#being able to see where the whisps of hair on his face fall | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

melon-cream-enmu · 3 months

Note

I had an idea for a part 3 of 'big "happy" family'! After Enmu died from Muzan's attack, darling immediately took the chance to run away with her two children. Now no longer having to live under her "husband's" control, darling lovingly raises her two children in peace. That is until... One night Enmu, now Lower Moon One, finds them, and wishes to be a "family" again, wanting to have his darling wife by his side once more, much to her horror. Thanks for considering!

Cw break in, implied past noncon, reader being a single mother, reader is scared of Enmu, Enmu using his blood demon art, suggestive stripping, suggestive non consensual touch but no sex and no groping, Enmu dresses reader, Enmu lays with reader in her bed

You come home late at night, baby in the sling on your chest and your oldest waddling beside you, chubby hand grasping yours. You pick her up and coo at her, she's looking so tired. You were out late, far past her bed time. You put her down in her bed, all tucked in and dozing off already, tucking a soft whisp of dark black hair out of her face. She was a perfect baby, a perfect first baby, she never caused you any trouble as she grew and you're grateful. You just wish she'd come in a better situation. With a father you loved, so she'd have a true family.

You hug your sleeping son close to your chest and blink away tears that threaten to come before leaving the room. You don't want to wake him, but he'll need to be so you can put him to bed too. You shift the sling while you walk, arm beneath his body as it loosens, walking past your bed room, beside your daughters room, and into the next.

Focused on your son, you don't realize something is wrong until you step into a shadow that slices through the stream of moonlight from the far window like a knife. You freeze. It's a person, the shadow moves slightly so it must be. You want to turn back and grab your daughter and leave, but you don't know who this is and if they intend to hurt you.

You slowly lift your head to the intruder and the sight makes you ill.

A man, holding one of the framed photos of you and your children, looking at it fondly. Dark hair, in a style you recognize, a silhouette you recognize, a voice you recognize, as he hums quietly to himself. But something is wrong.

His clothes aren't familiar, his hair is different, and the most glaringly obvious change is his face. Markings, down his cheek, something you've never seen before.

He should be dead, you saw his body and the carnage in that house when you awoke that day. You don't know what had happened but you had thank every god for sparing you and giving you the chance to leave.

You don't realize you're shaking until your son begins to whine.

The sound causes the man to turn. Time moves in slow motion as your blood turns to ice when you finally see all of him. Pale skin, colors cascading down his cheeks, bright blue eyes now etched with pupils reading 'lower one'. And when he smiles, the sight of fangs shoot fear into your soul.

"There you are. I was worried you wouldn't be back before morning, I'd have to wait all day to see you." You don't understand. "It's been...two, three years? I've finally found you, I don't think I'd have been able to wait any longer." He giggles, and it's like pins in your brain.

You're paralyzed in fear. You try to back away but your body refuses to move as he advances on you. He's right in front of you now, staring deep into your eyes. Some where, deep inside you, you wish you could fall into the hazy loving feeling that they give you, but you can't. You weren't fortunate enough to have met a normal man, and fall in love and begin a normal life together.

His eyes shift down, slowly, as if analyzing every inch of your skin on their way down. "Now, who is this?" You hold your child closer to your chest, but he's able to pull back the loose fabric of the sling regardless. His eyes widen.

"A son..." You're mind grows heavy. Even after all this time, it's familiar. You whimper, eyes fluttering closed before opening once more. Your son is now gone from your hold and tears begin to rise as you can only watch. "Our son." Enmu says, rocking him in his arms. You look as best you can through your hazy view and feel you may be sick.

His hand...one of his hands is gone. You're already wondering how he's begun to hypnotize you again, you didn't see any of his toys or hear any of those dreaded words, you don't understand how he did it.

Then there's a tug on your hair, near your ear. You slowly turn your head, your mind is swimming. You wish you were dreaming when you catch the horrid sight. A disembodied hand on your shoulder, pale lips on its back and they grin at you.

You yelp and attempt to slap it away, but your movements are sluggish. The sudden attempt at movement affects your balance and you begin to sway.

The next moment, you're in his arms. An embrace that is foreign yet familiar. "Careful my love. I wouldn't want to see you hurt." He giggles. You're mad, frustrated, feeling a range of emotions that you can't express. All you can do is cry.

"Let's get you to bed, alright?" He asks as if you'd be able to answer, in your current state. He walks with you, pace steady and sure, into the next room. How long was he in your home, to know what rooms are where. He sits you down on your bedding before moving to your sons crib, cooing at him and holding him gently as he lays him down.

For a moment, all you see is a father, putting his child down for the night, doting on them with love in his gestures. But the second he faces you again, that vision shatters.

The look in his eyes. They'd always been sleepy, always staring a certain way. But you learned quickly what he wanted when he looked at you like that. You shiver as you gather your clothes, hoping he'll just let you sleep unbothered. You don't hear him approach, you only feel the sudden touch of his hands on your arms. He starts to slide the sleeves down after you undo the fabric around your middle. Slowly, like he's savoring it, but you know he's torturing you.

You hold a bundle of hem and sleeves at your chest, reluctant to lose what keeps you shielded from his perverse gaze.

You try to calm yourself while he brushes your hair aside, breathing in against your skin, letting his nose draw a path down your neck to your shoulder, where he lays a soft kiss. It's hard to keep your heart from fluttering when he creeps his hands down your exposed back, letting his cold nails draw lines of goosebumps along the fat of your sides until his hands rest near yours.

His nature betrays his actions, the soft pull at your robes doesn't hide the fact that he's demanding that you let go. You drop everything, stepping out of the pile soon bunched at your feet. Bending down to retrieve your night clothes, you feel his eyes on you and turn to him when you rise. You don't look at him as you dress, assuming he's going to stop you when he closes the small gap between you.

But he takes it from your hands, bringing the sleeves up your arms, covering your chest, and fastening it around your waist. You feel this is more upsetting than if he'd stopped you, whimpering when he holds your jaw and kisses your cheek.

"Come..." You do, you follow him to your bed and allow him to lay with you, your chin tucked to your chest to avoid looking at him, but that doesn't seem to bother him.

Humming quietly, petting your hair, holding you close, it's as if these past three years were only a dream. A wonderful dream, free from your 'husband' and his 'love'. It feels as if nothing has changed, despite the fact that everything that possibly could have changed did...

#cream talks #this got long haha #cream slayer #toasted sugar cream #I need him to be tender as he manipulates me #it would #I just need it #cream afab #cw pregnancy #because of reader having children #cream fem

28 notes · View notes

wolf-and-bard · 3 years

Text

So, I wrote a Lambert x Aiden thing because of a conversation I had with @littoraly-art, so here we go. It’s hurt/comfort, but very much on the angsty side.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: explicit language, (brief) mentions of self-harming behaviour

You can also read it on AO3 if you want to

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

The hunt didn’t go according to plan. Lambert underestimated the amount of ghouls that would crawl out of that shithole and fought them well into the night, dodging and striking, dodging and striking for hours on end. They chased him through the forest and branches whipped at him. More than once, did he narrowly escape their bites and when they were dealt with and he stumbled back to light a bomb in the nest, he wasn’t fast enough on the retreat. His ears still ring and white spots dance at the margins of his vision. Lambert only notices that he’s overdosed on Thunderbolt when he’s already back at the inn he booked for the night, two ales down, and his muscles are still taut, ready to strike, while his sense of self-preservation has plummeted. Fuck. His fingers shake as he gestures for another drink. Sweat gathers at his collar, at the small of his back. He wants to sleep and rest, but he won’t be able to, not with the residue adrenaline.

“Lambert?” someone says and Lambert hunches his shoulders. Maybe if he hides his face, he won’t be recognized. But Aiden’s already emerged from the crowd and, anyway, he would have smelled Lambert the moment he set foot into the building.

“It is you!” Aiden saunters over, all neat bun and scandalously tight gear, his brown hair looking almost black in the downcast light of the inn. His smile is brilliant as he takes the chair opposite Lambert. Takes Lambert’s hands and inspects them for wounds before bringing them to his lips. “Hey, there, pup,” he murmurs against Lambert’s knuckles. Lambert’s heart does skip a beat, but with that comes a flare of anger. Aiden doesn’t get to be lovey and cheerful when Lambert wants to crawl out of his own skin. He hums something indiscernible.

“What is it? Talk to me.”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, really? Alright, if that’s how you want to play it,” Aiden says mockingly, letting Lambert’s hands go. “What? Oh, yes, it is good to see me, isn’t it? How I am? I’m so glad you asked. I managed to haggle a big fat fee on a rock troll couple that were mating up in the mountains and causing avalanches and now I’m drowning in coin. Pretty crazy, right? If I made it okay? Aww, sweetie, there’s no need to worry. Haven’t got a scratch on me. You wanna hear more about it? No, of course it isn’t too much to ask, I will happily oblige.”

"Just... leave me alone," Lambert cuts in, and lifts his tankard to veil his face. He's good at hiding his emotion, but in the face of whatever this is and with the day he's had... well, his boundaries are more than probed.

“What? So, you can give yourself a sorry hand-job and cry yourself to sleep? No, sir, that would be incredibly pathetic and a crime against humanity.” Aiden smiles and before Lambert can keep drinking, he’s snatched the tankard away and emptied it himself. Great. Now there isn’t even that to hide behind. Lambert likes Aiden, he really does. On most occasions, he’s so overjoyed to see him that he doesn’t recognize himself. Aiden makes him feel… too many things to think about right now. Today though, Lambert’d rather be alone.

“None of your business.”

"Fine, have it your way" Aiden says with a good-natured shrug and, humming, stands. He makes a beeline for the nearest table full of average-to-handsome soldiers with the Temerian blazon on their chests, and slams a hand down on the table. His hips are cocked out, his smile sly, exposing overly sharp canines. They all look up at him with varying degrees of surprise, realisation. “Any of you boys down to fuck a mutant?” Lambert's blood runs cold, he’s had enough of this. He hurls his empty tankard across the room, angling just so he doesn't hit anyone - though no guarantee on the rebound – and leaves.

His armour, clothes and swords are scattered across the small room he rented by the time he makes it into bed, wearing only thin cotton smallclothes. He sits not two minutes, contemplating whether to go asleep or order himself more alcohol to dull the edge of his frustration even further, when Aiden comes into the room, no knock, no courtesy.

“Aren’t you off sucking flaccid cock? Or are you already done the whole lot of them?” Lambert spits, and crosses his arms over his bare chest. Aiden’s eyes darken and he shuts the door behind himself, forceful enough that it rattles, then slips out of his own armour and boots without much ceremony. “Go get your own room, asshole.”

“You know what? Go fuck yourself,” Aiden replies in a measured manner. All his earlier aloofness is gone, replaced by a gravity Lambert has a hard time looking at. Aiden sorts both their stuff into neat piles, then takes Lambert’s swords to the corner chair. Lambert stares at his own knees, but he can hear every tiny movement of Aiden’s hands as he cleans Lambert’s swords, inspects them for chips, pulls out a whetstone to restore their edge. The amount of care this alone conveys almost brings tears to Lambert’s eyes. Aiden could be deep-throating handsome soldiers right now, but instead he’s here, doing for Lambert what he doesn’t have the energy left to do for himself.

When he’s done the swords, Aiden does the same to his own pair, then examines the two sets of armour plating for tears or gashes that need mending. He lines up both chests of potions and counts out what’s missing, takes notes for ingredients. It’s a normal routine, only that usually, each witcher does it for himself. Lambert feels a mixture of embarrassment and affection heat his cheeks, but he doesn’t look up, not yet. Only when Aiden finishes with a soft exhale and wanders over to the bed which dips under his weight, does Lambert uncross his arms. Dares to take a peek. Fuck. He shouldn’t have. Aiden’s pupils are wide in the starlight that falls through the single window, the moon painting him in blues and silvers. Some of his hair has escaped his bun and his lips part on a sigh that expose his teeth. He’s a fucking vision, too gorgeous to be sitting here.

For once, there is quiet, so rare with the two of them. If Lambert lets go of consciousness a little more, it almost feels like a dream. If it were, he would reach out, draw Aiden onto his lap, lose himself in the familiar glide of their bodies against one another. As it is, the silence hangs by a thread and Lambert cuts it, edges fraying into dust between them.

“What,” he barks and Aiden sighs again.

“The only cock I want to suck is yours, idiot. Flaccid or not.

“Is that so?”

“Yes? I thought I had made that abundantly clear.” Aiden has. There have probably been more blowjobs than nights they shared a bed, altogether. And maybe that’s the problem. Aiden might not seem it now, but one day Lambert’s cock will not be enough to make up for his mouth.

"Why were you so obnoxious then?" he asks.

"Because you need to learn not to push me away, Lamb. I'm here, I understand, I'm yours." Three quick sentences that puncture Lambert like barbed arrows. I'm here feels like sparks of an off-kilter Igni that eat at his fingertips. I understand goes right to his gut and makes him feel like he is out on the rocky sea, in a rickety boat all by himself, at the storm's mercy. I'm yours is the lightning that strikes then and short-circuits his nervous system into small spams. He takes a deep breath and the soft kiss Aiden places on the corner of his mouth when he leans over helps quell the panic. "I can't change how I am," he says. Prickly, loud-mouthed, mean.

"You really aren't... no, that's not gonna work, is it? C’mere." Aiden crawls over the bed and settles next to Lambert, draws him against him, his strong arms wrapped firmly around Lambert's bare chest. Lambert's head is throbbing lightly, heartrate kept accelerated from the alcohol, but he deflates a little. Notices the small vial with almost clear liquid Aiden is holding between his index and middle finger. “You didn’t drink it, did you?”

Lambert shrugs. So, maybe he forgot to take the White Honey, fucked-up as he was. So, maybe he didn’t want to take it, stay fucked-up a little longer. He has days like this, where the lingering toxicity of the potions stokes some dark flame deep inside of him, kindled by his hatred for what he is, what he has become. Lambert isn’t prone to self-harm, but this, well. This he is prone to and Aiden is seeing right through him. Fucking cat, fucking.... is this love yet?

“I didn’t.”

“So, do it now.” Aiden uncorks the bottle with one hand and his grip on Lambert tightens so that he would have to struggle to escape it. For a moment, Lambert thinks about refusing. He wants to wallow, dammit, he wants to pity himself and maybe have Aiden pity him too. “Don’t think about it, pup. You can bullshit your way around other people, but not around me,” Aiden continues and holds the vial to Lambert’s lips. Lambert snatches it away and empties it in two long drags. Immediately, his vision sharpens and his lungs clear. His muscles stop trembling and his heartrate settles into its normal, mutated rhythm. “Better?”

“Better,” Lambert agrees sulkily. He tosses the vial aside and sinks back against Aiden.

“You’re really stupid sometimes, you know that?” Aiden says with a sharp edge to his voice, but he noses at Lambert’s ear, under it, breath hot over the skin of Lambert’s throat.

“You’re the one that’s stupid…” Stupid for caring for me. Stupid for still being here.

“Will you stop it already? I’m trying so hard to be patient and you keep pushing me away. Did you forget who I am? What we share?”

“I didn’t,” Lambert says. He is weak and tired. He lets Aiden tug at his chin and half-turn him for a kiss that lingers even after their lips part for breath.

“Then drop the farce. Fuck, I don’t know what to say to you,” Aiden whispers against his mouth, chasing each word with a kiss to Lambert’s lips, the corners of his mouth, his nose. “I love you, Lambert, I love you so fucking much, but I can’t keep prying you out of your shell. Don’t you trust me?”

I want to love you too, Lambert thinks.

With my life, Lambert thinks.

You’re the best person I’ve ever met, Lambert thinks.

But he isn’t ready for that yet and so he settles for the next best thing: “I’m sorry.” The rest of it he pours into their next kiss, one that feels frozen in time for how slow and indulgent it is, the world reduced to the drag of their lips and the scratch of Aiden’s canines, the stuttering of his breath. Lambert wriggles around until he straddles Aiden’s lap with his thighs and frames Aiden’s tanned face with his scarred, pale fingers. Even paler next to his lover. Aiden fucking glows and Lambert is less a man, more a phantom next to him.

“Fuck, puppy, you’re so beautiful, do you know that?” Aiden gasps when they part once more. His hands are splayed over Lambert’s upper back and they are both half-hard against one another, but Lambert doesn’t feel like sex. He feels like curling up and having a good cry. He feels like kissing Aiden again, and so he does.

“And here I am, trying so hard to hide it so you peasants don’t feel bad about yourselves,” Lambert says, on instinct more than anything else. He wants to slap himself, this is exactly what Aiden meant, isn’t it? But Aiden laughs, the fucker, a clear sound that sets loose something fluttery inside of Lambert. Shit. It is love. “I thought the scar would have done the job.”

“Joke’s on you, I adore the scar.” Aiden presses his lips to the bottom of it and drags them along, skipping Lambert’s eye in favour of nuzzling his forehead. It’s ridiculous. It tickles. Lambert laughs and hides his face in Aiden’s neck. Aiden sighs and his hands wander up to Lambert’s head, cradling it. “Promise me something, pup?”

Anything, Lambert thinks. He grunts.

“Allow yourself this. I don’t need you to fall onto your knees and profess your love in some grand gesture, but… don’t shut me out. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you.”

Lambert falls asleep like that, tucked against Aiden’s chest and he wakes in the morning facing the sunrise with an arm slung around his bare torso and Aiden’s nose pressed against the nape of his neck. He allows it to last.

#the witcher #witcher #tw3 #lambden #laiden #lambert x aiden #lambert #aiden #hurt #comfort #angst #the line about flaccid cock is inspired by a line in the game #bonus points if you know which one #cw swear words #cw self deprecation #cw self harm #my writing #fic

170 notes · View notes

one-black-coffeee · 3 years

Text

I have no idea what this is but it is here now!!

there’s a difference between nightmares and Bad Dreams. Andrew toed the line regularly, more often tipping into nightmares

nightmares are muffled screams, racing hearts, images and images of the past that won’t stop getting louder

nightmares are waking up to blackness, barely able to breathe

nightmares are the nauseating tightness of unshed tears building right at the center of his chest; panicked, frantic movements that shove the body in bed beside him to the ground before he has time to think

nightmares are spending the rest of the night alone in bed while Neil slips off to the sofa. space given without a question because anything else is a trap

they both have nightmares. they don’t talk about them. the nightmares come and crash and they silently pick up the pieces. Neil likes to hold Andrew’s hand to fall back asleep. Andrew can’t stand the feeling of someone in his space

but Bad Dreams are different

fitful sleep— but not woken until morning. no pounding hearts that beat so painfully just under their skin

Bad Dreams are the confusion in the morning, minutes after he’s already woken up. standing in the shower and a distorted conversation clicks into place when there was no conversation and certainly no place for it

faces he hasn’t seen in ages

smiles he hasn’t been given in so long

words spoken freely by both parties

Bad Dreams are the roiling pit of discomfort that slowly builds in his gut. whisps of possible explanations continuously brush by him and disappear before he can get a good look

Bad Dreams are the clearing of memories that were never truly made to reveal a past that could have been but was shattered too early on

Bad Dreams are the indescribable sadness that plunged itself right through his heart

Bad Dreams are stumbling blindly, looking for hands that are soft only for him

and when he finds those hands, those eyes that don’t question or pry, Andrew doesn’t let go. it hurts too much to let go, to see another possible life slip through his fingers

nightmares make his edges sharper, his entire being more brittle, but Bad Dreams leave him feel raw, the skin off his soul all shredded. Andrew doesn’t think he’s ever been soft, nor does he want to be, but Bad Dreams make his muscles and bones feel soggy with pain

there was nothing left to keep him together. his energy was gone, swept away with the return of his dream, and all the makeshift adhesives he’d stuck across his being throughout the years disintegrated

he silently buried himself in Neil and let Neil press the pieces of him that were threatening to fall into their places

Neil didn’t mention it

they spend the day wrapped in each other. Neil turns on a movie and Andrew drowns them both in plush blankets. soft on raw, aching skin is better than the harshness of the air

Neil slots himself between the back of the sofa and Andrew and Andrew sinks backwards into Neil. Neil whispers unneeded commentary in Andrew’s ear, pressing gentle kisses where his breath lands, and Andrew links their hands together over his heart

Andrew lets Neil hold him, lets Neil run his fingers through his hair and soothe the unsettling chill ghosting over Andrew’s skin with purposeful kisses

Andrew falls asleep curled into Neil; with an arm over his waist pulling him closer, a hand in his hair, a body pressed right up against his own

Andrew waits out the after-shocks of his Bad Dreams with Neil, allowing himself the security and warming comfort Neil never failed to offer

#andriel #andrew minyard #neil josten #allison reynolds #aaron minyard #dan wilds #david wymack #kevin day #matt boyd #seth gordon #renee walker #nicky hemmick #aftg meme #aftg series #aftg #all for the game

53 notes · View notes

kirishimas-manly-eyeliner · 3 years

Text

𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘, 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 !

