#but the movement from 'not' to 'god' that hinges on that question of 'why?' which is also an answer—

[clownculler]

hey, you guys know anything about Lancer?

I like mechs. I have been incredibly autistic about mechs at multiple points in my life. and through the ancient, well guarded, and infallible technique know as the "vibe check", I have determined that each and every Homestuck character is the appropriate type of autistic to also obsess over mechs. No, seriously, I want you to tell me you cannot picture them all grease monkeying about in a mech bay.

"but Io", you might say, "@vexwerewolf is already writing that shit."

to which I say, "yeah, duh, go check it out." but also, watch me tell you what mechs all the kids run, because to my knowledge they haven't done that, or at least haven't told anyone.

John/June: Our friend Egbert strikes me as someone who picked their mech based on what struck them at the time. That is to say, they pilot a Vlad and stumbled ass-backwards into the licenses to construct a terrifyingly effective melee-cqb build. Mostly IPSN with some bits and bobs from SSC and Harrison.

Rose: Mostly Metalmark and Mourning Cloak. She has, on multiple occasions, had to bite back frustration at having lied in the perfect sniper nest or ambush spot, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, only for John and Jade to steamroll the target while she's still out of range.

Dave: This one's a bit tricky. I figure Dave runs either a Raleigh, covering June's back in what is probably a pretty sick display, or a Nelson, running down anyone who tries to flee the Harleybert onslaught. I could also potentially see him forcing a Lich into a more combative role with core bonuses and mods, but that hinges on him getting mixed up with Horus in a way the other alpha kids aren't likely to (although I can totally see Bro pulling that kinda shit.)

Jade: The Monarch/Sherman/Barbarossa artillery platform run by Jade Harley is the stuff of legend, often talked of in excited tones from core worlds to the long rim. Imma be honest I'm not too clear on the build details. Hell, there's a chance she runs some Pegasus stuff too. Point is: she lays waste to the surrounding environs and often plays a role in breaking enemy formations.

Jane: Minotaur, oddly enough. She's been questioned on why she doesn't run a Lancaster and she replies that its lame as hell. She might be as close to objectively wrong as is possible in this assessment, but I respect her opinion. Roxy has a tendency to cackle like a madwoman when an enemy's movement gets fucked in this way.

Jake: Almost definitely a Raleigh but with the worst optimization you have ever seen. Imagine if John's strategy of "that looks cool" didn't have the safety net of narrative contrivance. This man has the most useless licenses he could get his hands on. He has no synergies, he has no combat loop. Okay that's not quite true; he actually is sitting on a god-tier build, but refuses to swap away from Raleigh.

Roxy: A couple possibilities. One is that she is a pure hacker, using Goblin and Minotaur to wreak havoc on the enemy positioning. Perhaps some Kobold if she feels like being more involved in the action. The other possibility is that she does what I do, and stacks a shit ton of nanocomposite mods on a Pegasus platform.

Dirk: Oh you already know. Get your MGRR memes and textmashes ready because this motherfucker is running Atlas. Also flicker field projector, because what else could a flash-step possibly be. Same goes for Dave btw, I just forgot to mention it. He will never admit the extent of his disappointment that Jane will not pilot the horse mech.

I'll probably come back for the trolls.

#homestuck #lancerrpg

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2022-10-03

Several parts for a project got lost in the mail and if I don't blow up a motor doing something ill-advised with transistors soon I'm going to become the Joker.

Listening: I went to see the Ndlovu Youth Choir, a youth music group out of Limpopo who became extremely well known after they got on America's Got Talent a few years ago. Great style, they do a wide array of different styles and songs over a pretty wide time period, here's two songs:

Reading: Mostly scraps of SCP stuff, but a bad week for reading

Watching: Finished Arcane. God damn. Yes I know it's been like a year since that came out shut up.

It's so good. The animation is beautiful, it's so carefully considered, there's so few shortcuts taken. There's a scene where Jayce throws up on the bridge and it's a really close shot that sells the physicality of vomiting so well, it's messy and unpleasant. Another studio might have cut to a really long silhouette shot for that kind of thing. The Ekko/Jinx fight might be one of the best fights in the show. Even basic conversations have thoughtful blocking and framing, very little simple shot/reverse, there's always a focus on body parts and movements.

It's very predictable, which is probably because it's very character driven and the characters don't change much, you could write a comprehensive study of most characters on a post-it. There's a few major pivotal moments and twists for a few characters which are huge, but for the most part you can just run what you know about them forward to predict what happens next. Even having no knowledge of LoL you can guess that the Firelighters are led by Ekko in like zero seconds.

Jinx and Jayce are the main sources of unpredictability but that's because she's Da Joker Baby and paranoid and has psychosis, and he's a very smart boy who doesn't know what he's doing so the moment someone suggests any kind of solution to him he immediately does it without thinking.

Every single characters' design slaps. They did not make the mistake of trying to be sensible. Why is the cop uniform kind of demure but hot in a sexy maid kind of way? How does Jinx maintain twin braids longer than she is while also being on fire some of the time? How does Ekko fight with all that stuff on? These are not questions to ask. The question to ask is how fucking cool does this look and the answer is very.

The levels of tragedy are off the charts. Every second episode there's an opportunity for things to be resolved and for peace to succeed and everyone to talk and it doesn't happen ever.

Viktor and Jayce should have fucked at some point if only to make the breakup even worse.

Playing: Brought my desktop's storage back online so I have somewhere to put games again, but I haven't actually done much with it. Fortunately since I moved to Arch again my Proton is more stable, I got Ace Combat working under Linux.

Making: weekend making time was lost to a number of minor emergencies, but I did have to pop a door off its hinges because the lock completely failed which was fun. Unfortunately it was the door to the toolshed so I had to scrabble together the tools to do said pin popping from whatever tools I keep in my desk.

Tools and Equipment: Treating a minor injury in the family so here's a reminder to check your first aid kits, I had to run out and grab a bunch of non-absorbing gauze because we were all out.

I'm currently in the process of stocking a more severe trauma care kit for the family because my dad is on anti-clotting and blood thinning medication for a while which makes all his wounds one level of severity worse, so also learn how to use Chest Seals and Tourniquets, there's good online resources but you can probably also find a Stop The Bleed training course near you, it's a big international programme.

#last monday of the week #Youtube

[isaiahbie]

The Origin of the Christian Faith

Whatever they may think of the historical resurrection, even the most skeptical scholars admit that at least the belief that Jesus rose from the dead lay at the heart of the earliest Christian faith. Gerhard Koch states, “It is everywhere clear that the event of Easter is the central point of the New Testament message. Resurrection by God and appearing before his disciples constitute the basis of the New Testament proclamation of Christ, without which there would be virtually no witness to Christ.”¹

It was on the basis of Jesus’ resurrection that the disciples could believe that He was the Messiah. It is difficult to exaggerate how devastating the crucifixion must have been for the disciples. They had pinned all their hopes, their lives, on Jesus, but He had died. Even though Jesus had predicted His resurrection, the Gospels are clear that the disciples did not understand Him. They had no conception of a dying, much less a rising, Messiah, for the Scriptures said that the Messiah would reign forever (Isaiah 9:7, cf. John 12:34). Thus, Jesus’ crucifixion shattered any hopes they might have entertained that He was the Messiah.

But the resurrection turned catastrophe into victory. Because God had raised Jesus from the dead, He was proved to be the Messiah after all. In Acts 2:32, 36, Peter declares to the Jews, “This Jesus God raised up. . . Let all the house of Israel know for certain that God has made Him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified.” The resurrection was God’s decisive vindication of who Jesus was. It showed that the crucifixion was no defeat, but part of God’s plan. Belief in the resurrection enabled the disciples to proclaim that their crucified Master was the Messiah of God.

The resurrection was also central to salvation from sins. Paul writes that Jesus “was delivered up because of our transgressions and was raised up because of our justification” (Romans 4:24-25). On the basis of the resurrection, Peter could proclaim, “Every one who believes in Him receives forgiveness of sins” (Acts 10:43). Belief in Jesus’ resurrection was therefore one of the necessary conditions for salvation. An early confession cited by Paul states: “If you confess with your mouth Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you shall be saved” (Romans 10:9). Apart from belief in the resurrection, there could be no salvation or forgiveness of sins. Without the resurrection, the cross would have no meaning. This is why Paul could write, “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is worthless; you are still in your sins” (1 Corinthians 15:17).

It is quite clear that without the resurrection, the Christian faith could not have come into being. The disciples would have remained crushed and defeated men. Even had they continued to remember Jesus as their beloved teacher, His crucifixion would have forever silenced any hopes of His being the Messiah. The cross would have remained the sad and shameful end to His career. The origin of Christianity therefore hinges on the belief of the early disciples that God had raised Jesus from the dead.

Explaining the Origin of the Christian Faith

Now the question becomes: What caused that belief? As R. H. Fuller says, even the most skeptical critic must presuppose some mysterious x to get the movement going.² But what was that x?

If one denies that Jesus really did rise from the dead, then he must explain the disciples’ belief that He did rise either in terms of (a) Christian influences, (b) pagan influences or (c) Jewish influences.

(a) Clearly, it could not be a belief formed as a result of Christian influences, for at that time there was no Christianity. Since belief in Jesus’ resurrection was the foundation for the origin of the Christian faith, it cannot be a belief formed as a result of that faith.

(b) Neither can belief in Jesus’ resurrection be explained as the result of pagan influences. Back around the turn of the nineteenth to the twentieth century, in the hey-day of the History of Religions school, scholars in comparative religion collected parallels to Christian beliefs in other religious movements, and some thought to explain those beliefs, including belief in Jesus’ resurrection, as the result of the influence of such myths. The movement soon collapsed, however, principally due to two factors:

First, scholars came to realize that the parallels are spurious. Many of the alleged parallels are actually apotheosis stories, the divinization and assumption of the hero into heaven (Hercules, Romulus). Others are disappearance stories, asserting that the hero has vanished into a higher sphere (Apollonius of Tyana, Empedocles). Still others are seasonal symbols for the crop cycle, as the vegetation dies in the dry season and comes back to life in the rainy season (Tammuz, Osiris, Adonis). Some are political expressions of Emperor worship (Julius Caesar, Caesar Augustus). None of these is parallel to the Jewish idea of the resurrection of the dead. David Aune, a specialist in comparative ancient Near Eastern literature, concludes, “No parallel to them [resurrection traditions] is found in Graeco-Roman biography.”³

Second, there is no causal connection between pagan myths and the origin of the disciples’ belief in Jesus’ resurrection. Jews were familiar with the seasonal deities (Ezekiel 37:1-4) and found them abhorrent. Therefore, as Gerhard Kittel notes, there is no trace of cults of dying and rising gods in first-century Palestine.⁴ In any case, surely Hans Grass does not exaggerate when he says that it would be “completely unthinkable” that the original disciples would have sincerely come to believe that Jesus of Nazareth was risen from the dead because they had heard of pagan myths about dying and rising seasonal gods.⁵

(c ) Nor would they have come to believe that Jesus had been raised from the dead because of Jewish influences. The Jewish conception of resurrection differed in two important, fundamental respects from Jesus’ resurrection. In Jewish thought, the resurrection always (1) occurred after the end of the world, not within history, and (2) concerned all the people, not just an isolated individual. In contradistinction to this, Jesus’ resurrection was both within history and of one person.

With regard to the first point, the Jewish belief was always that at the end of history, God would raise the dead and receive them into heaven. There are, to be sure, examples in the Old Testament of “resuscitations” of the dead; but the persons would die again. The resurrection to eternal life and glory only occurred after the end of the world. We find that Jewish outlook in the Gospels themselves. Thus, when Jesus told His disciples that He would rise from the dead, they thought He meant at the end of the world (Mark 9:9-13). The idea that a true resurrection could occur prior to God’s bringing the kingdom of heaven at the end of the world was utterly foreign to them. The greatly renowned German New Testament scholar Joachim Jeremias writes:

“Ancient Judaism did not know of an anticipated resurrection as an event of history. Nowhere does one find in the literature anything comparable to the resurrection of Jesus. Certainly, resurrections of the dead were known, but these always concerned resuscitations, the return to the earthly life. In no place in the late Judaic literature does it concern a resurrection to doxa [glory] as an event of history.”⁶

The disciples, therefore, confronted with Jesus’ crucifixion and death, would only have looked forward to the resurrection at the final day and would probably have carefully kept their master’s tomb as a shrine, where His bones could reside until the resurrection. They would not have come up with the idea that He was already raised.

As for the second point, the Jewish idea of resurrection was always of a general resurrection of the dead, not an isolated individual. It was mankind as a whole that God would raise up in the resurrection. Ulrich Wilckens, another prominent German New Testament critic, explains:

“For nowhere do the Jewish texts speak of the resurrection of an individual which already occurs before the resurrection of the righteous in the end time and is differentiated and separate from it; nowhere does the participation of the righteous in the salvation at the end time depend on their belonging to the Messiah, who was raised in advance as the ‘first of those raised by God’ [1 Corinthians 15:20].”⁷

It is therefore evident that the disciples would not as a result of Jewish influences or background come up with the idea that Jesus alone had been raised from the dead. They would wait with longing for that day when He and all the righteous of Israel would be raised by God to glory.

What is the Best Explanation?

The disciples’ belief in Jesus’ resurrection cannot be explained as the result of either Christian, pagan, or Jewish influences. Left to themselves, the disciples would never have come up with such an idea as Jesus’ resurrection. (And remember: they were fishermen and tax collectors, not theologians!) The mysterious x is still missing.

According to C. F. D. Moule of Cambridge University, here is a belief nothing in terms of previous historical influences can account for.⁸ He points out that we have a situation in which a large number of people held firmly to this belief, which cannot be explained in terms of the Old Testament or the Pharisees, and that these people held onto this belief until the Jews finally threw them out of the synagogue. According to Professor Moule, the origin of this belief must have been the fact that Jesus really did rise from the dead:

“If the coming into existence of the Nazarenes, a phenomenon undeniably attested by the New Testament, rips a great hole in history, a hole of the size and shape of the Resurrection, what does the secular historian propose to stop it up with?. . . the birth and rapid rise of the Christian church. . . remain an unsolved enigma for any historian who refuses to take seriously the only explanation offered by the Church itself.”⁹

The resurrection of Jesus is therefore the best explanation for the origin of the Christian faith.

Notes:

¹ Gerhard Koch, Die Auferstehunug Jesu Christi, beitrage zue historischen Theologiae (Tubingen: J. C. B. Mohr, 1959), p. 25. ² R. H. Fuller, The Formation of the Resurrection Narratives (London: SPCK, 1972), p. 2. ³ David E. Aune, “The Genre of the Gospels,” in Gospel Perspectives II, ed. R. T. France and David Wenham (Sheffield: JSET Press, 1981), p. 48. ⁴ Gerhard Kittel, “Die Auferstehung Jesu,” Deutsche Theologe 4 (1937): 133-68. ⁵ Hans Grass, Ostergeschehen und Osterberichte, 4th ed. (Gottingen: vandenhock & Ruprecht, 1974), p. 133 ⁶ Joachim Jeremias, “Die alteste Schicht der Osteruberlieferung,” in Resurexxit, ed. Edouard Dhanis (Rome: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1974), p. 194. ⁷ Ulrich Wilckens, Auferstehung, Themen der Theologie 4 (Stuttgart and Berlin: Kreuz Verlag, 1970), p. 131. ⁸ C. F. D. Moule and Don Cupitt, “The Resurrection: A Disagreement,” Theology 75 91972): 507-19. ⁹ C. F. D. Moule, The Phenomenon of the New Testament, Studies in Biblical Theology 2/1 (London: SCM, 1967), pp. 3, 13.

[aeide-thea]

Carrion Comfort by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be. But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan, O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?    Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear. Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod, Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer. Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

#this is in many ways actually quite a simple poem‚ in terms of the sense of it‚ despite all the grammatical contortion #and i'm not sure the sonic play actually serves it? #but the movement from 'not' to 'god' that hinges on that question of 'why?' which is also an answer— #and the chiastic entwinement of the divine 'hero' and 'me' that becomes an equation— #'o which one? is it each one?' #and that last astonished acceptance of '(my god!) my god.' #those really are good moves. #plus of course the lionlimb. #good stuff‚ gerard. #poetry #gerard manley hopkins

[sweetchup]

Bi•valve

Noun

an aquatic mollusk that has a compressed body enclosed within a hinged shell, such as oysters, clams, mussels, and scallops.

AKA

The Most Common Seashell in the Ocean

————————

Vol. 2: Into the Deep // Ch. 7

Type: Poseidon x reader

Word Count: 3,000+

Masterlist

————————

A loud creak fills the night air as you make your way through the empty halls. You feel yourself freeze for a second, holding your breath as you listen for any signs of movement. For any signs that someone else would be in the halls as well. Thankfully no one was actually there and, once you deem it is safe to continue, you round the corner to the staircase.

Tonight marks your third day staying here. Well, technically five days but you don’t count the two you were unconscious. Even though you had asked, as well as begged, Marine to take you to see Triton on that first day he wouldn’t allow it.

“My Lady, You must stay in bed! You are still injured!”

“Please, My Lady! Master Triton is fine.”

“Lord Poseidon would behead me if he saw you up already!”

Which has led you to this. Sneaking out at the bleak of midnight to make your way to Triton’s Manor. Thankfully, yet also not, Poseidon doesn’t station knights in the Manors so you could easily make your way through the halls.

Sorry about this Marine…

You felt bad about tricking Marine like this—You could already imagine the heart attack the poor fish would get once it realized you had disappeared—But you couldn’t stay in that room for one more moment. All day, every day, for the past three days it was all about Poseidon’s and your’s picture perfect fairy tale love story.

Apparently, all of the servants, and you meant all, believed that you had stolen their dear lord’s heart and to protect you from the wicked Amphitrite he allowed you to take care of his son. So when Marissa—who was apparently Triton’s aunt on Amphrite’s side—tried to attack you, Poseidon was so worried about your safety that he made you stay in his kingdom instead. They said it was the love story of the millennium…

Honestly, they couldn’t have gotten more off from what really happened.

“Finally…” You gasp out as you see the exit in sight. Traveling across the vacant grand entrance, you stand in front of the cold stone door. It’s pure size and golden details makes you pause from grabbing onto its handle.

You can do this…

Taking a deep breath, you finally grasp the metal handle and give it a pull.

“It weighs so much…” You mumble to yourself as you put your whole body weight behind your next tug. No wonder Triton was so strong, these doors were no joke. If it weren’t for the fact you were underwater and it made things lighter, you, in no way, would be able to open this door.

If only that magical shield, or whatever it’s called, that was around the whole palace area wasn’t in place. That stupid thing that actually allowed gravity and no magic spells inside its area. You could have just swam out an open window instead of going through all this trouble.

But, what can you do... It’s not like you could actually boss Poseidon around. You were sure that you were on the last straw with that guy.

“Woah…” You gasp out as you peeked outside from the open door that was now wide enough to be able to slip outside.

Due to Atlantis—where Poseidon’s Castle was located—being on the ocean floor, the moon was able to shine down far enough. Leaving the place often dark with only lanterns or other god made items for light. Well, that’s based on what you saw from inside the manor.

Outside was a totally different story.

Angular fish, Jellyfish, Squids, Luminous Shrimps. All of them covered the night sea in a blurry of glowful colors in front of you. It looked like billions of stars in the night sky. Except for the fact they were actually closer to you.

“A Human…?” A squeaky voice calls out. Startled, you look around in confusion and it takes you a moment to realize that one of the Luminous Shrimp was calling out to you. As you raise your hand for it to latch onto your finger, making you let out a small giggle from its front antenna tickling at your skin, it gains the attention of the rest of the swarm of shrimp that were swimming nearby.

“A Human?”

“It really is.”

“Is she Lord Poseidon’s new bride?”

“What was her name again?”

“(Y/n)? Right?”

“(Y/n).” All the shrimp begin to chant as they swim over and tickle at your skin.

“H-hey!” You giggle out, twitching and wrinkling at the strange feeling. Your stomach beginning to hurt as the small giggles turn to full scale laughter. “That tickles..!”

The shrimp continue to tickle you for a couple of more moments—along with chanting words of praises for their ‘new lady’—before suddenly swimming off in a hurry.

“H-Hey where are you running off—“ Your voice pauses as your back suddenly hits something hard. “Wh—..”

As you spin your head around to take a look at what you had bumped into, you freeze on the spot. Oh what good luck you seem to have…

“P-Poseidon…”

At the call of his name, you see the said Sea God’s eyebrow twitch slightly under the light glow of the sea creatures. Ah. You forgot you weren’t supposed to address Gods so casually. Especially him.

“I-I mean, Good Evening Lord Poseidon…”

The cold look on the God’s face doesn’t change as he continues to stare daggers down at you but it at least seems less menacing now. Perhaps it was your internal survival instincts thanking you for avoiding death once again.

.

..

…

Ah, this is awkward.

“M-May I help you, Lord?” You ask Poseidon as he continues to stare at you. You were hoping for some sort of response or answer to make the atmosphere less awkward but all you got was a scoff in response. The only thing out of said exchange that didn’t make you angry was how he drifted his gaze away from you and onto the floating sea creatures instead. Just thankful to get his piercing gaze off of you.

What was this guy’s deal?

Not wanting to spend another moment with the rude fish god, you turn and walk away. As your feet tread the last couple of steps of the stone stairs and onto the path, you find yourself looking at the sea grass that stood just yonder of it.

This must have been the area that was originally meant to be used as that ginormous garden as, compared to the rest of the surrounding area, the sea grass stretched out for yards in front of you. Honestly, you guessed two whole soccer fields could squeeze inside the vast circular field in front of you.

Actually, as you stared at the sea grass that seemed to dance in the tide of the sea, you wondered if it was anything like normal grass.

“Ah!” You can’t help but let out as you place one bare foot onto the field. It was soft, extremely soft. You would even compare it to the feeling of silk with its smooth and chill-like feeling.

“Human…”

At the call you tilt your head upwards to come face to face with a giant jellyfish. When did that get there? Also, why did it come down in the first place? The rest of the jellyfish were drifting much higher up. About roof height even.

“Human…” The jellyfish calls again, this time stretching one of its tentacles out towards you. Its smooth purple like texture makes you entranced by it. Ah, was it asking you to shake its hand?

“H-Hello—“

Just as you stretch your hand out to clasp the jellyfish’s, a hand on your wrist stops you. Instantly, you freeze as you recognize the green glove that was attached. Oh god, what did you do this time?

“L-Lord Poseidon-n I wasn-n’t— Gah!”

Instantly your head flies upwards back to the jellyfish as you hear its screeching. Poseidon’s other hand was holding the jellyfish head in a death-like grip. Based on the veins popping out from his arm it was like he was trying to squeeze the jellyfish into mush.

“Lord Po—“ You are cut off as Poseidon’s chilling voice resounds out next to your ear.

“You weren’t trying to do what?” You feel yourself calming down slightly as you realize he wasn’t addressing you. Though it wasn’t by much as you were still pressed against the strong god as he berated the jellyfish in front of you, “Insolent creature. Know your place.”

“I-It was only trying to shake my hand!” You shout out as you turn your gaze up to the god. His chilling blue eyes almost making you want to back down if it wasn’t for the fact you knew you couldn’t. It wasn’t right of him to punish a poor creature that just wanted to greet you.

“Shake your hand?” Poseidon chillingly repeats, a small chuckle laced in at the end as if he finds the situation to be humorous. Slightly, the god tilts his head down. Just close enough to whisper in your ear, “Human. Open those pathetic eyes of yours and take a hard look at my hand.”

Although you were taken aback by Poseidon’s harsh words, you still turn your gaze to look at his hand. Oh. Although his hand was mostly covered by his glove, you could still see the searing red bumps and lashes that decorated across his fingertips.

“Not only that.” Poseidon whispers again, making you jump slightly, “This jellyfish is deadly poisonous for humans.”

“Lord Poseidon-n. I beg for your forgiveness. I only did this because Lady Am—“

“Shut up.” You wince and shut your eyes close as Poseidon encloses his grip on the jellyfish. Crushing its head in a grueling squish. Even though you saw Marissa decapitated less than a week ago, you still find yourself shaking out in fear. Unable to find it in you to open your eyes.

“Tch. Pathetic…”

At first you thought Poseidon was addressing the now deceased jellyfish but you soon find out he wasn’t. Letting out a small squeak, your eyes fly open instantly as Poseidon hauls you up into his arms. Though, you soon regret that decision as your gaze locks instantly onto the corpse of the jellyfish.

Shutting your eyes once again, you shakily lean against Poseidon as you attempt to dull the sickly feeling settling in your stomach. Not even bothering to  question or ask where he could possibly be taking you.

It is only when you hear the loud squeak of a door being open that you open your eyes. Looking over Poseidon's shoulder as he ventures further into the building, you try to find out where you were. From what you could see, it definitely wasn’t your Manor as the halls were far too grand. With floor to ceiling grand windows, marble floors, and intricate works of art, it left you speechless.

It is only when your gaze locks with one of the many photos on the walls that you finally realize where you were.

“Are we in Triton’s Manor?”

Poseidon doesn’t give you a response but you pass by more photos and paintings of Triton, you knew your assumptions were correct.

But,…

Pressing a hand on Poseidon’s chest you lean backwards to stare at the god. His eyes continue to face forward, seeming to stare right through your torso that stood in front of him as he doesn’t even bother to gaze up at you, “Poseidon… Why are you helping me?”

Once again, Poseidon doesn’t respond, only giving you a small glance upwards as so to give a glare to show his distaste in how you did not address him properly. You swore this guy changed his mind so much it was giving you whiplash. He decides at one point to full on ignore you and the next to save you from impending danger.

“I thought you wanted me dead.”

This time Poseidon actually reacts as he pauses in his movement and his eyes turn to gaze up at you. Their cold glory makes you flinch at his emotionless gaze.

How did Triton come from this man…

“You wanted to kill me as you dragged me underwater with Triton, right?”

A long pause fills the air before Poseidon finally responds.

“I do.”

You feel the need to flinch under the harshness of his words but don’t. You knew you couldn’t. He wasn’t saying ‘I do’ because he wanted to kill you in the past. No. He would have said ‘I did’ if that was the case. Even as he saved you from the jellyfish. Even as he was currently holding you in his arms, Poseidon still wanted to kill you. He still had the desire to.

But…

Why are you still alive then?

“Stop thinking.” Poseidon coldly orders as his eyebrows twitch lightly in annoyance. As if he knew what you were thinking, he continued to answer. “You are alive because you need to be. When you aren’t worthy to me anymore, I’ll throw you away. It’s as simple as that.”

