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alj4890 · 3 years

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I have an ask? What if Liam got Riley pregnant when they first met in New York? Would he still have to go through the social season? Would she have to raise a baby on her own would Liam find a way to help?

Ooooohhhh. Interesting. That would be quite the conundrum for them, wouldn't it? Especially since the social season starts the very next day after he visited her bar. Hmmm. Let's see what I can do with that time frame. I'm going on the assumption that the social season lasts at least three months with all the parties and traveling they do. Which will help out with the pregnancy part 😉 I think she would still go and take part in the social season since she wouldn’t know she was pregnant yet, but it would definitely alter how things end in book 1.

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Aftereffects

Three months earlier...

"Well?" Riley tilted her head to study Liam's profile. "What do you think?"

He cleared his throat. Lips parted, yet no words were formed. Liam had so many emotions hitting him all at once that a mere stranger had made his one wish come true.

His eyes went from the Statue of Liberty to the woman responsible for him being able to see it.

"I'm speechless." He lowered his head, lips curving in a shy smile. "I've never been so moved in my life than I am in this moment with you."

She smiled and turned her attention toward the iconic monument. "She's really something, isn't she?"

He turned toward Riley. His eyes traveled down her beautiful face softly lit by the dull light coming from the ferry they were on and the sliver of moonlight from above.

"Yes," he moved closer to her. "She really is."

Riley looked up at him. Her heart raced at the tender longing she saw in his eyes. He seemed so lonely. So in need of encouragement. So in need of affection.

Before he could step away, she snagged his lips in a tender kiss.

He froze for two seconds before crushing her to him. He allowed all the feelings he kept to himself pour out as a fuel to draw moans from her. The desperation he had been feeling since his brother abdicated didn't seem to exist around this woman.

His kisses traveled down her neck.

"Liam." She sighed when he returned to her mouth.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as he pressed her back against the railing.

"I don't want this night to end." He murmured.

It took a physical effort to stop.

"Neither do I." She cupped his cheek. "I know you leave tomorrow."

He nodded, already feeling the heavy yoke that was about to be thrust upon his shoulders.

"It's not quite tomorrow though." She kissed along his jaw as she whispered. "We can still enjoy the rest of tonight."

"Riley, I--you know I must choose--I couldn't do that and simply leave you to search for a bride." He felt guilty just thinking about it.

He would be the worst sort of cad possible if he were to spend the night in her arms.

He shouldn't have pursued her. The moment she had turned around and greeted him in the bar, he had thought of nothing else except getting to know more about her.

"I want you." She whispered. "If tonight is all we have, then let's make the most of it."

"You have no idea how much I want you." He kissed her once more, completely unable to resist her.

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

Two and a half months later...

Maxwell winced when he heard the noises coming from Riley's bathroom. Bracing himself, he timidly knocked upon the door.

"You okay in there, blossom?"

"What--" she heaved into the toilet, "do you think?"

"Maxwell!" Bertrand snapped. "What is the hold up. She should have been downstairs fifteen minutes ago."

His eyes widened at the sounds of vomiting.

"Is she ill?" He whispered.

Maxwell shrugged.

"She seemed fine last night." Bertrand thought over the past few days.

"She has been more tired than usual." Maxwell narrowed his eyes in concern. "And this isn't the first time I've heard her throwing up."

Bertrand's stern demeanor turned to worry. "You don't think she's..."

"Think she's what?" Maxwell asked.

"We have been pressuring her to wear the right clothes. I hope we haven't caused her to think she needs to lose weight." Bertrand explained.

Maxwell's eyes widened. He would never be able to forgive himself if he had made Riley think less of her natural beauty.

"Riley!" He anxiously knocked again when they heard nothing but silence. "Can we come in?"

"Sure." Her weak response was followed by her unlocking the door.

The brothers walked inside and saw her sitting in the floor.

Maxwell wet a rag and crouched beside her. He gently cleaned the sweat off her brow, his worry was now off the charts at the half hearted smile she gave him.

"Thanks." She lifted her eyes to Bertrand. "I'm sorry. I know I'm supposed to be outside for the--"

"Don't concern yourself with that." He tempered his usual gruff tone. "We must take care of you first."

Tears filled her eyes at how kind he was being. He wasn't berating her or telling her that House Beaumont needed her to win Liam. She wondered where this Bertrand had been hiding. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks as the brothers discussed ways to help her feel better.

He ordered Maxwell to pick her up and carry her to her bed.

As she settled back against her pillows, he called down to the kitchen and ordered a tray of soup, crackers, and tea to be brought up.

By the time he was finished, she was crying in full force.

"Riley!" Maxwell sat down on her bed and tried to hug her. "Please tell us what's wrong."

Bertrand reached for her hand. "You do know how lovely you are, right?"

Her eyes widened at that odd question.

"We think you shouldn't change at all." Maxwell added.

"Indeed. Many of the dresses in the boutique are," Bertrand's frown firmed as he tried to think of a way to keep her from thinking her body was at fault, "they aren't properly made. One can never go by sizes there."

"And you're size is perfect. Liam can't keep his eyes off you." Maxwell added. "In fact, you could probably add on some weight and be even more beautiful."

"Indeed." Bertrand latched on to that. "Size does not matter. It is what is on the inside that counts."

Riley lifted her head. "What are you talking about?"

"You're," Maxwell mimed vomiting.

"You must stop." Bertrand added. "You do not need to lose weight."

"I'm not doing it on purpose." She shook her head.

It touched her heart though that they wouldn't want her developing an eating disorder.

"I don't know what's caused this." She explained. "The weirdest smells and motions seem to set it off. Like yesterday, the smell of tomatoes had me running for a bathroom and I've always loved tomatoes."

"Could it possibly be your nerves?" Bertrand sat down at the foot of the bed. "The social season can take a toll on even the most seasoned noble."

"I don't think so." Riley mumbled. "It's like my energy has suddenly been depleted. Of course that could be because of the vomiting."

"So what caused it to start?" Maxwell asked.

"How long has it been going on?" Bertrand added.

"I don't know what set it off. It's been going on for a couple of weeks, but it is getting worse."

"Hmm." Bertrand and Maxwell shared a glance.

"Riley, I hope you don't think badly of me for asking," Bertrand struggled to inquire into something so personal. "But, have you, er...did you..."

She lifted her eyebrows in silent question.

"Before you joined us, were you involved with anyone?" He closed his eyes in embarrassment.

"Involved?"

"Any previous boyfriends or hookups before Liam?" Maxwell clarified.

"Oh!" Her cheeks heated with color. "No. I actually haven't been in a relationship for almost a year now." She lowered her eyes. "I had a bad relationship with a guy and decided to focus on myself once I got out of it."

Bertrand relaxed some. "A wise decision."

"So no one night stands?" Maxwell prodded.

"I've never been that type of..." Her eyes widened. She had been that type for one incredible night.

It was the driving force in making her decision to come to Cordonia in the first place.

"Oh no." She breathed. "The night I met you," her eyes held Maxwell's shocked gaze, "Liam and I sneaked away and..."

Bertrand shot up off the bed. "Wait here."

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

"We must be certain." Bertrand stressed. "The bloodwork must confirm what the test showed." His frown was fierce as he stood before the physician. "Discretion is a must in this situation."

"I'll have the results by this evening." The doctor replied. "And only I will run the lab work for Ms. Brooks."

"Here's my number." Riley scribbled it out quickly. "If I don't answer, please send a text and voicemail."

Once he was gone, she sagged back on the bed.

"What do we do now?" Maxwell asked.

"We have a ball to prepare for." Bertrand held up a silk dress. "We missed today's events, but we must make an appearance tonight. Everyone will begin to talk if we don't."

Riley nodded. Her mind though was whirling with the knowledge that she was pregnant.

How will Liam react? Will he be upset? Will he hate me for allowing it to happen? Will he think I'm trying to trap him?

How do I tell him?

Taking the dress, she forced herself to get ready.

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

"Have you seen Riley any today?"

Drake shook his head. "No. Why?"

"That's strange." Liam folded his arms.

He wondered if something was wrong. He hated that he couldn't spend every single moment with her. What if she had reached the end of her patience with this suitor situation?

He shook his head when Drake offered him a drink.

"You've got it bad." Drake teased.

"Got what?"

"Love."

"I do?"

"Are you saying you aren't in love with Brooks?" Drake smirked. "I've seen you with her. Ever since she showed up at the masquerade ball, you haven't looked at any of the other ladies trying to win you."

Liam couldn't help but smile over that. It was true. His night with Riley in New York had been the most magical of his life. Each moment he had spent with her since then all but reaffirmed that she was the only one for him.

He was thrilled at how the people of Cordonia had fallen for her. The press had only positive things to say about The American that had come to win his hand.

He could picture her smile when she approached him at the masquerade ball.

"I think we both know we have something special. One night together will never be enough for me." Riley whispered as he kissed her hand.

"I agree." He held her hand a moment longer than was deemed appropriate. "It isn't enough." His bright blue eyes shined against the silver demi mask. "Are you certain I'm worth going through these next few months? What if--"

"We end up with our happily ever after?" She finished for him.

He knew he had completely lost his heart in that moment. Our happily ever after. Her optimism that they could have that helped him through every step of this social season. She was the prize he knew he could claim once he passed the final hurdle to be king.

He spent his time in dull conversations daydreaming about their future. How beautiful she would be as a bride. How comforting she would be as they dealt with his father's illness and troubles of their small nation.

Then he dreamed of the family they would have. He hoped they had many children, each with her infectious smile and kindness.

He hoped she would say yes when he asked her to marry him. Even if they never had all these other dreams of the future, he would at least have her and her love.

Then all of this would be well worth it.

He did worry about his father's reaction to the time he spent in her company. Whenever Liam attempted to discuss his feelings about Riley, Constantine would point out another lady of the court. He wouldn't allow his son to go ahead and make a decision.

"You better head downstairs." Drake finished off his drink. "Can't have a ball around here without the prince."

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

"Any word yet?" Bertrand whispered.

Riley shook her head.

He softly cursed, causing her to burst into laughter.

"I'm sorry." She giggled when he shushed her. "But I would have bet a lot of money that you would never say that word."

He rolled his eyes. "Be that as it may, you should go mingle."

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

"Lady Riley?" Liam gently tapped her shoulder. "May I have this dance?"

She turned around with a start. "I'd love to."

He took her hand and placed it within the bend of his arm. "You look beautiful tonight."

She gently squeezed his arm. "Thank you." Her eyes lifted to his. "And you're as handsome as always."

"I don't know about that." He winked at her. "But as long as you think so, then I'm content."

He took her in his arms as a waltz began.

"Let's not spin as much as we normally do." She pleaded when he twirled her.

His brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

"No!" She said quickly. "Just, um, a little motion sickness from time to time."

"I see." He kept his gaze upon her face. "I missed you today."

"You did?"

"I always do whenever you're not around." He admitted with a sheepish grin.

"That's so--" she felt the vibration of her phone.

She stopped dancing, causing Liam to nearly trip

"Riley, is something--"

"Excuse me, I have to--that is--this is from--" she ducked out a nearby door before all her revelations came tumbling out.

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

She plopped down on the edge of a small couch and read the message from the doctor.

Hitting the link, she read the results of her bloodwork.

Her breaths came in and out in short gasps.

I'm really pregnant.

"Riley?"

All the color drained from her face as she looked up at Liam.

He shut the door to the ballroom and knelt before her.

"What is it?" He took her icy hand in his. "Is something wrong?"

She licked her dry lips and tried to tell him.

"Yes. No. I'm not sure."

He pressed a kiss to her hand. "Whatever it is, I will do all that I can to help you."

She blinked back tears. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything." He laced his fingers with hers.

"Do you," she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "do you love me?"

"I do." He admitted. "I had planned on telling you during the Coronation Ball."

"Really?" Her eyes narrowed. "I need you to be completely honest with me right now."

"I am." He lowered his gaze to their clasped hands. His thumb brushed against her skin. "I know I'm not supposed to say anything until then, but you are the one I will pick to marry," he looked up at her, "if you want to."

She bit down on her bottom lip. "Do you want children?"

"Yes, and not just for the continuation of the Rhys holding the crown." His smile gentled. "I want a family with you, selfishly for myself. I want all the holiday memories spent with them, watching them see the world with wonder, and seeing our traits passed on, especially yours." He chuckled. "Heaven help me if we have a daughter like you. I will be completely wrapped around her little finger."

Riley couldn't believe she was hearing all she needed to from him.

He really is Prince Charming. My Prince Charming.

"Do you remember the night we met?" She asked.

"How could I forget?"

She grimaced at the worry that still gnawed at her mind.

"My love," Liam sat down beside her. "Please tell me what troubles you."

"I had not been with anyone in a long time." She began. "I mean, no one for months when we spent the night together."

Liam merely listened, wondering where she was going with this.

"I didn't think in the heat of the moment. I should have. It was irresponsible, but I was so swept off my feet..." She took a deep breath. "And I found out today that I'm pregnant."

His fingers tightened around hers.

"I'm sorry. I know with the--"

"Pregnant?" Liam interrupted her. "You're certain?"

"The doctor just sent me the results of my blood work. That with the test I took and the physical exam confirms it." Her eyes widened when he suddenly stood up and took her into his arms.

The kiss he gave her weakened her knees. His arms held her as if she was the most delicate piece of porcelain.

"Marry me." He said between kisses.

"That kinda was the whole point of me coming here." She teased, once she saw how happy he was.

He smiled against her lips. "Is that a yes?"

"It is."

He stepped back and took hold of her hand. With quick strides he had them back in the ballroom.

Waving the conductor to stop the music, he held his hand up. "May I have your attention please!"

The court stilled as all eyes turned toward him.

Ignoring the hushed questions coming from his father, he settled his arm around Riley's waist.

"Lady Riley has made me the happiest man this evening. She has accepted my proposal of marriage and has told me that within a few months or so," he turned his adoring gaze upon her, "we will have an heir to the throne."

Constantine staggered back at this announcement. He had no idea the couple had become that close.

Regina called for champagne to be brought to all the guests as she embraced the young couple.

Liam held his glass up. He decided to force his parent to officially accept Riley in front of the entire court. He suspected that if he had not announced the fact they were expecting, that Constantine would find a way to break their engagement. He didn't know why he felt such unease with his father when it concerned Riley, but he wasn't going to leave anything to chance when it concerned her.

"Father? Would you like to give the toast?"

Constantine cleared his throat. Seeing no way around it, he stepped forward and lifted his glass. He hoped for Liam's sake that this woman would not be detrimental to his rule.

"To my son and the lady he has chosen. May they have all the happiness that I have found with my own queen and may their new family continue to serve Cordonia with grace and honor." He turned toward them. "To Liam and Riley!"

#choices the royal romance #liam x riley #choices the stories you play #choices fan fiction #trr liam

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aikrus · 3 years

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What It Means To Be Dead (Tokoyami x Reader)

Fandom: Bnha Warnings: Mentions of Dying, depression, bullying, abuse, and strong language Words: 2k259 Requested By: Anon <3 Request: Hi I love your writing! Can I request one where Tokoyami )or anyone you'd like really,) finds a collection of old-ish diaries and letters while cleaning? The person's handwriting is very distinct and pretty (Think 1700's love letter find) but they never mention their name. As they read more of it they find newer entries where Aizawa is mentioned so they ask him about it only to find out the person who wrote them died almost 100 years ago and 'haunts' the school. (Sorry for long request) A/N: I deviated a little from the request, but I hope you like it!

The night had already came and claimed the land of UA for itself. Shadows overtook the courtyards, and darkness fell across the classrooms, but not everyone had retreated to the safety of their comforters which shielded them from the secrets which the black abyss held so dear.

After a draining day of learning and training, Tokoyami wanted nothing more than to go to sleep- sadly, it was his turn to clean the classroom. It was annoying and boring and he’d give anything to be able to go to sleep, but fair is fair and he wasn’t the tyrannical type.

And so, he washed the windows and wiped down the desks. He swept the floors and organized the textbooks, and he turned to put the broom back into the small closet in the corner of the classroom. With a heavy sigh, Fumikage realized he should probably tidy up the dirty, dust-filled, death trap that was called a broom closet.

Narrowing his eyes at the cobwebs, he started to knock them down with the end of the broomstick (Seriously praying to whatever god there is that no spider fell onto his feathers). The room was in worse condition on closer inspection, it looked like not a soul had thought to clean it since the school was built.

After taking the time to sweep the floors, wipe down the door and the counters, and organize the books, Tokoyami was beyond tired and ready to fall asleep in the still-somehow-dirty closet. No matter how many times he swung at the cobwebs, how many times he picked up the coats and books and papers on the floor, despite the effort he put into tidying up the smallish space, it still seemed to have a weird layer of age coating itself entirely.

The closet felt preserved in time, like the oldness it felt was not just in the items littered about, but in the very walls itself. The things it’s seen, the memories it held, something about the space simply felt... wrong.

He turned to a corner he hadn’t worked on, inwardly groaning at the amount of work he still had to do despite the time of night. With a huff, he began to organize the textbooks and pages of work sprawled around the space.

His hands fell upon and old leather book- very different in both appearance and age when compared to the marble notebooks that surrounded it. Leaning over, he saw ten to fifteen more of there journal like collections shoved deep into the corner of the room.

Tentatively, he peeled open the first book. Looking at the pages, it looked to be the diary of a girl- the beautiful handwriting looked like it belonged to someone who saw the beauty that exists within the written language, someone who stops to smell the flowers, a person who looks at sunsets and bakes goods to say they love you.

The ink that bled onto the early pages spoke of a student, a girl who wanted to be so much more, someone who wanted to save the world. He became enthralled by the speech patterns, the phrases and swirls of the letters drew him closer, enchanting his eyes to never leave the pages.

------

Soon the pages became all he could think about, even after he had to abandon the closet to race to bed. During class all he could think of was the feeling of the crisp paper under his touch. The voices of his friends seemed ugly, seemed to be missing the douse of honesty and beauty he had been exposed to, even when he was practicing all he could focus on was the experiences of the girl who wrote down all her inner thoughts.

It was like she haunted him, appearing everywhere he went. Like she poisoned him, infecting his thoughts and feelings. She became everything to him so soon, every word had him on edge, every sentence a beautiful stream of imagery that he would give nothing but to experiencing along side her, what he wouldn’t give to see the world through her eyes of love.

As the day ended, he had quiet easily convinced Sero that he should take over his night of cleaning. Sure the actual work was quiet annoying, but he would be rewarded with her sweet words, he had left the book in the corner in his rush to get back to his dorm; he regretted his oversight the moment he laid down.

“Tokoyami, wasn’t your cleaning duty last night?” Aizawa asked, his eyes lazy looking up from the papers he was grading to make contact with Fumikage’s red ones.

“Yes sir, it was. I volunteered to take over tonight as well,”

“Mhm, and is there a reason for this?” He raised his eyebrow, dragging his briefcase off the table with him.

“Cleaning helps me think,” this wasn’t a total lie, reading the journal will calm his raging thoughts of the mystery girl.

“Just don’t make a habit of it,” his teacher echoed, not having enough energy to further investigate a seemingly innocent interaction.

Tokoyami was much faster with cleaning that day, and he was even faster to sprint inside the broom closet. He grabbed the leather books and raced back to his room, already feeling the warmth her voice provided.

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

The passages started off innocent enough, complaints about school, fantasizing about a better life, just a teen writing down their emotions. It then morphed into the beauty in everything, words that didn’t release Fumikage’s eyes until they were tearing up from dryness.

Then, things took a darker turn. Dark thoughts disguised in poems, things others have said to her, representation of her pain in drawings scattered throughout the book. The beautiful world- though still majestic in its own way- turned dark and twisted.

It was painful to read, and yet he couldn’t look away. It was like the book became a part of him- no. It was like he became a part of the book, nothing more than the cracked parchment and spilled ink. It was dehumanizing, but he wouldn’t change his position for anything in the world.

His bed was taken over by the old pages, dating back over two hundred years ago. The writer was in the post-quirk awakening. The world had just discovered the glowing child right before she was born. She was one of the first quirk holders in the world- one of the first one hundred Japanese citizens to have a quirk.

The journals started when she was ten- though that book was the fifth one he read. After that discovery, he categorized them in chronological order to read along with the flow of time. She wrote of the manifestation of her quirk- her parents had been struck with terror when their daughter walked through the wall of their living room to get into her bedroom.

That was the first moment she realized how different she is. Her life never seemed to go back to the way it was before, not even after the initial shock of what she could do faded from her parents; because, there would always be a new shock, a new ability, and no one was prepared to help her.

He realized, reading more about how the quirkless treated her, that her life would have been much different is she had lived in his time. Hearing the slurs and bullying they put her through, he wishes she could see how much the world has changed- would she be happy or sad that her bully's became the minority and were mocked in their normal-ness or if she would be ashamed of the people like her.

He was very satisfied that the people who made her life so awful were getting a taste of their own medicine, but he did wonder if that made him a bad person. Tokoyami figures that it really didn’t matter, she was gone so her opinion would never be known.

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

“Death didn’t feel like I thought it would. Surprisingly, it was reminiscent of when I use my quirk to posses things or people. My body was there, on the floor, but I was floating above it. Much like I am when I leave my body before finding my target. The cold was instantly recognizable- like an abyss with no end.

The only difference I’ve noticed so far is the lack of body to return to, though I can enter it, it acts as an object. While I cannot move it, I can see out of it. It’s therapeutic in a way. Really, this must have been the best case scenario- I could see how everyone reacts, see who really cares about me.

It was hard at first, seeing all theses people, who I believed were simply pretending to care, braking down behind closed doors. It was only my sister- whom held no quirk- that cared. She did everything she could to make my funeral how I wanted it, and she preserved my bedroom the way I liked it. That was a nice gesture, it truly was.

Now my life has come to an end- my body buried under ground, never to be seen again- I can’t help but wonder what comes next. How long will I be held in this mortal world? Will others be like me, or will I be forced to live alone in the agonizing realization that comes with immortality? I guess I’ll simply have to wait and see,”

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

He had fallen asleep after reading the last passage in the ninth book- where she described how she stayed a student at UA even after death. The names she referenced had been lost in time- Pro-heroes that have long been dead and are now another name on the Hero Memorial wall.

She had possessed her home room teacher and walked to the headmaster- there she said what had happened. Her headmaster agreed to keep her on as a student, but only under the condition that she wouldn’t unnecessarily possess an unknowing student. It was fair- annoying but fair. They gave her her old desk and she worked along side everyone. When he woke up, the book had moved on its own.

There was a page opened- an elegant scipt sprawllled at the top but had been smuged since it was written- the only elligable part following what could be assumed to be a name: Phatom-- The Ghost Hero. The script was familiar, but it wasn’t the handwriting the rest of the journal was written in. Beneath it was a drawing of a girl- a girl more beautiful than anyone Fumikage had ever seen. It was a realistic depiction and it looked modern- it was only with that realization which led Tokoyomi to realize this journal wasn’t one he had seen before. Flipping through it, he hadn’t even noticed its sudden appearance. It was the newest one of them all- spanning for the last decade. He leaned back in his bed and began,

So I guess it’s been a while huh? Here are some general updates: Shouta from class 2-A is an idiot but I guess he’s kinda cute. We picked out hero names today, I wanted to just keep my name but he dubbed me Phantom.. I called him Eraserhead in return. I hope it sticks.

I’ve graduated from UA more than six times now- but I kinda like it. I do some professional hero work- especially info recall- but I’m worried about how the public will react to a ghost. It would definitely fuck with some peoples religious views.

