#and eclipse has smoke come out the mouth constantly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Text

fall apart when it hurts too much

i had like three ideas for this fic so here’s all of them smashed together! ft. carlos and tk actually not being physically perfectly fine after being trapped in a fire, breakdowns in the shower, and an actual apology for that scene.

It's the smallest thing that breaks him, in the end. Ever since the fire, Carlos has been trying to keep a lid on everything, trying not to shatter even though he's been on the verge for hours now. He makes it to the shower, desperate to scrub the stench of smoke from his body, and then he just—

He drops the soap.

ao3 | 2.9k | 2.12 spoilers

Carlos barely makes it five steps from their house before his knees are hitting the tarmac, falling to all fours as his body heaves and shakes with coughing. He can’t catch his breath, and panic lights up in his chest, fingernails scrabbling at the ground despite the pain. Hands are on him, too big and rough to be TK’s, but Carlos doesn’t have a chance to work out who they belong to before they’re shifting under his arms, dragging him backwards even as their house explodes, a blast of intense heat washing over them.

If he had any breath left in him, Carlos is certain it would have abandoned him in that moment. Everything he’s spent years building for himself, all gone in the blink of an eye. It’s too much, and he collapses back down the second whoever’s holding him lets go. His eyes are streaming, a combination of irritation from the smoke, the tightness in his lungs, and a terror that he suspects won’t leave him for a long, long time.

He gasps, forehead pressed to the concrete, and then hands are on him again, but these—these, he knows. Carlos sags gratefully into TK’s arms, allowing him to pull him close and resting his head on TK’s chest, right above his heart.

He still can’t really breathe, and judging by the ragged gasps from above him, TK isn’t faring much better. But his heart is beating.

They’re alive.

Carlos closes his eyes, drifting away from himself as the fire continues to burn and the wail of sirens cut through the night air. TK curls his body around him and Carlos clings to that security with both hands. It means they made it out; somehow, they made it out.

TK’s lips press against his cheek, then his mouth shifts to his ear, voice rough yet still soothing when he speaks. “Baby, we need to move,” he says. “We gotta — They gotta check us out.”

Carlos feels himself nodding, but it’s the only movement he can manage. His entire body is trembling and his mind is frozen, replaying the last five minutes over and over on repeat.

God, had it only been five minutes?

“Come on.” TK tugs at his arm and, after a few tries, Carlos manages to get his limbs to cooperate long enough to begin to rise. A dizziness comes over him without warning and he stumbles, nearly pulling them both back to the ground; it occurs to Carlos that TK can’t be any more steady than he is. They’d been in there for the same time, after all.

Judd catches Carlos before he falls, and he sees through blurred vision Owen doing the same for TK. They’re led - or, rather, carried - to the ambulance, the flashing lights cutting through Carlos’s already pounding skull, and carefully lowered down onto the step. Unthinkingly, Carlos grabs TK’s hand, unsure if the tremor in the touch is coming from him or TK.

Oxygen masks are secured over both their faces and shock blankets wrapped around their shoulders, the soft material comforting. A kind-looking paramedic kneels in front of them, asking them questions about symptoms as she wraps burns Carlos didn’t even realise he’d acquired. He barely manages a nod or a head shake at the appropriate moments, his brain struggling to catch up with it all.

He’s so tired. All he wants is to be asleep in their bed, in TK’s arms, and for this to be a horrible nightmare he’s yet to wake from.

But their bed is gone. Their home is gone, ashes, only the twisted remnants of metal supporting beams left behind.

He’s shaking again, his chest constricting and causing him to cough despite the oxygen mask. Tears fall hot and fast down his cheeks and he practically falls onto TK, hands fisting in the blanket.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobs when he’s caught his breath enough to speak, pulling the mask down. “I’m so sorry.”

TK shushes him, hands running soothingly up and down his back. “It’s okay. This wasn’t your fault. We’re going to be okay.”

“But we almost weren’t.” He pulls back to meet TK’s eyes, the first time since Owen and Billy came bursting in. “I—I thought we weren’t going to make it. I should have had a fire extinguisher upstairs, this should never have… I...”

He cuts himself off, talking becoming an impossibility. TK cradles him close, kissing his head gently and whispering reassurances into his hair. Carlos hangs onto every word, not really believing them, but wanting to desperately.

By the time the paramedic ushers them into the ambulance, Carlos’s tears have eased, but the gaping pit in his chest has only grown.

He wishes he could wake up now.

They’re at the hospital for a few hours, run through a myriad of tests before they’re both declared fit to leave. A smiling nurse gives them the news, telling them that they’ll be home before they know it.

Neither of them have the energy or the ability to correct her.

Carlos’s parents come to pick them up, his mom producing a bag of fresh clothes for both of them. Where she got them from, Carlos doesn’t know, and he doesn’t ask. He hasn’t said much at all since the fire despite TK’s many attempts to get him to talk, leaning into the doctor’s advice not to do anything that might irritate his throat. He’s not sure what he’s even supposed to say; their house is gone, and that’s… That’s that.

His mom loops her arm through his and walks him through the corridors and out of the hospital. Carlos only half-listens to her talk about fixing up his room for them and what she’s planning on cooking for dinner tonight; he still feels the stench of smoke and ash clinging to his skin, even though they were able to clean up a little at the hospital. He itches with the need to wash it all off, to scrub until his skin cracks and bleeds and the pain eclipses that which lingers in his bones.

TK seems to sense how he’s feeling, constantly providing support in one form or another the entire drive to his parents’ house. Carlos feels guilty for not checking on him, but he’s seconds from shattering. If he tries to focus on anything other than holding himself together, he knows he’ll break.

He realises that makes him a shitty boyfriend, but… But.

His childhood home soon comes into view, a part of Carlos relaxing at the sight. He’s beyond grateful that they came here instead of going to Owen’s; he needs every comfort he can get right now, his mother’s cooking and his abuela’s stitched blanket second only to TK on that list.

He turns to TK as the car comes to a stop, squeezing his hand gently. “This isn’t how I’d imagined bringing you home for the first time,” he jokes, trying for a smile, but it falls flat. TK gives him a token smile anyway, the same weariness Carlos is feeling heavy in his gaze.

“I’m looking forward to seeing what teenage Carlos was like.”

“You already know,” Carlos points out. “I’m pretty sure my mom spilled every story there is the other night when we were… Well, you know.”

TK nods. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a mere whisper. Carlos doesn’t get it, how even the slightest thought of their house can send him spiralling, but he guesses that it’s just another thing he’ll have to deal with now. As if there wasn’t already enough.

He doesn’t get a chance to think on it any longer, his parents calling for them to come inside, his mother practically shoving the two of them upstairs. Carlos leads TK to his old room by the hand, the decorations almost untouched since he moved out.

“You can just…” He waves around, gesturing vaguely to the bed. “Make yourself comfortable, I guess. I’m going to shower, you can go in after me if you want, or I won’t mind if you just want to sleep. Bathroom is the door at the end of the hall.”

TK chews on his lip, not letting go of Carlos’s hand just yet. “I can join you?” he offers, but Carlos shakes his head.

“It’s pretty small in there. Better not.”

