#and she got worse and she either drowned or she killed herself - maybe both - and logan blames himself for not being there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

too-gay-for-marvel · 3 years

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one of us

a/n: I LIVE! listen. listen. yall know me well enough at this point to know that i make no promises about posting more stuff. i might post something in a few months. maybe next week. lets spin the wheel of fate and see what happens, shall we?

Request: hi!! do you think you could write a prequel of sorts to i don’t need a hero? it’s one of my absolute favorites and i was wondering if you could write something angsty for the mission where the reader gets shot protecting wanda? <33 thank you!!

Word Count: 2546

Warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence

Pairing: Wanda x Reader

She hated you.

Wanda Maximoff absolutely, unquestionably, without a doubt hated you. There was not a single thing about you that she didn’t hate, from the stupid cocky look on your face to the way you refused to be of any help. You were supposed to be an ally now, not a nuisance.

And yet there you were.

Sitting across from her at the table and shooting her a look that made her want nothing more than to throw some magic right at your face. If she was lucky then maybe it would even knock you on your ass and she could wipe that stupid smirk from your face. It would almost make this meeting with you worth all the hassle.

“Does everyone understand their jobs?” Maria asked, bringing Wanda back to the table and forcing her to pay attention.

“Blow shit up and have fun doing it?” You asked even though that most certainly wasn’t your job and you knew it.

Don’t let them out of your sight. Maria’s voice rang in Wanda’s mind and, after a silent look, she gave a nod of affirmation. It didn’t seem as if you had noticed, and that gave Wanda a feeling of superiority. Technically it wasn’t a competition, and she already knew she was better than you, but to know that she could scheme about you in front of your face was something that gave her more joy than she would ever openly admit.

The meeting concluded without a hitch. You had even admitted - rather begrudgingly - that you were to do nothing other than keep the attention off of Wanda and Sam. In Wanda’s mind, that was a good start; you usually argued until you were blue in the face.

But with you agreeing, all Wanda had to really worry about was the upcoming mission. And whether you would keep to your word or not.

----------

By all accounts, and much to Wanda’s and Sam’s surprise, the mission had been going well. You had launched fireworks on one end of the building to cause a commotion while they had snuck in through the back. She had used her powers to distract the few guards left inside, and within minutes they had found what they were looking for.

In fact, the mission had been going so well that Wanda had been on the verge of asking if you were okay. There was no way you could have behaved for as long as you had, not without a proper motivation. But right as Wanda had lifted her hand to start her comms, an unusually loud explosion sounded off, quickly followed by guards running and yelling.

Heading in their direction.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” Wanda mumbled to herself.

Only seconds after Wanda had muttered her lack of surprise at the situation, the same guards she had heard appeared in the hallway behind them. Directly between them and their exit.

Of course, she heard Sam think. Very loudly.

It turned, very quickly, into an all-out brawl. Unlike you, they didn’t exactly aim to kill; if it was avoidable then they would. But that didn’t mean there weren’t still plenty of bodies lying on the ground, continuously making it harder and harder for them to leave.

“To the roof,” Sam ordered during a short lull in the fighting. “We can get an emergency evac from there.”

And before Wanda knew it, they were once again fighting and trying to make their way up the stairs. It wasn’t the most difficult thing in the world, not with her powers and Red Wing. But that didn’t mean it was easy either.

“Leaving already?” You asked over the comms, causing both Wanda and Sam to roll their eyes at the lack of seriousness in your tone.

“Just get to the roof,” Sam replied shortly, refusing to say anymore on the matter.

“When I’m ready.”

Wanda swore if she hadn’t promised Bucky not to kill you, she would have done it then and there.

It didn’t take long after that for Wanda and Sam to make it to the roof. He told her he was going to fly around and scope a potential landing, and Wanda agreed to hold down the fort until he came back. They both ignored the fact that you were nowhere to be found.

In typical Avengers fashion, the guards came back not long after Sam had left her alone. She wished she could have been surprised, but when it happens nearly every time, it loses it’s shock factor.

But this one was worse than usual; Wanda was, unfortunately, feeling overwhelmed. She knew the horde would run out of bodies eventually, but would that happen before or after Sam showed up? She had no clue, and that was something that terrified her.

Needless to say, she got her answer when an entire army made it up to the roof.

“That’s my cue,” your voice came over the comms, a little too cheery for the situation, but Wanda wasn’t going to answer. At that moment, she hoped you burned along with the rest of them.

An explosion rocked the building underneath her feet, sending more panic racing through her veins. Fucking idiot, she thought, you’re going to destroy the building with us still in it! More explosions followed suit.

“You’d better hurry, Sam, Y/N is gonna blow the building,” Wanda spoke clearly, but rushed. As terrified as she was, she knew it would do no good if Sam didn’t even understand her.

“Just a bit longer, I’m almost there.” She didn’t like that Sam sounded more panicked than her.

“Need a hand?” Your voice came through again, but it was drowned out by a roar that grew increasingly louder.

It was a missile. A missile that was going to hit the roof. The roof that she was standing on.

“Just move!”

Wanda was too transfixed by the missile heading her way to notice someone running toward her. Someone who quickly wrapped their arms around her waist. Her body tensed as her feet were lifted off the ground and she was suddenly launched off the side of the building right as the missile hit the spot where she had previously been standing.

Wind rushed past her ears, along with something that sounded like a scream. She couldn’t tell who it was coming from. The trip to the ground took only a moment, but felt like it was never going to end. Well, not until she forcefully met the ground, that is. The air was knocked out of her lungs and the person on top of her didn’t help.

“Get off me,” she grunted as she pushed the person off and sat up. Only when she was up did she notice it was you, new scratches on your face and blood dripping down your ears.

“You stupid Avengers, always in the way,” you mumbled just loud enough for Wanda to hear. Or maybe it was just muffled because of the deafening ringing in her ears.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Wanda shouted, pushing herself onto her feet and watching as you did the same.

“What do you mean, what was I thinking?” You shot back. “You were the one who didn’t move!”

“I didn’t need your help.”

“You almost got hit! By a missile!”

“And yet you were the one who launched it!” Wanda stepped forward, her finger jabbing into your chest as she talked.

“I saved your life!” You shouted back, throwing your hands up in indignation.

“You pushed me off a building!”

“Don’t criticise me! No one else was helping!”

“I didn’t need help from some wannabe hero!”

“I’m not trying to-” you were cut off by the sound of a gun, and your eyes widening. You both looked down to see a dark red spot near your hip, growing larger by the second.

You hit the ground before she could catch you.

Wanda looked past you to see one lone guard, his shirt still on fire and his skin singed beyond recognition. His arm was still up, gun pointed where you had previously been standing. She didn’t have to bother with finishing him; he collapsed, his body slowly burning.

She crouched down immediately, her hand moving to the spot on your hip. Her hands went to press on it; something she had learned from Maria and Natasha, something she hadn’t thought she would ever really need to know.

You groaned ever so slightly when she pressed harder, but aside from that you were silent and still.

“Coming in hot,” Sam said. She didn’t bother looking up, but felt the wind from Sam and the evac landing behind her.

Sam was quick in assessing the damage. He picked you up and carried you to the quinjet, getting you stabilised for the trip back. Wanda thanked the gods that it would be a short trip.

She hoped you would be okay.

----------

Technically, it wasn’t the worst injury someone had come back from a mission with. Tony always came back with multiple contusions, sometimes broken bones if he had been careless. Natasha and Clint were always a mess, having been absorbed in trying to keep the other safe. Hell, you had come back with worse injuries.

So why this one had taken so much out of you, Wanda had no idea. All she knew was that it had been four days and you were still unconscious. Even the doctors couldn’t understand why you hadn’t woken up. Sure, trauma could keep someone in a coma, but you had seen much worse. So why this one?

“Time for food.”

Bless that man.

Wanda looked up from her book to see Clint leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. A signature look for him, she realised. But she noticed, strangely enough, that he did not come with food. Extremely rude.

“Making me scavenge for myself now?” Wanda teased as she closed her book.

“You could say that,” Clint shrugged. “You gotta get out of here for a few hours, Wanda.”

So that was his purpose.

“Not yet,” she answered simply.

“They haven’t woken up yet, won’t wake up while you’re gone.”

“You don’t know that-”

“-Wanda,” Clint interrupted, “they’re not waking up. Get some food, take a shower, maybe a nap. It’ll be fine.”

She looked over to you and just stared. Your face hadn’t really changed since they had gotten you back to SHIELD. No sounds, no movement, nothing. Maybe there was a new crinkle between your brows, but nothing to really indicate you were going to wake up. No matter how much she wanted you to.

Damn you for making her worry about you of all people.

And damn Clint for being right.

“Two hours.”

“Make it five,” Clint shot back, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Three.”

“Four.”

Damn him.

“Fine. Four. But not a minute more,” Wanda sighed. But, and she hated to admit this, Clint was right; she needed some time to recover. She hadn’t even left herself recover from the mission, instead coming straight to the medical ward with you.

Clint nodded once and waited for her to leave before heading into your room. Sweet of him to take her place while she was resting. It would at least give her some respite to know that someone was watching you while she was gone. Now she just needed to take care of herself and get back.

Well. Maybe after a bath.

----------

“Wanda wake up!”

Not the best way for anyone to wake up from a nap.

Wanda shot up out of bed and tried to blink the sleep out of her eyes. She was sure she looked like an absolute mess, and she could feel the knots in her hair. Oh god she felt terrible. Two hours was not enough time for a recovery nap. They better have a good reason for waking her up.

“Good, you’re up,” Clint huffed from the doorway. “Y/N’s gone.”

Okay. Pretty good reason.

She didn’t bother brushing her hair; didn’t even bother changing into clean clothes. It was fine though, she had slept in her mission clothes anyway. What was one more day, right? Besides, it gave her a bit of comfort that she at least wouldn’t be running through the hallways half-naked.

It was, for lack of a better word, pandemonium in the halls. The assumption was that everyone was looking for you; and that assumption was correct. If you hadn’t been such a damn nuisance to SHIELD in the past, maybe they would’ve just let you go.

So really, this was all your fault.

But that didn’t stop Wanda from making her way to where she felt she knew you had gone. There was no proof, but it was a feeling. A feeling that was similar to when she had known whenever Pietro had gotten into trouble. Not quite as strong, because nothing could beat twintuition, but it was still there.

And it was right.

Wanda didn’t know what to really expect you to look like after a few days of rest. But you looked a mess sitting in the dark cell. You were still in your hospital gown, and the gauze was still wrapped around whatever wounds you had sustained. The worst part? You sat curled up in the corner.

“Y/N?” Wanda stepped closer to the cell, but was met with a beeping sound that she was terrifyingly familiar with.

A proximity bomb.

She jumped back and waited for the explosion that never came. Instead, the beeping stopped, and you continued to sit in the corner. Her eyes searched for the bomb, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to find it. If you had hidden it, then you would be the only one who could get to it.

“Everyone is looking for you,” Wanda whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Leave me alone.” Your voice was hoarse, and you let out a series of painful-sounding coughs.

“They’re worried about you.”

“They can worry about themselves,” you shot back, “I’m fine.”

“Y/N,” Wanda urged. She didn’t like seeing you like this. She hadn’t cared for you much, hadn’t even liked you, but this… this wasn’t you. “What happened?”

And then you turned. She could see the bruises on your face, the bags under your eyes, a look on your face that she couldn’t quite place. But your eyes… your eyes pierced through her soul in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

“You fucking heroes happened,” you replied, your eyes never leaving hers. “Couldn’t fucking leave well enough alone, had to bring me into all this fucking mess.”

“Y/N-”

“You wanted me in this fucking cell, now I’m here.” Wanda could tell you were running out of breath. “So leave me the fuck alone.”

With that you turned and stared back at the wall, your back to her. She couldn’t go to you, couldn’t help you. That bomb of yours would blow the both of you up if she got closer. And she just knew you were finished talking to her. You had made your decision, and she would just have to accept it. It seemed the team was right.

You would never be one of them.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #scarlet witch imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #requests #my writing

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

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Dolls’ Eyes — A Jaws AU

Pairings: established Peggy/Steve, developing Brunnhilde/Carol Rating: T Chapters: 14/14

Summary: Tony Stark snapped his fingers and the vanished half of the universe returned, but Thanos escaped the battlefield, fleeing into space. Now that he’s virtually powerless, most of the Avengers consider chasing him all over the universe a waste of resources, but Peggy Carter—newly deposited in the 21st century—is determined to finish the job. Brunnhilde and Carol Danvers have the same idea.

When scattered rumours of fresh killings escalate to the death of one of their own, the three women team up to defeat Thanos once and for all.

read the prologue

read ch. 1 one / 2 two / 3 three / 4 four / 5 five 6 six / 7 seven / 8 eight / 9 nine / 10 ten 11 eleven / 12 twelve / 13 thirteen / 14 fourteen

After everything, Carol wasn’t surprised that Brunnhilde put up a fight over being told to just rest. Carol reminded her that she was lucky to be alive, to which Brunnhilde responded that it wasn’t anything like luck, and went on to list the incredible, lifesaving properties of her fine armour, explain the enhanced durability provided by her Asgardian biology, and enumerate all of the injuries she’d previously sustained that were apparently worse than being electrocuted half to death, and then nearly drowning while incapacitated. Carol didn’t believe half of it, but it was kinda hot when Brunnhilde bragged.

So, in spite of Carol’s efforts, Brunnhilde kept getting up the second her back was turned in order to haul bodies off of Thanos’s ship. As they started to fix everything Carol had broken (including a patch job of that hole in the roof), a scan of the local environment informed them that almost all of the life on this planet was aquatic. They left the stack of corpses on land. Whatever water critters were around, they didn’t need toxic eyeball goo leeching into their habitat.

Carol caught Brunnhilde shaking out a twitching arm and made her sit to do electronic repairs rather than manual labour. (Carol had that handled anyway, plus, she knew where all the bodies were because she was the one who’d left them there.) Brunnhilde protested that she was the captain. Carol came way too close to saying not of this ship, but stopped herself. Instead, she suggested Brunnhilde do like any other captain would and let her underlings take on the grunt work. That got a smile, if not verbal agreement.

Thankfully, Peggy was a fast learner; Carol explained the basics of what she’d done to wreck something and Peggy quickly understood how to walk back the damage. They worked their way through the ship, staying at neighbouring stations so Carol would be there if Peggy had questions, and Peggy would be there if (when) Carol had messed something up so badly that it needed four hands to fix.

“Maria would’ve been great with this,” she said without thinking, holding up a fistful of wires while Peggy tinkered beneath.

“Maria?”

It was easier to talk about her than it had ever been before. Like with the repairs, she could tell that Peggy understood without Carol having to do much more than gush over how good Maria had been at fixing stuff, how thorough she’d been with the plane she’d kept in the hangar on her property, how reliable, how trustworthy, how patient…

“Yes,” Peggy told her with a smile. “She sounds like she was wonderful.”

“She was.”

But when the two of them had finished their circuit of the ship and Carol went to tell Brunnhilde they were good to go, she wasn’t there. Carol panicked, worried that Brunnhilde had overheard all her praise of Maria and somehow missed the tone of a person who was in the late stages of grief, who had accepted the worst and was keen to keep living, maybe even loving.

When she couldn’t find her on the ship, she jogged down the ramp, intending to look for her outside. The second she turned to face the water, she spotted Brunnhilde coming towards her from the escape vessel. Carol ran out to meet her.

“What’s all this?” she asked in a tone of amusement, because Brunnhilde had her arms full.

“Food, Peggy’s jacket, a couple beers that didn’t get smashed when Thanos rammed us, uh…” She tried to examine the rest of the pile she was carrying, but it teetered and slipped; laughing, Carol scooped a few things out of her arms before they could end up in the shallow water.

“I thought you might’ve taken off on us,” she said lightly.

“I didn’t think you thought I’d be capable of that after getting zapped.”

“I was just…”

Brunnhilde walked close, pressing her arm into Carol’s.

“I know. I would’ve been the same way if it’d been you.”

“I don’t even know if I can get electrocuted,” Carol said.

“I’m not gonna recommend trying it for fun,” Brunnhilde told her. “Anyway, I used all my discs on Thanos and I dropped the remote in the water somewhere… You’d have to go to Thor with your request, ask him to bring the lightning down.”

“Straight to Thor?!” Carol laughed. “That seems a little extreme.”

“Or you could just stand around outside in New Asgard during a storm and wait for it to happen naturally.”

“And why would I need to be in New Asgard specifically?” Carol asked in a teasing voice. “I could get struck by lightning anywhere.”

She watched Brunnhilde flounder but couldn’t get an answer out of her, not on the way to the ship, not while she was distracted with Peggy asking her a slew of health questions, and not while they were trying to figure out how to get this humongous spaceship off the ground with a crew of only three people.

As they made their rocky assent, Carol was too busy to wonder whether Brunnhilde had heard her talking about Maria before she’d left the ship to scavenge from the escape craft. They had just broken through the atmosphere, blue sky giving way to black, when Brunnhilde spoke.

“Love’s like war.”

It was so sudden that Carol snorted a laugh.

“Ok, poet,” she said. She was tempted to devote some time to getting Thanos’s ship to play her music, if only to put on ‘Love Is a Battlefield’ for Brunnhilde. To let her know what had been said on the subject already.

She smirked to herself when Brunnhilde continued, clearly not giving a shit about her interruption or joking criticism.

“It is.”

“What do you mean?” Carol asked more seriously.

Brunnhilde shifted in her seat, engaging different protocols for outer space travel. Carol noticed the tremor had gone from her arm.

“You do better in both because of experience,” Brunnhilde said, looking straight out the viewport. “Anybody who can’t appreciate the benefit of falling for someone who’s been in love before is a fucking idiot.”

“And you’re not a fucking idiot.”

“I hope that isn’t a question.”

Carol smiled and shook her head. They flew in silence for a while.

“When we get back,” she said eventually, peering shyly over at her captain, “I owe someone important to me a visit, but then I’m coming to see you. Just a heads-up.”

“Vaguely threatening.”

“Sorry.”

“No,” Brunnhilde told her, grabbing her forearm to get her full attention, “I liked it.”

Heat raced up Carol’s neck until she was blushing as bright red as her suit, or the dumb acid burn on her arm.

Just then, Peggy’s agitated voice came from the other end of the wide flight deck.

“Someone’s coming right at us!”

Before Carol had the chance to say what the hell? or who? or again?, an incoming message threw a distantly familiar face up in front of them, hovering in the form of a hologram.

“Hey,” Carol greeted. “Small universe.”

—

Peggy had never thought to imagine what Gamora might be like. She’d had an account of Peter Quill’s affection for her from Rocket, but had recognized that a portrayal of the woman that crew had known—the woman Peter had loved enough to forfeit his life in the quest for reunion—couldn’t be fully accurate. At best, the Gamora they described would be one layer removed from the real person. The Gamora they had known and the one whose hologram had just appeared before Peggy, Carol, and Brunnhilde were a handful of years and a thousand experiences apart.

It seemed absurd to Peggy that this woman may wish to harm them, but she really ought to have considered it.

“Was it your distress signal I picked up?” Gamora asked flatly, eyes locked on Carol in the pilot’s seat.

“Umm… yep.”

“And you still require assistance?”

Carol glanced at Brunnhilde, then over to Peggy, who nodded. They certainly had worked wonders, she felt, in getting this massive spaceship off the planet, but who knew how many things could go wrong between here and Earth? Peggy doubted either of her shipmates had told her the half of it. They were simply short-staffed, too few fingers available to plug any metaphorical leaks they might spring on the journey.

“Yes please,” Carol told her.

With a nod, 2014 Gamora went from unknown quantity to ally. Peggy sighed in relief.

The three of them were transported directly from Thanos’s ship to Gamora’s. The process was quite indescribable, Peggy thought. Tingly, quick, with a bit of a lurch as she rematerialized on an entirely different flight deck from the one she’d just left. Had the transfer been instantaneous? Had she, perhaps, ceased to exist for a moment or two? She was full of questions but unsure to whom she should direct them.

Gamora, while welcoming in deed, was somewhat inscrutable when they met her face-to-face. Standoffish. Unsure of herself, Peggy realized. Immediately, she warmed to the woman. She had been in her place herself once, sort of, if not precisely in her intimidating boots. It hadn’t been so long ago that she’d been ferried through time to find the world completely changed. What Gamora needed was a reason to trust them the way they were trusting her.

“I take it you killed my father?” Gamora asked plainly once they were aboard.

Oh dear. It seemed they weren’t off to a very auspicious start.

Brunnhilde stepped in front of Carol, who’d just been opening her mouth to speak, presumably to claim responsibility.

“I was the captain,” she stated. “Thanos was killed on my orders.”

“Uh, no, not explicitly,” Carol argued.

“Anyway,” Peggy piped up, “I’m the one who shot him in the head.”

“And he was only vulnerable to that because I electrocuted him to within an inch of his despicable life and his helmet fell off,” Brunnhilde countered.

“On a planet I flew us to,” Carol reminded them.

“We’ll be sharing the blame,” Peggy informed Gamora on behalf of her crewmates.

Gamora cocked her head consideringly.

“And if it’s approval?” To their universal silence, she explained, “I know what he was capable of in my time, and I saw enough of Earth to get a general idea of what he was set to accomplish if he wasn’t stopped.”

“Were you out here hunting him too?” Peggy took a step towards her.

Directing her gaze away from them, Gamora blinked rapidly, looking momentarily confused and upset. In the next second, she’d hidden any outward hint of those feelings.

“I should’ve been,” she said, “but I’ve never been able to stand up to him like I should have. After I left your planet… for a while, I wasn’t looking for him. But I began to see signs. And then Peter Quill came.”

“Peter!” Carol said. “You saw him? Did you talk to him? Rocket never said—”

“No. I just watched. I followed him for a while. I knew he was looking for me. He was so… loud.” Gamora made a face. “Leaving word for me everywhere, telling traders and transports that he was my boyfriend. He was an idiot, but an entertaining idiot… I barely noticed that I’d stopped keeping track of Thanos until he just showed up…

“I was a coward,” Gamora went on. “I saw my father intercept Peter’s ship and I knew what would probably happen, but I couldn’t put myself between the two of them. Was I supposed to stand up for this guy when I’d never been able to stand up for myself? I was raised to be cruel, to think of myself, that attachments formed to accomplish anything but the acquisition of power make you weak. I know Thanos killed Peter. It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Peggy stood in front of her, refraining from placing a reassuring hand on Gamora’s shoulder when she gave her cagey eyes.

“It’s not,” Peggy told her firmly.

“I only heard your distress signal because I heard Peter’s first,” Gamora said. “I went onboard after my father had left; it was days before I could force myself to do it, maybe longer. I used his communications system to speak to his crewmates on Earth.”

“You must’ve just missed us leaving,” Brunnhilde said.

“That’s what he told me. He said three more morons had left the planet, on their way to hunt down Thanos.”

“And you’ve helped us,” Peggy said, tone insistent. “If you do feel any responsibility for what happened to Peter, then surely you should also believe that you’ve redeemed yourself by saving our backsides.”

Gamora’s eyes squinted as though she were in pain.

“I owed him more than this and I hate it,” she said, jaw clenched. “He was no one to me. He knew someone I’m never going to become.”

“Shhh. I know,” Peggy said soothingly.

“I don’t see how that’s possible. Have you ever had someone tell you they love you when it feels like it’s impossible that they even know you? That whoever they loved had to be a different person from who you are?”

Peggy’s shoulders fell. She could feel the bittersweet smile on her face.

“Actually, yes.”

Gamora appeared surprised to have been brought up short in such a manner.

“Do you have any advice?” Peggy urged softly.

For a minute, Gamora was quiet, staring hard at the wall. Peggy could feel that the others had backed away, giving them time and space when Gamora’s stream of information had been diverted by the confusing grief she was obviously experiencing.

“Whatever lengths he goes to because he thinks you’re better than you are…” Gamora finally said, turning her head to look Peggy in the eye. “Try to be worth it.”

“Got it.”

Peggy folded her hands together, pressing her right palm to her wedding ring.

—

They were about to get underway, their new crew of four on a significantly smaller, though sleeker, ship. (Brunnhilde didn’t mourn for the one they’d left in the shallows; it had served them well, first the Asgardians and now the team responsible for the death of Thanos.) However, staring out the viewport from the seat in which she’d been installed as the effective second-in-command, Brunnhilde didn’t feel right. The sight of Thanos’s ship just hanging there in space unnerved her. It would be better if no trace of the Titan remained.

“Let’s blast it,” she suggested to the deck at large.

“Thanos’s spaceship?” Peggy checked.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Carol said, “we aren’t near anything. There’s nothing for the debris to hit…”

Brunnhilde smiled slightly and looked to the captain.

“Gamora? Do you have any weapons on this ship that could do the job?”

“There is one thing I’ve been saving for a special occasion,” Gamora said, gaze fixed on Thanos’s ship. “First, we’re going to need to get clear.”

She piloted them away—away from the planet, away from the ship. Part of Brunnhilde wanted to request the honour of launching the torpedo Gamora was setting the coordinates for, locking it onto her late father’s final vessel, but she was already satisfied with the role she’d played. Let Gamora take this final, symbolic step. It was like Thor’s hideous couch; Brunnhilde had helped him lug the thing into the open air, but permitted him to drop the match (once she’d soaked the cushions in lighter fluid, just in case it wasn’t sufficiently saturated in spilled beer). She would content herself with watching it go up in flames.

And it did. It was an impressive explosion, scattering wreckage in a wide perimeter Gamora had kept them outside of. They were briefly silent as jagged hunks of metal twisted in the void.

“That’s one way to get the stink of dead bodies out,” Carol noted, and Brunnhilde turned to her, shoulders shaking with laughter Carol quickly joined in on.

They flew for some time, and it was good just to relax, to stretch in her seat and tilt her head from side to side so that her neck cracked horrendously and Peggy said things like “good lord!” while Carol laughed her ass off. Brunnhilde remained alert though. She couldn’t help it. In the old days, with the Valkyrie, there’d been a certain relief when the battle in which they’d been engaged was done, but they’d only known true rest once they’d returned to Asgard. Home. The last time she’d been on a ship bound for Earth, the atmosphere had been one of intense grief, muffled weeping in the corridors. They’d known Earth as Midgard and had little admiration for its country of Norway, chilly with fog and swathed in the bleak colours that reflected their inner emptiness. Nothing they loved was there—not their people, not their gleaming towers and soaring statues. How could it ever possibly feel like coming home?

Brunnhilde had honestly believed she’d lost her ability to experience that feeling, that, without her sisters-in-arms, the sensation was lost to her. Yet, despite the tension she still carried from the fight, she felt it easing. She felt herself longing for home, her little house at the water’s edge. For the chance to return to her people as their king and announce a great evil defeated. Maybe this tension was only anticipation after all.

In contrast to the fruits of her own contemplation and revelation, Gamora’s private thoughts had left her expression mournful and roving. Brunnhilde exited the deck to relieve herself and find something to eat in Gamora’s stores, and when she returned, she addressed her.

“You’re not taking us all the way to Earth, are you?”

