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draconic-ichor · 1 year

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Tarnished Threads, Golden Stitches

Morgott/tarnished fic

Slow burn

Warming: strong language, sexual themes

Summary: Hester is a seamstress living in the capital, life is fairly mundane until one fateful night at a festival…

Feedback appreciated, 18+

This is an entirely new Au! Not abandoning my other ones, was just inspired :3

The mending began months ago, the world was falling back into place. Everything was different now: their King was revealed to be an omen, their ‘god’ a glorified statue, the Golden Order reformed, and the Elden Lord galavanting around the Lands Between. It was a lot to swallow for Leyndell’s people.

But they had the chance to swallow now.

Not every tarnished met a true end on their journey; some survived to see their brother take up the mantle of Elden Lord, and in this new age, grace returned to their darkened eyes. Unlike their brother, however, they were still quite lowly.

Hester was one of these tarnished.

Awoken after the Erdtree already burned overhead, she was scrambling far behind in a world crumbling away… never to receive a rune of her own or see the fabled Round Table. It was not till after the mending that her eyes fell upon the tree in all its golden splendor; and like hundreds of others, she flocked to the capital towards it.

It was all for the best. Even though she was descended from those first few tarnished that followed Godfrey into the mists, fighting didn’t suit her. She knew a little magic, mostly reserved for healing, and couldn’t hold a blade to save her life. Her late awakening was a blessing.

What she did know, however, was mending. Hester was very good with her hands and could not only mend fabrics but had the creativity to create whole new clothing. She could also sew and spin thread. All things the capital had need of now that repairs were in order.

Hester sighed, deep in thought as she worked. She leaned forward, elbows on the worn workbench, staring wistfully out into the capital.

It was a busy morning, the townsfolk preparing for the festival that night, birdsong and fragrant smells filling her senses.

She loved the brightness, gaze drifting higher to the castle, alabaster stone and gilded tiles like a dream high above.

She sighed again.

“Sigh any louder and you’ll attract attention,” came a voice.

Hester jumped, pricking her finger as she did so. She yelped, quickly putting it in her mouth to soothe the sting. She gave a sharp look to the culprit, a man standing on the street below her open window.

“Looks like I already have.” She huffed.

He pulled himself up to the windowsill, a smile plastered over his face. The armor of a guard made him look a size bigger than he truly was, clinking together as he made himself comfortable.

“Don’t you have work to do?” She couldn’t help her lips crack into a smile.

“Doing my rounds now, when I happened upon a maiden. And don’t you have work to do? You have a stall in the market square tonight.” He reminded.

“I know!” Hester flushed, she’d saved for weeks for the fees, such a prime location had its prices.

“Mhm.” He nodded.

“I’m almost finished with my last few, just adding the final touches!” She gestured to the doll before her.

“Ghastly.” He shuttered, looking over her current batch.

“He is our King!” She snapped.

“And he can stay inside his castle.” The guard chuckled, leaning in a bit more to ask, “Do you truly think they will sell?”

“Not everyone holds so little love for their monarch.” Hes informed, “Some of us are loyalists.”

The man snorted, leaning in further still, attempting to steal a kiss. Hester rolled her eyes, hand covering his mouth as she pushed him back out the window.

He chuckled, feet hitting the cobblestones once more, “I’ll catch you one day, Hes.”

“Keep hoping.” She smiled, waving him off as he went back to his duties. She sat back heavily in her seat, eyes falling to the current doll she worked on. She sighed, slowly scanning the rest; all were endearing renditions of their king: with button eyes, little plush horns, and a fluffy tail made from scraps of real fur.

She held the current one closer, thumb softly tracing its small fabric face.

She couldn’t be the only one…

Lanterns filled the streets overhead, each one a different shape or hue, sending the night into a kaleidoscope of swirling color. The smell of spices and sweets filled the air, and the sound of mirth almost drowned out the far off beat of music.

Hester couldn’t get enough.

She put on her best dress and put flowers in her hair for the occasion. Part of her wanted to mingle about the crowd and see every stall for herself, but she had her own stall to run.

Her table was covered in bright bolts of fabric and batches of dolls all lovingly made. Children would scamper up and squeal out at seeing their hero in doll form, or the Elden Lords trusty spectral steed, while their parents pulled runes from their pockets. It was a special occasion after all. A few young maidens would sneakily buy a doll of their dashing Elden Lord, his absence in the capital adding to his mystique.

As the night was marching onwards, she was doing quite well! The glow of success dimmed a bit about her, as her amber eyes fell on a corner of the stall that lay untouched: the dolls of the King. Hester’s stomach twisted a bit.

She moved them to the center of the stall, in a place of easy sight, adjusting their little cloaks and tails to sit just right.

She couldn’t be the only one,

She kept telling herself.

The only one to see the allure of the King.

Her cheeks blushed at the thought, mind drifting back to the infatuated maidens and their excitement with the Elden Lord, or how she kept back a King doll for herself…

She was so ate up with thought she didn’t notice the sounds of revelry died down around her. It was not until the glow of the lanterns were obstructed by a great shadow that her eyes were ripped from the table. Hester looked up, freezing.

A great shape darkened her stall, silhouette monstrous and jagged, with a crown of twisting horns. Hester swallowed, the only movement she could manage, heartbeat in her throat.

It was King Morgott.

An eon seemed to stretch before them, the King like a pillar of stone as he looked over her wares. All the times Hester had caught sight of him, far away on the castle balcony or before a large crowd for an announcement, did him little justice. He was massive, at least thirty-six hands high, not counting the heavy tail that absolutely cleared the street behind him. The bulky cloak he wore about his shoulders exaggerated their broadness. Hers the critical eye of a seamstress, caught all the places the fabric was stressed, holes bore through it completely here or there.

Not fit for a King, surely.

She didn’t have long to wonder, the King’s hand moving forward. Hester gulped, suddenly realizing his single eye was fixed on the little dolls made in his likeness. A hand, bigger than her waist, carefully picked up the closest one, bringing it to his face for inspection. It was clear they were made with the utmost care, and very oddly they were constructed without overemphasis on his more beastial features. They were….flattering even?

His brow knotted, gaze flicking away from the little doll to its maker.

Was she flushed??

Even more curious…

She trembled a bit as his gaze bore into her, staring back into that single orb of brilliant shifting gold. She grew lost in it, yet never shying away. Morgott’s gaze tore away from her, back to the doll in his hand.

Just as silently as he approached, he retreated, straightening to full standing before moving along the street once more. Hester’s heart hammered about her chest as she watched his form drift away, never wavering until the tip of his horned tail disappeared among the recrowding street.

As the music and merriment swelled once more she realized she’d been holding her breath. An almost pained huff rattled from her lungs, eyes still saucers. She blinked, looking down at her table.

A hand clapped over her mouth in shock: there was a doll missing.

Oh gods, did he take it with him??

She thought, worriedly.

She couldn’t keep her mind on the festival, or on bartering her wares any longer. Sweat wet her lower back as she hastily packed up her remaining items, hands shaking as she did so.

Her mind was a storm, a swirling mess of worry and fear.

Did the King think she was mocking him? Oh gods would she be taken away?

As she made her way slowly through the crowded streets, back overburdened, her thoughts darkened.

Was he angry with her? Would…would he throw her in the dungeon?

She stumbled into her room, a glorified closet off the main shop. Dumping the items on the floor haphazardly, Hester began to pull the flowers from her hair, wincing as they yanked at her copper curls. Tears stained her eyes, the small bit of pain just adding to the chorus of negativity that loomed over her.

She fell into her meager bed, curling in on herself protectively. Blinking, her eyes fell on the little doll near her pillow. It regarded her with unblinking button eyes, no malice on its fabric visage.

Scooping it to her chest, the tears finally fell freely, crying freshly into her pillow. Sleep found her fitfully, coming in waves interlaced with stretches of agonizing wakefulness.

She kept chanting that everything would be fine, she was just overreacting….he wouldn’t act against her…would he? He was the king. No care for a lowly woman like her.

He was the King….

She blinked into the dawn light. Hair a nest of knots from her tossing and turning, a darkness circling her large eyes. She sat up groggily, the sound of birdsong being dampened by a commotion outside her room.

Hester wasn’t the only woman to rent a little space in the shop, the other women making quite the racket in the main area currently.

She sighed, steeling herself to see what excited them so. As soon as she pushed the door open she was met with everyone calling out her name.

“Hes! Hes! There’s a letter for you!”

“A letter?” She blinked, still half asleep.

“It has the royal seal!” They squealed.

She froze, stomach dropping to the floor. The other’s chatter dulled around her as she paced forward, trembling hands taking the letter.

It was made of fine parchment, the golden seal of the King keeping it prominently sealed.

Hester felt like the ground was swallowing her as she broke it open, unfolding the letter to read. Deaf to the other crowding around to read over her shoulder, she focused on the beautiful handwriting.

Her fear was slowly replaced with confusion, bewilderment. Her brows knotted as she read and reread the letter, no…the offer?

“Come on, what does it say!?” A young girl bounced.

“It’s…It’s an offer from the King.” Hester whispered, drowned out by the other’s raising excitement. She swallowed, “They want me to be the King’s personal seamstress…”

She didn’t hear the screams of excitement around her, wandering through them towards the shop window. Her gaze fell on the castle, far away nestled near the base of the great tree.

She couldn’t be the only one…..

Could she?

#new fic #tarnished threads golden stitches #seamstress au #morgott/tarnished #morgott the omen king #tarnished oc #morgott/female tarnished #elden ring fic

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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years

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Be Your Man

A/N: I know I say it every time, but seriously, thank you SO MUCH for your requests, anon or otherwise. It means the world to me that you trust me with your visions. Here’s a requested fic inspired by the song “Be Your Man” by Rhys Lewis! It’s angsty and has the slightest hint of smut if you look really hard. As always, there are no physical descriptions of the reader! I hope you like it - I cried at the end lmao.

It’s not proof-read so I apologize in advance!! I really hope you like it.

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Being with the bard was, in a word, comfortable.

His connections ensured you always had a soft bed in a warm inn waiting for you at the end of the day. His reputation and acclaim afforded you a higher status among villagers, scholars, and even knights. Everyone loved his music and adored his visits. With him, you were always welcome.

With him, every day was a gift and every evening a celebration. With him, you never found yourself in harm’s way. Never felt the gnawing pull of hunger or the ache of thirst. He never left your side and you had no reason to leave his. And he loved you, he really did. He showed you everyday, through his songs, his words, his touch.

You were his sun and you were, for lack of a kinder word, comfortable.

That isn’t something you were used to, being comfortable. Your life had been tumultuous from the start and you had hardened yourself accordingly. Everything you had you’d earned as a journeying blacksmith; working whatever you could to make a sale. Now though, having access to any workshop, material, or tradesman the continent could offer, you were at the height of your craft.

But still, nothing could ever compare to the blade you forged for Geralt.

It was stunning, perfectly balanced, crafted from your best steel and iron Geralt had been gifted from the mines of Mahakam. The ornate curve of the hilt took you days to perfect and the faceted garnet you’d set within the pommel shone brilliantly with a clarity that royal houses across the continent would envy.

“It’s exceptional,” he murmured, completely in awe, while examining your work, “how you manage to make your blades look so intricate without sacrificing quality, I’ll never understand.”

You bit your smile to keep yourself from gushing as you watched him wield the sword as if it was an extension of him. And it should be, as you crafted it with him in mind.

“Whoever buys this will be one lucky bastard,” he said as he came out of a mock-parry and pirouette.

“Oh, I’m not selling it!” you said, shaking your head at him as he sheathed the weapon.

“What? Y/N this could get you four maybe five hundred Novigrad crowns! Did someone commission you for it?”

“No, no, it’s a gift.”

“Y/N you are far too generous.” He admonished, attempting to hand the sword back to you.

“Hush, it’s for you.” You say, laying your hands over his, your eyes sparkling.

Gods the way he looked at you then. The way his face softened when you laid your hands over his, how his breath hitched when you took a step towards him. Your bodies so close, eyes flitting from his hooded lids to his lips, and when you finally –

“We’re just about there, darling!” Jaskier sang, pulling you out of your reverie just as the familiar ache began pulling at your lower belly.

“Ah! Y-yes! Wonderful!”

“Well look at you, you’re blushing! Are you remembering the last time we were here?” He teased flirtatiously, giving your thigh a squeeze.

“Mm you know me well,” you lied, quickly taking his hand in yours to get it off your thigh. “How much farther, would you say? I’m starving.”

“Not too long, darling.” He said softly, glad that you were watching the forest with rapt attention, and praying the sting of your deflection wouldn’t be too obvious should you turn to meet his eyes. You didn’t turn to look at him though, and that filled the bard with both relief and immense sadness.

Jaskier wasn’t a fool, he recognized your guilt, sensed the way your heart longed for another. But every now and then, when it was just the two of you, he was sure he saw joy in your eyes. You loved him, maybe not quite as he loved you, but he was certain you loved him.

She just loves him more. He smiled at you sadly, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand in silent resignation.

“God, I fucking love these beds!” you sighed blissfully, rolling onto your back. The pair of you had meant to get your room and then head out into the village to find work but you hadn’t been able to ignore the fire the earlier memories had ignited.

“Careful my sweet, or I’ll start to think you’re only with me for the fine accommodations.” Jaskier chanced, hoping you’d finally say the three words he so desperately wanted to hear you say, and see that you meant it.

“Ha! Shut up, Jask.” You laughed lightly, snuggling into his arms where you couldn’t catch the disappointment in his eyes, and where he couldn’t see the sadness in yours. Don’t go there, Y/N, you thought, Jask is Jask, and he loves you just fine.

“Why don’t you let me,” you whisper, peppering his neck and jaw with kisses between words, desperate to get your mind off your witcher, “show you how much I love you?”

“Aa-euhm…” Jaskier let out a breathless squeal as your hand creeped between his thighs and he let himself be lost in your touch. Maybe, he thought, good enough could be enough.

You’d given up on the idea to go out to find work long before the sun had set on the village, but that surely didn’t keep work from finding you. The pair of you had barely settled yourselves at the table when you were recognized and showered in contracts.

“Please, madam, I know it’s not the priceless blades you normally work with, but my pots and pans are in desperate need to be replaced –”

“Of course, miss Eldridge,” you interrupted the inn’s owner gently, placing a light hand over hers to calm her nerves, “it would be a pleasure to help you. I’ve recently been working with new casting molds, and it would be an honour to sell you my first.”

“Oh, my! Thank you, Y/N, thank you!”

“No, thank you – this stew is easily the best we’ve ever had! It would be a crime if you weren’t able to keep serving.”

“Oh, you’re too kind!” she laughed humbly, giving your arm a squeeze in thanks before walking back to the kitchen.

You were beaming as you watched the woman practically skip back behind the heavy wooden door.

“What? Why are you staring?” you asked Jaskier, bringing your beer up for a long sip.

“I love watching you work; you shine like the stars on a winter’s night.” He said, reaching over to hold your hand in his.

“Ugh, Jask,” you groaned, wrinkling your nose at his poetics. “You’re such a cheeseball,” you teased him lightly, as you’d done many times before, but this time something flashed in his eyes.

“Hey! I know you were never showered in compliments when you were with Geralt, but-”

“What?!” you interrupted, practically spitting out your last sip.

Jaskier merely leaned back in his seat and gave you a one-shouldered shrug. You could tell he was trying to be aloof but in the six months you’d been together, the topic of Geralt had been a like a landmine. Someone always got hurt, actually, you both ended up hurt.

“What do you mean, ‘what’? I’m not wrong here, love.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jask. It was a beautiful sentiment, really! I’m just – y-you know how I am with this kind of stuff.”

“I know, dear” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on his drink.

“I adore your work,” you added, your nerves heightened by his apparent sense of calm, “I’m just not… always comfortable being the subject.”

“My expressions of love make you uncomfortable now?” he scoffed, looking up at you with big, sad eyes.

“No! No, Jask. T-that’s not what I meant!” you put your drink down and scooted closer to him to take both his hands in yours. “Jaskier, please… I love you. This is how I love, it-it’s who I am, it’s how I am. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll be your star.”

Jaskier only shook his head slowly as he looked into your eyes. “I’ve seen you in love, Y/N. I believe you love me,” he said, giving your hands a squeeze, “but you’re not in love with me.”

“That isn’t true, Jask.” You whispered, blinking back heavy tears. You held his hands so tightly now, as if afraid he’d just disappear into thin air before you.

“It is though, and that’s okay.”

“Jaskier…”

“You know, you always use my name,” he said, nodding slightly as he thought, “not always my full name, but alas.”

You opened your mouth to disagree but couldn’t bring yourself to use a pet name, and so your mouth opened and closed silently like a fish. The bard looked at you knowingly with his large, knowing eyes, full of love but still heavy with sadness.

“Jaskier,” you finally conceded, feeling yourself crumble under his heavy gaze, “what’s happening?” you asked, your voice coming out of you like a strangled whisper.

“What do you want to happen?”

“I can’t lose you too.”

“‘Too’.” He repeated flatly.

You wanted to comfort him, to correct him, but nothing was coming to you. He wasn’t wrong, and you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him now.

“Why are we doing this now, Jask? I thought we were doing okay. I thought we were happy,” you finally managed to ask, your voice shaky.

“Look, I’m,” he tried, his own voice breaking despite himself, “I know I can’t compare with him.” He waited a beat to see if you’d interrupt him with a correction and when you didn’t, he rested his elbows on the table and leaned closer to you and took a deep breath before continuing.

“I know how you feel. How you’ve… been feeling. Y/N, Geralt is here. He walked in not long ago, and he’s sitting at the back the of bar.”

Everything went blurry. You could tell he was still talking to you it was like your ears were stuffed with cotton – everything was muffled but too loud. You were going to pass out. Or throw up. Or both. Every inch of you was screaming to turn around and look for him, but you were frozen in place like a deer who’d spotted the archer and heard the bow snap but just stood stock-still and let the arrow hit.

“Y/N,” Jaskier pulled your hands closer to him, pulling you back to reality along with them, “I made the decision that I’m okay being your second choice,” he swallowed thickly before continuing, “but now I need you to make a choice.”

You felt as though you’d just been struck. He was looking at you with too much kindness, too much understanding, too much compassion. Holding his gaze made you feel as though a knife was being twisted into your chest, but you were so afraid that if you looked away, he’d leave you.

“My dove,” he says softly as if reading your mind, “I love you and no matter what you chose I’ll be there for you, always. I just want you to be truly happy.”

You squeezed your eyes shut to keep more tears from falling, but upon feeling him get up to leave the table, your eyes shot open and you let the tears fall.

Very softy, Jaskier cradled your face in his hand and gave your forehead a lingering kiss before pulling away.

“I’m going to head upstairs… I’ll see you up there?” he whispered hopefully.

You nodded up at him wordlessly and let the tears fall as you watched him head up the stairs.

Left alone, you wrapped your arms around yourself and bit your cheek until you tasted blood to keep yourself from openly sobbing. The bustle of the inn allowed you some sense of privacy, which you appreciated, but it also exacerbated your loneliness. Letting out a shaky breath, you poured the rest of your drink into your mouth and swished it around to wash away the blood before swallowing.

Jaskier knew. All these months you thought you were the only one hurting, the only one who felt the weight of the witcher’s memory, but you were wrong. Gods were you ever wrong.

You felt terrible, and far too sober. You quickly swiped at your tear-soaked face, picked up your empty stein and turned to make your way to the bar.

But then you saw him.

He was alone, as always, wearing the thick wool cape you loved. The hood wasn’t up so you could see that his snow-white hair was a mess of knots. His eyes were fixed on his drink, so you were saved from meeting his gaze. Gods, you’ve missed him, and fuck he looked good. And tired. Your heart broke at the sight of him.

Then he looked up at you and your breath caught in your throat. His rich, golden eyes were looking straight at you… and they were vacant. He was looking through you, not at you; he didn’t remember you or care to, and your already broken heart shattered once more.

I am nothing to him, you thought somberly, exchanging your empty mug for a full one. You took a deep, shaky breath and downed your beer in one go, slamming the stein back down decisively. But I’m everything to him, maybe that will be enough.

Before heading up the stairs to where you knew the bard was waiting, you allowed yourself one last look at Geralt, only to find he wasn’t at his table anymore. Seems the fates had decided for you, your thought, letting a hollow laugh escape your lips.

The staircase wasn’t especially long, but the trip up felt unending. You took every step slowly, allowing yourself these brief moments of grief over the official loss of your witcher before you committed yourself fully to Jaskier. No more daydreams, no more longing, no more imagining his large, strong arms around you while the bard’s sinewy frame enveloped you.

You had just about convinced yourself that you’d made the right decision when you spotted him, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs.

“G-Geralt,” you breathed, feeling yourself smile despite yourself.

“Y/N.”

“What, um, how – uh, hi,” you stuttered, needing to look up at the ceiling to keep yourself from completely melting under the burn of his gaze.

“Hm,” he hummed, taking a hesitant step towards you, “still the wordsmith I see.”

“Hilarious,” you retorted, falling effortlessly back into your habits. “I’m happy to see you’ve still got my blade,” you said, nodding to the sword behind his back.

“Of course,” he breathed, now dangerously close to you. “I take you with me everywhere.”

“You mean my blade?” you scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

“No.” he said, his eyes boring into you, sparking the flame you’d spent so long trying to tamp out. “Are you here with him?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

“You know I am.” You replied defensively, irrationally angry to hear him bring up the bard.

“How is he?”

“He’s fine,” you spat, but seeing the way Geralt’s eyes softened knowingly at you, you couldn’t help but to backpedal your aggression. “He’s Jaskier, you know? All silver linings and sunshine.”

“I’m sure,” he murmured, casting his eyes downward as he remembered his friend’s almost insufferable positively. “And you? Are you happy?”

“Geralt…” you practically groaned, crossing your arms to keep the heat radiating off of him from taking over you.

“Are you?” he insisted, reaching over to let his warm, calloused fingers ghost over your forearm. The feeling lit your body on fire and left an obvious layer of goosebumps in their wake.