It’s better this way. I’ve also decided to distance myself from Shinso- she and I got along great, but her twin brother has been acting weirdly around me for a while. His quirk is amazing, but I’ve seen plenty of unstable students pass through these halls and I know enough to keep my distance. Shouta doesn’t seem to agree- neither does Hizashi. I guess only time will tell.

As for manifesting my physical form- it’s a lot harder than I had hoped. I can become visual for three active minutes or ten minutes with no moving. I’m still not touchable, but I hope that will change with time. That’s all for now- I’ll try to check in soon.

He shook his head- surely those names must be common, but she was in UA and only so many coincidences can happen at one time. He wonders how she was now. Mostly, he wonders if she’s still at UA. They hadn’t announced her as a student, so was she a pro hero now?

Was it weird to still be in the body of a sixteen year old? There were so many issues with immortality- he wondered how she coped with it. These questions abused him throughout the morning. He thought of how lonely she must be, how it must be so awful to be all by herself.

He wondered why he cared so much- why had he developed such a strong scene of attachement to this girl? The fuzzy feeling in his chest when he saw the drawing of the girl had taken up his entire mind- he needed to know more.

As soon as he entered his familiar class room he marched straight up to his teachers desk with passion in his eyes- “Professor, can we talk after class? I have some questions I’d like to ask you,”

Aizawa glarred at the corner of the room, an annoyed frown tugging at his lips. This was gonna be a long day.

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

A/N

Sorry for dropping off the planet everyone! This has been in the drafts for a long time and finally gets to see the light of day. I’ve had some mental health issues (not related to this story don’t worry) and am working on myself. I fully intend to finish the Christmas countdown I committed to and this account is still active, but this will remain on the back burner until I am well on my way to recovery. Requests will remain open for the time being and I will continue to make progress. Thank you for the lovely anon’s in my inbox with constant support and requests, I appreciate all of you. Thank you all and I hope you enjoyed this work <3

#boku no hero #boku no hero academia #My Hero #my hero academia #tokoyami fumikage #bnha fumikage #tokoyami x reader #tokoyamifumikage #fumikage x reader #bnha reader insert #bnha x reader #tokoyami fluff

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ibijau · 3 years

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Xue Yang’s Master pt 2 / On AO3

Xue Yang and the wounded boy he rescued make a deal

By the time morning came, Xue Yang was exhausted, but he was alive.

So was the rich kid, sadly.

Not just alive, but his fever had fallen a little. He was also less pale, and seemed to be breathing a little less slowly. When Xue Yang knelt next to the bed and took his wrist to check his pulse, the rich kid opened his eyes and stared at him again.

“Thank you,” he said weakly, which made things rather awkward for Xue Yang who had just figured that he would really have to kill the older boy himself after all. “Thank you, I’ll… I’ll repay you.”

He certainly was going to repay Xue Yang. That sword and the gold guan were going to change his life for good. At the same time, Xue Yang was a little curious what the older boy thought he could offer, in these circumstances.

“Repay me how?” he asked. “Do you have money?”

The rich kid frowned. Through a great effort, he managed to check inside his sleeves, producing only a very small pouch and an elegant fan that would probably be enough for Xue Yang to buy another servant, when he had his farm, or at the very least a strong pair of oxen.

“Money,” the rich kid rasped. “I think… no, I think it’s empty. I spent it all… unreasonable again. But I can… Are you interested in cultivation? I can teach you.”

In spite of himself, Xue Yang perked up at the suggestion. He wasn’t stupid, he knew only very few people had the right disposition to really learn cultivation, and most of those were already born in sects that practiced it. It wasn’t for poor people, cultivation, unless those rich folks took pity of you… or unless they needed new servants for cheap. Everyone knew that Chang Ci’an treated the disciples that didn’t share his blood as little better than slaves, and he wasn’t the only one like that.

Still, Xue Yang had always dreamed that someday, he might make Chang Ci’an pay for his lost finger, and he knew that the only way something like that could happen was if he were to become a cultivator as well… or to have enough money and power to hire one to do the job for him. Sects might be righteous, but rogue cultivators were more bribable, everyone knew that. But if he could save himself the expense by eliminating the middleman…

“You don’t really look like a cultivator,” Xue Yang pointed out, mostly to tease. “And if you’re one, you’re a bad one, getting almost killed and all. Doesn’t sound like you’d make a very good teacher.”

Again, the rich kid frowned. This time, he put a hand on his stomach, a little under where his navel would be.

“Ah… I’m good enough for a golden core, at least,” he sighed. “I… I can’t make you an immortal, that’s certain. But… but if you have the basics down, then a real sect could take you on. They… most of them, they like when part of the job has been done for them.”

“Are you part of a sect?”

The rich kid pinched his lips, staring at Xue Yang for a moment before slowly nodding.

“Can you get me into your sect?” Xue Yang asked. “Then I’d get a proper shizun right away, it’d be better.”

“Not… Not an option. It’s… they’re gone. Everyone's gone, I think.”

“Killed by the Wen?” Xue Yang guessed. He didn’t know a lot about the details of that Sunshot Campaign, nor did anyone who wasn’t a cultivator, but he’d heard rumours that the Wen had slaughtered some of the other sects and that had started it all. But to his surprise, the rich kid shook his head, wincing at his own movement.

“I am a Wen,” he confessed in a low voice. “I… I’m Wen Chao. I have to be.”

Xue Yang looked at the rich kid with wide shocked eyes. Even he knew the name Wen Chao, the second son of Wen Ruohan. Some people said Wen Chao was the one who’d caused the war to start by attacking another sect that had had more allies than he’d realised. More importantly, some people, a lot of people, said that Wen Chao had died about halfway through the war, or even earlier than that.

“You don’t seem too sure of yourself,” Xue Yang remarked with what he thought was great tact.

The alleged Wen Chao blinked a few times, looking worried.

“I’m… I have to be… it makes sense, it’s the only thing that… Everything is so… I can’t make sense of things, but this, it makes sense, it’s the only thing… I have to be, I have to… my head hurts. Can, Can I have something to drink?”

There was a well behind the little house, from which Xue Yang was able to draw water. It didn't smell of anything, and he couldn't see any bugs in it, so it had to be clean enough. The rich kid eagerly drank some, and then passed out again, his fever having returned somewhat.

Xue Yang hesitated. He looked at that sword he'd taken from the older boy, already stained with blood, then at the other boy's face, and sighed. It was a risk, trusting that rich kid, and one he probably shouldn't have taken, not when murder was such a clean and easy option, but…

But even Xue Yang had dreams, and he just couldn’t pass this slim chance of becoming a cultivator.

Although he had little experience taking care of others, Xue Yang did his best in the days that followed. He made sure the rich kid drank plenty, to compensate for what his fever made him sweat, and made him eat a little whenever he woke up, so he'd have strength to heal. For an ordinary person it probably wouldn't have been enough, but cultivators were different. After four days, the rich kid no longer had a fever and although he remained weak, he started being able to sit up and talk.

"Thank you for taking care of me," he told Xue Yang when he was well enough to chat.

Xue Yang, sitting cross-legged next to the bed, shrugged.

"I just did it because you said you'd teach me cultivation. You better not back down on that."

The rich kid pinched his lips, his eyes glancing to the sword that never left Xue Yang now. He then smiled quite peacefully.

"I'll teach you everything I know," the rich kid promised. "But if you're not made for it, it won't do you any good. Give me your hand a moment, so I can check."

Without hesitation, Xue Yang gave his left hand, the right one firmly on the sword's hilt. The rich kid glanced over his missing finger without comment, and inspected his wrist a moment before gently sending some energy through Xue Yang's body. He then gasped in surprise.

"Oh, you'll be good at this if you put in the effort! With a student like you, even I should manage to be a teacher."

He sounded relieved, sincerely so, as if he'd been worried about his capacity to keep his promise. Of course, it was probably just because he realised that Xue Yang, while younger and not a cultivator, wasn't above trying to kill him if he weren't useful enough.

"What's your name?" the rich kid asked.

"I'm Xue Yang. What's yours?"

"I'm Wen Chao. But a disciple should call his master shizun, right? Not that I'm asking you to!" Wen Chao quickly added, glancing at the sword again. "Call me whatever you like, I guess."

“Are you really Wen Chao?” Xue Yang asked. “I’d heard both of Wen Ruohan’s sons had died.”

Wen Chao frowned, his face darkening as he gave that question more consideration than anyone should have done upon being asked to confirm their identity. If he was merely lying, then he wasn’t very good at it.

“Everything is a little confused right now,” Wen Chao admitted, closing his eyes with a pained grimace. “I can’t… I can’t be sure. But I remember… it makes sense. I am from an affluent cultivation family, I know that, know it for sure. I’m a second son, and not… not very favoured by my family. They think… no, they know that my older brother is miles above me in terms of skills. He’s the one everyone likes, with good reasons. And there’s that sword… it’s a Wen sword, I know it is and I had it in hand after… after…”

He paused and licked his lips, closing his eyes tighter while hunching his shoulders.

“It’s the only weapon I had on me, after he attacked me,” he whispered. “That man… I don’t know who, but he hated me, wanted me dead. I know that. Almost did. Almost killed me. It was… I don’t know how I escaped. And I… I think it was about the war.”

Wen Chao reopened his eyes, gazing into the distance.

“Yes, it was about the war,” he said, shivering. “I just know that. I had to die, so the victory could be complete. He needed me gone. So I’m a rich second son of the Wen sect, whose survival could compromise the success of the Sunshot Campaign… who else could I be but Wen Chao?”

Feeling a reaction might be expected of him, Xue Yang shrugged. He didn’t know a lot about the sons of Wen Ruohan, aside from the sort of things that everyone knew. They were spoiled, and they were cruel, one had died at the hands of the terrifying Nie Mingjue who’d put his head on display, the other had… disappeared. Just vanished. There hadn’t even been a body to show off, apparently, because it had been too badly damaged.

All things considered, that was a very odd thing, wasn’t it?

Xue Yang looked carefully at his new teacher. He could well have been a Wen. He did have a northern look to him, so it wasn’t so far-fetched for him to be from that sect. And with all that gold on him… it made some amount of sense. Enough to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least until his memory returned.

“Fine then, shizun,” Xue Yang said. “I guess you’ve got to know better than me. Now, give me a lesson in cultivation. Or are you too tired?”

Wen Chao, who had opened his mouth to protest, quickly closed it again and shook his head with a thin smile.

“No, I’m sure I can handle at least a little.”

Xue Yang grinned, and prepared to listen attentively.

His teacher had better be good and his own progress had better be fast, because between the two of them, Xue Yang was the one with a sword now.

#nie huaisang #xue yang #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #nhs is wc au

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joonie-beanie · 4 years

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Bean (MC) + sexual relationships with the Demon Brothers

This is an HC no one asked for, but here I am, being thirsty as hell for literally every brother, and funneling that thirst through Bean. Don’t judge me

(This time, in reverse order!...because I can! Also these are kind of messily written but I don’t know how to fix it at this point so forgive plz)

Belphegor:

General Vibe: Lowkey and Playful

Notable Kinks: Choking, edging, overstim, marking

Sex between Bean and Belphie is typically lowkey, and a little playful--depending on the mood.

They may be low-energy buddies, but they’re also both brats, which makes for a dangerous combination.

Most soft (aka lazy) sessions start one of two ways--with Belphie’s mouth on Bean’s neck, or Bean’s hand down Belphie’s pants.

Belphie is the first of the brothers to discover how sensitive Bean’s neck is. It happens when they’re cuddling, one day, and he leans in to press a kiss to her shoulder. When she shivers, immediately jerking away from the feeling with a high-pitched gasp? Oh, Belphie is relentless.

He holds her against him sternly, not letting her run away, as he assaults her neck and shoulders with his lips, tongue and teeth. (Over time, he absolutely develops a kink for seeing her covered hickies he has given her, and always wears such a little, shit-eating grin if she appears in a hoodie, or anything else that will hide away her upper torso from prying eyes).

He manages to get hard just from hearing her embarrassing sounds (which she is so desperately trying to stifle), and also the fact that every time she wriggles in his arms, her ass grinds against his cock.

When he’s finally too hard for comfort, he’ll likely take her in either of his two favorite positions. One, with her on her back, and his hand around her throat (she likes being choked, and he likes seeing her lose herself from the lack of blood flow), or two, on her knees, with her chest pressed against the sheets.

Usually, if he’s already pent up, he doesn’t bother edging, or overstimulating her. He’ll just fill Bean with his seed, and flop down onto the sheets, and go back to cuddling her--all blissed out, and tired from the orgasm.

If he feels he can last a while, he’ll likely edge her a few times, just to make her whine, and see if she’ll beg. OR, he’ll make her cum, and then keep going despite how her body is shaking from overstim.

If Bean is the one feeling a little bratty, then she’ll slip her hands beneath the waistband of his pants, and tease him with her fingers. (They both share the role of big spoon, so it’s not strange for her to be able to reach around him, and toy with him like he does her).

Since he never lets her leave without some array of marks littering her neck and shoulders, she makes sure to pay him back--kissing and nipping at his skin until he’s got a few love bites to remember her by.

Bean getting Belphie off with her hand is not very rare. If she’s spooning him, and he’s tired, he has no issue letting her jack him off. However, if he’s not groggy from sleep, he’ll likely turn the tables on her--taking her how he wants, or grabbing her hair and coaxing her head into his lap.

Beel:

General Vibe: Very sweet, or entirely overwhelming (in a good way).

Notable Kinks: Oral, marking, breeding

Bean is honestly a little freaked out by the idea of receiving oral before she meets Beel. She’s embarrassed by the idea of someone camping out between her legs, and it takes a little bit of convincing on Beel’s part before she finally allows him to taste her.

Once he does, he can’t stop, and Bean learns just how pleasurable (and damning) oral sex can be. Because with Beel, once is never good enough. The first time he goes down on her, she has to beg him to stop--her body shaking from overstim, and covered in sweat. She has no idea how long he’s spent with his mouth on her pussy, but it’s at least been an hour, and he still looks so hungry.

Beel is someone very close to her heart, and has helped her learn to love many of her insecurities, so he loves to have soft, caring sex with her. Sex where Bean whispers praises into his skin, and he mirrors her sentiments via soft touches with his hands, and mouth.

He takes her in a position where he’s guaranteed to face her--where she can cradle his face, and kiss him over and over again as they both fall apart. When she finally cums, she does so while gasping his name, with her fingers digging into his shoulder blades. And when Beel cums, he buries his face in the crook of her neck and bites down on her skin--hard enough to leave marks, but not draw blood.

She spends her post orgasm bliss tucked into his arms, with her back against his chest, and his lips pressed into her hair. He likes to stay inside of her as long as possible--until he eventually goes soft, and his cum starts leaking out of her.

Of course...sometimes Beel can’t help but be a bit rougher--to crave a little more. He is a demon, after all.

So, when Beel isn’t feeling so soft, he tends to manhandle her. His strength is already known by her--after all, he can carry her with little effort, whereas most humans would struggle to even lift her into a hug--but it never fails to surprise her when he throws her onto the bed, or hikes her up against the wall without batting an eye. (It’s such a turn on).

When Beel’s in a more carnal mood, Bean resigns herself to just being along for the ride. She lets him take her however he wants, as long as he wants. While he has never admitted it, she’s positive he has a bit of a breeding kink, because he loves to go multiple rounds, and makes sure she’s taking as much of his seed as she can.

When he’s in this state, he tends to leave more marks, as well. Most notably on her thighs, tummy, and chest.

Once things finally calm down, he’ll make sure she’s alright, and clean her up before holding her for as long as he can.

Oh, also, Bean does reciprocate oral for him. However, Beel is big and her jaw hurts if it’s open too wide, so if she ever starts to ache, Beel is more than happy to use her in other ways instead (Bean honestly feels so lucky that he’s so understanding).

Asmo:

General Vibe: Fun, and uplifting.

Notable Kinks: Edging, overstim, toys, praise kink

Bean is actually more comfortable being dominant with Asmo, than she is subbing.

Asmodeus has a huge praise kink--both giving and receiving, and Bean is more than happy to feed into that--telling him about all his good points while she jacks/sucks him off, or even pegs him.

And, of course, Asmo is more than happy to be submissive to her. She’s not a hard dom by any means, but she can be a bit sadistic (he honestly thinks it stems from her bratty submissive side), and does enjoy edging him, and watching him beg.

It’s actually exciting to Bean to be able to dominate someone and not feel completely self conscious about it. Asmo is really great at reassuring her-- since he’s not afraid to be vocal, or ask for more. It lets Bean know he’s enjoying himself, and helps build her confidence.

Once Asmo finally gets off, he refuses to let Bean leave without having her own orgasm (even if she assures him she’s okay. He’s the Avatar of Lust--there’s no way in hell he’s not going to return the pleasure she has just given him).

So, when Asmo is trying to repay her actions, he tends to get her off with a vibrating wand (the two absolutely include toys in their play regularly), or with his mouth. Bean gets turned on from fucking him, so she gets off fairly quickly once its her turn.

However, just because Bean dom’s Asmo, doesn’t mean he’s always submissive. Oh no, sometimes, he loves flustering her and taking the reins. (And it really does fluster her. Too much).

While Asmo has a huge praise kink, and soaks up all of her kind words, Bean has no idea how to handle his praise towards her, and usually just turns into a whining mess, begging him to shut up. (Of course, Asmo is pretty relentless, and doesn’t stop until she’s a complete mess from his words).

Sessions with Asmo are usually a fair amount of time, since he really likes to indulge himself in the act, but they don’t unnecessarily drag on. He knows that he and Bean both have other things to get to, and doesn’t feel the need to keep her around him after their love making. No, he makes sure she’s okay, gives her whatever amount of aftercare she needs, and then the two go on their merry way.

Although…there are the rare times where Asmo keeps her there the entire day. While his powers don’t work on her, that doesn’t mean he can’t find a good substitute (aka sometimes, with her consent, they’ll mess around with giving her an aphrodisiac). Whenever Bean takes the aphrodisiac, it’s typically a very intense experience, so they don’t do it often. But when they do? Oh man, Asmo is in love.

Satan:

General Vibe: Unhurried, light-hearted (and sometimes ruining)

Notable Kinks: Pet play, Training

Because Satan is aware of Bean’s writing habits, and has taken to proofing her work for her, the two of them casually speak of sex often, which turns into...well, actual sex between them.

Satan finds it quite cute that despite the smut she writes, Bean doesn’t have a ton of experience to back it up. So, he devotes himself to kindly helping her gain some experience (at least at first).

It starts with oral training--Satan giving Bean pointers on giving head (ya know...so she can write it with a clearer picture/experience in mind). Bean...doesn’t have the best gag reflex, hence the “training”. Satan pretty much takes it upon himself to help her tame her reflex (for the most part--after all, making her gag sometimes is still fun).

Of course...he enjoys this arrangement more than he cares to admit, and he soon breaks down, wanting more. The first time he throws Bean onto his bed and cages her down, all red in the face as he asks if he can have her--oof. She’ll never forget it. And, well, Bean has been a little...pent up, even if she won’t admit it (since blowing Satan actually turns her on a lot), so she’s more than happy to let things progress farther.

Following the broadening of their sexual relationship, Satan takes to, well, training her in other ways. Particularly...through light forms of pet play. So maybe he has a collar and leash, and a cat tailed butt plug. And maybe every time he puts them on/in Bean, it makes her blush so red, and in turn makes him grin so proudly. (He is, after all, the Avatar of Wrath. It’s in his nature to be a little mean).

Their overall play doesn’t get extremely rough. Most of the time, it’s middle ground--rough enough to satisfy them both, without being too intense.

However, sometimes Satan does get a little...feral for lack of a better term. Especially if she’s being a little too bratty, and he’s not in the mood for it. When that happens, Satan gets rough--taking 100% control of the situation. He’ll tease her about how her bratty remarks are nowhere to be found, now that he’s absolutely ruining her.

Once Satan has finally had his fill, though, he’ll be sure to clean her up, and check on her--asking if she’s alright, and bringing her water, and whatever else she may need.

Overall, though, usually sex between the two is very casual, and unhurried. Bean feels comfortable with Satan, especially because they can still talk/banter like normal, even if her mouth is on him, or if he’s inside of her.

Also, Satan won’t admit it, but he’s pretty invested in seeing how else he can train her. His next goal is getting her to cum on command.

Levi:

General Vibe: needy, intense, competitive

Notable Kinks: DP, oral, thigh fucking

The first time the two have sex, it’s because Levi get’s frustrated over the fact that she’s kicking his ass at Mario Kart. He goes demon form, and Bean attempts to calm him down by pressing her hands to his chest, and kissing him.

It actually makes his brain blue screen for a few seconds, before he’s dragging her over to his tub. He’s hesitant, at first, but with Bean’s reassurance that she’s fine, and that she wants him, he eventually gives into his desires and stops worrying so much.

And the minute Levi subconsciously begins using his tail to hold her down, or aid in the sex, and realizes that she loves it. Damn. 90% of the time he’s in his demon form when they have sex, because his tail is sensitive and he absolutely will use it on her so long as she permits it.

Sometimes, he only uses it to hold her wrists, or spread her legs, but other times he basically uses it as a second dick and wow, he’s super weak watching Bean fall apart as he fucks two of her holes open.

And Bean, despite her embarrassment, allows herself to be a little vocal for Levi, because it gives him the reassurance that he so desperately needs, and she loves seeing him confident, and using her to seek what he wants.

Levi tends to lose himself, when he’s really having fun. At first, he may be cautious about what he’s doing, but once he really starts feeling good, and realizes that he’s making Bean feel good, he lets his worries go.

And when that happens, he can go for a while. Like, Bean about to pass out but he’s still hard despite having cum in her twice while. However, Levi doesn’t get like that too often. Usually he’s happy with one, good, satisfying round of sex (and so is Bean). But...they both definitely enjoy it when things do get a little more intense.

Also, Bean blowing/jacking off Levi while he’s playing video games is 100% a thing. Most of the time he manages to keep playing, but eventually ends up pausing the game when he’s close to cumming and can’t focus anymore.

In turn, if the two are playing a game together, and Bean is winning...maybe Levi lets his demon form come forth, and lets his tail wind up her leg. And when the appendage starts groping her, it’s very hard to stay focused.

ALSO, Bean is not big into cosplay, or roleplay, but...she’ll wear a mini skirt and thigh highs for Levi. Asmo buys Bean a maid costume from Akuzon and when Levi sees her in it...and the SQUISHY ANIME GIRL THIGH LINE HE SO DEARLY LOVES...he awakens something within himself.

So yes, upon occasion, when Levi can’t stop staring at her thighs, or if she’s wearing something that draws attention to them, he’ll absolutely just thigh fuck her. It makes him weak.

Mammon:

General Vibe: Teasing, bratty

Notable Kinks: Oral, Anal, Edging

Mammon is a tsundere but Bean is a brat...and sometimes they don’t mix well.

But, Mammon is the avatar of Greed, and he’s greedy with Bean, and wants the same thing she’s willing to offer his brothers (with her consent, obviously, he’s not an asshole). Luckily, despite their inherent natures, it still works.

And by work, 90% of the time that means “Mammon whines about wanting intimacy, and Bean gives him exactly what he wants, only for him to get flustered by it”. But...she kind of likes seeing him all blushy, and honestly, as long as Mammon is getting his rocks off in the end, he can get over being embarrassed.

Typically, their sessions start one of two ways. 1. Mammon is just craving her affection, and at some point shared hugs and kisses progress into hands under clothes, and breathy moans. Or 2. Mammon sees traces of his brothers “love” on her, and he sits in the corner and pouts about it until a. Bean goes over and coaxes him out of his mood, or b. Mammon takes things into his own hands.