Gamora flicked her gaze sideways to assess her. Brunnhilde knew there was no judgement to be found in her face, so she stared back calmly.

“I’m taking you to Quill’s ship. Thanos, in his infinite arrogance, didn’t damage it. Maybe he thought he might like to return to it some time and claim it as part of his fleet. It’s a tribute to how much I continue to feel my father’s influence that I planned to do the same. Not build a fleet, but go back. There’s something about that ship… I find it comforting.”

Brunnhilde frowned thoughtfully.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take it and leave this one for us?”

“No. What I felt when I was onboard, examining it and… and removing Quill’s body for space burial… that was just a feeling of, I don’t know, another life. There’s a group on Earth for whom that ship means something. And it’s the only thing they have of him. I couldn’t keep it.”

“One of those people is your sister,” Brunnhilde said carefully.

“Yes.”

“I tried to talk to her, but she doesn’t like me very much. I don’t blame her,” she added as Gamora gave her a wary look. “She was upset.”

“Nebula is at her most dangerous when upset, and she’s always upset, so she’s always dangerous.”

“She was upset about Peter’s death. But I think also because, without him, no one was out here looking for you.”

Gamora stiffened.

“If she really wants to find me, she can come look for me herself. I’ll be ready.”

“She doesn’t want to fight you,” Brunnhilde said. “She misses you. I think. It’s really none of my business.”

“Why would you wish to get involved in our family affairs?” Gamora’s voice was more curious than accusing. “Besides murdering our father, of course.”

Brunnhilde sighed before answering.

“I’ve lost many people I cared about. I don’t have a family anymore.” She glanced over to see Carol and Peggy bent over a screen together, Carol’s sudden snort infecting Peggy until they were both laughing. “I mean,” Brunnhilde corrected herself, “I didn’t.”

When they arrived at the Benatar and Gamora transported Carol and Peggy off her ship, Brunnhilde motioned for Gamora to hold off a moment on removing her.

“If we don’t meet again,” she said, sticking out her arm for Gamora to grasp.

Gamora gripped her tightly and nodded.

“I think we might though. I thought about it and realized it’s easier for me to find Nebula than for her to find me.”

“I may have left you her coordinates.” Brunnhilde released Gamora’s arm. “Enjoy Missouri.”

She joined Peggy and Carol on the Benatar, pausing to bend over Carol’s seat to surprise her with a deep kiss before she took up her own position. She brushed stray strands of hair back out of Carol’s dancing eyes.

“I’m going to have to redo your braid,” Brunnhilde told her.

“Oh, we’ll have time. We’ve got quite a road trip ahead of us. Luckily… Peter left us his tunes.” Beaming, she started up a song with a bright beat.

Brunnhilde smiled and went to her seat, fastening herself in as Carol readied the vessel for launch.

“You know,” Peggy said thoughtfully, slinging her jacket over the back of her chosen seat, “before all of this, I was actually quite afraid of outer space.”

Carol laughed.

“I can’t imagine why.”

#my writing #Dolls' Eyes #MCU #Avengers: Endgame #Peggy Carter #Brunnhilde #Carol Danvers #Valkyrie #Captain Marvel #Steve Rogers #Nick Fury

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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

Text

we'll cast some light and you'll be alright (for now)

another fic, for y'all! more angst and mama Alci!

TW: Rape

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

The man-thing beneath her was shuddering in pain, trying to scramble backward with only one arm, as the other was busy pressing against the gash in his side, trying to stem the heavy bleeding. His expression was a mix between revulsion and terror. As deep as it was, he would live. Maybe.

But he wouldn’t get that chance.

He didn’t beg or scream when his heart was ripped out, which irked his attacker, but it didn’t matter. The creature standing above him was satisfied, having obtained what she had come for. He was lucky she wasn’t either one of her sisters, who would have prolonged his death a lot longer than she had, milking out every last drop of suffering they could before his life force finally faded away into nothingness. She had better things to do than play cat and mouse with some incompetent human. Like returning the heart to her mother.

Bela’s chest warmed with pride as she gazed down at the dripping muscular organ cupped in her hands. It wasn’t often that Mother got to eat the heart of a man, and when she did, it was usually in the context of a raid on the castle, sort of dulling the effect of getting to consume such a treat. But now no damage would be made because Bela had managed to retrieve one all by herself! And Mother would be able to indulge in the warmth and sweet blood and would be so proud of her!

She swelled with delight as she began creeping away from the body, holding the heart delicately. Her sisters never understood why she was always reaching for Mother’s praise, but she couldn’t understand why they didn’t. Didn’t they want to please her? Make her happy? Get all of her praise and love and affection?

Bela’s thoughts were then rudely interrupted by something sharp snapping down around her ankle and yanking her to the ground. She let out a cry of pain, unable to bite it back in the face of so much discomfort. She shifted over and shakily reached out to see what had caught her.

A bear trap. Clamped around her left leg, just above the ankle. Her right hand gripped the limb tightly, slightly over where the metallic teeth bared into her flesh. One sporadic tremor was all it took to send new currents of torture up her leg. And, once again, there was no stifling her tormented scream from ripping out of her throat. Now both hands were clutching at the appendage, trying desperately to lessen the pain. It did little to help.

“Shit,” Bela hissed. “Shit, shit, shit!”

She attempted to pry the jaws of the artificial beast from her leg again, but her arms were shaking too much and the torment that seized her body prevented her from using all her strength; all of it was quickly being stolen away within her. Before she could get the teeth more than an inch away, the slickness of the blood caused it to slip from her grasp and bite right back to where it was originally. Just like that, she was back at square one.

Bela took several shuddering breaths and looked up at the sky. Now she knew why Mother didn’t like her and her sisters hunting alone. There was no one there to help her when she got into situations like this.

What had she been thinking? She was supposed to be the smart one! She was supposed to be the level-headed, calm one that didn’t do stupid things! She let her own need for praise blind her and now she was trapped.

There was snapping from within the dark woods around her. Bela’s head whipped up. Footsteps were approaching her- multiple footsteps. She bristled and made herself look as fierce as possible, despite the pain she was in.

A group of human men, around ten, if she counted correctly, broke through the brambles, armed with guns and axes and pitchforks, and stared down at her. A handful of them looked terrified at the sight of her, while the others smirked. Something sadistic was flashing in their eyes. They looked…hungry.

Bela tried to shake herself free from the bear trap when they approached her, but the iron teeth didn’t relent its vicious bite. They swarmed her, grabbing her limbs and holding her down. At first, she thought it was to take aim to kill her precisely, but then she noticed the very distinct bulges in their trousers and felt her chest seize in horror.

“Stop!” she yelled, finding her voice, which was wavering and shaky. “Let me go, you bastards!”

The men merely laughed at her threat. They seemed less scared of her when they had her ensnared as they did.

The leader of the pack, a scruffy man-thing with dark amber eyes, began to make a mess of her chest. His friends were pinning her wrists above her head, leaving her helpless to his assault. Slimy trails of saliva were left across her breasts; she cringed.

“Stop!”

When hands began to quest beneath her dress, she spasmed, fighting with all her strength. She managed to get an arm free and slashed her claws at one of the men beside her, ripping open dark red furrows along his skin.

“You bitch!” he shrieked, grasping at the gashes across his forearm. Blood seeped through his brown tunic. He looked fearfully at his friends. “What do I do?”

“Clean it,” one of them said.

“Will that be enough?”

“Enough for what?”

The man Bela had wounded shifted, looking anxious. “What if I turn into one of them?”

“That’s not how that works, dumbass,” piped up another man.

While they were distracted by each other, Bela squirmed harder. She tried to summon her insects, but her head was smashed against what she thought was a jagged rock; she swore she could hear the sickening sound of bones breaking upon impact. She slumped to the dirt, groaning. Her vision cut out for a moment, and when it returned, she thought she was being surrounded by rabid wolves.

“Creature, look at me while I touch you. That’s just common decency, don’t you think?“

Bela shut her eyes and refused to open them back up. She didn’t want to look. The man straddling her pulled her hair.

“Don’t be rude.”

She could feel more tears coming- how long had she been crying? She shook her head, jerking her limbs, but they were snagged tightly.

“N-No--”

The man-beasts around her cackled.

“Would you look at that,” one of them said. “The monster is cowering.”

“Not much of a terror now is she?” said another, tittering.

“She isn’t so strong once you have her caught,” added a third.

“God, she’s hot. Can we just start already? I want my turn.” a fourth joined in.

Bela whimpered. She couldn’t hide the fact that she was terrified. Her voice was cracking and she sounded snotty. She wanted this to stop right now. She tried to ease away, but they were firmly holding her in place. She kept muttering “no” over and over again, trying to drown out their voices.

The scruffy man leaned over her more, restraining her with his body weight.

“I said,” white-hot pain seared through Bela’s groin, causing her to howl, “look at me while I touch you, creature.”

She was dry, and the friction between her legs burned so intensely that it made her see stars. Within moments of only a few thrusts, she already felt raw. The stinging only increased.

All at once, she felt everything: the pain in between her legs, the dirty fingernails raking down her sides, the hands that raised up to fondle her breasts, the teeth on her neck, the tongue in her mouth, the bear trap around her ankle, the blazing heat that bloomed within her stomach… Then, she felt nothing at all.

--- --- ---

Bela lost track of time rather easily. It all started to blur together, but all she knew was that they tortured her in the woods for hours. Their lust was never-ending, their hunger was insatiable. She felt cowed by their heat, unable to fight back, falling victim to their needy claws.

She wondered why they didn’t kill her. She wished they did. She wanted the pain to go away.

Now, she lay on the damp dirt, naked, barely awake, and struggling to breathe. Her bare stomach was splattered with semen and marred by scratches. Her head was pounding intensely. Her throat felt red and raw. Her eyes were stinging and still leaking tears.

Had anyone noticed she was gone? Was Mother or her sisters worried about her? Were they looking for her?

Did they care?

Bela pushed herself up slowly; the pain was unbearable. It was a constant, aching thing in her stomach that never seemed to relent its throbbing assault. Hot coals were shoveled into each part of her body when she tried to move again, stoking the raging fires burning inside of her. Her muscles crackled painfully from the strain of getting up but were quickly overcome by a brighter, even sharp sensation in her left leg.

Right. She was still caught in the bear trap.

If this situation couldn’t have gotten any worse.

Bela struggled with the iron jaws for several eternal moments, sobbing harder each time her attempts failed. She eventually managed to pry the teeth loose and yank her ankle free, falling backward into the dirt and leaves and sending little lightning bolts alight throughout her entire body. She wept.

Eventually, awareness returned to her and she realized she had to get home. She had to get out of this forest. She had to get away.

She cleaned off her belly and legs and tried to do the same for her vagina, but it seized up the moment her hands got near, so she left it be. She put on her dress, which was in tatters and reeked of sex, but it was better than wearing nothing at all. The blood congealing between her thighs squelched uncomfortably when she began walking back to the castle, limping heavily on her injured ankle as she went. It bubbled and smeared and stuck on her skin, sometimes running down the length of her legs, but she couldn’t bother to wipe it away. She just wanted her mother.

It took a lot longer than it should have to get back to the castle, and when she did finally make it, she couldn’t go any further. Her knees buckled and the ground rushed up to meet her. She curled up into a fetal position, shaking all over, weeping again. She didn’t know how her body managed to still produce tears after crying so much, but there was wetness in her eyes and running down her cheeks. She trembled.

“Mother…”

Her voice came out weak and brittle. Frail.

“Mother…”

Maybe if she hadn’t been in so much agony, she would have cared more about being seen in such a state. But she didn’t care about anything. Not anymore. All she wanted was to curl up in her mother’s arms and never leave.

“Mother…”

The tears were coming down faster. Would anyone come for her? Did her mother care? Or was she to be left like this? She knew she probably looked like a sorry excuse for a beast, a waste of an experiment, better to be killed off so nobody would have to suffer her insolence, but she didn’t think Mother would be the one to turn her back on her. She whimpered.

“Mama!”

She should have known. She had it coming, didn’t she? Despite being the oldest, she was always the last in everything when it came to being a bloodthirsty beast. Didn’t hunt very well because she felt bad for the animals, was willing to submit to her younger sisters because she didn’t always know how to command situations, preferred to spend her time reading instead of participating in bloodsports, tried to avoid conflict because she didn’t enjoy getting her hands dirty, couldn’t even defend herself from human men…

It all made so much sense now.

She didn’t deserve to see Mother.

Footsteps were coming from one of the hallways. Someone was emerging into the light of the foyer. Bela, with her eyes bleary and mind hazed, couldn’t help but think it was one of the men returning for a second round. She tried to crawl away, whimpering.

Hands seized her and she screamed.

“No! NO!”

But it was too late. Too late.

--- --- ---

Alcina was first alerted by the smell before she even heard the mewls. The rank, disgusting stench of man semen entered her castle, so strong she was able to catch it from down in the basement, where every scent was usually overpowered by blood. But the pungent odor of filthy sperm managed to reach her like a wriggling maggot, and she instantly thought one of the maids had grown some courage and snuck a consort into her palace. She didn’t even think to consider what it actually had been because she never thought that such a thing would happen to one of her girls. It wasn’t something any mother should have to fear happening to their daughters.

Mounting the staircase, Alcina couldn’t help but chuckle at the foolishness of her maids. Did they truly think they could get something like this past her? Did they think they were being sneaky? She could smell their lust from a mile away.

However, as she exited out into the hallway, something new tickled her nose. The scent of semen was now mingled with blood and sweat and the faint smell of dirt. But there was something else, too. A noise. A word.

“Mother…”

Alcina perked up. Despite the faintness, she could easily pick out the voice of her eldest daughter.

“Bela?” she called back to her child.

For a moment, there was no response. At first, that wasn’t very concerning; Bela had always been the quiet type, always taking the time to consider her words instead of blurting the first thing that came to her mind like her younger sisters did. But with the intrusive smell wafting down the halls and the hoarseness she spoke with, Alcina couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong.

“Mother…”

“Bela,” Alcina said. She searched for buzzing beetles or flies, but couldn’t hear or see any. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had even seen her eldest daughter.

That, too, wasn’t very concerning, either. Bela had a tendency to tuck herself away in various rooms for hours, indulging herself in books and studies, always fascinated to know more about absolutely everything. Sometimes, it was the library. Other times, one of the parlors. But sometimes it could be a random maid closet that nobody would ever think to sit and read in or a hidden room behind one of the many tapestries that made searching for her an elaborate scavenger hunt of trying to remember which weaving had already been checked or a specific corner in a specific room that nobody really went into anymore because there was nothing important inside. Alcina vividly remembered the time she nearly tore the castle apart searching for her eldest child because she couldn’t find her anywhere and she wasn’t answering her when she called. It turned out that Bela, younger at the time, was in a small back room Alcina had completely forgotten existed, playing midwife with a laboring opossum and trying to feed the mother her beetles. Bela had turned to her, bright-eyed, and said, “Possum.” She then proceeded to give her an elaborate, in-depth explanation on the process of birth, radiating pride the entire time, completely oblivious to Alcina’s panic.

It then became a rule to never kill opossums for Bela’s sake. And they were, admittedly, a little cute.

However, like with the hoarseness Bela spoke in, something was off. Very off.

The blood mingling with the scent of sperm- that was her daughter’s blood.

“Mother…”

Alcina sprung into motion.

“Bela!” she called. She kept the panic from oozing into her voice, not wanting to jump to conclusions just yet, but her hurried stride was enough to convey her alarm. “Where are you, my sweet? Come to Mother.”

She stopped to listen for the buzzing of insect wings or even just footsteps on polished tile, but there were neither. There was, however, a very distinct cry that made her veins fill with black ice.

“Mama!”

Alcina charged down the hallway, adrenaline pumping madly through her entire body. A pair of quietly conversing maids saw her coming and jumped out of the way, pressing close to the walls. They should thank their lucky stars for their quick reflexes because she would have flayed them if they had gotten in her way.

“Bela!” She was shouting, now. “Where are you? Bela!”

She didn’t stop to listen this time, but she did strain her ears. There were no noises in response, not even an utter. She picked up her pace.

Alcina broke out into the grand foyer and three things slammed into her at once: first, the overwhelming stench of semen that was so thick and heavy she could almost taste it when she breathed through her mouth; second, the chill seeping in through the half-open front door; and third, the crumpled form of her eldest daughter curled up on the floor, shaking all over.

“Bela!”

Alcina rushed over to Bela’s side, noticing the way she tried to crawl away with bruised limbs. However, it wasn’t until she set her hands on her child’s shoulder that Bela let out a heart-wrenching scream.

“No! NO!”

Alcina snapped her hands away as though she had touched fire. Words could not begin to explain how awful it was to be a mother and be stared at with so much horror by her baby. Bela looked downright terrified of her--and then she noticed a sort of glaze in her eyes, as though she were peering out from a dirty window. She didn’t seem to be seeing Alcina as her mother, but as someone or something that struck great fear inside of her.

“Bela,” Alcina spoke softly. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

Bela shook her head and tried to shield her face with her arms, all while weeping, “No more, no more…”

Anger sparked deep within Alcina. Who could have possibly scarred her baby so badly that she didn’t even recognize her own mother?

Taming her rage so she wouldn’t scare Bela, Alcina reached out and lightly brushed Bela’s shoulder again, making her flinch and whimper sharply. The black dress she was wearing was in tatters, barely clinging to her frame, and the skin that laid underneath was grimy and scraped. It looked like she had gotten into a fight with a wolf and lost, but Alcina could tell this was much, much worse than anything a mangy hound could do.

“Bela,” Alcina said again. “My darling. It’s only me. Your mother. You’re safe. You’re alright.”

Bela peeked out of her arms reluctantly, and the eye that peered up at Alcina was clouded with tears. She blinked several times, as though she were trying to dispel a dense fog shrouding her vision, and then recollection seemed to dawn on her.

“Mama?” Bela croaked, her voice hoarse and weak. Her breathing, once shallow and wheezy, began to thicken, becoming heavier and more ragged as the seconds ticked by. The incessant shivering that infected her frame worsened until Alcina thought her eyeballs may just rattle right out of her skull. She whimpered.

“Yes, my love. It’s me.”

“Mama,” Bela said again. A fresh hurricane of tears stormed her eyes, pouring down her cheeks. “Mama!”

Bela collapsed into Alcina’s arms, sobbing. Instantly, the stench of semen increased tenfold, plugging Alcina’s nostrils and tickling her tongue. She fought the urge to gag. How anyone could thirst for such a poison was unknown to her, but there wasn’t time to meddle in human mating preferences. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the girl shaking and bleating like a baby lamb against her stomach.

Alcina pulled Bela closer to her, not caring about the odor anymore. She looked over her daughter, finding more scratches and rips in her dress, but also a large red patch on the back of her head, where the blonde hair was turned scarlet with blood. There was also a nasty ring around her left ankle that looked like it had been created by some kind of beast, leaking crimson and clear serous fluid. Protectiveness flared inside of her like fire.

“What happened?” Alcina asked, unable to keep the growl out of her voice. “Who did this to you?”

Bela flinched away. Her weeping turned to words and what came out was babbled nonsense: “I’m sorry, Mama, I’m sorry--”

“Hush, my sweet,” Alcina said, but Bela was too worked up to listen to her right now.

“No, no--” Bela shook her head, wincing as she did so. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault! I’m s-sorry!”

Alcina’s eyebrows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Bela sniffled. Alcina wondered if she could smell the stink on her, too.

“I-- I went out hunting. Alone. Even though you forbid it.” Her daughter hung her head shamefully, letting Alcina glimpse the wound on the back of her skull again. “I wanted-- I wanted to get you something. A gift. And I had one, too! The heart of a man! But then-- but then I got caught in a hunter’s trap and-- and--” She dissolved into tears once again.

Alcina frowned. She always knew her eldest child’s hopeless devotion to her would get her into trouble. As much as she loved how Bela looked up to her, even she had to admit that it was rather worrying. Bela seemed to function solely on praise, always scratching for any ounce of approval, wanting only to please Alcina, even if it meant throwing her own needs out the window. Alcina remembered how she once briefly mentioned how nice it would be to hear her favorite song on piano and Bela interpreted that as a request, so she taught herself how to play the entire melody over the span of three days. As beautiful as the performance had been, Bela hadn’t slept or eaten or drank anything in that time, taking away her own basic needs until she finished her “task.” She never thought about herself and her body made her pay the price for it when she blacked out instantly after playing. Now history was repeating itself all over again--but, this time, it wasn’t her own immune system that exacted a fiery punishment upon her. That much was clear from Bela’s terror.

“Bela,” Alcina said. “Who hurt you? What did they do to you?”

Bela’s shoulder shook violently with the weight of her sobs. She didn’t look up at Alcina, much too ashamed of herself. Alcina could tell that much. Her daughter was practically radiating chagrin as much as she radiated emission.

“You can tell me, darling,” Alcina urged, softening her tone. “I won’t be mad at you.”

Bela peeked up at her nervously. Her face was blotchy and red, shiny with sweat and tears. “You-- you won’t?”

“I won’t,” Alcina assured her. “I promise. I would never get mad at you.”

Bela hesitated. She appeared to be trying to calm herself down, but it all fell apart when she shifted and seemed to be struck with great pain because she let out a heart-wrenching cry and curled up in Alcina’s arms, grasping at her dress with desperate claws. When she attempted to speak, Alcina could only make out snippets in between ragged gasps and distressed whimpers and heavy sobs.

“They-- men-- came at me-- too many-- couldn’t fight-- tried-- held me down-- touched me-- so scared-- hurts-- Mama-- Mama, it hurts!”

Alcina understood.

Alcina understood and she saw red.

An animalistic snarl that could frighten wolves bubbled from her throat and she bared her sharp teeth at the front door that was still slightly ajar, letting frigid, late-autumn air creep inside like an unwanted guest. She clenched Bela tighter against her, her claws beginning to grow in and hook into her daughter protectively, not quite realizing how much strength she was using until Bela squealed in pain. Instantly, her grip loosened, her talons retracted, her teeth tucked away back behind her lips, and she jerked her head to the side, yelling for a maid. One came rather quickly, and she had the sneaking suspicion that they were being spied on, but it didn’t matter. It was beneath her at the moment. Far beneath her.

“Run a hot bath in my room,” Alcina ordered. She tucked Bela in close to her stomach, trying to hide her ruined form from prying eyes. Nobody deserved to see the girl in such a state, certainly not a lowly maid.

The maid, a lanky, ash brown-haired young woman, nodded hastily, not even sparing Bela a glance, which Alcina appreciated. This one would be spared for a while.

A noise alerted Alcina, and she looked down to see that Bela was prattling on nonsensically, her watery words half-muffled by her dress.

“I’m so sorry-- didn’t mean it-- all my fault-- shouldn’t have gone-- should have known better-- don’t deserve this--”

The last comment in particular caught Alcina like a fishhook. She squeezed Bela tightly.

“Do not say that,” she said firmly. “You deserve my care. You are very unwell, Bela.”

Bela shook her head, whimpering. “It’s my fault it happened. I shouldn’t-- I shouldn’t have-- I shouldn’t--” Her breathing picked up.

“Bela, my sweet girl, take a breath,” Alcina said. “It’s alright. You need to breathe.”

Bela just shook her head again and buried her face back into Alcina’s stomach, not offering anymore words. She didn’t seem to be up to talking further. Alcina rubbed up and down her back to comfort her as they waited for the maid to return.

Alcina wasn’t sure how long she was crouched on the floor, breathing in the fumes of ejaculate, but the maid eventually came back, notifying her that the bath was ready. She sent her away before scooping Bela up into her arms, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from her daughter. Bela buried her face against her neck, shuddering, and Alcina felt hot tears slither down over her collarbone. Alcina cooed to Bela to calm her down as she carried her to her bedroom.

Inside the bathroom, Alcina carefully removed Bela’s dress. Every movement seemed to hurt her daughter, so she worked gently, not wanting to worsen her discomfort. Once the gown was off, she threw the tattered fabric into the far corner. It would need to be burned.

Now that Bela wasn’t wearing anything, Alcina could see the full extent of her wounds. Angry red scratch marks were scored up and down her back, sides, and stomach like some kind of sick point system, some crusted on the edges with blood and discharge, others flaked with mud and dirt. Purple bite marks were scattered on her neck and breasts, as though the men who had attacked her were the blood-sucking beasts and she was the cattle. Her thin wrists were swollen in the distinct maroon shape of fingerprints and her thighs were splattered in bruises and smeared with red--among other sick-smelling fluids.

The sight made Alcina absolutely enraged, but she stamped down her fury for the sake of her daughter. As much as she wanted to go find the monsters who did this, Bela needed her. She couldn’t just leave her.

“Alright, my darling,” Alcina said. “Let’s get you washed off.”

Bela didn’t fight her when Alcina lifted her up and set her into the hot water. In fact, she didn’t seem to be all too there anymore, too lost in her own shock and pain. She just stared numbly at the wall with half-lidded, glazed-over eyes as Alcina washed her shoulders and back and hair. Even cleaning the wound on the back of her head didn’t wake her up, despite the way she flinched in reaction to the pain.

“Bela.” Alcina gave Bela’s cheek a light pat. “My darling. Look at me.”

Bela blinked and her eyes focused on her. Alcina smiled softly at her.

“There’s my pretty girl,” Alcina cooed.

“Mama,” Bela rasped. Her head lolled back, resting against the wall the bathtub was situated against. “Hurts…”

Alcina frowned. She had a few draughts to relieve pain, but she didn’t trust the maids to get the right kind of medicine for her daughters. Not anymore. Not since Cassandra had asked for an elixir that would soothe some tooth pain she was having and a maid swapped it out for poison with the intent of killing her. Alcina had found her precious child seizing on the ground, foaming at the mouth, drowning in her own blood and froth. She vividly remembered watching Bela reach in with her fingers and scoop out the fluids from Cassandra’s mouth to keep her sister from choking further. If it weren’t for Bela’s quick thinking and excessive knowledge on poisons from spending so much time researching everything, Alcina may have lost a child that day. The maid, of course, was punished severely. When she was done with her, she wasn’t even recognizable. That being said, she would have to go and retrieve the brew herself.

Of course, there were her other two children, but she trusted them as much as she trusted the maids. Ever since Daniela and Cassandra had peer pressured Bela into drinking a random mixture they found--something about her needing to be more headstrong and stop letting them walk all over her--and Bela ended up being incredibly dizzy and unwell for several hours because that particular tonic had the strength to knock out a horse, she didn’t have the most faith that her younger daughters would grab the right bottle, whether it be intentional or not.

So that left her. Looking over Bela’s state, she knew the girl wouldn’t be happy if she went away for even a minute, but she didn’t have a choice. She would have to risk upsetting her daughter so she could relieve her of her pain.

But first, however, she needed Bela to feed, to regain at least some of her strength and consciousness.

Alcina tore open her wrist with her teeth and then pressed it to Bela’s lips. Bela instantly flinched back, her eyes popping open wide.

“It’s just me, darling,” Alcina murmured. “Just me. You’re okay.”

Bela blinked at her hazily, then looked at her bleeding wrist. Tentatively, she began to feed from it, sucking nervously from Alcina’s veins.

