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maraschinomerry · 1 year

Text

Stay Safe

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Summary: Locked in a room with George and a Visitor, you come to each other's aid.

Content: hurt/comfort, blood, soft ending, can be read as romantic or platonic

A/N: deleted scene from Important Research as it didn't fit where I was going but I liked it too much to get rid entirely. Dedicated to @neewtmas - thank you so much for the lovely comments on my other fics, and I'm going to be working on your request very soon! 💛

Word count: 1.1k

The thud of the lounge door was worryingly final as it slammed shut behind you. You'd barely set foot inside the room and the rush of air ruffled your hair. On the other side, Lockwood and Lucy found themselves suddenly separated from you and they frantically tried the handle. Nothing. Hopefully it meant that George, wherever he was in this maze of a house, had come close to the source and the Visitor was trying to prevent you from going to his aid.

"(Name)? (Name), are you okay?" You heard the worried voices of your friends, muffled by the heavy wooden barrier between you. Then, you heard another voice, and despite your relief your heart sank a little.

"What the hell was that?"

You turned to see a bespectacled face peering out from behind the sofa. He frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too," you scoffed. "I was looking for the source."

"It's not in here."

"You sure?"

He nodded firmly. Between you and the rest of the team, you'd ruled out this entire floor. It had to be upstairs, then. Not that you'd be able to find it until you got that door open. Before you could say as much, you noticed a telltale shimmer in the far corner. You spun towards the door, scrabbling desperately at the handle which still refused to budge.

"Lockwood! Lucy! They're in here with us, we need you to find the source now!" You could only imagine the anxious looks on their faces as they yelled back a hasty "Stay safe!" and their footsteps pounded up the stairs.

Bringing your attention back into the room, you watched as George stepped in front of you, rapier in hand and levelled with a slight tremor at the now-fully materialised Visitor.

"Do you have any flares?" he whispered over his shoulder, gaze not shifting. You thought of your kit bag sitting out in the hallway and felt in your pockets, careful to keep your movements to a minimum to attract less attention.

"Just a few salt bombs." You tried not to show the panic in your voice, but George saw it anyway. He reached back blindly with his free hand, finding yours and giving it a quick squeeze.

"I'll draw it away. As soon as you've got a clear view, hit it with everything you've got."

"George, no!" You shouldn't have raised your voice, you knew you shouldn't, but what he was suggesting sounded an awful lot like sacrifice and you couldn't bear the idea of him giving himself up like that. The ghost rounded on you both, and without another word George began to make his way across the room, rapier swishing rhythmically. Sure enough, the ghost followed him, snarling as its clawing hands were deflected by the blade. You clenched your fist around the handful of salt bombs in your coat pocket. Before you had a chance to throw them, the ghost made one more swiping motion, accompanied by a guttural scream, and you could only watch in what felt like slow motion as George flew off his feet and slammed with a sickening crunch into the marble surround of the fireplace. You felt a weight settle in your chest as rage began to cloud your vision.

"Hey!" The sharpness of your anger scraped against your throat and brought the word out in a rasping yell. The Visitor turned its attention to you just in time to be hit square in the face by three salt bombs, with another two from your other pocket exploding against its chest moments later. It vanished in a burst of golden sparks and you immediately ran to your friend laying prone on the floor.

Thick red blood trickled from a gash in his hairline, but he was alive and awake and pushing himself into a sitting position with a groan. For the second time that day he reached for your hand, entwining your fingers as you dropped to your knees beside him.

"Georgie, oh my god, are you alright?" You brought your other hand up to straighten his glasses and brush his hair out of his face, gently avoiding the wound. Your fingertips lingered on his cheek as you moved away and for a moment you could swear he leaned into the touch.

"Mm, 'm fine," he muttered, his words slurring together slightly. "You?"

"No, I was so worried about you!" Even now, seeing him gazing up at you and feeling the warmth seeping from his hand to yours, your heartbeat was racing and you daren't let go for fear he would disappear.

"But you're not hurt?" Now it was his turn to bring his hand to your cheek to make sure. You smiled and reassured him that you weren't. He returned the smile weakly, but it dropped when he spotted something over your shoulder.

"Good, because you might need to handle this one on your own." The Visitor was back.

You snatched up your rapier, wishing you'd kept a couple of those salt bombs back.

"Come on then," you taunted. Where this confidence came from, you had no idea. That was a lie. Its source was sitting right behind you, eyes twinkling with admiration. "Round two." You raised your voice, hoping your friends could hear it upstairs: "Any time now would be great, you two!"

The ghost surged at you, and you batted it off to the side with your blade. It shifted, and you followed its line of sight down to the boy on the ground. Nope. Not happening. With a quick adjustment of your left foot, you positioned yourself protectively over him as the ghost launched itself forward once more. It was too fast and too close already. You held your rapier across your chest in as close to a defensive stance as you could manage.

The Visitor disappeared.

The door clicked softly open.

In the distance, you heard matching footsteps thundering back down the stairs, but your focus was entirely on the dark-haired boy who had hauled himself to his feet behind you. Your rapier clattered on the floorboards as you tossed it away to clutch at his arms, making sure he wasn't going to collapse and secretly making sure he was real and there and okay. The two of you were breathing heavily, not even realising you were doing so in unison, and as he stepped so close you could feel the breath moving in his chest his expression shifted into something unreadable. Whatever it was, though, he appeared to think better of it and pulled you into the tightest hug you'd ever had in your time with the agency.

By the time Lucy and Lockwood made it down to the lounge, they found the two of you wrapped in each others arms, George's forehead dipped down to rest on your chest and your cheek on his head, clinging to each other so closely you were almost one person. Wordlessly, they turned to tidy up the team's kit bags, letting you finish your moment in private.

#lockwood & co #george karim x reader #lockwood & co fanfic #george karim #gn!reader

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futurewriter2000 · 9 months

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Caring -pt. 4

A/N: It was supposed to be a final part but I got invested into it so I might make it a bit longer. Also I swear I’m getting back into writing just my morning shifts take out everything out of me.

Sunday felt grey; it felt grey in a way, where nothing moved anywhere and nothing had colour. You felt as if you had lost your mind yesterday, bursting into your room in a fit of rage that you had nowhere to focus it on. From all the sleepless nights, exhaustion disappeared and you were livid. Your shaking body stood there, fingers cramping up and your nails digging so far into your skin, that the pain of it felt relieving. You didn't know what you felt, you just knew that you felt this gigantic black cloud inside of you that wanted to explode. Your thoughts were running by your mind in lighting speed but there was one thought that seemed to be in the focus of it.

Remus.

Remus. Your feelings for him. Him making fun of you with his friends. and trying so hard to pull a prank on you- well, they didn't succeed, did they. You knew about it. You felt it. You felt the hair on your neck stick out and your guard appear when you felt something wasn't right.

And as much as you chose forgivness before, you were too busy filled with revenge and fury to even find it in a mere existence of it. To worse it all of, you had a project with him. You had a whole year left with him.

... And you tried so hard to be better...

Fuck him and fuck his friends. You're tired of him and everything remotely related to him.

You grabbed your pillow and threw so far across the room onto another bed. Thank God for Hogsmeade, or else you couldn't act so immature and pathetic with your roommates around. You grabbed the pillow again and hit the wall with it, screaming and grunting- punching it and it drove you crazy because it was: SO. DAMN. SOFT.

You realised you had more curse words inside of your personal dictionary in so many other languages that would make Merlin himself turn in his grave, but you didn't care- because Remus was making you so pathetic, making you a clown and the pillow was so fucking soft to experience any pain...

... then all the anger just collapsed inside of you and you wailed. Not cried or sobbed... but wailed. "How could he-" you sobbed, your chest minimizing its size. "- how could he do that-" you buried your head in completely ravaged pillow.

You wailed...

... and wailed...

... and wailed.

The pillow was traumatised. It has experienced more aggression than it had from all the other students before you.

And you knew that since it was soaked in all of your tears and whatever liquid came from your nose. The shadows of your head were pulsing from exhaustion and before you knew it, you fell asleep in a small, fetal sleeping position- hugging your pillow so tightly and disappearing into the darkness of sad slumber.

The idea of cruel revenge disappeared in the morning. If it was morning. Your roommates weren't in bed, so they were either at breakfast or they were about to come in any second from it.

You looked at your clock and widened your eyes.

"FUCK!" you jumped up and felt the dizziness throw you back onto your bed.

They weren't at breakfast, they were at lunch.

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiit." you laid on your back and put the palms of your hands on top of your eyes.

---

It was as if you only blinked once and hours went by. Dinner and by now you were too hungry to stay in your room. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction that he hurt you. You didn't want to give anybody that satisfaction of knowing somebody can hurt you- not even your roommates or your closest friends. You were known as the happy one, the tough one, the emotionless one.

Though you hated that mask you hid behind, you had to wear it because if you didn't, you felt uncomfortable. The funny thing is, everybody wears masks. It's the nature of life and it protects us from fiends and foes, but now all you wanted was somebody to be there for you. Not somebody, but him. You'd say pathetic, but the deep desire for him to run up to you and tell you how sorry he is, create this big, grand gesture and kiss you passionately was all your mind created. It was either that or thinking about the rage, which you realised ended up in tears and utterly destroyed pillow.

You tried not to put too much effort in your look but to look like not putting too much effort, you did just that. Your eyes made you look like a frog, swollen so badly you didn't know what to do or say to your roommates about it. You washed them with cold water but it didn't go away and the headache didn't help either. The painkiller took so long to give in effect and you felt like nothing could make this pain go away.

You sat down on the edge of a bathtub and put your hands on top of your eyes. Everything felt useless. The lump in your throat did not help what-so-ever causing your eyes to water, but you tried to gather your thoughts and suck them back in.

You smiled, but your jaw hurt. You washed your face and with ease, you opened your door.

"Merlin, I will never sleep this long ever again." you groaned loudly as your roommates looked up. "Look at my eyes. It's like I was just done with some allergy testing."

Your friends laughed to your statements and it was like you put no effort into your mask at all. It all came out so naturally.

"Let the magic of time, heal all wounds." one of your friends said as she walked to you and watched your eyes.

"Or may a prince kiss your froggy eyes." said the other

"Bog off!" you laughed, throwing a pillow at her. "I'm so hungry but I have no clue what to wear."

"It's just dinner. For all others care, you can wear a potato sack." said the one who was sitting beside you and carefully looked at your eyes. She eyes you suspiciously, then got up and left.

She knew and you knew she knew. She also knew you, so she left you alone until you decide to open up yourself- if you ever will.

You didn't, however, wear a potato sack. You put on leggings and perfectly sized hoodie. It fell a bit over your back and covered the length of your arms neatly. You put a bit of moisturizer over your face and mascara. Your hair was half up and half laid down. With that you felt your confidence boost up and so you walked out of the room.

---

Remus sat there alone. He sat as far away from his friends as he could because he was furious, livid- just like you, you would say... but he wasn't hurt like you. His friends sat a few seats away, glancing occasionally with guilt. Of course, there would be angry looks at them. They had a perfectly good reason to "help" him get a bit closer to you. Obviously, they failed but it was all good intentions. James felt more guilt than any of the other three, so he stared at Remus with a large amount of guilt. It came to a point his eyes felt like a constant bug on the corners of Remus' eyes. Remus sighed and looked at him with a threatning glare, yet with another look that gave an exhausted perception of just how out of energy he was.

James walked up but as soon as he did, Remus' eyes went wide and he quickly stretched out his neck.

James turned around to find you walking along with your roommates and laughing. He smiled and he tried to make his way to you. He can fix this!

"Oi! (y/n)!" he shouted and ran towards you, leaving Remus paralyzed in terror.

Besides Remus, James was the second least person you wanted to lay your eyes upon but when you did, your eyes fell dark and intimidating.

James stopped in front of you and took a big breath. Your energy did give discomfort and he knew he was to blame but he was a fixer. James was a fixer...

"About last night- it's really not Remus' fault. He had no clue about anything, I swear." he started, meanwhile you and your friend eyes each other.

"I don't know what you're talking about." you lied, deadly serious.

James was too stunned to speak from your reaction. If there was anything he expected, it was a burst of anger or threats, not complete ignorance.

"I-uh-" he stumbled over his own words and you placed a smile.

"You got the wrong girl, James." was all you said before moving past him.

James looked after you, then at Remus, whose eyes shouted questions and perhaps some slurs at him but James only shrugged. What was he suppose to say or do? He was confused.

And despite the fact that you completely ignored Remus' existance a few seats away from you, your heart was pounding inside your chest. You didn't tell your roommates about last night. You didn't tell anybody. If you were honest, you lied to yourself about it as well. It was embarrassing to admit to something like that; that you were the victim of a prank from the famous four and to give them the satisfaction of it was not in your plan.

You were sweating from all the four pairs of eyes on you and you couldn't focus, nor eat anything in front of you. Your nervousness was at large and there was no apetite left in you. You loved food. You could devote your whole life to it but at the moment, your stomach was empty.

You stood up. You left.

The mask eventually fell with passing steps and the tears in your eyes started to gather. You pulled them back in but as you did so, it was as if all the pain tears held, you sucked it back in to your throat. It was dry and preventing any air to come into your lungs. It was horrible; hungry, shaking, nervous... you felt that if anything else decides to appear in your body chemistry, you'd might as well turn into dust.

And there he was. Right in front of you.

How could he have even got in front if you left him behind?

What other sorcery was that?

Your eyes were confused but you dared not to say a word until your body would calm down.

"(y/n)..." he spoke softly, regretfully.

Oh God. The soft tone of his voice definitely did not help to better your mood.

He would look into your eyes, eyes that were glistening in the darkness of the upcoming night. Swollen all around their colour, it felt like your pain would eat them alive.

Didn't he cause you enough of pain already?

All you felt- all those tears that didn't come from your eyes yet- he made that.

"I didn't- I swear I didn't plan any prank on you last night. I didn't have any evil master plan for you except to finish our project and I didn't finish it. I didn't finish it because we should do it together."

You turned your head away and smiled. Tears fell uncontrollably by themselves and you wiped it away as if it was never there.

Yet, you couldn't fool him, you both pretended you could.

"Yeah, whatever." you said. "I can do it by myself." was all you said before walking past him.

He let out a heavy sigh and shouted behind you. "That's not what I meant, (y/n)!"

"I know what you meant!" you turned around, shaking with rage you couldn't control either. You weren't in control. You felt like a volcano about to erupt and knowing you couldn't prevent it, you let it. "But do you really think I would trust you after last night! Huh!?"

"It wasn't what you think! I promise you, (y/n)! It wasn't." he walked towards you.

"Stop saying my name, goddamit!" you put your hands on the sides of your head like the sound of your name from his mouth clouded any remaining thought in your head. "You annoy me!" you pointed your finger at his chest, poking him angrily. "And it's funny because I was supposed to be the annoying one, right!"

"I never said you were- whatever I said last night, I didn't mean it."

"But you did, Remus." you growled, poking him again. "And I know you did because I heard you and your friends making fun of me that day after you fell asleep in class and you were so rude to me- you were so stuck up and mean AND I STILL WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO WOKE YOU UP! I put my feelings and my ego aside, FOR YOU! And it wasn't because I liked you for such a long time. It was simply because I am a decent human being WHICH I CANNOT SAY for you and your friends!"

"Me and my friends- we do appear that way and if you heard us talk- that wasn't me."

"Wasn't it?" you scoffed.

"No, it wasn't!" he let it out so desperately. "I had a rough few days, (y/n). I wasn't myself."

"I don't care." you shook your head. "I don't believe a single word you say right now. You're a rude, mean asshole that I don't want anything to do with anymore and fuck it! I'll finish it myself and you go play dungeons and dragons with your friend lot." you turned him your back and stomped away.

He shut his eyes, not believing the situation playing in front of him. "How can I make you believe me?!" he shouted after you.

You turned around, almost tripping but catching yourself just in time. "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't believe a unicorn if I saw it right now."

"Fucking fine!" he shouted, stomping after you and catching your pace faster with his longer pace. He grabbed your arm and pulled you back. You turned and glared at him and he stared back- something hidden, unspoken in his eyes tried to tell you something. His eyes were filled with fear, something you didn't see before- something that made you calm down as his grip let go of you slowly.

"What?!?" you snarled. "You're going to tell me that-"

"I have lycanthrophy." he blurted out.

It took you longer to process what he had said because if he said- "If you had lycanthrophy that would mean that you're a-"

"-werewolf." he finished your sentence.

You let out a laugh. "Yeah right and I'm a flying goblin." you turned him your back again but he pulled you back to him... again.

"How did you think I got these scars, (y/n)?" he said and your eyes immediately glanced at the long and pale rose stripes at the side of his neck, then back to his eyes that for a moment- a long, silent moment, you believed.

You smiled again- not in disbelief but because you couldn't find the right reaction to any of this. You shook your head. "But you- you can't be."

"I am." he replied right after. "And I turn into a monster with fur all over my body and I howl like a wolf, I run like a wolf, I look at the moon like it's the love of my life and I can't remember anything the next day." he continued. "I actually can't remember days after either."

You couldn’t process. It was as if you had all the words and the pieces in your head but you couldn’t place them together. You couldn’t connect it. It made sense, the pale ghost that wandered the halls every month, where you thought it could be a cold or a drunk night, sometimes even drugs but you never thought in your mind to look in the calendar to see that he was like that after every full moon.

Your head was empty.

“You’re a werewolf?”

“I am.”

#remus x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin imagines #marauders era #marauders #marauders imagine

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sangredetoro · 1 year

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And I fell into a nightmare, sorrounded by a vessel of pitch black darkness for millenia. Just as I was about to decay in insanity the chorus sang. A blistering song pulsing troughs the ages stretching trough time and space whole:

O Holy! O Holy! O Holy!

That's when the eyes burst open, none staring at me, all watching me. They were infinite. A never ending space of eyes in every direction. A temple of contemplation, sacred and alive, a perpetual dance in a biological matrix. And their god, their god was Leviathan. It was inmense, so much so that if any man where to truly understand this gods outreach and vastness the weight of existense itself would crush them.

They sang and my organs danced in a trance akin to an epileptic fit of rage, atempting to explode from the inside and feed the love, the love for the Leviathan. I was infinitely small as the vantablack stomach that engulfed me was vast.

The angels sang: O Holy! O Holy! O Holy!

Finally, from the direction that can only be discribed as upwards a white flash began anew. First I was blinded but once the pain dissapeared i was forced to a most nightmarish sight, attached to the many eyes where many mouths and many teeth and many organs. A panic embraced me as I saw things that should never be seen. Monsters never to be recalled. Sights of madness.

The worse then began.

First from the light and then from every direction body parts and dead flesh came. I was cornered and could not escape the hearts, bones, brains, livers and severed limbs now burying me.

The choir stopped. It was hungry. They devoured everything with anger and rejoice. A new song was born, now of splintering bones and gurgling voices. The harmony composed by the banging of teeth and the soft sounds of crashing organs. The melody, a song of delight by the parasitic Angels in a small part of the digestive tract of the Leviathan now made me deaf for a brief century of feeding.

It was a never ending orgy of blood on our expense. I understood everything. I am nothing and our universe, everything, is the belly of a beast. One so large even it's parasites leave us to shame.

O Holy! O Holy! O Holy!

I woke up in my bed on the verge of insanity. A new meaning I found.

#escribir #writing #horror #horror writing #literature #reading #just playing with some horror ideas #poetry #art

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

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If you’re still doing bad things bingo, the on a leash prompt?

I am so sorry that this took forever. I was originally going to use this for Villainsicle, but I hope you enjoy this original drabble instead ^^

CW: Villain whumpee, sedation, death threats, vomit mention

Mad Scientist didn’t remember waking.

