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batarella · 4 years

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The Commander - Part 8 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

We finally know the Commander’s history! Leave a comment and tell me what you think!

WORDS: 3165 WARNINGS: VIOLENCE. ANGST. WEW.

Masterlist

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

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Breathe in. Breathe out.

One thousand yards. Only a hundred yards further than the last one. This should be the farthest she’ll hit. If she actually does hit it. There were a number of birds flying over the trees standing above them. She wanted to hit them instead, but they weren’t far enough.

She only barely hit nine hundred yards yesterday. Once out of the thirty times she tried over and over again. A thousand will have to take the whole of her senses away. If only she could block out her own sense of touch, that would be great. She didn’t need them when firing a sniper.

And there was tall grass in her optics as well. Some yellow, some green, and they waved around with the wind. The target was already small as it is. She could barely see it with all these plants in the way.

She squared her shoulders, placed her good eye on the scope and breathed. She pulled the trigger and felt the sharp recoil on her shoulder.

She’d learned to ignore the ringing that came after it.

After a minute, Uncle placed a hand on her other shoulder, and her stomach sank. That wasn’t good. With binoculars on his other hand, he murmured. “A bit off to the left. Again.”

Young Y/N bit her gum. She was hungry. But there was no getting anywhere if she kept doing it like this. She quickly reloaded the rifle and placed her elbow on top of her folded knee, with the other one flat on the ground.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

The recoil felt just a tad bit more painful. Y/N looked into the scope and still, the bullet hole hit slightly to the right.

“What’s going on?” Uncle asked her. He wasn’t mad. This was her first time at a thousand yards.

“I think it’s the wind.”

“You can't work around the wind. If you keep crying about how it ruins your shots, you’ll never hit the center.”

“I know.”

“Again.” He folded his arms in front of his chest.

Breathe. Keep breathing.

And she did it. Over and over and over. Kept breathing, pulling the trigger, the pain in her shoulder less and less bearable.

Just another day. She got over it a long time ago.

“I can't do it, Uncle.”

“Yes you will.” His voice was stern. He never got angry. But she never pushed him enough to go ballistic on her either.

“I want to go home.”

“Fire the shot, Y/N.”

The ringing on her right ear became harder to ignore. She was gonna go deaf if this kept going on.

“Slow your heartbeat. I can feel you getting tense.”

The sun was starting to fall under, and the country side was a dark place if not for the sun. She’ll have three hours for her nap. Tops. Before they leave for the city tonight. The mafia leader who hired him wanted an entire rival gang gone. Uncle told her it was good if she came along, maybe even pull the trigger herself if it was close enough.

“I’m scared about tonight.”

“Stop being scared,” he said. “This is how you learn.”

“What if Batman and that red and yellow sidekick comes around again? We barely made it out the last time.”

They ambushed her and her uncle up on a rooftop. Robin was a hard one to fight off, and the snarky remarks he made while she tried her best landing a good one in the head didn’t help either. Like a parrot that just wouldn’t shut up.

“Two Face has been paid to stage a bank robbery as a distraction. Either he takes care of that or a warehouse full of drug dealers.”

Y/N had her gun lowered. Her limbs began giving out.

“Again.”

Breathe. Again. Slow the heart.

She looked back into the scope and fired.

xxxxx

Every single day. She’s held a gun in her hands.

Every day, she fired at a target that stood further and further away, each time she hits the center.

For tonight, it was farther than any average shooter could manage. She stood atop of the barracks’ roof, surrounded by nothing but grass and a few trees. The night was cool, warm enough for her to be staying out at this hour and not freeze to death. She breathed and a cool cloud of smoke escaped her lips.

In. out.

A whopping two thousand yards

Even with the scope, it was difficult to focus on. She had no assistance of any type. There were no troops around. She had no vision enhancing technology. It was just her, the moon, the gun in her hand, and target. A scarecrow from a far away barn.

The wind wasn’t strong, but it could easily move the bullet.

There were no tensions anywhere in her body. Her muscles were fully relaxed, her eyes completely focused, her mind in a calm, thoughtless state. This was her zone. This is when she felt most peaceful.

Her finger pulled the trigger.

The loud noise that followed after were enough to possibly deaf any passer by, but she remained unbothered. Uncle had made sure her ears had the strength of steel. Nothing deafened her anymore. Not even if a large drum hit close to her face.

Guns were an extension to her limbs. An extension to what she was. She could feel it merge with her body the moment she picks one up from the armory. She took out her binoculars and looked into the target.

Bullseye.

Xxxx

“What happened?”

They’d only just arrived yesterday. The Commander barged down the halls of the barracks with her Lieutenant Commander, Beckett, trailing behind her and keeping up with her pace.

“His name is Peter Hugo. He was recruited a few weeks ago-“

“How many weeks, Lieutenant?”

“Four weeks. He stayed with eight other men in the second floor. Unit 14.”

They turned to the corner, past the canteen. They said they held the culprit in the underground.

“Is the Knight coming?”

“Lieutenant Gray should be on his way to tell him.”

“Run me down exactly what happened. Don’t miss a detail.”

Beckett swallowed. “Hugo waited until you and the Knight were gone for Gotham. His first strike was about two days ago, just as you left. He was found hiding in the meeting area where he knew Deathstroke would be meeting with Crane and the other Lieutenants. It wasn’t until after the meeting when the cleaners found Slade’s cup of coffee laced with poison.”

“Poison?” The Commander shrugged. The man knew he couldn’t beat Slade at combat.

“The next day, we found him going into the kitchens with another batch of poisons with him. He’s been in the undergrounds since. Slade’s instructions.”

They went down the stairs, where they were met with a small, mechanical elevator. Beckett pulled the metal gate open and the Commander stepped inside.

“Right down here, sir.”

“That son of a bitch should’ve been taken out by now.”

Jason, fully clothed in his armor and his face covered with the same blue visor. He didn’t give her so much as a glance when the two Lieutenants gave him the room to step inside. Commander Y/N took a step to the right, then the Lieutenants went in with them and stood at the front, closing the gates and turning the lever.

The buzz from the noise made the lift last longer than it already did. The walls were dark, and they could see it move upward as they descended. They only had a single light bulb at the top, and the room, as cramped up as it already was, was made even smaller when Jason folded his big arms in front of him.

The Commander slightly turned her head, just to glance at him with the side of her eye, but looked forward before he’d come to notice.

As far as she knew, nothing happened in Gotham.

The elevator reached the underground. And the hallway leading down seemed even darker. The lights were so dim, she couldn’t see past the only lit room a few doors down. When they reached there, it didn’t even look like an interrogation room. It was like a supply closet emptied out. At the center was a man, held together with ropes around his legs and chest, his arms tied to the back of the chair as he held his head down.

Peter Hugo wasn’t much of a brute. In fact, he was quite thin. But the sharp look of his eye and the scars on his neck told them he was, in fact, quite the fighter.

Jason walked up to the man and gripped his hair.

“Who sent you?”

“I’m not talking to you!”

A hit to the jaw.

“If you keep hitting him like that, he won't be able to speak at all,” the Commander said.

