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ikesenhell · 1 year

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A Sun Long Gone, Chapter Six

You can find all masterlists at the top of my page (AO3, Genshin Impact, Ikemen Sengoku, and Ikemen Vampire). NOTES: This work is 18+. VERY NOT SAFE FOR WORK. VERY NOT SAFE FOR WORK. VERY NOT SAFE FOR WORK. Yeah this entire chapter is basically smut. My bad. Oh yeah I guess there are emotions too--

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The rain beat endlessly away outside. It made waterfalls out of her windows and a roar on the ceiling tiles. On days like these, Rukkhadevata ordinarily read or planned out improvements to infrastructure. Now? Her hands were too busy shaking as she waited on her bed for Dainsleif to return.

What was she doing?

Pulling her knees to her chest, Rukkhadevata did her best to breathe away the worst of the nervous energy. Her room felt like another world. She could smell that winter-clean cologne everywhere. His shoes were stacked neatly beside her own; his clothes, meticulously folded under a window. A book he'd leafed through earlier that day still sat on a cushion under the window. And now he was in her bathroom, making himself ready for her.

Celestia help her. She folded her hands over her mouth and tried not to laugh from pent-up nerves. What was she supposed to do? Was there a series of steps one traditionally took before losing their virginity? (That was a trap question, she realized half a beat later; there were so many amorphous definitions for 'virginity' or the loss thereof, all highly subjective, and the ritual surrounding that was equally reliant on the circumstances surrounding one's background or creed or ethnicity, to start.) Was there something she ought to be doing, rather than sitting in a half-opened robe on her own bed and working herself into a tizzy?

As if on cue, Dainsleif entered the room once more. His shaggy blonde hair was pulled back in the tiny ponytail she found so cute, hands freshly washed. He hadn't gotten dressed today either. Only those tighter shorts– boxers, if she remembered right–lay between her and the rest of him. He was so fascinating to look at; so much paler than most, with slender scars in dazzling arrays of impossible white on his shoulders and arms. They were like veins of a crystal. All of him was long, and lean, built for distance and speed more than sheer power. She liked that. She liked guessing at the training made manifest through the contours of his ribs and abs and hips. Maybe one day she would ask for specifics, learn what shaped him into the person that fit so warmly in her arms.

For now? He looked at her and smiled.

"You should put up your hair."

"Oh? I thought you might’ve liked to keep it down. You're very fond of it."

"You're right. I am." Dainsleif put a knee into the bed. Her stomach flipped into giddy knots at the weight. Celestia. This was really going to happen. "But I assume you might prefer that it be up for this."

"Please, tell me your thoughts."

There was a way he handled her hair in particular that rendered Rukkhadevata senseless. He didn't even seem to think anything of it. No artifice colored him. He scooped a handful of her tresses like a man in the presence of an oasis; shut his eyes to block out everything else; pressed his mouth so firmly against it that she wondered if anything else could be called worship. What a chief irony, that a Khaenri’ahn served as the model of unabashed devotion.

“You could leave it down,” he murmured. Her hair slid out of his fingers inch by inch. Dainsleif watched it fall. Had a man ever looked so enchanted before? If there was a single expression Rukkhadevata wanted burned in her mind, she hoped Irminsul and Erosion would be so kind as to leave her this one. “But I imagine by the end that it might be a tangled mess, and I don’t know how difficult that would be to fix.”

He had a point. That aside, it would be difficult to explain the snarl away to Jyoti. But Rukkhadevata couldn’t let it go without a sigh and a teasing, “Well then, I suppose I’d just have to command you to fix it afterward.”

“Ah. You see, that would be a problem.” Settling in beside her, Dainsleif brushed his nose against her ear, whispering, “We Khaenri’ahns don’t have a good track record of taking orders from gods.”

Shivers and laughter and nerves shot themselves in every direction of her body. Unfair. His voice was unfair; his charming smirk, unfair; the way he chuckled as she smacked his chest with her hand, unfair. Rukkhadevata wanted him to pounce and take her immediately.

“Fine then! Give me a bit. I’ll go ahead and put it up.”

“I’ll help you.”

“Oh? Do you know how to braid?”

“Only a little. I’ll do my best. I suppose you can tax me in this way instead.”

She gathered up a brush and some hair ties, a few pins, and settled back into his lap. Despite his inexperience, Dainsleif didn’t need much direction. He immediately set to work, humming a tune she didn’t know. This wasn’t what she’d expected for foreplay. It was almost agonizingly intimate. Certainly, they’d been wound up together all morning, but now she was terribly aware of the fact that his boxers separated them by mere fractions. Curiosity stirred. Vague notions of growing versus showing (or whatever mnemonic device people used about penis size fluctuations) floated around her mind. What was she in for? Rukkhadevata stilled, tried to divine what was in store, and laughed only a beat later at how ridiculous the entire notion seemed.

Dainsleif chuckled, carded through part of her hair, and said, “Nervous?”

Oh no. Could he tell? Was it that obvious? Rukkhadevata giggled and covered her face. “How do you know?”

“You’re shaking.”

“Still? I thought it was better.”

“It is better, but you’re still shaking a little.” The man planted a kiss on the crown of her head and took a hair band from her. “Is there anything you’d like me to do to set you more at ease?”

“No. I don’t think there’s much to be done for it. I suppose at this point only first-hand experience will settle me.”

“Is there anything in particular you want me to do or try? Positions or anything you might be curious about?”

She took a moment to sort through her thoughts. What did she want from this experience, exactly? Was it the fulfillment of a specific fantasy? Something she’d read in a book? No. Rukkhadevata craned her head back until she could see Dainsleif’s face.

“I don’t want anything specific. I actually just want to experience the things you’d like to do to me.”

Something strangely solid bounced against her ass. It took her a moment to figure out what it was. Oh. Did he like that? Dainsleif’s ears burned a bright red. “This is a two-person experience, you know. I’d very much like to make you feel good.”

“I’ve no doubt of that. What I mean is that I don’t yet know what things will give me particular satisfaction. In lieu of just… picking something, I think I’d find it gratifying to know that you’re indulging in the things you’d like to do to me. That sounds…” Why did shame exist? It certainly tried to silence her now. Rukkhadevata giggled meekly, finalizing her sentence with, “That sounds, to me, um. Very thrilling.”

He’d definitely heard her. For some reason, he didn’t react. He simply scooped up the accessories to put up her hair, apparently finished with the task at hand. She waited uncertainly. Once he’d placed everything on the side table, Dainsleif turned back to her, scooped her legs over his arms, stood, and flopped her back onto the mattress. Rukkhadevata gasped when she bounced.

“Oh–!”

And then he was on her. Somewhere in the tangle of limbs and mouths and him oh-so-gently tossing her braid up and away from them, her robe was peeled into the floor. A torrent of kisses rained ever southwards. His fingers curled up against her sex; Rukkhadevata bucked into his palm, lurching into his chest. A roughened finger pad rolled a circle around her clit and she almost yelled. It burned . It burned, and it felt so good, and yes she’d touched herself before, but something about how he did it made her thighs quake.

“You’ll tell me when you want me to stop doing something, won’t you, pretty thing?” He sighed into her neck. “Tell me if you don’t like anything.”

“I– oh, ah– I– yes, I promise–” In fairness, there was little she wouldn’t agree to right now. One of those digits slid inside her. She choked down a squeak.

“Can I bite you a little on your thigh, darling? I know we shouldn’t leave visible marks–”

Another finger was inside her before she could properly answer. Rukkhadevata didn’t know if she moaned or sobbed. Scrambling to answer him, she tangled a hand in his hair and pushed his face toward her leg. “It’s f-f-f-fine down there, you can–you can mark my thighs and hips–”

“Oh,” he said. Then–darker, breathier, he added, “Oh, good. ”

There were a fair few books she’d read on the links between pleasure and pain. Rukkhadevata had never once related to these texts. It simply didn’t line up with her experience of the world. Now? Dainsleif lavished her hip with a kiss and chased it with a forceful bite just as he hooked his fingers up into that one perfect place inside of her. She swore in at least two of Sumeru’s dialects; he laughed around a mouthful of skin, sucked , and gave the blossoming bruise an indulgent lick. Rukkhadevata couldn’t help it. He looked up at her–all dark lashes and teeth and electric blue eyes–and she added a third expletive for good measure.

“Breathe, baby,” he purred. “I haven’t started yet.”

Before shame caught up with her, his face was between her thighs. Cunninglingus was not an unfamiliar concept. There were elements she’d expected: the initial shock of having a mouth close around her clit, the wildfire-fast pleasure from suction, his shoulders settling under her thighs comfortably. In a mindless haze she threaded her hand into his hair and gripped. She could feel him chuckle through her pussy. That it was expected did not diminish how fucking good it felt.

Other elements were less anticipated. Rukkhadevata managed to watch him. Dainsleif’s nose rested on her pelvic bone, eyelashes casting a pretty shadow on his cheeks. He was so beautiful . Moonlight seemed to animate between her thighs. Trapping her legs in his elbows, Dainsleif put all his weight into keeping her still and opened his mouth with a greedy sigh. He’d wanted this. He’d wanted to do this to her. She whimpered. His gaze snapped open to her.

“Doing alright, sweet thing?”

“Y-yeah.” Rukkhadevata stroked his hair to reassure him. He groaned, eyes rolling back, and she almost came into his mouth. “ Oh –”

And then he doubled down, and then she did , and it was so much and so alarming that she screamed. How long was it before she regained her senses? Too long. Once she did–panting and breathless–she realized she’d clamped her thighs down around his head.

“I’m so sorry–”

Dainsleif yanked his fingers out of her to grab either side of her knees, keeping her legs there, and kept going. Barely a minute later and again –his tongue and his mouth and the delicious friction and the way he wanted to be buried there ripped another orgasm free.

Oh. Distantly, ‘ Have I been doing this wrong all these years ?’ drifted through her thoughts. Only once her body was trembling and all the nervous tension was gone from her did he sit up a little.

“Alright there?”

“Yes,” she slurred, then laughed at herself. “Yes. I’ve never been able to do that to myself.”

Settling his cheek into her thigh, Dainsleif smiled. It wasn’t the smug look he sometimes fixed her with (as charming as it was). No. Not this time. She’d never seen a man in love with her, but if Rukkhadevata had to guess… oh , that was a dangerous, dangerous, dangerous look. Every inch of her wanted to surrender to him. “It’s different when someone else does it for you, pretty thing. Do you want me to keep going down here, or…?”

Truth be told, she wasn’t sure. A thousand different ideas and incoherent pleas for just more zipped through her. At last, she gulped for air and shook her head.

“No? Want me up there with you, pretty?”

Terrified and turned on, Rukkhadevata whimpered, “Please.”

“Want me to wash my face first, or–?”

Oh. Right. She realized that his mouth was shiny and slick from her orgasms. Did she care? How could she care? Senseless, she shook her head, reaching for him. Scarcely a second passed before he was in her arms, mouth on hers; he tasted a little tangy, almost sour; her hands wrapped around him with reckless abandon; dangerous, dangerous, dangerous ; no wonder he felt so dangerous to look at. She loved him. She loved him, and she knew better than to say so right now, but she’d never been so sure in her life. That look in his eyes when they parted was hypnotic and commanding and desperate.

“Hands and knees for me, pretty thing,” he murmured. “It generally makes the first time hurt less.”

Rukkhadevata shook her head. “No. I’m too nervous, I want–is it silly that I want to see? I don’t know what to expect, so I’d feel better seeing–”

“Of course. You don’t need to convince me.”

Once again, she laid back. From here, Dainsleif seemed titanic. He stood up and hooked the boxers around his thumbs, peeling them downward until his cock sprung free. It made such a loud noise when it slapped him in the stomach that she blinked. How fascinating. All at once, she was the observer and the observed and so old and so young. She was not Lord Rukkhadevata; she was just a woman, and there was a man kneeling between her legs again, pressing a kiss to her knee and dragging her by her hips toward him.

“Ready for me, pretty thing?” He asked.

What did she do? He was so handsome, and she was still trembling, and he shot her that self-assured half-smile that utterly ruined her dreams, and the line of his abs looked suddenly tempting. She reached for him. “I–can I touch you when you first enter? I think I’ll feel better.”

Dainsleif took her wrist and placed her hand squarely against him. Her thumb skirted against the base of his cock. Oh . It was so strangely soft and hard at the same time. A row of muscle flexed as he lined himself along with her. “Of course, pretty thing. However you want to feel me. Ready?”

“Ready.”

He didn’t warn her before running his fingers over her clit. Later she realized this was intentional–the fraction of time where she loosened up from shock and hypersensitivity was enough to blunt the pain. Abs flexed under her palm; Rukkhadevata moaned and let her head drop back into the cushions. It was his turn to abandon a shared language. He pushed easily inside her; his native Khaenri’ahn was so, so pretty, his voice so low and gentle. She could recognize the vague outline of praise when she heard it. Another thrust. The dull discomfort of an object sliding inside of her melted away into delicious pressure. Her clit burned as he rolled it between his fingertips. Everything was hot and pulsing and electric and she grabbed desperately at his wrist.

“Everything okay?”

“Wonderful,” she gasped, “Please– please –”

“Of course,” he sighed, and bent double to kiss her forehead. “Good, good girl. You’re doing so well.”

Eventually she was on her hands and knees for him. Later she would find indents of his fingertips where he’d gripped her hips; Rukkhadevata buried her face into the mattress and let him fuck her into it. He laughed when she came for the nth time and murmured something about You come so easy, pretty girl and kissed her shoulder blades and she cried from sheer pleasure into sheets that smelled like him. When she couldn’t hold herself up anymore, Dainsleif was back between her thighs, and when finally she was too spent to let him coax even one more orgasm out of her, he scooped her up and carried her into the bathroom.

From the comfort of a warm bath she drank a full glass of cool water and curled into his chest as he tried to comb her hair back into shape once again. So much for braiding it. And so much for no visible marks –somewhere in the heat of the moment, Rukkhadevata bit down onto his neck so hard that there were clear tooth marks. He didn’t seem upset. In fact, he paused to inspect them in the mirror, looking a mite too pleased with himself.

“I’m sorry,” she said anyway.

Dainsleif shrugged and clambered back into the bath with her, placing a second glass of water in her hands. Her arms still trembled. He chuckled as she tried to lift it unaided. “I’m not especially sorry. I’ll gladly take whatever you give me.”

Something about that sounded so… final. She hesitated as he straddled her, guiding her to rest back against his chest. Truth be told, she understood the sentiment. Theirs was a complicated romance. He would die in a blink of an eye comparatively; she would bear the memories of the two of them for as long as she could carry them. Maybe their entanglement ended when the Khaenri’ahns went home. Maybe it went on, laboring in secrecy and uncertainty. There was no knowing. In all of the missing equation pieces–in all of the gaps where sorrow was a foregone conclusion–why did she keep any part of joy to herself?

She flipped around in his lap. He helped her with a gentle grip on her waist; she winced a little when lifting herself and he didn’t even try to look displeased.

“How was that, pretty thing?” He said at last. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Handsome man. He was funny, and charming, and flawed. Rukkhadevata found him singular. Every inch of his title, in all of its regality and mystery and honor, suited him. It would be a cruel world that ever forced her to forget him. She lowered her glass and ran a damp hand over his hair.

“I love you,” she said.

Dainsleif looked like he wanted to laugh. Rukkhadevata didn’t smile. He hesitated.

“Are you being serious?”

“Deadly.”

She would never forget that moment. No one else could level her with their eyes like him. He was moonlight and ocean and winter; he was the northern lights; he was the sword and the twilight and the softness; he was his own people’s dream come true and the embodiment of their stories; and every time he looked at her, he looked at her as if he would hand her every bit of what made him him in exchange for her to keep looking back. Dainsleif worked his mouth open and shut, sacrificed words, and crushed her mouth against his. He still tasted like her.

“Oh, good,” he muttered. “I was thinking the same thing earlier. Good.”

#ASLG #A Sun Long Gone #Genshin Impact #Genshin Fanfic #Genshin Dainsleif #Genshin Rukkhadevata #Dainsleif x Rukkhadevata #greater lord rukkhadevata #my writing #Dainsleif fanfic #Rukkhadevata fanfic

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andraaste · 3 years

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I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 15

No, you’re not dreaming, here is indeed chapter 15 ! I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy it 💕 (and please, forgive me for the quality of the translation 😭)

Chapter 15 : We’re going to make a deal, you and me

- Good evening, my little dragon.

I closed my eyes for a moment to savor the sound of his voice in my ear, feeling like an eternity had passed since the last time we were alone. At this probably late hour, the corridor was quiet, there was hardly anyone to surprise us which helped me to let myself go and take advantage of his proximity.

- Good evening, I answered, amused to hear him call me like that a second time, the first being when his ice had mingled with my breath.

I felt his lips in turn sketch a big smile close to my head. Running one of his hands to the doorknob of his bedroom door, he opened it before placing his two palms on my hips to push me into the room, leaving me no possibility of stealing away. Once inside, he closed the door behind us with a snap. I took the opportunity to finally turn to him and remained speechless for a moment.

Lance was visibly coming out of the shower as his loose hair was dripping onto his black t-shirt and the rolled up towel he had laid casually on the back of his neck. His locks, an almost bluish white, fell wildly on his face, making him look younger than I had ever seen him before.

I literally thought I was fainting when he looked at me with his eyes both icy and burning under the barrier of his frivolous locks.

My God, he was so beautiful.

- How are you feeling ? I went to see you in the infirmary but you were snoring pretty loud, I didn't want to wake you up, he said seriously before bursting into a frank laugh at my bewildered look.

I really hoped I hadn't done this.

- I'm much better, thank you, I replied, giving him a grimace in passing. And at least I hope you liked it, otherwise I don't know how to go about looking attractive.

Approaching with a bemused air, a thin amused smile stuck on his face, he slipped his hands under my neck until his fingers came to mingle fiercely at the base of my scalp, thus tilting my head in his direction and giving birth to light currents of energy on the smallest bit of skin he touched.

- I'm really reassured, he confessed intensely, before resuming in a much lighter tone. Your snores are the sexiest I've heard, don't doubt it. Besides, if you hadn't been bleeding, I would most likely have had a hard time resisting your charm.

I couldn’t help but laugh in my turn at his nonsense. I wasn't sure if I'd ever seen him so relaxed before, but I liked it more than I dared admit.

- In that case, I'll try to be careful not to look too attractive, you shouldn't give up.

As if to prove my words right, his intense gaze drifted shamelessly to my lips, giving rise to a new sensation in my lower stomach. His expression, meanwhile become indecipherable, literally hung on me at the slightest of his movements, my heart pounding so hard I was sure it could almost become audible.

But it was with disappointment that I felt him slowly let go of me, brushing my neck with a tiny involuntary caress.

- You’re right. I unfortunately have the impression of not being far from it, at times.

Suddenly absent, he lost himself for a few seconds in contemplating the void behind me, which allowed me to observe him more openly. I was about to answer him when his voice echoed between us again.

- You look much healthier than yesterday, anyway. Besides, were you able to eat something ?

Oh. How could I tell him that the only thought I had in my head when I woke up in the infirmary had been to see him, before even thinking of anything else ?

Realizing he was right, I rubbed a hand on my stomach as a low gurgling sound was heard.

- Uh... not yet, I said, caught in the act. In fact, I didn't have time to take a shower either.

A new smile surreptitiously dawned on his lips.

- Was the little human in too much of a hurry to find me ?

- No matter what, I defended myself, looking away, the blush rising in my cheeks. I just walked past your room before arriving at mine. And then, you didn't give me the choice to enter, I'll call you back.

- It's true that you seemed completely against it, he said ironically.

This idiot was having too much fun with the situation for my liking, so I decided to fake my departure.

- Well now that I'm gone, I'll be able to go take care of all that. I'll probably see you tomorrow, Lance.

My light tone didn't seem to baffle him for a second. I walked around him to make my way to the exit while watching him out of the corner of my eye casually remove the wet towel from his neck. But, when my fingers were about to engage the handle, a dark-skinned hand suddenly entered my field of vision, coming to rest with authority on the wooden frame, keeping the door firmly closed. His breath tickled my cheek.

- Alright, we're going to make a deal, you and me, he began. You can go take a shower, but then you meet me here. I take care of the rest.

- When you say "the rest", do you mean that I take my meal in your room ?

- It's almost midnight, the refectory is closed but Karuto is still in the kitchen. I know very well that he will make an effort for you, on the other hand he will never let you eat on the spot when he has just cleaned the room.

I did indeed imagine Karuto reacting that way, which made me laugh.

- What if I don't accept ?

- Who said you have the choice ? he wondered, breaking into a broad, confident smile.

I crossed my arms, an eyebrow raised and an amused pout.

- Isn't a deal just supposed to be accepted by both parties ?

He withdrew his hand before shrugging, feigning innocence.

- Call it what you want as long as your butt comes back quickly here, and know that I will not hesitate to come and get you myself if necessary, he concluded with an air that didn’t leave the leisure refuse.

This man was just incorrigible, but for once I must say I was ready to listen to him very wisely.

Once my shower was finished, I quickly went to my room to put on some clean clothes. Was I stressed about joining Lance ?

Totally.

With a lump in my stomach, I knocked on his door and then entered without waiting for an answer. Leaning over a book with an ancient cover, the dragon seemed to be searching for something in these pages yellowed by time. Crouching on the ground, his long top hair fell over his eyes, hiding part of his concentrated face.

I walked into the room as he carefully closed the book, straightening up in the process.

- Hey, I said softly, stopping near him. What are you looking for ?

Seeming relieved to see me come back, he grabbed me delicately by the waist to plant a kiss on the top of my head, making my poor heart resume its frantic run.

- Hey, he replied calmly while releasing me, as if nothing had happened. I go through all of the HQ books relating to the three great races of Eldarya, including dragons and aengels, but I can't find anything similar to what's happening between our powers. I almost wonder if this phenomenon isn’t totally apart, even if it’s quite insane.

Tilting my head to the side, I observed the old cover he still held between his fingers before noticing that the title was written in Greek. Turning my head in the direction of the bookcase that adorned the wall beside me, I was amazed to discover that it was filled with a multitude of alphabets that I was unable to read.

I returned my attention to him.

- Maybe this is information that has been intentionally suppressed ?

He seemed to think about my guess, his gaze in turn lost on the covers.

- At the point where we are, I think anything is possible.

He tried to push the wicks that blocked his view with a passage of his hand, but they immediately returned to their place, which made him look incredibly... wild.

And sexy.

When he returned his attention to me again, I had the unpleasant feeling that my thoughts were on my face, which probably made me turn crimson. Fortunately, the dragon seemed in a calm mood and did’nt get up.

- Are you hungry ?

His question caught me off guard, I had totally forgotten that point of our "deal", if I could really call it that. Lance went to get a tray on his desk, on which sat a real full meal. So he wasn't laughing when he said that Karuto would agree to do this for me, I clearly hadn't expected that much.

He put the tray down on his bed and invited me to sit down.

- I don't really have a suitable place to eat here... I hope it will be okay anyway.

My heart warmed even more at his attention. I felt... good, to be completely honest.

- It’ll be very good, don’t worry. Thank you so much.

I sat down and began to eat timidly at first, then with more and more appetite as my hunger aroused. By the time I swallowed my meal, the dragon had returned to his activities, leaving me plenty of time to observe him.

Entirely dressed in black, only the color of his hair contrasted, highlighting the trace of his scar on the back of his neck. It was the first time that I had seen it almost entirely, it ending its way under his top.

Leiftan's words came back to me then. This scar, it was probably the wound with which he had been made dead, becoming as a result of this incident the character of Ashkore. What had happened to him, exactly ? The aengel had described it as his only weak point, which was why he never went out without covering the back of his neck. But another question was bothering me.

Did he ever show it openly to others, as he was doing with me now ?

My gaze fell on his back, which was both wide and slender. Our relationship was progressing step by step, it was a fact, but had it evolved so much without me realizing it ?

It was true that we had kissed, but this incident had only happened once. I had reacted with my deepest fears, seeking some comfort in the arms of the only person who had actually seen me. And, in truth, Lance had ultimately only responded to my urges.

But, calmly, what was it then ?

I ended up swallowing my entire meal, and it was with a full stomach that I got up to put the tray back in its original place. Probably remembering my presence, the young man decided to stop his research and put back the books he had taken out. I decided to join him, placing myself at his side in order to help him.

- Did you manage to find something ? I questioned him, cascading my long black hair down behind my shoulder.

- Not at all.

Leaning forward slightly, he came to rub his face with both hands, looking visibly overwhelmed at not finding any information that could be of use to him.

- I didn't find anything about your connection with Leiftan either, to believe that these phenomena are totally unique to you, he said while giving me a sideways glance. You really have something special, no matter what you think of it.

I pretended to be focused on my task to hide the cloudy feeling his assertion gave me.

- Something special, that's for sure. I'm sure there hasn't been any aengel before me that's been on the verge of death because she couldn't pull out her poor wings.

Lance laughed frankly at my reflection, visibly amused by my jaded expression.

- On the verge of death, exactly ?

- Obviously ! And don't laugh, it's a lot more complicated than you think, I continued on the same length.

His gaze much sharper than a moment earlier, made butterflies born in my stomach. I liked to see him come alive when one of our discussions amused him.

- Indeed, I had forgotten that I did’nt know what it was like to have wings, he quipped before nimbly intercepting my vain attack on his shoulder, making resonate again his hoarse laughter as his hand decided not to let go of mine.

- You will end up hurting yourself, I will prevent you for your good.

Personally, I used to call it an oversized ego. I assumed, however, that it was too late to make up for this point on him.

- Besides, you could see your back when you went to take your shower ?

- Yes, I said, remembering the image of my skin, it strangely almost healed. We hardly distinguish anything, there are only a few traces of bruising. I don't understand, yesterday I passed out because of this, and today... it's like there never was anything.

The dragon was silent for a moment, probably analyzing my words.

- It's already a good thing that it has improved, even if I understand your frustration at not reacting in a "normal" way, let's say.

I stopped, my free hand resting on a book and my gaze fixed in front of me. That was it, he was right. Although in this particular case it was a good thing, my body was once again reacting in an abnormal, inexplicable way, and it was this point that bothered me the most.

Without ever showing anything, Lance always listened attentively to the slightest of my silences.

Sometimes I felt like he understood me better than I did.

I turned my attention back to him and was surprised to fall directly on his gaze of such cold blue and such deep intensity, that I lost myself in it without any escape. His hand finally let go of mine to move up my arm, stopping its course when his long, thin fingers reached my cheek. When these slid down the back of my neck, I instinctively turned my face in his direction.

Just before his lips caught mine bluntly.

I in turn buried my fingers in his hair while responding eagerly to his kiss. Without warning, his other arm wrapped around my waist to lift me up against him, pinning my legs on either side of his hips. In two long strides, Lance turned off the overhead light to turn on a new, much more intimate one, then laid me confidently on the mattress. His body positioned just above me, I pushed him to stand up with my hands against his chest, following him in his race. When he found himself only leaning on his knees, I lifted his dark t-shirt to pull it over his head. The dragon helped me without flinching, rolling his muscles under his tanned skin as he sent the garment to graze.

Without giving me time to do anything, he made me tilt back again so as to come over me completely. Catching my hips with his large hands, he slid me so that I was pushed up higher in the bed.

I grabbed the hem of my t-shirt and pulled on it, quickly baring my stomach and then my chest. Lance didn't have the patience to wait for me to finish removing it to take it to the next level. With dexterity, he was already unbuttoning my pants with one hand while kissing each part of my body which was revealed little by little, then, with a sharp and precise movement, he pulled on them in order to slide first my buttocks then my legs, until I remove it completely.

Only wearing my panties, I dug my fingers into the quilt above my head under his feverish gaze. He continued to kiss my body, varying sometimes between a nibble or a lick on my burning skin, his eyes disappearing in the wake of his messy hair as he started the slope of my curves.

When I felt my underwear slide over my thighs, his kisses became softer, deeper. He parted my legs with his suddenly patient hands, stroking my thin skin in a slow trajectory as he positioned himself lower.

My breath quickened in a split second when his tongue met me.

First applied, the young man wasn’t long in settling on the crescendo of my moans to deepen each of his licks, bringing me to the climax when his fingers joined the dance, sinking deep into me. My legs began to shake, forcing me to sink my teeth into the flesh of my arm so as not to wake up the whole HQ. When my jolts finally subsided, the dragon didn't give me a second's respite. Kissing my mouth passionately, he stood up to remove the only clothes he had left. I couldn't help but bite my lip as I admired the beauty of the man standing in front of me.

A slight smile spread across his full lips as he towered over me again, making his way effortlessly between my thighs. He leaned on one arm and grabbed one of my legs with his free hand, pulling it over his hip. I took the opportunity to wrap it around him and at the same time raised my pelvis, so as to make it easier for him.

Sliding my hand on his cheek, I anchored myself in his gaze so intense that I was deeply moved.

Unfortunately, I couldn't keep my fingernails from digging into his flesh when he pushed hard inside me. A single drop of blood immediately escaped the scratch and came to his lips as he began to perform several massive back and forth movements.

He leaned close to my ear.

- My angel, I have just started and you already bleed me, he laughs weakly.

But he didn't give me a chance to answer, at least not as I would have liked. Accentuating his jerks, my cries began to fill the room more and more loudly.

It didn't take long for our mouths to meet again, as if magnetized now that they had finally found each other, in turn making the red pearl flow to the hollow of my lips.