“Good girl,” Alcina cooed.

Despite the praise, however, Bela pulled back after only a few seconds, a look of sickness on her face. When Alcina urged her to feed more, she shook her head and shrunk away with a whimper, snaking her arms around her stomach.

“Alright,” Alcina said. “I’m going to leave for just a moment, okay? I’ll be right back, I promise.”

Bela’s head jerked up. She shook it furiously.

“I’m going to go get something that will help with the pain,” Alcina told her, caressing her cheek. “Just stay calm for me. I won’t be long.”

Bela whimpered and fretted like a baby animal as Alcina left the bathroom, but she forced herself to keep from rushing back to her side. She retrieved two different draughts, both in dark vials, and returned quickly, just as she had promised. However, she seemed to be gone long enough for something else to happen because when she walked back inside the bathroom, the bathtub was empty, the floor had turned into the equivalent of a small lake, and Bela was on her hands and knees in front of the toilet, throwing up.

“My baby!”

Alcina nearly slipped in the water on the ground as she rushed to her daughter’s side. It seemed Bela had scrambled out of the bathtub in a hurry. Her dress became damp as she knelt down, but she could hardly care. She swept Bela’s hair out of the way and rubbed her back as she retched.

“Mama,” Bela moaned once she finished. She looked up at Alcina, a thin line of bile dribbling down the side of her mouth, her eyes bright with tears. “It hurts…”

“I know, darling,” Alcina stroked her cheek. “It’ll be okay soon. I have something for you that may help.”

She showed Bela the vials. Usually, Bela would start guessing what they were, always eager to show off her knowledge on these kinds of things, but she didn’t seem to care about what they were. She just seemed exhausted, hollow, drained. Empty.

Alcina was going to kill the animals that did this to her baby.

Alcina uncapped the first vial. It smelled strongly of herbs. She pressed it to Bela’s lips, and Bela sipped obediently.

“This will help with the pain,” she informed. “And this,” she opened the second vial, this one smelling faintly of alcohol. “This will purge any disgusting parasites those beasts put in you. Drink, my sweet. Rid your body of their toxins.”

Bela obeyed again, drinking it all. If she didn’t like the taste, she didn’t show it aside from a twitch of her nose.

“Now,” Alcina set both vials aside. “Do you think you can try feeding for me again?”

Bela nodded. Alcina gave her a warm smile, then pricked the same wound on her wrist and held it out to Bela. Bela latched on and began drinking her blood, this time not pulling away.

“That’s my good girl,” Alcina cooed, stroking Bela’s head with her other hand. She knew her blood would soothe Bela’s abused throat, even if it hurt to swallow. The warmth was good for her regardless. Wash away the taste. Force down whatever stickiness was still latched against her esophagus.

She wouldn’t be able to tame her anger for much longer.

When Bela finished drinking, Alcina had her wash down in the bath one more time before drying and dressing her. Her ankle still seemed to be an issue, swelling up and inflaming red, so she flushed it out with alcohol. It earned her claw marks in her shoulders when Bela clung to her and cried in reaction to the burn, but it was worth it if it meant warding off any infection.

Alcina carried Bela to the bed, already knowing she wouldn’t want to be alone. It took a moment for Bela to get comfortable, twisting and turning when both her stomach and back proved to cause her pain, before finally settling on her side, curled up tightly against Alcina’s warmth. Alcina kept her arms around her, soothing her when she got restless until, finally, she relaxed.

Or, as relaxed as someone who just got raped could be.

The thought made Alcina so angry. So fucking angry. Of all her daughters, why Bela? She would hate for this to happen to any of them, but Bela had never done anything wrong. She didn’t have the same sadism as her younger sisters. She was merciful. Even if that made her a faulty beast, she deserved this least of all.

Alcina knew Bela probably wouldn’t sleep very much, and she knew that was to be expected. She was prepared for it. She knew how this worked.

But still. Revenge couldn’t go unserved.

She couldn’t wait any longer.

“Daniela! Cassandra!”

--- --- ---

“Daniela! Cassandra!”

Bela’s head snapped up. “No, Mama, no--”

Mother frowned down at her. She caressed her cheek, and Bela couldn’t help but press into her hand hungrily. She craved her mother’s touch in a way she couldn’t explain. She wanted it forever and always. She desired it as much as she desired her praise. But right now, even it couldn’t dispel the building panic mounting within her.

“Please, Mama, I don’t want them to-- they can’t-- please--”

But it was too late.

The sound of buzzing stormed into the room, and Bela hid her face against her mother’s dress. She couldn’t let her sisters see her like this.

Cassandra came in first, materializing out of a swarm of beetles and roaches, then Daniela, who took shape from a seething of blowflies and gnats. Even without looking up, Bela could feel their eyes bearing into her. She tried to hide beneath the blankets, but was unwilling to separate herself from her mother’s warmth. She wished it could just be the two of them, as much as she loved her sisters.

“What’s going on?” Cassandra asked.

“I need you to watch your sister,” Mother answered. “She is unwell.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t the oldest not need any care?”

Daniela nudged her, tittering. “This is Bela we’re talking about, Cassie. You know how she is. I’m still convinced I was actually the oldest, but Mother just says that Bela is the oldest to help build her confidence.”

“Please. We all know I would be the oldest.”

“Okay, okay, let’s compromise: we’d both be the better oldest sister.”

“That’s fair.”

Bela flinched at their teasing, just barely managing to bite back a whimper. She knew their taunting was always in good fun--most of the time, at least; Daniela sometimes blurred the lines between playful and hurtful--but she still let everything they said get under her skin, as though their insects were burrowing into her.

“Quiet, you two,” Mother scolded lightly. “Bela isn’t well. I’d feel better if she had someone watching over her while I’m gone.”

“Where are you going?” Cassandra asked.

And Daniela, always quick to crack a joke, added, “Damn, Bel, are you that terrible of company?”

Bela whimpered into the folds of Mother’s dress. All it took was one stern glare from Mother to shut Daniela up.

“I’m going to deal with some business,” Mother said, and the venom used in the word ‘business’ suggested she had some terribly bloody plans in store for the men who had assaulted Bela. Bela almost felt sorry for them. Almost. But not enough.

“Can you both do this for me?”

Cassandra and Daniela nodded.

“Thank you, my doves,” Mother said. She then looked down at Bela, stroking the side of her head. “I won’t be long, darling. Your sisters will take care of you. Nothing will happen.”

Bela just barely peeked up at her. She didn’t want Cassandra and Daniela to see her with her face all blotchy and red. She would never hear the end of it if they did.

She gripped tighter to Mother’s dress, burying her face back into the soft fabric. “Please don’t go, Mama,” she begged softly, hoping that her sisters couldn’t hear her quavering.

Mother caressed the side of her head. “I must, sweetheart. I can’t let them get away with what they did to you. I won’t stand for it.”

“But you’re sitting down,” Daniela put in helpfully, and Cassandra snorted into her hand. They both shut up when Mother gave them a sharp look, but Bela didn’t miss the small, fond smile that twitched on Mother’s lips.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” Mother said.

A kiss was pressed to the top of Bela’s head, and she realized this wasn’t a fight she would be able to win. Her claws were gently pried loose from the dress and the warmth she had been desperately clinging to disappeared, replaced by a chill that infected her heart like talons of ice.

“Play nice,” Mother said to Cassandra and Daniela before whisking out of the room in a hurry, her claws already brandished.

For a moment, silence was left behind. Then, a body bounced onto the bed next to Bela, and Bela flinched away. She curled up in the blankets, burying her face in the softness as Daniela got uncomfortably close.

“So…” Daniela started, practically speaking in Bela’s ear. “What happened? You seem pretty messed up.”

Bela didn’t answer. She didn’t trust her voice to not waver if she did. She couldn’t handle any more humiliation.

“I think she got her tongue cut out,” Daniela said to Cassandra.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “We literally just heard her talking. Explain that.”

“It fell off?”

Cassandra coughed to hide a laugh. She then poked Bela in the side, causing Bela to whimper in pain when a particularly sore area ached in response.

“Seriously, though. What’s wrong with you?”

Bela didn’t even know where to begin. There was so much to unpack in such a short amount of time. Their naked bodies, their disheveled hair, their sweaty penises inside her. Those animals pinning her down, licking her, forcing themselves into her, smashing their mouths against hers, clawing and grasping and groping. Their heavy breaths in her ears, the purrs about her being “so pretty for a monster,” the laughter when she tried to escape. Her own voice, ringing hollow in her mouth, and her blood, smeared all over.

She couldn’t handle it. She couldn’t handle it.

Another whimper bubbled forth. Bela began to cry into the blankets, unable to keep her emotions at bay. It was all too much for her.

“Aww,” Daniela cooed, and Bela couldn’t tell if she was being patronizing or genuine. “Poor thing.”

Her head was then cradled against Daniela’s chest, wrapped in both of her sister’s arms. Daniela stroked her hair with her claws, trying to be comforting, but the effect was sort of negated when her talons repeatedly brushed over the sensitive welt on the back of Bela’s head. Still, Bela appreciated the gesture, even if she was continuously wincing and growing nauseous with pain.

“Well, whatever it was,” Cassandra said. “Mother is dealing with it.”

“I hope she brings something back,” Daniela said wistfully.

Bela really hoped she didn’t. She didn’t want to see a single piece of those men, even if they were mangled and bloodied.

Shutting her eyes tightly, Bela tried to imagine that Daniela was her mother. She wanted Mother back already, and it was that clinginess that made her feel pathetic and weak. Weaker and more pathetic than she already knew she was.

Yes, it was always Bela who would rather read books than participate in torture. Bela, who was the reason they couldn’t feast on opossums. Bela, who was a poor fighter and hunter because she spent all her time learning new information or sewing instead of learning how to defend herself. Bela, who was overly polite to the maids and sometimes made friends with them. Bela, who needed her mommy’s approval to feel good about anything she did because her self-worth and self-confidence were that far into the ground. Bela, who should have been born as anyone else and could never live up to her own standards.

The tears came faster. Bela’s shoulders began to shake as she cried. She wanted Mother back. She didn’t care how pathetic that made her. She needed her mom.

“Mama,” Bela sobbed, momentarily forgetting that she wasn’t alone, but she didn’t even register the embarrassment at the moment. She was too overwhelmed with her own pitiful separation anxiety and uselessness.

“It’s okay, Bel,” Daniela said, scratching her head as though she were a hound. “Mother will be back soon!”

‘Soon’ ended up being an hour and a half, and by then, Bela was sure she had chased their mother away with her burden.

But then, the bedroom door slammed open and there was Mother, as clean as she was when she had left. However, she was wearing a different dress and there was a visible loss of tension in her shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

Daniela shook Bela. “Bel, look! She’s back!”

Bela’s head snapped up. Mother gave her a loving smile.

“Hello, darling.”

“Mama,” Bela reached for her mother, not caring how childish it made her, and Mother obliged to her beckoning, sweeping over and bundling her into her warm arms. Bela curled up immediately, relaxing considerably.

“I told you I would be back,” Mother said, pressing a kiss to her hairline.

Bela couldn’t reply. She just nuzzled in closer. She felt her sisters press into either side of Mother, but she didn’t mind. She was just happy to be secure, even if she didn’t deserve it.

Before those men were inside of her, she was inside of herself. She had a feeling that they wouldn’t be leaving for awhile, even now that they were dead, but she could cope with it, as long as her mother was there to hold her together.

She just wished she had grabbed the heart.

#resident evil 8 #resident evil village #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil fanfic #we'll cast some light and you'll be alright (for now)#tw: rape

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 3 years

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Top 5 Character Deaths That Made Me Side-Eye the Writers

There are a lot of character deaths in TWDG... obviously. It a series about the literal dead walkin’ around and eating people, so as you’re playing, one of your favorite characters is bound to meet such a fate. To give this series credit, it does have quite a few well-executed deaths that, while I hate them, they have a purpose in the story that works.

The best example of this is Lee’s death-- we all hate that Lee dies, but it’s well-done. It serves its purpose, it acted as both a shock and a slow-burn for the player, and left us all an emotional mess.

However, we’re not talking about the “good” deaths today. No, we’re talking about the character deaths that are poorly executed, cheap, lazy, and just plain dumb... they’re the deaths that make me side-eye the writing team and wonder what the fuck happened there.

By the way, it was reeeeeeal fun narrowing it down to only five deaths, because it seems like for every great death, there’s at least two bad ones.

5. Mariana and her death that ruined ANF’s potential story

I’ve talked at length about Mariana’s death and how much I hate it. Like, I get it TWDG... you love your sudden deaths and you’re so edgy for killing off a child character because you’ve never done that before... but maybe consider things a little further before pulling the trigger?

Yeah, killing off Mariana the way they did got a reaction outta people when it happened, and we got the burial scene if you stayed with Clementine... but you didn’t consider the future of this storyline? You pretend you did by name dropping Mari when it’s convenient, but then throw it out the window when it comes to characters like David or Gabe.

Listen, I know that ANF is a mess and what’s the point in telling the mess that it’s a mess? Well, I’m still annoyed at the writers for wasting the biggest opportunity for this game’s story, something that could’ve saved it from being a mess.

And I get it, you gotta make a death quota, so instead of killing Mariana off... why not kill Kate off instead? Oh no? We don’t get the stupid love triangle that no one actually enjoys or is engaged in?

Instead of this dumb story about Javi falling in love with his sister-in-law but oh no David’s back.... we could’ve had a story about Javi losing Kate and being left to care for two children by himself. Mariana and Gabe are all he has left, and he going to do whatever he can to keep them safe all while the three of them are mourning Kate.

Then David comes back, and he immediately takes these kids away from Javi.

There is no stupid storyline with Kate, but an actual conflict between two brothers who were never on the same page and two kids caught in the middle.

Plus, Mariana herself as a character really could’ve brought something to the table. She could’ve brought out a lot in David’s character since she seems to be more like Javi.

Her death is just... annoying. It’s frustrating when you know they could’ve told a better story with her alive, something ANF desperately needed.

My side-eye is one of disappointment and annoyance.

4.Luke and his easily preventable drowning

Ugh.... where to even begin?

Luke really just gets butchered as a character throughout the second half of S2, and the writers end up demolishing the set up they placed at the beginning of the season for a Luke vs Kenny thing.

Why? Well, Luke vs Kenny was the initial ending they were gonna go with, but because this season went through all kinds of bullshit, they scrapped that and replaced Luke with Jane... and it’s so dumb.

Hell, it kind of ruins a lot. Not only did it ruin Luke, a character that many players loved, but it forces the new character of Jane, who we only get two episodes to get to know, so they can fade Luke out.

But that’s not all.

His death is so... ugh. It’s stupid, okay? Stupid and easily preventable, but noooo... we gotta kill Luke off for reasons because all we know is that S1 killed off a lot of characters and we’re gonna do that again but worse because we failed to understand what made those deaths impactful in the first place.

Lots of character death and despair = good game.

Yep, uh-huh. Okay.

So we all know that Luke’s leg is hurt, yeah? Great, so you’d think that the group that has an injured man and a new born baby would be extra cautious and go around the frozen lake. Yeah, Arvo says that it’s safe but let’s not take any chances.

But no. We gotta go across like a group of dingdongs and whattya know-- the ice begins to crack beneath Luke’s feet. Now, even here, we coulda got him outta there safely... if Bonnie wasn’t a dingus.

Think about it. If we shot the walkers who were coming towards Luke with all their weight, he could’ve slowly scooted away, even if he’s already fallen through. BUT NO. Bonnie either guilts Clementine into going towards him, adding more weight to the already fragile ice as Luke tells her to stop, or Bonnie will go over there herself... and she’s a full grown woman soooo her weight breaks the ice.

Good job, you dipsticks.

When you have to make your characters into morons in order to move the plot along and kill off characters....maybe do some rethinking, yeah?

3. Mitch and his shock-value death

This death is so dumb... so incredibly, dumb. Even now, I can’t help but give full side-eye to the writers every time one of them tries to justify this death.

I’m sorry, but this death didn’t have the impact you wanted it to have. And because there’s always someone who says, “Mitch didn’t die for shock value, you just can’t tell the difference between a good and bad death” lemme tell you a thing.

What was the point of killing of Mitch? Well, according to those who worked on TFS, it was to show that Lilly and the delta are serious. This is when shit gets real, and when Lilly is established as a bad bitch who will do whatever it takes to get what she wants. We should be scared of her now.

Except no.

This scene doesn’t tell me that Lilly is a bad bitch. It tells me that she has good reflexes, and going off her reaction after killing Mitch.... I’m not fucking scared of this dumbass. If anything, this scene says more about Mitch than it does Lilly. It says that Mitch is also a dumbass for running at her like he did.

Y’know what would’ve been more impactful? If Mitch didn’t immediately get stabbed in the throat, but instead, actually got her on the ground and struggled with Lilly. Then, Lilly gets the upper hand and when you think she’s about to send Mitch to the cart, she fucking murders him in front of everyone to prove a point.

There’s no remorse, it’s slow enough for Lilly to actually process what’s happening and show that she does know what she’s doing. That would scare me. That would show me that these people aren’t fucking around and they’re willing to kill some of them if that means getting the rest for their army.

You still get your shock value death but it actually does something other than kill a character off.

I’m really supposed to believe this is the same Lilly who can order to have Louis’ tongue cut off?

But it doesn’t end there. No, no... there’s another part to Mitch’s death that annoys me, and it’s how insistent everyone was that his death is going to have a greater impact on the second half of the story. It had a purpose within the story, we did it for a reason.

...I mean, it has an impact on Willy and his arc for the second half.

But that’s it.

Oh... oh, what’s that? Oh, you were referring to those throwaway lines about Tenn? “He was screwing up again, just like when he got Mitch killed.”

OOOOOH.... I see, that’s what Mitch’s death was really amounting to... some lines dealing with whether or not AJ shot Tenn. Well, I guess I was wrong. Mitch’s death wasn’t just shock value. It really had a big purpose. In fact, Mitch’s death has the biggest impact on the series. Fuck Marlon and Brody’s deaths, and Lilly and James, and hell, fuck Tenn’s death, too. They’re meaningless compared to Mitch’s death. You did it, guys. You really did it.

....Okay, I’m done. I’m just... salty, I fully admit.

Being serious again, Mitch’s death is probably the worst in TFS as far as unpreventable deaths go and the real reason I side-eye the writers is because they tried to tell us it was going to have this huge impact in the future and it just... didn’t.

2. Nick and his offscreen death.

I’m sorry, but what the fuck happened here? Why- what are you- how the hell did this happen??

I’m actually baffled.

Someone wrote this.

They set up at the end of ep3 that Nick is shot.... then ep4 comes and we find him like this. I just... did someone on the writing staff not wanna do their job that day? Someone was working on the story and at the last minute forgot Nick was a character, so they were like “Eh, he’s not important anyway, and it adds to the shittiness of everything so we’ll pretend this was 100% intentional.”

Nick was one of your more interesting characters and you really thought killing him off like this was the way to go, huh?

Like, his first death is shitty, but in the very least it kind of makes sense.

But this?

This is horrible. If I wrote this, I’d be embarrassed.

I just... I’m so tired of S2 right now.

This is at #2 because it’s just lazy, bad writing. At least with Luke, Mitch, and Mariana, we got to see their deaths and they had some, even if just a little, impact on the story afterward.

But Nick?

Nothin’.

Even Luke, who is the closest person to Nick, name drops him maybe twice? It’s just.... nothing.

And yeah, you can come at me with the “oh well not every death has to have meaning!”

This is a story, okay? This is a story crafted with characters who have arcs by people who wanted it to be a success, and usually that means having satisfying conclusions.... or, intentionally unsatisfying if that acts as a natural conclusion to their story or is a reoccurring theme.

Nick’s death is just the writers falling flat on their faces and hoping no one would notice.

1. Sarah and both of her shitty deaths.

Ugh. UGH.

Okay.

I’m not even side-eyeing anymore-- I’m fully glaring.

I don’t have to tell you how shitty both of Sarah’s deaths are. We all played S2, we all know that no matter what you do, Sarah dies in ep4. You can try to save her, she lives a little bit longer, and then falls to her death... and both deaths have her being devoured alive by walkers.

Now, this is enough to annoy me. First off, I guess my choices don’t really matter. Sure, you can justify this as one of those “sometimes you can’t save someone, no matter how hard you try” ...and fine. Sure, if they had bothered to execute that point well, then great.

But I disagree that the writers had that in mind when they were killing Sarah off.

In fact, I know what what going on in their brains-- “God, can’t wait to kill Sarah off! Give us any reason to do it! She’s so damn annoying!”

The writers have openly admitted that a lot of the team were just waiting to kill Sarah off, waiting for any reason, so when the major part of the community who take everything at surface level because why think? kept complaining about Sarah, they jumped on the opportunity to kill her off.... but the deaths are dumb.

Listen, this isn’t like when the writers planned on killing Lee off. You can plan a death and even be excited about it because you’re excited about the story and execution of it all. You can be excited to see the heartbreaking end of this character’s story that you crafted because you know you put everything you had into it.

These deaths were lazy and the product of a team who didn’t care about the character. Sarah dies and no one cares.

Sure, you leave her to die the first time and Jane does her thing about how you can’t save everyone, she talks about Jaime, and then Luke exposes himself as the fake Luke by agreeing that leaving Sarah behind was probably the right thing. Like what?

Now as much as I hate that first one, the second one is even worse.

For some reason, Sarah is standing in the corner while they’re trying to fight off the walkers instead of being inside with Rebecca... y’know, where she would be if this was logical.

Then the deck breaks and Sarah falls, trapped under a pile of wood. Jane, despite being the one who sees Sarah as a liability, goes down there to try and help her after Clementine begs her to.

But because the writers don’t know what they’re doing, Jane gets hit by a random piece of wood and can’t get Sarah out in time, leaving her to be eaten alive by walkers.

Then AJ is born and no one cares about Sarah ever again.

I just....

Could’ve had an interesting story arc with a character who just lost her father in such a gruesome way, a character that already deals with anxiety and other problems that you never bothered to explain other than “she isn’t like Clementine” and you could’ve had her grow.

But I guess that would’ve taken effort.... and screen time away from Kenny, and god forbid we ever do that.

---

Honorable Mentions

-Ava falling to her death in the most comedic way possible, made even more hilarious by David’s two seconds of mourning. -Omid.... because hope is dead. Do you get it? Hope? is dead? Because Omid means hope? Do you get it?? -Honestly you could put most of S2′s deaths on this list because oh my god. -Ben because I’m still a salty bitch. -I also wanna add Louis and Violet’s deaths on the bridge mostly because they die, Clem is sad for two seconds, Tenn says sorry, and then no one cares. Yeah, yeah, they mourned off screen and I call that lazy bullshit. -Hell, throw Tenn’s death on here, too, for similar reasons-- no one but Louis/Violet and AJ seem to care. Even Clementine is like “whatever” after it happens.

---

Y’know, picking this one seemed like a good idea at the time, but by now I’m just annoyed by all these dumb deaths. So, what are your thoughts? Are there any deaths that make you question the writers that didn’t end up on the list? Do you agree or disagree with my list? Lemme know, we can have a friendly discussion about it.

Have any suggestions for future T5F’s? Feel free to send ‘em in! :D

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Next week’s T5F Top 5 Favorite Louis Moments

#twdg t5f #twdg clementine #twdg javier #twdg kate #twdg mariana #twdg gabe #twdg david #twdg luke #twdg jane #twdg kenny #twdg nick #twdg sarah #twdg mitch #twdg willy #twdg louis #twdg violet #twdg tenn #after this i need to talk about muh boy #louis content coming next friday

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zodiyack · 4 years

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Opposites Attract (1,000+ Follower Special!!)

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Female!Pierce/Petrova!Reader

Warnings: Possibly swearing?, fluff, indications of smut??, death/mentions of death, slight angst/violence, I think that’s all

Words: 1,667

Summary: The younger sister of Katherine was the true owner of Damon’s heart, Katherine only being his worry in 1864 due to the sister’s bond, the bond that fueled Katherine to force Y/n to join her when she escaped Mystic Falls and left Damon to think they were both in the tomb.

Note: I have no idea what to say honestly... I’ve been gone due to troubles with my computer yet you guys stuck around and that’s what matters to me. Though I may have a bit of a hard time with words, I hope you guys know that you all mean so much to me 💕💕

And if you’d like me to make a part two, which I’m already planning on doing- I just really liked the ending, or make this a series, feel free to let me know!

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it

Masterlist | The Vampire Diaries Masterlist

Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V. Part VI.

1864

Her back hit the wall, lips molded with his as their tongues clashed in a hungry passion. Her fingers played with his hair and pulled his face and body closer to hers. With his hands trapping her against the wall, she felt content.

“Turn me.”

“I can’t, Da-”

“Don’t. I understand, Katherine and all that...but promise me that one day, you’ll escape her grasp and run away with me.” She forced herself to look into Damon’s eyes, her undead heart breaking at the sorrow that drowned in his blue orbs. “Please?”

“I can’t make any promises...” she paused involuntarily, her heightened hearing catching a sudden ruckus from Stefan’s room and stealing her attention. Damon frowned, adjusting his grip on her waist to pull her back to reality. “I...I just can’t right now. However,” the smile returned to his lips, “one day, I will find you. And if you still want to...you may take me up on that promise, Salvatore.”

He was ready to answer when his door burst open and he and Y/n pulled away in a panic. His father stared down Y/n with a great furry in his body. She didn’t say a word, simply kissing Damon softly and nodding to Mr. Salvatore.

“Father- please-”

“No. She’s a monster, Damon! Her sister is a monster! They are monsters! Don’t you see that? She’ll kill you if you give her the chance. The same goes for Stefan and the other Pierce girl. If they’re even girls.” He mumbled the last bit of his sentence, too caught up in the belief that they were pure evil to consider any other possibility.

“She’s not a mons-”

“Yes. She is. Now, enough! I’m already ashamed of your siding with the demons, there is no need to make it worse, boy!” Mr. Salvatore grunted and put a muzzle-like-mask over Y/n’s head and called out to the rest of the hunters, watching as she was dragged away with a grimace upon his face.

Whilst Damon was traumatized, angry at his father and the world for their cruel decisions for his life, he attempted at keeping a neutral, unphased expression. “What will happen to her?”

“The same thing that will happen to the other monsters; she’ll burn.”

Present Day

Damon continued pacing throughout the house, ignoring Stefan’s pleas for him to stop. He thought about what Emily had told him, and what he needed to do. He had everything he needed, what was stopping him from going to the tomb? A gut feeling? Life? Was he just a big chicken?

He took a breather, telling himself to think about the reason he was in this mess. It was for a girl. The love of his life, to be specific. Y/n Pierce. The lovely lady who had come to stay with the Salvatore brothers after her and her sister’s parents had burnt with their home.

They felt pity for the girls, taking them in and, from then on, starting their odd journey through the supernatural world. Y/n was the first to reveal her secret; pulling away from a kiss with Damon due to her loss of control over her vampire features.

Though normally he’d be afraid, Damon had gripped her chin and forced her to look at him, awe and interest shining on his face. It was that night that he confessed his love for her, promising to take her away one day.