TK doesn’t look like he believes him (and why would he? it is a lie, after all) but he nods and lets go. Carlos lingers for a second, then leaves, grabbing the bag of clothes his mom left on his way.

He manages to scrub himself fully once before it happens. There’s still a slight tremble to his hands as he reaches for the soap again, the feeling of being unclean sticking to him, and he just—

He drops the soap.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. Carlos stares at where it’s fallen, willing himself to just pick it up and carry on, because that would be the sensible thing to do, right? The normal thing?

But he can’t. Everything—the fire, the house, the goddamn soap—is suddenly all too much, and Carlos has to brace himself against the tiles as emotions he’s tried so hard to ignore pour out of him in a wave of grief and sorrow and despair. He presses his fist to his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, cries wrenching from his mouth, so loud that he doesn’t hear the gentle knocking at the door.

“Carlos?”

Carlos gasps, straightening as TK’s voice cuts through the noise. “I’m okay, I’ll just be a second,” he calls, but obviously he’s not convincing enough as the door creaks open, TK’s face falling when he catches sight of him.

“Oh, Carlos.”

TK steps into the room, silently undressing and stepping into the shower with him. He bends and grabs the soap from where it fell and creates a lather on his hands, looking to Carlos for permission before going any further.

Carlos wordlessly nods, so TK begins rubbing the suds over his body, touch soft and feather-light. They don’t say a word, and it’s not… It’s not relaxing, exactly - Carlos doesn’t think he can relax tonight - but it’s… It’s something. It means he’s not alone, which is all Carlos could ask for in this moment.

A slight pressure on his shoulder tells him to turn around, so Carlos puts his back to TK, facing the spray of the showerhead. He doesn’t know why, but not having to look at him makes it easier, somehow, to say the words that have been spinning in his mind since this nightmare began.

“I’m so sorry, TK,” he whispers. “If we had just had an extinguisher, then—”

“Then, nothing,” TK interrupts, not pausing in his motions. “I used to be a firefighter, Carlos; I know from experience that when a fire burns like that, nothing can stop it. My dad, Billy, and Judd all had extinguishers, and they barely made a dent.”

“I still should have done more. You were so calm, and I was just panicking.”

“Firefighter. I’ve been in plenty of burning buildings before; you haven’t. And, trust me, I was scared too.” TK sighs, his hands stilling on Carlos’s shoulders for a brief second before resuming. “Listen to me,” he whispers fiercely, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You have nothing to apologise for, you hear me? Nothing.”

When Carlos wakes the next morning, TK is sitting on the edge of the bed, back to him, his hands twisting together in his lap. The set of his shoulders is tense, and Carlos can imagine the look on his face right now. He pushes himself up onto an elbow and reaches out, intending on comforting TK the way he’s done so many times over the course of their relationship.

What he’s not expecting is for TK to flinch away like his touch burns. Carlos frowns, sitting up fully and crawling over the bed to sit next to him. “Babe?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

TK shakes his head, subtly—though, not subtle enough—shifting away from him until there’s a clear gap between their bodies. It’s so far removed from last night when they could barely stand to let go of each other, and Carlos has no idea what’s causing it.

“TK?” he tries, keeping his hands to himself this time. “Please, TK, talk to me.”

It takes another agonising minute before TK finally, slowly, turns his gaze to Carlos. His eyes are wet and red-rimmed, and he can’t seem to look directly at him for longer than a few seconds. He clears his throat roughly, rubbing the material of his borrowed sweats between his fingers.

“Remember last night?” he says quietly. “When I said you had nothing to apologise for? I meant that—you don’t, but I do.” TK takes a trembling breath, then turns to him with a gasp. “Carlos, I—”

“Stop,” Carlos interrupts, shaking his head. He thought they’d moved past this; he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. “I already told you, it’s okay. You were in shock, you were angry… I get it, okay? You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Yes, I do.”

“TK—”

“Carlos, please.” A couple of tears slip down TK’s cheeks and he doesn’t bother to wipe them away, a desperate look in his eyes. Carlos hesitates, then sighs and nods, gesturing for him to continue. “Thank you. I… If I thought it meant anything, I would say that I’m sorry a thousand times over. I mean, I am, of course I am, but they’re just words, right? The same as saying I wish it had never happened in the first place, because the point is that it did happen and I can’t ever take it back. You had done nothing but support me, and I just—I hit you. There’s no excusing that. I don’t even know if there’s any forgiving that.”

Carlos frowns. “Of course there is.”

“Well, maybe there shouldn’t be.” TK looks down at his lap, shoulders curved inwards. “I wanted to use so badly that night,” he admits. “I was going out of my mind over my dad, and I’d convinced myself that I’d lost you. That I was going to lose you both. It was so tempting to go to the nearest bar or dealer and make it all go away for a while.

“Then I realised that I would only be hurting more people if I did, and I couldn’t do that. I’m not… This isn’t me trying to excuse what I did to you. You don’t deserve that, and I understand completely if you can’t trust me anymore, or even if you want me to leave. I’ll do it, whatever you want, just say the word. I can’t take it back, but I’ll do anything so that you feel safe.”

TK sniffs, his head bowed so low he’s almost folding in half. Carlos hesitates, then slowly reaches out, taking TK’s hands in his own. “TK, look at me?” he asks softly.

TK does, pain written all over his face, and it breaks Carlos’s heart again.

“I forgive you,” he says, squeezing as tight as he dares. “I forgive you. You might not think you deserve it, but I promise you that you do. I won’t pretend that what happened didn’t hurt me, but I understand why you did it.” He pauses, weighing his next words carefully before he speaks, not wanting to say the wrong thing. Not that he thinks TK will react like before again, but he refuses to make him feel any worse about the situation.

He makes sure he has TK’s eyes on him before speaking, keeping his voice as calm as possible. “But,” he starts, sighing heavily, “you are right. It’s not an excuse, and we are going to have to deal with this soon. Maybe not right now, but we need to have a conversation about these defence mechanisms of yours and how we can make sure you don’t feel the need to fall back on them again.”

TK nods. “I’m going to go to a meeting tomorrow, and I’ll talk to my therapist as soon as I can. I’ll… I’ll be better, Carlos, I swear.”

“I know you will.”

Carlos shifts closer so he can wrap an arm around TK. He stiffens at the touch, but slowly leans into it, carefully resting his head on Carlos’s shoulder.

“I don’t deserve this,” he mumbles.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” Carlos counters.

TK snorts. “I think you’ve given me about thirty.”

“And you’ve deserved every single one.” He kisses the top of TK’s head and strokes his side. “I don’t think you could ever do anything bad enough to drive me away. That’s not who you are, TK. You’ve made mistakes, yes, but I love you and I will keep loving you even if you think I shouldn’t because I know my boyfriend and I know he’s a good man.”

TK sniffles, his arms coming up to wrap around him. He hesitates a second, a palm hovering over Carlos’s chest, trembling in mid-air as the seconds drag out. Carlos holds his breath, waiting, then smiles as TK slowly brings it down, letting it rest just over his heart.

The touch is light, barely there, but it’s something. It’s progress.

They’re both more than a little broken, more than a little hurt, but they can heal. They will heal, as long as they’re together.

