#orchard are pushing for one thing— blood. ‘what did you do with yours?’

[afieldinengland]

lord summerisle engaged in quiet conversation with isaac chroner beneath an old oak tree, at once intrigued by the boy-preacher’s solemnity, shocked at the intercommunal violence of his sacrifices, and nodding in familiar admiration of the pagan, prehuman, bloody barleycorn that he appears to worship in howie’s bible’s tongue

#raphael_the_school_of_athens dot jpg. his lordship mentor arc when #well they both lead communities don’t they. kings and sickles #obviously isaac’s gatlin abhors an adult and his lordship’s summerisle cherishes birth etc so there’s that difference. but in many ways #i think that only makes the idea more interesting— despite what their communities value both boy-preacher of the corn and man-woman of the #orchard are pushing for one thing— blood. ‘what did you do with yours?’ #cult leader student exchange. let lord summerisle pied piper it over in nebraska and isaac can put something strange in the eyes of #the student body at miss rose’s primary #the wicker man #children of the corn

[frogchiro]

Cowboy Casanova

Day 2 entry!! Yay! Today we have our favorite american slasher, Graves! I hope you enjoy reading♡

Warnings: nsfw, mentions of blood, death and a tiny bit of gore but not too much, it's slasher Graves, general pervy, creepy behavior and just kinda toxic and obsessive Graves, stalking

Philip Graves is a particular man. Coming from an extremely rich and privileged background, basically from the beginning he had or would get everything he would ever want. When he wanted his very own horse at 8? His papa got him one from the best breeder. He wanted a fancy pick up truck at 16 to show off to his peers the moment he got his license? His parents gave him the keys with a smile. He wanted to bang a girl when he was in college? Here she was, hopping on his dick an hour later.

But the thing about Philip Graves was that he's a very jealous and possessive man. He might be called a spoiled brat born with a silver spoon in his mouth but he jealously covets and protects what he cherishes; the gifted horse had the best everything it could ever want and it peacefully died of old age, the pick up truck was thoroughly loved and taken care of and is still in his garage used for recreational rides, as for the girlfriend? Well...yeah sure he dumped her like a week after but at least he snatched her right from under some shit-for-brains rugby player.

But as years passed by nothing seemed to excite him anymore, sure he had his fun in many ways, even picked up a new hobby or two, but even the screams and begging of his victims didn't do the trick anymore. Now that he's pushing 40, Philip's mind starts to wander to places he never thought it would; a pretty floral sundress or skirt moving around his home, a sweet smile and soft eyes greeting him when he gets home from wrangling his ranch, the delicious smell of a nutricious, fatty dinner wafting through the kitchen and the pitter patter of tiny feet clumsily running towards him, a flash of a tiny pink dress jumping at him. A family. Something Philip never thought about in his youth but he guesses the 'biological clock' wasn't complete bullshit as he thought. The problem was that no one really interested him, no one made his heart squeeze and his cock stir to make them the candidate for Philip's wife and those certainly weren't the women in town. No, it had to be someone perfect, a perfect wife, mother, partner for life but there was no one...

Well... his problem solved itself quicker than he thought with your arrival in town. A sweet looking young thing, you looked just about 20 and like a frightened doe when he first saw you get out of the bus one evening with just a measly backpack and a suitcase, not nearly enough to be moving in here but later when he did his own research and asked the local sheriff after you he found out you were apparently staying here and Philip would be lying if he said that his cock didn't pulse in his jeans with happiness.

He didn't believe in love at first sight, fuck no, that was some bullshit in those terrible romantic comedies and such, he didn't have time for this but with you? The blonde man knew you would be trouble with your big, doe eyes, soft body and those broad hips he was sure would carry a baby for him, his baby...

He found put that you were renting a room in old Margery's home in exchange for working in her orchard and helping her around her little farm. Pff, if he had it his way, if only you came to him for help, you wouldn't ever have to lift a finger again, just be sweet and nice and cook him dinner buuut well, here you are.

You may ask, how did he find out all these things about you? Well the thing about Philip is that he's very persistent and once he sets his sight on something, he will get it even if he has to resolve to some...unethical methods like stalking although he'd rather call it 'gathering information for good, future use' which leads you now to the present where the blonde man is hiding behind some bushes and trees to look at you getting ready for bed.

He still can't believe his luck, your room is on the upper floor facing the dark orchard where especially at night like now, Philip can go undetected and he takes full advantage of it. He watches you undress from your pretty pastel sundress, your tits and soft tummy on show, not to mention your hips and thighs.

"Ohh you're just asking for it darlin', ain't ya?" Philip growled lowly to himself as he watched you slip into a nightgown, a modest thing but still pretty plus it showed off a lot of your cleavage and Graves licked his lips before biting his lip at the thought of suckling your cute nipples, marking up your tits so that everyone would know that you're his-but what is that? What are you doing, you little songbird?

Philip's train of thoughts was abruptly cut short when he saw you dimming your lights and slipping a hand under your nightgown, the other one slipping off the shoulder strap down and starting to finger at your nipple. From this distance and due to the darkness around he couldn't see well but he saw your brows draw in tight, your pretty lips falling open to gasp as your fingers worked probably on your clit.

"You little fuckin' tease..." came growled from Philip, his teeth gnashing at the display, a sudden weave of possessiveness washing over him. Suddenly he's jealous of everything, even your bed and nightgown that they get to witness your pleasure and not him. Not your future husband and father of your babies, it doesn't matter that you haven't formally met yet, he will make sure you will soon.

For now though he needs to retreat, go back to his huge but lonely and quiet house and jerk off until his cock is red and raw, balls empty and his belly and chest splattered with his sperm that he grumbles should be inside you but he has to make do for now.

Just you wait little love, soon you will be by his side and then no one will even think of coming between you♡

#kin speaks #kin's kinktober #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #philip graves x reader #graves x reader #philip graves

[thesharktanksdriver]

Voices (Platonic)

From as early as you could remember you never felt truly alone in this world

Even after being left with no parents

Just only as yourself against this great big world you

A young kid without a cent to your name nor a home to go to

Just the open land and the small towns you’d end up staying at for momentary rest

Despite all the odds set against you

Despite the fact your should’ve been dead within the month you were left to die

You persevered

You survived

With only the help of yourself and the voices in your head that would advise you of what to do

As odd as that sounds the voices had been the closest thing you’d had to Friends and a family

The chorus of them telling you how to survive

That you need to ration food, that not clear water was to be avoided when you needed a drink, scavenge for food

There were many of them in the depths of your mind

All of which sounded distinct yet melded together into a symphony

But out of the sea of them one always stuck out from the rest

The others would quiet when he spoke, a deep yet relaxed voice that would echo

He’d speak only a few times when the others were indecisive, but when he did there was a certain air to it

He was the leader of them

His opinion was final to them as was your own on the subject you needed help on

Though his options could be…less law abiding than they probably should be it was for your sake

So your follow his suggestions to get by

You travel from place to place

Going to the west coast in the winter

Traveling everywhere else when summer and spring rolled around

It wasn’t easy but that was your life

Living off the land and mother natures resources

You’d push though the hours from sunrise to sunset

Falling asleep as they sing you lullabies within the confines of your mind

Cooing at how adorable you looked as you curled up under some scraps of cloth

Looking up towards the stars as the leader of them told you myths of their creation

How the constellations that had guided your way had stories tied to them

Like Orion forget hunting Ursa Major in the night sky

Life is strenuous but it is worth it to survive

You end up in yet another town on your travels after grabbing some apples from an orchard

They leave a sweet coating of juice in your mouth as you duck into an alleyway for shade

The voices (whom at this point told to you to call them “chat”) talking within your mind

Spouting out small ideas of what to do next as you take a swig of water

You’d found a flask a couple weeks back from an old drunkard

He was passed out so you took it as your own

Washed it out and replacing it with water on the suggestion of chat

Apparently the amber liquid stored in it wasn’t good for you

“So where to next?”

“ I say we go to cali” “nah I say Canada” “oh, oh! What about Kansas” “New York?” “Eh, unless you want them to be stabbed the minute they arrive” “hey New York isn’t that bad, it’s Chicago you have to worry about” “average New Yorker L” “oh screw off-“

“Heading to San Diego should be a focus for us. It’s getting colder and it’ll take awhile to get there”

The others quiet down hearing the voice whom called himself “Techno” speak

Then erupting in murmured agreements making you nod

You get up from sitting on a nearby box when you suddenly hear something

Shouting along with the scream of a woman

Despite the protests of chat you stalk further into the alley

Picking up a stray beer bottle as you peak out from behind a corner

There’s a man with his back facing you, in ragged clothes as he holds a woman with what seems to be a knife pointed at her

Across from him is a man, presumably her husband with long golden locks that curled at the ends

He’s glaring at the mugger, before his eyes fall on you

Your eyes are trained on the man holding the woman hostage

The broken bottle in your hand feeling lighter as you feel a feeling wash over you

Blood

You wanted- no NEEDED blood

Blood for the blood god is changed in your head as you see red

Everything is a blur

One moment your gripping the broken bottle about to help the lady and the next your standing over the injured form of the mugger

Blood splattered on your face and hands as the lady you saved and her husband kneel down and look at your worriedly

Curious, no one except the voices had ever expressed care for you

Others would look at you in disdain and anger for just existing

Yet these obviously well off couple are wiping the blood off your face

“Dear lord are you ok?! Funny! Should we get them to a doctor?”

“Ill go get one and try to find their parents-“

“I don’t have those, also I don’t really have the money for a doctor. Thanks for the offer though”

They both go silent at that, staring at you with confusion that morphs into horror

“So your saying your an orph-“

“Nononono, I am NOT and orphan.” You pause for a moment thinking of how to phrase is before responding back with “I’m just a child without any adult figures in their life left to fend on their own. I’m not a blood sucking orphan, there’s a difference” Via the suggestion of one of the voices

Honestly for them to even suggest that makes the voices get all rowdy in your head

Calling the two “plebs” and mumbling “common L”

You swear if you weren’t used to this you’d have a migraine by now

Both look at you even more worried

Glancing back to one another before the woman offers you a hand

Your hesitant to take it but decided to do so when they offer to take you in

An opportunity you knew you couldn’t pass up

The couple you now formally knew as scarlet and Funny Valentine take you in as their own after this encounter

It’s weird for you at first

For all your life you had to fight for everything

Food, water and clothes were luxuries you barely came across

At night you’d almost freeze and in the days you’d be baked alive by the sun

So now having all resources without so much as a word is confusing

It’s certainly nice…but still something you need to get used to

Both Scarlet and Finny are understanding though

They seem to know that this a process for you

And are understanding when you don’t initially trust them or seem confused when they tell you to have a brush your hair in the morning

You can’t eat a lot at first, your body not being able to handle it

It’s still hard getting used to having a full stomach rather than empty on the point of collapse

Funny is especially empathetic though

Handing you the foods in which you desire as you take small nibbles

Slowly and slowly filling yourself up and upping the amounts you eat as time progresses

Chat helps ease you into this as well, telling you to take things slowly

Telling you when to up the proportions slightly as your meals get bigger

In this time you find yourself often talking to the man whom had taken you in

His conversations with you are warm-hearted

Often tinged in a certain sweetness as he sits beside you on the countertop

Munching down on an apple as you talked of the stories told to you

Odysseus and his journey home

The fate of Jason and the karma of it

Or the tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice

To your surprise he finds himself interested as you regale these tales

No one but chat had ever really listened to you

So you enjoy these small moments with him as he tells his own

Particularly of his father and philosophy of the napkin analogy that he uses on a day to day basis

You grow into a routine and the normality of your new home

Fresh meals, hot baths and comfortable clothes

Being able to have the privilege to be able to say you have a loving set of parents

One’s who helped you with your education and let you run free

A year or two later you began gardening after seeing the large estate seeming rather empty

Just an empty lot of greenery, not even used for flowers

Scarlet and Funny let you begin your garden that slowly grows in size

You grow many vegetables and Berries but more specifically potato’s

Techno had extensive knowledge due to something he called the “potato war”

So your in particularly good hands when you begin to grow the crop

It is during that time that you begin to see a figure

It starts off as small glances at first

In the corner of your eyes as a translucent figure momentarily catches it

But then you see it…well rather him more consistently

Until finally one night you fully interact with the figure

It’s another late night that you find yourself laying awake in bed

It is dark yet your not afraid

You were used to pitch darkness by now, your eyes adjusted to the lack of light letting you get up and navigate out your room

The long hallways creaking quietly beneath the weight of your footsteps

Wool socks cushioning the sound ever so slightly as you sneak through the olds halls

By now you know the house by heart

Knowing where all the loose floorboards are and how the last step of the stairs bended too much into the hardwood ground so you had to be slightly careful

You end up in the kitchen like usual

Picking up a small snack of an orange

Turning around to see the figure

Long pink hair, a crown placed upon his head, red cape lined with soft fur and a mask of a pig

Tusks poking out giving him a more intimidating look

Your hand grabs a nearby knife holding it out to him defensively

“Easy kiddo, it’s just me”

Your eyes widen at that familiar voice as Chat begins yelling in your mind

“Holy shit!” “Plot twist of the century” “look at him! Our boy!” “Damn he be looking stylish” “the drip fr” “the blood god and the blood messiah”

“Blood messiah?”

“Yeah…so here’s the deal kid”

He tells you about how he is what’s called the “blood god” and that your his “blood messiah” or aka his chosen human to carry his power/his apprentice of sorts

It makes sense to you now why he taught you so much growing up

“What’s with chat though?”

“Eh, their just a package deal with me unfortunately. Like an extra freebie in a deal”

“Bruh did we just be called an extra” “L” “the disrespect”

“Shut up guys, we can still hear you all”

As his blood messiah you are gifted his strength along with his guidance

But with that comes the price of those perks

To use his power you needed blood of some sort, and with that came a bloodlust that will occasionally overwhelm you

A small price to pay for his power

“So when that mugger…”

“Yeah that was a taste of it. Not the best thing to deal with, but I’m gonna teach you to deal with it”

“So uh…what now?”

“Focus on you, What you want in the moment. Some big stuff is happening, war and death brewing as we speak. So you have to make use of the time you have now to enjoy life, be a kid”

You nod, watching as he smiles and ruffles your hair

“There’s a lot you need to learn but for now we’ll take it slow.”

“Alright”

“Chin up kid, don’t let your crown fall”

After saying this he flicks your forehead and disappears

His laughter filling your mind as your left staring in the spot he once stood

Moonlight casting a dim glow in the kitchen

A week after this occurred you end up asking at dinner if you could have horseback lessons

It is out of nowhere and it leaves both your parents stunned for a moment before both eagerly with excitement assure you that your more than welcome to do so

You’d never really asked for much whilst in their care

Clothes and toys never on your list of wants

Hell, it took a whole interrogation for them to try and figure out that you like books

Most specifically (and somewhat oddly) the art of war

So having you just openly ask for something is a big thing for your parents

A day later Funny and Scarlet are taking you out to a ranch with several horses lined up in their stables

You make a B-line towards the end of the stables to find a lone horse

An Andalusian, with a mainly grey coat that has speckles of black and a light coloured mane

A beautiful stallion that seems to call out to you

“You sure you want her?, she’s not the most cooperative”

“Even better. She has stubbornness, I like that”

The man gives you an odd look but shrugs as you enter her stall

She’s even more beautiful up close

And her personality is more apparent when the horse gives a loud gust of a sigh out her nose

You have a feeling she’s the perfect choice

The next coming months you slowly learn the basics of horseback along with getting to know the mare who was named “cure”

At first the horse was resistant to the idea of letting you be her rider

And there were many scuffles that had left your bruised and bloodied

None of which phased you and just left you with a smile as you whipped away the blood

But with the course of time she began to warm up to you

Because you hadn’t saw her as below you

You were her equal

For as rider and steed there had to be mutual respect of each other

It is gradual but you get better

Get more comfortable with Cure running to her hearts content

Techno and the voices once again help with some tips

The blood god talking of his own steed named Carl who resided within his realm

Her saddle was exclusively for you and neither of you would have it any other way

Riding her and feeling the wind scrap across your face was a feeling you now didn’t know how to live without

Watching you speed past the other horses as she jumps over a fence and just keeps going

It turns out to be something that Funny and Scarlet end up watching as you blindly smile

It is perhaps one of the happiest they’d seen you

Just running free as you were so many years ago

You are happy and content

But that can’t last forever

Especially as your father brews something

It comes to you like a slap to the face when he reveals he’s gonna run for president

The voices, but especially Techno rousing in anger as he talks of his plans to run the country

You couldn’t help excuse yourself as the yelling in your head caused a small migraine

For all your life till this point Techno had taught you of how power pollutes

That anarchy was better than government because of the factor that no one person was in power

It couldn’t fall into a dictatorship is no one was in charge

That these appointed leaders thought themselves to be god and looked down on their subjects

Until they are brought down from their pedestal via a guillotine

It leaves you conflicted because this was your father

The one who had taken you in when no one else would

Feed, clothed and made sure you had a roof over your head

The man who proudly proclaimed that you were his child despite no blood being shared between the two of you

A man who smiled proudly when you rode atop Cure and worried himself to death when the horse stubbornly bucked you off her back

Your left conflicted

It only gets worse as his campaign is seeming to prove successful with the people

Whilst your left to try and act happy for him despite the yelling in your mind

It is a difficult time for you, more difficult than your early years on the streets

Cause at least then there wasn’t the emotional turmoil you felt ripping apart your insides

There wasn’t the divide between your morals of hating government and loving your dad

You hope he somehow doesn’t win but no god answers your prayer

At his inauguration your left standing near him and Scarlet

An empty reserved smile plastered on your face as you hold back tears

The voice shave stopped screaming

They are remorseful as is Techno who try to comfort you when seeing you break down internally

Your heart fighting against your mind

Being left in a stalemate, a limbo of confusion

You try to spend more time with mom after that, using the excuse of not wanting to bother your dad

It works but there’s a noticeable sadness you see in his eyes when you excuse yourself from his presence

Scarlet is more than happy to spend time with you though

She takes you shopping with her

Buying you the latest blouses of your desire along with jewelry that catches your eye

Apparently due to Techno you have some weird fascination with gold, something he says has transferred to you

With spending time out with her though you begin to notice how her eyes linger

You know for a fact she loves your dad

But you see her looking intently at women

A stare that not of just of the friendly type

No, it’s deep and intense

Tinted with a undertone of something else that you don’t wish to think of

Her seeming attraction is none of your business though

So you ignore it and spend time with her at cafe’s as squads of guards flock to your sides

Not knowing you were likely the most dangerous person in the room

You find it annoying to now constantly have people flanking you whoever you went

The guards themselves are fine but you wanted to be alone when planting potatoes

Or riding Cure

Well…at least your potato business has been booming as of late due to your dad

But that leaves a bit of a bitter taste in your mouth that people are NOW interested in your delicious crops

Damn trend hoppers

In the house during the late nights you find yourself now more restless than usual

That feeling of bloodlust that was managers now getting worse and worse as time progressed

Sometimes it was bad enough you found yourself on occasionally blacking out and finding yourself standing in the kitchen or by your dads office

It leaves you terrified

So terrified that your mom seemingly caught on and your dad one day asked if you were alright

You say that you are but you really aren’t

He can see through the lie as clear as day

He’s left somewhat hurt, offering you help that you vehemently deny

The bags beneath your eyes only seem to get worse as the days progress

Yet another restless night your left awake

The gnawing hunger for blood feeling as if it were pulsating within your veins

Just the thought of crimson makes it worse

The feeling of the hunger not going away

“Kid just focus on me. Gets some fresh air, alright?”

Techno’s translucent form appears once more

He’d been doing that more often but never in front of anyone else

Apparently there were people called “stand users” who could possibly hear and see him

He didn’t want to risk that

“O-ok”

You stumble out your room

Hand scraping against the wallpaper as your walk past several familiar doors

There’s darkness expert for a sliver of light coming out from the door of your dads office

…strange he’s usually not awake at 4 am even though he’s been staying up later than usual

You end up highjacking your original goal and heading for his door

Being careful not to hit any loose floorboards as you listen to him speaking…to himself?

You can hear his speaking aloud and his voice also responding back

It leaves you confused along with Techno and the voices who all chime in with the thought of him being crazy or cracking under the pressure

But you know your dad well enough to know it isn’t either

You decide to bend down and stare through the keyhole

“Do you think this could really work?”

“It has to, plus it’s more convenient as a cover story. People interfering can be eliminated and be written off as weather conditions or incompetence.”

“There will be people watching though”

“It’ll get the countries spirits up. Things will only get better when we get the corpse parts, it’s only uphill from here”

There in the office is two versions of your father conversing with one another

Oblivious to your spying as your left shocked at whatever the fuck This revelation was

“Stand user, and it doesn’t sound like he has something good planned if I’m honest”

Techno’s words seem to reverberated in your mind

As your left jaw agape just staring

No, your father was a kind man

He would never-

“Sacrifices will likely need to be made. I’m willing to make them though for the greater good of my country, for my family”

You feel sick, stomach swirling as you walk back

And then you step on a creaky board

You hear both of them still whatever conversation that we’re having

Your left momentarily frozen as the door opens

Whatever hostility in his eyes fades, they soften at the sight of you

“Dear are you ok? What are you doing up so late? You need sleep, those bags under your eyes are worrying me and your mom”

Time to bullshit your way out of this

“I…I had a nightmare. I went to get my mind off it and saw you were awake so..”

He gives a soft smile, ushering you in

You do so with some hesitance as he guides you to the plush seat his clone? Was sitting on earlier

“What was it about?”

You pause to think of an answers after a moment

“You”

His eyes widen ever so slightly before he presses and asks “what exactly about me?”

“I…had a dream that you changed. That when you became president you weren’t the same person, that you became…” you Try to find the right word “corrupted”

His eyes become gentle once more as he ushers you into a hug

It is warm and you wish to revel in it more

His hand weaving it’s way into rubbing a comforting motion of circles into your scalp

“You have nothing to fear. Nothing like that would ever happen, because I do, I do for you and our people”

Perhaps that is what scares you the most in this situation

The lengths he would go in doing what he believed was right even if he couldn’t see the harm he was truly doing

It was a pipeline

A downward spiral he would not see

It sets in motion what you know that you need to do

You enjoy in the last time you’d likely feel the warmth of his hug

For in the morning you’d be gone before they even knew it

You had to stop whatever he had planned

#platonic #jjba x reader #steel ball run x reader #funny valentine x reader #scarlet Valentine x reader

[cordeliawhohung]

Can you dissect the scene in the orchard a little more from Simon's POV in soft spot? Like how far away were they when he saw the scene? What was going through his mind as he ripped Leon off reader?