He was standing so close to you know, you could smell the leather, cedar, and smoke emanating off of him, just like it always had. You could feel his breath on your face. Despite yourself, you looked up at him through your lashes. His proximity was intoxicating, inexplicably comforting.

“This is cruel… you’re being cruel…” you whispered, wiping stubborn tears away but not taking a step in any direction, unable to risk his leaving if you were to move.

“Y/N…”

“He loves me, Geralt, so much.” You insisted, almost like a mantra.

“But are you happy?” Now he was whispering. He sounded sad, his deep gravelly voice melting over you like sunlight after a frozen night.

“Geralt –” you warned, shaking your head.

“Answer me.”

“No. I-I’m not.”

“You’re not going to answer me?”

“I’m not happy.” You conceded, the truth of the statement washing over you as you heard yourself say it.

“Me either.”

You looked up at Geralt then, letting yourself take in the sight of him in full; his eyes, big and sad and fierce as ever, his brows furrowed, creating that deep crease you so desperately wanted to reach up and soothe, his mouth, his lips. You were barely inches from each other now, all you had to do was tip your chin, stand a little straighter…

He closed the gap between you then, his lips crashing into yours hungrily. You fully surrendered yourself to him, reveling in the feeling of his body against yours and you let yourself be happy, insanely, deliriously happy, for the first time in months.

***

Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed, his head in both hands, and sobbed. His broken breath echoed around the empty room, sporadically drowning out the sound of his best friend kissing the love of his life on the other side of the door.

She was never mine, he thought as sobs broke through him.

She was never mine.

71 notes · View notes

devilrainbunnie · 4 years

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.- anthurium -.

X/2/3

shigaraki x reader

a/n: kind of an au, first piece! hope you guys like, i was feeling angsty. part two maybe?

CW: anxiety warning, cheating, manipulation, reader is depressed, sexual themes and description of sexual themes. minors DNI.

—

“for the millionth time, nothing is going on!” he snapped, rolling his eyes as he shuffled in his chair. fingers carefully laced around the hand held device. the vermillion eyes were full of fire, a fire that burned in agitation. towards you. he dared not to look into yours, for that would be almost like he was admitting to the accusations.

“then why do you smell like perfume that isn’t mine? why are you gone hours at a time without ever going to a meeting? why can’t you even do as little as look at me? why do you—“ your voice began to shake, feeling your fingers tremble with the hem of your shirt.

“you’re being paranoid, quit projecting your fucking insecurities on to me y/n. this conversation is over, now fuck off and let me relax.” he snarled, shifting his body away from your stance. he continued to play on his device, paying no mind to the girl with a river of tears pouring from her eyes.

you knew how it would end, and it always consisted of him leaving for the rest of the day. coming home the next morning, sometimes not even bothering to shower. you weren’t stupid. you could see the love bites on his scarred neck, his swollen lips, the way his sea foam colored locks were in a tangled bunch, he reeked of expensive perfume... you’d even found hair strands that weren’t either of yours. you knew, he knew that you knew, but he didn’t care that you knew.

it’s been going on since tomura was declared leader, king of this new group— the paranormal liberation front. since then, he’s put himself on such a high pedestal and his eyes began to wander. it wasn’t too noticeable at first, you thought you were just being insecure. because your boyfriend of over a year was beginning to spend less and less time with you. for the first time since you both got intimate, he stopped sleeping with you in your shared bed regularly. his often touch starved nature of wanting to be held and hold you constantly, began to stop. after a while, he wouldn’t so much as ruffle your hair anymore, or touch your back as he walked past. he stopped smiling at you.

he stopped loving you.

you noticed a specific girl with him from time to time, she was so different from you. outwardly sexy, confident, and most of all, she had him. she had beautiful emerald eyes, and dashing natural red hair. her figure was unbeatable. someone who would’ve been regularly out of his league, just due to her status, and often snobby nature. deep down, you knew that’s probably why he felt so enticed. she was unattainable. just like you had been to him once. he was always one to strive for the best, you guessed that meant lovers too.

you almost felt bad for him, considering the knowledge you had about her... she did this a lot. fucked around with higher ups as a way to gain better status, be placed in a higher rank, and get special privileges bother plf members wouldn’t originally receive. you’d heard this from dabi, she apparently tried to do the same thing to him, but he said, he “had better standards than that”.

you chuckled at dabi’s comment, you were the only one in the league he treated like a genuine friend. thankfully he could always make you crack a smile or two.

then like usual, the sadness came back.

there you were, alone in your shared apartment inside of the plf building. you sat at the edge of the windowsill in the living room, the lights were off. nothing but the distance sound of owls, wind, and branches to be heard. the moons glow to illuminate the scenery just a touch. your e/c eyes red, and glistened with the aftermath of an overbearing storm of a meltdown. your cheeks still burning, lips chapped and your hands doing anything else but standing still. since it got bad a few weeks ago with him, this is all you’ve been able to do. cry. let out your loud sobs all day, and whenever tomura was due to return, you’d go back to the way he preferred you. quiet, distant, and minding your business.

even with your quirk, your depression had led to all of the plants in each room to wilt. it’s almost poetic how accurate that displayed to your feelings— and of course, tomura didn’t even notice them.

anytime you did anything, it agitated him. there was no use in speaking, unless he was the one to initiate it. asking you what you made him for dinner, asking if you’ve seen a certain item of his, or asking you to do something for him, like stitch his tethered hoodie. sometimes telling you that he was annoyed with you being around dabi.

you began to nibble on your bottom lip again, trying to stop the fresh new wave of tears that threatened to spill. you promised yourself to not cry anymore, stop it. you stood from your spot, adjusting the simple outfit you wore. just usual long sleeve and leggings. using your sleeves to dry your face from the evidence of your overwhelming sadness. deciding that you should just take a shower, get ready for bed, and sleep. what else was there to do anyhow?

you soon felt refreshed, your heart still aches but the overwhelming pain subsided. you rested your head against the familiar scented cotton pillow case and grabbed his pillow. holding it close to your chest.

this is all i really have left of him now... wow.

—

the next day was seemingly uneventful. with a rare spotting of tomura coming in, showering, getting dressed, eating, and leaving once again. he paid you no mind the entire time. just simply glazing over your figure as you sat in different spots within the hour or two he was there. there were no words to he spoken. he didn’t even greet you when coming in. he just walked in the bedroom, rummaged around. looked at you as you were just waking up, and went about his business.

the pain settled in even more. every day it hit harder, and harder, but today, you were numb. the tears you held were all gone. you couldn’t cry, you couldn’t aimlessly sob. nothing. the core of you was empty.

“how much longer can i take of this...” you whispered to yourself tucking your knees to your chest. arms protectively wrapped around yourself.

you looked over to the once beautiful anthurium, it was completely wilted. the vibrant red petals were beginning to fall off. that plant was the one you connected the most with, it had a piece of your soul with it at this point. it would’ve been an easy fix to keep it from dying. one touch, and it would be right back to normal.

would the flower remember it’s neglect? the times you slacked on giving it water and proper daylight? would it simply forgive so easily just by your touch? can you forgive him, just by his touch?

“i don’t know.”

—

days had passed, he hadn’t come by since that night to your knowledge. sometimes you stepped out for a bit, just to clear your mind. you began to grow anxious, something was wrong. definitely wrong. you needed to know, to have some closure. every minute that passed seemed to crush you, it felt as if the world was ending.

against your better judgement, you got dressed. fixed your hair, and shakily tried to calm yourself down as you looked in the mirror. overanalyzing every single detail about your appearance, you looked like hell.

you were planning to go searching for tomura around the building. maybe even ask dabi if he had seen him. you stepped into your converse, taking deep breaths as you prepared yourself to find whatever might lie ahead. the feeling in your stomach didn’t stop churning.

one touch can’t fix it.

he won’t fix it.

he doesn’t want you.

you hugged the jacket tighter to your frame, feeling clammy and weak in the knees as you began to search around. he wasn’t anywhere you were looking, you checked everywhere you usually found him. you came across dabi before stepping into the elevator. he seemed concerned, he grabbed your shoulder before you walked away.

“y/n?” he quietly asked. his tone laced with anxiety.

“o-oh, hey.” your trembling form turned to face him. “long time no see.”

“what the fuck is going on?”

“it’s nothing, don’t worry about it—“

“don’t lie to me.” he cut you off, his voice laced with venom. he was always like a big brother figure to you, always protective and so easy to catch on. “what’s going on y/n? do i have to kill that creepy little fucking gremlin?” he snarled.

“n-no! no! it’s fine, really. i’m just uh, trying to find him that’s all.” you said sincerely. your voice wavering the entire way, stepping away from his hold on you.

“y/n don’t walk away from me, talk to me about this. you look like shit.” he called after you.

“i’m sorry.” you said in a voice so small he barely was able to grasp it. dabi just stared at you with disbelief, and anger.

—

then came the room you dreaded most. subconsciously you wanted to search it last, due to fear of what you might see.

you knew he was cheating, but you were in denial until you could see it.

you were about to give up and go back to your room before you heard a specific sound. coming from the office tomura used most often, but wasn’t always in. the way the table sounded against the wall and hardwood of the floors made your body tense, the breathless panting, the high pitched moaning... and worst of all, the sound of tomura groaning in pleasure. did your ears deceive you? bile threatened to shoot from your stomach. you eased open the office door, to a sight you wish you never saw. there was tomura, thrusting into the girl you feared and envied most. he was lost in lust, suckling, kissing, and grabbing every part of her flesh that was visible. like he used to do to you.

used to.

you stood there in horror, feeling like everything was crumbling before you. he didn’t even notice your peering eyes staring right into the depths of his soul, and hers. his groans got louder, he muttered something he hadn’t told you in such a long time. it made you want to scream so loud that your lungs bled.

“f-fuck, i— love you.”

you shakily slammed the door behind you. hard, and heavy breaths struggling to be let out, as you ran to the elevator. smashing the buttons to go back to your room. tears streaming down your face once again, you let out hushed cries, trying to regain your composure. as you ran to your room. it happened all in a daze, you loudly cried as you packed some of your things into a backpack, hating that things still smelled like him. you sobbed finding old polaroids if each other. deciding to throw the stack at the wall above the bed.

once you had everything ready, you realized something. you were still wearing a necklace he gave you a bit ago. it was a small anthurium made of ruby. you held the delicate item in your hands, debating what to do with it. the burden of owning it haunting you much more than letting it go, so that’s what you did. you placed the necklace on the counter. grabbing the notepad that was usually on the counter as well to write a quick note on top for him to find. your eyes flooded over the room, drinking it in as much as you could before leaving. all of the memories, decorating it with tomura, having sex for the first time on the bed, the first time he came home like he often did now... you felt a sob threatening to release again as you recounted the memory.

lastly you dropped the key next to the necklace, never to be seen again.

you exited the building with little hassle, tears still free falling across your face like usual. the hood of your jacket was up to conceal yourself, you wanted to leave without a trace. luckily it was late enough to do so, the only person who spotted you was spinner. for some reason he was alone by himself outside. he seemed concerned about your disheveled and unfamiliar appearance. but he didn’t utter a word to you, letting you walk out before him. you wondered what he thought of your pathetic sobbing form pacing out of the entrance.

you barely had a plan, a place to go for that matter. all that mattered now, was you.

you need to let go.

he can’t fix it this time.

don’t let him fix it this time, y/n.

>>>

tomura arrived to the apartment hours after you had left, he wasn’t expecting anything but a nice hot shower and a warm bed to sleep in. his body was sore from the steamy evening he spent with the red head. she really rocked his shit, he chuckled at the thought of her.

he didn’t bother to look around the main room, before heading straight into the bedroom. the light was on, which wasn’t that unusual. what was unusual though, was the mess around the room. the closets were wide open, pieces of film thrown all over the bed, and floor. at first he was mad, barging into the bathroom to yell at you. flipping on the light, to see nothing. you weren’t in the bathroom, or bedroom.

“y/n why did you leave everything such a mess? why did you throw pictures everywhere? what the fuck is going on?!” he called out to you. annoyed. like usual. he walked out of the bedroom, noticing finally, you weren’t here. “y/n.” he spoke sternly.

he walked cautiously around the space, looming over every detail, not able to make out your form anywhere. he remained calm but he was a bit worried, you were acting super unstable lately. though he’d never let you know that. he seemingly searched everywhere in depth, before he noticed some items on top of the island counter. switching on the light switch to get a better look. his heart sunk.

the necklace he gave you.

the beautiful ruby anthurium he gave you.

the one you wore every day since.

the one he gave to you as a promise to his love, the love he promised to be undying.

“fuck...”

along with the key to the apartment.

the one you both shared.

he noticed the note, it was written in your handwriting.

‘i hope you love her as honestly as you once loved me. i left everything behind i never want to see again. i won’t be ratting you out and i won’t be returning to you.

good bye, thanks for the memories.

y/n.’

#shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #bnha x reader #bnha au #shigaraki angst #mha shigaraki #tomura shigaraki fanfiction #angst #i’m sad now #pls lmk if you guys want part two #ahhh

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damn-stark · 4 years

Text

Different Light

Different light ch.1

A/N- First chapter!! I hope you all like it!! I loved writing this and can’t wait to write more :) let me know what you thought?!

Warning- slight angst, nice Draco (slight...you’ll see), slow burn

Pairing- Harry Potter x Malfoy!reader, Fred Weasley x Malfoy!reader

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

Dear Ms. Malfoy

We are pleased to inform you that you have been re-accepted at the Durmstrang institute of Magic—

You scoff, “Yeah right.” As you crumble the letter in your hand and toss it into the fire, proceeding to stand up straight and look over your shoulders to check if anyone is around. Misfortunately catching no one other than Draco coming out of the shadows with a smug smile on his lips.

“What have you done?” He questions as he buttons his new black blazer.

You turn to face him and sigh, “nothing you’re going to tell father that’s for sure.” You walk off to take your seat around the dinner table and hear the heels of Draco’s shoes follow behind you and then walk around to sit across from you with the same stupid grin glued to his face. “You’re not going to tell father, Draco. I’ve told you I don’t wish to attend Durmstrang anymore.” You say sternly.

Just before Draco could give his answer another letter popped out of thin air and began to fall towards you, causing Draco to be quicker than you were and snatch the letter from the air. Beginning to tease you with it as he waved it around and added a comment. “Then tell him you want to go to Hogwarts today during dinner or I’ll show him even if he already knows.”

You narrow your gaze on him and huff out, “fine.” And as if your thought had summoned him, in walked your father with Narcissa in tow. Both their presences increase to the anxiety already building up in the pit of your stomach; more his than hers, or rather what you needed to tell him. The feeling made you rather quieter than usual, no usual greeting or simple smile before sitting around the table to await for your meal. No, this time you sat and watched your fidgeting hands under the table, feeling as if your heartbeat was some sort of jackhammer on how fast it was currently beating.

Draco noticed your silence and discreetly kicked you under the table, while Narcissa noticed your strange behavior and questioned you. “Is everything alright, y/n?”

Your eyes flicker up to her and you nod, replying with a shaky, “yes,” pausing to take a deep breath and turning to your father who’s attention was already on you.

“Have you already packed to leave for Durmstrang?”

“About that,” you mumble, pausing again as they set your food down, wishing now that you didn’t have to say a word. But you knew you did if you wanted to get what you wanted, “I don’t want to go back to Durmstrang.” Immediately your father shoots you a narrowed look, but let’s you continue, “it’s too far from home and I just simply hate it there. Not only that but I did get expelled or did you forget?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” your father answered as he picked up the utensils he needed to eat dinner, “Durmstrang is the best school, I’ve talked with the Headmaster and he’ll allow you to return. You’ll come back for the holidays as you always do.”

A sigh leaves your lips and your gaze lowers to the food on your plate for a brief moment before Draco kicks you again, bringing your attention to his hand reaching for the letter inside his pocket. Threatening you and causing you to roll your eyes and try again. “Please father don’t make me go back, the school is horrible and the students more so. It’s too cold and dark. I hate it there.” He stays quiet and you continue adding to your explanation, hoping something would get to him. “At Hogwarts I’ll be closer to home and closer to Draco. I’ll do better there I promise.” He sighs and sets his utensils down, looking between you, Draco and then his wife; who showed him a gentle smile and look that spoke hundreds of words. That gesture luckily for you winning him over.

“Fine,” he finally agrees, making your smile finally grow. “But if I hear that you’re misbehaving or you’re doing bad in classes I’ll send you back to Durmstrang.”

Looking to Narcissa before turning back to your father, you offer her a warm smile that she’s quick to mirror—“thank you father. I promise I’ll do good.”

He hums and then adds one last thing before the dinner is enjoyed in silence, “since you’re staying home longer now then, you’ll come with Draco and I to the Quidditch World Cup. No excuses.”

You grin brightly. “Alright.”

——

For a moment when they said to come with them to the Quidditch World Cup, you thought you were going to get the full experience like staying in a tent like the rest of witches and wizards attending the game, be like the crowd and enjoy the moment, enjoy every aspect. But, no you were mistaken. Heavily. Apparently being with the rest of the crowd wasn't right, not only because your father said they looked like wild animals in a field, but because there was a mixture, half bloods and muggle born families. It wasn’t right, he said. We should be with “our” people, he said.

What you wouldn’t give to have your parents and Draco not hate being like the rest or like the Weasleys, or as most of the people your family associated with (including your family) called them “blood-traitors”; they didn’t care what others thought of them, they lived freely and without being so uptight, they didn’t care of the status of others or themselves. They simply were genuine. People you wish your family was like.

Not that you would trade your family for them because you loved your family, but you did on occasion wish they were more like the Weasleys—like now. It would be much more fun to be like them now, here. But no. You were stuck with the rest of the uptight people who didn’t have the slightest idea how to have fun in a game! The shame.

“Look, y/n.” Draco said as he hit your arm to point further up the platforms, pulling your attention away from your thoughts to notice the familiar redhead family a couple floors higher up then you were. Noting that if Draco pointed them out with that mischievous little sly grin of his then it wouldn’t lead to anything good.

“Blimey dad, how high are we?!”

“Well put it this way!” Your father butt in, walking you closer to the railing as you had your arm locked around his, your own attention on the family above. Noticing right away all the kids they had, the twins who seemed to be better cuter in person than in the newspaper, much older too. Then there was a boy who was beside Mr. Weasley and basing on the glare he was shooting Draco, the boy was Ron Weasley. Yeah him you did know by name, only because your brother never shut up about him—“If it rains you’ll be the first to know.” Your father continued, making Draco laugh and for your frown to deepen, looking away from Mr. Weasley and his disapproving look as your attention was captivated by someone else. A dark haired boy that seemed about the age of Draco, with very blue eyes, a frown of his own and a curious stare as he caught your gaze. He was cute, cuter than most boys you knew. He also seemed familiar….but you just couldn’t place a name to his face...

Before you could think too much of it, your eyes traveled further down to see a pretty girl with her hair picked up, her skin pale and her face expressing nothing but annoyance; and noticing that she didn’t have red hair like the girl next to her then you knew she wasn’t the youngest Weasley, but rather the “Mud-blood” your brother also ranted about. And...the boy in the glasses was Harry Potter. The famous “chosen one” and another one of your brother’s rivals. How cluessless and dumb could you be...

“Father, y/n and I are in the Minister's box by personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself.” Draco gloated as the three of you continued moving along, with you still rather much glued to your father's side and just staying quiet as you discreetly rolled your eyes at Dracos comment.

Only completely looking over to Draco with a shocked expression as your father countered his comment whilst also hitting him with his cane. “Don’t boast, Draco. There's no need with these people.” Before the family could leave, your father stepped forward and stopped Harry Potter with the handle of his cane and added feignedly and with not such a good intention. “Do enjoy yourself won’t you? While you can.” With nothing else they turned to leave and your father tapped your hand as Harry Potter and you shared one last glance before he left along with the rest. “Come on y/n, let’s go.”

The three of you continued moving until you reached the box Draco had just so smugly boasted about, finding it hard to concentrate on the people around as your mind was still on the family from before, mainly on the boy with them. It was a thought you needed to speak out loud. “That was Harry Potter, right? The boy that is supposed to be the chosen one? The one in your year, Draco?”

Draco nods and leans in closer to you to sharply whisper his comment, “filthy half-blood doesn’t know who real people are. He would rather be alongside traitors…” he pauses and some sort of amusement and distaste is heard in his voice, “but then again those are his kind of people, right?”

You hum as a response, but not to really agree with his comment, just to not ignore him, getting lucky and using the cheering that got louder as the players zoomed in the stadium as a distraction not to answer. Getting up seconds later alongside Draco to join in the cheering and clapping as the Irish players flew in, followed by the Bulgarian in their red suits. Grinning and whooping as some did tricks on their brooms, clapping harder as the one player you knew flew in, the best seeker in the world, Krum. Now you might’ve hated Durmstrang and most of the students there, but there was something about knowing that you went to school with Krum and seeing him here now at such an important sporting event that made you happy. It might be only short lived, at the moment type of thing, or simply just a form boasting yourself, but it did get you excited for the moment.

The feeling made you forget your previous thoughts and the past events that happened moments before and fully engage in the game and the announcement being said before it all began. “Good evening! As Minister for Magic it gives me great pleasure to welcome each and everyone of you to the final four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup, let the match begin!”

——

“Did you see that dive, Krum did!” Draco said excitedly as he mimicked the move with his hand, showing the fun and at ease side of himself that he only seemed to show with you and his mother. Never really with father. He always wanted to act composed like him. Just as uptight as the rest, but with you he let out the kid still inside, it was something that made you grin brightly and be even more excited. “At the very last second! Before he just spiraled off and Lynch hit the ground! That’s a move I’m doing when I play.”

“You better!” You respond happily, as the both of you walk under the dark of night, going ignorant to the commotion in the distance, distracting yourself as you wait for your father to finish what he went off to do in the crowd of people he had only made fun of before. “I can’t wait to finally go to one of your games.”

“I’m the best on my team, I guarantee you that.” He said smugly.