Of course, no one really remembers such things. Waking up is simply the last stage of sleep-- and during sleep cycles, memories are not stored. Thus, the exact moment in which the brain goes from unconsciousness to consciousness can be remembered as easily as one can remember what they were doing while fast asleep; which is to say not at all.

Yet, generally, once awoken from these last threads of sleep spindles, most remember what they do after waking up. And, for that matter, most remember what they were doing in the moments before sleep overtook them.

In that moment, Mad Scientist remembered neither.

They couldn’t say that the latter was exactly uncommon-- caffeine and late nights and bleary eyes were not exactly conducive to well-kept memories. But waking up? They should have remembered that.

And, they should have remembered how they ended up in such a place of sterile lights.

They blinked a few times, struggling and straining against the brightness. They were used to sterility, to the lights of a lab, sure, but this? It was like being on an operating table. It made their head throb horribly, and their teeth chatter moreso.

At last, their vision adjusted just enough to keep their eyes open, at least enough to scan the room. A skipping heartbeat accented the tightness growing in their throat, yet a certain fatigue remained, burrowed behind their eyes. It was that fatigue that was likely the only thing keeping them from screaming.

They had never been here before. This wasn’t home. They knew this wasn’t home and it wasn’t anywhere near home, not their lab not their bed not even their old clinic or anywhere they’d ever been, a lab an operating room any home they’d ever glimpsed-- they had never been here before. They hadn’t come here on their own.

They knew that. They knew nothing else, but they knew that.

The bright lights would have suggested them to be in a hospital room, and, in some senses, this place fit the bill. The floor was made of slick, laminated tile, while the walls were painted to look like white brick, though their texture betrayed that, underneath, they were nothing of the sort. Beyond that, however, nothing resembled a patient’s room.

For one thing, hospital rooms generally had beds.

They had hardly noticed just how long it had taken them to realize that, and when they finally did, they practically jumped, their heart skipping to their throat in time. Mad Scientist was not laid out on a bed, nor any piece of furnishing. Instead, they were simply on the tile floor. Their notice of this was accompanied by a sudden chill-- the floor was horribly cold below their hands and knees.

It was that realization that finally, finally, let panic take hold. Let the bursting heart in their chest explode from their throat.

They screamed.

Before, they could rationalize it. Before, they were in a hospital. Maybe they’d fallen, or had some kind of seizure in the night. Something they could explain. Something that would make sense.

This wasn’t a hospital.

Whatever it was, it was not a place they wanted to be.

There was a door on the other end of the room-- steel, but not visibly locked. Maybe it was just a huge misunderstanding and they’d explain it all away and- their thoughts were running far too fast, and their body far too slow. They rearranged their limbs until they were on their hands and knees, before attempting to rise to their feet, doing their best to ignore just how much they were shaking. It took a significant effort, but-

Something pulled them back down.

Limbs giving out again, they found themself practically sprawled to the floor. It took practically all the strength they could gather to raise a hand to their neck. The cold touch of their own fingers made them shiver, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of frigid metal, locked against their skin.

Whatever the object was, they couldn’t see it-- it was far up enough on their neck that looking down did nothing. Still, with shaking fingers, they approximated its shape.

A ring. A collar. It encircled their neck in its metal grasp. Though certain parts were smooth, most were not, instead covered in creases and raised pieces and tiny buttons. Technological. They could gather that much.

Whatever technology it contained, though, it was nothing compared to the simple thing holding them to the ground. Straining their arm as far as they could manage it, they touched the back of the collar, feeling the little metal loop that extended from it, and the similar loop that was attached. A leash. Attached to the wall, by the feel of it, though they couldn’t turn their head around enough to see. Their brain felt to be stuffed with cotton... or perhaps even made of it.

Their trembling hand fell from their neck, slamming to the ground.

For a moment, they lay. A peaceful, single moment. They thought they might even be able to slip back into rest.

Creeeeeak.

Mad Scientist tensed, hating how much they felt like a kicked dog. They gathered as much energy and effort as they possibly could, scrounging in the very bottom of their pool, but found only the ability to weakly lift their head. The rest of their body stayed on the floor like that, sprawled and limp.

The figure in the doorway wasn’t particularly large in stature, but from their angle on the floor, they appeared as a giant. Clacking footsteps brought them closer, until they were at their side, leaning down.

A broiling mixture of rage and fear mixed in Mad Scientist’s stomach.

They looked up to meet the figure’s face.

Hero. They felt about to puke.

Still, their anger did nothing to stop them from flinching as a hand was reached towards them. The touch on their chin was surprisingly gentle, though that didn’t change the fact that Hero was forcing it upwards, forcing their gazes to each other.

If they had the energy to, Mad Scientist would have spit right in their face. That’s what they told themself, anyways. Instead, they trembled.

“How does it feel?” The voice was a million miles away, and spoken from directly inside their head.

They wanted so fiercely to snap, to bark something back, but could only manage a simple:

“Mmm.”

“I bet. You should consider yourself lucky.” Hero grinned their stupid, crowd-pleasing grin. “Our usual protocol is a lot worse. Had this been a normal case, you’d be at an old farm upstate, right about now.” They laughed at their own joke. “But you, you are not a normal case.”

With surprising grace, Mad Scientist felt themself being laid back down onto the frigid tile.

“You have a lot to teach us.”

“No.” The word came out as a croak.

“They speak! I didn’t think you’d be doing that for a while-- our medics have some nasty stuff too, y’know.”

“Not... helping... you.”

Hero raised a brow.

“What made you think that it was a choice?”

#whump #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #villain whumpee #hero villain whump #villain whump #powered whumpee #scientist whumpee #whump trope #whump prompt #bad things happen bingo

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plant-flwrs · 4 years

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Hey :) I saw you're taking request and I have troubles writing anything fluffy or sweet. It all turns out angsty somehow :( so maybe you could write some fluff with a bit humor with George? He's taking care of her or protecting her from someone who's mean to her. Keep up the good writing :)

drama // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: thank u so much!! i am a sucker for fluff, but i do love some angst too. i’m happy to write this for u tho!! hope u like it, thank u so much for the request!

summary: You and Cho Chang never got along, and when push comes to shove, George gets to see just how angry you can get.

(1.9k)

-------

“She’s such a-” you stopped yourself, refraining from calling Cho Chang all the awful names you had on the tip of your tongue.

“What happened?” Hermione asked from your side, used to hearing your endless rants about Cho.

“She said that George was too good for me,” you said, rage bubbling on your chest. You raised your voice and put on a Scottish accent, imitating what she had said, “ ‘It’s just surprising, is all. Didn’t think he’d get with someone like you. Always thought George and Hannah Abbott made a good pair, though.’ Who says something like that?”

Hermione gasped, looking at you in awe. You and Cho had been known to have a passive aggressive feud, but neither of you had ever gone that low before.

“That’s awful, Y/n,” Hermione consoled you. As loud as you yelled, she still saw the hurt in your face.

“I think I should kill her, or something,” you attempted to joke, but it fell on deaf ears as Hermione’s eyes widened at the threat, “I’m not actually going to kill her ‘Mione! I was only joking.”

The both of you flopped down on the couch and you mumbled “sort of”.

Your head lulled back, and you looked at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, trying to even out your breathing.

The second George stumbled through the portrait hole, his eyes were looking for you. He saw you immediately, head rolled back, eyes closed. Your cheeks were flushed, and your brows furrowed. You looked stressed. He came from behind you, on the other side of the couch, and placed a hand on each side of your face.

“Hello, darling,” he said, smiling, as you opened your eyes.

You smiled back at him, shyly whispering back, “hi”.

“You looked upset, what’s wrong?” George asked, still holding your face.

You sat up, pulling yourself to sit on the couch properly. George walked to the front of the couch and sat next to you, his hand going to your knee like it was natural.

“Just something Cho said,” you told him, twisting your fingers in your lap.

George pulled your hands into his lap, unfolding them and holding them.

“What did she say?” George asked.

You and Cho Chang never got along. It was a deep family issue, her parents’ parent’s hating yours. It all started so long ago, your barely remembered why. George had to talk you off many ledges when it came to Cho, and he, just as much as Hermione, always got an earful after one of your interactions with the Ravenclaw girl. This time, though, you felt hesitant to tell George. She didn’t often manage to, but she got in your head this time.

“She said something about you, about us,” you told him, hoping to be able to leave out some of the details.

George’s brow furrowed, and he shifted in his seat, becoming stiff.

“What did she say?” he repeated, sounding worried.

“She said that she was surprised to see us together, that you were better for Hannah Abbott,” you said, feeling the rage bubble back in your chest.

“What? I dated Hannah for a week when we were first years!” George exclaimed, an offended look on his face, “She has no right to say that to you. What did you say?”

A part of you swelled with pride at George’s words. He was just as angry as you, you didn’t feel crazy.

“I told her to shove off, and that I thought Cedric looked better with Hagrid than he did with her,” you admitted, smiling wide as you thought back to how red Cho’s face got.

“You didn’t!” George said, his face spreading into a wide smile.

You nodded enthusiastically, and George wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

“Let’s go down to dinner, shall we?” George said, whisking you off.

Cho was still red in the face the next day in class, and you couldn’t figure out why. What you said to her was nothing compare to what she said to you, and you were fine.

“Sending your boyfriend to clean up your messes?” Cho choked out, her fists clenched.

She looked different, and you couldn’t place it. You raised your eyebrows at her, not knowing what she was talking about.

“I was in the infirmary all night! The redness hasn’t gone down! I know it was you and George!”

You narrowed your eyes at her face, and did notice that the redness was a little more than an embarrassed flush. You recognized it immediately, remembering when George tested the candy on Fred. It made his face swell when he ate it, and he had to drink this awful potion to fix it. It left him with a bright red rash on his face for two days after. You covered your knowing gaze, and replaced it with disinterest.

“I had nothing to do with that, Cho, but I reckon you deserved it,” you said, turning back to your work.

Cho was enraged. She had never been so angry with you. She knew she wanted to get you back, but with George by your side she couldn’t prank you. She had an idea. She had casually mentioned to Luna that she wanted to fight you. Yes, a real fist fight, at Hogwarts, between you and Cho. Of course, Luna told Harry in between classes, and in a fit of laughter, Harry told Ron during dinner that night. Eavesdropping like she usually was, Hermione heard. Hermione shut her book and came to your end of the table, where you ate with George.

“Y/n!” Hermione called, lowering her face to next to your ear.

You jumped, sending a piece of chicken off your fork and into Fred’s hair from across the table, “You scared the shit out of me!”

George laughed as Fred shook his hands through his hair, trying to get the food out.

“Harry’s just told me that Cho said she wants to fight you,” Hermione said, and when you had no reaction, she repeated herself, “like a real fight!”

You squinted your eyes, trying to think if Cho would actually fight you. It didn’t seem like her, but once you sent her a glance, you saw that it may be likely. Her rash hadn’t improved, and her fists were on the table like she was burning a hole through them.

“George,” you mumbled to him, both of you now staring at Cho, fear in your eyes, “I forgot to ask you something.”

“Hm?” he mumbled, looking concerned.

“Did you do that to Cho?” you asked him.

He nodded, not taking his wide eyes off of Cho as she looked like she might explode.

“You don’t think-”

“She would fight you? Oh definitely. After what me and George did to her last night,” Fred said, glancing at Cho and going into a fit of laughter.

“What did you do?”

“We snuck into the girl’s changing rooms while she was at practice. Left her a little love note from Cedric and a candy. She ate it on her way back to the castle and her head could barely fit through the door!” Fred’s laughter made it’s way to the Ravenclaw table, and Cho stood suddenly from her seat.

You and George both flinched, clutching the other’s arms. She stormed from the Great Hall, and you both let out a relieved breath when she was finally out of sight.

“Oh my god,” you started, “I’ve got to fight Cho Chang.”

Your next few weeks were spent in fear. Waiting for Cho to ambush you, or get you from behind. George walked with you to nearly every class, trying to make sure Cho wouldn’t catch you while you were alone.

You burst into the portrait hole, out of breath from running down the hall.

“This is ridiculous!” you said, falling into the couch.

“I wish she’d just fight me already,” you breathed out, wiping your forehead with your sleeve.

“You make the first punch, then,” Fred said, leaning forward on his knees.

“I can’t! Then I’ll get in trouble,” you said, sitting up.

“Corner her,” Ron said, not looking up from the chess game he was playing with Harry, “confront her, but make her hit you first.”

Ron knocked down one of Harry’s pieces, and Harry groaned.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll have to,” you said, standing and walking right back out of the portrait hole.

George, and nearly everyone else who had heard your conversation, trailed after you. The threat of a fight had been getting everyone excited, and they weren’t about to miss it.

You found Cho on her way to the pitch, her gear weighing down her arms. You figured that was good, it gave you the upper hand.

“Cho!” you called out to her, urgency and anger in your voice.

Fred gave George an entertained look, and George just looked worried.

Your hands were curled into fists at your sides, and you kept your distance when you both finally faced each other.

“If you want to fight me, fight me,” you said, bracing yourself for a hit.

“What?” Cho said, feigning innocence.

“You told Luna you wanted to fight me, so fight me.”

“I never said that. Are you threatening me?”

Everyone around you was in stunned silence. You looked back to Harry, who only shook his head, insisting that Luna had said that.

“You’re such a liar,” you said, turning away from Cho.

“Luna doesn’t lie! and Y/n wasn’t threatening you. You’re a nasty and mean person,” Hermione said, stepping from the crowd and close to Cho’s face.

“Get away from me Granger, go run to Ron. Oh wait, he doesn’t want you,” Cho spat, shoving Hermione away. Hermione’s face was bright red, and you pulled her away from Cho, standing between them.

“What did you say?” you yelled at her, sounding more threatening than you had ever sounded. Hermione pulled at your shoulder, trying to get you to step back. George’s eyes widened, never hearing you sound like that. Fred’s amused chuckle rang through your ears, giving you confidence. You stepped closer to Cho, and she didn’t say anything. She avoided your eyes and swallowed hard. “What did you say Cho?”

Cho refused to answer, giving you a scowl. Hermione’s pulls at your shoulders finally gave, and you took a step back and began to walk away. You heard Cho snicker, and in one quick step you were in her face, pulling her close to you by her tie.

“You say another word about me or any of my friends,” you couldn’t think of a threat, too many deadly options on your mind, “Do it. See what happens.”

“Let me go!” Cho yelled, but it sounded more like a whine. You released her tie, and because she had been pulling against you, she fell on her back.

Mouths hung open as you returned back to your housemates. Fred lifted you by your waist, holding you in front of him and spinning.

“Y/n! That was brilliant! I think she wet her pants!” Fred shouted, putting you back on the ground.

You turned to watch Cho and the other Ravenclaws retreating to practice, a smile on your face.

George pulled you into him, kissing you.

“That was so hot,” he said smirking at you.

You laughed and shoved him away playfully, starting back up to the castle with your friends.

#george weasley #george #weasley #george weasley fic #george weasley fluff #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x reader #hogwarts #harry potter #gryffindor

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gregnas-the-grouch · 3 years

Text

Truth Without Power

All was calm in the forest. The singing of birds, the chipping of insects, the gentle sway of trees in the wind. It all blended in the background, But for one Cofagrigus, it only served to aid her meditation. The warrior’s mind still, focused. Nothing could break her concentration at this point.

“So eager to earn my ire? I know your mental faculties are lacking, yet even I must admit I’m impressed at the depths you’re willing to pursue in the name of enraging me.” Baozhai’s demeanor had hit a new low. For all her bluster, even Yemir could feel it radiating off the Cofagrigus in sickening waves. It gave the small Gallade pause, if only for a moment as Bao turned to face her charge. “It seems I have no option left. Since I can find no opponent capable of rousing you to your former size. I will simply have to get my hands dirty”, the ghost murmured. Standing up to her full height, Baozhai looked down at Yemir. As if she were a mischievous child that needed scolding. “Be proud. It’s not often people get to face me in combat. One of the better highlights compared to the list of individuals you’ve battled, I would say”, a slight smile formed on her face as Yemir stared at Baozhai.

The reduced giant remained quiet for a few moments before she suddenly bursted into a fit of laughter. Clutching her chest tightly, Yemir did her best not to pass out from the intense pain as she howled like a looney. Bao’s light smile vanished in an instant, her right eye twitching in irritation as Yemir wiped a few tears from her eyes. Calming down. “Oh, that’s a good one, Granny Bao. I thought you were being serious there”, Yemir chuckled. Only to note the annoyance Baozhai had been displaying. “... Oh god, you’re being serious, aren’t ya?” Yemir ruminates upon the Cofagrigus’ words before uttering a simple, “no”, in response. “No offense, but yer not exactly what I would consider a good fight? What do ya do, just flip around with yer little sword there and poke people in the gut? Nah, that’s kinda boring if ye ask me”, Yemir grunted with a lazy look on her face.

“Ah, I see how it is”, Baozhai mused out loud as she started at Yemir. “You’re simply afraid to have this old woman beat your ass, is that it? I suppose I'd be afraid to have my precious reputation too if a, how did you put it? A granny. Beat my ass as well. Perfectly natural response”, Baozhai said calmly as her words poked and prodded at Yemir’s ego. The Gallade bared her teeth, snarling deeply as she turned her back to Baozhai with her arms crossed. “Nice try. I know yer just trying to goad me into fightin’ ya. Ain’t gonna happen.” Without another word, Yemir slowly started to walk away from Baozhai. Yet the mummy wasn’t finished with her little insults. “Ah, I see how it is. Yemir is still pouting and throwing a fit over what happened in White Forest, is it? I wonder… how would your father feel about your cowardice?”

Yemir immediately froze on the spot. Stiff and silent like a statue as Baozhai continued forth with her little verbal assault. “That’s why you continue to suffer from such a sullen mood, no? You put all your faith and trust into someone you believed to be good. Someone you believed to be on your side. Only to find out that they’re not quite the person you thought them to be. Yet you just walk, acting like you’re some kind of hot shit. Being a perpetual mope and doing nothing to solve this little predicament of yours. Perhaps your brother had a good reason to betray you. Perhaps if your father was still alive today, he’d show nothing but disappointment at your inability to-”, Baozhai was cut off as a large rock went flying past her at breakneck speed. The armored ghost twisted her head at just the last second to avoid it before returning her attention back to Yemir. The short Gallade’s mouth had steam seeping out as her pupils were narrowed. Hands balled into fists. “Ya better hope yer as good at fightin’ as ye are at flapping yer lips!”

Baozhai paused for a few moments before a wry grin spread across her face. “See? Was that so hard? Now… give me everything you got”, Baozhai growled. Spreading her arms, as if to goad Yemir even further into attacking her. Naturally, this worked as Yemir barred her teeth, hands clenched into fists as she charged forward. Reckless as ever. Baozhai stood still, her eyes locked onto the Gallade, making no noise or movement until the brawny shrimp was right on top of her. Arm curled back, ready to deck Baozhai right in that pretty little face of hers. Yemir swung forward, only for her eyes to widen as Baozhai shifted to the side. Face stuck in that mocking expression as she gave Yemir a sharp slap over the back of her head with one of her ghostly hands. Yemir stumbled a bit, having swung her punch, only to meet nothing but air. Bao’s playful gesture only served to enrage Yemir further as the Cofagrigus merely chortled at her.

“Come now, surely you can do better than this, no? I thought Yemir was undefeatable”, the ghost taunted. Only adding to Yemir’s frustrations. The Gallade said nothing aside from low grunts and snarls. Her hands trembling at the chance to punch the snooty Cofagrigus. Yet, no matter how often Yemir lunged at Baozhai. All she received in response was that obnoxious smack over the back of her head. Again and again. The brute’s rage was starting to boil at this point. Any sense of caution thrown to the wind as her speed started to build up. Baozhai even noticed Yemir’s mass increasing as the seconds went by. In a couple of minutes, she had almost reached Baozhai’s height herself. Good progress, but not enough for Baozhai.

