#fear of remaining alone-- fear of the hurricane of his own emotions-- fear of time passing and loss of control

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 14

Summary: Desperate for attention, the Darkling makes a plan. Unfortunately, things work out in his favor.

Warnings: angst, slight fluff

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven // Part eight // Part nine // Part ten // Part eleven // Part twelve // Part thirteen   

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“What’s a most prized possession?” Y/N asked, trailing her fingertips over the precious jewels her mother owned. She admired every piece, imagining how royal she’d look if her mother allowed her to wear them. She’s too young now, but one day it will all belong to her. Y/N wanted to know which piece was her mother’s favorite, so she’d treat it with care.

Her mother smiled, “Your most prized possession is something you could never part with.” Closing the jewelry box, she caressed Y/N’s cheek. “You are my most prized possession. No earthly material could ever compare.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Y/N rolled to her side. The cot was far from comfortable, but that’s not what kept her awake at night.

What was her most prized possession?

Frowning, she realized she didn’t know. 

After her mother died, she no longer cherished anything. In time, she realized her power is the one thing she could never part with. It’s become a vital part of who she is, who she’s meant to be.

It’s been a solid week since she last slept beside her husband. She chose to reside in the tents with her army, to train and bond with them.

Despite her initial worry, most of her soldiers remained unscathed by the Fjerdan’s attack. Healers aided the wounded, while those who could gave their fallen comrades a proper farewell.

She attended too.

All those people died not for Ravka, not for their families, but for her. She was the reason they died. If she didn’t use her powers in the forest that night, no one would be buried six feet under now. There would be no mourners, no funerals and no emptiness in the soldiers’ eyes.

So many years of hiding who she is only for her to reveal herself now, and in a matter of weeks her people paid the price. There was a time she couldn’t understand why her mother hid their true selves, why her father was never privy to their powers. If they knew her mother was Grisha, she’d be tested as well. Her mother was aware of dangers Y/N just learned of.

Being a Sun Summoner will bring death and destruction to her life and all those who stand with her.

That’s a fact she had trouble accepting.

Closing her eyes, she brought her knees closer to her chest. The night is cold and windy, the storms from the Fold reaching her ears made it harder to fall asleep. With Aleksander, she never felt cold because his body would shield her from the wind, his arm would have rooted her to the present instead of the past that haunted her. He’d lull her to sleep, kiss her eyes and whisper a promise of eternal love in her ear to keep the storm away. 

She’d never tell anyone the Darkling they fear has a soft side, he wouldn’t appreciate that but she did. And she missed it - missed him.

Biting her lower lip to stop herself from whimpering, Y/N let her tears soak the ragged sheets. Her throat closed up as she held in a sob. Hand clamped over her mouth, she trembled no longer due to the cold, but the hurricane of emotions inside her chest.

The Darkling didn’t struggle with the winds and storms as she did, because his mind was worse than anything tangible. He spent every day looking for a moment alone with her only to watch her from afar as she trained with Mal.

Malyen Oretsev, an orphan from Keramzin. A gifted tracker from what he discovered, able to find anything he was tasked with in the past. While he could certainly use it for his own gain, the Darkling worried Mal would succeed in finding the elusive Stag he’s been after for years.

An amplifier would serve him well, but Mal would be a hero. Y/N would still dub him more worthy of her attention.

Y/N wore the soldier’s uniform, her kefta left behind in their shared tent. Well, it didn’t feel like their tent anymore. She never returned after that fateful day she revealed herself as the Sun Summoner. 

She’s the sun and he’s her eclipse. If she needed to shine bright without him interfering, he’d give her time. Luckily, time is the one thing he’ll always have in abundance.

While she shines, he’ll find a way to ensure she returns to him and he knew just how.

The one thing she’s dedicated to is the First army and her newfound companion. If he wants her attention, all he has to do is snap his fingers to cause a…problem she’d be inclined to discuss.

“You’re sending a sandskiff with my people on without even talking to me?!” The outrage in her tone brought a smile to his lips as he realized his little scheme worked out perfectly.

Waving Ivan over, Kirigan handed him a piece of parchment he ignored for too long due to what it entails. “Deliver this”, he smirked.

“What is it?”

“Instructions to send the next sandskiff today”, leaning in, Kirigan lowered his voice. “Strongly suggest a tracker to be chosen for this trip.”

Nodding, Ivan raises his left brow. “Who?”

While it may be of no guarantee it would end in disaster, the Darkling decided to ruffle Y/N’s feathers.

“Malyen Oretsev”, he replied. 

Mal might survive the two way trip, but at least he’d be gone for a while. It would be enough time for him to solve the issues in his marriage, to win her back and take her to Little Palace where they could be husband and wife instead of two generals of vastly different, almost opposing armies.

Turning to her, the Darkling raised his eyebrows. Folding his hands behind his back, he narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. “I didn’t realize I needed your permission to conduct my business.”

“Your business?!” She scoffs, “We didn’t need a sandskiff sent for another two months.” Stepping closer, she struggled to keep her composure. “Whatever game you’re playing, it’s over.”

Chuckling darkly, he took a step closer as well. “Or what?”

“Don’t push me”, she huffed. “You’re trying to control me through the First army, but I can’t be manipulated. If you push me, I’ll push back.”

“Please do”, he grins. “Push me. Scream at me. Stab me if that pleases you, but don’t punish me with anymore silence.”

Licking his lips, he watched the shock register on her face. Dropping his smile, with the tip of his index finger, he tilts her chin up. “I much prefer it when you defy me. Anything is better than the distance between us.”

“I’m right here”, she quips.

“You might as well be on the other side of the Fold.” His eyes flicker to her lips, briefly yet long enough for his own to tingle. It’s been too long since he kissed her, too long since they shared the same breath.

“Sending that sandskiff isn’t going to solve our problems.”

He smiles sadly, “I know. But it got you here.”

“Yes”, she swallows thickly as his hand falls from her chin to her waist. His touch is electrifying, pulling her to him like gravity. “Now cancel the sandskiff.”

“I can’t”, he sighs. “The order came from the emperor. The empress wants new dresses and I’m using it as an opportunity to bring over more weapons I promised your army.”

Pulling away from him, she rubs her temples. How can she ostracize him for doing what she wanted? But Mal going made her uneasy, the coincidence being too strange for her to accept he had nothing to do with it.

“Alright”, she let out a shuddered breath. “Thank you”, she replied politely, avoiding the hand he had opened for her to take. Graceful, she moved like an angel and rather fast as she headed outside of the tent.

Rushing after her, his fingers wrapped around the delicate curve of her wrist. She looked back at him, eyes shining like the most precious diamonds he’d ever seen. She truly looked like a goddess among mortals and still, he couldn’t enjoy her beauty. Her eyes carry a sparkle of hurt, of tears always being held inside, gathering in a core of a supermassive black hole she created instead of her heart. Swallowing tears became fuel for the hole to keep going, growing daily.

“What are you planning to do?” He asked, knowing her far too well to believe this is the end of his headache. Even if it was, he’s gone to great lengths to have her there with him to lose her interest so quickly.

“Don’t worry so much”, she smiled. For once, she needed him to be a calm sea. She slid her hands over his fists, forcing them to unclench. “I’m going to give final instructions to those chosen from the First army.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” He raised his eyebrows, a soft smile adorning his lips. She has more fight in her, he knows that.

“I’ll be back soon enough!” She exclaimed. Pulling his neck down with both her hands, she inhales sharply as their lips connect – her teeth sinking into his lower one, a warning of sorts.

Aleksander knew he’s in trouble, but he found this closeness worthy of her wrath.

“Kissing me won’t distract me”, he whispered against her lips before kissing her again.

His darkness touched her and she’s been lost for a while, but he wasn’t trying to hurt her or make it harder for her. For once, she felt that he’s trying to be patient with her – just as he was when it came to consummating their marriage.

“I’m not your savior, I know that”, he pulled back hesitantly. “You’re your own hero and that’s what makes you so remarkable. You don’t need me, but I hope you’ll let me be there for you.”

Y/N swallowed thickly, her eyes watering as she pressed her lips together before licking them.

She used to look at him and see a cage - a gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless. He was a trap condensed in a tall, handsome man with undeniable charisma that made her forget she’s got her own wings, an ability to fly free. She imagined him to try and keep her caged in, not offer to be her sky.

Wrapping her arms around him, she was close enough to feel his intoxicating scent – the same one she remembers keeping her conscious when she was dying. Smiling, she realized the irony. He is a cage, but the only cage he has is in his arms as it wasn’t meant to keep her trapped, but to keep the cold, the wind and the storm away.

Parting, she draws a deep breath. “Do you love me?”

“Yes”, he replied with haste. There was no doubt in his mind, no second guessing. “Most ardently”, he beamed. It’s been clear for him ever since he was given privilege to hold her in his arms. 

The look in her eyes erased his smile.

“Y/N, please don’t do something you’ll regret. Don’t push me away. Don’t turn against my love because you’re scared.” He pleaded, his voice gentle and cracking with the raw intensity of his emotions.

“I am”, she wavered, eyes brimming with tears. “I am scared, but not of your love.” She wasn’t able to contain her pain any longer. “I’m scared of what happens when you stop loving me.”

“That will never happen”, he tucked her hair behind her ears to better see her face. His hands cupped her cheeks, the warmth of his touch forcing the ice in her veins to melt.

“Do you even know why I hated you?”

Sniffling, she rolled her eyes. “Because you believed I’m human?”

“No”, he said, “Because you made me question everything. You made me question myself. What a plot twist you were.” Smiling he pulled her in once again, his lips trembling until they found strength in hers.

Resting his forehead on hers, he held her close for a moment longer. “Everything, every move, every breath, every second of my cursed existence. I’m thankful for all of it, because it led me to you.”

“Hold onto that”, she whispers.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He opens his eyes in shock.

“I’m the only one who can protect the sandskiff in the Fold”, she shrugs. “And I’d really like to see my father.” She can’t let her soldiers perish in the Fold when she has the power to keep them safe and she can’t let her father learn of a Sun Summoner before she has a chance to tell him herself.

“Don’t leave me alone in this world.” He leaned in, pressing a deep kiss onto her forehead while wiping away the tears off her beautiful face in the process.

She smiled brightly, "Never. I’ll come back."

“If you don’t, I’ll come for you”, he chuckled as she lowered his hands and let them fall from her face.

Giggling, she nodded, “I’ll hold you to it.”

Pulling off his claw ring, he took her hand and placed it on her little finger. His hand remained on hers as he looked at the only thing he had from his past lives.

“You and I are fated”, he forced a smile for her benefit. 

She needed this, to have time where he wouldn’t influence her and no matter how loud the voice in his head got in protest, he needed to let her breathe. His plan to bring her back to him further pushed her away, he had to accept it or lose her entirely. 

“And this ring is my most prized possession.” He looked deep into her eyes, “Which is why I’m trusting you with it.”

Licking her lips, she clenched her teeth to stop her chin from trembling. The ring on her finger never felt heavier, but it carried significance. While she carried his most prized possession along with her, she realized she left hers behind – him. 

Aleksander Morozova is her most prized possession, it’s the only way she can explain why her soul is ripping itself apart from the pain of their temporary goodbye. She could live without her power, but it’s become increasingly impossible to deny she cannot bear to be away from him.

It’s precisely why she had to leave. No one should depend on someone else for their happiness. No one should rely on another to keep their sanity. If she stayed, she’d miss out on learning who she truly is when he’s not there to hold her hand. She’d miss out on seeing her father and telling him all she never dared before.

She had to go. As painful as it is, she turned her back on him.

“For now”, she whispers under her breath.

Aleksander watched her go. It took all he had to let her walk away. It took everything in him not to fall to his knees and beg her to stay. 

Somehow, he felt like this might be the last he’ll see of her. He feared it was the beginning of their end.

She turned her head to see him one last time before boarding the sandskiff. He’d feel a lot better if she wore her black kefta, but she didn’t.

Frowning, he licked his lips.

“Fedyor!” He turned to his loyal Grisha. “Fetch Y/N’s black kefta.” He ordered, “Quickly!”

With a nod, Fedyor mounted a horse and rode back to camp.

Breathing heavily, he caught sight of Malyen. “Tracker”, he blocked his path. “Look after her.”

“She’s my General”, Mal pressed his lips in a thin line. “I’d give my life for her.”

Staring down at him, the Darkling felt an urge to smite him into the ground. He wished he could be the monster they see him as, to give into the rage filling his veins. If he was, Mal would be dead and she would be his. If he was the monster, he’d keep her with him.

But he isn’t.

Noticing Fedyor ride in with Y/N’s kefta in hand, he swallowed the insults and anger he’d happily direct at Mal.

Taking the kefta, he pushed it into Mal’s arms. “Make sure she gets this. It’s going to do a lot more for her than your gun.”

Reluctantly, Mal nodded and went inside.

Looking up, Aleksander caught a glimpse of his wife on board as she barked orders left and right and he couldn’t help but smile.

Retreating back to a safe distance, he struggled to keep his feet from dragging as his legs felt like they might fail him. Every step he takes creates new wounds on his heart, new uncertainties that would unsteady him.

“General”, Mal stood behind her. “I have something for you.”

Her eyes widen at the kefta, her hands shakily taking it. Swallowing thickly, she looked back in hopes of seeing Aleksander but he was gone. The sandskiff was about to leave and yet she wished for one more look, one more smile to keep her heart beating.

Putting the kefta on over her uniform, she brought the collar to her nose. It smelled like him, his scent clinging to the fabric even now.

Leaning from the side, she looked back again. The wind picked up as they slowly entered the fold, blowing away her scarf. She didn’t care for the scarf, her eyes remaining glued to a dark figure up on a nearby cliff.

It’s him. She knew it. She felt it. 

In that moment when her hands started shaking, cold, she let a tear slip past her defenses.

“I should have asked him to come with me.”

Standing on a cliff, the Darkling watched as the Fold swallowed the front of the sandskiff. He watched warily, with anguish he could no longer keep at bay.

The wind blew a scarf along the air, his arm reaching out as if he could bring it closer. He never wanted to be a Squaller until now.

Suddenly, the wind changed direction. The scarf came closer, all he had to do is reach for it.

And he did.

Bringing it to his nose, he smiled as a strong, lilac scent invaded his senses. He never once saw lilacs in the Palace, but she always smelled ethereally good. Yet another mystery he could add to the list. 

“You’re welcome”, Zoya’s voice reached him from under the cliff where some Grisha and First army soldiers watched the sandskiff disappear into darkness.

She winks before turning away and for the first time, Aleksander was glad he didn’t kill someone.

Darkling had so many emotions mixing inside him, he had no clue which one was real. He was chasing a dream for centuries and it finally came true only for her to become a ghost of his one true love. She left him and knowing she moved forward without him turned into a lethal blow to his heart and ego - one he had to swallow and bear like a stone on his chest. 

“I’ll come back.”

She made him a promise and now it was his time to trust her.

=============================

A/N - My country didn’t send anyone, but I’m off to watch Eurovision. I’m also thinking about making a masterlist for this series and I was wondering if I should use a gif, make a moodboard or a simple photo of Ben Barnes that makes me swoon. Any suggestions? To those who actually read the author’s note in the end, you’re a real gem and I’m sending you a big, bear hug!

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06 @whatthefluffrichard @aami98 @britriestbr @itsfangirlmendes @padme-parker @readingsssssssss @runawayolives @thehighladyofasgard @emlynblack @keithseabrook27 @dailydoseofchoices @deceivedeer @olympiacosplay @pansysgirlfriend @extrakyloren  @daybleedsintonightfa11 @thoughts-and-funnies @weirdowithnobeardo @folkloresworld @remugoodgirl @yagorlemmalyn @gonehopelessgirl @fefethecoffeeaddict @naughtynecromancer @poison-of-the-ivie @strawb3rrydr3ss @supersouthy @theilliterateironman @evyiione @kimoranelson03 @wizardwheezes @woodsabby6 @liajiah @its-carlerrr @youcantbesirius​ @kykymyeon​

Part 15

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #shadown and bone

[slipper007]

This was your child.

Word Count: 1,448

Inspired by @icefire149 and @officialmisha 's tags on this post (thank you @featherasscas for motivating me to do this)

Also posted on my AO3

TW: Child Loss, grief and grieving

His body was heavy.

Castiel didn’t expect it, not when he’d scooped Jack up, held him like the child he was.

He had dropped his angel blade, left it behind in order to save Jack from the battle raging around them. He wouldn't leave him there, broken and burnt with his wings charred into the grass, a body so easily possessable by any one of the souls God had conjured. He could still smell the seared skin and ash. No, he would rather die than leave him there.

Arms full, Castiel had made a break for it, gotten all of them into a crypt not far from where God had abandoned them, but he couldn’t bring himself to put Jack down as the Winchesters fortified the door. With his powers, he should have been feather-light.

Castiel thought again of the scorched wings and choked back bile.

He was three. He’d only had three years when he should have had eons like Cas. Creatures like them were cursed in that way, to watch those they loved rise and fall and turn to dust, but they had each other. They should have had each other for the rest of time.

Instead, Jack was limp and soundless in his arms.

Castiel tried to tell himself Jack was asleep, the way humans had comforted themselves for millennia. Empty sockets told him otherwise, but he still laid him on the ground as carefully and gently as he could.

The Winchesters were trying to talk to him, but he was busy. Couldn’t they see that? Jack needed him.

He extended two fingers to the boy’s forehead and felt tendrils of grace try to heal him, just as he had tried when Chuck was smiting him. Maybe now, when he wasn’t contending with the power of a god, he could make it work. He still had power, enough power for this. He had promised Kelly, and Jack himself, that he would be there to protect him. He had signed away his happiness, any attempt at a future, to save this child. This couldn’t be the end.

Castiel’s grace flickered, and his eyes flicked up to Jack’s unchanged face.

Jack still had so much left to do; his story wasn’t over yet.

Castiel brushed the hair from his forehead and tried again, feeling the anguish building in his chest start to overflow.

Nothing was changing, nothing was healing, but a part of him was screaming in agony as it died.

Castiel tried one last desperate thing, reaching deep within himself and ripping a part out, trying to use the scraps of his grace to bring Jack back to life. He was a creature born of primordial energy, and his grace was the core of that, a beacon of life that could heal wounds or grow trees. Surely, when paired with his love, his despair, his sheer will, he could create life anew, bring back his son.

The white-blue glow surrounded them both, and Castiel felt it seeping out, more power than he had tried to use in years pounding in his chest like the heartbeat he wanted to bring back.

Jack stayed unmoving, body growing cold and pale.

It wasn’t enough.

There wasn’t enough power, no God to pray to, nothing he could do.

Jack was dead.

The door creaked and groaned and for once, Castiel welcomed the danger. He didn’t move from Jack’s side as the Winchesters called for him, begged him to help. The door fell with a crash.

The souls didn’t stand a chance.

Continue Reading

Castiel felt the burning, aching pain in his chest grow, and rather than force it down, try to keep channeling it into Jack, he let it out. His grace seized violently as he lashed out at them with his anguish, screaming. White light poured from his body, obliterating every soul it touched as the Winchesters dove for cover. He felt the ground beneath him quake and tremble as a chasm opened between him and the others, and parts of the floor gave out and crumbled. Bodies fell as the souls inside them were destroyed, billions upon billions turned back to the stardust that seeded creation.

All that stopped him from leveling it all, razing the field outside and destroying what was left of Chuck’s machinations, were the stone walls of the crypt around them.

If he destroyed the crypt, he would bury Jack.  

He couldn’t…

The souls gone, Castiel collapsed to his knees. He felt tears burning in his eyes, but tears didn’t soothe the throbbing loss in his chest, and tears wouldn’t bring Jack back. It didn’t stop them from raining down, his tears leaving trails in the dust that had fallen on Jack during it all before he wiped it away.

Castiel wanted nothing more than to join him on that floor.

Who will protect him, keep him safe?

A hand fell on his shoulder.

“Cas…”

“You killed him.”

Castiel hardly recognized the voice that spoke as his own, and apparently neither did the Winchesters.

“God—”

“God didn’t kill Jack, you did,” Castiel said again, feeling anger build in the new hole in his chest. “You held a gun to his head, betrayed him, locked him in a box—”

“He was dangerous, he killed—”

“It was an accident!” Castiel shouted. “He made a mistake!”

“He was soulless!”

“BECAUSE OF YOU!”

The Winchesters startled back as the words echoed, and Castiel felt the roof above them start to crumble. He forced the destruction down, tried to keep from burying his son.

“He burned off his soul saving us, trying to prove he could be useful even without his grace because you taught him he wasn’t! You taught him that the same way you taught me. All he wanted was your approval, to make things right, and you wouldn’t give him that!”

“I—”

“You both were like a father to him. He looked up to you.” Castiel turned his gaze to Dean alone, words cold and angry and burning. “He loved you. And I loved you. I loved you so much that I abandoned everything I ever knew. I took a leap of faith for you, and I suffered and lost more than you could ever imagine. And now you take Jack from me, too. He was three years old.”

For once, the Winchesters fell silent, but it did nothing for him. It wouldn't bring Jack back. He shucked off his trenchcoat and draped it carefully across Jack like a blanket before picking him up.

He was three.

He took Jack outside, feeling his grace spasm and hiccup as the grief grew. It threatened to tear him apart from the inside.

This was your child. I can’t imagine the pain.

Was this what he’d cursed Lily Sunder to a lifetime of?

“Cas,” Sam quietly tried, “He needs a funeral.”

“I’m not giving him a hunter’s funeral,” Castiel snapped, holding Jack even tighter. “Or a human one. He’s half angel, I’ll take care of it.”

Dean moved to speak, but Castiel gave him a withering glare before he could even get the words out.

He tried to set him in the passenger seat of his truck, but couldn’t force himself to. The whirlwind inside him was still thrashing and burning, the dead weight in his arms only making it more violent.

With care, he managed to keep Jack wrapped in his coat and look down to avoid seeing the burned remains of his eyes. When he moved to make his way to the driver’s side, he saw Jack’s wings and the hurricane brewing within him finally came out.

