The pair look up at him and nod anyway, and Bim kisses them on each cheek, one at a time.

RJ’s first smile in days happens then, as Bim kisses his cheeks, and it lights him up inside, the warmth chasing away the memories of the dark.

#whumptober2019 #no.7 #jim twins #reporter jim #bim trimmer #dr. iplier #markiplier fanfiction #markiplier #fanfic #kristin says stuff #my writing #listen #you gotta separate the twins #you gotta #it's science

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raywritesthings · 5 years

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Pain

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Quentin Lance, Dinah Lance, Sara Lance, Ted Grant Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The five years Oliver is away change drastically when his soulmate can feel all the same pain that he does, and vice versa. Notes: Inspired by, and thus gifted to, @unusual-raccoon, for the observation that there are not many Lauriver soulmate AUs. I hope you enjoy! *Also can be read on my AO3*

The problem is, her soulmate has never had a painful day in their life.

Not that there haven’t been little twinges here and there. The odd sting of a nonexistent paper cut, a groggy morning in a hungover state Laurel has done nothing the previous night to earn. But that could be anyone anywhere. It doesn’t give her any sort of certainty, so she doesn’t pay it much attention. She already knows who she loves: her boyfriend, Oliver Queen.

As it is, their combined sheltered lifestyles leave her woefully unprepared for when it all changes.

Laurel awakens in her childhood bedroom in the middle of the night with a jolt. She’s freezing, she’s falling, there’s nothing but inky blackness all around her. Somehow she cries out, or chokes, because her father comes racing in, grabbing hold of her.

“Laurel? Laurel, what’s wrong?”

But she can’t answer. She can’t get air. She is drowning, drowning on dry land—

With a great heave of breath, it lifts just enough. Laurel falls into her father’s arms, shaking and sobbing. What had that been? Why had it happened?

“I’m here, honey. You’re safe.”

“I’m o- I’m okay,” she manages, still gasping with every other breath.

“She’s breathing,” she hears her mother say, and it only just registers to her that her mom is on the phone. “It seems to have passed. What should we do until the paramedics arrive?”

“I don’t need paramedics,” Laurel protests weakly. She feels better mostly. Her shaking has calmed to just a shiver. It’s so cold in here.

“They’re already on their way, honey.”

“And for good reason. I’ve never been so terrified,” her dad remarks. He brushes some of her hair back. “Were you dreaming? A nightmare?”

“I don’t know.”

The paramedics don’t know either. They check her over and give her parents some vague instructions. Her dad insists on sitting up in her room the rest of the night to make certain there would be no repeat of whatever had happened.

The next day she gets up and tries to go about things as normal to ease her parents’ worries. She feels fine, aside from a parched throat that doesn’t seem to be quenched by any amount of water and a growing hunger in her belly despite the breakfast and lunch she eats.

Laurel volunteers to help her dad with the dishes while their kitchen television plays on in the background, and that is how she gets the news: the Queen’s Gambit has gone down in a storm.

Mrs. Queen arrives sometime after with even worse to tell them. There were no survivors, and her own sister had been on the yacht. She’d snuck off to be with Oliver. His last act had been to cheat on her.

Whatever strange pains she had been going through are nothing compared to the weight of that betrayal. Laurel can’t believe it. She’d known about Oliver’s playboy tendencies, but how could he do this to her when they’d been planning a life together? And with her own sister. How could Sara?

They hold a quiet funeral with family only and an empty casket. It was shameful the way Sara had died, after all, and not many are interested in claiming her as a friend. Her mother sobs the whole way through and nothing her father does or says can seem to console her. Not that he’s in a good state to do so.

Laurel is numb. Just numb to it all. She goes down to the docks where she’d said goodbye to Oliver, where he’d acted like nothing was different, and stares out at the ocean that had taken two of the most important people in her life away. She looks up statistics, research about shipwrecks. Surely there’s some way someone lived? But there’s nothing.

What else is there to do but go back to her classes?

Laurel keeps her head down the first couple of days. Everyone knows what happened, that she is the one who lost her sister and boyfriend while they’d been screwing each other behind her back. She can hear whispers wherever she walks and feel the stares on her back. All she can do is ignore it; it has to go away after a while.

Only a day or so later comes the next incident, just as she’s walking down the steps of the lecture hall. Pain erupts in her chest, and Laurel screams in anguish as it rips through her.

She doesn’t know anything for a time, only dimly coming back to herself in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, classmates and the professor standing over her with looks of alarm and even fear. The pain is still there, and she doesn’t have words to describe what it is.

By the time it’s dull ache, her father has arrived.

“What happened?”

“I don’t- I don’t know, Daddy. But it hurt so much.”

He takes her to their family doctor who refers them to a specialist. During the wait for that, she suffers another attack, though not nearly as painful.

“In the absence of any physical wound, I would have to assume your daughter has a soulmate connection.”

“But this has never happened before,” her father protests.

“Then it’s likely that her soulmate’s circumstances have changed.”

“Well isn’t there a drug, something that dampens that connection?”

“I’m afraid those are very closely regulated. We would need the confirmed identity of her soulmate.” The doctor turns to her. “Miss Lance, do you think you might know them?”

Laurel has been thinking it over. The first night this happened would have been the night the Gambit went down. “I think, maybe...Oliver?”

“Queen?” Her father practically screams. “That good for nothing? He’s dead, Laurel, he’s at the bottom of the ocean. And it’s the one bit of happiness I’ve got left to cling to anymore! Now you better hope it’s somebody else!”

They go home in stony silence with no treatment plan and Laurel trying to hold back tears.

Laurel doesn’t know what she wants. If Oliver is alive — but then, wouldn’t he have reached out to his family? Wouldn’t any survivor have reached out?

She loved him. She can’t imagine finding that with another person. But she’s found something with someone, apparently.

Why did it have to hurt so much?

—-

The problem is, he’s in so much pain on his own that it takes some time to notice it. Or rather to separate it out.

It starts a few days after the Gambit was torn apart, some time when he was drifting alone towards the island. Oliver thought the ache in his chest, the hurt, the betrayal, was a result of his father’s confession and subsequent suicide. How could he leave him alone like this to fend for himself? Why had he made him watch?

Yet it persists. After he meets Yao Fei, after he joins Slade at the fuselage, after they rescue Shado. This constant gnawing loneliness that eats at him remains. The brief moments of what counts for levity on Lian Yu don’t chase it away. Sometimes it felt like he’d never been plucked from the North China Sea and into the life raft, like he’s still drowning out in those dark waters.

As the months drag on, he thinks he hears things in his sleep. Grumbled curses and oaths, his own name. If you hadn’t met him.

In those times he seeks out company — though he doesn’t dare tell the others he thinks he’s hearing things — or takes to staring at the photo he’d managed to hang onto of Laurel for some kind of solace. How can someone possibly be expected to live like this?

It isn’t until Sara arrives on the island that he realizes that someone else out there in the world somewhere is.

“You didn’t feel anything, did you? Any of what they did to me.” Her voice is pitched low as they sit around a pitiful fire. Slade is off somewhere like he’s taken to doing ever since the Mirakuru. Ever since they lost Shado.

Oliver blinks and looks up. “No.”

“Neither did I.” Her lip trembles. “Ollie, I thought I loved you. I thought we were soulmates. What- what did we do?”

It crashes over him in an instant. He hadn’t felt Sara’s pain, but he is feeling someone else’s. And who could be so hurt, so alone—

He doesn’t want to hope somehow it’s her he’s so connected to, and he doesn’t want to wish that this kind of pain belongs to her. Laurel. Lord, what has he done?

—-

The solution is to fight through the pain.

She has to withdraw from law school after the third time she’s hospitalized. Her condition is too unstable, too distracting to other students, the university says. She looks at online programs, none of which seem particularly promising.