He chuckled at the memory, wiping his thumb across his lips. Damon remembered the taste of her lips like it was yesterday. The delicate softness paired with the lustful desire of their kisses was perfection. The kisses they had shared held something no one else could give him.

Despite occasionally hooking up with a girl or two, he was still on the search for his long lost lover. Deep down, he knew the sex was just for a distraction; even if he didn’t want to think of it as such, he knew that he was constantly comparing them to Y/n. Sometimes verbally, sometimes mentally, either way- the comments were always about the woman his heart belonged really to.

“Damon. Why are you really here?”

To find Y/n and stay true to my promise. “Just to be with you, little brother! Is it wrong that I want some bonding time with my little bro?”

“For you? Yes.” Stefan made it a point to avoid and ignore Damon as much as possible, especially with a girlfriend to protect from his ‘evil’ also-vampire brother. “Now, I’m going to ask you again. Why are you really here?”

Damon sighed. “You already know that Stefan.”

Now that Damon was closer than ever to opening the tomb, he was more than ready to reveal his true intentions. Stefan believed Damon was after Katherine, pleading him to leave as soon as they got out of the tomb. But in reality, Damon could care less about that vampire. He just wanted Y/n, but with the sisters being closer than anything he’d ever seen, he had no choice but to rescue Katherine as well.

If he was lucky, Katherine would allow Y/n to stray from her and stay with Damon, but he had a feeling that would never happen. Not with how possessive Katherine was. How she insisted that blood, as well as herself, went first.

1864

“We need to go back to them!” Y/n tried to run to her lover’s body. Her heart was racing. She’d come back to find that her beloved had been shot dead, his brother the same. Before Y/n could reach the man, Katherine gripped her waist and held her back, stronger than her younger sister due to being older in human and vampire years.

Y/n was the one Petrova to have escaped Klaus in his act of revenge. To be fair, it wasn’t his fault that he missed her. She was out picking berries, going about her life normally, before returning to a bloodied home with the bodies of the people she loved strewn about messily.

She remembered falling to her knees and cursing at whatever entity seemed to be there. Whether it was God or some other being, she demanded, through sobs, to know what she had done to deserve it.

Then, as if her prayer-like-yells of agony had been answered, Katerina showed up at the doorway. Her reaction was similar to Y/n’s; first, processing what she was seeing, then, feeling the fear freeze her in place, and finally, screaming and trying to shake her family awake, hoping as much as she could that it was all a dream.

Y/n walked from her hiding spot slowly, still shaking from her discovery but much more calmed with the presence of her older sister. “Who would do such a thing?”

She swore she could never forget the rage, paired with terror, in her sister’s eyes. “Klaus. Klaus Mikaelson did this.”

That very day, she turned her sister. She explained that they would live long enough to either kill Klaus and get revenge, or plea for his forgiveness and live their lives once more.

Snapping out of her memory fueled trance, Y/n broke free of her sister’s arms and dropped to the ground beside Damon. She pulled his head onto her lap and brushed his dark curls from his face. She chuckled to herself when she noticed her tears dropping onto his face.

“Goodbye, my love.” Y/n pressed a kiss to his forehead, then one on the tip of his nose. Finally, one on his lips, staying a little longer than the others as she savored the intimacy in their final goodbye. “If I only I had told you yes...”

She left her sister to say her goodbye to Stefan, wiping her tears away as she felt what was left of her heart crumble into bits.

Once, she had a family. And then she had her sister. Then she had her sister and an owner to her heart, the feeling of humanity returning to her undead body, feeling alive for the first time since her transition.

Now? She was back to having only her sister.

Damon felt the same way.

When he had woken, taking time to recover from the shock of being alive. Emily had told him how Katherine compelled Stefan to drink her blood, and he already knew that he drank Y/n’s blood willingly.

“There’s no point in living.” Damon pleaded with his brother after he tried to get him to feed, “They’re dead.”

Present Day

He ran into the tomb, desperate to find the sister of the vampire doppelganger. Damon sighed, ‘speaking of doppelgangers’, Elena had followed him, ignoring Sheila and Bonnie’s warnings.

“What’s that sound?”

“They can smell you.” He made his way through the tomb, eyes traveling from one decayed vampire to the other, cursing to himself each time they weren’t Y/n. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t give up. At some point, he’d gotten separated from Elena, but he didn’t care- never faltering in his search.

After spending more time looking for the vampire with negative results, Stefan had rushed in. He seemed anxious, desperate, ready to plead. And that he was. “Damon. We have to go.”

“She’s not here...” He felt like he was having a panic attack, which was more than likely. Damon threw the blood bag he had brought for her against the wall, “She’s- she’s not here, Stefan!”

“Who? Katherine? Look, I’m sorry that she’s not here, but we need to go!”

“No! Not Katherine! Y/n! She’s- she’s gone...she’s gone Stef.” Stefan furrowed his brows, feeling sympathy for his brother for a split second, then realizing how much time they were wasting.

“I’m sorry... Okay Damon? Maybe she didn’t die-”

“Don’t get my hopes up, alright?”

“Alright, I’m sorry. Really, I am. But- we need to go, like, right now.” He grabbed his brother and sped him out, gaining a boost with his vampire speed. The entire time he thought his brother was after the bad sister, but he was after the good one.

Opposites really do attract.

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buckysmischief · 3 years

Note

Hi there!! I just wanted to say that I LOVE your fics and SMAU’s. Whenever you post something new, it always seems to make the day better. Always brings a smile to my face and makes me giggle. And you (and many other writers on here) have inspired me to write again. I saw your post about maybe opening requests to your playlist and I just wanted to see if you can do some with this:

Pietro (cuz I’ve been having some feels for him lately), the song Dirty Little Secret and whatever.. Have fun with it, whatever might spark something lol

I- this went in a different direction than I originally planned. My finger slipped? I’m sorry??

Also, thank you so much and I’m so happy for you that you’re writing again!! That's amazing!

“If I knew then”

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 635

Warning: mention of character death

Masterlist | Make a request

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Pietro asked, knowing damn well what the answer was going to be.

You pulled your hoodie over your head and rolled your eyes at the question, he asked it every few months and the answer never changed. “Let’s pretend for one second that you didn’t share a womb with the one person who wouldn’t even spit on me if I was on fire, our line of work doesn’t have time for something serious.”

“There are plenty of other agents in relationships,” he argued, “and Wanda doesn’t hate you. She just hates that her powers don’t work on you.” Your powers were still new, the scientists HYDRA brought in were still running tests, but so far all you knew is you could control electricity and block Wanda’s magic.

“Yeah, agents, we’re different and you know it. Have you ever heard of the Winter Soldier having a girlfriend? Black Widow? It’s for a reason.”

Pietro knew he should just be happy with what you two had, he also knew he was pushing his luck each time he asked. The last thing he wanted was to fuck things up and you end up regretting whatever this wass between you. “I’m not saying we settle down and start a family, Yn..”

“Strucker will separate us, no question. We already cut these little visits close as it is. Can we please just enjoy this while we can?”

Pietro looked defeated, but in the end he knew you were right. Before he could respond, though, Wanda burst through the door, “We’re being attacked, this is our chance.”

If you knew then what you knew now - Ultron, Tony Stark, the Avengers - you would have listened to him. If you knew that was the last time you would be alone with him, you would have told him that you wanted nothing more than to be with him. But one of you needed to be the voice of reason otherwise Strucker would have killed you both, but that didn’t matter now. Nothing did.

The only silver lining was Wanda. Turns out you and Pietro fooled everyone but her, he wouldn’t have been surprised. After losing Pietro you both officially had no one, and instead of letting the anger consume Wanda again she did something you never would have expected - she befriended you.

Both of you lost the only person you cared about and Wanda knew Pietro wouldn’t want either of you to be alone. Sure, the Avengers welcomed you and mourned him with you, but they didn’t know him the way either of you did.

“He loved you, you know.” It was after another nightmare she let it slip. Wanda never knew how you would react to knowing so she kept it to herself, but how much worse could things get? Almost every morning you wake yourself up with a gut wrenching scream, and every morning Wanda was there to help you through it. She just wanted to help.

“I think I’m still asleep, you couldn’t have said what I think you said.” The hair on the back of your neck told you you were indeed awake, but what was logic in a time like this?

“Pietro, he,” she hesitated, “he never said it in those words, but he loved you. He was always very protective of you, and if it wasn’t the look in his eyes that gave it away it was the way he spoke of you.”

Deep down you knew, but knowing that someone else knows that you shared something with Pietro made a world of difference. Sometimes it felt like your memory just played tricks on you, that your relationship with Pietro was just a dream that got carried away in your head. That alone made a world of difference.

“I loved him too.”

perm tags: @stuckonjbbarnes @valkyriesryde @hopesbarnes @superavengerpotterstar @estillion14 @sleepingspacedragon @geeksareunique @imsoft-barnes @murdermornings @distractedgemini @screaming-fridge @readeity @whatinthyworld @my-drowning-in-time @buggy-blogs @hey-its-grey @pinknerdpanda @brokenthelovely @theannoyingnightmarecollector @death-unbecomes-you @rhymesmenagerie @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @https-bucky @also-fangirlinsweden @goalexis123 @missmeganrachel @miraclesoflove @noturningbacknow @sunflowerxbarnes @thefridgeismybestie @niall2017 @maddope @imagine-all-the-imagines @thummbelina @thebadassbitchqueen @king-sebb @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @bonkyboinkybucky @slaytherinthoughts @kingkassam @anti-the-glitch-bitch @poppunkdork @dis-soek @sunflowersandcherry @lovinlikeloki @watchoutforfrostbite @valsworldofcreativity @aikeia

#pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff imagine #pietro maximoff angst #reader insert #marvel #mcu fanfic #mcu fanfiction #ask #request

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ourloveisforthelovely · 3 years

Text

Princess Part 10

Harry Potter Marauders Era AU

Link to Part 9

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Rating: M

_____

“Considering we have been preparing for you to die...I think we deserve five minutes of explanation. You have scared Y/n and your mother to death. I suggest you start talking…”

Regulus frowned at his father’s comment. Orion was right. You did deserve the truth. Regulus knew later he would feel guilty for not caring about his mother knowing the truth or Orion for that matter. His only worry was you. You sat at his side gently stroking his now healed hand.

“Fine, shut the door.”

Regulus replied as James reached out and shut the door with his foot. As much as Regulus didn’t want anything to do with James nor Sirius, they did save his life. Maybe it was time to put some bitter feelings on the back burner for the moment.

“Voldemort is worse than we all feared. He’s insane and we need to stop sympathizing with him. James and Sirius just keep doing whatever it is that you do. That part was directed toward you but...mum and dad...we were so wrong. This guy almost killed Kreacher....yes, that pissed me off but it wasn’t the reason that I…did what I did. Voldemort is out there creating horcruxes...I found one...a locket. I just need to figure out how to destroy it.”

Sirius’ mouth dropped.

“So that explains what you were muttering about. How do we destroy it?”

Regulus shrugged.

“Beats the hell out of me. Kreacher has it right now.”

Sirius frowned.

“You left something that important to Kreacher? The same Kreacher that we grew up with?”

You winced when Regulus’ hand tightened around yours.

“Well, it was either that or it went to the bottom of the lake with me while I was busy being drowned by Inferi. Which would you have preferred?”

Regulus ignored how both Walburga and Orion went completely pale at the mention of “being drowned.” Sirius, meanwhile, was still trying to take in what he was hearing.

“So inferi tried to turn you into a human pretzel?

Regulus was beginning to get annoyed with Sirius. He didn’t like being interrupted as it was now here was Sirius asking questions that would have been answered anyway.

“Yes, Sirius...please keep up. Like I was about to say, Voldemort won’t just leave the prized pieces of his soul just lying around. He will make whoever it is work for what they are getting. Between having to slice my hand open to get into this place, drinking some god fucking awful potion, and almost getting drowned...I had to give the locket to Kreacher. He is probably at home having a panic attack because the last thing that he saw was me going under. Mum, can you send a telegram home and let him know that everything is alright?”

Walburga was fanning herself. None of this was anything that she expected to hear. She had expected to hear some story of Regulus going up against another death eater. Now knowing how close she actually was to losing her baby, everything was beginning to feel fuzzy.

“I don’t think mum is available right now.”

Sirius commented. Orion nodded and gently patted his wife’s shoulder. He wasn't sure what really to do to comfort her when he was trying to control his own pounding heart. Between questioning, if what Regulus was saying was true and the realization that he almost died...Orion didn’t know how to feel.

I knew that I should have never supported letting him get into that.

Orion thought before finally speaking.

“Son, Kreacher is just fine. I told him where we were going before we left.”

Regulus nodded before turning his attention back to you. Your hand was over your mouth as the tears were streaming down your face.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. That’s why I was so short-tempered before we broke up...I was…”

You shook your head. None of this was anything that you wanted to hear. Deep down you knew that there was a reason Regulus had been so grumpy. Regulus losing his temper when you begged Sirius for help all made sense now.

“You’re fine now...that’s what matters.”

Regulus laughed.

“I don’t know about fine. When Voldemort finds out that I figured out his secret, he isn’t going to be thrilled.”

“Sounds like you need to go into hiding a bit.”

James commented. Regulus hated the thought of being trapped in a house but, for once, Potter was probably right on this one. He definitely needed to lay low once Voldemort came back from trying to gather new recruits in Bulgaria.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Regulus commented as Walburga jumped up.

“There is no maybe to it, Regulus! You will go into hiding whether you want to or not.”

Regulus didn’t feel like arguing with his mother at the moment and only nodded. In fact, the only thing that he really wanted to do was to go back to sleep and sleep for a long time. He had to shake the urge to go back to sleep before turning his attention back to you.

When Orion stood and commented that the two of you needed some privacy, you could have been more thankful. The two of you had a lot to talk about and the last thing that either of you wanted was to have this conversation with an audience.

Regulus waited until everyone was out of the room before relaxing back into the pillow. He finally felt like he could relax.

“Do you hurt badly?”

You asked before reaching out and stroking your fingers through his hair. Regulus didn’t open his eyes but was clearly pleased by the physical contact.

“A little. I didn’t want you finding out what happened like that.”

You sat down on the side of the bed and took his hand in yours. It didn’t matter how you found out, you would have been devastated. Knowing how close you were to losing Regulus made everything within you ache. Seeing him banged up was bad enough but knowing that you almost lost him forever...you couldn’t put that thought into words.

“It would be horrible no matter how I found out.”

Regulus’ eyes fluttered open.

“I’m sorry about the past few months. I never meant for any of it to go the way it did. I was a jerk to you and you didn’t deserve it! You were trying to keep me safe...I’m not mad at you for going to Sirius. I guess part of me was jealous.”

“Darling, you don’t have to worry about my feelings toward Sirius. He’s obsessed with Remus and I can’t nor do I have the desire to compete with that.”

Regulus smirked for a moment, however, his face went back to the “sad lost boy” expression that always made your heartache. His face looked as it did the night that Sirius left.

“I always knew that there was something going on there. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about them. I want to talk about us. I love you, Y/n and I want to be with you because you're good for me. The past few months without you...I don’t want to go back to that place. If you want your ring back...I’ll never take it off of your hand again.”

Regulus wrapped his hand around yours and brought it to his mouth. He closed his eyes and inhaled your scent. Regulus wasn’t about to tell you the childish mess that he had been without you. Maybe you should know that he either drank himself to sleep or cried like a baby every night to mourn your loss. Regulus had refused to get out of bed for a few days and had taken to laying with his face shoved into your pillow just to smell your lavender shampoo.

“I love you too, Regulus. You’re right. I was just trying to keep you safe. I didn’t want to see you harmed. Now knowing that you almost died and seeing what you have gone through, I regret ever saying that I was okay with you being a death eater. I’m proud of you for what you have done though. You were so brave, love.”

“It was more desperation than bravery. I also got pissy because that twat hurt my elf.”

You smiled.

“You should rest, darling.”

Regulus didn’t move to let you go.

“Lay with me. I’ll sleep better feeling you against me.”

Regulus scowled at you when you didn’t move fast enough. You, meanwhile, looked down at him with apprehension.

“You won’t hurt me. Just lay on my right side and put your head on my chest. Please.”

You couldn’t say no to those eyes. As gently as possible, you eased yourself against Regulus’ body. Regulus yawned and snuggled his face against your hair.

“See. I’m not hurting now, Princess.”

You smiled against his chest as Regulus slowly began to doze back off leaving you awake.

Everything will be okay this time…

It took another week before the healers would consider letting Regulus go home. You were relieved when the healer finally said that he could go home. Regulus has been getting frustrated with not being able to leave even though he felt fine (so what if he was still walking with a limp). He wanted out of the hospital to heal at home.

Regulus had talked you into agreeing to move back into him. You knew that James wasn’t thrilled with the idea. He had tried to persuade you to “take things slow” with Regulus.

“Y/n, please. You really should take this slow. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I know, James. Regulus needs me though. I want to take care of him.”

Regulus, meanwhile, was thrilled upon hearing that you didn’t do what James wanted but what he wanted instead. It just proved to Regulus that you were loyal to him and that was what he wanted.

The following two weeks were a little more difficult than you expected. Regulus wasn’t thrilled that you didn’t want to give up your job working for Barty Crouch Sr. The day that you were scheduled to return to work, Regulus sat on the bed watching you with a scowl.

“Why do you want to work for that crazy old man? We have plenty enough money for you not to work.”

“Because I actually enjoy my job.”

Regulus crossed his arms over his chest with an impatient frown.

“I don’t like him. He locked up his own son.”

You sighed as you finished putting on your lipstick.

“He kind of had to, love.”

“He’s a creep.”

Regulus muttered before standing and limping toward the door. You quickly walked after him as Regulus sat down on the couch to start reading a book.

“Reggie, please. This job has really taught me a lot. I’m not some spoiled selfish princess who only cared about herself anymore.”

Regulus looked up. He felt guilty about his less than stellar actions. While Regulus was trying to “see things differently” now old habits die hard deaths. He was thankful that you had been beyond patient with him as he would fuss about the order then turn around and say that they were doing the right thing.

“You have never been selfish. Love, you are the least selfish person on this stupid planet. I just worry...I’m also getting frustrated with sitting here day after day. It may be a good thing that you are there. It gets more information that my brother can use. I don’t want anything happening to him.”

You gave Regulus a pleased smile.

“I know, darling. Maybe you should spend some time with Sirius. He would love to see you. I also need to have coffee with Remus. Since I won’t be getting a sister-in-law, Remus gets to do all of that ceremonial activities.”

Regulus smirked.

“I’m sure Remus is looking forward to listening to stories of our sex life.”

You pulled on your coat before moving to kiss Regulus goodbye.

“I return the favor so he doesn’t mind.”

It took all that you had not to laugh at the grossed-out expression on Regulus’ face.

“Gross. I don’t want to think about my brother getting laid. Have a good day. Maybe when you get home, we can work on some new stories to tell Remus.”

Regulus had been ready to rip your clothes off the day that he had come home but you told him no. It didn’t matter how many times that you told him no “for his health” Regulus tried to guilt-trip you into it.

“We’ll see how it goes.”

You had been gone for half an hour when there was a knock at the door. Regulus tossed his book to the couch before getting up and going to answer the door. Emma Rosier stood on the other side with a smile on her face. Regulus hadn’t seen Emma since Evan’s funeral. Other than writing her a few times to make sure that she was okay, Regulus had no urge to speak to her. Sending her a few “hey, are you still alive” letters was more out of due to respect for Evan than anything else.

“Emma.”

Emma smiled.

“Hey, I heard you were out of the hospital. What happened to you?”

Regulus didn’t answer immediately. The last thing that he was about to tell her was the truth.

“Stupid accident where I came off looking bad. You can come in, I have something of Evan’s for you anyway.”

Emma smiled and slid past Regulus. She turned as he closed the door and limped back to the couch.

“I haven’t seen you this banged up since that quidditch game in 5th year. Too bad, Y/n isn’t here to baby you...or is she? I heard that Y/n has moved back in and you two are fixing your little relationship.”

Regulus’ eyes carefully rolled up to meet Emma’s face. He had a feeling as to where this conversation was going to go.

“Mhm.”

Emma’s soured a bit.

“I don’t know how you trust her. She turned her back on you to aid your brother and his lot. Now she’s working for the man who put our friend...his own son in prison.”

Regulus felt the annoyance beginning to build in his stomach. He didn’t care for Emma in the first place and was only nice to her for Evan. Now he didn’t have to fool with her anymore or be nice to her for that matter.

There was also the fact that Emma would be so cold toward you. For someone who claimed to “be your best friend” she sure wasn’t acting like it.

“That’s the thing about people in our stories Emma. They are in prison or dead. Y/n was trying to protect me. I trust her.”

Emma crossed her arms over her chest before easing her shirt down a little lower to show more of her cleavage. She was pleased when Regulus narrowed his eyes at her. He didn’t look thrilled but his eyes were on her and that was what she wanted.

“You shouldn’t. Real soul mates don’t do their lovers the way that she has done you. Say goodbye to her Reggie and be the smart man that you are. Find a woman who will support you...someone like me who knows the pureblood ways.”

______

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faebriel · 3 years

Note

ok ok I'm insane and couldn't pick one so have two (no need to answer both if you don't want to)

“You talk to him.” Not kindly, but he does.

“I’m used to him,” he shoots back. “I’m the only person who is.”

That makes Niki feel something, some uncomfortable tug in her chest. She mentally kicks herself. It’s not jealousy, she reminds herself, because despite the near-cliff jumping and the long nights without food and the nuclear fallout that has punctuated her last few months, being jealous of Tommy would be the least reasonable thing she’s allowed herself to be, maybe ever.

“You don’t believe me,” Tommy says flatly. “You never - eugh.” He cuts himself off with another ragged sigh, running a hand down his face. “Look, Niki, it’s - we were all together in Pogtopia, right? But I was there first. With him. And you didn’t see the start of it, it was horrible, and I’m glad no one else saw the beginning of it either but it was still just so shit and he kept saying all these terrible things about Tubbo and Fundy and you and,” he takes a shaky breath, “then, when I died, I saw him.”

Her breath catches in her throat.

Well, the voice in the back of her head whistles. If you were still wondering about all this afterlife bullshit, if you want to know where you’re going after your third life, here you go.

and

“You didn’t even - this isn’t about L’Manberg, Wilbur!” Niki shouts.

And then he stops, breathing hard, and he looks at Niki the same way he does whenever her voice is being drowned out in a crowd - the way he does when he wants to hear her, when he wants to know what she has to say.

“What else is there?” he asks.

Niki freezes. Stock still, unable to move, unable to breathe, ice threading its way through her gut, her chest, her shoulders, chilled down to the bone. With slow-dawning horror, she can feel hot tears welling up behind her eyes, sitting in her throat, threatening to spill over into a sob. She swallows - to keep her cool, to stay calm, to keep it together -

And then, something in her chest just snaps.

“You said you’d come back for me!” she cries, and her voice hitches on the lump of tears at the back of her throat and god, she sounds absolutely pathetic. Wilbur’s face softens immediately, which somehow just makes her feel even worse. “In Manberg. When Schlatt put me in prison, and you and Tommy were in Pogtopia, you said you’d break me out when it was safe. I waited for weeks , Wilbur. It was… it was horrible.”

“Niki…” a kaleidoscope of emotions flicker across his face, and he seems unsure which to settle on. “We got you out though, right? After the festival.”

“You looked for the button first,” she says quietly, and he stills.

Her sniffling sounds embarrassingly loud against the quiet background of night.

thank you sm!!! i’m gonna put these under the cut because they got a little long sorry (tw for discussion of suicidal ideation)

to preface: tommy is kind of the accidental but incredibly necessary invisible support beam for niki and wilbur’s making amends in bitter. niki cannot accept wilbur’s actions and apology without first acknowledging her own actions and making steps towards an apology, because otherwise it kind of falls flat? in that ending scene niki finally gets what wilbur is feeling and wilbur finally gets that someone else knows how he feels (it’s not perfect 100% yet, but…. that’ll get explored later)

onto the actual snippet! “tommy talks to wilbur - not kindly, but he does” was very important to me! tommy has stuck by wilbur ever since pogtopia, but the tragedy is that he is not equipped to deal with wilbur’s issues, and it shows. wilbur’s first stream after revival depicts this really clearly, where tommy tails wilbur around the whole time but insults him, is still stuck on calling him the villain, physically fights him at some point, etc. on one hand this isn’t healthy but on the other hand tommy is actually around, which is more than can be said for basically any other ally wilbur has had on the dsmp, maybe excluding his dad, who literally killed him lmfao.

this whole issue is exacerbated by the fact that tommy believes that he is the only person who properly understands wilbur, the only person who gets what happened to him, and feels like wilbur is generally his burden to bear. he failed to stop wilbur from both 1. hurting other people and 2. killing himself after the pogtopia-manberg war - and he doesn’t trust wilbur not to do either of those things again, so he’s stuck hovering around wilbur while wilbur is inadvertently setting off his own trauma and feeling responsible for any way he might fuck up and hating that but not wanting to leave. tommy’s memory isn’t perfect and he isn’t a perfect narrator, what he remembers from pogtopia the most were the scariest parts and that’s understandable but it means he’s holding wilbur to the worst expectations of behaviour (and he does so very vocally). the others showed up later, sure, but in tommy’s eyes he’s the only one who saw wilbur’s descent, and by the time they showed up wilbur had already changed irreversably. tommy tries to rationalise this by splitting the ‘different wilburs’ apart from each other in his head (he does this in canon too - there’s one quote from like late 2020 where he says he and tubbo need to keep on going for who wilbur used to be, not who he became, even though they’re,, the same person), and no one challenges that perspective, so he just keeps doing it even though it’s not healthy for him or wilbur.

and then limbo happened and, oh geez, THAT didn’t help jhfaskjjfsa

tommy is on a bit of a knife edge with niki in this fic. niki’s in this state of “ok, he’s annoying whatever, i’m moving on”, but all tommy knows is that she tried to kill him that one time, disappeared off the face of the map, joined a book club with two people who definitely do not like him, and now is just acting weirdly mellow and polite. she is not someone he wants near wilbur bc what the fuck is she gonna do? what is he gonna do? who knows. he’s frustrated that niki doesn’t seem to acknowledge how he’s feeling (especially bc once upon a time she would have been someone he trusted to acknowledge them - they were friends, they fought together) and he’s taking a big step by telling someone about his concerns here, especially bc tommy doesn’t really like talking about them at all. he wouldn’t be saying absolutely anything to niki if he didn’t truly believe she should stay away from wilbur, even if he’s wrong about him. (sometimes i think i write tommy as a little too emotionally mature here but it all goes out the window when wilbur’s brought up. idk if that balances it out)

ok onto niki: this is the first she has actually heard of limbo! she’s only just come around to the fact that resurrection is possible at all. death is kind of a touchy subject for niki both in general and re: wilbur in the fic - she’s coming off of a period in her life where suicidal ideation was, uh, a big thing (whether you want to read that into canon or not is subjective, that’s just the angle i went with in this fic). the sudden existence of a life after death, miserable as it is - and whether she really believes in such a place, when it only exists in tommy and wilbur’s words - that is a lot of information for her to absorb all at once. death is a weird connection point for tommy and niki here, coming right off of the fact that they’ve just acknowledged each other having those problems - tommy, out of, yknow, altruism, would very much like to keep niki out of that place, and niki is quietly reckoning with the fact that that is where she would have sent him. the concept of limbo from the perspective of a character with no experience of it, even secondhand, is so interesting to me like what kind of eldritch location would you feel like you’re living in asghjkl

(also - i gotta be honest the jealousy angle here but mostly when she’s talking later about dream not deserving wilbur’s companionship kinda came out after this post came across my dash while writing. whoops /j)

fun fact, this is the very first snippet of bitter that i ever wrote! all the way back in may!! this is like the moment of the fic - it's where the miscommunication that niki and wilbur have been having is shattered entirely - and so sticking the landing was uhhh kinda important to me lol.

wilbur's entire being in this fic is basically consumed by L'Manberg - he equates his self worth to it entirely. in his eyes, everyone (rightfully) hates him because of what he did to L'Manberg, because L'Manberg was corrupted and he himself with it, etc. niki tries to tell herself this, and while it definitely does form part of her issues with him, it was the betrayal that causes her this much pain - that he seemingly brushed her and their friendship off entirely when he supposedly left her for dead in manberg. because here is what we as the audience know: wilbur couldn’t leave niki in trouble when he heard her life was in danger, even when he was trying to find the button (pretty much the only thing he sees himself as having left at this point) and so he returned. here is what it looks like from niki’s perspective: wilbur told her to wait in manberg until it was safe to come to pogtopia, laid the place with TNT, went to blow up the place, and only returned when he couldn’t find the detonator (and then the first thing she saw him do in pogtopia was encourage the pit behaviour but that’s not what we’re talking about asdfgh). that is massive miscommunication and it’s been brewing between them for months - to make a quirky little reference to the title, niki has been carrying that anger with her so long it's gone bitter. it was never just about l’manberg with niki - not that anger, not her and wilbur’s friendship (hence the little flashback earlier in the fic, bc niki’s relationship to anarchism and statehood or statelessness juxtaposed with her friendships with wilbur and eret - she loves l’manberg bc she loves wilbur, but she loves eret too and those national ties don’t undermine that - is Real Interesting to me) - so when wilbur asks what else there could possibly be (because in his mind, what else could she have bothered staying around for?), she just fucking breaks.