Poseidon continues to stare up at you, seeming to wait for any more peeps out of you before venturing on. He grunts a little as you fall back in his arms, your chin resting on his shoulder as you look around at the items that decorate the halls. The warmth leaking from your body through your nightwear makes him freeze slightly but he doesn’t say anything. Choosing for once not to voice his disgust outloud and instead looking at the items that decorate the halls as well.

Soft…

Poseidon’s fingers twitch slightly as he accidentally graces your warm skin that was hidden under the shirt of your nightwear.

Stupid…

His mind instantly ridiculed and pummeled down the disgusting thoughts that clogged his mind. Especially over the fact that he, of all gods, shouldn’t be intrigued over the softness and warmth of a human.

“Tch. We are here.” Poseidon grumbles out as he finally rounds the corner and opens the door to Triton’s room.

Yet, even though Poseidon thought it would all be over if he reaches Triton’s room and places you down, he comes face to face with another problem.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Poseidon snapped out. Even though you came all this way, and caused a lot of bothersome troubles in the process, you only leave his side for a second to check up on Triton before coming right back. Did you not care about his s—

Instantly, Poseidon stomps that thought out of his mind.

“Your wounds. You’ll need help patching them up.” You bluntly told the god. Even though you had flinched at his outburst seconds earlier, you still reach forward to grab his hand. Did you want him to kill you?

Poseidon retracts his hand and glares down at you.

“I do not need your help.”

“Bu—“

“Gods… have no need for armies. No need for betrayal. No need for support. Such are the gods. Ever since the beginning, we have been the perfect beings. I. Especially. Do. Not. Need. A. Human’s. Help.”

After Poseidon’s speech, there's a long pause. Out of the corner of his eye, Poseidon watches you walk away and believes you gave up. That is until he sees you drag a chair over near him, patting the seat in a gesture to get him to sit down that makes his nose wrinkle up in disgust.

“I—“

“It’s my fault.” You state, cutting Poseidon off as you stare back at him. Your sharp fiery gaze unwavering as they stare back into his cold emotionless ones. “You don’t need my help since you are perfect but… it’s my fault. So I owe you one. So give me your hand so we are even. If Gods have no need for support then they have no need for favors as well. Right—“

“Shut up.” Poseidon barks out coldly. Giving you a harsh glare before, surprisingly, sitting down in the chair. For a second, Poseidon feels his hand twitch as he sees the surprised look on your face, wanting to wipe that fowl look off your face but stops himself as you kneel down to examine his hand.

I’m getting too worked up from a stupid mortal, Poseidon thinks as he turns his gaze up to the ceiling as you pull off his glove. Seeming to begin to treat his wounds.

Stupid…

Poseidon feels himself grit his teeth as your hands softly graze up and down his. Examining it to see what must be done to treat the many wounds. He wonders if this was how you treat Triton’s woun— Stop. So carefully and—

“Stop.” Poseidon bellows as he pulls his hand away from your grasp. This was idiotic. What in the world was going on with him?

It’s just like the time when Triton was born.

Stop.

How warm he felt inside seeing—

STOP.

“Hey. I need to—“ As you grasp onto Poseidon’s hand once more, he instantly grabs the front of your shirt and throws you across the room. Thankfully you landed safely on Triton’s bed, only the wind knocked out of you but…

“M-Mom?”

My, I’ve never seen a look like that.

Poseidon feels his body freeze as his gaze comes in contact with Triton’s. The boy that was once peacefully sleeping now wide awake as he takes in the scene in front of him.

Hmmm… You sure secretly spoil a child you don’t care about.

“F-Father?” Poseidon feels his hand balls into fists as Triton calls that title towards him.

I know you won’t divorce me unless you want something to happen to your precious so—

The loud slamming of a door cuts Poseidon’s thoughts off and he finds himself out in the hallway.

Stupid…

All of this, everything, was stupid.

A perfect being. He was a perfect being. Gods have no need for armies. No need for betrayal. No need for support. Such are the gods. Ever since the beginning, we have been the perfect beings. We have no need for the herd... no need for scheming... and no need for support.

Such… are the gods.

Author Note: Oooo a lot happened this chapter. Especially a lot with Poseidon’s character. Feel free to discuss what you thought about this chapter and Poseidon’s inner monologue. I would love to hear about your opinion or answer any questions if you are confused on some parts.

Taglist: @angeli-fucking-cat @marixxhq @sproutcorner @orophaea @anime-lover-forever-1127 @fortuna-stella @icy-spicy

#shuumatsu no valkyrie #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #snv poseidon x reader #snv poseidon #snv #record of ragnarok #bivalve

[kookiessugababy]

Another Reason To Hate You (Kim Namjoon) // 18+ nsfw!!

Warnings 🚨- aggressive sex// no protection//edging//teasing//slut shaming kink

-> scenario: you have never gotten along with Namjoon, despite your close relationship with his band. With the boys apartment under refurbishment, you find them staying at your own place- where things become steamy between you and your foe in the shower room.

Hope you enjoy <3

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

The previous night was sleepless, the muggy and warm nights creeping upon your Seoul apartment. Despite the discomfort it caused, you had spent the restless night watching movies with the boys; who you could currently now hear blasting music in the next room. They were stammering along loudly to Min Yoongis rap lyrics, Hoseoks voice yelling above them in blatant confidence - the others mixing up all the words in a cacophony of mutters. The seven were crashing at your apartment for a unchartered days with theirs under refurbishment and under the decision of not seeing you for a while, they invited themselves to reside. Nothing in you had a problem with this- you thoroughly loved their lively company and after all they were your closest friends. However, it did mean spending more time with Namjoon than you could handle- the one member who you had a questionable relationship with. Something about him had always frustrated you, the pair of you never flourished in the way you had with the rest. It was different at first; both of you trying to make the effort to amend your obvious differences after Jin introduced you to the band- but now it was left to settle in disinterest. Avoidance was key for both parties; snappy unpleasantness arising every time you engaged…so to the point he was barely an acquaintance to you. With no full understanding why you loathed him with the power you did, you always found yourself paradoxically attracted to him. There was something about acknowledging a mutual abhorrence for someone that makes them more desirable- more hungry for their attention. Alongside this tearing self conflict, you had a constant profusion of work to complete for your boss, alacritous deadlines prolonging your daily shifts. Almost making the company unbearable, relentless hours meant the boys made you stay up most of the evening to reconcile with them- and with the summer months glowing, sleep was rare anyway.

Wrapping yourself in a cream towel, your damp hair fell to your shoulders as you scanned yourself in the face of the mirror. Water droplets cascaded lines on your cheeks, eyelashes catching those stray from your forehead. Your skin looked soft and touchable in the white glow of the light- accenting your expression. With the silence shattering, the door creaked under the sound of knocks from the other side- shuffling echoing from under the small gap of the hinges. “Jin? Is that you?” You assumed- the only member who had a tendency to bother you at such inconvenient time- but you were met with silence as the seconds passed. Before you could question the sound again, the door flung open; presenting a rather flustered tall figure with muscular arms and broad shoulders. His hair was pushed back and neat, a small t shirt revealing his collar bones and comfortable lounging shorts fitting his toned thighs perfectly. Despite a familiar sense of hatred wash over you, you found yourself startled at the sudden entrance of Namjoon- your slightly exposed body causing your nerves to fire.

He stared at you in the heat of the room, the steam rising between the two of you as it entangled with the strange tension. ”Namjoon… what are you doing” you asked nonchalantly. Remaining silent you huffed, slamming your hairbrush onto the bench. “Get out” you snapped- but his reply concluded unhelpful as he suddenly pushed you to the shower wall, pinning your arms roughly to the wet tiles as the towel fell from your grip. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m sick of your bratty attitude.” Under his stare, you stood naked and exposed to him- your nipples hardening as he searched your curves in such an unexpected manner. You felt the need for obedience under his power- all sense of anger towards him washed with this new sense of frustration that mirrored lust you were sure you had felt for him before. “I hate you, y/n. You make me so fucking mad” he growled, his mouth close to yours. He tugs your lips with his teeth, nipping your bottom lip to cause a slight pain. Wincing at the sensation, you felt his hands grow tighter around your wrist- pushing his hips towards you to prove his hardened state. “Then get out if you hate me that much mm?” You teased- his anger obvious in his eyes. Intertwined with this, however, you sensed a blanket of lust wash over him- his intentions almost becoming obvious to you. “How do you not expect me to ruin you when I know your pretty ass is naked in the room next door? Mmm?” humming he pecks the sides of your neck, leading you to arch your back under the tingling marks he leaves behind. Snaking his arms down yours, which remain raised against the wall, his large palms make their way down to your breasts, fondling with them in a way nobody had before. He made you feel innocent with his dirty smirks, the frustration he felt towards you obviously preparing to be channelled in a way that would leave you breathless. You moaned slightly as he pinched your nipples, twisting them slightly in his fingers as he continued to kiss along your collarbones- teasing his tongue along them as he glanced up at you. You felt your heat grow wet as you gritted your teeth, avoiding contentment of knowing he was pleasuring you- but your desperation only grew with your confinement.

Evidently picking up on your behaviour, his fingers now snakes to your clit- slapping it harshly as you bucked your hips in return. “What a little slut mmm? Getting wet for someone you can’t even bare a conversation with. You must be desperate”. Degrading you only soaked your core as his fingers ran circles around your clit- chasing the feeling of your pussy as he pushed sped up to a painful pace. Stifled groans spilled from you; still in an attempt to silence yourself. Seeing your struggling state gave him permission to dig his fingers deep inside of your hole with a sudden movement- your body jolting under his forceful fingering. Only two fingers made it into your tight hole, moving rapidly between your thighs as your breath hitched. His stare was familiar, the way he looked at you in near disgust was showing- making you feel exposed and submissive to his annoyance with you. “You deserve to have that little pussy of yours throbbing y/n. How dare you get me hard like this.” His breathe easy just as unsteady as your own as he paced his fingers in and out, your juices dripping down his digits with every pulse. You couldn’t mutter a reply as you found yourself riding his hand in desperation- feeling so small under his touch and power.

Closing your eyes you felt his fingers leave you- the warm steam hitting your hole as he edged you from your high. Whining quietly, just in earshot of him he uttered a small laugh of success as he undid his pants. “Turn around, y/n. I’ll teach you how to be good for me” he sounded strain as he spoke, his dick now spilling with precum- yup swollen and sensitive. Spinning around on your heels you faced the tiles- your chest pressing against them as he lined himself up with your pussy. Rubbing his warm cock on your heat, he separated your lips with his tip- running himself up and down where you needed him most. “Namjoon i- need you” you finally cried, pushing back your hips as he adjusted his grip to your waist- thrusting into you with one sudden movement. The pace was unimaginable- your breasts clapping against the wall as his balls hit you again and again- the harshness of each movement sending you into a moaning mess. You could barely think straight as you could only focus on the throbbing of his cock inside of your tight hole- hitting spots you didn’t know existed with his length. He filled you up so well as he pounded you, his head tilted back as your ass slapped against him. Your heat was soaked with the feelings of frustration being taken out upon your bent body- your stomach turning at the simple thought of the man behind you. As your walls clenched yet again, you let out a cry while your stomach flipped to its side. Unable to hold yourself for longer, tears streamed from your eyes as your mouth fell open at the repetition of his tip hitting your g spot.

“C-cum!” You cried- desperate for a release of some sort. Despite you feeling Namjoons dick twitch inside of you, his warmth already spilling- he parted the friction from your walls as he pulled himself out. The absence was unbearable as he came all over your back- holding his cock with one hand as your ass now dripped with his stain. Cursing to himself he inspected your arched back- your ass sticking out and coated in his mess and you whined and cried pathetically as he edged you yet again. Gently, his hands ran to your ass, cupping the cheeks as he leaned over you- kissing your cheek softly. “You poor thing. Stop pretending you hate me and I’ll let you cum next time.” His voice almost sounded sinister, chuckling in your ear as he placed a few more welcomed kisses on your cheeks. “God Namjoon you gave me another reason to hate you”

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

#bts smut #namjoon smut #kim namjoon smut #rm smut #bts rm smut #rm x reader #namjoon x reader #bangtan smut #kim taehung #bts jimin #bts namjoon #bts army #bts suga #bts taehyung #bts hoseok #bts jin #namjoon #bts jungkook #taehyung smut #bts min yoongi #yoongi smut #bts smut drabble #bts smut fics #bts smut drabbles #bangtan army #bangtan sonyeondan #bts jimin smut #jimin smut #park jimin smut #bts angst

[fonteyn]

enter a king and a queen: chapter six (king caspian x reader)

Pairing: King Caspian x Queen of Calormen!Reader

Word Count:  11K

Rating: R

Warnings: contains scenes with swearing, violence, and physical and verbal abuse, hints at sexual scenarios. FYI, future chapters may contain nsfw scenes, so reader discretion is advised.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE

A/n: Surprise! At long last, a new chapter! This one is a bit different from the other ones. I hope you guys enjoy it, regardless. Thank you for the many kind messaged you’ve sent in the past couple of months and for also believing in my abilities as a writer enough to take this ride alongside me.

Taglist: I’m tagging most of the people who either asked to be on the taglist/ replied to previous chapters/ or asked me for when this chapter would be coming out.

@librarian-lesbian  @queenariesofnarnia @sstilinski  @aurora2238​ @approved-by-dentists​ @sesamepancakes @argentinemango​ @blackbirddaredevil23​ @whiskeywinter89  @billyrussosbitch @swearingsolemnly  @fairywriter-oracle @indycaelumskywalker   @slytherin-cygnet​ @salfira-xd

Few words could be used to describe the way you felt as you slowly came back to your senses. Throbbing persistent pain on your right temple kept you from being able to open your eyes for what it felt like hours, little by little, you tried and failed to peel your eyes open and haul yourself back into reality. The pain in your muscles was so overwhelming you couldn’t tell which wound hurt the most. 

One thing was certain though, at some point you had been dragged through the grass. Hours later, you were dragged through the cold stone. The sound of a door closing still echoed in your mind. The darkness behind your eyelids indicated that there were probably no windows on whichever hole you had been thrown in. 

You questioned if you were dead and this was hell. An underwhelming end to your trying journey. I had much left to give, but I-I think I’m gone now. Bless my brother, may he one day forgive me for leaving him. If there’s a god, may she please protect my people. 

Your mind had a single word stuck in it. Why why why why why why. It repeated so many times that you didn’t know if it was merely in your head or if you were, in reality, saying it out loud. 

Years before, you had read a story about a girl who died of a broken heart. Maybe this was it. Maybe, after many cracks, someone had delivered the final blow, and you had become that girl. Piece by piece, moment after moment. A series of individuals. Your mother, your father, your people, and then Caspian. God, he hadn’t meant to. He had no intentions of breaking your heart, and yet he accomplished the task with marvelous ease. 

Now, as you laid on the floor, cold enveloping your bones, your throat started closing, and as soon as you felt wetness dripping from your eyes, you realized you were crying.

You must have fallen asleep, because a long time later your head wasn’t as heavy anymore, and you were finally able to fully open your eyes. 

Surrounding you was a cave, one that you were sure served with a single purpose:  a cell. A wooden door with strong metal hinges, not a drop of sunlight in sight. Which was to be expected considering your current predicament. It could be noon. It could be midnight. You wouldn’t know either way. 

Slowly but surely you moved to a sitting position, leaning your back against the wall, the support being essential to aid your weak body. With that, you were finally able to scan the wounds adorning your skin. Scratches from being dragged through the floor had opened gashes on your knees and legs, heavy iron chains wrapped around your wrists incapacitating your movements. You were barefoot and your clothes were ripped in too many places. Touching your forehead you felt the texture of dried blood above your temple. At least I’m not still bleeding. That didn’t keep you from worrying about possible internal damage. 

As you finished analyzing every inch of your body, taking mental notes of your wounds, it was time to face the fact that this was real. Not hell, but a real place, a real dungeon. 

Tears prickled once more in the corners of your eyes. Ian’s death, that had been real too. 

You pictured Lorian’s teary eyes amidst his resolute expression as he ran away following your orders. You merely hoped he would make it and...and what? How on earth would he find you? You, yourself had no idea where you were. In the miracle that he’d make it back to Narnia before you died from starvation, where would he even start to look for you? 

He’d probably go back to where you were last seen, only then any traces of your kidnapping would most definitely have been wiped away by the natural elements. 

Would Caspian help? You felt your lip began to tremble, your throat starting to close up again. Swallowing hard, you breathed in and exhaled loudly, not allowing yourself to shed any more tears. Crying would only make you dehydrate quicker, and who knew when or if your captors would decide to give you any water.

There was nothing you could do but wait. 

Footsteps outside made you snap your head in the direction of the door. Muffled male voices shouted at each other and there was the clear sound of a key being inserted and turned. You cringed as pain ran through you with the effort to scramble to your feet, which only made you dizzy. Nausea flooded your senses, forcing you to close your eyes. 

“Well, aren’t you a pretty sight for sore eyes,” a raucous voice mocked.

Your eyes snapped open. Lord Bennet stood in the doorway, the most atrocious smug smile painted his features. 

You chuckled in a surprised laugh… How destiny seemed to enjoy continuously making fun of you.

“Do you think this is funny, girl?” he thundered. You couldn’t help but smile at his anger, fully aware that it would only make him more upset. “You must truly have a death wish.”

“Not at all,” your voice sounded stronger than you felt, “Though, unlike you, I’m not afraid of dying.”

He stepped forward, two guards by his side. With a simple nod from him, the men grabbed your arms, forcing you onto your knees in front of the Lord. Pain ravaged your body, yet your expression remained unchanged. You would not give him anything. He wouldn’t have the pleasure of watching you writhe and scream and cry.

“Have you figured out why you’re here yet?”

You gave him a blank stare.

“Oh, little queen, they told me you were clever,” his mouth forming a cynical half-smile, “It seems, however, that you are simply a smug bitch who forgot her place in the world.”

Wise words from a traitor, you thought but held your tongue. 

“Does the king know of this plot against me or have you tardily decided to take matters into your own hands?” you smirked, “have you, by any chance, grown to be afraid of me, my lord?”

You watched as he nodded once again to his guards, and before you could react, a fist connected against your jaw. Your eyes watered, your ears started ringing, and soon all you could taste in your mouth was blood . 

“If only I believed that you’d stay away, we wouldn’t be here,” his voice sounded far away despite him being right in front of you, “If only the King hadn’t fallen for your treachery, maybe I would’ve let you go...at least for now. However, you acted your part and the boy fell for it. It turns out, even kings can think with their cocks first.”

“I don’t - I’m not -”, you struggled with your words, spitting blood on the floor “what the hell are you even talking about?”

“No need to play dumb, little queen. I know all about your lake escapades and late-night encounters. I know each and every step you took since you arrived in Narnia and I know how much you plotted to make him fall for you”, his face was inches away from yours as he spitted the words, “And I will not have a filthy foreign whore like you being anything but dirt beneath my boots.”

A whimper escaped your lips, tears flooded your vision. “Why haven’t you killed me, then?”

“Although it pains me to say, despite your unruliness, you may still have your uses.” he showed a yellow smile, “why would I ruin the greatest advantage Narnia will have when we go to war with your silly brother? No. That wouldn’t be wise. Therefore, I will not kill you.”

So this was it then. He intended to start a war between Calormen and Narnia and considering your disappearance right when you were meant to go home, it wouldn’t be difficult for them to put together this narrative. At Calormen, they would only know that their Queen had gone to a foreign land to secure an alliance and never returned. Gone. Missing. Your people weren’t the forgiving kind and would most definitely immediately jump to conclusions that the worst had happened. After that, there was no stopping them. Your brother...your sweet brother would think of you as dead. That made it all hurt more. 

Nevertheless, you had to maintain hope. Your letters would have arrived by now, and they would know that you were already on your way home, maybe they wouldn’t attack, maybe they…

You contained a breath of temporary relief. You still had time to figure something out. You only hoped you were able to come up with a plan to escape. 

Watching as you struggled to come to terms with his revelations, Lord Bennet came closer, kneeling on the floor in front of you. Your body was in full alert in the face of his terrifyingly evil grin. He is savoring, you thought, this moment is triumphant to him. 

“You shall be writing letters, little queen. To keep the king well-informed of your arrival in your destination.”

“You expect to fool him with a couple of letters littered with lies?”, you had to laugh at the gull of that man, “Is that it? Keeping me alive to write fucking letters to him...that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

You saw how anger made Lord Bennet’s eyes boil. Deciding you enjoyed that, you continued.

“You could simply get my letters from his chambers and replicate my handwriting, could you not? Or are you too inept to think of better ways to accomplish your goals?”

“King Caspian has burned every single one of your letters as soon as he read them, your highness”, he gave you a dark smirk, “not very romantic of him, wouldn’t you agree?”

A sting on your chest. It shouldn’t hurt but it did. Whenever you had received correspondence from Caspian, you usually burned the letters as well. It was safer. Those words were meant for your eyes only. However, there were some which you couldn’t help but keep to read again later. Guarding them safely in your chambers. 

“I’ll have you know that you mustn’t get cozy, your highness,” he continued, “The reasoning for me not killing you goes beyond your temporary usefulness. I won’t kill you because I want you to live with knowledge”, he came uncomfortably closer, his nose breathing down on your face, “The knowledge of what it feels to be utterly powerless in the face of your enemies. I want you to be alive when King Caspian gets married to my daughter. I want you to know in his nuptial evening that he is delighting himself in another woman in a way that he will never be with you. Not only that, but I want you to sit here -  rotting - enough time so that you hear the news of his first child being born. I want to see you weep for him when I get rid of him and end his young reign. You will know all of this and yet, be able to do nothing to stop it.”

Rage rushed through you, adrenaline fueling your body as you reached over to scratch Lord Bennet’s eyes out. You screamed as you latched your nails onto his skin, sinking them in on both sides of his face. He fell on his back, surprised at the abrupt attack, but before you could inflict more damage the guards were dragging you away from the man as you manically kicked and growled. 

The guards were much rougher this time around, punching you and kicking you in the stomach until you were writhing on the floor. 

From the corners of your eyes, you saw Lord Bennet rising to his feet as blood poured from the gashes you had branded his face with. Now, more than ever, there was hatred mixed with disgust in the way he looked down at you. 

“An utter animal, you are,” he said, then turned around pointing his finger at you. “Hear this loud and clear, little queen: you will remain locked in this cage, like the beast you are and still be here when I take your land for myself and finish your brother’s life. You will be alive to imagine his screams, to think of the blood bathing the streets of your country. You will live for years, drowning in guilt and sorrow, knowing that their lives ended because of your little crush. Because you were too blinded by meaningless emotions to see the threat that was right in front of you. Then - and only then - I will kill you.”

He turned around signaling his leave, only to at the last moment turn around and give you one last blood-stained grin.

"And, may I just add before you try to make any silly attempt at escaping, I'd advise you to simply remember that there are many guards in this castle who'd love to dominate a wild queen." 

The hinges moved and the door closed with a loud bang. 

That sound was the last thing you heard before you collapsed.

“Dear Caspian, 

As you said once before, the journey home always seems to take longer than the trip away., but I am pleased to inform you that I have indeed arrived just in time to see my garden bloom. 

The Mother Tree of Calormen stands as tall and proud as it did once before, moving past the time when its life hung by a single thread. However, I came to find that sometimes there are certain things one cannot hope to ever fix. Inescapable moments. 

I wonder if maybe it’s time for me and my people to move on from silly tales and chop the whole thing right off. I’m sure my mother would agree.

It occurred to me that the tree might not be a symbol of hope, but one of destruction and misery. It might be better to live in a world without it. 

I write to you today with a heart lighter than when I left. 

If you ever still wonder about me, know that I found my peace and have since moved on. 

I’m pleased to tell you that soon I shall also be wedded to someone, allowing a king to rule this kingdom with the power and strength which I hope will be beneficial for the relationship between our nations.

Wishing you well, 

Your friend, the Queen of Calormen.

Caspian frowned, slowly putting down the letter, fighting the sudden urge to tear it into pieces and wipe the memory of having read it entirely from his head. An odd disarray of feelings settled in the pit of his stomach. This didn’t make much sense at all. You were to be married? And what about this nonsense regarding your ability to rule? A king for Calormen after your struggle to get rid of the old one? No. The woman he’d known would never say such a thing, but maybe he didn’t know you as well as he once thought. Or maybe you said that simply to hurt him. It seemed only fair after he had hurt you. No, you wouldn’t do that. Would you? God, this is ridiculous, he thought, shaking his head.

He had less than a month until his wedding day and there he stood attempting to decipher a woman’s words written on a piece of paper. A woman whom he was almost certain was in love with. A woman who was not his bride. Someone whom he was not meant to be with. His duty to his people was a priority, he reaffirmed, now truly understanding what it took to be a leader as he forced himself to give up. He must give up and, after that, he needed to forget you. Forget your scent. Your voice. Your smile. The curve of your lips and how soft they felt against his own.

He hadn’t seen you off and wasn’t entirely sure why. He couldn’t help himself but to at least watch from the windows on the Cair Paravel as your ship departed, being almost able to feel the tug on his heart as you moved farther and farther away. It wouldn’t be proper, he thought. You were a foreign queen, yes. Your friendship was known by many, and you had acquired more than a few admirers in his court who surely would be there to see you for one last time.

However, after the kisses the both of you had exchanged till late hours in the previous night, he couldn’t bring himself to go to the harbor and tell you a suitable goodbye in front of a crowd. He justified his cowardliness by assuring himself that you had said your farewells in the previous night. Saying goodbye with each lingering encounter of your lips, when his thumbs caressed your arms enjoying the feeling of your soft skin beneath them. 

He remembered oh so very clearly how your breath caught on your throat, surprised at his boldness as he dragged his nose against the hollow of your neck. The thrill of having you make such noises lighting a fire in his whole body. 

That night, he burned and withered, and by the time he left your room, he felt as if he had been fully turned into ashes. A part of him begging the other to go further, completely giving himself to you and also wondering what it would be like to have you all to himself. To see all of you. With nothing standing in between the two of you. No countries, no council, and more importantly, not a single stitch of clothing. 

He sighed loudly, cheeks turning red, burning with embarrassment for having such sinful thoughts, which also triggered something worse. A wave of shame overcoming him as he took note of the hardness visible through his pants. I must put a stop to these thoughts at once, Caspian thought. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t proper of him to think of you in that way, especially as he was heading into his future marriage. 

You were gone, and he stayed, there was nothing else to do but to wait for his own fate.

A sudden hard knock on the door to his study jolted him to his feet, he quickly folded the letter and tucked it in one of the pockets of his jacket.

“Enter,” he ordered.

“Your Majesty,” Lady Genevieve entered the room, “may we speak?”.