110 notes · View notes

beetlebitchywitch · 4 years

Note

52 with Incubus!Beej sounds so made for eachother

52: “I’m not jealous! It’s just...you’re mine!”

HAX I’M SO SORRY this has been sitting in my inbox for A G E S but hey, we’re gonna give some more Incubus!Beej a shot!

Note: this was supposed to be a smut prompt. But I took it to real soft places. Whoops.

Where the fuck are you?

Beetlejuice was pacing, his body unable to stand still for longer than three seconds before the anxiety simmering in his belly threatened to explode into a rolling boil. The jagged sound of his forked tail dragging across the hardwood floor felt like the perfect soundtrack to the racing thoughts and images clouding his mind as he frantically scanned the street below your apartment. Six hours ago, you’d left in a cloud of perfume, hairspray, and nervous energy, promising to be home in four hours, and with each passing second a new possibility assaulted his tired mind. You, sprawled out on the concrete stained wet with blood and tears. You, bound and gagged in some freak’s basement with a gun to your head. You, bound and gagged in some freak’s basement because you asked to be…while the first two thoughts were frightening, the last was simply enraging. His fear and his anger swirled like a violent maelstrom in his stomach, bitter tears biting at his eyes at the feeling of the storm brewing inside of him. He didn’t want to yell, he didn’t want to cry, he just wanted you home and safe in his arms where you belonged...but you were his feeder. Nothing more. Demons don’t deserve love. Demons don’t deserve love. Demons don’t deserve love.

It was this mantra repeated daily that kept him from pouring out his heart to you from day one.

Before he could even attempt to unpack the terrifying, poisonous concoction that was his emotions, his ears perked up at the sound of a key in the lock. The simmer in his stomach fell to a weak bubble as the door flung open to reveal you, safe and sound and as gorgeous as ever, a smile on your face and completely impractical shoes in hand. No blood, no rope, no bruises- you were ok. You were home.

And then his nose twitched and burned as the smell of breather punched him in the face like a heavyweight boxer. And not his breather- male breather. The scent was pouring off of you like a heavy smoke billowing from every pore on your body, the acrid stench bringing the bubble of emotions back to the edge of a boil in seconds.

“Hey, Beej,” you greeted casually, tossing your heels onto the floor before falling into his arms. He held you close, of course, trying his best not to gag. “I’m home.”

“I can see that, snack,” he said slowly, fighting valiantly to keep his disgust hidden. “You’re two hours late.”

“I know, I know, I would’ve called but my phone was dead. I’m sorry, Beej, but we were just having so much fun,” you groaned happily, eyes sliding shut at the thought of your late-night activities. He bit back a snarl as he let his fingers run through your hair.

“I was worried, kitten,” he replied, the calm evenness of his words underpinned with a dark, foreboding tone. “Not like I knew what you were up to. It’s easy to get taken advantage of when you’re drunk.”

“Please, I had one beer the whole night,” you countered, wrapping your arms around his neck. It was true, he figured, he could only barely smell the alcohol on your breath underneath the overwhelming, enraging stench of men. God, he’d had enough.

“Oh yeah? And what else did you have tonight, feeder?” he finally asked. You went stiff in his arms. Your eyes were downcast, afraid of the quiet anger you knew you’d find in his. “Or is it better if I ask who?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said, wriggling out of his arms and escaping into the kitchen- he was hot on your tail, though, toes nearly clipping the back of your heel as he pursued you. “I was just out with my frie-”

“Don’t lie to me!” Beetlejuice interjected suddenly, pounding his fist on the counter and sending a few pieces of silverware clattering to the floor. You jolted with a yelp and pressed your back against the wall, your posture reading only fear and God, he didn’t want to scare you, he never wanted to scare you, but the pot had boiled over and now there was no stopping him. “I can smell them on you. How many men touched you tonight, hmm? How many fucking disgusting breathers got their fingerprints all over you? Tell me, I’ll have their hands sliced off and mounted on my goddamn wall!” he growled, eyes and hair flaring a brilliant, blistering red.

“None, Beej, baby, listen to me,” you said desperately, refusing to take a step closer to him with his claws dug so dangerously into the counter. “It’s a club, you’re constantly pressed up against other people, of course I’d come home smelling like someone else! Are you seriously telling me you don’t believe me?”

“Why should I? Why should I when you’re two hours late and smelling like a goddamn brothel-“

“God, do you fucking hear yourself?” you cried, finally meeting his gaze with ire of your own bubbling out of you. “I wouldn’t have gone out at all if I knew you were gonna be a jealous brat when I came home!”

“I’m not jealous! It’s just...you’re mine!” he retorted, seemingly desperate for the words to describe how he felt and frustrated when he couldn’t find them.

“Maybe here I am,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose in an attempt to calm your growing frustration. “But tonight...tonight I got to be mine, Beetlejuice. My whole life can’t just be defined by belonging to you...I have to do what I want too. And tonight I wanted to go out, so you’re just going to have to live with it.”

You expected rage. If anything you were more prepared for it, the yelling, the fighting, the inevitable bout of make-up sex that would leave Beetlejuice satisfied in more ways than one...that, you could handle. What nearly knocked you off your center of gravity, however, was how his shoulders slowly but surely slumped, his entire posture bowing under a feeling of defeat as a deep purple crawled its way through his hair. It was silent- you didn’t break it even to take a breath.

“I...I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, his voice thickened with unspoken sorrow. “I should’ve known better. I...I’m just gonna go.”

No. God, no, this isn’t what you wanted. The shade of purple tainting his hair nearly made you sick, because you knew exactly which emotions that color represented. You wanted to reach out, to pet his hair and hold him close and tell him it would be ok, but it looked as though he might shatter underneath your fingers. His usual light, his mirth, and his infectious rambunctiousness were gone, replaced with soul-crushing sorrow- he’d argue that he didn’t have a soul, but in your eyes, that was impossible. His soul shone so brightly in your life that you suspect the sun could disappear tomorrow and yet you’d feel no less warm, no less alive. Him leaving would be a solar eclipse that never ended, a blanket of darkness that covered you absolutely, drowning you in nothing but nothingness. No, that simply could not happen.

“Bug, don’t go,” you pleaded, bringing out the name you only used on rare occasions. It seemed to get his attentioned, his tail flicking more insistently across the tiled floor. “I...I don’t want you to leave. Please.”

“Why?” he asked. God, his voice was utterly broken, despondent beyond belief and it killed you. “You have a life, Y/N. I can’t have one. It’s like you said, you belong to yourself- it’d be wrong to keep you shackled to being a feeder when there’s so much more you can be. Let me go, snack. Let me go so you can live.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until the tears dropped from your chin to the floor below. By now, Beej’s hair was nearly black, the purple sheen only visible when he turned his head towards the light. Each word out of his mouth felt like a death sentence, each step towards the door like the lowering of the guillotine. Tonight was the night he knew had been coming for months- the night he’d be forced to realize that you were too good for him, that demons truly don’t deserve love, and his eternity was always meant to be spent alone. This would play out like he always knew it would, and there was nothing to be done about it.

“No.”

...Well. That was certainly a wrench in the gears.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, feeder,” he sighed, moving back into the living room to prepare for his departure. “A month from now you’ll thank me.”