If that's too far back feel free to ignore ❤️

Spoilers ahead for Soft Spot: Everything You Touch!!!

of course we can!!! and don't worry about asking about anything too far back in the story!! when i post the full dissection of my full thoughts and process and whatnot, it'll be for the entire story. so that's not an issue at all! i'd love to talk about anything you have questions for!

now, this scene is so so so important. it's Spook's final stand, in a way. the orchard rests just past a hill, and Bukin is dragging her through the trees and whatnot when she takes the steak knife out to stab him. she then runs away from the orchard back towards the hill, where Bukin catches up to her and catches the collar of her (his) coat and yanks her back. so when Spook falls, her head is facing towards the orchard, and when he gets on top of her, his back is towards the hill.

this is important because Simon and the others come from the very same direction as they did, so when they first find her, Bukin's back is facing towards them, but more importantly they're at an angle. Simon could have simply shot Bukin and saved Spook in an instant and things would have honestly gone much smoother, but he would risk Spook getting shot too. these are the first calculations he's making in his head when he first sees that Bukin is on top of her because he wants him dead. he wants him off of her as soon as possible, but can't do it that way because he could hurt her.

because this man is livid at what he sees. even with Bukin's back turned to him it's not all too difficult to make out the way her legs flail underneath his weight or how she tries to push him away in some pathetic attempt to live. he hasn't seen her for months and that's what he comes back to.

it's something of a blind rage that takes over him. he marches down the hill, which is probably only a handful of yards away, and he wants Bukin's death to be slow. he wants him to pay for every single mark that was left on Spook. hence the quick breaking of his arm. he wants to shatter his hands for harming you, to disembowel him organ by organ, but as was sort of stated in that chapter, he frankly doesn't have the time. and you're there to watch it all happen.

but i think the thing that made him most angry was this scene here:

“I guess you were right after all, darling,” Leon spoke through gritted teeth. “Your friend really-”  A sudden ear-ringing crack filled the air around you, and it was so loud you could hear it's high pitched echo bounce around in the distance. It cut off Leon’s talking as it reduced his very being to blood and brain matter on the grass that was just as dead as he was. His eyes continued to stare at you - stare though you - as Simon stepped off of his arm with a good push as if the man could still feel the pain.  “Don’t fucking call her that,” he warned, his eyes giving away all the ways he wished he had killed him slower.

the part where he calls you darling. such a simple pet name like he was your lover and not your captor. how he only whispers his warning to him after the bullet has torn through his skull. it's that moment when Simon really started to truly get a vague idea of just what had happened to you. besides the pictures and the obvious marks, Bukin took your dignity and stripped you of your security.

and his anger goes beyond words but he knows he can't afford it because you're there. so he swallows it all down because he has to be there for you, and there's some sort of sick and twisted sense of relief when he's got you in his arms, one that doesn't pair well with the guilt he's been trying to swallow for months.

and when you got shot? despite it all, despite how close the two of you were to finally going home? it's indescribable. the pain, utter heart ache, all of it. it's so much all it does is numb him because he's losing his life all over again.

anyway, i think i probably went a little overboard on my answer lmao. there's still a little more to this scene that i'm not sure you wanted to hear all at once but Simon was in one big, angry mess when seeing you like that.

thank you so much for your question! i'll be adding this post in my soft spot dissection links once i publish the full post!

#soft spot #soft spot dissection

[bisexual-horror-fan]

First of all, congrats on the 2k!! So happy to see you get the recognition for some damn good writing that you more than deserve.

For the raffle, I humbly offer this prompt: having Leslie Vernon give you the reigns in the bedroom. He might like feeling full control (or most of it), but what if Y/N learned how to push the buttons and make him fold like an omlette? What if they found every spot on his body with their mouth that he tries to evade from only because he knows theyre sensitive and it'll make him shiver, and let them do whatever they want so long as they keep that up? What if he looks at their expression when they realize they've got him and consider he might like that side of them far more than dominating it out of them? Maybe he even likes the idea of what that face will look like after he gets it back.

Okay, that's all hahaha! Congrats again Bex my love ❤️❤️❤️

Ahhhhh! Riri! Thank you sooo much, I am so fucking happy that you asked for this! Been a minute since I have done our boy and this is such a fucking great prompt! I hope you like what I did with it! I went in and tried to make it hit really hard in a short little bit, for real I hope this all works for you! Let’s not waste time, let’s get right into it.

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Rating. Mature. Leslie Vernon X GN! Reader. No Pronouns Or Specific Parts Mentioned. Warnings: Softness. Established Relationship. Survivor Person Reader. Blood. Gore. Violence. Intense Emotions. Kissing. Needy Leslie. Begging.

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Touch Me There.

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Leslie Vernon is without a doubt the most observant person you've ever met, hell he might be the most observant person currently alive today. His ability to understand people, key into individuals emotions and pick up on even the smallest details was unmatched. 

It could be scary how good he was at reading the average person but the way he was able to read you has the opposite effect. You loved that quality of him.

You wished you could return it in kind and for the past, longer than you'd care to mention, you watched out for an opportunity to do just that. The longer you are together, the easier he is to figure out, the more he lets you in. 

The physical side of your relationship is incredible, truly, again with how observant he was he figured you out quickly. He could ruin you so easily and you wished to do the same and slowly, over time, you began to figure him out too. Once when you were walking together outside in the orchard, hand in hand, he was talking about preparing for something, he went to pull away and you let go, letting your fingers ghost over the inside of his wrist and you caught it. Almost imperceptible, this slight, you’d almost want to call it a shiver and a shift of his expression.

Interesting reaction. 

You wondered if that was a one off, maybe it was a fluke or the cold or any number of things. 

Except a week and half later you discovered that was not the case. Leslie and you were sitting on the couch, both relaxing on opposite ends and reading, it was almost lunch time and you were getting hungry and you wondered if you should go make something for you both. You finish your current chapter before sliding your bookmark back inside and looking over to Leslie, “You want something to eat?”

He looked up from his book and then to his watch, “Shit, it’s almost noon. Yeah that would be good. Thanks.” 

“No problem.” You got up and set your book down before coming around the back of the couch, you leaned down to give him a kiss and instead of one of the more usual places, his forehead or cheek or even kissing his lip upside down. No, instead, your lips barely had the chance to press behind his ear, almost as if just your warm breath there set him off and made him jump nearly a foot. “Woah, woah! What are you doing?!”

He turned so fast, his book dropped and his place lost, one of his hands on the back of the couch, looking up at you, wide eyed and you were so startled by his reaction you jerked up. A hand on your chest as you said questioningly, your tone rife with confusion, one eyebrow raised, “Kissing you?” 

He said, “Oh, yeah, sorry, you just uhm-I wasn’t expecting it, sorry.” He shook his head and picked up his book, a deep inhale before letting it out as he attempted to find his place once more. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this bothered. His breathing was a little uneven too, this is weird, you scared him? You seriously doubted that. Obviously there was something else at play here. 

“Ooohhh-kayyy.” You say drawn out as you pull away, “I’m gonna go make lunch now.” 

“Uh-huh, I’ll be here.”  He was refusing to look at you and his voice sounded off.

Hmm.

You make lunch and by the time you come back with lemonade and a plate of sandwiches he had seemingly calmed down and acted like nothing happened. You chew thoughtfully as you watch him, he was talking about the latest chapter he just read in his book, you were listening, nodding along but in the back of your mind a plan taketh shape. 

This couldn’t be rushed but you wanted to do this sooner rather than later. You play it just like Leslie would. Biding your time until just the right moment presents itself for you to take advantage and turn the tables. 

One morning when you wake up before he does, early morning light pouring into the upstairs window, you look upon him, so sweet and peaceful and you think that this might just be the time to make your move. He had his back to you and you scooted closer, eased nearer, he was in just his pyjama pants, strong shoulders and back on display. You press your chest to his back carefully, you gauge his reaction, he still seems asleep and so you move. You lean in, your lips press and you kiss that same spot you had unintentionally discovered, right behind his ear and you swear you feel him tense slightly. You kiss again and again and he shifts, he tries to roll onto his back and you hold him there. Your hand on his side, your tongue traces over that spot and you feel him jolt, a sharp inhale and yes, he is awake now. 

He turns his head, eyes barely open as he looks over at you, “Wha-?”

His voice is still thick with sleep, he is weak and tired, you need to ramp this up, you reach out and your hand closes on his wrist and you bring it towards you. Maintaining eye contact with him you kissed the inner part of his wrist and his expression shifts, like he is still confused, trying to figure out what you were doing but in his still sleep logged brain like he couldn’t comprehend it quite yet. 

A few more soft kisses, another pass of your tongue all while staring up into his eyes and he exhales hard. It is like his mind is finally starting to catch up, he starts to squirm, you need to bring it home. You leaned up, kissed him hard, he stilled for a moment and you kissed down the line of his jaw and neck. He was on his back now which was perfect, you kept moving down and he was starting to shift again, his hands met your sides and he said, “Slow down, what are you do-”

Since he wasn’t wearing a shirt it made this next part easier. You manoeuvred down his body, he wasn't fighting you that hard, clearly he was enjoying this more than he was willing to admit yet, your lips dragging down until you reached your desired destination. 

The long, jagged scar that creeped up the first few bottom ribs on his left side. Your lips met the edge of it and he stopped. Body totally frozen and his eyes darted down to you. Still looking up at him. Your fingertips skated over him, tracing the edges of it as your mouth moved in tandem. You kissed up one side as your finger and the edge of your nail dragged down the other. He shivered and the feelings hit him all at once. A total wash of pure emotion. 

It was like being transported back to that night. 

You in your muddy, ripped and bloodied clothes, him having you pinned under him in the moonlight near the orchard, you fought so hard. You screamed and swore and spat at him as his hands finally found purchase around your throat and he began to choke you but you didn’t stop. You took hold of a weapon, of his weapon on his hip and you moved quickly, you plunged it into him, penetrated him and it stole his breath away. All the air left his lungs and his fingers loosened their grip and your leg came up, foot finding his stomach and you kicked and kicked hard so he was on his back. The sickle still lodged in his side. You grabbed hold of the wooden handle and you pulled hard, dragged it down, giving him the very scar that you were now tracing with utter love and reverence. 

You were something special, he knew that, it was why he chose you but seeing you in action that night, how you didn’t give up? Witnessing the change in you, the one that he set in motion, it was indescribable, it was everything he had ever hoped and dreamt of as he watched you. He remembered the sight of you looming over him, haloed by the moon as you held his weapon you had just ripped from his torso, dripping crimson in your trembling fist as you stared down at him, more rage and fury than he had ever seen in anyone’s gaze, before or since as you said to him, “Fuck you, Vernon.” 

He thought he loved you before that moment. He thought he loved you months before that but no, that moment right there he realised what true love was. It was you with dirt under your fingernails from when he dragged you closer, it was you running towards him unafraid and symbolic weapon in your grasp, it was you painted with blood, it was you, you, you. 

He had to stitch himself up that night and he enjoyed every stab of pain and pass of thread as he did and the entire healing process too. It scarred beautifully. A memento of your first night together, when the real change happened, when you started to feel so intensely for him, he saw it in your eyes, saw it happen, the confusion, the trepidation, the awareness that you shouldn’t feel what you did for him, the anger. 

It was all so much. 

He loved this scar, adored what it meant and represented for both of you, of your journey and his, where you were now, your relationship, this scar was a representation of it all and it meant more to him than any other mark on his body. It was more important than any possession he had, the first thing you ever gifted to him and a gift that could never be taken away or stolen by anyone. One of a kind and all his.

So to have you here, worshipping his body, worshipping it, seeing a similar amount of depth and meaning in your eyes that said you understood? 

He was weak, so smitten and so taken and so in love with you. It felt amazing, from a mental, emotional, spiritual and yes, a physical standpoint. He knew what you were doing now, he knew you were exploiting his weak spots, he knew you were trying to gain the upper hand but it felt so fucking good that he gave in.

It reminded him of that night, you dominating, being in control, and fuck, he liked it, he liked it far too much. 

He briefly wonders why this hadn’t happened sooner, his body going slack below you, melting into the mattress. One of your hands found him achingly hard through his pyjama pants, palming him as he breathed into existence his one current thought and want, “Please, don’t stop.”

#eggsandbeer #BHF asks #Leslie Vernon X Reader #Slasher x reader #ENJOYYY #I know you really needed this #I was so happy to do it for you #BHF 2K Follower Raffle

[wordofthewicked]

An Ode to the Colors of Loving George Weasley

Just a little blurb idea I had 😊. Yellow isn’t a color option on mobile, so use your imagination for that one I guess.