Caspian halted dead on his feet as he noticed the blush on Genevieve’s cheeks. 

He’d been told she was a nice girl, someone sweet and lovable who would be able to garner the people’s love and affection. However, if he was completely honest he hadn’t gone to too many lengths to get to know her before their wedding. 

He had proposed to her himself, refusing to have her father tell him her answer as an intermediary. It simply wasn’t right. Even if he didn’t have much of a choice, she still could decide her own future. She could say no. Deep down, Caspian couldn’t get rid of thinking about what he would’ve done if she had said no. 

An unexpected turn of events could lead to extraordinary things happening. He knew he’d probably take it as a sign. A sign that he was meant to follow his heart. If she said no….well, I don’t think I would’ve had that much self-control over everything else. If she had said no, he wouldn’t have let you go. 

He hated thinking that. You weren’t his second choice. Neither was Genevieve. No one should be treated as if they are disposable as if they don’t matter as much as someone else. Secondary plans were only meant to be used in war, not in love. 

“Your Majesty?” Her voice called louder.

Caspian shook his head. He had completely spaced out in a matter of seconds. Once more he was reminded of how much he needed to stop thinking of you. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt you without warning,” she started apologizing.

“Please,” he reasoned, “do not fret a second about it, my lady. You are very welcome here.”

Her nervous smile subsidized as she visibly relaxed her shoulders. 

“Oh, good,” she took a step closer to him, still keeping a good enough distance between the both of them, “I know many would think it not being proper of us talking alone, however, I’d like for us to be able to speak to each other at least.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand, my lady, we are speaking right now.”

She shook her head, exhaling deeply. “Yes, well, of course,” she stumbled on her words, “what I meant to say is that it is my wish to get to know you better. Before we are married that is.”

Caspian stood in stunned silence. His quietness seemed to only aggravate Genevieve, who jumped to correct herself.

“I mean I am not demanding anything, as I- I would never think that your time isn’t valuable, my liege,” she rambled on, “I- I simply wanted to learn more about yourself and the position that you have entrusted upon me before our wedding day is all…”

“Don’t - “, he cleared his throat before reaching out to her,” do not fret about it, my lady.”

This time, she was the one who paused. Caspian stepped closer to her, keeping only about a foot distance. 

“I must correct myself as I have not made myself very clear, kind lady. I would be glad to get to know you before our wedding day. I too, think it would be beneficial for both parties.”

She smiled, and an even heavier weight settled into Caspian’s chest. 

It was only after Genevieve left that he recognized what the weight was. 

Guilt. 

Genevieve lifted her head from her embroidery, suddenly realizing she had been staring at the simple purple flower design in front of her for far too long, Her mind, lost elsewhere, a place full of worries and questions burning for answers. A place of complete utter doubt. 

Unlike what many might have originally thought, Genevieve never wanted to rise in the ranks. She grew up in the countryside under the protected watch of one of her aunts, sister to her dearly departed mother. Her childhood had been mostly free from the pressures of court or the constraints of having to behave like a lady. Instead, she spent her days running free, barefoot in the grass, climbing trees and picking fruit from the highest of its branches. 

She often thought about those times before her father had summoned her to court to assume what he called "her duty”, which entailed essentially in becoming a prized possession he could, and very much would flaunt in front of the rest of the residents of Cair Paravel in hopes of securing the most advantageous match possible to further his political standing between the other lords.  After those very lonely first few months at court, she was blessed in finding a core group of ladies who took her in, friends whom she often had fun times with. People who helped her feel less alone. 

The surrounding room was quiet. Almost eerily so. A silence which was only interrupted by the ever slight adjustment of a lady’s chair or a shift from one of their dresses. A strange outcome considering the number of women who currently occupied that particular drawing-room alongside her. 

She had a suspicion. One which was quickly showing itself to be true, that the group of ladies that now accompanied her almost the entire day, following her every move, had something to do with the announcement of her betrothal to King Caspian. 

Genevieve noticed how some of her favorite colors were now worn by each one of the ladies from the group, the dresses emulated her long-time preferred style, and even her silver hair accessories were now being copied.  

Every time someone mentioned their upcoming union, she was supposed to feel ecstatic and yet a feeling of hesitancy loomed over her. As elusive as it might sound, marrying the king didn’t feel...right. 

Although, she had reached out to him only a week prior, and they had met a couple of times since then, talking about a variety of subjects. Still, she couldn’t shake the thought that King Caspian was a stranger to her. A stranger who was already affecting her life in a variety of ways even before their marriage. 

It was all there in the open now, the flock of people following her every move, the unwanted attention, the added responsibility to never make a mistake. It was all too much. She had no idea how you could bear it. 

She closed her eyes for a moment when thinking of you. Her father had terminally forbidden her to write to you in any circumstance. You were, however, the only person who would be able to answer some of her questions on how to deal with the attention and pressure of the position she was soon to take over. Genevieve was aware of how unfair it was on you. She wasn’t blind to the looks you once exchanged with the king. Looks which he thoroughly reciprocated. Now, more than ever, she knew that if she had any real choice in the matter, she would’ve refused the King’s proposal. Her father was the one who left her no choice, threatening severe consequences had she done so. 

Nevertheless, Genevieve couldn’t help but have guilt ripple through her as she scanned the surrounding room. During your time at Narnia, well...at least after you got acquainted with herself, Anne, Casandra, and Estella, the room had been filled with laughter as the ladies playfully exchanged anecdotes. Even if at first glance you hadn’t looked like a very approachable person, you revealed yourself to be not only courageous but very thoughtful, remembering details from their conversations and never missing a single opportunity to be kind. 

“It’s so quiet without her, right?”. Anna spoke, having noticed the same thing as Genevieve. 

“Yes,” she murmured, “very much so.”

“Who are we talking about?”

Genevieve stiffened, the question had come from one of the ladies she was recently introduced to.

“Her Majesty, the queen of Calormen, of course,” Lady Estella answered, her eyes twinkled and Genevieve knew she was about to spit something ironic, “oh dear, Lady Holloway, you didn’t meet her, did you? That’s so very sad. I’m sure she would’ve been delighted by your company.”

To Genevieve’s surprise, the lady laughed. 

“I’m not so sure about my own delight. My father advises me to stay away from foreigners, especially old enemies such as her majesty,” she paused, directing herself solely to Genevieve now, “besides, despite the pleasantries, I’m sure our future queen is relieved with her absence. I heard she was invited to the royal wedding but declined to attend.”

“Why would I be glad about that? I’ll have you know, she proved herself to be a friend not only to me, or our King, but also many others in court.”

“A friend? Oh dear, Lady Genevieve, your heart is too good for this world”, she openly mocked.

“And why would that be, Lady Holloway?”

“Well, I’m afraid she is not as noble as she might have led you to think, that is all.”

“How come are you so certain that you know better than us, provided you haven’t even met the woman?”, Estella accused.

“There is information my husband tells me, dear ladies, that I am simply not meant to divulge,” she tugged her chin up in superiority, “nevertheless, let’s simply speak of matters which are ever so clear to any person with a pair of eyes...you should be glad she left, for now, she can no longer surround the king with her predatory gaze.”

“Well,” Genevieve reasoned, “they are very good friends.”

Lady Holloway scoffed. 

“Once more you show how kindhearted you are, my lady. Even in the face of a woman attempting to steal what is yours, you are willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.”

At this point, Genevieve was struggling to keep herself from fuming. How dare this person not only challenge her friendship with you but also patronize her this way?

“All I’m saying, your grace, is that if I were you, I’d prevent him from visiting her in the future, or at least I’d make sure to sire an heir before that, after all, a bastard is never good for the stability of the realm, especially one of royal breeding.”

“What a dreadful thing to say, Serena!”, Anna reprimanded.

Genevieve paused, recognizing the anger that pulsed through her veins. She should leave before saying anything she might regret. Her father wouldn’t like it if he found out about her fiercely defending the Queen of Calormen to anyone. 

And yet, she couldn’t stop the words that came out of her mouth.

“You are driving an interesting point, Lady Holloway, I’m sure anything to do with bastard children is something you take a great deal of attention to, given how...notoriously prolific your husband is. I must say, if I were you, I’d be more worried about the other ladies of the court being courted by your husband than the Queen of Calormen, a person who has proven her worthiness beyond any imaginable circumstance you have ever faced in your very privileged life”, Genevieve smirked, “So please, do not fret about my own situation as I am secure in the knowledge that my soon-to-be husband is not only a proper king but also a good man, with that I shall not worry about him fathering children outside marital bonds. Can you say the same?”

All the ladies stood still, eyes wide open in horror, as Genevieve stood up and left, slamming the door behind her.

She still couldn’t stop thinking about Lady Holloway’s words. Not merely the false statements about your character or the glances you had exchanged with the king. She was reminded of the night she had watched you and Caspian dance at his birthday ball. His entire demeanor changed in your presence, shining bright as his eyes focused on you. She realized now that the way the king touched you was softer, delicate, and yet with purpose, securing you in his arms proudly. He would never look at her in the same way.

A knot formed in her stomach. Not from jealousy, but for the complete lack thereof. Her hesitancy now building to downright urgency. This is wrong, she thought. Marrying him is wrong. If a man is so in love with a woman, and a woman is in love with a man, regardless of rank, they should have a chance at happiness together. 

By marrying him, she’d be taking it all away from them. 

Genevieve mused over and over about this for another full day, when finally, she had a chance to be alone and draft a letter addressed to you. She would ask you, outright, if you loved him. She would tell you, if you do share his feelings, come back now and be together. I cannot stand to ever be in between two people in love. You deserve happiness, as do I, and I’m afraid, the King and I shall not find happiness with one another.

She finished sealing the letter, however, before she could call for a servant to send it, someone entered her chambers without announcing themselves.

There was only one person who would dare to do that. 

Her father.

“What is this rumor I’ve heard of you still playing friends with the Queen of Calormen, girl?”

his voice was low, but the anger was clear by his tone. 

She fought to maintain a neutral expression, turning around in her chair to look at him. Holding in a scream as she saw the state of his face. It looked like...scratches? Something terrible must have happened to him. She refrained from asking, worried it would trigger his rage. 

“There’s nothing to it, father.”

“So you are saying you haven’t been talking about your charming aspirations to defend her even against your own people?” 

Frowning, she got up. “That’s not at all what happened.”

Mockery in his smile, he took an intimidating step forward. “Tell me then, dear daughter. What did happen?”

“Nothing of importance”, she responded, “I - I...merely had a small disagreement with Lady Holloway, though, if  this matter bothers you in some way, father, I will apologize for whichever offense Lady Holloway may feel that I’ve afflicted upon her person.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “Are you certain, child? Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

Genevieve ignored her shaking hands, “Yes, father. That is all.”

“Very well.”

He made a motion which indicated that he was about to turn around and leave her chambers and she nearly exhaled loudly in relief. Her father always made her nervous and given his expectations of her, he had been even more volatile as of late. The way he looked and talked to her sometimes made her feel as if he merely saw her as the chicken with golden eggs that would take him closer to the crown. Closer to the power she knew he craved. 

However, before he turned around, something caught his eye. Something sitting on Genevieve’s table. A letter.  Not just any letter. 

A letter addressed to you. 

Once upon a time, there was a girl who could bring laughter to any room as easily as the sun would rise at the beginning of each day. Shining down upon the world, touching every surface, every crevice with its warm light. She’d grown up to become a beautiful woman, a shy one at that, someone who despite never flaunting her attributes, had a distinct magnetism, as people tended to gravitate towards her. 

Effortless. Ethereal delicacy seemed to be intertwined with her soul. That was until she met a man. Exuberant frame, dark and brooding temperament. A rebel. And yet, he was a star in his people’s eyes. The darling prince. He was everything at once, all one wished to be - and all one didn’t. 

One look at her, and he fell in love. With power on his fingertips, he promised to give her everything. Every single thing in the world she wanted. It could all be hers if she stayed with him.

Her father was happy to give her to him.

And so soon, her, a simple woman, got married. Became a queen. Became important. A symbol. Now, her laughter could not only lighten a single room but a whole nation. Her influence could brighten a path for a better tomorrow. 

She was thankful.

She felt blessed.

Soon, she was rewarded. A baby girl came out of her, screaming her way into the world, clutching her thumb in the assurance that this was her place as well. 

That was until darkness arose. The man she’s married no longer held his breath when she walked into a room. She had heard of a prophecy, of a creature that visited his dreams whom he’d met on the road in one of his travels. The creature told him that he could have more. That he had been holding back. That to reach the heavens he needed to become a god himself. 

The woman was present when he reached for nirvana. Later in life, he argued with himself, saying he had been wrong. Saying she lied, and pretended to be someone she wasn’t, that she had fooled him all along, anything to justify what he had done when he drained the life out of her. 

The little girl grew up to look exactly like her. Everything but the eyes. She had his eyes. 

She was a reminder. A reminder that regardless of her survival, regardless of what she thought of him, if she hated him or not, he’d always be with her, one way or another, every time she so much as stared at her reflection.

The little girl grew up.

She cast him out. 

Killed the monster and crowned herself.

The little girl was you. 

And you couldn’t help but wonder where exactly things had gone wrong to make you end up where you were. During your captivity, food had been sparse, medical attention, nonexistent and time, a complete mystery. There weren't any ways to tell how many days passed as hunger stroke and every hour became tortuously lethargic. You had been served food a few times. Enough times that you knew they weren't keeping a strict schedule in feeding you. It was as if they forgot you, somehow. 

It shouldn't be difficult, you thought. Laying on the cold floor, you felt pretty forgotten. You wondered how long it would take for you to start going insane when inevitably the world forgot you long enough. Occasionally you would hear muffled voices in the corridor. You never heard screams. No one seemed to ever come near your cell unless they were here to give you food. 

You had reached the conclusion that you were probably one of the few prisoners locked in these dungeons. It's easier to forget a prisoner if you aren't used to tending to them when the dungeons have been quiet and empty for some time. 

For the most part, you just slept. Attempting to recuperate some of your energy, strengthening your body to - well - you didn’t know why. You hadn’t yet lost faith in Lorian and his capabilities, it was, however, a strenuous task to keep hope alive when you lost the notion of when was the last time you’d seen the sun. 

Days were, for the most part, uneventful. Well, that is until they weren’t. 

Today was apparently one of these days. 

Helena Lockwood stood stoically on the corner, hands folded together in front of her, analyzing the decrepit image before her.

Despite not being able to tell exactly how much time you had been there, you had spent long enough without a shower, changing clothes, or even being able to clean off the dried blood on your hair to feel absolutely disgusting. 

You sat on the ground, chains rustling together with every breath you took, finding yourself unable to encounter enough strength within you to get up and clutch your hands around her thin neck, knocking air straight out of her lungs, as you desperately wished to do.

You had learned in your life to control your anger. Being angry reminded you of your father. 

Shined a light on the resemblance. But then again, that was before you were imprisoned by traitorous assholes.

You clicked your tongue and paused. “So you were with him all along.”

She stayed silent, covered by the shadows in your cell.

“It does me no pleasure seeing you in this state, child.”

“It doesn’t do you enough displeasure as well, I suppose,” your voice was calm, undisturbed, as if you weren’t trapped on a stone box, but simply meeting with someone you weren’t so fond of in a breezy walk on a park, “or else I wouldn’t be here in the first place, I doubt that Lord Bennet alone had the mind to bring forth this plan, much less execute it.”

Once again, she stayed quiet.

“How brave of you, my lady”, you mocked, “though I suppose bravery isn’t exactly your strong suit. If you were brave, you wouldn’t have me chained to the ground now. What is it? Afraid I’ll do to your face the same thing I’ve done to Lord Bennet?”

She barely moved a muscle. Still hidden by darkness.

Annoyed by her reticence, you shifted to look at her directly. 

“Was any of it even real? Your friendliness towards me?”.

“No. None of it was.”

You hummed, nodding.

“Are you disappointed?”

“Should I?”

“I imagine it’s not easy for someone of your position to be so wrong about her prospects. First, you didn’t get the king, and now you are imprisoned in a way that’s worse than a mere commoner.”

A laugh rumbled out of your throat. 

“How nice it is to finally see you speaking with honesty, Helena,” your shot daggers with your look, “refreshing, really.”

She stepped forward into the light, her expression giving away her fury at you referring to her without the proper respectable title. 

“Oh, please,” disdain dripped from your voice, “you cannot deny me the pleasure of simply calling you by your name, Helena. I feel that we are more than mere acquaintances as of now. After all, your plots against me have, so far, succeeded. I’ll have you know that I’ll show you no more respect than this when I eventually watch you pay for your betrayal.”

“The only one paying for something here will be you, girl. A steep price for falling into bed with the king, however one you thoroughly deserve to pay.”

“Ha! You and your companion show how misinformed you truly are,” you mocked, “this won’t matter. Do you think that by now no one has noticed that my person is missing? All of Calormen knows I am to be returning, the council is aware of which ship I boarded. How do you intend in protecting your positions once my people are at your shores, seeking retribution for the kidnapping of their queen.”

“Ah, that’s where you are wrong, my dear,” she smirked, “do you think I’d allow a single word to arrive there of your impending return? Of course not. Whichever letter you may think you have sent, I assure you that they have not reached their destination as I made sure of it.”

Your heart dropped. Mind racing wildly to understand how. Just how had they done that. 

Seeing your change in expression, it was her time to mockingly smile at you.

“You might be happy to know that, of this time, we have not yet located your man. The one you sent to seek help,” you held her gaze, refusing to give her anything, you weren’t going to show any more weaknesses, “he’s vanished, no trail in his wake, which means that he’s good at hiding his tracks. Be cheerful for -  as of now -  he might still be breathing.”

Lorian was alive. He was still alive. No doubt, however, he was being persecuted and soon his life would hang by a thread. Unshed tears burned behind your eyes.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“To give you hope.”

“I assume only so that you can crush me more later on when that is destroyed”, you responded bitterly.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dramatic, I would never do that...intentionally. I figured it was time to give you something in return for what you gave us. We have been given word that the letter you wrote worked wonders as King Caspian is cooperating immensely after having received it.”

Your throat started closing.

“For a caged animal, you have been very compliant. Let us only hope you remain that way, then maybe we can negotiate further, that way, you might even save the king from a painful death. If you play nice, he might get a quick one instead.”

“Now, if that is all, my liege, I shall take my leave.”

No answer. 

Doctor Cornelius, the man who had tutored the young boy Caspian once was and now served as advisor to the king he had become, narrowed his eyes at a very distracted Caspian who stood in front of him “Your majesty?”, he called again.

The king’s eyes were far away, annoying the professor even further. The boy had been the one to call on him for a meeting, and now he didn’t have the attention span to endure the affair. 

“You know, your majesty, the way you search for something outside as of late reminds me of a time on which you longed to be free of your academic lessons to go practice sword fighting.”

Blinking rapidly, Caspian finally heard, snapping out of a temporary trance. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, focusing particularly on his eyelids as he tried to rid himself of his state of tiredness. 

“What is it that is currently occupying your mind, my king?”, the professor asked curiously, though he had a guess to the answer.

“It’s nothing,” Caspian’s voice sounded tired even to his own ears.

Ever since you left, sleep hadn’t come easy to him. But after receiving your letter he was downright agitated. He lay awake at night dissecting your words, every phrase, and their meaning, to the point that he had concluded that there had to be a hidden message in it. There are certain things one cannot hope to ever fix. Inescapable moments. Those words kept coming back to him. What had you meant? Were you talking about him? The world on which you both have been thrust upon? Maybe even the inevitable ways of duty? Something which constantly forced the hand of people like you and him?

Still, you had spoken about the future before, even when your relationship wasn’t more complicated than a friendly bond, and he remembered as you mentioned once that your council didn’t mind if you waited longer to marry. You jokingly said once “I don’t even need to get married, as long as I sire an heir. I bet that as long as I delivered my duty, they wouldn’t even care who the father is”. 

You had also mention that even if this was a tempting scenario, to live without having to balance an attachment to someone who would inevitably want some form of power in return (a grim look, Caspian thought), you’d never want to have a child who didn’t have a proper father. A father who loved them no matter what. Caspian knew the true hidden meaning of your words. You wanted what you hadn't had. And he, oh so desperately wanted to give you everything.

He cleared his throat before speaking. 

“I will admit I haven’t slept a whole lot lately, is all. Might be the wedding nerves settling in.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your less than excitable demeanor as of late, your majesty,” Dr. Cornelius spoke, “especially since the Queen of Calormen left our shores.”

Busted, Caspian thought.

“She’s a dear friend.”

The old man held back a smile. Caspian still thought that after all these years, he could hide anything from him? No. Not when the man in front of him had been the one to teach him all there was about mathematics, languages, history, politics, and most of all, about following his heart. 

“A very dear one she must be if her absence causes you to lose sleep.”

Caspian stood still for a moment, calculating if trying to hide his feelings for you, in front of his professor, was worth it. He decided that no, it would be of no use. 

If anyone could and most definitely would see right through him, it was the professor. 

“You have no idea how much.”

Cornelius’ suspicions had been coming along for a while, as through the last couple of years he saw Caspian’s face change every time he'd been in the room when the younger man got word that a letter from you had arrived. In one instance, he had even been present as the young king read a letter from you. He saw how Caspian’s face changed as he read. Taking it all in, drinking every word, every pause, every stroke of your pen. He saw how reluctantly he burned the letter, just as he had been taught. Information is powerful. Information about foreign states, even more so. 

“I- “, he watched as Narnia’s king struggled to find his words, swallowing hard before saying anything else, “she - she became something else to me.”

“Something else?”

“More. I care about her more than I ever thought possible to care for anyone”, Caspian closed his eyes, before turning away from the professor, his voice cracking slightly “and - and now she’s gone. I’ve hurt her. The one person my heart truly soared for, I managed to hurt.”

“How have you hurt her, my liege?”

“Letting myself love her, only to turn her away. Not even being brave enough to say goodbye. And now, this - this engagement.” Caspian’s bottom lip trembled. He didn’t cry easily, but admitting his most horrendous assessments out loud allowed the cloud of melancholy which had been following him for days, to finally rain down on him. 

“I am a coward. A coward for allowing myself to fall for her, but even more so for not doing anything about it. I took the easy way out. I let her go without a fight,” he bowed his head, “and worse of all, I didn’t even tell her how I really feel. Not with all the letters anyway How dare I even feel betrayed by her words now? I’m very aware I have no right. I abdicated of any possible rights she allowed me to have over her heart the moment I proposed to someone else.”

Doctor Cornelius chuckled at his words and Caspian stopped, suddenly realizing how he had started to nervously pace around the room. 

“Dear boy, it is well past your time to learn lessons about the unpredictability of one’s heart. However justifiably so, given your struggles to ascend to the throne, I would think that you’d be wiser on that front.”

Caspian frowned. “Wiser?”

“Why, of course, my king. Your focus on the good of the realm, while admirable in many instances, seems to have blinded you, so much so that you find yourself in your current predicament.”

“My current predicament is due to nothing more than my own stupidity,” he retorted, “I’ve entertained certain thoughts about her for longer than I should’ve, and then once I realized I needed to stop, I couldn’t. I was already in love. How can I love her and be a dutiful king at the same time?”

The professor stopped and contemplated his long time student, the brave young boy had become a man, a king in his own right, blessed by Aslan himself. Nevertheless, there were instances when even the smartest of men were unable to see things that were clear as day.

“While I find admirable how adamant you are to keep up with this farce, pretending to yourself that your love for her cannot do any good, I never knew you to be so stubborn.”

“It is not a matter of being stubborn,” Caspian felt more tired than he had ever been, “it is a matter of duty.”

“Tell me, my king, where is your duty towards your own heart?”

Caspian stood speechless. He hadn’t been aware he could even have such a thing. Cornelius seemed to understand his response, his kind eyes smiling. 

“My dear boy, duty shouldn’t bar you from love, as the former is the very essence of the latter.”

Genevieve tripped over her own feet, nearly falling down the stairs, the iron grip on her wrist would most likely leave bruises. 

“Stop!”, she exclaimed, her voice screeching, "Father, please I - where are you taking me?"

Her father turned to face her, and she was still taken aback by the sight of his wounded skin. He stopped for a moment before yanking her forward once again as she continued to struggle to keep up the pace. 

She was being dragged through a shadowy corridor at a castle which before that very same day had been completely unknown to her. A dark location, fortified with a large number of armed guards, even more than she often saw roaming around Cair Paravel. 

"Where are you taking me?", she insisted.

"Shut up, traitorous girl. You ungrateful little brat, you'll see…”, he savored the words, “you'll see when we get there." 

Unable to shrug him off, she relented to being dragged through the dark hall, soon reaching a passage that lead to even darker stairs, spiraling to, what she thought, were the dungeons. As they came down to the bottom, the only source of light became the torches hanging on the stone walls. 

The last couple of hours were a blur to Genevieve as she recalled when her father had barged into her chambers. He demanded an explanation, word traveled fast in Cair Paravel with him having heard of her little incident with Lady Holloway, but when he saw her letter to you on top of her table his entire body froze. 

Fury soon grew in his eyes as he inquired her. “What is this, girl?” he took her by her shoulders shaking her body, “tell me, right now, what is a letter addressed to the Queen of Calormen doing in your table?”

She was paralyzed, not able to form a single excuse, becoming merely a spectator as he tore the letter open and angrily read its contents. 

“You, girl, are a disgrace. How have I managed to father such an insolent, ignorant child, only god knows. Nevertheless, you will understand - I will make you understand - why your ambitions if they can even be called that - to forfeit your duty to your family, are fruitless daydreams,” it was almost as if a fire was burning in his eyes, “yes...I will show you.”

They arrived at their apparent destination, in front of a door, at the very end of the hall, and just before her father opened it, she saw a glimpse of what, or better yet, who was inside. Once again, she froze. Bile coming up her throat. Behind her, Lord Bennet sneered “You want to talk to the bitch? Go right ahead. I’ll be waiting for you upstairs in a few moments.”

“Genevieve?” you stood up, leaning against the wall. Still exhausted even after what you thought were days worth of rest, “Genevieve, what are you doing here?”

Your voice trembled. Not her, please god, do not let her also betray me. She is my only hope. The only one capable of protecting him.

She appeared to be in shock, having been pushed into your cell moments before the door closed loudly behind her. Tears filled her eyes. Why the fuck is she crying? 

You didn’t want to be hopeful. In a world where people lied as well as they breathed, how could you trust her?.

You were reminded of something one of the lords from Calormen had asked you before he decided to back your claim to the throne. “How can I trust the daughter of a traitor?”. At the time you needed to gain his support. Without it, your troops wouldn’t withstand another month of fighting. “I imagine you’ll have to have faith in me, my Lord,” you had answered, “however, if I am not the one who right his wrongs, then who will? Do inform me when you have another volunteer.”