Jason didn’t listen to her. He grabbed him by the hair again, pulling the chair along with him into place. He was bleeding through his mouth. Jason pulled on his scalp until Hugo’s screeching cries were too hard to hear.

“Talk.”

“Fuck you.”

A gun swiftly points at his forehead. Hugo didn’t even have the time to look up. He stared onward, still avoiding the terrifying look on Jason’s visor.

“You talk, and I’ll kill you quick enough to make it painless. Waste our time and you’ll beg me to pull the trigger.”

“Watch me.”

Jason hit the back of his head, pushing the chair down so his head would hit the ground. “Gray. Beckett. Spit it out of him.”

The Commander stood aside and watched. Not a strain on her face. Beckett was first to strike, landing the tip of his shoe right at Hugo’s unarmored chest. Gray didn’t hold back either, and his hits landed right on his teeth. A few spattered onto the floor and his blood pool started to spread further out.

“Talk!”

A painful scream when a couple of his ribs broke. It took a few minutes, and Hugo finally squealed.

“Some mogul from Armenia hired S-Slade-“ he coughed blood. “Then the bastard held off when he wanted double the pay last minute.”

“So he asked you to kill him? A small time mercenary who thought poison was the way to do it?” The Commander finally spoke.

“Fuck off!”

Beckett hit his head again. He was too weak to move. “Fuck!” Hugo cried.

“What do we do with him, sir?”

“I’m playing my end of the bargain. We kill him. Nice and quick.”

The Commander stepped forward, eyeing the man. She didn’t remember much about him. Just that he was timid, mediocre in her training sessions and couldn’t fire a bullet even when the target was in front of him.

Jason turned to her.

Slowly, he walked up to her, and spoke so silently she could make out his real voice from the visor’s filter.

“Kill him.”

He handed her the gun.

And the look Hugo hand on her when Beckett pulled the chair up again, making him look at the commander straight into her eyes, it was like he was daring her.

This woman couldn’t do it.

What does she have that made her the commander?

Anyone can take her place.

The Knight must’ve wanted her ass to look at up on the platform.

Some of these men forgot who she was. Who she really was.

“Take him upstairs. I want everyone to watch.”

They were wrong to think she was the commander for just her marksmanship, her knowledge in battle strategies, her will to lead. It was none of that. In fact, the men who knew exactly who she was, didn’t give the decision a second thought.

Some of these men forgot, or simply didn’t know. And the look Hugo gave her, it was obvious, he hadn’t a speck of an idea.

The Commander was the woman hired by the United States Secretary of State to assassinate three political enemies in their own homes on the same night.

The Commander was the woman called by three rival drug lords in Mexico to kill each other, and all three ended up with bullets stuck to their mouths.

The Commander was the woman who staged a suicide on a certain American financer convicted as a sex offender, paid millions by the biggest names in the world involved in the famous scandal.

The Commander was the woman who had the highest, and most notable, kill count out of all the men in the barracks.

She wasn’t here because she was good. She was the Commander because she’s proven it. Before she was even recruited. Only she had Deathstroke have a run for his money.

And she took them all out without having to stand less than five hundred yards away.

These men were mercenaries from all over the world. But everyone who knew her, who knew who her uncle was, kept their silence. And when they all turned to her, holding a gun while the Lieutenants lugged a man tied to a chair, brought him up to the platform where dozens of men watched on, she knew they had it right to keep silent.

Hugo looked at her, and the Commander reveled at the hundred pairs of eyes, watching as she let everyone knew why she was who she was.

She shot him right in the forehead. And the man didn’t even fall to the ground as his lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, blood dripping into his sockets.

Jason watched, and everyone was silent.

Another integral part of her training involved this moment. The hindrance of any feeling of guilt the moment you’ve pulled the trigger.

She’s mastered that quite well.

Xxxx

Bullseye.

Again.

And again.

Two thousand one hundred yards this time. That was her estimate. She moved from the scarecrow to the rooster wind vane above the same farm. So far it had three bullet holes on his little head. Y/N reloaded her gun and looked into her scope for the fifth time that night.

She had to keep her hands busy, otherwise she’d be stuck in her quarters and be forced to mull over him.

But the universe wasn’t that kind to her.

“You know.”

The chilling voice filter that had gone all too familiar. She hated it. She wanted to tear it off his face and smash it with her boot. Y/N ignored the voice behind her and pulled the trigger.

She couldn’t hear the wind vane, but it spun viciously like a storm had hit. This time it was just at the rooster’s thin neck.

“Get out of here.”

“Who told you?”

Commander Y/N reloaded her gun. She had three bullets left.

Jason didn’t sound angry. But she had no right to play victim.

“My uncle.”

She could hear him wrap his hand in a tight fist, even from a distance. The Commander focused on the scope.

“I didn’t know Joker called in Deadshot, too.”

“He did. Floyd was in Belle Reeves. But he didn’t want even if he could. He isn’t like that.”

“How nice of him. Everyone else didn’t seem to think so. Two Face. Penguin. Riddler. They all took turns at the crowbar,” Jason said. “How did he tell you?”

Y/N didn’t want to have this conversation. There wasn’t anything he said that she didn’t already know. “About a year ago when I last visited him.”

She fired another shot. The bullet landed on the wind vane’s arrow. She slowly pulled out another one.

“Why?”

Reloaded. Deep breaths. In and out.

“’Cuz he asked if I wanted to go into Arkham and… torture you.”

She fired the bullet before she could even focus on the scope. The wind vane didn’t turn. She hit the rooftop.

“You were in there for a year,” she whispered. “How are you still alive…”

“Did you hope I’d die?” Jason’s filtered voice echoed. “Maybe you should’ve taken Joker’s offer.”

“Don’t pretend we weren’t out to kill each other! No one wanted to hire me after you took me down every fucking time I got close to a target, Robin.” Y/N finally turned around.

“Part of the job. And you were the only one who was out to kill me, kid. Batman wouldn’t let me even if I wanted to.”

“Is that why you recruited me? So you could kill me from within?”

Jason fucking laughed. “You give yourself too much credit.”

She finally placed the gun to the floor, turning around to face him.

“We were enemies. You called me in to the militia knowing you had your history with Deadshot’s little partner.”

“Sidekick.”

“Partner!”

She was fuming, standing close to him while his eerie looking visor stared back.

“I only want Batman dead. I don’t care about anyone else,” he growled. “And I knew you. I knew what you could do. That’s why I called you in. This isn’t about some grudge.”

Jason took a step back. His voice was starting to crack. “Joker… beat any smidge of hope left in me. And turned me into this…” he choked.

Y/N watched him slowly crumble, holding himself up. A part of her hated him so much. The same part that destroys her from the guilt that came with her knowing.

And the other part wanted to pull him close and tell him how the nightmares will be over soon, that it hurt her to even think about him being hurt, too.

“I’m sorry…” she said. “I’m so sorry-“

“Don’t!” Jason took a step back and screamed. “You knew what happened.”