Word count: 887

TW: character death, mentions of blood, slight NSFW mentioning if you squint

Master List

~~~

Red was the color of my lips the first time we met. Our eyes locked across the small room, and I felt myself drawn to you. You smiled, your eyebrow quirking up in a silent question. I nodded, meeting you halfway, in a rush of euphoria and alcohol. My cheeks were warm, your eyes were hazy. I couldn’t remember quite how we started talking, or what either of us said. But your lips were on mine in the back of the tavern before I couldn’t even contemplate how we got there. We were suddenly in your room, hands across each other’s bodies, when your brother walked in to complain about the ruckus you were causing. Your face flushed as he did, my hips straddling yours in your bed. I laughed as you threw a pillow at him to kick him out, and I climbed next to you instead. We laughed at each other, and I fell asleep in your arms.

Orange was the color of the sweater I wore to meet your family for the first time. You hated it, said it clashed with your hair. You like to wear purple, so I dyed my hair to match your suit, and your family couldn’t stop laughing when we walked in, sweaty palms sticking together. We laughed with them, their smiles wide and inviting. Your mum kissed my cheeks, holding them in her hands.

Yellow is the color of your childhood bedroom, where you showed me your favorite view of the apple orchard that lay outside your window. The fading sunlight casted shadows over the walls, and I inspected them carefully. They were covered in pictures of inventions you made up, ones that you and your brother spent hours trying to perfect. When you weren’t looking, I slipped my favorite one into your coat pocket, a reminder for when you find it of how far you’d come, and how much farther you still had to go.

Green was the color of the spell that knocked you out, hitting your head. I couldn’t scream as I watched you cling to your broomstick, Lupin whisking you away from my sight before I could comprehend what happened. I stayed and fought, doing my best to focus on the task at hand. When I arrived at the Burrow, I wordlessly abandoned my broomstick, rushing into the living room to find you laying on the couch. I was the last one to arrive, and you cursed as you watched me walk through the door, thanking every star that I had made it back okay. I let you hold me close, not mentioning the blood on your clothing, or the very evidently missing ear from your head. I grabbed your face gently and kissed you, mumbling against your lips that you could never do that to me again. You laughed, and promised me you wouldn’t be hurt again as long as I agreed to marry you as soon as the war was over. I pushed myself off of you incredulously, but found you to be entirely serious for once. I hit you with the mauve throw pillow next to me, but made the promise anyway.

Blue was the color of the dress I wore at your brother’s wedding, and you couldn’t stop complimenting my eyes. You pulled me out of the tent to dance under the stars, where we watched the party dissolve into chaos as the Death Eaters swarmed the yard. You kissed me before running into the mess, but I kicked off my heels, followed your trail and fought along side you. We held each other when the last enemy had disappeared, and I scolded you for leaving me to fight like that again. You just laughed, shaking your head and promised me you’d never die until I was officially a Weasley.

Indigo was the color of the skirt I wore the day you officially proposed. The ring was small, plain, the most perfect thing I had ever seen. You could barely get the words out of your mouth before I said yes, both of us crying. We were outside of your parent’s home, and you picked me up to run inside, yelling to everyone home that I was going to be your wife. While everyone cheered, I could tell they weren’t surprised. It was the closest thing to good news we had, and we both pretended not to see your mum cry over the unopened and returned letter from Percy. That night you cursed the ground he walked on, swearing he would get what was coming to him one day, if you had any say in it. I laughed and kissed you gently, silencing your venomous thoughts, and pulling you into the azure covers and into the sleep we both desperately needed. It never came, as we were rushed to Hogwarts to defend the castle before morning had arrived. You held my hand in the courtyard as we watched the approaching army. You kissed me one last time, and ran to take your post with your brother. Things were never quite the same after that moment.

Violet was the color of the flower I placed down on the grave, one year after you were last whole. Loosing Fred took so many pieces of you and buried them alongside him. Your family was there, and we stood back as you spoke softly to your brother. Your mum reached out for me, holding my cheeks in her hands. “Thank you for loving him. I think you’re the only reason he’s kept going. I swear his eyes only shine when he’s with you, dearie.” I watched you take out the picture from your suit pocket I had slipped in there years ago, and you laid it across the dirt gently, letting it rest where it belonged.

#george weasley imagine #george weasley one shot #george Weasley fic #harry potter #Harry potter fic #Harry potter blurb #Weasley twins #george weasley x reader #weasley #fred weasley

[kirnet]

Don’t Wake the Ancients- Chapter 6

read on ao3 | previous chapter | next chapter

-

The warrants took too long for Dorotea’s liking.

It was to be expected, waking a judge up in the middle of the night, but that didn’t shake away her nerves. Still, she wanted to do this right. She tried to follow Adam’s longstanding advice of getting some sleep, but the gentle spirals of snowfall kept her attention as she sat in her armchair by the window. The bruise around her eye grew by the minute, halving her sight, but eventually the blood stopped trickling from her nose. Dorotea didn’t bother assessing the damage in the mirror, just pressed a frozen bag of vegetables to the swollen skin.

It still ached an hour later when she was in a fresh set of clothes down at the station, where she briefed Tina and Captain Sung. Tina has fussed over her, making her a cup of motor oil from the dying coffee machine and tucking extra napkins into her pocket in case more blood started flowing. The captain, for his part, had clapped her on the shoulder and gave her a few proud words, his professional facade melting for a brief soft moment.

When the warrant arrived they slipped into the morning, Tea in her truck and Tina following in the station's only police car. No one was on the road yet, all of them probably struggling to shovel their driveways through their hangovers. Dorotea was thankful for that. The last thing she needed was an audience.

They wound their way down the powdered roads until the shops turned into unlit houses. Dorotea parked in front of a familiar one, allowing herself a single steadying breath before she threw herself into the blanket of snow.

Lance opened the door, sleep fogging his eyes. “This about last night, missy?” he yawned through a smile, though it fell when his vision cleared. “Jesus. Is that what Paul did to you?”

The warrant crinkled under her fingers as she lifted it to Lance’s sight. Her veins burned against the cold morning. “Lance Huttle, I am placing you under arrest on suspicion for the death of Janet Greenland. Hands behind your head.”

He laughed in disbelief, his breath fogging up the air. “Paul must have knocked something loose, girl.”

“Hands behind your head. I won’t repeat myself.”

Lance’s brow furrowed as Tina emerged from the car behind them and opened up the back door. Dorotea took the handcuffs from her belt. “I’m… you can’t-“

If he really wanted to, he could have thrown Dorotea off. He didn’t even appear to be injured from the bar brawl, not shifting his weight or clutching his stomach. He was an ox of a man, used to the hard toil of fields and orchards while Dorotea favored damp basements and misbehaving computers. But she grabbed his wrist roughly anyways and yanked it behind his back. And he let her, shock robbing him of his strength. “You have the right to remain silent,” she droned, forcing herself to not make the cuffs too tight. “Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.”

“I didn’t-“

“You have a right to an attorney.”

“Tea-“

“That’s ‘Detective’ to you,” she snapped as she pushed him towards the patrol car. Tina took him from her as Dorotea finished reading him his rights. “I have a search warrant for your home. Put him in holding. No one talks to him until I get back, understand?” It was a struggle to keep her face hard, to not reach out and cuff his ear and scream until her voice gave out.

Tina nodded, understanding everything from Dorotea’s clipped words. “Yes, ma’am.”

Dorotea snapped her gloves on as the patrol car drove away, Lance’s nose pressed against the window.

-

“You sure you want to do this?”

Lance was in the interrogation room now, cuffed to the table, eyes darting every which way. It was more a closet than a room, and it was the station’s only one. Douglas had to clean the room in a hurry, disuse leaving a springtime amount of dust bunnies on every available surface.

Unit Bravo was there. Adam had somehow heard the baritone rumble of Verda’s voice through the phone when he called last night. He had insisted on being there for the arrest, buzzing on about protocol and safety, but he had eventually relented. “This isn’t a matter for outsiders,” she had whispered into the collar of his jacket. “Please.”

So surprisingly, he listened. He stood back with Morgan and Farah, watching as Dorotea flexed her hands, losing a staring contest with her reflection in the mirrored glass. Tina shifted beside her, a comforting hand on her elbow. Nate was situated somewhere in between the two groups, eyes darting anxiously between the two. “One of us should go in there with you.”

Dorotea’s grip tightened around the plastic bags in her hand. “No.” She could barely hear her own voice. “He’s mine.” In kinship and responsibility.

She stepped into the eye of the too-quiet storm, the only sound the rattling of handcuffs and the scuff of her boots. And then the harsh scrape of a chair as she pulled it across the linoleum. Dorotea sat, placed her evidence bags on the floor, and waited.

“I don’t know what piece of shit thought that it would be funny to call in a tip,” Lance immediately started, leaning forward as far as the restraints allowed, “but you can’t honestly believe a prank call.” The harsh lights above reflected in his pleading eyes.

Still silent, Dorotea grabbed the bag containing the camera and placed it on the table. “Do you know what this is?”

Lance snorted, grim humor momentarily overtaking him. “A camera?”

“Janet Greenland’s camera,” Dorotea corrected. With a single finger, she pushed the camera forward across the table. “Care to explain why your fingerprints are on it?”

“I-“ An immediate response started to form, but then Lance blinked, his mouth agape. “What?”

“Your fingerprints?”

Lance shook his head, anxious laughter bubbling up from his chest. “That’s impossible. I’ve never seen this in my life.”

“Where were you the night of Greenland’s murder.”

“At home. Asleep. We’ve been over this.” He waved his hands about. “My damn truck was in the driveway all night.”

“Sure, your truck was. You got two working legs, don’t you?”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Dorotea sighed, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief second. “If you tell me the truth, then I can help you.”

“The truth?” Lance exclaimed, now shaking. “Tea, is this some sort of sick joke-“

“The camera.”

“- I didn’t know that woman and I certainly have never seen her damn camera-“

“You want to know what I think happened?” Dorotea snapped, cleanly cutting off his ramblings. Her chair scraped harshly against the floor as she stood. “I think that you were out in the woods the night of Janet Greenland’s death. She was out taking photographs, and you chased her-“

“No,” Lance whispered, his face contorting.

“You grabbed her camera strap, trying to stop her. But she fell, right?”

Lance was crying now, the tears just appearing in the corners of his eyes as his face continued to morph into an expression Dorotea had never seen before. “No, no.”

“She fell right into a river, face first. She twisted her ankle. She broke her nose. So you threw the camera to the side and picked her up.” Dorotea’s voice dropped. “It was so easy, wasn’t it? She was stunned and hurt and a frail thing. No problem for a man your size.”

A strangled noise escaped from Lance’s throat. The uneven legs of his chairs thundered against the floor as he shook.

Dorotea continued, leaning down close to his face. Her eye stung. “What did you do then, Lance? Tied her down and slit her wrists. She fought you, didn’t she?”

“This is-” Lance’s lips didn’t seem to know how to move around his teeth. They pulled taut and snapped back into place like a rubber band, constantly in a jerking motion. It didn’t reach his wet eyes. “I didn’t-” He coughed the words out, almost like his own throat was constricting in protest, his own body rejecting them.

“Then what is this?” Dorotea growled. She stalked back to her seat and picked up the remaining bag on the floor. It was smaller than the palm of Dorotea’s hand, and she slapped it down onto the table. She tapped her nail against the single blond strand of hair within it. “I found it around the button of your jacket. Verda already IDed it as Greenland’s.” She slapped her hand down again. “What’d ya kill him with, Lance? Did you do it like a fucking animal?” Someone tapped on the mirrored window, but she ignored it. “Did you kill Garret?”

Lance didn’t answer. His eyes were glued to the hair, the whites of his eyes as bright as the lights above. Tears dribbled down his nose and spasming mouth, dotting his shirt.

A single definitive knock echoed around the room. Adam, she was sure.

Dorotea straightened and kicked her chair back into its correct place. “I will find whatever weapon was used to do this,” she vowed. “I will make sure they have justice, do you understand me?”

She gathered up her evidence and left him shaking and alone in the room.

“Where the hell is Verda?” Dorotea pushed past the waiting group, ignoring Tina’s calls and Nate’s worried expression. Anger clouded her vision, filling in everything but the basement staircase ahead of her. A single hair and a fingerprint on a soiled camera were compelling, but they would need more. A weapon, a motive, anything that could tie Lance to Janet. To Garret. For days now she had been waiting, running around town like a headless chicken. Where was her damn lab work?

A solid mass stepped in front of her. Dorotea almost crashed into it, but she stopped at the last possible second. “Is this how you run your station?” Adam hissed, his brows dangerously low over his eyes.

Fire surged through Dorotea’s veins. “Excuse me?”

“You are a leader here.” He jutted his chin to Tina. “How you act- and react- defines how your entire team will handle themselves during this investigation. You do not have the luxury of throwing a petulant fit when something doesn't go your way.”

Dorotea scoffed. “So you want me to be an emotionless asshole like you, is that it?”

“Yes,” he snapped, his lip curling. “We can not afford reckless mistakes, not while so much rests on our shoulders. I deferred to you here because I trusted in your abilities to make sound judgements. Do not make me regret that decision.”

She opened her mouth to retort, a generations worth of curses ready, but stopped and blinked instead. Commanding Agent du Mortain had just openly admitted that he respected her judgment. That alone was enough to shock her back into the present, though the warmth still lingered in her body.

“You’re right,” Dorotea admitted after a long moment, the words not as acrid as she expected them to be. She turned to glance back at the rest of Unit Bravo, each dealing with their own mixture of amusement and awkwardness. “I’m not sure what special training you have, but whatever magic you used on Katie worked. It might be worth you guys taking a crack at him.”

Farah coughed.

“After his public defender gets here.” Christ, Lance may be a double murderer, but he was still one of hers. No one had been found guilty yet, and she was not about to let a bunch of officials, whatever their Agency may be, to go after him without some protection. Dorotea turned to Tina. “Make sure one gets here soon. And contact Dr. Turner. I don’t know what that reaction was, but I want to make sure it isn’t a medical one.”

It took a moment for Tina to register the words. “Right,” she sputtered, almost tripping on her way to her desk.

“And you?” Adam asked. He hadn’t moved an inch. He didn’t even appear to be breathing.

“I need to consult with Verda. We’ll need more physical evidence to get Lance if he won’t confess. And we have nothing tying him to Garret.” Dorotea’s fingernails bit into the brim of her hat. “We’re missing something. I’m certain.”

Nate cleared his throat. “If you’d like, I can review our notes. Perhaps a fresh pair of eyes will help uncover any discrepancies.” His voice grew increasingly stilted as he spoke. “I think we can all agree that jumping to conclusions and condemning a hysteric man is not the best course of action.”

“Sure. That’d be great.” Coffee. That’s what she needed. Caffeine and a whole lot of it, maybe something sweet. Something that she could blame her shaking on. She ignored Morgan’s pointed stare and brushed past Adam to the break room, leaving him to murmur something to Nate. She downed her cup, desperately trying to push the want for one of Mrs. Abernathy’s cookies from her mind.

Verda was busy sorting through things when she entered the basement, but he straightened and turned the moment the door shut behind her. “Did he do it?” he asked, his eyes almost owlish behind his prescription lenses.

“I need more physical evidence.” Verda always kept the lab tidy, though he hadn't worked a double homicide in quite a while. Now the cleanliness mocked her. They had access to the bodies, yes, and the two of them could perform basic forensic analysis, but the blood still remained a mystery. The lab equipment here was simply too old and too limited to compete with the hospital. “Where the hell are my samples?”

“I’ve tried calling.” Verda carded a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the counter. “That new blood tech they hired is an idiot. He probably never even looked at what we sent him.”

Dorotea was already striding out the door. “Pull more samples. We’ll do it ourselves if we have to.”

-

Braving the narrow, unplowed roads to Adelaide was certainly a decision, one that Dorotea was refusing to regret as she carved two lines through the white. Her truck was high enough to avoid most of the snow banks, and those deep winter tires had served her well before, so she pushed any possibility of danger from her mind, ignoring the steep cliff face to her right as she kept moving.

When she pulled onto a plowed main road, the stumpy building in sight, she realized she hadn’t actually told anyone where she was going. Cursing, she fished her phone from her pocket. “I’m in Adelaide,” she said to Adam’s voice mail. “Hopefully I’ll get my damn lab work. The roads are bad right now, so hold tight until Lance’s lawyer can get there. Maybe Nate can keep you busy.” She almost laughed at that. “Call me if anything changes on your end. I’ll be here a while.” Roads be damned, she wasn’t leaving until that blood technician was thoroughly schooled on the responsibilities of his station.

Dorotea brushed off the snow that dusted her hat as she entered the hospital. Though it was the tallest building in Adelaide, it was wide, giving it a more comical look than the tall ones she had seen in the city. A nurse occupied herself with a ratty romance paperback behind the front desk, seemingly unaware to Dorotea’s presence. “Excuse me.”

“You don’t look like you’re having a medical emergency, Detective Langford.” The nurse turned a page. Then her eyes trailed lazily up to the swollen ruin of Dorotea’s face. “Well damn, maybe you are. Finally mouth off to the wrong person?”

Dorotea ignored her. “Is Dr. Turner in?”

“He’s in Yellow Crick. Did you need him to write a prescription for an ice pack?”

“I ain’t in the mood, Martha. Where’s the lab?”

Martha rolled her eyes but pointed vaguely down the hall, never looking up from her book. “My thanks,” Dorotea scoffed before stomping away.

Signs warning against public access were posted on the thick door, but Dorotea didn’t spare them a glance as she pulled it open. The hospital’s lab was much larger than the one at the station, though, Dorotea noted with pride, not nearly as orderly. Machines beeped and whirred as she walked past, and she wondered how easy it would be to get Adam to lug one of them into the back of her truck. The hospital certainly didn’t seem to be using it. “Hello?”

“Oh!” a voice squeaked from behind one of the storage aisles. The man who appeared was tall and lanky, his wrist bones jutting out from the too-short sleeves of his lab coat. Shaggy black hair that should certainly be tied back fell into his icy blue eyes. The chill that ran down Dorotea’s spine at the sight of them was worse than the frost outside, but she pushed it down and approached him. “Can I help you?”

Dorotea cleared her throat. “I’m Detective Langford from Wayhaven.” She let the words sink in for a moment, expecting him to wince or display any other sign of shame, but the technician just tilted his head to the side. “I’ve given you more than enough time to get these lab results over to me. What, you think that since you transferred to some podunk town in the middle of the hills you get to slack off?” She pushed a finger into his chest. “Well?”

It took him a moment to compose himself, his eyes darting between her finger and her face. “There’s no need for that.” The man seemed to unfurl, his shoulders rounding and his posture straightening. Confidence dripped from his smile as his eyes caught the bright lights above. “Calm yourself.”

“Excuse me?” Dorotea’s nostrils flared.

The lab tech snapped back into himself. “Sorry,” he stuttered, stepping even closer. “What I meant was- I mean- I’m Ethan. Ethan Murphy. Nice to-“ Murphy stuck his hand out to reach towards hers, but his toe tripped over empty air. He stumbled forward, colliding with Dorotea and pushing her back against the counter. Reflexively, her hand shot out, pushing the glassware to the floor. Pain erupted from her wrist first as her weight harshly landed on it, then from her back where the lip of the counter dug into her. It took her a few full seconds to even realize that she was bleeding.

The shard of glass that sliced her palm open clattered to the ground as she raised her hand to her face. “I am so sorry,” Murphy said in a tone that reminded Dorotea of some of the yapping dogs around town. He balled up the hem of his lab coat and pressed it into her palm, the tip of his tongue poking out as he watched it turn a shade of pink. “Here, let me-“

“Get off of me!” she snapped, snatching her hand away. She pushed past him towards the sink, where she ripped out a wad of paper towels and pressed them against her wound. “The results. Now!” she added when Murphy didn’t move.

He scurried away. The cut was deep, and it bled like a fountain, but it looked more horrific than it actually was. There was a small emergency first aid kit on the wall, and Dorotea busied herself with cleaning and bandaging the wound until Murphy came back. It was awkward with one hand and not nearly as tight as it probably should be, but the bandages covered the worst of it when he returned with a tan folder in his hand. “Again, I am so sorry.”

Dorotea grabbed it, a pit opening in her stomach as she saw the way Murphy watched her every move. “Make it up to me by doing your fucking job next time.” Though there would never be a next time, she decided as she pushed out of the lab without a further word. Her and Verda would be more than enough.

Even the snow pissed her off as she stomped to her car. Childlike wonder be damned, it was cold and getting in her eyes and the air stung her hand. If that wasn’t bad enough, the bandages started to unravel when she was halfway across the parking lot. Her hand burned as blood dripped down her fingers onto the blanket of snow.

She cursed but ignored it, a tingle on the back of her neck hastening her step. It wasn’t until she pulled herself into the truck did she rebandage it, this time much more tightly. Then she turned the defroster on, antsy for it to blare to life so that she could pull out of there.

Her mouth tugged down as she glanced out the windshield. The snow had stopped.

-

Tina was her first victim when she finally arrived at the station. “The public defender?” Dorotea asked instead of a greeting, catching Tina as she was making a cup of packaged cocoa for her and Douglas.

“Still on her way,” Tina answered with a small shake of her head, pulling a third mug down from the cupboard. “Hopefully she’ll be here soon now that the snow’s given up.”

“And Unit Bravo?”

A mummified bag of marshmallows dropped from the top shelf, all of them melted together in one solid mass. Tina stuck her hand in, pried them apart, and plopped fist fulls into the cups. “Tall, dark, and handsome said that they had to meet with their handler. Something about Lance’s answers bothered them.”

“I think that’s the first normal reaction they’ve had to something this whole case.” Dorotea leaned against the counter, careful to hide her injured hand as she took a steaming mug from Tina. Frothy cocoa coated her top lip as she took a sip. “Lance wasn’t acting right. Did Dr. Turner mention anything?”

Another lump of marshmallows went into Tina’s mouth before she answered. “We didn’t have to call him. Lance calmed down once you left. I mean, I would have been shaking in my boots if that Morgan was interrogating me, but everything seemed right as rain with him after that.”

Dorotea almost dropped her mug. “Morgan went in there?”

“Oh yeah. Asked a lot of the same questions you did. Lance still couldn’t give any straight answers, though.”

Hurt stabbed Dorotea’s heart. “You just let them in there? Without a defender or anything?” She sprang to her feet. “Christ, Tina, you can’t go behind my back like that!”

Tina blinked, wrinkles forming on her brow. “They said it was urgent,” she said, her voice weirdly airy.

Dorotea scoffed and gathered the file up. “If you’d rather start taking orders from them, you’re more than welcome to ask if they have any job openings.” Betrayal dripped from every word. She pulled her hat down low, turned on her heel, and ignored Tina’s call as she plowed towards the basement steps.

“Dear God! What happened to you?” Verda erupted when Dorotea tossed the file onto the table before him. He grabbed her hand and turned her palm up, his eyes widening at the blossom of red across the bandage.

“That bastard blood tech,” Dorotea spat, recounting her experience as Verda recleaned and bandaged the cut.

Verda tutted. “This might need stitches. You didn’t think to get help when you were in the hospital?”

“You don’t know how creepy this guy was,” Dorotea retorted weakly, exhaustion finally burning her eyes. “I’m going to want his results double checked. I trust a snake oil salesman more than I trust his competency.”

“And I am sure glad you trust mine.” The pair sat in silence for a while longer, both unwilling to break the peace and head back into the chaos. Verda traced a finger down the center of the bandage, just light enough for Dorotea not to feel it. “We should get back.”

Dorotea sighed. “Duty calls.” She stood, clapped Verda on the shoulder, and hurried to her office before Tina could intercept her. The officer frowned in her direction but stayed at her desk, her curls hiding her eyes.

She shut the blinds to her office and collapsed into her chair, the force of the action wheeling her back a few inches. Dorotea wanted to puzzle through her thoughts. She wanted to be mad at Lance and Tina and Unit Bravo and everyone who had undercut her trust today. But she simply no longer had the energy. With her final bit of strength, Dorotea hauled her leaden legs up onto her desk, pulled her hat low over her eyes, and plunged into darkness.

-

The phone might have rang minutes or hours after she drifted off; Dorotea wasn’t sure. Routine guided her hand more than her mind as she brought it to her ear. She uttered something that might have sounded like “what.”

“Dorotea.” Verda’s usually crisp voice was slightly slurred. “I compared Huttle’s DNA sample to Dr. Murphy’s analysis of Garret’s fingernail.” He sucked in a breath. “It’s a match.”

“However-“ he continued quickly as something took root in Dorotea’s throat and painfully tried to push through her teeth. “I compared it to another sample of Garret’s fingernail that I just pulled. That blood is still dead, or whatever we’re calling it. There is no match to Huttle’s blood whatsoever.”

It took a few moments for Dorotea to register the words. “Did that motherfucker think we wouldn’t check?”

“It’s possible it’s some sort of error and he mixed up the samples.” She could hear Verda’s tight frown over the phone. “But we never sent him a sample of Huttle’s for reference.”

“Error my ass.” Dorotea sucked on her teeth. “There’s nothing about the dead blood samples in the report?”

“Nothing.”

“And that doesn’t seem suspicious to you?”

Verda sighed deeply. “Dorotea, I respect you too much to dance around what I mean to say. Your mind is looking for any possible connection, any way to make the suspect someone other than Lance. That is understandable given your current state. But you cannot act like this is a valid line of reasoning. Not when this is the only time you have ever interacted with this man.”

“I feel it in my bones, Verda. There’s something off about Dr. Murphy.” Damn her father’s reports, damn her mother and damn those agents. She was losing her mind, wasn’t she, all valid reasoning replaced with campfire stories and imagined voices. Practical, reasonable Detective Langford had been reduced to this: someone like Mrs. Benedict who cried wolf at every shadow.