Without a prescription from a doctor that would lessen some of the effects, Laurel turns to alternatives. At first it’s alcohol. But as her own father’s dependence on the substance worsens, Laurel finds herself not as keen to indulge. She doesn’t like the person it makes him, the person slurs his words and slings insults at her even as she supports half his weight on the way home. Home is a cramped apartment now that her mother has disappeared into thin air.

A friend from law school who’s interested in working internationally puts her onto the idea of meditation and body movement. She starts taking classes at cheap dojos in the Glades. The meditation and martial arts helps to calm her, ground her focus. But nothing feels quite as good as punching at something until her arms ache. That eventually leads her to the Wildcat Gym.

Ted is a good teacher. He doesn’t ask too many questions, and when he does he doesn’t mind if you don’t want to answer them. Laurel has to tell him about the soulmate situation in case she suffers another attack of pain in the middle of training, but he doesn’t freak out.

So far they’ve gotten lucky. Sometimes she feels a soreness or a twinge here or there in the middle of a combination. Once, she has to drop to a knee, her hand bracing over her shoulder at an explosion of pain. It feels like her skin and bone have been shattered into pieces. Ted takes her other hand and tells her to breath. She does, in and out, and before it even starts to dull Laurel climbs back onto her feet and raises her fists. “Let’s go.”

Her soulmate seems to be coping with whatever they’re going through better with time as well. Whether that is because their situation is improving or they have simply increased their pain tolerance, she doesn’t know. Laurel hopes their suffering will be at end soon, for both their sakes. No one deserves to go through that, not even—

But whoever they are and wherever they are, Laurel is running out of her savings here in Starling City. She can’t hold onto a regular nine to five job thanks to her condition, and she had to sell her downtown apartment for a smaller duplex in the Glades. That section of the city is in a severe downward slump, with cops and reporters alike unable to keep up with the rate of crime. People out there actually getting hurt, unlike the phantom pain that haunts her.

And that gives her an idea, especially once she hears the neighborhood legend of the Wildcat himself.

“They’re somewhere out there, Ted. My soulmate. And there have been so many near misses. What if they don’t make it? What if they die? What happens to me?”

“Hey, that’s what you’re training for. So you can handle whatever life throws at you.”

“What if I want to do more? I took this training on to help me, but I could be helping others like you did.”

Ted takes a lot of convincing. He doesn’t want to get into it, and Laurel doesn’t pry, but a past experience with a student didn’t go well. But eventually, he comes around. In the meantime, Laurel starts putting together a nighttime disguise, as Ted explains she’ll need if she’s planning to go outside the law.

Maybe in the past she would have felt guilty for doing so. But Laurel has been denied the side of the law too many times, and she is tired of sitting around wallowing in her own wounds. This, too, is a way to fight back. A way to try and hold the world together, if not save it.

Sometimes at night she thinks she can sense a comforting presence, a soothing voice telling her it will all be okay somehow. With few friends left in her life, it helps to ease the loneliness just a little. Whether or not she is crazy to buy into that feeling, Laurel doesn’t mind holding onto a little hope.

—-

The solution is to find the bright side.

Oliver knows that if he lets himself wallow in the darkness that hangs over his soulmate like a cloud, he will never make it home. He has to force himself to think of the good things, for both their sakes.

He takes to listing all of the positives of each day. He found food. He learned a new grammar rule in Mandarin. Thea will be entering high school, provided his math is correct. His soulmate is still alive. Somehow, impossibly, it makes his situation seem less bleak.

It helps him to hold onto who he was, as well. Not that there had been many redeeming qualities to his character before he’d been shipwrecked, but it’s nice knowing Waller and her missions can’t completely change him. Even if his humor has turned more biting than it had once been, his grins sharper.

People he comes across tend to say he is unnaturally cheerful given the circumstances, that it just isn’t appropriate. They don’t understand this is the only way he is going to get through this, that he is just trying to keep his head above water. And the truth is, the more he thinks about it, he doesn’t want to go through life all dour and appropriately serious anyway. What’s the point of it all if he can’t find a bright side?

Sometimes when things go south and he finds himself in a fight for his life, he feels a reserve of energy he doesn’t normally have rise up and take control. His fists become more coordinated, his moves more practiced, and it gets him through to another day. He has a guess as to where it comes from, but no way of knowing for sure.

Because he has started to feel things. A broken nose, bruises that aren’t his own. Part of him wonders if this is an attempt at payback for the hell he is no doubt putting his soulmate through unwillingly. Another part of him worries they’ve been inspired to enter a life of similar risk.

As much pain as his soulmate is in, they are also his only link to a world outside the island or the crazy missions Waller forces him to take part in. If he loses that, it’d be a lot harder to feel as though there are still good things to be happy about. What if he is the reason they do something that causes him to lose them?

If he can just hang on and make it home, then he can set things right. As much as his father’s mission matters to him, he needs to take care of this, too. He doesn’t want to feel his soulmate suffering in solitude for another day. They need each other.

—-

The result is it becomes impossible to maintain secret identities.

Oliver Queen returns home, and a man in a green hood shows up to attack Adam Hunt. The night of his welcome back party, Laurel finds herself having to hide behind a table and brace a hand over her mouth to hold in grunts of pain from blows being delivered only the next building over.

The woman in black who stalks the Glades runs into a little trouble with a street gang later in the week, and Oliver has to stop his construction of his base thanks to the slice of a knife and other unpleasantries.

She feels it when his kidnappers taser him. He feels it when he tells her to stay away from him for her safety.

When they finally collide down at the docks — her after the Triad and him after their business partner Martin Sommers — they make short work of their opponents together, though not without retaining some injuries.

“You okay?” Laurel asks her newfound partner.

“Yeah, just my nose,” he says, pressing fingers lightly to a perfectly straight nose just as he turns to see blood running from hers. “I mean, uh—”

He gestures vaguely to her face, and Laurel reaches to feel at the tender spot, her hand coming away red. “Oh. I thought that was—”

Their eyes meet, and everything is clear.

“It’s you,” Laurel breathes, and no greasepaint or hood or mask or wig or any obstruction can hide one from the other. She steps closer. “Ollie.”

“Well I’ll be.” He takes in those familiar green eyes, feeling himself falling all over again. “Dinah Laurel Lance.”

Approaching police sirens cut them off, and they flee, somehow ending up in her duplex. He takes down his hood, and she sets aside her mask, the two of them looking and really seeing each other for perhaps the first time.

He puts a dish towel under the faucet and holds it out to her. “May I?”

She nods, stepping forward. Laurel approaches him carefully. She knows, after all, how wary he’s had to become of any sudden movement.

He takes her chin with one hand, wiping gently at the drying blood with the towel. It’s not as bad as it looks, and as he clears it away something pleasant seems to tingle through them both. Healing, they can only guess.

“I always wondered if you were still out there. If what I was feeling was you.” Laurel murmurs.

When he looks back up after discarding the towel, she’s silent, only taking one final step to wrap her arms around him. She hasn’t let herself be this gentle or vulnerable with anyone in so long. All the walls she put up to keep out the hurt, and they’re coming down.

“I did this to you — to us,” he reminds her. All the pain, the loneliness, it could have been avoided if he’d only known.

Laurel just holds him close. She knows what he’s thinking, too. “We had to learn it first.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

Without the pain, there isn’t this. This sweet peace found in each other’s presence, the soothing balm to all the years spent apart.

“Finally.”

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #laurel lance #oliver queen #arrow #quentin lance #dinah lance #sara lance #ted grant #green arrow #black canary #my writing

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therollingstonys · 4 years

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Five Favourite Works of mine from the past year

I was tagged by @geekymoviemom over on my main and decided to answer here lol thank you so much darling!!

The rules of this circulating challenge are as follows: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world. tag as many writers/artists/etc as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Restart My Broken Heart

Being touch starved — also known as skin hunger or touch deprivation — occurs when a person experiences little to no touch from other living things.