If Mammon is just craving affection, then he’ll likely saddle up next to her, and grumble while wrapping his arms around her. But...his hugs will turn into groping, and his lips will find hers, or sensitive areas of skin to tease. And then he’s grumbling about how she’s his, as their bodies press together--making Bean aware of the fact that he’s definitely hard.

And once he’s hard, and Bean is making little sounds that has him knowing she’s feeling good too, well...Mammon grins and gets to it.

He prefers to take her from behind, because that way he can grab her ass ( and he loves her ass. Like...he’s weak for anal with her. They don’t have it all the time, but sometimes. As a special treat).

The first few times they fuck, Mammon cums before her, and while she reassures him that she’s fine not cumming, Mammon doesn’t want to be one of, if not the only, brother who hasn’t made her cum, so. He steps up his game. Now, he always has them cum together, if not her first.

At least...that’s how it goes when he’s the one being more dominant. Because Bean loves to tease him, especially when he’s already blushy, and flustered.

During the times where she takes charge, she’ll slip into her bratty nature as she teases him with dirty remarks while taking his cock into her hand, or mouth. And Mammon does his best not to fall apart as she brings him to the edge one, twice, and again, until he’s cursing and begging for her to let him cum already. And she always does--but hey, a girl has to have her fun first right?

Lucifer:

Overall Vibe: Intimate, Sadistic (surprise surprise)

Notable Kinks: Bondage, Spanking, Denial

Once Bean finally gets over emotional constipation, and the two realize they do, indeed, reciprocate each other's feelings, well...sex is kind of enivitable (not that either of them mind).

At first, their sex is very intimate, and needy. Bean is a mixture of embarrassed and excited, whereas Lucifer feels he needs to catch up for lost time--to stake his equal claim to her as his brothers have. He works quickly while reassuring her of his feelings--drowns them both in their pleasure until the cravings they’ve held onto for so long are thoroughly spent.

Then...once things have calmed down, things get a little more...spicy.

Whereas before, Lucifer may have just scolded Bean for making a bratty comment. Well...now he can reprimand her in other ways.

While Lucifer isn’t big on leaving hickies, or bite marks like some of his brothers, he has no issue bending her over the desk in his study, and reddening her ass and thighs (he prefers to use his hand, but if he’s feeling particularly mean, he may pull out the whip he so dearly loves). And for what it’s worth, Bean enjoys it--she wouldn’t be bratty to him otherwise (and, of course, Lucifer wouldn’t spank her to begin with if she wasn’t getting something out of it as well).

Aside from this, Lucifer has taken to using his rope skills on her--but in ways far more enjoyable than he uses on Mammon. Likeeeee...tying her hands behind her back and having her service him while he works. Orrrrr...putting her in a pretty body harness, because he enjoys seeing the way it accentuates her (and he likes seeing rope marks as well). Oh, and you can’t forget tying her down on his bed so he’s truly in 100% control.

One of Lucifer’s favorite things to do is tie her up, and then deny her. Time and time again, until she’s quite literally begging--letting go of her mental restraints in order to plead for her orgasm. Watching her fall apart for him is his delight, and only once he’s satisfied with how helpless she has become, does he allow her to cum.

Of course, sex with Lucifer isn’t always so intense, or sadistic. No, the man is busy, and sometimes Bean just wants to help him unwind. So, she’ll take it upon herself to settle between his legs and get him off with her mouth and hands. Or, she’ll snuggle up to him in bed, and if she feels him getting hard, she’ll just kiss him and ask if he wants her to take the reins for the night (which usually means riding him, while he holds her hips--only helping her out when she gets close and can barely move anymore).

And they both love the soft, intimate sessions as much as they do the ones where Lucifer gets Bean so desperate that tears prick her eyes.

Lucifer is very good about aftercare, though, especially when he’s been quite mean. He’ll clean her up and kiss her hair and bring her water. Oh, and of course she’ll be staying with him for the night--with his arm draped over her waist, or his wings curled around her. (Like she’d even try to leave…)

#Bean #aksjdhsjakld I tried to just go over some main points and didn't want to make them terribly long but #*touchy fingers* if anyone has questions about certain dynamics plz feel free to ask!!#obey me mc #om!#obey me

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rafael-silva · 3 years

Text

Gravitate Towards You: A Tarlos Fic

TK has a tiring shift, filled with the echo of the bell, sending them to one call after another. Whether at the firehouse or at home, Carlos is always there for TK. And after all, is there any better place to fall asleep than on your love's lap after a hectic twenty-four hour shift?

for the good things happen bingo prompt: tarlos + falling asleep on their lap

established tk strand/carlos reyes, hurt/comfort, emotional/hurt comfort, hugs, kisses, tk strand needs a hug, carlos gives him all the hugs, softness, protective carlos reyes

3.7k | on ao3

*****

Carlos wakes up to a quiet house. He stifles a yawn, eyes still closed as he rolls over onto his right side, reaching out but is met with coldness when his hand falls onto the sheet. He peels one eyelid open and squints, not yet accustomed to the sunlight seeping into his bedroom through the blinds. It takes his mind a few seconds to catch up. Right, it’s his day off and TK is on a twenty-four hour shift, which after checking the clock on the nightstand, Carlos figures there’s still a little over twelve hours left in said shift.

They have days like these, where either their shifts don’t align or one of them has a day off while the other works. It’s not bad, though, it gives the chance for whoever isn’t working to really pamper and take care of the other when he’s home from a long day. Whether it’s drawing a warm bath or making a nice dinner, it’s always a treat to come home to. Something they look forward to after their hectic shifts.

Carlos remembers a couple of times he would come home to TK having cooked him dinner, usually something simple and straightforward, but with the firefighter’s track record in the kitchen, Carlos is always more than grateful for TK’s effort.

It’s a good thing you’re a firefighter, Carlos had playfully teased his boyfriend. You know, in case a spontaneous fire would erupt in the kitchen.

TK had rolled his eyes with a chuckle. Very funny, TK had replied, lightly pushing Carlos’s shoulder with his own. You do have a point, though.

But seriously, thank you, Carlos had said sincerely, it means a lot.

The meal was delicious, and Carlos was almost certain TK was on the phone with Grace the entire time he was cooking. But it was still TK’s cooking and effort.

You know you’re much better in the kitchen than you think you are, Carlos had told him. You have a lot of potential.

TK had blushed at the compliment, really glad that Carlos was enjoying the meal.

Back in his bed, Carlos smiles at the memory and moves to grab his phone, unplugging it and finding a text from TK.

TK: [2:07 AM] Just got back from a call. It was a tough one but everything turned out okay. Gonna get some sleep before the bell goes off again. Hope you’re sleeping well babe.

Carlos’s heart drops slightly at the first half of the text. He knows how hard TK takes rough calls and he wishes more than ever he could wrap his boyfriend in his arms and comfort him. He also knows TK has a strong support system at the 126, they’re family, so he’s positive TK is in good hands. He just wishes he could see TK and make sure he’s okay for himself.

He types a reply.

Carlos: [8:29 AM] Good morning, baby. I’m sorry to hear about the call, are you doing okay? I hope you managed to get some sleep. Sending you lots of hugs until I see you.

Carlos didn’t expect to get a reply within minutes. He had hoped that TK was getting some much-needed sleep.

He had just opened the blinds letting sun directly into the bedroom when his phone pings.

TK: [8:31 AM] Morning babe. Got a couple of hours of sleep but the bell had other plans, been in and out of the firehouse from then. It’s one of those shifts. On the way back now from another call. I’m okay, just smokey and super tired. Can’t wait to see you.

Carlos: [8:33 AM] Please be careful. A warm shower should help and try napping for a while. I can’t wait to see you too, baby.

Carlos was aware he was slipping to Protective Boyfriend Mode, but he couldn’t help it. Especially knowing that TK is running on very little sleep in such a hectic shift.

TK’s next reply confirms he, too, noticed Carlos’s protectiveness.

TK: [8:34 AM] I’ll be fine, don’t worry. A shower and a nap are definitely in order.

Carlos: [8:35 AM] I always worry. Get some rest, babe. Call me anytime.

TK smiles at Carlos’s text.

“Lover boy?” He hears Marjan tease, sitting across from him.

TK suspects the goofy smile on his face answers her probably rhetorical question because Marjan is smirking.

He looks up to see the truck pulling into the firehouse. He locks his phone, pocketing it and hopping out after Marjan and Paul. He stretches, his muscles really having a field day, carrying a slight ache as he moves.

“I’m gonna take a shower and hopefully nap before,” TK says, gesturing to the air around them, “you know, it goes off again.”

Judd clasps him on the shoulder as he walks past him, TK nodding at Owen as he makes his way towards the showers.

He turns the knob and water comes splashing down and he savors the feeling of the droplets rolling down his skin. The hot water relaxes his muscles and he stands under the spray for longer than strictly necessary to get clean yet he doesn’t move. Only when the water starts to get cooler than he shuts it off, changes into a clean uniform and walks into the bunk room. He looks at his bed and smiles when he sees Buttercup stretched out on the covers.

“Hey, boy,” TK calls out as he walks over.

Buttercup’s head shoots up at the sound of TK’s voice and he smiles at his favorite human, getting excited as TK gets closer.

TK ruffles Buttercup’s fur as the dog moves to make space for TK and TK sighs as his body finally hits the soft mattress, the tension seeping out of his skin.

Buttercup lays his head on TK’s stomach as the firefighter absentmindedly runs his fingers through the dog’s thick strands. He closes his eyes and he drifts off in no time.

*****

Carlos decides to make tamales for dinner, knowing they always bring a smile to TK’s face and happiness to his stomach. After having breakfast and his coffee, he quickly checks around his kitchen for the ingredients, but noticing he doesn’t have a few things, decides he’ll stop by the market. And then surprise TK at the firehouse. With the day his boyfriend is having, Carlos wants to do anything to cheer him up. And he also really needs to see TK for himself and hold him, needs to make sure he’s okay. He just hopes they won’t be out on a call when he arrives. Still, though, he’ll wait. He’ll wait for as long as it takes to see TK.

He tidies up around the house for a while before heading out, making the bed and putting on a load of laundry. Once he’s satisfied, he checks his email, answering the new ones that he’s received and then out of habit, double-checks his schedule.

It’s nearing eleven when he decides to head out, changing into a t-shirt and jeans and comfortable shoes. He gets an idea as he picks up his phone, keys and wallet.

He’ll be done at the market by twelve-thirty, and he’ll be at the firehouse by one, and that gives him the idea to cook lunch for the 126. Or whatever mean they’re meant to be having depending on who was sleeping when.

He’s almost positive none of them had a decent thing to eat all shift, between the number of calls they got and trying to sleep in between, he senses none of them had the heart or energy to cook. So they’re either snacking or eating fruit whenever they can, anything that’s easy and quick. And Carlos’s mom always told him that a tough day without at least good food is just pure wrong.

Nodding to himself, he adds a few more items to his mental list of groceries and closes the door behind him.

*****

TK doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep when the all-too familiar bell rings across the house. He gets out of bed, his body working on autopilot and thanks to muscle memory, he’s jumping into the truck in record time. He stops a yawn and wipes the sleep from his eyes, slipping into firefighter mode. He’s alert and ready when the truck comes to a halt at their scene.

*****

Disappointment sets into Carlos’s gut when he parks around the firehouse and sees that the truck isn’t there. And then he spots Buttercup sitting by the bay doors and remembers TK mentioning that the dog sits there while the team is out on a call. Buttercup gets up when he sees Carlos, no doubt happy about a familiar face and trots to the cop.

Carlos smile, leaning down to pat the dog’s head. “Hey, buddy.”

Buttercup gives him a smile and then turns to face the street.

Carlos follows Buttercup’s gaze. “They’re out, huh?” He finds himself also staring into the distance. He snaps himself back.

“Think they’d be up for a surprise?” Carlos asks.

Buttercup turning his head to the side in amusement is all the answer Carlos needs. He chuckles.

“Come on, let's make some food.”

The word food catches the dog’s attention and then he’s following Carlos into the house and into the kitchen. Buttercup sits by the island as Carlos starts gathering pans and opening the fridge to survey what they already have in the firehouse. He can work with what he finds and what he bought from the market.

*****

“Well, that took forever,” TK sighs, getting off the truck and taking his turnout coat off.

“That was an hour, max,” Judd replies.

“Yeah, well, felt like forever. This whole shift feels like it's taking forever.”

“Amen,” Paul nods.

They all file into the house, leaving TK standing outside and he fishes for his phone in his pocket. He wants to send Carlos a text to update him, but Judd calls his name before he can start typing.

“Hey, TK!”

“Yeah?” TK responds, holding his phone that’s opened to his chat with Carlos and walks into the house. The moment the delicious smell hits his senses, he immediately knows.

He quickly makes his way to the kitchen where his eyes confirm what he already knew, and his heart swells in his chest with so much love it could burst.

“Carlos,” TK breaths out, a smile growing on his face at the sight.

“Hey, baby,” Carlos replies, walking through the crew to get to TK.

The taller man wastes no time in wrapping his arms around his boyfriend, and TK quite literally falls against Carlos’s strong chest. Carlos supports most of TK’s weight, holding him tighter and TK pushes his face into Carlos’s neck. The sound of the crew chatting the background fades away, and in this moment, it’s just TK and Carlos.

“You’re here,” TK whispers, as if he were afraid he was imagining Carlos, but the steady grip and sturdy form tell him its anything but his imagination.

“I am,” Carlos nods, moving slightly to plant a kiss to TK’s temple.

TK hums happily.

“Needed to see you and make sure you were okay,” Carlos continues.

“Needed you,” TK says.

“I’m here.”

They stay like that for a few moments longer, until TK is pulling back and green irises meet brown, and they understand. They speak volumes without uttering a word. It’s comfort, it’s safety, it’s reassurance. It’s love.

Carlos closes the gap between them with a soft kiss brushed against TK’s lips.

Buttercup walks over to them, looking up between the two men, and sensing his presence, TK looks down.

“Looks like someone wants attention, too,” Carlos chuckles.

TK leans down and kisses Buttercup’s head and then gives him a hug, which satisfies the dog.

It’s TK who chuckles now when his stomach growls. He looks back up at Carlos. “It smells so good.”

“Let’s eat,” Carlos smiles.

Just as he’s moving away, TK catches his hand and Carlos turns to look at TK.

“Hey, thank you. For being here, and for the food. But mostly for being here,” TK expresses.

Carlos replies by raising their joined hands and kissing TK’s knuckles.

“It’s nothing fancy,” Carlos address the group, “just spaghetti with red sauce and chicken, but I knew you’re having a hell of a shift and didn’t want you to worry about cooking on top of that, so…”

“Bless you, Reyes,” Judd says. “Thank you, brother.”

“You,” Owen starts, walking over to Carlos and patting him on the shoulder, “are a good man, Carlos.”

“It was nothing, really. I’m happy to do it,” Carlos replies.

Next thing, everyone is reaching for plates and serving food for each other. Carlos steps outside of the kitchen area and TK joins him.

“This means a lot,” TK says, looking at Carlos with a silver sparkle in his eyes.

“Lunch?” Carlos smirks.

TK playfully rolls his eyes. “The thought,” he raises his eyebrow.

“It really was nothing. It dawned on me when I was leaving to get things for our dinner tonight, I thought you all need it.”

“We do,” TK nods. “I feel like we’re borrowing energy from each other at this point.”

Carlos nods, understanding. “I get it.”

“What’s for dinner tonight?” TK asks.

“That’s a surprise,” Carlos wiggles his eyebrows.

“You’re full of surprises today, aren’t you?” TK teases.

“Always, Tiger,” Carlos leans in and kisses TK’s cheek. “Now let’s get you a plate before there’s nothing left.”

“This is incredibly good,” Paul speaks. “You’re a lucky man, TK.”

“That I am,” TK responds with a wide smile.

Carlos looks at him with so much admiration and affection, TK’s heart skips a beat.

They’re all chatting in separate groups, occasionally bouncing between the different conversations when the bell goes off.

There’s a simultaneous groan as they get to their feet in union.

“At least we got to eat,” TK shrugs, following.

Carlos stands up, giving TK a hug. “I’ll go to my mom’s and then head home to make dinner.”

TK nods, holding onto Carlos. “Tell her I said hi. And I’ll update you.”

“Please be careful,” Carlos repeats from earlier in the day.

TK pulls back, gives him a smile and seals the promise with a gentle kiss to Carlos’s lips.

“I’ll see you at home,” TK says as he walks towards the truck.

Carlos stands in his place, eventually hearing the sirens wail and slowly, their sound gets lower and lower until he’s engulfed in silence.

He didn’t want to let go of TK, he wanted to keep him safe and sound, but he knew TK had to go, that it’s TK’s job to go, and TK is damn good at his job. Carlos wholeheartedly trusts that, but the truth is, every time he holds TK, it gets a little harder to let him go.

He draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

He looks at Buttercup to see him lying on the floor with his head settled on his paws.

“Come on, Buttercup. Let’s tidy up.”

The dog is happy to be included.

Carlos packs the leftover food and stores it in the fridge, then moves to wash the dishes and puts them on the rack to dry. He looks around the living area, the couch pillows thrown around haphazardly and realizes the tv is still turned on. He swiftly moves around, putting everything into order and switching off the tv. Satisfied, he starts making his way to his car.

Buttercup follows him until he’s at the bay doors.

“I’ll see you soon,” Carlos ruffles Buttercup’s fur.

Buttercup gives him a smile.

*****

True to his word, TK texts Carlos when he has the chance. Carlos is still at his mother’s house, sitting on her porch, enjoying the sun while nursing a cool glass of freshly-squeezed lemonade.

He reaches for his phone when it pings next to him on the table.

TK: [4:19 PM] Hey, babe. Back at the firehouse, safe and sound. Got called to another scene after that call without coming back to the house.

TK: [4:20 PM] And thank you for cleaning up. The guys were worrying about that and trying to decide who will end up taking care of it on the way back. But then, well, I have the most amazing boyfriend. *heart emoji*

Carlos smiles at TK’s messages and starts typing back his reply.

Carlos: [4:21 PM] Glad you’re safe and okay, baby. And it was nothing, I’m happy to help in any way. I’m the lucky one here.

They exchanged a few quick texts until TK tells Carlos he’s going to shower and nap again.

“Tyler?” Carlos’s mom asks, already knowing the answer from the smile drawn on her son’s face.

Carlos chuckles, nodding. “He’s still on shift, it’s been a rough one.”

“Is he okay?” She asks, concern coating her voice.

Carlos nods. “He is, he’s really tired. But hopefully good food and some rest will help.”

“Si, mijo. Those are the two main ingredients for feeling better,” she smiles.

Carlos gets up, taking his mom’s empty glass.

“I learned that from the best,” he leans down, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “More lemonade?”

*****

TK and Carlos’s texts go quiet as the hours pass by. Carlos had left his mom’s house soon after they shared their refilled lemonade glasses and he got to cooking dinner as soon as he arrived home. Carlos had sent the firefighter a text telling him he was home and waiting for him, with no reply until now.

Carlos hopes that TK is sleeping rather than being on a call.

He’s sitting back on the couch, mindlessly watching a movie on tv when his phone pings next to him. It’s only then he notices the time, and realizes TK’s shift just ended.

TK: [9:06 PM] Waiting for the Uber, babe. Can’t wait to see you.

Carlos smiles as he writes back.

Carlos: [9:07 PM] Can’t wait to see you too, baby. Waiting for you.

The firehouse is about twenty-five minutes away from Carlos’s place, so that gives Carlos enough time to add the finishing touches to the tamales so they’re ready once TK walks through the door.

Just as he calculated, Carlos hears keys jiggling on the other side of the door that’s being pushed open a second later, and walks in his boyfriend. His beautiful, loving and absolutely exhausted boyfriend who looks like he’s about five seconds away from falling asleep, even if it’s while standing up.

Carlos walks to him as TK drops his keys on the table near the door.

“Welcome home, Tiger,” Carlos smiles, engulfing TK in a gentle yet anchoring hug.

“Hey, babe,” TK replies, his voice a little muffled by Carlos’s t-shirt.

“I got you,” Carlos whispers, feeling TK lean heavily against him and holds him tighter in response.

“You always do,” TK whispers back, slightly moving his face so he can press a kiss to the side of Carlos’s neck.

“And I always will,” Carlos promises. “As much as I’m enjoying holding you, baby, you need to eat. Dinner is ready.”

TK nods, pulling back. “Just let me change real quick.”

“Take your time,” Carlos answers, brushing a soft kiss to TK’s lips.

TK returns a few minutes later, wearing Carlos’s Police Academy hoodie and comfortable black sweats. He sees Carlos is done placing everything on the dining table and joins his boyfriend.

“I feel like I don’t say it enough, but I’m really so lucky to have you,” TK says, giving Carlos a tired, but genuine and loving smile. “You take such good care of me.”

“You take very good care of me, too,” Carlos replies. “We take care of each other. And I feel just as lucky to have you.”

TK’s stomach rumbles at the sight and smell of the tamales, and Carlos chuckles and holds TK’s plate, placing the heavenly smelling food on it and giving it back to the younger man.

“You knew tamales would help, didn’t you?”

Carlos’s response is wiggling his eyebrows.

They eat mostly in comfortable silence, TK updating Carlos about the calls they got every now and then around mouthfuls of tamales. Once they’re done, TK moves to sit on the couch while Carlos stores the leftovers and puts them in the fridge. He then moves around the couch, placing his hands on TK’s shoulders and drops a kiss to TK’s head.

“Bed?” TK shakes his head, lifting his hand to clasp Carlos’s on his shoulder. “Want to sit with you for a while before sleeping.”

TK pulls on Carlos’s arm, and the taller man understands. He walks around the couch and falls back on the cushion next to TK. TK immediately gravitates towards Carlos and lets his head rest on Carlos’s shoulder. Carlos wraps an arm around TK, holding him close. Carlos tenderly kisses TK’s temple.

Slowly, TK starts to move his body as sleep begins to pull at him more and more. Eventually, he ends up lying on his side with his head settled on Carlos’s lap. TK relaxes, his muscles feeling like jelly against the couch, and the reassuring and present grounding touch of Carlos’s hand as it caresses up and down TK’s back is the final element that lulls him to sleep.

TK drifts off, feeling safe and secure in his love’s hold.

A few minutes pass by until Carlos realizes that TK has fallen asleep. A smile tugs on his face as he keeps moving his hand, knowing how much it comforts TK and from how peaceful his face is looking right now compared to how Carlos has seen TK all day, Carlos knows it’s exactly what TK needs.

Carlos decides to let TK sleep like this for some more time while making sure TK’s neck isn’t at an awkward angle and won’t strain. Because TK’s presence next to him, the even breaths TK draws in and lets out, the weight of TK’s head on his lap, it’s grounding for Carlos, too. It’s grounding that he needs, as well.

And Carlos wouldn’t change this moment for anything in the world. Because TK is here, TK is safe, TK is in his arms.

Yeah, he wouldn’t change this for anything.

85 notes · View notes

thetomorrowshow · 3 years

Text

unless you take your army back ch. 4

First - Previous - Next - Read on AO3!

okay so I’m moving to college this week!!! My updates will probably be delayed or sporadic until I figure out my schedule, but I will definitely not stop writing :)

cw: temporary paralysis, blood, injuries

Crutchie twitched into wakefulness when he heard noise, and was almost instantly annoyed. Had he slept right through the whole day? He’d wanted to practice walking some more before anyone got back, had only been planning on napping for a few minutes. With the commotion around him, it sounded like everyone was already returning.