EVERY STEP OF THE WAY, I’LL BE THERE.

it was late autumn when you two first met. it was an evening walk back from school, hands in pockets as music played gently into your ear, when you heard sudden foot steps behind you. paranoid, you turned around, and your eyes set on a man-- tall, broad, silver whisps of hair and golden eyes. he waved, arms frantically moving as you halted, waiting for him to catch up. “do you-” he hesitated to catch his breath. “do you know where the convenience store is from here?” you nodded, pointing to the other side of the street. • “it should be across that corner, big glowing neon sign-- can’t miss it.” • “haha, thank you!” the man grinned. he turned his heel to move before turning back around. “what’s your name? mine’s bokuto!” • “morosis,” you called back. he gave a thumbs up before leaving.

as weather grew colder, you encountered bokuto more often. whether it was passing each other in the lunch line or walking from class to class together, he was always up to chat with you. • “alright, i gotta go now!” bokuto shouted. • “what for?” you asked. • “i have volleyball practice, you should come watch sometime!” • he turned the corner once more without waiting for your response. you stared at the floor, smiling. • “yeah, maybe i should.”

when cramming for finals came along, akaashi joined in your hangouts that turned into study meetings at each other’s house. it was an unspoken tradition for y’all to go to each other’s houses, rotating every now and then for studying. bokuto started to get more comfortable with you, saying things impulsively, not being afraid to speak his mind. when he didn’t understand something, he’d sprawl across the floor, claming he was “dying” in your arms and needed your help. instead, you got up and brought him snacks that powered him right back up.

he started distancing himself from you over the summer. you hadn’t even realized his absence, assuming it was to practice volleyball-- but eventually, you came to the point that he was avoiding you. you knocked on his door, asking to talk, and with tired eyes, he welcomed you inside. tired eyes, you noted. that doesn’t seem right. • “do you want anything to eat?” bokuto asked, forcing a smile. it was clear that he was trying to stall, but... this truly didn’t seem right. • “bokuto, have you been avoiding me?” his smile falls as he sits down next to you, hand clasped in the other. after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he nods. it’s a pitiful nod, like a little kid who finally admitted to stealing the last cookie. your face softens, hand over his. • “is it okay if i ask why?” no response. he remains silent for far too long, and you take that as your cue to leave. • “alright, bo. i’ll go back, but you can text me when-” • “i’m in love with you.” you turn around, face suddenly heating up, making sure you heard correctly. • “what?”

koutaro bokuto eagerly slams open the door, rushing into your room as he holds your favorite food in hand. he throws his arms around you, peppering your face with kisses. • “hey hey heyyy!! i got you takeout,” he hums, scooching onto your desk next to you. “so?? how does it sound, you, me, a box of cheerios and takeout and some sitcoms?” you nod, forgetting about your exhaustion as he carries you over to the couch. “i’ll be right back, babe,” he places a quick kiss on your nose, coming back with utensils and a blanket. your head rests in his chest as his hand holds yours. home is wherever bokuto is, and you love it there.

TETSUROU KUROO

for as long as you could remember, it had always been you and kuroo. he lived only two blocks away, and since you were little, he’d always been there. whether it was making dirt pie out in the field or learning how to ride bikes together, kuroo had always been there. you were there for him just as much, and practically, there was no photo in your camera album that didn’t have kuroo in it. most of them were of you two being idiots, but every so often, there were those adorable photos of both of you hugging or laughing over a fallen sand castle.

unfortunately, as all good things do-- you two drifted apart. he didn’t move away or get into an argument with you, it had simply been the consequence of growing up. what started off as having secret hand shakes in between classes became purposely avoided eye contact between you two. it was an unspoken agreement that now that you were getting older, you had to be distanced to grow. as the world continued to move forward, you found yourself holding back for a reason you couldn’t name-- so when you discovered that kuroo was the captain of nekoma, you decided to check out one of their practice games.

kuroo did twenty times better than he usually did, and when his teammates asked him about it, he avoided the question. • “it was just all the practice i put in,” he snorted. “right, kenma? you saw me practicing yesterday, right?” • “yeah..” kenma noted. “but you stopped right after one set.” • deep down, kuroo knew the reason: you were there. he saw your eyes and your highlights, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of energy rush through him. he wanted to good, he wanted to show how hard he worked, but why?

after practice, he asked you to walk home with him. you laughed, • “you did really good today.” kuroo flexed, • “yeah, i’ve been practicing a lot.” silence. it wasn’t an awkward silence, but it was more of a comfortable silence-- you two just being together, being next to each other under a painting of stars that danced across the sky. “uhm,” kuroo muttered. he wasn’t used to not knowing what to say. usually, around others (and strangers), he would just be able to spit out whatever commentary he wanted. why was it so different with you? “did you uh, catch up on anything else?” you shrugged, smiling softly. • “nothing much. i’ve been doing a lot more things that make me happy, i guess?” it had been so long since you two had last had a real conversation. what made you happy? had you been thinking of him as much as he did you? were you taking care of yourself? who had you been hanging out with? did you have a significant other already-? why was that question even there, and why did the answer yes irritate him? • “oh, i’m here,” you noted, interuppting his flow of questions. “this is my house. uh, you can keep going now.” kuroo paused, in a daze. your house hadn’t changed at all. your initials were still engraved into the cement and the mini ditch you made in your front yeard was still there. • “right. see you, morosis.”

when he realized he was in love with you, he was thrown off guard. he was in love with you. his childhood friend who he hadn’t talked to casually for over five years. which is why, during one of his matches, he nearly dropped the ball when he heard you cheering in the crowd. you were watching, which meant that he had to do good. you inspired him to do better. the rest of the game was a blur, and the whole time, he was only thinking of you. he was thinking of you and whether or not you were looking at him, if you were judging him in your head, if you loved him as much as he did. which was why, after the game and they won-- he rushed over to you as you threw your arms around him, engulfing him into a hug. “you did amazing, tetsu!” you shouted impulsively. your hands cupped his face, and for a moment, the world went silent. he couldn’t hear anyone, everything sounded underwater, and he could only hear you, he could only see you, and he could only feel your lips press against his.

and sparks flew.

EVERYTHING COMES BACK TO YOU

𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀

𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐘𝐀

happy birthday, @missmorosis!! thank you for being such an awesome mutual through out this whole time. be sure to take care of yourself and keep hydrating! you mean VERY MUCH TO ME PLS and thaaank you for being absolutely so amazing and strong HRHRHR LET ME HOLD YOU OML

- ellie!!!

#lgbtqueue🌈#HAPPY!! BIRTHDAY!! LOVE!!#ellie.celebrates<3!#ILY BOO

12 notes · View notes

maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 8: Moceit

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 8 - The temperature of your chest gets hotter when you are closer to your soulmate and colder when you move further away.

Content warnings (oh boy): This is an afterlife fic! Meaning there is technically character death, but it is essentially the beginning of a whole new life, and the death itself is only briefly touched upon. That being said, warnings for; hypothermia/frostbite, death, car accident, talk of past death, mention of cancer, brief description of body horror (no gore).

Word count: 2.8k

It started when Janus was two. His parents were awoken by his feral cries, throwing open the door to his room, imagining the worst. They recoiled immediately upon touching him, his skin almost freezing to the touch. They closed the bedroom window and piled him in more layers until he stopped wailing, but that was only the start.

When he was six, his mother explained soulmates to him. He looked at her with huge eyes, fiddling with the sleeves of his oversized hoodie, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

When he was ten, he had grown sick and tired of the constant cold. A majority of his classmates and friends hadn’t met their soulmates yet, but they all didn’t seem as bothered by it as he was. They didn’t keep their winter jackets on in class, no matter the season, and their hands were never too cold to hold a pencil.

When he was thirteen, he caught hypothermia. At the insistence of his older brother, he joined him outside in the snow for a hike in the forest. His countless layers and heat pads in his pockets only did so much when they got hopelessly lost in the woods, and while his brother seemed to be unaffected by the cold, Janus woke up the next day in the hospital. He could vaguely remember falling face first into the snow, his cold slowly morphing into pleasant warmth, his brother shouting his name. The doctors were unable to save his left eye, leaving him half blind, and his frostbite scars never quite disappeared. They said the very fact that he survived was some kind of miracle. He didn’t go into the snow after that.

When he was sixteen, his mother took him to a doctor. After thorough examination, the man could find nothing wrong with him. He suggested B-12 supplements and a list of ways to increase his circulation, and when that did nothing to help months later, he sat them both down in his office and explained it most likely meant Janus’ soulmate had died. Janus didn’t know until that moment that it was possible to miss someone you’ve never met, but he cried on the way home. His mom said nothing.

When he was eighteen, Janus was alone. He had become reclusive and standoffish, unwilling to spend time around any of the people who tried to befriend him. All of them had soulmates. All of them got to be happy.

When he was twenty, his family suggested group therapy for those who had lost their soulmates, and he had reluctantly gone to one session. For a moment, he felt at home, surrounded by other people in thick sweaters and jackets and gloves, until he learned that all of them had lost their soulmates after meeting them. They had been able to spend years together, enjoying each other’s company, before losing the love of their life. When he explained his situation, he was only met with the same sympathetic looks he’d received everywhere else in life, and he never went back.

When he was twenty-two, he graduated with his Bachelor’s degree in psychology. The crowd was the quietest it had been all night; no one knew this guy, but it felt wrong to not cheer at all. He shook the Dean’s hand with thick yellow gloves and took the diploma, ignoring the man’s confused raised eyebrow and walking away to the noise of half-hearted claps.

When he was twenty-five, life was okay. Not good, just okay. He’d found a lab job in the psychological social experiment aspect that paid decently and wasn’t a total bore. Most nights he was numb, especially after experiments that revolved around soulmates, so he turned on Netflix and poured a glass of wine and fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in a thick weighted blanket. Life is fine, he told himself. It could be worse.

And when Janus was twenty-seven, he died. It was an accident; a mix of a long tiring day and an ignored red light just as he was crossing the street. The car barreled through the intersection, other car horns blaring, and he looked up just in time to see the person looking down, probably on their phone. He’d never know. The impact was quick, and he didn’t even have time to feel pain before the world went dark. He was a little grateful for that.

It stayed dark for a long while after that. Well, in full honesty, he didn’t know how long it was. It felt like a long time, but it also felt extraordinarily short. The seconds turned to years and millennia became mere minutes, the very concept of time fading away just as he did. A minuscule part of him was still aware that he was conscious, and he probably should have been a little scared of that, because did that mean he was destined to float around as an unattached subconscious for eternity? A larger part of him was just relieved to finally rest, with the weight of student debt and an exhaustingly lonely life finally gone.

Until it wasn’t. The light crept into the center of his vision first and he grumbled in annoyance. Let me just enjoy it a second longer, he thought distantly, but the light didn’t listen as it slowly spread across his vision like molasses. For the first time in his life, he realized with a start, he didn’t feel cold. There was a heat in his chest that he’d never felt before, and he was scared when the darkness faded, so would the warmth.

“Janus, are you okay?” A desperate voice broke through his dark haze in whisps, slowly clearing the fog that had set in. It rambled on, “Oh, stupid question. You just died. Sorry! Can you see me?”

His vision lit up all the way, replacing the darkness but not taking away the heat. Perfect. He was about to answer no to the stranger’s question; there was just a blur of blue and white and green, until the figure loomed that much closer and came into focus. It was a man, probably his age, with bright blue eyes and floppy golden hair, his freckled nose just inches from Janus’. His eyes held concern but he was smiling like no tomorrow. The man seemed to realize when Janus could in fact see him clearly and backed away, holding out a hand to help him up. Why was he lying on the ground? Where was he?

That question was answered as soon as he took the offered hand, looking around him in shock. Apparently the dark void hadn’t held him for as long as he thought. A distant siren pierced the air, and people’s shouts rang over each other as they milled around the body in the street, his body. The car that had hit him was nowhere to be seen. It was all too surreal, too uncomfortable, and he turned back to the man standing in front of him. They were standing on the sidewalk, just meters away from the gruesome scene on the street, and Janus suddenly felt very lightheaded.

“I carried you away as soon as your soul formed. Didn’t want to overwhelm you when you opened your eyes for the first time.”

“I’m dead?”

“Yep,” The man answered just a bit too cheerfully, before noticing the newcomer’s expression and softening, “Sorry. I’ve been here for a while, the shock has kind of worn down.”

“What’s here?”

“The afterlife. Deathny World. Aliven’t. I’ve heard it all.”

“Ah,” Janus choked, trying to take in the environment around him without looking at his own dead body, or the paramedics that had just arrived on the scene. It looked like the real world, and obviously they were still in the real world to some extent since he was witnessing the aftereffects of his own death, but the subtle mist floating through the air was definitely new. It curled through the air gently, resting on every surface it could land on, coloring the world with soft rainbow hues. It was the real world, it was just as if he was seeing more of it for the first time. The parts that were invisible before. An orange tuft graced by his ear and he could just make out the sound of someone laughing, the smell of fresh bread, the taste of fresh jam on a summer morning. A smile tugged at his lips before he realized.

“Forgotten memories,” The man spoke up, as if reading his mind. “Every lost memory of every person winds up here. Mostly good ones, but some are bad. You’ll learn how to sift through them soon enough.”

Janus was finally able to pull himself away from the colorful world, staring into the bright eyes of the stranger. “Who are you?”

“I’m Patton,” he said with a new grin, scratching the back of his neck nervously, “I’m your soulmate.”

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

It took Janus a much longer time than he would have liked to admit to unfreeze from the revelation, Patton taking his hand gently and sinking them out to a new location. His stomach churned upon rising up, the new sensation making him nauseous. He didn’t recognize where they were, some cafe, and Patton gently pushed him into a seat before strolling up to the counter with no hesitation, starting a conversation with the barista and gesturing to Janus. The mist, the lost memories, were gone, replaced with a golden haze that gave the world a soft glow. The air was thick with the smell of coffee beans and cookies that instantly calmed Janus’ stomach. When Patton finally walked back to him, two mugs in hand, he explained.

“This is the soul world. We can pop in from the real world to this one whenever we want. Some souls choose to stay on one side predominantly, some switch back and forth a lot.”

“This single cafe is the soul world?”

“Oh! No, my bad! There’s a whole lot more outside. I’ll have to show you later. Right now, though, just relax. You’ve had a… long day, to say the least.” He pushed one of the cups into Janus’ grasp.

“What is it?” He asked skeptically. It looked like coffee, but who’s to say anything anymore.

“Whatever you want it to be. Think of your favorite drink, then try it.”

Janus narrowed his eyes but lifted the mug to his lifts, trying to think of a single drink he liked. His mind decided that this was the ideal moment to forget everything he ever drank in his entire short life, so when he finally took a sip, the liquid was disgustingly tasteless. Like warm water. He set the drink down, watching Patton intensely.

Janus took in his appearance, his general shock finally beginning to wear off. An open light blue button up over a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was pretty much Janus’ definition of cute, what with those stupidly adorable dimples and little golden locket hanging on his neck. If he’d met him when he was alive, he no doubt would have fallen head over heels for him.

“You’re my soulmate? How is that…” He cleared his throat, hoping he wasn’t blushing, “How is that possible?”

Patton hummed, wiping off what appeared to be a hot chocolate moustache, “I died when I was three. Cancer.”

“That’s awful.”

Patton shrugged, taking another sip, “It wasn’t great. I woke up by myself, still half wedged in my own corpse. It was terrifying. My parents were crying, and I tried to tell them I was there, somehow, but they couldn’t see me.”

“Totally not traumatic at all.”

The man actually laughed, despite the dark story, “I had to figure everything out for myself. Sinking down, navigating both worlds, how to control my own form… which you are doing surprisingly well at, by the way.”

Janus glanced down at himself. He definitely wasn’t alive, that much was sure, if the wisps of yellow smoke cascading down him were any indication. If he concentrated hard enough, the fog began to disappear, leaving him looking normal, albeit a bit paler. As soon as his mind drifted, however, the golden trails were back.

“This was the first place I was able to rise up in in this world. It’s kind of an easy access point. I popped up behind the counter, scared the living daylights out of Virgil.” He pointed to the barista who was currently chatting with another person ghost, laughing over identical mugs with them. “He’s been here a while. Two hundred years, give or take.”

Janus paled, the idea of eternity becoming just that much more real. “Oh…”

“Yeah. He kind of raised me. And then when I was old enough to understand, he explained that I’d left a soulmate behind. I cried for hours after that.” He smiled sadly, finally meeting Janus’ eyes.

“You knew my name,” The younger recalled suddenly, sitting up a little straighter, “Right when I was waking up, you said my name.”

Patton looked almost sheepish, focusing back on the cup between his hands, “After Virgil told me… I kind of made it my personal mission to find my soulmate. I spent a lot of time in the real world, years, trying to find you, and of course checking in on my parents sometimes. Ghosts don’t need sleep, we can sleep, if we want, but we don’t need to, so it was a constant search. And then, my parents both ended up in the hospital, long story, and I wanted to be there when they woke up. Make their transition into the new world a little easier than mine was,” His expression lit up, wiggling a little in his seat, “And while I was there, I stumbled across a certain young patient with severe frostbite and hypothermia.”

“Me.”

“Mmhm. And I felt this weird warmth in my chest, which is weird, because ghosts don’t really feel temperature. It didn’t last that long, just a couple seconds, really, but it was enough time to know.”

“The soulbond.”

“Yep.”

They both drank in unison. This time, Janus’ drink tasted like the unsweetened chamomile tea from the hospital. He made a sour face and put the cup back down. He stared into his reflection for a moment, almost captivated in the sloshing against the sides of the mug, before Patton spoke again.

“I spent most of my time in the alive-world after that. With you. And it sucked, because there was nothing I wanted more than to talk to you and hug you and just let you know I existed… you were so sad…”

“Yeah…” Janus mumbled, tapping the ridge of his cup with his fingernail. “Is that why you were at the accident?”

“I tried to stop it,” Patton whispered, a look of pure guilt crossing his face, “I couldn’t tug you back though, and you didn’t hear me. So the least I could do was pull you out when you formed and take you away from the crowd.”

The odd language was starting to confuse Janus, the weird differentiation between his soul and his body, the terminology regarding the soul world he didn’t understand… it was all just a lot.

“So… Do we age? You’re obviously not three anymore. But the barista doesn’t look two hundred.”

“Virgil. And… I don’t know.”

“Very comforting.”

“You’re sassy.”

“That I am.”

For the first time in a very long time, Janus’ lips twitched into a smile in response to the absolute beam on Patton’s face. No one had ever taken his snark as anything other than bitchiness, but this guy, his soulmate, seemed to love it.

“As far as I know, we won’t. I think I only aged along with you, and now that you’re here, we’re probably done.” He had finished his drink, the barista swooping in out of nowhere and plucking it from his grasp with an impish grin. Patton shouted his thanks as Virgil disappeared into the back room. “He’s been waiting to meet you for a long time. But he can be a handful, so we’ll save proper introductions until you’re settled. Speaking of which…” He stood up, smoothing out his shirt and offering his hand to Janus once more. “I can show you where residency is, if you’d like. It might be nice to take a nap, just to process.”

Janus considered. The vague sounding ‘residency’ was intriguing, but he was much too restless to sleep right now. He voiced as much. “Maybe later. Do you think you could show me around first?”

The grin Patton gave him was bright enough to power a city block. Janus took the extended hand and the man squealed, pulling him towards the door excitedly. Yeah. He was definitely already falling for the literal ball of sunshine that was his soulmate.

“One grand tour of the afterlife, coming up!”

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #janus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts afterlife au #moceit #ts soulmate au #sanderssides #soulmate september #soulmateseptember

172 notes · View notes

slater-later · 3 years

Text

I Want to Watch You Grow

Brian Kelly x Trans Masc Reader

Read it here on AO3 if you would like!

- This is a Brian Kelly x Trans Man reader fan fic. This conronicles your long term relationship with Brian and your development with yourself. Your body, and transition as a transman.

- I hope everyone enjoys this. Finds space within themselves and their relationship with the world. It’s okay to be trans, being trans is beautiful. it’s a difficult, glorious journey that is far more of a beginning then an end. Living happy life, being proud of yourself and your body.

- The fic is long, about 12 pages. So please, soak it in, and I wish you the happiest day!

The two of you had been dating for some time. You had met at a small high school party. A good group of friends coming together around a Summer bonfire, slipping your feet out from the well worn sandals and wiggling them infront of a fire. The soles of your feet toasted, turning them around to be goldened on both sides. You held a long metal skewer with two plump marshmallows on the end, rotating it around as you warmed it to a golden ball of glory.

It was sweet, being able to spend time with old friends and make some new. Your friend Ronnie had invited the skater kids from school to join you. He had bonded with them over their mutual love for rock and rap music. It made sense, they both loved Public Enemy. Blasting ‘We Got the Power’ out of their car radios whenever they had a chance.

You enjoyed it, they threw out some good rhymes and it was a battle cry for your youth. You generation. You couldn’t help but bob your head to the music and belt along.