Castiel felt the earth quake and the sky bleed as he tore it all apart. Atom by atom, he reduced the world around him to nothing, collapsing the crypt to dust and cracking the earth as easily as one might swat a fly. The trees toppled like dominos, but he spared the gravestones around him, unable to destroy them.

The bodies underground were all someone’s child, too.

Something in him snapped, and the cosmic power drained away in mere moments. He was left standing at the center of a ruined earth, the last thing standing for miles, even as the Winchesters cautiously looked up from behind the stones, fear in their eyes at the destruction he had caused, of what he was, but he paid them no mind. He was too lost in feeling and he knew, even without thought, that he had fallen.

The pain grew worse, even more all-consuming as emotion overwhelmed him.

Only humans can feel real joy, but…also such profound pain.

He thought he had understood pain and loss before, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

///

Update: continues here

#this fucking hurt to write. #I don't know if i did the concept justice but we're gonna throw it out there anyway #slipper007writes #tw child loss #dadstiel #castiel #supernatural #spn fic #jack kline

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Confidence to inspire fear

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

The bridge of the freighter felt like it had become a nightmare as Lithel awoke.

He tried to open his eyes but even when open the room refused to stop spinning. One of his upper left eyes refused to open and as Lithel attempted to reach up with one of his arms he found that he could not move it as well.

Tilting his head down and saw through his blurry eyes that a section of the bridge ceiling had collapsed atop him and was pinning him to the deck. He tried to rise but the weight was too heavy. Just as he began pondering if this would be his end he felt the debris shift atop him. "Captain!" Lithel heard someone calling him but the sound felt like it was coming from everywhere. "Captain can you hear me!?"

Blinking several more times Lithel was able to focus and he saw his second in command Michael rushing over. He could hear several other footsteps approaching and not long after the metal pinning him to the floor being lifted off and a strong pair of arms pulling him out.

"I got you sir, just take it easy."

Lithel moved his mouth to thank him but nothing came out but a soft gurgle and whimper.

Only now as he was pulled free did Lithel see the damage done to his bridge. Halve the consoles were shattered, the data streams were flickering rapidly as an overload of information from across the ship poured in, and at one of the walls had several panels blown out and were currently on fire.

Michael helped lay him down across the floor while a medic rushed over and began treating him. Lithel was about to sit up and take back his command throne when the communications officer rushed over.

"Message coming in sir; it's from the pirates."

Lithel's eyes went wide and he tried to sit up but Michael put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. They had served together aboard the Red Manta for some twenty years and had developed an understanding that needed no words.

He saw the look in Michael's eyes and knew he would take care of the situation and instead laid back down.

"Put them through." Michael said as the communication officer scurried off and began fiddling with the only remaining working communication console.

Within moments the data feeds stopped streaming information and displayed an image. On the opposite end series of figures could be seen standing around a command throne similar to Lithel's were it not for the adorning skulls and bones of various species draped over it.

They were muscular mixture of aliens ranging from lizard like creatures with sharpened teeth to thin limbed beings looking like living twigs, and even a strange blob like creature that had a knife wedged within it. But the most impressive of the figures was sitting atop the throne itself.

It had the shape of a humanoid figure but it appeared as a swirling cloud of black ink ever shifting. It wore no clothing and had no distinguishable features save for a pair of crimson red eyes.

"Surrender."

It was a single word spoken by the black ink creature before Michael could even say a word. The crew around it chuckled and laughed as if sizing up their soon to be prize; though Michael would soon throw a wrench into their celebration.  

"Are you insane!?" he spoke. His stance was firm and unwavering with his feet planted into the decking as if he was bracing for a storm. "Do you have any idea what you have done?"

"Who, are you?" the black ink creature spoke as it raised a talon like finger at Michael, the ink bleeding off of it in drips as it did so.

"I am Captain Michael Zbari of the human reformation, transporting goods to the homeworld."

The pirates appeared confused at this announcement and murmured among themselves before the ink creature held up a hand. The medic treating Lithel appeared to take just as much of the confusion from the announcement and was about to say something when Lithel forestalled him. He knew Michael was playing a dangerous game, and it might just be there only way of getting out of this.

"You, lie." The words were spoken as if through water and Lithel could barely understand them as the thing continued. "The captain, is not human; this, we know."

"First you attack my ship unprovoked and now you claim I am not captain of my own ship?!"

His confidence radiated from him as he spoke and some of the pirates appeared taken aback. They were the ones who had attacked and now had them all at gun point. With a single word they could destroy the Red Manta and be on their way yet this human was acting as if they were the ones who should be sorry.

"Do you have any idea who are cargo is for?" Michael continued. "Should, we, care?" the ink being replied. "You should when Emperor Galvoc finds out you stole his personal shipment."

The smirks of the pirates dropped away instantly at this. The mere mention of the human emperor's name gave them pause as if they had just been struck by a cannon. The ink being leaned forward now on both arms and fixed the camera with a burning gaze.

"You, lie."

Michael scoffed at this and raised his arms out. "Nineteen containers of freshly cut refrigerated Borgan meat, twelve containers of the finest wines of the Nebula Rim, thirty six crates of gem stones from the fire pit mines of Draxon Iv, and that's just the tip of the ice berg."

The ink monster relaxed back into it's throne at this. "An, impressive, haul, indeed." it said and some of the pirates began grinning again but Michael continued to speak.

"For one with a death wish, an impressive haul for sure."

Michael stepped towards the monitor. "You could kill us and steal all of our cargo to sell but it won't matter; because the emperor will hear of this and will hunt you down to the farthest ends of the universe."

The ink thing chuckled and Michael's face frowned. "By attacking his shipment you have essentially declared war on him; you do realize that don't you?"

At this the black goo like creature stopped chuckling.

"He controls the largest fleet of ships to ever sail the void;  their numbers alone change gravity of entire systems with their passing."

"His armies are beyond counting and the march of their feet can crack planets in two."

"The depths of his depravity for torture against his enemies boundless and of such horrific that even the Draxic are afraid to incur his wrath."

Fixing an equally dark glare now Michael faced down the ink being. "You have no idea the hurricane you just sailed into."

The pirates began to argue among themselves but the black creature let out a deep roar that sounded as if bubbling tar could scream.

"He, will, never, know!" it said, "We, will, be, long, gone, and, you, all, dead!"

It was Michael's turn to smirk as he pulled out a small box like device with a blinking red light.

"This, is an emergency transmitter capable of reaching across five sectors." he held it out clearly so all the pirates could see. "Once activated it calls in a relief fleet to warp to our position within twenty minutes; and I activated it fifteen minutes ago."

For the first time the ink creature rose from its throne and pushed several of the pirates aside with surprising strength for a creature that appeared to be made of living oil.

"You, bluff!" is said.

"You could stay and board us to call it, but when they arrive and blow your scrap heap of a ship out of the stars I don't think it'll really matter what you think now will it?"

The two stared down each other, neither speaking a word yet unwilling to back down in the face of this challenge.

Lithel watched with ever clearing eyes as the pirates became increasingly anxious.

"Tick." Michael made a sound similar the clock arms of his wrist time device. "Tick, tick tick tick."

"Silence!" the ink creature bellowed, but Michael continued.

"Time's running out for you." His face was devoid of emotion save a devlish smirk. "Tick, tick, tick, tick!"

"I said silence!"

"Time's running out little pirate." Michael quipped back, "Tick, tick, tick, tick!"

The pirates were not frantic and some even began talking to the ink creature in an alien language none of the red manta crew could understand but it appeared to upset the ink being.

Letting out another roar the screen suddenly went dead leaving the bridge crew silent as the repair teams finally shuffled in to douse the flames.

Through the viewport Lithel could see the pirate ship burning retro boosters and turning around as fast as it could before warping away.

Michael stood upright for a few moments more after they fled back to the warp before collapsing down to the ground. Streaks of sweat began pouring down his face like rivers and he began breathing rapidly.

Lithel raised himself on to his arms unsteadily and looked at Michael.

"How did you know that would work?"

Michael looked at him as if he just remembered he wasn't alone on the bridge and looked embarrassed.

"When you act like you have the backing of the biggest thug in the yard, the other rats tend to leave you alone."

"So by claiming to be the emperors personal shipment.." Lithel began as he connected the dots.

"They would fear the hell hammer that would fall on them should they attempt to steal from the biggest threat the galaxy has ever seen."

Lithel was surprised that such an act of subterfuge worked but they were still alive and he would be the last to complain on how it was handled. He did point to the strange blinking box Michael still clutched in his hand.

"What is that device?"

Michael looked at it for a moment before chucking it over to Lithel who gracefully caught it mid air.

"It's a remote control for my room lights."

Lithel looked at it dumbfounded but before he could inquire more from Michael he saw his second in command pass out on the bridge as the stress of the attack and the performance he just made finally caught up to him.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

[mercurial-madhouse]

Anonymous asked: I wish you would write... A Disney princess!AU (like cinderella or sleeping beauty or snow white) where both of them are princes just that they follow the same general plotline (for example H could be prince charming and L could be the one that got put to sleep or hidden somehow/some reason).

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*< 

You don’t have to say you love me (Just let me adore you)

Fiery sunlight flashes through the pendant soaring through the air, its broken chain trailing behind like snapped heartstrings.

Wrenched out of a waking dream, confusion and shock overwhelm Harry as he lurches on the shifting deck. Reeling yet frozen, he scans the insanity before him.

In his enchanted absence, chaos has usurped his throne. Niall, Liam, and Zayn are all racing about, attempting to contain the mayhem. And he’s… Why is he in his purple ceremonial robes? Why is he at sea? And the strange man a few metres away, who has just lost the pendant—what’s his name?—Ben. Why the bloody hell is Ben covered in sea creatures? Only his outstretched hand is visible, clawing for one end of the broken chain that’s sailing just out of reach.

The horrifying truth catapults into Harry’s chest. Caught within the magic bound into that necklace, he’d almost married this stranger. But this isn’t the man he loves.

Fear drives like a weighted anchor into his chest. Someone or something slams into him from behind.

Stumbling forward, Harry searches the quarterdeck desperately for the one person missing, the last person he remembers. Relief battles surprise and both cascade over Harry, unlocking his lungs beneath the flood-tide of emotion when Harry finds him.

Louis’s bracing barefoot against the opposite rail near Harry’s quarters, the captain’s cabin. The loose white shirt Harry first gave him, the one he’d flung off his own back when he’d found Louis stranded naked on the rocky shore three days ago, hangs haphazardly from one pale shoulder. The silent, shipwrecked sailor had struggled with the buttons then as though he’d never seen them before. Even now the shirt is unbuttoned halfway down his chest, one side tucked into his trousers as though Louis had thrown it on in a frantic rush to get here.

Ocean blues, wide like the ebbing tide, lock onto Harry’s. Harry launches through the melee of people and ocean life to reach Louis. Harry’s always hated low tide. Always felt like he was helplessly watching the shoreline as the ocean receded ever further away from him.

The circular pendant hits the deck and cracks. A golden flash bursts from the object, halting the tumult as it blinds everyone.

Harry’s heart surges into his windpipe as the beam zings across the deck, slams into Louis’s throat, and disappears.

Shock etches over Louis’s face. He pushes three fingers against his neck then swallows.

He opens his mouth… and speaks.

Harry’s world upends, throwing him back beneath the swirling waters of his own shipwreck eight days earlier. Up and down collide with past and present as the voice he’s dreamed of since that day comes to life and enchants him all over again with a single word.

“Hazza.”

**

Harry grins at the obvious curiousity scrunching Louis’s features. Whether he never could talk or the shipwreck that brought him to Harry’s shores left him too afraid to speak, Harry doesn’t know. But his beautiful features are so wonderfully expressive it’s as though Harry’s fluent in a language he didn’t realize he knew.

“What. Haz?”

Louis nods, glancing at the closed door they’d just come through after Harry’s mum, the queen, had shooed them out of her private chambers with a wave and that childhood name for Harry on her lips.

“It’s short for Hazza.” Why is he telling Louis? His mum never calls him Haz unless they’re alone, and now he’s adding to the slip-up?

Louis’s eyes light up with such pure delight that Harry’s heart skips a beat and promptly rolls over in his chest like it’s prepared to give up the ghost to the ocean depths. He tucks a wayward strand of hair out of Louis’s eyes. Countless brushings and his hair is as wild as it’d been when Harry found him yesterday. Untameable as the ocean that’d brought him here.

Mouth suddenly dry despite emotionally drowning, Harry’s tongue flicks out to wet his lip. He follows his heart over the ocean horizon that’s reflecting in those blue eyes. “You can call me that, if you want. Hazza.”

He’s officially lost his mind. Only his mum has the right to either name. But the soft, private smile Louis bestows upon him is so warm that Harry feels like he’s been crowned the prince all over again. All the adoration of the entire kingdom pales compared to the affection emanating from Louis now.

Louis’s mouth forms silently over the word, like he’s testing the feel of the name on his lips the same way he’s once again rubbing the ruffled silk cuff of the pale blue shirt he’s wearing between his fingertips. A flash of sadness momentarily dims Louis’ smile, but then it returns larger than before, crinkling the corners of his eyes, as though Louis still loves what neither of them can hear.

Harry would give up his claim to the throne for that smile.

**

“It’s you.”

The choked words burble up from his throat like bubbles through swirling seas. Two more steps and Louis’s in his arms. Holding Louis feels like the wild exhilaration of setting sail. Louis smells like saltwater air, a zesty ocean zephyr billowing the sails and guiding Harry ever onwards.

Unable to process, Harry tries to clutch Louis close and look into his face at the same time. His forehead bumps into Louis’s temple; his palm curves over Louis’s jaw.

“How is this-... I don’t-...”

Louis’s fingers fist in the purple velvet of Harry’s coat. “I’ll explain everything, Hazza, I s-”

Even though ragged with desperation, the vibrant sound of his voice shocks through Harry. Fantasy and reality collide and fragment into crystal clarity.

The man of his dreams is standing before him. Wide awake this time with no water filling his lungs, Harry refuses to lose Louis again.

He’d almost kissed Louis in the grotto before their boat upended. Now he ducks in to smash his lips into Louis’s before anything else can break them apart.

The port side of the ship runs aground over a submerged sandbar.  A barrel careening across the deck slams into Harry in the massive shockwave surging over L'Esprit as she keels to starboard, wrenching Louis from his grasp.

“Sire!” His first mate Liam catches Harry around the waist, hauling him against the mainmast he’s got hold of. But Louis stumbles, unable to find his balance.

“No!” Harry’s hand catches empty air as Louis hits the deck, sliding with everything not held down until he slams into the starboard rail.

The ship shudders and stills, canted slightly.

Gripping the rail, Louis pushes back to his feet. Harry pushes away from Liam. The sun sinks over the horizon. A blinding green flash shoots up from the spot where she fell into the sea.

“Mary mother,” Niall, Harry’s helmsman, breathes nearby, quickly crossing himself.

Every sailor knows the superstition. The green flash. The impossible will be made possible.

Harry staggers, halting halfway to him when Louis freezes. The blood drains from Louis’s face right before he disappears from view, engulfed in the same golden magic that’d left the necklace and returned his voice.

The golden hurricane vanishes.

Pure disbelief consumes Harry.

Louis’ shirt and tattoos are gone, replaced with pale skin broken only with tiny translucent scales where his tattoos used to be. They flash golden in the last rays of light, trailing down to a magnificent fishtail. Iridescent blue, with each tiny movement the colour shifts, as though the ocean and all her colours are captured within. Speckled throughout are scales of coral red, deep and luscious.

Harry blinks. The illusion remains. Fin smacking against the wood, Louis struggles upright, bracing on his palms.

Harry’s dimly aware of those eyes locking back onto him.

Louis slowly shakes his head, the plea so obvious on his face. “Hazza, I can expl-”

A slow chuckle from the forecastle breaks through the haze of disbelief clouding Harry’s senses.

Ben rises to his feet, casually brushing off guppies and starfish. The smirk on his face transforms his features and a wave of disgust rolls over Harry.

“Even the ocean knows you don’t belong together.”

He’s speaking to Louis.

Louis shakes his head again, tail flopping once more as he tries to straighten his torso best he can. His scales are already wrinkling, drying out in the warm evening air. “You enchanted him with me voice! How was I-”

Ben cuts Louis off by holding up a hand, three fingers raised. “Three days. That was the contract. You had three days to find your true love’s kiss, no matter what.”

Harry can’t keep up. That word, love, shocks him into speaking, but only a noise comes out before Louis’s growling at Ben in an echo of that burst of impetuous fire Harry’s seen glimpses of these past few days.

“I love him.” The melody of Louis’s voice changes. “Please, Simon, just give me one more minute.”

But Ben only laughs again, that same light chuckle. It grows, steadily deepening into a throaty cackle. A cloud of black envelops him until that laughter emanates from the void, punching through Harry and the hearts of every sailor aboard.

The monstrosity left in the wake of that cloud and laughter has several sailors crying out in fear, backing away. The human half is older, greying hair and cutting eyes. Instead of a tail, the creature ends in thick tentacles.

Simon leers at Louis. “Your voice belongs to me now.”

He lunges. Louis throws himself back against the rail. His eyes find Harry. Time frees Harry’s legs. He dives forward.

Simon’s arm catches Louis around the chest. His tentacles lock around that beautiful tail. Louis’s fingers claw into the wood, but the suckers latching into his scales immobilize him.

They vanish overboard.

“No!” Harry slams against the railing in time to catch a final glimpse of iridescent scales choked by black tentacles disappearing beneath the white-capped waves. He tears the buttons of his waistcoat ripping the ornate fabric off. He grabs the railing to dive overboard.

A hand grabs his arm, wrenching him back.

“Majesty, are you mad?!” Niall stares at him in horror. “You’re human, Sire!”

A burst of agony-fueled anger surges through Harry. “I don’t care,” he roars, wrenching his arm free. “I love him.”

It doesn’t matter that he’s in love with a fish.

Niall grabs him again. “I know.” Voice softer, but no less intense, he shakes his head. “But the ocean floor is only a grave for the likes of us. You’ll be dead before you can get close.”

The pity in Niall’s eyes hurts Harry more than his next words.

“He’s lost, Harry.”

Refusing to believe that, Harry shakes his head, jerking away from the words. Something flashes on the deck.

The compass that’d been around Ben’s, no, that monster’s neck. Harry’s heart lurches into his throat when he recognizes it.

It’s his compass. Understanding that his first love would always be the sea, his mother had gifted it to him when he’d turned sixteen two years ago, so he’d always find his way home no matter how far over the horizon he sailed. He’d been clutching it when he’d gone overboard in the storm, and was so certain he’d lost it in the shipwreck.

Harry snatches it from the deck. The broken chain falls away but Harry can only stare as the familiar weight in his palm settles in a pained squeeze around his heart with a single flash of a memory.

**

Floating. Numb. Idle waves weaving over his legs. A comforting pressure over his torso.

Gentle fingers brush a wet lock of hair from his face. The stranded curl slides over his cheek. His fingers curl around his compass.

Distant voices. “Majesty! Prince Harry!”

The weight shifts, startled. Lips brush a soft kiss over his brow.

“Live,” that bright voice that’d just been singing, beckoning Harry towards the surface of his consciousness, whispers, quiet yet commanding.

“Your Majesty! Prince Harry!”

A hand smooths down his arm and slides over his palm. The weight of his compass vanishes with the fingers. Someone splashes away through the shallows.

Blinding sunlight pierces his eyes as he pushes them open. He’s alone on the shore. Niall and Liam are racing across the surf towards him.

**

“Your majesty!” Liam’s shout jars Harry from the memory. The ocean had claimed him, and the ocean had saved him. It’s not Louis’s eyes that were familiar. After all these years, Harry’s now certain the ocean has been familiar because it swirls in captured sunswirls in those eyes he’d finally found three days ago.

And like the ebbing tide slipping through his fingers, that freedom has once again sunk beyond his reach.

“Majesty?” Liam’s fingertips brush his elbow to get his attention. Sorrow washes his voice soft. “Your orders?”

Harry can’t look away from his compass.

The glass is cracked, as broken as the mechanism within. The arrow no longer points north, but west, towards the horizon. Angry tears blur his vision as frustration wells in the pit of his stomach. He’s spent years seeking the heart of the ocean, only to find it, only to lose him. Louis saved him twice and now Harry can’t help him.

Harry can’t follow.

Harry clutches the compass until his knuckles are white, riding the roiling wave of frustration desperately. A warmth bursts from the compass and flushes his palm. Startled, Harry jumps. Like sunlight shifting over the surface, the compass flashes with a remnant of that golden magic of Louis’s voice that’d burst from it earlier.

Hope flutters like twin swallows taking flight in his chest. Harry turns back towards the rail where the arrow is pointing.

The broken arrow moves with him, aiming ever onward in the direction Simon and Louis had vanished. Harry’s facing due west but the arrow now points north before him.

“Sire?” Niall’s eyes are wide. He crosses himself again, staring at the compass in Harry’s hand.

A grim determination sweeps over Harry. “Get us afloat, Liam.”

His first mate nods. As Liam turns, barking out orders to the rest of the crew, Harry pockets his compass and throws off the lavender waistcoat that matches the coat he’d already discarded.

Unbuttoning the top three buttons of his white shirt, he rolls his sleeves up and turns to Niall.

“To the helm, Niall. I’ve got a prince to find.”

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*< 

(Of the three Disney-inspired ideas that came to me, I attempted with this one to stick as close to a direct retelling with Louis as the princess as the prompt requested. I’d also always wondered how Prince Eric knew where to find Ariel so he could help her defeat Ursula in the Disney version of Little Mermaid. I tried to answer that here. Hope you enjoy, Anony! I know it took a while. Moving homes can make writing time hard to find! And a huge thank you to you, Lily, for all your help, love!)

Have something else you’d like to see me write? Send me an ask (anon or no) completing the sentence ‘I wish you’d write a fic where…’

OT5 Superpowers 

Invisible Louis

Only one bed (H-POV)

Only one bed (L-POV)

ABO new-omega!Louis drabble that became a fic on AO3.

OT4 Spy AU

Disney-Inspired 1: Liam/Harry/Louis as Niall’s three fairy godmother roommates.