But damn it, she still had to trust her gut, even if her head was in a tailspin. She could explain all she wanted that logic had led her to that boy in the first, the rain lapping at his shivering body. And it had, but not as much as the tug in the core of her being, a compass that cut right through the ever changing forest.

Dorotea’s voice dropped to a whisper, even though she was alone in her office. “We’re not sending a single sample over there ever again, got it? Maybe it was just an error, but we have a man who is in a perfect position to falsify evidence who is-“ She slammed the phone down before she could finish, whirling to see who had just turned the doorknob.

“Relax. I’m not your killer.” Dorotea’s knuckles turned white as she still gripped the phone. Bobby paid her foul expression no mind. He closed the door behind him, then invited himself to a chair with an easy smile. “Care to share what that phone call was about, angel?”

#idk why this took so long to get done lol #now over halfway done with the fic! #dont wake the ancients #my writing #twc #dorotea langford

[truckreincarnation]

(vee)xation | Vee | Trial 2.4 | Re: Nao, Manami, Avery

By all accounts, Vivian Lockwood is already having a shite day, and Nao’s outburst triggers a look of genuine hurt on their face that will likely have consequences down the line.

It’s only Manami’s interruption that stops Vee from immediately turning on them, and while part of him still wants to scream and shout and rage, the anger instead pools itself together and freezes up. Hatred doesn’t boil bright and burn red with them, and instead the newfound iciness in their tone shows just how upset they really are with what the Secretary has to say. "I am very well aware t-that if we get this wrong, s-someone innocent will take the f-fall, but the same is true if w-we vote for Frank and that is the wrong o-option. Nothin’ we’ve brought up so far c-can absolutely prove or disprove one t-theory or another, so is it so wrong to w-want to cling to what shreds of h-hope we have that this trial c-can end without further death? That I can b-believe there isn’t enough e-evidence to prove that someone else here is d-directly or indirectly responsible?“

Their breathing evens out, less shallow than it was before. "Besides, I’m not tryin’ to m-make the decision for you. Or t-tell you it is the only r-right decision that m-must be made. What Avery a-and the others have said so far h-has enough merit that I am c-convinced, if that’s the kind of c-confirmation you’re lookin’ for.” Vee’s tone abruptly shifts as they narrow their eyes. “But don’t c-condescend to me and make it out l-like I don’t know what’s at s-stake for all of our l-lives. If you push hard on F-Frank because you’re unconvinced t-that he didn’t do it, you’re also hedgin’ y-your life on that outcome. I wouldn’t h-have volunteered for that either, and you’ve t-taken that choice away from not just me but the r-rest of us tryin’ to a-argue in good faith that we think t-this outcome is the right one. For our selfish r-reasons, perhaps, but I didn’t come t-to this fuckin’ trial room prepared to s-save lives.”

(cw: implied mouth trauma) A fresh trail of blood dribbles at their lips. They absently brush it off, when did that happen?

“Perry had h-her own skills. I’m f-fairly certain she used one a-at one point to restore her s-sap body construct, somethin’ I’m c-certain you were there for, Mx. Smith,” Vee notes quietly. “I also believe t-this is an accident because Frank would h-have to had seen Perry, m-made a split-second decision to e-enter the craftin’ room and zero in the b-blasted Shatterstone in the m-minutes after when she m-made it to the room - which considerin’ her path w-went through the Housin’ and the L-Library, took at least a w-while - and then kill her w-with the stone before h-hurryin’ back to the Orchard. There's also b-blood on the shelf where the stone o-once was, and unless s-someone could wash their hands v-very quickly I don't see how or why s-someone other than Pears grabbed it. Whether or not you d-don’t believe is no longer up to m-me.”

They’re so tired, and yet the first thing they plan to do after this trial is over is camp outside the Bound Housing and wait for their best friend to wake up. That is, assuming they don’t end up as one of its residents alongside her when the votes are read.

#Vee #ch2 #trial2 #submission

[fleursdemeduse]

Remembrance AU: Lost in the Façade

Double post tonight and back on track.

Warnings: Death ; Suicidal attempt and ideation ; Unrequited[?] Love

Words: 3.8k

Getting caught up in the affairs of the gods wasn’t something you were ever hoping to do.

You remember being absolutely terrified when you saw the wooden pillar and a familiar blond sitting at the top. Remember cursing Tubbo once more at the exile of his best friend. Remembered how much you had thought it would be a mistake. Remembered trying your hardest to not make this possibility a reality.

It hadn't been easy to sneak around Dream's back to visit your little brother. It hadn't been any easier to convince Tommy to let you do so either. He was still upset at you, but you could never be mad at him for it. He was right. Siblings don't keep things from each other.

That's why, after knowing what Dream would do to him, it hurt more that he wouldn't tell you.

Dream was standing a bit to the side, laughing, despite the forlorn look on Tommy's face. The urge to kill him again flared in your stomach and you pushed it down. Tommy needed you more than you needed the green man's death.

You nearly flew to the two, hardly feeling your feet touch the ground when your heart was beating as hard as it was.

"Tommy? Tommy, what are you doing up there?" You barely heard his sigh, but he shrugged in response and you spun on Dream. The cool night air bit your cheeks, but your blood was colder. "What is he doing? Why are you just laughing?"

Dream crossed his arms in front of himself. "Oh please, [y/n]. You don't actually think he's gonna jump, do you? He's on one life left. He wouldn't."

You didn't hold the same optimism Dream did. You turned back to your brother, sitting atop the tower before you.

"Tommy? Tommy, please come down. You're scaring me!"

"What's the point, [y/n]?"

"The point is you need to be safe. It’s going to be okay, Tommy. I promise, just come down and-”

“You’re right, it is going to be okay.” He had always wondered what it was like to have wings. He remembered some things of previous lives when he had them, but he never remembered flying. Was this how it felt? The breeze brushing it’s icy fingers through his hair, trying to coax him to fall. Was this how you felt every time you were about to die?

“Tommy!” He looked back down at you, scooting closer to the edge. You looked so small. He felt smaller. It was so hard to focus with all of the thoughts drifting through his mind. No one had come to his party, his interaction with Drista was… lackluster at best. No one cared. He wasn’t in a position of power anymore, who could blame them. You, Ghostbur, and Dream probably only cared out of obligation. He could feel the mist from the sea on his face.

“Tommy, all of us," you shot a glare at Dream, but the man stood there, unphased, "most of us love you, Tommy. We'd be heartbroken if you were gone."

"Then why has no one else visited?" Your heart felt heavy in your chest and your words died on your lips. You didn’t have an answer for the blond. You could only look up at him with eyes that slowly became more glassy the longer he sat up there.

There were flashes in his mind. Ones of him finding Tubbo in another life. The time when he was a vigilante and they had lived together, the other continuously throwing him out of windows. The one where they had become fast friends during an apocalypse. The life where they had raced together and he had fallen down a cliff side.

Tubbo wasn't here for him this time.

The feeling of the breeze brushing through his hair made his back ache, longing for the lives where he had wings. He wondered if dying this time would be like when he and Wilbur were princes. He had awoken in an orchard that was so bright, so warm, he almost longed for the battlefield again. He couldn't remember the name of it now. Blue something? He remembered the morning glories that decorated it and the apple trees that littered the orchard he had awoken in. He remembered how sweet the fruits had been. Like gapples, but with the faint taste of honey. A small part of him hoped he would return there and wait for Phil once more until the next lifetime.

Another gust of wind blew past him and Tommy was shaken from his thoughts, only to hear the two conflicting voices below him.

"I know you just want attention, give it up, Tommy. This is why you don’t scheme."

"Tommy, please come down. It's not worth it. Do not listen to Dream!"

"C'mon, just jump. I know you won't."

"You're worth more than just jumping, Tommy."

"You wanted me here, Tommy. I'm your only friend now."

"You are not his friend, Dream. You're manipulating him."

"I am just telling him what he needs to hear."

Tommy's breath hitched when you shoved the masked man before you. You didn't pvp. What were you doing?

"You are trying to use him. He is not a pawn you can just play with, Dream!"

"Oh, as if you are any better." Tommy watched Dream shove you back. "None of us know who you are, [y/n]. How do we know you're not just a pawn being used yourself against all of us? How do we know you're our friend? We all remember each other. You're a new player in a game where you don't belong."

He stood above you now, porcelain mask lifeless as he started to summon his own sword. "Let's see how many lives you actually have."

Tommy noted how scared you looked, staring back at Dream, but was shocked when you just looked up at him. "Tommy, please. You need to get down. And you need to run."

Dream's sword was in hand. "Tommy, you need to find somewhere safe. Anywhere safe. Please."

An uncomfortable feeling bubbled in his chest at your words. Like you knew what would happen next. Like you knew better and were telling him the future. How could you know when you wouldn’t tell him anything?

"Tommy, you need to be safe. It's going to be okay."

The sun rose and when the light hit you, casting you in a golden glow, he believed you.

Even as Dream ran you through with his sword, he believed you. His chest flickered with long gone pain as he watched the metal disappear into your heart.

So he jumped, water bucket ready.

He landed feet away and began running as fast as he could through the underbrush. His brain was just screaming at him to go back for you. But he knew you wouldn't be there. You'd wake up in your bed here in a few seconds like every other time they had watched you die, and Dream would have him again.

He needed to find Technoblade.

When you returned to where Logstedshire once stood, you relaxed when you saw Dream still there and Tommy gone. Water pooled next to the pole and you knew he had listened to you. The man turned back onto you and you glared back. “You’ve made your last mistake, Dream.”

He didn’t pursue you when you turned back to L’Manburg.

Gods didn’t need to hunt for anything more than fun or revenge.

"He's done it again, Phil!" You nearly screeched through clenched teeth as you slammed the heavy door that led into the angel of death’s house. The immortal barely spared you a glance and continued writing in a small leather bound journal on his desk. Each stroke of the small quill made another perfectly crafted letter, absorbing his interest.

"Take a seat, mate." Phil's voice was bewitching and you immediately perched on one of the warm seats near the fire, sucking in a quivering breath. You took a moment to glance around the familiar home to maybe calm yourself, your sudden need of keeping your composure an agonizing task.

Phil was there when you had awoken on the floor of his home after speaking with Kristin, brimming with knowledge you shouldn’t have known. The man had been alive the longest. Not quite dying, always just flitting between lifetimes on the black wings of his. He had confirmed everything when you had spoken to him about your new memories, comforting you in that special way only a dad could.

Now, as you sat in the comfortable armchair, you could see evidence of every timeline he had lived through and could pinpoint each one. A green plastic bottle, a pair of fuzzy dice, a painting of an unknown woman. She didn’t look like Kristin. There were large wooden bookcases that climbed up the walls filled with great quantities of journals. How many stories did he have to tell? The fire glowing in the hearth set off a gentle glow accompanied by a warmth that made the home all the more pleasing to be in. A small carved board held a thin, dipped stick that burned on the end, causing a delightful scent of vanilla to waft around the room. You sunk into the soft piece of furniture, forcing yourself to relax just a little.

Phil watched you from the corner of his eye. He had seen you stalk across the snowy field and to his front door. You didn’t look happy, but he didn’t expect you to be. There was plenty happening on the server at all times between the same members that were at the heart of it time and time again.

He finished his thought, setting the quill aside and recapping his ink. He’d have to go collect more soon, he was running low. Leaving the page to dry, he walked to the kitchen. His wings rustled gently as they brushed past various objects. You watched him, crossing your arms. “Phil?”

“Yes, mate?” His voice was warm and just as sweet as the vanilla in the air. Fatherly.

“Does it…” You pressed your lips together, trying to properly word the sentence. “Does me being around bother you?”

Phil’s hands paused as he went to feed the furnace to warm a kettle of water. “Why would you ask something like that?”

You shrugged, leaning further into the chair. You weren’t sure if you were trying to hide from your own thoughts or if you were trying to hide from him. “Dream just-”

“Now why would you listen to him? Do you honestly care what he thinks?” You wet your lips, thinking about it.

“Kinda? I care what everyone here thinks.” There was a soft shifting as you heard Phil lean back against the counter. “Some more than others. But I do care.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Keeps you in check from doing somethin’ really wrong.” You hummed in response. “What did he say?”

“He said I don’t belong here.” You heard a scoff.

“Well, we both know that that’s not true.” You thought of Tommy up on the final remains of the territory he had been so proud of. Had he actually gotten away? You thought of Techno, now exiled in the tundra far away from where you sat now. What would he think of your choices? You thought of Wilbur -now Ghostbur- and how, despite you yelling at him being the last thing he heard, he still somehow seemed to love you. Why did he still try so hard when all you seemed to do was help with the aftermath?

A hot mug was pressed into your hands and you looked up at the only one who knew your secret.

“It’s chamomile tea. It’ll help.” You nodded at him, sipping carefully at the beverage. “Tell me everything that happened.”

So you recounted everything that had happened that night until your entrance bright and early in the blond man’s house, including your threat.

“DreamXD’s probably not going to like that you threatened Dream.”

You could only shrug.

“What does it matter? It’s not like killing me will do anything.”

“He’s a god, [y/n]. They have their ways.” You sighed. They were definitely fickle folk. Kristin had been kind enough when you saw her, despite the near-constant migraine you were trying to slowly adapt to, and your few meetings with Drista hadn’t been horrible. But you had never crossed paths with the powerful creation god. If he were anything like Dream himself, you would hate what your first encounter would be like.

“When Drista killed me, it was the same as usual, so I’m not worried. I just can’t believe I didn’t see the signs of Tommy’s spiral.”

“When she killed you?” You nodded once more. He didn’t ask anymore questions, and you didn’t supply him with any more answers.

You didn’t fear other gods after your experiences with the first two you had already been bad. They were not bad enough to deter you.

You had first met Drista when she and Tommy were finishing building the Intimidation Tower. It was an ugly thing, made out of cobblestone, and you knew that Wilbur hated that it gave away the location of the ravine, but it made Tommy happy. It made Drista happy. So you convinced Wilbur to just let it be. It made it easier for Tommy to come home when he was lost, anyways.

She had come around a lot more after that. Always attached at the hip to Tommy, always displaying godlike power, always causing mischief. She was decently polite to you, despite being younger than Tommy with a snarky attitude. But they were a good pair to watch. She always seemed to have fun with the blond, especially when he messed up. And despite how upset he seemed to be in the moment, he was always cheerful when he told you about the things he had done with her as you attached plasters to his cuts and salve to his bruises.

So why did you find her atop the intimidation tower without him?

You climbed your way up, sitting down next to her. “Hey.”

She turned her head to look at you, the familiar mask hiding her expression. “What do you want?”

“Kinda wanna know what you’re doing up here by yourself. Tommy’s asleep right now.” You watched her pull a leg up onto the ledge and hug it.

“I’m just thinking. It’s different being around you all than my brothers.”

“Brothers?” She only nodded her head. “I know about Dream, who else is your brother?”

There was a slight shake in her hand as she moved her hair back. “You’ve already met him. It’s DreamXD.”

You snickered. “DreamXD is your brother?”

“Well, yeah, why else do you think I have access to creative mode?” You hummed, looking back out at the rest of the world and away from her. You hadn’t really questioned it. You didn’t really question a lot of things about the semantics of this world. None of it ever made sense.

“Then what happened to Dream?”

“Oh, he was made, not born.” You nodded.

There was a beat, then two. It sunk in.

“Excuse me?” You heard a laugh ring from her lips.

“Why do you think we call him “Clay” sometimes? Why he doesn’t have powers? Why he shifts from life to life like the rest of them?” You took silent notice of the way she said “them” and not “you”. “He’s a creation with just as much of a soul as the rest of the players.”

You chewed on the thought. Did that make her a god as well? You didn’t ask.

“Then what were you thinking about?”

“How fragile you all are.” Your breath caught as you suddenly felt the air rush around you. You couldn’t even scream before you hit the ground, hard. The pain only lasted a moment before a yelp was heard under you and you scrambled off the bed.

Tommy was looking at you with large eyes and you muttered a small “sorry”.

He didn’t even nod at you, just shifted further back against the wall. You could never chastise someone just looking for comfort. “Y’know, it’s a little inconvenient to have you take up my whole bed while I’m out, Toms.”

“What the hell, [y/n]? I didn’t even hear you come in!”

“What were you doing in my bed? I thought I saw you lay down in your own.” You took in the dark bags under his eyes and his messy hair. He didn’t answer you, just looked away with a type of melancholy you knew you’d never hope to match. “The nightmares again, huh?”

He huffed at you, lips turning down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was such an inconvenience.” He shook his head, moving to crawl out. “This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have-”

You moved to block him, sitting on the edge of the shoddily crafted mattress as you grabbed him and pulled him back. “That is not what I meant, and you know it.” You pushed him down gently and laid next to him with an arm across his shoulders. He squirmed in your grasp. “Tommy, stop. Talk to me.”

The blond hesitated before rolling onto his side to look at you. He looked so very young in the dim torchlight. Why did he seem to have to grow up so fast in every timeline? You moved your arm to run your fingers through his hair and he relaxed under the touch.

“Are we doing the right thing? It feels like we’re on some continuous loop and I can’t even tell if I’m just doing this because we’re the good guys or because I’m the little brother and I have to listen.” You hummed, scratching his scalp gently. “I always feel left out of the loop. And whenever I’m let in, I never have a choice on whatever it is. For the most part, I am, in fact, an idiot. But I fully admit to it, which should count for something, yeah? Why does everyone keep treating me as if I were a child? And when they aren’t treating me like one, they’re acting like I have all the answers.”

You watched his lips tremble and he scoot closer to press his face to your chest and you held him there. “Why can’t they make up their minds? I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t-” His words broke as he held onto your shirt, pressing his face closer into you. “I don’t-”

You slid your other arm under his head, holding him to you tightly. If you could save him from his own fate, you would have. You two may have not been bound by blood, but he was just as much your brother as he was Wilbur and Techno’s. You would die for him. You would kill for him. You’d do just about anything he asked. You’d protect him from anything.

The gods would have to wipe your existence from everything to get to the ones you loved.

Dream stood next to his brother, floating silently with identical masks. You weren’t afraid of them, but your lip trembled despite your resolve. DreamXD cocked his head at you, as if he himself hadn’t been the one to leave you next to that river and wasn’t aware of your existence. You grit your teeth silently.

“XD.” You greeted. The god’s head corrected before he reached up to remove his mask. An “x” scar crossed his face where his eyes should have been and he grinned at you. He recovered his face once more before blipping out of sight. There would be no fight from him today, but that was a warning.

“Well then, [Y/n], tell me. What do you think would happen to you if they knew your secret? Wouldn’t it make you happy to be able to indulge in the privilege we all seem to have?” You paused, a second turning to a minute, and your heart started to sound like it was beating out of your chest. You considered the possibilities. “Well?”

Dream cursed, his brother now gone. He’d have to do this himself. He too removed his mask and you steeled yourself, crossing your arms. You stared at Dream’s face, bare from the smiling mask that everyone was so accustomed to, displaying the sneer he held special for you. Your back was straight. You were firm. Your gaze unwavering and directing back as much of a threat as his. "I can't understand why you don't like me. You basically built this land from the ground up, and you turn out to be like this?"

His lip curled and your eyes flickered to his lips for a moment before you were back to glaring into his eyes. "You better watch your tongue around me. You can’t fool me with your little “no past lives” act. And you can’t make everyone like you. I know I don’t."

"You're the first who doesn’t, then. And just because you don’t believe that I have no other lives doesn’t mean you can go blabbing to the whole server either.”

“What makes me happy doesn’t matter. If others like me for who I am now, I’m fine.” This turned his curled lip into a full sneer, and you couldn’t stand to look at him anymore.

“See? This is why I don’t like you!” He grabbed your shoulders, and it took every ounce of your willpower to not yank yourself away. “You try to make everyone else happy and leave yourself in the dust! You can’t just do that.”

You swore your heart skipped a beat when you looked back up at him, and your eyes connected once. He wasn’t angry. He was worried. You couldn’t tell if it was for you or for the lost potential, but it was something you had never expected to come from Dream of all people. “Why do you care so much? This doesn’t affect you.”

“Anything concerning my brother affects me.”

“How does this affect XD?” He released you from his grasp.

“Because you are an anomaly and you shouldn’t be here.”

“Then why doesn’t he do something about it? Or Kristin? Or even Drista?” You couldn’t ignore the way he looked away, seemingly ashamed.

“Because they can’t.”

So what did it mean when the gods couldn’t touch you?

#Remembrance AU #dsmp au #dream smp au #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #platonic!tommyinnit x reader #mcyt x reader #unrequited feelings #tw: death #tw: suidice #tw: sui ideation #tw: sui mention #tw: arguing #angst

[dandelioncow]

MOO <3333 for the reqs, maybe something dxd centric 👀 (unrequited xdnf ?) i've just got him on the brain LMAO i have this one specific mental image of him growing a forest of thorns around a sleeping george - sleeping beauty style

(btw i reread geyser last night it's so so amazing i wish i could kudos it more but :( anyways hope youre doing well mwah mwah !!)

zin my beloved!! heres your fic as promised :] i have incurable dxd brainrot so this was very fun to write :)

Dream summons XD in the middle of the night, soaked in blood and desperation. They haven’t seen each other for years—not since George chose which side to fall on. XD had thought it better for both of them, that way. No need to linger on past hurts.

“You have to help me,” Dream says, voice wavering. A low groan comes from the lump of fabric in his arms—and when XD glances down, he nearly flinches from it. A sliver of George’s face, pale and weak as moonlight and streaked in blood and dirt, lays itself bare between the dirtied green bundle of Dream’s cloak, the grip of his arms.

It’s been years. XD is a god—he shouldn’t have attachments to the mortal world. It simply doesn’t happen. Immortality makes all living things brief and pointless. Besides, this is what George chose—to bleed, to die, to be buried and return to dust.

“I offered him godhood and he chose you,” XD says, very quietly. The ever-present ache in his gut pushes at him, demanding his attention. He ignores it. “Do you want me to go against his wishes, now?”

Dream closes his eyes. “I know it’s selfish,” he murmurs, carefully brushing a lock of George’s dark hair from his shivering face. “Not forever. I wouldn’t ask that of him. But if…”

“You want me to preserve him,” XD surmises. “Until you can find a way to cheat death.”

“Yes.”

“It won’t be easy.”

Dream remains steadfast. “For me, or for him?”

“Either. Both.” XD sinks to his knees, reaching a gloved hand out for George. Dream tightens his grip momentarily—reflex, XD reminds himself with a pang—but surrenders him without a word. “It could cost you your life.”

“I don’t care,” Dream says. He rises to his feet but his eyes linger on George. His smile is empty and emotionless. “You understand too, don’t you? In a way, you wanted him to live more than I ever did.”

He walks away, soft and light as shadow. XD watches him go, then turns to George.

Preservation, he thinks. In some ways, this is what he is best at. He has had years of practice doing exactly that, after all.

Sleep, he says, pressing a gentle hand over George’s eyes. In the language of the gods, the meaning is twofold: to sleep and to stay, walking the thin line between death and living. All gods are dead because they can’t live; all humans are alive because they won’t die. In some ways, this is what George is best at, too.

George’s ragged breaths slowly even out. XD threads a thin line of power on his inhales; pulls his pain out with his exhales. His wounds stop bleeding, though they don’t disappear. To do that much would be to earn the ire of Death and her ever-present son Destiny, and even XD cannot face them and hope to survive.

He lowers George onto the cold, hard ground but that feels too much like a burial, or a goodbye; he softens the earth with another word, unfurling the blooming buds of orchards and tulips in the dead of winter. Weaving a handful of moonlight with one hand, XD breathes warmth into them and drapes them carefully over George like a blanket.

It won’t do much, in George’s slumber, but it eases some of the aching, at least. If Dream can be this selfish, then XD will do the same.

XD is not mortal, but he’s learned enough. Around them, a thick mass of brambles and thorns burst from the ground, twisting and gnarled, curving over them and sealing them off from the rest of the world. He moves mountains; he redirects rivers. Until Dream returns, George will be the safest he ever was.

He presses a feathery kiss to George’s sleeping cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

It’s just as much a question as it is a promise. There’s still work to be done so he draws back and prepares to return to his godly duties. George will live. He has to. And after that…maybe then, XD will go to him again.

That sounds good. Maybe even after everything, XD can return to him. It’s what he’s best at doing, after all.

#mbloom requests #xdnf #c!dnf #my fics #tax evader tag

[kingofkingdom-archive]

Your Wish Is My Command

Pairing: Maxwell Lord (WW84) X Fem!Reader

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love on my last story! I’m grateful for all the feedback and can’t wait to get back to anyone who’s replied or reblogged it or whateva. This one’s pretty different - Recovery was mainly plot with a bit of porn, this is... well, the opposite of that. ;) As always, heed the tags/warnings, and again there is no use of Y/N here.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only!)

Summary: You have a gift - a powerful, unique, dangerous gift, and King Maxwell wants to take full advantage.

You’ll let him.

Warnings: mostly smut, Maxwell being an absolute jackass (no redemption arc here folks), you encouraging and very much liking the jackassery, brief mention of abuse/trauma, greedy authoritarian behavior, kinda spoilers for ww84

Tags: semi-public sex, exhibitionism, royalty kink (?), unprotected sex, implied and/or inferred consent (i.e. not explicit but there), Maxwell’s POV (until very end), fingering, p-in-v sex, come marking

Word Count: 3.4k

"The messenger you requested, reporting back from the northern provinces, sire."