“Tell me, how does someone like yourself get praised for being such a good warrior? You have the brawn, yes. But that’s all you have. No thought behind your actions. No tact or strategy. Just swinging away with your massive fists. Maybe the only reason they praised you as such is that most didn’t know how to fight to begin with. Nothing but skill-less fools praising a bigger fool who was simply stronger than them.” Bao’s words tore into Yemir’s pride like a pack of hungry Houndoom digging into a fresh kill. “Shut it!”, the giant yelled, her fists swinging faster, more furiously. Yet Baozhai always seemed one step ahead. Just barely out of reach of her punches. “Shut it? Why should I? All you’ve been doing is running your mouth ever since we started our little journey. You can’t even touch me”, Baozhai taunted, her eyes narrowed at the giant. A blood vessel popped in Yemir’s forehead as her teeth grated against each other. Her mouth clenched in anger. Bringing out another punch to throw Baozhai’s way.

The Cofagrigus yawned, prepared to dodge another of Yemir’s blows.However, as the massive arm crossed Baozhai’s path, she felt a sharp sting on her face. Hissing, she pulled back, reaching towards her face, only to pull back. Green blood stained her black hand. Yemir… hit her? How? She didn’t see the punch connect with her face. Yet the damage was apparent to the old ghost. Yemir merely had an angry smile on her face. Pleased, she managed to land a hit on Baozhai, even if the effect wasn’t intended. “Keep on talkin’, Bao. I’ll wipe that smirk of yer face just yet”, the giant proclaimed loudly. Baozhai was silent for a few seconds before her mocking demeanor became considerably more serious. “You’ll regret that.”

Not wanting to let up on Baozhai, Yemir charged once more. Keeping the pressure on the ancient Cofagrigus as best she could. Yet as she was about to land a punch on Baozhai, all the giant could hear was a dull thud. Confused, Yemir turned her head to the side, only to see Baozhai standing her ground. Using both her forearms as a shield, the Cofagrigus managed to tank Yemir’s hit, barely budging from her spot. Baozhai merely glared back at Yemir with an angry smile of her own. “Hm, is this the best punch you can throw? Pathetic”, the ghost mocked. Her ghostly hair suddenly sprouted a life of its own. Wrapping around Yemir’s arm like snakes and squeezing ever so tightly so Yemir couldn’t get away. The growing giant had little time to contemplate Baozhai’s words or moves as she felt a ghastly energy well up near her abdomen. Looking down, the Gallade made note of a ShadowBall swelling up in size. Baozhai’s human hand near it as the energy felt more intense with each passing moment.

Yemir could barely let out a word as Baozhai unleashed her attack. Yemir let out a screech as she felt her massive body sent rocketing back. The ghostly energy orb driving into her body like a runaway train. Slamming into any poor tree caught in her way. Yemir was sent flying through the forest, leaving a small path of destruction in her wake as Baozhai merely stood up, watching her handiwork in action as a bright flash of purple, followed by a loud boom went off. “Ah… Perhaps I got a bit too carried away there. Haos would never let me hear the end of it if I wound up killing her.” The ghost knew better, though. Yemir certainly had a reputation for being resilient.

As Baozhai slowly made her way towards the impact zone, she made note of all the broken trees. Nothing but smouldering stumps at this point. The Shadowball had sent Yemir flying quite some ways away. Dozens of yards by the look of it. Until naught but a pile of broken trees and charred ground piled up where the giant once remained. “Yemir, are you still alive?”, the ghost called out. Leaning forward to get a better look, hoping for some sign of life. Yet it remained eerily silent. The Cofagrigus frowned, her body starting to tense up a bit as she expected Yemir to burst out of there any second now. Until she felt something grip her legs.

Her head snapped down, only to notice the shadows had sprung to life. Wrapping around her calves and ankles, as if they had a life of their own as Baozhai’s expression changed from one of uncertainty to one of regret. “Fuck”, was all the ghost could utter as the pile of debris suddenly exploded. Yemir, restored in all her monolithic glory, lept forth. Eyes wide with determination and fury. Her right arm reared back for one hell of a punch. Only this one was different. Her elbow vent had been spouting flames, roaring like a jet engine as Bao’s gut curled into a tight ball, her throat locked. The mummy could only brace herself before she felt several tons of might and rage slam into her. The Cofagrigus was slammed into the ground, the breath knocked out of her. All she could do was yell in pain as Yemir continued her unrelenting assault, constantly pounding her oversized fists into Baozhai’s chest as all Baozhai could do was yell in anger. Being driven further and further into the ground as the entire area around her shattered into a crater. Until, eventually, all that remained was a massive hole where Baozhai once stood. Yemir towering over it, breathing heavily as her anger simmered down a bit.

“... Well, that’s one way to vent me anger, I suppose”, Yemir grumbled to herself. Surveying all the destruction she had caused. The crater was much bigger than she expected. Staring at her arms, she made note of her elbow vent. Still smoking from the raw power she had just released. A big smile spread across her face. She didn’t know how she did it. But with those elbow vents, she could make her punches hit harder. Who knows what else she could do with them as well? Yemir didn’t waste much time reflecting on this, staring at the hole in the ground where Baozhai used to be. “Oi! Bao, ya in there?” Yemir called out, only to be greeted with silence. “Huh, maybe I punched her too hard,'' Yemir grunted. Looking at the scene of destruction before her. It was enough to flatten a small town and then some.

After staring at the Baozhai shaped hole in the ground for a few more seconds. Yemir merely shrugged her shoulders before turning around and walking away. The giant had no interest in following Baozhai anymore, to be quite frank. Yemir just didn’t feel like dealing with her bullshit anymore. As the giant lumbered forth a few yards, an all too familiar voice called out to her. Making Yemir’s ears perk up. “Leaving so soon? I thought we were just getting warmed up”, called out the cold, yet condescending voice of Baozhai. Spinning around in disbelief, Yemir’s eyes widened upon seeing Baozhai standing before her. Her armor had seen better days, a few chips and cracks here and there. Her otherwise perfect face bruised, green blood dripping down the corner of her mouth while her normally smooth and straight hair had been frayed and messy.

Yet, Yemir noticed something off about Baozhai. Behind her chilly demeanor, her eyes seethed with a fire the brute thought missing in the empress. Admittedly, Yemir was impressed by the old ghost’s resilience. Most people wouldn’t take such a beating and get back up. Smirking, Yemir crossed her arm, staring down at Baozhai with a cocky grin. “Heh, I guess those dusty warriors follow ya fer a reason. But ya still pissed me off, so don’t expect me to go easy on ya”, the giant grunted, Baozhai simply narrowed her eyes at Yemir. The giant herself raised a brow when the Cofagrigus slowly unsheathed her sword. Holding it in one hand as Yemir merely smiled wider. “So, finally decided to take me seriously, aye? Good. I’m done talkin’ with ya”, Yemir grunted. Cracking her knuckles as the Cofagrigus assumed a defensive stance with her blade. As if expecting Yemir to make the first move.

The giant did not disappoint. Her smile replaced with a scowl, Yemir lunged at Baozhai. Her fists alight with fire, hoping to crush baozhai under the weight of her attack. Baozhai simply dodged to the side. A glint of steel crossed Yemir’s eyes, followed by a sharp pain. A large one opened up on her right forearm. A small geyser of purple blood sprayed out as Yemir’s eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t even see Baozhai swing her sword. The Cofagrigus didn’t let up. Weaving and ducking through every punch Yemir threw her way. Responding in kind with a swing of a sword. Slicing her way the giant’s flesh as if it were butter. Annoyed with all these scratches and nicks, Yemir bellowed mightily, slamming her clenched fists together as steam erupted from her body. Her muscles contracted, growing ever denser as her skin color darkened. As Baozhai swung her sword, her eyes widened as she felt the sword meet resistance. The flesh harder to carve through.

Yemir took it a step further, the shadows around them began to waver and twist. Darkened tendrils sprouting out of them like sharpened blades, jutting towards Baozhai. The mummy lept back, wincing as she felt a few nick her in the areas her armor didn’t cover. Yemir let out a roar as she charged at the retreating ghost. Her throat began to glow before a torrent of blue flames erupted from her mouth. Baozhai lept back, feeling the sapphire flames singe the tip of her hair, a small sneer forming on her face. Holding up her other hand, another Shadowball formed from Bao’s ghastly energy. Yet, the Cofagrigus did not throw it at Yemir, even as she managed to stay one step ahead of Yemir’s fiery breath. Instead, Baozhai pointed the tip of her blade at the ghostly sphere before piercing it. The energy enveloping the bladed. Taking on the shape of the sword itself, but doubling its length.

Yemir’s eyes widened, closing her mouth as she made note of what Baozhai pulled off. The back of her hair stood on edge. Her gut clenched while a dry lump formed in her throat. Something told the brute she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that. Spotting a boulder nearby that managed to survive their skirmish. Yemir plunged both her hands around it, plucking it out of the ground with a mighty lift. Yemir opened her mouth, spewing more flames around the rock. Seemingly clinging to it, as if it had a desire to never let go. The fire itself seemed to have no effect on the titan as she let it plop on the ground. The shadows around her danced and stretched, reaching out to the boulder before wrapping around it. Plunging one hand near the flaming rock, the shadows reached out, coiling around Yemir’s arm and holding tight.

A manic smile spread across Yemir’s face as she lifted her arm back up, the boulder followed suit, the shadows keeping the two tethered as the burly brute began to swing the flaming boulder around like a ball n’ chain. Baozhai had little time to react, rolling to the ground as she felt the heat of the massive rock pass by her. Mere inches from knocking her head off. Yet, despite it all, Baozhai retained her composure, unflinching in the face of Yemir’s might. Sword in hand, Baozhai sprung back into action. Racing right towards Yemir. This caught the giant off guard, swinging the flaming boulder around recklessly, in the vain hopes of crushing Baozhai. This did not deter Baozhai, who sprinted ever closer. Yemir pulled back her weapon, having it land perfectly in her meaty palm before swinging it horizontally, hoping to sweep Baozhai along with it. Yet Baozhai managed to slide underneath it, mere feet away from Yemir as her amber eyes burned brightly with determination.

It all happened so fast as the Cofagrigus lept forth, the ethereal blade slicing through her shadow tethered arm effortlessly. The giant felt nothing at first, naively thinking nothing happened. Only to watch as her limb suddenly separated from her shoulder. Flying through the air as it was still attached to the boulder. Careening some distance away before landing on the ground with an unceremonious thump. Yemir let out a loud yell, clutching at the stump where her right arm used to be as blood gushed out of it, the pain wracking through her body. Though the giant seemed to treat it more as an inconvenience then the fact she just lost an arm. Her grip tightened as she turned her head back at Baozhai. Her mismatched eyes glaring at the mummy, anger beginning to rise once more while the mummy matched her stare in ferocity. The two were silent before Baozhai simply uttered, “do you yield?”

Yemir snarled at the mummy, her teeth bared as she felt tempted to lunge for and crush the ancient spirit with her powerful jaws. Yet, in the back of Yemir’s mind, she recalled the little promise she had made to her father. Her face quivered before letting out a sigh, “I yield.” “Good”, the mummy seemed satisfied with Yemir’s response. Staring at her sword, Bao swung the blade to the side, flicking the titan’s blood off of it. “Sting is satisfied with the battle. Now fetch your arm, I would hate to see you forget the trinkets your father left behind”, the mummy stated. Yemir rolled her eyes, even though she wasn’t that forgetful as she stumbled forward to retrieve her missing limb. Baozhai walked in step by Yemir’s side, silently eyeing the giant’s wound while Yemir leaned forward, picking the limb up with her free hand. “Excellent, let us make haste, lest we attract unwanted guests with our little scuffle”, Baozhai gestured to all the destruction around them. Yemir merely stared at Baozhai as she turned around and began to walk away.

“Why?”, the giant called out. Stopping the empress in her tracks as Yemir took a step forward. “Why are ya doing this? Ye hate my guts. Sliced my damn arm off fer fuck’s sake. But ya still want me with you. Why?”, the giant called out as Baozhai remained silent before simply responding with, “I have a duty to my friends, nothing more.” Yemir’s mouth curled into a snarl as she took another step forward. “Bullshit!”, the giant yelled at the top of her lungs. “There’s more than just fucking duty! Yer a bitch, there’s gotta be a better reason!” Baozhai turned her head in response to this, her eyes matching Yemir with a frosty glare. “Say that again”, the ghost demanded of Yemir, her tone unwavering.

Yemir paused, looking down at the severed hand she clutched tightly before looking back up at Baozhai. “Yer a bitch.” Baozhai merely let out an icy laugh, chilling Yemir’s soul. “You’re right, I am a bitch… Does it matter, though?”, the warrior ghost replied as she crossed her arms. Yemir tilted her head, trying to respond. Yet nothing would come out as she fumbled with the words. “I’m a bitch. A tyrant. A devil. I’ve been called these things and more by those who hated me with every fiber of their being. But does it matter? To which I would say, no, it didn’t. Want to know why? Because they lacked the power to be right”, Baozhai proclaimed casually. Waving an arm, as if to dismiss these accusations.

“It’s one thing to speak the truth. It’s another to have the power to back it up as well. For what good is “truth” if you can’t maintain your own? What good is the wailing of those who had been conquered, yet lacked the strength to stand up and make their truth become a reality? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing”, Baozhai stated, her serene expression became more menacing as a result. “You want to know why I’m helping you? True, I do have my duty to my friend. But I also have my own reasons. If I am to retake my kingdom, my region. What good is ruling if I have naught but cinders and the entire world breathing down my back?”, the ghost explained, expression never faltering. “You think those Golurks were trouble? They’re only the beginning! In case you fail to notice, you practically nuked an entire forest, caused untold damage to a nearby city and the surrounding area-”, only to be cut off by Yemir.

“-That wasn’t my fault, it was Whisper and Eudai’s fault!”, Yemir retorted. Baozhai’s serene expression shattered in an instant. “It is your fucking fault, Yemir! You think just because your siblings pissed you off that it makes things better? Men, women, children. You killed everyone in that area and now they’ll want blood! You think people give a fuck? Honestly, answer me that. Do they give a shit about you throwing a little temper tantrum because Eudai is an asshole? No, they do not! The only thing that matters to them is your death and nothing will change that.” Baozhai was practically fuming with anger, Yemir unable to talk back as the mummy’s words hit the giant like a truck. After a few seconds, an aura surrounded Baozhai. Her seething rage subdued as she returned to her calmer demeanor. Staring back at Yemir, her expression.

“Let me ask you this. When you exploded, White Forest was gone. But do you believe your siblings perished on that day? Wiped away in the blast of your all consuming rage?” Yemir stared at the ground like a whipped dog. Unable to answer for a short bit before she took in a deep breath and sighed. “No, I never saw it and I have no memories of what happened in our fight fer the most part. But I can… feel them. Like me gut knows they’re still out there”, Yemir rumbled. Refusing to make eye contact with Baozhai. “I’ll take your word for it. If that’s the case, then they’ll likely take advantage of this situation. Use your desperation against you. Especially Eudai”, Baozhai commented, Yemir had a spark of anger in her from mention of that name.

“I know the pain that comes from betrayal, truly, I do. But going about this blindly, nonchalantly, there's no solution at all. You mentioned your brother wanting to become one. If this is the case, I want you to contemplate your brother holding the raw physical strength you’re capable of, as well as the strange power your sister wields. How well do you think that’ll go?” The question seemed to slap Yemir in the face as she lifted her head. “Not good.”

“Yes, not good at all. So ask yourself this. Which truth do you want to prevail? The truth of Eudai? Validated in his treachery. Or the truth of Yemir? Who managed to endure, despite the machinations of her siblings.” Yemir barely gave this question any thought. “My truth.” Baozhai smiled slightly at this, seemingly pleased with Yemir’s response. “As it should be. Now come, I’d really like a headstart before they come to “grace” us with their presence”, Baozhai scoffed as Yemir raised her brow, staring down at the empress. “Wha, wait. Who? Whose coming?” Yemir asked. Baozhai paused before staring back at Yemir. “White Forest is home to a great many deal of creatures. Yet, is special to a certain group that hailed from this region long ago.” Baozhai paused, turning her back to Yemir, but not before uttering a single word.

“Dragons.”

#plot #baozhai #yemir #I put music in there to match the mood as well

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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masterpost ☀️ main masterlist ☀️ taglist

previously on...

This chapter is very dialogue heavy. Stephen Strange being a little bit of a dick and Tony being a sweetheart. No warnings here, just plot and worldbuilding. I think Tony is his own warning to be honest... Do we want fun facts before each chapter like before or nah?

Sorcerer Strange stared at me with the heat of a plasma beam after I finished stuttering throughout my story, one accurate eyebrow raised and sharp cheekbones painting him displeased and dangerous in the yellow light of the store lamps. The whole experience shook me more than I would have liked to admit to myself and his mute reaction wasn't helping matters at all.

"Hmph," he finally cleared his throat, taking a step back and casting a thoughtful look over the shelves in the store. "You did all you could. Perhaps, we owe you gratitude," his tone was far kinder than his face. "How long have you been doing... This?" He vaguely gestured with a gloved hand.

"Long enough," I replied without thinking. My stress levels urgently rose above acceptable and the feelings needed to be let out now; Wong's dismissive attitude and Strange's half-assed apology for the attitude was still fresh in my mind.

The sorcerer sighed, briefly touching the bridge of his nose. "I won't pretend to understand the reason for your hostility but I'd like to remind you we're on the same side here," his steely blue eyes attempted to peer into my soul.

"There are no sides here," whatever he was selling, I wasn't buying it. "There are just people who get hurt, either because of unstable maniacs with superpowers or aliens who think Earth is an all-you-can-kill buffet," I stuck my dirty, bloody hands in my pockets. "You do your part in mitigating the damage, I do mine. That's all there is."

"And you would be making my job expotentionally harder if you get in the way and slow down professionals, even if you mean well," the man's temper had, evidently, won over and he immediately got on the defensive, crossing his arms and trying to glare me down.

Odette's words rang true, starting a storm of hollow anger in the pit of my skull. "Now listen here, you privileged prick," the damn burst at the seams as I squared up to give him a piece of my mind. "You and your Hogwarts rejects and the merry band of billionaires may have the opportunity to 24/7 healthcare and near-instant compensation for any damages the villain of the week decides to bestow upon your shallow little heads," I advanced half a step towards Strange, hands bailed into tight fists, internally rejoicing at the way he leaned back. My blood sang with adrenaline as I breathed the exhilaration.

"But how many people do you overlook? How many children never make it because your super secret organisation gives their parents an ultimatum just because they are different? This is a safe space for the ones you pretend not to see until it's convenient and it will stay that way, over my fucking dead body, if need be," I stared at the tall man, almost physically feeling his brain halt and pause with the cartoony sound of screeching tires. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this.

A pregnant pause hung in the air, both of us waiting for the other to explode.

"Don't you think I am aware," Strange finally seethed through gritted teeth, alarming golden sparks shining in his eyes. "The Avengers are not under the rule of SHIELD and I, personally, have no affiliation with either. I do not condone their barbaric methods," the man was struggling to form his sentences properly but even despite that, I understood his ideas.

I desperately wanted to believe his words to be true, I really did, but... "Then do your fucking job and let me do mine. I do not go out there and intervene, I merely clean up the mess you all leave. Something that nobody wants to do do, so unless you've got any takers, I'll keep helping those you deem unfit," in a fit of muted rage, I flew my arm to point at the abandoned cars and destroyed concrete outside of the window, the empty street and the clouds of dust rising into the moody skies.

The entrance door flew open suddenly, with a force strong enough to bang the heavy, old handle against something outside, letting in the stuffy air inside the bodega. Strange jumped at the sound of the screaming hinges, my own heart skipping a beat from the startling interruption.