The irony of this moment did not escape you. 

“Genevieve,” your voice hardened, demanding an answer, “what are you doing here?”

“I - I don’t...I was writing to you and…”, her entire body trembled as she attempted to get the words out, “my father he- he found the letter I was sending and got absolutely furious and now I-I’m here.”

“You were writing to me?” anxiety boiled in your stomach, “why?”

Her tears now flowed freely, “I-I was writing to you to tell you that I- well, it’s meaningless now in the face of this. What on earth happened? How are you here, in Narnia, in a dungeon?”, she didn’t finish her sentence, and you watched as realization dawned upon her. Her face fell. You sank back down, sitting amidst the dirt. Moving to get up and talking to her had caused a gush of blood to start to flow again from your wounded lip. 

Silence. 

You waited for her to say anything as she finally took sight of her surroundings, looking at the hinges at the door, the lack of windows, and, finally, the irons wrapped around your wrists.

Unsure, she finally stepped forward. Her beautiful dress getting dirtier by every minute, however, she didn’t seem to mind as she crouched beside you, conjuring a handkerchief and moving right ahead with dabbing your lip carefully. 

"Did you know?", your voice sounded weak and coarse. She shook her head, her expression said it all. She lifted the rag to try - however unsuccessfully - to wipe away some of the blood from your hair 

"Good, that's good", you whispered. 

"I had no idea, I found out as I walked into the room just now." 

She stayed quiet for longer still gently attempting to clean some of your wounds. 

"I- my father, he...I know he is a bad man, just like yours was, but I-I don’t know how to. I don’t know what to do.”

If you had any answers particularly wise answers to give, you probably wouldn’t be in the situation you were. 

 She let out a shaky breath. “I wish I was as brave as you were."

A confused look dawned upon your face. Despite the friendliness you had endured in your short time in Narnia, you were never open about any feats of bravery, sticking to conventional topics of conversation, always making sure to steer away from talking about battles or the act of ruling. Those topics were reserved for...

"Caspian talks a lot about you," she smiled shyly, "actually, most of our conversations were made of him finding every opportunity to gush over you." 

A smile formed on her lips, as if the thought didn't bother her, but was more so amusing than anything else. 

Thinking of him talking about you to someone else made your throat suddenly close up. Tears threatened to spill down your face.

Noticing your reaction, she mumbled. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

“It’s okay,” you reassured her, “It’s really okay.”

Without warning, the door is opened, a guard walked in.

“Lady Genevieve, your father has requested your return upstairs.”

She turned to face the much taller, armed man. 

“Well, I am not done here,” she challenges. 

“My lady, the matter is not up for discussion.”

“Well, you can’t possibly force me to-”

He stops her speach by grabbing her wrist and starting to forcebly drag her away from the cell. Panicked, she looks back at you. 

“It’s alright, Genevieve, really it’s alright. Just...remember what I told you that day in the harbor. Remember that, and you’ll know what to do.”

She protests further. “But how will I…?”

Before you can say anything else, the dammed door is shut one more time. 

It turned out that Genevieve was afforded plenty of time to think over your words as she was soon dragged back to Cair Caravel and locked in her room for the rest of the night. Her father had said, just before he finally left her alone. “You have seen her now, girl. You know where she is. But you will not speak of it to anyone. If you tell the King anything with regard to this matter you will only ruin yourself...I will make sure of it.”

She laid on her bed for the next couple of nights mauling over your words. Remember what I told you that day in the harbor. 

What had you said? She couldn’t remember. Everything seemed foggy. The week before tainted with her newly found knowledge of where you had been all that time. While you were trapped under darkness, she was enjoying the sun in Cair Paravel. She was disgusted with herself. Disgusted with her father. And as of the next day, she also became disgusted with Lady Helena Lockwood. 

During tea time, a couple of her friends noted her sudden aloofness, asking her if she had slept well, given the dark bags under her eyes. The older woman had whispered to her while other unsuspecting ladies surrounded them.

“Smile, girl,” she laughed,  “with her in chains, you get to become queen. Soon, with the King between your legs, you will forget all about that meaningless wench.”

Genevieve smiled and tugged down the long sleeve of her dress. Underneath the delicate fabric, a bruise branded her skin, reminding her that this wasn’t part of an elaborate nightmare. 

She could feel the eyes of her father’s loyal guards following her every move, never leaving her alone for long. 

More than once, the image of you on that dark cell was involuntarily conjured in her mind. It didn’t help when she saw King Caspian. He was always polite, warm, and respectful towards her, but with every passing minute in his presence, Genevieve felt desperation settling in. He doesn’t know. The one he loves is trapped, and she wasn’t doing anything to help her. All because of her own fears.

She had to think of something fast. 

For the next couple of days, she played her part obediently, engaging in conversations during tea time, working on her embroidery, strolling around down at the beach with her  friends, all times during which her mind was at work, furiously attempting to think of a way to get you out of the situation you were in. 

On that day, she somehow had managed to evade her guards, giving her the rare opportunity to visit the library on her own. Maybe she could find something there to help her, a map of the castle on which you were trapped, some hidden way out to...well, she was still working on her plan. She would most definitely need help. But from whom?

Turning into a corridor on the ground floor of the west wing of the castle, she suddenly noticed her surroundings. She heard yelling from, what she gathered were two men, sending her into panic. She didn’t want to be found by her guards just yet. Looking around, the only possible place for her to hide was behind a piece of armor posted a few steps away from where she stood. Rushing, she did just that, pressing herself against the wall, holding her breath as she begged silently to not be seen. 

It was at that moment she heard a third man moaning in pain. 

Her heart dropped as she saw through the cracks between the armor the scene unfolding in front of her. 

Two guards, both of which she knew were loyal to the Lockwood family given the family crest engraved on their clothes were dragging a third man by his arms. He appeared wounded, by the looks of the trail of blood behind him, his eyes displaying how he was probably in and out of conscience. It was with another stroke of terror that she recognized his face. Lorian, one of the members of your royal guard. If he had escaped maybe he would….  

“She...the queen...she needs,” he mumbled, near incoherently.

“Shut your mouth, calormenian,” one of the Lockwood men hissed.

“I -,” the wounded man appeared to be choking, as he started to cough furiously.

The strength of the coughing fit made the two Lockwood men lose their grip on Lorian’s arms. 

“Fuck!”, one of them cussed, “I’m tired of this asshole,” he commented to his friend.

The other man agreed. “We should just get rid of him here and clean up the mess later. I don’t think Lady Lockwood will mind too much.”

“I don’t know...we had fairly strict orders from her to kill him downstairs.”

“At this point, we won’t make it to the dungeons without being noticed.”

They continued to argue as Genevieve finally felt the feeling of her hands returning. 

“Fine,” Lockwood man number one said, “but you’re the one who will break the news to m’lady.”

Lockwood man number two huffed and grabbed a knife from his belt. “Let’s get this over with.”

She needed to do something. Not afterwards. Now. If she stayed still, he would die right there and then. She reached around the armor and managed to detach the hand from it, holding her breath before throwing it as hard as she could behind her in the corridor. 

The executioner was startled, dropping the knife on the floor.

“What the fuck was that noise?”, one of them said as they both of turned around to the direction she stood at.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best course of action, she thought. 

However, before she could lose her nerve, she stepped from behind the armor, revealing herself to them.

Confusion was evident in their expressions.

“Lady Genevieve? What are you…?”

They were too distracted to notice Lorian rising behind them. Too puzzled to notice as he reached for the knife on the floor and sliced the back of the leg of the closest guard. 

The man screamed in pain, dropping onto the floor as the other guard scrambled to attack Lorian. Nevertheless, even in his injured state, the calormenian knight was too fast for a simple palace guard, quickly dodging the advance, and disarming his opponent. 

Newly armed with a sword, Lorian pointed his weapon to Lockwood man number two.

“Where the fuck is your king, huh?”, he sounded exhausted, “tell me, or I’ll…”

His opponent moved forward, attacking once again, just as his friend tried to get up to fight. Lorian maneuvered away from the attack, using the handle of the sword to render the first man unconscious and then turning around and kicking the one who was still down straight on the face, also putting him to sleep. 

Huffing loudly, Lorian dropped the weapons to the floor. 

Finally, he looked at Genevieve, not having forgotten about her presence. 

“Friend or foe?” he asked. 

She reached him just in time before he collapsed onto the floor.

Not long after that, a very confused Caspian heard desperate knocking on the door of his office chambers. 

#king caspian x reader #king caspian #ben barnes x reader #the chronicles of narnia #narnia x reader #caspian x reader #prince caspian x reader #king caspian fics #prince caspian fics #my fics #enter a king and a queen

[aressss1]

Through Fire and Ice Chapter 4

(Technoblade x Reader)