(Chapter 16)

#eldarya #eldarya new era #i am not your enemy #eldarya lance #lance eldarya #lance #eldarya the origins #ashkore #beemoov #eldarya fanfiction #fanfiction #eldarya fanfic

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arvandus · 4 years

Text

Touch Pt 7

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please! Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi terrified you. Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it that way. That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Chapter warning: Another long chapter everyone! Thanks so much for your patience. Trigger warnings: emotional numbness, sensory overload, PTSD-like symptoms (anxiety, fear, nighmares/flashbacks).

Recommended Chapter Song: Paralyzed by NF

Part 1 Part 6

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 7 – Aftermath

Dabi woke from a dreamless sleep, his body stiff. Disorientation fogged his mind as he tried to place where he was, his eyes bleary. The view of his window, the dark curtains hanging with a heavy stillness, came into focus as his blurred vision dissipated. The angle of them seemed… off. He turned his head slightly, the metal frame of his bed level with his gaze.

He sat up, his hand cradling his head, as he took in his surroundings. He was on the floor, a pillow behind him where his head had rested. His blanket was a messy heap next to him. He had no recollection of how he ended up there.

Dabi stared around his room, noting the time of day from the light through the window – mid-afternoon. There were items scattered around his room. Water bottles everywhere, a box of crackers on his nightstand, a ripe banana on his desk that was covered in little brown spots, and cans of soup.

Hunger hit Dabi like a truck, the need for food primal. He pushed himself up off the floor and opened one of the cans of soup, drinking straight from the container. It was lukewarm, but it didn’t matter. He followed it up with the banana, gone in a matter of seconds. There was no joy in the food; just a basic need to quell the emptiness in his gut. He grabbed a water bottle and quenched his thirst

Then, he sat on the edge of his bed, and did… nothing. His eyes stared ahead in a dead gaze.

Time lost its meaning. Existence meant nothing. He sat, unmoving, his mind frozen, thoughts empty.

Minutes passed into hours.

It wasn’t until dusk began to fall that something began to shift in him. Awareness slowly crept on him, his consciousness dragged out of a grey bog. Time gradually returned, and a single thought surfaced in his mind.

Something was wrong. Something was… missing, but he couldn’t place it.

He looked around his room with empty eyes, seeing everything but observing nothing. It was his room. He knew that. But nothing in it mattered.

He stared at the box of crackers on his nightstand.

Something… happened. Last night. He tried to recall what it was. Half-formed images floated to the surface of his mind, hazy and blurred. Pills swirling down a toilet, a lake dock, sitting on the floor of his shower, your face.

He looked down at his clothes. Was this what he was wearing before? It didn’t seem right.

More images drifted to the surface. His bathroom door framed in yellow light. A water bottle. Your hands. It was like having mismatching puzzle pieces, with half of the box missing. Nothing quite fit together, and he couldn’t remember what the picture looked like.

Before he could dwell on them, deeper, more ingrained images came to his mind. His mother’s face. His father’s eyes. Dabi’s mind paused, focusing on them, waiting for a reaction that never came. For the first time, they stirred nothing in him.

Realization slowly dawned.

He just didn’t care.

Dabi felt nothing. For anything. He was dead inside, his soul a black void where emotions were supposed to be. Even his rage was silenced – the one thing he never let go of, the one thing that defined him. But now, he felt not even that. He had no purpose, no intentions, no motivation.

He sat silently, aware of what was missing, and yet the severity of his predicament eluded him without his emotions to guide him. His mind was intact, but it was a barren wasteland, devoid of color and meaning. Thoughts still ran through his mind, but they were only facts, script on a page. Perhaps he should be concerned. Or maybe even elated, no longer weighed down by his demons. But instead, he felt what could only be described as a gaping maw of emptiness. He could feel the pull of it, a heavy gravity that needed to be filled with something he didn’t have and couldn’t find.

Why? Why was he not feeling anything?

Had he finally gone insane? His mind so broken that he’d officially shut down? He’d gone through withdrawal before, but nothing as severe as last night. But even despite all he’d been through, he’d never been able to completely turn off his feelings like this, especially without drugs.

No, this was something else entirely.

Dabi sat there in silence, taking in every sensation, every aspect of his physical self. It had been probably over twelve hours since he threw up the pills he stole. He should still be struggling with the pain of his scars and the withdrawal. But there was nothing. There was no pain at all. He stared at his hand as his eyes followed the staples along the bottom of his palm. A vague memory of your fingers brushing along his skin drifted up from the cloudy depths. The faint echo of your voice followed.

‘Let me help you.’

This…emptiness…must have something to do with you. It was the only explanation that made any sense. Maybe if he talked to you, perhaps you could explain it to him. Maybe then he’d understand. Maybe you could fix it.

Then maybe… this emptiness would go away.

But Dabi couldn’t find the motivation to get up. Instead, he stayed rooted to his bed, his eyes taking in his surroundings a second time.

His bathroom door was open, and he could see the toilet and sink from where he sat. Flashes of memory flitted through his mind before he could barely register them. The sight of the toilet bowl filling his vision, partially dissolved pills floating in yellow bile. Pills falling from his cupped hands, clattering across the floor. The memory of sitting on his shower floor returned, this time accompanied by the sound of someone humming.

So many broken pieces…

He spotted the hamper, filled with dirty towels; some of them weren’t his. Another memory trickled forth, clearer this time – sitting on the toilet, a towel over his shoulders while someone – no, you – dried his hair for him.

‘I won’t look.’

Another piece of the puzzle. But where did it fit in the twisted, spotty timeline of last night? It must have been after the shower. And the humming… did you sing to him? Or was that part a dream? Some of them had to have been dreams, or maybe hallucinations. His mother, for example, wearing a white dress. His mind began sorting fact from fiction, and slowly the story started to take shape. The vomiting was first; he had stolen your pills. That much he could remember – it was the clearest. Then came… the shower, perhaps. Then you must have dressed him and treated his scars. What happened after that? He couldn’t seem to remember. All that kept coming to mind was his father’s eyes.

Dabi sat with the stillness of a statue while his mind continued to dissect what he remembered, his original plan of seeking you out momentarily forgotten. The more he thought about it, the more he realized – you were there through everything. You were there for the vomiting. You had showered him, dried him, and dressed him. You cleaned up after him, and made sure food and water were brought in for him. You even used your quirk to help with his pain. Each piece of the puzzle somehow connected back to you. You were there for every moment, every step.

You never gave up on him.

Something deep within him began to stir, a part of himself that was normally kept under lock and key by the dark parts of himself. It was something he had very little experience with, an emotion that hadn’t seen the light of day since he was a young boy. A… warmth. It came slowly, timidly, barely recognizable at first, disguised as a gentle ease in the set of his shoulders and the smallest curve of his stoic lips.

Whatever you had done with your quirk was starting to wear off. Dabi was starting to feel again.

The warmth trickled in, the only thing that could fill that empty chasm in himself, and he clung to it in desperate need. Life was beginning to have meaning again… he had meaning. Before, nothing mattered. Now, everything mattered.

When was the last time someone had looked out for him so selflessly the way that you did? How long were you with him? The entire night? His mind played over the memories of you that he could recall. You were gentle. You were patient. You stayed because you cared and because despite what he’d done, you knew that he needed you.

The warmth continued to grow, bringing a sense of safety that he didn’t know was absent before. It settled itself comfortably upon his heart like a dove, as if it had always belonged there, the soft gentleness of it stunning him to the point of breathlessness.

For the first time in forever, he felt… loved.

The trickle became a stream, and the stream became a river. His heart tightened, his breaths coming out in heavy gasps. He was so consumed by the impact of what he felt, that it wasn’t until he felt the droplets falling onto the backs of his palms that he realized he was crying. He welcomed it, letting the waves crash over him, the turbulent force of this single emotion reaching every dark crevice that ever existed in his labyrinthine heart. It consumed him in its purity, unfettered by the darkness that normally lurked in his soul.

A heavy need forced itself to the forefront of his mind, to seek out the source of this emotion, the reason for its existence. He knew it instantly – it was you. He wanted to see you, to be in your presence and hear your voice. He wanted to see you smile. He wanted to feel your touch, not for your quirk, but simply to feel the softness of your hands, to feel wanted, to know that he was worth touching. He wanted to touch you too, to wrap his arms around you and feel your warmth, to press his forehead against yours and…

Dabi hesitated, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as his tears dried on his cheeks. What is this??

He wanted….

He wanted you.

When did that happen?

Had it always been there, lurking, going unnoticed in the noise inside his head? Or was this new, something bred from a single night of hardship and selfless dedication?

In that moment, it didn’t matter. Dabi stood up from his bed. He needed to see you, to talk to you. What would he say? For the first time, he didn’t know, words failing him for an emotion he’d never felt before.

Something on the floor under the edge of his bed caught his eye. It was just barely visible, but he noticed it immediately, its whiteness contrasting with his dark wood flooring. He bent down and picked it up, staring at the item. It was a white pill bottle, medication for insomnia.

A new memory – the sound of items falling onto the floor, crashing and clattering loudly.

Did you spill your bag last night?

‘You just want to keep the pills for yourself.’

Dabi froze, his eyes wide. That was his voice. Did he say that to you? The words were sharp, dripping with contempt and barely contained rage. It was a jarring contrast to what he was feeling now.

He dropped the pill bottle as if it burned him. It clattered loudly on the floor, and the sound of it rattled loose another piece of the puzzle.

‘where did you put it??’

His voice again. Demanding. Angry. Threatening. He saw your face, exhausted, wet tears on your cheeks, eyes wide with fear.

What had he done??

Something snapped inside himself, a realization. Nausea washed over him, sinking deep into the pit of his stomach. It flooded the warmth he had felt before, tainting it.

Shame.

Shame at how his addiction controlled him; shame that you had to suffer because of him; shame at his affection for you, as if he had any right after what he did. It began to consume him, morphing into a towering black cloud of guilt, its dark shadow beckoning other emotions from the depths like haunting creatures.

Dabi grabbed his head in his hands and collapsed to the floor on his knees as more emotions were set free, released by your fading quirk like guard dogs freed of their chains. The emotions came and trampled over him with sharp claws and heavy paws. With jagged teeth, they ripped apart at the happiness he had felt minutes prior and tore into his vulnerability.

Humiliation.

Humiliation that you had to baby him, wash him and dress him like an infant, and scold him like a child. Humiliation that he needed you simply because he wasn’t able to handle this on his own.

Disgust.

Disgust with his lack of self-control, disgust with his own fragility. Disgust at his feelings towards you, and the vulnerability they opened up in him, a vulnerability he couldn’t afford and didn’t want. He had cried just minutes before, overcome by emotion and all because of you. He didn’t even know he had the capacity for tears anymore. He recoiled from it, a sour taste in his mouth.

Finally, anger.

Anger at your sacrificial ways, at how willing you were to put yourself in harm’s way for a man you didn’t know, a man who didn’t deserve it. Anger at himself for giving in to your kindness and letting you get close. And anger… anger at everything. This fucked up situation, his fucked-up life, his fucked-up family and the fucked-up world they were all a part of. His mind rolled over the dark thoughts like a hard candy melting on the tongue. It was bittersweet. Tainted.

Addicting.

Even as the sinister emotions destroyed him, he welcomed it, embracing them for their familiarity, donning them like an old suit made just for him.

Dabi was himself again.

His eyes roamed around his room, taking it all in – the food on the desk, the makeshift bed, the pile of towels in his hamper, the abandoned white pill bottle on the floor. You were everywhere he looked. Now, all he could think about when he thought of you was that last and final memory he could recall - your exhausted, scared, crying face – and all he could feel was the maelstrom of negative emotions tied together by the thick chain of guilt. It weighed heavily on the newfound feeling of affection that hummed stubbornly under his skin, ever present.

Dabi closed his eyes against it.

He had to get out of here, far away from the presence of you and the cage of memories. He needed to clear his head so he could think. He quickly stood up and dressed himself, before grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and rushing out of his bedroom. He shrugged it on as he passed your door, forcing himself to keep his eyes in front of him.

His feet carried him down the indoor stairwell, old and reeking of piss. His boots pounded quickly down each step until he came out into the old lounge and bar, the only common space for the old, run-down hotel building. There, the other League members sat, watching the news over a game of cards.

Shigaraki glanced up at him as he entered. “You look like shit.”

“Fuck you too.” Dabi replied.

Twice chimed in. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?? We don’t want your germs!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dabi grumbled, halting briefly as he grabbed an energy drink from the fridge.

“You were sick as a dog last night.” Mr. Compress explained.

“Yeah. We all heard you.” Spinner chimed in. Magne and Twice nodded in agreement.

Dabi scoffed. “I’m fine.” He opened the can and took a swig.

Toga stood up and got uncomfortably close into Dabi’s personal space, feeling his forehead with her hand. “Are you sure? Y/N said you had the flu.”

Dabi felt annoyance bubble in his veins at the invasion. “Yeah, you know what, I am feeling a little nauseous. I think I might throw up.”

Toga visibly paled and instantly backed away; she hated vomit.

“Hey!” Spinner interjected. “Take it somewhere else! You already got Y/N sick, we don’t need you spreading it to the rest of us.”

“What?” Dabi demanded.

Toga returned to her seat at the table. “She hasn’t come out of her room all day. I texted her to see if she was okay and she said she was sick too.”

Magne folded her cards down on the table and peered at Dabi over her sunglasses. “You two sure have been spending a lot of time together…”

“What is this, high school? She’s been helping me with an injury I got on the job.” Dabi replied. “No different from the rest of you.”

Magne reclined in her seat and took a sip from her glass. “I think she has a crush on you. She gets flustered every time I bring you up.”

“Ew! On Dabi??” Toga scrunched up her nose.

“What’s the matter, Toga? Jealous?” Dabi mocked.

“Why would I be jealous when I have Izuku and Ochako?” Toga said with a dreamy sigh.

Dabi rolled his eyes at her. She was completely delusional.

Dabi’s scars on his ankles began to itch and burn. While the others wasted his precious time with their blathering, your quirk was gradually wearing off. It’d only be a matter of time before he’d have to come seek you out again for your help. He clenched his jaw, feeling his teeth grind from the pressure. It was the last thing he wanted.

“I’m outta here. I got better shit to do than listen to your shitty gossip.” Dabi commented as he made his way towards the back entrance.

“Keep a low profile.” Shigaraki ordered. “We’ve got a meeting with the Shie Hassaikai coming up soon. We don’t want to draw unwanted attention to ourselves.”

Dabi didn’t even bother to turn around as he gave a half-assed wave, the door closing behind him.

“Someone’s a little touchy…” Mr. Compress commented in amusement.

Magne let loose a huge grin. “He didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?” Twice asked.

“That she has a crush on him.”

“Aww, do you think he likes her back?” Toga asked dreamily. “That’d be so sweet.”

“The man could use a little love in his life.” Twice chimed in. “He should totally hit that.”

“Dabi doesn’t like anyone but himself.” Compress commented.

“Nah, he’s just super committed to Stain’s mission. The man’s got dedication. I respect that.” Spinner replied.

“Of course you do.” Compress replied.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean??” Spinner demanded.

“You’re the biggest Stain fanboy I know.”

While the others continued to bicker and laugh, Shigaraki stared at the back door in silence.

------

Dabi inhaled a deep breath of cool air as soon as he stepped out of the building. He hadn’t bothered to don a hoodie this time, since it wouldn’t make much difference for this seedy, poor neighborhood. Heroes rarely patrolled here, and the ones who were assigned to this area were lower level heroes and newbies. It was a steppingstone towards more “respectable” hero work, where the neighborhoods were less impoverished, and more money could be made.

Dabi let his feet carry him down the sidewalk, sticking to smaller side streets and dark alleyways. He didn’t care where he went, only that he needed to move his body; anything to distract from the creeping fade of your quirk while he dealt with the whirlwind of thoughts in his increasingly aching head.

Magne’s teasing words floated in his head, bouncing around like mosquito that needed to be squashed.

You had a crush on him.

Dabi hated how the words made his heart pound faster, the suggestion blossoming the smallest seed of hope in his chest. Dabi crushed it with a scoff. That might have been true before, but after what transpired last night, he wouldn’t be surprised if you slammed the door in his face.

The energy drink in Dabi’s hand lost its flavor, and he chucked it into the nearest trashcan.

It was for the best. He didn’t need any attachments, especially now that he’d finally managed to find a place where he dreams could finally be realized. The last thing he wanted was to be diverted by something he couldn’t have; and even if he could have it (yeah fucking right), it wouldn’t last. What would be the fucking point?

That was what he tried to tell himself, but the thoughts rang with an empty hollowness. Instead, the only response he could find was the itchy discomfort of guilt mingling with his desire to be near you. It filled him with a painful longing that he couldn’t control, not without his drugs to numb them. The more he tried to ignore it, the more it nagged at him until a new emotion began to creep out of hiding.

Fear.

Fear at losing you.

Dabi nearly faltered in his steps.

Lose you? He never even had you to begin with.

There was no undoing what he’d done; he’d hurt you, that much he was sure. He’d stolen from you and spewed his anger at you… and that was just from what he could remember.

A new fear, heavier and darker, blossomed like fire in his gut as his mind focused on that single thought.

What he could remember…

How far did he go?

Toga’s voice played in his mind. ‘She hasn’t come out of her room all day.’

He knew you weren’t sick, because he wasn’t sick. So, if you truly refused to come out of your room, was it because you were just exhausted? Or were you scared of running into him? Were you tucked away in your room, nursing wounds that he was responsible for, wounds that others could see?

Did he hit you? Burn you? The uncertainty made Dabi’s blood run cold. He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember.

Dabi knew he wasn’t a good person. He walked a thin line between ruthless vengeance and vigilante justice, casting judgment on others and killing without shame. He was fueled by his anger, keeping it in check by the thinnest of morality – don’t hurt children.

Even when the Vanguard attacked the training camp, he never directly hurt any of the kids, even if they were training to become heroes. Sure, he led others with more violent tendencies than his own, but that wasn’t his responsibility, right? He focused his efforts on distracting the teachers so they could get their targets.

Dabi gave himself a dry scoff. Who was he kidding… if push came to shove, he would kill them; sure they were technically kids still, but they were swiftly entering adulthood, and just as responsible for the choices they made as he was at that age. They chose to be a part of that life; auditioned for it, even.

But children? Small kids, who had yet to figure out the world? He drew his line there.

Don’t kill kids. But everyone else… everyone else was fair game, because everyone was guilty. Everyone had their hand to play in supporting the lie that was hero society and the damage it wrought – they were all culpable.

But you were different, right? You weren’t a part of hero society, not anymore. That’s why you were with the League. So, you should have been safe. But if his rage became unchained, his delicate moral center muted by desperation and pain, then there was no telling what he would do. He already knew he had that capacity for violence. It had never bothered him before, not once.

Not until now. Now, it scared him.

Too many missing pieces.

He knew his rage was a wild beast and wasn’t easily tamed, yet he saw no evidence of its destruction. On the contrary, he’d woken up on his floor with a pillow under his head. Nothing in his room was burned, and even more telling was the fact that whatever had transpired, you’d somehow managed to make sure he was comfortable, tidied up his space a little bit, and collected your things. If he was that angry, that desperate, how did you manage to calm him down?

Maybe you had knocked him out before he reached that point. He wasn’t sure… he couldn’t feel any lumps or bruises on his head, but then again, your quirk was still in effect. Or maybe you’d used your quirk somehow. Could it even be used for that?

Or maybe it never happened at all… maybe those things he said to you weren’t real, and that image of you that was ingrained in his mind was nothing more than a nightmare. He could only hope...

One thing was certain…

You’d stayed. You stayed until he was unconscious, only leaving when you knew he was safe from himself. If he really had hurt you like he’d feared, the evidence he woke up to would have shown a different story. But there was nothing, no indication of violence. The slightest bit of relief washed over him. Maybe he wasn’t a complete monster after all. Still, he wanted to see you, just to be sure. He needed to make sure you were alright.

This brought forth a fear of a different kind. He was now painfully aware of how much he cared for you, and it scared him. Agony was slowly creeping over his body, his legs now burning and stinging as if covered in fire ants, yet all he could think about was whether or not you were okay. He could tolerate the physical pain, at least for the moment. What he couldn’t tolerate was the cyclone of emotions that stirred in him, some of them new, some of them old. Some of them about you, some of them about him… and some… some of them about his family. After all, when was the last time he felt cared for?

Dabi didn’t want to think about it. All he wanted was to tune it all out like he’d done for years. Except this time, tuning them out was proving to be especially difficult. Dabi normally had his drugs to help him with that part; they let him float in an almost euphoric numbness, letting only the most powerful of emotions through, most typically anger, but sometimes glee, particularly if he was finding his work especially satisfying. This time though, he was on his own, with your quickly fading quirk and his own self-control his only tools.

A new wave of pain began to overtake him as he began to feel the pain of his scars along his sides. He faltered for a moment, ducking into an alleyway to clutch his core with his arms, as he sucked in sharp breaths through his clenched teeth. His muscles began to ache as well.

He was already out and about. Maybe he could find someone during his walk… a dealer. The streets were rife with them at this hour. There had to be something out there that would be strong enough to fix his predicament, right? Something that didn’t involve you.

The idea died as quickly as it had sprung up. Dabi had already betrayed your trust once. Doing so again, after all you’d done for him, would be the nail in the coffin. He was desperate, but not that desperate.

Not yet, at least. If he took too long getting back to you, then that could easily change.

He was running out of time. He’d have to go back soon, but he didn’t want to, not yet. He didn’t want to show up at your door, with only weak apologies in one hand and shame in the other, pitiful gifts compared to what you’d given him. He was shitty with words when they really mattered, and he knew there was nothing he could say or do that could remedy the damage he’d done. But he needed you, and deep down, despite the conflicting emotions he struggled with, he cared what you thought about him – a fact that wasn’t easy for him to recognize let alone admit to himself. He wanted you to know that even though he was an asshole, even if you might not want to have anything more to do with him, he was still grateful for what you’d done.

Dabi needed to find a solution. He wouldn’t return without one.

------

You felt like crap. Exhaustion pulled at you from every angle, your body weak. At least your scar no longer hurt. Sleep had descended on you quickly, but it was anything but restful; the pain of your scar had made you drift in and out of consciousness, with no relief to be found. When you did sleep, the pain brought forth confusing nightmares made of mixed memories. Two pairs of angry, ocean blues eyes haunted you in your dreams, melding together into a single menacing glare, burning you from the inside out. Orange flames licked at your skin, and you had woken up panting, covered in sweat. Nausea washed over you, forcing you from your bed to throw up in the bathroom, your body wracked with shivers.

The rest of the day was spent in and out of bed, trying to rest and forget everything but not being able to. Nausea gave way to hunger, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your room. Your nightmares were too fresh in your brain, and you were afraid of running into Dabi, to see his blue eyes and see someone else, an angry, harsh face wreathed in flame and red hair. Instead, you ate the granola bar that had been in your bag and drank the bottled water you always had on hand. It helped for a little while, and you lingered in your room, answering your texts from Toga on your phone and trying to find something, anything to distract you. You knew it’d only be a matter of time before Dabi came to knock on your door needing your help, and you didn’t want your trauma to get in the way of helping him, not after all you’d been through.

Of course, that was even if he decided to come to you anymore. There was no telling how much he remembered or what he thought or felt. You had heard his door open and close earlier in the day, heard the sound of his quick footsteps pass your door. Your heart had pounded in trepidation, afraid he’d come to you before you were ready, and you couldn’t help but feel somewhat ashamed at being scared of him.

You didn’t want to fear him, but you did. You had found yourself in the crosshairs of his anger last night, and for the briefest of moments you were genuinely afraid for your safety. Your hands rubbed at where he had grabbed you. There were no bruises thankfully, but you could feel the ache where his fingers had wrapped around your arms and squeezed.

A part of you was angry, too. Angry that Dabi had let himself get to that point, angry that he had lost control. You tried not to be – you knew you couldn’t really understand the level of suffering he was going through, and he quite literally wasn’t in his right mind when it happened. But you couldn’t help it; you felt wronged. You’d given so much of yourself, and each step of the way you were either met with betrayal, resistance, or anger.

Your anger wasn’t just with him, though; it was with yourself. Why did you even let yourself get wrapped up in this? Treating his wound is one thing; but helping him with his addiction?

You sighed. The answer was simple: you hated to see him suffer.

Maybe it was your savior complex. Or maybe it was the unspoken attraction you had for him. It wasn’t just physical… that part was obvious. But there was more to him, a complexity beneath his cocky, sarcastic exterior that kept pulling you in like a moth to the flame. You could see it in his eyes when he had moments of silence, moments when he thought you weren’t looking or thought you couldn’t read his body language. He was guarded and isolated, fueled by a motivation that was slowly destroying him. And yet… for whatever reason, he had decided to trust you, to accept your help and let you in, to help guide him through something incredibly personal. Perhaps it was just out of desperation; it wasn’t like he had a lot of options. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it.

Maybe Dabi was lonely.

Your anger slowly reduced from a boil to a simmer. This wasn’t over; you couldn’t turn your back on him, not after all you’d both been through, not after he put his trust in you. You knew that if he knocked on your door that you’d answer it.

The fear, however… the fear lingered. You still had to see if tonight was any better, if the hybrid treatment of your quirk and your meds were enough to help him endure his suffering until he got what he really needed. What if it didn’t work? Your stomach dropped at the thought. You couldn’t survive another night like last night. You knew you couldn’t. Not with your own trauma lurking over your shoulder and your inability to fall back on your own medications to help you through it. You were a giving person, but even you had your limits.

It wasn’t until dark blue dusk quickly began to surrender to evening that you finally decided to brave the confines of your room. Your stomach was eating a hole in itself, and you knew your body needed energy if you were going to treat Dabi again tonight.

You pulled yourself out of your bed, slipping your feet into your slippers before making your way to the door. You opened it up and nearly jumped out of your skin as Dabi’s unexpected presence filled your exit, one hand stretched out to knock, the other holding a white plastic bag that smelled suspiciously of food.

Your eyes locked with his instantly, and for the briefest of moments, the fear you had been trying to bury sprung forth, freezing you in place. His eyes really did look like Endeavor’s. How had you never noticed it before? It was almost uncanny. But before you could dwell on it further, Dabi’s voice cut through your mind.

“Hey.” He said. It was just a single word, but something in his tone made it lasso around your soul and pulled you back to the present. It didn’t hold its usual taunt, and the anger that you’d heard last night was now complete absent. If anything, he sounded… contrite. Fear melted away for the moment, slithering into the back of your mind like a snake where it planned to make a home for itself.

“Hey.” You replied, lowering your eyes to focus on the details of his jacket. Anything to not look him in the eyes again, at least not yet. The cerulean blueness of them was too intense.

Dabi noticed instantly, of course, and even though he expected as much, he was surprised at how much it stung him. “I brought ramen.” He stated, holding up the bag as evidence.

Ramen. Of all the things he decided to bring you. The humor of it wasn’t lost on you, and you could feel your wariness melt away slightly, replaced by warm amusement. It was a peace offering. It obviously wouldn’t fix everything, but it was a start, and oddly perfect.

A small smile teased the corners of your mouth. “Thanks.” You replied.

Dabi’s breath caught in his throat at the sight, a wave of hope and relief hitting him unexpectedly. The strength of the emotions caught him by surprise, and he tried to tamp them down. Damn, he really did miss his drugs. Everything was so much more… sensitive right now.

An awkward silence fell over the two of you as you continued your standoff in the doorway, before Dabi finally spoke. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” You replied with a hesitant breath and opened the door enough for him to enter. You gave him a wide berth, avoiding contact even as your heart pounded in your chest. Dabi was in your room. Again. This time though, it felt completely different. He seemed different. And you knew you were different too. You’d lost some of your warmth, your openness.

He entered your room and seemed… lost, which was so uncharacteristic of him. Dabi never looked lost about anything. He always carried himself with a casual confidence that you envied. Before, he would have easily found a spot for himself, kicking his feet up intrusively on your furniture and fixing you with a cocky, lazy grin. This time though, there was none of that. You couldn’t help but feel guilty as you watched him stand awkwardly in your space, unsure of where to sit or what to do. Once again, you couldn’t help but wonder how much he remembered from the night before.

“Here,” you offered, shoving aside the pile of papers and books on your desk to make room for the bag in his hand. He set the item down on the surface and began to untie it. You bravely moved to stand next to him, watching as he took out the chopsticks and the napkins. You were close enough to smell the broth in the containers, making your mouth water and your stomach rumble. Loudly.

“Hungry?” he teased as he kept his eyes trained on the bag.

“I haven’t really eaten all day.” You confessed.

“I know.” He replied.

“You do?”

“Toga told me.”

“Oh.” You watched as he took out the containers, setting one of them in front of you with chopsticks and napkins set on top of the lid. “What kind did you get me?”

He peered at you with keen amusement. “The same kind you got me.”

“That’s fair.” You replied as you opened the lid, the steam caressing your face. You opened your chopsticks and were about to dig in, when Dabi pulled out a third rectangular container from the bag and opened it. “You got gyoza too?”

“And mochi.” He replied.

You stared at him for the first time, and his eyes locked with yours. This time, no fear came forth. Instead, you felt surprised. His eyes, usually dulled by his drugs, were now lively and swimming with emotions. He seemed… guilty. Ashamed. He genuinely felt bad. Some of the anger you had stored in your veins slowly began to evaporate. So, the man had a conscience after all. Not that you ever really doubted it, but you were glad to see he cared; and not just that… he was showing that he cared.

You gave him a soft smile. “Thanks, Dabi. I love mochi.”