It was towards the end of the night when you two met. Brian had showed up late, hair slicked with a heavy line of sweat. A shirt quickly shoved into his pants, trying to clean up for his group of friends after a long day of skating.

He had skipped out of work that day- well, really, the restaurant was slow so there wasn’t much need for two busboys. He had spent the rest of his afternoon and late into the stary night, skating at the skatepark. The street lights clicked on and it had made it hard for him to see the clear edges of the ramps. It was time to turn in and get a bite to eat. Putting aside the new trick he caught from someone else. Trying to nail it.

If he knew it could be done, then he could. He just needed enough time and perseverance to figure it out.

With skating, the possibilities were endless. It was his place to let go of life’s worries and focus on something where had complete control. The complete right to be, what and who he is, with no to tell him otherwise. Skating was like a lifeblood for him, his way of life.

His boundless universe.

He came jogging in, skateboard in hand as he approached the group huddled around the warm fire.

The trees swayed, creaking under the age and weight of their own majesty with a long gust of wind. It was dark, the hum of Summer turning to a deep pitch of haze. Black rolling in, only to be illuminated by the glaze of starfull and a half crescent moon. The forest was thick, lulled by the hum of heated crickets and hushed by the cool breeze of night. Smoke pooling from the warm fire, whisping and licking up the sky with powerful might. Your toes curled, seeking a gentle relief from its delightful burning flame.

They were roasted and baked. You tucked them into the ground, shifting your heals to push back the brush and find a damp, cool, interior.

Brian waved, throwing an arm up to welcome everyone. A boy buzzed in the background, rolling a hit out of a cheaply made bong. Coughing as he blew out his lungs. Stoned till’ the cows come home.

“Hey guys! Sorry I’m late, it uh, took me a while to find you guys,” He smiled, strolling on into the circle and making his way over to Yabbo. Giving him a high five and saying hello to Buddy.

You popped your marshmallow onto a graham cracker and some chocolate. You munched on your treat, washing it down with a sip of beer.

You watched Brian that night, catching his eyes as he chatted with Buddy over some trick he had been captivated by. Transfixed on trying to nail, to, gleam the cube.

He noticed, his shit stain smirk would appear even in mid sentence. Hands flailing out, gesturing and expressing his exasperation on some wild tangent he was on about skating. About life. About love. It was amusing to watch him, loud and audacious as he was. He could even make Buddy loud, who was normally a quiet and reserved guy. Get him chuckling about some silly joke he made, and pairing it with an audacious face. Hands whipped out, a cross between a dragon and a gorilla.

You had finished off your second beer, musing with a friend about the stars as you gazed. Heads turned up, pondering the wide expanse of space. Its’ glorious bounds, its beauty, its’ wonder.

It put things in perspective for you. Not in a scary way, but in a comforting one. That sometimes, our emotions can feel massive. And they can be! But they also fall away, soothe and ease, as we realize, this shall pass. As all things. Even life. And so, what we must work towards is enjoying it. Like moments like these- feet kicked up on a stump, back eased into a lawn chair with a good beer in hand, spending time with friends. The summer breeze cooling your warm skin, still tanned and glowing from a long day spent outside. Walking, running, and spending time with those that mattered to you. You can’t steal back time, but instead, enjoy it.

Brian tapped Buddy’s shoulder, gesturing for him to shift over as he stood up. Slicking to the outside of the circle, making his way over.

He stopped at the bag of mellows, nabbing two and popping one in his mouth. Munching on its sugary goodness as he finished the trip. Sliding down and popping on the ground, criss-cross-apple-sauce style.

You picked your chin up from the stars, turning your head towards him, “Hey.”

“Hey,” He smiled tiredly, softly. It had grown late and the group had died down, calming and chatting amongst themselves. “So, I uh, don’t think I caught your name,” He mused, chuckling with an anxious delight. He had caught your fancy and talking to attractive people always made his insides flutter.

“It’s Y/N, what’s yours?” You smiled, letting out a tiny yawn, hand hovering over your mouth.

And on command, it was his turn. “Briannn.” He said, pushing through his wide open mouth, eyes turning to closed slits. Watering.

“Jesus, I’m beat,” He muttered, whipping his eyes.

“You too?” You couldn’t stop, the two of you speaking through widely stretched mouths, yawning and releasing the tired souls of your body out into the air. Like ghosts being exercised.

“Yeah!” He squeaked, putting his hand over his mouth. This time his mouth reaching out farther. As if a shark could unhinge its massive jaw.

Slowly, both of yours bodies cooled down. Chatted about the quiet, peaceful sounds of the forest. How the night made your feel alive, at ease within your own body. It was easy talking with such a nice man, cracking soft jokes and poking fun at the world. The politicians, the fat cats, and parents. Some stupid shit a drunk girl did at school, how the one guy on the football team fucked the head swimmer and stirred drama in the theatre group. He had been dating Jared, but it all fell for shit when he saw Sam in those swim trunks.

You both agreed, he looked mighty fine in the spandex speedo. And Tom did too, especially when he found out how kind he was.

“So who do you think is the biggest class clown? Don or Vinny?” You mused, shifting your weight in your seat. Turning towards him.

“Ahhh, I’m not so sure. Vinny is my man, but I really like Tabitha-”

“That bitch?” You shot, clicking your tongue. “She fucking stole $20 out of my backpack, fuck her!”

His eyebrows knitted, looking disappointed. “Yeahhh, she ain’t very nice. I disagree with you there,” He looked at the blaze, shaking his head. “But it’s not a ‘frienship’ competition. I give her props pouring that bottle of stinky slick on that jerk in Ceramics. That one that makes all those gross racist comments in school.” Fuck him for his piece of shit mind. There was no reason to be like that.

“-Ugh!” Your eyes rolled, shaking your head, “I know, I fucking hate him. He’s a piece of shit,” Internally you groaned, thinking of his disgusting face.

“For that, I respect her. The fool won’t change his mind and he needs to learn that he can’t do shit like that. It’s not like he’ll listen, I’ve tried,” He popped a mellow into his mouth, chewing. “She got 3 days of suspension for that. It was pretty ballsy,” Shitting on racist was both funny and satisfying.

“What-? Why did she get that-?”

He shrugged, looking amazed, “I don’t know. It’s fucked up, that’s school for ya. It’s not right.”

You shook your head disgusted. If only they would understand, listen. “Ok, so, who has your favorite comedy?

“-Sam,” He smiled, poking a branch into the fire.

You watched him stir up the flame, picking at a log and turning it over.

“Same, he’s really nice. He’s quiet but he has a smart tongue on him,” Slowly the fire grew. Emboldened by the new life, “Tom’s really lucky.”

Brian shot you a look, teeth flashing in a grin, “Cuz Jared’s so hot?”

You shot up in your seat, pushing yourself closer to him- “Okay though, right?!” Brian burst out laughing, head thrown back as he boomed.

You waved your hands up into the air, desperately. “He has those pecs! Those thick arms! I just wanna be hugged by him!” He was a big tall teddy bear! A muscular one too! Who doesn’t love a big teddy bear?!

“I know, I know!” He slapped his knee, face red and warm, and it wasn’t from the booze. “He’s cute! He’s really cute!” He laughed, smiling through his big open mouth.

The two of you talked for the rest of the night, making another round of smores and sipping on the last of your cold beer. It was easy, talking to him. You found a kind of warm comfort and acceptance by such a free soul. By someone who really just wanted to be seen and heard, and loved for who he was.

*****

That night would bloom into many others. A few months you spent together, as friends, and the others, as lovers. You slowly got to know each other over time progressed. Eventually, love bloomed. Infatuation took to desire, day dreaming about the next time you’d see him. Hand propping your chin, staring off into a whiteboard filled with math equations as the teacher droned on. The last week of school was a buzzkill, bittersweet, and painfully long.

You wanted it to end. For it to be Summer, to be scott-free and without responsibilities. But that also brought changes and your second stage of life was on the horizon.

****

The time came and both of you decided to take a year off from college. Work and save up some money. Spend time together as much you can.

You planned on going away to school a few hours away. Brian hadn’t quite decided, but it looked to be the same.

Both of you would attend the same school and it would work out well. Eventually, you both got through the next four years with your brains intact for the better. He majored in music production with a minor in entrepreneurship. He wanted to do something in music, start his own band and maybe build his own label. You majored in _____ and loved it. And your relationship had lasted, strengthened. Finding a quiet peace and home in one another. A thing you quietly wished for in your heart and didn’t know you needed until you found it.

The freedom to be yourself with another. One who would love and accept you, regardless of the circumstances and the changes.

But it didn’t always make it easy. You had been having feelings about your body. Ones that you didn’t quite like and found increasingly frustrating to have. To not have the words, the names, to understand and express how you felt.

You already knew you weren’t straight. That had long been established to yourself and to Brian’s knowledge. He didn’t care- well, that wasn’t quite the right way to put it. He was supportive of your queerness and actually encouraged it. You both were fluid as a snake- bodies and gender thrown right out of the door. What mattered was the person, the attraction, and the two of you- had a lot of that for one another.

He also wasn’t one to put up many questions about the way you dressed. Switching out fem for? Masculine? He was game. He liked your style, even sowed on some patches on your jacket when he asked. Though as time wore on, catching the way you shield away from your chest… Your feelings about your body… He noticed.

“Hey babe?” He slid into the frame of the doorway, hand grasping the side of the wood as he leaned in. Watching you do your hair, clothed, and fixing your hair.

“Yeah? What’s up?” You looked at him through the mirror, running a comb through your head. “Is my coffee ready?”

“Yeah, it’s on the kitchen table. With your toast,” He walked in, looking quiet. Tentative. “Can I talk to you about something?”

You turned, “Yeahhhh…” Your voice fluttered, knowing that face he makes. It made you uneasy. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“Are you… alright? You’ve been distant lately, like somethings on your mind,” He paused, looking down. Guilty, “Did I do something wrong? Are we alright?” He leaned his back against the wall, thumbs hooked into his jean pockets. Glancing up at you.

You set down the brush, turning, “Yeah,” You coed softly. Tenderly to the sweet man, “We’re okay, I’m just going through some stuff,” It was easier to put that into words. You needed time to figure things out, to share how you felt. You didn’t even have them for yourself, at least not clearly.

You hoped time would reveal itself, help your understand and work through what you were feeling.

And you didn’t know how it would change you. Or, for the matter, Brian. Your relationship with him.

He gestured to you, beat, “Do you.. Wanna talk about it?”

It fell on silence, unsure.

“Yes… but not now. I need some time,” You stepped, drawing his eyes.

“Like… how long?” It was bugging him, an itch he can’t scratch. A problem he saw, a frustration he can’t touch.

It was yours, and one that effected him. He wanted you happy and content.

To ease your pain.

“I’m not sure,” You slipped a hand into his and locked fingers together. Drawing his hand up and lined your hips with his. Brian’s other slip around your waist, pulling you close. “You’re going to have to wait, to trust me until I’m ready to talk about it. But I do love you- and it’s not because of you,” You pressed your lips to his, slowly lifting them away. “Or something you’ve done. We’re okay.”

“Alright, I just-” He looked into your eyes, vulnerable. “I want you to be happy, no matter what. Whatever it is.”

“And I thank you for that, I really do. I appreciate it,” Another press, lips locked, tongues twisting for a moment.

“Oh? Is someone?”

You laughed, caught red-handed, “Yeah, a bit.” You mused.

****

And for a while, it was left like that. You ordered yourself a proper binder and he was properly happy for you, seeing you excited to go and slip it on as soon as it came in the mail. You checked yourself out in the mirror, beaming as you found a sense of newfound confidence and comfort in your appearance. Your body.

He liked the way you smelled after you changed deodorants. You smelled rich and musky, one that you both adored. For him, it was intoxicating. Even picked up your armpit in bed as you yelped, his head buried in your pit to get a good whiff of your scent. Both of you sent laughing and shouting and you play fought in bed, beating back the monster you so endearingly loved.

“Fucking hell Brian!! Give me my arm back!”

“No! Never!” He bellowed, hand tightening around your wrist, pinning it against the wall as your feet kicked against him. He loved it, making you mad and crazy at the same time.

Tickling was your enemy! One that he used and abused, to get you laughing and squirming as he tied his body around yes. Pressing kisses to your cheek like a woodpecker.

****

Eventually, you found answers. The internet helped and a good stack of books about gender. It worked to ease your feelings about your body and the amount of envy you had for the masculine. It was difficult at first, being able to sort through attraction and gender envy at the same time. Slowly, you found answers. A confirmation of your feelings and way of life. The amount of euphoria you received when the simple stranger called you ‘man’ or ‘sir’ felt glorious. Elating and at home with yourself in a way that felt right. A homecoming.

You started to approach the subject with Brian. The two of you were friends with trans people, but it still felt fresh. Weird, and confusing to go through yourself. Being trans still didn’t give you cut and dry answers, it was a journey. A grey area because, even through they had gone through that journey, it was still personal. You had to find answers for yourself and the world is a weird, wild place.

But, it didn’t mean you were something else. Or strange for that matter- you were you, and that’s what mattered. You were exploring.

You two had been laying in bed. A quiet Saturday day spent outside, running errands and going to the farmers market to buy fresh produce and bread. It was lovely and peaceful. You guys had turned into bed early, curled under a soft comforter as you sprawled out in bed. The sun had set.

“Hey,” You whispered, dusting a piece of long hair out of his face. He was turned towards you, a fit of blankets wrapped around him as his body cupped towards yours.

“Hey,” He yawned, eyes fluttering in sleepiness.

You dusted a finger along his jaw, his chest slowly rising and falling. A ham all baked like a warm potato. “Can we talk?”

He shifted his head closer to your touch, liking the way you slowly stroked his skin. “Yeah, what’s up?” He yawned.

“I’ve been thinking, for a while now. That I might be trans,” You paused, wanting to release the next few words from your brain. “I think I am.”

“Oh?” He shifted up, sitting up now and trying to wake up his brain. Serious conversation time. “Really?” His voice was kind, asking for confirmation.

You nodded, “Yes.”

“As in nonbinary or trans masc?” He ran a hand through his hair, swooping the fluff back. Pulling himself together.

You laughed, feeling the butterflies swarm in your stomach. “Trans masculine.”

“Okay,” he smiled, nodding. Taking it in. “So uh, what do you want to do? If anything at all?”

“Honey-” You pestered, giving him a look.

“I’m asking! That’s up to you!” He was ginger, trying not to pry but dying inside. The questions!

“Clothes, that’s for one thing.”

“You’re already wearing my boxers- we gotta get you more of those.”

You had been stealing them from him. They were comfy, among other things. You couldn’t help but crack a guilty smile. He had mentioned it before when he had ran out, pissed because he hated wearing dirty ones.

“And shirts, and some good cuffed jeans-” You added.

“Dickie’s has those, we can thrift you Carhart’s from Goodwill.”

You paused, holding your breath. Holding onto the next few words, as if they couldn’t be taken back. Releasing them into the world, “And transitioning. I think I want to do that too.”

He reached for your hand, his thumb stroking your palm as the two of you laid in bed. Him looking down at you as your sprawled out, your elbow propping yourself up. “Okay, if that’s what you want, I support you. I want that too,” He pulled up your hand and pressed his lips to them softly. Firmly intertwining his fingers with yours, squeezing them tightly. Securely.

“Do you want to go by different pronouns? A name?”

“Yes, I want to be named Y/N,” You smiled, feeling his hands pull you in. Draw around you in a deep hug as he slid down to your level, comforting and embracing you. “I want to go by he/him pronouns.” You chuckled against his skin, head buried into the crook of his neck.

“Well hello my Prince, I’m so glad to meet you Y/N,” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, smiling through it as your heart brust. Crying in relief, in tears of joy and relief.

“You’re not mad?” You squeaked, tears rolling down your cheek.

“Baby~” He purred, pulling back, to look into your eyes. “Of course not, I want you to be happy. You’re precious to me,” He said, soothing you. “Is this what’s been bothering you?”

You nodded.

“I’ve been… wondering about it,” He mused. “I kinda figured it out after you bought your binder and started shaving your face. You barely had peach fuz but you looked so happy… so, much more bright that day,” You had slowly been trying things out. Listening to your body and how you felt. Changing your style, presenting more masculine. You even bought clothes from the men’s section and started to let go using gender specific pronouns for yourself. To ease the pain of dysphoria while you figured out feelings. Your therapist helped.

“But I’ve been waiting until you tell me, that’s your stuff,” He wiped your chin, brushing off the stream of tears. “I know you’d tell me eventually, whatever your answer was- I want to support you. I chose that long ago, I stand by that.” He smiled, adding, “And if things change in the future, that’s okay too. Gender and bodies are a tricky thing.”

There was so many choices- my so options- in how trans people choose to express themselves. All of them are valid, it’s what makes you happy is the most important thing. What aligns with yourself.

“Thank you,” You sniffled, peaking out a smile. You were happy, and now tired, and just wanted to curl up in bed. The rush of emotions flooding your system, the bent of stress and relief washing over your system. Draining you.

You wanted to feel this moment in its security, its acceptance. “That means a lot to me Brian.”

“Of course- and for what it matters-” He leaned into your ear, whispering, “I think you make a handsome man. And will continue too.”

“It doesn’t change things- between us?”

He shrugged, unfazed, “I don’t think so. I’m attracted to you and I like men so-” Another quizzical look, “I don’t see how it would change things in that department. I think I need to know more but I don’t think so.”

You raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“I want to read more about it so I can help you. I know it can be hard for trans people to get the resources they need to transition. We’re going to both go through this and I want to help you. -If that’s what you want, of course.”

“Oh! Okay,” you nodded. You slid down together, laying in each others arms. Curled underneath the seats, your tears dried up. Heart shining. “I want that, your help. I fucking hate calling the doctors office.”

He laughed, “I know! I know!” You would get stressed, talking on the phone could be weird sometimes. It made you anxious.

You tucked your head into his chest, hearing it beat with the life you held so closely. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close. “Thank you Bri, for everything.”

“Of course Y/N,” He spoke softly, warm. “I love you, you’re my everything.”

The two of you drifted off to sleep in bed, listening to the sound of Summer rain come in through the window. Drops slapping against the hard concrete, easing you into a deep slumber.

****

The two of you got along better after that. You were able to save up enough money to see a gender therapist. A general practice doctor that specialized in transgender health, giving you access to the hormone treatments you so desperately needed.

The changes came slow at first, the T being newly added to your system. Eventually, the body hair came in. Sprouting up your legs and turning thicker, darker, up your knees. Your body weight shifted, redistributing around your body with a healthy addition of exercise. Your jaw widened, spotting itself with facial hair which you so proudly grew. Cleaned up and trimmed, sculpting it to your desire.

That was one of your favorite moments. When you asked Brian to show you how he shaved his face. He pulled out of his bag of clippers, helped you learn how to wash your face and spread shaving cream on your face. How to guide the razor against your skin, trimming the well grown facial hair.

“-Like this- you gotta go against the grain if you want it smooth,” You were both creamed up, with your hair clipped back. He had a headband pushing his strands back, keeping it from falling into his face.

“Okay,” You mumbled in front of the mirror, guiding the razor across your skin. Wincing when you nicked yourself and hoping you don’t do that again.

“It’ll get easier, trust me,” He assured, slicking the last bit of cream off of his clean face. He mostly kept himself clean shaven, though there was a time where he rocked a thin mustache. Even some musky stubble around his cheeks. Which you loved.

And so was your transition.

In time, you qrew to love and enjoy your body even more. Seeing the face you so expected- and wished for- being reflected in the mirror. Muscles come in, adjusting your body shape to one that you desired.

Brian was very supportive. Even helped you find a good doctor for your top surgery. He pitched in money for your procedure, taking some extra hours as the store manager at the record shop where he worked. He was planning on taking it over from the owner in a few years. He had helped them expand into a second storefront. He was proud of it.

He drove you to your surgery, making sure you had everything prepared. Extra magazines, music, books, even your sketch pad and journal if you so wished it. You would sleep after your surgery in the hospital bed, groggy and tired from the boat load of meds and painkillers lulling you to a peaceful state. He wanted to make sure you were content, that you healed well and passed the time while you recovered. The tiny hospital tv having few channels to capture your attention. He ready to help you pass the time.

After your surgery, you couldn’t move your arms very much. At least not above your head. It would pull at your incisions, the area bruised and draining of fluids. He would tend to you, changing your bandages and helping you get things from the kitchen cupboards. Asking you to relax and let him take over- when you insisted on cooking dinner. That you felt fine, that the pain wasn’t too bad. Even though your chest ached, he didn’t want you to push yourself.

It was okay to lean on someone else, to let them tend to you at times in need.

He adored you and embraced the new found man you had become. He liked hearing you softly talk into his ear, listening to how your voice had dropped. Had changed, deepened, and thickened. It was an adventure for the both of you, one that you happily embraced and found a new home. In you, yourself, and each other.