“I couldn’t do what Joker did to you-“

“How does it feel, huh? To have known I was in an abandoned wing in Arkham, tortured everyday at the brink of death and you didn’t do anything about it…”

“Jason-“

“You could’ve helped me. Or helped Joker. Either way, I didn’t expect you to just sit there and be some coward hoping I’d die.”

“Fuck you-“

“You were right. Deadshot turned you into a mindless machin-“

A strong, massive punch right into his visor. And it broke, some of the pieces scattered on the floor. Y/N’s hand immediately formed a bruise and she winced at the painful shocks running up her arm. Jason almost toppled to the ground, turning his head back before she landed her knee right into his chest.

Jason fell to the ground, but as the Commander charged, he caught her leg and flung her across the ground. He stood up, brushing the pain off his chest. Her hit went past through the armor. Good. Her strength will diminish before long.

Y/N pulled herself up, tearing a part of her suit to wrap around her knuckles. The pain can be ignored. For now.

Batman’s and Deadshot’s young wards. Now the Arkham Knight and the Militia Commander. The fight that was always meant to be.

If they were lucky, no one had to be thrown out of the roof before the sun rises.

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THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

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mydrug-is-dragonage · 3 years

Text

Veda Adaar, After the Exalted Council

The first few weeks, Thom had hardly left my side, bringing me meals, preparing my baths, redressing my bandages. He moved slowly, sure of each action, careful to read my reactions. We often sat in silence. Spring rain falling, washing Skyhold clean, he and I made our way down the steps, back to his old barn. The horses still around, Master Dennet returned to his wife and daughter, now grown. Thom helped me up the stairs, we laid on hay and listened to the sound of rain on the roof. We didn’t have words. I reached over and put a hand on his.

“Veda,” he started. I shook my head. “Not yet?”

“No,” I said, “what do we even start with?”

“It’s only been two weeks. Every wound is still fresh.” A small exhaled laugh escaped me. “I didn’t mean just physically.” I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My eyes welled and tears began to fall down my face. “You have survived a hundred things meant to kill you. You will survive this too.” I moved towards him, he put his arm around me and I nestled into his chest.

“Imagine if they saw the mighty inquisitor now,” I laughed. I snorted away the dripping from my tears. “They’d be so pleased to see how far I’d fallen.”

He shushed me. “Anyone who sees you and doesn’t have their heart broken for you is no one worth knowing. You and the Inquisition have more than proved your worth.”

“Oh yeah, me, the great one-armed mage-warrior who can barely carry a staff in battle and the Inquisition, four agents and their maimed leader.”

“You’re hurt. You’re hurting. You aren’t lesser just because you’ve lost a hand.” I sighed, blinked my eyes. “You were able to forgive me for crimes I didn’t even commit against you, but you can’t forgive yourself for things that happened to you.” I started to open my mouth. “No, Veda. Sit in the grief. Don’t wallow like a pig in shit. Sit in it. Feel the pain. There will be life after this, just as there was life before.” He put his arm back out, and I turned towards him and cried in his chest.

We didn’t discuss when he’d leave. I knew he’d get going again, inevitable continuance of life. The day he packed his things to go, I leaned against the wall in the barn, arms crossed. My fingers rubbed the bandages, perhaps the last ones he’d prepare for me. “Do you know where you’re going first?” I asked.

“Cullen’s invited me down to his home for the Templars. Going to see what good I can do there.”

“You could do good, here,” I said.

“I could,” he said, he stopped packing and looked towards the wall, then to me, “but I think you need some time.”

“Time?”

“You have to learn how to be Veda, again.”

I snorted, “I’ve been Veda this whole time.”

“No, you haven’t been Veda since Haven. I remember her, the girl you were. Barely 18, green, flirting with me while I helped the recruits fight bandits. You were so sure of yourself, the way children always are.”

“I didn’t flirt,” I said, “and I wasn’t a child. I’d been in different companies on and off for three years at that point.”

“You were experienced, but you were a child. You still are, in some ways, Veda. You were meant to be the Inquisitor, but you shouldn’t have had to be.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” I said. “I made some wonderful friendships. I became a household name. I became so much.”

“And you never got to figure out who you were. You had some time, those few years, you and Bull fighting demons and settling petty disputes. You started to get a feel for who you were. I remember the first time I came back, me, you, Cassandra. Divine Victoria returning for a visit. Bull pouring drinks, Varric dealing a hand for Wicked Grace, Sera drunk and happy hanging on Dagna. I saw you being yourself for a moment. No longer the Inquisitor or the mercenary or a child. Just being Veda, a young woman surrounded by her friends. The teenager you should have been all those years ago. But something always called you away, the mask returned. You give Orlesians a run for their money.”

The sound of Bull’s name caused me to swallow. Skyhold felt emptier. The masses had left, but they weren’t what made our home hollow. I reached up, felt the groove in my horn. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t have mentioned him.” His voice was sharper, his body stiffened.

“You don’t have to be angry for me.”

“I do, until you’re ready to be angry.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be angry,” I said. “I want to be, some times. I want to scream and curse his name. I want him to suffer. Sometimes I start to pray that he doesn’t return to the Maker’s side.”

“But you never do.” “But I never do.”

“One day you will,” he said. “It won’t have made your love any less real. It won’t have made what you had any less important. But one day you’ll finally be angry. Then, some time after that, the anger, too, will pass.”

“You sound so certain.”

“I have practice mourning.” I walked up to him. He turned towards me and we embraced.

“Thank you, Thom.”

“Always a pleasure, my lady Inquisitor.”

Skyhold felt emptier then. The few of us who remained settled into routines. Lace and I in the war room, Dagna fiddling with her contraptions. Visitors stopped by, Skyhold remained a pilgrimage of sorts. Lace learned how to read me, when I could greet people, when I needed to be left alone. Lace, the kind woman, had become my greatest ally. We sat comfortably in silence. She was one of the few people unafraid to still make me laugh. She told me stories of growing up near Redcliffe, the way winters made spring worth the wait.

Six weeks had gone by. The world had resumed, Thom had been gone for a fortnight. I found it harder to go up and down the many stairs of Skyhold. When sitting in Dorian’s nook, I found myself exhausted, inclined to sleep instead of read. At first, I cursed my arm. Being functionally decommissioned had rendered me lazy. But it’d only been six weeks, it hadn’t been long enough for me to lose years of strength overnight. Lace woke me up early, and we went for a walk along the battlements. The sun began to rise over the mountain tops. “I’m still not used to how beautiful it is here,” she said.

I smiled and looked down at her, “I hope I never get used to it.”

“Do you think we’ll move on, eventually?”

“I think Skyhold will be ours. A headquarters, I guess.”

“Good,” she said, “I’ve really settled into Divine Victoria’s quarters.” We laughed, and the nausea came upon me. I tried to compose myself, hoping it’d pass, but I felt the churning rising from my stomach and I ran to the edge. When I finished being sick, Lace turned to me. “You okay, V? Is it something you ate?”

I wiped my mouth and put a hand out for her waterskin. “I don’t think so. I’ve felt so awful the last couple weeks. Exhausted, now this.” I rinsed my mouth, then drank from the bag.

Lace pursed her lips and looked towards the sky. “What?” I asked.