“Niki freezes. Stock still, unable to move, unable to breathe, ice threading its way through her gut...with slow-dawning horror, she can feel hot tears welling up behind her eyes” - prose discussion time! heat and cold are two big throughlines in this fic - particularly for niki, cold is what she is. admittedly when i started with it i mostly wanted to subvert hot = angry and cold = dead but i kinda ended up enjoying this take on it for what it is instead of just as a subversion (also i like the idea of revived people running hot, their bodies r working hard to keep em going). she’s holding onto her feelings and refusing to deal with them, she’s frozen over. descriptions of cold are key to niki’s mental state throughout the fic - cold weight on her chest, feelings of frostbite when she and wilbur hug the first time, ice cold water during the dinner scene, waking up in the cold flat, etc. this was an attempt at describing a more visceral feeling of like, when you’re really mad and you can just feel the adrenaline running through your veins. always felt more cold than hot to me. when she starts to cry, the facade she’s been putting on is finally thawing out and cracking the ice she’s buried her feelings under. (also gives an excuse to write warm comforting hugs towards the end /hj). it’s a loss, it’s catharsis, it’s a whole mess.

and ofc this is all news to wilbur and he feels terrible, because as unintentional as it was, he really really hurt her - because the destruction of l’manberg fucking sucked but above all else wilbur hurt the people he loved because they loved him so much and not in spite of it, because they cared about him so deeply and his death was a massive blow to them. this hasn’t even dawned on him, because how could it? he respects deeply niki (lowkey respects her opinion more than his own at this point) so he has to listen, because it’s niki (“and he looks at Niki the same way he does whenever her voice is being drowned out in a crowd - the way he does when he wants to hear her, when he wants to know what she has to say” - because he does), and what she says fucking floors him. in his eyes, he failed her by putting her in danger and then by destroying her home - the idea that she valued him and their friendship so much flies entirely over his head until this moment, and he is forced to re-evaluate the mindset that has motivated him since… basically since pogtopia! the way i write wilbur is like… yes, he’s one of niki’s closest friends and he’s more aware of her insecurities and issues than most (which is why he does always take the time to listen to her, etc) but he does over-idealise her a bit. tbf, i think he does to some extent with everyone (calling tubbo strong on the anniversary stream, for example). also the fact that he really wasn’t around for niki’s lowest moments as a character! he still thinks of her the way she was in l’manberg - confident, steadfast, respected - and this moment shatters that for him as he realises exactly what effect he and his death had on her and everyone else, not just by his actions, but because they loved him and cared for him so deeply.

sorry that this got horrifically long!! and thank you so much for sending snippets in <3333

#ALSO SORRY THIS TOOK TWO WEEKS. LMFAO #asks #thespoonisvictory #dvd commentary #< i have successfully coerced a discord server into doing the dvd commentary on a regular basis and it is the BEST thing

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oh-for-fic-sake · 4 years

Text

A Witcher's Pack Chapter One

Masterlist

Chapter Two

Warning: Adult situations +18 SMUT, Breeding Kink, A/B/O

A/n This is the brainchild of me and @havenoffandoms who helped me a lot with suggestions that I hadn't even thought of xx this will be a short chaptered fic hope you enjoy

Geralt finds his omega and Jaskier helps.

A Witcher's Pack Chapter One

You sighed watching the younger children running playing, weaving in and out of the sparse stalls in the village market. You sighed wistfully as they played chase, not a care in to world. You was jealous. You had that at some point, a reason to laugh, smile and play. You hand tightened on the basket as you were spotted by one of the mothers she was glaring at you. A beta. Most people here were betas there was only two alphas in the village. One an old waif of a man long past his prime and the other a young teen who had only just presented now that puberty had hit him and it had hit him like a brick wall, you smirked as you recalled the mouthy little shits wails as his senses were overloaded and had caused him to erupted in the most unsightly of ways.

You smiled as you remember him kicking, screaming and groaning, how he could be an alpha was beyond you ,he was a well known mamas boy even now at eighteen he hid behind her skirts. Your bet was on black magic Alphas presented at puberty he was eighteen summers old. But of course his presentation was a good omen and there was a celebration over it. You sneered 'yes it was fine for them'. You hissed in your mind as you strode across the market picking up vegetables for the week. Quickly taking your share you turned leaving the market without a second glance heading through the gates, the village didn't need a wall but apparently you was a threat. you almost felt honored they had been so wary of you they built a wall to keep you out. How thoughtful. You quickly walked to the old granary shack it was tiny but you'd been condemned to on the outside of the village. We wouldn't want the omega to seduce the villagers with her evil sinful ways now would we?.

You cringed remembering that day. You was eleven. Playing with the other children much like the ones in the market today and you began to feel unwell. The bakers son sven who you was sweet on, walked you home. That night you got the shivers your mother tried to help but the fever persisted and got progressively worse. By dawn you was moved to the healers cottage. You remembered how every breath was agony, the air was freezing in your heated lungs you truly thought you was dying as each breath was a struggle. Sitting by the fire you could still feel the pain, reliving it your bones ached and your head felt fuzzy then it happened it felt like you had been drowning your whole life everything muted and suddenly you was above the water hearing, smelling, seeing for the very first time. Terrified the village was convinced at first it was a curse, or maybe they hoped it was. You never really found out all you knew was that after the awakening came the cramps and your first bleed. The pain that sealed your fate was agonizing and nothing soothed it. You was an omega, it was a daunting realization. Omegas are a commodity around these parts either sold to an alpha to produce more alphas or sent to whore houses, but our village didn't have either and you had presented young a whore house probably wouldn't pay much, you didn't have tits yet.

The next option was killing you, an honor killing they said before you could disgrace your family with your depraved instincts. Your mother was against it, she was torn an omega was a bad omen believed to only present just before a disaster that would kill many the thought being the omega would repopulate and replace those lost and on the other hand you was her little girl, her youngest, miracle child who was born without breath yet somehow managed a cry after being declared dead. So at her insistence you was banished from the village, you could enter for commerce but nothing else, they couldn't risk you tainting them anymore then you had. you cringed as a cold wind swept through the shack planks were missing from the side and your hearth consisted of a small pit in the center of the space with rocks haphazardly strewn in a circle to try and avoid the place burning to the ground, a rug was your bed with a thread bare blanket for comfort. you survived on vegetables and berries, no one in town would sell you weapons for hunting they refused to waste the meat on you that was for there own.

Not you.

Luckily you had managed to dig through the soil with your hands and plant some of the seeds you had carefully picked from the food you was allowed to have. you watched as the sun began to fall below the walls casting a red glow above them. You wanted them to burn. It may be bad but you didnt care. Three days was all it took for you to become an animal to them. A child they had watched grow and flourish, was cast out without a second thought. You sighed poking at the fire adding a some tinder and curled up before the fire trying to preserve as much body heat as you could.

"Geralt are you sure this is the place? it looks to- well its not exactly high brow is it? i though witches like fancy places not back water villages" for once Jaskier wasn't spouting nonsense.

Geralt sighed looking up to the sky. it'd be snowing soon, he really should turn around and make his way back to Kaer Morhen for the winter. He glanced down from roach at the bard who was still trailing behind him. he found himself doing that more and more recently, checking the beta making sure he was still there. looking forward again as he contemplated what exactly that meant, witchers didn't have packs. Or at least they weren't supposed to but Geralt had found himself classing Jaskier as pack and now couldn't help but look out for the weaker male wanting him to remain close. he shook his head irritated tho he was a witcher he was also an alpha and that was something the mutations couldn't take. But it wasn't all bad he summarized, he didn't endure ruts and didn't fall prey to heats like other alphas that's not to say he didn't find omegas appealing, they were a good fuck responsive and fed his ego, called him alpha and let him do as he pleased well until they realized he couldn't knot them then things changed very quickly. They went from wanton bitches to spitting hellcats so fast that even he couldn't keep up. He glanced forward sitting straighter seeing their destination peak over the long stretch of tundra.

A village that had rumors off a witch casting dark magic across the village or that's what he had been told when he was asked to come, normally witches struck places that held valuable artifacts or rarities. The meager defenses of wooden stake walls and simple slat gate that he could probably scale with roach didn't suggest there was anything here of value.

"I'm sure bard, lets get this over. Its probably just a widow and nasty break out of fever" he grunted already thinking this as a waste. But the coin was good and if it meant he just had to place some protection runes to give them piece of mind he'd be a fool to pass it up. He began feeling funny as he closed in on the village noticing something off as small barely standing shack sat outside of the makeshift walls. A scent it was pleasant, very pleasant it didn't burn his nose like most did now. Rosemary, mint and something else he couldn't put a name to. It wasn't thick like most. Many scents felt thick and muggy to Geralt's witcher senses but this was free and wafting. He took a deep breath enjoying the scent more and more as he approached the shack wary it was different, too different from anything he had ever smelt ,even Jaskier seem to be inhaling deeper.

"What is that? oh it smells divine" he said without thinking the bard followed the scent. Geralt swore getting down from roach following the beta that was probably about to be caught up in some form of trouble. They both followed the scent until arriving at the door to the shack. He peered in. His heart stopped as the scent washed over him making him growl low. he took a dominant pose squaring his shoulders. Omega. But what the fuck was she doing out here?! she should be inside the walls not sleeping out her almost freezing to death!. He wasn't sure just where this immediate protectiveness came from but he was ready to slit the throats of who ever had allowed or forced the young female out here.

"Oh an omega." Jaskier said sadly almost sympathetically, he wasn't angry . Why wasn't he angry?. He should be omegas were rare. Rarer now then ever as attitudes had changed. But that was just it attitudes had changed. Omegas were no longer cherished as they should be, as they had been when Geralt was younger. the reality was that She was most likely abandoned. Geralt felt his rage shaking him to the core as he peered over the tiny malnourished omega she shivered in her sleep pulling her knees to her chest. His gaze took in the room. This was not a nest. No comforts for her, Nothing soft for her to sink into. Nothing to defend herself in her heats. Not even a proper fucking hearth. 'I will make her a nest. She will be safe'. He was disturbed by just how his thoughts turned he had never had this reaction to an omega before even when they were in the depths of heat pining fora male. Jaskier moved to her side about to stroke her face. With no control over it Geralt snarled and snapped at him fangs dropping.

"No!! OFF!MINE!" Jaskier slipped back nearly toppling over unprepared for the out burst as Geralt lunged forward at him. His .His omega. He heaved deep breaths watching Jaskier with predatory eyes. He was challenging him for the female. Jaskier shaking and completely frazzled only just managed to present his throat to the feral witcher, surrendering to his alpha. That seemed to pacify him as Geralt swung his cloak off draping it across the female smiling as she snuggled into it and her shivers ceased. he sat down heavy beside her casting axi on the dying fire bring new life and a burst of heat. after a few moments Jaskier slowly made his way to him and sat cautiously.

"G-Geralt what was that? is- you called her yours... I thought witchers didn't you know?" he was hesitant with his question. Geralt cast him a fleeting glance.

"We don't... Well not normally... Honestly we aren't taught about it just told that we are impotent and wont have ruts... But I suppose it could be like all mutations, they are all expected to do certain things but all mutations have varying results and mine are different anyway." he looked down at the content female by his side. His omega. Thats what his lesser had called her. And it wasn't a lack of judgment either. Once the words left him it had clicked , A soulmate just for him, A scent tailored to for him. That would be why she didn't smell like any other. A mate. A pack. He lifted a finger to her slowly running a knuckle across her slim cheek. She would never go hungry or cold again. Now that he found her he wouldn't let her go.

"Bed down for the night we will talk to the master of the village tomorrow." Jaskier nodded uneasy going to roach to retrieve the bed rolls.

You whimpered coming to you was warm. Oh my god yes. You groaned melting into the warmth that encased you feeling a large heavy fabric like a huge warm hug. And the fire before you was roaring hot on your face and the scent of meat filled the space. You wiggled a little pressing your face into the hot firm cushion below , must be a dream. You flinched as other scents followed two. Male. Both intoxicating one of herbs and something tangy and addictive the other was musky and sandalwood-no oak like an aged whisky barrel deep masculine and alpha. You tensed as you came to then frowned warm? no that's not right and the fire? that dies every night something was seriously wrong, you squeezed your eyes tight whimpering dreading opening your eyes in case you found yourself sold to a whore house. You fears grew when you felt a huge hand scratch your scalp lightly

"sshh its ok don't worry I've got you now" you opened your eyes there was a male in front of you sleeping soundly on a bed roll he was a beta you- you just knew soft kind features he looked healthy and you bet he had a glow when awake he was resting peacefully. So the one stroking your hair must have been the alpha. You gulped taking in your surroundings you was in your home still. They had broke in. You shivered getting hot ,sweat beaded across you as the scents swirled around you in a delicious overwhelming mix. Effecting you like a sorceress potion. You panted panicking lifting your hands to the hand in your hair pulling expecting resistance but instead he let you remove his hand.

He sighed shushing you again a deep voice that vibrated through you. A large warm hand landed on your shoulder rolling you to your back. It was then you realized that he was sitting cross legged you'd been using his thigh as a pillow. You looked up gasping as you met two amber irises long silver hair fell framing his angular face slight stubble donned his face making him even more handsome. You wanted to panic. Should have panicked but you instead had this overwhelming urge to bury yourself into his chest. To drink in as much of his scent as you could. You whined crying softly as the heat that had begun to race through your body became a scorching fire. Torrents of boiling and uncontrollable lust flooded your body leaking onto your skirts. This mus be it. The disgusting shameful desires of omegas you was spat at for. You'd had heats but never this way. It was coming fast and merciless, you watched as the alphas nostrils flared he released a slow breath.

"No wh-what hahahah i cant - What have you done!?" you panicked as your body was bending to his will and you didnt understand why. had the village done this? sent him to seduce you? or have they done what they always threatened and sold you to an alpha?. you cried out thrashing hitting him.

"no wh-what hahahah I cant Wha-what have you done!?" you panicked as your body was bending to his will and you didn't understand why. Had the village done this? sent him to seduce you? or have they done what they always threatened and sold you to an alpha?. You cried out thrashing hitting him.

He wouldn't allow you of his lap instead lifting you into it. Your bottom on the floor knees bent over one leg back resting on the other.

"Its ok.....Its ok omega... I'm your mate, your true alpha your body is responding it want's to mate... wants to bond" your cries must have woke the other male as you both looked to a new voice.

"Ge-GERALT! What are you doing to the poor thing?!?" he called moving to remove you from him. The alpha, Grealt growled as he went to touch you.

"Fuck off Jaskier I'm trying to help her, I've sent her into a proper heat!" Jaskier stopped scenting the air before going pink embarrassed.

"Well she looks terrified! you should explain to her, i doubt they teach omegas here especially considering she is out here not in there" Jaskier gave a small smile.

"Do you know what you are love? Whats happening?" you nodded then shook your head sobbing yelping as another cramp, worse this time longer tighter and lower.

"I'm a harlot, bad" was all you could get out as you fell into your more basic state not capable of coherent thought. Geralt growled at that then crowded you holding you close wanting to sooth you.

"No...No your not bad.... Your good such a goood girl... It hurts I can make it stop...Please let me make it stop it will keep getting worse until I do please..." he kissed your face cradling you into him his need to help his mate was almost to much but he would not touch you if you refused him. Unlike other males he did not use instincts as an excuse for such things. Jaskier watched unsure of what to do, he didn't doubt his alpha for a second but this female was young uninformed she was fragile and frightened and he suspected that she didn't know much about what she was or what was to come. She cried grasping at Geralt

"H-how?... I-help please make it stop its bad..... Really bad" you pleaded weakly with him. unable to move as your body quivered in pain as it felt like one continuous cramp. The alpha called his beta over ordering him to help rid of her clothes, he would stay and help. Jaskier gaped, alpha's generally didn't let anyone else near omegas in heat but it would seem his alpha was different on many levels. Quickly recovering you felt hands pulling and tugging the sticky dress from your body discarding it quickly you created as your slick made your cooled your heated skin you felt dirty, shameful. Wailing trying to cover yourself from them as Geralt quickly striped himself cock relieved as it sprung up tall and proud. He wont waste time pushing Jaskier before her as he moved her into position she was to far gone to try and protest as she was bent over on hands and knees then GeraLt pressed between her shoulders angling her for him. He wont bite not today. No he would get her threw this and then when she was back down to earth he would talk to her. Or at least that is the plan.

"Jaskier help her stay calm and still." he ground out watching with bright eyes as Jaskier crouched by you head letting you reach out to him clutching as his hands scared not sure what was happening as Geralt poised himself then quickly drove forward sheathing enough to quickly break threw the barrier that he knew was just inside wanting it out of the way as soon as possible.

"AAAHH! NO I-STOP!" you scrambled tying to dislodge him constricting your walls to push him out whimpering as he held firm holding the same position, his hot calloused hands cupped your waist holding you still not allowing you to move an inch from him when you bucked forward and he followed. You leaned so far that your knee slipped and Geralt had to catch it before you fell ripping him out of you. He growled

"Jaskier fucking help her!" he grunted still tucking his chin to his chest trying desperately to refrain from moving for your sake the worst was over. The beta quickly cupped your face wiping the tears away reassuring your quaking form.

"shh shh its ok the worst is over now... good girl I know he's a grump isn't he but its fine...... so good" he winced as you cried pitifully he knew you would be soothed in a moment but it was gut wrenching for him to endure try and temper your cries. Slowly Geralt began pushing forward dragging you back on him impaling you as gently as he could. You keened as you stretched to accommodate his lust, so full and taught almost felt as if you was tearing apart at the seams. Grunting lightly as your passage rippled across him he groaned moving a hand across your back rubbing soothingly.

"Yes that's it relax...... OH FUCK.. Yes that's it so precious..... See it feels better now doesn't it? all that fuss you made" you tried nodding it did feel better almost as if you'd applied a healing balm to your insides. You moaned digging your nails into Jaskier's hands. panting as Geralt's hips finally pressed into yours his balls resting on your little bud making you squeak and try to rub back against him trying to grind up into the light taps they delivered.

"Ha-oh is that it?... You like that?.......All you needed?.... Good girl all there now" his praise made you glow he rocked slowly , just enough to reward you with soft pats from his balls against your clit. You gasped trying to buck against him.

"AH! Please-Alpha PLease I want!" you panted forcing the words

"Oh I know what you want... you want to be bred like the good little bitch you are" his words were filthy derogatory and perfect, Jaskier watched wide eyed as Geralt placed a hand below you rolling the pad his finger against your erect bud . Gulping Jaskeir closed his eyes, face on the rug beside you drinking in your moans and pants that went straight to his own cock, he moaned softly a hand sneaking to his bottoms cupping and rubbing, smoothing his digits around the engorged flesh. His eyes popped open glazed and hazy as you moved a hand to his crotch slim and dainty holding him through the fabric. You cried out as Geralt withdrew and pushed back forcing your body to give way to him.

"Don't you .....omega you want to be bred? full and round..... your so fucking ready for pups aren't you?" he grunted as his pace quickly escalated as he lost himself faster than he ever had. His own words revealing his own darkest desire. A pup of his own. Watching his mate swell with proof of there coupling. Yes. He closed his eyes relishing in the impossible image. You screeched holding Jaskier's thigh moaning and crying your pleasure all the way. Your walls fought him at every plunge of his hard flesh, resisting his punishing deep thrusts as he kissed at your cervix yet at the same time clutching at him trying to take as much as it could, muscles trying to capture him properly as nature intended but at the same time clenching to push him out. It was cruel and delicious Jaskier couldn't help it you look to appetizing he leaned down licking into your open mouth coaxing your hand down into his bottoms you clutched him underneath his palm as he began making you stroke him in fast even strokes he groaned loud a beautiful high sound that, to Geralt was much better then his singing. Grunting, Geralt's fingers pried and pinched your clit and flicked the tip of the swollen bud that peaked from between his tight fingers you screamed squeezing Jaskier he faltered as your hand was ripped off him. Geralt was powerless as his fantasy became to much of a temptation making a snap decision, as he saw Jaskier on the floor beside you crying and panting himself trying to fuck into your hand faster and harder.

"Jaskier here now!" Geralt couldn't stop he needed it. Needed to see it, to feel the kick of pups in the telltale bump of his omega. He longed for the soft heart beat's he had heard enviously in the past. He relished in the glow that all omegas had when full with a litter. He wanted that happiness for his omega. He would give that to her one way or another. Jaskier was confused but obey rounding the rutting couple unsteady. He was caught off guard as Geralt pulled him to rest his forehead to his still pulling and pushing into the small wailing female. The alpha kissed him not deep or lewd a chaste kiss and pulled back holding the smaller male's gaze.

"wh-what? I cant do that?" Geralt growled as he felt his end coming trying to fight it until this was sorted.

"YOU! have a cock don't you?!? do it bard SHE needs it!" you moaned not hearing much of anything as you tucked your hands beneath yourself rocking quicker and quicker chasing something needing more.

"PLEAASE! please pleaspleas I-I dont know wha-I need please alpha!!" you brawled scratching and digging at the rug. Jaskier looked between you and his alpha the desperation that you both leaked was to much, he bit his lip then nodded. Relieved Geralt finally let loose roaring his release spraying his useless load into you the force hitting your cervix grunting low as you came at the sensation, howling into the floor below. panting Geralt sat back on his heels grabbing Jaskier by the scruff sitting his ass on his thighs ignoring the bards protests as he shucked his trousers down and gripped his cock using his scruff to raise him into position

"I-I cant do it-ger-GERALT!" he shouted gasping as geralt lined him up with your entrance the witcher thrust his pelvis forward forcing the beta into your quivering heat. You squealed as your sensitive walls caressed a new cock, although not as large it was still an addictive feeling you lowered back down pressing your chest to your makeshift bed pebbled nipples rubbing skimming the rough fabric as they swayed with each rock of your body.

"AH-OOHH! please yesyesyes... please fill me!" you withered below the new male as Geralt was on his knees behind Jaskier still holding the bard by his neck.

"Don't worry love..... You'll be full soon enough...Well you better be..." Geralt threatened as Jaskier took over holding you and rocked into you grunting quietly trying so hard not to think of the alpha watching as his cock disappeared into you. You cried as you felt a familiar hand return to play with your tender clit your body spasmed violently finding a second release with a loud high pitched cry. Geralt held Jaskier up not allowing him the chance to bite a mark into you at the same time he ground his pelvis to the his ass pining him still and deep as your twitching passage milked him with a loud series of grunts he came into you not as powerfully as Geralt but still spurting pleasantly tickling your insides.

"Jaskier deeper- I want her bred" Geralt stated noticing that as the bard finished he had arched removing an inch of so as he did. Sighing as Jaskier was to lost moaning and rocking he rolled his eyes at the beta. Omegas were the best fucks and this was most likely the last time he would fuck you he would want to make the most on of it. Geralt hooked an arm below your hips tugging you back you cried as you was forced still and tight against them. Jaskier still leaking small streams of cum this time you felt it at your true opening wetting and burning as his seed trickled past it. you cried.

"oh-OH fuck its- done yes fuck I-hot its hot" you babbled trying to raise up stopping as you heard a growl

"No stay there let it keep going... Good girl.... I'm so proud.... Cant wait to see you round with them....Fuck yes you'll be so good" Jaskier stayed still awkwardly clamped between the tow of you. Amazingly enough feeling like the third wheel even if it was him pumping you full. geralt slid back patting jaskiers rump

"Stay... I'll be back" then left Jaskier blinked smoothing his hand across your back.

"you ok down there?" you nodded sleepy folding your hands below your head content and ready for sleep. Geralt returned carrying a pack then dragged the bard off you dropping to the floor legs spread placing you between them his inner thigh against your pussy pressing tight trapping everything inside you leaning you back cradling you he tugged a black shirt of his from the pack sliding it across your arms and buttoning it up. Jaskier sighed pulling up his trousers

"dont bother with them you'll need to give her another load soon." Jaskier sputtered

"I'm sorry? what?"

"Beta or not if your going to breed my omega you'll breed her like an alpha, now drop em" Geralt said seriously as he reached over to the almost forgotton meat tearing small chunks bringing it to your lips. You took the bites happily still lost in your haze.

"I'm sorry Geralt I'm not an alpha I cant just pop one off on demand"

"Not with that attitude you wont, sit eat your going to need it breeding is serious business" the bard was speechless then huffed throwing the trousers to the floor he wasn't going to win so whats the use, taking a seat by you both helping himself to the meat deciding that he should fuel up if this was going to last for a whole heat. Secretly excited about the prospects of the new addition to the small pack and pups.

You sat there thrilled some primal part of you understanding that your alpha was tending to you, Feeding and providing for you and had called the other pack member to eat with you. You took several bites before turning away from his hand. He tutted.