You shake your head but still contain your smile, parting your lips to reply but instantly stopping as a strange light suddenly caught your eye. It was something vast and green, seen past the trees and from where Draco and you were in the forest, it shone brighter than the stars in the sky and looked like a cloud of green smoke. A cloud of smoke that began to form into a big skull with a serpent coming out of its mouth like a tongue would. A mark. His mark.

“Quickly, we have to find father.” You stressed, not having to do much more before Draco and you hurried to the crowd of tents and pushed past the crowd of people that ran away in a panic, almost running over you in the panicked state they were, making it harder to identify anyone in the crowd, causing trouble to keep Draco in front of you as they shoved past you. It was beginning to raise your fear and panic, making your breathing much quicker just like the heart inside your chest. It made you stressed to the point you couldn’t find the man you were looking for in the field—that or you were just too overwhelmed to look good.

“Y/N! There he is! Come on!” Draco ushered you, pointing to the tall familiar man that finally brought some sort of comfort to your panic.

“Quickly!” He bellowed, rushing Draco and you towards him, looking paler than usual and as afraid as Draco and you. And before either Draco or you could question the mark in the dark sky, he grabbed your hands and the three of you disapparated from the scene. Forgetting the mark in the sky. Not by your choice, but by your fathers. The questions you had, left back in the place you were last standing to never be answered. Simply avoided and being left with nothing but wonder.

——

“I’ll try and send letters as soon as I can, okay?” Narcissa said as she waved at both Draco and you.

You nod and wave goodbye, thinking to yourself how someone who wasn’t your biological parent cared more to be here than your actual father. She always did, she never cared that your mother had been someone else, she treated you exactly as she treated Draco, no exceptions.

“Okay.” You nod with a small smile decorating your lips, ignoring the way Draco only offered her a short stiff wave before he disappeared inside the famous scarlet train. “Bye, I’ll write as soon as we’re settled in school!” With one last goodbye you disappear inside too, following Draco down the hall until he reaches his compartment, stopping by the door and letting you go in first before he and his other friends follow suit. Two friends you knew, Crabbe and Goyle; and also didn’t like as they were both annoying and rude. The only good thing about them was that they left you alone, and continued doing so as the train left the station and began to travel further north towards the school that at the simple thought began to make you feel nervous, made you feel like your heart was slowly dropping to your stomach the closer you knew you were getting.

The only thing that eased your mind was seeing as rain drops ran down the window of your compartment, as more rain fell on harder and the clouds grew darker; straining your eyes to see the passing scenery out the window that was covered by the steam caused by the rain. But like usual your peace was disturbed as per usual Draco and his annoying friends were causing a scene.

At first you were going to let it just pass and stay seated but you heard what Draco was saying and you quickly dragged yourself off your seat and walked up behind him. “...but then, fathers always associated with the top people at the Ministry...maybe your fathers too junior to know about it, Weasley...yes...they probably don’t talk important stuff in front of him—”

“Draco.” You cut him off with a tight lipped smile, “that’s enough, leave them alone.”

Goyle was about to snap back, but before he could you caught his intentions and shot him a glare that made him shut up immediately.

“Let’s head back to the compartment,” You sigh and force the words you speak to convince Draco to leave. “They...aren’t worth it let’s go.”

“You’re right.” Draco responded smugly, “of course.” Before he could leave completely he looks at you with the same smug look before looking at the group he was just being mean too. “My sister personally knows the player you can only admire as a toy, Weasley. She went to school with him you see.” He boasted and continued doing so with no fault in his pride, “and I’m sure she’s going to sign up too and take that glory you crave so much, Potter.” With that being said, he turned back and walked back to the compartment laughing with his friends as they kept poking fun at the students they had just left, leaving you back alone to offer them a small smile and a genuine apology.

“I’m sorry for him and his annoying friends.”

They answered with silence and annoyed pointed glares, making you offer them one last apologetic smile before you turned away and walked back into the compartment. Enjoying the rest of the ride to your new school with just the sound of the raindrops to keep you company and at ease.

As time passed, everything you were nervous to see finally came to view. You arrived at the train station and expected to travel to the castle in the boats, but that form of travel you knew was for first years; but if you thought of it you practically were like the first years, you were a couple years above them and it was your first time coming to this school like them. But as you saw them all leave with the giant man you came to the conclusion that you weren’t like them.

The only thing you could do was go up to the school alongside the rest of the students, climbing onto horseless carriages. The fact that you wouldn’t get the full first day experience kind of brought your mood down at first, but as you passed the gates and the carriages miraculously landed on the ground without getting destroyed in the sky by the lightning, your mood was once again nervous and excited.

The anxiety was short-lived for the moment however as you saw the huge old dark castle and climbed up the flight of big stone stairs to get inside the castle, being in awe as your eyes slowly took everything in. Noticing the torch lit hall that brought a warm welcome, the marble staircases that made everything much fancier, and before you could notice more, a tall older thin woman with a big pointed hat walked towards you and the rest of the students. Draco standing by you, revealed her name you had only been wanting to know, Professor McGonagall.

She gave no speech or attention your way specifically, just ushered all you into the great hall where you knew the inevitable was coming, the sorting you had been all too nervous to get to was going to finally happen.

——

“A thousand years or more ago, when I was newly sewn, there lived four wizards of renown, whose names are still well known: Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor, Fair Ravenclaw, from glen, Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad, Shrewd Slytherin, from fen. They shared a wish, a hope, a dream, they hatched a daring plan to educate young sorcerers thus Hogwarts School began. Now each of these four founders formed their own house, for each did value different virtues In the ones they had to teach. By Gryffindor, the bravest were prized far beyond the rest; For Ravenclaw, the cleverest would always be the best; For Hufflepuff, hard workers were most worthy of admission; And power-hungry Slytherin loved those of great ambition. While still alive they did divide their favorites from the throng, yet how to pick the worthy ones when they were dead and gone? 'Twas Gryffindor who found the way, he whipped me off his head the founders put some brains in me so I could choose instead! Now slip me snug about your ears, I've never yet been wrong, I'll have a look inside your mind and tell where you belong!” The hat sings, making everyone clap and cheer.

You clap lazily before letting out a nervous sigh and keep bouncing your leg under the table, rubbing your wrists as you rest your arms on the table top. Not being able to keep your eyes from drifting to the Gryffindor table, spotting Harry Potter talking amongst his friends, wondering to yourself what would happen if you got put into Gryffindor and ended up becoming friends with the trio Draco always ranted about. Would such a drastic choice, drift you from your family? What would everyone think? Having a Malfoy be part of a different house that wasn’t Slytherin?

For one you wouldn’t mind….that much...it would be a change. A weird one, but one that would stop people from viewing you like the enemy. But two it would definitely cause a drift now that you really thought of it, maybe not between you and Narcissa but between your loving father and Draco.

“I know you’ll get Slytherin.” Draco suddenly said to you, ignoring Dumbledore's speech and breaking you from your thoughts.

You blink and turn your head to look at him, raising your eyebrow to question, “you think so?”

“You’re a Malfoy it’s obvious isn’t?”

You hum and nod still all kinds of unsure, “you’re right.” Your eyes then dart to Dumbledore as you hear the words you’d been dreading to hear.

“Before we sort the first years I'd like to bring up a new transfer from Durmatrang to get sorted first, Y/N Malfoy!” The crowd goes completely silent, the only sound was the sound of people shifting as they turn their bodies and heads to look at you as you stand from your seat to slowly head towards the stool where the sorting hat was waiting to sort you in a house, and tell you a choice that would or wouldn’t change many things. It was all nerve wracking especially with all the eyes watching you intently, you could feel your heart beat wildly in your chest and swore others could hear it too, especially dumbledore who you now stood before, glancing only once at him before he motioned you to sit, lifting the brown hat over your head and carefully placing it on top.

At first you’d thought it would be a quick choice without having to do much thinking like Draco said it did with him, but it wasn’t, for you he hummed to ponder; “hmm….another Malfoy...as easy it was to place the one before, with you it’s difficult.” It stayed silent and since you couldn’t see it’s facial expression as it spoke, you had to go off the wide eyed expressions and the whisperings from the other students.

“I sense that there’s a thirst to prove yourself as well as great ambition…” he continues to say loudly, “...hmm, ruthless as well as passionate. Should I put you in Gryffindor where dwell the brave of heart, or perhaps Slytherin where there are cunning folk that use any means to achieve their ends.” It goes silent again and this time you look to Draco who’s listening with much intent, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were the one having trouble.

You dig your nails into the wood of the stool and notice the murmuring crowd all going silent as the hat speaks to finish. “Oh, I see now, better be...”

Tagged- @peter-laufeyson , @swiftlymoniquesblog

#harry Potter #Harry Potter #Harry Potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter x malfoy!reader #harry potter x you #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x y/n #harry potter imagines #Harry Potter imagine #different light #Draco Malfoy #Lucius Malfoy #Ron Weasley #the twins #hermione granger #narcissa malfoy #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x malfoy!reader #fred weasley x y/n

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ticklishfiend · 4 years

Text

Angry Little Guy

My Hero Acadameia - Kirishima/Bakugou

A/N: heyyy haven’t written in a hot minute (again lmao)!! my mental health has been taking a tolls recently so writing has been hard, but i still hope y’all enjoy what i wrote today!! i love these boys sm and i hope to write some more for them in the future :) hope u enjoy!! xx

Summary: After Ms. Joke visits the school and forces Bakugou to laugh after he was being a grumpy-butt in class, Kirishima can’t help that he just wants to hear that cute little laugh again. But when Bakugou refuises to laugh any other way, Kirishima decides to use some...persuasive methods :))

Word Count - 2,550

—

Today was a physical training day for Class 1A, all the students gathering in the training gym in their matching blue and red outfits ready for whatever task Aizawa had prepared for them that day. Aizawa’s demeanor today, however, was just a little…off. Sure, he was being hs regular boring, monotonous self, but something about the way his eyes seemed to sink deeper into their sockets, and the way his back seemed somehow more slouched than usual, showed that the class’s teacher was a little more annoyed today than he already was regularly.

“Does Aizawa-Sensei seem more…upset than usual?” Kirishima scratched his neck worriedly, heck cocked as he watched Aizawa pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know, man, the guy’s never exactly been the bubbly type. Maybe he just got less sleep than normal,” Denki shrugged, his eyes also meeting the groggy teacher stood in front of their whole class. “What do you think, Bakugou? Think Aizawa woke up on the wrong side of the bed or what?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sparkplug, he’s about to start class,” Bakugou grumbled, not even glancing down at his bright blonde counterpart for a second.

“Okay everyone, it’s time to shut up,” Aizawa spoke loudly, his eyes tense as he stared the teens in front of him down. The mumbles in the room went silent as Aizawa began his lesson. “Today’s gonna be a little…different. Despite my pleas against this, you’ll be taught your training by a different pro-hero today from Ketsubutu High.”

Muffled whispers slowly rose up from the crowd of teens before Aizawa, mumbling predictions of who the hell could be teaching them today and why it wasn’t someone already from their school. Of course, as always, Iida’s hand was the first to shoot up and question this strange decision.

“Aizawl-Sensei, why are we being taught by a teacher from another school? Why not use any of the many teachers we have available at UA?”

“Unfortunately, Nezu believes it would be best for you all to not only be trained by the same heroes, as you need to widen your options for training techniques, especially considering many of you need to learn better techniques of distraction. Which is exactly why they’ve brought in-“

“Helloooo~!” The gym doors behind the students’ burst open, a female figure standing in the doorway with her hands on his hips and a bright, wide smile imprinted on her face.

“Oh no way!” Sero pointed excitedly towards the woman. “It’s Ms. Joke!”

“That’s right, future pro-heroes!” Ms. Joke began making her way over toward Aizawa, his glare on her intensifying with every step she got closer.

“Ohhh, now I get why he’s been so moody all morning,” Kiri whispered to Denki, the two sharing a knowing glance as they both grinned.

“Joke, why are you so late? You were supposed to be here an hour ago so we could discuss-“

“Oh cmon, Eraser, don’t be so serious! Just got caught up in a little morning traffic is all, plus spreading a few smiles along the way!” Joke grinned widely at the stoic man beside her. “Y’know, I’m always happy to spread a few more smiles as long as they’re coming from your cute little face-“

“That’s enough, Joke. Please get on with the lesson,” Aizawa rolled his eyes, refusing to look over at his extremely smiley counterpart.

“Whatever you say, future husband!”

“Not your future husband-“

“Okay guys! So who here knows about my quirk and can explain it properly to the rest of the class?” Joke asked, followed by multiple hands shooting up into the air, Deku’s even waving about excitedly (as this IS his favorite thing in the world to discuss).

“Hmm…how about…you! Mr. Grumpy in the front!” Joke exclaimed, pointing towards Bakugou. His arms were crossed in contempt, eyes glaring into Joke’s happy persona like his gaze alone could burn right through it.

“I didn’t even raise my hand,” Bakugou scowled at his higher-up, his stance never wavering. “How do you know I have any idea who you are?”

Ms. Joke smirked at Katsuki. “Y’know, teachers talk, Bakugou,” the mention of his name made his eyes grow a little wide in surprise, not expecting her to know him by name. “Sure, I know you from the sports festival, but I also know you from a little more than that. I know that you’re an angry little guy who doesn’t like not being at the top, and you find satisfaction in knowing more than your peers. I also know you’re very smart, and you’re well educated on the status of most- if not all- pro-heroes today. So, I’ll ask again; can you please explain to the class what my quirk is and how it functions?”

A silent but stressed pause fell over the group of teens. None of them had expected Joke to get so analytical on Bakugou like that, and it made them all feel a little fearful of what the “angry little guy” had to say next to her next. Bakugou’s glare on the woman deepened, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You can make people laugh uncontrollably, basically making it easier for you to fight them with one-on-one combat. And if you want me to be honest,” Bakugou’s face contorted into an ugly smirk, his arms crossing tighter as his body leaned in ever so slightly towards the hero. “-it’s one of the lamest quirks I’ve ever seen from a pro-hero.”

The air in the room was suddenly 10x thicker than before, almost making it harder for the students to catch a healthy breath. Ms. Joke only smiled fondly at the teen before her, walking closer to him until they were face-to-face.

“Y’know Bakugou…ever since I saw you perform at the sports festival, seeing you so red-faced and angry the whole time, I couldn’t help but wonder…” Joke’s hands went to her hips as Bakugou’s smirk slowly began to fade. “…does that guy ever really laugh?”

Suddenly and without warning, Bakugou began belting out one of the screechiest laughs anyone in that gym had ever heard in their lives. His arms came down to his stomach, harshly crushing his abdomen as if this would cease the laughs at any capacity. After a second, one of his hands shot towards his mouth, after he must’ve finally realized how embarrassingly girly his laugh must’ve sounded.

“Oh my god, no way! Bakugou can laugh!” Denki shouted, pointing at the hysterical boy in front of him. The rest of the class erupted into giggles, unable to contain it after hearing that contagious laugh leave that angry little man.

“SHUHUHUT UHUP! THIS ISN’T FAHAHAHAIR!” Bakugou’s screams were muffled behind his hand, but it did nothing to mask the laughs coming out of the boy.

“So, is anyone who didn’t know about my quirk starting to get how it works?” Joke giggled, Bakugou now crumbling to the floor on his knees without even meaning to. After another moment, his laughs began to die down to soft titters, before standing back up on shaky legs. To his dismay, his face was flushed an adorable shade of pink, and though everyone noticed it, no one dared to make a comment. His eyes made their way to Joke’s, an angry flash of light glaring from them.

“YOU MADE YOUR POINT YET, HAG?!” Bakugou shouted, his hands in a combat position by his sides, making small explosions not big enough to hurt a fly from his palms.

“Yes, actually. I think we’re ready to move on to the lesson at hand!”

“Man, I still feel sore after training today. Who knew Ms. Joke could be so ruthless at hand to hand combat!” Kirishima exclaimed, massaging his shoulder before turning back to his homework in his lap. He was sat crisscross on Bakugou’s bed, with said explosive teen leaning against the wall behind him also working on his homework.

“Whatever, Shitty-hair, it wasn’t that bad,” Bakugou rolled his eyes, earning him a shove on the knee from the red haired teen beside him.

“You’re just mad she had you laughing like a little girl in front of the class and you KNOW it!” Kiri chuckled.

“Hell yeah I’m mad, I’m fucking pissed! That hag had no right to do that, it made me look like a fucking idiot!” Bakugou grumbled throwing his head back and hitting the wall with a thud.

“Oh cmon, it wasn’t that bad, it was adorable! You should totally laugh like that more often, Bakubro. I know I’d sure love to hear it,” Kiri giggled, looking up at Bakugou, noting the small tinge of crimson painting his cheeks. He decided to be nice and not say anything, just like he had been at training.

“I’m not adorable, fuckface, and after that whole stunt I don’t think I’ll ever laugh again.”

“Bakubro, you know I can’t have that! I’ve gotta get my dose of Kats giggles every once and awhile, even if I have to pull em outta ya!” Kiri snickered, playfully shoving Bakugou in the shoulder. “In fact, I wanna hear you laugh right now! Cmon, gimme them giggles!”

Bakugou just looked up at Kirishima with the most blank expression he could possibly pull. Kirishima pouted, grabbing his and the other boy’s homework and moving it to the other side of the bed.

“Shitty-hair, I was working on that-!”

“Ah ah ah, Bakubro, you can get right back to your work as soon as I hear that laugh of yours that I heard earlier today!” Kirishima moved to sit cross-legged in front of Bakugou, giving him the dopiest smile he could pull in hopes to get the boy to giggle even a little.

Nothing.

“Kiri, I can’t just laugh on command. You’ve gotta do something funny, and you’re not a funny fucking person,” Bakugou’s expression remained partially blank, but Kirishima could spot that hint of mischievousness behind his eyes that got him all worked up and playful.

“Hmm…well, while I might disagree with you on that, it’s really hard to make you laugh. And trust me, I know that from experience,” Kirishima brought his hand up to scratch at his chin, looking Bakugou in the eyes experimentally. Then, a lightbulb went off over Kiri’s head.

“Hey, Bakugou?”

“Um…yes?”

“Are you ticklish?” Bakugou remained unwavered, but Kirishima could tell that question made the blood boy uneasy.

“No. Can I get back to my work now, Shitty-hair?”

“I already told you, we aren’t working until I hear you laugh. And, I don’t believe you.”

“Well you should, because I’m not.”

“Then can I?” Bakugou furrowed his brows confusedly at the question.

“Can you what?” Bakugou asked, his head leaning back in confusion.

“Can I tickle you? Y’know, since you aren’t ticklish.”

“No, that’s a stupid question, why would you tickle someone who isn’t-“ suddenly, Bakugou’s words halted as Kirishima grabbed the boy by his shoulders and turned him to push his back onto the bed. He sat down on the boys waist, pinning his hands beneath his knees, effectively trapping them. “WHAT THE HELL, SHITTY-HAIR?!”

“What? You said you aren’t ticklish, so this-“ Kirishima pulled Bakugou’s shirt up just above his lower ribs, before lightly and slowly tracing shapes into the boys sides. “-shouldn’t bother you at all.”

Bakugou’s entire body was as stiff as a board, his eyes shut tight and his mouth shut even tighter. His teeth grinder against one another and titter after titter left his lips against his mind’s wishes.

“Kiri- I- Stop- hehe-wait, just hold on a minutehehe-“ Bakugou giggled lightly, his hands struggling beneath Kiri’s knees. Then, Kirishima began digging his fingers into his ribs, and that’s when all hell broke loose for the explosive boy beneath him.

“WAHRHEIT! STOHOHOHOP! NOT FAIR! NOT FAHAHAHAIR!” Bakugou twisted and turned his body, but to absolutely no avail. Kirishima was massaging circles into Bakugou’s lower ribs, and the hysterical boy under him just couldn’t take it. “See? Now THIS is what I wanted to hear, Bakubro!” Kirishima moved his right hand down to skitter his nails on the boy's lower belly, resulting in high pitched squealy giggles to leave the Bakugou's lips. "Aw, you're so ticklish! I never expected this from you, it's so cute!" Kirishima cooed, only making Bakugou's laughs to grow more frantic and panicked.

"NOHOHO! NOHOHOT CUHUHUTE! NOT CUHUHUHU- AHAHAHA!" The boy's words trailed off into even more giggles as Kirishima brought his left hand down to sueeze at his hips. "NOHOHOT THEHERE! PLEASE! I CAHAHAHANT!"

"Aww, is this a bad spot, Bakugou?~ Is it really ticklish right there?~" Kirishima teased, now moving both hands down to sueeze and spider over his hips, which proved to be one of his worst spots so far.

"YEHEHES! TIHIHICKLES!" Bakugou screamed, his legs kicking out frantically behind Kiri as the red-head experimentally moved his fingers upwards and dipped into his bellybutton.

Bakugou let out the most high pitched scream Kirishima had ever heard.

"Oh my god, dude! Is it that bad here?" Kirishima used one nail to scratch at the inside walls of the navel, while another finger skittered around the entire button.

"BAHAHAHAD! SO BAHAHAD! PLEHEHEASE!" Bakugou whined, small prickles of tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

"Alright, alright, i'll quit. But-" Kirishima halted momentarily, his nails resting on Bakugou's lower tummy without moving. Even with the lack of movement, Bakugou couldn't help the small giggles that left his lips, his childish giggle box already turned on it's head, making those unmoving nails feel like their skittering all over his tummy. "-first you have to admit that your laugh is adorable."

Bakugou's eyes widened. "What?! Are you crazy?! I'm not gonna say something like th-hehehe!" Kirishima slowly began skittering over his lower tummy again, his fingers slowly but surely getting closer and closer towards his navel.

"Bakugou, you are way too ticklish to just not comply with me right now. Just say what I want and I'll let you go," Kirishima smiled, bringing one hand up to skitter at his lower ribs, resulting in a surprise shriek and louder giggles from the boy. "Unless...you don't want me to stop?"

Bakugou's entire face turned beet red, and this time Kirishima just couldn't help himself. "Aw, Bakugou~! Y'know, you're way more of a blusher than you'd like to admit, but that's just another thing that makes you intesnely adorable. So say it! Say you're adorbale!"