Chapter 4

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Note: the amount of support I have gotten on this is amazing! You guys are awesome! <3 The newest chapter is going to be out soon! :D

~~~~~~

You woke up hazily, an unfriendly boot nudging your shoulder. Your vision was blurry, and to make things worse you were lightheaded. You buried your face into the mattress further making a whine of protest at who you thought was Techno’s boot. You felt the boot nudge you again even harder this time. You let out another whine.

“Gods, why are you such a dick this morning?” You questioned, craning your neck to look at the man who loomed above you. When your eyes focused on the man, you felt your eyes widening, and you tried pushing yourself up. Fatigue had gotten the best of your body, and you couldn’t find the strength to push yourself up into a standing position. So, your only option that was left, was scooting yourself away from the man, until your back was pressed firmly against the wall next to the fireplace. Nowhere else to go…

“What are you doing here?” The blonde man rested his hand on the end of his sword. You let your eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that might help you. “Eyes on me,” The man’s words were dangerous, and his hand tightened on the handle of the sword. “I won’t ask you again.”

“I could ask the same of you then.” You shot back, your eyes narrowing at him. Your vision still blurry, the sickness was still getting the best of you.

“No, you can’t.” He simply said, “Answer me.” You ground your teeth, looking for any way to get out of this situation.

“I was… Resting.” You eyed the man, memorizing his face. He didn’t seem to believe you. His mouth twisted into a frown, and his eyes scanned the house.

“This your house?” He asked kneeling next to his sword which was still digging into the floorboards. You glared at him through the haze of your mind. This was not the best situation.

“No.” Your voice was laced with acid. “I just happened upon it in the fog.” You hissed through your teeth. You watched his fingers tap at the hilt absentmindedly. He didn’t question further on that topic.

“Are you alone?” You felt your breath catch in your throat. You didn’t know if you should tell this man the answer. Either way didn’t seem like it would end in good consequences, no matter how you looked at it. You didn’t have strength to walk, let alone fight… You didn’t know where Techno was, and when he was coming back… The dread started spreading through your chest. You were probably going to die here, and if you told him you weren’t alone, he may just wait for Techno and ambush him… The other option wasn’t so good either… But if he believed you that you were alone, he may just move on…

“Yes.” You breathed out, you found you couldn’t read his expression. He still was tapping away at the hilt of the sword.

“Uh huh,” He didn’t sound convinced. Your heart rate rose, and out of the corner of your eye you could see the poker Techno had used to stir the fire, hung up neatly in its holder. Your focus was brought back to the man when he put his sword up to your throat. “I don’t recommend lying to me again. You thought I was someone else when I woke you up.” The sword at your throat, was enough to get your adrenaline pumping. You cursed at yourself for your screw up.

“What do you want?” You glared up at him, your nails digging into the wood of the floorboards. At the question he lowered his sword. He was silent for a moment in thought.

“Information.” He simply stated, “Things don’t have to go sideways, we can talk like normal adults.”

“I’m not one for talking.” You wrinkled your nose at him. He breaks in here and expects you to just comply with everything he wanted? No, not going to happen. “Put your sword away.” You may be more willing to talk then.

“You’re not in the position to just be making demands.” His eyes leveled with you. “Even if you weren’t sick, you would still be in the same position.” He leaned toward you. “Now… You’re going to tell me what I want to know.” As you saw him lean you took your chance and you bent your knee toward your chest and propelled your foot toward his face, he dodged the kick, and you took that chance to start grasping for the poker hanging near you. His eyes snapped to your hand grabbing for the poker. He was faster than you and he lunged forward with his sword.

In a matter of seconds, his sword had impaled your shoulder. Your voice was weak, and you cry out, hoping anyone could hear you. You felt tears start to prick at your eyes. The pain was immense. You grit your teeth, groaning in pain.

“Okay… That wasn’t how I wanted it to go.” The man muttered and in one stroke pulled the sword out of your flesh. You rolled on your side cradling the wound in your shoulder. The pain was unbearable, and your vision started to blur, you couldn’t focus on his face anymore. The man let out an exhausted sigh and brought his hand up to cover his eyes for a second, as he processed what he was going to do next.

Well… He wasn’t given more than a second, before a loud bang could be heard at the door. The sudden sound startling you. You watched as another bang had landed on the door not a second later. The man wasn’t facing you; he was watching the door. And with a small pause a third and final bang came from the door, but this time, the door flew off its hinges and landed straight onto the man, winding him, and making him fall to the floor.

Losing your grip on consciousness, your eyes skimmed the wound the sword had made. The sight of the blood making you sick. You weren’t necessarily squeamish… but the concept that an immense amount of your blood was now pooling onto the ground beneath you, made your stomach turn. Bile rose in your throat. The world around you blurred and it sounded as if you were submerged in water, accompanied by a ringing in your ears. You felt a pair of cool hands touch your face trying to get you to focus. You willed your eyes to stay open, your eyes meeting Techno’s gaze.

You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but that didn’t matter to you… You got lost in the golden eyes behind the mask. He looked like he was begging you to stay awake, promising you that he would get you help. Your focus stayed on the rough hand cupping your face, and before you knew it… Your eyes slowly closed, and you were gone to the world.

-

Techno was relieved to see his cottage in the distance, the smoke still pluming out of the chimney, he breathed a sigh of relief, ‘Good, at least she’s warm.’ He thought to himself.

‘Wouldn’t you like to warm her up yourself?’ A voice taunted, causing Techno to tense up.

“Mark her up. Spill her blood.” More whispers of the same caliber stayed in his head. The voices demanding that he protect you or kill you. He could handle it, he wouldn’t lose his grip on reality, that, he would make sure of. Shaking his head, trying to clear the voices away, he trudged further on through the snow.

When he was just a few steps away from the porch, he froze, his eyes lingering over the track marks leading to the stairs. Someone had gone to the door… But… there wasn’t tracks leading away from the house.

‘Danger.’

‘Blood.’

‘They have her,’ The whispers in his mind drowned everything else out. Overstimulated from the voices, telling him to find you, he tried looking for his keys. His hands shook and he fumbled when he found them. But the one thing that he could hear… Was the familiar sound of flesh being torn, and your cries of pain.

That was it, he was done. In one swift movement he had kicked the door. His blood ringing in his ears, the voices spurring him on. When it didn’t budge, he kicked it again. When that didn’t work his boot for a third time landed on the door, causing the door to splinter from the frame and fly off and hit whoever was behind the door. His eyes scanned the room and he dashed to you. His hands cupping your cheeks.

“Hey, stay with me… I’m going to get you out of here.” His words hung in the air. His gaze kept yours, and he felt your hand gently grasp at his shirt before your eyes slowly closed. He swallowed down his sadness, and his eyes scan over the door still lying on the man.

‘He should die for touching her.’

‘Blood for the blood god.’

He sneers, at the parts of the man he can see underneath the door, and he rises to his feet. Summoning an axe forth, he steps toward the man. His steps ringing out on the floorboards. Raising his axe, he stops just short of the door. Using his foot, he kicks the door away all the while ready to swing the axe. When he could see the blues of his eyes, he swings for blood.

An arrow narrowly misses Techno, just inches from his face, making him stop mid swing. Techno cranes his neck at the new threats standing in the doorway. The one who had the bow in their hands… Was Sapnap.

“Stand down Techno.” Sapnap warned, grabbing, and loading the arrow into the bow.

“Or what?” Techno spat out his eyes briefly looking down at the downed man in front of him. His heart sunk when he realized just who the man was… Phil… The axe clatters to the ground, and Techno takes a step back.

“Hey mate.” Phil says awkwardly waving to him from the ground. Techno felt winded, he had almost… Killed Philza… His best friend…

“Who’s this?” A familiar and irritating voice asked from behind him from where you were lying. He turned and saw Dream crouching over you. Techno hesitated, swallowing his irritation.

“Just some rando.” He stated, turning to help Philza up off the ground. “I need to brew some potions; she’s lost a lot of blood already, from when I found her in the fog.” Dream didn’t hesitate, and he scooped up your body into his arms.

“We can take her from here.” Dream simply said strolling out with you in his arms, George followed him. The urge was strong to stop Dream from taking you. He stopped himself, ridiculing himself of his urges and actions to protect you. He had met you yesterday…

“Get your anger in control Techno, Phil might put up with it, but we won’t.” Sapnap lingered by the door, his eyes boring into Techno. “We need people who are level-headed and what you just showed us… Is not level-headed…” Sapnap disappeared down the stairs. Techno kept his eyes glued to the place where Sapnap was standing.

“It was the voices again wasn’t it?” Phil asked. He was cradling his right arm; it was definitely broken. Techno felt the guilt, and he slowly looked over at Phil and nodded. “I haven’t seen you like that since-”

“I know.” Techno interjected, as he looked away in shame. “I-I’m sorry Phil.”

“It’s okay Techno, I know how it is… I’m just glad those guys came when they did!” Phil flashed a smile at Techno, but Techno could hear the shakiness to Phil’s voice. He knew he was feared. Most of the time it didn’t bother him. But there was something that made him scared that you or Phil were going to fear him…

“Why were they even out here?” Techno asked.

“They’re the rescue team. They probably were just checking the house out and found us.” Phil explained. “We got an operation going, back at the community mine.”

“Hey guys?” George popped his head into the doorway, “We need to get back, your friend isn’t doing too well, she’s riding with Dream. He’s going on ahead, so she can get the care she needs. I would suggest bringing anything that might help. We have a caravan for supplies we happen across.” George, just as fast as he appeared, he disappeared.

“Let’s go home, Techno,” Phil said weakly smiling at him. Techno didn’t get how Phil could still smile at him like that… He had almost killed him and here he was… Just smiling. Phil helped to gather everything that would be useful, after wrapping his arm in a sling, and Techno hauled it out to the caravan.

When he stepped outside his eyes scanned for any sign of you or Dream… But the two of you were already gone. He didn’t let his disappointment show, but Sapnap caught him looking for you and let out a breathy laugh.

“Lookin’ for something?” Sapnap taunted. Techno’s glare fueled the amusement in Sapnap’s eyes. Sapnap crossed his arms in a smug manner, and he leaned against Techno’s house. Techno rolled his eyes and shook his head. There wasn’t time for any of this. He wanted to be there for you when you woke up, so that you would have at least one familiar face around. Techno sighed turning and went to go pack the rest of his house.

--

You felt like you were hit by a train, and each movement of the horse you were on sent another jolt through your body. Opening your eyes, you look up from the arms of the man cradling your body on the horse. He wore a white mask with a happy face on it. You were only conscious for a second, but you hid your face into his chest to hide from the harsh winds whipping around the two of you. His arms tightened around you and that was the last thing you felt before you slipped into unconsciousness again.

#technoblade x reader #technoblade/reader #c!techno x reader #techno fanfic #c!techno #angst #Through Fire and Ice #mcyt x reader

[scarofthewind]

Call of the Moon || Werewolf!Jason x Reader

A/N: I’M ALIVE!!! Sorry I haven’t been around as of late, I got a new job and I am still in the process of moving but things should be getting better soon! Finally the second part of this mini series is up! I’m sorry I’ve been taking forever, life if just chaotic right now. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Warnings: NSFW, R18+, blood, gore, biting, handjob, fem!reader, fingering, Jason cumming on your stomach

word count: 2.5k Tip Jar (every bit helps!)

Series Masterlist 

You knew that nothing you did would throw him off your scent and you’d tried everything; swimming halfway across the lake, and even throwing your jacket far away from you. Your feet it the ground quickly as you continued to run, your lungs burning hot in your chest and your legs trembling beneath you. You shivered from the cold night air, your outfit having been drenched when you swam through the lake, not aiding you in keeping warm anymore. 

You hissed as you looked down at your arm which was covered with blood from a large scratch on your skin. So far, the beast had only gotten to tear you a little bit; you’re friends weren’t so lucky. Hot tears fell down your face as your mind still replayed their screams in your head; the sound of their flesh and bones being torn apart by something un-human. A loud howl sent you running in the direction of the area you had all been camping at; there were cabins surrounding your tent and the fire your best friend had made had been put out with her blood. 

You hurried past their bodies, not being able to stomach the massacre in front of you. Nearly tripping over the porch steps, you stepped into the first cabin you could get in to and put as much furniture in front of the door. Hiding in the corner behind a bunk bed, you waited with a hand covering your mouth. You jumped in your place when you heard another howl and then a pounding of feet on the ground as the beat neared the cabin, hot on your trail. More tears fell down your face when a soft sniffing and scratching came from outside the cabin doors. 

A low growl made you freeze in your place as the monster thumped against the doors, the furniture in front of them moving with each shake. You put your head between your legs as the door flew open, furniture and wood going everywhere. You didn’t move a single centimeter as you heard the claws of the beast scratch against the floor; you could feel it’s eyes on you and you tightened up more. Tears fell down your nose as you stayed there, the sound of footsteps coming near you; you held your breath and prayed that you would go quickly before flinching when a gentle hand came down on your head. 

You froze at the feeling of fingers stroking through your hair. A soft groan came from beside you nd you could feel a heat begin to wrap around you. You could’ve sworn that the thing chasing you had four legs and a very hairy body; however, when you slowly looked up, the thing in front of you was a large man with hardly any hair on his body. Your eyes took a quick sweep over his build, drifting down for a second before immediately looking at his face; he was very naked and you couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t well hung.

“A-Are you going to kill me?” You asked, looking deep into his blue eyes that stared down at you curiously. You shook under his hand and he looked towards the large wound on your arm, guilt eating him alive. 

Jason shook his head at your question, pointing to your arm and moving to grab it. His eyes scanned over the scratch and he made a noise of distress and started to back away from you. His eyes told you that he was scared despite being covered in blood; he turned away from you, standing up and moving towards the doors that were hanging off the hinges. “Wait,” Your voice was weak as you stumbled up, making him pause and look back at you. Your eyes scanned his body and landed on a giant scars on his side; they matched yours. The hair on the back of your neck stood as you slowly neared him, “Is that why you turn into a monster?” 

Jason’s eyes narrowed slightly at your words but he slowly nodded in response. He pointed to your arm and you sucked in a breath, your heart hammering in your chest as everything started to connect. You were going to turn into some giant blood thirsty animal and you couldn’t do anything to stop it. “Oh my god,” Your legs shook and you braced yourself against the post of the bunkbed. “What do I do? How do I stop it? I don’t know anything about werewolves, I didn’t even believe in them until a few hours ago!” You panicked, tugging at your hair as Jason tensed in front of you. 

“Does it hurt when you turn? It sounds like it does, I need to call my friend she would-” You stopped talking as you remembered that your friend was laying in five different pieces outside. Your eyes snapped up to Jason’s and he blinked at your realization, his shoulders straightening as if already knowing you were going to fight him. “You did this.”

Jason’s eyes darkened at your words and he turned his back to you, walking outside with you hot on his heels. “You killed my friends and then had the audacity to scratch me?!” You yelled, watching his back muscles move beneath his pale skin as he continued to walk away from you. “You prick! You need to fix this!” Your voice hurt from how much crying and yelling you had been doing and you reached out, grabbing his arm roughly only to be shoved down to the ground, Jason standing above you, chest heaving with a slow burn anger in his eyes. 

The wet, leafy ground almost gave you a sense of comfort as you sobbed, everything falling apart around you. This was all supposed to be a fun vacation away from the stress of family, ex-boyfriend’s and jobs; and now you were the only one left. “Please,” You cried with your head in your hands. “Help me.” Jason groaned at your words, kneeling in front of you and cupping your face gently, forcing you to look at him. 

“I don’t know what to do.” You sniffled, finding comfort in the killer in front of you. However, you understood that you had been in his territory when he attacked your group; it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t control the wolf. The man before you let out a deep sigh before helping you up and taking you to his cabin to teach you everything he knew over the next few months; although neither of you prepared to fall for each other in that time.

You didn’t turn until a month in and you knew it hurt from the sounds of if, but you never thought it was that bad. Jason had grown used to the pain and he helped you through it, before, during and after. You stayed with Jason most of the time, occasionally leaving to check up on your family and other friends, remembering the good times with those who had passed. You couldn’t hold a grudge against Jason for what he did when the moon called to the beast, so you’d forgiven him rather quickly. 

You thought to yourself about how you could’ve ended up in a different situation than the one you were in when you woke up in the warmth of Jason’s embrace. You didn’t remember falling asleep or even getting back to the cabin since you’d been turned the night before. The dried blood on Jason’s body and yours made you panic, hoping you didn’t kill a human; Jason opened is eyes at your movements and he groaned at the sunlight blinding him from the window. “You like to hug in your sleep,” You laughed sheepishly as he jerked his arm off your body and moved away from you, getting out of the bed. 

Your cheeks reddened in knowing that you had both been naked together, but this has happened before and he still has yet to touch you in any inappropriate ways. You wouldn’t mind if he did though, you thought to yourself as your eyes raked over his large back and perfectly round ass, followed by thick thighs and strong legs. A heat between your legs made you bite your lip in annoyance, “Jason,” You called to him and he paused as he was about to leave the room. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” You smiled to him gently, seeing the corners of his mouth turn upwards slightly. “Can you come back to bed? Just for a little bit?” You pleaded, watching him roll his eyes before obliging and moving under the covers, facing you. From there it all began with soft touches; his hand on your arm, tracing over the scars from is scratch marks. You caressed his cheek, moving your hand down to his arm, feeling the strong muscles move under the skin. His calloused fingers drifted towards your hip under the covers, pulling you closer against him and enjoying the way you shivered from the heat that came off his body. That hand of his moved to your thigh, bringing your leg up over his waist before moving up and down it, groping the flesh on your calf and then your rear. 

You sucked in a breath when his fingertips ghosted over your bare cunt, his hand freezing in place and his eyes finding yours with a sharp look in them. He wanted this more than anything, did you? Your walls clenched around nothing when his thumb barely grazed your clit as he waited for you to tell him that this was okay. It was okay; no matter how much you wanted to believe it wasn’t, or still deep down wished you could be living a normal life with your friends. You wanted this so bad you could feel every fiber of your being twitch with need, a fire burning low in your stomach that you knew would combust the second he actually touched you. “I think I’m okay with this.” You mumbled softly, your eyes focusing on his lips. 

“I am...okay with this.” You let out a shaky breath when he pulled you flush against him and pressed his lips to yours. Everything was hot; maybe more than it should’ve been but you welcomed the warmth with open arms as the man before you gave you the best experience of your life. You had to guide his hand to your soaking cunt, pressing his fingers into your hole, in order to satisfy the burn inside you. His teeth nipped at your skin, littering it with marks that only proved you were his; possessiveness was a trait you found attractive in the male, it didn’t help that it was amplified during a full moon. Curling his fingers inside you, you gripped his wrist as he moved his hand faster, aiming at a spot that had you seeing stars. 

Jason had been rutting against your leg, the heaviness of his cock along your leg made you wonder how much it would hurt when he put it inside you. He could sense your concern, he knew he wasn’t little by any means in general, nevertheless his member. Adding another finger to your wet pussy, he let out a breath when he felt your fingers touch the tip of his cock, spreading his precum along the shaft as he bucked his hips against your hand. Using his free hand, he tilted your face to his and kissed you deeply, enjoying the sounds of your moans as his thumb circled your clit. 

You couldn’t stop the rolling of your hips against his hand as he thrusted his fingers into you at a faster pace, the coil burning inside you so close to snapping. But it wasn’t enough. You didn’t want it to end like this. 

“Jason please, put it in,” You begged against his mouth, his eyes watching you closely. “I need it.” The pitifulness in your voice made him groan as he pulled his hand away from your throbbing pussy and turned you on your stomach. Circling an arm under your hips, he hoisted your ass in the air before aligning the bulbous head of his cock to your spasming cunt. He didn’t give you a second to breath before he was fully inside you, stretching your cunt wide. The feeling of your gummy walls encasing his cock nearly made him lose it as he began thrusting inside you at an animalistic pace. His teeth found purchase on the back of your neck, marking you once more, permanently as he fucked you into the mattress. 

You couldn’t form a single word as he made a mess out of you, your pussy drooling from the pace he was going and a ring of translucent white coating the base of his cock every time he pulled out. Your puffy pussy lips were coated in your cream as well as he made sure to rub at your hardened clit, growling at the way you tightened around his cock even more. Your hands gripped the fitted bedsheet tightly to try to gain some sort of composure but every little tap of his finger against your clit or the way the tip of his cock rammed into you so fast it hurt had your walls suckling him deeper. 

You winced when his teeth left your neck, his free hand coming up to touch the marks he’d made before he moved you once again. His teeth buzzed in need to mark you more as he turned you to face him, his cock sinking back into you with ease as he resumed his heavy pace. His eyes watched the way your breasts bounced with each rut of his hips and another growl formed in his chest at the though of them being swollen with milk for his child he wanted you to carry oh-so-badly. 

Pulling you close, he applied his weight to you carefully, feeling your legs wrap around his waist and your arms encircle his neck. His eyes found the junction between your neck and shoulder and before he could stop himself, he bit there, another mark that would make you his for life. Your moans and cries were music to his ears and at this point, all he wanted was to feel you gush around him. His thumb went back to your clit as his lips found yours and he moved as fast as he could. The bed was far from just creaking as it shook below the both of you, the headboard slamming against the wall as you felt that coil within you snap, your cunt sucking on his cock hard enough to make him pull out. With a few fast strokes, he finished on your stomach; his cum thick and warm, in a puddle on your bare skin. 

You both went quiet for a few seconds, staring at each other and catching your breath before you realized that there was no way you’d be satisfied with just one orgasm. Sitting up, you pulled him close to you by the back of his neck, his hands finding their place on your hips. “More.” You panted against his lips, feeling him kiss back and plunge his cock into you once again. 

#jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees #Friday the 13th #😈.smut #🏵.original work #horror imagines #horror x reader #slasher x reader #slasher imagines

[nicka-nell]

Prompt Event

Request: anonymous - OMG 500 followers is so exciting!! CONGRATS!! I am so excited for your event - I hope your inbox doesn't get too out of control! 🥰 Can I request Ukai or Ushijima (you choose) + NSFW + 30, 37, 59??

Prompt Event  | Masterlist (coming soon)

Pairing: Ukai Keishin x reader Words: 2.345 Warning: NSFW, 18+ Note: All characters are grown-up!

Prompts: 30. Have you always been this beautiful? 37. What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since we were kids? 59. Shouldn’t you be with him?

Back then, you were little. You had just learned to tie your shoelaces without help, had made and eaten sand cake with your little hands. Back then, it was your father Nekomata who pulled you into a volleyball game.

To a team called Karasuno. A team where the coach was just as eager to win as your father. To your astonishment, he also had a boy at your age with him. He had always looked fiercely, his arms folded in front of his chest and always looked in the opposite direction from his father.

You can still remember that at a game, the men of the teams had warmed up, practiced their serve while you were about to close your loose shoelace. “Watch out!” Called the other coach’s boy as he stood in front of you and caught a harsh hit of the ball with his back, preventing you from getting punched in the face with a volleyball.

You remember you two used to sneak out at the games, hide out in his mom’s store, and secretly read adult magazines. You were laughing at the naked people in these, laughing and giggling every time you read the word sex. You were always reprimanded by your fathers, still that never stopped you.

But time passed, you became manager of Nekoma High School and Ukai became a setter at Karasuno. You had no time to see each other, had only met briefly at the games.

When your father also thought that Naoi, your substitute setter, is a nice guy and you should meet him, you knew that Ukai should disappear from your thoughts.

Naoi was in the same class as you, you had done a lot together and even now that you have your own job, he performs as the second coach of the Nekoma, you still meet. Just yesterday he was with you, had forgotten his jacket. You told him you’d give him his jacket back when you walked past the gym after work.

Whether it’s coincidence or fate, that you meet right in your former gym Ukai?

Unobtrusively, you sneak into the gym, go over to Naoi to poke him in the side with your index finger. He twitches with a smile before turning around and quietly thanking you for the jacket. As if it were a daily greeting to him, he gives you a kiss on the cheek before saying goodbye to you and turning back to the game.

You’re about to leave the gym when the opposing coach calls for a time-out. That voice, that voice… A voice that used to mean so much to you. Unbelievably, you turn around, to see if you really heard him.

“Ukai?” It escapes you almost silently, when you see the man from your childhood again.

As if he heard your sound, he looks at the entrance. At first he has difficulty recognizing you, but this hair, these eyes, this look, he would recognize it always. Yet you even have changed. You’ve become a real woman.

Now there’s only one question in his head. Have you always been this beautiful?

“Sensei, maybe we should replace him?” Gets him the captain’s voice out of his mind. For a moment, his gaze drifts away from yours, looking at the captain before he watches back in your direction. Except you’re not there anymore.

You know you’re supposed to meet Naoi after the game, but how can you if you just have to think about Ukai now. Almost automatically, your legs set in motion, making you get into your car to drive to Ukais shop, hoping that he will enter the store again today.

When you arrive in front of the store, you take a deep breath, wait a moment and let the chilly air calm your body down before you open the door and step in.

You are greeted by a man who introduces himself as Takinoue. Ask him if Ukai isn’t there today, when he confirms that he will come to the store again tonight. Nodding, you look around the shop as your gaze wanders to the adult magazines.

Smiling, you tell Takinoue that you would like to have one of these magazines, which he holds against you with red cheeks and watches you sit on a chair in the shop.

Time passes, the clock next to the cabinet with the cigarettes ticks and reminds you with every beat that Ukai will soon enter the store. The paper on the last two pages of the magazine squeaks between your fingers as you turn the page when the doorbells ring just a few seconds later and a familiar voice fills the room with excitement.

“Takinoue, did everything go well? I bet there wasn’t much of a clientele today, was there?” He laughs with his deep, smoky voice, but without answering him, Takinoue points at you. You’re still flipping around in that catalog, not looking up at those two men.

“Y/n?” Ukai asks wildly, can’t believe that you of all people are in his shop. Now you lift your eyes, smile at him kindly while you put the magazine out of your hand. “Takinoue…You can go now.”

Ukai’s gaze is filled with your eyes, fixed on you as if you were a shrine fulfilling his wishes. His voice is only heard softly, but still so loud that Takinoue understands to leave now.

Again you hear the bell before the door snaps into the hinge a few seconds later and Ukai comes towards you. Without a word, he sits next to you, looks at you before his gaze lands on the magazine.

He can’t resist a grin, leans back in the chair, his arms behind his back, his legs wide open. “Just like old times, huh?” He just smirks and makes you pay your full attention to him. “Like old times. But, you know what I also remember?” You ask, even though you know Ukai can’t answer that question.

Irritated, he looks at you, thinks about what you had done when you were little, but he can’t think of anything. Resolutely you get up from your chair, sit down on his lap and enjoy his suddenly so frightened face.

Grinning you move your pelvis in his direction, watch deep into his dark brown eyes before you kiss his harsh lips. Your warm tongue lies on his lips, seeking its way inside to connect with his.

With a quiet snort he opens his mouth, noticing his hands unconsciously looking for your delicate body, reaching under the thin fabric of your blouse to caress your sides. Almost a whiny sound escapes him as your lips separate from his when you stare at him with an incredibly attractive look.

“I don’t remember that.” He murmurs softly, not noticing the words that have left his mouth. “No? Maybe I should show you what else we’ve done?” You whisper to him seductively before you move your pelvis up and down in the hope of soon feeling something hard under you.

“Shouldn't you be with him? With Naoi?” He steers in, when your warm breath is already on his lips. “Huh? I’m with you right now.” You answer, and seal his lips with yours, so that you not give him the opportunity to answer.

His tongue, his saliva is bitter, you taste like he smoked another cigarette earlier. Ukai’s fingertips are rough as they wander along your sides, behind your back and digging into your flesh with a gruff.

Did he lock the door? No… Is the closed sign on the door? No… Someone could be coming in any minute. “Shit!” He curses under your kisses before he begins to caress your neck. To experience how you taste, to leave hickeys to show Naoi that you were with him. With Ukai, not with Naoi. He doesn’t care if anyone sees you now.

Your hands hastily search for the end of the coarse fabric of his sweater before you pull it off of his body with a quick movement and drop it to the ground. “Take off your blouse.” His tone is flat, husky as he looks deep into your eyes.

Nodding, you want to open the first buttons of your blouse, but you are too slow for Ukai. His hands that were still on your back before, are suddenly on top of yours, pushing your hands away when he tears open the fabric with an animalistic sound, and pulls it from your body. The buttons rattle as they fall to the floor, rolling through the store until they come to a lie.

With ease, Ukai lifts you up from the chair, kisses you before he turns you around with a jerk and presses your upper body on the table top in front of you. You hear the sound of his zipper behind you as it is opened and the coarse denim fabric glides off his legs.

With a whisper he pulls up your skirt, drills his hands into your shapely ass, only growls with clenched teeth. “Shit, you really got hot.” His rough voice sounds in your ears, and shortly afterwards you feel his warm chest lying on your back as something hard catches your attention.

“Nhhhg Ukai…” you moan and make him smile. His hand lets go of your butt, explores the area between your legs before he rubs his fingers on your wet panties. “God, what a naughty little girl you are. You’re already wet, just from our kisses, huh?” Even if you can’t see his look, you feel this mischievous radiance emanating from him.

“What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since we were kids? That I wanted to know how perfectly your sweet cunt wraps around my cock, as a teenager. Your needy moaning for my name?” He breathes into your ear as he begins to nibble on your earlobe and with his free hand pushes your panties aside to spread your walls and press his cock into you.

Almost without resistance it glides into you, wraps his dick with your essence and elicits a sugar-sweet moan out of your throat. A sound that is like music in his ears and satisfies him. “Tell me, my little girl, does my cock feel good in your sweet cunt?” He wants to know while he grabs for your hair to jerk your upper body up with his.

“So good… It feels so good, Ukai!” You snarl while you wonder why he feels so incredibly right. Unlike the men you had before. Ukais thrusts become stronger and more aggressive, causing your whole body to move.

“Oh god!” You whine again when Ukai starts to use his free hand to slide between your folds, just to start playing with your core. His fingertips rub against it, move rapidly, apply pressure and make your breath faster, so that your body tightens.

“God can’t help you right now, my little girl.” He just grins and starts to caress your neck, bite on it, and really play it safe, marking you as his.

His cock in you feels so big. Comes in places where no one has come before. Seek the way to your womb and make you understand that only he can fill you so well. You believe your vision go black, your legs automatically squeeze together as you keep pressing your pelvis against Ukai.