#trackinghome #hlcreators #hljournal #1dsource #yourlarrysource #tracksintheam #larry fanfiction #1d fanfiction #drabble

[honey-dewey]

We Can’t all be Sunshine and Rainbows

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/Reader

Word Count: 2,344

Warnings: No big ones. Implied torture and feelings of depression and PTSD. 

Marcus had never seen anyone as powerful as you. With emotions that literally controlled the weather, you were basically a God. But power of that magnitude attracts many kinds of people, and sometimes, you must rely on yourself as much as you rely on the calming voice of Marcus Moreno

Author’s Notes: I don’t usually do an A/N but I want to give credit to the lovely @anetteaneta for their story ‘Weatherwoman’ which inspired the Reader’s power in this story! Go check it out, because it was a very good story. 

“You doing okay?” 

You looked up, sighing as the weather noticeably warmed. Marcus always made the temperature rise, but he never seemed to mind. In fact, he found it funny. 

“Yeah,” you said, flipping a page in your book. “Just thinking.” 

Marcus smiled, settling on the grass next to you. “Your thinking is making it very cold out here. What’s wrong?” 

You closed your book. “This was mom’s favorite book.” 

“Oh.” Marcus shuffled closer to you, so that his thigh was pressed to yours. He could still remember finding you, alone and scared, in the wreckage of your parents house. You’d gotten into an argument with them over something small, and your powers had ignited in that moment, setting the entire house ablaze. He’d been the one to lift you from the smoking remains and bandage your slightly singed hands. Aside from being shaken, you were completely fine. 

The lasting emotional damage had been bad. You’d never learned to control your power, so the city’s weather depended entirely on your mood. Marcus continued to insist you needed to take control and make your power your own, but fear kept you from ever trying. The last time you’d used your power on a scale as large as Marcus was talking about, you’d killed two people and turned your childhood home to ash. But he never pushed, only reminded you he was there for when you were ready to try. 

Now, three years after the accident, you and Marcus were partners, both in a relationship and in hero work. He was your rock, grounding you whenever your emotions got the better of you. He’d prevented many devastating hurricanes and actually jumped into a tornado you had caused so he could calm you down. In return, you gave him sunshine and happiness, rekindling his love and providing him a reason to fight as hard as he did. 

“Is there anything you need?” Marcus asked, nudging your side. 

You shook your head. “Not anything you could get me,” you murmured, resting your head against his shoulder. 

You two stayed like that, enjoying each other in the simplest way, until the sun began to turn Marcus’s skin red. When that happened, you kissed his nose, leaving the tiniest bit of sunburn behind. 

He laughed, standing and helping you up. “The weather is perfect,” he said, putting his arm around you. 

“Thank you,” you said. “I do try.” 

You two ended up in the local park, hand in hand. Heroics headquarters stood high in the background, reminding you of the ever looming responsibility Marcus had on his shoulders. The weather remained nice, sunny and a perfect temperature for a walk. 

“How’s Missy?” You asked eventually, after bouncing from topic to topic. 

“Good!” Marcus said happily. “She’s a natural leader.” 

You smiled. “I wonder where she gets that from.”

Marcus laughed. Before he could say anything, however, his watch beeped. “Crap.” 

“Work?” 

“Work.” Marcus took his jacket off and put it across your shoulders. “Keep this safe for me, okay?” 

You nodded, drawing the worn leather tighter around you. “You better come back for it!” 

Marcus began to jog across the park, turning back to smile at you. “I always do!” 

As he ran off, you sighed, turning away and heading back to Marcus’s house. It wasn’t too far, and the weather would remain nice as long as you stayed calm. 

Of course, the sun can’t last forever. 

You got home, seeing Missy already there. “That bad, huh?” You asked, grabbing a glass of milk. 

Missy shrugged. “They wouldn’t tell me.” 

“Well that’s a load of crap,” you said, sitting at the table next to her. “Let’s see if we can’t see him on the news.” 

Missy perked up, following you into the living room and turning on the TV. A bunch of reporters were already covering the attack, and you eagerly nudged Missy. “There he is.” 

As the fighting continued, you grew more and more worried that this wouldn’t go well. Marcus was getting visibly tired, protecting an unconscious Ms. Vox. The faceless enemies piled up around him, staining the ground red. It wasn’t until you felt a hand on your thigh that you realized what was happening outside. 

The sky was dark, a deep blue-purple grey that scared you so much lightning began to flash in the sky, splitting the nightmare clouds and making you jump. 

“You need to calm down,” Missy murmured, crawling into your lap and taking your hands. You breathed with her, feeling her back expand against your chest. Eventually, the sky settled at a gentler grey overcast, a light rainfall hitting the ground as Missy turned the TV off. 

“He’ll be fine,” she promised, scooting next to you and pushing herself into you. “He always is.” 

He was not. 

A heroics agent came to the house within the hour, solemnly telling you that Marcus had been kidnapped. His location was unknown, and the agent handed a shocked Missy Marcus’s shattered watch. 

As soon as the agent gave you two the information, the rain heavily increased until it was pouring. There was no thunder, just a dismally grey sky and a steady downpour. Missy walked over to the kitchen counter, gently placing the ruined watch down next to a photo of the three of you, smiling and happy on a beautiful sunny day. 

Four days of straight, nonstop rain later, you were slowly rolling a pen across Marcus’s desk in Heroic headquarters. Miracle Guy and Tech-No were with you, keeping you and Missy, who was sitting in the corner of the office and doing her homework, safe. However, nothing was really happening, so having them there was pointless. 

Pointless until a beeping startled you, sending a split second of hail across the window. 

“That was me.” Tech-No checked his watch, standing abruptly and gesturing Miracle Guy to his feet. “They found him.” 

“Found who?” You asked, also standing. “Marcus?” 

Miracle Guy hesitated by the door, looking between you and Missy. “Missy, get the kids and meet me on the bus in five minutes.” 

You followed after Miracle Guy, your anxiety making the winds outside pick up. “Hey!” You shouted, but he didn’t turn. No one did. “What’s going on?” 

Missy and the other kids raced over to the bus, Tech-No ushering them on. You tried to follow, but Miracle Guy refused to let you pass. 

“I promised Marcus I’d keep you safe,” he yelled over the wind. “That means you’re staying here.” 

“If they don’t go, I don’t go,” Missy countered, stepping off the bus and standing beside you. 

Miracle Guy faltered. “Missy.” 

Missy stood her ground, glaring at the Heroics until they let you on the bus. 

The ride to wherever you were going was silent, all other noise being drowned by the rain, which only got worse as the bus got further and further from headquarters. 

“Marcus is in the second building on the left,” Miracle Guy said once the bus began to slow. “Missy, you take the kids and secure the surrounding area. We’ll go in teams of two, staggered by a few minutes. Once he’s been retrieved, take him to the ambulance. We don’t know what his current condition is, so be prepared for anything.” 

“What about me?” You asked, hesitantly standing. 

Miracle Guy pointed to the ambulance that had pulled up beside the bus. “Stay here. If we get him out, he’ll want a familiar face. Try and stay calm. The last thing we need right now is a hurricane.” 

You nodded, grabbing an umbrella and setting yourself up under the small tent next to the ambulance. 

The wait was agonizing, but you managed to calm your nerves until the wind was just a slight breeze. The kids got the surrounding buildings secured, flushing out a bunch of low level villains. The police arrested them all, and Missy joined you under the tent. 

“Anything?” She asked. All the Heroics had gone in, and yet, none had returned. 

“No.” You fidgeted with the umbrella handle, your anxiety making the air cold. “Nothing yet.” 

Just as you spoke, Ms. Vox stumbled out of the building, supported by Blinding Fast. Two paramedics rushed over, helping them under the tent and calling for more ambulances. 

“What’s going on?” Missy asked, looking worriedly at Ms. Vox’s injuries. 

She shook her head. “They aren’t very strong,” she said softly, her voice incredibly scratched. “Or organized but there are so many of them. I think Tech-No found Marcus, but couldn’t do much. Lavagirl is out cold, and last I saw of Sharkboy, he was trying to help her. I don’t think they’re doing okay.” 

Missy bit her lip, looking back at the building. “We’re going in.” 

You hesitated. “Who are you taking?” 

She turned to look at you, genuine fear in her eyes. “You.” 

“What?” 

Missy took your hand. “We’ve got this,” she promised. “For Dad.” 

You nodded, the rain lightening substantially. “For Marcus.” 

The two of you raced into the building, followed by Missy’s team. She began shouting directions, sending the kids off in various directions. By the time she was done, it was you, her, Wild Card, and Guppy racing up stairs and down halls. 

In the end, you and Missy reached a door that had been smashed in, Tech-No unconscious just outside the doorway. Missy propped him up on the wall and gestured Guppy over. “Think you can take him downstairs?” 

Guppy nodded, lifting Tech-No easily and carrying him off towards the waiting ambulances. 

Missy gestured Wild Card into the room first, and he immediately began to take out villains. You slipped into the room behind him, trying to keep your bearings beyond the muddled mix of emotions brewing in your chest. 

You spotted Marcus laying, unconscious, in a cage, his body smeared with blood. You gasped, feeling the anger and fear turn your vision dark. 

Missy slipped behind you, pressing a hand to your arm. “Stay calm.” 

“Forget calm,” you growled lowly, looking at her, crouched down beside you. “Get Wild Card out of here. Evacuate the building as best you can. Get everyone away from the area and into sturdy buildings as far away as you can.” 

“What are you going to do?” Missy asked, clearly nervous. 

You balled your fists. “I’m getting your father out of here.” 

Missy left, grabbing Wild Card and going, yelling down the halls to get out. You rushed the remaining villains, the rain getting heavier and heavier as you fought, using the minimal fight training you had. 

Finally, the villains were all out, piled on the floor in limp heaps. You quickly opened the cage and pulled Marcus out, dragging him to the middle of the room. If this didn’t work, it would kill everyone. If it did, it could be your saving grace. 

You sat on the floor, pulling Marcus into your lap. His eyes opened slightly, one of them swollen and bruised. “Babe?” 

“Hush,” you whispered, cradling him with one hand and raising the other to the circular window in the ceiling. The rain pounded, and you concentrated on the feeling behind it, focusing on the soreness in your body until the rain turned to hail. The hail grew in size until it shattered the window, baseball sized chunks of ice hitting the floor, avoiding you and Marcus. 

You kept your hand raised, feeling it burn, the white hot fire racing down your arm as you poured anger into your heart, the red hot emotions mixing with the pain in your body until you were screaming, summoning a huge bolt of lightning to strike the building. 

When you opened your eyes again, it was to sirens and the smell of smoke. You cracked an eye, seeing charred rubble all around you. Sunlight filtered down, warming your face as you collapsed against Marcus. He was limp as well, and you were both supporting each other. 

“You did it,” Marcus murmured into your heat from where his chin was resting against your shoulder. “You turned your power into your own.” 

You smiled, using the last of your strength to grip his shirt. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, okay? I was so worried.” 

Marcus chuckled weakly. “I’ll try not to get kidnapped again,” he promised. 

The rescue team found you a few minutes later, lifting you both from the smoking remains of the building. Missy hugged both of you, crying her eyes out and insisting on riding in the ambulance with you. Aside from being shocked and a bit dazed, you were okay, slumped against the ambulance wall as you watched a paramedic stitch up a wound on Marcus’s arm. 

Two days later, the sun was shining and the weather was warm as Marcus was discharged from the hospital. Heroics had given him a vacation, letting him recover in the safety of his own home for a month. Missy was off from school for a week, using her time off to relax and forget what had just befallen you. 

“Weather’s nice,” Marcus commented happily as you two walked through his house and into the backyard. 

You smiled, sitting next to him in the grass. “The forecast all week is supposed to be sunshine,” you murmured. 

Marcus nodded, leaning his head onto yours. “Y’know, I knew exactly when you got the news,” he said softly. “The rain was so loud.” 

“I’m sorry.” You picked at a loose thread on your shirt, anxiety making clouds roll across the sun. 

“No,” Marcus insisted, taking your hands. “I knew it meant you were missing me. And that you’d come for me.” 

You smiled, the sun beginning to shine bright again. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Marcus said. “And by the way, do you still have my jacket?” 

You laughed, the weather warming. “It’s in the house,” you said happily. “Didn’t want to ruin it.” 

Marcus smiled. “You’re the best.” 

You leaned into his chest, looking up at the sky. It was picture perfect, with a few scattered clouds and a bright sun to warm everything. “I know.”

#we can be heroes #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #pedro pascal #my writing

[willadisastercry]

More than ‘just a little tired’: aftermath turned aftershocks part 3

tw: discussion of sever burns and re-burning, lots of pain, also lots of heavy emotions, ptsd symptoms towards the end

Keith is in a lot of pain from just having his wounds cleaned but complications arise that make the relief of the pod that much further away. Tensions are still high and everyone’s emotions are running rampant as they are forced to watch their friend be in so much distress, their friend who never let on when he was anything other than angry, who is now crying and begging for it all to stop. Keith is desperate, his stoic facade has shattered but his body refuses to pass out and they still have to separate him from the bits of the suit that remain...

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

(( haven’t edited yet so ignore for now if it’s riddled with errors or some parts make zero sense lol, enjoy!!! ))

The infirmary was both eerily silent and brimming with commotion, nearly devoid of any conversation or background noise at all aside from muted whispers and the gentle clink of tools as the sound of Keith’s pain filled every dreadful square inch and left little space for much else.

Shrio was still perched on a stool with both hands clasped securely around the one of Keith’s that was accessible, the other hanging over the edge of the table limp and unmoving. 

The older boy spoke calm reassurances to him in a low voice, the sentiments themselves not so much soothing as the steady cadence of them were.

It was clear he was still suppressing every wince and grimace though his resolve to remain unbothered seemed to be weakening as he fatigued further. And so Shiro’s gentle tenor worked to ground him as his wherewithal plummeted, the neutral pressure on his hand giving him something else to focus on and keep him from panicking while he lay somewhat paralyzed.

He hadn’t moved much as they cleaned his back up after they gave him the muscle relaxant, not that he could if we wanted to, not when his whole body felt about as solid as jello. The only movements possible were occasional reflexive twitches or sudden bursts of shuddering breaths that had whoever was poking his back pause to give him a minute to steady himself.

That was until the team had separated him from as much of the under-suit as they could with just tweezers and saline... because about 30% of what they’d sectioned off around each wound was still attached and not coming free no matter how hard they pulled or however much saline they poured.

It was then with everything cleaned away that they saw how severe it was, how little of the blur of soot around each blast could actually be cleaned away because it wasn’t his skin that was charred, it was the suit itself.

They couldn’t fix that with tweezers but they had to remove the melted material so the pod didn’t heal around it somehow.

Keith’s attention was admittedly elsewhere when the disorienting haze of pain granted him a few moments of clarity once he realized the only hands still touching him were Shiro’s.

It took him a while, but he was able to cut through the fog enough to vaguely tune in to what was going on around him. He has missed the beginning of the conversation that Shiro was having but it wasn’t hard to piece together what was happening.

“The process should be relatively seemless if I use this—“ Coran noted grimly as he presented Shiro with a scalpel that had a cord attached to the end of it “—the scarring will already be minimal given the pod’s capabilities and the fact that these are mostly second degree, but in order to remove the bits that remain I must burn number four again to sever what joins his flesh to the undersuit...”

Shiro had figured as much and so had Keith.

Well no, his addled brain hadn’t figured much of anything coherent in a while, he just wasn’t surprised to hear that it was the only solution.

Keith wouldn’t consider himself as handy as Hunk or Pidge but he knew his way around tools from having a bike and living on his own for so long. And he couldn’t come up with anything else on hand other than a hot knife that would do that kind of job either.

He also didn’t really care how they did anything anymore. He didn’t have the energy to when all he wanted was for this to be over.

Exhaustion seeped into his bones like radiation, clogging the channels in his marrow where his blood should flow and making his entire body feel so very heavy. It was the kind of weight that lulled you into a deep sleep, yet Keith remained awake, his nerves fried and his mind wired.

Shiro sighed, bowing his head to catch Keith’s pleading eyes one last time before nodding, giving Coran the go ahead.

It’s not that Coran was hiding the tool from the other paladins or what it did, that much was sort of obvious. It’s just that the question didn’t concern them, the decision wasn’t theirs to make. Shiro was their unofficial health proxy now that they were in space and called these kind of shots for all of them, but that was especially true for Keith since he’d already sort of been doing so back at the garrison before Kerberos.

The paladins were of course privy to deciding what happened to their own bodies regarding altean remedies or lesser pod stays since some of the options are pretty out there and if they aren’t absolutely necessary, then they aren’t mandated. But all decisions were passed by Shiro who ensured that their younger counterparts were entirely clear on what they were or were not agreeing to before Coran or Allura did anything, given the situation allotted time to take such measures.

This is one of the rare instances where Shiro had little choice in how to handle the matter. There was only one option and Keith would continue to suffer if he wasted time worrying about what none of them could control.

And it wasn’t even that he was too out of it to know what this meant and be able to deliver the green light himself, the fear on his face when Coran said ‘burn’ was more than apparent. But the kid was so goddamned rational about things no one his age should be able to rationalize that it was clear he had already evaluated and come to terms with the predicament in those brief moments of hesitation before Shiro agreed.

His eyes fall closed again and Shiro thinks he can hear the screams already.

The gravity of the decision seemed to dawn on everyone else a beat later, an anticipatory silence replacing the anguished weight that hung on all of them seconds before.

Everything moved slowly for a moment, the rise of chests halted, the chitter of mice quieting while they searched the princess’s face for answers until reality crashed back down on the castleships’ inhabitants like the tidal surge of a hurricane. The green tinge on Hunk’s face deepened several shades and Allura absently slid a waste bin closer to him, her movements robotic, like she wasn’t all there anymore. Pidge’s sobs from her helpless position on the adjacent cot were almost as painful to hear as Keith’s.

The only one to contest the idea was Lance, the sheer horror of what was about to happen registering on the blue paladin’s face like it was a death sentence for his friend.

“No, that’s torture! You can’t possibly think that’s a good idea, it’s barbaric, it’s—“

“Lance, calm down.”

“I will not calm down! Don’t you see how insane this is?!”

“There’s nothing else we can do. Don’t you see where the hell we are? We’re in space. We are light years away from human healthcare, we kind of have to work with the resources that we have!”

“But there has to be another way! I don’t understand why you’re not trying to figure something else out first... haven’t you hurt him enough today, Shiro? For fuck’s sake, aren’t you supposed to be his br—“

“Do it—” Keith punches out in a harsh whisper, effectively silencing the argument “—j-just do it already.”

His voice was gravelly and weak from all the shouting, his waning energy evident in the exasperated punctuation of his words. He’s fairly sure he won’t remain conscious long enough to be truly traumatized by the a procedure and was growing more irritated the longer they delayed it.

Keith appreciated that Lance had a conscience but also knew full well that he was stuck on the agony he was emoting since he usually never emoted at all, and probably not imagining just how awful it must actually be if he was advocating that more pain be inflicted so the sweet relief of the pod came sooner.

Lucky for him, Coran seemed to grasp the concept well enough on his own.

“Alright my boy, as you wish... Allura you might want to grab something for him to bite down on.”

What remained of the upper half of his under suit lay on him in tatters, his back bare except for the front section beneath him with strips of black littered over the table and floor. There’s a square of material missing on his thigh but the rest of the bottom portion is pretty much in tact.

The wounds looked worse free of all the blood and shredded bits. Like so much worse. But Keith didn’t have to see or be told how horrible it looked, he already knew that however bad it appeared, it hurt a thousand times worse.

“I have a topical anesthetic here that should numb the surface tissue but I’m afraid I can’t make any promises about nerve pain that might go deeper... it will still hurt a great deal.”

Talking was hard. He didn’t have the energy to stay awake let alone speak, but since his body was denying him that mercy, he figured forcing himself to communicate might speed the process along.

“Kay... s’fine,” was all he managed in response, his head swimming slightly as he forced the words out.

Allura’s face came into view then, smiling with so much sadness behind it as she lowered a hand to Keith’s flushed and tear stained cheek, gently coaxing him into opening his mouth.

He was sort of confused as to why until she brought a small hand towel folded in a tight roll up to his chin. His eyes widened a bit but he hummed in understanding and parted his blood encrusted lips so she could place it between his teeth.

They hadn’t had a chance to fuss over the gash on his face with everything else they were focused on but he was also very much laying on top of it. The cut itself also didn’t appear to be giving him much of an issue, but the fact that he was resting his cheek in an ever dampening rag as it caught his blood was woefully uncomfortable, the swelling laceration under his eye endlessly agitated with every reflexive jerk.

The sight might’ve been more alarming if his back wasn’t so horrific.

Shiro searched Keith’s lidded eyes when Coran pressed a button that had the tool whirring to life with a warm orange glow before he set it aside to warm up. They were sluggish and bloodshot and slow enough in meeting his gaze that would’ve had him majorly concerned should he not already have dozens other reasons to be.

“The spray might sting a bit at first... just bear with me lad.”

Coran’s voice was pinched and level, his statements clinical and his hands deft.

He’d already gathered that Keith didn’t need things explained before they were done like Shiro who needed to feel like he was in control of his own body when being tended to, or Pidge and her unwavering need to know absolutely everything ever, or Hunk and his already debilitating anxiety regarding the unknown.

No, he was like Lance who didn’t want the details, didn’t need to know what was happening or when. In fact, he reacted worse when he knew.

Keith needed things done without preamble. It didn’t matter how much it would hurt, he just needed it to hurt before the anticipation that it was about to could consume him. And Coran would do whatever he could to ease the red paladin then, so if that meant working fast than he would work fast.

“Nngh...” Keith choked out against the towel, nearly gagging on it when his entire body jerked as soon as Coran started spraying despite the medicine running through his body to specifically lessen reactions like that. But the man didn’t slow once he started, not even for Keith’s muffled pleas.

The spray did in fact sting. It stung a lot.

His head flew back and his eyes screwed shut as he struggled to breathe through the application, jerking despite himself each time the liquid landed on his raw and burning wounds.