“I said no, Lawrence.” He gulped- you only used his first name when you meant business. “If you leave...I...goddammitdoIhavetodoeverythingmyself-”

Before he could even ask what you meant, you were in front of him, pushing yourself up on your tiptoes to crash your lips into his. You tangled your fingers in his hair, trying to show him what you’d been dying for him to realize for months, but you knew that you’d have to say it. You were afraid of putting yourself out on a limb, but you knew that even if you fell, somehow, he’d catch you. He always did.

“God, Beetlejuice, I fucking love you,” you murmured against his lips, pressing your body as close to his as you could. He wrapped his arms around you, keeping you steady- a good sign. “I’ve loved you for so long and if you left nothing would be right. I belong to myself, but I belong to you too, and I never want you to go away because if you did I think a little part of me would die.”

You were rambling, you knew you were rambling, but you couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out- you’d kept yourself silent for far too long and now all of it was spilling out of you with nowhere to go but directly to Beetlejuice’s heart. He cradled you close, pressing your face to his chest while you continued to mumble and murmur your love for him into his skin. You were trembling, and he steadied you. You were terrified, and he comforted you. You were lost, and he guided you. And you loved him, and he-

“I love you too,” he whispered into your hair, his words fluttering like a feather through your body until they settled deep into your soul, finding their permanent home there. “God, do I love you, snack. I love you more than life and death themselves, but I’m a demon- and demons don’t deserve love.”

“Says who?”

“Says...says…”

“...If you’re about to say your mother, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

He laughed and your heart skipped a beat; you lifted your head from its place against his chest and saw a soft pink had crawled its way through Beej’s hair, mingling with the purple that still lingered at the tips.

“I guess you have a point,” he admitted with a soft sigh. “She drilled that shit in my head from day one. Didn’t need me wondering why mommy dearest would choose booze over me, right?” The sadness mellowed his rough voice, but you simply buried your face in his chest again, breathing in his comforting scent.

“Some demons don’t deserve love, like certain bitchy mothers whose names shall not be spoken,” you breathed, drawing another little chuckle from his lips. “But some do. You do. All you have to do is let me.”

...Could he? The one truth he ever knew was that love was out of the question. His existence was about feeding- satiating his desire for warm flesh against his until he got hungry again. Feeding didn’t require love, his existence didn’t require love, so could he let you love him when it seemed so alien to him? But when he looked down at you...your eyes pleaded for him, glistening softly with unshed tears and framed by long, dark eyelashes. Your lips parted with each breath, reddened and swollen from his kisses. Your hair framed your face so gorgeously, tousled locks cascading down your shoulder and just brushing his hand where it laid splayed across your back. You looked at him with admiration, like if you so much as blinked he may vanish so you wished to take him in while you could. It frightened him. It excited him. He had no choice, he realized, but to give in to the inevitability of you. There was nowhere else for him to go- this was where he belonged.

“...Ok.”

#beetlejuice #Beetlejuice the musical #Beetlejuice fic #Beetlejuice fanfic #Beetlejuice fanfiction #Beetlejuice hc #Beetlejuice headcanon #alex Brightman #incubus au #incubeej #incubus!beetlejuice #fanfic #beej #beej fic #beej fanfic #beej fanfiction #Beetlejuice fluff #Beetlejuice x reader #Beetlejuice/reader

392 notes · View notes

woolmasterleel · 4 years

Photo

I’m gonna post all my character refs here, so I’ll start with Medlodaunious and Nightmare Personified > ͜ >

About Medlo:

Name: Medlodaunious Mayonaka

Height: 7’ 4"

Age: 21

Species: Dream Demon (Name is going to change eventually)

Birthday: April 20

He runs a cult, called the Lunar Acolytes

He can walk in people's dreams, but he appears as a black/ dark purple sheep with a bird's skull

He’s very gentle, but in an unsettling kind of way

Very soft spoken, which often gives people a false sense of comfort

He smokes, a lot, it comes out pink

He travels mostly at night, so he keeps his wooden staff with a lantern on hand (I DIDN'T DRAW THE LANTERN BECAUSE I KEPT FORGETTING )

To enter someone’s dream, he must create a "link" with that person. In order to do so, they must stare into his moon eye for a certain length of time, during which, this person experiences some form of sleep paralysis

He gets emotionally attached to people very easily, which results in him being unable to function if he were to lose someone he is close to

The moon in his eye changes depending on the moon in the sky

He avoids sleeping, as his own fears torment him in his dreams

Never goes into the basement, as he prefers to avoid confrontation with Nightmare Personified as much as he can

He usually keeps himself occupied in his office with countless paperwork

He loves Laycie :]

About Nightmare Personified:

Height: 45 ft tall

Species: ???

This is a personification of Medlo's nightmare- he becomes the mindless monster he’s afraid to be (Among a whole lot of other things he’s afraid of)

Both the moon in his eye and the one in the sky turn red (Blood moon/ lunar eclipse) while in this form

Pink smoke constantly flows from his mouth and nostrils

His mouth is kept shut with a black substance. He can open it a little, but not all the way unless he forces his jaw apart

Has a really high-pitched scream

Doesn't talk much

This form initially exists only in Medlo's Dreams, however later, he becomes this being in the waking world

If he isn't on a rampage, he's still moody

Nightmare Personified often torments Medlo in his dreams, which is why Medlo doesn't sleep often

Even though NP exists only in Medlo's dreams (in the beginning at least), he is able to be spoken to through the large dream catcher located in the basement of the manor

The symbol in the bottom right on NP’s ref is the symbol of the Lunar Acolytes, it wouldn't fit on Medlo’s ref, so I stuck it there

#my art #original character #original species #OC #my ocs #Medlodaunious #Medlo #Nightmare Personified #dreamwalker #reference sheet #Lunar Acolytes #Leel’s art

8 notes · View notes

shuttershocky · 5 years

Text

Doctor Roman awoke in the comfort of his office chair, with Da Vinci’s fingers gently drumming the top of his head. A little smile tugged on the corners of his lips. This was nice. Yes, it was good to relax sometimes. He didn’t get a lot of time to rest when he was at work. Like now.

Wait.

“GAH! I’m awake!”

Roman jolted out of his chair, his eyes rapidly scanning all four corners of the dimly lit Command Room. The monitors had been shut off, and no sounds came over the speakers.

“Good evening Romani,” Da Vinci said, not looking up from her notebook. “I was hoping you would sleep just a little longer. You’ve been working for days on end now. That can’t be healthy. You’re no heroic spirit you know?”

“What did... How did... How did I even fall asleep?” Romani eyed his coffee mug. “Did you... Did you spike my drink? Not cool Leonardo! We can’t be fooling around with humanity at stake!”

“I did no such thing,” Da Vinci replied, still scribbling away. “I just gave you decaf, and you passed out before you even touched your mug. Besides, you said it yourself, today’s was a simple, low-threat mission without any risk of failure whatsoever. We can afford to be relaxed.”

“We have to remain constantly vigilant, “ Romani said. “A threat could come from anywhere at any time while Gudako is out there. Now please turn the feed back on.”