Awkwardly you reach for Ukai’s hair, burying your fingers in them, as if you didn’t know where to go with this desire that is about to explode. “Ah Damn, babe, you’re so hot. Just pull my hair, do what you want if you just give me your sweet moans.” His voice is barely understandable under his wet smacks on your neck, before he shoves his entire length into you with much force, making your tone completely uncontrollable. “Ah Ukai!” Your walls twitch, makes Ukai groan loudly, through this sudden tightness that literally constricts his lim.

You feel his member even better in you, every contour, every vein. Understand now also why it felt so good, because not only Ukais cock is in you, no also all piercings that adorn his cock. Everything rubs against your swollen walls. Elicit a whine that drives Ukai crazy.

“Damn babe, you’re so tight, I’m coming. Shall I pull out?” His trembling voice resounds in your scattered thoughts. “No, I want everything from you, I want to feel like I’m milking your dick, old man.”

That was exactly the answer Ukai wanted to hear, because with a few hard blows he distributes his viscous charge in you, fills you with his warm sperm before he lingers in you with a loud murmur for a moment.

“Damn, that was hot.” He breathes heavily before leaving your body and settling on the chair behind him. For a short blink of an eyelash, he still sees how a sperm thread connects him to you before it tears and sticks to his length.

Out of breath he dangles his hands left and right of him. Enjoy looking at your swollen walls, and how his thick sperm drips out of you slowly.

With an exhausted sigh, you turn around, straighten your panties before you sit on Ukai’s lap again. “As a tenager, I also wanted to know what your cock feels like inside me. Wanted to feel your cum in me and hear your deep voice. If I had known you were so good, I would have asked Naoi much earlier if he wanted to eat with me at home so that he would forget his jacket and I could bring it to him into the gym.” With a throaty laugh you give him a fleeting kiss on his reddish lips, which have changed their color through all your kisses.

“I guess I’ll have to thank the benchwarmer for leading you to me.” Like then, you swap conspiratorial glances before you both start laughing like teenagers when you lower your head to Ukai’s chest and give him an answer with gentle words.

“You have to, yeah.”

#haikyuu smut #ukai x reader #ukai smut #haikyuu

[ki1zai]

Honestly wrote this on a whim so I hope it’s decent :’D Kinda Proofread but it’s late so I’m sorry for any errors and plot holes, hope y’all have a nice day and remember to hydrate <3

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Pairing : Frank Castle / Matt Murdock ( Fratt )

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TWs : mention of shooting and guns ( nothing explicit )

CWs (?) : lots of cursing ( no surprises here tbh )

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“What the hell...” Frank muttered, picking up a stray pistol he left on his dinner table and silently made his way to the front door. Someone had been pounding on the poor thing for a solid minute and it was clear they weren’t going to stop anytime soon. Frank was very annoyed. It was currently 2:30 am and he was having a very good dreamless slumber before getting rudely interrupted by whoever was on the flip side of his door. Ensuring the pistol had bullets and clicking it’s safety was off, Frank slowly unlocked his door.Swinging it open, Frank hastily positioned his pistol to where his visitors head seemed to be.

Eyes widening and hands fumbling when he realised the idiot who was banging his door of it’s hinges was none other than Matt Murdock; resident vigilante. Putting the safety back on, Frank did a quick scan of Matt. And it was an understatement to say that he was not looking so hot. ( aka mentally stable )

Fortunately, from what Frank could tell, there wasn’t any major physical damage. Ignoring the fact that the man looked a second away from breaking down, he actually looked quite good. ( considering the lack of bullet holes or stab wounds in him )

“You’re looking like hell Red, you good?” Frank asked, ignoring the blatant concern in his tone that he didn’t doubt Red identified. Frank couldn’t help but feel worried for Red, they have been working together a lot recently. Frank - who would deny it but Red would call him out immediately -cared about Matt. They were sorta friends so Frank had all the right to be concerned. ( not as much as he was though )

“Heh- not that I’d know,” There it was, the classic Matt Murdock Blind Joke. Frank was,safe to say, not impressed.

“What do you want Red? I have half a mind to shut my door in your face so you better make it quick,” Frank threatened. Choosing to ignore the fact that, that was an obvious lie. Watching as the smirk on Matt’s face grew,Frank was sure the bastard knew he was lying. ( however he does that Frank still doesn’t know. Despite Matt explaining it many times. “You’re heart stutters when you lie” “What the fuck does that mean?!” )

Matt only shrugged as a response.

“Can I come in?”

Now Frank actually wanted to shut true door on the guys face. You did not ,harass Frank Castle’s door at 2 in the morning without an explanation, and end up alive. Matt was lucky Frank wasn’t in the mood to clean up a dead devil.

“Again. What do you want Red. I’m not asking again.” Frank repeated, tone unwavering. He watched as Matt squirmed, pursing his lips. Frank was intrigued by the reaction to say the least. He wondered what was the situation that made Mr Matt Murdock this uncomfortable. After a beat of silence, Matt cleared his throat.

“I- uh- well- I just don’t want to be alone right now...”

Frank did not know what he was expecting but it...definitely wasn’t that. He was maybe anticipated Matt getting himself in more ninja or mob-boss trouble as his civilian self. Not whatever this was. Frank stood silently, looking at Matt as though he was expecting him to come out and say. ‘Haha, I’m kidding, I ended up on someone’s hitlist and need help’. Fortunately or not, he didn’t end up saying anything along those lines.

“Sorry this is stupid, I’ll go, forget this happened. Sorry again for bothering.” Matt turned his back to walk away. Now Frank was just worried all over again. Matt wasn’t one to trip on his words or excessively apologise. Which was what he was currently doing. Something was wrong with him and god forbid Frank throw him to the curb when he needed someone.

Frank circled Matt’s wrist and pulled him into his home. Shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Don’t be stupid Red, sit yourself on the couch I’ll get you something to drink.” Frank huffed, letting go of Matt’s writs in favour of heading towards the kitchen. Hearing the shuffling of Matt in his apartment, Frank got to making drinks for the both of them.

Frank poured a glass of coffee for himself; he doubted he would be getting any sleep any time soon. And a glass of room-temperature water for Matt. Frank has learned that ambient temperature of water was best for Matt if he was in one of his ‘moods’. Has something to do with his weird Houdini senses or something along those lines. ( Matt has also explained it multiple times - it was nothing along those lines )

Making his way to where Matt was, Frank raised an eyebrow at Matt sitting back straight and hands clasped together at the very edge of his couch.

“Don’t be scared to get comfy Red, the couch ain’t gonna eat you,” Frank chuckled. Furrowing his eyebrows when he saw the other flinch slightly at his voice. Matt was usually always in touch with his senses, being able to hear movement from blocks down if he tried to. The fact he couldn’t detect Frank moving beside him was worrying to say the least. What was more concerning was the fact that he seemed Matt didn’t even process what was said to him. If anything his posture turned more rigid. The fuck was up with him. Matt had never had a problem with making himself at home at Frank’s place. Besides the original awkward tension the first time he visited but even then he looked mostly relaxed.

“Red, relax no need to be a stranger. Here’s some water,” Frank held out the water, making sure his voice was softer than before when talking. After a beat, Matt seemed to hear his words and sagged against the couch. Okay something was definitely wrong with him.

Seeing as Matt made no movement to take the glass, Frank sat down beside Matt and, despite all better judgement, carefully picked up Matt’s hand and brought it up to the glass. Watching as Matt realised what was happening and softly thanked him. Frank grunted in response and moved to drink his coffee. Feeling the caffeinated drink do it’s job.

“So you gonna tell me what all this is about?” Frank asked, ensuring his voice seemed unbothered. He wouldn’t want Matt to feel uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Frank added quickly. Matt’s incessant fidgeting at the question was making Frank fidget. Matt gave him a soft smile which did not make Frank’s heart flutter. ( it did and Matt did in fact hear it ) After a few more moments of silence, Frank was ready to move on and prompt a more relaxed conversation. He stopped himself from saying anything when he noticed Matt taking a deep breath in.

“It’s...it’s just- my dad uh got shot today. I’m usually alright but I’m not sure everything is just... it’s too much today. I can’t trust my senses and i feel like I can’t trust myself - to be alone that is” Matt explains, his voice was soft. If Frank wasn’t right beside the man there was no way he was going to hear his entire explanation.

Frank looked at Matt, like really looked at him. Matt usually carried himself confidently, trusting his intelligence and skill to ensure he could achieve whatever he wanted to. Matt, although clearly having not the highest ego, was sure of himself. The Matt Frank was studying currently, the one who seemed as if they wanted to curl up and hide. Frank noticed Matt’s hands gripping the cup in his hands so tightly, Frank was glad he didn’t use one of his glass cups. This Matt was scared, not only that, but he was visibly vulnerable. This Matt looked as if the slightest tap would shatter him.

Frank wasn’t stupid. He knew what this meant. Matt trusted him, for a reason only god knows, to keep him safe. To not exploit his vulnerability and take advantage of him, using him when he was in a state that it was way to. Frank couldn’t wrap his head around it. If it were some variation of someone wanting to harm Matt, that Frank understood. That Frank could deal. However, this was personal, something that doesn’t allow Frank to help by shooting multiple guns. Frank didn’t get why May didn’t go to Karen or even that lawyer friend of his.

‘Can’t trust myself - to be alone’.

God, Matt really knew how to make a guy feel special that’s a certain.

Again, Frank isn’t stupid. He’s actually incredibly intelligent. He’s an excellent problem solver and his time in the Marine only helped trained his quick thinking skills. He prided himself on being able to get out of any sticky situation.

This was different though. Despite his impeccable problem solving skills. This was new territory. Frank was used to not being trusted, he expected it and was fine with it. Frank was not used to people willingly showing vulnerability to him. He wasn’t used to people thinking he was worthy to trust with the troubles that keep them awake at night. Besides his reputation didn’t do him any favours in looking like a empathetic guy.

Not to mention the fact that the person who is currently doing this is Matt Murdock. It wasn’t that Frank didn’t think Matt trusted him. Quite the opposite actually, Frank knew Matt trusted him with his life. Similarly, Frank shared the sentiment. They both trusted each other to watch the others back and to just be there for one another. They were there for each other when no one else was. Or more specifically when no one else wanted to be.

Long story short, they cared for each other. However, this was still new. They didn’t go to each other and spill their life traumas. Of corse they knew each other had their fair share of shit but it wasn’t a discussed topic between the two. They both understood each other and the fact that they did made them closer than sharing life sorrows would have . Not to mention Matt had never been one to willingly go to someone when I’m trouble. ( trouble that couldn’t be solved with fighting bad guys in a body tight devil suit that is. Actually even then he didn’t easily ask for help ) Despite not knowing what to do, Frank wasn’t going to mess this up. Not purposely at least .

“Do you what me to put on a movie?” Frank asked. Frank knew that Matt clearly wasn’t in the mood to have a deep trauma sharing session. He wasn’t in the right mind and he came to Frank to avoid thinking about it. So Frank was going to make sure they didn’t talk about it, unless Matt specifically said he wants to.

“Not like I’d be able to watch it,” Matt huffed out a laugh. Frank smiled slightly and picked up the remote to turn one on. They did this sometimes, after long missions and patching each other up. Frank would put on a movie, put it on low volume for Matt. Then they would just sit there with each other, winding down after a long day.

It didn’t exactly make any sense considering none of them end up paying attention to the movie. ( and considering one of them is blind and Frank didn’t even turn on those audio description things ) However it was their thing and it did work it calming them down.

It really shouldn’t, neither of them knew why it worked. Maybe it was the fact they were just there, together and alive.

Together, alive and safe.

#fratt #daredevil #matt murdock #mcu #marvel #netflix daredevil #frank castle #netflix the punisher #the punisher #hurt/comfort #fanfic #fanfiction #frattfanfic #ship fanfiction #writing #not proofread #i need sleep #what is my life #fluff #tags #how do i tag stuff #how does tumblr work #how does tumblr even work #self indulgent #this makes zero sense #Frank castle x Matt Murdock #rare ship #rarepair #please don’t hate me #expected cursing

[mattzerella-sticks]

Buddies, 7.3k words, T, (pre-Eddie/Buck, gay!Eddie, coming out)

(ao3)

After Eddie was shot, there were two big things he had to deal with - recovery, and the near-death realization that he was gay. The latter of which proved more difficult of the two. But as his recovery was aided by a physical therapist, Eddie also found someone to help him come to terms with his sexuality and find acceptance. Eddie wouldn't know where he'd be if Michael hadn't taken him under his wing.

However, the consequences of a failed date - encouraged by Michael - lead to something Eddie didn't think he'd be facing so soon. Coming out to his teammates. Will Eddie find the strength within himself to push through his fears? It shouldn't be too hard... right?

           It’s too stifling for a fall morning in Los Angeles, Eddie thought, as he hopped out of the fire engine and sweat immediately dampened the collar of his jacket. He tugged on the fabric, huffing a tired breath through clenched teeth as he trotted after his teammates. Eddie soon fell into step beside Buck as Bobby began directing them where they were needed along the highway pileup. “Hen, Chim, attend to the drivers who are already outside their vehicles,” Bobby ordered, waving at the few bystanders leaning against cars and cradling different parts of their body, like arms and heads and one visibly bloody side with blood leaking through pale fingertips. Hen and Chimney immediately hurried there before the woman fainted from blood loss. Then, Bobby points at the two smoking cars fused together feet away. “Buck, Eddie, I want you to check on the drivers in each car and assess the damage. If you can get the occupants out safely, you have permission to do so.”

           They nodded, Buck’s face stretching with a grin as he locked eyes with Eddie. “We got this, don’t we Eds?”

           Eddie’s heart skipped at the nickname, and he blamed it on the weather. He blamed the warmth pooling in his cheeks, no doubt tinting his cheeks, on that, too. “Course we do.” He followed Buck towards the wreckage, asking, “Which one are you checking?”

           “I’ll handle the Corvette,” Buck said, “always wanted to have my hands on one, anyway.”

           “Guess that leaves me with the mini-van…”

           Buck shrugged, splitting off wordlessly to inspect the red sports car that, in this moment, resembled an empty beer can littering the floor of a house party. You get what you pay for, in the end. Eddie stifled his giggle, sobering to a more serious expression as he rounds the other, less-damaged, car. He found a young girl behind the wheel, staring straight ahead while white knuckling the steering wheel. An older woman sat in the passenger seat, knocked unconscious by the collision. He wasn’t worried too much, however, aware of the deflated air bags blanketing their laps. Eddie knocked on the door, “LAFD! Are you able to lower the window?”

           He startled the driver from her trance, shaky hands finally releasing the wheel and whipping to her face. She sobbed through her hands, a muffled sound that tugged on Eddie’s heartstrings.

           Eddie knocked again, softer, until she looked at him. He tapped the window slowly, “Can you lower this?”

           She choked on a breath, chest heaving underneath her safety strap as she did what Eddie asked.

           “Hey,” he began, reaching inside to click the safety off, “my name is Eddie Diaz. What’s yours?”

           “Ol-Olivia…” she stuttered, wiping at tears that continued to fall no matter how hard she scrubbed her eyes, “I’m… oh God, I’m so sorry.”

           Eddie unbuckled her seatbelt, checking for any cuts or abrasions because of it. The skin around her neck seemed red and tender from impact, a possible burn, but that was the extent of the damage there. “It’s okay,” he assured her, cradling Olivia’s head in his hands to better assess her injuries. There were scrapes and bruises there, dried blood crusting around her nose. Nothing that screamed ‘emergency’. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

           She sucked in a deep breath, then launched into her story. Eddie listened, running through a mental checklist while she rambled. “I’d gotten my learner’s permit a few months ago,” Olivia explained, “and I’m supposed to go for my driving test in a few months, for my birthday. In the meantime, I’ve been practicing all I can and I… and I thought I was ready for the highway. I mean, it’s not parallel parking, so I thought it couldn’t be that hard. But my mom thought I wasn’t ready and I… I didn’t listen and – oh, oh no! My mom -!”

           “Is okay,” he told Olivia, keeping her eyes on him and preventing any further sudden movement. “I promise.” Eddie surreptitiously scanned Olivia’s mother between beats of her story, noting the subtle rise and fall of her chest. “Is that how you got into the accident? Fighting with your mom?”

           “Well, partly,” Olivia explained, “I…” She hesitated, biting her lip and causing a few more blood droplets to leak past the cut there. Eddie waited, running his hands below the dashboard to check for any strain or damage from the crash that might make extraction difficult. There wasn’t any he felt. “It’s so embarrassing,” she muttered.

           “It’s okay,” Eddie said, smiling, “You wouldn’t believe the kind of calls me and my team have rushed to. I’m sure whatever happened can’t be as embarrassing as a woman stuck in a window because she tried throwing her poop out when the toilet wouldn’t flush.”

           That encouraged a tiny laugh from Olivia, and soon her earlier nerves from the crash disappeared. “I guess…” she sighed, dabbing at drying tear stains with her hoodie sleeve, “I was doing an okay job driving. Better than either I or my mom figured. But then this huge truck barreled by in such a rush that it shook the car and I freaked. I started screaming, and so did my mom, and I didn’t notice that we started drifting and… ugh, I felt like Cher, y’know? From that movie Clueless?”

           Eddie blinked at her. “You know what Clueless is?”

           “It’s a good movie,” she defended, “Plus that’s like… peak Paul Rudd. Although current Paul Rudd is also peak Paul Rudd… he’s really cute for an old guy.”

           He mostly agreed with her, only offended by her closing remark. Paul Rudd isn’t old.

           Paul’s ageless.

           Eddie stood at his full height, backing away to give Olivia space. “You think you can step out of this vehicle on your own?” She shifted, slowly freeing one leg and then the other. Olivia tried exiting, except stumbled after the second foot left the car. Eddie caught her, easing her to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hen and Chimney approach. “You’re very lucky Olivia,” he said, “you had a great car that shielded you and your mom from some pretty serious damage. My friends are gonna help you two out now. You don’t have to tell them everything, but be sure to answer all their questions and if there’s any pain, okay?”

           “Okay.”

           “Good.” Eddie rose to greet Hen and Chimney, quickly combing through all he learned during his short time with Olivia, stressing the most important pieces of information. “I still have to get her mother out of the passenger side,” he said, jerking his thumb at the car, “once I do that I can carry her to the ambulance so you can do your thing –“

           “Sorry Eddie,” Bobby interrupted, clapping him on the shoulder, “I’m gonna need your help with the other driver.”

           “That bad?”

           “It’s an older car, made with metal instead of plastic,” he said, “guy’s wedged in there pretty tight, cut up, too. And there’s a glass shard running right into his shoulder blade.” Bobby turned to Hen and Chimney, “Once you’re done here we’ll need you on standby to help us. No telling how much blood he’s lost so far, or if there’s any trauma below his waist.”

           “No problem Cap,” Chimney said, “We’re almost done here. Hen, why don’t you go with Eddie and Bobby while I see to Olivia’s mom?”

           “Sounds like a plan to me.”

           “Great,” Bobby led them to the other side of the wreckage, Buck absent from the scene. “He’s getting the jaws,” he told Eddie and Hen. Then, once they’ve reached the Corvette’s driver’s side, Bobby yelled into the open, broken, window, “Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Are you still with us?”

           The man groaned a few indecipherable syllables Eddie couldn’t hope to piece together. He exchanged a short glance with Hen, who appeared similarly unsure. Bobby, meanwhile, continued his one-sided conversation as they waited for Buck to arrive with the jaws.

           “Coming in hot!” he yelled, lugging the jaws over his shoulders, “Where you want me, Cap?”

           “Let’s start with the door,” he motioned Buck closer, pointing at the hinge. “Eddie, grab the middle. I’ll get this side. When Buck snips this free, we’ll gently lower it down and let Hen get in there.”

           “Copy that.” Eddie readied himself, crouching into position. He laid his hands atop the car door, small glass shards crunching under his gloves as his fingers curled. Buck and Bobby talked over his head, working to line up the jaws correctly. During this, Eddie chanced a peek inside at the driver.

           The face he saw, staring back at him, nearly knocked him off his feet.

           Fitting, as that was how it felt when Michael showed him his picture while convincing Eddie to go on a blind date.

           “He works with David at the hospital,” Michael told him, passing his phone over so Eddie would see what David’s co-worker, Dr. Brendan Carmichael, looked like. In the picture Michael found, a selfie from Instagram, Eddie learned more than he needed. That beside the bright, orange hair and freckles splattered across his face like someone flicked a paintbrush over his skin, he also maintained a very strict gym regimen which kept his abs in perfect condition. Eddie’s thumb hovered over the midsection Brendan revealed, careful not to like it on Michael’s account. “He broke up with his last boyfriend a few months ago, and only recently started talking about dating again,” he continued, Eddie tearing his gaze away from the phone to better listen, “David mentioned you, how you were wanting to date again, too, and Brendan’s interested in setting something up. Only question is… are you?”

           It was something Eddie was working himself up to. After breaking things off with Ana during his recovery, and Buck’s focus divided further because of Taylor, Eddie found periods where he was all alone with only his thoughts as company. Because of this, it was harder and harder for him to ignore certain stuff he’d pushed to the back of his mind and crammed into a tiny closet. Namely, his utter sexual indifference to women.

           Almost dying for the umpteenth time put Eddie’s life into perspective.

           He wouldn’t know if the next near-death call might finally succeed where others hadn’t, and Eddie realized how awful it’d be to go without following his heart.

           So he followed it all the way to Michael’s. Eddie knocked on his door late one evening, a fifth of whiskey in his veins dulling the voices shouting how this was stupid, how he and Michael were acquaintances at best and strangers at worst. Then, once Michael invited him inside his empty apartment, Eddie vomited his epiphanies until Michael set his shaking frame down on the couch and forced a glass of water down his throat.

           Since then, Michael had taken on the role as Eddie’s gay sponsor. Michael guided Eddie to a point where he could see his reflection and say ‘gay’ while smiling. He also pushed at the fear that still clung to Eddie, urging him to experience new things, like with this blind-date.

           “I don’t know,” he said, “he does look… really, really nice.” Admitting that never felt like pulling teeth with pliers anymore, thanks to Michael. “I’m just… not sure.”

           “What aren’t you sure about?”

           “I don’t know,” he shrugged, “I… I guess it’s nerves. I’ve never done this before, you know. Is there anything I should know? That makes it different than a date with a woman?”

           Michael shot him a flat look, snatching his phone back. “A date is a date. There’s nothing different about it because it’s with another man. Well… except for when the check comes, and you have to bare-knuckle brawl in the kitchen to decide who gets to pay.” Eddie returned the favor, brows leveling at his friend. Michael chuckled, “Seriously, it’s nothing you need to work yourself up about. Go into it like it was any other date. You’ll have fun – and I’m not laying it on. Brendan is a great guy, from what I’ve heard. He’s got charm and face, which is rare. You don’t find men like us in the wild every day.”

           “Men like us?” Eddie parroted, cheeks straining as he fought against the smile threatening to appear.

           “Me,” Michael clarified, grinning freely, “And Chris Hemsworth. That’s it though.”

           “And this Brendan guy,” Eddie added, “if what you’re saying is true.”

           It wasn’t, unfortunately.

           The night started with Brendan arriving late to the restaurant he chose because of its proximity to the hospital, and only further plummeted as it went on. Brendan criticized his choice in dinner, goading him into ordering an even pricier dish that Eddie hadn’t even wanted. Which Eddie then paid for, although he almost was stuck with the entire bill as Brendan assumed Eddie would cover it. It almost made Eddie reconsider Michael’s earlier crack about brawling. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Brendan’s personality rubbed Eddie the wrong way. He was dismissive of Eddie’s career, unsubtly scrolled through his phone during parts of the evening, and seemed entirely uninterested in Christopher to the point that Brendan interrupted any story about him with an unconnected anecdote, derailing the entire conversation. As the waiter left with their credit cards, all Eddie wanted was to put this date in the rearview behind him.

           Except Brendan’s phone died during dessert, and he didn’t drive himself. “If you could give me a ride?” Brendan suggested, slipping a hand behind Eddie’s button-down and petting his chest, “I’d be very grateful…”

           Eddie wished he could say he drove Brendan home without anything happening, that he was a stronger man. But Eddie gave in to curious temptation. He let Brendan guide him to his apartment bed instead of racing back home to fall asleep in an empty house, Christopher staying over at Michael’s with Harry.

           They jerked each other off in the end; a slight comfort over oral and miles above anal. Once Eddie came, he feigned exhaustion and settled in for a sleepless night. He laid in wait for the morning, where he snuck out of Brendan’s apartment as the rising sun filtered past drawn curtains without a word to his date. Eddie did leave a note, promising he would call soon.

           He hadn’t and had no plan to, either.

           Still, here Brendan was.

           “Cutting in three, guys,” Buck yelled. He proceeded to count down; on one, Eddie heard the snip from the jaws and belatedly realized he needed to move. Bobby swung a second before Eddie, and the momentum of the door made Eddie stumble in his haste to lift the door.

           “Eddie,” Bobby huffed, “You good?”

           “Yeah… yeah,” he nodded, dropping the door on the street at the same time Bobby did. “No need to worry about me.”

           Bobby didn’t believe him, but he stopped questioning Eddie in favor of looming over Hen’s shoulder as she worked on Brendan. Buck leaned against the roof, head ducked inside the cabin, too. Eddie stood apart from the scene as an outlier. He wasn’t sure if it was good to approach. Although, being fully removed meant he wouldn’t know what the other man might say in his condition.

           Only three people knew of his sexuality – Michael, David, and Brendan. Eddie wasn’t ready for that circle to expand.

           Eddie returned, joining the others. He entered to hear Hen finish her line of questioning, her last question prompting Brendan to speak. “The wound on my shoulder is superficial,” he said, gaze unwavering on the side of Eddie’s face. He felt the weight of it, Eddie turned to watch his co-workers instead of Brendan. Bobby’s focus didn’t waver from the crushed dashboard in Brendan’s lap, prodding it in different areas. Buck kept glancing between Eddie and Brendan. “It’s deep, but a clean cut. You can get to that later, because I’m pretty sure there’s something digging into my leg close to my femoral artery.”

           “We’ll get right to it, then,” Hen assured him, “Sounds like you know your stuff, though. You a doctor?”

           Eddie bit his tongue, swallowing his instinctual reply. “Yeah,” Brendan said, “I’m a doctor.”

           “Then that saves us some time.” Hen reached into her bag for a neck brace, placing it around Brendan’s neck while Bobby muttered something to Buck. Buck’s eyes flicked to his briefly before he jogged towards the fire truck. “We’ll have you out of here in no time. Can you tell me where you were headed?”

           “To lunch,” Brendan told her, “We had to push a surgery back a day, and my next one wasn’t until two so I… I thought I’d treat myself to something nice. I already had back-to-back operations this entire morning.”

           “What were they?”

           “Tumor removals,” he explained, “in the brain. Real delicate work. I’ve probably performed over a hundred by now, but I still can’t shake the jitters each time I enter the theater…” Eddie grimaced, hiding it behind his jacket collar. Yes, he knew about Brendan’s job. Hearing it in this context, on the field and not in a dimly lit restaurant, hit differently; like he cared about his patients and didn’t use his position as a point of status. This was not the Brendan he remembered. Regret churned in Eddie’s gut, mixing with the shame and embarrassment already present.

           “I know what you mean,” Hen smiled. She rubbed around the shoulder wound, cleaning it of dried blood to better inspect it. “You can have it all down to a formula, but you will never be sure what might happen when the time comes.”

           “Exactly.”

           Buck hurried back with new tools in hands. He handed a saw to Bobby, “Where do you want me?”

           “Other side,” Bobby said. He tapped Hen on the shoulder, silently urging her off Brendan. “Sir,” he started, “we’re going to be cutting the dashboard off shortly. Don’t be afraid to talk or shout if you feel any pain, okay?”

           “I understand.”

           “I’ll remove the wheel, first,” Bobby said, slipping a pair of goggles on, “don’t move.” He powered the saw on and, in seconds, removed the wheel. Brendan sagged somewhat, breathing stilted and ragged. “Are you okay?”

           “Yeah...” He coughed, “Think my ribs might be bruised, possibly broken. I don’t… I think that’s it. Not sure.”

           “You’re talking, so that’s a good sign.” Hen felt around his chest, then held her stethoscope to hear his lungs. “Nothing out of the ordinary here, Cap. Carry on.”

           Bobby, and Buck now, brought their saws to the dashboard and continued cutting. Hen waited, kneeling, holding a bottle of solution and gauze for when it was her turn again. Meanwhile, Eddie uselessly hovered near her. There wasn’t much for him to do.

           That wasn’t true for long.

           Suddenly he was very much needed, Bobby calling for him and motioning Eddie with the saw. He tripped over his feet, “Coming! Coming!” Rushing to help Bobby remove the dashboard that, along with the glass shard, pinned Brendan to his seat. In doing this, Eddie glimpsed the red-stained leather under his leg. “Hen!” he said, “All you.”

           Hen filled the space where the dashboard had been, attending to Brendan’s wound with practiced speed. As Eddie and Bobby returned, she fixed the tourniquet around his thigh and was partway done with wrapping his leg with gauze. And when Buck sidled towards them, she began removing the glass shard in his shoulder. It was much longer than a passing glance would make you believe. “Yikes,” Buck muttered, “You ever think a windshield could do that?”

           “Old cars like these?” Bobby replied, “Anything’s possible.”

           “He’s good for removal!” Hen yelled over her shoulder, kicking her bag a few feet back. She stands, dusting off her knees, “I’ll go get Chimney and the stretcher, be ready to help us set him down once we’re here.”

           “Buck and Eddie’ll handle that,” Bobby said, “I’m gonna do a final sweep of the area, make sure we didn’t miss anything. Copy?”

           “Understood.” Buck knocked shoulders with Eddie, nodding at the car, “Let’s go get the doctor ready for his ride back to work.”

           Eddie bit his cheek, letting silence give a better response than he could at the moment. If Buck found it odd, like Bobby, he didn’t comment on it. They walked to Brendan’s car again, Eddie going through the motions to get him ready for transit. In that short span of seconds, Eddie hoped his luck might keep his secret safe. That Brendan wouldn’t mention their date.

           He knelt down, waiting for Buck’s signal to lift his legs, when he made the mistake of finally meeting Brendan’s stare. Brendan offered him a tired smile. “This is so not how I expected we’d meet again.”

           …Shit.

           Buck stilled, his hands falling to their sides as he looked to Eddie. “You two know each other?”

           Brendan sighed in the affirmative. “Very intimately.”

           “What…” Buck’s face screwed itself into an expression of confusion, the rainbow wheel in his mind spinning endlessly while he processed Brendan’s innuendo.

           Eddie pounced to fill the awkward silence. “We hung out, once,” he told Buck, “Like, a few days ago, I think? Super casual…”

           “Oh –“

           “Oh,” Brendan interjected, darker than earlier. He coughed, voice straining from the force of it, but he wasn’t deterred. “Oh, really? Hanging out… that’s what you’re calling it?”

           “Uh…” Eddie, taken aback by such an unexpected call out, couldn’t produce more than a few mumbled phrases that didn’t move beyond one syllable nor, when strung together, were comprehensible. Instead he glanced between Brendan and Buck, wasting precious time with silence.

           Brendan, however, formed complete sentences. “So tell me… since I have you, were you even planning on hanging out with me again, or do you leave all your buddies notes like that?”

           In his anger, Brendan shifted and started angling himself towards Eddie. Buck snapped out of his stupor enough to lay a calming hand on Brendan’s shoulder, “Hey! Hey… sir, you need to keep still until we move you.”

           “Sorry, sorry…” Brendan relaxed, albeit his glare was still focused on Eddie. Eddie flinched under the weight of it.

           “I…” Eddie tried, very aware of the sound behind him, of wheels rolling over gravel and measured footsteps. “I was trying to be nice?”

           “Nice?” Brendan spat, “Fuck you, Eddie.”

           “Eddie,” Buck inched closer, drawing Eddie’s gaze from Brendan to him. He spoke softly, like Eddie were one of the many victims they attended to during their careers. Eddie also noted the sharp steeple Buck’s brows, drawn together as if he already filled in the missing gaps of Eddie and Brendan’s story. Shit. “Why don’t you let us handle this?”

           “I…” Eddie found breathing as hard as speaking, managing enough foresight to sharply nod before standing and striding away from Brendan’s car. He passed a curious, concerned Bobby, but ignored his calls. Eddie kept himself tightly wound all the way to the engine. Once he entered, he fell apart. Eddie’s vision blurred, his lungs couldn’t hold enough air, and he melted inside his uniform. All he was able to do before completely shutting down was shoot a quick message to Michael.