Wade can't remember the last time someone touched him without the intent to hurt or injure him. He can't remember the last time he wasn't lonely. He can't remember much good at all anymore. Call it weakness, call it loneliness, call it whatever you want...he's not going to be alone tonight.

Wade Wilson x Peter Parker Escort fic with soft dom Peter and sweet sub Wade!

I really love this fic so much because the dynamics are pretty unusual for Spideypool—you don’t usually see Wade as the sub, and it was so fun to play with that dynamic! It was also personal for me in a way because I am a domme and I enjoy softer and more gentle domination and there’s just never enough of that dynamic shown in fic for my favorite ships!!

Letters Verse

The Letters Verse started with Letters from the Void—a reimagining of Endgame where Steve got the gauntlet and snapped to save the world instead of Tony. From there I was inspired to write a Redux to explore what would have happened in those intervening five years if Tony didn’t have Pepper or Morgan to steady him out and help him grow.

This fic is my baby, my beloved, and I loved writing every word of it. Human relationships are often difficult and messy and painful and if this story is anything, it’s a close up look at how humans, Steve and Tony in particular, deal with grief and anger and loss. It’s about making mistakes, learning to forgive, and finding hope in the ashes of the world.

How Long Will I Love You?

My first Hanahaki fic!! This one was a prompt here on tumblr to celebrate our 1000 follower milestone!

With this story I really wanted to look at how someone with the super soldier serum would be sick with Hanahaki and I ended up deciding that it meant that unlike a baseline human, it would mean that Steve would be sick for a very long time, but wouldn’t actually die from the disease.

If you enjoy mutual pining and idiots in love, this is a fic for you lol I love Hanahaki fics because they are so angsty and have such amazing potential for death bed revelations of love, and getting to write that was such fun!!

City of Angels (But The Devil Gets His Due)

This one started out as an idea for a few connected one shots and ended up over 43k words of plot and angst and smut instead lol here’s a playlist for it if you’re interested!

Tony Stark is a prince of the Upper East Side, a shining angel of high society, a Stark.

James Barnes is an assassin, a murderer, a monster, a soldier.

When Tony’s parents are killed and he begins receiving information that it wasn’t an accident after all, he knows there’s only one person he can go to.

They are men of iron, and the blood on their hands doesn’t wash off so easily.

I loved writing this one because I’d never done a mob au before and I hadn’t read a lot of it either, so I kinda had this blank slate to write on as far as how I wanted the trope to be! I really enjoyed writing a James Barnes who was morally grey, who does bad things for the right reasons and thinks of himself as a monster in the shadows. Getting to play with canon and twist it to fit the story was just so fun—you’ll see a lot of familiar faces in this story and a few you don’t normally see!

Trouble (The Boy Who Cried I Am Wolf)

This one was a little drabble I wrote over on my Bucky blog after listening to a song of the same name.

So often music is such a huge inspiration for what I write and in this case the lyrics just spoke to me and I saw the whole story laid out in my head and HAD to write it.

It’s one of the few stories I’ve written that’s got an open ending that’s not exactly happy, but more hopeful. It’s another story about people who know what they’re doing isn’t good for them exactly, but they do it anyway and have to deal with the fallout. Human interaction and relationships are messy and difficult and I wanted to explore that with Bucky and Tony and poke at the grief and the hurt that’s between them and see what might happen if there was also desire and wanting there too.

I’ll tag @thirstinart @firebrands @stovetuna @iam93percentstardust @riotfalling @gayspacesprinkles @bardingbeedle @blossomsinthemist @rainbowrogers

#mod stella writes #mod stella talks #stony #winteriron #spideypool

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moeruhoshi · 5 years

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Unfinished and unedited WIP i dont know what to fucking do with--its been so long and i still can’t come up with an endiiiiing

Her father had locked her away so many years ago, after the death of her mother, not wanting to bother himself with even so much a sight of his grieving daughter. She was sent off to a castle no longer in use, dreary and dread, archbishops and dukes residing here many years ago. A staff was employed to keep her healthy and alive; the only traits her father cared for until she was ready to send away, again, for marriage. Pleasantly enough, her mother’s things were also sent out of the castle along with her; books, clothing, bedsheets, crowns. Lucy had the spirit of her mother by her side, not that it helped much to dampen her feelings of loss and loneliness.

And as she grew older, the staff grew smaller and smaller, soon she was all who was left, goodbyes pardoned for the poor who received illness or were ordered to return to the capital. Lucy enjoyed taking care of herself, being able to do as she liked when she liked, although etiquette still burned true in her veins. Unlearning the proper ways to stand, eat, and walk were ones hard to reprogram. She wondered someday if her father would even send for her, or continue to keep her far beneath his reach in an old castle left to perish empty and alone. Someone back home was at least thinking of her, or else food deliveries were sure to stop.

“See you again, Princess!” Zoldeo waved as he drove away her cart, Lucy waving back, sighing to herself as she was once again left without company. The two always had somewhat pleasant conversations as they moved her grains, potatoes, and other perishables from the cart and into her kitchen, his tales usually of the constant buzzing lifestyle in the center of the kingdom. Lucy missed the busyness of the streets, horse hooves on cobblestones, children laughing and begging their parents for a treat. She missed the festivals and fireworks, or really any sound that wasn’t constant flourishing wind. She never braved leaving her home farther than the garden she created in fear of getting lost in the surrounding woods without a guide to help her find her way.

The princess turned on her heel as the servant was now out of sight, flinching as the leaves rustled behind her back. It was probably a bunny, she assured herself, hoping to be able to treat it with a carrot if it trusted her scent enough. A whimper revealed itself, whoever behind the leaves unable to breach them.

“H-Hello?” Lucy called as she edged closer to the boundary of the trees, peering ever so slightly into the shaded area. She gasped, eyes casting over an injured dragon nearly a foot or so taller than her, wings furled trying to hide the gash on his side that only continued to drip blood into the grass.

“Oh goodness, are you alright?!” She asked as she stepped over the shrubbery to observe him more closely. He growled as she tried to carelessly touch his scales, Lucy backing away with an apology.

“Let me help you, okay? I promise I’ll be gentle,” She smiled softly, holding out a hand for him to sniff in acquaintance. His snout pat her palm as he accepted her scent, gruffing in approval to allow her to continue. Lucy thanked him as he pulled away his wing, eyes wide as she took in the entirety of his injuries.

“Let me see your eyes,” She mumbled to his craning head, their deep yellow muddled and shaky. “Poisoned...”

“Well, you’re lucky to have made it so close to my home,” She scratched the underside of his chin lightly. “Do you think you can walk? I’d be able to help you much more if you come inside. I’ve studied my mother's medicine books, so I should be of some help,”

It was a rather grueling task, one Lucy would be grateful to never have to do again. She helped the dragon to his feet, wincing as he did, apologizing for stirring his pain. They hobbled around the side of her castle and aimed for the much grander front entrance through which he’d be able to fit. They plopped against the harder tile floor, Lucy groaning as she fell to her back by his side, wiping the sweat having trailed from her hairline.

“I have not carried so much as an apple basket compared to even the slightest bit of you, Sir Dragon,” She puffed, receiving only but a glance as he adjusted himself. The foyer was quite large, stairs coming from either the west and east wing to meet at the center of the palace, a large painting of the late queen hanging above them. She moved to close the large wooden doors, dragon curled in the middle of the room.

“Not as comfortable as it could be, I know,” She spoke more to herself than the dragon, if he could even understand what she was saying as she moved to ascend her staircase. “I’m much more comfortable having you move again once we close that awful wound. Let me gather some supplies and hurry before that gets anymore infected.”