King Maxwell of the house Lord, sitting in the throne gifted to him by birthright, dismisses the servant with a wave of his hand. He's become quite irritated with the futility of his efforts concerning this matter, and therefore has little patience for further delay. The future of his lands, his wealth, his power, rests on the shoulders of these menial workers and the news they provide. It bears no repeating that should they continue to come up empty-handed, someone is going to lose their head.

He needs the girl, and then it will be sealed. He will crush all opposition and assert his dominance over the entire region, coast to coast.

The messenger, a boy no more than 15, scurries into the room. His hair is tousled under his cap, which he hastily removes in the presence of the king. He bows, deeply and with a flourish, before standing upright.

Max watches with disinterest, legs spread over the velvet seat and head resting on his fist. His rings dig into his temple.

"We believe we've found her, sire."

That grabs his attention. He sits forward, both hands gripping the arms of his throne.

"You believe you have? Have you or have you not?"

The boy swallows, growing pale. "We-we have, your majesty. It's just, uh, we-we can't p-p-prove it's her until she demonstrates the gift."

The king groans, rolling his eyes and rubbing a hand over his face. These people are impossible.

"Where is she, then? Have you at least brought her along?"

The boy nods frantically. "Yes, your majesty. She's been quartered in the guest wing, with two guards to watch her."

Immediately, Maxwell stands. Everyone in the room looks up at him, and he adjusts his sleeves. The boy is nearly trembling.

"Well, then take me to her," he orders, and the boy hesitates.

"Now!"

The messenger boy practically trips over his own feet in haste to correct his error. He sets a quick pace to the guest wing in order to account for the king's long strides, head bowed and arms stiff as he does so.

The room is located to the east of that which houses his throne, on the third floor, overlooking the orchards. Maxwell follows the boy, wooden-soled shoes echoing on the gleaming marble floors of his palace. Mirrors line each hallway, along with fine art ranging from rare vases to family portraits. 

Maxwell sees the door as soon as they turn a corner, identifiable by the armored men who stand at either side of it. The boy stops and gestures to the door with a shaking hand.

"Just in here, y-"

"I can see that," the king barks, ignoring the boy completely. "You are dismissed."

He hears footsteps retreat quickly down the hall as he checks his appearance in a mirror. Not a hair out of place, not a wrinkled seam in sight. The king sighs, smiling as he admires himself. He takes a moment before turning to the door, the door that hides behind it wealth and prosperity like nothing he's ever known.

The guards simply bow as he approaches them. Maxwell knocks twice on the door and pushes it open.

Inside there is a single room, with a bed and chest of drawers and a vanity. There is a balcony, with glass French doors, through which he can see the shape of a woman standing and looking out over the scenery. 

She leans one hip against the stone railing, and as Maxwell walks forward he can see that she holds a goblet of wine in one hand. Her dress flows in the light summer breeze, and her hair is decorated in intricate braids, ribbon laced throughout.

The girl does not see him, yet. He stands in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, watching her.

"Is it true?" he asks, after he's looked his fill. 

The young woman starts, a gasp escaping her lips. She turns to look towards the voice she has heard and startles again, seeing the king himself staring quite intently at her.

"Your majesty," she breathes, a smile ghosting across her lips. She bows deeply and then looks up at him, eyes bright and playful.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear. I've heard many... extraordinary things about you."

Maxwell is immediately taken with her. Not only is she quite beautiful, despite her pauper's clothing, but she is one of few who have not reacted to him with fear or malice. Most begin shaking when they see his face; she, however, seems quite happy to see him.

"Oh, sire, the pleasure is entirely mine," she responds, voice soft, like music to Max's ears. "What things could you have heard about someone as lowly as I?" Her words are humble, but he senses a hint of teasing in them - as though she knows exactly what he's heard, but just wants him to say it.

"You are rumored to possess a very unique skill, one that I am most interested in learning about." He plays along, because her elusiveness frustrates him much less when she's right in front of him.

The king is a very visual man. 

He steps forward, fully onto the balcony now. She backs up until her back hits the railing, smile never leaving her face, even as the king crowds into her.

"I possess many skills which I would be happy to demonstrate to you," she says, and Max does not miss the meaning she intends to convey in those words. His eyes darken, his blood running hot at the thought of the many things she could give him. The things he could take from her willingly, without the hassle of a fight.

"It is said that you grant wishes," he murmurs, looking down at her. Max finds he quite likes this view, her looking up to her king. "One must only touch you and state their wish, and it will be so."

The girl chuckles, and daringly takes a sip of her wine. Maxwell grins, before reaching a hand up and grabbing the wine from her grasp. He tosses the liquid out over the ground below and carelessly throws the goblet over the edge to follow its contents.

The girl does not bat an eye.

"What you have heard," she mutters, eyes slipping down to his lips and back up again, "is true."

The king runs his hand up her side, settling at her ribs just beside her breast, savoring the way she shivers at his touch. His fingers splay out over the bare skin of her back, warm and soft and hinting at more.

 He dips his head down so that his nose brushes against hers, mouths nearly touching.

"Is there a limit," he breathes, because he knows he must ask this, "to your generosity, my dear?"

The girl smiles, placing a hand on his bicep. Her small fingers feel divine against him, even there.

"No," she whispers back. 

Maxwell hums, stroking his thumb idly along her warm, soft skin. He needs to confirm that she's telling the truth, as tempting as it is to believe her outright. The way she's looking at him... she'd let him do anything to her. The thought is as enticing as it is dangerous. 

"I wish to find a raven's feather in my shirt pocket," he says, and then feels a slight breeze on the back of his neck.

The king reaches into his pocket, and his fingers brush against exactly the object he wished for. He pulls it out to show the girl. She smiles and runs a hand up to his shoulder, resting her wrist there. His loose linen shirt, which flutters lightly in the wind against his tanned skin, is perfect for a summer's day like this - and when he feels the warmth of her hand through it he thanks his past self for selecting it this morning.

"What a remarkable gift you have," he comments, and tucks the feather behind her ear.

An endearing blush rises to her cheeks, and though she ignores it, the king takes notice. "Thank you, your majesty."

At that moment, an idea forms in his mind. It's devious, downright lecherous and more the act of some tavern drunkard than a king, but she is sure to react well, if he's gauged her correctly. 

"You said there's no limit on the wishes you can grant a single person?"

"Yes, sire. I did."

A smirk forms on the king's face. "Then I wish, my dear, for you to be naked."

The wind around them picks up again and the girl gasps. In the blink of an eye, her plain, beige dress has disappeared, leaving nothing behind. She is a vision, bare and beautiful in the midday light like this.

Maxwell is immediately hard. Not only is there a gorgeous, naked woman before him, but his absolute, unlimited power has just been confirmed and lies at his fingertips. He is unstoppable now, now that he has her.

The girl's hands fly up to grasp at his shoulders as his own trace over her curves. Her hips, her waist, her thighs - one of which he brings up to hook around his own hip - all of it is open and shimmering before him. 

"They said - in my village, they said you are a monster," she says, though her words trail off into a moan as one of the king's hands finds her breast. He tugs at her nipple, squeezing and pulling at the supple flesh, drawing sweet sounds from her pink mouth.

"Is that so?"

She nods. "I would look at your portraits and - and think... I'd think, no... no man so handsome could be so evil."

The king laughs, dipping his head to lick at her neck. She tosses her head back, giving him full access to the elegant column of her throat. 

"And even... even if you are what they said... I don't - I don't care."

Maxwell groans just as she says it, biting a bruise into the junction between her shoulder and neck. He trails bites and kisses down her collarbones, leaving his marks across her unblemished skin.

"I am," he murmurs into her ear, smoothing a hand over her stomach so that his middle finger comes to glide over the thick hair that covers her mound. He dips it into her folds, rubbing softly at the wet, slippery flesh there until she moans, high-pitched and needy. He grins, licking his tongue into the shell of her ear.

"I am a monster, my dear," he whispers.  "Every vile thing they said about me is true. And... I wish to fill my personal vaults with triple the gold. I wish to increase my fleets tenfold, with loyal soldiers to match. I wish to never see you leave these palace grounds so long as I live."

The wind picks up considerably around them. The king presses a finger against her opening, hot and dripping for him, and slides it in. Her moans are heavenly, loud and unashamed as he violates her in the open, where anyone could look up and see them. Her cunt opens for his finger, the gold and precious jewels of his rings swallowed by her sweet embrace. Her hands grip at his neck while her leg draws him closer. He adds a second, and it enters just as easily.

The king begins to fuck her with his fingers, watching as the muscles in her stomach tense and her eyes go glassy with the feeling.

"I wish to never be challenged by anyone for the throne," he grunts out. The girl moans at his words, and he realizes that she likes it. Not just the way he's touching her, but that he's making his wishes as he does it. He grins at her, predatory, and cups her ass with the hand not currently knuckle-deep in her pussy. His fingers dig in, sharp and strong and unyielding, surely leaving bruises in their wake.

"You like granting my wishes, darling? You enjoy giving me power, worshipping your king?"

She nods, mouth half-open. "Yes, your majesty." Her voice is breathy, the sound of it nearly knocking him out with the way it draws blood from his brain to his cock.

Speaking of which.

Maxwell thrusts a third finger into her cunt, the stretch made easy by the slick leaking out of her profusely. She wails, hands scrabbling at his neck and shoulders and back and the collar of his shirt. 

"Take me out," he orders, and she pauses to look at him, confused. "Take me out of my trousers, my dear. Feel how hard I am for you."

She gasps and her hands fly down to the button at the crotch of his pants. Quickly she fumbles it open, and his hard member pushes up into her palms. The girl gives the king's dick a squeeze, and he grits his teeth, moaning.

"I wish to claim all of the lands in the south as my own. I wish to have loyal subjects in every village and town, that no one may ever defy me again. I wish to have any traitors killed without question."

The girl's moans have increased again as she rubs and caresses his cock. Her hands disappear for a moment as she leans back, licking a long stripe from her wrist to fingertips, and returns to her task. 

Maxwell groans, dropping his head forward to press his nose against her skin, breathing in. She smells faintly of lavender, a crop that grows abundantly in the north, sweet and fresh. His tongue darts out to lick away a drop of sweat that rolls down her collarbone. Her hands squeeze and pull at his cock, thumbing at the head and slit and dipping down to fondle his balls on every other stroke.

It feels positively exquisite, but he wants to put his dick to use elsewhere. Somewhere tighter, warmer, wetter. 

The king removes his fingers, drawing a whine from the girl. The noise of it is obscene in itself, squelching and sticky as her cunt tries to cling to his fingers and the jewels that adorn them. He chuckles, lifts his head to meet her gaze, and brings his fingers up to his mouth and licks away her essence. She watches, rapt, as he makes sure to get every inch of the three digits that were inside her. The sight of it makes her keen, high pitched noises spilling out of her lips and eyes watering with desperation and need for him.

The king laughs, the taste of her on his tongue. Someday, he swears, he'll taste this sweet nectar straight from the source.

Now is not the time.

He brings his spit-soaked hand down to his red, throbbing cock, giving it a few strokes. His other hand slips up to grasp her waist. The girl lifts her leg further, resting her heel against his ass, helping him to guide his length into her.

"What else do you wish for, my king?" she asks, just as the head of his cock notches at her opening. With a grunt, Max pushes in.

Her words, combined with the feeling of her pussy stretched around his dick, causes his vision to blur and images to flash in his mind of what's now possible with her gift at his disposal. He pushes in further, drawing another moan from deep within her throat.

"I wish... I wish..."

"Your wildest fantasies, my king..." she urges, grip tightening on his neck and shoulder. "Anything is possible. What do you -- oh!"

As her words soak into his skin, he pushes in further and further, until his balls are nestled squarely at her ass. She's pushing him to take, rather than to give, unlike so many who surround him. It breathes fire into his veins, this woman who's encouraging him to do all the selfish, power-hungry things he'd do anyway, all while he fucks into her like this.

The king draws out and pushes back in in one smooth motion, stealing the breath from her lungs. He presses his lips against hers as he speaks, as he sets a rough pace, fucking her into the stone railing.

"I wish to never fall ill or suffer injury in battle. I wish to have the unwavering allegiance of every foreign leader, and that they will defer to me in all international affairs. I wish for my reign to be the longest this nation has ever seen. I wish to live longer than any other man, and I wish to have you here at my disposal for the entirety of my long life. I wish to never succumb to old age."

By now, the wind is tossing her hair and whistling around them, but Maxwell does not care. He's thrusting into her roughly, recklessly now, and all he can hear are her sweet, delicious moans. Her pussy clenches his cock just so, and he sees nearly sees stars at the feeling. Her tits bounce as he fucks into her, her nudity on full display but only to be taken advantage of by him.

Maxwell adjusts his grip on her waist and thigh, maneuvering her around so that now he's taking her from behind. She leans forward on the railing, looking out over the palace grounds.

"Isn't it beautiful, darling?" he breathes, gripping her ass cheeks now, pumping in and out with increased fervor. "Looking out onto your lands, as far as the eye can see..."

She merely responds with moans, punched out of her with each thrust, and Maxwell feels her cunt throb in a way that tells him her orgasm is imminent. He reaches a hand around and searches for her clit, knowing he finds it when she shouts out. He rubs a finger against the sensitive, pulsing nub until she comes apart, writing and screaming on his cock.

Max feels his own climax approaching, and just before he tips over the edge, he withdraws his cock. Taking himself in hand, he strokes a few times and cums directly onto her ass and lower back, marking her up with his potent, royal seed.

Chest heaving, the king runs his hands through his own semen as it cools on the girl's backside. He rubs it into her skin like a masseuse might a fragrant oil.

Maxwell steps back, admiring his conquest. The girl is still leaning against the railing, head bowed and naked as the day she was born.

"I wish for you to be my queen."

The words are a surprise even to him, though he's not shocked at his own impulsivity; that is a trait of his that has followed him from childhood onward.

The girl turns to look at him.

"You have to be touching me for it to work, sire." She doesn't sound angry with him, which is a relief, though he'd never show it.

"I know, my dearest. I wish it, but I won't compel you."

At that she turns to face him fully. She's got that fucked-out look on her face, to be sure, but now there's something else in her eyes.

"Are you asking me to marry you, King Maxwell?" Her smile is sly, something befitting a woman of much higher status than herself. It makes his cock twitch in a valiant effort to get hard again.

"I suppose so."

"In that case, my answer is yes," she says, and pulls him in by his shirt collar for a searing kiss.

-

The next morning, you wake up sore in an unfamiliar bed.

You look around for a moment, taking in the luxurious decor and faint smell of roses, until you remember where you are. Who you are, now.

Your head rests not on a pillow - something much warmer than that. It rises and falls softly, and then you realize there's a weight around your waist that feels distinctly like an arm. Lifting your head just slightly, you see the king himself asleep above you, face soft and youthful in rest.

As you lay your head down on his chest to fall back asleep, you can't help but think of the people back in your village. The horrors you endured at their hands once they learned of your gift. The nightmares you still have because of what they did.

You think of how much they suffer under the rule of the king - of your husband - and you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

#max lord #maxwell lord #max lord x reader #maxwell lord x reader #max lord fanfiction #maxwell lord fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #smut #wonder woman 1984 #ww1984 #ww84 #ww84 spoilers #ww84 fanfiction #au #fanfiction #max lord x you #maxwell lord x you #definitely listen to classical music while reading #one of those royaltycore playlists that has like 2000 followers #ur welcome #also wow the unintentional connection between this work and my user #amazing

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt 2

Pairing: Eventual Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Length: 1.5k words

Warnings: Too many commas, some extra ‘u’s in words as I’m Canadian..., not enough time spent world building. Hope y’all got an imagination.

Notes: They meet! They meet!  (Tags at the end.)

PART ONE

The morning sun saw Frankie already awake and amidst his trees. He knew that most people thought him stubborn by wanting to run his little orchard himself. He had heard the whispers, seen the side glances, the quirked eyebrows. The odd reputation he was gaining was worth the solitude and peace he had found.

The reputation of Town Recluse was better than That Ex-Cokehead Murderer. A small part of his brain knew that he was being too hard on himself but a larger part was convinced he deserved it. 

So, he worked his penance here. Frankie nursed the trees back to fruition, his sweat and blood sacrificed to bring forth life; refusing to use pesticides or any form of agent that might harm another living thing. Deer, rabbits, mice, and bugs were the bane of a harvester’s business but Frank had decided to find joy in their presence. If he didn’t have to see another death until his own, that would still be too soon.

It had taken him three years to get anything more than a few barrels of apples. Most asked why he didn’t just cut them all down and start anew. They didn’t understand, hell he barely did, but in his soul, Frankie knew he needed to prove that he could do good. He had made his own baskets, built sheds, mended fences, and slowly built the business and a small loft for himself in the old barn.

Looking down the rows and rows of trees, Frankie was starting to get the feeling he might need help this harvest season. It wasn’t easy for him to acknowledge this but if he didn’t get at least one helping hand, more than a few bin-fulls would go to waste. Frankie decided he would put up a flyer on the notice board the next time he went to town and pray that only quiet people would apply.

The trees were his pride and joy. A variety that had been lost and forgotten until he had bought the aging orchard and a man named Tom Brown had come along asking about the fruit.

He felt at peace when he worked as it let his mind focus on the job at hand and was tired enough to slip into a deep slumber at night. Previously plagued by nightmares, long days of pruning, fixing, or working in the mill proved the cure for a dreamless sleep.

“I’m sorry, how much did you say the total was?” you asked while rapidly trying to do some math in your head. If you purchased everything you needed at the hardware store that would only leave you forty-seven dollars left in this week’s budget. And it was only Monday. “Ermm, on second thought, I don’t know if I really need the plaster and trowel just yet. I’ll just take the drywall and screws, please.”

Leaving the store, head down, you were feeling like such an ass you didn’t even notice the two older ladies watching your exit and whispering madly to each other. The owner of Hank’s Hardware, whose name was oddly Allan, kindly helped you pile the drywall into your truck box. You were too busy with the tie-downs to notice him join in on the developing whispered plot.

Unable to resist, you purchased a bouquet of sunflowers. They were your favourite and, once you mentioned that you were new in town, the sweet older gentleman selling them gave you an extra bunch for free. The bright flowers lightened your heart enough to almost, almost, make you forget your even lighter wallet. 

The laden-down truck was nearly out of town when you spotted an open-air market down a side street. It had a surprising number of booths set up and looked so welcoming that you couldn’t resist.

Slowly walking between the stalls, you smiled at each vendor and complimented their handiwork. A few you recognized and thanked for the delicious foods they had brought by when you had first moved in.

You wished you could have supported more of the vendors, you respected their ability to create and be confident enough to share their wares. Taking one last look around, your gaze was caught by a familiar logo: it was the same one you had seen scattered across your porch a few weeks ago. ‘Catfish Cider’ in bold script framing a picture of a gnarled old tree. Maybe you should buy some and have Jacquie over for a less depressing girl's night? But could you afford it, even with leaving behind some of the reno items at Hank's?

You didn’t realize how long you had been standing there staring at the display until a voice called out.

“You gonna buy something or just wanted to block off my stand?”

Whipping your head up you noticed the man standing behind the stand for the first time. His face, for the moment, set into a grimace you assumed was due to him being upset at your loitering.

“I dunno,” you fired back, annoyed by his annoyance and too tired to stop yourself from saying a bratty, “is it actually worth the money?” 

His grimace turned into eyebrow-raising shock, the tan skin of his rather attractive face reddening a shade or two with anger.

“Oh, you have such a discerning pallet to know better?”

“I- what? No! I just want to make sure I’m spending my money on something worthwhile.”

“Like flowers?” He challenged, his stance widening and arms crossing across his chest. 

You’d seen that pose too many times in the past; Brad used to tower over you posturing himself just like this asshole at the market. He liked to hover over you menacingly any time you had mustered up your courage to state an opinion or to belittle your ideas. It made you inwardly flinch, making you angry at yourself for still acting like a meek victim, and then, in a show of great maturity, you projected that anger onto the stranger who initiated the exchange.

“Like it’s any of your business!” You cried out in a shrill voice you didn’t even recognize as your own. “But yes, these flowers make me happier than anything else I’ve seen today could.”

“I’ll have you know-” he ground out, jabbing his finger at you.

“Nope!” You interrupted him, “I’m going to stop you right there. I’m done listening to men like you!” 

“Men like me? Men like ME?” He crowed, “Pray tell, what the hell do you know about men like me?”

Had you been acting like a functioning adult you might have realized that your voices were beginning to get noticeably loud. A small crowd around the two of you had stopped what they were doing to listen while also trying to look like there weren’t eavesdropping.

“I know all I need to,” you proclaimed, not quite able to stop the tremble in your voice. “and I’m not going to waste any more of my life listening to one.” With that, you sharply turned and made your way through the suddenly thick crowd of people.

Once the adrenaline from your encounter had worn off, you found yourself crying in your truck and regretting the way you had snapped. The hot guy at the stand might have been a bit brash with you but he hardly deserved you taking out all your inner turmoil on him like that.

Frankie winced again, thinking about how quickly out of hand the conversation had gotten. His remark was supposed to come out light and teasing but he was out of practice talking to people. Pretty people. People who were framed by armfuls of sunflowers, whose skin glowed in the Autumn sun, who had a ready smile for everyone she talked to. 

He had found himself craving one for himself, and when she had stopped at his booth, looking lost in thought, he silently begged for her to look up. Impatient, he just blurted out the first words that came to his head and instantly regretted even trying. His cheeks grew red from embarrassment and Frankie just stood there looking at her blankly, not sure how to salvage the situation.

Before he could open his mouth to apologize though, the woman responded with a retort of her own. While it could have been interpreted as teasing, there had been a fiery glint in her eye that had pushed his pride button. Frankie was suddenly ready to throw down or at least regale her with the accolades of his cider and how it came to be.

What a mess he had made. He had riled up the beautiful stranger to the point her voice had wavered with barely repressed emotion. Not to mention the stir he had caused in front of half the town.

Once the market quieted down and everyone was closing up shop, Greg from the stall next to his, called over, “Know who that was?”

Even though it had been over an hour since the spat, Frankie knew he was referring to the woman with the sunflowers.

“Hopefully just some Leaf Peeper, I’d hate to run into her again.”

“Oooooh I dunno,” mused Greg, “A woman with passion in her blood like that can be a boon to crusty old men like us.”

Frankie noticed the gleam in Greg’s eyes and felt an odd burning in his stomach because of it. It was not jealousy at the unbidden image of Greg and the woman together. Definitely not.

PART THREE

@rebelliouscat @pedro4ever @speakerforthedead0 @yespolkadotkitty @ilikechocolatemilkh @weirdowithnobeardo @pedro-pastel @disgruntledspacedad @a-skov 

#Fix'er Upper #Frankie Catfish Morales #frankie x reader #catfish x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you

[marvelyningreen]

Late-bloomer

[Summary: Professor Xavier once said that there was much more in you than you knew. You weren’t sure what he’d meant by that. Then again, when push comes to shove, who knows?

Warnings: mild language, references to injury

Notes: Peter Maximoff x reader, of the low-key established relationship variety. Sequel to “Linger.” ]

“You are gonna come with, aren’t you? Please?” Peter had laced his fingers through yours, swinging your hand playfully. “The professor thinks you’re ready, and I wanna be there for your first mission!”

The better part of a year had passed since Professor Xavier promised to spend more time helping you master your abilities and, true to his word, he devoted time every week to training you. To your own surprise – if not to anyone else’s – you’ve actually been improving. While you sometimes still feel that you’re behind the curve, you can’t deny that you’re much stronger than you used to be.

For your part, you kept your promise to the professor.

You’d always been too intimidated to speak to Jean, but one morning, you psyched yourself up and did it. You asked to sit with her at breakfast, and initiated a fumbling conversation that was mostly about the weather. Scott seemed baffled – and frankly embarrassed for you – but from across the room, Peter gave you a thumbs-up.

You did manage to find out that Jean’s fond of phlox and peonies, and resolved to add more to the garden. You must’ve thought it pretty loudly, because Jean caught your eye and smiled. She greets you when you pass in the hallways now.

You’d overheard Kurt mention that a certain disused alcove was probably once a little Mary garden. He’d sounded wistful to you. You did your homework, bringing in a small statue of Mary and filling the surrounding flowerbeds with irises, lilies, and roses.

The next time you saw Kurt in the gardens, you casually suggested that he walk over that way, trying hard not to sound like a try-hard and hoping that you hadn’t overstepped yourself. Not two minutes later, Kurt suddenly teleported in front of you and hugged you before you could say a word. Now, you often see him go out there to pray. Sometimes, you join him.

Summers are fairly quiet at the school. The students who were able to would go home for summer vacation. Some elected to stay around to further their training and some, sadly, didn’t really have homes to return to.

Your summer project has been an effort to revitalize the mansion’s disused kitchen gardens. You let the remaining students know that anyone who wants to is welcome to help out, and the response so far has been enthusiastic. You haven’t had any shortage of volunteers to help with the planting and weeding and watering. Some of the faculty joined in as well, when they were between missions. You think you might able to get a head-start on replanting the orchard.