“Well, V, Veda, Inquisitor.”

“Lace, what?”

“Have you considered,” she started.

“Considered what?” I asked, the curtness of my voice surprising me.

“You may, in fact, be with child?”

“What? No, that couldn’t be,” I said, shaking the thought from my mind.

“You’re tired, you’re sick. Unless the birds are especially lively you have had sex.”

“Not since,” I started and let myself trail off. “Lace, a healer. Discreet. Someone Leliana would trust.”

“Understood.”

It was a long week. The nausea came and went, my breasts began to swell. I closed my eyes to it. When Lace and I attempted to spar, the easiest maneuvers left me tired. I sat in the grand hall, near the fireplace. People came and went, carrying food or supplies, maps or documents. Lace approached me. “The healer is here, V.”

“Let’s go to my room. More privacy,” I said. She nodded.

In my bedroom, I lay on the bed. Lace sat towards my feet. The healer looked up at me and smiled. “I’m going to touch your stomach, is that alright?” I nodded and she ran her hands along my belly.

The time passed slowly, I felt myself breathless and she moved her hands, the magic permeating my body. She moved her fingers precisely, lingering in certain spots. After a few moments, she pulled her hands away and stepped back. “Congratulations,” she said.

I swallowed. “Congratulations?”

“You’re expecting. The baby feels healthy.” She smiled. I looked towards Lace, my eyes wet. I felt my lip quiver.

“Let’s give the Inquisitor a moment. Can you wait downstairs?”

“Of course,” she said. She gave me a soft bow and walked down the stairs. I waited to hear the first door close, then the second.

I sat up, my right arm holding up my body. I pulled my legs into myself and put my head on my knees. “V,” Lace said.

“That bastard.”

“Huh?”

“That bastard!” I screamed. I stood up and paced around. I crossed my arms. “How could he do this? What was he thinking?”

“V…”

“No, Lace. No. We were together for three years and we never had any sort of incident. We were together for three years. We had sex for three years, Lace. We had sex all the fucking time and not once did we have a problem. Not even a scare. Not even once was I afraid I’d get pregnant, afraid I’d carry his child. Not once was it even a concern,” I yelled.

“V…”

“Lace,” I turned towards her. I put my arms by my side, the muscles in my neck tensing.

“It could have been an accident. Everyone slips up,” she said.

“Not. Bull. Not even once,” I yelled again. I started pacing again, then I walked to the balcony. I saw the sky, the birds flying about, the arm had begun to warm, but kept the crispness of the mountains. I looked over the edge and screamed.

“Veda, we have guests,” she said.

“Well, Lace, you better go keep them distracted then.” She took her cue and left the room. I walked over to my bed, the stack of colorful pillows I’d slept on for years. I grabbed one and started ripping at the seams. Its age betrayed it, it tore apart like it barely existed all. I walked to my wardrobe, my robes and armor and the occasional gown. I started pulling everything out, tossing it about, and then pulled the wardrobe over with it. I continued, breaking apart my desk, knocking it over. I kept going, until I cried and hit the window with my fist.

The shattered glass woke me up from the destructive trance. The sounds of cracks and bursting, the shards of light littering the floor. I looked at my hand, full of glass and bleeding. I sat on the floor and cried. Too young for this, too old for this, too alone for this, surrounded by too many people for this. With the sound of the shattering, Lace ran back in. “Oh sweet Maker, V. What are you doing?”

I looked up at her, crying, “I don’t know!” She leaned over me, embracing me.

After a moment, she looked down at me, “I’m going to get the healer, and maybe some water. Gonna need to get all that glass out. A broom too.” I sat on the floor, surrounded by colored glass. The breeze blew in the window, tickling the hair on my neck.

The healer walked in and put a hand on her chest. She walked over to me and extended a hand. “Let’s get you up,” she said. She walked towards me and put her arm around my right forearm. I used her as a balance and found my way to my feet. She used her sleeve to dust off my backside, clearing the debris off me. I sat on the sofa, one of only a few things not overturned in my room.

Lace brought a bowl of water and the healer unpacked her supplies. She took her time, moving each piece of glass out of my hand. She used water to cleanse it, a poultice to soothe it, spiritual allies to heal it properly. As she wrapped my hand in a bandage, she kept her gaze down. “I’m sorry,” she said.

I kept my eyes out the window, staring at the peaks just out of reach. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“No, I do,” she said. “I knew about you and your lover. Your partnership has reached fame of its own. I presumed, due to his passing, this would be a welcome surprise. I hadn’t considered the grief you may be enduring.”

“His passing,” I said, my tone even and calm.

“Yes, his unfortunate loss is known amongst some circles.”

I formed a weak smile. “No one has ever said, ‘he passed,” before. Everyone always refers to it as the betrayal.”

“That doesn’t change its roots. It’s loss, regardless,” she said. She tied the bandage to secure it, and placed her hands on her lap. “It’s still early. I’d say seven or eight weeks, if forced to put a number on it.”

“Seven or eight weeks?” I asked, the words cracking as they left my thoat.

“Yes, my lady. You’ve still got some time to go before the little one arrives. I’d be happy to assist, as necessary, although I’m admittedly not well-versed in Qunari gestation. Do they,” she started, but stopped herself.

“Do they what?”

“Um… well…”

From near the window, Lace perked her head up. “She wants to know if they come out with horns.” For the first time in weeks, I laughed. I let out a laugh deep from my belly. Lace joins me, and before we know it the healer and us are all bent over with such casual glee. My hand drifted to my belly, and my eyes watered again. This time, I swallowed and looked at Lace. With those piercing green eyes I could hear her saying You’re going to be okay.

#dragon age #dragon age adaar #veda adaar #inquisitor x bull #adaar x bull #scout harding #blackwall #thom rainier #divine victoria #iron bull #inquisitor #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor adaar #da #dai #fanfic

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dragonfics · 6 years

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Summary:

The Spider collects her debt...

Warning: This chapter contains attempted rape as well as a lot of non-consensual touching and generally uncomfortable themes.

To skip the attempted sexual assault, stop reading when you reach the first xxx and start again when you reach the second xxx. However, there is still a lot of unwanted touching and general creepiness in the first scene, so skip straight to the second xxx if you need to.

Additionally, there will be a summary of this chapter at the beginning of the next chapter if you feel you need to skip this chapter entirely.

Warnings: Attempted rape, non-consensual touching, non-consensual biting, temporary paralysis, graphic depictions of violence, arachnophobia, breaking bones, poisoning, description of veins, stabbing. Heavy emphasis on how important it is for anyone to let me know if I've missed any tags.

Ship: Spicyhoney Tags: Vampire AU, Medieval AU, Angst, Mild hurt/comfort Chapter WC: ~5.6k

_____________________________________

This is probably the last Bad Chapter™ (barring a few more Angsty Happenings). Lots of hurt/comfort and fluff from here onward.

~Below the cut~

if ya let a vampire get its fangs inta ya, yer as good as dust.