"Nohoho! I cahaha- Kiri plehehease! Don't make mehehe!" Bakugou whined, twisting his body as if trying to escape the unstoppable fingers on his torso.

"Cmon Kats~ Just say those two magic little words~"

"Alrihihight!" Bakugou shut his eyes tight, turning his face as much as he could to try and smush his words into the mattress. "I'm...I'm adorablehehe..."

Kirishima finally halted his fingers and moved them off the boy's body, but still not getting up off of his waist. "See? Was it that hard?"

"Yes!" Bakugou whined, finally pulling his hands out from under Kirishima's legs after the red-head gave him some leverage to, shoving them into his face to mask the ever-growing blush and smile emerging.

"You're too cute for me, Kats. I don't think I can handle it," Kirishima smiled fondly at the boy underneath him, his heart swelling in his chest unbeknownst to that angry little giggly guy.

A/N: i hope u enjoyed!! i just love lee!bakugou so i rlly couldn’t help myself LMAOO he’s so cute wtf :(( anyways, if u enjoyed this pls consider liking and reblogging!! reblogging is much more appreciated as it helps spread my fic to more ppl :)) love u!! xx

#tickling #my fic #tickle community #mha #tickle fic #bnha #kiribaku #my hero academia #tickles #lee!bakugou #boku no hero academia #ticklish!bakugou #eijiro kirishima #katsuki bakugou #ms joke

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prose-for-hire · 3 years

Text

Me and You

Pairing: Faith x fem!slayer!reader

Request: Hi, could you write a faith x female reader (maybe also a slayer) story where the reader is like Faiths opposite, really responsible and serious (sorta like Kendra) and her and Faith keep squabbling but end up falling for each other? If not I completely understand, its your call, thanks :)

Requested by: Anon

A/N: I absolutely love Faith, I want her to hold me lol 💖🖤

As soon as you had been called, your life had completely slotted into place. You were a Slayer. One of the chosen ones. You had perfectly crafted a ten-point plan and highlighted all of the goals you wished to reach now that you were on this path.

You took studying very seriously, you read more than the watcher that you had been assigned. He was actually pretty hopeless, you wondered why he had been assigned to you.

But, you did respect those in authority. So, you assisted him and somehow the correct tome made its way to his desk as if by magic. You respected the status quo for the most part. The way that everyone had their place and yours was to fight vampires and other kinds of demons.

You had arrived in Sunnydale, having been told there were already two slayers there. You weren’t really used to friends and so you didn’t know what to make of them. Faith had taken one look at you and decided she knew everything she needed to know about you.

“Slayer?”

“Yes! Isn’t it a gift?”

“Yeah, the kind you return” She had rolled her eyes at you and dipped. Not needing to hear you recite the entire Slayer manual to her backwards.

As time went on, you got on with Buffy although you felt she wished you would switch off as well. But you had a duty, it was what you had trained for. You couldn’t relax for a moment, you didn’t want to.

However, you entirely didn’t get along with Faith. You were always squabbling. You infuriated each other. You never agreed. Especially not on slaying. But it ended up bleeding through into all parts of you lives.

You just couldn’t stop arguing. Sometime sit was heated and one of you had your hand curled into a fist. Other times it was stupid and petty and you both knew it, but it didn’t mean you would stop.

However, as this continued, you began to find yourself becoming increasingly attracted to her. It confused you and you hadn’t understood at first. But soon you were watching her lips as she spoke. Imagining kissing her. Having those toned arms wrapped around you.

You only snapped more at her when you realised. Didn’t want anyone to notice, much less her, the way that you felt. You had never even considered that she felt the same. And she really did.

Buffy had said you needed to patrol. There was a nest of vamps and she needed you to take the west and you would meet your patrol partner there.

She had chosen to have her actual friends with her so that she wasn’t bored and decided to pair you and Faith up on the far side from where she would be.

“You?!” You squeaked, your voice higher in pitch than you had expected it to be.

“Yep. Just me and you” She grinned at your expression walking past you her stake in hand. You exhaled, sighing audibly in frustration as you stalked after her to catch up.

You were going to be alone together. You didn’t know if you were annoyed or elated. You couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to be her girlfriend.

It took about three steps before you began to squabble again. As you usually would. Your voices had carried across the cemetery you had been walking through. It wasn’t your usual stealth. Because of how much attention you were paying each other and how engrossed in the interaction you were, no matter how heated it was getting, it meant you hadn’t noticed the vampires that were beginning to surround you.

You walked for a while until you made a left turn and suddenly found yourself surrounded. A nest of vampires were apparently a whole army of vampires.

But they had a mastermind behind them. They had rushed you, you managed to thin the herd slightly but not by enough. You and Faith retreated into an old tunnel system. You fought hard, but it was no use. You were strong but there was too many.

You had began fighting in-sync but you had soon ended up as if you were fighting your own battle. Getting in each other’s ways. You shouted at each other but it was no use.

Suddenly as more vampires could be heard running to join the fight overhead, there was a loud cracking sound above your heads. The foundations weren’t solid in this area. The ground above had caved in and left the concrete crumbling into the tunnels.

Luckily, you and Faith had been left in one half and the vampires in the other. Unluckily, you had hit a dead end and had been sealed in.

Now you were trapped. Together. Because you had been paying more attention to each other rather than the threat.

“Well, that’s one threat gone” She shrugged as you just stared incredulously. You hadn’t taken out the nest and now you were trapped. There was no good side.

“Oh yeah, well done. I could have handled it”

“You and what army, huh? You’re kiddin’ yourself” Faith shook her head at you. At the way you were so self-assured you were giving her a run for her money.

But despite her faults, of which you had pointed out many to her as she had to you, she was perceptive. She noticed something about you. She wished she could pretend she hadn’t been taking notice of you on purpose. Because of that guilty affection she harboure for you. The one she couldn’t dare name. She didn’t want to get hurt, she would rather stick to relationships with guys she didn’t care about. She only had to pretend to care for a night.

With you, it was different. To be vulnerable with you and to have you reject her. To not be affectionate with her the way she was embarrassed to admit she had dreamed about.

She didn’t usually do this. Let you see that she took notice of you, but she couldn’t help saying it.

“Not everything is you havin’ the whole world on your shoulders y’know?” she asked, her tone had changed. Almost… softened. You didn’t take care of yourself at times, she had noticed. Sacrificing yourself for your duty.

“Yeah you wouldn’t know” You snapped back at her despite the tone you had thought you caught from her. But your voice was wavering. Every second you spent trapped you began feeling worse and worse.

Faith didn’t take your snapping personally, she never did. In fact, she found herself enjoying it. Finding herself noticing the absence if you hadn’t interacted that day. Even if it was just you at each other’s throats.

It had been hours. You had both barely spoken since. You had to take your jackets off as the room began to heat up. You were beginning to sweat. Your breathing irregular. You were pacing.

“I-I can’t do this!” You suddenly shouted, “I need to get out of here!”

“Hey, y/n/n-”

“Help!” You screamed, pounding on the wall. Hoping that someone, anyone would hear you. But Faith, as you usually would, knew that this could bring threat. You were panicking so Faith clasped a hand over your mouth, muffling your shouts. You missed the way her other hand lingered on your shoulder in your panic.

She expected you to push her off but you just sort of let her hold you there. The proximity to you was agonising and your breathing was heavy. From the fear. From the way her skin felt against you.

But rather than argue, you just stopped. She moved her hands away and you moved against the wall, sliding down it to sit at the bottom on the floor.

You put your head in your hands. You didn’t like this. You were truly scared. She had never seen you this way. You were always cool. Taking everything as it came at you. You took on every duty that was expected of you.

But now you just couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t follow protocol. You didn’t want to be stuck here. Didn’t want to have to wait it out. To possibly never see the light of day.

She saw that you were scared. Genuinely scared in a way you would never usually let her see. She presumed you were so cool all of the time. A robot. Y/n the slayer-tron.

You were visibly worried. Expecting the end. She watched you for a moment, debating whether to comfort you. Before her mouth decided for her.

“Hey, don’t freak okay? B knows where we are. Her and the others’ll come” She shrugged, sitting down beside you on the floor.

But she wasn’t as sure of herself as she came across. She was being strong. For you. She had never seen you be this vulnerable before. You would never admit you were scared. But being confined here it made you rethink everything. Your very purpose.

“What if we die down here?”

“Hey, don’t sweat it, huh? It’ll be cool” she said firmly.

She looked at you for a moment, wanting to put her arms around your shoulder. Provide some kind of comfort. She couldn’t explain it. She cared about you, she had just never known how to show it. Arguing and working up a lot of sexual tension was so much easier.

“B-but it’s real, isn’t it? That we could die. That we will die… sooner than later” You never allowed yourself to think of it, much less discuss it. But this situation had gotten to you somehow. Had made you question your resolve. Your duties. How you just listened to the rules without questioning them.

This also made you incredibly guilty. You prided yourself on how seriously you took your duty. On the way you were a watcher’s dream. How you had saved the world.

It shocked her, that you would include her in your thoughts. Gave her this strange feeling. Hope. Or, a feeling that you trusted her in some sense. Could rely on her in the way she wished you would sometimes.

“Look, I don’t know about you but I’m here for the long haul. We’re good at this, we’re survivors” She offered, talking of you both as a unit. As something that appeared to meant she was by your side. That you weren’t alone in how you felt.

“Yeah, when we’re not getting ourselves trapped” You berated yourself more than her. You didn’t want to be stuck here, but you would be lying if you hadn’t imagined having her to yourself this way. In a conversation that was kind.

“Accidents happen. Me and you, we’re, uh, the ultimate team. We’re- we’re gonna get through this, right?”

“Me and you” you repeated and she nodded, smiling. As if telling you ‘that’s the spirit’. But her smile dropped a little when she saw the look you were giving her. Your lips were parted slightly and she couldn’t help scanning your face. You were so close she could map out every feature so clearly. She was making a mental picture so that she could submit it to memory.

The temperature had been rising the entire time you had been stuck there. The proximity of the way that you were sitting made those words feel intimate. You had wordlessly shifted closer as you spoke.

The meaning growing as you both leaned in. Agonisingly slowly. Heat rising around you, but you still reached for her weaving your fingers through her shiny brunette hair. She felt so good under your hands it propelled your forwards her lips were waiting. She had waited so long for this moment.

Driven herself wild with want. With the lust she had, the thoughts she had drove her crazy. That she wanted all sides of you. Even your stick-by-the-rules nature. She was fond of you. She had such deep feelings.

Your lips met. Crashing against each other in your haste. In your innate need to connect with her. Through the arguing. Through the frustration. Focusing only on her lips, the way her tongue entered your mouth urgently.

You couldn’t get over how good she tasted. How you never wanted to stop. You were addicted to her touch. To her.

But of course, you knew this already. You were only confirming it. And this was no mere kiss. Not to either of you. This was Earth-shifting. Ground breaking.

You had kissed her. She was surprised at the way you had initiated this. She didn’t expect you to actually feel the tension the way she did. But she fucking loved it.

You were hungry for more. For her. In that moment, you were willing to forget your situation. Hell, you were ready to forget every responsibility. Your very destiny. Just to keep her lips on yours. To have her reciprocate your feelings even if it was only physical for her. But it wasn’t just physical to her. This meant something.

Suddenly you heard something. A spell had broken through the barriers that had blocked you in. A flash of light and you had sprung apart. Both breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. Chests heaving. Eyes glancing towards the other, making sure it wasn’t dream.

Some guilty secret. Somehow, you both knew that wasn’t the last kiss you would share.

Your rescuers all pretended they hadn’t seen anything. But your friends were all as relieved as you, it had been about time.

#Faith lehane #Faith lehane x reader #Faith x reader #Faith x you #Faith imagine #Faith lehane x you #Faith lehane imagine #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #btvs #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #btvs x you #buffyverse #slayer #slayer reader #female #female reader

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bugsandchatons · 3 years

Text

when you weren’t mine to lose (4)

Summary: Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It’s been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they’ll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she’ll cross to save him.

[[AO3]] {from the beginning}

*****

[four: when I’ve got nothing but my aching soul]

The world around her keeps going, but Ladybug’s universe narrows to three things: Chat Noir’s frozen form, the shattered mirror at his feet, and her own hand, reaching in vain across the space between them. At some point, darkness must fall around her in earnest, as the sun dies behind the horizon. At some point, the akumatized victim must gather his strength and crawl away, finding his own way down the fire escape and leaving Ladybug to her vigil.

She doesn’t spare him a glance.

The beeping in her ears blares one last warning and the static fades, bringing the return of sound and with it, faint gasps that come in a rhythm.

It’s coming from her, Ladybug realizes. She can’t seem to find enough air.

There’s a flash of pink and she shuts her eyes against it. When she opens them again, Chat’s blank stare meets her. Her stomach turns, threatening to empty. “I can’t breathe,” she tells him, choking on the words.

Still, he doesn’t move.

Another sound finds her, be it mere moments or hours later. It takes too long to realize it’s her name.

“Marinette?” Tikki, exhausted and wide-eyed, is patting her cheek. “Marinette, what happened?”

“Chat, he -” she whispers, lifting a trembling finger. She can’t find any more words, but it’s enough.

Tikki spins around and makes a strangled sort of sound before zipping over to him. “Chat Noir?” she asks, her voice clear as a bell. Marinette blinks, then sits up straighter and stares. If she can’t fix it, then Tikki will.

“Plagg?” Tikki tries, her voice jumping an octave. “Plagg,” she calls again, before her expression twists. In the blink of an eye, Tikki phases into the Chat statue, before reappearing with something that’s enormous in her hands but tiny when she brings it over and lays it in front of Marinette.

It’s Chat Noir’s ring, the Black Cat Miraculous in a state she’s never seen it in before. It’s still black, but burned black. The signet face is blank, and the absence of the usual flashing green paw print is as glaring as a missing heartbeat.

When Marinette opens her mouth to speak, nothing makes it past the lump in her throat. She swallows, then tries again, her voice hoarse. “Where’s Plagg?”

Tikki makes a small sound, similar to that of an animal in pain. Everything about her droops. “I don’t know, Marinette. The Miraculous is broken.”

Marinette shakes her head, the movement slow and mechanical. She reaches out for the shattered hand mirror and stares at her own fragmented reflection as it looks back with broken accusation in her eyes. She whispers, “Why didn’t it work, Tikki?”

Tikki closes her eyes. “Lucky Charm has failed before when the Akuma's ability was able to impact it. This is…” she trails off, touching down onto the roof in front of Marinette, her eyes glassy with her own grief when she looks back up. “I’m so, so sorry.”

It takes a moment for her meaning to land, the only sound Marinette’s harsh, hiccuping breaths. She looks from the black ring to the black statue of a boy whose name she never knew but wanted to learn. Her partner, her kitty, his eyes empty when they were always so bright, his mouth a gaping wound when it used to offer sunbeam smiles.

Marinette had lost him time and time again, but he’d always come back. She’d saved him, over and over. It was never supposed to be permanent.

She looks down at the mirror that failed her, failed him, screws her eyes shut, and smashes it into the rooftop. Glass shards fly free and nick her arms, her cheeks. Marinette does it again, then again.

“Marinette,” Tikki cries, “you’re hurting yourself, please!”

Was she? She couldn’t feel it. She gives in anyway, dropping the destroyed mirror and picking up the Miraculous ring instead. She shuffles closer to Chat, stopping just short of touching him. Her hand shakes as she closes her fingers around his ring.

She’s held it before, but she’s always been able to give it back.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” her name comes from a low, smooth voice behind her, belonging to someone who wasn’t there before. “In hindsight, I ought to have known it would be you hiding behind Ladybug’s mask.”

She feels Tikki nestle into her hair. Marinette fists her fingers and rises to her knees. She turns slowly, lifting her eyes to meet Hawkmoth’s as he stares down at her. Something inside her catches fire and starts to burn.

“Nothing to say on your behalf?” he asks. “No desperate denials?”

Marinette glares back. If he’s disappointed in her refusal to engage, he says nothing of it. He tips his head down in the smallest of nods. “I’m afraid I require your Miraculous, Mademoiselle.”

She lets out one harsh sound, too sharp and brittle to be a laugh. “Now you ask nicely?”

Hawkmoth is silent for a beat, then another. He clears his throat. “It would be in your best interest, as well.” She stares him down as he inclines his head in Chat’s direction, but seems unable to fully look his way as he continues, “I can fix what has transpired here tonight.”

“You can fix him,” Marinette turns the words over in her mouth. They taste like ashes. “Why?”

Another silence. Hawkmoth seems to measure what he’d like to say carefully before admitting, “I have reason to believe he’s my son.”

“Your son,” Marinette echoes. The flames inside the cavern of her chest lick higher and higher, a blaze building to an inferno.

“I believe so, yes.” Finally, he turns his gaze to Chat, though any expression Hawkmoth might offer in the face of what he’s wrought hides behind his mask. Marinette’s fingers itch with the desire to claw his eyes out. “This evening, my son did not come home. No one has seen him for hours now, which is an anomaly on its own. He is typically obedient and does not leave our house without accompaniment, so his continued absence is highly unusual.” He pauses, his brow furrowing. “I...have wondered before about the possibility of him being Chat Noir. Now, between the timing of his disappearance and the demise of your partner, the coincidence seems too great to disregard. With your earrings and his ring, I can likely restore him.”

Marinette clenches her fist around the broken ring until it bites into her skin. It wouldn’t be granting any wishes, now. “Restore him,” she says slowly, venom slipping into the cracks in her voice. She rises; one foot underneath her, then the other. “You? You ruined him. You killed him.”

Hawkmoth watches her, his face infuriatingly blank. Marinette takes a shaky step, putting herself firmly between him and Chat as her emptiness gives way to something vicious and blistering. “You put him in danger every day, and for what? Now he’s gone. You can’t save him,” she spits. “You took him away from me.”

Her words echo, splintering the quiet of the night. Hawkmoth’s jaw ticks, the only outward sign of his displeasure. “If you’re quite finished with the dramatics,” he begins, “I am offering the chance to change it.”

“No, you’re trying to get what you want. To take the Miraculous and use them for something selfish. If I were to do that, I wouldn’t need you, now would I?”

Hawkmoth’s lip curls. “You know nothing of me or my purposes. You run around playing hero, but you have no idea of the true power of the forces you interfere with. You are nothing but a child.”

“Maybe,” Marinette admits, “but I’ve still managed to best you a thousand times over.”

“So you will not cooperate, then.”

Marinette lifts her eyes to his. He could take the Miraculous from her, she knows, and easily. Tikki hasn’t eaten, and she can’t transform. Marinette doesn’t care. She dares him to take a step. She’ll burn him down and the world along with it. “No,” she says, “I will not.”

His eyes narrow to slits. “We shall see, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

She stares back, undaunted. His threats can’t touch her. There’s nothing more he can do that would be worse than what he’s already done.

He half-turns, waving his cane towards Chat. “And what are you going to do for him on your own? Give it time. You might find that you and I are not so different when it comes to losing those we love.”

Her breath catches in her lungs. The ring feels like a brand in her palm. Hawkmoth would trade a life to bring back whoever it was he’d lost. If she could, would she make the same choice?

“Go, Hawkmoth,” Tikki speaks up, her little voice colder than Marinette has ever heard it. “The Guardian will deal with you in due time.”

Silence greets her. It stretches on until Marinette hears his footsteps retreat, then fade.

When he’s gone, she steps closer to Chat, shaking like a leaf in the wind. “Oh, minou, mon rêve,” she whispers. “Can’t you come back to me? I was going to tell you my name,” she lifts a timid hand and lays it against his cool cheek. “I was going to tell you I love you.”

Ashes fall from his cheek like teardrops, staining her fingers. As though a mere touch was all that was needed, Chat crumbles, ashes falling at her feet and scattering on the wind. When dust is all that remains, something inside Marinette twists and breaks.

She drops to the rooftop when her legs give up, unwilling to hold her any longer. She screams, for Chat, for anyone, until her voice is ragged and nearly spent. She draws freezing air into burning lungs and screams some more, begging Bunnyx to come and take her back, back to when the worst thing she had to face was telling her partner the truth.

Tikki rides out the storm on her shoulder, her little hands pressed to Marinette’s cheek. “Bunnyx will only come if all else has failed, Marinette,” she murmurs. “At the end of everything.”

“Chat is gone,” Marinette whimpers, “Hawkmoth knows who I am. This feels like the end of everything to me.”

Tikki presses her face to Marinette’s, her little body shaking. “There must be something, then. Something we’ve missed, another chance-”

Another chance. Marinette goes very still. “A second chance,” she gasps. She finds her feet, slowly. She swipes a soot-stained hand over her cheek and turns in the direction of home. “I need to get to my bedroom, Tikki. Without anyone seeing.” She fumbles for her purse and produces half a macaroon. “Please eat, if you can.”

Like mismatching puzzle pieces, she forces together a plan. A convoluted one, a risky one, but a plan, none-the-less. As she strings it together, she finally feels like she can breathe.

“What are you thinking?” Tikki asks before taking a bite.

Marinette tells her.

****

The race to her terrace is a blur. Ladybug stumbles over her potted plants until she reaches the hatch and falls into her bed, then slides down the ladder. She drags herself on weary feet to the locked chest in the corner. Inside, buried beneath several layers of fabric scraps, is the Miracle Box.

Ladybug presses her thumbs to the buttons and watches as it springs open at her touch.

“Are you sure about this, Marinette?” Tikki had asked, blue eyes wide and uncertain.

No. She wasn’t at all sure that this was the right choice, but she was sure that this was her best chance.

Ladybug selects the Miraculous she needs and slides it onto her left wrist. She tucks the box back away safe, stands, and grabs a hair ribbon from her desk. With it, she ties Chat’s ring to her other wrist, pressing the blank signet to her lips before something else catches her eye.

Her phone blinks insistently from the desk. There are a dozen missed messages - her mother, her father, Alya. One in particular grabs her attention, a short text from an unknown number.