Visibly composing himself, the man pierced me with a final stare before starting a dangerously quiet, "Very well, goodbye," and hightailing it out of Odette's before disappearing in a golden circle just outside the front porch.

I let my shoulders sag for a brief moment of respite, feeling the tension bleed out of me and penetrate every nook and cranny in the room. My protection charms were mostly destroyed, silver dull, glass and amber crackled. Tossing them into the appropriate recycling bin, I set to clean up the shop, flying through the motions in record time and wandering home through the damaged streets on autopilot.

My anger had cost me more than a fortune in my past but no matter how much I sought to reason with myself, I couldn't bring it to justify Strange's attitude towards my choices. The more I thought about it, the less rational my guesses became; I forced myself to stop thinking about it when my brain had unhelpfully supplied an absurd notion of him being jealous of my lifestyle: he knew next to nothing of my skills and his opinion was based solely on seeing me work the store front and one cleansing spell I'd performed on Bucky. There was simply no rational explanation for his behaviour.

NYC life wasn't affected by the battle in the slightest, it seemed; a day and a half later, I was back at Jeremy's, serving overpriced hot beverages to the rich and the busy. I'd slept on the Bucky and Strange situation, got a handle on my feelings and decided to simply put it away. There were other, more pressing things to worry about than a couple of men.

I didn't expect the flood of anxiety that turned my hands to lead upon seeing Tony Stark's signature suit-and-sunglasses wearing ass waltz into the café. He flashed me his usual easy grin but didn't remove his glasses, eyes eerily blank behind them, as he motioned for his usual order before leaning on the countertop with the entirety of his upper body. "So, Starshine, what is it exactly that you do?" Came the question I was dreading. "Are you, like, a witch? The broomstick and cauldron kind?"

"Mr. Stark, I am serving you coffee and a muffin as we speak," I replied curtly, raising an eyebrow.

"Drop the act, honeybuns. I thought we were friends," if I squinted, I could see that he was genuinely hurt by my lack of desire to communicate. Or, perhaps, he simply was unused to not satisfying his curiosities immediately.

Either way, I stood no chance against Stark patented puppy eyes. "I clock out at two," a sigh of epic magnitude left my mouth against my will. "You can interrogate me then. Until that, it's lattes and cheesecakes only."

Tony narrowed his eyes, smile warming up by a smidgen. "Interrogate you? Never," he pocketed the napkin with Dr. Banner's scribbles the doc had forgotten last time. "I'm merely curious." Another flash of his teeth and he was gone, taking what little peace I had left along with him.

The hands on the clock made their hurried rounds over and over. My chest had grown it's own set of ticking, grinding, mismatched gears as the endless possibilities coursed a steady stream through my head. Tony Stark was a wild card, his struggles with authority a widely known fact, as frequent as his strange habits in just about anything. And while I doubted I would get ambushed and locked up, I had no qualms of him berating me for telling off his boyfriend. He seemed like the possessive, overprotective type, anyways.

As soon as I exited the café, surrounded by the smells of flour and coffee grounds, my eyes immediately landed on the shiny, brand new Audi illegally parked right in front of the establishment, it's owner leisurely leaning against the hood with a face of contented boredom as passerby pedestrians shamelessly ogled him and his ride. His face lit up as he noticed me, immediately rushing to hold the passenger side door open for my comfort. "M'lady," the dorky remark didn't fail to summon a smile to my face even if it was a weak shadow of my usual camaraderie.

"Mr. Stark," I greeted him as soon as he peeled off the crowded sidewalk.

The lack of joy on my face didn't go unnoticed by him and every now and then, he snuck a glance at my face. "Relax, Starshine, I won't bite."

"Well," I mumbled, remembering the vicious way I had torn into his boyfriend. "Good to know."

Seeing as that didn't do much for my nerves, he suddenly swerved right, rushing into a busy intersection with the ease of a practiced manic driver. "I'm feeling like a cheeseburger," he announced unceremoniously, pulling into a parking lot of some place I never noticed.

I doubted that I could swallow anything at all but relented, sitting down opposite him in the furthest booth from the entrance. I ordered the biggest milkshake they had as Tony grinned big at the waitress, finally taking off his sunglasses when she left for the kitchen.

I rested my elbows on the table under the scrutiny of his gaze. He kept quiet. I couldn't hold back my curiosity any more. "So?"

His sharp, clever brown eyes captured and held mine for the longest second in my life. I struggled not to break eye contact until he relented, focusing on the shine of my rings instead. "RoboCop almost died from the shit that happened to him," Tony's words were curt. I inhaled sharply, assuming he was talking about Barnes. The engineer's fingers began to fiddle with his glasses. "We couldn't figure out how you helped him. Not the medical, not Banner, not me and and not even Steph," he paused to run a hand through his hair. "Barnes was hit with a poisoned arrow. There were no toxins left in his body, not even a single inflammation marker showed up on the tests." With that, Tony expectantly turned to me.

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Magic," I simply answered, figuring Strange had already briefed him about my occupation.

Tony shook his head with a snort. "Magic that the Sorcerer Supreme doesn't recognize or cannot detect?" The question was saved in nature.

Stephen Strange was Sorcerer Supreme and I had pissed him off and remained alive. I couldn't believe my luck, if Odette's stories were anything to go by. Inwardly rejoicing, I nonetheless resigned to answer truthfully. "Because there is nothing to detect, no foreign energy," I tried to phrase it in a way a scientist could understand. "What I use to heal, it is given me by nature and willingly. Think of me as a... Conductor. I merely store the energy short-term and direct it where it is needed."

That sparked a visible interest in Tony. He leaned forward, running my whole form, over and over, with his sharp eyes, searching for something I knew he wouldn't find. "Like... Making a blood transfusion?" It was obvious that he was thinking hard about the subject. "Like a successful organ transplant?"

"Something like that," I agreed amicably, seeing as he was talking at himself rather than engaging in a conversation with me.

"But it doesn't come from nothing, the first law of thermodynamics..." He started off in slight confusion.

"Yes, the total amount of energy remains constant," I interrupted him, making his eyes widen. "It's all around us, Mr. Stark. You cannot see it, and most people even cannot feel it, but mother Earth supports her creations. More than we like to think," the corner of my mouth tilted upward at the memories. Working with Gaia directly was like being briefly submersed in a cocoon of pure, warm sunshine; like being held in mother's arms as a babe. "She is kind and she is merciful, especially to the ones whose suffering is unjust," I let the man mull over my words.

The waitress brought our orders; my throat was parched, I took a few haste gulps of the chocolate milkshake. Tony's burger, however, remained unnoticed and untouched.

"Earth is a sentient organism?"

The question made my eyebrows rise; I coughed slightly, meeting his confused eyes with a smirk. "Mr. Stark, keep your science headcanons to yourself," the banter came easily now that the status quo was established.

He rolled his eyes, fitfully resisting the smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm telling on you to Mean Green," there was no malice behind his words.

I doubted the shy scientist would do much more than stutter out two jumbled questions but let the topic slide in favour of closing up on the issue. "Would you call a wolf sentient? No," I shook my head. "But it is autonomous, it has free will. Think of it like that," I wasn't really up to par on explaining Tony all the ins and outs of my craft. The more I spoke, the more questions danced in his eyes. It was charming but not something I wanted to spend most of my day on.

"I won't pretend to be anything but sceptical but as it is, I happen to be dating a wizard," the engineer finally chortled, making hands for his burger. He made a vague gesture with his fork, expression still not-quite out of the thinking place.

"They say opposites attract," I shrugged.

"Romanoff keeps saying we're two sides of the same coin, so," he non-commitally shrugged in return. "Can't help but wonder what the fuck did you tell him that day. He was seething," Tony raised an eyebrow, tone teasing.

"Oh lord," I briefly palmed my face. "Here comes the shovel talk."

"No, no," a fry landed on the table in front of me. I snatched it right from under Tony's hand. He pouted. "He probably deserved it. I mean, you saved the Terminator and, honestly," he paused. "I heard about one third of his rant and I distinctly remember something about 'girls way over their heads' and whatnot," he did a poor imitation of his boyfriend's deep voice. "Now, I consider myself a feminist so, respectfully, I disagree," he finished with a self-satisfied smirk.

I blanked, trying to process the avalanche of information. "That's a lot to unpack," I acquiesced.

"It means he likes you. I would know," the man had the audacity to wink at me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was Tony Stark.

"Are you hitting on me for your boyfriend?" I couldn't resist snarking back, briefly catching his eyes as I polished off my milkshake.

Tony looked at me through his thick, long lashes, a picture perfect visage of surprised innocence. "Maybe," his tone a little too south of friendly, the direction of his eyes a bit lower than my face.

The snort escaped me before I could put a stop to it. The banter - it was easy, comforting in this situation where I found myself to be akin a fish out of water. Like I was a slightly socially awkward witch, Tony was a genius engineer and a notorious flirt. He toed the lines of appropriate with practiced gusto and I hadn't had the heart to do anything but indulge in a little bit of harmless fun ever since he first stepped foot in the café, seeing right through his stone cold facade of an alleged womaniser. Call it a hunch, if you will.

Say what you want about Tony Stark but one thing was definite: he was a gentleman. I thoroughly enjoyed my ride home in his expensive, fast, latest model car. As the city streets zoomed by in a flurry of blurred lines and flashing colorful lights, I allowed my mind to finally calm and resume it's usual even wandering pace.

A hand loosely thrown over the steering wheel, Tony quietly hummed along to the music, playing with the hem of his tee whenever it wasn't occupied with driving the car. He looked so peaceful like that.

The sound system played some contemporary rock that blended in with the moderately busy afternoon of the NYC streets, submerging the surroundings in catharsis. Grey everything with the occasional burst of colour from a traffic light; the brief car ride lulled me into a state almost drowsy.

"You with me, Salem?" Tony's voice quietly took me out of my stupor.

I blinked, seeing the front door of my apartment building. "Yeah, yeah, thanks," I didn't resist the big, wide smile of relief and rejoiced upon seeing his face return to his normal expression, sparkling and mischievous. "That's my stop," I motioned lamely.

Something hung in the air, something unsaid. It leaked through the gaps between Tony's smile and his eyes, it filled up the car with something thick and foggy. I was powerless to stop its influence on me; the daze remained just as it was when we zoomed through city streets.

Tony's fingers twitched on the steering wheel as I exited the vehicle, giving him a short wave before he put pedal to the metal, quickly disappearing into the twilight. I watched his tail lights glow red amongst the flat blacks and greys and beiges of my surroundings, blinking away the dryness in my eyes only when the car disappeared from my view completely.

My apartment was just as I'd left it, warm and slightly messy- but a new feeling had crawled up from the very gutter of me, foreign and impending. The walls didn't breathe the comfort I had hoped I would finally find: if anything, none of what I encountered on my rapid beeline towards the couch felt real.

I'd grown accustomed to the comforts of my solitude and routine, to attached to the simplest task of being. Sorting through my dirty laundry had never been a favourable ordeal for me, I'd much rather lived in a relatively wide bubble- rationally, I knew that sooner or later, change had have to come, but there was nothing ever rational about having feelings on one matter or another.

My spirit was trying to tell me big things were coming and I had no choice but to listen and let the currents of fate and happenstance snatch me up and take me whichever way they pleased.

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox

#practical alchemy #bun writes #tony stark x reader x stephen strange #stephen strange x reader x tony stark #Stephen Strange x reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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diaco1968 · 4 years

Text

Of Proud Fragile Hearts

Bakugou x reader

Angst, Blood is mentioned, Hanahaki disease

Under the cut cause it got too long :')

"What is your problem, Katsuki?"

You whisper yelled at Bakugou after everyone else had already left the conference room, closing the door and locking it as you turned to face the boy, leaning back in his chair, arms tightly crossed over his broad chest, scowling.

In the past few months that you two have been secretly hooking up, he had gone through not caring about your daily life, to trying to make you listen to his healthy tips, to fleeting episodes of jealousy and then some. Yet when you pointed it out to him he would deny it. Usually either by changing the subject and leading it to your usual ordeal of a hook up or if he was still feeling possesive by moving straight to pinning you down and shutting you up by some steamy make out session. Either way, the hook up is what would happen and then you'd both go away on your separate daily lives.

You had grown fund of him enough not to mind getting together with him if he was the one who'd step up first. Hell you would love to. He was hot, he knew how to spoil you, he remembered little things and despite his fiery temper he knew how to treat you properly like a woman. To sum it up, he was boyfriend material. Except he was emotionally unavailable. And you were fine with that. But recently as you started making friends with Kaminari, Bakugou also started acting up. You two acted like mere acquaintances in public and in the agency it was lonely. Then there was Kaminari, the Pikachu. He was easy to be around, easy to talk to and easy to listen to. So you befriended him. It was really nothing at all. You'd hang out with him when you couldn't hang out with Bakugou. Much to Bakugou's dismay, those times would be right in front of his eyes, earning you dirty looks and some sulking episodes every time.

And now only minutes ago during the briefing, he had been sitting across from you and Kaminari, and when Kaminari said anything he would mock and humiliate him. It was hard to even watch so you stood up for him and Bakugou shot you a nasty look before he stopped participating all together. Honestly you were glad he didn't start mocking you instead. But this behaviour towards the poor guy was unacceptable. He didn't even know why he was being targeted by Bakugou's wrath.

His eyes shot up to yours not believing what he was hearing. "What is my problem?! What the fuck is your problem!" He shot back, earning a 'Shhh!' from you. "You had no business picking on Denki like that." You scolded and he sneered "Denki?" You rolled your eyes glaring at him as he went on "you had no business sitting with Denki the whole day long. You had no business snickering and chatting and flirting with him during the conference like that. You had no fucking business standing up to me for him!" He leaned forward in his chair, placing his arms on his knees.

"We were not flirting! Everyone knows about his crush on that recruit from the IT for fuck's sake. And Denki is my friend, Bakugou! Who are you? Should I have been sitting by you? Chatting you up?" You said harshly, sarcasm dripping off of your last few words. To his sheer surprise, he felt his chest tighten from the way you addressed him with his last name right after you called Kaminari by his first name. He knew you had a point. He knew he was the one setting things up the way they were, for his work always came first and in his path to success there was no place for a full time partner or dealing with the rumours of one even existing. He knew he had no right to complain about this now. Yet, he couldn't help the pang of jealousy that rose deep in his heart whenever he saw you hanging out with that dunceface so freely.

Your keen eyes seemed to have caught him slightly off guard and your own pent up hurt and rejection clawed at your logic before you could stop yourself and you went in for another low blow "even if I am flirting with anyone, it is none of your business unless it gets physical. That was the deal. Take it or leave it."

His jaw visibly clenched, nostrils flaring as he inhaled sharply before snorting "so that's the problem. You already have some one else for back up to warm your bed just in case, huh?" there was no way to take it back now, and he was too angry to try. You watched him in silence, disbelief and hurt written all over your face. At first he felt triumphant for rendering you speechless with his snarky remark but seeing the hurt in your eyes and your pursed lips he regretted opening his mouth at all. He wished you would just yell at him, punch him even. But you did nothing as a few minutes of torturous silence passed on between the two of you, your eyes searching his face for a sign that the man you loved and cared for didn't actually come to know you as such a person he just described. You had thought you were at least friends. He opened his mouth when he saw your eyes started to glisten but before he could say anything, you exploded.

"You know what Bakugou! Fuck you! You and your whole bullshit!" You threw the first thing you could grab at him which happened to be an empty glass, that missed his head when he docked shattering on the wall behind him. "You're so emotionally unstable, you don't even know what the fuck you want yourself! Let alone get to know anyone else you arrogant piece of shit!"

His brief sadness from making you upset faded from his mind as rage took it's place filling him up to the brim and spilling out as he shot up in his place, his chair scraping on the floor and falling back. He slammed his hands on the table in front of him, saying words he had come to feel anxious even thinking about hearing "oh fuck it all to hell. You wanna know what I want, fuckwipe? You're a waste of time, I want this over and done with. We're through!" He headed for the door walking right past you.

His insult really dealt some heavy damage on your pride as angry tears filled up your eyes and you gathered all you had not to let them spill "fine with me Fuckboy! Go be a nuisance to someone else!"

He had his hand on the doorknob, knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping it with anger, he pulled it once and found it locked. Not bothering to unlock it, he exploded the whole thing open loudly, the door turning on it's hinges and slamming on the opposite wall, him stepping out and leaving amidst the dust barking at the peering colleagues who scattered away immediately "what?! Get back to work extras!"

You left the room after you made sure he was gone, hoping you could hold your emotional breakdown in the whole way home, having to raise your hand up to your mouth to suppress the multiple coughs as you inhaled the dust from the explosion.

He kicked his boots off, threw his jacket to the side and plopped down on the couch covering his face with his hands and releasing a heavy groan "ugh what the actual fuck did I say... stupid fucking dumbass..." his hands were cold and fingers shaky from the after effects of the rage leaving his body but he was too stubborn to let remorse invade his mind yet. Not fully at least. You were at fault too! "She shouldn't have provoked me like that! Annoying brat!" He spat as he lay down on the couch, but In the back of his mind, your hurt glistening eyes and shocked expresseion was creeping in the darker abyss of his brain, haunting him slowly. Then his mind wandered to the argument, your words resonating in his now mostly dark and empty mind.

'Who are you Bakugou?'

'Take it or leave it'

The way you said that so nonchalantly... did you not care at all if he left you?... after all you've been through? He wouldn't ever say it, but he had opened up to you more than anyone, you knew that. He knew you did.

'Fuckboy'

'Nuisance'

His throat constricted violently and he had to sit up and cough harshly to clear it. "Tsk fuck it. I don't give a shit." Rising from his seat he went to the fridge to get something to eat and grabbed his phone to call Eijiro to see what he was up to tonight.

"You've been sick for a while now, maybe you should see a doctor? It doesn't look like a simple cold..."

Bakugou waved his hand nonchalantly, dismissing Kirishima's concerns as he coughed into the palm of his other hand, shutting his eyes and trying to concentrate on controlling his breathing through his nose. Even though he feigned indifference he was worried himself too. It's been 2 weeks since the coughing started and it wasn't just coughing either. He would occasionally find himself out of breath and unable to get enough oxygen in his lungs without opening his mouth and taking in a sharp gulp of air. As if he was losing his lung capacity. '(Y/n) would know how to get rid of this...' he groaned in annoyance as he caught himself thinking about you again. You had made your choice. It was obvious. He even texted you to meet up, but you've been ignoring him ever since the argument half a month ago... felt like years...

His heart clenched, along with his jaw as he felt another epiode of coughs coming. He rose to his feet and headed for the bathroom "be back in a sec." He replied to Kirishima's questioning look with a hoarse voice. The noise cancelling bar bathroom was starting to become too familiar for his liking, as he had frequented it quite often in the past 2 weeks. Not alcoholic often, but the free time he usually spent with you was now spent working over time or with Eijiro at his favorite place...

He burst out into another coughing fit, gripping the sink as he bent over it. He could feel a hard lump move in his throat as he heaved his lungs out, finally managing to spit out what was stuck in his airways. And to his utmost horror he was not relieved at all by the sight and the sound.

What spilled out of his mouth and scattered inside the sink with soft 'thud' sound, was a fist full worth of what looked to be... seeds?!

His hand shot out and grabbed a few bringing them close to his eyes and squeeshing them between his fingers to make sure. "What the fuck...?!" He whispered mind wandering to each and everyone of his recent quarells with the villains trying to recall anyone at all with a floral quirk. Was this what caused the coughing?