He blinked at you but kept his expression neutral before averting his eyes back to his container. “I didn’t get any drinks.” He said.

“That’s okay.” You replied.

Dabi took the mochi and the gyoza and placed them on your nightstand before making himself comfortable in your desk chair next to your bed, slurping up his noodles with his chopsticks. You joined him, sitting comfortably on your bed while you blew on your noodles before eating them.

The two of you ate in silence, the sound of your mutual enjoyment of the shared meal filling the room. It was a heavy silence, filled with unspoken words and awkward glances. You watched Dabi as closely as you could without being invasive. He was showing the telltale signs of pain again – back hunched, a sheen of sweat across his brow, his hand clutching his chopsticks with enough tension to show the tendons in his fingers. But he hadn’t said anything about it yet. He was withholding, choosing to share this meal with you instead. You wondered why. Was he trying to give you time to adjust to his presence, aware that you were on edge with him? Or was he scared, afraid that if he asked for your help that you’d deny him? Or maybe he didn’t even want your help; maybe he planned to try to rough it out on his own.

Yeah, you weren’t going to let that be an option.

Despite your curious thoughts, it wasn’t until you finished your mochi and had cleared the empty containers off of your nightstand and back onto your desk, that the silence was finally broken.

“So…” you started. “How are you feeling?” You knew it was a loaded question. He knew it, too – you could see it in how his eyes caught yours and darted away again.

“Fine.” He replied.

“Is that why you’re sweating?” You countered. “Please don’t lie to me, Dabi. I deserve that much.”

He was silent for a moment, his jaw muscle twitching with tension, before he finally answered. “Everything hurts.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

You weren’t sure if he was being literal or not. Had your quirk worn off completely? Or were there still traces of it left, a frayed, tattered rope his only lifeline from falling full force into his withdrawal again?

You didn’t want to wait and find out.

“Well, let’s take care of that.” You said lightheartedly, even as your heart raced with anxiety. What if you weren’t ready? Was your body recharged enough to be up to the task? The pain would be back, you knew that much. And what if you failed?

Dabi sat silently for a moment, unmoving, his mind clouded in anger as he stared at you. He could see the fear in your eyes, plain as day, even as your tone remained casual. He was angry at your selflessness, angry that he couldn’t say no to you. Because even though he wanted to deny your help, he knew he couldn’t. Pain was coursing through his body now, unrelenting, and all he wanted was for it to stop before it tore him apart, stitch by stitch. You had everything he needed to get him through this.

He needed you. He needed you, and it grated on him, because he knew he was a burden, even though you would never say so. You were kind and giving, almost to a fault, and he was a selfish bastard who didn’t have the strength to cut you free and face this alone.

He looked away, defeated. “What do you need me to do?”

“Take off your shirt. I need to change your bandage anyway, and I’m going to use my quirk to numb your scars.”

He did as you said, removing his jacket and draping across the back of your chair. The shirt followed as he slowly, painfully, pulled it off over his head.

“I won’t be able to do much for the rest of your body… but I’m hoping my drugs will be able to help with that. The rest will be up to you.” You explained. Dabi gave a small nod in understanding.

You had him sit on your bed where you could more easily navigate around him. Numbing his back and changing the bandages was the easy part. It was familiar and it brought back memories of a simpler time. Had it really only been a few days since you started treating him? It felt like ages.

There was no conversation as you worked, Dabi in too much pain to say much of anything, and you… well, you were doing your best to hold yourself together. You’d finished the bandaging, and now you were running your hands along his shoulder blades, your quirk seeping deep into his muscles. Already, you could feel your senses once again begin to sharpen. You moved your hands down the scar on his side, numbing what you could reach, the rest of it disappearing beneath his pants. Your own scar started to itch, and the writhing snake of fear slunk out of its den, hissing a warning

You did your best to push it away. You weren’t at your limit yet. You could keep going. ‘It’s okay. I’ll be okay…’

You adjusted your position until you were sitting in front of him on the plush comforter of your bed. He waited, blue eyes watching you in silence. You were going to start at his hands and move up his arms like you had done before. You stared at the staples on his hands, willing yourself to move, to reach out and touch him.

But you couldn’t. You were frozen as your heart began to pound in your chest like a drum and the memories began to flood back. The exhaustion, the nightmares, the pain… You were caught in the event horizon of your fear, unable to break free of its hold.

You couldn’t do this. You weren’t ready, you weren’t strong enough. You…

“Hey.”

Dabi’s hand covered yours, and you realized your hand was shaking. His long fingers curled around your palm gently, and you stared at the connection, focusing on the warmth of his touch. Your heartrate began to slow, and you watched as your fingers slowly curled around his in response.

“It’s okay.” He said. His tone sounded… tender.

You looked up, your eyes locking with his. Sea blue stared back at you, open and raw, and suddenly you were trapped in his gaze. You could see it – the concern, the hurt… the anger; a storm of emotions surging beneath the surface of his neutral expression. Guilt gnawed at you and you looked away.

“I-I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Dabi let go of your hand, and it felt like a great wall had been thrown between the two of you, unscalable.

“It’s fine.” He said, his tone now as neutral as his expression.

“No, it’s not.” You sighed guiltily. You clasped your hands together, missing his warmth.

Dabi watched the gesture, longing creeping into his chest like an unwelcome guest. He clenched his own empty hands into fists and shifted his position until he was half turned from you. Maybe if he didn’t look at you, all of this would be easier.

Dabi leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor in contempt. “You don’t have to do this.” He said, even as his body screamed for more of your touch, to be freed from the agony he was feeling.

“Yeah I do.” You replied.

Something in Dabi snapped. “Stop it. Stop being so fucking nice.”

You froze at the harshness of his tone, and you could feel your heart begin to pound again. You wrapped your arms around yourself protectively, your hands covering where he had grabbed you the night before.

“Don’t do that.” You begged. The quiver in your voice made Dabi look at you again, and he was shocked to see your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Don’t be angry.

Dabi stared at you as he recalled what he had said to you last night in his withdrawal-induced rage. Looks like it wasn’t a hallucination after all. He looked away ashamed, unable to bear the sight of you scared of him. He took a slow breath and spoke calmly. “I’m not angry. I just don’t understand why this is so important to you.”

A long moment of silence passed as he listened to the shuffling sound of you drying your eyes with your hands and take a steady breath. Each sound drove his guilt deeper and deeper into him like a splinter that would never leave. He really was a piece of shit.

Your voice broke through his self-loathing, the quiver in it gone. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you just yet, but he listened. “If I give up now, then everything we went through would be for nothing.” You explained. “And I made a promise to myself that I’d never give up.”

“Give up on what?” the words fell from Dabi’s mouth before he could stop them, hope sneaking past his lips without his permission. He regretted it instantly, but even so, he waited, hanging onto the moment, ready to drink in every word. He wanted to hear it – to hear why you were trying so damn hard to help him.

He nearly jerked in surprise when he felt your hand take his, his eyes returning to watch you.

“Give up on you.” You replied.

Your eyes glanced up to look at him before bashfully ducking away beneath your lashes. Dabi felt his chest constrict and suddenly the moment took on a surrealness as a lightheadedness overtook him. Slowly, gently, you turned his hand until the palm was facing up and began to trace your fingers along his staples. Immediately he could feel the coolness of your quirk begin to seep into him as his chest pounded with such force that he was sure you could feel it through the veins in his wrist.

“So…” you continued. “Let me do this. Please.”

He stared at you, caught in breathlessness, as you returned to numbing his scars along his hand and up his arm. He had no response as the power of your words washed over him, fulfilling a need in him he had never bothered to pursue. How could he deny you and your gift after something like that? To do so would be an insult.

Silence blanketed the room, both of you lost in thought as you continued to work. Your sensitivity gradually increased as you completed one arm and then moved onto the other. The scar on your back began to transition from an itch to a stinging sensation, and you set your mouth in a thin line. You needed a distraction. But before you could open your mouth to start a conversation, Dabi spoke.

“Did I… hurt you?” he asked.

Out of all of the things you expected him to ask, that was definitely not it. The question shocked you so thoroughly, that your eyes shot up to look at him as your hands stopped in their administrations. He wasn’t looking at you; instead, his eyes seemed unfocused and in pain. He seemed slightly worse off than a moment ago, and a sense of urgency began to surge in you.

“What do you mean?” you replied cautiously, as your hands began to move again. Up the arm, to the shoulder. The collarbone would be next, then his neck…

“Last night.” He clarified, as his eyes focused and looked at you. There was still alertness in their depths, and it gave you the slightest bit of relief; you weren’t losing him just yet.

You paused for a moment, pursing your lips. You needed to tread carefully here. “What do you remember?”

“Not much.” He admitted. Dabi tilted his chin up slightly to give you easier access to his collarbone as he trained his gaze over your shoulder. “I know I threw up. A lot. And I told you to leave, which you didn’t.”

“You’re welcome.” You teased.

“I think I remember you using your quirk on my scars… just like this.”

You waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. “Anything else?” you prodded, as your hands moved along his shoulders.

Dabi narrowed his eyes in annoyance. He grabbed your wrists in a gentle yet firm grip, halting your touch before it reached his neck. “You’re avoiding my question.”

You froze, realizing you’d been caught, and you could feel your body flush hot with embarrassment. You eased out of his personal space slightly, and he released his hold on you.

You began to speak, choosing your words wisely. “You did say some harsh things. You wanted my pills and you were mad that I wouldn’t give them to you.”

Dabi stared at you for a long moment, watching your body language closely as you once again wrapped your arms around yourself protectively. There it was – just like before. “Anything else?” he asked, as he stared at your posture.

You wavered, but his words cut through your hesitation. “No lying.” He said. “I deserve that much.” Just like that, your own words were thrown back at you. You lowered your arms slowly.

“You… grabbed me.” You answered. You glanced up to check his face and were met with a neutral expression. “You were trying to leave but I got in your way to stop you, and you grabbed my arms to try to move me.”

Dabi’s face was an emotionless mask. “…anything else?”

“That’s it. You stopped yourself, and I helped you by knocking you out with my quirk.” You couldn’t bring yourself to say more than that. If he didn’t remember breaking down into a crying mess in front of you, then you wanted to keep it that way.

Dabi didn’t know whether to feel relief or shame. The two emotions warred within himself. On one hand, he was relieved that he’d caused no serious injury to you and that he hadn’t lashed out purely out of rage, with the intent to hurt. On the other hand, the fact that he had forcefully grabbed you melded with the mental picture that haunted him of your fear-stricken, tear-stained face. That combined with the nasty words he had yelled at you… it was no wonder you were afraid of him when he first showed up, and especially why you reacted the way you did when he got frustrated earlier.

A wave of pain washed over him and he hunched over, gritting his teeth against it. It felt like wildfire, washing over every part of him except for those you had touched, leaving an aching chill in its wake. His head was beginning to pound unbearably, as nausea made his gut roil. Gradually, the symptoms subsided enough that he could straighten himself back up. But his head felt slightly foggier than before, the throbbing ache lingering, and he couldn’t get the image of your terrified expression out of his mind.

“Are okay?” you asked, your voice forcing away the image like a gust of wind upon sand.

Dabi looked up at you, grounding himself in your eyes. The room around him slowly sharpened back into focus. “I’m fine.”

“Where did it hurt?” you questioned, hoping maybe it was something you could treat.

“Everywhere.” Immediately he could see the crestfallen expression on your face, and he struggled to correct it. “Don’t worry about it, I can handle it. Just… keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Is it helping?” you asked, your tone hopeful.

“Yeah.” Dabi replied. “It’s helping.”

“No lying?”

“No lying.”

You returned to where you left off, your hands now on his neck as your delicate touch sent shivers down his spine and goosebumps along his unmarred skin. Your hands moved from his neck to his jawline, slowly tracing the angle of his jaw to his scarred ears. His face would be next – his cheeks, his eyes… his mouth. Your heart began to pound wildly like the running of wild horses, and you could feel yourself start to falter in nervous anticipation. But as soon as your hands cupped his cheeks, Dabi’s hands covered yours, halting their advance.

“I’m sorry.” He said, his troubled eyes downcast.

A soft smile formed on your lips. “You’re forgiven.” You replied.

You returned to cupping his face, palms across his cheeks and thumbs on the scars under his eyes. You let your quirk flow in a gentle trickle, careful not to go too deep. But you lingered, dulling the ache behind his eyes and beneath his temples. Dabi felt his headache recede slightly, the throbbing now reduced to a dull hum.

Surprise filtered through him as his thoughts came through slightly clearer. “You didn’t have to do that.” he said.

“I know.” You replied. “But it helps, doesn’t it?”

Dabi didn’t respond. Instead, he stared at you while he struggled to wrangle his emotions. He’d come here with the intention of making sure you were okay and getting the treatment he needed, while keeping his feelings in check. He knew he couldn’t dismantle them completely, but he could try to build a wall against them, muffling their presence under the weight of his darker emotions. But the longer he stayed here and talked to you, the worse it got. Any sense of control he thought he had was a joke. His wall was flimsy against your gentle assault, the watchdogs of his soul chained and muzzled.

He hadn’t even intended to apologize a moment ago; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d uttered those words. He had always viewed apologies as useless, an empty afterthought after the damage was already done. But this time the words had stuck in his throat, threatening to suffocate him if he didn’t release them. And, as you did with all things, you met those words with compassion and understanding.

Dabi drifted out of his heavy thoughts when he noticed the absence of your touch. You sat before him, a slight sheen of sweat along your brow and your eyes unfocused.

You were starting to reach your limit, the light in your room too bright, your clothes scratchy on your skin. The pain in your back was growing ever worse. You could tolerate it, but it definitely hurt now, and you could feel that familiar precipice approaching. You had managed to tackle every scar on his body except for his legs. Did you have enough in you to finish the job? You honestly weren’t sure. You should have gotten more sleep, eaten sooner… maybe then you’d have more in you to give.

Apprehension of a different kind suddenly crashed through your thoughts. He was wearing pants. He’d have to remove them to let you treat him.

He was already sitting in front of you shirtless, and your mouth suddenly felt dry at the idea of another article of clothing missing from him. This was entirely different compared to last night… he was much more cognizant now.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Dabi began to pull his shirt back on, signaling the end of the session. Even so, you pushed your own inhibition aside. “Do you need anything else?” you asked. “What about your legs?”

“It’s fine.” Dabi replied. “You’ve done enough.”

You hoped that he was right. Something crucial nagged at the back of your mind until suddenly, you remembered. “I still need to give you those meds. You can start taking them again, now that we’re back on schedule.”

You realized, however, that the pills were still hidden in your closet. You chewed your lower lip; he obviously couldn’t see where you kept them. You knew better now.

“Um… I’m gonna to need you to step outside for a second, though.”

Dabi raised a curious eyebrow. “You hid them?”

“I did.”

“Wise move.” He got up from his spot on your bed and quietly stepped outside your room, closing the door behind him. You tried to move as quickly as your body would allow. You reached up to retrieve your duffle bag, your back screaming at the motion as your shirt rubbed against your scar. Your eyes began to water reactively, but you gritted your teeth and forced them back.

Soon the pills were out of their hiding place, the duffle bag back at the top of your closet, and hopefully Dabi would be none the wiser. You opened your door to find him leaning against the wall to your left. He turned to face you, making no motion to enter your space again. You were grateful… you felt exhausted, your body at its limit, and you didn’t want him to see how much pain you were really in.

You handed him three pills, like before, placing them in his palm. He stared at them, both hating them and wanting them. “Thanks.” He said simply.

“Do you… do you want me to stay with you tonight?” you ventured.

Dabi’s eyes shot up to stare at you, and you couldn’t mistake the slight bit of color that returned to his cheeks. “What?”

“In case you have a rough night again. Do you want me to stay and make sure you’ll be alright?” even as you asked, you began mentally kicking yourself; what more could you possibly do for him in your current state? Still, you wanted to extend the offer, even just to let him know that he wasn’t alone if things got too tough.

He stared at you for a moment, mouth slightly open before he composed himself and looked back down at the pills in his hand. “No. I’ll be fine.”

You were learning quickly that that phrase in Dabi-speak meant ‘I’m going to suffer horribly but I’ll figure it out on my own.’ You sighed at his stubbornness, but at the same time, deep down, you felt relieved. Maybe tomorrow would be better, once you got some real sleep.

“Okay.” You replied. “But you know I’m here if you need me.”

“I know.” He replied, as he pocketed the pills. It was the first time he didn’t take them as soon as you handed them to him.

“Okay. Well, good night then.”

“Good night.”

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Part 8

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Taglist (always open!):

@lemonfvck @vs-redemption @inanabsentia @sheedaabee @toshiuwuu @marydragneell @chillinwithmybakubros @genuinelytodorokisbitch @sam-i-am-1025 @redflannel @axerrri @necccomancy @miadraws0 @hot-pocket01 @hopelessdisasterr @dummythiccwitch @villainsdeku @aquzairus @officialtrashbusiness @hemdem018 @purplesweethart @ghost-of-todoroki @lysawayne @udontneedtokno @citrussaurus @littleladdty @starsforannie @zunmieh-blog @mae-rd @mrsreina @ohh-takuuu @ih8beefnoodles @kellyyween @jojoniles @steale24 @peach-tea-0 @orenjineki @diobrandoatemykids @minionsexuall @liitlesushi

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi #touch #dabi touch #soft dabi #angst #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha imagine #mha imagine #TW: emotional numbness #TW: anxiety #TW: sensory overload #TW: PTSD

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Note

prompt: can they just hug each other. they are both scared and comfort each other at the same time. reassurances. so soft, thank you <33333

So this blended with @sammininoofthelord‘s request for Photographer Crowley, and things went a little nuts. Not quite as Soft as I wanted but I think very cathartic.

“Well,” Aziraphale said with a smile he didn’t really feel, standing awkwardly in what Crowley called a study. Large empty room with a desk and a throne. Completely absurd. “I suppose we…have our plan, then.”

“I hate it,” Crowley volunteered. “But yes.” His legs were crossed, ankles perched on the edge of the desk, trying to look relaxed. Perhaps he would have fooled anyone else, but Aziraphale could see the tension in his neck and shoulders, and knew the way his eyes would be darting behind those glasses.

“If you’re going to argue—”

“Not arguing.” A shrug. “It’s the least bad of several bad ideas. We can do it. But. Still hate it.”

A quick glance out the window. It was still dark, hours until sunrise. “I suppose now…we wait.”

“We wait.” He wouldn’t take Crowley’s frown personally. They each had their own way of dealing with the events of the day, the threat of the next morning. Crowley, apparently, preferred to simmer in rage, while Aziraphale would be quite happy with a book and…

Oh…

Aziraphale pressed his eyes shut, trying not to think about that.

“What is it?” Crowley’s heels hit the ground with a click and he surged out of his seat, circling the desk.

“I…I don’t know what you mean…”

“I know that look. What’s wrong? Did you think of something? We can still come up with another plan.”

“Oh, nothing of the sort.” Aziraphale flapped his hands, trying for another smile. This one refused to stay on his face at all, and now his eyes were wet. “Don’t bother yourself…”

Crowley caught his hand.

His fingers moved stiffly, wrapping themselves around Aziraphale’s. Did they do that now? He supposed so. It was…quite novel, the way Crowley’s hand sort of…compressed his, holding in the tremors. No. Melting them away.

“You can tell me,” he whispered, voice strangely soft. “Whatever it is. I…don’t mind.”

“It’s foolish.” But Aziraphale drew a little closer, seeking more of that warmth.

“Don’t care. We’ve earned the right to a little foolishness.” Crowley’s feet shuffled, drawing closer, his forehead hovering close to Aziraphale’s. “You can tell me.”

“I…I just thought of the book I’d been reading, and it’s gone. I won’t be able to read the next chapter. And my whole shop is gone, my…my home…” his breath caught in his throat. “But…all I can think about is that one book. It’s not even rare…” His face burned with shame, and he found himself resting his head against Crowley’s shoulder. “Oh, lord, it had my favorite bookmark in it!”

Somehow, strangely, he felt he could have managed the loss of his shop if he’d just had that bookmark.

Crowley chuckled, low and rough, near his ear. “That is foolish.”

“Oh, I am well aware.” Aziraphale tried to push himself away. “You don’t have to – to—”

Long arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him back in. “My Velvet Underground CD was in the Bentley,” Crowley said, and now there was a tightness in his voice. “You remember, you saw it the other day? Had my favorite songs on it. I never put it in the car, in case…something happened to it…turned into more bloody Queen…but I just needed it this week. And now…”

Aziraphale slid his own arms around Crowley. “I’m sorry about your bebop.”

“I’m sorry about your bookmark.”

They stood there, leaning against each other, trying to wrap their minds around what they’d lived through, what they’d lost, a little at a time.

“I had this…this little charm. On a shelf. Carved in Rome. I carried it around for centuries…”

“My mobile was in the back seat. I’d only just beaten 2048 – do you have any idea how long that took?”

“Oh, my second-best tie! It was in my desk drawer.”

“I – I had a drawing Warlock did. When he was seven. Kept it in the boot of my car.”

“I just…” Aziraphale took a deep breath, and the strange, smoky scent of Crowley filled him. “I just wish I had…something. Anything. You have…this flat…your things…but I…I have nothing left…”

“You have me.” Crowley buried his lips and nose in Aziraphale’s hair, twining his arms in a constricting embrace, as if to hold the entire world together. “Whatever happens, tomorrow, next week, a hundred years from now, you will always have me.”

“I…” But there wasn’t anything Aziraphale could say to that, just let himself slide further into the security of Crowley’s arms. He was having trouble breathing, and his eyes burned with tears. He pressed his face into Crowley’s shoulder.

“S’alright, Angel.” One hand ran across his shoulders, slow circles. “I got you.”

Aziraphale clung to Crowley, until the trembling stopped, until he felt he could be composed again. He pulled away slowly, face turned away, wishing he could clean himself up. “I…terribly sorry…don’t know what…”

“Let me get you a drink.” Crowley’s hand rested on his shoulder, squeezed lightly, then vanished, leaving Aziraphale strangely cold.

It took longer than expected, long enough for Aziraphale to wipe his face clean with his handkerchief, long enough to make a circuit around the large room, long enough to consider each work of art with great care. Long enough to feel he could control his breath again.

Not quite long enough to remember how to smile, though.

“Alright, Angel. I, ah. I found something.”

He turned back to find Crowley holding a glass of water in one hand, and a thick book tucked under his arm. How odd. Crowley adamantly refused to admit he would ever have anything to do with books. He’d once spent an entire century pretending he didn’t know how to read, although the knowledge would return in a flash of insight any time he needed to order wine.

“What on earth is this?” Aziraphale eyed the book. Something about the pages was all wrong, but he couldn’t quite say what from this angle. There didn’t seem to be nearly enough of them, to start.

“It’s a…er…s’a photo album.” Crowley placed the glass on the side of the desk nearest Aziraphale, then settled the book in front of him. The cover was that deep red shade he liked almost as much as black, with a gold-colored shape pressed into it, like a very stylized feather. “I keep this…hidden, but. Nh. No point now I guess.”

“I see.” Aziraphale took a slow drink. “Photographs of what, precisely?”

“Ngk.” Long fingers nudged the album, straightening it, then pulling away as if burned. “S’not. I mean. Look, I just…I like cameras. Fun. Flashy. Always something new to try out. I photograph everything.” He slid the album closer to Aziraphale, then quickly stepped back. “But um. These are my favorites.”

Almost afraid of what he’d see, Aziraphale reached across to lift the cover. What he saw inside made him gasp. “Crow--! When did you--?”

“Look, I just – the lighting was a challenge, alright? Bright sunlight, deep shadows. Don’t – don’t read anything into it.”

Aziraphale slid the glass of water further away, and opened the album properly. The first page held a photograph of the inside of his shop, a few decades old. A beam of light landed on one book, resting on a table, illuminating it just a little compared to the shelf behind it.

He turned the page.

Four photographs, two square, two more rectangular, all taken ages apart. One showed Aziraphale, resting in his chair, eyes closed to enjoy his favorite record. Two were of him reading, one perched on a ladder, too preoccupied to fold it into a chair, the other standing with two more books tucked under his arm. In the fourth picture, he was clearly arguing with a customer, clutching one of his autographed Oscar Wildes quite defensively.

Page after page. Dozens, no, nearly a hundred photographs. A few of Aziraphale at the bakery or standing by the pond. One of him next to the Bentley, peevishly looking for Crowley, unaware the demon was right behind him. But nearly all of them pictures of the shop, of himself wandering happily through his home.

“Why…why did you…”

“Told you. S’a good place to experiment.”

“But this…this isn’t an album of my shop. It’s a collection of…of me.” Oh, his eyes were wet again. Aziraphale quickly took a drink.

“I mean.” Crowley shrugged. “I photographed the shop for the challenge. But, um. My favorites were always the ones with you in them.”

“But – you never said anything!”

“Ahhh.” He ran a hand through bright red hair. “Look. If anyone found it, I had to be able to say it was, I don’t know, surveillance. And you’re the worst at looking natural.”

“I am not!”

“Yes you are. You always do that – that smile, and you stand so stiff…look, no one would be fooled! So, I just…didn’t tell you.” He stuffed his fingers in his pockets. “Sorry.”

“I see.”

“And…nk.” Crowley shuffled his feet. “And…I didn’t want you to say no.”

Aziraphale reached the last page, where a large photograph showed him carefully unpacking his latest acquisition, a warm smile of anticipation as he studied the binding of the book. He slowly closed the album, and finished his glass of water.

“Thank you,” the angel whispered. He picked up the album, pressed it to his chest. “I…thank you, Crowley.”

“You can, um. You can have that.” Even with the glasses on, Aziraphale knew how his eyes must be darting nervously.

“Thank you.” He didn’t know what else to say, so he stepped forward, kissed Crowley on the cheek. “For everything.”

#good omens fanfiction #prompt fic #ineffable husbands #emotional h/c #hugs

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musical-shit-show · 3 years

Text

Two Sides: Chapter 5

Previous Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4)

Characters: Musical!Beetlejuice, Female!OC, Lydia Deetz, Barbara Maitland, Adam Maitland

Warnings: anxiety, awkward attempts at flirting, panic attacks, cursing, a little bit of angst if you squint

Word Count: 1,930

Author’s Note: Been on a writing kick so I figured I’d post Chapter 5! Not much to say about this chapter, just some good old fashioned character development a.k.a. Beej being a pissbaby and Cassandra being an anxiety factory. Please check out my Masterlist here and my About Me page. Enjoy!

Chapter 5

Both Cassandra and Beetlejuice called after the dark-haired girl, but she had already shut the door with a forceful yank. Causing mischief was something Lydia had perfected from spending a lot of time with Beetlejuice, and while she didn’t want to admit it, she was sort of glad her roommate had brought him back. Life without her undead companion was almost getting too normal for her liking.

She knew that this day was already turning out to be a lot to handle for Cassandra, but Lydia tried not to beat herself up about how everyone had been introduced. Nothing ever went according to plan in the Deetz/Maitland household, so it was just as well that the day had already erupted into total chaos. Still, Lydia hoped that her roommate would roll with the punches and make it through the weekend relativity unscathed.

After Lydia shut the door, Beetlejuice’s demeanor changed almost instantly. He leaned casually on the end of Cassandra’s wooden bed frame, his eyes scanning her, an impish glint in his eye. His green hair was now mixed with pale yellow and light pink colorations.

“So....does your hair always do that…?” Cassandra asked awkwardly, attempting to make some semblance of a conversation. The air in the room was still unbelievably tense, even after Lydia had properly introduced the two of them. A smug look flashed across the demon’s face.

“My hair’s sorta like a mood ring,” he said matter-of-factly, picking at the dead skin around his fingernails, “This shade of yellow means that I’m curious about ya. Pretty cool, huh?” He secretly wanted to impress her, and he thought the nonchalant act would do just the trick.

“And what does pink mean?” Cassandra asked, enthralled by the swirl of hues that now adorned his head.

“That I think you’re hot, babes,” he said, raising an eyebrow. He gave her another once over as Cassandra held back an uncomfortable laugh, taken aback at how forward he was.

“Oh, I’m sure you say that to all the girls you manhandle after they unwittingly unleash you into the mortal realm,” she said casually, doing her best to hide her discomfort with him. She did not take getting hit on well by living men, let alone men that had been dead for probably decades. Beetlejuice raised his eyebrows, wrongly suspecting that she was flirting back.

“What, are ya talking about that kiss?” he said innocently, his stocky frame inching closer to her, “Look, new girl, that was just a gesture of appreciation. You should be flattered.” Cassandra rolled her eyes, frustrated with the demon’s lack of self-awareness.

“Okay, first off, my name is Cassandra,” she said childishly, “Second, I’m not flattered by you fucking with me. The last hour of my life has been insane, and I really don’t need your help making it any crazier.” Beetlejuice felt the venom in her tone, but soldiered on until she cracked. Breathers like her always did, and he knew she was just putting on a front to seem tougher than she really was.

“Listen, babes, you gotta relax a little. Take a walk on the undead side,” he purred, “Why don’t I show ya—?” He stopped her pacing and grabbed her waist. Cassandra let out a small yelp of anger, pushing him away and plopping onto the bed. The comforter was now decidedly dirtier since the demon had laid on it, but she didn’t care. Hot tears of infuriation filled her eyes.

“Look, the last thing I want to do is get down and dirty with some dead guy that just appeared in my room and has been messing with me from the second I got here,” she said, in a quiet but sharp tone, “So please, for the love of all that is good and decent, could you, just, leave?” Instantly the pink and yellow swirls in his hair were mixed with a deep red and blue. Beetlejuice stared angrily at the floor, not used to being shot down so pointedly. This kind of rejection brought up emotions he wasn’t quite keen on revisiting, but he was too prideful to admit he had gone too far.