           Brendn in acidnt fine but h outd me what do

           Eddie’s grip on his phone tightened considerably when he heard the engine doors open again. Buck slid inside, not meeting Eddie’s wide, panicked stare. There were more doors opening, Bobby and other firefighters climbing aboard. “Hen and Chim are taking that guy to the hospital,” Buck said, “Our work here’s done.” He paused, gnawing on his lip, considering saying more while Bobby slowly pulled them onto the road. “What he said…”

           He missed the rest of Buck’s question. His voice dulled as a sharp ringing in Eddie’s head blocked out every sound around him. Eddie sunk into it, comforted in the simpleness of the noise. He pressed himself against the window, arms crossed over his chest, and watched the scenery blur during their drive to the station.

           Then, when they arrived, Eddie flung the door open and his puddled mass in a jacket spilled free of the engine. He stripped off his uniform in a record-setting pace. And, as he finished, Eddie saw Buck steadily approach, Bobby like a shadow behind him. Both wore similar expressions that warned Eddie of conversations he was not ready for. Because of that, Eddie did something he regret. A course of action so damning it spoke louder than any mangled defense he might put together.

           He hid.

           “Stupid… stupid…” Eddie whacked his phone across his temple, curled into a tight ball outside the building. He snuck through a door in the back, smart enough to not go far but knowing that it’s so rare anyone used this area. It was set aside for the firefighters who smoked, Chimney explained. Those were always a small contingent, never more than one or two per squad. As the years went by, numbers dwindled, and a smoking firefighter became an endangered species. Now, hardly anyone uses this tiny alley that separates the fire house from its adjoining building. Except for Eddie. “I can’t believe I could have such shitty luck…”

           He went to hit himself with his phone again, but a shrill ping cut into his spiraling. Eddie checked his messages – Can I call? It was Michael. He texted back a thumbs up he didn’t mean. Soon his phone shook in his hands.

           Eddie answered, “Hey…”

           “Hi Eddie,” Michael said, tone soft like Buck’s back at the scene. He hated it. Eddie hated how much he wilted because of it, how his nerves started inching away from the edge at the gentle, implied coaxing. “How are you feeling?”

           Eddie barked a short, nasty laugh, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead. “I feel like I’m about to burst into flames.”

           “If you do, at least you’re around people who’ll know what to do.”

           “What if I don’t want them to save me,” Eddie groused, “should I make a break for it before the first spark catches?”

           “Like they wouldn’t race after you…” Michael’s voice trailed, clearly tiptoeing around the words he chose next. “So,” he said, “you ran into Brendan again today?”

           Eddie snorted. “More like some kid ran into his car…” He growled, kneading at his eye with the heel of his hand. “I can’t believe what happened, and how I… how I froze like that. Seriously, what were the odds?”

           “Pretty fucking low,” Michael told him, “But that’s exactly what it was, shit luck. There’s nothing you could have done to not have what happened, happened.”

           “That’s not true,” he sighed, “I could have not gone on that date with him. Or, at least, not let him talk me into his bed.”

           “He’s a charmer.”

           “I had nothing better going on,” Eddie said. He played his words back in his head, silently cursing how brusque they sounded. Was he really the bad guy in this scenario? Brendan hadn’t seem interested in a relationship during their dinner, and Eddie thought his own feelings were on display, too. Buck always said his poker face had more cracks in it than a busted sidewalk. Maybe the note was unnecessary, he can concede. Eddie can’t rewrite history and destroy it, though. “Besides,” he continued, swatting those past regrets away like flies, “Brendan wasn’t all that charming when he outed me, on top of cursing me out in front of the 118.”

           “Man was in a car accident,” Michael reminded Eddie, “He probably had more to worry about than decorum.” Michael coughed across the line, clearing his throat. “That doesn’t excuse what he did.”

           “Yeah,” he said, “I thought it was, like, gay brotherhood that you’re not supposed to out another gay person… or whatever.”

           “I… don’t think he knew. That you weren’t out…” Michael hummed, the noise rattling inside Eddie’s chest. “You’re right, in a way. Any decent gay person wouldn’t out a person before they’re ready. I can’t remember if Derek mentioned your… situation, when setting up the date. I can text him but, Eddie –“ Michael’s sigh caused the line to crackle and break, Eddie shivering as it hit his ear “– Eddie, Brendan and what he might and might not have known isn’t important, isn’t why I called.” Eddie knew. Of course, he knew. “What are you planning on doing next?”

           “That depends,” Eddie mumbled. His free hand tugged on his laces, loosening them slowly. “Do you want to hear what I want to do, or what I’m going to do.”

           “What do you want to do?”

           “Fake mine and Chris’s deaths,” he told Michael, “Start over somewhere new. Maybe on the East Coast, in a small fishing village where I can be a lighthouse keeper and never have to see another person ever again. Just me and Chris and the sea, until Chris leaves or I grow old and die. Whichever happens first.”

           “That’s… dark.” Michael said, “And oddly specific.”

           Eddie shrugged, “I watched the Lighthouse last night. Robert Pattinson jerked it to some mermaid doodle in it. Like… I could do that. Survive off of doodles of hunky mermen, or sailors. Hunky mermen getting it on with sailors… God knows the real thing didn’t work out.”

           “You don’t mean that.”

           “Well, what else can I do?”

           “You can go inside and talk to your friends,” Michael reasoned, “Your team who cares about you, and are most definitely worried because of what happened and how it affected you. Your family, who is ready to accept you for who you are as they always will. But first, you need to trust them and let them in to see who that is.”

           When Michael explained it, the obvious choice also seemed to be the easiest. The tiny seed of doubt, however, planted once Eddie accepted his heart’s leanings and blossomed into a strange bushel of roses with thorny roots strangling his chest, would not let him be. It poisoned his rationality, shredding any confidence Eddie built. “I trust them with my life,” he wondered, speaking barely above a whisper, “why is it so hard to trust them with this? Is it just me?”

           “It’s not you, Eddie,” Michael said. His voice thundered with conviction, startling Eddie. “Believe me, you aren’t the first gay man to feel this way and, unfortunately, you won’t be the last.”

           He sniffed, a wet chuckle escaping past his lips in a raspy breath. “That sucks.”

           “It sure does,” Michael agreed.

           “Does it ever go away?” he asked, “Or… get easier?”

           “I… it’s not a cut-and-dry answer,” he told Eddie, “In some cases, yes. Others… no. It’s situational.” Eddie found this answer unsatisfying. He wasn’t the only one. “Listen,” Michael said, “this might seem scary now, but I, uh – remember that first night. That night you came to my place and confided in me. What did you say?”

           “That I was gay.”

           “Yes…” Michael sucked in a deep breath, hissing his next thought so pointedly it cut through those pesky roots. “Now, imagine you’re me, saying what you said to me, but instead of saying it to me you were saying it to my lovely ex-wife who, at the time, was still my wife, and all this after we’re both a few glasses of wine deep and the kids are asleep.”

           Michael’s past helped put Eddie’s own troubles in perspective. He mentioned as such to him.

           “I don’t want to come off like ‘I had worse’ blah blah,” Michael said, “My point is – you see how good the relationship between Athena and I is. She could have easily kicked me out and then never spoken to me again. But she didn’t. She had every reason to hate me, but she didn’t. Athena loved me when she thought I was straight and continued after learning I was gay. It’s a different sort of love now, and yes, it might have wavered at times, but she stuck by my side like I stuck to hers. Yes, I was scared to tell her, just like you were when you came and told me. Just like you are now. But because I pushed through my fear, I freed us both from being unhappy. Her and Bobby… me and Derek… neither would have happened if I decided to keep my feelings to myself.”

           “Yeah… your life did change…” Eddie rested his head against his knees, remnants of adrenaline from earlier fully fading leaving an exhaustion that set deep into his bones. “I guess that’s what I’m really afraid of. How… acknowledging who I really am, and owning it, how everything will change after.”

           “Eddie, will being gay affect your job?”

           “What?” Eddie yelped, head rising again, neck aching from the whiplash Michael’s unrelated question caused. “No –“

           “Will you being out really make you a completely different, unrecognizable person?”

           “Uh… I – I don’t… no?”

           “Then it sounds like nothing will actually change.” Michael’s tone relaxed and, finally, Eddie let himself do the same. The other man’s speech wrapped around him like a warm blanket. “You didn’t wake up one morning and decide to be gay. It’s something that’s always been a part of you. It’s been there during every call you went out on. You’ll still be Eddie… just a happier Eddie, because you’re allowing yourself to be happy and honest with who you are. That’s what’s important here. Coming out isn’t about other people, it’s about you. You, opening yourself to others to see this part of you, and letting them share in the joy of who you are. And the 118, your friends, will still love you because this… this gay Eddie you have in your mind, is just Eddie. That’s it.”

           Eddie didn’t cry. He wouldn’t be able to hide it, once he went back inside to confront his friends. If they asked, Eddie might mumble a few broken words about allergies then move on. Because he didn’t let his tears fall. “Thanks, Michael,” Eddie said, “I… I’m really grateful for you, being my friend. And that you didn’t turn me away like you should have done when I showed up at your apartment.”

           “I was less afraid of what you’d do,” Michael laughed, “and more afraid what you might do if I didn’t.”

           They ended the call soon enough, with Eddie exchanging a few final pleasantries while Michael’s goodbye was laced with encouragement.

           Eddie stood, riding the aches of pain that came from unfurling his back out of the tight coil he forced it into. He stretched his arms, pointed high towards the sky. Eddie leaned onto his toes, and even lifted his face to better feel the sun shining above.

           Much too warm for fall.

           Despite the heat and his fears, Eddie returned to the firehouse. He slowly crept inside, alert, gaze bouncing around for a sign of his friends. When he didn’t find them on the first floor, not hovering by the truck and newly returned ambulance or biding time in the gym, Eddie passed faceless co-workers on his way to the stairs. Each step Eddie took sounded like beats from a heavy drum, sounding a funeral march. Eddie kept up the tempo.

           As he climbed higher, his head peeked out and Eddie caught a glimpse of the second floor. Like always, his eyes were drawn immediately to Buck. He, along with Bobby, Hen, and Chim, were huddled around the kitchen island. Eddie watched them converse quietly, briefly, the discussion cutting off because Buck, the one currently speaking, turned and saw Eddie. Buck straightened, body taut and tense like Christopher got after Eddie caught him misbehaving. Eddie wasn’t foolish enough to think they were talking about anything other than him. Buck’s face flickers, flipping through emotions like pages in a book too fast so Eddie can’t read. It settled on a steely façade of determination, Buck readying to move. Before he can, Bobby stopped Buck with one hand on his shoulder. He understood.

           Let Eddie come to them.

           He did, slowly, at his own pace. Eddie settled between Hen and Chimney, both firefighters creating a space for him.

           There’s a beat of silence, the air above the kitchen island so weighty Eddie’s shoulders drooped. He fought against it, taking a deep breath. “Hey.”

           “Eddie,” Bobby spoke first, “how are you doing?”

           Michael advised honesty. That’s what Eddie gave. “I’m a little scared,” he admitted with a laugh, staring intently at a divot in the island’s counter, and how his finger repeatedly traced it. “Okay. A lot of scared.”

           “We’re here for you Eddie,” Bobby said, “Whatever it is.” On either side, his friends reached for him. Hen laid her hand over Eddie’s, crushing it in a loving grip, while Chimney soothingly rubbed his back. Eddie glanced at the men in front of him, Bobby looking encouraging at him while Buck…

           Eddie still can’t decipher what it is Buck tries to show.

           If he thought about it too long, he’d lose all the confidence he gathered to arrive at this point. Eddie swallowed past the lump in his throat, attempting to smile. “Thank you,” he said, “really.” Then, without fanfare, Eddie shrugged and told his friends, “I’m gay.”

           Like that, the next breath Eddie took felt lighter. It was unbelievable. No one said anything, but their love and acceptance were visible in other ways. Eddie was almost brought to tears because of them. He reigned his emotions in, maintaining control. If they stayed like this, however, he’s sure to break.

           Eddie cleared his throat, “That’s all. So if we could…”

           “Not so fast,” Chimney said, smirk tainting their tender moment. His hand slunk across Eddie’s back to his shoulder, clamping down and chaining Eddie there at his side. “There’s still the doctor of it all that’s been unaccounted for…”

           “Chim,” Bobby warned lightly, trying his best to play boss.

           Hen waved him off. “Eddie should have his chance to explain,” she argued, “tell us his side of the story. Lord knows Chim and I got an earful about what that man thought of you, Eddie. Filled the entire drive from the wreck to the hospital.”

           “He had a lot of opinions,” Chimney added.

           Eddie sighed. He expected they might have questions, especially about Brendan. He wasn’t unprepared for this. “I went on one date with the man,” he explained, “something Michael set up –“

           “Michael?” Bobby interrupted, tapping his chest, “My Michael?”

           “He’s not just your friend,” Eddie said, “He… he’s been helping me deal with… with all this. This… being gay, stuff.” He shifted, bending forward to press his chest on the counter. “It was Michael’s idea I go on a date with Brendan, sort of like practice. To get more comfortable being… out, in public, with another man. Personally, I didn’t think the date was that special. Brendan was… he had a lot of personality.”

           “Sure was flexing that… personality, despite all those injuries,” Hen agreed, “Kept going on about this – this note you wrote? What was that about?” Hen might have asked coyly, but it was obvious to Eddie she knew.

           He still answered her. “I was going for nice,” he muttered, “I didn’t want to up and abandon him after we… after he invited me over for the night, and we…” They were at work. Eddie couldn’t say more.

           Nothing else needed saying. Even Buck understood, if his rapidly flushing cheeks meant anything. “Oh,” he said, “so you and him… you two…” His pointer fingers on either hand were extended, slapping each other with wide sweeps.

           Hen choked on a snort, shoving Buck’s hands apart. “They weren’t sword-fighting, Buck.”

           “Yeah, I knew that…” Because of his bashful pout, followed by Buck tucking his head into his chest, Eddie didn’t buy his excuse.

           “Okay,” Bobby steered the conversation elsewhere, “besides us and… Michael… have you told anyone else?”

           Eddie shook his head. “Really?” Buck asked, “Not even Chris?”

           “Especially not Chris…” Some of that earlier fear returned, roosting in his chest like a bird returned north from winter. “I never… I don’t know how I would explain it to him or… how much I would have to explain? Like, if I was a single dad from the start, I’m sure it would be easier. But most of his memories are with me and his mom, and I – I haven’t figured out a way to tell him while also not invalidating mine and Shannon’s marriage, y’know?” Eddie agonized over that near constantly. He loved Shannon, truly, and wanted their marriage to work despite not being attracted to her in the way that mattered. Christopher needed her in his life. If that meant Eddie gave Shannon what she wanted, what Eddie pretended he wanted to, it would have been worth it.

           But, in the end, she still went ahead with the divorce. Shannon was more perceptive than he ever gave her credit for.

           “And then there’s the Ana of it all…” Eddie threw out, offhandedly.

           “Wait,” Buck said, “was that why you broke it off with her? When you told me…”

           Eddie’s breath hitched slightly, and he drummed his fingers against the counterspace. “No,” he said, “I… I didn’t have the realization then. I meant it, about us not clicking and… her being another try at giving Chris a mom. Although, being gay would definitely have played a factor in us not clicking.”

           “That’s for sure.”

           Another wave of silence washed over them, this the most awkward of them all. “If that’s it for questions…” Eddie extricated himself from the group, final shreds of adrenaline fading and leaving him exhausted. His mind already set a course for the bunks, planning a lengthy nap as a reward for his vulnerability.

           “Of course,” Bobby rounded the island, moving closer to Eddie. Buck was on his heels, but hung back on the fringes of the group, a few inches behind Hen and Chimney. “I want you to know how proud I am of you, though. I can’t imagine any of what you had to deal with was easy, and if you need anything from us – keeping this information to ourselves or whatever… let us know. We’ll follow your lead.” He then opened himself for a hug, giving Eddie the option to accept or refuse.

           Eddie sagged into Bobby’s embrace, grateful. “Thank you.” Hen and Chimney joined them, squeezing Eddie tighter and tighter. Only Buck kept his distance. Eddie opened his eyes and noticed the younger man watching them, a glint in his eye that struck Eddie’s nerve. Once the others released him, Eddie confronted Buck. “Hey, are you…”

           “Hmm?” Buck blinked, and what Eddie saw earlier disappeared. It vanished like it never existed. Maybe Eddie imagined it? Regardless, Buck smiled in his usual, too-large-for-his-face way and swept Eddie in a giant hug of his own. “I’m proud, too,” he whispered, “And what Bobby said goes double for me. Anything you need, ask… and I’ll be there.”

           Eddie caught himself before he spoke without thinking. Instead, he returned the hug. He rested his cheek against Buck’s shoulder, humming in acknowledgment of Buck’s promise.

           Buck would do anything for Eddie, as much as he would do anything for Christopher.

           Anything… except what Eddie truly desired from him.

           While baring his soul to the group about his sexuality was one matter, confessing to all his secrets was an entirely different sort he hadn’t felt ready for. He doubted he ever will be. Because if he told Buck the reason why he stopped running from the truth, why he couldn’t deny his feelings after being content in doing so for years, Eddie feared Buck would prove the sickening voices in his head right by leaving him.

           Really, Eddie thought, what else was there to do when you learn your best friend is in love with you?

           So he ignored how Buck’s touch skimmed his lower back, the gentle swaying dance they began by hugging longer than necessary, and, as they drew apart, the struck-match feeling of Buck’s lips brushing the outer edge of his ear.

           There was nothing to read into, he reminded himself. He and Buck were friends. Best friends. Best buddies. Buck had Taylor, and Eddie…

           Eddie had hope. Hope, emboldened by his bout of honesty, that there will come a day he found a man he truly loved to share his life with.

           Even if they weren’t Buck.

#buddie #9-1-1 on fox #post-4x14 #eddie diaz #gay eddie diaz #eddie diaz comes out #9-1-1 s5 spec fic #evan 'buck' buckley #buck x eddie #pining eddie diaz #bobby nash #henrietta 'hen' wilson #howard 'chimney' han #michael grant #less about the getting together and more about the character study of eddie if they decided to go through with the gay route

[voorbeees]

[ me, writing a decent fic? impossible! Anyway here’s a fic about Jesse adopting a kid that I got kind of carried away with but i don’t care. 

you can also read it here . Also don’t forget I take commissions. ]

The sharp hunting knife plunges into the woman's temple. It's a faster kill than he enjoys. Usually he'll bide his time, watching, waiting until he's spotted a piggy that suits him. Typically it's a cat and mouse game, dragged out for as long as possible. Psychological torture is the game. That accompanied by true torture, eventually.

Jesse has found himself becoming far more annoyed by Preston than usual, which is saying something, considering that the man makes him consider driving a knife into his own eye in order to end the conversation faster. After the latest whining spree, he's decided he's just going to kill him. Preston offers no value to himself or his organization anymore. Only he wants an audience when he does it. Set an example. No other employees voice opinions like him, but Jesse wants to make sure they remember who's in charge.

Chromeskull twists the knife in a fit of anger. God even thinking about him pisses him off. Another turn for good measure then he yanks the blade from the woman's head. It's a clean kill and for that he's sorry. She'd have been perfect for slicing and butchering. Whatever. It's done. The night is still young and there's still plenty of piggies to find.

He swaggers back to his Chrysler 300 to retrieve a body bag. Once he's back, Jesse stuffs the body in the bag and slings it over his should as if he's done this a thousand times. (Probably because he has done this a thousand times.) He's not too worried about the crime scene, it's an abandoned warehouse for Christ's sake. The only people who'll be snooping around in here are your typical crack head junkies. No one in their right mind is going to believe that they found blood. Even better, they'd probably be convicted of the crime. Now that's fucking hilarious. Jesse laughs silently at the thought. The only indication that he's even doing it being the up and down movement of his shoulders.

By this point he's made sure his knives are tucked safely away back in his chrome briefcase, which he holds in his free hand. Jesse kicks the door open with enough strength to knock it off its hinges. He stands there on the stoop in the back alley for a moment before marching down the dimly lit alleyway to his car.

A scuffing noise coming from behind catches his attention. Jesse turns around with enough force to make the body over his shoulder whizz through the air and thunk hard against his back. Nothing catches his eye so he brushes it off. Most likely a stray cat.

The trunk to the car opens with a click and he throws the body inside. Better care is taken when he places his briefcase in beside it. The video has long since finished recording and he takes the time now to remove the tape, titling it Jacksonville. It's honestly not even worth keeping or naming but who gives a fuck. He caught the bitch and killed her, it's his fair and square.

Pocketing the tape, he slams the trunk shut. He's opted to keep his chrome mask on. No sense in taking it off just to reapply the adhesive an hour later. He whirls around, ready to jump into the car and drive off when instead he practically jumps out of his fucking skin.

There no more than a few feet away stands a small child, no older than six. Big doe-like eyes stare up at him and it takes Jesse a minute to regain his composure. What the fuck? He looks around but sees no one. Clearly she belongs to someone, which sounds stupid as fuck because she isn't a fucking dog. And yes. Now he can make out clearly that it is a little girl. He doesn't have many rules he abides by when the chrome mask is placed on his face, but killing kids is one of his top ones. They're still too young to understand the world or just how terrible their mothers are for leaving them alone long enough to get a fuck in.

The little girl takes a tiny step forward and Jesse wastes no time in yanking his phone from his pocket. He types furiously on it, black nitrile making hardly a sound.

'GO AWAY' . The electronic voice echoes off the brick walls of the alley. He can tell by the way she flinches back a step that his point is made. Good. Jesse brushes past her, ready to leave the situation behind. At least until he feels a tug on his black slacks.

The little girl clings to his designer pants, eyes wide but not from fear, more so curiosity. Jesse wastes no time in furiously typing on his phone again. 'GO HOME. I'M A BUSY MAN AND I DON'T NEED TO BE HELD UP. ' His only response is a slow blink.

'NO. ' He dislodges her tiny hands and pushes her on the back in the opposite direction. ' GO HOME. ' Jesse thinks he's finally gotten her to understand but it's the exact opposite. For some fucking reason that makes her want to be even closer to him.

"Why do you wear that?" She asks as she points to his mask.. She has to hold her head all the way back to even see his "face". It's actually rather comical and if anyone were to walk by at this moment they'd probably double over with laughter. The girl barely makes it up to his thigh, as to where the 6'7 man looks like a god damned giant looking at a pomeranian. "Are you hiding from someone?"

Yes that was obviously it! He, a known killer, was hiding from someone. What a stupid -- Jesse stops himself mid thought as his brown eye takes in her appearance. It's raggedy to say the least. Then again, anyone who compared his attire to another’s would consider it to be raggedy. ' HOME. LEAVE ME ALONE. FIND YOUR MOTHER. '

The girl's face seems to crumple at this and for a moment Jesse is dumbfounded. "I -I don't know where she is." The tiny voice squeaks out. Her lower lip begins to quiver and ohmyfuckinggod he's done it now. People could care less if they heard a woman on the streets yelling, but a kid? Someone would come bounding around the corner to the rescue. Which only meant he'd then have to kill them and whoever else came with them. "She leaves sometimes and doesn't come back for a while." His mangled lip twists into a snarl under the chrome mask. "She usually says it's because she has to work." Ah, so that explained it.

Jesse's eye darts to the trunk of his Chrysler 300. Of course the whore brought her kid to work. If he could talk, Jesse would have a mouthful of slurs to toss at the dead woman. He knows all too well what it's like to not have a mother, and knows even better the concept of a drunk for a father. Though something tells him there's no father in this situation.

"Can I come with you? At least until she comes back?" It's such an innocent question and it takes everything in him to hold back the sensation of snuffing out a life. Chromeskull is creeping further into the picture, just begging to sink his claws into her and kill her but Jesse smoothers that thought.

He's always had a fond spot for kids. It was actually something he was excited about when he'd found out his wife was pregnant but just like everything else that had been ruined too. He never talks about his wife. The only time he did was when Spann had the displeasure of explaining the situation to him. After that he'd made it clear to never mention her or the unborn baby again by destroying everything in his office. The room looked like it had been hit by a tornado when he was done, broken pictures, splintered chairs, holes in the wall. The scenario made his fiasco with destroying the mirror after seeing his own disfigurement seem mild. All of that accompanied with the unsaid "this is your fault" regarding her suicide has been eating away at him slowly over the years.

' NO. ' He shakes his leg free. Tricky little pest.

"But please?" She's latches on to him again and Jesus fucking Christ what the fuck about his current attire screams "I'm here to help you!". Because it sure as fuck isn't the mask or knives hidden away in his car.

By this time he's just decided to remove his gloves, throwing the used nitrile into the passenger seat of the open driver side door. The low light illuminates the tattoos that cover his hands. The letters on his knuckles moving slightly when he clenches his fists together. He's about to start typing again when the tiny voice breaks the silence. "Oh you painted your hands!" It's the stupidest fucking thing he's ever heard. They're tattoos, tattoos that decorate both arms from the knuckles up when he's not dressed for the job. But it's also the funniest thing he's ever heard and Jesse can't help the smile that stretches across his mangled face behind the mask. Children are so God damned innocent. A tiny hand removes itself from his slacks to grasp at his hand but Jesse moves it out of her way before she can grab it. A sad expression settles on her face but it quickly disappears as he hikes his slacks up by the knees, making it easier for him to bend down. He's eye level with her now and he sees almost instantly how her demeanor changes. Once more it's not fear (odd considering there's a giant man in a chrome skeleton mask right in front of her face), but rather elation.

She wastes no time in snatching one of his hands examining it. In the process his sleeve rides up to reveal more ink on his arm. "You colored your arm too?" She looks up to see him nod once slowly. This only sits off another tirade of questions. Jesse can't really answer them. Sure he could type them and let the phone do the talking but that’s too much fucking work. He's not sure if she understands sign language so no point in trying that. He settles for just nodding or shaking his head, short answers she's bound to understand.

"You don't talk much, huh?" It's not that he doesn't talk, it's that he can't talk. Most days Jesse would give anything to be able to express himself through voice, even if it meant giving his remaining eye. But he's always lived like this and there's no point in complaining about what can't be fixed. Plus it adds an intimidation aspect to him, something he rather enjoys.

"Can I come with you?" She asks again and this time Jesse studies her for a moment. He weighs the options in his head. She is alone and it would be awfully rude to simply leave her here by herself in the back of an alley. Seeing as Jesse is the perfect gentleman, he can't simply do that. It's hard to tell what will happen to her if he just leaves her here. Other people might say she's his responsibility because he obviously just fucking killed her mom, but from his point of view she didn't seem like a mother anyway. No loss in that department. He finally nods and there's just something about the way her tiny face lights up with delight that just wants to make him laugh. For having just met him, she seems very content to cling to him. Then an idea pops into his head. Wanting children and then having the possibility taken away, only to be rewarded with one. He can already hear Preston's annoying voice now, and honestly that's all the fucking push he needs.

Jesse stands to his full height with ease. The little girl follows him as he makes his way back to the car. She blinks at the automobile. "I've never seen a car like this before. Are you rich?" Very rich, he wants to say but settles for nodding. And if he has anything to say in the matter, she’ll be just as rich in a short time also.

---------

Jesse parks the car outside the warehouse his operation is currently running in, not bothering to make an effort to hide it. Besides he's not too worried about the police. He pulls open the back door and the little girl eagerly jumps into his arms, still talking a hundred miles an hour (something she's been doing for the last twenty minutes, but frankly he doesn't care). He walks them through the building's side door, being met instantly by Spann and then Preston, who's wearing that annoyingly fake 'happy to see you!' expression.

"Sir, we didn't expect you back until morning." Spann's soothing voice meets his ears. He responds with a shrug as he sees her eyes land on the child.

And then that voice grates on his ears. "Boss, you're fucking kidding, right?" It's followed by a nervous and unbelieving laugh. "I didn’t take you for the adopting strays sort of guy. Let alone, I think she's a little young for you." Preston laughs again but he's met with Spann's hard stare and Jesse's blood-curdling one. The implication that he has something planned is enough to make his mangled lip curl into a snarl under the mask.

It's then he places the girl in the other man's arms and begins typing on his phone. ' GET HER SETTLED IN AT HOME. ROOM. CLOTHES. SCHOOL. ' It's a clear statement and he doesn't plan on repeating himself.

"Might I commend you on how great of an idea having an apprentice is, Sir." Jesse makes a so-so movement with his hand then signs the word "daughter". Spann smiles widely. "Even better. I've always seen you as a family man." The both of them begin to make their way back to his office.

"Boss!" Preston looks between the kid in his arms and back to Jesse. "You're not serious."

The electronic voice meets his ears once again. ' DO IT NOW. '

"Boss!" The sound reaches his ears once more before he closes the door and sinks into his chair. A smile stretches across his face under the mask as Spann begins explaining plans to move the operation. Maybe Preston does have a use. Being the always available babysitter.

#voorbeees writes #slashers #slasher fandom #chromeskull #jesse cromeans #laid to rest #okay to reblog

[ralfstrashcan]

Malec in late 2B

It's been *checks watch* three years and I've finally calmed down enough to try and untangle my feelings about the end of 2B in a coherent way.

1) Alec's decision not to tell Magnus about the Soul Sword. I've worked through my thoughts regarding that in this fic already where I go into Alec's reasoning for it. The tldr of which is that a) Alec consciously made the decision not to tell Magnus instead of running out of time to decide, b) he actually had good reasons for that and made that decision with Magnus's and the Downworld's best interests at heart and c) ultimately his love for Magnus was the very reason he didn't tell him because if he had cared about sparing Magnus's feelings a little less he would have told Magnus about the Soul Sword on condition that Magnus can't tell his people, damn the guilt Magnus will feel when warlocks die because they weren't forewarned.

2) Magnus's reaction to finding out. Magnus flips his shit, basically, lashes out, is deliberately hurtful and doesn't really listen to Alec's reasons for his decision. This is both an understandable and an ic reaction because Magnus is a very emotion-driven character and what he just learned is drastic. Could there have been a more graceful way to handle this revelation? Certainly. But it's nothing I would just expect from any given character. You'd have to be exceptionally level-headed to keep your cool in such a situation and I don't fault Magnus for not being that. His reaction was very human.

Alec gets points deduction for his line “Let's not make this personal” because dude, do you know your boyfriend at all? Have you realized that emotional compartmentalization isn't his strong forte? This line just angers Magnus more. (Alec also gets points deduction, with extreme prejudice, for trying to shush Magnus because what is wrong with you, man. I mean, this might just be a personal hang-up of mine but isn't that gesture patronizing as hell? Anyway.) On the other hand Alec gets some points for not going after Magnus. When I first watched that I thought it was very strange and kinda weird but in hindsight it is obviously the right choice. Magnus needed time and space to deal and Alec realized that trying to go after him and talk it out then was pointless and would have only angered Magnus more.

3) Magnus's reaction to Alec seeking him out because of Max. Admirable. Magnus puts all his (very understandable) anger aside to rush to the Lighwood family's aid. It doesn't matter that he can't help in the end, he is there as emotional support despite the frosty atmosphere between him and Alec. It is the decent thing to do but not everybody would have shown such kindness in his shoes. 10/10.