“Rus…” Edge clawed uselessly at Rus’s skull, his struggles feeble. He’d lost too much magic already. He had no strength remaining. “… stop.” Even his words lacked essence, barely a whisper in the still room. He could feel his lifeforce slipping away…

And yet somehow, in the midst of his own certain demise, Edge felt pleasant. Numb, but comfortable. Weak, but calm. Rus’s venom spread from his neck downward, soaking his nodes and relaxing his body. Though the sane part of his mind urged him to protest—to at least try and fight back—he felt quite content to succumb, and let himself drift off.

In his daze, he thought of Snowdin. Not as it was now, but as it had been in his childhood. He thought of sparring with his brother in unused barns and abandoned farmlands. He remembered the first time they’d played in the snow together, and the first time his brother had returned home from a hunt. Before his training had begun. The memories flooded him, and he basked in them.

And then they were gone.

Edge was pulled sharply back to reality, immediately noticing the absence of Rus’s fangs. He’d been propped haphazardly against the foot of the bed, slumped, his body too weak to hold him up. Rus was standing above him, looking panicked. “edge, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean—i shouldn’t have…”

Edge tried to reach for Rus, but his fingers barely twitched. “R…s…” He was too sluggish to enunciate his words, the sound nothing more than a gurgle. Teleport us, he wanted to say. Get us out of here. He could see the Royal Guard standing behind Rus—they were saying something, but their words were lost in the cotton that filled Edge’s skull. His vision was already darkening around the edges, hazing out of focus.

“i’m sorry, edge, i have to go. i have to—i won’t hurt you anymore. i can’t…” Rus’s voice faded, becoming muffled and incoherent. Edge stared up at him, but he could barely see him. His bones felt like lead—hollow lead. He couldn’t move. He was empty, drained.

He looked up again and found that Rus had disappeared. He was gone. That should have pleased Edge, right? Rus had tried to kill him… had succeeded. Edge should want him gone.

The Royal Guard was shouting, but Edge couldn’t make sense of what they were saying. He felt his body being lifted… and then he slipped into darkness.

****

remember, bro, don’ let yer fear control you.

Giving up was easy. Letting go. Allowing himself to drift to whatever plane of existence came next. It may have served him well to do so. To let go of all the troubles life came with. To free himself of the burdens and worries of staying alive.

But Edge had always been stubborn. He fought the weight of sleep, and became aware of a tingling sensation at his neck. It wasn’t entirely comfortable—but it wasn’t unpleasant either. Bordering between too much and not enough. It was all Edge could feel.

And then… warmth, which slowly grew to heat. Dancing across Edge’s bones and face, making him sweat. Next came the too-sweet smell of sugar and flowers, then the soft chirping of insects and birds.

Edge opened his sockets and squinted against the light. He searched his surroundings as they gradually came into focus.

He was sitting in a garden. Lush with hundreds of different flowering species. Trees and bushes grew around him, ripe with strange silver fruit. A rainbow of colours danced off the flora and a glance upward revealed a ceiling made of stained glass. In front of him was a long table bearing too much food to take note of—pastries, cakes, tarts, muffins, doughnuts, and a few Edge didn’t recognise.

There was a light cough, and it was then that Edge realised he wasn’t alone. He looked up; sitting across from him was—

“Hello, Edgy dearie~” Muffet trilled, her thin purple mouth curling into a smile. “How lovely of you to finally join us.”

Edge’s first instinct was to reach for his magic. He tried to lift his hand—but was hindered by the sticky web binding his wrists to the chair. He looked up at Muffet sharply, sockets widening in panic. She leaned forward and rested her chin delicately on top of her hands. “Aren’t you looking lovely?” she said, simpering. “It’s been far too long. You’ve grown up nicely. Very nicely, dear.”

Her depthless black eyes wandered the length of his body, and Edge realised his armour had been replaced by a light silk robe. Out of reflex, he moved his arms to try and cover himself, but the webs held fast. His chest was almost bare, the robe providing little coverage for his upper half. His feet were bare too. He could feel the grass beneath them.

He stared at Muffet, though holding eye contact with her made his chest clench unpleasantly. She was too calm, too satisfied with herself. “What do you want?” Edge asked, his voice emerging raspy.

Muffet tilted her head, studying him curiously. She leaned back, indicating the food laid out on the table in front of her. “Why don’t you eat something?” she asked. “You still have a lot of magic to restore.”

It occurred to Edge then, that… Well. He wasn’t dead. And in fact, he could feel that his HP hovered rather comfortably above half, magic greasing his joints. He didn’t like to think what Muffet might have fed him to replenish it. “Not hungry,” he said, flatly. “Why am I here?”

Muffet considered him, biting into a cupcake. “Consider yourself an honoured guest, dearie,” she said, pleasantly, wiping the frosting from her mouth with a delicately folded napkin. “It’s been so long. Too long. I’ve missed you.” She smiled and Edge’s chest lurched.

“For good reason,” Edge said, tightly. “I don’t work for you.”

“Not anymore,” Muffet said, sighing. “A pity. You were one of my favourites.” The sparkle in her black eyes made Edge shudder. She watched him in silence, and he didn’t dare look away. Didn’t dare submit. He met her gaze head on, unwavering, despite the pit of nausea in his soul.

After she’d finished her cupcake, Muffet stood and leaned across the table, cupping Edge’s face with two hands. “You’ve picked up a few scars,” she remarked, more observant than remorseful. She trailed a finger over the deep one that cut through his left socket, then hesitated when she reached his neck. Her fingers hovered, half an inch above the fresh bite wound. Drawing back, she let her hand rest back on his cheekbone again, smiling. “They suit you.” Her claws raked across his face—too hard—before she pulled away. Her hands left behind a crawling feeling on the bone.

“How long do you intend to play games with me?” Edge asked, blandly. “I was hoping to be home for dinner.”

“Oh, you will be,” Muffet said. “One way or another.” She eyed him, walking towards her garden and plucking a piece of fruit Edge didn’t recognise from one of the bushes. Silver juice spilled from down her chin as she bit into it. “Care for a bite?” she asked Edge. He tensed as she came to stand behind his chair, leaning over and sliding her hands down his chest. “It’s delicious.” He felt her breath against his skull as she inhaled. “Much like yourself.”

Edge rolled his eyes but remained painstakingly still as Muffet’s hands wandered him. Droplets of silver spilled into his lap as she took another bite from the fruit. The liquid looked familiar. Edge frowned.

“You’ve seen it before,” Muffet observed. “I traded it to you. Though, the portion I gave you was far more concentrated than this.” She took another bite of the fruit. “It should have been enough to kill that beast you’ve been parading around.” There was a note of bitterness to her tone, and the admission stunned Edge.

He gathered himself, swallowing. “The King allows you to grow silver fruit?” he asked, feigning impassivity.

Muffet tittered and placed the half-eaten fruit on the tablecloth. She leaned over his shoulder again, running her hands beneath his robe. “Oh, dearie. He’s my best customer.”

The confession chilled Edge just as much as Muffet’s wandering hands. What use did the King have for silver fruit? Silver was deadly to vampires, and the King’s entire pitch advocated for the protection of vampires…

And more to the point—why would Muffet tell Edge such a well-guarded secret? Deep down, he knew… she had no intention of letting him live long enough to breath a word of it to anyone outside of this place.

don’t let fear control you.