Crutchie cracked open his eyes to see Jack, sitting in that chair that he’d taken over for the past week. He was drawing something, the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth.

Around the room were a few of the guys--Mush, Blink, Buttons, Henry, Romeo. Romeo had been returning home earlier than normal, falling right into bed and lying there until Jack made him leave so Crutchie could redress his wounds. In moments of quiet, when Jack was dozing in his chair, Romeo would creep over to Crutchie’s side and whisper about how badly his head was pounding, how he felt dizzy and tired. His head had been hit pretty hard in the riot, so it wasn’t exactly surprising. The others were all still nursing various bruises and scrapes.

Jack looked up now, dropping his art as he saw Crutchie was awake. He looked bad, to be honest--his hair was sticking up awkwardly under his cap, eyes swollen and face grimy. Crutchie didn’t ask about it, just nodded to him.

“Hey, Crutchie,” Jack sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “How ya feelin’?”

Crutchie shoved away the irritation at being asked that again. Did Jack expect his answer to change just because he took a nap? He ignored the question, stretching out a little bit, relieved to find that stretching almost felt good.

“Romeo,” Crutchie called past Jack. A hand lifted from Romeo’s bunk. “How’s ya head?”

“Better ‘n better,” Romeo called back. “Think I’s just about good as new!”

Crutchie wished he could say the same. He felt like he was going to fall apart every moment he was awake, and even some of those when he was asleep. He hadn’t been having nightmares, exactly--just a vague sense of fear, death around the corner. Exactly like how the Refuge had felt. Maybe that did count as a nightmare, even if he never saw anything.

“Crutchie, I gotta have a meetin’ with the boys,” Jack interrupted his thoughts. “I didn’t wanna leave afore you woke, or wake you up. I brought ya a sandwich, here.” Jack handed him a small bundle of paper, presumably wrapping a sandwich. Then he left the room, beckoning for the other boys to follow without even letting Crutchie thank him. Romeo groaned, but rolled out of bed and followed.

They were going to have a newsies meeting . . . without him?

Crutchie frowned as he unwrapped the sandwich. He really wasn’t all that hungry, despite the only thing he’d ingested being the coffee from this morning. He was still a newsie, even if he couldn’t do the job lately. Wasn’t he?

This . . . this hurt, more than the stinging lashes on his back, more than the sharp pain in his chest when he breathed, more than the sickly aching of his bad leg. He’d been present for every newsie meeting ever since he started living here, and they were just going to have one without him?

Jack had always made sure to include him in everything. Even when some of the other guys didn’t make the effort, Jack did. And now Jack was purposefully excluding him. Just because--because, what, he couldn’t walk? That had never changed anything.

He really had to get back to work. Soon. They had to be leaving him out of it because he wasn’t technically a newsie, right? He felt bad even thinking that. Of course he was a newsie, he always would be. Newsie meant more than a career--at least, it did to him. Maybe none of the others thought of it the same way.

Crutchie morosely picked at his sandwich, putting tiny, manageable pieces into his mouth. The swelling of his face had almost completely gone down, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to move his jaw. Nor did it mean he wanted to eat at all.

Maybe they just didn’t want to disturb him? That was decent of them, he supposed, but not at all what he wanted. He wanted to be involved, prove he was getting better, see the guys and laugh with them again.

Unbidden, an image of the Refuge on that calm day popped into his head. All those boys, worked to death for no purpose, celebrating in what ways they possibly could while Snyder was out of the building. They included the sick, the hurt, the broken.

Now Crutchie was actually getting a bit annoyed. They weren’t even going to try to hide their meeting, or ask if he wanted to participate? He wasn’t a child. He could assess his own limits and make good choices. In fact, if Jack had just told him straight out that they were going to have a meeting and what it was about, and invited Crutchie to join them, he probably would have turned him down in favor of rest.

Jack hadn’t said that, though. Jack had left, taken everyone else with him, had mentioned it offhand like it wasn’t important at all. What kind of friend--brother--did that?

Crutchie rewrapped the sandwich as well as he could manage, his fingers trembling as usual. He was so sick of this. Sick of barely being capable of any fine motor skills, sick of not wanting to eat, sick of sleeping the day away. He hated feeling so weak. He hated the others seeing him so weak.

Mind made up, Crutchie sat up the rest of the way from his reclining position. His entire body ached, and for the first time in a long time, Crutchie wished he had a drink to numb it. He shook the thought away after contemplating it for a moment. He didn’t need another problem to deal with, another expense to owe. Not to mention, there was no way he’d get it past Jack.

His crutch was still within easy reach, but placing it under his arm reminded him uncomfortably of the cut there that was now stiff with dried blood. He probably shouldn’t irritate it anymore, should probably take the empty room as a chance to clean the wound and rewrap it.

Crutchie didn’t do that. Instead, he stood up.

He almost doubled over immediately. How was the pain that much worse than it was this morning? He hadn’t been doing anything, just sleeping. Wasn’t he supposed to be feeling at least a bit better?

He didn’t back down, though. Crutchie straightened his back, breathed in and out for a few moments, then swung forward.

His bad leg dragging against the floorboards shot needles of pain up through his body, but his knee trembled and gave out when he tried to lift it up. Dragged on the floor it was.

Just the one step had made his entire body break out in a light sweat, but still he hobbled forward. This step was easier than the last. His back stung with the stretch of his shoulder, fingers trembled around the grip of his crutch. He could do this. He hadn’t survived the Refuge just to not be able to cross a room. The next step was going to be easier still.

It wasn’t, but it wasn’t necessarily worse. Crutchie’s good leg wobbled from lack of use and fatigue, his breathing so heavy that he imagined he could feel his ribs scraping together. That would explain the pain, right?

The door seemed to be forever away. Crutchie took another hop toward it, then another, then a third in quick succession, almost trying to outrun the exhaustion that was beginning to fill his bones. He dimly registered that under his right arm, up against where his crutch chafed, was sticky. That was probably not very good.

Crutchie paused for a moment, his head pounding in time with his pulse. He could do this. He looked around, trying to distract himself from what felt like his body failing. The room wasn’t all that dark, even though the sun had completely set outside. Only one of the windows was still open, the one that led out to the fire escape right next to the bed that Crutchie had been spending the week in. A few candles or lanterns were scattered around, giving the room a familiar nighttime ambience.

Crutchie took another step, breathing in short gasps--the smooth wood felt like spikes underneath his bum leg, his chest was tearing apart from the inside out, his back had to be on fire, every single part of his body was aching and trembling.

One more step sent his legs collapsing from under him, his body slamming into the floor. Crutchie cried out quietly, shoving his fist into his mouth to muffle the sound. Not that it really mattered. There was no way that fall went unheard. The bedframe closest to him was still shaking from the impact.

He wasn’t sure that he was going to be awake in time for anyone to find him, though. Black was encroaching on the edge of his vision, increasing with every agonizing thrum of his injuries. Something sticky was dripping down his back, sticking it to his shirt, but Crutchie didn’t have the time to consider it before the world was completely black.

He wasn’t quite . . . asleep, though. He couldn’t surrender to the darkness yet, some hidden reserve of energy fighting for any thread of consciousness. The pain of his body was distant, something separated from his current state.

There was a crashing sound--the door?--then a sea of gasps and shouts and bangs and so, so much noise. Crutchie couldn’t move a muscle--not that he’d really want to, that would hurt. Still, he wished he could’ve given some sign to Jack that he wasn’t asleep. Jack, who was now brushing his hair away from his eyes.

“Crutchie,” came Jack’s frantic voice, “Crutch, can you hear me? C’mon, bud. It’s okay.”

“What happened?”

“Whaddya think?”

“Well I dunno, or I wouldn’ta asked!”

“Shuddup, Jack’s tryna focus!”

“Crutchie, please wake up. What were ya tryna do?”

I am awake, Jack, Crutchie desperately wanted to say. I’m fine. But his mouth wouldn’t respond to anything he tried. He was limp, yet frozen in place.

“Should I get a doctor?”

“See anyone here what can afford one?”

“He’s breathin’,” Jack said, so close that Crutchie could feel his breath on his cheek. A fist wrapped around Crutchie’s wrist and he panicked, tried to wriggle away from whoever it was about to drag him to his next torture session. He didn’t move at all, though, and the hand was gentle and pressed against one spot of his arm for several seconds before pulling away.

“Pulse is sorta quick I think, but his skin’s too warm. Albert, he--” Jack’s voice broke-- “help me get ‘im ta bed?”

Strong arms scooped him up, and once again Crutchie tried to throw himself away from them, his heart racing with fear. Once again, he could not move. He was half aware of who was touching him, and why, but the other half of his brain was too far in the shadow to realize that it was safe, that they were helping him.

Soon enough, he was laying on something soft and Crutchie almost let it overtake him, almost gave in to the darkness pulling at him. A feeling of--shame?--rose up, though, making it impossible to let go.

He hadn’t even made it across the room. Maybe not even halfway. He’d wanted to go to their stupid meeting, surprise them by being functional, insist that he could go out and sell at least for a little while tomorrow. Jack would never let him now, not after this stunt. Not after this failure.

“He’s bleedin’ through ‘is shirt, Jack, see?”

“I see, Blink, no need to call it to the world.”

“I’ll get the bandages, where they at?”

Crutchie’s heart seized. He couldn’t let them fix him up, they’d see! They’d see everything, all the lashes and cuts and marks from beatings. He’d seen how upset and uncomfortable just his visible ones made them, he couldn’t--he didn’t want--

Jack’s voice cut through his thoughts. “No, he wouldn’t want that. He’d be real mad if he woke up ta see we’d done exactly what he said not to.”

“So what we gonna do, Jack?”

“Jackie, somebody’s got to help Crutchie. If none of us can afford a doctor, somebody will have to do it. Who do you think Crutchie would want to do it?”

“No one, he ain’t wantin’ no one! He ain’t even let me do it, Davey, he don’t want us seein’!”

Jack sounded unbearably upset. Crutchie tried for what felt like the thousandth time to open his eyes, but his lids were just so heavy. Why was Davey here? Wait, Les was here too, he’d heard his voice earlier. They were included in the newsies meeting, when Crutchie himself wasn’t?

“Isn’t there anyone--”

“Katherine. But she’s--wait--Race--”

“Yeah?”

“Head down ta Medda’s, see if Kath’s there for a show. Bring ‘er back if she is, got that?”

“No problem, Jack!”

A door slammed distantly. Crutchie took a break from trying to force his body to move. It would hurt a lot if he succeeded, anyway. Maybe he should just sleep.

Someone was holding his hand, gently, rubbing his knuckles, and Crutchie wished he could squeeze their hand. Anything to show he was okay.

He wasn’t okay, though, was he? As he thought about it, the pain that had been distant and disconnected mere moments ago was becoming clearer and sharper. Why? Couldn’t he have a moment’s reprieve? Couldn’t he just get better already?

“Crutchie, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me?”

He wanted to, couldn’t Jack see that?

“Did he move?”

“Yeah, a little. His face, y’know?”

His face had moved? How had he managed that? Nothing had seemed to change--maybe his eyelids had twitched from his ceaseless attempts to open them.

The pain was spreading, bringing back every memory of how it came. Crutchie didn’t want to cope with it right now. He didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to hear Jack pleading with him to wake up. He just wanted darkness.

Finally, Crutchie surrendered to the sleep pulling on his bones. He could rest for a minute, before trying to open his eyes again. Jack would understand.

It felt like forever until Crutchie could hear their voices again, but he still couldn’t move. In his mind it felt like he was drowning, thrashing about just under the surface. Each time he struggled to move, he just sank lower and lower, until he was full-on panicking, freaking out entirely while never outwardly moving a muscle.

It was mentally exhausting, and after some time, Crutchie had to take a moment to rest or risk losing this little taste of consciousness. He wasn’t quitting, he told himself, trying to placate his mind. He just needed a rest. As he did, though, it felt as if he rose, just a tiny bit, closer to the surface.

It took a few tries, but Crutchie forced himself to stop struggling. He relaxed as much as he could, and the longer he waited, the faster he rose--until--

With a release of air that almost sounded like a groan, Crutchie opened his eyes. Immediately the talking ceased, and Crutchie registered that there were several faces crowding around him. He blinked a few times: Jack, closest. Then Albert, Davey, and Henry, a little further down. Crutchie opened his mouth a few times, swallowing away the dry feeling as well as he could, then spoke.

“Hey?”

There were sighs; Jack’s head dropped to his hands, Albert rolled his eyes, Davey stepped away.

When Jack looked back up, there were tears in his eyes. Crutchie shifted uncomfortably, then gritted his teeth when his injuries all reminded him of their existence. Davey returned with two glasses of water, one of which he handed to Jack, the other he pushed against Crutchie’s mouth. Crutchie accepted it without complaint--he wasn’t sure that he could make his fingers grip the glass right now.

After he finished drinking and Davey had placed the glass somewhere on the floor, Crutchie met Jack’s red-rimmed eyes. Jack stared at him for a moment.

“What in Manhattan was you thinkin’?”

Crutchie cringed. What had he been thinking? Well, he’d wanted to be a part of the meeting, but now he wished he’d gotten over his anger. How was Jack ever going to believe that he was good enough to be a newsie now? Shame rose, bile-like, in his throat, as he opened his mouth to speak.

Jack cut him off before he could even say anything. “D’you know how much you scared the guys? What made ya think you could walk, ‘specially without help? How did ya get the idea into your pointy little head that it was somehow okay? Tell me what you was thinkin’. Tell me ‘xactly what thoughts led to ya doin’ somethin’ so stupid.”

Maybe he would, Crutchie thought with a prickle of irritation, if Jack would shut up. Jack kept on talking, though.

“Ya know ya made Elmer cry, right? You coulda been dead, for all we knew. We was so scared and you wouldn’t even wake up!”

“Jack--” Davey started, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder, but Jack shrugged him off. Other than the three of them, the room was empty. Albert and Henry must have left at some point.

“It ain’t been a week since you was in the Refuge--” Crutchie flinched, Jack didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in his gesticulating hands and beginning to pace in the small space beside the bed-- “and here you is, tryin’ ta walk like it ain’t happened. Ya can’t even walk normally, how the he--”

“I was tryin’ ta go to the meeting,” Crutchie burst out, face red. Yes, he was ashamed of it. No, he did not need Jack jumping down his throat like that. “I-I miss seein’ everyone,” he added. It wasn't a lie, not exactly. He did miss the guys, a lot.

Jack paused in his short pacings, looking down at Crutchie with his mouth wide open. “Why didn’t ya say nothin’?” he asked loudly, as if Crutchie was slow. “I coulda brought everyone up for a few.”

Crutchie snorted, his face still burning. “Not like you gave me any time ta say anythin’. And I don’t want everyone up here, I wanted ta go to the meeting.”

Jack waved him off. “You don’t really wanna go to it, y’ain’t even workin’ right now, it woulda put ya ta sleep.”

Who was Jack to tell him what he did and didn’t want to do? And yes, Crutchie wasn’t working right now--he was still a newsie, he still got to go to newsies meetings! Right? Did Jack not see him as a newsie anymore?

“I still wanted ta be there,” Crutchie said stubbornly, trying not to show that anger was steadily overtaking his embarrassment. “I wanna know how the sellin’s been goin’ after the strike, wanna know if they’s seen any o’ my regulars, wanna know how the Delanceys are treatin’ everyone--”

Jack’s face went white. “Yeah, well, ya don’t need ta know,” he said brusquely. “You’s in bed all day. There’s nothin’ you can do about it.”

Crutchie’s fingers twisted in the blanket laying over him. The aches were vanishing as anger pumped through his body. What was Jack’s problem? Everything he was saying was just confirming Crutchie’s fears, that they no longer wanted him to be a newsie, only saw him as a burden. It couldn’t be true, right? Clearly Jack was thinking it.

“Ain’t everyone you, Jack,” Crutchie argued, shifting so that he was sitting up more. “I can decide for myself what I want, I don’t need you to tell me--”

“Oh, so you don’t need my help?” Jack cut in, disbelief written all over his face. “Ya’d be a-okay if I just stopped bringin’ ya food? Stopped payin’ rent for ya? Kicked you outta my bed?”

“Well, since you clearly don’t want me here--”

“Okay, can we maybe--” Davey tried to interject.

“This don’t concern you, Davey,” Jack spat. “Brothers only.”

Davey looked a little hurt, but instead took the glass from Jack’s hand, which he had been waving around for emphasis.

“One’d think you was tired of everything I sacrifice ta keep ya safe,” Jack continued. “Maybe you should try doin’ it all yourself--”

“Maybe I want to,” Crutchie interrupted, his face going red as his anger grew. “Didja ever think about that?”

“Yeah, well, ya can’t, so get over yourself and--”

“Yes I can! I’s perfectly capable of--”

“No ya ain’t, ya just--ya just collapsed while tryin’ ta cross the fu--”

“I’m not a child, Jack--”

“Yes you are!” Jack yelled, his face redder than ever. “You’s just a kid! You don’t deserve none o’ this, you oughtta be in school and with parents, and no bum leg and no Snyder, and someone who can actually take care of ya, someone who can stop freaks from attackin’ ya--”

Jack broke down, his knees buckling as he fell into the chair beside the bed. Loud sobs tore from his throat as he hid his face in his hands.

Crutchie ran a hand across his own face, shocked to discover tears of his own. He was fuming, madder at Jack than he had ever been. Even looking at him made him want to scream in frustration. The only other option was Davey, though, and Davey looked so uncomfortable Crutchie thought he might die from it. So Crutchie stared at Jack, wishing his eyes could set fire to Jack’s newsboy cap through the heat of his glare alone.

Crutchie swallowed repeatedly, trying to get his voice to a place where he wouldn’t yell at Jack. Finally he spoke, voice shaking. “You’s always said I’m just as capable as anyone else. Why is that suddenly not true?”

Jack drew in a shuddering breath, but didn’t say anything. Crutchie waited for a moment, before huffing and turning his head to look out the window. It was too dark to really see anything, what with the candle on the post of the bed shining right against the glass. Still, though, he stared at the glass. The adrenaline from the shouting match had begun to exit his system, leaving him very sore all over.

“I jus’--I don’ want you gettin’ hurt,” Jack choked out. Crutchie remained resolute in not looking at him. He hated it when Jack got protective like this, but usually it only lasted for two days or so after Crutchie had been sick or pushed around by one of the Delanceys. And sure, maybe the Refuge was on a bit of a larger scale than either of those, but that didn’t give Jack any right to treat him like--like a kid, like Les, or Elmer, or Boots, or any of the other littles. Come to think of it, actually, Jack would probably treat them just normal-like. Jack was still letting them sell, even after the riot. It was only Crutchie, only the kid with the crippled leg. When was that stupid leg going to stop defining his capabilities in Jack’s eyes?

Crutchie decided to try a different angle. “Why didn’tcha even ask me if I wanted to go ta the meeting?”

“Crutchie, I couldn’t--”

“No, Jack,” Crutchie interrupted. “I’s been doin’ nothing but lie in bed all day. I can handle a newsies meeting!”

“It ain’t that I think you can’t--”

“News ta me, it certainly sounds like--”

“You couldn’t come because the meeting was about you,” Davey burst in. He gave Jack an apologetic glance before turning his focus on Crutchie. “Jack didn’t want ta hurt your feelings by talking about you in front of you.”

Crutchie’s heart felt like it stopped. So this was it, wasn’t it? The decision on whether or not he was going to be able to work. Whether or not they would need to kick him out. Crutchie couldn’t decide what was worse--being thrown out onto the street in his condition, or knowing that he was just so pitiful that they couldn’t bear to do anything but keep him inside all the time. “Oh, so you was gonna save my feelings by talkin’ about me behind my back?” said Crutchie dumbly, his mouth moving of its own accord. “Real smart, Jack Kelly. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, you bein’ so considerate-like.”

“Ya don’t understand,” Jack managed, running a hand under his nose. “It ain’t like that, it ain’t--”

“Oh, well feel free to jus’ tell me what it was like,” Crutchie said, gesturing with a wince as he noticed that under his arm was sticky and pulled painfully. “Go ahead.”

“I can’t--”

“Oh, I’m too weak ta know, huh? Just a kid, like you said--”

“Crutchie, I don’t--”

“Which makes it so much better, huh, makes it all--”

“It was the Delanceys!” Jack shouted, spit flying. He took a deep breath and pulled at his hair, knocking his cap to the floor, tension in every line of his body. “They was--they was bein’ rude.”

Crutchie scoffed. “The Delanceys? I can handle them. I can take them any day.” He didn’t mention the sick feeling that lined his stomach at the mention of them. The last time he’d seen them, they’d practically bashed his head in and dragged him off to the Refuge. Still, he’d never known the Delanceys to be particularly kind. He could deal with their insults.

“They . . . were bein’ a bit worse than rude, Crutchie,” Davey said quietly. Davey glanced at Jack, whose face was in his hands again. Jack shook so badly that Crutchie thought he was crying again for a moment. When his face reappeared, though, it was clear that it was barely-restrained anger.

“They said they was gonna kill you,” Jack growled. A tear rolled down his cheek, unnoticed. “They--they was gonna hunt you down, and get you, and--” Again, Jack couldn’t seem to go on. Davey laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Crutchie, we’re scared for you, that’s all,” Davey said placatingly. “At the meeting, we were trying to work out a way for you to keep selling papes but stay safe. We should’ve invited you, that’s for sure, Jack just thought you’d be too tired.”

Crutchie didn’t speak. The sick feeling in his stomach had spread to his head, making it feel gross and backwards and like he was going to throw up. He was fine, he was alive, but for the first time in a very long time, the Delanceys actually struck fear into his heart.

Luckily, he was spared from having to say anything by a knock at the door. Race poked his head around the corner, an apologetic look on his face.

“No sign of her,” Race called to Jack. “Need anythin’ else?”

Davey walked away to talk to Race, leaving Jack and Crutchie alone. Crutchie tried to swallow away the bad feeling, but Jack took his hand, completely distracting him. For a moment, Crutchie considered shaking him off, the embers of anger that had been left when the mention of the Delanceys had doused his chest flaming up, but it was clearly an olive branch of sorts. Jack wanted to forget the argument for now. Crutchie could at least do that.

“I-I’m sorry,” Jack muttered. “For goin’ all--y’know. A minute ago. You don’t deserve that. It was just . . . so, so--hard, and wrong, ta--ta come in here and find ya out, and on the floor--” Jack turned away, his voice choking up.

“I was awake,” Crutchie said, gripping Jack’s hand as hard as he could. Jack looked back at him, confused. Crutchie wasn’t entirely sure why he’d said it--had he been awake? He hadn’t been able to move or open his eyes. And yet, he was certain that he could remember almost everything that happened before he slipped away. Maybe he was just trying to make Jack feel a bit better. “Yeah,” he added self-consciously. “I sorta . . . heard everything? I jus’ couldn’t move, right? I’m better now, just . . . felt a bit like I was all wrapped up in a blanket an’ couldn’t escape,” he finished, blushing a bit. That was a stupid comparison.

Jack watched him carefully for a few moments, his thumb running along Crutchie’s knuckles. “Heard o’ that, didn’t know it was real. Sorry about that. That’s--real bad. Terrible, that feeling. I’ve heard, I mean. I haven’t--yeah.”

Crutchie nodded. He could guess where Jack might have seen or heard about that. He tried to swallow past the sick feeling in his throat, only succeeding in making it drier than ever.

“How d’ya feel about finishing that sandwich, huh?”