And Peter, well…

Peter may not be inclined to gardening himself, but he’s definitely inclined to hang out with you while you garden. Apparently, you’d been the last to figure out that Peter was smitten with you, so it was to the surprise of no one when it was clear you two were seeing each other.

He’d even volunteered to help with your training. Of course, he was almost immediately banned from using the “think fast!” technique, if only because he was way too nice about it. The second it looked like you weren’t going to catch whatever he’d tossed in your direction, he’d zip in and catch it himself so it wouldn’t hit you. It was adorable, but not exactly helpful to your learning process.

He’d be gone for weeks at a time, though. He would get sent on missions here and there, and he took summer as an opportunity to spend time with his mother and sister. Your windowsills are beginning to fill up from all the souvenirs he brought back.

Just this morning, you’d promised him homemade apple strudel for breakfast, and he’d mentioned he might bring someone else along, if that was alright with you. You’d assumed that meant Kurt was coming home early. But no, Peter turned up at your door with Mr. Lehnsherr in tow.

It might’ve been nice to have a little advance notice so you could make a good first impression on your boyfriend’s very intimidating father – who happens to be an ex-supervillain – but at least Peter’s easygoing confidence managed to keep things from getting awkward.

And somehow – somehow – the offshoot of all this was that you and Mr. Lehnsherr both ended up tagging along on this mission. Whether it was the professor’s reassurance that it was strictly a diplomatic errand or Peter’s puppy-dog eyes that were more convincing, neither of you could say.

You’d managed to convince yourself that this was fine. The professor wouldn’t have brought you if he didn’t think you were ready, right? And all of your doubts were in your own head; you knew that. Nobody was looking at you and wondering why they’d brought the help along. Peter, who for some reason seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to spend time with you and Mr. Lehnsherr simultaneously, stuck close to you and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

And then everything went all to hell before you could blink.

Now you’re trying to telekinetically prevent a net-full of plastic waste barrels from falling into the harbor, Scott has just lasered a third shipping container in half, Mr. Lehnsherr is turning the wreckage into a makeshift holding cell, and Peter is zipping around tossing your assailants into it.

And just when everything’s finally been safely contained and you think you’ve got a second to breathe, the professor speaks up.

“I’ve lost Hank.”

The fairly upbeat mood darkens instantly.

“One of those guys was running psychic interference, wasn’t he?” says Peter.

“Yeah, but he got knocked out,” says Scott. “Nice shot, by the way.”

That last part is directed at you, with an approving nod.

“We’ll find him, Charles,” says Mr. Lehnsherr. “He can’t be far.”

“I’ll take a look around,” says Peter.

He disappears, and there’s a second or two of silence. The professor presses his fingertips to his temple and glances around worriedly, as if listening all the harder for any trace of Hank. Before you can suggest heading back to your transport, you hear Peter shout.

“Over this way! Hurry!”

Wordlessly, you all take off at a run. He’d only said to hurry. He hadn’t said that Hank was alright, which can only mean…

As you round the corner, you gasp in horror. There lies Hank – injured, unconscious, and bleeding out on the ground. As one, you all rush to his side, but Peter’s there in a blink.

“I can run him back to the mansion,” he begins, but Mr. Lehnsherr interrupts.

“If we move him before we stabilize him, it might kill him.”

Peter had looked worried up until this moment, not panicked. But at the thought that his particular skills won’t help here, his expression turns grim.

“If we don’t get help, he’ll die anyway,” Scott argues.

As the others speak, the floor seems to tilt under you, and you sink to your knees just to keep yourself from falling. You press your hands against the cold pavement, trying to steady yourself.

Is it because of the blood? No, it’s something else. Something pressing against your skull.

Hank, who’d always been kind to you, who’d become like family to Scott after Alex was killed. Hank, who’d been giddy as a schoolboy all week waiting for Saturday, when he was going to take Mystique out on a real date – dinner at a fancy restaurant, just the two of them.

It isn’t fair.

You feel Peter’s hands on your shoulders. You feel sick, like you’re about to faint, like you’re seeing double, like-

You are seven years old, playing out in your yard. A windstorm the night before has knocked several baby birds from their nest. The mama bird hops nearby, chirping and calling to no avail. You watch as the baby birds, featherless and helpless, struggle in the grass.

You feel a horrible crushing sadness in your chest. You’ve been told never to touch baby birds, and even if you did, there’s no way you could climb all the way up to their nest.

A heartbroken sob shakes your body. It isn’t fair. The birds are too small to fly, and too weak to defend themselves. And you’re too small, too.

It isn’t fair. You should be able to fix this. You should be able to help.

You aren’t allowed to touch wild animals. Why couldn’t there be a way to help without breaking the rules?

You reach out, and –

The mama bird shrills in alarm. Your sobs fade, and your eyes widen, and you watch as the little birds are lifted into the air – up and up and up – and set gently back in their nest. You know somehow, although you don’t understand, that you made it happen.

“I can fix this.”

The words leave your mouth before you know you’re speaking, and suddenly the others are staring at you in confusion. They know, as you do, that you don’t have any healing abilities, and yet… There’s an inexplicable certainty in your mind, in spite of the panic in your chest.

“I can fix this,” you say again, “But I don’t know how.”

You turn away from Hank, looking up at Professor Xavier. There’s worry in his eyes, and something unreadable along with it.

“Sir, please, can you help me?” you plead.

The professor nods, and reaches out to place his fingertips on your temple. Almost of their own accord, your eyes close, and your hand reaches out to Hank’s shoulder.

Through the chaos of your fear, there’s a calm presence in your mind.

Focus, it bids you. You can fix this. You can change it. Reach out to that which is damaged, and make it whole. Focus.

You reach out, and your mind is overwhelmed with a sensation that it struggles to comprehend. You’d thought that trying to use your powers was like trying to remember the words to a song. You see now that that’s not quite accurate. It feels like having heard a song played backwards your whole life, and finally hearing it the right way ‘round.

You are thirteen. A girl in your class has just seen her friend get pushed down the stairs by a bully. The girl shouts, and suddenly the granite steps rearrange themselves into a ramp, and the landing turns to sand, and the friend slides down into it unharmed.

The girl runs off before you have a chance to say anything. The following week, she doesn’t show up for class. You learn later that her family moved away.

You’re afraid, and you don’t understand, and you keep going. The effort of focusing is immense, impossible. You hardly know if you’re remembering to breathe, or if the pressure is inside your skull or around it.

You feel… What you feel defies description. It’s as though you’re at a beach, and you press your hand against the sand, and you can feel the pattern, the structure in the seemingly random grains of sand, and you know that it isn’t right. And if you focus – if you focus all your energy – you can will the millions and millions of grains of sand to rearrange themselves into the right order.

For a moment, the sheer vastness of the situation threatens to overwhelm you. But the professor’s steadying presence stays in your mind, like a hand holding yours as you lean further and further out over a ledge. Slowly, grain by grain, the sands are beginning to shift.

You’re in college. Yet another class has devolved into a debate about mutants – their existence, their rights, their purpose.

You don’t speak up in class under normal circumstances. That isn’t about to change now.

A voice, outside your head, drifts through the garbled static in your ears.

“His wounds are healing. He’s… he’s stabilizing. Charles, how-?”

You’re vaguely aware that the professor is answering him out loud, but you hear him in your mind: Come back now. Come back. You’ve done it; just relax.

Relax? You can try. The strange sensations fade from your mind, and their place is filled by the sounds of the world around you and an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. It feels as though the hand has pulled you back onto solid ground, but you can’t seem to keep your balance, and-

The instant you begin to fall, you find your head resting against somebody’s shoulder, and their arms are wrapped around you.

You’re twenty-five, and the entire world is shaken to its foundations by some catastrophe in Cairo. You try with all your strength, but nothing you do can prevent your apartment building from collapsing.

“Professor…?” Peter’s voice is beside your ear, strident with worry, but it seems so much further away.

“It’s alright, Peter,” you hear the professor saying, dimly.

You’ll be alright.

You are twenty-six. It’s far too quiet in this room. This building may function as a school, but it still feels like a mansion. You stare at the cup of tea in front of you. It smells wonderful, but you’re too nervous to take a single sip. Across the table, Professor Charles Xavier regards you with a thoughtful expression.

“I understand you wish to work here at my school. Is that right?” he asks.

“Yes,” you say. “I know I’m too old to be a student, and I don’t really have any experience teaching, but I… I want to learn, and I’m willing to work. If there’s any job that needs doing, anything at all; if you need a custodian, or help in the kitchens, or… or a groundskeeper, maybe. Anything.”

Your gaze darts longingly to the gardens outside the window. The grounds here are so beautiful. It’s one of the things you missed most when you lived in the apartment – having a garden to look after.

The professor takes a sip of tea and sits back.

“My school is open to anyone who wishes to learn,” he says. “What are your abilities, exactly?”

“My…? Well.” Your heart sinks. You were afraid of this.

Painfully aware of the professor’s eyes on you, you telekinetically lift your spoon into the air. Focus, now. Focus. The spoon dips into the sugar bowl, and – spilling a trail of sugar along the way – shakily hovers back to your teacup and stirs itself in before returning to the saucer with a loud clink.

“I know it’s not much,” you say, “But that’s why I want to learn.”

With hands trembling as badly as the spoon had, you pick up the teacup and take a sip, just to buy yourself a precious few seconds.

The professor nods. “I see.”

He leans his chin on his hand. You’re certain that you’ve failed. Just as you’re bracing yourself to hear him politely send you packing –

“We hire a local company to maintain the grounds,” he says, “But the gardens themselves could use better tending, especially from someone who cares about the work. There’s even a little groundskeeper’s cottage that’s only being used to storage now, if you need somewhere to stay. The job is yours, if you want it.”

You can’t believe your ears. Professor Xavier – the Professor Charles Xavier – is offering you a job, and a chance to learn, and a place to stay? You nearly upset the whole tea set as you stand abruptly, reaching across the table to shake the professor’s hand.

“Yes! Absolutely, yes,” you say, “Sir, thank you. I’ll work hard, I promise.”

The professor laughs. “I don’t doubt it.”

-

Are you ready to wake up?

No, you mumble. Five more minutes.

The voice in your head chuckles gently.

It’s been three days already.

Three days? Ridiculous. No one would’ve let you sleep for three whole days. The gardens would be overrun with weeds. The windowboxes would’ve dried up. Indignant, you open your eyes.

And immediately squint them shut again. The intense brightness of the room stings.

You feel a hand lift from your forehead, and a shadow falls over your eyes and lingers there. Beyond its merciful shade, you can tell that the light in the room has dimmed. Cautiously, you open your eyes once more, blinking a few times.

You’re disoriented for a moment, expecting to see the familiar walls of your room in the cottage. But this rather featureless room is in the infirmary beneath the mansion. You don’t have the faintest idea what you’d be doing there.

The hand shading your eyes withdraws, and you follow its movement to see Professor Xavier looking down at you. He smiles.

“Welcome back.”

“Back?” you repeat. “Back from wh- … wait.”

You remember. You remember all of it – the docks, the blood… Hank.

You have to get up. You have to find Hank.

The professor catches your shoulder, preventing you from sitting up.

“Easy. Easy, there,” he says.

“What happened? Where’s Hank? Professor, did I… Is he-?”

The professor speaks slowly and gently, like he’s calming a frightened child. And to be honest, that’s exactly what you feel like in this moment.

“Hank is fine,” he says, “He’ll need to take it easy for a while, but he’s going to make a full recovery. You saved his life.”

Relief floods through you, tightening your throat. For a moment, you don’t trust that your voice is steady enough to speak. You look away from the professor’s kind gaze and blink back tears. You’d been so scared that a good man might’ve died because you and the others were too late to save him. You’d been certain that, once again, you were powerless to help.

“I don’t understand what happened” you say, finally, “All of that… Was it you, Professor?”

He shakes his head.

“All I did was help you keep your focus. Everything else was you entirely. Didn’t I say that there’s more in you than you would guess?”

“I… I figured you were just saying that to be nice.”

Your sheepish honesty makes the professor laugh, and that puts you a little more at ease.

“I said it because it’s true.” He pauses, then continues on to answer your unasked question. “Hank has some rather complicated term for your abilities, but the more common expression for it is a reality warper. Telekinesis is merely the simplest manifestation of those powers.”

“Reality…? I’m still confused,” you say, and it’s the understatement of the century. The sporadic, barely-adequate telekinetic abilities you’d possessed since childhood weren’t really telekinesis at all?

“Within limits, you have the ability to alter reality. For example, it would be simple enough for you to change an apple into an orange, or freeze the water in a glass. It follows that you are able to take something damaged and repair it again. And if the damage is an injury, you could heal it. Of course, Hank was quite badly injured, so undoing the damage required tremendous exertion on your part.”

Your head is spinning as you try to process all of this. You can change things, transform them, fix them.

Your gaze drifts to Professor Xavier’s wheelchair.

If you can heal people, then maybe…

But when you look up, the professor is shaking his head.

“As I said, there are limits even to powers like yours.”

“But if I tried,” you say, “Maybe I could-”

“No.” The professor’s tone is firm. “You’ve been unconscious for days, and that was from healing recent injuries. Something new is more easily altered than something old. And an old wound… It’d only do you harm to try. I can’t allow you to do that, even for my own sake.”

The confused elation you’d been feeling starts to flag. You’ve been so used to feeling useless that it’s easy to slip back into that familiar territory. It startles you when Professor Xavier lays his hand on yours.

“Someday, you may be able to accomplish that and more,” he says, and laughs gently. “I’ve just told you that you have the power to reshape the world, and the first though that comes to your mind isn’t a way to use it for gain or entertainment. Your first impulse is to use it to help someone. I’m touched. Truly, I am. Thank you for thinking of me.”

There’s a deeper warmth in his voice as he says this, and you cannot doubt that he’s speaking from the heart. He’d know – he must’ve known, somehow – what you were when you came to him, offering to take on any job that needed doing just for a chance to learn. On some level, you’d always assumed he hired you out of pity.

But things are becoming clearer now – why he’d accepted you, why he hadn’t told you what you were, why he’d let you find your own way.

You’ve known the professor long enough to understand that his decisions are motivated by kindness. He had no choice in gaining immense powers at a young age, himself. Jean was just the same. You couldn’t fault him for wanting to spare someone else that burden.

The professor must be following your train of thought, because he nods slightly.

“I always had faith that your path would lead you here,” he says, “And that whatever the circumstance, you would come into your own out of an earnest desire to help others. That’s exactly what you did. I’m proud of you.”

Your hand closes around the professor’s for a brief, fervent instant.

“Thank you,” you say.

The sincerity of this validation warms your heart. You blink rapidly, trying to keep yourself from actually tearing up, when –

“Awww…”

You’re startled by the sound of another voice in the room. You look sharply over to see Peter sitting in the corner, his feet kicked up on a table.

“Peter!” you gasp, “How long have you been there?”

He shrugs. “The whole time. You just never looked over this way. And it seemed like you two were having a moment, so I didn’t wanna interrupt. Good morning, by the way.”

“Good… morning,” you say, haltingly, suddenly realizing that you have no idea what time it is.

Peter grins and pushes himself to his feet, walking over to stand at your bedside. The professor watches him with a smile.

“Peter’s hardly left this whole time,” he says.

“Not true,” says Peter. “I went out to try and help keep up on your groundskeeper stuff. Don’t, uh… Don’t look too impressed. I don’t actually know what’s a weed and what’s not, so I might’ve pulled up a bunch of your flowers. Sorry.”

Oh god, you can just picture the state the gardens must be in. You’re going to have a lot of work to undo whatever happened out there. But the mental image of Peter speed-weeding the entire estate is too amusing not to smile at.

“It’s the thought that counts,” you say.

“Tell that to the geraniums,” says the professor, shaking his head wryly. “Well, I’d better go tell Hank that you’re finally awake. I’m sure he’ll want to thank you in person. I’ll be back.”

The professor could’ve easily just called for Hank telepathically. You get the feeling he’s being polite and trying to give you and Peter a moment alone.

You start to sit up, and wow, apparently that’s a bad idea, because the room is no spinning. You close your eyes, reaching out as if to steady yourself against thin air. In an instant, Peter’s sitting on the edge of the bed, gently holding onto your arms.

“Whoa, take it easy,” he says. “I got you.”

You take a moment to breathe, and the dizziness slowly fades. “It’s okay. Just headrush.”

When you open your eyes, Peter’s still watching you intently. Never fully letting go, he moves his hands to hold yours.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Alright, actually. Just… tired. Not in a bad way.”

You smile, hoping it’ll reassure him, and it seems to work. Peter leans in to kiss you.

“Who’s exceptional and important and incredible now?” He grins brightly as he tosses your own words back at you.

“That’s not- You don’t- Um…”

He laughs as you trip over your tongue completely. You’d always felt a little inadequate in the face of compliments, and that’s a lot of them to accept all at once.

Peter rolls his eyes. “Alright, fine. Bite-sized compliments from now on. Got it. But you are all of that. I always knew you were.”

Though his tone is teasing, the look in his eyes is entirely sincere. And, to your surprise, you believe him. There’s not an insincere bone in his body; you know that for a fact. So, it stands to reason that his feelings about you must be just as genuine.

The rush of that feeling – the confidence in Peter, and in yourself – puts on you cloud nine, almost literally. You have to focus to keep yourself from actually levitating everything in the room.

“I can’t believe I’m just figuring all this out now,” you say. “I mean, I’m thirty, for crying out loud.”

“And I lived in my mom’s basement until I was twenty-seven. What’s your point?” says Peter, shrugging. “Just ‘cause it took us a little longer to figure things out – we both still got there in the end. Late-bloomer solidarity, am I right?”

“Late-bloomer solidarity,” you repeat, grinning back at him. “Wait, do you think this means I’m gonna be an official X-Man now?”

Peter’s face lights up. “Hell yeah, you are! I’m officially calling dibs on having you as a partner. Hey, have you thought about what your codename’s gonna be?”

Your brows furrow in a look of confusion that Peter seems to find amusing. You actually hadn’t thought about it at all. You never thought you’d get this far, really.

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” you say.

“Yeah, you’ve got a lot going for you. You’re a jack of all trades, a wild card. Oh!” Peter snaps his fingers excitedly. “Wild Card. That’s a good one. You don’t have to pick right now, but… I’m just sayin’- if you don’t pick your own, somebody’s gonna pick one for you.”

You grin. “That’s true. I mean, look at you. You’re fast, you’re full of sass, and you love sugar. In another life, you might’ve been The Amazing Hummingbird.”

The look of disgust on Peter’s face is priceless. “That’s tragic, and I’m offended.”

You can’t help but giggle.

“I like Quicksilver,” you say. “I think it suits you.”

You run your fingers through Peter’s hair, and he seems to melt. He turns his head to kiss the palm of your hand.

“You don’t know how glad I am that you’re back,” he says. “I didn’t realize just how boring this place can get without you.”

In spite of Peter’s frank expression, you can’t quite believe that. As a fairly reserved gardener, you know you’re not exactly the life of the party.

“Without me?” You laugh. “Be serious.”

Peter snorts. “Right, right. Baby steps. I forgot.”

By chance, your gaze drifts to the far side of the room, where Peter had been sitting before. You just now notice that there’s a cot set up over there, and it’s clearly been slept in. He really had stayed down here for the past three days, hadn’t he? It gives you kind of a warm fuzzy feeling that he’d wanted to stay close to you.

When you look back at Peter, you see that he’s frowning slightly.

“Y’know, you had me worried for a minute there, back at the docks. I mean, the professor explained that you just exhausted yourself because you never changed anything that big before, but…” Peter blows out a breath, shaking his head. “It really looked like you pulled some sorta equivalent exchange healing thing, and I thought, like, what if this is it? I guess what I’m trying to say is – there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Before you can ask what he means, Peter leans in and kisses you.

“I love you,” he says.

You wonder if this is how Peter feels when he uses his powers – like being the only person truly awake while the rest of the world is frozen in time. In spite of yourself, you feel the gravity in the room loosen its hold just a little, and everything’s floating gently an inch off the ground.

“I love you, too, Peter,” you say.

The trace of apprehension in Peter’s face melts into a smile.

“Even though I wrecked your geraniums?” he asks, sheepishly.

“I can find more geraniums. There’ll never be another you.”

At that, Peter actually looks bashful. Is he… is he blushing? He absolutely is. Gently, you take his face in your hands, and even as you kiss him, he can’t seem to stop smiling.

#peter maximoff x reader #x men fanfiction #peter maximoff #mostly the result of my mind latching onto the idea of creating a character that’s the antithesis of a jean grey #not meant as a criticism of jean or anything #just... we get quite a few ‘my powers are too strong!’ x men characters #I was intrigued by the thought of a mutant who sucks at being a mutant #a true late bloomer if you will XP #if they existed in canon everyone would mistake them for an ordinary human at first #I also definitely thought out a scenario in which they’d become a villain #but that’s a story for probably never XP #just shouting into the void #peter maximoff fanfiction

[twdeadfanfic]

Feral Pt.3

Daryl Dixon x OC

Summary:  Daryl is on a run with Rick when, in a warehouse, they find a woman who attacks them, and who reminds Daryl to a lioness…or a feral cat, and who doesn’t seem to trust anyone, including them, but Daryl finds himself going back to the warehouse, trying to get that feral to go with him to the prison, and to earn her trust.

Chapter 3/10 Words: 4600

You can find my other fics in my masterlist.

Last chapter...Daryl convinced Dana, the feral cat, to go back with him to the prison, though she’s mistrustful of the place and the people, seeming to only trust Daryl.

“Cat?” Daryl called for Dana at the outside of her cell. “Brought you breakfast.”

He had brought her dinner last night too, knowing that she wouldn’t want to go eat with everyone else. He had asked just in case, but Dana hadn’t said anything, and when he’d also told her that he could take her to their doctor to check her, Dana had shook her head, and so Daryl had let her be, she didn’t seem hurt despite her old wounds.

Daryl had passed Dana her dinner through the half open door of the cell and then he had sat down at the outside of it with his own dinner in silence, he sill hadn’t wanted to press the woman with questions. It didn’t seem that Dana had minded his presence, though, she had kept the curtain open and sat down at the other side of the door too, looking at him as she ate, studying it almost, and Daryl had tried his best not to feel nervous and self-conscious.

Dana had kept herself in her cell, hadn’t talked to anyone, but Daryl knew that at least, he needed to have her talk to the council today, or else they’d come to talk to her eventually and she might feel more threatened. Besides, she couldn’t be always locked inside a cell.

The curtain of the cell opened, revealing Dana looking at him, and she knotted the curtain to a bar so it wouldn’t fall onto the door again. “Thanks,” she murmured, opening the door a bit and reaching out to take the bowl of oatmeal, and she went to sit down on the unmade bed.

“You don’t wanna get out of the cell? I can show you around, no one will hurt you,” Daryl told her and Dana didn’t say anything. Daryl let out a sigh. “Hey, cat…I’m gonna need you to speak to the council, okay?” Dana looked at him at that. She had seemed more or less at ease with him, but now Daryl could see in her eyes again that suspicion and fear. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to be afraid, they’re good people, alright?” He tried to assure her. “They just want to talk to you about this place, how it works, just…I know you ain’t dangerous for us, but they need to know too. We got a lot of people we have to take care of. But you don’t gotta be scared of them. I need you to talk to them, please?”

Dana looked at him, then down, swallowing hard, and then back at him. She took a deep breath and finally nodded.

“Alright, alright, good.” Daryl nodded encouragingly.  “I’m gonna talk to them and then I’ll come back for you, okay?” Dana didn’t say anything but her eyes seemed anxious. “You ain’t gonna run away…right?” He asked half-joking, but in truth, he was a bit afraid of it. The woman shook her head in silence. “Okay…you better not, I don’t want you getting into trouble.” If someone saw her running away, they might get the wrong impression.  “Don’t worry, kitten, nobody is gonna hurt you.”

“Kitten?” Dana said and Daryl frowned at her.

“What?”

“You said kitten.” She was looking at him in a way that Daryl had never seen before on her, like she was amused, and Daryl realized that the word might have slipped, he hadn’t even realized it, and he blushed up to his ears, feeling like an idiot.

“You ain’t no kitten,” Daryl said, flustered. “Kittens don’t bite like this.” He nodded towards his arm. “Feral cats do.”

“You said it.” Dana shrugged and Daryl somehow felt even more embarrassed.

“I…uh…I’m gonna talk to the council, I’ll come back for you,” he said before rushing away.

*

After talking to the council, Daryl made his way back to Dana’s cell. He’d tried to convince the others to not overwhelm her with questions, to not ask about herself if she didn’t talk on her own, because he thought something might have happened to her, that she must have been mistreated by someone, and it was obvious that she was still on edge. He thought the others had agreed with him, they didn’t want to scare her or seem threatening, but they had to make sure that she was not a threat for everyone else.

Once he went back for Dana, she had seemed hesitant, but she had taken a deep breath and unlocked the cell, following Daryl, and so now he was guiding her towards the room that the council used for meetings. Suddenly, Beth seemed to come out of nowhere, smiling at them, and Daryl rushed to step in front of Dana.

“Hi! I’m Beth, it’s good to meet you finally, Daryl wouldn’t let us go greet you.” Beth chuckled.

“Beth, let her be,” Daryl warned, but looking back at Dana, she seemed startled but not scared, and Daryl guessed that Beth looked non-threatening enough.

“Alright, alright…” Beth grinned at Dana. “If you are tired of that cell and want to come talk, I’m going to be watching over the kids at the library.” With a last smile, Beth finally walked away.