There was only so much the princess could do in this empty home of hers, reading being the most common and effective escape. Books were able to take her to far away lands, lead her on adventures with the friends she made every page, find ways out of sticky situations and conquer villains thought to have been unbeatable. After reading all the fictional books she could get her hands on, there were those of a more boring genre but provided Lucy with valuable information. She enjoyed those on gardening and apothecary, taking into account which plants outside were safe for her to eat and those she could turn into salves or soaps, ointments to ale ailments she may mysteriously encounter. She collected jars of her creations, reusing ones from her jams and marmalades, Zoldeo often arriving with empty ones she had asked for. Bandages and thick thread as well, she had a knack for sewing dresses and attempted her hand at a pillow suture, just in case. The stories she read were wonderful at sending the message to be prepared. Of course Lucy just liked learning in general and was glad if any of her skills could come in handy; but having to care for a dragon may not have been one she anticipated.

He watched as she came back with an armful of jars and white rolls, setting them down in front of him before she made her way towards her kitchen, telling him she would be needing a water and rags as well.

“I’m glad it’s just us here, otherwise I’m sure someone would have a fit over the mess I’m about to make,” She laughed, setting down the sloshing bucket next to his side. The cut wasn’t long but it appeared deep, or along an artery that more speedily exposed him to the effects of the poison. She took a mortar and pestle, picking dried leaves out of several jars to crush them together in almost a near fine powder.

“I’m going to mix this into the water to help clean out anything that might be in your wound,” She explained, popping open another jar with sticky white paste. “Now, is it alright if I help you fall asleep?”

He gruffed and shook his head, almost glaring at the blonde for suggesting what could be an opportunity for her to easily betray him, relationship too new for his trust.

“That’s alright,” She chuckled, smearing the paste below his nostrils with her thumb. “This should help ease the sting of me clearing your injury, don’t lick it or you will fall asleep,”

“Now please, try not to hurt me while I do this,” She sighed with a nervous smile, petting the dragon from the base of a horn down his neck, satisfied as he released a small purr. She took one of the few clean rags she brought with her, dipping it into the water before ringing it out above the jagged cut. He howled, tail thwomping against the floor as she continued, gobs of clustered blood sticking to leaves and small twigs, some small pebbles and rocks flooding out.

“Shh, it’s okay,” She reassured him as she cleaned around the wound as well before preparing to stitch him up. The dragon whimpered as she pressed the edges together, dipping her needle into the remaining water before piercing through his scaled appearance. Luckily more was closer to the soft underbelly of his skin, making it a slightly faster process but still uncomfortable as he continued to cry out.

“Now this,” She gestured to another jar of thicker, gloopy looking ointment. “Will help heal you faster, I’ll apply it everyday until there’s nothing but a scar,”

Lucy smiled as he became dazed, head falling by her side as she washed away the remaining blood and brushed her fingers carefully over the stitching. She stood up after pasting his bandages on, sighing at the bloody slosh around them, pushing up her sleeves as she went to retrieve fresh water and a mop.

“Let’s make you something to eat, something to get rid of that poison, hmm? Not too much, I don’t want your stomach pressing on your wound.” She huffed and wiped the sweat from her brow, the dragon having laid still while she cleaned up the aftermath. He furled his wings as she walked away, returning some time later with a grunt or two, heaving a pot of stew in front of him.

“You sure are making the lady sweat, Sir Dragon. I hope it’s not too hot, but I’m sure you won’t mind it. You breathe fire, don’t you?” She smiled as he nodded, dipping into the pot with a sniff. “There are a lot of herbs, to help get rid of those nasty toxins. I’d hate to know whoever tried to hurt you. Not a hunter I hope?” He shook his head, mildly lapping at the soup to curb his hunger.

“Something else in the woods?” She gasped as he nodded, Lucy’s hand stroking softly against the scales of his neck as she watched him eat. “Goodness, I’ll do my best to be careful going outside, hopefully whatever it was has already gone away.”

“It has gotten quite late, I didn’t even notice the time,” She yawned gracefully behind her hand after returning from the kitchen again. The dragon had curled in on himself, eye glancing as she gave him one last scratch for the day.

“Will you be alright sleeping by yourself? Do you need a blanket?” His chest seemed to rise with a chuckle and another shake of his head, his eyes closing as they rested against his claws.

“I’ll be upstairs if you need anything...do you have a name? I think it’s a bit rude to simply call you ‘Dragon’. Although I doubt you can answer,” She giggled, kneeling to his side. “Shall I call you Gonzales?”

He seemed to turn sour at the name, disagreeing instantly as she pouted.

“No one likes that name, I personally think it’s cute,” She humphed. “How about... Kaen? It means flame,”

He shook his head again, gesturing to a tapestry hanging above her with a large sun needlepointed into it.

“The sun? Taiyo?”

He disagreed, continuing to nod towards the tapestry in suggestion.

“Summer, maybe? Natsu?” She laughed as he nodded, clapping her hands together. “Natsu it is! Well then, goodnight, Natsu.”

Lucy gave him a chaste kiss upon the tip of his snout before gracefully taking her leave to her room upstairs, happy to finally take off her dampened dress.

She yawned as the sun shone brightly on her edge of the woods, coaxing her to move out of bed and get ready for the day. The princess dressed in much lighter clothing this time, excited as she skipped down her stairs to the one she was taking care of.

“Good morning, Natsu!” She chirped as she opened the curtains, the dragon grunting as the sunlight flooded in. “Its a bit improper to be so loud, but I never get to greet anyone in the morning.” The princess sighed as he lifted himself for her to inspect his eyes.

“Oh good, they’re not so red anymore. I’ll make us some breakfast and then give you a bath, hmm? That should help make you feel better. Some more ointment and fresh bandages too.”

Natsu seemed too tired to care either way as she walked off to conduct their day. He lazily opened an eye as she came back with another soup again in its large pot, listing their ingredients and their benefits before going to fetch a bucket of water, bringing down a whole collection of jars again to mix bubbly water and began to scrub him with a content smile.

“Do you like that? What a good boy,” She giggled as he purred, Lucy brushing along his tail, the dragon wagging it and turning to nudge her with his snout. The bristles continued to stimulate his scales, Natsu almost ready to roll over at the tickling sensation. He licked her cheek lightly as she moved along his back and over the patterned spikes, Lucy laughing and caressing his head as it rested on her shoulder. He mumbled and pressed against her as she made her way up his horns, sighing delightfully.

“Now that we’re done,” The blonde hummed as she pasted on his clean bandages. “Would you like to hear a story?”

“This one is one of my favorites,” Lucy sighed as she set down a stack of books she was all too eager to bring down and share with the dragon. “Although I don’t think you’d be too happy that the prince tries to defeat the dragon, hmm?” She giggled as he shook his head.

“It’s a lovely story I always thought, my mother would read it to me whenever I was upset. I think it’s wonderful when he rescues his princess at the end,”

“Oh, goodness, I haven’t introduced myself, have I?” She smiled as she stood from her place at his side, taking the edges of her skirt to offer a deep curtesy.

“Princess Lucy Heartfilia of Fiore,” His eyes seemed to widen as she bowed to him. “My father sent me here after mother died, if you’re curious why I’m so far from home.” The conversation fell short as she sat back down, pulling a book from the stack as she turned to him with a smile.

“Now, this is a story about my best friends. My mother wrote it for me,”

And so, Lucy spent her days eager to finally wake up with someone by her side, not literally but caring for the dragon was enough to fill the loneliness she had been experiencing all these years. They would eat together and she would redress his wound, occasionally give him baths as well. The two spent most of their time curled with Lucy leaning against his neck, the princess going on to read him each of her favorite books, dramatizing the adventures and trying her best to make them come to life, thoroughly embarrassed when all the dragon would do was look at her. He always looked like he was on the verge of speaking, which made Lucy curious and a bit upset, she missed the ability to speak with another person, but Natsu responded well enough. There were nights she fell asleep in the middle of reading, curled against the dragon, his tail moving to act as a blanket. She’d wake up dreary and warm, quick to apologize for drooling on his scales. He’d greet her each morning with a lick to her cheek, Lucy giggling as she pushed his slobbering tongue away. It had been almost a month since their meeting, Natsu nearly healed, Lucy’s salve working wonders and herbs working quickly to flush the toxins out of his system.