This is Nathalie Sancoeur. Miss Dupain-Cheng, is Adrien with you?

She blinks. There are others - another from Alya, from Nino, even Chloe, all asking the same thing.

Is Adrien with you?

Ladybug’s phone slips from shaking fingers.

Between the timing of his disappearance and the demise of your partner, the coincidence seems too great to disregard.

Ladybug swallows. She breathes in through her nose and lets it back out. She’d fix it.

“One more time, Tikki,” she’d begged on the rooftop. “If this works, it...it might be awhile.”

Tikki had pressed a kiss to her forehead, determination clear in her eyes. “If it gives us a chance to save Plagg and Chat Noir, then it will be more than worth it. Good luck, Marinette.”

She digs an old, treasured charm bracelet out of her purse and dons it, too. She’d never had to ask for luck before, but now, she would take every bit she could get her hands on.

Ladybug leaves her home as quietly as she snuck in. She swings down from the roof and slips into the park across the street, letting her feet carry her until she finds herself in front of the statue dedicated to herself and Chat Noir. The violent hole in her chest gapes open, even wider than before.

At least here, she can see his smile.

This time, when her eyes burn and her throat swells and her heart breaks, Ladybug lets it consume her. She lets tears burst through the dam she’d built and drowns in them. She lets the grief pour out of her until she’s choking on it.

Through it all, she waits.

She feels it, when it comes - in the shift in the air, in the chill down her spine. She lets out a ragged breath. “Tikki,” she whispers. “Sass. Unify.”

Then Ladybug reaches out and allows damnation and salvation both to land in the palm of her hand. “There you are, little butterfly. I’ve been waiting for you.”

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fics #ladynoir #ml fic #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #lovesquare #fic:when you weren't mine to lose #i appreciate you guys so much #every like and reblog sends me to a higher plane of existence thank you

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shypotato-translations · 3 years

Text

QTVW Chapter 24

Showbiz* Sexy Queen (XI)

----

After Mei Mu Lan hung up the phone, she opened the webpage and searched for the novel 《Love in a Fallen City》.

As mentioned in the plot, Bai Jieying, a newcomer to the industry, became a sensation after appearing in this controversial film.

And just now Miss S called, informing her to go to Ling's Group tomorrow, the entertainment company's drama team for an audition.

This coincided with her intentions, so she opened the pages of the novel now, and carefully read through, the subject of the novel is lesbianism, 《Love in a Fallen City》.

Love in a Fallen City, a novel set in the early Republic of China; The story takes place in Hangzhou, an ancient water town; The protagonist of the story is the wife of the second son of the local warlord Xiao Sheng Yan.

The wife of the Major, who was a second generation warlord along with her husband, was of noble birth. She is the ninth daughter of Ling Ye Chong, the warlord of the southwest region, and the only legitimate daughter among Ling Ye Chong's 18 daughters. A much higher status than her other sisters.

Although the two Xiao Ling families were married out of interest, the newlyweds were a good match for each other.

And the her husband who is a Major, the second son of Xiao Shi Yan, was a dashing and suave-looking man who fought heroically and was, by all accounts, a wonderful man.

But naturally, such a man has a downside: he is lustful and likes to abuse his partner.

This hobby of Xiao Er Shao's was harmless to the society of the time.

And when he was confronted with the wife of the famous Major, he could not lay hands on her out of love and reason.

Therefore, he left the lady cold and spent many years in the company of playboys and prostitutes, which made her cold to him.

The story opens with the lady sitting on a carved wooden stool, wearing a goose-yellow antique dress and a wooden face as she allows her maid to do her make-up.

Listening to the maid's report of Xiao Er Shao's whereabouts in her ears, like,

“The young master has gone drinking again today,”

“The young master has played with his hands again today,”

“The young master is throwing his money away again today for a 'thing',”……

The lady looked at her reflection in the bronze mirror, the flowery beauty in it, but now her heart was as dry as a half-hundred-year-old woman's.

A young girl, as young as a flower, is tortured by this feudal society and has lost her vitality.

And it was on such early mornings as these for three years that the maid mentioned a woman, a beauty much loved by her own husband, a singing opera singer of unclean origins.

She smiled softly as she listened to the hilarity and said,

“The right way to be a wife is not to be jealous or afraid. I don't blame my husband for being sentimental, he's at that age, he loves to play, so let him go, it's just a thing. If he likes it, he can take it into his house and no one can say a word against it. All right, it's almost time to go and pay my respects to the old lady, let's go.”

The 'thing' that the lady refers to is the other female lead in the story, the lover with whom the lady is entangled for life.

The story shifts perspective to a woman in a large red costume behind a noisy theater stage in the downtown area, now holding a black ink pencil and tracing narrow eyeliner for herself.

The troupe master beside her also muttered to her about this young man who had been so generous recently.

She listened unconcernedly, her hands flowing with makeup, and when she heard the troupe master mention the man's wife, the woman finally felt a little different emotion.

She smiled lightly and said,

“The woman in such a deep house is most uninteresting. From what you are saying, this Major's wife is not a small person. But even if she is the daughter of the Emperor, she is nothing more than a plaything for men to hold in their hands. We are both women, but one is a high-class prostitute and the other a slightly lower class.

I hope this young lady will not be like those ladies before her who could not control their own men and went after men's women, which is really annoying.”

Two women responding very differently to the same incident.

One is as cool as an immortal, the other is as feminine as a demon.

It left a little mark on each other's hearts, so much so that when they first met later, they couldn't help but feel close to each other.

The lady relieves the theater's chastising punishment for the ladies, and the theater's son settles the city's ruffians for the lady; two seemingly worlds apart, and so they cross paths.

One is the wife of a noble and noble family Major, and the other is a lowly opera singer who is trampled on by others. They experience the sweetness of meeting, knowing, companioning, cherishing and loving each other, and the pain of clinging, thinking, remembering and wanting to say goodbye.

Because of the difference in their status, they could only see each other a few times a year, and the rest of the time they were in brocade, but this forbidden love affair brought both of them to life.

The lady refuses to share her bed with Xiao Er Shao for this reason, and is treated coldly by her husband's family, making her life worse every day.

The opera singer refused to share a bed with a wealthy guest for this reason and was tortured by the troupe, in a state of wretchedness worse than death.

Finally, the women decide that they will do something shocking, and that is to elope together and settle down to farm in the opera singer's hometown.

They looked forward to a bright future with each other and each escaped their shackles one winter's day, but the very moment they escaped to embrace each other, both parties sent someone after them.

Xiao Er Shao's face turned blue when he saw the two embracing each other.

How could he let them go when one was his legitimate wife and the other was a opera singer whom he truly loved and now, they were together, making him the laughing stock of everyone?!

He ordered the underlings of the Xiao Family, and took the lady back by force, while the opera singer was beaten alive with sticks by the underlings.

Blood stained the clean white snow, splattered out like cold winter plums, falling and falling, bodies left unmanaged and finally bones.

When the lady learned of this incident, she went mad, but begged for death and was severely tortured by Xiao Er Shao.

She spent every day and night alone in a cold, crumbling house, begging for her life and unable to die.

Until she met the opera singer in red, pale and with crimson lips, a month later on a bloody night, when she winked at her and babbled and sang a soft song under her breath.

Towards the end of the song, her flirtatious phoenix eyes, moist with moisture, stared at her as she said to her,

“Cease to be like this and live.”

The Major's wife began to regain her senses, and because she herself was of noble birth, the people of the Xiao Family couldn't just club her to death like they did with the opera singer, but had to go out of their way to cover up and pretend that the incident had never happened.

The Major's wife, a woman from the deep house of yore, but different again from before, has an additional female ghost in red in her room.

When no one is around, they will snuggle, they will compose songs together, they will be in love.

Doing all the things that lovers everywhere, would do.

Until Xiao suffered defeat, all Xiao's men died in battle, the revolutionary army defeated the warlords and stragglers broke into Xiao's residence.

The ladies live in a trance, rejecting the reality of the Xiao House's decay, while the servants carry their bags and scurry around for their lives.

Once again the Lady sat in front of the mirror, an unseen hand, holding a brush, tracing gently over her pale face.

From top to bottom, the inky eyebrows, the slightly powdered blush and the sweet red lips are a living example of a pretty girl from back in the day.

The lady smiled lightly and changed into a red dress, and the house burned naturally with no one in the second young lady's room in the Xiao residence.

Under the bright flames, a beautiful woman in red can be clearly seen, wrapping her arms around a woman in a long goose yellow dress, slowly swaying and dancing, embracing each other intimately and kissing deeply.

The story ends with excerpts from the novel. Written is:

From a family dinner in spring, one plays out life and death on stage, while the other dresses up as a virtuous wife offstage.

By the cold night of the ninth month, one was intercepted by a domestic servant inside the fence and the other was brutally beaten to death outside the fence.

In the old theater, a woman's watery sleeves danced and her feet moved; a woman's mouth smiled and her feelings were deep. To look at each other is to have no regrets about true love.

Mei Mu Lan's eyes were dazed, emotionally trapped in the story, unable to pull out of it for several days.

She closed the webpage and lay back** with her eyes closed, a story like this, it did hit home, Miss S's writing was excellent, she really wrote this story from an outsider's point of view.

In her writing, each person is portrayed vividly, and a scene of the Republic leaps into the reader's mind.

She doesn't stand up for the state and try to put a sacred veil on this fringe romance; she simply depicts a story that feels like an event that actually happened in the Republic.

In the midst of the Republic, when times were up and down and in turmoil**, everything changed, but only the relationship between the lady and the opera singer remained the same.

They experience great sorrow, great joy, great ups and downs, and every chapter of the story depicts the cold reality.

But, near the end, she recounts the transformation of the opera singer into a ghost, and the novel after this describes the happy life between them.

But, unfortunately, everyone else in the story, and the readers outside of it, all know that the opera singer may be a figment of the Lady's imagination after she has gone mad.

But, it is this plausible description, punctuated by joy against sorrow, that gives the story an unconventional and sublime ending.

The happiness visible in the story, at the end when the two are buried in the fire, the reader's heart unconsciously breathes a sigh of relief for the Lady, thinking: at last it is over, at least the Lady thinks they are living together.

The opera singer at the end paints the lady's make-up and she smiles in the light of the fire, sharing a poignant ending.

A lady in a large courtyard, deprived of the freedom of her body and firmly imprisoned by feudal society; a lowly opera singer in the marketplace, deprived of the freedom of her mind and oppressed by those around her every day.

These are two ordinary women who lived in that particular era, representing two classes.

The women under such oppression fall in love and their lives are rejuvenated, giving rise to the most sincere love, but this emotion meets with social barriers and ends up as a tragedy rather than joy, leaving the reader with a shocking and sorrowful ending.

Mei Mu Lan took a few deep breaths to ease her mind and she began to think calmly.

The novel is about to be turned into a far-reaching film, and in the plot of the novel, it is mentioned that Bai Jieying ends up as the lady in the 《Love in a Fallen City》, while Ling Yi Yao becomes the opera singer in it.

And now, with her ambition for the film, then, after considering her own strengths, she chose to go for the role of the opera singer.

And the next morning, she went to the place where Miss S had agreed.

By the time she arrived on set, the crew had already begun auditions and she was greeted, taken straight to Miss S and then dragged off to have her make-up applied.

This was followed by an ethnic opera which she sang in front of many invested parties.

Her fluent singing voice, vivid expressions and agile figure overwhelmed everyone in the audience in a flash. And she was successfully selected to be an acting actress within the cast of the play.

Mui Mu Lan had been made to look like a fool today by Miss S. By the time she got back to her senses, she heard the news that she had been selected and she grinned broadly with excitement.

After verbally thanking Miss S, she immediately returned to Jiangnan Town, where she knocked on the door and walked into Ling Yi Yao's villa to tell Ling Yi Yao the good news that she had been chosen as an opera singer.

After hearing this, Ling Yi Yao had a strange expression on her face, and under Mei Mu Lan's persistent questioning, she replied,

“Congratulations, Miss Mei, at the same time. Your co-star in this film, unfortunately, is me.”

Mei Mu Lan understood the meaning of her words and immediately jumped up and said,

“Great, you're playing the role of the Major's wife, aren't you? The casting people had a good eye, they could tell right away that we were a couple.”

Ling Yi Yao: “……”

Suddenly, Mei Mu Lan covered her mouth in shyness as she stared at Ling Yi Yao, her eyes cooing and darting about.

Ling Yi Yao suddenly felt a chill run down her spine, and she had an ominous feeling.

Sure enough, Mei Mu Lan said 'shyly' in the next moment,

“Oh, it's written that they did this and that, and the opera singer did this and that to the lady, so I can do that to you too, come on, don't be shy, let's rehearse this and that so we don't get rusty when we're acting.”

Ling Yi Yao: “……” Lifting Mei Mu Lan's collar with one hand, she threw her out the door.

#shypotato #yuri #transmigration #world hopping #QTVW24

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emsartwork · 4 years

Note

Sorry if you’ve already answered this but J was wondering if you could talk more the girls childhood/growing up? Love what you’re doing btw, absolutely adore how you’ve basically recreated the Winx world! 💗

Thank you!!! and sure thing! long post ahead

BLOOM: she never really had any problems family wise, Vanessa and Mike told her she was adopted at like…. Age 7 or so (in a positive affirming way obvi) and even if any kids teased her about it she never doubted her parent’s love for her. Even with Daphne’s spell helping her blend in with earth life, Bloom still had a nagging sense she didn’t “fit”, and got lost in fantasy books and art whenever possible. Growing up she deals with some body image issues that probably stem from the whole wrong fit feeling. Bloom grew up an artistic and quiet kid, Mitzi and Selina were her best friends from childhood, and because they both had really strong personalities, Bloom often repressed her own feelings in order to play peace maker. Up until high school, where Mitzi, who was always the leader, slowly started to turn into a bully in order to gain the approval/fear of her peers, targeting Selina specifically. Bloom was more of a follower at the time and just didn’t want to loose her friends so she didn’t stand up to Mitzi but tried to treat Selina as if nothing had changed, which was not cool with Selina and she not-so-subtly started to reject Bloom as a friend. Bloom, for her part, did get her shit together and stand up to Mitzi, loosing her only other friend right before her senior year of highschool (she was still technically friends with Andy but they had also just broken up and everything was awkward lmao). Bloom regrets not standing up to Mitzi sooner, and wants to rekindle her friendship with Selina (and Mitzi if she’s willing to tone down the bitchiness).

STELLA: So Stella’s childhood is a little more complicated. Stella is the first SoLuna heir in Solarian history, and a very loud minority protested her very existence. Stella also had to stay close to the Second Sun of Solaria as a child, so she had a very solitary and confined early childhood in a wing of the Solarian castle. When she did figure out how to sneak out she was only 10 or so, and spent most of the time just wandering around the capital city. She didn’t have any problems in the city, but an off duty guard recognized her and took her back to the palace. Stella was then sent to an elite boarding school under a false name (Sasha), she formed close friends with Nova and Varanda, but the trio was the target of the rest of the school’s bullies (for various reasons). Junior high was peak nerd Stella, but she “princess Diary-ed” herself when starting high school and started placing all of her value in her appearance and status as a sex object. Her parents’ marriage was also starting to crumble and Stella felt like she had lost their love. Because Stella craves validation and affection, this lead to a couple bad relationships because the only way she could get people to “love her” in her brain was through physical intimacy, even if it didn’t really fill the void she felt. Nova and Varanda were her rocks during this period and Stella was able to learn to love herself first with their help. Stella was insanely nervous to leave her friends and go to Alfea, and tried to force friendships with other people originally, (this mostly lead to people thinking she was annoying and getting multiple censures from Griselda), and her first genuine connection on Magix was with “Prince Sky” (Brandon). Nova and Varanda were VERY worried when Stella first told them about “Prince Sky”(Brandon) and how fast they had gotten into a relationship and they may have stalked/threatened him on a visit to Stella but they eventually came around and started to like him. Stella being expelled was only kind of an accident, Varanda texted Stella in the middle of a Chemancy class her application to Alfea for the next year had been accepted and Stella got SUPER excited and blew up the classroom. She probably could have stayed in school but her response to Fraragona and Griselda’s “now what do you have to say for yourself young lady” was *giddy laughter* and “ i only wish the explosion had been big enough to send me forward to next year!!!!!” and griselda was like “either she goes or I go” and Stella was like “ya gurl i gone” of course her time back on Solaria didn’t go exactly as planned as her parents were just fighting every time they tried to do something together making her people pleasing/self blaming tendencies worse.

FLORA: ahhh my baby So Flora does remember her father, not a lot and she feel guilty she doesn’t remember more, but she was only 7 when he died. Alyssa remarried when Flora was 13, and eventually she adjusted to having a younger sister who she loves very much now. Due to Rhodos’s nature preservation needing a lot of room for study Flora and Miele grew up pretty far away from any town and didn’t have a lot of friends. This is primarily why Flora and Miele are so close despite their age difference, and why Flora took her role as protector so intensely; she was the only one there (I mean besides the parents obviously). Flora did well in school though she was quiet and reserved, which made making friends even harder than living in the middle of nowhere. She figured out the best way to make people like her was to give them what they wanted, and this snowballed into Flora becoming kind of doormat not comfortable with voicing her true feelings and faking a lot what people expected from her. Flora has a lot of repressed…… everything (Bloom mostly just has a lot of repressed anger she’s good with other emotions lmao) she has trouble identifying what she’s feeling and for the most part is content to leave her feelings buried as long as the surface remains calm. The Winx do help her start to access her feeling more, and encourage her whenever she does voice an opinion. Helia is a perfect match for her in the sense that his quiet nature leaves Flora to express herself without trying to mold herself into whatever she thinks he wants (of course on the flip side this also means Flora and Helia have issues with communication and repression but that’s another topic).

AISHA: hoo boy another complicated one. Aisha was raised in a strict environment, this mostly stems from her parents and their more…. anxious natures, but royalty on Andros is not as free as some of the other planets. Aisha’s world consisted of lessons and adults and rules and she had very little control over her own life. Aisha met Anne in a rare moment of freedom in the tidal gardens where Anne’s father worked. Anne was biding her time waiting for her dad to get off work so they could grab some dinner and was dancing. Aisha just watched her for a while before Anne noticed her and asked her if she wanted to play. The two formed a fast friendship, and Aisha finally started to feel like she had some sort of influence in her own life as she snuck out of lessons to play with Anne every evening she could(obviously their favorite thing to do was dance lol) Unfortunately Anne and her father disappeared one night. Aisha lost her only friend, the only social outlet she had, her one source of freedom, and couldn’t even figure out what had happened. Feeling so out of control lead to a pretty bad anxiety disorder for most of her teens, primarily triggered by the dark or being trapped in some way. She also has issues trusting others and letting people help her. Aisha started to act out, trying to exert any kind of control and relieve some of her anxiety. Her risk taking behavior got pretty bad, but she had started to tone it down after she met and bonded with Piff(royal business trip to Magix she skipped out on). Of course when the pixies went missing she wasn’t going to let her friendship vanish again and tracked them down with a not so healthy single minded determination.

TECNA: born to higher class parents, Tecna had greatness thrust upon her from an early age. She received extra training and education basically from birth, which she was fine with for the most part. Tecna grew up being able to handle academic pressure very well and met all of her teacher’s and parent’s expectations. She and Riven had a brief collision as preteens in a school before Riven got expelled. Tecna’s one issue was that of her emotional intelligence, Zenith doesn’t really place an emphasis on that, so she was able to advance through high school very predictably until she attended a non-Zenith based workshop for magic. She found herself socially ostracized and very very confused. Of course Tecna had never met a subject she couldn’t master and emotions wouldn’t be an exception right??? Wrong. Zenith’s information about the brain and the chemicals produced was of no help, her teachers and parents didn’t understand why Tecna suddenly had this new interest in such an illogical subject, and worst of all, Tecna realized she didn’t understand her own brain chemicals. Tecna had a mini existential crisis, realized she had no idea what she even wanted to do with her life or why it mattered and applied to the Alfea Fairy program because “FAIRY MAGIC EMOTION MAGIC HELP” also it would offer her strong emotional experiences(transformations basically require it), the opportunity to work closely in groups, and personally obverse her dorm-mates emotional states. She got way more than she bargained for but doesn’t regret it a bit.

MUSA: my angst child T-T so basically, the first half of her childhood is p good, her parents work really hard and don’t always have enough money but the family unit is pretty stable. At around 12, Musa’s mom gets sick. Nobody is too worried at first, but she never seems to get better and she takes a big turn for the worse when Musa is about 16, Matlin is finally diagnosed with Core Failure Syndrome. CFS is similar to Core Fatigue, but while Core Fatigue can be remedied fairly easily with rest and magic, CFS is virtually incurable unless it’s caught really early. The causes are still unknown, and the symptoms (fatigue, nausea, cognition issues, and muscle weakness) can be prolonged but mild until it’s too late. In the later stages (extreme fatigue, numbness in the extremities, chest pain, joint pain, memory/focus issues, inability to keep food down) all you can do is try to make the afflicted comfortable. Ho-boe is understandably distraught, and tries to freelance write for music but goes into a pretty bad depressive state. Musa has a few odd jobs here and there, and thats mostly what’s keeping them afloat among heavy medical debt. Musa latches on to her mother for emotional support as Ho-boe is super dissociated. When Matlin does pass as Musa turns 18, Ho-boe finally breaks, and violently destroys every last reminder of Matlin because he can’t deal with the pain. Musa, who has suddenly had her one emotional anchor cut off, is super freaked out and scared by this and it really damages their relationship going forward. Musa becomes incredibly anxious, and can’t really process her mother's death because her father won’t talk about it with her and is still shut off emotionally. Moving to Magix only worsened it as Musa rebelled and went after music with a desperate passion. Applying to Alfea was a way for Musa to get out of the house, and she and her father weren’t on speaking terms when she did leave for the college. Musa had planned on learning more magic to further her career as a musician, special effects infusing magic into a song rubbing shoulders with rich and well connected people who could possibly get her connected to the big shots in music….. The winx situations had her change some of her long term plans a little, but her connection with the group + her separation anxiety and fierce loyalty didn’t really leave any other choice lol

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the-blue-fairie · 4 years

Text

New Beginnings

@cassunzelweek

AO3

Note: I have decided that all of my pieces for Cassunzel Week will be part of an interlinked series of vignettes, all dealing with Cassandra’s return to Corona and Rapunzel, as queen, trying to make things work in a relationship with both Cass and Eugene – a relationship that could have serious fallout for the realm. As such, you should probably read both pieces I wrote for the previous days, especially the one I wrote yesterday. Yesterday’s vignette, called Secrets and Promises, dealt with a young guard accusing Rapunzel of adultery and dishonoring the throne, ultimately leading to a trial by combat where Cass volunteers to be the queen’s champion. Cass prevails and the final scene is of her and Rapunzel in the gardens after the horrifying ordeal of the day. In today’s piece, I attempt to shed more light on how the relationship began as well as provide details of the consequences of that combat.