“Fine,” he muttered, not bothering to make eye contact with the already irked woman, “You’re not my type anyways, sweetheart. Guess I didn’t know Lydia had such a stuck up, goody-two-shoes breather for a roommate. See ya around, new girl.” With that he vanished from the room, a tiny *pop* emanating from the spot where he stood.

Cassandra let out another angry cry, overwhelmed with the day’s events. She understood where Lydia coming from, leaving the two of them together to get better acquainted. After all she was right: Cassandra was the one that stupidly summoned him. But it clearly didn’t occur to her that Beetlejuice would go back to his old self faster than lightning, making Cassandra incredibly uneasy in the process. A few moments later, a soft knock on the door broke her out of her emotional spiraling.

“Cassandra? It’s Barbara,” the blonde woman said softly, a tiny crack between the door and its frame forming, “Everything okay?” Cassandra quickly wiped away a small tear and cleared her throat.

“Uh, yeah, yeah everything is fine,” she said unconvincingly. Barbara took that as an invitation to open up the door fully and enter the guest room, Adam following quietly behind her. “I just, uh, met another dead person in this house. The guy who looks homeless and smells like a sewer.”

“Beetlejuice,” the couple deadpanned in tandem. Adam groaned in slight frustration, rubbing the back of his neck at the thought of the raucous demon back in his former home.

“Of course, of course he would be back here,” he said as Barbara rubbed his shoulders, attempting to relax him, “After we had just cleaned up from his last mess...did Lydia summon him?” Adam’s expression softened when he saw the guilt on Cassandra’s face. She had just met these people and had now accidentally freed an entity they clearly didn’t have much fondness for.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—” Cassandra let a few frustrated tears fall from her eyes, not able to even look up at the couple. Barbara sat down next to her on the bed, placing her hand on top of Cassandra’s. The living woman felt no sensation of being touched, but appreciated the gesture of comfort.

“It’s okay, honey,” Barbara said genuinely, her kind face illuminating the gloomy air in the room, “We aren’t upset with you, right Adam?” The woman nudged her husband quite forcefully, catching him slightly off-guard.

“No, no of course not,” Adam added, chuckling slightly, “It’s just, Beetlejuice can sometimes be...well, a handful.”

“Really?” Cassandra sniffed, drying her tears, “I hadn’t noticed.” The three of them cracked small smiles, slightly easing the disquieting air that hung in the room, “Is he always such a dick?” Barbara and Adam looked at each other, silently confirming the living woman’s question. Cassandra sighed. Not two hours into being in this house, and she had met three dead people and had already pissed off the most irritating of them all.

The Maitlands were at least acting civil towards her, even treating her with kindness. But there was something about Beetlejuice that made Cassandra’s temperature rise. The condescending smirk, the overzealous grabbiness, the complete unawareness of social cues...it all added up to a huge pain in the ass that she was going to have to deal with for the entire weekend.

‘You have to be nice,’ Cassandra thought, ‘For Lydia. He’s best friends with Lydia, and you need to be nice. Just for the weekend. And then you’ll never have to see that creep again.’ “Try and stick it out, just for a few days,” Barbara said sweetly, “He really isn’t that bad when you get to know him.” Adam smiled unconvincingly, doing nothing to quell Cassandra’s discomfort.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” she said, smiling as genuinely as she could muster, “I still have a little more settling in to do, but I’ll see you guys downstairs soon, okay?” The two ghosts nodded and disappeared in a flash, leaving the living woman alone once again. Cassandra closed her eyes yet again, finding it easier to process the events that had transpired since she had entered the house. She just had to accept that this was what Lydia’s world was like, even though she had no idea it existed.

She couldn’t blame Lydia for not telling her all these years, but she was still shocked to know that her best friend and roommate had successfully kept this from her for so long. A wave of emotions crashed down on her: hurt, anger, confusion, curiosity, excitement even. How was she supposed to make it through the rest of this trip without feeling like a mental patient? She felt a tightness in her chest, a telltale sign her anxiety had taken hold of her psyche.

Beetlejuice materialized in the room only seconds after the Maitlands vanished, watching her intently. Now he was intentionally making his presence unknown so he could further survey the damage without causing another scene. His hair was now a swirl of purple and red, creating a sea of maroon locks that adorned his head. He watched as Cassandra steadied her breathing and closed her eyes, attempting to gain her composure. She let a few stress-induced tears escape from her eyes but quickly brushed them away, as she shook her head and moved to unzip her duffel bag. Beetlejuice felt a twinge of guilt, a blue streak reappearing in his hair. He hadn’t met anyone new since he infiltrated the Maitlands’ home all those years ago, and the prospect of fresh meat to torment was too difficult to pass up. He feared he had gone too far, but those thoughts were replaced by annoyance and disdain.

‘Who does this breather think she is?’ he thought angrily, stewing in the corner of the room, still eyeing Cassandra as she methodically placed her clothes in an empty dresser, ‘Since when did Lydia get a new best friend? And how could that best friend possibly be a bigger mess than I am?!’

In all of his years as a bio-exorcist, Beetlejuice had never been turned down by a human so abruptly. Well, other than Lydia of course, but that was a different situation entirely. When it came to consenting adult breathers, Beetlejuice had them on their backs in no time. At their core, he knew that they loved the idea of breaking the rules, and getting pleasured by a demon was about the most sinful thing imaginable.

But this one? This trembling, crying, self-conscious mess that stood before him? She had made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with him, try as he might to be as friendly as he possibly could with her, though his definition of friendly was certainly more abrasive and forward than the average person’s, living or dead.

And the thought that this was the person Lydia was now spending all of her time with and not goofing off with him? Well, that only damaged Beetlejuice’s bruised ego even more. What made her so goddamn special?

Beetlejuice could feel himself growing more and more contemptuous towards Cassandra, but decided to at least attempt to be civil towards her, for Lydia’s sake. He was her best friend after all, and he wasn’t going to let this annoying breather change that over the course of one weekend.

Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun when Lyds wasn’t around...

~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! Please like/comment/reblog and feel free to drop an ask for any requests/feedback!

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siimjaeyun · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5: Mystery Song

Synopsis: At the dawn of night, a soft tune plays in the air, bewitching children and driving away every adult possible from the city of Seoul. Not to mention, Jay is finally up to solving a real mystery and disappointing his parents for once in his life.

Series Masterlist

------

The little boy sat with his legs crossed in front of the bright screen. An episode of Spongebob was displayed, entertaining and distracting his young mind.

You slowly approached the T.V, managing to shut it off.

“Time for bed Chan.” He nodded quietly and waited for Jay to come and help him clean up the mess he had made earlier. One clean-up later, and he sat patiently in his bed under the covers.

“Goodnight buddy.” You planted a kiss on his forehead and Jay gave him a fist bump before switching off the lights to let him rest.

“We’re lucky we got Chan, remember when Jungwon and Sunoo tried babysitting their neighbor’s kid?”

“Yes, considering we were the ones who ended up babysitting.” The both of you laughed reminiscing the old memories: paint splattered walls, and juice stains on the cushions were definitely how you wanted to spend your weekend.

“We make a good team, you know. Aside from our bitter rivalry.” Jay slowly played with his hands while looking down.

“We do. You know if you ever want to join us on an inves-” You didn't get to finish your statement before the two of you heard the sound of a flute from outside. Jay drew back the curtains and was met with a cloth covered person who was too far to distinguish.

At the same time, a small crash was heard from upstairs. Worried, you went to check on the young boy you had promised to babysit. He came out of the room, jumping on top of you; his hair had become white, and his fangs clearly meant that he was not the sweet boy from earlier.

“Come on.” Chan chased you downstairs until the two of you managed to jump out the window. He retreated backwards, closing the window you had just jumped out of.

In the distance, a creature had claimed his first mission.

-------

“We don’t know what happened. One moment he’s falling asleep, and in the next, he’s trying to threaten me and Jay. Do you think we can check on him?”

“Sure, not like we’ll miss out on anything at school.” It took a while for Heeseung to process his statement until a subtle light bulb appeared in his mind.

“Actually no, I’m failing civics, and I’m this close to losing my trap privileges.”

“I could help you! I’m great at civics.”

“Sure you are.” At hearing Sunghoon’s cocky remark, you grabbed your small chapstick and chucked it at his shoulder while he was distracted with the sugar treat in his hand.

“Thanks, but my dad already hired a tutor. She’s a senior.” Your expression fell at hearing the clear “her,” in his response, but frankly you no longer carried the energy to settle for another response.

“Hey take a look at that, people are moving out!” Jay, who agreed to tag along with your group of friends, pointed towards the street of fleeing cars. Heeseung parked and all of you rushed to see the amount of parents who were packing their belongings. It even included Chan’s parents.

“Hey Chief Kim, what’s going on?” Chief Kim turned and saw your faces and wasn’t shy in expressing his clear disappointment.

“Well they tell of this creature, ‘Que Horrifico.’ It has been appearing late at night, playing a tune on their flute and spookifying children.”

“It’s true, it explains why Chan grew fangs and yellow eyes.” Your bodies remained on the sidewalk, quietly observing as more and more couples fled from the street.

“Well, guess that means a new mystery!” Jake had celebrated a little too soon, before Chief Kim and the other officers placed handcuffs on the group.

“But dad!” One by one, the teens were placed in the back of the police car, clearly unsurprised by the times this has occurred before.

“Nothing, this is a great business! And all you can do is not flunk civics!” Mayor Lee led his son inside the car, and slammed the door shut to drive them school.

“Wow, at least it’s Jake and Jay’s first time getting arrested!”

“You say that like it’s a good thing Sunoo.” Sunoo rolled his eyes, and used his shoulders to shove Jay slightly.

“Well, at least maybe they’ll cut some slack on y/n from now on.”

-------

Out of good will, the entire group had agreed to accompany Heeseung to meet his new tutor.

“Lee Heeseung.” A tiny voice called out for him, and was met with a young girl with huge rimmed glasses staring intensely at him.

“You’re my civics tutor?” The other boys tried to cover their laughs, but were unsuccessful given that Heeseung stared back in a strangling manner.

“My name is Naeun, and yes. Civics is my passion. I’m actually supposed to be in college, but they told me High School would help with social skills. I applied to be appointed to the Seoul Civic Board, but your father said I was, ‘too young.’ Come now Heeseung.” Naeun grabbed his hand and led him off towards an empty table while the rest of you saw the scene unfold in front of you.

“Let’s go get ice cream while he studies!” Jake lazily slung his arm over your shoulders and you had no reaction until you accidentally collided with the person in front of you.

“My apologies Dr.Lopez!” You got down on your knees to help him with the stuff he had dropped seconds before. Oddly enough, a page was opened to an image that Chief Kim had demonstrated earlier about ‘Que Horrifico.’

“Ah, yes. Thank you.” Almost quickly, he snatched the book from his hands and went off in a hurry leaving you both confused and puzzled.

… Later that night

The night had made its presence in the city, and once more the tune of a pan flute began. Parents recoiled from their spooked children and escaped their homes.

Que Horrifico had claimed its next mission.

------

“More people are leaving?” Another trail of cars followed the exit of the city, meanwhile the van drove towards the street.

“At this point, Seoul is going to be a ghost town.” Everyone nodded in agreement to Jungwon’s statement.

“Where’s Jay by the way?” You stayed silent.

“Your parents huh?” Sunghoon looked at you before your look gave away the response.

The night before, Jay had run into trouble with your parents after they heard he had hung out with you and your friends. They were even more upset when they knew you had been arrested and dragged away to school. They had prohibited any connection with Jay and your friends; they were fearful he would be like you.

Heeseung parked the car on the curb and broke the rest of you away from any thoughts. As the six of you stood waiting, Sunghoon’s mother was seen leading a city tour.

“Mom?” Sunghoon waited patiently, and his mother gave him a quick smile.

“What did I tell you? Go to school, this is good for the business!”

“But-” His mother managed to lunge a t-shirt at his face.

“Wear it to school! And if they ask, it’s $15!”

Once you arrived at school, you lead the team towards Dr.Lopez's office. In one movement, Sunoo opened the door, finding a room filled with artifacts.

“What is all this?” Jungwon began playing around with the posters, before pulling back the cloth covering a pan flute.

“What are you doing in my office?” Dr.Lopez stepped into the room, glancing at what was a bunch of teens snooping at his belongings.

“I’m so sorry, we just wanted to come talk to you.”

“Cool dart piece by the way.” Heeseung complimented him before Jake stepped in to correct him.

“It’s a pan flute.”

“And!? Just because I have a pan flute, I’m Que Horrifico. How dare you accuse me!” He slammed his fists on the table; meanwhile you all just kept your stares on him.

“We’re not. We just want to know about Que Horrifico.”

“Ahh yes. Give me a moment will you.” Dr.Lopez set up the monitor, displaying the slideshow in color and everything.

“The tale of Que Horrifico says that using his pan flute, he stalks the streets at night. His tune turns children into monsters. He takes them to his home and builds an army.”

“Yikes. What kind of person needs a child army?”

-------

“Lee Heeseung, we have civics tutoring remember!” Naeun, like usual, stopped by and tried to drag the young boy away.

“I’m sorry Naeun, but I’ve got something more important to do!”

“What can be more important than civics!?” The child crossed her arms and paid no attention to the other teens staring at her from behind Heeseung.

------

“Shh, don’t make a sound.” Sunghoon gestured a shush motion as the six of you ducked under the window vision of Dr.Lopez.

“Why are we here anyway?” Sunoo asked in a whisper like manner; the teen’s head sticking from outside the bushes.

“We have to make sure that if Dr.Lopez is Que Horrifico, that we can stop him.” It was a few seconds before you noticed Jay running across the street in your direction.

“Guys!” All of you quickly repeated Sunghoon’s earlier motion, but achieved no luck when Jay crashed into the trash cans causing Dr.Lopez to open his windows.

“You do think I’m Que Horrifico, and...I’m starting to think it’s true. Come inside.” You helped Jay up from the floor and walked into the cozy room that was furnished with fun trinkets.

Heeseung grabbed a long chain and began to wrap it around Dr.Lopez who was seated on the chair. Now, they waited.

------

An hour passed by and nothing had still occurred.

“It’s happening!!!” Dr.Lopez began to scream with all his might, but a small gas sound escaped from him.

Still, nothing.

The same flute sound began once more, it echoed in the distance. Immediately, you all raced out the front door and saw Que Horrifico with a pan flute in its hand.

It was not Dr.Lopez after all.

“We need to set a trap, now.”

------

“Uhh, why are we at a house?” Jake questioned his older companions, but saw as Heeseung took out a couple of costumes from a bin.

“Well, let’s just say a new family will be moving in.”

“And who’s stupid enough to do that?” Sunoo emptily looked at his friends, before a proud smirk appeared on Heeseung’s face.

Jungwoon and Sunoo were now dressed in children’s clothes, while you were dressed in a stereotypical stay at home mom outfit. Meanwhile, Heeseung placed a suit blazer over his outfit, and Sunghoon, (who hated his outfit the most,) found himself in a grandpa costume. In the meantime, Jay and Jake took the liberty of setting up the trap upstairs.

“Wow. Look at all these toys.” Jungwon’s sarcastic tone made Jay roll his eyes while he mounted the sets of ropes.

“Wow, don’t you think this is a wonderful night.” You unconsciously placed a hand on Heeseung’s shoulders, but he was quick to move it off.

“Quit it, we’re married. We can’t be happy.”

“Come on children, it’s time for bed.” Sunoo and Jungwon got up from the grass and headed indoors with you, Heeseung, and grandpa Sunghoon following.

In a matter of seconds, the same tune began to play again. This time, you were prepared….or so you thought.

At the first sight of Que Horrifico, Jake and Jay let go of the ropes which successfully planted the net onto the creature’s body. But what they didn’t expect was the monster children that were marching behind them.

“Get them!” In a shriek like manner, the children were commanded to attack.

All of you dashed towards the home, splitting into three different directions. Sunoo and Jungwon ran upstairs, while Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon went into the kitchen. That left you and Heeseung running to the living room.

You had attempted to bolt the door shut, but the children dropped oil onto the floor causing you to slip backwards before Heeseung managed to catch you in a typical kdrama manner.

Upstairs, Sunoo and Jungwon had found refuge in the closet, while the 02 liners found themselves fighting off the young monsters heading into the kitchen.

“Come on.” There was no escape, and the child army only approached you closer and closer.

“I guess this is it Jungwon. It was nice being your friend.”

“I’ll miss you Sunoo!” As Sunoo and Jungwon hugged each other tightly, but were startled when the shaking at their closet door came to a stop. Your foot had pressed on the remote controller which turned on the TV to Spongebob. It distracted the children and suddenly all of them began to sit on the floor with a quiet giggle.

“You fools! The plan!” Que Horrifico was by the window and sprinted off when he saw the seven of you chase him with a net in hand.

The net finally trapped him accurately, and Chief Kim had also arrived on time.

“Now, let’s see who you are…” Jake pulled back the mask and it revealed the young girl who claimed herself a civics master.

“Naeun, but why?”

“I’ll tell you why. I told you I had brilliant ideas for running the city, but when no one listened, I needed to make my own plan. I learned about Que Horrifico in Dr.Lopez’s class, and I used the drama department to make my costume. I went to every elementary school and used my english skills to promise them utopia! But when that didn’t work, I offered them candy. My tune was a signal for them to get dressed, the town would be free of adults. And I would have been successful if it wasn’t for you meddling school people!”

Chief Kim casted a pair of handcuffs and dragged her away.

In the meantime, Jay had gone off under a tree to answer a phone call. He was not ready to give up the new life he had found with friends.

He was ready to stop being perfect.

------

Next Chapter: The tale of Hong Chanmi

My ask box is now open! :)) I’m planning to make a taglist, so if you’re interested, send an ask!

P.S: I hope to introduce Niki to the story soon!

#enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #jungwon #heeseung #heeseung imagines #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #jake imagines #sunghoon #sunoo #niki

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deliberatelyvague · 4 years

Text

Please Eat (diavolo x fem!reader)

Started: April 4, 2020 at 10:10pm

Ended: April 5, 2020 at 12:19am

Word Count: 3,669

Ships: [Diavolo x fem!reader]

Trigger Warning(s): depression, eating disorders, self harm (cutting), stressful events

Author’s Note: Uh okay first thing: I’m sorry this is so long, it just keeps going. Second: I’m not sure if doing something this deep so quickly on my page is a good idea, but I’m going to do it anyway. Requests are open and appreciated!

—————

If anyone ever tries to tell you that RAD tests were easy to study for, the best thing for you to do is to either laugh in their face or ask them to tutor you. It might be because the tests in general are much harder than the ones administered on Earth, or maybe it was because you’re a human who hasn’t had any background to any of these topics other than the background taught in class.

And you paid attention, you took notes (when you weren’t distracted by Mammon, that is) to the best of your ability, and you asked for help when you needed it. You even stayed up almost all night the first time you had a test studying and revising your notes, rewriting them and even finding videos to watch on that subject. You had walked into the classroom the next morning, hyped up from (caffeinated beverage) and ready to kick this test in its butt.

The downfall of this attitude came when you looked at the first page of the test to not recognize almost any of the material, only a few things scattered here and there. You say in your chair, staring at the paper and trying to work your way through the questions, making the most sense out of them that you could, but it wasn’t helping all that much.

You weren’t surprised when your test came back with a barely passable grade, but Lucifer was. Oh, Lucifer laid into you for a good two hours, talking about how you were going to ruin Diavolo’s program, and that you should study harder next time and ask more questions. You assured him that you would, and he didn’t seem all too believing in your answer, but he let you be.

His speech stuck something into you, however. Something that you felt all too well in the human world: inadequacy. You felt terrible, you had tried your best, you had studied, but it still didn’t help anything. That night at dinner you heard all the brothers talking about the test, and even though you hadn’t done the worse (that medal went to Mammon, who even though he didn’t study or even pay attention in that class, still managed to only get a few point worse than you) you by far hadn’t done the best. Lucifer and Satan tied for that position. Asmo, Beel, and Belphie got somewhere worse than those two but better than you.

You picked at your food, not all too interested in it, your stomach filled with your old friend. You could feel Beel’s eyes on you, and then once you looked at him you noticed his eyes were actually just on your food. You took your napkin from your lap and placed it on the table next to your food.

“You can have the rest of my food if you want it, Beel. I’m not that hungry,” you say, and leave the dining hall, no one bothered by your exit. There was a sting of pain, but you quickly ignored it. You didn’t need to be their priority 24/7, that’s just ridiculous.

You went immediately to your room, sitting at your desk and looking over your test and then at your notes and textbook, to see where you went wrong. Turns out there was an entire section you had forgotten about, which was what almost the entire test was over. You made revisions on your test and slid them into a file to save for the final over that class, and started to read the next chapter in the textbook.

You idiot, you really didn’t double check that you studied everything? You don’t deserve to be here, you’ll tarnish Diavolo’s name. Worthless, they should’ve picked someone else.

You gripped the edges of your textbook, trying to shake the words from your head. You knew they weren’t true, but deep inside you, you couldn’t help but feel like they were true.

You tried to come up with excuses as to why you had just forgotten about that section, but you couldn’t. You had locked everyone out of your room except for Diavolo and Lucifer, of course, so that you could study. You didn’t have anything distracting you, no demon or phone (which you had hidden away in a drawer by the bed).

So you really just forgot about it? You should be punished for that. You know how to do it, so why not administer them yourself?

But you hadn’t self harmed in so long. You had been clean for multiple years now, and you hated the thought of ruining that for a measly test.

But it’s not just the test, is it? You have possibly tarnished the name of your beloved boyfriend, you broke the respect you’ve gone through so many lengths to build with Lucifer also. You don’t deserve to have either of them, or to be in this program. Just do it, they won’t notice. You need to be punished.

Silently you went over and got the razor out of one of the new pencils sharpeners you had bought a few days ago because you thought they were pretty, and they were having a sale. Moving over to your bathroom, you shut the door and locked it, bringing the blade to your wrist and slashing it a few times. You let out a small breath, an almost instantaneous relief washing over your body.

The dopamine that you had been drastically craving for so long flooded into you again, and you almost didn’t notice the knock on your room’s door. You quickly applied bandages to your wrists after you cleaned them, slipping the razor into the folded towels under your sink and pulling down the sleeves of your turtleneck. You were still wearing your school uniform, just without the jacket on top of it.

After being grilled for two hours and then having to finish homework before dinner you just hadn’t had the time to change. You stepped out of your bathroom to find Diavolo standing by your desk, his back turned toward you and one of his hands placed on something, looking it over.

You felt your stomach drop and you wanted nothing more than to curl up in your closet with a nest of blankets and pillows and just wallow in the darkness, but your boyfriend turned to face you, his hand now gripping the paper, a mask of confusion covering his face.

“I-I’m sorry, I know that grade isn’t acceptable, I thought I studied hard enough I just-”

“[Y/N], I know you studied hard for this test. You didn’t let me talk to you for a good three hours. What happened?”

Tears welled up in your eyes and he came over, wrapping his arms around you, one of his hands stroking the top of your head.

“I forgot an entire section from the chapter. I’m sorry,” You sobbed, and he shushed you.

“You don’t need to apologize, Princess. Sometimes that happens. It’s happened to me, it’s happened to Lucifer. Sometimes we just forgot.”

“But ‘Volo, I can’t forget. My mistakes look bad on the both of us, not just me. Imagine if that grade was worse, how tarnished this exchange program would be?”

His eyebrows laced together.

“Princess, your grades can always come back. One bad test doesn’t harm much, considering your grade in that class, it shouldn’t affect you much.”

You stayed quiet, biting on your bottom lip.

Don’t listen to him. He’s lying to you. That’s all demons do, lie. Are you really going to believe him over me, something you’ve known for so long?

You wrapped your arms around him, heat radiating off of his body. You didn’t believe him, he didn’t discredit that your grades could tarnish the program, so you would just have to make sure to study more. You could stand to skip a few meals, anyway. Then you could study and still manage to keep up your social life.

“‘Volo, no offense, but why did you come to my room anyway?” You ask him after you calm down a bit.

“I’m supposed to take you dress shopping for the ball coming up, remember?”

Suddenly the conversation the two of you had a few days ago came back. He wanted to instill some human school things, and you mentioned dances to him, and he was more than thrilled. He scheduled one for a few weeks from now as soon as he could gather the student council.

“Oh, yeah. I’m not changed or anything, just give me a few minutes, please. He nodded and walked over to your bookcase, filled with books from the human realm that you enjoyed, though some spots were vacant due to Satan.

You chuckled at him, going to your closet and picking out a long sleeved shirt and some skinny jeans, tucking in the shirt and making sure the sleeves covered your bandages.

“Alright, I’m good,” he turned and smiled at you.

“Beautiful, you know I love that color on you.” You blush and nod, taking his hand as he drags you to dress stores to find a base dress because “Barbatos can add anything you want to it.”

You felt bad, but then thought that Barbatos might enjoy something else to work on other than Diavolo’s issues.

You both decided on a simple long-sleeved crimson a-line dress, asking Barbatos to add whatever he felt would look nice. You had enough trust in him, and you’re sure that Diavolo will pitch in some ideas, too.

————

Your plan of skipping meals had worked well enough, you steered away from the brother’s questioning by grabbing a granola bar from the supply you kept in your room and showing it to them before you left for school each day. You packed a few grapes and other soft fruits for your lunch so when you were in the library you wouldn’t disturb anyone.

You had been studying enough that you felt confident in your next few tests in any classes, and your efforts paid off when you passed all of them. Lucifer seemed pleased, and so did Diavolo when you showed him.

You still ate dinner with the brothers when Diavolo didn’t invite you out, but slowly you started to lose your appetite. You didn’t want to eat. You’ve noticed how much trimmer your waist was, and how much clearer your skin was. You knew it wasn’t healthy in the slightest, but you felt better about yourself. And if you could improve your grades and lose a few pounds, it couldn’t hurt to do this for a few more weeks, right?

That night was a try-on for the dress for the dance, to make sure it fit you correctly with the shoes you planned on wearing and the add-ons didn’t take away from any place or attract eyes to any place you didn’t want them to.

You were met by Barbatos at the foyer, and he led you to the dress’s room. You gasped when you saw it. Underneath a light and on a mannequin stood your dress in all its glory: the red dress had black tulle added underneath to add a bit of volume to the skirt, and red flowers were embroidered to the chest area and the sleeves.

“Barbatos, this looks beautiful!” You exclaim, walking over it to feel the fabric.

“I told you she’d say that,” you hear your boyfriend’s voice, and you look over at him and smile, quickly looking back at the dress. “Are you going to try it on, or are you going to let the mannequin model it?”

You squeal and nod, Barbatos unzipping the back and leading you and the dress over to a division. You quickly undress and step into the dress and he zips you up.

You look in the mirror and frown slightly. It doesn’t sit on you like it did, and you expected that because you were losing weight, but you didn’t expect this much. It had only been a few weeks- maybe two or three- it shouldn’t fit you like this.

“Is something wrong, Miss?” You quickly look at Barbatos and shake your head.

“No, no it’s amazing,” you run your hands over the gap in the waist and the shoulders before stepping out from behind the curtains.

Diavolo’s face flashed confusion for the quickest of seconds before returning to adoration.

“Ah, that looks stunning on you, Princess.”

You feel blood rush to your ears and cheeks before Barbatos comes at you with pins, pinning it where it needed altered. He fit it so that it laid against your body like it had in the dressing room at the shop.

You thanked Barbatos when he was finished, and he brushed off the thanks, saying that it was his duty.

You walked with Diavolo back to your dorm, and he offered to buy ice cream. The thought of ice cream made your stomach rumble, but then the thoughts of how many calories filled it also came and you told him you were hungry.

“[Y/N], I asked Lucifer and he said you hadn’t eaten dinner for the past few days. I also find it hard to believe that a granola bar and handful of fruit can keep you filled at all. Why aren’t you eating?”

He had stopped and grabbed your wrist directly over where the scars were healed, but the skin still felt slightly tender. You winced slightly and pulled away.

“Princess, please. Talk to me. I won’t judge you,” he comforts after you stayed quiet.

Don’t tell him. You’re perfectly fine. You know you are. Why is it his place to tell you what’s best for your body?

You felt a sudden wave of anger so strong you wonder if there was a lesser demon of wrath around impeding your judgement.

“Why does it matter?” You snap at him. “I’m thriving right now, I’ve never done better in school and I’m managing to lose a few pounds. I’m doing good.”

He’s just jealous. He’s trying to hold you back.

“Why are you trying to hold me back? I thought you would be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you Princess, but you can’t sacrifice your health to make me proud. Please, Princess I’m worried.”

You roll your eyes and look at anywhere but him.

“Can you just take me home, please.”

His mouth opens like he wants to say something else, but instead just closes his mouth and nods.

“Of course, Princess,” he comes over to you and laces his fingers with yours, and you walk in tension.

He kisses you when you reach the gate of the House of Lamentation, and you part ways.

—————

You didn’t have another issue until the next night, when you were setting up a small nest of pillows in your closet. You had put a light in there and made it a perfect place to study, other than your desk.

“Hey, Normie, Lucifer says you have to come to dinner tonight,” you hear Levi’s voice call to you through the door.

You huff and call back that you weren’t hungry and you could practically hear Levi’s eye roll through the door.

“He said if you said that to send Mammon so he could pester you, so I think I’ll just save you the agony of that and just tell you to come now.”