Crutchie blanched, shaking his head with jerky movements. Literally anything would be better. Jack frowned at him, but nodded.

“All right, I trust you,” Jack said. Crutchie looked him in the eyes, trying to forget about the apple he’d tossed out the window just this morning. “But Katherine ain’t around, so either I or you is gonna have ta fix you up.”

Maybe literally anything wouldn’t be better. Crutchie sighed. “I got it,” he replied, feeling weariness settle into his bones right alongside the pain. “I’ll let ya know when you can come back in.”

He was still mad at Jack, though not nearly as mad as he was at himself. What kind of idiot went and got himself all bloodied up trying to cross a room when he knows he’s hurt? Crutchie just took a shallow breath and allowed Jack to help him into a sitting position. Whatever kind of idiot that was, Crutchie was stuck with him for a while.

#newsies #livesies #newsies live #newsies fanfic #newsies fanfiction #crutchie morris #jack kelly #mas writes #< i'll try to tag every chapter with that #i love writing arguments #i'm terrible at having them but they're just so easy to write #all of my characters have rage just beneath their incredibly polite facade #every character i have ever written is ready to throw hands at the slightest provocation #but otherwise they are very kind and do good recklessly!!#just wait until you see chapter ten lol #anyway see you whenever!#love you guys

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wwilloww · 4 years

Text

athair lusa | pjm

athair lusa, the ground ivy, springing up from the soil with rich, purple flowers and broad green leaves.

Origin: Ireland

Pairing: Jimin x FaePrince!Taehyung

Genre: Folklore. Suspense. Fae!Au.

Rating: NC-17

WC: 2.4k

Summary: “Is it not a strange request,” Jimin says, “to ask me to dance when there is no music?” While on his way to draw water from the well, Jimin slips on a rock. When he stands up again, the world around him seems unrecognizable, as if everything has been dusted with an unfamiliar enchantment.

Warnings: Possessive behavior.

A/N: This story, also known as “The Fairy Dance,” is a story I grew up to, one that was told to me over and over. I consider this to be part of a larger personal project to queer the stories I grew up on. It’s an effort to normalize the presence of queerness in lore and unravel gendered expectations within folktales. Because of this I’ve done my best to stick to the oral telling of this story in both content and style - meaning the writing differentiates itself significantly from my usual style! This project is special to me and I truly hope you enjoy it. I can’t wait to hear what you think of it.

Thank you to @jingabitch for helping me when I felt most stuck with this! Thanks a million to my love @ot7always for editing the image in this banner and listening to me ramble. And of course a hUGE THANKS to the lovely folk in BTS Smut Hub for being my constant inspiration and motivation.

And finally, this is part of @ksmutclub’s Twisted Fairytale collaboration!

masterlist

Athair-Lusa.

In a town on the western most coast of the Isle, there lived a young man with hair that shone like the rays of August sun. He was beloved by the townspeople, known for the enchanting melodies that lifted from his lips like birdsong, ensnaring anyone in range. His name was Jimin.

One day in late November, as the night began to draw in, Jimin set down his reading and readied himself to go out into the darkness. He preferred the stillness of sunset and often went out at this time, just to hear the soft hymn of the world slipping slowly into sleep.

Now, it has long been known that the Veil between worlds is thinnest in November. As the remaining veins of summer fade from the land, spirits and creatures of the other worlds come to press up against the thin border between their world and ours. Even nighttime comes to linger, snatching time away from the golden fingers of the sun.

On this night, Jimin decided to take his walk to the well to gather water. He swung his wooden bucket over his shoulder and set off into the darkness. The trees stood tall above him, watching his path. Jimin felt the hair on his neck raise, as if something was watching him from the shadows. However, rather than turning home, he lifted his face to the night sky and sang. The music spilling from his lips split through the darkness of the night, and Jimin felt a sense of peace wash over him.

As the small stone structure of the well came into sight, his foot slipped. He could feel his ankle twisting, and then the feeling of falling through empty space. The air wooshed up around him as he fell.

His back hit the hard earth of the path, crushing the breath out of his lungs. For a moment, Jimin simply lay there, taking deep breaths to calm the fright in his body.

When he lifted his head, his old wooden bucket was nowhere to be seen. Instead of a path hardened by thousands of years of travelers, Jimin lay on a soft field of grass, shimmering emerald green beneath the full moon. Around him, everything seemed as if it had been touched by an enchantment. The trees, whose leaves had dropped a month ago, were now blossoming with flowers of the most brilliant colors. The chill of the winter air was replaced with a soft and warm breeze, lifted off a summer sea. And as he looked up at the sky, the moon hung twice as large, as if she had come down from her high throne in the sky to take a closer look at the goings-on of the people below.

As Jimin sat up, he saw a great crowd gathered a short distance away. As his vision cleared, he realized that they were circled round a fire that danced and leaped and seemed to reach out to the figures surrounding it. As if his mind had been wiped clean of thought, Jimin stood and began to move towards the crowd, mystified by their tall frames and slender figures.

Jimin himself was of average height, his body built like the land. Ready to work, ready to dance. But at this moment in time, Jimin’s body drew him forward towards the beings that stood round the fire, till at last, he stood in the very midst of them.

They held onto their silence, watching his every step. It was at this moment that he thought to be afraid. But as he made to step backward, to step out of their circle, he realized he could not.

Panic began to rise in his throat like bile, setting his muscles alight. Just as he opened his mouth to scream, the crowd around him turned and parted and a handsome young man stepped into view. Jimin’s eyes widened as he took in the figure, who walked like a prince. He wore a red sash, deep as freshly drawn blood. A golden band dressed his long dark hair, shining like the sky on the eve of a new moon.

Jimin’s heart thrummed in his chest as he realized the handsome prince was approaching him. He walked slowly towards him, allowing his eyes to rove over the young man. When he finally reached him, he bowed and extended a hand. An offering.

“Is it not a strange request,” Jimin said, “to ask me to dance when there is no music?”

The prince raised his head from the deep bow and swept his hand into the air. Instantly, the sweetest music carried through the night, surrounding them. He took Jimin’s hand with one of his own, wrapping the other one tightly around his waist. Jimin gasped as his chest was brought to the prince’s, their closeness sending warmth to his cheeks.

"What is your name, dear stranger?" Jimin asked, his brow furrowed. His words seemed to stick in his throat, bewilderment flooding his mind. Such a handsome stranger had never wrapped him up like this before, in such beauty, in such enchantment.

The prince smirked. "You may call me Taehyung."

"Are you a prince of these people?"

"If that is the word you use—then yes."

Jimin opened his mouth to ask more, but the Prince silenced him with a twirl, sending all thought of questioning the strange being before him out of his mind.

They danced until the moon became tired and went to sleep beneath the darkness of the horizon and the stars took their leave from the dance floor. As the prince twirled him round the fire, it seemed as if Jimin was gliding through the air. He had always been known by the townsfolk for his light touch and graceful step. But in the prince’s arms, Jimin’s body felt different. The strain of the movements was eased and he felt boundless energy spring up in his chest beneath the attentive gaze of the prince.

"I have never seen a man dance with your grace," the Prince mused, his gaze falling to Jimin's lips. "Or known one to capture such beauty in his every movement."

Jimin was not used to such flattery. His cheeks were painted with his embarrassment, he ducked his head. The Prince was quick to lift his chin, bringing his face ever-so-close.

“Do you like me, sweet boy?” the Prince asked, tilting his head.

“I do not know you,” Jimin replied, slowly. “How do I know if I like you if I have just met you?”

“There is an eternity to get to know me.” A smirk flashed across the Prince’s sharp features before he pulled Jimin tightly against his tall frame and spun him further into the dance.

Twirling around the fire, it became easy to forget the rest of the world. For that moment, all that existed was the feeling of his feet leaping off the ground, and the low music, and the feeling of being held so tightly by his partner.

Just as Jimin began to feel like time was slipping away from him, the figures around him stilled and the music slowed to a complete halt. The prince still had his arms wrapped around the smaller man, his face pressed close and curious.

"Will you dine with us tonight, dear Jimin?" the prince asked, his voice threaded with sweetness. Jimin's gaze fell to the prince's lips where a small smile played along the pink, plush corner. He wondered when the Prince had learned his name.

Before he could answer, the ground rumbled and split open, a long staircase descending into the darkness of the earth. The prince held out a hand, and hesitating, Jimin took it. Despite the warmth of the tall man's palm, Jimin's skin erupted in goosebumps.

The prince led him down the flight of steps, the rest of the dancers following silently behind. It seemed as if the stairs might never end, the rock around them becoming darker and warmer as they descended. After an unspeakable time, the steps widened and a great hall appeared before them, lit by thin candles that stood as tall as Jimin. As he looked up at the ceiling of the hall, he realized there was no roof, despite the depth to which they had descended. Instead, a yawning darkness looked down upon the company and untethered, unsourced lights bobbed gently through the air as if upon an invisible current. Before them lay a great table, heaped with every delicacy Jimin had ever conceived of and decanters filled with the most aromatic wines.

The Prince squeezed his hand tenderly, guiding him to the head of the table. There, the Prince took the golden plated chair and motioned for Jimin to take the one beside it. Gratefully, he bowed his head and slipped silently into the seat, admiring the gentle merriment and splendor laid before him.

As Jimin took the scene before him in, the Prince leaned closer to him, reaching out to twirl a piece of his light hair between his fingers.

“I’ve always wanted this,” the Prince said, his eyes never leaving the man’s hair.

“W-what?”

The Prince seemed to catch himself and pulled himself out of his reverie.

“I am a collector of beautiful things,” he said, as if that explained his strange words.

“I don’t understand.”

The Prince smiled softly, running his finger down Jimin’s nose and over his lips.

“Then drink and be merry,” he sang, his voice strung together in the most beautiful melody.

A dark-haired lady came between the Prince and Jimin, holding a jewel-encrusted decanter. Bowing her head, she first filled the Prince's cup, her hands wrapping slender and delicate around the silver handle. But as Jimin watched, he realized there was a slight tremble to her movements. He looked up at her, only to see her eyes darting to and from the Prince and his newest companion.

The young lady came around Jimin's other side, and as she leaned over to pour his golden goblet full of the sweet wine, she whispered in his ear, "Eat no food, and drink no wine or you will never see your home again."

With that, the woman stood abruptly and disappeared down one of the many hallways that spotted the great chamber.

Jimin quickly set the cup down on the table. The Prince took note of this, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"My dear, sweet Jimin," he said, his voice threading through the air like song. His voice spoke of softness, of tender touches exchanged in the dark. And yet, as Jimin gazed upon him, he saw the coldness in the Prince's gaze. "Do you not enjoy the taste of my wine?"

"No, no," he said, quick to unravel the tension of the moment. "I am simply not thirsty."

The Prince leaned into him, a smile spreading across his lips. "After all that dancing, you must be thirsty." He brought the cup to Jimin's lips, but he held his mouth shut.

The others at the table had fallen silent to watch the Prince hold the goblet to the man’s lips.

A large one with silver hair that fell to his waist stood abruptly from his chair, knocking it back in the process. "Whoever comes to our table must drink with us," he growled, grabbing Jimin's arm. A deep shock ran through him, stopping his heart.

At that moment a red-haired lass, her hair split into intricate braids, snatched Jimin's free hand and tugged him from the grasp of the large silver-haired being.

"Run!" she commanded, tugging Jimin towards the stairs. The pair wove their way towards the entrance, dodging the grasp of the dancers.

Around him, Jimin could hear the bellowing anger of the Prince, echoing off the walls of the hall as if he stood in every corner. Chairs and platters crashed to the floor as his subjects jumped up, attempting to stop his exit.

While Jimin was not large and while he did not hold the brute strength that many men boasted about, he was graceful and swift. Guided by the red-haired woman's agile steps, his pace was quick, as if he had learned this kind of dance many many years ago.

The pair sprinted up the steps, hand-in-hand, until they emerged into the dark night. The coolness of the early winter air washed over them, bathing their red faces and stinging their lungs. From the satchel that hung round her waist, the woman withdrew a vine. She grabbed Jimin’s hand, opening it up so she could place the plant securely. With tenderness, she wrapped her hand around his, closing it in a fist.

"You are safe for the time being," she said, her breath heavy with effort. "Take this, and hold it until you reach home. No one can harm you." Jimin opened his palm to look down upon the large-leafed plant. Athair-Lusa. Ground ivy.

"Thank you," he whispered.

The woman nodded, a sad smile playing across her lips. Her eyes shone with the kind of grief that only one who knows their own destiny can hold.

Jimin could hear the sounds of footsteps running up the stairs and so he took the white and green plant and turned his back on the field, the stairs, and the man who had held him so tenderly; and he ran. He ran along the sward and through the forests surrounding the town, past the well, and across the path. At last, he reached his home. He threw open the wooden door and locked it behind him.

His heart beat so quickly and furiously he worried it would pound its way straight through his ribcage. Behind his back pressed to the door, he could hear a great sound emerge from the forest and a voice cried out to him—

"The power I had over you is gone through the magic of the herb that ties you to this world. But when you dance again to our music, you will stay with me forevermore, and nothing shall hinder that eternity."

Jimin closed his eyes, clutching the herb to his chest. When he had regained his breath, he made his way over to the small bed tucked in the corner of his small home, folding the leafy plant carefully beneath the collar of his shirt.

It took a while before sleep came for him, and when it did, it was restless and dreamless.

However, Jimin kept the magic branch safely tucked into his clothes every day and the Fae never troubled him.

But it took many years before the sweet, low sound of music and the searing eyes of the Prince left his dreams.

taglist: @ppersonna @thatlongspringnight @myimaginationsrunningwild @ladyartemesia @ezralia-writes @ggukcangetit

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beholdme · 3 years

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All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 6

Chapters: 6/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can't help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

"Do you really hate Keats that much?" Martin asks Jon, sounding faintly betrayed. They're sitting on a pile of cushions in front of Gerry's big window, while the man himself stands painting nearby.

There has been no previous mention of Keats since they arrived several hours ago, nor in the entire course of Gerry knowing them together.

Granted, he had barely been awake when they had arrived, having rolled out of bed just seconds before the knock came, but Gerry thought he had been keeping fairly decent track of the overall conversation.

He had thought Sunday brunch was a great idea when Jon suggested it during the week. Only remembering half-way through his shift the previous night that he was normally dead asleep during that time on a Sunday. But needs must, and after coffee and food, he was feeling downright perky at having two cute boys in his apartment.

Jon and Martin had settled into the pillow pile to occupy themselves while Gerry wandered off to paint, and they had spent several hours each engaged in their own artistic endeavors, simply enjoying the energy of one another's company.

Jon had started out reading but kept getting distracted by the way the light in the studio catches in Gerry's dark red hair, tied up in a chaotic messy bun, and had idly been strumming Gerry's old acoustic guitar for a while instead. Martin had been writing in a notebook, tongue often caught between his teeth in contemplation, glasses pushed up onto the top of his hair.

Jon stops playing abruptly and Gerry winces at the discordant note the guitar lets out in protest.

"I think Keats is pretty cool," offers Gerry cheerfully.

"Thank you, Gerard, very helpful," grouses Jon in return, glaring at him. Gerry blows him a kiss and returns to his canvas.

"I don't hate Keats, Martin." Jon's voice is slow and soft in the way that indicates that he's actually trying to be sensitive, "I just think he's overrated. After spending so much time in uni pouring over his boring symbolism, I'm just sick of him."

Jon's English literature degree, which Gerry remembers with some humour does not qualify him for a job at a library, had been a pain to get, and he doesn't always remember that part of his life with any great fondness.

"I know, but-" Martin cuts off abruptly and there's unexpected silence for a moment.

"Gerry, do you have a cat?" Jon's voice is incredulous and somewhat delighted at the new development.

"Yes," Gerry replies, very casually. He looks around to find that the cat has indeed wandered in and is sitting in a shaft of sunlight, black fur shining. "Jon, Martin, meet Saturn. Saturn, this is Jon and Martin."

Saturn blinks at them, before abruptly standing, showing them his butt, and then walking over to twine between Gerry's legs. Gerry deposits his painting supplies nearby and reaches down to scoop Saturn up, before carrying him over to sit with the others.

"He's not always great with new people, but hopefully he'll warm up to you. He can be a great cuddler when he wants to be." Saturn eyes them all speculatively before sitting on his own cushion and curling up in a fluffy ball.

"So he's like the Jon cat?" Martin asks, sneaking out a finger to scratch Saturn's fluffy little ears. He purrs lightly and Gerry grins to see them getting along.

"Well-" Jon splutters indignantly, face warming beneath his tan.

They both laugh and Gerry leans towards Martin to whisper conspiratorially, "He's not even embarrassed about being bad with new people. He's shy that we know how good of a cuddler he is."

Jon presses his lips together with a long-suffering expression, also reaching out a hand to pet the purring feline. Saturn rolls over towards him and gets a belly rub for his efforts.

"There we go," Gerry mutters happily. "All my favorite boys, getting along so well."

There's more sputtering from both Jon and Martin at that, but Gerry only laughs and leans over to kiss the tops of their heads.

***

Jon sighs and rubs the back of his neck, trying to release the burning tension sitting in all the joints of his spine.

It's 1 A.M. and the library is long, long closed, doors locked and lights turned out. He doesn't know how he gets here sometimes. Elias has certainly never overtly demanded he work overtime, and yet Jon always feels the need to push a little harder, do more than anyone would consider even remotely reasonable.

He accepted a while ago, that his irrational drive for perfection in this job stems from his self-doubt and fear of inadequacy.

And yet, that understanding does nothing to get him home at a reasonable hour, even when he remembers the two men who always seem to be around when he needs them.

It's unfathomable to Jon how he managed to find himself in a relationship with not one but two incredibly understanding and supportive men who love him. He considers it a downright miracle that they also seemed to be finding their way towards loving one another. Although, who wouldn't love Martin and Gerry?

He checks his watch again. Martin is definitely asleep, and even just stumbling in to lie in bed with him would disturb him. He knows the sweet man would say he doesn't mind, but he feels like if he can't get back at a reasonable hour, he doesn't deserve to sleep next to him at all.

Gerry, on the other hand, is mostly nocturnal. A quick check of his phone shows that it's actually Friday, and he is working at the bar for another hour or so.

While Jon has his phone in his hand, he opens up their text chain.

Gerry: Don't work too late. Martin and I want you functional so that we can drag you out to that street market this weekend.

Jon: I won't.

Gerry: Yes, you will. But try to keep it pre-midnight ;)

'He's awake,' Jon tells himself firmly. 'He'll be happy to see you, even if you did work even later than he predicted.'

So Jon packs up his stuff and leaves the library. He considers a cab, but it's only a few blocks and he thinks the fresh air and exercise will unlock the tension in his poor abused spine.

He arrives at the bar just before closing. Gerry is busy charming a few drunk regulars out the door with promises of undying love and that the bar will be back tomorrow afternoon. After they stumble off, he turns to find Jon walking slowly towards him. Gerry is wearing combat boots, dark jeans, and a loose leather tank top, over a lace undershirt. He has his favorite hoop in his nose, and the light glints off the many piercings in his ears.

"Why, Gerry Delano, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Gerry grins at Jon's teasing tone and echoed words, no sign of recrimination about him.

"I always am." Jon reaches Gerry at that, and they draw together, pressing tired lips against each other gently.

Gerry's hair has faded out a bit from the moody red, and Jon slips his hands into his hair to hold him close for a moment longer. They rock together on the street for a long, frozen moment.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Gerry asks, pulling away and sliding his hands down Jon's arms to connect their fingers.

"I missed you," Jon confesses shakily, emotion spilling out of his voice.

"Good, I missed you too." Gerry drags him into the bar and fills the air with stories from his shift while he and his colleagues clean for the evening, closing up the bar.

They walk home arm in arm, Gerry flirting with him mercilessly. Jon sheds the day's tension as they go, and by the time they arrive at Gerry's loft, he's warm and relaxed.

He supposes he should probably go back to his own flat, but it's not a place he spends the night very often anymore, and he fears the creeping insomnia that will take him without Martin and Gerry around to soothe him into sleep. Besides, Gerry is right here with him, and he seems so pleased to have him around.

"Are you going to paint now?" Jon asks as they shed their work clothes. Jon is sorry to see the lace shirt go, but Gerry makes up for it by simply throwing a kimono over his bare chest. He throws him a T-shirt, so Jon wears that and his boxers as they settle on the couch. Gerry is still wearing his jeans, but both their feet are bare as they tangle on the coffee table.

"I'm not sure, do you want to?" Gerry asks as he lights a cigarette and offers Jon one.

"What? Do I want to paint?" Jon's voice is taken aback. He takes the cigarette and lights it.

Gerry shrugs as if it's obvious. "Sure, you used to draw with me when we were younger."

"Yes, but…"

"But what, Jonathon? You're too old to paint now? Too proper and straight-laced to get charcoal under your nails? No more piercings, no more creativity?" Gerry sways into his shoulder, drawing smoke into his lungs and letting it out as he speaks.

"No, it's not that." Jon grouses back. Gerry hums derisively in return. "I just don't see the point of wasting your drawing paper when you can do that." Jon gestures wildly towards Gerry's most recently completed painting.

Gerry eyes it critically. It's the commission that he's been slogging over petulantly. It's large and impressively done, he can accept that, but he doesn't like it very much. He hates the subject and composition Peter Lukas has demanded and compensated by pouring all his best technique into it. It makes him sad and sullen to look at, and Gerry will be relieved when it's finally gone.

"For every painting like that I've ever done, Jon," Gerry spills all his affection into the name, and Jon can feel it, "I've done a thousand ridiculous sketches and colour studies. Art is time, and diligence and joy as much as it ever is masterpieces. You don't sit down one day and magically just know how to be a maestro."

Jon looks over and up at him with big green eyes. Gerry can't help but lean over and slide his hand into Jon's hair, pressing their lips together for a moment. "So Mr. Sims. Can I tempt you to make some art with me?"

***

What they create in those soft early morning hours can only generously be called art, even Gerry's efforts. But they laugh and kiss and somehow get covered in charcoal and acrylic paint. Gerry even allows Jon to choose the Spotify playlist. Slow piano music with nature sounds play softly in the background of their impromptu art party, reminding Gerry of nothing so much as Jon himself.

The dawn is just breaking through Gerry's massive bank of windows when he allows Jon to drag him off to bed, and they collapse together in the soft morning light.

***

Late the next morning, Martin lets himself into the flat and bounces down onto the bed between them, sending Saturn flying off in a huff.

"So, I heard there was a slumber party. I brought breakfast."

"Fuck off," Gerry slurs, but rather undermines his own point when he pulls Martin down and tucks himself around him. Jon does the same from the other side, and Martin finds himself in the middle of a very sleepy man sandwich.

Gerry seems to instantly fall back asleep, but Jon eventually drags himself to consciousness, even buried in Martin's neck. "What's time?"

"Almost ten," he responds, very cheerfully.

"WHAT-" Jon flies out of bed in a blind panic, desperately looking for his phone, which is dead when he finds it anyway. "I'm already so fucking late!"

Gerry groans.

"Relax Jon." Martin tries to soothe him but is hindered by the fact that Gerry is still clinging to him in a very enjoyable way. "Gerry, love, let me go. Jon is having a meltdown."

"How unusual," Gerry mutters very unsupportively, Jon manages to notice. He flops over onto his other side and attempts to bury himself in pillows instead of Martin.

"Jon, breathe." Swinging up to sit on the edge of the bed, Martin uses his best man-disaster steadying tone. Gerry has come to realize what that tone is, but he doesn't mention it to anyone. "It's Saturday."