Also, I love hearing your feedback and your thoughts. Please review and tell me what you think. You comments inspire me.

***

“I love you, Raps.”

She had spoken those words before her departure and letting them fall from her lips was like letting a sword fall to the ground.

Like letting a sword fall after battle, letting it clatter to the ground – its heaviness no longer in her hands.

Yet even with a sword relinquished, even with the battle done, a heaviness remains – the heaviness of consequence.

Letting the sword fall, letting the breastplate fall away to expose the heart, does not heal the wounds, does not give relief.

She thought the words would be like a cordial to her wounds – and they were – they were, after a fashion.

And Rapunzel’s words… Rapunzel’s embrace… they were a more healing cordial.

And yet, wounds still can heal imperfectly.

Wounds can still be left to fester.

Cassandra had thought, for once in her life, she had not been letting the wounds fester.

Thought she had been getting them out in the open, baring her heart.

And perhaps she had.

There had been a softness in Rapunzel’s response, as of understanding...

As though Rapunzel knew what she meant, what she truly meant – and Rapunzel’s embrace, in the moment, had been such a balm to her…

In the moment.

A chance to be open, a chance to be true – Cass thought she had taken that chance, and that, with that openness, the days ahead could be her new beginning.

The wounds of her past ready for mending.

Yet, when Cassandra returned to Corona –

When she felt Rapunzel’s touch again –

All those unmended wounds she hoped were healed reopened.

As though all the openness, all the truth that those simple words, “I love you, Raps,” had carried amounted to nothing – because it was still equivocation in its way, still tucked in the discreetness of a friend, of a traveling companion, of an honorable knight…

Even if it had been like the shaking of a body after battle to say it, the shaking after sword and armor fall away and you have nothing but your flesh which can be hewn – and you know how well it can be hewn because you have been on the field – and it feels like you are being hewn all over again, and so you spasm at the memory that is like a phantom –

Even if it had been like that, it had not been enough.

Except… maybe it was?

Maybe it was enough and Rapunzel knew, Rapunzel understood. Maybe Cass knew she understood. Maybe Cass understood herself, understood it was enough. She didn’t have to do any more. Doing more, saying more would only reopen wounds for Rapunzel. Doing more, saying more would only hurt herself and the ones she loved. Doing more, saying more was selfish… but…

But wasn’t letting the wounds fester the egotism that led her to take the Moonstone?

Wasn’t saying nothing just letting the wounds rot more darkly?

And so she spoke, horrified all the while, horrified that with every sentence, she was hurting Rapunzel – horrified that she was doing this for herself –

(would that be bad? to be doing this for herself, to be honest with herself and with Rapunzel? but she wasn’t… not… honest with herself – but then was she doing this for Rapunzel? she was, and yet she was so scared, scared of losing Rapunzel as a friend, scared of revulsion – but even revulsion was a certainty, a stability –)

– she let herself spill forth, said I love you, I’ve loved you for so long, the way you love Eugene, the way Eugene loves you and she was crying and her tears spilled with the words, spilled like the blood and pus of wounds and Rapunzel’s face was a mask –

– until Rapunzel was kissing her and still Cassandra had no certainty – could not be sure it was not a kiss of pity, of pity and affection, an angel’s kiss, white-marble and aloof – and when the kiss deepened, when Cassandra realized she was savoring the sweetness of Rapunzel’s lips and Rapunzel was savoring hers – not white-marble but rose-flesh in all its loving warmth – when Cassandra realized what was happening, she tore away –

Stillness.

Stillness in the candelabra’s light. In its pulse.

Pulsing heat, tinging their tear-stained faces (Cassandra’s tears had smeared Rapunzel’s face in the kiss, mingled with the beads of sweat upon her brow) with hues of orange.

Warm as rose-flesh.

Weak as the walls that keep love out.

The walls should have been stronger.

But no – they should not have been. Cass knew walls too well, knew how they confined.

The walls around Rapunzel’s heart…

Walls higher and harder than the walls of her tower.

Rapunzel, who exposed herself to the world, who scaled mountains in her bare feet, who seemed as open and exposed and true as the free air of a meadow, as the beams of the sun through the blue of the sky…

One’s feet must be tough to scale bitter slopes barefoot.

One’s will must be tougher.

Harder walls than Cassandra’s breaking down.

The understanding that Cassandra had sensed, the understanding that had been understanding.

Understanding of Cassandra, understanding of herself.

Exposed.

Buried.

Buried like the nagging fear that something had been off in the tower, buried like the dream deferred at every silken scoff of Gothel’s…

Exposed like the bolt of light to the heart, the sun-splash that turned waves to fire that rose and crashed in purifying blaze – epiphany’s blaze – as the sun-pattern of all her artistry glistened before her and reawakened memories – let in the softness and tenderness of love shut out…

And then Eugene at the doorway, blinking in understanding, making some glib comment that diffused the tension – gave them all relief –

For the life of them now, neither Rapunzel nor Cassandra could remember what he had said…

New beginnings.

New beginnings, new beginnings, new beginnings.

New beginnings until the next new beginning and the next.

Departing Corona, returning to Corona. Letting Cass go, praying for Cass’s return, praying secretly, knowing the prayer and yet not knowing it while Eugene knew, while Eugene understood and she understood but neither saying it just as Cassandra never said it – except when she did, except when they all did, moving heaven and earth, defying a demon-sorceress out of love for each other – Eugene reaching out to pull Cass into the hug –

The trial by combat was over.

The boy drummed out of the guards and sent into exile.

Queen Rapunzel, beloved by her people.

Queen Rapunzel, kneeling at the boy’s feet before the duel – speaking to him softly, sensitively, as she spoke with all – tears welling in her eyes, voice cracking, the tenderness becoming a plea, the softest plea – she could make him understand, she was not his queen but a young woman, a young woman who had endured so much, so much pain – tower-walls high about her even when the tower had collapsed and crumbled into dust…

He spat on her – and she sobbed.

His spit mingled with her tears.

Ascending after that, judge and judged, Guinevere and Arthur both.

Forced to be white-marble and aloof, the statue of a queen, the artifice-monument to justice –

Forced to be white-marble when she was rose-flesh. Terrified the terror behind her eyes had already betrayed her, half-hoping that it had because then Cass would be spared and the boy would be spared –

Except that Cass would not be spared.

Rapunzel was queen and Eugene her husband.

None would turn on her.

(Was she so sure of that? Was not this boy living proof to the contrary?)

But Rapunzel had antiquity as armor – and Eugene, the marriage-bonds.

Cass had – her own nobility of heart, the name she had made in her travels, through her heroism. Nobility’s absolution, however, what did that matter when set against the image of her – face of ash, hair like blue fire – witch-at-heart, seducer, deceiver?

Cass would let the mob tear her to pieces for Rapunzel’s sake…

Let them cut her throat to see if ash poured out instead of blood, a demon’s homunculus and not a woman – and Rapunzel would be forced to watch as deep red blood spilled from Cassandra’s pallid neck, pallid as the corpse-homunculus the mob had already named her, pallid as the rose-life ebbed away…

But that was a nightmare that had passed…

The boy was gone, giving way to a new beginning…

New beginnings and beginnings and beginnings.

One after another with Sisyphean incessancy…

#cassunzel #cassunzel week #cassunzelweek #unknighted dream #cassunzel week 2020

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nika-the-hunter · 4 years

Text

House of Mist [Ch. 11]

Central Seattle Ruins, Pacific Northwest. House Mist Territory +157 days

Nicole and Rykis walked down the path that had been worn through the tall grass. The old road surface was clearly visible here under the dirt. It was cracked and crumbled, resembling gravel more than the flat concrete it had once been. The other trees, not the evergreens, were starting to get their leaves again, and were bringing brighter shades of green to the pale urban ruins. This was her first spring, and it was wonderful, everything was so full of life.

Her meeting with Fort Discovery had gone well; so well in fact that she was absolutely convinced that working with the House of Mist had been the right decision. She and Rykis had spent the remainder of the day walking around the small settlement named after the original park it was built on. There had been a fort there before at some point in ancient history, but its name had been lost to time.

She met many Humans in the fort; over half of them had ties to the region that went back to before the Collapse. Those that had migrated over to Fort Discovery from elsewhere had interesting stories of the world outside the region as well. She had made it a point that return trips would be common for her. The children that her Ghost was entertaining followed him the whole time, trying to play tag with the mechanical ball.

Pedro and Athena had ideas for expansion that Nicole could help with. They had been in radio contact with a group of people due east that were worried about a band of Fallen lurking around their town. The town had been cautious about Mist, but stories of the friendly Fallen out west had apparently made the journey to them. They were willing to move into Mist territory but had no way to do it without drawing the attention of the local Fallen crew. Pedro had planned to bring it to the Kell’s attention soon, but the campaign against the House of Devils had kept the Kell busy. Now that things were calming down, he would bring it up and suggest that Nicole help convince the others that Mist was extra safe.

When Nicole finally left Fort Discovery, she found the Archon taking a video call with an Eliksni Vandal who wore a banner she did not know. Though there was a lot she did not know already. It was hard to tell the color of the armor with the screen glare from the angle they were at, but it looked green. Marakis had ended the call and turned to face the two who had approached. He briefly mentioned that he was speaking with the House of Exile, before asking about their tour. Later Rykis told her that the House of Exile was an Eliksni collective that lived up on the moon. Mist apparently had a trade deal with them regarding Ether.

On the flight back to the Archons compound, they all talked briefly, Marakis was interested in how she and Rykis were getting along. He seemed really excited with a Guardian and Eliksni living together and seemed to read the subtext of what was really going on quite well. Sparing them the embarrassment of just saying it.

The day was nearly over by then with the sunset lighting the sky in a bright gold. Their walk back towards downtown kept them in the shade already. Her Ghost spent his time orbiting around the two and occasionally flying off to scan something dangling in the old windows. The ruins were mostly empty, Mist Eliksni lived in the newer buildings that were further downtown. Those buildings were still old pre-Collapse construction, but they were in much better shape than the stone and steel skyscrapers that made up ninety percent of the city. Over the centuries after the collapse, those buildings had remained free of overgrowth and were still somewhat waterproof, unlike her hotel across the lake.

“So, are we headed back to the Kell to catch that truck back, or are we walking home on our own?” Nicole asked.

“No, the Kell gave you the choice of living elsewhere now. You’re not restricted to Baron Acskis’ outpost.” He replied.

“So... where are we headed then?” He did not really answer her question.

“We’re headed to where I lived before. I think that you might like it.” She could see the edges of his face move behind his mask in what she recognized as an Eliksni smile, then he shrugged. “If you do not, then we can go to your hotel tomorrow, or maybe somewhere else.”

“Oh, alright. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

“Mm, not as long as you think, I visit it whenever you’re busy around Bellevue.”

Nicole nodded. “Well that’s good; I’d hate to keep you from home.”

There was a bleep from her helmet that was clipped to her belt. She looked down and saw something flashing on her visor. “Oh hey, give me a second.” Her helmet slipped over her head, but she did not activate the seal.

The blinking icon opened into a list that took up half of the view screen. The word Quests was in bold at the top, with little icons and what she guessed were the quests themselves listed on it. There were only a few entries. The currently highlighted ‘quest’ had a graphic of one of the metro trains she had seen in the tunnel over a banner for Umic. Memory Troubles was the name with the description “Locate Metro Security Records.”

The chirp of her Ghost sounded from the helmet’s internal speaker. “Hey! You finally checked out the Quest tab!”

“What is this?” She asked.

“Well, you seemed to be getting a lot of things to do, so I decided to put together some of my own quests for you. Usually these come from the Vanguard at the Last City but given how we’re not planning on going there any time soon, I’ll do it for you for now.”

“Okay... why did it just pop up now?” she stopped Rykis. “Hold on for a second.”

“Well follow the marker and find out!” the Ghost replied, at the same moment a diamond shaped marker appeared. He sounded excited which was very unlike himself.

Nicole nodded in the direction the marker showed and started to go. “Sorry Rykis. My Ghost found something he wants me to see. We gotta’ detour.”

“Then lead on, Neh-cole.”

The marker led back and over one block, to the front doorway of a tall office tower. The building's stone facade was crumbling in places, leaving piles of rubble underneath the trees. Once at the door, the icon appeared again further inside. It stopped at a stairwell leading down into the dark. “Alright, we’re here. What did you find?”

Her Ghost appeared from inside the doorway and played his flashlight over the remains of a sign hanging on the wall. The letters had faded but most were still legible. -Metro Transit Authority. Regional Security Office.

“I found the place!” He did a spin inside his shell. At first, she was not sure what he meant, but the name of the ‘quest’ connected the dots. The camera down in the subway tunnel had been looking right at where her body had been. It was still working and sending the data back somewhere and something was still giving it the command to record. Robust systems were still working somewhere. But if she wanted to find out what had happened to her, all she needed to do was go down and find the network hub. It was not a priority; she had actually forgotten about it up until now. The discovery of her cause of death was more of a hopeful curiosity than an actual objective. However, there it was... at the bottom of the staircase were some answers about her previous life. Under the helmet she bit her lip and gave it a good two seconds of thought. The answer was obvious.

Down she went. Quickly at first, but immediately slowing for caution; the stairs were slick and covered in moss. That was something she was used to seeing out there. Buildings, trees, rocks, and even growing on the side of Eliksni crates that had been sitting just a little too long; moss was everywhere. The bottom step was submerged beneath a few centimeters of water and somewhere deeper in the basement she could hear flowing water.

At the far end of the large open space, Nicole could see dozens of blinking green lights hidden behind a window. The working systems were a good sign that this was the right place. She stepped into the ankle-deep water and apologized to Rykis. He was not wearing any sort of water-resistant footwear, but he followed her anyway without complaining. Sloshing through the water, Nicole noticed that people had died down here fairly quickly. A few had died at their workstations, leaving their skeletons collapsed over keyboards and left computers in stand-by mode.

The sign on the side of the door said that it was the data-storage room. It was exactly what they were looking for. The blinking lights were the status lights for over a dozen large computer racks. The hum in the room was loud, and the air was warm. The doorway was raised higher than the water, someone had some forethought when they built the place in the basement, so there was no water inside. Once inside with the door closed behind them, Nicole could not hear the water flow anymore.

Nicole had no idea how to search all this for what they wanted, so she waved to the machines. “Okay Ghost, do your thing.”

He chirped and flew over to one of the stacks. “This might take a while. These cameras have been recording for centuries...” The Ghost flew from stack to stack, an optical beam connecting with each tower. “Just have to find the feed from your station and trace where it goes. It was Olympic... I think?”

“Well take your time, Ghost. It’s not like Rykis and I can do anything.”

After a few minutes scanning through the various racks, he had found the data. “I got it!” he exclaimed with all his fins expanding out from his core. “Well, are you sure you want to watch this, last chance.”

Rykis looked at the Ghost, and then to Nicole. “What did he find, what are we looking for?”

“Well he found the recording of how I died. The first time.” Nicole grimly smiled. “I'm hoping it’ll give me something to work with. So yes, Ghost, start it up.”

He floated over to a dormant computer station and interfaced with the monitor. The screen flickered and flashed to life. The multiple camera feeds from across the station appeared. There was even sound.

Olympic Park Station -28 minutes

Umic Security Officer Nicole Walker rushed down the escalator leading into the chaotic subway station. Her heavy plasteel ballistic vest almost knocked her off balance in the shifting sea of Seattle citizens. Thirteen hours ago, she had thought that the vest had been overkill; her regular uniform had woven strands of sapphire wire which was good enough to stop mid-caliber ammunition. But as the day progressed, she no longer felt that way, and was grateful for the vest.

Gunfire at the top of the stairs brought her around with her rifle, aiming the carbine towards the odd colored daylight streaming in at the top of the shaft. The citizens and refugees parted and dropped to either side, clearing a firing lane to the doors. At the top of the stairs her partner, USO. Keane, fired out the door and onto the street. An explosion rocked the shaft and people fell, more pushed deeper into the station. “I’m gonna’ close the doors!” Keane shouted. “Get in here now.”

He fired again, Nicole tried to get back up the escalator, but the parted sea had closed and everyone that was up near the top was making their way down whether she was in the way or not.

A cluster of blue energy shots peppered the wall above Keane. A large group of people finally made it through the doors, and he slammed his fist into the switch on the wall. The station’s storm shutters dropped from the ceiling and bounced once off their rubber seals.

They were locked in, and the bad stuff was locked out.

Another explosion from outside shook the ground again, more gunfire erupted nearby, it was all muffled by the storm shutters. “Everyone downstairs.” Nicole ordered. People that had remained on the stairs, even after the crowds fled, slowly got to their feet, and moved down to the station.

The trains were still running, “Thank the Traveler...” Nicole muttered. There were casualties and moving the injured on foot down kilometers of tunnel was just not going to work.

“Please form a line! Cue up at the marked positions!” A Transit cop in a high-visibility vest was directing the panicked people to where they could board the next subway car. “We’ll get you all out of here as fast as we can. The trains are running double-time and filling up at previous stations!”

Nicole walked over to one of the small coffee shops along the wall that had its lights still on. The windows were smashed, but two of the original employees were busy passing out water and snacks to anyone who came for them. She grabbed two bottles of water and a small bag of sugar cookies. Downing her bottle in one go, she headed back into the space between lines where Keane was wiping the sweat from underneath his helmet. “You alright?” She offered him the other water.

Taking the water, he also drained it. “Yeah... uh... just glad those doors are doing the job.” He nodded over to a group of Seattle Police Officers talking on the other side of the next line. “They got working radios. Military’s been trying to get up here for hours apparently. Something is bogging down the roads, and the weather is just insane.”

She nodded. “We could really use the help. A bunch of street cops and some deputized, heavily armed, and highly skilled, security guards ain’t going to help everyone.” Nicole smirked; trying to add some humor into the situation.

Keane returned the look with a thin smile. “Yeah, doesn’t mean we can’t try.”

The ceiling chimed. “Train approaching... train approaching.”

At the front of the lines, the Transit cop checked his wrist pad. “Alright people, this train is only two-thirds full! Stay in line and wait your turn. We’ll all make it out, just don’t push.”

The sleek subway train slid into the station and squeaked to a stop. The cars were packed, but apparently only part full. Once the doors opened, no one got off, and the lines began to squeeze in wherever they could. With a blow of their whistle, the crowds stepped back and allowed the Transit cops to get the doors sealed and sent the train on its way. “Next train arrives in... five minutes,” chimed the ceiling.

Two more trains came and went, but the population count in the station did not seem to be decreasing. People were just spreading out now that there was more room.

Nicole noticed a lone kid standing in the middle of the station clutching a stuffed animal. It was covered in dirt, but she thought it might have been an Orca. The little girl could not have been older than five, but she did not look scared or sad. Nicole walked over and took a knee beside her. “Hey there kid, where are your parents at?”

The girl looked at her and shook her head. “I dunno, mommy went to get daddy. She said to wait here.”

“Well which way did she go?” Nicole asked. Hopefully it was not far.

The little girl pointed the stuffed Orca up the stairs. “She went up there.”

Nicole looked up that direction and frowned. That was not good.

“Train approaching... Train approaching.”

Unknown to Nicole, the station security system picked up a conversation going on down one of the maintenance corridors, coming towards the station.

“Holy shit Sam, where did you get those?” Voice one spoke out, in audible surprise.

“From nowhere. I ain’t telling.” Voice two was gruff, and noticeably angry. “Here, take it, it's loaded.”

Voice one huffed and had to hurry to follow “What the hell are we going to do with them?!”

“We’re getting on that next train. I'm getting us out of this place.” A sharp click-clack sound was registered with the system. It was identified as the racking of a shotgun pump by algorithmic analysis.

It would have alerted the authorities if there was anyone left to pick-up. There was not.

Back in the station proper, the next train was slowly gliding into the station. It was only one fourth full. Plenty of room for evacuees. The door in the backside of the station burst open and out rushed two men. One had an assault rifle, and the other in the front was carrying a large gauge semi-automatic shotgun. He fired it into the ceiling once. “Everyone fucking back off. We’re getting on that train, you hear me?” the man bellowed. Chunks of plaster fell to the ground around them.

People froze in place, some dropped to the ground. The traffic cops had their hands on their sidearms, but nobody drew their weapons; not with a threat like that in a crowd of civilians. “Hey now, there's plenty of space for everyone. Just put the guns down.” One of the cops motioned slowly.

“Nah, we’re going. Now. Get everyone out of the way.” The guy in front swept the gun across the station. “Stay the fuck back.”

Nicole eyed the gunmen, both the shotgun and the rifle had large drum magazines, however the guy with the rifle seemed put off by what was going on. That did not change the fact that he was still waving the gun around the crowd.

One of the cops that had been back near the coffee shop came around slowly and half crouched. He looked like he was going to try and tackle the shotgun wielder. If shots started flying, things would go bad very quick.

Nicole threw herself in front of the kid who was just out in the open, well in the line of fire. Too many potential targets had been behind the kid.

The man with the gun reacted to Nicole's sudden movements and fired at her. Under normal conditions, if that shotgun had been loaded with buckshot, it would have just caused a few dents in her plate vest. However, that gun had been loaded with high-velocity solid slugs.