You scoff and pull on a flannel, buttoning it up over your sports bra you had been wearing.

You open the door and walk with him to the dining room, sitting at your place. You could feel all of the brother’s eyes on you, and you could hear Asmo whimper slightly.

“[Y/N], what have you done to yourself?” You hear him whisper, and you choose to ignore him. You hadn’t seen any of them but Lucifer for at least 5 days and that’s what he chose to start whatever conversation they planned on having with you?

You look at the plate in front of you, it was spaghetti and a side salad with garlic bread. Coincidentally, one of your favorite meals on Earth.

You pick up the fork to the side of your plate and place the napkin on your lap, stabbing a tomato from the salad and putting it in your mouth. You could still feel the eyes of the brothers on you.

“Why are you all staring at me? Please stop,” you ask them, and they almost immediately diverted their gaze to their food where they started to eat.

You finished the salad and took a bite of the garlic bread, almost gagging immediately. Not because of the taste, you noted. So why had you gagged? You placed the garlic bread down before taking your napkin off of your lap and setting it beside your plate.

“You think you’re done?” You hear Lucifer ask. You frown and look over at him, your heartbeat picking up in your chest.

“Yes? I’m not hungry. I wasn’t planning on coming to dinner but you made me anyway,” you told him, and pushed away from the seat.

“No, sit back down. You’re not done eating,”

“Yes I am, Lucifer,” you shot back, but you didn’t move from your seat.

Suddenly you were overloaded with all of the brother’s pleas that tried to make you eat. You felt the room start to spin as you look at the plate of food. You could only imagine the embarrassment of trying on that dress and it not fitting correctly, of you looking like a laughing stock next to Diavolo in an ill-fitting dress.

“[Y/N], please, you have to eat.” You heard a brother say, and to be honest you couldn’t remember or discern which one it was. All of their voices were melding together.

“No! I don’t have to do anything! I’m not fucking eating okay? You’ll have to deal with it. I can’t. I can’t eat this food, I’m sorry. I’m leaving.”

You stand up from the table, rushing out of the room and to your room, fastening the lock on your door that even Lucifer couldn’t get through with his powers, only Diavolo. You went directly into your closet after grabbing the blade from the towels and shut the door. You were in almost pitch black other than the little sliver underneath the door, but you didn’t bother turning on the light before you cut into your wrist. But you didn’t feel the dopamine this time, so you made another one.

Your movements were in such hysterics at this point that you didn’t notice how many you had made and how bloody it had gotten before you heard your door open and a bunch of feet come running in.

“Princess,” you hear Diavolo’s voice.

“Please, make them leave. Please,” you whimper out, loud enough for them to hear. You hear a few pairs of feet leave and a door close before Diavolo opens the door, looking at your wrists.

“Princess-” he started, and you sobbed.

“I’m sorry, ‘Volo, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“It’s going to be alright Princess,” he soothes you, and thankfully the cuts weren’t that deep, they had already stopped bleeding when he rinsed them in the sink.

He brings you to your bed after he puts ointment on the cuts and bandages them.

He sits leaning against the headboard and brings you to his lap and leaning against his chest.

“Princess, I don’t expect for you to talk to me unless you want to, I’ll wait here as long as you need me to.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“No, no! Of course not. I’m more disappointed than anything. Princess, you know you can tell me anything, and I’m saddened that you thought that the only resort you had to take whatever you were feeling out was on yourself.”

“I didn’t want to burden you. You have so many duties.”

His hand came up to rest on your hair, stroking it and rocking you slightly.

“All of my duties can be waived. I can always deal with my duties at another time, but how would I be able to console you if you are dead? How am I supposed to help you, Princess? I don’t want to lose you. I’m watching you waste away to nothing right in front of me and I don’t know why, I don’t know anything!”

“I just feel a lot of pressure from school, I guess. It’s a lot of changes at once, and I was never very good at changes. Then I started studying more in place of meals, and I started losing weight, and I liked the results. But now I can’t eat more than a few bites of anything substantial at mealtimes, because I’m scared I’ll look like an oaf standing next to you in my dress if I gain any amount of weight.”

“Princess, you shouldn’t treat yourself like an object. You aren’t just any ‘exchange program member’, you’re my girlfriend. You’re the one I want to marry, the one that will carry our children eventually. You aren’t an object to make me look better, you are your own self. You shouldn’t base your value or how you treat yourself off of other people’s perception of you or how you think they perceive you.”

You stayed quiet for a good while, thinking about what he said. You leaned back away from him, looking into his beautiful golden eyes, bringing one of your hands up to rub your thumb on his cheek bone.

“Can you help me, please? I need help. I don’t think I can do this alone.”

“Of course I’ll help, Princess. Everyone will help. Lucifer, Satan, Asmo, Beel, Belphie, and I’m sure even Mammon and Barbatos will help in their own ways.”

You smiled slightly.

“I love you,” you tell him before laying back on his chest.

“I love you too, Princess.”

————

This was written by me in no way trying to romanticize mental illnesses. I try to write what I feel would help me in the moment. I completely understand that mental illnesses don’t just ‘disappear’ when you’ve figured out that someone loves you or someone helps you once- that’s why I don’t write what happens after in most cases. If you are struggling, please reach out to anyone you trust, or call a hotline.

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xazz · 4 years

Photo

Moth Wings 2

Pairing: AltMal, Altair+Desmond Rating: Explicit Tags: vampires, romance, servant AU, music AU, Insect wings (but no bugs of any sort), fluff, angst, flangst Status: WIP

And more vampire AU! Malik shows up... next chapter I wanna say? But if you want Malik rn you can subscribe to my patreon. There to can read the full like 17k of this AU I’ve written so far. See my blog page on how to get to my patreon. Patreon also only has two chapters... but they’re long. They’re so long. And next chapter is going to get saucyyyyyyyy

———

He only woke because his stomach hurt.

He groaned, pushing himself up. His stomach hurt and complained loudly. He was famished. He crawled out of bed and in the dark put on some clean clothes before leaving the closet. He checked behind the heavy drapes over the windows. It was nearly sunset. He’d slept all night and day. He wasn’t surprised.

His growling stomach made him leave the castle. There was no food for him here. They only kept livestock for drinking in the castle. The castle itself sat in the shadow of a mountain and at the bottom of the mountain was a town. They all knew vampires lived up there and it was better than any human lord they’d ever had. The coven didn’t hunt in the valley. All the town had to do was provide them with amusement at night. Festivals, fairies, music, plays, singing and dancing, and, of course, taxes. But Altair had heard about other towns, beyond the valley, that also had to pay taxes, and it was almost all people had. No. The masters might not have always been kind to Altair but it was far better than the alternative. They never actually threatened to eat him. They just scared him telling him about the humans in the cellar. And he wasn’t even sure that was true.

He was from the town at the bottom of the hill. It was called Castlesong. He’d been born there, lived there his entire life. Then a year and a half ago the Matron had come looking for a strong, abled, young man of sound mind and able to follow instructions. He’d been ‘volunteered’, against his will, by his neighbors. He knew it was because he was ‘too pretty’ they always said. Too distracting to their wives, daughters, and even sons.

He hadn’t even done anything. He’d been the son of the town’s violin maker for goodness sake!

It wasn’t so late the pub was closed yet. He went in and sat alone. The maid came and he ordered something to eat for now and a few pies to eat cold later, and a big mug of ale. He waited, picked at stuff under his nails he’d missed from last night, and was happy when the food was brought. He stuffed himself and washed it all down with the light ale until he was tired again. It was still light out. And he had to wait for his pies. He ended up dozing in the booth. The maid woke him, made him pay, and then rather nicely kicked him out with a basket of pies for his trouble.

Yes. Of course they didn’t want the coven’s ‘pet human’ around longer than necessary.

He trudged back up the mountain to the castle. He could hear the coven inside, laughing and talking loudly. He slipped past the dining hall as he went down to the kitchen. The coven was enjoying breakfast of cups of blood. It looked like they were drinking wine.

Altair put his pies into a cool box in the kitchen for when he got hungry later. Then he went back upstairs. Meals were always short for the coven. They all had a cup of blood and then went about their business. The master was always last to leave. He waited until the others except the master and mistress were gone before presenting himself, looking down at the floor. “Master.”

“Ah, Altair. Good good, you’re here. Perfect timing.”

“Is this really so, William dear?” the Matron asked.

“My love, when was the last time you raised a child?”

“And instead a human shall?”

“For a little while. Our other children turned out fine, dove,” Altair heard the master pat the mistress’ hand gently. “But the first years are so tedious. And it’s better this way. You know that. Gets them acclimated to being around humans and they’re less likely to break away.” The mistress made a noise of complaint but said nothing. “Altair, at last the task you were brought here for is upon you.”

“Yes, master,” he said.

“Our new son, Desmond, will need constant care. Day and night. That is now your responsibility. The only task you will not have is his feedings. As our son he will have real blood.”

“And I’m not allowed in the cellar,” Altair said.

“Absolutely not,” the master agreed. “But he should need feeding only one or two more times more than us. If such a time comes I’ve already spoken to the coven they are to assist you without complaint in ensuring my son is fed. If they do not comply you are to come to me immediately and inform me. Understand?”

“Yes, master.”

The child was then thrust at him. “If you mess up, Altair. You will be the first live meal I’ve had in decades,” the mistress hissed.

He swallowed. “I don’t wish to disappoint, mistress,” he said, holding the child to him. “And… Desmond, you said his name was?”

“Yes. Desmond,” the master said.

“I will keep him close, master, mistress,” he bowed.

“See that you do,” the Matron sneered.

“Come, Desmond, let’s go find your room,” he said and left the dining room.

It was easy to find the babe’s room. He had been told of it several times while he was a chrysalis. It was a cheerful room, painted pink and yellow and full of soft things, both fluffy and perfect for biting. They’d all been gifts from the towns in the valley for the lord and lady’s new child. More toys than a little boy could ever want or play with in a lifetime. Though perhaps vampire children lasted longer as children than human children. The chrysalis had been there a fair amount of time before Altair had been brought to the castle.

He put the babe on the floor and got out some toys for him to play with. Brightly colored blocks painted on the side with letters and scenes of the valley. “Blocks, Desmond. See,” and he started stacking them. Desmond watched him but didn’t understand at first. Altair sighed and leaned back on his arm and just kept boredly stacking the blocks into pyramids and towers and knocking them over. Desmond couldn’t stand or walk but he could sit up on his own. And he just sat there watching Altair with wide black eyes, amazed at what he was doing. After a few builds Desmond leaned forward and knocked over the tower Altair had made. “See, you can do it too,” Altair said. He offered Desmond a block. He took it but just dropped it. Altair sighed. Right. That was too much to hope for. He was hatched yesterday. His wings were still against his back, limp and useless along his spine.

Altair spent the rest of the early evening playing with blocks with Desmond and talking to him softly. Around midnight he took Desmond to go for his midnight feed with the rest of the coven. He gave him over to the mistress and retreated down into the kitchen to have his pies. Up in the dining room he heard the vampires cooing and awwing over the baby, laughing and talking loudly about how cute and funny he was.

Altair just ate his pies and thought about what he was going to do. Who knew how long he’d be here taking care of Desmond. He needed to have a plan. At least so he didn’t go crazy. He was expected to care for this child and… teach it? Maybe? He wasn’t quite sure. At the very least probably teach him to talk and walk and run and play.

He put his pie down half eaten and put it back in the cool box. He slunk out of the kitchen and unseen past the dining room where the coven was making a big uproar about something their newest member was doing. He went to his closet of a room and grabbed his sketchbook and pencils and left them in Desmond’s room. He returned to stand outside the dining room until the coven had all otherwise left. The Matron walked out and he looked down. He just wordlessly held out his hands. Desmond was placed into them and she walked away.

“Your mother is a nice lady,” Altair told Desmond sarcastically. Desmond just stared at him. He took Desmond back to his room and they played with the blocks some more before Desmond laid down on the floor to sleep. Altair quickly transferred him to his bed. If one of the others saw him letting the child sleep on the floor he didn’t want to think of what would happen.

Once the boy was asleep Altair pulled out the sketchbook but didn’t draw. Rather he started writing. All the ideas he could think of that wouldn’t make him go insane in the years to come. Things that a little boy of a lord should know. “What am I going to do?” he asked himself, rubbing his forehead. He’d come up with ideas but. He was just the son of a craftsman! What did he know about raising a lord’s son?!

Well at the very least he could teach Desmond to be kind. That’d be a start. Kinder than the rest of the coven. Maybe even give a shit about humans. At least a little. That, if nothing else, seemed like a good place to start. He could manage that.

#altmal #Assassin’s Creed #malik al sayf #Altair #Desmond Miles #Moth Wings

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autumnsart22 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 14: Oikawa x reader

Hey! Sorry for the late update, I’ve had a hectic past few days. We’re getting super close to the end of this fanfic, I love you if you’ve stuck with it this long. I think next week’s chapter is going to be the final one so stay tuned :)

Oikawa POV:

During class on Monday, I could barely keep my eyes open. Our teacher seemed to lecture for hours, and every minute seemed to take a week. To occupy myself, I simply stared at Y/n.

It had started when she had first become our manager, when I was trying to get a reading on her and whether or not she would be a good fit for the team. In the end, I just found her a billion times more interesting than anything else.

With my head resting on my palm, I watched her scribble violently on the page in front of her, her head tilted and forehead scrunched up. It didn’t look like she was taking notes, which meant she was probably drawing. I knew that it was a hobby of hers--she always seemed to have lead stains on her finger tips from smudging--but she rarely let me look at any of her work. What I had seen had blown me away, but she always would get all red and flustered if I tried to ask to see more.

It seemed that she was having a particularly hard time with the sketch she was doing now, her hand clenched tightly around the pencil in frustration and an annoyed look on her face. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing as she began cursing under her breath, erasing violently.

I sighed. How was she so pretty? And what was I going to do? Because being close to her all the time without confessing was looking more and more impossible with every day that went by.

✨✨✨✨

Y/n POV:

The bell rang and I let out a long breath, closing my notebook and packing away my pencils. I glared one more time at the stupid sketch of Iwaizumi and Oikawa, which just didn’t look right! It was something about Iwa’s nose that was off…Since I was in class, I didn’t want to risk using my phone for a reference picture, but I would fix it later.

As I got to my feet, Oikawa came over to stand by my desk, hitching his bag on his shoulder. He had taken off his white blazer and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, his red tie a little loose around his neck.

“God that was so horrendous…” he groaned, running a hand through his hair. I nodded, laughing as he made a face at the teacher. I noticed a few girls glaring at me out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored them. He wasn’t with them right now; he was with me.

I swung my bag over my shoulder, scooping up my sketchbook and following Oikawa out of the classroom. Iwaizumi met us in the crowded hall, glowering at everyone who passed. When he saw us, he looked vaguely relieved, which instantly melted back into annoyance as we started the journey out of the packed space.

We were almost to the door when a first year sprinted around a corner, crashing directly into me. I grunted and dropped my sketchbook, papers scattering everywhere.

“Oh sorry! I’m late to class!” The first year said, not even trying to help me clean up as he took off once again down the hall.

“Hey!” Iwaizumi yelled, looking ready to chase down the students and make him apologize.

“It’s fine,” I sighed, patting his arm and leaning down to start scooping up my papers. Iwa and Oikawa moved to help me, and I felt my heart practically stop as I realized what they would see.

“Wait--!”

Too late. Both Iwa and Oikawa stared at the pictures scattered on the ground, Oikawa’s mouth slightly open and even Iwa’s eyes a bit wide.

They were all of Oikawa.

Ok, maybe not all of them. Some of them were sketches of the whole team, or of Iwaizumi. I had a bunch of all us three, and some just random doodles. But the majority were of Seijoh’s captain, different angles, different styles, color or no color, his hands, his eyes, his hair. Dear god, it was like looking at Oikawa through a many lensed mirror.

I felt my entire body flush, and I quickly began to snatch up the papers as fast as possible, not caring if they crumpled or tore.

“Woah, what are you doing? Be careful with them!” Oikawa said, carefully stacking the drawings and handing them to me in a neat stack. His cheeks were tinted pink, but he smiled widely. “Why are you so red, Chibi-chan? These are amazing!”

“Ugh,” I was so embarrassed I could barely speak. “You-it’s not-you’re just easy to draw!”

Oikawa grinned smugly. “Hear that Iwa-chan? Y/n likes drawing me! Makes sense--I am extremely attractive, after all.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and smacked Oikawa on the back of the head. “Stupid pretty boy,” he grunted.

My laugh was a bit strained, but I managed to stuff all the papers away before getting to my feet. “Let’s get out of the middle of the hallway.”

As we walked outside, Oikawa turned to me. “Have you ever considered going to art school?”

I blinked in surprise. I had in fact considered applying to a few, but I knew my parents would never let me go. How did he know that?

“A bit but...my parents…”

Both Iwa and Oikawa knew how strict my parents were, and how much I was pressured by them. Oikawa looked frustrated, crossing his arms and stopping in the middle of the path, making Iwaizumi and I turn to look at him.

“What?” I asked.

“I think you should apply, if that’s what you want to do.” He pointed to the sketchbook I clutched close to my chest. “Those are so good, Y/n. You could really do something with your talent.”

I bit my lip. “But--”

Oikawa put his finger on my lips, stopping me from speaking. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But think about it, ok? It’s your life, not your parents’.”

Later that day, I sat down on my bed and began to research art schools in Japan.

✨✨✨✨

“Alright everyone, circle up!” Coach Nobuteru yelled, and the team dropped their volleyballs and headed over to the bench. I tapped my clipboard with my pen, where I had written out comments for each of the players. “Good job today everyone. We have a practice game coming up, so keep up the good work. I’ll let Y/n give you any comments she has about your form.”

I nodded, smiling. “Everyone has improved so much, I’m so proud of you. I just took a few notes to hopefully help you out.”

I went around and read my comments, which were pretty brief, before letting everyone start cleaning up.

I began picking up extra volleyballs while the boys changed, rolling up the net and packing up my stuff. My team began filtering out, waving to me as they left.

“Have a good day!”

“See you tomorrow!”

I grinned. “Great job again everyone!”

Iwaizumi and Oikawa emerged last, and Iwa told us he had to get home to see his mom. Apparently she had started a new treatment where she needed to be in the hospital far more, so he wanted to see her at home when he could.

I turned to Oikawa, shuffling my feet a little bit. “Um.”

He looked at me curiously. “Yeah?”

“Well I--I don’t know, I was thinking-- I kind of want to um...learn how to serve?”

Oikawa blinked. “You do?”

“Yeah, I just. I don’t know, I always give you guys criticism, but I don’t even know how to play. I know I won’t be very good but I just thought…” I trailed off.

When I glanced up at Oikawa, his eyes were bright and excited. “Oh my god, you’re so cute! I’ll totally teach you how to serve, I’m the best after all.”

I sighed, laughing a little. “Ok then. What do I have to do?”

Oikawa rolled the basket of volleyballs over to the end of the court, showing me how to hold the ball and position myself.

As I expected, I was absolutely horrendous. I hit the net over and over, or my tosses were too weak to even get close. I cursed violently, but Oikawa thought it was hilarious. He was a good teacher, and obviously an excellent server, but I couldn’t seem to get the hang of it.

“Don’t worry, it takes a lot of practice. It took me years to get this good.”

“Ok…” I pouted.

“Here,” Oikawa wrapped his arms around my waist, adjusting my arms and stance. I shivered, the feeling of his muscles flexing behind me making my heart race. “You throw it like this.”

He tossed the ball in the air and spiked it hard over the net. I leaned my head back to look at him and smiled. “I think I’ll leave the serving to you.”

His face was inches away and he gently touched my chin. “Whatever you say, Chibi-chan.”

We packed up the volleyballs and net, and I locked the door as we headed out. The sky had darkened, and I shivered a little as we headed towards the student parking lot.

“What are you doing tonight?” I asked, glancing at Oikawa.

“Ugh, just homework mostly. I have an essay coming up that’s due soon.”

“God--”

“Oikawa-san!” A voice called from behind us. “How are you?”

We both turned, and I clenched my teeth as two pretty girls moved across the grass towards us. I noticed Oikawa grimace before his fake smile was pulled across his face like a mask.

“Hey! I’m doing good. How are you?”

One of the girls giggled. “Great. Are you busy tonight?”

I swallowed, turning away without looking at Oikawa. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Oikawa-san.”

I walked away towards the cars, not looking back. I could hear the girls still talking, but I tugged my beats from around my neck and placed them over my ears to block them out.

As I unlocked my car, I felt a hand on my arm spinning me around. Oikawa gazed down at me imploringly, tugging my headphones off my ears.

“Why’d you leave me like that?” He asked, looking betrayed.

“Huh? I thought you’d want to talk to them.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re so oblivious.”

I raised my eyebrows. “So you didn’t want to talk to them?”

“No, why would I when I have you?”

I went red, hiding a smile. “Ok then.”

Chapter 13

Chapter 15

#oikawa tooru #oikawa #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa fic #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu x reader #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #oikawa fluff #fluff

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littledarlinwrites · 4 years

Text

Ocean Eyes - Chapter 1

Burning Cities & Napalm Skies

Boxer!Bucky x Reader

Word count: 1459

Author's note: this is written for @saiyanprincessswanie, I hope you like it dear, and thank you so very much for being so patient! Also, shout out to my sweet alliebeans (@all1e23) for being my beta! I honestly don't know what I would do with you.

Warnings: abusive relationship. Yelling, cursing, degrading remark this is about 2 paragraphs long towards the end, if you need to skip this it's outlined with ~ at the beginning and end of those two paragraphs so you can skip that bit if needed. Bucky is barely in this chapter, however, he will be in the next, gotta set things up and all that jazz.

Sweat dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes. The sparring match with Steve lasting longer than most, until he saw a pretty girl walk in that caught his eye. Unfortunately, that was also the moment Steve's fist did too.

"Oh shit, Buck? You okay?" Steve cursed.

"Language Rogers," Bucky managed to chuckle out as Steve went to get him a bag of ice. He could tell even from a distance the girl was quiet, reserved, almost shy and meek. She was out of element, but also had an excitement sparkling in her eyes. Then he saw Rumlow wrap his arm around her waist. A sickening smirk sent Bucky's way. His eyes dropping back down to the mat beneath his feet until his trainers feet enter his line of sight.

"Time to call it a night. Pierce is here to train Rumlow. Want to grab a bite to eat?"

"Nah man, I'm not hungry." Bucky said as his stomach soured. He didn't like either man. Rumlow always was a macho alpha male, and Pierce was a slimy bastard who hasn't gotten caught working two opposing gyms, yet. Bucky had lost his appetite.

****

You walked into the gym with your boyfriend. You were nervous, but the excitement that your boyfriend held was contagious, not to mention you hadn't stepped foot near a boxing ring since your dad passed away ten years ago. Boxing wasn't the same without him, and it always brought a bit of pain to your heart, but you swallowed it down to accompany your boyfriend to his practice session he demanded you attended. You felt his fingers grip nearly painfully into your waist, and you were sure you couldn't completely hide the grimace gracing your face. When Brock released you to go sit on one of the aluminum chairs there were set up around the ring. Your shoulder brushing the man leaving that caught your eye when you entered. He was focused, took a hit as well as he gave them, and his blue eyes were captivating. You caught his eyes once again as he apologized, his touch to you arm to steady you making your heart skip a beat, and it was gone in that same measure, almost causing it to falter.

You blinked and made your way to the chair beside a blonde man sitting with an open sketch book in his lap. The trainer that was working with the brunette that seems to have captivated you quickly. You sit down beside him, arms around yourself as you watched Brock train with Pierce. You couldn't help but glance at the sketchpad his pencil scratched against. The sketch, only half done, was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. It was of a woman, hair perfectly coiffed, captivating eyes, and the man was sketching out the makings of a smirk on her face. You couldn't help but gasp at the beautiful image.

"I hope that was a good thing." The man says with a smirk, but the brief glimpse at his eyes showed vulnerability.

"Oh, sorry. It was. A good thing that is. It's beautiful."

"Ya think so?"

"Definitely. How long have you been working on it?"

"Started it last night after our third date. She's a helluva dame. She wants to see my artwork sometime soon. Just nervous about it."

"You shouldn't be. It's beautiful."

"Thanks. Ya know, I've seen you around here, but I don't think I've ever caught your name. I'm Steve Rogers, by the way."

"Y/N Y/L/N." You say, your trembling hand reaching his. His grasp was soft, gentle. Something you didn't realize could come from a man of his stature, let alone a boxer.

"It's nice to meet you. You Rumlow's girl?" Steve asks as he continues his sketch, his eyes glancing up every once and a while to show he was still engaged in the conversation.

"Uh, yeah." You responded, glancing up at Brock. The ferocious look on his face as he continued to practice sending a shiver down your spine.

"How long have you guys been together?"

"About three years."

"Wow, that's a while."

"Yeah. We met at a bar while I was out with the girls. Some guy spilled his drink all over me and then tried 'helping' to clean it up. Brock stepped in and the rest is history."

"Huh, didn't realize he was such a white knight. Then again he's on the other team that we usually spare against. Not like we all hang out drinking beers together after."

You and Steve continued chatting until Brock stood beside you with his hand gripping your shoulder.

"Time to go Y/N, I have an early morning." His tone left no room for argument. You stood with your eyes downcast, simply raising your hand to steve in a shy wave and began walking beside Brock into the cold night air.

That wasn't the last time you ran into Steve, you'd find him in the same spot with the same sketchpad most nights that Brock was training. You quickly learned that the nights he wasn't there were the nights that him and his friend which was also his boxer, Bucky, had a match. There was one fateful night, the night before Brock's match against Bucky, that Steve was there sketching. Your whole body was tense. You weren't sure how long you could keep doing this. Steve must have noticed since he slipped you a piece of paper with his number and a note which read, "in case you need anything." You left the gym that night with Brock as always, however, you could feel the anger radiating from him the entire way home.

You jumped at the same of every door in your shared apartment, the sound of every heavy footfall. You knew the yelling was coming after the second slam of the fridge door. Brock must have been on his third or fourth drink by now.

You quietly left the bathroom to your shared bedroom. You dreaded it every night. Crawling into the same bed with the man you used to love, but now all you do is fear.

Surprisingly you were able to fall asleep quickly, and stay that way through the night. When you woke you could hear Brock in the kitchen. You saw his empty gym bag at the foot of the bed and decided to start packing it for him. You were almost finished when he walked into the bedroom.

"Hey baby." He whispers in your ear as his hands run across the still tender flesh of your arms.

"Hey." You stammer out breathlessly. You feel like caged prey, but you also can't help but relax into his embrace, one that could be loving when he wanted to be, like now. You pull out his red shorts, folding them so they wouldn't wrinkle in his bag.