It took him quite a while to get over the initial shock but when he was sure he wasn't coughing anymore he headed back to his table with Kirishima, plopping down tiredly in his seat. "You look pale bro, what's up? You weren't a light weight last time I checked." Eijiro teased, making him smirk tauntingly in reply "I can drink 5 times as much as it takes to knock you off your feet and still be barely tipsy, dumbass. Don't test me." They both laughed and Bakugou forgot about his problems for a little while, hoping spitting out those seeds was the end of it.

And it seemed to be. He hadn't coughed for a while now. At least not until the breaking news popped up over the screen right across from where he was sitting.

"The notorious spider villain escaped the law once again but hero (your hero name) managed to save all the victims, with the help of none other than hero Deku, who just landed a few hours ago for his vacation-..."

The words flashed in his mind and the voice of the reporter faded as he watched the screen showing the scene after the rescue, where you were talking to that bastard Deku, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck with a grin, like you used to do when Bakugou made you shy and you never had any idea how cute it made you look, and he was smiling down at you.

Violent coughs errupted out of his chest and he covered his mouth just in time to stop the content from spilling out as he shot up from his seat and made his way outside for some fresh air. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gasped for air lightly, leaning on his shoulder on the wall outside, opening his palm to see the same few seeds and a bunch of delicate red and white petals. He stared at his palm with wide eyes for a few more seconds before crumbling them in his fist as he felt someone's presence behind him. "I really really think you should see a doctor." Kirishima put a hand on his shoulder.

"I will. Right fucking now actually. This shit is so annoying."

"I said when I cough flowers come out- ugh! Hey! I know I sound crazy! Don't stare at me like that!" He let out a frustrated groan as he sat there on the bed for his check up, answering the confused doctor. "We have not encountered this before mr Bakugou, you don't sound crazy. I would have to check the database again for quirks with this kind of side effect. Meanwhile if you could... provide a sample would be really useful."

"Sure, I'll just cough my lungs out for buried seeds till you get back..." Bakugou clicked his tongue and gestured for the doctor to show it was okay to go do whatever he needed to do.

And again he sat there alone and annoyed, watching the rest of the hospital, from the little space he was provided by the door that the doctor forgot to close properly.

You always refused to close the door too...

He had forgotten how lonely a hospital felt before he had you to fuss over him as he sat there grumbling that he was fine.

He heaved a careful sigh zoning out so when he saw your face, he thought he had imagined it at first.

"Ms. (Y/h/n)! You did amazing today! The room you're looking for is just at the end of this corridor to the left. You actually did a good job finding it." The excited nurse chuckled and Bakugou snapped out of his daze hearing your muffled voice thanking her.

'Always so bad with directions...' he thought bitterly swallowing the lump that was raising in his throat in favour of getting up and following you quietly. He just wanted to know why you were in the hospital, is all. Just making sure your clumsy ass didn't hurt yourself.

He stopped outside the door you disappeared into on the other side of the corridor, blended in by the moving patients and busy staff, scoffing sarcastically as you didn't bother closing the door.

His little smile was soon gone however when he saw who you were visiting.

Sat there on the hospital bed was none other than Deku, who had his forearm wrapped in some light bandage. Probably from the rescue they showed on TV earlier. Where you were too. It was normal. You checking up on him after. Totally normal. He reminded himself. 'I could do that at home shitty nerd, no need for a hospital.'

Normal was not where it ended though and what happened next as you got up to leave had Bakugou wishing he had ripped his eyes off you and walked away the moment he had figured you were alright.

"Guess I'll be seeing you around then. Oh and Midoriya," you chuckled mischievously leaning close to whisper in the boy's ear. "I wish you luck with Ochako." Just as you expected, heat rose to his face and he flushed red to the tips of his ears as he started stuttering embarassed and his hand moved up to rub his bandaged arm "ouch!.. I mean!... thank you!"

You both jumped as you heard something metal clattering to the ground in the hallway and you peeked out to see what was going on. Much to your surprise and concern you saw a familiar spiky blonde hair a little further down the corridor. 'Katsuki?' You leaned out of the room more to see better. He looked like he had a terrible time trying to breathe, his shoulders shaking as he heaved cough after cough, bent down with his arms keeping himself up on his slightly bent knees. Your heart clenched at the sight. He looked in pain. The nurse Bakugou had supposedly crashed into, causing him to drop his metal platter to the ground put a hand on his back to try and calm him down. But Bakugou just swatted his hand away "...don't... touch..." he managed to rasp out with an unusually hoarse voice as he gained enough composure to push past the nurse and walk away, still coughing but much less violently.

"What was it?" Deku asked from inside the room.

"Nothing, just a nurse dropping a bunch of stuff..." you said quietly concealing the worry in your voice as you stared after Bakugou down the corridor even after he was already gone.

Blood. Blood and petals. And the occasional flower bloom falling out of his mouth as he coughed. He had been wiping blood off his mouth since he had gotten home from the hospital. The feeling of constantly having one of those petals sticking to the back of his trachea. It was disgusting. The sickening sweet scent filling his nose and mouth made him want to gag. They had suggested hospitalization when they couldn't find anything on his condition and he had refused. But now as the pain in his throat grew ever more intolerable, he was trying his last hope for an answer as he looked for the contact in his phone, playing with the little flower in between his fingers with his free hand absentmindedly.

'Amaryllis...'

He had looked up the shape of the flower as soon as he had seen it, washing the blood off the petals. None of this made any sense to him. How does one cough out flowers? How was this even real?

He dialed the number immediately when he saw the contact name.

"Aizawa sensei"

Despite your efforts to completely ignore Bakugou's existence after your 'break up', you've had Baugou back on your mind ever since a few days ago in the hospital and it wasn't in the best of ways either. His tense shaky shoulders, his harsh hoarse voice, his pained dry heaves. It all sounded and looked so serious but you had no idea what he was down with and it was killing you. You were constantly distracted and it was proving to be such a hassle. Oh how you wished you were not alone in this very moment. Alone in the middle of a crowded square full of civilians.

"What's wrong girly? Can't beat me now without that green lettuce, huh?"

Alone against this dude known as the spider villain. Who was back to take his revenge on the humiliation you and Deku gave him last encounter.

"Oh fuck off bug. Those are your last words before being sprayed back to the sewers?"

You growled getting in your fighting stance and ushering him to come at you.

Bakugou was walking down the street towards the hospital, crumbling the piece of paper with the surgeon's address and name in his fist, deep in his pocket thinking on his meeting with his former teacher a few days ago.

'Amaryllis?' Aizawa had said the moment he saw the bloom in Bakugou's hand, much to his surprise. He never took the old man as a flower person. 'I've only ever seen this once with my own eyes when I was a student myself... wouldn't believe it if I hadn't.' He had pulled out a bunch of old books handing half the stack to Bakugou, probably deliberately chosen ones as there was one on the meaning behind flowers in Bakugou's stack. As he sat down in front of the boy turning pages rapidly scanning the words, Bakugou reluctantly read the book.

'Amaryllis is the only genus in the subtribe Amaryllidinae. It is a small genus of flowering bulbs, with two species. It symbolizes pride.'

He stared at the lines, reading them over and over again with a blank face. Until Aizawa's voice broke him out of his trance.

'Hanahaki Disease is a disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible if left untreated...'

He paused making Bakugou wonder if it was for adding more dramatic effects as his eyes moved up to lock with Bakugou's

'...until the victim dies unless the feelings of genuine love are returned or the plants are surgically removed but this excision also has the effect of removing the patient's capacity for romantic love. It may also erase the patient’s feelings for and memories of the enamoured.'

It was obvious what Bakugou chose. There was no place in his life for such a hassle as love. It would just get in his way anyway. What a nuisance...

'Nuisance'

'Fuckboy'

His heart clenched making a surge of pain go throught his whole body remembering your words and your tone.

"Reciprocating feelings of genuine love my ass..."

He scoffed pushing his fists deeper in his pockets to keep his shoulders from shaking as a series of coughs ripped out of his throat, staining the black mask in front of his face, with blood.

He bumped shoulders with a guy in front of a TV store who looked distraught enough not to recognize Ground Zero as he apologised and turned back to the TVs on the display in the windows.

Feeling insulted, Bakugou turned to look at what this man was watching that got him so stupid to stand in his way. The moment his eyes met the screen he felt as if his heart stopped. Hands freezing cold and eyes going wide with terror as he watched the live report of none other than you being picked up and thrown a distance away aginst a wall by some villain.

Lying there in the rubble of the building you gasped to catch your breath that flew out of you when your back hit the wall. Before you could wholly come to your senses he was above you again, grabbing you by the neck and picking you back up. Your hands shot up to grab his arm to try and relieve the pressure around your neck, your feet dangling in the air as you tried to kick him off of you but he was smart, keeping you away from himself.

"Just as I thought. I should've found the broccoli. You are a waste of time."

Bakugou's face and a bunch of memories flooded your mind and your eyes stung with unshed tears, feeling it ironic to have to hear this again in what appeared to be the final moments of your life.

The corners of your vision were blurring out as you couldn't breathe in anymore air and you were sure you imagined his voice in your head.

"Get off you fucking bastard!"

The loud growl accompanied by the sound of a loud explosion and the hand around your neck disappearing, the pressure gone. You dropped to the floor on your hands and knees gasping in and looking up to see Bakugou launching himself at the guy who was framed in the opposite wall due to the initial explosion. His bare fist met the bug man's face with a sickening 'crack' and only then did you realise he wasn't even in his hero costume.

"Bakugou... I'm fine..."

You tried calling him but your voice was too strangled. He was delivering punch after curse after punch and the guy seemed to be knocked out long ago.

"Bakugou! Stop..."

You said louder as you got to your feet making your way towards him, hesitating momentarily before grabbing his shoulder and ripping him off of the bloodied beat up guy.

"KATSUKI!"

His whole heavy sweating panting body whirled around and crashed into your arms, making you trip backwards on your feet and fall on your butt still holding him.

Very unlikely for him to be so ungraceful and fall with you like that, he would usually catch you and scold you for being clumsy. Out of habit you braced yourself for his scolding but it never came.

He started wheezing and gasping in your arms, unable to breathe, whatever air he had left in his lungs being forced out by the violent coughs that wracked through his whole body, his hands moving up to grasp at his throat squeezing his eyes shut tightly.

"F-fuck... h-hurts..." he wheezed out twisting in your lap as you watched him in terror.

"W-what's wrong? Holy shit! Katsu you're turning blue!"

You didn't know what took over you as your hands moved on their own accord, grabbing his jaw, forcing his mouth open and plunging your fingers down his throat. What you pulled out would haunt your nightmares for the rest of your life.

Bakugou started gasping in big gulps of air when you removed your hands from his face, but you couldn't see him anymore. You were staring at the thing that was previously clogging his airways. A whole, leaf, stem and flower petals between your fingers, dripping with fresh blood and saliva; mouth falling open and paling even more, if possible, at the sight.

Bakugou looked up once he could breathe again and couldn't help but whimper quietly at the thing you just pulled out of his own throat. The sound making your eyes snap back on him even more concerned than when he was choking. "What the fuck is this?!" You asked showing him the flower, as if either of you could ever forget about it, instinctively cupping his cheek and stroking it with your thumb. He looked surprised and you immediately realised your mistake pulling your hand away "sorry force of habit... but... answer me!"

Your touch was soothing to the ache in his damaged throat and he was so in pain already that he didn't care if he was going to sound pathetic or needy or clingy... or... sorry. He opened his mouth to tell you to put your hand back on him but instead of words he had to cough, fresh blood mixed with the sickly sweet scent of the flower spraying over both your clothes, making you panic again.

"I'll tell you later... just... give me a sec...please..." He whispered embarassed and grabbed your hand placing it back on his cheek, lowering himself down on his shaky arms and laying over your legs exhausted. His voice sounded so tired and broken that despite yourself, you chose to just let him have a moment for now without making him talk.

You stroked the back of his hand absent mindedly careful not to touch the busted knuckles, watching his sleeping face as he lay in the hospital bed. He looked terrible. Pale skin, bags under his eyes. You could swear he had also lost some weight. How long has he been coughing for? How much blood?His face twisted in pain and you jumped as he stirred with a cough, opening his eyes and staring at you blankly.

His eyes moved over your features in silence with a soft expression on his own face, watching your glistening bright eyes, wide with concern. The way your hair framed your face, your eye lashes making your eyes look even more beautiful, your lips pursed with worry. Then moving as you talked...? He was so concentrated he barely heard your voice.

"...- yeah?"

"Yeah..." he replied softly.

"Yeah?!"

His mind started to clear up more as he raised an eyebrow uncertainly "uh... no?"

You laughed at his weird behaviour and he smiled. He had missed it. Missed seeing it. Hearing you laugh.

"You weren't listening to me, were you?"

He offered an apologetic look "yeah...sorry."

You shook your head softly "nah it's fine, wasn't important."

He suddenly looked very serious "No. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said those things. I didn't mean any of them."

You stared at him blinking in confusion before realising what he meant. Bakugou was apologizing! You opened your mouth and closed it again, speechles. Clearing your throat you tried again.

"Yeah those really hurt..."

He could feel his heart drop as he looked at you wondering if it was actually over.

"I forgive you, stupid. Stop looking so pathetic." You rolled your eyes and grinned pinching his cheek.

"God I fucking love you so much... be mine again?"

You couldn't help blushing as you nod your head "you're such an asshole... but I can't help loving you either."

His eyes lit up, relief washing over him as he raised his hand cupping your cheek and bringing your head close, leaning in to kiss you.

"Wait! What was the deal with that flower-!"

"Shhh I'll tell you later...just..."

He looked down at your lips as he trailed off, licking his lips and pressing them against yours firmly.

And to this day, you still think he wanted to give you the flower and he chose the creepiest weirdest way to do it.

Nah just kidding.

He said he fell down and swallowed it by accident...

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #hanahaki #hanahaki bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #my hero academia #hanahaki disease #hanahaki Bakugou

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

gonna blame this on @robininthelabyrinth who suggested a dark AU where the Jin win, and Jin Zixuan has two pretty concubines as his prize. I ended up doing something a litte different, where instead the Jin side with the Wen at the start of the war, but hopefully it’s still fun :)

also on AO3

Standing beside Wen Xu, Jin Zixuan tries to figure out where he's met the two young men they've just captured. A task made difficult by the weather (it has been raining for days now, and their new prisoners are caked in mud, especially after being pushed face first into the dirt road by Wen Xu) and the falling darkness (Wen Xu likes to attack at dusk or during the night, when others are tired and less wary). But Jin Zixuan knows them. He's almost sure he knows them. They certainly seem to know him. The tall one turned pale upon first spotting him, though that was his only reaction, and the shorter one won't stop glancing at him with barely restrained hatred. He looks almost familiar too, with his delicate face. They've met, Jin Zixuan knows they've met.

His attention is mostly on the tall man though. After all, even though their clothes are of equally poor quality, the taller young man is the one who showed some skill with martial art, and his speech betrays a higher level of education. He must be a rogue cultivator, and one of the good ones at that, since he managed to give them trouble without a spiritual weapon.

Where on earth has Jin Zixuan met him before?

“So, will you not join the glorious armies of Qishan Wen?” Wen Xu insists after his usually speech. “Hey, Zixuan, why don't you say something to convince them, hm? Earn your keep.”

Jin Zixuan flushes at being addresses this way. Normally, he hates how informal Wen Xu is with him, acting as if they were old friends, all because Jin Zixuan's father is a coward without morals. This time though, he lets it glide. Upon hearing his name, the taller prisoner looks up toward him and in that position, the rain washes off enough of the mud for Jin Zixuan to finally realise who it is in front of them. It knocks the breath out of him. This, definitely, could change the course of the war.

Jin Zixuan crosses his arms on his chest, and pretends to closely inspect the two men kneeling in the mud.

“If they don't join us, can I have that one to play with?” he asks, nodding toward the taller man. “He looks like he'd make a fun pet.”

The young man stares at him with disbelief, while Wen Xu, predictably, bursts out laughing.

“Zixuan, don't you already have a few whores with you? If you keep falling for every pretty face you see, your house if going to end up too full, and they'll start turning on each others.”

Jin Zixuan shrugs dismissively, the way he's seen his father do countless times. “If there's a fight, I'll get rid of both the winner and the loser, and replace them with someone prettier. But I like that one. He's got a face that's made to swallow cocks.”

Wen Xu laughs again. It's lucky that it's him with Jin Zixuan, and not his horrid little brother. Neither brothers are interested in men, but Wen Chao likes to be a pest who'd want his share of the fun before letting Jin Zixuan have what he wants. Wen Xu, by contrast, doesn't really care for the pleasures of the flesh, and has enough political awareness to give Jin Zixuan some face. He knows that if Jin Guangshan hadn't sided with the Wen so immediately after the destruction of the Lotus Piers, the Wen might be facing more opposition than they are at the moment.

“Zixuan, if you want him so much, then have him,” Wen Xu generously offers, gesturing toward the prisoners. “Or do you want both perhaps? Hm? The other one is somewhat pretty as well. If you don't grab him, I'm tempted of putting him in a dress and playing a prank on ChaoChao.”

Jin Zixuan shivers, and glances at the other young man. He knows he's seen him somewhere, but even now he can't figure out where. Is saving him worth the risk of ruining everything else? Is he important enough? If Jin Zixuan does nothing, if Wen Xu does play such a prank, that young man is sure to die. Wen Chao never takes well to being made a fool of, especially by his brother, and he tends to take out his anger on whoever is less susceptible to fight back. He also likes to make others bear witness to his fits of anger, especially Jin Zixuan who just doesn't do well with torture.

He can't save everyone. It'd be too dangerous. The Wens aren't stupid, and they don't trust him, not when Jin Zixuan sided against Wen Chao during the reeducation camp, before he went home to a father who'd taken the easy choice. And it is so important to save the taller man, Jin Zixuan knows, so he should take this small victory while he can and be satisfied with that.

But there's just something about the other one too. Jin Zixuan knows that face.

“You know, he would look pretty in a dress,” Jin Zixuan agrees, his heart beating so fast he feels as if he might be sick. “Too pretty to be wasted on your brother. He's not a cultivator anyway, is he?”

Wen Xu bends down and grabs they young man's wrist, inspecting his pulse for a moment before letting go and shaking his head.

“No, not at all. But aren't you scared to bring pretty faces into your home? Your whores might get tempted to do something stupid.”

“Heimei will keep them in check,” Jin Zixuan retorts. “She's too smart to mess around, and too mean to let others have fun if she can't.”

Heimei will also absolutely kick his ass about taking such a risk, if this turned out to have been a wrong move. At least, after getting over the sheer joy that should accompany the reveal of the taller prisoner. Hopefully, that should be enough to placate a little his moody concubine.

“Zixuan, you need to stop fucking people who could kill you in your sleep,” Wen Xu jokes. “Ah, I'm tired of this... sure, you can have them both, but tomorrow you're helping me interrogate those Lans we captured the other day.”

Clenching his teeth and forcing a smile, Jin Zixuan nods. He hates interrogations. He hates, also, that Wen Xu is convinced he's doing him a favour by making him help. Apparently, Wen Xu wants to help him become less sensitive, since he finds that Jin Zixuan has been too sheltered in his life, just because Jin Zixuan hasn't been watching his father torture people for fun since he was five.

Considering what other things Jin Zixuan has borne witness too, though... neither of them have great fathers, really.

With the matter of what to do with their prisoners settled, their group leaves the road. Jin Zixuan personally blocks the spiritual energy of the taller man who throws him a cold look for it, and they all head back to their headquarters in a nearby small town. Wen Xu chats the entire time, either to complain against the weather or to guess what their enemies' next move might be. It's a relief when they arrive in front of the house Jin Zixuan claimed for himself and they have to separate. Wen Xu's company is like poisoned wine: it's best to avoid it entirely, or only have a very small quantity otherwise.