Jon slumps and drops the pants he was desperately trying to wrangle himself into.

"It's Saturday?" He asks.

"It's Saturday," Gerry confirms from the pillow fort.

Jon glares at Martin in a very put upon way. Martin smiles at him brightly.

He turns and wanders off to the bathroom in an effort to collect himself. Martin resumes his spot in the middle of the bed, and drags Gerry towards him, tucking himself into his back.

"Hmmm. So much noise on a weekend." The goth mutters as he attempts to resettle himself in Martin's arms.

"I'll make it up to you later," Martin promises, pressing a kiss behind his ear.

"You let that happen on purpose, didn't you." It's not a question. "Just to see that look on his face."

"Yes," Martin says, chuckling into Gerry's pillow.

"Very good, sir."

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #gerard keay #also on ao3 #fic

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upthewitchypunx · 4 years

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A Dabbler’s week of DIY Witchery

All us witches are steamed about the nonsense article where the person tried to become a witch in a week and concluded that we were anti-vax science deniers. We can all be annoyed at the article, but @asksecularwitch had a better idea to suggest what we would have someone do to explore witchcraft for a week or to dabble in witchcraft. There’s no shame in dabbling! How are you ever going to know if you like something if you don’t dabble?

So, here’s mine. I preface it with saying that I am an agnostic secular witch and I call my practice DIY Witchery. So, here’s how to explore that if it’s a think you might like doing.

Day 1: Clean your fucking room!

I’m not going to say what day of the week you should start. My weekend is Wednesday/Thursday so start whenever you want. You know what, you don’t even have to do this one day after another day if something comes up, just the idea that you intend to do all of it is a good start.

What you need: Tea light, safety pin, a match or lighter, a notebook, a pen, and a lot of work.

The first day of any project is almost always the most exciting one and the one that you are more inclined to put effort into. So, we are going to go big!

Clean your room! I mean it. Wash and put away your clothes, change your sheets, sweep or vacuum your floor, wash your windows, dust, change that burnt out lightbulb, take all the dishes out of your room, take your trash out and I mean the trash literally and figuratively. While you are cleaning your room think about what you want to gain from a week of exploring witchcraft. What are your interests in witchcraft? Do you want to do spells? Do you want to feel more safe? Are you interested in self-care? Do you like plants/cooking/animals and think there is something more you can do with these interests in an esoteric or occult way? Do you just want to see what all this new age woo fuss is about? All of these are valid reasons so keep them in mind when we go on to the next step and also keep your mind open because all of these things could change and that’s okay too. Then, take a bath or shower and get all that cleaning grime off you. There’s a reason “shower thoughts” hit us the way they do. Our body is relaxed and processing things differently so keep thinking about those thoughts you’ve had all day and what you are going to do with them.

Do you have an altar? I’ll bet you do! It doesn’t have to be all candles, cauldrons, and goblets and shit. It could be a flat surface where you have trinket boxes you received as gifts or an area where you have photos of friends and loved ones, or maybe a desk with your computer which is like a link to the world. We all create these spaces because they are pleasing and they remind us of who we are. Sometimes these get cluttered with empty ice cream tubs, keys, receipts, random paper but that’s why you cleaned your room so you can keep this space clear for the week. For this week, we’ll call this space “your space”

It may have been a long day and you are probably tired but you are almost done. Look around your room and admire your work. Seriously, a deep clean is so much work but so fulfilling when it is done. Get yourself a snack (or order some food if your budget allows) and get something to drink and find a cozy place to sit with your notebook.

Okay, get your snack and your drink and get that tealight candle and with a safety pin or a knife or something and carve something into the candle like “witchcraft” or “witch week” or “let’s dabble”, basically something that states that this is something you want work on. Place that in your space and light it while you write in your notebook. Think about all that stuff you were thinking about while you were cleaning. What interests you in witchcraft? If there are any aspects of witchcraft that interest you, write that down. State that you are starting this DIY project in earnest and are actually interested in taking it on. Part of taking up this project is too look at the world in a new way. The world is full of tools that might be useful if you learned to look at them in a different way. This week if you feel the urge to pick up weird objects off the ground to be used later or things that catch you eye like an acorn cap, bottle cap, or a literal fork you find it the road, or even if you see an object you can afford to buy that you think might be useful, do it. These collected things will be used for a divination project at the end of the week. Collect them and place them in your space throughout the week and document where you find them. Keep in mind your commitment to this DIY project all week when you are making choices. Remember if you decide to change your goals that’s cool.

Day 2 - Energy, Grounding & Centering

Yesterday was a lot of work so today we are going to do a quick exercise called Gounding and Centering. A simple exercise that a lot of witchcraft books I started on always mentioned that seems to be out of fashion or just skipped these days. I find it is a good trick to keep in my pocket for when I’m am upset of scared or anxious and not just for casting spells or whatever.

The general idea is to feel energy moving or to at least visualize it or maybe understand it in a strange intellectual way. It’s good to keep you in the moment, for me at least. First, let’s talk about the body and energy and how weird it is that we are alive and how our body has all these electrical impulses shooting through our nerves and telling my fingers to type this right now, ya? Being alive is pretty neat. What does a process that happens without thought feel like? Put your hands/palms together less than an inch apart without touching and think about the feeling. is it warm? Is it prickly? Does it feel like magnets repelling each other? Move your hands back and forth with the same short distance between them. Do you feel anything? It’s okay if you don’t, just try it. Write down your thoughts in your notebook.

This is what is called a visualization and sometimes people aren’t really into it or are unable to do it and that’s okay but at least give it a try The traditional grounding and centering is to sit comfortably on the floor, in a chair, or on your bed in your beautifully clean room. Sit comfortably, relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw, and notice your breathing, count to whatever numbers in and out that makes sense to you, I like 3s but maybe 5s or 7s are more you jam?

Traditionally your are supposed to visualize yourself as a tree with a tap root from the base of your spine going deep into the earth and drawing energy up and into your body as you focus on your breathing. This would be a way to draw energy for spell work but we aren’t going to do that so just send that energy right back where it came from. I actually like to physically touch my hands to the ground to shed excess energy. Maybe that visualization doesn’t work for you. It’s not really my thing. I imagine a specific location that is a watershed and all the water that falls for many square miles heads to the river, trickles through rocks to a specific place. I gather that and hold what I need and let what I don’t need pass though like the spillway of a damn. It’s more of a receptacle kind of thing for me. Maybe you like the idea of fire filling a room with warmth or the air down a canyon or some sort of science thing like water cycles, heat transference, or osmosis. Write down your thoughts about this experiement, try it a few times in one way and maybe a few times throughout this week.

Day 3- Perception and Animism

What you need: a bus pass and the ability to go outside, and your notebook

Part of this whole witch exercise is look at the world differently so go outside, talk to a tree, watch patterns in nature including humans doing human things like riding the bus or grocery shopping. Don’t wear headphones. Interact with strangers that approach you. Pretend they are NPCs in a video game. Take your notebook with you. Write down any thoughts that come to you about the things you see or feel. Write something on a piece of paper you want to get rid of like a bad date, a habit you would like to quit, an intrusive thought, and throw it away in the garbage in a public place and don’t look back. That’s a small kind of spell. If you see some change on the ground pick it up. If you see anything of interest fallen on the ground and you feel comfortable picking it up take in home and put it in your space for later, do it. Maybe go to a thrift store and see if anything catches your eye. Does your space need a tealight candle holder? I like to say I go to thrift stores to see if anything ones to come home with me.

Animism is the idea that everything (plants, animals, houses, cars, pencils, etc) has a soul, maybe you don’t believe in souls, I’m a bit iffy on the topic myself. But I do believe things and places have unique essences that make them what they are. I like to call myself a “soft-animist”. Things are created with purpose like a spoon. How do you interact with the spoon doing a spoon thing? Why does a certain smell lift your spirit? Why do you even have a favorite color? This day what about interacting with the essences of things. Things move us without our thinking about it, how do you move things? How do you interact with the world? Write about it in your notebook.

Day 4 - Correspondences and Critical Thinking

What you need: the internet, critical thinking skills, and your notebook

This one might take some time and I kind of apologize but you do have a clean room and the internet so you don’t have to go find some shitty new age book in the bookstore. A lot of witchcraft and spellcraft is based on the use of correspondences for spell ingredients. You will see a lot of these lists that are like “rose quarts is for love” and “rosemary is for everything” or “the color blue is for tranquility and green is for prosperity but also fertility” You will just see lists of these things with no explanation and you are just supposed to memorize them I guess? If you get really detailed some will mention what astrological sign or planet they are associated with even the classical elements of Earth, Air, Fire, and Water. These elements show up in modern witchcraft a lot, they aren’t really my thing, but worth exploring even as a metaphor if you have the time. You’ll also see correspondences for days of the week and hours of the day or season of the year. These ingredients get put in jars, or sachets, or burned in spells. A Correspondence list is just stuff that is associated with a desired outcome of a of spell.

Some of these are based in astrological concepts or the movement of planets as observed through western mystery traditions. Some concepts of correspondences are filtered through folk magic and the idea that like attracts like, this is called Sympathetic magic. It’s like what you did if you wrote a bad date on paper and tossed it in the trash the other day. See, you did a spell! There is also the Doctrine of Signatures stating that plants that look like things like a plant that looks like a heart is good for your heart or a plant that grows aggressively is good for making a spell to make something move faster.

This is why there are endless lists of correspondences. You can go look up some endless lists of correspondences to see what I mean. Does this sort of historical context mean anything to you? Does timing mean anything to you? What if you made your own correspondences? What would that look like? What if you hate the color orange because it was your ex-husband’s favorite color? Then chuck it out of the rainbow mix! Plants and other things are often gendered, why?

Pick 3 herbs in your spice cabinet or a plant you found outside and look up the magical correspondence for it. Does it make sense to you? If not, what do you think would better represent a desired outcome? What colors, plants, flowers, sounds make you happy or sad, write that down.

Day 5 - Sigils

What you need: Pen and paper

I love sigils but the idea of what they are and how they work has been changing lately. I’m kind of old school with sigils. The idea is that you have a statement of something you want to achieve, but you write it in the present. Maybe you have decided you want to be a witch so you write “I AM A WITCH” now, drop the vowels, “M W T C H” now take those letters and turn them into a symbol, overlap the letters, make it look pleasing to you. There! You have a sigil. I like to keep these around for a few days until you forget what it was supposed to be. The idea is that you take in the idea of the symbol and it becomes part of you, then you burn it and the sigil is gone but still resides in you. There’s are lots of ways for sigils to operate these day it seems, some are charged through self pleasuring before being destroyed, some act like a sticker that you place on something and it stays there and is not destroyed, I just like to hang out with them subtly reminding myself of whatever the reason I crafted it. I highly suggest reading this article on Run Soup about sigils and images in general and how they affect humans.

Day 6 - Knot Spell

What you need: a length of swing or rope

This is a fairly simple folk charm. There’s a lot you can do with fiber art and magic but we’ll start here. Get a length of string, or dental floss or an old shoelace, whatever can be tied 9 times. If you wanna feel witchy, light the candle in your space in your clean room. Think of something you would like to manifest like waking up on time to get to work early or remembering to water your houseplants, do that grounding and centering thing from day 2, then tie the length of thread in order as outlined in this image while saying each line of the spell. Now you would let go of that energy and eat some food. Leave the knotted string in your space. Write down your thoughts on the experience.

Day 7 - Divination

What you need: A book, some way to listen to music digital and all the stuff you picked up off the ground

When people think of divination they think of tarot cards or reading tea leaves but there’s lots of different kinds of divination and there’s no reason to fork over money for a tarot deck when it just might not be your thing. I don’t know how it works or why it works but I’m more inclined to say that our brain is paying attention to everything and we fixate on symbols and archetypes because they remind of what our unconscious has been sorting out while we’ve been sleeping.

I’m going to suggest three forms of divination: Biliomancy, Shufflemancy, and Cleromancy. Pick one or pick all three if you feel like it. If you guessed bibliomancy was about books, you would be correct! Originally it was to use the bible but any big book will do, especially if the books means something to you. I have this lovely edition of Lord of the Rings that’s fantastic for this. Close your eyes, you can do the grounding and centering thing if you would like, think of a question, open the book to a random page, point your finger and read the line. Did you get some sort of answer?

Shufflemancy would be putting your music on shuffle and asking a questions for and for the next track to give you some insight.

Cleromancy is divination through small objects. It often has to do with tossing the objects and observing where they land in relation to each other but we are just going to simplify it. Remember all that stuff you picked up off the street? You didn’t do it? That’s okay. Get a small bag or maybe a stock or something and gather some small object, the ones you found or some other objects that will fit in the bag. Ask a question, toss the bag around a bit and let one object fall out. What does that object mean to you? Was it something you found? Where did you find it and under what circumstances? Was it a gift from a friend or something that has special meaning? Write it down in your notebook.

And thus concludes your week of dabbling in DIY Witchery. Maybe you hated it, but at least you have a clean room.

#diy witchery #secular witchcraft #a week of witchcraft dabbling #dabbling in witchcraft #witchcraft #witchcraft*#witchblr

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kazbrkker · 4 years

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Chapter 10: The Price of War

Chapter summary: The events of Highway of Death told from Alex's perspective. Alexis' real name is finally uncovered, and one of her captors' identity is also revealed. (3327 words)

Warnings: Hadir's betrayal, character death, flashbacks of almost death.

"Come on, stay with me!" an unfamiliar voice bounced around her head.

Was Alexis dreaming again?

Alexis was definitely dreaming again. Which was how she knew this was reality. Because she knew when she balanced over the thin line between life and death, she would dream. Sometimes she dreamt of hungover mornings and coffee runs with Maddox and the crew, inhumane circuit laps with Mactavish and Price, or the countless times Alex talked her ears off with the desire for another tattoo.

The pain that ached all over her body, accompanied by the abnormal brush of coldness told her it was time. Time to meet your maker.

She heard this joke once, and this sure as hell was the punchline.

"...keep squeezing... hand–"

Hadir? Was... was she really dreaming? This couldn't be real.

Worse were the dreams conjured by fear. The ones that took her right back to St.Petersburg to stare down the shimmering flames. The feeling of raw flesh after endless interrogations. And the reminder of wearing her blood like a second skin. It was she never left that tiny jail cell.

Alexis remembered the crackling of the flames. It was all that filled her ears. Her captors were missing. She was in the middle of nowhere.

The fire blazed a slow path straight for her like she was the final goal to reach. It tore down wooden crates, engulfed the flimsy curtains and went straight for her. Like the fire had a mind of its own and knew it wanted her.

This was it, the end of her legacy. Her stories were etched in flesh, and her book would be the grey stone in Arlington.

The salty tears streaming down her bruised eyes should have hurt, but didn't. The roaring fire snuffed out most of the oxygen and thinned the air. Her head was growing heavier by the seconds, eventually resting it against the grimy walls.

There are worse ways to go, she tried convincing herself.

When she started to drift away, she summoned enough energy to raise a fingertip over the wall—finding her name carved into the stones. Her real name.

Maybe, hopefully, somebody would remember her.

Her dreams manifested into her sleep over time. When she dreamt of St.Petersburg, she'd wake up with her mouth gaped wipe, like she paused mid-scream. Her fingers would tremble and she'd force herself to give in to her shaking legs and remain seated. She'd whisper to herself that it was only a dream. It'll stop.

Until it didn't.

Today, with her back on the ground, eyes rolled back, Alexis dreamt again.

The worst wasn't knowing she was going to die—that was the price of war. She had long made peace with the Grim Reaper. It was knowing she finally had something to live for.

Maybe this time her dream wouldn't stop.

━━━━━━

FIVE HOURS EARLIER:

29 October 2019, 0730 "Alex" CIA with Urzik militia Darus, Urzikstan

Alex hopped off the truck, inwardly expressing gratitude that after hours, they'd finally arrived at their destination. Though the aura of a village filled with rubble and dust in its silence put him off.

Ribbons of the early sun had already splashed across cerulean blue canvas. Behind him, Alexis blew a low whistle. He turned around to discover her standing in the middle of the elevated road—looking heavenward.

"What a view. Exactly the one I pictured–" Alexis marvelled.

Alia stopped her, "You picture your death?"

"Of course. You'd be surprised how disappointing death can be."

Alex kept a blank face despite feeling his heart drop. Apparently his cold shoulder treatment was starting to draw attention—evident when Farah arched an inquisitive brow beside him.

He returned with a shrug, still nursing his anger. He was pissed to be kept in the dark about Alexis' mysterious call. Her standoffish behaviour was from an all too familiar playbook that Alexis always operated out of—the masterful art of dodging.

It was exactly what happened after St.Petersburg. Which was why Alex had to intervene before it took a turn for the worse.

"You're out of it. Anything I should know?"

"What should you know?"

Answer a question with a question.

"If you want to lie to my face, go ahead. But I won't stand here and pretend to believe you."

"For CIA, you have no idea how to deal with women." Farah nudged him up the flight of stairs.

Only then did Alex realised he was spacing out. Although that couldn't stop him from thinking about how the early sun practically bathed Alexis with a halo. "Or... I know exactly what I'm doing," he smirked, climbing two steps at a time.

Farah smacked his arm, "Ah, don't play the game, play the man. I believe that's what you Americans call it." In combat, Farah was all expressionless and cold, but when the commander was out of the field, sometimes she allowed a certain amount of lightness to grace her smiles. They bumped fists with a knowing grin.

"Zip it," behind them, Alexis knocked Alia's head loudly, "Don't even think about dying."

"They'll have their hands full with her up there," Farah mused.

He heard Alia's terrible attempt at whispering—asking Alexis what he pictured for his deathbed. The cunning young lady certainly deserved an ovation. In more ways than one, Alia really was the splitting image of a young Alexis. Another loud whisper came from the young girl. "What do you mean he's not angry! You must be blind."

Alex recalled that one particular vacation in Bali that birthed this conversation. Just the two of them laying on the beach, free of woes and war. Three years felt like a lifetime ago.

"Throw me out of a helicopter, shoot me out a canon. I want my corpse to rain from the sky."

"Go out with a bang?" Alexis sipped on her frozen margarita, laying on a beach chair unbothered by the world. "That is very you."

Surely that sounded like an exaggeration. But if Alex had it his way, he would. Unfortunately, there was already a plot in Arlington reserved for him.

"Something like a sky burial," Alexis answered for him. Flashes of her chocolate hair loose on her shoulders and sunburnt cheeks left his mind. Alex felt her eyes burn into his back. "He's... weird."

"I heard that."

Several wobbly ledges later, they reached the vantage point that overlooked the highway, Hadir passed them two custom made sniper rifles. A larger than usual smile appeared on Alexis as she geeked at the custom rifle. It was almost comical—her jumping around while donning a ridiculous head gauze. While Hadir's impressive rifle put her in a good mood, Alex suspected it was Hadir, Farah and Alia responsible for this lighter shell of Alex.

He missed this version of her—not haunted by demons of her past. Trust it to be Urzikstan to draw out this side of her again. He'd do anything to make this Alexis stay.

"I'd watch that recoil, Lexi."

Alexis flashed a smile, pushing past him, "And I'd worry about your shots, babe. Trajectory is a bastard in this wind."

He set into a prone position right beside her, getting into tune with the new rifle. Then, Alexis cleared her throat loudly, winking into her sniper scope.

"Say, this cold shoulder treatment is getting a little old..."

A second later, she fired a clean shot into a watermelon 600 yards away. Hadir rejoiced in his native language, "Your fruit killing skills are remarkable, Alexis!"

"Don't I know it," Alexis winked. He sensed her scheming face before she even wore it, "Alex, since we're out here swatting flies, what do you say to a friendly competition?"

That interested him, "What's the catch?"

"No catch," she shrugged. "One minute. Whoever shoots the most is the winner. And the loser..." There was a glint in her eyes, "Has to do anything the winner says."

His eyes landed briefly on her grinning lips before he agreed.

The playing field was set: plastic bottles, some rotten fruits and crates. His index finger rested snuggly on the trigger, head lowered to dial into the scope.

"Okay! One minute starts..." Farah paused, "Now!"

Pulling the trigger was an unconscious effort by now, a steady exhale later and in between heartbeats, he fired. Right off the bat, he shot through one plastic bottle nested across the highway. Beside him, Alexis missed her shot, mumbling about how the recoil was too strong.

"Is the prize not enticing enough?" he mused, aiming for his second trophy.

"Only if you lose," her airy laughter made it hard to suppress another smile.

Within fifty seconds, it was a tie. It came down to the final plastic bottle. It was difficult to line a shot with the sun glaring right at him. Still, Alex kept his shoulders levelled and spoke with confidence, "Any last words?"

"You first."

Exhale.

Shoot.

Heart hammering in his chest, they watched collectively as the single bullet tore through the plastic bottle, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

"And that's how it's done!"

Alex tilted back to reach Hadir's high-fives. "My brother, your biggest fan," Farah smiled.

For someone who lost a bet, she didn't play the role. With a charming smile, Alexis' fingers snaked the curve of his wrist. Alex pretended she didn't just jolt him awake with a simple touch, "So. What am I supposed to do?"

"I know just the thing," a brash grin slipped back onto Alex's face, thinking how he had more luck than skills. Or maybe it was an added motivator.

━━━━━━

Everything went wrong quick and fast.

When Price radioed with news, they expected the Wolf to scramble their way. What they didn't expect was Barkov's company.

Alexis split from the group, taking main overwatch at the next building beside them. Her injuries worried him. But their promise to inexplicably trust each other in the field triumphed his concerns. An enemy sniper across the highway was picking Farah's army off one by one. And Alexis... "Dropped his ass!"

That's my girl.

Winking into his own scope, he burst the tires off a suicide truck with a single shot. The one upside about this shit show was that Barkov's army helped clean up the Wolf's men for them.

He dodged back into cover just in time when a bullet whizzed past him. Shit, they found him. Farah panicked, "We need help! Where is Captain Price?"

"Won't make it in time! We need a Hail Mary for these fuckers!" Alexis shouted over the crossfire.

He spared a quick glance to check on her. In the blinding sunlight, her hair turned into a colour that reminded him of bitter tea. Several stray pieces of hair stuck against her sweaty neck. Alexis was still holding her weight, but it was obvious she was growing weary.

But no amount of energy could change the fact that they'd be boxed in by the enemies soon. And Farah and Hadir had too much honour in their cause to retreat. Alexis was right, they needed an ultimatum.

"I've got more firepower in the truck! Alexis, cover us! And Alex, follow me!" Hadir nudged him. Alex left the rifle at his nest and dropped down the ladder to follow Hadir.

"Hadir! Please tell me you have a big enough stone!" Alexis yelled past the gunfires.

"The biggest, sister! They won't know what hit them!" He followed Hadir in and out of different houses.

Without warning, a spray of bullets burst through the battlefield. Alex didn't think much of it until Farah yelled Alexis' name in a state of manic. His first instinct was to charge back in their direction, but Hadir kept a death grip on his forearm, reminding him they only had a small window to make this work.

This better fucking work, Alex thought. Dying on the Highway of Death would be too prophetic.

"My truck is full of explosives, very powerful explosives, it's time to use them! Open the tailgate, quickly! I'll cover us! Open it, Alex!"

The truck held canisters of– "Russian gas?" The entire time Alexis and he spent looking for leads of the stolen gas...

Hadir stole them?

"Yes! And now we send it back to them!"

It was too late. The tremors of an explosion, the screamings. They were lucky not to be swept in the explosion radius, but from the green gas that now terrorised the air, that was the least of Alex's worries. Soldiers irregardless friend or foe, doubled over to cough their lungs out. Blood sprayed ruthlessly in the air before they collapsed.