The cloth trapped between his clenched teeth had him sputtering on the spit in his mouth and he almost welcomed the fear that flooded his body when his throat closed to keep from inhaling it.

“I know, bud... looks like just a bit more and then hopefully some relief.”

Shiro looked so young when he was like this, the knitted worry lines on his forehead almost out of place for the age he looked then. Keith didn’t like seeing him like that, it’s what he looks like when he’s having a rough day with his ptsd, so he closed his eyes against the tears that were brimming in the corners of them and took in long, purposeful inhales while Coran finished up.

He felt it as soon as the anesthetic started working, a discernible cold partially quenching each tiny inferno that was at the center of his injuries. It didn’t do much more than place a lid on the fires, not putting anything out completely but it was something and had him sagging into the table at the small bit of respite.

“I’ll be right here the entire time, okay? Coran will try to be as quick as he can but you can do this Keith, you’re strong, I know you can do this...” Shiro rambled, his timbre still subdued and settling.

It was nonsense. It was absolute nonsense he was babbling but the older boy’s voice never wavered and the constant presence of it hung on Keith’s battered body like a warm blanket, soothing the biting chill of anticipation that spread over it before the endless waves of agony started all over again.

“It’s going to be okay, bud.”

Keith clung to his words like they were a broken board from a sinking ship, the only buoyant thing in sight that could keep him from sinking right down with it.

“It’ll be over soon...”

He felt himself physically calming the longer he spoke until suddenly his chest didn’t feel as tight.

“...and then you can rest.”

Because he believed him. He believed that Shiro wouldn’t tell him he would be okay if it wasn’t true.

“We’ll get you set up in the pod...”

And for just a second, he actually believed it would end, that it wouldn’t last forever.

“...and then you’ll start to heal...”

The breaths he took were urgent, almost greedy as he relished in the temporary peace from everything. From the pain, from his anxiety, from feeling so fucking helpless.

“...just a little longer. I promise.”

Shiro made a point not to make many promises to Keith, even if he never planned on being anything other than good on them. He knew that too many had been broken for him to trust a vow like that. The words were empty, just another tool for people he trusted to bait him with before they left.

In Keith’s experience, everyone always left.

“I am going to begin now, remember to breathe lad...”

Before Keith had been holding back most of his exclamations of pain, biting his lip or cheek and setting his jaw to swallow them back before they escaped.

He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that made that impossible now, maybe since he knew the pain would be insurmountably worse or maybe because his body was too tired to expend that kind of energy anymore, either way the only thing muffling the sounds then was the towel keeping him from biting clean through his tongue.

The way his back arched when Coran brought the scalpel down looked like it shouldn’t have been possible in his condition. Keith didn’t know it was possible either but wasn’t too focused on the logistics with how intensely his lungs were screaming as he realized he could no longer move air in or out with how shocking the pain was.

It was like he’d been electrocuted, his muscles spasming and his nerves glitching in override.

“Shit, someone help me hold him down... come on damnit, hold him still!” Shiro ordered when it was apparent that Keith was incapable of controlling his reactions as Coran kept at it with the tool.

The movements were violent and quick, more convulsions than Keith’s own will, but they happened with each slice which made it difficult for Coran to work, so Hunk and Lance repositioned themselves on either side of the table and pinned his chest down wherever was most absent of injury while Shiro kept his head still and attempted to talk him through it.

Allura wasn’t having much luck in soothing Pidge either who was hysterical with her hands clamped over her ears. The guilt she felt over being the reason Keith was now in such intense pain was overwhelming and the princess was deeply concerned that she was going to make herself sick or reopen her only somewhat mended wound.

“Huh, huhh, huh... AHGh!”

Coran ignored how his fingers were blistering from working around the red paladin’s struggles.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry...”

Apologies were pouring out of Shiro like his own blood would.

But Lance didn’t buy them. He couldn’t grasp how their infallible leader missed someone being injured this severely.

And for it to be Keith of all people.

He’d spent half of his young adult life on his own, looking out for himself, no other support. He wasn’t used to having a team to look out for him especially since the last time anyone had was when Shiro had taken him under his wing. Shiro who had pretty much promised not to give up on him only to leave for Kerberos and never come back.

And what’s worse, as if anything could get worse at this point, was that Keith genuinely hadn’t wanted their help. He would’ve insisted he was okay whether or not his injuries were known regardless, but Shiro overlooking him in the heat of the moment had only fueled his warped view on taking care of things himself. It made him think he didn’t deserve any help, like he was being selfish for even suggesting he might not be okay when Pidge was also hurt.

It wasn’t true. But Lance knew that Keith couldn’t always decipher those kinds of things, the subtle messages in tonality that other people would’ve instantly picked up as, ‘no, I don’t actually hate you’ but completely eluded him.

Because Keith was extremely literal. He was also a self sacrificial idiot. Kinda like Lance. Not the literal thing, Lance almost never spoke literally.

But Shiro knew that, he knew that Shiro knew all of that about Keith and yet here they were.

His eyes were glossy and he was livid. It didn’t make any sense. They were supposed to look out for each other. It was Shiro’s whole philosophy and here he was, a complete hypocrite.

Pidge let out a strangled hitch then that broke Lance’s focus on analyzing whatever the hell had gone down on that mission.

The guilt was raging an almost identical fire in her chest, licking at her lungs like there was lighter fluid on them and threatening the sinews that had just barely latched across the chasm in her abdomen.

Hunk wished he could cry, wished he didn’t have to be so close to the terrible mess that was his friends’ back or the sounds he was making.

He didn’t know how many more he could stand to hear. How many more times he could handle the pang of terror in his chest when one escaped the lips of either of his friends.

Anytime anyone was hurting he felt like he was too. Like he had an access pass to their pain or some wicked ability to envision exactly how it must feel. And between Keith bucking beneath his hands and the guttural groans smothered by the towel, Hunk’s stomach was flipping dangerously.

Keith’s strained huffs had turned into hysterical shouts.

“Coran,” Allura deadpanned, her voice low and deadly.

They’d started off with a sort of restraint but it hadn’t taken long for them to raise in volume. He hated it, he was too tired to be so vocal and his throat was aching, but he couldn’t help it.

If it was up to him he would’ve just relaxed and taken it. He was used to simply enduring in the moment and compartmentalizing as he went. He had no experience in allowing such real reactions, in being so vulnerable against his every will.

Taking it silently would’ve been just as painful, there was no changing that, but maybe then he wouldn’t have had to see everyone so upset.

But he couldn’t relax. And he couldn’t use his twisted reason to logic himself out of it.

“This is cruel-I can-I can ease his suffering with my powers, move aside and let me—“

“Princess.”

Coran sounded distressed, almost pained. It was the first hint of emotion he’d shown since they’d dragged Keith into medbay.

“You couldn’t heal him without going into a pod first or it would start depleting the quintessence of your life force... we don’t have time for that, you know what my answer is—“

“But it’s worth it! Just a second, even just a touch would make the world of a difference, please—“

“Allura... come on, let him work.”

Lance looked angry still, and Shiro wasn’t sure he blamed him anymore, but the princess’s voice was shaking and his hand on her arm was pulling her away from Coran gently.

And she let him, the sob that erupted from her throat startling everyone. But Lance was there, the usual smirk he wore when speaking to the princess noticeably absent as he braced his her shoulders because they were shaking too.

Shiro is pressing Keith’s chest down flat where Lance had been after he Coran hissed at the heat of the tool while he continued to thrash.

The energy in the room was so dark and heavy it was almost sinister.

But the worst part was seeing it on his face. The desperation in his expressions was gutting. It felt like a sort of betrayal, which in a way it was, but so was the alternative.

Shiro tried to keep up his rambles of assurance but found the sentiments catching in his throat.

It had become wildly apparent that they were more comforting to him than they were to Keith, but he repeated them still, the same nonsense over and over again like a prayer. The swipe of his metal thumb clearing the endless stream of tears out of his eyes was the only constant other than the sound of his own screaming sobs.

And the pain.

His sobs and the pain.

It was blinding and it was everywhere. He couldn’t get away from it. Couldn’t get away from himself or the terrible sounds he was making.

All of it was suffocating. The fire poker dragging against his already charred skin, the hands holding him still, Shiro’s words, his own cries, all of it.

The air was filled with a bitter and nauseating heat, the smell of his own flesh burning permeated it and made him cry harder.

He wanted to throw up, wanted to pass out, hell if he died right there he wouldn’t have even minded.

He just wanted everything to stop.

He didn’t think he could stand much more of it but his body wouldn’t give in. His screams had morphed into one piercing and continuous wail as every limit he had was tested and shattered.

Keith thought he could handle pain fairly well, but this was absurd. This pain was otherworldly.

It’s only when he spits the rag out for the millionth time and begins chanting his own prayer that Shiro really wavered, his hand halting abruptly as he went to put it back between his teeth before they tore through his tongue the next time Coran moved his tool.

But Coran had taken the glowing metal away for a moment and was fiddling with something, so when Shiro leaned in to replace the cloth he could finally make out what he was saying.

“...D-d-d-da-dad... pl-please, dad... dad m-make it st-stop... dad...”

The words were slurred and barely audible with how wrecked his throat was, but there was no denying it.

“Oh, Keith...” Shiro breathed before his jaw was working to muffle his own pitiful sounds.

He was in such a delirium that he was calling out for his father, the man who Keith hadn’t called out to in years because he was dead. He’d left him in the most final way someone could leave.

Shiro didn’t know how many promises his death might’ve broken, just that the words Keith was uttering were what finally broke him.

Allura’s cheeks were still wet with tears but stepped forward anyway and moved the towel back into place, her hands running through and smoothing down Keith’s wild locks all tossed out of place from writhing.

She bent down to speak softly into his ear, Shiro didn’t catch much over the ringing in his own while his eyes locked into place on the towel in his mouth and the blood staining his chin and neck, though he thought he heard something about him being strong, him doing so well...

“Shiro.”

The hand on his arm didn’t make him jump because he couldn’t feel it. The room was expanding and he was shrinking because Keith’s whimpering was beginning to sound like the despairing cries before someone or something died in the arena.

The arena...

His eyes open wide and flit around wildly, the room abruptly fitting back to size.

“Huh?”

Shiro was good at snapping himself back to reality when he needed to, good at functioning at half capacity just to see through whatever he was in the middle of until it was safe to let the lights of the arena bleed into his present.

Not that acknowledging his memories was ever safe. And not that reliving them in his cabin was any safer.

Just easier.

“What is it?”

“I’m starting again...”

He hadn’t noticed that he’d backed up into Pidge’s bed or that her tiny hand had wound its way into his.

“...and he’s asking for you.”

“Right.”

His voice was sturdy again, hands no longer trembling. He could do this.

The whirring of the tool sounds too much like his metal arm, it glows orange instead of purple but that doesn’t seem to matter because it’s cutting into Keith’s skin all the same and the screams that escape his mouth cut into Shiro just as bad.

But he pushes it all away. He can unpack the emotions that rise up with it later but Keith needed him now.

The initial twitches that wracked his brutalized frame when Coran brought the tool back down had Allura turning away and the smoke that rose up with the first slice had Hunk clamping a hand over his mouth and nose. But the princess’s hand never stopped brushing through his hair and Hunk kept the grip on his shoulder firm.

They could feel his muscles loosening, could feel the power of each jerk dwindling.

And then they watched with heavy consciences as even his steady cries quieted, his body finally waving the white flag.

“I’m sorry...”

Shiro chanted it so many times that the syllables blended together and turned into something else altogether.

Keith’s breathing was more erratic than it ever had been and it didn’t seem like he could see straight anymore so Shiro lowered his forehead to Keith’s and draped his metal arm over his neck.

Both were damp with sweat that created condensation on his hand, his hair wet with it and plastered all over, but Shiro couldn’t find it in him to care. He needed him to know that he was there, that he hadn’t left.

“I’m here, Keith. And I’m sorry...”

But his cheeks were flushing with something other than straight up exertion. And Shiro felt it, felt his hand go cold while all the blood raced to his head. He knew what was happening but he wasn’t worried.

He was relieved.

“I’m so sorry...”

The rag falls out again because his jaw had gone slack and his eyes were rolling to the back of his head. Shiro didn’t move to fix it.

His breathing still irregular but falling into a more even rhythm.

Lance looks stricken and Hunk is rather green when they let go and step back.

Pidge had finally found the ability to relax abs was slumping into the bed, eyes glued to Coran’s hand who was still not done.

Still not okay. Still not in a pod, but no longer in pain.

Hunk took exactly one deep breath before devolving into tears. He was done being strong, but Lance never seems to get the luxury and was pulling him into a hug that didn’t have him standing any straighter or have his chest working any less, but it was something.

Coran’s hands move slow and he doesn’t seem to feel the red welts on his fingertips from wrestling with his tools. But he looked more at ease with Keith blissfully unconscious, like he was breathing again.

Shiro was still holding Keith’s hand. It was ice cold and looking sort of blue with the white blotches dotting it. He leaves his other hand on his neck where his skin is hotter, figuring if the cool metal could be useful for anything other than killing, it might just be that.

Lance eyes the distance in Shiro’s gaze, the rigidity in his movements, and he thinks he understands. He thinks he can overlook his anger to remember that the guy is still human.

He’s almost scared that he was speaking out loud when Shiro rakes his grey pinpoints around the room, not appearing to actually see any of it before passing over Lance’s briefly. Hunk has his head burrowed in his chest as he fights to regain his composure but he musters up a small smile for him despite being otherwise occupied.

It’s a peace offering. A sad one at that, the corners of his mouth barely perking up, but it’s something.

Shiro wasn’t sure if he returned it but his heart felt lighter once Lance did that.

The energy in the room was still buzzing but it was less stifling, not as heavy as it had been moments ago.

The artificial sunlight starts to turn purple again and he can hear desperation mix into the buzz and for a second Shiro is worried that Keith has woken up. In a bit of a panic he drags his gaze back down to find his eyes still closed and his face still scrunched up like he hadn’t escaped the pain entirely with sleep.

But that was infinitely better than him sounding like them, the dying things he was hearing.

He vaguely wondered if the medbay was a safe enough place to let the purple flood in and ultimately decided that it didn’t matter.

He’d staved it off long enough, was strong for Keith when he needed him to be.

And so he lets himself drift.

#vld #voltron fanfic #voltron whump #voltron #keith whump #keith angst #lance and hunk to the rescue #lance angst #bad shiro #vld shiro #hunk voltron #pidge whump #voltron legendary disaster #emotional vld #emotional whump #voltron fandom #keith kogane #vld lance #lance voltron #voltron fic

[johnkrrasinski]

i want your midnights; 

full masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 1,749

Warning: fluff!! pure feelings 

Summary: this one’s written for the @mypoisonedvine​‘s festive writing challenge with the prompt “kissing at the new year’s eve count down.” there was only one person that you wanted to celebrate new years with and it was bucky barnes, the love of your life. 

a/n: not my best work but eh, i needed some holiday fluff with bucky. comment and reblog if you like! 

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

You straightened the skirt of your dress, trying to make yourself look presentable as you took a deep breath. To say you were nervous would be an outrageous understatement. You haven't played for a big crowd, let alone a crowd in awhile. The last time you were standing with identical emotions swirling through your stomach was when you were in your adolescent years. It wasn't because you grew bored of it, it was simply because you grew up and life had its funny way of surprising you. This occupation wasn't merely a job, it was a lifestyle. And this lifestyle didn't allow you to think that you'd ever have the chance to revisit this forgotten passion.

But here you were. About to perform one of your favourite songs on the grand instrument placed in the centre of the room and you feel like your stomach was sinking. You were good and you were adored. Suck it up and don't be a coward!

The ticking clock shows that it was three hours away from midnight. And the party was in full swing because it's New Year's Eve and Tony Stark was a man of flamboyant parties. And may God help you if he discovered your hidden talent.

"You should sing on New Year's Eve! Entertain the guests before midnight. What's better than live music at a party?"

"I don't know, Tony... I haven't sung in so long."

"You literally just did two minutes ago!"

"Okay first, that was in my room where no one was watching and second, you weren't supposed to see that!"

Tony walked up to the mini stage with a microphone in one hand and a glass of Champagne in the other.  "Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention? I shouldn't be asking, after all, you were invited to my party." The elicited a few chuckles from the guests. "Let me start by thanking all of you for coming here tonight..."

Tony's speech was muffled by the grasp around your waist by a familiar pair of arms. "Nervous?"

"Extremely."  You smiled despite the averment.

"Baby, don't worry. I've heard you sing and you have one of the loveliest voices in the world."

"You're just saying that cause you're my boyfriend, Bucky..."

"That's true, but the latter is also true."

You turned around in his arms and threw yours around his neck. "Thank you for the encouraging words. I feel a bit lighter knowing that you'll be in the crowd."

"My pleasure, darling." He kissed you with his hands still on your waist, holding you close but Tony's words disrupted your moment.

"We have a special and exclusive performance tonight. Please welcome, my friend, ____ ____!“

The soft claps welcomed you and it was your turn to take the stage.

"Good evening, everybody. I'm y/n and I hope you enjoy my performance tonight."

A sprightly "whew!" was heard and you instantly recognized Clint's voice.

Your fingers pushed the first few notes of the intro and the sound immediately changed the atmosphere in the room.

"There's glitter on the floor after the party, girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby..." You sang to the microphone. "Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor, you and me from the night before but..."

"Don't read the last page but I stay when you're lost and I'm scared and you're turning away, I want your midnights but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on new year's day." You still hadn't dared to gaze at the audience so you focused on looking down on the black and white keys.

"You squeezed my hand three times in the back of the taxi, I can tell that it's gonna be a long road. I'll be there if you're the toast of the town babe," you didn't know why but your heart drove your gaze to the crowd and you instantly found the person you were singing for. "...Or if you strike out and you're crawling home..."

"Don't read the last page but I stay when it's hard or it's wrong or we're making mistakes..." You didn't look away. You couldn't. Not when the love of your life was staring right back at you with those warm steel blue eyes. "I want your midnights, but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day." You meant every word.

"Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you, hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you, hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you." This time your eyes wandered to the crowd, familiar and strange faces staring back at you with contented looks and you hoped these words would cling to them.

"...And I will hold on to you." Because they did to you and you did to the man standing a few feet away from you but your hearts and your minds remained connected.

"Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere, please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere..." A brief flashback played in your mind; the lovers turned strangers, the friends turned enemies, the loved ones turned ghosts. You barely heard from them anymore these days, but you could still remember their laughters, an epitome of the good memories. You hoped that this dynamic ragtag group of vigilantes would never turn into one of those tragedies. Another buried name that goes up to the monument.  

"There's glitter on the floor after the party, girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby, candle wax and polaroids on the hardwood floor," your heartbeat hummed the euphonious melody, "...You and me forevermore." There he was. Smiling at you. Always smiling because you were the light of his life and his simpers were genuine and frequent now.

"Don't read the last page, but I stay when it's hard or it's wrong or we're making mistakes, I want your midnights, but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day, hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you, and I will hold on to you." You chanted the closing lyrics and when the last note resonated, the guests' claps were louder this time, invigorating your confidence.

Everyone returned to their own things; catching up with their friends, laughing on the couch and drinking by the bar and Natasha was even standing behind it like a professional part-time bartender. Some were slow dancing and the others are already a little too drunk.

"That was beautiful, doll."

"You think so?"

"I know so. You got a gift, you shouldn't hide it from the world."

"I'm not trying to hide it, Bucky. I just... I didn't have the time with the world-saving and all. And music makes people happy, but it doesn't save lives."

"Well, if I don't know when I'll see you play again, then I'm glad at least we got tonight. And you're wrong, doll. You certainly saved me."

"Your words will be the death of me, Barnes."

-

Everyone gathered around, watching the big screen displaying the countdown to midnight. As the numbers go down, the more energized people become. Your arms were tangled with Bucky's, not wanting to be far away from the person you loved the most seconds before the year finalizes its chapter.

For a moment there, you felt happy. You looked around to see your teammates with smiles on their faces, stress-free and humans. This job hadn't allowed you to be just a human living a normal life. But tonight was one of the rare moments where all of you could just be normal people celebrating holidays.

And then there was Bucky, the man who had lived for a century, whose entire life was stolen away from him, and the man that your heart chose to fall in love with, and you were lucky enough that he chose you too. You had spent two Christmases together, and now you were entering another new chapter together, and there was no one else you'd rather wake up with an awful hangover with. There was no one else who would be there to give you Advil in the morning and deal with your mess.

5,4,3,2,1...

"Happy New Year!"

You and Bucky kiss, as all the cheers and noises, faded into the background. Bucky grabbed you close by the waist, and you had your arms around his neck trying to hold onto his lips as long as possible. You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling all the overwhelming affection you had for him. Bucky felt it too deep in his bones, who would've thought that despite all the atrocities his hands had to commit, someone as beautiful and wonderful as you would love him despite it all? Would kiss him on New Year's Eve and would stick with him through another year?

"Happy new year, darling."

"Happy new year." You couldn't fake the smile forming on your face. “I can’t believe it’s our second New Year’s together.”

“There’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my New Years with.”

“Are you saying you’re willing to spend the rest of your New Years dealing with my cranky hangover moods and pulling my hair back when I throw up?”

“As long as it’s you, I’m ready for pretty much anything. You’ve had my back and picked up my mess when I was at my worst, doll and I didn’t deserve it, but you did so without asking for anything, and I’m willing to do the same for you.”

You nearly teared up at his words, the past two years hadn’t always been the smoothest road with rainbows and butterflies for you two. You stuck with Bucky through his nightmares, panic attacks and his therapy sessions and you loved him despite all his open wounds and permanent scars, and Bucky had never felt luckier to have fallen in love with you too along the way. It began with a friendship and bloomed into something deeper, and the last two New Years that you had spent together reminded you that you could walk through every hurricane that life threw at you as long as you were together.

“You always knew how to calm down my fears and lift up my spirit and I’m eternally grateful for that.”

“Guess we’re just perfectly imperfect for each other, huh?”

“Guess we are.” He kissed you again with a huge smile on his face and zest for writing the first page of 365 pages with you.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan fluff #bucky barnes au #myfestivevine

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (81) || atz

“Let us off the ship, or she dies.”