Once inside, Jin Zixuan orders that a bath be drawn for himself in his personal quarters. Then, after a moment of reflection, he asks for a second one so that his new pets can get clean as well. The housekeeper offers to have them prepared for his pleasure and sent to him once they are more presentable, but Jin Zixuan refuses.

“It'll be fun to make them wash each other,” he says in the tone of voice his father uses sometimes, the one that always makes others uncomfortable. He's getting good at using it too. “But bring some clean clothes, and scented oils. I don't think Heimei will want to share. See if you can find a dress that could fit this one,” he adds, pointing at the smaller man whose face, under the mud, is black with restrained rage. “And make sure we aren't disturbed.”

The housekeeper bows to him and goes to give orders. While Jin Zixuan checks the news with other servants the Wens gave him, his prisoners are taken away to his quarters. Since there's no urgent business requiring his attention, Jin Zixuan is soon free to follow them.

The house he's living in used to belong to a rich merchant who ran away when the war broke so close to his home. Being abandoned, it was seized by the Wens and then offered to Jin Zixuan, while Wen Xu claimed for himself the local magistrate's manor. It was intended as an insult, a reminder of their sect's respective positions, maybe even a jab at Lanling Jin's inglorious origin. Jin Zixuan took it all in stride, because this house is bigger than the magistrate's, and his personal quarter well isolated from the servants' who are all loyal to the Wens.

It is an odd contrast to see those two muddy young men wearing robes of rough linen in the middle of Jin Zixuan's opulent room, where everything is gilded with gold or made of precious wood. Jin Zixuan pretends to ignore them while servants come in with bathtubs that get filled with hot water. He kicks off his shoes and lounges on a sofa to watch the proceeding, and waits.

He doesn't have to wait very long.

The first tub is only just filled up when someone wrapped in delicately embroidered silks storms into the room. Although the person's face is mostly hidden behind a veil, there's no hiding their anger.

“Are you trying to replace me?” Heimei shrieks in such a high voice that everyone present winces. “How many concubines do you need? Aren't I enough?”

“You are everything I could need, my little flower,” Jin Zixuan awkwardly replied. “I just thought it'd be fun to have new toys in the house. We captured those two men and since they're pretty enough, I figured it might be fun to watch them play with each other while my little summer fruit is seated on my lap. Don't you want that?”

“Don't presume to what I want!” Heimei explodes, before quickly glancing at the two men. Too quickly, in fact, to get a real look at their face. “They're dirty!” Heimei gasps. “They're going to ruin the floor! And you're ruining the sofa!”

“Then maybe my pretty little peach should help me out of these wet clothes,” Jin Zixuan suggests, as flirty as he can make himself to be. He's not very good at that, and can see the servants rolling their eyes, but the second tub is nearly full now. “Heimei, MeiMei, my sweet, my tender girl, be good and undress me.”

Heimei, of course, refuses, puts on a show about being unloved and discarded. Jin Zixuan is forced to rise from his seat to take Heimei in his arms, petting her hair, squeezing her waist, even letting his hands on her ass, all while professing that she is his one true love who he will marry as a second wife when the time comes. Heimei complains and whines but redirect his hands toward her chest so he can grope her there, and she's starting to untie his robes when the servants finally leave for good, careful to close the door behind them. There are silencing talismans engraved on the wood which only worked when the doors are fully closed, and nobody wants to hear what sometimes happens in this room.

As soon as they are alone, Jin Zixuan pushes Heimei away from himself, which Heimei understands to mean their usual comedy isn't needed anymore.

“Zixuan, what the fuck?” Heimei hisses in a deeper voice than before. “We agreed to lay low for a little bit!”

“I couldn't let them fall into Wen Xu's hands,” Jin Zixuan retorts, before walking to the two puzzled men, and bowing before the taller one. “Lan gongzi, please forgive me for speaking of you in such a manner before. I hope you understand the circumstances left me no choice.”

Lan Xichen's eyes open wide, as if he really hoped he hadn't been discovered. Truthfully, it was a close thing. Without his ribbon and his elegant white robes, Lan Xichen looks like a completely different person. Still, he's lucky that Wen Xu is somewhat bad with faces, or this could have gone bad.

“What do you mean, Lan gongzi?” Heimei gasps, rushing closer. After taking a longer look at Lan Xichen, Heimei gasps again, sobs, and falls into his arms. “Xichen-gege! You're alive, you're alive!”

More puzzled than before, Lan Xichen kindly allows this outburst of emotion from an apparent stranger. He awkwardly pats Heimei's back before trading a glance first with his companion who shrugs, then with Jin Zixuan who pinches Heimei's arm.

“You still have your veil on, remove it or you'll just creep him out.”

Heimei slaps away his hand, but pulls back enough to remove the tear drenched veil. It is Lan Xichen's turn to gasp in surprise.

“Huaisang? What are you doing here?”

Nie Huaisang nods grimly.

“Zixuan managed to find me before the Wen and helped me hide,” he explains, wiping away his tears. “I've been here with him since then, but we couldn't exactly let anyone know. We're on the wrong side of this war after all.”

Lan Xichen nods slowly, before turning his eyes to Jin Zixuan. His expression is a little less cold and disgusted now, though that's not saying much. Jin Zixuan knows how little liked he is by those on the other side of the Sunshot Campaign, and he cannot blame them. Without his father's support, the Qishan Wen might not be doing so well.

Without Lanling Jin's help, the Unclean Realm might not have fallen. Nie Mingjue might still be alive, leading this war the way everyone knows he's been preparing to do for years. Instead, what's left of Qinghe Nie is led by a far less talented cousin, and though the allied sects are doing their best, it's doubtful that they'll last much longer.

“I thought you were...” Lan Xichen starts saying, his voice trembling with emotion as he looks back at Nie Huaisang. He then catches himself, and gets back in control, speaking again with more calm. “Huaisang, you were assumed to have died in Qinghe. I am so glad this rumour was wrong. But I must wonder then... how much more lies have been spread about Jin gongzi?”

“It depends what you've heard,” Nie Huaisang says, coming closer to Lan Xichen and taking his arm the way he likes to do with friends. “We've been so busy trying to convince the Wen that he's really on their side, we haven't really had time to wonder what everyone else thinks of him.”

Lan Xichen nods, perhaps understanding how delicate their position has been these last three months. Or maybe it is just that Jin Zixuan's reputation is too awful to be mentioned by someone of the elegant Lan sect. Lan Xichen's companion ends up being the one to explain it, and it isn't pleasant to hear.

“People say that Jin gongzi is a murderer and a rapist,” the young man says quite bluntly. “They say he has killed many people even outside of battle, that he collects men and women as concubines. It is said that he even captured his former fiancée after she had already lost all her family, and refuses to give her to his mother who wishes to return her to her grandmother. Instead he uses her as a whore, and lets the Wen have their way with her in exchange for favours to him.”

The blood drains from Jin Zixuan's face at that accusation. He had expected something bad, but not to such a degree.

“Jiang Yanli's virtue is untouched!” he exclaims. “She's living here too, and I've convinced Wen Xu that she isn't to be touched because I want to use her as a tool to claim Yunmeng Jiang's territories when this is over. I would have preferred to let her return to her grandmother, but I'm half sure my father would have either claimed her for himself or sent her directly to Wen Ruohan to prove his good faith. You can meet her later, if you like, and see for yourself she's been treated as well as she could be, under the circumstances.”

After losing so much, Jiang Yanli is quite miserable these days, of course. She's the last survivor of her sect, of her family. Meishan Yu is taking part in the war, apparently, but they're not a particularly big clan, and Wen Chao has been targetting them particularly, in case they secretly harbour some Jiang survivors. Wen Xu once drunkenly told Jin Zixuan that although his brother swore to his father that he fulfilled his mission perfectly, he actually never found the corpse of Jiang Wanyin, so the young man could very well be still alive and plotting his revenge.

After hearing this, Jin Zixuan had hesitated to share the news with Jiang Yanli. In the end, he didn't. With the way the war is going, even if Jiang Cheng is still alive right now, he's unlikely to survive much longer, and Jiang Yanli would just end up having to grieve a second time.

“So you are on our side, Jin gongzi?” Lan Xichen asks.

“I would be if I could,” Jin Zixuan says. “I cannot go directly against my father, as I hope you will understand. But I do not like associating with evil people, so I try to act according to my convictions whenever possible. It has become harder lately. The Wen don't want to insult my father by pushing me to the side, for fear he'll change sides, but they've also figured out I am a rather poor general and never lead my troupes to any satisfying victories, so they don't involve me in anything important.”

It's not that he loses his battles. He can't afford that. But Wen Xu is always complaining that he's failing to capture enough prisoners, that so many escape while returning to their headquarters, that he's always picking too many to become his personal playthings. Nie Huaisang and him had just decided that he would try to be a little less obvious in his lack of cooperation, at least for a few weeks, if only because to continue like this would endanger the people he's already rescued. They still haven't figured out how to set these people free, but now, with Lan Xichen there, it becomes more urgent than ever. If he's discovered in Jin Zixuan's custody, it's all over.

“That you're trying at all is to your credit,” Lan Xichen says, more kindly that Jin Zixuan thinks he deserves when he's still had to kill people, where there are so many victims of the Wen he couldn't save. “I am grateful to you for helping me, Jin gongzi. I fear, though, that I must ask you to help me some more. Meng Yao and I really cannot be absent too long. Our side has lost too much already, if I appear to have disappeared again, I fear our allies will lose courage.”

The name Meng Yao startles Jin Zixuan who stares at Lan Xichen's companion with mild horror. He remembers a banquet for one of his birthdays, where his father was told a certain Meng Yao wanted to see him who carried a token. He remembers, also, his mother's anger, and later Jin Zixun laughing as he described that Meng Yao being thrown down some stairs like the bastard he was.

Jin Zixuan remembers all this. Judging by the barely contained heat in his eyes, so does his half-brother.

His father would be furious at him for having taken risks to save what he would consider one of his most shameful bastards, but Jin Zixuan has long stopped caring what his father thinks of him. He doesn't even read his letters anymore, since they're nothing but demands for Jiang Yanli to be sent to Lanling, and threats of punishment if he remains so incompetent as a general.

“It's going to be hard to release you,” Jin Zixuan says. “We'll think about it tomorrow, when Jiang Yanli joins us.” It was her, after all, who told him to disguised Nie Huaisang as a woman and present him as his capricious concubine, stating it would just seem like he's adopting the Wen's habits. “For now, please have a bath, eat something, and rest. You both look like you need it.”

“It has been a rough few days,” Lan Xichen confirms, bowing politely. “Thank you for your hospitality and your help, Jin gongzi.”

Jin Zixuan bows back, uncomfortable with a gratefulness he's really not sure he deserves. He then leaves that part of the room so Lan Xichen and Meng Yao can have a little privacy. Nie Huaisang looks as if he might stay and chat with them as they bathe, shameless as always, but Jin Zixuan drags him away.

Even if they've just been saved, even if they're grateful, he wouldn't be surprised if the two young men didn't fully trust them yet, not with the reputation he apparently has now. It's better to give them a chance to talk alone if they want, to show that he trusts them.

“This is going to be a mess,” Nie Huaisang remarks as they sit by a window to wait for their guests to be presentable. “You won't be able to stay neutral much longer, Zixuan.”

Jin Zixuan nods. If he's honest, it's a relief that he'll be forced to really pick a side after weeks of kissing ass and pretending the Wen siblings don't make him want to puke every time they say something.

He doesn't like the idea of going against his own father, but Jin Zixuan has betrayed his own values too long already.

And if he must die doing what's right... at least, he'll be in good company.

#xisangxuan #jin zixuan #lan xichen #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #mdzs #it's barely xisangxuan tbh but the intention is there so?#jau writes #Heimei means blackberry and the Sang in Huaisang is for mulberries and yeah it's not the best name

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bre-meister · 3 years

Note

I need some pre married/family angst

this is early relationship so pre-family and pre-married Cleon. I hope it’s angsty enough I kind of got distracted while writing to fight a huge ass hornet in my room ( I was super terrified ngl). This was such a journey for me to write that I don’t even have an official title for it like I normally try to do lol. This has also taught me that I need to work on angst that is not “person A and Person B fight”. Sorry for the rant here's the actual work:

Claire was mad. No, Claire was beyond mad. Claire Redfield was absolutely furious. Her rage was so blinding that she couldn’t even be bothered to apologize to the nice looking doorman as she barreled through the lobby of the apartment building of the object of said anger. She was sorry - felt the apology in her bones as soon as the smaller man began to cringe and cower slightly in her presence - but again, her anger prevented it from passing her lips.

Secretly, she did take a little pride in the fact that, as she entered the elevator, a young-looking couple decided to “wait for the next one” instead of sharing with her. It gave her a little more time to stew in her anger - pulling from the depths of her soul, every time that she had said it was okay even when it wasn’t - before she came face to face with him.

“What the hell Leon!”

The door to his apartment opened with such force that if circumstances had been different, she would have been worried about possibly putting a hole in the wall. Alas, her attention was not on the wall, but instead on the man lying on the couch in front of her. Leon was clearly either drunk or hungover. Although considering what she’d heard from both her brother - half the reason she was here in the first place - there was a distinct possibility it could be both. Claire wasn’t sure that could actually happen, but if anyone could make it a thing it would most definitely be Leon S. Kennedy.

All that came out of his mouth was unintelligible garble mixed in with a few pained groans. Claire took pleasure in that for a moment and allowed it to further stoke the flames inside of her. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was about to do. She’d kind of just gone on autopilot after getting. Chris’s concerned texts. Apparently, Leon had been ghosting everyone over the last week. So, there she stood, upset and silent until Leon made the mistake of finally speaking real words.

“Red,”

Claire didn’t let him finish. She exploded,

“No! You don’t get to do that, you hear me? You don’t!”

Claire moved towards the couch and yanked off the blanket covering Leon with more force than was probably necessary. The blanket had apparently been completely wrapped around him and, in his current state, that was enough to cause him to tumble to the floor. He let out another grunt of pain as he landed but Claire didn’t care.

“Get your ass up.” Her voice had calmed, steadied to an even tone. Her anger no longer manifested itself in yelling, but instead as a low growl behind her words.

When he didn’t make any effort to move, she said it again,

“I’m not asking Leon. Get up.”

He finally did as told. Standing he slowly moved to the small kitchen behind the couch. There he found a glass that looked somewhat cleaned and began to fill it with water.

This wasn’t the first time that Claire had been there to pick up the pieces whenever Leon fell apart. Safe to say, those instances had never quite played out like this one and Leon was a little jarred and, admittedly, a little afraid of what the red-headed woman might do.

They stared at each other as Claire gave Leon a moment to swallow the little bit of water that was left in his glass. When he sat it in the sink and she remained silent he let his impaired brain convince him that meant he should speak.

“What’s your problem? Chris piss in your Wheaties this morning?”

The look on her face caused concern. The laugh that followed chilled him to the core. Leon S. Kennedy had faced down and won so many B.O.Ws that he had lost count but at that moment as he looked across the room at a laughing Claire Redfield, he knew that he had quite possibly signed his death warrant. He also knew that if this truly were how he died, several people would help her cover it up, and frankly, he couldn’t blame them.

“My problem?” she continued to laugh, “What’s my problem?”

Leon was getting a little nervous. In yet another mistake, he even let out a few nerve filled chuckles himself.

“No, you don’t get to laugh! This isn’t funny,” and yet she was still laughing.

Leon was not.

“Do you know why this isn’t funny? Because I don’t think you do.”

He couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to - Claire cut him off as soon as he opened his mouth to fumble through some bullshit excuse.

“You don’t. I know you don’t because if you did you would have had your ass at the restaurant last week, Leon!”

Leon felt his stomach drop. Oh no. He really had fucked up this time.

“Sherry’s birthday.” He felt more than heard the mumbled words slip past his lips.

“Ya, Sherry’s birthday,” Claire turned around to finally close the door and Leon took the opportunity to sit down in one of the few chairs at his tiny kitchen table.

“You know, I was okay with this when it was only me you were fucking over. I know I shouldn’t have been, but I was. I told myself over and over that it was fine, you needed this time, you needed me and I was more than happy to give it to you - everything. I give you everything! But it was okay because you were always there for me too. Most of the time at least. And I get it, Leon, hell I get it more than probably anyone else. What we went through was hell, no one should have to go through that once let alone as many times as you do. But I was there too, I have to deal with that shit too. Sherry has to deal with that shit. She was Twelve Leon.”

“I know -”

“Then where the fuck were you? This was all she wanted! All she asked for for her birthday was for all three of us to be there, together and you couldn’t even get your shit together enough to give that to her. No call, no text, not even a half-assed excuse just nothing. The hurt and disappointment on her face - I’ll never forget that Leon. And to top it off, I had to cover for you and as much as I love you,” she saw that way his whole body seized up at her words, “I’m tired. I refuse to do that anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Claire.”

Claire pulled at her hair which, for once, wasn’t in its usual ponytail.

“Stop! It’s always sorry with you. For once could you just stop!”

“Stop what? Tell me what I have to do to fix this.” He was desperate. He didn’t want to lose her or Sherry. The idea of that - of finally being completely and utterly alone - was almost too much to bear.

“For starters stop making promises if you know you can’t keep them. Stop overcommitting yourself. Stop overworking yourself because that’s always how you get this way in the first place. And stop looking like that.”

“Like what?” he was a little puzzled. He may have also been on the verge of tears but, if anyone asked later he would deny it vehemently.

“Like...like I just killed your puppy or - or like I’m taking away everything from you - it’s making it really hard to stay mad!”

In any other situation, he might have laughed at that but he had sobered up enough between when Claire had burst through his door and now. Now, he really did feel that Claire leaving here like this, Sherry being disappointed with him - that truly was as if everything were being taken away from him.

“I’m sorry. I - I don’t know how to make you believe that I am, but I truly am sorry. I would never hurt you, Claire. I would never hurt Sherry.” He was pleading at his point. He didn’t know what else to do.

“But you did. You hurt us Leon, and I’m not saying that I won’t forgive you, but it’s going to take some time. You fucked up and your usual ‘sorry’ isn’t going to fix it when we always end up in the same cycle again.” She sighed and as the air left her body she could feel all of her anger leaving as well only to be replaced with immense sadness and disappointment.

Claire turned and walked towards the door. A small clang echoed through the silent room and, although Leon couldn’t see from his spot in the kitchen, he knew that Claire had dropped her spare key on the table next to the door.

“Wait! Claire, please, don’t.”

“Don’t what Leon?” She didn’t turn around, she knew she wouldn’t be able to leave if she did. So, head down she gathered her strength and continued,

“Don’t leave? Give me a reason to stay then.”

“ I love you.” It came out in a soft whisper.

Those three simple words - the first time he had ever said them to her in a non-platonic way. They made her heart soar and ache, both at the same time. She’d imagined this moment a lot but never like this. Never at the end of a fight that had been building for a long time. Never with her back to him, preparing to leave. Never with him sitting in his kitchen, a mess, crying in a way she’d never seen from him. Never like this. And, as much as she wanted to stay…

“ I love you too Leon. But that’s not what this is about. Call Sherry, she deserves to hear from you why you couldn’t do this one thing for her.”

With that, she left. With her, Leon felt a part of him leave as well.

The tears turned to outright sobs as he collapsed on his kitchen floor - dirty. The floor was dirty. He was dirty. He hadn’t cleaned or showered in a while but it was kind of fitting. His apartment was dirty, his clothes were dirty, his body was dirty but he was dirty in a way that was deeper than just the physical sense.

He’d let them down. The only two people in this world that he still gave a damn about. The only two people he would try for.

Then why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he pushed himself harder? In the same sense, why hadn’t he taken a break when he had pushed too hard. Why hadn’t he tried harder to stop her? Why hadn’t he?

There were too many questions. If he left himself to ponder them for too long he’d never get up from this dirty kitchen floor and he couldn’t afford to stay here forever. He had business to attend to, phone calls to make.