Da Vinci rolled her eyes but obeyed anyway, lazily tapping at a few buttons and turning all systems back on.

Roman’s jaw dropped.

It was a warzone. On the monitors were the crumbling ruins of some European city, the rooftops and streets swarming with soldiers of a uniform both very familiar, and yet not quite. They wore black, metallic armor, and many had blood-red capes draping from their shoulders. They wielded strange weapons, rifles that appeared to shoot bolts of dark energy, which they rained down into the city below, and others held large blades that carved the pavement beneath them as they walked. Overhead, the sun lay edge to edge with the moon. A solar eclipse was about to take place.

Also onscreen was a certain teenage girl, who looked rather peppy for being in such an apocalyptic landscape. She looked right at Da Vinci and Doctor Roman, flashing them a wide smile.

“Hey guys!”

“What... How...” Roman said

“Hey kiddo,” Da Vinci said, completely unperturbed. “Give me a sitrep.”

Gudako clapped her hands.

“Okay, so I’m pretty sure these guys aren’t human. I mean, we thought they were human, but when Mash knocked one legionnaire out and ripped off his mask, these glowing black tentacles just burst out of his mouth like ‘BLAAAAHHH’ and Mash and I were like ‘AAAAAHHHH’ and then Geronimo was all ‘RAAAAAAAAAAAAA’ and he stabbed it repeatedly in the face until it died.”

“Really now?” Da Vinci said.

“No, Geronimo was actually like ‘Stand back, Master!’ and then he stabbed it repeatedly in the face but it didn’t seem fair that he got to keep his cool.”

“Wh-wh-wh-wha” Roman stuttered.

“Anyway,” Gudako continued. “We made contact with the resistance movement and are now in the middle of launching an attack on the head honcho’s palace. Ozy’s giving them hell from the sky, but we can’t move in until Hundred Faces says she’s secured the prison camps all across the city. The bastard inside’s been incarcerating random citizens and using them as mana batteries for his big evil ritual thingy and I’ve got a feeling that whatever it is is invincible so long as it stays inside. Current plan: We rescue the citizens, take away its power source, lure it out, then take it down along with its stormtroopers.”

If Roman had any coherent thoughts upon first seeing Gudako, they were all gone now.

“How are your forces?” Da Vinci asked. “Do you believe they can keep up this assault until the prisoners are rescued?”

“Yeah we’re doing fine! I think Billy’s already killed like, 50 of these Demon-Nazis.”

BLAM

A loud gunshot echoed over the monitor. A sword legionnaire who had been steadily making its way over to Gudako suddenly lost its head, wobbling a little before collapsing backwards.

“If I may correct you Ma’am,” Billy said on the sidelines, pumping a shotgun. “51.”

“51,” The master confirmed. “Oh, oh, you’ll want to hear this it’s gonna be great. I had King Hassan lead the resistance into the propaganda towers. We should be hearing their broadcast in 3... 2...”

Beep

“Cursed Arm,” rumbled the voice of the Old Man of the Mountain over hundreds of loudspeakers on every building. “How dost one tell if the device is active?”

“Er, Great Founder,” Cursed Arm whispered, failing to keep his voice from being picked up by the mic. “You are already on.”

“Oh? A-Ahem. Greetings O’ oppressed and noble souls. Liberation has come in these darkest of hours, and the reckoning of thy enemies is nigh. Arise! Arise! Thou must take up arms and throw off thy shackles! Make your way to every corner of thy city, and purge thy home of the evil that festers within! Hold the love of thy kin deep in your soul, and know thy blade fights on the side of the righteous. And if thou shalt fall saving their home on this most exalted day, I shall deliver thee through the places of death, and into the gates of paradise!

Was that adequate, Cursed Arm?”

“Ohhhhh Great founder!”

Beep

“Pretty cool huh?” Gudako said to the Command Room, a wide grin on her face.

“I-I-I-I-”

“Fantastic work there Gudako, but what will the signal from Hundred Faces look like?”

“Ooh I think that’s it!”

Gudako pointed to a dazzling blue flare soaring high above the fog of war and into the sky. It exploded when it reached the top of its arc, projecting the image of... Of...

It was a hand. Doing the “OK” sign.

“That’s it! That’s the signal!” Gudako yelled, leaving her hiding place and sprinting through enemy fire. “Everyone who’s not a servant, fall back! Fall back! The big guy’s gonna come out any second no-”

BOOM

Something struck the ground right next to the girl, ripping through anything in its path and covering the screen with debris.

“GUDAKO!” Roman screamed. Even Da Vinci flinched in her seat.

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” The teenager called, waving her arms to clear the smoke. “I had Mash’s Wall of Chalk on me! Anyway, it looks like the boss has arrived.”

In the center of the battlefield stood a red hooded figure, levitating a foot off the ground. Rusted chains encircled his arms, and strange runes Roman had never seen before were etched all over his limbs and face. He had no eyes, the sockets bleeding a dark, oily fluid, and his hands continued to tear up everything in range with black lightning.

“You!” It pointed a shriveled finger at the girl. “You insignificant, wretched, pompous little insect! No one can stop the birth of the Black Sun! My rule is inevitable, and my reign shall see the end of time!”

“Yeah well point me to the bathroom because I’m about to be a real big party-pooper.” Gudako hollered back.

“Fall where you stand child!” it roared, charging her with a sword in hand.

“Gudako, look out!” Roman shouted.

“Don’t forget to test out my mystic code sweetie, “ Da Vinci said. “Took me a whole week to make them.”

“Oh right!” Gudako said, pulling out a pair of metal fists from out of nowhere. They restructured themselves as she put them on, fitting snugly into her smaller hands.

CLANG

Gudako lunged forward to block the hooded figure’s sword with her right gauntlet. The black energy was repelled by the light blue hum over her arms, as a white light swirled around her left fist. The boss’ eyesockets seemed to widen. It knew what was coming, but was too late to stop it.

“Shoryuken!” The girl yelled, slamming the boss’ face with a fiery uppercut. It was sent flying, slamming through a building which then collapsed on top of it.

She looked back at the communicator, clumsily taking it off and gently setting it down on a nearby wall.

“This can get a bit gruesome. I’ll call you later after I kick its ass. Love you both! Bye!”

Gudako ran towards where the terrifying unknown mage had fallen.

“So you wanna play rough?” She shouted to the shifting rubble. She slammed both gauntlets together, sending an arc of blue lightning between them. “Let’s play rough.”

Both visual and audio feed died at that instant, Da Vinci having shut them off.

Roman’s jaws on the other hand, had not shut the entire time.

“See?” Da Vinci cooed, tapping a pen on her glasses. “All under control.”

Roman turned to her slowly.

“THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE GONE GROCERY SHOPPING!”

#long post #Fate #FGO #Fate Grand Order #fate fanfiction #fanfiction #Wow this ended up way longer than I thought it would be

245 notes · View notes

krysalla-archive · 5 years

Text

ache (where you lay.)

relationship: coco cruz x reader word count: 1.2k warnings: none a/n: hehe listen to strawberry blond by mitski preview: Was he a passing phase? You talked about it constantly when you were high school, itching to get out and finally be rid of the friends that seemed to drag you down here. Maybe he was. Coco drifted in and out of your life often before you left. But you’re here now, sitting with him. You had been the one to contact him, to tell him you were coming back for a week to help your mother while your father recuperated from surgery. That’s good. It has to be good.