The gun crew freezes from where they’d been about to move forward with their swords lifted. Iron digs into your skin hard enough for you to feel a bruise forming at your temple, and you wonder if it’s broken skin. He has a musket to your head.

“One squeeze of the trigger and her pretty head will be in pieces. I don’t think you want that to happen.” The man holding you says, yanking you against his chest roughly by the neck. He’s strong, far too strong for you to physically overpower, and for a second, you’re terrified for your life.

“Chin Hae!” The crewmate who’d talked to you earlier tries to take a step forward, but the man taps the musket against your head and he stops dead in his tracks, teeth gritted. You can see the fear in his eyes, clashing in conflict with the want to save you and have to bite back tears.

“Bring your captain here, and tell him to cease the fighting. If another of my men falls, you’ll pay for it with her life.” The enemy pirate demands, voice as cold as the arctic seas. You know in that instant he would have no qualms at all putting a bullet through your head. The man hesitates, and the pirate points his musket at your other hand instead. “I might not kill her yet, but she has three limbs more I can take off before I end her suffering. I think you’ll find that I’m not a man of much patience.”

His eyes send you a clear message, please, hold out until I get captain here, and dashes off into the midst of the fighting. Swallowing, you mutter out lowly. “Do you really believe that the Royal Navy will let you go if you turn me in? They might simply-”

“Don’t bother reasoning with me, little lady.” The musket edges its way up to under your throat, and you shiver as the metal brushes the skin there. You can taste gunpowder in the back of your throat. “I’m afraid you’ll find it harder to change my mind than stop me from blowing your brains out.”

“Everyone, cease your fighting.”

Your captain steps out through the midst of all the fighting, and like the eye of a hurricane, both sides lower their weapons, seemingly unable to refuse the sheer command that rolls off Kim Hongjoong. His one green eye burns silently, fixing on you before it lands on the man holding you captive. The crewmate trails behind him. “Speak.”

“I’m the captain of the Great White, and I think that I’ve made my terms perfectly clear.” The pirate states calmly, unflinching as he meets your captain’s vicious gaze. Hongjoong looks like he’s seconds from drawing his own cutlass and cutting down the man in fury. “Let us stop fighting, and I will not kill this woman right now. It will save both sides many lives.”

“You’re intending on handing her over to the Royal Navy.” Hongjoong hisses out through a snarl. “You dare to ask me to accept such a thing?”

“If you don’t, we’ll continue fighting, and even more of your men will lose their lives in the battle.” The pirate replies, bringing his musket back to your head again. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Wooyoung scaling the mainmast with a musket slung over his back. “Are you saying that the life of one woman is worth more than that of the rest of your crew?”

Hongjoong stills for a moment, a moment of raw uncertainty flashing in his eye as it meets yours. Seeing his moment of vulnerability, the pirate presses on, voice more harsh. “Can you really call yourself a captain if you’re playing favorites that way? Shame on you.” The crew of the Treasure look like they’re about to surge into an uproar, but Hongjoong raises his hand, and they fall silent at once. “I once used to respect you as a captain who would do anything to protect his crew and ship, Pirate King,” the man’s voice darkens. “But it seems as if you’ve grown soft in the time that you vanished from the Royal Navy’s sights.”

When you look back at your captain face, it’s pale, as if it’s been drained of blood. “The matters of my crew aren’t your concerns in the least.” His voice has a hard edge to it.

The pirate captain shrugs, voice unwavering. “I don’t really give two damns about your crew. But I hope you make up your mind fast.” His eyes darken, and you can feel a chill slipping down your spine. “I can feel my finger slipping, and then we’ll all be dead when the Royal Navy catches up with us.”

Hongjoong bites his lower lip sharply. To your horror, he looks like he’s really struggling, torn between his feelings for you and his duty as the captain to his crew.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so uncertain, so unsure of his decision. There’s too much hinging on his choice, and while you know that choosing to send you off with them would be the best choice for your crew, you cannot help but tremble at the thought of what the Royal Navy will do once they get their hands on you.

The image of the man you’d met in the dark alleyways of Tortuga only scares you further. You don’t know his intentions yet, but from the sheer intensity of his obsession with you, you know that you never want to stand in his presence again.

“Apprentice!”

Forcing his way to the front of the crowd, you spot your master, face twisted with horror, hands still clutching his medical satchel and stained with blood. In realisation, you look down at your own hands to find them caked with drying blood as well, before it hits you - you were supposed to be saving someone.

“Master, there’s a man whose leg I had to amputate, please treat him!” You shout across the deck, and San’s eyes widen. “He might bleed out soon!”

San’s face looks painfully conflicted, torn between the need to stay with you and do his job as a healer on board. You shout again, to slap his out of his daze. “Master! You’re the only other one who can save him! Go!”

Your master’s look almost shiny with tears, before he turns around and dashes to the casualty you had been with, putting his hands over the gaping wound on the man’s body as he looks over it. And you see the sinking expression on his face, and know what it means: he alone will not be enough to save him.

But your master still puts his hands over the man’s leg, eyes fluttering shut. He’s still going to try it anyway, and you’re not going to be there to stop him.

You can’t let that happen to San.

“Let me go! I need to treat someone!” You start struggling in his grasp. You remember the way the man’s life pulse had been so weak and thready, like it had been about to snap at any moment. “He’ll die without me!”

“Not my crew, not my concern.” The pirate replies, voice measured and cold. “As a captain, you watch out for your men. I don’t have the mercy to spare for another’s.”

He makes sense, you know in the back of your mind, as you continue to thrash about. All your efforts to free yourself prove futile, however, as the captain sighs upon the sight of this. “Your captain can’t make a decision, but we’re running out of time.”

Suddenly, all you see is the arm holding the musket shifting, the silver of the firearm pointing somewhere else other than you. Although relief fills you for a second, it is immediately replaced by deathly cold dread when you see what he’s lining up the gun with.

“No-” You gasp, but the second the sound pulls itself from your throat, there’s the sound of a musket shot, far too loud in your ears.

The man’s body jerks as the musket shot enters him, and you feel your scream more in your throat than you hear it, ears ringing painfully loud. Hongjoong draws his cutlass, lips pulled back in a furious snarl. “What do you think you’re-”

San kneels next to the man, frozen in shock. There’s blood splattered across his cheek, his mouth. His pupils are trembling.

He looks like he’s going to be sick.

“Let us go, or her head is going to be next.” The pirate captain announces. There isn’t a single waver in his voice. “I’ll have you make your choice right now.”

The members of the gun crew that had been so willing to protect you earlier on rush to their friend, crying out his name in voices cracking in grief. You feel like you’re frozen in time, watching the world through a lens.

Someone is screaming incoherently, limbs boneless and mind empty. Someone is desperate to do something, blood staining their hands. But all that isn’t happening to just someone. That someone is you.

You had been doing everything you could to save that life of your crewmate. And this man had just snuffed it out like an insignificant candle with a single breath.

The most primal emotion burst out in you: raw, unparalleled fury.

You see red.

You grab the captain holding you with a single hand, and throw.

It’s almost effortless, the action, and the man goes flying bodily across the deck to slam into the hardwood of the mainmast. There are screams of terror coming from somewhere, disembodied and drifting about in the air, but you don’t register them. All you see is the man who had pulled that trigger.

You step towards him, barely keeping your body together. You’re so furious that you feel like you might explode if you don’t remove that man from the surface of this earth.

Go on, do it. You know you have the strength to do it.

“Protect Captain!” The enemy crew rush to defend their captain against you, but their near puny effort is so ridiculous to you that you can’t help but laugh. You surge forward like a storm wave, unstoppable, and simply push them out of the way with your bare hands.

Nothing can stand in your way.

You approach the captain, keeled over on the ground. There’s blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth, but his eyes burn with the same fury that matches yours. He struggles to pull himself to his feet. “What have you done to my crew-”

It was all their fault. They deserve what they’re getting.

You punch him in the face, and he goes hurtling back once more, body crashing to the ground. Blood splatters on the ground in front of you.

“You dare?” Your voice is something you don’t recognise, chillingly cold, immeasurable fury beneath the surface like the depths of an ocean. Your remaining hand draws back for another punch, and this time, you’re going to end this man for good. “You insignificant speck, dare to cross me? You, a mere mortal?”

The captain’s face is half covered in blood, although whether it’s from your hands or the gash across his forehead, you don’t know. It could be either, or both. His eyes are wide with terror as he looks up at you, and he trembles before you, like he should.

“Chin Hae, stop!”

All of a sudden, a pair of warm, trembling hands are holding your face, before a pair of green eyes meet yours. You can’t seem to remember who it is. Who is it that looks at you with such a gentle, pained gaze?

“Chin Hae, snap out of it!” The voice is shaking now, spilling over with tears. The enemy captain is quivering visibly, like a leaf in the wind.

“M...monster!”

The word echoes emptily in your mind.

Monster.

"Chin Hae, please, this isn’t you!” The voice begs again, dry sobs and a desperate cry in the white noise filling your mind. Chin Hae? Who is that? “All of us, we’re alright, San is healing the man right now, he said the bullet didn’t hit any vitals. So please stop this, Chin Hae, I’m begging you!”

You answer to no one.

His hand wraps around yours, and you feel your arm suddenly going limp. What were you doing? What’s going on? His hand is warm. Yours feel as cold as the darkest depths of the ocean.

“Wooyoung.” Your mouth forms the word, as if on instinct. His hands are shaking.

“Chin Hae.” He repeats your name breathlessly, stroking a thumb over your knuckles. He lifts your hand tentatively, as if afraid you might fly apart in his hold, and places it in his pocket.

The familiarity of it is enough for you to look up into those green eyes again.

“Wooyoung.” You can’t seem to form words, mind a complete blank. “What... what happened...”

Something warm spills from your mouth, falls to the deck. Wooyoung’s face twists in horror, as if in slow motion, lips parting to scream your name.

You look down at the deck, blinking. What is it that?

Blood, crimson and merlot, splatters across the wood. Did all that come from you?

Ahh, Seonghwa is going to have a hard time cleaning all that up.

That’s the last thing you think before your vision turns black.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez pirate king #w; ot8 #w; pirate king #w; fanfiction

[hysterialevi]

Veien Hjem - A Sigurd/Male Eivor Fanfic

Fanfic summary: After Sigurd single-handedly attacks a bandit camp in hopes of reaching Valhalla, he survives thanks to Eivor and realizes that his life is far from over.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Sorry if the title isn’t entirely correct. My Norwegian isn’t that great.

SOMEWHERE IN EURVICSCIRE

NOON

Sigurd sat lifelessly on the edge of the river bank, watching in silence as droplets of blood blossomed beneath the water.

At the moment, the river was littered with fresh corpses of bandits from the nearby camp, and had clots of red snow crumbling into its frozen embrace. Sporadic ripples danced above its glassy surface and carried fragments of ice with their delicate push, warping the broken reflection Sigurd found staring back at him.

...He could hardly recognize himself by this point.

Instead of the steadfast warrior who once wielded the Raven Clan’s respect and admiration, he now saw nothing but the desolate remains of a once great man, desperately holding onto the life he had ruined so long ago.

He just felt... so lost. So vulnerable. The world seemed to be doing everything it could to knock him down into the mud, and he didn’t know how to get back up anymore.

He had completely lost the will to fight, and without any reason to push forward, he saw no point in trekking further down this aimless road. He felt as if he had outstayed his welcome in this world... and that was why he tried to reach Valhalla today.

Like a madman drunk on blood, Sigurd had charged into the bandits’ camp with nothing but an axe in hand, prepared to fall in this tomb of ice and snow. He fought with the wrath of Thor himself, and tore his enemies apart in a hurricane of iron.

For a few moments, there had been nothing but chaos. He experienced no fear, no hate, no love -- not even pain. The only thing that had been on his mind was reaching the end of his saga, and greeting the Valkyries with open arms.

Contrary to what Sigurd expected though, he survived.

In spite of the numerous injuries that he now sustained, he remained the last man standing among this newly forged battlefield and sat alone amidst the mayhem, unsure of where to go from here.

He was freezing to the bone in the wind’s icy breath, and yet, he couldn’t push himself to get up. He had been completely exhausted of any motivation, and now, he simply waited for death to arrive, dreaming of what its shrill whispers would sound like.

Before that could happen though, another voice called out to him.

“Sigurd?” Eivor exclaimed in the distance, wandering through the woods. “Sigurd! Are you there?”

A series of footsteps crunched through the snow, leading Sigurd’s ears to perk up as his brother approached him.

“Sigurd...!” The man said with relief, somewhat out of breath. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What in Hel’s name are you doing out here? Are you alright?”

The older man offered nothing but silence in return, causing Eivor to step in front of him.

“Sigurd,” he repeated, his boots softly splashing through the water. “Brother? Are you listening to me?”

Sigurd remained seated on the ground, still staring blankly at the river.

“Hey,” Eivor said more firmly, gripping his brother by the shoulder. “It’s me.”

The other man uttered out a quiet response, barely shifting his gaze from the bandits’ scattered bodies.

“...I should’ve died with them.”

Eivor glanced back at the corpses in confusion, bewildered by Sigurd’s sudden change in behavior. “What? What are you talking about? Who are these people? Why were you fighting? Are you okay? You’re covered in blood.”

Sigurd looked down at his beaten body and clenched one of his hands into a fist, attempting to fight back the numbness that was starting to paralyze it.

“I’m not supposed to be here.” Sigurd whispered to himself. “I should’ve... I should’ve...”

Eivor knelt down in front of the man, growing increasingly concerned by the minute.

“Sigurd,” he said softly, “look at me.”

Tearing his eyes away from the chaos he had wrought, Sigurd slowly brought his line of sight to the face in front of him, breaking out of his trance-like state as a certain warmth returned to his skin.

“...Eivor?” He finally replied, his tone devoid of any emotion. “What... what are you doing here?”

The younger man’s brow crinkled in heartache. “Searching for you, of course. What else would I be doing? Gods above, Sigurd...” Eivor took a deep breath, “...do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? How long I’ve been trying to find you? When you disappeared from Ravensthorpe, I thought that you might’ve... that you might’ve been killed. Or worse. Why are you all the way out here? Why did you even fight these men? Who were they?”

Sigurd shook his head. “...I don’t know. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter anyways.”

Eivor gestured to the other man’s wounds. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Look at you. You could’ve died, Sigurd. There’s an entire army of them in these woods, and you attacked them alone. What if I never found you? What if--”

He came to an abrupt pause, suddenly realizing exactly what was going on.

...Sigurd never meant for Eivor to find him, did he? He never intended to be seen again. 

There was a reason he had traveled so far out into the wilderness, and it was because he didn’t want anyone in Ravensthorpe to know where he had gone. 

He didn’t want the world to stop turning because of his absence, nor did he want others to grieve for his loss. He didn’t want to say goodbye.

He didn’t intend to walk away with his life.

These bandits -- whoever they once were -- were supposed to be no more than Sigurd’s passage to Valhalla. He didn’t care where they came from, or if they even meant him any harm. All that mattered was the fact that they outnumbered him.

And yet, against all odds, Sigurd ended up on the winning side of the fight. He had persevered throughout the battle, and come out as the sole survivor. Though, in spite of his miraculous victory, it was clear that the mission hadn’t been a success. At least, not in his eyes.

Instead of earning a glorious entrance to Valhalla like he had planned, Sigurd remained trapped in this dreary realm, even more beaten than before. His body was riddled with all sorts of injuries, and now, he found himself at a dead end, uncertain of how he was going to proceed.

Even though he was confident that the two of them would be able to make it back home, Sigurd knew his brother wouldn’t dare take his eyes off him again. Now that Eivor fully understood what was going on, it was evident that the man was only going to be far more attentive from here on out.

He was almost like his protector in a way. Anytime something bad happened to Sigurd, Eivor was always there mere moments later, swooping in to rescue him. He was the guardian constantly watching over him, and Sigurd usually seemed to be the one in distress.

But he was tired of it being that way. He was tired of being a burden.

Eivor had other things to be concerned about. He had an entire clan of people to look after, and needed all the help he could find to pacify England. He was fighting a war, for goodness’ sake. He couldn’t afford to waste time fretting over a single man.

And yet, despite the never-ending list of matters he had to attend to... Eivor was out here. With Sigurd.

He had been worried enough about the man to completely abandon everything else going on in his life, and it was all for the sake of making sure his brother was okay.

...But why?

“Sigurd?” Eivor repeated, his voice much gentler now. “...You’re worrying me.”

The older man sighed, shutting his eyes in defeat. “That’s all I seem to do nowadays -- worry people. It’s the only thing they talk about when I’m not around. ‘Is Sigurd alright?’ ‘Is he doing okay?’ ‘Why is he so angry today?’ ‘What’s going on?”

Eivor’s face sank with empathy. “We worry about you because we care, Sigurd.”

“I know,” he said plainly, “but you shouldn’t have to. You deserve a jarl who can stand on his own two feet. You deserve someone who isn’t like... this.”

“What do you mean?”

Sigurd scoffed. “Are you joking? Look at me, Eivor. You know what I used to be like. You know how I once was. But this...” his shoulders slouched in despondency, “...this is pathetic. I am nothing more than a hobbling stick now. A wretch of a warrior. A mere fragment of what I could be.”

Eivor shot him a puzzled stare. “What you could be? I... I don’t understand.”

“I am so much more than what you see, Eivor,” Sigurd explained. “I carry the blood of gods within my veins. I saw it for myself when I was with Fulke. Despite her cruelty, she did open my eyes to an unfathomable truth. She showed me a place destined for people like me -- a home that I’ve never known. There, I was a great warrior. A lord of pragmatism and battle prowess. People called me brother. They admired me.”

Eivor automatically glowered at the mention of Fulke’s name. “That woman was mad, Sigurd. She knew nothing of what she spoke. She only saw you as a tool, and used you for her own benefit. Do not let her ravings distort your mind.” He stopped for a second, thinking about his last words. “...But this place you speak of; this home that you desire -- you already have that here, brother. With our clan. With me.”

Sigurd’s expression only seemed to dim at that. “You don’t need me, Eivor. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. You--”

“--No, I do need you.” He corrected. “You really think I came all this way just to find someone that I don’t need?”

The older man shrugged morosely. “What could you possibly need me for? I can hardly fight nowadays, my mind is stuck in a haze, and I bring nothing except hardship and confusion to the people of our clan. What would you lose if I were to disappear?”

Eivor’s eyes softened with sorrow. “...Everything.”

Sigurd fell silent at the answer, unsure of how to react. Part of him suspected that the younger man was only saying what he wanted to hear, but the pain in his voice told him otherwise.

“Listen to me,” Eivor continued, “I may not always understand what’s going through your mind, but I understand your fear. I know you’ve been in pain for a long time now -- even before what happened with Fulke -- and I know it’s been a battle. But you mean more to people than you realize, Sigurd. You don’t need to be a god or a warrior to earn our love. You already have it.”

He brought Sigurd into a secure embrace, holding the man tightly.

“I need you because I love you. We may have our disagreements from time-to-time, but a life shaped by your struggles will always be better than a life without you at all. You helped create who I am today, and I would surely lose that part of myself if I lost you.”

Sigurd rested his head in the crook of Eivor’s neck, doing his best to hide the tears that were gathering in his eyes.

“...You truly believe that?”

The younger man separated the hug, gently holding Sigurd’s face in his hands.

“I do. So please... come home with me. It doesn’t have to end like this. You don’t need to be alone in this fight.”

The other man looked away from Eivor, staring at the ground in desolation.

“...But where do I go from here? How will I survive?”

Eivor gave him a sincere answer. “I don’t know. That’s for you to decide. The only thing I can tell you is that it won’t be easy, and you won’t heal overnight. But no matter what happens, I’ll always be here if you need me.”

He stood up from the ground, extending a hand out to Sigurd as the snow grew heavier around them.

“Come, love. Your journey isn’t over yet.”

Gazing upwards at the man, Sigurd found himself at a loss for words as a thousand different thoughts collided with each other inside his head, causing him to come face-to-face with an epiphany.

He would’ve been lying if he said he felt any better than he did earlier, but unlike before, Sigurd now wondered if death was truly worth it. At first, he envisioned the experience as a solution, or as a way to pacify the unrest in his soul. He thought it would finally be the end to all of his pain, but now... he couldn’t help but question if death was really the answer.

After all, he saw how it affected Tove when Svend suddenly passed. It was just so... abrupt. So final. He dropped out of the world like it was nothing, and slipped free from this realm’s grasp without any warning. There was no goodbye; no closure, no glorious end to the tale. 

It was just death. Plain and simple.

Sigurd couldn’t even begin to imagine how much it would damage Eivor if he went through the same thing. Despite the doubts that constantly crept into his mind, he knew that the man cared for him more than anyone else in his life. They were practically inseparable at this point, and if something were to happen to either of them, Sigurd knew it would devastate him.

He may have been desperate for a way to stop the pain, but no solution was worth hurting Eivor like that.

And so, with one last thought, Sigurd finally rose from the snow and grabbed onto Eivor’s hand, feeling determined to push through this once again. He didn’t know what sort of obstacles awaited him in the future, or how long this battle would carry on, but he could see now that it was fight worth pursuing.

Death was an inevitable face that he would have to greet eventually, but its time had yet to come. There was still an entire ocean of endless waves and ripples waiting beyond the horizon, and even though there was no guarantee that another storm wouldn’t hit, Sigurd hadn’t quite lost the curiosity to see what rested behind the fog.

He was just starting to write his saga, and the end would come when it was ready.

“...A-Alright,” Sigurd said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ll go with you.” He paused for a moment, gazing downwards in guilt. “I’m... I’m sorry for frightening you. I didn’t mean to worry you so much.”

Eivor gently caressed Sigurd’s cheek with the back of his knuckles, looking at him with a sense of love no one else ever had. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re still here.”

He planted a brief kiss on the older man’s lips, holding tightly onto his weathered hands as a shower of snowflakes fluttered down on top of them.

“Come on,” Eivor whispered affectionately, his words turning into clouds of mist. “...Let’s go home.”

#assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #Sigurd Styrbjornson #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

[wrctings]

Levi Ackerman | To live

i absolutely cannot stop writing about emotional levi... he’s been through so much and he deserves to finally have something for himself :(

fandom: Attack on Titan summary: Where the war is over and Levi finally gets to grow old peacefully, which comes with reconnecting with emotions he has long buried—namely, Erwin. But he doesn’t want to join him; not just yet.   inspired by this magnificent piece of art 🥺 word count: 1k music: coastline - hollow coves disclaimer: SPOILERS FROM THE ENDING OF THE MANGA

The setting sun's soft outpour washed over Levi's worn out features, shrouding the man's short silhouette in a frame of golden, crepuscular light, which weaved the phantasmal threads of a solar cape around his shoulders. It had taken him a little while to come out there, by himself.

Drops of melted gold rippled the grey surface of his weary eyes, one of which remained zoomed out of focus, its clear pupil parted by a milky slit—the relic of a time that had slipped through his fingers, and yet that he had known all his life... What was there left for someone like him, now?

There, atop the quiet cliff that had taken in the worn out soldier, Levi’s solitude had been welcomed by the peaceful murmurs of unbridled waves lapping the lone shore, and the clean stillness of a wooden cabin. Sometimes, Gaby and Falco would visit, storming into the homey silence of Levi’s house in a friendly hurricane of childish enthusiasm and frenzy, turning everything upside down with the lively force of their chattering youth; and though their elder would brew them tea and listen to their infinite babbling with his familiar ruggedness, he never complained. If anything, Levi was grateful. Grateful that there were people left for him to cherish. 

But the tall, immovable cliff, stood still. And, just like it, something in Levi couldn’t move.

Something within the heart that many deemed cold, long drained of all vital warmth, also stood frozen in time, unknown to the mesmerising sunsets that had declined over Levi’s head and to the wideness of the world he had embraced. When he had turned his back on the walls, something had stayed behind. Something, someone. The one thing Levi could never forgive himself for—the stone lying in the pit of his stomach, sunk so profoundly, he feared he would drown before his hand desperately reach its sharp edges. He’d gasp for air, breathless, all alone in the hillside cabin, calling out his name, screaming... He could see it. Through half-lidded eyes, in the depth of night, he had already battled enough nightmares to know. 

Everything had taken him a little while, after all. A little while before he stopped shuddering whenever his calloused fingers absent-mindedly skimmed the scars etched in his skin; a little while before the faintest flicker of determination drove him out of crumpled bedsheets, limbs leaning onto a wobbly cane while he’d progress about the house step by tentative step, and a little while before he started taking care of himself again, jaw clean-shaved and hair neatly trimmed even when nobody was around to help. Levi had to be again, first. But now, he also had to feel. 

Captured by the generous halo of light, whose grand decline kept on unfolding right before the man’s eyes, Levi’s gaze found itself fixed on the glimmering white horses playing upon the sea, bathed in the the warm colours dripping from the orange sky specked with herds of rosy clouds. The stone that once sat in the pit of Levi’s stomach gently weighed on his chest, against his flimsy shirt, almost right over his heart.

“You would’ve liked it here, Erwin,” he finally breathed out, letting the wind take hold of each syllable and carry it away into the sea, the horizon, beyond the cliff, into the sky. "The sea, those people and all their weird inventions... You like that sentimental shit. I can picture you just now, with those stupid sparks in your eyes and that child-like laugh of yours,” Levi chuckled quietly, fingertips brushing against the polished emerald hanging around his neck; he had kept it safely shut away for a long time before he could look at it again. “Even the brats seem to be doing fine, they come visit from time to time. They’ve grown so tall, it’s irritating. But neither you nor shitty glasses would get that. Tall bastards.”

Levi cautiously clasped the cool green gem in the palm of his hand, feeling it fit just right, the warmth of his skin shielding it from the spray borne by the maritime breeze ruffling his hair and clothes. “I hope you didn’t think I would forget you.” He slowly raised the stone, letting it touch his lips, which he softly pressed onto its smooth curve. “You were brat number one, after all. To me, you will always be. And shitty-glasses, too. That’s brat number two.” 

For a few tender seconds, Levi’s eyelids fluttered close, and he could imagine, even just for that fragment of a moment, the ghostly pressure of large hands placed upon his shoulders; he still remembered the last day he’d felt their comforting touch, an unspoken pledge. Before Shiganshina, before Levi's own razor-sharp voice would condemn Erwin to an irredeemable liberation, they’d stood together, as always, and Erwin’s hand, as always, had lingered a little too long on Levi’s shoulder, wordlessly promising him they’d remain together until the very end. The Survey Corps way—Erwin, Hanji, their comrades believed that. For the first time, humanity would fight back, would reclaim their land. For the first time, the Survey Corps, under 13th Commander Erwin Smith, would take a decisive step for mankind. A step toward truth, toward freedom, toward... Levi shuddered. He was all alone.

Or...  His mother, Kenny, Isabel and Furlan, his squad, Mike, Erwin, Sasha, his comrades, Hanji... was he? Levi opened his eyes. The sun was still setting, the sea peacefully rocked back and forth beneath his feet, the wind made loose strands of dark hair flutter above his lashes. He was still alive. Then, he saw them. The blond boy with bright eyes who had reminded him of Erwin on so many occasion; the two insufferable young brats constantly picking fights, but whose bravery had touched the squad leader; the caring young woman whose strength unrivalled that of her peers... Those cadets from the 104th; and the two new young brats who had taken care of him. Perhaps Levi had never been alone, after all. 

Taking a deep breath in, Levi’s lips curled into a weak smile, and the wind wiped away his tears. For the first time in his life, he felt something... that didn’t hurt. “Just wait for me a little longer, okay, Erwin?”  After all these years, the war had finally come to an end. And now, Levi wanted to live. 

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman one shot #aot one shots #levi ackerman fanfiction #attack on titan one shots #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #snk fanfiction #eruri fanfiction #levi ackerman x erwin smith #writing #my writing

[jossambird]

This Soul Of Mine PT 4

Main Incubus Otto x Reader (Incubus Axel and Oscar x Reader in later parts!)

18+ (also in later parts)

(Mentions of Rape but only passing, as Incubus are Male Demons who feed off sex, most of them are NOT kind Swedes.)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

After a few moments spent together in silence petting the little cat in Otto’s arms, a man came out of the house along with Oscar. The unknown man’s eyes narrowed as he took you in, frowning deeply as Oscar seemed to whisper to him.

“I am Axel.” He roughly stated as he kept your gaze, accent thick. You nodded, trying to smile but too overwhelmed to. The wind blew around you, the silence practically deafening as he seemed to stare into your soul.

“I am Y/N-“

“Yes I know, your name was on the cookie box.” He cut you off, sounding irritated and headed back inside with Oscar, leaving only the screen door open.

“Sorry, he is wary of.. new people.” Otto whispered, a small smirk appearing on his lips as you both heard Axel huff loudly inside the home. Together, you sat on their front porch, petting the little bundle of fur before it demanded to be put down, running away quickly.

“I... May I ask a favor of you..?” You asked Otto, voice silent as to not let his brothers hear you. Judging by the way you saw them slightly turn their heads though, Super Hearing was also probably an Incubus power.

You felt bad asking this of him, it wasn’t his job... But he had imprinted on you, hadn’t he? Laid claim to you accidentally, just as The Handler had said. You were now his, and he yours, surely that meant something.

Your slight pinpricks of worry reached his nose, followed by embarrassment and hope. Hope?

“Yes, of course.” Otto whispered back, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the smell of relief you exuded, so much so that he had to look away, eyes turning inside to catch both Oscar and Axel watching out of anticipation.

“Would you mind accompanying me to church after tomorrow? It would not be for long, I... I need to deliver something, but I dont feel comfortable going alone.” You answered, wondering if he could sense that you were hiding something from him.

Could Incubi also read minds, just as their female Ruler had? Was that simply a Succubus power? God, as soon as you got home, you were going to write all of this down.

It was obvious you were hiding something from him, but as he took in the delicious scent of your emotions, Otto knew it wasn’t anything malicious. Your worry and hope outshined anything else, the sweet mixture making his insides burn, feeling the sudden need to comfort you.

It was a mistake to reach out, to touch you, hand placed on your forearm. The moment he did, mouth open to answer, the sharp dangerous smell of arousal waifed off of you, calling to him, your surprise mixing with it as he retracted his hand. Otto’s mind reeled as he tried to recover, senses on fire, barely registering that you had accidentally projected some of your emotions onto him in that moment.

“I will walk you home.” Axel declared, scaring you as he appeared behind you, gloved hand settling on your shoulder to lift you and turn you away from his stunned brother. You frowned, trying to turn to say goodbye to the two other brothers but couldn’t, Axel’s rough hold veering you out the yard and into the street and cold night, his gray eyes shining as he watched you.

“I know that you know.” He stated as he walked alongside you, momentarily shutting his senses off as to avoid your whirlwind of emotions that you visibly had no control over whatsoever. Mortals, such incapable beings. He didn’t miss the way your head snapped back to him, watching him as you walked together.

“My brothers are young, a hint of stupid even, so they cannot tell, but I can. You fraternized with her, sat with her. You smell of her cigarettes.” He said after a moment passed, coming at a standstill. You werent Otto’s soulmate, you were working for The Handler, plotting, cruel, acting kind to get close to his poor unsuspecting brother. He wanted to lash out, tell you how stupid you were-

The scent of pure unadulterated relief flooded his senses out of nowhere as you turned to him, eyes wide open as you gasped deeply, looking at him in surprise.

“Oh god, thank goodness! You have no idea how relieved I am to know that you know, she absolutely scared the life out of me! She arrived at the Church and sat right beside me!” You exclaimed, hands flying to your face to hide from him, fearing he was about to kill you-

“You- Your being honest...” Axel said, tone sounding more uncertain then he had ever been in his life, finding himself out of his depth at your honest and truthful answer. Something within his chest hurt, a sharp and twisted pain, lighting his senses on fire. It felt like the first breath of fresh air after being held under water for ages, wind filling his lungs as he breathed in slowly. He didn’t understand, he didn’t get it; you knew they were demons? Incubi, to be specific, and yet you stayed either way?

“Why would you fraternize with demons, demons that rape, harm pretty little women like you... who lure unsuspecting women out in parks at night, only to eat their throat out?” Axel stated, trying to make you see just what they were, the dangers that they brought, what they truly were, but as he went on, he felt more drained, losing whatever edge he hoped to exude out to you.

He hated you, hated that a mere mortal like you were making him regret his choices, making him regret what he was as he saw the gentle pure kindness in your eyes. Most of all, he hated that you, you of all people, a pretty little church goer, made him regret being born an Incubus. For the first time in all of his existence, a mortal, a human, knew what he was, and stayed, showing him the same exact kindness as before.

“Wow, with a facial expression as flat as that, Im really trembling in my boots.” You smirked at him, hand lifting to push your hair back behind your ear as the wind blew around the both of you, trees swaying in the wind. A vile putrid stench filled the air for a moment and made him forget the retort that had been on his tongue, nearly making him gag as the scent filled his senses. What was that?

“Do that again.” Axel whispered out harshly, eyes sharply observing you critically as you stopped smiling.

“Do what again?” You asked, eyes wide, breath catching in your throat as he came closer, face moving towards you as if to smell you.

“Place your hair behind your ear again, there is something... unclean on you, something The Handler must have implanted on you, I can smell it wafting into the air around you.” Axel said before recoiling sharply as you lifted your arm, your soft gaze turning worried as you watched him openly gag, the noise making the nerves inside of you burst.

“Oh my god Axel, are you okay!? Im so sorry!” You asked, stepping away from him to leave him some room but halting as his arm shot out, grabbing ahold of your wrist-

Axel froze as foul images assaulted his senses, the scent overpowering him. He remained unmoving though, feeling it too important of a vision to pull back, pull away. You, the mere human mortal, were too important, he corrected himself, heart beating faster as he watched a Priest, supposedly a man of God, jerking himself off, your dainty little bracelet in his hand. Axel watched with a feeling of violation as the priest finished himself off and pocketed the bracelet, only to give it to you later that day at the end of a sermon. The man had tainted it, placed his unholy hands on it, coated with-

“Take it off.” Axel grunted as he pulled away, emotions running amok inside of him like a hurricane in an open field, ripping and destroying everything in its path. The delicate scent of your hesitation reached him, and he almost sighed out of joy at the sheer difference of weight your scent had over the bracelets filthy smell, making him forget the Priest’s disgusting act.

“If you can trust me, no matter how small, please, trust me now Y/N.” He added, eyes locking onto yours. It was a stretch Axel told himself, knowing he wasn’t in any position to demand anything of you after accusing you of potentially betraying them with little proof.

Nothing in this world had ever brought him ecstasy, nothing had ever made his dead heart beat, and yet here you were, ripping the bracelet off and throwing it into the woods behind you; the mere sight of your trust made his blood roil pleasantly under his skin, fingertips aching to touch you.

Had this been exactly what Otto had felt the first time he had touched you? Otto had been frugal on the details of his awakened state of mind, but was touch truly the key? It had to be, he had never felt a more pressing need to touch a human, anyone, anything, YOU, more then Axel did right now, invisible Incubus tail fidgeting back and forth out of confusion.

“Are you alright?” You asked again, noticing how far his gaze seemed, reminded suddenly of Otto’s expression the first time he had laid his hand on you. Axel breathed in sharply as you came closer, eyes connecting with your own. His gray-blue eyes shined in the moonlight, platinum blond hair reminding you of fresh snow.

You didn’t know what Father James’ bracelet had, or what magic was on it, but you trusted Axel.

“Y/N... If I asked you to no longer visit the Priest alone, would you respect my judgement?” Axel whispered softly as he lifted his hand, wanting to pushing your hair once more behind your ear but couldn’t. He watched you, watched as the wheels turned within your mind, and watched with greed as you bit your lip softly.

He had always seen female lovers do it, biting their lips to keep themselves from making sound, or out of desire, and it had never done anything for him. Yet here he stood, hand lowering to his side once more, insides churning in pure delight at the sight of your teeth sinking into your lower lip softly. The sweet scent of your surprise at his question curled around you, patiently allowing you to think before answering him.

You wondered if Axel had heard you speak to Otto earlier or if he had taken an educated guess. Did he also have powers like their Ruler did? He visibly had Super Hearing, but the was for another day to think about.

“You know, earlier at your home, I thought you hated me. But I would almost say you have a soft spot for me Axel, seeing how accommodating you are, walking me home.” You said, changing the subject as you felt anxiety rise up your spine with a vicious need. Axel hummed in answer, eyes squinting as he regarded you.

“You need not answer me, but please, next time, ask my poor simpleton of a Brother to accompany you.” He spoke, smiling a bit as you nodded and continued your walk home, silence reigning over the both of you the rest of the way.

——

The walk back home was torturous for Axel, mind and heart fighting, intelligence trying to reign victorious over these... feelings, emotions. Useless things, really.

Yet... he understood, understood why Otto had been acting irrationally. Nothing seemed to make sense as he had watched you wave goodbye to him from your front door, senses telling him to leave but.. body roaring to go knock on your door, to ask for permission to enter and touch you, touch your cheeks and run his lips against your throat. Axel wanted to feel your pulse under his fingertips, feel the fleeting human life inside you, and to feel you, just you, touching him back out of your own volition, not like the humans affected by his natural Pheromones.

Axel’s feet came to a sudden stop, previous inner thoughts reminding him just what he was: A Demon. An Incubus, a male demon that sought to impregnate human women, feeding off their souls and lives. He was everything your kind feared, everything they had nightmares about, everything human children cried about.

Slowly yet quickly, the thought came crashing down on him that this, all of these emotions he was feeling, all of these humanly soft thoughts, all of these stupid fantasies could never happen.

Never should he touch your cheeks, and run his lips along your throat. Never should he feel your pulse under his fingertips.

Never, under any circumstances, should he ever feel your touch, from this moment on. If he did, Axel knew he would fail, knew he would throw everything to the wind, fairytales and folktales be damned.

If you touched him, Axel knew he would follow you until the end of the Earth.

#incubus swedes #the swedes #ikea mafia #tua swedes #umbrella academy swedes #the swedes x reader #tua axel #tua otto #tua oscar #ikea fam #otto x reader #axel x reader #oscar x reader #incubus demons #incubus oscar #incubus axel #incubus otto #incubi #incubus #jossambird fic

[howtosingit]

Fic: Sometimes Things Just Fall Apart 

TK comes home to a dark, silent house, no dog to greet him at the door, and a husband laying in bed, still dressed in his work uniform; it’s anything but normal.

*

Written for @tarlosweek2020 - Day 2: “It’s okay to cry” + Comfort

2.1K | Also on AO3.

-----

The house feels cold and empty when TK gets home from work.

It’s unsettlingly, considering the Strand-Reyes household is pretty much always bright and bursting with energy. Usually when he walks through the door, he’s met with the furry hurricane of a golden retriever, who tries to tackle him with kisses before he even slips out of his shoes. When Carlos beats him home, TK usually finds him in the kitchen, music playing and smells permeating the space as his husband prepares dinner for the two of them. He always slips in next to Carlos to claim his customary “thank you for being safe at work and coming home to me” kisses - one pressed to his forehead and one to his lips - before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and sitting at the island so that they can fill each other in on their workdays. 

None of that greets TK when he walks through the door today. There isn’t a single light on, and no Max to greet him with slobbery kisses. He knows Carlos is home, having pulled alongside the Camaro in the garage. He calls out as he slips off his shoes, but no one answers. A chill runs through TK when he spots Max’s leash hanging by the door, a feeling of dread coursing through him as he takes in the stark, uninviting kitchen to his left, and the equally uninhabited living room to his right. 

TK cuts through the house, heading for the stairs, his heart beating heavier with each step as he searches for his husband. His mind is spinning with possible explanations, wondering what might have happened at work for Carlos to bring it home with him. TK knows that Carlos does everything he can to not let his job seep into their home, a discipline that TK has also worked to strengthen in himself. It doesn’t mean that they don’t talk about the hard days, but usually when they happen, Carlos will text him when he’s off work and they’ll spend the evening out, either at a park or seeing a movie or getting dinner. Anything to purge the pain of their work before they go to bed for the night. It’s not a perfect system, but they’ve made it work for them, and the fact that Carlos has broken the expected routine shakes TK to his core.

His fear increases when he steps onto the second-floor landing and hears no sounds from the bathroom. He wondered if Carlos may have been in the shower and not heard him when he called, but that idea dies in the continued silence. He continues forward to their bedroom, pushing against the ajar door to peer inside. His breath steals from his chest at what he finds. 

Laying on the bed, back-to-back, are his two guys. Max looks up at him from his side of the bed, a concerned look on his face. The fact that he makes no move to greet him tells TK all that he needs to know. His husband lays on the far side of the bed, his back to the door, and TK notices that he’s still fully-dressed in his uniform, shoes and duty belt included. It’s such a jarring sight that TK freezes before he can even take a step into the room. 

“Carlos?” he says softly, his voice carrying across the stiff silence in the room like a siren scream. There’s no movement from his husband, and TK wonders if he might be asleep. Max turns his head to nudge against the back of Carlos’s neck, a soft whine escaping him; TK feels his heart break.

He moves quietly, circling around the foot of the bed to stand in front of Carlos. He’s shocked to find his eyes open, the brown irises that are usually filled with love and warmth unnervingly blank as they stare straight ahead at the far corner of the room. His husband makes no indication that he’s even noticed him. 

TK slowly sinks to his knees, bringing them face-to-face. Carlos continues to stare through him, his expression an unchanging mask. “Hey, you,” TK whispers, a forced smile forming on his face as he tries to get any sort of reaction out of his husband. It’s not until he brings a hand up to delicately grip Carlos’s wrist that his husband finally notices his presence.

It’s sudden, a visible shiver running down his entire body as his eyes blink warily, his pupils dilating as they shift to focus on TK. The moment their eyes meet, TK watches as Carlos’s eyebrows furrow in distress, the crease between them intensifying dramatically. He feels his heart split open in his chest, Carlos’s obvious pain stabbing him like a dozen knives. They’ve been that way since they first started dating, so completely linked that their emotions sometimes blend together into something they both carry for one another.

TK leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m right here, okay?” he murmurs, shifting to touch his lips to Carlos’s cheek. He feels his husband shake beneath him as an uneven sigh escapes his lips. “Can we take off your uniform? You can’t be comfortable, babe.”

There’s a pause as TK stays close, waiting for Carlos to respond. When he does, with a silent nod, TK presses another kiss to his skin before pulling back to stand up.

It’s a slow process, but he doesn’t care. He gets Carlos into a sitting position, and item-by-item he undresses his husband, starting with his belt and shoes. He notices that Carlos’s gun is missing and he’s relieved to know that, despite whatever happened today, his husband wasn’t out of it enough to not put his firearm in the safe. As each article of clothing is removed, TK presses a soft kiss to Carlos’s exposed skin. 

His husband, usually so large and physically imposing but now so small and reserved, stares up at him as he completes his task. Finally, Carlos is left only in his boxer briefs and undershirt, and TK quickly undresses down to the same before taking his husband’s hand and pulling him to lay back down on the bed, this time the two of them laying face-to-face. He notices that Max has moved to his own bed in the corner, happy to let TK take over as caregiver now that he’s home.

“Thank you,” Carlos breathes out, his first words striking hard after such a heavy absence. They’re close enough that TK can feel his breath on his face, and he takes a moment to rub their noses together, bringing a hand up to run his fingers along Carlos’s jaw. 

“Of course,” TK responds just as quietly, a sad smile pulling at his lips. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

TK is relieved when Carlos immediately nods, though he says nothing at first. 

“I’m here when you’re ready, okay? Take your time,” he confirms, scooting closer to press their bodies fully together. He stares into Carlos’s eyes, watching as his usually warm brown irises swim with tears that refuse to fall. He’s terrified, having no idea what could’ve happened for Carlos to react like this, his mind supplying the absolute worst-case scenarios. Then, suddenly, as if he’s dragging the words through his throat from his core, Carlos stutters out just two words.

“Maureen called.”