“Good morning, Natsu,” Lucy yawned delicately behind her hand as she made her way down the stairs, stopping halfway as she saw him padding around more actively, looking antsy as he eyed the drawn curtains.

“Oh, would you like to go outside? I’m sure you’re tired of staying cooped up in here, and your wound has just about healed!” Lucy smiled as she walked towards the large door.

#fairy tail #fairy tail nalu #nalu #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #natsu and lucy #natsu x lucy #lucy and natsu #lucy x natsu #nalu fanfiction #nalu fan fiction #nalu fanfic #nalu fan fic #nalu princess x dragon

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the-canary · 6 years

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Hunger - B.B

Summary: Being at a wedding should be a happy occasion, but not if you're constantly reminded about why your soulmate doesn't love you back. (Soulmate AU! Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: +2.8K

Masterlist

A/N: i got the idea from an earlier challenge i did, but i didn’t get the prompt specifically for this. i tried to ignore the idea but this is what i get for listening to florence and the machine, so i suggest listening to "hunger" while reading this. there are some mentions of anxiety and body image issues as well, so please thread with caution.

Please enjoy and feedback is always welcomed.

“I don’t wanna be with you,” his words sting and your heart stutters shut,”I don’t need this.”

Bucky expects you to scream at him, but maybe he doesn’t know you that well and he just lost his chance. Because all you do is take let a shuddering breathe and remain silent, it was the best way you could handle anger, before dropping your hand and hiding the marking once more.

“I don’t hate you, James,” you murmur softly, like you trying to placate a small child, because you know what he is trying to do. It had taken a long time, but you can read certain parts of him easily especially his self-loathing, “But, you deserve the world, even if it isn’t with me.”

J.B.B

He had only seen the marking once, over a year ago, but he always wondered if it burned when he was looking at you, like the old wives’ tales he used to hear back in the 40’s -- ones he tried his hardest to not believe due to the lack of initials on his own left wrist. However, you don’t seem to notice him, as you keep dancing with Sam on the dance floor in a pink dress and a golden jewelry that were covering your right wrist, a huge smile on your face -- of course who would be sad in a wedding? Well, James Buchanan Barnes could be as you turned around to start dancing some soft rock ballad with Tony, your former boss and the groom of the wedding. It wasn’t often the Avengers could have a respite, and everyone --well mostly everyone-- was taking advantage of it.

“Maybe, you should try talking to her,” Bucky doesn’t need to turn around to know who is reprimanding him, Steve had being doing so since the very beginning, “I’m sure she’s never hated you, Buck.”

“It’s not that,” he insists because by now he was learned that you aren’t one for hatred, but for self-deprecation and avoidance. He hadn’t gotten more than a few words with you since the incident, “It’s never been that.”

“You’ve been trying to protect her, huh?” Steve takes the words right out of his mouth, because all this avoidance and dancing around the issue of being with the one that was supposed to be only for him is really his form of protecting you -- from HYDRA, from the new enemies that came with being an Avenger, but most of all himself because he couldn’t be that charming young man that had secretly longed for his perfect soulmate and a white-picket fence. He didn’t deserve any of that.

“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky draws out before taking another swing of whiskey, wishing he could get drunk as he watches an unknown dark-haired man move in and try to dance with you. You’re flushed and all smiles as you accept, and Bucky barely takes notice of the cracking noise the glass begins to make.

“Well, you’re kind of messing up,” his best friend remarks like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, but all he can really do is shake his head. Bucky doesn’t find it in himself to answer, instead just letting out a small hum of acknowledgment because there must be something wrong in Stevie’s head if he thinks one magical night will suddenly change all the damage he had caused in the year since that revelation, since he learned he was actually lucky enough, but some strange fate, to be bestowed with such a wonderful woman as a soulmate.

“Ya know, your soulmate isn’t supposed be the one that hurts you the most,” Steve murmured softly, like he’s talking from experience before leaving his oldest friend to go back to meet his own date.

“No good punk.”

It’s one of those rare events that Pepper Potts and Stark Industries has set up for the Avengers to visit a local hospital in the center of the city. Hang out, take some pictures and everything should be fine except everything isn’t “fine” for Bucky as some parents seems apprehensive to let their children near him and the the loud noises are starting to be a bit to much for him. He takes an unsteady breathe and starts to feel a comforting sensation blooming underneath his rib cage. He opens his eyes to see you staring at him with that look asking are you okay?

Bucky can’t help but nod as you return the gesture, but what takes him off guard for the moment is you walking closer to him. His heart starts beating a little faster because you haven’t talked since the incident and of course you wouldn’t do it here cause you’re a damn professional -- he had seen that in the time he has known you. There are a million thoughts running through his head, but they all stop when you smile politely and the small, dark-haired boy in front of him.

“Okay, sweetheart,” you crouch down to the boy’s height as his bright eyes look at the former Winter Soldier, “We’re here, wanna tell Mr. Barnes what you told me?”

“You’re my favorite Avenger!” the child yells out and it takes a moment for Bucky to realizes what he just said, “And your arm is so cool, especially since…”

“You can do it,” you hum out softly and touch the small child’s head to console him a little. Blue eyes look at you in amazement and back to the little boy as he rolls up his long sleeve shirt to show a prosthetic running from just below his elbow.

“You’re just like me,” the child grins and Bucky is stunned into silence before he keeps talking to the kid the introduces himself as Jason. More children come along and Bucky finds it a little hard to keep up with all of them, as they pull him away towards the activities he can’t help but look in your direction, as you were a proud smile that makes your eyes crinkle a bit more the usual before a woman comes up to thank you.

It’s another hour of watching you make rounds greeting certain people throughout the room that you finally decide to take your seat not to far away from the center table. There’s a tight feeling in his chest as he watches you take deep and steady gulps of air, as your hands tighten into fists for a moment. He remembers once how at awe he was with the woman that could be considered the now Mrs. Stark’s right-hand woman. However, he knew better than that now, Bucky that there were things that kept you up at night and work through morning. You feared never being perfect enough, and it had taken you a long time to accept this current version of yourself.

“I used to starve myself all the time when I was younger,” he remembered overhearing you talking with Wanda once, your voice cracked and raw from a recent breakdown, because even if he didn’t have your initials on his skin, the pain glowed brightly within his chest, “I wanted to be perfect when I found him. I took me so long to realize that it didn’t matter...that he would love me no matter what, but it still didn’t fucking matter in the end...I’m always alone in the end.”

It had been only then that Bucky saw a change in your personality because while you were still soft and polite, there weren’t any longing glances at his direction anymore. You didn’t talk to him any longer than necessary and usually it was only with someone else in the room. You acknowledge him, but Bucky grew painful aware of the fact that you didn’t need him to live your life. It hurt him so much, but watching you from afar talking about all the places you have gone to and the people you had met, Bucky couldn’t help but feel proud for you.

He watches you stand up and grab another champagne flute from one of the many waiters, as you turn and smile at Steve and his date. However, all your attention turns to Tony as he stands in front of everyone with Pepper besides him, and in all honest it’s probably the happiest you has seen both of them in all of your years for personally working and knowing them. It made you happy that through all their trials and tribulations, they had never given up...that they always gave each other a chance.

You chug down the champagne as Tony begins to speak. However, you’re not really paying attention until he gets to the middle of his speech.

“...We all have a hunger, a deep longing that we call loneliness and a lot people try different ways to fill it up -- drugs, drinking, women, power. You name it and I’ve probably tried it,” Tony laughs as the room stays silent, “But filling up that hole isn’t a temporary thing, it’s about constantly loving someone and working to be worthy in their eyes, but also being there when they need you. It’s taken me a long time to learn this, but I couldn’t ask for a more wonderful woman at my side to teach me all that and more.”