“Let’s forego the small talk and get to the point, shall we?” Edge said, breathing slowly to keep his voice steady. “I owe you money.”

Muffet’s hands stilled on his chest, and she laughed softly. “Oh, dearie, you think this is about money?” Edge frowned, but didn’t reply. “You stole from me, yes, but it was never about money. I was doing you a favour—and now I want you to do me one in return. That’s all.”

“I don’t do favours for you anymore.” Edge shivered when Muffet hooked her fingers beneath his ribs, stroking them lightly. What should have been a pleasant sensation only made his marrow curdle. He may have mistaken the gesture for affection, but Edge knew too well that this was only part of her game. One of her strategies to throw him off kilter, so that she could sculpt him to fulfil her whims.

“But you will,” she said, breathing against his acoustic meatus. “You’ll do this for me.”

“Try me,” Edge hissed through his teeth as she nipped at his shoulder.

They both turned at the sound of creaking hinges. Beneath the underbrush on the other side of the table, a trapdoor swung open, and a Knight Knight emerged. “Miss Muffet—”

“What did I say about interrupting me?” Muffet hissed, pulling back from Edge sharply. He shuddered as her claws raked across his chest.

The Knight Knight looked apprehensive. “My apologies, Miss Muffet. But I have dire news.”

Edge frowned. He recognised that voice…

It struck him. It belonged to the ‘Royal Guard’ he’d made a deal with at the Dusty Planes. The Knight Knights had defected from the Royal Guard to join Muffet’s ranks long ago. Edge cursed himself for being so naïve. Though he’d never intended to uphold his end of the bargain, he’d assumed the Guard had only been in it for the gold (… and the vampire, his mind supplied, grimly). But he’d been playing right into Muffet’s hand.

“Well? What is the news?” Muffet asked impatiently. “Don’t waste my time. My pet is hungry.” Her many eyes flickered to Edge as she spoke.

“The vampire,” the Knight Knight said, “we weren’t able to apprehend it.” She fell silent, the eye at her torso wide and fearful. For a moment, Muffet said nothing, but there was a twitch in her expression. “M-Miss Muffet,” the Knight Knight stammered. “We—I tried. I pursued it all night, but it was too quick. And it could teleport—”

“I would advise you be quicker next time,” Muffet interrupted, inhaling crisply.

The eye at the Knight Knight’s torso blinked. “I—I will. I will, Miss Muffet, I—”

“I would,” Muffet said. “But I’m afraid your service ends here, dearie.”

The Knight Knight’s expression morphed to terror, and Edge figured this was more than just a dismissal. “What? No, please, I—”

Muffet had already turned away from her. “Oh, pet!” she called up to the canopy of trees. “I have a treat for you~”

Edge looked up and froze, a scream catching in his throat as horror rippled down his spine. A great, eight-legged beast was descending from the trees above him. It was at least the size of a horse-drawn carriage, and the bough it hung from groaned beneath its weight. Had it been up there the entire time?

Edge flinched as it landed a few feet away from him with a thud. It chittered happily as Muffet stroked its head. “Are you hungry, pet?” Muffet crooned. She eyed the Knight Knight, who was quaking where she stood. “Just the legs, pet,” Muffet said. “If she can’t catch one vampire, she has no use for them. I release you from my service, dear,” she added, barely glancing at the Knight Knight.

“No,” the Knight Knight choked, already scrambling to open the trapdoor.

“Go on, pet,” Muffet said. “She’s yours.” Her pet lunged forward. The Knight Knight screamed, giving up on the trapdoor and running for the trees. She didn’t make it far. The beast pounced on her and caught her legs in its pincers.

Edge looked away, squeezing his sockets closed. Nothing could block out the sounds, though. The Knight Knight’s wretched gurgles and the wet tearing of flesh. A startled whimper broke out of his throat when he felt Muffet’s delicate fingers on his arm. “Oh, I know, dearie. My pet is a little primitive.” Her voice held fondness. “She doesn’t have the patience to savour her prey and drain the life from it slowly. I’ve been trying to teach her, but…”

Edge stared at her, horrified and disgusted. Yet she smiled. “But come along. You don’t need to see this.” Her words were punctuated by a sickening crunch of armour and bone. Bile rose in Edge’s throat. “Let’s get you inside.”

Edge might have been able to fight Muffet had she not bound his hands tightly before escorting him out of the garden. But the hopeless reality was that he was trapped here. Her lair was an intricate series of underground passages, guarded at every corner. And even if by some miracle Edge managed to escape, her spies were everywhere. It wouldn’t be long before he was back in her clutches.

He was a fly, caught in her web.

It came as a surprise when Muffet led him into a bedroom, instead of the expected chamber she used to deal with dissidents. Edge had become familiar with the darker corners of Muffet’s web, but never her private space—much less her own elegant quarters.

“What is this?” Edge asked. Something wasn’t right. Suspicion crept down his spine, and his bones tingled with anxious magic.

“We’re here to discuss your favour, dearie,” Muffet told him as she rested him on the bed. He fought her, but she was strong—stronger than even he was. She pinned him down easily and secured his wrists to the headboard with more sticky web. Edge felt on display with nothing but the meagre silk robe web to cover him. Muffet slipped it off his shoulder and her black eyes wandered to his clavicle. The delight in them was hardly restrained.

She crossed the room and opened the dresser. Edge felt his soul plummet as she drew out a knife—his knife. She smiled at him as she turned, running her finger along the flat edge of the blade. “Fine workmanship,” she said. “And pure silver, too. Quite the rarity.”

Edge inhaled, but said nothing, though his fingers itched for his knife.

Amusement danced across Muffet’s expression. “I’ll gladly return it to you, dearie. I understand how precious such a thing must be.” She approached the bedside and placed the knife on the end table. Leaning in, she whispered, “And perhaps I’ll even allow you to kill that creature yourself. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, dearie? After all it’s done to you.” She touched his neck, and Edge felt the bite flaring, like a reminder of the vampire’s presence. Muffet moved her hand away, avoiding the wound.

“Something to drink?” she offered, picking up the jug from the table beside the bed. Edge didn’t answer, but she poured him a glass anyway. “The finest wine,” she told him. “Procured from the King’s very own vineyards.” She pressed the glass to his teeth and he turned his head away. “Drink, dearie. You need to restore your HP.”

Edge knew whatever fight he put up would be futile. But he would fight nonetheless. Though despair had his soul in a tight grip, he pushed the feelings back. There had to be a way out of this—there always was. He couldn’t fight her physically, but maybe he could negotiate.

“You said you wanted me to do you a favour,” he said, choosing his words carefully. He couldn’t give her the upper hand in their negotiation… although, given his compromising position, that was going to prove difficult.

Muffet placed the glass of wine back on its tray, and smiled. “A service would better describe it.”