"Wait. You're packing my red shorts? Are you kidding me!" He spats as his grip tightens. "You know that's the other team's colors. I wear black for matches, you know that!" You quickly moved out of the way as he ripped the shorts from your hands and tossed them across the room. You sat down on your side of the bed with your knees to your chest.

~~~~~~~~~

"You're absolutely useless you know that?" He says as he begins repacking his bag. "You knew I had a match today yet here you were lazing about in bed all morning before you decided to drag your ass out of it to pack my bag. Couldn't make me breakfast, couldn't clean. You can't do anything right!" He says as he strides over to your side of the bed after zipping his bag closed. He grabbed your still bruised upper arms causing you to flinch, but you knew better than to fight back.

"At least be ready to celebrate my win tonight, you've slept enough for it. Unless I need to go find someone who can at least fuck me right." He spat in your face before shoving you backwards, causing the back of your head the thump against the wall hard enough to cause spots to dance across your vision. You felt yourself being tossed around, handing mapping their way across your skin in the unloving manner you became accustomed to. You heard a voice shouting obscenities, degrading you, your worth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A while later your vision cleared as you heard the door slam. Brock had left the apartment. You struggled from your spot in the corner onto shakey and bruised legs. You made your way to the book you had stashed between the mattress and box spring, your fingers fumbling for the price of paper shoved between its pages.

"Steve, I need your help."

#bucky barnes x reader #boxer!bucky x reader #bucky x reader #boxer au #ocean eyes

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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

Note

Bonjour ! How are you doing ? I've read you're depressed, I've been through it too, feel free to talk to me whenever you want ! Since you're my favourite writer, I've got an imagine request for you ! Imagine Leviticus Cornwall's young wife has been kidnapped by the gang. She's a classy british girl and she is very pretty, but she is not arrogant and is friendly with the gang. Arthur and her fall in love but Dutch want a ransom and doesn't want her to stay. You can choose the ending.Thank you :D

Awe thanks friend! My depression is luckily on the down low and I am in therapy to learn how to control it, but it’s awesome to hear that we support each other. If you need to talk, I’m here as well!

Sorry it took so long to do this one. Honestly this request could have turned into a multi-chapter fic! That being the case, it’s really long (only 20 pages lol). Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

(Author’s note: Arthur doesn’t have TB in this scenario)

Word count: ~10,500

You look over at your husband across the breakfast table with disgust. Although it’s a rather rare occurrence for him to join you for your morning meal because his schedule is so full, you’d rather he never did. Of course, you’ve no say in any of this. You’re just his wife, his property. He’s made it clear more than once that he’s no interest in your feelings, your hopes and dreams.

You’d grown up in London. Your father was and still is the owner of a prominent bank. When you were in your late teens, your father and mother decided to move to New York and start a new bank there. Your father saw the ocean of opportunity there. New York was a fast-growing city, and although it didn’t have the wealthy history of London, it had new sources of money that had yet to be tapped. Your father raved about the correctness people used when they called the area New England, for it was like it in many ways but so many of the people were “new money” and your father loved it. Within only a few years, your father’s new bank in New York took off so well he even built another one in Boston, which was where he decided to permanently locate you, your mother and younger brother.

When you first arrived in America, you knew very little about the country and certainly nothing about the American West. The little you had learned about the country was mostly in regards to the Revolutionary War a little over a hundred years ago. How the Americans had basically won against the British with little more than varmint rifles and their unique strategies of outsmarting their rivals. You learned in school that thirty years ago America suffered a Civil War, something to do with slavery. You had no idea though that many of the states had wanted to become their own separate country.

Your mother was aware that your knowledge of America was flimsy at best. Hers was the same way, so she encouraged you and your brother to go and learn about the history of America in order to appear knowledgeable about it despite being a foreigner. However, she wouldn’t let you study at Boston’s library. She insisted that, coming from a wealthy family, you should read from the University’s library and study with their tutors. Only common folk went to the public library, although you thought it would be a wonderful source to observe American culture firsthand. Per her wishes, you went to the University’s library with your brother, but you didn’t like it much. You felt that its books would have been no better than the library’s and the tutors were so stuck up and over-educated, it made you miserable.

In London, you were constantly surrounded by the wealthier folk since they were the only ones your parents would let you be around as a child. When you moved to Boston though, you were old enough to disobey them and mix in with a different crowd. You found yourself enjoying the company of the middle class. They were not concerned with manners and etiquette. Many of them had a sense of humor you enjoyed and because they were not so caught up in their wealth, they had a sense of community the wealthier folk lacked. They cared about each other. That was something so unique to you that you absolutely loved. It made you openly disobey your mother and you went to learn about America in Boston’s library. They offered tutors as well, and they were friendlier and had a richer knowledge in basic history, not just the history in politics and the prestigious like the University’s tutors had. Some of the tutors had even been involved in some of the events you studied up on. One was a former doctor during the Civil War and he told you some awful yet intriguing stories about it.

As you learned about America, you found yourself divulging into the American West. Of course you’d heard and learned a little about it as a child, the hot deserts with their cacti and the cowboys. However, as you learned about it now, you realized your previous knowledge had been minimal. You knew nothing of the true wildness of it. The outlaws, the sheriffs that were just as tainted as the criminals they sought. The tough ranchers who fought wars against wolves. The heartbreaking histories of the Natives that had lived and been treated like less than vermin by the settlers. The Mexicans who came and brought pieces of their own rich culture. It fascinated you. You’ve known nothing but civility and the West sounded like the opposite of it. Of course, you read a little about the wild gangs that flourished there and had no interest in experiencing them firsthand or even from a distance.

Your husband wipes his mustache and beard with a napkin and stands up without looking at you. His servant Bradley comes forward, holding a book open for him to read. You know this book very well. It contains your husband’s daily schedules. You have one as well. You’re used to living by a tight schedule, having done it most of your life. Your husband studies it for a moment and then says something to Bradley. You don’t hear it, not that you care. Without a glance in your direction, your husband turns to leave when the butler, Mr. Blomsbury comes in.

“Mr. Cornwall, the mayor of Saint Denis is on the phone for you.”

“About time that wretch finally returns my calls,” Leviticus says. “I’ve been needing to discuss matters with him for far too long. He’s an idiot and I’m a fool for ever getting into business with him.”

He leaves the room, followed by Blomsbury and Bradley. You sigh and finish your meal, your servant Marie comes forward to clean your plate. “Mrs. Cornwall, you have an appointment with your tailor in an hour. He is expecting you in the…”

“Yes, Marie, I am aware of this,” you say kindly. “Please make sure the room is ready to receive him.”

She curtsies and heads off. You dismiss the rest of the staff to do their other chores and head off to your own personal library to read a bit before the tailor arrives. You don’t want to go to this pointless party you’re being dressed for, but you’ve little choice in the matter.

On your way to the library, you bump into Leviticus Cornwall. Your miserable husband. You apologize for bumping into him as you know it’s the last thing he will do.

“Y/N, make sure you actually choose a flattering color to wear this time. That purple you wore to the last event washed you out. I had many people ask me if you were ill.”

“You were the one who told me to wear purple, Leviticus. You wanted us to match, remember?”

He ignores your remark. “Just pick something that actually looks good on you, Y/N.” He continues on down the hall to his study.

You sigh. How you hate him. Being born with a silver spoon in hand, you thought your entire childhood you’d be able to afford the luxury of finding someone you loved to marry. In your early twenties, your father and mother took that opportunity completely out of your hands. All the other women your age they knew were already married and some were even mothers. Your father was at least generous enough to want to find you a husband who was wealthy enough to let you live comfortably the rest of your life. Soon after, Leviticus Cornwall became a client of your father’s. They talked much and your father found out that Leviticus was a widower. His wife had passed away some years ago from complications during her first childbirth. The baby hadn’t survived either. It was arranged shortly after your father met him that you two should at least become engaged.

You were not happy when you found out. You’d recently met a young man at the library you were rather fond of. You knew your father would never accept him, he came from a middle class family. But he was your age, funny, attractive and very sweet. Just before you’d gotten the nerve to ask him out on a date, your father told you about your arrangements with Leviticus Cornwall. The man himself had been present when your father told you this, for Leviticus wanted to make sure you were at least pretty enough to be his fiance. When he saw you, he didn’t smile but he nodded approvingly.

“She will do,” he said after circling you and assessing your body. “You didn’t tell me she was so young.”

“I have no control of her age, Mr. Cornwall,” your father replied.

“No I suppose not,” Leviticus answered. “Still. You are lucky that I am a busy man and have no time nor patience to care for the opinions of others when it comes to my lifestyle. I hope she does not either, for some will think it inappropriate a man my age have a wife so young. A mistress, sure, but not a wife.”

“Of course, Mr. Cornwall. But she will make a wonderful wife,” your mother assured him. “She’s smart, she went to the best girls’ school in London. She also has many skills, she learned to paint and sing from a young age. She’s also finely accustomed to riding a horse. Properly of course, not that uncivilized way some women choose to ride with a leg on either side.”

Your mother was really selling you to him. Of course, you had learned how to do these things, but it didn’t mean you liked them. As far as riding side-saddle went, you detested it. There was little that was more painful than doing it that way, but of course you’d never ridden the way men did.

After much discussion, mostly on the matters of your dowry, it was settled. You were to be married to this man whom you barely knew. Three months later, you became his wife, despite him still being mostly a stranger to you. He’d had so little availability during your engagement he rarely visited and when he did, all he talked of was the things he had to do, his businesses and the problems that came with them. How he was interested in buying stakes in certain companies or outright buying them altogether.

When Leviticus became your husband, you moved with him down to Pennsylvania. He had the largest estate of any person you’d ever known. His mansion sat on over a hundred acres, some of them finely manicured but most used for livestock or farming. His stables themselves were huge and he even had an indoor riding arena, a rare thing to see. Leviticus bred horses on the side, although he did little of the business himself.

You head off now to the parlor where you are meeting the tailor. After over an hour of measuring and discussing styles, you finally give the tailor the final order on your dress and head out of the room. Marie meets you in the hall and holds open your schedule.

“Mrs. Cornwall, Mr. Cornwall has just received urgent news from New Hanover. His train traveling through Ambarino has just been robbed.”

“Well, good for him,” you say, growing tired of hearing about nothing but your husband’s affairs. “I have other things to attend to.”

“Actually, that’s just it, ma’am. Mr. Cornwall will be travelling later this evening to New Hanover in order to speak with the investigators. As he will be travelling, you are to accompany him.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he wants you to go with him. It’s not because he loves you, hell you’re just another possession of his. You’ll be there strictly for appearances. Marie does not wait for you to respond.

“Your things are already being packed, Mrs. Cornwall. Be ready to leave by this afternoon.” Without another word, she leaves.

You’ve had enough of this. Over the past few weeks, you’ve caught yourself fantasizing about a simpler life, one without schedules and a loveless marriage. One that doesn’t mean you’re surrounded by money but by opportunity. People won’t tell you where to go, how to dress, walk or talk. One where you’d be allowed to just be you. All your life, you’ve been told how to act, how to be. But before you got married and were still studying in the public library, you had all those friends who your father called “common folk”. Although they had undeniably less money, they were happy. Happier than your parents, happier than your husband surely. They were free to go where they wanted and be who they were. You’ve never had that luxury.

Not only that, you don’t want to go with Leviticus on another boring trip to investigate nonsense with his business. What does it matter if his train got robbed? The criminals likely only took a few thousand dollars and Leviticus had enough to buy a small country if he wanted. Still, you know that if he lets this slide, he’ll feel he’s made himself a target and a fool. As you know, he is all about appearances. You come to the decision to talk to him about you staying here.

You find Leviticus in his study, going over some papers. Bradley stands attentive before him as Leviticus murmurs things about his train being robbed.

“Mr. Cornwall,” you say as you rarely address him by his first name.

“Not now, Y/N, I have something more important to see to.”

“Mr. Cornwall, I want to talk to you about tonight,” you say, sounding more bold than you feel.

He throws down the papers and glares at you. “What? What could you possibly want? Did you not hear that I have just been robbed?”

You stare right back at him. “I heard, but I don’t know why you’re making such a big ordeal of it. They couldn’t have taken more than a few thousand dollars. Do you not take more than that on a daily basis from the people who work for you?”

His eyes darken. “I will not be told how to run my business by my own damn wife. Bradley, get out.”

Bradley bows and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Leviticus stomps up towards you, his teeth bared. You stand your ground. He simply puts his face inches from yours and breathes hard, clearly trying to intimidate you. After a moment, he takes a step back.

“Now go get ready. I want to leave in an hour or two.”

“I am not coming with you, Leviticus. You can deal with things on your own. Hell, I’ll just be shut up in some damp and poor excuse for a manor anyways. It’s not like you need me there to impress a governor. You’re simply overseeing an investigation of your own affairs.”

Without warning, Leviticus turns and slaps you hard. You flinch and cup your cheek. Of course, this wasn’t unexpected. He’s hit you several times before, but most of the time he’s been decent enough to put your bruises in places others won’t see.

“I said you’re coming with me and that isn’t changing just because you don’t feel like it,” he hisses.

You lower your hand and glare at him again. “No I’m not, Leviticus. It’s completely pointless for me to go with you. You can’t make me-”

He slaps you again and this time you feel your lip burn. Pulling your hand away, you see a spot of blood on your finger.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he snarls.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” you say, your eyes watering from the stinging of your face. He raises his hand again but does not swing.

“If you think what you feel now is pain, you’re in for a surprise, Y/N. Now go get ready. I won’t tell you again. I’ll drag you out to the carriage by your ears if you don’t come willingly.”

You take his threat seriously. His servants will not hesitate to force you into his carriage, they’re just as frightened of him as you are. Everything in his life he rules over with an iron fist. His eyes flash as you stand there and you quickly dart out of the room, knowing that to stay means further abuse.

When you arrive in your dressing room, Marie applies a powder to your face to hide the red welt rising on your face. She says nothing to comfort you though and then she helps you into a dress suitable for travelling in. When you’re done, you dismiss her, claiming you need some time alone. She curtsies and leaves, closing the door.

You’re done with this. This life, this marriage. You want no part of it. Of course, your parents aren’t a help. They’re the ones who arranged this marriage for you in the first place. You’re going to escape though, and this trip is the perfect opportunity. You know there will be ample opportunities to escape, after all your staff aren’t that tough. They simply take care of you, not act as a guard.

Quickly, you grab a bag and stuff several items of jewelry into it, knowing you can trade them for money. You won’t go east or north towards Boston or New York. When Leviticus discovers you’ve gone, he will search for you and those directions will be the first place he looks since they’re the only places you’ve been. You’ll head west. Maybe you’ll act as a house maid or something of the likes, except you’ve no workable skills. You’ll work out those details later. Right now you focus on your escape and how you’ll be able to afford living on your own.

You head into your large closet and grab a small black box behind a rack of overcoats. In it is stored a few thousand dollars Leviticus always keeps in case of emergency. You swiftly empty it, stuffing the bills into your bag. Then you tuck the bag under the skirt of your dress. With a belt, you secure it around your waist where no one will notice its presence.

A few moments later, Marie enters the room again. “Mrs. Cornwall, the coach is ready. Mr. Cornwall reminds you that you are obligated to accompany him.”

You nod and grab your gloves, slipping them onto your arms and following her out. Once outside, you hold your head high and Stanley, your coachman, offers his hand to help you inside it. Once you’re settled, you wait a few minutes before Leviticus joins you. You ignore each other as the coach moves.

You’re taken to the train station where you ride inside Leviticus’s personal car and head down to Annesburg. There, Leviticus puts you on another coach but does not accompany you as he wants to discuss buying a stake in the Annesburg mine. You don’t care, of course. Soon his business won’t be any concern of yours.

The coach leaves Annesburg and heads west in New Hanover. Stanley explains you’re to stay in a small manor near the border of West Elizabeth. The coach travels further away from Annesburg.

The sun is setting and the coach travels along long grassy plains. Deer dash away from the trail at the sight of your coach. The coach travels over some tracks and then comes to a halt. The driver explains the horses need to rest and feed. Stanley gets out of the coach in order to stretch his legs. You wait for a moment, knowing he’s going several yards away in order to smoke. The driver of the coach is not paying you any attention either as he fiddles with the feed sacks, attaching them over the horses noses.

Now is your chance. You swiftly look around for anyone who might be watching, but no one’s around. Two men are playing dominoes on the train platform but they don’t even glance your way. A train rumbles up and then stops, preparing to take on passengers. As quickly as you can manage with your heavy gown, you dash out of the carriage and onto the train, not bothering to buy a ticket. Just as quickly, you settle into a seat on one of the finer cars, knowing that you look the part of someone who belongs there. You fidget with your hands, afraid someone spotted you. You keep a close eye on the driver of the coach and Stanley, who’s still smoking. Before either of them even start looking towards the carriage, the train’s whistle blows and begins to move.

You breathe a sigh of relief as the station disappears behind you and you check again that your bag of stolen money and jewels is still attached to you. You’ll get off at the first station, knowing that a ticketmaster is likely to come around and see everyone aboard has paid. Almost on queue, he comes into your car and starts making his way around. When he gets to you, you slip a ring with a large ruby on it in order to bribe him. He nods and goes on his way. You realize you should have asked him that he’d never seen you on this train, but he’s gone at this point. Oh well, he likely won’t remember your face anyways.

The train chugs north. You know by this point Stanley knows you’re gone. How could he not know? The coach had only stopped for a few moments. You’re sure at this point they must know you’re on the train. There was nothing else around that could whisk you away so quickly. Now you’re beginning to see the flaws of your plan. At least you have it in your favor that a train is much faster than a coach.

A little over an hour goes by and the train begins to slow after coming out of a long, dark tunnel. It stops at an old military station, the name “Bacchus” written above a rickety door. Some men, dressed in army uniforms, stand on the platform. When the train stops, you see men begin moving some boxes and barrels off a flatcar towards the rear of the train. Now is the time to leave.

You head outside, glad that none of the other passengers questioned your movements. Once off the train, you travel south, following the road but staying off it in case the coach happens to come along this way.

You’ve never been this far west before, but the country is beautiful. Tall, wispy aspens flutter their leaves in the gentle evening breeze. An elk lifts his proud head from a berry bush and stares at you, almost as though he knows he’s far more of a threat to you than you are to him. He goes back to browsing as the sun dips beyond the mountains.

Now you’re faced with another predicament. You’ve never slept outside and you don’t know the first thing about how to start a fire or find shelter. However, in a cluster of trees just south of the road, you see flickering firelight. Approaching it, you see a wagon and near it, surrounding the fire, is a blond man, his wife and two children, a boy and a girl. You approach slowly and the man looks up.

“Ah, hallo, gnädige Frau!” he says. You swallow. Of course, you took German when you were younger, but it’s been many years.

“Guten Abend,” you respond. His smile is warm and his family looks at you kindly, though they have already noticed how out of place you look in your heavy dress, feathered hat and high heels. You ask them if you could use their fire for the evening and they agree brightly.

You sit down, thanking them and the boy hands you a plate of Bratwursts and the girl offers you some German bread. You thank them again and eat, feeling quite hungry. As the sky grows darker, the family talks in their native tongue. You’ve forgotten most your German lessons, but still manage to pick up a few words.

“Ich haben ein Fragen,” the woman says to you. You recognize the word Fragen: question. You nod in recognition. “Was machst du hier?”

“What?” you ask, not understanding that line.

She gestures your clothes and then the fire. She wants to know why you’re here. You’ve no idea how to translate your predicament into their language. The young girl tugs on your sleeve.

“Ich kann etwas Englisch sprechen.” You nod.

“I am running away from my husband,” you say slowly enough that the girl can translate to her parents. “He is very rich but I am not happy with him.”

“Bist du schon lange gelaufen? Bist du mit dem Boot hierher gekommen?” The girl looks at you.

“Have you been running long? Did you come here by boat?”

You realize they must be confused by your accent. Although you’ve lived in America many years now, you still retain a decent amount of your British accent.

“No, no I only just ran away. I came here on a train, but my stagecoach driver and servant will be looking for me and they know I took the train.”

The parents nod, understanding now how you came to be at their fire.

“You are welcome to stay with us tonight,” the girl translates for her mother. “We are headed for Valentine tomorrow and can drop you off there.”

You thank them again and finish your meal. Not longer after, they show you a place under a canopy they’ve stretched over a spot of grass next to their wagon you can use. They’ve nothing to offer you except an old blanket. You take off only your shoes and hat and fall into an uncomfortable sleep.

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

In the morning, the family takes you to the small town of Valentine. There, you say your goodbyes and head into the general store where you trade in some jewels for money and buy some shirts and pairs of jeans. You’ve never worn pants before, but you figure the less you look like yourself, the easier you can hide. By this time surely, Stanley will have found a way to reach your husband and tell him of your disappearance. Leviticus may see you as nothing but property, but he will want you back, so you know he will begin a raging hunt. You desperately hope he never finds you as you hate to think what he’ll do to you if he does.

After buying clothes, provisions and a satchel to store things in, you head over to the stables and buy a tall cherry bay Thoroughbred named Willow. Only when the stablemaster comes out holding a heavy saddle do you realize another problem: you’ve never ridden with one leg on each side of the horse, only side saddle. Still, when you lead Willow out of the stables, you climb awkwardly into the stable and try your best to secure yourself in it, though it feels very foreign to you. You almost decide to buy a pistol from the gunsmith but realize that’s a foolish decision. You don’t know the first thing about guns and could very well end up shooting yourself. You decide it’s best to try and keep heading west, further from your home.

As you head south and away from Valentine, only going at a walk since you’re unaccustomed to riding this way, Willow snorts and stomps her foot, coming to a stop. You try urging her to walk on, but she just snorts again. Looking on the ground, you see a rattlesnake on the path, coiled and rattling its tail at her. Willow suddenly rears up and throws you to the ground before darting off into the trees. The snake slithers off, but your shoulder hurts terribly from where it slammed into the ground.

“You a’right, ma’am?” a voice asks.

Looking behind you, you find the picture-perfect example of a cowboy sitting astride his horse. His dark gambler’s hat shades his eyes from the sun and his blue shirt is worn and dirt. He looks at you, his face tanned and dirty from days of being in the sun and the wild, his jaw stubbled with a short beard. You notice his blue eyes.

“Yes, I’m alright,” you say, standing up and clutching your shoulder. “My horse was spooked by a snake.”

“I saw,” he says, dismounting his horse. “You need help catchin’ her?”

“Could you help?” you say, grateful he’s offering. “That would be lovely, sir.”

He tips his hat and then runs off into the trees where Willow went. You hear him talking to her in a gentle voice. A moment later, he leads her out. You thank him and then try mounting up, but what was a difficult task before is even harder now that your shoulder’s hurt.

“You need help, ma’am?” he asks again.

You nod and with a wavering voice explain that you’re new to this. He huffs a small laugh. “New to ridin’ a horse, sounds like ya just came here from London or someplace. You sure you’re doin’ a’right?”

You realize he’s not asking about your physical being, but more about your situation.

“To be honest, no sir. I’m… well, I come from a wealthy family but my husband died in a… a bad way and I had to run. Only I don’t know the first thing about being on my own.” You hope he doesn’t hear the lie.

“That much is clear,” he says, his hands on his hips. He looks rather attractive as he does and you blush and look away. He sighs heavily. “Well, sounds like you need help. Now I ain’t exactly clean in my own history, but I’m willin’ to offer you help until you get settled. Come on.”

He helps you into your saddle and then leads you further down the road and into a large cluster of trees where a large camp is nestled. Over the next few hours, you’re forced to sit by the horses as the man who helped you discusses with two other men whether you should be allowed to stay. In the end, they agree you can with the warning that if you mention them to anyone, particularly lawmen or Pinkertons, they will not be forgiving.

“Trust me,” you say to a tall man with a large black mustache and dark eyes. “I’ve no interest in speaking with lawmen. My husband will likely have them in his pockets, so they are just as much my enemy as they are yours.”

The man nods and walks away, asking a middle-aged woman with a thick bun on her head to help you set yourself up.

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

Over the next few weeks, you learn that the camp you’re living with is a gang of outlaws, led by Dutch Van der Linde. His second in command is Hosea Matthews and the man who brought you here, named Arthur Morgan, is his right hand man.

Your introduction to the rest of the gang was not the smoothest as the matriarch, a woman named Susan Grimshaw, went into a right fit when she learned you have no domestic skills. “I never heard somethin’ so ridiculous in all my life!” she said. “Can’t even wash clothes!”

The other girls were kind enough to teach you how to do the chores around camp. You knew how to sew at least, not because you ever had to repair your own clothing but because you’d learned as a child how to embroider and knit. Luckily, sewing up the gang’s clothing is similar work, though with little art.

You like learning how to cook with a man named Simon Pearson. He’s quick to tell jokes, although he tells a lot of stories about his days with the navy and he only knows how to make a few things. You do somewhat miss having three-course meals three times a day, but you know you won’t starve here.

Most of the people in camp are kind and curious about you, although you tell them nothing of your husband’s real identity. You’ve told them all he died and never mentioned his name. For some reason, you get the feeling that to let slip the fact that your husband is Leviticus would be a bad thing. Cornwall’s got a lot of business out this way and he’s made a lot of enemies. You simply tell the others that your husband and you moved down here from London a few years back but he’s always been an abusive, hateful bastard and because you’re in America, the land of opportunity, you finally had a chance to get away from your life after his death. The others scoff at you calling this place the land of opportunity, saying there’s little of that to go around for people like them.

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

You’ve become quite close to this gang that has quickly become your family over the last few weeks. Although most of them have their own sordid pasts, they’re good people. They have a sense of family you’ve never seen before, considering they come from a background your father would call “degenerate”. You’ve never seen people work so quickly and with such a sense of duty. Of course, that doesn’t mean they don’t have their problems with each other. Arguments do break out, but most of them seem to be for show and rarely end in physicality.

Only a week after you’d shown up, Arthur and some of the others came back with a red-haired man named Sean. You instantly knew he was Irish the moment he spoke. Since you both came from across the pond, you became close friends. You would have liked to get to know a woman named Molly O’Shea better as she was also Irish and she clearly came from a privileged background, but she didn’t seem interested.

The person who was most interested in you though was Arthur, the man who’d brought you here. Of course, you were extremely interested in him too and it didn’t take long for you to get feelings for him. He works the hardest out of all of them and he cares about everyone. You saw him bring Mary-Beth a fancy fountain pen one day after she’d mentioned she wanted one. During his rare breaks when he was in camp, he’d often come find you. He claimed he just wanted to make sure you were settling in fine, but you noticed he stuck around you more than the others. He asked a lot of questions about your past, what your childhood and marriage was like, why you left. You told him everything except who your husband was and the fact that he wasn’t really dead.

When you mentioned you lived your entire life being waited upon, he told you it sounded awful. “How did you not feel like a prisoner?” he asked. You were caught off guard by the question. Before you’d run away, you never felt that way. Now that you’re out here though, completely responsible for yourself, you realize you might as well have been a prisoner. You feel slightly envious about the others, realizing that even though none of them (except perhaps Molly) grew from well-off families, they’re wealthier in something you missed out on in life. All of them have tradable skills that you’re just now learning. Not only that, none of them have to put on a mask, hide who they are. Karen’s not shy about her drinking habits. Tilly used to run with a vicious gang and sometimes she talks about what that was like. No one in camp has ever had to pretend to be someone else. Something you were never allowed to do.

You sit now with the girls, reading aloud from a book Mary-Beth gave you. Although you often worked with them, they liked you to read aloud. Something about your accent, you suspected. Just as you’re reading a rather romantic scene from the almost sickeningly passionate story, Arthur walks over to your group, clearly wanting to see what’s going on. He has a habit of doing that, which you find endearing. You hide your smile and continue reading as he stops, his hand on his gunbelt. He smiles as he listens, his eyes soft.

Just as he’s about to say something, John Marston walks over and punches his arm. “Come on, Arthur. Got a job for ya. We’re gonna steal some sheep but need to go to Valentine for something.”

“Fine,” Arthur says gruffly. Not long after they leave, Dutch and Strauss head off too.

An hour or so later, the four men come back looking sweaty and angry, Strauss’s leg is bleeding. You’re washing some plates by Pearson’s wagon and Hosea marches over to them.

“Dutch, Dutch what happened?”

Dutch dismounts his white horse. “Turns out old Leviticus Cornwall don’t take too kindly to being robbed.” You freeze when you hear the name, but Dutch doesn’t notice. “He came up and tried to kill us, wants us to stop robbing him. We’ll have to leave this place, we had to shoot half the town in order to escape.”

You follow Dutch into his tent, staying a few steps behind as you listen to him and Hosea. They talk a little more about what led to them being shot at, but neither of them mention knowing Leviticus has a runaway wife. You breathe a sigh of relief. They don’t know, and if they do, they don’t know it’s you.

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

After fleeing Horseshoe Overlook, Arthur and Dutch both agreed you needed to learn how to rob, ride a horse properly and shoot a gun. Arthur took it on himself to teach you those things and he was an incredible instructor: patient, knowledgeable but not arrogant. The more time you spent with him, the deeper your feelings got. A nagging suspicion settled in your gut that he liked you too. It was just the soft way he spoke to you, how his hands lingered on yours when he taught you how to shoot a shotgun. One time you slid right off Willow’s back and he came over to help you up, but his hands stayed on your arms too long.

It didn’t take long for rumors to get out that you and Arthur were sweet on each other. Of course, you tried denying them, more to protect Arthur than yourself. No way could he want to be with you: a spoiled rich girl who didn’t even know how to sew a button on a shirt when he met you. He never treated you like a spoiled brat and he mentioned to you time and time again how sweet and honest you’ve been with everyone.

One night after Arthur, Karen, Bill and Lenny robbed the bank in Valentine, Dutch demanded a party for their success as they brought back a lot of cash. Everyone drank and sang together, but it wasn’t long before Sean, Uncle and Lenny started needling Arthur for having a crush on you. He denied it again and again until John came up and joined the fun, stating how obvious it was with a list of examples of his behavior that proved he liked you.

“I bet you ten dollars, Morgan,” John said, “that if you went over there and kissed her on the mouth right now, that girl would be blushing like crazy and wouldn’t even be mad. I know she likes you.”

“Shut your damn mouth, Marston,” Arthur retorted. That was until the other boys joined in on the bet, which climbed up to fifty dollars. All he had to do was kiss you in front of everyone right now. He’d had a lot of whiskey and his face was bright red, but when he looked at you sitting at the round table singing with Grimshaw, he couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter. You looked so beautiful in the light of the lantern, your cheeks pink from your own drunken state.

“Go get her, son,” Hosea said. Arthur looked at him and then got up, walking slowly over to you. He fidgeted with his hands, terrified but fueled by drink. When he got to your table, he stopped.

“Y/N, I got somethin’ to say to ya,” he said.

You smiled and stood up so he could address you. “Alright, Mr. Morgan. What is it?”

He stammered for a bit, his face growing redder. He hid his eyes beneath his hat and his hands were shaking. God, he was cute when he was nervous.

Without warning, he suddenly grabbed you and bent you slightly backwards, his lips planting on yours. Out of all the things Arthur could have done that night, that was certainly the last thing you expected. You almost pulled away, but his lips were warm and rough against your smooth skin. He smelled nice too, like pine and leather although you could taste the alcohol on his lips. Forgetting that you had an audience, your hand wove up behind his neck, pulling him closer. Your chest grew warm and a light feeling overcame you, making you kiss him back.

Someone whistled at you and Arthur, followed by several people laughing. That brought you back down to the present and Arthur pulled away from you and then straightened you up. His face was horribly red, but he was smiling. “Sorry, Y/N,” he said. “I hope I didn’t frighten ya.”

“Maybe a little, but I liked it,” you said, your hand still on his chest. You glanced at the onlookers as they continued to laugh and tease you. You bit your lip and looked up at Arthur. “What say you we go somewhere more private and try that kiss again?”

He quickly grabbed your hand and led you off into the trees and then onto a moon-bathed beach by the lake. There, you two ended up doing much more than kissing, although that’s how it started. Encouraged by your drunken states, you were the one who got carried away and stripped out of your clothes in order to swim in the lake to relieve the heat of the air and your body. Arthur followed soon after, but you remember the way he watched you swim. Not long after, you ended up lying with him on the beach, his body glowing silver under the moon. You climbed onto him just to kiss him, but as you were naked and alone, it didn’t take much to end up going further.

Although the only man you’d slept with before had been Leviticus, it was never on your terms and he only did things with you for a moment before he reached his satisfaction and was done with you. However, Arthur was so different. He touched you in just the right places, his rough hands gliding along your naked back and hips. He felt amazing inside of you as well, almost as though your bodies were molded for the other’s. He’d gotten you to release first then followed shortly after. You never knew sex could be so passionate and emotional, but Arthur made you feel and think things you’d never experienced before.

The morning after had been a bit awkward when the two of you woke up naked on the beach, still wrapped around one another. You had a pounding headache and knew Arthur did too. When you remembered what you’d done together, you both panicked a moment. Had you really slept with Arthur the same night you found out he loved you back? The two of you dressed but stayed on the beach and talked things out. You came to the decision that what had happened had felt right and you wanted to stay together. After that, you were very open with your relationship to Arthur with the rest of the gang.

That all happened weeks ago, and you’ve grown to love him more than you thought possible. You’d dreamed of finding a man to love as a child, but had no idea it felt like this. Even as a child, the men you’d imagined you’d love couldn’t hold a candle to Arthur. He’s thoughtful and secretly sensitive, but protective and strong. You remember the way he held you when Sean died, almost crushing you as you sobbed into his chest. Another time in Saint Denis, a man on the street had said something rather rude about you and Arthur punched him in the jaw. “You don’t get to say shit about my girl, ya hear?” he roared as the man fled. You couldn’t dream of a more perfect man to love than Arthur Morgan.

You were crushed when Hosea and Lenny died and most of the gangs’ men, including Arthur, ended up on a boat and stranded on Guarma. You never thought you’d miss anyone so much, but during the couple of weeks that he was gone, you felt physical pain in his absence. You spent many nights lying on his cot clutching one of his shirts, willing his scent to stay and offer you some level of comfort. When he returned, it was like you could breathe again. Shortly afterwards though, the Pinkertons forced you and the gang to flee Lakay and into Beaver Hollow, an old Murphree hideout.

That’s where you are now. While things with the gang have always had rough patches, now they’re worse than ever. People fight constantly and Dutch seems to be losing his mind. He’s changed from the intelligent, cunning but caring man into someone who’s still intelligent and cunning but enjoys killing. It doesn’t help that Micah constantly hisses into his ear.

Over the past few months of travelling with the gang, you’ve heard relatively little from and about your husband. Somehow you’ve managed to avoid the patrols he’s likely sent out to look for you and you only saw your name show up once in an article in the Saint Denis paper about your disappearance. However, with tensions in the camp running higher than ever and Dutch acting so mad, you’re beginning to fear things are about to come to a head with you at the center.

Micah strolls into camp, holding a newspaper under his arm and followed by Bill. They’ve just come from Annesburg, having scouted there for possible leads on scores. You’re standing at Pearson’s wagon, preparing tonight’s stew. Micah gives you a knowing and dark smile that you don’t like as he heads to Dutch’s wagon. A bad feeling comes into your stomach and you follow behind him a few steps.

“Dutch, I just found somethin’ out. Somethin’ that could be real useful. Somethin’ with ol’ Cornwall,” Micah simpers at him.

Dutch lowers his cigar and looks at Micah expectantly. Micah rubs his hands together.

“Did you know ol’ Cornwall’s married and his little wife ran away right after we robbed his train up in Ambarino?”

“How is this any use to us?” Arthur demands, having been attracted by the name Cornwall. “Not like we’re gonna find her.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, cowpoke. Turns out we already found her and she’s right there.” Micah spins and points right at you. Everyone in camp stops and stares at you as your blood runs cold.

“Shut up, Micah,” Arthur growls, walking up to your side to protect you. “Y/N’s husband’s dead.”

“Or is he?” Micah retorts. He flings the newspaper at Arthur. “Read it and weep, Morgan.”

Arthur furrows his brow but opens the newspaper. “N-no, don’t!” you plead, but too late. There’s a black and white photograph of you standing arm in arm with Leviticus Cornwall, your unsmiling faces staring up at Arthur. He reads the first bit of the article aloud.

“Leviticus Cornwall, executive of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, Cornwall Rails blah blah blah has released a new statement regarding the disappearance of his wife. Back in May, Mr. Cornwall’s train was robbed in Ambarino by the notorious Van der Linde gang. In order to investigate the robbery, Mr. Cornwall and his wife Y/N came down from their home in Pennsylvania. Mr. Cornwall last saw his wife in Annesburg when she left to stay in his residence in New Hanover. It was reported that she did not arrive at the home but her stage driver and chauffeur, Mr. Stanley Wilcox, claimed she was missing shortly after arriving at Emerald Ranch. It was unknown then if they had been involved in her disappearance or if she’d been kidnapped by other means.”

“Earlier this month, a citizen of Saint Denis stated he’d seen Mrs. Cornwall in the city. ‘I’d just visited the Cornwall manor a week previously on business with my brother,’ Mr. Henry Larson reports. ‘I saw a painting in a hallway of Mr. Cornwall and his wife Y/N. I recognized her immediately. She was dressed like a farm girl but it was definitely her.’”

“A few days after this incident was reported, authorities had reached Mr. Cornwall about his wife’s appearance, but before he could arrive, the Saint Denis Massacre occurred in which the previously mentioned Van der Linde gang attempted to rob the city’s bank and a shootout between them, the city’s law enforcement and the Pinkerton Detective Agency occurred. The gang of outlaws has since fled the area, but rumors speculate that Mrs. Cornwall is among them. If anyone holds any information towards her whereabouts, they are greatly urged to come forward. Mr. Cornwall has offered a considerable $20,000 to anyone who can find his wife and return her safely.”

Arthur lowers the paper, his eyes dark. Your hands are trembling. The cat’s out of the bag now and you’re in big trouble. Micah sniggers as Arthur looks at you, his eyes tell you the betrayal and pain he feels.

“You’re Y/N Cornwall,” he says as a tear slides down your cheek.

“Only on paper,” you say. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Oh because it was so hard to say ‘hello, I’m Y/N Cornwall, you just robbed my husband but do you mind if I run with you fellas a while’ when you first arrived?” Micah taunts. Dutch’s eyes are narrowed slightly, the way they do when he’s got a plan coming together.

You look around at everyone staring at you in shock. Some look like they have a hard time believing it, Mary-Beth and John for example, while others look angry and hurt. Arthur is among them. He drops the newspaper and takes a step back from you.

“All this time,” he says quietly. “All this time and you never mentioned once you’re his goddamn wife!”

Another tear falls. “I’m sorry, Arthur. Everyone, I’m sorry. But how was I supposed to tell you the truth? You robbed my husband, he tried to kill you. Not only that, I was never married to him by choice. My parents basically sold me to him and he’s never made me happy. Maybe… maybe I was just happy to finally be around people who didn’t associate me with him for once.”

You clasp your hands in front of you, willing any of them to understand. Dutch walks slowly towards you, his jaw set. Micah follows behind, looking excited.

“You’re Y/N Cornwall. The man who has been hunting us for months. The man who holds the ticket to our freedom from this cesspit of a country. I think I have a new plan.”

His eyes narrow, glittering. You suddenly realize what he’s thinking.

“Dutch, please don’t take me to him. I’m begging you. If he finds me again, he’ll kill me. I don’t even know if he’ll pay you for me. Dutch, he hates you and your boys more than anything, you were the only ones stupid enough to rob him. I know for a fact he’s paying the Pinkertons to hunt you down.”

“How do you know this?” John asks, standing next to Arthur.

“Because I know Leviticus better than any of you,” you say. “He obviously figured out pretty quickly that the gang from Blackwater were the same ones to rob him. He also must have found out the Pinkertons were looking for you, so I’ve no doubt he contacted them and started putting money into their pockets.”

“Or you’re the rat we’ve been looking for,” Micah sneers. “Maybe you’re the one telling the Pinkertons our every move. Think about it, Dutch. All our problems with them started right after we took her in. She’s been lying to us from the start.”

You don’t know what to say in your defense. Since you have lied to them from the start about your true past, there’s nothing you can do to say you aren’t lying to them now.

“Dutch, please,” you whisper, your lower lip trembling.

He sighs and stares hard at you. “Tie her up.”

Before you can move, two pairs of hands grip you tight and throw you down, your hands and feet being tied up. People are yelling, you hear Sadie screech and Arthur roar. You start trying to look around to ask someone for help, but a black cloth is tied around your head, covering your eyes. Someone shoves another cloth into your mouth, preventing you from speaking. You can still hear though.

“Dutch!” Arthur roars. “Let’s talk about this! We can’t take her to Cornwall! Like she said, ain’t no guarantee he’d pay us after all the problems we given him.”

You feel yourself thrown over a horse’s back as Dutch says, “This is the right move, Arthur. I don’t like it, but she’s used us and this is our best shot at getting out of here. Heyaw!”

The horse beneath you suddenly begins to run and you can hear the pounding of other horses. Arthur still yells at Dutch, trying to make him think logically, but Dutch ignores him.

After a while of heavy riding in which you feel like all your ribs and your stomach have been heavily bruised from the horse’s movements, they stop. You can smell the thick coal dust and the smell of polluted water. Someone’s hands grab you and you’re set on your feet, the ropes cut. The bandana and gag are removed and you see you’re standing on the pier of Annesburg, a boat docked. The name of it is The Soaring Emily. Leviticus named it that after his first wife.

“Cornwall!” Dutch hollers, keeping a painfully tight hold on your arm. “Cornwall! Get out here! My friends and I have a proposal for you!”

Looking behind you and Dutch, you spot Bill, Micah, John and Arthur. Arthur looks at you, pain in his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this, but nothing can stop Dutch in his roll.

A door on the ship’s deck opens and Leviticus Cornwall steps out, flanked by a group of men, all holding rifles. His eyes glare at you and then to Dutch.

“My friend,” Dutch says. “I heard tell that your lovely wife got away from your clutches. Well, just so happens, she’s been stowing away with me and my boys for the last few weeks. Rumor says you’re wanting her back, so we’re here to make a deal. You give me and my boys that $20,000 and a boat. You get your wife back and we’ll stop robbing from you. In fact, you’ll never hear from us again.”

Leviticus just laughs. “Mr. Van der Linde, I admire your determination and your daring, but if you think I will give you a single penny, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

“How about now?” Dutch responds, pulling out his pistol and aiming it at your temple. He pulls the back the hammer, your heart pounding in your ears as more tears fall down your cheeks. Dutch wouldn’t kill you, would he? After all the time you spent in his camp, helping feed the others and bring in money, he’s just going to kill you. Something tells you he will if he doesn’t get his way.

“Dutch,” Arthur hisses a warning behind him. He’s ignored.

“Now Mr. Cornwall, I know what it’s like to see the woman you love die by the hands of your greatest enemy. Now while I doubt poor Y/N here is the love of your life, you obviously value her in some way. Which would you rather keep? Her life or your money?”

Cornwall glares back at him, his teeth bared. “I’m a businessman, Mr. Van der Linde. Business doesn’t care for feelings or love. Shoot her if you must, but I will not give you anything!”

Your stomach drops as you realize that this is it. Dutch is just crazy enough that he won’t care about shooting a member of his own gang. You’re not surprised at all that Leviticus is willing to let you die. To him, you’re replaceable, a mere object. Still you thought you mattered to the others, to Arthur.

Before anyone can do anything to save you from Dutch’s grip, Dutch nods. “You sure? Fine, I prefer it this way.” He suddenly swings the gun forward and shoots Cornwall, the bullet piercing his chest. He pushes you down as Cornwall’s men begin firing, the others shooting back. The gang begins to run as more men come out from the boat, leaving you where you’ve fallen. You start to scream, begging for help, but it seems no one can hear you amidst the gunfire.

Suddenly a pair of hands grabs your arms and cuts the length of rope binding them, then they lift you up. “Come on, sweetheart,” Arthur’s rough voice says as you stand.

You’re shaking hard and you want nothing more than to throw your arms around him, but now isn’t the time. Sharp gunshots litter the air, echoing off the buildings. Arthur grabs your hand and runs north on the train tracks. When you reach a bridge going over a sharp dip in the land, a path running through it, he stops.

“You go, darlin’,” he says, breathing hard. “Go, don’t come back to Beaver Hollow. It ain’t safe for you there.”

“Arthur, I’m sorry,” you say, thinking he’s pushing you away because he’s mad.

“Just go, darlin’. I’ll come find you when I can. But you can’t come back, ya hear? You do and you’re dead.” Before you can say anything else, he’s running back down the bridge towards Annesburg to rejoin the gang. You know he can’t leave of course. Not now anyways. Dutch and the others still depend on him too much.

You flee from Annesburg, having no idea where you’ll go or what you’ll do. Your horse is back at Beaver Hollow, but luckily all your money and the few pieces of jewelry you stole from Leviticus are in your satchel. You run north towards Willard’s Rest and then stop by the wide river where you finally break down. The past few weeks come rushing through you, the good and the bad. You know since Guarma, Dutch has gone crazy but you never thought he’d turn on you like that. Not when he’s spouted for weeks about having loyalty and faith to anyone who would listen. Your life has come crashing down around you so swiftly, you aren’t sure how to process it.

You stay here for a few hours, going between sobbing, missing the gang (especially Arthur) and feeling numb. As the sun begins to set, you look down the path and see Arthur riding up, your horse in tow. When you see him, you begin to cry again. You don’t run to him though, knowing how hurt he must be.

He dismounts and walks over to you, pulling you into a tight hug which surprises you. “Arthur, I’m so sorry,” you wail into his shirt. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says into your hair. “I know why ya lied. Hell, I probably would’ve too. But everything else you said, was it true?”

“Everything is. The way I grew up, how I was sold to him. I promise his name and the fact that he wasn’t dead at the time was the only parts I hid.”

He sighs and pulls away. “Well, I guess one of your lies came true today though. Darlin’, I’m so sorry.”

Over the next few hours, you and he discuss what will happen now. He comes to the decision he won’t leave the gang, he can’t. He knows now that there’s no saving Dutch, but maybe he can help the others get out. You, on the other hand, would be handed a death sentence if you stepped foot into the camp. He asks what you want to do and you admit that you just want to live somewhere alone with him and have a quiet life, begin a family with him. He blushes but agrees that’s what he wants to.

The next day, he takes you to a small cottage he’s seen on the borders of New Hanover and Ambarino, not far from the river. It’s secluded and well hidden in the trees. You have plenty of money to set your things in order, so you’ll be well off here. It’s also far enough from the gang that they won’t find you but it’s not far enough for him to not come visit you.

Over the next couple of weeks, he visits every couple of days. You manage to take care of yourself quite well having learned through him how to hunt and skin animals. You bought some materials and seeds from the store in Valentine and are determined to start a garden, although you’ve never taken care of plants before. It’s a lot harder than you thought, but you manage to get a few plants sprouting.

When Arthur visits, he tells you of the things he and the gang has done, how much crazier Dutch gets. Arthur himself is growing angry and mistrustful of him, but he’s determined to help the others escape with their lives. Sometimes you read about the gang’s activities in the paper in Valentine, like Bacchus Bridge being blown up, Colm O’Driscoll’s hanging in Saint Denis followed by a deadly shootout, tensions growing between the Wapiti and the army.

One night Arthur shows up at your little cabin late into the night. He’s exhausted and there’s blood on his hands. “I’m done, darlin’,” he says when you open the door. “I ain’t ever goin’ back there. I’ve wasted my life livin’ the preachings of a crazy man.”

“What happened?”

Arthur explains how the son of the Wapiti chief went and did a raid on Cornwall’s oilfield in order to retaliate for them forcing his people off their land. You know Arthur has had many dealings with them, trying to help them in their struggles against the army. Arthur then describes how, after getting bonds from the foreman’s office, he got knocked down by a burst pipe. An officer pinned him to the floor and nearly overpowered him. Dutch had seen it all and even had the chance to kill the man, but Arthur watched him walk away, sealing his fate.

“If Eagle Flies hadn’t come, I’d be dead. Then that asshole Colonel Favors shot him. He’s dead now, and all because Dutch didn’t care if I died. When I accused him of such, he lied in front of everyone and said he’d done no such thing. I’m done, darlin’. I’m done fightin’ his battles for him just so he can leave me to die. I wanna start a new life with you properly now.”

“Arthur,” you say, cupping his cheek. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #awkward asks

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nommy-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Danger Noodles Chapter 3 The Part With No Vore

Wordcount: 3.7 K

Summary: Shenanigans are had. Logan is a hardcore nerd and is given gifts. Patton is the most adorable creature in the room.

Note: This is the non-vore version of chapter 3. Instead of noms, there are Shenanigans. Because of that, the chapter is nearly entirely different in content from the vore version. After Patton wakes up, the two timelines start to merge again.

Cowritten with @that-prey-lounge!

[Danger Noodles Masterpost]