He was proud to call you his boyfriend, his favorite man on Earth.

#gleaming the cube #brian kelly #brian kelly x reader #brian kelly x trans masc reader #brian kelly x transman reader #brian kelly x transgender #trans #trans man #fan fic #tyler writes #queer fan fic #queer #i fucking loved writing this fic #gender euphoria #its okay to be trans #being trans is BEAUTIFUL!#happy and healthy relationships #based in love and support for one another #wholesome

26 notes · View notes

cauliflowercounty · 4 years

Text

Return to Me (Fred Weasley x fem!Reader)

House: You Choose

Blood Status: You Choose

Word Count: 2k

Warning: Mentions of serious injury/death-ish/distress/war

A/N: Happy Ending

Not proofread yet. I’ll do that later :)

----

Coughing from the smoke and ash, Harry presses himself up against the walls of the castle as Ravenclaw’s diadem shatters in his hands, scorched in the fire Crabbe had set in the Room of Requirement. Malfoy and Goyle disappear down the hallway without a word or thank you.

“Crabbe must have been casting feindfyre. That’s the only explanation for the diadem being broken,” Hermione says once the air’s cleared. “It’s cursed fire so it can kill Horcruxes.”

“What?” you grumble, standing up and catching your breath. “How’d he learn that?”

“Probably the Carrows,” Ron remarks. “He probably had a field day with them. They were teaching the cruciatus curse in their classes. I wouldn’t be shocked if they taught him how to cast feindfyre, too.”

“This means we only need to kill the snake, Harry,” you say, realizing Voldemort’s defeat is closer by the moment.

“Yeah, but how are we going to get it alone?” Harry inquires. “It’s practically a part of him.”

“We’ll figure out when we get there,” Hermione says.

As everyone gets to their feet, the crack of spells can be heard echoing down the corridor, coming closer and closer by the moment. Harry, Hermione, and Ron draw their wands, in preparation. You clench your hand around yours, preparing for whatever might come.

Percy and Fred come into view, dueling two hooded figures in long black cloaks. You sigh in relief. Fred is still alive and fighting with all his might. You watch as the death eaters’ silvery masks reflect the light of the spells as the opponents exchange blows. Percy flicks his wand and hits Pius Thicknesse squarely in the chest, sending him tumbling backward. Fred skillfully blocks a curse headed his direction, countering with a jinx, causing the other death eater to trip.

“Stupefy!” Fred shouts, hitting the death eater as he falls, sending him flying back towards the other end of the hall and knocking him out cold.

“Hello, Minister!” Percy exclaims beside his brother with a smirk. “Seems as though you could brush up on your dueling. And did I mention I’m resigning?”

You jump forward and join Percy, wrapping up the Minister in binds made of his own robes. Percy swirls his wand and the Thicknesse quickly starts to transfigure into a sea urchin. Percy smiles, satisfied with both of your work. Next to you and Percy, Fred lets out a hearty chuckle, the vibrant smile you’ve grown to know to spread over his face. He starts to say something about how long it’s been since Percy’s made a joke since he’s so consumed with his work and shrouded in seriousness. Just as the moment of satisfaction comes that there are no longer any threats in the seventh-floor corridor, everything slows.

The shockwave rips through the air. The explosion is unexpected and devastating as it sends everyone flying and to the ground. White noise rings in your ear. As you feel the rubble tumble past your head and dust fill the air, you don’t have a sense of anything around you or where anyone else is. After a second, you move your fingers and legs, trying to determine your injuries. Other than a few bruises and some residual shock, you seem fine as you get up shakily.

“Hermione? Y/n? Harry?” Ron calls out. “Percy are you okay?”

“I’m alright,” Percy says. “Fortunately, my glasses are the only thing that’s broken.”

“Ron! Thank goodness!” Hermione calls from somewhere around the rubble.

“Where’s Fred?” Harry asks as you gasp in horror. Looking down a few feet away from you, you can see a light-skinned frecked arm sticking out of the rubble.

“Fred!” you shriek, rushing to him. “Fred! Help me! Percy!”

You scramble to move the rocks from on top of Fred in desperation, praying and pleading to anyone or anything that would listen that Fred is okay. The others join you, clearing the rocks with magic and their bare hands. As soon as you’ve uncovered him enough, you scoop him up and hold him against your chest, tugging on his torso and lifting him all the way out of the rubble. His eyes are closed and his body is limp. Resting his head in your lap, you begin to cry.

“Freddie?” you whimper, running your hands through his hair just as he’s always loved. “Are you there? Come on, wake up?”

Percy takes two fingers and presses them to Fred’s neck. Percy’s eyes widen.

“I feel a pulse,” Percy sniffs quietly, a tear rolling down his cheek. “But it’s faint. I don’t know if he’ll between now and when we can get him to Madame Pomfrey…”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron’s faces all drop. Fred’s always been there. Making jokes, teasing Ron, selling his products. Most of all, he’s been with you. They stare at Fred’s face in shock, not even beginning to fathom a world in which Fred Weasley isn’t around.

“I-I have something to ask all of you and I need you to do it fast,” you say quickly. “You have to trust me. It’s for Freddie.”

The four of your friends look at you intently.

“I need you all to cast the Patronus charm,” you explain. “Now.”

“Y/n…” Hermione says. “This isn’t’ the time. There aren’t even any dem-”

“I know, Hermione!” you snap, shooting her a look. “Stop asking questions trust me! I need you to cast it or Fred might not make it! I can’t cast it now. Corporal patronuses are best but shields are just fine! Hurry!”

Everyone nods, grabbing their wands, and soon enough, Harry’s stag, Ron’s jack russell terrier, and Hermione’s otter form in the air. Percy closes his eyes and casts his own charm, forming a small shield in front of him. You nod to all of them and mouth your gratitude.

Closing your eyes, you extend your arm out in front of you above Fred’s chest. You focus and reach further, your fingers feeling as if they’re pushing through layers and layers of magical barriers and shields. As soon as you feel it, you grasp a small vial in your hand and it materializes as you pull it back towards you. The others watch in confusion and awe as you uncork the tiny vial. You murmur a few small words, hoping this will work as you tip the vial.

Out of the vial comes a shimmering liquid that glows as it descends through the air and onto Fred’s chest. It shines as if it’s made from the sun itself and swirls with a pearlescent sheen. As soon as it touches Fred, it glows warm, comforting, filling the entire vicinity in its brilliance. The lights dance with the silvery blue whisps of the patronuses. Within a second, it all fades.

You duck your head down to Fred’s chest and sigh a shaky breath as you listen to Fred’s steady heartbeat.

“You’re okay…,” you smile to Fred, who’s just beginning to stir. His brown eyes flutter open and lock with yours.

“Y/n?” he whispers almost inaudibly, reaching up to touch your cheek with care. He coughs a bit, clearing the dust from his throat.

“It thought I lost you,” you cry as he brings you into a tight hug, your tears staining his jacket. The others gasp and smile. Fred’s still here. He’s not dead. Fred reaches up to Percy, who helps bring Fred to his feet and the three brothers quickly embrace Ron on the verge of tears. As soon as they release, Fred turns to you, scooping you up in his arms and kissing you on the lips, giving it all he can. As you break apart, he rests his forehead on yours.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Fred whispers, noticing your tears dribbling down your cheek.

“It’s okay…,” you reply softly. “It’s not your fault… I’m glad it wasn’t too late. I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

“I’m not going anywhere now, y/n,” Fred assures you. “There’s no way.”

Hermione clears her throat and you and Fred jump away from each other, surprised at the disturbance. “Y/n, what was that?” she questions

“Yeah,” Ron nods. “Explain.”

“It’s….,” you trail off. “It happened a while ago. I was going through some very old books and I found a long lost magical technique. I had to translate it. What it said was that people can store concentrated healing magic. Once a day, someone can cast a healing spell and concentrate it in liquid form and keep adding to it as long as they want. If it’s kept going long enough, it can perform miracles. It’s inefficient, though. One person can only make one at a time and you can only add to it once a day. It must have fallen out of use for inefficiency… but I’ve made my own. That’s what I used to heal Fred.”

“That’s bloody brilliant,” Ron exclaims in astonishment. “Why would a technique like that go out of fashion? Even if it’s rare, it still had value.”

You shrug in agreement.

“What about the patronuses?” Harry adds.

“Patronuses are more than they seem to be. Expecto Patronum means ‘I await a guardian.’ They repel more than just dementors. They can slow down death in his footsteps. They don’t stop him. Only slow him. Guardians are protectors, after all,” you clarify with a smile.

“So you asked us all to cast one because it would give Fred the best chance?” Ron asks and you smile back to confirm. “Wicked.”

“This bit of explanation and monologuing has been great, but the battle isn’t over yet,” you say. “We still have to kill that snake.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione agree, beginning to head off toward the courtyard, deciding to seek out Voldemort and his snake directly, leaving you behind to stay with Fred. Just as they get out of sight, Fred tugs at your arm and kisses you lightly.

“Thank you y/n, I-”

“Shhh. Don’t mention it, Fred. I would have saved you any day,” you cut him off. “We can talk about this after the battle when we have a moment to ourselves.”

“I love you,” he adds with a hopeful look. You grin, not being able to resist him and kiss his cheek.

Fred nods and takes your hand. He looks at you in the eyes as if to say, “Ready?” You take a deep breath in, the feel of Fred’s hand in yours reassuring you that he’s still there and this isn’t a dream. With that, you, Percy, and Fred head into battle. This time, you don’t let go of Fred’s hand during the battle for even a moment.

Years later, you’re living in a London flat that you and Fred share. Wealsey’s Wizard Wheezes is a booming business. Everyday, you wake up to Fred, giving him his good morning kiss before he gets ready to work at the shop. You smile as you fix his crooked ties and kiss his nose. As you part your ways as he goes into the shop for his work and you head down the alley for yours, you smile to see all the excited children already gathered outside. You’re happy knowing that the shop is a success because it’s where he comes alive, talking about the products with customers. As you drop him off, George every once in a while flashes you a meaningful smile as if to say “this is all thanks to you.”

You travel with Fred to the United States when the international branches of the shop open, which was a much anticipated expansion. You’re right there in the picture with him and George on opening day as they cut the ribbon, clapping and cheering the loudest out of anyone.

At night, you both return to bed you share, and you snuggle into his chest tightly, taking in the smell of Fred that you’ve come to know and love: cinnamon with a hint of firework smoke. Each time, you tuck your head onto the crook of his neck, smiling, knowing you don’t know what exciting occurrences will come tomorrow, but Fred’s most definitely going to be there right beside you and you couldn’t be more in love.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #Harry Potter #weasley twins

128 notes · View notes

ridiasfangirlings · 4 years

Note

Mikorei hanahaki AU. Munakata starts coughing out flowers after Mikoto dies. Thanks!

It starts the day after he killed Suoh Mikoto.

Munakata wakes up that morning and he feels a tightness in his throat, irritating, because all he did was his duty – Munakata's decided on his chosen path as a King and all he did was what the Blue King had to, so he's not going to allow himself to look back, or to regret. His throat hurts though, like he can't breathe, and it's strange because he's never suffered from allergies or anything of the sort. It feels like something's stuck there, roots reaching up from his chest and clawing up his throat, and Munakata thinks 'this isn't grief.'

He gets up, changes into his uniform, and coughs up a flower petal.

From that point on it's a regular occurrence, always there in his throat, settling in his chest. He can feel it like a plant growing between his ribs, branches and leaves winding around to make a cage of his heart. He knows it will only grow thicker, vines and thorns, and maybe someday it will squeeze so tightly his heart won't be able to beat. But until then the flowers crawl their way up his throat, a constant cough that won't go away. Munakata's good at hiding it of course, because he's always been the sort of person who maintains perfect poise in every situation. He sits in his office and listens to Awashima give her report of the Ashinaka High incident – which is what they're calling it, not the Colorless Incident, not the Red King's grave – and he nods and gives his orders, and when she's gone he coughs flower petals into his tea. The petals are red like blood, floating in the cup, and perhaps there's something thin and amused in his smile as he stirs the tea with his finger.

A week passes, a day, a month. A new Red King rises out of the ashes of the old, and there are still flower petals in Munakata's throat, dotted like blood on his lips. When he meets Kushina Anna at the foot of the Mihashira building she looks at him for a long moment – 'I will not blame you for it, but I will not thank you either,' and he has not asked for either from her – and he suspects she can see it, the cage of branches and deep red blossoms holding his heart in check. There is red shining deep in her eyes and it's nothing at all like Suoh's, because Munakata knows Suoh's red. The bright burning fire that could tear everything to pieces, heat in those rough hands that had torn at his flesh like a wild beast, fire in the mouth and tongue that entangled with his, burning in the way only a wildfire can, like a thing that knows it must burn its brightest fast because once that fire dies there won't even be ashes behind.

(No blood, no bone, no ash. Mikoto has left none of those in this world now, and another flower falls from his lips.)

In the chamber of the Slate Munakata sees him sometimes, out of the corner of his eye. It's only a flash, here and there, and Munakata can't help but wonder if this is the Slate playing its own games. The Slate is alive, after all – no one who has sat in this room with their hands pressed against the glowing stone trying to tame the god that gave them life in the first place could deny that. Sometimes there are whispers in the back of his mind, promising him beautiful dreams and what this power could do, and Munakata never dwells on those. He's made his choice. He will not regret his choice.

Every time he leaves the chamber there are flower petals scattered on the surface of the Slate, but no one else enters this chamber and so it's simply his secret alone.

Munakata coughs into his hand, red petals fluttering in the wind, and he can feel the clock ticking down in his mind. It's aggravating, perhaps – he had more that he wanted to do, and of course it should be Suoh who still drags him down in the end.

(“You're an idiot, Munakata.” Biting his lips, blood dripping down like flowers, and Munakata pulls back Mikoto's head by his hair and tells him to be quiet.)

He knows the condition his Sword is in and he knows what is – still – growing in his chest. Munakata can calculate how the growth inside has increased with the cracks above his head, and he knows exactly how much time he has left. He will make the most of it.

Suoh Mikoto is smoking a cigarette just around the corner and Munakata can smell the smoke, but he keeps walking. A thorn pricks in his heart and this time there may be the smallest speck of red blood marring the petals that fall from his mouth and scatter away in the wind.

No blood, no bone, no ash.

–

“This isn't like you, Munakata.”

He planned everything perfectly, because that is who Munakata Reisi is. He knew what his duty would be the moment he stepped onto the ground at Ashinaka High, and he knew what his duty would be when he walked through the streets of Shizume City towards jungle's hideout with Zenjoh Gouki at his back. In the haze of the Gray King's power no one is able to see the petals flying in the wind and it's easy to explain away the blood as being from the wound on his head.

('Unlike me?Perhaps.' Once he would have smiled back at that, refuting the words even as he entertained them. But Suoh was that kind of person, who dragged out all the contradictions that Munakata had spent such time quelling. Perhaps he had always been unwell, that he'd entertained this in the first place. Perhaps that seed had been there from the start, waiting to be watered in the blood that he'd spilled – that he hadn't wanted to spill, and that was the truth of it, but it changed nothing so why did it matter – and he'd been absolutely lost from the start, from the very moment he'd been caught by the eyes of the beast and decided to take on himself the task of taming the untameable.)

The Sword of Damocles shuddered above his head and Munakata covered his mouth again, petals crushed between his fingers. If this was the end, that was it, he supposed. Unlike what it was meant to be, and unlike himself, but his plans had run dry and the thorns were starting to squeeze at his heart, vines cracking his ribs.

And then –

The Red King.

It was just another illusion, he knew that. Kushina Anna stood there alone, and no one was behind her. Perhaps it was only the Slate again, one last machination from a cornered beast, thinking this might cause him to do – something, to stop this.

But Suoh Mikoto looked right up at him, that lazy half smile on his face that Munakata was so used to, mouthing words that weren't an apology – it wouldn't be like that man at all, to apologize now, and it wasn't what Munakata wanted from him anyway – but which resonated in his ears anyway, shuddering their way down his throat, reaching for his heart.

A red flame burned through the plant rooted there, burning each and every vine and seedling, each small red blossom, each thorn sheared away –

-and for a moment, perhaps, embracing his heart, leaving a burn scar on the surface where no one could see--

The Sword above his head shattered into thousands of glowing blue shards, and one last petal fluttered from Munakata's mouth into his open palm.

There was the faintest whisp on smoke lingering on the tips of his hair, Suoh's brand, and Munakata shook his head with something like a smile on his face.

“Truly an unreasonable man.”

Nothing answered him, but for the first time in a long while his heart seemed to be beating free.

#Mikorei #Munakata Reisi #Suoh Mikoto #Talking K #fic #I didn't intend to make this a fic but then I got like two paragraphs in and was like welp it's a fic'#I hope you liked this anon #I don't do Mikorei much so I'm a but shaky on it ;;#k project

60 notes · View notes

telli1206 · 4 years

Text

Cat Scratch Fever

Beelzebub gets stuck in a tree, but maybe that’s not a bad thing for Carlos...

Inspired by a @bunny-lou Jaylos prompt, here.

Also shout out to @bunny-lou on her birthday! Happy Birthday girl - thank you for all your amazing Descendants content, and for being a such a strong support for this fandom! I hope you get to smile today 😊. We love you!

Carlos stares hopelessly up the tree, lost in thought.

“Bee, how in the hell did you even get up that high?” He shouts with utter annoyance at the lump of black cat fur that’s clinging for dear life to a weak, dried up branch sprouting out of the top of a mostly dead oak tree, standing just outside the gates of Hell Hall.

Beelzebub just stares back at him, responding with a pitiful meow, but still not moving.

After circling the tree no less than ten times, Carlos is stumped. There are no branches he’s even close to reaching. His only hope would be scaling the stump, but his legs aren’t long enough to get a decent grip. He just stumbles back and falls to the dirt with every attempt, not even making it halfway up the tree.

Carlos lets out a frustrated huff. He needs help for sure. But who? Favors are few and far between on the isle, and even if you find someone willing and able, it’s not like you can get one for nothing.

And what can he even offer? Carlos has very little to his name, and even less that he could barter with.

Still, it’s starting to get dark, and Bee won’t budge, so his eyes scan the streets around him in case somebody, anybody, that might be of use to him is walking by. Carlos’ only other choices at the moment are to stay and get Bee down himself, forcing him to face the wrath of his mother when he returns home late, or leave Beelzebub in the tree to face any predators alone that might consider a lazy old cat to be a tempting meal.

Fuck. He’s definitely desperate.

Lucky for him, potential help strolls by just at that moment, wearing a red beanie and a casual grin as he examines the day’s haul in a tattered yellow backpack, making his way to Jafar’s Junk Shop.

Great. It would have to be his biggest bully from school wouldn’t it?

Carlos starts to question his desperation, but there’s not even enough time to do that, it’s getting dark fast and he’s out of options.

He takes a deep breath, clenching his fists tight to steady himself.

“Jay!”

The dark skinned boy whips his head in Carlos’ direction, long, silky locks whisping over his shoulders at the sudden movement. His curious frown spreads wide into a devious grin when his eyes lock on Carlos. Carlos feels frozen as he watches the boy approach, suddenly feeling like a mouse that dared to beckon a cat over to him.

“What’s the good word, Pipsqueak?” Jay pants, a little breathless from his jog over.

“Don’t call me that,” Carlos mutters, biting back the urge to snarl. Instead he straightens his shoulders to stand taller, looking Jay in the eye and forcing a weak smile.

“Do you think you have a second to do me a favor?”

Carlos braces himself for the potential backlash of his words. His body tenses, and he stands stiff, ready to take a hard blow if Jay unleashes on him. Who knows how many people have dared utter those words to the thief and lived to tell about it?

Surprisingly, Jay stands still, quirking a brow and crossing his arms as he looks Carlos up and down.

“You, need me? Well color me shocked, De Vil. I never thought I’d see the day. What, pray tell, can I help you with, Mr. Perfect?” He quips, exaggerating a bow to Carlos.

Carlos scoffs, furrowing his brow. “I never said I was perfect.”

Jay picks his head up with a smile, proceeding to stand fully upright quickly, making Carlos flinch and take a step back.

"You don’t need to. Just walk around with those perfect grades, strutting around in your mom’s perfect high fashion stuff, flashing that perfect smile.”

Now Carlos can’t fight his frown. He looks at Jay, bewildered. “Perfect...smile?”

Jay pauses, mouth hanging open at he stares at Carlos. In a flash he’s quickly shaking his head, waving away the comment.

“Just...what do you need, pup? Let’s get this over with.”

Carlos’ eyes widen as he’s pulled back into the now...Beelzebub!

“My cat!” He shouts as his distress floods back to him. He points up to where Bee is still gripping tightly to a branch. “He’s stuck in the tree and I can’t get him. There’s no way I can scale that trunk.”

Jay looks up at the cat, cocking his head. He steps closer to the tree, walking around it to examine the trunk. A little giggle escapes him.

“Damn straight, there’s no way your scrawny little legs are making around that tree.”