"No you need your strength, come on open up we need you big and strong for the pups." you contemplated the words agreeing as you let him continue to feed you. Jaskier just stared watching Geralt drop all walls for the first time. He looked happy. Truely happy. There was a slight worry for the future but he brushed it away choosing to bask in the glow of the newly formed couple.

#geralt smut #geralt imagine #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt x jaskier x reader #witcher fanfiction #witcher smut #geralt x reader

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laurore-stormwitch · 3 years

Text

the demon and the witch

Here’s the second chapter my first fan fiction! This is from Zoya’s POV which was so much harder to write. Hope you all enjoy it!

word counts: 4392

You’ll find it in full in AO3

______________________________________________________

Zoya hissed while trying to strengthen the bandages on her wound, through which a small flower of blood was already blossoming through. Damn those kerghud and their blades. She checked her sides too, finding with relief she was not in much pain. At least the healers were able to take her of that; but the poison the Fabrikators found on the kerghud’s knives was slowing down the process on the deep cut on her shoulder.

You still prevailed, rumbled Juris inside of her. You took down all of them on your own. The voice was beaming with his pride.

And got thrown against a tree for good measure, she answered grimly while examining her wound. It could’ve been worse. Still, it wasn’t a good sign; the Shu were supposed to be their allies now. Why did a pack of kerghuds attack her? They really didn’t need another thing to worry about. She sighed, opening the windows and letting the cold air revive her a little. The ride back to the palace had left her sore; it took her hours and standing on a horse with a throbbing chest and blood all over her hadn’t been pleasant. She arrived after dinner only to be welcomed by a furious and shaken Genya who had tried to cover for her absence and had immediately taken her to get patched up. Not really an ideal day.

She was pondering whether to drown her sorrows either in bed or in wine when she heard some strained voices in the corridor; they sounded rushed, worried. Someone was giving orders to her guards to stand down and resign their post, sending them away. Oh, for Saints sake, not now, she thought as the door slammed open and Nikolai Lantsov stomped in her room with a weary expression, stopping in front of her. Of course he found out.

“What the hell happened Zoya?” She glanced at him, both annoyed and warmed by his uneven breath and messy look; he seemingly ran through the whole palace to get here, already in his more comfortable clothes for the night. Armour in place, her words were clipped and sarcastic.

“Did anyone never bother to teach the future King of Ravka the subtle art of knocking?”

Nikolai looked exhausted; he released a long breath he seemed to have been holding for ages while he carefully skimmed her for injuries, lingering on the bandages on her shoulder and upper arm with a worried look. She quickly put her kefta back on covering them, uncomfortable under his gaze. When he seemed to have assessed that she wasn’t going to die in the next couple of minutes, he relaxed, releasing the tension in his shoulders, shoving the worry away and regaining his usual merry attitude.

“No one thought I’d actually be the future King, you know. Maybe that’s why they skipped it.”

His tone was light, but he took a couple of steps in her direction, still checking her. She rolled her eyes, making a good show of being irritated. He was being overly dramatic. She knew that whoever told him of her little excursion would also have told him that she was safe and sound and healers already had tended to her; he had no reasons to put up these theatrics.

“I’m fine.” He huffed in response, casting his eyes heavenward too.

“You broke three ribs.”

“Two”, she corrected, “And they’ve already been healed.” He didn’t flinch, taking another step forward and gesturing to her arm.

“What about that?”

She shrugged her shoulders ignoring the stab of pain the movement provoked.

“Are you here to question me or do you actually need something?”

Nikolai grinned, leaning against the wall next to the balcony. She shifted unconsciously away from him. He was too close, only a couple of feet apart from her. And they slipped inside their usual banter too easily: everything came too easily with him. Her look wandered outside the window, averting his amused eyes still trained on her with an intensity she didn’t want to consider.

“Ah, there’s the spite. You’re really fine then.”

There was an affection in his voice that was hard on her nerves. What was he doing here? The whole point of her actions was to keep the distance; this didn’t exactly fit with the plan, the two of them alone in her chambers at this hour of the night. She collected her strength, making the decision to ignore him. His smug face was making her want to shove him out the door. The silence stretched and she waited with hope that he would just leave her be, sensing her irritation. But Nikolai was Nikolai after all, seemingly untouched by her demeanour.

“I already sent word to the Shu. We…I’ll take care of it.” She sensed him stop before adding something else, no doubt avoiding saying Ehri’s name and leaving her out of the conversation. Zoya shook her head, even more unnerved by this unwelcome caution in her regards.

“It doesn’t matter. They’re going to say it was a rogue attack. I took care of it.”

Meaning I burned them all.

“Just tell our dear princess to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Somebody else could’ve gotten really hurt.”

“But they found Zoya Nazyalensky instead. What a stroke of luck for them.”

She didn’t react to his praise, so he just kept talking, keeping an easy attitude. But she knew him well, and she could hear the strain in his voice, the turmoil he was trying to keep hidden.

“Do you care to tell me why my most valuable general decided to take a stroll in an open field and almost got herself killed?”

Fine then, so ignoring him was not the correct strategy; she resorted to her ruthlessness and his guilt.

“Most valuable.” Zoya scoffed. “Thought you’d be satisfied; you’d finally have the perfect excuse to replace me.”

She turned to him while speaking, holding a firm gaze; so she was able to see the shadow of shame and pain that swept through his eyes at her words.

As hurt as she was, their fight the other day served her right. It was bad enough to convince her that staying away from him was the sensible thing to do, and now it gave her a weapon to use to keep distancing him. Also, she really didn’t intend to linger on the topic and explore the reasons why she made what she knew had been a reckless decision. Lately, the palace was far too crowded for her liking; it had begun to feel suffocating, and not only because avoiding Nikolai was growing harder and harder by the day. The dragon inside her craved the sky; the power in her was constantly rumbling, pretending to be unleashed. She still didn’t understand it, the force of it, the craving for destruction that came with it. It was slowly changing her: each and every day her senses got stronger, her hunger got deeper. It demanded to be used; there were times she didn’t know how she kept still, moments in which the air around her crackled without her control, nights in which thunder boomed and clouds darkened the sky as her mood grew more sour. So she started taking these rides outside the city, trying to find places where she could test her abilities without risking destroying the Little Palace. In a time that seemed long lost, she would’ve liked to confide in Nikolai with this. But he wouldn’t understand now, he wouldn’t get what she feared to become if she kept searching for more. And she made a choice after Isaak’s death, the choice to give up on her foolish hopes and dreams and be a general after all. That choice included letting Nikolai go, which he was making hard to do.

They looked at each other for what felt like an eternity. A pang hit her throat, and she felt an unfamiliar prickle in her eyes. Why did she want to cry now? She searched for her anger, trying to bury the feeling of despair that was troubling her mind. She prayed for him to say something spiteful, or to turn on his heels and go. Instead, he came even closer, moving a delicate brush of his fingers over the bandages that peaked near her collarbone, sending a shiver through her. Too close. Get away.

“I’m sorry, Zoya.”

And why for all Saints on earth did he have to say her name like this? It was almost like a prayer. A soft whisper full of honesty, not even an inch of his casual arrogance or boldness. She sucked a breath in, holding her pose, arching a brow in his direction.

“Nice speech. Bet you practiced it a lot in front of the mirror.”

He waved a glowing smile at her, while she pondered wherever this good mood came from.

“I had a nice speech, you know. And yes, I also practiced it. But then you went on to put yourself in danger and I got a little distracted.”

She glanced at him. “I’m not a helpless girl whom you needed to run to and save from a monster.” I may easily be the monster myself, Nikolai. Leave. He didn’t back down.

“I didn’t say that, as a matter of fact. I said I got distracted by you being hurt.”

You’re still too close. Get away. Her feet didn’t seem to listen to her brain, which was sparring with her heart for dominance. She turned to her side, away from him.

“Get out, Nikolai.”

“I don’t think I want to.” She was going to kill him.

“I want you to go.”

“And I want to be more handsome than I already am, but some things are just too hard to get.”

Her glare would have made every man on earth shiver with fear. It was apparently useless on Nikolai.

“Enough childish games, Nikolai. Say what you have to say and then leave.”

He sighed. “Just listen to me, please? I really did have a speech. I was out of line the other day, and I didn’t mean a single word I said. I reacted in the worst possible way and I hurt you. And I’m sorry, both for doing it and for waiting too long to realize it.”

She stopped him with an irritated laugh, her eyes slitting silver. How arrogant of him.

“You didn’t hurt me. You were just being the harsh leader you may finally be growing into.”

He shook his head, ignoring the remark, determined to go on with this charade.

“It’s more than that. I should’ve said something sooner. What happened in the Fold...we never got the chance to talk. I don’t know how you are, what you’re going through.” Maybe punching him in the face was not a bad option. Alina did it after all, if she remember correctly. “I let you drift away and I regret that.”

The conversation was steering in dangerous territory. She clenched her jaw and her fists, equally intent as him to stop this.

“You’re gonna regret this if you keep talking.”

“Why?” His controlled tone slipped a bit as he threw his arm in the air, getting more nervous. “What’s wrong with talking? What’s wrong in saying that I was an idiot to behave like I did, that I need my general by my side? That I don’t like all the distance you’re putting between us?”

“There’s no us, Nikolai.” She spatted, fists still clenched, trying to keep the hold on her power already rising inside her. She sensed where this was going and desperately tried to prevent it. “You shouldn’t even be here at this hour. You are going to marry your Shu princess, and be the King Ravka needs. I am your general, as you dutifully pointed out, nothing else. Stop acting like a fool.”

Oh, how well do you lie to yourself. Are you ever gonna stop? That was not the moment for Juris to chide her and mock her, doubting her decisions. She hushed him, trying to focus. Nikolai looked struck at her words; he opened his mouth and then closed it again, seemingly deciding what to say. She narrowed her eyes, an uncomfortable suspicion creeping in her mind. Speechless Nikolai Lantsov was never a good thing.

“Maybe I’m not.” He cleared his throat at her confused look. “I’m not marrying Ehri.”

Juris roared. Zoya widened her eyes in shock: a wave of outrage flooded her thoughts, along with an unwelcome strike of hope she suffocated.

“Nikolai.” His name was said much like a threat. “What on earth are you saying?”

He held up his hands, speaking slowly, trying not to set her off and appease her wrath.

“I need you to trust me on this. I may have another solution, one that doesn’t involve forcing me and Ehri in a loveless marriage we both despise. One that still assures me the alliance.”

She was not having this. The air around them started to feel more dense, the smell of a rainstorm filling the room. Her voice grew louder, her temper brewing.

“I hope you’re joking, or you’re more of a fool that I ever thought possible. Whatever she told you, she’s tricking you. What are you thinking? Ravka is on the brink of destruction, why would you risk your country?”

“It’s not about Ravka.”

"You don’t get to choose, Nikolai. You are a ruler. You have a duty.” He let out an exasperated sound, coming even closer. There was barely the space of a breath within them. She kept going. “You are our King. I won’t let you do something so reckless.”

Now he was losing his temper too, flames burning in his eyes. He caught her wrist, his grip like steel.

“Why do you run from this? Why do you deny yourself of happiness when there’s another way?”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Everything! I don’t want to marry her. And I don’t want to see my country fall.”

“You think you can have it all? Then what do you want, Nikolai?”

He shot her a pleading look, his soul pouring out of his eyes. Her heart missed a beat, as she shook him away and took two steps back, finding herself with her back on the wall. No. She regretted her question in an instant.

You know what he wants. You know who he wants. Juris wasn’t backing out either.

A whisper rolled out of Nikolai’s mouth.

“Zoya…”

“Don’t.” He came towards her. They were dancing; she cast him a warning look.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no coming back if you say it!” She was shouting now, shivering with rage and dread. “Because I will believe you if you say it and it won’t change anything!” Tears threatened to fall again, her whole body was vibrating with power. She couldn’t hold back anymore, she would’ve hurt him. And yet this stupid boy was not yelding his steps, not afraid of the woman in front of him.

“I’m not giving up on you.”

“Please, Nikolai.” A sob escaped her. Was she pleading with him now? But as much as her, he had made a decision, and he wasn’t gonna abandon his resolve. He went on, unforgiving, holding her gaze and his chin as he spoke.

"You need to hear me. And you can trust me."

"Stop." She was losing.

“It’s always been you, Zoya. You’re the only thing I want.”

The sword drew through her hearth, cracking it open.

Show this boy king what you are.

She threw her fist open unleashing the storm, tears streaming on her cheeks, and shot a speeding gust of wind in his direction. It knocked Nikolai over, trashing him on the floor; he hit the wall, the current howling and holding him in place. The window on her side shattered as lightning fell from the sky, leaving a trail of smoke in their wake. Papers were rustling around the room, a cold breeze sweeping over them; she watched in horror the destruction she brought. Abruptly, the air fell still as she drew away the power, not wanting to meet Nikolai’s eyes and the disgust she was sure to find there.

“Go away, please.”

He heard him breathing heavily, getting back up on his feet. His uncertain steps crunched on all the letters left on the floor.

"Zoya, it’s okay. I’m here."

"Shut up."

Juris wasn’t finished, too. He growled. Don’t be a coward. You should be the Queen.

“Shut up!”

The scream rose from her sore throat and she fell on her knees, hitting the pavement and catching her head between her hands. Her heart hurt. Her lungs hurt. She made a desperate attempt to fight back the pain as she grasped the last bit of sanity in her mind, huddling on herself like a child. Electricity ran through her skin and a final thunder rolled over the room. Everything stopped as the place grew silent, Zoya shaking on the floor.

“I’m not leaving.”

His voice floated to her like they were underwater; it didn’t even tremble, it was calm and firm, not the one of a terriefied man just taken on by a summoned storm. He slowly walked to her again, rubbing the back of his head a little. Did she hurt him? Shame towered over her. He lowered himself down to her; his movements were delicate, attentive, as if she was a wounded animal he needed not to scare. Another whisper came to her and she grasped at it like an anchor.

“I’m not leaving you.”

She felt his hands on hers, his touch soft as a feather as he circled her wrists and he tried to pull her back on her feet with a soft tug. He caught her elbow, steadying her; instinctively her other hand tightened around his shoulder as her vision blurred and focused back on him; she let her head lean on his chest, catching some air. They stayed like that for a while, Nikolai’s tender eyes waiting for her to get back to herself. He gently tilted her chin up to look at her, brushing some strands of hair away from her face and sighed.

“I missed you.”

The words fell on her like an avalanche. There was a fierce purity in this ordinary admission, spoken like a confession he knew she wouldn’t be able to take. There was so much more to this; it spoke of all the things they never allowed themselves to say, of all the stolen glances and forgotten truths; of how they belonged next to each other, the peace and quiet they found together, how hard it was to be apart; of the times she saved him, and the ones he saved her.

Stop fighting, General. Lower your weapons.

She was tired. Saints, she was so tired. She wanted to rest in the comfort of his arms. She felt herself beginning to surrender.

He is yours to keep. She trembled in his hands, shaken by the conviction in Juris’ voice.

Zoya looked at the boy in front of her, still gently grazing her cheek with his knuckles, at his tousled flocks, at the glowing rays of sun hidden in his eyes. She moved one hand to his stunning face, tentatively touching his lips. A shiver went through him, but he stayed perfectly still while a look of confusion and yearning flashed through him.

He has always been yours. Juris roared, sending flames scorching her chest.

Zoya of the broken heart. Be whole again. Take him.

And once again, just like she did in the Fold, Zoya let herself fall.

She pulled him to her with a hand on the back of his neck, closing the distance between them, crashing her lips onto his, releasing the hunger and the despair that plagued her. When they met, it felt like a war. It felt like a blessing. She registered her king reacting in a split second, without even a hint of hesitation: the hand that was on her arm went to hug her waist, drawing her closer than she thought possible with a desperate need, while the other one was now entangled in her hair. He was holding onto her for dear life, as if she would break if he let her go.

Kissing him was a thousand lives and a single fleeting moment, time stretching in this suspended bliss; she broke free, gasping for hair, drowning in the shock of what happened. Nikolai wasn’t a fool, and he knew her all too well; he knew it would only take her the fraction of an instant for realization to dawn over her, so he didn’t let her slip. He pulled her to him again. But that flicker of oxygen to her brain was enough for fear and remorse to clench at her soul. She pushed lightly onto his chest, and this time he got the hint, leaving her mouth and backing up just what was necessary for them both to release their breath. Good, she thought. At least one of us still has some semblance of control . If it really was up to her will, once so unbreakable, she would’ve never stopped.

“Saints, Zoya.” The words rolled out of his mouth in an ushered tone, as if speaking too loudly was bound to break the enchantment cast upon them. She mustered the courage to look at him: he was watching her in awe, the golden freckles in his eyes darkened by a sheer desire. He may have stopped kissing her, but his hands were still keeping her flushed against him, his uneven warm breathing grazing her neck, making it almost unbearable to try and form a coherent thought. Her heart was aching.

“We can’t.” Her voice was barely audible, devoid of every resolve she had hoped to still have in herself. She trained her look on the floor, the pain squeezing the air out of her lungs. What did I just do? Zoya sensed Nikolai shifting closer, brushing his lips on her lashes, her cheekbones. He rested his forehead on hers. Was he smiling? Why was this damned boy smiling? She cast her eyes up; he really was smiling, cocking his head slightly on one side.

“What?”

“You’re really stubborn, you know.” He teased her. Zoya marvelled at his confidence, at how unfazed he seemed at the fact she was basically rejecting him after shoving him against a wall and possibly giving him a concussion. Not that she felt herself being convincing: all ruthlessness seemed to have left her body. She still didn’t trust herself much to talk; each word was agonizing to get out.

“I just told you we can’t do this. Why are you smiling?”

“I know you don’t mean it.” He shrugged his shoulders, still refusing to let her go. Like the truth was as simple as that, and he had the gift of knowing. Fighting this was tiring; the moment their lips met, every carefully hidden thought, every feeling she locked away flooded out with an overwhelming strength, knocking down each and every one of her defenses.

“How come?”

“You haven’t pushed me away. And you did kiss me, just so you remember it.” Zoya’s lips curled a little before she could stop herself, rolling her eyes. Bold as only Nikolai could be in a moment like this. “Someone told me you were going to find a way to surprise me” He mumbled under his breath, lost in thoughts for a second.

“Besides”, he added. “I’m not in a rush. I’ll convince you eventually. You know my charm has no limits.”

She huffed, but didn’t find it in herself to step out of his grip. She was still falling, and he was the one to catch her. Zoya let her hands rest on his chest: she could feel his heart pounding like it was about to take flight, echoing in her mind and sending waves of soothing calm over her. His certainty was endearing.

“You’re insufferable.”

Nikolai looked perfectly at ease, beaming with confidence. He let out an amused chuckle and placed a soft kiss on her hair.

“Don’t run from me.” He turned serious, placing both his hands on the sides of her jaw, keeping their eyes locked together. “I need you with me to face all of this. We’ll find a way; I know we can. We’ll figure everything out together. And we can do this right.”

General Nazyalensky knew better than to trust fragile promises of peace. And yet the hopeful girl she’d been held onto this one like it was a long awaited shore in a storm-swept ocean. She could regret this tomorrow: for tonight, maybe she wanted to be that girl. And against every belief she had, she really did trust him like no one ever before. She found herself nodding lightly, slightly amused by his hint at doing things right. Nikolai and his idiotic sense of honour. The dragon inside her had spread his wings, roaring his power. Bolts of desire were still shooting through her, leaving her brain a mess, and she could see the feeling mirrored in Nikolai’s eyes. She didn’t know that freeing her heart from the cage it was trapped in would taste so sweet and terrifying.

You are the dragon, Zoya. You will bide your time. And you will have it all.

She brought her hand on one of his, still wrapped around her neck, intertwining their fingers. Deep inside of her, the stone hit the bottom of the well: waiting there for her there was a quiet feeling of belonging, a home in which she could be safe. A place full of light in which she could rest. Someone to hold her. Someone who loved her. As the fall stopped, Zoya handed over the fight, easing herself in the embrace of the boy that tore down her walls and built her a fortress.

Tell him to stay. She didn’t know if it was Juris or her heart demanding it.

“Stay with me tonight.”

A breath-taking soft smile enlightened his features. Nikolai leaned towards her, whispering an oath in her ear, a secret to share in the midst of night.

"Always.”

He caught her lips and kissed her again, deeper, with more urgency, leaving whatever sense of self-restraint they were keeping to shatter in a million pieces as the silk of her kefta slided away from her shoulders, wrinkling through his darkened fingers, the demon and the witch.

And the world went on fire.

#zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #fan fiction #zoyalai #angst with a happy ending #i love them so much why #my writing #rule of wolves #king of scars

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

But Once a Year (1/5)

This is a trick.

It has to be. Something Pan planned, or some nonsense only possible in Neverland, because one second Emma’s sitting outside the Echo Caves and wondering how exactly things could possibly get worse, and then the world decides to take her up on the challenge. She’s not where she was. Or when she was, either.

And the future isn’t entirely what Emma expects it to be, but that might not be entirely horrible and Christmas with a husband and a family that quite clearly loves her is only kind of messing with her head. God bless us, every one.

————

Rating: T Word Count: 8.3K and just a lot more than originally planned AN: It’s me. Incapable of writing a multi-chapter until starting a new job, and having other prompts to fill, and I really will fill those other prompts, so prepare yourselves for an onslaught of Christmas fic. Of which this is only kind of that. It takes place at Christmas. But also involves time travel, and way more canon divergence than I’ve ever written, and kissing. Because of who I am as a person. Blame @klynn-stormz if you must. Or don’t, because she sent a very good prompt and is very nice and I hope she enjoys this mess of words.

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

————

She’s so goddamn hot. It’s absurd. And disgusting. But mostly absurd.

Sweat pools at the base of Emma’s spine, drips down the sides of her cheeks and falls from the edge of her jaw. Makes her skin crawl, the kind of heat that’s far too oppressive and she’s already having enough trouble breathing, so all of this seems like overkill. Which is Neverland’s schtick, she imagines.

Licking her lips doesn’t help. Moving is a lost cause before she’s even considered clamoring to her feet, and she’s genuinely not sure if she’d be able to unbend her knees anyway, crouched as she is in whatever foliage surrounds the mouth of the Echo Caves.

It smells.

The foliage — and Emma, she supposes. Most of her thoughts drift away from body odor rather quickly though, right back into that cave and she can’t figure out who made the cell Neal was in, but she also told Neal she wished he was actually dead while he was in that cell and she figures that makes her something of an asshole.

Feeling clenches in her chest, quite possibly the physical manifestation of her anxiety and growing fear and every single second that passes is another second they haven’t used to find Henry and—

“Ah, shit,” Emma hisses, not able to get her sword out of its makeshift scabbard in time. Maybe she shouldn’t keep it on her back.

Hook lifts his eyebrows.

“Are you alright, love?” “Shut up. What are you doing out here? It’s not your turn to watch.” Scoffing, he lets his tongue trace across the front of his teeth, which is only vaguely obscene, and Emma’s far too warm to deal with this. In both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. It’s ridiculous that he’s still wearing his jacket. “Aren’t you hot?” she asks, words tumbling out of her before she’s really considered them and she wishes that trend would stop.

Quickly. Immediately, even.

Not crying after her mother’s Echo Cave admission might be one of Emma’s great accomplishments to date.

“Should all of your statements sound so much like insults?” Hook quips, his tongue continuing to torment Emma. Staring at his tongue is becoming something of a very real issue for her.

Presumably because she’s now all too aware of what that tongue is capable of, and they’d been very good at kissing. Each other, specifically. Better than she thought, honestly. And she refuses to acknowledge how often she thought about it.

She still hasn’t been able to get her sword out of its scabbard entirely. “I’m going to take your rather pointed silence as confirmation of the insults,” Hook continues. Rocking forward, the edges of his jacket threaten to brush Emma’s bent legs and she honestly has no idea what she’ll do if that happens, so leaning back seems like a reasonable response and not one that’s going to make his eyes do that thing. Where they dim ever so slightly, teasing disappearing and evolving into understanding she both hates and wants on some sort of fundamental level and—

“I’m sorry.”

On the nonexistent list of things Emma doesn’t expect, that might be numbers one through seven. Maybe even up to eight.

“You don’t—” she shakes her head, hair sticking to her skin in the process, “Well, no that’s not actually true, because you probably shouldn’t have said anything about the making out—” “—I don’t believe I used that particular phrase.”

He actually has the gall to smirk when Emma glares at him, eyebrows twisted in the kind of unspoken challenge that regularly makes her stomach flip. Emma doesn’t have time for stomach flipping. She’s got to find her kid. Possibly get, like, twenty-four minutes of uninterrupted sleep. “Even so,” Hook adds, “it was…” There’s enough fabric on that monstrosity of a jacket that Emma can only imagine he’s got plenty of pocket options to stuff his hands into, but his thumb just finds his belt loop and the exhale he lets out is rife with emotion. The same kind she’s trying to avoid, in tandem with the stomach flipping. “Your father keeps glaring at me.”

Laughing is a patently absurd reaction to that.

Her father is dying, apparently. Or tethered to this island, and that’s not much better, but it absolutely does not surprise Emma that he’s falling directly back into overprotective and if she’s going to be the asshole she absolutely is, then she should also probably admit how nice it was

to be hugged with that kind of determination before.

That might not be the right word.

Whatever, it’s the thought that counts. She thinks she might be able to fall asleep if her dad were here.

“It’s not a big deal,” Emma lies, barely opening her mouth. Like even that can’t believe what she’s trying to claim. “Although I am sorry about my dad, I can—I mean I can say something if you want.” “No, no, that wasn’t what I was suggesting, at all. I’m sure the prince has better things to worry about than—” “You and me?”

Hook hums. Keeps his thumb where it is, and his eyebrows halfway up his forehead.

Her stomach noticeably sinks.

“Of course, not—no, I just…” Stammering Captain Hook catches Emma off guard, eyeing the toe of his boot as it digs a fairly impressive divot into the ground that is no doubt staining her jeans. And she’s about to do something, really she is. Say something almost positive, or reassuring, or maybe simply jump back to her feet, bent knees be damned, so she can grab the lapels of that nearly-offensive jacket and kiss the ever-loving daylights out of him. Again. But something snaps behind her, and every single inch of Kill—no, no, Hook, still Captain Hook.

That’s more unimportant syntax.

Because all of him tenses as immediately as Emma had been hoping for before, a soft noise on the wind that’s strong enough to ruffle those sweat-drenched strands of her hair. Her mouth goes dry, the laughter making her pulse sputter traitorously and Hook’s sword all but flies out of its scabbard.

“Emma, you need to move,” he says, calm as anything. It’s an act. She knows — can tell even when it appears the jungle is getting darker, and the stars above them are going out, but then again, she’s always been able to tell with him, and it’s very disappointing that her rather dramatic swallow doesn’t do anything to help the state of her mouth.

He used her name.

Eventually that will feel very important.

“What? Why, it’s—”

“Please, love,” Hook presses, “I need you to come with me. Right now. How long have you been out here?” Shrugging is harder than Emma expects it to be. As if the heat is actually a weight, pressing directly into her shoulders and rooting her exactly where she is. “We need to move, Swan. You shouldn’t be here.” “Well, that’s kind of rude.”