TK’s brain stops short, every explanation that his brain had been expecting vanishing into thin air at Carlos’s response. He feels like he’s been shut inside of a walk-in freezer, every inch of his body erupting in one long, chilled-to-the-bone shiver. Through the roaring in his ears, he hears himself let out a stuttering gasp. He can feel a prickle at the corner of his eyes as his mind pieces together Carlos’s behavior with news from Maureen, and he closes them before a tear can fall, trying to take a deep breath to calm down.

They’ve been struggling through the process of adopting a child for almost a year and a half, cycling through stages of hope and grief almost daily. They were warned, multiple times, that adoption was a complicated and long journey towards starting a family, especially as gay men in Texas with high-risk jobs. Nothing could’ve prepared them for the pain of getting a little closer each time before it all came crashing down with a single call from Maureen, their adoption counselor. 

“It’s okay to cry, Ty,” his husband says, a hand coming up to caress his cheek. TK, suddenly overwhelmed, feels his face crumble as a laugh-sob crawls up his throat.

“You stole my line,” he chokes out, opening his eyes again to find Carlos staring at him through his own tear-filled eyes. “Why didn’t you call me, sweetheart?”

“I missed her call,” Carlos explains, his voice thick with emotion, “and couldn’t reach her until I was on my way home. I didn’t want to ruin the end of your day, too.”

This is the third time they’ve actively pursued an adoption opportunity; the previous two times, they did everything they could to remain realistic, reaching a point where they wouldn’t talk to anyone else about it. They’re not superstitious, exactly, it’s just that the more they talk about it, the more they plan and consider what life will be like with a child. They got even further this time, and maybe dared to hope too much. TK watches as Carlos continues to grieve for the lost children they’ll never have, and it breaks his heart every time. 

“It kills me to think of you dealing with this alone,” TK worriedly admits, pulling Carlos closer. His husband shifts to press his face in TK’s neck, his favorite place to be, and TK grips him tighter as he feels Carlos shake with new sobs. 

“I really thought it was going to happen this time,” he cries softly, TK feeling his tears finally fall onto his neck. He squeezes his own eyes shut, his own tears falling as he presses his face into Carlos’s dark curls.

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

“What if it never does?” Carlos questions after a moment, and TK can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s voicing his greatest fear out-loud for the first time. 

“Hey,” TK hedges, pulling back to take his husband’s face in both hands. He stares into those deep brown eyes and knows that he would give anything to bring back their unmatched warmth. “You, Carlos Strand-Reyes, are going to be a dad, okay? Your heart is so big, your love is so strong, and I know that you’re meant to share it with someone who will admire you as much as I do. Someone that you and I will raise and love and adore more than anyone else on this earth. That’s our story, Carlos, that’s what we decided, and just because we haven’t gotten to that chapter, it doesn’t mean we’re going to rewrite it, okay? It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen, I know it will.”

Carlos just stares at him when he goes quiet, his bottom lip quivering as his eyes glisten with fresh tears. 

“I love you, Ty,” he gasps, pressing in to claim TK’s lips with his own. It’s a hard, desperate kiss, full of the lingering grief and sudden emptiness that the day has brought, but like every kiss they share, it’s also filled with overwhelming love and comfort, the kind that only they can provide to one another.

When they break apart, Carlos presses their foreheads together. “You’re going to be the best dad in the world, you know that?” he whispers, nudging their noses together.

“I’m not so sure,” TK laughs gently, pressing a quick kiss to his husband’s lips, salty from their tears. “You’ll probably have me beat.”

“I’m serious, Ty,” Carlos presses further, his tone making that clear. “The way you take care of all of us, the way you care for me… I can’t wait to see you with our child. It’s going to be breathtaking.”

“How about a tie then?” TK relents, a smile growing on his lips. “You and me, Best Dads in the World.”

“That’ll be one lucky kid,” Carlos laughs, wrapping his arms around TK’s waist. 

TK feels his heart clench in his chest as he watches his husband’s eyes crinkle, their familiar warmth gradually reappearing. 

“You have no idea,” TK agrees, tightening his grip on Carlos, their closeness like a salve for their mutually broken hearts.

In each other’s arms, they begin to heal.  

#tarlos #tarlos fic #tarlos fanfic #911 lone star #tarlosweek2020 #tk strand #carlos reyes #I wrote a thing

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

All That Matters - Ahsoka Brings Anakin Back on Malachor AU Fic

"You don't have to do this alone," Ahsoka implored in what she hoped was a convincing tone, taking one hesitant step towards the man she'd once called her brother.

Her former master, her mentor. Anakin. He'd taught her everything she knew, taught her to be independent, believed in her when no one else would. He’d saved her life, he’d stood by her, he’d been heartbroken when she turned her back on the Jedi order. How had such an emotive man come to fall so far from grace? How had he successfully traded in his gentle, kind hearted, welcoming persona for the visage of a thoughtless, mass murdering machine?

"You fail to understand," he snapped, his voice a jumbled mixture of his voice box and a meek version of his own struggling vocal cords as he shot her down. "I am no longer that man."

There was a frantic sense of urgent desperation to the statement, as if he was barely managing to hold onto his own lie. As if the walls he’d forged over the years were crumbling around him. Ahsoka shook her head vehemently in response, continuing to resolutely approach him with a stubborn determination. Clenching her jaw, she let the hilts of the sabers she was clutching in her trembling hands fall to the floor with a clatter. Discarding her only self defense, stripping herself bare. She noticed his sickly yellow eyes dart towards the source of the noise, registering her surrender before the intense stare returned to capture hers.

"Then explain to me. I'm here now. It doesn't matter who you are, or what you've done. Make me understand."

Ahsoka meant every word, every utterance. He flinched visibly as he took in the weight of what she implied, the eye wide with jaded disbelief and confusion. The terrifying amount of loathing and disgust she'd sensed when she first arrived for the confrontation had all but vaporized. Dissipating as if it had never been there to begin with. Instead there lingered a tense, uneasy sense of dread between them. She wasn't afraid per se, she just couldn't predict his reactions. His behaviour was so far from the Anakin she'd once known. Although, some things remained the same, she could tell. For example, she could still read his exposed eye like an open book. He was wavering, his conviction faltering and she was there to catch him when he fell. If he fell.

She prayed that he would fall.

"But it does. It does matter. All the things I have done… I cannot change what I have become, neither can you. Your efforts are misguided."

He trailed off, finally looking away. Averting his gaze, a distinct sense of shame bled into Anakin’s Force signature. The guilt was suffocating, closing in around Ahsoka as it poured off of him. Crashing in thick waves, dark and deep and overwhelming. Still, she bit her lip and continued to close in. He wasn't making any effort of moving to attack, wasn't attempting to back away. She was vaguely aware of her hand coming up by its own volition to blindly reach out for him.

"I don't care," she assured, but she felt her voice catch in her throat as the burn of tears began behind her eyes.

"How dare you propose that?!" he roared, a static shriek accompanying the booming vocals of the modulator cutting her off; eyes wide and crazed. "Do you even understand who I am? Do you understand what I have done?"

Ahsoka stopped dead in her tracks, swallowing hard. She was almost expecting him to revert back into fervent denial, to shoot her down and once again proclaim himself to be Vader. To once again pretend she meant nothing to him, that their past was nullified and nonexistent. That he had erased her impact on his life.

Instead, she watched the eerie golden glow of his eye begin to diminish. Slowly, as if it were fading and tapering out. As if it were a hue or film, being slowly wiped away. As if the fog was lifting, as if the spell of his self imposed mind control was breaking. As if the facade was cracking, as if he was coming apart. And little by little, a familiar pale blue shade began to emerge.

When Anakin spoke again, his tone was broken and quiet.

“You should be horrified.”

His broad shoulders gave a small wince, before sagging. Ahsoka watched him blink rapidly, apologetic gaze darting all over her face. It hurt. The pain radiating off of him was aiming straight for her consciousness, surging through her like red hot wires. Forcing her to share his suffering with pulses of intense, sharp anguish. She could sense his turmoil, his reluctance, his terror. He was terrified when faced with the prospect of accepting every heinous act he had committed as Vader, every atrocious thing he had done. He was frightened of the need to admit that there had never been a Vader in the first place, that everything was on him. He alone was to blame.

Yet, Ahsoka found she couldn't bring herself to blame him alone. She may resent what he had become, what he had done, but she could never bring herself to hate him. He was still Anakin, and whatever had led him down this path, she imagined it must be horrific. She had abandoned him when he needed her the most, if only she had been there for him - perhaps he might never have stooped so low. Bracing herself, she began to inch closer to him again. Her fingers twitching in anticipation, hand still reaching out towards him. Offering him a connection, a saving grace.

"I killed them... every single one of them. Every Jedi I could see. All of them. I had to, I couldn't stop. I had no choice. I couldn't..."

Even through the malfunctioning voicebox, the way his voice broke carried through as an unnatural, irregular pitching tone.

Blue. His eye was so light, so alive, a hurricane of emotions whirling within its depths. Like a clear, cloudless sky with a thunderstorm lurking at the horizon. Bloodshot, the scleras more pink than white. But the iris was baby blue.

"I know," Ahsoka simply whispered, nodding her head before repeating her words. “I know.”

She stretched her arm out further, taking a couple of more steps as he hung his head low. His gaze falling to the ground, a shudder wracking his large bulky frame. She focused on the eye, or as much of it as she could see when the helmet he wore shrouded it in dark shadows. Just a gentle, barely perceptible grace as her fingertips brushed against the rough fabric of his black cape. He didn't react, and she suspected he couldn't feel it. How much of his body was even his own anymore? Cautiously, she let her palm touch the armour piece before sliding over his shoulder. When it reached his upper arm, she pressed down to offer it a comforting squeeze - hoping he would feel that.

It spurred an immediate reaction. His head flew up, and he reared back as if he'd been burnt. As if her touch stung him. Eye wide open as he stared at her in shock, in astonishment; pleading with her not to allow herself to be tainted by his sins. In defense, Ahsoka held both hands up in front of her; what she hoped to be a reassuring expression on her face. She felt her stomach twist itself into tight knots, the bile rising in her throat. Once again, she was near convinced he would backtrack. She expected him to reignite his lightsaber, to waste little time in dispatching her. She held her breath, waiting fretfully.

Instead, she watched his naked eye slide shut. Instead, she watched as his tight grip on his own weapon loosened. She watched the hilt slide out of his gloved grip. Eyes flying back up to his face, she once again caught him staring at her. His blue eye misty, glazed over. It was only then she caught the gleam of tears pooling at the corners. She watched them gather, watched the unshed beads of water continue to well up.

"Anakin..." she gasped. "Oh, Anakin."

"I killed the younglings. I killed them all," he whispered. "What have I done?"

His voice was so weak, so full of regret and tangible remorse. The voicebox didn't even pick up on it. Only his own strangled, choked human tone piped up. Ahsoka could barely make it out, but she watched in stunned silence as a single tear broke free. Slowly, it made its way down his scarred, deformed, deathly pale cheek. Then followed another. And another. She could see him visibly trembling with the effort of attempting to restrain himself, the effort of holding his suffering back. Keeping it locked up, despite its attempts to overrule his ironwill.

Two steps, and once again her palm touched his arm. Face hard set, despite the stinging salty wetness prickling at the corners of her own eyes, she let her free hand come up. Careful but without hesitance, she gently let the pad of her thumb reach inside the crack of his face plate. She ran it ever so smoothly over his pale damaged skin, brushing away the wetness it found there only for another tear to break free.

"I know, Anakin. I forgive you."

He didn't respond, and for a second Ahsoka feared she had destroyed what little may be left of his fragile sanity. He stood still as a statue, as if the words wouldn't register. Gaze fixed straight ahead, as if seeing right through her. She raised her voice slightly when she spoke up again, desperate to get through to him. She put every ounce of her unabashed sincerity behind the words.

"Anakin. I forgive you."

A hideous sound erupted from him, and she suspected it was a sob tearing its way out. She blinked back her own tears, keeping a hold on herself as Anakin's legs began to buckle under his own weight. Another choked, an erratic static noise the only way in which the modulator could translate the whimpers. Still clinging to him, she had no choice but to follow him down as he sank hapless to his knees; shoulders shaking while the pain, the guilt and the sorrow he must have been keeping bottled up for years broke free. Without second thoughts, Ahsoka wrapped her slender arms around his large frame to her best extent. With gentle hands, she caressed his broad back. She exhaled a stuttering, weak sigh.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he rambled brokenly in a mantra, hoarse and choppy as he cried. "Oh mom, forgive me, Padmé, forgive me...! Ahsoka... forgive me, please, forgive me...!"

"It's alright. I forgive you, Anakin. I forgive you," Ahsoka murmured, a pang of laboured guilt present in her chest but she could do nothing else.

As soon as she'd spoken those words, his hands flew up. Hovering midair inches from her waist as if afraid to touch her, as if he feared he might break her in half if he tried. Anakin, who had always been starving for hugs, for touches, for affection. Why had he deprived himself of physical comfort for so long? She could sense his loneliness, his solitude as clearly as were it her own. Pressing down, she stroked his back more firmly and hummed to encourage, as if to assure him it was okay. She relaxed when his trembling arms came around her in a humble, restrained embrace. It seemed as if he had to relearn how to hold another person all over again.

Anakin still weeping, Ahsoka finally allowed herself to cave into her own emotional overload. Sniffling, she smiled brokenly, keeping a watchful eye on him through her tears. They had so little time, it wasn't safe here. The entire temple was ready to collapse at any moment. Yet, if they died together like this, she wouldn't mind it much. Instead, she clung tighter to her brother, her master, her only remaining family.

Anakin. She forgave him. He was himself again. He was in his right state of mind, no matter how agonizing. No matter how harsh the truth may be.

They were together again. Nothing else mattered.

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

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325700

Found above on my Ao3, and reposted from my previous acc.

#anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #darth vader #anakin #skywalker #ahsoka #tano #vader #lord vader #star wars #sw #the clone wars #tcw #swr #rebels #ashley eckstein #matt lanter #james earl jones #anakin and ahsoka #fanfic #fan fic #my fanfics #my fan fic #fic #fics #fanfiction #fan fiction #my fanfiction

[vikingsagine]

A Shield-Maiden’s Wrath - Bjorn x Reader - Part Two

Summary - After finding out Bjorn has cheated on you, the night that all the Ragnarsson’s were nervous about finally arrives. Time for your sweet revenge....

Warnings: SWEARING! ANGRY AND PREGNANT WIFE!! VIOLENCE! REVENGEEEE is a  bitch. Or is that Karma? Either way, it’s a bitch.

I did enjoy writing this, it was fun. Part One and Part Three if you want to read it. This is basically just something fluffy in a weird way. Hopefully, satisfying and justifying to the ex wives of Bjorn Ironside and just some brotherly love.

BONUS REACTIONS AT THE END!!

@soleil-dor​ @abonelessgod​ @sadbutatleastsassy​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @ivarthebloodyking​

Hvitserk is nervous. They were all nervous. 

He scanned the herd of people, tearing away at the piece of chicken in hopes to ease the rush of anxiety. If Bjorn knew he flapped his gums, breaking the promise he made, Hvitserk was sure his oldest brother would not be afraid to ‘settle’ things. Then of course, he could already imagine that you would stick up, biting into Bjorn to argue it wasn’t Hvitserk’s fault. Which would cause more strife, barking back from one another and ultimately, he would be to blame. 

Ubbe is more cautious.

He kept his light blue orbs from flickering between the oak wooden doors then to Bjorn, sitting innocently. Unaware of his targeted predicament. All four of them swore not to warn Bjorn of your knowledge because a, they would all remain out of their soon to be hurricane of a temper and b, none wanted to face yours or Bjorn’s wrath. Instead, Ubbe stood closely next to his older brother, not even thinking about drinking or eating. Too agitated and paranoid. 

“What is wrong brother?” Bjorn broke his chain of thoughts and caught him off guard. Quickly recovering from his momentary surprise, Ubbe forced a crooked smile to his lips. More so reassuring himself that everything is going to be fine. “You seem tense, relax. Drink. Eat.” 

“I’m not hungry.” Too quickly he answered, too fast. Bjorn stared at him skeptical as to why he seemed so stiff. Watching out for something. Then it dawned upon him.

“Oh I see.” This caused red flags to go off in his mind, the gears going crazy. Zooming and whirling. “You are looking for someone, aren’t you?” Ubbe clenched his jaw and squeezed the cup in hand. Clenched it so hard, he could feel it dent under the pressure. “That blonde girl, Margrethe. It is alright, I won’t tell your Mother.” He instantly relaxed in his seat and let out a skittish chuckle, quickly turning to the cup of mead for calm. 

“You could say that.”

Sigurd decided to remain ignorant. 

Instead indulged himself in his people, strumming away at the strings of his ute and filled the air of a joyous melody. He laughed and sang, finding pleasure in the company of friends and strangers. All seemingly serene, almost perfect. Yet, he could not ignore the arc of his stomach. Almost sickly as if he ate something bad or drank too much. Nauseous and sick. He knew deep down, even with hopes of peaceful tranquility for the rest of the night, it will soon be thrown to the air. Destroyed and burned. So, Sigurd kept dancing, grasping the last few moments of this bliss. 

Ivar is on edge.

He is not afraid, looking forward to the oncoming festivities that night. He could recall your last controversy. Bjorn verbally abused you over your pregnant state and how you shouldn’t be fighting or using a weapon however, your free-spirited morals did not take it so well. One thing led to another, things were thrown around by your hand. His brother’s voice boomed so loud, he was sure other town’s could hear. Which led to Bjorn’s departure and eventually, Ivar found him screwing one of the servants. Beautiful but rather, daft. Anyone stupid enough to even consider having sex with his older brother; a married man and soon-to-be Father, has a death wish. 

“Brother, are you sure-” 

“Ubbe, stop.” Bjorn cut him off, pressing the woman close to his side. He knew it was very dangerous to be playing around with the chance of his wife walking into those very doors. Of course he knew it would cause his possible death but something about the thought was exciting. “It is far too late, Y/N will not come. Hmm?” The great warrior leaned over his knees and nudged his little brother. 

“Sure.” Ubbe pressed his lips together and stood up. He knew he should’ve said something, hinted at least a little, warned Bjorn or even motioned that you knew. But there was the side that secretly wanted this, curse it be. 

My brother, I hope you are prepared, the Gods will not be on your side tonight nor will I. By the Gods, you brought this upon yourself.

~~~

Two shields of wood smashed wide, slamming against the walls and shook the hall like thunder had struck. Young men and women alike froze in their happy state and awed with wide, scared spectacles. Like a nightmare come to life, they stared. 

You stood, a raging and fuming beast. In all the glory of your shield and sword and arrows and bow. So dangerously true. Coated in leather wrapped around breasts and a bulging stomach; never a pregnant woman seen so chilling. To cause dread. Your eyes glowed vibrantly, black ink surrounded the skin and smeared the corners of your eyes. Paint ready for war. Hair is so beautiful, thick and heavy. Twisted in mending lace. A true shield-maiden ready to demolish their enemy. 

The hall in complete silence. 

You pulled an arrow back and pointed the tip of it towards your target, your prey, your next victim. Another face to tear into. 

“You.” Like a deep rumble of thunder, the sound of your voice bounced from the walls, calm and steady. But there were those that could hear the hot rage, pure and unfortunately real. “And you.” With a darting eye, you glared and aimed the weapon towards the slave girl who was pushed aside and shaking in fear. 

One, two, three steps. 

Bjorn did not budge, holding your gaze with as much passion. His pride and ego and name too much to set aside for the benefit of his wife. Instead he sat and analysed every move of your body, predator eyeing predator. Everyone else disappeared. He could do the obvious and apologize for his doings, beg for forgiveness, admit his wrong and fight for your favor. But, where would be the fun in that? 

“My love I have been waiting for you.” Bjorn smirked and poured a cup of mead to hand it over. “Drink.” The cup was knocked out of his grasp as you shot the first winged spear.

 ‘How dare he.’ You thought. Just the sight of your beloved husband made every cell in your body boil. And then to see the whore he so desperately fucked because of his lack of fulfillment, for his own pleasure. The next arrow landed right next to his head, almost slicing his pale flesh. 

“I see you found out.” Bjorn gripped the arrow planted, threw it to the ground and huffed. “So who told you? Ubbe? Sigurd? Hvitserk? Ivar?” He motioned towards his brother’s; who were now out of the way just like the rest of the people. They all backed up, leaning against the walls to be out of both of your range. Ivar sat in the perfect position, out of the way yet close enough to adore the sight. 

“Do not bring them into this.” You hissed and watched as he took slow steps down the few rows of stairs. “This is your fault. You. Bjorn Ironside. My loyal husband.” Words like venom, another arrow whirled through the air and stopped him in his tracks. 

“Please, we can talk about this.” Another arrow.

“Calm down.” Another.

“You have to understand that-” Arrow.

Bjorn lost all patience now, growling out of annoyance and bored into your being. Pregnant. Strong. And very, furious. Without warning you drew your sword out and dove it straight for his head, in hopes to decapitate that handsomely deviled face. “You cheated on me!” Another swing. “You filthy pig.” Stab. “You animal.” Following him up the steps, you kicked the table to knock him over. 

“I love you.” Bjorn muttered and ducked, dodging the oncoming fly of cutlery and food. Desperately searching for a shield. 

“You love me? You love me so much that you shove your cock into the cunt of a fucking whore!” Finally reaching his axe, he met your sword that buzzed with your fire. He could feel the emotion burn into his body but still, he did not fear it. Instead intrigued, guiltily enjoying your passionate emotion. “You shame me and you humiliate me and you betray me.” You kicked him over, knocking him on his ass and managed to scratch the surface of his chest. 

“I wanted sex and every time I tried, you were in pain.” This added more fuel to the fire, sparking up that heat that burned at your core. You were sure your child also fueled that pit of flames, angry at their Father. 

“Because I am pregnant.” He rolled over to his side and jumped to his feet, re-directing each one of your desperate attacks. “With your child. Tell me, did you fuck that slut before you fucked me?” There were so many questions that filled your head. So many emotions that stung your heart. “You aren’t a great warrior, not a man. You’re just a fat piece of meat thinking with the blunt tool dangling between his legs.” You grabbed a fistful of Bjorn’s hair, wrapping his braids around your hand like shackles trapped to you. Then dragged him and shoved his head against the pillar. “How many times did you screw that bitch?”

“Nine, maybe ten times, give or take.” He gave you a cheeky smirk, playing with your emotion. You heaved him back and smashed his head onto the floor. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“Not your fault! Think so much with your dick that you just fell in her loose lips.” With a fury you growled and punched him in the jaw, followed by a barrage of slaps and claws. “Couldn’t even wait for three months and deceive your own lover! Couldn’t control yourself longer than two minutes! And then you lie to me! All those late nights, you left me alone, cold, miserable while you get your fill!” You grabbed the ruffs of his head and slammed it against the ground. “Then you force your brothers to lie to me. Hide like a rat, a slimy sloppy snake. Drag them into this because you wanted sex!” All you could see is red, nothing else. You. Him. And red. “And humiliate me, making me look like a fool! I defended you, stood up for you, made excuses for your bullshit. And this is how you repay me?!” Bjorn caught your hands and gripped them so hard you thought they would bruise. 

“Now you know how I felt when you let that merchant’s son bury his tiny little cock in what is mine.” With one swift move, he flipped you over and drove his hips into you. It only pushed you that much further and you spat in his face. 

“I do not belong to you, I only belong to myself!” You wrapped your legs around his waist and drove him into you then snapped your elbow up, striking his face. “We weren’t married then either! I hardly knew you!” 

“Even still, you knew I wanted you. You fucking knew it!” With your form now on top, you tried to dig your nails into his eyes and gouge those pretty blue orbs out. The ones you love so much. So piercing and so hard to read. But now, clear as day. “And I know you saw me!” For a split second you were surprised, wavering you from your confident outburst. Bingo! Just like that Bjorn trapped you under his form, holding both your wrists in place. 

“That was five fucking years ago you piece of shit.” You growled, struggling against his hold. “Bringing things up like a bitch. I always knew you were a bitch, a weak, weak man.” You cooed, slithering your knee between his and dug it up. Bjorn groaned and rolled off of your body before collapsing. It would have been sweet that he still took note of your pregnant belly but, considering the situation you didn’t give a fuck. “Besides, he fucked me in ways you couldn’t. He pleasured me better than a weak man like you ever could.” You couldn’t help but smirk, a smugness filled your bones. 

Bjorn jumped to his feet, dragging the axe along with him and met your stance. Ready to unleash your storm of resentment. The clear primal glare behind his piercing orbs sent shivers down your body, now clearly ready to settle things. 

“You want me back Ironside, you better fight for it.” \

You tossed your weapon from left to right hand.

 “Earn me.”