Tony turns to look at Pepper who is rubbing away the tears in the corners of her eyes before its gets any worse. Blue eyes glance around for a moment to see you standing near the garden’s entrance way, clapping slowly to Tony’s speech. He can almost see a glimmer of ache in your eyes before they turn to steel once more. You begin to head out as the festivities start again, and something in Bucky’s mind clicks.

Maybe, you were getting tired of being strong all the damn time too? You both struggled with a lot, but wouldn't it be better to be together than hurting each other all the time, even if it was inadvertently. It had to be one of the reasons soulmates were created in the first place, right? Bucky curses his own stupidity and that Tony Stark made him realizes all that, though he would personally take that little piece of information to his grave.

It’s Friday night and instead of going out without your friends, like you had promised you were catching up on paperwork two weeks ahead of time in the Avengers’ kitchen, though only Steve probably knew why you had stayed -- Bucky had come back from a mission and he wasn’t looking so good. The burning feeling of your mark only confirmed your theory. It took all your paperwork for the week and two episodes of your favorite mini-series for the clock to hit 2 am and the screams began like clockwork. There was a deep ache in your chest at the sound and as much a you wanted to run to his room, you knew it wasn’t necessary -- you weren’t necessary.

You see Steve leave his room from the vantage point that you from the kitchen and begin to set up within the time limit that the two of them stay within Bucky’s room before they leave to take his mind off of something else. You set the electric tea kettle and get his favorite flavor and mug, alongside some sugar and honey since Bucky likes to alternate between what he likes to use.

A chill grips your heart for a moment and you know you are running out of time, you place a spoon down and quickly grab your things before running back to your office.

“Come on, Buck,” Steve motions his shaken friend into the kitchen. The blond sees the set is already prepared and he can’t help but smile for a moment as his oldest friend lets out a whimper at the sound of soft footsteps leading you away from him.

Bucky walks outside the lavish country mansion to see you sitting in one of its many gazebos overlooking a pond. The summer air is cool and breezy and the stars are shining brightly, but a suffocating feeling that he hasn’t felt in a long time begins to make his ribs constrict in pain. He had only felt this pain once before than was more slightly more than a year ago. He sees that your shoulders are hunched towards your body and wonders if you have been crying. He takes a see as you turn around to look at him with a defeated loon on your face.

“What do you want?” is the only you manage to get out, as you rubs your hands across your eyes to stop the few stray tears from ruining your makeup.

“I wanted to talk,” Bucky wrings his hands together in momentary anxiety but takes your silence as a signal to continue, “I know it’s been a long time, but I still feel like I need to explain why I did what I did a year ago, and maybe even make amends.”

You stay quiet and keep watching him with those pretty eyes of your and then he starts talking.

“I just want you to know that I’ve been waiting decades for you, sweetheart,” there’s a desperation in his voice that matches the look you’re giving him and he can’t help but get a little choked up at the thought that you really were made just for him, “If it had been 70 years ago, I would have given you the everything I could, but I’m not that boy anymore. I’m dangerous and there are people after me all the time. It would kill me if something happened to you.”

“So you’re trying to protect me?” you scoff at the notion, as Bucky frowns “As much as I appreciate the thought, Barnes. I’ve worked with Tony fucking Stark since before I met you, since the Vanko incident and I’ve been through a whole lot more. So, don’t make up excuses about protecting me when you’re just trying to hide to save yourself.”

“What do ya mean?” he asks even though he already knows the answers.

“I feel your emotions half the time, ya know?” you explain hotly, as he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “That you’re not good enough, that you don’t deserve any of the good things that might come your way.”

“I--” he starts speaking, but you cut him off.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you deserve the world,” you whisper softly, and Bucky knows that you have always meant it, but you aren’t going to be so lenient with him either.

“I used to do a lot of things in order to stave off my loneliness, James. I’ve been alone for a long time and I’ve gotten used to it, so don’t come asking to be part of my life only to walk away when it feels convenient for you. Do you understand me?”

“I know… and I’m so sorry,” he scoots closer until you are sitting on a hair’s breadth from each other. There is a tired look in your eyes, as you push a strand of hair behind your ear and Bucky’s right hand twitches because he wishes he could be doing that, and a lot more, at the moment instead.

“I never needed you to be sorry,” you declared and his eyes go from staring at you to staring at the floor because he knew you didn’t need him at end of the day (who did?), but your next words stop him “Just be there.”

“W-hat?” is all he can say because he was surely expecting another type of reaction from you.

“I don’t care about the Winter Soldier. I don’t wanna know about the war hero, James Buchanan Barnes,” you pause, grabbing his scruff and pulling him dangerously close to you,”They’re all apart of you, yes but I wanna know about the Bucky here and now. Just be my Bucky.”

“I wanna try. I swear,” he presses his forehead and you can’t help out but let out a tiny sob at his declaration.

“Slow and steady, then?” your eyes flutter to meet his bright and hopeful blue ones.

“Slow and steady, doll,” he smiles, eyes twinkling as he places his hands on your hips. The two of you get up slowly, not wanting to part, and sway slightly for a moment, Bucky looks up above at the night sky and tries to imprint the moment in his mind -- the one that he has waited so long for. That is until your sudden laugh catches his attention.

“I fucking hate you, old man,” you hit his right shoulder affectionately, as you keep staring at him with those expressive eyes that show him nothing but love and adoration “Making me wait so long.”

“Technically, I’ve waited longer,” he remarks shyly, as your eyes grow over suddenly remembering such a fact.

“Well, shit. You’re right,” you keep laughing as Bucky spins you around, the lights are spinning as you get slightly dizzy from all emotions running through your body, but all that seems to stop when he places a soft kiss on your lips.

“And I’m done waiting, doll.”

“Good, good. Me too, ya big idiot.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes soulmate au #fabiola trying to write #series: short stories

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sserpente · 7 years

Text

Condolescence (Chapter XV)

Pairing: Adam (Only Lovers Left Alive) x OFC Language: English Rating: M

Read it on AO3!

The tension between them was palpable, heated and almost hazardous.

Adam had played Tal his songs that night. He had led her back into the living room and had her sit down on the black couch before fumbling around with his old-fashioned recording devices. When he hit the play button, he was excited, his fingertips tingling coolly.

For some dubious reason, it was highly important for him that Tal liked what he had produced. He cared for her deeply and he wanted her to adore both his work and his being, in spite of not understanding how she could have grown so close to him in the short time she had been here.

The soft tunes of his music flooded her whole body. Each of her cells seemed to drown in the calming sounds that came out of the old speakers. He watched her close her eyes and let his songs consume her, her breathing so calm she looked like she had fallen asleep. Tal was wide awake though. She absorbed each song he played her ravishingly, then nuzzled into him as he sat down next her to pull her close.

He felt the urge to hug her and touch her constantly now. She was like his drug, his anchor that would keep him from getting lost in the ocean.

“Adam, I love it. Every second of it. Are you going to release it? Share it with the world?” She asked, her eyes wide.

The vampire smiled softly. “I’ve yet to find a new manager to do that for me. I want to get my music out there and make the planet a better place with it but I need to remain completely anonymous. I once had somebody who would take care of that for me. Ian.”

Tal frowned. “What happened?”

“He was killed by Eve’s sister. She was in town to visit and lost control, sucked him dry to the very last drop.” He could feel cold shivers running up and down her spine but he did not stop. She had to know about the danger he posed when he drank from her, needed to be aware of the risks. “I wish she had turned him.”

Her lips parted, though Adam could not tell whether it was awe or fear that became present on her face. “Turned him?”

“If he had died with vampire blood in his system, he would have turned.”

“How does vampire blood get into somebody’s system?”

He looked at her coolly, his voice calm as he explained. “By drinking it.”

“And… D-does it hurt? Becoming a vampire?”