Widening his eyes makes it even more obvious how blue they are, and they are so ridiculously blue sometimes Emma wonders if she could simply drown in them. Sometimes that doesn’t seem like all that unappealing a prospect.

God, he was good at kissing.

“You told me to shut up earlier. Turnabout is fair play, darling.” “Running the gamut of nicknames, aren’t we? Is that a power move?” “Endearments, really. And no, it’s not. Disappointing that wasn’t clearer what with my intention to apologize and make sure you were alright.”

“Sounds suspiciously like playing knight in pirate armor.” “Can’t imagine armor would be very comfortable. Not much freedom of movement, you see.”

She laughs. Without thinking too much about the sound, mostly because the sound seems to bubble out of Emma and that’s not right. She doesn’t bubble. She stews, and sits and—

Something springs from the ground. Spring is generous, honestly. Cracks form under Emma’s splayed out fingers, tiny green vines that file up with a smell that make her vision swim and her senses fog, and she’s dimly aware of a hand on her shoulder. Tugging her forward, but Emma’s legs simply are not interested in functioning, and she’s so comfortable here. Standing seems even more unreasonable than before, especially when all of her inhales come with that scent. Reminding her of something she can’t quite understand, and it’s suspiciously similar to the tide coming in, and he’s still yelling.

And swinging his sword. Light gleams off the blade, probably because whatever is pushing out of the ground is also glowing, and Emma’s mind can’t really cope with glowing plants right now.

She squeezes her eyes closed. Burrows her face into the very solid chest she’s somehow level with, and Emma’s not entirely sure when that happened, but she also can’t bring herself to complain about it. Especially when it feels like his lips graze her temple. More than once.

“Swan, c’mon love we’ve got to go.”

Groaning, Emma’s head doesn’t ache. Nothing does, actually. She’s oddly comfortably and her internal-body temperature appears to be biologically accurate, but she’s admittedly not totally confident about her knowledge of that second thing, and whatever is underneath her left cheek is also quite obviously not the very solid, slightly uncovered chest of a pirate captain she’d like to make out with again.

Her stomach flies into her throat that time. So, there’s something to be said for a change of pace.

Emma blinks. Swallows. More than once. Licks her lips, to absolutely no avail — but she can’t be bothered with that when it’s clear her heart is doing its damndest to beat its way out of her chest, and she’s not in Neverland anymore.

For one thing, there’s a distinct lack of smells. Bad ones, at least. Wherever she is smells suspiciously liked baked goods and the forest, which makes sense as soon as Emma blinks open her eyes. There’s a rather large tree across from her.

Covered in garland and lights that blink back at her, ornaments hang from nearly every branch, and there are enough presents underneath that she briefly wonders which bank they had to rob to buy all of that. Snow flurries dance outside windows that are frosted over, and there are a lot of windows in this room.

Some of them look out towards an expansive backyard, while others make it clear just how close they are to the water, and Emma thinks she can almost smell the water, but that might be wishful thinking and—

“Holy shit,” she breathes, gaze finally landing on the voice in front of her and she knew the voice, even when she didn’t want to admit it. That’s something of a theme for her now. “What—what are you wearing?” Tilting his head in confusion, strands of hair threaten to fall into Hook’s eyes. The same blue as always, if not a little sharper because it’s obvious he doesn’t understand what’s going on, and Emma’s going to cling to that. So it feels like they’re on slightly more even footing.

“Clothes,” he drawls, and that's the same too. Emma can’t move. Is having quite a lot of trouble breathing, and clothes is a vast understatement.

Pants that are somehow tighter than any of the leather he’d previously sported make his legs look ridiculous, especially when there’s a noticeable lack of sword and Emma was kind of getting used to the sword. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, nothing covering the brace at the end of his arm, but she’s also admittedly preoccupied with the number of buttons he’s undone and the vest that’s hanging loosely from his shoulders, and this might actually be the first time she’s seen him without a jacket on.

Her stomach will probably just stay in her throat, then.

“You’ll do dangerous things to my ego, if you keep staring like that,” Hook warns, but any passably snarky response gets caught behind Emma’s increasingly problematic tongue and her brain still hasn’t caught up yet.

To the glint of light reflecting from his hand.

And one very specific finger.

Mouth dropping and breath practically flying out of her, Emma nearly steps on both of his feet when she jumps to hers, trying without much success to stay upright. Her hands fly towards him of their own accord, or so she will argue forever, and that can’t possibly be her first mistake.

Putting her goddamn scabbard on her back was, probably.

As it is, whatever number she’s at is suddenly the only number that matters, because her flat palms make it undeniably clear that she’s got her own bit of jewelry on her own specific finger, and Killian’s hand keeps moving. Up and down her spine, like that’s something it’s allowed to do. There is not enough oxygen in the world to sigh as loudly as she’d like to.

“Steady on, love,” Hook murmurs, and that about does it. Neck giving up and knees threatening to buckle underneath her, Emma’s fingers curl into this absolutely ridiculous shirt at the same time her forehead collides with his collarbone, and he doesn’t really flinch.

Tenses, slightly — although she figures that’s because of the worry she can practically fele radiating off him, and his hand stills. So as to ensure that his arm can also tighten around her middle, while his lips brush across her temple and the top of her hair.

Anywhere he can reach, it seems.

“Nightmare?” he asks, pulling her closer. They fit very well together, Emma realizes. Like pieces of a puzzle, and that’s admittedly sentimental, but she’s also ninety-six percent certain she’s still dreaming. That’s the only reasonable explanation.

She can’t be dead. Not from a plant attack in Neverland. And Kill—Hook, goddamnit, Hook, wouldn’t have let that happen. She’s sure of that, at least.

“Um, yeah, yeah,” she stammers. “I—sorry, I don’t think I meant to fall asleep.” “Nothing to apologize for. You’ve been baking for a small army the last couple of days, only serves that’d be exhausting.”

“Have I?” Leaning back, he narrows his eyes, and that’s fair. None of this makes sense. Rings, and trees, and baking. She’s never baked in her life. If she had, it wouldn’t smell nearly this good.

“Who, um—” Emma continues, eyes widening when the realization hits her. “Henry! Where’s Henry?” Running is not easy with the arm still around seemingly getting tighter by the second, but her fear has already evolved into the kind of maternal-based adrenaline they do scientific studies on. “Let go of me,” she sneers, and he does. Immediately. The sound of his hands hitting his jeans is far too loud. “Where’s my kid? Why isn’t he here?” The tongue thing.

Swiping across the front of Hook’s teeth, the tip of his tongue finds the corner of his mouth and the inside of his cheek, jutting out with questions and the almost audible cranking of metaphorical gears in his head. “It’s not Christmas yet,” Hook explains, voice oddly similar to a few minutes before, but Emma’s starting to realize that was not a few minutes before and she’s starting to feel a little nauseous.

“Yuh huh.” “Are you alright, love?” He says it soft enough that something flutters in the back of Emma’s brain, some long-forgotten hint of emotion that she refuses to acknowledge. She doesn’t have time for it. There’s baking to do, supposedly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m, uh—I’m fine,” Emma promises, only one side of Hook’s mouth tilting up. “Just...tired, I guess.” “Because of the nightmare.” “Say that again when it doesn’t sound quite so much like an accusation.” “No accusation,” he objects, but it rings as sincere as her promise and the light’s got to be messing with her now. Bouncing off his ring the way it is. “Haven’t had a nightmare in some time, but that’s neither here nor there.” “Wow, you suck at that.”

There goes the other side of his mouth. Emma might be staring at his mouth. “Occasionally,” Hook agrees. “What’d you dream about, then?” Lying is very appealing. Coming up with a story Emma knows he’ll only half believe, but she assumes she’s got plausible deniability too, and she can’t think of a single thing to say. That’s disappointing.

“I was in Neverland.”

If nothing else, staring at his mouth — and the rest of his admittedly attractive face — makes it easy to tell the moment Hook’s jaw clenches. Nerves color his gaze, almost as if he’s trying to remember something he’s already forgotten, but Emma appears to be the only one having some sort of existential crisis and the hint of grey at his temples suggests its been some time since Neverland. Figuring out how much time exactly, will probably be a bit of a challenge. “And?” “And what?” “And there’s plenty of terrors to warrant nightmares in Neverland,” Hook says, stepping out of Emma’s space. Also disappointing. “What exactly was it?” Shaking her head slowly, Emma’s hair doesn’t move. She’s not nearly as sweaty as she was either, the blanket at her feet proof positive of that, although her skin feels almost clammy and the magic in her veins has started to buzz. If Killian doesn’t stop moving his tongue in his mouth, she’s going to scream.

Ah, goddamn.

“I don’t know,” she says, not the lie she still wants it to be, “just some weird plant thing and you wanted me to come with you, but that was probably now, right?” There’s no way he’s comfortable with his neck at that angle. “Maybe. Do you still want to go?” “To, uh—” “—Doc called this morning, said the paint was ready to pick up.” “Paint,” Emma echoes, another confusing string of words that threatens to knock her back on the couch. It was a comfortable couch though, so maybe that’s not the worst thing that could happen to her. Neither is waking up in a reality where Hook wears jeans like that and stares at her like she’s his—she drops back. Onto the comfortable couch.

“Mmhm, the color we picked out last week? He claimed he had to order it, but your father claims he’s just nervous because he doesn’t want to offend me and—” “—Why would you get offended by a dwarf?” Dots of pink appear on his cheeks. The bits not covered with stubble, and there’s some grey in that as well. It works, honestly. “He mercilessly overcharges for her services,” Hook says, clearly not the first time this particular rant has been voiced, “and it’s because he’s the only hardware store in town. Which is why you wanted to go. Help small businesses and the economy of the realm, even when Regina claimed we could order it just as easily off Amazon. But that only led to your denouncement of Jeff Bezos, and I do love it when you openly flout capitalism, so—” He shrugs. Emma might be going into shock. “Here we are, with slightly delayed, if not well-mixed paint, enough baked goods to mask the smell, and your parents guarantee that there’s more than enough room for all of us on Christmas Eve.”

“We’re painting on Christmas Eve?” Concern continues to ripple around him, made all the more clear by the pinch between his eyebrows and how often he rocks forward before shaking his head. It’s four times. “No, we’re painting—well, whenever we have time really, but you did mention Friday evening, and that way Hope could stay at the farm. Naturally she’s thrilled at the prospect.” “Right, right, right, that’s....yeah, that’s right.” She’s so bad at lying. To Hook, specifically. Open book practically broadcasts itself from every twitch of his mouth, and Emma is still doing a God awful job of not staring at his mouth, but her head is spinning and she can’t understand any of this and she’s kind of curious about what paint color they picked.

And who Hope is.

She refuses to acknowledge the flicker of familiarity in the back corner of her brain.

She’s got to get out of here. Away from the couch, and whatever color the paint might be, back to Neverland, which is not something she ever thought she’d want, but they haven’t found Henry yet and who knows what Pan is planning next and— “Where’s Henry?” Emma whispers, far too aware of the desperation in those two words. Hook’s lips thin. When he presses them together. “I know he’s not going to be here until Christmas, but is—he’s ok, right?” “Swan, are you—” “—Just tell me where my kid is, Hook!” Those words fly out of her, voice rising on every letter until it feels as if they’re cutting their way out of Emma’s soul, leaving lacerations behind and the blood that’s appeared on the tip of her tongue makes her recoil. She fully expects him to take another step back, not sure when she stood up again, only that her knees are knocking together now, so naturally that’s not what happens at all.

Hook moves back into her space, made all the easier by the lack of weapons between them, hand finding her cheek as easily as it traced her spine, and Emma doesn’t want to lean into the touch, but he’s so ridiculously warm and she’s teetering on the edge of undeniable insanity, so she’s going to give herself this. For at least six seconds.

“Visiting Ella’s stepsister, so while he’s probably not having the best time, Lu’s always been a rather large fan of that particular realm, and Drizella is a bit of a pushover. I’d imagine the little lass is going gangbusters on the present front.”

Emma’s breathing out of her mouth.

That seems fair as well. Trying to piece together any of that information with the life she’s currently living is all but impossible, and it’s only a matter of time until her knees give up again. Honestly, not crying continues to be her greatest talent.

“Maybe I should just go to the store,” Hook says, “and let you try and get some more rest.”

Even the thought of being left here alone makes Emma’s magic boil in the pit of her stomach — wherever it might be sitting now, and she’s already shaking her head. “No, no, I want to make sure it’s the right color.” “Yuh huh.” “Sounding less than agreeable, Captain.” It’s a mean trick. One she knows will work, and it does. Hook’s eyes flash, and his brows jump, the hand that returned to her hip at some point tightening ever so slightly. “Tell me that you’re alright, and I’ll consider it.” “I’m fine.” “You’re a woefully bad liar is what you are, Your Highness.” Scrunching her nose, Emma tries very hard to temper the fluttering between her ribs. Magic mixes with nerves and flirting that’s not necessarily easier than it’s been, but certainly more fine-tuned. As if it’s a dance both of them are used to. “You can’t pull your sword on Doc, you know that, right?” “That hasn’t happened in years.” “Hook either, that might honestly be worse.” “He’s got a stranglehold on the hardware economy in this town. It’s not right. Gives him leave to charge an arm and a leg.” “If I tell you I’m fine again, will that distract you from your questionable obsession with hardware-based economies?” “Probably not,” Hook grins, more teasing and fluttering and his eyebrows jump again. As soon as Emma licks her lips.

“No challenging the dwarfs to a duel.” Saluting is only passably overwhelming, but that appears to be the way this is going, and Emma cannot come up with an appropriate adjective to describe whatever sound she makes. As soon as he kisses her cheek. Giggling is out of the realm of possibility. “Noted,” Hook says, “c’mon, the sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can pick up the little sea monster.”

At this point, Emma would almost welcome a battle with a sea monster. Get her blood flowing, provide an outlet for all her adrenaline and, she hopes at least, if she dies in this dream, she’ll wake up back in Neverland.

This has to be a dream.

So, it seems they live in a mansion.

Stepping outside, Emma’s breath catches loudly as she stares at the wraparound porch and there are somehow more windows than she’d originally noticed, and a turret-type thing involved that’s only vaguely absurd. Almost as much as the way people greet them on Main Street, familiar faces mixing in with strangers, all of whom nod and smile and some who even reach a hand out to Hook like he’s not a pirate or only recently returned to Storybrooke with the one thing they needed to get to Neverland, but Emma also supposes that was years ago, even if the math is still admittedly kind of messing with her.

That was never her strongest subject in school.

And there’s no sword strapped to his hip when the bell over the hardware store door rings, but Hook’s called “Doc” still sounds appropriately threatening, the scuffle of shoes and slightly panted breaths making Emma almost smile in spite of herself and her mathematical failings. “Captain,” Doc exhales, shuffling behind the counter that spans the far wall of the store. Tools and cans of paint line the shelves above his head, a name tag pinned to his shirt that seems unnecessary, but Emma’s nearly charmed by that as well and wholly unprepared for Doc to glance her way, adding—“Your Highness, it’s so nice to see you. I’ve got your order all ready, if you’d like to…”

Whatever else he says disappears in a haze of buzzing magic and malfunctioning joints, Emma’s fingers fluttering at her side while it sounds like Killian does his best to argue the price. For the paint. That they’re going to use. In their mansion.

She didn’t ask which room they were going to paint.

That felt like a flashing-neon sign, announcing how little she belongs in this place and Emma’s fairly certain Hook can tell, but that’s also another sign she’s not entirely ready to deal with at the moment and Doc flinches when the literal hook drops onto the counter.

Emma presses her lips together.

So as not to laugh. Like a person nearing their psychotic breaking point.

“But Captain,” Doc argues, “we did agree on that mark, and—” “—Aye, but that was before it took an extra three days to receive the color, and I think there should be some sort of fee reduction for that.” “There aren’t any fees, just—” “—The overall cost, then.”

Pain flutters at the back of her consciousness when her teeth continue to dig into her lips, but the feeling twits with amusement and that looming sense of insanity, and Hook hardly even moves when Emma does. So she can rest her hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe it’s not that big of a deal,” she ventures.

Hook gapes at her. “Traitor.” “Pirate,’ she counters. “But I think we can afford it. Y’know, just to help the—” “—Locals,” he finishes, “aye, it’s something I’ve heard several thousand times before, love. But it is the principle of the thing.” “The thing being what, exactly?” “Efficiency,” Hook replies, as cool as any vegetable Emma could come up with, and Doc’s eyes go comically wide behind his glasses. The whole thing is actually pretty impressive. Attractive, maybe. She doesn’t have time for that. She has to—

Get back home is not the right string of words at all. Home is some abstract concept that certainly does not exist in the reality Emma came from, and even less so in a place like Neverland, but she doesn’t belong here, with the jewelry and the house, and she can’t quite get over the way his face twisted. When she called him Hook.

“Naturally,” Emma mutters. “Can we just get the paint, Doc? Then we’ll be out of your hair.” Doc hums, but he doesn’t move and Emma can’t believe he doesn’t move. She’s given him an out. A reason to scamper back to wherever he’s keeping their paint, away from Hook’s appraising stare and the hand that’s already inching back towards hers, and he’s somehow even more tactile than usual.

It makes her mouth go dry again.

“Of course, Your Highness. If your husband could just agree to the terms of price, then—” Hook rolls his whole head, hair shifting in the process, and that’s minimally distracting when Emma’s heart constricts in her chest. Because she knew. Has eyes, after all. And the notable ability to stare. But there’s something about hearing the word that makes it all the more real, and Hook’s argument doesn’t have anything to do with relationship monikers.

She’s starting to have several assumptions as to who Hope is. One assumption, really.

Pulling her hand away from Hook’s is easier when he’s so preoccupied, twisting the ring around her finger and staring at the stone and it’s—well, it’s gorgeous, honestly. Exactly what Emma would imagine if she’d ever let herself imagine such a thing, and that’s got to be another sign or something at least in the realm of positive, and it turns out they’re painting the dining room. Blue, and that’s something of a cliche, but anything Emma has to say about that gets stuck halfway out of her undeniably chapped lips when Killian ushers her out of the store, a smile tugging at the ends of his mouth because— “Color reminds me a bit of that gown of yours.”

She’s atrocious at this. Schooling her features, or acting like every word out of his mouth isn’t a punch to her literal gut. It’s a miracle she hasn’t just keeled over. In the middle of goddamn Main Street, where the guy who is very clearly her husband has stopped them.

So as to stare at her incredulously.

“You’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” “Presumptuous.” “Not an answer, m’dear.” Maybe Emma will start keeping track of endearments. Just to give her mind something to latch onto. There appear to be more than she’s used to. “You wore a very blue gown to Elsa’s wedding, made some rather wonderful comments about how it matched my eyes that also made you blush rather severely, all of which I will admit to still thinking about with almost startling regularity.” She’s got no idea who the fuck Elsa is, or why they’d go to her wedding. Wearing a gown. And making sweepingly sentimental statements.

Her smile is weak at best. “Sorry, just—that paint smell got to me, I think.” “Sure it did,” Hook says, clearly not convinced, “maybe we should go see Regina.” “Why would we do that?” Leveling her with a slightly different expression, Hook’s tongue shifts behind his closed mouth. Emma juts her chin out. In misplaced defiance, and inherent stubbornness. She’ll find Regina later. When she’s not at least partially thinking about kissing this version of Kill—

Hook, Hook, Hook, Ho—she wonders how he proposed. If he proposed. Maybe she did, what does Emma know? Nothing, apparently. “Do you remember what those plants looked like?” “What?” Emma asks. “Maybe you’re the one who got messed up by paint fumes.” “Absolutely scathing, Swan. Answer the question, please.” There’s an undercurrent of command in his voice — like she’s a member of his crew, and she doesn’t know if he has a crew anymore, but Emma bristles at the thought of being part of it all the same and the muscles in her neck do not appreciate being angled like this. “I told you, it was just a dream.” “Aye, you did. And as you would so lovingly put it, that particular lie sucked quite a bit. So once more, what were you dreaming about and where were you in the dream?” Opening her mouth, Emma’s sarcastic and inevitably snark-filled response evaporates as soon as she hears the clack of heels on the sidewalk next to them and the woman walking towards them has shockingly red hair. And a kid clinging to her side. Who immediately tries to launch herself at Hook.

“Codfish heads,” the woman mumbles, Killian not able to hold back his chuckle or keep his arms at his side. The same ones that catch the kid and pull her close to his chest, peppering either one of her cheeks with kisses.

Emma seriously considers dying right there.

Dying will absolutely wake her up, she’s convinced.

“Articulate as always,” Hook grins. The woman sticks her tongue out. “What are you doing here? I thought—ah,” he grunts, a knee slamming into his side, “control the limbs Mel, or I’m going to drop you and then your mom will be even more angry than she is.” The dexterity of this woman’s face is astounding. As is the width of Hook’s smile. “I’m not angry,” she objects, “and I’m here because you didn’t answer your phone. There’s some kind of disaster happening at the realm line.” “What kind of disaster?” “Something to do with magic, and it looks like some of Lancelot’s knights are exploring the forest here, looking for some kind of something because you know they have to have a quest.” “David can’t do anything about that?” “Was more than willing to if you actually decided to acknowledge him today. Hence the frustration over your phone issues.” “An insult roll,” Killian laughs, the sound almost more surprising than anything else Emma’s encountered today. She’s heard him laugh before. Of course she has. But it’s usually cynical, or occasionally even a little evil, and this guy can’t be evil. Not standing there, acting as a human jungle gym to a kid, and a woman Emma’s mind has also started to make assumptions about. The hair was a pretty good clue. No, this isn’t the first time she’s heard him laugh, but it’s certainly her favorite and if she plays the sound on loop in her head for at least several hours, then she hopes no one will ever be the wiser.

Emma hardly notices that she’s referred to him as Killian.

That’s probably for the best.

“And,” he adds, “we finally finished with Doc, so we can go relieve the prince of his duties, even though he offered. Multiple times.” Ariel, Emma assumes this is the goddam Little Mermaid, throws her head back. “Oh Gods, did you terrify him? Is that why you’re being like this? Y’know the paint was back ordered, that’s why it took so long.” “There was no terrifying involved, and if that was the case, he should have made it known. All I heard was that he didn’t have it in stock, and it was going to take a few more days and—”

He cuts himself off when Ariel waves an impatient hand in his face, turning towards Emma expectantly. “Did he terrify Doc?” Emma nods out of instinct, some dark and distant part of her wanting to be involved in this banter and this place, and this place isn’t real, so that’s a dangerous line of thinking, but she can’t seem to stop herself. In the same way Killian can’t seem to do anything except tug her against his side. And kiss the top of her hair.

He really likes to do that.

Especially impressive with the kid still hanging from him.

“She’s a bloody traitor,” he announces, “but one of the other dwarfs is bringing the paint home, and, like I said, we were on our way to pick up the sea monster, so David can deal with the knights. They only listen to one of their own, anyway.” “No honor amongst thieves, huh?” Ariel asks knowingly.

Killian scowls. It’s frustratingly adorable.

“Fine, fine,” she shakes her head, “I retract any annoyance about your refusal to turn the sound on your phone on, if only because you gave my arms a break, and your dining room will look very good in that color.” “It’s a good color.” The arm around her shoulders is the only thing that keeps Emma from melting into the pavement beneath her boots. She had at least six pairs of boots in their hallway closet. Also absurd. And she hears the lilt in Killian’s voice, even if Ariel doesn’t — the soft intensity that sounds eerily similar to the way he promised he understood what it felt to lose hope, how quickly he agreed to her plan, demands, after the kiss and she imagines they kiss quite a lot in this reality.

If her other assumptions are right.

Ariel stares at them for a beat longer, one that Emma worries will end in a longer conversation and inevitable discussion of the awkward way she’s standing, but then the mermaid with legs is pulling her kid back and quieting the riot that causes, and Killian’s arm stays exactly where it is. “Send some pictures when you paint the first wall, ok?”

Killian nods. Stiffer than it should be, but Emma’s only barely managing to stay conscious at this point, and she doesn’t object when he directs her past Granny’s and down a road she’s never noticed before.

His arm doesn’t move.

In the days that will follow, Emma will never be entirely sure how she manages it. Tears sting her eyes almost as soon as the screen door slams behind her, more than one voice drifting down the hall, and there are pictures everywhere. Her own face smiles back at her from multiple times, eyes jumping from frame to frame and back again, a life that isn’t hers playing out despite her own misgivings, and if she’d thought the overall width of Killian’s smile was something ten minutes earlier, it’s got nothing on the several here.

Wearing a tuxedo that does something unfamiliar to her heart, and gazing back from an ornate frame that also holds a grown-up face that’s still able to remind her of the boy she left in Neverland, and another with his arm around Emma’s shoulders again, exhaustion clear even from here, but there’s something cradled in her arms and a tiny hat that makes her whole soul ache and—

“Swan,” Hook breathes, and at least they’re back to that. In her head, where she's clearly going insane. “Emma love, I really need you to tell me what’s going on.”

That’s impossible. Not for any other reason than Emma’s vocal chords appear to have stopped working, and she never actually cries.

It’s a Christmas miracle.

Of the shittiest variety, because Hook’s hovering far too close to her and Emma wonders if he notices the magic coursing through her, or if this is just how he normally stands and none of it matters when two sets of feet sprint down the hallway.

Frames rattle in their wake, both of them shouting and jumping before Emma’s even remotely prepared. She can’t imagine she ever would be. Maybe in a different lifetime. This one, possibly.

Not hers.

Not as is.

And as it is, Hook ducks down before the blur rushing towards Emma’s shin can knock her over, hauling the giggling and smiling bundle over his shoulder. More kisses are dispensed, laughter ringing out around them and only slightly muted by the mess of dark curls that threatens to cover Hook’s face.

He tries to blow it away, several times.

“Emma,” another voice says, tugging at the end of her jacket and it’s a little overwhelming to see her father’s eyes staring up at her. From a kid. Who isn’t very old, but feels like a memory she can’t place, and if her mind doesn’t stop piecing things together Emma is going to scream.

She doesn’t want to know.

Absolutely cannot cope, honestly.

“Emma,” he repeats, “if you and Killian are going to stay here for Christmas, can we make snowmen again? Because Henry said we could and Aunt Gina said she’d magic them so they wouldn’t melt and you’re way better at rolling than Mom is.” Someone huffs, Mary Margaret’s arms crossing over her chest and there’s an apron tied around her waist. Just to drive the domestic point home. “I resent that, and Dad is totally going to be better at rolling snowballs this year. He’s promised we’re going to win.” Emma’s mouth drops. In confusion, and several other adjectives. All of which Hook quite clearly recognizes, and that’s messing with her too.

Reading her as well as he does should leave her feeling off-kilter. Reeling, even. It doesn’t. It’s like some sort of metaphorical anchor, and Emma finds herself constantly glancing over her shoulder, hoping for that one specific tilt of his lips and— “Let’s wait to go over rules until Henry gets here, alright mate? Don’t want to get into specifics when he’s going to have his own demands.”