“Kids?” Dana asked to Daryl, frowning.

“Yeah, we got a few,” Daryl said. “More reasons why we have to be careful when we bring in new people.” Dana nodded at that, understanding, and they kept going, stopping in front of the door of the council. “Are you ready? Don’t be scared, I promise it will be fine.” Dana looked at him and then at the door. Taking a deep breath, she nodded.

Daryl walked in first, making sure to stay slightly in front of Dana. Everyone was sitting down already, and all eyes went to them. “So…” Daryl tried to push past his awkwardness. “You know Rick already, and Carol and Maggie. Those are Glenn, Hershel, our doctor, and Sasha.” And himself…Daryl still didn’t know why they had asked him to be part of the council.

“Welcome, Dana,” Hershel greeted, smiling at Dana, who looked again like she wanted to flee. “You don’t have to be scared of us.”

“I take Daryl has made sure you have everything you need?” Rick asked, giving Daryl a teasing look and Daryl scoffed, but Dana nodded. “Good…you still think that we are going to kill you?” Daryl wanted to kick Rick for being so blunt even if joking, but Dana just shrugged and Rick smiled. “I get it…but you really are safe here, nobody will hurt you.” Dana didn’t say anything and so Rick kept talking. “When I asked you how many people had you killed, you said several, you said for survival and vengeance…”

“Rick…” Daryl warned him, noticing Dana tensing, he’d told them not to ask about that, he was sure that Dana wouldn’t react well to that, and after seeing her old wound and scars, he wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to remember or talk about it.

“I know what’s that, to kill to survive, to stop people trying to hurt you and your people, we don’t like it but we have to do it,” Rick kept going. “It was the same in your case, I guess…can you tell us about it?”

Dana began shaking her head no quick, breathing hard, and before Daryl could say anything, she was rushing outside the room, and Daryl followed her quick.

“Hey, hey, Dana, wait, wait,” he called for her, trying to stop her from running away. She stopped, looking at him, breathing hard, but she looked like she could flee at any moment. “It’s okay, cat, hey, it’s okay,” Daryl tried to reassure her, even if he didn’t know how. “You don’t have to talk about that, it’s okay. They won’t ask again, I promise. I’m sorry they did…come back inside with me, please?” He asked her softly and Dana seemed unsure, scared eyes looking around before looking at him again, swallowing hard. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. Let’s finish this and I’ll take you back to your cell.”

Dana still seemed more than hesitant but finally she took a deep breath and nodded. Before knowing what he was doing, Daryl reached out to squeeze Dana’s shoulder. When he realized it, he thought he might just have scared her more, but even though she flinched a bit at first, she gave him that tiny, brief smile, and she followed him inside the room.

“I’m sorry, Dana, I really didn’t mean to upset you,” Rick said.

“Yeah, well, you did,” Daryl grumbled, glaring at everyone.

“I’m sorry…but we understand, we all have blood in our hands here, from people that threatened us, that wanted to kill us,” Rick kept going. “We didn’t want to do it, but we had to. So we get it, we know how it is, what sometimes you have to do to survive.” Dana was looking down, breathing hard, but then she nodded.

“You are welcome here, I know we still don’t know each other, but we don’t think that you are a threat…and I know you still don’t trust us, we understand that too.” Maggie gave Dana a small, reassuring small. “But once we get to know each other a bit more and you get used to our home…I think you’ll be able to see how good this can be, and if you want to contribute, you are more than welcome, we all need each other to survive, we all have jobs here. “ Maggie explained. “Glenn and I organize runs, and everyone who can fight is welcome to help on those.”

“After watching you fight, I think you could be really useful on those,” Rick said, and Dana just shrugged, looking down. “Sasha is in charge of lookouts, we have schedules for those, also for the doors, also the walls and putting down the walkers behind those, we don’t  want them getting too many and throwing down the fences.”

“I’m not sure I trust her putting down walkers next to someone with a pike,” Sasha said…not one to trust people, like Carol, but it annoyed Daryl.

“She ain’t gonna hurt anyone!” He snapped.

“There are also the gardens and orchards,” Maggie said before neither him nor Sasha could say anything else. “Cooking, laundry, cleaning, inventory…and a million other things that I can’t think about now. So if you feel like there’s something specific that you want to do, tell us and we’ll include you in the schedule. But for now, just take it slow as you get used to all these, take your time, and then come to talk to me about it if you want, okay?”

They all looked at Dana, who wasn’t saying anything, but then she nodded at Daryl. “Him?”

“Daryl is our hunter and also goes on runs,” Rick told her.

“With him,” Dana said quietly and Daryl looked at her, wondering if being around him really made her feel more at ease and less threatened. The idea made him feel grateful, and warm, and…weird.

“Daryl hunts alone,” Carol said.

“She can come with me if she wanna.” Daryl shrugged shyly.

“Can you hunt?” Rick asked to Dana who looked down in silence. “Why don’t you help me and my kid at the orchard? More hands are always welcome.” Dana didn’t say anything but looked at Daryl.

“I can take her with me,” Daryl said, couldn’t stop himself with her looking at him like that. “We can patrol the woods near the prison while I hunt, see if there’s people or walkers in the woods or coming, we had already talked about that once, about setting a perimeter around the prison,” he told Rick. “We also can…dunno, collect whatever plants you want now or anything you want from the woods…I’m gonna be out hunting there anyway, so…” He shrugged, saying the first things that came to his mind. “And you are always saying what if I run into walkers alone while hunting, like if I couldn’t put them down by myself,” he scoffed. “So…she can watch my back.”

“He’s always snapping when someone mentions him going outside alone but now he’s going to take the new girl who we don’t know anything about to watch his back,” Sasha murmured and Daryl glared at her, flustered.

“We already have the lookouts to see if something is approaching but…okay.” Rick nodded and Daryl hoped that he could see how Dana felt reluctant to be with someone else, still scared, but maybe soon she’d feel better and then she would decide to work on something else…Daryl wasn’t sure how he felt about it, though. “We have enough walkers coming to push at the fences all the time, if you can see a group of them coming from the woods  it’ll be good to know in advance, just don’t go for them yourselves and be careful, alright?”

“You’re always saying the same every time I go out hunting.” Daryl rolled his eyes but in truth, he was grateful that Rick and everyone else cared for him the way they did, it was something that he hadn’t felt before. He did care for them too. “We ain’t gonna jump on a herd by ourselves.”

“Yeah? I don’t know, she looks like she might,” Rick said, but Daryl could see that he was joking and he hoped that Dana could too. “And you aren’t the most sensible person here.” Daryl scoffed, but couldn’t stop his smirk. “Alright…that sounds good to you?” Rick asked to Dana, who nodded in silence.

“As long as you don’t come back without having hunted anything.” Carol shrugged.

“I won’t, you should know it already.” Daryl rolled his eyes.

“It’s settled then.” Rick nodded.

“That’s all?” Daryl asked and Rick nodded. “Alright…we’ll be leaving for hunting and patrol tomorrow, we’re good enough in food for today.”

“Welcome here, Dana, we’ll see you around,” Glenn smiled. “We’ll let you know when we plan a run to see if you want to come.”

“Let us know if you need something,” Maggie added.

*

Once in her cell, Dana locked the door and went to sit down on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest, and she looked at him in silence, at the other side of the door.

“Are you okay?” He asked her softly, and she shrugged but nodded. “It wasn’t that scary, yeah?” He half-joked. “Those people? I promise they’re good people, they’re my family. You’re one of us too now, you’re gonna be safe here. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t wanna, alright?” Dana nodded, looking down in silence.

Daryl didn’t know what to do or say and he just looked at her in silence for a while, until he heard footsteps on the corridor.

Looking to the side, Daryl saw Rick approaching, and he rushed to meet him before he reached the cell. “She talked to the council already.”

“I know, I know.” Rick gave him an amused smile. “Beth was right, you’re a guard dog now.” Rick chuckled and Daryl scoffed, looking down shyly.

“Yeah, well, she’s scared and you all ain’t making it better, told you not to ask her…” He grumbled.

“I know, I came to talk to you about that.” Rick nodded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to upset, but if there’s a threat, we have to know.”

“She ain’t no threat!”Daryl snapped.

“I know, I don’t think she’s a threat to us, I hope we’re right,” Rick said. “But whoever she killed, if they were from a group, if they’re dangerous and maybe near the warehouse where we found her, we have to now, it’s not that far.”

Daryl hummed, frowning. Rick was right on that, but he didn’t know how to ask Dana. “I don’t know…I think she might have ended them all, of that she comes from far away.” That was the impression he got. “Whoever they were…I think they abused her, tortured her, or something, she’s all marked.” Daryl felt his blood boil at the thought. “You’ve seen her, she’s traumatized and scared.” They couldn’t expect her to just open up and trust them as nothing.

“Yeah…” Rick nodded. “I’m not blind, I know she’s gone through shit. I told you, you did well, getting her to trust you, bringing her here. You’re good at that, at recognizing good people that need help and bringing them to safety.” Rick squeezed his shoulder and Daryl shrugged, looking down shyly, feeling like an idiot when he realized he was getting emotional.  “I don’t think it’s good for her that she’s all the time in a cell.”

“Yeah…” Daryl agreed, but he didn’t know how to tell feral cat that.

“Why don’t you show her around, she hasn’t seen anything yet, she doesn’t know anyone. The more she stays hidden, the more intrigued people is going to be,” Rick said. “Show her where’s everything, maybe take her to the yard so she can get some air? She hasn’t left that cell in almost two days.”

“I can try…” Daryl said, unsure of how she was going to take it.

“Okay…also you might consider to stop staying all day sat down outside her cell like a guard dog looking at her, I know you mean well but it’s getting weird,” Rick joked, chuckling, and Daryl scoffed, flustered.

“Don’t you have nothing useful to do besides bothering me?” He grumbled and Rick just chuckled more.

“Not half as fun…but yes, I’m going to get Carl and we’ll be working on the gardens, the tomatoes are looking good, you can bring Dana to see the gardens if she wants to, maybe she’ll like it? I don’t know.”

“I’ll tell her…” Daryl shrugged, he had no idea of what Dana might like, what might make her feel more at ease and trust them and the place.

“Alright, I’ll see you later.”

Rick walked away and Daryl walked back to Dana’s cell, who looked at him when she noticed him. “Hey, cat…why I don’t show you the place? You don’t know it yet,” he told her and Dana didn’t say anything. “You don’t need to see anyone or talk to anyone.” She still didn’t say anything, just looked at him. “Come on, you can’t be all the time in a cell like if we had you captive, yeah?”

Dana shrugged but finally she nodded, and she opened the door of the cell, getting out and walking with him. Daryl decided to show her the inside of the prison before taking her to the yards, and he toured her around awkwardly while he showed her the important places , he’d never showed anyone around before and he felt a bit silly. On her side, Dana seemed to look at everything around her, seeming amazed and still nervous and anxious.

People looked at them, some waved and smiled, but Daryl was glad that nobody approached them to try to speak with Dana if she didn’t approach first, giving her space, though he wondered if she’d go to speak to any of them by her own will at some point, or if she’d just rather keep staying in her cell…Daryl didn’t know how to go about that or help with it.

“And that’s the library.” Daryl pointed at it. “Sometimes the kids are there reading books, or learning stuff…” Honestly, he wasn’t very sure of what they did, some old world homework but he thought that Carol trained them to protect themselves too. They kept walking until Daryl stopped in front of some other rooms. “So, this is the food inventory, if you want to eat something just come here and ask whoever is doing inventory that day, then that’s the kitchen, and we eat there.” He pointed at the big cafeteria room. “Or outside at the yard, depends on the weather. Some people eat together but you don’t have to, I don’t eat here half of the time.” He shrugged. “I think Carol maybe is at the kitchen now, I ain’t sure…”

“She doesn’t like me,” Dana murmured.

“Nah, nah, it ain’t that…she just…she ain’t one to trust easily, yeah, but she will,” Daryl tried to assure her and Dana shrugged.

Next, Daryl took her outside. There were more people there, but most were working on something. A couple was just sat down on the picnic tables, and they waved at them. Daryl waved awkwardly back, still not used to everyone always greeting him and even stopping him to talk to him.

“So…you see those walkers?” He pointed at the fence and the people stabbing walkers through it. “We take shifts to clear them, they push at the fence all the time, and if they’re too many they’ll throw it down, we can’t let walkers get in here,” he explained and Dana nodded. “Once a day, when it’s clearer, Rick takes the pickup and gets all the bodies, takes them to the woods to burn, sometimes I go with him, sometimes Tyreese, he’s Sasha’s brother…”

“Those are all the watchtowers, there’s always someone on them taking watch, we got sniper rifles.” Daryl pointed at them, feeling a bit awkward and stupid, it wasn’t like Dana couldn’t see them by herself. “Sasha’s almost always on one of those.”

“Hates me…” Dana muttered.

“Nah, nah, she doesn’t,” Daryl assured. “Just give her time to trust you.” From the nearer watchtower, Maggie and Glenn waved at them. “Yeah, besides runs, Maggie and Glenn spent a lot of time in the watchtower too…think they use it to be alone away from everyone.” Daryl scoffed, smiling when he noticed Dana’s tiny smirk.

“And those are the gardens and all that, we got a lot of crops,” Daryl explained, and there were also pots with plants everywhere lately. “Hershel was a farmer before, so yeah, that’s good.” Some people were working on the orchard, including Rick and Carl, and Daryl nodded towards them. “That’s Carl, he’s Rick’s kid, he’s a great kid.”

As they kept walking, now towards the gates, one of the doors of a cellblock opened and Beth walked outside carrying Judith, and she smiled and waved at them.

“A baby…” Dana said and Daryl was not surprised that she sounded shocked.

“Yeah, Judith, she’s Rick’s too, she’s wonderful,” Daryl said, unable to stop his smile as she looked at the baby. “See, we got a lot of people here that we gotta protect, that’s why people is suspicious and worried when someone new comes.” Dana nodded, understanding. “They’ll get used to you soon.” He hoped that Dana got used to them too, that she bonded with more people and were happy, though he wasn’t minding to have her around, and he wasn’t looking forward to be replaced, if he was honest, surprisingly or not. “We got animals too, we built them stuff, we got pigs and horses, wanna see them?” Dana nodded eagerly.

“Rider coming!” One of the watchtowers announced before they could go anywhere. “It’s Michonne!”

Dana looked at him, seeming worried, but Daryl couldn’t help his smile. Michonne had been away for a few days by now. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to be scared, she’s Michonne, she’s a good friend,” he explained. “She comes and goes, has been away for a while.”

They could already see her riding the way to the prison, swinging her katana and beheading every walker around her while she rode as if they were nothing. The doors opened for her and she rode towards their makeshift stables.

“Hey, cat, can we go to the stables so I can see Michonne and you can see the horses?” Daryl asked softly. “It’s really okay if you don’t wanna, alright?” Dana looked at down and then at him, nodding. “You sure?” She nodded again. “Alright, thank you.”

Michonne was getting the horse inside the stable when they reached it, and she grinned, looking at him. “Hey!” She greeted, reaching out to hug him, and Daryl still felt awkward and stiff at it, but he was getting used to it, and he hugged her back. “Everything okay here?”

“Yeah, everything good, and you?”

“Okay…I brought some stuff.” Michonne nudged her bag and then rummaged inside. “This is for you.” She handed him an old motorbike magazine and Daryl couldn’t believe that she had found something like that.

“Where you found this?” He said as he went through the pages.

“Old cabin, you should go someday, there was an old bike at the yard,” Michonne explained. “Very old, looked about to fall down into dust, but I thought on you, maybe you could save some pieces? It was all rusty, I don’t know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can try, thanks.” Daryl smiled, feeling like just riding to that cabin full speed already.

“There’s no rush.” Michonne chuckled as if reading his mind. “I’m telling you, it was about to drop into rusty, broken pieces, nobody is going to take it.” Daryl shrugged, you never knew. Dana had stayed slightly away but not she walked closer, guarded, and stayed behind him as she looked at Michonne. “Hey, who’s that.”

“She’s Dana, she needed help so I brought her here,” Daryl explained.

Michonne looked at  Dana, probably noticing the old wounds on her face, the scars, and those distrustful, scared eyed. She looked at Daryl, nodding, before looking at Dana again, giving her a small smile. “Welcome here, Dana, I’m Michonne. You’re going to be fine in here.”

Dana didn’t say anything, and so Daryl spoke. “We were coming to see the horses.”

“Okay, I’m going to greet Rick, I have stuff for him and Carl, are they at the orchard?” Michonne asked and Daryl nodded. “Alright, see you both around.”

“So…” Daryl looked at Dana while Michonne walked away. “Those are our pigs.” He waved at the pen where the pigs were lying and rolling on the mud. “And these are the horses.” Dana walked to them, reaching out to stroke the snout of one and she smiled, really smiled. Daryl couldn’t help his own looking at her.

“Michonne,” Dana said. “Family?”

“Yes, yes, she’s family now.” Daryl nodded. “She’s a good woman, one of the best, you can trust her.”

Dana nodded. “I like her.”

“Yeah?” Daryl smiled, more than glad of it, and Dana nodded. While she kept petting the horse, Daryl kept thinking about something. “Hey, cat…you’re safe here, you’re going to be fine here, but if you don’t wanna be in here all the time, if you really don’t like it…you can go out with Michonne, you’ll have a place to come back and you’ll be safe with Michonne.” Not as safe as inside the prison, not as safe as Daryl’d want, but he didn’t want her to be in there if she didn’t want to.

Dana shook her head, frowning at him. “With you…don’t want me with you?”

“What, no, no, it ain’t that!” Daryl rushed to say. “Just…thought maybe you didn’t want to…I don’t know, to be here…but…yeah, I want…I…” Daryl stumbled over his words, flustered. “We’re going to hunt and patrol together yeah? If you want to, if you don’t wanna it’s okay, really…” He shrugged, looking down bashfully.

“I want to.”

“Okay, okay, good.” Daryl smiled and Dana gave him that tiny, brief half-smile. “Hey, you don’t want to see the gardens? Michonne is going to be there, and Rick too, he was saying something about some tomatoes, wanna check them?” He was still lost about what Dana might like, what she might enjoy in there, but most people seemed to like the gardens. Dana seemed to think it and then she nodded. “Alright, come on then.”

*

I don’t know about you, but I think they’re pretty cute.

Thanks to the people who decided to give this story a chance, your support keeps me posting. If you enjoyed this and have a moment, please let me know your thoughts.

As always, excuse my English, is not my first language.

I’m going to reblog the taglist in another post to see if that way this shows up in the Daryl tags.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon/oc #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon & oc #daryl/oc #darylxoc #daryl x oc #daryl&oc #twd daryl #daryl twd #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fic #daryl fanfiction

[sooibian]

Twist of Fate

image credits: @/exoxoxoid (twitter)

Pairing: Criminal Psychologist Kyungsoo x Crime Reporter OC (Miss Jung) ft. Minseok, Jongin

Description: Much against your wishes, you are back in your hometown to write about the murders of two young women - your only ticket out is the criminal psychologist who has been assisting Superintendent Kim Minseok with offender profiling.

Inspired by: Sharp Objects, The Fall and this moodboard by @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt​ 

Tags/Warnings: Serial killer AU - angst, grief, loss, murders, descriptions of anxiety, reactive and attentive immobility, asphyxiation, indicative of humiliation, explicit and graphic situations. Please do not read onward if any of this triggers or upsets you!!!!

Word count: +3.7k

A/N: ...i need to stop watching crime dramas. 

@leewalberg​ @his-mochi-cheeks​ @changshapatrol​ 

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

When you left Cheongsong, you’d left for good. Or so you’d thought.

Ten years later what brought you back was not your family, for you had none left, but the murders of two young women that had left the quaint little town, surrounded by hills artistically contoured by apple orchards, shaken and distraught.

Everyone knew each other in Cheongsong which should have made Superintendent Kim Minseok’s job easier, but he was caught in an ugly snare of emotions which seemed to have clouded his critical thinking faculties. These were people he knew closely, people he’d grown up with. For him, pointing fingers at any of them meant carving permanent cracks in relationships that were stronger than most familial ties.

“Off the record, then”, you shoved your scratchpad back into your purse, turned off the recorder with a click and looked at Minseok square in the eyes, only to find the amiable, portly, catlike footballer you went to school with hidden in their farthest, darkest depths - reduced to a mere whimsy. The memories of the man who sat before you, now seemed abysmally distorted by the colossal burden of the unknown.

“It never is.” He chuckled darkly, took a measured sip of his bourbon and rolled it around his tongue before swallowing. “Never thought I’d see you here again.”

“That makes two of us. Write about killings in your hometown...it makes an impact because it’s personal, my boss says. We’re to...exploit the fact that nobody substantial is covering this.” You recited, eyes trained on the sliver of grime on the coaster.

Minseok clicked his tongue in disapproval and enquired, “Where have you been staying?” 

“A guest house by the Country Club.”

“So, not the Mansion”, he remarked callously.

Wounds that had barely healed came undone at the mention of your family home. Your throat tightened and you felt as if you had been shanked with a broken bottle in the stomach. The ill fated house reeked of misfortune, grief and loss. Its inhabitants had fallen one by one like lined up dominoes. This curse had forced you out to start a new life in Seoul.

“It’s still quite well kept, you know.” Minseok stated matter-of-factly.

Taking a deep swig of your bourbon, you explained earnestly as the burn of the liquid blazed down your throat, “Minseok, I want nothing more than to get out of here. So, please, give me something. A nugget.” 

“I don’t want to be quoted on this. Or misquoted. This is all new to me as well. Two bodies in three months? Can you imagine?” Overcome with emotion, he ran a hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut.

You put a comforting hand on his and offered in a voice laced with empathy, “Listen, from where I stand, all you need is a new line of inquiry and linking these two murders would give you one. I’ve seen the pictures.” 

You swiped through images of two dark haired women on your phone - Park Soojin and Seo Jinri. Both of them were in their late twenties. They lay in their own beds as if soundly asleep, modesty protected only by sheer white blankets, crimson tinted lips parted ever so slightly, freshly painted nails shining in dim lighting. And roses. There were a couple of red roses placed by their side as if in condolence. The blood curdling strangulation marks around their necks made them look like dreadfully divine paintings. 

“They could be sisters”, you observed with moist eyes, voice hushed to a whisper.

Contemplating on the images with pursed lips, Minseok responded with a tight nod and waved a 50,000 bill in the waitress’ general direction.

“Where’d you find these?” He asked in a threateningly calm voice, averting his eyes from your apparently disagreeable gaze.

“You know that’s confidential”, you replied, half-shrugging, nonchalant.

“I’ll drop you home”, he muttered, and shoved his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. 

With a defeated sigh you grabbed your purse and phone and proceeded to follow Minseok out of the only bar in Cheongsong, “No, it’s fine. I could use a walk.”

Suddenly, he turned around, searched your eyes for a fleeting second before admitting begrudgingly, “Kim Jongin. He’s the prime suspect in the first case. The murder of Park Soojin.”  

Your legs froze. “What?! Why?”

You knew Kim Jongin, like you knew everyone else in this town. His family owned one of the biggest apple orchards in Cheongsong but Kim Jongin never manifested that in his behaviour. He was known to be friendly, kind, sensitive. Almost too sensitive some would say.

“That’s it. That’s your nugget. Here.” He handed you a business card bearing the name ‘Dr. Doh Kyungsoo’. “He’s been informally assisting with offender profiling. He’ll talk to you. Seems like he’ll talk to anyone, really. Now get in the car, it’s freezing out here.” 

.

.

.

“Dr. Doh, thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

Dr. Doh Kyungsoo’s home office was a detached unit with a separate entrance, distanced from his main residence. It was exactly the way you’d imagined a psychologist’s office to be - light coloured walls, comfortable chairs, soft pillows, insipid artwork. Neat and clean, fostering a sense of comfort for visitors. 

The Doh family had moved into Cheongsong shortly after you’d left for Seoul. Coming from old money in search of some peace and quiet, they invested in agricultural distribution, Cheongyang Pepper farms and assumed one of the more significant estates to live in while their only son, Doh Kyungsoo, was sent abroad to pursue higher education.   

“Please, call me Kyungsoo.” He took your hand in his, gave it a good, firm shake and gestured you to take the chair opposite his.

“I think ‘Dr. Doh’ should be fine”, you stated plainly and he acknowledged with a curt nod.

“What brings you here?” Asked Kyungsoo, holding your gaze, hands folded in his lap as he leaned back into his chair with a soft sigh. 

Grimacing, you waved your recorder at him, “They say you’re my ticket out of this godforsaken place.”

Minseok had helped you set up the meeting so you thought it proper to waive cumbersome introductions and niceties and Kyungsoo seemed very much in sync with your line of thought. 

He smiled, “I’m merely a bystander, Miss Jung, with slightly more informed opinions, maybe.”

“Informed opinions are what I’m here for, Dr. Doh.” You smiled back, “Superintendent Kim Minseok doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“He’s a man shackled by bureaucracy and I’m a constant reminder of his team’s staggering incompetence, If I were him, I wouldn’t like me very much either.”

“Do you think there’s a link between the two murders?” 

He nods. “I’m fairly certain there is.” 

“But the police won’t look into it? Why is that?”

“Nobody likes a serial, Miss Jung. Besides, there’s no way the team could cope with the increased workload of linked inquiries. There are over a hundred statements, documents, officers’ reports waiting to be read and actioned. And the case of Park Soojin is a peculiar one.”

“Kim Jongin’s girlfriend? How so?”

“She was the ex-wife of a member of the parliament. This case does absolutely no favours to his image so he needs it solved immediately.” 

The word solved was treated to air quotes.

“So, they’ve ruled him out as a suspect?”

“His alibi checks out. They suspect Kim Jongin.”

“Why? Just because Kim Jongin fled immediately after her body was found? How did the police react to that?”

“Because Jongin fled, his brother was asked to provide DNA which turned out to be a familial match to the DNA gathered at the crime scene. But that does not necessarily mean it’s the killer’s DNA. Miss Park was in a relationship with him. There’s no surprise his semen was found in her esophagus.”

“Do you rule him out as a suspect then?”

“I prefer to reserve my comment.”

“Why do you think he fled?”

“Grief drives us to do irrational things, Miss Jung. Maybe he just needed a breather from everything that was going on here. Can’t say for sure.”

“You’re certain the perpetrator is male?”

“Yes, I am. The perpetrator is male and an athletic one at that. Probably in his late twenties or early thirties. While the strangulation marks may be different, the pathologists reports suggest petechial haemorrhage in both cases which means he strangled and released and then strangled again, over and over. He’s either a sadist, or his hand lacks strength. You try it, grab my wrist.”