~~~

“What do you think is going on in there?” Hvitserk broke the tension, drawing his knees to his chest and pushed himself into a more comfortable position. 

“Maybe they’re finished.” Sigurd shrugged, pulling at the stings of his ute while his brows furrowed. They all looked at each other, hopeful until they heard a loud cluttering sound followed by a loud groan of their older brother, cue a sigh. “Never mind.”

“Maybe we should-” 

“Don’t.” Ubbe cut Hvitserk off, knowing fully well where he was going. He did not want to lose a limb or an eye by stepping back into the hall, now a battlefield. Another crash sounded from behind them and he shivered, feeling pity for his older brother. Bjorn in an unfortunate predicament of not being able to fight back like he usually did because of their child, which made Y/N even more dangerous. A force to be reckoned with. “By all means go back in there and you try to break them apart but, I will not come to your aid.”

“Why did you have to drag me out of there? I was enjoying myself.” Ivar frowned a little, remembering how Ubbe and Hvitserk practically hauled him out. 

“I’m sure you were.” Ubbe spoke and folded his arms over his chest. “But I am not losing another brother tonight.”

“Don’t be absurd, Y/N wouldn’t have hurt me.” Ivar argued back.

“You would have hurt yourself. Wouldn’t be able to crawl away fast enough.” The crippled glared at Sigurd, who was now smirking. But, he did not get angry this time and just rolled his eyes, over his shit. “I think I won the bet.”

“No way, I said she would attack during the feast first. All of you owe me.” Hvitserk intervened, not really caring about the sack of silver or gold. But instead the glory of beating his brother’s at least once. For the one that started the bets most of the time, he didn’t seem to win a lot. 

“Everyone knew that, even the town’s people.” Sigurd intercepted and made Hvitserk huff. They all snapped towards the wooden door as they shook slightly, followed by the sound of your shouts and the sound of Bjorn’s voice, filled with as much passion. 

“I predicted all of it.” Ivar seethed, halting their bickering. “I said all of that, so I win.” 

“No, you also bet that they were going to end up fucking. That does not sound like pleasure.” Sigurd quickly corrected, pointing to the hall. “I should get all of your money.” 

“No.” Hvitserk denied.

“Yes, I claimed she was going to arrive in battle armor. Not anyone could have predicted that.” 

“Yes but, I bet what all three of you said. It’s me.” Ivar hissed.

“I’m older than both of you, the money is mine.” Hvitserk attempted to pull all of the bags of coins but Sigurd and Ivar were on him, pulling and thrashing. Ubbe rolled his eyes and clearly was over their bullshit, always the one fixing things. But this time, he did so differently.

“Be quiet. Shut up. Stop!” The four boys all froze and listened intently to a soft sound whispering amongst the wind. Coming from inside the hall, less violent or brash. Then their faces fell,  knowing what the hell was happening and sunk on their asses.

“See, I win.” Ivar hummed in victory, snatching each one of their filled pouches of gold and silver. For once, thankful to both yours and Bjorn’s endless cycle. Tiresome and annoying but at least, consistent and committed. 

“Where do you think that thrall went?” Sigurd raised his eyes in curiosity, the only one seemingly interested. Hvitserk shrugged and Ubbe just stared at the sky.

“Do you have to ask stupid questions?” 

“She probably ran away.” Ubbe concluded lazily. “I don’t blame her, I would too.”

~ PROMISED BONUS ~

“I should tell him but, he doesn’t deserve it.”

“If Bjorn finds out I told her, I’m so dead. I’m too young to die. I’m still a virgin. I don’t wanna die a virgin. Why? WHY? Maybe she won’t come, maybe she’ll just forget about. MAYBE SHE - oh nvm.”

“I’m just gonna pretend I know nothing. Ignore my problems. Yeh, this is better. ”

“Oh yeah, he’s screwed.”

“oh.......fuck. I’m too sober for this shit”

#vikings x reader #bjorn x reader #x reader #bjorn ironside #ragnarssons #ubbe #ivar #hvitserk #sigurd #reader #bjorn x y/n

[hallospaceboyy]

Fluffy idea: Reader is a teacher at the witch academy similar to Zelda. The two of them sneak around each other for decades until both of them try to clumsy confess their love/seduce each other. :3

Darling Heart, I Loved You From The Start

AN: SO I don't think this is what you were thinking AT ALL. It is rather angsty, it made my heart hurt to write, but very fluffy at the end. I enjoyed writing this so so much, so I do hope you enjoy🖤 Title from Hardest of Hearts by Florence and the Machine

You have been a teacher at the Academy for decades, tiptoed around the force that is Zelda Spellman, fell in love with her from the very moment you laid eyes on her, from the very moment she first opened her mouth. You saw the glances from her too, her eyes raking your form when she thought you weren’t looking, tried to suppress the squirm at being under her scrutinising green eyes. You had watched her marry that pig of a High Priest, had cried yourself to sleep that night, at the fear and regret in her eyes as she descended the Academy steps, already aware of the mistake she made. Your skin crawled at that way he spoke to her, degraded her, treated her as lesser than him, when in truth she was so much more, a hurricane where he is a mere gust of wind. Even before their marriage, watching her jump through hoops for him, vying for his attention left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You noticed the change in her immediately after her honeymoon. The bright floral dresses, the sickeningly sweet smiles, her obeying his every command without protest, without even a roll of her eyes, a sniping comment. You had tried to get through to her, find the Zelda, your Zelda that you knew was in there, but she merely smiled brightly at you, spoke in that simpering voice that made you sick to your stomach. You cried yourself to sleep many nights then, too, wanting to help her but not knowing how.

You had been lucky to escape Faustus' clutches when he poisoned the Coven, had moved to the Spellman property with the others, the few that were left. There was a softness in Zelda's eyes when she met yours, and she had placed you in a room close to her own, and you had heard the cries in the night, the cries of anguish and torment, and you comforted her, sat up with her until the sun rose. You were content to be her friend, let her lean on you as that and only that – never expected anything more from her. You gave and gave, and never took, and that did not go unnoticed by the redhead, it never had. She had always seen you, even though her determination for power and status led her in the opposite direction to the gentleness and safety you exuded.

Now, she has risen as the High Priestess of the Church of Lilith, and she glows despite the pressure, revels in being needed. The nights are still full of torment, and emotional pain like nothing you have ever witnessed, but you continue to sit with her through the night, refusing the sleeping draught you have been offered by Hilda to aid you in your own sleep, plagued with your own nightmares of your coven laying dying on the ground, scattered victims at their own High Priest's hand. You can’t sleep peacefully, not when she can't, her body wracked with sobs in the next room.

Months have gone by, and Zelda is healing, slowly, with the help she accepts from you, and Hilda, always so protective of her. The remainder of the Coven are back at the Academy, but Zelda asks you to stay, and you oblige, happily remain in closer quarters with her.

You sit now in the parlour with her, tumbler of whisky in hand, and you gaze at the luminous glow of the moon in the otherwise black sky, and Zelda sits beside you, eyes flitting over features in the soft glow of the fire, and the waxing of the moon.

“I don't think I’ve ever thanked you. For being so wonderful to me.” Her voice is hoarse when it breaks the silence, and you turn your head lazily to look her in the eyes, pulled from some unknown reverie.

“You never have to thank me for that, Zelda. Kindness costs nothing.” You reply, and Zelda gazes into your eyes, a smile curling at her lips.

“But it isn't just kindness, is it? Don’t think I haven’t noticed. The way you have gone above and beyond for me. Hilda tells me you don’t take your sleeping draughts.”

Your mouth opens and closes again, unsure of what to say at first, not wanting to reveal too much. You would do anything for Zelda, you know that, but you’re not sure you can let her break your heart. “I couldn't sleep peacefully knowing the state you would be in, only in the next room. I couldn’t leave you to deal with that alone.”

Zelda blinks rapidly then, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I remember, you know. When I was under that spell. You tried to help me. Talked to me. Never gave up on me. I saw it all, and I remember it all.”

You feel your heart may break in two then, knowing that she was aware of her every movement in those moments, a marionette for Faustus' enjoyment. You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling a shaky breath. “I'm so sorry that I couldn’t help you. I-I didn’t know how.”

Zelda wraps an arm around you and pulls you against her, and you rest your head on her shoulder as she combs her fingers through your hair. Her scent is an assault on your nostrils, a most pleasant one, causing a lightness in your head. “Don't be, darling. Don’t be sorry. It's over now, and you tried. You noticed I wasn’t myself and you tried.” She sniffles, and her voice is thick with tears. You peer up at her, gently wipe a tear from her rosy cheek. “Why have you stayed?” She asks suddenly, and you sit up, confused by her question.

“Why wouldn't I stay?”

“This coven has been met by nothing but hardships, treated so poorly, abused under the power of someone heinous. You were never under any obligation to stay.”

You take a deep breath, worrying at your lip with your teeth, staring at the carpet. You don't notice when you break the skin, but your breath hitches when Zelda gently grips your chin, pulls your lip from your teeth with her thumb. You know you’re going to take the plunge now, confess feelings for her that you have been harbouring for decades, the love and adoration that anchored you to her, despite feeling it will all be in vain, that Zelda Spellman will never be yours.

“I stayed for you. I have cared for you-" You stop, silently scolding yourself for trying to downplay your feelings for her in some final act of self preservation. “I have loved you, for the longest time. I will always be wherever you are, whether you feel the same way or not.” You wipe at your eyes, hands trembling, unable to look at her.

Her warm hands cup your face, stroking your cheek, and your eyes drift shut, even when she turns your face in her direction, willing you to look at her, they remain firmly closed as tears seep from your lids. “Look at me, please.”

You oblige her, and tears are rolling down her own cheeks, and her eyes are pained, searching yours. “How long?”

“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, Zelda Spellman.” You whisper, and she releases the breath she had been holding, face crumpling with unfettered emotion, and she brings her lips to yours, pressing salty kisses there. She sobs against you, clings to you, hands clawing at your shoulders, your arms, before firmly wrapping around you and pulling you flush against her. Her tears soak your face, mingle with your own, but you don't care, hold her tightly in return, kiss her with equal desperation and hunger, tongue meeting tongue. You both eventually come up for air, breathing heavily, and Zelda rests her forehead against yours.

“I will always treat you with kindness, love and respect. Always. You will be my equal in everything. I’ll never hurt you, Zelda, could never do that to you. It pains me that you ever thought you deserved anything less.”

A hiccupping sob escapes her lips at your words, and you hug her to you, let her nuzzle into your neck, rock her gently as she trembles with overwhelming emotion.

“I love you too, by the way. I never thought you felt the same.”

You laugh then, kissing her forehead. “That's because for someone incredibly intelligent, Zelda, you can’t always see what’s right in front of you. Not when it comes to emotions.”

“Hmm. I suppose you’re right.”

“I'm always right. I was right in loving you, remaining by your side for all this time.”

“I’m so very glad you did.” Zelda murmurs, presses a tender kiss to your neck, content at being rocked in your arms, feeling safe and loved, perhaps for the first time in her centuries of life.

#zelda spellman x reader #zelda spellman #caos fanfiction #caos #chilling adventures of sabrina

[comfeyworks]

Alastor writing/ Character ref sheet

NOTE: This is MY interpretation/ notes of my characterization of Alastor. Most is speculation and the other parts are just me having fun imagining what his character could be like. This is no way meant to be official or taken as cannon in any way.

A wonderful user by the name of dolly moon complied a lot of information from Viv’s streams. I’m referencing some of the information here so please check them out, they did a fantastic job making notes.

Warning: Contains talk about murder, cannibalism and other possible triggering subjects.

General

---NAME: Alastor--- Died: 1933 Age: 30′s Occupation: Former radio host and serial killer. Currently powerful overlord in hell

Main Personality/ notes

Always smiling (He sees people frowning as weak)

Sadistic

Charming and charismatic

Very proud( puffed out chest, arms behind back)

He's controlling/ does things his own way

Careful! He's not too braggy, or too forceful/ demanding. Ex: Viv stated in her qna that the pilot was originally going to have Alastor boast about himself and his backstory. Instead vaggie narrates his backstory. She changed this because Alastor wasn’t the type of person to flaunt his achievements. He knows that everyone knows how powerful he is, he’s not the type to rub it in. He's supposed to be charming, but still proud, juuuust in the right way

He knows what he wants, but doesn’t necessarily brute-forces his way to get it. Ex: "He-" "-llo!" He KNOWS he's getting in hotel regardless, but waits for Charlie to open up the door before invading the hallway.

Deceitful; When asked why he wants to help out at the hotel, he says: "Consider it an investment in ongoing entertainment for myself!" 'This is what you can think my reason is...' is essentially what he's saying. He answers Charlie’s question in a roundabout way that givers her what she wants to know while still keeping his true intentions secret. Time and time again, he lets his mask down slightly when Charlie isn’t looking. At 24:10 he narrows his eyes when she has her back turned to him At the beginning of his song he distracts her with magic so he can push Vaggie away. When he says “...And it’s just laughable-” during he reprise he turns away from Charlie to say this, he leans down to Vaggie.

He’s a hypocrite (hates being touched, invades other’s personal space)

Watches people do things the hard way and then reveal he can do it once it's done just to watch people fuck up

DELIGHTS in watching people failing/ struggling to do things. He likes observing people/ sinners as they are battling with their conflicted emotions.

He’s curious (He stopped by the ‘radio shack’ place to see what Charlie was talking about on the broadcast, and cocked his head when she started singing. To me that meant, “Oh? What’s this now? Something new?” he was intrigued and wanted to know more)

He analyzes people. He looks at the Magne family portrait when left alone. You can briefly hear him playing Charlie’s “Inside of every demon is a rainbow” song, and smiling.

He picks up on things quickly. Vaggie makes it clear she doesn’t like the idea of him being there, and he messes with her. He puts his elbow on her and pushes her away ( 20:44-20:48) He pulls her chin up and tells her to ‘smile’

He’s egotistical. No one is really ‘up to his level’

He gives verbal and physical affection constantly throughout the pilot, but it’s not genuine.

Likes being unpredictable

Primary drive:   Decisions are weighed in his own wants/ feelings. He wants to be amused, he chases exciting/ entertaining things. Think of him as like a cat chasing a mouse.

Fears: He doesn’t fear anyone. But is wary of powerful threats. He dislikes dogs Physical Expression: He’s VERY, VERY expressive through his body language and eyes. Large/ easy to read emotions can be perceived through his body language (Leaning towards someone, or leaning away). Smaller/ pinpoint emotions can be read through his eyes and type of smile (Wide eyes, squinted, closed vs open smile, etc.) He’s like a bird, fluffing out his feathers constantly. (He fixes his hair briefly at 24:41) He expresses himself proudly. ‘This is who I am, remember that!!’. Viv said the reason why almost all of characters have nicknames is that a soul’s real name is dangerous, its a way others can have power over you. Yet Alastor uses his first name, because he’s not scared and confident in who he is as a person. He doesn’t hide from any aspect of himself. I’ve stated he hates being touched by others. When he picks up Nifty in the pilot, she poofs out and spreads her limbs out. At 25:41, Alastor turns his head away from her briefly so she doesn’t touch him.

Flaws/ Weaknesses:

(Note: Basically anything already stated can be a problem depending on the situation, I’m just saying things about his character that he’d find weak or naturally cause problems)

His mother, he’d do anything for her.

He has a darker/ more powerful demon side to him where he runs purely on instinct/ primitive emotions.

He’s arrogant. This can cause problems!

---

Killer/ moral compass profile (Living)

Motivations:

Thrill Killer- Pleasure from pain

Slight power/control aspect involved as well.

‘Causes’

Childhood trauma (abusive father)

Environmental factors (mother died when he was 18-20)

Type of killer: *Note: I’m still not 100% satisfied with this part, I might make some changes later*

He won’t just kill anyone. They have to meet a certain list of requirements.

Viv compared him as someone similar to Dexter

He’s a very goal oriented killer. Whatever he did it was with reason and purpose, meticulously planned. Ex: Maybe one year he’d kill someone who was a real jerk, to see how the others around him flourished. Likewise he might kill someone who was important to the community just to see how the grief made everyone react.

He was a very careful killer, he ended up dying purely on accident, bad luck.

He killed for the fun of it, pure joy, excitement, curiosity. But he only killed people he thought deserved it.

He considers what he does to be ‘work’. He expresses in the pilot how after decades in hell it’s become ‘mundane’ and ‘aimless’.

The victims had to be overconfident to some degree.(This ties into the ‘he wouldn’t chase his victims.’ They had to be somewhat full of themselves or naive)

Some kills are personal (Someone wronging him, trying to hurt him, otherwise he just wouldn’t care if some guy is an asshole) but others are just because he feels like they’re bad/ they’ve have done something that they need to die for.

He used ‘personal’ ways of killing people. (Knife, his hands). I don’t think he would have used a gun of any kind because of the noise, but he could have once every blue moon.

Generally doesn’t draw things out for too long ”...If I wanted to hurt anyone here... I would have done so already.” (He defeats Sir Pentious in under a minute. But still takes the time to crush him and drag his body across the floor.)

He ate people, and knew how to make delicious meals out of them.

Buried his victim’s bodies/ remains on a hunting ground for deer.

Morals

No human is pure or kind just because. They’re selfish beings. Who take and act to help their own causes. Everyone is a monster on the inside. “...redemption, the nonexistent humanity!”

Everyone puts on a mask to hide who they truly are. Life is one big game to see who can survive. “...the world is a stage! And the stage, is a world of entertainment!”

People don’t change “...there is no undoing what is done.”

Puts himself first, and above everyone else. He also degrades others. “I don’t think there’s any hope left for such loathsome sinners...” ”Inside of every demon is a lost cause, but we’ll dress them up for now with just a smile!” “...and show these simpletons some proper class and style...” “...do I know you?” “You think I’m [husk] some kind of fuckin’ clown!?” “...maybe!”

People deserve the consequences they get for being themselves “...the chance given was the life they lived before, the punishment is this!”

He understands what society views as good and evil, but doesn’t really believe in those standards himself. What is considered evil he just views as a hobby or something fun to explore. Ex: Cannibalism is wrong by society’s standards, but to him he thinks the greater wrong is killing something and not making use of it.

He has some level of empathy. (Again, He’d never kill a child or those running away.)

People’s emotions are a fun little game to him. “...I want to watch the scum of the earth struggle to climb up the hill of betterment! Only to repeatedly trip, and tumble down into the firey pit of failure!”

Doesn’t see value in being nice or honest. (He does find it funny to watch)

Other notes/ hc

He’s knowledgeable. In more ways than one. He knows not to fuck with certain people if he doesn’t want to get hurt, he’s got knowledge on the workings/ operations of hell and deal-making.

Likes to cook

He likes bitter things (Bloody meat, alcohol, black coffee)

He’s got a party side to him.

He speaks french!

He plays musical instruments

He knows how to fight without his powers

He’s an only child

He’s part creole

He hates silence, he always surrounds himself with noise of some kind.

Husk and Alastor have a long, complicated relationship

He does things to make Nifty happy (Wearing sweaters)

He’d go out into a hurricane just to let it beat him down for fun (Why is this so funny to me)

Despite all he is, Alastor is capable of having friends and loving.

Has absolutely NO romantic experience.

He hates modern technology in general, but hates tik tok the most

The idea of Alastor cross-dressing to lure his victims in is absolutely hilarious to me, but I don’t think he’d ever do it.

#i made this to help me write him #alastor is deceivingly difficult to write if you dont understand him #and he's WAY more complicated than you'd think #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #writing