Opening his mouth, the kid’s argument disappears once Mary Margaret makes another noise, adding a soft “Neal,” and only one of Emma’s knees bends. That’s lame. Very un-Savior like.

And she doesn’t know how Killian manages it, either. She also does not care. Leaning into the hand that’s suddenly cemented to her back, Emma nods like someone has asked her a question, and there are more footsteps and smiles and she bites her tongue. David doesn’t disappear. He’s here. In this place he shouldn’t be, some sort of farm that had an almost kitschy mat outside that screen door and chickens lingering along the side of the front yard, and Killian’s voice is in her ear. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” “I’ll kick you,” Emma warns.

“I’d drop the sea monster that way.” She’s just about to ask the wholly unnecessary question of who the fuck is the sea monster when the beast in question tries very hard to stand on Hook's shoulders. All limbs and hair in desperate need of a cut, both Mary Margaret and David look overjoyed by her mere presence, warmth blooming of its own volition in Emma’s chest. “Mama,” she yells, resting her chin on top of Killian’s head, “are you going to magic the snowmen too?”

More than one pair of eyes flash towards Emma, suddenly frozen with a maelstrom of fear and words echoing between her ears and she’s got to talk. She can’t talk. Her tongue is growing in her mouth, no doubt a byproduct of that now occurring insanity, and her own eyes keep moving. Tracing over the lines of her daughter’s face, and the questionably cute clothes she’s wearing and her eyes are almost alarmingly blue.

Tears fall on Emma’s cheeks.

“Emma,” David mutters, but she barely hears him. Reaching out a hand that’s shaking much more than she’d like, her fingers graze Hope’s cheek and the skin there is soft and warm and obviously loved, like that’s something that’s possible. This new reality doesn’t have any rules, though. So maybe that works here.

She must nod. Emma’s hair moves, so that’s got to mean something and she’s clinging to every victory she can get at this point. “I’ll try,” Emma says, not quite the promise she'd like it to be. Hook's fingers twist under the hem of her shirt, grazing across her actual spine and it’s disappointing when she tenses.

Noticeably.

David’s eyes turn appraising — but he doesn’t immediately look at Mary Margaret like Emma expects. He glances at Hook, a quick jerk of his shoulders that she only notices when they bump hers. “Did you hear about the knights, then?” “Ariel accosted us on our way here. What do they want, exactly?” “As far as I can tell, they’re just scouting, but who knows with those Camelot idiots.” Mary Margaret scoffs. David might actually blush. “I’m going to go out and talk to them now, and Snow sent a bird.” The hand at Emma’s back flattens. So as to keep her upright.

“Lance usually responds quickly,” Mary Margaret says, “but you know the cross-realm travel, it’s always hit or miss. Especially with the weather. Hopefully we’ll know what they’re doing sooner rather than later.” Humming in what sounds like agreement, Hook shifts Hope and keeps Emma pulled against his side. His eyes dart back towards David, an unspoken conversation Emma doesn’t entirely want to hear. When it’s obviously about her.

And her father doesn’t respond either, just crosses the space between them and kisses her cheek. “Everything’s going to be ok, kid.”

“Yuh huh,” she mumbles, but it sounds like a lie and Hope falls asleep with her head on Hook's shoulder while they walk home.

It takes her about three seconds to realize she used that word as well.

And then another fifteen to totally freak out about it.

As silently as possible.

To his credit, he doesn’t press the issue. He stares, without much subtlety — but Hook never comes out and accuses Emma of anything, or questions how little she knows about this life they’ve got, and she’s not entirely surprised when he doesn’t ask when she’s coming to bed. He just takes a deep breath, and kisses the top of her hair again, which is somewhere like the ninth time that’s happened, walking up the stairs and presumably waiting for Emma.

In their bed.

They share. Together. As people. Married people, with a very cute kid and Henry’s in some other version of the Enchanted Forest with his wife, which is only marginally screwing with Emma. That’s positive, she thinks. Marginally is better than totally.

But it’s also not her life, and around twelve forty-seven she starts to wonder if she’s fucked with the Emma that’s supposed to be here by waking up on that couch, and she can’t get over how comfortable that couch was, and she starts walking.

Aimlessly, really.

Down halls and from room to room, opening doors that regularly make breathing a legitimate challenge. Henry’s old room clearly hasn’t been changed, and Hope’s hair covers her entire pillow, much like Emma’s regularly does, and they’ve got an actual sitting room and family room, a nautical theme that feels a little to on the nose, but is also somehow perfect and she knows he’s there before he says anything.

“You’re lurking,” Emma accuses, jumping onto the edge of the kitchen counter now that she’s finished her patrol.

“And you’re admittedly freaking me out just a bit.” Her laugh does that bubble thing again, something that Killian could probably claim ownership over if he wanted. She knows he won’t, though. Not this version. Not this guy, staring at her like he’s torn between terrified and terrorizing, like he’d challenge the timeline to a duel if needs be.

“Where’s your sword?” “In the basement. Where it’s been for years.” “You don’t use your sword much?” Taking a step forward, the floor creaks under his sock-covered feet and the realization that he must have put socks back on at some point does what Emma can only imagine is irreparable damage to more than half a dozen internal organs. “Asking that adds to my growing pile of suspicions and worries.” “The freaked out ones?” “Aye,” he nods, hand and hook resting on her hips. Maybe there are magnets there. Maybe he’s just hardwired to touch her. Emma fists her hands. “Why are you surprised by that?” “If I ask you a question will you totally freak out more?” That time he shakes his head. Hair shifts in the process, and there have to be magnets involved. That’s the only reasonable explanation for how quickly Emma’s fingers find the strands, brushing them away and relishing the exact way Killian’s eyes flutter shut and—damn, she did it again. His hand tightens.

Like he’s nervous she’s going to disappear otherwise.

“Question for a question is breaking conversational rules,” he starts, “But—” “—You’re a pirate?” “Something that’s been well-documented. What do you want to know?” Everything seems unacceptably vast, and Emma’s not sure which question to pick when they’re all weighing down on her still too-large tongue, but Killian’s eyes don’t pull away from her and he turns his head into her palm. The one cupping his cheek.

She’s an absolute disaster. Which is, she’ll argue the exact reason, she asks: “Are you in love with me?” He doesn’t laugh. More credit to him, although this credit comes with an asterisk for the exact way his expression shatters. In slow motion. For maxim effect. Muscles in his throat shift when he swallows, the tip of his tongue darting between barely-parted lips, and his next inhale has a distinct shuddering quality to it.

“More than I knew I could be,” he whispers. “You want to tell me the truth now?” “About?

Bending his neck, Killian’s exhale brushes Emma’s cheek and for one absolutely insane moment, that would make sense if they were actually married, she thinks he’s going to kiss her. He doesn’t. Figures. Lips graze the edge of hers, sending shockwaves that ripple up her spine and threaten to make magic explode from the tips of her fingers and she has to close her eyes. At the force of his voice, steady despite the emotion behind it.

“Who are you, really?” The shockwaves disappear. Turn into fear, and something ice-cold and Emma has to blink.

“What?” He clicks his tongue. More than once, in obvious reproach, and she wonders if she’ll have to walk to the plank at some point, the tip of his hook threatening to dig into her skin. “I’ll ask you once more, darling. It’s very good magic, whatever you’re doing. I can feel it, but—” “—You can feel my magic?” “Stop talking,” he sneers, and the symmetry of it all feels like a slap. Several times over. “Now either you tell me the truth, or I’ll have to do something drastic. Who are you, and what have you done with my wife?”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #but once a year #festive fic a thon 2k20 #i really will fill those other prompts now i promise #sorry i'm such a constant and consistent flake internet #also! this is apparently the 40th captain swan work of mine on ao3 #which is slightly skewed since there are so many collections but still #that's a heck of a lotta words #thanks for reading em

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hb-writes · 4 years

Text

Name Your Price

Written in response to Hauntober prompt #4: Candy Apples.

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder universe! Shelby sister negotiates to go to the fair with Isiah and Finn.

Characters Featured: John Shelby, Esme Shelby, Finn Shelby, Clara Shelby (Shelby!Sister), Isiah Jesus is sitting outside in the car.

-----

“The kids are asleep,” Clara told her brother as she came down the stairs.

John was relaxing on the couch, watching the fire, and he nodded, glancing to his sister for just a moment before returning his gaze to the flame. It was early for his kids to be asleep, especially the older ones, but Clara had a special way with them, always had. She possessed some mysterious bargaining chip that came along with being close in age to them. John had never really questioned it, and at the prospect of a quiet night, he wouldn’t question it now either.

“So, since the kids are in bed, I thought, maybe, it might be nice for you and Esme to have an evening to yourselves...?”

John turned and took a longer look at her. She’d let her hair down, pulled on her coat. “Where are you off to?”

“Just going out,” Clara answered as she stepped in front of the decorative mirror in the front hall and began applying her lipstick, her back to him. “I won’t be out too late.”

“I thought you came by to spend some time with me but here you are all dolled up like you’ve got a date.”

Clara rolled her eyes as she stuck the lipstick tube in her bag.

“We’re just going to the fair,” she answered as she took one last look at her face and turned to him.

“Who’s we?”

“Finn and Siah. And I’m sure some of Esme’s family wil--”

“And you need to wear red lipstick for them?” John asked.

“The lipstick’s not for them, John. It’s ‘cause I like it.”

John scoffed. “Well, where’d you get something like that anyway?”

“Ada sent it.”

“Of course, a gift from our bloody Americanized sister.”

“Oi! Will you leave your sister be?” Esme stepped in the room, hands on her hips as she looked at her husband. “She bathed and put your rowdy kids to bed, so you’d best be nothing but grateful to her.”

“Esme, I’m supposed to be grateful that she uses us to skirt Tommy’s rules? She’ll get all our asses kicked.”

“Yeah, by who?” Esme asked as she joined them to sit.

“Tom, for one, and Aunt Pol,” he answered.

“You’re really still scared of them, John?” Clara asked.

“Hey, you shut it!” John answered. “You are, too, or you would’ve just left from Tom’s.”

“Yeah, well, I likely wouldn’t have made it through his front door, now, would I?”

“I haven’t decided yet if you’ll be making it through mine,” he answered.

Clara groaned, collapsing on the couch beside her brother and taking a moment to compose herself before wrapping her arm around one of his.

“Please, John?” she asked. “I’ll be in your debt.”

John peeled his arm out of her grasp, settling it on the back of the couch. “You’re already in my fucking debt. Using me and Es like this every other week. Why didn’t you just ask him to go? Unless there’s a reason he’d have said no?”

“This was just easier. Your house is closer. And I don’t use you. I come for supper, spend some time with the kids,” she offered.

John crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, and you go out on the town for dessert.”

Clara grabbed his arm again. “Alright, how about this? I’ll watch the kids next weekend so you and Es can go out. Or whatever you want. Just let me go to the fair and don’t tell our brother I went and you can name your price.”

John didn’t get to answer as they all drowned in the incessant honking coming from the front of the house.

“If those boys wake the kids, I’ll kill the lot of you,” Esme warned, her glare on the door as Finn came through.

"What’s the hold up?” he asked. “We’re late.”

“John’s decided on being difficult,” Clara answered.

“Imagine being married to him,” Esme said from across the room.

“Oi, what have you got to be unhappy about? You’ve got your land and your precious fucking chickens.”

“Yeah, and I’ve got you making trouble for your sister just for the sake of it. Just let them--”

He cut her off. “If there’s anyone causing trouble, it’s those three. Been up to nothing but mischief since they were kids, always trying to bring me into it.”

“We’re just going to the bloody fair, John!” Clara dropped his arm and leaned back into the couch. “It’s not like we’re robbing a bank.”

“And it’s not like you never caused a bit of mischief,” Finn said.

“See, Esme, they admit--”

“Oh, christ!” Clara folded her arms over her chest. “Nice fucking job, Finn.”

“What?” Finn asked. “It’s true. They all did worse than we’ve ever done. We’d never get away with half of what they did.”

“As it should be,” John said to Finn before turning to his sister. “And you’re a lady, we hold you to a different standard.”

Clara rolled her eyes.

“Right, because girls are supposed to do as they’re told while boys get to do as they please?” Esme said.

“That’s not what I meant,” John answered.

“It is what you meant, you just don’t like how I’ve said it,” Esme offered. “But if one of them can go, they both should be allowed... or not allowed, if that’s where you’re leaning.”

Esme picked up her drink, taking an innocuous sip and both twins glared at her.

John met his wife’s eye. “Enough, Esme.”

“The only person who decides when I’ve said enough is me, John Shelby.”

The two stared at each other across the room and Clara met Finn’s eye over John’s head, a silent discourse over who would do the interrupting passing between them.

Finn drew the metaphoric short straw and finally cleared his throat. “So, uh, are you letting her come or...?”

John’s eyes remained locked on his wife and Finn’s words dissolved into silence.

Clara raised an eyebrow at Finn’s attempt before refocusing on John, scooting closer to him on the couch. “I’ll uh… I could bring you back an apple,” Clara offered.

John turned his head and met her eye, the corner of his mouth turning up in a half smile.

“Might as well bring enough for the lot of them, don’t want to be listening to their hollering for going without,” John answered as he reached into his pocket, seeking out a few bank notes. “And one for your sister-in-law, though I’m sure it won’t keep her from hollering at me.”

“Not being a sexist idiot would keep me from hollering at you,” Esme answered as she left the room, the door slamming after her exit.

“Right,” Clara said, cringing as she turned back to John. “So, eight candy apples? That’s your price?”

John rubbed his chin before pulling another note from his pocket. “Ehhh, better make it nine.”

“Nine?” Finn asked. “What for?”

“Did you not see how angry she is, mate? I don’t think one apple will do it.”

“Maybe try not being a sexist idiot, like she said,” Clara answered as she tucked the money away in her purse.

“Oi! Finn, take her out before I change my mind.”

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder stories here.

#Hauntober #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #john shelby #esme shelby #finn shelby #clara shelby #isiah jesus #shelby!sister #little lady blinder #not spooky

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pricemarshfield · 3 years

Text

captain

Written for Day 7 of @acocweek; Romance + Saccharina. Read on AO3 here.

"I'll be sending Annabelle Cheddar as my diplomat for the discussion of how Candia's new borders affects the Dairy Islands," says Primsy Coldbottle in her letter. It's not a big deal, thankfully. The Dairy Islands hadn't really lost any land, or even much sea, after Liam's Wish. It mostly dug into Fructera, into Ceresia, even into the edges of Vegetania. Considerate, to leave the Meatlands and the Islands out of it.

But magic's always been a good thing, so Saccharina's not surprised.

"Cool that I get to see Annabelle again," says Ruby. "Did I ever tell you Jet had a crush on her? I mean, I'm pretty sure anyway."

"No," says Saccharina. "This is the Annabelle Cheddar who rejected her throne because she didn't want to get married, right?"

"Yeah! Don't talk to her about it, though. Jet brought it up during the tourney and Annabelle asked her not to again." Ruby's face twists a little, like it always does if they talk about Jet, and adds, "Guess she won't."

"Well," Saccharina says. "Thank you for telling me. You said Jet liked her?"

"She just really wanted to impress her," says Ruby. "I mean, I did, too, but Jet fully gave her Emperor Uvano's boon and told her she wouldn't marry anyone in front of everybody."

Saccharina laughs. As always, Jet sounds like someone she would've loved to meet, to know as a sister. It doesn't hurt in the same way everyone who knew her hurts, Saccharina knows that, more a dull ache than a stabbing pain, but it's still...rough, sometimes. "So. Anything else I need to avoid for Annabelle?"

"I'll be honest," Ruby says. "I don't think you can do worse than we all did already. Theo insulted her honor pretty badly. Liam propositioned her using his parents."

Saccharina snorts. "Sounds like him."

"He's a weird guy," says Ruby fondly. "But I think that's everything. Just don't be--you know. 'Candian'." She says that with exaggerated air quotes. "Apparently pissing contests aren't a literal thing in other places in Calorum."

"I know!" says Saccharina. "I grew up in the Dairy Islands, remember?" She can't quite make eye contact with Ruby when she says it, and it comes out a little higher-pitched than she meant it to, but Ruby doesn't push, and they get through it with neither of them crying or pulling weapons.

"There is one thing," Ruby says. "Um."

"Did she know about--Amethar and Caramelinda's wedding?" Saccharina asks. It's still a point of contention, even though it ended up not mattering too much, with Amethar as Emperor.

"No," Ruby adds, and Sacchrina breaths out a sigh of relief. "But she was as upset about Port Syrup as I was."

"I didn't--"

"I know," Ruby says. "And Cinnamon's different now, and you weren't there. But she probably doesn't know that."

"Great!" Saccharina says. "I've got a lot of experience with people I admired and wanted to meet hating me. It'll be fine."

"That's--wait, you admired Annabelle?" Ruby asks, skipping over the part Saccharina already regrets saying. "Why?"

"She didn't want to do what they wanted her to do!" Saccharina says brightly. "I heard about it when I was still captain on my first ship. Plus, her navy never bothered me."

"That's because you mostly raided Candia," Ruby points out, and Saccharina shrugs.

"I wish she'd have been queen instead," Saccharina says with a little sigh. Ruby narrows her eyes. "I love Primsy, but it would have been fun to have another ruler around my age, you know?"

"Not really," Ruby says, voice gone conspiratorial for some reason. "Why?"

"Just would be," Saccharina says. "Why's your face doing that?"

"Doing what?" Ruby asks, failing to hide her smile. "I'm just thinking about how much you're like Jet."

"Thanks?" Saccharina says, knowing that to Ruby, that's the highest of compliments. But it doesn't really fit the conversa--wait.

"I do not have a crush on Annabelle Cheddar."

"Are you sure?" Ruby says, and dodges when Saccharina sends a handful of harmless sparks her way. "I mean, you just seem like you'd like to have an excuse to see her. It's not like Liam's the only one of us who can have a political marriage."

"Liam liked Primsy and you know that," Saccharina says grumpily. "Also, I'm the Queen and I have a dragon. I don't need to marry for political reasons. And I wouldn't anyway! And neither would Annabelle, that's why I even heard of her!"

"Sure, sure," says Ruby. "Don't worry. I get it."

"I don't think you do!" Saccharina says, and even though she's annoyed, there's a little rush of warmth at the banter, at getting to be teased for something so simple. Especially since it's completely ridiculous.

---

Annabelle Cheddar is tall and handsome and Saccharina maybe gets where Jet was coming from, is the thing.

"Your Majesty," she says. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You as well," says Saccharina. "I've heard of your accomplishments from my sister. Thank you for helping my family after--well. After."

"Of course," Annabelle says with a little nod. "It was the right thing to do."

Saccharina's not sure if Annabelle means right morally or politically, but either way, she'll take it. "Still. Candia appreciates their allies in the Dairy Islands."

"Hopefully for these taxes," Annabelle says with a small grimace. "I have to say, this political stuff isn't exactly my forte."

"Aren't you a sailor?" Saccharina asks, lounging in the comfiest chair she's found so far in Castle Candy. Annabelle sits across from her, sword at her side, casual in a way Saccharina still can't quite manage, even with family around her.

"I was," Annabelle says, and there's open grief in the way her head ducks. "My ship, the Colby, sank after House Bleu attacked us to try and kill Primsy. I'm very glad your sisters were there to help us; we wouldn't have been able to save her or ourselves without them."

"I'm glad," Saccharina says, because she'd never have gotten this far without the support of the Dairy Islands, and also because it's very, very cool to see the woman sitting across from her.

"What about you?" Annabelle says. "Captain of the Frosted Fleet's in one of your titles, isn't it?"

Saccharina nods. "I haven't been on the Dairy Sea in so long, but I met most of my people when I was still--"

"Pirating?" Annabelle says, and Saccharina nods with only a little embarrassment. She's past being ashamed of what she needed to do to survive, but it's a little harder to connect to it from a castle rather than a cave. "Well, thanks for not attacking the Islands as much as you could."

Saccharina had drowned an island and doesn't regret it to this day, but she hadn't wanted to attack anyone other than the nuns. Some small and stupid part of her had hoped that her mom was alive, would come back to her if she held back the worst parts of herself.

"My issues were always with Candia," Saccharina lies, and Annabelle laughs.

---

The border issues are easy; they both still pay the same amount to the Concord, because the Dairy Islands lost almost nothing to Candia's borders changing, and none of the other nations are willing to muscle in on the oldest and strongest alliance between any two nations of Calorum.

But Annabelle doesn't just leave. When Saccharina works up the courage to ask her about it, hoping it won't come across as asking her to leave or, worse, hoping she'll stay, Annabelle just says, "I don't have much else to do. Primsy's been enjoying ruling and she's more than safe with the spirits of the wide sea protecting her. Thanks for that, by the way!"

"I think that one's Liam's fault, actually," Saccharina says. "I helped wake a few of the Meatlanders beast spirits, but Liam's wish spread magic as well as sugar."

"Sweet of him," Annabelle says wryly. "If he hurts Primsy, you know we'll go to war for it, right?"

"If he hurts Primsy, I'll be on your side," Saccharina says, and Annabelle claps a hand on her shoulder. Saccharina's face is so warm, what the hell, she normally runs almost freezing.

"Good woman," Annabelle says, and Saccharina turns her head just long enough to see Ruby make another face at her. "What's that about?"

"Just sister things!" Saccharina says quickly. Too quickly? She doesn't want to embarrass herself in front of a new friend(?), even if it's just because Ruby has a ridiculous guess about something that isn't even a real thing, anyway, so it isn't a big deal.

"I wouldn't know about that," Annabelle says, voice heavy with regret.

"We've never talked about--you know," Saccharina says.

"Just with leaving it at that, you've had more tact than the rest of your family put together, your Majesty," Annabelle says. "I'd rather not discuss the great shame of my life in a room with other people."

"Great shame?" Saccharina asks, disbelieving, before shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry."

"Forgiven," Annabelle says, a smile at the corner of her mouth. Saccharina keeps her eyes on it for a little long; she has a nice smile, that's all. "I might retire for the night; Candian celebrations are a bit much for me. Good night, your Majesty."

Then Annabelle does the wildest thing; takes Saccharina's hand, gently kisses the back of it, and leaves while Saccharina stares into nothing about it.

"So," Ruby says, and Saccharina does not hit her with the Winterscoop, because she is a good and forgiving person. "How's that not-having-a-crush-on-Annabelle going?"

"I--don't," Saccharina says, but this time it comes out weird and stilted. "I mean, anyone would be flustered by Annabelle Cheddar kissing their hand."

"No," Ruby says, then pauses. "Well, yeah, but it's not just that. You spend so much time with her, and she doesn't even have a reason to be here anymore!"

"She's just bored," Saccharina says. "She's not in charge of running the Dairy Islands, she's basically just on vacation."

"Saccharina," Ruby says. "I say this as your sister, who l--I say this as your sister."

"I'm going to be distracted by that until you finish the thought."

"I don't think I can right now and if you push it I will tell Annabelle that you stared off into space for a solid minute after that," Ruby says, and Saccharina should've let Cinnamon eat her, probably. "But listen. I really think you should just tell Annabelle you like her."

"I don't even like her," Saccharina says. "Also, even if I did, hypothetically, she's pretty vocally not interested in romance. Besides, I'm busy with Candia. And I still have to try and bring back magic in other countries, too."

"Wow," Ruby says. "Do you have any other excuses, or do you think you're all done?"

Saccharina crosses her arms and tries to glare at her sister, but it's hard to stay annoyed when the person you're mad at keeps giggling.

"Trust me, okay?" Ruby says. "Tell her."

---

Saccharina does not tell her anything. There isn't even anything to tell. It's not as though Saccharina's never had crushes before--when she met Gooey, she wanted to be just like her for the first few months until their relationship mellowed out into friendship and fierce loyalty.

This isn't that! It's just respect and admiration for someone who helped make sure that her family was safe, helped her win a war and take a throne, albeit indirectly.

It's just that she's getting used to having Annabelle around, even if she's not quite used to everything Annabelle does. Annabelle, who sits at her side every dinner after the hand kiss incident, who tells her stories about storms on the sea that make them sound like something new to Saccharina, who listens when Saccharina tells her about what magic feels like.

"I wish you had it," Saccharina admits, hopes Annabelle doesn't hate her for it. "I know magic is--I know not a lot of people in the Dairy Islands trust it. But it's something beautiful."

"I won't pretend I didn't have my suspicions," Annabelle says. "Especially after Port Syrup."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about Cinnamon," Saccharina interrupts. "He ate from Liam's weird tree so now he's not connected to the Hungry One anymore."

"...right," Annabelle says. "I don't think I'll ever get used to you Candians, actually. Sometimes you open your mouth and the most wild assortment of words I've ever heard comes out and you act like it's totally normal."

"It is normal," Saccharina says. "That's--it's hard to say, but magic is normal. It was just buried. I'm trying to unbury it. Everyone should have it, not just Candians."

"You sure?" Annabelle asks. "Because you know the other countries might come after us if they have magic enough to make a real go of it."

The thing she should focus on in that sentence is not us, but Saccharina's heart flutters a little at it anyway.

There might be something to Ruby's theory.

---

"You're leaving?" Saccharina asks, feeling, irrationally, betrayed. Annabelle had never promised to stay by her side, all but admitted she was only waiting for something better to come along so she didn't have to stay with the wild Candians. But it hurts anyway, knowing someone else is leaving Saccharina.

It doesn't help that Ruby's found that flyer for the Swirler Sisters, either. She loves Cinnamon and he loves her but it's not the same without people around.

"Primsy's built me another ship," Annabelle says. "It's not--nothing will replace the Colby, but my crew's itching to get back to sea, and I am, too. You've been incredibly welcoming, Your Majesty, and this is not at all about your hospitality."

"Good," Saccharina says, because she does still take pride in their guest rooms. "I--it was good to get to know you. I'll miss you."

"You've got those white chocolate ravens, yeah?" Annabelle asks, standing a little straighter.

"I--yes," Saccharina says, confused by the non-sequiter.

"Can they carry letters?"

"I don't see why not," Saccharina says.

"Good," Annabelle says, and tilts up Saccharina's face so that she's looking right into Annabelle's eyes. "Now I hope I'm not misreading things."

"Um," Saccharina says, heart beating so fast she can feel it in her ears.

"And I still don't plan to marry, even if it is to a woman as impressive as you," Annabelle continues, and Saccharina feels lightning spark in her fingertips. "Bulb above, Candians."

"I'd love to send you letters," Saccharina says, brain finally catching up, and Annabelle grins. "Are you going to kiss me or am I just going crazy?"

"Well, crazy is part and parcel of your family, your Majesty," Annabelle says, and kisses Saccharina's frown away.

---

"You owe me thirty gold pieces," Ruby tells Swifty, staring at this from the ramparts. Saccharina really needs to learn to have private conversations in places where there aren't any hiding places for her.

"I could just push you off," he says, gesturing with his knife to emphasize it, but throws some gold at her, so Ruby doesn't think he's actually that upset.

#cheddar sundae #saccharina frostwhip #annabelle cheddar #acocweek #a crown of candy #my fics

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