That hardly boded well. Still, Edge remained impassive. “And what does this service entail?” He wanted to know if this would require getting his hands… dusty. And whose dust it might be. He’d killed for Muffet in the past, but it had taken years to detach himself from those kills. It was not something he’d gladly agree to again—but given his circumstances, he didn’t exactly have options.

xxx

Sour magic rose to Edge’s mouth when Muffet’s lips curled. She saved that smile for things that truly thrilled her. And the ‘things’ that thrilled Muffet seldom escaped without scars. Edge stared, frozen, as she climbed onto the bed and knelt over him. “I remember the days when you served me, dearie,” she said, silkily, running her thumb over his cheekbone. “Those were good days. I want them back.”

Edge was trying very hard not to think about his position—reclined and sprawled on the bed, Muffet kneeling over him like he was one of her toys. It’s just part of her game, he reminded himself. She’s just trying to unsettle you. “One favour,” he said, firmly. “One favour for the items you traded me, nothing more. Then we’re done. For good.” Edge had been stupid to do business with the Spider in the first place. Desperate—but stupid. He wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

Magic soured in his mouth when Muffet’s eyes glinted with excitement. She cupped his skull and leaned down, kissing his teeth. Edge choked, startled. She had toyed with him like this before, but she’d never taken things this far. He could feel her cold tongue pressing against his teeth, demanding entrance. Edge was shaking. He tried to turn his head away to escape her invasive mouth but she had two hands holding his skull in place, and his efforts were futile.

When Muffet pulled away at last, Edge stared at her, horrified. He opened his mouth, trying to find words, but he could only stammer. Muffet laughed lightly, pressing a hand over her mouth—that mouth. Edge’s chest cavity was churning with bile and acidic magic. He felt foul and dirty. He wanted to cleanse his teeth with boiling water. He could feel the remnants of her saliva on his teeth—almost taste it.

Muffet leaned down again and Edge tensed—but instead of kissing him, she pressed her lips against his acoustic meatus. “I think this is a favour we can both enjoy,” she whispered, her tongue flicking against his skull. “Don’t you, dearie?”

Edge shook his head firmly, trembling as she drew away. “No,” he choked. “This isn’t what I agreed to. This is not—”

“Oh, but you did, dearie,” Muffet said, stroking away the tears that beaded at his sockets. “You agreed to do me a favour.”

“Not this.” Edge’s voice barely left his throat, dry and raspy.

“Relax, my sweet Edge,” Muffet purred, pressing her lips to his neck. “I think you’ll find that you quite enjoy yourself—maybe even as much as I do.” She giggled again, and bitter mana trickled into Edge’s mouth.

He lay stiff and unyielding as she licked his vertebrae. Her tongue felt sickly against his neck, wet and unwelcome. She moved down to his clavicle and he suppressed a broken whimper as she began to nip at it, the bites delicate and gentle. Wrong. He could handle beatings, or pain, or even killing nameless monsters. But this was something else entirely. It was intimate. It was personal. And it was being taken away from him.

Edge had never done this with anyone. He’d never trusted anyone enough to reveal this part of himself to them. He’d never been encapsulated by the desire to feel the touch of another monster. Such an act demanded trust, respect… love. Muffet had none of those things. Not from Edge. And here she was, taking it from him.

“Stop,” he growled, even though the word cracked in his throat and emerged broken. “Don’t—” He tried to struggle, kicking his legs and wrenching his arms against the webs that bound them.

A subtle hiss left Muffet’s mouth and she looked up at him, frustrated. “You’re making this very difficult, dearie,” she said, tersely. She moved to straddle Edge’s hips, and he fought her all the way. She easily held him down. “Stop moving,” she warned, pressing four of her arms to his ribcage and hips to keep him still.

“I’m not doing this,” Edge said, trying to inject more vehemence into his voice. “This was not the deal. You can’t—”

“I can.” Muffet sounded almost angry now, though the sweet smile that crossed her face belied her tone. She sighed breezily and threaded her fingers between Edge’s ribs, stroking them delicately. He jerked beneath the touch, and her smile grew. “I love the ones that fight,” she murmured, looking at him fondly. “I love seeing them struggle, clinging to hope no matter how little of it there is. That’s part of why you were always one of my favourites, Edgy dearie. You’re a fighter.”

Edge opened his mouth to retort but was stopped short when Muffet crouched and sunk her fangs into his clavicle. He choked weakly as she moved to his ribs and bit down again. He could feel her venom flowing through him like cold acid. Strangely, he was reminded of the vampire’s venom.

But this was nothing like that. Where the vampire’s bite had left him warm and comfortable and relaxed, this was like a burning river of ice flooding his marrow. It seared through him and made him go stiff. He could feel everything Muffet was doing to him, but his body was rigid and unmovable. If there had been hope of fighting back before, it was now vanquished.

Edge tried to speak but his words were a gurgle in his throat. Muffet sat up and studied him, something almost sympathetic in her eyes. “Oh, sweet Edgy,” she crooned, caressing his jaw. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do that. No matter. You’ll still enjoy yourself.” She slipped the robe off his shoulders and began kissing them. A motionless shudder passed through Edge. He could do nothing.

He lay still. He wanted to close his eyes, to shut off at least one of his senses, but terror kept them open. He stared at the canopy of the bed. Violet silk draped across the bedposts, threaded with silver web. The room was silent, but for Muffet’s quiet hums of satisfaction, and the wet sound of her mouth against Edge’s clavicle.

He felt like a prisoner in his own body, forced to watch as it was violated.

Muffet’s teeth found his neck. She was gentle, running her fingers down his ribs as she nibbled at his vertebrae. Edge felt her hesitate at the bite wounds on his neck, her cold breaths ghosting over the bone—but not touching. She resumed, working her way around the puncture wounds. They flared hot on Edge’s neck, a contrast to the bitter cold of Muffet’s saliva.

“You won’t remember it.”

Edge almost didn’t register the words, until Muffet spoke again. “You won’t remember that creature once we’re finished, dearie. I’ll have it slaughtered for you. I’ll defang it and drive silver into its soul. I’ll scatter its dust over my hemlock. Its taste would hardly be satisfactory for my bakery. I’ll undo what it did to you.” Her fingers wandered delicately over Edge’s neck, avoiding the bite wound. “I’ll make it pay.”

Tears pooled in Edge’s sockets.

be brave, Red had taught him. when faced with a vampire, don’ let yerself show fear. be strong.

But this wasn’t a vampire. This was a mortal monster, and Edge was powerless to stop it from taking what it wanted from him.

You never taught me this, Red, Edge thought. You never taught me that the world has demons worse than vampires.

Edge’s chest lurched sickeningly as Muffet slid the robe away from his legs, exposing his pelvis. He made a final attempt at protesting, trying to struggle out of her grip. His body only twitched.

Muffet purred as she licked his hip, trailing down and biting his tailbone. The stimulation made his hips twitch reflexively and Muffet hummed, smiling at him. “I knew you wanted this, dearie,” she said, lifting her head to stroke his face. “My delicious pet.”

Edge finally closed his eyes as her fingers began to wander his ilium. He ignored the sensations, and the magic that flared through his bones. At his neck, the vampire’s bite tingled warmly. He focused on it, dissociating himself from every other feeling passing through his body.

xxx

Instead, he thought of Rus.