4) Magnus contemplating if he should take the Seelie Queen's offer aka sappy Malec flashbacks. I'm gonna place half the blame on show writers and half the blame on Magnus himself because, bro, this is not how you make a strategical decision for your people. Not even once is Magnus shown contemplating the repercussions of his decision for the warlocks or Valentine or the future of the Downworld. He only mopes about his boyfriend betraying his trust, basically. And I mean! I understand he's hurting a lot! And I understand people can't just turn off their emotions! But a good leader should be able to put his own emotions aside at least for a short time when an integral decision about his people has to be made, and quickly! And in that regard Magnus, uh, fails, apparently.

Again, I think half the blame lies with the show writers who wanted cute Malec flashbacks and generally fail at portraying inner Downworlder affairs if they don't serve the shadowhunter-centric plot. But I can't just yell “ooc behavior!!” and shrug it off because this isn't exactly ooc behavior for Magnus. Magnus is a very emotion-driven character who fails at separating personal and political matters. That's a theme. I point no further than the whole Camille-thing where he turned a blind eye to her bleeder dens because he felt personally indebted to her, and only stopped her when Raphael's life was at stake. So yeah... 0/10.

Full disclosure, I think there is a different way to read these scenes. Maybe Magnus wasn't just nursing his broken heart and missing the point. Maybe what he was actually contemplating was what he'd been fighting about with Luke before, namely if Alec can even be trusted as a person or if he's too much a shadowhunter to ever deserve their faith and cooperation because he will always treat Downworlders as lesser, because he's as racist as the Clave. In that case it would make sense for him to remember their private 1:1 interactions, to reassess Alec's character as a whole. But it would also mean that the conclusion he reached is that Alec is as corrupt as the rest of the Clave, and that would make them getting back together without ever talking about this... even more messed up than it already is! But I'm getting ahead of myself. Anyway, needless to say that I don't interpret it this way.

5) Magnus breaking up with Alec. To me personally (and to Alec) the breakup makes no sense. Magnus and Alec have different stances on, like, the implications of their relationship (and I'm emotionally wired like Alec is, at least in that regard). What I mean is this: Why does Magnus feel the need to break up with Alec? He's not an idiot, he knows that just because he breaks up with Alec his feelings for Alec will not miraculously evaporate as well. He'll be as emotionally compromised as he was before. And yet he says, “The only thing holding me back from [making difficult decisions to ensure the survival of my people] is you.”

Here's the thing. When Alec decides not to tell Magnus about the Soul Sword he does so in his capacity as the Head of the Institute, taking (almost) no account of his role as Magnus's lover. He is able to do that because he can compartmentalize between these two roles in an extreme way and therefor his relationship status has no influence on his decision. (Sure, not being with Magnus wouldn't have provided extra incentive to tell him, but work with me here. What I mean is that if Alec had rationally decided to tell Magnus about the Soul Sword, he would have made that same decision whether he was with Magnus at that point or not.) What did influence his decision making process were his feelings for Magnus, and these remain unchanged regardless of their relationship status.

Magnus has an entirely different stance. To him being in a relationship implies a certain kind of loyalty that must be maintained at all times. If their roles had been reversed I don't doubt that Magnus would have told Alec about the Soul Sword immediately because of said loyalty, and he would have thought it through for exactly zero seconds beforehand. He expected the same thing from Alec and that's why he feels so betrayed when he realizes that Alec kept it from him. This is why Magnus feels the need to break up with Alec: to disengage from this loyalty that keeps him from making decisions with only the warlocks in mind. Magnus's decision making hinges on their relationship status and the loyalty it demands, not his feelings for Alec.

Alec doesn't understand this. That's why he tells Magnus that he can have both: Alec, and the freedom to make the best choices for the warlocks, to act like the High Warlock of Brooklyn. Alec wouldn't hold it against him if he made the best decisions for his people while they are together because Alec, too, did have Magnus and made decisions as the Head of the Institute. But Magnus works differently. He'd feel like he's betraying Alec if he makes High Warlock of Brooklyn decisions while still being with Alec. And that's why he breaks up with Alec, and that's why it makes sense for Magnus to break up with him.

6) Magnus's behavior afterwards. Oh my god where do I even start.

--- Magnus being a petty bitch? Hell yeah.

--- Magnus hiding behind the Seelie Queen and running after her like he's her lap dog? Hell no. Wtf did I just watch!! Even better, he leaves Raphael behind? And Raphael then tells Izzy that Magnus was his ride and he's effectively trapped at the Institute because the sun is shining brightly outside?? I'm sorry, what. The Downworld just divorced the shadowhunters with a side of “hmm maybe we'll stop caring about the Accords as well in the near future” and Magnus leaves his Raphael behind? This is unacceptable!! I don't even know what to say to that!!

--- This has surely been discussed before but it needs to be said. Magnus implementing an anti-portal ward around New York that incinerates any angel-blooded creature that tries to pass it and not telling Alec about it. They hear about it from Luke instead and since Jace's reaction is immediately telling the shadowhunter extra next to him to stop shadowhunter movement in and out of the city immediately it is heavily implied that some shadowhunters already died thanks to this ward – since there are apparently troop movements in and out of the city that need to be stopped. (Which was to be expected! Sure, they know Valentine won't leave the city before he's got his hands on what he believes to be the mortal mirror locked away at the Institute, but he could surely be regrouping outside the city. Sending patrols into the near vicinity is the sensible thing to do.) Shadowhunter casualties due to the ward are further implied by Jace then leaning heavily on the desk and half-whispering to himself “No more shadowhunters die today.” Which makes sense. The patrols in question would have just vanished with no chance to report back what happened to them so they were probably assumed dead by Valentine's hand.

The point: Wtf Magnus. He must have been aware this could and would happen. The way I see it there are only two possible explanations: Magnus deliberately did not tell the NY Institute shadowhunters a) because he thought word might get around to Valentine or b) out of pettiness. And considering that knowing about the ward doesn't magically un-trap you and only means you will not cross it and therefore remain alive but contained, a) doesn't really make sense. The ward wasn't designed to lure Valentine to his death. It was designed to keep Valentine in the city so the other Downworld factions could hunt him down, and the ward will continue to do so even after Valentine learns of its existence. There s no harm in him knowing about it while there is a lot of harm in the NY shadowhunters not knowing about it because they will just die, for nothing, while trying to find Valentine. Magnus willingly risking that on the off-chance that Valentine walks into the ward at random is not his style at all. This leaves pettiness as motivation and sure, Magnus is petty, but not at the cost of so many casualties. This is so painfully ooc that I just can't!!

7) Their “reconciliation.” As you might have already guessed from those quotation marks: Thanks, I hate it. That adequately sums up my feelings on the matter. Don't get me wrong, the scene itself is lovely, I guess. But, content! They have this huge issue and they just don't talk about it! Magnus never learns of Alec's (legit) reasons for not telling him about the Soul Sword. Alec apologizes for.. what exactly? Doing something he was convinced was the right thing? And they never realize their differences in decision making which is even worse! This whole drama stemmed from the fact that they view the obligations that come with being in a relationship differently where their responsibilities as leaders are concerned. This is bound to become a problem again in the future!! And they just! dont! talk about it! aaaahhhhhhhh!!!! how!!!!!! are you adults or what!!!!!!! *sigh* just... –ꝏ /10

8) Aftermath. Oh right, this will of course not become a problem again in the future because Magnus loses his job. How neat.

Leaving the salt aside though I have to admit that I.. actually think the warlocks weren't entirely in the wrong in sacking Magnus. And before you kill me, hear me out. The first thing to note is that neither Raphael nor Luke get sacked for their decision to side with the Seelie Queen. Why is that? Because vampires and werewolves are fundamentally differently organized than warlocks. Warlocks have an international infrastructure. There's the Council, the Spiral Labyrinth, and stuff. Vampires and werewolves have their local clans and packs, and nothing more. Magnus has superiors. Raphael and Luke do not. After the Seelie Queen makes that deal with Valentine she condemns every Downworlder, except those located in New York, to death. Raziel's wish will kill every Downworlder on earth and only those in the Seelie Realm are safe. And as Magnus says in early 2x19

If Valentine had succeeded then literally all the other warlocks in the world would have died! Yes, the fact that the Seelie Queen threw them all under the bus isn't Magnus's fault, but

it was to be expected. Luke and Raphael both warn Magnus not to trust the Seelie Queen, that she has her own agenda and it's to rule over the Downworld, and that's why both Luke and Raphael were hesitant to accept her deal.

So I think it's pretty understandable why the other warlocks kicked Magnus out on his ass. In their eyes he would have been semi-complicit in their collective demise if Valentine had succeeded, having sided with the one who betrayed the Downworld. It doesn't matter that Magnus's choice means the warlocks at least wouldn't have gone entirely extinct if Valentine had won. It doesn't matter that the Seelie Queen would have made that deal with Valentine whether the other Downworlder factions had sided with her or not. (She had Simon in her Realm who could create new vampires, she probably would have kept Maia for new werewolves, and warlocks can be made by uuhh unethical means. What better Downworld than one that's never known anything but the Seelie Queen's uncontested reign? Yes, she absolutely would have let them all die.) None of that matters to the warlocks. They feel like Magnus betrayed them as a community and that's why they sack him.

Okay, so now we know why it made (in-universe) sense for the warlocks to fire Magnus. Make no mistake though – I don't approve of this reasoning. It's short-sighted and not very practical, and also unfair. Better save some of your species than none, right? Fine, Magnus should have informed the Council and stuff about what was going on so they could make their own deals with the Seelie Queen if they want to.. but then, do we even know if he did or didn't inform them? No. Any further discussion on this point is just poking in the dark so let's move on.

I did say that I think the warlocks weren't entirely in the wrong in dismissing Magnus from his job, though. Let me explain.

a) Magnus's decision to side with the Seelie Queen or remain sided with the Institute would have not made a difference regarding the whole Valentine-thing, right? Things would have played out exactly the same: Warlocks create anti-portal ward, Val makes a deal with the Seelie Queen and gets to Alicante anyway. The survival of the Downworld depended on Clary stabbing Valentine to death before he made the wish, and that remains unchanged no matter Magnus's decision. What Magnus's decision would have influenced (if this goddamn show knew what continuity is, lol) is what came after. Where does siding with the trigger-happy Seelie Queen, who made no secret of gunning for war with the Clave, leave the warlocks? On the Clave's bad side, that's for sure. Especially if things had escalated between the seelies and the shadowhunters (which they do in the books!!). In the show.. things just go back to how they were before the Downworld's little fail-rebellion. Either because the Downworld and the Clave mutually decide to just pretend none of it ever happened (since the Consul was exposed as a Circle Member, which, awkward) or, which I believe is more likely, because 3A focuses on The Owl Mystery and not on foreign policy and this show just sucks when it comes to including anything not strictly-plot-relevant. In any case!! Magnus's decision to side with the Seelie Queen should have had severe repercussions for the warlocks and their standing with the Clave aka dramatically worsened it, and for nothing (since nothing came of the “rebellion” and it's honestly doubtful how many warlocks would have wanted a full-on war with the shadowhunters anyway. They seem pretty good at laying low and doing their own thing). So in the long term siding with the Seelie Queen wasn't / wouldn't have been a strategically good decision (if it wasn’t followed up by a war of independence, which it wasn’t) and a legit reason to get fired.

b) More importantly, in 3x09 Lorenzo says to Magnus, “I took this position because you couldn't handle it. You let your heart dictate your actions and that will be your downfall,” which I always took to mean – since Lorenzo was god knows where when all of 2B happened – that the gossip in the warlock community is strong, and has it that Magnus only sided with the Seelie Queen as revenge for Alec not telling him about the Soul Sword / something relating to their breakup. No matter how this opinion formed in the community... *glances at 4)* they're not wrong? And this is definitely a legit reason to get fired.

So where does this leave us? I don't approve of the Council firing Magnus for the reason they did because it was a dumb reason. When I look at Lorenzo – lazy, self-centered, unwilling to actually do anything when push comes to shove – I don't think Magnus should be fired because he's obviously the much better choice as High Warlock. And I don't even think that siding with the Seelie Queen was, per se, a wrong choice. But the way Magnus made that choice left much to be desired and was a clear lapse in leadership, one where a dismissal would have been justified. And this should have been addressed in a constructive way so he can learn from his mistake.

#shadowhunters #alec lightwood #magnus bane #valentine morgenstern #the seelie queen #malec #i rewatched the 2b season finale and this happened #is this a controversial opinion? lol

[the-extra-joker-art]

What You Deserve

And I ope-

May or may not have written some indulgent shit involving Deacon angst and my Sole Survivor, Happy. Really I just used Happy cause using a nameless Sole felt awkward ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I don't usually post written fanfiction, so critiques welcome!

Deacon wasn’t quite sure how long he had been chained up. He was sure it had only been a couple of days, but it felt like weeks. The Gunners that had locked him up thankfully had no idea who he was, or who he worked for, but all that did was make their visits less frequent and the long hours of the day blurrier. He was fading in and out of consciousness, hunger gnawing at his stomach whenever he opened his eyes and the numbness in his arms chained above his head was getting progressively more noticeable. Every now and again, he’d wake up to the sound of the door opening, followed by laughter and conversation, but his wakefulness would be quickly ended by a swift kick to his gut or the butt of a gun slamming against his already bloody forehead. As of right now the pain coursing through his entire body was nothing compared to the mental beating he was giving himself. He had no idea how he had gotten caught. It wasn’t supposed to be anything beyond a scouting mission; they had gotten word that a courser was lurking around a spot near Goodneighbor, and his job was to test the claim with his own two eyes. To his surprise though, the spot was actually a recent nesting ground of the Gunners. Deacon still had no idea where the courser claim came from, but he didn’t have much time to scout out an answer, because as soon as he found the camp the Gunners greeted him with a concussion to the back of his head. When he woke up, he was already chained to the wall of a windowless room that smelled of blood, vomit, and booze. He was dizzy enough already, but when more than one Gunner came in to interrogate him by adding more cranial wounds, he lost all sense of his surroundings. Apparently, the Gunners didn’t find his witty remarks charming at all. He couldn’t stop berating himself for getting caught. He was careless, he hadn’t checked his surroundings nearly enough. He should have asked around before he scoped it out, gathered intel. But instead he had to pull a Happy and rush in head first. He winced at the thought of Happy and the others. Were they worried? He was sure they would expect him to be more careful, to be more thorough. He wasn’t even sure if rescue would come in time before the Gunners decided they were done asking meaningless questions and just killed him. Deacon had fucked up bad, and he knew it. He chuckled, and gasped at the painful tightening in his chest. He was hoping he’d die a significantly more meaningful death than being killed by his own carelessness; Maybe he’d die saving someone, or blowing up the institute. At least a martyr's death would be more fitting for his chosen job, but this one seemed more deserving. Dying in the basement of mercenary bastards, without knowing if rescue would come, without nearly enough repentance for his past was just the kind of death someone liked him deserved.

“You’re a good man, Deacon…”

Deacon winced. Happy’s face flashed in his mind, the day after he had told her about his past, she looked at him differently. Almost with a look of awe, like she admired him. He couldn’t believe that even if he tried, but unlike most days, he was far too weak to stop himself of thinking of what she had said,

“You’re a good man, and I’m glad that out of everyone, you chose to travel with me.”

He wriggled against his binds, gasping in pain as the nerves in his arms started to feel again with the movement.

“The Wastelands are a little more bearable with you by my side.”

Deacon hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes so tightly, and when he opened them, he was shocked at the moisture on his cheeks. Tears ran down his face, silently falling against his filthy shirt. He couldn’t help but feel somehow this failure was letting Happy down. He knew it wasn’t, but his heart ached at the idea of her wondering why he wasn’t back yet, if she was worried at all. Again, he had no idea how much time had passed. Maybe she hadn’t even thought of him. He could imagine her helping another settlement, MacCready at her side, completely concentrated on supplying the people inside with water and defenses. Deacon's mouth twitched into a wry smile. Helping a settlement was considerably more important than saving one man from his own mistakes. He tried desperately to concentrate on the image of Happy in his mind, her face scrunched up in a smile, but he could feel his conscious slipping already. His body was going numb again, and he knew sooner or later he would fall back into restless sleep again. Using the last of his strength, he tried to think of an apology for his mistake. What he would say or write down in a last note for Des and the others, how he would thank them for making something of his life, for fighting to save so many synths. How he would thank Happy for dealing with his bullshit, and for staying with him despite everything. He would thank everyone for what they’ve done for him, and apologize for his failure. His mistakes. Again, he’s letting everyone in his life down. He blinked back tears as everything faded to black around him.

Deacon's entire body jolted as a loud crash filled the room. The sudden awakening made pain surge through his entire body, numbed limbs trying in vain to pull against his binds. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not and his attempts to look for the source of the noise was met by blurred shapes. A giant shadow loomed over him, blocking the light from the door that he didn’t even realize was now open, and he groaned as he turned his head up, his gut clenching in fear as he realized the outline of a suit of power armor standing over him.

“Heh... You really didn’t have to put on your good clothes to… Finish off little old me…” Deacon forced a chuckle, his head lolling to the side. Power armor seemed a little much for killing one man, but he supposed these Gunners were the dramatic type. He tried to keep his eyes open, but his strength was wavering, and his breath uneven.

“Oh my god, Deacon…” A familiar voice came from behind the mask, “What did they do to you?”

Deacon tried to lift his head, heart racing as he recognized the voice tainted by the suit's robotic lilt.

“H... Happy…” He tried to say more, to speak more and apologize. For what he wasn’t sure, but he just felt he needed to. “I’m… Sorry…”

“Shh, Deacon. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

He barely even registered the lock on the chains being broken by the power armor's superior strength, letting out a pained breath as Happy gently placed his arms at his side. Deacon felt her wrap a metal arm around him as he began to fall to the side, his tired mind wondering how she was able to treat him so carefully in her hulking suit. He groaned and jolted when he felt a stimpack being stabbed into his leg, hand coming up to weakly grab onto her arm. He was trying to stay conscious, desperately trying to find Happy's face behind the emotionless mask.

“I’m getting you out of here.”

Her voice sounded far away, and his attempt to form a response only offered a breathy groan. His mind swam nauseatingly as the stimpack did it’s work, reconstructing the wounds the Gunners gave him, most of which were to his head. Deacon barely noticed that Happy had picked him up till they were already walking out the shattered doorway, looking down at himself to see that he was being carried bridal style, his body carefully nestled against her armored chest. He let out a shaky sigh, letting his body go limp as he realized he was safe in her arms. For a moment he was safe from his mistakes, safe from the pain that was now just a numbed buzzing through his whole body. He could feel himself slipping back into unconsciousness, but his mind filled with panic as he remembered where they were. His eyes opened wide as he looked behind them down the long hallways of the house they had dragged him through when he was knocked out, and he grimaced at the sight behind them. Blood splattered the wall of the kitchen at the end, the front door blown completely off it hinges. The bodies of the Gunners were strewn across the hall like grim decorations, themselves decorated with their own blood and bullet holes. The head of one of the mercenaries was completely blown off, his relatively fresh blood hiding the rotting wood underneath as it poured out of his body. Happy did this. She did this for him. He knew she could kill, she was an amazing shot, but something about this was different. They were more brutal, more bloody - The place looked like a Deathclaw had come through with a vengeance. In his exhausted mind he couldn’t tell what he thought of that.

Deacon felt himself losing grip on reality again, his eyelids feeling like lead as they slowly closed. He tried to keep them open, to get one more look at Happy. He wanted to thank her, to ask her if she was alright, but nothing came out. His breathing was finally evened out, and the only thing his body wanted to do was rest in the safety of Happys arms. It wasn’t a safety he deserved after the mistake he made, but he didn’t have the strength to refuse it, and he doubted Happy would let him. His head rested against the hard metal, and finally he faded to sleep.

“You got him… You got what you wanted. Now let me go.” The Gunner bastard on his knees on the front porch stared up at Happy, entire body shaking. The blood from his broken nose flowed freely, and his hands trembled. Maybe it was the fear, maybe it was the fact that she broke them under her boot. She had abandoned using her charisma to get him to help, which he was eager to do after she broke his leg too. Happy looked at him, her heated glare hidden by the tinted glass of the helmet.

“Come on! I lead you to the camp! I told you what you wanted, and you got the fucking prisoner! There wasn’t a courser here, okay? Just a bunch of useless synths!” The Gunner doubled over in pain, the effort of staying up almost too much for the shattered bones in his leg.

“You piece of shit… You say that like it’s supposed to make it better. Do you know who this is? His name is Deacon, and he’s a member of the Railroad. This man saves synths. He risks his life every day just to save someone he doesn’t even know from the Institute.” Happy turned away from the Gunner, “But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? No. You’re just a greedy bastard, you’re no better than a radroach.”

Happy looked down at Deacon, bloody but peacefully asleep in her arms.

“No, you wouldn’t know the first thing about saving someone. About risking your life for another. You don’t even know about loving anyone, do you? You’ve never loved anything in your life, besides bottlecaps.”

The Gunner let out a pathetic sob, looking up at Happy with fear in his eyes.

“Please! Just let me go! I... I’ll never take another job again! I’ll never even pick up a gun again! Please!”

Happy went silent, just staring at the man in her arms. She was never going to let the Gunner go, not after what he helped do to Deacon. There was only one person here that deserved mercy, one person who deserved the chance to repent for their crimes, and he was nestled gently in her arms, completely unaware of the conversation going on right now. She thanked whatever gods existed that he was unaware of what she had done to find him. Without another word she pulled out her gun and shot the Gunner in the head, his lifeless body hitting the porch with a thud. The blood pooled from his wound, eyes open in a now eternal expression of shock. She holstered the gun again as guilt pinged at her heart strings, feeling a lump in her throat when she looked at the dead Gunner. He had complied to her demands and betrayed his entire gang to show her the way here, and he deserved better than a death by her hands. Who was she to judge that he deserved death? To claim that he had never loved anyone? Happy didn’t even know who he was, or his real name. He was just a filthy Gunner to her. The guilt faded as she looked at Deacon. Of course he deserved a bullet to his head - He had helped take something very precious from her. She already had so much taken by greedy fuckers like him who just wanted to line their pockets and hurt someone who didn’t deserve it, and gods know Deacon didn’t. Even if he thought he did.

Happy stepped off the porch, looking ahead at the path illuminated by the moon ahead of her. She’d do that a thousand times again if she had to. She’d put a thousand bullets in anyone's head if it meant keeping one more person she loved in her life. That Gunner was just another Kellogg, the only difference was he wasn’t nearly as important. Happy would do this a million times more if it meant keeping Deacon by her side for just another day.

End.

#deacon #fallout 4 #fo4 #indulgent #self indulgent fic #fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #deacon fanfic #deacon angst #a little bit of angst #deacon fallout 4 #deacon and self-leathing #gotta love him for it #sole survivor #fo4 sole survivor #short fic #fanfic #fallout fanfic #short fanfic #i wrote this in a day #but please do @ me #i want to get better at writing them #ss happy #let me be edgy

[rametarin]

TERFs are wrong. But, so are social constructionist Gender Theorists

You know it is not a question of one extreme or the other. As much as both like to think they are morally right and have “the science” on their side, they don’t. Both are god damned annoying, totalitarian, and are interpreting reality and what that means in order to browbeat and push others, both socially and legally, towards doing things based on what those mean.

Both are trying to control the parameters of all things based on the fundamentals by their interpretation of reality, not by the objective facts. Both are wrong.

TERFs are not wrong in that someone that is born with XY chromosomes and a standard male sex conforming body is male, and you need dysphoria in order to be trans. They are not wrong that your gender is not just a wily nily purely social construct.

They are, however, wrong about absolutely everything else regarding what those genders MEAN, where they’re derived from and why they were derived that way.

And the social constructionists aren’t wrong in that we should make exceptions to the biological rule for people with transgenderist disorders of the mind and brain. But, they are wrong in that so many are totalitarian. They do not want these exceptions to be exceptions, they want the very basis and fundamental understanding, how we define gender and sex, to change to be based not on biological empiricism, facts or truth, but by legal and social oughts and things they argue “should be held true else it demoralizes and oppresses a minority.”

There are not, “millions of genders.” There’s your basic standard assed functioning, and then there’s a disorder we otherwise can’t do anything with or about right now where it’d simply more healthy for everybody around if we let them live with the identity that is in their minds and body.

Furthermore, the nonbinarist movement needs to stop being such a cowardly little bitch and argue for itself outside the umbrella of trans rights, because it sits there demanding changes and exceptions and validations be made for it on the basis of bowing to trans rights, when it itself hasn’t stepped out of its parasitic sphere to fight for any on its own. Strategically using trans rights as a platform for both offensive and defensive purposes.

TERFs, up to now, have been virtually unchallengable because, “you must be a horrible right wing fundamentalist religious monster to oppose EQUALITY for WOMEN!” And they’ve just skirted on that since the 60s. Which was absolute hell trying to convince anybody that radical feminism was nonsense and harbored deep, authoritarian bends on takes with social ramifications. Yall were in their corner when they were talking about how, “society” needed to give women, exclusively, help to go to college because of past oppressions. But when someone tried to tell you they had weird obsessions with vaginas and using them as rubber stamps for whom gets special treatment and privileges and exceptions to defaults that make men do dirty work and women get clean pay? Deafening silence.

But the minute TERFs don’t want transwomen in their magical witch girl’s clubs, fucking with the cosmology? Ohho they’re visible now. You can see their bullshit now. They’re weirdos drawing female symbols and self-portraits with menstrual blood and making hacky poems about their uterus, now. They’re bad people now. You can actually see they weren’t, “being hyperbolic” or “just venting about the evil MEN around them” now. Hahahahaa. Hilarious.

TERFs are wrong. Point blank. But so are the social constructionist extremists and postmodernists behind the appropriated bandwagon of what calls itself the trans rights and nonbinarist rights movement in the west. The basis for which they’ve defined their norms is not one of reality, but “oughts” and “should be’s” and “must bes” and “or else”s. To the point where they invented a slur specifically to denounce those that do not share their view. “Bioessentialist.”

That makes as much sense as calling someone a dirty, “bioessentialist” because they say you need to be an elephant, to be an elephant. Yes, you do need the physical, biological characteristics to really BE that which you aspire to be. No, you don’t get to redefine what an elephant is to force the elephant to “identify” as an elephant so something that is not an elephant can also be an elephant.

If misgendering someone is triggering for a minority, it’s just as triggering when you deny someone’s sexuality or gender when they’re hetero and cis. And many are repulsed by the idea that the reason they’re compatible with their sex and gender conformation is because they, “made a choice.” For that matter, if you’re actually transgendered and not some bandwagoneering asshole, being trans isn’t a choice either. It’s a psychological and neurological impossibility to be anything else, not a lifestyle, not a hobby, not a “preferred state of mind.” Arguing anything else is arguing not for trans rights, but for psycho-social dominance in law.

And if you think misgendering someone that’s transgendered is bad, people that make up at MOST, 0.7% of the human species, and some say as few as 0.3% of the human species (people with cleft lips, born missing limbs and more are born more often) then what the FUCK do you think it is, redefining the identities and realities of 99.3% to 99.7% of the human animal, not to mention how every other animal works? (not counting some exceptions like clownfish.)

Gender is not, wholly, a social construct. It’s a derivative and pluto’s shadow from SEX. SEX is not psychological. Sex is not negotiable. Sex is biological and disease can make it express incorrectly or correctly to function as intended by natural selection. Gender is only a social construct in that some cultures have assigned thoughts and characteristics and responsibilities for people on the basis of said sexual role. That’s it.

But people that try to live purely in the psychological sphere or argue that sphere belongs in the dominant position for mankind try to argue it’s the only one that really matters, and while we’re at it, lets let the minority dictate what is normal and rational and good. So their believe gender as feelings supersedes sex as reality.

And why would they argue this? Because they’re, “just such big fans of trans rights?” No. Because they hate disparity and immutable, biological difference. And so want to use the arbitration of human law and culture to marginalize it and pretend it doesn’t exist- to where using technology to circumvent it and the penal system to enforce that view seems like a reasonable, moral thing to strive for. Trans rights for these people have always just been a nice coat of paint to put their real activism under.

And the biggest bitch of it all is, Radical Feminists and Trans Inclusive Radical Feminists and Social Constructionists all receive their marching orders from the same ideology. The same stupid take that says bugger reality, live in a communal fantasy and enforce everybody else to live in it, too. Else they’re a bad person. Else they’re a fascist. They merely differ in the rules and the fundamental parameters.

Know the difference between, “this person is bad and they should be shamed for their beliefs because they are bad,” and, “This person is bad because they’re sitting on a throne that I want to sit on as is rightfully mine.” TIRFs don’t hate TERFs because they’re wrong, they hate them because they’re in the middle of a power grab.

But we have the opportunity to end this “Critical Lens” shitshow forever. Both sides are exposed and showing their true colors as terrible ideologies and people. Both sides are showing their totalitarianism in the form of competitive propaganda and using the legal system to get their way based on past manipulations and exploitations they got from lying to a public that didn’t want to be misogynistic or prejudiced against the transgender.

All it takes is connecting the dots and understanding just how and why it’s not a matter of “bitter evil borderline-conservative Karens Vs. noble oppressed transgenders.”

TERFs are fucking NOT conservatives. They’re typically the same far-left assholes as the TIRFs. They differ ONLY in that they believe critical theory fucking STOPS at the immutable reality of biological sex, because they stand to lose dominance if it’s not immutable- so they demand it be CONSIDERED immutable. Their status as oppressed inherently, hinges on it.

So that’s it then. You’re left with no real heroes in this fight. But if you take anything away from what I’m telling you today, it’s that you can argue legally for trans rights. Just, on the basis as exception to the biological basis, as has been proven. Asterisks. Hyphens. Acknowledging the reality that the existence of the transgendered does not negate the reality of biological sex, nor those whose genders are a direct result of their biological sex as the norm.

It’s not bigotry to sexually discriminate to some degrees. When dealing with subjectives, it’s a matter of argument. When dealing with biological realities and imperatives, opinion is irrelevant to the self-evident realities, and interpretation matters less than the reality.

But to those that believe any discrimination based on physical differences or state is inherently wrong, just the idea of male and female being two different, named things, (”classes”, if you will) with different, “unequal” functions and capacity, fills them with rage.

Your moralism stops where nature begins. Period.