"You said we needed a big enough stone. This is it, Alexis!"

"No... No no no! Not like this–" Her sentence cut off.

Alex was on autopilot at this point, blindly following Hadir back into a house. Only Farah yelled through the comms, but it was radio silence from Alexis.

Please be okay. Although the raw coughs outside the bunker made him feel foolish for harbouring hope.

The gas worked quick, already blurring his vision. His head spun wildly and his throat scratched. The deadweight of his combat vest alone was enough to make him flop like a raggedy doll. His weakness fed his panic. Alex held onto the bunker's walls with every bit of strength still inside him.

Alexis, he recited over and over again. Alexandra Ward.

Bring her home.

Find her. Find her. Find her.

If Alex hoped the incantation could hold power for him, he was greatly mistaken. One step forward, he crumpled down the floor like an abandoned puppet.

"Hadir–" Alex's vision floated in and out, unable to see Hadir. He briefly registered a new weight over his face. A gas mask. Alex slurred through his words, "Alexis... Find..."

He fought against losing consciousness, not knowing when Farah ended up in the bunker, but only knew she was alone. "Alexis!" he weakly tried their comms again.

Fuck, stay the fuck awake. Not like this.

He channelled all the remaining energy he had, however little. He didn't stop, not even when his breathing slowed, his vision now appearing in phases, or his urge to vomit his guts out. Frantic, he reached for anything he could get his hands on–

His fingers flexed, not even able to feel the texture of leather of his gloves. All he could do was that, and blink to keep himself awake. Hadir was mumbling incoherently about something, not wearing even an ounce of regret from the mere silvers of sight Alex peeked through.

Hadir ran out the door like a coward. Some part of him prayed for the shred of Hadir's humanity to find Alexis.

Alex swore he saw the sun outside melt away, turning his world blue in twilight. His last thoughts were about a certain Bali sky.

━━━━━━

The buzzing of a helicopter shocked him awake. Alex shot up immediately, realising they were still in the bunker. It was deadly quiet, too quiet. Then he realised it was just his blocked hearing.

His world still swirled on its own axis when Price and Kyle came running in. Staring blankly when Price shouted something he didn't understand.

Alexis. The fog in his brain cleared. He kneeled his way over to the unconscious women who laid beside him. Using all his might, he propped her into his lap, fear-stricken when blood stained his hands.

Where did that come from? He hurriedly wiped the molten blood off her head, finding the opened stitches to be the root source.

"Holy shit, captain," Kyle deadpanned, a face full of dread, "This is bad."

Price wasted no time before scooping Alexis up and away to the helicopter.

Alex was thankful for Price who supported the weight he most definitely couldn't: the weight of Alexis dying in his arms.

━━━━━━

It must have been only a few hours of solitude Alex had since they returned to base. Laswell sent all of them to medical immediately—and Alex answered with a clean bill of health. He might be out of the woods, but his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

An unmistakable voice roared outside his ward, followed by someone yelling. He cursed loudly when his eyes snapped open. Did everything have to be white and smell of ammonia?

When his door swung open, he immediately shoved his trembling hands into the sanctuary of the hospital gown's pockets. In his doorway, his glazy vision told him someone was propped up by two other figures. Once his vision finally registered who she was, he bolted over. Much like him, she had an IV drip in toll.

Alex caught her by the waist when she faltered. "Farah," he gave her a once-over, "They cleared you?"

The commander nodded, stepping into his room with feeble steps. Although Alex suspected Farah's ashen face wasn't the result of the toxic gas. He passed her the tray of hot porridge that sat idly on his table.

His hands dropped when Farah eyed it in concern. He cleared his throat, jerking his head to the tray. As expected, Farah rejected it too.

"I'm sorry, Farah," he started, tracing the IV needle embedded in his forearm. For strange reasons, it calmed him. "Hadir..."

"Is my brother," Farah said sharply, "I should have known..." Alex rushed to her defence, but Farah raised her voice in both sadness and anger, "No Alex, I should have known. It is my job as his sister. Hadir was losing faith in the militia, but I pretended not to see it."

Alex averted his sight away. Unsure what to say to comfort Farah. He couldn't begin to understand, nor did he want to pretend he could. Farah rubbed an exasperated hand over her face, "Hadir killed most of my men. And..." Her voice wavered, eyes shining brighter under the blinding fluorescent lights.

"Alia," he said on her behalf.

How did everything go sideways so fast? Five hours ago, all of them were squeezed in the back of a truck, wind in their hair and laughter in their words. Alexis had promised Alia to a hamburger after this shitty war passed, because the war-torn girl had never seen one, let alone tasted one.

"Hadir will pay." Again, Alex remained silent. What could be worse than hunting your own brother? "And if Alexis... doesn't make it..."

Alex sighed, still rubbing circles around his IV. Farah's words all but gutted him.

Alexis tried going back for Alia, which prolonged her exposure. Her open wounds sent her condition from dangerous to life-threatening. The ringing in Alex's ears was so loud but he managed to hear something about chlorine poisoning.

Alex tiredly pressed his palm against his eyes, trying to force the memory of Alexis' rigid body out of his mind but only received another vision of her intubated with an oxygen ventilator. "The Cipro and antitoxin are a wild shot. They're more worried about the fluid in her lungs."

To Alex's surprise, Farah picked up the bowl of porridge to eat. The smallest of smiles tugged across her lips and somehow it made Alex feel much better. "I have no doubt she'll wake in a few hours. She's a tough one."

Alex remained silent.

"Maybe we should try dangling that forsaken ration pack she loves," Farah tried to joke, but her tone felt otherwise. A few seconds later, she continued, "Alexis survived worse. She will pull through."

Was Farah talking about St.Petersburg? It almost slipped his mind that she was the reason for Alexis' safe return. Well, her and... Hadir.

Hadir's betrayal would break Alexis... If Alia's death wouldn't.

Maybe guilt encouraged Farah to supplement the gaps in Alex's understanding, but she explained everything. From the burning house, Alexis' threatening to leave, to how she delivered Alexis safely to St.Petersburg. Whatever Alex knew was from the mission report, the gruesome details blacked out for clearance. The way she described Alexis' injuries induced nausea in him again.

But something else Farah said intrigued him. "A few weeks after Alexis left, the mercenaries returned to Urzikstan. Demanding blood for the American, they said."

Alex leaned out of his chair upon hearing this. It was a piece of the puzzle the rescue task force was couldn't collect. Even the joint task force of JSOC, CIA and SAS ran up cold leads as to who was behind the kidnapping.

"One of the men mentioned a name, Gaia."

‧͙⁺˚*·༓

a/n: alexandra... ward!!!!!!! her name is strictly need-to-know so we gotta thank alex for his pov lmao. & i'm pretty sure her injury counter is through the roof rn. but cheers to me for beating up my characters lol.

alia though... i'm absolutely gutted over this.

taglist: @shigarakiluvbot @wanderlustgiant @captain-pikas-world (wanna be tagged? lmk!)

#call of duty x oc #call of duty x reader #alex modern warfare #alex cod #echo 3-1 #john price #captain price #kyle garrick #farah karim #hadir karim #kate laswell #oc: alexis #ysrwrites: kl #killer instinct #modern warfare #fanfiction

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kcatta-wodahs · 3 years

Note

Hey there :3 May I request a matchup🙈? I'm a 5'6 tall, queer, chin long dyed red haired girl(she/her) and you can call me Karo if you need a name :p I don't really care if it's a single pairing or a poly one as well as the kind of relationship (platonic/romantic/sexual), but maybe a romantic one would be sweet🤔 I'm a INFP and was born under the sign of Pisces and I think the stereotype fits me pretty well lol. I don't think I would describe myself as clingy, I definetely need my space (part1)

and me-time, but sometimes it's also nice to have someone who will drag me outside to do stuff or socialize if I'm isolating myself too much or another depressive episode seems to creep up on me. I think they need to understand, doesn't matter if it's a platonic or romantic relationship, that sometimes I can't give them much(time etc) and that that's nothing personal and that they're still very important to me. Hmmm I think I would prefer my relationship like I like my fanfics hehe, slow burning, like first get to know each other, (enemies to) friends to lovers is just *chefs kiss* for me <3 I really love to draw and sing, to dance too, I like to spend time in nature and with animals, help them too. But I also like adrenaline rushes, like rollercoasters, cave exploring, bungee jumping, exploring lost places etc, I would say I'm almost up to anything if it's exciting or interesting, but I definetely like just chilling and watching netflix, playing games or watching Vine compilations or crackhead satire twilight tiktoks(which is tbh the things I do most of the time until someone drags me out). I love making others laugh with just random outbursts(thats pretty much my humour, just randomness and gen z memes). I try not to judge anyone for anything and be open for all kinds of stuff, except for like non-negotiable things for me like racism, homophobia, sexism etc, like, full offense but I have absolutely a zero tolerance for that. I also get very emotional very easily, doesn't matter if it's something not so important like a touching movie scene(so many things make me cry so easily haha) or like in an argument. I really have a hard time argueing, I hate it SO much, I either try to avoid conflict(and run away like a coward lol) or if it's really something we have to discuss I sometimes need time and space in between(not the best under stress talker/thinker), but if the other side is being calm and considerate then I think I would be fine too Oh almost forgot,I love cuddling(definetely also platonic)and am not afraid to just throw myself at my friends/lover/s I am getting better at not caring about what others think, but sometimes I'm still pretty insecure about everything(my actions,my future,my appearence..),but my motto is fake it till you make it,so feck other people,I can do whatever the hell I like and nobody's gonna stop me hehe😈🙈 Soo yes,I think that will be enough😂Thank you for your time and effort👐💕👐

A/N: I promise you fake it til you make it is 100000% good strategy and also i see feck are you from ireland

I pair you with.... The Attic Sandwich!

Beel and Belphie would be perfect partners for you. The two of them balance each other out in many ways, and you fit right into that. They value the connection between them and because of it they don't expect to always be around each other. This connection extends to you. Beel takes you out to all sorts of places (usually ones where there's unique food) and would definitely have fun with some adrenaline rushes. It makes him forget about his hunger for a bit. Belphie is absolutely there for your sense of humor and he's very good at watching your depression and arranging something to cheer you up.

More Below the Cut!

The plot of the first 20 chapters is what really gets you close to these two. (Spoilers for that follow and in the last three bullet points) Beel opens up more and more to you, and just absolutely falls for you. Belphie gives us that sweet, sweet enemies to lovers trope. He becomes curious about you, especially with how smitten Beel is, and ends up falling along the way.

THIS is the cuddliest group to ever cuddle oh my goodness when you want snuggles you will have them

They adore just relaxing with you. The three of you become a pile on the couch while watching movies or other videos.

Beel will watch you scroll through tumblr while he engulfs you with his arms. Belphie somehow worms his way into yours and alternates between sleeping against your chest and watching your screen as well. You hear an occasional snort of laughter from him.

Beel is very emotionally intelligent, so he can quickly determine your mood and what he can do to help.

Belphie encourages you to break out of your shell and be yourself. He's very blunt about his opinion of other people lol

He finds himself staying awake longer with you just so he can hear you. He thinks you're hilarious, honestly, and loves talking with you.

When you throw yourself at Beel he catches you. He big and strong and loves affection from you. but also this happens https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NIhl1cW9Me8

Belphie thinks its the funniest shit he can't breathe

If you do it to Belphie honestly he just stands there - either to let you fall or cling to him like a koala. He looks so Done but I promise he loves it. He laughs at you either way. He saves hugs and cuddling for when laying in bed or sitting. Too tired to hold you.

They both understand needing space, and will often just go off and do their own thing. They have complete faith in your feelings for each other, and will never doubt that you love them.

At least not for needing alone time - Belphie has lingering guilt over plot but he tries to make up for it by protecting you.

The others in the house can't help but be reminded of the trio they were with Lilith as angels.

While it still hurts to remember, Beel and Belphie feel almost as if they've come home around you. A part of them that was lost is found again.

Snippet!

Cleaning day is nobody's favorite, but least of all Belphie's. Too much work. Just don't take ou your stuff and then you don't have to clean it later, right? The problem to him seems to be all the time people spend awake and he shouldn't have to deal with it!

But cleaning day is a little better with Beel and Karo. With their laughs and energy. Usually seeing other people so active drained him, but not with those two. He watched as Karo danced around the room to the music she had put on, while she and Beel tidied up. It was frankly adorable, and best of all: Belphie wasn't expected to join.

He was happy to watch. He watched as Karo spun into Beel's side, surprising him and causing him to stumble before he laughed and swept her up into a spin together. He watched as Beel picked Karo up with ease to put something on the top shelves of the room. He watched Karo find pillows in all the nooks and crannies of the room, and he huffed and whined when she threw each one at him on the bed.

Belphie was on snack duty. In exchange for the two helping him with cleaning day, he was expected to provide the rewards. This was not a small feat when Beel was involved, but it was far better than cleaning.

"Hah! The closet is done!" Karo declared, brandishing her feather duster. "Snack us, Belphie!"

He couldn't help but chuckle. It was an awful phrase. Silly and stupid, but Karo's enthusiasm was just so contagious.

"Good job. C'mere," he told them, reaching to his hoard of treats.

Karo practically jumped onto the bed, grinning at him, while Beel was close behind looking very expectant. Belphie hid the curling smile of his lips by lifting up a large bag. "The closet is the biggest monster of them all - so for defeating it, you two get this."

Karo gasped and Beel's eyes gleamed. "Oh, those are my favorite..." he said, already reaching out.

"Ah-ah," Belphie pulled the bag back, to be met with a pout from Beel. "You'll eat them too fast for Karo to get any, so we're gonna do something different."

"Different?" Karo asked.

Belphie smirked and opened the bag, which led to a very audible tummy rumble from Beel. He and Karo couldn't help but laugh. He pulled out a snack - just one - and held it up. "Karo, say 'aaah'."

She beamed at him and opened her mouth. "Aaah!" Belphie tried really hard to keep his blush down as he dropped the snack in her mouth. She was so darn cute about everything.

"Now you give one to Beel."

"Just one?"

"Just one," Belphie agreed, smirking at the pout.

It didn't last long though, as Karo held up the snack and said "aaah" to Beel. He eagerly opened his mouth for the treat, but shocked himself by blushing heavily once she leaned over to feed him. Karo didn't comment, but seemd to be rather proud of the fact.

Belphie fed her another, and she followed up with Beel - but Beel took her hand after stealing the snack from her fingertips. He couldn't help but kiss the palm of her hand. "You're... so cute," he mumbled. "I like this."

"I thought you would," Belphie said, pleased with himself. "Karo?" he held up another.

She went for the treat, but instead he pulled it away, holding it above his head. "Beel gave you a kiss, don't I get one too?"

Karo paused and blinked before laughing and leaning in. "You're adding new rules," she told him.

"Never said I couldn't," he answered, giving her a light peck on the lips before presenting her with the treat. The look of satisfaction in her eyes made his heart pound, and he could tell that Beel's was just as busy.

"My turn," Beel said quickly. Whether he meant for a snack or for a kiss... well. We shall see.

#im sorry it took so long!!!!!#i got hit with stress in school and hid in dragon quest builders 2 for three days #Ive literally done nothing but play that #thank you so much for the request!!!!#matchups #match ups #bast babbles #my writing

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of-muppets-and-men · 4 years

Text

Penumbra

Chapter 7: Daybreak

New update i forgot to post here. Whoops. AO3 link if prefer it instead.

Another hushed morning in the Soul Society.

It was around five’o’clock, a time where most souls were still very much asleep. Seated Officers, Lieutenants, and a handful of Squad Captains as well. An unforeseen benefit of the peaceful era they’d fought for. No real remaining threats outside of common hollows necessitated any sort of urgency. Complacent as it may seem, Head Captain Kyoraku had made it clear this was to be mandated.

After all, the majority of the shinigami reserve forces needn’t bother themselves with the potential return of Yhwach. They wouldn’t stand a chance anyway.

As much as Yoruichi wished to take full advantage of said mandate, Suì-Fēng had other ideas. The former captain and current lieutenant of Squad 2 wouldn’t let her Captain slack off for any reason whatsoever. Paperwork, logistics, training. All seemingly without end. And so Yoruichi sat at her desk, stacks upon stacks of paperwork surrounding her and her dutiful lieutenant. Suì-Fēng was almost too happy to be once again serving her beloved Lady Yoruichi.

“UGhhhh… Can we take a break yet? It’s too early for this…” The Captain groaned.

“My Lady, we can’t afford to slack off. What example are we setting for the squad if we do?” Her Lieutenant lecture.

Yoruichi pressed her head against her desk, folded arms over her head. Suì-Fēng chuckled at her Captain’s dismay when it hit. A massive wave of spiritual pressure came out of nowhere, sending a shiver down both their spines. The room quaked, the air reverberated. It was so dense, Suì-Fēng could barely breathe, the pressure on her lungs becoming overwhelming. As she leaned against the desk, struggling to stand, she felt a hand at her waist propping her up. Suì-Fēng’s gaze drew upward to see Yoruichi’s face adorned with shock. She immediately recognized the spiritual energy cascading and pulsing through the air.

“Captain.. Who is that?”

“Katsumi…” was all she whispered in return, “Let’s go, Suì-Fēng.”

The commander of the punishment force bolted out of her office with Suì-Fēng in tow. Flash Stepping as fast she could through the halls of her manor, desperately trying to reach her daughter’s room. The Captain and her lieutenant practically broke the door open to see Katsumi standing on her bed, zanpakuto in hand. The main difference being it was no longer the normal Odachi she handed to Katsumi the night before. It was bigger, much bigger.

It couldn’t be, she thought to herself. Yoruichi pushed herself towards Katsumi, her own weight betraying her with every step. Suì-Fēng stood bereft of strength or words, marvelling at the inherent power of a mere child. Katsumi’s mother shook her awake with whatever willpower remained. The young girl’s eyes peered open, tired and confused, her mother’s distraught golden eyes staring back at her.

“Mom? What’s going on?”

“Shikai…” Yoruichi quietly remarked, now truly seeing the blade Katsumi held.

Now perhaps more confused than before, Katsumi puzzled “What?”

“Don’t worry about anything for now. You were releasing absurd amounts of spirit energy, so I thought something was wrong. I’ll tell you everything after breakfast. But it looks like we’re starting your training sooner than i thought…” Her mother explained.

Katsumi’s fatigue came surging back, causing the girl to fall asleep for another three hours, and Zanpakuto still safely in her clutches. The paperwork Yoruichi had left behind was soon finished in a lightning round between Suì-Fēng and herself. Now with Katsumi achieving Shikai, she had no time to dawdle with her Squad’s trivial matters. Though she still had trouble believing it; Shikai? After barely telling Katsumi what it was? Rukia… Ichigo… your daughter is a prodigy, The Captain repeated in her mind.

Prodigy. A broad term but true in every sense in Katsumi’s case. She was progressing at an outrageous pace that would make Captain Hitsugaya jealous. If she could achieve Shikai in little more than an afternoon, how long would it take her to learn the other aspects of a Shinigami.

Zanjutsu? Shunpo? Kido? Hakuda? Shunko? Or perhaps even Bankai? Goosebumps littered Yoruichi’s arms at the thought.

Not long after Yoruichi managed to finish slogging through her less exciting duties as Captain, Katsumi at last woke up. Albeit still hazy on what had occurred beforehand. But fortunately, both their troubles could be eased by a spot of breakfast. Together, they made their way to the expansive dining room in the center of the manor. There Katsumi gorged her little mouth on Onigiri; Pickled Plum, her favourite. As the child ate her fill, her curiosity spiked yet again, prompting Katsumi to bombard Yoruichi with questions.

“So mom? Are you gonna tell me what ‘Shikai’ is? How did my sword get so big? Can yours do that…” the girl babbled on and on.

“Whoa! Slow down there, kiddo. Before I answer any of those questions, there’s a place I wanna show you first. Kinda like a secret hideout.”

“Secret Hideout?!” Katsumi reiterated with glee.

“Mhmm. Wanna see it?”

“Uhh, Yeah!”

“Then let’s go. Make sure to bring your Zanpakuto with you.” Yoruichi said lovingly.

In a flash, Katsumi cleaned and dried the dishes and stormed down the hallways in search of her blade. Meanwhile her mother stood astonished at her endless enthusiasm. As Yoruichi waited, she began to reminisce on how she had brought Ichigo to the very same place all those years ago. If only you could meet her, Yoruichi lamented on Ichigo’s absence. A part of Yoruichi would never understand Rukia’s decisions; why she never found the heart to confess… but at the very least, Katsumi was happy. But for how much longer?

“Mom! I got it!” Katsumi announced from down the hall.

Yoruichi shook her head, shaking off her darker thoughts and focused on her daughter, “Well, let’s get a move on then.”

The elder soul grabbed a pack she’d asked one of her many attendants to prepare, filled with an abundance of snacks; including a new pocky flavour Kisuke procured for her. The lady of the house made her way to the courtyard, her staff bowing politely as she passed by. To Katsumi’s surprise, her mother knelt down and coaxed her to grab hold.

“C’mon sweetheart. It’ll be faster this way.”

“Umm Okay…” Katsumi replied, doing as she instructed.

“Alright. And a one and a two and…”

Just like that, the pair vanished into thin air. Yoruichi Flash Stepped from rooftop to rooftop with little effort doing so. Katsumi beamed with delight as they soared over the Seireitei; other souls appearing as no more than insignificant flecks. The girl’s vision arbitrarily gawked to and fro at every landmark in sight. Until she felt a tap from her Yoruichi, who then pointed toward Sokyoku hill.

“That’s where we need to be.”

“Why there?”

Yoruichi chuckled and purred, “You’ll see.”

Instead of landing on the hill like she’d anticipated, her mother swerved left toward an inconspicuous little alcove built in the rock face. The young soul hopped off her mother’s shoulders and inspected the quaint little hideout. Although, Katsumi couldn’t hide her disappointment.

“I like it but are you sure it’s big enough?”

Yoruichi smirked at Katsumi’s child-like chagrin, “Follow me.”

Yoruichi then opened a hatch Katsumi hadn’t noticed before, carefully hidden amongst the floor tiles. A light jump and Yoruichi disappeared down the hole. Katsumi rushed over to look down the hatchway, seeing darkness with a vague hint of light at the bottom. With a deep sigh to psyche herself up, Katsumi followed her mother’s example and jumped.

The fall lasted a few seconds despite looking far deeper, or so her young mind conjured. She opened her eyes to see a vast cavern, far bigger than she could’ve ever imagined. Yoruichi ruffled a hand delicately through Katsumi’s hair and she ogled at every inch of her old training grounds.

“Impressed now?” Her mother asked coyly.

Even without uttering a single syllable, Yoruichi could tell she exceeded her daughter’s expectations.

“Shall we begin?” The Captain questioned once more.

“Yes!” Katsumi replied, nodding so hard it looked like her head would pop off.

“Alright. But first and foremost; here, you are my student and I am your teacher. You listen to me no differently than you do at home, okay?”

Another enthusiastic nod. In a moment’s notice, Yoruichi jumped onto a higher platform, arms crossed like an instructor.

“Good. Now you must know that all Zanpakuto have three states. The first is the unreleased states, which you have now. The next is Shikai, when a Shinigami learns the name of his or her Zanpakuto. And the last state is Bankai, but today you’ll be learning how to summon your Shikai at will.”

“How will I do that?” Katsumi mused.

“By learning your release command. A specific word that will transform your Zanpakuto into the form you saw last night.”