Carlos starts to glare, but Jay puts a hand up. “But I can. I’ll get the furball down for you.”

All of Carlos’ anger fades in a rush of excitement, and he breaks out into a smile. “You will? That’s great!”

Jay nods, wrapping his arms around the trunk. Before he starts climbing, he tilts his head back to look at Carlos.

“We can discuss payment when I’ve got your pussy.” He chuckles to himself as he begins the climb.

Carlos rolls his eyes, but silently watches, mesmerized as he sees Jay scale the trunk with ease. In seconds he’s level with the branches, pulling himself up and darting quickly to where Beelzebub is firmly clamped on, claws tight.

A low hiss builds louder and louder as the cat watches Jay approach, making Carlos worry. But before he can warn Jay, the Arabian boy reaches out to Bee, and Bee responds by flinging his front paws on Jay’s bicep, letting his sharp claws sink in to the soft, tanned flesh.

Carlos flinches as the blood start to trickle over Jay’s muscled bicep from underneath the nails, leaving angry trails of red down his skin, but is shocked when Jay hardly reacts. The boy simply leaves the claws where they are, scooping his other hand underneath the frightened cat and pulling him close to start weaving back through the branches to get to the trunk.

Bee finally loosens his grip enough for Jay to push him onto his shoulder, and the cat frantically paws at his hair to find a tight hold, allowing Jay to shuffle back down the trunk.

Carlos snorts quietly when Jay jumps dramatically to the ground with only two feet to go, in true Jay fashion. The boy smiles triumphantly as he lifts the cat off his shoulder, pulling him up and over his head a few times to untangle him from his hair.

Carlos smiles, quickly pulling the cat close, pulling out a few strands of Jay’s hair still stuck in his paws.

“Bee! You dumb, stupid cat! Thank evil you’re ok!” He exclaims, giving the cat a tight squeeze. Carlos earns a loud mew in response, and then loosens his grip, letting Beelzebub flop to the ground.

Bee looks up, giving both Carlos and Jay a lazy glare, then stumbles around slowly to make the trek back to Hell Hall.

Carlos breathes a sigh of relief, looking to Jay with a grateful smile. But his face falls when his eyes are drawn to the blood still streaked across his arm. “I’m, so sorry Bee got you. That looks bad.”

Jay glances at his arm, following a drop of blood with his eyes as it rolls off his muscle. He looks back to Carlos, shrugging indifferently.

“Just a scratch. No big deal.” His lips curl into a smile as he takes a step closer, into Carlos’ space. “Now, I think it’s time we discuss payment.”

Carlos fidgets, twirling his fingers together as Jay gets close.

“Yes! About that. Maybe I can...build you something? Or do you need something fixed? Because there’s not much I can steal from home, I mean, maybe mom has a stole or something laying around that she wouldn’t miss. I guess if you want something like that I could run over-”

Carlos is cut off when Jay grabs him by the jacket, tightly fisting the fabric so he can lift and pull Carlos backward until his back slams into the tree, making him gasp in shock.

He stares at Jay, wide-eyed, until the boy surges forward and crashes their lips together. Jay turns his head slightly, parting his lips and sucking on Carlos’ lower lip when it pushes between his. Carlos lets out a squeak when Jay bites him lightly, suddenly feeling a warm tongue slide into his mouth.

Carlos stays still, frozen, as he tries to register what’s happening. But before he can make sense of it Jay is pulling away, releasing the grip on his coat and letting him drop fully to the ground.

Jay makes a show of licking his lips, smiling at Carlos as he stares back, dumbfounded. “Yeah,” he quips, “I’d say that was worth it.”

Carlos can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and he drops his head down quickly to try to hide the color flushing across his face.

But Jay slips a finger under his chin, tipping his head back up to look at him.

“Happy to help you out anytime, pup. Just say the word.”

He drags his finger down Carlos’ jawline, then turns and leans over to grab his backpack, throwing Carlos a wink as he slings it over his shoulder. Carlos watches him jog back across the street, disappearing around the next corner.

He brings a hand to his lips, touching gingerly with his fingers. They’re still swollen and tingly, and Carlos is surprised at how much he revels in the sensation Jay left behind.

He would have never thought asking for help would bring him here, but he’s no longer opposed to, or scared of the idea. As a matter of fact, maybe he won’t be fighting the Gastons so hard next time they steal his backpack, or take his lunch.

Not if he can get that kind of help again.

From Jay.

#jaylos #Carlos De Vil #jay son of jafar #descendants #descendants fanfiction #bunny-lou prompt #happy birthday bunny-lou!

77 notes · View notes

dannymayevent · 4 years

Text

Congratulations to @ectofruitloop for completing the calendar! Thank you for all your hard work and making this a great event!

Fic is written for you by @phandom-phriend for your day 12 artwork: Gloves

*Blood, injury, mentions of past relationship and feelings

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

None of this should have happened, it just doesn’t make any sense.

But he’s right there in front of her, bearing the pain from all of her own actions like some kind of self sacrificing hero. Well, to an extent, he is. But that is besides the point. These events that lead them to this rooftop in the middle of the night should have never happened. But they did. So here they are in the moon’s light as neither can move, but neither can look away. In some ways this battle is more tense than all of the the others that came before it, even though this certainly isn’t a fight.

Valerie can’t help but to just want it all to end.

It all started this morning. Well, it really started when Phantom and his stupid ghost mutt got her dad fired and she was given the power to become the Red Huntress. But for the events that lead directly to the end, it all started that very same morning.

It is just another typical school day. The sun is warm and the breeze is cool, all sorts of students linger in the halls, avoiding going to class until the last minute. The noise of the hustle and bustle of late students gives a nice background noise as Valerie makes her way to her own class.

And that’s when her eyes locked with Danny’s.

She hasn’t spoken to him since…. Everything. Always avoiding being partners with him in class, making sure to sit at the other end of the cafeteria, and all sorts of little things like that to avoid direct interaction. It’s not like she doesn’t like him anymore, it’s just so hard being near something so dear that she isn’t able to have.

Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

But these moments when their eyes meet, well, she will only ever admit to herself that she adores them. It’s like a false sense of security that she is still with him, still part of their friend group. It makes her feel like those eyes can tell her everything that has happened, that they simply catch her up to speed as if she merely went on vacation and wasn’t actively avoiding the trio. It’s a lie, of course. But it’s a lie she will willingly fall for each and every time.

But then the bell rings and the spell is broken.

There have been no ghost incidents during the school day, so Valerie’s biggest fear was simply turning in her homework on time and avoiding the cafeterias “special” today. Pretty standard high school troubles for a student that no longer belongs to any group…

It’s after school where the magic happens. With no work at the Nasty Burger today, Valerie is quick to turn into the Red Huntress and take off above buildings, patrolling with her scanner for any ghost activity. At the start of her vigilante fight against the ghosts, she would go to every little thing that set her scanner off. While all ghosts needed to be destroyed, she found it… impossible to take down ghost cats or those little whisps floating around. They are small, harmless, so now she lets them be.

She can always come back for them later.

Nothing really happens at the start of her patrol, it’s simply an unusually quiet day. But rather than reassure, it just sets her on edge. This is Amity. And Amity is certainly never quiet. Something must be happening, plans and plots forming where she can not see. So that just means that the Red Huntress has to be ready for whatever is planning to attack her town.

That’s why when the sun begins to fade along the horizon, Valerie doesn’t return home like normal. She stays out, watching the sun start to set and the scanner on her arm with equal attention.

That’s when a larger red dot appears just a bit away from her, a stronger ghost than whisps or small animals, but weaker than Phantom. Could be the box ghost again, but there’s only one real way to find out for sure. So Valerie takes off in the direction of that little red light to a rooftop high above most of the city. It isn’t the tallest building in Amity, but the view isn’t one to look down upon. Normally the roof is locked and closed off, but when you can fly that sort of thing isn’t a problem.

The Red Huntress crouches on her hover board just under the roofs edge before peering over it. Standing there is none other than Ember. As the Red Huntress she’s never actually interacted with the ghost girl before. But Valerie is able to remember the time she paired up with Young-blood, and the time where all men had disappeared. She’s strong, a powerful ghost with a powerful weapon. And now she’s only a few feet away from Valerie. Only a few feet away from the new blaster that Valerie has just been dying to try out.

So the Red Huntress grabs the small weapon off of her hip and aims steadily. This would be for the good of humanity. Ember is a bad sort of dangerous that she just can’t leave running around. This is why the Red Huntress was even created in the first place: To take out ghosts that need to be taken out.

And that’s exactly what Valerie plans to do.

But when she pulls that trigger without the hesitation she would have felt in the beginning, the purple blast doesn’t hit her target like it was intended. No, instead with a blur of motion and color too fast for her to comprehend, none other than Phantom pushes Ember out of the way and takes the shot to the abdomen himself.

It’s a sickly sight. Thick green goo staining the roofs floor as the three of them stare at each other in shock. No one seems to be able to know what to do or say as Phantom just...bleeds onto the rough surface of the roof from the wound Valerie had caused. He doesn’t scream in pain to collapse, the other simply looks shocked at the events. Like he hadn’t expected taking the hit would actually hurt.

But when Ember’s eyes meet Valerie's, that shock is gone. Completely consumed by rage as her hair burns bigger and brighter than she’s ever seen before. Gloved hand tighten into fists as the musical ghost begins to storm forward. Valerie for her part, puts her own gloved hands up in a defensive position, both of them seeming to forget that they have weapons of their own they could use.

But before a fight could break out up there on the rooftop, one of Phantom’s gloved hands rests on Ember’s shoulder as he whispers...something to her. Something that makes the ghost loosen up and face turn more serious than angry. Like she was given a new mission, the fire haired girl simply nods before flying off.

Phantom then looks to Valerie, and when their eyes meet it sparks… something within her she can’t understand right away. Some sort of familiarity that she has never known to be in those greens eyes. Something so sad and raw that it makes her stumble off of the hover board and onto the roof, inching towards the ghost she had shot only moments ago. Something that makes her take her own mask off to show the vulnerability within her own face. Something that, just for a moment, makes Valerie see them as equals rather than enemies.

But Phantom can’t keep they eye contact for long. The ghost boy falls to his knees into a puddle of his own ectoplasm and clutches his abdomen tightly with both arms. He’s in pain in a way Valerie had never seen before. It strikes her that even though no sounds leave his lips, that it all just looks so unbearably painful. It just looks so hard for the other to even move. Honestly, she’s not even sure he can.

In a flash of blinding light, however, it is no longer Phantom that lays crouched before her boots. It’s Danny. Her Danny with his back hair and white shirt. Her Danny is who looks up at her as the green goo turns red in his arms as it slowly trickles from the wound to greet the green below him. It is her Danny that looks up at her with those same blue eyes this morning, only now holding pain and unshed tears.

In another flash of light, before Valerie can even begin to say anything, Phantom is the one in front of her now. But when he looks up at her, she can’t help but to feel that she will never be able to look into those green eyes the same way ever again.

“Danny…?” she whispers out. It wasn’t supposed to be a question because she knows that he’s Danny, but what else was she supposed to say? Sorry for trying to kill you all those times? And maybe even succeeding today? She doesn’t really want to think about it, much less say any of that.

The boy before her grimaces. “Surprise?”

The Red Huntress falls to her knees. She wants to stay there and just cry, to let it all out and scream to the stars that are now blinking in through the clouds. She wants to get her thoughts together and to understand her mistakes. But Danny is still hurt from the mess she caused, so instead of doing what she wants to do, Valerie lays the ghost boy down and puts pressure on the wound, using the shirt of her casual clothes to soak up the sickening green and ignoring the way it stains her gloves, her suit, her skin.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this

#dannymay2020 #tw blood #tw wound

84 notes · View notes

3laxx · 3 years

Text

Losing Home

Luz would not have the chance to cope. Death had come quickly, and while she had only realized in the very last moment that she would truly be gone the next, she had not been allowed to grasp the concept of this. That she would, in fact, never cry over her friends coming to the grueling realization that their friend was truly, devastatingly, never to come back. --- The moment did not last forever. The blissful obliviousness did not prevail. At some point, people had to know.

TRIGGER WARNING:

- DEATH

Here's the continuation everyone asked for! Get some tissues ready~

Ao3 / FF.net

---

The call had ended sometime that night.

While Amity’s eyes had closed, a small smile adorning her lips, the same expression had slipped from Luz’s face as she had lost the peace of mind during her very last moments of consciousness. The moment Luz had stepped over into the unknown after death, she was realizing what had happened and the gravity of the situation had wiped the smile.

Her eyes were wide, staring at the stars through the few thin clouds that were traveling the skies, but unseeing. The light glyphs she had conjured up had popped the moment her spirit had left her body. The last she had associated with life had been a warm feeling, interrupted by an incredible fear, numbed by the immensely relieving realization that she was right where she had wanted to be, instead of leaving this life being somewhere where she had not wanted to be.

In Luz’s opinion, that made her a lot luckier than some people who had died in spots they had not wanted to be in.

But leaving life on the Boiling Isles, having found a family, her first crush, and home to maybe spend her life in gave her peace through the incredible fear of losing it all.

And then, she was gone.

All her wishes, hopes, fears, all her thoughts and plans and worries puffed in the light breeze washing over her clothes, ripping on the fabric, but leaving the body underneath unmoving, cooling out in the gentle nightly weather.

With a whisp, a single moment, the light had vanished in Luz Noceda’s eyes and she was no more, much like when a character wiped out of existence when the page was turned when the book was closed.

She had deserved a bigger goodbye, her associates would later claim, she should have had someone with her to know what’s going on, she should have had the reassurance that people would know what had happened to her, to witness her last moment before her spirit would only live on in the memories of her loved ones and not so loved ones.

But, in truth, it was what had come for her, and Luz, in the very last minutes of her being, hadn’t minded nobody witnessing her moving on.

Dying was lonely, and it became even more lonely when knowing that her environment would be left alone by her. Like this, her death became no fixed point, no single moment. Her death became a fleeting thought until the moment had passed and the death was over.

Because you see, dying is fast. The moment a soul leaves the mortal vessel is the true moment of death and after that, the person is over.

The death marks the very last speck of consciousness, the very last flame of a person’s life flickering before it would go out.

And after that, the person would be gone, and the ones remembering would be left with a body of unmoving flesh, a lot of hurting memories that had been happy a mere minute before, and a whole lot of issues to solve.

Luz herself would not witness her body being found. She would not witness the news spreading on the isles, she would never see the reactions of friends and foes. She would not know if her mother would ever know what happened to her.

She was troubled by this in the last minutes before reaching an illogical peace of mind, that was only taken from her with the gravid realization that she would be no more, but in truth, Luz would never know the faces of her friends when they saw her.

She would never get to feel their mourning and grief, she would simply not be bothered. Because all her spirit and her emotions would be wiped out, with no way to be brought back.

With her skin cooling, with the slow, alive breaths of a friend, more than a friend, coming out of the phone next to her and her eyes reflecting the sky and stars she was no longer bothered to observe, Luz Noceda became nothing more than a character in her friends’ and family’s heads, a girl with a life ahead of her, to have it robbed from her, even if she would not feel the impact of the robbery.

She became a concept. An inspiration to some, a role model to others. A friend to most.

But her consciousness, her very being, became meaningless because it was no longer her to shape what had made her a person.

The view others had of this human was what would let her live on, become a stretched and formed and shaped concept of what she had partly been, but never could hope to become.

Grasping the reality of the situation had not been easy for most.

It came harder for some, easier for others. Impossible for the emotionally involved, at first. But they had the opportunity of shaping and forming their own life, still, adapting the memories of this girl to their views, to help them cope.

She would simply never realize the pain she would cause.

The world seemed off the morning Bonesborough awoke on the day that would change a lot of people’s lives. The day that was changed by one girl’s death.

Eda went about her day, as usual, smashing an alarm clock, doing her morning routine before King would announce that Luz hadn’t been in her sleep roll the whole night.

Amity would wake up to her scroll phone dead, the battery run out. She would grumble a little, try to charge it up a little to at least get through the school day for emergency calls, but then would think of it no further.

Willow and Gus would go about their morning routine, no worries on their mind, looking forward to the day with their friends.

Luz would not wake up anymore. Her body would have cooled already, barely leaving any warmth in her core, her eyes glazed over, the blood dried after a few hours of unmoving stillness. Her fingers and lips would already be blue and kind of stiff until Eda would find her after a fit of panic.

She would not feel her mentor and sort of adoptive mom fall to her knees next to her, mumbling soft nonsense while shakily reaching out and, in a trance, pulling the child onto her lap, cradling her close, say her final goodbyes without realizing in her shock.

She would not feel the tears that would fall from Eda’s eyes, King’s desperate wails for her to wake up for their comedy hour, she would not blink irritated at Eda pressing her face into her hair falling over her shoulder. She would not feel the scrawny hands of the older witch tightening their grasp around her, her fingernails digging into her clothes while Eda would do her best to hold her stiffened body, to keep her against her body, while desperately trying to grasp a coherent thought upon losing her only daughter.

She would not witness Eda realizing how big her love for the young girl had grown, through a fit of chocked sobs, and how subtly she had nestled herself into the witch’s heart, never to be heard by her until it had been too late.

In some sense, Amity knew something was up. The morning seemed dull, she couldn’t put a finger on it, but a serene numbness settled on the world and she could not figure out what was wrong. Sometimes the mornings seemed a little dull because of a slight fog rising from the forest around the mansion. Sometimes her way to school would seem silent, too silent, and like she had a lot to think about, even if there was nothing much to consider.

It was just a weird feeling, she was sure she could shake it.

The twins accompanied her until the first crossing, where they would turn to Bonesborough and wave her, asking her if she wanted something more for breakfast if she already wasn’t going to skip the first few classes with them.

She denied, rolling her eyes at their carelessness towards school, but she knew she wouldn’t snitch on them. It was their business and their grades spoke for themselves, she supposed. She would focus on her own reputation.

It had been a little weird not to see Luz right away, since normally, the human was always a sight to behold for her. Kind of lanky, kind of tall, waving excitedly. Today, she only saw Willow and Gus waiting at the entrance, waving for her instead. She greeted them with a quizzical look, asking about Luz, but Willow just shrugged and assumed Luz was late due to some wild witch thing Eda had roped her into.

They didn’t know of the devastating news principal Bump received at this moment, over the phone, because Eda hadn’t been able to drag herself to school and see all the fortunate children around the same age as her daughter that had survived the night and had a smile on their face.

Amity, Willow, and Gus hadn’t even been able to get to their first class, when Bump had gotten over the initial shock and had decided to inform Luz’s closest friends, intending to give them the day off immediately to visit their friend, console each other, seek comfort in visiting the Owl Lady and resting up for as long as they liked.

He hated ruining their day right at the start but figured it’d be fair to tell them now, and not let them wait any longer. There was no right moment anyway. There would never be a right moment to inform these kids, and unfortunately, he knew it was his duty as their principal and educator, to tell them the devastating news.

Rightfully, Amity was surprised to hear their names from the speakers, by a rather solemn sounding principal.

Looking at each other, Willow, Gus, and Amity took a moment to ask themselves if the others knew anything about this, before looking around and discovering that other students were already whispering about them being called to the office before the first period had even started.

The young, green-haired witch wasn’t sure what to expect, and even worse, what to tell her parents that she had been called to the principal’s office again, for definitely not the first time and no extra credit honoring ever since she had started associating with Willow again. And additionally, Luz the human. She had gotten into trouble a lot more ever since she had slipped into circles her parents had not deemed proper for a Blight. Not that she was any less rule-abiding, she supposed she was just less bullying. Nowadays, it was more being in some wrong situations at the wrong time, most often the courtesy of some particular girl letting her heart beat faster than normal.

Making her feel things she’s never felt before.

And most importantly, making her do stupid things that she wished she didn’t make.

So, it was no surprise for her to be called into the office again, because of that very girl.

Bump was sitting on his desk, but not with the sort of pride he usually exuded. He had interlaced his fingers and looked sort of shocked, actually, while asking them to take a seat.

Exchanging a questioning gaze with her two friends, Amity followed his offer, taking a seat across the old principal and folding her hands in her lap.

“This is about your friend Luz Noceda…”, he began, and Amity noticed Willow sitting a little straighter.

“Did she get in trouble?”, her childhood friend asked immediately, and while she was as eager to hear, she couldn’t help but notice the slight slump in his shoulders the witch in front of her experienced.

“First of all, children, you have the day off. The news I am about to tell you is not to be taken lightly and you are more than welcome to take the week off as well.”, the old witch stated, and with each of his words, Amity’s stomach sunk lower. Had Luz gone back to the human realm? She had just spoken to her yesterday, still!

“Principal Bump, what happened?”, Gus finally forced out when Bump took a break, and the youngest of them couldn’t take the silence anymore. He sighed, before adjusting his seat, trying to make this approach as considerate as he could.