First, to his job. Claire was right, he needed to stop overworking himself and he’s acquired more than enough hours to take some time off. Then, to Sherry, because he owed her an apology in more than just words. He only hoped she would allow him to make it up to her.

He wanted to call Claire - show her he was trying, that she was right and he would do better. However, he knew that would probably only make things worse. She always gave him the time he needed, now it was time for him to do the same.

But before anything, he had to get up off the floor. The floor was dirty. He was dirty. Leon was tired of the blood and grime that seemed to fill almost all of his waking hours as D.S.O Agent Kennedy. He decided he wouldn’t let it follow him home anymore. So, Leon got up.

On his way to the bathroom he passed by the bowl he kept on his front table by the door. It was a housewarming gift from Claire who knew he was always misplacing his keys and yet never making an effort to get more organized. Always looking out for him, his Claire.

Leon wouldn’t even let himself question if there even was a ‘his Claire’. Not that he owned her, no one could ever own Claire Redfield. But, looking at the two keys laying together in the bowl, Leon couldn’t help but think they were the same - a matching set. One complementing the other in a way that, while they were separate, they were still part of the same.

Yes, Leon Kennedy got up and as he looked at his dirty face in the mirror, he turned the faucet on because he was tired of being dirty. He was ready to get clean.

#Cleon #Cleon fic #Leon Kennedy #Claire Redfield #claire x leon #Claire/Leon #angst #resident evil #i wanna make my angst better so please hang with me until i do #sry for the long wait #sry again for the long ass rant at the beginning im super tired and it's kinda late but I wanted to post anyway #lol i'm doing it again

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sweetestlamb · 4 years

Text

Stronger Part 4 (A New Day Has Come)

Summary: Mun-yeong spends some time with someone important and a gets a surprise.

Author's Note: Got an annoying comment on this story yesterday and it motivated me to write lol so thanks! Hope you guys like and comments, that motivate me even more 😉🥰 nothing like love to drive out hate! The story is coming to an end unfortunately, I'm thinking 2 more chapters maybe three. If I had time I would drag it out for 9 😂😂 but schools start Monday so there goes my life. Happy reading y'all.

Solitude gripes at her insanity, tearing her apart until she succumbs to the thoughts that plague her mind of her inadequacies and how insignificant she is to those around her.

Being around Sang-tae oppa fills a portion of the void in your chest but his presence only reminds her further of another that she's dreadfully missing, his messages overflow her phone now. Taking a swift turn from condescending to something sweeter and more pleading. It takes every ounce of restraint in her body not to open them, relying on the bits she can see in the previews. Fully turning a blind eye to him is beyond difficult for her, every atom of her being is calling out for him.

She has dragged herself from the car too many times, desperate to run to him and soothe his pain, eager to see what he wants to talk about, maybe just maybe he's ready to apologize and unclench the clamp he placed on her heart that day on the beach.

But.

What if he isn't? What if he wants to share more of his past with her in the hopes that she'll overlook all that came before. In the past that might have been the case, she had been ever forgiving, something that only he was privy to. But his words ring in her ears- one time event, get lost- invading her dreams and taking the place of her mother's floating figure terrorizing her nightly.

Somewhere along the way she realized that she puts him first, his emotions and comfort have taken precedent over her own and when she'd searched what exactly that meant the answer made her head spin.

A four letter word that most humans will experience except Ko Mun-yeong.

She's much too selfish and destructive to be ever love or be loved by another, she knows that know. When he'd finally opened up to her, there'd been a plethora of emotions that clawed to the surface and vengeance had been one of them, it wasn't enough that he was sharing his darkest secrets because of everything she'd been through to get there. It was as if he'd stabbed her in the chest, left her bleeding only to return and patch up her wounds, too much had occurred and the scarring remained.

So she left in the middle of the night, abandoned that godforsaken place, stuffing expensive fabrics in a vintage Louis Vuitton luggage set, eager to escape the dead silence that rang out in the castle without the Moon brothers pumping life back into it.

In the end she didn't go far, finding a guest house that reminded her of that brief getaway with him, she paid for the week and turned off her phone fielding persistent check in calls from Sang-in. Gang-tae hadn't tried to call merely texting that they should talk and it was almost laughable that despite his seeming desperation he still seemed reluctant to go the full mile. Only her deep rooted sadness stopped her from chuckling at her circumstances, what a tragic mess.

She didn't let his current persistence fool her, fool me once shame on you fool me twice, well everyone knew the rest. It was time she stopped looking like a fool. Regardless of what she felt for him she knew that that this couldn't be, he'd been right all along.

I hope I never see you again.

So much heart ache could have been prevented if she'd heeded his warning. So she was doing it now, her anger had fizzled off tempering into bitter acceptance.

He would give up soon enough, that was his style.

The woman in charge of the guest house steers clear of her and the first day she lays carelessly on the bed roll, not even bothering to comb her hair. Simply, being. It's intoxicating and new, her phone remains turned off tossed to the side as she thinks about nothing- ignoring the way that nothing something has deep sad eyes and a bowl hair cut. She's trying to think about nothing and that's what counts.

She has food delivered and it's strange to eat something that isn't a Subway sandwich after all the food Sang-in as been bringing her and temporarily guilt forms in the pit of her belly, he's probably going crazy trying to locate her but she's just not ready. She's still tired. Bone chilling fatigue.

The next day she walks down a dirt road, her long white dress dragging on the ground, dirtied but the thin material allows a passing breeze to wash across her body and she's content, staring at the sky and thinking of nothing. She spots a lone bird sitting in a tree and wonders if all the other birds have left it behind, whether it has nowhere to go and no one to see. Then she berates herself for worrying about a bird, all this time alone is pushing the limits of her sanity.

The days bleed into each other, dawn folding into dusk with watercolor skies and earthy morning dew.

She tries to write but it's hard to get any words down that aren't depressing and she can't think of any morals or lessons besides don't let anyone in.

Then she tries her hand at drawing, a portrait of her twisting a deer's neck.

The guest house keeper asks her if she hates bears the next day and that's the end of that endeavor.

The week is coming to an end and she's no where closer to knowing what to do, maybe it's time to go back to Seoul, leave this all behind like a bad dream.

When she finally deems herself mentally prepared she turns on her phone, pinging and vibrating from all the forlorn messages, sputtering in her hand as she watches in shock. As expected Sang-in has called and messaged and threatened, she smirks at his empty threats, heart slightly warmed.

Ju-ri, Seung-jae, Sang-tae, and him. All their names flash on her screen. Surprising her, as she'd never expect them to notice her disappearance. Much less reach out to her. Strange. But she writes it off, maybe Sang-in had roped them all into it. With trepidation she opens her messenger and responds to one, keeping a promise, with a few presses and a selfie she sends the message and closes the phone with a sigh.

Done.

The next day the clouds are smoggy ash grey in the sky, darkening the skies into something fierce and she pulls on a sweater and forgoes an umbrella welcoming the storm. Electricity swelters in the thick air causing a sheen of sticky perspiration to cling to her skin. She dons a simple sleeveless mini dress and sandals, trekking to the familiar dirt road.

She walks for hours, aimlessly without a care or worry in her head. Thoughts of him still push their way in at times but she's come to accept that as her baseline, once she returns to Seoul he will be nothing but a faint memory of the time she dreamed too big.

The first drop of rain on her skin makes goose pimples explode across her flesh, fat and chilled as they cascade from the atmosphere. Turning her head up towards the heavens she grins bitterly at nothing, her whole life has been nothing but rain, the moment is oddly fitting.

Mud splatters to her feet coating her toes in sloshy brown that slides between her toes, drenched from the downpour she slowly walks back no haste in her movement, steady footsteps despite the speed of the rain as it pelts against her.

The guest house comes back into sight as she meanders to the gate, vaguely remembering that she'd pulled it shut yet the doors now swing open. Blaming that on the rain she steps through, pulling it shut behind her continuing to stride to the steps.

As she hears the sliding door she eyes catch a figure blurry through the watery sheet in front of her eyes, the voice calling her name stops her in her tracks, no longer able to pretend that it's a mirage.

Her eyes aren't deceiving her, there he is. Once again finding her in the rain, except this time she doesn't need to be saved, she'll be the one doing the saving. For them both.

She takes him in, the rain soaking his hair flat onto his face, clothes plastered to his body as he stands eerily still, dark pools intensely taking her in as well.

After the slight hiccup, she continues walking taking off her sullied sandals and tossing them to the side and then she places her hand on the door, prepared to enter and forget what she saw. Ignorance is bliss.

"Mun-yeong."

All he has to say to get her heart pounding like a drum, she screams in her mind. That time spent apart should have made this easier, why didn't this feel easy? All the fatigue that she'd been running from hits her like a freight train crashing through her passive wall.

"Get lost."

He moves to block her way and her rage simmers below the surface.

"I've been worried about you. We all were so worried. You can't just leave like that, why did you go without saying anything?" His voice is wavering between anger and something softer, more human that makes his voice crack on the last syllable.

"Move."

She's not ready to assess what his being here means, what his voice and his concern mean. None of it makes sense and she's going to file it all under: unexplained phenomenon.

"Can't we talk first, please?"

"I don't want to talk." She sidesteps him, reaching once more for the door.

"Mun-yeong let me explain, let me make this right. I'm sor--"

"Shut up. I said I didn't want to talk. Go back you saw me, I'm alive you don't need to say anything more."

She's not sure she'll be able to contain herself if he says anything else, she's already dangling off the cliff. She can't allow herself to fall and burst apart.

"No! Why are you pushing me away? I need you! I told you I needed you I meant that, you can't just run away damn it."!

She stares blankly before her throat croaks and laughter tumbles from her lips. Deep belly chuckles that shake her body viciously.

Then quick as a switch the laughter stops.

Diamond hard gaze locked on his bewildered face before she speaks, "You think you're the only one who wanted? Do you? I wanted you to stay. I wanted you to fight for me, to let me in. I wanted you to see that I was hurt and apologize and mean it. You think a kiss is enough, you think telling me everything is enough after you break my heart? It's not!" Her voice pierces through the cacophonous drone of the rain beating the world, crying its heart out.

He jolts at her pained cries, fingers reaching for her but she immediately moves out of reach feeling naked and raw under his stare.

You broke my heart.

She's shown too much of her cards already, it's too late to bluff.

So she'll take a page from his book.

Throwing the door open and slamming it shut, holding it tight.

He doesn't try to open it. She sighs in relief leaning back against the hard wood, feeling all the fight evacuate her body.

He's probably gone. You pushed him too hard. Who are you to reject him? No one else will ever tolerate you.

Her thoughts don't scare her, just like Gang-tae had chosen his brother and the life he knew she was doing the same, choosing herself and the loneliness she'd grown accustomed to. Why give him another chance to throw her away he was clearly capable of it, it was only a matter of time she wouldn't change. Couldn't change. Immovable object.

The rain falls and falls, washing everything away and making the world anew. She lays on her back wondering how far he's gotten in this downpour. How had he even found her? All questions she'll never get the answers to.

Sleep tugs her eyelids shut as her thoughts swirl until they too fade to black.

Hands held high over her head, she pulls her tired bones feeling the tension melt with each stretch. Gathering clothes to take a much needed bath she carelessly tugs the door open only to jump back when he almost tumbles into her room.

What.

"What? What are you doing here?" She shrieks, avoiding collision by the barest inch.

"Waiting for you."

She blinks at him, taking in his drenched clothes-noting his shivers- and the dark circles that sink into the skin beneath his eyes, resembling a raccoon.

Had he slept outside all night? And if he had was he insane, why didn't he go back home?

"Why didn't you go back? Are you crazy? You can't sleep outside in the rain!"

She blushes at her outburst, slapping a hand over her traitorous mouth. He merely looks at her, she overlooks the tender glint in his eyes.

Stepping forward he grabs her hand, she fights to pull her appendage away but he tightens his grip which contrasts immensely with the softness in his eyes.

Voice like warm honey he answers, "Because you're here and I.....need you. I'm not going anywhere."

The sun shines brightly outside as a new day rises somewhere in the distance a lone bird's call is answered by another.

#psycho but it's okay #its okay to not be okay #its okay to not be okay fic #ko mun yeong #moon gang tae #it's okay to not be okay #seo ye ji #kim soo hyun #I love rain #cackled thinking about that deer

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kpopnlockit · 3 years

Text

Tethered

This is a very sad and personal piece to me but I wanted to share because it has been some of my best writing lately. It may be triggering to some so those who do not do well mentions with angst, depression, co-dependent relationships or eating disorder may want to steer clear. - Admin O

Your heart hurt. In both the physical and figurative sense. Your eyes burned and you knew they were bloodshot from the crying you had been doing. You were emotionally exhausted to the point of numbness. You could feel the way your facial features sat neutral. Your mouth was dry from dehydration and your stomach ached from hunger. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat or drink. You hated everything at the moment, including yourself.

It was how you coped. Self-destruction. You knew it wasn’t your fault. But it felt like it was. So you punished yourself. You knew it was a remnant from the unloving upbringing you had. Internalizing the blame that had been shifted to you and letting it consume you whole until there was nothing left but a shell, or rather a puppet, that went along with the motions. You were never taught how to handle things like this. You were only taught that everyone else’s misery was your fault.

Age didn’t change anything. At times like these, you were still that teen that didn’t eat and sat alone in their room with a pen and paper and lived in made up fantasies where you weren’t even a character. It wasn’t for a lack of knowing better though. You knew you were doing it and you knew that you were blameless, but that didn’t change the pain. So you did what you always did to alleviate it.

Even as anxiety sat heavy on your chest like a boulder crushing your rib cage, you let your glazed over eyes not focus on any one thing and retreated into your mind. The safest and most dangerous place on Earth. It was such a shame to waste such a beautiful day wallowing in feelings that you tried to ignore and lock away. They always slammed into you like an eighteen wheeler on the highway when you could have been making better use of your time. You could have been out on a shopping trip with a friend or taking a walk alone through the neighborhood basking in the summer breeze on your skin. Instead you sat wretched, under a blanket on the couch in your apartment.

You wanted to laugh at yourself, at your foolishness. How could you stay the same while everyone grew, changed, was happy? You felt a headache building in your forehead as you thought about how you always let it get to this point. You took everyone’s shit until you imploded, hurting yourself and never those that deserved it. That was the type of person you were. Rather, that was the type of person you were molded to be. A scapegoat. A pathetic thing that was always smiling until one day it became too much and all you could do was sit in one place and sob into a towel. Because if anyone heard you, it would be an inconvenience to them. It would be a nuisance to let them feel the guilt for what they had done to you.

It was always engrossing when you let yourself feel. It ate up your time and energy. It ate you up. That’s why you hated it. But you couldn’t avoid it. You would let it pile up, adding more and more to the finite box you kept your emotions in until they burst forth, spilling all over to the point where you couldn’t shove them back in. You had to let them sit with you, you had to feel them, when it got that bad. And without fail, it was too much.

Feeling was never something you were good at. It didn’t seem like anyone around you was good at it either. More often than not, for them it came out as anger, doors being slammed, cars being revved, shouting matches that the neighbors could hear. Encompassing bouts of rage put on display for others. Maybe that was the healthier way to sort it out. Explode like a firework and let others deal with the ashes. You wondered why you couldn’t be like that, why you suffered alone? You knew why though. You didn’t want others to deal with your problems like you had to deal with theirs. Actually, what you dealt with was them not dealing with their problems. That was what was the most painful. It had nothing to do with you.

As your emotions had nothing to do with others, you let them devour you in solitude. There would be no catharsis after though. This you knew. It would just be nothingness. An empty box that would get filled to the brim again and repeat the whole cycle. You would try to fill the void with junk food and burn away the anxiety with boiling tea. It would be a temporary fix, as always. Momentary, makeshift solace.

When would you deserve real happiness? When would you think you deserved it?

You wanted it to have been raining. Maybe it would have been more endurable if it was raining. Instead it felt like the sun was mocking you, reminding you that you could not enjoy the beauty of that day. That you wallowed and regretted and the world went on. You’d see pictures of people out at the restaurant you had put on makeup that morning to go to. They’d be eating funnel cakes at the fair you’d been talking about all week. Jealousy caused a dull ache in your belly.

Why couldn’t you get over it? Why were you stuck for hours, unable to fake a smile or savor anything? Everything was so easy when it fit in the box. Food didn’t taste like soot and you could actually cherish the memories you made.

You could hear him rattling around in the bedroom, trying to sleep but failing. Each creak of the bed, every movement of his limbs, irked you. His ridiculousness was the cause of all of this and he wasn’t even sorry. Chances were he wouldn’t even remember why you argued. He couldn’t even make sense when you were exchanging verbal blows. He was too delirious from his depression fog. He couldn’t be reasoned with. That left you, rational and frustrated, to deal with each feeling, each articulated assault that ricocheted off of him and back into your face. It was talking to a brick wall. You had known that when you fought back and that was what brought on the tears. Hot wet pellets of raw anger.

In moments of clarity, he promised dates and travel. Then within minutes he was unable to speak or function and your hopes were trampled. That’s likely what bruised the most. Him letting you anticipate only to be left there with shaky hands and a broken heart. You wanted to live. You wanted to experience everything he talked about. You wanted to be outside, in the good weather, doing something, anything. But he could never deliver. And you knew it wasn’t him. It was his depression. It weighed him down and shrouded him in an air of darkness. You could barely make out the man you fell in love with through it.

It was painful now though and you couldn’t see when it wouldn’t be any longer. Could you keep enduring? It felt like you had been enduring forever. Would he feel abandoned? But you too, were broken. You suffered alongside him. Could he see that? Did he know how you struggled to stuff everything into that box day in and day out? Did he know that you sat grieving the loss of him meters away from him?

Fresh tears fell. Your nose ran. Your stomach grumbled. You had started as half and were made whole by him, or so you thought. Now it felt like you were both a quarter, coming together to barely make a half. How had it come to this? When had it? Had he whittled you down or had he been three-quarters and was now not?

He hadn’t showered in over a week. When he asked if you wanted to go out to eat that day as you lay cuddled in his arms, you asked if he would wash his hair. He said yes. Then as you put on eyeliner an hour later, he said he was waiting to leave, you could drive. You asked if he was going to shower. He didn’t answer. He was ready to go to the restaurant. You could tell he was in a fog. You finished your face anyways, hope still present. Then he asked if he looked bad, feeling that was what you were insinuating. You said no. He asked why then did he need to bathe? Not thinking, you said you could see his dandruff and it would be nice to go to eat without that. Then it evolved into a fight, raised voices and you trying to talk sense into a senseless being.

When he flip-flopped, so did your heart. You felt like you were drowning with a weight tied to your ankle only pulling you down further. You didn’t have the strength to pull both of you up. You remembered the picture of your friend, with her husband and children eating at a diner that morning. Why could you not have a simple existence like that? You didn’t want too much, you thought. Just...to live. To not feel tethered. To be happy together, in each other’s presence. Like what had been.

You were living in the past. Perhaps the man from back then was still somewhere near but you couldn’t see him. Holding on blindly was stupid. There was no future guaranteed. It didn’t seem like rolling the dice on it was worth it either. Yet, here you were. Listening to him tossing and turning while you cried, wishing things were different, wishing he were different. You waited, and would most likely keep waiting.

#angst #depression #co dependency #admin o

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whereismymindnow · 3 years

Text

Shark (Troy Otto x OC)

I’ve really enjoyed rewatching FTWD lately, particularly S3 since Troy was such an interesting character that had so many complicated layers and I thought his relationship with Nick could have been explored so much more.