~~~~~

Morning dawned, and the sun rose, taking its singular opportunity of the day to cast light into the usually dark recesses of the cave. The two large nagas began to stir. The three humans did not, at first.

“Awww,” Remus said in a whisper. “Roman, look.”

Roman leaned in, looking at the three sleeping humans nestled in the center of their coils. They had snuggled up to each other during the night, similar to how the naga brothers coiled together.

Patton was snuggled up to Virgil’s back with an arm over Virgil’s side, holding onto his upper cloth covering. Logan lay sprawled out on a slightly higher loop of tail on the other side of Virgil, one arm flopped over the taller man, and one of his legs hooked around Virgil’s.

“They’re adorable,” Roman whispered back.

A beam of light fell across Logan’s face, and he began to stir. Remus shifted to put him back in shadow, but it was too late. Logan yawned an adorable bitty yawn and opened his eyes.

For a few moments, all was still. The twins looked down at Logan. Logan looked back up at them. He blinked for a few moments, then sat up. “Good morning.” He yawned again, stretching.

“Good morning,” Remus echoed, lowering himself a bit.

“Did you sleep well?”

Logan nodded. He still looked drowsy, to be honest, but didn’t seem interested in going back to sleep. Instead, he looked around. “There’s light.”

“Yeah, we get some of the first rays of sun.” Roman whispered, softly stroking Logan’s hair. “It’s still early, little one.”

Logan blinked. Turning to his friends, he dipped his hand into the cloth pouch Virgil wore, retrieving the small blue box Patton had put his ‘glasses’ in yesterday afternoon. Opening it, he withdrew his own pair, settling them back on his face. Then he returned the box and gently shook Virgil’s shoulder. “Virgil, wake up.”

He grunted softly and cracked an eye open. The young man glanced around and groaned. “Of course it wasn’t a nightmare.” Virgil rolled over a little, reaching for Patton to wake him up, but before he could, Remus tightly grabbed him by the arm.

“Don’t wake him,” he hissed lowly.

With wide eyes, Virgil nodded and settled back into his previous position. He caught Logan’s eyes, mouthing a plea for help.

Logan bit his lip, glancing between the twins and Virgil. “Can you remove your hoodie? That will leave Patton with something to hold onto.”

Virgil nodded before pulling his arms out of the sleeves and slowly ducking out of his hoodie. Once freed, Virgil sat up and moved away from Patton.

Logan glanced up at Roman, whose coil he was leaning on, and softly asked, “Can Virgil and I get out?”

Roman nodded, while Remus gently cooed at Patton, softly stroking his back.

Logan vaulted over the thick coil, then turned back to help Virgil scramble out of the living nest.

“Mark that off my ‘list of life-threatening events I never would’ve got into if I stayed home,’” Virgil grumbled. “Sleeping in the coils of two giant naga.”

Logan glanced up at the twins, brushing himself off and straightening his clothes. Roman was lounging across their tails, green eyes gently staring down at Patton. Remus was likewise ignoring the other two humans in favor of softly cooing over Patton. He was clearly both their favorite.

“It seems Dee-Dee isn’t the only naga that likes Patton best.” Logan adjusted his glasses before turning to Virgil. “I think we’re stuck until he wakes up on his own.”

“Well, if we’re not going anywhere for a while, I’m starting another fire.” Virgil strode across the cave floor to the wood pile. “It’s getting dark again.”

It was true that the cave was growing dimmer. As the sun rose further, the shadows crept forward again. Virgil crouched by the dead fire with more kindling and his matches.

“Virgil, before you do that.” Logan poked through the ashes and burnt sticks from yesterday’s fire. “May I take a rubbing of your scales?” he asked, turning back to the twins.

“A what?” Roman finally tore his eyes away from Patton, still sleeping soundly.

“A rubbing.” Logan held up his notebook and a blackened stick. “I would lay a page of paper against your scales, and then rub this against it to mark the page, so that it leaves an impression of the shape of your scales.”

“Will it hurt?” Remus asked, looking up.

“No.”

“Aw.”

“You may rub my scales,” Roman said. He didn’t move, so Logan recrossed the cave back to him. He opened his book, laying a page over the back of Roman’s tail.

“Hm. Virgil, would you give me a hand?”

“Just a sec.” Virgil finished lighting the fire, then came over. “What do you need?”

“Would you hold my notebook in place? In order to get the page to lie smoothly against the curved surface, the spine ought to go lengthwise along his tail, and although it is wide enough to hold the notebook without slipping, I would still be concerned about it sliding at some point while I make the rubbing, which would mar the details. I could tear the page out, but I would prefer for it to remain with the rest of my notes.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Virgil rolled his eyes, putting his hands on the notebook. Logan smiled gratefully at him, beginning to coat the page with charcoal in long, sure strokes. Gradually, the shapes of the scales underneath began to show through.

“One of the benefits of this,” Logan commented as he worked, “is that in addition to having documentation of the shape of the scales, the drawing is to scale.”

Remus leaned over them, peering curiously at the rubbing. “Looks kinda like a shed skin,” he commented, “’cept black instead of white.”

“Well, it is similar to a shed,” Logan agreed. “Both are imprints of the shape of the scales underneath, though—” He cut himself off suddenly, looking up. “You wouldn’t happen to have… to have kept a shed skin, would you?”

“Oh, yeah, we keep everything,” Remus said.

“May I see one?” Logan asked, visibly restraining himself from vibrating with excitement.

Remus grinned, carefully extracting himself from the bundle of tails and slithering into the shadows. With his twin gone, Roman cradled Patton in his arms. The sleeping human merely rolled over, hugging Roman’s arm. The giant naga gasped softly, staring down at Patton with the same expression that Patton himself got when the neighbor’s fluffy puppy climbed into his lap: wide-eyed and adoring surprise.

Logan returned to his rubbing, eyes alight with excitement. Just as Logan finished it, Remus returned with the biggest shed skin either human had ever seen in his hands. Caught up in his excitement, Logan nearly fumbled his research notes over to Virgil to reach for it. A second later, he pulled his hands back in dismay, realizing that his palms were absolutely covered with black charcoal. He wiped it off on his jeans, leaving them filthy but his hands clean.

“Virgil, look!” Logan whisper-shouted. “It’s enormous!”

Virgil softly nodded, once again overwhelmed by the size of these creatures. He could hold Dee-Dee’s sheddings in one hand; this could be wrapped around a small car. Maybe even around their house. Probably not their house. The nagas weren’t that long. Were they?

Remus set the shed skin in front of Logan, who immediately started looking it over, grinning broadly. “It looks to be fully intact,” he said in his Excited Scientist voice. Virgil scrambled with the notebook to find a blank page and start taking notes again. “Judging by the color — it is faintly green, and I see a bit of pattern on the back, though the lighting in here isn’t the best — this is one of Remus’s shed skins.” He ran his hand down the skin. “By the dryness, I would guess it was shed some time ago. It’s fairly stiff. This is the inside, of course; that implies that giant nagas, as with snakes and micro nagas, turn their skins inside-out as they shed.” He bounced a little on his toes, unable to keep from bodily expressing some of his excitement. “This is incredible. Even in this poor light, it’s like looking at it under a microscope.” He looked up at the twins again. “Would you mind if I kept a sample?”

Roman softly scoffed. “You brought them that old thing? Remus, we have better ones, fresher ones.“

Logan had stars in his eyes as he gazed up at them, awestruck. “Really?”

Roman nodded and sat up. After a second he held Patton out to Remus like he was a baby being passed between parents. “Here, don’t wake him.”

Remus very carefully took Patton in his hands and then cradled the human to his chest, sighing happily, a big grin on his lips. “As if I would ever. He’s the cutest while he sleeps.”

Roman nodded in agreement, then vanished deeper into the cave. Virgil eyed Remus warily, but he just cooed and rocked Patton gently.

“Ah ha! I knew I stored that shedding from a few weeks ago across those rocks.” Roman slithered back after a minute, a different shedding in his arms. “Here you go, Logan, the best shedding we have.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “You said it was shed only a few weeks ago?” he repeated eagerly, stepping forward.

“Yep!” Roman placed it in front of Logan, sliding Remus’s old shed off to the side dismissively. “Felt real good coming off, too.”

“You brought one of yours?” Remus asked, frowning.

“Well, duh. Obviously he would prefer my gorgeous scales over your filthy ones.”

“My scales are the most natural between us. He wants the most natural scales.”

“You roll in the mud! How is that more natural than my beautiful scales?“

“All that time you spend cleaning your scales down at the river is not natural.”

“Roman’s scales do have the advantage of being easier to study, being clean,” Logan put in almost absently, head bent over the molt. “However, I must admit, Remus has the more interesting pattern.”

Both puffed up with pride, slightly glaring at the other.

Logan glanced up, seeming to just now realize how serious the argument was getting. “Honestly, I would absolutely love to take home a sample from each of you, if you’re willing to provide it.”

“Logan, what would you even do with two giant naga skins?” Virgil asked with a laugh. “You could probably carpet our entire house with just one!”

“It would be more like tile,” Logan said thoughtfully.

Virgil’s eyes widened in alarm. “Nope! No, Logan, you are not replacing our floors with naga hide!” he said firmly, hoping to dislodge the idea before it took root.

“It wouldn’t be the same as an attached skin, or like a pelt would be,” Logan conceded after a moment. “When it’s shed, all the wrinkles of skin between the scales for mobility stretch out. That’s why shed skins are always bigger than the snakes — or nagas — that shed them. It’s probably durable enough, though, especially if we applied a sealant.”

“No flooring,” Virgil repeated. “What would you do when we eventually move out?”

“Hm.” Logan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Virgil covered Logan’s mouth. “We’re not replacing our flooring, period.”

Logan finally backed down. “It’s okay if I take part of this home, right?” he asked.

Roman laughed. “You can have the whole thing if you want!”

“I’m not sure I could carry the entire thing,” Logan said, looking down the length of the tail. “I do believe it’s well over a hundred feet long, and the diameter is certainly more than fifteen at its thickest.”

“Then I guess just take some,” Roman conceded, looking amused.

“Virgil, may I borrow your knife?”

Virgil nodded, pulling it from his boot and handing it over. Logan considered the red molt some more, deciding where to cut. In the end, he settled on taking a section, about ten feet long, from the waist end, where it was the biggest around. He used Virgil’s knife to slice through the slightly thinner skin connecting the scales, murmuring to himself about how amazing the shedding was.

“If you think that’s cool, you should see our shed teeth.” Remus chuckled softly, nuzzling Patton gently.

Virgil saw Logan’s head pop up like a gopher, and that gleam in his eyes. “You’ve kept…”

Roman just grinned, his teeth flashing in the firelight.

Logan seemed to be at a loss for words, so Virgil translated his excited wiggles: “He’d love to see them.”

Roman started for the back of the cave again, and Remus called after him, “Ro, bring one of my newer sheds out too.”

When the red naga returned, he carried a handful of teeth and a green shedding draped over his shoulder. “I didn’t touch your teeth, Re, I know you’ve got your weird chaotic organization system over there.” Roman spread his teeth in front of Logan, setting Remus’s skin a bit off to the side. “You can keep as many of these as you want.”

Logan picked through the teeth, fascinated. “Virgil, are you seeing this?”

“Yes, Lo, got a pretty good close-up view of them yesterday, too,” Virgil reminded him.

“Oh, yes, but it pales in comparison to actually being able to hold one of them.” Logan carefully held one of the teeth, eyes wide behind his glasses. “They’re beautiful.”

Roman blushed slightly. Remus shifted Patton to one arm and vanished into the back of the cave once more.

“Did all of these shed naturally? Or were some knocked out?” Logan asked, inspecting the teeth for damage. “I notice that they’re primarily your smaller teeth, from the inner row on the roof of your mouth, and that they have dulled points.”

Roman rubbed his neck. “Most of mine are shed. I don’t fight with my teeth much.”

“I do!” Remus slithered back out, a choice three fangs in his free hand. “Only one of these was shed, but it’s from the most recent.”

Logan gently started to inspect Remus’s teeth while the naga settled down, still holding Patton. The shed one— at least he assumed it was the shed one— was mostly intact. However the tip was practically nonexistent, ground down from use.

“They’re wonderful.” Logan grinned and set it aside.

The next tooth had a large chip out of it. Logan let his fingertips explore the imperfection. Virgil looked up at Remus. “What’s the story for that one? Bite a phone pole?”

“A rock, actually.” Remus grinned. “Didn’t notice I’d accidentally picked one up with my prey.”

Logan glanced at the last one, tilting his head slightly. The tooth was nearly broken in two. “And what about this one?”

“Oh, that one.” Remus grinned. “There was this hu- er, huge deer, and it was a real struggler. Damn thing managed to kick me in the teeth before I managed to swallow it up.”

“I thought you killed all your prey.”

“Normally, yes.” Remus shrugged. “But we were in a rush, and besides, that was the last time I’ve eaten live prey.”