He thinks, for once, that he deserves the love you give him. It’s unconditional, forgiving, and warm. Coco takes it in, because he needs to feel good, and you make him feel good. He’s almost forgotten what it was like to be around you, to be eclipsed by something positive, that sparks positivity in him, that makes him see the world a little brighter than usual.

It’s been so long, but it still feels the same as when you were teenagers, sitting outside on your front porch with you while you did your homework and he tried to blow smoke rings from his cigarettes to impress you. Nothing much has changed in that aspect, not right now, only you shuffle around case notes. Your mother is still cooking, the smell wafting through the screen of the door and windows.

You’re visiting, just for a week, but he wishes it was longer. You’ve moved far out of reach for him, not that he can blame you. This town had nothing for you, the only commitment you had was your family, and they didn’t want you sticking around. They knew you had something better than Santo Padre in store for you. He knew it too. Coco knew it the moment he met you.

“It’s hot out here,” you pull your hair up into a ponytail and then fan at your neck and chest.

“You’ve just gotten used to the cold,” he flicks his cigarette and turns to look at you. There was a time where this heat would have broken you into chills. Now sweat forms on your brow and hairline, “It ain’t even eighty.”

Vibrant pinks and oranges paint the sky. It’s nothing unusual, nothing out of the blue, but it feels special, it feels better. Maybe he’s a bit crazy to think it’s more beautiful tonight than ever. He hears you sigh and click your pen.

“It’s exhausting that it’s so hot. I don’t know how I did it, how you still do this. You’re dressed in jeans and a leather jacket all day.”

“There’s no sleeves on it. Not really a jacket. It’s a-”

“Kutte. I know, Coco. I know.”

His hand hovers over the ashtray you made in high school ceramics—a failed pinch pot that you decorated in muddy brown and electric purple—and decides he can take one more drag out of it.

“How’re you doin’ up there? Soaked in rain all the time.”

“It doesn’t actually rain every day. Most days, but yeah, it’s good. Seattle’s good for me. I love it there,” you let the pen drop onto your lap and stretch your arms out, “It’s home now. I’ve got people there, friends that aren’t just like, you know, a passing phase in life. Like your club, they’re your family.”

Was he a passing phase? You talked about it constantly when you were high school, itching to get out and finally be rid of the friends that seemed to drag you down here. Maybe he was. Coco drifted in and out of your life often before you left. But you’re here now, sitting with him. You had been the one to contact him, to tell him you were coming back for a week to help your mother while your father recuperated from surgery. That’s good. It has to be good.

“So, Santo Padre, it’s behind you, yeah?”

“Kind of,” you twist in the chair to face him, closing the folder in your lap, “some part of me still wants to be here. For my parents, for you, but I’ve carved something new for myself, and I can’t just come back. No matter how hard I have wanted to come back.”

“Am I behind you?” he twists the cigarette in the ashtray and puts it back on the railing that encompasses the porch.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not like you come back a lot. We don’t talk.”

“That’s because communication is a two-way street, Coco. You have my number. You could have called me.”

“But you left me,” Coco realized how selfish it sounds, but he can’t stop the words coming out of his mouth.

“I didn’t leave you. I left Santo Padre. I moved on, Coco. I had to. Nothing was keeping me here and you sure as hell didn’t make me feel wanted toward the end.”

“I had things to worry about.”

“I know. You knocked up a girl,” you stare him dead in the eye.

He burns in shame and knows that you know how he tried to hide it from you.

“I’m glad you called.” he switches the topic, feeling something curl up in his stomach that takes the butterflies away. He’d rather have the butterflies than whatever was forming knots in his stomach and chest. Coco brushes his hands through his hair, pushing the strands flat against his scalp. It’s a nervous habit now, “It’s nice to be with you.”

You stare at him, opening and closing your mouth before starting carefully, “It’s like old times, but we aren’t so stupid.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Oh shut up, Coco. You’re smart, just not… conventionally.”

“Conventionally?” he clicks his tongue and smiles. It’s crooked, he knows that, and he knows that it isn’t his best feature, but when he smiles, you do too. You say it’s infectious, that his happiness makes you happy.

“You know what I mean,” you gently nudge his knee with your foot.

“I know, but I like to tease you.”

You smile again, enough to show your teeth, and lean back. Coco almost feels a swell of pride in himself. When you were younger and got drunk on prom night, you admitted to him in a tearful stupor and between the indignation and hatred and discomfort you felt for the dress you decided on, the reason you always hid your smile behind your hands. Insecurity. Coco actually places it. It isn’t pride, it’s the uptick in confidence he has, you are vulnerable with him, and even that’s rare. You hated being vulnerable and actively avoided it at all costs. You trusted him with your vulnerability.

He wonders then, when you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, what it would have been like if he’d followed you, maybe not gone to some big university, that’s never been for him, but gone with you, worked and helped support you, finding a place next to you in the life you made for yourself, actually admitted his feelings for you. He doesn’t want to be so distant, he wants to be close, but this place, this town has always held him back. First, it was his doubt, then his mother, then his children and finally being discharged from the military. He has lived his whole life in Santo Padre, he was defined not going to leave it like you did.

It’s rare people ever leave here, but he’s glad that you were one of the few that did and didn’t come back. You made something for yourself and so has he. But something inside of him wants it to be shared.

He glances back to the sky, the sun hangs low on the horizon and you mother calls for you both in for dinner.

You leave tomorrow and he knows that it won’t be enough time to work up the courage to say it. He doesn’t want to ruin your life by saying something too late.

Coco nudges you as you scribble out more notes on the page, waiting for you to finish. He helps you up—he knows you still have trouble with your back after the car accident your senior year—and follows you inside.

Maybe he can live with being a distant part in your life if he can still get these moments here and there with you.

@emilytostas

#coco cruz x reader #mayans imagine #coco cruz imagine #my writing

139 notes · View notes

broke-bitch-mountain · 6 years

Text

Total Eclipse of the Heart

@quichekolgate another chapter! Finally XD.

So I’m going to try and get the next update sooner (end of the week maybe?? It depends on if I sleep all day or not lol) and hopefully this will start to pick up soon! I want to take time to let Shiro, Lance and Keith get a proper relationship arc without it interrupting the action. So here’s an attempt at that with Shiro and Lance! I’ll try to work on Keith and Shiro in the next update! ALSO! I’m working on a twelve days of Christmas OTP thing that I’m going to post about soon so keep your eyes open for that!

Chapter Three: Fate

Around noon, the small group came together at the front of the castle. Katie had two packs, one with the tracer to find Lotor and Klaizap, and the other had supplies for the week. She wore brown shorts and a long sleeved green and white shirt.

Keith and Lance each had a pack with provisions and clothes, each choosing long pants made of thick fabric, and long sleeved shirts to protect them from the environment. Keith had two water bottles, one attached to hip and a pouch that held emergency snacks in case they were somehow separated. Or if Lotor hadn’t eaten in the time frame of kidnapping to rescue.