Anyway, this may not go anywhere, but here’s a one-shot or chapter one of a short fic for anyone that may be interested. I've not posted any fanfiction on Tumblr before so I'm fully prepared for it to flop haha! I do post on AO3 under the name Mikki19. :)

Song inspiration for the story: Plastic Heart by Ciscandra Nostalghia

This fic (if I expand on it on here) will have many dark elements due to Troy's mindset. Consider that your warning.

---

This wasn’t how it was meant to happen.

All of this trouble over some half-rotten fucking apples.

She’d been minding her own business, her hunger leading her to not take full account of her surroundings as she came across the nearly dead fruit tree. Flies buzzed around the apples that had dropped to the floor long ago, but she noticed 3 overly ripened orbs clinging for life on one of the higher branches. Given how she’d been unable to forage much lately, she was willing to try and take whatever bits of the apples were left.

Her nearly empty bag dropped to the ground as she carefully put one foot in a groove of the tree and hoisted herself up. Her vision was blurry and her head ached, but getting the browning fruits above remained her goal. With shaky limbs she scaled the tree until she could stretch up and touch the apples with her fingertips. She let out a groan of pain as she gave one last stretch and grabbed the branch that held her prize; a small shake had the little round globes dropping to the ground with a squelch making her grimace. Beggars can’t be choosers, she reminded herself.

She hadn’t been expecting to hear the rumble of an engine or the large soldiers that slowly sauntered out of the truck. She’d frozen like a cat being caught climbing something they shouldn’t have as one stepped forward. His brown curls and bright eyes gave the impression of innocence, but the shadow of calculation overcoming his face made her realise how fucked she was.

Harper unsteadily slid down the tree and noticed how her bag – that had very little inside it apart from an empty bottle, a Swiss Army knife, a torn and distressed picture of her brother, and the collar of her dog that had defended her until the end – was closer to the man than to her. With a sharklike smile he picked up the bag and threw it behind him for one of his friends to rifle through and cocked his head to the side in wonder as to what her next move would be.

She heard him laugh as she dived behind the tree and ran as fast as she could to the building nearby. A loud scream left her as a corpse immediately launched itself at her as she burst through the door; its teeth were so close to her that she could feel a few strands of hair be ripped from her scalp as it snapped its jaws. She kept an arm pushing across its chest as she frantically ripped her pocketknife from her boot, flipped it open and sent the blade through the walker’s skull. The body dropped to the filthy floor, sending a cloud of grey dust into the air that made her choke. Harper turned her head and saw the soldier slowly making his way to the building she’d just entered.

So, here she was. Trapped like a mouse as the cat prowled around looking for its next meal. She slowed her breathing as much as she could and huddled under the abandoned desk; her hand held a strong grip on the knife but she could already feel her body shaking in exhaustion. She hadn’t eaten properly or slept more than a few hours for days since her camp got overrun by a hoard of the dead. She wasn’t ready for a fight. She knew that this was only going to go one way judging by the firepower that these men had and how clean and well-fed they looked. With any luck she could lose or injure the guy in the building and run out through a back exit.

“You know, I don’t want to hurt you. People always look at me like a monster, but I’m not. If you come out, there doesn’t have to be a struggle.” Harper could hear him in the corridor outside of the abandoned office she’d dived into. The way he sounded so chilled, almost bored or uninterested, made her want to deliver a swift kick to his smug face.

She’d always been a fighter. When the kid in 9th grade pushed her to the floor and laughed, she’d got up just as quick and head-butted him without a thought. When Sophia had looked at her brown curls with a sneer, she’d quickly pulled on the blonde locks until the girl begged for mercy. Of course, her spitfire nature came with consequences. She’d found that out pretty quick when her father started to use a firmer, more brutal hand in order to get her to comply, and her mother had pulled her out of school and begun to slip light sedatives in her food. They were afraid of her, she knew that. They were afraid she’d inherited that rage that had sent her grandmother into a mental hospital at the age of 39 until she died in a medication induced coma at 46. It wasn’t until her brother died when she was 18 that things began to change. Her fire had been reduced to nothing and she walked around the house like one of the dead even before they’d started to rise. Malachi had been her rock. He’d been the only one to believe in her and used that anger that burned within her belly to train her how to wrestle. She soon grew hungry for the sport and had aspired to join the independent wrestling scene as soon as she could break away from her parents. Malachi’s death had changed all of that though. The once bright-eyed girl had been reduced to a withered husk. The fire within had been extinguished and the thought of fighting made her feel nauseous. Her parents had been quite relieved; they’d have rather have her broken than be the monster they were sure she’d have turned into. From then on she’d been a shadow of her former self; she spent most of her days sleeping or pretending to listen to her mother prattle on about one thing or another whilst her father went to work.

She could feel that familiar ache in her chest. She wanted to get up and fight, but her legs felt like jelly and her head was about ready to explode. So, she waited. Her eyes clenched shut as the door to the office slowly closed. She heard the thud of a gun being put on the table near the door and the heavy footsteps of army boots make their way across the room.

“I know you’re under there.” A squeak left her mouth as two large hands slammed down on top of the desk. “Won’t you come out? You don’t even know what I have to offer to you. Those apples you were so desperately reaching for? I can give you a whole basket full… if you just come out.” He made it sound so goddamn easy and simple. “I said: come out!” The sudden anger in his voice made her gulp and slowly stand. Her green eyes met his; despite the anger that had been in his voice, his face was blank as he drank the sight of her in.

Her cropped top was torn and covered in blood, her shorts were dirty and her boots were worn. She was clinging to life by a thread and they both knew it. Her 5’7” stature was dwarfed by his large 6’1” body. He could tell she had been quite fit and muscular before all of this, but poor nutrition had left her looking withered and underdeveloped. He could easily see her ribs and hipbones from where she stood. She was completely filthy and he noted bruises and scratches on her legs from where she had been running wild for who knows how long. It was her eyes that got him the most; he’d seen those eyes before, he saw that same determination and anger every time he looked at his own reflection. She didn’t want to give up, but she was so tired. Her body wobbled in place and she sucked her chapped bottom lip between her teeth in an attempt to keep the sob that was building at bay.

“Come here.” When she made no effort to move Troy quickly reached forwards, grabbed her by the neck and lifted her over the desk so that she was in front of him. He laughed as his free hand quickly caught her wrist as she sluggishly tried to get him with her knife. “Drop it.” Troy murmured softly.

“No.” Her voice cracked from lack of use. “No.” A heavy sigh left his mouth before he tightened his grip until he could feel her ligaments and bones creak under his grasp. “Agh!” Her other hand came to claw at his fingers desperately as she felt like her wrist would break.

“Drop. It.” He hissed with no intention of loosening his hold until she complied like a good girl. The knife fell with a clatter as she swallowed down her pride and submitted. Immediately his once vicelike grip turned into a soft hold and he allowed his thumb to carefully rub the already bruising skin. “Do you see what you made me do?” He spoke like he was talking to a child. “I’m not a bad person. You just need to listen to me.” Troy watched as her face crumpled and she stared at her feet. He was so used to looking at people like an experiment that he was shocked to find his mind wasn’t trying to work out how long it would take this weakened girl to turn. He looked at her in wonder instead. He could tell that she was broken inside. It was easy to see as the swell of defiance was in her gaze but it was overpowered by the lost look. She needed someone to lead her. She needed direction… purpose… He’d give it to her. He could see her at the ranch with him. She’d be in the living area waiting for him to return from a hunt with a smile on her face and no shoes on her feet. She wouldn’t need shoes; shoes were only necessary for people going outside. He was all she would need. She would be his.

Harper carefully looked up at the soldier and blinked as she saw the concentration in them. “Who are you?”

“My name is Troy. Yours?”

“H-Harper.”

“Where are you from?”

“England… originally. We moved to the States after my brother died… too many memories at home.”

“How’d your brother die? Was he sick?” His head snapped to the side as her hand came up and connected with his cheek. Harper was breathless from the exertion but the carelessness in which he talked about her brother made her blood boil. Malachi was a subject not meant to be touched. “Hm… wrong move.” Troy’s grip tightened once again on her wrist as he spun her around, pushed her front onto the desk and pulled her limb until an aching pain grew in her shoulder from the angle. He used his own body to hover over her so that she couldn’t straighten up. “Apologise.” He wedged his legs between hers as she started to flail and kick out in order to avoid the low blow that she was aiming to deliver; his hips stayed firm against the back of her thighs despite the movements she was making. A deep groan left his mouth as her actions awakened the primal urge within him that told him to claim her. Harper suddenly stilled as she felt a heavy, hard length begin to grow against her ass. “Apologise.” He simply repeated, suddenly breathless as his body buzzed from the stimulation. He wasn’t used to this reaction. Sure, he could see pretty girls from those that would probably be a last pick, but he’d never felt this need to claim before. He’d had sex before, meaningless and ultimately disappointing sex with girls that had wanted to get closer to his perfect brother or had wanted a better standing within the ranch and chosen the somewhat vulnerable youngest Otto to try and make that happen, but this felt like more than just an urge to find his way into the warmth between her legs. This felt like something he needed; like the blood in his veins and the air that he breathed. She felt like a piece of the puzzle that would fit perfectly into place and make him feel that little bit more whole.

Harper could feel his hot breath shakily release against the back of her head and shuddered. “I- I am sorry.” She whispered gently in an attempt to appease the unpredictable man behind her. She felt him slowly release her wrist but he made no motion to move away from her. Her back tensed as his hands slowly went to her sides and gripped her hips. He stayed still for a moment, almost as though he was using his hold on her body to ground himself, before stepping back with a low chuckle.

“Good girl. You’re learning already.” Troy leant down and grabbed her knife, a knowing look in his eye as he pocketed it for himself before pulling something else out of his jacket. A thin strip of plastic was in his grasp. “Put your wrists out and together.” Harper exhaled as she looked at the cable tie. Exhaustion was defeating her and he’d taken what little energy she had left. Her body was propped up by the table behind her and she knew if she stepped away then her legs were likely to collapse.

“Where are you going to take me?” She asked softly understanding that she had no way out of this in her current state.

“Back to base. It’s safe there.” Troy stated proudly as though he was saving her and not taking her against her will. “Do you understand? I’m going to keep you safe. I’ll feed you and get you clean so I can see exactly what is under all of this filth.” Harper’s mouth watered at the thought of food and a shower. Her basic human needs screamed at her to obey as she shakily held out her hands to him. He carefully looped the plastic around her wrists and tightened it until she winced; only stopping when her eyes looked into his pleading for some form of mercy. “Are you thankful?” Harper gave a shaky nod under his intense stare that seemed to strip her naked and glare into her soul. “Use your words.”

Harper swallowed down her bile as he raised his brow expectantly. “Yes… thank you, Troy.” His grin was the last thing she saw before her body finally gave up and she dropped to the cold ground unconscious.

---

You look for me Inside the dark I am the ocean You are the shark You hunt me like Your last goodbye Oh fallen angel Of the night

---Plastic Heart by Ciscandra Nostalghia---

#fanfiction #ao3 fanfiction #troyotto #troy otto #ocs #original female character #troy otto x oc #fear the walking dead #ftwd

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adulttrio-imagines · 4 years

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42 for Illumi 💕

Prompt: “It’s okay to break.” - “I’m not going to break.”

Kintsugi: The Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold or similar material, highlighting the cracks instead of disguising them

The bowl is beautiful, there was no denying it. After months of waiting, the finished product fits perfectly in your palms, slivers of gold coating the rim and cracked edges of the fine china glimmering brightly under the dim light of your bedroom, starkly contrasting the porcelain white hue and ornate floral designs. Its’s perfect, so perfect that you can almost forgive yourself for breaking it in the first place. You smile, pressing your lips against it, the coolness spreading across your skin.

It almost makes you wonder if you should show this to your…. “Husband” …..

Smile faltering, you pull the bowl away from your face, and stare at the clock ticking ominously above it. You haven’t seen him in a couple weeks, and none of the butlers would even deign you the slightest answer whenever you pepper them with questions. It’s probable they know as little as you do, however unlikely that situation is.

But you know your place. For all the glamourous marble columns and comforts of plush furniture surrounding you, the fact is that the whole setup was nothing more than an elaborate cage, set to separate you from the outside world and chain you down to whatever your owner desired.

You squash the feeling of resentment piling deep in your throat, unconsciously grasping your hand to prevent it from shaking so hard. There is no use in being angry, no point in submerging yourself in that all-consuming feeling of rage that never surmounted to anything more than additional hurt.

The heavy wooden doors to your room open with a loud swing. The lack of tell-tale padding sounds gives way that this could be none other than Illumi. It shuts with a simple click, and nothing happens.

You stop and turn, wondering why he was just standing there, and nearly drop the bowl. Illumi stands at the door, hollow, unmoving, dark substances pouring from the crevices on his face. It’s blood, you realize with a shock. It dribbles down his face sluggishly, pouring out from the angular cuts that cover his face, haphazardly made and extremely painful to look at. But the dark abyss that are his eyes scare you the most. It’s different. Even more so than usual. It’s strange how emptiness is felt, how everything sucked out of the room until you’re left with nothing but beating hearts and sweaty palms. He stays where he is, your breath catches in your throat, and the familiar creeps of fear and dread crawl over your skin, clambering all over your neck and oozing into your brain, you wonder if you’ll survive the night.

“What happened?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

He isn’t entirely there, staring blankly into the space behind you as blood streamed down his cheeks, staining the marble tiles.

“Nothing.” You furrow your brows, standing up, and walk hesitantly towards him. He stiffens when you trace the scars around his face.

“Does it hurt?” Deep cuts that ran all the way down unbroken to his neck lined his face, angry, red and fresh. It’ll require some stitches.

He blinks. “No, I’ve had worse.”

“I’ll patch you up.” You try to guide him towards the dressing table, but he’s rooted to the ground.

Illumi stares at the ceiling with his huge, huge eyes, blinks once, twice, and closes them, shutting himself out of the room. “I am fine.” His tired voice sounds almost strangled, as if something had grabbed him and squeezed every last bit of willpower out of him.

Your heart wrings itself, and despite the thundering voices you hear screaming in your head, you asks,

“What did she do to you?”

He ignores you, and takes mechanical steps towards the dressing table, staining the floor with more blood and collapses into the chair.

“I’m tired.” He mutters tightly, avoiding your question altogether, instead pinching the bridge of his nose as he rests on his elbows.

“Illumi,” He stiffens, just barely noticeable, when you you kneel in front of him, hand on his knee, “please talk to me.”

His stare is unreadable and unfocus, eyes shifting to look at the window behind you, drawn towards an unseen object or person; you wonder, through bated breath, if it’s the same thing that makes him jerk and wake so suddenly in the dead of night.

You wait for what seemed like an eternity, stilling yourself to only the most necessity of breaths, before he finally finds the strength to answer.

“Killu left. Mother is upset. She almost gouged Millu’s eyes out.” He says, unfeeling and avoiding your concern expression.

“Oh.” Kikyo’s theatrics are not unheard of, even five floors above the main chamber. While you’ve never met the woman, you’ve certainly heard her.

“I tried to help.” He continues, fists curled so tightly the skin over his knuckles look as if they would tear apart from the sheer force. He uses your lack of reaction to further his story. That’s how you both communicated. Too much of anything at once and he just broke.

“I’m sure you did your best.” You reply gently, dressing his wound. He lets you do it.

“She got mad that I wasn’t there to stop him.” The blood caking his skin is difficult to remove, and pulls at his porcelains skin when you try to wipe it away.

“You weren’t here.” The needle piercing his skin doesn’t elicit a reaction, as if he doesn’t even know it’s there.

“I should have been.” The bandages easily soak up the remaining blood, splotches of red forming all over and painting them crimson.

“Do you want talk about it?” You carefully dab disinfectant around his skin, it’s cool and smooth to the touch.

“Why would I?” He scoffs, reminding him of the cold man you’ve known him as.

“It’ll help you feel better.” Your reply is small, you withdraw the cotton gauze and uncontrollably shrink into yourself.

“I’m feeling good, thank you.” You smile softly at his lie.

“It’s okay to break.” You tell him.

“I’m not going to break.”

You stare at the bowl settled on the dressing table, the cracks of gold glinting brightly. “There’s beauty in being broken.”

He shakes his head, hair falling from his bun. “I’m not broken.” He says softly, more so to convince himself that you.

The room is silent excluding the soft humming of the mini fridge that fills it. Hesitantly, you curl two of your fingers around his pinky, becoming all too aware of the heat creeping up your neck when he doesn’t pull away.

“I love you, you know. All of you.” You say before you can stop yourself. Lies and truths intermingled, wrapping themselves into a furious dance, and it was now impossible to differentiate between the two. The words taste bitter and feel foreign in your mouth, but it felt right saying that.

Pale, clammy fingers curl around your wrist, and he gently tugs you into his lap. Knees buckling, your hands resting like weights on his shoulders, the smell of fresh earth and copper brushing against your nose as your forehead presses against his. You stare into the dark abyss swirling behind fluttering lashes, heart coiling into a tight knot.

“Show me. Prove it to me.” His whisper tickles the back of your ear, and you push your quivering lips against his to push the strangled sob that bubbles at the tip of your tongue, tasting the bitter anger and frustration that had been burn into him.

You love him.

His hands trace the curves of your hips, purposeful and possessive as your tongues meet.

You love him not.

He claws at your thigh, humming appreciatively as you groan when they leave pin pricks of blood lining your skin. Your eyes prickle when the force of tears become too much.

You love him.

He reminds you of the orchids blooming in the greenhouse; from the top of his head to the balls of his feet, elegant, graceful and so very, very beautiful. For all his quirks and peculiarities, he is surprisingly adapt at horticulture, pridefully displaying his collection of flowers he tended to during his free time, green thumb strikeout contrasting the blood soaked fingers that reeked of death. Cool strands of inky black tumble past his shoulders like waterfalls and settle easily in your grasp. Beautiful, just as he was the first you ever laid eyes on him. You tug at those locks and gasps at the shoot of pain when he bites down on your lower lip.

You love him not.

He scares you. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s made you pass out of the sheer terror of being with him. The sneering cool look he has etched permanently behind his mask of indifference. The nights where he has returned back to the prison which is your room, thick with bloodlust and desire, limbs bent into impossible angles as he creeps towards you, eyes maniacally wide and wild, the clawing feeling burning into the back of your throat when your heart nearly tore it’s way out from the depths of his stare.

Despite it all, you remain, standing, waiting, wanting him to stay by your side, even though it tears your mind in half as you rattle your head for this broken logic.

“There’s beauty in everything.” You murmur, cheeks wet with tears. You wanted to believe, desperately clung to the idea that uncontrollable circumstances happened for reasons. It feels almost bittersweet, realizing that the same thing held you both captive here in the mansion. He blinks slowly, the old scars on his face are striking. These new ones won’t be the last, and it’ll be a continual addition to the collection of abuse he has endured. He graces a hand over your cheek, wiping your face with unknown gentleness and cups it. You choke on a sob as you hold him close, the pain, loneliness and despair that had been growing inside your hearts converging, eating away every last defense you had before finally exploding like a ticking time bomb, bursting like a geyser as rest your head on his shoulder, tears streaming down like rivers.

He rest his chin on the top of your head, his heartbeat warm and comforting. He doesn’t understand your hurt, doesn’t understand your pain, doesn’t understand the anger you feel on his behalf, for the years of torture, anger and abuse he’s withstood for years, for being discarded like a broken toy, for being stripped of his worth and value, but you feel it all the same. You hold your tongue, for he would not understand why you hold such feelings, or rather, he chooses not to understand your feelings, for he knows he would crumble to dust if he forces himself to accept the reality he lives in.

You close your eyes, breathing in the comforting scent of pine and fresh dirt as you both remained, curled into each other until the afternoon sun shines high in the ever blue sky, hurting both your eyes.

#hunter x hunter #illumi #illumi zoldyck #illumi x reader #stockhom syndrome #my writings #200 word prompt #hita-boui #working on the other requests!

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