Adam shook his head. “Like falling asleep and awakening as something new.” Something powerful and mighty. “They never tell you about the loneliness that comes with it though.”

The smile that she gave him almost scared him. “You’re not alone anymore. I’m with you now.”

And what did that mean? That she wasn’t going to leave anymore? That she was going to stay with him? Forever? No, he scolded himself. Not forever. Tal was human. Sooner or later, he would have to abandon her but until then… he would appreciate her presence.

“You are,” he replied, returning her smile almost shyly. Then, allowing her to lean forward, he cupped her face in his soft hands and looked her deeply in the eye. It was like he could see the universe in them. Her universe. Timidly, she brought her lips to his, closing the small gap there was left between them.

His mouth moved against hers passionately, capturing it in a heated kiss while his tongue glided over her lower lip to beg for entrance. Tal granted it, devotedly letting him battle her own tongue until she sank down on the couch, pulling the vampire with her and deepening the kiss until they both had to pull away out of breath.

No. He wanted more, he needed more. Knowing that his eyes would have changed its colour by now, he glared down at her greedily but oddly enough, it didn’t scare her away. Instead, Tal ran her hands through his black hair and crossed her fingers in his neck, urging him to kiss her again.

The vampire growled. In one swift movement, he lifted her up into his arms and walked her over to the bed, laying her down carefully before joining her. He was impatient when he straddled her, his long fingers trailing down her body and under the short-sleeved shirt she was wearing, hastily pulling it over her head. He needed his mouth on her body, not just to bite her but to taste her, kiss her everywhere he could reach.

She had no bra on, relinquished it to sleep more comfortably. He welcomed the fact with a groan as his eyes met with her rather small but round tits, her nipples, hardening from the sudden cold already, pink and inviting to suck on.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Adam mumbled, kissing down her neck gently until he reached her breasts. He could feel her squirming underneath him, for his hot breath on her skin was beyond any sensation she had ever felt. Was that it? Being with a vampire, would it be so pleasurable? Or was it just the fact it was Adam?

He hissed before taking one of her nipples into his mouth and starting to suck on it relentlessly, his tongue playing with the hard nub before circling her areola and then attending to her other breast. Tal arched her back, enjoying the feeling of his mouth on her body. She whimpered when he pulled away but was silenced when his lips came crashing down on hers again, kissing her so furiously this time she desperately gasped for air.

Her nails dug into his back when his mouth attacked her neck, carefully kissing around the bite mark before licking over it carefully. Perhaps she expected him to bite her again but despite his reawakening hunger, he held back, for now.

Much rather, he concentrated on her pants. He pampered her stomach with light kisses while unbuttoning them and then quickly tore it off her legs, tossing them out of the bed. She was laying there in only her panties now. They were black and so thin he could almost see through them as he hooked two fingers under the disturbing piece of fabric and removed it as well. Naked. She was fully naked and she was stunning.

It was brunette locks, framing a pink and swollen pussy that was offered to him as his gaze roamed over her body. Sheepishly, she pressed her legs together to deny his blue eyes access.

No, no, no, was she embarrassed? Tal was beautiful, everywhere.

“Don’t…” he mumbled, resting his hands on her knees to keep them apart and let his eyes fix on her womanly parts again, taking a proper look at her. He wanted it. He wanted her so badly it ached, for all he could think of was how sweet she would taste down there.

The vampire could tell she was aroused already. Her cunt was slick and moist with her juices, her pussy lips shimmering in the dim light of the room. He licked his lips in joyful anticipation, wasting no more time in going down on her. His canines were sharp and dangerous but he forced them back so they were grazing her skin only lightly when his tongue darted out to lick over her slit.

Tal gasped, her hands clenching at the bed sheets underneath her so hard her knuckles turned white. He looked up briefly to see her eyes closed and her head thrown back in bliss, then decided to taste her once more. It was like honey, so sweet as he drove his tongue inside her, then circled her clit and parted her pussy lips to have even more access to her womanhood.

A moan escaped her lips, her hips bucking up against his face. She grew wetter with every second he ravished her, sucking her clit in his mouth and torturing her until she was but a moaning and whining mess on his bed. Breathing heavily, she wrapped her legs around him and grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing him to finish what he had started…

The feeling was overwhelming, his tongue working her so skilled she feared to faint from all the pleasure. She could feel his fangs pressing against her too, adding to her arousal. She was on the edge, ready to fall…

But then he pulled away, brushing her wet folds with his lips before kissing along the soft skin of her inner thigh.

“Adam…” Was it a plea? She did not know. Struggling unsatisfied, she felt her slick flesh throb with need and lust, the tight knot that had built in her stomach begging for release. If he kept touching her, anywhere… she was sure she would cum.

Adam let out an animalistic growl. Her scent was beyond delicious, beyond his ability to keep his composure. He stopped fighting the canines that pressed against his lower lips and instead sank them into the soft flesh of her inner thigh, rapaciously drinking the blood that sipped from the wound.

Tallulah screamed and arched her back furiously when a sharp pain spread on her leg, making him flinch, alarmed, but without removing his mouth from her thigh as waves of pleasure rolled over her body and had her see stars. Her orgasm hit her so hard she started thrashing in his tight grip, for he had dug his fingers into her hips to keep her still. It helped her to calm down. Never before had she felt something like this.

There was a constant light stinging where he had sunken his teeth into her flesh and sucked the blood out of her but mostly… it felt good, it felt so good! Only Adam was worried at first, letting go of control so completely. Had he hurt her? Surprised and scared her? It took him a second to realise that she had cum… she had cum from him… biting her? He hadn’t even… he had stopped touching her! How would she feel pleasure from… this, now, with the monster caged inside him on the loose?

He decided to ponder over it later. What mattered now was Tal. Her pleasure, her well-being, her body. God, he wanted her so badly! Not just her sweet blood, he wanted all of her. He wanted to be inside her and claim her, make her his forever.

His clothes were gone faster than she could blink, her eyes taking in all of his naked body. He looked like a Greek statue, his skin pale and flawless, his member, stiff and ready for her, big, proud… and beautiful. How was everything about him so beautiful?

Tal gasped once more as she brought her hands to his naked chest and ran her fingertips over his skin. He shivered, suppressing a moan.

There was a bit of precum on the pink tip of his cock already. He wouldn’t be able to last long, and she had already cum from him biting her down there. What if she could make him cum by just touching him in return?

He stopped her before she could reach his hard length though, positioning himself between her legs carefully. He ached for her small and petite hands to wrap around him and stroke him firmly, having him achieving his end only by her pampering him with gentle squeezes and maybe… her lips around his tip, her innocent beige eyes looking up at him… he would save this wish for another time. Right now, he needed to be inside her. He needed it now.

Adam snatched Tal’s hands to pin them down at the sides of her head, his fingers intertwining with hers as he slowly pressed his hard dick against her entrance, teasing them both for a moment before sliding in fully and easily because of her arousal, her tight walls welcoming him in an instant.

She clenched around him, embracing his erect penis as it rocked in and out of her, throbbing and pulsating. Yes, he wouldn’t be long but it felt so good, so good to be buried so deep inside her, knowing that it was him who elicited her blissful moans and whimpers, her soft voice whispering his name over and over again.

She was going to cum again. He could feel it, feel her tightening around his hard member when her beige eyes rolled to the back of her head. Panting, she bit her lower lip. It was seething within her, waiting to break out and toss her down an abyss. She looked gorgeous.

The vampire looked down briefly. Her juices had mixed with a trickle of blood on her thigh, staining both her wet folds, the bed sheets, his balls and even his rock-hard penis as he pounded into her hard, losing all composure there was.

The sight of her red life essence right where their bodies met was all it took for him to find his own release. He came with a loud growl when Tal clenched around him rhythmically, her muscles milking him and willingly taking the seed he shot into her, marking her as his with every rope of cum.