“I-… Unfortunately, this morning I have been informed by Luz’s patron, Eda Clawthorne, that she will no longer attend Hexside.”, at this, the young students in front of him, furrowed their eyebrows, “… This night, Luz suffered an injury from an attack and passed away sometime this night.”

It hit like a bomb, as he had suspected.

Looks of disbelief washed over the three kids’ faces, before Willow and Gus moved on to slowly understanding, grasping the extent of the situation, while Amity was still hung up on what he had just said. Swallowing and breathing through, Bump softly raised his voice again, unfolding his fingers and brushing over his desk.

“I-… I fully understand you need to take a moment to process this.”, he began but Amity was already shaking her head, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as she got up to her feet, her shaky hands pressed on his desk.

“… Wh-What do you mean?”, she asked, her voice quivering and breaking, “I-I just talked to Luz last evening. What do you mean she-…?”

The principal had to suppress his own grief at Amity being unable to repeat what he had just forced himself to say. It made him all the more realize how heavy this information was for these kids to process.

“I’m very sorry, Amity, but I fear I can’t say more about this. Eda informed me that she collected Luz’s body this morning, and it seemed like a fight had taken place. You’re, of course, free from any classes to go visit the Owl House and get more information on Luz’s-… Passing.”, he sighed again, “Your teachers and parents will be informed and I will take all measures to ensure you get the break you need.”

Like in trance, Willow nodded, before getting up, thanking him for giving them the information, before heading out. Gus had his head lowered, pathetic tears falling into his lap while he tried processing this information he had just received.

Amity just started shaking, her eyes in denial, shaking her head as she stared at him, willing him to excuse himself, reveal that this had just been a sick joke, wanting him so badly to take back what he had just said.

But he wouldn’t. Catching her gaze and holding it, he kept his face. There was nothing he could do.

The poor boy was still situated in his seat when Amity robotically moved, finally, pulling her hands off the desk before straightening her back and following Willow outside.

Only when Bump got up and around his desk to place a comforting hand on Gus’ shoulder, his head snapped up before Bump helped him up to follow his friends outside who were probably already outside to catch some fresh air before regrouping and going to the Owl House. He was glad the rest of the students was already in class, so they wouldn’t see the absolute devastation on their faces and start rumors.

When they had left, Bump rubbed over his face, before excusing all teachers from the classrooms, to hold a short conference, informing them of what had happened before arranging for a minute of silence for the passed student, while the small group of friends had long left the school grounds.

For Willow, it was easier to grasp what had happened than for the rest of her friends. Gus was still in shock, tears uncontrollably flowing down his cheeks, and he hadn’t said a word since then.

Amity was in denial. She was quiet, but Willow could still hear her nonsensical mumbling, about how this wasn’t possible.

She didn’t know why her brain had decided to process this information the way it was, but she knew that neither Eda nor Bump would ever give out false information. She knew the Boiling Isles was dangerous, she knew Luz had been in mortal danger more often than she’d like to admit, and she knew that sometimes, she had joked with her that she wouldn’t get out of it. Her aim had been to have Luz go through the demon realm more carefully, she had never anticipated that someday, she would really get the information that her friend had passed.

Amity was still mumbling to herself, and when she glanced over, one of her hands was mussing up her high ponytail while the other was holding her scroll phone with the call history. Sure enough, there was a picture of Luz, one she had taken herself with Amity’s scroll, as her last incoming call, last evening. The call had been ongoing for hours, as far as Willow could tell.

She wouldn’t ask about it yet. She couldn’t.

Besides, Eda would want to know about this as well.

The walk to the Owl House became increasingly quiet, aside from the quiet sniffles from Gus’ side and the hiccups from Amity’s. At least she had stopped mumbling to herself. For some reason, the longer Willow had the opportunity to think about what reality had just been presented to her, the more she found herself denying this.

It wasn’t that she didn’t acknowledge the information or the fact that Luz wasn’t with them anymore.

It was more that she found herself unable to accept that this was going to be her life now. Luz had been the one to barrel into their lives, make her reconsider her powers and confidence, made her courageous enough to reconnect with Amity and to stand up to Boscha.

It was unthinkable that this girl, so full of life and energy, would be gone now. It was almost unacceptable that a person who had changed so much in the little time she had been here was no longer allowed to live on.

It was unfair.

The longer Willow reflected on this, the more she found herself growing angry.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. This was not the life she wanted and this was not what she had wished for Luz. Just a few days before she had found herself daydreaming that maybe, Luz and Amity would overcome their awkwardness and become a couple. That they’d be adorable.

Finally, the Owl House came into view and Amity felt her eyes watering at the sight.

Luz resided here. Lived here. This was her territory, her place.

She couldn’t understand that Luz wasn’t supposed to be here.

Hooty didn’t greet them that much.

He just gave them a look before nodding and swinging the door open to reveal the living room of the Owl House. The room in which they had had some sleepovers already, in which memories had been made. Most, if not all, with Luz.

Now, they were greeted with a tired Eda, an almost unresponsive King, and an oppressive silence surrounding the wooden casket sitting in the middle of the room. Eda was sitting on the couch and had her face buried in her hands, while King was curled up against her side. Amity was the first to step in, but Eda wouldn’t even lift her gaze. For a moment, they allowed her the silence, before Willow sat Gus down next to King and asked the demon if it was okay for Gus to pet him, to which King just slightly nodded.

Guiding Gus’ hand to the fur of the demon, she then left them to their devices, knowing that both of them probably needed some more time to come to terms with the information.

Meanwhile, she paid Amity no mind who had stopped at the wooden coffin, while kneeling in front of Eda. The wild witch lifted her gaze and looked at the young girl, her eyes as empty as the hole Luz had ripped into her heart when she had found her dead.

“… Eda? What-… What happened?”

Breathing through, Eda seemed to collect herself, before leaning back and looking at Amity.

“When-… I found her…”, her voice was raspy and overused, but she cleared her throat and continued, “… Her scroll was next to her. And there was a message about a lost connection to your scroll.”

Slowly nodding, Amity seemed to verify this information to herself, before looking up and meeting Eda’s eyes. There was no accusation made at her when Eda’s and her gaze met. Breathing through and trying to wet her lips, Amity then sat down next to Willow on the floor, the coffin to her side, while she then looked down to her lap, her scroll and call history open for them to see.

“… She called me last night and sounded kind of weird. Was talking about weird stuff. She-…”, Amity sniffled, her eyes now finally spilling the first tears, “We talked about homework, and then she began about the stars and-… About me, being pretty.”

Willow gulped at this, but Amity continued before she could say anything to this.

“I-… I guess I should’ve known something was wrong once she asked about my bucket list. And-… I asked her if she had had any apple blood and that she should go back home. She-… She said she was home. I didn’t hear anything after that. Shortly after, I went to sleep, the call was interrupted when my scroll died.”

Eda seemed to understand what Willow and Amity didn’t. Nodding, she leaned back before looking over to the coffin, sighing.

“… Kid knew she was out in the woods, and that no healer would be fast enough to get to her in time. So she called you.”

This only put more weight on Amity’s shoulders as she felt like. Because of the way Eda phrased it, she apparently assumed Luz was already injured when she had called Amity. And she had no idea, she hadn’t even realized Luz had been in pain for the entirety of the call. It also meant that Luz had died while talking to her. Suddenly, the silence in the call made more sense. Luz’s last sentence made a lot more sense. That she was home. Her throat closed up and she almost couldn’t hear Willow asking if it was safe to assume that Luz had called Amity while already injured and if she had really witnessed Luz’s last moments last night.

Eda explained something about some blood being on the phone, and her body being arranged to rest, by herself, from which Eda assumed that Luz had intentionally called Amity after having been injured and since the call had run out on its own, she had to assume Luz died somewhere in the call since her injury had been so bad, she couldn’t have had any more than a few minutes to spare.

She must’ve wanted to avoid talking to someone who couldn’t help her in time, and instead aimed for peace of her mind. Since Eda couldn’t have helped her and just stressed over her in her last moments, she had decided to call Amity who had had no idea in which situation Luz had been.

The following hour went in a daze for Amity, Willow assumed.

Slipping into a state of shock, Amity broke down.

Shivering, denying, crying, and sobbing so heartbreakingly, she leaned to the side onto the coffin, maybe subconsciously, while Willow slid closer to embrace her.

She kept talking to Eda, knowing exactly that her shock would wear off this evening when she would have her own breakdown.

The knowledge of piecing together the last evening Luz had lived through was so heavy, though, that it closed up Willow’s own throat. She had suffered this injury of which she had known that it would only allow her a few more minutes. Knowing that the healers wouldn’t be able to save her or soothe her mind, she had called Amity, because if she had called Eda the witch would have gone out to search for her immediately and maybe not even found her before her death.

So, Luz had decided to call Amity, with whom she had grown a lot closer ever since she had discovered her own crush on the witch, to make her last moments bearable, maybe even enjoyable.

From what Amity had told them, they had a pleasant conversation. Almost a normal one, as normal as Luz could get.

Knowing Luz’s last words gave Eda some sort of peace. Luz acknowledging the Boiling Isles as her home hit her hard, but gave her the reassurance that Luz had felt good with her as her patron for the time she had been here.

It was like Luz had given Amity her last message for Eda specifically. Maybe even without knowing it.

Gus’ father came around to pick him up sometime during the morning, to get him to rest and make some shock therapy appointments. When he was gone, and Amity had calmed down, as well as taken a nap, they opened the coffin, suspecting that he wouldn’t be able to take it.

Luz looked peaceful.

Eda had cleaned her up lovingly, closed her eyes, and put her in her favorite cat hoodie that didn’t have any blood in it. Additionally, she had put some of Luz’s personal items into the coffin, surrounding the girl, like resting her on her sleeping bag, putting her favorite Azura novel next to her head, as well as her human phone and the picture she had kept of her mother.

She almost looked serene, Amity decided, her tired eyes straining but eager to see.

Getting down to her knees, she reached in, softly brushing her knuckles over Luz’s cold cheek, before sniffling. Her throat hurt so much with the lump blocking it, but she was glad she could see Luz one last time before they would attend the funeral the next day.

Her skin felt smooth and almost alive, almost, if it wasn’t for the unnatural cold exuding from her. The cold was something Amity had never associated with the human. Brushing over her round earlobes, Amity then leaned in to kiss her forehead, leaving the tiniest tear on Luz’s nose.

“… I h-hope you’ll sleep well.”, she choked, her voice breaking so much her words only came out in a croak, pronouncing half of the syllables. After her, Willow gave her own goodbyes, before they closed the casket again, and Willow was picked up by her fathers as well.

Amity stayed for a little while before she made her way home.

When she would arrive in the mansion, she would make her way straight past her mother questioning her absence in school, ignoring her yelling after her, before going to her room. After dinner, which she wouldn’t attend, the twins would seek her out, only to find her asleep on the bed, curled up as if she had cried, the picture of her friend group from the Grom night tightly in her grip.

In contrary to Luz, she would not get a calm night, though.

---

Imma cry myself to sleep thanks

#toh #the owl house #amity blight #willow park #gus porter #eda clawthorne #king #luz noceda #character death #sadness #grief #mourning #loss #not for the weak #get tissues #and water #drink a lot of water #fanfic #my work

3 notes · View notes

theredknightstruggler · 3 years

Text

Leap of Faith

The Maw was a place of the truest hell that Morddred had ever witnessed in both his mortal life and now in his rebirth. There was a pulling feeling inside the Knight’s gut the moment he and his wife stepped foot from out of the rift that Mord tore open in order to bypass the keepers of Oribos. It was a deep feeling that gnawed at his steeled nerves and he was sure Agatha could sense it. She would often give him looks of concern, but he assured her all was well. Before long the Knight found himself standing outside the gateway to the prison known as Torghast. He had heard rumors of such a place from the ethereal traders that he would often run into when traversing the In-Between. They would elaborate on how it was only meant for the most wicked of souls that were thrown into the Maw by the various beings of the Shadowlands. Mord was lost in memory for a moment: “What makes them free of wickedness to cast such judgement? The denizens of this place are not free of sin. No one is.” The Knight said to the trader. “You ask questions that would get you thrown in there yourself, my friend.” The trader’s essence lit up as he chuckled as something ticked his twisted sense of humor. The Knight narrows his crimson eyes, “When all worlds and realms are free of wickedness, only then will I rest. Pass this along in your travels, trader.”

By the time Morddred brought his focus back from his tugging memory Agatha had disappeared from his side. He was now consumed by the heavy fog that pulled him deep into the halls of Torghast. “Agatha?” He called out while taking a slow look at his surroundings. There were no walls, no sky or roof overheard; only a metallic floor for the Knight to stride his way across. His footsteps thumped loudly as the only thing he could do now was head forward, or whatever direction he was going in the fog, in order to find Agatha. Only from there would he be able to fully think straight and formulate a plan with her. The concept of time was hard to grasp for the Knight in a place like this. Normally his internal clock was spot on, but in here it felt like there was nothing inside him to keep track of how long he was walking for. “...Red Kni-...” A whisper started to speak in the Knights ear, but before it could even finish Morddred had unlatched Dreyrugr and slammed it into the metallic ground beneath his feet after turning on his heel. The dread axe screamed and was wedged into the now dented metal ground. The Knight’s eyes were strained wide with stress as he normally would not have had such a knee-jerk reaction. His grip on Dreyrugr’s hilt was so tight to the point that his gauntlet trembled ever-so-slightly. There was nothing to be seen. With some effort Morddred hauled the buried axehead from the ground an slung it back under his cloak where the enchanted strappings would wrap around Dreyrugr’s head and seal it away once again. The Knight huffed through his nostrils in annoyance, “My nerves are on edge...” He thought to himself while he turned back around and continued to walk into the clouds of thick fog.

There was no telling how long he had been walking for and to the Knight it really had no affect on his physique, but his psyche was certainly taking a toll. An end to the endless wandering seemed to be in sight when Morddred focused his gaze ahead. A rather large grated gate blocked the way. With Agatha on his mind the Knight didn’t waste time and made for the barrier. *Thump, thump, thump, thump* went his steps until he halted and held up a hand to the bars made of an unknown metal. Mord wrapped his hand around one of the bars and gave it a firm shake and then another one with his other hand for good measure. “This will take some effort and time.” He exhaled through his flared nostrils like an annoyed bull. The Knight took a few steps back and crossed his arms over his chest to think how he would proceed from here. It wasn’t long into his planning before he heard the pitter pattering of two bare feet behind him. The flopping of bare feet against the metal ground got louder little by little and right when he felt the presence upon him he turned! His cloak swooshed loudly as he turned and his crimson glare was met with that of a child.

She stood in ragged clothes with a wispy essence reeking off of her. “Have you seen me mum, sir?...” Morddred said nothing. “Sir?...Please, me mum! I miss her!” Tears welled in the child’s eyes. After a long moment of silence and glaring the Knight spoke, “No child of my world has four fingers and eight toes on their limbs.” His frayed nerves at least didn’t affect his perception. “But sir...We just want our mum...Please sir...” The tears that welled in child’s eyes now trickled down her cheeks in streams of black ooze. Her hair began to fall out in clumps as she sobbed and her voice became more and more distorted with the sound of several other feet pitter pattering behind her. The child’s fingernails extended out into several inch long claws along with her toenails and her mouth was now a row full of fanged teeth. A dozen or so of them rolled up behind the original that first approached the Knight, all of them staring with wide dilated eyes. The other-worldly stand off was buried under a heavy silence until one child stepped forward, and than another, and another....They began to swarm him.

“Help, Help, Help, Us, Us, Us, Sir, Sir, Sir...” They all repeated until it turned into screeches of hunger. One leapt and clung to the Knight’s backside where Dreyrugr was strapped into and began to snap its jaws on Dreyrugr’s hilt. “Mmmm..Yummy!” The pure Anima that the runeaxe was made of may as well have been a holiday feast with all the trimmings to these gutterlings. Mord reached up and snagged it by the nape of its neck. It flailed and clawed at the Knight’s armored forearm like a deranged cat, but it was unable to even put a scratch on the pure Saronite plate. “Be free of your curse.” Morddred mumbled as he raised the creature up and promptly slammed it face-first into the ground. Black blood splattered across his boots as the gutterling’s skull was completely caved in like a dropped cantaloupe. Seeing this only threw the others into a blind range and they all jumped the Red Knight at once. One on each leg, one on each arm, two on his back, and several others scampering to get a piece of that Anima if they could. Morddred grunted and flailed to just get some space away from them, but they clung on for dear life as their bellies rumbled empty. He managed to slam his back up against the large gate behind him and squeezed the two on his back until their skeletons cracked and squished through the bars from the sheer weight and strength of the twiceborn.

He slammed his right foot into the ground and shook off the one munching at his armor’s straps that kept it in place, but it clung right back to him within seconds. “Not good.” He thought to himself, knowing he had a bit of time before his armor would be stripped away by these gutterlings. An image of Agatha battling crossed his mind and it sent a surge of emotion up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and Dreyrugr began to awaken to aid its master. A gory symphony halted the munching of the creatures as bone spikes impaled each of their chests except for two that leaped off the Knight before he could catch them. The remaining ones that were impaled started to have their forms drained of essence. Their pale-skinned bodies soon fell to the ground as a loose bag of skin and bones. There he stood surrounded by loose skin and bone, his crimson eyes glaring with raw power as Dreyrugr started to funnel its essence into the Knight. Runes across his armor began to pulse and glow as well, but the Morddred was still in control. The bone spikes retracted back until they were just barely visible across his upper body armor. “You’re mean, sir...MEAN!” The remaining pair of gutterlings screeched. A rumbling in the distance made the pair turn around and look, “Oh...Mummy’s here...Hehe...”

The pair joined hands and scampered towards the rumbling, leaving the Knight to wallow in the black blood that pooled from his feet and directly into Dreyrugr that he has yet to unsheathe. Quite quickly the grotesque sight of an amalgamation of flesh and bone with an army of gutterlings at its flanks was rushing the Knight! “There must be hundreds...” He said to himself while shaking his head. “Too many.” He turned and looked back to the gate that had those two gutterlings wedged between the bars. Mord reached up and grabbed Dreyrugr’s hilt to unleash it from its bindings, letting the runeaxe scream with freedom. With it being recently fed the Knight could feel his body being fed that raw life essence; his muscles enlarged, his reflexes felt sharper, and his focus was almost robotic. He lowered his stance and brought the runeaxe into two hands, closing his eyes and mustering up all the emotion he could even under the stress of an army trampling towards him. There it was, that feeling he was looking for, “You will not stand in my way of her.” The dreaded axe screamed through the air as the Knight cleaved with life essence whisping off the axehead. The bars fell loudly to the ground and a traversable sized opening was made in the gate. Morddred quickly ducked through with runeaxe in hand and began to lightly run away from the gate.

The army SLAMMED against the large gate with ‘Mummy’ at the head of the charge. A large mass of the gutterlings were just squished under the weight of their siblings behind them, but the ones at the very front began to funnel through the opening that Morddred created. Soon the few turned to many and they all began to crawl through the hole. Seeing this only sped up the Knight’s hustle, turning his light run into a full sprint away from the army. The heavy Saronite-plate clad Knight sounded like a locomotive running on all the coal it had in its reserves. He huffed and puffed, but even he could not outrun such a vast foe. The metallic ground beneath him was coming to an end as he looked off ahead of him and saw a disruption in the walkway. A sheer drop separated one side of the walkway from the other. There was no way for him to tell from this distance how far the jump would be, but at this point he didn’t have much of a choice. He slipped Dreyrugr back into its sheath under his cloak, closing both of his hands and pumping himself into an inhuman sprint given how heavy he was in armor. Power began to course through every inch of the Red Knight that sourced from Dreyrugr and with a grunt of extreme effort Morddred pushed himself off the edge of the walkway on a full sprint. From the perspective of the charging army the Knight disappeared once he leaped...he didn’t appear to make it to the other side.

The leader of the gutterling army lodged itself through the hole regardless of it being much large than the opening. Its mass squished through as if it had no bones of its own and was reformed to its two-legged state once it was on the other side. It pointed one of its limbs forward to signal the army to charge the leaping Knight and with Morddred came a wave of gutterlings falling to their doom into the endless depths of Torghast. Panning up from the fallen gutterlings the Knight could be seen clung by one hand to the other side of the walkway’s edge. He grunted and struggled to get a firm grip with a single hand as his other hand strained up inch by inch. Morddred gritted his teeth until he heard his jaw pop and at last his other hand had a hold on the edge. With both hands he’s able to more easily pull himself up and stand at the edge of the walkway to look back at the eerily still army. The gutterlings all foamed through their fanged mouths, but they stood still and made space for ‘Mummy’ to come through. Flesh and bone flopping over each other can be heard as the large creature approached the edge and took a few deep whiffs of the Knight’s permeating essence. She let out a guttural roar and spat out bits of organ and blood that were clung to her teeth. With no way to cross the leader turned back around and slithered from whence they came. Mord watched the army and their leader disappear into the thick fog, but off in the distance above on an upper floor the Knight could see a figure standing in an opening. Apart from the outline of an armored figure there wasn’t much Mord could make of it until it had walked off away from the opening. “Morddred...” Agatha’s voice chimed out of thin air. Mord narrowed his eyes and turned around to continue on his way through the fog. She was still somewhere in Torghast, that much was for certain and hearing her voice just then confirmed it. The Red Knight disappeared into the fog away from the climax of his escape and back into the hell that was Torghast.