At the range they were at, there was nothing that could be done. The slug smashed into the center of her plasteel plate, causing it to deform beyond its threshold. Her chest cavity was crushed. The plate had stopped the bullet, but not in any manner that would have saved her life.

Central Seattle Ruins +157 days

Nicole watched her original self crumple to the floor and die. The others, who she did not know or recognize, took down the men with the guns. They tried to revive her, but it was no use, she was already gone. Her fellow security guard was visibly distressed and started to kick the guy who had shot her while he was detained. However, the officer in the bright yellow vest pulled him off and shoved him away. The girl was loaded onto the train with the Umic guard and sent away almost immediately.

The people that remained in the station pulled her body far out of the way, moving it to its final resting place on top of the mezzanine above the tracks. One of the people that helped carry her body placed her arms on her chest and draped a tablecloth from the store over her. He seemed to say a prayer and leave, but there was nobody else up there to witness it.

“Well there you have it.” Her Ghost blinked. “There is more to the recording near the end, but that's how you died.” The video sped up and the station eventually emptied, leaving her body sitting alone on the platform. Nobody else entered the station after the last train zipped down the track. “Huh...” She had expected some firefight with the cause of the collapse, not getting shot by fellow Humans. It did not change anything though, she had hoped that when she found the video of her death it would unlock the memories of that past life, but nothing came from them. No insight into who she was, or any of the people they had known. It felt almost like a wasted trip; the question of how she died was answered, but there was no extra reward. “I can tell you're disappointed. If you thought that it would help your memories, I could have told you that it wouldn’t.” The Ghost replied to the look on her face. “This bit at the end though might cheer you up a little.

Nicole sighed as the video clicked and moved on. With no movement it switched to an ‘extended event monitoring’ mode. There were only subtle indications on how fast time was passing in the station; a steady drip became a flood of water down the tunnels, drowning the track. Dirt piles slowly grew across the floor from the corners, eventually enough for plants to grow and sprout under the steady station lights. Her body rapidly deteriorated on screen, becoming food for moss and other things that made the station their home.

The video would briefly slow when the occasional animal triggered the cameras, or some big event like part of the roof caved in. The system timestamp degraded into error symbols before the first lightbulb went out.

When the station was looking similar to how it was when she was revived, the camera slowed down back to real time. Movement appeared from the other side of the platform and an Eliksni scurried in looking around the space. They were small and about the size of one of the Not-Dregs.

Rykis made a sound behind her, like a squeak almost, but she continued to watch.

The Eliksni on screen cautiously poked around the ruined metro station, digging through the shelves and boxes left in the cafe. They crossed out to the station mezzanine and came across the moss-covered remains of Nicole’s former life. The Eliksni knelt and picked up the old ballistic helmet, the skull still secured by the chinstrap. However now that it was disturbed the skull slipped free and fell to the ground with a loud thunk. A dull ache spontaneously formed on the back of Nicole’s head and then faded.

Setting the helmet upside down, the Eliksni carefully returned the skull to its place on the remains. Then they pulled a backpack out from under the moss and ferns that laid beside her body. Digging through it, they pulled out a tablet and what looked like a small stack of notebooks. They put the notebooks back into the pack and threw it over their shoulder but put the tablet into another bag.

The image froze in her head as the video went on. She had seen that bag before. It was so familiar, still covered in paint brushes and other small tools. Her eyes slid over to Rykis watching from beside her. The same bag was slung over his shoulder, looking a bit smaller after all the years. If an Eliksni could look any more guilty, she doubted it.

“Rykis is that you?” Nicole asked him. “Did you take my backpack?” She would not say he stole it; she was dead at the time after all.

Slowly, Rykis nodded. “Yes. that was me. Years ago.” His fingers tapped together nervously, and he seemed to think he needed to say more. “I still have your stuff; I was going to give it back when we got to my place.”

Nicole raised her eyebrow. “Oh, really now? How’d you know it was mine before we saw this recording?”

He nodded towards the screen showing the current status of the old station. “When we went down there on your third day. You stopped over where your body had sat for so long. I recognized it right away. Yours were the only bones in the station, and the only bones I had seen down there that day.”

“Well we just saw why. I hope that guy made it somewhere safe. We’ll never know though.” Nicole sighed and waved her hand in the air. “Alright, we found what we were looking for. It didn’t help me, but let's get out of this flooded basement. Rykis, lead on to your place.” “Yes yes.” he chittered. “Follow me.”

They headed back up to the surface and into the early hours of night. The occasional streetlights continued burning brightly through the trees that grew around them. Some lights were still on in the various buildings, making the skyline an odd patchwork of light and dark. The walk only lasted a few blocks, not long at all. It was actually directly behind the Kell’s hall. Rykis had probably gone home after her last meeting there. She was mainly mentally exhausted, there was a lot that had happened today.

The building Rykis called home turned out to be the old Art Museum. She smiled at that, of course the local artist would choose to set up shop in an art museum. The windows had all been patched over with metal scrap, just like he had done over in her building, and the door was sturdy and weather-proof. He held it open for her to go in.

“Anyone else live here?” She walked in and found herself inside a small tunnel made of hanging tarps. The light was provided by the warm Eliksni tube lights that stuck up from the floor every few meters. Her question was nearly answered by voices from behind some of the curtains that broke off from the tunnel. “Yes actually. Many of Mist’s more artsy Eliksni live in the building. But there is more than enough space that I can have this for my own,” Rykis replied. He closed the door behind him and latched it shut.

Taking the lead again, he took her up the stairs and through a set of double doors, to a half sphere structure in the middle of a room. Tarps and string lights spread out from the structure which was attached to the walls and ceiling of the big room they were in. Nicole could see faded and water damaged paintings hanging from the walls which had to be old Human art. The dome structure was obviously Eliksni construction with heat and light pouring out into the cold building from behind the curtain. “Come in, this is my... uh... home.” He pulled the curtain open and gestured her inside.

"It looks very cozy." Nicole followed him through the curtain and into the space. He had probably left it to warm up while he went to meet her.

There was a mix of Eliksni and Human furniture inside. In the center of the space was a table covered in small jars and brushes; she could see a few unfinished canvasses sitting around it. It appeared that Rykis was quite good at traditional painting.

Rykis had walked over to a locker leaning up against the wall. "Take a seat, let me see if I can find it..." He motioned for her to sit at the table with his lower arms.

Nicole sat where he pointed and watched Rykis dig through the locker. From there she was able to get at a better look at the canvases he had leaning against the bench.

She recognized the scene in the painting. The looming Spiderwalker in the snowstorm. Nicole had been standing a meter to the right when this had happened. It was the battle at the Pass, when Rykis had charged the tank with a flare to alert the artillery on the ridge.

One of the other paintings was of the interior of her hotel tower, after she had done some cleanup of the swamp, and made it more like a pond. The light was captured perfectly, and the colors were wonderful. Her art viewing time was cut short as Rykis brought her attention back to him when he placed a hard-backed case on the table. It looked just like the one from the video, just a bit cleaner.

“So, this was mine? From before?” Nicole picked it up and looked it over. The case was made from a slick stretchy material, and the edges cracked when she bent it too much. The straps had rotted away at some point and their remains dangled haplessly at the side.

“Yes, it should be everything.” Rykis nodded, sitting across from her. “I was young and looking for salvage back then, I had tried to trade your tablet, but it didn’t work and wasn’t worth anything. I did like looking through your sketchbooks though.”

“Sketchbooks?” Nicole pulled open the bag and heard the rubber seal peel apart, still holding strong over the centuries. Carefully, she emptied the bag and found an old data-pad, and a few notebooks.

“Yes, there were some really old, stylized drawings that I think you did. Just take a look.”

"Well if you say so." Nicole opened one of the old notebooks and slowly paged through them. The pages were remarkably well preserved; they were filled with drawings of places and things, as well as some random animals and creatures she did not recognize. They were not as good as Rykis' drawings, but they were fairly good. If these belonged to her, Nicole wondered if she had retained those skills as well as her warfighting abilities.

While carefully flipping through the pages, a small rectangle fell out from between them.

The piece of plastic material was a photograph; it was not even faded at all. Five people were standing in a semicircle, and they were posing with bright yellow guns which looked really strange. She saw herself near the middle of the group in a Umic hat and leaning up against a man wearing a vest with Mars Tactical stitched onto the chest. On the other end of the group was the other Security guard from the recording.

She flipped the picture over and found that it was not actually a piece of paper, it was something more advanced. The back flickered and began to form words across its surface. "11th Quinquennial Intersystem Defense Technologies Convention. SimFire Combat 3rd place team. Hosted by Clovis Bray"

"Huh," Nicole muttered. "Check out me back in the day." She passed the photo to Rykis and put the sketchbooks back into the bag.

The data-pad looked to be in okay shape, but when she tried the power switch nothing happened. At the moment, it was not really worth her time. She figured she could get her Ghost to fix it, but she should probably save it for later. A lot had happened today, and her head was a little fried.

Setting the data-pad back onto the table, Nicole ran her fingers through her hair and let out a sigh. "Well... This has sure been a day. Wanna take me to bed and call it a night with the newest member of Mist?"

Rykis let out more of a purr than a chitter. "Mmm... Yes Guardian."

He dropped the photo on the table and came over to pick her up. By the time they reached the bed on the other side of the room, her armor and her Ghost had made themselves scarce. Hopefully the neighbors did not mind the noise.

#destiny #destiny the game #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #eliksni #fallen #guardian #hunter

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kumeko · 4 years

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Title: crumbling castles

A/N: For the @featherszine, I also got assigned Tsubasa in the Summer, and Tomoyo somehow snuck her way into both of my pieces.

…

Syaoran’s toes sank in the damp sand, the coarse grains sticking to his skin uncomfortably. What a strange sensation. He was used to sand. His homeland was filled with the dry, soft substance that could scrape wounds and erode ruins. Yet there not even the rain could give it this texture; the oppressive heat quickly dissipated any moisture.

That was certainly not the case here. The sun here was comforting, not burning. Shielding his eyes, he stared at the broad sea in front of him. The sharp smell of salt lingered in the air. This world was filled with sand, water, and life. Behind him, an entire forest hummed with creatures. He’d read in books about such locations, such strange places that could be hot without stifling, but it was one thing to read it, another to experience it.

He curled his toes in the sand once more, trying to get used to the feeling.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?’ Tomoyo said, suddenly appearing next to him with a knowing grin.

Despite all the battles he faced, the fighting instincts he’d honed, Syaoran had to resist the urge to jump. In every world they found Tomoyo, she always had the same level of stealth, the same sly smile when she talked. Calming his racing heart, he nodded. “Yes. You said it’s a.” He paused, remembering the word she used. “A beach, it’s a beach, right?”

“Yes.” Tomoyo gestured at the long, empty stretch of sand before them. “It’s a private one too, so no one will disturb us.”

Private. Somehow, Tomoyo was also insanely wealthy every time they met her and he was starting to wonder if that was just a character trait at this point. Tugging on the drawstrings of his funny shorts, he asked, “And these are water suits?”

“Swimsuits. Trunks in your case,” Tomoyo corrected. She cradled her cheek, looking irrationally pleased with herself. “I just knew the dark blue would look good on you.”

Another character trait—impeccable clothing tastes that occasionally ran on the side of wild. Syaoran ran a hand through his hair. “You already did so much for us: helping us get the feather, giving us a place to stay, protecting us. You didn’t have to do this too.”

“Nonsense.” Tomoyo shook her head firmly. Her long hair swished behind her. “After all you’ve done, you need a break. Besides…” She drew out the last word as she pulled out a camera. A lovestruck expression crossed her face and he could swear her eyes turned into hearts. “I couldn’t miss a chance to capture adorable Sakura at the beach.”

“What’re you talking about?” Kurogane asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark red trunks as he came up next to her. He ducked his head to eye her suspiciously, his overly tall body folding comically. “Don’t tease the kid too much.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Tomoyo answered cheerfully, looking up at him with a mischievous grin. With her free hand, she patted him on the cheek boldly. “Why would I, when you’re such an easy target?”

Kurogane blanched. “Why is that part of you the same?” Despite his words, his tone and expression were fond, his eyes crinkling just so. He didn’t pull away as he grumbled, “You’re all spreading stories to each other.”

Tomoyo just smiled mysteriously in response.

“Daddy!” Fai called out from further down the beach, waving his hand wildly as he squatted on the wet sand next to Sakura. In his other hand was a pail and just in front of the pair was a small sandcastle, with Mokona sitting on top like a regent. “Come, play with the kids.”

Sakura nodded eagerly, holding up her shovel like it was a sword. “The sand here sticks so well!”

Syaoran wondered if she noticed the here tacked on, if her memories included the sandcastles of their youth, the mounds of sand that never retained their shape. If there’d be a blank space next to her, a missing set of hands trying to keep the loose grains in shape.

The bright smile on her face said otherwise. As with all of her memories, he’d been scrubbed clean of them, her mind filling in the gap seamlessly. He ignored the pang in his chest and headed toward her. “It looks good.”

“I told you to stop calling me that!” Kurogane growled, grinding his feet into the sand.

“Oh my.” Tomoyo blinked innocently, looking from one to the other. She clutched the brim of her overly large sunhat. “Is there a divorce pending?”

Fai shook his head. He drew a heart in the air with a finger and blew a kiss. “That’s just how Daddy shows his feelings.”

“Don’t join him,” Kurogane hissed, looking back and forth between them suspiciously. His worst fears were confirmed as the pair exchanged looks and two identical smiles blossomed on their faces: a team-up.

Ignoring him, Tomoyo smiled happily, cradling her cheek with a hand. “He is very shy like that.”

“He truly is,” Fai agreed, slouching forward to sigh. “Mommy sometimes worries.”

“THAT’S IT.” The last stray broken, Kurogane sprinted forward and roared, “THAT JOKE IS ANNOYING!”

Realizing he was in trouble, Fai quickly sprang to his feet and dashed away. “Daddy’s trying to hurt Mommy!” he yelled and for someone so willowy, he was fast. “AND HE WON’T HURT HIS MISTRESS.”

Syaoran could practically see fire shooting out of Kurogane’s mouth now. “SHUT UP!”

“My, my. I feel like I deserve a higher status than mistress.” Tomoyo lifted her camera to capture the moment. “I should send this to the princess.”

Syaoran stared as the duo disappeared into the distance, growing smaller and smaller by the second. By now, he knew better than to interfere. Kurogane wouldn’t seriously maim Fai. Probably. “How long is this beach?”

“Not long enough.” Tomoyo sighed and turned to Syaoran. “That is your que to spend some private time with Sakura.”

That brought him; back to the present and he turned a bright red at the implication from her words. “I-it’s not…I d-don’t…;” He shook his head violently, feeling flustered.

“She’s waiting,” Tomoyo urged, pushing him forward. When he looked back at her hesitantly, she smiled slyly and added, “Unless you want me to steal her away.”

She’s already stolen, he wanted to reply, but now he was standing in front of Sakura and Mokona. They looked at him expectantly. Behind him, he could hear the whirr and click of the camera and with a sigh he sank to his knees. It was a break. He should at least try to have some fun. The castle they’d made was a small one, with a moat and two keeps. Nothing at all like the castle at home. “You did a lot.”

“Fai is an expert.” Sakura patted the side of the castle gratefully. “It would have been just a pile of sand otherwise.”

“Mokana’s helped a lot too!” Mokona waddled over to the water’s edge and opened his mouth wide. Within seconds, he’d vacuumed at least three buckets worth of water. Locking eyes with Syaoran, he waddled back to the moat and expelled the water. Raising a paw proudly, he declared with a wink, “Mokona’s 108 secret techniques: moat-making!”

It was neither a secret nor a technique and he could just hear Kurogane’s trademark that’s what you always do!

“It’s very helpful,” Mokona nodded, satisfied with himself.

How did that help? Syaoran kept that thought to himself, his smile forced as he politely clapped his amazement. “Wow.”

Sakura was less reserved, affectionately patting Mokona’s head. The little porkbun leaned into her touch. “That was amazing!”

“Mokona is always amazing,” Mokona replied sagely.

Keeping his doubts to himself, he asked, “Anything left to do?”

Sakura’s eyes sparkled and she reached forward to clasp his hands. “You’re going to help, Syaoran?”

Her hands were warm on his, and he’d been in this situation before, seen that shy, pleading look more times than he could count. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, and he would spend the rest of his life finding remembrances of their shared past in her actions. It hurt, but he could handle it. He had to handle it.

What he couldn’t take was how she said his name: like he was a stranger, like he meant nothing to her.

But that was the cost of a wish. Gently, he extracted his hand and dug his fingers into the sand. “Of course.” He could still feel her touch.

If she noticed, she didn’t say anything. Tucking a lock behind her ear, she smiled happily. “It’s always more fun when you’re there.”

There was a time when he used to search for double meanings in her words, looking for some hint of her feelings. There was no point to it now. He still found himself looking anyways. Her energy was infectious and despite himself, he couldn’t stop from grinning back in response. “It’s the same for me.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Syaoran couldn’t lie to her, he didn’t know how. “Really.”

Flushing, Sakura ducked her head. “Great.” The wind ruffled her hair, her bangs covering her face. “Um, so…” She fumbled with the sand, scooping several handfuls to make a mound. “We’re going to add towers.”

That was something he could do. “Gotcha.” Borrowing Fai’s discarded shovel, he quickly dug next to him and created a pile of sand. They worked in silence, building two independent towers, and he tried not to peek at her. It was too easy to slip into his memories, for her adult hands to shrink into a child’s. To remember a heat that burned even in the shade and for her annoyed pout as sand slipped through her fingers, her tower crumbling even before it could stand.

Syaoran, she’d called, ordering him to hold the sand together.

The next time she’d do that in the Clow Kingdom, it wouldn’t be with him.

The next name she called wouldn’t be his.

“Syaoran,” Sakura repeated, jolting him out of his thoughts. She gazed admiringly at the tower he’d built. “I can’t believe you did all that!”

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds, before looking at the sand between his hands. By now, he’d formed a tower similar to the one they used to go star gazing on. “It’s a place I used to visit a lot.”

“You must love it a lot.” This Sakura didn’t recognize the tower, didn’t realize the significance of the place. She gestured at the simple pillar she’d made sadly, frowning deeply. “Mine’s nothing like it.”

“Look at mine!” Mokona tapped lightly on a pillar of sand next to him. It looked like a pain-stacking render of an actual tower, right down to the small niches and footholds visitors must use. Syaoran couldn’t believe his eyes; Mokona had done all of that and yet somehow, his fur was as pristinely white as usual.

“Oh wow, the leaning tower?” Tomoyo finally meandered closer, lifting her eye from the viewfinder to take a look at the sculpture directly. “You are an artist, Mokona.”

“The very best,” Mokona answered, winking.

“Let’s do our best not to lose!” Sakura clenched her fist, nodding her head sternly. “Right Syaoran?”

There it was again. For a brief moment, his name sounded right, just like it used to. It’d been sounding like that more often these days.

He tried not to think too hard about it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it.

#tsubasa #tsubasa reservoir chronicle #syaosaku #syaoran li #sakura kinomoto #sakura li #princess sakura #what do I even tag her #ahahaha #clamp #tomoyo daidouji #yet another tag that isn't quite right #kurogane #fai #mokona #fanfiction

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quillneverpen · 4 years

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An AU - reverse wolfstar

((Inspired by the works of: @praecipiopatronum @sirussly @dontthinkonithermione @asktheboywholived @siriussly-serious @ohtheclevernessofme1972 @softsiriusblack - they have varying levels of how active they are currently, but these are just a few of the creators whose content I have really enjoyed!

My biggest wish is to be able to participate in the HP RP community. I love the idea of cosplaying and creating stories and worlds that are away from reality where things go the way you plan them (to a better degree than daily life). Since I can’t participate in the RP side, here’s my contribution to an AU I created a story around that I hope creators, writers, or anyone can enjoy using and playing with if they like it!))

The thing with Wolfstar that makes it work is this: they balance each other out. Sirius is confident in himself and his identity, he’s secure in himself. What he’s not secure in is his family, or where his identity stems from. Remus, on the other hand, is not secure in his identity at all. He sees himself as a monster, as dangerous, as a beast whose worth is titled by the number of X’s beside this species in a Magical Beasts textbook. But from what we know of his backstory, he is secure in where his identity stems from - his parents. We know they’re fiercely protective of their son, and they want him to have an ease to life that they all know isn’t feasible. It’s a balance of security of identity versus security of origin, or family.

So, we must switch it.

Lyall Lupin is a “world-renowned authority on Non-Human Spirituous Apparitions” (Harry Potter wiki) and his knowledge of dark creatures helped contain the threat of them during the prelude to the first wizarding war. He sat in on Greyback’s hearing, which not just anyone of the ministry would do. In canon, this is where he made a comment about werewolves deserving nothing but death, which caused Greyback to bite Remus in retaliation.

But in this universe, Lyall was the one to find, and was one of the men to capture Greyback while he was off biting and killing muggles. He now can testify the facts that he knows to be true, that he has seen to be true, and suddenly his status of the ministry begins to rise. And sure, Greyback can testify with tears in his eyes that he is innocent, that he had no control, that he promises to keep himself away from people and they can let him go. But now Lyall has a higher position in his department, now he has higher power, and now he, a bloodtraitor, has power that he didn’t before.

But this time, Orion Black is sitting in on the hearing as well. And before it starts, he makes a side comment about a filthy blood-traitor handling the work for a real wizard, and an argument spurs to a near-fight between Orion and Lyall. Lyall worked hard for his position, and his happy family has no business being in the mouth of a foul, dark, and insane wizard such as Orion.

The Blacks hate that Lyall has power within the Ministry. The Lupins were purebloods before Lyall married Hope, a muggle, of all people. And Orion’s blood supremacist views show through.

Lyall is removed from the courtroom and told to go home, finish more important work that he has. So he does, and his anger boils over to a shouting match against his wife and son, and he nearly breaks his desk in the process.