He was still thrusting into her lazily as they both came down from their high, recovering from the intense climax they had endured. Then, after what felt like hours, Adam finally came to a halt and pulled out, falling onto the bed right next to her. She cuddled up to him immediately, seeking body contact and protection.

Next thing he knew, she was sound asleep and for the first time in a long while, he truly felt content again.

➡️ Find all chapters on my masterlist!

#condolescence #chapter 15 #adam olla #adam olla fanfiction #olla #olla fanfiction #only lovers left alive #only lovers left alive fanfiction #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston vampire

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alia-turin · 6 years

Text

Title: Broken Bonds [Chapter II] Previous chapters: Chapter I

Characters: OC, Libertus Ostium, Cor Leonis, Luche Lazarus (mentioned), Titus Drautos | Glauca (mentioned) Warning: SFW for work, next chapters might not be but there will be warning. Notes: Second chapter takes place right after the first one. Not much happening here but gives more insight on the OC and how things are running in Lestallum (thanks Square for not going into these details).

Tagging: @birdsandivory @yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy @jojopitcher @fromunseeliecourt @xanxusthot @lazarustrashpit @littlestfangirl

If anyone wants to be tagged (or untagged, I won’t take any offence I know it might not be your cup of tea) in the future please let me know.

The Marshal was called away at the gates due to some sort of trouble and Libertus was kind enough to take her to his own ‘home’. He was living in one of the buildings within the barricade, a small apartment that probably before all that was a bigger apartment but now was split so it can accommodate more people. Even with that he had pretty much everything needed. Bedroom, a bath and even a small kitchen which he said he never uses since food is usually distributed to everyone and people ate together in improvised canteens as much as possible.

“Can I take a shower?” she needed that badly and the idea of just being around water made her more than excited.

“Sure. Just have in mind the water is cold. We don’t have enough power to heat it.” He said apologetic. “I will see if I can find you some clean clothes. I doubt anything I own would fit you.” He gave her one of his cheerful grins. He was just this type of guy, capable to take every situation easy without stressing so much. The first time she had seen him probably really angry was after what happened with Crowe…

He left her alone and Ada sighed in relief. Part of her enjoyed having company, especially someone she knew, however the funny thing about being alone was that eventually you get used to it. It becomd so familiar that it hurt you when somebody was dragging you out of this bubble of loneliness even if you wanted to be free from it.

The water was cold, but she didn’t mind. It was better than nothing. Once she was done she looked herself in the cracked mirror in the bathroom. She had lost so much weight. All the muscle had fallen from her body, and she was just skin and bones. She hated it. The scar that Luche was given her just below her collar bones was still there, with time it had just changed its colour from red to white. Her fingers clenched the sink unintentionally. Few inches up and he could have cut her throat. He obviously had been willing to kill her why didn’t he do it? It was pointless to think about that now. She had thought about it every single day since Insomnia fell and she still didn’t have an answer. What troubled her more was the question would she have killed him if she had the upper hand. She certainly did, but if she had been in situation where her knife was at his throat, what was she going to do then. Part of her was happy she never found out the answer to that question.

In one of the drawers she found pair of scissors and she used them to cut her hair. The red hairs falling in the sink reminded her of blood drops and as soon as she was done she cleaned them almost hysterically. At least now she was a bit happier with her look. Her hair was shoulder long, the front part a bit shorter and she proceeded into birding few locks and tying them at the back. She almost looked like her formal self, minus some sleep and significant weight loss.

Ada wrapped a towel around herself and walked in Libertus’ bedroom. He was back there and pile of clothes was on the bed.

“They should fit. With the way things are, we cannot be picky about things like size and colour.” He tried to give her a warm smile but then his eyes fell on the scar under her neck. “What happened there?”

“Luche.” She responded quickly and grabbed the clothes closing the bathroom door behind herself. He had brought her pair of black jeans, a red t-shirt and a jacket. It was more than sufficient and the only issue was that the jeans were too long, but it was the misfortune if a short person.

“He didn’t hold back, did he?” Libertus shouted from the other room.

She didn’t know the answer to that. He didn’t, but yet she was alive. So maybe he did.

Ada walked out of the bedroom all dressed and looking more like herself than a muddy orphan.

“Now you look amazing!” Libertus gave her a friendly wink and she responded with sad smile. That did remind her too much of home, her second home, Insomnia. They all used to joke and laugh during training, make fun of each other or tease each other. When she looked back at that time, it seemed like everyone got together and they were really like family. Of course, that wasn’t truth. They had their differences and conflict but every family did.

“Is the Marshal back?” she asked trying to stop thinking about how things used to be.

“Yeah, I saw him while I was picking the clothes for you. He should be in the Leville, he has made his office there. He would be expecting you.” Libertus offered her an encouraging smile. “Maybe we can grab some food after that? To catch up.”

Ada didn’t answer but nodded in agreement. Food right now seemed amazing especially since her stomach was hurting from hunger.

Cor the Immortal had made the manager’s office of the Leville his own. As she walked into the room he was staring at a map placing pins at what she assumed was important locations for whatever he might be planning. She never had the honour to meet the man before, although she had seen him around the Citadel. She didn’t think about it when Libertus told her he was working with the Marshal but now that she was with the man in the same room she felt intimidated. He was after all the Marshal and she was just a Glaive no one cared about.

“Yes?” the Immortal final asked since she had not opened her mouth for probably two minutes after she walked in.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. Libertus send me to introduce myself.” At the back of her head she was freaking out. Since a child she knew who the man was and admired him and now she was here with him talking like an idiot. “My name is Adelais Ardens I used to be with the Glaive. You can call me Ada.”

“The new girl Libertus told me about.” He turned toward her, his arms crossed. “He says you are pretty good with magic.”

“He probably exaggerates my abilities.” Ada wasn’t selling herself short, but the truth was she lost probably the most important fight she ever fought. What good were skills if she couldn’t do her job?

“We will see about that. Monica is one of my Crownsgards, you can find her in the city center. Speak with her about accommodations. We are a bit short on equipment, but if you need anything, ask her she might be able to provide. Most stores work with cash or for exchange so if you run into something valuable during your hunts you might want to bring it with you. We have few main objectives for now: finding more meteor pieces, saving refugees, opening as many outposts as we can sustain and looking for the Prince. The hunters and the crownsguard are looking for the prince so you don’t need to bother with that, focus on the rest.”

“You don’t trust the Glaive?” the words just came out of her mouth without thinking.

“It’s a work in progress.” He answered dryly.

It was amazing how much he reminded her of the captain. Same no-nonsense type of aura, straight to the point, not holding punches back. Then it hit her. These two have probably been friends or something similar enough. The Glaive didn’t just betray the King and the kingdom. The Marshal was betrayed as well. That at least put them in the same boat.

“You up for some work?” he asked her.

“I need to grab some food I haven’t eaten in days, but after that I am free.” Ada didn’t like the fact she had to admit a weakness, but the idea of venturing out now when she barely stood on her legs seemed terrible.

“Good. There is a group of refugees, south of here.” He made a sign for her to come closer and look at the map. Just now she realized how much taller than her he was. “We will leave in two hours to pick them up.”

Ada was sure he had other things to do and that somebody else could be send to pick up these refugees. There was no need for Cor the Immortal to do it personally, but he didn’t trust her and she didn’t blame him. At that point it was probably easier to trust someone who was in the Niff’s armies than a Glaive that just randomly appears half dead. Libertus vouching for her has earned her the right to stay here for now, but the Marshal was pulling the strings of hunters, crownsguard and glaives and it was understandable if he wanted the last word on how reliable somebody is. Ada was surprised he wasn’t beheading them all given that even their Captain was involved in what turned to be the end of the kingdom.

#final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv comrades #final fantasy 15 #ff15 #ffxv #libertus ostium #libertus #cor leonis #oc #fic #fan fiction #my writing

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