Just as they were heading out though, Shiro came out of the castle, packed and ready.

“There’s at least three different royal families that will declare war if even one of you doesn’t come back alive.” he explained. “Besides, I’ve never been one to wait around for death.”

Keith found the footsteps that Klaizap was most likely following after Alfor showed them the path the Aurusian went down.

“It looks like a few different pairs.” Keith noted, “There’s one that’s more tong shaped, but the others look like a similar shoe with different sizes.”

“The dirt is still fresh,” Shiro mused while rubbing a small sample between his thumb and finger.

“We should get moving.” Keith said, “They have anywhere from eight to twelve hours on us.”

“I’m ready to go,” Katie said.

“Then let’s go.” Shiro said, “day light won’t stay for long!”

Six hour later, the sun started to set and Shiro began looking for a good place to stop for the night. Much to the relief of his companions. While Keith had never considered himself a slacker in his workout routines, he was feeling the burn in his legs from the six hour hike they had just treked. He couldn’t imagine how Lance or Katie where holding up. He had offered to carry her equipment about halfway through before instantly regretting it and passing it over to Shiro who didn’t even break stride.

Lance had gone silent in the last hour, which, color Keith impressed, was a shocking development. He had been running his mouth asking questions about Shiro and Katie while constantly reminding them that they didn’t have to answer, he just didn’t like quite and it was really quite, like quite enough to her heartbeats, can you feel your heartbeat through your prosthetic?

Shiro was a good sport despite the rudeness, offering simple yes or no with a small amount of explanation when comfortable. Katie, on the other hand, stopped answering about an hour in. Clearly displeased about the physical aspect in general and was trying to suffer in peace thank you very much. Keith had picked up on the negative vibes which added to his offer to carry her equipment.

As soon as the light was fading, Shiro had them set down for a campsite for the night. While Katie tracked their progress and gage how much further Lotor and Klaizap where, Keith and Lance set up the tent that Shiro had thought to bring. Shiro wondered a few feet from their designated spot to double check that they weren’t in immediate danger and to collect firewood.

“You ok, babe?” Lance whispered

“I thought you were mute by now.” Keith teased.

“Not funny.” Lance shoved, “Dick.”

“Your dick.” Keith smiled.

“Seriously, Mr. Side track. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine...what about you? You holding up?”

“Psh,” Lance shrugged, “I’m golden. You know what they called me back in class? The Tailor, cause of how I can make a tight fit work.” he winked.

Keith snorted, “You dork.”

“Your dork.”

“Please don’t kiss.” Katie popped their bubble. “Like, I get that you’re in love, but I need to focus and you getting cutesy is distracting.”

Lance scoffed, popping his hip, “You’re just jealous!”

“Somebody is…” she mumbled.

Before Lance could ask her to repeat herself, Shiro came back with a slight flush. The first time he had shown any level of exhaustion since they left. “Looking good boys! Pidge, how’s those readings coming?”

“Not Pidge, and they’re almost done mapping.”

“What kind of name is Pidge?” Lance prodded, excited to have another line of conversation to burn.

“Her brother introduced her to me as Pidge.” Shiro smiled then smirked at the princess in questions, “and it stuck better than her name I guess.”

“No, it didn’t, Sir Shirogane.” she playfully sneered.

Shiro dramatically pouted and Lance stifled a laugh. He looked ridiculous, over muscled as he was with puppy dog eyes. Though it was kind of cute, and it was nice to have such a playful atmosphere after the rough day they had. So he turned back around and finished tightening the tent down while listening to Lance joke about how he thought Katie had earned her despised nickname.

“Is he always high energy?” Shiro asked, checking the rope’s tension.

“Only when he’s uncomfortable,” Keith explained. “He thinks if he puts on a show nobody will notice he’s on the wrong stage.” he smiled fondly at his fiance. Who was currently being pinned by Katie who was half his size. “He’s probably trying to get her to forgive him for bugging her earlier.”

“By bugging her more?”

“It’s surprisingly effective.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Yeah, as the test dummy.”

To nobody’s surprise, Shiro was probably the best person ever to have with you when you’re out in the woods. It took maybe ten dobashes, at the largest estimate, for Shiro to build a small fire to keep them warm. Then turned to Katie to ask for the data she had been collecting.

“So, we have a rough map of the surrounding land here.” she explained, “we are the black dots, Lotor is supposedly the red dot and Klaizap is the yellow. It looks like Lotor has stopped for a while now cause his energy signature hasn’t moved any further for the last varga. Klaizap though, is still moving towards Lotor’s location, which means he’s lucky, confident or whoever took the prince left a trail.”

“How much farther from Lotor then?” Shiro pressed.

“A day, day and a half maybe. Granted that’s him staying in that same spot.”

“Then we should head out at first light.” Shiro decided, “I’ll take watch to make sure nothing sneaks up on us. You three go ahead and get some shut-eye.”

“Wake me up when you’re ready to switch.” Keith said, holding the tent opened for Katie.

“I’ll stay up a bit longer.” Lance smiled, “It’s been awhile since I had such a clear view of the stars.”

Keith nodded and ducked into the tent.

“Sooo...they really just let Klaizap walk off huh?” Lance started.

“Yeah, it was really weird.” Shiro nodded.

“I grew up hearing stories that fate hand picked those who were sacrificed.” Lance mumbled. “Literally, the first words out of my father’s mouth when Allura found out was ‘it’s such an honor, almost like fate’ he said.” Lance forced his voice lower in a mockery of his father, puffed out chest and everything.

“Have you changed your mind then?”

Lance deflated a bit, “...a part of me never really believed it…I remembered a handful of governors and other royals tell me that my mother’s death was for a reason. But I couldn’t find it. Like, if I could figure it out. I could apologize…” he trailed off.

“To Allura?”

“Allura...dad….the kingdom…” Lance gave a small laugh, “If it weren’t for me, then they would be ok...alive…”

“I’m sure Allura doesn’t blame you.” Shiro tried.

“She stopped talking to me when we found out what Hagger coming.” Lance said, “If I wasn’t here then mom would have been here to teach Allura, and Allura wouldn’t have been chosen for Haggar cause that would have ended the royal line, so it is actually kind of my fault she’s mad and honestly? I don’t blame her!”

“...how long has that been resting on your shoulders?”

“...while…”

“...that’s fair.”

For a while the two sat in silence, gazing into the fire. The smoke made Lance’s eyes water a bit, but the chipper popping of wood stopped them from turning into full blown tears. Though the fire didn’t seem to be as warm as before. Forest animals pranced around them, oblivious to the heavy air between their two guest for the night. Many too concerned with their own problems to stop and be curious.

“When I was about ten, a group of Galren soldiers, lead by a guy named Sendek, tried to claim our colony on Earth.” Shiro sighed, “A group of them was sent to separate the kids, cause panic and dumb moves I guess. As luck would have it, the royal family was out with the people, and the two heirs got separated, ended up close to me. Sendek noticed and tried to grab them. I was prodigy for the army through my father, so I didn’t have a ton of fighting experience but it was enough to get the three of us away.”