He extended his arm towards you and you politely declined. So he wrapped his right hand over his left wrist and held firmly for a few moments. 

“Forty seconds. It’s amazing how quickly the hand tires!” He exclaimed as if awestruck. It was the maximum emotion the inscrutable Dr. Doh had displayed during the course of this interview.

“Victims of strangulation are known to make a mess of themselves. They defecate and / or urinate..”

“That is correct. The bodies were both found posed and clean. Which means he spent hours after, washing them and cleaning the sheets, even. There could be a religious angle to this. Washing away their sins...maybe his own, considering he probably gets into the bath with them.”

He pushed a cup of long gone cold tea towards you, but you shook your head. As a crime reporter, you thought you’d seen it all but the possibility of this being the work of a serial killer was a first for you. Also the fact that it was happening in the place you grew up in was starting to gnaw at you a little more aggressively than you’d liked. 

“I’m not going to lie, Dr. Doh, this gives me pause for concern. Do you think there is a sexual angle to these killings? As far as I know, the victims have shown no signs of any such abuse.”

Kyungsoo sipped on his tea and worried at his lower lip briefly before responding. “I believe he’s the kind to take pictures, momentos from the scene. They sustain him between killings.”

“And the roses? There were..”

“Three next to Park Soojin’s corpse and two next to Seo Jinri’s.”

“Does it indicate -”

“- a countdown? Perhaps.” He studied your face intently and offered you tea again. This time you complied and then proceeded with the interview.

“There was no sign of forced entry in either cases. The police think the perpetrator was known to the victims.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. You see, Miss Jung, the problem is that these cases were treated as self solvers from the get go and that’s where it all went wrong.”

His smile at the end of that sentence was one of finality, somehow indicative that you’d overstayed your welcome. To be able to milk him for all he was worth, you were going to let him loose for the time being.

Clicking your recorder off, you tilted your head to the side, smiled politely, “Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Doh.”

“It’s been a pleasure.” 

While he was walking you to the front door, you couldn’t help but ask, “Dr. Doh, if I may, were the victims known to each other? Were they friends? Acquaintances?”

“That’s for the police to investigate. They were both in their late twenties, highly qualified -  one was a solicitor the other a botanist, both tan with double eyelids, a little over 5 feet”, He took a step closer to you, instinctively you took an uncomfortable step back but found yourself trapped between him and the front door. His burgundy turtleneck smelt like warm, sweet gingerbread mixed with the contrastive redolence of something woody. He put his hand on the clip that held your hair in a bun, an elusive smile dancing on his lips as he allowed your hair to freely ripple down to your waist. “...and they both had dark, waist length hair”, he whispered into your ear, sending a frisson of fear down your spine.

You looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights as he slowly retracted. Eyes locked with yours and face contorted in a fierce frown, he concluded grimly, “You fit his profile.”

.

.

.

Unable to sleep well that night, you went for an early morning run the next day and took a detour to Minseok’s residence. After discussing your findings with him, he offered you a close protection officer who’d moonlight to provide you security just until they’d made an arrest. Which meant you’d have one uniformed officer standing guard outside your guest house all day. You knew that they wouldn’t have done this for you if your family name wasn’t Jung.

“Kim Jongin’s back in town.” Relief seemed to have smoothened the lines on Minseok’s forehead and there was a boost of confidence in his voice when he broke the news to you.

“Are you planning to take him in?” you asked, sipping on coffee in Minseok’s kitchen while he made you some eggs.

He looked victorious and his brows shot up to his hairline as he explained animatedly, “We have enough evidence to put him on trial. I’ll get the warrant in two days.” 

“Hand to your heart, do you think he did it?”

“Yah, I’d never be able to make an arrest like that. If you promise not to quote me, I will say that -” 

He peered at you questioningly and you eased him with a reassuring nod, “Go on.”

“This looks like the work of an outsider.”

.

.

.

Later that evening, you found Jongin seated alone at a table in the bar. Beaten, as if overcome with exhaustion he was crouched over a glass of scotch, a silent tear sliding down his cheek. You sat next to him and ordered him another drink.

“I killed her.” He stated simply, eyes trained on the empty glass in front of him. To see a man whose taste buds didn’t even agree with coffee back in the day downing hard liquor effortlessly, broke your heart.

“What?” you enquired, sparing no effort to lay the edge off of your voice.

“That evening, we’d had a huge argument. She- she’d been wanting to move out of here for the longest time and I never agreed. It was as if she knew!” Burying his face in his hands, he broke into full blown sobs. It was a while before he composed himself and spoke again, “Here, you have your story. Following a trivial spat, a small town chaebol kills his girlfriend.”

Shaking your head furiously in disagreement, you held him tightly by his shoulders, “This is your chance, Jongin. Speak your truth. Tell them that you didn’t do it. They’ll need to hear it from you!”

Jongin looked you in the eyes, his own brimming with tears, “I was twelve when my puppy died and I couldn’t seem to get over it. My mother gave me this book which said the only way men can get over grief is by showing indifference, I tried that with Soojin.”

Brows furrowed, you asked, “And?”

“It worked for an hour.” He chuckled darkly, “I loved her and I always will. At this point I just don’t care. I should’ve listened to her. Maybe I even deserve this. I see the way people look at me, I- I feel written off, ostracized. A goddamn parliamentarian wants me in. My truth won’t survive their might.” 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you started to talk him out of potential suicide, “Jongin -” 

But he raised his forefinger to silence you. Trembling, he asked, “I just find myself wondering, can you die from a broken heart?”

.

.

.

Kim Jongin had turned himself in.

Acquiescent to the slow wheels of justice, moderately satisfied with the first draft of your article, and concerned about your safety, your boss agreed to call you back to the Seoul office, at least until there were further developments in the case.

During the course of your stay in Cheongsong, you drove past the little street leading up to the Mansion several times but not once did you glance in its direction. Before your flight the next morning, you decided to pay the house a little visit to say a final goodbye. The first snow had laid a fleecy white blanket on the ceramic roof that gleamed from the light of the astral light of the night sky. You were flooded with memories of chasing butterflies in spring, climbing the only mango tree in town which still stood proud in your backyard, the stories of monsters and ghosts your parents would read to you in the blanket forts you’d build together… blissfully unaware that in a not so far future this was all your life would entail - monsters and ghosts.

The great oakwood front door turned on its hinges and a familiar aroma of caramel apple hotteok invited you in. They say every house has a peculiar smell and yours smelt of caramel apple hotteok, even after all this time. Your lips curled upward at the strangeness of your sentiments. The demons you tried so hard to escape all your life seemed like bad dreams and what was left of this place within you was just the good. The pure, unadulterated joy that was once your childhood. 

You proceeded to the kitchen to fetch yourself a cup of hot water, and that’s when you heard a knock on the front door. You ignored it at first thinking it was just the wind but the knock came again. Louder, this time. You left the kitchen to answer the door.

“Dr. Doh!” you exclaimed, utterly surprised to see him here at this hour.

“Miss Jung”, he smiled sheepishly, “I went by the guest house but the guard said you were at the Mansion. I just wanted to say goodbye, I’m leaving for Gyeonggi in the a.m.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Uh - I’m sorry, please, come in.” 

He followed you to the kitchen and said apologetically, “I hope I’m not imposing.”

“No, not at all! Never quite realised just how massive this house actually is - It was starting to eat me up. Gyeonggi, you say?”

“Oh, it’s a cursed life as an independent consultant, Miss Jung. I’m mostly living out of a suitcase..”

“I wish I could say differently. So your presence here was requested by Minseok’s team?” You asked as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

“No, I arrived just about a month before the first murder. My parents passed in a car crash three years ago. So I decided to sell the estate and the pepper farms.” He explained, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“Would you like some tea? I brought some tea bags with me. I don’t know which tea it is, though.” You offered, mindlessly pouring hot water into two cups. 

“Sure” , he nodded.

“So did you?”

“What?”

“Manage to sell everything? And I’m sorry - uh about your parents.” 

You didn’t feel sorry. What you felt was an inexplicable weight in your chest rendering you breathless. Your heart started pounding erratically and your mind clouded over with a sense of impending doom as you went about the mundane task of making tea. 

“You seem a little out of it, Miss Jung. Is something bothering you?” He got off his chair and guided you to yours as your legs threatened to give away.

You sipped on some warm tea to steady yourself and said to Kyungsoo, “Oh, no it’s … It’s just this house. Maybe you were right, Dr. Doh. This isn’t a good time. I’m sorry but I might have to ask you to leave.”

Kyungsoo didn’t react. At all. He stood still, eyes fixed on your trembling frame.

“Park Soojin wasn’t his first kill”, he whispered.

“What?” you asked feebly, still trying to get a hold of yourself.

Kyungsoo sauntered over to the kitchen counter and brought you a glass of water. “Pay attention, Miss Jung. Park Soojin wasn’t his first kill. He was sloppy with the first one and it was only by a stroke of luck that he managed to get away. So he planned better with Soojin. Got even better with Jinri.”

Startled, you looked him in the eyes and he gave you a smile that raised goosebumps on your skin. 

Unperturbed Kyungsoo continued, pacing leisurely in the kitchen, a spine-chilling hint of exhilaration in his voice. “His criminal sophistication indicates that he understands criminology and knows police work. Unfortunately, Miss Jung,”, his voice dropped and you suddenly felt shackled to your seat. Squirming, but unable to make any big movement like reaching out for something that was heavy or sharp or both, “The tragedy is that he’s always believed he’s inferior to these women. But -” 

Kyungsoo levelled his face with yours and grinned with a glimmer of victory in his eyes, “for every tragedy, there is a happy ending.”

It took all you could muster to hold it together and dash for your purse to retrieve your cell phone. But you didn’t find it in there. 

“Is this what you’re looking for?” asked Kyungsoo, teasing as he pulled your phone from the inside pocket of his overcoat and handed it to you. 

You tried to turn it on to no avail. Voice as steady as could be, you said to him, “Please, please just leave!”

He took two easy steps towards you and you found yourself encased between his body and the wall. “Well then you shouldn’t have let me in! Tell me something, how could the close protection officer have given me your whereabouts if you dismissed him immediately after Jongin’s arrest? Haven’t you learnt since you were a little girl - always keep your guard up. Think before you speak. Did you think you were invincible?”

He took your hand in his and guided you back to the kitchen table. Eyes brimming tears, body trembling, and mind overcome with dread you followed him as if he were the pied piper. The familiar scent of gingerbread wafted up your nostrils making you nauseous.

As soon as you took a seat at the table, he put on his gloves, and lay a bottle of red nail polish and a red rose before you.

“Just think about how you can be with them again, Miss Jung. And don’t worry...I’ll be gentle.”

***

A/N: YES! you’re absolutely right! i just wanted to write turtleneck murderer Soo -_-

#exosnet #exowritersnet #kyungsoo angst #kyungsoo smut #kyungsoo fluff #kyungsoo fanfic #exo fanfic #exo smut #exo angst #exo imagines #kyungsoo imagines #exo fanfiction #kyungsoo fanfiction

[alj4890]

Angst Prompt

(Liam x Riley) with the prompt of Riley getting shot in another country while Liam was in Cordonia and it have been ordered by King Bradshaw as requested by Anonymous.

A/N Oof. What a way to knock me off my fluff kick, LOL. This isn't a part of my AU's but let's see what I can do for your prompt, Nonny. This takes place after the Bradshaw/Isabella mess but before Barthlemy's challenge. I guess I will ruin that brief moment of peace, LOL.

@gkittylove99​​​​​​ @krsnlove​​​​​​ @kingliam2019​​​​​​ @texaskitten30​​​​​​ @hopefulmoonobject​​​​​​ @yourmajesty09​​​​​​ @mom2000aggie​​​​​​ @ofpixelsandscribbles​ @twinkleallnight​

Masterlist

News

The Royal Palace, Cordonia...

"Here we go, princess." Liam settled his seven month old in her swing. "How about you help your father with reading through these proposals the Council is considering?"

Eleanor smiled around the teething ring she had put in her mouth.

Liam pressed a quick kiss to her cheek then started the swing.

He settled behind his desk, finally feeling a sense of calmness. With all the ups and downs he had gone through since his brother's abdication, he rested in knowing that he, his family, and country were at last entering into a season of peace.

He intended to keep it that way.

The gurgles and coos from Eleanor drew his attention. She waved the teething ring a few times before putting it back in her mouth.

He chuckled at her antics.

He was enjoying these few days of one-on-one time with his daughter. Riley had been asked to be the guest of honor at Lancelin St Clair's fashion grand opening. The renowned designer had created a place where his creations could be not only sold, but created specifically for the customer.

Lancelin had completely renovated a four-story building in Paris's Faubourg Saint-Honoré district, turning each floor into one with a definite purpose. The first floor was a shop that housed various sizes of his most popular creations. The second floor was part runway/part design on demand for the shopper looking for something completely original. The third floor would debut his new bridal line. And the fourth was set as his personal work area/apartment for when he needed to stay late and work on his designs.

All this was to be shown to the public to set off Paris's fashion week.

Since Riley had walked his runway during Liam and Madeleine's engagement tour, he had invited her to be part of his grand opening. Ana De Luca was traveling with Cordonia's queen to do an exclusive spread of Riley in some of the dresses Lancelin had made specifically with her in mind.

It was just the sort of news the people of Cordonia would enjoy after months of uncertainty.

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

"I really don't want to go without you and Eleanor." Riley told Liam the night before she left.

"I don't want you to either." He held her close. "But I have to meet with the Farmers' Association about the progress of the apple orchards." He pressed a tender kiss to her lips. "I've already had to reschedule twice with them. They need to see I take their concerns seriously."

"I know." She sighed. "And I know that Eleanor would distract everyone from Lancelin's moment." She eased out of his embrace. "This will be the first time I go out without you or any of our friends."

Liam took her hands and tried to ease her worries. "You will do great." He smiled at her. "You charm everyone you meet. I believe I am proof to your effect."

Riley shook her head before kissing him. "If anyone is the charmer, it's you."

He chuckled while tugging her toward their bed. "Do you want me to find someone to go with you? Penelope or Kiara perhaps?"

"No thanks." She snuggled closer to him. "I wish Hana was well enough to go. She was looking forward to it."

Liam gently rubbed her back. "With Maxwell in Hollywood and Drake in Texas, we don't have anyone left."

"I wish Olivia was back." She muttered.

"Amalas needed her expertise." Liam reminded her.

"I know." Riley sighed again. "If I can't have you with me, I do tend to depend on the others to be there. I need to learn how to stand on my own."

"The world will once again be amazed by Cordonia's queen." He kissed the top of her head. "You'll see."

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

Liam glanced at his desk clock. It was nearly time for Ana's live report of Lancelin's grand opening.

His princess had fallen asleep in her swing, drawing another smile from him as he carefully lifted her out. Cuddling her close, he sat down on one of the sofas and turned the television on.

Finding the right channel, he relaxed as the first images appeared.

Cordonia's Queen Riley has been given the honor of walking the red carpet first. Lancelin St Clair awaits, giving her the shears to cut the ceremonial ribbon.

He readjusted Eleanor in his arms as he watched his wife's bright smile flash towards the cheering crowd.

Ana continued to detail what they would soon see when shots rang out.

Liam stood up, causing Eleanor to whimper at being rudely awakened.

Ignoring her fitful cries, he watched as the camera caught his wife and Lancelin falling to the ground.

Then the feed went dead.

"BASTIEN!" Liam shouted over Eleanor's wails.

The head of the King's Guards hurried inside while talking on his phone. Regina rushed in behind him.

"Give me the baby." She insisted, gently taking the fussy little one in her arms. She left the study, allowing Liam to be able to focus on what Bastien was saying.

"And the shooter?" He asked. "I see. Where is her majesty being taken?"

Bastien wrote down the information. "Keep me updated."

Once he ended the call, he faced Liam.

"What happened?" He demanded.

Bastien cleared his throat. "A lone gunman shot both Riley and Mr. St Clair."

"Is she alright? Have the plane prepared. We must get there as quickly as we can!"

"Sir," Bastien hesitated. "I must insist you remain here. The gunman was killed by one of our guards. We don't know if there is another and--"

Liam shoved past him and called the airfield. Declaring it an emergency, he then rushed to tell Regina.

"Liam." She teared up as she took his hand. "Be careful and call as soon as you know more."

"Your majesty, I insist you remain here while I go to Paris." Bastien followed after him. "Once my team has investigated, I can then guarantee your safety--"

"Do you honestly think I give a damn about my safety?!" Liam rounded on him. "My wife was just shot! She is alone in another country and hurt. If you think I will sit here behind these so called protective walls, then you do not know me at all." He went back to his study and quickly packed his briefcase. "Now get me to the airport."

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

Early evening, Paris...

"Her majesty is at one of the private hospitals." Bastien explained as the car continued through the city. "Interpol is working with us to identify the shooter."

Liam stared blindly out the window. "Is my wife conscious?"

"She was." Bastien tried to explain. "She lost some blood from her wound and--"

Their car stopped at the front entrance.

"Liam!" Bastien shouted as the king didn't bother to wait on guards or to check that it was safe.

The young king ran inside, pausing long enough to ask where he should go.

"Je suis le roi de Cordonia. Ma femme a été amenée avec une blessure par balle. Où est-elle? Est-ce qu'elle va bien?" He said quickly.

"Elle se repose dans la chambre 138, Votre Majesté. Dr Miller a dit--" the receptionist blinked when he took off running once more.

Liam slid on the freshly waxed tile floors, barely catching himself as he followed the signs.

A doctor and nurse were just leaving Riley's room when he arrived.

"My wife," Liam gasped, trying to catch his breath. "Is she alright?"

"Oui. She was struck in the shoulder." He paused as both King's Guards and Interpol Agents joined them. "We removed the bullet while she was unconscious."

Liam reached for the door handle as the others began to question the physician.

He paused at seeing his wife laying there, looking so fragile.

One of the first things he had first noticed about her was her inner strength to face any obstacle she encountered. He realized he had taken that he had taken that for granted. The only other time he had seen her like this was when she collapsed during Eleanor's birth.

Liam knew there were only a few things he feared in this world. But those few things centered on something specific: his family.

He could face an entire firing squad and not bat an eye. But let it be Riley or Eleanor that was to be threatened, and he could not take it.

He collapsed in the chair by her bed and pressed a kiss to her fingers. Bowing his head, he waited by her side until she awakened.

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

A few hours later...

Liam stood up when Riley became restless. Soft cries escaped her lips as she slept. He reached for the buzzer.

Explaining that his wife was in pain, he waited for a nurse to come in.

Bastien entered first.

"Have you learned anything about the shooter?" Liam asked in a low voice.

"We have." Bastien stopped the nurse.

He and an Interpol agent patted him down and checked the IV bag of morphine he held.

They stepped back and allowed him to tend to Riley.

Liam watched him replace the bag that had been on a slow drip.

"Can she have more?" He asked as she cried out again.

"Yes sir." He showed Liam the button he could push if she needed more, reassuring him that it wouldn't administer any past the dosage she could have. He increased the flow and left.

Riley's eyes barely opened. "Liam?"

He went back to her bedside. "I'm here, my love."

"My shoulder." She sucked in a painful breath. "What happened?"

"A man was in the crowd." Liam gently explained, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "He shot at you and Lancelin and--"

Her eyes widened. "Lancelin! Liam, he was bleeding so much!"

Bastien cleared his throat as he stepped forward. "He is in intensive care at another hospital, mam."

He pointed at the right side of his chest and mouthed lung to Liam.

Liam frowned some before turning back to Riley.

"Where's Eleanor?" Riley asked, turning her head. "Did you bring her?"

"No. Regina is watching over her at home." Liam eased down on the bed. "Do you need anything? Is there something I can do to make you more comfortable?"

"No." Her eyes filled with tears as she looked up at him. "Liam, if...if I had died...you...my baby..." She began to cry.

Unable to take her in his arms, Liam did his best to comfort her. He wiped her tears while speaking in a calming tone that he wouldn't let anything happen to her. That she was safe. That they would soon be home with Eleanor.

Riley tried to calm down but she shook her head. "We'll never be truly safe, will we?"

Liam paused in his assurances. He felt exhausted from the trials they continued to face. Should he now fear peace, knowing it would end horribly in some new threat?

Running a hand through his hair he spoke of what he did know. "No one is ever truly safe, my love. Even if we were locked away somewhere, accidents can happen. Sickness can strike. Bad things happen just as good ones do."

She sniffed and closed her eyes. "I know you're right," she opened her eyes and met his steady gaze. "I just wish we didn't keep having trouble."

"I do too." He cupped her cheek and softly kissed her. "All I need to know to make it through our trials is that you and Eleanor are taken care of." He struggled with swallowing. "I should have been there today to protect you."

She weakly raised her hand and caressed his cheek. "Then you might have been hurt or..." She couldn't finish that sentence. "I can't lose you, Liam."

He nodded, kissing her again. "I refuse to lose you." His words came out in a harsh whisper. "I will find who did this and will make certain they never do so again."

Riley rubbed her cheek against his hand and closed her eyes.

Liam relaxed once he saw her drift into a peaceful slumber.

"Sir?" Bastien motioned for him to step outside.

"What did you find?" Liam asked.

"The man was a hired gun from America." Bastien began. "But he was born in Auvernal."

Liam's eyes narrowed. "And who hired him?"

"King Bradshaw."

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

Cordonia, a week later...

Riley was rocking back and forth with Eleanor sleeping in the crook of her good arm. She heard voices outside the nursery door. Curious, but unable to hold her daughter properly, she remained where she was.

A few moments later, Liam slipped quietly inside and smiled at her.

"Is she down for the night?"

"She fell asleep long ago, but I wasn’t ready to let her go." Riley let him put Eleanor in her crib. "I missed her so much. I'm so thankful to be home with you both."

"Nowhere near as much as I am." Liam wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I heard voices earlier. Is everything alright?"

He nodded. "Everything is fine."

Riley chewed on her bottom lip. "You never told me what was found about the gunman."

"There wasn't much to discover." He told her.

"Was he just some crazy person or was he hired by someone?" Riley prodded.

Liam let her go and motioned for them to leave the nursery when Eleanor made a disgruntled, sleepy noise.

"I don't want you thinking anymore about this." Liam insisted. "We are taking care of eliminating the threat."

"Eliminating?" Riley's brow furrowed. "But that means he was hired--"

"I want you to rest."

His nearly cold evasiveness alarmed her.

"Liam," she reached for his hand. "Please talk to me. I can handle whatever you have found."

Remembering how upset she was in the hospital, he averted his eyes. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Her lips parted to insist. She shut them when he escorted her to their chambers.

"Do you need anything?" He asked after helping her change.

"No." She murmured.

He covered her up and began to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" She sat up in surprise.

"I have somethings that require my attention in the study." He explained. "I'll be back in an hour or so."

She quietly watched him leave, feeling even more uneasy than before.

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

A little after three in the morning...

Riley awoke when she felt the bed dip down.

"Liam?"

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to wake you."

She checked the time. "Are you just now coming to bed?"

"Yes. It took longer than I planned." He stretched out beside her.

"What did?" She demanded, turning a lamp on.

She gasped when she noticed his bruised face and bloody knuckles.

"What happened? How did you--"

"It's nothing." He winced as he tried to get comfortable. "I'll be fine."

"Liam!" She snapped. "Talk to me." Her eyes narrowed. "Now."

"I took care of the one who tried to take you from me." He snapped back.

"So there was someone else involved?"

"Yes. And he will never have a chance to hurt anyone again." Liam declared.

Riley gently touched his face. "Liam, you didn't..."

"I wanted to." He admitted. "I was so close to beating Bradshaw to death." He closed his eyes at that memory. 

It would have been so easy. A few more strikes, a quick twist and the king that had caused Liam’s world to nearly crumble would have had his last breath.

 "I allowed Interpol to take him." He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. "Olivia found all the evidence we needed to make certain the only way he will ever leave prison is to attend his own funeral."

Riley blinked back tears.

She then punched Liam in the arm.

"Riley!" He sat up when he noticed her shaking with rage. "What--"

"How could you?!" She screamed. "How could you risk your life when you already had everything in place to arrest him?!"

"He tried to kill you!" Liam yelled back. "All because we caused him embarrassment." His eyes narrowed. "Did you think I would do nothing to the man who set out to take my wife from me? Take my daughter's mother?!"

"He wasn't worth you taking a chance on him having a weapon or one of his guards kill you! What would Eleanor and I do without you here?" Tears fell, nearly blinding her. "How could you risk our family?"

All of Liam's anger disappeared at hearing that she had his own fear. Gently pulling her close he silently held her as she cried. His own tears mingled with hers as he thought of a life without her.

The sun was beginning to rise as their tears came to an end. They still held to one another, speaking in low tones of their life together. An occasional hitch in one's words caused the other to try and comfort the one temporarily unable to speak.

As light crept through the drapes, the two remained upright, still clinging to the one they loved.

Riley lifted her head off his shoulder. "Eleanor will be awake soon."

"Yes, she will." Liam pressed a kiss to his wife's forehead. "You should rest. I'll take care of her."

"I'll help you." She hugged him close with her good arm. "I don't want to be apart from either of you today."

His arms tightened around her. Unable to say all that filled his heart, he simply nodded while muttering that he didn't either.

She pressed a tender kiss to his lips and smiled. "It's a new day, my love. A new day just for us."

#choices the royal romance #choices the royal heir #liam x riley #king liam #liam x mc #trr liam #trr riley #trh liam #choices stories you play