That’s what Remus grows up with. The stress of Lyall’s job, the nasty words of distaste from pureblood families, from the Sacred 28, gets to his head, and all he can do is take it out in fights and shouting. So, like canon Sirius, Remus learns to hide how he hurts under a mask of confidence and ego.

But Lyall hates this, he hates that his son doesn’t seem to care about anything, and soon, he’s telling Remus to stop being such a disappointment, that he needs to make something of his life.

Remus is secure in himself, but his security in his parents is crumbling.

Now, the reason Orion was at the hearing is thus: the first war did not come out of nowhere. It took time for Voldemort to gain followers and it took time for dark wizards to come out of hiding. And the Blacks, holding the same ideals as the wrong side and being known for unorthodox uses of magic, while not all death-eaters are clear supporters of a growing threat. Fenrir Greyback hears of their support for a side ready to use violence to gain power, and wants an alliance.

If the werewolves can gain enough power, maybe they can overthrow Voldemort’s side and werewolves can now be the superior race. Canonically, that’s why he joined the death-eaters in canon. He doesn’t like wizards, but he likes getting what he wants.

Of course, Orion and Walburga laugh in his face. They would never help a filthy half-breed and sully their reputation. They would never aid a disgusting breed who deserves to go back to the ground that gave them life.

So Fenrir gets angry. He wants to show them that he cannot be walked all over. What better way to do that than to bite their eldest, their beloved heir?

Walburga and Orion try to hush it up. They get potions and charms and everything they can to make Sirius appear normal so that their reputation is upheld. As he grows older, he learns to trust his parents, that he’s safe with them. They don’t pay him much mind; its like a child hiding behind his mother’s leg and all she does is lay a hand on his hair and continue on her business.

But because he has no security in himself, he doesn’t act out. He complies, and the Blacks never have a reason to hate their son. So he grows up secure with his family, but not in himself.

After all, it’s a balancing act of security and not, and of finding security in each other.

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secret-engima · 4 years

Text

Spoiler Snippet of Worlds Unseen (Calling You and Me) Chap 10

(I have literally no self control. Then again I’ve been sitting on this for literal months so maybe I have a little but it’s gone now so here we go. MAJOR SPOILERS for Worlds Unseen verse so pls, if you read, come screech at me, if you don’t want spoilers, then don’t click the read more. Assuming the read more works this time. Also this is ... LONG. Long snippet. Very spoilery snippet. You have been warned.)

...

Luna walked slowly toward Drautos, the Ring of the Lucii pinched between two fingers while her other hand hovered near it. Nyx was hissing at her to run, to not be an idiot, but Bast could already see her plan in her grave, sorrowful eyes. She was going to put herself between them and the biggest threat —Drautos— and then she was going to put on the Ring.

She was going to die for them.

No.

Not again. He’d already lost a mother, he’d already lost a father. He wasn’t losing Luna too.

Bast waited until she was passing by, less than three steps away from him and less than ten from Drautos’s outstretched hand. Then he lunged, snatching her wrist with one hand and ripping the Ring from her fingers with the other. He could hear the guns coming to bear and the crack of bullets leaving chambers, could see Drautos’s sword coming up and over to cleave Bast in two. He didn’t care.

He put on the Ring and the world turned blue.

Everything slowed to less than a crawl. He spun in place, drinking in the surreal experience of seeing bullets inch through the air, slower than worms in a spring frost. He could see Drautos’s sword coming for his head, so slow he could have probably run a lap around the entire city before it came close to the ground. He could see Luna’s face twisting into terrified, heartbroken realization, so slow her expression was still mostly shock. Nyx was reaching for him, hand only a few inches from his side and splinted leg pushing him forward mere centimeters. Libertus was pulling Crowe toward the ground, one crutch hovering in the air as gravity took its sweet time dragging it earthward.

Bast took a deep breath and looked back at Luna. Even though she probably couldn’t hear —maybe especially because she couldn’t hear— he whispered, “I love you, Luna, and I’m so sorry.”

Then he straightened, a ward-prince before an audience and a glaive at attention, “Kings and Queens of Lucis, grant me audience.”

The world around him vanished save the pavement directly beneath his feet. Luna, Nyx, Libertus, Crowe, everyone else disappeared from his sight. The air rippled with power-time-judgement, so strong he felt like he would drown in it. Then, like towering, burning silhouettes of ancient memory and timeless magic, they appeared. He could only see thirteen of them, arrayed around him like enormous pillars of judgement-power-who-dares. But he could feel the rest lurking in the darkness. A hundred generations of Ring-bearing rulers, all of them watching. Waiting.

Judging.

“You call upon the Wardens of this world’s future Mortal,” rumbled the first of them —Mystic, Founder King, oldest of the Ring—, “and if you come lusting for our power, you must first stand in our judgement.”

Bast wanted to fold beneath the weight of magic pressing in on all sides, he wanted to scream and cry, crumble to dust if it meant escaping the painful, searing weight of power that was waiting for the slightest excuse to burn him alive. But he didn’t. He forced his knees to lock and his back to stay straight, made his voice remain steady as he looked up into their helmeted faces and made his plea, “It is true that I come for your magic, but not for my sake. Hear me, Kings and Queens of the Lucii! The Oracle stands in mortal peril and the Ring is inches from the enemy’s grasp! The Chosen King wanders the world unknowing of the danger and at risk of losing she who is to guide him and forge the Covenants in his name!” The magic curled closer, squeezed his lungs and Bast shuddered, fought for air and kept going, “Please. Please, I ask not for my sake. I ask for Luna, for Noctis, for Regis, for the world. Summon your Old Wall! Grant me the strength to see Luna to safety beyond Insomnia’s borders before it is too late!”

The weight doubled, then tripled, and Bast collapsed to his hands and knees with a helpless wheeze under the weight of ancient contempt, “You presume to judge what time is ripe for our power? To presume our favor? Yours is not even royal blood. Your soul is not even of our star.” Not of … what?

Magic like forests and old stones emerged from the ocean around him, cutting off his spinning thoughts as it curled around him like gentle hands on his shoulders. Bast’s head snapped around to face one helmet in particular as another king spoke, “Wait,” said Regis-not-Regis-but-his-memory-and-that-was-close-enough, “I know this soul. I watched him as he grew and taught him as he matured. I have seen what he is capable of. He too, seeks to safeguard the future. He too has sworn an oath to see the Chosen’s destiny through.”

“Father,” wheezed Bast past the spinning pressure in his head.

Regis —not Regis, memories of his magic preserved and given form as a warrior king, as the Father— did not respond, said nothing to Bast as the Mystic rumbled, “Very well, young king. We will weigh your ward-son’s worth.” The Mystic’s attention fell on Bast again, “But our boon does not come cheap. The cost … is a life.” The blackness around them curled away, revealing Nyx reaching for him, three bullets aimed for his heart and getting slowly but steadily closer. Behind him were Libertus and Crowe, Crowe almost to the relative safety of the ground, Libertus above her like a living shield against the hail of bullets coming for them, the hail that might miss, or might instead tear Libertus apart. The choice being offered was clear. Nyx or Libertus? Who would Bast sacrifice for the greater good? Who would he sentence to death in exchange for power?

“Choose, Mortal,” intoned one of the other kings —the Fierce? It looked like the Fierce’s statue— “who’s life will you sacrifice for our power?”

Perhaps if Bast had truly been royal blood, he could have chosen between them. Perhaps if he had been a real prince, he would have been able to swallow his guilt and make the sacrifice —like Regis had done to him, like Regis had done to all of Insomnia—. But Bast was not, and anger dragged air into his lungs and forced his back straight even though he was still on his knees, “No. No.”

“You desire our power but refuse to pay our price?” Growled the Conqueror scathingly.

Fury gave him strength to bare his teeth, “I will not bargain with that which I do not possess! You ask me what price I will pay for your power and then you command me to sell the life of a comrade? How is that just?”

The magic around him rippled with disapproval, “A good king,” thundered the Mystic, “knows that sacrifice is necessary for the greater good.”

“Oh, go throw yourself on Ifrit’s pyre!” Bast worked one leg underneath him in the startled silence that fell at his words, “I will not force others to bear my price when I am the one that seeks your boon!” He worked his other leg into place, shook like a leaf under the strain as he forced himself to stand. Wheezing and shivering, he tilted his chin in defiance, flicked his hand to banish the images of Nyx and Libertus and Crowe, “I … swore an oath … to protect Noctis, no matter what. But that … does not entail sacrificing others so that I might survive. That does not mean I will sacrifice Luna, or Nyx, or anyone else who has no part of my oath and whose lives are not mine to give.”

Bast flexed his hands into fists to keep from falling as the magic around him grew even heavier somehow, “You’re right,” he choked out in a whisper, “I’m not royal blood, and I would not make a good king. A good king knows the value of sacrifice, of choosing who dies so that victory might be won. But,” Bast forced his voice to steady, pushed it out of his chest until it was strong again, “a true king protects his people above all. Even at the cost of himself. Like Regis, who held the Wall for years even as the strain killed him. Who held back the enemy long enough for Luna and Nyx to make their initial escape. Maybe he was a good king because he sacrificed Insomnia, sacrificed me, to save the Chosen King. But he … was a true king every time he sacrificed himself for the people he ruled.”

Bast forced his head higher, made himself look into the glowing slits of the Mystic’s helmet, “I am Bast, ward-son of Queen-Oracle Sylva Nox Fleuret and King Regis Lucis Caelum. I am not of royal blood. I have no armies to command, nor magic to call my own. I have no kingdom or soldiers or wisdom or power to give you. But if a life is what you require for your aid, then I offer mine. Do with it as you please, just ensure the safety of my companions … of Luna. They are of dutiful heart, I know they will see your Ring to safety.”

The silence lasted an eternity, and Bast closed his eyes as he waited for his fate. Then, from amid the circle of the Lucii nearest him, someone barked a laugh, “Well,” rumbled the Rogue —it had to be the Rogue, the voice was female—, “it would seem the Fulgarian chose wisely after all.” The … Fulgarian? Ramuh? What does she mean?

“Agreed,” said another female voice, much lower in pitch, but also softer, “there is a spark in this one that even some of royal blood have struggled to match.” Magic curled around Bast, nudging aside the smothering weight, pushing it away like a shield and letting him breathe properly at last, “The Just supports his claim.”

The shadows rippled, almost like a feminine laughter, and magic settled like cold steel in one hand, “Too long has it been since a mortal willing to give of himself before others has come to us for aid. The Rogue supports his claim.”

The magic of the Father, still draped on his shoulders like hands, shifted, like fingers giving a comforting squeeze, “He is my ward-son, and I have seen the lengths to which he will go to fulfill an oath. The Father supports his claim.”

From the left, a shivering ring of steel and a soft male voice that sounded more like a bard’s than a king’s, “He shows intelligence beyond his years, to know the differences between kings. The Clever supports his claim.”

“The Fulgarian has never been mistaken in such matters before,” declared another from the right, “The Pious supports his claim.”

One by one, in bits and pieces and the shifting of magic so that it buoyed him up rather than tried to crush him down, the Lucii granted favor. The Warrior, the Fierce, the Wanderer, the Oracle. Kings and queens in the shadows behind them that Bast could not see and gave titles he had never heard in history —the Vigilant, the Scholar, the Silent, the Bard, the Seer, so many titles lost to time well before he was born—. Finally, silence fell, and Bast’s eyes drifted to the Mystic, the only one who had not yet cast his vote.

The Mystic seemed to stare into him and not just at him, old magic like storm clouds and oceans seething with some kind of anger and sadness and old memory before it settled, “You are far too much like my brother,” and though that was clearly a complaint, the ancient king almost sounded fond —brother? What brother? The history books said nothing of the Mystic having a brother—, “but you have earned the favor of the others. Very well ward-son of the Father. The Mystic will support your claim.”

Bast gasped, then screamed as the magic all around turned and burrowed into his body, carving out new channels inside him for it to flow-burn-rage-heal. It coated every nerve and filled every available gap, then carved out more room when that did not prove enough. Over the agony of what felt like being burned alive from the inside, Bast heard the Lucii chorus, “Rise, Bast, ward-son of the Oracle-Queen and the Father. We name you Oathkeeper, guardian of the Chosen King and his Oracle. Our power is yours to wield and gift as you please until the time when the Chosen’s destiny is fulfilled. Your life is forfeit to this cause, and for this cause will you remain until such a time as dawn purifies the world.”

The other Lucii fell silent as the power in Bast’s skin-blood-bones-soul began to settle, and the Mystic slammed his sword against the ground like an earthquake, “But know this, Oathkeeper. You are not welcome on this star, and when your oath has been fulfilled, your soul will no longer be allowed to linger here. You and any who share your blood will be cast out from the sight of our star to return whence you came.”

Cast … cast out? Not welcome on this star? Did they mean … his soul would be destroyed once Noctis fulfilled his destiny? Or did they mean something else? He didn’t understand. Anymore than he had understood the Mystic’s earlier comment about Bast’s soul not being “of their star”. It was a terrifying prospect. That he would only live until Noctis fulfilled his destiny and then be … something. Cast out or destroyed or thrown away into some void as the price for power.

But having this power meant Luna would live. It meant that he would be able to save Nyx and Libertus and Crowe, he would be able to help Noctis and keep him safe —keep his promise—. It meant he would have the power to help what was left of the only people he knew as family.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Bast muttered sarcastically as he wrapped mental fingers tight around the heartbeat of power coiled inside him. He raised his head and grinned, bright and bold and wild like he had been taught —like Nyx did when he was fully intent of showing up some idiot that managed to make him angry, like Gladio when he was going to show up a rookie with too big an ego—, “where do I sign?”

#Melodies and Manuscripts #Secret Engima Rambles #Worlds Unseen verse #spoilers #ffxv #hzd #xover #bast

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officialleehadan · 4 years

Text

Five Energies in Conflict

Absolute knew they were there.

Obviously, they weren’t subtle. Between Ice and Quasar closing in with the howling monster tornado, lit form within by poisonous blue radiation, and the shockwaves of electromagnetic blackouts from Neutron’s heart, there really wasn’t any question.

Of course, she also thought she could beat them, and she might not be wrong.

Absolute kinetic energy was the kind of thing that couldn’t be predicted. She was already so powerful that she caused earthquakes when she ran, and could demolish a building with a few good hits, sending shockwaves through the steel and concrete until it crumbled on top of her, only for the rubble to rocket away before it could ever touch her skin.

But she thought she could win, and human will could do extraordinary things under pressure.

Of course, she also never faced anyone of her own level before, and most of the Powered community shied away from thinking about Elementals, and what could happen if they were left unchecked.

Absolute, driven insane by the presence, and then the loss, of her Opposite, was the worst kind of loose cannon.

Ice walked forward, step by step as the air froze to his skin, leaving him covered in frost that shimmered blue from the heatless flames that ghosted around Quasar. He could feel the pull of the other Elemental’s Power, like a sinkhole under his feet, pulling what little heat he managed to scrape up into a tight, downward spiral.

Quasar had stopped shivering a while ago, and lost the parka when his own Power kicked up to full gear.

Neither of them had ever been critical before. Ice was close when Inferno found him, and they managed to get Quasar and Neutron together before they did, either.

He couldn’t imagine how Absolute must feel, shaking apart without any hope for control.

Maybe she was too crazy to even notice.

When the fog rolled around them, he basked in it. In the feeling, eve so brief, of heat, and the faint scent of Inferno carried by the wind. Again, the temperature plummeted, until the particles of mist were weightless, floating ice crystals, and Quasar’s radiation-glow spread until every shadow faded away in the ever-present light.

“Cover,” Quasar said, mindless of the way every scrap of metal around him glowed and then went soft as his radiation hit it. The red of burning metal clashed with the blue glow, and cast everything into an eerie purple-red-blue haze that seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once. “They think she might bolt.”

“She won’t,” Ice murmured. He could feel her ahead. Feel the way his ice particles hit Absolute’s kinetic field and bent away. “She thinks she’s the hero. She thinks we’re the villains. In her mind, this is her great moment to prove herself.”

“She’s insane.”

“Yes. But she doesn’t know it.”

They moved onward, and Ice focused his power into the air, dropping the temperature faster and faster with Quasar’s Power feeding his own and driving them both deeper and deeper into critical overload.

They didn’t have long. With five Elementals all going critical at once, they risked the whole planet.

Of course, if they didn’t bring Absolute down, the planet would die anyway.

Ice was the one weapon they had against Absolute, and that made his job the most dangerous.

Kinetic energy had one vulnerability.

Cold slowed everything down.

If Ice could get her cold enough, fast enough, and Quasar damaged her cell structure before she could repel him, Inferno and Neutron could hit her and overcharge her too fast for her own body to compensate.

But first, they had to get close enough.

And Absolute knew they were there.

“She’s circling us,” Ice told Quasar over the howl of the tornado around them. He tracked Absolute by the ice crystals around her, and kept his wall of silent, sluggish cold on top of her. If she bolted, or charged them, they would have to be fast to hold her off. As a precaution, Ice wrapped them both in his namesake, hardened plates of supercooled ice that clung to their heavy clothes. “If she attacks now…”

“She wants to know what we’re up to first,” Quasar said. The black hole that was his energy absorption deepened by the moment, pulling Ice’s own out-of-control Power with it. They echoed off each other. The colder Ice got, the faster Quasar amped up his own negative absorption. “Get ready. She’s about done looking.”

The impact came so fast that Ice didn’t even see her before Absolute was right before him, eyes wild. Her hair floated in the grasp of her own powers, defying the wind all around them. Her lips were chapped, and her skin was tight against her face.

Dehydration, Ice’s brain helpfully supplied. Probably starvation too. Inferno had to eat constantly to fuel his Power. Absolute was probably struggling to take in enough calories to survive, and that was before they forced her critical status even higher.

“Where is she?” Absolute demanded. There was a red rim around her eyes, as if she had been crying, and her nails were bloody, no doubt the cause of the deep scratches on her arms. She was ripping herself apart just to feel something.

The worst kind of insanity. The kind that ate you alive, and slowly tore away everything that once made you human.

Ice understood. He remembered the way the frost thickened over his skin, dampened his senses, and made everything feel far away.

He had scars on his arms, just like hers, from clawing at his own skin, desperate for any contact, even if it made him bleed.

“She’s dead,” he told her as she circled them suspiciously. Her skin was starting to pale now, the flush of her overactive powers encountering the cold of his. Negative thermal energy could counter positive kinetic energy, but sooner or later, she would catch on, and then they were in trouble. “You killed her, Absolute.”

“No!” she snarled, going from wary to furious in a breath. She flickered past him and stared at Quasar. “No! I feel her! Where is she?”

“Dead,” Quasar repeated, and let his radiation filter into the storm faster, the blue around them deepening as he let his own Power off the hook for the first time. “Absolute, you must stop this. People are dying.”

“I’m a hero!”

She tried to run, but Ice flung his hand out and his namesake followed. Absolute might be fast, might be pure kinetic energy, but water still couldn’t be compressed, and ice was still slippery. With a sheet of thick black ice covering the ground, Absolute scrambled and fell.

Quasar linked hands with Ice, and together they wrapped their powers around Absolute, forcing her down, and wrapping her in blue-glowing sheets of ice. She fought, now with something to push against, and blasted her way out moments later. Shards of ice flew everywhere and Ice turned them aside with a wave of his hand.

“I’ll kill you all!” Absolute screamed, and tried to get to her feet again, but between the wind and the ice, she was struggling. “You’re just like her! You want me to fail!”

“No,” Ice told her softly, and wondered if she could hear him over the wind as he brought the whole wrath of the tornado, thousands of pounds of frozen water soaked in radiation, down on her. “I wanted to save you. Now, I want you to die.”

But even the cold, nearing absolute zero under the combined force of his Power and Quasar’s, wasn’t enough to hold Absolute for long.

And when she burst out of the snow, sending pellets in every direction so fast they tore through the buildings around them, and only Quasar, flinging up a blast of radiation that devoured the force of the ice itself and vaporized it instantly, saved Ice from dying on his own Element.

“I will never die,” Absolute said, gazing with the effort of fighting them off. Her lips were blue, and there was frost in her hair, but she was still on her feet, and still in the fight. “And when I kill you, there will be no one left on this world who can challenge me! I’ll be the best! I’ll be Absolute!”

“You will,” Quasar told her, hand still out and blazing as radiation fire swirled around them, forming a whirling funnel around him as it filtered into the still-screaming tornado. Ice sent a quick thought towards the telepaths watching his mind for messages. The storm was useless now. He had hoped the snow would hold her, and now it was just a distraction. “You will be absolute, and you will destroy everything. That’s’ what we are. We’re Elemental, and like the great elements, when we go critical, we become the thing we fear the most.”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Absolute laughed wildly, and flung her hands out. Cars, abandoned on the street, lifted off the ground. “Not even you!”

“You will,” Ice said as the storm faded around them. It was time to take the gloves off, and end this. He sank into his power and the ground under him screamed as it froze instantly, ice-flowers shooting up where the water in the ground expanded too fast for the soil to move. Absolute was fast, but she couldn’t repel something with no mass. Already, the earthquakes under them were slowing. Her heart was struggling with the cold. “I’m sorry.”

He shot a handful of ice skyward, a signal, blazing with radiation, where it burst as a silent, frozen firework and hung in the air as snow that drifted down around them. Moments later, he felt a wall of heat, stinking of a different radiation that was just as devastating and every bit as powerful as Quasar’s, charge through the icy mist towards them. Moments later, he could smell the harsh, acrid smoke of burning concrete, and the fog lit red with flames.

Absolute wasn’t the only one at full power, and Inferno and Neutron were ready to take their chances against the hero who wanted them all dead.

+++

Opposing Elements:

Elemental Powers are immense, and impossible to control. Usually that impossible power kills whoever is unlucky enough to bear it. Now the world has to figure out what happens when it doesn’t.

Cold Front

Elemental

Rising Power

Neutron Star

Colliding Galaxies

Four Sides of the Axis

Off Balance

In Motion

Kinetic Plan (Subscriber Only)

Critical (Subscriber only!)

Touch of Winter (Subscriber Only!)

Heat Things Up (Subscriber Only!)

+++