“Must’ve been a real strong deer,” Virgil said, impressed. He eyed the broken tooth. So the huge predators did meet their match a little bit. At least once. Though the deer had still gotten eaten, so he supposed being that strong didn’t really do it much good in the end.

“Yeah, sharp, uh… sharp hooves,” Remus agreed, picking that tooth back up and looking at it. “But, it wasn’t as embarrassing as Roman here faceplanting into a tree and getting a tooth stuck in the trunk!”

“You shoved me down the hill!”

“And you rolled directly into a tree and bit it,” Remus chortled.

Roman growled lowly, shoulders tensing. “Why I oughta—”

“Sh!” Remus hissed softly, cutting him off. “You’ll wake Patton.” He softly nuzzled the young man in his arms.

Patton started to squirm, and unlike the other times Patton had shifted, it seemed this time he was actually waking up. Roman softly whined, stroking Patton’s hair and trying to soothe him back to sleep. But Patton continued to wriggle, and his eyes opened slightly. He yawned and tried to sit up in Remus’s arms.

Remus very gently set Patton on his tail and let the little human stretch. “You’re so cute,” he cooed.

Virgil gave a half smile as he watched Patton continue to be cooed and fawned over by the two enormous nagas. Logan was too busy packing away his samples to really take note of it.

“Is it morning?” Patton stood and stretched his legs.

Virgil nodded. “You missed the sunrise. Shone right in here, if only for a minute.”

Patton shook himself out and softly hugged Virgil. “Well, good morning, then.”

Logan walked over, still beaming from all the samples he had: sheddings and teeth and pictures and his own multitude of notes. He squeezed Patton in a hug, slightly lifting the shorter human for a moment. “I apologize for ever doubting the power of your friendliness.”

“It’s alright.” Patton hugged him back.

Virgil stood, wiping his hands on his pants. “Hate to be That Guy, but… we should probably get going.”

“Aww,” Patton said, disappointed. “I just woke up.”

Virgil sighed. “Dee-Dee will be missing you,” he pointed out. “We were supposed to be home yesterday.”

Patton’s eyes widened. “Oh, you’re right!” he cried, dismayed.

“Who’s Dee-Dee?” Remus asked.

“Our mouser naga,” Virgil explained, sticking his hands in his hoodie pocket. They bumped against Patton’s glasses case, reminding him. He pulled it out and offered it to Patton, who gratefully took it, putting his glasses on.

“Mouser… naga?” Roman repeated.

Patton nodded. “I’m allergic to cats.” Ordinarily, this was enough to explain everything, but from the look on the twins’ faces, it did not.

“What is a mouser naga?” Roman asked.

“What’s allergic?” Remus added.

“They’re nagas, like you guys, but really little.” Patton estimated about two or so feet with his hands. “Dee-Dee is only about this big. He’s just a little fella, and he used to be even smaller, but he’s been growing. I bought him a while ago because we had a real bad mouse problem, but he’s part of the family now.”

The twins blinked owlishly at each other. “We didn’t know those things existed.”

“What did you think I was referring to when I mentioned smaller nagas earlier?” Logan asked.

Roman shrugged. “Juveniles?”

Remus estimated the size with his own hands and shook his head. “I don’t think we were ever that small before.”

Logan shrugged. “Humans have been basing assumptions of your species off the observation of the micro naga, since it’s dangerous to study you directly. Obviously that resulted in some errors. It’s a shame we have to go; this has been a very informative outing.”

Roman tsked loudly, shaking his head. “Looks like Remus and I might need to let you come back and poke at us more.”

Logan practically lit up. “Would you really?” he asked eagerly.

“Of course, if it’ll help your understanding.”

Virgil sighed quietly. “And the nerd is going to bounce off the walls.”

Logan nodded, grinning broadly. “This is splendid!” he said. “I can get my equipment, and conduct a proper study. I may be the first person to ever have this opportunity.”

Remus scooped Patton up, hugging him softly. “All because this little dumpling won us over.”

Logan paused. “That’s right. Patton, I owe you. Thank you.”

Patton grinned. “Can we eat something before we go? I’m hungry.”

Virgil considered. “All we have is our snacks and room temperature venison.” He glanced at the deer. “Which I’m thinking we probably shouldn’t eat.”

Logan nodded agreement. “It’s been sitting out too long.”

Remus perked up. “Dibs!” He set Patton back on his feet next to the other two humans and slithered over to what remained of the deer, sweeping the meat up into his hands. Roman hissed slightly as it vanished into Remus’s stomach.

“You glutton!”

“You snooze, you lose.” Remus shrugged, licking his lips.

“You didn’t even savor it!”

As the twins devolved once more into arguing, the three humans collected their gear, making sure everything was in place. They split Logan’s new treasures between them, though Logan carried the heaviest portion. Virgil passed out snacks.

After they’d eaten, Patton strode over to the twins, just finishing up their argument. “We need to go home now,” he said, lifting his arms for a hug. Roman immediately obliged, scooping him up.

Remus chewed his lip, resisting the urge to just coil around the three of them and never let go. “We’ll escort you to the edge of our territory.”

Logan nodded. “Sounds reasonable, considering someone got us lost.” He side-eyed Virgil, who at least had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

~~~

It didn’t take long before the nagas complained that humans walked too slowly. That was all the warning they got before they were scooped up into huge arms. Roman lifted Logan, while Remus, already carrying Patton — he’d refused to set him down again after their hug, and Patton hadn’t objected — scooped Virgil up with his other hand. With both hands full, Remus had trouble getting the humans settled, and inadvertently squished them together.

“Remus,” Roman scolded lightly. Holding Logan against his chest with one hand, he used the other to help his brother reposition. Remus ended up with a human in each arm, half leaning on his chest.

“Comfy?”

Virgil squirmed a bit, more uncomfortable with the situation than with his position. “It’s fine.”

Traveling like that, they covered ground much more quickly. Soon, they reached the edge of the twins’ territory. Although they stopped, the nagas looked very hesitant to set their new friends down. Patton patted Remus’s arm. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll come back to visit.”

“Promise me?”

Patton nodded. “I promise.”

Logan brushed himself off. “Of course we’ll return. I’ve been promised cooperation in clearing up biological misconceptions.”

Virgil tightly hugged himself while everyone said their goodbyes. When it came his turn, he gently patted Roman on the forearm. “Thanks… for not eating us.”

“You’re welcome.” Roman softly ruffled his hair. “Take care of yourselves.”

The three humans continued forward, with more than a few backwards glances at their large new friends.

~~~~~

Chapter 4: Home Again

If you wanna know what really happened to Remus's broken tooth, you can read that here, but please, heed the warnings on it. It is not a nice story.

#mine #nommy thoughts #collab #that prey lounge #danger noodles #writing #my writing #sanders sides #tangentially nommy related

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archeo-starwars · 3 years

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Star Wars: The Essential Guide to Warfare Author’s Cut, Part 5: Zenith of the Republic (p. III)

NIGHTFALL ON RUUSAN

Jason Fry: I thought this was one of my “with” author’s nicer pieces of work, and I’m really happy to get to showcase it here. Honestly, it probably got cut because all the dialogue made it a very cost-effective subtraction. But enough of my yapping. Paul?

Paul Urquhart: The Battle of Ruusan is supposed to be a big date in Star Wars history, the equivalent of Gettysburg or Waterloo. The trouble is, everything obvious about Ruusan has been said already — so I wanted to approach the story from a new angle and create some characters whose attitudes didn’t necessarily run in the directions the reader might expect. I also took the opportunity to explore an idea I feel is slightly underused: when Jedi knighthood becomes hereditary, an ancestral lightsaber might end up in the hands of someone who isn’t very good at using the Force.

Erich Schoeneweiss: It was pieces like this that proved very difficult for me. The Essential Guides are meant to be nonfiction books set within a fictional universe. The reality is it’s all fiction, but I strive to maintain the feel of a nonfiction book in these guides to the galaxy far far away. What was happening in The Essential Guide to Warfare was that Jason and Paul were writing short stories for some of the sidebars. My concern was that if there were too many of these, the book would start to feel more like an anthology than a nonfiction reference book. There were cases in which these shorts really added a nice flavor to the book and new insights into what Jason and Paul were writing about in the main body text. “Clone Trooper Falls in a Hole…” on page 80 is a perfect example: It’s a first-person account of a clone trooper’s experience during the Battle of Geonosis, and enhanced the entire chapter. “Nightfall on Ruusan” is a good story and solid writing, but Jason had already written about the Battle of Ruusan and the consequences to the galaxy in the text. So in our constant struggle with too much of a good thing this was one of the good things that had to be cut. I’m happy for Paul that you all get to read it now.

From “I, Corellian: Ruusan and Reformation”

I found myself staring into gray infinity. Eventually I realized I was looking up into the sky, lying flat on my back between the rain and the mud.

Someone was watching me. I turned my head and looked at her.

The girl was sitting cross-legged on the hood of a crashed command skimmer, sheathed in black armor, tight-fitting and glossy with rain. She had a long polearm held casually across her lap, a lanvarok with a wicked bardiche blade.

Her hair hung in dark braids around her cheeks. Her bare shoulders were tan from outdoor living. Her eyes, when they found my gaze, were ebony, flecked with gold.

“You’re still alive,” she smiled, as if it was funny.

Now I remembered. I’d been her prisoner. My hands were still tied. Groaning, I sat up, and looked around.

The battlefield was empty. The knights and lords were all gone, leaving just the rain and mud—and a few survivors abandoned even by the dead. The broken hulks of armored vehicles still rested where they’d sunk into the mire, big guns pointing at the ground. And here and there, I could see slanted lances, damp, tattered pennons lifting in the wind.

But that was all.

The Republic cleaned the wreckage up afterwards, and carved a big memorial out of the cliff face in the Valley – a clumsy statement, a way for the real victors to impose the wrong meaning on the war. That evening, the wreckage looked beautiful.

Hauling myself up to my feet — painfully — I looked at her.

“Githany was right,” the girl said, talking as much to the wind as to me. “She said Bane had kriffed Kaan’s head, tricked him into this stupidity.”

“Who’s left?” I asked. It came out as a whisper.

“My lords are all gone,” she said, not meeting my eyes. She held a tarnished Jedi comlink in her hand—my comlink. My lightsaber was on her hip. “Your Lord Farfalla seems to be in charge. He was far enough from the thought bomb, with his retinue. They say Lord Berethon’s channel is still transmitting, but he’s not answering”

“Farfalla?” I sighed, but the Force already told the truth – even to me. I looked around the battlefield and frowned. “What a waste.”

“You think?” She gave me an ambiguous look.

“More than you could know,” I replied.

She shivered slightly, but it was just the cold wind, a sign that night was coming.

“What now?” she asked.

“Let’s look for some way out of this mudpit.”

“You’re the slave here, Jai,” she reminded me. I shrugged my bound hands and started to walk. She could probably beat me in a straight fight, but I wasn’t in any mood for fighting, and I didn’t think she was either.

She hopped off her perch, hurrying to keep up.

“Don’t do that, slave,” she snapped. “It makes you look like you have some sort of plan.”

“What makes you think I don’t?” I asked.

“Jedi plans?” she asked, a wide sweep of her polearm taking in the ruin around us.

“Sith plans,” I said, and for a moment I felt some of the dangerous old fire.

She frowned for a moment. “You Jedi all just walked into the trap,” she said. “At least we did something with our deaths.”

“I’m still here,” I said. “So are you.”

She frowned again, and this time she kept quiet. I’d seen it a few times before, and I would see it a lot more—the mild confusion of a Sith soldier no longer in thrall to battle meditation.

I sometimes wonder if Jedi aren’t much different. We use battle meditation, too, but we assume we have a special exemption where delusions are concerned, because we’re on the right side.

She leaned on her polearm, watching me. “So where are we going? You want to find Lord Berethon?”

“The Lord Peregrine?” I asked her, in surprise. “You’ve heard of him?”

“Yeah, I hear he’s not a very good Jedi. You seemed to like him better than Farfalla, and I approve of that. I know Gith wanted him to join us.”

I laughed. “I tell you what—if I get you to Lord Berethon, you agree to release me and come under his protection.”

She tilted her head and looked at me, shifting her weight against the weapon. “You think he’d do that?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think he would.”

“OK.” She shrugged, half-believing, and we walked on in silence. Overhead, the gray sky grew darker.

“Have you ever heard of Thon, the Master of Ambria?” I asked, as the rain eased.

“Should I have? I was in the battle there, last year.”

“He was a Jedi Master, three thousand years ago. He taught that the connection between light and dark was just the Force flowing, no different than the simple stuff about levitating rocks — something basic, true, and interesting.”

“What happened to him?”

“You’ve seen Lake Natth, right? Thon created that, as a work of art.”

She looked at me, disbelieving. “But it’s a dark-side focus….”

“Thon thought it looked pretty in the mountains, apparently. And then there are the Miraluka. They worship Light and Dark together, believe them to be inseparable, like lovers. There are a lot of great Miraluka Jedi.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you believe that, Jai boy? About Light and Dark?”

“Nope. Not in a doctrinal way, anyway.” Near the horizon the setting sun had broken through the clouds. “I think that looks pretty, though.”

She gave me a sideways glance. “Maybe the Masters all just read the doctrines the wrong way, then?”

I couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not.

We walked on, as the stars came out overhead, turning the night to cool silver and shadow. I remember thinking that it was beautiful, and that her armor and the bare skin of her shoulders glinted like the steel and silk discarded around us. But I kept silent, and tried not to look at her too much.

“Do you have a name, Jai boy?” she asked eventually. Her smile hinted she was either starting to like me or planning to kill me. I couldn’t tell which. I wondered if she could.

I laughed, then stopped and looked at her.

“Cut my bonds and I’ll tell you,” I said. “I’m not going to run. Where would I run to?”

She looked at me doubtfully for a moment. Then the polearm flashed, and I was free. I rubbed my wrists, grimacing, then slowly looked up and held her gaze. She blinked back.

“Sorry,” I said with my best grin. “I’m Lord Berethon.”

It didn’t sound nearly as impressive out loud as it had in my head.

She looked disbelieving for a moment, then she laughed. Really laughed.

“You’re the Lord Peregrine…?! Oh, fierfek….”

I nodded. “I’m the King of Corellia. I was never much good as a Jedi, though.”

“I noticed.”

“I think I might try being king again.”

“You’d have made a worse Sith,” she said.

“Maybe. Come on. Let’s see if we can find a way off this rock.”

“I have your comlink,” she reminded me, holding out the battered handset. “Don’t you have a fleet in orbit, or something?”

“Oh. Yes, I do. It’s been a hard day.”

Her look grew softer as I took the comlink. If it had still been day, I could have seen the color of her eyes.

“Just remember, Your Kingship—you promised to take care of me.”

I murmured something in agreement. “Falcon? You didn’t hear any of that, right?”

#star wars #jedi #sith #battle of ruusan #in universe religions

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simpingforthisonedeer · 4 years

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Chapter 2: The War Room

Summary: You'll learn more abt Aika and Julius gets some time in the spotlight and shows off his military genius :)))

Notes: Like in BC canon, everyone's like omggg hes such an amazing wizard king who brings us so many victories!!! but we never actually see any of his ideas and plans? So i've decided to showcase that in this fic

A week later, Aika hummed a playful tune as she planted a few wisteria trees around the Magic Knights Headquarters. Lord Raymond, the current Wizard King, was planning a stressful military campaign against another imminent invasion from the Diamond Kingdom so Aika planted a few trees for him to enjoy whenever he relaxed in the gardens to get away from work.

Aika had helped Lord Raymond with foreign matters over the years and had grown to become good friends with the older man. It was only by accident that they found that his dead younger brother was Aika’s father.

Years ago, she was selling paintings her father had painted before he died and in curiosity, Raymond came to the pseudo-art show. When he noticed the artist’s name and signature, he knew it was his brother. Needless to say, Aika was ecstatic. She had lost her entire family at sixteen and finding family again nearly two decades later was like a dream come true.

Though she was his niece, her experience and information from other kingdoms was something Lord Raymond highly valued and since Aika needed a cover for her work. So she worked as an unofficial consultant to him. She would rather not be paid by her own family.

She stood up as she dusted the dirt from her knees. Aika curled her toes to grip and grass and tightly clasped the plant stone in her right palm. She took a deep breath in, spread her arms out towards the little grove and pushed her magic into the seeds and willed them to grow.

She couldn’t grow plants quickly with Time Magic alone because she would have to accelerate the day-night cycle and provide the plants with constant water and nutrition, theoretically speaking. But Plant Magic, on the other hand, doesn’t have such limitations and plants could grow just with magic alone with extra magical properties. Absolutely fascinating stuff.

Aika had noted that Time and Plant magic shared similar properties because during her studies, she had found that magic wasn’t a catalyst in some Plant Mages cases but actually accelerated time while providing all that the plant needed to grow. In other Plant mages’ cases, most notably the ones who grew plants slower, the magic only acts as an accelerant with no time magic in play.

Aika dodged as a clump of hard dirt nearly hit her in the face when the trees sprouted and rose rapidly. She watched with a small smile as the vine-like branches grew and sprouted wisteria flowers that shone in the afternoon sun. She had no doubt that they would glow in the night as well.

“Miss Aika!” her guard’s voice yelled out.

“I’m fine!” she yelled back as she adjusted her sun hat.

“No, Miss Aika,” he ran to her side. “The Wizard King wants you in the Captain’s Conference room immediately.”

“Oh? Did he say what for, Evan?” Aika adjusted her plaid skirt.

“He said it’s time you were brought in,” Evan gave her a knowing look. Aika sighed. Today was going to be a long day. At least this meant that she didn’t have to wear that god-awful amulet that made people forget her.

“Alright, thank you. Take the rest of the day off. I’m sorry I can’t join you, Ellie and Jayce tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am and it’s alright. The trees look really beautiful by the way.”

“Thank you, Evan.”

She turned and looked up at the Headquarters Tower with a squint.

It’s time, huh? Is it really that serious, Uncle Ray? Aika thought as she slipped into her heels.

She slid her backpack on and waved ‘bye’ to her guard as she flew to the arched, slightly open, clover windows of the conference room. She hid her mana and flew a little to the side of the windows and peeked in.

Her Uncle had his back to her as he faced seven captains. By the way he was gesticulating at Lord Silva, the Silver Eagles Captain, Aika could tell he was getting impatient for some reason. The walls and tables were strewn with papers blotted with inks of various colors. The rest of the Captains were in deep discussion in varying states of distress, no doubt about the upcoming confrontation with the Diamond kingdom.

She looked around at the Captains for one particular one. Her eyes met Julius’ and she grinned openly. She gave him a hesitant wave at the confused tilt of his head. Maybe he forgot her? A few Captains looked her way along with Julius, suspicious of the woman by the window.

Aika quickly sobered as she lightly touched the window. She wasn’t here for him. Maybe she’ll talk to him after whatever her Uncle needed her to do. He had been plaguing her mind for days , like who gave him permission to do that? Maybe another sit down with him will reveal something about him that will annoy her nitpicking self and she will completely stop idealizing him. Yeah, that’s a good idea.

She slipped between the windows and into the room, as quiet as a breeze. All the captains except Julius and Captain Vermillion stood and moved to attack but Lord Raymond whipped his head around and motioned the Captains to stop.

“Why use the window when there is a perfectly serviceable door, Aika?” her Uncle asked in a bored voice.

“Why use the door when there is a perfectly serviceable window, sir?” She retorted as she took off her hat with a flourish. He shook his head with a scoff.

“Enough with the cheek.”

“Yes, sir.”

Aika clasped her hands and clicked her heels together as she turned to the conference table where all the standing Captains sat down slowly, all eyes on her. They all might’ve seen her around the Magic Knights Headquarters, sitting on the floor in the hallways or in the gardens with a bunch of books and papers scattered haphazardly around her or running around with maids and guards but they would’ve all forgotten about her, thanks to her amulet. And she hasn’t been in the Clover Kingdom in a couple years so she doesn’t expect anyone except Captain Vermilion to remember her.

She had always worked behind the scenes on this continent, running her businesses, private clandestine services, professional development, etc, so she had to stay lowkey to protect her identity and her work. But when she needed to continue her work without arousing suspicion and provide information to the next Wizard King, she needed to step up into the spotlight once again, at least until some trust was established. A spy network was incredibly valuable to her Uncle and his agenda to clean up the criminal underworld from the worst of its traits like slavery, forced prostitution, anti-monarchist movements, and apocalyptic cults.

But Aika herself had personal value for her strategies, diplomacy, connections, and experience in foreign warfare. And so, here she was, her position and identity exposed along with her physique too coincidentally, in the tight, black sweater and thigh length skirt she wore.

The price I pay for trying to feel sexy today.

She was pleased to note Julius’ eyes roving over her with a small smile. She winked when his eyes met hers. He looked away with a small blush. Aika wouldn’t mind working with such delicious eye candy.

“This is Aika Tolliver,” Raymond began as he faced the Captains. “She will help us pinpoint which General will be attacking us this time and where.”

“Who is she, exactly?” The Purple Orcas’ captain asked as she leaned forward, her gray eyes scrutinizing her.

“Her curriculum vitae is irrelevant,” Raymond sat down in his chair with a heavy sigh. “What she knows and what she can do for us is the only thing we’re going to discuss today.”

“Gosh, is he like this all the time?” Aika asked jokingly as she leaned on the table and crossed her arms. While she won’t outright tell them that she was his niece, if he was going to bring her in front of the captains, she was definitely going to have a lot of fun implicating all sorts of things that will leave the captains confused about who she is to the Wizard King.

“Aika, not the time.”

“Alright, alright,” she set her hat down on his desk with an amused smile and took out a leather-bound notebook and a fountain pen. She looked up at the captains with a mild look.

“Long story short, I’m an off-the-record tactical strategist who helps Lord Raymond every now and then,” Aika looked down and flipped through the pages of her notebook as she continued. “I didn’t want my name to be known for my own privacy and the safety of my assets. That’s why I was never brought in but I assume the situation is dire if Master Raymond wanted to bring me in front of the captains.”

Said captains stayed silent as they processed the vague information. Aika looked apologetically at Julius. For all Julius knew, she lied to him but he shrugged and shook his head with a small smile.

“So what is the issue here?” She quickly skimmed the papers next to her. There were several different combinations of squads that could be dispatched but it was all useless if they didn’t know which general or generals they would be facing. In her opinion, they should bring down the hammer and send out all the squads and end this mess once and for all. “I’ve already told Master Raymond what generals and where and I’ve given him the maps of the location of the fortress their brigades have relocated to. I've also said when. They are going to execute their plan next Saturday.”

“Captain Silva here doesn’t believe me,” Raymond crossed his arms and glared at the silver-haired man.

“Well, now it’s even worse,” Silva slammed his fist on the table. “because your information comes from a dubious source we have never heard of!” he barked, spittle flying as he pointed an accusing finger at Aika. Raymond was about to retort but Aika only hummed thoughtfully at his outraged face.

She knew Captain Silva and Uncle Raymond had a fierce rivalry because they both had Water Magic, but it should’ve ended when her Uncle became the Magic Emperor. But Captain Silva still seemed to hold a grudge and Aika also knew that he had become severely depressed and irritable after Lady Acier’s death and the stress of this war was really getting to him so she bit back a reflexively cutting remark. She took the diplomatic route instead.

“I definitely understand where you’re coming from but I can assure you that this information is from our spies in the Diamond Kingdom.”

“Lies! We don’t have any spies in the Diamond Kingdom!”

Julius quickly moved to interject when he noticed Aika’s cheek twiched in annoyance. A verbal smackdown like the one he got that night wouldn’t be received well by the proud captain. He saw how easily she shrugged off the pressure he put on her, so he wasn’t taking any chances with an actual confrontation.

“Well, let’s not get hasty,” he addressed the captains gently. He turned to Aika and quickly masked a smile when her face lit up. “Even if we did have spies, the information they’ve given us is wrong. We destroyed the South Fortress last month and Lord Raymond told us that two brigades have relocated to the South Fortress which I assume is the information from our ‘spies.’”

“You assumed correctly, Julius.” His lips twitched up at being addressed so familiarly in front of everyone. “And forgive Master Raymond for not clarifying, he’s just a little sleep-deprived,” she pursed her lips when the captains threw her confused looks at that causal comment. “They’ve moved their operations in the former South Fortress to a black site previously used for human experimentation and other R&D.”

Silence fell over them. Human experiments. While the captains were aware, being reminded of what they had read in the reports of said experiments sickened them.

Aika quietly flipped through her notebook.

“Here it says that Generals Hennequin and Allard have mobilized their forces into the black site, now called the South Fortress.”

“And how can we know for sure,” Julius began mutely. “That what you are saying is true?”

“I’ve been working for the Wizard King for years, providing him with information regarding foreign matters—”

“And don’t forget about unsolicited advice on domestic ones,” Her Uncle’s muffled voice quipped, unaffected by the mention of human experiments. She threw a mocking glare at his head which was now buried in his arms.

“And most of the information I was given was accurate and useful. We take very good care of our assets so malicious betrayal and misinformation is incredibly rare. I can assure you that this information is accurate.”

Julius and the other briefly scrutinized her for any tells that she was lying and were satisfied that they didn’t find any. While they believed her, they were still wary. Aika sighed.

“Now, if we’re done discussing whether facts are actually facts, let’s get back to the planning. We can’t agree on what squads to send,” Raymond groused as he pushed maps of movements that a trio of squads will follow towards Aika. Each map was a different combination of 3 squads and movements and attack sequences. It was all on the surface. But Aika left her Uncle notes in his folder last night about new intel. The two Diamond generals purchased rights to build exclusive tunnels to the Main Channels from the black site which was underground, the Main Channels that lead directly into the Common Realm in the Clover Kingdom.

Aika suppressed the fear that struck her heart and turned to glare at her Uncle for real this time. He didn’t look at the notes she had left and now he was making completely wrong moves. The wrong moves that would cost many civilian lives.

“Master Raymond,” she nearly growled. “I assume you haven’t looked at the new intel and notes I left last night?”

He glared back.

“What new intel?”

“New intel saying that the Diamond Generals bought rights to tunnel into the Main Channels from the black site.”

“What?!”

She sifted through his papers and found the thin folder and showed him the notes and explained the situation.

“So there would most likely be a fight on the surface for a distraction while they invade us through the tunnels, meaning more than two brigades will attack us.”

Aika nodded gravely.

“I’m sorry, what are these tunnels and channels you’re talking about?” The captain of the Praying Mantis, Marcus, asked. A few others nodded, confused as well.

Captain Vermillion cleared his throat to draw attention to him. He sat up straight and his deep voice rang clearly through the room,

“They are talking about The Innkeeper’s Tunnels. The Innkeeper is a neutral, underground organization that provides safe houses indiscriminately. And in order to get to the safe houses, the Innkeeper had built a tunnel system. This tunnel system was built centuries ago and today it’s also used for underground travel, trade, and the black market, across the continent. It is the only way we trade for magic gems with the Diamond Kingdom because of the current hostilities,” He turned to Aika. “I don’t believe The Innkeeper would allow them to send brigades through the tunnels.”

Aika masked her surprise that he even addressed her. He had completely and deliberately cut her off after she broke up with one of his children and now he was talking to her all of a sudden?

Despite his surprising behavior, Aika agreed with his explanation. She remembered when she tailed him on his frequent missions to the criminal underworld so he knew what he was talking about.

“I agree, The Innkeeper wouldn’t allow them, but they have no real means to stop them. They don’t have a private army and the magical barriers won’t hold against two whole brigades.”

“Then they will call in a favor.”

“From who?”

Captain Vermillion leveled his gaze at her.

“From you.”

“No,” Aika said with absolute finality. He raised an eyebrow as she bristled.

“‘No, they won’t ask,’ or ‘No, you won’t do it?’” He knew she wouldn’t and did he really need to bring up her past here?

“No to both, Leonardo,” Raymond cut in with a scowl and changed the topic. “We need to be ready to face them under and over, and that means all squads need to roll out.”

“Actually,” Julius interjected. “We should leak the information that we know,” he suggested. The captains turned to Julius, not surprised by his unorthodox idea. He may be the youngest of the captains at the table at nearly thirty-six years old, but he was also the smartest and the strongest. His unexpectedly brilliant ideas and the strategic way he built his squad left no doubt that he would be a great military leader as The Magic Emperor.

“Why would we do that?” Captain Silva asked as he pressed his fingers to his temples, knowing full well that there was a good explanation coming.

“Because this plan to use the underground tunnels would only work if we are unaware. If they know that we know, and that we would come prepared to the tunnels, they will change their plans. They will think that their element of surprise and lack of resistance is gone, so their chances of winning decreased. And since they don’t know that we leaked it, they would think that we put our squads underground for their ‘attack.’ So they will put their troops on land or air to take us on.”

“But instead,” Aika began quietly as his idea became clear. “we will be prepared to attack with the full weight of our army above ground and overwhelm them completely, giving us a chance to negotiate a ceasefire.”

“No,” Julius laced his fingers together with a cool expression. “We demand a surrender.”

Notes: Julius is lowkey scary in canon and i plan to show more of that in this fic. The end was just a lil taste, but in battle? oooooh I can't wait to write ruthless Julius ;))))

oh and yall should read the hashtags in the posts. There’s info abt next chap in them:)

#julius novachrono #julius novachrono x oc #julius novachrono x reader #can yall believe i did a thorough character study and researched realistic behaviors??#sighh #sorry this was lil plot heavy #the next chapter focuses more on the two lovebirds #so don't worry ;)))#we get to meet Aikas friends and help Julius with his lil liver problem :)

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