Some time had passed since the Knight’s leap of faith and standing at the edge of where he lept was the armored figure he saw in the distance. A hood and cloak covered most of the figure and only the slit of it’s helmet gave off any semblance of someone inside the armor as a pair of white glowing eyes looked across to where Morddred jumped. The figure knelt down and brushed its leather-gloved hand over the broken edge. “He’s strong you know...” A voice strung up behind the armored figure. A row of fanged teeth flashed as the mysterious Venthyr floated in his hooded robes. No response came. “You hate him, yet you’re just like him. Silent, brooding. Annoying.” The Venthyr flicked a dismissive hand before fading into ash. The armored figure stood and turned away to march off, the thick black-steel shield strapped to its backside bearing a faded sigil of an era long past; a closed fist that no longer held its crimson color, but the meaning of it the same nonetheless.

An enemy for another day, the struggle of the Red Knight continues in his efforts to bring balance back to all realms. Does the Knight really drive his own fate or is he merely a pawn of the threads of destiny?

@agathadalkeron

#BerserkInspired #berserk #dark #slight gore #rating: mature #Warcraft #World of Warcraft #Wyrmrest Accord #Roleplay #Rusty writing

16 notes · View notes

werewolfdays · 4 years

Note

Prompt 12 ? 👉👈

12. Waiting for the other one to come home, falling asleep and waking up to the other person gently waking them up

After the compound fracture was set and stitched closed, I carefully wrapped the forearm up in sterilized gauze, then prepared a temporary splint. A cast would have been preferable, but I knew it would heal too quickly for that to be fully necessary. Still, the recovery process would rely mostly on the patient to be cautious with his wound.

I made the last adjustments to his splint, set him up in an arm sling, and stepped back to begin cleaning up my work station, “There you go, all done.”

Jeremy, the werewolf I was treating after his car accident involving hunters, finally let his shoulders and expression relax, and he hopped off the medical bed, “Awesome.”

“Please be careful with it,” I told him earnestly, “Try not to use that arm for at least a week. And come back in if there’s any issues.”

“Will do, Nadya.” He said with a genuine smile, “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” I replied, patting his shoulder, and he was on his way.

Once I gathered all the waste to dispose of and disinfected everything, I went to my desk to mark Jeremy down in my patient log. As I was doing that, my phone lit up, catching my attention out of the corner of my eye. There was a missed call from Jayde and I scribbled down the information faster, making it barely legible, so I could call her back immediately. It barely rang twice before she picked up.

“Hey.” Jayde greeted softly through the phone.

“Hi, Jay.” I replied through a relieved sigh at the sound of her voice, “Sorry I missed your first call.”

“It’s okay. Hard at work?” She guessed knowingly.

“I’d say so.” My eyes gave the chart on the desk a onceover, “Compound fracture, some gunshot wounds, and a couple stabbings today.”

She made a displeased grumble that was slightly growl-like, “Yeah, these hunters hit hard, but they’re taken care of. Just wanted to let you know I’ll be heading home soon.”

The rest of my anxious tension left my body at that, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry.”

The urge to laugh at that caused the corner of my mouth to twitch up, “I always worry about you.”

“I know,” She said, sounding almost regretful, “But I promise I’m good.”

I chewed on my bottom lip, wanting her to be here so I could confirm that for myself, “When will you be home?”

“Probably not until really late tonight. We have to do some followup and mislead any potential tails we have,” Jayde explained, “So don’t wait for me. Get some sleep. You’ll see me when you wake up.”

I tried not to be too disappointed that she wouldn’t be here sooner, but I understood why and nodded, “Okay.”

“I will be home soon, Nadya.” She reassured, sensing my mood, even through the phone.

“I know, Jay, I know.” I said through a sigh, “I just need you safe and by my side.”

“I will be before you know it.”

I stood up a little straighter at her promise, “Yeah, you’re right. Be careful, okay? Come back to me in one piece.”

Jayde chuckled lightly, “Sure thing. I love you.”

My smile grew big enough that I knew she’d be able to hear it in my voice, “I love you too.”

With that, she hung up. I set my phone back down on the desk, stewing in our conversation and the relief of hearing she was okay for a handful of prolonged moments before I shook myself out of it and went back to work.

I knew as soon as Jayde told me to get some sleep I wouldn’t want to. My day was long and stressful, I worked hard to treat the people that needed it, and I could feel exhaustion start to seep into my bones, but I didn’t want to go to bed until I knew Jayde was home safe. I needed to at least see her in order to get a restful night’s sleep, so I resorted to studying until she got back, even if that meant staying awake all night.

My plan started off great. After dinner, I grabbed some coffee and went to our room to set up the desk for a study session. I was making really good progress throughout the evening, becoming utterly immersed in my school work, and barely noticing the hours fly by. That is, until I yawned. The simple action suddenly tore my attention away from my notes and to the clock where I saw that it was just after two in the morning. That realization made my exhausted body finally catch up with my brain in a collision hard enough to make me sink in my chair.

For the next half hour, I propped my elbow up on the surface of the desk and rested my head on my hand while I continued. My eyes grew heavier and heavier. It got to the point that I was having to reread sentences more than once. More than twice or even three times. I looked at the clock again and figured it couldn’t hurt to rest my eyes for a little while and recharge.

“Ten minutes.” I mumbled to myself as I put my glasses aside and crossed my arms underneath my head.

It only felt like a few minutes had gone by before someone was gently shaking my shoulder and whispering my name quietly, “Nadya, hey.”

My eyes blinked back open to look for the culprit. Just as I was about to mutter an annoyed retort, her beautiful dark blue irises came into my vision with a stunning smile to match them. I went from drowsy to wide awake in a second flat when I realized it was Jayde.

“Jay.” I said her name as my own smile grew into a beaming grin. I basically jumped up out of my seat and threw myself into her arms, clinging to her in a fierce embrace. Then I realized I must have accidentally fallen into a deep sleep instead of indulging in a quick break because my whole body was sore from being slumped over my desk, but that didn’t matter now that she was home.

Jayde chuckled against my ear, holding me just as tightly as I was holding her, “Yeah, I missed you too.”

We stayed like that for about a minute and then I pulled back to cup her face in my hands, tilting her head from side to side to assess any damage done to her. The bruises she sustained were already mostly faded and the scrapes I saw had scabbed over in the hours of healing they’d been given. I was proud to see her face was clean, which meant she had taken care of the scrapes despite their lack of severity. Then I directed my inspection down to the rest of her body. Her clothes covered most of her skin up, but I didn’t see any bloodstains to suggest that she had been shot or stabbed anywhere on her midsection.

“What, you didn’t believe me when I told you I was fine?” Jayde asked in amusement.

I threw her a lighthearted glare, “Your definition of ‘fine’ seems to differ from mine when it comes to your physical condition.”

“I’m alive and upright, aren’t I?” She teased with a crooked grin. When my eyes narrowed, hers rolled, and she said, “Okay, here, I’ll save you the time.”

Jayde presented her leg to me. It would have been easy to miss, any blood that seeped into her jeans was lost in the blackness of the fabric, but there was a new rip in the thigh. Small and nothing too noteworthy apart from the glimpse of a blood-soaked bandage hidden underneath it. The size and shape of the rip was unmistakable as a bullet hole. She had been shot in the leg, most likely with a silver bullet.

“Jayde.” I scolded in worry and disappointment, grabbing my glasses and kneeling down to try and get a better look. “Are you kidding me?”

“Before you get too mad,” Her hand came down to tuck some of my hair behind my ear, “It’s already been taken care of. I got the bullet out with tweezers, disinfected it, stitched it, and wrapped it up. Just like you would have done.”

I stared up at her with my brows furrowed in suspicion, “Were the tweezers sterilized?”

“Yes.”

“You used actual disinfectant and not booze?”

“Yes.”

“Did you put antibiotic cream on it?”

“Of course.”

I slowly stood back up, placing my hands on my hips, and raised an eyebrow, “What knot did you use when you stitched it?”

Jayde mimicked my stance, “A surgeon’s knot.”

We were locked in a staring contest for several tense moments until I broke the silence, “I’m still mad that you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie to you, I am okay.” The back of her finger brushed against my cheek to pacify me.

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from my face, “For future reference, when I ask if you’re okay, I’m asking if you’ve been hurt at all. At all.”

A flicker of guilt came across her face, “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“But you wanted me to see you with a surprise gunshot wound when you got home.” I pointed out.

Jayde’s face fell and her expression made my chest tighten. I knew she didn’t do it to hurt me, but she needed to understand how important it was for me to know about things like this. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel like she had to hide her pain to protect me.

My finger went under her chin, where I urged her to look up at me. Once her eyes met mine, I gave her a small smile, releasing her wrist and cupping the back of her neck to pull her in. I made sure to translate my feelings through the gentle cadence I lead, using every soft stroke of my lips to tell her it was okay. I wasn’t mad anymore. Neither was I disappointed. I just wanted to convey how much I cared about her. How much I loved her and wanted her to feel comfortable with sharing anything with me. Even her pain.

Jayde seemed unsure at first, but then she melted into me, her hands tentatively going to my waist. I kissed her deeper for a few beats in encouragement, my heart singing when she pulled me even closer against her. Neither of us tried for anything more, we simply indulged in this silent and soft conversation of reassurance, our uneven breaths being the only sound that disrupted the space between us.

We eventually pulled away from the kiss, foreheads resting together, and I took the time that the lingering quiet gave me to trace her bottom lip with my thumb. Jayde released a gentle sigh at the touch, her fingers clutching at my shirt to feel me through the clothing.

“Just tell me from now on, okay?” I requested gently, “I wanna know. Even if it’s just bruises.”

“Okay,” Jayde agreed with a whisper, “I can do that.”

I kissed her one more time before pulling back to look at her. It was then that I saw just how tired she was. And felt just how tired I was too. “It’s pretty late.”

She hummed in agreement, then a sly smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. I didn’t get a chance to make a remark about it because she suddenly, and effortlessly, scooped me up in her arms. A surprised squeak came out of me, but it soon turned into an amused giggle once she twirled us around and carried me to my side of the bed. Now that I was aware of it, I did note a slight limp in her walk, but the injury didn’t seem to bother her otherwise.

I was plopped down on the mattress somewhat unceremoniously and kissed on the top of my head, then I watched as Jayde got herself ready to sleep. Her jeans were replaced by shorts, which allowed me a better view of the bandage on her thigh. The spot of dried blood wasn’t as big as I feared it was, reassuring me further of her condition, but I still itched to examine it myself.

“Wait,” My hands went to her hips to stop her before she crawled into bed, “Can I have a look?”

Jayde nodded.

At her consent I directed my attention down to her leg and carefully peeled the bandage back to look at the work she did. The stitches appeared to be done correctly and it was clean and tidy. There were no signs of infection. The slightly gray off color around the wound was typical for a silver bullet, but I still looked up and asked, “Was it silver?”

She nodded again, “Yeah, but I got it out quickly. It wasn’t too bad.”

My thumb brushed her skin by the gunshot wound soothingly, both to reassure her and myself that she was okay. Then I put the bandage back into place and nodded my approval. “You did a good job. I’m proud.”

“Yeah?” She asked with a growing grin.

“Yeah.” I confirmed with my own smile.

Jayde happily pushed me back down on the mattress and fell on top of me, her arms wrapping around my waist and holding me tightly to her. My grin was wide and my laugh light as I wrapped my arms around the back of her neck to pull her even closer until she rested her lips on my pulse point. A hitched breath caught in my throat when she slipped a hand under my shirt, slowly dragging it upwards across my skin while she laid gentle kisses on my neck, but then her fingers dragged over the ticklish spot on my side and it made me flinch. Jayde chuckled mischievously into my neck when I squirmed underneath her.

“Jay, I swear—” Another poke made my body jolt again and threw me into a laughing fit, “Quit it!”

“I love hearing you laugh though.” Jayde protested.

“It’s bedtime.” I reminded her, trying to summon some authority to my voice through my giggling.

“Says who?” She grumbled.

I reached down, seizing her arm and pulling it out from under my shirt with only a little resistance. Then I flipped us over, straddling her waist and pinning both of her wrists down beside her head. Jayde was far stronger than I was, especially physically, so I knew she always allowed this to happen, but she still raised an impressed eyebrow whenever I trapped her underneath me like this.

“Says me.”

Her smirk was challenging and she wiggled one of her wrists free, reaching for the spot on my side once more. Instead of trying to catch her wrist again, I grabbed her jaw with a firm hand, forcing her eyes to stay glued to mine, and said a simple, “No.”

The command made Jayde’s body completely freeze, apart from her gaze that darted back and forth from my eyes and down to my lips. I gave her my own crooked grin and then turned her head to the side to expose her neck. Once her skin was bared to me, I bent down and placed an open-mouthed kiss to her warm flesh, relishing the way her body tensed further.

“Good.” I muttered in her ear and then pushed myself off of her.

There wasn’t another breath from her until I settled into the blankets. Then she cleared her throat and said, “Bedtime it is.”

I laughed and pulled her as close to me as possible, our limbs tangling together. I was conscious of her wounded leg and did my best to avoid it, luckily she didn’t flinch in pain at all. Once we were both comfortable, and I could feel our bodies relax in unison, I planted one more kiss to her shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad to be home with you.” Jayde replied.

Being in her arms, it didn’t take long at all for a deep slumber to take me.

#asks #anon #thanks for sending this in!! <33 #sorry it took a little while for me to get to but I hope yall enjoy #my ocs #My writing #Jayde #Nadya #Nadya pov

6 notes · View notes

shanoaravendare · 4 years

Text

Camp Unus Annus: The Author (Part 5)

Previous Parts: 1, 2, 3, 4

Shanoa felt the void around her ripple as she floated through it. She no longer felt any connection to her body, so the sensation surprised her. For a moment, her mind floundered trying to remember what she had been doing, the thoughts spilling from her grasp like water from her hands. Her hands, what was in her hands? Her notebook and pen?

“I must be writing,” she thought hazily. “Why don’t I know what I’m writing?”

Her scattered thoughts began to coalesce into a picture, like watching a show through the viewpoint of one of the actors. She could see her hands now, holding the open notebook with her hand poised ready to write. Her familiar chicken scratch covered half the page before being replaced by an unfamiliar scrawl. As she watched, her hand began writing in that same unfamiliar script.

The girl relaxed and closed her eyes again, letting the words flow through her and onto the page.

The words on the page were echoed by a deep male voice in her mind and the view of her hands began to fade. A wave of involuntary relaxation washed over her thoughts, dragging her mind back toward the void. Unnerved by the she reacted to the words she had just watched herself write, Shanoa fought against the urge to relax and focused on her hands again. With great effort she brought back the image of the notebook and pen in her hands, noting that this time she could feel them as well. A new sentence was written on the page, this time in her handwriting.

Shanoa opened her eyes again.

Mark watched as Shanoa’s arm twitched, switching back and forth between writing styles. He could tell she was fighting for control of her own body and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Beneath his hand he felt Shanoa’s shoulder drop to a more relaxed position. He watched as her hand began to move across the page once again.

Shanoa could feel the pressure building up once more and focused her attention on her thoughts, wary of anything that may come from outside. Now that she knew the Author was trying to use her against Mark and Ethan, she wouldn’t fall for his tricks so easily. Desperate to break the stalemate created by the Author’s manipulation, she wrote out a plan hoping the counselors would forgive her for trying to control them.

Ethan distracts the Author giving Mark time to recover the knife. The Author moves away from the desk.

The Author slammed his hand down on the desk, cursing in frustration under his breath. His sudden motion startled the other two men in the cabin. Ethan jumped back a step drawing the Author’s wrathful gaze to him. As the Author stared at him, Ethan realized that he was now the sole focus of his attention. Squaring his shoulders, he began to move toward the door and the broom that lay across the threshold. The Author lunged toward Ethan who deftly backflipped out of his grasp, then dove under his arms to grab the broom. Forewarned by Shanoa’s writing Mark launched himself at the desk and snatched up his knife from beside the typewriter. Faced now with two armed opponents the Author froze with his hands in the air.

“No! This is not what is supposed to happen,” the Author raged as Mark and Ethan pushed him back into a corner. “Why won’t any of you cooperate?!”

“Why would anyone cooperate when you’re trying to kill them, you psychopath?”

“Because they’ll live forever in my novel, with so many more people caring about them than they ever would have had without ME, Ethan. Isn’t that worth dying for?”

Mark and Ethan looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes before replying with an emphatic, “No!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” the Author said softly,” …but this isn’t about you. This is my story and you are nothing but puppets set on the stage to act it out. You have no say in any of this and you’re delusional if you think otherwise.”

Ethan lowered the broom a little. “Is that all other people are to you, puppets,” he asked sadly.

“Why shouldn’t they be? If they are so weak willed that they can be so easily controlled, then why shouldn’t I use them as the tools they are meant to be?”

“Weak willed, huh,” Mark mused aloud.

“Yes.”

Mark burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,” Mark choked out between laughs. “By your own logic you’re just as weak willed as the rest of us.”

“How dare you…”

“Shanoa wrote you moving away from the desk when Ethan distracted you,” Mark cut in.

The Author paused and stared past the two counselors to where Shanoa sat behind them. “Did she now? I didn’t think she had it in her to try something like that on her own. Well done, Shanoa. You’ll be a best-selling writer like me in no time.”

Shanoa flinched at his words and looked down at the floor.

“Why the long face? Isn’t that what you’ve dreamed of?”

Ethan raised the broom menacingly. “Leave her alone. You’ve messed her up more than enough.”

“I messed her up,” the Author asked sarcastically, placing a hand on his chest. “I did no such thing. On the contrary, I think I’ve made some rather significant improvements. Her writing is so much more… impactful now.”

Sobs wracked Shanoa as the Author’s words hit home. Anything she wrote would happen. To someone, somewhere who fit the character she was writing about. Anything she wrote would put someone through the horror of losing control to an unknown power. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks to fall on the open notebook in her lap. She knew she would never be able to live with that knowledge hanging over her like the Sword of Damocles.

“No,” she coughed out between sobs, “…I won’t do it. I’ll never write again. Not if it means I have to think of people as puppets like you do.”

The Author smirked at her. “Oh, you’ll write again. You won’t be able to help it. Writing is like breathing for people like you and me. We can’t live without it.”

“That’s enough,” Mark interjected.

“It’ll never be enough! You know that as well as I do. How long have you been able to resist the urge? How long before your fingers start itching to put pen to paper? How long until you have to sit down and let the words flow?”

“I said, that’s enough.” Mark looked over his shoulder at Shanoa. “Don’t listen to him. It’ll be fine.”

Ethan looked quizzically at Mark. “What’s he talking about?”

“It’s not important right now,” Mark replied.

While their attention was focused elsewhere, the Author quietly slid a hand into his pocket and pulled a lighter out. Though the cabin door had remained open, he could smell the gas leaking from the stove he had turned on but left unlit before leaving earlier. His movement went unnoticed by the other two men and he grinned a little.

“It’s not important right now? When else would it be important? Because I’m a little uncomfy with the thought that if you don’t like the way I’m acting you could just write me to be different! How would I know? Have you done it already? Is that why you isolate yourself when you’re writing, so you don’t have to see what you’re doing to the people around you?”

Mark stiffened at Ethan’s accusations and looked him square in the eyes. “Ethan, you know me better than that. But now is not the time for this discussion. I promise you we will talk about it later when a psychopath isn’t actively trying to kill us. For right now can we focus on that?”

Ethan nodded wordlessly and the two counselors returned their attention to the Author who grinned maliciously at them. The near silence was broken only by a heart wrenching sob from Shanoa as the notebook slid from her fingers and thumped to the floor.

“It’s a little depressing, really,” the Author mused aloud, “…how easily the two of you are willing to let your gift go to waste. So many interesting ideas you could literally be bringing to life and you refuse to take advantage of the opportunity. Oh, so willing to be less than you are. To fade slowly into obscurity, or never leave it in the first place.”

“You’re talking about real people’s lives. Not some fictional world you’ve created. There are real consequences for what you make them do and do to them. They have to live with that and so do you,” Mark gestured angrily with the knife, pointing it accusingly at the Author’s chest. “I certainly couldn’t live with that on my conscience, and I don’t understand how you can.”

“Comfortably,” the Author replied casually. “Very comfortably. At least when my characters cooperate. It’s never as good when I have to get involved personally, but sometimes people just need a fire lit under them to really get things going.”