“We ended up hiding behind some trash in the alleyway. Eventually soldiers showed up, chaos ensued and they got the Galra away. When the three of us came out, King and Queen Holt were grateful and offered me a job training to be one of their best. I almost didn’t take it.”

“Why not?” Lance whispered.

“Because a few of the kids we ran from had died in the chaos. I believed that I should have been good enough to save them before accepting a position to be better.” Shiro explained.

“But you were just a kid!” Lance exclaimed. Shiro gave him a pointed look, “oh…”

#quichekolgate #Nomi narrates #shklance #altean lance kind of #galra keith kind of #for sure human shiro #total eclipse of the heart au #death mention #rated M for mature #I wanna be finished with this by January #I start my new job on thrusday #so it shouldn't be that hard #but we'll see!

8 notes · View notes

luna-orlha · 7 years

Text

Title: Total Eclipse of the Heart Fandom: Naruto Genre: Romance Ship: Kakashi/Sakura Characters: Haruno Sakura, Hatake Kakashi Word count: 1,049 Triggers(s): -- Rating: T Additional Tags: Soulmates AU, Fluff Summary: Sasuke smells like dusty books and winter, things that Sakura loves and Sasuke is the only one that Sakura could smell - if she disregarded sweat and blood, every shinobi in Konoha smelt of those two frequently.That is, up to the point where Sakura meets her new sensei. Nothing, not even her auntie’s tales on when she met her uncle, could have prepared for his scent.

Ao3

In academy, Ino and Sakura had bickered frequently over Sasuke’s scent. Only soul mates produced a smell strong enough for them to smell and since both of them could smell Sasuke, it made sense that one of them was his soul mate.

Sasuke smells like dusty books and winter, things that Sakura loves and Sasuke is the only one that Sakura could smell - if she disregarded sweat and blood, every shinobi in Konoha smelt of those two frequently.

That is, up to the point where Sakura meets her new sensei. Nothing, not even her auntie’s tales on when she met her uncle, could have prepared for his scent. His smell is like dust motes on a sunbeam, lazy Sundays at home and safety. His smell is like her auntie cooking curry while Sasuke is more of a faded scent.

She stares at him wide-eyed and he stared back, clearly not expecting that either. “I… er… training ground three, 0800 hours tomorrow,” is all he says and disappears in a poof of smoke. No dramatic words or actions like her parent’s. Just a poof of smoke.

And Sakura walks home with a bitter taste in her throat. Perhaps she imagined it somehow, she tries to convince herself. Sasuke is her soul mate, right?

-/-/-/-

Kakashi used to think his father was lying. Only soul mates were supposed to be able to smell each other but Kakashi can smell everyone.

“Don’t worry pup,” his father would tell him with a ruffle of hair. “When you meet your soul mate, you won’t miss it.” His father taps the side of his nose and though his eyes are sad, his lips curve into a longing. “I can smell as well as you and I didn’t.”

Kakashi waits for months, then years. Kakashi sees Obito meet his soul mate - Rin, sees Minato marry Kushina. Kakashi sees Asuma finding Kurenai and still he hasn’t found his soul mate.

He missed it, Kakashi supposes. His father said that his sense of smell was good, but Kakashi knows now that his sense has outstripped his father’s. Somewhere in the myriad of smells, he had missed his soul mate. Kakashi isn’t sure if he’s sad or happy.

At least he won’t lose his soul mate, he thinks. Not like Obito, or Rin, or Minato.

He gives up looking. Then he finds her in a classroom and Kakashi is not prepared for her scent. There are no words for her scent - freshly cut grass, the wind after a heavy rain, comfort and if there was a smell for eternal love, this would be it.

Kakashi drags his attention back to the three genin-wannabes, trying desperately to block her smell out.

“I…” He starts and furiously backs away. He can’t do this now. Not when he just want to scoop her up and run away. She’s twelve for kage’s sake! “Er… training ground three, 0800 hours tomorrow,” Kakashi manages to say and shunshins away, breaking Genma’s door down in his haste to get in.

“What the loving f-” Genma says. The three jounins spinning their heads to see the shattered door and Kakashi clutching the doorway. “Kakashi? What’s wrong?”

“I met her. I met her.”

“Who?” Raidou asks. He pushes Kakashi into the couch as Yamato makes a new door.

“I met my soul mate.” Kakashi palms his face. “I met my soul mate and she’s my student. I can’t- She’s twelve! She’s my student!” He laughs, slightly hysterical.

“It’s okay Kakashi. I’m sure the Hokage can come up with something.”

-/-/-/-

The jounin that meets them on the training ground isn’t the same silver-haired one. Her soul mate doesn’t want her, Sakura guesses sourly. She tries to push the disappointment away.

No one ever wants her, Inner Sakura prompts. Not in playing Ninja, not in hide and seek, not even her own parents.

Her jounin sensei is Yamato-sensei and has scary eyes. As sensei’s go, Yamato-sensei is a very patient and detailed teacher. Sakura’s not sure how Naruto had graduated from academy not knowing what chakra is, but Yamato-sensei walks them through anyway.

She doesn’t see the silver-haired jounin again, but his scent hovers, especially during the chuunin exam invasion.

-/-/-/-

Sakura is eighteen and stuck deep in the fourth shinobi war when she’s tackled out of the way from a flying rock. She remembers this smell. It hovers about her constantly.

Why would he hover out of sight? It still baffles her to this day. Yet every attempt to find him had ended up in a dead end.

Hatake Kakashi.Sakura had figured his name out after stealing Yamato-sensei’s bingo book. Her soul mate is a terrifying shinobi to cross and Sakura is nowhere close to him. Perhaps this is why he didn’t want her or did he? Yamato-sensei was very vague about Kakashi.

“Don’t take any offense, Sakura-chan. Kage knows what goes on his mind,” Yamato-sensei would say every time she brings up Kakashi.

“You,” she says accusingly to Kakashi.

“Ahh… me...” He replies weakly. Kakashi takes down another Zetsu with precise efficiency.

“You abandoned me!” Sakura punches a Zetsu out, pulling out her chakra tanto.

“You were twelve!” he exclaims as he chidoris several Zetsus.

Sakura kicks the knees out of another Zetsu, taking its head off with her blade. “I thought you hated me!”

“I do not!”

“But you abandoned me…” She stops, shoulders shaking from exhaustion.

“I was waiting for you.” Kakashi steps towards her and cups her her cheek.

“Is this really the time to talk about this…?” Yamato-sensei quips.

“Shut up!” “Be quiet Yamato!” They snipe back.

Kakashi wrenches his mask down, his arm wrapping around her waist and slants his mouth over hers. His lips are surprisingly soft and she weaves her hands into his hair.

Like dust motes on a sunbeam, lazy Sundays at home and safety. Like happiness and comfort.

Her heart beats fiercely as his scent envelopes her. Relief swamping her as she processes what Kakashi is feeling through his smell.

“See. If I stuck around, I didn’t think I could stop myself from doing that,” he murmurs when they pull apart. His thumb rubs circles on her cheek.

Meanwhile, Yamato coughs and wishes desperately that they would stop kissing in the middle of the battlefield.

#drabbles #hatake kakashi #haruno sakura #kakasaku #soulmates

109 notes · View notes