The young soul searched her mind to remember that form. Its shape and design.. What was it? Delving further, it came back to her, slowly but surely. A massive cleaving blade, far larger than it was now, with metal bands lining a hollow center. She could recall it with perfect clarity; Tōgetsu’s true form. But what was the release command?

“How will I know the right word?” She pleaded.

“Unsheathe your blade and find out.” Yoruichi snidely lectured.

A quick pout escaped Katsumi’s lungs before she did as her mother instructed. She removed the sash from her shoulder, drawing the greatsword from its scabbard. It felt like forever since she held it properly, the weightlessness of it catching her off guard as it had the first time. But expectantly, the blade remained silent; Katsumi unable to her Tōgetsu’s voice as she had previously. She held it every which way but alas, it changed nothing.

“Why won’t isn’t it working?!!” Katsumi shouted in frustration.

While her daughter fiddled with her zanpakuto, she slipped back by her side and calmly placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Easy, Katsumi. This isn’t a thing that can be forced so just breathe and concentrate. Your Zanpakuto will do the rest.”

The girl huffed and puffed but ultimately headed her mother’s advice. She held the blade steady in both hands, closed her eyes and took deep deliberate breaths.

Tōgetsu, tell me how to release you.

Silence.

Tōgetsu, please…

Remember my name and dream… A voice she knew whispered.

“Dream, Tōgetsu.” Katsumi repeated.

She opened her eyes and marvelled alongside her mother at the now transformed blade in her hands. Katsumi erupted with joy; Yoruichi rubbed a hand through her daughter’s hair.

“You did it, Sweetheart.” Yoruichi said lovingly as Katsumi continued to giggle, “Now let’s practice the basics.”

Later that same day

Rukia was alone in the Kuchiki household, preparing for bed. Renji had more business to attend to at the Sixth Division barracks alongside Byakuya, so both of them would be spending the night there. Ichika was sound asleep and had been for the past hour. Rukia had every intention of following suit. At least, she was until a Hell Butterfly came sputtering through her open window.

Puzzled, she held out a hand for the messenger to land on, unsure of who’s voice to expect. Low and behold, Yoruichi’s voice came through.

Rukia. Meet me at my old hideout beneath Sokyoku Hill. There is something you absolutely must see. Also, make sure you come alone.

Before Rukia could even respond, the butterfly flew off back out the window, leaving Rukia alone with her thoughts. Something I need to see? What on earth did that mean? Far too tired to give it any more thought, Rukia slipped beneath her covers, drifting off into a deep slumber. The morning would come soon enough.

And so it did.

Rukia managed to slip away under the guise of running an errand, leaving Renji and Ichika at home. The acting captain made her way through the semi busy streets, ducking through alleyways to avoid any members of her squad. Eventually, she made it to the alcove Yoruichi had shown her years before. Speaking of her old friend, she stood waiting for her to arrive.

“Yoruichi, what’s this all about? First you send me a message in the middle of the night and now have me sneaking through the Seireitei to get here.”

“You’ll see once we get down there.”

Both women handed down into the depths of the old training area, but mid-descent, Rukia heard unfamiliar grunts and shouts. She focused her ears on the encroaching voice, clarifying the closer she got. And the reiatsu Rukia felt… Katsumi?

It had to be. But it’s strength was unlike anything her daughter had mustered before. Definitely stronger than an officer, perhaps even matching most of the current Captains…

Rukia followed her old friend deeper into the cavern, tracing the origin of her firstborn’s voice. However, the closer she got, the more apparent Katsumi’s increasing might became. Her legs slowly turning to jelly, the weight of her petite frame pressing down upon her. But even though Rukia’s breaths shortened with every step, she felt no fear of any kind. Just happiness.

Finally, Katsumi came into sight, intently practicing the basic forms of zanjutsu. From mere meters away, Rukia watched on as her eldest’s reiatsu encircled her like a blazing torch. Wind swirled and danced around her aura. Its breathtaking silver hue overpowering the natural light of the surrounding cavern. Tears of joy formed in the corners of Rukia’s violet eyes, Yoruichi standing by her side rubbing her back.

“She looks so much like him…” Rukia gushed, half-heartedly wiping at her eyelids.

A smile and a chuckle escaped Yoruichi’s lips, “That she does… Oi! Katsumi! Look who’s here.”

The girl’s concentration broke, the energy around her dissipating like snow. Katsumi’s eyes locked with Rukia’s, violet mirroring violet. A grin from ear to ear materialized on the girl’s face, full on sprint towards her beloved ‘aunt’.

“AUNTIE RUKIA!!” She screamed, colliding with a thud.

“Hello, sweetie.” Rukia smiled in return.

The two shared an earnest hug that Yoruichi felt hard pressed to interrupt, “Care to show Auntie Rukia what you’ve been practicing?”

“Practicing?” Rukia said as she felt her daughter’s warmth slip away from her.

Bewildered, the woman watched Katsumi assume a stance with her Zanpakuto. It didn’t resemble any form taught at the academy so what in the world was she up to? Eyes closed, the apprentice brought the blade an inch before her forehead. With her grip slack, Reiatsu surged around her yet again. But unlike previously, it felt more calm, controlled… like the delicate wisps of candlelight. And in a serene voice, Katsumi spoke the name.

“Dream, Tōgetsu!”

Rukia was speechless.

Shikai. Her little one had attained Shikai.

Her heart danced around in her ribcage, slowly succumbing to her emotions. The baby she had left in Yoruichi’s care for fear of banishment, had bloomed magnificently. Before Rukia even knew it, tears had begun streaming down her cheeks. She made no attempt to wipe them, knowing they’d only be replaced by more. So instead, she smiled and Katsumi smiled back.

“When did this happen?” Rukia finally managed to say.

“Last night. She was sleeping one minute, then releasing spirit pressure the next. Scary to think what she’ll be like a few years from now. You and Ichigo sure made one frightening kid.”

The old friends chuckled as Katsumi eagerly cleaved a boulder in half.

Katsumi was strong. And still had more room to grow.

#Bleach #bleach oc #ichiruki #pro ichiruki #rukia x ichigo #ichigo x rukia #ichigo kurosaki #Rukia Kuchiki #yoruichi shihouin #katsumi kurosaki #sui feng #Penumbra

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docdevortrash · 5 years

Photo

Finished! No one talks about battlefield medic Julian enough, and I think that’s a crime. Considering Julian and Draug first met when he was still a medic and she was still a soldier, I think it merited a drawing.

The story of Draug and Julian’s first meeting is below the cut!

The battle had raged all morning. Draug could still hear the fighting happening in the distance, but it had been more than an hour since she had seen anyone among the living. The sound of crows and other carrion birds overhead made her tense, and she kept her sword in hand just in case one dared come near her.

It had been an unlucky strike, really. The soldier had been no more than a boy, and had come at her while she was distracted by a larger, more dangerous man. That man she had slew, but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to kill the boy as well. The gaping wound across her ribcage was a badge to remind her of her mistake. The battle had continued, but here she was, stuck sitting against a tree, too weak and pained to even get up to try to make it back to the camp. At least she was somewhat in the shade, thought the wide-brimmed hat that she wore blocked most of the sun from her face. The hat served the double advantage of hiding her long, braided hair and keeping her pale skin from getting too burned during the heat of the day.

She must have dozed off, or fallen unconscious from blood loss, for Draug started back into awareness at the sound of something moving close to her in the grass. She weakly raised her sword, struggling to sit up straighter against her tree. Her wound flared to agony. As the sound came closer, she slashed out with her weapon, giving a feral growl.

“Ho, there!” The surprised exclamation almost made her drop her sword. “At ease, I’m just a medic!”

This time, Draug did drop her sword. Medics were scarce in this war – the last one she’d known had been accidentally killed on the field with the soldiers. Most had been reserved for treating the officers, and didn’t mingle with the common soldiers.

A face cautiously poked into her view around the grass and bushes, stance hesitant. Her vision blurred and she groaned in pain, exhausted by the mere effort of trying to defend herself. Her head dropped back against the bark and her eyes closed. The person came closer, dropping into a crouch in front of her.

“Easy now,” he said softly. “We’ll get you back to camp, all will be well.”

Draug lifted her head and opened her eyes once more, struggling to bring the medic into focus. He knelt before her, looking cautiously at her dropped sword. He was younger than she’d expected, with skin even paler than hers. Reddish hair fell over heavily lidded gray eyes, and his mouth was pressed into a tight line as he took in her bloodied state. He was thin and it was obvious even in his hunched-over state that he was very tall. His medics uniform was stained with blood and his eyes were tired. He gave her a tilted smile as he noticed her watching.

“There you are, lad,” he said, voice low and soothing. “Can I have a look?” He rummaged in the bag that sat in the dirt beside him, pulling out bottles and bandages. Draug gave a nod, still watching him warily. He leaned closer, grabbing the bottom edge of her shirt and pulling it up to examine her wound. She winced as the fabric pulled away from the gash and the drying blood. The medic made a noise of sympathy, pulling the shirt open farther. Too far. Draug slapped his gloved hand away, pressing her arm over her chest. He pulled back in surprise, gray eyes wide.

“A little too high,” she rasped, panting. That gave the medic pause as he looked over her, confused. She raised a shaky hand and pulled off her hat, letting her braid tumble free over her shoulder. The medic’s eyes widened further, and his whole face blushed scarlet.

“A woman,” he exclaimed. “Er…my apologies…I did not know.”

Draug nodded, too exhausted to reply, and gestured for him to continue. Looking far more hesitant than before, the medic carefully peeled the shirt away again, gaze growing focused as he examined the wound. The blush slowly receded. He pulled a stained cloth out of his bag, carefully wiping away the blood. His hand came up to grip her shoulder and hold her down as she gasped and tried to wriggle away.

“Hold still,” he said. “I have to clean it and sew it up.”

Draug forced herself to sit rigid as he finished his wiping and upended another bottle over the wound. Draug hissed in agony as the liquid ran into the wound, and his grip tightened.

“Easy now,” he said quietly. “This is the worst part.” His gaze found hers, and he gave her a reassuring smile. “You’re doing wonderful, we’ll have you back to camp in no time.”

She went limp as the pain finally faded, and a few drops from another bottle made it go numb entirely. The medic pulled a needle and some thick thread from a pocket and began to deftly suture the wound. She watched the needled flashing in and out of her ragged skin with morbid fascination. The sight was unsettling.

“So how did a woman come to serve in Lucio’s army?” the medic asked, trying to distract her. Draug pulled her gaze away, instead watching his face as he worked.

“There’s not much to tell,” she said. “I learned to fight from my aunt, left home and joined the army a few years ago. I wanted to see the world, and the army gave me the best chance of that.” The short speech left her winded, and he gave her a look of sympathy, pausing in his sewing. His gray eyes were intense and searching.

“What’s your name?”

“Draug.” He went back to his suturing, releasing her from his piercing gaze.

“I’m Julian,” he said. “Julian Devorak.”

“Doctor Devorak,” Draug said, attempting a smile. He snorted, glancing up at her with a roguish grin.

“I’m not a doctor,” he said. “Just a humble medic.”

“Well, you’re a doctor to me,” she said, voice hoarse. He noticed, and paused again to grab his waterskin for her. She drank greedily, feeling her stomach tighten in hunger as well. They had all been too nervous to eat much that morning before the battle, and she regretted that now.

“There,” Julian said has he finished his work. His leather gloves were even bloodier than when he’d started. She looked down at the wound, relieved to see the flesh drawn back together once more, even if her skin was still stained with her blood. It would leave a respectable scar. “Now, we need to get you back to camp.” He made a move to stand, sliding his hands beneath her arm. Draug pulled away.

“I need to get back to my men,” she protested. “They’re still fighting out there.” Julian’s eyes widened.

“You’re in no state to fight,” he said sternly. “You need to get back to camp and rest.” She shook her head, struggling to push herself up.

“I need to be with my company,” she said. “Thank you for your assistance, Doctor Devorak. Please help me stand.”

“I’m not a doctor,” he said again, making no move to help her further. “And I’m not going to send you back there to be butchered after working so hard to sew you back together.”

“I’d like to see you try and stop me,” she said, bolder than she felt, as she jammed her hat back on her head and tucked her braid away. Julian gave a scoffing laugh, standing and stepping back to watch her struggle.

“I’ll tell you what, soldier Draug,” he said, crossing his arms. “If you can stand and walk, I’ll let you go back to your company. If you can’t, I take you back to camp.”

“Deal,” Draug said swiftly, though she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand unaided, let alone walk. It was a chance at least. She stabbed her sword into the ground, using it to pull herself away from the tree. The pain from her wound returned as she struggled to get her legs under her, and she leaned heavily on her sword. It sank deeper into the ground as she got to her shaky feet, swaying slightly. Julian watched her silently, gaze impressed almost despite himself. He gave a lopsided smile, meeting her eyes once more.

“There’s half of the bargain,” he said conversationally. “Now walk.”

Draug scowled at him, wrenching her sword from the ground with a grunt and nearly unbalancing herself in the process. It took nearly all of her energy to do so, and she about cut off her hand trying to sheath it. She reached up to make sure her hat was in place, nodding at the medic.

“Thank you again for your help, Doctor Devorak,” she said stiffly. “I am in your debt.”

Draug took one step towards the distant sounds of the battle, and promptly collapsed back to the ground. She groaned in agony as she curled up into a ball around her wound. Damn him, but the medic was right.

To his credit, Julian said nothing. He merely shouldered his bag and leaned down to slide his hands under her knees and shoulders, picked her up with a soft grunt. She closed her eyes as she rested her head against his chest, the world spinning around her. The thump of his heart beneath her ear grounded her, helped her calm her breathing. The pain slowly receded to bearable levels.

“I think the cooks in Lucio’s camp have made a hearty stew,” Julian said as he carried her, stride long and confident through the grass and the littered corpses. “There’ll be bowl and a bed waiting for you there, in my medic’s tent. You can rest as long as you need before going back to your company.”

“Just for a night, Doctor Devorak,” Draug murmured tiredly. He tilted his head to look down at her, smiling crookedly. His gray eyes softened as she glanced up at him, her own green eyes glazed with tiredness and pain.

“Just for a night,” he agreed.

#julian devorak #julian #julian x mc #julian x apprentice #ilya #ilya devorak #the arcana #The Arcana Game #arcana #arcana game #digital drawing #digital art #digital painting #illustration #fan apprentice #apprentice #draug #artists on tumblr #writers on tumblr

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raphpanda21 · 4 years

Text

My city your mountains ,Stay with me Stay

Last Time

Bellyhand N1 chuckled to himself before settling comfortably back in his chair waiting for his charge to awaken and come downstairs for her departure.

It would be several more hours until Persephone came downstairs and required his escort. It was a another silent ride to work but N1 let it be. The Miss seemed to have a lot on her mind still and she would speak on it if she wanted to. Arriving at the garage she departed with a short goodbye before disappearing into the elevator.

N1 was more than right about Persephone’s mind. She had a rather restless night only able to get her mind to still after she made herself some honey and chamomile tea. She could only hope that work would offer enough distraction to keep her thoughts from straying to her worries.

In an attempt to start her day off right Persephone decided to stop at the company cafeteria and grab herself a latte with a double shot. Sure she might crash like a freight train later but by then it would be lunch and she could always recharge her batteries . Stepping out of the elevator she moved into the queue waiting to place their orders with the baristas. When her turn came she quickly placed her order before stepping to the side to await its delivery. Feeling her cellphone vibrate she pulled it out of her coat pocket smiling as she sees Hermes has sent her a text of a puppy with sad eyes followed by a text that reads where are you? She had just sent back a reply explaining her delay when a voice behind her caused her nearly to drop the already damaged cell phone.

Hades: Kore, what a happy coincidence meeting you here. Come for the coffee as well.

Her heart rate began to slow down from the jolt it had at being startled. She slid her phone to the safety of her coat pocket as she turned to smile at him.

Persephone: Yes, I need a little extra energy to get my day started today.

Hades chuckled at her response the sound drawing stares and whispers from those around them making Persephone fidget with the increased attention. Thankfully the fates were on her side and she heard the barista call her name.

Persephone: Well that would be me. Excuse me.

She moved around him to quickly retrieve her coffee doing her best to ignore the stares of the other patrons. Of course they were curious they all had probably seen the tabloid and not knowing her there was no telling what they might believe. She just needed to get to work and lay low. Hopefully the office gossip would die down quickly.

As she wove through the growing crowd she finally made it back to the cafeteria door and was just about to push it open when a hand reached over her head pushing it open for her.

Hades: After you.

Persephone slipped through the opened door Hades following a step behind

Persephone: Well, guess it is time I get to work. Wouldn’t want the boss thinking I am a slacker.

Hades chuckled at her attempt at humor

Hades: I am sure he thinks nothing of the sort but perhaps you could assuage any worries he might have about how you are adjusting to this internship by having lunch with him today ?

Persephone sipped at her coffee to try and hide the signs of anxiety his suggestion had created. On one hand it probably was a purely professional meeting he was suggesting but on the other hand it might be judged by outside observers as anything but. Even just innocently standing and talking with him her skin prickled from the multitude of eyes she knew were watching them. Lowering her coffee cup she looks up at him trying to look confident despite the turmoil her emotions actually were causing on the inside.

Persephone: I of course want to ensure that I am performing to the standards asked of me but I think perhaps having lunch might be too intimate of a setting. I would not want anyone to misconstrue the nature of our interactions as anything other than professional. I have already caused you enough trouble so perhaps it would be better for me to just meet you in your office.

Hades jovial demeanor dimmed at Persephone’s reply but he decided to try and liven the mood with a jape.

Hades: Don’t worry Kore at the very least you have made me seem less of bore in the eyes of the masses .

Persephone frowned her manner seeming to cool instantly towards him as she looked down suddenly becoming extremely fascinated by her coffee lid. Had he stepped out of line? Had his words upset her somehow? He would not get a chance to voice this out loud though because another party had entered the field. With a casual ease that Hades found enviable Hermes appeared draping his arm casually over Persephone’s shoulder giving it a friendly squeeze.

Hermes: Hey Persephone, see you got your bean juice! You ready to start the day ? I heard Ares is on the warpath up there so think it is going to be a killer today.

Persephone smiled up at her childhood friend thankful for the interruption.

Persephone: Ares started another war? Wonder what caused it this time? Is it serious?

Hermes grinned as large a Cheshire Cat his head bobbing in confirmation

Hermes: Oh yeah , with war comes other things like famine and greed. All of that combined can cause a major influx isn’t that right boss?

Hades wanted to pout at the interruption but put on a mask of indifference instead nodding his agreement. His response went unnoticed though as the hyper red head’s attention had shifted yet again.

Hermes: Speaking of war ravaged you alright there Thanatos? You look like something the Chimera dragged in.

Hermes chuckled at his own joke as Thanatos cut his eyes at him the dark bags beneath them making him look quite sickly.

Thanatos: Oh shut up your rooster head I am way to tired to deal with you right now.

Seeing Thanatos Hades mask slipped completely as he glared at him his visage beginning to darken slightly with his anger.

Feeling the intensity of Hades glare Thanatos turned and returned the glare with one of his own. Never one to enjoy glare offs Hermes loudly cleared his throat.

Hermes: Well then, guess grumpy should get an energy drink and we all better get to work. Old Helios waits for no one!

Persephone glanced between the two males concerned by their obvious aggression towards one another. With Thanatos’ arrival the number of stares had only increased. Was this what fish in an bowl felt?

Persephone: If I know Ares we won’t be having any breaks today. I really don’t think lunch will be possible if I am to pull my weight today Hades. Especially with as tired as Thanatos looks.

Thanatos: Gee thanks for the compliment.

Hermes: She isn’t wrong man. Your bags are darker than the river Styx.

Thanatos: Whatever, if war boy is on a rampage you both are going to look like me by the end of the day.

Hermes: You are probably right. You ready to head out Persephone?

Persephone: Sure ummm see you later Hades.

Hades could not hide his disappointment but there was no helping the current situation.

Hades: Of course. I will see that a meeting is set up on your calendar for us to talk. Try not to overdue it Kore. Ares can be a real headache.

Persephone: Oh trust me I know.

Persephone missed the surprised look on Hades face as she turned to follow the departing Hermes and Thanatos. Her having a familiarity with the God of war was something he never would have expected at all. It seemed Kore was full of surprises.

Thirty minutes later the trio were up to their neck in a sea of souls as far as the eye could see. It was a strange conglomeration of souls exhibiting calm acceptance mixed with the wailing and screaming of those who had been ripped from the land of the living quiet violently. To say it was jarring would be an understatement but with their combined efforts they began to make headway within a few hours and things had grown quiet enough to allow them time for a breather on a hillside overlooking the line of processed souls. Hermes just returning with water bottles passed them out before getting seated himself.

Hermes: So seriously, what happened? I don’t think I have ever seen you look this terrible and not been hung over myself.

Thanatos rolled his eyes taking a swig from his water before he replied

Thanatos: I wish I was hung over. I got home yesterday and found my place absolutely trashed.

Hermes: Seriously!? Like one of your siblings came by and crashed unannounced or like someone broke in?

Thanatos: The later unfortunately.

Persephone: That’s awful, was anything stolen?

Thanatos: If they stole anything I haven’t noticed it yet. I was up all night just cleaning the mess honestly. Haven’t really had much time to take a true inventory.

Hermes : Who do you think did it ?

Thanatos shrugged

Thanatos: Reporters maybe ? I don’t know. How does anyone know who commits a crime without catching them in the act. I will just have to get someone in to do some repairs and I guess get a security system installed to be safe.

Hermes: Dang that sucks man. What will you do in the meanwhile?

Thanatos: Make do. It isn’t so bad. It is not like my house burnt down or something. Everything will get fixed or replaced in time.

Persephone squeezed her water bottle the plastic popping and crinkling in her hold. This was her fault. It had to be because of her that yet again Thanatos life was being flipped upside down. She had to make this right. It was up to her to fix this.

Persephone: Come stay with me

Hermès and Thanatos: What?

Persephone: While you are working on getting your places back to rights you should come stay with me. There is a spare room at my place and it is the least I can do.

Thanatos: Uh, I don’t know I mean it isn’t exactly your place after all.

Persephone bit her lip at his words. Technically he was right but surely Hera would understand. She had placed her there to provide her safety so surely it would be okay if she extended the safe haven to someone else in need.

Persephone: It will be fine. You are my friend so I am sure she would understand.

Thanatos looked over to Hermès for support but found none as the redhead shrugged his shoulders.

Thanatos: Well, alright but only for a short while and you have to make sure your host doesn’t mind. The last thing I need is the Queen of the Olympian’s pissed at me.

Persphone: Of course! I will send her a text once we get off. I am sure she won’t care.

She would send the text of course but she had learned in the past that it was best to hold your cards close. Never give up information unless asked for it. She knew Thanatos was a good guy and no risk to her but Hera might not see it the same way. Better to just ask if a friend could stay with her and not give exact details unless they were asked.

Hermes: Sounds like a solid plan to me. Let’s get back to it. I think Ares has finally called it a day so if we are lucky we might catch up by the end of the day.

Thanatos groaned stretching and cracking his neck before standing up once more handing Hermès his empty water bottle.

Thanatos: You are going to jinx us with talk like that. I will start leading the next group in. Just make sure you have the right forms ready this time Hermes.

With that last barb Thanatos took to the air with a powerfuo flap of his wings. Persephone and Hermes made their way back down the hill and onto the frontlines once more.

#greekgods #loreolympus #inspired #drabble #persephone #thanatos #hades #hermes #princesss & cupcake series

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