The distinctive metallic click of a lighter case flipping open punctuated the Author’s statement followed by the scrape of the strike wheel being flicked. A small flame burst into life glinting off the Author’s eyes as he tossed it casually toward the stove before either Mark or Ethan could react. The accumulated gas in the air ignited with a whoomph, sending a fireball rolling across the ceiling over everyone’s head. Taking advantage of the distraction the Author lunged at Mark trying to wrench the knife from his grasp. Shanoa hunched in on herself as she dove to the floor beside the chair. The sudden heat wave caused whisps of hair that had broken free of her braid to dance in the air and, in a few cases, curl at the ends. Ethan swung the broom handle at the Author’s back only to strike Mark in the shoulder when the Author wrenched him sideways.

“I’ve got this under control, Ethan. Get Shanoa out of here. I’ll catch up,” Mark grunted through clenched teeth as he fought for control of the knife.

With a nod, Ethan pulled the front collar of his shirt up over his nose in a makeshift mask and sidled toward Shanoa. Thick smoke already was beginning to fill the small cabin making his eyes and lungs burn. Fire climbed hungrily across the dry wooden walls, it’s crackling a counterpoint to the grunts and muffled curses of the two combatants. Chunks of flaming wood dropped through the smoke around him like shooting stars in the darkness. A thin layer of clear air at floor level allowed him to see where Shanoa knelt by the chair, her face pressed to the floor and both arms covering her head.

“Come on Shanoa, we’ve gotta get out of here,” Ethan called as he reached out and set a hand on her shoulder. He could feel her whole body shaking but couldn’t be sure whether she was crying or coughing at this point. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Shanoa glanced up at Ethan through eyes red with tears and shook her head sadly. “This is all my fault. Just go. I don’t want to become a monster like him.”

“Can’t do that, we’d be breaking the buddy system. So, either we both go or neither of us goes. Now come on!”

Shanoa took Ethan’s hand and crawled up beside him. “If you insist. But what about Mark? Aren’t you his buddy?”

“Don’t worry about Mark right now, I’ll take care of it,” Ethan shoved Shanoa ahead of him toward the door and safety outside. As they gulped in the fresh air an ominous creaking sounded over the crackle of the fire. Ethan ran back to the door shouting for Mark to get out. Just as he was about to step back inside a flaming ceiling timber dropped with a crash, blocking the way.

Inside the cabin, what had started as a battle for control of the knife quickly escalated into a full-on fight. A sharp blow to Mark’s wrist sent the knife back to the floor and the Author’s quick kick ensured it was out of reach for the time being. The two men sized each other up for a moment before Mark lowered his head and charged the Author, grabbing him around waist as he drove him to the floor. The Author, momentarily taken by surprise, hit the ground hard but used Mark’s momentum against him to propel Mark over his head to crash against the table.

“You never did answer me, Mark,” the Author said as he regained his feet.

“And I’m never going to,” Mark responded slapping away embers that had alighted on his arm. “I don’t answer to you.”

“Is that it? Or are you afraid of what those answers would say about you? We both know you still write. So, tell me, how many puppets do you have?”

“None. I don’t need to make anyone suffer just so I can create, not that it’s any of your business. What you’ve done in the past is unforgivable and I’m not going to just let you keep torturing innocent people for your own personal gain.”

Both men were now finding it harder to see and breathe through the thick smoke and began to move in a crouch to get to the clearer air near the floor. A spray of sparks showered the inside of the cabin as the ceiling beam struck the ground sending light glinting off the discarded knife. Mark dove for it as the Author was wracked with a coughing fit from too much inhaled smoke. In that same moment, the Author dove for the baseball bat he’d dropped near the door earlier. Re-armed, the two men charged at each other through the smoke. The Author’s wild swing sent the smoke spinning into curls along the path of the bat making an opening just big enough for Mark to get clear sight of him through.

“So, what are you going to do about it,” the Author taunted through the smoke as he swung the bat again, “… kill me?”

“Death comes for us all eventually,” Mark answered, slashing with his knife as he dodged the Author’s bat. “Who can say what shape it will take?”

The Author’s bat connected with Mark’s shoulder on the backswing causing him to stumble. Mark took a step back trying to regain his balance, only to trip on Shanoa’s discarded journal and fall as the bat passed through the spot his head had occupied only seconds before. From his back, Mark kicked out wildly connecting with the Author’s knee and sending him to the floor as well. As both men began struggling back to their feet a section of the flaming cabin roof came crashing down. A piece struck Mark’s head stunning him momentarily.

Outside, both Ethan and Shanoa were circling the cabin looking for another way in or out of it without any success. Their throats were raw from the combination of inhaled smoke and shouting for Mark with no response. The crash of the roof sent embers flying toward the trees surrounding the little clearing and they rushed to stomp out the small blazes before they could become larger. Ethan turned to Shanoa with determination in his eyes.

“I can’t just wait out here, I’m going in after him. Stay here and try to keep the forest from catching fire,” Ethan blurted out. “I think I saw a pump around the side of the house, maybe you can wet things down? I don’t know. But if I’m not back in a couple minutes follow the path back to camp and tell Amy and Evan what happened.”

Shanoa stared wide-eyed at the cabin behind Ethan and began to raise a shaking hand to point when a soot covered hand rested itself on his shoulder.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Mark rasped as Ethan turned to face him.

Epilogue

The cabin fire had been easy to put out once everyone from the camp was working together. Having seen the smoke rising in the distance Amy and Evan had put together a fire brigade that met up with Mark, Ethan, and Shanoa halfway between the camp and cabin. On the walk back to camp the three had agreed not to tell Amy, or anyone else for that matter, what exactly had happened at the cabin with the Author. The rest of the week passed in a flash and soon there was only one day left before everyone would be departing for home.

Shanoa sat on a mossy rock under a tree overlooking the camp as the sun began to set on the last day at Camp Unus Annus. Darcy sat nearby in companionable silence, whittling away at a stick she had picked up on the hike up the hill. The smell of ash still hung in the air when the wind would blow from the direction of the clearing previously occupied by the cabin. The relative quiet of the woods was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming up the path towards them.

“Mind if I sit with you,” Mark’s quiet voice by her ear startled Shanoa out of her reverie. Turning her head to look at him she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and realized that Ethan was escorting Darcy back down the path toward camp. Shanoa shrugged listlessly and moved over to make a spot next to her on the rock which Mark promptly settled onto. Neither one said anything for a moment as they watched the sun start to dip behind the hills to the west.

“I didn’t see you at the writing workshop today,” Mark remarked off handedly. “Amy said you weren’t feeling well but I don’t think that’s the real reason.”

“I meant what I said that day.”

“I know you did. I once said the same thing.”

Shanoa turned to look at Mark. “So, what changed? Obviously, you still write otherwise you never would have made the Heist.”

Mark nodded. “It’s true, I do still write. But that’s because I figured out something the Author never did."

"What's that?"

“Just because I can make everything I write happen; doesn’t mean I have to do it. It’s a choice, Shanoa, just like everything else in life. The Author chose to exploit others for his own gain with his gift, that’s something I like to think I could never do. If it’s in you to write, then write. But do it on your own terms.” Mark stood and offered his hand to help Shanoa do the same, which she accepted gratefully. The two dusted themselves off then started back down the path to camp before it could become too dark to see clearly.

At the bottom of the hill Mark stopped and set a hand on Shanoa’s shoulder. “I almost forgot, I think this belongs to you,” he said as he slid Shanoa’s now slightly scorched notebook into her hands.

Shanoa ran her fingertips across the dry, cracked leather of the cover before opening it and leafing through its pages. In places the ink had bled from where water had soaked into pages while they were putting out the fire. In others the edges of the pages were browned and irregular.

“You know,” Mark mused, “…that notebook probably saved my life. If I hadn’t tripped on it, I would have been right under the main beam of the roof when it fell.”

Shanoa nodded thoughtfully as she continued to leaf through the notebook. A single page slipped loose from the back of the book and she quickly grabbed it before it could hit the ground. In the fading daylight she could just barely make out three words written in the center of the page in a now familiar scrawl:

The Author lives.

#camp unus annus #camp ua #campsona #campus annus #The Author #markiplier #crankgameplays

5 notes · View notes

justlostinautumn · 5 years

Text

Agent Zero Part 1

Natasha Romanoff x Reader (Agent Zero)

Agent Zero is the best of the best and puts The Avengers to shame. She isn’t perfect and she knows that, but she has made many good decisions that have gotten her to where she is now and one of them was falling in love with a certain Black Widow. Natasha is the only one to know Y/N (Agent Zero).

Natasha had a big secret that she wasn’t sure she wanted to share with her team. But what happens when that secret is put into the middle of the team. Can she keep her wife secret or will the team all find out? If the team finds out how will they react to the news? How long will their game last and will it blow up in their faces when they are found out?

There are still secrets that need to be shared, stories not fully explained and truths that need to be told. Y/N isn’t a liar, but sometimes you bend the truth so much you don’t even remember what it is anymore.

The phone rings and she ignores it as she works the system ensuring she has everything she needs and wants when she leaves, there is no room for mistakes. The phone stops ringing and she sighs in relief, it was short-lived because it started up again with a groan she picked up.

“Third times a charm.” Nick’s voice rings in her ears.

“I thought me ignoring the two previous calls indicated I was busy.” She growled at him, already annoyed as she walked out of the building setting of the timer.

“I thought the mission was completed.�� She could hear his smirk and she rolled her eyes.

“Just cleaning up, grabbing some files, blowing up the building... you know the normal stuff. The stuff your Avengers should be doing.” She sighed already bored with cleaning up their messes.

“About the Avengers, I have a new mission for you. I know you are going to say know but think of it this way Zero, the sooner they are fixed the sooner you can go back to your old jobs.” Nick knew this would win her over.

“There are other benefits to this job.” She smiles knowingly.

“She will be there.” Nick laughed knowing what she was getting at.

“I’ll be there in an hour or two.” She laughed as the building behind her blew up and she knew it was time to get moving so hanging up the phone she ran to her motorbike and speed away.

Nat didn’t know what Fury wanted and that made her nervous. No one could answer the question, ‘what does he want?’ Not even Maria could help her. This could mean many things and Nat didn’t want to think too hard about it! Walking up to Fury’s office she began to think all of the things she could have done wrong to get her here, but nothing was coming to mind. She had a few other ideas, but they made her stomach churn and she couldn’t stand the thought of it if it were to be true. Taking a deep breath she walks up to the office and can hear Fury calling her in.

“Nick it was a long mission, the information was extracted and the assets saved. We managed to capture almost all of the people at the facility and those who weren’t captured were killed.” A melodic voice that Nat knew well and hadn’t heard in almost 12 months.

“I’m glad you got out without any problems,” Nick smirked at her and looked over her shoulder at Nat. All Nat could do was stare at the back of her chair.

“Natalia!” The girl shouted jumping from her seat and into the arms of the Russian Agent.

“Y/N!” Nat whispered holding her tight and burying her face into the girls H/C hair.

“I have a new mission for you which is why Romanoff is here.” Fury interrupted the girls before the could start their make-out session.

“What? She’s just gotten back. No way in hell Fury! I just got her back.” Nat held on tighter to Y/N.

“Let me go, Darling.” Y/N whispered into Nat’s ear and with a sigh she does.

“As we were discussing before her debriefing she will be assisting the Avengers. You are here because I want to know how to introduce her to the team.” Nick looked between the ladies and wicked smiles formed on both their faces and they looked and nodded at each other before looking at Nick.

“Those are the faces of trouble! I guess I do not tell them you two are wife and wife?” He smirks, his eyes filled with laughter. He was loving this just as much as the girls were, there was bound to be a lot of trouble.

“Yep, we’re not telling. But, why is Y/N joining the team not that I don’t want her too, I’m just confused to why.” Nat looked between Y/N and Nick and she could see the conversation they were having between each other but she couldn’t seem to decipher it. She may be one of the best at reading people but, Nick and her wife were two people she couldn’t get a grip over. Every time she thinks she has it the rug is pulled from under her… but that is what makes Y/N the best.

“I think it’s best you find out with the rest of the team.” It is Y/N who speaks instead of Nick and this surprises Nat, something was happening and she wasn’t sure what it was.

Once Nat has left Nick and Y/N look at each other and they sigh heavily before Nick sends a message to the whole team about the meeting of a new team member.

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Y/N looked at Nick as they walk down the halls.

“They need someone like you to help them work together, you did it with Romanoff and Barton.” Clint raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, but two people is different to a team, especially when that team includes super-soldiers, gods and magicians.” Y/N sighs running a hand through her tangled hair. She was suited in a black stealth suit that showed every curve of her body, the suit made her look amazing. She wore a pair of heeled combat boots and had guns and knives holstered to her thighs and hips. She was suited up like she was going on a mission... well more like she just came back from a mission.

“This is what they need to work as a team,” Nick said firmly.

“No. This is you trying to get Barnes to remember things that I have already told you. This is dangerous! I know you are reckless, but I never took you for stupid Nick.” Y/N tone was hard and Nick could see the worry in her eyes.

“How much does Natasha know?” Nick looked worried.

“Enough to keep her safe, there is a reason I don’t go around saying I am married. Nick, this is a dangerous game you are playing, are you ready for the consequences?” She looked Nick dead in the eye and even he could figure out what she was thinking, or what she was hiding.

“I know you and I trust you to keep them safe.” Nick stopped pulling her to the side so they can continue their talk before walking in.

“That’s stupid of you! But, I won’t let anything happen to them. This isn’t dangerous for them... well not all of them.” Y/N looked at him and he knew straight away what she meant.

“Y/...” Nick started but was cut off by Y/N.

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep. It’ll be fine, it always is.” She smiles taking a deep breath, “I think we should go in before they all think you’re standing them up!”

When they walk into the living room the whole team was waiting for Nick, there was a thick tension in the room.

“Nice for you to grace us with your presence Fury,” Tony says sarcasm dripping from each word, Y/N’s lips twitch maybe this would be fun for her.

“I’m sorry were you busy.” Nick retorted and everyone stiffens, they know Nick is mocking them he knew better than them they hadn’t been doing anything. They had been benched and as they scanned the room they seemed to have noticed her behind him.

“He wants out of this room Nick, it’s clear to see. His posture is stiff, he’s body is angled towards the door. But and there is always a but, he stance is defensive and I am assuming it is because of the Soldier. But, correct me if I’m wrong.” Y/N speaks up watching everyone stare at her, Nat can’t help but be in awe of her wife.

“I’d like you to meet the best of the best, Agent Zero she is also known as The Reaper in many circles. Barton and Romanoff know her.” Nick speaks calmly and the team look at the two agents waiting for answers.

“Look good as always Zero,” Clint smirked.

“How’s the wife and the kids Barton?” She smirks back and he laughs.

“Hey, not here to kick us into shape again?” Nat smirks at her and Y/N knows Nat has figured a part of her mission out.

“That’s one part of many, along with being able to give you access to some of the most confidential files in the world.” She smirks back.

“Wait you are giving us free rein over your files.” Clint looks at her shocked.

“Not free rein. The leash is short and very tight, but I will give you access to the ones you will need.” Y/N nods at Clint.

“Do you know what that means?” Sam asked the rest of the team.

“Zero here is someone who knows everything, she has files on every organisation, their plans, their future… everything! This includes HYDRA, the Red Rooms, The US government and pretty much everyone, even you guys and SHIELD.” Nick speaks up and Steve and Tony are on their feet.

“That’s impossible,” Tony shouts.

“Actually very possible, FRIDAY has weaknesses. But, I’m not here for that. Don’t you want to know what my mission is?” She looks at each member her head slightly tilted and Nat and Clint shudder they know that look of mischief they still have nightmares about it.

“What are you doing here?” Steve’s voice is commanding, but she looks at him bored by it all.

“I’m here to fix you. You should thank Nick, this is the last favour he has to cash. He hoped you’d all resolve your problems, but you picked the hard way. I really do feel for Nat and Clint what is it the third time now?” The smile that twisted on Y/N lips made all of their stomachs drop.

“What do you mean fix?” Sam looked put out.

“You all go on a mission right now, I can tell you not all of you would come home. Some would die because of the enemy, but I would bet some would be because of friendly firer as a result of your little Civil War you had. Let me give you a news flash, the war is over… trust me there are people who have lost a lot more than you Stark.” She looks at Tony her eyes are cold and he swallows the lump in his throat.

“He killed my parents.” He whispered.

“I’ve killed people’s parents, people’s children. I’ve done things ten times worse than Barnes ever has and to this day I still do. The world isn’t black and white, it’s pretty fucking much grey. You forget he didn’t have a choice, you can’t blame someone who didn’t have control.” She looks him in the eye.

“What do you do?” Wanda looks at her.

“Think of me as a Free Agent. I’m whatever you need me to be darling.” She purrs, she could see that they all had varying look of astonishment and confusion.

“She’s a SHIELD Agent, it’s just because of the sensitivity of a lot of her missions she is not kept on file.” Fury states simply and everyone took a collective breath, while Nat and Clint were laughing.

“Still up to no good?” Clint smiles at her.

“Always Barton!” She smirks at him.

“What’s with the name?” Bucky frowned at her as if trying to pinpoint something about her and Nick watched closely. As much as she wanted to stiffen and shy away from him, she knew she couldn’t

“Zero is just instead of Reaper,” she answered her tone was bored.

“What’s your name?” Bucky growled and she smirked at him, this was something she knew he would do. In the corner of her eye she could see Nat tense up, Nat knew her and Barnes history it didn’t mean she was comfortable with it.

“No can do Soldier.” She laughed patting his chest and walking to the kitchen to escape them, she almost slipped up calling him Soldat instead of Soldier and she was getting nervous about the full mission.

“How are you going to fix us?” Bucky came up behind Y/N and she could tell he was on the defensive, especially considering that she was heavily armed still and she was avoiding all his questions.

“I need you all to learn to trust one another, it’s not going to be fun for you guys. But, Fury doesn’t want to let any of you in the field until you can all play nice.” She looks over her shoulder at Bucky, her eyes scanning Steve and Sam behind him.

“We work as a team,” Steve says firmly.

“Okay, everyone to the training room.” Y/N looks at everyone.

“Why?” Bruce looked worried.

“Don’t worry Bruce you won’t be required for this. But, I will need you to be present for medical help.” She smiles at the shy doctor who smiled back, he had a slight blush on his cheek.

“Medical?” Wanda looked worried.

“Come on, I want to prove you lot wrong.” She laughs as she walks away with Clint and Nat following quickly, they knew all too well what happens when you don’t follow her.

“If you want to survive this I suggest you follow,” Nat called to them.

When they all walked into the room they saw their weapons, even one of Tony training suits was there.

“Here’s how the game works. I will put you into teams and you will try and kill me. We will use paintball guns, but I am going to warn you now the knives will cut you. Pick up your weapons and I will group you.” Her voice rang around the room and her tone left no room for argument. Fury walked into the room smirking.

“Thanks for the call, I do like a good show.” Nick laughed causing Y/N to roll her eyes.

“Working off the aggression from the last mission Zero?” Maria smiled.

“Yeah, but I only have to worry about the knives.” She gave Maria a side hug and the team watched the interaction.

“I’m surprised you aren’t using loaded guns.” Maria raised a brow.

“I want to ease them in. Plus if they behave I may put out the knives that just leave the paint trail, I think Barton and Romanoff will help them learn what happens when I get pissed off.” Y/N and Maria smiled at each other and then looked at the worried team.

“Fury, you can’t really be allowing this. We are going to kill your Agent.” Steve spoke up this time.

“I’d like to see you try. She’s like a cockroach, she never wants to stay dead.” Nick laughs at them.

“Awww, I take after you then?” Y/N smirks at Nick and Maria snorts, quickly covering her mouth.

“So, I guess it’s Bucky, Sam and I?” Steve smirked.

“No, that would be easy. I want you, Stark, Barnes and Rhodes… oh Strange and Maximoff too. Might as well work out a bit!” She looked at the people she called forward and then to Maria and Nick.

“What going into HYDRA bases with some of the most enhanced dangerous people isn’t enough?” Nick raised a brow, the team all looked at her in shock finding out a bit more about her.

“Nick you know me. I work hard to play harder.” She purred at him dropping her guns on a table and changing the magazines for the paintball bullets.

“Suit up team!” Steve speaks up.

“Not my Captain.” Stark growls.

“You are all going to die!” Clint cackled, Y/N turned slowly to Clint raising an eyebrow and tilting her head slightly a smirk forming on her lips.

“Barton when it’s you and Romanoff next I am using live ammunition. You’ve done this enough to live.” Y/N looks him dead on and he gulps in fear, Nat slaps his arms and huffs out in frustration at him.

“Rules?” Tony looks at her.

“There are no rules.” Y/N’s smile is feral like a wild animal ready to have her way with them.

“No killing!” Fury shouted.

“Killjoy!” She shouted over her shoulder with a laugh.

Tags:

@peteyparkersbabyy

#Agent Zero #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #the avengers #the avengers x reader #avengers #the avengers imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #black widow #black widow imagine #black widow x reader

309 notes · View notes