Rus’s fangs on his neck, Rus cradled him his arms as he drank, Rus’s freshly fed golden eyes. Edge’s mind drifted…

… and then, Muffet was gone.

Edge’s sockets snapped open in time to see her being dragged off him. She hissed and clawed at the arms that grasped her, and both she and her assailant toppled to the ground. Muffet sprung to her feet immediately, while the other monster scrambled away—

It was Rus.

Edge felt sick with relief. His chest and throat and soul seized up all at once and the tears in his eyes became ones of joy. A choke escaped him and Rus caught his eye for half a second before Muffet was on him. He stumbled backwards as she shoved him hard against the wall, the plaster cracking beneath the weight of his fall. Though Edge knew it would take silver to kill him, the sight of Rus—delicate, gentle Rus—taking such a heavy physical blow, was jarring.

He’s not hurt. It won’t kill him.

Muffet seemed to realise this too. Her eyes flickered to the Edge’s blade at the bedside, and Rus used her moment of distraction to teleport across the room. Briefly stunned, Muffet spun in search of him, her black eyes glistening with violence. She made a lunge for the knife at the same time as Rus teleported toward it.

Muffet’s fingers closed around it first and she slashed out.

Edge’s breath caught in horror as the knife grazed the air near Rus’s throat. So close. One hit and he’s dead. But Rus was quick. He moved like fire, flickering across the room before Muffet could get near him. Flashes of red magic followed him as he moved. Edge’s magic.

Muffet began to grow frustrated. She hissed and lashed out erratically, the knife narrowly missing Rus each time.

Edge watched them move, like a blur before his eyes. Muffet had strength on her side. Her LV was high—high enough to bolster her physical strength as well as her magical strength. But Rus had speed. He was agile and light on his feet, always just a split second ahead of Muffet.

But he was growing tired. Edge could tell by the pale sheen of sweat that coated his skull, and the way his movements began to lag.

This wasn’t a fight he could win. The realisation struck Edge painfully.

Muffet was on the offensive now, and Rus had nothing to fight back with. Vampires were made to seduce and trick their prey—to out-manoeuvre, not out-muscle. Rus couldn’t win. The dread came creeping back, and Edge’s body twitched, desperate to jump in and protect Rus—to hold him close, keep him safe.

The next swing of the knife caught Rus’s shoulder, tearing his sleeve. A breathless whimper left Edge, and with all his strength, he tried to fight the sedating venom in his bones. His body twitched.

Muffet’s next attack was hard and heavy, and Rus used the moment to unbalance her, knocking one of her legs out from under her. She caught herself before she hit the floor, but the knife fell from her hand and went sliding across the room.

For a second, Rus had the upper hand.

But the move had put him in a vulnerable position—and as she always did, Muffet capitalised. She caught him around the torso with four arms, dragging him against her and pinning him. Rus gasped out a choke as she squeezed his neck, pulling him to the floor and wrapping all eight of her legs around him, strangling any attempts at movement.

Muffet’s expression was strained, but there was a satisfaction beneath it. Her eyes were on Edge as she crushed Rus’s neck, strangling the life out of him, breaking him. This is for you, her eyes said, and bile rose up with Edge’s tears.

He could tell that Rus was trying to struggle, but Muffet’s arms stifled all movement, her grip strong enough to shatter him. Edge heard Rus’s raspy cry of pain before he heard the first bone breaking. Then the second. Muffet locked Edge’s gaze, and smiled.

Stars, had Rus always looked so delicate? So fragile? Edge wanted to look away. He didn’t want to see Rus crumbling so pitifully in Muffet’s grasp. She was going to crush him, break him, destroy him. He was going to die…

Edge closed his eyes…

Then Muffet screamed. It was shrill and ghastly, like a wounded animal caught in a trap. Edge was almost afraid to open his eyes.

He found Muffet writhing on the floor, clutching her wrist. Two puncture wounds pierced her purple skin, which bubbled greyish ichor. Astoundingly, Edge was reminded of the magma pans they’d passed over not two days ago.

Rus had pried himself free of her grip. The same black ooze that spewed from Muffet’s wound clung to his teeth. He scrambled across the floor for the knife. Edge could see the silver hilt cutting into the bone of his hand like a hot iron brand, but he held it firmly. His movements lacked the agility they had before as he crawled back towards Muffet, dragging one leg across the floorboards and leaving a trail of marrow in his wake. His breaths were sharp and hoarse, but there was fury in his eyes.

Though she was still groaning in pain, Muffet fought him back. He aimed the knife at her chest but she caught his wrist, forcing it away. Her bitten arm hung limp at her side, black veins creeping up to her elbow. Rus pressed his other hand onto the knife, the silver scorching his bone as he tried to force the blade down. He was panting with effort, while Muffet hissed and pushed back against him with every available hand she had.

But she was fighting a losing battle against gravity and the toxic venom that was quickly spreading up her arm and towards her soul. With a final strained cry, she slumped, and the knife sunk into her chest with a chilling wet crunch. All her eyes widened at once, then glazed over. Her body went limp.

Edge could feel movement returning to his limbs. They trembled when he tried to lift himself. He managed to crawl to the edge of the bed, tumbling onto the floor, ungainly.

Rus was staring down at Muffet, still clutching the knife, even as his hands burned. “R…s…” Edge tried to say, but his throat was closed. Rus didn’t hear him, his eyes still trained on Muffet. He slowly pulled the knife out. It trembled in his hands. Tears stained his face, and he released a choked breath before driving the knife back into Muffet’s chest.

“you have one life,” he sobbed, slamming the knife in again. “one life, and this is what you do with it.”

“Rus,” Edge said desperately, dragging himself across the floor, his body still only half-mobile.

Rus plunged the knife into Muffet’s chest, over and over, whimpering. “you monster. you sick, fucked up—”

“Rus.” Edge caught his wrist and Rus stopped, looking at him sharply. He was covered in black ichor—and dust. There was fire in his eyes. They burned amber, almost red. Every drop of sweet gold was gone from them. “It’s okay,” Edge whispered, gently cupping his hands. “I’m here. It’s okay…”

Rus allowed Edge to pry the knife from his hands. The bone beneath was charred. Edge placed the knife on the floor and looked at Rus. “you’re alive,” Rus said, simply. Edge nodded. Rus’s expression was tremulous, fresh reddened tears pooling in his sockets.

“I’m okay,” Edge whispered.

“i—”

“Rus.” Edge cupped his face with a shaking hand, fighting the venom in his system to keep himself upright. “You’re here. You came back.”

“i tried to… edge, i almost—”

“I’m alive,” Edge said, firmly. “And you’re here. Nothing else matters.”

Breath hitching, Rus crumpled into Edge’s arms, burying his head against his chest. Edge closed his eyes and cradled him close, warmth pulsing through him. It was like inhaling the fresh air after years of holding his breath. Finally, he could hold Rus.

#my writing #Argent Night #Spicyhoney #us papyrus #uf papyrus #Papcest #vampire AU #Angst #attempted rape #non-consensual touching #graphic depictions of violence

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